#except half the time it's their first time hearing that about themselves so they look at him like this 😦

[hyukascampfire]

To: Someone From a Warm Climate

wc: 23.2k

genre: smut, angst, fantasy violence

pairings: faerie!taehyun x human!reader, faerie!yeonjun x human!reader

synopsis: a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

a/n: this part, i put my heart and soul into! i rewrote so many parts and agonized over following the path that i most wanted the story to go down—i hope it shows! xoxoxoxo, love ya! again, this is a long one, so pls let me know about spelling mistakes :,)

! warnings: angst, unprotected sex, voyeurism, orgasm denial, jealousy, angst again, dubious intentions of multiple main characters... poor mc has no idea who to believe

playlists: taehyun | yeonjun | series

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You had hoped that learning of Yeonjun’s relationship with the same crowd who have made attempts on your life would be enough to rattle your brittle heart into sense. You really had. As you watch Taehyun, bent over the war strategy table, though, you wish you had more time to sort it out in your head. You hate the thought of settling on half-baked answers and information all for the fact that time is not on your side. When had time ever really been kind to you, though? It had not made exceptions when you were small and innocent in your cradle, had not slowed down to allow you to at least cherish your final moments a normal child with her human parents. You can only fantasize who you would be if you had been given just enough time to know that gentle love. Even now, time makes your choices for you.  

Taehyun looks over those metal figurines as if searching for something in them. There are more of them stood and strewn out on the map. It reminds you how you are now faced with a plethora of newer, more powerful players.  

You miss when this had been a simple spying mission—when your path forward had been unobscured and clear. You envy that version of yourself: able to believe that bad things presented themselves as such. The world had been clean-cut. Evil had jagged teeth and foul breath, and good had soft edges and sweet smiles. You’re not sure where that distinction lies anymore.  

“How’s your shoulder?” you say, making your presence known. You’re sure he had been keen to your presence from the moment you’d entered the estate, though; not only thanks to his better hearing, but also because Taehyun is constantly assessing his surroundings. The smallest insect could hardly sneak up on him. You push off the doorframe and enter the room. 

He nods his head once in greeting, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from the table’s ensemble. “It’s doing fine.” 

Sighing, you decide not to push it. The sight of that puncture had been ghastly, and it wreaks havoc in your belly every time you replay it, but the tick in his jaw when you mention it tells you enough of how he feels about disclosing whether or not anything might hurt him. How many times in the past few weeks had you forced him to do just that? It’s no wonder that the two of you butt heads so terribly. Allowing you to stitch him up must’ve been the extent of how far he’d let you see him in need of help. 

You gesture toward the table. “Have you decided when we leave?” 

Taehyun answers you with a strained sigh out through his nose: a testament to how he’d been mulling it over. He levies those figures a few more moments of his gaze as if they might speak an answer for him. They don’t. He concedes to their lack of direction and turns to you. “Every moment we spend here, we risk our identities further,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest.  

You wince. He still believes that you’d at least contained some of your identity by taking out those three faeries. You know better. Even the bard in that tavern had known what had happened; it’s why Yeonjun ended up finding out in the first place. Even if not all of them had been a part of that rebellion, it’s reckless to assume that there were no more than that. 

Continuing, he says, “And judging by what we’ve picked up, we need to get it all back before the solstice.” He doesn’t pace as he thinks. Only the faraway look in his eyes betray the noise in his head. 

You hate the way it sounds like he’s going to demand that you leave immediately, and you hate how it sieges your tongue and makes it dance into a pitiful ploy to stay. To give yourself some credit, it’s better that Taehyun knows every bit of information you have. This moment is desperate for informed decisions. 

“I saw Yeonjun this morning,” you blurt. The words bubbled and bubbled behind your lips until they’d found the tipping point and spilled out. You’d agonized over what to make of it all for hours: that Yeonjun had been as deceitful with you as you’d been with him, that you are a sorry human girl that had wedged her way into the cross-firings of a war much beyond yourself, that you still have the gall to consider your own feelings despite its grandness... None of that worrying had led you to a conclusion that both your heart and mind would agree on.  

Taehyun’s gaze snaps to you, contained and remote aside from the twitching at the corners of his lips. The intensity of it makes you waver, but you have no time for wavering.  

“He’s... been made aware of our purpose here. He knows that we’re spies,” you say. As you watch him try to piece that together, you add, “He’s part of their rebellion.” 

Now he laughs, barbed and full of mock and disbelief. “The prince is rebelling against his father? He thinks he’ll find the throne like that? What’s his plan for when this falls through? For when his father hears of his mutiny? The prince will lose his head.” 

The thought makes you nauseous, despite how Yeonjun’s image has grown to be something murky. You don’t know what Yeonjun’s intentions are in aligning with the rebellion here. You hardly know anything about his relationship with his father and the High Court aside from the fact that he feels suffocated by his life back there. You’d assume that there’s a lot more to his reasoning, but you’ve learned your lesson about assuming that you know who people are. The inability to lie comes with the need for secrets. The thought that perhaps Yeonjun is only making a shady attempt for power crosses your mind, but either your own reasoning or your own stubbornness shoves it down. Nobody in faerie would hand their fealty to a prince who’d taken the throne of a long-standing king by those sorts of means. He’d be a king with no denizens to preside over. 

You interject Taehyun’s parade of scoffs. “He told me that war is coming, that it’s been coming.” 

His face drops, and he straightens up. “Of course it is. It’ll begin the moment we return with what we’ve found.” 

Your lips go a bit numb, and then your fingers follow. You know that this is your duty—it’d been this all along. It should come as no shock to you that he intends to relay this all to The King. But that was before you allowed your heart to make its home here. How simply he demands that you return to those lands with information that would kill Yeonjun... it has acid crawling a path up your throat. 

You make your best effort to ensure that your voice doesn’t falter as you speak. “He offered us protection as long as we stay here,” you say. “We don’t have to leave now.” You try to catch his gaze as you add, “We don’t have to leave at all.”  

You know that Yeonjun plays a part in the rebellion, but you don’t know how deep his devotion goes, and you also don’t know to what ends you can trust his intentions. How far do his loyalties to the rebellion go? And, where do his loyalties to you stand? The thought that he may have never loved you at all... it’s been a plague to your heart and mind from the very moment he’d revealed the truth to you this morning. Your guilt has chipped away at you without mercy—you’ve spent so many awful nights wishing you could unload your deceptions in front of him. How had it ended up so trivial in the grand scheme of things? How are you the one left feeling betrayed? 

You really, really cannot imagine having Yeonjun’s blood on your hands. He is one of them—a creature deception, and yet you still cannot shake those stolen nights from your bones. He had been your first. He’d made this place a home for you, where you had never had a home. It’s pitiful to search so deeply in someone else for your own strengths; even you can see that. Nevertheless, you do it. You suppose that a pair of warm arms and sweet words will do that to someone, no matter if you know that they could rot you like sweets do the tooth. It’s not unlike drunkards who find their day’s comfort in their drinks, even as it rots their body and mind away. Anything for a stretch of belonging and bliss. You're desperate for it. 

Taehyun’s sinewy words rattle your wandering mind back to reality. “He tells you that he is a member of the same group of people that have tried multiple times to kill you, and you believe him when he says he’s going to protect you? Still?” he spits, shaking his head. “What makes you so sure that he’s not just keeping us from running? That he isn’t handing us on a platter to his rebel friends? You’re going to get us fucking killed.” 

Blood roars like frothy-white rapids in your ears, warring with the echoes of his honey-glazed exclamations of love. To some capacity, he had to have meant those words. Faeries can’t lie, and he had said it so plainly. He loves you. 

“We can’t leave yet,” you say, stepping toward him on legs that you fear might collapse beneath you. “You said it yourself; we can’t return without the whole story. If we return now, we could be missing something.” You study the frosty set to his face and suck in a stabilizing breath. “Please, Taehyun. Please trust me on this.”  

You sound desperate and pleading, but you don’t reel it in at all. You are desperate and pleading. You have no intent of returning as some successful spy and continuing a life of deception and violence. It’s not who you are; it’ll never be who you are. Maybe this world tries to ask it of you, but you refuse to concede to it. 

“Part of our job is staying alive,” he says, his body rigid. He doesn’t like where you’re going with this, you can tell that much. 

“Is that what you want? To be a pawn of war? Isn’t that what we are if we bring this information back?” you challenge. “Don’t you think that if the prince of all people has turned against him, then serving at his hand is the wrong choice? I don’t know The King—I’ve never even seen him! Why should I be excited to serve him?” 

“The prince has more reason than anybody to want his father off his throne.” 

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you say, stepping further toward him. Though, it does make you revisit those thoughts. If vying for the crown is really Yeonjun’s intention, you suppose he’d have no problems pleading with you to stay in order to tie off loose ends. You wish you could see it all from somebody else’s untainted eyes. “What I’m saying is, do you want to be a spy? What has The King ever done for you to earn your loyalty?” 

Taehyun looks at you with disbelief, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “I don’t care about the damn king,” he snaps, and then gestures down at the table with all those figures. “The Queen operates on necessary evils. Where she can find a string to pull, she will pull it. My father was her general for a reason. Do you think she would keep him unless she approved of his violence? There is no good side to this war—just sides. If you’re suggesting that we stay here and try to forget that we came as spies, then you can forget it.” 

You glance over at the war table and wonder how you’ve become a moving piece in ancient faerie politics when all you’d set out for was a purpose. You’d been so warped by your bitterness with your upbringing that you’d failed to see how anything could be worse than that. You’d been so excited that you jumped willingly into dark water without knowing how deep it was, and now your feet can’t touch the ground. Is this the purpose you want? 

“Leave, then,” you say, stepping back. “You can leave. Just let me stay here. Please.” 

Something in Taehyun’s expression flips, so subtle that you can’t name it. It unsettles you, your hair standing on edge. There is something in his eyes that you do not like.  

“So, that’s it?” he says, his voice odd too. “That’s all it took for you to hand your future over on a leash to him?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you stammer. The only ones with a collar around your neck are the spies. They’re the ones who insisted on that geas—the ones who needed to compel you with their faerie magic.  

“It means that you got all the way here, uncovered a whole rebellion, and made a life for yourself, not handed to you by a prince, and you’re going to trade it in. It means that you’ve let him convince you that you are weak and need to be coddled.” 

Your fists curl tight and dig your nails into your palms. “I never wanted to be a spy,” you grit out. Yeonjun is not the reason you want to stay here. He may be part of it, but you’ve come to be utterly unwilling to return to that spy den like it’s your home, or something. It’s not. You’d slept there for one night. Beyond just your word and that geas, what reason do you have to return? 

“You didn’t? And yet, it’s what we are, isn’t it?” he says. “Do you think that I dreamed of being a spy? That I do it because I love it?” 

“Then, what do you do it for, Taehyun?” you say. “When will you begin living your life for you?” 

Taehyun seems to consider your words for a few long heartbeats, and then he seems to settle into something in his head. You allow yourself to let go of some of the tension in your shoulders as you watch his expression morph into something much less poisonous. 

You hadn’t expected him to react like that. 

“Do you have any weapons on you?” he says. 

Faltering, you sputter out, “What?” You look over the room. The last time you’d been in here, you’d sparred. Does he intend to properly fight you in here now? Had you pushed him too far? Shaking your head and feeling at all the places you usually tuck your blades away, you say, “No... I don’t.” 

“Get some. Where we’re about to go...” he trails off, as if reconsidering, but then he continues, “I’ll get you a hag stone.” 

You furrow your brows, not taking off to do so. “A hag stone?” you echo, thankful that he isn’t trying to duel you, but wary at the need for such a faerie ward. Hag stones are of the more serious class of wards used to protect humans from faerie enchantment or glamour. Most often, humans would string theirs up with a bit of thread through the hole of it and wear it around their necks as a pendant. Unlike turning one’s clothes inside out or taking red berries on your person, hag stones protect against the more devastating faerie magic. You shudder simply wondering what you might need a hag stone to protect yourself from. 

He nods a bit solemnly. “Kelpie do not let a meal or trick pass them by when they wait so long to have them.” 

You look at him with wild eyes, hoping to see him laugh or play his words off as a joke. He does not, but of course he doesn’t. Taehyun doesn’t waste his words on jokes. 

“Why... Why would we be going to a kelpie?” you ask him, laughing around the ball of fright in your chest. 

He lends you a wretched look. “I have old debts to call on.” 

❉

The forest in which Taehyun leads you is untamed. At some point, the sound of nature’s buzzing tapers off, and you know that you’ve entered a deeper forest than you ought to be sticking your nose in. When the forest goes silent, it’s only for one reason.  

You’d grown up here. Maybe you’d been born elsewhere, but that does not negate the fact that you had grown up scared every day of the powerful creatures that inhabit this world. Your fear has ruled you for your whole life, and you let it. You’d be a fool not to. It’s how you survive in this world. Your limbs tremble; they plead with you to listen to everything you’ve ever known—do not mess with what is bigger than you.  

You step around frost-capped puddles and dance between briars, careful not to snag yourself on their claws. It unsettles you further that this part of the forest is so untrodden and overgrown. With no folk coming through, you fear how the kelpie might behave when you make an audience before it. Will it climb straight from its frosty swamp and drag you back down with it? Is the hag stone you clutch at your chest enough to keep you safe? 

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this, Taehyun,” you say, delicately avoiding any tumbles as you speed up to gauge his feelings by his face. You’re not fond of the remote blankness in his eyes, nor the staunch determined set to his jaw. “That thing might kill us, and your shoulder is hurt. You shouldn’t be out here; you should be letting it heal.” 

“I know my limits,” he says. 

Grimacing, you return his curt tone. “Taehyun.” You grab at the material of his sleeve with urgency. When he stops to look at you, you continue. “I want you to actually listen to me. You’re being unreasonable. Yeonjun said he’d use his pull to protect us. Both of us. We have no reason to be out here, you’re just putting us in danger.” 

He lets your words stew in the air for a moment before saying, “I’m the one putting us in danger? Me?” He scoffs. “We are about as safe dealing with a kelpie as we are living off his promises. I’m doing what’s best for us. Trust me.” 

You’re winded by his choice of words. You’ve become wary of dealing out your trust so frivolously. Those two words ring alarm bells. 

“But where is this coming from? You didn’t want to stay.” Your breath furls out in a plume of white smoke in front of your face as you speak.  

He looks as if he doesn’t want to answer that. It only makes you more apprehensive. Your limbs fill with lead, planting you where you stand. “Taehyun, I’m scared,” you say. “Isn’t finding help from a solitary faerie a bit too far? How is trusting Yeonjun any more dangerous than that?” 

Taehyun steps toward you. “He is going to kill us. It’s not if, it’s when. That bastard is going to hurt you. This... This is for us. We are self-sufficient; we don’t need his protection shit.” A bitter tang colors his words. “I know that you’re scared. I won’t let it hurt you; I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise that you’ll be okay. You want to stay, don’t you?” 

You nod. You would even make deals with a kelpie for it.  

“Okay, then, let’s go,” he says, taking off with those words, effectively punctuating the conversation.  

You follow him. 

You grow more anxious the deeper you trudge into the forest without any consolation as the daylight begins creeping away. Following behind Taehyun, the wind whips at the perfect angle so that his form takes most of its terror, allowing you a respite from at least some of the brutal cold. You don’t feel any remorse using him as a shield against the elements—frost runs through his veins. He doesn’t shiver or wince at it. 

Taehyun stops a few feet before a wintry mire framed by crystallized cattails and reeds. Your heart stutters as he looks around to ensure that this is the right spot. The water is dark and deep. You stay a healthy distance away from it. You do not want to find out just how deep it is. 

“Where is it?” you say, keeping your voice low as if the beast might lunge from the water and snatch you up if you don’t. 

Taehyun surveys the forest surrounding you and then the body of water as he always does, and when he looks to you, you already know he’s calculated and planned. He doesn’t face a situation without thought—that notion soothes you, even if it’s to the slightest degree.  

“It won’t come until I call it,” he says, gesturing at those murky and horrible watery depths. Swallowing hard, you consider how close you stand to it. You take a shuffled step back. “When you see it, you need to stay calm. Don’t let it see your fear. It’ll find it amusing and latch onto you. Do you understand?” 

A rush of heavy dread spreads from your core and seizes your lungs at his words. You’ve made it this far. You want to stay. You want to stay, bad. If this thing outsmarts you, you will not go down without swinging this time. You have your daggers, and you know how to wield them. Bravery is most of the battle, isn’t it? 

You muster a nod, trying to give yourself a brave heart, but Taehyun shakes his head. Your eyes must betray how stricken you are. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice sharp and grave. 

“I do.” 

He accepts your words, pressing on. “It will try to trip you over your words and spin you into a trap with tricky words. Do not entertain it, even as it tries, okay?” 

You’ve been terrorized by faerie tricks your whole life. You can handle their schemes just fine. “Okay.” 

Taehyun frees a blade from its hiding place and brings it to his palm. He slides it there, slicing it open. Crimson creeps from the slit, running in between his fingers and trickling onto the snow. He’d cut pretty deep. 

“Why are you—Taehyun?” you say, stepping toward him as he curls his wounded hand into a fist over the water, shaking it so as to let the droplets down into the black water. You regret those steps you’d made toward him as something comes crashing through the surface. 

No, rather than emerging from under the surface, the beast is born from the water, manifesting from it as something gangly and wretched. From its pointed ears to its hooves, it pushes up from nothingness until it is standing there, real and terrible before you. Its skin glistens with a thickness like oil and its hair and tail hang in heavy, seaweed-like tendrils, plastered against its body. The scum floating on top of the water clung to its hair and pelt as it rose, twigs and the like poking from its withered body. A bridle cages its head, leather reins dangling down. Of all its awful things, you believe that its eyes are the worst—bone-white and piercing, they send a terror down your spine that solidifies in your bones. You know you will not soon forget the ancient soullessness that lives there. The folk do sometimes resemble the places in which they hail from; you suppose that the kelpie bares striking resemblance to the swirling water that sits at its feet. 

You try not to choke or gasp or react in any way at all, but it isn’t easy. You focus your adrenaline on keeping your breathing as even as you can manage. 

“It has been a long time since I’ve found a human at my doorstep,” the creature says, steam blowing from its nostrils as it snorts. How long might a long time mean to a faerie, especially one you know is so ancient? You hope that your presence does not intrigue the beast at all. 

Taehyun swoops in before you can speak, and you are boundlessly thankful for it. “I’ve come to call on the debt you owe me,” he says. He doesn’t leave any room for any familiarity or playfulness. 

“Is it that time?” the kelpie says, placing one hoof down onto the snow. It had looked so incorporeal and liquid that you half expect it to burst and turn to water as it does, but it climbs out just fine. Very real.  

Taehyun eyes the kelpie as it makes land, dribbling with water and its kelp hair swinging. You swallow hard as it disregards his presence to observe you. You’re used to the folk disregarding you, not this. How many years had you yearned for their attention? Right now, you scare under it.  

“For what do you need my help, boy?” it says, voice gurgled, “And why do you bring this human along? Is it for her? Or, rather, have you brought her as your peace offering?” 

Your legs tremble beneath you.  

“I don’t owe you any peace offering, kelpie,” Taehyun says, his head held righteously high. “You’ll offer me what I ask, or you’ll suffer for it.” 

Shifting under the tense atmosphere, you still don’t speak. In Faerie, debt is law. The folk live by a law that is, like many other things about them, foreign to you. Whatever natural laws by which they govern themselves are vastly lost on you—but of keeping promises and respecting debts, you are very aware. They hate to be indebted—you’re sure it’s why this kelpie is so peevish. You hope that the folk’s need to balance their debts is enough to keep it hospitable.  

The kelpie makes a rumbling and throaty sound that mimics that of a laugh. It rumbles the ground below your feet. “Just as rigid as the last time we met like this,” it says. “I wonder if it's because you’ve inherited your father’s stone heart, or because you fear me?” 

The kelpie remains playful with its intonation, but tension lies thick and dangerous beneath both of their words. You know well enough that the beast is not being light-hearted.  

Taehyun holds his face firm. He refuses to give an inch. “Do not try that with me. You have your word to upkeep for my help.” 

Shimmering under the moon’s light now, the beast treats us with a long moment of hostile silence. You can feel its malintent despite how hollow those eyes remain.  

“What do you ask of me?” it finally says, whipping its drooping tail behind it. 

“There is a rebellion here,” starts Taehyun, shoulders relaxing to the slightest degree as the kelpie defers, “The north is uneasy. I’m optimistic that you’ll lend us your protection and hand, whenever I call on it. Regardless of it being in my interest, I’m sure that you aim to keep your lands peaceful, no?” 

“Rebellion? For what would anything of the courts be in my interest? Of their rebellion or even just their ridiculousness, I do not care. I’ve left your gentry to you, leave me to mine.” 

Taehyun’s nostrils flare. “I’m not asking you to care about the courts, I’m asking you to lend me your help when I ask of it,” he grits out, “Or, rather, I’m not asking. I am informing you that I am expecting you to uphold your debt to me, and you’d better be ready to do so. This is just courtesy.” 

You feel the kelpie’s offense in the hollow quiet that follows Taehyun’s demands. Among many things, the fae are prideful creatures. Your stomach is in terrible knots. Taehyun is just trying to regain the power in the situation. You know that. It doesn’t make you any less scared for your life. With an ancient creature like a kelpie, it is paramount to earn its respect, or else it will push you around. 

Worse than that. It will drag you down into its waters and make your soul into a meal. 

“It’s a pity you think that hag stone will save you from me, human.” The kelpie turns its attention back on you. You bade your knees not to crumple. “It takes much more than that to protect you in places like these. Perhaps you’ll be safe from petty enchantment, though.”  

Taehyun shoves his words in before you can give the kelpie any sort of reaction. Not even a tremble. “Understood?” 

“You’ve made deals with our kind before. The magic reeks on you. It’s lousy enchantment, I could dissolve that geas for you. All you’d have to do is climb up on my back, and I’d grant you your freedom.”  

You can’t help but perk up. The prospect of ridding yourself of the geas placed over you is a painfully delicious one. 

Bristling, Taehyun steps between you and the kelpie. Whether he does it to fight off the beast should it lunge at you or to prevent you from approaching it, you’re unsure. “Do not,” he says. 

“Wasn’t going to.” You say it, and of course it’s true. The kelpie is poking around to see what will most entice you. Regardless, you can’t deny how awfully you wish that geas were gone. It’s the one thing that you fear will tether you to The King’s bidding. No matter how you armor yourselves from the rebellion here in the north, what’s to stop the spies from tugging on the enchanted leash? One command from Cricket, and your body would betray you and walk the whole way there itself. 

Though you don’t verbalize your interest, the kelpie no doubt sees the interest alight in your eyes. It pounces accordingly. “Unless you’d prefer that I give you a whole other enchantment. Protection against any of our kind’s glamours? Permanant true sight? A touch to my pelt would be all it would take for you to make yourself free.” 

Taehyun clicks just the hilt of his sword free from the sheathe. “Stop with the tricks. You can find your fun elsewhere.” 

Like the swampish water behind it, the kelpie stands there totally still, studying Taehyun. You really wish this altercation could wrap up at any pace faster than it currently is. You’re itching to escape those white eyes. They’re much more intimidating as night settles in. What sort of thing had Taehyun even done to indebt a creature like this to him? Once again, you’re left confronting how little you know of him and his past. By the time you’ve come to terms with the last thing, the next arrives to remind you that the folk lead much longer lives than you do. 

It finally speaks again. “Why have you brought this human with you, Lord?” Its furls out the term like a weapon. This bitter intonation that you’ve seen be used multiple times to speak of Taehyun’s title sticks with you. The title is a taunt. In this case, the you know it comes from the kelpie’s place of utter indifference and lack of obeisances toward whatever sovereignty the Courts may claim. The kelpie only answers to the land.  

“Because I needed you to know that your protection will extend to her. Know her face, learn it so that when I call on you, you’ll play your part correctly.” 

“I fail to see why you dote over her safety. Who is the human to you?” The kelpie takes a step forward, its powerful muscles rippling with the moon’s white light on its ink pelt. You mirror it with a step back. Taehyun stays put. “I owe her no help. That’s not how this works. I concede that I am bound to your help, but I do not repay double. You overestimate my generosity.” 

You watch as Taehyun takes on a posture that you’ve come to recognize as his offensive posture, potent adrenaline twisting up your stomach and sending your heart into a fit so fierce that you feel it in all your pulse points. You’re sure that swords are a laughable matter to the kelpie. Iron, though, you’re sure would still burn. Turning your hands to fists, you make a conscious effort not to find your iron weapons. If the kelpie were to see that, it may escalate things. You do not want to escalate.  

It’s only smart for you to consider your disadvantages: Taehyun is wounded. He had literally been struck by an arrow last night. You’re so far into the woods that running would consist of stumbling over roots and avoiding thorny bushes. Taehyun might know them, but you’re fully unfamiliar with a kelpie’s weaknesses, or if they even have any at all. You’re better off appeasing the beast.  

“Taehyun,” you warn. 

He pays it no mind. “I said,” he snarls, “stop with the tricks. You owe your very ability to draw breath to me, and beyond that. It was my neck on the line to grant you that. What I did for you was worth many debts. If you want to settle it all to even, you’ll do it. Don’t play this like a fool.” He doesn’t address the kelpie’s first question. 

Taehyun creeps toward the kelpie. You’re not sure where he sources all that fearlessness from inside himself. He’s way too close for your comfort. “What are you doing?” you hiss, quiet and meant for just him. There is no way he intends to fight this thing right now. You’d prefer taking the risk of trusting Yeonjun’s word over this any day. 

“Even the general”—the kelpie spits that word with a similar distaste as he had Taehyun’s title—“knew when he was in over his head. Ask a more respectable payment of me.” 

You suck in a breath. “Let’s just go,” you tell Taehyun. “We don’t need to do this; we didn’t need to in the first place.”  

As Taehyun takes one last step toward the kelpie, he reaches a sword’s distance from it.  

Really? Is this happening right now? 

“I’m giving you grace right now, kelpie,” he says, his voice pure warning, “My father is the one who landed you like that. It’s humorous that you’d even speak of him while we’re sorting out the debts that you incurred because of him. I suggest that you give up the sly act.” 

Once again, a charged and meaningful pause rings throughout the forest. The silence speaks volumes of how the kelpie takes his words.  

It’s a flash of movement, the two dark figures like blurs as Taehyun’s hand flies out to grab a hold of the reins that hang from its head and the kelpie rears back with a bone-piercing, harrowing whinny. He braces himself on its side and uses its flank to push off of. The creature bucks fast, but Taehyun is faster.  

The rage that it bellows with guts you. The forest ground trembles with its frantic clambering, hooves battering the snow.  

The kelpie’s frenzy ends as Taehyun takes the reins in both hands. It doesn’t make any more attempts to send him off, nor does it stumble about wildly. It settles. The kelpie bows its head. Your hands cover your mouth. They’re ready to muffle your scream. You wait for Taehyun to become one with the beast’s figure and for it to drag him down to the depths of its water that don’t see the sun’s light. Nothing happens. Instead, he slips off the back of the kelpie without any trouble, landing with a thud back on the ground.  

“Fix your appearance,” Taehyun commands.  

You allow a sound of surprise to slip as the beast melts down, shedding water to the ground and crumpling over. You watch it shrink all the way down until, where once the gangly beast had stood, the form of a faerie man stands. He unfurls from the forest floor to his full height, taller than Taehyun and reedy in his limbs. His hair cascades down from his head in shaggy, damp brown locks with twigs and leaves tangled in. Sharp faerie ears protrude from it. It confirms to you that this is just another form of the kelpie, not someone else entirely. 

“You’re a fool,” the man says, turning on Taehyun with wild eyes.  

You join his confrontation on Taehyun. “What the hell is going on?” you say. You’re still jittery with the urge to run. 

Taehyun entertains only you, saying, “I hoped that he’d just make things easy in the first place.” 

The man, dripping with water from his tattered, sopping rags for clothes, sneers. “I would not serve you if you fucking killed me. Of course you had to take my bridle.” 

You give Taehyun an expectant look. You’re in dire need of being filled in. 

“His bridle,” he says, grabbing the reins that still hang from the man’s face even in his human form and tugging him into a walk into the forest, “I grabbed it. He serves me, now. He can hate it all he wants, but he’ll do what I ask.” 

The thought makes you deeply uncomfortable, but you can’t pin exactly why. It lives somewhere around the place inside you that loathed the way the folk made your kind into their glamoured servants.  

“We’re just going to bring him back with us?” You trail them tentatively back through the woods that you had arrived from. “Like a prisoner, or something?” 

“Exactly like a prisoner,” the man says, excited to get a hit in on Taehyun. Of course, he’s unhappy.  

He stumbles as Taehyun tugs him forward by his bridle. “Shut your mouth,” Taehyun says. It’s more commanding than angry. “What’s your name?” he asks him.  

The man looks as though he wants to deny him that knowledge. Names are a powerful thing to a faerie. They spend their lives hiding them away—to give away their real name would make them totally vulnerable to the whims of whoever knows and uses it. However, you assume that whatever hold Taehyun has over him now works in a similar way, and his lips move despite his revolt.  

“Beomgyu,” he answers, eyes full of bite. 

You climb between a pair of close-resting, gnarled trees. “Does he have to keep that thing on, Taehyun?” you say, struggling with the sight of him being dragged along. It’s unsettling. “Like, does it work without that?” 

Stopping, Taehyun reaches up to pull the bridle off and around from Beomgyu’s head. He lets it fall to the snow. “You can use his name if you need to command him and I’m not around. He’ll have to do what you say.” Pushing Beomgyu into a walk, he says, “You’re going to protect us if in any case we need it. That includes her. You’re going to stay within my estate, unless one of us brings you somewhere. You won’t try your hand at any escape, and you won’t make any attempts to harm us either directly or by omitting something you are aware will do so.” 

You rub your hands together to generate heat as he lists his commands. Why would he even need those precautions, if Beomgyu is supposed to be his compulsory servant now? Would that not mean that he’d be unable to harm him? Either Taehyun is being extra precautious, or the command he has over him is weaker than you had thought at first. Beomgyu scowls the whole way through. Perhaps if Taehyun had not spoken those exact words, he would have lunged at him. 

As the kelpie stalls, Taehyun urges him forward once again with a shove. “Walk,” he snaps. “You did this to yourself. If you’d been a respectable man, I’d have only asked for your help when we needed. Now, you’re following us everywhere.” He allows him to stew on that for a little before saying, “You do your job well and I’ll let you return to your waters. I’ll forget I even made you my servant, and you’ll live knowing you’re no longer in my debt. You’ll not have to worry that someone might tame you again, because I already had, and I won’t even utilize it. We’ll never even make each other’s acquaintance again. You’ll be free to toil in your forest, and I will stay far away. All I need is for you to keep us alive and unharmed.” 

At least he doesn’t intend to keep him forever as an eternal servant. Most faeries that fall into debts work their long lives as living servants. Your years as Nut-hatch's worker taught you how that life whittles your soul down. Hundreds of years of just that is unfathomable. Maybe that is the cost of betraying honor here, though.

“So be it,” Beomgyu says, teeth gritted.  

You continue to trudge through the forest behind them. 

❉

Once you’re within the walls of the estate and Beomgyu is given a place to stay, you turn to Taehyun. “What part of that was safer than trusting Yeonjun?” you say.  

His eyes drop closed and he sighs. “It was worlds safer,” he grits out. “I knew what I was doing. You had that hag stone, and I’d have cut him down if he tried anything.” 

He stretches out his shoulders, shifting them uncomfortably under the fabric of his tunic. You know that his sewn-up wound bothers him. Could it be getting infected? You hope not—an infection this early on would most definitely mean it would be a nasty one. If only he weren’t insistent on pretending that it’s nothing. “I don’t think you could”—you gesture at your own shoulder—“you’re going to infect your shoulder. I don’t know how to treat an infected wound that big.” 

“I wouldn’t have even gone there if I thought I couldn’t handle it. I had a plan. I can protect us just fine.” 

Us. You’ve been wondering what your purpose here might become once you abandon returning to your duties. Would you be staying with Yeonjun? If he betrays you, and Taehyun were to push you out now that you’re no longer partners in duty, where would you go? Crawl to the doorstep of some random faerie to place yourself in their services, just to find yourself a warm place to stay? Taehyun now makes it clear that he still sees the two of you as a pair, but why? You still can’t understand why he’d suddenly switched up the moment you said you’d stay here even if he left. Realistically, he should’ve killed you for being a traitor to the king that he serves. You know that his intentions are more complex than that, but you fail to grasp where they lie. His actions and his words clash.  

“And when Yeonjun doesn’t betray us? What will all of this be for?” 

“This doesn’t stop at the prince,” he says, “there are more players than just him and The Queen. Any one of them could determine that we’re liabilities. Don’t you think that we should prepare for that? We came here as spies infiltrating their court from the very king that they rebel against; of course they’ll have plans for us. 

“It’s still best that you stay your distance from the prince from this point on, regardless, unless you bring the kelpie.” 

Your mouth drops open, brows pinching. You don’t like the thought of being chaperoned at all. If Yeonjun is to betray you, then it’ll be your own fault. You can take the consequences of your actions just fine. “I think I can make that decision for myself,” you say, voice low. “And I can protect myself, too. Are you saying my skills aren’t up to your standards? Well, I didn’t spend that time working on them for nothing, and I don’t plan on stopping. I know I’m not perfect, but I think I can at least use a dagger adequately, no?” 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Taehyun says, eyes flat with frustration. “You can protect yourself well. I know that. What I mean is that you shouldn’t rest your life on his integrity. I have no doubts that you’d be able to protect yourself from him alone. He’s delicate. The King doesn’t pamper his children, but I have no doubt that the prince hasn’t wielded a sword anywhere other than in sparring. But you don’t know if you’ll ever truly be alone, and you don’t know whether or not he’s setting you up. I think you can at least agree that it’s best that you can acknowledge that and behave accordingly, no?” 

“I rested my life on your integrity today. Am I supposed to trust you blindly, too? What if you’re just stringing me along until you kill me for my treason to The King? You were his spy, no? How many years did you serve him? Why have you given it up so easily? Why are you staying here? None of it makes sense to me, but I still trusted you. Was I wrong for that? Are you a liar, Taehyun? Does your tongue tell lies?” 

His eyes crystallize, a few degrees colder than you’d seen them all day. “I can lie,” he says. “But would I have done what I did today if I intended to kill you? It’s time that you see that actions tell you so much more than words ever will.” 

Again, he treads around your questions about his intentions. “Why are you staying here?” you repeat, studying him with your suspicion.  

He’s quiet. 

“Answer me,” you demand. 

“Is this not my home?” he says. 

Unsatisfied, you press more. “I thought you hated this place. Why would you want to stay here? Don’t you have an awful reputation here?” 

His eyebrows shoot up, but his face stays hauntingly blank. You’re used to his blank mask, but this feels different. “If you think that I left here because of my reputation, then you’ve fooled yourself.” He begins making for his quarters. “I have obligations to fulfilling my father’s role as Lord of this estate,” he says before turning and ending the conversation on his terms. 

That leaves you just as confused. If he cared about his responsibilities here, he would’ve never left them in the first place to become a spy under The King. It makes no sense. Whether or not it’s true, you’re positive that you aren’t getting the whole story. You sigh and drag your feet bed-bound. You hope to never have another day as unending as today again. 

❉

You dodge Beomgyu for the entirety of the day, not sure what to make of a new presence around the estate, even if it’s an indebted servant beast of a presence. You’d half expected Taehyun to rope him up in the horse stalls outside, making that his permanent residence, but he’d given Beomgyu a place somewhere in the servant’s quarters. You’re glad of it—you may be wary of him, but you don’t wish anything like that for him. Now that he has a more human form, you find yourself able to empathize with him more than you were when he was a hulking, killer water horse. He doesn’t necessarily run around much—without a doubt because he’s not the happiest about being forced into Taehyun’s servitude. You don’t blame him. 

Despite your efforts, he enters the kitchens while you’re alternating between chomping on a slice of bread and a platter of dates. He eyes you. Though in this form his eyes are not as piercing, they’re still heavy.  

You offer him a slice of the bread and push the platter toward him. “Hungry?” 

He shakes his head. “I don’t eat the way you do.” 

Then why’d he come to the kitchens? Either he’s exploring, or he came looking for you. “Not even like this?” you ask, gesturing down to his form. 

“I eat when someone is foolish enough to come to my waters,” he says. “I thought I’d be eating yesterday, but the Lord subverted those plans, didn’t he?” 

You laugh a bit, though it’s absurd to laugh about being eaten with the same creature that had intended to do so.  

“I sometimes go for more years than the entire span of your human life without eating,” he says, tilting his head to one side. Shaggy locks of hair follow his head with it. It’s unkempt and in dire need of a washing to rid it of dirt. 

You gesture at his dirt-smudged cheek. “Do you want to clean up? I’m sure Taehyun has some clothes to spare for you. There are some pretty nice bathing quarters, here, too. The kind that makes you reluctant to get out.” 

A wry smile cracks across his face, a bit feral like the rest of him. “I’m not afraid of some dirt. These are my clothes. I’d go naked before dressing myself in his.” 

“Okay, then,” you snort, shrugging. “No baths.” You rip a bite out of the wrinkled fruit in your hand. “How did you even end up... in debt to Taehyun?” you ask, eager to fill yourself in. If Taehyun insists on not telling you anything, you’ll find it in other places. You’d picked up that it had something to do with his father, but you need to know more. The more you’re able to piece together, the better you’ll be able to make sense of Taehyun’s behaviors. You hope so, at least. He holds is truths very close to himself, and almost everybody else seems to harbor a poignant distaste for him. 

Beomgyu’s face sours up again. “I had a dispute with his father. The General was going to raze my forest and kill each one of us. I’d called on him and asked for his help. I’m not sure what he did, but The General never came. If I knew it’d land me like this, though...” He grimaces. “I’d have just let him make me history.” 

Reigning in the laugh that bubbles in your chest at his resentment, because you’re positive that you finding humor in his misfortunes would ruffle him, you nod and pocket that information. “Then, why didn’t you just agree to help when he tried to collect your debt in the first place?” 

“I was going to,” he snaps. “He’s just a prideful creature. No patience. If he’d waited a few moments, I’d have agreed.” 

Humming, you don’t tell him that he’s definitely the one who wound himself up like this. Taehyun had made it clear multiple times that Beomgyu needed to stop playing around.  

Taehyun’s voice comes from the doorway, cutting into the conversation with its matter-of-factness. “Speaking bad on my name while I’m away, kelpie? Should I amend your list of commands to include watch your mouth?” His tone is bare and humorless. 

Beomgyu bristles beside you, about to rebut him before you spy the weapon at Taehyun’s hip and interrupt before they can come to verbal blows. “Where are you going?” 

Taehyun rips his icy gaze from Beomgyu to you. “To Court,” he answers, plain and as if it were obvious. 

Furrowing your brows, you say, “Court? Why didn’t you tell me we’re going? I don’t want to get ready in a rush.” Your mind turns. You weren’t even sure what you’d be doing now that you’re no longer here as spies. There’s no need to infiltrate Court, now. Would you just be attending as revelers? Not to mention that Yeonjun no doubt has no clue that you’re even staying. You hadn’t seen him since you’d ran to him yesterday morning and had your world thrown for a loop as he revealed his truth. How had so much happened in one day?  

His mouth hardens. “You’re not attending with me,” he says, knuckles turning white over the pommel of his sword. “You’ll stay here with him today.” 

Your heart thrums in your chest; not with fear like it had been doing so much over the span of the last few days, but with anger. “What?” you say, voice strained with shock. “No. I’m getting ready; wait for me, or don’t. I don’t care.” You spin on your heels to do just that, gritting your teeth. He thinks he can tell you what to do? Is that it? You don’t care what he’s done for you, or what power he thinks he has over you because of it. You’d left your life of taking commands behind for a reason. This was supposed to be new beginnings, not just your past life under a new skin. 

He catches your upper arm frantically. Whipping your head to him, you rip yourself away from him and back off. “I said, no!” you say, lips twitching into a heavily emotional scowl. It’s not just that he’s telling you to stay back today. You know that what he’s doing is much bigger than that. It sends memories of a life in a seamstress’ cottage flooding back. You struggle to keep your head afloat, to keep yourself from drowning in it, but they’re old and deep wounds. 

“Oh, look at that,” Beomgyu croons. “You are just like him. Except, your father was a general, so at least he had some reason to believe that folk would obey him. You? Not so much.” 

Taehyun’s head snaps to him. He barks a command. “Leave.” 

His eyes flash and he reels against it, but Beomgyu’s body moves against his own will. There’s a spark of ravenous hate smeared across his lips and in the glare he gives Taehyun as he leaves. 

“So, you’re just going to hand out commands and expect them to be followed now, huh? Because you’re suddenly just... taking up this role as Lord? Well, you’re not my Lord. You’re not his, either.” 

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop that.” 

Laughing a bitter laugh, you spit, “Stop what? Oh, I’m sorry. I should just obey you like a good human does, huh? ‘Cause that’s what we’re for, right? My bad, I’ll get a head start on working around the estate—what would you like for dinner, my lord? Or, do you need me to press your clothes?” Your words are angry, but you choke toward the end around the lump of emotion in the back of your throat. 

He takes both your arms into his hands, his brow furrowed hard. “Stop it,” he snarls. “Stop it, damn it. Don’t do that. You’re not a servant here. Don’t you try to cry to me, I expect better than this from you. That’s not it at all.” 

You shove back on his chest, putting some distance between you. “I’m not crying,” you say. “And, so what if I was? There’s nothing wrong with it. I think it’d do you a little good to cry some time.” 

“It’s weak,” he says. “Pitying yourself just ends up making you a fool. If you just sit around and wallow, you’ll just stay where you are. The only thing you can do is act.”  

That sounds about right coming from his lips. “Is that what your father taught you?” you ask. “Well, he was wrong. You can cry and try and take care of things at the same time.” 

“I’m just asking you to stay back today,” he says. 

“Why?” you say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Tell me why? It’s not like we’re spying around or have some sort of mission to keep secret. Why can’t I just go enjoy it like that for once?” 

“Can you just do this for me?” Taehyun says, jaw tight. “I just need you to stay.” 

You’ve become sick of him not telling you things. Being in the dark never feels good, but it especially feels like shaky ground now. If he thinks you’ll be attacked, so what? You’re the one who wanted to stay here. Let you come. You’re better off being attacked as a group of three than he would be by himself, no? 

You decide to lean into his own concerns to appeal. “What if they’re waiting for you? Wouldn’t it be better that Beomgyu and I are there? Isn’t that why you did that whole thing yesterday?” 

He shakes his head. “If they are, then it’ll be easier for me to slip out if it’s just me.” 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you determine by the solemn lines to his face that he’s not going to give. “Fine,” you say. “I’ll stay here today. If it’s so necessary, I’ll stay here. Do you want me to stay inside the estate, too? Could I go see Yeonjun?” 

“I’d prefer that you stay here,” he says, slow and measured and veiling tension. 

You shake your head, pairing it with a tired laugh. “Yeah, right, I forgot. He’s a threat too. Well, you have fun then.” Turning and departing from the kitchens, you leave behind your bread and dates. So much for lunch. 

❉

Reaffirming Taehyun’s ability to lie, it was not just that one day. The next day, Taehyun slipped out for Court, sword on hip and pleading with you to stay in the estate on the terms that he believes they still might have an attack planned for you. It turned into a week that you were cooped up in the estate, and then two. The same walls you’d once looked at in wonder for their beauty became the ones you stared at mindlessly during the most boring of hours. 

You spend most of your time listening to Beomgyu drone on and on about the ways he’d tricked faeries and humans. He’s quite odd, but it’s not like you can blame him for it—most of the folk are odd to you, and he’s an ancient beast among them. You feel like that warrants a spunky personality like his. He’s nice company, anyway. Such a long life lends you an impressive wealth of stories. 

You can’t help but think about Yeonjun. He’s got to have seen Taehyun at Court by now. If there haven’t been any incidents at this point, doesn’t that mean that he doesn’t intend to betray you? The images of him thinking that you’re avoiding him makes you want to slip out to see him. You not sure why you don’t. Maybe the lies that sat between you affect you more than you thought they did. You’re quite the hypocrite, though. You’d kept secrets just as much as he had. 

You miss those stolen nights you two had shared. A knot, queasy and pessimistic, sits in your belly each time you lay in your bed and remember them and tells you that you’ll never see anything like that again. You’d allowed a girlish part of you to blossom beside him—a part of you that could throw caution to the wind and melt into the fun things in life.  

As you rot your days away in that estate that has become more like a dungeon than an estate, you allow yourself to miss him only a little. Once it begins transforming into a certain impending doom about how you’d thought that staying here would be everything you’d ever wanted, you find something else to do. If you aren’t toiling around by yourself or listening to Beomgyu drone, you’re practicing your combat skills. The times that Taehyun stops in to help you, it ends with you insisting that you’re fine to make appearances in Court by now, or at least see Yeonjun with Beomgyu in attendance. He never agrees. Each time, it’s the same awful excuse: Tensions are worse. He doesn’t know if they’re planning something. When you ask why he demands that he can attend, but you and Beomgyu can’t join: He’s a lord. It’s his duty to attend Court. 

The solstice is nearing, too. You’d looked forward to it, honestly. Hopefully Taehyun will let you attend by then. 

You sit crisscrossed on the hardwood flooring, running your fingers through your hair. Beomgyu is stood a couple feet away, and makes big gestures as he explains the one time he’d been called to attend Court as a solitary faerie. Moments like this have kept you grounded over the weeks. 

“And the stupid crone tried to say that I was wrong for catching him,” he exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head as if the ancient memory were still as fresh as day one.  

You laugh. “What did you even do to end up there, anyway?” you ask. You can hardly picture Beomgyu in the setting of Court, even more so meeting with The Queen and her council. Moreover, you’re intrigued to know what he’d said to talk himself out of trouble. You’re amazed that he managed to make a sufficient enough case to save his life. 

“They said that I’d been taking too many of their folk—hah! I must eat too, you know? Oh, the pretention! Do they expect me to starve? If a fool lands themselves on my pelt and then in my waters, it’s only natural that they’re eaten. I’m simply freeing them from one more mud-brained fool. The Courts are full of those, too. It’d take me a millennium to eat them all. What are they so worried for, I wonder? They do the very same to their own people.” 

“Aren’t they ridiculous?” you say. Like you, he’d been an outsider in Court. Though you’re sure that it’s just as, if not more, intricate to those well-versed in it, to the ones like you two... It’s odd to see. You had grown used to it in the time you spent there, but you still know what the first day had felt like. Anyway, you hadn’t spent as many days there as you feel you had. All that had happened had bloated that time in your memories. “To be quite honest with you, your kind are all so odd to me. I grew up among you, but still... my instincts are always kinda at odds with my surroundings, you know?” 

Beomgyu considers that for a moment, as if trying to view the fae from a human’s eyes. “Even when we look so similar?” he asks you, grabbing at a lock of his hair and making a round gesture over himself. 

You nod. “Even in this form, you just... I don’t feel like I’m looking into the face of another human. Maybe that’s because I watched you turn to this from a horse, though.” 

“A kelpie,” he corrects. “What gives it away?” 

“Sorry, a kelpie,” you snicker. You look over his face. It’s so close to right, but somewhere in your mind you can decipher that something is not right. Like all of the fae, though, there’s an unspeakable beauty there, beyond explanation. It demands your human attention. Even the most terrifying are beautiful. “Well, for starters, your ears. They’re pointy. All of you have that, and none of us do. And then... I guess”—you narrow your eyes—“your eyes? They’re just different. And your limbs are pretty lanky, too.” 

He frowns as if he’s unable to see it. “You don’t sound so sure,” he says, joining you on the floor. “I’ve had quite some time to look at myself in my life. I don’t think I ever saw any of that when I was in this form...” 

“I’m sure you did,” you say, lips turning up in a playful mock. A water creature no doubt has an eternity to stare into the water at themselves in its rippled reflection. “Did you do a lot of that?” 

Scowling, he huffs. “No. But I’m sure you would, if you looked like this, huh?” 

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” His face morphs from dismay to careful concentration. Frowning, you look around and ask, “What?” 

“I hear somebody,” he answers, pushing off the floor. 

Your spine tingles, but you search for the logical explanation. “Like... Taehyun?” 

“No... the walk is definitely different.” He strains to listen. “He’s usually pretty quiet. This one... they don’t conceal their footsteps.” 

Neither of you can get to a window to scope anything out before there’s three heavy knocks from the door, the metal knocker ringing. You shoot him a wary look and tilt your head toward the door. You mouth the word, answer? 

He considers for a moment and then nods. Well, he’s the one able to hear their approach. You trust they’re at least not imminent danger. You pull the door open. A breeze of frost comes rushing in as you do, blowing your hair and as jarring as a hit to the face might be. You’ve been cooped up in here for so long you’ve forgotten how bitter the cold here is.  

Behind the door your eyes lock with a pair of inky ones, settled into a pinched and snooty face. “Letters from the palace I have for you, my lady,” she says, her voice mousy. She holds out a stack full of letters to you, all held together by some twine. 

An errand runner. You furrow your brows down at her and accept them. The little hob wrings out her long fingers. “From who?” you ask her.  

She bows her head to you hurriedly. “Oh, from the prince, my lady! He sends these for you!” 

You look down at the stack in your hands, and your heart begins to run amok in your chest. He’d sent to you? You thank her. She scurries off in the snow and you close the door, sharing a look with Beomgyu. 

“The prince?” he says, brows shot up. “Meaning, The King’s son? He’s sent letters for you?” 

Nodding, you hold the stack close to you. Your feet ache to find your quarters and to begin tearing into each one; you’re ravenous for any sort of word from him. Does he hate you? Does he miss you? At least he still thinks of you. You’d worried that he might’ve found another lady of the court to dote on in your absence... 

“Yeah,” you say over your shoulder, more interested in tearing the letters open than explaining to him why the prince would be sending you letters. Curiosity sits in his furrowed brow. You hadn’t exactly prattled on about Yeonjun to him. Had you even mentioned him at all? 

He tags along as you head to your room and plop onto your bed. You don’t tell him to leave you; opening these letters alone... You appreciate his presence in some odd way.  

Unstringing the pile, you pull the first one out and run a thumb over the wax seal that identifies it as definitely from the High Prince—a fine silver dusted over white wax and branded with the image of Yeonjun’s insignia, the fox. It’s uneven and dribbled, clearly sealed by Yeonjun himself with the insignia ring he often wears on his finger. You pry it open and then unfurl the parchment inside. 

Do you intend to return to Court? Perhaps we keep missing each other. Though, the Lord is always there. I wonder where you are. If my letter reaches you, please write me back. Or better, come see me. My doors are open to you.  

They always have been. 

Yeonjun 

Beomgyu’s gaze burns holes through you as you read this first one. You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you reach for the next one. This one twists a hot knife of guilt into your belly and up into your heart. 

Have I done something wrong?  

The General’s son continues to attend Court, and though I seek your lovely face beside his, you’re never there. I’m under the impression that he wants you not seeing me. Although, perhaps that’s only because I loathe what your absence might mean otherwise. 

Is it because I learned of your identity? Is it that you think I hate you? 

Allow me to make it utmost clear: I do not. I doubt I could if I tried. You’re quite the heart stealer.  

I know I sound a bit ridiculous telling you I love you when we only knew each other for so long. I understand that. It’s that sort of love that ought to burn bright and short, right? But I won’t let it. Not us. 

Some might say that a love found so easily is fickle. That it doesn’t exist. I say it does, because I have felt it. 

Do you remember how it felt the first time our eyes met, too? How odd is it to feel something so deep inside you, but also so far beyond your reach that you cannot alter its course?  

Please write me, pretty. If I can’t see your face, at least allow me the pleasure of knowing that you’re okay. 

Yeonjun 

“What do they say?” Beomgyu asks, timbred voice whipping you apart from the words on paper that manage to send your heart hurting.  

You’re not entirely sure how to tell him that they’re desperate letters of the High Prince’s love for you, a worthless human girl that had avoided him on purpose. He probably wouldn't believe you, anyway. Leaving behind your old life, you had pleaded with the sky to make your life something worth note. It seems that it had answered. Life works in odd ways.  

“A lot,” you say, brushing him off. Your voice cracks with the word, though,  

Hearing the veiled emotion, he frowns, inching forward to take a peek. “Why are you upset?” he pries, and then gasps as a thought formulates in his head. “Have they called you to be tried by the council?” He considers his own suggestion for a long moment and then shakes his head. “You hardly have gone anywhere enough to cause that degree of trouble, though.”  

You let your face drop into your hands. Is the tremor in your chest from laughter, or from crying? You can’t tell. Maybe it’s both. 

The kelpie makes an unsure sound, clearing his throat. “I... uh, I jest...” 

Collecting yourself, you say, “No. I’m not being called in for trial.” You reach for the next letter.  

The next envelope has dried up rose petals that come falling out when you pull out the letter. The flower of love. 

Have you left the north? Could you not have at least lent me one last look at your face before doing so? I don’t mean to be so pathetic, but my heart is lonesome. I thought we’d have more time. Hadn’t you wanted to stay with me?  

If you still reside in his estate, I send these letters to you. I’m not sure if they’ll reach you, but I hope that they’ll move you. Don’t you know that I’d give you anything? 

Please come see me. I beg. Let’s talk. I just want to know what’s wrong. 

Yeonjun 

Why hadn’t you at least gone and told him that you’ve stayed? How had you allowed yourself to feel fear when you think of him? You don’t deserve his love.  

You don’t even know if you deserve love at all. All it would’ve taken was one night of slipping out. He deserved to know that you’re okay. You don’t remember being this selfish. When had this happened? Maybe this is just what happens when someone spends a lifetime not allowed to think of themselves before serving others. You don’t want to be selfish, though.  

The next one you open is more raw. Hurt. The paper, scrawled in writing that becomes less elegant and more frenzied as you read down it, crumples in your hand. 

If you think that I’m the sort of man that will easily forget what we’ve shared, I am not. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please return to my arms. They ache for you. They remember your weight, and they won’t soon forget it.  

Do I need to say it anymore?  

I love you, darling. It’s making me sick.  

Yeonjun 

You stuff the letters back in their envelopes and shove them into a box in your wardrobe. If you don’t, you’ll read them over until you’re ill. Once over was enough for you. 

❉

“The Lord would have my pelt if I let you leave,” Beomgyu, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, says. “Let alone by yourself.” Realizing that his words insinuate that Taehyun holds any true power over him, he backtracks. “If it weren’t for the harness, I’d be unconcerned with his anger, but... Of course, you know, I’m obligated by my imposition to his word, so...” 

Tugging your boots on, you say, “So, tell him I commanded you to stay. You’ll be fine.”  

You had waited for Taehyun to leave for Court, anyway. You have hours of the night to sly-foot your way around him. 

You’d moped around for a few more days, your gut heavy with stones each time you remember Yeonjun’s letters. Stuffing them into a box, no matter how deep into the corner of your wardrobe, still could not wipe those words from your mind. You’d turned them over and over until you couldn’t handle imagining him writing those letters with a hopeful heart any longer.  

The solstice is only a few days away now, too. You’d been bound to the estate for weeks. Although you’re unsure what Taehyun’s real intentions are in boarding you in, you can no longer even care if leaving will end up getting you attacked. You’ve become a bird with clipped wings.  

Even if your wings are out of order, you’ll walk your way to your freedom. Hell, you’d crawl there. It just so happens that Yeonjun’s doorway feels like freedom in this moment.  

Like he’d always said, the doors remain unbarred. You don’t even have to use the metal knocker; you just push through the doors of swirling white engravements. Just as if nothing had changed. He’d been waiting for you. 

Instead of Yeonjun in his quarters, you find a brownie diligently working on doing up Yeonjun’s bedding. When she turns to you, her hands continue their efforts. 

“The prince is not here right now, dear,” she says, snout twitching. Round eyes recognize you before you can introduce yourself. “He’s only just made for Court, though. You should catch him quite quickly, if you mean to.” 

It seems he hasn’t given up searching for you in Court, either. You offer her your gratitude and slip out from his room. Picking up the hems of your dress, you race to catch Yeonjun before he’s arrived at Court. Once he does, things get more sticky—if Taehyun spots you... Pushing down the anxiety that bubbles up at the thought, you cross your fingers. Let luck be on your side.  

Your Court dress, though heavy, feels nice on your skin. Although you often look down on court goers for their pompousness, you can’t deny how good it feels to fit in. That’s perhaps the reason you cling to Court the way you do; you’re beyond desperate for belonging. 

On the plush, snow-dusted bits of the forest’s floor, you spot a set of footsteps. They’re quickly being filled with the flurries. You clasp your hands in an overwhelming bout of gratitude—luck had listened, this time. Those tracks are as fresh as can be. You double your pace. 

Around a bend, you’re overjoyed to see his figure walking there. Finally hearing you coming over the roar of snowfall, he spins. His face pinches and then drops as he recognizes you. 

“You... You came?” he says. Disbelief flips his lips into a frown. “You got my letters?” 

“I did,” you answer, catching your breath. “I’m so sorry.” 

A few feet float between you, the space not yet closed but so magnetic. His cheeks are tinged pink with the cold. Yours must be too.  

“I’d thought you left. I thought I’d never see you again.” 

Your chest caves in a little at the hurt in his voice and the way it clashes with the longing in his eyes. He wants to be angry; he wants to yell at you. He can’t do either when he’s just thankful to see your face. You had missed his just as much. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “It shouldn’t have happened.” 

Yeonjun approaches you and takes your face into his hands. His fingers are ice on your skin. He swallows in your face, soft black eyes darting from your eyes to your lips and around the rest of it; just like he’d begged you to let him do in his letters. 

“Why?” Yeonjun asks you, brushing your hair back with his fingers like he’s just testing the feel of it. 

You don’t know how to answer him. You could tell him a lot of things: Taehyun told me to stay away. He had told me that you’d hurt me. I’d started to believe him. I became scared of you. We had lied to each other. None of them feel adequate in this moment, so you shake your head. 

His eyes harden to a degree as you don’t answer. “Why wouldn’t you come talk to me, pretty?” he urges. “If something was wrong, why couldn’t you come to me? We can’t leave things broken. I sent you weeks of letters. Weeks.” 

Weeks? You’d only seen four.  

“Finally, I got smart enough to send them when he’s at Court. And then you show up here. Tell me, how am I to think that you’re okay? When he won’t even let you speak with me?” 

You blink once. Twice. Taehyun had been intercepting letters. A pit of anger flares in your belly. Whatever this protecting thing he’s doing really is, you’re sick of it. Since when had he become your keeper? He’d demanded that Yeonjun was trying to do just that, but here he is, and you have no clue why he’s doing it. 

“I didn’t know you’d sent letters until yesterday,” you tell him. “I should’ve come and seen you.” 

Running his thumb over your cheek, he murmurs, “You’re not going back there. Please, tell me you’ll stay with me. If you’re to stay here in the north forever, let it be with me. We can’t slip around like this forever.” 

Shaking your head in his hands, you pull back. You can’t decipher the dread that washes over you at his suggestion once again. Your heart is wary with the need to do just that—to not return to the estate where you’d become some sort of prisoner. Something washes over you and tells you that it won’t go the way you’d wanted, just as most things in your life hadn’t. 

Seeing the way you retract, Yeonjun becomes more desperate. “Please,” he says, hands finding your shoulders to hold you as if you’ll leave him there.  

“We’ll figure it out,” you say. “Just give me a few days to think about it, okay?” 

His face stays drawn as if he wants to argue it, but he relents. Taking your frozen hands into his own and wrapping them up in attempts to warm them, he says, “Okay. Okay, let’s get away from this blizzard, then. I’ll wait for you, love.” 

Your chest sizzles. The cold isn’t so bad, today. In a way, you’d missed it. You nod.  

Yeonjun brings you to his chambers and urges you to settle into a plush seat. You run your hands over the embroidered whorls of thread on the cushions as you watch him rummage through a chest. “What are you looking for?” you ask him, drinking in his figure. He’d switched his Court shirts for some more comfortable wear, but even in those he looks princely. He’s so pretty. Your heart flutters as he fishes out what he’d been searching for and turns to you with a smile. He settles beside you carrying a leatherbound book and a miniature wood sculpture of a girl. 

“These,” he says, setting them down on the cushion between you.  

You pick up the wood thing, looking over its painted pink cheeks and feeling the carvings that make its face. It’s fitted with a dress; one unlike any you’d ever seen. Your brow furrows. “What’s this thing?” you ask. 

“It’s called a doll,” he says explains. You feel his eyes on you, watching your reaction, not on the thing in your hands. “Human girls carry them around to play with. They change the dresses and stuff. They even make things for them to hold, but... I couldn’t get ahold of any of those.”  

Heart stuttering, you look at the wood-carved thing. “Human girls?” you ask, imagining a life where you too could have worried only about what dress your toy would wear. You revere the resilience your younger self had to have. At least you didn’t know any better; you didn’t know how you could’ve had it. That ignorance saved you. The painted eyes of the doll stare back at you. 

“Kinda cute, huh?” he says, smiling and scooting closer to fiddle with the thing’s hair. “They even do their hair up all pretty.” Looking back up to you, he says, “It’s a shame that no human who has ever grown up here knows of things like these. Simple joys.” 

You nod, a little choked up. “Yeah. I wish I had. It would have been nice to have something like this as a girl.”  

He tucks some hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face from the side. “How did you ever end up being a spy?” 

Tearing your gaze from the doll to meet his, you find a sadness there despite you not even having told him yet. It’s as if he knows it’ll hurt him already. You fiddle with the little doll’s dress as you recount. “I was a servant to a seamstress,” you start. “A royal seamstress, too. She was favored well by the gentry. She brought in hordes of clients and made dresses and Court clothes for them—but, really, her work mostly ended at being there to hear what they’d want and inlaying the dresses with her magic when they’d ask for it. The rest was my work. Taking their measurements, making their dresses... I worked her shop as soon as I became able to.” Memories of cruel and wicked faces that snickered at your expense or those who found it entertainment to scare you come back, as fresh as ever. Those memories never leave you; the ones so early on that they’d calcified into permanent parts of your personality. That terrified little girl will always be somewhere in your mind. She surfaces quite a lot, these days.  

“There was this one time...” you say, trailing off to trudge up a more awful memory. “A Lady had come in to have a dress made. She brought a guard along with her. He was this massive troll with grey skin like a toad.” You’d recall his details without any trouble for the rest of your life, you think. “I’d ran off to grab some fabric for the Lady, and he followed,” you say, voice wavering just how your little heart had wavered as you had turned around from the bolts of fabric to see the goblin stood there. “He yanked me around by my hair until I sobbed, and then he had me get on the floor and beg him to let me live.” You know now that of course he wasn’t going to kill you—he wouldn’t want problems with Nut-hatch—but you hadn’t known it then. You thought you were dead. “When he had enough of his fun, he let me go. When the other two saw how hysterical I was, all I got was being asked why I’d left them waiting so long.”  

Yeonjun asks, voice soft and tender, “The seamstress allowed that?” His eyes are heavy with a mixture of emotions. You see sadness and anger there, but also something a bit more. 

“Nut-hatch?” you say. “Of course.” They’d known what he was doing in there, of course. Even a human could have heard it. As long as you served your purpose, the folk could not care less. 

He looks taken aback at that, recognition turning his brows up. “Nut-hatch? You worked for Nut-hatch?” he asks. 

Nodding, you hum. You had no doubt he’d know her name. Her work was well-renowned in his father’s court and beyond. “I did.” 

His eyes rake over you for a long few beats before he turns your face up. “Their names?” he asks. 

“Huh?” 

“The goblin and the Lady. What are their names?” 

You try to tug at the threads of that old memory. “I don’t remember,” you say. Much of it is fresh, but you hadn’t committed their names to memory. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of it. “It’s okay. It’s passed now.” 

He doesn’t look very convinced, mind wheeling behind his eyes. You don’t want to stay on this memory for too long. Pushing it back into the dusty corner where it stays, you continue explaining. “I accepted that as my life for a long time, but... At some point, I just wanted more. I imagined all the ways I could find a new life as a human here. There are so many other things I’d preferred, but the only one I could manage was that. Even that, I was wrong about. I’m not really made for that, you know?” You lighten your tone in hopes that it’ll make your chest feel lighter as well.  

He listens intently and then leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling you into his chest and keeping you notched under his chin, he says, his voice smooth to your ears, “I’m so happy you’re here now, pretty.” 

Letting out the weight in your lungs in a long, meaningful sigh, you melt into his touch. It’s difficult not to when his body is so warm against yours. You revel in it for some time, just letting him smooth over your hair and rub your back. You try your best not to let any old, sad emotions pour out through your eyes; this is a happy moment. You’ve made it. Perhaps things had been harder than you imagined they’d be, but you knew it’d be a long journey when you escaped that sewing cottage anyway. 

Peppering a few last kisses to the top of your head, he releases you to pick up the book he had also grabbed from that chest. On the front it reads: Pride & Prejudice.  

“A book?” you say, looking over the brown leather and gold printing. It’s an unfamiliar name to you, but you never read much anyway.  

He nods and pries it open. The spine crackles with age. “It’s also from the human world.” Thumbing through the pages, he adds, “It’s a story. I read it often, it’s quite a nice one. I want to give it to you so that you can read it too; it’s a beautiful love story.” 

You lean in to take a look at the words, too perfect to be handwritten. “Where do you get all this stuff?” you say. It reminds you of he’d brought you to that market for human goods. He seems to be interested in things that are human. Perhaps that includes you. Either that or he continues to show you these kinds of things for your sake. 

“I lived in their world for some years,” he says, flipping through the pages. “It’s quite different. Though... I found myself not wanting to leave. When the time came, I brought these back with me to remind me of that time.” 

Lived? Not just visited, but Yeonjun had lived in the human realm? Your heart flurries with a lifetime of wondering what your true home was like. How ironic is it that he knew more of humans than you? That you’re the one asking him questions about your kind? “How long?” you ask first. “And why were you living there?” 

“Just for something my father wanted me to do,” he answers, “Somewhere around a decade, I believe.” 

He’d spent ten years there. Multiple things click into place—no wonder he’s so able to understand your human emotions. No wonder it feels as though you’ve been seen to a different degree by him than you’d ever known before. He’d spent years with your kind. “What is it like?” you say, not sure where to begin with your questions. 

He smiles fondly. “You wouldn’t even be able to believe me, pretty. You’ll just have to see it.” 

See it. “You’d take me there?” you say.  

“Of course,” Yeonjun says, frowning. He takes one of your hands into his, pressing a kiss to it. “You deserve to see it.” He presses another kiss to your skin, now at your wrist. The hair on your skin raises at the contact. His eyes find yours as he begins a slow ascent of kisses up your arm. Each is warm and sends your spine blazing. Once he reaches your shoulder, he slows down, leaving a long moment between kisses. He continues this pace—one that both makes you wish he’d slow down and that he’d hurry and quell your want—right up the juncture of your neck and up the column, too. His controlled breaths puff out like fire on your skin where his mouth lingers. You let your head back to help his path up. He places one final kiss at your jawline before his lips land on yours, drunken and in no rush at all.  

You can’t help the visceral urge to run your hands over his soft skin, to check if the warmth there was real or if you’d manifested it in your longing. Yeonjun breaks this lethargic kiss just to laugh, but he’s quick to recapture your lips. He meets your hand and brings it under his silken shirt, guiding you up the soft planes of his abdomen. 

Pushing you back, he whispers into your mouth, “I missed you so much, pretty.” 

You rememorize the gentle muscles of his stomach beneath your palm. “It was only so many days,” you tease, “you’re just horny.” 

He lets go of your hand to begin slipping down your dress from the shoulders. “Yeah?” he hums, gobbling up each inch of skin that he reveals. “I suppose I am. It’s a gift to be able to love you in this way.” Once the fabric is clear of your hips and he’s tugging it down your legs, his face turns sly. He studies your wettened core. “I think you missed me too, though, love.” 

You drag your bottom lip into your teeth. You had. Your chest thumps rhythmically in your chest, syncing like symphony with the throb between your thighs. 

Blood sings in your veins when he places his palm right on the boundary between your lower belly and your cunt. Your stomach soars, too, so excited by his touch so near where your body craves it. He runs it up, feeling the curves of your body, up to your breast. You expect him to stop and pay attention to your chest, but he presses his hand down right over your heart and feels its beating against his palm. His eyes flutter to a shut, and he leaves his hand there for a few moments, relishing in it.  

“What other purer form of love can I show you?” he says, tapping on your hip. “On your hands and knees, baby.” 

You flip, your limbs a bit clumsy in anticipation. Once you’ve found your way there, he dances his fingertips on the small of your spine. 

“Did you think of my touches while we were apart?” 

“Mhm,” you hum. Especially on the nights when the estate seemed the emptiest. Some nights, your fingers were just not enough to save you, and you’d contemplate making a big escape to find him.  

“Well, I shouldn’t make you wait too much longer then, huh?” he coos, running that hand down to ghost touches over your slit. Though minimal, you jolt. You’d been so ravenous for this. He’d worked his shirt off so that when he leans forward to meld his chest to your back, it’s his skin that touches yours, not fabric. His hand stays ghosting touches that leave you softly gasping. 

He teasingly pinches your clit, laughing in your hair at the sharp hiss it draws from you. “So reactive,” Yeonjun muses. His fingers find their way to your hole. He dips the middle two in. “Just like the first time we made love like this. Your lovely face is burned into my mind, pretty. You have such hungry eyes.” As he pushes his fingers in, he uses his free hand to tilt your face against the cushion so that he can better see your eyes. 

You sigh, shuddering and breathy, as he begins to curl his fingers. It only takes him a few curls to rediscover that spot that has sparks flying behind your eyes. 

“There?” he asks, chin on your shoulder. “That feel good, darling?” 

Your muscles tremble at their own accord, rendering your huffs trembled as well. “Yes,” you answer. Each meaningful curl hits its mark, knees unsteady pillars that dig into the cushions. “So—so good. Please don’t stop.”  

He maintains a sickening pace—your muscles twitch around his giving fingers, just enough so that your entire body buzzes and your stomach twists, but not enough to send you shaking yet. You collapse down from your elbows, chest in the cushions. He brushes back the hair that obscures your face with the movement, adamant to see your face.  

He eggs you on by curling deeper; faster. Your answering groan is shaky and tense—you can’t get enough of the knot he curates in your belly, but at the same time, it’s daunting. He sits back, but his fingers don’t falter. His free hand explores, feeling your body up for all the time he couldn’t.  

Stomach taut and brimming on your peak, you suck in a breath. Your orgasm sits so close, running a line of electricity from between your legs up to your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin.  

Your eyes fly open, mouth ready to scold, as Yeonjun pulls his fingers from you. Your chest bubbles up with frustration, your orgasm drifting off to somewhere else. “Why?” you ask, cheeks burning. It slips and slips away from you, hole twitching around nothing as if seeking out just enough stimulus to bring it crashing back. “I was so close.” 

His hand soothes the loss ever so slightly by circling your cunt, but he does not make the mistake of offering you any touch where you most need it. It only prolongs the float down, keeping you suspended. You abhor it.  

“Please,” you whine. 

He doesn’t entertain your whines. He only continues to deliver just enough to torment you until he’s sure that you’re not so wound up that you’ll cum the moment he touches you, and then he slides his fingers back in and begins building up a more tense knot with pointed curls. Your insides delight in the return of attention, falling almost instantly back into a brutal climb. Yeonjun doesn’t bother with languid, teasing strokes now. He aims for your ruining. 

You writhe against the cushions. Your heart is a fluttering bird in your chest, trilling at the prospect of your release. It’s so close—so close that you might be able to just touch it. It tastes like honey on your tongue, painting your words sweet. “Love you,” you tell him. “Love you so much.” 

Yeonjun rewards your sweetness with his free hand on your throbbing clit, sending your hands gripping at the cushions. You wiggle your hips helplessly in search of just the right amount of friction that it’ll finally give you want you’ve been wanting. “Yes,” you mewl. “Yes, so close—” 

“Wait, baby,” he commands from behind you. “It’ll feel so much better. I promise. Hold it back.” 

He reins in his touches once again, not stopping like last time. It’s not enough to put a stop to the orgasm rippling right under your skin, right at the edge of ripping through you. You can’t hold it back; it’s right there. 

“No,” he says, once again ripping his touch from you. It doesn’t stop anything—you go rigid just before it crashes over you, and then you’re shaking without his hands even on you. You cum with a vengeance—body reclaiming twofold what he had denied you.  

“Holy shit.” Yeonjun groans watching you come unraveled without his help. “So riled up that you’re cumming by yourself, pretty,” he says, running a hand around to feel your belly muscles twitching and the way they roll along with the twitches of your hips. He eggs on your orgasm with gentle touches at your clit, sending you jolting, until you’re a panting mess and he can tell that you’ve had enough. 

You attempt to push yourself off your chest, but he gently guides you back down with a palm against your back. “Stay there, pretty. You can handle a little more, right? You did so well, I know you can. Let me make love to you, darling.” 

The cushions are awfully warm against your skin and you’re still dealing with the waves of pleasure that drift up from your cunt, but you nod your head for him. “’Kay,” you say. 

The rustling behind you tells of how he’s slipping out of the rest of his attire. You lay boneless as he does, focusing on the waves running down your thighs. It’s ecstasy in its purest form. It floats through your veins, addling any consciousness and breaking you down into what you are at your core. 

The familiar prod at your entrance jolts you back to life. As he presses in, he presses a hand to your flushed cheek. It’s a welcome temperature difference—you feel set ablaze in some sort of languid flame, one that takes its time to consume you. He laughs softly. “You’re burning up,” he says as he bottoms out, as if the feeling of him filling you up isn’t rendering you jittery in anticipation. “Ready for me, pretty?” he teases, taking your hips into his hands. “I need you to make those pretty sounds for me. I want to know that they’re just as sweet as I remember them.” He punctuates his sentence with deep rolls of his hips, aiming where he knows will have you singing. 

You’re helpless to the chorus of ‘Oh's and ‘Yes’s that he draws from you, the smacking of his hips and your sweet moans much too loud for you. You dread the thought of his servants hearing you and push your face into the cushions, muffling the array of sounds that bubble over. It’s all you can do—you could hardly contain your sounds. 

Your scalp strains as he tugs your head back, tugging your face from the cushion. “None of that, love. I waited too long for that. Don’t hide your pretty voice.”  

You shake your head. “Too loud,” you pant. “They’re gonna hear.” 

“I don’t care who hears you. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel, or I’m going to stop. Do you want me to stop?” His fingers cling to your soft hips, betraying how much this is affecting him. You know that he hardly wants to stop. 

You’re turned to mush, though. In this moment, being heard feels nowhere near as awful as Yeonjun ceasing those dizzying thrusts. You shake your head, scalp aching against the movement. “No,” you say, breathless.  

“That’s what I thought,” Yeonjun taunts, letting your cheek drop back into the fabric. “Let them hear our love. Let them hear how real it is, darling. Louder.”  

You tentatively let your sounds out into the thick air, but he decides that it’s not enough for him. Taking his hand off your hip to brace himself on the seat’s plush armrest, he doubles down his thrusts, feverish and desperate to guide you both to a beautifully explosive end. Your mouth drops open, unfiltered words and sounds spilling out from your chest as you grab at the cushions for help. With the hand that he doesn’t use to deliver those wild thrusts, he encases your hand in his own, threading his fingers between yours.  

For a few more incandescent moments, Yeonjun’s room only consists of your unabashed cries, his alternating grunts and whines, the rhythmic and hollow smacks of his hips to your skin, and the musk of your passion. Frantic bodies dance against each other, skin against skin in the purest way. Your thighs tremble pathetically, his cock brushing against your sweet spot until you squeeze your eyes shut and ride out the quivering of your cunt around him. You squeeze his hand as you shake. 

“Yes,” his pretty voice whines, “Just like that.”  

Picking up his pace, he chases to join you in your orgasm. He pants behind you, desperately fucking into you until his hips stutter and he stills, falling into your shoulder to deliver needy rolls and shooting warm spurts of his release into you.  

You two stay like this for some unhurried moments. You focus on his heartbeat; feeling it thudding against your back reminds you that he is real, and he is love. You hold his hand in yours a little tighter. 

❉

“I doubt that this will go exactly as you believe it will,” Beomgyu says, watching you do your hair up. Your eyes meet his in the vanity’s mirror.  

Arms burning as your hold them over your head, your words come out clipped with the ache. “It worked yesterday, didn’t it?” you say. You push a filigree comb into your hair to secure it up. “I got back hours before he did.” 

“I’m not saying that Taehyun is right,” he says, “but I think that it would do us both a favor if you practice a bit more precaution.” 

“What, are you afraid of Taehyun?” you ask, raising your brows at him in the reflection.  

Your taunt hits its mark, Beomgyu shifting in your bed and scowling. “Of Taehyun, never,” he parries, “of the fact that he could ask me to do anything and I’d do it, yes.” He shakes out his lightly matted tresses, a habit you’ve noticed over the passing weeks. “I played a little too closely to the fire with him once, and it landed me like this: no longer the owner of my being. I’d sooner chew off my own fingers than become his obedient dog, but I believe you also know that it’s best to soar low with this, no? Are we not together in this?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. In a way, you’d come to an alliance of sorts with Beomgyu. Despite his being a kelpie, the two of you are not so different now. Both confined to these walls, listening to Taehyun when he commands it. You don’t want any of your actions to snap back on Beomgyu, though. With you attending Court today, it’s almost definite that Taehyun will see you. You turn to face him. “Why don’t you join us, then?” you offer. “I’ll tell him myself that I commanded you to come with me. I’m sure he’ll be less upset if I have you there with me.” 

He gives it a thought, his eyes looking as tired and sunken as they always do. “I’m not one for Court,” he says. 

“But I’ll be there,” you plead, unable to help the twitching of smirk on your lips. “If we do it together, it can’t be so bad.” 

He frowns, but you can see that you’ve won. “I grieve for how the forest left me to my own,” Beomgyu grumbles. 

You surge up from your seat, eyes bright. “You’ll go?” you say, giddy to return to the thrill of faerie revelry and also to see the strange kelpie in the center of it. 

Grimacing, he answers, “I will join you.” 

You take his hands into yours and press a cheeky kiss to his forehead. “You’re not so scary as you try to paint yourself,” you tell him, watching as he catches bait. You laugh as he glowers. 

“Don’t push it.” He climbs off your bed. “I’m scarier than you should imagine, girl. I do this for my own reasons.” 

You pull a patronizing frown and nod. “Of course, I know.” 

You don’t have to wait for him to get ready to any capacity; he tells you that he has no intentions of making any impressions, and you’ve seen faeries in far more drastic states of disarray. Many show up for their reveling in just their skin. 

Beomgyu drones on about how he detests the audaciousness of the gentry folk while you make for the hall. The forest around you is as quiet as you remember it being when you’d first met him. It reminds you that, no matter how used you become to him, he is a creature to be feared. The little folk are right to hide away. For you, though, his might is a relief: should Taehyun be right, you’ll be safe. He moves at your beck and call. Though, the thought of forcing the kelpie to carry out your will is an uneasy one that you do not strive to fulfill. 

Once the buzzing of Court comes into earshot, wonderful faerie music along with it, you breathe it in. “First time in... how long since you’ve shown your face here?” 

“Perhaps four-hundred-something years,” he answers, looking over the scene with as much distaste in his face as his voice. “We solitary folk don’t make ourselves known here unless to bow to a crown. I do not bow to any crown.” 

Itching to find your prince, you gesture toward it. He should be fine—Court is supposed to be an insouciant place. “Don’t they host anybody who decides to come? Faerie hospitality, and all that? You’ll be fine.” 

“It’s all hospitality until you step foot from those trees,” he says. “And even hospitality is sometimes betrayed. You know how capricious we can be, I’m sure.”  

You approach the warm lights, but his words remain with you. It beckons you to remember that their minds are fickle and fundamentally different from yours. However you think they may act, they might act in the complete opposite way. You should at least let that guide how you conduct your actions a little bit. 

As you breach the pillars of trees and are finally surrounded once again by their pinched faces and gangly limbs, you search for both Taehyun and Yeonjun. You see neither, and so you make your way to the tables to seek snacks. You scour them for something sweet to chew over as you wait for him to appear. He’d said he’d be coming around this time, right? You surely hadn’t mistaken the time he’d told you? 

Beomgyu speaks from beside you, observing a hag that loiters nearby. “Is he not here?” he asks. 

Shrugging, you say, “He’ll be here soon.”  

You watch the hag inching closer, bent over with age; though, you assume that’s she’s been old for the entirety of her life. Her pointed ears droop from her thin tresses of silver, cuffed with gold.  

Turning from her, you gesture over the cavorting crowds, more frantically chasing their merriments than ever before. The solstice arrives tomorrow; they welcome its presence with their excitement. “This is all for the solstice?” 

He offers you an affirmative nod. “Just some excuse to entertain themselves like this,” he explains, “the solstice will arrive whether they encourage its coming or not. I believe that they just enjoy this debauchery too much.” His hollow eyes rake over the throngs. “Anyway, many of them are just here because it’s the only time that they’ll see Court. Otherwise, only the gentry gather here.” 

“What makes you any different than them?” you ask. “What makes you so averse to offering your allegiance to the High Courts? Would it not be nice to have their protection, and to keep them off your back?” You seek Yeonjun once more in the crowds, but still, he doesn’t appear. “You know, so they don’t call you in for things like eating too much?” 

“I do not surrender my sovereignty to any. Come they to my doorstep and demand that I do, I could not care. I’m content with the way I make my life.”  

His refusal to do just that must be why Taehyun’s father had come to claim his life. You’re sure that it’s also why the coming of the General’s son to steal his autonomy must’ve made him so angry. You don’t blame him.  

Why would The Queen demand fealty from the solitary folk? You’d thought that, like the High King, she’d leave them to their forests. If they’re all as adamant as Beomgyu, it seems like a lost cause. 

“Well,” you say, “I’m glad that—” 

A gnarled hand, fingers knobbed against your skin and skin about as soft as tree bark, tugs your arm. You spin to find who owns it.  

The hag’s eyes remind you of Beomgyu’s, piercing and dull with the weight of a long life. Though, hers are much more unsightly than his mud-brown ones, saggy eyelids drooping over a pair of eyes with ink-black where the whites of her eyes should be. She pulls you toward her by your skirts.  

You tug yourself back, pinching your brows. “Who are you?” 

She points her clawed, grey hand out at you, bangles of gold and chunky beads jingling as she does. “You, girl,” the hag says, urgent. Her voice is harsh and it crackles as she speaks. She reaches inside of her furry robes and produces a wood trinket from it. In her palm that she shoves at you lays a bit of wood carved into the shape of a wolf, painted in black. Its shaggy black fur reminds you of the kind Taehyun would sometimes wear over his shoulder.  

“I don’t need that,” you say, rejecting her hand. Nothing in faerie comes for free—the hag just sees a human girl that she can offer free things to in hopes that you’ll know no better and take. Then, you’d be in her debt, and she’d demand something from you. You do know better, though. 

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head as she draws out the word. “You do, girl. Take it, take it. You need it, I know it. Take it, I won’t hold it to you, girl, just have it.” Razor teeth appear behind her curled lips. “It is dormant with me. But, in your hands... Take it.” She shakes her jousted hand out at you each time she demands that you take it. “It offers you protection. It would do no good in my possession. It beckons me to give it to you, its pleas are so loud—loud, loud, loud! Take it off my hand, won’t you?” 

Her urging unsettles you, but so do her words. You assume that it’s inlaid with some sort of protective enchantment. Why would you need protection? Although, she could also just be fooling you. She could be holding a perfectly plain hunk of carved wood in her palm for all you know. You shoot a look at Beomgyu. If she were any trouble, he’d tell you. 

He looks about as lost as you do, shrugging. 

“Oh, sakes!” the hag grumbles, clutching her robes to her body. She takes Beomgyu’s hands and places the thing there. “There. I have no reasons to be here fooling humans. Useless debts, what could you give me? Nothing I need.” She points a sturdy, twiggy finger at you. “Keep it on you, girl, else it won’t do its work.” 

With those final ill-boding words, the hag hobbles off, her curved back disappearing between the gaps in the crowd. 

“Here,” Beomgyu says, regarding the trinket with his observation. “That hag really wanted this to be yours, so I think it ought to be in your hands.” He tries pushing it off to you. 

Laughing, you don’t reach out to take it, darting his hand with your whole body. You hang your hands in the air. “I’m not taking that thing,” you say. “She handed it to you, so I really think it ought to be in your hands.” 

He deadpans. “I’ve just been collecting myself a heap of debts, haven’t I?” He closes it into his fist for his lack of pockets. “What’s this one to add?” 

“Does it... feel like it has anything bad on it?” you ask, remembering how he’d identified your geas. “Like a curse, or a bad enchantment, or something?” 

Shaking his head, he says, “No. I feel it does have a protective purpose, but the magic there is... odd. Hard for me to decipher. Probably that hag’s.”  

You purse your lips, nodding. Regardless, whatever protection that thing might have offered you, you’ll be fine without it. 

Shaking off the odd interaction, you resume perusing the snack platters in your wait. You skip over glazed pinecones. Those would be terrible on your human stomach and teeth. You can only imagine how they’d jab at your gums. You opt for a helping of braised fiddlehead ferns. Chewing on the furled thing, you entertain yourself with the revelers. Littler folk dart in and out of legs. Long-limbed gentryfolk with flowers in their hair spin with interlocked hands at the center of the clamor. Sharp-eyed faeries with even sharper mouths speak in clusters, no doubt scheming. In all its oddness, you’d missed it.  

 A silk-smooth voice steals your attention. “A kelpie?” Yeonjun says, regarding Beomgyu beside you. “Now, how did you manage to befriend a kelpie? Even better, how did you drag it here?” 

Your chest lights up. “Long story,” you say, brushing his curiosity off. “What took you so long?”  

He’s dressed in his Courtly best—cuffs made of ruffle and an array of rings decorating his fingers. They catch light as he brings his hand up to run a hand along the expanse of your collarbone. He hesitates to answer for a split second. “I ran into Kai on my way,” he explains. “He’s performing here today and for tomorrow's solstice.” 

Accepting his answer, you go to tell Beomgyu that you’re going off, but he’s not even there as you turn. He must’ve wandered off as Yeonjun had arrived. 

“Want to join them?” he asks, tilting his head toward the dancing bodies. Soft black strands drift over his eyes.  

Shaking your head, you offer him some of the sweets you’d been eyeing, knowing that he’s got a knack for sweets. “Not today. I think I want to remember all of tonight, and, well...” Memories of the way you’d danced uncontrollably until it’d fade to black lick at your mind. You want to revel in your return to normalcy fully, not with a buzzing mind. You can’t deny the allure of that tingling in your bones as you hear the faerie music, though. It curls a wild finger at you, beckoning. 

An uncomfortable look passes through his eyes, gone as fast as it had come. “All right, darling,” he hums, accepting the sweets. “Does the Lord know you’re here?” 

Lips tugging into a faint frown, you say, “Not yet, I think.” The quick expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Unlike the ice the Taehyun offers you, Yeonjun wears his feelings all over himself. It’s just one way that they are fundamentally different. “Is something wrong?” 

Yeonjun looks taken aback at your asking. “I’m doing just fine,” he says. “Why do you ask?” 

He does not say nothing wrong. You know it is because he cannot lie. You look him over. What had happened? And, why is he averse to telling you the truth? “Just thought you looked a bit upset.” You shrug. “Did you want to dance?” 

His nose crinkles with a laugh. “No, pretty. I’d be in your presence doing nothing and still be content.” He takes your hands into his, the metal on his fingers biting cold against your skin. “How about we go listen to Kai play?” 

He leads you to where the musicians work at concocting their works, claiming a chalice of some drink from a table on the way. Kai, of course, stands away from the rest, back to a tree while his fingers dance on the strings. You look around for Taehyun from here, but still, you don’t see his face. 

Yeonjun holds the chalice’s neck between his middle two fingers, sipping from it. “It’s nice to know that even as this season ends, I won’t be forced to go back there.” 

His pretty lips wrap over the edge of the chalice as he drinks from it. “Won’t your father know something is up when you return?” 

Nodding slowly, he grimaces. “I suppose that time has finally come.” 

You squeeze his hand in yours. “We both sacrificed things to be here, huh?” you say. You don’t know a lot of what Yeonjun’s life back in his home court was like, but you know that it would be hard to revolt against your own family for anybody. Even for the prince of Faerie. 

He captures your eyes, his soft brown ones making crescents with his gentle smile. “We did,” he muses. 

“Remember our first night in Court?” you say. You’d been so uneasy, searching for a place to fit in. Then, from the crowds of overwhelming faces, he’d appeared, all charm and welcoming smiles. How couldn’t you have let your heart fall? 

Another flash of disconcertment flashes, his smile faltering. He hides it behind another sip of his drink. Swallowing, he nods, laughing off-kilter. “I do. I think watching you dance that time was the best thing I’ve ever seen.” 

Odd, but you don’t push the issue. If he says that he’s fine, it must just be something to little effect. “What made you come up to me that night?” you say, remembering how confused you’d been when such a pretty gentry boy had taken interest in you. You’d agonized over why he’d done so for long, and sometimes you still, but you’ve made some peace with it by now.  

His lips are tight. “I... It’s hard to explain.” 

You accept that answer at face-value and let your head fall into his shoulder while you watch Kai dutifully work at his songmaking. Among those making the music for Court, his contributions stand out as the most enthralling. Faerie music is too elusive for you to decipher why, but perhaps it’s just his lazed passion. “I understand,” you say. His shoulder is tight and less cushy than you expect it to be. Looking up to him, you frown to see how he’s looking down at you, eyes stormy. He looks like he’s sick to his stomach. You go to ask if he’s going to be okay, but he speaks before you can. 

“Pretty, I... I have to tell you something.” He pulls you off of him to look into your eyes. He’s always been so steadfast and sure, but now his gaze wavers. “I’m so sorry.” 

Your stomach drops. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. “What?” you say, a tingle in your spine telling you that something isn’t right; that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say. “Yeonjun, you’re making me nervous. Is something wrong?” 

You know it’s awful and you’re not sure why you do it, but for a split second, you inspect the hall for possible attackers. A terrible bout of potent adrenaline makes you want to run or cry. Beomgyu is here, right? 

He swallows hard, face a ghostly pallor. “I can’t keep doing this,” he says, voice trembling. “I need to tell you the truth, it’s... it’s been eating me alive. I can’t look into your sweet face and know...” 

Acid climbs up your throat. Your heart joins it, thick in your throat and choking you. “What? Know what Yeonjun?” you ask, lips trembling. Your skin prickles, hair raising. You may throw up. He looks stricken in place, not answering you. “What?” you demand. 

“I didn’t come up to you for no reason that day.” 

Your heart, still caught in your throat, bursts. It’s a horrifying, bloody affair. “No,” you say, shaking your head. You feel so removed from your body that you can almost envision how your blood-drained face might match his. 

“I knew that you were the spies the moment I saw you. It was....” He sucks in a breath. Your world spins around you as you wait. “I was supposed to determine who the spies were. I was supposed to have them killed, but pretty, I knew I couldn’t do that the moment I saw you. I thought it was just going to be some... some random faerie that I’d...” 

If your world was spinning before, it’s now flipped upside down and inverted. “No,” you repeat, a guttural plea that you know won’t change anything. It’s the only word that your mouth will make for right now, though. 

You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re frozen. 

Yeonjun grabs for your hands, but you rip yourself away from him, your glaring eyes so at odds with your wobbling lips. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says. “It doesn’t change how I love you now. You know I love you. You know I love you, right? I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. I did my best to protect you. Please, I never wanted to hurt you,” he rambles, frantically grabbing for your arms as he falls down to his knees before you. 

A few faeries around you gasp, and a blur of their commotion forms around you. The crowned prince of Faerie just went to his knees. Your eyes dart wildly around their guffawing faces, and between a space you spot a familiar face: cold eyes and a cracked mask of indifference. He looks right at you. 

What on earth is going on? How is this life right now? You snap back to Yeonjun in front of you. 

“Please, don’t look at me like that, pretty,” he pleads. “Please.” His voice cracks, eyes frantic. “Slap me. Tell me you hate me for it. But please, don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.” 

Tears scald your cheeks. 

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask you that; I know, I know it—but please, I can’t handle it, love. I was never going to let anything happen to you, I knew it the moment I saw you. I felt it right here”—he gestures to his beating heart, the one your hand had felt and cherished so only last night—“I knew that no matter how big my ambitions were, they would never be bigger than that.” 

You can’t listen to any more. His words pour out onto your skin, but they all slip off like rain upon a beast’s winter pelt. None can penetrate the ringing in your ears. 

Yeonjun sees how retracted you’ve become. “Pretty, please,” he says, slower and more dire now. “Say something." 

You don’t know what to do. Your feet are rooted fast to the ground, but you know that you have to leave, or else you’ll start creating excuses for him. You know yourself too well to let that happen. 

Picking up your skirts, you manage only a few words to part him with. “Though your kind can’t lie,” you say, “you have been the biggest liar I have ever known. You said you loved me.” 

“I do,” he says, shaking his head, eyes twinkling. “I do.” 

Maybe love is a different thing to a faerie. 

You take off. He calls for you, but it’s muffled by the restlessness of the folk around you and the still-playing music. You dart between openings and bounce off bodies, lights and angry faces a blur in your frenzy. Most folk don’t spare you even a glance; nothing could pull them from their merriment. But others gawk at you like you put on a performance, greedy eyes drinking in any amount of fanfare. Their eyes itch under your skin. Crossing the expanse of the hall has never felt so arduous.  

You’ve become their spectacle. 

Breaking into the cold night air, you don’t run home or collapse to your knees in a sob. You hold your dress hard in your hands, the one he’d gifted you among so many others, its fabric bunching in your fists, and stand there as if frozen staring into the tree line ahead. You don’t move and you don’t think; both would remind you that this is real and that you are a fool. You just allow the bitter air to swaddle your skin. 

You don’t even know if you doubt that he loves you. You don’t even know if he actually never intended to hurt you. Had there been times where all you’d done was look at him with starry eyes, and he’d look at you deciding whether or not to have you killed? 

Why are you even here? There is nothing left for you. Whatever simple joys you thought you’d found, they’re gone. You’re so far away from home, and you’ve nobody to call home. You’d left behind your beginnings of a purpose, and now the only purpose you serve is to rot away in Taehyun’s estate because you demanded that you stay here. 

All that time you’d spent worrying, and still, you walked yourself into this. You’re a joke. 

White breaths unfurl into the night air before you, floating off to join the snowflakes and heavy fog. You just watch those fluffy flakes fall for a while. 

Snow creaks under a few footsteps behind you, someone letting you know that they’re there. “You’ve gotten awfully good at sneaking around,” Taehyun says. 

You let your head fall back, sighing slowly out through your nose. Turning to him, you spit, “I understand. You were right. I got it, okay? I don’t need you to come here and rub it in.” 

Beomgyu approaches from behind Taehyun. 

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a bit, ice-hard eyes darting all over your face. “Take her back to the estate,” he tells Beomgyu. 

Glad to escape him, you begin your way on your own. You know that he’s only looking at your break down as pathetic. Perhaps it is, but recognizing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Wind lapping at your wet cheeks have them stinging as you walk. 

Beomgyu awkwardly trails behind you as you follow the path that had become trodden in the time that you and Taehyun have been here, foliage and shrubbery broken down to make somewhat of a path. 

He doesn’t speak; you don’t expect him to. Instead, you break the quiet yourself, unable to stand only the sound of wind twirling between trees. “I should’ve taken that ridiculous charm thing,” you say, laughing through your tears. That hag had absolutely been able to feel what was coming with you with whatever intuition that the magic in her bones lends her. 

“But then,” Beomgyu says, “you wouldn’t know the truth.” 

That’s true. Not knowing the truth doesn’t make it untrue, but at least it spares your fragile heart. “I don’t know if I’d mind that,” you tell him. “I think I’d prefer it.” 

Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes. 

❉

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember climbing into your bed, dreading that you’ll be in your head all night, but to some mercy, you’d found sleep not long after that. 

You’d pulled yourself from bed, no matter how it had grown a gravitational pull and insisted that it’d hold you warm while you weep. If you hadn’t, you might not have gotten up at all. As a girl, you’d force yourself into the day’s routine when you had your worst days. It’s the only way that you live through it. You’d also made an effort to walk past your wardrobe. It carries so much of him: the lovely things he’d gifted you, his letters, and that book he’d lent you. It’s not that you don’t want any of these things; to wither away in your bed, to go through his things and wonder how someone who’d showered you so had meant to be your killer, to drag your feet... It’s that you can’t. 

You poke your needle through the fabric. On the cut of white fabric stretched inside the embroidery hoop, you’ve embroidered a dozen woven wheel stitch flowers of different colors and types. Your bottom aches against the hardwood flooring and your lower spine strains, but you don’t pay any mind to their complaining. You just continue to embroider the little flowers. Some are poppy, some rose, and some you’d made up just to have more to stitch. 

A knock resounds through the war room from the doorway. You look to see Taehyun there. He’s dressed in his Court attire. 

“You should get dressed,” he says. “It’s almost midnight. If you want to make it in time, you’ve got to get ready now.” 

Since when had he decided that you’re okay to go? It’s as if this elusive threat that’d he’d been so careful has up and disappeared. “You can go. It’ll take me too long to get ready.” 

Truth be told, you’d go sick seeing Yeonjun’s face, and you know without a doubt that you would. 

“It’s the solstice,” Taehyun says, stepping into the room. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t. 

Despite how much you had wanted to see it, your heart is too apathetic for it to be worth anything now. Returning to the same faces that had seen your demonstration and no doubt now talk of it... You’d rather finish your fifth rose. “I know.” 

He hesitates, studying you while gears turn in his head. “Hadn’t you thought that something would happen on the solstice?” he says. “Come on. It’s worth seeing how this unfolds.” 

“Why? We aren’t spies anymore. I don’t care what happens in their conflict. It’s well beyond my control as a human here.” 

He grimaces, but you don’t recognize the look there to be anger, more a rigidness. He rests his hand on his sword as he always does. “Then we’ll stay here.” 

You furrow your brows. “Huh?” 

“We can celebrate the solstice here,” he elaborates. “We don’t need to do it there. Plenty of folk celebrate on their own.” 

It dawns upon you that this is his stilted attempt at comforting you. It’s the only way he knows how. You push off the ground. You couldn’t ignore this sliver, however little, of tenderness. You’re not sure if you’d ever see it again if you did. You’ll take anything to distract your mind, as well. You can’t escape the image of Yeonjun’s eyes as he’d pleaded with you from the ground. “I’m not sure Beomgyu will join us, though. He doesn’t believe in the need to celebrate the solstices.” 

“He will if I command it,” he says.  

“What, you’re going to command the poor kelpie to sit and watch a bonfire with us?” you say, imagining how he’d brood. 

The north is wickedly cold at all times, but it’s especially so after night falls. You shuffle closer to the bonfire that Taehyun had built. It’s multitudes smaller than the bonfire you’d sat around with Yeonjun, but it’s warm enough for just the two of you. You quickly shove down those tainted memories before they sting. A lump of emotion forms in your throat before you can, though. You clear it. “Is there anything special that you’re supposed to do?” 

Feeding one last log into the flame, he watches it catch. “We started this really early,” he says. “The fire is supposed to keep you warm and represent the sun’s warmth until sunrise...” He trails off, sliding the cuffs of his shirt that he’d slid up to his elbows to tend to the fire down and sucking in an awkward breath. He looks between the fire and you as though he’d not fully thought out his offer when he’d made it. 

You face your palms to the orange flame, letting the roiling waves of heat warm them. “It’s nice like this.” 

The flame sizzles and pops, spewing sparks and eating up the wood, for a few long moments. You’re not in a talky mood, and Taehyun doesn’t seem to know where to begin on conversation with you that isn't functional. No snow falls around you, and any wind is cut by the estate. This—a place to lose yourself to your mind—is both the thing you need and what you most should not have. 

Taehyun stands watching the fire twirling, his arms over his chest.  

“Is your shoulder healing fine?” you ask, once the air starts feeling a bit heavy with the weight of the prolonged quiet. “Are my stitches holding up fine? No infection, or anything?” 

His gaze flicks up to you. “You stitched it up pretty well,” he answers. “I saw the flowers you were making. You’ve got a good hand.” 

Frowning, you say, “You didn’t say it’s not infected...” 

“It’s not infected,” he says. 

That could be a lie or the truth, you know. But... this sort of deception, you’re more comfortable with. Your human mind can pick up on these subtleties, can catch the careful intonation of somebody trying to hide something behind a lie. “Could I see it?” you ask him. 

He hesitates, expression flat as his eyes convey the extent of his consideration. “You can.” He grabs at his tunic, the fabric the only thing his frost blood even needs to wear out in the cold, and pulls it over his head. 

You swallow hard and fight the flush to your cheeks at the sight of his scar-flecked flesh, his muscled abdomen disappearing as he turns around to show you his back. When you’d last seen his bare skin, you’d been so high on your fear and adrenaline that you’d barely flinched.  

Blinking, you focus on the arrow puncture at his shoulder blade. It’s done some healing, but tinged by an angry red and visibly swollen around the stitches. You curse. 

Of course, he’d rather let his shoulder rot away than admit that he needs any more of your help than he’d been forced to allow. That would require admitting that he’s not just an impenetrable wall of ice. “That is definitely infected,” you say. “Were you just going to let that kill you? Infections like that are beyond help once they get in your bloodstream.” 

“I’ve had infected wounds before,” he says, preparing to put his shirt back on. “This one is nothing. It’ll take a bit longer, but... It’ll heal up fine.” 

You grab his arm. “Just let me clean it a bit,” you insist. “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re not scared that it’s gonna hurt, are you?” 

Sighing, Taehyun says, “I thought you wanted to enjoy the solstice.” 

The hopeful girl you’d been had wanted that, but now it’s just a reminder of everything you don’t want to remember. You wave your hair in the air dismissively. “We did. Come on.” 

You find a bucket to fill with water and cloth along with some stash of ancient spirits in the kitchens, their containers lined with a layer of dust so thick that you know they’re left over from Taehyun’s father. He watches you gather it all. 

You beckon him to turn and show you his shoulder again. He does, bracing his arms on a counter and letting his head hang. You spill out some of that strong liquor into the wound. You’re not really sure if it’ll work as a disinfectant, but as a girl you’d seen an older woman pour it over her wound once, and it’s all you know. 

Gently dabbing at his shoulder now with the water-soaked rag, swollen except for where the stitches sinch it, you say, “You should’ve been going gentle on this thing.” 

Taehyun doesn’t make any fuss as you prod at the wound. “I had more important things to concern myself with,” he says plainly. You press the wet rag to the wound and hold it there, and he begins to try and redirect the conversation to anything other than about himself. “What did the prince say to you at Court?” 

Your stomach drops. “It was nothing.” 

“I know that’s not the truth,” he says, picking up his head to try and look over his shoulder at you. “Tell me the truth.” 

You take the long, torn strips of cloth and begin wrapping it around the expanse of his broad shoulders in a sloppy and amateurish wrap. As long as it shields the wound, it’ll work. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. “There’s plenty that you lie to me about. You even lied about this.” You tap his shoulder. 

Turning now that you’re done, Taehyun eyes you. You don’t know if he’d been able to hear anything over the sounds of Court or if he’d heard it all with his better hearing ears. You can’t tell which it is.  

“I’ll hear it from some Court gossiper anyway. I think you’d prefer to tell me it yourself.” 

The thought of that scene being a topic of Court gossip makes you ill, but you know that it’s true. The folk love the show, especially one that includes a prince of Faerie on his knees in front of a human. Red-hot embarrassment takes a leisurely stroll up your spine. Your biggest fear has taken flesh in the cruelest way possible.  

Well, if he’s going to end up knowing anyway... You’d prefer it’s from your mouth. You don’t know what sort of conflated half-truths the folk might come up with, since they have no more idea what happened than what they saw. “He was supposed to kill us,” you say, chest too tight to explain it in any depth. “Or, at least, find out who we are, so that we could be killed.” 

Taehyun doesn’t look shocked. He nods. “So, they anticipated our arrival, then. The odds had been stacked against us from the beginning.” 

You nod. Would you have been able to escape? If things had never become entangled between you and Yeonjun, would you and Taehyun lived beyond the first day? Taehyun is strong and you know that he’s no doubt survived plenty in his life, but you’d have been caught completely unaware. “Yeah.” 

“I told you that he’d show you his colors eventually.” 

You want to fight him on that, but you can’t. You have nothing to say. He’d been right. 

What’s left for you now that he has?  

END PART 4

a/n: RAHHH! like i said, this part gave me a bit of grief because part 3 was left so open ended—i had so many options and paths i could follow, but ultimately, i chose this one! how do we feel?

taglist: @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @sanshiningstarhwa , @hyucktapes ,

[frankiebirds]

literally why does he know this

[pomefioredove]

Okay but imagine one of the guys actually win the prefect, and they just go rubbing it on the others face by making them wear their respective form uniform.

Except Kalim, he would probably just make them have a sleepover every night and paint each other nails.

ohhh see now I'm imagining all the alternate routes this could take... okay okay I'm so here for this. like half of the cast would totally make them wear the uniform just to rub it in, the other half would just be crazy about seeing them in the dorm uniform at all. I DO have some thoughts on this concept alone... and I'll make another part later yk yk

parts 1 | 2 | 3 | kalim | bad ending

summary: joining their dorms + wearing the uniforms. a proper ending to this type of post: short fics characters: ace, deuce, jack, epel, riddle, ruggie, azul, jamil, kalim, vil additional info: yuu is gender neutral, ruggie is cute, azul is the cutest, vil enjoyers come get your food, maybe a little ooc for some parts

If you thought it was bad before, the news that Malleus intended to marry you made everything about twenty times more chaotic. Bids were upped to insurmountable sums, rumors were spread like the plague, fights were raging through campus as the deadline to donate approached. Even Crowley was starting to feel a little antsy, despite all of the brand new amenities he had already ordered for his office.

Finally, the day came. The announcement was held in the courtyard, where just about any student who had stakes in the matter had shirked whatever after-school responsibilities they had to gather. The prefect themselves was nowhere to be found, though only few noticed their absence.

"Maybe it'll be nice," you say to your direbeast companion, the both of you tucked away in a dark corner at Ramshackle.

"It'll definitely beat living in this dump. You think they got good food in Diasomnia?" Grim murmurs.

You grimace. "Uh... sure. I can't imagine they wouldn't, right?"

Crowley clears his throat, pulling a thin, delicate envelope out of his coat pocket while the crowd eagerly watches on. He takes his sweet time opening it, much to everyone's utter dismay, and when he finally withdraws the contents the entire courtyard falls quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

"And our winner is..."

First Year's Ending

"Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, and Epel Felmier. Congratulations! The prefect will be ready at Ramshackle for your collection this evening. I trust you'll sort out the details..."

The four freshman look between each other, a mix of awe and shock on each of their faces.

Everyone else is staring daggers at them.

Vil is the first to speak. "How?"

"We may or may not have sweetened the deal with a few exclusive bonuses," Ace snickers, crossing his arms. Vil rolls his eyes. Deuce sighs.

"We'll be Crowley's new slaves for months after this..."

Jack grumbles from the back of the four. "Well, it was worth it. Imagine if someone underhanded and dishonest had won, and-"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever,"

The four pause, looking between each other in silence. Then, finally:

"So who will they be staying with?" Epel asks, catching Vil's attention again.

"Excellent question, Epel," the housewarden smiles, stepping back into the conversation. "We would be more than willing to accommodate the prefect at Pomefiore. Our dorm far outshines the others."

Leona growls. "I heard that. Besides, why should you be first in line? We've already housed them before, they were plenty comfortable then,"

"As I recall, you forced them into servitude as penance for staying," Riddle snaps. "Not exactly the friendliest host. I think they would be much more comfortable at Heartslabyul."

The four freshman can only watch in silence as the housewardens break out into bickering with one another about who's dorm is best.

"Soooo..." Ace starts. "Maybe we should rotate?"

Deuce sighs. "For once, you actually have a good idea,"

Riddle's Ending

"Riddle Rosehearts, congratulations! I'll alert the prefect at once," Crowley says, immediately turning and disappearing into the crowd before anything can get ugly.

It doesn't exactly come across as a surprise to anyone- Riddle closely calculated his spendings, taking into consideration Leona's overconfidence, Malleus' stranger proposal, and Kalim's over-enthusiasm.

Of course, with some additional prodding about how no other dorm is responsible enough to handle another person like Heartslabyul, Crowley finally gave in.

And now, you're sat in front of the dorm's rose gardens, suitcase in tow as you make no apparent effort to walk in.

"Thought I'd find you out here," Trey says, taking a seat in the grass next to you. "Feeling okay?"

"Nervous," you admit.

Trey chuckles, much to your annoyance. "I promise there's really nothing to be nervous about. Riddle is really quite happy you're here,"

You find that a bit surprising, though you suppose it's hard to tell when he's excited. He always has this impression of deep psychological stress on him that makes him difficult to read.

"Is he?"

"Oh, yeah. He's been running Ace and Deuce ragged getting ready. He really wants to impress you," Trey pauses with a small smile. "You'll get used to the order of things here in no time. And if you ever need any help, you've got me, Cater, Ace, Deuce... I'm sure even Riddle will take it easy on you."

You smile in return. "Thanks, I-"

"Prefect!" Riddle storms out of the front doors, looking rather well-dressed for a simple Tuesday afternoon. "You were expected four minutes ago! I've taken the liberty of finding your measurements, so your dorm uniform is already ready and inside!"

Yeah. Excited, right. You give Trey a little look (to which he only waves merrily) and start off behind the housewarden.

For a moment, as you follow him, you could swear you catch him humming and smiling. But before you can say anything about it he catches Ace messing with your dorm uniform and starts shouting.

Ruggie's Ending

"And the winner is... no... this can't be right..."

Crowley clutches the paper, bringing it close to his face. He clicks his tongue, murmuring to himself.

"Um... Ruggie Bucchi, everyone!"

The news sends a shockwave through the audience, and everyone turns to the sophomore at the back of the courtyard. The sudden shift in energy is enough to make him drop his sandwich.

"Damn it..." he grumbles, picking it off the ground and swiping the dirt off of it with his sleeve. "Still good, eh?"

"Are you deaf?" Leona glares. "You're just embarrassing yourself now, and me by association."

Ruggie raises an eyebrow. "What? Oh, the lottery-thingy? I'm pretty sure Crowley misread that. He's going senile, y'know,"

Crowley crosses his arms, begrudginly handing off the paper to Azul in the front. He adjusts his glasses.

"It says Ruggie Bucchi,"

"Then someone mistyped it! I'm telling 'ya, there's no way I managed to scrounge up enough before the deadline. I was digging between couch cushions by the end of it,"

Leona looks as if he's about to smack him upside the head. "Would you just get up there?"

"Geez, alright. But don't blame me when someone comes around with the right winner later," he says, trudging to the front of the crowd. "So what do I gotta do?"

"Erm... the prefect is waiting at Ramshackle. You'll collect them and return to Savanaclaw, where you'll be responsible for handling the details."

"Sure, whatever. Let's get to it, then,"

---

Even your surprise is palpable, though you suppose it could be a lot worse. Ruggie has been a pal before, helping you out at Sam's and convincing Leona to let you off the hook when you accidentally annoy him.

Though, he himself seems less than pleased as you step out of your new room in Savanaclaw, dressed in a slightly too-big uniform.

Leona smirks as if watching something amusing and claps, slowly. "Looking good. See, none of those other pompous outfits woulda looked half as nice on you. Nice work, Ruggie,"

Ruggie rolls his eyes and leans back against the wall. Leona excuses himself to find somewhere warm to nap, leaving you two to stare at each other.

"So... what's wrong?"

"Hm?"

"I mean," you say carefully. "You don't exactly seem excited about winning."

"Oh," Ruggie shrugs. "That's cause I didn't. Guys like me don't win anything. I'm sure someone will come to give you away to the right winner tomorrow."

The thought doesn't sit well with you- you're already here, after all, and Grim is gorging himself in the lounge, and you really-kinda-don't-mind Ruggie winning.

"Well, I hope not,"

He raises an eyebrow. "You know I can hardly afford to take care of myself, right?"

"So then we're even. Just don't make me go through all that bidding stuff again," you sigh. "Let's leave it at that."

A brief, though comfortable silence falls over the two of you, and then he grins. "Alright, then. I can live with that,"

Octotrio's Ending

"Azul Ashengrotto!"

Azul's immediate reaction is to collapse. he hadn't really realized how much stress the anticipation was causing him until suddenly his knees were buckling like he was learning to walk on land all over again.

Floyd grabs his shoulder to keep him upright and Jade joins the scattered applause.

"Don't look so pale, Azul. I'm sure this will prove to be a worthwhile investment," he says, folding his hands neatly in front of him.

A part of Azul knows that Jade isn't referring to anything financial, but he doesn't say a word about it.

"Besides," Jade goes on. "It'll be nice having another member of my club."

Both Azul and Floyd groan in unison.

---

Floyd gives you a standing ovation when you walk into the Mostro Lounge, fully dressed in the provided dorm uniform.

Azul, on the other hand, looks away entirely.

"It feels too long," you say, staring at the bottoms of your pants. You're not exactly in a place to complain, so you keep your voice meek.

"We can make the necessary adjustments," Jade says, walking into the room with a tray of tea, his all-too-knowing smile as unnerving as ever. "You look very nice, though. Wouldn't you say, Azul?"

The merman's eyes immediately turn away from Jade. "Hm?"

"Tell the prefect they look nice, Azul,"

Floyd laughs from across the room, clearly enjoying the spectacle. You tilt your head to the side like a curious puppy, not exactly sure what this banter is about. But it's not your place to pry, either.

Azul's face is beet-red. "You... look nice,"

"Thank you,"

"So are they gonna work or what? I'm tired," Floyd whines, lying on one of the couches and kicking off his shoes.

Azul grimaces. "Don't do that, that's disgusting. And I thought we should let them adjust a few days before giving them the option of working,"

"Option?" Jade's grin widens. "My, aren't you feeling generous?"

"I... assume this process has been rather jarring. I don't want any of my employees distracted or mopey. Is that right?"

You blink. "Uh... yes. This whole thing has been pretty terrible,"

Azul nods in acknowledgement as Grim tumbles in the room, wearing a brand new purple and silver-streaked bow. "Can't believe you guys had one of these 'jus lying around! I feel like a million thaumarks!"

You chuckle and scoop him into your arms. "You look very handsome. Just like Azul,"

Azul can feel his soul leaving his body and has to swiftly turn around to face the wall so you can't see him blushing. Floyd laughs.

"Oh- oh I meant the bow looks just like Azul's outfit!" you correct yourself. He pretends he didn't hear anything at all.

Jade breaks the awkward silence with a chuckle. "Ah, what fun this will be. Now, I think it's only appropriate that we give these two a proper welcome dinner. Prefect, do you care for mushrooms?"

Floyd and Azul groan in unison.

Jamil's Kalim's Ending

"Kalim al-Asim!"

Everyone could see that coming from a mile away. The disgruntled mumbles and groans of the crowd are drowned out by the cheers and claps of one sophomore, practically jumping up and down in the middle of the crowd.

"Yes! Yessss! This is going to be so much fun!"

Jamil suddenly looks exhausted.

Kalim runs to the front of the crowd, shakes Crowley's hand, steals the envelope from him, and sprints the rest of the way to Ramshackle.

Your moping is quite abruptly interrupted by a procession of loud knocks at the door, and after managing to summon your courage, you answer them.

"Wh-"

The very second the door is open, a familiar ball of energy is in your arms, squeezing you tightly.

"I wonnnn, prefect! I won!"

Your eyes widen. "You- you-"

You breathe a sigh of relief.

Out of everyone who threw their name in the hat, you couldn't get much luckier than Kalim. Financial problems? Gone. Loneliness? Blown away in the wind. Your chances of getting assassinated...? Well, let's hope Jamil is in a good mood.

Your uniforms are ready, measured to the exact inch, sitting on a set of mannequins that greet you as soon as you're inside.

Jamil is hovering behind one of them, picking at the sleeve of your school uniform for stray threads. He gives you a sideways glance, not exactly looking happy.

"My two best friends in the whole world in the same dorm!" Kalim claps. "You have to try on your dorm uniform, you'll love it! Oh, let me get you some new sheets- we have silk!"

He bounds off down the hall, leaving you alone in the lounge. The silence is thick and uncomfortable.

"Yeah, I'm outta here," Grim says, walking off in the opposite direction.

"Grim!" You whisper-shout.

"It's a preventative measure! No cracker-dry mouth for me!" and with that, he's gone.

Jamil smirks slightly, turning his attention back to sorting the uniforms. "You should get changed while you still can. I have a feeling Kalim will be attached to your side for the rest of the evening,"

You're pleasantly surprised to see how well the dorm uniform fits you, and your return to the lounge is accompanied with a little smile. The fabric is light and breezy, perfect for the dorm's usual weather- you could certainly get used to the perpetual summer.

"Fits well, I presume?" Jamil asks. "You certainly seem to be in high spirits."

"It could be worse,"

"Much worse," he agrees.

A silence falls over the two of you. Eventually, he sighs to himself, watching you out of the corner of his eyes.

"If you ever need a break from Kalim," Jamil says tentatively. "I could certainly find a way to distract him. Just so you know."

You understand the nature of his offer immediately, and though you know it's wrong, you don't exactly say no.

"...Thank you, Jamil,"

Vil's Ending

"Vil Schoenheit! Thank the sevens..."

Though he walks to Ramshackle to collect his prize with a sense of ease, Vil admits that there was a brief moment where he felt anxious about not winning.

Standing in that crowd, surrounded by royalty and nobles, his chances were higher than most but certainly not assured. The very thought of you being stuck with someone other than him was enough to send a shiver up his spine.

After all, how many people on this campus would you feel comfortable with taking your measurements? None, none but him.

"Hold still," he says for the millionth time. "I'm almost done."

Vil insisted on taking your measurements himself, and you had no qualms about that. After all, things could be worse.

"There. I'll have these sent out right away. Pomefiore has many students of your size, so it's likely we'll have a spare uniform for you. That is, until I can have one custom-made,"

"You really don't have to..."

He raises an eyebrow. "Of course I do. You're a Pomefiore student now, I expect you to present yourself like one,"

A knock at the door pulls your attention away from him, though it's Vil who answers it.

He returns to you, dorm uniform in arm.

"That was fast," you say, accepting the bundle of clothes.

"Punctuality is important. Now, get changed, I want to see what I'll have to adjust for you,"

Waiting for your return is almost as nerve-wrecking as it was waiting for Crowley to call out his name. Vil can't be sure why exactly you're making him so nervous now, but it's all he can do to keep from showing it.

The dorm uniform- which you've dawned before- is just as comfortable as you remember. Warm, but not suffocating, soft but durable.

Vil stares at you for a short while before saying anything, simply drinking in your presence.

"Come here. I need to have a look,"

You inch forward, standing in front of him as he turns around you in circle, inspecting every inch. "Well, it fits much better than your last,"

He pauses, stopping in front of you. You look down at your feet, feeling as nervous under his analytical gaze as ever.

Vil chuckles, cupping your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes. "You look wonderful. I'll have to help with your confidence, though,"

Good Ending

"And our winner is... M-"

"Crowley!" a loud voice resonates from the very back of the crowd. The sound of hurried footsteps follow it as Trein and Crewel show up on scene.

"We're... we're kind of in the middle of something-"

"You are absolutely not. I cannot believe I had to find out about your little scheme from Trappola and Spade, of all pups," Crewel grimaces. "Are you well?"

"Well I- I-"

"Called it," Ruggie grins. "Totally senile."

Leona rolls his eyes. "Oi! Just read the damn paper!"

"Absolutely not. This is a highly immoral and borderline illegal offense," Trein crosses his arms. "You will all be refunded promptly. Now return to your studies!"

The crowd slowly dissipates, murmuring amongst themselves. Crowley remains in front of the well at the front of the courtyard, kicking the ground with his hands behind his back, like a child being scolded.

Both Trein and Crewel glare. "If you were having such issues with the prefect's expenses, you could have asked,"

"In what universe is giving them away to teenage boys a sound idea?" Trein grimaces. "I can overlook many of the things you do, but this is far too much."

"But-"

"That's enough," Crewel snaps his pointer against his palm. "If the prefect is causing you such troubles, we'll be glad to take them off your hands. In fact, I've already had the necessary legal papers drawn. I've always wanted a pup of my own, you know."

---

A gentle knock at the door rouses you from your melancholy and after some lengthy pestering from Grim, you finally go to answer it.

Outside is none other than Ace and Deuce, looking rather somber.

"No- don't tell me," you say. "I don't even want to hear it."

Deuce sighs. "It's not that. The whole thing got canceled,"

"No- wait, canceled?"

"Someone got caught with their hand in the cookie jar," Ace snickers, but quickly clears his throat after Deuce gives him a sharp glare. "Crowley's negotiated a different solution to the problem."

Deuce nods. "Hypothetically... how do you feel about being adopted?"

[starkeyisthelastname]

No bc imagine you’re over at pornstar!Rafe’s house one night and he hooks his phone up to his TV to play some music while you fuck and it immediately just starts blaring your solo porn. I would literally be so fuckin smug about it that he would fuck me within an inch of my life.😋 (I’d also never let him live it down, I’d be bringing that shit up when we were 50)

because your ego needs boosted too sometimes. just don’t get too excited about it. 💦🤩

Pornstar!Rafe didn’t invite girls over very often, his private space was his private space, so the fact he had started slowly inviting you over every week, was a big step to him. It wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle, you two were strictly just fucking still. But…fuck did you look pretty, naked in his bed as your fingers played with your wet pussy.

He knew things were going to get loud, and with that he tore his eyes away from you to turn on his tv so that he could play music. It wasn’t music that played when the screen came to life, it was a familiar solo video that you had shot last year. Your sweet moans blared through the speaker, the realization that he had jerked off to your own porn for his pleasure definitely had your head feeling big.

The smirk on your face, had Rafe’s striking blue eyes flashing a darker color as he realized the power of control he had was slipping and you were winning this time. Just not for long… as the man had you folded in half, legs nearly behind your head as he slammed into your hole. Maybe he was embarrassed, but he wasn’t going to admit that. He’d rather fuck your life off with his dick.

“Yeah, who’s fuckin smirkin now?” Rafe spat at you, his large hands coming to nearly smother your face as he used it as support to drill into you.

You gasped, his dick hitting your cervix as his toned hips slapped against yours at his pussy ruining pace. “H-holy shit.. you are so fucking big…” You cried, eyes rolling back underneath his hands as he basically was trying to erase what you saw on his tv.

Whether you liked it or not, Rafe felt he had been caught showing his obsession with you too early for his liking and he needed to fuck it out of you. “Shut up, don’t wanna hear nothin out of that whore mouth unless it’s my fucking name.”

You could believe how deep he was, somehow his size still as shocking as the first time. You didn’t care how rough or nasty he was, you loved all of it and the only man’s name you wanted to be screaming for the rest of your life was Rafe Cameron.

“Rafe! Rafe! Rafe!” It was like a sweet desperate cry of pleasure the way he had you creaming all over his cock much like in the solo video he had watched. Except this was so much fucking better, his dirty self getting off on how you just kept babbling his name. There was no other bitch that compared to the moans and screams of his sweet fucking angel. Yeah his..

His hands that had been covering your face removed themselves, one going to squeeze your throat, and the other roughly grabbing your jaw. “What are you fucking doing to me, huh?” He asked, eyes dark and face serious, all while he completely fucked you up in the best, most addicting way possible.

[gentaro-kinniecom]

Oh..I think you’re holding the heart of mine..

Characters: Solivan Brugmansia/gn!reader

Cw: fluff, mentions of marriage, crushes, love at first sight (?), mentions of kidnapping, yandere themes…

A/n: This is based off day two of The kid at the back :] hope you guys enjoy!

(E/c) eyes lingered across the room, trying to distract themselves from the crimson orbs that stared at their figure, drawing it with a smile. Portraits aren’t that difficult when you know how to draw, except, their skills were quite rough, unlike Sol who was nearly finishing it, looking back and forth between y/n and his paper. Blush covered part of his cheeks, placing his sketchbook down while locking eyes with them

“Is it done?” Y/n asked, sighing as the bell rung across the hallway

“Not yet, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow” He responded with a soft smile, one they’ve rarely seen the times they saw him.

Going their separate ways, y/n found their group in the hallway making small talk as they arrived. It wasn’t long until Sol and his friend appeared, chatting as Sol’s gaze landed on them. Feeling a bit curious, Y/n excuses themselves, parting away from their friends while approaching Sol.

“You must be Y/n! Sol’s told me about you..he’s right, you are kind of cute..” The guy before them spoke while chuckling as Sol sighed, blushing while glaring at his friend

“Anyways, I’m Hyugo! We were just about to eat lunch on the roof, would you like to join?” Y/n looked back briefly at their group. Perhaps something different wouldn’t be so bad today. Crowe however, noticed their sudden disappearance, his sad gaze lingered as they left with the two boys walking across the small corridor.

“I’d love to..!” Hyugo chuckled as the three of them headed towards the roof. Upon arrival, Sol handed Hyugo a bento box filled with his favorite food. It didn’t take long for them to dig in as Y/n looked around the roof, admiring the city and the view it provided.

“Have you eaten yet, y/n?” Sol inquired, staring at their hands that fidgeted around their shirt. ‘hm, cute’ he thought. The sudden question returned them back to reality while answering.

“I didn’t get to eat anything but it’s okay, I’ll grab something later-“ Before they could finish their sentence, Solivan had already taken out the other box he had saved for later.

“I made three boxes today, just in case Hyugo’s appetite was insatiable so..you can take it”

“Are you sure? I mean..” Without any hesitation, Sol had already opened up the lunch box, handing them the tasty food he prepared while smiling, reaching for some utensils.

“You made this all by yourself? It looks so good..!” Y/n praised, taking the utensils Sol provided for them as Hyugo chimed in, swallowing his food gently while speaking

“Sol’s cooking is the best! He’d make a good househusband, don’t you think?” Hearing this, Sol blushed after seeing them nod, maybe being a househusband for Y/n wouldn’t be such a terrible idea after all..

“I think so too, maybe even one day, we could get married as well” They half-joked, watching as Solivan’s smile widened, taking hold of Y/n’s hand and bringing it forth, kissing their knuckles gently

“I’d..love that, no one could ever keep us apart.” Y/n’s eyes drifted to Sol’s gaze, watching as he pressed his cheek against their hand lovingly. Hyugo was nowhere to be seen as the bell rang. After packing everything up, Sol’s hand remained intertwined with their own

“Me and Hyugo were thinking of ditching class, he wanted to see a movie..what do you think?” Upon reaching the corridor, Y/n turned, facing Sol’s body that nearly towered over theirs while leaning forward

“I..-” Looking back at the door of their next class and Crowe who had suddenly exited the room,y/n nodded “-Fuck it, let’s skip.” With that, Sol escorted them towards their secret escape place, not bothered by the glare Crowe had given him as they left.

Due to Hyugo’s request to see the latest movie in theaters, the trio arrived at the cinema shortly after. The movie itself was great, though all y/n could think about was how close Sol was, his arm in their own while sharing popcorn and some small talk. Solivan was over the moon as he walked with them around the nearby park, Hyugo had retuned home afterwards, saying something along the lines of “I’ll leave you two lovebirds be, see you tomorrow” was spoken from his behalf.

The afternoon sun had already settled down, as colder it got, a shiver ran down Y/n’s spine. Sol noticed this, feeling a bit saddened by the fact he couldn’t lend them one of his jackets. Instead, he opted on holding their hand once again until the remainder of the walk to their apartment. Sol already dreaded the look of their place, if only he could take his beloved back to his home, maybe that way he wouldn’t have to worry for any creepy onlookers. As y/n took their keys from their bag, Sol quietly wished for their lips to mest in a kiss before they would lart ways. In that same moment, they leaned forward, kissing his cheek while entering their apartment

“Thank you for today, hopefully we’ll spend more outings like this soon..!”

“Like a date?” He chimed in, making them chuckle while tilting towards him. Their gaze flickered between his eyes and lips

“I wouldn’t oppose to such idea..goodnight Sol, text me when you arrive home” With a nod, Sol bid his goodbyes and left the apartment complex, his heart racing softly while replaying tge memory of their lips caressing his cheek

“Soon..soon enough you’ll be able to see just how much I adore you, my pumpkin”

[theshift]

The Lawyer

Jordan exhaled as he packed the last of his belongings into the thin cardboard box that had been sitting on the floor of his cubicle all summer. Internships were supposed to be stepping stones toward the future, glimpses of the career you were about to embrace, but this one had turned into something far less promising. Not because the work was bad. The tasks themselves were what he expected—briefs, filings, the occasional research rabbit hole. No, it wasn’t the work.

It was Angelo.

Jordan glanced toward the office down the hall, the one with the door half-open. Inside, Angelo’s portrait hung on the wall, larger than life, showcasing the full extent of his obnoxiousness. The picture was a glossy, oversized headshot of Angelo in a suit. Eyes narrowed in a “I know better than you” expression—it was hard to imagine anyone liking the guy. But they didn’t have to imagine. They all knew.

Jordan knew it the moment he arrived at the firm for the internship. Angelo was the first to “welcome” him in his own special way.

“Coffee’s on the second floor. Better get used to making a lot of trips down there if you plan on staying,” Angelo had said without even looking up from his desk, flicking his fingers toward the door like Jordan wasn’t even there. After that, it had been a never-ending stream of condescending remarks, impossible-to-please assignments, and public humiliation. Once, during a meeting, Jordan had dared to offer a suggestion about how to streamline a client’s case documentation. Angelo had cut him off mid-sentence with a sharp laugh.

“Leave the legal advice to those of us who actually passed the bar, kid,” he’d sneered.

The rest of the room had laughed along awkwardly, but Jordan felt every word sting.

Now the summer was over, and he could almost taste the freedom of law school ahead. Almost. First, there was the matter of the conference.

Jordan’s last official task as an intern was to attend the firm’s annual legal conference with none other than Angelo himself. Three days in a plush hotel, surrounded by some of the biggest legal minds in the state, and Angelo was going to make sure it was unbearable. But this time, Jordan had a plan.

--

The conference hotel was grand, the kind of place where you could lose yourself in the luxury and forget about everything else—at least, if you weren’t sharing the experience with Angelo.

From the moment they arrived, Angelo took center stage. He boasted about his cases at the networking events, hogged the attention at panels, and made crude jokes to anyone who got close enough to hear them. By the time the second day rolled around, Jordan was already at his limit. He had a single goal in mind for the evening: put his powers to use.

That night, they were at the hotel bar, Angelo already half a bottle of whiskey in, his voice booming as he told some exaggerated story about how he had “single-handedly” saved a client from bankruptcy. Jordan smiled thinly from the stool beside him, sipping his beer, eyes flicking toward Angelo’s glass as the liquid swirled inside.

Jordan had a secret, something Angelo had no clue about. He had powers, powers he hadn’t revealed to anyone at the firm. With just a little focus, he could turn people into skin suits—empty shells of their former selves, which he could wear and control like a costume. Jordan rarely used this ability, but for Angelo, he was willing to make an exception.

Angelo drained his glass and slammed it on the bar, his face flushed with booze. “Alright, time for another round! You ready, kid?”

Jordan glanced at him. “I think you’ve had enough, Angelo. You don’t look so good.”

“Pssh. You’re just jealous I can hold my liquor. Gotta be a real man to do that.” Angelo stood, swaying slightly, but immediately waved off any offer of help.

“You sure about that?” Jordan said, getting to his feet. He placed a hand on Angelo’s shoulder, just enough to steady him and activate his power. Angelo wouldn’t notice the change yet, not until it was too late.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Angelo muttered, but there was a slight wobble in his voice. “Let’s get back to the room. I need to lay down for a minute.”

Jordan suppressed a grin. “Sure. Let’s get you back.”

--

Once inside the hotel room, Angelo collapsed onto the bed, groaning. “Must’ve been something I ate,” he mumbled, his face pale, eyes shut tight.

Jordan calmly shut the door, locking it behind him. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you out.”

Angelo tried to sit up, but something was happening. He couldn’t quite place it, a deep discomfort spreading through his skin. “What the hell…?”

His voice faltered as his limbs began to weaken, skin becoming loose and rubbery. Panic flickered in his eyes as he looked down at his arms. They were shrinking, collapsing inward like deflated balloons. “Jordan… what the… what’s happening to me?”

“You’ll be fine,” Jordan said, walking toward him. “Just relax. You’ve had a long summer.”

Angelo's protests turned into garbled noises as his body gave way, softening completely. Within moments, he was nothing more than an empty skin, a suit lying crumpled on the bed, a blank, lifeless replica of himself.

Jordan stood over the hollow Angelo and smiled. He picked up the suit, feeling the weightless form in his hands. The arrogance, the cruelty, all of it was gone. Now, Angelo was nothing but a tool. A new skin for Jordan to wear.

He slipped into the suit effortlessly, feeling the rush of taking on Angelo’s form. His body molded into the lawyer’s, the familiar muscles and sharp jawline of Angelo’s face now his own. He walked to the mirror, admiring Angelo’s physique, enjoying the reflection.

“This summer’s gonna be fun.”

Jordan sat on the bed, pulling out his phone and opening the dating app he hadn’t touched since the start of the summer. It was something Angelo would use, wasn’t it? A guy like him had no shortage of charm or people interested in the well-polished lawyer with a lifestyle to match. Jordan’s thumb hovered over the screen, the pictures and profiles passing by quickly until one caught his eye.

Max. Fit, stylish, and close by. The bio was simple: “Looking for a good time. Let’s make it memorable.” Jordan, still in Angelo’s skin, smirked. Perfect.

He swiped right, and almost immediately, there was a match.

Within minutes, Max had messaged him: “What are you up to tonight?”

Jordan typed back quickly, leaning into the persona of Angelo as much as possible: “Staying at the Marriott downtown. You should come over. I’ll get us some drinks.”

There was a pause, but it wasn’t long before the reply came: “Sounds like a plan. Be there in 30.”

Jordan grinned, the rush of anticipation making his heart race. He walked over to the hotel minibar, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and pouring two glasses. As he stood there, looking around the room, it struck him how surreal this all was—inviting a stranger over while pretending to be someone else entirely. But he couldn’t deny the thrill of it. This was a side of Angelo he’d never seen but could easily imagine—flings, no strings attached, and the confidence to pull it all off effortlessly.

--

A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. Jordan took a breath, steadying himself, then opened the door.

Max stood there, just as sharp and attractive as his profile suggested. He smiled, his eyes scanning Jordan—or rather, Angelo—with interest. “You must be Angelo.”

Jordan nodded, stepping aside to let Max in. “That’s me. Glad you could make it.”

Max walked in, glancing around the room before his eyes landed on the drinks. “Nice setup. Fancy.”

Jordan handed him a glass. “Only the best.”

They clinked glasses, and as Max took a sip, Jordan couldn’t help but observe the whole situation. He’d never been this bold before, never felt this in control. Maybe it was Angelo’s skin giving him that extra edge, or maybe it was the freedom of pretending to be someone who didn’t have to care about the consequences.

The conversation flowed easily, Max leaning against the hotel couch as they talked about the city, work, and the places they’d traveled. Jordan kept up the act, channeling everything he knew about Angelo into his responses. Max seemed impressed, clearly taken by the confident, smooth version of Angelo Jordan had crafted.

But as the night went on, Jordan found himself relaxing more. It wasn’t just about pretending to be Angelo anymore. There was something liberating about being someone else, someone who wasn’t afraid to take risks.

As the evening wound down, Max glanced at his watch, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Well, this was fun. But I’ve got an early morning.”

Jordan nodded, feeling a mix of relief and satisfaction. “Yeah, it was. Thanks for coming by.”

Max gave him a knowing look, then made his way to the door, pausing for a moment before turning back. “Let’s do this again sometime.”

Jordan smiled. “Maybe.”

As the door closed behind Max, Jordan let out a long breath. He collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling, still wrapped in Angelo’s skin. The whole encounter had gone perfectly—smooth, seamless, just like Angelo would have handled it.

--

Jordan spent the first few days in Angelo’s skin navigating the law firm as if nothing had changed. Nobody batted an eye, not the coworkers who usually fawned over Angelo nor the interns he ignored. Being Angelo wasn’t hard—he had practiced Angelo’s condescending swagger for weeks before he put the plan into motion.

At the firm, it was business as usual. Angelo had a high-profile case that Jordan now had full control over, and thanks to his experience as an intern, Jordan knew how to keep up appearances. The only difference? Jordan was a better Angelo than Angelo had ever been. He wasn’t cruel or dismissive. Instead, he was sharp, methodical, and, surprisingly, more likable.

While everyone marveled at Angelo’s sudden shift in attitude, Jordan took full advantage of his new-found power. He enjoyed the attention, the lavish dinners, and the status that Angelo’s reputation granted him.

But when he wasn’t at work, Jordan was spending time with Anthony.

They had met at a café the first week Jordan took on Angelo’s life. Anthony was charismatic, laid-back, and totally different from the people at the firm. The attraction between them was instant, but the real surprise for Jordan was how much he enjoyed their time together. Being with Anthony was easy—Anthony found “Angelo’s” sudden kindness refreshing and had no idea that the man sitting across from him was really Jordan in disguise.

The summer drifted by faster than Jordan anticipated. Angelo’s life had become his own, and he’d mastered the art of faking it. But as August rolled around and law school approached, Jordan knew his time in Angelo’s skin was coming to an end. He couldn’t keep living this double life forever.

On the final day of summer, Jordan stood in front of the mirror one last time, looking at Angelo’s face. The real Angelo would never know what had happened, but he would feel the consequences for months, maybe even years. Jordan pulled at the collar of Angelo’s suit, his heart racing slightly.

He stood in front of the mirror, staring at Angelo’s reflection—strong jawline, neatly groomed beard, sharp eyes filled with an arrogance Jordan had learned to mimic all too well. But the time had come to shed the skin he’d worn for the summer, to let go of Angelo’s life and return to his own.

Jordan took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the smooth, taut skin of Angelo’s chest. He could feel the edges of the suit, where the fabric of another man’s existence began to peel away from his own. Slowly, carefully, he tugged at the seam beneath Angelo’s ear, the skin stretching and giving way like a second layer, still warm and lifelike.

The sensation was strange—like peeling off a tight wetsuit, but more intimate, more visceral. As he pulled the suit down over his shoulders, the air of the room hit his bare skin, cool and refreshing against the sweat that had gathered underneath. Angelo’s form, muscular and defined, slowly gave way to Jordan’s slimmer, more familiar build. The difference in weight, the change in posture—it was like shedding a burden he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

The suit continued to loosen and slide off in a fluid motion, inch by inch, as Jordan tugged it down past his chest and over his hips. The arms came free, then the legs, until Angelo’s skin finally slipped away entirely, pooling at his feet like a discarded costume. Jordan stood there, breathing heavily, his own body now exposed. Angelo’s empty skin lay crumpled on the bed, lifeless and hollow, nothing more than a shell of the man who had once worn it with pride.

For a moment, Jordan stared down at the deflated suit. It looked almost pitiful now, a far cry from the powerful figure Angelo had once been. He felt a twinge of satisfaction—he had lived in Angelo’s shoes, tasted his life, and now, he was leaving him humiliated in more ways than one.

Jordan turned back to the mirror, and for the first time in weeks, his own face stared back at him—sharp cheekbones, a mess of brown hair, and wide eyes that held a mix of relief and something else. Something conflicted.

He moved to the bed, grabbing the clothes he had worn when he first arrived at the hotel. The familiar texture of his jeans and t-shirt grounded him as he slipped into them, the fabric a little too loose compared to Angelo’s tailored suit. He buttoned his jeans, tugging his shirt into place, and ran a hand through his hair, feeling a mix of emotions settle in his chest.

Once dressed, he grabbed his phone from the nightstand and opened the camera. He stood in front of the mirror, tilting his head slightly and snapping a selfie. His own eyes stared back at him, and for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was completely happy to see himself again.

Angelo would wake up in a few minutes, confused, with no memory of the last few months.

But Jordan would remember. And for him, that was enough.

As he packed his things and prepared to leave Angelo's home for the last time, Angelo's phone buzzed. A message from Anthony, asking when they’d meet up again.

Jordan smiled to himself. Maybe his summer wasn’t over just yet.

[another-lost-mc]

feel the heat: newspaper club edition

mephistopheles turns to you in a moment of desperation.

pairing: mephistopheles x afab!reader

content: nsfw. explicit smut. poly!reader, demon heat/rut cycles mentioned. demon form!mephisto. derogatory language, cursing, sexting/dick pics, first time, frenemies to lovers.

word count: 3.3k

feel the heat series: the demon brothers | the royals edition

You passed Mephisto in one of the hallways of RAD long after classes ended for the day. You were on your way to the student council chambers, and you guessed he was on his way to the Newspaper Club office. He was distracted and walked right into you. He hissed when you made contact with his chest, and he skittered back like you burned him.

You're surprised by the anger in his eyes, but there’s sweat beading along his hairline and he’s panting. You recognize the dark haze clouding his vision, and you try not to stare at the outline of his half-hard cock in his pants. 

Your voice is almost shrill when you ask why he’s still on campus when he’s obviously unwell. He shouldn’t be here in his condition, and you tell him that, as kindly as you can.

He clenches his jaw and grits out that it’s none of your business.

Fair enough, but he’s the one who was stupid to come to campus like this. 

He looks insulted when you ask him if he has someone to help him with his little problem, and he glares at you. 

You offer to help him if he has no one else, and his stunned expression would be hilarious if it were any other circumstance.

He spits more venom at you about how you’re just some meddling human pest and how he wouldn’t want to get his hands dirty by touching you. He nearly shoves past you as he carries on to finish whatever’s brought him back to school in this very volatile state.

You’re not sure what to think, and you know your concern for him is unwanted. You stare at his back as he stalks away, but he doesn’t spare you another glance. He turns the corner and disappears from view, and you listen to the sound of his boot heels clicking on the floor until you hear nothing. It’s like he was never there; he leaves no trace of his presence behind except for the sting you feel from his rejection.

It’s a few hours later when you’ve settled in for the evening and try to forget what happened earlier. You’re watching a movie in your room when your phone buzzes beside you. You’re not sure who’s texting you at this late hour. It can’t be one of the demon brothers - they would just let themselves into your room if they wanted to see you.

You certainly don’t expect to see the name that flashes across your screen.

Mephistopheles: If I send a car for you, will you come?

You can’t contain the surprised laugh that bubbles out of you, because it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever said to you. Why would he do that now, after his scathing response to your offer earlier?

You point out how much of a hypocrite he’s being and ask what his problem is. He might be hot and you might want to get to know him better, but you also know that you deserve more respect than the less-than-bare minimum he’s shown you.

Mephistopheles: You’re annoying and you get on my nerves, and you’re stubborn and naïve and so painfully human it hurts to look at you. 

You: Okay…?

Mephistopheles: And I see the way you walk around RAD, sashaying those fucking hips. I hate the way your ass fills out your uniform. And you’re so clumsy! Do you constantly drop things so everyone has to see the way your perfect fucking tits strain the buttons of your blouse when you bend over?

Mephistopheles: Do you know how tempting it is to push you over a desk and fuck some sense into you when you’re too cheeky for your own good?

Mephistopheles: I’ve spent all fucking night thinking about your lips around my cock. I hate how much I want you.

Mephistopheles: I want you. I want—fuck.

Your eyes widen with each message he sends. Your throat’s gone bone-dry and suddenly it feels a little warm in your room.

His next message contains a photo. 

He’s laying on a bed in a dark room. He’s still in his RAD uniform, but his pants are loose around his hips and his fly is down. His hand - his bare hand, glove tossed aside carelessly - is wrapped around his cock. It looks painfully hard, and there’s a thick stream of cum dribbling from the tip. It looks like he’s come more than once already in an attempt to find relief on his own, like he has a craving only you can satisfy.

You wish you could tell him to fuck off and invest in a good fleshlight if he wants to get off so badly.

You wish you could forget about his filthy admittance of how he thinks about you while he jerks off, and how he’s practically begging you to come fuck his brains out.

You wish you could go to bed and forget this ever happened, but you know you’ll be fucking yourself on your fingers while you stare at the picture of his cock and regret not accepting this very tempting offer.

You wish you were stronger than this, but you’re not - not when you’ve wanted him for so long, and now he’s finally giving you a chance.

You: I’ll be waiting outside in five minutes.

Mephistopheles: The car is already on its way.

Arrogant prick, you think to yourself, but you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from smiling.

The ride to Mephisto’s grand estate isn’t as awkward as you think it will be. The car he promised arrives moments after you step outside, and the driver says nothing about your attire when he opens the door for you. You’re still wearing the t-shirt and loose sleep pants you planned to wear to bed. You didn’t see any point in dressing up for the occasion - you won’t be wearing your clothes for long, anyway.

When you arrive, the driver opens the door and offers you his hand. He tells you where you can find Mephisto - up the main staircase, the room at the end of the hall to your left. The house is quiet and you don’t see or hear anyone else, but you assume his family is giving him space and privacy to deal with his heat how he sees fit.

(You’re not sure you want to introduce yourself as his booty call when you’re wearing pajamas, so you think it’s for the best.)

It wouldn’t be difficult to find his room even without directions. When you reach the second floor, the air feels thick around you, like a warm fog. Mephisto’s natural scent and the spicy traces of his cologne grow stronger with each step you take and it leads you right to his bedroom door. 

You can hear the faint sound of bed springs squeaking inside his room and animalistic grunts that punctuate the rhythmic slick stroking sounds of skin-against-skin. The noises stop abruptly when you knock. There’s a rumbling purr just on the other side of the door, and when it opens suddenly, he pulls you inside.

Mephisto crowds your back against the door and it slams shut behind you. He’s still wearing his uniform slacks, but at some point he removed his shirt. His bare chest is sweaty, and his belly and pelvis are slick from when he jerked himself off for relief before you arrived. He’s never looked so sloppy before, but there's something gratifying about seeing the real him and not the perfect, superior demon he pretends to be.

You brush your hand through his sweat-soaked hair to sweep it away from his eyes, and he groans and leans into your touch. He buries his face into the crook of your neck while his hands explore your body over your clothes. He sniffs at your skin like he’s trying to breathe you into his lungs, and he licks over your pulse point.

“You came,” his lust-thickened voice rumbles close to your ear, and your shiver while you stroke his naked back.

“I did.”

He leans stares into your eyes. They’re blown black with lust, but you feel seen by him. “S-stay?” he stutters like he’s having difficulty speaking, but you know what he’s really asking you.

“As long as you want me to,” you murmur before you lean forward to kiss him gently, almost nervously because you’re not sure if he’ll reject you even in his heat. But he doesn’t - he leans into the kiss and whimpers against your lips before he pulls away.

One of his hands slides under the waistband of your pajama bottoms, and you gasp when two of his fingers drag across your slit. You didn’t realize how soaked you were until he touched you. His fingers stroke between your entrance and your clit, not focused on pleasuring you exactly, but more likely he’s surprised - and flattered - that you want him this badly.

“So wet,” he moans against your skin, and he grinds his cock against you, making a total mess of your shirt. 

You can’t help but breathe out an airy chuckle as his fingers continue to stroke you. “You have a filthy mouth on you when you’re horny,” and you cup his cheek. He huffs in amusement but doesn’t deny it.

He explores you a little more, but then he withdraws his hands from between your legs abruptly. You nearly whine at the lost contact, but he holds his fingers up for both of you to see. They’re glistening with your slick and the smell of your arousal hangs heavy in the air between you. You would be embarrassed if not for the way Mephisto sniffs the air and licks his lips. He holds your gaze as he pops his fingers into his mouth and sucks them clean. 

You bite your lip to keep from moaning, but it doesn't completely silence the aroused noise you make. He’s filthy and gorgeous, and his mouth hangs open like he still can’t believe you’re really here. His eyes lack the bitter disapproval he normally shows you, and you know that at least for tonight, he wants you just the way you are.

In a sudden wave of confidence, you reach for the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head quickly. You let it drop to the floor, and you try not to squirm too much when his hungry gaze trails down your body so he can stare at your breasts. He reaches for you and cups each of them in his large palms. His touch is gentle and exploratory, and he sighs while he squeezes the soft flesh. He pinches one of your nipples and you gasp. His eyes snap back to yours, and he does it again; you arch your back into his touch, a silent plea for more.

He steps closer and bends his head low so he can lick at your breasts. He swirls his tongue around each of your nipples and you cradle his head to your chest so he knows you like it. He draws one hardened nipple between his lips and sucks on it gently, and he pinches the other with his fingers.

It’s a wonderfully delightful sensation of pleasure with just the hint of pain, especially when he pinches too hard when you moan loudly into his ear. He hums around your nipple just to see if you’ll moan for him again - of course you do - and he growls his satisfaction. One of his fangs brushes against the sensitive skin of your breast, and you know he won’t hurt you, but the reminder of his demonic nature and inherent power leaves you breathless.

Desire rolls off him in waves, but you’re on the verge of begging him to fuck you. His cock throbs and twitches against your hip when he grinds against you, and you know you’re dripping-wet for him. His earlier teasing did nothing to quell the throb of your clit and you feel desperate for some kind of friction. Every time he moans or grunts as he fondles your body or plays with your breasts, your walls clench uselessly around nothing.

He grins when he realizes your growing desire mirrors his own. His mouth trails between the valley of your breasts and up your neck. The path is littered with tiny marks he's nibbled or sucked into your skin. His hands slide under the waistband of your pants and over the curve of your ass. He gropes you, squeezing and kneading your body greedily, and he drags you closer. 

“Need you,” his deep voice rasps against your ear. As soon as you nod because you need him too, he slides your pants over your hips so they fall down your legs and pool at your feet. You step out of them gingerly and head towards his bed, but you realize he isn’t following you.

The question you're about to ask dies in your throat when you look over your shoulder. He’s standing eerily still by the door, and his eyes are staring at you so intently that you feel vulnerable. His hungry gaze roams up and down your body, and you can see his eyes linger on your face, your breasts, and the mound between your legs. You guess that strange feeling of being watched a few moments ago was him staring at your ass, too. 

Mephisto loosens his pants so they fall down his legs, then he slides his boxer briefs off too. He straightens and rolls his shoulders. There’s a hum of energy and within the blink of an eye, his horns and tail have emerged. You try not to gape openly at his demonic form but you’ve never seen him properly before.

He’s beautiful, and you want him.

You sit on the edge of his bed, and you both stare at each other. His tail flicks behind him and you can hear him purring deep within his chest. You spread your legs wide and ignore the way embarrassment burns your cheeks. He moves quicker than your eyes can track, and he’s suddenly standing between your legs and staring down at you with so much hunger you can hardly breathe.

He leans forward and clasps your shoulders with his hands, and he urges you to lay down. His hands trail over your body and he slides them under the curve of your ass and up your thighs. He maneuvers your body how he wants you until your legs dangle over his shoulders. You’re utterly trapped beneath him while he kneels on the edge of the mattress.

One of his hands holds your hips down to keep you steady while the other guides his cock through your folds. He drags himself up and down your slit, and you moan quietly when he brushes across your clit with the slightest bit of pressure. He does it again, and you whimper.

“Please,” you whisper, and you’re reduced to begging now. You were promised a thorough fucking, and you feel like you’re about to lose your mind.

He’s the one in heat. He’s the one that should be begging to be fucked, not you.

There’s something predatory in the way he tilts his head and watches you beg for his cock, and his body grows completely still. When he snarls and buries himself to the hilt in one rough stroke, you choke on your cry as your body stretches around his cock.

Oh, you never should have doubted him.

He's relentless when he fucks you, and his pace is fast and brutal. He takes you with powerful strokes that punch the air from your lungs. The rough drag of his cock brushing over that spot inside you has you keening every time he thrusts inside with a sharp snap of his hips.

His eyes are nearly eclipsed by his blown black pupils and he pants loudly from the exertion and pleasure of finally claiming you. His bedroom fills with the wet, obscene sounds of his skin slapping against yours and your wet hole squelching around his cock.

He can’t seem to decide where he wants to look. His eyes flicker between your mouth and your bouncing breasts, then he finally looks down so he can watch his cock glide in and out of your body. His cock is coated in your creamy slick, and he growls with satisfaction when he sees your arousal leak from your hole and spread messily across your skin. 

He’s gripping your thigh so tightly that you think - you hope - his fingertips will leave bruises later. His other hand guides your hip back and forth in time with his thrusts so he can bury himself deeper every time his cock slams inside you. 

Your hands are clenched in his sheets. You’re powerless to do anything else but arch your back and cry your pleasure while he fucks through the haze of his heat.

His movements grow more desperate and he's losing his rhythm - you think he’s getting close. He’s still staring at the junction between your bodies, mesmerized by the sight of his cock claiming you over and over and over. 

Your clit throbs as your own desire threatens to consume you, and you reach down with one hand so you can stroke yourself in time with his thrusts. You tilt your head back and your moans grow louder, and you start chanting his name breathlessly as pleasure courses through your veins. Your fingers massage your clit faster because you’re so close you can almost taste it. Your body shakes, but he’s holding you so desperately that it keeps you grounded. You feel your walls flutter around him as the first waves of your release start to crash over you—

A loud growl startles you, and you open your eyes and stare up at him. He was watching himself fucking his cock into you with abandon; now, his heady gaze is locked onto yours. His body is trembling nearly as much as yours is, and he grits his teeth and bares his fangs at you. 

“Come for me,” he rasps, "come on my cock." It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard, and there’s no possible way you can deny him that, not when you’re still touching yourself and you’re right there on the edge—

He fucks you through your orgasm, delaying his own pleasure so he can revel in the feeling of your walls squeezing him even tighter than before. You let your hand fall away from your clit, and you blink at him with watery eyes and pouty lips. He finally spills himself inside you, claiming the deepest parts of your body for himself. He pants loudly as his hips come to a stuttering halt and the aftershocks of your orgasm milk his cock dry.

You feel exhausted and weightless and pleasantly full. You raise your arms high over your head and arch your back into a delightful stretch. The sweat on your back makes his sheets stick to your skin, and you squirm a bit on his cock. You gasp when you realize he’s still completely hard inside you, and his grip on your body tightens when you try to shimmy away.

“More,” he mutters harshly under his breath, and his smirk turns feral. His eyes are still black and hazy from his heat. He reaches for your hand and guides it back down between your legs. He laces his fingers through yours and slides them through your sticky, wet folds. Your fingertips graze the base of his cock that’s still sheathed inside you and he moans. He moves your hand back up to brush against your clit and he moves his hand away when you start touching yourself again.

You exhale a shaky sigh and rub lazy circles around your sensitive clit. He looks so pleased with your obedience that it makes your cheeks burn from his unspoken praise.

He can't kiss you in this position, but he turns his head and nips at the skin of your leg still draped over his shoulder. It feels like a filthy, silent promise that he'll never go through his heat again without you.

He starts rocking back into you, slower and more gently than before, and you roll your hips to encourage him. You whimper his name and he starts to move in earnest.

It's not long before he consumes you once again, and all you can see and feel and hear is him.

read more: mephistopheles masterlist | obey me! masterlist

[bookuce]

Fools Rush In (Roman Reigns)

SUMMARY: Nessa wasn’t looking for love, neither was Joe, but when you know, you know. Isn’t it funny how fate work?

*DISCLAIMER: This is a multi-part series. I do not own any of the characters in the writing except for the OCs. The book uses actual names of wrestlers. Josh is Jey, Jon is Jimmy, Trinity is Naomi, Joe is Roman. The book is not realistic and does not take place during real events, but some actual events (matches, storylines) could pop up in the story eventually. I DO NOT GIVE ANYONE PERMISSION TO TRANSLATE OR REPOST MY WRITINGS ANYWHERE. THAAAAAANKS. *

PAIRING: Roman Reigns x Black OC

TROPE: Love At First Sight

WARNINGS: N/A

WORD COUNT: 1904

CHAPTER ONE

It was supposed to be a Girls’ Night for Nessa and Isabel. The plan was dinner and a movie, but now they wanted drinks. So they found themselves in a popular nightclub here in Miami. They approached the well-lit bar, their eyes visually drinking up the mountain of alcohol in front of them. “So,” Nessa breathes. “What do you want? The first round is on me.” The brunette turns her attention to her best friend. Her fingers excitedly tap the counter. “Are we feeling darks or clears?” She presses.

“Yes,” Isabel answers with a breathy laugh.

“Girl, I can’t drink like that anymore.” Nessa giggles. The statement wasn’t far from the truth. The last time she mixed her liquors, she woke up to potentially blackmailing videos on her phone. Never again. Nessa hums softly, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. “Let’s play it safe with clears. Vodka?” She asks. Isabel grimaces.

“Tequila?” She answers with a question.

They exchange stares in silence for a moment before putting their fists out. They shake them four times. “Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!” They say in unison, throwing out different hand gestures. Nessa’s fist remains tight while Isabel’s hand is open. Paper beats rock.

“Lo siento, mi amor!” She exclaims while closing her hand around Nessa’s fist. “Maybe next time.” She turns her attention toward the bartender passing off shots to some nearby clubbers. “Two shots of Teremana, please!” The bartender nods at her request and turns to grab the bottle from the alcohol mountain. “With lime,” she adds with a smile. “Yeah.” she nods slightly.

Nessa shakes her head at the petite Latina. It was never a dull moment with her lively best friend. She turns over her left shoulder to grab her wallet from her back pocket but is halted by dark eyes watching her a few feet down. A smirk curls onto the lips of this bearded man once caught. Anxiety would rush through Nessa’s veins like electricity, causing slight chest pains for her.

Oh, he is handsome, she thought.

The bar lights lit his features well, the shadows chiseling out his bone structure. His hair laid against his head flat, pulled up into a bun, the sides shaved. He looks groomed—at least from here, he did.

“Ness,” Isabel calls, snapping Nessa out of the trance she was in.

The distracted woman turns her attention back to her friend, forgetting all about grabbing her wallet. “Yeah?” She asks. Isabel gestures towards the two shots in front of her. The bartender standing before them waited impatiently for a payment. “Oh shit, sorry.” She mutters, reaching into her back pocket for her wallet. A tan hand appears in front of her, a black credit card between two large fingers.

“Put it on my tab.” A deep voice says right above her ear. “I have their drinks all night.” He adds. The bartender eyed the black card in the man’s hand before taking it.

“What’s the name?” She asks.

“Joe.” He answers. Just as Nessa turns to look at the man, he lowers his hand for her to shake. “Nice to meet you.” He says to her with a half-grin. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of approval from her best friend at the tall man.

Ness takes the warm hand, shaking it slightly. His hands were rough, a sure indication of a hardworking man. She now wonders what he does. Construction? Maybe. Architect? Possibly. “Vanessa—Nessa for short.” She says finally. He presses his lips into a thin grin and nods his head once at her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nessa.” He says, opting for the shorter version of her name. Mentally, she was happy he did. She preferred it over her full name. She felt more like a Nessa than Vanessa. They would continue to shake hands slightly while gazing at each other, both not realizing that they were still doing it. Isabel would watch them curiously from behind Nessa. She gawked over the man’s size. In height, he towered over her and her friend. She could tell he was very fit. She’s now wondering if he has a regimen he’d be willing to share.

“It’s a pleasure,” Nessa says, finally looking away from the chocolate-brown eyes that entranced her. Her eyes find their hands still wrapped around each other’s, and she drops it. She would peer up at him from the side, noticing his eyes still on her. Her heart began to soar at the sight. My, this man was overwhelmingly attractive.

“Thank you for the drinks!” Isabel would say suddenly. Nessa clears her throat and nods.

“Yeah, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.” She says, chiming in.

“Well, I had to find a reason to come over here.” He explains with a shrug. “It’s no problem.” Silence would fall between the pair, causing Nessa to look ahead. She wasn’t too good at talking to men. It was only a matter of time before she said something to chase him off, or he realized she was not what he was looking for—whatever that may be.

“So…” Isabel chimes in. “Joe, what brings you here?”

“My cousins. Nightclubs aren’t really my thing, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer.” He confesses. “What about you two? Here with anyone?” He asks. His second question is for Nessa. Joe hoped to God she wasn’t here with anyone. If she was, his efforts to know her would be in vain.

“It’s a Girl’s Night,” Nessa says, opting out of his second question.

“But are you here with anyone?” He asks, now directly asking her.

Isabel smiled at the interaction, mentally hoping Nessa would take what he was giving. Meeting guys in the club wasn’t the safest idea, but he seemed pretty sober to her. At the moment, she sees no warning lights flashing above his head. “I’m married,” Isabel says, jumping in again. If she could do anything for her best friend right now, it would be to set her up with this fine specimen of a man. She leans into her best friend, nudging her to speak up.

Nessa turns to Isabel briefly, her eyes widening before returning to Joe. “I’m not.” She says finally.

“A lucky guy at all?” He asks.

“No.”

“Lucky me.” He smiles, revealing perfectly white teeth. “Bartender,” He calls out, waving his hand. The same one that served us earlier approaches us. “Another round for us, please.” He says, whirling his index finger in the air.

Joe spoke with a swagger Nessa had never heard from a man. He radiated so much confidence. If he looks like that, how can you blame him? She’s now cycling through possible professions again. Lawyer, maybe. Doctor, no. Athlete, strong possibility. The poor girl was guessing everything but a serial killer. Nessa would take a glance down at his right hand. No ring, no ring tan. He was an unmarried man himself.

“Lucky girl?” She asks suddenly.

“Hm?” He hums, his thick brows lifting.

“I said, is there a lucky girl?” She repeats, leaning in towards him. Joe looks at her, quickly shaking his head.

“No, not for a little over a year now.” He answers, giving her more info than she was seeking. He reaches down to grab one of the three shots before them. He tosses it down the hatch, his jaw clenching and unclenching at the taste and burn. His last relationship wasn’t one he preferred to talk about. Though he should’ve been mad at his ex, he couldn’t blame anyone but himself. He’s gone most of the year; who’d want to stay with someone they barely see?

“Are you from here?” She asks.

“No, I’m from Pensacola.” And there it was. Joe was from another city. One that happened to be six hundred miles away from here. He was here for vacation, here for fun. She was not interested in that. “What about you?”

“I’m local.” She breathed, her shoulders shrugging as she spoke. “Been here my entire life.” She adds now reaching to grab her shot. She tosses it back slowly, her eyes closing slightly. She places the glass on the counter.

“That—.”

“Look,” She says suddenly. “I’m sure you’re a great guy and all, and I really hate to assume, but I’m not looking for a hookup.” She looks around. “Especially here.” She looks at him with a shake of her head. “Not a smart idea.”

Joe’s eyes venture away from her face, his eyes now on the bar counter. His large fingers would curl against the surface while he chose his words. “I understand.” He says, nodding. He lifts his hand, his palm up and open. “I’m not much of—of a hookup person myself.” He explains looking over at her. “I barely know how to do that kind of stuff—the pickup lines and whatnot.” He explains, leaning towards her slightly.

“Right,” Nessa nods.

“My cousins tried to teach me, but I’m not really feeling it, you know what I mean? I’ve never been one to do that.” He was now rambling, his anxiety starting to spike. Maybe he shouldn’t have come out. He can already hear Jon and Josh teasing him for not being able to pick up women. It should come easy to him with the way he looked, but how he looked and who he was were two completely different people. He stops himself, a slow blink to follow while he gathers himself. Just talk, Joe, he thinks. He takes a breath. “I just figured I’d come over and introduce myself, maybe find a reason to come back to this place. Miami is a bit scary after a certain hour with all of the…colorful people.” She chuckles at that, receiving a grin from him in return. Maybe he was winning her over again. “Maybe I can get your number instead?” He proposes.

Nessa watches him for a moment, her eyes searching for ill intent she’d never find. He did seem like a sweet guy; at least she was hoping he was. Isabel was staring a hole in the back of Nessa’s head. Surely this woman has some sense. If she didn’t give this man her number, she was going to give her a piece of her mind after (and maybe sneak her number to him behind her back).

“Uh,” Nessa starts.

“Perra, dale tu número.” Isabel hisses, pinching her side. Nessa shrinks away from the pinch, looking back at her friend who was glaring at her.

“Sure, why not.” She says, looking at Joe. A large smile would spread across his face as he fished his phone out of his coat pocket. She’d take the warm phone, putting in her info as a contact. She passes the phone back to him. “Don’t make me regret it.” She warns him.

“I won’t.” He says, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Thank you,” He nods, looking between her and her friend. “I’ll let you ladies get back to your Girls Night. Remember, your drinks are on me. Be safe.” He says, walking off to find his cousins. Nessa and Isabel both watched as he vanished into the crowded space that was the dance area.

“I can’t believe you almost fumbled that!” She exclaims. “That man is fine, fit, and looks rich, mi amoré, okay? Alex is lucky I love him, because that one would’ve gotten fu—.”

“Okay, that’s enough.” Nessa snips.

CHAPTER 2

———————————————————————————

A/N: so…fancy seeing you here LMAO. Should’ve seen it coming tbh. This is the first chapter of another little fanfic I have tucked away. I hope you like it!

[hannie-dul-set]

CRASH & BURN.

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, humor. w — swearing, one absolutely horrendous dad joke, the secondhand embarrassment is even worse this time i'm not sorry at all, the rest of the en-kids are also losers. 1.3k words.

note — listen, who am i to deny the public from their needs and wants? i have no idea how rizzless hoon became such a hit, but ask and you shall receive. i'm sure this won't be the last you'll see of this loser. PART ONE. if you enjoy loser! hoon, you might also enjoy this other series of mine.

also tagging those who were asking for a part two hope u all don't mind! — @gyulune @jngwnlvs @snowysab @miercerise @karinasswifee @cerealdreamwriter @dinonuguaegi @tyongff-ff

for the past five days, you have been routinely returning to the skatepark at the same time without fail. this has obviously attracted questions from your friends considering the first time you tried out a longboard, you crashed and scraped and bruised your chin within seconds, but you can’t exactly tell them the truth about your endeavor— that you’ve been trying to catch a glimpse of mr. kuromi bandaid with the rollerblades again, and being left disappointed every single time.

he hasn’t shown up. not even once.

it’s day five, and there’s still no sign of him nor his lollipop. it’s day five, and you’re just about to give up until you spot from your peripheral a familiar group of boys that scared the shit out of you the other day— except this time, they aren’t staring at you like maniacs, and they seem to be one person less.

“are you fucking stupid?” you overhear as you hesitantly approach their circle, cautious steps because they’re still as intimidating as you can remember. they all look so serious, two individuals glaring at each other while the rest simply watch, both unconcerned and amused. “oh yeah? you really think you can beat me? wanna duke it out right now, dickwad?”

cold sweat breaks out and you freeze in your tracks, expecting them to spiral into a fist fight.

“my dragonite will sweep your fucking team, loser.”

“your dragonbitch doesn’t stand a chance against my tyranitar!”

nevermind. you really shouldn’t be so quick to judge them again.

you regain the bounce in your step and race up before they could metaphorically kick each other's asses.

“hi!” 

you flinch when the six heads suddenly snap towards you. your smile twitches, discomfort  lasering into your skin from the half a dozen set of narrowed eyes leering at you so intently and so intensely. “who are you?” the one previously bragging about his dragonite asks.

“dumbass.” another one smacks the former on the backside of his skull. “it’s shoelaces.”

the nickname sets a few lightbulbs off, and a pair breaks away from their violent staring at you to give each other knowing glances. “oh, shit!” this time it’s mr. tyranitar who exclaims. “right. the dude hoon absolutely decimated himself in front of. poor guy. he’s still going through the five stages of grief.”

hoon must mean sunghoon. you want to open your mouth and present your business about the missing individual, but it’s not so easy to butt in when they’re busy conversing amongst themselves.

“what do they want?” 

“how should i know? i’m not them?” 

“no fucking shit. but what do you think they want?”

“maybe it’s about hoon?”

“no way. that guy’s done for.”

“hey, don’t be too harsh on him! he’s grieving!”

“what if it’s because we‘re being too loud—”

“what if they’re here to have a pokemon batt—”

“you do realize they can hear you, right?” 

light-haired guy is right. you can very much hear them, and they’ve all finally quieted down, slowly turning their heads to you once more but with a dampened intensity this time. they’re waiting for you to speak. you can’t believe you thought they were scary. you can’t believe you were intimidated by a group of nerds.

“sorry for the intrusion,” you smile, pressing your palms together. “i noticed one of your friends hasn’t been coming around lately. is he okay?”

a cough. a nudge. a silent conversation between the six pairs of eyes. “he’s been sick these past few days,” dragonite owner finally says. “sickeningly unbearab— ow!” 

your smile disappears. “oh no.” he’s sick? he already didn’t seem that strong when you met him the other day, collapsing into the ground and all.

“i think you can help him get better— ouch! jungwon, what the fuck?” one of them gets hit again. you’re sure it’s been the same guy hitting the rest of them since earlier.

“why are you asking about him?”

the nicest looking one squeezes out of their group while asking his earnest question, fishing out the answer from you with bright, curious eyes. “ah,” you sound out. “i just wanted to tell him that i also think his shoelaces are really cool.”

they stare at you, then stare at each other. and then someone spews out, “is that a new pick-up line, or some shit?” before getting hit again, and the light-haired guy comes forward to block the squabble happening behind him, and to tell you that they’ll be dragging their friend tomorrow at the same time (isn’t he supposed to be sick?) so you can compliment his shoelaces in person(?), and that they are looking forward to welcoming you to their family (whatever the fuck that means).

as promised, they do drag the sick man into the skatepark— literally dragging him because the guy who introduced himself yesterday as jake is pulling him forward by the sleeve while jungwon pushes him from behind as the wheels of his roller skates make sure that sunghoon keeps on moving. he looks like he’s ready to move on into the afterlife. your eyes light up when they drag him closer.

“c’mon, hyung! just a little bit more— a liiiiittle bit—

“i told you, i’m never coming back here again!“ you hear him groan, attempting to break away from his escort team. “never ever. never again. this is is where half of my dignity is buried. my pride. my shame. my—”

and then he freezes.

sunghoon gets frozen by an invisible force when your eyes meet, frozen but his cheeks are set ablaze. his friends did a great job in escorting him to you, encasing him and in consequence his view of his surroundings until you’re within an arm’s reach so he doesnt run away. the heat from his face thaws him back into movement, panicked and angry expressions sent to his friends and they all look pretty stupid trying to talk with just their eyebrows, but it’s cute nonetheless.

“hey!” you finally chipper in, causing sunghoon to freeze once more, creaking to meet your gaze. 

“h—hello. hi.”

sunghoon’s greeting comes out as a choke. jake and jungwon send each other signals before hurling the poor boy at you.

it’s like he’s suddenly forgotten how to skate. he can’t control his muscles, sliding over the short path at a dangerous speed that mimics his racing heart and oh shit— oh shit, oh shit. how does he stop again? how does he make a turn? how does he not fucking crash into you like a meteor being sucked into the earth’s orbit?

“oh!”

like all of his (very limited) interactions with you, sunghoon crashes and burns. it’s inevitable. but this time, he crashes and burns into you. you’re both on the concrete and his hand feels like it got crushed between the hard ground and the back of your head, but that pain quickly subsides into a numbing buzz, pumping his arteries with nectar, burning his veins with gasoline, because holy crap—

“close.”

“you’re right, that was a close call,” you breathe out. “i could’ve cracked my skull open.”

“i— i mean, close, you’re— you’re too close.”

does he realize that you can’t exactly move underneath him? he probably doesn’t, not when you can practically see the smoke emitting from his head and the panicked swirl in his eyes and you can’t help but laugh. “ah, sorry.” that was a mistake. sunghoon’s face flushes warmer and like a hammer to his skull, the realization hits and he and slowly pries himself off of you.

“sorry—”

“it’s fine.” you sit up and brush the dust off your clothes, stretching out your legs as you nudge yourself closer to him on the ground. “your friends told me you’ve been sick. are you feeling better now?”

“huh?” 

you’re not sure why he’s confused, but he looks very confused before turning his gaze to his friends. you find jay snapping out a thumbs up and sunoo’s stern face somehow reading don’t fucking blow it. he turns back to you with a lot more sweat on his neck than prior. “oh, yeah i was sick, i was so sick, ahaha—” he stammers. “a—anyway, what’s up?”

“i just wanted to see you again. it’s not everyday that i get a compliment on my shoelaces, you know?” you smile. “what about today? aren’t they prettier than the last ones?”

you wiggle your shoes to show off, laced in a complicated pattern that you’ve been practicing for the past five days, and you expect to receive another compliment for it, but sunghoon is oddly quiet. 

he’s quiet. you’re sure you chose a cool pair of shoes this morning. you’re about to be disappointed, until you notice that he’s actually thinking. he’s thinking very hard he’s thinking of something, and that something comes out of his mouth in the form of a badly timed pun.

“...what about...toe-day...”

park sunghoon only knows how to crash and burn. all his friends are a witness to that. they’re a witness to this events that transpired this afternoon, but what they didn’t expect is for you to have an affinity for disasters. you’re laughing at his dumb joke. you’re actually laughing. they’ve been shitting on sunghoon for being hopeless, but maybe there’s something wrong with you, too.

CRASH & BURN.

© hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

Did I hear mating season? jekshfjsjhsh well don’t mind if I do. Just imagine: the turtles “mating season” being more of an uncomfortable but manageable slump some time in the spring-BUT after meeting reader and developing a new crush things start to take a change. At first they think nothing of it-expecting the season to go just as it always has, then as time goes on it becomes more and more apparent that something is VERY wrong. Side effects like possessiveness/ aggression/ courting/ nesting/ libido+their urges all suddenly rear their ugly heads to the turtle that is frantically trying to manage his primal instincts and dick

Mating Season With A Crush (18+)

Dark Turtles x reader

A/N: The lucky wheel did a spin and decided on the Dark Turtles for this one🖤💚 This may not be exactly what you were looking for, but I thought it would be fun to play around with the mating seasons of the Dark Turtles, and how it may be different from the original turtles. There’s a lot of potential with all that Kanabo stuff🖤

Warnings: Talk of masturbation, imagination about sex, a porn game, and talk of former pain (not the reader).

Common For All Dark Turtles:

The Dark Turtles had only had one mating season in their new, half mutant turtle, half Kanabo bodies. Yet the memories of their counterparts many years with springs in the back of their heads, made them prepared for what was to come. Yet they were all surprised when their season became less intense than their full blood turtle DNA source. Sure, the dark turtles became more aggressive during this time, but they did not feel this intense need to relieve themselves in their hiding spots like their counterparts did, but they did feel a strong possessiveness, both for food and the few belongings they had. To them, their mating season was horrible, almost painful. With spring the days became longer and the sun stayed up for longer, and for a Kanabo, that was not good news. And neither was it for Kanabo clones. But of course their turtle side has to make them more sensitive these times, only causing the pain, confusion and discomfort to become worse. During that one time, all four of the Kanabo clones had found themselves wishing that their seasons would have been like their counterparts, only making them horny instead of hurtinging. So of course, as they came closer to their second season, the clones expected it to happen again, dreading the upcoming weeks. But to their surprise, upon moving into Cody’s penthouse, their mating seasons took quite a turn.

Dark Leonardo:

That one mating season Dark Leo had experienced, was nothing compared to what Leonardo had been through, with his long seasons that never really seemed to end, until he finally gave into his urges. But Dark Leo had never felt these urges, except the one for punching his brothers growing a lot stronger whenever they came close, feeling this strange pain inside of him intensify whenever they came too close. So when spring time came around in Cody’s penthouse, Leo expected that to be the case once again. But to his surprise, no pain came around as he felt his season come closer. Instead he felt something else. Something that reminded him of what Leonardo usually felt…

As his season crept closer, Leo found himself staring at you more and more, and strange need to be around you growing and growing, coupled with extreme annoyance whenever one of his brothers talked to you. He had once punched Raph out of nowhere, when the red turtle had asked you something pretty innocently, causing both you and Cody to ask him panicked questions. But Leo thought nothing of it in the beginning, thinking it was a sign that the pain and irritation would be coming at any point. But pain never came. Or, at least not a pain Leo had tried before.

One spring evening, as Leo laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering what this strange feeling was, he felt this extreme urge grow between his legs, pushing at his cloaca in a way he had never tried before. It was almost painful. Almost. But Leo knew what that feeling was. Leonardo had felt it before. But where Leonardo would have tried to push it away, not wishing to give in, Leo gave in. Untucking himself and giving in to all of his urges, surprised by the explicit thoughts he was forming about you, dreaming that it wasn’t his hand around his dick, but your tight count.

That night Leo stayed in his room, realizing the extent of the crush he had formed for you, and how it might be the sole reason that he wasn’t rolling around in pain, but instead fucking his own hand.

Dark Raphael:

The only reason Dark Raph had hated his first mating season was because of the pain. The irritation and the need for punching something had never been knew for him, but the pain was really something he could live without. It made him angry. So angry that he wanted to break something. Raph knew that Raphael had often been angry while on his season, but not in the way Raph was. For Raph, the mating season had been nothing but loathing, but for Raphael, it had been a strong irritation that his urges just wouldn’t stop.

As spring came around one more time, Raph was expecting the pain to come out of nowhere, making him horrible and angry. But the anger and pain never came. Instead his own head was flooded with your scent and your sweet smile, making Raph’s knees turn to jelly. Raph had already been aware of his feelings for you for some time, but this was different. It was stronger, the picture of your beauty playing in his head over and over again. And it scared the big Kanabo clone, making him hide out in his bedroom, while his thoughts about you turned further and further to the naughty side.

It didn’t take long before Raph started stealing pillows from the living room - the pillows you had been sitting with a few days before his season started - and brought them to his room. Here he was quick to give into his newfound urges, his hips pounding the mattress while burying his face into the pillow, taking in your smell like he was addicted, imagining it was you that held onto him, begging him to go deeper and harder. He did that for a whole week, finding the need in his cloaca return everytime he came. It was almost frustrating.

Although his mating season was much more pleasant now, with no strange pain running through his body, he could not help but long and feel like a madman, dreaming and hoping for the day he could bury his dick inside of you, instead of his big soft mattress.

Dark Donatello:

Just like his counterpart, Donnie liked to think that he was too smart for a mating season. He couldn’t be bothered, having so many other things that he wanted to spend his time on. But during his first season, Donnie could not fight through the pain that went through him, causing him to hide out in a dark corner of Darius’ storage room, not wanting to be seen or heard, pushing the sun and spring as far away as possible.

But many things changed for Donnie when he and his brothers moved into Cody’s penthouse, taking over the old rooms of their counterparts. It was here that he discovered that Donatello had stopped fighting against his mating season, finally deciding to enjoy it. Donnie found Donatello’s old VR headset, and the program he had made for it. Esensically, it was a porn game, with a customisable player and NPCs.

This headset soon became Donnie’s best friend during his second mating season, customizing the player in order to look like him, and the NPC to look like… you. Donnie could not deny it any longer, especially not while making sure the NPC’s hair and face looked like yours. Donnie had developed a big crush on you, and during his second mating season, he wanted nothing more than to share it with you, hoping that you could calm the growing need pushing from his cloaca.

The whole next week, Donnie locked himself up in his bedroom, and fucked the NPC version of you over and over again, in every possible way he could think of. On his bed, over his desk, pressed against the window, in the bathroom or directly on the floor. And it was during those many sessions, that Donnie couldn’t wait until he had looked through all of Donatello’s old things. Maybe his counterpart had been hiding other things that could help him relieve himself while entertaining his fantasy about you.

Dark Michelangelo:

It might have been Dark Mikey’s often manic state, but the pain of his first mating season did not bother him as much as it had done to his brothers. He had been the one that would poke his head around, and purposefully anny his aching brothers, to the point where they would try to mangle him. It was a strange thing. It was like the pain never touched him, or maybe he even enjoyed it. Or maybe Mikey was just lucky. Like he told his brothers; “Come on guys! It’s not that bad!”

But then Mikey and his brothers moved into Cody’s penthouse, and Mikey was smacked in the face with your beauty from the moment he walked through the door. And that was the start of Mikey’s growing crush on you.

When spring then approached along with the turtle clones’ second mating season, Mikey was shocked to find that it did not feel like it did the last time. Mikey became jumpy and anxious, almost fearing that you were nearby without him knowing. He wanted you to be around, really, but you made his heart beat and blood pump in a way he hadn’t tried before. For the first time in Dark Mikey’s short life, he did not enjoy the adrenaline that ran through his body.

But once in the comfort of his room, where Mikey wouldn’t fear your beautiful eyes looking his way, he could let his mind wander. Mikey could stay in his room for days at the time, feeding on the big scratch of snacks that Michelangelo had left behind before he went back to his own time. But it was here that Mikey could be alone in peace, and touch himself to the thought of you, bringing himself to one orgasm after another, all in an attempt to calm this strange new feeling that his counterpart had been such a big fan of.

Once the week was over, Mikey finally emerged from his room. He was tired, looking forward to a time where he wouldn’t jump whenever you looked at him.

[skyeslittlecorner]

not sure if this was posted before. can we get the classic scenario of some brave (read:unfortunate) soul trying to flirt with the mc and how will the kings (+sitri and belial if it's okay) react to it? thank you :3

Ahh, that's one of my fav kind of headcanons! And! Sitri!!! Belial!!! I love kings, but I'm a noble's girlie~ Let's make them jealous. See them doing their best, it's not enough to be hot to win our hearts... ok maybe it is BUT, it doesn't change anything!

Assume that some cutie like our Dong-gyun is flirting with us. Nobody dangerous or slick. This way they will only be jealous, not mad, and we will see how they want to prove themselves.

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan will be ready to fight at first, but when he sees that you are having fun and no one is trying to hurt you, he will let go. Of course, he will be jealous. You are his. He will make sure to remind you, and do everything to impress you and win your attention back. Over time, he will get to know you better and learn what you like best. If his strength turns you on and you want to see him fight for you, he will. If you'd rather see a room strewn with roses when you return to the palace, then be it. If a devil flirts with you too intensely (in his opinion, always), he will come and grab your waist. We know he has guts, and anyone who allows himself too much deserves a kick. Unfortunately, he can't kick them because it's like a reward, and he doesn't want any more devils hanging around you.

Mammon won't care too much if you're flirting with someone. Everything his master does is perfect. If this is your wish, he will choose the best lovers in the country who will fulfill your desires. He will make every dream come true. You own him, not he you, and he waits patiently until one day you want to be his. You are free and can do whatever you want. As long as no one tries to get their hands on you against your will, Mammon is going to watch with amusement those poor attempts. After all, that funny little devil who thinks he has a chance with you is his too.

Beelzebub has a whole story dedicated to the cute guy who flirts with us. On the outside, he looks as chilled as ever, but there's an underlying menace lingering in the air. “Don't cross the line, or you'll be devoured.” You have to have some restraint, if you don't want this poor devil to end badly. Actually, no one knows what Beel is capable of, because the surrounding rumors say that he deprived one devil of the hand he used to hug you, and sewed another's mouth shut for daring to kiss you. But you know how exaggerated the rumors surrounding him are. He himself always behaved impeccably (as much as you say it about him) around you, and the fact that he clearly showed that you belonged to him... it only makes you wet, admit it.

Leviathan, oh well. If anyone *dared* to flirt with you near him, they would not only hang, but fly out the window and land on a wall. The only people he would not hang, because he cannot, are those who are equal in status to him, i.e. other kings. If he saw you flirting with one of them... remember how in ch4 Satan's wrath was so tremendous that it began to choke his subjects? This is exactly what would happen with Levi's jealousy. Except not only the devils who stand close will suffer, but half of Hades. Since he can't hang other kings, he could hang you... but with each king the scenario would be different, so it's hard to say in general. Either way, prepare for chaos.

Belial is very composed. He'll let you do whatever you want, after all, you're not married to him or anything. He just respects you and your freedom. You'd even think he didn't care when Jiyu stepped in. Without Belial's consent, of course. You only managed to hear “Know your place, your fucking maggot-!” before the noble catch him and silence him, blushing furiously. You see how he squeezed poor little thing so much that their eyes popped out of their sockets. You can't help but giggle, because it looks like someone is jealous after all.

Sitri will be both jealous and sarcastic. Very openly. He doesn't even try to hide it, the poor devil will be scolded and sent to help clean up the rubble or in the medical tent. War is neither the place nor the time for flirting! Especially if he's trying to flirt with you. Why did you even want to waste your time on him? You have so many nobles to choose from, aren't they good enough? Isn't he good enough? He needs to try even harder... And his spiral of overthinking continues until you dispel his doubts with a kiss.

[moirindeclermont]

Yesterday, I left you with a bit of a cliffhanger...

But it's all because tonight is a big "polin first time we didn't see", and some might remember a poll I did some days ago asking for Pen's specific favourite fantasy and the majority of answers were mirror and people (love you all exhibitionist people) so, what's about this party Pen wants to go? Let's find out!!

In the morning, they talk about Pen's desire to go to a club—the type of club designed for a very specific purpose. "There was an entry in your journal about watching a couple doing it behind special mirrors, and you noticed how watching them reminded you of the type of intimacy you were looking for."

Colin does remember that night. This young couple behind the screens was extremely hot—both of them—but what separated them from all the others was their connection.

"And I'd like to do the same. Just me and you, knowing people are watching..." Colin clocked that fantasy early in their marriage, always teasing it. He doesn't have a problem about people watching them - as long as it's only watching. "Are you sure?" he wants to be extra secure for her sake.

She looks at him and nods. "I'll see if I can secure an invite. But the moment you're uncomfortable, we're out, " he says, and she agrees.

They don't talk about this anymore until Colin comes back one evening. "We have an invite, Pen. In two days, if you want to." Her eyes dilate, and Colin can tell she is equally excited and nervous about it.

Before going in, he explained to her what to expect: "It's like a normal ball, except you may see people being more explicit. They may ask you to dance or more than that, but they are extremely respectful. If you say no, they won't bother you at all."

"I've rented the mirror room for the entire evening so that we can dance and relax, and once we are ready, if we still want to do this, we can enter and do what we want. You won't see a thing from inside besides the mirrors. Outside, people can see you, but they can't interact. We will be in a bubble. Also, we can stop at any time if you feel uncomfortable."

Pen is nervous when they enter the house, but she relaxes quite a bit when they start to dance. Yes, some people are already half naked, and the sides of the room are full of chaise lounges where people are already enjoying themselves. "Being a wallflower here would be so much more interesting," Pen says, and Colin laughs with her as they dance closer and become more touchy. As predicted, some already proposed both, but they politely refused.

By their third dance, there is an undercurrent of arousal going through them as their hands travel along their bodies. They exchange a brief kiss that does nothing to quench their thirst for each other. "Let's go?"

Pen gulps but agrees. Colin takes her hand and guides her to the room. For a moment, she can see from the outside; several people are already there, watching them curiously.

In the room, Pen can't hear anyone. The outside is gone; all she can see around are mirrors, reflecting them both. The desire returns like a wave. She is very accustomed to mirrors and doesn't feel self-conscious about that. Knowing people outside are watching just adds fire to her arousal.

Colin is observing her, and she is suddenly overwhelmed with love for this man who is leaving her free enough to explore her desires. She decides to lean into her playful side.

"Come here, husband," she says, sitting on the bed towering in the room, right in the centre. Pen opens her legs. " You have a job to do."

Colin goes on his knees and is unsurprised to find her glistening with desire. "My wanton wife is enjoying all those people watching her... isn't she?" he says as he starts a slow movement on her core, touching her pearl briefly before giving her just the tip of his finger. She nods at his words.

"Why don't you show those amazing tits?" he asks, playful.

She plays with her dress until she can divest herself quickly. Paris's dresses are on another level, as she can take them out without assistance. A moment later, Colin is helping her get out of her skirt, and she is fully nude on the bed; wherever she looks, she can see herself and Colin slowly teasing her open. "Colin, I need you," she moans, and Colin chuckles before stepping up and undressing himself.

"Come here," he teases her, "I want them to watch you, knowing they can never have you," and she is now on the edge of the bed, in full view, as Colin slowly enters her. She feels hot and aroused and desired and beautiful as Colin slowly starts to move. "You can't come until you say you loved being watched," he says, and she whines, knowing he will tease her until she complies. In truth, it doesn't take much until she obeys him.

Something is driving her crazy, and when Colin speeds up, she looks at the mirrors and just lets it go. Colin somehow manages to thrust into her through her release and knows her enough to know this is only the first one. Then, he flips her on the bed so she is on her hands and knees, and the dance starts again. She sobs at the feeling of another release coming, "I can imagine them going crazy over you," and every word is melting into desire.

When she comes again, she is almost screaming. "Yes, exactly like that. Make them feel how good you are at taking me," as Colin goes and goes and she can't even think. Colin turns her around again, kissinng her deeply, before whispering "I'm so close Pen," and then it is just instict, keeping him inside her as he finish.

They stay in the room a while before going out, re-dressed. The place owner offers them to stay with him and his wife for the night, but they refuse (afterwards, Colin tells her they are the couple he witnessed months before). Pen is just exhausted, and they go back home.

In the carriage, Colin notices Pen is crying. "Something wrong, love?" but she shakes her head.

"I just think that what we shared was powerful... and that most people don't have what we have. It makes me feel lucky, I guess. And grateful to have you," and he can understand very well. He dries his own tear with his hand and kisses her slowly. "It's the same for me," he answers, taking her on his lap until they return home.

uuuh I'm a bit nervous posting this one, but I absolutely love that they are sharing from a place of love and connection and I wish I were in the audience, and there is no shame in between them, I Hope you'll like it too (and if you have more firsts you want me to tell about it, my requests are open)

[mothfables]

♡ Bunny Flops ♡ - Part Two

(Legend has like 0.5 seconds of angst cause ✨trauma✨, but then it’s just fluff <3)

The second time it happens, the Chain is taking a much-needed break at Lon Lon Ranch. Several weeks have gone by since the first Incident (as they’ve taken to calling it when Legend isn’t around to hear), and it’s mostly passed from everyone’s minds by now.

Legend refused to answer any of their questions, growing embarrassed and awkward any time someone brought it up. Eventually they gave up and let him be, to his relief. He doesn’t want any of them knowing it’s a holdover from his Dark World form - or that he suspects that isn’t the only reason for his more...rabbit-like tendencies. Luckily (or, perhaps, unluckily in this case), those tendencies really only show themselves when he feels truly comfortable and safe, with a few exceptions.

(He doesn’t want to think about what it means that it’s happened around the other heroes. Thinking about it means acknowledging it, and acknowledging it means he has to face the fact that he’s let himself get close. Close to people who will just get taken away go away again.)

(He can’t go through that again. He can’t.)

As it is, Legend is curled up on the rug in front of the fire in the main house, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug and a fluffy blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Quiet chatter mixed with soft music flows around him. Chores are done for the day, none of his weapons are in need of maintenance, his belly is full, and he’s warm and cozy in a house that makes him feel as safe as he’s ever been.

Legend feels himself start to drift, his mind growing hazy and soft. Each blink is longer than the last, and he fumbles to keep from spilling his drink as he begins to drift off. Someone takes it from him, their hands gently easing it from his own, before patting him on the head. Half-asleep, he barely registers giving a soft chirring purr in response to the affection, hearing the other chuckle warmly as they continue petting his hair.

Sky smiles down at him as the younger hero begins to doze. He pauses for a moment to twist around, searching for the coffee table so he can put down the mug he’d taken from sleepy hands. Once that’s done, he turns back around to continue his ministrations, only to blink as he realizes the other boy is not where he’d left him.

He glances around, confused, before looking down and seeing Legend curled up on his side before the fire, blanket clutched in his thin hands and violet eyes blinking sleepily into the flames. Giving a relieved sigh, Sky shuffles closer and lays a hand on soft pink locks. Legend starts purring again as Sky gently pets his hair.

He only half-listens to the sounds of the other heroes in the room with him, most of his attention on the cozy bundle before him that is the young hero. As he weaves his hand through his hair, marveling at the softness of it, he senses more than sees someone moving to sit next to him.

“He’s doing it again, huh?” Warriors’ voice, hushed in the quiet peace that’s settled over them all, comes from his left. He joins Sky in reaching out and laying a gentle hand on Legend’s arm. The Vet sniffles once before sighing. Wars runs his hand along his arm in a soothing motion, and his eyes slip shut as he finally nods off.

“So, it’s not anything to worry about then, do you think?” Sky asks, keeping his voice low. “Since he’s just sleeping when he does this?” ‘This’ being tipping over and falling asleep with ease as compared to the restless, guarded nights they’re all used to.

Wars shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. This is-” he stops, looking for the right words. Sky nods; he understands what his brother means.

This is an incredible show of trust. For the Veteran, prickly and snappish and guarded to his core, this may very well be the equivalent of lowering every wall he has and opening the door straight to his heart. Sky’s own heart warms at the realization. He lets himself trust that they will not hurt him, and in turn allows them to protect and care for him at his most vulnerable.

The Chosen Hero turns his head to meet the Captain’s eyes. They both nod, coming to an unspoken agreement that they will do everything they can to keep this trust. Their brother deserves to be able to let his guard down, to be able to open himself up, to know he has people he can depend on, and that none of it will be taken from him.

With a content sigh, Sky lets himself lean into Warriors, resting his head on his shoulder. They each keep a hand on their sleeping brother, protective and soothing both. The two of them will keep watch over their brother tonight, here in this house of safety and warmth and love, to make the most of every ounce of trust they’ve been given.

<< First : Last >>

[the-winter-spider]

Kinda Don’t | B.Barnes

Warnings: Angst, character death

Word count: 3.5k

A/N: Never proof read, going through my drafts and just posting shit lol, enjoy?

Master list

****

Bucky and you had a long history, and I don't mean long as in only a decade but 7 of them.

You were the girl next door literally, you grew up directly next door to Bucky. You moved in right before puberty hit not just the boys but you too.

It was always just you three and it was the first time you had any real friends, your father was part of the army, science sector of it so you were constantly moving never having enough time to actually make any life long friends let alone fall in love but when he went missing, later discovered dead in some secret lab he had under your house, your mother and you packed up and moved to the city that everyone wanted to live in, New York.

With the endless amount of possibilities or more so the endless amount of men your Mother could shack up with and have them support her and yourself. You didn't mind of course as long as she was happy, you were happy.

That was until her latest husband David started yelling a lot, then he started drinking a lot, then he hit you for the first time. Your mother told you it was the wrong place at the wrong time, you walked into the house right as they were fighting and he struck you. You never said anything except went straight to your room, then climbed out your window back to where Bucky was.

And when he saw you, you broke down. He promised he’d always be here for you and you were the only girl that would ever have his heart. He was true to his word to a certain extent. That was until puberty hit and every girl was throwing themselves at him, it was inevitable he was gorgeous.

He went out with every girl in town, except for you because you weren't as pretty as them even though he always would get drunk and end up climbing through your window instead of his, telling you just how you were the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on how he was so lucky to have you, but then the next day when you woke up he was gone, back out the window and back to holding some other dame in his arms.

But when the war got worse and people were getting their letters left and right you knew Bucky’s were coming and he stopped seeing other girls and he spent all his time with Steve and you.

It was different, he would hold your hand on the street, he would take you dancing, he would take you on dates. You found yourselves constantly under the sheets intertwined with one another and then one night when he thought you were sleeping he told you while running his fingers through your hair that it was only ever going to be you, it was only ever you and when he saw any future it was always with you.

He told you he was hopeless in love with you since the day he saw you standing by the moving truck holding a box and you tried your hardest not to open your eyes and tell him you were in love with him too.

The next day he enlisted and spent the last night he had with Steve and you at some Stark thing you cared nothing about but at the same time everything about because Bucky cared about it and you cared about Bucky.

And just like that he was gone and the first decade and a half of your history had ended before it ever really started. When Steve showed up on your step to tell you about Bucky and to give you the book that Bucky wrote to you every single day, he told you he was going to avenge his death and he would come back to you, and then he never did either. When Peggy Carter knocked on your door to tell you about Steve you shut the door and shut anyone out that was left in your life.

Till sometime in the 50’s in the paper it said Howard Stark was looking for volunteers and you never forgot how much Bucky would beam at the opportunity so you showed up at the base and he said yes before you could even speak after hearing how you were Steve’s best friend.

You were injected with the closest hope to the next super soldier serum without the drastic physical changes. They called you Miss America, and you hoped you would have made your boys proud but when Howard noticed you weren’t ageing as you should they ran tests, discovering that your cells rengernated at an extremely fast rate now allowing you to age as you should before you could run more tests and possibly find an antidote or even how enchanced you really were, Howard died.

You were alone again, Peggy tried her best to keep you company and to keep you hidden, you should have been in your late 60’s like her but instead you looked 3 decades younger than her, she thought it would be best to fake your death so that's what you did.

Y/N Y/L/N died in 1995 at the age of 75, your cause of death was undetermined. That’s when Lily Barnes was created, born in 1965 making you 30 years old, which is what you would stay looking for the next 2 decades, when they found Steve on ice you could have sworn you saw a wrinkle that was never there before.

When he found out Peggy was alive he was of course over the moon but when he saw you he couldn’t believe his eyes. He had Fury look into you and when he saw a death certificate, they found where you were buried and it was beside Bucky. But yet you were standing directly in front of him looking like you had only aged 5 years in the last 70. You told him everything, he was so mad at first but he came to terms with it when he realised he wasn’t going to be alone.

Fury tried to recruit you for the avengers but you wanted nothing to do with making new friends and losing them your heart simply couldn't handle it. Fury understood told you he didn't like it but he understood, he put you in a safe house Steve respected your wishes and besides Fury, Steve was the only one who knew where you were that until a red head knocked on your door, Steve beside her and he told you to suit up, you did no questions asked.

The next thing you knew you were on a jet, getting debriefed about someone by the name of Thano’s. But when you were getting close to a place called Wakanada, your heightened sense picked up on something you.

–

“Steve, what's wrong?” You stood by Natasha putting all your weapons in their correct spot.

“What isn’t wrong?” Natasha tried to joke but you ignored it.

“Stevie” You asked again “You know I can tell right? I can sense literally everything”

He gave you a soft smile “I forgot you were enhanced” he sighed “There’s something i haven't told you”

“No shit” You smiled

“She doesn’t know?” Sam asked from the front seat, Steve shook his head in response.

“How much doesn’t she know?” Natasha whispered

“None of it”

Natasha looked at you, placing a hand on your shoulder “I’m sorry in advance, I didn’t know” she then proceeded to sit by Sam, giving Steve and you the space you apparently needed for this conversation.

“I’m so sorry, i just, there was so much going on and you wanted to stay out of it and i know if you knew you would have been brought back in, but then Natasha happened and i didnt know about their history and he was so happy, I haven't seen him smile like that since you, then Wakanda happened, he deserved to be free, he deserves to be happy and so do you and it was wrong of me not to say anything, your my best friend you took care of Peggy, I – “

“Steve, slow down, what are you talking about?” Your senses were in overload, you could feel every atom, every fibre in the air, alerting you that you needed to run, that you needed to fight.

He gave you the same eye’s he gave you when your Ma past, the same eyes he gave you when Bucky forgot about your birthday because Dot said yes to a date, the same eyes he gave you when he told you Bucky died. “He’s alive, Bucky’s alive”

“What? Steve that's not funny”

“I know, I’m not joking” He reached just beside the shield and handed you a file that said CLASSIFIED in big red letters “Were arriving in an hour, I’m sorry I should have told you sooner, everything you need to know is in here. I’ll be right over there if you need me, I’m here for you”

The file was heavy in your hands, your mouth was dry. When you read his name at the top it felt you were swallowing a razor blade. You read everything as fast as you could, you held back tears, letting the metaphorically razor blade cut any emotions you wanted to have. You were angry, so angry, so hurt that this was kept from you, you wanted to kill Steve Rogers, you wanted to murder Captain America. But no more than you wanted to kill yourself, he was alive this whole time, the same time you were alive. You could have done something, why didn’t you know to do something? You should have felt he was still alive and in pain, he was your soulmate, he said you were soulmates. That was until you got to the second last page in the file, it was an HR paper from Stark Industries and your eyes were blurring with tears when you saw the world's relationship and saw two signatures at the bottom one reading James Barnes and the other Natasha Romanoff.

“Landing in 5, 4, 3 – “ You heard Sam counting down, you placed the file down. You took a deep breath soaking in every fibre of information presented to you in the last hour. You stood up having an internal battle of whether you should kill Steve now or later, you wanted to strangle Natasha, but it wasn’t her fault, you couldn't blame Bucky, she was amazing if you swung that way you would have fallen for her too, you should have known the second Steve told you he was alive, before you even opened the file, he always had a thing for redheads. You clipped your last knife to your thigh.

You gave Natasha a small smile and she returned it. You could feel Steve’s presence hovering beside you, as the doors whired open “Does he know?” you didn’t even look at Steve as the doors slowly opened.

“No” He sighed “Im so sore –”

You shook your head “Don't”

Natasha was the first one out, no doubt in your mind wanting to see Bucky, Steve followed shortly after, then Sam, then Bruce, the Rhodey, than you’

Her arms wrapped around his neck, her lips grazed his you heard her mumble an ‘i miss you’, that metaphorical razor you swallowed sliced your heart in half.

Steve hugged Bucky, whispering something to him and his blue eyes searched for you, disbelief written all over his face. He started to make his way to you, but stopped just before he could reach you, his eyes trailed over your figure, tears brimmed his eyes “Doll, I -”

You cleared your throat, shifting your demeanour from heart broken and love sick back to someone you swore you never wanted to be again and that was Miss America “We have a fight to win Sargent.”

He blinked a few times, shifting his gaze to Steve and he shrugged in return, he turned back to you “But I - “

Steve came up beside him “She’s right Buck”

Bucky looked like he was having an internal battle within himself before he nodded and the team made their way to the battle ground, Bucky never leaving your side, his pace stayed with you the whole time until the fight started, he kissed Natasha on the cheek wishing her good luck, before he got the chance to say something to you, your back was already turned getting in your fight stance.

You lost him for a while during the battle, while still keeping an eye on him without being too obvious. You did the same with Steve you knew he was more than capable and was no longer that little boy from brooklyn, even though you were still mad at him he was still your best friend, well one of them.

The fight dragged on, and when you thought you had any possible chance of winning, people started turning to dust all around you “no no no” you mumbled running closer to Steve, your eyes locked with Bucky “Y/n….” he trailed off before he was completely gone.

—

F i v e whole years.

Five whole years of losing Bucky again, five years of growing so close to Natasha you would consider her your best friend. It was just you two in the compound, you came back to the whole superhero lifestyle and tried your best to do anything you could to keep things running smoothly. It was hard half the fucking world was missing, but your whole world was.

You wanted to hate Natasha you did, she had everything you ever wanted in the palm of her hands and yet you couldn’t. She was everything you aspired to be. You were nothing like her and it made sense why Bucky kept anything you thought you had in the dark, it wasn't because you thought he was savouring it, soaking up every moment, no it was because he was ashamed.

You wanted nothing more than to hate her, it would have made things so much easier but she was just as amazing as everyone made her out to be, you hoped you could somehow find a way to get Bucky back and selfishly you hoped he would wildy confess his undenying love to you but you knew that would never happen, and at the same time you were rooting for them, he was your everything then and she was your everything now.

You could push your heart break aside for decades again couldn't you?

Could you die from a broken heart? You hoped it would make everything so much easier.

But you didn't and here you were about to do fucking time travel. Standing on the platform you tried to tune out all the energy and nerves you could feel radiating off of everyone, a hand found its way on your shoulder “Were gonna get him back Natasha smiled at you before turning to the rest of your teammates, her family “See you in a minute”

—

“You know, i thought living as long as i have would have been the craziest thing to ever happen to me” You smiled thinking of all the crazy shit you experienced in your overly lived lifetime.

“But here we are, in space going to some place called Vormir, don’t be too full of yourself y/n'' You laughed, bumping your shoulder against hers.

“Welcome” A voice echoed behind you. Grabbing your knife, Natasha reached for her gun. “Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Y/n, daughter of Lilith.

As you both made your way forward you tensed immediately recognizing who is in front of you.

“Who are you?” Natasha questioned, your knives still raised.

“Consider me a guide, to you and to all who seek the Soul Stone”

You eyed her cautiously before taking a step forward “Oh good, you tell us where it is, then we’ll be on our way”

Red skull looked at you “If only it were that easy”

He turned around starting to move forward, you looked at Natasha, she shrugged in response and then the two of you followed him near the edge of a cliff, what looked to be a sunset in the distance.

“What you seek lies in front of you, as does what you fear”

Natsha pushed ahead peering over the edge “The stones down there” Her back to you.

“For one of you” Red skull respond

You were overwhelmed, you could feel the stone, you could feel the calmness, the sureness radating off of Natasha, her pure willingness. Your feet dragged you forward, peaking over hoping the stone would be in reach, which you knew it wouldn't be, because it would be crazy for something to be that easy.

“For the other” He continued “You must lose that which you love, an everlasting exchange” He paused dramatically, you swallowed the lump in your throat “A soul for a soul”

She took your hand in hers, pulling you away from the ledge. Taking a seat on a rock, while you leaned on one. You knew what you had to do, what had to be done “Y’know, I think our hopefully chatter doomed us”

She smiled at you “We cant seem to ever catch a break huh?”

“People like us never really do it seems”

She stood up turning to face you “And here i thought we found a little bit of break in each other the last 5 years”

You smiled back at her “It's always too good to be true”

“Whatever it takes” She took your hand in hers

Swallowing back the lump in your throat “Whatever it takes”

She stared in your eyes, you felt nothing but love and longing radiating off of her “If we don't get that stone y/n, millions of people stay dead, Barnes stays dead”

Nodding in agreement “He deserves a life Nat” You placed your other hand on hers “A great one and you —“

“I'm starting to think we mean different people here y/n”

“For the last five years Nat, all we've been trying to do is get to right here, that's all its been about. Bringing every body back, getting Bucky back”

“Don't you get all sappy on me now y/n/n”

“Nat..” you trailed off

“You think I want to do this? I'm trying to save your life you idiot”

You squeezed her hand “Yeah, well I don't want you to. I've lived long enough Nat, this would be a great way to go” You smiled back your tears “Bucky has you, i have you” you looked off towards the sunset “It's not that bad of a sight, y’know if its the last thing i see”

She placed her free hand on your cheek, turning your head to face her again “I love Bucky” her eyes piercing into yours “But i love you more”

“No, Nat -“

I wasn't finished” Her thumb swept one out of a dozen fallen tears finding their way down your cheek “But he could never love me, his heart belonged to someone else but the little piece of it i got to see”

You shook your head as she brought your forehead to hers before she continued “Whatever it takes”

“Okay, you win” You released her hand before sweeping your leg under hers, placing your arm across her chest and pinning her down “Tell Bucky and Steve i love them”

She grunted before hitting your arm, and using her legs to flip you around before standing up and pointing her widow bite at you “You tell em’ yourself” before shooting it at you, an electrical charge attacked your body.

She started to run towards the edge before you recovered, grabbing your knife and aiming it at her leg grazing the side enough to knock her down.

Before you started to charge at full speed to the edge, as you were about to fall, she wrapped her arms around you shooting your grappling hook at the top of the cliff, you both swung back at full force smashing into the edge, you looked up “No no no” you tighten your grip on her but you could feel her slipping “How do you know i love you! This could be for nothing you dont know”

“I know”

You tried to reach her with your other hand for a better grip but failed

“Let me go”

“No” you sobbed “No please no”

“Its okay” she smiled

“Please” Tears were burning down your face, before she kicked off the wall her arm ripped from your grip.

“No!” You screamed till your throat was raw, as you looked down you saw her lifeless body laying there.

Everything went black and you could hear water running, you sat up frantically, you were no longer hanging off the cliff, as you lifted your hand out of the water a single stone laid in it. Your tears meshed with the water before you were being brought back.

“Did we get 'em all?”

“Are you telling me this actually worked?”

You dropped to the ground, cheeks raw from crying, you could feel all eyes on you, “Y/n? Where's Nat?” Bruce questioned, you turned to look at Steve, shaking your head no, avoiding all the other eyes because you wouldn't dare look into their eyes, you were nothing to them.

She was their family and you came back and she didn't.

[myargalargan]

A musical Polinalysis part 2

So I spent hours yesterday writing an analysis on the music we hear when Colin and Penelope first kiss, only to realize a couple hours later that...the kiss isn't the first time we hear that theme!! So of course I had to keep writing about it, because I just think this is so cool...

Alright, check this out... The very first time we hear the theme is the very first time Penelope sees Colin at the beginning of the season. We've just seen Colin flirting with that gaggle of ladies; he approaches his family, and as soon as Pen catches sight of him, we hear this:

But wait. I'm going to back up a sec, because in my last post, I said this was Polin's theme:

Pretty different, huh? So what's going on here?

Well, in the first transcription above, I have us in G Major, starting our theme with the familiar intervals of the fifth note of the key going up to the tonic, or first, note of the key, and then up to the second note (in this case, from D to G to A) and so on for the next few notes. Everything sounds normal here except that we're in a different key (G Major for the first sound clip, D-flat Major for the second one).

But then what happens halfway through with all those # marks? These accidentals are called sharps, and they indicate chromaticisms in the key, or notes that don't naturally occur in the key that we're in. Another way to write this so that the notes do naturally occur in the key (it sounds the same as the first transcription above, it's just expressed with a different key signature) is this...

The part I've circled in red indicates a key change. At the beginning, we're in G Major. Halfway through, we move into g minor. These keys are related in that their scales start on the same note—the tonic of both keys is the note G. However, the scales themselves do not sound the same—these keys do not contain the same notes. Here is a G Major scale:

And here is a g minor scale:

Notice that the g minor scale sounds a little darker, spookier, maybe more intense. This is the typical quality of minor scales in general—they tend to have a sadder sound.

So, okay, that was a lot of music theory, but what does this all mean for our Polin theme? I think it's so compelling that the first time we hear this theme, we have a key change halfway through from major to minor—from a relatively bright, happy sound to a more intense, morose sound. This is the first time we see Colin and Penelope occupying the same space this season, the first time Penelope sees Colin after his return (and it's honestly unclear to me whether Colin sees Penelope, as well...he looks in her direction but doesn't seem to recognize that she's there?). And the first statement we get of the music that is going to represent them throughout the next few episodes has a dramatic twist halfway through! Much like their relationship? Much like season 3 itself?? I think this speaks of conflict and intrigue to come—for these first four episodes and the season overall.

But that's not all! At the end of this episode, we have Colin and Penelope making their arrangement for Colin to help Penelope find a husband. And as they shake hands and share meaningful looks, just before Lady Whistledown's narration starts the close-out of the episode, this is what plays in the background:

Unlike the very first statement of the theme, this one does not start in a major key and then modulate to a minor key—it is fully minor from the beginning (the key of f-sharp minor is my guess).

Knowing what we know about minor keys having a sadder, more intense sound, this statement of the theme is clearly meant to convey conflict. There are two big conflicts being set up in this moment between Colin and Penelope: 1) the arc for the first half of the season, of Colin trying to help Penelope find a husband and oops falling in love with her instead, and 2) the arc that we'll be seeing in the second half of the season, of Penelope's secret identity and what that means for her and Colin's relationship. The music is telling us, as Colin and Penelope grasp hands, that we need to be wary.

There is one more iteration of this theme that I want to talk about, and it occurs during the scene when Penelope meets Colin at Bridgerton house for one of their lessons (the scene that is infamous for Colin putting his hand on Pen's back Colin what are you doiiiiiing we are so scandalized!! *gasp*).

The moment Colin greets Penelope in the entryway, we hear this very softly in the background:

This abbreviated theme repeats several time throughout the above scene, and it builds as it's repeated. First there's a couple measures of the theme, then a couple measures without, then the theme is stated again, followed by another couple measures without, and then we get three statements of the theme one right after another in different instruments, until Colin and Penelope make it to the drawing room.

In sharp contrast to the intense, doomsday-foretelling version of the theme we got at the end of ep1, this version is light and playful. We're back in a major key—and in fact, we seem to be in A Major, which is the relative major of f-sharp minor (the key we were in at the end of ep1). That is to say, f-sharp minor and A Major share a key signature—they contain the same notes—but since the A Major scale starts on an A rather than an F-sharp, it has a brighter, cheerier sound.

So here's what I think is happening with all this musical storytelling. In the beginning of the first episode, we get our first statement of Polin's theme, starting in a pleasant major key sound and turning sharply into a darker minor key sound halfway through. This foreshadows Polin's narrative arc, and the idea of more drama to come in the second half of the season, just as Colin and Penelope think they've found their happiness.

Then at the end of the first episode, we get a statement of Polin's theme entirely in a minor key—a callback to the second half of the first instance of their theme at the beginning of the episode, and another moment of foreshadowing which sets us up for the main conflicts we will see this season and in Polin's relationship. Episode one is all about setting the stage for the rest of what's to come.

Then at the beginning of ep2, when we hear the theme again, it's like we're being oriented back towards the first half of the iteration that we heard at the beginning of ep1. It's saying, "Okay, the music in ep1 told you to expect both joy and danger, and now here we are at the joy part." We're having fun right now. The romantic tension is still fairly breezy at this point. We haven't yet gotten into the gut-wrenching angst of watching the best friend we accidentally fell in love with about to get engaged to another man.

At the same time, the build-up of the theme the way we hear it in the scene at Bridgerton house—the way we get multiple statements of only the first couple measures—also creates some tension. The theme keeps getting cut off partway through, so naturally we want to hear more; we want to hear it keep going all the way to resolution. Keep in mind, up to this point, we have not yet (I don't think, anyway...) heard the theme all the way to resolution in a major key. So far, we've heard the theme: 1) start in a major key and end in a minor key, 2) start and end in a minor key, and 3) start in a major key but not end at all. And when do we finally, finally get to hear the theme all the way through in a major key, without all the twists and interruptions that we've experienced previously?

Polin's first kiss.

And it's beautiful, and soaring, and feels something like catharsis...

But of course, even hearing their theme all the way through leaves us wanting more, because at that moment, their arc is still just beginning.

analysis part 1 | analysis part 3

[chronicbeans]

Wally and a Puppeteer Reader (part 8)

Yippee! More time off! At a price, though.

TW: Obsessive Behaviors, Scopophobia/Eye Imagery, Idol Worship, Mentions of Stalking, Spoken Descriptions of Injury/Gore, Mentions of Threats

🎥 The night is a bit difficult for you. Not only is your mind swirling with worries about this stalker of yours, you keep hearing the oddest of noises. It is a bit like plastic tapping on the hardwood floors, before a very soft "thump", followed by a plastic scraping noise, then more tapping. It is like a cycle that keeps going. As much as you want to check it out, you are too scared to do so. Not only that, but if you want any hopes of getting sleep, you need to stay in bed. You are exhausted, but getting up will only wake you up more and completely ruin your chances of rest. The odd noises can wait. Maybe they are Henry playing with Wally? Wally's shoes are plastic and Henry's floor is hardwood. The only carpet there is a blue circle one that covers about half of the exposed wood.

🎥 You, somehow, manage to get a little sleep. Unfortunately, you are woken up to the sound of your downstairs phone ringing. So, you get up to go grab it. You are surprised when Angela makes it to the phone before you, picking it up. You almost forgot that she would be home when you were around. It isn't often you get to spend time with her at home, except for holidays.

🎥"Yes, what is it? You want (Y/N)? Who is this? How do I know you aren't their stalker?" She says, her tone harsh and sharp. She has always had a bit of a... rude tone when talking on the phone. If you had to make a guess, it is due to her long work hours. This situation, however, seems extra hostile on her end. Though, considering what you hear from her side of the conversation, it is a bit understandable.

🎥"Oh, you're their boss? Why are you calling during their break, then?" It grows silent. You feel awkward standing there, waiting for her to finally give up the phone. You watch as her cold eyes grow wide and concerned. "What? Oh... oh dear... Um... I'll hand the phone over to them right now."

🎥 You are finally handed the phone. Putting it against your ear, you ask "Hello? What is it, Boss?" There is a sound of rustling papers, before your boss says "Well... Good news and bad news. Mostly bad news. However, the good news is that you have a few extra days, if not weeks, of vacation! Bad news is that it is because of severe injuries to the... Uhh... "Overnight Team". Is that what they called themselves...?" They trail off, before there is some more rustling of papers.

🎥"Wait... what happened last night?" You ask, remembering how Eddie's puppeteer was walking with a slight limp. Your boss sighs, looking through some more papers, before saying "I can only really tell you what happened to Wally's voice actor and Eddie's puppeteer. The voice actor, I can only tell you because they worked alongside you and I put it into your contract that you both will know of the other's condition during emergencies. I thought it would help you both coordinate your rehearsals. The puppeteer consented to letting others know of what happened before being wheeled out in a wheelchair."

🎥 You grow silent, not knowing what to say. Your boss, seemingly waiting for a cue to continue, decided to take your silence as one. "The voice actor got hit in the head with a falling, two gallon can of paint. We believe it hit his head at an angle, with the rim causing a dent in it. He was found bleeding, but still conscious, somehow. He was given first aid from one of the two camera operators who found him, before the two rushed him to the hospital in their car. He is currently in stable condition, but passed out on his way there, and hasn't woken up."

🎥 You stammer in shock, trying to find something to say. Eventually, you settle upon the words "Do you know what caused the accident?" "No. As I said, the cameras seem to be turning off whenever we are not filming. Well, technically, if I remember correctly, I said that they turned off around the time we stopped recording... we have just learned through this incident that they turn off whenever we are not recording. None of these incidents were caught on camera. The camera operators seem to believe that whoever is behind the messages did all of this."

🎥 He then moves onto Eddie's puppeteer, explaining "They were able to tell us some of what happened, but not who did it. They were found to be limping, which caused Poppy's puppeteer to ask what happened. When they lifted their pant leg, it was revealed that someone had put staples in their leg, before puting five pieces of construction paper over it and taping them on with a tick layer of scotch tape. They were given first aid, before being wheeled out to the present director's car. When asked what happened on the way there, they claimed that they were jumped, promptly stapled and papered, before being forced to call you and deliver some packages with the threat of having staples put into his throat if he didn't. He refused to tell who did it, but mentions that they saw him. So, we know that whoever stalking you is a guy... At least, I think. They were so shaken up they could barely speak, so it might've been a mistake when they said "he" when referring to who hurt them."

🎥 You feel sick... as well as a bit guilty. You had seen them yesterday, but didn't mention anything about their limping. You faintly hear Henry calling for you, so you try to tell your boss goodbye, but they ask a question. "I need to know what was in the package they brought to you. Can you quickly tell me what it is before you go?" Without thinking, you say "It was just Wally. You know, the puppet? He had some red on his shoes and was pretty scuffed up. Now, I gotta go. My nephew is calling." Then, you hang up before they can finish their sentence.

🎥 Turning around, you sigh in disdain. This day is already exhausting and all that has happened was a phone call. Henry scurries up to you, a large grin on his cheeks as he chirps "I was going to tell you this last night, but you were trying to sleep. Wally said he likes you!" You giggle, a tired, exasperated noise that you didn't mean to let out. Right now, you don't really want to hear about Wally... wait a second...

🎥"That's sweet, Henry. Where is Wally, though? I thought you had him, since you two were having a sleepover." He looks around the room, before saying "Well, I went to bed cuddling him. He said he would let me cuddle him to sleep after I told him I had nightmares if I didn't cuddle a plushie. He told me puppets were soft and plush, like plushies. When I woke up, though, he was gone, so I grabbed my Barnaby plushie, instead. I thought you might've taken him because you work with him."

🎥 You open your mouth to speak, only to close it again as you realize what he said. You think of your words carefully, before asking "Did Angela tell you that I am Wally's puppeteer?" He shakes his head, a big, goofy grin on his face as he joyfully says "Nope! Wally did! He said he loves you very much! Something about him not being able to move on set without your help! By the way, can you tell me what a "set" is? Wally wouldn't tell me, saying that we would've been up all night if I kept asking questions."

🎥 You look around the room, before asking "Do you have any idea where Wally might be-?" "(Y/N)! Did you put the freaky puppet in my room?! You know how much these things terrify me!" You look upstairs, seeing Angela gripping the railing with one hand and dangling Wally by his leg with the other. "No, Angela! I was just asking Henry where he was!" "Well, tell Henry not to do it again! He must've looked in my diary, too, because this THING was sitting on top of it, the pages opened for anyone to see!" With that, she drops Wally from the second floor, a loud "thud" resounding once he hits the floor.

🎥 You pick him up, dusting him off, before looking back down at Henry. "Be honest with me, did you put Wally in your mama's room? Did you look in her diary?" Henry shakes his head, tears pricking his eyes as he says "No! I told Wally not to go in there! He promised he wouldn't! Wally, why didn't you listen? Now mama's upset with me!" He storms up to his room, slamming the door shut.

🎥 You look down at the little puppet in your hands, confusion and concern eating at you. If, by the smallest of chances, what Henry said is true... then your stalker could be... A puppet? The words he said sounded similar to the types of things the notes said. Then there's the Wally voice you heard in the studio... The red paint on his shoes could've been...

🎥 You're face grows pale, before you look down at Wally's shoes and mutter "Oh God... Oh, God no..."

🎥 You look up to Angela's room, walking upstairs. You might be acting too rash. Coming to the conclusion that puppets are coming alive is a silly thing to do. Angela could've told Henry about your job. Hell, he could've also told him about the letters you have been getting. Maybe he just put the two together, thinking that it was all some silly little game or joke. Kids are like that. They are blissfully ignorant to how important some things are, right? Kids are smarter than most think, but they still have their little hiccups here and there. Angela must have told him...

🎥 You hope, at least... the other option is a bit sickening to think of.