#I am tired and my spirit is broken

[makaelachanese]

I promise no one will miss me when I’m gone. They didn’t even miss me when I was alive.

[beombunni]

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

》 In a kingdom of stone and gold, there lived a princess with hair as pink as the dawn. Her heart, though draped in royal jewels, was heavy with the weight of expectation, for the king and queen demanded she find a husband worthy of her title. The castle’s walls pressed close, and her spirit yearned for freedom, for something beyond the cold, glittering halls.

One day, when the pressure became too great, she slipped away from the castle and wandered into the woods, seeking solace in its quiet embrace. It was there, among the trees, that she met him—a boy, no older than she, with eyes like the forest and a bow slung over his shoulder. He was a hunter, living in a humble cabin, selling the fruits of his labor to those who passed by. But in the way he moved, so graceful and wild, the princess saw something more—a soul untainted by the constraints of royalty....

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

warnings » smut, loss of virginity, fingering, oral (f) receiving, angst, longing, forbidden romance, yeonjun hunts animals, reader has pink hair, very heavily inspired by the 'once upon a broken heart' series by Stephanie garber, major character death, kai is seventeen in this, also featuring beomgyu briefly, blood, beatings, dungeons, toxic parents, royal hierarchy, a bit of grumpy x sunshine, readers pov is 2nd person "You" yeonjun's pov is 3rd person "He" a lot is in yeonjun's pov though, yeonjun has a noticeable scar on his eyebrow (for the plot), kind of love at first sight, this is not slow burn sorry, there is a disease called "The fever"

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

The golden glow of a single candle bathes your chambers, its light dancing across the silk-draped walls. You sit at your vanity, brushing your hair with slow, deliberate strokes. The polished wood of the brush feels cool in your hand, a small comfort against the storm brewing inside you. Behind you, there’s the soft rustle of skirts, a sound that sets your nerves on edge even before she speaks. “Darling,” your mother begins, her voice sweet, almost sing-song as she opens your door without so much as a knock.  “You’re twenty now. A woman grown. You can’t keep hiding behind those books and tapestries forever.” She glides across the room and perches on the edge of your bed, her posture as poised and deliberate as her words. 

“I’m not hiding, Mother,” you reply without turning to face her. Your reflection catches hers in the mirror—a study in contrasts. You, unadorned and weary. Her, perfect and poised, a mask of maternal care that you’ve come to mistrust. She was not the sweet doting mother she pretends to be, and you felt her icy-ness as soon as she neared you. 

“Of course not,” she says with a light laugh, the sound brushing away your words as though they were a child’s excuse. “But it’s time you thought seriously about your future. The kingdom needs alliances and a good match could secure that.” 

You place the brush down with deliberate care and turn to face her. “And what if I don’t love any of these ‘good matches’? Am I to bind myself to someone who sees me as nothing more than a means to an end?” You had grown tired of this same conversation. One you've had a million times over with her and your father. 

She sighs, and for a moment, the warmth in her voice almost feels real. Almost. “Oh, my sweet girl, love is a luxury we can’t always afford. Your father and I—” She pauses, her hand drifting to her heart as if recalling a fond memory. “We grew to love each other over time. You’ll see. Love often follows where duty leads.” You narrow your eyes, searching her face for cracks in the mask. “Did it? Did love really follow, or did you simply learn to endure it?”

Her expression wavers—just for a heartbeat—but it’s enough. The softness in her eyes hardens, and when she stands, it’s with a grace that feels more commanding than comforting. “Don’t let childish notions blind you” she says, her tone sharper now. “The world isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a harsh, unyielding place, and one day, you’ll rule it. You must start preparing for that now.” 

Your throat tightens, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “I would rather rule with my heart than sell it to the highest bidder.” 

Her lips curl into a smile, and she steps closer, cupping your cheek in her hand. The gesture is tender, but her eyes betray her—calculating, assessing. “You’ll understand someday, my love,” she murmurs. “And when you do, you’ll thank me for guiding you.” You pull away, your skin burning where her hand had rested. She lingers for a moment longer, her presence suffocating even in its quietness. Then, with a swish of her skirts, she moves to the door. The click of it closing echoes in the silence she leaves behind. You stare at your reflection, your chest heaving with unshed tears and unsaid words. The candlelight catches the glint of defiance in your eyes, and in that moment, you vow that no one—not even your mother—will decide your future for you.

You had never snuck out of the castle before. The thought had scared you enough that you hadn’t ever dared to attempt it, but tonight you felt you had to. The suffocating four walls of your chambers had felt so overbearing that the thought of another second in them would cause the end of your life. You had to escape, even if only for a few hours at least. You needed fresh air. To feel the wind in your hair, smell the trees and feel the grass between your fingertips. 

You rarely get that these days, with all the preparations of finding you a husband and shipping you off to some unknown country with a man that was to be your husband and yet a stranger at the same time. You couldn't handle it anymore. You grabbed your cloak and made quick work on sneaking out. 

The castle sleeps. Its towering spires stretch into the star-speckled sky, dark against the moonlight. You slip from your chambers, the soft soles of your boots muffling each step on the cold stone floor. The velvet cloak swirls around your ankles, its deep green fabric blending into the shadows as you descend the servant's staircase. Your heart races, but not from fear. It's the exhilaration of escape, of leaving behind the suffocating weight of expectations.

The conversation you and your mother had not even an hour ago swimming in your mind. The words of your father this morning echoing in your head like a cacophony "This lord has lands to the west," they said. "That one commands an army. It’s time to secure your future.” You grit your teeth at the thought, gripping the edge of your cloak tighter. They don’t understand. Marriage isn’t what frightens you—it’s the thought of marrying someone who sees you as a pawn, not a person. You couldn't bring yourself to have a marriage like your mother and fathers. A marriage that lacked authenticity, lacked real love. You refused it. Rebuked it. 

The air is cooler as you reach the garden gate, slipping through the narrow gap you discovered years ago. The guards won’t check here; they never do. Beyond the walls lies freedom, the forest calling to you like an old friend. The scent of damp earth and pine greets you as you step into the woods. The moon guides your path, its light filtering through the canopy. You keep your pace quick but quiet. You had a general idea of the outlands of the castle from all of your lessons. You needed to know how to get out of the castle in case of an attack. You were sure that your teachers didn't know you'd be using the information they taught you to sneak out, but here you were. 

The forest feels alive tonight. Crickets chirp in the underbrush, and a gentle breeze stirs the leaves above. Each step takes you further from the castle, from the expectations, from the stifling weight of duty. You keep your steps light trying your best to make as little as sound as possible. You couldn't risk being caught. Then you hear it, a faint thwack ahead, the unmistakable sound of an arrow striking wood. You freeze, heart leaping into your throat. Slowly, carefully, you edge closer, stepping around a patch of dry leaves to avoid making a sound. Peeking around a thick oak, you see him. A man unfamiliar to you. He stands in the clearing, tall and strong, his silhouette framed by moonlight. A bow is in his hands, an arrow already knocked. His movements are fluid, deliberate, as if every motion is a part of a dance. The arrow flies, and your breath catches as it strikes dead center on the straw target.

He’s beautiful. The moon shines just enough through the branches of the trees above him creating a halo like light over his head and face. You should turn back. You know this. You should retrace your steps and leave before he notices you. But you don’t. Something about him holds you in place. His focus, the grace in his movements, the quiet strength in the way he adjusts his stance. He’s close to your age, maybe a year or two older, with dark hair that curls at the nape of his neck. He’s the most handsome man you have ever laid your eyes on. And by far the most graceful. 

He reaches for another arrow, the muscles in his arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. You crouch lower behind the tree, your cloak pooling around you. The thrill of sneaking out has faded into something else—something warmer, something unfamiliar. You had never had the privilege of just watching a man so..closely like this. You weren't even allowed to be around a man without a chaperone. You tell yourself you’re just curious. It’s not often you meet someone out here in the woods. But as you watch him, you realize it’s more than that. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever seen before. 

He has no idea you’re here. And for now, you’re content to watch, hidden in the shadows of the trees, as he draws and releases, each arrow flying true. The world feels smaller at this moment. The castle and its demands are miles away, and the only thing that exists is you, the moonlit forest, and the archer practicing under the stars. You watch for only a breath longer before the stillness breaks under your foot. A dry leaf, hidden beneath the forest loam, crumples with a loud crack that seems to echo in the night. The archer freezes. His body tenses as he pivots toward you, bow raised, an arrow drawn in a heartbeat. The sudden movement sends a jolt of panic through you, and you instinctively step back, pressing against the rough bark of the tree.

“Who’s there?” His voice is sharp, low, and commanding. The moonlight glints off his eyes—hard and narrowed, scanning the shadows where you’re hidden. You hold your breath, heart hammering in your chest. For a moment, you consider fleeing, but before you can move, he spots you. “Show yourself,” he demands, the arrow steady in his grip. 

Slowly, you step out from behind the tree, your hands raised in a gesture of surrender. The cloak’s hood still shrouds your face, but the moonlight catches the strands of pink hair peeking out. His gaze sharpens, and you see his brow furrow as he lowers the bow slightly. “a girl?” His voice softens but only slightly, his tone still laced with suspicion. He lowers the bow completely but doesn’t relax, his eyes studying you intently. “What are you doing out here, creeping around like that?” 

You swallow, suddenly acutely aware of how small you feel under his piercing gaze. “I wasn’t creeping,” you say, your voice soft but steady. “I was… walking. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

“Walking,” he repeats, his tone flat and disbelieving. He glances at your cloak, the fine embroidery glinting faintly in the moonlight. “In the middle of the night. Alone. Right.” He snorts, shaking his head as if the very idea is absurd. “Who are you?” His demeanor startled you, not expecting such a graceful man to sound so..rough. 

You hesitate. You’re not ready to give your name—or your title. “No one important.” If he knew you were the princess there was no guessing what he would do. Turn you in? Kidnap you? Hold you for ransom, it was unknown but you'd rather not find out. 

He arches an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No one important who sneaks through the woods and watches people like a ghost.” 

Heat rises to your cheeks, both from embarrassment and indignation. “I wasn’t watching you—well, not on purpose. I heard something, and I… got curious.” You couldn't explain to him that you didn't get out much, he would ask too many questions. You'd rather have him think you a dumb naive girl then a sheltered princess. 

His expression softens, but only slightly. He seems to accept your answer, though he doesn’t seem thrilled about it. “Curiosity gets people into trouble. Especially out here.” You should feel insulted by his gruffness, but instead, you find yourself intrigued. There’s something captivating about the way he carries himself, the guarded way he speaks. He’s not like the polished, over-rehearsed lords who populate the castle halls. He’s… real. It was as perplexing as it was scary, how little knowledge you had of the common folk, how little you saw them. He was beautiful like a prince, even more than most but something about him felt unpolished and you admired that. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant. But you can’t help the way your eyes linger on him, tracing the sharp angles of his face, the way the moonlight highlights his dark hair. He’s beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair, though his scowl adds an edge to it, like he’s carved from stone. He notices your lingering gaze and narrows his eyes. “What?” How he wasn’t more concerned by a random girl creeping on him in the middle of the night had struck you. 

“Nothing,” you say quickly, pulling your cloak tighter around you. “I just… I’ve never seen anyone shoot like that before.” Which was the truth. You had never seen the guards in true action, you had only seen them practicing and even then they were nowhere near as precise as this man was. 

His scowl deepens, though a faint hint of surprise flickers in his expression. “You were watching me.” 

Your cheeks flush again, and you look away, hoping the shadows hide your embarrassment. “Only for a moment. You’re… good.” 

For the first time, he seems caught off guard. He looks at you as if trying to figure you out, then sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, whoever you are, it’s late, and you shouldn’t be out here. Go home.” You hated the way he spoke to you, like you were a useless pesky object in his way. Like everyone around you spoke to you. 

His tone is dismissive, but you don’t move. Instead, you tilt your head, studying him. “Why are you out here, then?” 

He hesitates, his jaw tightening. “That’s none of your business.” 

“And me being here is none of yours,” you counter, surprising yourself with your boldness. You had never talked back to anyone before. Partly in fear of what your mother and father would do to you as a punishment. For a moment, he just stares at you, his eyes catching the moonlight. 

“You’re stubborn,” he mutters, shaking his head. 

“And you’re grumpy,” you reply, the words slipping out before you can stop them. 

“Suit yourself. Just don’t get in my way.” He says with a snark, dismissing you completely. As he turns back to his target, knocking another arrow, you find yourself smiling beneath your hood. For the first time in days, you feel alive—caught in the strange, thrilling pull of the forest, the night, and the boy who doesn’t know who you are. It was hopelessly refreshing, having someone to banter with. He hadn't known you were the princess. All expectations of respectfully boring conversation were not needed here, you felt normal. 

You don’t leave. Something about him keeps you rooted to the spot. Maybe it’s his impenetrable demeanor, so unlike anyone you’ve met before. Or maybe it’s the way he seems utterly unconcerned by you, as though you’re not worth the effort of a proper scolding. Either way, instead of retreating, you take a few cautious steps closer. “What are you still doing here?” he asks without looking back, his voice carrying a rough edge. He draws another arrow and lets it fly. Thwack. It lands squarely in the center of the target. You swear you could have drooled at the sight alone. You were just a girl after all. 

“I told you—I was walking,” you say, folding your arms beneath the cloak. 

​​“In the middle of the night. In that?” He gestures vaguely toward you without turning. Your cloak shifts as you glance down at yourself. The hem of your pink dress peeks out, delicate and impractical. The sight of it makes you wince. It’s not exactly what you’d have chosen for sneaking into the woods, but there hadn’t been time to change. You had very minimal time before the confines of your bedroom swallowed you whole. 

“Yes, this,” you reply, tilting your chin. “Not all of us plan our wardrobe for forest excursions.” 

That earns you a glance over his shoulder. His eyes rake over you, lingering just long enough to make you self-conscious. Then he snorts. “You look like you wandered out of a ball. Did you lose your way to the dance floor?” Your spine straightens at his words. He didn’t know..did he? 

Your cheeks burn. “For your information, I didn’t plan to be out here tonight.” You try your best to avert the subject, avoiding all talk of balls and princess-like duties. 

“Oh, clearly,” he mutters, turning back to his bow. “Because you definitely blend right in.” 

You roll your eyes, stepping closer again. “Are you always this charming, or am I just lucky?” Your lips purse suppressing your smile. That gets his attention. He pauses mid-draw and glances at you, one eyebrow raised. For a moment, you think you’ve caught him off guard, but then his lips twitch in what might be the ghost of a smirk. “Lucky,” he says dryly, before loosing the arrow. Another perfect shot. 

You shake your head, exasperated but oddly entertained. “You’re impossible.” 

“And you’re nosy,” he counters, retrieving another arrow. 

“I don't get out much.” You say with a lift of your shoulders. 

“Clearly.” He deadpanned. “What’s your excuse for being out here, anyway? Fancy dresses and all?” 

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, pulling your cloak tighter. “I needed to get away.” 

“From what?” he asks, his tone skeptical. 

You glance at the ground, then back up at him. His eyes are on you now, not the target, and you feel a strange urge to tell the truth. Not all of it, but enough. “Look who's being nosey now.” He snorts as you continue “My parents,” you admit softly. “They’re… overbearing.” 

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

You narrow your eyes. “I’m serious. They’ve been pressuring me nonstop, telling me who I should be, what I should want. It’s—” You trail off, shaking your head. “It’s exhausting.” 

For a moment, he just looks at you, the teasing edge in his expression fading. “So, what? You ran off to the woods to escape their nagging?” 

“Something like that,” you say, lifting your chin. “Not that it’s any of your business.” 

He huffed a laugh and leaned against his bow. “Fair enough. But sneaking into the woods wearing that dress?” He gestures again at the hem of your gown. “Bold choice.” 

“Do you ever stop criticizing people?” you shoot back, though there’s no real venom in your words. 

“Not when they make it this easy.” His smirk returns, faint but noticeable. 

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling beneath your hood. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not leaving.” 

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, turning back to his target. “Just don’t expect me to babysit you if you trip over your fancy shoes.”  

You bite back a retort and instead settle against a tree to watch him. He doesn’t seem to mind—though he throws the occasional glance your way, as if checking to make sure you haven’t disappeared or done something foolish. The silence stretches, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the rhythmic thwack of his arrows. It’s strangely comforting, this moment shared with a stranger in the middle of the woods. For the first time in weeks, the weight of the crown on your head feels a little lighter. 

You watch as he moves with practiced ease, drawing and releasing arrow after arrow. The steady rhythm of his practice feels like the heartbeat of the forest, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed. For a moment, you close your eyes, letting the quiet wash over you. The weight of the day—the endless parade of suitors, the sharp-edged words of your parents, the suffocating walls of the castle—feels distant now, almost unreal. Out here, under the stars, you’re not the princess with a duty to marry for the good of the kingdom. You’re just… you. 

The thought stirs something bittersweet in your chest. You know this moment can’t last. Sooner or later, you’ll have to return to the castle, to the expectations and the responsibilities. This fleeting sense of freedom, of solace, will be nothing but a memory. You open your eyes again, focusing on him. He’s still at it, firing arrow after arrow with a precision that’s almost mesmerizing. There’s a quiet determination in the way he moves, as though this practice is more than a simple pastime. It feels like a ritual, a way of carving out his own space in the world. He moved like he was meant to be there, like the act of archery was engraved into his soul. 

For a brief, foolish moment, you wonder what it would be like to stay. To slip away from the castle every night, to watch him practice and trade sharp words under the moonlight. But you shake the thought away. It’s impossible. Still, you linger. You don’t want to leave just yet—not while the night still feels alive around you, not while you can still breathe without the weight of the crown pressing down.

Silently, you push away from the tree and step back into the shadows. The forest seems quieter now, as though it knows you’re leaving. You glance back once, catching the faint glint of his bow in the moonlight, the outline of his form as he lines up another shot. You slip away before he can notice, retracing your steps through the woods and back toward the castle. The chill of the night air clings to you, and the weight of reality begins to settle back onto your shoulders with each step closer to the towering walls.

By the time you slip through the garden gate, the spell is broken. The castle looms ahead, its windows dark and silent, the very air around it heavy with expectations. But for a few precious hours, you had tasted something different—something real. And as you climb the servant’s staircase back to your chambers, you can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever see him again. 

The morning sun filters through the stained-glass windows of the dining hall, casting jeweled patterns onto the long oak table. You sit in your usual seat, the one that feels more like a throne than a chair, the weight of your parents’ presence pressing down on you like the crown you don’t yet wear. Breakfast is a quiet affair, at least for you. The clink of silverware and the murmurs of servants fill the space as your father, The king mutters about political alliances to your mother, The Queen. His deep voice carries a sharp edge, his words precise and biting, even when directed at your mother. You keep your head down, focused on the food sitting in front of you. 

You barely hear him call your name. Your thoughts are elsewhere—lost in the forest, in the soft rustle of leaves and the quiet thwack of an arrow hitting its mark. You see the archer in your mind’s eye, his focused gaze, the smooth movement of his hands as he loosed each shot. “Are you listening?” your father snaps, his voice cutting through your reverie like a whip. 

You blink, startled, and glance up at him. His dark eyes are cold and unforgiving, his thick brows drawn into a scowl. “Yes, Father,” you lie, though you have no idea what he just said. Trying to gather yourself. Your father was a very angry man, even more so when you were being disobedient. 

He doesn’t believe you—he never does—but he waves it off, taking another bite of bread. “Good. Then you understand how important this ball is.” 

The word ball yanks you out of your thoughts entirely. You sit up straighter, your heart sinking. “A ball?” You narrowly avoided most balls claiming to be sick, or having your nursemaid lie and say you had lessons very early in the morning. Not like your parents knew you were lying, they rarely kept track of those things, only that they were being done. 

“Yes,” your mother says, her voice softer but no less resolute. She looks at you with the faintest trace of pity, but it does little to soothe the knot forming in your chest. “It’s time for you to meet suitors. Proper ones. The lords of the neighboring countries will all be in attendance.” 

You shake your head, your fingers tightening around the silver spoon in your hand. “I don’t want a ball. I don’t want suitors.” You regretted the words as soon as they left your lips. Any defiance to your father was a grave mistake, one you were sure you’d regret shortly here. 

Your father slams his goblet onto the table, making you flinch. “You don’t get to decide what you want,” he growls. “You have a duty to this kingdom, girl. Do you think your whims matter when alliances are at stake?” His words shake you. You knew how he felt but hearing him say it didn't make the blow any less hurtful. It brought you back to the quiet nights you spent curled into a ball on your bed at eight years old wondering why your daddy didn't love you like the other daddies did, why was yours so mean. 

You lower your gaze to your plate, your stomach twisting. The archer’s face flickers in your mind again, unbidden. You wonder what he would say if he saw you like this, cowed under your father’s fury. The pink hue of your long hair covering your face shielding you from your embarrassment. “You’ll go to your dress fitting after breakfast,” your mother adds, her tone brisk as though she’s trying to smooth over the tension. “Nursemaid Kora will take you. Everything must be perfect.” 

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

“Yes,” you say quietly, though the word feels like ash on your tongue. The king grunts, satisfied, and turns back to his food. The rest of breakfast passes in strained silence, broken only by the occasional murmur of servants or the scrape of knives on plates. Your thoughts were loud as they rattled around in your head. 

Oh how did you long for a normal life, with a normal family and parents who loved you. You glance toward the far end of the room, where the king’s guard stands like statues, their polished armor gleaming faintly in the morning light. Their presence is a constant reminder of the cage you live in—one gilded and grand, but a cage nonetheless. 

Your mind drifts again, this time to the forest, to the sense of freedom you’d felt beneath the trees. To the archer, with his sharp gaze and quiet strength. You wonder if he’s out there now, practicing his craft in the clearing. Does he think about you at all? Did he even notice the way you lingered last night? You thought of his beautiful face and the way the moonlight caught it just right. 

Foolishly you thought of a life with him. One filled with love and light, one that you had only conjured in your mind. It was unattainable and you were sure you would never see him again but still the thought loosened your bones and slowled the rapid beating of your heart. You didn't even know his name, and he yours but still you daydreamed the way he would whisper it, into the woods and into wind all the way until it reached you. It would engulf you, swirling around your being and reaching your heart. 

Your mother calls your name with a softness that only you knew was faux. “Come.” She says rising from her seat. “Kora is waiting.” You nod numbly and stand, your pink dress swishing around your legs as you follow her out of the dining hall. But your heart stays behind, tangled somewhere between the memory of the archer’s steady hands and the ache of knowing you’ll likely never see him again. 

The village square bustled with life, though as always, it seemed to pulse around him, not with him. Yeonjun stood near the edge of the market, his wares laid out neatly on a rough-hewn table: freshly skinned rabbit pelts, bundles of dried herbs, and slabs of venison wrapped in cloth. He adjusted the placement of the furs, not because they needed straightening, but because it gave him something to do.

The morning sun warmed his back, but he felt no comfort in it. A pair of women whispered as they passed, their glances darting his way like skittish birds. One muttered a prayer under her breath, her gaze lingering on the scar that cut across his brow—a mark left by a long-forgotten accident but whispered about like it was the devil’s curse. They always whispered about him. Yeonjun the orphan. Yeonjun the cursed. He clenched his jaw and focused on his work, brushing his fingers over the pelts. Let them talk.

“Still brooding, I see.” Yeonjun didn’t need to look up to recognize the voice. Beomgyu, his only friend, or as close to one as he allowed. The man sauntered over, carrying a sack slung across his broad shoulders, his cheeks red from the morning chill.

“I’m not brooding,” Yeonjun muttered, though he didn’t lift his head. 

“Sure you’re not.” Beomgyu dropped the sack beside the table with a dull thud. “You’ve got that same ‘stay away from me’ look you always do.” Beomgyu sent Yeonjun a crooked teasing grin. 

Yeonjun gave him a sidelong glance. “It works, doesn’t it?”

Beomgyu laughed, a deep, easy sound that drew a few more glances from the villagers. Unlike Yeonjun , Beomgyu seemed immune to the weight of their stares. His carelessness was off putting to Yeonjun “You know, you might be less miserable if you actually talked to people once in a while.”

“I talk to you, don’t I?” Yeonjun said flatly.

Beomgyu shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not people. I’m a saint for putting up with you.” A saint was far from what Yeonjun would call Beomgyu. The boy was anything but a saint. 

Yeonjun huffed a quiet laugh despite himself, but the faint flicker of amusement quickly faded. His mind drifted unbidden to the girl in the woods. Her cloak, the way the moonlight caught the strands of pink hair peeking from beneath it. Who was she? Although he rarely frequented the village, opting to stick to his little cabin in the woods, he was sure that he would spot that bright pink hair anywhere on any given day. Everyone came to the village on selling days, surely he would have seen her walking around, right? 

He’d told himself to forget her. To let her vanish into the shadows of memory like everything else. But the image of her standing beneath the trees, her voice soft but bold, wouldn’t leave him. “Anyway,” Beomgyu said, breaking Yeonjun’s thoughts, “I came to ask you something.”

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

Beomgyu grinned, a little too wide. “There’s work up at the castle.”

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

“Don’t be like that,” Beomgyu said, unfazed. “The princess’s ball is coming up. They need extra hands for the feast. We’d be in the kitchens, nothing fancy. Just bringing up meat for the royals.”

“I said no,” Yeonjun growled, his voice low.

Beomgyu leaned against the table, crossing his arms. Gone was the playfulness, a look of desperation in its place. “Look, I know you hate the nobles—” 

“I don’t hate them,” Yeonjun snapped. “I just don’t care for their games.” 

“Fine. Call it what you want. But they’re paying good coin, and we could use the work.” Beomgyu’s voice softened slightly. “You could use it, Yeonjun. How long are you going to keep doing this?” He gestured to the table, to the furs and meat that earned just enough to keep him alive. Yeonjun glanced down, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. He did need the money. 

“Fine,” he muttered finally, his voice sharp and bitter. 

Beomgyu clapped him on the shoulder. “Good man.” Yeonjun flinched away from the touch, shrugging it off. He started packing up his things, his movements quick and tense. But even as he worked, his mind drifted again to the girl in the woods. 

Her voice had been so sure when she’d said she was curious, her smile hidden beneath her hood. And yet, there had been something else in her eyes, something that mirrored the ache he carried in his own chest. Almost like a mirror of himself. It didn’t matter. He couldn’t see her again. 

Everyone he loved—everyone he cared for—was gone. His family, his friends. Death followed him like a shadow, and he would not drag her into it. He wouldn’t. He would take the coin from the castle and leave. He wouldn’t think about her again. But as he slung his pack over his shoulder and followed Beomgyu out of the square, he knew it was a lie.

The cabin creaked as the night wind curled around its edges, pushing through the gaps in the wooden shutters. Yeonjun sat by the hearth, sharpening his hunting knife with slow, deliberate strokes. The repetitive motion grounded him, giving him a momentary reprieve from his restless thoughts. The fire crackled, casting shadows on the walls, but the warmth did little to soften the cold weight in his chest. The girl from the woods was still there in his mind, her pink hair catching the moonlight, her voice lilting like birdsong. He hated that he kept thinking about her. 

A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness. Yeonjun froze, his hand tightening on the knife. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his eyes fixed on the door. No one came out here—no one dared, except for Beomgyu. And Beomgyu never knocked, opting to barge whenever he pleased. Another knock, louder this time.

With a sigh, Yeonjun stood and set the knife on the table. He crossed the room, pulling the door open just enough to see who stood on the other side.A boy no older than seventeen stared up at him, his cheeks flushed from the cold and his arms full of rolled newspapers. His oversized coat hung awkwardly on his skinny frame, and his breath came in little white puffs. 

“Mr.Yeonjun!��� the boy said brightly, his voice breaking through the quiet night. Yeonjun recognized him as the oldest Huening son, Kai. A paper boy for all of the village. Why he was delivering Papers this late at night was beyond Yeonjun. 

“What are you doing here?” Yeonjun said sharply, glancing past the boy to the empty forest path. “You’re supposed to leave the paper on the doorstep.” 

Kai shifted on his feet, suddenly nervous under Yeonjun’s glare. “I—I know. But I wanted to see you.” 

“Why?” Was all Yeonjun said, not in the mood for a long winded conversation at this hour. 

Kai’s face lit up, his nervousness replaced with eager determination. “I’ve seen you. In the woods. Shooting your bow. You’re amazing! No one in the village can shoot like you can.” He took a step closer, his wide eyes shining with admiration. “Will you teach me?” The light from the cabin illuminated the boy's features, catching the stark blonde of his hair and his boyish features. Although Yeonjun was only a few years older than the boy he had felt far more wise beyond his years. Kai was comparable to a..well a child in Yeonjun’s eyes. 

Yeonjun stared at him, the boy’s words settling like an unwelcome weight in his chest. “No,” he said bluntly. 

​​Kai’s  face fell, but he pressed on. “Please, I’ll work for it! I can help with chores, or—” 

“You don’t understand,” Yeonjun interrupted, his voice low and hard. “I don’t have time to waste teaching some kid how to shoot arrows.”

Kai flinched, but he held his ground. “I—I could learn fast,” he stammered. “I swear I’d—”

“Go home,” Yeonjun snapped, his hand tightening on the door. “It’s late. You shouldn’t even be out here.” Kai hesitated, but he finally nodded. Yeonjun shut the door without another word. He leaned against it for a moment, exhaling slowly as Kai’s footsteps faded down the path.

The room felt colder now, the fire’s warmth unable to reach him. He shook his head and went back to his chair, picking up the knife again. He didn’t need anyone else relying on him. He didn’t need one more thing to care about. Everyone who had ever mattered to him was gone. Kai didn’t understand what he was asking for. Yeonjun couldn’t be a mentor, a teacher, a protector. He wouldn’t risk letting someone else into his life—just to lose them too. The paper still sat on the doorstep, forgotten in the cold. 

The grand hall of the castle was an entirely different world from the forest Yeonjun knew so well. The air was thick with the scent of roasted meats, spiced wine, and perfumes far too sweet for his liking. Chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, their flickering candlelight casting golden hues over the polished floors and the opulent tapestries lining the walls.Yeonjun had never set foot in the castle before. Being surrounded by so many nobles who shot him noticeable looks of disdain was something he would never get used to, even as the hours ticked by. 

Yeonjun moved silently through the crowd, a tray of roasted duck balanced on one hand. His dark tunic and dress pants, provided by the castle staff, were a poor attempt at blending in. He still felt like a wolf among peacocks. The nobility barely noticed him as he passed, save for the occasional stare, their laughter and chatter a dull hum in his ears.“Keep moving,” Beomgyu muttered as he brushed past with a tray of wine-filled glasses. “And don’t glare at everyone. You’ll scare off the coin.” 

Yeonjun grunted but said nothing, his focus on his task. He hated the castle, hated the hollow grandeur of it all. The villagers whispered about the luxury the royals lived in, and now, seeing it up close, Yeonjun understood why they seethed with resentment. “Ladies and gentlemen!” a booming voice called, silencing the room. The herald stepped forward, his red and gold uniform gleaming in the light. “May I present her royal highness, Our very own Princess. Daughter of The King and Queen!”  

Yeonjun froze.

The crowd turned toward the sweeping staircase, where she appeared, her head held high, her movements graceful and deliberate. She wore a gown of shimmering silver, the fabric catching the light like starlight on water. But it wasn’t the dress that made his chest tighten. Stopping in his tracks in the middle of the dance floor. 

It was her hair.

Pink. 

His breath caught in his throat as memories of the woods flooded back—the girl in the cloak, her bold words, her curiosity. He had thought of her endlessly since that night, but he’d never expected this. She descended the staircase slowly, her expression serene, but Yeonjun caught the brief flicker of nerves in her eyes. She scanned the room, her gaze brushing over the sea of faces, until it landed on him. Her steps faltered, just barely, and only for a mere second. It had gone unnoticed by everyone but him. He knew the look in her eye matched his own. 

Yeonjun saw the recognition in her widened eyes, the way her lips parted as though she might speak. But then she blinked, regaining her composure. Her gaze slid away as though nothing had happened, and she continued her descent. His grip on the tray tightened, his heart pounding in his chest. He had vowed not to see her again, and yet here she was, standing among the very people he resented most. He wasn’t sure what the feeling in his chest was. Resentment? Anger? A little bit of pity? Really he shouldn't be surprised that she didn't tell him who she was the night in the woods but still..Yeonjun felt like a fool. 

The evening wore on, the ball unfolding in a haze of music and laughter. Yeonjun moved through the crowd, refilling glasses and delivering trays of food. But his attention was drawn to her, no matter how hard he tried to focus on his work. She danced with suitors, her gown flowing around her like liquid light. She smiled at them, laughed at their jokes, but Yeonjun saw the tension in her posture, the way her smile never quite reached her eyes. He had only known her a short while and still he knew the true feeling behind her faux smile. How had no one noticed how much she hated this? How did the King and Queen not? Or did they just not care?

Despite the distance between them, she noticed him too. Their eyes met across the room again and again—when he passed by with a tray of wine, when she lingered near the edge of the dance floor. Each time, her gaze lingered a moment too long before she looked away. Yeonjun felt fear that someone would notice, someone who would think that there was more there than what led on. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t want to see her. By the time the night began to wane, Yeonjun was certain of one thing: the princess was just as out of place here as he was. 

As the night went on the small glances toward each other had become too much for Yeonjun to bear. The need for food and drink was starting to die down as the nobles became more intoxicated, sticking to their silly little dances and belly laughing conversations. He decided excusing himself to go outside for fresh air was the best thing for him. The cool night air was a welcome reprieve from the stifling ballroom. Yeonjun leaned against the stone balustrade of the castle balcony, the distant sound of music and laughter muffled by the heavy doors behind him. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, stars scattered like flecks of silver against the inky black. 

He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his dark hair. This was a mistake—coming here, taking this job. Seeing her. He knew even being near the castle would bring him trouble. He knew he hated royals for a reason. The door creaked open behind him, the soft rustle of fabric giving her away before she even spoke. Yeonjun closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose. He looked around at his surroundings. “Shouldn’t you be inside, Your Highness?” he said without turning around to look at her. 

“I could say the same about you,” she replied, her voice carrying that same mix of curiosity and defiance he remembered from the woods. Yeonjun turned, his arms crossed. She stood just a few feet away, the silver gown catching the faint light like moonbeams on water. Her pink hair spilled over her shoulders, and she looked more like a dream than a person. A dangerous dream. “You shouldn’t be out here,” he said flatly. “Someone might see us.” 

“I don’t care,” she said, stepping closer, teetering on a thin line close to danger. 

“Well, I do,” he shot back. “If anyone gets the wrong idea—” 

“Let them,” she interrupted. Her gaze was steady, unwavering. “I wanted to talk to you.” 

​​Yeonjun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“There is,” she insisted. “I—I wanted to explain.”

“Explain what?” He gestured toward her, his voice dropping. “That you’re a princess and I’m just some cursed hunter? That we shouldn’t even be in the same room together?” Her eyes knit together at the word cursed, it had given Yeonjun a small sprinkling of foolish hope that she hadn’t heard about him, and what people whispered about him and his family. 

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t back down. “You’re angry.” Her cheeks flush from the cold. If it weren't for the circumstances Yeonjun would have thought it to be cute. 

“I’m not angry,” Yeonjun said sharply. “I’m realistic. You shouldn’t be here, and I definitely shouldn’t be here with you.” 

She stepped closer, her voice softening. “Why not? Because I’m a princess?” Her pink hair framing her face in the most delicate way. 

“Yes!” he snapped, his eyes narrowing. “Because you’re a princess. And if anyone sees us out here, I’ll be the one paying for it, not you.” 

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “You’re right. I am a princess. And all night, I’ve had to smile and pretend that everything’s fine. That I’m perfectly happy dancing with men who don’t know a thing about me. But I saw you, and for a moment, I felt…” Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat. They were definitely inching towards a very dangerous game, one he didn't want to play. 

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Yeonjun interrupted, his voice low. He couldn't hear her say it. 

“Why?” She asked, crossing her arms. “Because you’ll be tempted to feel something too?” 

He scoffed, looking away. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Unable to look her in the eye. 

“Oh, I think I’m right,” she said, a spark of mischief lighting her eyes. She smiled, and for a moment, the tension in his chest tightened. 

“You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “This isn’t about you. It’s about me. I don’t want…” He trailed off, his hands clenching into fists. 

“Don’t want what?” she pressed gently, not that she had to press much. Yeonjun would soon turn to a pile of mush for her if she needed him to.  

“I don’t want my head to end up on a stake,” he said bluntly, turning back to her. “All because you’re having some sort of quarter-life crisis.” 

Her mouth opened in surprise, then closed again as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re infuriating,” she muttered. 

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

She tilted her head, studying him. “Is that why you keep looking at me? Because you think I’m reckless?” 

“I’m not interested in falling in love,” he said firmly, ignoring her question. 

The words seemed to land heavier than he intended. For the first time, her confidence faltered, her expression softening. “You’re lying,” she said quietly. The look on her face hurt Yeonjun more than he would like to admit. 

“Think whatever you want,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But nothing good can come of this. Go inside, Your Highness. Your kingdom’s waiting.”

“What’s your name?” She asked with a whisper. “Please grant me that.” Her voice pleading was soft enough to melt his heart. 

“Choi Yeonjun, my name is Choi Yeonjun, and I'm sorry.” Before she could respond, he slipped back into the ballroom, leaving her standing alone on the balcony beneath the stars. 

The days following the ball were restless. You went through the motions of royal life—meals with your parents, lessons on etiquette, the endless parade of suitors vying for your hand. But none of it could hold your attention. You couldn’t stop thinking about him.

Yeonjun. 

His name was an anchor, tethering you to something real in a world that felt increasingly false. Every glance exchanged at the ball, every word spoken in the woods, played on a loop in your mind. By the third night, you couldn’t take it anymore. You knew the risks, but the yearning to see him again was stronger than your fear. As the castle sank into sleep, you enlisted the help of your nursemaid, the one person who had ever shown you an ounce of warmth. 

“She’ll kill me for this,” she muttered, bundling you into a heavy cloak. “But I’ll not have you looking like a caged bird any longer. Be back before dawn, child.” With her help, you slipped past the guards, past the watchful eyes of the palace, and into the night. The forest was alive with the sounds of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind. It guided you, just as it had the night before, to the clearing where you had first seen him. The path there was more grueling than you remembered, probably due to the anticipation of seeing him again. 

There he was. Yeonjun stood in the moonlight, his bow drawn, the string taut as he aimed at a crude target pinned to a tree. He let the arrow fly, and it struck true, embedding itself with a satisfying thunk. You stepped forward, the forest floor damp beneath your boots. “Impressive as always.” 

He spun around, his hand already reaching for another arrow. But this time, he didn’t nock it. His shoulders stiffened as he recognized you, and his brow furrowed in frustration. “Princess,” he said sharply, his voice low but tinged with anger. “What are you doing here?” 

“I came to see you,” you said, as calmly as you could manage, the rapid beating of your heart against your ribcage a testament to what you actually felt. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yeonjun hissed, stepping closer. His eyes were dark, and the tension in his frame reminded you of a coiled spring. “Do you have any idea what could happen if someone found out?” 

“I don’t care,” you replied, lifting your chin. “I had to come.” You could admit that you were being incredibly stubborn but you didn’t care. This was something you had to do. 

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “Go home, Your Highness. Now.” 

“No.” The single word hung in the air between you, and the silence stretched until it was broken by the first raindrop splashing onto the ground. The cold finally sets into your bones and sends a shiver up your spine. You wrapped your cloak closer around your body not letting the droplets of rain sway you. 

Yeonjun looked up at the sky, his expression darkening. “It’s going to pour. You need to leave.” 

“And leave a lady out in the rain? How very gallant of you,” you said, unable to resist the jab. You weren’t above a bit of manipulation. 

He muttered something under his breath before sighing deeply. “Fine. But only until the rain stops.” He turns without another word leading you down a small path. Your footsteps light as you follow closely behind him. The rain picked up in an instant pelting you in only the short walk to the cabin. 

The cabin looked cozy enough, nothing grand but you loved it. It felt intimate and new. You fought a small smile as you overlooked the dark wood, this is where Yeonjun lived. He opened the door without a word gesturing for you to go inside. 

The cabin was warm, the fire crackling in the fireplace as you stepped inside. Yeonjun shut the door behind you, his movements tense. He didn’t speak as he grabbed a blanket and thrust it toward you. “Dry off,” he said curtly. 

You took it, sitting down in the lone chair by the fire. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unspoken. “You’re angry,” you said finally. 

“Of course I’m angry,” he said, his tone clipped. “Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If someone finds out—” 

“I’m careful,” you interrupted. “No one followed me. Kora made sure of that.” 

“That’s not the point,” he said, pacing now. “You don’t belong here, and I don’t belong in your world. Whatever this is—” He gestured between you. “It needs to stop.” 

“Why?” you asked, standing. “Because you’re scared?” Throwing the blanket he had given to you onto the chair. 

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

“Yes, you are,” you said, stepping closer. “You’re scared to feel something, scared to let someone in. But I see it, Yeonjun. You’re not as closed off as you pretend to be.” 

He froze, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t know me. 

“Then tell me,” you said, your voice softening. “Tell me about your life. Let me understand.” 

“You're making this difficult.” He said looking over at you, his eyes tired. His eyes caught the dark specs beautifully. Although only a few years older than you, you could tell he loved a much longer life. Had to endure things you've never even dreamed of, it aged him. 

“Why? Because I’m here?” You were not going to let this go. 

“Because you don’t belong here,” he snapped, finally meeting your gaze. “You have no idea what this world is like, what it costs.” 

You hesitated before speaking. “Then tell me. Show me what it’s like.” You pleaded again. 

His laugh was bitter, hollow. “What’s the point? You’ll go back to your castle and forget all about it.” 

“I won’t,” you said firmly. “I promise.” 

Yeonjun hesitated, the fight in him faltering as he sank onto the bench across from you. The firelight danced across his face. For a moment his vulnerability painted him as a young boy, one who suffered great loss. “My family,” he began, his voice quiet, “used to live in a village not far from here. My parents, my sister, and me. We didn’t have much, but we were happy. Then the fever came.” You didn’t dare interrupt, your chest tightening as you watched him. “They died within weeks of each other,” he said, staring into the flames. “One by one. And I… I couldn’t save them. Couldn’t do anything.” 

“Yeonjun,” you whispered, your heart aching for him.

“I’ve been on my own ever since,” he said, his voice hardening. “It’s better that way. No one else to lose. The fever hit many families but a lot of them survived. Mine did not. They call me cursed and…I started to believe I am.” 

You leaned forward, your hands gripping the edge of the chair. “But you had something beautiful once, something most people never get—a family that loved each other. I’d give anything to have had that.” He frowned, his gaze flickering to you. 

“My parents… they care about power, appearances,” you said bitterly. “I’ve never been more than a pawn to them. I used to dream of having a family like yours, people who loved me for me. Even if I lost them, at least I’d have had it for a little while.” 

Yeonjun’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t look away. “You still have a chance to love,” you said softly. “To let people in again.” 

He shook his head. “You don’t understand. Everyone I love… they die. It’s like I’m cursed.” You sat across from him, your hands folded tightly in your lap to keep them from trembling. You hadn’t anticipated how deeply his words would cut not because they hurt you, but because they made you ache for him. 

“You loved them,” you said softly, breaking the silence. 

He didn’t look at you, but his jaw tightened. “Of course I did.” 

“And they loved you,” you continued. “That’s why it hurts so much, isn’t it?”

His gaze flicked to you then, sharp and guarded. “What’s your point?” 

“That love isn’t a curse,Yeonjun,” you said, leaning forward. “It’s a gift. Even if it’s fleeting, even if it’s painful when it’s gone, it’s still worth having.” 

His laugh was bitter, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Easy for you to say. You’ve never lost everything.” 

You hesitated, your chest tightening. “You’re right. I haven’t. But I’ve never had what you had, either.” 

Your voice trembled. “I used to dream about having a family like yours. A mother who held me when I cried, a father who wasn’t so… cold. Even if it didn’t last forever, at least I would have known what it felt like to be truly loved.” You said again. Yeonjun’s expression softened, his eyes searching yours as though he was seeing you for the first time. 

“That’s why I came here,” you said. “Not just to get away from them, but because you made me feel something real. For once, I wasn’t just a princess. I was… me.” 

He looked away, his fingers running along the edge of his bow. “You shouldn’t have come back. You’re playing with fire, and you don’t even realize it.” 

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

He shook his head. “This—whatever this is—it can’t happen. You and I are from different worlds. There’s nothing but heartbreak waiting down this road.” 

“I’m willing to take that chance,” you said, standing and crossing the room to him. And you were telling the truth. You had never truly felt love, so even if fleeting you’d kill to feel it just once. You didn't know what the future held for the two of you but you knew you were capable of loving Yeonjun, for however long the universe would allow it. 

He looked up at you, his dark eyes conflicted. “You shouldn’t be.” 

“Why not?” you challenged. “Because you’re afraid? Or because you think you’re not worth it?” 

The question hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, slowly, you reached out and rested your hand on his. His fingers tensed beneath yours, but he didn’t pull away. Your heart thumped loudly in your chest. 

“Yeonjun,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let someone in. Even if it’s just for a moment.”

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching. When he opened them again, the raw vulnerability in his gaze stole yours. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice hoarse. 

“I know exactly what I’m asking,” you said, leaning closer. 

Your heart pounded as you searched his face, waiting, hoping. And then, slowly, he lifted a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin. “I shouldn’t…” he murmured, but the words trailed off as his gaze dropped to your lips. 

“You should,” you whispered. And then he kissed you. 

It was tentative at first, a soft, testing press of his lips against yours. But the hesitation didn’t last long. The tension that had crackled between you from the moment you met ignited, and the kiss deepened, pulling you into its heat. His hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tilted your head to deepen the connection. His other hand rested on your waist, steadying you as your knees threatened to buckle beneath the intensity of it. 

You felt everything in that kiss, his pain, his longing, his fear, and you poured your own emotions into it, trying to tell him without words that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to push you away. When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths ragged. Neither of you spoke for a long moment, the sound of the rain outside mingling with the crackle of the fire. 

“This is a mistake,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. 

“Then let it be my mistake,” you said, your voice trembling. “But don’t push me away because you’re scared.” 

His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw the cracks in his armor, the pieces of himself he had tried so hard to keep hidden. He didn’t move away. If anything, Yeonjun seemed frozen, his fingers still tangled in your hair, his breath warm against your skin. You could feel the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath your hand where it rested against his chest, matching the wild rhythm of your own.

Then, as if something inside him broke free, he pulled you closer. His lips found yours again, no longer tentative but fierce, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every buried feeling, into the kiss. You melted against him, your hands sliding up to rest on his shoulders, anchoring yourself as the world seemed to spin away. His grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened, heat building between you like the fire crackling in the fireplace. 

Every touch, every movement, felt like a revelation. The roughness of his fingers on your skin, the way he tilted his head to take the kiss deeper, the quiet, almost desperate sound he made when your hands slipped up to cradle his face—it was all overwhelming and intoxicating and completely consuming. When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. Yeonjun rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed as if he was trying to steady himself. His hand remained on your waist, his thumb brushing idly against the fabric of your cloak.

“You don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. 

“I think I do,” you whispered, your own voice shaky. A sense of unfamiliar excitement pooling in your belly. 

“You don’t understand what you’re getting into.” He breathed out. 

“Then explain it to me,” you said, your tone soft but insistent. 

He hesitated, his eyes flicking down to your lips again as though he couldn’t help himself. Instead of answering, he kissed you again. 

This time, it was slower, softer. It wasn’t born of desperation but something deeper, something quieter. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that made your heart ache, his hands cradling you like you were something fragile. You lost yourself in it, the world outside the cabin falling away. There was only Yeonjun. The taste of him, the warmth of his touch, the quiet strength in the way he held you. 

When he pulled back again, his lips barely brushing against yours, he rested his forehead against yours once more. “This can’t last,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Maybe it doesn’t have to,” you replied, your fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck. “Maybe we just let it be what it is, for however long we have.” 

His eyes opened, and the vulnerability there was almost too much to bear. “You’re going to ruin me, princess,” he said softly.

“Then let me ruin you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate. The kiss was more hurried, rushed and sloppy. 

“I don’t know if I can hold myself back.” He spoke with a huff. 

“Don’t.” Was all you said as you toyed with the collar of his shirt. “Don’t hold back, I want this.” 

“Have you ever done..anything before?” The question left an embarrassing red tint to your cheeks. Of course you hadn’t. This had been your first kiss. 

“No.” Your voice a whisper as you hide your blush with your hair. 

“Are you sure you want this?” His voice was firm as he gripped your hips firmly in his hand, almost like he was grounding himself. As if it was taking everything in him to not pounce on you this very moment. 

“Please.” You spoke with a newfound desperation. “I’m sure.” 

His lips attached to your neck next. It was tender and soft. The delicacy he used only quickened the speed of your already rapidly beating heart. His hands found the sleeve of your dress before slowly bringing it down your shoulder and your arm. The light from the fireplace is a catalyst to your warmth. The light illuminated the two of you like starlight. His lips moved the expanse of your neck and met your collarbone in feather-like kisses. 

“You're beautiful.” He whispered, moving your hair back. 

“Can I take this off?” Your voice was hushed with a lit of intimidation hanging in the words. You gestured to his white shirt pawing at the buttons. 

“Of course.” His smile was warm, comforting. You made quick work of unbuttoning the buttons yanking his shirt off in one fail swoop. You took your time inspecting the contours of his chest and torso. In awe of his sheer beauty. He was young, toned, and beautiful. Your fingers delicately danced around his body taking mental pictures. 

“Like what you see?” He smirks at you, a tilt to his lips you found incredibly adorable. 

“Yes.” You said simply with a shrug, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Can I take this off?” His hands toy with the dress you wore. It wasn't a big puffy dress like you would wear on a normal day. It was flat and required no corset, no zipper. It simply slipped off. A surge of confidence rushed through you and you figured you'd take hold of it before it washed away. 

You pushed Yeonjun back against the plush couch. His back connected with the cushion behind him. His face lit up with an adorable surprise. “What are you-” 

“Shh” You smiled playfully. You rose from your seat now standing directly in front of him. You reached your hands to your sleeves pulling them down slowly. 

Yeonjun smiled, resting his hands behind his head before sending you a mock bow of approval. “Suit yourself, your highness.” 

“Shut up.” You giggle shyly pulling the rest of the dress down until the fabric meets the floor in a pile. 

“Absolutely beautiful.” He said with an unashamed look in his eye. You stood bare in front of him now, only panties and nothing else. No bra to hold in your breasts. You had never been so exposed. You reached down, riding yourself of the last of your clothing. 

You had never been naked in front of a man before. Oddly you weren't nervous with Yeonjun, you felt content, you felt reassured. 

“Come here.” Yeonjun’s voice was rough and almost hoarse, it was incredibly sexy. 

You sat before him, completely naked but full trusting. “I’m going to prep you first okay Princess?” 

You nodded dumbly as he carefully laid you down on the sofa falling to his knees in front of you. “Tell me if you want to stop at any point and I will. Am I clear?” You nodded again, finding it hard to muster up words when he was looking at you like that. 

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

“Yes.” The one word like a green light to Yeonjun. His mouth falling to be level with your core. You watched with keen fascination as his breath fanned the most intimate part of you. His tongue licked up one strip causing a gasp to leave your lips. Your hips lifting from the couch in surprise. His growl of disapproval sent shivers down your spine as his hands firmly pressed your hips back down onto the couch. 

His mouth reattached to your slit lapping and licking at the sensitive bud. “Oh-” You whined your mouth involuntarily curling into an ‘O’ shape. 

His eyes searched for yours wildly, a desire for approval in his gaze. “How’s that feel?” He asked coming up for a breath. 

“G-good.” You stuttered out. “More..” 

“Greedy are we Princess?” he quirked a thick brow at you. 

“Mhm..” You moaned unashamed of your clear desperation. His hand lifted ghosting over your entrance, his tongue back to lapping up your juices. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“W-what?” Your mind was in a daze as his thumb lazily circled your clit, his tongue still ghosting over your entrance. 

“Has this little princess ever touched herself?” His voice was rougher now, more demanding. 

“Y-yes.” You admitted shyly. “Sometimes” 

Yeonjun tsk’d slowly adding a finger into your awaiting entrance, taking it slower so as to not hurt you. 

“My god.” You whispered. 

“Dirty girl..” Yeonjun trailed off, reaching his free hand up to grab onto yours that was clutching the cushion of the couch in your hand. 

“More..” You whined, grinding yourself against Yeonjun’s hand, a desperate moan leaving your lips. 

“I think you're ready.” He pulled his finger out with ease. A hiss of pleasure leaving your lips. 

“Are you ready sweetheart?” His words were gentle as he quickly removed his pants and boxers. The sheer size of him catching you off guard and rendering you near speechless. 

“Words, princess.” His tone held authority, something that had your mind abuzz and your skin ablaze. 

“I’m ready” You panted. Yeonjun carefully crawled over you taking a second to look down at your body, his eyes traveling the expanse of you. “Beautiful.” He said for what seemed like the millionth time tonight. 

He lined his cock at your entrance running the angry red tip up and down your slit a few times, catching the pool of heat in its wake. “I’ll go slow.” 

You nodded desperately waiting for when he would finally be inside of you. 

He pushed in slowly the stretch of him burning like wildfire in your body, a jolt of pain flying up your spine. 

Your gasp rang free throughout the cabin. The sound of the fire crackling in the distance serves as a comfort to you. “Are you okay?” Yeonjun asks when he was finally fully seethed inside of you, unmoving. 

“Yes.” You breathed out. “Just hurts a little.” 

“I can wait to move.” He suggested but you shook your head at the need for him to move out weighing the pain. 

“No. Please move.” 

Yeonjun nodded, pulling his hips back from slowly pushing them back in. His breath hitched in his throat a sigh of content following. “Tight.” He grunted out. 

He continued to slowly push in and out of you with tender precision. Soon you found yourself craving more, faster, harder you needed to feel him completely. 

“Faster.” You whined out. “You can go faster.” 

“Yeah?” He hissed out “Whatever your highness wants.” 

A small smile graced your lips at his playful words. His hips pushed into you fasted the sound of your skin slapping ringing in the air around you. 

“Feels so good.” You moaned. Running your hands down your body, your fingers finding your clit, making small slow circles over the nub. 

“I’m almost there.” Yeonjun panted, his breath fanning over your face. 

“Me too” You whined, feeling your orgasm creeping up on you like a freight train. 

Yeonjun continued his brutal speed, your body moving in tandem with his, taking everything he gave you. Your heart pounding in your chest as you teetered on the edge. 

“I’m coming.” You squeaked out as your orgasm hit you. It blinded you, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. Yeonjun followed suit, his hips rutting into you before stilling. 

The both of you stood still, saying nothing only looking at each other. A bubble of a laugh creeping up in your throat and finally leaving your lips in an eruption. 

Yeonjun’s eyes widened as he watched you laugh, him still deep inside of you. 

“What are you laughing at?” He asked with a look of amused bewilderment. 

“I don't know.” You giggled out. “I’m happy.” 

Yeonjun smiled, a small semblance of smile falling from his lips. “Me too.” 

The rain had stopped by the time you stood at the door of his cabin, your cloak pulled tight around your shoulders. The world outside was silent, save for the occasional drip of water from the trees. Yeonjun stood in the doorway, his figure outlined by the soft glow of the firelight behind him. “You shouldn’t come back,” he said, his voice low and conflicted. Even after what you had just done he was still thinking of what could happen and not what was currently happening. 

You turned to face him, your heart heavy but determined. “You can’t tell me what to do.” 

His lips twitched, almost forming a smile, but the weight of the night kept it from reaching his eyes. You had done irreversible things. Things that could quite frankly get him killed.  “I mean it, princess. It’s too dangerous—for both of us.” 

“And yet you kissed me,” you said softly, stepping closer. “You fucked me.” You continued. 

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?” 

“I’ve heard it before.” You smiled with mischief. 

The faintest trace of a smirk crossed his face, but it faded quickly. “If you’re set on defying all reason, at least let me promise you something.” 

Your brows furrowed as you searched his face. “What?” 

“I’ll write to you,” he said, his voice steady. “I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to get the letters to you. Just… so you know you’re not alone.” 

Your heart clenched at his words, the tenderness in his tone cutting through the sadness that had been building in your chest. “You’d do that?” 

“For you?” He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.” 

The weight of his promise settled between you, heavy and fragile all at once. You stepped closer, your hand reaching for his. His fingers closed around yours, calloused but warm, grounding you even as the moment felt like it might slip away. The thought of not knowing when you'll see him next wounded you. “I’ll wait for them,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you saw past the walls he had built around himself. “You’d better.” 

You smiled, a small, bittersweet thing, before tilting your head up to him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning down, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer this time, slower, as though he was memorizing the feel of you. You poured everything into that kiss—the unspoken words, the hopes, the promises—and when it ended, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the cool night air.

“Go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Before I change my mind.” 

You nodded, stepping back reluctantly, your hand slipping from his. As you turned and started down the path, you glanced over your shoulder to find him still standing in the doorway, his silhouette illuminated by the firelight. And though your heart ached, the promise of his letters gave you a small, stubborn flicker of hope. You’d see him again, you'd make sure of it. 

The morning light streamed through the small window of Yeonjun’s cabin, catching motes of dust that swirled lazily in the air. He sat at the rough-hewn table, a piece of parchment spread before him. His fingers tightened around the quill, ink blotching on the page as he wrestled with the words he needed to say. How did he write to a princess? Especially one who he kissed, one he made love to. One that looked at him like he wasn't a broken man, and made impossible promises feel real? 

Yeonjun groaned, running a hand through his unruly hair. He had spent the better part of the morning trying to figure out how he was supposed to get this letter to her without drawing attention. The thought of a royal guard intercepting it. Of the consequences for both of them—kept him frozen in indecision. A sharp knock at the door startled him, and he quickly folded the letter, tucking it under the edge of a book before standing. His hand instinctively went to the knife on his belt as he opened the door. 

There stood Kai, the paperboy, clutching his satchel and beaming up at him with wide, eager eyes. “Kai,” Yeonjun said, exhaling. “What do you want?” 

“Good morning to you too,” Kai said, undeterred. “I’ve been practicing with the stick bow I made, but it’s not the same as the real thing. You’re the best archer in the village—probably in the kingdom! Teach me.” 

“I told you before, I don’t have time for this,” Yeonjun said, stepping back and starting to close the door.

“Wait!” Kai stuck his foot in the doorway. “What if I do something for you? Like chores or hunting or—” 

Yeonjun stopped, the boy’s words sparking an idea. He narrowed his eyes at Kai. “You deliver papers to the castle, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Kai said, straightening proudly. “Every morning. They don’t let me in, though. Just to the servants’ entrance.” 

Yeonjun hesitated, glancing back toward the folded letter. “If I give you something—something important—could you deliver it discreetly to the princess? Without anyone else knowing?”

Kai blinked, his face scrunching in confusion. “The princess? Why would—” 

“Can you do it or not?” Yeonjun interrupted, his tone firm. 

Kai considered him for a moment, then grinned. “I can do it. But you have to promise to teach me archery.” 

“Fine,” Yeonjun said, grabbing the folded letter and handing it to Kai. “This stays in your satchel until you hand it to her.” 

Kai tucked the letter into his bag and gave Yeonjun a cheeky salute. “You’ve got yourself a deal.” Yeonjun watched the boy leave, his heart pounding. He hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. 

Kai trudged up the winding path to the castle’s servant entrance, whistling a tune as the satchel bumped against his hip. The gray stone walls loomed above him, casting long shadows in the morning sun. Despite his usual bravado, his stomach twisted with nerves. Delivering a letter to the princess was risky business, even for a street-savvy paperboy. When he reached the small, iron-banded door tucked away behind the stables, he knocked twice, then twice more, just like the man had told him. A moment later, the door creaked open, and a woman in a plain gray dress peered out. Her sharp eyes softened when she saw him. 

“You must be Kai,” the nursemaid said, her voice low but kind.

“That’s me,” he said, flashing her a grin. “I’ve got the letter.” 

He pulled it from his satchel, holding it up like it was a royal treasure—which, in a way, it was. The nursemaid took it carefully, glancing over her shoulder before tucking it into the folds of her apron. “You’re certain no one saw you?” 

“Course not,” Kai said, puffing out his chest. “I’m good at being sneaky.”

She smiled faintly. “Thank you. The princess will be grateful.” 

Kai tilted his head, curiosity lighting his face. “Why’s the princess getting letters from a huntsman, anyway?” 

The nursemaid’s expression grew stern. “That’s not for you to wonder. Just keep this quiet, understand?” 

“Understood,” Kai said, holding up his hands. The nursemaid nodded, slipping back inside. The door shut with a soft thud, leaving Kai alone with his thoughts. As he walked back toward the village, he couldn’t help but grin. Whatever was going on between the princess and the huntsman, it was far more exciting than delivering papers. 

The grand hall felt stifling, the air heavy with expectation. You sat at the long, polished table, your parents at either end like sentinels of your fate. The man they had brought to meet you sat across from you, his eyes scanning you like a merchant appraising goods. He was handsome in a sharp, cold way, his words polished but hollow. “This is Lord Kang Taehyun.” your father said, his voice booming with authority. “A man of great standing. He’s traveled far to meet you.” 

You forced a tight smile, your hands twisting in your lap beneath the table. “It’s a pleasure, my lord,” you said, your voice strained. 

Lord Taehyun inclined his head, his smile more a calculated gesture than genuine warmth. “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness. I’ve heard much of your beauty and grace, though I see now that words fail to capture the truth.” The flattery felt like acid on your skin. You glanced at your mother, hoping for some reprieve, but her expression was as composed and unreadable as ever.

“You will have much to discuss,” your father said, his tone dismissive. “Taehyun, perhaps you and the princess might take a walk in the gardens.” 

“No,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Your father’s gaze snapped to you, sharp and unyielding. “What did you say?” His words felt like tiny little prickles in your skin. 

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the marble floor. “I said no. I don’t want to walk. I don’t want to… to discuss anything.” This new found confidence surprised not only your father but you as well. The tension in the room thickened, your mother’s eyes narrowing, your father’s face darkening with anger.

“Sit down,” he commanded, his voice low and dangerous. You knew he meant business but something in you wouldn't allow for what was about to take place to happen. You were going to fight like hell. 

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “You can’t make me do this.”

Your father rose to his feet, his hands slamming onto the table. “You will do as you’re told. This is not a request—it is your duty.”

“Duty?” you cried, your voice breaking. “Is that all I am to you? A pawn to be traded away?” The words hung in the air like a slap. Your father’s expression turned thunderous, but your mother spoke first, her voice cold and clipped. “That’s enough.” 

You turned on your heel, tears spilling over as you fled the hall, their voices chasing after you. Your feet carried you through the winding corridors of the castle, past servants who quickly looked away, until you reached the sanctuary of your room. Slamming the door shut, you sank to the floor, sobbing into your hands. It felt as though the walls were closing in, every word your parents had said pressing down on your chest. 

You had only tasted a small ounce of freedom but you would do everything in your power to not lose it. The night you spent with Yeonjun was the best night of your life. For the first time in your life you felt real. You had finally felt like someone, seen you as you and not just a pawn in a nobel game. 

You picked yourself up from the floor as the tears still cascaded down your face. Throwing yourself onto your bed letting your mind think of Yeonjun and Yeonjun only. 

The night was silent when the knock came at your window. You rushed to it, your heart leaping when you saw the familiar figure of your nursemaid, Kora She slipped inside, handing you a folded piece of parchment. “It’s from him,” she whispered, a small smile on her lips. He kept his promise. He wrote to you. Your heart soared a prickling of hope bubbling in your chest. With Yeonjun, the world felt just all the more bearable. This tiny piece of paper was a saving grace in the mess that was your life.

Your hands trembled as you took the letter, the sight of his handwriting calming the storm inside you. Once the nursemaid left, you lit a candle and unfolded the parchment, your eyes drinking in the words. 

“Princess,

I hope this finds you well, though I know life in the castle is anything but kind to you. I don’t know what I can offer with my words, but know that I’m thinking of you. I can’t seem to stop. I spent all day at the woods’ edge, wondering if you’d appear again, though I know it’s foolish.

Stay safe. Write back if you can. Just knowing you’re out there—somewhere—makes the world feel less empty. 

Yeonjun.” 

You clutched the letter to your chest, his words filling the cracks in your heart left by the day’s events. Taking a deep breath, you reached for your quill and parchment sitting on your bed eager to write back. 

“Yeonjun, 

Your letter was exactly what I needed tonight. The world here feels so cold, so confining. But your words... They warmed me. I wish I could tell you how much they mean to me, how much you mean to me. You call yourself foolish for waiting by the woods, but I find myself thinking about you just as often.

There are moments I wish I could escape all of this, if only to spend another night in the rain with you. You make me feel free, even when I’m trapped within these walls. I don’t know how long this will last, or what the future holds, but I promise I’ll keep writing as long as you’ll read my words.

Yours Always”

You folded the letter carefully, sealing it with trembling hands. The nursemaid would come again in the morning to deliver it, but for now, you tucked it under your pillow. As you blew out the candle and lay in the darkness, your thoughts drifted to Yeonjun. His voice, his touch, his promise. It was enough to keep the despair at bay, at least for tonight.

The days that followed were a blur of tension and despair. Your father’s booming voice echoed through the halls, issuing orders to increase security, though you didn’t know why. Guards were stationed at nearly every corridor, their cold eyes watching your every move. Even the gardens, once your brief sanctuary, felt like a cage.  

You suspected it was about control. The more you resisted their plans, the tighter they held the reins. Your father rarely spoke to you directly now, preferring to bark commands to your mother or the staff. Your mother, ever the strategist, would sit by your bedside at night, her hands clasped primly in her lap as she spoke of duty and legacy. Her words slid off you like rain on stone. But even in the midst of their suffocating demands, there was Yeonjun. 

His letters arrived like whispers of freedom, tucked beneath your pillow by your nursemaid each morning. The words were simple, but they carried a warmth that broke through the chill of the castle. You read them over and over, tracing the ink with your fingertips until the parchment softened. 

“Princess,

Every day feels longer than the last without you here. I thought I was a man who had learned to live without hope, but you’ve made me realize how much I’ve missed it. The woods are quiet now, but I hear your laugh in the wind and feel your presence in every shadow.

I don’t know how this will end, but I promise I will keep writing to you, as long as you’ll have me. You’re the first thing in a long time that has felt real.

Yeonjun”

His words were a balm to your raw emotions, and you clung to them like a lifeline. They were your secret rebellion, a quiet refusal to let your parents steal the one thing that gave you solace. You don’t know what you would do moving forward but you knew for certain that the thought of a life without Yeonjun became more and more painful, it was something you wouldn't allow to happen. Even if it killed you. So Each night, by the flickering light of a candle, you wrote back to him. 

“Yeonjun,

Your words are the only thing keeping me sane. I feel trapped here—my parents are relentless, the guards omnipresent. Even my own footsteps feel like they’re being watched. But when I read your letters, it’s like I’m back in the woods with you, standing in the rain. For a moment, I’m free again.

I don’t know how I’ll get through this, but knowing you’re out there, thinking of me... it’s enough to keep going. I hope you’ll write to me as often as you can. Your letters are my escape.

Yours always.”

The exchange continued for days. Each morning brought a new letter, and each night you penned your reply. The routine became your lifeline, a fragile thread tying you to something brighter, something more alive. The grueling dinners with your parents, the endless stream of suitors paraded before you—none of it mattered when you knew a letter was waiting under your pillow. Yeonjun’s words reminded you of what it felt like to be seen, truly seen, and not as a piece on your father’s chessboard. You closed your eyes, letting his words settle into your heart. The stars above seemed brighter somehow, as if he were reaching out to you through them.

Your mother always told you that love was not real. That you could never love someone more than you loved yourself but that was a lie. It makes you sad sometimes. When you thought of your mother. Was she once a girl like yourself staying up until the wee hours of the night daydreaming about the possibility of a real love, had she ever felt it? You weren't sure. 

Your fingers itched to write him back, to tell him how much he meant to you, how his letters were the only thing keeping you from breaking beneath the weight of your parents’ demands. But tonight, there were no words strong enough. Instead, you held his letter close and let the quiet night envelop you. For now, his letters were enough. And soon, you would find a way to see him again. 

The morning sun filtered through the trees as Yeonjun stood by the edge of the clearing, watching Kai fumble with the bowstring. The boy’s arms trembled under the tension, his grip clumsy as he tried to draw back the arrow. "Not like that," Yeonjun said, stepping forward. He placed a steadying hand on Kai’s shoulder and adjusted his stance, forcing the boy to straighten his back. "You’re holding it like it’s going to bite you. Relax." 

Kai exhaled sharply, his face scrunched in concentration. "This is harder than it looks." His blonde hair blowing in the wind that bristled through the clearing they occupied. 

He watched Kai try again. The boy managed to draw the string back this time, though it wobbled precariously before he loosed the arrow. It sailed a pathetic few feet before flying into the dirt. Kai groaned, slumping in frustration. "I’m never going to get this." 

"You will," Yeonjun said, his voice firmer now. "But not if you give up. Again." The boy looked at him, his brown eyes uncertain, but he nodded. He retrieved the arrow and tried again. And again. And again. 

The days that followed were filled with more of the same. Each morning, Kai would show up at Yeonjun’s door with that wide, determined grin, a bow slung over his back and a bundle of arrows that were too big for his quiver. Yeonjun taught him everything—how to adjust his grip, how to judge the wind, how to stay calm and focused even when the target seemed impossible. At first, Kai was frustratingly bad. His arrows veered wildly off course, his fingers blistered from the bowstring, and his skinny frame seemed ill-suited for the demands of archery. But the boy never gave up. Each time Yeonjun corrected him, Kai listened intently, his determination outmatching his skill. 

One morning, as they rested under a tree after hours of practice, Kai finally opened up. Completely unprovoked. There must have been a lot of things weighing on the boy's mind. "My family’s poor," he said, staring down at the bow in his lap. "My father makes paintings to sell, and my mother does her best, but it’s not enough. My older sister works at the tailor’s, and my little sister’s too young to help. I’m supposed to be the big brother of the house now, The one to look to when Father is at work, but..." He trailed off, his voice cracking. Yeonjun didn’t respond right away, letting the boy gather his thoughts.

"I don’t want to feel useless anymore," Kai continued, his voice quiet but steady. "If I can hunt—if I can bring home food or sell furs—maybe things will get better. Maybe my family won’t have to struggle so much." Yeonjun studied the boy for a long moment. He saw the desperation in Kai’s eyes, the same desperation that had once driven him to the woods all those years ago. He understood too well the weight of carrying a family’s survival on your shoulders, the feeling of always falling short.

"You’re not useless," Yeonjun said finally. His voice was quiet, but there was an edge of warmth in it. "You’re trying. That’s more than most people would do." Kai looked up at him, surprised. 

"And you’re getting better," Yeonjun added, his lips quirking into a small, rare smile. "You actually hit the target today. Granted, it was the edge, but it counts." Kai laughed, a sound that was bright and unguarded. For a moment, Yeonjun felt something he hadn’t in years—a faint, flickering sense of hope. He had seen a lot of himself in kai. He too was seventeen trying to make ends meet while also growing and learning. He reminded himself to give the boy some reprieve, he was doing what most people in this village were doing. Trying to make it. 

It was a week later when Yeonjun made the decision. They had finished another grueling day of practice, and Kai was leaning against a tree, his face flushed with exhaustion but glowing with pride. He had hit the bullseye twice that morning, a feat that had him grinning ear to ear. Yeonjun walked over to his small cabin and retrieved the bow that hung on the wall. It was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its gold accents catching the light like fire. He had carved it himself years ago, imbuing every stroke with a sense of purpose and pride. It was his favorite bow, his most prized possession. 

He walked back to Kai, who was packing up his own battered bow. Without a word, Yeonjun held out the golden bow to him. It was a present that he had cherished from his father. He had given it to him early in his life when Yeonjun took interest in archery, and now he was giving it to Kai. 

Kai stared at it, his eyes wide. "Is that...?" 

"It’s yours," Yeonjun said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He knew he was deserving, Kai was going to grow up to be an amazing huntsman, maybe even better then Yeonjun. Yeonjun was sure of it. 

The boy gaped at him, his hands hovering uncertainly over the bow. "But... this is your favorite. I can’t—" 

"You can," Yeonjun interrupted. "And you will. You’ve earned it." 

Kai’s hands trembled as he took the bow, his fingers tracing the smooth curves and intricate carvings. "I don’t know what to say," he whispered. 

"Say you’ll keep practicing," Yeonjun said, his voice softer now. "Say you’ll use it to help your family. That’s all I want." 

Kai nodded, his eyes shimmering with emotion. "I will. I promise." 

“Good.” Yeonjun smiled a hand on the boy's shoulder. “Now head home it's getting late.” 

The castle had become unbearable. Every corridor felt like a gauntlet, every shadow a trap. Guards patrolled relentlessly, their footsteps echoing like a drumbeat of oppression. Your father’s anger was a constant storm, and your mother’s calculated words were no less cutting. Everyday a battle for your freedom. Your father would not budge, his demands becoming more cold and less patient. The looming specter of the marriage broke you. The man they had chosen—a stranger from across the sea—was everything you feared. Another piece in their endless political game. You didn’t want to be a pawn, but they weren’t giving you a choice. That night, as the moon rose high above the castle, you made your decision to see Yeonjun again, no matter the beefy guards.

You slipped into the gown you had worn earlier, pulling your dark cloak tightly around you. With a deep breath, you tiptoed past the guards stationed outside your chamber. The halls seemed endless, the flicker of torches casting long, wavering shadows. Every creak of the floorboards felt deafening, every glance from a passing servant a threat. But somehow, you made it. Past the gates, past the patrols, and into the forest that had become your sanctuary. 

The knock on his door was hesitant at first, your courage wavering as you stood in the cool night air. The woods were quiet, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the wind. You wondered if he would even answer, if he was still awake. But then the door creaked open, and there he was. 

Yeonjun stood in the doorway, his expression shifting from surprise to concern the moment he saw you, calling your name in confusion. You were the last person he expected to see tonight. You opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. The weight of the past days pressed down on you, and before you could stop yourself, tears spilled down your cheeks. 

His brows knit together, and he stepped aside, gesturing for you to come in. "What’s wrong?" You stepped inside, the warmth of his cabin wrapping around you like a blanket. It smelled of wood and the faint, earthy scent of leather. He closed the door behind you, his gaze never leaving your face. 

"They’re marrying me off," you finally managed, your voice trembling. "To a man I’ve never met. A man I don’t want." 

Yeonjun’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "When?"

"I don’t know," you whispered, sinking onto the edge of the small cot in the corner. "Soon. My father is furious. My mother says it’s for the good of the kingdom. But I..." You shook your head, burying your face in your hands. The weight of what your parents were doing finally settled in. A moment later, you felt the bed shift as he sat beside you. His presence was solid, grounding, and when his hand hesitantly rested on your back, it was as if a dam broke inside you.

"I can’t do it," you said, your voice muffled. "I can’t live like this. I don’t want to be a pawn in their games. I just... I just want to be free." 

Yeonjun was silent for a long moment, his hand tracing soothing circles on your back. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and steady. "We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how yet, but we will." 

You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face meeting his determined gaze. "How can you say that? You don’t even know what they’re capable of." 

"I don’t have to know," he said, his tone firm. "I know you. And I know you’re stronger than you think." 

His words were like a spark in the darkness, a flicker of hope that refused to be snuffed out. You searched his face, finding no hesitation, no doubt. Just him—solid, unyielding, and somehow, impossibly, yours. A beautiful man, who had cared for you. Who has seen more of you than anyone before. A man you were falling for, and hard. Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward, your hands gripping the front of his shirt. His eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t pull away. 

"Tell me you mean it," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me this isn’t just a dream." You didn’t care if you sounded silly and childish. This was the equivalent to whispering pinch me i’m dreaming but it didn't matter, you needed to hear it. 

His hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. "It’s real," he murmured. "I promise you, it’s real." And then his lips were on yours. 

His hands moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair. The world outside faded away, leaving only the warmth of his touch and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. The kiss was sweet but heated like you were catching up on lost time. You had missed his touch only feeling the ghost of him in his letters. 

His arms tightened around you, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, a language only the two of you could understand. "You should go back," he said eventually, though his arms didn’t loosen their hold.

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

His lips brushed your temple in the lightest of touches. "I’ll find a way to see you again. I promise."

And somehow, you believed him. There was no way you’d be marrying a man you didn't love, not a single chance. 

The castle was quiet when you slipped back through the hidden servant’s entrance. Your heart pounded with every step, the weight of the evening still clinging to you like a second skin. The cool stone walls of the passage pressed in, amplifying the sound of your footsteps.When you turned the corner into your room, your nursemaid, Kora, was waiting. Her arms were crossed, and her lips were set in a thin line, but her eyes betrayed her worry more than her anger ever could. 

"You’re lucky the patrols didn’t catch you," she said, her voice low but sharp. You had seen her angry before and this was not one of those times, she looked more worried than anything and strangely it made you feel warm. 

You closed the door softly behind you and let out a shaky breath. "I needed to go."

Her expression softened at the sound of your voice, her stern demeanor melting into concern. "Child, what are you doing to yourself?" You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you pulled off your cloak and sank onto the edge of your bed, your fingers clutching the fabric tightly. The weight of her gaze made it impossible to avoid the question, so you finally looked up. 

"I love him," you admitted, the words trembling as they left your lips.

Your nursemaid’s eyes widened slightly, and she let out a soft sigh as she sat beside you. She reached for your hand, her grip warm and steady. "You’ve always had such a stubborn heart," she said, a faint smile playing at her lips. 

"I can’t help it," you said, your voice breaking. "I don’t want this life anymore. I don’t want the titles, the suitors, the ballrooms. I just want... I just want to be free. With him." Tears welled in your eyes again, and before you could stop yourself, they spilled over. "I can’t do this, not without him. I want to run away, leave it all behind."

Your nursemaid pulled you into her arms, holding you close as your tears soaked into her shoulder. She smelled of lavender and the faint, comforting scent of home. "I understand," she murmured, her voice gentle. "But you must be careful, my love. The world isn’t kind to people like us who dream beyond our station." You had never really felt a mother’s love before, not in the way you had longed for. The closest you ever gotten was with Kora. Not only was she your nursemaid but your mother figure. She was nurturing, caring, compassionate like a mother should be. But she was also stern and would tell you exactly what you needed to hear, even if you didn't want to hear it. You had loved her like a mother. 

You pulled back slightly, your face still damp with tears. "You’ve always been there for me," you said, your voice trembling. "When my own mother didn’t care—when she looked at me like I was just another duty to fulfill—you loved me. You raised me. You’ve been the only real mother I’ve ever known." 

Her own eyes glistened now, and she cupped your face in her hands. "You’ve been my joy since the day you were born. I wanted to shield you from all of this. If I could give you the freedom you want, I would. You deserve to be happy, my dear. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you." The words had felt like another crack in the crippling foundation of your heart. Soon you would overflow then explode with the constant raging emotions inside of you and you were sure when that happened Kora would be right there, helping you every step of the way no matter what decision you decided to make. Admitting to her out loud that you had loved Yeonjun changed something inside of you. 

"I don’t know what I’d do without you," you said, your voice cracking. 

She kissed your forehead, her touch light and filled with affection. "You’ll always have me. But promise me you’ll be careful. If you love him as much as you say, don’t let that love make you reckless. It’s a dangerous world, and I won’t see you hurt."

You nodded, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face. "I promise." 

The two of you sat there for a long while, her arms wrapped around you like a shield against the storm outside. For the first time in days, you felt a glimmer of peace. Moments like this had made you mourn a relationship you never had with your own mother. 

"I love you," you whispered. 

"And I love you," she replied, her voice soft and steady. "More than you’ll ever know." 

​​You fell asleep that night with her words echoing in your mind, the warmth of her embrace still lingering into the morning when you awoke again and she was gone, a blanket thrown over your body like a last single trace of her. 

The morning sunlight filtered through the trees as Yeonjun stood in the clearing behind his cabin, his bow slung across his back. Kai was already there, eagerly stringing the bow Yeonjun had given him. His tongue poked out in concentration, and the boy’s scrawny arms strained slightly as he drew it back. "Focus on your breath," Yeonjun instructed, leaning against a tree. "Pull smoothly, don’t yank it. Let the bow do the work."

Kai nodded, exhaling slowly before releasing the arrow. It sailed through the air, wobbling slightly before it struck the edge of the target. Not dead center, but better than it had been just days ago. "Yes!" Kai exclaimed, pumping his fist. 

Yeonjun couldn’t help but smile. "Not bad. You might not be completely hopeless after all." 

Kai grinned, his face lighting up with pride. It was very.. Boyish almost. It reminded Yeonjun so much of who he used to be. He reached for another arrow, his excitement infectious. As he prepared to shoot again, he glanced over at Yeonjun. "You know, my parents were really proud of me last night."

Yeonjun raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What’d you do to deserve that?"

"I caught my first rabbit," Kai said, his voice swelling with pride. "With this bow. My parents sold it at the market, and we made enough money to buy bread and meat for the week. My sisters were so happy. My mom even cried." 

Yeonjun’s chest tightened at the boy’s words, a strange mix of pride and longing settling there. "Good work, Kai. You earned that." He had the most perfect prodigy of himself. Someone he knew had the potential to be a great hunter and an even better archer than Yeonjun had ever been. 

Kai beamed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It’s because you taught me. If it weren’t for you—"

"Stop," Yeonjun interrupted, though his tone was gentle. "You put in the effort. I just showed you how." 

Kai hesitated, then said softly, "I just wanted to say thank you. For the bow, for the lessons... for everything." Looking down at the ground to hide his reddened cheeks, kicking at the dirt beneath his feet almost bashfully. 

Yeonjun looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Don’t get all sentimental on me. You’ll ruin my reputation." He said with a laugh. The joke hanging in the air between the two of them. 

Kai laughed, but his expression quickly turned serious. "You’re not as mean as everyone says, you know. You’re actually... really kind."

Yeonjun snorted. "Don’t spread that around. I’ve worked hard to keep people away, and I’d rather not ruin a good thing."

"But why?" Kai asked, tilting his head. "You’re not scary. You’re..." He trailed off, searching for the right words. 

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

Kai shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Maybe." Yeonjun smiled at his Joke, something he found himself doing a lot more lately. 

His turned serious sighing, he ran a hand through his hair. "You remind me of myself when I was your age. Scrawny, stubborn, trying too hard to prove something to the world." 

Kai titled his head “That wasn't too long ago, you're not that much older than me you know?” 

“Yeah, I know.” Yeonjun sighed out, “You Still remind me of my younger self. I’m a lot more grown up than my age suggests. I’ve had to grow up early.” 

Kai’s eyes widened. "Really?" His innocence warmed Yeonjun’s heart. 

"Yeah," Yeonjun said, a distant look in his eyes. "Only difference is, you’ve got a family who loves you. Don’t take that for granted, Kai. Not everyone’s that lucky."

Kai frowned, sensing the weight behind Yeonjun’s words. "What about your family?"

Yeonjun hesitated, then shook his head. "Not something you need to worry about, kid. Let’s just say... it didn’t turn out the way I wanted."

“I know they died..” Kai said, surprising Yeonjun. “I’m sorry. I can be your family now.” 

“I appreciate that.” Yeonjun’s voice was low, soft. Like he was savoring the moment but not wanting to look vulnerable. “You’re a good kid, Kai. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise."

Kai nodded slowly, his youthful energy appearing once more. "I won’t let my family down. I’ll keep practicing, and I’ll take care of them." 

Kai grinned, his spirit returning as he straightened his bow. Yeonjun reached into his coat and pulled out a folded letter. "Here," he said, handing it to Kai. "Same deal as last time. Get this to the nursemaid, and make sure it reaches her. No one else." 

Kai took the letter with a solemn nod, tucking it carefully into his satchel. "I won’t mess up. You can count on me."

"I know I can," Yeonjun said softly. "You’re tougher than you look."

Kai flashed a determined smile and slung his bow over his shoulder. As he turned to leave, he paused, glancing back at Yeonjun. "You know," Kai said, his voice tentative, "you’re kind of like the big brother I always wanted." 

Yeonjun froze, the words catching him off guard. He swallowed hard, his voice rough as he replied, "And you’re like the little brother I never asked for." Kai laughed, waving as he disappeared into the woods. Yeonjun watched him go, a strange warmth settling in his chest. 

The wind howled outside Yeonjun’s cabin, rattling the wooden shutters as he sat at his small, worn table. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows on the walls. He ran his fingers over the letter he’d received from Kai earlier, the princess’s words already memorized but still giving him solace. He was about to turn in for the night when a sharp knock echoed through the cabin. Yeonjun frowned. Kai was long gone, and he wasn’t expecting anyone else. 

He opened the door cautiously, but no one was there. Instead, an envelope lay on the ground, the seal glinting faintly in the moonlight. Yeonjun bent down to pick it up, his pulse quickening.

He stepped back inside, closing the door behind him as he examined the envelope. The weight of it felt different from her usual letters. The paper was finer, the edges gilded with gold. For a moment, he thought Kai had brought it late, maybe as part of some grand gesture. But when he broke the seal and unfolded the paper, his stomach dropped. it wasn’t her handwriting. The words danced mockingly across the page, each one sinking like a stone in his chest. 

“You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at the royal palace to celebrate the forthcoming marriage of  The Princess to Lord Kang Taehyun.” 

His grip on the paper tightened, the edges crumpling beneath his fingers. He read it again, hoping he’d misunderstood, but the meaning was clear. 

Her marriage announcement. 

The room felt suddenly stifling, the walls closing in as his heart pounded against his ribs. He stared at the invitation, anger and confusion warring within him. She hadn’t mentioned this in her letters. Not once. He knew they were trying to force her into a marriage but not that they were going through with one. 

"Why didn’t she tell me?" he muttered to himself, his voice harsh in the quiet cabin. 

Yeonjun paced the room, the invitation clutched tightly in his hand. Every instinct screamed at him to stay away, to keep his head down and let this royal mess unfold without him. But the thought of her standing in that grand ballroom, her eyes filled with sorrow, surrounded by strangers, was unbearable. He sank into his chair, his head in his hands. The memory of her tear-streaked face from the night she’d come to his door haunted him. The way she’d clung to him, her voice trembling as she confessed her fears. 

"I have to see her," he said aloud, the resolve hardening in his chest. His eyes fell back to the invitation. A masquerade. If there was ever a way for him to slip into the palace unnoticed, this was it. 

But what then? What could he possibly say or do to change the course of her life? With a heavy sigh, Yeonjun placed the crumpled invitation on the table and leaned back in his chair. The fire crackled softly, the warmth doing little to ease the chill that had settled in his chest. Tomorrow, he would decide what to do. But tonight, he let the weight of the truth settle over him, the words on the page a stark reminder of just how precarious their love truly was. 

The night of the ball had finally arrived. Yeonjun sat in the quiet of his cabin, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. His packed bundle rested on the table ​. Everything felt heavier tonight—the air, his thoughts, the weight of what he was about to do. He’d spent the day going over his plan, but now, as the moment drew closer, his mind turned to the boy who’d become a surprising presence in his life: Kai. He’d spent the day going over his plan, trying to get his affairs in order. Earlier, he’d gone to look for Kai. The boy was usually eager, always hovering around his cabin or running errands in the village. But today, Yeonjun had called for him several times, even gone to the square to see if he was there, but there’d been no sign of him. 

“Probably busy with his family,” Yeonjun muttered to himself, trying to shake off the unease that crept in. He thought of Kai’s bright grin the last time they’d spoken, the pride in his voice as he told Yeonjun about finally catching his first game. The memory pulled at his heart. He’d wanted to talk to the boy, to tell him everything, to hand over the cabin, the bow, and all the tools of his trade. But with no time to waste and no sign of Kai, Yeonjun had to make peace with leaving it all behind without explanation. 

"I’ll leave it all to him," Yeonjun murmured, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "The cabin, the bow, everything." It wasn’t much, but it was all he had. And Kai deserved a chance—a real chance—to make something of himself. He thought back to the day he’d handed Kai the golden bow, the way the boy’s eyes had widened with reverence. That same boy had caught his first animal just days ago and had been beaming with pride when he told Yeonjun about his family’s gratitude. 

“They’ll need this more than I will,” Yeonjun muttered. “Kai will understand.” He sat at the small table, a scrap of paper and a stub of charcoal in hand. The words didn’t come easily, each one feeling like a goodbye he wasn’t ready to say. But by the time the fire had burned down to its last embers, the note was finished, folded neatly and left on the table. Yeonjun stood, shouldering his pack. His gaze swept the small cabin, taking in the worn wood, the faint scent of smoke, the memories etched into every corner. 

"This is the right thing," he said softly, though the ache in his chest made him doubt. As he stepped outside, the cold night air bit at his skin, and the quiet of the woods enveloped him. He turned once to look back at the cabin, the soft glow from the window casting a faint light into the night. “Kai will be fine,” he whispered, as if convincing himself. “He’s stronger than he thinks.” And with that, Yeonjun made his way toward the palace. The plan was set, and his resolve was firm. Tonight, he would find her, and together they would leave this world behind.

The masquerade ball was in full swing, a sea of gilded masks, shimmering gowns, and laughter that echoed through the grand halls of the castle. Yeonjun, hidden in plain sight among the servants, carried a tray of fine goblets filled with wine. The facade of calm he wore barely concealed the storm brewing inside him. He’d caught sight of her several times already, dressed in a gown of deep emerald green that hugged her frame and glimmered under the chandeliers. The mask she wore couldn’t hide her identity from him, not when her pink hair peeked through in soft waves. But it wasn’t just her beauty that consumed his attention—it was the man beside her. 

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

Yeonjun clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around the tray. The man was broad-shouldered, and carried himself with an air of entitlement that grated on Yeonjun’s nerves. He stayed close to her, far too close, speaking in a low voice that made her frown, though she masked it quickly for the sake of appearances. It made Yeonjun’s blood boil. 

This was why he was here, why he’d come despite the risks. He couldn’t stand idly by while they paraded her around as if she were a prize to be won. Moving through the crowd, Yeonjun kept his head low, blending in with the other servants. He waited for the right moment—when her parents’ eyes were elsewhere, when the suitor was distracted by a gaggle of nobles seeking his attention. Pathetic. And he thought he was worthy of her? 

When it came, Yeonjun didn’t hesitate. He set his tray down and approached her from the side, careful not to draw attention. As he passed, his fingers brushed hers ever so lightly, and he slipped a small folded note into her hand. She flinched at the touch but quickly covered her reaction, slipping the note into the folds of her gown without looking. Yeonjun didn’t wait for acknowledgment. He melted back into the crowd, his heart pounding.

The note in your hand felt heavier than it should, the words scrawled in familiar handwriting still burning in your mind. "The garden. Now." 

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you scanned the ballroom. The glittering chandeliers and elegant guests seemed to blur together, a hazy backdrop to the storm of emotions churning inside you. You’d recognized him instantly, despite the servant’s uniform and the simple black mask concealing part of his face. Why was he here? What was he thinking? You spotted Taehyun across the room, deep in conversation with your father, his smooth laugh carrying over the hum of the crowd. Your mother stood nearby, her sharp eyes scanning the ball for potential allies, rivals, and threats. The guards stationed at the doors kept their watchful gazes moving, their vigilance a constant reminder of your gilded cage.

Slipping the note into the folds of your gown, you waited for the right moment. When your mother turned to speak with a duchess, and your suitor became engrossed in a conversation about trade routes, you slipped quietly toward the side door leading to the garden. The cool night air hit your skin like a balm, the oppressive heat and noise of the ballroom fading with each step. You moved quickly, your gown brushing against the gravel path as you made your way through the moonlit garden. And then you saw him. 

Yeonjun stood near a stone bench, his figure half-hidden by the shadows of the trees. His head turned at the sound of your approach, and even in the dim light, you saw the tension in his expression melt into something softer. "You’re here," he said, his voice low and rough. 

"You told me to come," you replied, your heart racing. "What are you doing here? If anyone sees us—" 

"I don’t care," he interrupted, stepping toward you, his eyes blazing. "I couldn’t stand watching you with him." 

You froze, his words hitting you like a jolt. "Yeonjun, you can’t just—" You couldn't risk someone seeing you. No matter how badly you just wanted to run into his arms and never let go, this could turn dangerous and fast. 

"I had to," he cut in, his voice fierce. "You’re going to marry him, aren’t you? That’s what this whole masquerade is for. To announce it to the world." 

His words stung because they were true, but you didn’t have a choice. "It’s not what I want," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "But I don’t get to decide." 

"There’s always a choice," he said, his tone sharp, almost desperate. "You don’t have to do this. We can leave tonight—just say the word, and we’ll be gone." You stared at him, the weight of his offer pressing down on you. His intensity, his recklessness—it should have frightened you, but instead, it made you ache. Leaving was all you could ever think about. Leaving the prison you grew up in finally with the man you loved would be everything you had dreamed of. 

"Leave?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And go where? They’d find us. They always do." 

"Let them," he said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. "Let them try. I won’t let them take you from me." 

His words broke something inside you, the carefully constructed walls you’d built to endure this life. You looked up at him, tears stinging your eyes. "Yeonjun, this is madness." And it was, but word by word he was convincing you. 

"Maybe it is," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "But I can’t lose you. Not to him. Not to anyone." 

The night seemed to still, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Slowly, you reached up and removed your mask, the cool air brushing against your tear-streaked cheeks. "I don’t want to lose you either," you whispered, the truth spilling out before you could stop it. He closed the distance between you in a single step, his hands cradling your face as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and frustration pouring into it. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. 

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His fingers brushed your cheek, his touch achingly gentle. "What do we do now?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope. 

“We go.” he said, his voice steady and sure. "Together." 

“Now?” You asked, your voice unsteady and unsure. 

“We have to,” he nodded, his tone urgent, almost frantic. His hand was firm around yours as he began to lead you deeper into the garden, away from the prying eyes of the guards and the glittering lights of the ball. “It’s now or never, Princess.” You hesitated at his words, glancing back toward the castle, its grand silhouette looming like a watchful predator. But the pull of his hand—and the fierce determination in his eyes—spurred you forward. The garden paths twisted and turned, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your hurried steps the only sound in the quiet night. The cool air bit at your cheeks, and your gown tangled around your legs, but you didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. 

“We’ll make it,” Yeonjun muttered, half to himself, half to you. “Once we’re past the outer gates, they won’t be able to follow us. Not tonight.” Your heart thundered in your chest, not just from the exertion but from the enormity of what you were doing. Running. Escaping. Leaving everything behind. Ahead, the garden’s stone archway came into view, the dense forest beyond it a promise of freedom. But as you reached it, something sharp and cold slithered down your spine—a sense of foreboding you couldn’t shake. 

“Yeonjun, wait,” you whispered, pulling on his hand. 

“What is it?” he asked, glancing back at you, his brow furrowed. 

Before you could answer, there was a faint rustling behind you. Then, a muffled cry—a sound so brief and so quiet you weren’t sure you’d heard it at all. 

A hand wrapped around your mouth muffled your screams of protest, throwing you backwards and away from the view of Yeonjun. The last thing before going dark was Yeonjun’s slumped body against the wall and the face of your father looming over the balcony…grinning. 

Yeonjun’s eyes fluttered open, and the world around him spun in dizzying circles. The pounding in his head was the first thing he felt—a sharp, blinding pain that seemed to come from deep within his skull. He was lying on cold stone, his body twisted in uncomfortable angles, the rough texture of the floor scraping against his skin. His wrists were shackled behind him, and he could feel the weight of the iron biting into his flesh, a constant reminder of his captivity. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of mildew, and the faint dripping of water echoed in the darkness.

"Awake at last," a gruff voice sneered from somewhere above him.

Yeonjun tried to lift his head, but the effort sent another wave of pain through his skull, making his vision blur. He blinked, trying to focus, and found himself staring up at two guards, their faces shadowed by the dim light of a single torch mounted on the stone wall. "Where am I?" he rasped, his throat dry and cracked. 

"The king’s dungeon," one of the guards answered, stepping forward with an air of superiority. "You should feel honored. Not many get to see it." Yeonjun tried to push himself up, but a sharp kick to his ribs sent him crashing back to the floor. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath as the pain radiated through his body. His fingers curled around the cold stone beneath him, grounding himself as he tried to regain control. 

“Why were you sneaking around with the princess?” the second guard asked, his voice low and threatening. “What were you planning?” 

Yeonjun didn’t answer. His lips were sealed, his mind racing. He wasn’t going to give them anything. The first guard knelt down, bringing his face close to Yeonjun’s. “Don’t play dumb with us,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “We know about the little messages you sent. Through that boy.” 

Yeonjun’s heart skipped a beat. His mind raced. Kai. They had taken him. His body ran cold, a shiver shooting up his spine. “What did you do to him?” Yeonjun demanded, his voice hoarse but filled with venom.

The first guard chuckled darkly, pulling something from behind his back and tossing it onto the floor in front of Yeonjun. It clattered against the stone with a sickening sound, and Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat when he saw it.

A bloodstained arrow. 

The arrow that had once been his, now soaked in the blood of the one person who had truly believed in him. A boy, not much younger than him but so full of life. Only wishing to make his family proud. Dead..because of him. 

"Recognize this?" the guard taunted, his grin widening. “Your little messenger screamed your name the whole time. Begged us to let him go. Begged for you to save him.” 

Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat, his vision swimming as the truth hit him like a blow to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No. no. no. Kai. 

“No,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. Almost like a plea to any god that would hear him. Any god with mercy. 

“Oh, yes,” the second guard said, leaning in with a malicious smile. “And the old woman? The nursemaid? She put up quite the fight. But don’t worry. She didn’t last long either.” The words sliced through Yeonjun like a blade, and for a moment, everything in him went cold. 

"You bastards!" he shouted, his voice breaking with fury as he surged forward, only to be stopped by the chains holding him in place. He rattled them with all his strength, the metal digging into his wrists, but he couldn’t escape. The guards laughed at his struggles, their cruel amusement echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon. 

“You brought this on yourself,” one of them said, standing to leave. “All of this—on you. On them.” The sound of their boots faded as they retreated down the hallway, their laughter still ringing in his ears. Yeonjun was left in the suffocating silence of the dungeon, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. His body trembled as he slowly sank back onto the cold floor, the bloody arrow still lying in front of him—a symbol of everything he had lost.

Kai. Kai was dead. They had taken him, tortured him, dumped him god knows where. His family, oh god his family. Yeonjun couldn't take it. The curse, he knew it was real and for the first time since the death of his family he had felt it tenfold, piercing him like his very own arrows. They were the archer and himself the prey, left in agony to be eaten by the wolves of the kingdom. How dare they?

Kai was innocent. He was pure. He was good. All things Yeonjun was not. And Kora, Kora had only had nothing but love for the princess. She nurtured her and raised her. She did more than the queen could ever do, gone. Because of him. He closed his eyes, the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest ached with the unbearable loss, and for the first time in years, tears welled up in his eyes. But there was no one left to comfort him. 

A sharp kick to Yeonjun’s stomach jolted him awake, the breath ripped from his lungs as pain shot through his body. He doubled over instinctively, coughing and gasping for air, but the guards were relentless. Rough hands grabbed him by the arms, dragging him to his feet. His legs felt weak beneath him, his head pounding from the lingering ache of his earlier beating.“Get moving,” one of the guards barked, shoving him forward. 

Yeonjun stumbled, the chains on his wrists clinking with every step as they led him out of the dim dungeon. The harsh light of the corridor burned his eyes, but he kept his head down, biting back the groan of pain that threatened to escape. As they marched him up a winding staircase, the familiar sounds of the grand hall grew louder—the murmurs of people, the echo of heavy boots on marble, the crackling of torches. Yeonjun’s heart sank. He didn’t have to guess where they were taking him.When they shoved him into the throne room, the sight that met him was worse than anything he could have imagined. 

The king sat on his golden throne, his expression smug and triumphant. The queen was beside him, her cold gaze fixed on Yeonjun as if he were nothing more than filth beneath her feet. And there, standing just to the side, was the princess. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen as though she’d been crying for hours. The moment she saw him, her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. 

“Ah, the infamous hunter,” The king said, his booming voice dripping with mockery. “I must say, I didn’t expect such a... lowly creature to have the nerve to court my daughter.” Yeonjun said nothing, his jaw tightening as he stared at the marble floor. 

The king rose from his throne, descending the steps slowly, savoring every moment of Yeonjun’s humiliation. “What? Nothing to say? No impassioned defense of your love? No heroic declaration of your intentions?” Still, Yeonjun remained silent. 

The king laughed, a cold and hollow sound that echoed through the chamber. “You see, princess?” he said, turning to his daughter. “This is the man you chose. A coward who can’t even speak for himself.” 

“Stop this!” the princess cried, stepping forward. Tears streamed down her face, her voice cracking as she pleaded. “Please, father, stop this! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“Silence!” the queen snapped, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “You will not disgrace this family further by defending him.” 

“But-” 

“I said, silence!” The king roared, and the princess flinched, her shoulders trembling as she bit back a sob. 

The king turned back to Yeonjun, his smirk returning. “Your little messenger is dead, you know,” he said, his tone almost casual. “And the nursemaid. Both gone, thanks to you. All because you thought you could play hero.”

Yeonjun’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. His heart twisting in his chest. 

The king gestured to one of the guards, who held up the bloodstained arrow as a grim trophy. “The boy cried for you, you know. Right up until the end.” Yeonjun’s chest heaved, rage and sorrow clawing at his insides, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.

The king’s smirk deepened. “No clever retort? No fiery protest? Very well.” He raised his voice, addressing the room. “Choi Yeonjun, the hunter, is hereby sentenced to death for his treasonous actions and his insolence against the crown.” 

“No!” The princess’s scream pierced the air, raw and desperate. She ran forward, throwing herself in front of Yeonjun. “You can’t do this! Please, father, I beg you!”

The queen rose from her throne, her expression cold. “Move aside, child. This is what must be done.” 

“No! I won’t let you!” She turned to Yeonjun, her tear-filled eyes locking onto his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault.” 

“Enough!” The king’s voice boomed, and the guards seized the princess, pulling her away from Yeonjun. She struggled against them, her sobs echoing through the hall as they dragged her back toward the throne.

Yeonjun stood tall, his eyes meeting the king’s without a trace of fear. If this was how it ended, so be it. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. But as the princess’s cries filled the room, a new thought burned in his mind. The memory of Kai, bright eyed and cheery. And everything he had taken from the both of them. She was apologizing but she was not the one at fault. He was. 

Yeonjun sat slumped against the cold stone wall of his cell, his wrists raw from the iron chains and his body aching from days of neglect and torment. His head hung low, the heavy silence of the dungeon pressing against him like a weight. Every sound—the drip of water, the faint scuttle of a rat—seemed magnified in the stillness. Sleep had come and gone in fleeting, restless bouts, and this time was no different. A muffled commotion echoed from somewhere outside the cell. At first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind, the dungeon’s oppressive quiet playing games with his senses. 

But then, there was a distinct clatter—a guard’s voice shouting, followed by a heavy thud. His eyes blinked open, groggy and unfocused. He straightened as best he could, his pulse quickening. Footsteps. He squinted into the darkness, barely registering the soft sound of keys jangling. The door creaked open, and a figure slipped inside, cloaked in the faint torchlight spilling from the corridor. 

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

“Princess?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.

She was at his side in an instant, her hands trembling as they fumbled with the lock on his chains. Her face, framed by the faint flicker of the torchlight, was a mix of desperation and determination. “What are you—how—” he began, but she silenced him with a sharp look. 

“No time for questions,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We need to get out of here. Now.” 

The chains around his wrists fell away with a loud clink, and she moved to the shackles on his ankles. “How did you even get down here?” he asked, still stunned as he rubbed at his sore wrists. 

She glanced up at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the dire circumstances. “My nursemaid taught me more than just calligraphy and how to curtsy,” she said, her tone almost teasing. “Turns out, lock-picking and sneaking around are also valuable skills for a proper princess.” 

Yeonjun blinked at her, equal parts impressed and incredulous. “Remind me to thank her—oh, wait.”

The smirk faltered, her eyes darkening with pain. “She taught me everything I needed to survive. And now we’re going to survive this. Together.” 

The last shackle came loose, and Yeonjun rose to his feet, his legs shaky but functional. She handed him a small dagger she’d tucked into her belt. “Where did you even get this?” he asked, gripping it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. 

“Confiscated it off a guard,” she said matter-of-factly, peering into the hallway. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fight, you know.” 

He couldn’t help the faint smile that crossed his lips. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”

“You’d better not,” she shot back, her gaze darting around the corridor. “Now, let’s go before anyone notices.” The two of them crept through the winding passages of the dungeon, their movements swift but careful. The princess led the way, her steps light and purposeful, and Yeonjun followed close behind, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and disbelief. Every shadow felt like a potential threat, every distant sound a prelude to discovery. But somehow, they moved unnoticed, slipping past guards and evading detection at every turn. 

As they ascended a final set of stairs, the faint light of the moon filtered through a nearby window, illuminating their path. Yeonjun paused for a moment, glancing at the princess. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with curiosity. “You could’ve stayed safe, let them—” 

“Let them kill you?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. She turned to face him fully, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Do you think I could’ve lived with myself, knowing I left you here to die? After everything—after Kai, after Kora?” He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head. “You don’t get to question this. I made my choice. And I choose you.” Her words rendered him momentarily speechless, and all he could do was nod, his throat tight with unspoken emotion. 

“Now come on,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him forward. “We’re almost free.” The night air hit them like a cool balm as they slipped out through a side gate. The castle loomed behind them, a monolith of power and oppression, but they didn’t look back. They ran, side by side, into the darkness. 

The forest was eerily quiet as they approached the cabin, their breaths clouding in the cool night air. Yeonjun slowed as the familiar structure came into view, his steps growing heavier with every inch closer. The small home that had once been his sanctuary now felt hollow, haunted by what had been lost. The princess stayed close, her gaze shifting between him and the cabin, sensing the weight he carried. 

Inside, the room was as he had left it—simple and sparse, with few possessions to speak of. Yeonjun moved with purpose, pulling the golden bow from where it hung on the wall. He ran his fingers over its polished surface, the faint grooves where his hands had gripped it countless times. It had been his most prized possession, a symbol of his skill and survival. Now, it felt like a monument to the boy he’d lost.

“We’ll bury it here,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with grief. “It belongs with him.” 

The princess nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I’ll help.” 

They stepped outside into the moonlit clearing, the ground soft from the recent rains. Yeonjun worked in silence, digging a small grave beneath the large oak tree at the edge of the clearing. The princess stayed by his side, her hands brushing against his to offer support when she could. When the hole was deep enough, Yeonjun carefully laid the bow inside, his movements deliberate and reverent. He placed a folded letter atop it—a message he had written to Kai’s family, explaining everything. His voice broke as he murmured, “I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” 

The princess touched his arm, her fingers light but grounding. “He knew you cared for him. You gave him hope.” 

Yeonjun swallowed hard, nodding as he covered the bow and letter with soil, patting the earth down until the grave was complete. The princess knelt beside him, placing a small wildflower she had plucked from the forest nearby atop the fresh dirt. Together, they bowed their heads in silence, a quiet tribute to a boy whose life had been far too brief. 

Inside the cabin, Yeonjun sat at the worn table, scribbling out one final letter. His handwriting was rough, but the words were heartfelt.

“To the family of HueningKai,

I write this with a heavy heart. Your son was brave, determined, and far too kind for this world. He reminded me of the best parts of myself, and I hope you know he made a difference, even in the short time he was with us.

I leave everything I own to you: my cabin, my tools, and whatever small coin I’ve managed to earn. May it ease your burdens and honor the boy who fought so hard for his family.

Kai deserved better, and I will carry his memory with me for the rest of my days. 

Yeonjun.” 

He sealed the letter, pressing his thumb to it as though it were a seal, and placed it on the table where the family could find it. The princess stood nearby, her eyes glassy as she watched him. “You’re doing the right thing.” 

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable but softening. “I hope so.” 

With that, they gathered the few supplies they needed—food, water, and some tools for their journey. Yeonjun paused in the doorway, casting one last look around the cabin that had been his home for so many years. “This place was never really mine,” he said, his voice low. “It was always meant for someone else.” 

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.” 

They stepped out into the night, the forest stretching out before them, vast and unknowable. The princess glanced back once, her heart heavy with the weight of what they left behind, but she didn’t falter. They walked hand in hand, leaving the cabin—and their old lives—behind. Together, they vanished into the horizon, bound by love, loss, and the hope of something better.

taglist. @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar

[nesmamomen]

For 232 days now I have been posting this campaign with a broken, tired and exhausted spirit, but every time I give up I remember the last people I have left in this life, my family, so I press on my wounds and my great loss of the love of my life, the loss that weighed me down, and I continue and continue posting like a machine whose only goal is to accomplish the mission and collect money to get my family out of this hell...

I am a human being and I have feelings, I am tired of everything, if only you knew what my dream and my only prayer is...

My dream is to die and be buried next to the grave of the one I love

I don't force you to do anything. If you want to donate, donate. If you don't have money, you can reblog the post.

Thank you for everything... Forgive me if I ever made you cry.

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[fr0stf4ll]

A court of Shadows and Moonlight - Part 9

paring; Azriel x reader

summary; In the wake of looming war and changing traditions, a gifted healer returns to the Night Court after centuries of wandering the continents. Tasked with stepping into Madja’s legendary role, she must guide reluctant healers, soothe wounded warriors, and face the entrenched prejudice of Illyrian leaders. But as she mends torn wings and broken spirits, an unexpected bond awakens between her and the Night Court’s enigmatic Spymaster. With rivalries simmering and a dangerous threat looming on the horizon, she must reconcile duty and desire, learning that true healing can extend beyond flesh and bone—if she dares to embrace the light hidden among the shadows.

word count ; 6.5k

Trigger warning; mention of clipping

notes; Hello everyone I hope that you are doing well because I am sooooo tired lol. I just started work and pffiu. Whatever with my life, this chapter as a good background drop on y/n maybe some of you expected it some not. Either way I hope that you will enjoy it because it was so much fun writting it. Well see you soon, don't hesitate to comment and bye bye !

Links; part 8 or part 10

The days since your last encounter with Azriel passed in a blur of activity. The clinic had demanded all your attention, leaving little room for personal thoughts or reflection. But in the quiet moments—when your hands stilled for just a second or your gaze wandered—it crept back.

You sighed heavily, glancing down at the travel bag you were packing for the trip to the Dawn Court. The preparations were nearly done, though your nerves remained. Traveling with Azriel added a layer of tension you weren’t ready to face, but the anticipation of reuniting with the healers of the other courts eased some of that discomfort.

You allowed yourself a small smile, remembering them—your friends, your mentors, the peers who had shaped your path in ways large and small. Each had left a mark on your journey, offering guidance, laughter, or challenges that helped mold you into the healer you had become. Many of them were like family, and the thought of seeing their familiar faces again brought warmth to your chest.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, breaking you out of your reverie. A group of the clinic’s healers had gathered to see you off, their expressions a mix of fondness and determination.

“You’ve got everything under control, right?” you asked, your tone light but tinged with concern.

One of them, Elira, rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, Y/N. For the hundredth time, we’ve got it. The clinic won’t fall apart while you’re gone.”

Another healer chimed in with a grin. “We’ll follow your instructions to the letter. You deserve a few days to focus on something else for once.”

Their reassurances made you smile, though the lingering worry didn’t completely fade. Still, you trusted them. They were skilled, dedicated, and fully capable of handling whatever came their way.

“Alright,” you said, shouldering your bag. “I’m counting on you all. If anything major comes up, send a message immediately.”

Elira gave a mock salute. “Understood, Commander.”

You laughed softly, exchanging a few more words before stepping outside. The crisp air hit your face, clearing your mind as you took a moment to steady yourself. The trip ahead wasn’t just about the meeting—it was about proving that you could handle the weight of this new role. And, perhaps, figuring out how to navigate the bond with Azriel without letting it overshadow everything else.

Standing at the entrance of Velaris, you adjusted the strap of your travel bag on your shoulder, your gaze scanning the skies. The morning air was crisp, with the faintest warmth of sunlight creeping over the horizon. You were early, as always, but waiting in anticipation left you feeling restless.

A flurry of wings caught your attention, and there he was—Azriel, descending gracefully from the sky. His shadows swirled faintly around him, dispersing as his boots touched the ground. He straightened, meeting your gaze with a polite nod.

“Good morning,” you greeted him, your voice steady despite the awkwardness that lingered between you.

“Morning,” he replied, his tone measured, though there was something in his expression—hesitation, maybe? “We should leave as soon as possible if we don’t want to arrive late.”

You nodded quickly. “Of course. Lead the way.”

Azriel stepped closer, his face calm but all business. “First, we’ll winnow to the border of the Dawn Court. Once we cross it, we’ll fly to the capital.”

The mention of flying made your heart skip a beat. You hesitated, glancing at him briefly before voicing your concern. “Flying... Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want it to be too much for you, carrying me.”

He tilted his head slightly, his hazel eyes calm but insistent. “It won’t be. Trust me, Y/N.”

His reassurance didn’t completely settle your nerves, but you nodded regardless. “Alright. If you’re sure.”

Azriel stepped closer, reaching out a hand. “Ready?”

You placed your hand in his, the contact sending an unexpected jolt through you. His grip was firm yet careful, and before you could dwell on the flutter in your chest, shadows enveloped you. The world spun for a moment, and when it stilled, you were standing at the border of the Dawn Court.

The air here was warmer, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and dew-soaked grass. It was a stark contrast to the cool, crisp air of Velaris. The scenery stretched wide and golden, with rolling hills and distant, gleaming spires that marked the capital’s direction.

Azriel turned to you, his expression unreadable. “Ready for the next part?”

You nodded, but your breath caught slightly when he stepped closer. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around you, one arm beneath your knees and the other across your back, lifting you effortlessly.

The proximity was overwhelming. You could feel the warmth of his chest through his clothing, the steady strength in his arms. Every rational thought seemed to vanish, replaced by the hammering of your heart.

“Hold on,” he instructed, his voice calm but with an undertone of something softer. You looped your arms around his neck hesitantly, trying not to focus on how close you were.

With a powerful beat of his wings, you were airborne. The wind rushed past, cool and invigorating, as the ground fell away beneath you. The sky stretched wide and endless, painted with hues of orange and gold from the rising sun. The land below was breathtaking—patches of farmland, rivers winding like silver ribbons, and forests blanketed in mist.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Azriel glanced down at you briefly, a flicker of something—perhaps a smile—crossing his lips. “It is.”

Despite the tension in your chest, you couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty around you. For a moment, the awkwardness and your internal conflict faded, replaced by the simple awe of the journey. The world seemed peaceful from up here, a far cry from the responsibilities and burdens that waited below.

The journey to the Dawn Court felt like both an eternity and a fleeting moment. As Azriel’s arms held you securely, you tried to focus on the scenery—the rolling hills, dense forests, and shimmering rivers below. But no matter how hard you concentrated, you couldn’t fully tune out the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your ear.

It wasn’t the first time you’d been carried like this. Cassian and others had flown you on various occasions, but this time felt different. Perhaps it was because Azriel’s hold was firm yet careful, or because the bond you were trying so hard to ignore pulsed faintly, reminding you of its existence with every beat of his heart. You clenched your jaw and willed yourself to stay focused. This was a professional trip, nothing more.

Azriel didn’t speak, his silence a double-edged sword. It meant you didn’t have to engage in awkward conversation, but it also left you alone with your thoughts—a dangerous thing when you were trying not to acknowledge how close you were. The wind rushed around you, cool and biting, and you leaned slightly into his warmth despite yourself.

Hours passed in that silence, the scenery changing gradually as the Dawn Court came into view. The closer you got, the more the tension in your body grew, not from nerves about the meeting, but from the sheer effort it took to keep your mind from wandering.

Finally, the grand spires of the Dawn Court’s palace appeared on the horizon, their pale stone glowing softly in the golden light of the setting sun. Relief flooded you at the sight, and the moment Azriel landed and released you, it felt as though you were finally able to breathe after holding it in for far too long.

You stepped away from him, smoothing down your clothes and casting a quick glance at the palace ahead. It was every bit as grand as you remembered, and the familiar sight brought a small smile to your lips. For a moment, the tension from the journey eased, replaced by nostalgia for the times you’d spent here in years past.

“Let's go?” Azriel asked, his voice steady but laced with a hint of curiosity as he watched you take in the view.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. “Let’s go. We’re already late as it is.”

The spires of the Dawn Court’s palace gleamed in the evening light, their pale stone catching the last golden rays of the sun. The grandeur of the palace was undeniable, with its wide marble steps leading to intricately carved doors and lush gardens brimming with fragrant blooms. As you and Azriel approached, a familiar figure emerged to greet you.

Your old teacher, Healer Talyen, stood at the top of the steps, her sharp eyes narrowing slightly before softening into a smile. “Y/N,” she called, her voice carrying a warmth you hadn’t realized you missed. “And I presume this is your escort?” Her gaze flicked to Azriel, who inclined his head politely.

“Talyen,” you greeted, your voice light despite the lingering tension from the long journey. “It’s good to see you again. I’m sorry we’re arriving so late—there were some... delays.”

“No need for apologies,” Talyen assured you, gesturing for you both to ascend the steps. “The important thing is that you’ve arrived safely. Though next time, perhaps a bit more haste.” She gave you a pointed look that was softened by the faint twitch of amusement at her lips.

Two servants stepped forward, bowing slightly before offering to take your belongings. You handed them your travel bag, murmuring a quick thanks, while Azriel only released his pack after a moment of hesitation, his sharp gaze scanning the surroundings.

“We’ve prepared everything for your stay,” Talyen continued as you reached her. “The High Lord sends his regrets for not greeting you personally, but he’ll see you in the morning. In the meantime, I’ll ensure you’re settled.”

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, glancing at Azriel, who remained quiet but vigilant. “This is Azriel, by the way. He’s here to ensure I don’t get into too much trouble.”

“An impossible task, I’m sure,” Talyen quipped, her tone dry but affectionate. Azriel’s lips twitched in what might have been a smirk, though his usual stoic demeanor didn’t falter.

She led you both into the palace, where the grandeur continued—polished floors, high ceilings adorned with delicate murals, and soft lighting that bathed everything in a warm glow. The servants trailed behind, their footsteps barely audible as they carried your things.

Eventually, Talyen paused at a hallway branching off into a quieter wing. She gestured to one of the doors. “Y/N, this will be your room. I hope you find it comfortable.”

You stepped forward, nodding your thanks before turning to Azriel. To your surprise, he moved to follow you inside, but one of the servants stepped forward, her expression polite but firm.

“Sir,” she said, bowing slightly, “your quarters are in the guest wing. Allow me to escort you.”

Azriel’s brows drew together in a brief frown, his confusion clear. “I’d prefer to stay close to the person I’m escorting.”

You touched his arm lightly, drawing his attention. “It’s alright,” you said softly, offering a reassuring smile. “We’ll see each other tomorrow. There’s no need to worry.”

His hazel eyes searched yours for a moment, as though weighing the validity of your reassurance. Finally, he nodded, though the furrow in his brow didn’t completely smooth. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to send for me.”

“I’ll be fine,” you promised, your tone firm but kind. “Get some rest. I’m sure you’ll need it for tomorrow.”

Azriel hesitated for a moment longer before allowing the servant to lead him away. You watched him go, his wings shifting slightly as he walked, before turning back to Talyen, who was watching the exchange with a curious gleam in her eyes.

“Still as protective as ever, I see,” she remarked dryly, before pushing open the door to your room. “Come. Let’s get you settled.”

The morning sun poured through the tall windows of your room, bathing the grand space in a warm, golden light. You were seated on one of the cushioned chairs by the small reading nook, going over your notes for the meeting. The room itself was a masterpiece of elegance and comfort. A canopy bed with silken drapes dominated one side, while intricately carved furniture in soft pastels and gold accents filled the rest of the space. The walls were painted in delicate shades of cream and blush, adorned with murals depicting serene landscapes. A fireplace in the corner crackled softly, adding a gentle warmth to the crisp morning air.

The balcony doors stood ajar, letting in a faint breeze that carried the floral scent of the palace gardens. Potted plants lined the corners of the room, their leaves vibrant and full of life, making the space feel alive, almost as if it breathed with you. The familiarity of it all brought a quiet comfort—you had lived here for years during your time at the Dawn Court, and every corner of the room held a memory.

A soft knock on the door interrupted your focus. Setting your notes aside, you stood and opened it to find Azriel standing there, his expression neutral but his gaze curious as he glanced past you into the room.

“You have time?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping aside to let him in. His sharp eyes scanned the room as he walked in, taking in the sheer grandeur of it all. He turned to you, his brow raising slightly. “Even my room at the House of Wind isn’t this good.”

A faint smile tugged at your lips. “This was the room I stayed in when I worked here. They always keep it for me when I visit.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on the fireplace, the plush seating, and the gilded detailing on the walls. “It’s... impressive. Feels lived in.”

“It probably does,” you admitted, sitting back down and motioning for him to take a seat. “I spent years here. It’s strange how easily it feels like stepping back into an old life.”

Azriel hummed in response, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders as he sat in one of the chairs. “So,” he began, leaning forward slightly, “you said each head healer will be here. I assume you’ve worked with all of them before?”

You nodded, rifling through your notes. “Yes. Some trained me, some I’ve trained. Others, I’ve collaborated with on projects. Each court has its unique challenges, but we’ve built a good network over the years.” You went on to explain the specifics—who the healers were, their areas of expertise, and the dynamics between them. Azriel asked a few pointed questions, his sharp mind clearly piecing together the broader implications of what you shared.

When the conversation wrapped up, the two of you left the room and made your way to the meeting hall. The corridors of the palace were grand yet serene, the marble floors reflecting the soft light streaming in from the high arched windows. Your steps echoed faintly as you approached the double doors of the meeting room.

The meeting room was already abuzz with quiet conversation as you and Azriel stepped through the tall doors. The moment your presence was noticed, the chatter paused, and heads turned toward you. A wide smile broke across the face of Veras, the healer from the Winter Court, his imposing figure softened by the warmth in his icy-blue eyes. He stood and crossed the room to greet you, his snow-white braids swinging slightly as he moved.

"Y/N! You haven’t changed a bit," he said, his voice booming with delight. He clasped your hand in both of his, the chill of his skin familiar but oddly comforting. "It’s been far too long."

“Veras,” you replied with a smile, squeezing his hand. “Still as loud as ever, I see. And just as punctual.”

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “I couldn’t miss the chance to see you try to herd this lot again.”

Behind him, a slender figure with sun-kissed skin and a radiant smile approached. Farah, the healer of the Day Court, held out her hands to you. “Y/N, my dear. It’s been years,” she said warmly, her golden hair shimmering like spun sunlight.

“Farah,” you greeted, embracing her briefly. “I’ve missed our talks. I hope you’ve brought more stories to share.”

Farah’s laughter was as bright as her court’s eternal sunshine. “Always.”

Azriel lingered near the doorway, his sharp gaze taking in the room’s dynamics as you moved from one familiar face to the next.

From the Autumn Court, Rordan stood, his fiery-red hair and piercing amber eyes as striking as ever. He was more reserved than the others, but his nod of acknowledgment carried a quiet respect. “Y/N,” he said, his deep voice measured. “Your presence here is a relief. The state of things has been... precarious.”

“It’s good to see you, Rordan,” you replied, your tone equally steady. “We’ll address everything soon.”

As you moved to greet the last person present, Azriel’s attention sharpened. A graceful woman with rich brown skin and hazel eyes that gleamed with intelligence stepped forward. Dressed in elegant light blue robes adorned with intricate ocean patterns, she radiated a quiet strength.

“Amara,” you said with a warm smile, reaching for her hands. “It’s been far too long.”

“It truly has,” Amara, the healer from the Summer Court, replied. Her voice was calm and soothing, carrying an authority that matched yours. “Though I must admit, I wasn’t sure you’d want to speak to anyone from Summer after all this time.”

You chuckled softly. “That was a lifetime ago. And besides, it’s hard to hold a grudge against someone who’s such a dedicated healer.”

Amara’s lips twitched in amusement. “Dedicated, yes. Though some might say stubborn.”

Azriel lingered by the doorway, his sharp gaze sweeping the room. Then, a cheerful voice cut through the pleasant hum of conversation.

“Y/N!”

The exuberant call startled Azriel, and his hand instinctively went to Truth-Teller’s hilt, his shadows coiling protectively.

Azriel, observing from the doorway, was struck by her resemblance to what could only be described as a blend of Tamlin, a dwarf, and an overly excited child.

“Y/N!” she called again, weaving her way through the gathered healers with surprising speed. Her voice was bright, but not overly dramatic. When she reached you, she threw her arms around you in a firm, friendly hug.

“You’ve been avoiding us, haven’t you?” she asked, pulling back to fix you with a mock-stern look.

You laughed lightly. “I wouldn’t say avoiding. Just… busy Lila.”

“Busy, huh? That’s what they all say,” she replied with a knowing grin. “Well, you’re here now, so we’ll take it.”

Her attention flicked briefly to Azriel, who stood quietly near the door, his shadows swirling faintly around him. “And who’s this?” she asked, tilting her head curiously.

“This is Azriel,” you introduced, gesturing toward him. “Spymaster of the Night Court.”

Lila’s eyes widened slightly, her curiosity piqued. “A spymaster? That’s certainly a first for one of our meetings. Welcome,” she said to Azriel, her tone warm and sincere.

Azriel inclined his head politely, his expression neutral. “Thank you.”

Lila turned back to you, her grin returning. “Well, you’ve brought interesting company this time, Y/N. I hope he’s ready for all the endless discussions.”

“He’s here for the diplomatic part,” you replied with a smirk. “Not the gossips.”

Amara, from the Summer Court, who had been standing nearby, chimed in with a soft laugh. “Lila, don’t scare the poor man off before we even start.”

“Who, me?” Lila said, feigning innocence before rolling her eyes dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll behave. For now.”

Amara studied him for a moment before offering a small smile. “I hope the Night Court knows how lucky they are to have her.”

“We do,” Azriel replied smoothly, his shadows curling faintly around him.

As you exchanged pleasantries, Azriel’s sharp ears caught snippets of your conversation. He noted how each healer seemed genuinely pleased to see you, their respect for you clear in their words and body language. It was a side of you he hadn’t fully seen before—a leader among peers, effortlessly commanding attention and admiration.

With that, you moved to your seat at the head of the table, the others following suit. The atmosphere shifted as everyone settled in, their expressions turning serious. The warmth of reunions gave way to the gravity of the matters at hand.

The meeting had officially begun.

The long, oval table in the center of the room surrounded by Prythian’s head healers. Scrolls, notebooks, and maps were spread across its surface, a testament to the immense preparation that had gone into this gathering. You stood at the head of the table, your presence commanding yet approachable, as you guided the room with a steady hand.

“We all know why we’re here,” you began, your tone firm but inviting. “The rising tensions across Prythian demand that we not only adapt but collaborate more closely than ever. This meeting isn’t just about exchanging updates—it’s about finding solutions together.”

Azriel, leaning against the wall near the door, observed the scene intently. Unlike the high lords’ meetings, where every word was a potential weapon, this room felt alive with trust and purpose.

You scanned the faces around the table, meeting each pair of eyes with quiet assurance. “Let’s start with updates from each court,” you said, your quill poised to take notes. “Veras, if you don’t mind going first.”

The Winter Court healer, Veras, nodded and began. “This winter has been particularly harsh, unusually harsh. Hard to say why but we have never in the history of the court been confronted to this type of intense weather. Frostbite cases have increased dramatically, and our healers are stretched thin. Supplies, particularly warming salves, are running low.”

“Veras,” interjected Taylen the dawn healer, his tone thoughtful, “We have been working with Y/N on a modified salve recipe that combines herbs from the Day and Spring Courts. It’s more potent and lasts longer. We’ll ensure the instructions are sent to you, and if you need additional supplies, Y/N should be able to arrange a shipment from the Night Court’s stores.”

Veras smiled warmly, his icy-blue eyes glinting with gratitude. “That would make a world of difference. Thank you.”

You turned your attention to Rordan from the Autumn Court. “Rordan, what’s the situation at the borders?”

Rordan leaned forward, his amber eyes sharp. “Refugees continue to flood into Autumn’s territory, and the strain on our resources is significant. Infections are becoming more common in overcrowded areas. Beron’s influence and desisions are making things hard to deal with, we are short staffed since the war and the epidemic of the last century still lingers on us.”

“I’ve anticipated this,” you said, nodding. “I’ve set up a preliminary exchange network to direct supplies where they’re most needed. Amara from the Summer Court has agreed to prioritize shipments for border regions.”

Amara, seated nearby, nodded in agreement. “That’s correct. We’ll ensure the process runs smoothly.”

Rordan inclined his head. “Thank you. That will help.”

You shifted the focus to Farah of the Day Court. “Farah, any updates on the research you mentioned during our last correspondence?”

Farah smiled brightly, her sun-kissed skin glowing. “We’ve developed a new stamina-boosting salve that’s been highly effective in our soldiers. I’d like to propose expanding our research exchange.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” you replied. “If you could share your findings with the group, we’ll incorporate them into training programs across the courts.”

Farah’s smile widened. “Consider it done.”

You continued to guide the discussion, ensuring that each healer had the opportunity to share their concerns and contribute to the solutions being crafted. When Lila from the Spring Court enthusiastically interjected with an offer to assist with refugee care, you smoothly incorporated her suggestion into the larger plan, balancing her energy with the room’s more reserved members.

Azriel watched as you moved seamlessly through the conversation, posing pointed questions, weighing options, and ensuring that every voice was heard. There was a rhythm to your leadership—a balance of authority and collaboration that drew the best out of everyone at the table.

He sat quietly at the edge of the room, observing the meeting unfold with a mix of fascination and quiet disbelief. The contrast between this gathering of healers and the high lords' meetings was staggering. Where the high lords were often burdened by tension, suspicion, and ego, here, there was trust, cooperation, and a sense of mutual respect that seemed almost surreal.

You led the conversation with ease, seamlessly guiding the flow of ideas and ensuring that everyone had a chance to contribute. Questions were posed with precision, decisions discussed openly, and even disagreements were handled with an air of professionalism and care. Azriel noted the dynamic—it wasn’t that you commanded the room with dominance; rather, you drew the best out of everyone present. It was deeply impressive.

One of the guards from the Winter Court caught Azriel’s eye. The male had also been present at the last high lord meeting, and his expression mirrored Azriel’s thoughts: surprise and admiration at how smoothly everything was running.

Amidst the deliberations, Azriel felt the familiar tug of Rhysand’s presence in his mind. The High Lord’s voice, calm but probing, reached him. How are things going? Are you both all right? How’s the meeting?

Azriel’s eyes flicked briefly toward you before answering. We’re fine. The meeting is... He hesitated, glancing again at the harmony in the room. It’s going better than expected. Almost too well.

Rhysand chuckled in response. Maybe I should have Y/N lead the next high lords’ meeting. Might go smoother.

A faint smile tugged at Azriel’s lips, but it was fleeting. He could feel Rhysand trying to bridge the tension between them again, a faint note of apology threading through their mental link.

Azriel, Rhysand began, his tone softer now. I—

Not now, Azriel cut him off, his tone firm as he closed his mind once more. This isn’t the moment.

The tension lingered, but Azriel pushed it aside, refocusing on the room before him. After a while, you called for a much-needed break, allowing the healers to step away and recharge. Azriel followed you as you moved toward the refreshments, the quiet clinking of glasses punctuating the subdued conversations around the room.

As you poured yourself a drink, he approached, his curiosity finally breaking through his usual restraint. “You seem to know all of them well,” he said, his voice low but tinged with genuine interest. “How did that come about?”

You glanced at him, a small smile forming as you gestured for him to take a drink as well. “It’s a long story,” you replied, leaning lightly against the counter. “But I’ve been in this role for a long time, even if not officially. I kind of always knew that at some point in my life I would take Madja’s place in the night court and I’ve been helping her for centuries with this.”

Azriel waited patiently, sensing that you were gathering your thoughts. Finally, you began to explain.

“The healers from the Dawn Court, Winter Court, and Summer Court trained me when I was younger,” you said. “They were the first courts I visited when I left the Night Court. I was still learning, eager to take in everything I could. They saw potential in me, but they also taught me discipline and perspective.”

Your gaze drifted across the room to the healer from the Spring Court, who was animatedly discussing something with her counterparts. “The healers from the Autumn, Day, and Spring Courts, on the other hand, were trained by me at some point. Lila is the youngest here, but I’ve never seen someone as motivated and talented as her. She’s incredible, really.”

Azriel took a sip of his drink, processing your words. “And the difference between this group and the High Lords?”

You met his gaze, your expression thoughtful. “The difference,” you began slowly, “is that while the High Lords and we both aim to take care of our courts, we’ve accepted that sometimes, you need help from others. And we didn’t inherit these positions. None of us are here because we were ‘meant’ to be. We fought for our places, proved we deserved them.”

Your eyes scanned the room, a quiet pride evident in your voice as you continued. “We come from different backgrounds. Some of us started with nothing; others faced challenges you couldn’t imagine. But we earned our roles. That shared struggle builds trust. It creates a foundation that the high lords—despite their power—sometimes lack.”

Azriel studied you for a long moment, the weight of your words settling over him. There was no arrogance in your tone, no superiority—only honesty and conviction. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the truth in what you’d said.

The meeting had resumed with renewed energy after the break, and the hours slipped by as plans were solidified, discussions wrapped up, and solutions were agreed upon. Azriel, still leaning near the doorway, noted the seamless way you handled even the most challenging topics, your leadership shining through in every word and gesture.

As the meeting reached its conclusion, the grand doors to the hall opened, and a new presence filled the room. All eyes turned toward the High Lord of the Dawn Court himself, Thesan, who entered with a graceful stride and a warm smile.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” Thesan said, his golden robes shimmering under the light. “I thought I might take a moment to greet everyone.”

The room murmured its welcome, but Thesan’s attention quickly shifted to you. His smile widened, and without hesitation, he crossed the room to greet you with a hug, his hand lingering briefly on your back as he stepped away.

“Y/N,” he said warmly. “It’s been far too long.”

You smiled, the ease and familiarity in your expression matching his. “It has, Thesan. I wasn’t sure if you’d be able to drop in.”

“For you? Always,” he replied smoothly, his tone laced with a genuine affection that felt... intimate.

Azriel’s sharp gaze flicked between the two of you, his shadows curling faintly around his shoulders. He couldn’t name the sensation curling in his chest—it wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the sight of Thesan’s hand resting on your back, his tone so effortlessly warm, made something in Azriel tighten. He gripped the hilt of Truth-Teller at his side, though he didn’t draw it, the cool leather grounding him.

Thesan turned to Azriel then, his expression polite but curious. “Spymaster of the Night Court,” he said, extending a hand. “It’s an honor.”

Azriel shook his hand, his grip firm. “High Lord,” he acknowledged, his voice neutral, though his shadows betrayed the flicker of unease still swirling within him.

Thesan’s attention returned to you. “We’ll talk more later, Y/N. But for now, I’ll leave you all to your work.”

He gave you one last smile before departing, leaving a faint hum of energy in his wake. As Thesan left, his golden robes sweeping elegantly behind him, Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow darker around him. He couldn’t explain the irritation bubbling beneath the surface, but watching Thesan’s easy rapport with you—his hand lingering on your back, the casual way he spoke to you—left an uncomfortable knot in Azriel’s chest. 

The day continued with a final wrap-up of the meeting, logistics being finalized, and farewells exchanged among the healers. Azriel stayed close by, observing quietly as you navigated the post-meeting conversations with ease. 

The group began to disperse, each healer carrying their scrolls and notes with an air of purpose. You turned to Azriel, who had been watching the proceedings with a mix of admiration and curiosity. The weight of the day’s discussions lingered, but there was a certain calm in the room now, a sense of accomplishment.

Before stepping toward your room, you paused and glanced at Azriel. “You’ve never been to the Dawn Court capital, have you?”

Azriel shook his head, his shadows curling faintly around him. “No. My work rarely brings me here.”

A small smile tugged at your lips. “Well, you’re in for a treat. The last rays of the sun are about to set over the city, and the view is stunning. Afterward, we could take a stroll through the streets. The city comes alive at night, and there are some places worth seeing.”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, considering your offer. “Are you sure you have the energy for this? You’ve been running the meeting all day.”

You waved a hand dismissively. “I’ll be fine. Besides, a little fresh air will do us both some good. Meet me at the entrance of the palace in fifteen minutes?”

He nodded, the corners of his mouth curving into a subtle smile. “I’ll be there.”

With that, you headed toward your quarters to freshen up, your mind already wandering to the peaceful streets and glowing lanterns that awaited. The thought of seeing the city you once knew so well, with someone new by your side, felt oddly comforting.

Azriel leaned against the marble column near the entrance of the palace, his shadows swirling faintly around him as he waited for you. The last rays of the sun cast a warm glow over the gilded tiles and intricate carvings of the Dawn Court palace, a serene contrast to the conversation he couldn’t help but overhear.

Two healers, young and seemingly unaware of his presence, were chatting in hushed voices that carried just enough for him to hear.

“Yes, she’s the head healer of the Night Court now,” one of them said with a sly laugh. “Do you think she’s going to screw this High Lord too? Maybe Thesan wasn’t enough.”

The other snickered, lowering her voice but not enough. “I heard she even turned him down when he proposed. Can you believe that? The audacity.”

“Right?” the first added. “I mean, she was a total mess when she arrived here. Thesan’s generosity only goes so far, but it seems like she took full advantage of him.”

Azriel’s chest tightened. The male you had spoken about in your story—that had been Thesan. But it wasn’t just that revelation that struck him; it was the way they spoke about you, as though your strength and success were something to diminish.

And then, the second one dropped her voice further, but not enough to escape his sharp hearing. “Do you know why she was a mess? She’s half Illyrian, you know. Heard her wings were clipped before she came here. Left for dead in the snow after... It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

Azriel’s shadows recoiled and then tightened around him like a second skin as he processed what he had just heard. His jaw clenched, and his hand twitched toward Truth-Teller’s hilt, his instincts screaming at him to intervene, to protect, even though the situation had already spiraled into a storm of its own. His eyes flicked to you as you approached, your posture radiating calm authority, though the smirk tugging at your lips told him you were about to unleash a verbal strike that would cut deeper than any blade.

“Was it a miracle?” you asked, your voice carrying an icy undertone that made even Azriel’s shadows still.

The two healers turned toward you, their faces draining of color as recognition hit them. Azriel noticed the way your eyes glinted, not with fury, but with something far more dangerous—control. You weren’t reacting; you were calculating.

The healers exchanged panicked glances, their mouths opening and closing like fish out of water. One of them, a slender female with auburn hair, mustered what little defiance she could and stammered, “We’re not under your command.”

Your smirk widened ever so slightly, a calculated tilt of your head accentuating the sharpness in your gaze. “No,” you said, your voice smooth as silk but no less lethal, “but you are under the command of Thesan, the High Lord of the Dawn Court. A High Lord who values discretion, professionalism, and respect—qualities you seem to lack.”

Azriel noticed the faint twitch in the corner of your mouth as you paused, letting the weight of your words sink in. The two healers visibly shrank under your gaze, their earlier bravado crumbling.

You took a deliberate step closer, your voice dropping into something quieter but far more menacing. “Gossiping about a patient’s private life in the palace, of all places, is not only unprofessional but also disgraceful.”

The auburn-haired healer looked like she might collapse under the weight of your words, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. The other, a taller male, attempted to speak, but his voice cracked before he could form a coherent response.

Without giving them a chance to recover, you added, your smirk returning, “And while you’re correct that you don’t answer to me, I’d be very curious to hear how Thesan might respond if I were to inform him of this little... lapse in judgment.”

Azriel almost laughed at the way the two healers stiffened, their defiance extinguished. Instead, he stepped slightly closer to you, his shadows curling protectively at his feet, silently reinforcing your authority.

Then, with the same sardonic ease, you added, “Considering I fucked Thesan so well, I’m fairly certain he’d follow my orders without hesitation.”

Azriel blinked, taken aback by your brazenness. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep his face neutral, though his shadows flickered as if sharing in his surprise. The two healers were stunned into silence, their wide-eyed expressions frozen as though they’d been caught in a trap.

You turned sharply on your heel, leaving no room for rebuttal, and said firmly, “Let’s go, Azriel.”

He followed immediately, his steps measured, but his mind raced as he replayed the scene. The ease with which you had dismantled the situation, the confidence laced with just the right amount of menace—it left him both impressed and slightly awed. Yet, beneath it all, he couldn’t shake the ache of what he’d overheard.

As you walked, he caught your profile in the fading light. The smirk had softened into something quieter, almost reflective. Azriel’s own emotions churned, a tangled mix of anger on your behalf and admiration for how you had handled yourself. He didn’t speak, not yet, but the urge to say something—to acknowledge your strength or offer some form of comfort—gnawed at him.

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[heirofnight]

so long

pairing: azriel x reader

word count: 1.8k (of heart-crushing angst)

based on this request: could you do something for azriel based off ‘so long, london’ by taylor swift! thank you in advance 🩵

a/n: this is literally just soul-crushing angst. that's it. pls give feedback, and lmk what you think <3

i saw in my mind ferry lights through the mist i kept calm and carried the weight of the rift pulled him in tighter each time he was drifting away

you stood with your back to the rest of the room, peering out at the velvety night sky that was blanketing velaris.

your arms were wrapped around yourself, and you'd opted to put all of your focus towards counting each bright, twinkling star in the onyx sky - anything to avoid turning around, which would result in meeting the eyes of the male sitting on the bed behind you.

you'd heard the sheets rustle as azriel shifted his weight against the mattress. he huffed out a dejected sigh, his wings rustling in anticipation of the conversation that was inevitably going to take place.

you'd shook your head then, squeezing your left shoulder in an attempt to ground yourself, silence your swirling thoughts.

my spine split from carrying us up the hill wet through my clothes, weary bones caught the chill i stopped trying to make him laugh, stopped trying to drill the safe

"i can't keep doing this, azriel," you whispered hoarsely, sniffling once.

although you couldn't see him, you felt the tension that stiffened his slouched frame after you uttered those words.

"i've felt this way for awhile, but i kept telling myself to ignore it - i've ignored you shutting down, shutting me out for days. i've ignored the way you've so-," you paused, trying to reign in your quickly escalating emotions before continuing, "so obviously have been going out of your way to avoid me, and i've even ignored you leaving my bed in the middle of the night to return to your own rooms - to sleep alone," you breathed out a quiet laugh devoid of any humor.

when he offered you no response, you kept going, "i'm exhausted, azriel. i am tired. i cannot keep forcing this relationship along, and i refuse to allow myself to continue to be involved with you when it is so clearly one-sided," you finished, voice shaky yet firm.

i stopped CPR, after all it’s no use the spirit was gone, we would never come to and i’m pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

you finally turned around, daring to meet the hazel eyes of the male that, a year ago, handed his heart over to you in the palms of his beautifully scarred hands. you were both so happy in the beginning. he'd given you everything, he'd shared everything with you - his past, the horrible, vicious past that he'd endured. every thought, every feeling that made itself known at any given moment. he had slowly but surely opened himself up to you. no crevice was left undiscovered - and you had granted him the same.

but, for what? so much wasted time, wasted energy.

over the last few months, azriel had begun to revert back to his old ways - to the point where, you'd sometimes had to ask yourself if it was all a dream in the first place. this abrupt, glaring switch had been flipped, and it almost felt like you'd never known him at all.

even now, it was like looking into the eyes of a stranger. his shadows were twined tightly around himself - a safe cocoon that rendered him wholly hidden from you. his expression was cold, unreadable. before you was the shadowsinger, but you'd fallen in love with your az.

and if this heartbreaking shift in his demeanor wasn't awful enough to endure, he was also refusing to even speak to you about it. you'd receive grunts and hums in lieu of actual verbal responses. did you not even deserve an explanation?

"so, i'm done. i'm done trying to make this work, i'm done bending over backwards. i've only broken myself in half in the process. i am not going to be the only one fighting to keep this, this - whatever this is, alive. thank you for all of the times we've had, but i'm done," you sneered, cringing at how professional your last statement felt, sounded.

so far from where you'd both begun.

and you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it my white knuckle dying grip, holding tight to your quiet resentment

his eyes were cold and full of disdain, all of that anger and negativity being directed towards you - boring through you so intensely, you'd sworn for a moment that his gaze would leave gaping holes on every part of your body it touched.

he cleared his throat, his voice sounding like pure gravel, "so that's it, then? you're just - giving up?," he spat, his shadows swirling around him angrily - the sight reminding you of furious storm clouds preparing to decimate the land beneath them.

you must have been hallucinating.

giving up? you narrowed your eyes, taking a moment to process his words before you spoke.

"giving up?," you repeated out loud, voice hard and disbelieving.

"azriel, have you not been listening to me? have you not been bearing witness to how hard i have tried, and tried, and tried over the last 5 months?," you stepped towards him, face twisted in anger.

"how dare you?," you spat, hands slapping against your thighs as you gestured in utter shock. "i would have died for you, azriel. and several times over these last few months, it felt like i was heading in that direction," your voice lowered, growing dark.

he winced at your words, head dropping to stare at his hands that sat folded in his lap.

so how much sad did you think i had, did you think i had in me? how much tragedy? just how low did you think i'd go ‘fore i’d self implode? 'fore i’d have to go be free?

"i'm sorry," his voice hoarse and full of gravel - remorseful.

you paused, dropping your own head toward the floor.

"it's a little too late for that, az," you softened at his nickname escaping your lips, your heart aching at the familiarity of it. proof that you'd both been more than just strangers to each other at some point, even if that was the heart-wrenching truth now.

he shook his head to himself, running a frustrated hand through his jet-black waves.

curls that you'd play with so frequently when he'd begun to shut down right in front of your eyes. the action always seemed to bring him temporary piece, settling the raging storm that was beginning to brew within his molten-honey eyes.

your hand twitched at the memory, urging you to do the same thing for him again - now. but it was over, past the point of no return.

you swore that you loved me, but where were the clues? i died on the altar waiting for the proof

you bristled, straightening your posture after a pregnant pause of silence - you'd realized that he had nothing else to offer. no more words, no more explanations, no energy to fix whatever had irreparably split you both in two.

there was a point - about three months into the relationship - where things were so good, so heart-achingly perfect, that you were absolutely positive that he must be your mate. that was the only explanation for how well you both intertwined with each other. surely, there could be no other male walking this planet more made for you than azriel.

now, that thought almost made you laugh, the irony of it all almost paralyzing.

and so, with azriel offering you nothing further, you began to stride towards his bedroom door. this was it. he had no reassurance to give, no proclamation of love, no argument against the truth.

it was over, and that was that.

and I’m just getting colour back into my face

three months had passed since you had ended your relationship with azriel on a devastating note.

you'd avoided the entire inner circle for that entire timeframe. you'd stopped visiting the town house, the house of wind. you'd stopped visiting rita's, and the bakery that you knew feyre loved to frequent. you'd opted to ultimately avoid the rainbow entirely. you couldn't bare it, couldn't bare the thought of running into any of them.

the thought of their pitying eyes assessing you after everything that had happened - it was suffocating, it would leave wounds almost as deep and bloody as the breakup itself.

but, as time progressed, you'd begun to heal. you'd met new friends at a cooking class held across the river. and as time went on, you were even able to stomach the food you'd spent so much time learning to create.

and then - it happened.

you'd decided on a whim to accompany your new friends to a café alongside the sidra after a cooking class one evening. it was a beautiful night, the clearest sky you'd seen in what felt like months. you weren't sure if this had anything to do with the newfound clarity you'd received since ending things with azriel, but regardless, it was welcomed.

you were sat around a small, round table right next to the peaceful river, the stars reflecting off its surface in a way that threatened to steal your breath each time you glanced over.

you felt true peace, surrounded by company - friends, friends that were yours, and not yours and azriel's.

a laugh trickled out of you as you listened intently to a story being shared around your table of wine and appetizers. you glanced to your left, squeezing the arm of the new male beside you - leaning against his frame as you both giggled. you'd met him at these aforementioned cooking classes, and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't a large reason behind your continued attendance.

your eyes met his, and you shared a warm smile, and that's when something behind his head - in the distance - caught your focus.

the apex of large, membranous wings. you felt your face blanche at the realization, and you leaned back in your chair hesitantly, heart stuttering against your ribcage.

and sure enough, there stood azriel. he'd already found you, and his narrowed gaze pinned you in place. he was with his brothers, and they seemed completely unaware of your presence at all.

but azriel was always aware, of everything, all the time. and he was painfully aware of you, sitting next to a male that was not him. hooked around his frame as if you were sewn together.

his shadows twirled and looped around him ominously, and you knew him well enough to know that although his expression was blank and unfeeling, his shadows always gave his emotions away.

he was pissed.

but you offered him a tense, pained smile. you felt dizzy, but you nodded once in his direction anyway.

as if to say, i see you, and i'm here, and so are you, and that's okay

it was over, and you'd met someone new, and you had come to terms with that - with all of it.

and you'd wanted him to do the same.

so long, london stitches undone two graves, one gun you’ll find someone

a/n: this shit HURT. angst with no happy ending makes me want to claw my eyes out. but i hope you enjoyed this request!

a/n x2: i am just getting home from a morning shift, so if any of this was written poorly or not .... great, it's because i've been awake since 4AM. so sorry!!!

[violettwrites]

in the arms of the broken — daryl dixon

a/n: to the dear nonnie that requested this 🫶🏻 thank u sm i absolutely adored writing this (i rly should be sleeping but i can’t so here i am) i hope you enjoy !!

if you enjoyed reading this, please support me by giving me a like, reblog, and/or comment ! don’t forget to follow me either if you want to read more of my stuff !

request: anon said — “i also like the dialogue prompt ‘i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this’ that tugs at the heart strings”

summary: reader cannot cope with the way the world has become, during a particularly hard night for themselves, daryl dixon is the one to comfort them.

warnings: angst/sadness ,,, thats it rly

word count: 1,241

recourses: divider by @adornedwithlight

➵ tp!daryl masterlist

➵ regular masterlist

here is my ask box !

the night was quiet except for the crackle of the fire, but it felt wrong—like the world had gone still, holding its breath. you sat by the flames, knees drawn to your chest, staring blankly into the flickering light. the heat touched your skin, but it didn’t reach you, didn’t chase away the cold that had settled deep inside.

daryl watched you from a distance, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed over his chest. he’d been keeping an eye on you for days, noticing the way you’d been pulling away from everyone, isolating yourself. you’d always been strong, always held it together for the sake of the group, but something was different now. something had changed, and it scared him. you were like a shadow of yourself, your spirit drained, your eyes distant.

rick approached him, eyes flicking over to you before meeting daryl’s. “how’s she holdin’ up?”

daryl didn’t answer right away, his jaw tightening as he watched the way you sat so still, your body hunched like the weight of everything had finally become too much to carry. he shook his head, his voice quiet and rough. “i don’t know… i’ve never seen her like this.”

rick nodded, his expression grim. “she’s been through a lot. more than most of us. maybe she just needs some time.”

rick can recall the first time they found you, smack bang in the middle of atlanta, all alone. you were covered in blood and guts, and if he hadn’t actually heard how you begged for help when he saw you, your voice barely audible, he honestly would have thought you were just another walker.

“time ain’t gonna fix what’s broken,” daryl muttered under his breath, the frustration simmering beneath his skin. time wasn’t enough when you were drowning, when you couldn’t see a way out of the darkness. and he hated that he didn’t know how to pull you out.

rick gave him a look, one that said everything he didn’t need to say out loud. “you’re the one she’ll listen to, daryl. talk to her.”

daryl stood there a moment longer, watching the way you curled into yourself, like you were trying to disappear. every instinct in him told him to go to you, but he hesitated, unsure if his words would even matter. still, he couldn’t just leave you like this.

he finally pushed off the tree and walked over, his boots crunching softly against the dirt. he lowered himself to the ground beside you, sitting close enough that you could feel his presence, but not so close that he’d crowd you.

for a while, neither of you said anything. the fire crackled between you, the only sound breaking the silence of the night. daryl wasn’t sure how to start, wasn’t good with words even on the best of days. but he knew you, and he knew the way you got when things started to spiral out of control in your head.

“you don’t gotta shut us out, y’know,” he finally said, his voice gruff but soft. “we’re all here for ya.”

you didn’t respond at first, your eyes still fixed on the flames like they held some kind of answer you were searching for. after a long moment, you sighed, your voice barely a whisper. “i’m tired, daryl.”

those words hit him like a punch to the gut. he’d seen people break before, seen the way this world could wear someone down until there was nothing left. but hearing you say it, seeing you like this—it scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“i know,” he said quietly. “we all are. but we’re still fightin’. you’re still fightin’.”

you shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke. “i don’t know if i can anymore. every day feels like it’s getting harder. like… like i’m losing pieces of myself.”

daryl’s chest tightened. he’d always admired your strength, the way you kept going no matter how hard things got. but now, hearing you say you were falling apart—it made him realize just how much he hadn’t noticed.

“you ain’t losin’ yourself,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “you’re still here. we’re still here.”

you swallowed hard, tears brimming in your eyes. “i feel like i’m drowning. like no matter what i do, it’s never enough. i can’t save everyone, daryl.”

that was it, wasn’t it? the burden you carried, the weight of trying to protect everyone, to hold the group together when everything was falling apart. it was breaking you.

daryl shifted closer, his hand reaching out to rest on your arm, hesitant at first, but firm once it was there. “you don’t gotta save everyone. that ain’t on you.”

your voice cracked as you spoke, the tears spilling over now. “but if i don’t… who will?”

daryl’s heart clenched at the raw pain in your voice. he wished he had the right words, wished he could take that weight off your shoulders. but he knew he couldn’t fix everything. what he could do, though, was remind you that you weren’t alone.

“you don’t have to,” he said, his thumb gently brushing your arm in a way that was more comforting than he realized. “we’re all in this together. you ain’t gotta carry the world by yourself.”

you turned to look at him, and the vulnerability in your eyes nearly broke him. he wasn’t used to seeing you like this, so lost and fragile. he hated it. he hated that you felt like you had to carry the world alone, that you felt like you were drowning.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “everything feels so heavy.”

daryl swallowed hard, his own heart aching at how much pain you were in. he didn’t know how to take that pain away, but he could be there for you. he could be the one thing you could hold on to when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

“you ain’t alone,” he said, his voice low but steady. “you got me. no matter what, you got me.”

you looked at him then, really looked at him, and for the first time in days, you felt like you could breathe just a little easier. his words were simple, but they grounded you. daryl had always been your anchor, and in this moment, you needed him more than ever.

without thinking, you leaned into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder as the tears came harder, your body shaking with the force of them. daryl didn’t hesitate. he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back.

“let it out,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “it’s okay. i got ya.”

and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself fall apart. you let the tears come, let the pain you’d been holding in for so long spill out. daryl didn’t say anything more, didn’t need to. he just held you, his presence steady and unwavering, letting you know without words that you didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

the fire crackled softly beside you, but the world felt a little less cold with daryl holding you. you weren’t okay. you weren’t sure when—or if—you’d ever be okay again. but for now, in his arms, you felt like you didn’t have to be.

and maybe that was enough.

[eccentricallygothic]

|| Home ||

Summary: It was meant to be a light hearted joke when Y/n had declared that she and Lloyd were married after he had put his insignia band in her ring finger. Little did the younger one know, the humour had not been mutual. 

Pairing: Mafia Ex-Boyfriend Lloyd Hansen | Naive!Reader.

Disclaimer: I (unfortunately) do not own Lloyd Hansen. This story contains dark and mature content so browse at your own discretion, please. Minors do not interact.

Warning(s): Noncon/dubcon, Lloyd, gun play, dacryphilia, fear kink, age gap, house wife kink, husband kink, wife kink, slight breeding kink, boot riding, degradation, humiliation, dumbification, probably misogyny, pet names. The reader also pees herself out of fear. 

Note: English is not my first language but whoring is and so this came to me when I was literally half asleep at like 6 in the morning. Please be nice or don't say anything. Feedback (that isn't straight up hate) is always much appreciated!

MASTERLIST 

"Hey, baby sunshine" the near slur in his words caused her eyes to roll. 

"God, hold your horses, I am coming!" Y/n yelled at the door in annoyance as she trudged her tired feet to it. "Hold your horses!" She had had a long day so she couldn't be bothered with the peep hole, clicking the locks open as she prepared herself for the crazy lady that lived across the hall since no one else could rival how she could bang doors. It didn't help that she seemed to have a personal vendetta against the young female. "Wha-" her words locked up in her throat at the sight that awaited her behind the door. 

Come on. 

Not this again. 

Could this day end already?

"What do you want, Lloyd?" Raising an eyebrow at her ex to express her annoyance with the unexpected visit, the female crossed her arms over her chest as she awaited a response. 

"Can I come in?" 

"Can you?" The sadist pulled the saddest eyes he could and coupled it with a kicked puppy expression. Though the girl knew he was anything but. 

"Come on, bunny. We had a life" Lloyd tried his best persuasive tone that did not do anything for him since the only way he knew to talk was his commanding and authoritative usual. 

Always expecting obedience. 

"Correct, Lloyd. We had a life" she stepped back and wrapped her arms along the edge of the door. "And it's over" his foot stuck between it and the frame to restrict it from closing. The female sighed as she looked up at him with tired and pleading eyes. "Leave." 

"Five minutes?" If it weren't Y/n giving him the attitude -that he frankly could not fathom why she was-, he was sure he had already pushed them to their knees, broken them into submission and probably put them out of their misery. 

He could never lay an ill spirited finger on her. 

Not his little sunshine, no. 

Everything Lloyd did ever since meeting her was for them.

For her good.

Whether she liked it or not. 

"Lloyd." Her tone was clipped. 

"I am not leaving here until you do" the determination in his voice was clear. 

In the year she had dated him, Y/n knew he could be awfully stubborn if he really put his foot down. 

"Five minutes." She couldn't help but sigh after the warning before leaving the door for him to enter and walking to the living room to plop on one of the couches. 

Lloyd snorted as he took a seat besides her, causing the female to uncomfortably scoot over. 

"So, what? Now your husband is so bad that you won't even offer him a glass of water when he comes home?" I fucking knew it. The moment he wormed his way into her walls and got what he wanted, he was back to that taunting and cocky default tone of his. 

"What the hell are you on about, now?" Y/n turned to look at him, confused. "What is this new–"

"This," she nearly jumped when he reached for her hand and pulled it out of its lock over her chest, propping one digit under her ring finger to make it stand out amongst the others even more. "Remember this?" His insignia ring twinkled under the lights. 

Fuck. 

Wearing it had become such a habit that she hadn't even noticed it in the past week that had followed the break up after the girl had accidentally watched a footage of him torturing– no, tormenting a suspect when looking for something on the computer in his study. Though Y/n used the unit often, it was an established rule to not access his work files and folders but this one had been on the desktop. The date showed that it was recent. 

Betrayal had filled her veins as she had watched it with wide eyes in horror. Lloyd had told her that he was a businessman that funded government operations hence the mysterious agents that visited him in his study every once in a while. But this, it changed everything. 

Not only was he a liar, but the video showed how sadistic and brutal he was. Y/n could almost not recognize the man enjoying the pain he was inflicting on the bound man begging for mercy. 

She could not live with a man like that. 

It was horrifying to think that she had been doing so for over a year at that point. 

Memories flooded her brain as she looked up in his deep blue eyes, fear filling her senses the more his grip on her hand tightened.

Placing the massive bowl of nachos away that Y/n had failed to finish besides them, she wiped her fingers on one of the napkins on the table in front of her and Lloyd in the fancy entertainment room that he had in his mansion. She shook her head at the bowl as she leaned back against his chest and let him wrap his built arms around her form, perching his chin on the top of her head as he watched the movie that was playing on the huge screen in front of them. 

She had told him that she liked to eat nachos while watching movies. So he had the house help prepare an entire pots' worth for her. And now at least half remained. The girl sighed and finally looked away from the delicious bowl and onto the screen. But it was some old movie that Lloyd swore was a masterpiece but she couldn't really understand the hype. 

Her eyes travelled down to his thick arms now, fingers tracing the bulging veins. The action caused the male to press a kiss to her head which resulted in a surge of hundreds of butterflies in her stomach. 

Y/n's lips quirked up as she felt the ring he wore on his pinky finger now, toying with it for a bit before she pulled it off his finger and put it on hers with a mischievous smile. 

"What?" Her lips pouted as she furrowed her eyebrows. It didn't fit her smallest finger like his. She jabbed it back and forth to try and make it fit somehow but the ring hung loosely near her knuckle. "Ugh!"

"Your finger is smaller than Daddy's, baby" Lloyd's mustache tickled the shell of her ear as he took her hands in his and pulled the ring off. "Must be because you're such a tiny little bunny compared to him" she blushed and bit her lip. 

He loved to make her feel the smallest he could. 

"There we go, all fit and pretty" he pressed a kiss to her temple after sliding it on her ring finger where the ring locked comfortably against her skin almost as though they were meant for each other. 

"Oopsie!" Y/n giggled as she tilted her head back to look at him. "We are married now!" 

Lloyd had an amused smile on his face. "Nothing oopsie about that, little bunny" and he sealed it with a kiss. 

"Agreed." The younger blushed harder as she giggled again due to how his mustache tickled her upper lip. 

"That was then." Y/n replied back coldly as she pulled her hands from his. "Now is now. And it's different." Trying her best to suppress the shudder threatening to break its way into her voice, she went to pull the ring off. "You-"

"Don't." His darkening eyes locked on her fingers and tone became one of warning. "Y/n Y/L/N, do not." 

Who did he think he was? Her lips turned into a firm line as she ripped the ring off her finger angrily. 

"You lied to me- LLOYD!" Before the jewellery could completely come off her finger, the man had pounced onto her. "STOP! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE NOW!" Terror filled her body as she realized that her strength was no match to his. 

Lloyd calmly pushed the ring back down on her finger. "Would you calm the fuck down already?" His tone was one that he had never used with her before. Cold droplets of sweat trickled down her back.

It was similar to the one he had been using in the video. 

"P- Please." 

"You didn't even give me a chance, sunshine. Good wives don't do that" his eyes were crazed as he caressed her fingers with no regard to her visibly upset state. "You just up and left with a silly little note while I was on the other side of the world working so hard for us and our future family like a loving husband." He sounded cross but still kissed the ring. 

"You lied to me" Y/n could only whisper back, the only man she could see in front of her the one from the video. 

"For us." His eyes finally flickered up to meet hers. "It was for your own good, bunny." When she tried to struggle, his jaw clenched and he pulled her into him before grabbing her by the jaw. His patience was wearing thin. How dare she? "And I would really appreciate it if you quit acting like I am some amateur criminal. I work for the government and I am an agent." Inching her face closer to his, he brushed their noses together before pecking her lips. "And a damn good one at that."

"No." He chuckled.

"No?" Lloyd went to pull something out of his back pocket. "You see, bunny. Dumb little wives such as you are too small to know anything wise to make decisions for themselves." Her body stilled when a bloody pistol came into her view. His other hand still held her by the jaw. "They need their husbands to show them the way. Regulate them with rules. Protect them under their wings." A strangled cry escaped the girl when he thought the barrel to her lips. 

"Good little wives don't worry about anything other than keeping the house warm and clean for their man while he takes care of the rest. They are supportive and obedient." Her teeth started to chatter when he caressed her cheek with the weapon. "I thought you were a good wife too. But the little antic you pulled last week proved that there is much training ahead of you." Y/n could not recognize the man in front of her. 

He was the polar opposite of the one she had lived with and loved for a whole year. 

"L- Lloyd…"

"Yes, sunshine?" The male looked perfectly comfortable. 

"Y- You're scaring me" hot tears spilled from her eyes. 

"It is for your own good, little bunny." The tip of the gun traced the shape of her lips now. "You need to learn your place here. You want the truth, right? I will not only tell you but I'll show you it." A whimper escaped her as she silently cried in disbelief. Her tears did not seem to move him in the slightest. 

"Kiss it" Lloyd's demand caused her heart rate to thunder faster. The barrel pressed against her lips. "Show me that you are a trusting and obedient wife who trusts her husband with her safety and wellbeing." The female's body jumped when he thrusted the cold metal against her sealed mouth. "Do it."

Y/n trembled as her hands hung uselessly at her sides. The girl didn't know much about weapons but she knew nothing was faster than a bullet. Although it was something about his mannerisms that indicated that he wouldn't actually pull it. The happy memories of their past resurfaced. He had never hurt her after all.

"Come on" he tried to pry open her mouth with the tip. "Don't make this any worse for yourself than you already have, sunshine." The darkness in his warning had her open her mouth and finally conform to his wishes by pressing a shaky kiss to the weapon.

Lloyd smiled as his dark blue eyes flickered to her luscious lips and then to her teary eyes. "Ah," her eyes widened when he took her slightly parted lips as an invitation to push the barrel of the gun inside her mouth. Y/n tried to back away, the man restricted her from doing so by grabbing her by the throat with his other hand. "You always did look the prettiest when you were crying for me" now his eyes sickeningly travelled down her neck and over the valley of her boobs that was visible from the loose t-shirt that she was wearing, then they went down her stomach and onto the shorts that were increasingly becoming damp from the middle, a hot liquid oozing past the fabric. 

The male threw his head back and laughed out loud. "Oh, bunny. Look at you pissing yourself like a scared little mutt!" Her already red and distressed face now burnt even hotter as the stretch that the gun was causing produced a pang of pain in her jaw. "See? This is why you need your husband to protect you. Because you are so small and helpless on your own… right?" His fingers tightened around her throat as he slowly rocked the barrel in and out of her mouth. "Hm?" The girl slowly nodded in response as she realized there was no way out of this. 

Lloyd sighed as he released her air duct but kept his fingers around her throat still, scanning her face and her body. "This is how long it would have taken us to sort it out, bunny. But you had to go ahead and make it hard for the both of us." Taking the weapon out of her mouth, he caressed one of her cheeks with the barrel. "You know I never did like punishing you" but the man in the video definitely would. 

"P- Please… Please…" Y/n whispered pleadingly. "Please…" 

"You ready to be a good girl for me again?" It was the love in his tone and sheer disregard for her horror stricken state that proved that this man, indeed, was the one from the video. 

She had no choice but to nod. "Y- Yes…" Just don't hurt me. 

"Yes, what?" 

"Yes… Daddy" he snorted and shook his head before nodding towards the ring glinting in her finger. 

"What's that make me?" She whimpered as a hiccup trembled its way out of her. 

"... H- Husband…" 

"Good girl…" Pulling her closer, he pressed his lips to hers in a rewarding manner -ever the narcissist- before continuing. "You are to call me that or hubby from now on, okay? The only exception will be Daddy. No using my name. Good little wives show respect." He dangled her body left and right by the throat. "Is that understood? Or does your tiny wife brain need me to explain it some more?" 

"I- I understand" she clenched her jaw when he raised an eyebrow at her. "... H- Hubby…" 

"Hmmm" Lloyd lazily eye fucked her again, unbothered by the fact that she had pissed herself a few minutes prior. He was used to much worse. "Now show me what's mine. Tsk, these clothes do nothing for you, bunny. Besides, you know you're only allowed to wear my shirts for pjs, what is this?" Moving her in front of him on the floor, he leaned back. "Tsk, tsk, bunny. I didn't think it was necessary since you used to behave so well but now I am positive that you need proper training." The man shook his head because even he knew that training with him was no easy thing. He had broken many little girls and boys while doing so. 

Though none had kept him drawn for this long. 

They eventually bored him out. 

Lloyd had never wanted to put any of them in a pretty dress and fill their tummies with his babies to have them waddle around his kitchen.

Y/n was different. 

"I don't have all day for this, sunshine." The girl hung her head low as she trembled under his piercing gaze, fingers grabbing the gem of the oversized shirt before she pulled it off. "Hmmm… my favorite fuck handles" the sight caused the male's cock to harden as he reached for her breasts and felt them both in turns, squeezing and spanking them before teasing her erecting nipples. "Fuck, sunshine. I missed you so much." Y/n blinked through her tears as she slid her wet shorts off her legs next, the reminder of the cause of the dampness making her face burn in embarrassment. 

"Hmmm. Look at how pretty you look, baby. All submissive and mum for me." Pulling her closer by a pinch on one of her nipples, he started to stroke her cheek with the gun again. The terror in her eyes whenever he did so thrilled him. "This is your true place. Good and pretty for me on your knees. Your only purpose is to keep me happy and my balls empty." The degrading words burnt her face. A chill ran down her back upon realization. The filthy and humiliating words he used to utter during their passionate episodes weren't just nothings. He actually meant every one of them. 

This was proof. 

"You do that, you'll be the happiest and most protected little wife in the whole world." Lloyd pushed the barrel back in her mouth and one of his boot clad feet between her lungs. Y/n whimpered in response. 

"Remember how much you used to love to suck my cock? Sometimes that was all you wanted to do for hours at a time" his foot teased her damp folds. "You remember, don't you?" The ruthless twist of a nipple had her nodding as her back arched in pain. "It's a pity that you can't have it anymore since you've become such a misbehaving little girl just because work took a bit longer than expected" in his world, whatever he said was the truth. "But since I am such a caring husband and I know how much you love sucking cock…" Her stomach twisted from how he was rubbing the top of his foot against her pussy as he thrusted the barrel in and out of her mouth. 

She tried to mumble his name through the mouthful to plead but the man refused to acknowledge any of it. 

"I have always loved you just the way you are but I really think you should learn to be more grateful, you know? Because look at me…" When Lloyd kept on the pretense that he couldn't hear her pleas and instead reached the back of her throat with the gun, Y/n hurriedly started to bob her up back and forth. "You betrayed me, you left me without giving me a chance to explain myself and then refused to let me in like you are big enough to make any decisions, yet I am treating you so well. Doesn't this call for appreciation and respect for your husband?" The female whimpered against the weapon, feeling heat form between her hips as they started to sway along his foot. 

"God, Y/n," he chuckled deeply, pearly white teeth coming out on full display. "You're such a pathetic cockwhore. Sucking a gun that can go off any second while fucking yourself on my shoe like a horn bunny." The man reached for her hair now, fingers snaking through a handful of the pieces on the top of her head before he gave a humiliating jerk to it, eliciting a gasp out of the female who was confused, scared, shivering and aroused all at the same time. "This is where you belong, sunshine; at my mercy between my legs. Your only job is to worship me because your little brain is too small to do anything else… right?" Lloyd forced her to nod her head by the hold he had on her hair. "Right?" He drew his words out tauntingly before nodding himself. "Atta girl." 

Sense was starting to desert a moaning and sobbing Y/n as she struggled to decide whether this was scaring her or exciting her. As the knots in her stomach tightened, her insides churned but pussy clenched at the thought that maybe it was both. The danger, the fear, the loss of power coupled with the stretch in her mouth and stimulation against her folds was clouding up her head. 

It was Lloyd after all.

He wouldn't actually hurt her. 

… Right? 

Her conscience trembled its way out and away from her along with the moans she was letting out, the burn of the leather of his shoe against the skin of her pussy lips adding to the pleasure as she stared at him with teary eyes, hands now holding onto his legs for support as she felt a spinning building up behind her eyes. 

It has been so long. 

God. He smells like himself. 

… So good.

When her eyebrows scrunched up and lips pouted in a similar way, a very turned on Lloyd opened his mouth to speak. "You wanna cum for your hubby like a good little cock whore wife, bunny?" Fuck. She looked so fragile and… scared. The tears just added to the appeal. "So needy, aren't you? Crying these pretty tears for him?" Y/n nodded before she could dwell over the rights and wrongs. "Do you deserve it?" He tugged her head back by the hair he still had a firm hold on. Her fingers tightened around his legs and nails dug into his pants as whined pleadingly, rocking herself against him faster and faster. 

"You do?" Lloyd strictly questioned in disbelief when she dared to nod although he knew it was out of desperation. No worries. A good old fashioned wife spanking would fix it. "Cum, then" he could torment her about it later, right now he needed her as vulnerable as he possibly could. It was the perfect state to brand something into someone; the process of building them back up with modifications of his liking after breaking them down completely. 

Y/n closed her mouth around the gun and sucked at it as she moaned loudly while her eyes fluttered close, cheeks hollowing to endure the intensity of the orgasm as her bodily needs had not been taken care of in a while. The girl's back arched as her thighs that he loved to bite and suck at shook from the violent surge of pleasure bolting through her whole body.

"Someone's forgotten all their manners, hm?" Y/n panted and shuddered as she looked at him through her lust drunken eyes, brain scattered. 

"T- Thank you… h- hubby" it was only when Lloyd raised a warning eyebrow did she muster up the response he had taught her a while back. Her hips moved slower now. 

"Good bunny." Finally unplugging her mouth and setting the weapon aside, the man cupped both sides of her very hot and red tear stained face as he pulled her closer and off his foot now. A snort escaped him when Y/n whined under her breath from the loss of the warmth between her legs.

"Now, you saw that video and thought that I just go around doing that to people?" He actually did go around doing just that. "And that I'd do it to you? My lovely little sunshine?" The younger whimpered as she softly pouted, feeling small and dumb. "Why? Have I ever hurt you? Did this very loaded gun go off throughout the whole episode even though it very easily could have?" His words sounded just and right. "If I wanted to, I could have very easily messed you up at any given time, bunny." Even his condescending tone didn't bother her fucked out and fear numbed mind that could only think about how nice he smelt. "But why would I? You're just my harmless little dumb cock warming bunny wife, aren't you?"

"I… I am sorry, h- hubby…" I should have given him a chance to explain. He has never hurt me. Hubby always says that whatever he does, he does it for us. 

Lloyd sighed, an expression of benevolence on his handsome face as his thumbs caressed her cheeks. "It's alright, bunny. I should have known better. Silly little pea brain wives can't be left unattended for too long. They need constant monitoring and guidance, right?" The degrading words were spoken so lovingly that the girl given her state could not even be blamed. Small silver patches and strands in his mustache and hair that were otherwise barely noticeable glinted in the lights at this proximity. 

"... Y- Yes, hubby…" Y/n's mind was blank as she leaned into his chest and closed her eyes, finally breathing in a huge whiff of his scent. 

She felt shuffling around her but she didn't bother to open her eyes. Her body was taken care of and warm tucked into his; protected. How foolish she had been! Lloyd would never hurt her! He was her hubby! 

Whether this resolution would remain branded in her mind or give way to better sense the next morning was a mystery for now. 

The man took his jacket off and wrapped her nude form in it before one of his strong arms hooked under her ass and he swung her body over his shoulder, standing up. 

"Huh?" Lloyd tucked the gun behind him in its holster. "W- What?" 

"We are going home, baby" a harsh smack on Y/n's ass accompanied his words before he headed for the door. "Tsk, silly little bunny wife. Needs husband to teach her everything."

[that-student-that-has-homework]

Gentle Reciprocity

Al-Haitham x Reader

cw: allusions to neurodivergent overstimulation

“Hello there darling,” he sees the amused twinkle in your eyes and already knows he’s in for a treat, “would you like some assistance?”

With how it was phrased it could be pointed at either him or his assailant. However he was well aware that adage was for him and not the persistent presence that plagued his side.

“While I’d rather not trouble you,” his amusement pulled at the corner of his lips, “seeing as you’re already here…”

“I might as well?” You chuckled.

His entertainment only increased at the confusion clearly written upon the foreign young lady’s face. She was likely trying to piece together what your interaction meant. Though she probably had an inkling and would now have to confirm it.

“Uh, do you two know each other?” She pulled away from him slightly.

“We do,” you nodded, humming in confirmation, “rather well, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” he nodded, removing his arm from the lady’s grasp, “intimately well.”

You could see her working to process what was going on based off of your layered conversation with your beloved. Meanwhile you were relieved of half of the load of groceries you’d been carrying prior to approaching the two.

“He’s my husband, sweetheart,” you decided not to toy with her any further, “his lack of interest isn’t anything personal,” you tried to console her, “part of the reason I married him is his integrity.”

She looked so confused, staring between the two of you and then to your hands. Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed as her tongue translated her confusion, “but he’s not wearing a ring.”

At which point you turn to his hand, a little smile gracing your lips, and shoot him a glance filled with mirth at the state of his finger. He appreciates your grace towards him. After all, he was wearing his ring, under his glove.

“You can see my wife’s ring though, can’t you?” He raised an eyebrow at his stunned pursuer. 

“That confirms that she’s married,” she argued, “it says nothing about you.”

“What woman would risk the tranquility of her marriage to help a fully grown man ward off unwanted attention?” He argued back.

“One that isn’t happy in her marriage and wants the man she’s helping out.”

“You know habibi, that is a plausible argument,” you turned to him intrigued.

He was about to rebut when you took the words out of his mouth, “but in that case. He wouldn’t cooperate with me, because he knows I’m married to someone else.”

“Unless you were having an affair!”

“In which case that would mean that I am still involved with a woman and uninterested in you,” Al-Haitham caught her on her argument, “you’re doing a horrible job of seducing me with these accusations, which is what I assume is your goal.”

“Accusations?” Ooh. She had gotten so carried away by the argument she’d gone into the rhetorical realm.

“You accused both of us of infidelity,”  your husband gestured between you and himself.

“What? No! I just-urgh,” she fumbled over her words, “sorry.”

“Apologize to my wife as well.”

Your husband’s assailant gave him a very unimpressed stare, before letting out a huff that caused her whole body to deflate. She turned to you, looking defeated, “sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” you nodded, your lips gently curving upwards, “take care and have a nice rest of your day.”

Again looking between the two of you, she nodded meekly and trudged away in complete and utter defeat. You hoped you hadn’t completely broken her spirit. After all, she was under the impression that the man she was approaching was available.

You weren’t able to worry long as something moved in your peripheral vision, pulling your attention towards it. Turns out Al-Haitham was turning his sound-canceling ear pieces back on. Ah. Understandable.

You lightly hooked your pinky in his before sliding it out, a quiet invitation. Glancing up at him you were met with his own tired gaze. You probably shouldn’t have entertained her arguments for too long, your love seemed to have had just about enough today. 

“Let’s go home,” you spoke nodding your head in the direction back to your shared abode.

You were treated to a little nod, your husband slipping his hand into your free one and hurrying down the street. Over time you’d gotten good at keeping up with his long strides, and he had gotten good at maintaining a pace that didn’t require you to sprint. You still had to hurry this time around though.

There was a kind of relief that came with arriving at your shared abode. You took care of locking the door, and then headed to the kitchen to put the groceries away while he headed into your room. You’d just about finished putting things away and were wondering what you could make for dinner when you sensed you weren’t alone in the kitchen anymore.

Without turning around fully, you began placating your husband, “don’t worry about food and just-”

You were cut off by Al-Haitham’s sudden embrace, his head coming to rest on your shoulder, his nose poking at your neck. Relaxing into him, you placed a hand above the ones that sat atop one another on your abdomen, languidly stroking at his skin. Seems he’d taken his gloves off.

Given he had sought you out, it seemed he was okay with you touching him in his current state. You reached your other hand up to tenderly trace his scalp. You stood there quietly, him taking deep, calming breaths, and you playing with his hair. After a bit, your husband’s weight, for lack of a better term, weighed down on you, and you could feel the fatigue in your legs.

“Can we take a seat, love?” You hummed, taking care to keep your voice quiet and light.

“I’d prefer we lay down,” his rich timbre reverberated through your bones.

“Laying down it is then,” you agreed.

You were gingerly pulled by the hand towards your room, and towards your shared bed. You smiled at the thought. You’d originally started off in separate rooms with separate beds, but look at you now. Al-Haitham allowed you a moment to close the door, careful to make too much noise, before pulling you to your bed. Within a moment he was curled into you, his head tucked into your shoulder and his arms around your middle.

It was a little more difficult to play with his hair from this position, so you absentmindedly began  playing with the wedding band that sat proudly on his finger. When you came back to your senses you paused. He was already overwhelmed and trying to ground himself, you didn’t need to introduce any unwanted stimuli.

“You can keep playing with our ring,” he mumbled, “I don’t mind,” he tightened his hold on you, “and I know it helps you stay calm.”

“Thanks,” you resumed your previous fiddling, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

You couldn’t help the way your features curled into a deep appreciation. You loved hearing those words from him, but in your current state it was redundant.

After all, he was allowing you to be near him in his volatile state, and it was an honor you cherished.

//----------

Want more Al-Haitham? Tumblr Masterlist | Ao3 Account

//----------

What was your favorite part? Also please let me know if I got the neurodivergent thing right. I can't claim to be neurodivergent (no matter how relatable some memes are)

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 9

Pairing: sauron/halbrand x reader, isildur x reader, sauron/halbrand x reader

Word count: 2k.

Summary: dudes just gotta stop deceiving people.

Tags: angst, insecurities, isil being a Good Dude, Galadriel and the reader still hate each other

Notes: I'm very tired (two sick kiddos will do that to a mom) and not too happy with this one. But it's a filler part. As always love yall and the feedback

You stood in silence as Halbrand left. His revelation of his past with his father and uncle had broken your resolve in your anger towards him. Confusion still sat in your chest and itched the back of your mind, but you had forgiven him. He seemed so passionate in his intention to earn you, but you had no idea what he meant by that. His deeds had already shown his character. He had saved you so many times it would be useless to count. You could only wonder what had plagued him so that he felt he still felt as if he was too tainted for you.

You thought this over, getting lost in your thoughts and thoughts of what had transpired the night before. You had never felt anything like that. Sure, you'd had desires that crossed your mind late at night. You’d had a rather large crush on one of the local farm hands, and he had entered your dreams many times. However, nothing compared to the heat that burned through you at Halbrands touch, the gruff sound of his voice, the feel of his hot breath. You had to close your eyes, and your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you willed the thoughts that filled your mind to go away.

Soon, though, you found yourself wishing for the sound of the waves and smell of the ocean air, so you made the venture outside the inn. You watched the hustle and bustle of the locals, the sound of children's laughter. You never wanted to leave this place. It was so different from your home.

The sound of your name being called made you stand straight and tall. Soon, Isildur was running up to you, breathing heavily. “I don’t have much time, I have to be at the beach in…well, very soon,” He looked at you with a smile, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I came here to apologize for making a scene and for putting your honor to question. That was never my intention, and if you wanted to, I would completely understand if you wanted to slap me in the face a time or two. I have more than earned that.”

You couldn’t help but smile, shaking your head, “I don’t think that will be needed.”

He laughed, “I am relieved, I was not looking forward to explaining that black eye to my father.”

His smile faltered for a moment as he searched for words, “If your heart belongs to another, I hope you know that I would find contentment in your friendship as well. Perhaps it would not be my first choice, but being your friend would be an honor beyond measure.”

You nodded, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “I would be content with that too. I hope that I did not lead you to believe there was more.”

Isildur shook his head, “You did not. You are simply beautiful and kind and funny, and I am but a man. I still would like to show you more of my city's culture. There is a massive library and halls of art and food better than what we were treated to last night. That is, if you are indeed interested in that.”

“Of course,” you grinned, excitement bubbling in your belly.

“Yes? Yes! Well, then I shall see you later this evening? Right before sun down. I’ll meet you here?”

You nodded, your lips parted to answer when you heard one of his friends call his name, and he simply smiled at you before running off. You remembered what Halbrand said. He wanted you to have friends, and so you would. Isildur was kind. He was respectful, and you had no reason not to trust him.

~

“Where is Halbrand?”

You looked from your lunch of rice and fish, your spirits dropping at the sound of the elf's voice. You had avoided her as best as you could, and it had been successful for the most part. You knew she hated you, and while you did your best to understand her hatred, there was part of you that blamed elves as well. If it weren’t for them, your mother would still be alive, and you’d have the baby sibling you had been so excited for. But you knew it was unfair to blame Galadriel for that. You just wish she would understand the same for you.

“Where is Halbrand?” She repeated, sounding annoyed. You noticed that in her hand, she held what appeared to be a scroll.

“I do not know. I have not seen him since this morning.”

“Did he give you any idea to where he was going?”

You shook your head, turning back to your food. You did not want this conversation to last longer than it needed to.

“You seem rather content to sit and do nothing, to feast on the food of a people who have earned prosperity. I seek to fix the wound your ancestors and your family caused. Do you not seek redemption?”

You stared at the rice on your plate, your expression hardening as you tried to keep your tongue. A fight would solve nothing. You knew she was hurting as were you but the smugness in which she carried herself, the arrogance that radiated from her, it was fueling an anger in you.

“I have committed no crime to be redeemed for.” You spoke softly, not bothering to look up at her.

“Do you not feel guilty for the 37 elven souls your father, brother, and uncle took. Are they not worth redemption? Are they not worth trying to right your fathers wrongs?”

“And what of the families in the Southlands that your kind oppresses for a sin none of us committed. Crops die, money is scarce and yet we have to give a portion to the great elves who want not for food or medicine.”

“It is a reminder…”

“A reminder that to elves, we will always be less than. You act as if the Numenorians were bestowed greatness by your kind as if man can not achieve that on his own. You act as if children are responsible for the sins of their fathers as if the elves have committed none.”

“You speak of which you know little,” Your raised voices were beginning to draw a crowd. “Do you feel no guilt or remorse for what was done?”

“I feel remorse every day. Do you forget I was a child? Do you feel no remorse for your people making me watch as your people executed my only family.”

“It was what had to be done.” She replied, coldly staring you down.

“You are but a petulant child. Your callousness and arrogance will leave you without friend or affection, and I can not imagine what a lonely existence that will be for someone who does not die.” You stood up and pushed past her, walking fast to escape the eyes following you.

`

It was after Isildur took you to the grand library and to get dinner that you had learned of Halbrands fate from the whispers of locals as you walked past. You had enjoyed your time, feeling a true bond of friendship between the two of you. You were falling more and more in love with this island and hoped upon hope that you would be able to stay here. There was nothing for you at home. Orcs had burned down the only home you knew, but this seemed so far away from that. As if evil could not touch it.

Halbrand wasn’t evil, but he may be ruining your chances of being here with his antics. You had come to the realization that wherever you went, he was likely to follow. It was a strange sentiment to have in such a short time, but you knew you’d follow him too. No matter where his temper might land him. It was for this reason you had found some food and skin of wine and were down to the dungeons.

It seemed you weren’t the only visitor he had. You heard the elves' voice before you saw her and waited in the shadows, listening to the conversation unseen. Perhaps you shouldn’t but your curiosity got the better of you. A dispute about a woman? You could tell from the way he was speaking that it was about her.

Of course it was.

You wanted greatly to believe all that he had told you that morning, that he had shared something personal with you and that was a sign of how he trusted you but here he was so freely telling her of his past. The heir to the throne of the Southlands, how his ancestor was who swore a blood oath to Morgoth. All of those had been lacking from the story he had told you. You didn’t think him a liar, but you didn’t know what to think as it seemed he so easily opened himself up to the elf.

You heard as the elf mentioned fate bringing them together, of him going to Middle Earth with her, and he did not argue against any of it. If his intentions were truly with you, why then did he not make that known to her? You were able to see his expression as she ascended the stairs. He watched after her as if she was some grand prize with a twinkle to his eyes and a smirk playing at his lips. She was a prize, you supposed, she was an elf. Truly unattainable, with beauty that men merely dreamed of finding. She was mysterious and strong.

And what were you?

You had nothing to your name. Your only talent was in what your mother and the family kept you as a ward taught you - healing and gardening. You didn’t suppose you were all that beautiful. No one had attempted to court you. You were not mysterious or battle hardened or the daughter of a noble bloodline.

You were just you.

Of course, she would be the prize.

Quietly, you slipped from the shadows and made your way to where Halbrand stood. You saw his smile, and perhaps if you hadn’t been so caught in your insecurities you’d see how he looked at you as if you were the dawn itself. But his smile faded slightly when he saw your face.

“Sweet one?” His hands reached through the bars for your hand, which you simply pulled away from him. His brows furrowed in confusion.

“I brought this for you,” You slipped him the cloth full of bread, fish, fruits, and cheese along with the skin full of wine.

His eyes never left yours, sitting it all behind him on the bench as your eyes looked at the ground. “Will you not look at me? Are you upset about this? It was simply a…”

“Dispute about a woman,” you repeated his words back to him. You saw his expression shift. He knew you heard his conversation.

“Sweet one…” He started.

“I could find contentment in a friendship with you. That would be an honor,” Your words echoed what you were told mere hours before.

“Friendship?” He laughed softly in disbelief, looking at you as if you grew two heads, “I told you of my intentions, and I meant it.”

“I do not know if you did. I do not know if you know what it is you want. I do not want to fight in a competition with the elf when I know I would lose it.”

“What are you talking about?” He breathed the words out.

“I see how it is you look at her. I hear how you two talk. I am not stupid enough to think that you do not want for her as she does for you. In talks of what your future holds, you never mentioned me.”

He scoffed, “You are reading too much into it.”

“I do not think that I am.”

“Do not reduce this to mere friendship. Please, sweet one.” He looked at you as if his heart was breaking, his eyes frantically searching your face for an answer.

“I need to go,” you backed away from the cell.

His fingers reached for you, but you pulled away, “Please, sweet one, please do not go when I can not follow.”

You spoke no more words, turning on your heels and wiping at the hot tears that were spilling from your eyes. You ignored the desperate calls of your name as you ascended the stairs. The only thing you could see was the way his face lit up when he saw Galadriel.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 104 (Chasing Ghosts)

The time after Winterfest was quiet in Brindleton Bay. Heather's clinic was slower with families still out of town, and she spent the extra few hours a day at home with her kids. Tonight, Heather tried to get picky Lavender to eat mashed avocado in her high chair.

Ash tried not to look at the mess she was making as he ate his own dinner, explaining in detail why it was better to get food in her tummy than on the floor. She gazed at him with keen interest as usual.

"Ass-ee!" She babbled her attempt to say 'Ashy' with giggles, followed by a short hiccup.

Conrad, on the other hand, was working long, frustrating hours, and Heather encouraged him to take Gord to Deadgrass Isle to run off steam and clear his head.

"Bring the ambrosia treats," she reminded him.

"Am I supposed to be chasing ghosts out there, or clearing my head?"

"You know I won't be upset if you bring home a new stray."

He chuckled as he walked out the door, heading down to Fisherman's Wharf with Gord, where they caught the small ferry to Deadgrass Isle. It was late and the museum was almost empty. Once again, Conrad saw no sign of the old man, and he walked back to the snow-covered path outside.

Gord jumped, in a playful mood, and Conrad set aside his frustration to bask in the simple joy Gord could find in a broken stick. "Go on, Gord. Get it!" he said, but this time Gord's paws stayed planted in the snow.

The Bernese looked beyond him with a curious woof. Conrad followed Gord's line of sight, making out a glowing green and translucent figure in the distance. Too small to be a human, Gord took off running, and the ghostly pup raced on all fours toward him.

"Wait! Gord, stop!" Conrad called, racing after him. His shoes crunched snow underfoot, but Gord wouldn't heed his call.

Gord and the ghost dog met one another along the tree lined path, hind quarters at the ready, but neither let out so much as a growl. Catching his breath, Conrad finally caught up to them and the ghost dog glanced at him warily.

"Hey there, fella. It's alright. We won't hurt you." Conrad showed his palms. Gord looked on cautiously, but made no move to attack.

Conrad let the ghost dog sniff him, and when he didn't run away, he reached into his pocket. He had an ambrosia treat and some Buttercups, but he remembered something Felix Psyded had said about ghosts and unfinished business. Not all ghosts want to be revived, Felix had told them, so he decided against the ambrosia treat and tore open the package of Buttercups, instead.

The ghost dog howled excitedly as he devoured the all-natural treats, jumping playfully toward Conrad in gratitude. He barked. Three long howls followed by three ruffs. Long, short, short, long again. Almost like Morse code. "Are you trying to tell me something, pup? I'm sorry, I don't know what you're saying."

The ghost dog whimpered, but Conrad's attention was pulled away when his phone rang. He checked the call display and laughed. "Felix! I was just thinking about you, believe it or not."

"Of course you were. I thought you might have missed me, so I thought I'd call to find out how you were doing and let you know I've made quite the breakthrough with your old man at the museum."

"Life's real busy, Felix. The kids are good, work is pretty unforgiving these days, and Gord and I were just talking to a ghost dog."

"Oh, is that all? How's Heather?"

"She's great. The best. You don't know how to communicate with dog spirits, do you?"

"Afraid not. Strictly human ghosts for me. I never liked how ghostly pets could sneak up on a person."

"What have you got on the old man, then?"

"I think your ghost is the old lighthouse keeper who died before the light went out. I remember reading about the mysterious shipwreck when I was a young officer in the Navy."

"What's his name?"

"That's the most interesting part. His name was Ben Gordon."

Conrad shrugged. He was tired. Even Gord and the ghost dog were ready to nap at his feet. "Weird coincidence."

"I don't think it is. I still prefer researching from books, but I pulled up one of those helpful new websites with all those family trees and digital census records. Then I verified my findings with Brindleton Bay's local librarian, Gunther Lynx-Munch. I think Ben Gordon was your great-great-great-great grandfather's brother! A lonely type - old newspaper articles I found on library computers said he lived with his dog and otherwise alone. Never socialized with locals who came ashore to his island to view the old lighthouse. Maybe the reason you can see him and no one else knows what you're talking about is because his message is only for you, a living relative."

"If that's true, why hasn't he shown up to give me his message in years since I first met him? Maybe he's...passed on already."

"Maybe. Or maybe he can see that you're busy."

He thought back to the night they met. He'd made it clear he was distracted back then, and it's not like he hadn't been distracted since. "Can he see that I'm starting to get a little bit desperate? I really need a case I can solve right about now."

"If whatever he has to say is important enough he's waited over one hundred fifty years to say it, he can wait as long as he needs until he thinks you're ready. Try sending some signals. He might pick up on something."

"Like what?"

"Try talking to him."

Conrad scoffed. He'd always found it impossible to talk to the dead. A ghost standing in front of him could at least talk back, but he could never really say much to his parents' gravestones. Knowing he'd never hear a response made it too hard to try.

Felix sighed. "Or, stay desperate. Up to you."

Conrad stifled a groan, shaking his head at the smug former spectre on the other end of the line. "Thanks for looking into this, Felix. If he ever decides to show himself again, I'll let you know how it goes. How about you? How's living in Britechester these days?"

"Oh, it's exactly as I remember it. The fashion has changed, but the buildings in town look quite the same as they did when I founded the old university. I've scheduled my bar exam for early in the new year. I'm studying every day and watching a lot of Court TV, to tell you the truth. I've seen plenty of contemporary attorneys in action and I know exactly the kind of lawyer I'd like to be."

"Oh yeah, like who?" Conrad wasn't really all that interested in a bunch of lawyers, but Felix loved to talk and he was grateful for a momentary distraction.

"I have so many models to look up to, it's quite a wonderful thing! I've followed the work of prosecutor Aaron York. He's on track to be a fine judge someday and I would consider myself star-struck to ever present in his court, but he worked a recent case defending a young woman from an assault charge. He's a family man and a man of law, right after my own heart. And of course I'm as glued to the Alegria v. Caruso trial as anyone else, even though it's currently in recess! That Antonio Romero, Esquire is simply fantastic! His presence in a courtroom is so powerful. He's like a modern-day Felix Psyded."

"Don't you mean Felix Psyded, Esquire?"

Felix laughed. "I knew I'd get you to say it sooner than later, Sargent."

Conrad rolled his eyes. "Sounds like you're putting in the work, Felix. How are you making money since you won't let Heather and I pay you?"

"Until I take the bar exam I've found steady work as a process server here in town. I have so much to learn from everyone in the building, but one junior lawyer in particular is really something! Unfortunately I embarrassed myself when I overheard her talking about going out to dinner with an Orange. I thought she meant the fruit, but apparently Orange is a name for living sims these days! I'm afraid she thinks I'm a fool. But she's a real spitfire, and she's working the Dulce Alegria trial, too. Antoinette Wolff is her name!"

Conrad perked up at the mention of her. "I think I know her. Or her brother, anyway. Solomon Wolff and I used to be partners back in San Myshuno."

"In that case, maybe you could put in a good word, so she knows I'm not an imbecile. But I should go; I have many more cases to read about before the exam. Let me know when you've seen the old man again, and don't be a stranger."

He hung up with Felix and smiled. Did he actually feel lighter after talking to Felix Psyded? It seemed unbelievable. He glanced back toward the glowing green dog, who had waited patiently with Gord while Conrad took Felix' call.

A thought struck him. The ghost could have been any dog from the pet cemetery beyond the trees, but his bark sounded vaguely familiar, like the dog he swore he heard inside the lighthouse with Heather. "Did you know a man named Ben Gordon, old buddy?"

The dog barked excitedly, feverishly wagging his tail. "Do you know where he is?"

The ghost dog howled, but Conrad couldn't understand. He checked his watch. It was getting late, and he knew he should get back to the mainland. "We've got to head home, but Gord and I will be back. Maybe by then I'll have a better idea what you want."

With a nuzzle against Conrad's hand, the ghost dog seemed to acknowledge his promise. He returned home, greeting Heather in the living room.

"Did you bring home a new stray?" she asked, but her face fell in mock sadness when she saw he'd only brought home one very smelly dog.

"Not tonight. But apparently the old lighthouse keeper was a distant relative of mine, and Felix Psyded said when he thinks I'm ready, he'll find me again to give me his message."

"Maybe he'll think you're ready after you give Gord a bath and have a shower," she teased.

Conrad took care of their needs while Heather finished helping Ash with his homework, and he tried not to think too much about Felix' advice to talk to the dead. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

NOTE: Did I get through the ghost dog arc before the Life & Death pack updated and made this dog a living stray? No. Have I figured out how to turn the dog back into a ghost so I can just give him the ambrosia treats when I have it plotted? Also no. There was no option to simply flip the dog to an occult ghost in CAS like there is for human sims, I looked! The reason I waited is because in the rabbit hole adventures involving the dog, they made several trips to build up their friendship. In addition to everything else they've got going on that makes adopting another dog right now just too much, I was trying to mirror the adventure with storyline.

Any advice for re-ghosting the dog is welcome. I have one idea that involves forcing the dog to unalive with MCCC in a second save to get ghostly shots again, and adopting the living dog Conrad and Gord are now friendly with in the main save when it's time, but not jumping between saves could be better if it's possible! Just a peek behind the magic curtain of 'filming' Sims In Bloom lolol.

[lovebvni]

intuitive messages pac !!

THIS IS FROM 2023!! BE FOREWARNED

┈

│ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ...

╰─────────────────

[ 🖊 ] created ⋮ 7.31.23

[  ] published ⋮  7.31.23

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ✰ Arsyn   ⋆  ⁱˢ ᵗʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ··· ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•

┊       ⋆     welcome to my blog !

┊     °

hello earthlings, its been a while since i've done a pac, mainly because of MANY personal issues - but thats not important. i thought for a while and went back to my old pac's and i found an older one i made and i remembered, my intuition is just as powerful as ever - so why do i need tarot cards now?

today i'm just going to have 10 messages/sentences the universe wants you to hear. they can be specific or general.  remember, take everything can be taken with a grain of salt, and your future can be changed. you are in control.

now please, find your inner peace, connect to your soul.

understand these messages were meant to find you, and see what is left for you.

inhale, exhale, and pick a pile

Pile 1 - Watching

confirmation :

procrastinating, pushing things off, turning the other cheek, tumblr, the colour purple (show or the actual colour), spacing out, spirits, double meaning, two faced, gemini, hidden meanings/words, red eyes (tired, puffy), burnt out, music, 'good night, sleep tight, don't let the demons fight.', the letter s, sharks, 'the grass is greener'.

side note : the month of august (summer in general) be significant for your shifting/spiritual journey.

Your messages

1. Why would you wait when you could just grab at it? It's right there. Don't let it rot.

2. "Hello? Are you there, listening? Listen to me. I'm here to help. I promise." (this could be an inner voice or a spirit guide)

3. Be your own boss. Keep going.

4. Pass on to the next step (Death to life)

5. You know what's there, talk to it. "I wont hurt you."

6. Listen, don't speak.

7. Let it go. Be like Elsa, don't let it bother you anymore.

8. Mind, Body and Soul. You're in harmony. Use it to your advantage.

9. Advise and criticize. And use the same techniques on yourself.

10. Peace and love. You deserve it. You know you do. And you will find it, soon.

Pile 2 - Renew

conformation :

saiki k, giving up, letting go, leaving things behind, mental overload, 'Jesus fucking Christ', jealous, letting go of that person, shadow work, yellow, outlook, aries, the moon, big lips, 333, the number 3.

Your messages

1. Bite down. Let it flow into your veins, your soul, your spirit. Its part of you now.

2. Is it a real worry, or just something from your past you don't want to let go of?

3. Jail. Time to rest. Now.

4. Eat and care for your physical body. You can't idolize shifting. You're not getting anywhere doing that.

5. Look in the mirror - no. Not at the past. At who you are now. Who you've become.

6. You have the balls. Go fucking do it.

7. Don't accept the truth from other people, find and make your own. That's what they see, not what you know.

8. Her claws. Her teeth. She's manipulating you. Let her go. Rip away from her. She's wasting your time, energy and draining your soul.

9. "I  DO love you. That doesn't mean I'll let you hurt yourself."

10. I am watching. Always. In your good times and bad. I'm here for you. Just ask for help.

Pile 3 - Love

confirmation :

wrist and elbow, jumpscares/ being scared, saturn, planets, fnaf, cycles, broken cycles, love watch, soulmate reuniting, mha (lmao bro idek at this point), drawing, heartache, feeling lonely, barbie, hip dips, trios.

1. Wake up from that dream and make it a reality, you know what you have to do, so go do it.

2. "Beg for my mercy." - This had a VERY sexual undertone... Obviously from a dominant partner or something

3. 'Hello again, my friend! What do you have to tell me now?"

4. You know that thing you asked for? Yeah. It's coming. Keep your eyes pealed (for some I heard it's even coming tomorrow!)

5. Sit in silence, you know what it is. You hear the voices.

6. Pack your bags and go.

7. Grab on, I'll lead you to where you need to be.

8. Don't chase what you're attracting, that will only lead to disaster. (A manifestation you wanted is coming, this is basically saying don't overwork and beat yourself up over it. It's coming and nothing will stop it.)

9. Nature is your friend. Go out and ground yourself. Lay in the grass, smell the rain.

10. If you want to learn, you need the knowledge. Search for what you want to find. You can see it. Ask around. You'll find it. Look, look, look, search, look look, search, find.

I hope this pac resonated for everyone! remember, this will find you when you need it, take what relates, leave what doesnt. remember you are in charge of your future.

i love you. new things are coming.

dont give up.

1111

[kentumi]

last will

itadori yuuji x reader

*+:.. b4 u read ... angst, gn friendly, shibuya spoilers (ish (^_^;)), mentions of death (and such)

a/n: another itadori fic.... aaand more angst (´；ω；`) i've been subdued to itadori brainrot recently but i am reluctant to happiness (ㆀ˘･з･˘) waa i just want to see my baby smiling again (っ- ‸ – ς)

he's quiet. deathly quiet.

you found it odd, but understandable. given the events that took place the night before, you wouldn't expect him to be the same, bright yuuji he once was. he was broken, for that matter.

he comes to a stop in the middle of the bridge and his grip drops from yours. it feels that he's been gazing at the river beneath for a very, very long time.

".. are you sure you want to do this?" you break the silence, clutching onto his arm tightly, letting your head rest close to his shoulder. you knew he was strong, but in his current state, you were afraid he'd let himself lose to this battle.

on instinct, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and planted a light kiss to the top of your head, "mm."

you know he desperately wanted to do everything he could to save the lives of anyone possible. the both of you had just endured some of the most grueling hours of your life, and you feel that it's something nearly impossible to come back from. shortly after returning from shibuya, tokyo fell into cursed spirit chaos. what more could he do?

yuuji was tired, exhausted even. he was tired of seeing his friends being killed, the innocent being murdered. he didn't understand why this was happening, why it had to happen. he could no longer live with the fact that he had to watch sukuna create a black hole in the middle of shibuya.

he couldn't bare to keep his eyes open anymore.

you both stood as you were for awhile, relishing in each other's presence. making a full turn to look at him, you run your thumb over his scars with a gentle touch. though with nasty history behind them, they look beautiful on him to you. his gaze softens when you stand in front of him, eyes fixated on your features.

yuuji leans in to plant a tender kiss on your lips, full of love even though he could only acknowledge the tragedy of life.

"you ready?" his voice is soft, almost qualified to be a whisper. you nod and he releases you from his embrace.

as you see yourself to a few steps behind him, a loud clap echoes through the ghost town that tokyo has become.

cursed spirits emerge out of the water with no time wasted, and you find yourself questioning your own will to fight in that final moment.

you find yourself resonating with yuuji's thoughts, but then you also find yourself having a waving decision.

the only person you're fighting for is him.

[jokeroutsubs]

🎈🍰Nace Birthday Special🍰🎈

Nace Jordan's interview for Suzy magazine, published 14.06.2024. English translation by drumbeat and @beeoftheanxieties, proof read by TWT klamstrakur.

📝ENG Translation: Joker Out's Nace Jordan: 60 Kilograms to Happiness

Twenty-nine-year-old Nace Jordan is considered one of the most emotional, thoughtful, and responsible Slovenian musicians.

CAPTION: He’s spreading tolerance and respect to everyone.

He was the last one to join the group of four highly admired young men, but that doesn't mean he's the fifth or the spare wheel. His inspiring story makes him a great role model for teenagers, showing that working on yourself is worthwhile, because you never know when an extraordinary opportunity will come your way. After making a major change in his lifestyle, he got rid of past burdens to focus on a bright, melodic future. With the loving support of his girlfriend, the first signs of a family are already visible. They've been joined by Pino, an adorable dachshund, who brought new responsibilities and lots of joy.

CAPTION: Joker Out gained a first-class member with Nace.

INTERVIEWER: How quickly did you feel accepted as fully fledged member, considering you were not a co-founder of Joker Out?

Nace: Initially it might have appeared as if I instantly took on the role of bass guitarist with confidence, although deep down I was quite confused. The guys already had their banter, even a kind of a jargon I didn't feel familiar with. They are after all five years younger than me, almost a different generation. But they have welcomed me in a very embracing way, we have started to develop a communal story and we have become a unit. Even after we had recorded 'Carpe Diem' and I was offered a permanent place in the band, I was still haunted by the feeling that I might not be perceived easily as a part of the band by the most devoted fans.

Was Eurovision your ultimate test?

Sort of. I was told I aced it, and as a fill-in member, it made me happy when the decision to welcome me into the family was final. The whole idea was to first try and see how compatible we were, without any pressure or expectations. On stage, it was obvious that we were a perfect match. But I tended to hold back when it came to the bigger decisions. Bojan is, after all, the frontman, the dominant one, so I didn't want to interfere with the pre-established dynamics. It was only after the Eurovision euphoria was over that a new era began and with it the most precious gift - the appreciation of the entire group. They are exceptional young individuals, extremely talented, and they wanted someone who could feel their vibe and bring them together, not tear them apart.

This opportunity has come as a reward for your challenging personal journey, a tremendous transformation of body and spirit. How has this affected your self-image?

I am still trying to work on myself. I have lost 60 kilos and broken free from the shackles of a troubled adolescence, when the slightest deviation from the average is frowned upon. It is unimaginable that you can lose so many kilograms, one whole person. It was gradual. After the first ten, you are overcome with excitement. Your reflection in the mirror gets nicer by the week, you gain confidence in yourself and see that it is not difficult to follow your goal. I gained an unstoppable will to keep going, and the most extraordinary things started to happen. I got to play in the backing band of the popular show ' V petek zvečer' ('Friday Night'), and then realised a childhood dream when I managed to join a band as skillful as the Jokers. A time came when I walked around with a huge smile on my face and I hoped that it would not fade from my face for a long time to come. At the same time, I was driven to give it my best shot, because I simply couldn't let this opportunity slip away.

You have used the dark times of COVID for something bright, inspirational. When did you decide you were tired of living in a bigger body?

The stomach pains were the first indicator that I had to roll up my sleeves and work on myself. I had always been chubbier, but I got saved by my height because the kilograms were evenly spread. I was able to exercise, go hiking, [and] be active in water sports, particularly wakeboarding. I wasn't immune to the looks of naysayers, that someone with so much weight could move so capably. I had reached a point where I no longer felt comfortable. I didn't like myself, the walks were getting more and more exhausting, I didn't have a girlfriend for a while, which was a big motivation to change my lifestyle. At the beginning, I was embarrassed to work out in front of others. Would they be thinking, 'What is this fatso doing here now'? So at home I would climb up and down the stairs from the basement to the attic. For half a year, every evening. First for 15 minutes, then I progressed to 45. It seemed like a waste to ruin this effort with unhealthy food, so I changed my diet. I eliminated all the guilty pleasures and after the first 20 lost, I decided I was ready to train outdoors. By running. It might not have been the smartest idea because of my knees, but it all worked out well in the end. Something that I resented for a long time became my norm. To this day, I still enjoy putting on my running shoes to clear my mind. Whenever my mind is in a frenzy, running saves me.

Humans are really odd, shallow creatures. We can't see what's underneath the excess weight. It was only after you have transformed that the requests for more collaborations started coming in. How did you manage to heal these emotional scars from the entertainment business, where the physical appearance still takes precedence over the heart?

That's the hardest part, not to lose faith in yourself. You question your self worth because of the labels the public has stuck on you. Of course, the medical aspect of excess weight is the first signal for a radical change. The results would be significantly better, if people around us were more sparse with negative comments and dismissive attitudes towards anything that is not to their liking. I must confess that I have never felt better than I did after saying goodbye to cigarettes, alcohol, and, for a period, even meat. Imagine you are carrying a 60 kilogram backpack. And then you put it down. A different world opens up.

In all this, music has been your most faithful companion and supporter. Would it have been possible to go through all this without it?

The power of art is amazing. The bass guitar is my lifelong love. Even if I was a butcher or a carpenter, I would play and create for myself. We are used to these kind of stories in the movies, where after a difficult ordeal you find yourself in the midst of your teenage dreams. After the third concert with the Jokers, a girl came up to me and confided that she was contemplating suicide, but our songs had saved her. She thanked us for taking the time for our fans and talking to them. Their honesty is a sign that you are part of something great. The power of music goes beyond the limits of our imagination. There are countless similar confessions. This realisation is also therapeutic for us. You receive confirmation that you are doing something right.

Have you ever wondered why you play music at all?

Many times. The doubts of who will listen to my work, or now our work, are a constant in the career of a professional musician. But if you put your heart first, you quickly get the confirmation that we are not just pretty boys on stage, but individuals with depth and a message.

As a teenager, what motivated you to follow your aspirations?

I wanted to be like my cousin. He is five years older than me and he had his own band. He introduced me to foreign bands, like Led Zeppelin. It sounded rather innocent, but it was the start of a profound passion. Recently, Jan, the guitarist, and I were talking about the role models who have defined us. I told him that there must be an aspiring young teenager in Slovenia who looks up to him and has begun strumming the strings because of him. I am convinced that we have brought a breath of fresh air to the local scene and given a boost to young bands who are not yet established. It is very healthy to encourage others, to be each other's support and competition. I didn't feel that before.

When did you first feel that the stage was your everything?

We had a kind of talent show at the school camp. I wanted to sing the ballad 'Behind Blue Eyes' by The Who, but the teacher wouldn't let me because it wasn't an appropriate song. I cried with sadness, so she mellowed down. I took advantage of her faith, put on my sunglasses and a headscarf. That's when something stirred inside of me. Finally, now that we are touring Europe and are excited to discover how the power of music brings people together, I am calmed. Even as a kid I stood my ground and I am grateful to my stubbornness for getting me this far.

You have a strong bond with your mother. How does she keep track of your exceptional progress?

She is proud to say that she is my biggest 'fan'. She was happiest at Eurovision, which she has always followed. It was the first time she was able to experience it live, she and Bojan's mum cheered loudly and I have to admit that it's the greatest thing to be able to make the most important woman in your life happy. It has only strengthened our bond. We have a trusting, friend-like relationship, but first and foremost she is my mum, with all the worries and all the loving helpfulness. I was not a typical child and she had to endure all my whims. She was constantly encouraging me to take up a sport, but I preferred to stay at home and draw. She tolerated my struggles at school because she knew I wasn't like the others and allowed me to develop to my full potential. My younger sister is also responsible for making me who I am. Her kind words are a balm for a wounded soul.

Have you always wanted to be a musician?

As a child, I had two things in mind - to be a zoo manager, because I love animals, and to be a singer, even though I later swapped the microphone for a guitar. Sculpting fascinated me. In short, expression through art.

Your love for animals has lasted. You have a three-month-old dachshund named Pino in your lap.

Finally! I've been longing for a puppy for so many years, and dachshunds are one of my favourite breeds. If music hadn't drawn me in, I would certainly be a vet. One summer break I was helping out at a wildlife sanctuary instead of playing with my friends. It was a wonderful experience.

You are away from home a lot. How do you maintain your long-distance relationship with your girlfriend?

Some people reassure us that technology helps because we can see each other through the camera. But it is not the same. It's important that all my loved ones and dear ones, meaning my girlfriend, my mum, my family, and my friends, believe in our work and are willing to sacrifice time with me so that I can follow my dreams. But we are in constant contact with each other and we let each other know how much we love each other all the time.

~ -~ - ~ - PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, AND IF YOU QUOTE, PLEASE LINK BACK TO THE ORIGINAL POST!

[pessimisticgh0st]

Gonna try and start a tag game because I'm bored af

Pick one thing that you feel is just a part of who you are or something that you feel represents you in some way

Colour: Dark Green

Song: Let Down by Radiohead

Film/TV Show: Perks of Being A Wallflower

Quote/Song Lyric: "I don't want people to be worried about me. There's nothing to worry about. I don't want people to try and understand why I'm the way I am, because I should be the first person to understand that. And I don't understand yet. I don't want people to interfere. I don't want people in my head, picking out this and that, permanently picking up the broken pieces of me." - Tori Spring, Solitaire

An Instrument: Guitar (I think I'm biased though)

A Part of Nature: Rainy forest

Comfort Item: Laptop or maybe my guitar

Weather: Rain (not too heavy or light) especially when it's foggy and on a gloomy day

Food: Teriyaki Chicken

Piece of Clothing: Homemade Knitted jumper/cardigan

Magical / Supernatural Artefact: A leitner book

(no pressure tags) @far-beyond-saving @underlined-in-spirit @sleepy-vix @t0ri-spr1ng @itsfunnybcuzitstrue @bookwormwithadhd @nachthimmelschwarz @s0lit4ir3 @ofcutsandoffire @misanthropicmuso @apersononearth011 @alistairtalkstomuch @underablanketofstars @wisteria-angel-xox @cheddar-cheezit @psychedelicflyingshark @annotated-catastrophe @faulty-radio @loulooser @bored-boring-and-tired @nine-frogs-in-a-trenchcoat @ghost-under-my-bed

[mydearneteyam]

WITH LOVE, GAIA ;; ATWOW

"you've waited in vain because there's nothing for you"

summary ;; memories push you to move forward and start working. far away, someone thinks the same.

warnings/notes (for the series) ;; fem!reader ;; mentions of war, death ;; illegal activities ;; reader is a criminal, an enemy of humanity, traitor to the race, etc ;; avatar!reader ;; death of loved ones ;; late grief ;; etc.

word count ;; 1.7k

word of the series ;; Eywa [ˈɛj.wa] prop.n. world spirit, Gaia

chapter one (you're here)

A soft humming of a song unfamiliar to anyone could be heard around the computers. When Jake peeked out he noticed your presence. He had met a couple of other people in the place, but they didn't seem to hold him in high regard as unlike his brother. While he was thankful he wasn't being wheeled around in the chair to meet every scientist or military person who worked at Hell's Gate.

As he looked in your direction he noticed that you had a couple of things on your desk, unlike other adults, you looked younger, quite a bit. But another feature that set you apart from them was that you had at least three different screens on your desk, almost as if it was a control room just for you. Each one reflected different images or text. On the farthest one, he could tell you had the map of Pandora in full in company with a couple of pieces of information that he assumed as basic as he could as additional information.

“Ah, there you are. Grace informed me you were coming, Jarhead” you addressed him, without even looking at his direction. “What? Too many confusing terms for you?” you laughed a little, turning around in your chair and finally facing him.

“Jarhead? They only called me like that in the military” he laughed a little, stretching out his hand towards you. You nodded, shaking his hand for less than a second, only to go back to checking a couple of things on the screens.

“I call all the idiots like you around here that. I should call them by other names, but well” you muttered the last under your breath and he couldn't help but nod uncomprehendingly, but still, the confused smile on his face didn't leave him.

“Are you talking about the military?”

“I have worse nicknames for scientists” you assured with a forced smile, getting up from your chair and closing a couple of open tabs that were on just one of your computer screens. Soon, you guided your non-dominant arm to the vicinity of your lips.

“May 19, 2154 with lunar time of 10:17 AM, I report the presence of Jake Sully at my desk and the data I am to show him in the company of Norm Spellman before both of them officially become part of the Avatar project. Don't forget to corroborate data in…” you stopped talking and thought for a bit. “Ten hours and forty-three minutes in the company of Colonel Miles Quaritch and Head Administrator Parker Selfridge.” A small beam-which Jake could soon tell was a scanner-scanned first you and then him. He was a little surprised and smiled, cocking his head to one side.

“Do they give those to everyone?” As you walked, he followed as best he could with his chair. He seemed genuinely interested in the machine. You laugh a little and then spoke.

“No.”

You had just finished eating one of the rations that, you felt, you had just stashed away a few hours ago and you looked around, tired and with a headache that was slowly dissipating.

Honestly, you felt a little -a lot- of worry growing in your chest. From the state of the place, it had been at least more than ten years. You prayed somehow that everyone was alive, they should be. Besides that, nothing in those ruins could confirm anything about the date, the computers weren't completely broken, but they did have a couple of plants starting to grow around them. Which seemed strange to you, since there was no way for them to get in without having to wear an exo-pack. Though you were very lucky that by strange things -or by Eywa's will, according to the local natives' words- that animal had allowed you to leave.

Your watch was totally off, but at least in its place, right where you left it before Grace put you to sleep. Wow, with the time that had passed surely she had already found out about the little white lies you had delivered to the military base. Bah! for the time that had passed even your own planet must have been sure of that.

“But I guess you're happy…” you smiled teasingly, looking out the large window to where nature was peeking through. It stretched outside the glass, you also saw some small insects flying around.

After a long time of admiring your surroundings, you sighed. Which option should you take? Because the most emotional one would be to go back to Hell's Gate, but unsure about the time you've missed, you doubted if it was a reliable source right now. And even if it wasn't, it's been a good while where your information wasn't covered up by yourself, so anyone must know about you and your true identity.

“Agh… how stupid of me…” you complained, throwing your head back. “I still don't want to work besides…” you thought, turning to look at a tablet that didn't have any creepers on it. The only reason for taking a cryosleep was laziness to work during the time that Jake Sully had now decided to help the Na'vis, as you were still pretending to be part of the military's team for those times.

“I wish I'd had that idiot's problems… wanting to walk, ending up falling in love with an alien and betraying the race” you complained again, wearily, lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling. “I did the last one, though.”

Everything was still spinning around in your head. Yesterday you had hugged Grace for the last time, said goodbye to Trudy, punched Norm in the ribs, and misplaced Jake's chair. Today, you were in complete solitude in that place.

Without a destination. Not knowing what the fuck to do. Ever since you'd arrived on that moon you'd been determined to always be one step ahead of anyone, even your friends, but there was no way you could do that now, not with who knows how much time wasted. Soon, your spotlight came on and much to your dismay, you sat up, running a hand over your face.

“Nothing is impossible for me” you repeated the mantra you used to give your coworkers when you were in front of the computers, walking over to the machines. Yes, most were broken, some not so much, but they were still unusable. You pulled out the tablet of it's place, feeling your eyes light up when it turned on. Soon your face looked annoyed again, as it had no date or time.

“Is there any fucking way to know what date I'm on?” you gave the wall behind you a little kick, checking the data that was available. You seriously wondered if waking up bewildered was something all those idiots expected. Sure, the girl who thought she was the big deal for outwitting the military by waking up not knowing where, or how, or when she was.

“You'll see, Grace… I'm going to cut all your fucking braids out of your avatar when I find you” you growled, checking a couple of things. While it wasn't something as advanced as your computer or your watch, it was something you could work with for now, especially if you wanted to get out of there.

Before long, you managed to get few of the technologies in the place up and running. You had to take a bit of a breath for that, as it meant that if Hell's Gate had been taken over by the military, they could track you.

“Okay, and now the only thing I could put in any of this junk” a simple double-location. It gave exactly the same spot on the other side of the planet. A little trick you had managed to install before you went to sleep, just in case. Yes, you couldn't get ahead by a few years, but you could give yourself a boost from the past with basic things.

“Now, if I have everything correct… and if Max is still alive…” you ran your fingers over the touchpad, hoping to see at least just a single red dot on the whole big vast map.

“What's this for?” asked Max, looking at the watch you had just left on his desk.

“To combine, obviously” you smiled, as you walked out of the labs.

Yes, it hadn't been just for that. Being the most loyal, you knew perfectly well that just by knowing Max's location, you'd have a little bit of information. And what kind of person wouldn't you be if you hadn't put a tiny little tracker on him?

You smiled at the idea and soon, a couple of hours away, as reflected by the tablet, there was a blinking dot. In a recognized location.

"Yes!"

You couldn't help but take a deep breath after the happy second, hoping that the military hadn't stolen that stupid watch.

“How angry I'd be if that asshole gave it away.”

...

“Hey… guys” the female voice of one of the few humans left on Pandora caused both the Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya, Jake Sully and his friend, Norm Spellman to turn from the maps they were reviewing to where that woman was directing them. They followed her finger to the screen.

“What's going on?” questioned Jake, adjusting his eyes to check what she was pointing at. There were two new blinking dots on the map.

"It just activated. There's another one at the same point on the other side of the moon. Do you think they're military?” observed Norm, scratching his chin a little anxiously. That would be a big problem.

"No, no. This point is next to the cloud forests, remember? If there were military they'd be dead by now or we'd have gotten the word from the nearby clans. On the other side, it's the barren areas, but there's nothing there” Jake pointed first to the first spot that activated and then moved the map, pursing his lips. The first little light was around the intimidating forest and the oldest trees in all of Pandora bred, the other was in a dead space.

"M-maybe it's just a coincidence" the only woman there smiled, trying to avoid a tense atmosphere.

But nothing in Pandora is a coincidence. And Jake knew it.

"I'll send some warriors over there. There must be something in that place”.

previous｜ next

a/n ;; i struggled a lot to get this chapter out, but i'm glad I did!! i have a couple ideas ready before (reader) meets the characters and all that because i'd like to explore pandora a bit more -actually just my hc- and as always, sorry for any mistakes, english isn't my first language ! would you prefer that the mc has a nickname instead of using (reader) or you prefer just that? i'll read you, love y'all <3

[zweetpea]

Freedom or Anarchy? Part 2 of 2

Cw: cringe, swears, innuendos. Mondstadt arc has concluded. Next chapter will hopefully be out by Monday. (Expect Monday or Tuesday)

‘Where am I?’

‘What happened to me?’

‘I wanna go home!’

“Time to get up.” You hear someone call. The voice sounds familiar, deep and most likely male (you don’t want to assume). 

You open your eyes and see blue. You’re still groggy from Albedo’s tea so you can’t really stand. Someone picks you up, supporting you under your legs and you back. 

‘Hang on, if this is Mondstadt… the only man with blue here is.’ “Kae…ya?” You say groggily. 

“She speaks… or are you a he? Hard to tell.” He sets you down on a couch in an office.

“This is the terrorist Albedo gave us?” Lisa asks. You can’t quite move but you aren’t as tired as before. 

“We’ll have to tie… him? Her? …Ah up! Tie up the terrorist.” Jean says. 

“Them… I’m gender fluid. I go by them. Sometimes I’m a he, sometimes I’m a she. But my pronouns are always them.”

“Well, at least we’re getting answers.” Lisa giggles. 

You say as Kaeya binds your wrists and ankles with rope. You lean forward onto him and whisper to only him. “Tighter, daddy~” 

“Sky, where did you say that Light and Paimon ran off to?” Kaeya asks, embarrassed and blushing. 

“We’ve met Barbatos, they went off to find him.” Aether says. That’s right, the twins didn’t tell anybody their real names. 

“We’re back! And we’ve brought a friend!” Paimon cheers. 

“Obviously this goes without saying but no one can mention this man’s true identity, okay.” Jean states with a harsh tone that you’ve never heard from her before. Everyone nods, except for you. 

Venti walks towards you and you look at him. “Are you the one Celestia fears?” 

“I have no idea what that means.” 

“The descender, the honored one, the adored one. Do any of these names ring a bell?” 

“No?” 

“Do not lie to me! Albedo said-” 

“Why the F you lyin’~ why you always lyin’~” 

“…” 

“Sorry I have a tendency to reference memes and vines. I’m Gen Z, it’s a part of who we are. I’m kidding, I think that’s just me.” 

“So the Adored One has a name, Jen.”

“No that’s-” 

“And these “Me-ms” and “vines” must be your sacred texts! You’re a nature spirit aren’t you!”

“No! And for the record I don’t think you are a god!” 

“Wow, the honored one looks down upon me.” 

“Boys, Girls, and squirrels, listen up! Because I’ll only say this once. I’m not from this world. I want to go home. The world I come from none of you are real.” 

“Honored one, saying “Boys, Girls, and squirrels” doesn’t help your claim that you aren’t a nature spirit.” 

“Oh for Shucks sake. Actually can I swear in here? I don’t think so. Hell! Bullshit! Kaeya’s tight Ass! Lisa’s big boobies! Mmhmm boobies~” you start to laugh maniacally. “I need to be put in a mental hospital.” 

“Oh for the love of-” Lumine cuts herself off and goes up to you then shakes your. “Pull yourself together long enough for us to get answers.” 

“Right, right. I’m just a college kid who majored in computer science and engineering. The world I come from you all are a game and I hacked into your code which brought me here. That “Boys, Girls, and squirrels” comment comes from a YouTuber I watch semi frequently.”

(A/n: Danny Motta is his name. He’s pretty funny. Go check him out) 

“How’d you heal Stormterror then.” Aether asked. 

“The sustainer of heavenly principles gave me her powers.” 

“So… none of us are real?” Amber asks. 

“Well, I don’t know how I’d be here if you guys weren’t real but to me you’re just a game. Any of you can be killed and revived at the Statue of the Seven.” 

“I suppose that does poke holes in my credibility as an archon.” Venti twiddles his thumbs. 

“Can I please leave now? I can take Dvalin with me and we can just leave.” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If Stormterror is still enraged we can’t let him destroy other nations. It could spark an all out war.” Jean says. 

“What if we let them stay at that broken down building?” Aether suggests. 

“I still think that we should keep Jen here just in case Stormterror gets any more ideas about attacking Mondstadt.” 

“So we use Jen as a bargaining chip?” Lumine chimes in. 

“Exactly.” 

“Okay if you guys are going to call me Jen can you at least make it Gen with a G? I want to be different.” 

“But Jean! Isn’t that basically asking Stormterror for a fight?” 

“Amber’s right Jean. If we’re going to keep them here we’ll need a plan to tame Stormterror.” Lisa says. 

“I’ll tame him.” Venti says assuredly. “We just have to keep them here long enough for me to calm him down.” 

“BARBATOS!” Dvalin calls from outside. “GIVE ME BACK WHATS MINE!” 

“Everyone! To your stations! Protect the city at all costs!” Jean shouts and everyone rushes from the room. 

“Shit! I have to get out of here!” 

“Master Jean! I’m scared!” Klee runs into the office. 

“Klee! Perfect timing, I’m your brother’s friend.”

“Your big brother Albedo’s friend? Why are you tied up?” 

“It’s a long story. Right now I need you to untie me so I can save everyone.” 

“You can do that? I don’t know, usually only bad people are tied up.” 

“No no! Klee it’s more complicated. You want to save Albedo and Jean and Kaeya, Lisa, Amber, Razor and everyone else right? Then you have to untie me so I can make Stormterror go away.” 

“How do I know that you aren’t lying?” 

‘If gold knows me. Chances are Alice will too.’ “Your mom knows me. I’m the adored one. You can ask her about me.” 

“Mom knows you?”

“Yeah, and you know about Albedos secret lab in the mountains right? I’ve been there. He told me about how much he cared about you.” 

“You’ve gone there?! You really do know Albedo. Okay!” She comes over and unties you. 

“Thanks.” You go over to the window, open it up and shout. “Dvalin!” He comes rushing to you at your cry and you jump out the window and grab onto his tail. 

He flies towards the woods and you land in a stone arena. “Andrius! I need a favor.” 

“What could the East Wind possibly want from me?” 

“Protect the Adored one at all costs. 

“How can this puny human be the Adored one?”

As the two bicker you quietly sneak away. As you climb out of the arena you stop when you see black boots and look up. 

“Who are you.” Diluc looks down at you. 

“I am iron man.” 

“Iron man?” Dvalin roses as he and Andrius start to brawl. 

“Can you get me out of here?” 

“Are you the one rumored to have healed Stormterror?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Come on.” He grabs your arm and hoists you up. He then picks you up and throws you over his shoulder and starts to run. 

“Hey! Am I just a sack of potatoes to you?” 

“Quiet down or they’ll hear us.” He runs and runs until you two get to a water bank. “Follow this past west and you’ll be in Liyue.” He tells you as he sets you down. 

“Oh wow. My own dark knight. How romantic. Well for saving the fair ward of the dragon you get a kiss, as a reward.” 

“No thank you.” He grimaces at you. 

“Oh come on! I was promised debauchery! You’re no fun.” 

“Just leave.” 

“Thanks for saving me! I’m coming back for that kiss though!” You say as you run off. 

‘Hot dragon archon here I come! Please be like a lizard and have two co-‘