#and part of me is like if i could just keep quiet about this and not be constantly bringing them up and stuff it would be fine

[acesofspadess]

Track Walk {3}

landoscar x content creator!reader

part 1 // part2 // pt 3//

series summary: You were invited to the Miami GP for your Track Walk series on social media, what follows after you run into a certain Papaya boy, no one could prepare you for...

series warnings: cursing, angst, smut, making out, mentions of people you may not like, mmf, threesome/throuple, if there is more let me know... ;)

a/n: this a long 4/5 part series, but the chapters will be released daily!! also... there is no hate to anyone mention in this story, it is a work of fiction and any hate towards the characters/people will be deleted.

f1gossipofficial

f1gossipofficial The plot thickens, just weeks after Lando was seen with Magui sparking romance rumours, Y/n was seen at the Nice airport in a jet we know to be Max’s wearing Lando’s 4 lines necklace, but also a custom hoodie we know to be Oscar’s… what is going on

user45 user62 you seeing this

user62 oh im seeing this

user81 what on earth is going on in the house of commons

By the next morning, Charles and Alexandra had dropped you off in front of the condominiums Max had sent you to. “We will gladly take you in if you need to.” Alexandra said, hugging you. “I hope I won't need to, but thank you.” you hugged her back, then hugged Charles, “Keep us updated, especially Oscar, we know he won’t show it.” You nodded silently. They waved you off as you walked in with two bags. You took the elevator up to the floor and walked down the hallway, there wasn’t many doors, but theirs was the last one.

You knocked on the door, anxiety clawing at your chest. This wasn’t how you envisioned your first time here. You wanted to see their home under better circumstances, with smiles and excitement, not the cloud of pain that hung over all of you. The sound of footsteps on the other side made your heart race, followed by the door swinging open.

“Baby?” Oscar’s voice broke as he stared at you, his eyes wide with disbelief. He reached for you immediately, pulling you into a crushing embrace and burying his face in your neck.

“I’m so sorry for ignoring you,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

His grip on you tightened as a quiet sniffle escaped him, then warm tears soaked into your skin. “You have no reason to apologize,” he said, his voice cracking. “We hurt you. We betrayed your trust. You had every right to walk away.”

You shook your head, cupping his face as he pulled back to look at you. His eyes were glassy, red-rimmed, and full of regret. “I know. And we’ll talk about it later,” you said softly. “But you said you needed me, so I’m here.”

Oscar let out a shuddering breath, nodding as his thumb brushed against your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” You pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, feeling his tension ease ever so slightly. “Where’s Lando?”

Oscar exhaled shakily, stepping back to grab your bag. “In the game room. He hasn’t come out in days except to grab food. He won’t talk to me, won’t let me in. He’s blaming himself for everything. Saying he should’ve never gone, that you’ll never forgive us. He’s been reading all the comments calling him a piece of shit and liking them. It’s killing me to see him like this.”

Oscar’s voice broke again, and he turned his head away, inhaling sharply as his shoulders shook. “Baby,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. He looked back at you, his breath catching. “It’s so hard seeing him like this,” he admitted, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m not leaving you guys. I promise.”

Oscar’s eyes widened, the relief so palpable it nearly brought you to tears. “You’re not?”

“Would I be here if I was?” you teased softly, earning a faint smile from him.

Together, you walked to the game room. Standing in front of the door, you felt your stomach churn. This wasn’t just about you being hurt—it was about mending what felt irreparably broken. You glanced at Oscar, who gave you a small, encouraging nod before knocking gently.

“Lan… can you open the door?” Oscar’s voice was soft but pleading.

A moment passed before Lando’s hoarse voice came through, thick with emotion. “Oscar, please. Just leave me alone.”

“Lando, baby, open the door. Please,” Oscar begged, his voice breaking.

Silence.

Your chest tightened as you exchanged a helpless look with Oscar. Summoning your courage, you pressed your palm against the door. “Lando, it’s me,” you called gently. “Please open the door.”

You heard fast footsteps, a click of the lock, and then the door creaked open, and Lando stood there, a shadow of himself. His normally bright eyes were red and swollen, his hair disheveled, and his face pale and gaunt. You barely had a chance to take him in before he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his weight nearly sending you stumbling back.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice raw and trembling as he clung to you. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I messed everything up.”

“Lando,” you whispered, holding him close as his sobs wracked his body. His legs gave out beneath him, and you followed him to the floor, cradling him as though he might shatter.

“I thought you’d never come back,” he gasped, his voice muffled against your chest. “I thought I lost you forever.”

“I’m here,” you reassured him, your voice soft but steady. “I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

Oscar knelt down beside you, his hand resting gently on Lando’s back. “Lan, you’re not in this alone,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “We’re going to fix this. Together.”

Lando lifted his head slightly, his tear-streaked face filled with anguish. “It’s my fault,” he croaked, looking between you and Oscar. “I should’ve never gone, should’ve never let it get this far. I—I don’t deserve you. Either of you.”

“Don’t say that,” you said firmly, cupping his face in your hands. “Lando, we’ve all made mistakes, but we’re here now. And we’re going to figure it out. Together.”

“But I hurt you,” he whispered, his voice breaking again. “I hurt both of you. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until it was too late.”

Oscar’s hand slid from Lando’s back to his shoulder, squeezing gently. “We all messed up,” Oscar admitted quietly. “But you don’t have to carry this alone. We’re here, Lan. We’re not giving up on each other.”

Lando looked between the two of you, his lip trembling. “You mean that?”

“Of course we do,” you said softly. “We’re in a relationship. And we’re going to make this right.”

Oscar nodded, his own tears spilling over as he reached out to pull both of you into a hug. “You’re stuck with us, baby,” he said with a watery smile.

Lando let out a shaky laugh, his arms wrapping around both you and Oscar as his tears started to subside. “I don’t deserve you guys,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and self-doubt.

“You do. You deserve us, and you deserve every win, every point, every good thing that comes to you,” you said firmly, tilting his chin up to meet your gaze. “And you’ll see that in time. But for now, just let us be here for you.”

Lando leaned forward, pressing a tentative kiss to your lips. It was soft and full of unspoken emotions—apologies, gratitude, and love. When he pulled back, Oscar tilted your face toward him, his lips brushing against yours in a similar kiss, gentle yet grounding. 

Lando looked up at Oscar, “I’m sorry for ignoring you.” He said softly, “It’s okay, you don’t have to shut me out, ever.” Oscar leaned down pulling Lando into a kiss of their own.

Lando rested his head against your shoulder, and Oscar pressed himself close, the three of you tangling together on the floor. You shifted slightly, allowing them to settle between your legs, their weight comforting against you.

Lando’s voice broke the silence, barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two.”

“You won’t ever have to find out,” you promised, running your fingers through his curls as Oscar pressed a kiss to your temple.

The weeks that followed were slow and deliberate, each day a step toward rebuilding what had been shaken. You stayed in Monaco with your boys, carving out a space that felt like home amidst the turbulence. Lando was still fragile, his confidence bruised, but with time, love, and plenty of reassurance, you saw glimpses of the man he had been before.

You focused on the little things—quiet mornings spent curled up together, late-night drives to nowhere, and endless games in the living room. You encouraged Lando to get back on his sim and race again, even if it was just for fun. When he finally agreed, you and Oscar sat beside him, cheering him on as though it were a championship final.

Conversations were heavy at times, raw and vulnerable, but necessary. You talked about the incident, about boundaries and trust. You forgave them, truly, but healing was a process that required more than just words. It needed time, connection, and intentional effort.

Oscar was your steady anchor throughout, always ready with a gentle hand on your back or a soft smile when things felt too overwhelming. He, too, was working through his guilt, but his focus remained on supporting both you and Lando. Together, the three of you found your rhythm again, each day a little easier than the last.

During this time, you also grew closer to Alexandra and Rebecca. Your connection with them blossomed, built on shared experiences and mutual understanding. Alexandra had a knack for making you laugh when you needed it most, and Rebecca was a steady source of wisdom and calm.

One evening, Alexandra and Rebecca invited you and the boys to dinner at Carlos and Rebecca’s place, a small gathering with a few familiar faces: Charles and Alex, Max and Kelly, and little P.

The evening was warm and relaxed, the villa overlooking the glittering Monaco skyline. Rebecca greeted you at the door with a warm hug, while Carlos handed you a glass of sangria with a charming smile.

“Everyone’s out back,” Carlos said, motioning toward the patio.

You stepped outside to find Charles and Alex laughing at something Max was saying, while Kelly helped P set up a small tea party on the corner of the table. The little girl was dressed in a princess dress, her face lighting up when she spotted you.

“Hi!” P called out, waving enthusiastically. “Do you want to join my tea party?”

You knelt down beside her. “I’d love to,” you said, taking one of the tiny chairs she offered. Lando and Oscar followed, Lando immediately slipping into his goofy, playful persona to entertain P, who giggled at his antics.

Dinner was served family-style, with everyone gathered around the long wooden table. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and the occasional teasing.

“So, Y/N,” Max started, a playful smirk on his face, “how are you handling these two?” He gestured toward Lando and Oscar.

“Barely,” you joked, earning laughs from the table. “But they’re worth it. Most of the time.”

Lando leaned over to whisper in your ear, his voice low and teasing. “Only most of the time?”

You grinned. “You have your moments.”

Alexandra and Rebecca chimed in, sharing stories about their own chaotic moments with Charles and Carlos, which earned exaggerated groans from the men.

“I’m not that bad,” Charles protested, though his grin gave him away.

“Sure you’re not,” Alex replied, rolling her eyes fondly.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself surrounded by a sense of warmth and belonging. Kelly and Max took turns coaxing P to eat her vegetables, while Lando and Charles got into a playful debate about racing strategies. Oscar sat quietly beside you, his hand resting on your knee, a small smile on his face as he watched the chaos unfold.

After dinner, you, Lando, and Oscar stayed behind to help clean up. Rebecca handed you a dish towel with a grateful smile. “You’ve been good for them,” she said softly, nodding toward your boys. “I can see it.”

You glanced at Lando and Oscar, who were bickering over who had to wash the pans. “They’ve been good for me, too,” you admitted.

By the time you returned home that night, the three of you were exhausted but content. Lando curled up against you on the couch, his head on your lap, while Oscar stretched out on the other side, his hand entwined with yours.

For the first time in weeks, everything felt steady, like you were finally finding your way back to each other. And in that moment, surrounded by the people you loved most, you knew you’d make it through—together.

By the time you returned home that night, the three of you were exhausted but content. Lando curled up against you on the couch, his head resting on your lap, while Oscar stretched out on the other side, his hand entwined with yours. The low hum of the television played in the background, but none of you were paying attention.

Lando shifted slightly, looking up at you with a soft, contemplative expression. “We’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice hesitant.

You raised an eyebrow. “That sounds dangerous.”

Oscar chuckled, but his smile was nervous as he sat up. “No, seriously. We’ve been talking, and… maybe it’s time we stop hiding this. Hiding us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You mean going public?”

Lando nodded, sitting up fully now, his eyes searching yours. “Yeah. I mean, it’s not like we’re doing a great job keeping it a secret anyway. People are starting to notice how much time we spend together, and… I don’t want to keep pretending you’re just a friend. You’re so much more than that.”

Oscar reached for your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “We know it might be a lot, with the media and fans and everything, but we’ll handle it together. We just want to be honest about who we are and who we love.”

You looked between them, your chest tightening with emotion. “Are you sure? It’s going to change everything.”

Lando smiled softly. “We’re sure. We want this—you. And we don’t care who knows it.”

Before you could respond, Oscar changed the subject. “Actually, there’s one more thing we wanted to talk about.”

“Oh?”

Lando straightened up, his expression unusually serious. “After you graduate, we were thinking… maybe you could move in with us. Here, in Monaco.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. “Move in with you?”

Oscar nodded, his tone gentle but persuasive. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You’ll be done with school, and being in a sports-centered place like Monaco could open up so many opportunities for you. Plus, we’d get to be together all the time.”

Lando jumped in, clearly excited now. “It’d be perfect! No more long-distance, no more packing bags every other week. You’d have your own space here, and we’d finally get to be a proper team—at home and everywhere else.”

They continued talking, each building on the other’s points, their excitement spilling over as they tried to convince you. But you couldn’t stop giggling, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably.

“Why are you laughing?” Lando asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

You shook your head, still giggling. “Because if you two would’ve stopped talking five minutes ago, I would’ve said yes already!”

They both froze, blinking at you in surprise, before breaking into matching grins.

“Wait—so you’re saying yes?” Oscar asked, his voice hopeful.

“Yes, of course, I’m saying yes!” You laughed, pulling them both into a tight hug.

Lando whooped, lifting you slightly off the couch, while Oscar pressed a kiss to your temple.

“We’re going to make this amazing,” Lando promised, his eyes shining with excitement.

Oscar nodded, his smile soft and filled with love. “You won’t regret it.”

As they pulled you back down onto the couch, the three of you tangled together, your hearts full and your future bright, you couldn’t help but think that this—right here, with them—was exactly where you were meant to be.

[jungwnies]

F1 GRID | it was never meant to be (1/2)

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, franco colapinto ୨ৎ : synopsis : your f1 boyfriend's publicist suggests he should date someone with more status in front of the camera, he agrees to it, but what happens to your relationship when his "fake relationship" with her blossoms into something more.

୨ৎ : genre : heartbreak, angst, sad themes ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, break-up, cheating ୨ৎ : word count : 2703

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ

୨ৎ part two (carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri) ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from my sister, she lowkey cooked.

ʚ・max verstappen

the hotel room felt colder than usual, despite the late spring air outside. you sat on the edge of the bed, your hands trembling slightly as max paced in front of you, his movements restless, his eyes fixed on the floor.

“you promised me,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with an unmistakable tremor of pain. “you promised me it was just an act.”

max froze, his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling with a shaky exhale. he didn’t turn around.

“what happened?” you pressed, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. “what changed?”

his silence was louder than any answer he could have given.

you stood, the ache in your chest unbearable as you closed the space between you. “look at me, max,” you demanded, your voice sharp now, desperate. “say it. tell me it wasn’t real. tell me you didn’t—”

“i can’t,” he interrupted, his voice hoarse, raw. he finally turned to face you, his blue eyes filled with guilt and something else you couldn’t quite name. regret? pain? relief?

your breath hitched, and the room spun for a moment as the truth settled like lead in your stomach. “you fell in love with her,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

he didn’t deny it.

“how could you?” you choked out, tears spilling freely now. “you swore to me, max. you swore it was just for the cameras, that it was me you loved. how could you let this happen?”

“i didn’t mean to,” he said, his voice breaking as he ran a hand through his hair. “it wasn’t supposed to happen. i thought i could do it—i thought i could keep it separate. but… things changed.”

“things changed?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger. “what about us? what about everything we’ve been through? you don’t just fall out of love with someone, max! you don’t just replace them like—like they’re nothing!”

“you’re not nothing,” he said quickly, stepping closer, but you recoiled, the hurt too fresh, too raw. “i didn’t want this to happen. i didn’t plan it.”

“but it did,” you said bitterly, shaking your head. “you let it happen. you chose her. all those nights you spent with her, all those events, all those ‘pretend’ moments—somewhere along the way, you stopped pretending, didn’t you?”

he looked down, unable to meet your eyes.

you laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and empty. “i gave everything to you, max. i stood by you through everything—through the wins, the losses, the endless travel, the pressure. i loved you when you couldn’t even love yourself. and now you’re telling me that wasn’t enough?”

“it’s not about enough,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “you were everything, but… i changed. i don’t know how to explain it. i just… i’m not the same person i was when we started this. and maybe that’s why—”

“don’t you dare blame this on change,” you snapped, your hands balling into fists. “this isn’t about change, max. this is about you breaking every promise you ever made to me. it’s about you deciding that what we had wasn’t worth fighting for.”

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

“sorry?” you repeated, your voice shaking with disbelief. “you’re sorry? do you even realize what you’ve done to me? to us? you’ve destroyed everything, max. everything.”

he didn’t respond. he just stood there, his shoulders slumped, his eyes glistening with tears he refused to let fall.

he tried to step closer, his hand reaching for you, but you shook your head. “i hope she was worth it,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the pain. “because you’ve lost me.”

with that, you turned and walked out, leaving him standing there, the echo of your words hanging in the air.

ʚ・lewis hamilton

the evening was quiet, save for the soft hum of the london skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of lewis’s penthouse. he stood by the counter, his back to you, shoulders tense as he gripped the edge of the marble. you could feel the weight of the silence between you, a chasm that had only grown wider these past months.

“just say it, lewis,” you said, your voice soft but trembling. “i deserve that much.”

he exhaled, long and shaky, before finally turning to face you. his brown eyes, usually so warm and full of life, now held only guilt and a sadness that cut deep.

“it wasn’t supposed to happen like this,” he said, his voice barely audible.

your chest tightened, and you blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. “what wasn’t supposed to happen, lewis? you falling for her?”

he winced at your words, his jaw clenching as he looked away. “you know it started as a pr thing,” he said, almost defensively. “the team thought it would be good for my image—me and someone high-profile. someone who fit the brand.”

“and you agreed,” you said bitterly. “you promised me it was just for the cameras. you swore to me, lewis.”

“i thought it would be,” he said, his voice breaking. “i thought i could keep it separate. that it wouldn’t mean anything. but…”

“but what?” you snapped, taking a step closer, anger overtaking the ache in your chest. “you spent so much time pretending that you forgot it wasn’t real?”

his silence was deafening.

“i gave up so much for us,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “the constant travel, the scrutiny, always being second to your career. i did it because i loved you, lewis. because i believed in us. and now you’re telling me you fell out of love with me because you fell for her?”

“it’s not that simple,” he said, his voice rising slightly, though there was no anger behind it—only desperation. “you don’t understand what it’s like, the pressure, the expectations—”

“don’t you dare make this about your career,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “i stood by you through all of it, lewis. i was there when no one else was. and now you’re throwing it all away because someone ‘fit the brand’ better than i did?”

“that’s not what this is,” he said, his tone pleading. “i didn’t plan for this to happen. i didn’t want to hurt you.”

“but you did,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “you already did.”

he looked at you then, tears glistening in his eyes, and for a moment, you saw the man you fell in love with—the man who promised you the world, who told you that love was the only thing that mattered. but that man had made a choice, and it wasn’t you.

“i’m sorry,” he said, the words trembling as they left his lips.

you let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head as tears streamed down your face. “sorry?” you echoed, your voice cracking. “sorry doesn’t fix this, lewis. sorry doesn’t erase the nights i stayed up worrying about you, the times i put you first, or the pieces of myself i gave up to love you.”

he flinched but didn’t say a word, his silence cutting deeper than anything else.

you took a shaky step back, your breath hitching. “i hope she gives you everything i couldn’t,” you said, your voice trembling with heartbreak. “but just know—you didn’t lose me, lewis. you gave me up.”

with that, you turned on your heel, walking toward the door with as much strength as you could muster. the tears blurred your vision as they fell, but you didn’t stop. you couldn’t stop. not for him. not anymore.

ʚ・george russell

the door creaked as you stepped into the flat, soaked from the rain, your coat dripping onto the floor. george stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, a mug of tea untouched in his hand. he turned as you entered, but the usual warmth in his expression was gone.

you closed the door behind you, hanging your coat on the rack with deliberate slowness, trying to steel yourself for what you knew was coming. “you texted me to come home early,” you said, your voice careful. “what’s going on?”

he set the mug down and ran a hand through his hair, the strands disheveled as though he’d been doing it all evening. “we need to talk,” he said, his voice soft, almost too soft.

you froze, your heart sinking. “george…”

he met your gaze, guilt etched deeply in his features. “i don’t know how to say this,” he began, his voice shaking slightly, “but i have to be honest with you.”

your chest tightened as you stepped closer. “honest about what?” you asked, though the dread pooling in your stomach already told you.

he exhaled shakily, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. “i’ve been trying to keep things together, to keep this… us. but i can’t lie anymore.” he looked at you, his blue eyes clouded with regret. “i don’t feel the same way i used to.”

the air left your lungs. “what?” you whispered. “what are you saying, george?”

he hesitated, but the words came anyway, cutting through you like a knife. “i’ve fallen for her,” he admitted, his voice barely audible. “the girl i was set up to date for the press. it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it did.”

you stared at him, disbelief washing over you in waves. “you promised me,” you said, your voice trembling. “you promised it was all fake, that it was just for appearances.”

“i thought it would be,” he said, his tone desperate. “i thought i could keep it separate, that it wouldn’t mean anything. but somewhere along the way… it stopped feeling like an act.”

your head shook as tears welled in your eyes. “and what about me, george? what about us? do i mean nothing to you now?”

“you mean everything to me,” he said quickly, stepping forward, but you backed away, the distance between you growing. “you were there for me when no one else was, when i needed someone who believed in me. but…” his voice broke, and his shoulders sagged. “it’s not fair to you if my heart’s not in it anymore.”

“not fair to me?” you snapped, the anger bubbling to the surface. “what’s unfair is that i stood by you through everything—your career, the pressure, the public eye—only for you to fall for someone else because she ‘fits the narrative’ better.”

his silence was deafening, his expression pained but offering no defense.

“i gave you everything,” you said, your voice breaking. “and you’re throwing it away like it’s nothing. for what, george? for someone who plays the part better than i do?”

“it’s not like that,” he pleaded, but you raised a hand, stopping him.

“no,” you said firmly, tears now streaming down your face. “you don’t get to justify this. you don’t get to pretend this is about anything but your choices.”

he reached out, but you stepped back, shaking your head. “i hope she makes you happy,” you said bitterly, your voice steadying despite the pain. “because you just lost the one person who loved you for who you really are—not the perfect image the world expects you to be.”

the words hung in the air as you turned and walked out, the door closing softly behind you.

… weeks later

the flat was empty now, your things gone, and george sat alone in the quiet, staring at the spot where you used to sit on the couch with your legs tucked under you, reading or laughing at something he said.

his phone buzzed, a text from her lighting up the screen. he stared at it for a long moment, but he didn’t reply.

because the truth was, she might’ve been the perfect fit for his career, his brand—but she wasn’t you. and now, as the weight of his choices settled over him, he realized what he had lost wasn’t just love. it was you. and no pr stunt could ever fix that.

ʚ・franco colapinto

the sound of the rain tapping against the window was the only thing that filled the space between you and franco as he sat across from you, his hands clenched into fists on the table. you’d been waiting for this moment for weeks, months, really. deep down, you had known it would come sooner or later. you had known that the pressure, the expectations, the image—none of it could last. but even when you anticipated it, even when you braced yourself, hearing it from him felt like a punch to the gut.

“i never wanted to hurt you,” franco said, his voice low, his eyes avoiding yours as he spoke.

“then why are you doing this?” you asked, your voice steady, but your heart a mess of emotions. “why now?”

his gaze finally met yours, and there was guilt there, but there was also something else—a sadness that wasn’t enough to change what was happening. “i thought i could keep things separate. that it wouldn’t change anything between us.” he paused, letting out a shaky breath. “but it did.”

you swallowed hard, the words you had prepared for this moment now stuck in your throat. “you fell for her, didn’t you?” you said, the bitterness in your voice more evident than you wanted it to be.

franco’s silence was all the confirmation you needed.

a small, dry laugh escaped you as you wiped your eyes, the tears threatening to spill. “i knew it would happen,” you whispered, the ache in your chest growing with each passing second. “i knew you’d choose her. you always had to. it was never about us, was it? it was about the image, the brand, the plan.”

“no, it wasn’t like that,” franco said quickly, his voice desperate as he reached for your hand, but you pulled away. “i didn’t want this. i thought i could just go along with it, make it through for the sake of everything. but… it’s not just a plan anymore. i care about her.”

the words felt like they were suffocating you. “i tried to pretend i was fine with it,” you said bitterly. “i convinced myself i was okay with the idea of this being temporary, that it would all go back to normal. but hearing you say it out loud… hearing you admit it… it makes it real. and that hurts more than i thought it would.”

he opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand. “don’t,” you whispered. “don’t try to explain it. i don’t need the explanation.”

“i never meant for this to happen,” he said again, his voice faltering. “you have to believe me.”

“i do,” you said, your voice quiet, the tears now falling freely. “i do believe you. but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

you stood up, your legs feeling weak beneath you, the reality of it all settling in. you had known this was coming, had prepared yourself for the moment he would look at you and admit the truth. but somehow, hearing it—hearing it from him—made it feel like a wound that had just been freshly opened, a wound that had been bleeding for far too long and was finally exposed.

“i thought i was enough for you,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him, your hands shaking as you wiped away your tears. “but i guess i was never going to be enough for what you really needed.”

franco stood up then, stepping toward you, but you shook your head, unable to meet his eyes. “don’t.” your voice cracked as you spoke. “you’ve already made your choice.”

for a long moment, neither of you moved. the weight of everything hung heavily in the room, suffocating the air around you both. finally, he took a step back, his shoulders slumping. “i’m sorry,” he said quietly. “i never wanted to hurt you.”

“i know,” you said softly, the words barely escaping your lips. “but sometimes… sometimes it’s the things we don’t want to happen the most that hurt the most when they finally do.”

and with that, you turned and walked out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you with a finality that echoed in your bones.

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[digitaldaydreamm]

baby

babydaddy!rafe x mom!reader

| summary | You’re done waiting for Rafe to change. Taking your daughter Ellie, you decide it’s time to leave—but Rafe isn’t about to let you go that easily.

warnings: emotional distress, cursing

masterlist

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The silence in the house felt suffocating, every moment dragging on longer than the last. You stood by the kitchen counter, staring down at the baby monitor, watching your daughter Ellie sleep soundly in the next room. The familiar weight of the conversation you knew was coming pressed down on you, the words you had been rehearsing in your head for days now sitting heavy on your tongue.

You had to do it. You had to say it.

Your body stiffened as you heard the front door creak open, followed by the familiar sound of boots hitting the hardwood floor.

“Where you at, baby?” Rafe’s voice, casual as ever, echoed through the house.

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you took a deep breath, gathering the courage. There was no turning back now.

“In here,” you called back, your voice barely above a whisper.

He appeared a moment later, his tall frame filling the doorway. His eyes locked onto you, his lips curling into that familiar smirk that always made you feel like he knew something you didn’t. His shirt clung to his broad shoulders, and his hair, a little disheveled from being out, only added to the careless charm that had always been part of him.

“You look like you’re thinking,” he teased, leaning against the doorframe with that nonchalant ease that made everything seem like a joke to him.

Your heart thudded in your chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling that he was waiting for you to back down. To change your mind.

“I am,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’ve been thinking a lot, actually.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his smirk slipping just a fraction. “Uh-oh. That doesn’t sound good.”

You could hear the playful edge in his voice, but the nerves in your stomach were churning. You had rehearsed this moment a thousand times, but nothing could prepare you for this.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the words out before you could talk yourself out of it. “I’m leaving, Rafe.”

For a moment, he froze. The smirk disappeared completely, and his posture stiffened. His eyes hardened, and you felt the air between you shift, growing colder.

“The fuck you mean you're leaving?” he asked, his voice low and tight, like he was trying to hold it together.

“I’m leaving,” you repeated, your voice steady but breaking underneath the weight of your own words. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Rafe’s eyes flickered to Ellie on the baby monitor, his jaw tightening as he processed what you said. He was quiet for a beat too long, and when he spoke again, it was with a coldness that sent a chill through you.

“You’re gonna take her, huh?” He shook his head, almost laughing, but it was hollow. “After everything?”

“Rafe,” you said, swallowing hard. “You’re not here. You’re never here when I need you. And Ellie—she deserves more than this. We both do.”

The words stung, and you could see it in his eyes—the flicker of anger, of frustration. He hated being told he wasn’t enough. But the truth was, you couldn’t keep living this way. Not for Ellie, and not for you.

“I’m here now,” he shot back, stepping into the kitchen with that dangerous glint in his eyes. “That mean anything to you?”

You shook your head, your voice trembling despite yourself. “It’s not enough anymore.”

Rafe’s hand slammed down on the counter, making you jump. He didn’t seem to notice. “So what? You’re just gonna walk away from me? From us?”

You met his eyes, your heart thundering in your chest. “What ‘us’?” you bit out, the words escaping before you could stop them. “You’ve been telling me you’re gonna change for months, Rafe. You said things were gonna be different, but they never are. And I can’t do it anymore. Not for me, and not for Ellie.”

His face darkened, his nostrils flaring with the force of his breath. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t want this family?”

You closed your eyes for a brief second, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. “I know you do, but it’s not enough. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and then when things get tough, you just disappear. I can’t keep living like this. I won’t let Ellie grow up thinking this is normal.”

Rafe’s hands were clenched at his sides now, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. He didn’t say anything at first, his expression unreadable.

“Where are you gonna go?” he finally asked, voice rough with the words he wasn’t saying.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted, the uncertainty of it all making your stomach churn. “But I’m leaving, Rafe. I have to.”

He took a step toward you, his eyes hard. “You’re making a mistake.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” you whispered, feeling your own resolve strengthen, despite the hurt flashing across his face.

The room felt smaller now, the tension between you almost suffocating. You could feel the familiar pull between you—the shared history, the love that had once felt like it would never fade. But that love had turned toxic, and it wasn’t enough anymore.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, his chest tightening. “I’m not gonna let you just take her,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“I’m not asking for your permission, Rafe,” you said, the words like fire in your chest. “I’m taking her because she deserves better than this. And I can’t keep waiting for you to change.”

For a moment, Rafe just stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes burning with something darker than you had ever seen before. He wasn’t used to being told no. He wasn’t used to losing control.

“I’m not letting you do this,” he said again, his voice low and raw, but this time, there was something in it that almost sounded like desperation.

“Rafe,” you said quietly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’ve had every chance. I can’t keep waiting.”

You turned toward the hallway, but before you could take another step, Rafe grabbed your wrist, his grip tight, almost painful.

“Don’t walk away from me,” he growled, his face inches from yours. “You’re mine, you get that?”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you couldn’t let him break you again. Not this time.

His words stung. Your silence said it all. Feeling that familiar pang in your chest because you know he's right. Rafe had carved his way so deeply into your heart that there was no space for no other man but him.

You walked away, heart pounding and your mind filling with doubt, wondering if this was the right choice.

[milfsloverblog]

Secret Benefits (part 8)

sugar mommy!Larissa Weems x Fem!reader

A/N: Apologies for the two months radio silence, I had to go for a little grippy sock vacation. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the angst, the comfort and FINALLY…. Nah, I can’t spoil you. You’ll have to read it. Enjoy, and don’t forget to reblog if you do! <3

After Larissa’s admission, the silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like the air itself might crack under the weight of it. You hadn’t spoken for what felt like hours, though the ticking clock told you it had only been minutes. Larissa sat beside you, her posture impeccable as always, but her fingers betrayed her composure—they fidgeted ever so slightly, twisting the hem of her sleeve in a way you’d never seen before.

You were still clutching the blanket she’d given you, your knuckles white around the edges. The warmth it provided didn’t quite reach your chest, where a strange hollowness had taken root.

“Thank you,” you finally said, your voice quieter than you intended. The words felt insufficient, but they were all you had.

Larissa turned her head toward you, her silver hair catching the dim light. There was something guarded in her eyes, something she wasn’t ready to say. “You don’t need to thank me,” she replied softly. “I just… needed to be here.”

The honesty in her words startled you. She’d been nothing but composed since the moment you met her, a fortress of calm and control. But tonight, cracks were starting to show. The revelation of her secret had thrown you both into uncharted territory, and you weren’t sure either of you knew the way forward.

“I still can’t believe it,” you admitted, shaking your head as if that might somehow make it all make sense. “The shifting, the man—you—”

“Me,” Larissa said, her lips quirking into a wry, almost self-deprecating smile. “All of it, I’m afraid.”

Your chest tightened at the sound of her voice, that same warm lilt you’d come to recognize, but now layered with vulnerability. It was like hearing a familiar song played in a minor key—comforting and disarming all at once.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Larissa hesitated. Her gaze dropped to her hands, now folded neatly in her lap. “Because I didn’t want you to look at me differently,” she said, her voice steady but low. “I didn’t want to risk…” She trailed off, the unspoken words hanging between you like a fog.

“Risk what?”

“Risk losing whatever fragile connection we’d managed to build. I wasn’t supposed to get so attached. We weren’t supposed, remember?” she said remembering your initial agreement, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve spent so long hiding who I am—what I am—that the idea of showing you felt… impossible.”

Her confession hit you like a wave, the weight of it sinking into your skin. For all her strength, all her poise, Larissa carried a fear you recognized all too well: the fear of being truly seen and rejected for it.

“I don’t think of you any differently,” you said before you could stop yourself. The words spilled out, shaky but honest.

Larissa looked up, her blue eyes searching yours. “You don’t?”

You shook your head. “I mean, it’s a lot to process, obviously. But you’re still… you. And you saved me, Larissa. Twice, now. I can’t ignore that.”

Her shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and you saw a glimmer of relief in her expression. “I’ve had to make difficult choices to keep my secret,” she said. “I don’t expect you to understand all of it, but I want you to know—I’ve only ever tried to protect the people I care about.”

“Is that what I am?” you asked before you could think better of it.

Larissa blinked, caught off guard by the question. Her lips parted, and for a moment, you thought she might deflect. But then she nodded, a small, deliberate motion. “Yes,” she said simply. “You are.”

The words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy. It was the first time in a long time that someone had claimed you as theirs, even in such a quiet way. You weren’t sure what to do with it.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice shaking slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Larissa replied. “Just… stay.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and for the first time, you saw the weight she carried—not just the secret of her ability, but the responsibility she felt for everyone around her. It was etched into the lines of her face, the faint tension in her jaw, the way her hands never quite stilled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, and the words felt truer than anything you’d said in a long time.

Larissa’s expression softened, and for a moment, the distance between you seemed to shrink. The air in the room felt lighter, less charged, as though some unspoken barrier had finally been breached.

“Good,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The quiet that followed was different now—less heavy, more companionable. The silence between you felt alive, not oppressive as it had moments before. Larissa's gaze lingered on you, and you found yourself unable to look away. It was disarming, the way her eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies of emotions—uncertainty, hope, and something warmer, more tender, that you couldn’t quite name.

You set the blanket aside, letting the warmth of the moment pull you forward, closer to her. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice steady, though you noticed the faintest tremor in her hand as she smoothed her skirt.

“Why did you stay here tonight?” you asked, your heart thundering in your chest. “Was it really just to check on me?”

Her lips parted as though to answer immediately, but she hesitated. For the first time, she didn’t seem to know the right thing to say. “I… I needed to make sure you were safe,” she said carefully, but her gaze betrayed her. There was more.

“And?” you pressed, your voice soft but insistent.

“And,” she continued, her words catching slightly, “because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving you alone after what happened. I knew you’d push me away if I asked to stay, so I didn’t ask. I just… stayed.”

Your chest ached at the raw vulnerability in her voice. Larissa, the ever-composed, ever-controlled woman you thought you knew, was letting you see her without the walls she usually kept so firmly in place.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said softly, though a part of you was grateful she had.

“I did,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I care about you, more than I can explain. And after last night…” She shook her head, as if trying to push the memory of it away. “I needed to make sure you knew that.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and electric, as if the entire room was waiting for you to respond. But no words came. Instead, you leaned forward, the impulse almost unconscious, and placed a hand over hers.

“Thank you,” you murmured, though the words felt so small compared to everything she’d done.

Her hand trembled beneath yours, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze flicked down to where your fingers rested over hers, then back to your face. The way she looked at you was almost unbearable—like she was afraid this moment might shatter if she breathed too deeply.

“I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Then don’t say anything,” you replied, your voice just as soft.

You didn’t know who moved first. Maybe it was you, or maybe it was her. But suddenly, the space between you was gone. Her lips brushed against yours, tentative and feather-light, as though testing the waters.

The kiss was brief, but it sent a jolt through your entire body. Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours, wide and unsure.

“Was that okay?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned in again, pressing your lips to hers with more certainty this time. She responded immediately, her hand moving to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing against your skin with a gentleness that made your heart ache.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, as if the two of you had all the time in the world. Her other hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathing heavily. Her fingers lingered on your face, tracing soft patterns against your skin as though committing the moment to memory.

“I’ve wanted to do that for longer than I care to admit,” Larissa said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

“So have I,” you admitted, your cheeks warming under her gaze.

The vulnerability between you now was almost overwhelming, but for the first time, it didn’t feel like something to fear. It felt like a bridge—a connection neither of you had expected but both of you desperately needed.

Larissa pulled you into her arms, holding you close, her chin resting lightly on the top of your head. You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the warmth of her embrace. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was a balm to your racing thoughts, grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“I don’t want to rush you,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “If this is too much, too soon—”

“It’s not,” you interrupted, pulling back just enough to look at her. “It’s not too much. I just… I need to figure out what this means.”

Her lips curved into a soft smile, and she nodded. “We’ll figure it out together,” she said, her voice steady but warm.

You believed her.

————————————————————————

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[pandapetals]

Faking It

During sex, you fake an orgasm causing Logan to spiral. Once he confronts you about it, he wants to prove he can make you feel good without faking it.

logan howlett x fem!reader - established relationship, no reader description, no y/n used, faking an orgasm, self-loathing logan, slight angst, imagined worst logan but this gives dofp!logan too, vibes, smut, feral logan, p in v sex, oral, fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie 

a/n: idea from @yxtkiwiyxt - it ate away at my brain and being on my period really caused this to be born

divider credit: @enchanthings

Logan could feel everything. Every shift in your body, every flicker in your expression, every whispered contradiction between what you said and felt. He didn’t just sense when you lied—he absorbed it, like static in the air before a storm.

Now, with your body beneath his, every nerve in him was attuned to you. The heat of your skin pressed against his, the rhythmic creak of the mattress, the broken gasps you offered him—it was intoxicating. Yet it wasn’t enough. Something was off.

The faint furrow of your brow was his first clue. At first, he thought it was pleasure, that delicious kind of tension that came right before you unraveled. But then he felt the subtle stiffness in your thighs, the shallow way you breathed, and a flicker of doubt crackled through his chest. The feral part of him that craved, that demanded—urged him forward, driving him to thrust harder, deeper, desperate to coax something real out of you. He growled low in your ear, his voice rough with need.

“C’mon, pretty girl… make a mess for me,” he rasped, his teeth grazing the delicate line of your jaw.

You whimpered, but it wasn’t the sound he was chasing. And when the moan came—high-pitched, trembling, but hollow—it hit him like a cold slap to the face. It wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real.

His hands tightened on your hips as frustration swirled with something darker, something that felt too close to shame. His feral side snarled inside him, demanding he keep going, demanding release, and for one selfish, fleeting moment, he gave in. He pushed through, riding the edge until he spilled into you with a broken groan, collapsing onto the bed beside you as his chest heaved.

The room felt too quiet after, too still. Your fingers trailed idly over his chest, your touch soft and featherlight, but Logan’s body felt stiff beneath your hand. He turned his head, searching your face in the dim light, and when you offered a lazy smile, it was like glass shattering in his chest.

“I make you feel good, gorgeous?” he asked, his voice low and soft, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he didn’t want to hear the answer.

“Uh-huh,” you murmured, snuggling closer to him like it was nothing. Like the lie wasn’t still hanging heavy in the air between you.

Logan wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t oblivious. That tiny, fake little moan echoed in his ears, replaying like a bad song on repeat. And it hurt. God, it hurt. He’d been in your bed, in your body, but not once had he felt like he was truly with you. Not tonight.

Still, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there as his thoughts churned. He held you close, feeling your breathing slow as sleep crept in, and though his arms tightened around you protectively, his mind refused to rest.

Why had you faked it? Was it him? Something he’d done—or something he hadn’t done? Did you not trust him enough to tell him? The questions coiled in his gut, twisting and knotting until frustration and hurt blurred together in a haze of anger. And yet, despite the heat crawling under his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to wake you. Not now. 

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. Logan didn’t let things go easily—especially not when it came to you.

But figuring out how to bring it up? That wasn’t his strong suit. For a whole day, he sat on it, the frustration gnawing at him like a splinter buried too deep to pull out. He replayed every moment in his head: the way your body tensed, the way your fake moan had grated against his ears, the way you had smiled afterward like nothing had happened. By the time the sun had begun to set again, the weight of it had him wound so tight it felt like a rubber band about to snap. And, unfortunately for Wade, Logan’s rubber band tended to snap loudly.

The bar was dimly lit, its usual haze of stale beer and cigarette smoke clinging to the air. Logan sat nursing a whiskey he’d barely touched, his mood written all over his face. Wade, of course, was oblivious—or maybe just ignoring it. He leaned on the counter beside Logan, rambling on about some escapade Logan hadn’t bothered to keep track of. His jaw clenched tighter with every passing second until Wade finally poked the wrong bear.

“You’ve been pissy all day,” Wade said, squinting at Logan like he was examining a strange animal. “Let me guess, you finally found someone who doesn’t think your claws are sexy? Or—oh, wait—” Wade’s face lit up with a spark of mischief. “You’re telling me you couldn’t make your girlfriend orgasm?”

Logan stiffened.

“Oh, peanut,” Wade gasped dramatically, clutching his chest like he was genuinely heartbroken. “Say it ain’t so! The big bad Wolverine, all growls and muscles, and—nothing? Nada? No fireworks?”

Logan’s hand slammed down on the bar, the sound sharp enough to make a few heads turn. He rounded on Wade, eyes blazing, his voice a low, dangerous growl. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about, so maybe shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you.”

Wade blinked, and there was a beat of silence—a rare occurrence for him. But it lasted all of two seconds before his lips quirked into a grin. “Ohhhh, I hit a nerve, didn’t I? Don’t worry, champ, it happens to the best of us. Well, not to me, obviously, but—”

“Wade.” Logan’s tone cut through the air like a blade. The room seemed to drop a few degrees as Logan pushed himself up from the barstool, his knuckles white against the edge of the counter. Wade threw up his hands in mock surrender.

“Alright, alright! Geez, no need to go full Wolverine on me.” Wade stepped back, but not without muttering under his breath, “Touchy subject, huh?”

Logan ignored him. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the bar, his mind racing. Wade might be an idiot, but even idiots could land a hit when they weren’t aiming. The truth was, the jab had struck too close to home. He didn’t care about the idea of failure, not really—not when it came to anyone else. But with you? It felt like a crack in something he hadn’t even realized was fragile.

When Logan got back to your shared space, you were curled up on the couch, your feet tucked under you as you watched TV. The sight of you—so calm, so untouched by the storm that had been raging inside him all day—made something snap loose in his chest. He couldn’t keep it in any longer.

“Can we talk?” His voice was gruff, but quieter than you expected, almost hesitant.

You glanced up, surprised. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

Logan ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little before settling on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Last night,” he started, his voice strained. “Somethin’ was off. I know it. You know it. And I can’t stop thinkin’ about it.”

Your stomach twisted, guilt pooling in your chest. “Logan, I—”

“You faked it,” he said bluntly, cutting to the heart of it. His eyes finally lifted to meet yours, and the vulnerability there nearly knocked the wind out of you. “Why?”

The word hung in the air between you.

You swallowed hard, turning the TV off and shifting in your seat. “It wasn’t you,” you said quickly, wanting to get that part out first. “I mean, it wasn’t because of you. It’s… me.”

His brow furrowed, and he leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied you. “What does that mean?”

You took a deep breath, your hands twisting in your lap. “I’ve been in my head lately,” you admitted. “I’ve been… struggling. With work, with stress, with feeling like I’m enough. And I guess last night, I just—” You hesitated, looking away. “I didn’t want you to feel like you weren’t enough. So I faked it.”

Logan stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he exhaled a low sound that was more frustration with himself than anything else. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice softer now. “You don’t have to fake anything with me. Ever.”

“I know,” you whispered, your throat tight. “I just… I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” Logan’s voice sharpened, and he leaned forward again, his hands reaching out to take yours. “You think that’s what this is about? I don’t care about some… performance. I care about you. And if somethin’s wrong, I wanna know. I wanna fix it, not pretend it doesn’t exist.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you gave a small nod. “I’m sorry,” you murmured.

He shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. Just… tell me when something’s wrong, okay?” His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, his voice softening again.

You managed a small smile, squeezing his hands. “Okay.” 

Logan’s lips brushed your forehead before he pulled you into his arms. His touch was warm, and grounding, but there was something beneath it—something deliberate. His hands settled on your hips like he was afraid you might pull away.

“Now,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “let me make you feel good.”

You tilted your head back to look at him, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “Logan, you don’t have to do that. I’m fine—”

He cut you off with a shake of his head, his thumb brushing over the curve of your waist. “No, you’re not,” he said plainly, his tone gruff but tender. His eyes met yours, intense and unwavering, and his lips quirked into a faint smirk. “You’re stressed. I can see it. I can feel it.”

Your breath hitched as his hands slid down your arms, calloused fingertips trailing a path that sent shivers racing across your skin. “Let me take care of you,” he said, his voice softer now, more coaxing.

And honestly? There was no denying it. The idea of Logan worshipping your body—of losing yourself in the way he always seemed to know exactly what you needed—was too tempting to resist. You swallowed hard, your lips parting slightly as his gaze dropped to your mouth.

“I mean…” You tried to keep your voice steady, but it wavered as his hands slid lower, settling on the backs of your thighs. “If you insist…”

Logan let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Oh, I insist,” he drawled, his grip tightening just enough to make your stomach flip. Before you could process the thought, he was lifting you with ease, his strength as effortless as it was intoxicating.

The world tilted as he carried you to the bed, his movements slow and deliberate. He laid you down with a kind of reverence that made your chest ache, his broad frame hovering over you. His lips found the delicate curve of your neck, and your breath hitched as he kissed his way down, the scrape of his stubble sending sparks skittering across your skin.

By the time his hands found the waistband of your underwear, you were already melting under his touch. He peeled them off slowly, his eyes darkening as they roamed your bare skin. “You’re so damn beautiful,” he muttered, almost to himself, his voice thick with desire.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words dissolved into a soft gasp as his lips trailed lower, his mouth hot and insistent against your collarbone. His hands gripped your hips, grounding you as he shifted lower, and the anticipation coiled in your stomach like a live wire.

“Logan,” you whispered, his name slipping from your lips like a plea.

He glanced up at you, his smirk returning as he settled between your thighs. “Relax, darlin’,” he murmured, his hands spreading your legs with deliberate care. “Let me take my time with you.”

The first press of his mouth was soft and exploratory, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Logan was nothing if not thorough, his tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that left you breathless. He watched your every reaction, the flicker of his eyes on you making it clear he was entirely in control—but completely devoted to you.

Your hands tangled in his hair as the tension inside you built, his name falling from your lips in broken whispers. He hummed against you, the vibrations making you arch into him, and he responded by gripping your hips tighter, holding you in place as he worked you closer and closer to the edge.

And when you finally came undone, shuddering and gasping beneath him, Logan didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow.

“Logan,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your body shook with aftershocks.

“Not done with you yet, pretty girl,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly. His lips curved into a wicked grin, and before you could catch your breath, he dipped his head again, his mouth finding you with renewed purpose.

Time blurred after that, the world narrowing to the feel of him, the sound of him, the way he seemed utterly consumed by the act of worshipping every inch of you. By the time he finally let you catch your breath, your body was boneless, your mind a haze of blissful exhaustion.

Logan crawled up the bed, his lips brushing over your temple as he pulled you into his arms. His hands, still warm and steady, skimmed over your back, grounding you in the aftermath of it all.

“Better?” he asked, his voice soft now, full of quiet satisfaction.

You let out a shaky laugh, burying your face in his chest. “You could say that,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin.

Logan chuckled softly as he kissed the top of your head. His hand rested against the small of your back, fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. “Good,” he murmured, his tone laced with smug satisfaction but dripping with affection. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

You nodded weakly, still catching your breath, your body feeling boneless in the aftermath of his touch. Every nerve was still humming, your chest rising and falling as you tried to steady yourself. But then you felt it—a shift in the air, a change in the weight of the bed as Logan leaned forward.

Your eyes fluttered open just in time to see the smirk tugging at his lips, his hazel eyes glinting with mischief. He hovered above you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off his body.

His lips brushed over yours in a soft kiss making your heart stutter. “Logan,” you whispered, your voice barely above a whimper.

“I know,” he replied, his breath warm against your lips. “But I’m not done with you yet.” His voice was a low growl, rough edges softened by something tender and utterly consuming. “I just want to make you feel so good.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your head sinking back into the pillows. “You did, Logan. I promise—”

He cut you off with a smirk, the curve of his lips playful and dangerous. “Okay, then,” he drawled, his tone dropping to something darker, something that sent a shiver down your spine. “If you’re good, I want to hear you whimper my name.”

Before you could protest—or agree—his hand slid down your body, his touch slow and deliberate. His calloused fingertips brushed over your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, before they dipped lower, tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

Your breath hitched, your body instinctively arching toward him as his hand moved closer, teasing and torturously slow. Logan’s gaze never left yours, and the intensity in his eyes made your pulse race.

“Logan…” you moaned softly, his name slipping from your lips like a reflex as his fingers finally slid between your thighs.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a deep rumble of satisfaction. His touch was firm but unhurried, exploring you with a focus that made your head spin. His thumb moved in a way that had your legs trembling, and when his fingers pressed exactly where you needed them, your back arched off the mattress, a gasp spilling from your lips.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if he couldn’t quite believe the way you were unraveling beneath him. His free hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, the tension coiling tighter with every stroke.

You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak—all you could do was feel. Logan was relentless, his lips brushing against your neck, your collarbone, and your shoulder, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin tingle. He alternated between soft and demanding, his touch a perfect balance of control and devotion.

“Logan,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking on the syllable as the pressure built impossibly high, teetering on the edge of something devastatingly good.

“There it is,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire, his lips ghosting over your ear. “That’s my girl.”

The words sent a jolt of heat straight through you, and with one more perfectly placed movement of his hand, you shattered. Your body arched into him as pleasure crashed over you, wave after wave, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer.

Logan didn’t stop right away—he worked you through it, his hands steady, his lips murmuring quiet praises against your skin as you rode out the high. By the time the tremors subsided, you were trembling, your body utterly spent.

He finally pulled his hand away, his touch leaving a trail of warmth in its absence. Logan leaned down, brushing his lips over yours in a kiss. 

“Still with me, darlin’?” he asked, his voice soft, his smirk replaced with something gentler as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

You managed a weak nod, your body still buzzing, and Logan chuckled, the sound warm and rumbling.

“Good,” he murmured, pulling you into his arms. His hand slid up your back, holding you close as your head rested against his chest. “Because I think you’ve got one more in you.”

You let out a breathless laugh, your cheeks flushing. 

“What?” Logan murmured, his smirk teasing and wicked as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your temple. His breath was warm against your skin, and the way his lips lingered made your stomach twist with anticipation. “Told you, I’m not done with you yet.”

Before you could reply, his hands began their slow descent, tracing the curves of your body with deliberate care. His palms were warm and rough, gliding over your hips and your thighs. Every touch felt like a promise he had no intention of breaking.

“Logan…” you started, but your words dissolved into a shaky exhale as his fingers found the sensitive spot just above your knee, kneading gently before sliding higher.

He shifted above you, his movements unhurried, his gaze dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you sprawled beneath him. “You can take it,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine.

You watched as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, the fabric slipping down his hips in one fluid motion. The sight of him, the sheer confidence in how he moved, made your breath catch. He tossed the pants aside without a second thought, his smirk deepening as he leaned back over you, his body heat radiating against your skin.

“Give me one more,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. His tone was soft but commanding, his words rolling over you like a wave, pulling you under.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up, though it was breathless, tinged with disbelief at his sheer audacity. “I thought this was supposed to be about me feeling good,” you teased, your voice light, though your heart was pounding.

Logan’s lips quirked into a lopsided grin, but his eyes burned with intent. “Oh, it is,” he drawled, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, pulling you flush against him. “But I’m pretty damn sure you’ll feel real good giving me what I want.”

The heat in his gaze sent a fresh rush of anticipation coursing through you, and you felt your teasing resolve falter. His fingers trailed over your skin, mapping every inch of you as if he were committing it to memory. When he shifted lower, pressing his lips to your collarbone, then to the soft curve of your breast, his mouth was hot and insistent, each kiss drawing soft gasps from your lips.

You barely had time to process the way his teeth grazed over your skin, sending sparks skittering down your spine, before his hips pressed against yours, his body slotting against yours perfectly. His movements were slow at first like he was savoring every reaction he pulled from you.

Then Logan whispered, husky and dripping with that dark, primal edge, “I want you to feel it everywhere, darlin’—every inch, every second. No faking this time.”

Your breath hitched, the intensity in his voice making your head spin, your body arching into him in a silent plea. Logan’s lips curved into a knowing smirk against your skin. His hands were everywhere—gripping, teasing, worshiping—making it impossible to think, let alone resist the pull of him.

As his mouth found yours, the kiss was all-consuming with the addictive mix of dominance and tenderness only Logan could manage. You clung to him, your hands sliding over the planes of his back, your nails digging in just enough to make him groan against your lips.

“You feelin’ good yet?” he teased, his voice low and rough, thick with need. His lips hovered over yours, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath, but not quite touching, a maddening taunt that sent a fresh wave of anticipation rolling through you.

Your fingers curled against his shoulders, desperate to ground yourself as his pace shifted. He moved deeper, his hips rolling in a way that made your back arch off the bed, a gasp tumbling from your lips before you could stop it. The deliberate rhythm he’d kept moments ago began to unravel, his movements growing more intense, more insistent.

“Logan,” you whimpered, his name spilling from your lips like a prayer, shaky and breathless.

“That’s what I like to hear,” he growled, his voice rumbling in his chest like a distant storm. His lips brushed over your jawline, leaving a trail of heat as they trailed down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. When his teeth grazed your skin, a soft cry escaped you, your body tightening beneath him.

He groaned low, the sound vibrating against your neck, as your nails dug deeper into the muscles of his back. “So good for me,” he murmured, his voice thick with praise.

Your response came in broken gasps and soft whimpers, your head falling back as the sensations overwhelmed you. Each thrust was deliberate, calculated, but they grew harder, deeper, until your body melted into the mattress, pliant and trembling under him.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, white-hot, and electric until it felt like you might come undone. You couldn’t think, speak—could barely even hold on—your body responding to him instinctively, as though it were made just for this.

“Look at me,” Logan rasped, his voice pulling you back to him. Your eyes fluttered open, dazed, to find his gaze locked on yours, burning and unrelenting. “That’s it, pretty girl. I want to see you.”

His hips pressed into you again, hitting the spot so devastating that your eyes rolled back and a broken cry escaped your lips. You clung to him, your body trembling as pleasure surged through you, raw and overwhelming. His name spilled from your mouth in a whisper, soft and reverent, and it only seemed to spur him on.

“Good girl,” he muttered, his voice rough and frayed, his movements driving you higher and higher. “Just like that.”

When you finally broke, the world seemed to splinter apart, the sensation crashing over you in waves so intense you could hardly breathe. Your body arched into his, your thighs shaking as your release consumed you, dragging you under.

Logan slowed, his touch gentler now as you trembled in his arms. He pressed soft kisses to your neck, shoulder, and temple, breathing heavily and unevenly against your skin.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice softer now, warm and teasing as his lips ghosted over yours.

You managed a weak nod, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks, and he chuckled, his breath tickling your cheek.

“That’s my girl,” he said, his tone low and full of quiet pride. He tucked you closer against him, his arms wrapping around you protectively, and you let yourself melt into his warmth, utterly spent but completely safe in his embrace.

[mister0ctopus]

Server Room (4)

(mini series) - jeon jungkook

Pairings: IT!JK x Reader

Summary:  Your new IT guy is quiet and shy. But when you accidentally caught him doing something in the server room, while moaning your name, you just had to pretend you didn’t see that, right?

Ratings: 18+ ONLY! MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Warnings: Explicit language, Mature Contents

Au/Genre: Office au, Mini Series

Word Count: 4.4K

a/n: sorry for the delay, ive been feeling meh these past few weeks. i couldnt do anything, but i got out of the house yesterday and it was great 😌

🐙 Masterlist / AskMe?

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“We haven’t seen you in a while!"

Taehyung announces, his full voice cutting through your frantic typing. “This project is keeping you from us,”

You swivel in your chair, blinking as you return to the real world, and you see Taehyung pouting and Jimin, holding out a cup of coffee like an angel of mercy.

"Your boss is always giving you hard projects with tight deadlines!" Jimin states, as he hands you the coffee his irritation seeping through the smile.

“Thanks,” you mouthed. One sip of the caffeine reminded you  that you’d been glued to this chair since morning with no breaks. Your legs probably forgot how to walk.

"Yeah, that’s what I’ve been saying! She’s either obsessed with you or trying to kill you," Taehyung chimes in, crossing his arms. “Or both. She doesn’t do this to anyone else on your team. Tell me this is your villain arc.”

You sigh as you stretch your back. "I’m the only senior left in the team, okay? After Mr. Tan resigned, all his VIP clients became mine. I don’t really have a choice."

"You need a break," Taehyung declared. "Let’s try that new place across the street for lunch. Jungkook says they serve the best Mexican food."

Ah, Jungkook.

The name pulls at something in your chest. You cleared your throat.

"Since when are you into Mexican food? You don't like spicy.”

He grins, unbothered. "I can skip the hot sauce. But Jungkook says it’s legit, and he doesn’t lie about food."

"Seems like you’re becoming besties with him," you say, keeping your voice casual.

"Oh, he’s great! Always chill, fun to be around. Knows all the best spots for food!” He turns to Jimin for validation, and they high-five.

"I think I’ll pass," you said, taking a sip of the coffee. "I really need to finish this today. You guys go and let me know if it’s worth the hype."

Jimin frowns, his eye smile turning into a pout. "You sure? You’ve been working non-stop. It’s not healthy, YN. Take a break!"

You glance at the screen, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking you.

"I promise,” you replied, your voice softer. “I will," knowing full well that you wouldn’t.

You decided to take your lunch later than everyone else, choosing the quiet solitude of the office cafeteria at off-peak hours. Ordering something light, you sat in a corner, hoping to catch a moment of peace.

But peace? Lol.

Staring blankly at your mug, you tried to turn your brain off, but the week’s events replayed on a loop—meetings, deadlines, late nights. And, of course, the project. Your golden ticket to the promotion you’d been breaking your back for.

You were halfway through your sandwich when muffled giggles from the table next to you pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Curiosity got the better of you, and you glanced over, only to see a group of girls from HR, eyes sparkling with admiration. Following their line of sight, you landed on him.

Jungkook.

Effortlessly charming as usual, chatting with a girl from Marketing. His raven hair styled to show his forehead. His smile was so easy and disarming it could probably convince a cat to take a bath.

Fuck. Why was he getting hotter?

You hadn’t seen him since the night he dropped you off a few days ago, your entire interaction limited to his car radio and your yawns. You’d been so exhausted you didn’t even have time to process his stupidly perfect profile in the dim glow of his dashboard, and his glances here and there.

The girl laughed, leaning in closer, completely captivated.

Yeah, girl. I get it.

You got it. Of course, Jungkook wasn’t just attractive, he had that rare ability to make everyone around him feel seen, like they mattered.

He had helped you many times, and you couldn’t deny that he made you feel important.

You rolled your eyes, biting back a scoff. "Lunch with my friends, now wooing the entire company.”

Of course, because the universe has a sense of humor, his gaze flicked in your direction.

Caught!

You panicked and snapped your attention back to your table, hyper-focusing on the crumbs scattered across your plate.

Back to work, you reminded yourself. Stop dilly-dallying. Deadlines don’t meet themselves.

Without sparing another glance, you stood, your chair scraping lightly against the tile floor. With purposeful steps, you left the cafeteria, your focus already shifting back to the mountain of tasks waiting at your desk.

Hours later, your phone buzzed, pulling you out of the depths of your typing. The buzzing continued, and when it started to feel too annoying, you finally checked to see what all the fuss was about.

You had been added to a group chat: CABIN IN THE LAKE.

Oh, right! The annual cabin trip. That chaotic tradition where you and the group rent the same cozy Airbnb cabin, always timed perfectly for a three-day weekend, thanks to the holiday on Monday.

It started as Jimin and Taehyung’s tradition. Best friends since college, they used to rally their old friend group for Tae’s birthday back when no one was married, living abroad, or caught up in other life changes. But life stole their original squad, leaving just the two of them clinging to their precious tradition.

Enter: the work friends.

First, there was Yoongi. No one knew how Jimin and Taehyung managed to convince him to join. He initially declined, calling it a hassle, but then showed up ridiculously early on the day they were set to leave. Next came Allie, the organizational queen who meticulously planned everything down to the last detail on Excel sheets. And finally, there was you—the corporate masochist roped in because, apparently, you 'needed a break.' They weren’t wrong, of course.

Now, three years later, it had become your thing.

Allie: 📢 Attention: Our annual cabin escape kicks off this weekend. Prepare yourselves, pack early, and leave the burdens of work behind. NO work allowed at the cabin. @ YN, I’m talking to you. 👀 Jimin: If I see a laptop in there, I will literally throw it outside. Tae: no work on my birthday event please thank you! @ YN I’m talking to you 👀 Allie: @ YN, don’t ignore us! You: Calm down, lol. I’m literally finishing everything this week so I can relax with you all Jimin: finally, work-life balance 😀 You: 🙄 im trying my best to work-life-balance the shit out of this Tae: we invited Jungkook during lunch fyi Jungkook: yeaaahhhh👍 Allie: lets talk tomorrow what food to prepare when youre back from your vacation @ Yoongi Yoongi: 👍 Tae: I wish I had so many paid leaves that I could go on a trip after a fishing trip like Yoongi. Jimin: then stop using your PTOs for stupid shit! Yoongi: seen

The phone buzzed relentlessly with notifications. Jimin rambling about work-life balance, Tae hyping Jungkook up for the trip, and Allie sending yet another reminder about what to pack. You muted the chat and let out a long, drawn-out sigh.

Cabin. Lake. Jungkook.

Before you could overthink spending a weekend with him outside of work, you put your attention back to your computer screen, pouring all your tension into the project.

The next day, as expected, you nailed the presentation. Of course, you did. Your boss was full of praise, and the VIP clients were very impressed with the discussion. Sometimes you wondered why you stressed so much, but deep down, you knew the answer. Being good wasn’t enough, you had to be great.

Your sense of self-worth was deeply tied to your accomplishments at work. Sad, but whatever.

You walked into the pantry after the presentation, on your way to another client meeting, when you see your friends, all huddled around.

Yoongi’s fresh off vacation, laughing with Tae, Jimin, and Jungkook. The energy in the room was light, the kind that made you want to linger, but…work. Ugh.

“Didn’t catch a thing!” Yoongi chuckled, shaking his head.

“So why do you always go fishing with him?” Jimin asked, barely holding back a laugh.

“Eh, I didn’t want him to be alone,” Yoongi shrugged, crossing his arms. “Also, someone had to be there for his dad jokes.”

Jungkook groaned. “Man, I miss Jin’s dad jokes. They’re so awful, but it grew on me.”

“You say that now,” Yoongi said dryly, “but after two straight hours of ‘What do you call a fish with no eyes? Fsh,’ I was ready to jump in the lake myself.”

The group burst into laughter, and you found yourself laughing too. They spotted you lingering in the doorway.

“YN! Join us!” Yoongi called, waving you over.

You shook your head, holding up a hand. “I’m literally just passing by. I have a client meeting in like… right now.”

Jimin and Tae both dramatically groaned.

But before you left, you walked over to Yoongi and gave him a quick hug. “Missed you, though. Tell me more about your fishing trip later.”

“You know where to find me,” Yoongi replied with a smirk. “But it was mostly Jin and I sitting on a boat.”

“Sounds riveting,” you teased, waving everyone goodbye as the laughter resumed behind you.

You caught Jungkook’s gaze lingering on you, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

The week went by fast, and everyone seemed excited, looking forward to the weekend trip.

After a three-hour drive in the early Saturday morning, you finally arrived at the cabin. The scent of firewood and cedar greeted you like a familiar friend.

The cabin itself was a perfect blend of modern rustic charm—a two-story retreat with three cozy bedrooms, a spacious kitchen, and an inviting living room. Large windows framed breathtaking views of the lake, letting in an abundance of natural light that made the space feel even more open and serene. The crisp air nipped at your cheeks, but the way the sun glinted off the lake beyond the porch made the chill comfortable.

Slowly, you could feel the tension from work beginning to melt away. This was exactly what you needed.

Everyone naturally fell into their roles without a single word exchanged. Allie and Yoongi immediately took over the kitchen, playing MasterChef, while Jimin and Taehyung turned the living room into an entertainment hub. As for you? Well, you were graciously tasked with giving Jungkook the grand tour—not that you minded… at all.

He trailed behind you, nodding intently as you showed him around. You almost sneered at his attentiveness, the way his eyes widened as if you were explaining something groundbreaking.

So, this is Yoongi’s room,” you said, stopping at the first door by the stairs. “You’ll be sharing with him.” You pushed the door open, staying just outside the hallway, revealing two double-sized beds and a massive window with a stunning view of the lake. Jungkook stepped inside, dropping both his and Yoongi’s bags with a quiet thud.

He scanned the room, his gaze lingering on the view before shifting to the door across the hallway. Before he could ask, you preemptively pointed. “That’s Jimin’s and Tae’s room, and here,” you gestured to the door beside his, “that’s mine and Allie’s. Yoongi insisted on not being next to Jimin and Tae. Gods know what they’re up to at night, they make weird noises.”

Jungkook grunted in acknowledgment, his lips twitching into a faint smirk.

“Oh, by the way, each room has its own bathroom. That’s honestly why we keep coming back here. Aside from the lake and other stuff, of course.” You laughed, your voice echoing slightly in the quiet hallway. Just as you were about to show him the balcony at the end of the hall, someone downstairs shouted your name. Probably Jimin or Tae yelling about the cottage.

“Ah, the cottage by the lake!” you exclaimed, snapping your fingers. “It’s a great spot to chill. Or stargaze. We usually take dinners there or nap. It’s kind of our favorite spot,” you added with a grin, gesturing downstairs.

Jungkook mirrored your excitement with his signature scrunched-nose smile. Before you knew it, Tae and Jimin had joined in, whisking Jungkook away to show him around the cottage and the lake. The three of them looked like overgrown kids finally let loose on a playground.

Back in the kitchen, you joined Yoongi and Allie to finish cooking—though, most of it was already done. You ended up as a taste-tester. By the time everything was ready, the three boys had returned, eager to help set the table.

Lunch was a mix of chaos and calm, the former courtesy of Jimin, Tae, and Allie, while Yoongi’s steady presence, and your quiet nature balanced it all out. Jungkook, as the newest addition to your group, fit in seamlessly. Though he was closest to Yoongi, his easygoing nature made him click with Jimin and Tae almost instantly, their shared humor evident in their playful banter.

By the afternoon, everyone was sprawled in the cottage by the lake. The cottage itself was a cozy wooden structure with a charmingly weathered exterior, surrounded by large windows that were often kept open to let in the fresh breeze and the sound of gentle waves lapping at the lake shore. Inside, it was warm and inviting, with rustic wooden beams, soft lighting, and a wraparound porch showing panoramic views of the lake.

You and Allie lay on a mat, scrolling through your phones and occasionally showing each other funny memes or cute animal videos. Yoongi was settled in a chair with a glass of whiskey, reading something through his phone with the occasional hum of approval.

The three boys decided to swim in the lake, and you immediately began muttering prayers under your breath, for what, you weren’t entirely sure.

Maybe for divine intervention to stop Jungkook from being so infuriatingly distracting, or perhaps for the strength to keep your jaw from hitting the floor every time he emerged from the water.

He was wearing a black compression shirt that clung to him perfectly, revealing his colorful inked arm here, the outline of a toned torso there, and let’s not even get started on those thighs, perfectly framed by his black basketball shorts. Every time he strolled over to grab a snack from the picnic basket near you, you pretended to be deeply invested in your phone, eyebrows furrowed like you were decoding quantum physics. Anything to mask the heat creeping up your neck and the very inappropriate thoughts threatening to invade your peace and relaxation.

By evening, you all decided to eat dinner in the cottage, the vibe now tinged with the warmth of alcohol and laughter. The moonlight perfectly cascaded over the lake, its silver glow reflecting off the water and illuminating the cottage like a serene painting. The soft glow of lamps inside added to the ambiance, making everything about the place perfect.

Everyone seemed louder now, the alcohol buzz turning the cozy cottage into a chaotic, laughter-filled arena. Tae and Jimin were wrestling on the floor, mimicking exaggerated WWE moves that made Allie’s contagious laugh echo throughout the space. Yoongi, now a little chatty and loud, had taken on the role of their coach, shouting absurd instructions.

“Chokehold, Tae! No, no, Jimin, counter with the sleeper hold!” Yoongi barked, his face uncharacteristically animated as if he was controlling two game characters.

You watched Jungkook laugh at their antics, his bunny teeth flashing as he swatted away Jimin and Tae’s attempts to drag him into their chaos. But when the two of them finally lunged at him, intent on overpowering him, Jungkook barely even flinched. With a fluid, almost effortless motion, he sent both of them sprawling back onto the couch like they weighed nothing more than throw pillows.

Jungkook is strong.

You don’t know what to do with this information.

It wasn’t the strength itself that caught you off guard, you knew Jungkook worked out, but watching him do it with such ease felt almost... dangerous. You wonder how those strong hands gripping your thighs, pinning you against the wall, as he pounds—nope. Nope.

Stop right there you horny bitch.

You gulped down the flavored beer in your hand, the cool liquid doing little to douse the heat crawling up your neck.

“Thirsty much?” Allie teased, nudging you with a smirk as she caught your flustered state.

“I—yeah,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible over the chaos.

Jungkook’s laugh broke through your spiraling thoughts again, and you stole a quick glance at him. Thankfully, he seemed blissfully unaware of the effect he had on you, just being his playful self, swatting Jimin away like an annoying fly.

You feel the heat building in your core becoming more and more unbearable. You press your legs to try to soothe the feeling but it’s clear that you need more. You need a cold splash of water on your face, or better yet, a shower.

Standing abruptly, you excuse yourself for a 'bathroom break.' Your friends barely glance up, offering quick nods before returning to the chaos around them.

Chaos.

This chaos is the perfect cover for Jungkook.

Ever since he met you, there hasn’t been a single day he hasn’t felt like he’s stuck in his own personal hell.

He’s been avoiding looking at you for far too long, for obvious reasons.

The last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable. Now that he’s close to you and your friends, he’s doing everything to keep it together, to not let anyone, especially Yoongi, catch on. Yoongi’s too observant, and Jungkook’s painfully aware of that. He’s not ready to talk about whatever is going on with him. Or whatever it is he's feeling towards you.

But that moment in the Server Room? He feels a gnawing guilt in his gut, the worry that he made you uncomfortable. He hasn’t heard a word from you about it, though. Didn’t give any hint that something was off. You would’ve said something if you were uncomfortable, right?

You, with your cold, uptight air, focused only on deadlines. You wouldn’t let him get close if you weren’t okay with him. You’d cut him right away if he crossed a line, right?

Was he imagining you there? Maybe you didn’t actually see him. Maybe you weren't actually in the Server Room. He was probably hallucinating in desire. He’s not sure anymore.

But damn, you don’t make it easy.

Earlier, when you were lying on the mat with Ally, your shorts slipping up just enough to flash him a taste of your soft skin, he nearly choked on his drink.  And now, sitting across the cottage from you, your short dress riding up as you adjust your position, the soft glow of your skin under the dim light…

Fuck.

He wonders how your skin would feel beneath his hands… how it would feel if he buried himself in you.

Focusing on Jimin and Taehyung provides some distraction, though the temptation to steal another glance at you lingers like a ghost. Thankfully, no one seems sober enough to notice his wandering eyes, or the way his shorts have grown uncomfortably tight.

You, oblivious to the war raging in his head, excuse yourself with a quick smile at Allie before heading to the cabin.

Thank God.

Finally, Jungkook lets out a deep breath and forces himself to join the conversation.

But just as he thinks he’s getting a break, Yoongi’s voice cuts through. “Jungkook, can you grab the portable speaker I told you to bring?”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.” Jungkook stands up without a second thought, almost like it’s automatic when someone older asks, barely processing Yoongi’s other questions as he heads to the cabin.

You step into the bathroom, stripping your clothes as you go. Your damp panties are a clear evidence of your need, and you groan in frustration. With a shaky breath, you turn on the shower, hoping the cold water will wash away the tension building inside you. But as the droplets hit your skin, they do little to distinguish the fire within.

It hasn’t even been a day in this cabin, and Jungkook is already a problem.

Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve been with anyone, or perhaps the close proximity is making you hyper aware of him. Maybe it’s the memory of him, lost in his own pleasure in the Server Room, fingers working his body while thoughts of you flickered through his mind. The image awakens something in you. Was it just one-time thing? What did he picture you to be while he touched himself?

You pull yourself out of your thoughts, allowing the shower to wash away your lingering filthy desires.

After the quick shower, you step out, wrapping yourself in a towel. But you’re still burning up.

Sighing in frustration, you sit on the bed and brush through your damp hair, but it's still too wet, so you pat it dry. As you glance into the mirror, your reflection catches your eye. The soft lamplight casts a warm glow on your skin, drawing your attention, and for a moment, you’re entranced by the subtle radiance.

You trail your fingers over your arms, your collarbone, down to your chest. Your nipples harden under your touch, and you groan softly. The cabin is alive with distant laughter from the cottage, your friends blissfully oblivious to your desperation.

The craving intensifies, and without thinking, your hands drift lower, over your stomach, to your thighs. Your legs part instinctively, your fingers finding the slick heat between your folds. You press against your clit, your breath hitching at the electric shock that runs through your body.

You imagine Jungkook’s hands there instead. The way he would touch you, soft and rough. The way he would devour you, make you beg for more.

You picture him. His body, his hands, his mouth—all of it.

As your fingers slide inside, you bite your lip, your body shuddering with need. You pump in and out, the friction building, but it’s not enough. You groan in frustration, you need more.

You need something bigger, harder. You need him.

Your eyes lock onto the round brush on the side, its dark wooden handle glistening in the dim light. Something primal snaps within you. Without a second thought, you grab it, your fingers curling around the bristles as you lift it to your lips. The thick, rounded handle presses against your mouth, and you drag your tongue over it, coating it with your spit.

Your heart races as you slide the handle down your body. Lifting yourself off the bed just enough, you position it at your entrance, the anticipation making your thighs tremble. Slowly, deliberately, you lower yourself onto it, gasping as it stretches you open. Your eyes stay locked on the mirror, watching every inch of the handle disappear inside you.

The sight alone makes your body shiver in need, and soon you can’t hold back. Your hips move instinctively, a slow grind that quickly builds into something desperate. You ride it hard, fast, the rhythm of your movements echoing through the creaks in the room. Each thrust draws a whimper from your lips as your imagine Jungkook beneath you, his strong hands gripping your hips, his dark eyes blazing as you grind against him. The way he’d look at you, the way he would sound as he moans your name, needy and breathy, like how he did in the Server Room.

The creak of the bed grows louder, and in your mind, it’s because of him—pounding into you relentlessly, the headboard slamming against the wall, his deep groans mixing with your cries. How he’d ruin you completely, leaving no part of you untouched.

Your hand remains between your legs, circling and flicking your clit in time with the thrusts. The tension builds and builds, each movement pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

And when you finally let go, when your orgasm crashes over you, it’s intense—like a pressure valve bursting open. You cry out his name, repeating it as your body trembles, your vision blurring as you ride out the waves of pleasure.

The moment Jungkook opens the door to his room, right next to yours, his gaze immediately lands on the portable speaker that Yoongi had asked him for, resting casually on the table alongside his other things. He walks toward it absentmindedly, his mind spinning in circles, thoughts tangled and restless.

How could he speak to you alone without feeling like his throat is closing in, without that damn knot of nerves tightening in his chest?

For fuck's sake, he’s not some shy guy. Maybe reserved at first, but shy? No. Not anymore. So why the hell does it feel like your gaze alone could drop him to his knees? He will do whatever you tell him—crawl, bark, beg. Whatever you wanted. No hesita—

"Fuck, Jungkook..." A moan. So soft, so faint, it feels like his mind is playing tricks on him.

And then another moan, but this time incoherent, then a soft creak, followed by the rhythmic sound of a bed moving.

His body goes rigid, every nerve on high alert. You’re in there. Alone. What the hell is going on?

He moves toward the wall separating you from him, pressing his ear against it, desperate to hear more of you.

Another moan, louder this time, long and dripping with need.

His breath stutters, pulse hammering in his ears. The muscles in his jaw tighten, his cock twitching involuntarily. The sound of you—fuck. That’s how you sound? Beautiful. Perfect. Needy. And shit… you’re thinking of him? Fucking yourself, imagining him? He’s losing his mind.

His shorts feel suddenly painfully tight. His hands tremble, fumbling at his waistband, pulling the thing that’s aching to be freed out of both pants and boxers in one desperate motion.

The moans and soft whimpers continue and it’s too much. He grips his cock, the hard length throbbing in his hand as he starts to pump. His strokes grow frantic, desperate, matching the steady pulse of the bed as it rocks with your need.  His mind floods with images of you—your fucked out face, wet lips parted in pleasure, the way your body arches, shivering beneath him, trembling with each of his movements. He imagines your nails dragging down his back, marking him, claiming him as his own. The sound of his name on your lips again and again, each breath getting closer to his ear, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper, tighter.

When you cry out his name again, he can’t take it anymore, he bursts. His release hits him hard, his body shuddering as he spills his hot white cum into his hand, and some of it staining the walls.

He stood frozen—breathless, trembling, overwhelmed by the weight of a realization.

You, an actress.

Behind the mask of ambition, beneath the cold exterior of reservation and control, lies a desperate, hidden need.

You had begged for it in silence.

He would make sure you screamed for it out loud.

taglist: @taekritimin123, @vantelover1306, @random-musingsss @likewtaf @jeonmaleficent @almatiarau, @kxthx-b, @lively-potter, @jk-190811, @ilovejungkook9999, @goldietigers294, @dreamyluna18, @va1-erie, @snow-strawberry, @lovieku, @daskewl @jksusawife @daskewl @pp0810 @cherryreadsfics @boyfriendtaekook @michuga @kchukes @ahgasegotarmy116 @michellekosmos @pitchblack0309

[lumillsie]

ೃ⁀➷ glass shattered on the white cloth ੈ✩‧₊˚

se-mi x gn!reader

a/n : I was originally only going to write the last scene and make it a fluff piece with a hint of angst as the request said, but I feared it wouldn't satisfy the angsty-fluff part 🙏 that being said, maybe did too much in the angst part but trust its a fluffy ending.

fear had infiltrated your very bones and made a home of your skeleton the very moment that chemical agent sent you to sleep in that polished, luxurious vehicle you found yourself in on the night you were brought to this hellscape.

you began to think you couldn't feel it anymore — that you truly succeeded in numbing yourself to it.

the sight of her — cornered against the ivory tiles of the wall as thanos' nameless sidekick slithered close to her in all of this unbidden chaos, made you realise that you were not numb to fear. your body stilled at the sight, and your eyes darted around the room in a desperate attempt to locate something you could use to incapacitate him. you thought of him as hyena-like from the moment him and the purple-haired rapper he trailed behind first approached you and the girl who'd taken you under her wing. you had no idea how spot on your assessment was until this very moment.

you knew she was going to die if you didn't succeed in wrestling that silver fork out of his hand, and all thoughts of self-preservation abandoned you at the thought of her lying in a pool of her own blood.

as you made your first step, a figure on the top of the tallest bed caught your gaze. min-su tossed his bottle on the top of nam-gyu's head, allowing it to break into a thousand of pieces and cut into the other man's skin. se-mi saw her opportunity to sink down and grab a shard in her hand and lunged at him. you made your way closer, the rowdy noises of violence concealing your quiet steps and grasped a shard in your own hand carelessly, as your skin screamed in agony.

he over-powered her, and he was about to slit her throat on the spot. you were no murderer, of course not — you could never willingly, knowingly take a life. but in that moment, you knew only one of them would live. and it you knew that it needed to be her. there was no time for hesitation, so you didn't.

he was grasping at his throat as pools of crimson spurted down his neck and onto the pine green tracksuit. the white number 124 on his breast was drenched in liquid. the same liquid that coated your shaking hand and the shard that slipped its grasp the moment you saw he was no longer moving.

his eyes were empty — you imagined yours were too. you wanted to cry, you wanted to scream, you wanted to rub your hands over and over again until there was no trace of his blood ever having dripped down onto them.

"we need to hide. now" she proclaimed urgently, her unmarred hand grabbing your soiled one. you let her pull you under one of the beds as she nestled in close to you, hopeful that you wouldn't be discovered before the violent event came to its conclusion. you could see now that she was shaking too. you allowed her to keep your hand in hers, and prayed that you'd both remain undiscovered.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

the water rushes down from the faucet as red pools towards the drain. it doesn't look as thick anymore. it almost looks like wine now. se-mi's watchful eyes rest on you as you scrub the remainders of nam-gyu off your moist skin.

"I didn't get a chance to thank you, last night. you saved my life" she breaks the silence as her hands sink into her pockets. "if you hadn't done what you did... he would have killed me." you know the realisation is difficult for her too. if it weren't for a shard of glass, she would be dead now. the shards of glass shattered across the bedding reminded you both of what happened the night before when you crawled out from underneath the springs of your bed.

"so did min-su. he threw the bottle. I just..." you trail off, the words almost unspeakable. "I made a choice." you decide that's the right thing for you to say.

"I'm glad you're still alive." you declare, and if you were anywhere else in the world, it would sound strange and morbid and nothing like a declaration of affection. she understands what you mean. "I'm glad you're still alive, too" she says it back, and with her words a tinge of light makes its journey back into your eyes. a chuckle of relief escapes you, and soon enough you've both burst into giggles as hysterical tears drip down onto your cheeks.

the sight of the man you killed may return to haunt you in the night — but during the day, your thoughts are consumed by her. you want it to stay that way.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

your hands are gentle as you press the water-soaked cloth to the gash on her hand. the glass left its mark on her too — as did nam-gyu's attempts to bring her life to an untimely end with the work he lifted from thanos' neck.

"stay still." you beg her, as you tear off a piece of the bedding to wrap her her hound. you make sure to shake it first, as tiny fragments of glass shattered across the floor. your movements are precise, and yet you're careful not to cause her anymore pain. God knows she's experienced too much of it recently.

"you've been holding out on me. could've gotten into a fight with that ass on day one if I knew you were going to patch me up" se-mi teases as she does her best to stop moving while you finish tying the cloth around her palm. you roll your eyes, but you can't stop the edges of your lips from curling up into an amused smile. "I guess it never came up" you answered with the same tone of voice, your mouth making a 'pop' sound as you drawled out the last letter.

"we should go see that band you like, when we get out." she remarks almost unexpectedly, and you find yourself caught off-guard. "you remembered that?" you pose the question, your eyebrows slightly lifting. "of course. I remember everything you've told me." she responds, and you know now that something really has changed between the two of you. before, she looked out for you — but she was sarcastic, reserved, almost distant. now she's itching to lean closer to you, and you know you'll let her.

"we can get ready together, wear matching jackets." you answer her proposition, as your hand finds hers this time. she holds it tightly, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into the soft skin. "we can." she agreed.

"if we're lucky enough, we can take min-su with us... and visit the nice old lady who invited me to her place for dinner." you add, a renewed hope forming in your bones. it's infiltrated you farther than the fear could. she nods at that, with an expression of genuine joy on her face.

the sight of it fills you with affection — and with courage too. you lean forward until your lips reach hers, and she places a hand on the back of your neck. as you pull apart, you make a silent promise to yourself. you'll get her out of there — and you'll do your hardest to get out too.

a/n : and that's it for my first fic in this format! I intended to spend more time on it but something came up and I wasn't able to dedicate as much time as I wanted to for it, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. as always, tagging more characters for maximum visibility but I only tag characters I write for, so you can feel free to request any of them 🙏 thank you so much for your time and let me know if you have any feedback or constructive criticism 🩷

[moonmaiden1996]

How about Sanji x reader where he's holding back his moans (due to past toxic relationships)? Reader notices and tells him to stop holding back (because they love him and his voice), which results in a very passionate, feral night.

Sanji was always attentive—too attentive, really. Every brush of your skin, every little gasp or sigh, was treated like sacred music. He devoted himself wholly to your pleasure, ensuring every touch, every kiss, and every motion left you breathless. He made you sing and scream.

And you loved it. You loved him.

But tonight, something felt…off.

You were accustomed to keeping quiet on the ship, muffling the sounds of your pleasure to spare yourself the embarrassment of Luffy or Zoro barging in to “save” you—or worse, poor Chopper walking in and being utterly traumatized (you still felt bad about that one). But here, in your little hideaway on this island, there was no need for silence. Yet, Sanji held back.

His hands roamed your body with their usual tenderness, his lips leaving a trail of heat along your skin. But despite the fire burning between you, there was a restraint to him—a deliberate effort to stay quiet. Sure, you were used to him burying his face in your neck or a pillow during these moments, but here, what was stopping him?

His breathing hitched only slightly when your fingers tangled in his golden hair, and he bit his lip hard when you arched against him.

“Sanji,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His ocean-blue eyes flickered with worry.

“What is it, love? Did I hurt you?” he asked quickly, concern lacing his voice.

You shook your head, brushing a thumb over his flushed cheek. “No, you didn’t. But…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Why are you holding back? Why won’t you let me hear you?”

His brows furrowed, and for a moment, he looked away, shame creeping into his expression. “I… It’s nothing,” he tried to dismiss, but the crack in his voice betrayed him.

You didn’t let him hide. “Sanji, it’s not nothing. Please, talk to me.”

He sighed deeply, his hands stilling on your hips. “It’s just… In the past, the people I’ve been with—they said it was too much. That I was too loud, too…emotional.” His voice dropped, his vulnerability laid bare. “I guess I got used to holding it in. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Your heart ached at his words. How could anyone make him feel like this? “Sanji,” you whispered, your tone unwavering, “I love your voice. I love you. Please don’t hold back with me. I want to hear everything—every sound, every gasp, every moan. I want to know how much you feel.”

His eyes widened, his lips parting as if to protest, but you silenced him with a kiss. It was slow and deep, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. He melted into you, his body trembling as he finally let go of the walls he’d built.

When he pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his eyes dark with desire. “You really mean that?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled, brushing your lips against his ear. “Show me.”

And oh, did he.

The floodgates opened, and Sanji let himself feel. Every kiss, every thrust, every touch was accompanied by unrestrained, guttural sounds that sent shivers down your spine. His moans were raw and beautiful, a symphony of passion that echoed through the room.

He whispered your name like a prayer, his voice breaking as he poured every ounce of his love and desire into you. The way he trembled beneath your touch, the way he called out when you tightened around him—it was intoxicating. For the first time, Sanji wasn’t holding back, and it made the connection between you even more electric.

“Mon amour,” he gasped, his hands gripping your hips as he lost himself in you. “You’re… incredible. I—ah!”

You leaned down, pressing your forehead against his as you whispered, “Don’t stop, Sanji. I want to hear all of it.”

Your words were his undoing. The night became a blur of tangled limbs, heated whispers, and unrestrained cries of pleasure. Sanji, your Sanji, was finally free, and the passion between you burned brighter than ever before. This man does not stop till he is completely spent, he is too lost in actually feeling and he wants to feel every single thing. 

Afterward, as you lay wrapped in his arms, his lips brushed against your temple. “Thank you,” he murmured softly.

“For what?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on his chest, you arch but could not find the power to care.

“For loving me the way you do. For letting me be myself,” he said, his voice warm and tender.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Always.”

And as Sanji held you close, his heart beating steadily beneath your cheek, you knew you’d never let him hold back again.

This was such good one to write. If you like that please have a look at some of the other ask I have answered.

If you have an ask please send it through! No matter the character, cuteness or filthiness of it! If you want to read something explicitly let me know!

[fangdokja]

To him, you're perfect. To you, he's just a mission.

❤︎ Synopsis. In a world of blood and power, you became his perfect wife—calm, obedient, and indispensable. But beneath your icy façade, a deadly game of lies and survival brews, and he’ll never know that you’re the one who could destroy him.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. The Bride of Blood - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,459

♡ TW. dom + top + older + sadistic yandere, general non-con + manipulation, sexual themes, BDSM

♡ His Story. 🔞"I trusted you, wife, and now I'll teach you what betrayal feels like."

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who first noticed you during a violent upheaval in the criminal underworld, where blood was spilled more than ink on treaties.

You were the perfect wife—elegant, calm, and obedient.

His men whispered about your grace, but he only saw the subtle precision in your movements, a dancer in a minefield.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who felt a perverse sense of peace watching you tend to his wounds after a firefight.

"You’re reckless," you murmured, stitching his torn flesh with steady hands. The sharp tang of alcohol filled the air, mingling with the metallic stink of blood.

His laughter was low and cruel. “And yet you keep mending me, zhena moya.” You didn’t flinch under his gaze, but your fingers trembled ever so slightly, betraying a crack in your otherwise impenetrable façade.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who surrounded himself with walls of loyalty and fear, yet you slipped through them like a shadow.

Your quiet efficiency made you indispensable; your loyalty, unquestionable. You never balked at the grotesque reminders of his power—the severed hands of a traitor, the guttural pleas of dying men.

"Why do you stay?" he asked once, watching you clean blood from the floor with detached precision.

"Because I vowed to," you replied, voice devoid of warmth. He smirked, taking it as devotion, never suspecting the mission beneath your skin.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who made you his wife in a spectacle of opulence and terror.

The wedding was a gilded cage, a feast of gold and crimson.

He kissed you beneath a chandelier made of diamonds and glass, while outside, his enemies burned in their cars, charred bodies marking the territory of his love. You smiled as cameras flashed, but your stomach churned at the sound of distant screams.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who trusted you enough to let you into his inner sanctum. Late nights spent poring over ledgers and strategic maps became a routine.

"Tell me, what do you see?" he’d ask, his voice honeyed with suspicion.

You pointed out weaknesses, vulnerabilities, your mind calculating probabilities faster than his most seasoned lieutenants.

He called you brilliant; you called it survival.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who can’t keep his hands off you, as if touching you is the only way he can prove to himself that you’re real.

His fingers are always tracing the curve of your spine, ghosting along the edge of your jaw, a silent claim. His touch lingers, heavy with possession, even when his mood is lethal and his hands are stained with blood.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who wakes you in the middle of the night, his body already pressed against yours, hard and unyielding.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. The sheets are kicked aside as he drags you beneath him, his weight suffocating and intimate.

“You’re my peace,” he says, though his touch is anything but gentle. He takes you slowly at first, savoring every cry, every tremble, before his control snaps and he devours you whole.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who fucks you in places you shouldn't be touched—

Against the marble counter in the kitchen, your hands slipping on the smooth surface as he drives into you; in the backseat of his bulletproof car while his driver pretends not to notice the muffled moans and the rhythmic creak of leather; even in his private jet, your legs thrown over his shoulders as he degrades you in Russian, the words dark and guttural.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who loves watching you come undone beneath him, your carefully crafted mask shattering in his hands.

He knows you try to hide your reactions, to remain composed, but it only spurs him on. “Don’t hold back, lyubov moya,” he says, his voice velvet-soft and cruel.

“Let me hear how much you need me.” And when you finally break, crying out his name, his smirk is equal parts victorious and feral.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who becomes almost animalistic when his jealousy flares. One stray glance from another man and he’s dragging you to his private quarters, tearing at your clothes.

“I’ll remind you who you belong to,” he growls, his hands rough and demanding. He doesn’t stop until you’re trembling, marked, and utterly consumed by him, your body a canvas for his obsession.

“Mine,” he’d growl, over and over, as if the repetition could make it true.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who has a near-obsessive fixation on filling you, stretching you, owning you in the most primal way.

“How are you not pregnant yet?” he muses darkly, his fingers tracing circles on your inner thigh. He pulls you onto his lap, his grip firm and unyielding.

“Maybe I need to try harder,” he whispers, thrusting into you without warning, his eyes burning into yours as he takes you again and again, his movements relentless, determined.

“You’ll give me an heir one day,” he murmured, his voice thick with possessive desire. “A little prince or princess with your eyes and my ruthlessness.”

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who couldn’t keep his hands off you, even during the most mundane moments.

Cooking breakfast? He’d slide behind you, his hands wandering beneath your robe. Reading a book? He’d tug it from your grasp, his lips finding your neck as his body pressed against yours.

"You’re a distraction," you muttered one night as he pinned you to the bed, his lips trailing down your stomach.

"And you’re my obsession," he replied, his voice dripping with lethal promise.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw sex as another way to own you, to remind you of your place in his world. But even he couldn’t deny the way your body haunted him, the way he craved your touch like a drug.

“You make me weak,” he confessed one night, his voice low and raw as he traced the curve of your spine. “And I hate you for it.”

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who began to suspect that you were too perfect.

The way you navigated his world of violence with clinical detachment. The way you always seemed to know exactly what he needed, even before he did. It wasn’t love, he realized; it was precision. A scalpel disguised as a wife.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who saw glimpses of something darker beneath your calm exterior.

The first time you shot a man—clean between the eyes to save his life—he swore he saw something flicker in your gaze. Was it fear? Regret? Or was it just the ghost of the person you’d been before? He couldn’t tell, but the thought consumed him.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who pressed you for your past one drunken night, his voice slurred with vodka and possessiveness.

"Who were you before me, malyshka? What did you dream of?"

You lied through your teeth, weaving a story of lost parents and humble beginnings. He crushed your hand in his, murmuring, "You're mine now. I’ll destroy anyone who tries to take you." You forced a smile, choking on the irony.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who unwittingly began to unravel his own empire in his obsession with you. His paranoia sharpened with every stray glance from his men, every unfamiliar scent on your clothes.

"Do you love me?" he asked one night, his breath hot against your neck.

You hesitated—only for a second—but it was enough.

His grip tightened, bruising your arm. "Say it," he demanded, voice a low growl. "Of course," you whispered, the words like glass shards in your throat.

Yandere! Russian! Mafia Boss who built a kingdom of fear and blood but found himself undone by the ghost of a woman who had never truly been his.

A woman who kissed him with cold lips and watched him sleep with calculating eyes.

A woman who loved the mission more than she could ever love him.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool

[beomiracles]

You think you have seen long reblogs pffffft, well you have not seen mine *cracks knuckles*

*clears throat* so. Where to start… first of all, i have like a whole ahh list of all my favorite parts, so buckle up cause this is gonna be a long one. — NOT EVEN A FULL 300 WORDS IN AND I’M ALREADY HIGHLIGHTING STUFF; “I would rather rule with my heart than sell it to the highest bidder.” i’m sorry but this sentence is just so powerful, i hardly have words to describe it with. Which is one thing i really really like about this fic, she keeps on choosing her heart every single time. She didn’t waver once, which in my opinion, gets annoying when the mc kinda strays back and forth, should i..should i not.. Yada yada. NO. this woman knew what she wanted from the get go and she was not afraid to show it. “You’re going to ruin me, princess,” he said softly. “Then let me ruin you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. Another great example of my previous words. 

Matter of fact, that whole scene got me choked up. “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.” I AM GAGGED, GRABBED BY THE THROAT. Idk, she just had such a beautiful way of seeing things throughout the entire fic, i will not ever get over it i fear. Not to mention this; 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.” i love how she literally peels back his layers and gets him to open up in such a comforting and safe way. 

“You look like you wandered out of a ball. Did you lose your way to the dance floor?” oh yes i giggled at this btw hehehe 

Onto something very important, their letter exchanges. OH MY GODDDD. I’m sorry i’m very sappy and reading those letters was actually clawing at my fragile heart. The way you can feel the yearning within their words, i’m gonna spiral, it also gave me inspiration for a fic, COUGH moving on. 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. BUT I HEAR YOUR LAUGH IN THE WIND AND FEEL YOUR PRESENCE IN EVERY SHADOW OH SHAKESPEARE IS QUAKING IN HIS MFING GRAVE RIGHT NOW. it’s the way yeonjun describers her with such love and adoration i am literally so fucking weak i could cry a whole river. 

Their relationship just felt so raw, i can’t explain it, but it was like they both needed each other in the most pure and desperate form ever. Yeonjun losing his family and reader never having one at all, the way they’re just so drawn to each other without being able to refrain from keeping away. I am weak. — and let’s not even talk about how fucking fine archer yeonjun is because what the actual fuck, He reaches for another arrow, the muscles in his arms flexing under the thin fabric of his shirt. BOM SHAKALAKA YES GAWD YES GAWD, GIMME THAT GIMME THAT. 

The brief beomgyu cameo gave me literal life, i will claw at anything that is beomgyu for as long as i live. Imagine a little nerd with fat glasses whose special interest gets even slightly mentioned, that’s me when beomgyu, excitedly jumping up and down n kicking my feet as i giggle hysterically. 

"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. …. Gonna leave this here for you all to ponder. 

Oh rae. rae, rae, rae, rae… you knew this part was coming. kai kamal huening. What do you honestly wish of me? Because if it is to actively plot my soon-to-be self homicide attempt you have done it. — he’s so sweet, and just a baby, and he’s doing everything he can to take care of his family. 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."  BABY YOU’RE GONNA DIE DON’T MAKE PLANS FOR THE FUTURE. Sigh, but The sunshine x grumpy with him and yeonjun, kills myself… “I know they died..” Kai said, surprising Yeonjun. “I’m sorry. I can be your family now.” OH FOR HEAVENS SAKE THROW YOURSELF OFF A CLIFF. 

What hurt even more was that i KNEW that he was dying. Each fucking scene was like knifes to my chest. Imagine me on the street, wounded and slowly bleeding out, rain pours over me, covering me whole and making me shiver as i take my last dying breath. AND YOU RAE, you step on my outstretched hand. That’s what i felt when you killed him off. 

AND YOU JUST KEPT STABBING ME. as if brutally murdering me wasn't already enough. “Your little messenger screamed your name the whole time. Begged us to let him go. Begged for you to save him.” you know i almost stopped reading here… but then i was like, “nah lemme actually put my big girl pants on and get through this” only for you to drop THIS: “The boy cried for you, you know. Right up until the end.”

Hah. well. Fuck you then. 

But as my final point i want to highlight how much i love yeonjun and mcs relationship, their fucking passion for each other. As if the letters, the yearning and the longing wasn’t enough. "Let them try. I won’t let them take you from me." YES BABY I’M THROWING UP AND CRYING BUT YES YE SYES YES. heh. 

BUT LOW AND BEHOLD GUYS. now she’s trying to bandage my bleeding wounds by ending it like this; “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.” (it worked, fuck you rae) 

In all the fic was so flowy and easy to read, it immersed you perfectly in the plot and stuck to an interesting and eventful storyline, nothing felt out of place or rushed, everything was just magnificent, even if it stung like a bitchhh. 

Giving this a 5/5 of goodreads, and um, this is two pages long on a doc. 

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

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — beneath the stars, we became one: chapter 023 !

"i'm sorry."

you looked at him, your mind swirling. rin wasn't the kind of person to apologize unless it was necessary, but hearing those words from him made everything feel .. off. there was something raw, something unspoken in his gaze; it was a side of him you hadn't seen before.

he sat there, his hand twisting nervously with the edge of his sleeve, his eyes focused on the ground, avoiding your gaze. should i apologize or let him speak?

he finally spoke, his voice softer than it had been the entire time you'd known him. "i'm sorry for everything. for the things i said, for how i pushed you away. i never should've acted like that. reo told me a bit about your past ... i didn't know, and i regret my words more than i can say."

his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and you could see the sincerity there. his expression was heavy with the weight of his apology. before you could answer, he continued, and his voice lowered even further, as if he were admitting something that he'd never planned on sharing.

"you weren't even part of my plans," he said, the words so so quiet, you thought you misheard him.

"what do you mean?" you asked, your brows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his confession.

"i wanted to focus on school and soccer," he explained. "i never expected to care for someone as much as i care for you. you change everything. and i don't even know what to do with myself anymore."

your breath caught in your throat, your heart melted. the rawness in his voice made it race. rin, always so composed, was here, breaking down his walls. the vulnerability in his words took you by surprised. again, you opened your mouth to say something, but before you could, he added, "i wasn't sure what love really felt like until i met you."

you didn't know what to say, didn't know how to process the emotions swirling within you. your heart was pounding in your chest, caught between everything he'd just said and everything you'd felt in your heart.

but the words didn't matter anymore. you couldn't hold back. you couldn't wait for him to keep explaining. you needed to feel him, to show him that you understood, that you felt the same way.

fuck it, you thought.

before he could continue, you leaned forward and kissed him. you felt his breath catch in his throat as you kissed him harder, your hands instinctively reaching for him. all the walls you'd built, the fears, the hesitations - they crumbled in that moment.

when you pulled away, you could feel the heat of his presence surrounding you. without thinking, you moved to straddle his lap, your eyes locking with his, the space between you closing in a way that felt so right. his teal eyes were mesmerizing, almost otherworldly, and the way they softened as they met yours made your heart ache.

rin itoshi is so so pretty.

for a moment, you simply stared at each other, your breath mingling in the quiet space. it felt as though time stood still, everything else in the world fading away. but then, the weight of everything that had been building up inside you spilled out.

"i'm so sorry, rin," you whispered, your voice trembling. "i- i distanced myself because i was scared. scared of getting hurt, scared of how much i yearn for you. i've been holding myself back for so long, afraid that i'd lose myself again."

your words faltered as your throat tightened, tears welling up in your eyes. "i didn't mean to hurt you. i'm sorry .. i didn't know how to deal with it. i don't know how to deal with this."

rin's expression softened, and before you could say anything more, he gently brushed away the tear that had fallen down your cheek. his touch was tender, his fingers lightly tracing the path where your tear had been.

"you don't need to apologize," he murmured, his voice low, soothing.

and without another word, he pulled you into a kiss again, but this time it was different- slower, more deliberate. his lips were gentle at first, almost as if he was savoring the moment. but then, as the kiss deepened, it became more urgent, more desperate, as if both of you were finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you'd been holding back.

the world outside of this moment ceased to exist. it was just the two of you, and everything else was forgotten in the heat of the kiss. your hands found their way to his neck, pulling him closer, while his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you even closer, as if he couldn't bear any distance between you.

the kiss deepened, a perfect blend of tenderness and longing. his hands were cold, which sent a shiver down your spine, and for a moment, everything else in the world faded away - no past, no fear, no regrets; only him and you, in this moment.

your heart raced in sync with his, each breath between the kisses a quiet affirmation of how much you needed this, how much you needed him. the tension that had built between you finally began to dissipate, replaced by relief, like a weight had been lifted from your chest.

when you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, rin's eyes locked onto yours, intense and full of meaning. you could see the emotions flickering across his face, the same raw vulnerability you'd felt in him from the start.

"i want you to be mine," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, "selfishly, thoughtlessly, mine."

"then, can i be yours?"

chapter 022 > here > epilogue

back to beneath the stars, we became one !

a/n: is this the end guys ...

taglist: @byakgans @bluberrymochi17 @levihanmyotp @x3nafix @etojlee @chuuyalvover @reocidal @syarc0re @azinniyaa @vashyuu @rwbie @idexmids @giaalorine @modxbea @nensi @anqelkoz @sapph1r3x @yuukigyatgyat @morgyyyyyyy @azharyy @chaerinmin @thenightsflower @narcjsistx @totheseok @meekydeeks @aerisevx @imas1mpp @t3chn0chan @lincqx @jadelynnrr @beellu @elpo1111

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[leona-hawthorne]

lorenzo berkshire: how a relationship would be with my favorite male manipulator <3

(@mattnott this came out of the chat we had the other day LMAO ily zoya)

on the surface, lorenzo berkshire is just that guy. he’s effortlessly charming, polite, intelligent, and the kind of person who could convince anyone he’s the perfect human being. he’s the type who walks into a room and immediately draws everyone in—not by being loud or flashy, but by knowing exactly how to make himself seem approachable, kind, and maybe even a little vulnerable. but all of it is just a mask.

enzo is a master manipulator. he knows exactly how to get what he wants, and he does it by making people think they’re in control. he doesn’t argue or beg; instead, he plants ideas like seeds in your mind. “if that’s what you think is best,” he’ll say with a soft smile, knowing full fucking well you’ll second-guess yourself. he makes you feel like every decision was yours, even though he’s been guiding you the whole time. and the worst part? you don’t even realize it until it’s too late.

emotional manipulation and guilt-tripping

enzo doesn’t argue outright, but he’s an expert at making you feel like everything is your fault. when you expresses your feelings or doubts about your relationship, he deflects and twists the narrative.

“you’re overthinking again, love. you always do this—it’s like you’re looking for reasons to fight.”

“after everything i’ve done for you, this is how you see me? it just doesn’t seem fair, babe.”

the constant emotional exhaustion of always questioning yourself and feeling like the villain slowly pushes you to the edge.

subtle isolation

enzo doesn’t tell you to stop seeing your friends or family straight up—that would be too obvious. instead, he plants seeds of doubt about them, turning you against the people who care about you.

“it’s just… don’t you think your friends don’t really understand you? they don’t see the real you like i do. they’re only here for a good time. they wouldn’t stick with you when things are hard, like i do.”

“your sister’s always been jealous of you. it’s kind of obvious when you think about it. in fact… i think i she was flirting with me at the lake trip last weekend…”

over time, you feel more and more alone, with enzo as the only person left in your corner—and even that’s suffocating.

his temper leaks through

enzo prides himself on being calm and composed, but even he can’t keep the mask on forever. when you push back—when you really challenge him—his anger surfaces.

“you think you’re better than me now? after all i’ve done just to make you happy? you should be grateful i’m still putting up with you. no one else would.”

“you don’t get to treat me like this. i deserve better than your constant doubts.”

while he doesn't resort to outright aggression, the quiet, cutting anger and emotional coldness are enough to make you feel small and utterly helpless against him.

hypercritical tendencies

at first, enzo is the type to shower you with compliments. but once he has you, the nitpicking starts. he frames his criticisms as “helping” you or “protecting” you, but they’re really about control. he wants to cut you down until his words are the only form of validation you trust; the only ones that matter.

“that dress is nice, but it’s not really your color, is it?”

“i just think you’d be happier if you didn’t spend so much time on things that don’t matter.”

it’s not that he truly thinks badly of you; it’s just his way of slowly implementing his control. the constant criticism erodes your self-esteem, making you wonder if you’re ever enough for him.

dismisses your autonomy

enzo frames his controlling nature as “taking care of you” or “looking out for you,” but it’s really about stripping away your agency.

he might make decisions for you without asking, like ordering for you at a restaurant or canceling your plans because he thinks you “needs rest.” you simply don’t get a say.

“i only did it because i know what’s best for you. you’d do the same for me if you cared as much as i do.”

over time, you realize you don’t have control over your own life anymore—and that terrifies you.

you start to feel like you’re losing your identity. the things you love—your hobbies, your friends, even your sense of self—have all been swallowed up by enzo’s world.

his fear of losing control turns ugly

when you start pulling away, enzo’s fear of losing you makes him tighten his grip. he might start tracking your whereabouts, showing up uninvited, or trying to manipulate you into staying.

“you’re not yourself lately, baby. i think you need me more than ever right now.”

“are you seriously leaving me after everything we’ve been through? i thought you were better than this. i thought you loved me—was it all a joke to you?”

his desperation exposes just how deeply insane, how utterly selfish he really is—and how dangerous it is to stay—but you still can’t help loving him.

the breaking point: seeing the mask slip

your breaking point comes when you finally see enzo for what he truly is. maybe it’s a moment of anger where his charm gives way to cold cruelty. maybe it’s realizing how isolated you’ve become or maybe it’s catching him in a lie.

“you know what? you’ll never find someone like me again. you’ll never find someone who loves you the way i do—or touches you the way i do.”

“go ahead and leave. but don’t come crawling back when you realize no one else will put up with you.”

and suddenly, the illusion you’ve clung to—the one where enzo is perfect, where his love is worth the pain—is shattered.

enzo doesn’t beg you to stay. no, he’s far more subtle. he sets the stage so that if you even think about leaving, the world around you becomes a constant reminder of him. your friends adore him. “enzo’s perfect for you,” they say, oblivious to his carefully crafted facade, oblivious to the fact that he doesn’t even want them within 50 feet of you. your family loves him because he’s gone out of his way to charm them. “he’s such a gentleman,” your mom gushes after he brings her flowers for no reason at all.

and when you confront him? he doesn’t argue. he doesn’t yell. instead, he sighs, looking at you with those soft, sad eyes. “i just wish you’d trust me,” he says, and suddenly you’re the one apologizing.

and enzo’s love isn’t love—it’s obsession. he doesn’t just want to be with you; he wants to consume you. he integrates himself so deeply into your life that it feels impossible to untangle yourself from him.

he’ll listen to all your favorite songs and tell you how much he loves them too. “this one reminds me of you,” he’ll say, and suddenly, every melody feels like it belongs to him.

he’ll watch all your favorite shows, quote them back to you, and make inside jokes so that even your comfort series becomes a part of his web.

he’ll charm your friends and family until they’re all on his side. “you’re lucky to have him,” they’ll say when you confide in them. and if you ever leave? they’ll tell you you’re making one of the biggest mistakes of your life.

“i just don’t understand,” he’ll say if you call him out. “everything i’ve ever done was for you. because i love you.”

and here’s the thing about enzo: even when he’s truly, deeply in love, he’s still toxic. love doesn’t magically make him a better person—it just changes the way he manipulates you. instead of using his charm to pull you in, he’ll use his insecurities to keep you there. “i don’t know what i’d do without you,” he whispers, and it sounds more like a warning than a confession. almost like he’s saying he’d become worthless without you.

but love does soften him in some ways. his need for control isn’t about power anymore; it’s about fear. he’s terrified of losing you, so he holds on tighter. he’s still manipulative, still controlling, but now it’s because he genuinely believes he can’t live without you.

enzo’s love is messy and overwhelming. it’s the kind of love that makes you feel like you’re drowning, but at the same time, you can’t imagine living without it. and that’s the tragedy of lorenzo berkshire: no matter what he does, you can’t help but love him anyway. even when you see his true colors, you’re already too far gone.

© leona-hawthorne 2025. please do not copy, translate or repost any of my writing.

navigation. masterlist. lorenzo berkshire masterlist.

[mista-svech]

You Should Probably Leave - Lia Wälti x Reader

Part Two

Summary: Your’s and Lia’s complicated relationship always ended the same way, but neither of you knew how to resist.

Authors Note: This is my first fic I’ve wrote in about a year and a half, so bear with me. This is based off the song You Should Probably Leave by Chris Stapleton which I’m obsessed with currently. I might do a part two if wanted. Enjoy, and please leave feedback!

I know it ain't all that late

But you should probably leave

It was just supposed to be a casual night at the bar after a win with the team, nothing more, nothing less. But of course, nothing in your life was ever that simple especially when Lia was involved.

It was no secret that you and her had a very complicated relationship, that never really went anywhere, and kept hurting one or both of you. But despite everyone desperately trying to get the two of you to move on, nobody could. It always ended the same way, you falling into bed with the Swiss, and convincing her that it’s not a good idea. You knew deep down that it would just end the same way it always did, but that never seemed to keep you two apart.

So here you are, sat across from her in a dimly lit bar, surrounded by the quiet buzz of conversations surrounding you two. You quickly glance down at the time on your phone seeing how it’s only 9pm, but you know if you stay any longer you won’t be able to resist her.

The conversation was easy between the two of you, as it always was. But somewhere along the way, it shifted. The way her gaze lingered a little too long, the way her laugh held a note of something unspoken it all felt too familiar. So you spoke up, “Lia, I should probably get going”

And I recognize that look in your eyes

Yeah, you should probably leave

You couldn’t help but feel it, that flutter in your chest every time she looked at you with her hazel eyes. Deep down you knew she agreed with you, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it out loud.

'Cause I know you and you know me

And we both know where this is gonna lead

You shifted in your seat, trying to hide the way your heart betrayed everything you knew would happen. She caught the movement, her eyes narrowing slightly in concern.

“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice smooth like velvet but with a hint of something searching, something soft.

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I-, Lia I- should probably get going back home…”

Lia studied you for a moment, her brow furrowing, before she leaned back, giving you a knowing look. She knows what will happen if you two stay in each others company much longer, “Uh yeah, we probably should..”

You want me to say that I want you to stay

So you should probably leave

Yeah, you should probably leave

The two of you just stare into each others eyes for what feels like an hour, you know that look. The look where she is waiting for you to ask her to come with you, but you just stare back. Despite trying to leave multiple times, you never actually get up from the barstool. All you do is let out a sigh and think to yourself I really should leave, yeah…

There's still time for you to finish your wine

Then you should probably leave

You tell yourself that you will stay long enough to finish your beer until you call the uber. Whatever to make yourself feel better right?

And it's hard to resist, alright, just one kiss

Then you should probably leave

The more she looked at you, the more you felt the walls you’d built start to crumble. You had to pull away, had to stop this before it went any further, but something inside of you just couldn’t. She kisses you, and obviously you kissed back.

“Lia…” you muttered, pulling away. You could feel the weight of her gaze pressing on you, and it was both comforting and overwhelming.

Cause I know you and you know me

But we both know where this is gonna lead

You want me to say that I want you to stay

So you should probably leave

Yeah, you should probably leave

Despite everything that you thought you knew about Lia and You, you still couldn’t bring yourself to walk away. Yet still you thought to yourself, I should probably leave. Again whatever you had to do to make yourself feel better.

Like a devil on my shoulder, you keep whisperin' in my ear

And it's gettin' kinda hard for me to do the right thing here

I wanna do the right thing, baby

Once again she gave me that look, and I gave it right back. Being a professional footballer, you always were very strong mentally. Except when it came to her, you were practically fighting everything in your heart that wanted you to stay. You knew that if you stayed it would only hurt you as well as her in the morning, but as fate would have it you couldn’t do the right thing.

You swallowed hard, heart racing in your chest as you tried to avoid her gaze. You knew what she meant, all she had to do was say the words and you would gladly go home with her, and vice versa.

“You should probably leave,” you found yourself whispering, your words far too honest for your own good. You wanted to run, to escape the pull she had over you, but instead you found yourself in the back of an uber tangled up with the Swiss, on the way to her apartment.

Sun on your skin, 6 a.m.

And I been watchin' you sleep

And honey, I'm so afraid you're gonna wake up and say

That you should probably leave

The next morning you roll over to see Lia’s back turned to you, sun glistening on her skin. You start thinking about how maybe this time was different, and that you two would actually get together. You’re quickly snapped out of your thoughts, at the sight of Lia stirring.

'Cause I know you and you know me

And we both know where this is gonna lead

I want you to stay, but you'll probably say

That you should probably leave

You glance at her again, eyes tracing the lines of her body, the way she looks so peaceful in the early morning light. You almost want to reach out, tell her you’re done with the back and forth, that you want this to be something real.

But as always, the fear of realizing that maybe neither of you are ready for what it would take to make this work,holds you back. It always does.

Slowly, you slip out of bed, gathering your clothes as quietly as you can. You need to leave before it happens again, before you fall back into this pattern that you know can’t go anywhere.

But as you’re about to slip out the door, her voice stops you.

“Leaving already?” Her tone is gentle, a little playful, but there’s a hint of something else there too, a quiet sadness, maybe?

You turn to face her, her eyes half-lidded with sleep. And for a moment, you both just stand there, silently understanding the inevitable.

You swallow, fighting the words that are on the tip of your tongue. I should probably leave.

But instead, you find yourself just staring at her, unable to move. Unable to walk away like every other time…

[12woso12]

Angry Woman

Part 2

Part 1 here

TW: Some deep topics, take care of yourselves

The Price of Glory

The first thing that hit you when you arrived in London wasn’t the overwhelming size of the city or the sheer volume of people swarming the streets. It was the atmosphere. The air felt thick, charged with a pulse of relentless energy. London, unlike anything you’d known up north, had a kind of frantic magic to it. The hum of it all—constant, impatient, vibrant—seeped into your bones. It was a place where dreams were built and crushed, where even the boldest ambition could feel small.

And you? You were standing at the epicenter of it all.

Arsenal.

The weight of it felt heavy. The familiar red kit, the pitch, the trainers, the glances—it was all different now. You'd swapped one uniform for another. One badge for another. You'd left behind Manchester United, your roots, your home, the club that had shaped you into what you were today. Now, here you were, a new addition to the already stacked squad of Arsenal, in a city you barely knew, carrying the legacy of a star who might not have wanted to leave, but did.

You couldn't quite tell if you were scared or excited. Maybe both.

The first training session at Arsenal was supposed to be routine. Everyone expected it to be. But nothing felt routine when you were stepping onto that pristine pitch, all eyes on you—on the former United prodigy turned Arsenal’s golden girl.

It was harder than you thought.

You tried to keep your focus, your movements smooth, but the pressure was unbearable. You'd been a part of the England squad, you'd played in finals, lifted trophies—but today, you were just the new signing. And even with the best players around you, it felt like the loneliest place on earth.

“Hey,” a voice called from behind you as you jogged back to the side of the pitch, trying to shake the tension from your limbs.

You turned, only to see a familiar face. Alessia Russo, standing there, grinning like she hadn’t seen you in years. And in a way, she hadn’t.

Alessia. You'd spent years together at United—always pushing each other to be better, always knowing exactly how to read each other’s movements on the pitch. She had been there when you were just a teenager, trying to prove yourself, trying to carry your broken pieces with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"Look at you," she said, her smile wide and genuine. "This feels wrong, doesn’t it?" Her eyes flicked briefly to the Arsenal badge on your chest, then back to you, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

You couldn't help but chuckle. “It feels... weird. I can’t lie.”

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? If I was in your shoes, I’d be walking around like I owned the place."

You snorted, shaking your head. “Doesn’t feel like it, though. I swear, I feel like I’m just a kid in a new uniform. How do you do it?"

Alessia shrugged. "It’s just football, right? We’ve done this before. We’ll do it again. Don’t think too hard about it."

The easy way she said it made you smile. But you still couldn’t shake that feeling. The weight on your shoulders, the knowledge that, at Arsenal, you were now expected to be more than just a player. You were the future. And that was a lot to carry.

“Alright, let’s bring it in!”

You turned to see Renée Slegers, standing at the edge of the field. A woman who had built her reputation in the women’s game as a number two under Jonas Eidevall but was now reaping the rewards of her hard work in becoming the newest manager at Arsenal after the departure of Jonas.

She was intense. She didn’t miss anything. But she was also incredibly kind.

"Everyone, gather round," Renée called again, her voice cutting through the quiet murmur of conversation.

You and Alessia jogged over, joining the others in a tight circle. Renée stood in front of you all, eyes scanning each face, including yours. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than the others. She smiled, she nodded, then started to speak.

“Welcome back everyone! Now we've all returned to rainy England after our holidays we can adjust to the cold again. This year is going to be our year, Arsenal's year. I truly believe we have what it takes as long as we put in the hard work. We are a team, and that’s the only way we’ll be successful.”

There was a pause as she let the weight of her words hang in the air, you study the other players who you were yet to have a proper conversation with. They were a real mix of people, from your captain at England to Amanda Illested who was just returning from pregnancy. They all looked united in the cause, Renee's cause.

Your eyes flicked to Alessia, who was watching you with an almost imperceptible nod, a reminder that you were no stranger to pressure. You’d been under pressure for years. A kind of pressure that not even Alessia knew about.

Renée’s eyes settled on you once more. She seemed to read the uncertainty in your posture, the way you were holding back.

"You’re a star Y/N L/N and we can't wait to work with you" she said, her voice warmer now, “ Welcome to Arsenal.”

There was a belief in her words that made you stand a little taller, a little straighter. For a second, the weight on your shoulders didn’t feel so heavy.

Renée stepped back, eyes sweeping across the group once more before adding, “Let’s get back to work."

You were still trying to absorb the intensity of that moment when Alessia bumped her shoulder against yours. "Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. I know you." She grinned again, that familiar spark of mischief in her eyes. "You’ve got this."

But you knew what she meant. She knew you. All of you. The raw talent, the fire, and the mess of emotions you carried with you. She had seen it before. The only thing she didn't know was the abuse, and you weren't about to tell her anything. Alessia might be like an older sister to you, but if she ever found out what you had let David Coben do to you then she'd abandon you in disgust. You were sure of it. It was what David had always told you.

"Yeah," you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. "I can do this. Now i'm out of United, i have no reason to be angry anymore"

After the session, as you made your way to the locker room, there was a new kind of buzz in the air. A few players came up to you, offering their hands and welcoming you like you’d always been part of the squad.

“Hey, it’s so good to have you here!” Kim Little jogged up to you, the captain yet to take an opportunity to welcome you "If you need anything then don't hesitate to ask ok?"

You smiled, trying to keep the nerves at bay. “Thanks. I’m still getting used to everything.”

“Kid, you're world class, trust me.” she added sensing your hesitance, her smile warm. “I'm just glad we nabbed you off United before you carried them to the top of the league”

You heard a friendly laugh from behind and Leah Williamson flung an arm around your shoulder. You’d played against her for years, both with England and in club football, and despite her composed, professional exterior, she always had a knack for putting people at ease.

“Good to see you,” she said, squeezing you tightly to her side. “We’ve got a some great girls here. You’re going to love it.”

“I’m excited," you replied, your voice a little steadier.

Besides Leah stood Beth, who had that twinkle in her eye, the one that always made you laugh, even on the toughest days.

“You’ve no idea how much we need you,” Beth grinned, slinging an arm around your other shoulder in a friendly, no-nonsense way. “We’re all going to have so much fun.”

“Yeah, but you better not be slacking, or I’ll drag you through a few drills you won’t forget,” Leah teased, the captain qualities in her bubbling to the surface.

You couldn’t help but laugh. For all the uncertainty you’d felt before, now you were surrounded by the kind of camaraderie you hadn’t experienced in a while. There was no pretense here, no judgment. Just teammates, genuinely happy to have you on their side.

Alessia grinned and leaned toward you. “See? Everyone's excited that you're here” You wouldn't exactly call your England teammates, who'd you'd played with since you were 19, everyone on the team but you appreciated the sentiment.

It was a weird feeling, being surrounded by a squad and staff that you felt at ease around. You'd spent so long at United, so long walking its walls with fear that you never quite realised the freedom you were missing. You experienced it at England camps, of course. But to have it at club level too? You felt a little spoilt.

The change was surreal, but somehow, it felt right.

For the first time that day, the weight on your shoulders didn’t feel like a burden. You had a team behind you. And maybe—just maybe—this new chapter might be the one where you stopped being so angry.

That night, in your hotel room, you found yourself staring out at the sprawling town below, your reflection faint in the glass. St Albans was where all the Arsenal players set up residence, even the mens team. And until the team at Arsenal finalised your apartment, they had set you up in a cute hotel in the centre of town. The lights of the town were far more beautiful than the dark thoughts swirling in your head. You tried to push them away, tried to focus on the exciting weeks ahead, but they always came back. That shadow.

You had ignored it for so long. Everything at United had become normal, letting David Coben do those unthinkable things to you had become normal. You had left United's locker room horrors behind but even now, standing here in a new kit, in a new city, you knew the world was waiting for you to slip up.

The United fans, the ones who had once loved you most, were now dreaming of your downfall.

The media, the pouncing journalists, were just waiting for your next red card. Ready to spin a pun with your newest on pitch drama.

You sometimes wonder that if the world knew, if they found out about the sexual abuse, whether people would finally see why you were the way you were. They'd understand your anger and your decision to move clubs.

But you couldn't tell anyone. David Coben may have let you leave United but he'd never let you tell the world. Besides, you were ashamed, embarrassed and felt a whole other bundle of emotions that you weren't ready to unpack yet. In your head, escaping United would let you leave all that behind but the thing about running from your past is that it never lets you go.

You thought about your boyfriend for a moment, Lucas Riley, the world's most beloved pop star. No one on the outside world knew exactly what you were to each other but for a year now the two of you had been official. You never told Lucas about David either. You felt awful of course, like you were cheating. But you'd just wanted to have one normal relationship in your life. You didn't want to associate sex with fear and discomfort. Lucas had been a way out of that. And now you were at Arsenal he definitely didn't need to know. The past was the past.

You loved Lucas...didn't you? But he would remain in the dark. He was constantly away with his band and didn't need something else to worry about. He was the only thing in your past that you were still holding onto.

Maybe Arsenal was the fresh start you needed.

Or maybe it was just another step in the same long, dark journey.

Either way, you couldn’t stop now.

And, at least for tonight, you wouldn’t try.

You were a Lioness.

And Arsenal was your new pride.

[suunani]

crimson love ( park sunghoon )

▍ you learn that love isn’t always enough and can’t save everything.

content : 3730 words, royalty!au, knight!male reader, prince!sunghoon, impossible love, they are nawt happy, sunghoon is kind of cold at first, reader call sunghoon 'my prince' & 'my love', angst, making out, slightly suggestive, cursing.

note : omg this is the first time i’ve written something like this, but i poured a lot of effort into making the emotions and situations believable, so i really hope it resonates with you!

the flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the cold stone walls of the prince’s private chamber, but the room felt suffocating in a way that no shadow could ever explain.

you knelt in front of sunghoon, your back straight because that's what a knight should look like, but your shoulders hunched because you didn't know how to hold the weight of what you were about to tell him.

“your highness…” you began, your voice a quiet rasp, carefully controlled but laced with something raw — something barely contained. “i'll get rid of her for you.”

the words spilled out, desperate, earnest, and dangerous. you knew they were too bold, too reckless, but in this moment, there was nothing more important than removing the threat looming over him.

you didn't even realize how tightly your hands were balled into fists until you felt your nails digging into your palms. you looked up at him, searching his face for something, anything — but all you got back was that unreadable expression he always wore.

the one that made him feel like he was miles away even when he was right in front of you.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was your breathing, uneven and shaky. sunghoon didn't say a word. his gloved hand hovered near yours, but he didn't touch you.

that, more than anything, made your chest ache.

you couldn't stop yourself. you reached out, your fingers, calloused from years of service and battle, were gentle as they clasped his hand, your touch as tender as ever — so gentle it almost felt wrong — though the rest of you screamed with the weight of your emotions.

you had never dared to show this side of yourself, this rawness. you had always been the strong knight, unwavering, a protector of the prince, of the crown. but now, in this desperate hour, your loyalty, your love, your sacrifice, spilled out in front of him, uncontrollable.

“my prince— my love,” you tried again, your voice breaking on the words, and you hated how small you sounded, how vulnerable.

but there was no hiding from him. not now.

"please. i'll do it. i don't care what it costs me. i would rot in prison if you asked me to. i would go to the ends of the earth, beyond the gates of hell, if it meant keeping you safe. keeping you away from her."

you didn't mean to say that last part, but it slipped out anyway, and now it was just hanging in the air between you, like an accusation. like a confession.

you expected him to get angry. to pull away completely. but instead, something in his eyes shifted.

for the briefest second, his guard dropped, and you saw it — saw him. the sunghoon you'd fallen for, the one who smiled at you like you were his whole world when no one else was watching. the one who kissed you like it hurt to let go.

but it was gone as fast as it came, replaced by that same cold, unreachable mask he always wore. he pulled his hand back sharply, and the ache in your chest turned into something sharper, something that made it hard to breathe.

“you don’t know what you’re saying,” he said finally, his voice tight, controlled.

but you knew better. you knew that the mask he wore was thin, fragile. it wasn’t anger that clouded his features. it was despair.

“i never asked you to do this. not for me. not for anyone. i never wanted you to.”

you didn’t flinch, even though his words cut deeper than he could have known. you couldn’t afford to.

"you don't have to ask," you shot back, and this time your voice didn't shake. you were done pretending. "i'd do anything for you, my prince. you know that."

you wasnt stupid. you were well aware of your place in the world — you always had.

you were a nobody, an orphan, a lost soul abandoned by everyone who had to claw his way out of the streets just to survive. you'd lost everything before you even knew what it meant to have something to lose. you didn't even deserve to be in this room with him.

but sunghoon had chosen you.

he found you in the rain, a chance encounter that had changed the course of your life forever. he had seen something in you that no one else ever had. he had brought you into the fold, given you purpose, given you a future — though you had never dared to imagine what that future might hold.

and somewhere along the way, you'd given him everything in return.

without question, without hesitation.

you had become his knight, his loyal protector, but more than that — his secret lover, when no one else was watching. you had given your body, your heart, your soul to him, knowing full well that it could never be enough.

sunghoon was the prince. his future, his throne, his empire, everything came before you, before your love. and you had accepted that, as painful as it was.

but now, this woman — olivia, the woman sunghoon had been promised to, was the final blow. she wasn’t worthy of him. she couldn’t love him the way you did. she didn't even deserve to be near him.

her every action, her every smile, was a mockery of everything sunghoon stood for. and you, as his knight, as his lover, couldn’t stand to see him bound to someone who would tarnish his name. someone who would drag him into the mud.

“that woman will drag you down with her,” you said, and the words came out harder than you meant them to, but you didn't care.

your hands was still clasping his as if you could somehow hold onto him, keep him from slipping away.

“she frequents brothels. she has not an ounce of loyalty in her. she would make you appear incompetent in the eyes of your people. your enemies would see it, and they will use it against you. she'll destroy everything you've worked for.”

you could see his jaw tighten, his fingers flexing slightly, as if resisting the urge to throw something, to lash out. the room felt heavier with each passing second.

but he didn't say anything. not yet.

“i’ve had her followed,” you continued, your tone fierce now, fueled by the rage and protectiveness you couldn’t mask. “i know what she’s been doing, where she's been going. and i can’t— no, i won’t let her ruin you.”

sunghoon’s breath quickened, his chest rising and falling with each labored inhale.

his entire body had stiffened, the tension radiating from him like a tightly wound cord threatening to snap. you could see the storm brewing behind his eyes — the conflict, the weight of everything he carried on his shoulders.

because deep down, he knew you were right.

you had seen things. heard things. you had watched olivia, followed her every move. olivia was poison. she had seduced every man in her path, her charms a weapon she wielded without mercy.

and her engagement to sunghoon wasn't love — it was a calculated political arrangement. a tool to strengthen the empire, to solidify alliances.

but at what cost? his heart? his future? the very essence of who he was?

sunghoon finally met your eyes, and there was no hiding the conflict swirling within them.

he opened his mouth as if to speak, but the words never came. instead, silence fell between you, heavy and oppressive, as though the weight of his situation was too much for him to put into words.

his father, the emperor, had fallen ill, leaving sunghoon to take the throne far earlier than he had ever expected, far earlier than he was ready. his younger sister had been sent away to marry the tyrant of a neighboring empire, leaving sunghoon to stand alone amidst the chaos.

alone with all with all the expectations and burdens of the empire on his shoulders.

your chest tightened as you watched him, your heart aching with a love so deep and consuming it made your breath catch. you wanted to reach for him, to hold him, to take some of that weight from his shoulders and carry it yourself.

"you deserve someone better, my love," you said quietly, your voice breaking with the emotion you had kept buried for so long. "someone who will stand by you, someone who will love you. not this woman."

at first, sunghoon didn't respond. his eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze growing colder. but it wasn’t aimed at you. it was directed inward.

you could see it, the bitterness and frustration that had been simmering inside him for weeks, for months, for years. it bubbled to the surface now, spilling over in a way he could no longer control.

"i never wanted this," he whispered, his voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

the words weren't for you, not really — they were more for himself, a confession dragged from the deepest parts of his soul.

"i never asked for this. i never asked to be emperor. i never wanted to marry her. but my parents, my duty..." his voice cracked, his fists clenching. "they've left me with no choice."

the rawness of his admission struck you like a blow, but you swallowed the ache rising in your throat. this was the ugly truth you had always known, the truth you had seen in the quiet moments when he thought no one was watching.

sunghoon was a man trapped in a cage of his own making, bound by a life that demanded everything from him but gave him nothing in return.

“i would kill anyone who stands in the way of your happiness,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now, raw with sincerity. “if that’s what it takes… i will do it without hesitation.”

sunghoon didn't say anything. he just stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable, but you could see the conflict in his eyes. the way his walls were crumbling, piece by piece.

and then, with a sharp, decisive movement, he broke.

before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, pulling you up to him with a force that stole the breath from your lungs.

his lips crashed against yours, desperate and hungry, as though kissing you was the only way he could keep himself from falling apart completely.

it was sudden. it was urgent. it was desperate.

it was everything you had been holding back for so long, all at once.

his kiss slammed into you with a force that left you breathless, a bruising, consuming need that neither of you could suppress anymore. you felt it deep in your bones, the way his lips moved against yours with a hunger that bordered on fear — as if he was afraid that if he didn't kiss you now, he'd lose you forever.

you didn't hold back. you couldn't. your hands gripped at his waist, pulling him closer, trying to erase the space between you as if it was the enemy. your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, desperate to ground yourself in the heat of him, the reality of this moment.

his lips tasted like fire, like the only answer to every prayer you had ever whispered in the dark. and his hands, god, his hands, they clutched at you with the same frantic energy, like you were the one thing keeping him from shattering into pieces.

your fingers traced the sharp lines of his jaw, sliding down to the curve of his neck. every inch of him was warm under your touch, and you were desperate to memorize the feel of him, the way he trembled under your hands.

sunghoon's breathing hitched against your lips, and it only spurred you on. you deepened the kiss, tilting your head, pulling him further into the storm that the two of you had created. his body shuddered against yours, and you knew it wasn't just from the intensity of the kiss — it was the weight of everything unsaid between you. everything that was about to break between you.

but in this moment, none of that mattered.

the kiss spiraled into something more urgent, more primal. you felt all the years of silence, of restraint, breaking apart with each desperate touch. his lips were soft but demanding, moving against yours with a frantic hunger that you had never seen before.

his tongue traced the edges of your mouth, sending a rush of heat through your veins that left you lightheaded. you couldn't get enough of him — his scent, his warmth, the way his hands slid up to your shoulders and clung to you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this damn world.

it wasn't enough. it would never be enough.

you felt the sting of his nails digging into your shoulders through the fabric of your uniform, but it didn't matter. the pain only made everything sharper, clearer. you wanted all of him, every jagged piece of the man who had captured your heart so completely, no matter how much it hurt.

but then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.

sunghoon pulled back, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. his lips were swollen and red, his eyes wide and glistening, as if he was trying to process what had just happened. he looked wrecked, like the weight of the kiss — the weight of what you both felt — was too much for him to bear.

and you hated how cold the room felt now, the warmth of his body already fading as the space between you returned.

you didn't let go of him. fuck, you couldn't. your hands were still trembling as they rested against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palms. it was wild and erratic, matching your own, but even that wasn't enough to soothe the ache building in your chest.

"sunghoon, my love..." you whispered, your voice barely audible.

but the sound of his name coming from your lips made his eyes dart to yours. there was fear there. fear, frustration and something that looked like regret.

“you— you don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he muttered, his voice tight and strained.

his gaze darted away, his hands falling from your shoulders as though the contact was too much to bear.

“you want me to abandon everything. everything i've ever known. everything i was born to do. everything i've ever been. i can’t… i can’t do that, y/n.”

the words hit you like a knife to the chest, and you felt your throat tighten. you could feel the truth, the brutal reality, beginning to claw its way back into the space between you. sunghoon was trapped. as much as he loved you, as much as he wanted to be with you, he was bound to the empire.

you had known this would happen. you had always known it would come to this, but hearing it from him, hearing the defeat in his voice, the finality of it, was way more than you could handle.

"i can’t lose you," you said, your voice trembling. "you know i would give up everything for you. i would leave this place, leave the kingdom, everything, just to be with you. please. we could escape. we could run away and live a life just for the two of us. i don't care about the empire, about the politics, or about your engagement. i only care about you. about us."

for a moment, his mask slipped. his face flickered with an emotion so fleeting, you almost thought you had imagined it — it was a spark of something that looked like hope.

and then, for the briefest heartbeat, you saw him.

the man beneath the title. the sunghoon who had laughed with you under the stars, fought beside you on countless battles, kissed you in the quiet shadows where no one could see. you saw the sunghoon who had stolen your heart and, in return, made you believe in something greater than yourself.

but the moment didn't last.

sunghoon stepped back, retreating into himself, his expression hardening into the stoic mask of the prince he was trained to be. the weight of his crown, of his kingdom, settled back on his shoulders. he was no longer the man you loved.

he was the heir — bound by duty, by legacy, by chains you couldn't see but could feel pressing between you.

“you think i don’t dream about that?” sunghoon's voice cracked, his frustration spilling through the cracks in his composure.

his fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to hold himself together. his eyes bore into yours, searching for an answer, but there was nothing you could give him. nothing either of you could say would change the truth between you.

“you think i don’t want to run away with you? to leave all of this behind? i’ve dreamed about it every day since i met you. every fucking day. but i can’t. i can’t just abandon everything that’s been entrusted to me. i can't abandon my duty, my family, my people. they're counting on me. i can't be selfish, not even for you.”

his words cut through you like a blade.

you wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, to tell him that he was allowed to be selfish, that he was allowed to choose happiness.

but you couldn't. instead, you stepped closer, your heart breaking as you reached for him, your voice trembling as you tried one last time to reach the man you knew still lived beneath the surface.

“you don’t have to carry it alone. let me carry it with you. let me be the one who stands by your side, always. please, you don't have to do this on your own.”

for a moment, he faltered. his shoulders sagged, and his gaze fell to the floor. the weight of what you were asking settled over him, and you could see the war raging inside him — the push and pull of duty and love, of obligation and desire. and for just a moment, you thought he might give in.

but when he lifted his head again, his eyes were filled with a sadness so deep, so consuming, it left you out of breath.

"if i run away with you..." his voice was strained, barely audible, but you could hear the pain in each word. "i would be nothing. a fugitive, a traitor to my people, to my family. and you... you would be too."

his eyes flickered up to meet yours, and the anguish there made your breath catch.

"you deserve more than that, y/n. you deserve to be free. you deserve someone who can give you everything without holding anything back."

your head shook before you even realized it, tears stinging your eyes as you took another step closer. the space between you still felt too vast, too unbearable.

"i don't care about the empire, sunghoon," you said, your voice breaking as your hands cupped his face. you needed him to hear you, to understand. "i care about you. i always have."

he closed his eyes at your touch, his features twisting in a way that made your heart clench painfully. a shudder ran through his body, and for a fleeting moment, you thought he might finally let go. that he might finally let himself choose you.

but when his eyes opened again, they were filled with a deep sadness — a sadness that had always lingered beneath the surface, but now it consumed him fully.

“i love you,” he whispered, the words barely audible, as though saying them any louder might destroy him completely. “i love you more than anything. but i can’t leave this kingdom. i can’t abandon my father, my people, my duty.”

the finality of his words slammed into you like a physical blow. your chest tightened, your lungs straining to take in air as the truth settled heavily around you. there was no more room for hope, no more room for the dreams of a future you had once dared to imagine.

it was over.

the empire had claimed him.

and you… well, you had always known that you would be the one left behind, hadn't you?

the silence between you stretched out, unbearable. you felt your hands fall from his face, trembling as they rested uselessly at your sides. your heart ached with the kind of pain you didn't think you'd ever recover from, but you knew you couldn't fight anymore.

you had given him everything — your loyalty, your love, your very soul — and now you had nothing left to give. now he was slipping through your fingers like sand.

“i can’t ask you to choose, sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice raw and broken. “but i can’t stay in a kingdom that has no place for me. not when it means losing you.”

his eyes met yours, his face a mask of conflicted emotions that only made the ache in your chest worse. his lips parted slightly, as though he wanted to say something, anything, to stop you, to make this all go away. but no words came.

and you knew, deep down, that there was nothing he could say.

with a shaking breath, you took a step back, letting your hands fall to your sides. the coldness in the air felt like a physical blow, and you felt as though you were standing at the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath your feet.

“goodbye, my love,” you said softly, your voice trembling but steady enough to carry the weight of your heartache. “i’ll always love you. always.”

his eyes widened, panic flashing in them like a warning flare. but you didn’t wait for him to respond. you turned away, your heart shattering with every step you took away from him.

the door to his chambers opened with a low creak, and you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, your feet carrying you farther and farther away from the only person who had ever truly mattered to you.

he didn’t chase after you. he didn’t call your name.

you hadn't expected him to.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, tension, arguing, flirting

As I was laying on my bed, mulling over the disaster downstairs, I listened to the voices carrying up the stairs. The walls might be thin, but the way Nick was laying into Matt, it didn’t matter.

“You had no right to speak to her like that” Nick said, his voice sharp. “She’s already dealing with enough, and you just throw more shit her way? Real classy.”

"She started it" Matt snapped back.

Nick wasn’t letting up. “And you just had to escalate it? What’s your deal with her anyway? You act so weird around her all the time.”

There was a pause, a moment of tense silence. I tried my best to hear an answer, my curiosity fighting my frustration.

"Drop it, Nick." Matt muttered finally.

"Whatever, keep being a dick if it makes you feel better. But you better not come between mine and Chris’ relationship with her."

I heard footsteps, followed by a slam of a door closing, Matt’s bedroom door, I guessed. A moment later, another door shut. The front door. Madi must’ve left too.

The house fell quiet again, except for the faint murmur of Nate’s voice, likely making his way to Chris’s room.

I barely had time to gather my thoughts by the time I heard Nick running up the stairs.

“Y/n?” Nick’s voice came through, hesitantly. I sat up, trying to mask the mix of emotions on my face.

Nick stepped inside, looking at me for a moment. “Hey, I just wanted to check on you..” he said. “After everything that just happened. Are you okay?”

I let out a bitter laugh. “Which part? The argument with Matt or Ethan showing up.. Now that you know about that.”

Nick winced. “Both, honestly. I mean, Ethan’s a piece of shit, and if he shows up here again, you let me know. I’ll handle it.”

I nodded, appreciating the sentiment even though I doubted Ethan would come back anytime soon. “Thanks, Nick.”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “And about Matt.. Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he had no right to talk to you like that. I told him as much.”

I sighed, the anger from earlier simmering down into exhaustion. “I just don’t know what I did to make him hate me so much.. and I don’t want to impact your living situation, honestly Nick I can get a hotel until I figure something out.”

Nick frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re absolutely not going anywhere Y/n. You’re my bestfriend I love having you here and I know Chris does too... And Matt? I don’t think he hates you, I just think he needs to get over himself.” 

I tilted my head, confused. “Then what is it?”

Nick opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it again, shaking his head. “That’s not for me to say. But don’t let him get under your skin. He’s.. complicated, but he’s not a bad guy.”

I wanted to press him further, to demand an explanation, but I could tell he wasn’t going to spill anything.

“Thanks for checking on me.” I said instead. “And for sticking up for me earlier.. And giving me a place to live.. It means a lot.”

Nick grinned, his easy going nature returning. “You never need to thank me. But seriously, though, if you need anything, or if Ethan tries anything else, you come to me, okay?”

“Okay” I promised, managing a small smile.

Nick nodded and left, closing the door to his room softly behind him.

I laid back down, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts swirling. Between Ethan, Matt, and everything else, my head felt like a war zone. After a while of tossing and turning, I finally fell asleep.

-

The sound of Chris’s voice echoing through the house woke me up. He wasn’t just talking, he was freaking out. I groggily glanced at the time on my phone. 7.18am. Not exactly the ideal start to the morning.

I threw on a hoodie over my pyjamas before heading downstairs, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as Chris’s voice got louder.

When I reached the bottom of the stairs, Chris was running his hands through his hair, his phone in one hand. His frustration was palpable, his face clearly agitated.

“Hey..” I said, trying to catch his attention. “What’s going on?”

Chris turned to me, his expression a mix of annoyance and panic. “Matt’s gone. He’s not answering his phone, and we’re supposed to leave for the airport soon.”

I frowned, looking around. “Did he take the car?”

Chris nodded, holding up his phone. “Yeah, but I can’t even get through to him. My phone signal keeps cutting out, and he’s not picking up anyway. I swear, if we miss our flight-”

“Here” I said, offering him my phone. “Try calling him on mine.”

Chris hesitated for a moment before taking it. “Thanks” he muttered, already dialing Matt’s number.

I watched as he held the phone to his ear, his jaw tightening with every passing second of silence before exhaling sharply. “Straight to voicemail. Unbelievable.”

Before I could respond, the sound of a car pulling into the garage caught both our attention. A moment later, we heard footsteps marching up the staircase to the living area.

Chris’s expression immediately shifted to one of relief with an essence of irritation. “Where the fuck have you been?” he demanded, crossing the room toward Matt. “You know we have a flight to catch!”

“Relax. I needed a bigger suitcase, so I went to grab one. We’ve still got time.” Matt said as he set the suitcase down and shrugged.

Chris stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You went to buy a suitcase? At 7 in the morning? You could’ve at least told me where you were going!”

Matt rolled his eyes. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. I was gone for 45 minutes, tops.”

Chris shook his head, muttering something under his breath. He handed my phone back to me, his frustration still evident but slightly subdued. “Thanks for letting me use this” he said, managing a small, apologetic smile.

“No problem” I replied. 

As I spoke, Matt disappeared into his room without a word, pushing his new suitcase infront of him. The air between us felt thicker than ever, and I could tell by the way he avoided looking at me that things weren’t going to improve anytime soon.

Chris, completely oblivious to the tension, lingered in the living room, checking through his phone. “Alright, I think we’re good” he said, mostly to himself. “I’ve got everything sorted, flight details, car rental, hotel confirmations. I just need Matt to finish packing, and we’re out of here.”

I forced a polite smile. “Sounds like you’ll have fun.”

He glanced up at me, his expression softening. “Yeah we should..Oh! If any of the samples come in while I’m gone, just shoot me a message, yeah?”

“Dont worry I’ll keep you posted.” I replied, nodding.

Chris smiled, the kind that made you feel like everything was fine even when it wasn’t. “Alright, well.. guess I’ll see you when I’m back. Hopefully, I don't lose a load of money out here!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at that, though it felt forced. “Safe flight, Chris.”

“Thanks” he said, slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder.

As Chris headed toward the garage, I lingered in the hallway for a moment, letting the faint sound of Matt moving around in his room fade into the quiet. Part of me wanted to confront him, to clear the air, but I knew it would only end in another argument.

Instead, I turned and walked back upstairs to my room. The tension from the morning still lingered in my chest, but I tried to push it aside. Chris and Matt were leaving for a few days, and maybe the distance would give me time to figure out how to deal with all of this.

For now, I just needed to focus on anything but Matt.

I spent most of the day tucked away in my “room,” trying to stay out of the way and keep to myself. The quiet was only broken by Nick, who passed through several times as he moved in and out of his own room next door. Each time, he made a point to stop and check in with me, leaning against the doorframe or flopping onto the edge of the bed.

“You good in here? Need anything?” he asked during one of his trips, holding a half eaten protein bar in one hand and a coffee in the other.

“I’m fine” I said, managing a small smile. “Just having a lazy day.”

“You? Lazy? In the same sentence? Never thought I’d see the day” he teased. “Well, let me know if you want food or whatever. I’m gonna order take out later.”

“Yep will do” I replied, laughing as he left the room.

Later in the afternoon, he came back, this time with a sandwich and a bag of chips. “I figured you’d need fuel” he said, leaving it on the dresser next to me.

“You’re too kind” I said, opening the bag and offering him some.

“What can I say? I’m the best” he said with a grin, snatching a handful.

-

As the evening crept in, I heard a knock against the thin wall that separated my room from Nick’s. Before I could respond, Nate stepped inside, looking curious.

“Hope I’m not interrupting” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

I shook my head. “Not at all. What’s up?”

Nate glanced around the room, his eyes taking in the setup, the bed, the flat pack dresser, the small touches I’d added to make it feel like home. “I gotta say, this is impressive. Didn’t expect to see this room looking like an actual bedroom.” He smirked. “They’ve never done anything like this for me.”

I laughed, shrugging. “Well, I guess I’m just lucky.”

“Lucky, yeah” Nate said with a teasing tone as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Seriously though, are you okay after last night?” He voice softer.

“Yeah I’m fine. It’s not the first time Matt’s acted like that toward me.” I say, shrugging my shoulders.

“Still, it was out of line for him to talk to you like that. I don’t get why he’s so.. tense around you, you’re fun to be around.”

His words caught me off guard, and I felt a small smile tug at my lips. “Thanks, Nate. That means a lot.. Honestly, I don’t know why he’s like that. He’s just never taken a liking to me for some reason.” I sighed, shaking my head

Nate chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, his loss, I guess. If I were Matt, I’d be finding every excuse to hang around you.” He winked, slightly making my cheeks heat up.

I rolled my eyes playfully, trying to hide the flustered smile trying to creep across my face. “Right, because I’m just that amazing.”

He tilted his head, his grin widening. “You’re finally catching on.” Nate straightened up, his voice turning more serious but no less charming. What do you say, we have some fun tonight?”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by what he had in mind. “Fun? What kind of fun are we talking about?”

“I know this spot” he said, leaning closer like he was sharing a secret. “They’ve got great food, and then later, it turns into this club. Good vibes, good music, it could be just what we need to shake off the tension from last night.”

I tilted my head, smirking.

Nate grinned, his gaze steady as he replied smoothly, “What? It's just two incredibly attractive people having a good time together.”

The warmth in my cheeks was impossible to ignore now. “Incredibly attractive, huh? Big words, Nate.”

“Just calling it like I see it” he said, his tone dripping with confidence. “Be ready by 7, alright? I’ll take care of the rest.”

As he turned to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, and wear something that’ll make me look good standing next to you. Not that it’ll be hard for you.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you secretly love it” he called back, his laughter echoing down the stairs.

As I sat on the edge of my bed, I found myself smiling. A night out with Nate was bound to be fun, especially with how effortlessly charming he was.

Before I could fully process the gravity of Nate’s idea, Nick popped his head out of his room, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“What was that all about?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, a sly smirk playing on his lips.

I crossed my arms, trying to act nonchalant. “Nothing. Just Nate being.. Nate.”

Nick stepped fully into my room, folding his arms and grinning. “Uh huh.. Nate being Nate? That sounded a lot like Nate asking you out on a date.”

I rolled my eyes, though I couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “It’s not a date. It’s just dinner and a club. That’s it.”

Nick gave me a look that screamed disbelief. “Oh, sure. Dinner and a club. Totally casual.”

“Nick!” I exclaimed, feeling my cheeks heat up. “You’re being so extra right now.”

He chuckled, leaning against the wall. “Hey, I’m just saying, you’re his type, and he’s definitely laying it on thick. But.. if you’re cool with it, I say go for it. You deserve a little fun after everything you’re going through.”

I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes at him. “Since when are you the voice of encouragement?”

Nick grinned. “Since you’re my best friend and I like to see you happy. Plus, if Nate gets out of line, I can kick his ass. Right?”

I laughed at how ridiculous he was being. “I think I can handle Nate just fine.”

Nick shrugged, his smile softening. “I know you can. Just remember, you’ve got backup if you need it. And.. you should wear something nice. I’ve seen the way Nate’s been looking at you.”

I rolled my eyes again, pushing him gently back toward his room. “Go away, Nick.”

He laughed as he retreated, “Have fun on your ‘not a date’’ date!”

I stood there as he shut his door, shaking my head with a smile. 

-

As I finished getting ready, I stood in front of the mirror, taking a picture of myself. I felt good in how I looked, the dress I chose hugged my figure perfectly, and my makeup was the best it's been in weeks.

Downstairs, I heard Nate’s voice calling up. “You ready, Y/n?”

“Coming!” I grabbed my bag, took a final glance in the mirror, and headed out.

As we slid into the backseat of the Uber, I found myself scrolling through my phone, staring at the photo I had taken just before leaving. I was happy with it, the angles were perfect and the lighting hitting just right. I was going to post it to my Instagram story, I was just stuck on what caption to put on it.

Nate, sitting beside me with his usual relaxed confidence, glanced over at my screen. “You should post that” he said casually, leaning back against the seat.

“I’m trying to think of what to write on it” I replied, still fixated on the photo, overanalyzing every word I could possibly pair with it.

 “Caption it ‘date night’ ” he smirked.

I froze, my thumb hovering over the screen, and turned to look at him. “What?”

“Date night” he repeated with a grin, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His tone was playful, but his eyes held that teasing look that made it hard to tell how serious he actually was.

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that what this is?”

He shrugged, a mischievous smile showing across his face. “It can be whatever you want it to be. But let’s be real, it wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re funny.”

“Hey, I just call it like I see it,” he said, flashing that boyish grin that made him so effortlessly charming. “Plus, think of the reactions.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the smile creeping onto my face. “Fine. Maybe I’ll use your suggestion..”

I looked back at my phone, the typing words date night as my thumb hovered over the "post" button. His confidence was intriguing , but he wasn’t wrong, it would get some reactions. 

“Whatever you decide” Nate said, his voice softer now, “you look great in that photo. Just post it already.”

I smiled to myself, ignoring the flutter of butterflies in my stomach as I hit post. Nate leaned back with a satisfied smirk, and I was curious to see how this night panned out.

Matt’s POV

There was a loud thud as the plane landed on the runway in Vegas but it wasn’t enough to pull me out of my thoughts. I leaned back in my seat, arms crossed, staring out the window at skyline for the entire hour flight. Chris was beside me, yapping non stop about the plans for this trip, casino visits, dinner reservations, and the little free time we might squeeze in. I nodded along, but my mind was miles away. Back in LA.

Last night was a disaster, and I knew it was my fault. I’d pushed it too far with Y/n. She didn’t deserve the way I’d spoken to her, the stupid digs I’d thrown her way during the games. I wasn’t even sure why I kept doing it, why I always seemed to make things more difficult between us. But it was eating away at me now, knowing I’d crossed a line.

“You good, man?” Chris’s voice cut through my thoughts.

I turned to him, trying to mask the storm in my head. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Chris gave me a skeptical look, the kind only a best friend can manage. “You’ve been moody as hell since this morning. You sure you’re not dragging something with you from back home?”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s nothing.”

Chris leaned back, crossing his arms. “Hmm yeah.. You’ve been staring out that window like it’s gonna tell you all the secrets of the universe.”

I shot him a look, but he just smirked. “It’s Y/n, isn’t it?”

Of course, he’d figure it out. Chris knew me too well. “Maybe” I muttered, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. “I just.. I said some things last night I shouldn’t have.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “You? Say something you shouldn’t? Shocking.”

“Can you not?” I snapped, but the annoyance was more at myself than at him.

Chris chuckled. “Alright, sorry. But seriously, you need to fix whatever it is when we get back. Y/n’s a good person.”

He was right, of course. I hated to admit it, but he was. For now, I had to focus on the trip. Vegas wasn’t exactly the place for self reflection. 

We grabbed our bags and deboarded the plane as Chris organised an Uber to the hotel. It was one of those prestige hotels with gold accents everywhere and a lobby bigger than some mansions. The kind of spot Chris lived for.

“Man, look at this place!” Chris said, spinning around to take it all in. “This room better have a view.”

When we got to our suite, it was exactly what I expected, huge, with large windows the size of the room overlooking the Strip. There was even a hot tub in the corner, and Chris immediately claimed the bigger bedroom with the better view.

I tossed my bag on the other bed and flopped down, trying to relax. I opted for a nap, since I barely found sleep last night.

5 hours later I woke to the sound of Chris’ music filling the hotel room. He poked his head into my room. “We gotta get ready man, you good?”

“Yeah” I said, forcing myself to get up.

“Cool. We’re hitting the casino first.”

I couldn’t match his enthusiasm. The only thing on my mind was Y/n. I knew I had the perfect way to make it up to her. I just needed the right moment. But maybe I could do something small in the meantime, something to show her I regretted last night. I pulled out my phone, the time reading 7:30pm. If I acted fast, I could place a delivery before it got too late.

Scrolling through a florist’s website, I picked out a bouquet of red roses. Classic and meaningful. As I typed out the message to attach to the card, my thumbs hovered over the screen, hesitant for a second before I settled on:

Y/n, I’m sorry for last night. I went too far, and you didn’t deserve that. - Matt

I finalized the order and paid for the flowers to be delivered within the next hour. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. Something to begin mending the open wound I’d created.

I showered quickly and threw on dark jeans and a fitted button down shirt. Chris emerged from his room looking slick as ever. Black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a smirk that showed his confidence.

He ran a hand through his hair and checked his reflection in the window. “This is the night, kid. I’m feeling lucky.”

Chris walked out of his room just as I received a confirmation text: Your flowers have been delivered. The florist even included a picture of the bouquet sitting outside the front door. Relief washed over me, knowing I’d done something to begin setting things right.

Chris, oblivious as ever, turned toward me with a wide grin. “So, Rachel and Christina are meeting us at the casino tonight” he announced casually.

I shrugged. “Cool. Whatever.” I hooked up with Christina the last time we were in Vegas, and Chris with Rachel. We’d been talking on and off since then.

“Oh, and I seen Y/n’s on a date tonight?”

My head snapped toward him, my chest tightening. “What?”

Chris gave me a look like I’d missed something obvious. “Her story. Saw it while I was getting ready. She’s all dressed up, and it says ‘date night’ on it. Wonder who with.”

There was no way. Was she on a date with him? Ethan? After everything that's gone on? It sent a rage inside me, making me feel like a complete fool.

I pulled out my phone, the picture of the flowers still on my screen. Without thinking, I shot off a quick text to Nick:

"There’s a delivery outside the front door. Can you just put it straight in the trash?"

a/n: nate is the BIGGEST flirt

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