#I don’t. actually have names for these two yet

[flowersforbucky]

where the lines overlap

logan howlett x reader (dofp!logan x mutant!reader)

word count: 8.7k

summary: no one gets under your skin quite as much as logan howlett - and he knows it, too. sex pollen trope.

warnings/tags: 18+ only mdni, smut, sex pollen so dub con, frenemies to lovers? they aren't enemies but logan and reader don't really get along, reader is a mutant with pyrokinesis, reader is afab, reader is described as being smaller than logan, no use of y/n, wet dream, fuck or die situation, oral, pet names (bub, princess), brief pain kink for logan, unprotected p in v, cream pie

author's note: takes place after the events of days of future past - so everyone's alive, charles is old af, and logan has a pretty streak of silver in his hair. not proofread super well so please ignore any errors.

There's certain things that you like to think about when you're pissed off. It’s a coping mechanism that you learned in therapy at the ripe age of eleven.

Go to your happy place or whatever.

For you, that's the mansion's courtyard after a fresh snowfall, and having the library all to yourself on a rainy day, and the comfort of your bedroom on one of the rare days that you aren’t teaching, or training, or on a mission.

At this point in your life, you’ve forgotten just about everything you were taught in that therapist's office. It's not like you had wanted to be there, but your parents had been worried and scared – and rightfully so. With the unexpected emergence of your pyrokinetic abilities came multiple accidental house fires born out of preteen angst.

So they did the only thing they knew to do at the time – stick you in therapy in hopes you would acquire some anger management techniques.

These days, you have a pretty good handle on your powers. With a lot of time and effort, you learned to control them – and not just control them, but yield them in a beneficial and productive way.

All of that progress comes dangerously close to going out the window anytime you're in close proximity to Logan Howlett.

Maybe all is an exaggeration – but no one else makes your fingertips burn hot with fire that threatens to break through the barrier of your skin quite like him. From his bossiness to his arrogance and attitude, you’ve clashed heads since the first day you met him.

Today is no different.

“Don’t use so much force.”

You curse as the tip of the blade impales the target a whopping three inches from the center. By far your worst throw yet, though this one isn’t entirely your fault.

You snap your head towards the unexpected but familiar voice, pulling your last dagger from the holster secured around your thigh before chucking it in his general direction. It flies past him, bouncing off the wall behind him.

You knew that it wouldn’t actually hit him. And if by some miracle it had, he’d heal in two seconds and then go right back to being a pain in your ass.

A good looking pain in your ass, admittedly. But a pain in your ass nonetheless.

He looks at you with an amused expression. “See? Too much force.”

“I didn’t know that having giant forks for hands made you an expert on throwing knives.”

He exhales a breathy laugh, staring at you for several seconds before turning to pick the dagger up from the ground. He then proceeds to collect the rest of the knives that you had previously thrown from the body of the practice target.

In heavy silence, he struts over to you with the daggers in hand. He turns to face a wooden target board, finding the balance point of the knife before sending it flying through the air.

Bullseye.

“A long time ago, when I first joined this team, Charles made me practice a non-power related method of self-defense, too.” He pauses, lining the second dagger up with the practice dummy. To no surprise, it’s another perfect throw.

“Wanna guess what I chose?”

You snatch the remaining knife out of his hand.

“How to annoy someone by sneaking up on them and giving them unsolicited advice while they are minding their own business?”

You position your feet once again, holding the knife up in preparation to take aim. Your eyes dart back and forth between the blade and the target ahead of you. You hesitate, feeling nervous under his gaze.

Logan moves from standing beside you, to standing behind you. Your breath catches in your throat as his large figure looms over you. If he were to took a step forward, his chest would brush against your back.

He uses the tip of his boot to nudge your heel forward half an inch, adjusting your stance. He takes your right hand in his, and you have to consciously remind yourself to breathe.

A wave of annoyance washes over you that he’s able to fluster you so easily. It makes you as pissed at yourself as it does him. He’s barely touching you – his hand dwarfing yours is the only point of physical contact, but you’d think that he were pinning you up against a wall with his body.

You tell yourself the sudden light-headedness and increased heartrate is because of the newfound closeness, and nothing more. You’re used to being around Logan – the two of you live together and work together. His general presence is nothing new. But the intimacy of your current predicament is.

And maybe the fact that notes of tobacco and bourbon are infiltrating your senses doesn’t help.

“As unsolicited as my advice may be,” he says lowly as he pulls your hand back slightly, “I give it because if there is ever a situation where someone's trying to hurt you, and you’re unable to light them on fire for some reason, I would really hope that you could at least impale them.”

He tightens his hold on your hand, and then snaps both of your wrists forward. Surprisingly, your brain registers to release your grip just in time. When the tip of the blade impales the center of the target perfectly, he drops your hand.

But he doesn’t move from behind you.

“Much better. Now come back upstairs. Charles needs to see all of us in his office.”

••••••

You and Logan are the last people to enter Charles’ office.

Storm, Scott, Jean, Marie, and Bobby have all found places to sit throughout the small room. Logan chooses to lean against the door that clicks shut behind him, while you exhale in relief at the sight of an empty chair on the opposite side of the room, next to Marie.

“Ah, how nice of you two to join us,” Charles greets. “I was starting to think that Logan got lost on his way to retrieve you.”

You force out a laugh, earning a side-eye from Marie as Charles launches back into whatever he had been in the middle of before you two interrupted.

“Everything okay?” Marie murmurs to you. “You looked a little sick when you walked in.”

“Oh, yeah,” you shrug her off without looking at her. You keep your eyes on Charles. “Yeah, I'm just tired. Been training all morning.”

What were you supposed to tell her? That you were thankful to be wearing a tactical suit so that Logan couldn’t see all of the goosebumps that bloomed across your skin when he was practically breathing down your neck less than five minutes ago? Or that the walk back up to Charles’ office was filled with a loaded silence in place of your usual bickering and banter?

Marie might be one of your closest friends, and you trust her, but Logan is something of a fatherly figure to her. There’s no way you’re letting her hear those words come from your mouth.

You try your hardest to focus on all of the information that Charles throws at you. You’re all to leave on a mission early tomorrow morning. When he explains where you’re going and why, chills run down your spine.

Alberta, Canada – more specifically, Alkali Lake. All of your friends seem to tense up at the mere mention of the place.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the urge to sneak a glance to try to gauge Logan's reaction. You’ve never been to Alkali Lake before, and you’re far from excited about going – you can only imagine how he feels, given his history with the abandoned military base.

After no word of any activity surrounding the base for years, Charles had been made aware that the recent disappearance of a group of young adult humans had been traced back to Alkali Lake – to a modern day subsidiary of the group Weapon X.

The same group responsible for Logan’s skeleton being made from adamantium.

This, of course, is where all of you come in.

After a detailed rundown of the goals for tomorrow – the main one being safe extraction of the humans – Charles dismisses all of you to rest for the remainder of the day.

When everyone stands up, you finally risk glancing at Logan, but he’s already opening the door to Charles’ office and strutting away.

••••••

Thick stubble scratches your innermost thighs as sharp teeth and soft lips alternate between kissing and biting the sensitive flesh between your legs.

His face is covered in your slick from the three orgasms he’s already pulled from you with his tongue. He lays nestled between your legs, pinning you to the mattress beneath you. Your thighs rest across his shoulders, his hands splayed across your belly.

You're putty in his hands.

“I've gotta say, the sounds you make when you cum are way cuter than the sounds I'm used to hearing from you,” Logan muses against your cunt. His voice sends a vibration over your already overstimulated core.

You can only guess that the sounds he’s referring to are annoyed sighs and you telling him to shut the fuck up, but right now, you don't care enough to ask for any clarification.

“Yeah?” You yelp when his tongue flicks against your swollen clit. “Maybe if you spent less time pissing me off you’d get to—”

You're cut off by him plunging the tip of his index finger inside you. You writhe against him, your walls constricting around the digit.

“Less time pissing you off, more time letting you fuck my fingers and face. Got it.”

The slamming of a door somewhere outside of your room causes you to bolt upright in your bed.

You open your eyes to darkness except for the red glow of the numbers on your digital alarm clock that read 12:26 in the morning. Your heart feels as if it’s going to beat right out of your chest, and your skin is clammy with a thin layer of sweat. You throw your covers away from you in an attempt to cool yourself off.

“What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck—”

You whisper the three words to yourself over and over again until your breathing resumes a normal pattern.

You’re alone, of course. In the comfort of your private room, where you had fallen asleep several hours ago. The difference between now and then is an uncomfortable pool of wetness between your legs, soaking your underwear.

You can’t even recall the last time you had such a vivid sex dream. It felt utterly lifelike – you reach down between your legs, trailing your fingers over the skin of your inner thighs where you had felt his beard tickle and tease you.

How the fuck are you supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, when you’re having to work together to rescue humans from Alkali Lake? How are you supposed to come up with smart-ass remarks for his endless taunting and teasing when you’re going to be trying your hardest to not replay the images of his hazel eyes looking up at from between your thighs?

“Get a fucking grip,” you whisper hiss to yourself.

It’s Logan. The same Logan who acted like he was too good to say more than ten words to you the first half a year that you were with the team. The same Logan that tries to get you benched for the dumbest, smallest reasons he can think of. The same Logan that condescendingly calls you kid or princess every chance he gets because he knows it gets under your skin.

You need a glass of water. And some fresh air, and a cold shower—

You start by picking up the pair of sweatpants that you’d discarded before falling asleep a few hours ago. You step back into them, deciding to trek to the kitchen for some ice water. Your mouth feels as dry as cotton.

As you approach the end of the hallway that leads from the team member's bedrooms to the kitchen, you hear the soft shuffling of footsteps and see low lighting that spills from the refrigerator.

As soon as you step into the kitchen, you come to a halt. You recognize the large frame standing in front of the open fridge right away.

Of fucking course it would be him. And of fucking course he wouldn’t be wearing a shirt.

You clear your throat to announce your presence, not quite trusting your voice to speak. He looks at you over his shoulder, a bottle of beer pressed to his lips.

You walk over to the cabinet beside him, keeping your eyes off of him entirely as you get a glass.

“What's got you awake at this hour?” He closes the fridge, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. The only light in the room now comes from the small, dim bulb above the sink.

If he only fucking knew, you think. If he only knew that the real reason you are out of bed right now is because you’d just woken up from an extremely graphic, jarring dream of you riding his face.

You fill the cup up with cold water from the kitchen sink and take a large swig before once again turning to face him.

“Could ask you the same thing,” you answer with a vague gesture to his half-dressed form and beer bottle.

He takes in your appearance, too. His eyes trail from your exposed feet, to your baggy sweatpants, and up to your even baggier t-shirt before settling on your face. You feel particularly vulnerable under his gaze right now. You compare how you look to how he looks – with his stupid abs that look like God himself chiseled them from stone and his sweatpants that hang just a little too comfortably.

You sip on your water just to keep from biting your lip.

“Guess we were both thirsty,” he shrugs as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Guess so,” you hum, and because you don’t want to fall into an awkward silence and it’s the only thing you can think to add, you say, “Nervous about the mission?”

His expression darkens and posture tenses at your question. “I am,” he admits. “And if you knew as much as I do about that place, you’d be nervous, too.”

You huff. Your grip tightens around the glass in your hand at the mere insinuation that he knows your feelings. “Who says that I’m not?”

“If you’re going, you’re not nervous enough.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You take a deep breath, knowing damn well the direction that this conversation is headed. You’d heard it all from him before – anything to keep you as far away from him as possible.

“Of course I’m going, Logan. Whether you think I’m good at it or not, it’s my job.”

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re good at your job. It’s about experience—”

You laugh, cutting him off. You can feel the telltale warmth of fire beginning to form beneath the tips of your fingers, your irritation threatening to bubble over.

“Experience?” you exclaim. “Do I need to remind you that I’ve been with this team for three years now? Just because I’m not two hundred years old like you doesn’t mean that I don’t have experience.”

“I’m very aware of how long you’ve been with this team, bub,” he says calmly, which makes you all the more heated.

“For three years you’ve spewed every bullshit reason you can think of to keep me on the sidelines,” you laugh. “I wish you’d fucking admit that you just don’t like me. It’d be a lot more respectable than acting like you’re worried about—”

Logan’s gaze drops to the glass in your hand, making you come to an abrupt pause. You follow his stare, realizing that you’ve managed to melt the glass where your fingertips grip the glass. Water begins to leak out from the holes, spilling onto your sweatpants and the floor below you.

There’s no visible flames emanating from your fingertips. Your anger hadn’t progressed to full on fire, just intense heat, but still. No one else makes you come as close to losing control as him.

No one. And he seems to know it, too. You can tell by the smug look on his face.

You dump what little liquid is left into the sink before chucking the distorted glass into the garbage.

You start to storm past him, to get away from him and go back to your room without another word, when he grabs you by the wrist. You look at him in bewilderment – this is the second time in the last twenty-four hours that he has held your hand in his.

“Didn’t know you were so hot and bothered over me,” he says with an amused smirk.

You rip your hand away from him, an exaggerated look of disgust on your face. Your recent dream pops into your head and you have to remind yourself that he’s not Jean or Charles – he can’t read your mind.

“You're lucky that you've got those handy healing powers,” you spit as you once again begin exiting the kitchen. “If I thought there was a chance of it actually shutting you up, I’d burn more than just Charles’ vintage glassware.”

You hear him say your name, but you’re already speed walking back to your room and playing your list of happy place thoughts on a loop in your head.

The soup that Storm makes when everyone at the school seems to get sick at the same time. One of your younger students picking you a flower. The smell of fresh laundry, the crisp pages of a new book.

Finally, your bedroom door clicks shut behind you.

You would have been better off just enduring the discomfort of a dry throat, you think. You don't know what's worse – not being able to sleep because you're rattled from a wet dream about him, or not being able to sleep because you've once again allowed him to get under your skin.

You crawl back under your covers, hoping that when you close your eyes, you don't see his face again.

••••••

Logan doesn’t make any more appearances in your dreams for the rest of the night, but that doesn’t stop him from being the first thing you think of when you open your eyes in the morning.

And as much as you hate to admit it to yourself, the only thing on your mind the entire flight from New York to Alberta.

From the tension that filled the air when he corrected your knife throwing technique yesterday morning to the warmth of his calloused hand when he grabbed you by the wrist in the kitchen last night, you're fighting a losing battle with no one but yourself.

As far as you can tell, he’s utterly unaffected. The fact that he chose to sit directly in front of you on the jet instead of any of the other empty seats says as much.

Not even ten minutes into the flight, you're staring at the tufts of his hair and his broad shoulders when you have to remind yourself that there's two telepaths occupying this jet with you. Though you trust both Charles and Jean to not read your mind without cause, the mere possibility of either one of them accidentally tuning into your thoughts and seeing a replay of your most recent dream or hearing you think about what it would be like to tug on those stupid fucking tufts of hair that resemble kitten ears is enough to mortify you.

You find yourself grateful that you brought a book and headphones with you to distract yourself for the duration of the trip.

An eerie feeling creeps into your bones as soon as you step onto the hanger of the jet. You can’t deny that the scenery surrounding the military base is beautiful – from the snowcapped mountains to the frost covered lake, it’s picturesque. But then your gaze settles on the large dam, and you remember what lies beneath.

“Can't say that I've missed this place,” Logan grunts, drawing your attention to him. His face is impassive other than his mouth being set in a hard, straight line as he stares out towards the water.

It's rare for Logan to elicit feelings outside of burning irritation (and maybe, possibly, sometimes arousal) from you – but right now, there’s a part of you that wishes the dynamic between the two of you were different.

As much as he infuriates you, you still care about him. You wish you could say that you didn’t, but the fact that you feel the urge to reach out and give his hand a reassuring squeeze makes that pretty hard to deny.

That urge dissipates as quickly as it comes over you. The bitter chill of the mountain wind and your teammates voices pull you back to reality. You awkwardly fiddle with one of the daggers strapped to your thigh instead.

“Jean and Scott, the two of you take the west side of the building,” Charles instructs when the group nears the discreet entrance. “Bobby and Rogue, clear the east wing. Storm and I will be keeping watch outside to make sure that no one tries to escape with the humans.”

“What about us?” you ask with a slight nod towards Logan. The fact that neither of you had been given instructions yet leaves it to be assumed that you’ll be paired up together.

You and Logan working as a pair was nothing out of the ordinary, and although that typically comes with a lot of annoyance, right now you can’t help but feel a little relieved by it.

Even if you are still irritated at him for his behavior and choice of words in the kitchen last night and even if you do think of him between your thighs every time you look at him for more than five seconds, he’s still more familiar with this place than anyone else here.

And no matter how much he makes you want to tear your hair out, there's never a time that you feel unsafe when he's near.

“You and Logan are to inspect the basement,” Charles answers. “I trust that you can refrain from melting any antique personal property until we are back at the mansion, my dear,” he adds with a knowing smirk.

“I was planning on paying you back for that,” you mumble.

“No,” Charles sighs. “You weren't. It was very expensive.”

Logan snorts, earning curious glances from everyone other than you and Charles. He does get a nasty side-eye from you – a silent promise to deliver on last night’s threat to find something to burn other than vintage glassware.

Your teammates split up into their respective groups upon entering the base, leaving you to follow Logan's lead towards the lower levels.

It’s unsettling just how silent it is. The only sounds are that of yours and Logan's boots against the ground. You'd be able to hear a pin drop from across the building.

And it's cold. The kind of cold that makes your bones ache. You instinctively flex your fingers, focusing on the warmth that radiates from the tips.

As the two of you make your way through the dark, seemingly endless basement, checking each room for signs of life, you can't help but think of Logan being here under much different circumstances.

You don't know the full extent of his time here – even he only remembers bits and pieces. But you know enough to know that this can’t be easy for him.

The fact that he's being uncharacteristically quiet only reaffirms that. He makes none of his typical taunts and jabs, only speaking when absolutely necessary.

You find yourself damn near wishing he’d make some snide comment about how you’re walking too loudly and how being partnered up with you feels like babysitting duty – if he did, maybe then you wouldn’t feel this annoying, persistent worry over his mental well-being.

“Logan,” you begin quietly as the two of you approach a large set of hospital style double doors at the end of a corridor. “I know being here can't be easy for you. I'm sorry that you have to be.”

He huffs a laugh under his breath, not meeting your eyes as he slowly pushes one of the doors open, peaking into the room before stepping inside and holding the door open for you.

“Just part of the job, bub,” he sighs. “I know what I signed up for.”

You enter, walking past him into the dark room. You shine your flashlight around the cramped space. Right away, you can tell that it’s vacant, as all of the other rooms you’ve checked have been. But it’s different – whereas most of the rooms have been completely empty, this one contains multiple twin sized beds. No frames, no pillows, just plain white sheets on each one.

“I know you do. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t hard.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and he shines his own flashlight around the room from right behind you.

“It’s okay, princess,” he snorts. “I’m a big boy. You don’t gotta pretend to be worried about me.”

Princess. Your fingertips tingle as soon as the pet name leaves his lips.

“I’m not pretend—”

The sudden, loud clicking of a deadbolt echoes through the room, silencing you. You and Logan stare at each other for a brief moment, startled and confused, before he turns around and pushes on the double doors to no avail.

He slams the full weight of his body against the metal, but it doesn't budge.

“What the fuck,” he growls in between repeated strikes against the doors.

“Logan and I are locked in a room in the basement,” you say as you click on the communication device in your left ear. “The door automatically locked after we came inside. We can’t get it open—”

You’re met with white noise.

“My fucking comm isn’t working.” Panic begins to set in as you yank the device out of your ear to inspect it. There’s a small green light indicating that it is on, but for whatever reason, it isn’t getting signal.

“Scott? Storm? Can anyone hear us?” Logan says as he messes with his own communication device. “Nothing,” he grunts after a moment of silence.

“Professor? Jean? If either of you are listening, now would be a great time to poke around in our brains and let us know.”

Nothing indeed.

“Okay,” Logan says as he backs away from the double doors. “Blast them.”

“Blast them?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “They’re industrial metal doors. They’re like two feet thick. These walls are made out of concrete.” You bang your first against the rock solid wall for emphasis. “What the fuck do you think fire is—”

“I don’t hear you suggesting anything!”

“How about not setting the room we are trapped in on fire? Only one of us has regenerative—”

A loud hissing noise sounds from above, causing you and Logan to both point your flashlights up towards the ceiling. You squint, trying to make sense of what you’re seeing. Large vents make up well over fifty percent of the ceiling, releasing what appears to be a fog like substance. It quickly transforms the air above you into one large, milky looking cloud.

“Charles! Storm! Scott – we need help. Quickly, we need help. I don’t know what’s going—”

You continue to shout into the communication device while Logan alternates between punching the door with his fists and throwing the full weight of his body against the metal, but all of your efforts are futile. The doors don’t budge, and you hear nothing but static from the comm.

You frantically glance around the room, looking for another escape route. There’s no other doors, and no windows. You’re completely enclosed by the four concrete walls and the impenetrable metal doors.

“Hold your breath!” Logan shouts as the fog descends upon the two of you, but it’s too late. The sickeningly sweet smelling mist encompasses you, making it impossible to see anything other than the thick silver vapor. It infiltrates your nostrils, causing you to gag. You cough, desperately trying to clear your airway of the substance.

It burns – your throat, your nostrils, your eyes and skin. Anywhere that it comes in contact with you feels like pins and needles.

You’re vaguely aware that Logan is somewhere to your left, asking if you’re okay in-between coughs and gags of his own. You can’t catch your breath well enough to answer him.

His hand clasps around the top of your arm. Your vision goes fuzzy and you collapse into him, light-headed from the profuse coughing.

“I think it’s dissipating,” Logan whispers in a strained voice, still supporting you so that you don’t fall to the floor. You risk cracking your eyes open the slightest bit, and realize that he’s right. There’s still a veil of mist surrounding you, but it’s no longer so opaque that you can’t see even two inches in front of your face.

You take deep breaths, making no effort to step away from him as you attempt to regain control of your breathing. Your lungs feel like they are on fire and your throat feels like you haven’t had any water in days.

“What the fuck was that?” Your voice comes out as a croak.

“Can you stand?” he asks you. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from his embrace.

As soon as he steps away from you to see if the doors are still locked, the momentary relief that you felt when the fog began to dissipate is replaced with renewed terror. The room, which was previously dark except for the light from your flashlights, suddenly glows a deep red color from the ceiling that now emits crimson fluorescence.

You open your mouth to call out for Charles or Jean again, when a throbbing sensation radiates throughout your gut. You clutch your hands over your abdomen, gasping at the sudden and awkward feeling.

Logan turns his attention away from the doors and back to you as soon as he notices how you’re hunched over. You stumble over to the bed that's closest to you, the world blurring around you in shades of red.

“Something is wrong,” you gasp out. You know you're stating the obvious – something has been wrong since the moment that the doors locked behind you.

He's next to you in two long strides, kneeling beside the bed and looking up at you in concern. The ache in your lower belly seems to worsen with his close proximity. Your skin feels feverish, making you want to peel your tactical suit off of your body.

“Tell me what you're feeling,” he demands. Other than obvious confusion and fear, he appears physically fine. You piece together that whatever that shit was, it’s effecting you much differently than it is him – undoubtedly due to his healing abilities.

You can't form a coherent sentence – all you can focus on is the way that the discomfort in your abdomen travels down to your groin, making you clench your thighs together. You have the inexplicable desire to reach out and pull him to you, as if having him as close as possible to you is the only solution for every uncomfortable thing happening to you.

“You gotta talk to me, bub. Tell me what’s going on,” he says when you don’t answer him. He puts a hand just above your knee and you have to hold back the whimper that threatens to break through your lips. He notices your pained expression and quickly withdraws his hand from your thigh.

“No!” you gasp, grabbing his hand in yours out of desperation to maintain some level of physical contact with him. “I – I don't know how to explain what’s happening. Just – I just need you to keep touching me. Please. Whatever that fog was, it’s making me feel like…”

You trail off, realizing that you must sound every bit as insane as you feel. You don’t know how to begin articulating what’s happening to you, because it makes no sense. When the silver mist first started to rain down from the ceiling, the last thing on your mind was Logan pinning you to one of these mattresses and railing you until you until you see stars. Now, you think that if he so much as stops holding your hand, you'll fucking die.

A look of clarity washes over Logan’s face – with a hint of something else that you can't quite pinpoint, too.

“I think I know what this is,” he murmurs. His stare is locked on one of the daggers strapped to your thigh. He squeezes your hand in his, though you don’t know if it’s to comfort you or himself.

“I’ve heard of this before. Didn’t know it actually exists. I came across it once when preparing a lesson on Alkali Lake—”

“What is it?” you implore.

His eyes finally flicker back up to yours. Images of last night’s dream flash through your mind again. Instead of his hand holding yours, you visualize his slender fingers pumping inside you. You stare at his lips, imaging the feeling of them sucking love bites into the meat of your inner thighs –

“It’s a chemical created for breeding experiments,” he answers after a pregnant pause. “They – Weapon X – wanted super mutants. Some of the subjects were… less than compliant. This made it so that they weren’t able to fight it.”

You let his words sink in. It’s not something you’ve ever heard of, but you don’t doubt that what he’s saying is true. How could you, with the way that your pussy is throbbing at the mere sound of his voice? Under normal circumstances, you might not read too far into that. But right now? On a mission, locked in a creepy basement, unable to get in contact with your teammates?

“Weren’t able to fight it,” you repeat slowly. “You're saying there’s only one way out of this.”

He doesn’t answer – just looks at you with sympathy. With pity.

“No,” you shake your head. You yank your hand from his grasp and move back across the mattress as the gravity of the situation hits you. To distance yourself from him feels like ripping air out of your own lungs, but the alternative is borderline unthinkable.

“I can’t – won’t ask that of you,” you declare. There’s a voice in the back of your mind that laughs at you, as if saying it’s cute that you think you have a choice. The pain and longing grow with each passing second, threatening to consume you from the inside out.

“You’re fine. It would be different if it was both of us. But you shouldn’t have to do this just because you're stuck here with me.”

“Have to? You make it sound like it would be a punishment for me,” he chuckles darkly. He finally rises from where he had been kneeling next to the bed. He stands beside the mattress, looming over you in the maroon lighting.

“Let’s not overcomplicate this, princess,” he murmurs. He grasps your face in his palm and tilts your head to look up at him. His touch is a balm – it feels like running a burn under a cold stream of water.

“I'm gonna take care of you, and then you can go right back to tolerating my existence.” He runs the calloused pad of his thumb over the swell of your bottom lip. Your eyes flutter shut, reveling in the sensation of the singular digit against your flesh.

“Besides, it’s not like you haven’t dreamed about this. Or were you moaning about someone else who just happens to have the same name as me last night?”

Your eyes shoot open at the revelation that not only had you said his name in your sleep, but he’d fucking heard you. And has the nerve to tease you about it at a time like this.

He's smirking down at you. His smugness irritates you often, but right now it’s enough to cause the tips of your fingers to burn hot. You jerk his hand away from your face, causing him to hiss when your fingers wrap around his wrist.

He chortles, his eyes rolling back in his head at the sensation. The reaction fills you with annoyance – of course he would have a fucking pain kink.

As much as it pisses you off, it also spurs you on. Blame the influence of the chemicals that you’re currently under, but the fact that he can so easily tolerate and even enjoy something that would have anyone else running in the opposite direction does something to you.

You’re past the point of finding it in you to care about consequences. You’re no longer thinking about how you’ll be able to look him in the eye when this is over, or how you’ll pretend like everything is perfectly normal when the two of you are back on the jet with your teammates.

Maybe you can fight this drug, or maybe he’s right and there’s no point in trying. Either way, you’ve decided that you're going to have him before you leave this room.

You drop his hand, bringing yours to the zipper at the neckline of your tactical suit. You slowly tug it downwards, gauging his expression as he watches you expose your chest and stomach.

For once, he’s all out of smart remarks.

A part of you feels a sense of satisfaction and wants to continue taking your time with undressing yourself, just to keep him looking at you like this – but every fiber of your being is screaming at you for more.

You waste no more time with shoving the restrictive Kevlar material down your arms, leaving you in only your bra from the waist up. Logan unfreezes at the sight, crawling onto the bed on his knees. You maneuver yourself so that you’re laying flat against the mattress, pulling him down with you.

He rips the fabric of your bra away from your breast, immediately attaching his mouth to your nipple. He rolls it between his tongue and teeth, causing you to arch your back into his touch. Your legs instinctively wrap around his hips, pinning yourself to the mattress with his body. You mewl at the feeling of your pebbled nipple in his warm mouth.

His other hand attempts to free the opposite breast, but the fabric is too tight and restrictive. He let’s out an annoyed growl, pulling back to unsheathe his claws and snip the material in between your tits, letting them spill free.

“Hey! I loved that bra—”

Your complaint dies in your throat when he slates his lips over yours.

There’s nothing slow or sensual about the way that he kisses you. He slips his tongue past your lips, moving his lips with fervency and urgency – like he needs this as badly as you do.

You buck your hips up into him, desperate for any amount of friction. He grinds down against you, his erection evident even through the thick material of both of your tactical suits.

He pulls back, breaking the kiss to unzip your suit the rest of the way down. He peels it down your thighs, only stopping to discard your boots. When you’re left in only your underwear, he looks at you with a satisfied smirk.

“So, what exactly was I doing in your dream to have you saying my name like that, huh?” he asks as he toys with the waistband of your panties.

You roll your eyes, your patience growing thinner as the ache in your belly grows stronger. He can tease you about that all he wants when you’re back in the safety of the mansion, when you’re no longer under the influence of potentially life threatening chemicals and capable of thinking of a proper comeback.

“Shut up and eat me out.”

His smirk only grows, but he doesn’t tease you any further. He tugs your panties down your legs, tossing them to the floor. He lowers himself onto his stomach, still fully dressed. Under less dire circumstances, you would’ve been eager to get him out of his clothes, too – but right now, your highest priority is feeling his mouth on you.

No wet dream could have prepared you for how euphoric it actually feels for his teeth to nip at the tender flesh of your inner thighs, or the way that his tongue draws lazy circles at your hole before his lips lock around your clit.

You writhe against him, chasing the release that you’ve been desperate for since the second the vapor first came in contact with your skin. He’s more than generous, expertly nursing at your swollen bud as he eases a slender finger inside your cunt.

One finger – that’s all it takes to feel your climax building, the coil in your lower belly tightening. You feel your walls pulse around the digit as your orgasm washes over you. You don’t even try to hold back your cries and praises of pleasure, letting him know how good he’s making you feel.

When he sits back, his lips and beard glisten with your slick in the red glow that encases you both. You push yourself into a sitting position and reach for the zipper of his suit, antsy to shed his clothing now that your physical discomfort had been quelled – at least for the time being.

He helps you, shrugging out of his vest and tugging his undershirt over his head. Your mouth goes dry at the sight of him. You’ve seen him shirtless before, but never shirtless for you. You want to dig your nails into the planes of his chest, and run your tongue along the protruding vein that disappears beyond the waistline of his pants –

You undo his belt buckle and pop open the button of his pants before hastily yanking both his pants and boxers down in one movement. His cock springs free, bobbing inches before your face. You start to adjust your position on the bed – to get on your knees and take him in your mouth – when a low chuckle causes you to pause and look up at him.

“Nuh-uh,” he tuts, earning a confused pout from you.

“You don’t want me to suck your dick?” You ask with raised brows.

“S’not about me right now, bub. I said I was gonna take care of you, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Now lay back down for me.”

You aren’t going to argue with that.

You return to your original position on the mattress, pulling him down with you. He hovers above you, using one arm to support himself on the bed. He takes his cock in his free hand, stroking his length a few times before nudging his head through your folds until he’s lubricated in your juices.

“Don’t you worry, though,” he murmurs against your lips. He teases his tip at your hole. “If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I'll let you.”

“Oh, you’re so thoughtfu—”

He sheaths himself inside you, turning the end of your retort into a gasp. He fills you entirely, stilling to allow both of you time to adjust to the sensation. The stretch is damn near blinding, making your eyes roll back into your skull. You glance down between your bodies, halfway expecting to see him jutting out of your stomach.

He fucks you similarly to how he kisses you – like this is saving him as much as it is you. It's rough, and fast, and messy – and you dread the moment that it’s over.

No one has ever filled you as completely and perfectly as him. You don’t think anyone else ever will, again.

Each drag of his cock along your walls has you clenching around him, each time his head rams against your cervix you can’t help but cry his name.

He snakes his hand in between you, reaching down to where his body collides with yours. His thumb massages over your sensitive clit.

You rake your nails down his back and he hisses in approval, snapping his hips into you at a brutal pace.

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess,” he grunts before kissing you again.

You don't have time to overthink the sentiment before your second orgasm is washing over you. Logan cums as soon as he feels your pussy pulsating around him, fucking you until he's spilled every last drop of his warm seed deep inside you. When you're both finished, he stills inside you and rests his sweat-slicked forehead against yours as he catches his breath.

“You think it worked?” he grunts.

As if on cue, you hear the deadbolt unlock from the other side of the room. A second later, Storm’s voice sounds from your communication device that had fallen to the floor at some point.

“I don't feel like there’s a ticking time bomb inside my vagina anymore. So, I’d say yeah, it worked.”

He huffs a laugh, and then pulls out of you with a sigh.

“Logan,” you say, stopping him before he can pull away from you entirely. He stares down at you, waiting for you to continue.

You aren’t even sure what to say. Truthfully, you just weren’t ready for the moment to end and for things to go back to normal between the two of you.

“Thank you,” you spit out after a moment of loaded silence. “For… helping me,” you finish lamely.

“Don’t thank me, bub,” he chuckles. “It’s far from the worst thing that's happened to me in this place.”

••••••

You sleep the entire flight back to New York.

And as soon as you've showered and your head hits the pillow after returning home to the mansion, you sleep for another ten hours. Every time you wake up and think that you're finally well-rested, your body says otherwise and you're asleep again within minutes.

You wish you could say it’s a dreamless sleep, but that would be a lie. You see Logan’s face every time you close your eyes.

But it's different than the last dream you had of him. It isn’t images of his head between your thighs or his fingers slipping in and out of you.

It’s just.. him. His presence. The lingering feeling of his lips on yours, the light flavor of tobacco and menthol.

And the echo of the words he spoke as he teased you with the head of his cock and made you cum around his length.

“Don’t you worry, though. If you still wanna suck my dick when we get out of here, I’ll let you.”

“Fuckin’ ruinin’ me for anyone else, princess.”

When you wake, the ache between your thighs for him remains, despite the fact that the effects of the drugs had long since faded.

You know you shouldn’t read too far into words spoken while the two of you were locked in that room. But you can’t help but keep thinking that he wasn’t under the influence of chemical subjugation. Which leaves you questioning if he meant the things he said, or if he was just trying to lighten a scary, impossible situation for both of you.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

When you finally gather the courage the knock on his door, the sun has set and everyone has retired to their bedrooms for the evening.

You almost dash back into your own room during the few seconds that it takes him to open his door. He wears sweatpants, a plain black t-shirt, and a surprised expression.

“Hey, bub,” he greets you apprehensively. You don't normally make a habit of stopping by his room for late night chats. “Was starting to worry that you’d fallen into a coma.”

He opens his door wider, motioning with his head for you to come inside.

“Felt like it,” you give a small laugh. “Whatever was in that shit wore me out.” You take a seat on the edge of his bed, nervously wringing your hands together.

“You feeling better now?” he asks as he leans against his dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. Your eyes trail over the large muscles of his chest and shoulders. The memory of his body caging you to the twin sized mattress in the basement of the bunker flashes through your mind.

You nod, hoping that it’s convincing.

“All things considered,” you shrug. “I just wanted to check in with you. Has Charles… said anything?”

What you're actually trying to ask is if Charles interrogated him about where the two of you were during the mission, why no one was able to contact either of you, and why you have been so exhausted that you've done nothing but sleep for the last day, but you trust that he knows what you mean.

“He hasn’t said anything, but..” he trails off, eyes darting around the room to avoid your gaze. “It’s Charles. Safe to assume he knows and is just being decent by not saying anything.”

“Right,” you murmur.

If he doesn’t already know, it's only a matter of time before you slip up and imagine the feeling of his lips on yours or the sounds of his moans in the middle of a mission debriefing.

“And the humans..? They’re all okay?”

“They are,” he assures you with a soft smile. “They’re all receiving medical attention, and most have been reunited with their loved ones.”

You breathe a sigh of relief. “No thanks to us, I guess.”

“No,” he laughs. “I suppose not.”

He pushes himself off the dresser, walking the few feet to where you perch at the edge of the mattress. He sits down beside you, his thigh brushing against yours. He smells of Old Spice deodorant and spearmint toothpaste, and it makes you the room spin around you.

“But everyone’s okay. They’re safe. And you’re safe. That’s what matters.”

You nod, not trusting your voice to speak. He’s close enough that you can practically feel the heat from his body. You risk looking at his face, your gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips.

“Yeah,” you finally agree. “You’re right. Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I just wanted to check in with—”

You start to stand up, when he cups your jaw in his hand and pulls your face to his. He’s hesitant in a way that he wasn’t yesterday – he gives you the opportunity to pull away before he sweeps his tongue across your bottom lip, as if asking for permission.

When you don’t give any kind of indication that you want him to stop, he pulls you flush against him and slips his tongue past your lips. You bring your hand to the back of his neck, twining your fingers through his hair.

He takes his time with you. Whereas yesterday’s kisses were filled with urgency and desperation, todays is tender and sensual. Now, you’re allowed the luxury of taking your time.

He lays down against the mattress, pulling you with him. You straddle his stomach, your lips never once breaking contact. His hands grip the globes of your ass, his fingers digging into the meat through your pajama pants.

You grind against the hard planes of his abdomen, earning a throaty growl from him.

He breaks away, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“I said something I didn’t entirely mean yesterday,” he whispers, out of breath.

“What?” you ask, sitting upright and looking down at him. “You aren’t going to let me suck your dick?”

“No,” he chuckles. “God, no. I meant that. If you still want to, that is—”

“What is it, then?” you interrupt with a playful nudge to his chest.

“I said you could go back to tolerating my existence. But I hope you wanna do a little bit more than just tolerate me.”

You laugh under your breath, leaning down to press your lips to his once more.

“I could see myself doing a little bit more than just tolerating you.”

oooops i accidentally wrote another fic where logan overhears something that he wasn't supposed to 😅🫠 did not originally plan for that to happen hahaha

check out some of my other logan fics -

by the end of the night

dog tags drabble

[ally1uvsu]

Way better than drugs. | Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu

Summary; Maybe it’s on purpose that Nam-gyu looks too fucking handsome for his own good, maybe it’s involuntary how he’s so touchy with Thanos and can’t keep his hands to himself, or maybe Thanos is just insane for wanting to fuck his closest friend in this hell of a game, while everyone is asleep.

Info; cunnilingus, fingering, hair pulling, shameless smut, trans!nam-gyu, bottom!nam-gyu, top!thanos, dirty talking, p in v sex, public sex, voyuerism, wet dreams, drugs, hickeys, nam-gyu with a praise kink, name calling, face riding, clit pinching, messy and sloppy kissing, pulling out method.. don’t trust it guys, missionary, petnames, Nam-gyu whimpers and whines idc, tit sucking, Thanos is a thighs guy, overall just real fucking shameless smut, again 😭.

Notes; one of my first smuts without them being bots, I hope y’all like it 🙏 lmk if I need to change/improve anything, ALSO PLS DON’T HATE I’LL ACTUALLY CRY 💀.. AND TELL ME WHY I’VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS SINCE LIKE 9AM.. but it’s fine cuz trust, this is a deleted scene from the show.

Thanos swore he was bound to lose his fucking mind.

No, not because of the games, because of his drugs he could handle them. But because of a certain raven haired man whom Thanos became friends with. At first, Thanos brushed off how he was so touchy, how he always wanted to be near him. But.. it all started during that pentathlon game, when Nam-gyu first took one of his drugs and was cheering for some team, Thanos seriously couldn’t help but admire him. He had beautiful features, his smile was enough to make his heart actually falter as cheesy as it is.

Thanos brushed it off as some sort of adrenaline at the time, but it kept nagging him on even after they went. His gaze was locked onto Nam-gyu, he noticed how he made sweater paws and didn’t like really touching shit with his hands, it was endearing. And Thanos made sure to make a mental note about that- since hell, he’s been making a lot.

Thanos’ own enemy was his mind, he knew it very well. So while eating, his mind wandered around while the little group he formed chatted. It seemed like his subconscious wasn’t happy with normal scenarios of Nam-gyu, without even noticing, his mind began formulating pictures of the other in the dirtiest and yet most breathtaking, positions.

Maybe it’s on purpose that Nam-gyu looks too fucking handsome for his own good, maybe it’s involuntary how he’s so touchy with Thanos and can’t keep his hands to himself, or maybe Thanos is just insane for wanting to fuck his closest friend in this hell of a game, while everyone is asleep. Thanos would be lying if he said it didn’t piss him the fuck off, it was as if Nam-gyu was doing it on purpose, challenging him, daring him to do anything. Nam-gyu was riling Thanos up without even trying or knowing.

But Thanos sadly couldn’t act on it, what would be his excuse if he dragged Nam-gyu to a bathroom? Well, not like he thought the other would question him much over it but still. He would have to deal with his brain creating these scenarios until he got out of this place.

His mind seemed to be nagging him even in his sleep, he tossed and turned without even knowing, meanwhile he was having the dream of his life. Nam-gyu under him, moaning, and then- he woke up. He was fucking pissed, who the hell would be waking him up from such a heavenly dream in the middle of the night?

He groaned as he turned to the side, only to find Nam-gyu with his head looking down to him from his bunk on top. Well, at least it was who he liked. "I can’t sleep." Nam-gyu said and Thanos snorted, he really just needed to go back to that dream. "And what do i have to do with that?"

Nam-gyu sighed, shaking his head. "Give me one more, I can’t sleep for the life of me." Thanos paused, well, he could. But he was saving the drugs for any other rounds or things that could happen later. "I already gave you two today, hell no."

Nam-gyu furrowed his brows, it was true, but one more couldn’t possibly hurt, right? "Please, man. I swear I’ll leave you alone after this." Thanos sighed, but then, an idea clicked on his head the second he heard Nam-gyu grunt and move to push himself back up. "Wait."

Thanos said as he motioned for Nam-gyu to get down, and he heard the soft thud of his feet hitting the floor as he stood in front of Thanos’ bunk. The purple haired man grinned, opening the locket and putting a pill on his tongue. He saw Nam-gyu furrow his brows, again. He found that habit of his weirdly cute.

"Are you going to give it to me or not?" Thanos swore he could feel his heart thudding with excitement. "Come and get it."

Nam-gyu froze, was Thanos serious or just high? "You mean in your?.." he said with evident shock, and Thanos nodded. Nam-gyu scoffed, he needed the stupid pill anyways. "Whatever, fucking idiot." He mumbled as he kneeled down in front of Thanos, going in for a kiss.

Thanos was practically electrified inside when he felt the lips he had been craving so much press against his, he grinned against the other’s lips and pushed the pill that had already been dissolving in his tongue into Nam-gyu’s own, and yet to his surprise, Nam-gyu didn’t break apart the kiss like he expected him to.

Thanos swore he was having another wet dream about Nam-gyu. He wasn’t.

So, who was he to break it first? His hands made quick use of themselves and reached for his hips to pull him closer, having the raven haired one practically sit on one of his thighs, his own spread to sit on his. And Nam-gyu didn’t pull himself away or break the kiss, so Thanos just got a whole confirmation. He felt a hand tangle in his hair, tugging his head back and Thanos groaned as the kiss was broken.

"Asshole, all this work just to kiss me. You really need to get creative." Nam-gyu said, deadpanning. Thanos simply chuckled, not really paying any mind. What really mattered to him was that Nam-gyu kissed him. "I got the kiss, didn’t I?" Thanos said teasingly, and he swore he could see the faintest hint of a blush coloring his cheeks even in the darkness of the room.

But Thanos was too focused on chasing Nam-gyu’s lips to pry any further. He kissed him again, it was messy, sloppy even. But it wasn’t like Thanos could hold himself back, he has been craving it.

Thanos slipped a hand under Nam-gyu’s shirt, and he could feel him shudder. Thanos’ hands were warm, warm and surprisingly comforting over his cold skin. He could feel it caressing his skin, he wanted- no, he needed more. Taking advantage of how he was situated on Thanos’ thigh, Nam-gyu slowly rocked his hips forward, giving himself some friction where he craved the most, making him moan against Thanos’ lips.

The kiss was broken again, this time, he was met with a teasing smirk from Thanos as he tried to catch his breath, panting quietly. "Nam-s-" "It’s Nam-gyu." He interrupted before Thanos could even get his name wrong, this bastard knew his name but still preferred to call him by the wrong fucking name. "Whatever." Was the reply he got, but the silence didn’t last long before he felt a hand in his own hair, tugging his head back. "You’ll have to be real quiet, do whatever you want to shut yourself up."

Nam-gyu would have nodded in another case scenario, but his head was being held back as he felt Thanos’ lips go from his jaw to his neck, biting, fuck, sucking. His lips were so fucking soft, it made Nam-gyu’s mind fog up. He gripped his shoulders as he kept that same pace, grinding against Thanos’ thigh until he lost his patience and began speeding up.

Thanos just let Nam-gyu be, focused on his neck, really. Nam-gyu’s skin was lighter than his, when he pulled back a bit, he found that Nam-gyu was light enough that his skin almost effortlessly got marked, little red circles appearing where he sucked, even if not hard. He would definitely take advantage of this, being the shitty asshole he was.

Thanos took his sweet time to suck two hickeys into Nam-gyu’s neck, until they became purple. A plus was how Nam-gyu’s breath was ragged, how he rubbed himself against his thigh. Thanos’ only question was why wasn’t Nam-gyu hard, did he do something wrong? Both of his hands stilled the other’s hips, earning a whine from it. Thanos’ lips parted, he figured he wanted more of those.

"Asshole, why’d you stop?" Nam-gyu said with a frown, and Thanos wasn’t entirely sure how to put this. "Are you sure you want this?"

The question threw Nam-gyu overboard, of course he did! Jesus, he could feel his underwear stick to his cunt, he could feel it actually fucking throb to the point it hurt just from how badly he wanted it. It took him a bit to realize why Thanos was asking him that, and then his brain finally processed it, he was grinding against Thanos previously. Thanos who didn’t know he’s transgender.

But hell, he needed this. He just crossed his fingers and hoped Thanos wouldn’t judge. A good part of him knew he wouldn’t, for fucks sake he was kissing a guy. But the other small part of him insisted in nagging him.

"I’ll fucking punch you if you mock me for this." Nam-gyu threatened, but the shakiness in his voice when he initially spoke was easily heard, and his words didn’t have his usual confidence and bite to them. "Jeez, you oughta relax, Nam-su." Thanos said as he raised his hands up in the air, and Nam-gyu simply glared at him for that stupid name, but he didn’t have the patience to correct Thanos, not now, anyways.

Nam-gyu took a shuddering sigh, he felt nervous. But he spoke either way, he would need to speak if he wanted this. "I uh.. I’m trans. And I don’t have any surgeries because you know, I’m here for a reason."

Oh.

So that was the reason? Well, at least he knew Nam-gyu didn’t have a boner because of something that didn’t involve arousal, he took it surprisingly well- it was still Nam-gyu, the same Nam-gyu who was infuriatingly handsome. "Oh, okay." Thanos shrugged, and Nam-gyu seemed taken aback, he really didn’t care? "Still want you on my dick." Thanos said bluntly, and Nam-gyu didn’t even have time to blush before another kiss was initiated.

It was the same sloppy kiss from before, except this time, before Nam-gyu could even grind against him, Thanos had him beneath himself with a surprising ease. His hands were halfway down his pants and already onto the waistband of his underwear before Thanos broke the kiss to stare into Nam-gyu’s eyes, a silent ask for consent. Thanos wasn’t an asshole, afterall.

Nam-gyu nodded, sucking in a breath. "Hurry the fuck up.." he mumbled, and he didn’t have to ask for it any further before he felt Thanos’ hand sneak down and past his underwear, one of his fingers tapping his clit, enough to make him shudder.

"Jesus, you’re already so fuckin’ wet, bet you’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?" Thanos mocked, and Nam-gyu only did as much as utter a curse under his breath. Circling the other man’s clit with his thumb as he wasted no time in sliding his ring finger in, pumping it in and out slowly at first with a shit eating grin in his face Nam-gyu chose to ignore, because hell, it felt good.

Thanos couldn’t help but let out a groan himself as he eyed Nam-gyu’s neck, he was so fucking easy to leave marks on, Thanos decided that he should take the most advantage of it as he could. He dove back in, biting and sucking into his neck as he slid another finger, lazily pumping them in and out of his cunt.

"D-dickhead, go fucking faster." Nam-gyu stuttered our slightly, he hated himself for being so fucking needy right now. "Wow, I’m hurt, sweetheart." Thanos said before his fingers picked up the speed, earning moans that were music to his ears, but he couldn’t let anyone else hear them. One, they’d probably get in trouble, two, Nam-gyu’s sweet, sweet noises were for his ears only.

So, using his free hand, he put a palm over Nam-gyu’s mouth so he could moan as much as he could, muffling those sounds enough, at least in Thanos’ brain. He could feel Nam-gyu clench around his digits, hell, if he felt this good around his fingers, imagine around his dick?

Nam-gyu moaned, his mind was foggy and spinning, even. He couldn’t stop his moans, they came our involuntarily because it felt too fucking good. Thanos had long and slim fingers, and he knew how to make him feel extremely good around them. And god, the way his mouth sucked hickeys in all the right fucking spots had him floating to another universe. It had been a while since.. he had done this, not that he really ever had sex, he wasn’t one with a huge sex drive. So it was safe to assume this was the best fuck of his life so far.

"I can feel you fucking clench around my fingers like you don’t ever wanna let me go," Thanos murmured against Nam-gyu’s neck, pulling back to observe his handiwork, purple and red hickeys littered his neck and down to the joint of his neck and shoulders, followed by marks of his teeth. "And you look so handsome around them too, hell, if I had a camera I’d take a picture of you and keep it just so I could stare at your face all scrunched up in pleasure when I jerk off."

Nam-gyu fucking clenched around his fingers hard at his words, he was so fucking close. His words uselessly jumbling up against one another, only distinctive phrases like 'i’m close’ and ‘don’t stop’ could be made out of that mess.

Nam-gyu felt like his brain melted for the time being, everything felt like it was spinning and he couldn’t take his mind off how good Thanos’ fingers felt, and then just as he was about to cum, Thanos stopped.

"Hey!- why the fuck did you stop?!" Nam-gyu whisper yelled as he propped himself up on his elbows, only to be met with the sight of Thanos fucking smirking while he cleaned his fingers with.. his mouth. Nam-gyu’s lips parted, it was an erotic fucking sight, but he was still pissed. "Jeez, relax. Be patient." Thanos said once he got his fingers out of his mouth, kissing Nam-gyu’s lips briefly before trailing down until he reached his shirt. "I wouldn’t let you go without getting a taste."

And then Thanos reached for the hem of Nam-gyu’s shirt, they were both fucking lucky their bunks were right in the very back of the room, and plus, the guards didn’t give two fucks about them fucking, well.. probably didn’t. Again, Nam-gyu nodded and Thanos made quick work of getting his shirt off, kissing his collarbone before mumbling; "You can keep this on, I don’t mind."

“You can take it off.” Nam-gyu said after a few seconds, and neither one of them mentioned too much about it. Nam-gyu let out a sigh as he took off his binder with the help of the other, sighing as he felt his breathing definitely ease. And Thanos also made quick work to get his pants off, tugging them down hastily along with his underwear until they pooled around Nam-gyu’s ankles.

The sight made Thanos’ mouth go fucking dry, even in the dark, he could make out how Nam-gyu looked. He was lean, had a considerable amount of muscle, but what called his attention were his thighs, they looked plush, comfortable. But he decided to take his sweet time with this.

He pressed kisses down to Nam-gyu’s chest, wrapping his lips around a nipple while his thumb rolled the other, the whimpers that fell from Nam-gyu’s mouth only spurring him on.

He trailed kisses until he had his face between Nam-gyu’s thighs, breath fanning over his cunt in a way that had Nam-gyu shuddering. Thanos placed a kiss on one of his inner thighs, biting it softly and earning a whimper. Thanos didn’t take much longer to wrap both of his arms around Nam-gyu’s thighs to keep them apart, burying his face in his cunt.

The taste of his arousal was dizzying, Thanos groaned as he licked a stripe up his slit, eyeing Nam-gyu who clasped both hands over his mouth, shutting his eyes. The taste burst into his mouth, god, it was addicting. He wrapped his mouth around his clit, sucking on it as he let out quiet groans, muffled by the skin. God, he was eating Nam-gyu like he was and had been starving, like he was the best meal he could find out here. And Thanos swore he could do this for fucking hours.

He moved his mouth to his entrance, his thrusting his tongue as he tried his best to keep Nam-gyu still as his hips bucked.

Nam-gyu, meanwhile, was on cloud nine. His mind was hazy, and he felt so fucking good. Thanos’ mouth was on him, his hands were on him. It was addictive, making his brain become putty. The way his thumb pressed and rolled his clit, shit, Nam-gyu was going to lose his shit.

One of his hands tangled into Thanos’ hair, pressing his face closer, hips moving onto their own accord as he rode his face, head thrown back as he felt Thanos double his efforts. "Shit, oh my fucking- yes.. oh fuck," were what could be made out, well, he had long given up on staying quiet, he was just making half assed attempts to stay quiet.

Nam-gyu let his eyes flutter shut as he felt the coil in his belly, head thrown back as he began getting increasingly more sensitive, his moans became more like whines, rising in pitch every time he felt Thanos do any movement, really. "Thanos, fuck, I’m going to cum." Nam-gyu warned, breathless as he did so. And he earned a grunt of approval from him, and then, with one final brush on his clit, he came.

Fuck, he had to hold back a scream just from how intense it all felt. His back arched slightly, his thighs trembled and he still could feel Thanos’ hands on him, holding him as still as he could as his orgasm crashed over him.

Thanos kept up his work as Nam-gyu came, dedicated to catch every single drop, he was addicted to how Nam-gyu tasted. Only when he was sure that Nam-gyu finally came down from his high that Thanos straightened up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before leaning in for another kiss, letting Nam-gyu taste himself in his lips. "You’re so fucking hot" He said, something Nam-gyu couldn’t quite catch because it was in English, but then again he just assumed it was something good.

He pulled back seconds after, a smirk coming to his face, "I might as well keep you, Jesus, you’re so addicting I could eat you like this for hours." He then leaned in to whisper on Nam-gyu’s ear; "I’ll even dare to say, you relax me more than those drugs, could get high while eating you out."

Nam-gyu wasn’t entirely sure on how Thanos could speak so dirtily and also say the sweetest things, but seriously, even if he didn’t know how to reply, he liked it. Both of his hands cupped his cheeks as he pulled him in for another kiss, Nam-gyu was addicted to Thanos’ lips just as he wss to how he tasted.

While at it, Nam-gyu brushed his knee against Thanos’ crotch, or what he assumed to be it. Earning a hiss from Thanos against his lips that he greedily drank. He was definitely hard, that he could tell. Perhaps even painfully so.

"Shit, you’ll maybe me lose my fucking mind, baby." Thanos said as the kiss broke, tugging his sweatpants down along with his boxers. "Kind of the point." Nam-gyu said back, from where he was lying, he could definitely make out how Thanos’ dick looked, and fuck, he was considerably big. "You might as well rip me in half." Nam-gyu mumbled out what was supposed to be an internal thought, and Thanos chuckled. "I’ll make it fit and make you feel good, just relax and keep calm." Again with that stupid English in the, but this time, Nam-gyu caught onto what he had said, something about him staying calm. And Nam-gyu nodded.

Thanos jerked himself once, twice, before rubbing his cock between the slick folds of the other’s cunt, gathering as much lubricant as he could. After coating it in a considerable amount, he rubbed the tip against his entrance and pushed in, and shit, they both saw stars.

Nam-gyu had to hold back a loud moan as he felt Thanos’ tip slide in, instead, a whimper came out. It had been a while since he last took someone, and Thanos was big and had a good girth. He took a deep breath as he bit onto his palm, feeling Thanos slowly slide in. Giving shallow thrusts to bottom out, his groans made his stomach fucking flutter, he could cum from the sounds alone again.

"Holy shit.. you’re so fucking big," he breathed out, closing his eyes. And Thanos opened his own that had been closed.

The sight, albeit obscured, was an erotic one. One that made Thanos’ mouth go dry. He was barely halfway in and Nam-gyu looked completely drunk on his cock, his eyes closed, already sweating with some hair sticking to his face while the rest fell into a small mess on the pillow beneath his head. His neck had vivid hickeys that bloomed there, in different shades. His thighs spread apart and fuck, his pussy weakly fluttering around him as it fought to accommodate him. "I can cum from this fucking sight alone, Jesus Christ, you’re fucking handsome." Thanos said, technically star-struck.

Nam-gyu let out a shuddering sigh, the words of praise made him melt, made him involuntarily clench around Thanos, he liked being praise despite degrading others, and Thanos had noticed, he would definitely use it to his pleasure later.

Nam-gyu only opened his eyes again when he felt his ass press flush against Thanos’ hips, he felt stuffed so full of his dick, he swore he could feel Thanos all the way up in his throat. Not that he was complaining, if anything, he found it fucking hot.

"You’re so fucking tight, how long has it been since you last done this?" Thanos said as he gripped Nam-gyu’s hips, looking at him to see if he could finally move.

"Shit.. I don’t know, maybe five months?" Nam-gyu managed out, nodding at Thanos rather than using his own words. He bit down on his bottom lip as he felt Thanos finally move, slow and deep. A moan would leave his lips every time he thrusted back in, the feeling was nothing short of heavenly.

"Fucking.. oh my fucking god I can feel you all the way up in my guts.. shit!" Nam-gyu moaned, eyes half-lidded, his hands moved to hold firmly onto Thanos’ shoulders, staring into his eyes as the other man let out low groans "fuck, go faster, I’ll lose my fucking mind if you don’t" he nearly begged, shit, as demanding as he sounded, the desperation in his voice was unmistakable.

Thanos gripped Nam-gyu’s thighs firmly, he was sure he would leave marks but who fucking cared? Only Thanos would see those anyways. "You’re so fucking impatient, but who am I to deny such a handsome guy my dick?" Thanos tilted his head before he changed his pace from slow and deep to hard and fast, the sudden change in pace having Nam-gyu’s eyes rolling back, scratching Thanos’ back from pleasure.

"Ah.. fuck, shit! This feels so fuckin’.. good, Than-" he was cut off before he could even say the name, this time, Thanos was the one correcting Nam-gyu. "Su-bong."

Nam-gyu swore he could cum from the tone of voice alone, Thanos’ voice was strained, almost as if he was holding back sounds. Unlike Nam-gyu who had long given up on doing so. He felt Thanos lean against him, mouth pressing open kisses around one of his boobs before wrapping around his nipple one again, pace never faltering for once.

"Shit.. you look so beautiful like this, moaning like you’re being pounded into oblivion, which you are, just so the others can hear you." Thanos murmured, chuckling. "You going to cum on my cock, hm?" And Nam-gyu nodded, clenching around him at the praise.

"Fucking hell- oh, shit.. yes I’ll- mm.. cum on your cock, s-su-bong." Nam-gyu whined, closing his eyes as he tried to calm down the intense feeling that seemed to want to consume him whole.

"Good boy, doing so well for me.. taking me so well, go on, cum on my dick like the handsome man you are." Thanos said as one of his hands reached for Nam-gyu’s clit, rubbing it with two fingers and pinching it.

Nam-gyu was in fucking ecstasy, all he would make out was Thanos, all he could say was Thanos’ name, he was so close- he moaned loudly, muffled by a kiss, a sloppy and wet one, when he felt Thanos pinch his clit and rub it. He was so close to just fucking tipping over the edge.. and then the kiss broke, and Nam-gyu was a moaning mess.

Thanos let out a grunt, head ducked down as he focused on just pounding into the man below him. "Shit.. Nam-gyu, come on, cum on my dick." And Nam-gyu froze when he heard Thanos call him by his name correctly, he wasn’t supposed to feel as aroused as he did, but he couldn’t help himself when he gushed around Thanos’ dick just from having his name said correctly "shit, shitshitshit.. Su-bong, Su-bong I’m-" was what he chanted, calling Thanos’ name as if he was some kind of angel, like he was praying to him.

Nam-gyu was too fucked out to make out anything, head thrown back while Thanos had his free hand over Nam-gyu’s mouth so he wouldn’t wake up everyone. He felt his hips squirm as he wrapped his legs around Thanos’ hips and pulled him impossibly closer, breath knocked out of his lungs as he pulled the other incredibly more deeper.

"Fuck, Nam-gyu, you’ll be the death of me, fucking shit.." Thanos grunted as he felt his orgasm hit, and he pulled out very quickly before anything, cumming over his thighs and stomach. They stayed like that for a bit, panting and trying to catch their breaths and process what the hell had just happened.

Thanos was the first one to recompose himself, and the sight completely mesmerized him. Nam-gyu had his eyes screwed shut, lips parted as he panted. He was sweating, hair stuck to his forehead and his cheeks were visibly very flushed. He had marks all over his neck and shoulders, some on his collarbones and fingers/bite marks on his thighs. His chest was heaving, body slightly twitching, and fuck, he was covered in his cum.

Cum smeared Nam-gyu’s abdomen, his thighs, come cum ran down Nam-gyu’s cunt and then fell on the sheets below, Thanos had never seen a sight so erotic and yet so beautiful at the same time before. And the first words he could manage out after that were;

"Holy fucking shit."

[yanderedollie]

he’s the only one i could call

“fuck.” i groaned, leaning my head back against the headrest.

i lightly slammed my hands down on the steering wheel and lowered my music.

my car had broken down a few cities over from my own.

i picked up my phone to check the time.

3am… of course it is. nobody i know is gonna be up right now to save me.

“this is what i get for neglecting the check battery light” i think to myself. my car stalled a few more pathetic attempts to start as i realized i didn’t have the money for a tow service right now either.

i glanced around and picked up my phone to check maps. maybe there’s a 24 hour diner, or somewhere i can stay till it’s a reasonable hour.

nothing. i wanna throw my phone after i check how far i actually am from my apartment.

as i try one last attempt to move around the map and find a savior my heart drops to my stomach, and leaps back into my throat once i realize just exactly where i am.

two neighborhoods over is his house.

i giggle to myself as an idea flashes in my mind.

before i continue i’ll give context.

the whole reason i’m even cities over from my own was because i took a drive to clear my head. to try and forget him.

i had been trying everything i could but he was always gnawing at my brain. always. and i had been trying to control my obsessive tendencies after our fall out.

i had been doing good but, stuck in a neighborhood so close to his house made my body ache.

my fingertips tingled in anticipation as they hovered over my phone screen.

i wondered if he was even awake. he never really had a great sleep schedule. i checked the time again… 3:05.. i hope he’s not with her.

i nibbled at the inside of my cheek before i threw all reason out the window…

it rang a few times before a familiar, sleepy voice, answered

“[name]?”

my breath caught in my throat before i answered

“hey… hey i’m sorry i know it’s late- were you sleeping?”

“yeah but it’s fine.. are you okay? why are you calling?”

i smiled to myself. he still cares.

“i’m fine! i’m okay! swear. it’s just my car broke down really close to you. everyone i know is asleep…”

i trailed off. i probably sounded so desperate. it dripped off of me.

“[name].. i’m with my girlfriend.. cant- cant you call a tow service?”

i bit the inside of my cheek again. hard. i don’t care about his girlfriend. i’ll kill her.

i shook my head and nervously played with a loose thread at the end of my dress

“i.. uh.. dont have that kind of money right now.”

i sound genuinely pathetic

“i see… uh.. okay um i can come help you. just send me your location… and [name]?”

“hm?”

i practically whined at the idea of him coming to rescue me

“i’m just going to jump start your car and leave okay? please don’t make this a.. a thing”

that stung. i swallowed hard and nodded like he could see me

“yeah. it- it wont be.”

my phone beeped indicating he ended the call. i squirmed in my seat as i sent him a pin of my location.

make it a thing? what the fuck?

i wanted to rip out his throat.

shifting uncomfortably i waited outside in the cold. i leaned up against the drivers side window, shivering and pathetic.

when his cars headlights pulled onto the street i was on i felt my heartbeat quicken and my body tingle.

i was starving.

“hey..”

he said, walking up to my car with cables in his hand

“hi…i’m sorry again about this.”

i smiled softly at him. he always liked when i smiled at him that way… i hoped he felt something. anything.

he smiled back and i swear i could see his eyes linger over my body for a little too long

i felt like pouncing on him like a predator catching its prey.

“no worries. i told my girlfriend i’d be quick so, lets do this”

i felt rage flicker in my gut. stop fucking talking about her.

“right..”

i clearly sounded upset but i didn’t care.

my bones ached as i watched him attempt to jump start my car. he looked as gorgeous as ever.

it started pretty much instantly and i panicked. he couldn’t leave yet. no, no, no, not yet.

“w-wait!”

i practically yelled at him

he stopped abruptly, clearly taken aback by my sudden outburst

“what?!”

he was visibly concerned. never mad. he never really could get mad at me.

i felt tears well up in my eyes

“don’t leave…please.. i’m-i’m sorry. it’s been so long since i've seen you. i had to see you. i can’t stop thinking about you. please please don’t go…”

i felt so many emotions bubble inside of me, i felt like i was going to burst

he stared at me for a long time… then.. he smiled.

“cute.”

i swallowed and looked down at my feet

“stop. i’m sorry. that was really stupid.”

i didn’t look up but i heard him take a step towards me

“[name]….”

i looked up. he was right in front of me, closer to me than he had been in months.

i clenched my jaw. i could smell his cologne and my knees nearly buckled.

“stop it!”

i stepped back. i wanted him so bad but i knew it was wrong. i wanted to kill his girlfriend and rip out his throat, but i was trying so hard to be better. i was really trying

he let out a soft laugh and reached for my hand

“i guess i’m the one making it a thing…”

he held my hand in his so gently i felt myself melt.

“no. we can’t…”

i sounded small, pathetic, desperate. i clearly didn’t mean a word.

“hmm”

he hummed gently, moving his hand up to brush some loose hair behind my shoulder and trace my neck

“why not?”

i didn’t answer, i just held his gaze. it was so intense i nearly looked away.

i knew i could eventually get him where i wanted him…but.. i didn’t think it'd be this easy.

i shivered at his touch and something flickered in his eyes

“you look as beautiful as ever. i like this dress on you..”

he sounded starving now.

“it’s new”

i squeaked.

“mm very pretty, doll”

i let a whimper escape my lips at the nickname and he grinned

“come here.. let me warm you. it’s so cold out here…”

i stepped closer to him without a second thought. anything he wanted i would do it. anything at all.

he wrapped his arms around me and i couldn’t contain myself anymore.

i tangled my fingers into his hair and pressed my body against his, whimpering in the process.

i needed him bad. primal. animalistic

his hands roamed my body, grabbing and groping every part of me.

my breathing quickened as i melted into his touch.

“please..please”

was all i could manage to moan out.

he was barely touching me but i felt my pussy throb and dampen at every grab and tug from his hands

“you’re so pathetic. it’s adorable”

he cooed into my ear before nibbling it a little

we were still outside leaning against my car, his hand travelling up my dress and teasing the waist band of my panties

“[name]… please..”

i couldn’t control myself around him. he was so warm. so sweet. so perfect.

all of a sudden he pulled away tugging my body towards his car. fast.

i barely had time to register what was going on before i was in the backseat and he was looming over me.

i could see glimpses of him in the moonlight. he looked so disgustingly perverted and hungry for me. i fucking loved it.

“you’re such a fucking tease in this little dress. begging me to come save you, to rescue your pathetic ass…”

he said in breathy whispers as he groped my tits and pinched my nipples through the fabric of my dress

i moaned loudly and squirmed underneath him, feeling his hard cock pressed against my thigh

“i can’t believe you [name]. i can’t believe what you do to me”

he quickly slipped the dress off of me and his mouth was on my naked body in an instant. digging his nails into my waist and leaving sloppy, uncoordinated kisses, over my chest and stomach

“mmm… fuck… [name]… please just use me however you want”

i whimpered pathetically each time he moved his mouth or hands

“oh i will.”

i could barely stay conscious between his hands wrapped around my throat and him rubbing his thick cock against the fabric of my panties

it all felt so good i nearly came just from that alone

he ripped my panties off and shoved his cock into my dripping pussy with one swift motion, i saw stars

i coughed and sputtered from the pressure on my neck as he rammed into my cunt

“oh my god.. fuck.. [name] you feel incredible”

he released his grip on my neck to move a hand down to my aching pussy

he gently rubbed my clit as he pumped in and out of me and i could’ve sworn i saw god.

i whined like a pathetic dog as he violated me in ways i had never experienced from him before.

i knew our past sex was good but holy shit

“[name].. i’m sorry. i’m so sorry”

he apologized profusely as he struck me across the face and rammed into me harder

“you’re just so pathetic, i can’t help myself…”

all i could get out was pathetic whines as i looked up at him with desperation.

i wanted more. i wanted everything he could give me. whatever he wanted to do i would take it and i would love it.

“fuck. fuck. fuck. [name] you’re so tight”

he groaned loudly as he rubbed my clit faster

i clenched around his cock as i felt him release a huge load of hot cum inside my womb

i came at the same time, my pussy spasming on his cock as we both let out animalistic groans and pants, clinging to each other like this would be the last time

it was never the last time.

“oh my god..”

was all he could manage into my ear as he collapsed on top of me

i could feel our heartbeats colliding into one, pounding against both of our chests

i laid there staring up at interior of his car, catching my breath

i had asked him to come rescue me in hopes that maybe he’d feel something for me when he saw me

i asked him to save me because i needed to see him

come to find out…. he felt the exact same way

i smiled to myself as he played with my hair, still laying on top of me and softly breathing into my neck

we hadn’t spoken a word to each other yet but, i knew.

i knew he felt the same way i did

all this time i thought he had moved on

but we were just as desperate and perverted for each other as we had been back then

i really need to kill his stupid girlfriend. then he’ll be mine forever.

so much for “getting better”

i never will as long as he’s breathing. i never wanted to in the first place.

“i love you [name]”

he sighed softly, placing a gentle kiss on my neck

“i love you too”

i will never let my darling go… ever. again.

[acupofinkedblood]

Banhammer x reader

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

• Ah, the infamous ruthless tyrant of Banland, the raging warden who serves justice violently with a swing of his hammer. Maybe he isn’t the most well-known for his actual name, but if you remind people of how close they are getting to see the warden himself, you will definitely witness a lots of them start to wince in raw distress because oh boy do they know better than to be standing face to face with that guy. Banhammer is a merciless and cocky bastard to the core, whether it is his actual intention to piss people off or not. It’s just his nature to get on people’s nerves at this point. So here’s the one hundred bux question: How the hell did you stand his ass? Or just in case you start listing out your reasons - How the heck did the thing between you two even started and then escalated this far?

• For whatever the reason of a joke, your life has been gifting you a miracle under the disguise of a chaotic fun-sized bomb contains confetti and hot sauce when it has weaved the destined red thread on your pinky to Banhammer’s. Like it or not, that’s your case of a deal now. I won’t ask you why all of every options you have available, you go for a guy with an ego as big as his own muscles with the attitude that has the magic to get on anyone’s nerves unintentionally, because your reason won’t amuse me too much. The question isn’t who falls first, but who has the audacity to admit it first because it feels like an endless game of cat and mouse on the river of playing dumb between you and him

• One thing you have to keep in mind about Banhammer is how the idea of dating a mortal is being associated as a foolish act of sentimental behavior, in which that belief has been engraved deep into his mind with little room for negotiation. Especially when he has seen what happened to his cousin’s family, the downfall and the trauma it has left them make him feel uneasy. Maybe a tad of sympathy for them as well, they were too young to witness that. As if his work’s line doesn’t make him have no time left to breathe — let alone dating stuff — but if he has to date, who would he set his eyes on anyway? There are barely any options for him aside from dating a mortal. Will he be enthusiastic about the idea? Hell no, he has stated his mind and nothing can ever change the way he thinks. Will he regret his own statement because he will literally go against that soon? Absolutely

• Because then he meets you. A mortal, no more and no less. Under normal circumstances, you should have been nothing but another light of life passing through with little significance to his life as any other mortals he used to know before. Nothing but a bystander, as how he usually puts it. And it should just stay like that! Unless you’re a criminal of course. But fate just really loves to laugh into his face — or in this case, his attempt of reminding himself that — in the most unexpected way possible. From a stranger, you start to grow on him, for the worse or the bette. It’s just those simple things, yet it makes him looking over to your direction a bit longer than usual. When Banhammer realizes just how much he is pinning over you, wanting to see you the next time he is out of duty, he knows damn well that he is screwed

• He will be in denial. Yes, you hear me right, there are no ways that he is going to deal with these forsaken feelings that shouldn’t exist in the first place. Don’t get him wrong, he likes you genuinely. You have been a pleasant company in his life, something good to look forward to in the future - in which yes, he adds you to that list of those things he likes in his mind. But the idea of commitment to a mortal is still making him feel uncertain. Like he used to say, that’s just asking for tragedy. Children of the Swords are meant to work, not fool around and see what happens! He isn’t going to be a hypocrite that goes back on his words, that’s just absurd. But on top of that, he will never tell anyone this, but he is scared. Don’t think that with those little emotional intelligence will turn him into a mass of brawny muscle, he still feels things too. And he has a reason to be afraid of that possibility

• You are a mortal, he is a demi-deity. Minus the clear difference in status, he knows you can’t stay with him forever until the sun burns into nothing but a beautiful mass of destruction. He will have to grieve you, as he will outlive you sooner or later. Sure, maybe there exists a chance that he will die first since like it or not, he can still be killed by mortal’s hands. But it isn’t a problem to him. Banhammer can keep his head on his neck as long as he has the situation under control. But you on the other hand, will have to deal with old age. He doesn’t like to think of that view in the future, and the heartbreak that comes with it. Windforce above, he is scared. Banhammer will probably be in denial for who knows how long, as long as it will do him a favor of burying his own feelings. But you know this bastard better than that

• Give him a moment to collect himself, then take out a coin. You think that you will need to flip a coin to see if it’s the head or tails? Wrong, just toss the coin into nowhere because you don’t need to know if fate gives you the green light to engage with this mess the two of you have walked in without even knowing it firsthand. As much as Banhammer tries to resist his own feelings, he just can’t resist you. His mind is currently having a storm because of you after all. Like it’s mentioned earlier, give him some time to relax first. Reassuring him that it doesn’t hurt to listen to what we want in our hearts. Maybe you might jest that after you die, he can keep a little piece of your horn to be a good luck charm. And yeah, he will just rolls his eyes with a clicked tongue. Though it does lighten up the mood somewhat after you two just joke around back and forth about it. He appreciates it, he really does. It gives him the courage to decide on his own

• To say that Banhammer doesn’t have confidence is a wild take because have you seen this man? He knows his worths. He knows that if he steps out to the battlefield, he will knock all of those damn criminals down with little regard to error. To claim that he doesn’t know what is he doing is just pure stupidity — although sometimes you do wonder where the hell is his last brain cell in certain moments — he believes in his strength and loves to take on challenges, even going as far as making things harder for himself just to prove how strong he is. Maybe when you step into his life, he does the most questionable thing ever just to impress you. Though it does look silly most of the time, but hey, at least it’s sort of cute

• He strives to be the best, nothing less than that. Banhammer has that competitive spirit that allows him to achieve even the impossible at the nick of time. Sometimes those banters that occur between you two happen just because he finds it so necessary to boost his own name over the moon, especially when it comes to his work. If it isn’t obvious, he can be petty if you’re better than him in what he is an expert at, golf is included. This bastard will literally sulk if you take away his chance to impress you. It’s mostly lighthearted as he will pin it as a goal to surpass you the next time the two of you get around this topic again. His ego is as big as how he looks after all, don’t be so surprised when you see that shit-eating grin looking at you when he wins again

• Banhammer does things in his own way without further useless elaborations. He just acts on whatever he deems fit. Sometimes it brings him quiet the troubles whether it’s with you or his team. When he makes a flaw, he will bring up a scroll of excuse to get his point across. But don’t think he will just repeat that mistake. Banhammer knows how to look back to learn from his mistakes. He just does that without the need of anyone to notice and call it out. It’s irritating to him. Honestly it’s probably the fact he wants to have that feeling when everything is within his grasp so it won’t stray the other way too far. No one needs to point out his mistakes after he acknowledged it. You don’t need to repeat yourself to him, he knows

• Oh boy may the SFOTHs be at your mercy because this guy will definitely tease you until you can’t see the light anymore, especially before the two of you were officially in a relationship. It feels like most of the bones in his body are all mean ones at this point. Sometimes you might wonder if he’s just pulling your leg or does he actually mean what he says. Usually it’s just something about your personality, appearance, work-related stuff or even just out of nowhere stuff when he is beside you. As if that’s the only way he has in mind to strike up a conversation with you: To begin it with a short joke. Don’t worry too much, he means well to a certain extent, so just keep your head up

• This might surprise you but he is actually a decent leader. He has a police team under his command at Banland. Some people might assume that he would treat his subordinates like how he treated his prisoners, but they have never been more than just wrong in their life when saying that. He only cause harm to those dipshits who disobey the obvious law. He still knows what is right and not, making the assumption that he treats everyone like shit is so unfair. Banhammer looks at his subordinates like family at some point. They can even call him out on being stupid when they see him blindfolded himself then almost walking into lava, and he doesn’t take it to heart. They can jest around with him that way with ease

• Banhammer can be such a flirt sometimes. But do keep in mind that he is also pretty out of pocket here and there. Not much of a shocker, isn’t it? When the two of you don’t know each other, he keeps things professional in the box. When you slowly starts to get to know him more personally as the feeling is somehow mutual, that’s the peak of him becoming such a bastard. It’s that line between keeping things casual and making you feel wanted. He literally says the most ridiculous things ever with a straight face. Definitely the type to make suggestive jokes and then laugh his throat off when seeing how flustered you are. But when you return the favor back to him, his brain just stops functioning for a good few seconds as he is pretty much screaming internally like a teenager

• Once you gets to know him better aside from that warden persona he has almost all of the time on while he is at duty, you will soon realize that he also has a heart. Banhammer has a soft side that he hides under the amount of armor wore on his body. He keeps it to himself because letting others get their hands on his ‘weakness’ isn’t what he looks forward to at all. Being soft is equal to being weak, that’s what he keeps repeating inside his mind. But well, not when you manage to work your way into his heart. Spending times alone with you, letting you know the fullest of him - it suddenly doesn’t feel so bad anymore

• This is a hot take but despite that rough and cocky exterior, he is actually pretty lovely in a relationship. Surely that he won’t just flip out immediately and turns into a completely different person when being with you, but you can notice that obvious change of tone in his voice when speaking to you. It feels much more gentle than when he is speaking to someone else. Banhammer isn’t too much of a romantic guy, but he knows how to appreciate a special someone in his life. Each touch he lovingly ghosts against your skin, to caress your face or to rub your back, he means every single one of them. The way he tries to deny the fact that he is nervous because of this particular relationship — which is completely new to him surprisingly — is just adorable while he glances over at you. But you know he holds no heat between those eyes, because the very next moment he already presses a kiss onto your lips as an attempt to prove you his words

• He is pretty much protective of you. This doesn’t just come from the difference in power scales of you and him, but also from the fact that he is worried about those pesky criminals that will seek you out for revenge against him. Although Banhammer is confident of his own strength to protect the two of you, and if you can also fight, he respects that too. But when he has to be away for investigation at other regions, he can’t help but be a little obnoxious when making sure that you are safe and sound at home. Even when you can kick ass, you can’t kick multiple asses at once! And he is even more of a worrywart if you can’t fight much. The thought of someone coming for you when he isn’t there to keep you unharmed is terrifying. You can’t really blame him when wanting to check up on you regularly like that. He means well, please keeps that in mind. Anyone who touches you the wrong way, even just a little bruise, will see a fate worse than Ghostwalker’s purgatory itself. Banhammer swears it, and you knows he takes that seriously

• He works out a lots, mainly to train himself to avoid getting sloppy the next time he is out chasing a certain cultist’s ass off. Seeing him working out is actually pretty intriguing, especially when you take a look at his schedule. It does rotate depending on how the day is going, but nonetheless, it’s all intense as hell. You’re free to join him if you want, but don’t feel awful when you can’t keep up with him and have to give up halfway. Banhammer will laugh at it, saying that you’re already lucky enough you don’t get a stroke then evaporate into nowhere with your determination. He is a demi-deity after all, it’s natural for people like you to be unable to catch up to him. Before you sulk and leave the place, he might tell you to get on his back as he starts doing pushups. You don’t want to miss that invitation, it’s actually pretty amusing when he pulls that off. That’s his way to keep you around and feel useful, and it works like a charm

• His wings are also quite the fascination. It’s not uncommon to be dumbfounded when you realize he has those wings which he can summon under the form of solidified energy at will, since he doesn’t feel the need to let anyone know about it. Poor those criminals when they have to see him charge with that ungodly speed of his wings directly at them though. But for you, things are pretty different than that comical scenario. Banhammer won’t mind holding you while flying around if that’s what you want. But do expect that this guy will still be an asshole about the entire thing as he will playfully threaten to drop you. He will never do that, just so you know. It only happens the few first time you two flying together

• And how can one even forget his unmistakable four eyes? With how much he blindfolded them by his own hands just so he can challenge himself even more, that wince when he takes it off and sees the light poking directly into his four eyes is always a laughable sight. How does it feel to not only have a pair of eyes looking at your direction, but two coming from the same person? When Banhammer takes off his blindfold, his expression will be easier to keep track on as his emotions really just be given away in his eyes. You know just how he is feeling at the moment just by looking into his eyes: Upset, happy, confused, worried…It feels like he is vulnerable in front of you and only you. On the side note, he can’t look directly into your eyes for too long since he sucks at eye contact without a blindfold. it just feels funny in a questionable way in his mind

• His hugs are suffocating in the best way possible. It’s firm, a bit rough yet still has that soothing effect that is able to calm your nerves down when needed. It’s hard to struggle out of his hug, but it doesn’t feel bad at all. You already knows just how strong he is with all that muscles and stuff going on inside his body, and with how he wields his massive hammer with ease too, so it’s natural to assume that Banhammer has that deadly powerful grip that can easily bruise you if he isn’t being careful. Honestly he is reluctant to give you physical affection at first, mainly because he doesn’t want to underestimate his strength and hurt you intentionally. It takes him quite a while as well as a good load of reassurance that he won’t crush your bones that easily — Mind you, he can but he won’t, just saying — until he eventually gives in

• Whether it’s because of the fact that Banland are surrounded by lava pool scattered almost everywhere on the surface or it’s just the fact that he is a walking personal heater, Banhammer’s body is more than just warm. Hold the hot jokes, I know you were about to say it. Yup, hold your horse buddy. But he does feel like a walking fireplace for most of the time, especially during winter for some reasons that you both can’t fully comprehend. He is the prefect partner to cuddle beneath the blanket with when you have a long day, as it’s highly recommended that you should do so in rainy or snowy weather. Summer can be a bit insufferable though, since his body feels too warm to your taste. You will probably have a heatstroke hugging him without an air conditioner in the room

• Sometimes he says blunt things that will hurt your feelings. He is rather emotionally inept, oblivious to other’s emotions around him. Banhammer tends to be brutally honest with his mind, saying things that can hurt others without realizing the actual effect behind it. Even when people get annoyed or upset with him, he might fail to even notice at first. Sometimes it can lead to a serious verbal fight between the two of you. That is until you have to point directly into his face and makes a statement about how hurt you felt when he said that does he realize he has screwed up. Banhammer is pretty much dumbfounded at the weight of his own words to you. Seeing you upset makes he feel bad. Banhammer will try his best to make things right again so that he can see that smile which he loves soon. Please know that he is trying, he doesn’t mean to hurt you

• Banhammer cares for you. If you’re mad at him, he will do just anything to make it up for you, even at the most absurd request you make him do - which he will begrudgingly accept his fate because he knows damn well just how angry you are. He is, surprisingly, willing to take a step back in an argument when things are too heated. Only you have that privilege though, other time he will just grunt back as if he is about to chew the other speaker’s head off. He mainly figures out how to apologize to you on his own without the help of anyone, it’s just embarrassing if one day he comes up to his subordinates and ask what should he do when his beloved is mad at him. They will laugh the living hell out of themselves. But then again, he does keep in mind what do you like so he can get it or do it in addition to his apology. Sometimes he does it pretty stiff since it feels off to actually apologize to someone. But hey, it’s the genuine thought that counts

• Windforce might have heard of you, mainly because of how Banhammer has quite the deep connection with his momma. This guy is a certified mama’s boy after all. He will tell her everything about you once he gets the chance to see his momma again. Windforce is pretty taken back by the news of her son’s selection in partner, a mortal, to be specific. She does doubt you at first due to her worries towards her son. But them she has came into terms with it as she knows there are no point interfering Banhammer’s business. She doesn’t have time to meet you, as she is pretty much occupied with her own business. Yet she will still send her blessings to you, a favor from her for making her son that happy. As long as Banhammer is contented with you, she doesn’t see the point in being against the whole thing

• His strong sense of justice is inherited from Windforce. Although it doesn’t sound that fitting, ‘justice’ and ‘Windforce’ together, since most demons know her because of her ruthlessness. But little did you know about the connection between using force and serving righteousness. Her justice doesn’t involve the gray between black and white, and it can blind her to the extreme point. Banhammer looks up at his mother, so he has taken her justice with him. The reason he resolves to use violence is because it teaches a better lesson than normal words - a good point, because even Banhammer knows that he sucks at using words to find a peaceful solution with those pesky criminals. He cringes at the lowly idea

• There will be a day that you will be but a memory in his mind. Banhammer used to be scared of the thought of you dying due to your mortality before him — and for your information, he still feels that uneasy feeling whenever he is reminded of it — but seeing those happy moments between the two of you, he knows that the film of you running in his mind will be a pleasant one. He will grieve you, of course he will. But then those good memories will help him back onto his feet once again. Banhammer will convince himself he that you are watching over him and his future. The thought of your spirit just cheering on his accomplishments is kinda funny, but endearing. Sometimes he might look at you with this silly question in his mind: If he can go back in time, will he still make the decision of this lifelong commitment with you

• And he answers it on his own with no hesitation: Always. No matter how many choices he is allowed to make, he will still come to you. Like it or not, aside from his mother and his works of serving justice, you will also one if his most important responsibilities who he adores and cherish until everything returns to ashes. You are his lover after all, why wouldn’t he choose you? He makes a vow to stay with you no matter what happens. Despite that cocky attitude that makes you want to punch him into the oblivion, you can’t deny that his soft side does melt your heart. Please remember just how much you mean to him, because you are the best thing he has ever happened in his life, he has the right to be proud of that

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Note: I’m so sorry for the delay! Hopefully these are long enough to make up for my disappearance (*´-`)

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

I love reading Eurylochus analysis but I don’t see people mentioning the beginning of Puppeteer all that often.

Eurylochus starts that song by immediately trying to tell Odysseus about what he did. Immediately. I know we like to characterize Eurylochus as cowardly (mostly because that’s how Jorge describes him and how he’s described in the Odyssey), but I think it says a lot that Eurylochus didn’t try to hide or pretend as if this hadn’t been his fault. He didn’t wait for Odysseus to confront him about it or try to avoid taking responsibility. It’s rather brave imo that he tried to say something and only didn’t because his captain ordered him not to.

I think a lot about the timeline of EPIC and how entering the lair of Scylla likely wasn’t that long after Puppeteer. Odysseus says they’ve been away from home for “about twelve years or so” and then there’s the obvious discrepancy of Odysseus telling Circe the same thing— explained away by it being a simple mistake on Jorge’s end. If we go by the likelihood that it hadn’t yet been twelve years when they met Circe and that Ody was lying, there’s a rough two-ish year period before Eurylochus actually tells the truth.

To some, this might be indicative of his cowardice, a show that he wouldn’t actually tell the truth and would prefer to hide away his greatest mistake for as long as he can manage.

I disagree. I think this could indicate a couple other things, though; namely that this is proof Eurylochus changed his perspective and decided to listen to Odysseus. Mutiny could only happen because Eurylochus realized his mistake in not believing Odysseus not just once, with the windbag, but twice when Odysseus went to save their men on Circe’s island. Three strikes, you’re out and Eurylochus is not that kind of man— side note: it isn’t hypocritical to change your viewpoint and then criticize someone for adopting your old one btw, it’s just how people function.

Different Beast does imply this a bit, but I think the fact that Eurylochus waited so long to tell Odysseus about the windbag is much more blatant. After all, Odysseus told him to wait, and he did. To me, it seems like Eurylochus read between the lines of Ody’s order (go make sure the island is secure, there’s only so much left we can endure) and took it to mean “wait to tell me when things have settled and we aren’t on the brink of dying”.

Which leads to the second implication, why did Eurylochus choose this moment? Obviously, he didn’t know the nature of Scylla or the danger that they were in, but what about this moment in particular left Eurylochus feeling secure enough to tell Odysseus? Well, the obvious answer is the ruthlessness Odysseus showed in Different Beast showing that they’ve reached that point of power and being able to defend themselves even from monsters that have slain so many sailors.

But another option could be the idea that Scylla was their “last stop” before going home. It’s a bit unclear if this remains true in EPIC, but in the Odyssey, Scylla and Charybdis are right next to each other and the trick is that you have to pick your poison— do you want to die to the whirlpool monster or the six-headed one? What is clear in EPIC is that Ithaca is just past Charybdis, meaning that Scylla, in theory, could’ve been their final stop before reaching Ithaca had Mutiny not happened. There is a very real possibility that they might not have gone to the first island they found if Odysseus hadn’t been knocked unconscious. They still might have just because they were hungry, but it can be difficult to tell which is fate and which is the result of man’s actions.

Either way, I think that a lot of people tend to gloss over the fact that it’s very apparent Eurylochus was going to tell Odysseus what happened as soon as he could and only didn’t because Odysseus told him to wait. It’s a very interesting aspect of his character to me and I think it reveals a lot in terms of his character motivations and how it contrasts to Odysseus’ perception of him throughout the show.

[tsbs-shipfessions]

Hear me out…Nexus/Solar’s Sun.

Nexus exacts his revenge on Solar by reviving Sunrise (Solar’s Sun. I couldn't think of another name to differentiate between the OG Sun) and rizzing him up.

Oh, the mental anguish Solar will experience from the overwhelming joy of having Sunrise back, but also the red hot rage and misery of learning that Nexus is fucking his mom.

The funny thing is I started shipping it as a joke, but I quickly fell into the ‘shipped it as a joke, but now it's unironically one of my favorite ships’ boat.

It has the potential to be such a tender, yet hilarious ship, your honor! 

Sunrise being able to recognize all the anger and lashing out is just the product of a hurt individual, since he probably experienced the same with Solar when they first met. 

Sunrise cradling Nexus’s face, wiping away his tears as Nexus comes down from a really bad episode. Nexus refuses to admit that there is any true affection between the two of them, that Sunrise is just a tool, a means to enact his revenge on Solar…

But then Sunrise mentions he is cold and Nexus not only gives Sunrise his coat, but his shirt, a heating pad, multiple blankets and draws up the schematics to alter the Earth’s orbit to make it spring in their hemisphere.

----

[Everyone sitting at the table enjoying dinner]

Dazzle: Solar if you're Sunrise’s baby why do you call him Sunrise and not Mommy? I called my mama ‘mama’. Solar, flustered: I’m not his- He’s not my- Listen, Dazzle, I’m not going to call Sunrise ‘mommy’. I will NEVER call Sunrise Mommy. Or Mama, or Mum, or mother. Can we stop talking about this?

Nexus: I don’t see why you’re throwing a pissy fit over something as small as calling Sunrise Mommy.

Solar:HE’S NOT-

Nexus: I mean, that’s what I called him last night >:)

[Que everyone trying to hold Solar back from vaulting over the table to throttle Nexus]

Nexus deserves love and wacky family dynamics again.

Anon, I just want you to know this is one of my favorite confessions I have ever received. The "Oh, the mental anguish Solar will experience from the overwhelming joy of having Sunrise back, but also the red hot rage and misery of learning that Nexus is fucking his mom." actually made me laugh out loud.

[calphalon]

wine and dine | dick grayson headcanons

⤵ tw: not an uppercase in sight, unhealthy relationship, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, yandere, manipulation/semi-gaslighting, implied purposeful harm ⤵ note: i just think he is overbearing and overstimulating on purpose, but he makes up for it by buying you literally anything ever ⤵ inspo song: under my skin by jukebox the ghost

- dick grayson is not shy when it comes to buying your happiness, a trait he picked up from bruce growing up. even if you’re not comfortable with this, gift giving is deep in his blood.

- it doesn’t matter where you came from before him because everything feels like humble beginnings in comparison to the endless fortune dick has a share in. there is enough money on that black card of his to solve problems you hadn’t even thought of yet, and it was intimidating the power he had just with a call of his name.

- he takes you into places where the price is never discussed, at least not to you. and if you hesitate due to how much you think it costs, he’ll find a way to talk you into getting it anyways. clothes with brands you only thought you’d see photos of, flights to the next place to vacation he randomly planned without telling you, restaurant reservations at such popular locations not even the queen could get a table as soon as he did for you.

- “but wouldn’t this look nice for a date? that way we’ll look good together. people will know we belong together.”

- that’s his excuse often, that the two of you would look better together if you matched. If everyone saw the two of you and immediately knew the two of you were a set. that if you were somehow lost, they would just have to take one look at you to know you were his. some of this is because he wants you to be pampered the way he thinks you deserve…

- some of it is also because there is an image he has to keep as the first son of the wayne legacy. the torch his father passed down to him, playboy billionaire with a desire for a good time, has to be held high even if it comes at the cost of your happiness.

- some of it also because you’re like the perfect doll for him. so easy to dress up and play with, keeping him entertained even when you’re far too tired to do much of anything. he wants to pick you up and take you everywhere, even places you don’t belong, just as an excuse to show off his favorite pastime.

- he does care though, at least he says he does when you’re crying about how you have no privacy with all the cameras in your face all of the time. how people will go to extremes just to capture video and photos of you at your lowest, in those moments you thought you were actually alone.

- he tells you how well you look, how he’ll shield you from all the press tonight so the two of you can just enjoy each other's company without the worry of the outside world. dick will never admit he gave some of those photos and videos on purpose just so you’d come to him seeking a moment of peace. that you would vent to him. that you would see him as the only one who can bring you back to that feeling of normal, even if he is the cause of all the stress.

- you’re his charity case, something to make him feel like a hero when he isn’t playing nightwing. someone to see him as he knows he is, the perfect man. the protagonist's love interest that gives purpose to the story.

- he could never explain where he disappears off to, that he’s the hero in the night who guards the city you’re locked within the border of. excused off as necessary trips… maybe he likes the way you seem so desperate to know if he’s humoring other lovers during this time. maybe he wants you to get as jealous as he does when he sees anyone even try to sway you from him.

- he likes to rush your relationship, asking you to move in less than a month into the relationship and suggests marriage shortly after. he wants you to depend on him for everything. money, safety, privacy, care, everything.

- the home he bought, decorated just for you to house you when he wasn’t playing with you, had everything he could think of to remind you just how much of yours was his. Nothing of your old life made its way in, whether it be a single piece of clothing, a photo of your friends, or even your pet from before. everything in that house was his, including you.

- if he could be the air in your lungs and the blood in your veins he would be. he doesn’t realize how much he wants to live inside your skin, to puppet your brain and convince you he is all there is in the world.

- maybe that’s why it hurts so much when he gets back from a long mission, excused as a family trip that you couldn’t go to because he was concerned how the family would react to you being there, and you’re not there.

- that none of the gifts he has bought you while he was gone, the ones he had sent over special just for you so you’d still be able to be dressed up by him even with all the distance, were touched let alone opened.

- when he calls for you through the house? nothing. phonecalls? voicemail. He knew you had run off when he noticed your wardrobe just a bit less full and that pretty wedding band he got for you left on your nightstand.

- barbara knew he was desperate when dick came knocking on her door, begging for some sort of help finding his lost doll. pleading that you were out there, probably so scared and alone without him. you have nowhere to go without him, that you had nothing else but him.

- when the two of them found that you, where you had run off to while he was gone, dick called in a few more favors to make sure he would never lose you again. maybe if he gave you a reason to fear everything but him, you’d be truly trapped in the dollhouse he built for you. 

thank you everyone for the support !! please do reblog & share if you enjoyed so i know what people are interested in. if you happen to have any requests, feel free to drop those in the ask box :D

[drakorn]

Rewriting Veilguard Part 6 - The Mourn Watchers

Rewriting Veilguard Part 5 - The Antivan Crows

Disclaimer: I don't hate the game, I actually think it's quite great given the development hell Bioware went through in those 10 years. This is more of a hypothetical universe where there was less of that behind the scenes drama. Just a fun writing exercise.

Writing an Origin Story Mission for the Mourn Watchers

Riiiiight, the Mourn Watch. The Mourn Watch, the Mourn Watch…the Mourn Watch…yeeaahhhppp.

So, you see, when I started these rewrites, the two factions I dreaded the most were the Mourn Watch and the Lords of Fortune. And I’m gonna tell you why: Unlike the other four factions, these two don’t actually have any faction-specific stories. Sure, the Mourn Watch has the ghost bosses, and the Lords of Fortune has that one arena, but other than that? What exactly do these factions actually contribute to the story? They introduce Emmrich and Taash, respectively, sure. But that’s all they’re really here for.

While Veilguard definitely provided me with a lot of foundations to start working on the other factions’ origin stories, the Mourn Watch will require me to refer to Rook’s entry blurb alone and come up with something from there. There is no faction-specific villain to set up, no major contribution the Mourn Watch has to the overall story, nothing at all, really. On one hand, I dreaded it. On the other hand, I find myself strangely excited. Here, I can actually make something up from the ground while still trying to stay true to the spirit of the game.

Yeah, I could just take the Johanna Hezenkoss plot and make that the faction story as that’s the closest thing the game has, but nah. I’d like for that to still remain Emmrich’s companion story. I think, I might have something else in store for the Mourn Watch as a whole.

So, without further ado, here’s a potential origin story mission for the Mourn Watchers.

Creating Rook

So, for the fifth time, we press the start button, watch Varric’s introductory narration, and then click on the Mourn Watch background. At this point, anyone watching this hypothetical walkthrough on Twitch or YouTube is probably screaming at the streamer to finally proceed with the actual story. But we gotta see all the potential backgrounds.

Right, so, we are met with the Mourn Watch faction background, and the little blurb says:

“You are a Mourn Watcher. This elite necromantic order explores the mysteries of life and death, and tends to the undead in Nevarra’s sprawling Grand Necropolis. As someone who has lived among the dead your entire life, the gloomy depths are nothing unusual for you. But when the dead begin acting out of place, even the most safest corner of your home becomes treacherous and perilous. Will you uncover the truth behind the hauntings? Or does your path lead to an early grave?”

The last name, Ingellvar, applying to all four races, isn’t that big of a stretch in this one. Everything we need is already graciously provided by the game itself.

At some point in our infant life, we were found in a coffin somewhere in the Necropolis and adopted by necromancers. Well, in this rewrite, we’ll say that the necromancer who found us was a single man named Alberich Ingellvar. And the Necropolis has a bit of its own thing going about races, so that’s more of a secondary thing. The more important backstory factor here is our class:

If Ingellvar is a mage, they’re a direct member of the Mourn Watch, since those are all mages.

If Ingellvar is a warrior or a rogue, they’re a guardian of the dead, in service but not directly part of the Mourn Watch.

For the sake of this playthrough, let us go with a human mage Ingellvar.

NOTE: For the duration of this origin story mission, Rook will be referred to as Ingellvar in dialogue for the exact same reasons as stated in the previous entries. “Rook” simply does not exist yet.

Once we finalise our Ingellvar, we press on the start button again, and Varric continues his narration.

In the opening narration of the Mourn Watch background, we get to hear the overall inciting situation: The Grand Necropolis, located just outside of Nevarra City, bordering the Silent Plains, is currently in a bit of a messy situation. Multiple undead strangely go rogue and attack their supervising necromancers, disturbing the overall flow of the facility. Their attacks have grown increasingly bold over the last few months. The necromancers are the last force preventing the undead from reaching the surface. And that’s exactly where Varric hopes to find someone he needs for his own endeavour.

So yeah, you see, the War of the Banners is something mentioned in Rook’s Mourn Watch backstory text in the actual game, but we don’t ever get any proper elaboration on it. I think that’s a perfect set-up for an engaging origin story mission. So let’s see how we do!

The Grand Necropolis

I have to give praise where it’s due: The Grand Necropolis looks amazing in-game. It has that perfect blend between sophistication, eeriness, and Tim Burton-esque weirdness going about it. Hey, I never said I hate DAV! There are quite a few things to be praised about the game we got, and the overall presentation of the Grand Necropolis certainly is one of them.

What I would like to establish, however, is its proper location. Some say, it’s in the heart of Nevarra City, others position it somewhere on the outskirts. A few recent concept artworks from Matt Rhodes show it somewhere in the Silent Plains. So let us implement something and stick with it. In this rewrite, the Grand Necropolis lies just outside Nevarra City, right on the border to the Silent Plains. And that’s not an insignificant position lore-wise, for the Silent Plains are, of course, where Dumat was slain at the end of the First Blight. There are some…interesting implications to be had here, and I will delve into them when the time is right.

Meeting Myrna

We begin our game with Ingellvar entering the Necropolis Halls, where we are expected by Myrna. And right off the bat I’m going to make a small change to Myrna. Well, not really a change, more of an expansion. You see, we never actually get Myrna’s last name in any canon material, so for this rewrite, I’m going to call her Myrna Ingellvar. She is our adoptive sister. It was both a combination of our own efforts and her prestigious position that got us into the ranks of the Mourn Watch, which is, I might remind, the most elite necromancer group around. Obviously, in a non-mage origin, we’re an assistant to the Mourn Watchers, but since we’re playing a mage here, we’re a full-on member.

Myrna greets us and gives her congratulations on us finally making it down here, where all the action against the rising undead takes place. We quickly learn that she’s here to pick us up as we’re both invited to attend a lecture on the restless undead, delivered by none other than Professor Emmrich Volkarin. Not only that, since we’re playing a mage here, we get the added bonus of having been chosen as the professor’s new apprentice. Yeah, the Mourn Watcher background really gives us a lot of good things to start off with. We have…a lot to lose!

Myrna calls upon Audric Felhausen, the undead guardsman we met in Tevinter Nights, to accompany us to the Memorial Gardens, where Emmrich is set to deliver his lecture. We are just needed there a bit earlier since we’re kinda important for it.

Exploring the Necropolis Halls

Before we head to the Memorial Gardens, we have the opportunity to do a quick exploration segment in the Necropolis Halls. Not much is yet revealed here, but we can still have a few nice interactions:

We can talk to Myrna and reminisce about our family. It is revealed that our father is actually dead now. For his long-standing services, he has been granted the rare honour of Lichdom and is now residing somewhere in the deepest parts of the Necropolis. Perhaps we may visit him sometime. Yes, we are part of the Mourn Watch, so…we would know what a Lich is.

We can exchange a few words with Audric where we’re reminded of the fact that he’s actually a spirit possessing Audric’s body. Also a bit of set-up for the future of this mission given that Audric’s story revolved around stopping an undead nobleman possessed by a pride demon. While he’s working at the library nowadays, he’s sometimes still used as a guardsman, especially now.

We find a series of letters between King Markus Pentaghast and Myrna, revolving around dispatching a few Mourn Watchers to the royal palace. A little piece of set-up for later, since King Markus is not what he seems.

We can find another series of letters from a few enraged Pentaghasts demanding to know why King Caspar’s tomb is not accessible until further notice. The Necropolis is simply too dangerous right now.

We can read a final letter from Sidony, a mortalitasi mage previously featured in DAI and Tevinter Nights, now a member of the Mourn Watch herself, informing Myrna of the arrival of someone they had previously discussed.

The Professor

Once we’re done, we signal Myrna that it’s time for us to go. We then get a short but sweet cutscene showing the Ingellvars and Audric travelling through the silent halls and passages of the Necropolis, always on guard. But so far, nothing is attacking us. Hopefully it stays that way until we get to a larger gathering.

Thankfully, fortune is on our side this time around and we successfully arrive at the Memorial Gardens, where Emmrich Volkarin and his trusty assistant, Manfred the skeleton, already await us.

Emmrich bids us a very warm and polite welcome and greets us as his new personal apprentice in the arts of necromancy. As a first little task together, we are to light the candles of the Memorial Gardens, both to honour the spirits and to respect the dead.

As we go about this business, we can also find two letters addressed to Emmrich lying on a small nearby desk:

One is from Bellara, as the two are in the process of exchanging knowledge from far away. We get a hint of the magic in Arlathan Forest growing wilder and more unpredictable.

The other is from Dorian, who used to be Emmrich’s student in younger years. It is both a pleasant and informative letter as we get a small hint at rising tensions within the Magisterium.

We can also have a short interaction with Manfred in which we first learn from Emmrich that he’s a spirit of Curiosity.

There is still some time before the lecture begins, so Emmrich invites us to a game of chess. It is quite a favourite pastime of his, and he likes to test our strategic thinking and patience.

The chessboard looks fittingly gothic and we begin our game without further ado. It is both a nice conversation with Emmrich as well as a perfect opportunity for us to roleplay Ingellvar’s personality traits. In the end, we succeed at the game by beating Emmrich’s Queen with, you guessed it, our Rook, check-mating the King in the process.

Emmrich congratulates us on a well-played game and definitely wants to play again, but later, for it is now time for the lecture.

Lecture on the Undead

As the Memorial Gardens fill with other Mourn Watchers, students, and a few outside visitors, we stand next to Emmrich in front of a huge brazier of green fire. Without further ado, Emmrich welcomes the gathered lot and begins.

Why exactly are we showing this, you may ask? Well, Emmrich is an esteemed professor and scholar, so I think it’s only fitting to show him actually being a professor. And Ingellvar as his apprentice gives us ample opportunity to roleplay our character as someone who is either still learning or very knowledgeable already.

In this playthrough, we have a desire to impress our teacher, so we take all chances we get to contribute to the lecture, something that greatly pleases Emmrich. We deliver a lecture on the nature of the undead, possessed corpses, spirits, the Veil, and how to best respect all. But we also inform the people of the current dangers in the Necropolis, that something is disturbing the spirits here, causing them to occasionally lash out and rebel.

As if on cue, the Memorial Gardens are suddenly swarmed with skeletal warriors, intent on slaying everyone they see. Well, Emmrich didn’t expect such a lively demonstration of what we just discussed.

Together with Emmrich and Myrna we fight against the undead, while Manfred and Audric are ordered to stay out of it given their own spiritual status. The fight isn’t particularly long or hard, but we are tested. In a particularly dicey moment, we are suddenly aided by the rapid firing of a crossbow, look to the side, and see none other than Varric Tethras!

An Old Friend

Once the last of the undead are dealt with, Varric introduces himself to us. Emmrich and Myrna are already aware of him, and so are we if we choose to be, given that Varric is very well-known in the world. He says that Sidony tipped him off on troubles in the Necropolis. Myrna knows this already as some correspondence was held a few days ago.

Varric compliments both our fighting and scholarly skills and offers his assistance in the matter at hand, which we all accept.

As we investigate the slain undead, we notice something quite odd: all the warriors bear the Pentaghast banner. Strange, indeed. Emmrich concludes that we must make our way deeper into the Necropolis posthaste to check up on the Royal Chambers. There seems to be something going on here that we aren’t yet quite aware of.

Given their spiritual existence, Manfred and Audric are told to stay here, as there can be no way of predicting the risks they would find themselves in otherwise.

Deeper into the Necropolis

With Myrna, Emmrich, and Varric, we descend into the deeper parts of the Necropolis, towards the Royal Chambers. This is where the Nevarran kings and queens of the past are all entombed, along with their family members, which, given that we’re talking about the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams, is quite the number.

When we reach the Royal Chambers, we are immediately swarmed by another undead horde, one that we are able to fight off with great difficulty. However, the oddities only increase, for these skeletons bear the Van Markham banner. What is going on here? Why are undead Pentaghasts and Van Markhams trying to attack the living? We knew something was going on, that some corpses began to rise against the living, but this is new.

We must delve further.

The Royal Chambers

When we reach the Royal Chambers, we find the doors unsealed, wide open. Before we enter, a dark figure seemingly materialises out of thin air and approaches us. This is Vorgoth, the oldest of the Mourn Watchers who isn’t a Lich. Nobody really knows who and what they are, but they are benevolent and helpful, so everyone just assumes they are some manner of manifested spirit, and leave it at that.

Vorgoth tells us that a great conflict has escalated between the undead, bidding us to follow him. When we do, we oversee a large clash between undead Pentaghast and Van Markham soldiers. Ultimately, it ends in a stalemate and the forces retreat to their respective wings. This is now absolutely baffling. Well, we all know that the Pentaghasts and Van Markhams are constantly vying for control of the Nevarran throne. But usually this only happens when they’re alive. Why would spirits possessing the dead suddenly wish to re-enact this fight in such a visceral manner?

Since we’re playing a mage, we get a bit of a unique scene now. We’ve been noticing it barely on the edge of our subconsciousness, but now it’s getting clearer: something about the Veil is…different here. We’ve been down here before, but now there is something else in the air…something colder.

We can’t really explain it and neither can the other mages in the party. Emmrich finds this whole situation both alarming and utterly fascinating, and we agree with him. Despite this being incredibly dangerous, we can’t help but feel intrigued. Something is going on down here.

Now we get to make a big choice that will impact the rest of this origin story. The decision is made to split the party. While Ingellvar, Emmrich, and Varric investigate one family mausoleum, Myrna and Vorgoth head for the other. We can choose to:

Investigate the Pentaghast mausoleum. We shall head for the much larger Pentaghast crypts and see if we can find whatever is stirring the undead.

Investigate the Van Markham mausoleum. While not as vast as the Pentaghasts’, we shall still have our fair bit of work to do.

Well, since this particular player here wants to learn more about the Pentaghasts, that’s the choice we’re going with for this playthrough. Myrna and Vorgoth will investigate the Van Markham section. The plan is to meet back here once we’re done. We bid a temporary goodbye to Myrna and Vorgoth and the party splits.

The Pentaghast Mausoleum

Together with Emmrich and Varric, we head off into the Pentaghast Mausoleum and are immediately greeted by another batch of undead warriors we have to fight our way through. But in between the fights, we get to experience some neat dives into Pentaghast lore, as well as some callbacks to DAI:

We see a massive tapestry depicting the entire Pentaghast family tree, all the way from King Caspar to Cassandra, showing just how abnormally gigantic this family is.

We take a look at the rather recent tomb of Vestalus Pentaghast, who was the overseer of the Grand Necropolis until his death two years ago.

We pass by the tombs of Matthias, Tigana, and Anthony, Cassandra’s parents and brother respectively. Matthias and Tigana may have been executed for treason, but they still have a place in the family crypts. When passing by Anthony’s tomb, we can find a series of letters left by Cassandra on her visits here, in which she talks about how she is now running the reformed Seekers of Truth while still maintaining contact with the remnants of the Inquisition. She had feelings about revealing how to reverse Tranquillity but doesn’t regret doing so anymore.

NOTE: In this World State, Cassandra restored the Seekers of Truth and made the ritual to reverse the Rite of Tranquillity public knowledge.

I think it’s important to have quiet and atmospheric moments during exploration missions where you can just let the atmosphere take you on a journey into another world. This has the potential to be one such moment.

While passing through the Pentaghast Mausoleum and all the crypts and tombs in it, we feel this strange coldness that has been plaguing us for a while now. The deeper we get, the stronger it becomes. And we still have no idea what’s actually going on. Why are the Pentaghasts and Van Markham’s fighting each other?

When we venture a little deeper, we find dead Mourn Watchers who have been viciously slain. We suddenly get swarmed by the biggest horde of undead so far, way too numerous for us to fight off. Ingellvar and Emmrich try to use their magic to soothe the spirits possessing them, to no avail. One of the undead croaks that the King shall see us now.

An Audience with the King

We are taken to the deepest and most lavish part of the Pentaghast Mausoleum, the crypt of King Caspar the Magnificent. Now, Caspar is, of course, not only the first king of Nevarra but also the founder of the Pentaghast dynasty. The lore states that young Pentaghasts are traditionally brought into his crypt so that the spirit possessing his mummified body may speak to them.

His crypt was built in the style of a great and ancient throne room. The king himself sits upon the throne and “grants” us a very forceful audience. And Caspar looks just gaunt, like a creature straight from a Tim Burton movie. His throne room is drenched in green veilfire. He demands to know why the Mourn Watch keeps interfering in the War of the Banners, to which we reply that the dead should not be waging war at all. The dead must either rest or fulfil their duties to the Necropolis. But rising up against the living is neither of the two.

Caspar stands from his throne and approaches us. Throughout this whole scene, we can be either very respectful or feisty. But we’re playing Ingellvar as a very dedicated and honourable Mourn Watcher so we try to be respectful. As Caspar circles us, we see an opportunity to try and exorcise the spirit out of his body. It would be risky, but perhaps the undead would disperse then. Caspar’s spirit has surely been corrupted into a demon by now. So, do we:

Try and banish the spirit out of Caspar’s body?

Keep our head low?

In this instance, we try to do the right thing, so we perform a Mourn Watch ritual to banish the spirit possessing Caspar’s body. This leads to a horrifying discovery: Caspar is not possessed by a spirit. He’s not even possessed by a demon! He’s not controlled by another’s magic, either. Caspar is...something else. He’s no Lich, that much is clear, but he’s no longer the spirit that usually resides within the corpse either. So what is it?

Enraged, Caspar attempts to have us executed, only to be interrupted by something. As a mage, we are able to pick up on the cold air suddenly turning utterly freezing, and a voice calls through the emptiness, a dark voice, hollow and deep, as though coming from an abyss. It orders Caspar to bring us prisoners down to the Altar Chamber. Here’s where we get some lore: The Altar Chamber is the last room that separates the rest of the Necropolis from the domain of the Lich Lords. It is the place where newly chosen Liches are given their immortality.

The undead, led by King Caspar, take us away.

The Altar Chamber

We are taken down the deepest, most ancient stairs of the Necropolis, before meeting at the doors to the Altar Chamber. But we are not alone. Myrna and Vorgoth are also here, flanked by Van Markham soldiers, led by King Tylus Van Markham, the first of the Van Markhams to ever assume the throne of Nevarra. Tylus and Caspar at first are furious upon seeing each other, but the cold voice has commanded them both to bring the prisoners to the Altar Chamber.

Now that things can’t possibly get any stranger, we enter through the door.

The Lich Lord

In the great Altar Chamber, we encounter a tall, looming figure, with green flaming eyes, clad all in black. As Mourn Watchers, we recognise the figure immediately: a Lich Lord. Now things are even more confusing. The Lich Lords are supposed to protect the Necropolis from such undead uprisings. And yet here we are.

The Lich welcomes us, Myrna and us specifically. He then performs a glamour spell and assumes the form we find most familiar: before us stands our father, Alberich Ingellvar.

At the beginning of this entry, I said that our father, who found and adopted us, was such a dedicated member of the Mourn Watch that he was granted the honour of lichdom. Well, this is him now.

Alberich states that he sees clearer than the other Lich Lords and wishes to finally open the First Gate. Here’s where Emmrich perks up and we get some more lore: The First Gate lies at the heart of the Lich Lords’ domain. It existed before the rest of the Necropolis, and nobody aside from the Lich Lords knows what’s behind it. All we know is that protecting that gate is their main duty above all else. And Alberich seeks to open it.

He brought us here to grant us lichdom as he wants his children at his side. Here’s where we get a first hint of Emmrich’s own desire to be among the Lich Lords should he ever prove himself worthy. But this is wrong, one must earn their place in immortality through a life of dedicated and selfless servitude.

We can ask Alberich about the War of the Banners. He states it as a rather beneficial side effect of his rituals at the First Gate but doesn’t elaborate any further, we still need to keep some mystery alive for later.

As we study the undead around us, especially the two kings, we notice that they are reluctant to be here. So they aren’t possessed or controlled but somehow they both feel obliged to obey Alberich? Why?

Myrna betrays a hint of distress upon seeing her father abuse his powers like that. Vorgoth condemns his actions, calling him unworthy of lichdom. This seems to be the first case the honour was granted to one undeserving.

Paying them no heed, Alberich compels the Ingellvar siblings to step forward and receive lichdom. We can either:

Obey and step forward, expressing genuine interest in lichdom.

Resist because this is all kinds of wrong and goes against our teachings.

We choose the second option and refuse. Myrna agrees with us wholeheartedly. Alberich orders Tylus and Caspar to bring Myrna and us to him. The grip of the mummified corpses is as steel.

But just as we are about to be presented to Alberich, who reverts back to his Lich Lord form, Vorgoth unleashes their whole power. They send forth a burst of magic so strong that it just banishes the spirits out of all the possessed undead soldiers, sending them to the ground. Caspar and Tylus, since they’re not possessed, are knocked back against the wall, hissing and cursing. Alberich resists with some difficulty but ends up knocking Vorgoth out of the Altar Chamber.

He regards us with disappointment and declares that if we won’t join him in immortality willingly, he will bring us over himself. As Emmrich and Varric attempt to join us, they are attacked by Caspar and Tylus and engage in a fight with them.

Myrna and us are thrown into a boss battle against Alberich, in which he unleashes terrifying Lich powers upon us. This is, again, one of those fights we are probably meant to lose and come back to stronger at a later stage in the story.

As Alberich attempts to stab Myrna with the ritual dagger that would initiate the lichdom process, we jump right between the two and engage Alberich one-on-one. Alberich stabs us squarely in the chest and throws us to the ground. As he attempts to go through with the ritual, the dagger is shot out of his hand by Varric, followed by a crossbow bolt to the head, distracting him momentarily.

Varric and Emmrich, having gotten past Caspar and Tylus, rush to our side and, together with Myrna, drag us out. Alberich and the two kings attempt to pursue us, but Vorgoth returns and casts another blast against them. Then, all goes black.

Healing and Leaving

We awaken in a bed, our chest bandaged up. Myrna sits next to us and is overjoyed to see us finally showing signs of life again, a rare display of emotion for her. She tells us what happened: We escaped just at the last possible second, by the skin of our teeth. After a while, Caspar and Tylus broke off the chase and returned to their respective crypts, while Alberich remained in the Lich Lords’ domain. Nobody is ever the wiser about what is actually going on.

We feel a strange cold in our hearts and Myrna explains that it’s the after-effects of the ritual dagger. It will only improve if we leave the Necropolis for a while and get as far away from Alberich as possible. Confused, we ask where we should go. The Necropolis is our home. Myrna tells us that we should speak to Varric about that. He might just have an idea.

We leave our room and find Varric not far away. When asked about what this strange idea of a trip might be, Varric explains that he came to the Necropolis in search of someone who would accompany him on a most daring and perilous adventure. We don’t know if we should frown or laugh given that we just escaped a most daring and perilous adventure and were instructed to leave in order to heal from it. But what is it and where are we going? Varric can’t tell us just yet. We’ll just need to wait and see. Great.

Before we depart, we, of course, have the chance to talk to our Mourn Watcher friends one last time:

Vorgoth commends us on our refusal to heed the call of lichdom, which speaks of our worth. They recommend us to keep our soul clear of corruption while we are away.

Emmrich (now accompanied by Manfred once more) bemoans that we won’t be able to study together after all. We would have made such an absolutely fine apprentice. But our journey outside is not indefinite. We shall return and Emmrich will have the spot reserved. We have proven ourselves most deserving. Manfred gives a happy hiss.

Myrna bids us a very heartfelt goodbye for now and thanks us for saving her back there. We, of course, tell her to look after herself and not heed our father’s call. She agrees and expresses her intention to occupy the library for the foreseeable future, learning everything she can about what could have possibly led to everything that happened down there. Audric shows up and prepares to escort her to the library.

When we return to Varric, he recommends us that we change our name. If Lich Lord Ingellvar gets any ideas to come to the surface, we may not wish to be associated with him, given the clearly malicious intentions. We can’t really think of anything at first, but one last look at Emmrich reminds us of our chess game earlier, so we hesitantly say: “Rook.” Varric compliments us. “The strongest piece on the chessboard. I like it.”

Following Varric, we pass through the corridors of the Grand Necropolis, approaching the surface. Now called Rook, we look back one last time, before following our new acquaintance into the unknown.

And there we have it! A potential origin story mission for the Mourn Watchers. I am fully aware that it’s not at all perfect, and I am not entirely happy with it. Nevertheless, I hope you still found a modicum of enjoyment while reading this.

Next time, we shall travel to Rivain and tackle the last of our six factions’ origin stories with the Lords of Fortune, and boy do I have a bone to pick with those people. Stay tuned!

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt12

Howdy hey everyone! I'm back at it agaaainn. Also, MADE IT TO 1,000 LIKES!!! WOOOOHOOOO! Thank you all SO MUCH! I never thought I'd end up like this so fast! I'm truly at a loss for how long I should make these.

tags: @supermegabitchboyexceptimagirl, and @beelzebee

part1, part11

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

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You gasp on the couch as Soap is texting someone important nearby, it seemed slow, as if they haven't responded yet.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

You look at each other

“I…..I think that’s him”

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The knocking was loud, incessant and insistent . A little louder and it would be followed by ‘FBI FBI OPEN UP!’

“Don’t worry bout’ nothin’ hen. I got you. Always will”

His tone showed no hint of his usual teasing playfulness, but this time, you felt safer because of it.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

“Aye! Aye! I’m coming!” He calls out and gets up. You get up to come with him. “Stay back hen. I got this”

“No. It’s me they’re looking for.”

“I’ll take care o’ it okay?” He insists He opens the door while you listen nearby. “How can I help you gentlemen”

Lo and behold there’s two men in professional clothing standing there. The one with the mustache looks at him like he expected him to be here and the taller one looked almost surprised to see him. Mustache man clears his throat “hello sir. I’m with the government. We wish to ask some questions about recent activities in the area. No need to be alarmed. We just wish to speak with the residents. This is just a courtesy visit. May I come in?” He says in the police version of a costumer service voice except that in this profession they can actually punch you instead of fantasizing about it.

“It’s just routine” the taller one grunts Soap laughed humorlessly “courtesy visit now eh? Would ye like some tea and biscuits then?” He jabs, clearly unafraid nor the least bit intimidated. He shook his head “show me your ID and I’ll consider it” They exchange glances, their faux friendly mask slipping away. “Agent Ross and Agent Milton” they show their IDs. Soap takes mental notes of them.

“Right….I’m not in the habit of letting strangers in the house”

“It’s just a minor follow up about inquiries made online” Soap knows what they’re talking about

“Hmm….let me ask you a question” he leans against the doorframe “didja know I’d be here?”

Ross seems calm “heard you were back” Soap huffs a humorless laugh “heard? From what? A little birdie? C’mon now. Cannae fool me.”

A silence befalls them before Soap straightens up a bit “listen…I ken what yer comin for. And I’m tellin ye now: clear her name. She’s innocent. I’ll tell her tae stop and send any suspicious activity tae my team. I’ll take it from here folks.” He says professionally

Milton, the more….insistent one clears his throat “sir…are you aware of her…ability to evade our intervention?”

Soap thinks for a while “explain”

“She’s been…..avoiding us” Ross starts

“Aye. I would too” he jabs “poor lass is scared out of her mind” Ross scoffs

“She seems to be very good at changes routes….changing grocery stores...sleeping in hotels..” Ross continues

Ah shit right……

“Ah…lass learned it from me. Nothin’ toad worry about”

They seem unconvinced

Now Milton starts talking “I managed to talk to her in a bar.”

Oh that’s why he was there….You thought he was hitting on you…you’re listening close by.

Soap directs his attention to Milton “Asked if her boyfriend told her anything about his job. She said yes”

“What did she say?”

“you blew people up”

“Aye. That’s part of the job”

“Did you tell her anything else?”

“I’m not an amateur”

They exchange looks, deciding their Ned course of actions “look…” Ross starts “it’ll just be a few questions”

He sighs “aye, aye. I ken my rights gentlemen” he thinks for a moment “I’ll have a word wit her.”

“That’ll be gre-“

SLAM

Soap closed the door with more force than necessary but not too much to be considered hostile, just enough to be rude.

“Bonny?”

You peak out the corner, nervous. Soap seems to soften at the sight. He walks up to you and wraps an arm around your waist

“lassie…would ye be fine wi-“

“I know Johnny. They want to come inside”

“Ye don’t have tae let them in” he reassures

“No….its fine…” you mumble

“Are you sure lass?”

You nod “as long as you’re there…..and I have a feeling it’s even more suspicious if I don’t face them.”

“You’ll be alright love. Trust me” you rest your head on him, liking this side of him. He rubs your head and you back off.

“I’ll be on the couch”

He opens the door he oh so rudely closed, sighs and steps aside “come in lads.”

I should probably mention that he’s still shirtless…..yeah he’s been that way since he woke up. And he has no problem with this. He doesn’t respect these guys. Plus it’s intimidating and hot.

You’re on the couch as they walk in and they can’t help but notice how domestic the scene looks. Soap shirtless, you wearing someone that clearly belongs to him while holding his son in your arms as he purrs. You keep your eyes on said son and Soap takes his seat next to you like a good boy. The men sit down on the other couch. Milton takes a professional tone “thank you for agreeing to speak with us. We’re just here to have a chat”

You kept your head down on Simon, who was now death staring them.

Ross clears his throat “just a few questions ma’am and we’ll be out of your way”

“Okay…” you mumble lowly

“They’re just here to intimidate you hen. They won’t do a damn thing” Soap whispers into your ear.

“We’d like to ask about your online behavior recently” Milton says “you’ve been snooping around official government business”

You’re silent

“How much do you know?” Ross asks

“Not much” you mumble, scratching Simon’s chin

“Hmm. Did you….share anything you found with others”

You did

You look towards Soap for answers. He nods as if to say ‘tell the truth’

“I have” you brave a look towards that men

“To who?”

“My friend”

“Who is she”

You go silent

“We won’t bother them” Milton ‘assures’

“I don’t want any trouble her way.”

“There won’t be. What did you tell her”

“Just…..some nonsense from conspiracy blogs”

“Did you send her anything”

“No”

“Good. We’d just like to confirm with her then”

You shuffle closer to Soap

“She means no harm. She was just worried about me” he gently guided your face to his chest “lads, if there’s anything alarmin’, I’ll send it to Captain Price.” He says as if it’s a huge name drop. It seems to have the desired effect but they’re not done yet. “Jus’ a curious civilian gentlemen. You can stop watching her, I’ll do it” Soap assures

“Do you understand that your activity may be suspicious?” Ross asks you

“Yes sir”

“Could you tell us your friend’s name?”

You shake your head “no. She’s done nothing wrong. All I told her is that I looked into Johnny’s job after I heard he got shot”

“Did she help with any research?”

A little? She looked stuff up with you and discussed your findings but a lot of your research was alone.

“Not really. It was me who was curious.”

They seem to take note of your answers.

“Did you contact anyone who….tried to, perhaps offered access to classified information? Perhaps for a monetary benefit?”

shit

You look pleadingly at Soap for help, he presses your face into his chest more and answers for you “if there is. I’ll make sure to properly handle it. This is my field and I’ll make sure there won’t be any civilian interference” his tone spoke solider and authority. You’ve long since dismissed the trope of “sergeant” applying to soap true to how he acts around you, but seeing this side of him, how controlled and powerful he is, made you remember who you’re really dealing with. It both intimidated and comforted you. The men seemed to take Soap more seriously every time he asserts his position, but it seems that the men have a job to do and are determined to do it well

“Ma’am?” They look at you, face still smushed into Soap’s strong warm chest “if it’s not too much to ask. What are your thoughts on the military? Are you a supporter or are you interested in games, films and stories that have elements of the military? Anything that may influence you….to take part in anything of the sorts? Particularly Modern Warfare?” Milton seems to be doing the talking now. Soap seemed interested in that answer.

“Um….no? Well yes. But Nothing that would make me do anything illegal.” They look at you as if awaiting a clearer explanation

“I-I mean I’ve watched movies, read stories and played games but that doesn’t mean I’ll act on it” of course you watch military movies! Johnny's right there and he’d never pass up the opportunity to piss on them. You may have played an FPS game or two and read fanfics but that won’t make you drop a bomb on Iraq.

“Do you have any political motivations, affiliations, or ideological leanings that would drive you to seek this information?” Soap doesn’t like that question. You’re not a terrorist! You’re not an extremist! You’re not any of that! You’re his wee Bonny lass that he’d fight the world for! “No. Of course not. She was jus’ worried about me. Gentlemen I think it’s time fer ye tae leave-“

“We understand you’re protective your wife, Sergeant Soap, but we’d like to hear it from her”

Soap shuts it but isn’t happy about it. You decide that you didn’t owe them an answer and didn’t give anything too definitive or personal “I was just….curious” you hide further into Soap

“Why do you ask?” He hums and looks through some notes as if this was standard procedure to spy on someone.

.

.

.

“What?” You question. Soap looks at you curiously “what are you talking about?”

“We…. don’t know everything-”

debatable

“-but apparently you spent a substantial amount of time on certain online communities that aren’t subject to domestic oversight. This was true before and after your peak of sensitive inquiries. This could be a hotspot for foreign influences and misinformation or anti establishment narratives without the presence of government regulations and protections” pfff! Protection? Regulations? They can’t even protect and regulate themselves. And what on earth is he talking about? “-and another site you frequent that has suffered a DDos attack by foreign interests” he reads off. Like what? AO3!? You sit there with a confused look on your face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about?”

“Maybe if we read out your list of…questionable site names you’ll understand. Ross?”

Ross pulls out a file from his jacket, clears his throat and starts reading off ‘suspicious activities and sites’ in the somehow western accent he shares with Milton.

“Poison Breaker. Affirmative Sir. Operation: Deep Infiltration. Whispers of the Damned.”

Huh…those sound familiar?

“Undercover assets. Trapper Keeper. The Art of Subtlety. Hotline.”

Those….are just titles of sites you’ve visited? You think. You don’t memorize the hundreds of sites you visit.

“Tactical Submission. All That’s Said In Low Light. The Captain’s Private Orders. All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit. Silent Weapons, Soft Target. To Drive a Man to Madness. Covert Rendezvous.”

Soap looks confused, which isn’t a good look right now. ‘What’s all this?’ He seems to say as he looks at you. You look confused as well.

You Don't remember this as being a part of your research

This Wasn't Part Of Your Research

[kikyoupdates]

Tears of a Villainess ⭑˚🗡️⭑ 𝑓𝑎𝑟 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒

yandere!ocs x reader

yandere, reverse harem, isekai, original characters x fem!reader, slowburn, slowburn yandere

Reincarnation isn't as great as it sounds, especially when you've been reborn as none other than the villainess. Fated to die if you stand in the heroine's way, you immediately resolve to distance yourself from the plot. As long as you have nothing to do with any of the relevant characters, surely, you'll be able to avoid an untimely death. But in a horrible turn of events, the heroine ends up wanting to get close to you. Are you really doomed to meet the villainess' tragic end? Or is there an even more sinister fate that awaits you?

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You’re straight up not having a good time. 

Normally, these kinds of events are meant to be fun. Back in your original world, people would get together to kick back and relax, seeking respite from their busy day-to-day lives. Parties and social gatherings are supposed to be things to look forward to. 

In this world, however, that’s not the case. 

Living among the nobility is a staggering difference from what you once knew. Very few people are actually here to enjoy themselves. It’s all about maintaining appearances, and everything you say or do will likely be held against you at some point. Everyone hides their true intentions between fabricated smiles and thinly-veiled threats. It’s a dizzying, confusing affair, and since everyone thinks you’re the villainess, there’s no end to the unwanted attention you receive. 

But that’s not even the biggest problem. It’s one thing to have to try and navigate through this new environment you’ve suddenly been dropped into. 

It’s another thing to have to convince the villainess’ best friend that you’re actually who you say you are. 

“[Name], where are you going?” 

Flynn keeps following you. Rather foolishly, you’d hoped that he would leave you alone after you wandered off. But no, he insists on sticking to your side like glue, and he doesn’t bother to hide how suspicious he is. 

“Is everything okay?” he frowns. “You seem… agitated.” 

You nibble on your bottom lip.

Of fucking course I’m agitated! You’ve been grilling me nonstop from the very start! I only know a few facts about the villainess based on the game! I don’t know the inner workings of her entire goddamn life!

“I’m just bored,” you try to dismiss. “There’s nothing to do here.” 

“Couldn’t we find someplace to talk instead of you walking around in circles like this? It would help the time pass faster.” 

As if. Not only do you want to avoid him for the sake of preventing a potentially gruesome death, but above all else, he knows way too much about the villainess. He’s already asking a ton of questions, and you’ve barely spoken two words to him. He’s simply too perceptive for his own good. 

You strain a smile. “I’d rather not stand still right now.” 

“Hm,” Flynn frowns. “Like I said, you seem agitated. But why?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe they laced that wine with something,” you shrug, chuckling a bit.

He doesn’t seem amused in the slightest, and you desperately try to remember whether the villainess had a sense of humor that extended past bullying others for fun. 

Honestly, probably not. 

“Okay, well… gotta go!” 

You high-tail it out of there, but unfortunately, you’ve come to realize that running in heels is a giant pain in the ass. It’s the main reason you haven’t been able to give Flynn the slip yet. All he has to do is speed-walk a bit, and he’s able to keep up with relative ease. 

However, Lady Luck decides to shine down upon you, and in the few seconds that you stumble clumsily and manage to place a bit of distance between yourself and Flynn, you happen to run into your parents.

Your mother is quick to frown. “[Name]? What’s the matter with you, girl? Why are you running around like that? It’s improper.” 

“I feel sick,” you immediately blurt, with the same energy as a young child walking into their parents’ room to tell them they threw up. 

She takes a few moments to look you over, and fortunately, the nervous beads of sweat on your brow and overall frantic expression must be rather convincing. Your father was engaged in a conversation with some other nobleman until just a second ago, but he too turns to look at you, visibly concerned. 

“I’d like to go home,” you state. You add, with a shaky breath, “Please.” 

Right at that moment, Flynn walks up from behind, having just caught up to you once again. 

“[Name],” he sighs. “Seriously, what’s going on with you today? You’re acting—oh. Apologies. I didn’t see you two there.” 

Flynn politely greets your parents, but they don’t pay him much attention, because they’re far too preoccupied with fussing over you. 

“Hello, Flynn,” your father mumbles in a hurry. He presses a hand to your forehead, which is undoubtedly clammy, because you’re a nervous wreck right now. “Oh dear. Forgive me for not being able to stick around for a chat. [Name] seems to be feeling ill. We had better take her home so she can rest.” 

You watch as Flynn’s brows lift. “What?” he frowns, turning towards you. “Is that true? I thought you were just agitated. Do you really think they put something in the wine?” 

“Who put what in the wine?” your father gapes. 

“I-It’s not like that,” you chuckle awkwardly. The last thing you want to do is unintentionally frame someone for drugging you. “I was just kidding. Um… but I really don’t feel well. It’s possible I might have caught a cold. Or maybe I just haven’t gotten enough sleep lately. I’m worried I might collapse.” 

What follows is quite possibly the biggest freakout you’ve ever seen, and honestly, it’s kind of fucking embarrassing. 

“Collapse?!” your father exclaims. “Good heavens! Then we must get you out of here as soon as possible! Everyone, move! Give my daughter some space!” 

He proceeds to pick you up into his arms, despite the flustered squeal you let out, and your mother isn’t any less dramatic, with all her nonstop desperate wailing. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, mortified beyond belief.

Please, just kill me now.

There goes your plan of trying not to draw too much attention to yourself. All of the guests clear the way and let you pass through, but you catch them whispering amongst themselves, and you’re willing to bet they’re not saying nice things about you. 

Oh, well. The villainess already had a bad reputation. You’d be a fool to expect that you could overwrite it so quickly. It’s just going to take some time. 

You really wish your parents would calm down, though. 

“Move, move, move! This is an emergency, goddammit! My daughter is barely clinging to consciousness!” 

“Uh, I’m still fine,” you protest. 

“She’s passing out quite literally as we speak!” 

You roll your eyes and let your body sag, utterly defeated. Seriously, what a family of drama queens. You can’t even blame the villainess for turning out the way she did. 

The only silver lining is that the evening is being cut short, and you don’t have to spend any more time with Flynn. You never imagined how stressful it would be to have someone scrutinizing your every move. 

“Is she going to be alright?” Flynn asks worriedly. Your father is in the process of hoisting your body up and lifting you into the carriage. “Would it be okay if I come along as well, Count [Last Name]? She’s given me a fright. I’d like to stay by her side, if possible.” 

Fuck no! Don’t do that! 

You’re just about to protest, but thankfully, your father interjects before you have to. 

“She is very ill, Flynn,” he mutters somberly. Which, again, is kind of ridiculous. All you said was that you were worried you might collapse, yet here he is, acting like you’ve just been diagnosed with a terminal disease. “Right now, she needs as much rest as possible, and time to recover. Our family physician will look after her. I’ll ask that you please give her space so she can properly regain her strength.” 

Flynn isn’t able to hide his disappointment, but nevertheless, he nods. 

“I understand, sir. In that case, I’ll keep her in my thoughts and wish her a swift recovery. Please let me know when she’s feeling better.” 

I know I jokingly asked to be killed earlier, but can people please stop acting like I’m going to die? 

You slump back into the cushioned seats inside the carriage and sigh heavily. This evening has been sufficiently exhausting, and in more ways than one. You wonder how you’ll be able to break off your friendship with Flynn. He seems rather attached to you, based on how worried he is, and you remember from the game that he vehemently defended the villainess’ actions at first, since they were such close friends.

Clearly, getting rid of him won’t be an easy feat, but in the interest of ensuring your safety, you’re going to have to make it happen. 

“Goodnight, [Name],” Flynn says. He smiles encouragingly. “You’ll be alright. Be sure to get as much rest as possible, and I’ll come visit you soon.” 

Unlike his smile, which appears genuine, yours is tight-lipped and forced. 

I would much rather you didn’t. 

“Mommy, can I have more apple juice?” 

You hug the blankets closer to your chest and make puppy eyes at your mother, who leans down to affectionately pat your head. 

“Of course you can, sweetie,” she beams. “I’ll have one of the servants fetch some for you right away.” 

Well, it’s the morning after your parents frantically brought you home, and spoiler alert: you didn’t die. 

You did, however, discover that your parents are even more whipped for you than you could ever have imagined. Which was kind of embarrassing last night, but in the grand scheme of things, you’re thankful. 

If something goes wrong and you desperately need help, you have a good feeling that they’ll stand by your side. 

Also, since they were so terrified last night, they’re pretty much giving you the princess treatment right now. You even got to eat breakfast in bed earlier. 

Your mother has been more suspicious of your strange behavior compared to your father, who takes it all in stride, but she seems to have mollified a bit. It’s probably because you’re acting like a spoiled baby right now, which is much more in line with the villainess’ demeanor. You make a mental note to be a bit more bratty from time to time. 

Flynn promised to visit you, but you told your parents that you still want to focus on your recovery, so he thankfully hasn’t stopped by yet. You’re going to try and keep him away for as long as possible, at least until you can figure out how to deal with him. 

Anyways, you’ve got the whole day to yourself. You don’t even have to do any more math problems for a while, since you’re supposedly so sick. Haha. 

You may not be a villainess, but you’re no saint, and you’ll take just about any opportunity to goof off. 

“Fiona, come along with me to the garden,” you gesture. “I want to stuff my face with pastries and drink yummy juice under the sun.” 

“My lady, shouldn’t you stay in bed?” she frets. “Your father made it very clear how ill you were… he said it was a miracle that you even made it through the night.” 

Bro. 

You roll your eyes and sip on your glass of apple juice. “He’s just exaggerating. I feel much better now. I’m just taking advantage of how much they’re spoiling me. Don’t tell them I said that, though.” 

“Oh,” she blinks, realization dawning on her. After a few moments, she smiles. “I see. In that case, I’ll accompany you and ensure that I see to your every need.”

You grin widely. 

“Thanks!” 

And so, you spend the better portion of your morning doing nothing in particular. Honestly, waking up in another person’s body out of nowhere is a much bigger deal than you’re making it out to be. Anyone else in your position would probably have had a mental breakdown at the start. 

But apart from the fear of the bad endings that the villainess faces in the games, you’d like to say you’re rather enjoying this new life of yours. Seriously, compared to being a struggling university student, drowning in homework and hefty loans, getting to eat delicious pastries while sitting comfortably in an extravagant garden really isn’t that bad. In many ways, it’s a massive improvement. 

It’s a grim thought, but you realize there’s very little about your old life that you actually liked. It felt like you were just going through the motions every day, devoid of any real passion or longing. Ever since your parents died, you fell into a bout of depression and pretty much shut everyone out. 

Being able to start over was surely a blessing in disguise, and all the more reason why you’re hellbent on protecting this new life. 

“[Name],” you mumble in a daze, the taste of sugar lingering on your tongue. You stare up at the clear blue sky and smile. It isn’t the same name you grew up with, but from now on, it is your name, and you’re going to wear it proudly. 

You hum, popping another pastry into your mouth. You could probably afford to hold back a bit, otherwise you really will get sick this time, but whatever. It’s a beautiful day, and you’re feeling great, and it’s so nice and peaceful right now—

Hm? 

A carriage has just pulled up to the manor. You watched it roll in from your vantage point in the garden, so naturally, your curiosity got the better of you and you started walking over.

Fiona scrunches up her brows. “My, who could it be? I didn’t think we were expecting any visitors today.” 

You shrug. “Don’t look at me. I’m usually the last to hear about these things.” 

Both of you stare at each other, visibly perplexed, but it turns out that your questions are soon answered, because the carriage door opens, and a man disembarks. 

And of course, that man is…

…actually, who is he supposed to be? 

You don’t have the slightest clue. He has black hair and rather piercing blue eyes, which you can make out even from a good distance away. He’s dressed in elegant clothes, so he’s clearly a noble. You suppose he must be one of your parents’ acquaintances or something. They probably know a whole bunch of people.

For some reason, though, it feels like you should know who this man is. There’s this weird sense of déjà vu you’re getting, and it’s like an itch in your brain that you just can’t seem to scratch. 

It isn’t until you’re staring him face to face that it finally clicks. 

“Ah!” 

Rowan Calderwood. That’s what his name is. He made a few very brief appearances in the game, only in about two or three scenes, but you remember now that he’s supposed to be Alistair’s cousin. 

Also, if you recall correctly, they’re not on especially good terms, but aren’t too familiar with all the details.

But that’s beside the point. What is he even doing here? 

Rowan tilts his head. “Pardon me. Is there something on my face? You looked rather shocked for a moment, and even exclaimed quite loudly.” 

You clamp your lips shut. Right. As far as you know, the villainess and Rowan never actually met in the game, which means he’s probably just seeing you for the very first time. It’d be better to pretend like you don’t know who he is. 

“No reason in particular,” you shrug. “I just thought you were a trespasser for a moment, that’s all.” 

Rowan’s eyes widen, but rather than looking offended, he just looks amused. He’s not technically trespassing, but if what Fiona said is true, then he must have showed up without an invitation, which is considered to be quite rude.

“Please forgive me if I gave you a fright,” Rowan says, then he bows deeply, only to lift his head after a few moments and smile. “I take it you must be [Name]. You’re even more beautiful than I had imagined. My name is Rowan Calderwood. It’s a pleasure to finally be meeting you.” 

You wish you could say the feeling was mutual, but he interrupted your pastry-eating session, and you didn’t even get to finish the fresh glass of apple juice Fiona had just poured you.

Plus, he’s related to Alistair. Is he here to try and convince you to restore the engagement? Because no way in hell is that happening. 

“I have no intention of taking Alistair back,” you state matter-of-factly, crossing your arms at him. “You share the same last name, so I presume you’re related to him in some capacity. I thought I should make my feelings clear from the start, so that you don’t waste any more of your time.” 

Rowan’s eyes widen for the second time, and once again, he doesn’t look offended, or even appalled. 

If anything, he looks delighted. 

“How amusing,” he chuckles. “It seems you’re even better than I had hoped for.” 

Uh…? 

Rowan shakes his head. “Rest assured, my lady, that isn’t what I came here to say. Admittedly, I’d heard that your engagement with my cousin fell through, but I haven’t made the trip here on his behalf. I came for purely selfish purposes, I must admit.” 

“Oh.” Your shoulders sag, and relief fills your chest. “Well, that’s good. I meant the part about you not trying to convince me to take Alistair back, not the part about you being selfish, just to be clear.” 

“Right,” he muses. “I had a feeling that’s what you meant.”

This bastard just keeps smiling for some reason. What’s so funny? Granted, you know you can be hilarious at times, but you’ve been nothing but stoic thus far. Yet he acts like he’s having the time of his goddamn life. 

Wait a second… 

There’s a theory forming in your mind, and honestly, you’re not sure you like the thought of it all that much. 

Fortunately, Fiona has your back. 

“P-Pardon me, Lord Calderwood,” she nervously pipes in. “Might I ask if you have an appointment? Count [Last Name] made it very clear that there were to be no visitors today. My lady fell ill last night, and she’s been taking the day to recover all her strength.” 

“I was super sick,” you nod. “My father said it’s a miracle I even made it through the night.” 

Rowan frowns, which isn’t too surprising, considering you look healthy as a horse and you were stuffing your face with pastries up until a few moments ago. 

He clears his throat. “Oh my. Apologies. I wasn’t aware that you weren’t feeling well last night. You look so stunning and radiant that I couldn’t possibly imagine you’d been battling sickness as of late.”

“Yes, well, I just so happen to be gorgeous, but it’s true that I’m taking the day off to recover. Also, please make an appointment if you plan to visit again in the future. No one was expecting you to show up,” you say, sternly enough that you hope he takes the hint. 

Honestly, he probably realizes he’s being rude, but it seems like he just doesn’t care. 

“I had hoped for it to be a surprise,” he smiles. “I was so excited to meet you that I must have forgotten my manners. I also wasn’t sure when your parents would accept my request to meet, given that things are rather strained between our families right now. Well, Alistair’s side of the family, at least.” 

You arch a brow. “So, you thought it would be better to show up without warning and take it from there?” 

“I’m guilty of being a touch eccentric at times. Especially when someone as beautiful and charming as yourself is involved,” he adds flirtatiously. 

“How did you know I was beautiful? We literally just met.” 

“I had heard the rumors, of course. You’re hailed far and wide as the most breathtaking, desirable lady in all the land.” 

Desirable? Are we talking about the same rotten villainess with the personality of a stinky tomato? Now I know this is all BS. 

Still, it’s getting clearer by the second where he’s headed with this. You’ve long since connected the dots.

Rowan’s smile has yet to disappear, and he crosses a hand over his chest before bowing once more. 

“It shames me to admit this, but… ever since I heard that you and Alistair were no longer engaged, I simply couldn’t hold back any longer.” 

Oh, boy. This is actually happening.

“I was hoping to speak to your father first and foremost and make my intentions clear, but I happened to stumble upon you, and now, I’d like to say what’s on my mind.” 

“Uh, you really don’t have to,” you insist. “Like, seriously—” 

“[Name],” Rowan breathes, and you watch, horrified, as he gets down on one knee and takes your hand in his. “Would you… grant me the honor of marrying you?” 

More chapters are available on Quotev!

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[sunnysidesevenup]

Rambling about Che’nya/Idia/Ali because I don’t talk about them enough </3 I still don’t have a ship name for them 😔

- Che’nya and Ali were fast friends since they met in first year, and started dating in their second year! They were initially both nervous to bring up being poly to each other and then it was basically the Spider-Man meme lmao. As long as they communicate they’re both fine if they date other people!

- Ali is super forward in basically any relationship—friendship OR romance—so yeah she would totally just see Idia, go “oh he looks like one of my fav book characters” and then immediately ask him out. She’s not particularly shy about asking people out on dates—that’s how you get to know people, right?

- Che’nya was initially just gonna cheer him on but then he saw Idia and was like, wait actually…. so he went too lmao 😭

(neither of them just EXPECT other people to date both of them, they’re both just really forward so they might as well ask him out and see what happens.)

- Idia thinks they’re playing a prank on him of course. And yet somehow they weasel his number out of him. And add him to a group chat. And then are texting him every day? And encouraging him to go on rants about things he likes? And consistently flirting with him? ….this must be a VERY long joke.

- Ali rambles about her interests so often and with no hesitation and Che’nya still seems happy with him (even when it sounds like complete nonsense), so Idia then feels a bit less scared to do so to.

- Che’nya is good at video games! Sort of. He’s good at the technical aspects of them, although he sometimes gets bored while playing.

- Ali is NOT good at video games but loves the story heavy ones.

- together they make the worst backseat gamers ever. ESPECIALLY IF THE GAME HAS MULTIPLE ROUTES.

- Idia believes only Ali is interested in dating him at first and that Che’nya is just sort of taking pity on him and being supportive of his partner. At one point Ali has to cancel last minute but the two of them are already there, so Idia is like: “well, should we… leave?” to which Che’nya looks at him in absolute horror.

- “WE’VE BEEN DATING THIS WHOLE TIME TOO??” “YES??”

- the wonderland pair constantly hype Idia up to like. an insane degree. They WILL forcibly raise his self esteem, it WILL happen.

- Ali gets into cosplay because of Idia, which is… exceptionally bad for his heart lol. Stop dressing like his favorite characters!!! He’ll die!!

- Che’nya understands both Ali’s weird riddle-like way of speaking AND Idia’s geek internet speak, meaning he is the only translator for them sometimes. However, no one can translate for Che’nya, so he gets to maintain his “reputation of nonsense” (his words)

- sleepovers are the best dates for these three, except when to actually go to bed. near impossible.

- they argue about who to date in otome games constantly. Ali actually got so upset once that she didn’t speak to them for like a week because Che’nya and Idia outvoted them 😭

- Ali is the tallest! Che’nya is the shortest lol.

- they steal each other’s clothes all the time. Idia only does so on accident, though—usually he only wears Che’nya’s because Ali’s are too recognizable.

- Ali will randomly prefer to be called Alistair some days. Idia likes to call this their “mysterious full title”

- they are all very dumb and cute together and I love them anshgshsh okay that’s all for now <3

[storiesabouteli]

Do The Damage. Part 2 // Dilf! Noel Gallagher X f!Reader (Smut).

prompt: Noel falling for a younger singer who isn’t famous yet and is just starting out, so he guides her like a tutor to boost her career and help her gain more attention. But would this bond remain purely professional? (Involves smut, with the potential to escalate over time and features an age gap.)

Here's Part 1!!!

words: 5,7k.

a/n: It's supposed to be 4 parts, it doesn't have a grand plot, I just wanted to write about this topic. I hope you like it! (and pls use a condom, this is just a fanfic)

Your curious eyes wandered around the vast studio.

“For now, yes, but later there’ll be more people,” Noel replied, noticing your curiosity.

You nodded, hands tucked into the pockets of your dress. LA was unbearably hot, and he was practically freezing you with the air conditioning. He had shown you every corner of the studio, and by now, you felt fairly comfortable. Guitars adorned the walls, along with basses and a drum set from one of those impossibly expensive brands. You stood in front of him, looking a bit like a lost child, genuinely waiting to be told what to do next.

It took him a moment, but he realized your discomfort.

“Alright, I probably didn’t plan this out too well,” he admitted with a soft laugh. Noel had this way of laughing—never showing his teeth, always restrained—yet it still carried an effort to make you feel welcome. He mentioned having read through the songs you sent, even though he had already listened to them before. Now, he said, he knew the exact lyrics. You were both eager and terrified to know his exact thoughts about your work.

“Is it okay if I use the equipment?” you asked, your fingers lightly brushing one of the microphones as you picked up the headphones, waiting for his approval. Everything about this was new, and you wanted to immerse yourself in every detail.

“Feel free to use whatever you want, little’un.”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you bit the inside of your lip to ground yourself. You glanced at the buttons; they were a mystery to you—just rows of switches without any labels that made sense. Noel seemed to forget that all of this was second nature only to him.

“Alright, let’s start by getting you familiar with everything. Once you’re comfortable, we’ll figure out what to do next.”

It sounded like a good idea.

Time flew by. What felt like mere minutes had actually been hours. Occasionally, the two of you would lapse into silence, but it was never awkward. He had a soothing voice, explaining things as if they weren’t obvious, allowing you to visualize every step. You liked the way he talked.

His hair was longer than the last time you had seen him, the dark strands now interspersed with gray and brushing the tops of his ears. The piercing blue of his eyes shone brightly as he spoke and gestured. He wore a dark button-up shirt, which made little sense given the LA heat, but he looked undeniably good in darker colors. The shirt failed to fully conceal the hair on his chest, which peeked out just enough to be distracting.

“This is pretty heavy, Noel,” you said as he handed you a red guitar with his last name etched into its side. It was clearly well-used, with the wear and tear of countless gigs, but it was still beautiful. Noel seemed amused by the way you pronounced his name, your accent stretching the vowels slightly, like it was meant for you to say it that way. That could be your thing, he wouldn't dare to correct it, he even hoped to hear it again.

The guitars you had played before were lighter, simpler, and less durable.

“You can play it if you want. It’s good to get used to a specific guitar early on.”

You listened, feeling an odd warmth in your chest as you wished he would call you “little one” again. You adjusted the strap, your gaze falling to the floor.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted softly, your fingers pressing down on the strings without producing any sound.

He nodded, as if he actually understood.

“What don’t you know, little’un?” he asked softly, his expression calm, as though it never crossed his mind that you could be anything less than genuine. His body was behind yours, close enough that you could feel your heart pounding, and you were sure he could hear it. He reached over, placing his hand on the guitar’s neck and gently adjusting a few strings.

The truth was simple: you hummed melodies, your friends figured out the notes, and then you carried them with you.

“I only know my songs,” you admitted, hesitating. “There aren’t many, and I memorized them with the help of some friends at the pub.” The words felt clumsy as they left your mouth. Without realizing it, you took a step back, bumping into Noel’s solid chest. His hands found your waist instinctively, steadying you. He smelled familiar, and his touch was just as cool and soft as you remembered.

"There’s nowt wrong wi' that. No one’s born knowin’.” he said, his voice low and sure, as though speaking directly into your ear. “I’ve learned a lot since the first album; we can work on this if you’d like.”

His breath brushed your skin as he spoke, dangerously close. “Want to try something?” he asked, strumming a short segment of one of your songs. He had memorized the chords—he’d listened to it that much. It felt odd, but you let it go, too focused on steadying your own breathing.

“I’m not sure...” Your voice faltered, and he laughed softly—a nasal, warm sound. His shirt brushed against your bare arms as he shifted closer.

Taking your hands in his, he guided your fingers, demonstrating each press of the strings and the sounds they produced. The simplicity of the act caught you off guard; your mind felt blank as you followed his movements. His hands were strong yet gentle, his fingers adorned with rings that you couldn’t help but notice. You fixated on the way his skin moved against yours, completely distracted.

“This isn’t sounding right,” you said impulsively, turning your face toward him. His eyes, which had been focused on your hands, now met yours, and the proximity was overwhelming. You immediately looked down, feeling vulnerable, and he noticed your hesitance.

“But it will. Trust me, yeah?” His smile was reassuring, revealing slightly crooked lower teeth and the faint lines of age around his eyes. His thumb grazed the bridge of your nose absentmindedly, a fleeting moment of intimacy that made his cheeks flush. He quickly pulled back, brushing his hand over his own face as if the action had been too much.

God, he was something.

“You’re doing well, tiny one,” he murmured, his tone encouraging. “You just need to relax and give it more time.”

Your fingers ached, and you instinctively pulled your hands back. “You trust me a lot,” you said softly.

He noticed the faint bruising on the tips of your fingers, the start of a superficial cut—nothing unusual for someone unused to playing. His gaze softened as he pressed the edge of his shirt to your hand, stopping the bleeding.

“Shouldn’t you?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “Trust yourself, I mean. So far, I haven’t seen anything in you that doesn’t show how good you are at this...” His words trailed off, slightly disjointed, but you found yourself wishing he’d talk about you like that more often.

Noel made a mental note of your cold hands and the way your short, thin clothing seemed to betray the studio’s chill. He pressed your hand one last time as if silently resolving to make sure you were warm and comfortable next time.

…

In the days that followed, before heading back to the hotel, Noel suggested the two of you go out to eat—a way to spend more time talking. His suggestion seemed casual, but beneath it was a genuine effort to do something meaningful for you. He worried about repeating the mistakes he’d made early in Oasis, afraid of being a bad influence or overwhelming you. At the same time, he simply wanted to be around you. Both feelings were true.

Since you’d spent hours at the studio, and he hadn’t thought to offer you a proper meal, he picked a relaxed spot. It had the feel of the pubs you performed in—live music and warm, dim lighting.

When you arrived, a chill brushed against your arms. Noel chuckled, noticing. You hadn’t seen him carrying a jacket, but he swiftly draped one over your shoulders, his gaze thoughtful over you. The weight of it was reassuring.

“I can control the studio’s temperature, but most places here are air-conditioned. You’ll end up freezing,” he said. You didn’t respond, too preoccupied with wondering whether he’d always have a jacket for you—these oversized, cozy layers that swallowed you whole. You liked the way his scent clung to the fabric and hated that your thoughts weren’t as innocent as they should have been.

Sitting across from him, there was nothing to distract you. The moment felt unguarded, almost daunting. He had loosened a few buttons because of the heat, and the soft collar rested against his rosy skin, his neck chain catching faintly in the light. His eyes, unwavering, were on you, and you felt your stomach flutter.

Your foot brushed against his under the table. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, but neither of you moved. His posture was relaxed as always, his deep, nasal breaths calming despite the quiet tension in the air. Eventually, your foot settled against his calf, taking in the warmth of him.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, breaking the silence, motioning toward the pink tube of moisturizer in your hand.

“Peach,” you said, your voice betraying a small note of excitement. You wanted to talk more but worried that beyond music, you might not be interesting enough for him.

“It’s nice. It makes me feel less tense,” you admitted. He let you take his hand in yours.

His hands were larger, rougher—calloused in a way yours should have been. You applied a small drop of cream, carefully massaging the hardened patches and tracing the prominent veins. Your nails grazed his wrist lightly, eliciting a pleasant tickle. It felt like an eternity, but neither of you rushed the moment.

You smoothed out the creases in his shirt next, your hands brushing against his wrist as you rebuttoned it. You folded the cuffs to what you assumed he’d consider the perfect height. When you looked up, his jacket was still draped over your shoulders, your smile faint but content. He noticed how the strap of your dress sat slightly askew but didn’t say anything. Instead, you adjusted it yourself, catching his gaze in the process.

Noel shifted uncomfortably, silently berating himself for the thoughts creeping into his mind. But as much as he resented the pull he felt, he couldn’t ignore how real it all seemed.

When you finished, you noticed he was watching you intently. You smiled a bit more openly this time, and his eyes softened, as though they were smiling back. The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty—it was full of things neither of you dared to say aloud.

The food arrived shortly after. Noel whispered a quiet “thank you” as you pulled his jacket closer around yourself. He hoped it would carry your scent by the end of the night.

The atmosphere remained easy, the unspoken comfort between you palpable. Noel wasn’t particularly hungry, but watching the way your eyes lit up with every bite and how your smile widened unknowingly made him savor his meal. You made him feel good—better than he had in a long time. Everything else in his life was chaos, except for you.

It had only been a week, but he already felt like he did back in school when he had a crush—looking forward to seeing someone so much it made the days worthwhile. He found himself wanting to avoid trouble, if only to be in a better place whenever he saw you.

At one point, he gently wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, clearing away a small smudge. You watched him, reflexively brushing the same spot with your hand afterward. For a fleeting moment, Noel considered bringing his thumb to his lips, but he stopped himself, knowing it would feel too weighted. Instead, he wiped it with a napkin, hesitating to apologize lest it make things awkward.

You didn’t seem to mind. Your cheeks were flushed, and the tingling sensation of his touch stayed on your skin. It wasn’t a mistake—you liked it. And as he sat there across from you, watching your expression under the dim light, Noel knew he did too.

…

"Do you need sunscreen? I didn’t see you apply any yet," you asked, preparing your second layer while Noel hadn’t bothered with any. "How disgraceful, Noel. You hardly seem like an older man." He rolled his eyes at your teasing. Until the rest of the team arrived to record your songs, he kept you busy like that, and also by repeating vocal exercises and practicing breathing. It was embarrassing, but hearing him say, "You're doing great, darling. Let’s try one more time, but you’re getting it right," never failed to make you feel both comforted and eager to hug him.

In the coming weeks, you’d be performing together, singing some of his songs as a guest. Nothing had been rehearsed yet, but the thought alone tied a knot of anxiety in your throat. Sharing the stage with him felt unimaginable, especially since you weren’t used to large audiences.

The wind tousled his hair, and his carefree expression was oddly reassuring. You handed him a bit of sunscreen, but his clumsy attempts to apply it made you laugh. "Alright, Noely, let me handle this." Your cool fingertips touched his face as you removed his sunglasses. The scent of peach lingered in the air as you smoothed the cream over his skin, feeling the roughness of his beard under your hands. Noel closed his eyes, letting himself relax–not that he could much.

Tracing the bridge of his nose with your thumb, you made him sigh, his lips parting slightly. For a fleeting moment, time seemed to slow. Stepping back, you finished applying the sunscreen to his shoulders. Even though you wanted to, you didn't go any lower than that, letting him continue on his own.

When his hands moved across your back in return, his warm touch calmed you. Noel’s thoughts wandered, struggling against the pull of desires he knew he shouldn’t entertain. But something about the peaceful way you smiled, eyes closed, made every barrier he’d built feel meaningless.

Gently moving the strap of your bikini aside to cover your skin, he found himself tempted to press his lips to the curve of your neck, imagining how your breath would hitch at the touch. He shouldn’t want this—he knew it. But in that quiet moment, with you so serene and trusting, resisting felt impossible. You were there, unguarded, as though he was your safe haven. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted to be.

“Wait a min," you murmured, your voice soft and drawn out, a lazy whisper. Your fingers, light and unsure, fumbled with his as you untied the bikini string, letting it fall away to expose more of your skin–not in a provocative way, but enough to stir something unspoken. His gaze lingered, heavy and unreadable, though he kept his expression neutral.

Careful not to overstep, Noel began rubbing sunscreen over the newly revealed area, his touch slow and deliberate as he worked down toward your waist, barely brushing your hips. Your skin felt impossibly soft beneath his hands, as if it might break with the slightest misstep. With a final, almost reverent squeeze, he let his hand fall away, your body responding with a subtle shiver at the loss of contact and a faint murmur escaping your lips.

Sitting back, Noel noticed how still you were, your head nestled closer to the makeshift pillow of your towel. A quiet chuckle slipped from him as he realized why–you had drifted off, the process taking longer than either of you had anticipated. For a moment, he allowed himself to watch you, his heart caught between tenderness and restraint.

…

The unfolding of the night felt like the complete opposite of the calm that had settled in you earlier. Your chest was heavy, overwhelmed by a sudden realization of just how famous he was. His button-down shirt still smelled like him, and all you could recall was being pressed against his chest as he carefully guided you to a quieter spot. His fingers had gripped your skin, his gaze grounding, and the relieved words, "I think no one saw us," still echoed in your mind, leaving you shaken.

He hadn’t acted on impulse—there were groups of men looking for him, girls with cameras, and he had made it clear that it was important not to be seen with you. It was terrifying in every sense, but what struck you most was the new ache in your chest, knowing he didn’t want to be seen with you.

"I know this happened because you’re well-known," you said, swallowing hard as you struggled to find the right words. Noel knelt in front of you, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. He wasn’t entirely sure how to fix this, but he hoped his presence was enough to offer some comfort. His touch felt right; an unspoken attempt to reassure you, though the proximity unsettled him in ways he couldn’t quite name. Still, given the circumstances, it felt like the right thing to do.

“I’m really sorry, truly. This was careless of me," he apologized, his voice soft but genuine.

You shook your head, your hands gently cupping his face as you pushed his hair back. His deep blue eyes met yours, filled with concern. You were on the verge of tears, and the weight of it all made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure he fully understood your feelings, but they pierced him nonetheless.

"Noel, I might sound stupid, but—" you hesitated. Before you could finish, he pulled you in, his arms wrapping around you with tenderness. Your legs circled his waist as you held onto him tightly. He stroked your hair, surrendering to the closeness, knowing he had never been this intimate with you before—and it was better than he’d ever imagined.

"If they like me, which I really hope they do—you know, with the songs, working with you, and all the pre-album promotion as an artist..." you trailed off, pausing to gather your thoughts. "I don’t want to sound ungrateful. This whole journey with you has been incredible, but... will it be normal?"

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, which made it easier to speak freely without the weight of embarrassment. Noel listened, his mind racing. He hadn’t thought about it like this before—how exposed you’d become to a part of his world he disliked himself. And the truth was, simply avoiding being seen together wouldn’t fix it. Soon, you would be just as much in the public eye as he was.

His tongue rested against the roof of his mouth as your fingers found their place at the nape of his neck, gently tugging at the fine hairs there–much like the way you fidget with the hem of your shirt when you're anxious. It soothed you. Your gaze dropped to his chest, and it hit you that this was the first time you'd held him for so long. He wore a light shirt, but after having seen him without it, the fabric somehow felt far less concealing. You liked everything about this–the warmth radiating from him and the unobstructed view of him in this moment.

He tugged gently at the collar of your shirt, pulling your face closer until his breath danced across your skin. When your eyes met his, you saw no attempt to mask his intent–he was staring straight into your soul. You were beautiful, even now, with red-rimmed eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Understanding the turmoil inside you, he let you whisper through the haze of your emotions, "I can't mess this up.”

His focus didn't waver. Though every part of him wanted to pull you closer, he held back, patiently waiting for you to continue. "I want this too. I just... I don't want you to think less of me, okay?" Tears threatened to spill again. As you instinctively tried to lower your head, he gently tilted your chin back up, fully grasping the weight of what you were trying to express.

"I don't want you to think I'm doing this just because I'm interested in you. I don't want you to see me as..." You hesitated, searching for the right words. Instead of pressuring you, he pressed his forehead lightly against yours, cradling your face in his hands with a tenderness that disarmed you.

"I don't think anything bad about you, uh?" he said softly, unwavering but gentle. "I've never thought that way. These are just your worries, you got me? Nothing's gonna change the fact that I think you're talented and competent. That has nothing to do with how I see you as a professional. You don't have to be afraid of that."

His voice was firm, louder than usual, the roughness in his tone just right. Each word sank in, steadying you as you listened. He swallowed hard, his lips slightly parted, and you couldn't help but notice how patient he was, how perfectly he seemed to understand that you needed this moment to gather yourself. Your fingers tightened around his, and then, finally, your lips found his.

The kiss was slow, tentative. Though you felt self-conscious, unsure of yourself, it was warm, grounding. He pulled you closer, your body naturally molding against his as if you belonged there.

When you began to pull back, a flicker of doubt creeping in, his hand caught the collar of your shirt again, pulling you back into a deeper, more urgent kiss. The gesture made it clear–he had been waiting for this far too long to let you retreat now. As you leaned back slightly, he held you firmly, sensing how you were beginning to soften against him.

He chuckled into the kiss, his breath against your skin. His tongue brushed yours, the movements slow and deliberate, every kiss lingering as if he wanted to savor each second. The taste was salty–a mix of your tears and the sea–and you couldn't help but laugh softly at the thought of him being "seasoned.”

Your hand reached up to brush the hair from his face, and you took in the sight of him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips swollen, and his beard scratched gently against your skin, a sensation you hadn't fully processed until now. You wanted more, and for the first time, you didn't feel the need to hold back.

"You're beautiful," he said softly. You nodded, your lashes fluttering in a way that made him wonder if it was his words or his voice causing it. Either way, he was determined to keep seeing that reaction.

He ran his calloused fingers along up the curve of your thigh, stopping just at the edge, giving your hips a firm squeeze. Your nails dug into his shoulders in anticipation as your legs parted briefly, giving him better access and also making the fabric of your shirt give him a better view. The bottom of your bikini clung tightly to your skin, leaving faint indentations where the fabric pressed. His lungs filled with heavy air, as did his mouth with saliva, and he kissed the spot with a light bite.

He didn't need to ask, soon your back was against the sheets. You weren't scandalous to his ears, but something about it made you more noticeable, your breathing loud and prolonged. He undid the ties, brushing the rings on the sides, and revealing your flesh little by little. He moved one of your hands that were on your belly away and kissed the spot before looking at you. He wanted so much for this to be comfortable for you.

"Y’alright there, little’un?” Your eyes were teary, and he had barely touched you. You nodded, a simple noise of agreement. Your attention was his, your fingers entering his hair in a caress that made him close his eyes, resting his chin on your skin.

He dragged his face, soaking in your sounds, as the texture of his newly grown beard took hold of your exposure.

He chuckled, his nose touching your center, just enjoying how your fingers tightened in his hair to get him closer. This would take time, he was in no rush. He kissed your skin, groaning as he felt your taste on his tongue and realized how wet you were. His hands tightened around you, holding your hips and dragging them so that it would be better for him.

His body was warm, he pulled away slightly, touching his fingers to you and pushing them in just a little. Your legs moved back, but your only vision was of him leaning his head closer and sucking on his fingers right after, licking his red lips and swallowing cautiously.

"Yer proper good, yeah?" Your lips were a bit open, not knowing if that needed to be answered. It was a short pause, which felt like hours, but soon his eyes were closed and his tongue was firmly inside you.

When his fingers took their place inside you, the wet kisses started to be on your clit. His coordination was remarkable, worthy of what he did for a living. He pushed his fingers until they disappeared inside you, pulsated them in the right place thanks to your whimpering, until your legs tightened a little, and then he pulled them out completely wet and repeated it all over again. His tongue followed this rhythm, unerring, saliva joining with his fingers, your clit pulsating on his lips and he grunted with it as if giving you pleasure was something pleasurable for him.

"Noel," his name sounded like a plea. He had other plans, but your elongated vocals and honeyed voice made him lose himself there, his free hand caressing your belly and your hips trembling shyly against his face. He felt your cum build up on his fingertips and dripping down the corners of his mouth, with each gasp of yours, the more impossible it was to stop.

Your voice was more broken, it was possible to hear your throat scratching. Your eyes were closed, his fingers stuck in his hair, in a way that would certainly make him sore later, your thigh gradually stopped shaking and his muscles relaxed. Noel didn't leave, he just stayed close, with light kisses until it was over, even though your reaction was to rub yourself against him more, his nose brushing against you and his beard hurting you. When your eyes opened, meeting his, it still lasted a little longer until you had no other option but to stop because you felt too sensitive.

Nothing was said, it wasn't necessary. The crossed line already made things more tangible. He kissed your cheek, the salty taste leaving his chest warm. The corners of your eyes still overflowed, and he gently wiped them away. Your gaze followed him, his subtle smile still shining for you. There was a distinct difference from the other relationships you'd had before; you felt cherished there. He could have other relationships that weren't with you, but you were there.

"Do you want me to do something?" Your lack of action irritated you, but the awareness that he was older, had been through this countless times, and that everything had worked out so well from what you'd just seen, left you feeling insecure. You certainly didn't have many people to compare him to, and he did with you—though he wouldn't act on it…

He laughed, in a more sincere way, different from before. He was taking off his clothes, your attention distant yet present on him. His body was mature, the hair filling his chest fully and running down his stomach, he had a well-defined V of his abdomen, although he was not a muscular man. "God," he shook his head, kissing the side of your face.

He pulled the fabric of your shirt away, pressing his lips to your clavicle. Instinctively, you turned your face, giving him more space, allowing the kisses to trail upwards. Your fingers traced along his shoulders, then down his arm, only to rise again, lingering on his forearm before tightening around his neck in a hug.

"You’re proper tasty.” Your face nestled against his neck as he nibbled on your skin, making you laugh softly against him. He pulled you tighter, and you could feel every part of him–his warm body, the hairs sticking to your chest, mingling with the sweat between you and the weight between the legs touching you.

"You alright, love?” He pushed your hair away from your face, searching for an answer in your eyes, beyond just words. You nodded, letting his body fall onto yours, the comforting and precise weight settling perfectly.

Your button-down shirt was slightly open, still leaving room for imagination. He could see little of your cleavage, but that wasn't important, even so he sucked the exposed skin in a bite and released it slightly until a subtle mark was left. He adjusted himself, his forehead nearly touching yours, and your half-lidded eyes stayed fixed on him.

The wait was intentional, Noel didn't want to overwhelm you. Your gaze on him was as sensitive as your legs had been minutes ago, his patience more about not hurting you and making this more bearable. He watched your breathing return to normal, only for him to destroy it all over again. He felt sore, craving it so badly, but the whole vision was worth it.

Your nails dug into his back, and in total control, he filled you up. The air left his lungs in a rough grunt as your body was thrust forward by the impact, your hips meeting, and your eyes softly closing as everything fell into place. Your thighs tightened around him, but not so much that he couldn't move. The edges of your eyes started to water again, and he found this to be a new addiction of his.

"Yer can handle it.” The still bodies, the sweat and his voice working on you like anesthetics. He was waiting for you to get used to having him inside and you really needed it, you still felt sensitive, but you liked the sensation. “You're a big girl, right? You can handle it.” The crease between his brows deepened with every word, and there was something so satisfying about it.

Tears streamed down your face and he was attentive to your movements, being careful with you. The effect of his voice on you was very clear, with each syllable or compliment attributed. Your bodies dissolved into the sheets and soon the room was filled with wet noises and your pitiful grumbling.

"I’m ‘ere, ain’t I?” His hands on you, squeezing and pulling your body towards him were very firm, and although good, they would leave marks to be appreciated later. His face above yours was sweating a lot, in a way that made you want to lick it, the corners of his hair were damp and his cheeks and lips were red and you could feel him in your stomach. “I'm all yours, little’un.” His nose pressed against yours, and then his lips, the delicious sweat on your tongue, taking all your remaining breath.

His voice began to sound more distant, his sighs heavier as he went deeper into you following your fingers digging into his skin. You were so delicate beneath him, your movements moderate yet painful, so as not to disturb him, as if you expected to be punished otherwise.

He moved his hand down to your clit, pressing just enough to add to your desperation. His abdomen ached in a good way, your stomach clenching as your entire body wrapped tightly around his. His mouth went dry, and he watched you squirm, your legs suffocating him and your whimpering increasing.

He licked his lips, your body fragile and trembling before him, your little nod indicating for him to continue, not that you could take much. He didn't need much either, the wet noises were more intense, his hips more precise as you writhed and it wasn't long before you were being filled with warmth.

Still you moaned in disapproval as soon as he pulled out of you, he was careful, and you felt him slip out of you between your legs. Nothing was strange anymore, just intimate, in a way it shouldn't be. He then lay down next to you and you didn't know where you belonged or what to do.

Noticing your expression, he draped the sheet over your body. You nestled into his chest, burying your face there as if what had just happened was something insignificant. "I’m the one who should be hiding like this; I’m the old one ‘ere," he said, his tone light and teasing, trying to ease your shoulders. He could tell you were feeling shy.

"You’re good," you murmured, exhaustion settling in as his fingers lazily traced patterns along your back, grounding you to him.

"You’re good too, love," he replied, his eyes fixed on you—calm, unguarded, and without fear. You began to feel a chill crawl up your spine. Was this going to be a problem? He didn’t want to be seen with you, there was a noticeable age gap between you, and though you felt understood by him, you were convinced this was nothing more than a fleeting amusement for him. You told yourself you could handle it, enjoy the moment, but how would it feel to see him again in the coming days?

"I need to take this," he said, grabbing his phone, which you hadn’t even heard ring. Still, he stayed beside you, his calloused fingers exploring your skin with reverence, each touch gentle, as though memorizing you. He mentioned needing to meet someone—Gem, apparently, who had just arrived. Leaning in, he kissed your forehead, then the crown of your head, with tenderness that almost undid you.

"You can stay ‘ere if you want," he offered. "I just need to hand over the studio key to a friend. I’ll be back before you know it."

It was clear from the hesitation in his voice, even in the words he spoke on the phone, that he didn’t want to leave the bed. You nodded with a soft smile, and he kissed your shoulder one last time before reluctantly slipping away.

The question lingered: could you get used to this? Perhaps. But deep down, you knew he had no reason to nurture this.

[xgoldenlatiasx]

I’m not even gonna apologize you all already know how reincarnation trope makes me feel

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

last post for the night i swear

the real tragic part about the whole science fair incident is that perpetual motion is impossible to achieve

ford’s machine would have never worked, regardless of whether or not stan had interacted with it

(warning i accidentally wrote an approximately 30-tag dive into ford’s character in the tags don’t click see more if you don’t want to read that)

anyway!! good night everyone ❤️‍🩹

[dollbones3]

mostly i keep quiet about my bigger creative projects until they’re done because i know if i talk about them unabashedly i sound like i’m trying to put on a tortured artist persona. like. it is technically true that i base the majority of my sense of self on my projects and i start to feel like i’m rotting when i’m not working on something and that i’m extremely particular and protective of my projects and i don’t trust people to help and that i’ve let friendships end because they didn’t care about my work as much as i think my work deserves. however. those things all sound like the traits of a fictional man who will miss the main character’s big event because he’s too wrapped up in the series of paintings he’s working on. so

[hyukascampfire]

you grabbed me by the hair and dragged me through the mud and then cut my heart out with this one. what the hell. i knew it was gonna hurt but damn. YOU DONT GET TO JUST TREAT ME LIKE THIS. NO MF AFTERCAREOR NOTHING JUST HURT. and also, the whimsy? yeonjun and reader literally just wanting each other but the world is just so fucking cruel? i loved their dynamic and the BANTER it was good enough to eat. i crown u banter queen. he’s so witty, this yeonjun is literally just FOXFOXFOX to me, more than usually even. god.

“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.” this is so mfk pretty,, i literally FEEL this. and the archer practicing under the starts… i love this fic.

It was her hair. Pink. call me delusional and say i’m doing too much but i think that the color pink could literally be a character in this fic. it’s there in little glimpses and wisps, but for some reason, each time it felt monumental. that’s actually so incredibly beautiful. it’s not secret that this fic is pink coded, but lowkey i think it goes further than that. i literally cannot explain to you how this makes me feel.

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

jk i’m not leaving actually. you’d have to peel me off of this yeonjun.

“Yeonjun,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let someone in. Even if it’s just for a moment.” fucking hell im choked up. just a little. baby let yourself be loved 💔

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, his voice hoarse. IM ABT TO BUST WTF how did you know that this is my favorite thing. butterflies >.<;

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

“For you?” He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I would.” just fell down to my knees in abject horror and agony. oh my god.

"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." fucking cries 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. 

i can not and will not be addressing kai and kora’s fates. the ability to make me so disgustingly attached to them in 24k words when some 100k novels can’t even manage that for me is beyond beautiful, and i did cry and now my chest aches and so i will NOT be going into that. for my own good. the letter to his family. you are a sick individual.

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.” this is so very much summative of them. they both have these massive names to them, a legacy that precedes them, and yet really they have nothing more than each other. especially after being stripped of the very last things that they could call their own, the only interpersonal connections that they ever really got. in the end, all they had was each other and a future. i’m making myself choked up just writing this but UGH there is something about having nothing beyond hope.

hope is i think is a constant theme in this fic. the two of them start with absolutely zero, with any semblance of it stomped into the dirt. that was, until they met in that forest, and then they let themselves hope despite it all. despite how dangerous it was, and despite how they both knew that it’d give them hell. and it did. but in the end, at the very least, they still have that hope, yk? it was such a beautiful transformation to read. i love you for writing this and i am going to mystified and in agony over this until further notice.

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.

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