#about-faces I am so so sorry that they did this to you

[niccolites]

green cliffs: - lessons in mortality. chapter three

highlander!soap x fem!reader. cw dubcon. read here on ao3

You grab the nearest item in Johnny’s room and lob it at his head, which he dodges with an ease that sets off your temper again. It’s a cup and it shatters against the wall, a last gasp of dust that settles into the air.

“You are a right bastard,” you hiss at him, so angry that you shake with it. You had barely been allowed a moment to process what Johnny had announced - without consulting you - before you were being hustled out. Johnny’s arms a firm band around your waist as he brought you to his room, something that had almost set you off in the hallway.

You expect him to get angry at you, the way he did out in the woods. If anything he seems delighted, broad smile as he laughs at you. Dodges your next throw - a book this time - and catches you, sweeps his arms around your waist and hoists you up against him. “Am sorry, a am sorry,” he grins into the curve of your jaw, the hint of teeth before he settles on a smacking kiss as you squirm to get away from him. “A just couldnae contain masel’, I had tae tell ‘em.”

“There’s nothing to tell, what are you talking about?” you snap, thumping your palm against his shoulder to get him to relinquish you. His shoulder is hard underneath his white cotton shirt, firm muscle that flexes as he adjusts his hold on you.

He doesn’t. Just continues to laugh, as if you hadn’t even spoken, eyes sparkling as he seems to be caught up in some other thought. Let's go of you but you can’t go far before he has your head held in his hands. “My father will want a full ceremony, so we can make it official there, Am sorry that I announced it before, a couldn’t help myself.” He nudges his nose against yours, affectionate like he’s allowed to be.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper, a twist in your mouth. You think about your brother, think about how you are going to get back to him. You’re starting to think that maybe you were the one to leave the pitchfork in the hay and guilt curdles in your stomach, another mess for Ian to clean up after you. Johnny’s hands cradle the back of your skull and you think that you are stuck here. Walked into the maw of a lion and were surprised when it bit down and caught you.

“That’s alright, angel, I can sort everything,” Johnny soothes you, but it just raises your hackles more. He nuzzles his face into the size of yours, the bristles of his beard catching on your skin and leaving you feeling raw. He pulls back, just enough to nudge his nose against yours. His mouth is so close to yours, and he seems to realise this, blue eyes going half-lidded as he sways forward.

“Johnny,” you interrupt, and his breath hitches in his chest, a fine tremor running through him as his name sits in your mouth.

“A know, cannae help maself around you,” he admits, leaning back just the smallest amount, a hint of bashfulness that you narrow your eyes at. Like he’s putting it on. “I’ll go speak wae my da, see if we can speed up the wedding, yeah? Then we don’t have to be so nervous.” His eyes shine, as if caught up in a fever dream.

“Johnny, I don’t -” you start, but he gives you another kiss on your cheek and darts away before you can finish what you were about to say.

Maybe that is how he justifies this to himself. If he isn’t here to hear you protest, then maybe that means you aren’t protesting at all. You scowl around his room, wondering how much destruction you can get away with.

It’s messy, which is about what you would expect. An oak table in the corner with a few dishes on it, left behind presumably from the last time he left - you hope. His bed tucked into the corner of the room, rich red sheets, crumpled, as if he had left in a rush. You wander around, drag your hands down the wolf hide thrown over the armchair by the fireplace. Imagine yourself being here, living here. Dig your fingers into dead flesh, the give of fur that has been stripped from a living thing.

His blood is still under your nails. You suddenly decide that you need to be clean, need to be scrubbed down of any traces of the last couple of days and start anew. Maybe Johnny is like an animal, if you stop having his blood on you, he’ll let you go.

There is a metal basin in the corner, but there isn’t any water in it yet. You falter, uncertain as you look down at it. Then square your shoulders. If you were going to convince Johnny to retract his proposal - that was more skipping past proposal and straight into matrimony - you would need to be brave enough to at least ask for warm water.

You poke your head out of the room, trying to catch the eye of anyone wandering. A stout woman is wandering past with a basket on her hip, filled with sheets. You tentatively call out and she turns a questioning look on her face. “Hello, sorry to bother you. Do you know where I can get some water for a bath?”

The woman - grey streaking her hair even crammed into her bonnet - squints at your face for a moment before she glances at the room that you are poking your head out of. “Ah! Johnny’s bride, aren’t ya? Nae bother, lass, I’ll run and get ye some water just now.” She pauses, giving a frown at the general state of you. “I’ll grab ye some clothes as well, poppet, ye look a right state.”

She’s off before you can find the words to let her know that you are not Johnny’s bride. Not that you know to even begin to articulate such a statement. You wonder if you do protest too much, if you would just be forced out of the keep. Told to find your own way home then, if you were happy enough to rudely reject the heir. You know that you are to the west of your home, but the intricacies of the journey are lost on you.

You slink back into Johnny’s room and settle into his armchair, feel the fur of that dead wolf on the back of your neck as you sigh. Stare down the portrait of what must be one of Johnny’s old relatives on his wall.

The older lady is efficient, barely any time has passed before she is back, bustling in with a bucket of water that she sets by the fireplace and starts trying to spark a flame. Mrs Duncan, she introduces herself as she settles down on her haunches with a grunt. “Oh, I can sort that - it’s alright,” you start to say, standing from the armchair and hovering as if ready to take over.

“Nonsense, ye’d likely dae it wrang and then I’d have tae come back and do it fer ye anyway,” she says. The words are harsh, but the manner in which she says them is as if she hadn’t just insulted you. You bristle, beginning to frown. You’re interrupted when she catches sight of the rest of the room. “Ah, look at the state of this. See that boy, absolutely no shame, y’know if he expects a woman to be living here wae him, he cannae be leaving it in a state like this,” she tuts, fire catching finally and she bustles around leaving the fire to warm up the bucket and gathers up any of the dirty dishes that have been left behind.

You twist your mouth, trying to hold back a scowl. Mrs Duncan is gone again anyway, returning with another bucket. There is a constant stream of conversation, even if you aren’t contributing much to it. She has a nephew in the keep, the stablemaster, and apparently he is as messy as Johnny. You hum politely, nodding in the right places.

You jolt back to yourself when she stands you up, the buckets of now steaming water in the basin, reaching behind you to undo your cloak and tossing it at her basket of sheets. “I can do that myself,” you yelp, stumbling away from her as she reaches for the clips on the back of your dress.

Mrs Duncan pauses, watching your wriggle away from her. She looks a moment away from protesting and yanking your dress off anyway, but the mullish look on your face pulls her up short. “No need to be prudish around me, poppet, I’ve seen all sorts in this place. I’m sure you haven’t got anything that would concern me,” she tells you, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I’m not - I just would rather sort myself out,” you manage. Her face doesn’t move. “It’s been a long couple of days, I just would prefer to.” She relents at last, a gust of a sigh before she scoops up her basket and leaves. You are left with firm instructions to leave your ruined dress by the door and put on the new one she brought for you - a pointed pat on the fabric that she has laid on Johnny’s desk.

Alone again, you tip the water into the deep basin, watch the steam wrap up in the air. It catches on your face and sticks, curled into the curve of your cheek and leaving behind the faintest of moisture. You yank your dress off, finally taking stock of it. It is ruined, Mrs Duncan hadn’t been exaggerating. Blood and muck and dirt, the skirt torn at the edges slightly. You hope that Mrs Duncan doesn’t toss it away, it had been your favourite for a while. You wonder if she would notice if you managed to get it cleaned in the bathwater after you were finished. Something tells you that you are unlikely to get away with it.

There’s more water than you’ve ever seen here. Usually, there is a single bucket that you manage to heat up and tip into the basin that you and Ian had been using since you were young. You suppose this is Johnny’s bath, and must be large enough to accommodate him. Deep and forged with a thicker metal than your basin back home.

Standing in your slip, you gnaw on your lip as you watch the door. There is an overwhelming urge to be cleansed. Some sick combination of Johnny and those Englishmen’s blood has seeped through your clothes in some places and have stained your hands, your legs. Your skin crawls with the need to scrub it off. However, the fear of Johnny coming back to his room and finding you naked is enough to give you pause before you jump into his bathtub.

You pause, twisting bare feet on the cold stone of his floor, as if you have created the time in which he will come back in. A few beats pass. If he comes back, which is unlikely, then you will just ignore him, you decide. You tug the filled basin slightly around the corner just in case. Childishly hoping that he may not notice you now at all if he does come back.

Your slip comes off and you sink into the warm water, groaning at the feeling. You dip yourself down fully, suspended in water for a moment before you pop back up, reborn again.

You scrub at yourself with your nails, dig off grime and blood. There’s a hardened piece of animal fat, soaked in a sweet smelling oil that you imagine is Johnny’s soap. You scrub yourself with it, an old version of yourself slicking off and sitting as a filthy film in the water. You dig into your hair next, lather and rinse until your scalp stings.

Perhaps you overindulge. Lie with the rim of the basin digging into the back of your neck and stare at the ceiling for a little too long. You think that the more likely reason is that Johnny is able to sense that you are naked and comes running.

The door opens and you flinch, sinking further into the water. The liquid surges, almost capsizing over the sides at the startled movement. Johnny flies in through the door and stutters to a standstill, almost hurling over himself at the sight of you. Blinks and breathes through his mouth, a faint wheezing noise.

You sink further into the water, cradling yourself as if to hide from his view. “Could you be a gentleman for one minute, and leave so I can get out?” You ask, trying to sound firm, but it comes out as a faint plea that makes you wince. Your plan to ignore him has fled, he commands too much attention, too much of your attention.

He barely seems to hear you, eyes focused on the flesh he can see through the water. As if entranced he stumbles towards the basin, distantly starting to tug his kilt out of the pin at his chest. Slow at first, then faster as his chest starts to heave.

“What - Johnny !” you exclaim as he strips off with an eagerness that almost throws him into a wall before he’s bare and striding towards the basin. He’s all muscle, built with no give in him. There’s hair over his chest, thinning to a line down his belly that has you averting your eyes with a flush. “I can get out -” you start, one hand still trying to cover yourself while the other tries to find some purchase on the edge of the basin.

You’re lifted up by your arms before you can stop him, squealing as he all but jumps into the basin and drags you down on top of him. Water sloshes everywhere, you hear the slam of it on the floor as he gets settled. It rocks around the two of you for a moment before it finally starts to settle.

Flesh squeaks against flesh, your breasts pressed against his chest as he holds you still until he’s sat down, you half-cradled into him. A familiar position, although it irritates you a lot more than it did in the saddle. You wiggle, trying to struggle free but it only makes him groan, hands seeking out the expanse of your back to grip, making you still. “This is inappropriate,” you hiss, feeling something twitch on the soft skin of your belly. Animal panic, the kind that makes you want to buck and kick him away but also freezes you in place.

“You’re the one who’s bare in ma bedroom,” he points out, hefting you further up his torso so that your faces are pressed together before you lean back. He almost goes cross-eyed, trying to take in your face as well as the press of your chest against his. The hair on his chest is wet, flattened down but it still tickles when you shift slightly. Fine but dark, plastered to tan skin. A freckle on his shoulder that catches your attention before you drag it back again.

“I was taking a bath,” you try to justify yourself. He hums in response, smoothing his hands up and down your flank. A hand up your side to glance against the side of your breast which makes him groan. “Johnny, we’re not even married yet - this is so inappropriate.”

He laughs at your scolding, dipping his head to press a kiss to your cheek and then bites at the apple of your cheek. Light, more to feel you jump under his hands more than anything. “We’re no’ swiving,” he points out, nose in the wet of your hair. “We’re promised, a reckon the Father wouldnae look too harshly on us fer getting tae know each other.”

“I would,” you snap.

“Ye look like a water nymph,” he murmurs, half-dazed as if he had been struck. Half the water is out of the basin, leaving your back cooling in the air. He's like a furnace, against your will, you instinctively curl into him, try to keep warm. His hands are grabbing at your back, as if he wants to touch all of you at once.

“Johnny,” you start, trying to get up again. Palms flat on his shoulders, try to use this momentum to force yourself up, but he all but yanks you back down. Your hands barely cover the breadth of his torso, small as they curl into his collar.

He sighs against your temple, a groan trapped in his chest. He bucks against you, forcing you still again and you feel him slide against your belly. “Ah, fuck,” he mutters. “C’mon, c’mon.”

You don’t know who it is that he’s speaking to, feel the kick of his leg as he braces you against himself, the rock of his hips against yours. Flesh and water, feel the lap of it around the curve of your waist. His breath is hot against the skin of your cheek, your scalp, your neck. He digs his fingers into your backside until you flinch and whimper which just makes him moan even hotter against you.

You hold tension in your back until you can’t, a twinge in the muscle. You deflate, let yourself sag into Johnny as pants into your ear. There’s a coil in your belly, has you tucking your head into his collar, waiting it out.

The sight of you giving in must be too much, you feel the same wetness from the forest only this morning, kick out onto your belly. The water likely washes it away, but you feel it like it’s branded you. He whines your name out, sounding pained. The sound of his punched out voice has something in your belly clenching, even as you ignore it.

His hands are still rounding over the curve of your backside, but you let him. Decide to save the energy for something else you will need to argue about. There’s a red scratch hidden in the scratch of his beard. You lift your hand and thumb over it. He hisses slightly, but you feel his cock kick at the feeling. “This from those men?” you ask, voice hushed.

The quiet of your voice seems to catch his attention more than you’re yelling does. Attention stretched to you, catching each word in a tight net. “Aye,” he murmurs, turning his head as much as he can without shifting your thumb from the bolt of his jaw. His eyes are half-lidded, but alert when pointed at you. His hair curls into his forehead, dark and soft looking.

You twist your mouth, study that small scar. There had been a fight in your village once, daggers drawn between two men. One of them had cut the other across the throat, you remember the spray of blood, vicious, like it was escaping. A smooth arc in the air before it landed, the horrible choking that had followed. Blood spraying, gurgling as if it had changed its mind and wanted to stay instead.

One of the men must have had a dirk on him, must have caught this a little before Johnny had dealt with them. You imagine if the Englishmen would have cut your throat in the same way, if your blood would jump out of your throat, or stick close by you, dribble down and stain your skin instead.

You sigh, and drop your hand. Evidence of the hurt Johnny has earned himself is enough to quiet you, leave you ruminating over him. It’s distracting, being naked on top of him, everything that has you reeling at the impropriety of it all. Then, there is the scar on his calf, the cut on his jaw. Marks of hardship. For you.

Johnny nuzzles his nose into the space between your ear and your hair, inhaling loudly. “You use my soap?” he murmurs. You nod and he sighs happily again, you ride the wave of his chest deflating beneath you. “You smell like me.”

Even though you had been the one to use his soap, it’s another branding mark. You’re spared having to make some kind of response, another justification for your behaviour, as a fierce shiver shudders through you. Johnny may be a burning furnace under you, but the water is tepid now, and most of your body is left out of the water to the cool draught in his bedroom. He laughs at you, wrapping his arms around more of you as if to catch your shakes. His chuckle is a boisterous thing, starting in his lungs and bursting out. A nice sound, you imagine, if it didn’t always seem to be at your expense.

“Up we go,” Johnny hums, his hands scooping you out of the water like a messy toddler. Water cascades again but the mess was already there, so you barely give it any notice. Your feet almost slip on the stones but it barely matters with how Johnny won’t let you go.

You cover yourself as best you can with your hands, Johnny frowning at the sight as he holds the towel that you need. You frown back at him, one hand holding your breasts from sight, the other crossing your belly to cover the crux of your thighs. You can’t reach a hand out for your clothes without exposing yourself. Johnny seems to realise this and his fists tighten in the cloth, expectant grin. Open maw.

A heat in your cheeks, but you rationalise that he has already seen most of your body anyway. One hand still holding your chest, the other reaches for the towel. Johnny snaps his arms around you again and lifts you against him, something between a snarl and a laugh as he drops his head to your collarbone. “Can I get dressed, please?” you hiss, cold and irritated.

He presses a harsh kiss to your skin, beard catching and scratching at your skin, amused at your annoyance again. “Aye, my dear,” he smarms, letting you take the towel from him. You dart away, but you think that he lets you, more than capable of crossing the distance with a few strides and yanking you back into him. The towel must be his, large enough to cover yourself from view but also catch the damp of your hair as you tousle it dry.

You glance over your shoulder at him, and find him watching you, eyes suddenly sharp, taking you in. “What is it?” you ask, hiking the towel further up your chest. He’s still naked, dripping water shamelessly on the floor, adding to the mess.

He’s quiet, which immediately sets you on edge. Appraises you, eyes darting between yours, then all over. Silent. His size had been an annoyance, but you suddenly understand how those Englishmen must have felt when he came at them. You’re standing, a drenched cat, in the shadow of something much larger than yourself.

He still hasn’t dressed again, just watches you with water droplets all over his chest. The flex of his waist as he inhales, the twist of muscle there, seeming to flex as your gaze drops there. Everything in reaction to you. You refuse to look any lower, drag your eyes up and frown at his face.

Whatever he sees must satisfy him, because he takes a step forward and cups your face in his hands. You startle at the heat of his palms but he doesn’t let you go anywhere. Leans down and kisses you before you can stop him.

Strange to think that this is the first time that you’ve kissed, everything is out of order. You have only been kissed once, with the butcher’s boy who was a few years older than you, and had been sweaty. He’d tried to put his hands up your skirt and you had pushed him into the dirt and stormed off. You don’t imagine you could do that to Johnny, likely he would drag you down with him.

The sweat has washed off of Johnny, but you barely have any time to discern the press of his lips before they’re opening and you’re gasping, a revelation. His tongue in your mouth, licking into you like you were meant to be tasted. His thumbs on your temples, the span of his fingers cradling your skull. Held in place as he groans and licks further into your mouth.

There has to be something blasphemous about this, something unholy. There’s nothing appropriate about Johnny’s spit spilling into your mouth until it slicks in the gaps between your panting mouths. Spills down your chin as he tilts your head back to reach more of you. His tongue on the back of your teeth, the space between your gums and your teeth. A place that you thought only you knew about.

You’re frozen until you sway into him, head heavy in his hands. He doesn’t seem to require much reciprocation given he’s in your mouth, but you tentatively lick back, try to slide your tongue against his and you almost shy away from how loudly he moans at that.

He pulls back, just enough to seal his lips around your tongue and suck for a moment, eyes heavy on yours. Filthy. He pulls his head back enough to let you catch your breath, but now he just rests his forehead against yours. You blink at him, bleary. His spit, or yours, on your face. His spend on your stomach. Water everywhere else, but it doesn’t cleanse like you thought it would.

“Ma da wants us tae have dinner wae him, tonight,” Johnny murmurs, thumb smearing the spit across your chin. Pupils blown, swallowing up the blue.

“Alright,” you whisper back. He hums in response, as if considering kissing you again. “I should get dressed.”

His eyes flicker back to yours, silent again. His hands bracket your neck now, hands spanning across your collarbone. A beat. Then: “I’ll see if we can get the priest over here in the mornin’.”

You aren’t left any room to argue, before he’s crowding you into another kiss and pulling back with a smack that disturbs you. A string of spit between your mouths that pulls until it breaks. He’s across the room, yanking on his white linen shirt and is out of the door with his kilt held in hand.

You shuffle, uncertain, dripping wet in a strange man’s bedroom. The water spreads over the stone floor, catches in the divots and speeds up. There’s the smallest hole in the mortar, the water spilling towards it.

You drop your towel over the gap and step over the mess to get dressed. If the water wasn’t going to clean you out, you weren’t going to let it escape before you could.

[cressidagrey]

Such A Mystery - Part 12 - The End

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Colette Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Warnings: 

Pregnancy, Mention of multiple miscarriages, Pregnancy complications, George Russell Bashing (he's probably really nice in real life but in this, he's the bad guy, sorry), Jos Verstappen, We have apparently now reached the time where I also bash Ferrari. I am sure they are super nice in real life too. They are not in this.

Author Notes: Huge thanks to @llirawolf for holding my hand through this. Chapter 12 of 12!

They were alone. Just the three of them.

Colette had never felt so exhausted in her entire life. But she had also never been so happy. Charlie had been fed once more and had then fallen back asleep, curled up on her father’s chest. Colette herself could barely keep her eyes open.

And she should be sleeping, but she could only watch her daughter curled up against Max's chest.

"How did we manage to create something so perfect?" She asked him softly.

Max let out a tired little huff of laughter, not bothering to open his eyes. “She is perfect, isn’t she?” he murmured quietly.

Colette felt a smile tugging at her face. “Perfect and absolutely beautiful,” she agreed quietly, shifting a little to get a better look at the two of them. "So perfect it almost hurts to look at her."

Max smiled at her. "I...There is this thing you should know," he said hesitantly.

Something about his tone, the hesitance in his voice, made Colette pause. "What is it?" she asked curiously.

"I may have told the whole world about us? On Instagram?" he admitted with a grimace.

She could only snort at that. "I think your father made sure that that cat was out of the bag," she told him drily. "What did you say?"

"That we have been a couple for 15 years. That I couldn't be happier with you and our little family," he said simply. "I wanted everybody to hear our truth," Max said softly. "Not what other people write."

"There is a romantic inside you after all," Colette teased him softly.

"You aren't angry?" Max checked.

Colette sighed. "Not at you," she said simply. "I can't be angry at you. You just want people to know how happy we are together. We kept it quiet for years for me," Colette said, staring at her daughter. "Is it weird that it feels like she put everything into perspective?" she asked him, nodding towards Charlie. "I just...I don't care anymore,” she admitted.

Max stared at her, blue eyes wide, but Colette just shrugged. “I was terrified for so long what people were going to think about me once they knew about us...but now...I don't care. What does it matter?"

Max reached over and laced his fingers through hers. "It doesn't," he promised her. "I'll start screaming it from the rooftops tomorrow, if you'll let me."

A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I think the media already knows," she teased, squeezing his hand. "We can just put my Instagram on public and let them eat their heart out," she suggested. It wasn’t meant seriously. Not really. 

But the more she thought about it, she wondered if that was what it was going to take. Opening up the digital scrapbook of her life. Letting anybody have a peek at their relationship. Hoping that finally they would understand.

"We'd break the internet," Max retorted, grinning at her.

Colette laughed. "We really, really would. Reason enough  to do it?" she teased him.

"And give my PR team a heart attack? Absolutely,” Max returned immediately. “Tell me when.” 

"I love you," she told him seriously. "And I am ready to love you in public too."

She had done it from the shadows for 15 years after all.

He stared at her. "Are...Are you sure?"

"I am very, very sure, mon coeur," Colette told him softly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. "The only opinion that matters to me is yours - and my family's. I don't care what anyone else thinks," she added, glancing down at Charlie again, who slept blissfully on, cuddled against Max's chest.

"If people want to call me an attention whore or a gold digger, they are welcome to it," Colette said quietly. "I don't care. I'm happy and you're happy and our baby is happy. Let them write whatever they want."

***

"Marry me," Max blurted out.

His words came out of his mouth before he had even realised what he was saying. The room suddenly became very quiet, as if all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of it, and Max suddenly realised that he had just blurted out the question he had been meaning to ask for months, at a time that couldn’t be further from ideal.

Colette was staring at him, her eyebrows raised and a look of surprise on her face. She seemed frozen and totally caught off guard by his question. And he didn’t blame her for that. She was exhausted, and had just given birth, and here he was, bombarding her with questions as if this was the perfect moment to do it.

But then she smiled at him. 

"Yes," Colette said simply. "Always yes. You know that.”

Relief surged through him so strongly, Max thought he might just about collapse. She had said yes.

Granted she had said yes the last time as well. 

He remembered that day like it had been yesterday…remembered coming home that May evening in 2016…Fuelled with adrenaline from his first “proper” win. Remembered the trophy that still had a place of pride in their living room…the bottle of champagne, the Pirelli cap…and the ring that he had bought after that race. The celebratory crepes for breakfast the next day where still a tradition they kept with. 

Max felt like he could have exploded there and then, just from happiness. He couldn’t believe that he had just asked her, that she had just said yes. It didn’t feel real. It felt like something out of a dream.

"Yes?" he repeated incredulously, just to make sure he hadn’t actually dreamt it. "You’ll marry me?"

"Properly this time," she teased him, with the most beautiful smile on her face, as she leane up to press a kiss against his lips. “I’ll marry you, Maxie.”

He couldn’t stop himself from laughing, the sound breathless. It wasn’t just exhaustion that made him sound like that, it was disbelief, a sort of giddy lightness.

"Properly this time," he echoed back to her, his words soft. "You’ll marry me properly."

He couldn’t actually believe she was saying yes. "I do have a ring," he assured her. "It's at home. I hid it in the trophy."

Colette laughed. "Of course, you hid it in the trophy," she repeated, her voice warm and amused."Of course you did."

Max gave her what he hoped was at least a resemblance of a sheepish look. “Where else would it be safe?” he said defensively. "And I know you wouldn't look there," he added.

"A perfect place to hide something you don't want me to find," Colette agreed.

Max grinned at her. "Exactly," he said happily, gently brushing her hair from her face.

"Which trophy?" she asked him seriously.

"Spain 2016," he answered honestly. His first one. The one. 

"You hid it in the 2016 trophy?" Colette repeated, her smile widening into a grin. "Really?"

"Just felt appropriate,” he answered honestly. He still remembered handing it to Colette for the first time, the ring that he had bought clanging around in the bottom of it. 

"It is," she agreed softly, leaning up to press a kiss against his lips.

Max smiled against her mouth, his arms tightening around her, pulling her a little closer. He couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. He couldn’t believe he had just blurted out the one question he had been wanting to ask for ages, and she had actually just said yes.

"You’re really going to marry me," he mumbled against her mouth, unable to help the words. "You’re actually going to marry me."

"I had your baby, but this is what shocks you?" Colette asked him with a laugh. 

He laughed, pulling her closer again and nuzzling his face into her shoulder, her words causing him to blush faintly. “I love you,” he mumbled against her skin quietly.

"I love you too," she echoed back quietly. "And yes, I will marry you. As many times as you’ll ask."

"I am the luckiest man in the whole world," he said softly.

"No, I’m the luckiest," she told him gently, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close again. "To have you, and this, and Charlie, and all of it. It’s everything I ever wanted.”

[k1mbe3rly]

Could you maybe do a smut with Dom!female!reader(xmin-su/player 125) with a mommy kink? You dont have to if you dont want to!

my dream 😩🥵

𝓢𝓽𝓪𝔂 𝓼𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓽

warnings: smut, mommy kink, public sex, a small bit of overstimulation

(a bit short 😢)

It was lights out, everyone was sleeping and quiet, expect for the soft noises of whimpers and heavy breathing.

You were naked waist down and so was Min-su. A blanket tried to cover yall but kept falling over, behind those tiny blankets was min-su desperately trying muffle his moans against your clothed shoulder as you rode him.

You were moaning softly as a hand was on a metal bar of the bunk bed and the other tangling in his hair, you looked at him as he looks up at you with teary eyes, “M-mommy please..mm!! too much!~” he moaned out as he gripped on your hips tightly. “You can take it baby…i know you can, just be a good boy, you can do that for me right?” you told him, he nodded.

you tighten your walls around his cock, the moment he felt you tighten he moaned out again as you quickly cover his mouth “Shh..don’t wanna get caught huh?” you said as you stopped your movements

He whined out as he slowly started to go quiet and you removed your hand, “mommy.. please..” he said looking up at you with puppy eyes, “Hm? please what? use your words..” You said to him stroking his hair, “Please keep fucking me..” he said while moving his hands up and down your hips, you smirked down at him, you begin bouncing on his cock, “a-agh~ mommy~!” he moaned out, “shh baby!” you quickly told him but didn’t stop your movements, “mm-..mommy i can’t..f-feels too g-good” he whimpered out between moans, he bit his lip but all that came out were whines. You went a bit faster as he gasped out “mmmm-! m’gonna cum! gonna cum! can i cum inside you mommy please?” he whimpered out as he gasped between moans and whines as well.

You didn’t answer him, basically ignoring him, it was until you felt your walls being painted by his cum. You slowed your movements, “Did you just cum inside me without permission?” you told him sternly “..m’sorry you didn’t answer me! and i couldn’t hold it mommy..” he said in guilt as you grabbed his chin lifting it up, you gave him a soft slap to the face as he gasped, “mommy please don’t be mad at me! i..i really am sorry!” he said as he tried to put his hands under your shirt.

You scoffed at him and smirked, “it’s okay baby.. but you know, mommy didn’t cum.” you said grinding down on him, “w-what? i thought you did!” he said as i let out a soft moan once he felt you grinding, you shaked your head as you begin bouncing harshly on his cock again, he moaned out as he felt your ass slam into his thighs, he gasped out breathlessly as his eyes rolled back slightly, “W-wait! m-mommy!~ my- my cock is too- augh~! too sensitive! too much~!” he whimpered out while trying to push your hips away while whining

he didn’t bother quieting down his whimpers, you felt your orgasm rise as you panted a moaned a bit, “fuckk- shh it’s okay baby, i’m about to cum.. you can take a bit more right baby?” you said out of breath a bit and sweaty, he quickly nodded squirming his hips a bit, he put his hands back into your shirt gripping onto your tits, you felt his cock twitch inside you, with one final bounce you cummed on his cock and slowed down gasping a bit, he quickly cummed right after you as he looked at you, he was a mess, sweat dripping and his hair sticking to his forehead, you slowly grinded again “N-no! please no more! i can’t.. cum anymore!” he quickly said as you chuckled “I’m just joking baby.. i’m tired” you said kissing his cheek and slowly lifting yourself.

Let’s just hope these people are a deep sleeper or else y’all gonna get weird stares in the morning..

[witherby]

hello! great work so far :-) im getting into batfam myself and been loving the platonic/familial works you do w littlest wayne! was wondering if you'd ever do an teen y/n or just an older one? I'd love to see you tackle the idea of a robin y/n or jaybe just some angsty kid stuff,,,,,, hope you had a good new years!

-- :33Anon

I love angst with my whole heart and soul, and I'm happy to write it with a slightly older Reader. Hope you don't mind I've commandeered your prompt to showcase the ability you guys voted on.

This one's a long read so I'm splitting it up. This part is roughly 2400+ words.

The Littlest Wayne: Uncertain Home

(Part 1/2)

Masterlist is Here!

Uncle J'onn is looking at you curiously.

He's been doing that a lot, lately. When Daddy brings you to the Watchtower to be babysat so he can go save the world, one of his co-workers that they can afford to spare gets put in charge of keeping an eye on you. Usually it's Uncle Hal, but this time it's J'onn and he's in his natural form, which you don't mind. Green is your favorite color, and his whole body is green! He's nice and calm, and tells you lots of stories and plays any game you want, even if it's hard for him not to cheat and read your mind. He says it's instinct. You don't hold it against him because you still have fun.

Lately, though, when he talks to you, he tilts his head a bit. He usually does that when he can't understand something.

You wipe your face, checking for cookie crumbs. All clean. You search your shirt for any weird marks or stains. All clean. You scrunch your nose and puff out your cheeks, pouting.

"What's wrong, uncle J'onny?" You ask him. Daddy says the way to get honest answers from someone is just to be forthcoming (Dicky told you what forthcoming meant when you asked him later), so you are. "Did I do something wrong?"

That seems to snap his train of thought. J'onn shakes his head and goes back to sorting out the jigsaw puzzle pieces for you. You're good enough at this to do 100-piece puzzles, now, and when you get really stuck you don't even cry anymore!

"Nothing is wrong, Flittermouse," he says, watching you start putting the edges together first like Dami taught you. "You are simply...changing. Differences are not inherently wrong."

"What's inherably mean?"

"Inherently. It means instinctively, or something that is "set in stone." A rule that does not change. I am stating that change is not something that is always wrong. It's not a firm rule."

You pout and try to process all of that in your brain. It was a partial answer. Daddy says that means people might want to hide something from you.

"What's changing?" You ask him. "I got older a week ago. Is that what you mean? I'm four, now. Grandpappy says I'm getting so big and growed up. He says to not do that so fast. I dunno how, though. He's silly."

J'onn hums. His eyes look away from you as he considers what to say. You put one whole edge together before he speaks again.

"You know that I am not a human, correct?"

"Yeah, I know," you say. "I don't care. I love you. And auntie Diana. And uncle Clark. And uncle Barry. And —"

"Thank you," J'onn gently interrupts. "Do you also know that, sometimes, humans are born not entirely human? That sometimes they get special abilities?"

"Yeah, I know that," you repeat.

"I suspect that —" he cuts himself off, hesitates, then starts again. "Little one. You are showing signs of being one of those humans with special abilities."

"I am?" You ask. You perk up. "Can I fly?!"

You immediately abandon the puzzle and climb onto your chair, about to jump off of it to try and fly around, but J'onn catches you by the back of your shirt before you can hit the ground.

"You cannot."

"Aww...then I don't wanna be a megahuman," you complain, stomping your foot.

"Metahuman."

"Whatever."

"I am sorry," J'onn says, "I did not mean to upset you. I do think you are developing powers, however."

"Not fly powers?" You frown.

"No, not flight powers."

"Boring," you say, blowing raspberries. J'onn cracks a smile at your antics and you giggle. "Help me do the puzzle, please!"

"Alright," he relents, sorting more pieces for you. You're both quiet for a while, and you get the whole frame done before he speaks again.

"Little one. Do you know your father's rule about metahumans?"

"Yeah," you say, grinning, because you're a great listener. You pitch your voice down and make it scratchy. It's adorable in your four-year-old tone. "No metas in Gotham. I am Nighttime. Raaahhh."

J'onn huffs in amusement. "Right. He usually means what he says, does he not?"

"Yeah," you agree, "daddy is a bad liar. He lied and said he didn't eated the last cookie once, but he did eated it. Alfie was mad, 'cause it was for Dami, but Dami didn't care. He likes brownies more than cookies. I like brownies, too."

"I figured," J'onn says. He's not looking at you again. This time he's frowning.

"Do you want brownies?" You ask, figuring that was the issue. "I don't have any. I can ask for some when Daddy comes back. I'm good at sharing, 'cause I'm a good noodle, like Jay says."

"No, but thank you for offering to share. Jason is right, you are a good noodle."

You preen. "I know!"

J'onn drops the subject again and helps you complete the puzzle. You squint at every piece in concentration and politely ask him if he can dim the lights so you can work better. He complies, and after another hour and a half, you have a completed image on the table.

"Yay! We did it!"

The sounds of chatter and footsteps appear down the hall moments later, and you spring to your feet in delight.

"Hello!!!" You shout.

A chorus of "hello!" greets you in return from multiple heroes, and the rest of the Justice League files into the room one by one. They don't look too roughed up, so the mission wasn't very dangerous. That's good. You stand by the door and offer them hugs. Everyone complies, to your endless delight.

"Daddy!" You cheer when you see him, running and hugging Batman's legs. He scoops you into his arms and you grin and point at the table. "Uncle J'onny and I dided a whole puzzle! I didn't give up!"

"Good job, Mouse," Bruce says, reaching out to adjust the light. "You did it in the dark?"

"Yeah," you grin, kicking your feet. "Did you punch bad guys?"

"I did."

"Did you win?"

"Yes."

"Can we have ice cream?"

"Maybe after dinner." He carries you down the hall and towards his temporary quarters, the place he'll stay after a particularly tough mission when he can't make it home right away, and deposits you gently on the bed. "I have to debrief with everyone, and then we can pack up and go home."

"Okay, daddy," you say, already digging through the nightstand for a toy to play with. "I stay right here!"

"Good job," he says again, kissing the top of your head, and leaves you alone with a small wave.

--

The next time you need to be at the Watchtower, it's with Uncle Clark and Auntie Diana. The mission wasn't a super dangerous one, so they both got to stay behind and entertain you.

Today, you're a cashier at your world-famous grocery store. You have the best ingredients all over the world.

"Welcome to the groshy store, what do you want stranger?" You demand, getting into character. Clark looks mildly offended.

"Whoa, hello. That's a lot of 'tude for a paying customer," he says.

"You didn't buy nothing yet! Whataya want!"

"Uh. Some carrots please."

"All out."

Clark narrows his eyes at you. "Can you check in the back?"

You turn around. You turn back.

"All out. Whataya want!"

"You barely looked!" He insists.

"FRESH OUTTA CARROTS, BUB. WHATAYA WANT."

"Oh my goodness, now there's yelling. I think I need to speak to a manager."

"Okay!" You shuffle across the room and grab Diana's hand, leading her back to Clark. "This is the manager. Auntie, tell him all the carrots are gone. He can't have any."

Diana covers her mouth to stifle her laughter. "You heard them, stranger. There are no carrots here."

"Well, aside from the blatant nepotism, auntie, I think you're hiding the carrots from me," Clark huffs, crossing his arms. "I need them for my soup. Guess I'll go to the grocery store across town. I hear they're nicer."

"No," you gasp, "wait. Okay maybe I have one secret carrot. I go get it."

You leave their giggling forms and run over to the toy box that was set up for you on the watch tower, thrusting your hands inside to dig around. You squint your eyes, but all the bright colors are hard to distinguish properly. In the dark spaces, deeper into the box, is where you cast your focus. Instinctively, you follow the trail and close your hand around a plastic carrot. You lift your hand triumphantly.

"Okay, got it!" You cry, only to startle when you find both Clark and Diana kneeling beside your toy chest. Diana picks you up around the waist and takes several steps back, and Clark's eyes turn that funny shade of blue they do when he's using x-ray vision. "Umm, I gotted the carrot already. It's in my hand."

"Are you injured?" Diana asks you, expression deadly serious. You frown and shake your head. "You're certain? I could sense something in that box with you."

"No, I'm fine," you promise. Clark stands up and his eyes go back to normal. He shrugs, brows furrowed.

"There's nothing in there but toys."

"Yeah," you nod, "toys and dark spots."

Both heroes look at you. You squirm in Diana's hold shyly.

"Um, want to pay for the carrot?" You ask, holding it up. "It's only ten dollars. Orrr one lollipop." You whisper conspiratorially. "I can be bribed."

Diana and Clark exchange glances. Clark gingerly takes the carrot from you and puts it back in the toy box.

"Sold. Let's go to the kitchen and pick out which flavor you want."

You grin, forgetting about the game, and Diana puts you on the ground so you can follow excitedly after them. With a couple "pretty please's" and your lethal puppy dog eyes, you even manage to get two lollipops. You ask to be hoisted onto the counter so you can swing your feet as you enjoy the candy, and both heroes perch on either side of you.

It's quiet for a while. It feels like that weird, anticipatory quiet you felt with Uncle J'onny, but you don't know what for, so you wait for one of them to speak. You finish off one whole sucker and open the second one when it happens.

"Mouse?" Clark eventually asks, "can you explain what you meant about your toys? That there are dark spots in there?"

"Yeah," you say, "shadows. Dark spots. Light not touching."

"And you can...feel shadows?"

You hum, thinking it over. "Um...yes. Kind of."

Clark and Diana look at each other again. They're frowning. You frown.

"Can you tell us what you mean by that?" She asks.

"Um. I wanted the carrot, for uncle Clark," you say, "so he can buy it at my groshy store. And the dark spots showed me where it was, and I grabbed it."

"Did they also help you complete the jigsaw puzzle, when you were with J'onn?" Diana asks. "It was quite dark when we got back." You nod.

"Yeah. Easier to do in the dark. It's not cheating!" You blurt. "I didn't cheated!"

"Okay, ya' didn't cheat," Clark agrees, gently patting your back. There's a slight drawl in his words which usually shows up when he's stressed out. "We're just curious, is all, darlin'. Seems you've got a... A special talent, we can call it."

"It's a power. They're a metahuman, Kal," Diana says simply, "and you know Bruce's rule."

The rule? Which one? Always brushing your teeth before bedtime? Or maybe no sweets until you finish your dinner? Hmm, but you haven't had dinner yet. That doesn't make sense.

"No metas in Gotham. I'm very aware, Diana."

"Then you see the problem."

Oh. Now you think you know why uncle J'onny was upset that day.

"Now wait a minute," Clark says. He looks genuinely angry, which confuses you. Did they not like that you could ask the dark for help? They had superpowers, too. You figured they would be happy. "They're his kid."

You are. You're Daddy's little Flittermouse, scampering around and bringing joy. That's what everyone tells you. They love you.

"You've seen how hard he works to keep us out of Gotham," Diana says. "We can be trusted to babysit, but we can't enter the city? What does that tell you?"

"That's different. He's territorial, we all know that. He's not a monster, Diana. He would never hurt them —"

"I'm not saying he is. I'm not saying he would. But I am saying that he doesn't bend his own rules. He does not make exceptions."

Oh.

You sit almost numbly on the counter and watch Clark and Diana start to argue over your place in Gotham. Over your place at home.

You think about Daddy's rule about no metas in Gotham. You think about your new ability to interact with shadows.

Oh.

The lollipop tastes like ash on your tongue and the tips of your fingers feel like tv static. When you blink, your eyes sting as they well up with tears. You've been so good about not throwing fits, about not being a crybaby, about being as strong as your super cool daddy and brothers and grandpa.

But you can't call them that anymore, can you? They don't want metas in Gotham, and that's what you are, now. You can't live with your family anymore.

Large, fat tears roll down your cheeks and your bottom lip wobbles. You whimper and both Diana and Clark whip their heads around to look at you in shock.

"No, oh no, don't cry," Diana coos, "you don't need to worry. Your father isn't —"

You bat her hands away when she reaches for you and jump off the counter, running underneath Clark's cape. They don't catch on to what you're doing in time.

Clark practically rips it off and fans it on the floor, floating above it with wide eyes. Diana kneels next to the fabric and frantically pats it, searching for you.

But there's nothing. You've fled into the shadow Clark's body cast and allowed the darkness to swallow you.

[xoxxbilliexoxx]

I Can Help With That ;)

After months of no sex and a now insatiable hunger to get fucked, your best friend Billie offers to help you out.

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

you were laying on billie’s couch, legs draped across her as you continued on listening to her crazy ass story of her most recent hookup. You two have a friendship that allows for nothing to be kept secret. Every thought, every memory, every story, and every moment is shared with each other. So, listening to her go on and on about how happy she was to be munching on some random models coochie is just another normal day for you.

The only difference is your mood. It seems as though you’ve been going through a dry spell, with no sex for too many months to count. You just got tired of the random hookups and messy situations it always leads to and stopped putting yourself out there. Within the last week, your craving to be pleased by someone other than yourself has become insatiable. Masterbating just isn’t doing it, you need to be properly fucked by someone again.

As you listened to your best friend paint the scene of her last sexscapade you felt a pit forming in your stomach. You couldn’t help it, you couldn’t stop it. You felt so hungry for pleasure. It’s not her you were horny for necessarily, it’s just the image of fucking a girl again, of being messily wrapped around another body, laid out with sheets tangled between you and the sound of heavy breathing taking up the room.

You were completely zoned out, caught up in your own little erotic daydreaming before Billie snapped you out of it. “Y/n, hello? I asked you a question, did you hear me?” she laughed at your startled face, clearly having drawn you out of a deep thought too suddenly. “what the hell were you thinking about girl” “it’s nothing sorry,” you swallowed, “what was your question again?” you asked as you pulled all your attention back into the conversation. “I wanna know your last juicy hookup, you always pull bad bitches” She nudged your shoulder making you laugh as she said it.

“fuck, dude I am still in that fucking dry spell. I can’t even remember the last time I had sex it’s pathetic” you laughed as the sad confession came out. Billie laughed with you, slightly making fun of your situation before you kept going. “At first it wasn’t bad, I really didn’t care. I mean at first I was having fun making myself cum and not having to deal with other people’s bullshit” “HAAHAH so fucking fair” Billie interrupted you but you continued. “But now though, oh my god. Girl, in the last two weeks I cannot fucking curb this hunger. I am so horny nonstop like, I swear I get myself off and the second I catch my breath I’m horny again. It’s fucking ridiculous” you laughed out. “Like I’m starting to feel insane. I need to go get fucked cuz this horny fucking monster in my brain is not liking my rose toy or my fingers anymore” Billie laughed hard at your words, and you joined in with her.

“Get back on tinder girl, we gotta feed that nasty monster i’ve never seen you like this it’s scary” you pushed her shoulder and clicked your tongue at her dramatic response, which she of course said with a classic mischievous grin you’ve seen too often on her face. She’s always so proud of her stupid jokes.

“I just hate tinder dude. It’s always so awkward and half the time the sex is ass anyways” you paused as she nods in agreement before you kept going. “take me to one of your award shows and introduce me to some of these bad bitches you always end up going home with” you winked and she smiled again, this time a confident slightly devilish smirk showing the pride she has for all those “bad bitches” she does have many good memories with. “I do be pullin huh” you rolled your eyes and flipped her off “don’t make me jealous you idiot”

There was a short pause to the conversation, you could see Billie’s gears turning in her head before she turned to look back at you, eyebrows raised and lips turned upwards again. “I could always just fuck ya” as she said it she shrugged, so matter of fact and nonchalant with her bold statement. “eww billie shut up you weirdo you’re my best friend” “first off, how dare you say ew, bitch. Second off I'm your hot best friend so get that straight” You smiled at her with your eyebrows raised, amusement coating your face, keeping quiet to let her finish her clearly unfinished sentence. “It doesn’t have to mean anything obviously, You’re hot, I'm hot, we’re completely comfortable with each other, we love each other, even if it’s just as friends, and you’re in a messy predicament that I can easily get you out of. I mean, I got all these bad bitches moaning and cumming like crazy i’m just sayin” She grinned and giggled at the end, knowing her fuck boy statement was ridiculous.

You both went silent, laughter filling the void as you think. Billie’s own mind wandered to the thought of making you feel good, and she began to feel her own curious desire building. You couldn’t ignore the horny energy coursing through you, it was impossible to not feel. Before your brain could talk yourself out of it you move. You got yourself up and sit back down straddling her lap with a smile and half hooded eyes looking down at Billie. She gasped for a second, somewhat shocked you were actually going along with this, before she planted her hands down and grabbed a handful of your ass.

There was a moment when your eyes met and you both giggled, amused by what was unfolding, knowing you’re both going to laugh about it afterwards as if it’s just another dumb thing you do as best friends. But as that giggle faded it’s replaced with a hunger, a growing desire and increasing erotic tension. The eye contact stayed and the smiles disappeared and suddenly your lips were wrapped between each other.

It was gentle at first, timid almost, as you both let go of the brief awkwardness of making out with your best friend for the first time. But within seconds it became passionate, heated, sloppy. Her hands continued to grab and pull at your ass over your cheeky sweatshorts, before she built confidence and slipped her hands under, now feeling your hot skin against her fingertips.

When her hands pushed you tighter against her your hips grinded and the sudden sensation against your clit made you moan quietly into the kiss. Billie pulled away and looked at you, her bottom lip pulled between her teeth in her sexy smirk as she heard your moan, immediately needing to hear more of them. She grabbed your bottom and stood you both up before turning and laying you down. Now hovering over you, Billie’s hungry eyes found yours and you could see an expression you’d never seen on her before, a dominant aroused one that maked your heart stop and goosebumps erupt all across your skin.

The feeling of her plump wet lips on your neck, placing sloppy kisses on every sliver of your skin, sucking and biting occasionally, made you moan louder. You were slowly melting into her touch, into the way she was working you up more and more. The throbbing at your core became hard to ignore and you knew you were making such a mess of your underwear as she made you more and more wet.

Billie’s eager lips found your sweet spot, sucking on your skin just below your ear, and your sweet loud moan filled her living room. “Mmmm you sound so good like that baby, so sexy hearing you moan” Your hand landed on the back of her neck, pulling her closer to your skin, needing more of her, searching for anything. She sped up her pace, kissing all over your neck and collarbones before pulling you up to take off your shirt and bralette. As you landed back on the sofa your boobs moved up and down with the motion. Billie watched with wide eyes and a big smile, you knew she’s always wanted to see them, you have found her staring at them far too often.

She wasted no time, immediately pulling your nipple into her mouth and sucking before letting it go with a pop and moving onto your other boob. Her passionate and intense attack on your chest was a clear indication of her own arousal growing. This might have just been two friends helping each other out, but that doesn’t mean you both aren’t incredibly attracted to each other and currently incredibly horny for one another. The melodies of heavy breathing and sloppy kisses filled the room and made it all quite apparent.

Billie’s lips trailed down your stomach slowly. She stopped often to bite and suck on the skin beneath her, each time pulling sweet squeaks and moans from your lips. She was enamored, fully taken over by a need to satisfy you, to give you everything you’d been missing for too long. She was taking her time, winding you up and building your desire until it was so intense you might explode. She wanted you so sensitive by the time she gave you what you wanted, that it would take only seconds to bring you to the edge.

Just before she got to the waistline of your shorts she moved back up to you, causing you to let out a deep sigh. You weren’t aware of all the air you were holding in until she stopped her sloppy, intoxicating descent down your body. As her lips found your face again her hands landed on your waist. Squeezing you tightly, Billie moaned in your ear, low and sultry, and moving straight to your wet core. The sound maked your head feel dizzy, like your body was experiencing too much need and arousal and you might pass out if you didn’t get fucked soon. Her lips pulled away from yours after a deep kiss and she whispered into your ear, “Let’s move to my room, I wanna have you laid out across my bed for me”

With that she tapped the side of your butt twice and stood up. You began to follow after her, feeling eager but slightly exposed, the cold air on your naked chest coating you in goosebumps. Billie turned to look at you and was immediately mesmerized by your freed boobs swaying and jumping as you walked. When you got to her room you jumped on the bed, giggling slightly as you watched her pull off her own top and jump on with you. Her bralette was just slightly too small, leaving her huge boobs spilling out of each side and top. Billie crawled over to you, hovering above and smirking down at you. As she looked at your body laid out under her, her tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek.

“You are too much y/n. So fucking sexy its ridiculous” You blushed at her compliment and reached above you, grabbing her face with both of your hands and pulling her down to join with you again. Her lips found yours quickly, and your tongues met not long after. You both let out moans that vibrated into the kiss. Moving your hands to Billie’s back, you searched eagerly for the clasp of her bralette. As you pulled it apart and the back dropped down, Billie moved one arm at a time and finally fully freed her boobs. You gasped at the sight of her pink hard nipples and big ivory boobs lightly grazing against your own, admittedly also having been caught staring at them too many times in your friendship.

Your head lifted up as your hand grabbed her boob, guiding it between your lips. A gasp followed by a deep moan filled the room as you eagerly sucked and bit on her nipples. The sudden pleasure made Billie’s body give out slightly, landing her knee between your legs to catch herself. You moved yourself down a bit more to continue your affection on her boobs and as you did your clit grazed her knee, immediately making you gasp. Billie let out a mischievous giggle before pushing your hips down and pulling her knee up, intensifying the pressure and the pleasure right away.

She pulled her boobs away from you and you groaned, missing them in your mouth immediately. She filled the void with her lips on your neck and her hands pulled at your hips, forcing you to begin grinding against her knee. Your back arched up and as you grinded you felt the crotch of your baggy shorts slip to the side. Now, just your soaked panties laid between you and Billie’s thigh. As you continued your motion Billie felt your wetness slipping against her, causing her own panties to get soaked. The sudden evidence of your wet arousal made something snap in Billies mind, “I need to taste you, fuck you’re so wet for me” She moved down quickly, getting herself comfortable between your legs before slipping off your shorts and thong at the same time.

“Godddddd so fucking pretty” Billie moaned after loudly swallowing. Your dripping pussy clenched in front of her as reality hit that you are about to get eaten out, finally after too many long months. The sensation of Billie’s smooth wet tongue slowly slipping between your folds sent a shockwave through your body. The comforter rustled as your hands dug around, trying to grab hold, trying to ground yourself. Her tongue flattened out wide and continued licking from your leaking entrance all the way up to your clit, where she stopped briefly and added pressure. She’s too good, it was making you melt and you felt like you were floating, no longer on earth. Your head felt cloudier and cloudier as her pleasure became the only thing you could feel. Her tongue continued sloppily consuming you, slurping you up at each lick before moving up to your clit. She knew exactly what she was doing, her actions pulling you closer and closer to the edge already.

As your moans got louder and louder and the pleasure consumed you, Billie began moving her hands from around your thighs. One traveled up and landed on your boob, pinching and pulling at your nipple, turning your moans to sweet yelps and cries. You could feel her smile against your cunt as her other hand moved down to your center.

Your messy wetness allowed two of her fingers to slip inside you with ease, immediately curling them upwards and pumping in and out slowly and deliberately. She made her tongue flat and hard and pushed it up against your clit. Moving her head side to side, she could feel your swollen bud throbbing under her. The sensation of her fingers filling you perfectly and her tongue playing with your sensitive clit had you gasping. It wasn’t just that you haven’t felt this in awhile that was making things build so quickly. Billie was incredibly skilled, you were learning that quite quickly. You’ve never been eaten out so well. You’ve never been so close to cumming so quickly. It usually takes you a while and you have to focus to feel the pleasure. Not right now, not with Billie. All you could think about was pleasure, it was surrounding you, inside of you, swirling and filling the room. It was everywhere.

“Billie, right there, fuck” your words came out as pants, completely drunk off the way she was fucking you. “Oh god Billie, yessss” She hummed into you, showing how much she loved making you moan. Your walls began pulsing and clenching around her fingers and your thighs squeezed her head tighter as you were pushed closer and closer to the edge. “Mmmm you close mama, you gunna cum for me?” her sultry tone was laced with pride as she continued devouring you and watching you squirm in front of her. “Yes yes yes Billie fuck I’m gunna cum”

Just as the words left your lips Billie pulled away, a slight seductive giggle hit your ears. You gasped, completely shocked at her actions, and as you lifted your head to confront her you were met with a shit eating grin spread across her face. “awe, did I ruin your orgasm? im sorry” she sarcastically mocked you, the obnoxious smile never leaving her face. “I can’t even keep myself away for long enough to properly tease you, you taste so good, so fucking sweet baby”

her lips latched onto your clit, the warmth of her mouth against your now cold cunt sent shivers through you. You didn’t expect Billie to be treating you like this, you thought she’d give you the basic stuff and make you cum quickly to satiate the hunger in you, but now, now she’s making it grow even stronger.

It only took a few minutes of sloppy sucking and licking for your orgasm to rise again. Her fingers were moving faster and her lips were wrapped tight around ur clit, sucking and licking and sucking and licking. With your hands tangled in her hair and your legs spread as far as they could go, you pushed Billie as tight against your pussy as possible, trying hard to hold in the loud moans that we’re fighting to come out. “I’m gunna cum, I- I’m gunna cum, right there Billie” she listened close to your breathing, trying to take in all the noises you were making that were turning her on too much. As she heard your gasps becoming more and more erratic and chaotic she knew you were close again.

Within seconds her mouth was gone, placing light kisses on your inner thighs and laughing again at your groans. Her fingers were still inside of you but they were still, no longer moving in and out. She could feel the way your walls pulsed around her as she edged you out of your almost orgasm.

“Fuck, Billie, please let me cum, you’re killing me” you whined out, getting too heated and too needy now. “oh but edging you and hearing you beg is so much more fun” she paused to place another kiss on your thigh, this time so close to your pussy it made you gasp. she smiled against your skin before speaking again, “And it’ll feel sooooo much better when I finally let you cum, be patient for a little longer babygirl, it’ll be worth it.” Your stomach flipped at the nickname and your head began to feel fuzzy from the rollercoaster of pleasure she’s been making you feel.

Billie did it all over again, building you up higher and higher with her talented tongue and fingers. The room was filled with the sound of your wetness against her mouth, and your gasps and moans that you tried hard to hold it but couldn’t. You felt like you were becoming addicted to the way she was fucking you. It was better than anything you’re used to. You were beginning to realize all those stories of her making her partners cum over and over again, and the way she said she’d make them scream, none of it was exaggerated, she was just that good. You almost didn’t want to cum, didn’t want it to end. You knew you couldn’t have this again.

As the cues were showing Billie how close you were yet again, she stopped, yet again. This time, she pulled her fingers out of you, causing you to whine at the emptiness and at the feeling of your orgasm disappearing again. Your eyes opened to the sight of Billie right about you. “taste yourself babygirl, taste how delicious you are” Her fingers slid into your mouth and after a moment of swirling your tongue around her she pulled them away, replacing them with her lips. You kissed her passionately, showing your eager desire, needing her to know how fucking hungry you were after being edged too many times to count.

Your growing impatience filled your body, you felt overwhelmed by it and allowed it to fully take control. Your hand gripped her hair and you pulled her back down to where you needed her most, hard and only by her strands of black silk. She sucked in a breath and moaned at your needy and slightly dominant action before landing her lips back on your dripping pussy. She was moving faster than before, like she was a ravenous animal that’d been starved for days. When her fingers, now 3 deep, slipped back into your desperate hole, she moaned out with you, as if she was enjoying this as much as you were. Each of her movements were calculated and deliberate. She was using all her skills, all her tricks on you. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, you were being suffocated by the almost unknown pleasure she was bringing you. Her tongue parted with you for just long enough to speak, “Did so good for me love, such a good girl letting me tease you like that. Go on and cum for me, cum all over my fingers and face. Need you to make a mess of me baby” Those words mixed with the return of her tongue sent you over the edge.

You were spiraling, dizzy and overwhelmed as your body erupted into sparks of pleasure. The sensations were almost too much as you screamed out her name over and over. Billie kept going, kept fucking into you, kept licking your clit, kept your orgasm flowing through your body. You knew more was coming, you could feel it. The one thing Billie didn’t know about you was that you could squirt. She was about to learn. It took one last flick of her fingers for the gates to open. You screamed, letting it all out at once as you squirted months of built up tension onto her fingers, her face, her boobs. It was everywhere and you felt like you were no longer on Earth, gasping for air as you began your descent back down.

Your eyes finally opened to see Billie’s bold eyes and big smile, she was still between your legs, still gazing at your fucked out pussy in front of her. “holy shit y/n, that was so fucking hot. I had no idea you could squirt” She was so turned on, she couldn’t stop thinking about how hot you were, how hot it was to watch you cum all over her. Her legs squeezed together unconsciously, but you picked up on it. You knew Billie didn’t start this with the intention of you fucking her but now you needed it.

As she came bakc up towards your face she kissed you on the forehead. You were still trying to catch your breath and stop your legs from continuing to shake with the aftershocks. You looked at her with a satisfied smile and a shaky laugh that came out with each of your breaths. Her face matched yours showing off her complete enjoyment from what just played out. After wiping your cum off of her face she finally broke the silence, “so, did we do it? Are you finally satisfied?” You began to nod, the laughter still coming out each time you breathed.

You flipped yourself on top of her catching her completely off guard before speaking, “I will be once I make you cum” as soon as the words slid off your tongue your lips were backing on hers, moaning at the taste of your own cum coating her mouth.

You both knew this could only be for one night, so you might as well make it a long night.

[soopcak3]

Could you do a Dae-Ho smut please??🙏

yall are THIRSTY… but so am I sooo

Right Here?

Kang Dae-ho x Reader/smut🔥

Summary: Y/N wakes up from a spicy dream about a certain marine and decides to go visit him in the night.

warnings: smut obvi, face sitting, squirting

Fuck he looked so good on top of you. Gently thrusting in and out of your tight hole, talking you through it with soft praises as his big hands cupped your breasts. You were just about to finish when— you woke up. Your dream about Dae-ho awoke something inside you, literally and physically. You NEEDED him and you needed him now.

Y/N crawled out of her bed quietly, making sure not to wake up any of the other players in her vicinity. Light steps and racing thoughts of no one else but him.

She approached Dae-ho’s bed and tapped him on the shoulder, he didn’t quite wake up at first. Y/N grinned evilly and crawled on top of him, nibbling gently on the shell of his ear. That definitely woke him up.

“Y-Y/N—!” She quickly covered his mouth with her hand, “shhh.. I wanna feel you, right here, right now, pretty boy.. please?~” Y/N looked at him through her lashes, giving both an innocent and somehow sultry look. Dae-ho sighed quietly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Who am I to deny you, pretty girl?”

He gently pulled down her pants with his large, rough hands and brought her towards his face. “Sit down hon~” Y/N giggled quietly and sat on his face, letting out a soft moan. Dae-ho licked a gentle strip from her clit to her sensitive hole, looking up at her with loving eyes. “I’m gonna make you feel so good sweetheart..” he said before diving between her thighs, eating her out like a starved man.

Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, biting it to try and keep her sounds at bay. He swirled his tongue around her clit before diving it into her slippery hole. Dae-ho groaned softly against her sloppy cunt, sending sweet vibrations to her core. Y/N bucked her hips against his face, grinding against his wet tongue. He smiled and reached up, using his large fingers against her tiny, throbbing clit.

“Oh my—!” Y/N gasped out as she squirted all over his face and into his mouth. “I-I’m sorry I—“ Dae-ho ignored her and helped her ride out her orgasm, swallowing whatever secreted from her pussy. Once she was finished, he smiled up at her, “you did so good, pretty girl..” He sighed happily, caressing her thigh.

Y/N moved down to face him, looking deep into his eyes, “Dae-ho I.. once we get out of here, I want to start a life with you, okay..?” She admitted shyly. His face dropped with shock for a moment before returning with a beaming smile, “y-yea!! I’d love that!” Y/N held him close and he kissed her lovingly.

part 2 with ACTUAL smut perhaps?

[indulgentdaydream]

Rooftop Angel

Jason Todd x Reader | Fluff Word Count: 1,314 Warnings: not proofread. a dangerous amount of banter. lowkey stalking but like not in a toxic way more so playing a prank.

Is this anything anyone requested? No. Is this something I thought of writing almost a year ago walking home after classes one night but never wrote? Yes. Did I decide that nickname at his very last line and went back and immediately added it in everywhere else. Maybe.

Is this the first fic I've written since before I was in the ER in July? Also yes. I'm not sorry maybe I would be if I was paid for this.

A cool breeze brushed across your cheeks as you walked down the sidewalk, the street lamps illuminating the dry concrete and the scattering of fallen autumn leaves.

You kept your hands in your jacket pockets to keep them warm, trodding along contentedly with your headphones playing music, filtering out the dreadful sounds of small bursts of late night city traffic. Your last class ran late. A three-hour lecture that ended at 9pm. Usually you'd go and get on the bus right away, but having not eaten before class, you'd stopped to get dinner at one of the late night shops on campus. Afterwards, since the next bus was going to take a half-hour to arrive, you'd decided the 25 minute walk didn't seem too bad.

You were grateful to have the opportunity to take the walk, giving you more time to yourself before you returned to the pile of dishes you knew you had left yourself in the sink.

You kept your eyes on your surroundings, like your boyfriend always told you to. Gotham was no good at night for anyone. Yet, there was no one else on this street, so there was probably no reason to worry this time around.

He also told you to stop wearing your headphones while walking around. Consistently. He just doesn't understand the peace it brings since he doesn't do it.

Halfway through your walk, your music suddenly faded to silence, before your ringtone began to play instead. You sighed at the loss of your alone with music time as you pulled out your phone to see who it was. At the sight of Jason's smiling profile picture, you perked up again, immediately tapping your screen to pick up and shoved your phone back in your pocket, the sound connecting to you headphones.

"Hello," you said cheerfully.

There was no response.

You frowned and pulled your phone back out. The call was still there. You quickly remembered how your headphones had been kicking out on phone calls lately. You sighed and slipped them off, bringing the phone to your ear instead.

"Hi, Jay," you repeat happily.

"Hi, chickpea," his voice filtered through. "What'cha doing?"

"Walking home," You smiled. "I grabbed dinner at Bel's after class and the bus was late. Where are you?"

"Stopped by yours, but realized you weren't home. I'm out and about again."

You frown, "Oh, I'm sorry. I should've texted you."

"That's fine, love," Jason let out a small chuckle, "Staying safe?"

You nod, "Mhmm. Course I am."

"Yeah? Good." He sounded unconvinced. "What was that pause at the start?"

"What pause?"

"The pause that always happens with your headphones."

You purse your lips, "I had them on in case you called."

"Riiiiight," Jason drawled.

You groan, realizing you were caught after having promised him the umpteenth time only a few days ago that you'd be more vigilant, "I promise I was watching around me."

"But you weren't listening."

"I would've seen them!"

"Not if they were coming from behind."

You pause, glancing behind you as you walked. There was no one else on the street except a man that had just left his apartment. He looked tough, rugged jeans and a black sweater with the hood pulled up over his head. He began walking down the steps and you felt a spike of panic before he turned and began walking in the direction you came.

"Mhmm," Jason hummed knowingly, filling your silence. "You're lucky he turned the other way."

"Seriously," you muttered, agreeing, and faced forward again.

You turned Jason's words over in your head. You slow to a stop. You stood for a second before looking out across the other side of the street, then the tops of the buildings.

Jason voice filtered into your ear again, grabbing your attention, "You listening to me, chickpea?"

You whip around to stare up at the top of the building to your right. You catch the slightest glint of red before it disappear behind the edge of the roof.

"Well don't do that," He said.

You couldn't help but smile, still looking up at where you'd last seen him, "Why not?"

"You'll give me away," he argued. "Keep your head down and keep walking."

You smile to yourself, but do as he says. You whisper into the phone to avoid any prying ears in passing alleyways, "Stalker."

"I am not a stalker," He sounded like he was pouting at being caught, embarrassed. "You weren’t where you were supposed to be. I got worried."

You let out a small laugh, "Come walk with me. Walk me home."

You hear the hesitation in his reply, "No can do, love. You know I don't need you associated with the Red Hood."

Scoffing, you kick a pebble, "You hate me."

"I could never hate you."

"Hmph," you can't help but glance up as you pass an alleyway, catching a glance of him jumping across it, a shadow against the light polluted sky. "Just take the helmet off and zip up your jacket."

He chuckles, "And what? Carry it at my side instead?"

"I'll put it in my bag."

"It'll be too big."

"I'll put it under my coat," You counter. "I can pretend to be pregnant. Or have a beer belly."

Jason's laugh made your cheeks warm against the cool air, "I'm wearing my domino mask tonight."

"Then take it off."

"What about my eye black?"

"I've got some make remover in my bag."

He hummed, "You've just got the answer to everything, don't you?

"I'm smart."

"That you are, darling."

"Smarter than you, apparently."

He barks out a laugh at that, "That's okay. I like 'em smart."

You blush at that, a smile tugging at your lips.

"I make up for it though," He continued.

"By being handsome?" You retort.

He hesitated and you knew he was blushing, too. "No, by being more careful."

You roll your eyes at him. There was really no harm.

You reached your apartment building, just passing the last alleyway. A hand clamped down on your wrist that held your phone to your ear, tugging you into it, pulling it away from your ear at them same time. You moved to scream when a gloved hand cover your mouth, pressing you into the wall, deep in the shadow of the two buildings. Not pushed, or shoved, just pressed.

Your eyes fixed on Jason's amused eyes, his faceplate raised to show his face. He taps the hang up button on your phone with his thumb, slipping it back in your pocket to rest his hand on your hip.

He slips his other hand off your mouth and you're already glaring, "You're not wearing your domino mask."

Jason grinned, "Sorry, love." He leaned down and kissed your cheek, the metal along his chin brushing your jaw. "I'm serious, though. Please stop wearing your headphones when walking around."

You huff slightly, slumping against the wall in defeat, "Fine."

Jason hums again and tilts your chin up with his fingers, pressing a kiss to your lips, "Thank you."

You kiss him back, easily accepting the affection from him, "Come inside?"

He gives you an apologetic smile and shakes his head, "I've gotta get going."

You huff dramatically, "You hate me."

Jason chuckles, "Well maybe if you hadn't stopped for that garbage food."

"But it's so good."

"I swear," he shook his head. "If I don't lose you to an easily avoided mugging it's gonna be heart failure from whatever that stuff is."

You grin and lean into him, "I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Bright and early," He kissed you again, letting it linger. "Love you, chickpea."

You cupped his face as you kissed him back, "Love you, too, Jaybaby."

With a squeeze of your hip, he took a step back and closed his faceplate, watching you leave he alley and turn the corner, entering your building.

[beombunni]

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

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

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

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

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

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

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

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun froze.

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

It was her hair.

Pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“My god.” You whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

“Yeonjun, 

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

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

Yours Always”

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun”

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

“Yeonjun,

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

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

Yours always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her marriage announcement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bloodstained arrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the family of HueningKai,

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

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[writtenbykimiko]

jungwon has a habit of leaving his bags around your shared apartment after he comes home from practice. and he doesn't even realize that he drops his bag as soon as he walks through the door because of his intense exhaustion.

sometimes you don't notice his bags and trip over them. which pisses you off so much. but you try to keep giving jungwon chances because...well he's jungwon. (he's such a cutie patootie).

today, you woke up not in the mood. the sun was beaming on your face which caused you to wake up, jungwon not being beside you, the loud honks and beeps of the city life outside, the time being 7 in the morning (which made you upset, because you wanted to sleep in since you didn't have work), and you were starving.

you slowly get up with a obnoxious groan. you stumbled to the door of your shared bedroom. unfortunately, luck was not on your side this morning (obviously). you tripped over what seemed like jungwon's bag. now you're furious (oh shucks). you stand up slowly still a little drowsy. you kick the bag furiously as if it did something to you (sensitive much?).

walking down the hall to the living room searching for jungwon, you came across him watching a movie while sitting on the sofa looking like a little bean with a big dazzling smile on his face. (my descriptions are so weird lmao)

he analyzes your facial expression, and his smile dropped.

"you okay love?" jungwon said while pausing the movie he was watching.

"i am so done with you leaving your bags all over the place! its almost like a daily occurrence that i trip on your bags! can you stop being so careless and messy?!" you exclaimed while walking towards him and stopping in front of him.

jungwon was stunned. this was the first time you ever raised your voice at him. he was shocked but somehow finally took in the state you were in. you looked so cute with your messy hair and your adorable kitten pajama's. he wanted to be serious and talk it out with you, but the way you looked at that moment. he just wanted to smother you in kisses. (^ V ^)

"my love, i'm not trying to be rude but you just look so cute right now." he said while laughing

jungwon pulled you by the wrist gently, and you fall onto his lap. you out of habit make yourself comfortable on his lap. your legs resting on both sides of his thighs while he intertwines your hands together. he stares into your eyes with admiration. you stare back at him as your eyes soften.

one of your favorite things about jungwon was how you always got lost in his boba-like eyes. it was like a black hole that just sucks you in. you completely zone out forgetting what you were upset about.

you almost didn't realize he was leaning in to kiss your lips. before you can even snap yourself back into reality. his lips do it for you. you automatically kiss him back like it was muscle memory. you let go of his hands to put one of them on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck.

welp now you're cooked buddy. because how the hell are you going to express your anger to jungwon when he has you literary wrapped around his finger. you already forgot what upset you, you'd rather not talk about it again after this passionate ass kiss. now you just want to cuddle. (damn, ain't no backing out now). after jungwon pulls back, he casually asks you with a little smirk.

"im sorry my love. i know you have told me multiple times to stop leaving my bags around. but i can't help it. after work, i just want to cuddle you and just be in your arms for the rest of my days. i don't try to do it on purpose. i'll do better, i pinky promise." jungwon wholeheartedly confessed.

well damn. what are you supposed to do now. you wanted to stand your ground and not give in (because you know how whipped you are). you wanted to at least be a little petty so you can prove your point, but we all know you don't have the balls to do so.

he's just a little guy who's exhausted from working hours on end. you understand the feeling of being so tired after work, you just want to rest and drop all the weight from your body onto the floor (so real).

you grinned while shamelessly looking at him. you regrated for how you acted towards him. jungwon being the sweetie pie he is, he almost immediately recognizes the regret in your eyes. he hugged you tightly expressing that it's okay. you hugged him back as your smile grew wider. you felt so much better after receiving jungwon's reassurance.

(why was i so fucking jolly writing this...i need to lock in and get a life.)

[waywardlampcookieturkey]

The one thing I still haven't seen anyone talking about when mentioning Xie Lian's gigantic statue that Hua Cheng carved when he was inside the kiln is that... Well, He Xuan also went into the kiln... years after Hua Cheng came out I'm pretty sure... Do you see where I'm going with this????

[robynhoodwrites]

˚｡❆ Rivals to Lovers ˚｡❆

Request: "Can I request a rivals to lovers fic (with smut if you will) about Zayne and MC where they live in a normal world, and they're both in med school?"

This will be written from the reader (aka the MC's) point of view. The MC will be AFAB, but will be referred to with they/them pronouns.

Minors DNI! This writing contains the following: smut, vaginal penetration, medical discussions, blood (in a medical setting), rivals to lovers, semi-public sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, fellatio, switch!Zayne and switch!reader.

My heels clack loudly against the clean, tiled floors of the hospital. The sound echoes down the hallway, and I cringe internally at the fact that I’m practically announcing my presence. I hear a yawn sound from one of the receptionists behind me, hoping that the coffee now coursing through me is enough to keep me awake.

“Morning!” One of the nurses, Tara, smiles at me. She stops where she’s walking, seemingly trying to start a conversation.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t have time right now!” I breathe, my heart pounding as I pick up the pace. She frowns slightly, her chest deflating. “We can meet for lunch later! Promise!” I yell behind me, and she just laughs and continues walking to where she’s going.

This meeting isn’t necessarily important, but I haven’t earned the title “overachiever” for nothing. If I make it earlier than everyone else, it shows initiative. And initiative means I’m better than the others, which means I get the internship, which means I get a good job in the future, which means-

I’m almost at the door when I notice Zayne across the hallway. We had been in the same medical program for the last year, but only recently has he become such a pain in my ass. It seemed like no matter what grade I got, he matched it (or, God forbid, his was higher). It had become somewhat of an unspoken competition between us to see who would end up on top.

He seems to notice me, his eyes meeting mine from the other side of the hall. He looks at the door and then back at me before speeding up, his eyes now sporting a determined glare. I do the same, the clacking of my heels reaching insane speeds.

Even with the newfound speed, I am nowhere as fast as Zayne. Screw these stupid heels and Zayne’s long ass legs. I’m right behind him when he throws open the door, letting it start to close behind him as he enters the conference room before me.

“Wow, what a gentleman,” I mutter, and he seems to hear me, chuckling to himself.

“Zayne, nice to see you here bright and early,” our boss, Dr. Jenna says. Her eyes then flick to me, smiling. “Oh, and good to see you here early, too. You two have some real initiative.”

I silently thank the universe that coming in second has not put a blot on my record. It’s then that Zayne puts down his backpack, producing a coffee from the cupholder sewn to the side of it. “You like the cold brew, right?” he asks, handing her the coffee.

“Aw, Zayne, you shouldn’t have!” Jenna smiles, grabbing the drink from his hand and taking a sip with a content look on her face. Fuck, that’s genius. Why didn’t I think of that?

“Of course, Doctor Jenna. I cannot imagine how tired you must be, considering the fact that you’re working and taking the time to teach us. I don’t know how you do it,” Zayne gushes, and Jenna just smiles wider and thanks him before going back to writing on the whiteboard.

Zayne turns back to where I am standing, a stupid smirk lining his face. He sticks up two hands, one making the shape of a “zero” and the other creating a “one”.

Zayne: 1. Me: 0.

He winks as he goes to sit in his spot in the front row. Other students finally begin filing in, and I rush to take my spot in the front next to Zayne. “Really laying it on thick, huh?” I mutter, and he chuckles again.

“Maybe if you did the same, you wouldn’t be losing,” he whispers back, reclining in his chair nonchalantly.

“I don’t need to kiss ass. My superior doctoring skills will get me that internship,” I tease, mockingly reclining like him. He shows no sign that he’s noticed, instead deciding to unpack his notebook and pencil from his backpack.

“The points are saying otherwise,” he responds, opening his notebook to a fresh page. He writes down our names at the top of the page, putting a tally mark next to his own.

“That’s what this is to you? A game?” I ask, huffing out a breath of frustration. “There are 5 spots for the internship. We can both get it! There’s no need to fight me for it.” I am thoroughly enjoying the competition, but it’s not as fun when I’m the one that’s losing.

“I am not going to settle for mediocrity. I want to get chosen for the internship not just because she wants me there, but because she needs me there,” he tells me, stating it like it’s a fact. I suppose I understand that, but I am never going to let him hear me admit that.

“Where did this vanity come from, Zayne? I swear, you seemed so docile when I met you last year,” I tease. Rather than answer me, he looks down at the paper in front of him. “Or do you only act vain when you’re threatened? Am I a threat to you, Zayne?”

He doesn't respond. In fact, he acts like he hasn't heard me. Instead, he sticks out his hand, seeming to be asking for a handshake. “May the best doctor win,” he says confidently, and I grasp his hand firmly. It’s strangely warm, his long fingers holding my own tightly.

“I will,” I say back, letting go of his hand and turning to face the board. Before he can say something in retaliation, Doctor Jenna clears her throat and the class goes silent.

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By the last 10 minutes of class, I’ve nearly filled three pages with notes, front and back. The notes are nowhere near clean or pretty looking, but they’ll work for when I’m studying later. Dr. Jenna has started reviewing some of the information from the last class, which means I can zone out for a moment and let my brain take a break.

I spin my pen in my fingers, my eyes blurred as I think about absolutely nothing for the first time in a while. The peace doesn’t last, though. I hear a small rustle in front of me and look down to see a folded sheet of notebook paper.

I turn to look at Zayne, the most likely suspect. However, he’s looking straight ahead at the board in a focused manner, his eyes not meeting mine. I look back down at the paper curiously, finally relenting and unfolding it in front of me.

The paper has a messy stick figure drawing on the top, showing a tall man with dark hair and glasses holding a trophy. It’s nowhere near artist quality, but something about it makes me chuckle. I glance over at Zayne, who can’t help the smile now spreading across his face.

I click open my pen, drawing my own stick figure masterpiece under his. I surround his drawing with a thought bubble before drawing a picture of Zayne sleeping soundly underneath. Under his sleeping stick figure, I write “In your dreams!” before folding the paper neatly and handing it back to him.

He hesitates for a moment, waiting until Jenna’s back is turned before carefully unfolding the drawing. He snorts, covering his mouth with his hand quickly. I just keep looking forward at the whiteboard, listening to him hastily scribble on the paper before sliding it back to me.

I roll my eyes, unfolding the paper yet again. Zayne’s familiar, neat writing lines the page underneath my drawing. “You’re one to talk about dreams. What are you daydreaming about over there while Dr. Jenna teaches?”

He noticed that?  I feel a weird flutter in my chest, but I push it down as I write my own message underneath his. “Just plotting my victory,” I write, checking to make sure Jenna’s back is turned before handing it to him.

A moment passes before the note lands back on my desk, the paper filled with more of Zayne’s neat, looping letters. “If you spend all class thinking about how to beat me, you’ll never pass your tests.”

I write back quickly, my messy scrawl in stark contrast to Zayne’s clear writing. “And if you spend all class staring at me, you’ll never get the internship.” I pass the note back to Zayne, keeping my eyes glued to the board as he takes in a sharp breath. He hesitates, slowly writing his next response before going to pass it back to me.

“Zayne, no passing notes in class. Put it away,” Jenna snaps, and I see Zayne’s face go pale. He crumples up the note, throwing it into his backpack. He mutters an apology under his breath, his pale face now growing a deep shade of red.

“Yeah, Zayne, I’m trying to learn,” I say, loud enough for Jenna to hear. She nods, throwing Zayne another sharp look before turning back to the board. Zayne shoots me a glare, his jaw clenched in annoyance. I wink at him, before shooting a quick glance at the board to see if Jenna is looking.

When her back is turned, I lean in closer to him, delighting in the quick breath he sucks in. I bring my pen to the top of his paper, adding a point under my name. “One to one,” I whisper, before leaning back and letting my focus return to the board.

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I yawn as I put some quarters into the vending machine, watching as it shoots an energy drink down towards the bottom. I grab it, quickly opening it and gulping down as much as I can. It was nearly the end of my shift, and a long day of shadowing doctors has left an ache in my feet and a pain in my back. I can’t wait to go home and sleep…

“Hey,” I hear a familiar voice say from behind me, and I turn to see Zayne standing impatiently behind me. I gulp, pulling the energy drink away from my mouth and thinking of what to say to the intimidating man in front of me.

 In class, he is just like any other student. But, when working in the clinic, he’s… different. His lab coat perfectly frames his tall figure, his glasses sitting on the edge of his nose. He’s always sitting when he's in class, but during clinic duty, he towers over me.

“Listen, I’m sorry for throwing you under the bus. I didn’t-” I begin, but he cuts me off.

“I’m not here about that. Well played, by the way,” he admits, and I feel that flutter in my chest again. “Jenna wants us in her office. Wants our opinion on something before we clock out.”

I nod, unable to stop a relieved breath from leaving my lungs. I chug down the rest of my energy drink, crushing the can in my hands before throwing it away. He chuckles and turns to walk towards the office. I follow close behind, not too keen on letting him beat me to something again.

When we finally reach the office, he pauses a moment before going in. Then, much to my surprise, he holds the door open for me. I just stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he could possibly gain from this.

“It’s not a trick,” he says reassuringly. “I just want to be a bit kind to you before I wipe the floor with you in this consult.” There it is. I stick out my tongue at him, not caring how childish I look. He shakes his head as I walk past him, muttering something about good sportsmanship.

Jenna is waiting for us in her office, a whiteboard standing on stilts in front of her as she chews on the end of her pen. When we enter, she turns to us with a smile on her face. A few more students pile in behind us and Jenna begins writing on the whiteboard.

“Alright, students. We had a patient come in with a hurt leg. She presents with hypersensitivity to touch as well as tendonitis and high calcium,” Jenna explains, writing the symptoms on the whiteboard in front of her. She pauses, turning back around to face us. “What do we do?”

“It could be an adenoma,” Zayne offers, and I curse myself for not being quick enough.

“That’s true, but it could be a multitude of things. Maybe kidney problems or a vitamin D intoxication?” I offer, and Jenna writes all of our suggestions down on the whiteboard.

“True, but I think the adenoma is still the best option. If not that, it could also be hyperthyroidism,” Zayne shoots back, and Jenna writes hyperthyroidism on the board. I begin to hit him with another response, but Jenna interrupts before I can.

“I believe an adenoma is the most likely cause. Good work, Dr. Zayne. What should we do with this information?” Jenna asks us, and I nearly punch Zayne when he speaks before I can.

“We’ll have to test her blood for PTH, phosphorus, and ionized calcium.”

“Very good, Zayne,” Jenna says, before turning to me. “And if those tests come back normal, we’ll start on your theory. Good work to you both,” she says, circling “adenoma” on the whiteboard. Zayne shoots me a sly smile, now holding up a two on one hand and a one on the other. I flip him off, and he chuckles to himself.

“Since the labs are closed for the night, they’ll have to process the blood in the morning. I’ll page you guys as soon as I get the results,” Jenna says, waving a hand to dismiss us. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

We all file out of the office, and I pause in the hallway for a moment. If I test the blood tonight, it will get her the results faster. And, more importantly, it will make me look amazing…

I turn down the hallway, my heels clacking against the tiled floors once again as I quickly make my way down to the lab. I scan my card against the door, sighing in relief when I notice that the lab is empty. I throw my backpack down on a chair, hurrying to the refrigerator at the back of the room and quickly scanning for the right vial.

The door swings open behind me, somebody else rushing in before pausing in shock. “Shit!” The voice mutters, and I turn to find Zayne in front of me, his eyes narrowed. “I should’ve known you would have the same idea,” he seethes, and I smile at the annoyed look on his face. He throws his backpack down, his notebook and a few papers spilling out onto the ground as he moves closer to me.

“You may have had the same idea, but I came up with it first,” I tell him, clutching the vial of blood in my hands. I turn and close the door to the fridge and when I turn back around, Zayne is much closer than before. I attempt to move away, but he blocks me in with his arms.

“Give me the vial,” he practically orders, and I can’t help but scoff at him.

“Wow, you really are a sore loser. Whatever happened to ‘may the best doctor win’?” I ask, and he doesn’t react. Rather than relent, he just sits there with his arms trapping me against the refrigerator. “Zayne?” I ask, now breathing a bit heavily under the man's piercing gaze.

In a moment of courage I did not know I possessed, I lean forward on my tiptoes until my mouth is next to his ear. “You lost this round. Let it go,” I whisper, and I swear he isn’t breathing as I lower myself back to my original position. He stays for a moment longer before finally letting his arms fall to rest at his sides.

I exhale a breath that I didn’t know I was holding, finally relaxing my tense shoulders. Zayne walks over to one of the counters, quickly putting on gloves before walking over to the machine sitting in the corner.

“Zayne, what are you doing?” I ask, and he doesn’t look up as he begins removing tools from the drawer next to him.

“Oh, just cleaning the centrifuge. It’s been a while since anyone has really given it a good scrub down.”

I pause, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from cursing him out. “Zayne, that’s the machine I need to use,” I say through gritted teeth. Zayne looks up at me from where he is disassembling the machine, false shock covering his face.

“Oh, is it? What a shame. Looks like you’ll have to do those tests tomorrow, instead.” He goes back to disassembling the centrifuge, a small (and annoying) smile now spreading across his face.

“You absolutely childish-” I begin, stopping to take a breath before I say something worse. I let out a sigh, rubbing my temples as I let my temper cool. “We’ll do the tests together. Share the credit. Is that good enough for you?” I groan, and he stops what he’s doing to face me.

“That’s an incredible idea. Can’t believe I didn’t think of it,” he says mockingly, and I nearly spit on him out of anger. This manipulative, conniving… He starts putting the machine back together, and I walk over to where he is standing to put the vial on a stand next to him.

“This is so incredibly unfair,” I whine, and he chuckles to himself. He turns to face me yet again, his eyes staring daggers into me from only inches away.

“You started this when you threw me under the bus in class, you know.” I suppose I deserve that. He finishes reassembling the machine, putting the vial in and pressing a button on the front. The centrifuge starts with a beep, and the blood begins spinning in its vial.

 I don’t say anything, moving away from him to grab some supplies from the cabinet above me. My attempt to reach the pipettes on the top shelf is in vain, and I stand on my tiptoes as I try to reach it. I hop slightly, barely reaching the corner of the box and coming back down empty-handed.

Zayne moves next to me, reaching up with ease and grabbing the box. He grabs a pipette and returns the box, holding the pipette out in his hands for me to take. Before I can touch it, he grabs my wrist tightly. I gasp, and he drops my arm almost instantly. Damn… wait, why did I enjoy that?  I push these strange feelings down, instead looking up at him inquisitively.

“Gloves,” he explains, and I curse under my breath. “You’ve been in this program for two years, yet you forget something as simple as gloves.”

“I was a bit distracted, Zayne. It’s not every day I am cornered in the lab by another doctor,” I say, and he smiles as he throws me a box of gloves.

“If I don’t keep you on your toes, then this competition will be boring. If I’m going to win so easily, I might as well have a bit of fun.” He turns back to the centrifuge, which has now stopped spinning.

“Prick,” I mutter, and he chuckles as he pulls the vial from the machine. He hands me the vial and the pipette before grabbing the microscope down from the cabinets above us. I carefully pipe out a few drops of blood before handing him the vial to put in the next machine.

I drop the blood onto a slide, placing it under the microscope before peering into it. I start to adjust the settings, the blood coming into focus as I turn each knob. I feel warm breath on my neck and flinch slightly at the sudden intrusion. I didn’t even hear him walk over here.

“Well?” He asks, his voice soft as his breath continues to dance across the skin of my neck. I don’t respond, the fluttering in my chest getting worse. Any attempt to pay attention to the blood in front of me is abandoned, my attention instead drawn to the warm presence looming behind me.

“Let me look,” he mutters, and I move out of the way quickly to let him peer into the microscope. I exhale a shaky breath, steadying myself against the counter. Why did that affect me the way that it did?

Zayne hums under his breath, moving the dials on the side of the microscope with intense focus. “Grab me my notebook, will you?” He asks, and I mutter something about not being his servant before turning around and doing exactly what he asked.

His backpack, having been thrown in his rush to beat me, is lying on the floor. His notebook is on the ground, as well as several papers that had come flying out during the landing. I bend down to pick them all up, my eyes catching on a crumpled ball of paper lying near his notebook. Is that…?

I quickly unravel the paper ball, staring blankly as I realize what it is. Our notes from class. My eyes scan over the paper, smiling to myself as I think about my victory over him in that class period. My eyes reach the bottom of the paper, realizing that I never got to read the final thing he wrote to me.

“And if you spend all class staring at me, you’ll never get the internship,” my messy writing reads. His beautiful, loopy letters are lined underneath it, and I gasp as I finally process the words.

“How could I not spend the class staring at you? You’re so beautiful when you’re lost in thought.”

That now-familiar fluttering returns to my chest, this time with a thundering rhythm. I somehow feel both excited and nauseous at the same time, my head swirling with so many emotions. I definitely like him, don’t I?

I gulp down some air before picking up his notebook, letting our notes sit on the top as I walk nervously over to where he is standing. His eyes are still on the blood, but he lifts his head as he hears me approaching. I hand him the notebook, our notes being the first thing he sees as he looks down.

He pauses, his breath seemingly caught in his throat. “You think I’m beautiful?” I ask, and he looks back up to me with wide eyes. “Or are you just saying that to ‘keep me on my toes’?” I ask, and he pauses for a moment before responding.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like that.” I feel a warmth spread across my cheeks, and I pray that I’m not blushing as much as I think I am. I push the notebook into his arms, not saying anything as I turn back to the microscope.

I attempt to keep my focus on the task at hand, trying to ignore the rampant pounding of my heart. Zayne drops the notebook onto the table next to us, his breath now resuming its place on the back of my neck. I can’t help but lean into his warmth, and he puts his arms on either side of me to rest on the counter.

“What do you see?” He asks, his voice husky in my ear. I try to focus, not wanting to let him know how much control he has over me. If he knows how affected I am, he’ll win. I inhale a shaky breath, bringing my eyes down to the blood in front of me.

“I-it looks… normal. To me, at least,” I mutter, and he moves back a bit so that I can turn around and face him. His sharp gaze never leaves my face, glancing slowly from my eyes to my lips.

“I noticed that, too. Looks like you might have been right,” he hisses, and despite the frown on his face, another emotion seems to glimmer in his eyes. The air between us is thick, his face mere inches from mine. His breath smells sweet, with light notes of peppermint dancing across it.

Heels clack, somebody quickly approaching from down the hallway, and Zayne quickly moves away from me as the door to the lab opens. Jenna enters, her eyes wide as she notes our presence in the room. Thanks for moving, Zayne.

“You two? I should’ve known you would be here. Such hard workers,” she praises, and I smile nervously as my blush grows deeper.

“Thank you, Doctor. We wanted to get a head start on that blood for the patient with the hurt leg,” Zayne tells her, and I nod along with him. Jenna nods, placing her purse down on the table by the door.

“I’m here for the same reason, actually. Any news?” She asks, seemingly unaware of the tense scene she had walked in on.

“We’re still waiting on one last test, but it appears that they were right. No adenoma,” Zayne admits, and I am floored by how easily he has admitted defeat. Jenna just nods in response, taking a sip out of her coffee mug before putting on some gloves of her own.

“Great work, you two. I’ll wait for that last test. Go home and get some rest,” she tells us, and Zayne opens his mouth to argue. “No, I insist. You guys don’t get paid for overtime, and I do. It’s better for everyone,” she winks, and Zayne concedes defeat. We grab our backpacks, thanking Jenna profusely as we leave the lab and enter the hallway.

Zayne doesn’t say a word as we walk down the hall, and I consider several different things I can say. “I win?” No, maybe “I told you so?” Or should I just leave it alone? I open my mouth to say something, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me into a dark room before I can begin.

“Zayne-” I begin, but he shushes me as locks the door behind him with a click. We are in one of the empty patient rooms, a clean and perfectly made bed sitting in the center of the room. He quickly shuts the curtains to the room, leaving only the small lamp in the corner to illuminate us.

I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing, but he’s on me before I can get a single word out. His lips press against my own, almost hungry as bites my bottom lip. I can’t help but moan into his mouth, my lips moving aggressively against his as he pushes me against the door behind me.

One of his hands finds my hair, pulling slightly on my ponytail, which coaxes another moan from my mouth. His other hand finds the side of my face, pulling me even closer to him as his tongue sweeps across my bottom lip. I part my lips, letting him search my mouth with a ferocity I’ve never seen from him before.

I pull away for air, and he groans impatiently. “Zayne, where is this coming from?” I ask as he begins moving his lips down my face and onto my neck. A mewl escapes from my parted lips as he finds a particular spot in the crook of my neck, sucking on it roughly. “Zayne!” I say again, practically breathing out his name.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now,” he whispers in between his kisses on my neck. “I love how aggressive you get, and how competitive you are... And- fuck- the way you talk to me? So bratty,” he moans out the last word, nipping at my neck with his teeth. I let out a yelp, and he licks the bite apologetically.

He pauses, looking up at me from where he is kissing my neck. “This is okay, right?” He asks, his eyes almost pleading. I scoff, pushing his head back towards my neck.

“Better than okay, Zayne.”

He groans against me, kissing me once more on the neck before tearing the lab coat off of my shoulders. He takes his off as well, licking along the column of my neck as he throws it to the floor. Without warning, he puts his arms around my bottom and lifts me in the air. I gasp, and he walks us over to the hospital bed as he presses another aggressive kiss on my lips.

He lays me on the bed, hiking my skirt up until my entire lower half is exposed. My underwear is now soaked, and he seems to notice almost immediately. A grin spreads across his face as he feels me through my underwear, the friction of the fabric against my clit making me hiss in a breath.

“We’ve only just started, and you’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, a hint of pride in his voice. I try to think of something snarky to say, but his finger feeling me through my underwear sends another jolt of pleasure through my body.

He chuckles darkly, pulling his hand away. I let out a whine of protest, but his hands move up to his neck as he begins to loosen his tie. I watch the tendons in his hands flex, the beauty of just this small part of him enough to captivate me. He notices me staring, slowing his movements as his long, dexterous fingers untie the knot around his neck.

“I want those in me so bad,” I admit, and he smirks as he finally takes off his tie. He begins unbuttoning his shirt, each release of a button showing me more and more of his toned torso. He doesn’t take the shirt all the way off, instead choosing to let his lay open against his chest.

“Your turn,” he mutters, eyeing my clothed chest with impatience. I take the hint, quickly moving my fingers to unbutton my shirt. I manage to get most of them unbuttoned, my bare breasts finally exposed to the cold hospital air. Before I can finish unbuttoning it, though, Zayne pounces.

His thumb finds my nipple, already peaked due to the chill of the hospital room. He tweaks the tip of my nipple, sending a shiver down my spine as I arch my chest up into him. “So eager,” he moans, doing the same to the other nipple.

He lowers his head, taking one of my nipples in his warm mouth as he kneads my other breast with his hand. I curse as his tongue circles my nipple, the pleasure rippling through my body in waves. I almost beg him to come back when he finally pulls away, but he moves too quickly for me to get a word out.

His thumb hooks on my soaked underwear, pulling it down my legs before throwing it in the pile of lab coats next to him. He pauses, slowly rolling up his sleeves as I lay utterly bare before him. The sight alone sends another wave of pleasure through me. His eyes never leave me, finally rolling up his sleeves to his elbows and exposing his toned forearms.

He bends down on the floor in front of me, gripping my legs and pulling me towards the edge of the bed. I yelp in surprise, attempting to close my legs. He forces them back open with ease, positioning himself in between my legs as he looks up at me.

“Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

“Don’t you dare.”

He smiles, lowering his head down until his warm breath is dancing across my exposed pussy. I shiver, and he finally licks up my vagina until he reaches my clit. I shudder out a breath as his tongue swirls circles around it, moving torturously slowly. He brings his hand up to where he is working, slowly pushing a finger in and letting it curl inside me.

“F-Fuck, Zayne,” I moan, my hand coming down to find his hair and grabbing tightly. He just moans in response, the vibration against my clit sending me reeling. He puts a second finger inside me, massaging my walls with delectable pressure. I pull harder on his hair, which only makes him thrust into me with more intensity.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he moans into me, before resuming the work of his tongue on my clit. I feel my orgasm finally begin to build, the tension in my lower half beginning to reach its peak.

“Zayne, please,” I mutter, but my pleas are not enough. He pulls away, leaving me feeling empty as the cold air hits my exposed cunt. “Z-Zayne,” I whine, and he just makes a tsk noise.

“So needy,” he tells me, and I whine again as I feel my orgasm start to retreat. I hear the clink of metal and watch as he begins to unbuckle his belt, pulling the leather from the loops of his belt and letting it fall to the floor. He quickly unbuttons his slacks, letting them hit the floor at his feet.

All that’s left are his boxers, the only thing keeping me from what I want. When he doesn’t take them off, I sit up and move to take them off myself, kneeling down on the ground in front of him. He just grabs my wrists, making that tsk noise yet again.

“Patience is one of the most important traits a doctor can have, you know,” he murmurs, taking a moment to rub his thumb over my swollen lips.

“Says the guy fucking me in a doctor's office instead of asking me on a date first,” I answer back, taking his thumb in my mouth and sucking on it teasingly. He rolls his eyes, but he can’t quite hide the hunger now sparkling in them.

He pulls down the boxers, stepping out of them and kicking them to the side impatiently. His length is now fully exposed, and I almost start to feel nauseous just from the idea of it going in me. “There’s no way,” I whine, and he seems to think this is hilarious.

He pushes the tip of his dick towards me until it is tapping against my lips, rubbing teasing circles until I finally take him in my mouth. I take in just the tip, letting my tongue catch the small dots of precum and swirling my tongue around teasingly. He twitches at each rotation, and I can’t help but smile onto his cock.

I start to move slowly down the shaft, but there is no way I am fitting it in its entirety down my throat. Instead, I bring my hands to the bit left over and massage it roughly, my head bobbing faster as his hands reach my ponytail.

“F-fuck,” he manages to groan, his hand grasping my ponytail tightly as he helps move me up and down his length. His movements get sloppier, his legs shaking as his release approaches faster and faster with each bob.

Before he can finish, I pull my mouth off of him with a sinful pop. I stand back up, staring directly into his eyes as he looks down at me. Sweat is dripping from his hair now, a few shivers still racking his body as he stands bare in front of me. His cock is throbbing, and I watch as his pleading eyes turn to pure lust.

He pushes me back onto the hospital bed, and as I turn to try and escape, he manages to catch me around the waist. My back is now to him, my ass pressed firmly against his rigid length behind me. I can’t help but moan, letting him tease me by grinding into my backside.

“Please,” he whispers, his lips touching my ear as he pleads into it. He pauses for a moment, biting down lightly on my earlobe. “I can’t wait any longer. I need to feel you now,” he mutters again, letting one of his hands move back to my clit.

I lift my head over my shoulder, managing to reach his lips with my own as I give him a small peck. He presses his finger down harder on my clit, and I let my head fall again as I grow weak from pleasure.

“Say it,” he pleads again, his finger rubbing circles on me with a delectable pressure. I struggle to find the words, breathless from his length still grinding against my backside.

“P-please, fuck me. Oh G-God,” I manage to mumble out, and he doesn’t wait a second longer before he bends me over. His dick finds my folds, rubbing against them teasingly before slowly sliding into me.

He starts with just the tip, easing in and out a few times before finally pushing himself in fully. I have to bite back the scream that threatens to escape from me, the sensation of suddenly being so full of him almost too much to handle.

His thighs slap against my ass as he thrusts in again, his fingers digging into my hips as he moves me on him. I can already feel his fingers leaving bruises on me, and I suddenly feel grateful that the lab coat covers so much of my body when I wear it.

One of his hands finds its way up to my ponytail, yanking back on it roughly and sending my face upwards. He groans again, using my hair to help him thrust in even deeper than before. His cock rams over and over again into my G-spot, the release in my stomach building more with every thrust.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans, his hand leaving my hair and instead moving around my waist. It presses down on my stomach, making my walls even tighter around him. He shudders, his arms wrapping around me in something close to a hug as he continues pounding into me.

I’ve nearly reached my peak when he brings his hand back down towards my clit. Rubbing quick circles around it as he thrusts even faster. It hits me, nearly blindingly, and I feel my body start to spasm. My legs are shaking, my orgasm making me clench tighter around his cock.

He lets out a curse, nearly whimpering as he finally falls apart. His grip around me tightens as he finishes, shooting deep inside me and somehow filling me up even more. He continues thrusting, his cock now throbbing as he finally slows down.

We let the spasms run their course, each of our bodies twitching from the sheer pleasure of it all. I finally collapse, his large body moving to cradle mine in the twin-sized hospital bed below us. Our foreheads touch as he presses a soft kiss to my lips, sweat dripping from both of us as he smiles stupidly at me.

“I’ve never seen you so disheveled before. You’re usually so well put together,” I mumble, marveling at the way the top student in our class heaves out a shaky breath and caresses my face with his hand. He kisses my lips again before trailing the kisses back down to my neck.

As he kisses the bruised spot on my neck, I lean down and put my mouth right next to his ear.

“Zayne: 2. Me: 2,” I whisper, and he stops kissing my neck immediately. He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine with a deadly seriousness.

“Looks like we’ll need a tiebreaker then, huh?”

“What did you have in mind?” I ask, and he just gives me a devilish grin before trailing the kisses back down my neck, moving lower with each one.

⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚ ⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆ ˚｡❆˚⋆｡

THANKS FOR READING GUYS! And thank you to the person who left this ask. I had so much fun researching for this one and ended up texting my biochemistry major friend to ask for help (hiiiiiii Rich, if you're reading this).

I'll have the other asks I've received posted soon, I promise!

-Robbie

[azrielsdove]

All This Time: Rhys x Reader

Warnings: Short, Little Angst, Little Suggestive

***

“Have you lost your mind?” Rhysand seethed, glaring at you. “Throwing yourself directly in the path of danger?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms and glaring back at him. “I didn’t throw myself into danger. I was trying to help.”

“Help? Help! What you did was not helpful in any way. You acted foolishly and rashly.”

“Well what you rather I done then? Let you be killed?”

“I would not have been killed.”

You scoffed. “Oh, really? From the way I saw it that dagger was seconds from implanting itself into your heart.”

His anger grew, darkness creeping in to the edges of the room. “I am a High Lord. A measly dagger would not end me.”

“Sure,” you agreed, shrugging your shoulders. “But a poisoned one might.”

A great silence encased the space, Rhys’ anger quieting down for a moment. “Poisoned?”

You nodded, holding out your arm and pulling up your sleeve. There lay the cut the dagger had left on your skin.

It was black.

And it was not healing.

Rhys stared at it for a long time before speaking again, voice deadly quiet. “When did you realize?”

“As soon as it happened. No normal cut burns the way this did.”

“And yet you chose to stay silent?”

“You were already angry enough.”

He looked ashamed, his dark anger dissipating. He moved over to you, taking your injured arm carefully in his hands. His fingers traced the wound delicately. He tensed at your small gasp of pain. “Has it gotten worse?”

You shook your head. “Not as far as I can tell. It hurts, but it hasn’t changed.”

He was quiet again, studying your skin as if he would find the cure written there.

“It’s fine, Rhys,” you reassured, trying to get him to look at you.

“It’s not,” he said slowly.

“What do you mean?”

He closed his eyes and you felt the low thrum of his power on your skin. You shifted in discomfort, nervous about what he was going to find. “Rhys,” you whispered as his magic began infiltrating the wound. A slow burning feeling was accompanying his search, getting worse every second he continued. “Rhys,” you said louder, beginning to panic at the pain. He continued what he was doing, as if couldn’t feel your struggle. “Rhys! Stop! Stop!” You cried, trying to pull your arm from him with all your strength. Tears were streaming down your face as you fought against the statue of a man, begging for him to let go.

He finally snapped out of it, dropping your arm in shock. You stumbled, brain fuzzy from the pain. Rhys caught you as you fell, moving the two of you carefully to the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m so sorry.”

The burning your arm ceased and you were able to catch your breath, looking at Rhys with concern. “What was that?” You asked warily.

Still staring at the mark on your skin, he responded, “Dark magic. Ancient magic. I haven’t seen anything like this.”

You did not like the sound of that. “Well, did-were you able to, tell, anything?”

His eyes reconnected with yours, worry lining them. “No. As far as I could sense the magic was not any deeper than the skin.” He traced the black line mindlessly with his fingers. “It won’t heal from this, though. The scar will remain as is, until the end of time. Superficial, but ugly.”

“That does not matter to me.”

“And it shouldn’t.” He stood from the floor then, pulling you up with him. He let go of your arm, moving to put his hands on your waist. Your heart stuttered at his closeness, at his eyes looking intently at you. “Yet if you ever, ever, risk your life to save me again, I will lock you in your room.”

You scowled, pushing away from him. “Mother, remind me to not save his life next time.”

“You do not need to play the hero!”

“I wasn’t! I was acting on impulse.”

“Impulse of what? Getting yourself killed?”

“No, Rhys!” You screamed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “To save you. To help you. Don’t you see? Everything I do is for you!”

He looked you over slowly. “Why?”

Mother, give you strength. “You idiot. I love you, Rhys. I always have. So no, I will never bow away from danger if it means losing you!” The room was silent again. You turned away from him, unable to look at his reaction to your profession. “Just go, okay?”

“No.”

You slowly moved to face him again, shocked when you found he had to moved to right in front of you. “No?” You asked.

“I won’t leave. If I leave, I won’t get to do this.”

You opened your mouth to ask what he meant, but your question was answered before you even spoke by the rough press of his lips against yours. You melted into him instantly, your arms twining around his neck as he held you close. You put all the years of unspoken secrets into the kiss, holding onto Rhys like he was the only light in the world. Everything felt right.

“How long?” He murmured against your lips, refusing to fully break away from you.

“Years. Decades. Centuries,” you whispered, kissing him between each word. “Ever since we met.”

“Since we met,” he repeated, his fingers flexing against your body. He pulled away then, cupping your face in one hand. His thumb ran across your swollen lips, his eyes flashing darkly. “I’ve wanted you for all this time. Needed you. I’ve felt called to you like the stars to night.” He kissed you again, lightning rolling up your spine. “You’re mine.” He began pressing kisses to your face, your jawline, your neck. Anywhere he could get he kissed you like he was starved of it.

“Rhys,” you moaned, digging your nails into his shoulders as he left marks of his teeth along your skin. You had waited forever to feel like this, to have him touch you in such a way. “Rhys, I love you.”

He looked back into your eyes, a small smile on his lips. “And I love you. Risk your life for mine again, and i’ll kill you.” He silenced your argument with his kiss, pulling you down to the bed with him.

Nothing else mattered.

***

this is just a short something, i really wanted to write an argument hahaha. i hope you enjoyed <3

[miange1]

I NEED MORE BRIAN MOSER AHHHH

Brian Moser, with a lover that's "too sweet"

male leaning reader, brian is a freak, being nervous more than shy, arguments, accidental guilt tripping, manipulation(at first), reader gives off innocence but they're not they're just a virgin, fake names, being overly touchy, blow jobs

note: had an idea so i just used this ask as an excuse to finally post it. also if you notice typos no you don't im not fixing them

— You were his first actual relationship in which didn't involve murder or trying to get closer to Dexter. Or so he remembers, he probably had that intention at first yet completely forgot about it due to his own feelings.

— Meeting you felt like a bunch of perfumes and flowers were thrown at his face— you were smiling and speaking with him like he was your long lost friend or your boyfriend, like you knew him since forever.

"Oh! Rudy!" He instantly felt his heart speed up, feeling more nervous than he's ever been in his entire life and you weren't even calling out his real name. He needs to calm down, seriously he's sweating way too much.

"I missed you so much, how have you been?" He felt your arms wrap around him tightly, yet ater the hug your hands took his and held them as if they were the most delicate things in the world, besides you.

The man could barely get his words out, stuttering every now and then and looking away from you often. Your thumb was swiping softly over the top of his knuckles, why were you looking at him like that.

— Getting with you was the most romantic thing he has ever thought of. Taking you out to a place where it was peaceful yet beautiful, and he could confess to you and actually mean it.

— It was the best place he could find, it was hot but lovely. When he confessed, you stayed quiet for far too long and he thought you didn't want him. You were just in so much shock, it's been a bit since someone was this genuine to you.

— Floating on air is what he felt like each time he was with you. When you were able to visit his work, you showed him with kisses each and every single time even after arguments which was something he would have a heavy weight on his shoulders about.

"Debra doesn't at all have a thing for me, what the hell are you talking about!" You were blinking back heavy tears trying to see his side as best as you could, yet everything just went a bit too far. From understanding to a plain bicker.

"It's obvious she does, and she's in your office more than I am!" He rolled his eyes, his fingers on his nose and pinching the bridge. He knew Debra had a thing for him, but what he didn't know was why he lied seeing you fight for him like this. He liked seeing you get jealous.

"Because it's her job." Yet you protested, "I understand that but.." you couldn't get the rest out, starting to cry and you instantly felt embarrassed. "Sorry— shit, I'm sorry.." His upset look rested, sighing as he went closer to you for an embrace.

"No, it's my fault." He admitted, his arms squeezing your frame in a comforting manner as you cried into his chest.

He was so turned on right now.

— Brian had a bunch in which you were a virgin, he just would have never guess he was actually right about it.

— All he wanted was a small make out for a bit, yet it had escalated and you were on your knees. God, you looked so pretty.

"Ah, ah, your teeth.. Good..that's it." He leaned his head back, the warmth of your mouth and tongue working at his girth. For your first time even giving head you were real good at following his directions. You did it just how he liked it. Tongue swirling, spit mixing with what leaked from him, it was heaven.

He jutted his hips forward a bit, catching you by surprise and giving you the urge to wanna pull back, which didn't happen due to Brian's fingers tangling in your hair— and pushing your head back forward. "Doing so well, fuck.." you practically weren't evenoving anymore, and if you were you had just been going ragdoll and moving along with Brian's pulls.

His dick twitched in your mouth as he heard a gargled moan, fuck he was gonna cum just from hearing that alone. Then he'd hear you whine, almost impatiently. "Hush you're fine, just keep on— God, yes.." eyes rolling back, feeling your nose poke at his pelvis the deeper he pushed you down when he came. Letting go of your hair, he let your head fall back a bit before he forced your mouth closed.

"Swallow."

— Sooner or later he would then wonder why you were a virgin in the first place, yet you did date people for long periods of time.

"I don't know, when I asked after break up they said they just couldn't."

— He got the hint for himself.

[panic-flavored]

Sorry that comic is giving me some very evil thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about Stone taking every opportunity he can to touch Ivo. To just hold him close and keep their bodies so close together they practically intertwine. Press his face into Robotnik’s neck and tell him how smart and beautiful and wonderful he is. Pepper soft kisses across Ivo’s neck and shoulders and whisper how much Stone loves him between each one and all the things he’s going to do to anyone who tries to take Ivo away from him. Meanwhile Ivo is like “well I hate not being in control of a situation so in theory I should hate everything about this. HOWEVER. I am touch starved. And my assistant is very comfy. And I don’t really have a concept of what love is supposed to look like so I’m just going to assume it’s this.”

Anon how did you take the exact thoughts from my brain and pull them out of me and use them against me like this

I'm already writing two stob fics I can't start another one ajsjsjsksksk

[starfruitii]

cws & notes. reader is kind of insecure. akaashi keiji x gn!reader. established relationship. slight angst. 600+ words. idk where this came from but enjoy?

“Do you think you’ll get sick of me, one day?”

You regret the words as soon as they leave your lips. In your head, it sounded like a perfectly sound question, but with the way Keiji is looking at you, it’s clear he doesn’t agree. 

“I beg your pardon, dear?” His voice is painfully soft, brows furrowing in concern as he places his book down on the coffee table. Under his gentle gaze, you feel stripped bare, exposed in all your insecurity. You should have swallowed the question down, as sharp as it felt in your throat, anything to avoid the way he’s staring at you now.

“Nevermind,” You say quickly, snatching the TV remote from the table, and busying yourself with choosing a show. The screen flicks between channels, flashing brightly coloured lights across your faces. “That was a dumb question. I’m sorry, just forget it.”

“My love,” Keiji reached out a hand, lightly brushing the side of your face. With a gentle, but firm grip, he grasped your chin and tilted your head to the side to face him. “[Name]. Why are you asking me that?” 

“No reason. Don’t worry about it.” You try to laugh it off, but you can only choke out a quiet sob. Somehow, somewhere between asking the question and now, your eyes started burning, glazing over with unshed tears.

Damn. He’s looking even more concerned now. Why couldn’t you have just kept it to yourself, tucking those doubts far into the dusty corners of your head, where his ears would never reach them?

“Hey,” Keiji brushed his thumb under your eyes, wiping away a stray tear that falls. “You’re getting me worried now. Are you okay? What happened?”

There was a long pause, and something inside you cracks. You let out a sniffle, then a gasp, then the last piece of your self-control breaks, in a mess of tears and snot. Keiji’s face crumples, and he tugs you forward into his chest, rubbing your back soothingly as you continue to cry. 

“Did I do something?” He presses. “Am I not treating you the way you want to be treated? I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you, but please tell me what I did–”

“No!” You quickly say, regaining your composure slightly. He’s never done anything, never hurt you, intentionally, or unintentionally, never said the wrong words, never made you feel unloved. That was the problem. Because nothing gold shines forever, and every good thing comes to an end. You were just waiting for the end, the moment he decides he is done with your self-consciousness, your bad habits, your looks. 

There is always a reason for someone to leave; you’ve learnt that the hard way. 

“I-I don’t know,” You mumble, tracing your nail against the couch. “I just–I guess, most people do. Get sick of me, that is. And I d-don’t wanna lose you too.”

Keiji was silent for a moment, and for a moment you worry that you've ruined things. The thought lingers in your mind for only a second, because a second later there are half-a-dozen kisses being pressed to the top of your head.

“I love you,” Keiji whispers between each peck. “I love you, so, so much. I love you, and I love you, and I will say it as many times as it takes you to believe it.”

The feeling of his breath tickles your skin, making you laugh weakly.

“I'm never going to get sick of you,” He continues. “I adore you, and every part of you. No matter what happens, I'm never leaving. Okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper back.

Keiji kisses your cheek. “Good. Now, why don't you put on a movie for us to watch?”

[scoutofmymind]

Saw that someone said Luigi’s Reddit had a post where he eluded to a pretty heavy drinking habit in college, which then makes me think about drunk ex!luigi. I’m sorry, but you write angst too well

Unlearn Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, slight pining, mentions of canon back pain, ex’s reminiscing, heartbreak all over again.

W.c: 4,336 (holy shit)

Notes; Two semesters of carefully crafted distance crumbles at 3AM in the computer lab when your final project implodes hours before the deadline, leaving you with no choice but to seek help from the one person you've been avoiding since the breakup.

Before we continue, I cannot ignore that wildfires continue to ravage Los Angeles, countless families have lost their homes and livelihoods. I urge you to consider supporting those affected through any of these donation links, additionally, Roadogs on Instagram is looking for fosters for mass evacuations of shelter dogs in California.

Foster or donate if you can. xo.

Now, let’s go.

"Mother fucker," you curse, attacking your keyboard with increasingly desperate keystrokes.

Each combination might be the one to salvage this disaster, but deep down you know it's hopeless — your software has corrupted itself into oblivion, taking six months of work with it.

"You can ask for an extension," Emma suggests, her voice carrying the weight of exhaustion that matches your own. Your roommate had burst into the media center still wearing her pink silk pajamas, immediately launching into a nervous tirade about after-hours permissions and potential expulsion risks.

Her constant hovering and worrying grates on your last nerve, and you tell her to leave.

Predictably, she refuses.

"Listen, I'm not just gonna leave you here on your own." She leans across your workspace, her body pressing against your laptop screen until it tilts halfway closed. You freeze, fingers suspended above the keys, terrified of losing what little progress you've made in this digital archaeology expedition. "There's - like - a murderer on campus."

"One girl said she was followed home," you gently remind. Under normal circumstances, Emma's mother-hen routine would be endearing — charming, even. But right now, with your project in shambles and deadline looming, her protective hovering feels suffocating. "Not murdered, Em."

"May as well have been." Emma fixes you with that look — the one that screams why am I the only rational person here? While her nails tap nervously against your desk. "Probably hasn't left her room since. And you know what? Smart girl.”

You scrub your hands over your face, your eyes fixed on the projector's word vomit — an endless stream of error messages and unintelligible code painting the drywall from a tired projector like some twisted modern art piece.

Not exactly what you were going for.

Emma stands mesmerized, "How did you even do this?" She watches the cryptic display crawl across the wall, her eyes tracking each line as if she could decode it. "This reminds me of-" she catches herself, the name hanging unspoken between you. She's learned that lesson the hard way. "This is wild.”

You can't help but notice.

Notice how she almost speaks his name, how these meaningless strings of letters and numbers somehow bridge the gap to memories you've tried so hard to bury — promises whispered under star-sprinkled skies, fingers intertwined beneath the cosmic glow.

Moments that felt eternal then, ephemeral now.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, lying face-down like a surrender.

You blink several times, trying to clear the ghosts from your vision before speaking, your voice emerging barely above a whisper, as if the words themselves might shatter something in the air, "Should I text him?" You ask, offering the idea as if it was something too controversial to be spoken aloud.

Emma shifts her weight, both from exhaustion and the sudden weight of responsibility.

Your night's trajectory now rests in her hands — she who has witnessed every shade of you, from triumph to devastation. Her own memories of him surface: the way he'd raid her ice cream stash only to replace it with a premium pint the next day, how he'd tackle the dish mountain without prompting, those small gestures that made him feel like family.

"He was my favorite boyfriend of yours," she'd told you once, in a moment of wine-honest conversation. "He was a good boy."

A good boy who made a couple mistakes.

But those mistakes had compounded like interest on a debt you never agreed to pay, until the rift between you and Luigi widened into an ocean.

Everything good had been pulled out with the tide — your trust, your shared future — swept away to depths where no light could reach.

"I-" Emma's hand finds the back of her neck, her expression cycling through a slideshow of conflicted emotions. You can see her internal struggle; the desire to crawl into her bed warring with her loyalty to you. And she knows you well enough to realize you'd stay here until sunrise if necessary. "I mean — babe, I love you, but you can't fix this." The admission seems to pain her, as if acknowledging your limitations feels like betrayal. "We aren't techies."

You stare helplessly at your gutted gallery, stripped bare by your own accidental digital vandalism. Your artwork, your portfolio, your future — all reduced to incomprehensible strings of code projected onto an indifferent wall.

"Do you think he'd come?" The question escapes before you can stop it, your eyes magnetized to your phone as if your stare alone could resurrect that old text thread, buried beneath months of careful silence.

"Of course he would."

A soft, defeated whine escapes you as you turn back to glare at your corrupted work, as if you could intimidate it into fixing itself through sheer force of will.

Emma's voice softens, "Hey, he's mature enough to understand you've exhausted your options."

A violent shudder runs through you at the thought of Luigi being your last resort.

You'd managed to exile the visceral memories — the heated arguments that left you gasping for air, the promises that turned to vapor in the morning light.

"Which are?"

Emma looks down at her Pokemon-clad self, then back at you. "Me." She gestures vaguely in your direction, "and you."

The campus sleeps around you, everyone else lost to their dreams or late-night calls home. Just the two of you remain, trapped in this dimly-lit purgatory on a Wednesday night, while error messages mock your existence with their endless scroll.

"Slim pickin's," you mutter as your fingers betray you, finding Luigi's contact with muscle memory that refuses to die.

How many times had you pressed these same digits before?

But this is different.

Different because you haven't spoken since that night in your kitchen, when you stood with your back to him, voice steady despite the trembling in your hands, "So, we aren't going to try to figure this out?" You asked, and he’d responded with some pretentious comparison about your relationship being like corrupted code, fundamentally flawed, destined to fail its own quality test.

The irony isn't lost on you — the very metaphor he used to end things is now the thread that might pull you back into his orbit. Your only connection besides the elaborate dance of avoidance across campus, treating each other's paths like holy ground neither dares to tread.

Opening the thread, you're greeted by your last exchange — your final words to him blazing across the screen in angry blue bubbles: "I want my fucking shit back or I'll make your life a living hell." Such poetry. Your new message hovers in the text box, simpler, desperate in its brevity.

Hey need help with somethin. U up??

You thrust your phone at Emma like it's burning your fingers, watching her eyes widen as they catch on those months-old texts — digital artifacts of your rage that should have been scrubbed before tonight's desperate plea. "Jesus," she whispers, amusement dancing in her expression. "I'd still be licking my wounds if I were hi-"

The familiar buzz cuts through the air, a notification chime that once made your heart leap but now makes it sink.

"What'd he say?" You mumble, gaze fixed on the mocking projection that bathes the room in its sickly digital glow, code continuing its relentless march across the wall.

Emma settles into a chair, hunching over your laptop's makeshift altar. "Said he's at Ruddy's." She squints at a fresh message. "He said 'what do you want?'" She deepens her voice into a cartoonish baritone, making him sound like a caveman discovering text messaging for the first time.

You can't blame him for the cold response — you’d scorched that earth thoroughly.

But a selfish part of you wants to delete the whole exchange, pretend this moment of weakness never happened, go back to the careful choreography of avoiding each other's existence.

But you can't.

The corrupted gallery looming on the wall is a stark reminder that pride is a luxury you can't afford right now.

His icy reception is the natural consequence of your scorched-earth campaign, those venom-laced messages sent in the throes of heartbreak and confusion.

You'd played the role of the woman scorned perfectly, even though you'd written your own tragic script.

"Just send him a picture." You wave listlessly at the wall, where your work continues its digital decomposition, folding in on itself like a dying star. The error messages stretch into an endless serpent of nonsense, each iteration making less sense than the last.

The artificial shutter sound of Emma's photo breaks the silence, followed by the soft swoosh of sending. The wait feels eternal until-

Ding

Emma's attention snaps to your phone resting on her thigh, her eyes widening. "He's typing like he-"

Sorry;m,, I’m fucked uo

Up

I am

fucked up

Emma clicks her tongue and rises, crossing the room to lob your phone into your lap, screen up. "Guess some things don't change." You manage a weak half-grin, memories flooding back unbidden — Luigi stumbling into your dorm in the small hours, wrapped in whiskeys warmth, all soft edges and desperate hands.

"Well, make up your mind." Emma's yawn threatens to unhinge her jaw, arms wrapping around herself like armor. "Are we done here, or are you gonna have him come take a look?"

I’n be there son

I’ll be rherw soo

I’ll be there soon

You stand to wrap your arms around Emma’s shoulders who reluctantly curves her arms upward to squeeze your shoulders. “Go home.” She seems reluctant to listen, staring at your phone screen as if it would take her home itself. “I promise, I’ll be just fine.”

The space between you pulses with that unique warmth reserved for someone who shares your roof, your darkest secrets, and the monthly struggle with Con Edison. "Just don't make any brash decisions."

"Oh, Em." You press a kiss to her forehead. "You think I'm so much cooler than I am."

Emma's laugh follows her as she spins toward the door, collecting pieces of herself like breadcrumbs — the scarf draped over a chair, the coat hung forgotten, the backpack abandoned when the day still held promise.

Each item a marker of how long this digital nightmare has stretched, from sunshine to moonlight.

And as if summoned by cosmic irony, the lab door swings open to reveal Luigi. "Oh - hey, E." The surprise flickers across his face before he schools his features back to neutral.

"Hey, Lu." Her greeting carries the easy familiarity of their old routine, like NPCs in a cozy game exchanging preset dialogue, their paths crossing exactly as programmed.

"You g'na help me with this?"

Emma shakes her head, patting his shoulder as she passes — a gentle handoff. "I did my time." You want to protest, but words fail as you absorb the sight of him, eight months of careful avoidance crumbling in an instant.

"Ahh-" Luigi waves, feigning disappointment through the druken haze. "Need a walk back home?"

Ever the shepherd, guardian of late-night wanderers.

It didn't matter who you were — friend, stranger, ex-lover’s best friend and roommate — his self-appointed mission to ensure everyone's safe return never wavered.

You'd once wondered if it stemmed from some deeper anxiety, his mind unable to rest until every sheep was accounted for in its fold.

Tonight though, the alcohol has mercifully dulled that protective instinct. Emma's potential disappearance into the night ranks lower on his list of concerns than usual, although Emma herself had been the one earlier to warn you of the murderer on campus.

"You still got my location," Emma reminds him — a callback to conversations past, to the day she'd granted Luigi permanent access to her whereabouts, a level of trust you'd wisely withheld.

"Right."

She presses a kiss to her fingers, flashing you a peace sign with the same hand before it briefly lands on Luigi's shoulder. Then she's gone, disappearing into the snow-globe world he'd just stumbled in from. He stands before you now, arms hanging like dead weight, his eyes somehow both wide and narrow.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

You gesture weakly at the wall where your work writhes in digital agony. "So, uh — remember that time you salvaged Professor Wren’s entire thesis when her drive crashed?"

Luigi's eyes follow your hand, professional interest temporarily overriding the awkwardness. He steps closer, squinting at the corrupted display, "Jesus," he mutters, "what did you do to it?"

"Would you believe me if I said nothing?" The laugh that escapes is more nervous than you'd like. "It just. - it started disintegrating during final checks."

He's already pulling out his laptop, muscle memory from countless late-night tech rescues. The familiarity of it hits you in the chest — how many times had you watched him do this same thing, hunched over his keyboard, bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration?

"I can try," he says finally, not quite meeting your eyes. "But no promises. When's this due?"

"Tomorrow at nine."

"Of course it is." He drops into the chair beside you, close enough that your elbows almost touch, but enough of a distance to still feel far away. “Okay, walk me through what it's supposed to look like when it's not — uh - whatever this is."

For a moment, Luigi stares at the corrupted display where red pixels bleed and stutter across the wall. His fingers hover over his keyboard, then pause. "Wait. This is your circulatory modeling project? The one you were-“ He cuts himself off, remembering this was before the eight months of silence.

"Yeah." You swallow. "It was working perfectly until an hour ago. Real-time hemodynamics, pressure differentials, vessel elasticity. Everything." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, feeling more helpless when you verbalize it.

He nods, already typing with uncanny precision despite the slight sway in his posture. "Show me the base code. Did you save any backups?"

"Three. All corrupted." You lean forward, careful not to crowd him as you pull up the mangled files. "It's like something got into the core simulation and just - I dunno - started rewriting them."

"Hm." His eyes scan the screen with that laser focus he somehow maintains no matter how much he drinks, that familiar furrow appearing between his brows. "These values are cascading. One corrupted variable triggering a chain reaction through the whole system." He glances at you, slightly overshooting before correcting. "When's the last time it ran correctly?"

You check your phone. "6:43 PM. I have a screen recording from then."

"Good. That's good." He pulls up a second window, his typing still flawless even as he reaches with his free hand to steady himself against the desk. "We can compare the execution logs, maybe isolate where it started going wrong." His fingers fly across the keys with a precision that seems to mock his clearly inebriated state, and for a moment, it feels like those eight months never happened. "I'm going to need coffee for this." He looks up at you from where he sat, “Or more booze.”

You land on coffee, your feet carrying you down the familiar path to the kitchenette.

The fluorescent lights flicker dimly at this hour, casting strange shadows across the linoleum, the lab's overpriced espresso machine hums to life under your touch, its gentle whirring a counterpoint to the distant sound of Luigi's typing.

Suddenly you're back in that first year, both of you hunched over at 3 AM, him teaching you the proper way to pull a shot: “You're murdering it, stop torturing the beans”, your quiet laughter echoing through empty halls.

"Got it.” His voice carries down the corridor, slurred but triumphant, snapping you back to present.

You return to find him illuminated by screen-glow, his tie loosened and dark hair disheveled. The paper cup lands in front of him — double shot, one packet of raw sugar.

He doesn't stir it, never has.

Instead, he tips the cup back, and you hear that familiar crunch of sugar crystals between his teeth, a sound that used to drive you crazy, until somewhere along the way it became endearing.

Still, the jumbled code taunts you from the screen, though its chaos seems less threatening now. Under Luigi's touch — steady despite the alcohol —- your final project is slowly remembering its original shape.

"You should have texted sooner," Luigi murmurs, tilting his head back to collect the last sugar crystals from his cup. The movement exposes his throat, his collar wrinkled where he's been tugging at it all night.

"Well," you say, watching the way his fingers dance across the keys, each stroke precise despite his obvious intoxication, "takes a minute to swallow something as big as my ego."

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, eyes never leaving the screen where broken code is knitting itself back together under his attention.

"Oh," he huffs out a laugh, the sound low and dangerous in the quiet lab, "I've seen you swallow far bigger things before."

It strikes like summer lightning — quick, bright, and leaving the air charged in its wake. The innuendo lands with no real bite, yet you find your jaw slack, a startled laugh shaking loose from your chest.

"Kidding," Luigi says, his eyes flicking from screen to you and back again. There’s a ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, softened by the alcohol but still sharp enough to cut. You wave him back to his work, grateful for the blue glow of monitors that hides your flush. "You kinda set that up perfectly, though."

He squints up at the projection where your broken code still bleeds across the wall, letting out a soft grunt of frustration at some digital roadblock. "Just mean — ya know, you could have caught me two beers deep instead of seven."

You shrug a shoulder, watching as the projection slowly crystallizes into something recognizable. "Seems you work better under such conditions."

The lie tastes metallic.

You both know the truth.

Luigi would have come if he was sober as sunrise or drowning in bourbon. Would have come with broken ribs or pneumonia or his heart barely beating. Would have traced these familiar hallways blind, deaf, or dying — because that's what the two of you do.

Have always done.

You've seen him at rock bottom, curled into himself on cold bathroom tiles at midnight, trembling hands pressed against his mouth as if he could physically hold back the pain that wracked his body. Watched him try to explain to puzzled doctors how someone so young could hurt so constantly, the frustration in his voice when they suggested it was all in his head.

You were there through the trials of medications, the nights when existence itself seemed too heavy to bear.

And you've seen him soar; standing tall in that charcoal suit that made him look older, more polished, shaking hands with tech giants who saw in him what you'd always known was there, his future spreading out before him like a golden road, brilliant and boundless.

Now he sits here, seven drinks deep but coding like he's never been clearer, and you realize that maybe both versions are equally true.

Maybe that's what makes him Luigi — the ability to contain multitudes, to be simultaneously broken and brilliant, wounded and wonderful.

He catches you watching him and raises an eyebrow, the gesture slightly delayed, which means you must have been a bit too obvious. "What?"

"Nothing.”

His fingers pause on the keys, and even through the alcoholic haze, his gaze pins you like a butterfly to cork. "No, really. What?" The words have a slight blur around their edges, but his focus is knife-sharp.

You could deflect again, but there's something about 4 AM and code that glows like dying stars that makes honesty feel less dangerous, perhaps you’re finding comfort in the fact that Luigi is drunk, although you’re stone cold sober.

"Just thinking about that time in the Thompson building bathroom." Your voice comes out softer than intended. "When you couldn't stand up, and I had to convince the janitor you had food poisoning."

He doesn't flinch from the memory like he used to.

Instead, his mouth curves into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "You told him it was from the cafeteria." His fingers resume their dance across the keyboard, but slower now. "Got the whole place investigated by health services."

"Yeah, but got us three days off while they checked fucking everything.” you remind him.

"Got me through that week," he corrects quietly, and for a moment, the mask of that brilliant-drunk-techie slips, showing the man underneath who still remembers what it feels like to be held together by nothing but someone else's faith in you.

Then he blinks, and the vulnerability is gone, replaced by that familiar crooked grin. "Though I maintain the cafeteria deserved the inspection anyway."

The projection flickers, another section of code healing itself under his touch, and you wonder if he knows you'd do it all again.

Every bathroom floor, every late-night crisis, every moment of putting him back together - you'd choose it every time.

"Speaking of which," you venture carefully, watching his hands move across the keyboard. "How's the new treatment working?"

His right shoulder shifts in what might be a shrug, but there's a shadow of a real smile playing at his mouth.

Not the sharp, defensive one he wears like armor, but something softer, more genuine. "Six months post-op and I actually slept through the night last week. First time in -“ he pauses, considering, "Fuck, I don't even remember how long."

The admission hangs in the air between you, weighted with the two years of 2 AM phone calls, of nights spent pacing, of pain medications that never quite touched the core of the problem.

Watching him try to code through hands that wouldn't stop shaking.

"Still hurts sometimes," he adds, almost absently. "But it's different now. More like background noise than a scream." His fingers still on the keyboard, and for a moment he looks almost surprised by his own words. "Guess that's what normal people feel like all the time, huh?"

The question carries an edge of wonder, like someone who's lived in darkness suddenly discovering dawn.

You watch him roll his shoulder — a gesture that used to be followed by a wince but now flows smooth and unconscious — and think about how strange it must be, learning to live without constant pain after it's become part of your identity.

"Though I kind of miss having an excuse to drunk-code at 4 AM" he adds, but you both know it's a lie.

The code blurs on the projection as silence settles between you, charged with something that's been building for ages — through bathroom floors and hospital visits, through triumphs and failures, through pain and healing.

The alcohol has stripped away Luigi’s careful boundaries, leaving raw honesty in their place.

"You know," Luigi says slowly, finally turning from the screen to face you fully, "I never thanked you properly. For all of it."

"You don't need to-"

Your diagram pulses back to life, the holographic heart rotating lazily against the wall.

Its red glow bathes the room in a surreal warmth, catching on the sharp angles of Luigi's face, softening them into something almost dreamlike.

The light flickers across his cheekbones, turns his eyes to amber, makes the whole moment feel suspended between reality and imagination.

"I do." His voice is quiet but firm, steadier than someone seven drinks deep should manage. "Because I've been thinking — now that I can actually think clearly without-“he gestures vaguely at his back, at all the years of pain, "I've been thinking about how you're the only constant. The only person who never-“ He trails off.

You lean a little closer, drawn by the vulnerability in his voice. "Never what?"

"Never saw me as broken." He turns himself toward you, and there's something desperate in his eyes, something the alcohol has finally given him the courage to show. "Never treated me like I needed fixing. Just stayed. Through everything."

Your lips part, but the words catch in your throat. He takes your silence as a sign, turning back to the screen with a sharp exhale that might be resignation or relief — you're not sure which would be worse.

"Lu,” you say softly, and something in your voice makes his fingers still on the keyboard. "Look at me."

He does, slowly, like he's afraid of what he might find.

The neon bathes half his face in crimson, leaving the other half in shadow, and you see the moment his carefully constructed walls start to crumble.

"Time hasn’t changed that much about me.” you say, each word deliberate, heavy with meaning.

His breath catches audibly. You watch the impact of your words ripple across his face — surprise, understanding, and something else, something that makes your heart race against your ribs.

"Hasn’t it?” Luigi is focusing on you now, the reason he really came here now practically completed but pushed aside until further notice. “Eight months is a long time to hold onto -“ he gestures vaguely between you, as if he can’t quite say what it was. Hopeless devotion, the right person, wrong time.

“Not long enough to forget.”

“Forget what?”

“You.”

His breath catches again, a sharp inhale that seems to pull all the oxygen from the room. When he speaks, his voice is rough and ragged, “Maybe that’s the problem.” His gaze drifts down to watch as you lick your lips, and back up again. “Maybe you should have.”