#he could stab someone with that head piece probably

[fear-is-truth]

giggling bc it’s like super super late and I’m half asleep typing this rn but I can’t stop thinking about jpm unknowingly picking an immortal as his next victim and so he does like some whole theatrics thing (dramatic bitch) and then finally he stabs them or something and they just like kinda look at him like “tf??” and once he realizes they are Not Dying he’s like “oh dear, this is awkward”

you jolt awake on a blood-soaked mattress, blinking in confusion. for a split second, you can’t figure out what’s wrong. the hotel room is dark, quiet except for the faint sound of a clock ticking somewhere. a sweet, metallic tang of blood fills your nostrils. your chest heaves, fingers flying to your torso where there’s a large gaping hole in your once-white blouse, soaked through with crimson stain.

“oh fuck,” you mumble in a daze, poking at the fabric. “so that happened.”

“indeed, it did,” says a silky voice from somewhere nearby. you immediately notice the weird accent; like it belongs in a old-timey movie. a man in a three-piece suit stands at the foot of the bed, holding a knife. you recognise him as the owner of the cortez — james march. he too, is covered head to toe in blood. your blood. he looks surprised. more surprised than you, which is saying something, because you literally just woke up in a murder scene.

“hold on,” you say, squinting at him. “bitch did you just—did you just fucking stab me?”

he stares at you like you’ve asked him to recite the pythagorean theorem backward. tilts his head, lips twitching into something that’s probably supposed to be a polite smile. “i believe an error was made.”

you blink at him. james blinks back.

“well,” you say after a moment, sitting up straighter. “that’s just great. this is my favourite chanel blouse, by the way.”“you… should be dead,” he finally manages, his voice filled with dismay and slight wonder.

“yeah, well, i’m not.” you gesture at yourself, clearly alive, clearly annoyed. “so… what now? you’re just gonna stand there or are you gonna tell me why you thought stabbing me was a good idea?”

“i assumed,” james says with a disdainful sniff, “that you were an ordinary mortal. someone who would perish… accordingly.” the man tilts his head, his mustache twitching slightly. “are you a witch?”

“yeah,” you deadpan. “congrats. you just tried to murder a witch from the new orleans coven. hope it was worth it, clark gable.” his face goes through about three different expressions—shock, anger, and maybe just a little bit of embarrassment—before he schools it into something more composed. clears his throat, wiping the blade clean with a handkerchief he pulls from his pocket.

“well, this is… unfortunate.”

“unfortunate?” you repeat shrilly, throwing your hands in the air. “you fucking stabbed me! while i was playing cards with you!” james frowns, looking a little wounded himself. “you could have the decency to die,” he mumbles petulantly under his breath.

“oh, sorry, i’ll remember to drop dead next time—would that be more convenient for you?”

“well,” he says in a clipped voice as he brushes invisible dust off his suit, “as you’re clearly not going to oblige, i suppose i must… revise my plans.”

you groan, flopping back onto the bed. “you’re the worst.”

“and you, my dear, are dreadfully inconvenient.”

[sanemistar]

NEVER MEANT TO BE

contents ★ pro hero!katsuki x gn!reader, heavy angst, lovers to exes, hurt no comfort, slight swearing, 1k+ wc. requested for my milestone event.

event m.list ★ mha m.list

it was another cold winter day. the weather was as cold as ever and the sky was gray and gloomy, exactly how it was like that day. you sat there pointlessly staring at the window in a lifeless gaze as your mind replayed flashbacks to the day when everything ended with katsuki, and the sound of your yelling still vividly rang in your ears as if it had just happened.

it was a cold winter day when you had another argument with katsuki. you were aware of his hot temper and notorious attitude caused by his anger issues and his difficult job as a pro hero all along, so that wasn’t news to you. but because things used to be perfect at the beginning of your relationship, you thought that it wouldn’t really be a problem. since you accepted katsuki the way he was, you thought you could handle it.

except that as time passed by and things progressed, the cracks in the relationship began to show. and his anger issues worsened more and more. until it had reached a point where he would constantly yell at you over the smallest things, and you were just fed up. you couldn’t take it anymore.

“katsuki… i can’t take it anymore, i’m done.” you blurted out. shocking not only your boyfriend, but yourself as well. you never thought a day would come when you would utter such words to katsuki, he was the one man whom you loved more than anyone else in the world, you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with him by your side.

or so you thought.

you didn’t even realize that you had been trying to convince yourself that everything was fine and nothing was wrong for the longest time when in fact, things between you and him were completely far from being fine.

meanwhile, it was just then when katsuki realized that he had messed up big time. he was just then aware of the pressure and stress he had put you through until you couldn’t endure it anymore. he didn’t even remember when was the last time he didn’t have to yell.

that moment was an eye opener for the two of you to come to the conclusion that it was too late to go back to the way you once were, and that it was probably the end.

silence loomed over the shared bedroom, turning it from the most comfortable and safest place you once thought you could ever be in to an unfamiliar, scary place you wanted to run away from. but you were anxiously fidgeting with your fingers and your feet were glued to the floor, as if there was something weighing you down. making you unable to move.

your eyes were fixated on your feet, not daring to look up. although you did wonder what expression was on katsuki’s face back then.

after what seemed like years of awkward silence, katsuki finally spoke up.

“i put ya through so fucking much, didn’t i?” surprisingly, his voice was calm and soft spoken. it was said in the same voice that you had missed so much.

“look, i’m really sorry. i’ve been nothing but shitty to you this whole time we have been together, and you deserve someone better, so i’m lettin’ ya go.” you felt a twinge in your heart, as if you were being stabbed by a sharp knife.

your heart throbbed painfully, you weren’t ready to hear what he had just said. you didn’t want him to let you go, you wanted to hear him say that he’d stay and try his best with you to make it work out.

“we were never meant to be together.” you finally looked up, eyes wide open as they met his red ones for the first time in a while.

had you and katsuki really never been a good match and you had been blind to it all along?

it just hit you that your once perfect world had crashed intensely, breaking into pieces.

everything really was over. and it happened in the worst way you could ever imagine.

you didn’t even know what to say back to all that. as if words completely flew away from your head. you just found yourself running towards katsuki, body acting on its own as you wrapped your arms around him so tightly and began sobbing uncontrollably. the tears that welled in your eyes for long began to overflow and fall down your red cheeks, finally letting go of the anguish that was paining you.

you felt his strong arms holding you back, pulling you close to him and feeling you against his body one last time.

after some time you two broke away, eyes staring as you engraved each other’s faces in your heads. he cupped your cheeks in his calloused hands and the two of you shared your final kiss, your first and final goodbye. it tasted so bitter and so salty due to your tears, you hated it but you didn’t want it to end. because after that you would no longer feel those lips against yours.

but unfortunately, it had to come to an end.

nothing else was said after that, katsuki just packed his bags and moved out. the sight of his back facing you back then had been living in your memory to this day. despite that happening two years ago.

and for these past two years you hadn’t seen katsuki once, not even in your dreams. the only times you'd see him were when he was on tv having his heroic actions celebrated. he started off as a stranger to you who became your first ever love only to go back to being a stranger you knew nothing about.

you had hated winters. not only because you weren't a big fan of cold weather and gray, cloudy skies, but also because they always reminded you of your first love who ended up making you go through your first breakup and your biggest heartbreak.

𝜗𝜚 taglist: @unriding @17020

[odysseus-crewmate-number38]

something something destiny something something

[cyberpunkgyu]

Moonstruck — P.SH ✧.*

summary: when your boyfriend won’t stop staring at you or sunghoon falling deeply in love

genre: fluff, romance

warnings: not proofread!!

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

sunghoon loves you. there’s no doubt in that.

you are his first love, and hopes to be his last.

sometimes he gets so immersed in his thoughts about the future, and you’re a huge part of it. he wants to marry you one day, loving the thought of being with you for the rest of his life. growing old with you, through thick and thin, and till death do us part.

he would have never thought in his life that he’d be this in love with someone. of course, he knew the concept of it, he did grow up in a loving household, his parents always giving their all to their kids, and to each other. he always felt warm and safe.

and that’s what he felt when he’s with you.

not only that, but your love for him felt overflowing. to him, you were the embodiment of beauty and love.

“i missed you.” arms wrapped around his waist as soon as he entered your studio apartment, giving the boy a soft squeeze as he tried to take his shoes off with his own feet, not wanting to even let you go for just a second.

a cute smile on displayed on his plump lips, his arms hugging you back. he then gently pulled you, your feet dangling as he walked to your bed which wasn’t too far from the door. he plopped you down before pressing his lips against yours, basically caging you around him. “i missed you too, precious. you have no idea.”

you giggled against his lips, enjoying the feeling of his lips. “wait, wait. before i forget.” you pulled away from the kiss, though he stole a quick peck before moving to sit on the edge of your bed, helping you up.

“what is it?”

you slightly jogged to your fridge before taking out a tiramisu cake, your boyfriend’s favorite, which you had made earlier in the morning as you wanted to surprise him with it. surprisingly it turned out well, feeling a bit proud of yourself. baking was never really your thing, but you wanted to gave it a try instead of just buying it at a local bakery, to make it more special.

“ta dah!” you grinned as you placed it on the circle dining table, sunghoon, who had got up looking down at the cake, a surprised expression on his face, lips parted.

“woah. you made all this? i didn’t you could bake.”

“well, i don’t. but i wanted to try it out because i knew it’s your favorite. don’t have high expectations though! i know it’s probably not the best but it turned out okay.”

sunghoon felt his heart skip a beat, gulping at the sudden feeling, his eyes not leaving you. the way you smile while showing him the tiramisu made him feel as if he was floating. how can he not fall in love over and over again if that’s how you treat him? you make him feel so loved.

he loves you so much that he will do everything for you. if there were an alternative universe out there, he wishes that he’ll still be with you. if reincarnation is a real thing, which sunghoon still thinks about from time to time when he’s deep in his thoughts, he hopes that you’ll both find each other, one way or another.

“hoon?” he shook his head to snap himself out, seeing you look at him with such concern, causing his heart to melt.

god, he felt himself falling deeper and deeper for you.

“ah, yeah. let’s go try it.” he smiled tenderly before walking to one of your kitchen cabinets, knowing where everything was as your place was basically his second home.

grabbing plates and utensils for you both, he cut up one for you first, a habit that he formed after he began dating you, before placing a slice for himself. sunghoon quickly pulled one of the chairs for you to sit on, being the gentleman he is. it truly warms your heart whenever he does things like this, as it makes you feel so loved.

he sat down next to you, stabbing a piece into his fork before doing a "cheers" with you, trying the dessert. you watched him take a bite before you did, waiting for any reactions. his brows furrowed as he ate, and a low hum soon followed. "woah! this is really good! good job."

"you think so? i'm glad. i made a lot so you better finish it." you jokingly threatened your boyfriend before eating some more of the tiramisu, pleasantly surprised by your own creation. sunghoon's eyes remained on you as he ate, his eyes twinkling, gaze full of adoration.

he doesn’t realize how much he smiles when he’s around you. pretty sure he only smiles when he is around you. sure he’d smile to others as a kind gesture, but even that was a rare sight, though with you it was different. it was genuine.

he let out a low chuckle when he noticed a small cream from the cake on the corner if your lips, making you look up at him in confusion. “cute.” he mumbled and mindlessly wiped the cream off with his thumb, catching you off guard. your eyes looked up at him, cheeks heating up.

even after months (almost a year) of being in a relationship with him, he never fails to make you shy.

sunghoon licks it off his thumb before he leaned closer to you, lips hovering over yours. your heart felt loud in your ears.

“you have no idea how crazy you’re making me feel.” he whispered with a low and hushed tone. soon his lips pressed against yours, your hand dropping the fork down your plate before you placed it on his arm, kissing the boy back.

his lips felt so warm and gentle against yours. the sweet taste from your lips drove him even crazier, gently biting the bottom of your lips.

he finally pulled away, wanting to give you some time to breathe, though his forehead remained pressed against yours, his hand on your cheek. “what’s gotten into you?” you mumbled shyly, lips swollen and pink.

his eyebrow raised at your question, “what do you mean? can i not kiss my girlfriend?”

“not that… of course you can. just… i don’t know.” gosh, seeing you all shy made him feel some type of way.

“i just really love you. i’m so in love with you, precious.”

you didn’t think your cheeks could get even redder than it was, looking down bashfully.

“well, i want you to know that i really love you too hoon.” you smiled warmly, slowly looking up at him,

his fangs now on display as he grinned, “i’m glad. cause i am never letting you go.”

“sounds good to me.”

sunghoon doesn’t waste anymore time and pressed his lips back against yours, heart and mind filled with nothing else but you.

[jaylaxies]

ENHYPEN REACTION: to you being in the rival house at Hogwarts

PAIRING: enhypen hyung line x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, slytherin!hee with gryffindor!reader, slytherin!jay with hufflepuff!reader, ravenclaw!jake with gryffindor!reader, gryffindor!sunghoon with slytherin!reader

WC: 4.7k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, my loves <3 this was requested by my anonnie here and i loved writing about enha and hogwarts omg! all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

Slytherin!Heeseung x Gryffindor!reader

Trope: Headboy x Headgirl

Heeseung was beyond elated when he got his letter back at the manor, stating how he had become the head boy of Hogwarts. His family of pure bloods were even prouder, however, his cocky smirk dropped the second he met with the entirety of the prefectorial board at the Hogwarts express, prefect compartment to be precise.

Seeing you standing there with the batch stating ‘head girl’ was not something he wanted to see, not when you were someone who came from a non wizarding background, someone who was in Gryffindor.

How could they make you the head girl? How could they think he’d be willing to spend his time working with you of all people. His hatred for your likes was visible from day one, his taunts and threats didn’t bother you, and that’s exactly what bothered him. The urge to make your life living hell was his motto more or less, even more so this year.

“It’s absurd, man. Let her be now, it’s our last year here for Godric’s sake,” Jay huffed out, irritated that Heeseung couldn’t shut up about the new Gryffindor quidditch captain giving you too much attention despite your blood status.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, why do people like her anyway? What happened to keeping the muggles away from the likes of us?” He gritted his teeth, accidentally stabbing the piece of chicken too hard with his fork at dinner. The sight of you snuggling close to the said captain infuriated him more than he let on.

“Well, she’s not a muggle if she can do magic, and extraordinarily well at that,” Jay offered, having done with Heeseung being a dimwit and not realizing the truth behind his anger.

“Wow, thanks for the support, mate,” Heeseung rolled his eyes, looking back at you again.

He’d make sure to wipe that smile off of your face while taking rounds later—at least that’s what he promised himself. Taking rounds was probably the time he looked forward to the most, given that it was the perfect time to criticize and show hatred towards you.

However, the second you meet up at the staircase, telling him to divide areas since you do not wish to work with him anymore, he loses it. He completely loses it, scoffing and grabbing your wrist, pulling you into the room of requirement right behind you.

“What the fuck—” you tried to scream, but he was quick to cover your mouth with his hand.

“What? Can’t even look my way now that you have a quidditch captain chasing you around?” He scoffs, eyes full of hatred, the kind you had never seen before and it made you scoff.

“Well, newsflash, Lee. I never wanted to look your way from the very start. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s you who’s clearly obsessed with me,” you seethed out, not caring about the proximity despite your breathing getting heavier.

“Ah? Me obsessed with the likes of you? Don’t flatter yourself, darling,” he said, tone almost challenging, his hold on your wrist tight, just like the hand that was grabbing your waist now, making you gulp but not back down.

“So, it shouldn’t matter to you if I snog my quidditch captain, or more,” you whispered with a smug smile, feeling his hand squeezing your waist tighter.

“You cannot do that,” he warned.

“Oh but I did—”

You couldn’t finish your statement and nor could Heeseung control his actions anymore, pressing you up against the wall and shoving his tongue down your throat, kissing you in the messiest way he could muster to mush out all the sane thoughts coming his way.

This was the sanest he had felt in ages.

“You’re fucking mine,” he groaned against your lips.

“No, fuck I’m not,” you smirked, testing him further, loving how he had finally given in to the truth—that he wanted you.

The room of requirement was sly, preparing a bed as he pushed you on it, getting on top of you while getting rid of his robes, “oh, babe, I’ll show you who you belong to.”

“Took you way too long, Lee,” you chuckled, gasping the second he pushed your panties aside, feeling your wetness on his fingers with a smirk.

“Been waiting, eh?” He asked, cocky as he pushed two fingers in with ease, your back arching as you moaned.

“Talk about yourself,” you smirked, pulling him into another rough kiss, messy of all sorts as he sucked on your tongue, pumping his own cock by lubricating it with your wetness.

He wasted no time, in aligning himself to your entrance, pushing his cock in one go to bottom out, groaning at the tightness that squeezed him, thrusting almost instantly when he saw nothing but pleasure on your face with a promise to claim you his.

“Fuck, I knew you’d make a perfect whore, always so desperate for my attention,” he groaned, snapping his hips to yours, the noise resonating the room.

“You can’t even thrust properly, ah—” he sped up to shut your mouth, your toes curling as you held on to him for support, chanting his name like a mantra the whole time as he proved just how much and how well he can fuck you.

All night.

Slytherin!Jay x Hufflepuff!reader

Trope: Animagi Jay

It took him a lot of patience.

In fact, it took everyone in his friend group a lot of patience to keep their mouths shut for a whole month, a single mandrake leaf resting in their mouths. However, they wanted to do something iconic, which would be—turning into an animagus to cause trouble whilst being unregistered at that. The whole process was tedious.

Jay was losing his last bit of sanity, watching you smiling softly and being kind to others, which was a usual thing per se.

The only problem was how he couldn’t verbally bother you.

It was known to be his favourite pastime, inserting himself in your life and bothering you for existing.

Why? Because that’s what he should do, being a slytherin. He had a personality he needed to live up to, and he knew hell would break if anyone as much as gets a hint about Jay’s infatuation with you.

The solution? To make sure he says the meanest things so he wouldn’t have to see your smile. You don’t get why he’s mean to you. His hatred goes as far as it concerns you, and you’ve never seen him calling anyone else names but you.

So, seeing you being happy and not once thinking about him since he put the leaf in his mouth had his blood boiling, especially when you agreed to attend Slughorn’s party with a random ravenclaw boy. The same party he was gonna ask you to attend with him—or bully you into attending with him, but the smile on your face gets him mad.

He scoffed, ignoring the whole situation and focusing on the transformation process, completely missing the look of sadness on your face when he left without even acknowledging your presence, his mind deep in different thoughts.

Of course you’d be happy without him.

However, the success in becoming an animagi had him smiling. He was a big black cat—a royal panther, while his other friends turned into a bird and a dog.

He went out to explore the place in his animal form, getting out of Hogwarts castle to visit the black lake, not once thinking that he would find you here at night.

Your back looked peaceful as you stared at the lake, and he was silent as he made his way towards you, almost scaring you the second you saw a black panther settling down next to you, a gasp leaving your mouth as your eyes shined under the moonlight.

“Hi, I’ve never seen you around before,” you spoke up, fascinated, extending your hand to stroke his fur.

Jay didn’t expect this, and he knew he didn’t have to pretend in this form, making him purr with pleasure as you gently caressed him. He was a cat after all. The warmth of your kindness was driving him crazy, he so desperately wanted you to like him back, but he knew you wouldn’t.

It became a routine for him to sneak out to meet you at night in his animal form, and he adored how you shared all your secrets with an animal, talking to him, letting him rest his head on your lap and as far as kissing his head in adoration.

He was in love with you.

He loved how you welcomed him with a pretty smile, the same smile which he wipes off your face in his human form.

Everything was going smoothly, to the point Jay had even started staring at you between classes, not being as rude as he used to be before and you never hesitated on smiling back at him, ever so kind. He wanted to talk to you, face to face, and confess.

However, that plan went down the drain. The same Ravenclaw boy was seen standing close to you, a conjured flower in his hand which he presented to you with a wide smile while Jay watched it unfold with the nastiest scowl on his face.

So being petty, Jay practically shoved you out of the way, not looking back even after hearing a little “ouch” coming from your direction as you stumbled, ignoring when you called out his name, rather proceeding to the next class.

He didn’t see you there, and he tried not to act affected by your absence, assuming that you’d have gone with the other guy, relaxing when he saw you in potions class again, his eyes never leaving your face which looked distressed. Especially after you took a sniff of the amortentia, the love potion.

His heart lurched, wondering if you smelled the other guy. And in his case, he knew he was doomed the second he took a sniff and instantly smelled of your body lotion and your favourite delicacy. His eyes met yours that very second and he had to gulp, looking elsewhere to pretend that he was fine.

That night, with a heavy heart, he sat down next to you in his animagi form yet again, this time he found you at the astronomy tower, a bandage around your arm.

“Hey, love,” you welcomed the black panther, “it’s such a pretty night,” you sighed dreamily, petting the panther next to you.

“You mind if I talk?” You asked, chuckling when the panther nodded as if he understood what you meant, “I don’t understand boys. I really like this guy but he’s been mean to me to see. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That I smelled him in the love potion and he’s the reason why I stumbled and hurt my arm—I just can’t help it, I wish Jay would like me back but he doesn’t even look my way without wanting to look away or just comment about how I’m just a weak Hufflepuff girl,” you mumbled, not focusing on how the panther had stood up all of a sudden.

Jay’s heart thumped, he wasn’t sure if he heard it right, but it was too much, he couldn’t wait anymore.

He transformed back into his human form right there, your eyes widening as you opened your mouth to scream, which he put a hand over to muffle your voices.

“That—that was you!” You whisper-yelled, shoving him away.

“Did you mean it?” He asked, grabbing your wrist which made you lean against the wall, “that you like me?”

You could barely breathe, biting your lip as you nodded, “I know you hate me—”

“Oh, you know nothing, baby,” he chuckled, grabbing your nape and pulling you into a kiss, making your eyes widen before he pulled you even closer, making you kiss him back eventually, getting fervent with your actions.

“Fuck, I like you so much. It was you who I smelled, in the love potion, I mean. I’m sorry for being an asshole, I never knew how to handle feeling this way for you,” he apologized, cutting the kiss and leaning his forehead against yours.

Instead of replying, you pulled him into another kiss, letting his hands wander all over your body, his self control leaving his body. He knew he had you now, and he knew he wouldn’t be letting go, especially after the little whimpers leaving your mouth the second he started kissing your neck after leaving your lips all swollen.

You were too sensitive, too forgiving.

Rubbing your thighs together didn’t help either, but the second he squeezed your bare thigh, you knew you were gone. It was the ideal place for you both to be doing this, but stopping wasn’t an option, not when he was so passionately marking you just after you told him you rejected the other boy.

Spreading your legs was easy, asking you to be a good girl and keep your voices at bay was even easier for Jay, and you obliged, your eyes rolling back as he lapped at your cunt, licking big stripes while fucking your cunt with his fingers, trying to be gentle but you were too pent up to ask him to go slower, only urging him to move faster.

That’s how you spent your night, he took you to his chamber, kicking everyone out shamelessly to fuck you into the mattress, his cock not having enough of you and your pussy clenching him, trying to hold him in for as long as you could before you both reached your high.

He knew he fucked up before but now that he actually had you in his arms, he knew he was going to cherish you forever.

Ravenclaw!Jake x Gryffindor!reader

Trope: Yule ball, fake dating

Jake was loved by everyone and he basked in the warmth of it. Being good in academics came naturally to him, he was a Ravenclaw after all. Adding to it, he was selected to represent Hogwarts at the triwizard championship, his fame and name more glorious than ever these days.

The problem? He had everyone’s attention but the girl who he claimed to have a tiny crush on.

He wanted to ask her to be his date for the Yule ball, however, the chances were slim as another Gryffindor boy named Heeseung, asked her right before Jake could even call out her name.

Jake wasn’t the only one suffering. You stood there beside him, watching the scene unfold with the same wrath in your eyes.

You wanted to go to the ball with Heeseung.

“Tough luck?” Jake asked, not sparing you a glance as you both watched him from a distance as they hugged gleefully.

“Talk about yourself, champ,” you crossed your arms, “she didn’t even think twice before saying yes,” you commented, jaw clenching, “she’s gonna get her heart broken, he’s gonna turn her into a situationship too.”

“What? We have to warn her,” Jake spoke, eyes widening.

“Oh, I tried, but she actually really likes Heeseung,” you huffed, “and here I thought I meant something to him.”

“Go with me,” Jake breathed out, finally looking your way, taking your beauty in.

“What?” You exclaimed, turning your head to look his way too.

He was beautiful, there’s no denying him. His hair was a bit on the messier side, lips pink and swollen from biting (he was nervous), and eyes full of hope.

“To make Heeseung jealous, of course!” He defended his statement and your eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh,” you let out, “so we’re doing all this fake dating thing, now?” You teased him, loving how his cheeks got redder but he only stepped closer, shrugging.

“We’ll have fun, you’ll get to be with the triwizard champion, it’s a win-win for you,” he offered, smirking and you smiled humorously.

“Sure,” you agreed, not paying attention to Heeseung who witnessed this interaction of yours.

It was easy to keep up with him, the rumours of you two being together spread like wildfire, especially with the Yule ball coming up, which only favoured you, granted that Heeseung had tried to approach you several times but Jake hadn’t left your side at all.

In fact, you were scared how easy it was to be in his company, “she wanted me to teach her how to ride the broom,” Jake had told you once, and he was one heck of a flyer, despite him not being in the team.

Naturally, you offered him to teach you that instead, watching how his eyes lit up and he nodded. Something about Jake was endearing to you—like how he helped you ride the broom with him sitting behind you. It felt real, too romantic the way he held on to you, smiling as he pointed out the various spots you could see from the height.

And you knew he felt it too, his heart pumping out of his chest as you rested your back against him.

It felt too real to him when you got him a tie that matched the colour of your dress, asking him to match with you, and he realized he had stopped thinking about the other girl completely as he helped you around with studies and you helped him feel alive.

Somewhere along the lines, you had forgotten that it was all fake, simply because it felt real to the both of you. The hand holding, the snuggling closer, the soft smiles on your faces, none of it was fake.

It didn’t hit you till you were on your way to meet Jake, only to find the other girl already talking to him in a corner, your jaw clenched at the sight of them talking about something you couldn’t make out from this distance. Your mind wasn’t sane as you stepped back and rushed to your own room, wondering if they had gotten together.

You knew it could very well be a misunderstanding, yet you didn’t do anything about it, especially when Jake didn’t come to meet you at all today.

You were slightly heartbroken as you woke up the next day, everyone seemed happy to the point they couldn’t stop talking about the Yule ball tonight, doing their hair and skincare already and you tried to join them, knowing that you can’t run away from it no matter what the situation would be.

Now, clad in your gown, you most certainly did feel better, looking in the mirror to find the prettiest version of yourself, you felt beautiful as you walked down the stairs, smiling gently when you found Jake waiting for you by the stairs.

His breathing hitched the second he saw you, eyes twinkling as he took you in, heart beating faster when you stood in front of him. It was magical how he took your hand, kissing your knuckles gently, “you look beautiful,” he whispered, your face heating up at the compliment.

So, you postponed asking him about the other girl, focusing solely on him as you were called for the first dance with Jake—the Hogwarts champion. He treated you well, he looked like the prettiest man alive, pulling you closer and dancing with you like he meant it when the rock band came out, but after a while, you stopped, pulling him out when he got you drinks to talk by some secluded area—a classroom nearby.

“I saw you guys talking,” you told him, admitting how you would be okay if he leaves you now and he how doesn’t need to put up this act anymore, making his heart lurch, “fuck—no! I asked her to stay away because,” he gulped as he met your eyes, “because I like you, not her.”

Everything felt rushed after, his lips on yours, your fingers in his hair, bodies pressed against one another as he messed up your lipstick, “I like you so much,” he kept mumbling between the kisses, lips trailing down to mark your neck.

He knew what he had to do—kiss every inch of you till you understood the depth of his words. He wants you so genuinely it makes your heart beat faster, his eyes full of earnestness as he comes up to kiss you again, but more than that, he wants to taste you, give you the pleasure you deserve.

Getting down on his knees was easy for him, getting under your gown even easier. You breathed in deeply when you felt him burying his nose in your pussy, pushing your panties aside to lick a stripe of your cunt, leaving a small kiss on your clit right after.

His movements were slow and calm, his hold on your thighs tight as he devoured you, seeming as if he’d be hungry for ages. You could have sworn you never felt this way before, gripping the table you were leaning against tightly, you tried your best not to fall down with how your knees were getting weaker by the second as his tongue was pushing around much faster than before.

“Jake—” you gasped, seeing stars as you finally came undone, your whole body felt as if it was on fire but Jake was just getting started with you.

Getting out, he looked more disheveled than ever, taking your hand and making you feel his hardened cock, “see what you do to me, baby,” he whispered, pulling you into another kiss, unzipping your dress as you cried about how much you need him.

Soon, your dress was on the ground and his body was connected with yours in a slow rhythm, full of lazy kisses and smiles, your face hidden in his neck as you bit him to conceal your moans when he hit that one spot which had your whole body weak.

You looked so beautiful, it made him lose his control, the sight itself had him twitching with the need to fill you up.

When you kissed him again, he finally let go, loving each second of it, knowing that you were truly his now.

Gryffindor!Sunghoon x Slytherin!reader

Trope: quidditch players, enemies to fwb

“Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!”

“Slytherin! Slytherin! Slytherin!”

The chants were loud, the crowd going wild at the sight of you and Sunghoon circling around each other before the game—something you always did as a challenge. It most certainly didn’t help that you were on par with each other, both chasers for your respective houses.

Watching you guys bicker was something everyone enjoyed, especially when it was about your houses and their reputations.

“You better watch out, Park,” you smirked, taking your position, “Slytherin is taking the win today,” you sang, watching his smirk grow.

“In your dreams, darling,” he whispered, winking at your right as the whistle blew.

The chants were loud and so was your motivation as you grabbed the Quaffle, successfully throwing it in one of the hoops as the crowd cheered. Watching Sunghoon scowl was a sweet treat, especially when you winked at him, passing by with the quaffle again.

The game continued for a while, your house leading by thirty points, much to Sunghoon’s dismay. You were having more fun teasing him rather than playing the actual game.

However, the second the snitch was caught by your seeker, Sunghoon got hit by a bludger, falling off his broom. You should have been celebrating his downfall (pun intended) yet you couldn’t help but worry, eyeing his figure while your team celebrated their win.

It was out of character for you to visit him in the hospital wing, but you did it, showing up with the pudding he liked—and you had no clue why you knew it. He was surprised to see it, looking away with a scoff, “why are you here, huh? To boast about your win?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, “I came here to see if you were doing well but seeing as you can still work that mouth of yours, I’ll just assume it’s alright,” you huffed, leaving the pudding behind. Sunghoon gulped, watching you leave the hospital wing with a huff before eyeing the pudding and eating it, a sudden warmth spreading in his chest.

The bickering worsened since that day, because you had to overcome the fact that you showed care to him, your friends telling you to fuck the sexual tension out—which you won’t do even in your wildest dreams.

Sunghoon was just as furious cause he couldn’t stop thinking about you showing up at the hospital wing just to visit him, his taunts and that smirk annoying you more than ever now, you just wanted to punch him, or shut him up. It didn’t help that he looked awfully attractive with that smirk of his.

Fighting even during the dinner time was getting on everyone’s nerves, to the point you had to go to detention for pulling pranks on each other.

To diffuse this tension, he met you before the next quidditch match you had against him, “oh, ready to have your ass beat, Park?” You asked him with a mock smile.

“We’ll see who gets their ass beat, darling,” he spoke, invading your personal space by whispering in your ear, “let’s make a bet, if I win then I get to fuck you tonight.”

“What the fuck, Park?” You asked, eyes widened.

“You want it too, baby.” He says, a lazy smirk playing on his face, “besides, I won’t bother you ever again if I lose. So, do we have a deal?”

The deal was too tempting, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the fact that you’ll, (1) either be ignored by him or (2) have sex with him.

You grabbed his hand, shaking it with no aim whatsoever, you felt too lost but also determined to put up a good game.

However your mind was busy imagining his lips on yours, the smirk still present on his face, and that’s how you barely put the Quaffle in through the hoops while Sunghoon played with more energy than ever, awfully determined to win the match—win you.

The verdict? He won.

And as lost as you felt, you weren’t sad about it, in fact you were staring at Hoon who was celebrating, his eyes still on yours with that stupid smirk on his face which clearly said: you’re mine for the night.

Being in his room was crazy, the fact that he had successfully pushed out all his roomies was even crazier.

“Not fighting back anymore, kitten?” He raised his brows, his features looking sharper up close now that he had you under him, his weight on you barely giving you any space to move, his scent only driving you crazier.

“You’re the one who gave up, Park,” you finally whispered, pulling him closer by the collar with your usual expression full of mock, your finger tracing his jawline, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, “you proposed the idea of fucking me—been thinking about me then?”

His fingers traced the curve of your neck, trailing down till he settled on grabbing your waist, “what if I have? What if I wanna see you shut the fuck up when I make you cry on my cock?”

“I’d like to see you try,” you chuckled, pushing your knee up to caress against his crotch, making him hiss.

It didn’t take him any longer to practically rip off your robes, attaching his mouth to your nipples, flicking them with his tongue as he cupped your cunt as a warning to shut your mouth, but you couldn’t let him win, opening your mouth to mock him again, only to have his tongue shoved down your throat, his fingers kneading your flesh, rubbing your wetness with all his strength to have you whimpering under him.

“I hate you so much, Park,” you mumbled, breathless.

“Feeling’s mutual, kitten,” he groaned right beside your ear, finger fucking you now as his thumb worked your clit roughly, yet giving you the kind of pleasure you never thought you’d receive.

You feel hot as the guy you hate makes you moan uncontrollably, stopping right before you were about to reach your high with his same stupidly attractive smirk when you whined out of desperation.

“What’s the hurry, kitten? We’ve got all night.”

© jaylaxies | tumblr

[hotchfiles]

↪ QUIS UT DEUS? ─ chapter one.

AN IN NOMINE PATRIS, ET FILII, ET SPIRITUS SANCTI INSTALLMENT

pairing: hotch x fem!consultant!reader. summary: murders committed using catholic symbology gets emily to convince hotch it's time to ask for an expert. luckily for you, you're the expert. content warnings: canon typical violence. religious themes. spoilers to season 4. mature themes. word count: 1.5K

    In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…

    “Amen.” If you weren’t paying attention and side eyeing him at that exact moment, you might’ve lost the way his lips moved following the ritual, no word actually leaving his mouth. 

    The black haired man didn’t look too comfortable, but didn’t look out of place either, he knew the cues, he spoke the words on automatic it seemed. It amused you to observe people’s behavior on holy grounds, that was part of the reason you asked to meet in silver spring.

    “Catholic, Mr. Hotchner?” Your question is met with a low scoff, the type only those with a bad bad history with the church gave you. “That much, huh?”

    “My parents were.” The answer is simple and you think it might stop at that, but he shakes his head and scoffs again. “I was an altar boy for years before I left for boarding school.” You nod. 

    “Ah. I've met some of you in my research.” Some of you. Church babies, altar boys. Spoon fed the bible from birth while watching everyone around sin. Sin becoming a term to reflect on what they hated. 

    “And you? Catholic?” 

    “Oh no. Never been.” You don’t explain much, aware Emily probably told him of your time in Rome, where the two of you met. “Your UnSub is though. Either devoted to Saint Michael or knows enough about his roles to look like one.” You note, being reminded of the pictures Emily sent you, big stab wounds, a small scale tipped to one side, the words Hebrews 9:22 written in blood. 

    Hotchner doesn’t reply, making a mental reminder of the new information, he looks around the place as you both leave the church and it hits him, Silver Spring’s St. Michael the Archangel parish, the church you chose as a meeting place. 

    He wouldn’t usually accept consultation for cases, especially from outsiders. And to be fair, the BAU doesn’t usually need any, Reid alone has more knowledge than anyone Hotch has ever met, and despite the humbleness he tends to show, Hotch himself can take care of the general book knowledge if Reid doesn’t step up to it. But he trusted Emily, and Emily spoke more highly of you than of anyone. Honestly, he was also trying to make amends after not having her back during the Matthew case they had not long before. 

    “She's in town giving lectures, it’s an asset we have easy access to, so why not use it?” Were her final and most convincing words before Hotch nodded in agreement, watching Emily make the call that led to the meeting. 

    He thinks now, as he’s driving both of you to Quantico, that maybe Emily should’ve been the one here, his attempts to strike conversation falling flat as you don’t even remember the last time you had to make small talk with someone, it felt awkward all of a sudden, as if you were on a date. 

    “I'm so sorry, I'm not too good with… People.” You blurt out after a long minute of silence, your neck suddenly warm from embarrassment. 

    Hotch side eyes you, brows lifted in confusion. You seemed much less confident in the car now than what you showed him of you minutes before back at the church. He figures you felt confident talking about your area of expertise and that he could relate to easily. “Did you notice anything else by the pictures Emily sent you?” 

    The switch of topic makes you sigh loudly in relief and you mentally thank him for brushing your silliness off. “He’s using different pieces of catholic dogma and putting it together, but most of the symbology eludes to Michael, the stabbing looks like a sword, the tipped scale indicates judgment, the verse he chose doesn’t cite Michael but talks about sins being forgiven by the shedding of blood… He’s the judge and executioner of his victims.” You try not to sound excited as you ramble on, it’s a terrible thing to witness, the pictures were grotesque and would’ve made you sick on a normal day, but the cherry picking of symbols the murderer seemed to make fascinated you. 

    “So you believe it’s a man?” 

    “Oh! I–I don’t know? I just assumed… Is that misogynistic?” You mumble the last part more to yourself, but it’s loud enough to make him chuckle and you look at him quickly to make sure it’s not mean spirited. 

    It’s definitely not. But it is amusing from a profiler perspective, he’s so used to defining serials’ genders by their crimes he hasn’t thought about misogyny being a factor to those assumptions in a long time. 

    “Brutality suggests male. But posing looks remorseful, theatrical…” His grip on the wheel tightens, two victims by now, feet crossed, arms wide open. 

    “If there were more allusions to the crucifixion, yeah, but I–” You take your phone out to look at the pictures once more, an attempt to seem less abstract in what you’re about to say. “No crown, no nails, this isn’t about Christ, it’s about punishment–I mean, I think.” You’re not usually self conscious about your knowledge but inferring characteristics and desires to someone by looking at a crime scene was not your specialty. 

    “To further point they were judged and executed…” Hotch nods, understanding where your line of thought is going and completing it immediately, not leaving you much time to doubt yourself. 

    “A very shameful execution.” 

    You both spend the short ride from Silver Springs to Quantico going over the symbology present, you tried to help here and there with the associations of what you saw to who could’ve done it, even though that was not what you were called in for. Strangely enough—for him at least, Hotch didn’t seem to mind your guesses, they were educated ones.

    And it was interesting to hear someone speak with such passion about religious aspects without any of the fundamentalism. It was definitely something he wasn’t used to.

    “Mi amore!” Are the first words you hear as you enter the famous bullpen from Emily’s texts, her arms surrounding you in a tight warm hug you haven’t felt in years—it hits you then how long has it been. You weren’t able to come and mourn Matthew with her, his parents weren’t fond of you either (Lord almighty, you didn’t even go to church with them!) and you were busy with your lectures.

    “Hey troublemaker, how’s it going?” Your question is muffled in the hug, your hands clasping together behind her back.

    The reunion doesn’t last long, curious eyes set on you two and a rather impatient Hotch leading the way to what you learned was the conference room.

    The briefing room. The round table. Emily told you about it when she first got into the BAU.

    You end up sitting between Emily and who you would bet was Spencer—there’s this sweet kid working with us, he’s super smart, annoyingly smart, but so sweet, he reminds of Matty when we were teens—the lanky boy was the only one with what seemed like naivety enough in his eyes to be the one Emily mentioned back then. 

    Aaron sat in front of you almost, serious, stern, very different from the few chuckles you got from him in the car. This was unit chief Hotchner, the subtle difference was fascinating.

    “Alright, as we know, DC is in trouble, second murder in three weeks.” blonde and gorgeous, you believed that was JJ, there had been no time for introductions, all you could do was try to remember the e-mails and few phone calls you shared with Emily the past years. “Richard Beckett, married, no kids, 27. He works for his father's car dealership.” 

    Pictures show up on the screen, showing the man when he was alive. It’s a punch to your gut, just minutes before you were fascinated by the way this real person was murdered. You’re glad you had a light breakfast by the way your stomach turns.

    “Monica Dawson, divorced, no kids, 53. She’s a counselor at a local school.” The woman continues speaking, with more pictures on the screen. And then pictures of their deaths, side by side. The fascination is completely extinguished then. “Both were stabbed countless times with a large blade. Left in abandoned warehouses posed in a cross position, a tipped scale on their side. Both naked. Both were heavily drugged.”

    “They didn’t have kids, is that a coincidence?” You hear Emily speak up and suddenly you can see all their brains working.

    “Could that be the linking between them? The victimology is all over the place.” Derek. Oh. You’ve heard of Derek. You’ve seen pictures of Derek. He needs no introduction. 

    “Reid, Morgan, go talk to the first victim’s widow. Rossi, JJ, Ms. Dawson’s ex-husband can give us insight on her life. Emily and us—” He gives you a look and you understand he means you, nodding in reply. “Will head to the DC police precinct.” The way Hotch gives orders is effortless, not only his job but his vocation. 

    Everyone listens and agrees quickly, moving and leaving the table, even Emily is fast on her feet, even though she won’t leave without you and him. You stay still, stiff, eyes glued to the screen.

    “Are you alright?” His voice is soft, laced with worry, genuine worry. You didn’t even notice he had stayed behind, but you nod again at Hotch, a question burning at the tip of your tongue.

    “Do you still believe in God, Mr. Hotchner?”

[deliciousangelfestival]

The Imperfect Couple - 14

Character: politician!Bucky x ex-wife!reader

Summary: A separated couple must pretend to be happily married while the husband runs for Vice President, dealing with old issues and political pressures during his election campaign.

Warning: The couple's arguments could be triggering.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

"Darling, I appreciate your faith in me," Bucky said, his voice low as he stepped closer, eyes searching yours. "But…I still want to live."

You didn’t flinch. "I’m serious."

He paused, letting the weight of your words settle. "Just because I told you about Steve doesn’t mean I’m going to stab him in the back."

His gaze dropped for a moment, conflicted. Steve was more than just a mentor—he was the older brother Bucky had always wanted, someone he had looked up to for years. Shawn was never that. Steve had been there when he needed guidance, someone to show him the ropes. But now… now everything felt twisted.

"I didn’t know before this election," Bucky continued, his jaw clenched. "I’ve learned things that should’ve been obvious to me. And now, you probably see me as a coward for turning a blind eye all this time."

He swallowed hard. "But that doesn’t mean I’m going to stay silent forever."

Your brow furrowed as the room fell into silence. Bucky reached out, his hand settling firmly on your shoulder, his touch both grounding and electrifying. "There’s a time for everything. Please, believe in me."

His voice held a plea you hadn’t heard before, and suddenly, you remembered what the priest once said: Timing. It all felt too coincidental. You could see the puzzle coming together in your mind, but the picture was far from complete.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, realization hitting you like a wave. “He picked you because he knew you wouldn’t say no to him. You’d follow his lead without question.”

Bucky’s face hardened, but there was something unreadable in his eyes, a mix of frustration and guilt. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unsure of how to respond.

“And our divorce?” you added, the words sharper than intended. “It was all part of the plan. To tarnish your image, while he hides his own cracks."

Bucky took a step closer, the tension between you two thick enough to cut. His voice was steady but soft. "For now, please stay quiet about what you’ve found. This could ruin both of us. Or do you want Edgar and Brock to win instead?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. "This is so fucked up. There’s only two candidates."

Bucky's lips quirked into a wry smile. "Hey… we’re not that bad."

"Don’t campaign in front of me," you said, narrowing your eyes, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. The tension between you was undeniable, the heat rising in the small space as you tried to keep things civil.

He chuckled softly, the sound low and teasing, but he didn’t push any further. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, as if he was fighting some inner battle to keep his distance. Then, with a heavy sigh, he turned away, letting the moment pass.

That night, sleep was impossible. Nate slept peacefully beside you, his small body curled into yours for warmth. But your mind raced, replaying every conversation, every hidden piece of the puzzle that had yet to be uncovered. You needed help, someone with answers. But who?

Then, it hit you. The perfect person. Someone who could get you the information you needed, though asking them for help would open old wounds.

He’s going to hate me for this, you thought, your chest tightening at the idea.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Ian stood near the check-in counter at the airport, casually scrolling through his phone as he waited in line. Just as he was about to move forward, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen—Greg.

"Follow me," Greg's voice said on the other end, no further explanation given.

Ian's brow furrowed slightly, but he complied, stepping out of the line and trailing Greg down a series of quiet corridors. They finally reached a private room, and Ian’s eyes immediately found you sitting there, alone.

He glanced around the room as if expecting someone else. "I’m by myself," you assured him, noticing his brief scan of the area.

Ian folded his arms, his tone cool as he tilted his head slightly. "What honor do I get to have this meeting?"

You met his gaze, trying to keep steady, though the weight of the situation made your heart race. "I know you hate me," you said softly, not beating around the bush.

"More like at your soon-to-be husband," Ian shot back, his gaze flickering with barely concealed disdain.

You straightened in your seat, squaring your shoulders. "Whatever the Barnes family has done, I won’t defend them," you said, a quiet resolve in your voice.

Ian narrowed his eyes, reading the tension in your body. "You must be desperate to come to me."

A small, nervous laugh escaped your lips as you looked down at your hands, fingers fidgeting slightly. "I am."

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, the lines of old memories creeping in. This felt too much like the past when you both used to dig into dangerous territory. "Just tell me what this is about. I’ve got a flight to catch."

You took a steadying breath, locking eyes with him. "Do you remember the article I wrote? Deals in the Dark: Inside the Global Conspiracy Threatening Economic Stability?"

He nodded, curiosity flickering behind his otherwise guarded expression.

"I think I’ve found someone involved in that conspiracy." Your voice was low, every word heavy with the truth you'd been holding back.

Ian’s face hardened, eyes searching yours. "Who?" he asked, his tone more serious now.

You hesitated for just a second. "It’s Steve."

Ian's eyes widened, and for a moment, the tension between you both disappeared. "Whoa…"

You nodded grimly. "We need to watch out for him. I’m starting to see how deep his connections run. There are scandals tied to him—things you wouldn't expect."

Ian crossed his arms, his expression growing more serious. "Is this about his sons?"

You flinched slightly, your heart skipping a beat. He couldn’t know about Nate. You prayed he didn’t. "What do you mean?" you asked, keeping your voice steady.

"My friend was writing a piece on Steve’s twin sons. They’re apparently bullies at their school, leaders of a gang. But before the article could go to print, the entire office lost power. Threats were made, just like when we published Deals in the Dark."

Your stomach tightened. It made sense now why you always felt uneasy around Steve's sons. You wanted to feel shocked, but it only confirmed what you’d been sensing all along.

Ian smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "This is getting interesting. I’ll dig deeper, see what I can find."

He turned to leave, but you stood, calling after him, "Ian."

He paused, looking over his shoulder.

"Be careful," you said, your voice soft, almost pleading.

Ian gave a small, crooked smile and nodded. He took a last look at you, he felt that, this might be the last time he'd see you.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Back at Bucky’s apartment, Nate sat on the couch, holding his phone up for a FaceTime call. Hazel's face appeared on the screen, still in Paris, her voice warm and comforting despite the distance.

“I miss you, Mommy,” Nate said softly, his eyes wide with longing.

“I miss you too, baby,” Hazel replied with a tender smile, her expression softening as she spoke to her son.

After a moment, Hazel’s tone shifted. “Baby, can you give the phone to your uncle for a sec?”

Nate nodded, handing the phone to Bucky. “Here.”

Bucky took the phone, glancing briefly at Nate before turning his focus to Hazel. “When are you coming back?” he asked, a bit more urgency in his voice than he intended.

“Not until the election is over,” Hazel replied matter-of-factly.

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “Seriously?”

“It’s for the best,” Hazel added with a sigh, her gaze flickering briefly before she continued, “Please watch over him while I’m gone.”

Before Bucky could respond, the FaceTime call ended, the screen going dark. He stared at the blank phone for a moment, lost in thought.

He knew Hazel had her reasons for staying away, but it still didn’t sit right with him. Nate needed his mom, and even though he was doing his best, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that things were spiraling beyond his control. Watching over Nate wasn’t the issue—it was everything else that came with it.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Across town, Steve Rogers stood in a dimly lit room, facing a massive window that stretched from floor to ceiling. The city lights glowed faintly outside, reflecting off the glass as he stared into the distance, his hands resting in his pockets. His phone buzzed on the nearby table. He glanced at it, seeing the text message he’d ignored for hours: When are you coming back?

Unread. No reply.

Steve’s jaw clenched as he turned back to the window, his mind running over the countless decisions he had made in the last few months. The weight of the campaign, his connections, and now…this.

Knock, knock.

A sharp sound broke through the silence. His eyes flickered towards the door. “Come in,” he said, his voice low.

The door opened, and Natasha stepped inside, her expression as serious as always. “We’ve got another notification,” she said, her eyes locking with his as she handed him a folder.

Steve sighed, feeling the tension crawl up his spine. “What is it this time?”

“It’s about the twins,” Natasha explained, her tone clipped and efficient. “We tracked the IP address involved.” She handed him the information.

Steve took the folder, scanning the contents briefly before a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I should’ve known,” he muttered with a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

Without another word, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number. As he waited for the line to connect, he leaned against the window, the cold glass pressing against his back. When the call picked up, his voice was calm but determined.

“Can we meet?”

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky arrived at the golf course as soon as he received Steve’s call. The air was crisp, and the sun was barely cutting through the clouds, casting a muted light over the manicured greens. As Bucky approached, Steve was already mid-swing, the soft thwack of the golf club meeting the ball echoed in the quiet morning.

Steve didn’t turn around, eyes following the ball as it soared across the field. “Bucky, you know why I want to be President, right?” His tone was calm, but there was an underlying sharpness to it.

“Yes,” Bucky replied, his expression unreadable as he stood a few feet away, watching Steve with his hands in his pockets.

“We’re this close to winning,” Steve said, setting up for another swing, his movements precise, controlled. He took the shot, the ball cutting clean through the air. “One mistake could ruin us. Our rivals will use any kind of ammo to tear down our image.” His voice lowered with emphasis, a hint of menace lingering in his words.

Bucky stayed silent, but his mind was working. He knew Steve had meticulously planned every step, had considered every angle. Steve’s obsession with maintaining a perfect image wasn’t new. He had a way of knowing when someone so much as whispered behind his back.

Even the online comments rarely escaped his notice. Bucky suspected Stark Technology had something to do with that. Howard Stark, Steve’s long-time friend and the campaign’s biggest sponsor, had deep resources. It wasn’t hard to believe that some of those resources were being used to monitor any potential threats.

Just as Bucky was deep in thought, his phone buzzed. It was a message from Natasha. He opened it, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the contents. His hand clenched around the paper as he saw the name: Ian.

Steve took another swing, his voice calm but laced with tension. “This lackey of Edgar and Brock is persistent.”

Bucky folded the paper and stuffed it into his jacket pocket, his jaw tightening. “I’ve made sure to shut him down.”

Steve sighed, shaking his head as he lowered his club. “But you’re still too soft.” He walked towards Bucky, each step deliberate, his gaze unflinching. Reaching him, Steve lifted the golf club he’d been holding, pointing it at Bucky with a steady hand.

“I’ve cheated death a couple of times to get here,” Steve said quietly, the weight of his words settling between them. His eyes were cold, calculating. “I’ve sacrificed so much. I won’t let anything stop me.”

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[sexilene]

lene we need some 80s slasher JB!!!

ohh shure! he gives creepy summer camp counselor vibes - 80s!slasher!john b

₊ ⊹ warnings! 18+ - p in v, non con, blood, violence, death, threats, slapping, spitting, obsessed!john b - ₊˚⊹

you'd gotten the most perfect job for the summer as a camp counselor at a sleep-away summer camp. after meeting everyone at the orientation you've become close to another counselor who will be working with you, john b. 

he was in charge of the boy's cabin and you the girls, and your groups would meet up for activities, bonfires, smores, and lunch. he'd honestly grown really attached to you since you were always doing things together, whenever he'd see you chatting with another guy he'd feel possessive and you weren't even dating! yet john b would also embarrassingly get hard watching you slide down your shorts, staring at how tight your bikini bottoms fit around your ass. he'd spend that night in his cabin jerking off, picturing your pretty body bouncing on top of him, wishing he could grab fistfuls of your ass. he'd finish in his fist all sweaty and out of breath. 

you sat at your group's table in the mess hall facing john b's table, both of you making eye contact every few seconds. 

when the dessert was ready, each table was called to go pick up their plate of cherry pie with vanilla ice cream. john b's eyes followed your figure as you walked up to the counter, waiting until all the little girls got their slices. one of the guys that was working inside the kitchen, clearly flirting with you, asks if you want some. you decline with a smile but the young man insists, saying he made it himself, he lifts up the fork with a piece of the warm pie and dripping ice cream to your lips. you indulge him by opening your mouth and closing it around the fork, swallowing the desert you widen your eyes and nod. "it's really good!" you smile, the guy's hand reaching out to swipe the little bit of ice cream that stayed on the edge of your lip. 

watching this, john b was furious, letting that fucking feed you, touch your lips....

that night, the little girls knock on your cabin door, right next to theirs. they complain that they heard someone scream coming from the mess hall and are too scared to sleep. you tell them it's probably nothing and to go back to sleep, that you'll check it out.

the girls do as they're told and you walk over to the mess hall and walk inside the dark space to see what could have been the noise, hearing some sort of noise coming from inside the kitchen you figure it could be an animal that got inside, you press your ear to the swinging door honestly too scared to actually look inside. 

the door then swings open, causing you to stumble back and meet eyes with john b, with blood on his shirt, hands, and on the knife in his hands. you stand there confused...'did he cut himself?' you think, then you see it, through the open door is the pie guy dead on the floor with his blood pooling around his body. john b's hand is quick to cover your mouth before you can scream, "shshsh, you don't need to do that bub, you're fine." he whispers, maintaining eye contact with you. 

you nod your head slowly, chest heaving. 

"i'm gonna let go now okay? need you to be quite f'me, can you do that?" he raises his eyebrows and you nod again, he takes his hand off our mouth. "m'gonna need to take your clothes off...got blood on them..." he tells you rather than asks you, he raises the knife and cuts your top up the middle. 

"john b? what's going on..." you whisper, clearly scared. 

"i can't wait anymore, you drive me crazy, i need to do this." he rambles while tugging off your shorts rather roughly. 

"john b did you stab the kitchen b-" he cuts you off with a rough kiss to keep you quiet. he manhandles you over one of the tables and lifts you on top, facing him. 

you whine as he brings the knife up to your face. 

"don't scream, don't want to whole camp to hear you, n'i don't want to hurt you pup"

you nod, tears spilling down your cheeks as he cuts your panties to get access to your hot messy pussy. 

"awww she's so pretty..." he coos, his big rough fingers slowly rubbing your clit, making you mewl. 

"jombee...i don't wanna...you killed someone!" you shake your head, almost hyperventilating crying. 

"hey, nuh uh, stop that." he pats your face to get you to listen to him. you watch as he pulls off his bloody shirt and unzips his shorts and pulls himself out, your eyes widening at the size. "he's not the only one i killed." he looks back into your eyes and you swear your heartbeat sped up and so did the pulsing of your cunt. 

"you're a murderer johnbee," you whisper but then gasp when you feel him start to push in, stretching your pussy. 

"i know, m'really mean, huh puppy?" he pouts mockingly and pinches one of your nipples making you squeal. 

"don't like being mean to you, but when you walk around acting like an angel, when i know you're a little tease...kinda have'ta put you in your place," he grunts, pounding into hard now, you can see the little bulge in your tummy. 

"i wasn't! i didn't mean to be! i didn't do anything!" you sob, one hand grabbing onto the table and the other hand gripping his bicep. blood sorta covering both of you from where he had touched you, he grabs your face with his hand and forces you to look at him. 

"wish you could be my good girl right now n'just take. it." he thrusts harder with his last two words. you wish you could scream at how scared you are of him but also at how good it feels. 

"open." he grunts, squeezing your jaw a little. you shake your head no as best you can, causing him to let go of your jaw and slap you, making your drooly cunt clench around him. "m'not asking again." he grabs your jaw again, and you open your mouth, and he spits into it making you whine in disgust. "swallow." you do as your told and swallow tears continuing to fall. 

"that's how a dumb little doggy gets treated, they get spit on." he grins and pulls out of you, manhandles you off the table, and bends you over, tits and face pressed against the wood. 

"nooo...no.." you drool onto the table. 

he bends down a bit to be right in front of your ass and spits on your other tight little hole, watching as his spit drips down to your pussy. you squeeze your eyes shut at the feeling and sob a little louder. 

he stands up straight again and reaches around to pat your sloppy little cunt now covered in his spit, and slides his cock back in. 

"s-so gross..." you mewl, making him laugh quietly, bringing the back of his bloody hand up to your face. 

"cum around me or i'll smear this on your face, you want that? hmm? some guy's blood on your face?" he threatens. "c'mon..." he bends down to press icky wet kisses to your cheek that instantly make you cum on on him, pulsing and squeezing him as your mind goes dumb. his big hand covering your mouth as you moan.

"there she is, good girl...yeaaah" he praises, thrusting into you more sloppily until he's pumping you full, flooding your poor little pussy. 

after a few seconds, he pulls out and uses his tip to smear yours and his cum around your pussy lips. 

"here." he hands you his bloody shirt for you to put on knowing it'll cover you enough to get back to your cabin decent, you pull his shirt over your head and make sure it covers your ass.

"we'll talk more tomorrow, okay sweetie? gotta go...clean that up." he tilts his head toward the body. "goodnight kiss?" he bits his lip, squinting his eyes, taunting you. you stand there lifting your head, he leans down to give you one last kiss on your lips, a string of saliva connecting your lips when he pulls away.  ᥫ᭡

[rallamajoop]

That time Heisenberg stabbed Ethan with a rusty fencepost

Thanks to this one fic project that needed a pornographically detailed list of Ethan’s most memorable injuries, I've spent some time trying to figure out exactly what Heisenberg stabs him with when they first met. Working mostly from a free-camera version from youtube, I settled on calling a metal pipe with a square profile.

Tumblr: I was wrong. The reality is so much worse.

Having cracked the game files and installed my own free-camera mod, I tracked down the original asset for this thing, and, well...

No, really, this is it! Check out those matching cross-bars if you doubt me.

FWIW, it isn’t actually a spear. Those semi-mangled crossbars flag it instead as a spear-headed fence-post. (This may not be a distinction that Ethan would find very comforting after being stabbed with the thing, but there it is, regardless.)

In fact, if you poke around the cemetery area just outside the castle gate, you can even find the fence it presumably came from.

Look in on the cemetery near the church from the lane leading up to the Duke's shop beside it, and this is what you'll see.

It's not a perfect match (in fact, it's even worse viewed from the opposite side, because someone has clearly stuffed up the textures on different sides of the same asset). I'll also note that if you go back to this fence again after meeting Heisenberg, you won’t find any suspicious gaps in it where a post was recently ripped out. So I’m going to just go ahead and assume this particular piece was lying in a pile of surplus scrap in the cellar somewhere, and Heisenberg did not, in fact, drag the thing all the way there from well outside the whole damn building. I mean, at that point, you’re just showing off.

The fence post is, admittedly, pretty hard to get a good look at in the actual game. Unlike all the other crap Heisenberg already has levitating around him in this scene, the fencepost doesn’t appear at all until Heisenberg stabs Ethan with it. It actually seems to emerge at speed from between a couple of barrels at the back. But if you’re enough of a lunatic to play around with the various slow motion/rewind settings that came with the free camera mod, you can get a decent shot of it in flight, cleaning up any remaining doubt that this is the same asset that was used in game.

It even freaking spins in the air as it moves. FTR, yes, it does go in pointy-end first. And the whole fucking spearhead ends up buried in poor Ethan. (Please feel free to insert your own dick-joke here.) Those paying really close attention might even note that the blood on Ethan's shirt is present even before the spear hits him, but that's just going to be virtual-stunt-coordination having a normal one.

I can offer you no similarly definitive insight into why Heisenberg would think stabbing Ethan with this thing was a good idea. I can’t even tell you if he knew for sure that it was Ethan Winters he was talking to at this point (maybe he's just playing dumb, pretending not to recognise him. Or maybe he legit didn't know that Ethan himself had made an appearance until Miranda told him. Sure, he's already got that whole conspiracy board, but finding real pictures of this Ethan-guy is surprisingly hard.) But whether Heis was already testing out Ethan’s ‘interesting body’, or whether he’d just generally assumed that anyone who could survive a full lycan assault on the village wouldn’t be too seriously inconvenienced by a little stabbing, hoo boy was this one way to make a first impression.

I’m not even sure which of these losers is the bigger idiot here: the one who imagined Ethan might still agree to work with him even after inserting a very convincing imitation-spearhead into his intestines, or the one who never thought to seriously question how he keeps shrugging off injuries just as exciting as this one.

They probably deserve each other.

[novelmonger]

I wasn't expecting it to take this long, but after a million distractions, I'm back to going through the LotR audio commentaries and taking note of any interesting tidbits I haven't heard before.

Please enjoy my notes on the RotK design team commentary with Richard Taylor, Tania Rodger, Grant Major, Alan Lee, John Howe, Dan Hennah, and Chris Hennah:

They had to make Deagol's ears out of waterproof gelatin rather than latex because he was going to fall in the water, and the normal latex ears would have come off. I guess they must have done the same any other time a Hobbit got submerged, but they didn't say that.

The fish that Gollum eats at the beginning is made from some kind of edible gelatin so he could actually bite into it. They also had another prop fish that wasn't edible that they gave Andy Serkis to keep at the end XD

The little stone hollow thing where Frodo and Sam are sleeping for their first scene in the movie was a set they built with a removable back wall so they could get a camera in to shoot it from the back as well as the front. Why did I never think of that before?

There were a couple of extra shots they needed of Orthanc in the background to finish up the movie, but they hadn't managed to get the footage from the miniatures (and I guess the miniatures were gone by that point? idk). So they took one of the model collectibles Weta had made and took some photos of it out in the parking lot XD

Whoooooaaaa! Okay, so Alan Lee talks about how, in legends, they say that you have to kill a wizard three times for him to stay dead. And Saruman dies "three times" - first he's stabbed, then he's impaled, then he's drowned. So Saruman is dead dead. Dare I say it? This is...I think this is a better death than the one in the book ._.

They even put carvings on the crossbeams underneath the seats of the chairs in Edoras! You are never ever going to see them, but that was their dedication to making everything feel authentic. That's what sets this apart from so many fantasy movies and shows made these days.

Red in the costumes is meant to suggest royalty. That's why Aragorn, Boromir, Theoden, and Theodred all have red in their costumes - as well as Bilbo and Frodo! You're meant to look at someone wearing red and unconsciously think, "there's something regal about them."

John Howe points out that you probably wouldn't ever reforge a sword like they do with Narsil, at least not in the sense of putting the pieces back together, because it wouldn't be as strong as it was originally. (You could melt it down and start over again, of course.) But, he reminds us, these are the Elves, and it's more of a symbolic thing anyway.

The great hall in Minas Tirith was inspired by Charlemagne's chapel (and Byzantine architecture was one of the main influences on the design of Gondor in general).

The statue of the king in Ithilien was made out of polystyrene, which you would think would be pretty light, but it was so huge it was actually very heavy. They had to transport it to the location in three pieces: the base, the body, and the head. And to lift one on top of each other, they had to rig a sort of pulley system over the limb of a tree, using a four-wheel drive truck to pull it. But they discovered that the first truck wasn't getting enough traction, so they hooked a second truck up to it, and ended up pulling the first truck up into the air along with the statue!

They created fourteen new weapons just to put in the background of the armory in the scene where the Witch-King is getting ready for battle @_@

John Howe said that his inspiration for Minas Morgul was...getting his wisdom teeth pulled??? He describes a metal clamp digging into the perfectly healthy enamel of his tooth to pull it out, and draws a parallel to the metal pieces the orcs fitted to the top of the pristine white parapets, staining and violating them. Um...thanks, I could've done without that visual, John.

I can't believe I never thought about this before, but there's a little wooden roof over the pile of wood for the beacon that Pippin lights. The reasoning behind that is you need some kind of cover to keep the wood more or less dry for when it needs to be lit in an emergency. The beacon will burn away the wooden roof, but it can be replaced easily enough, and it's worth it to be able to quickly light the beacon.

A lot of the saddles they used were ordered from the Indian military, because they had a good, old-fashioned sort of look to them. Then they would add onto the saddles with things that would make them look distinctly Rohirric, rather than Indian.

Alan Lee's daughter worked on some of the figures in the doors of Minas Tirith!

John Howe goes off on this whole tangent about how there's no religion or religious structures in Middle-Earth, and why that might be, but the whole time I was just sitting there going, "...have you never read The Silmarillion????"

Because they had to make over a hundred suits of Gondorian armor, other than the hero suits, they couldn't make each one exactly the right size for the man who would wear it, so the casting department had to only get actors within a certain range of size. They also built the suits of armor with sliding pieces, so they could be somewhat fitted to different sizes.

The horses started out as being part of the art department's responsibility, but as time went on, there were just so many horses they had to keep track of (and the various liveries they would have to be fitted out with) that they had to make a separate horse department to oversee it all.

Because so much of the movie was filmed on-location, in some very remote locations, they had to make a sort of caravan of mobile repair stations that they could take with them. They had all the tools and crew necessary on hand wherever they went so they could repair broken props or ripped costumes, reapply makeup for gore and injuries, take nicks out of the edge of weapons.... It was really like moving an army around!

For the dream where the Evenstar breaks, they made a version of it that was five times bigger than normal, out of a very brittle resin. Then they made an oversized section of the floor and dropped it from a great height so it would completely shatter in a dramatic way like that.

Anduril was John Howe's design. He based it on a sword belonging to a friend of his in Germany, which to him is the ideal sword, the most beautiful sword. He also talked a bit about how Men were taller and bigger in the First and Second Ages, so their swords would have been longer.

John Howe: "Why do people criticize Tolkien for not developing his characters sufficiently? I cannot fathom that kind of criticism. I think it's done by people who don't read between the lines."

Richard Taylor said they had a lot of fun gathering up all the skulls after each take in the Paths of the Dead to put back up at the top so they could be poured down again. Apparently Viggo liked to gather them up and try to throw them at the crew members! "Many hours of skullduggery was to be had," as Richard put it XD

Apparently, they'd made dozens of really finely detailed silicone heads to be lobbed over the wall of Minas Tirith, but then all but one of them were stolen! So they had to quickly put together some crude latex ones to use in the shoot instead (one of which the mayor of Wellington threw). They didn't talk about this, but I'm assuming the one good head that was left is the one that gets a close-up. You have to wonder who out there was sitting around with a bunch of highly realistic latex severed heads in his basement or something....

While most of the siege towers are miniatures or CG, they built the top third of one and put it on tracks so they could move it up against the wall. They built the set with breakable ramparts for when the little drawbridge thing crashes down.

They had the same trouble in Minas Tirith that they did in Helm's Deep, with the battering ram being too heavy for the stunties to lift. But they never actually explained how they got around that problem, if it was the same solution or not :/ All they said was that they had replaceable panels in the doors, in case they were damaged by the battering ram.

In order to make Shelob's webs, they had to heat up two polymers and mix them together to make the stringy, sticky material. In order to mix them, they had to be heated up to 220 degrees C, but if they got up to 228 degrees, they would burst into flame @_@ After they were heated and mixed, they would dribble the mixture on top of a vat of water, where it would cool in spiderweb-like shapes. Then they would lift it out on a frame, and they could carefully place it on the set. One time, the polymers did burst into flame, and they were running out of fire extinguishers to put it out! O.O Eventually, they did call the fire department, who said they'd done everything the fire department would have done. They got the fire put out, but it was a nerve-wracking moment, because the room where they were making the webs was connected to the studio, so it could have been disastrous D:

Bernard Shaw apparently got the idea to do that whole bit where he knocks his sword against the row of spears when he saw the collection of spears all lined up in a row in the art department.

The "oil" that Denethor pours over himself and Faramir is a mixture of glycerin and water. (I always wonder about these things, so I'm really glad they mentioned it.)

When they were filming the pyre scene, they had a silicone dummy for Faramir on the burning pyre. Apparently somebody on the crew brought "David Wenham" a cup of coffee over because they thought he'd fallen asleep on the side of the set, only to discover that it was a dummy! XD

The horse rig they made for close-up work of people on horseback got affectionately nicknamed "the Phony Pony." The first day they brought it on set, Peter Jackson got up on it and "rode" the horse, making the whole crew laugh XD

One of the ideas that Peter Jackson came up with for the mumakil in a brainstorming session (which Richard Taylor says he's still not sure if PJ was serious about or not) was that they could suck up several riders in its trunk and then fire them out like bullets. I'm...really glad they didn't go with that, whether PJ was serious or not <_<

Alan Lee says that the first time he saw the dead mumakil that Weta made for the set, the body was hollow, and some of the crew had set up a TV inside it and were watching a rugby game XD

The last miniature they built for LotR was the Minas Tirith docks where the Corsair ships come in. It kept getting put off until almost the end of the shoot, so they only had five days to put it together! @_@

All of the dead horses are fake, of course, so Weta had to make them all. They were made of lightweight material, so each day you'd see the set dressers just kind of casually carrying in a whole dead horse and then picking one up from the battlefield afterwards like it's no big deal. They had to do a lot of repairs to the dead horses, because the legs and ears kept falling off or getting bent the wrong way XD

The stone Watchers in Cirith Ungol have Maori influence in their design. I wish they'd talked about that in more detail, but it was just mentioned in passing.

They were concerned about the various copies of the One Ring being stolen, so they kept it in a lunchbox that was labeled "Screws."

The scene where Frodo and Sam join the orc convoy was filmed on location up on a mountain, so they had to deal with a whole bunch of extras in extensive prosthetics and armor, which would make them sweat while they were moving around, but then when the camera wasn't rolling, it would be a challenge to keep them warm. The way they did most of the orcs was that they wore a rubber mask and then a helmet, and they would need to take them off at regular intervals so the actors could get some air. So in between takes, after the director called, "Cut!" there would also be a cry of, "Heads off!" That meant the dressers would have to rush into the crowd and quickly take off the extras' helmets and masks XD

Because the crew was committed to not damaging any of the flora and fauna in the places where they were filming, even in the location that became the plains of Mordor that Frodo and Sam struggle across, there were little flowers and moss that they wanted to protect (and it was a national park). So they would lay down carpets on the ground for people to walk on, so they wouldn't damage the plant life. I'm sure that made for a strange sight, Frodo and Sam struggling in tattered clothing over rocks and boulders, surrounded by perfectly ordinary rugs XD

To do the decapitation of the Mouth of Sauron, they had a headless dummy sitting there, and Viggo would swipe his sword where the head should be. Then Weta Digital put in the head afterwards.

The lava in Mount Doom was mostly a miniature (except for the set where Sean and Elijah did their part), made from methyl cellulose and other things to make it look like lava. They set it up on a table that they would tilt so it would flow down around the model boulders made from urethane.

Richard Taylor said that, at that time, no one had really done a very good CG bird, so he was especially pleased at how the eagles turned out.

There were about 400 people working in the art department total, and most of them had never worked in the film industry before! @_@

Ngila Dickson's philosophy for the Elves was that none of their "crowns" or headpieces would go upwards, but would fit close around their heads and then go down. That's one of those things I've subconsciously noticed all these years, but never really thought about before.

Apparently, a little bit of the graphite used on Aragorn's armor in the coronation scene kind of puffed out when he and Arwen go in for their kiss, and got on Arwen's dress D: And some well-meaning person tried to rub it off, but only succeeded in spreading it around further, thus ruining the dress. And most of the female characters only had one copy of each costume, because all except for Eowyn don't see battle and thus don't need different versions with varying amounts of wear and tear. They're just made to wear in one or two scenes of them looking pretty and walking through a room. But alas, that lovely green dress was ruined.

They didn't have much time with Sir Ian Holm, so they only had a week to get a mold of his face and make the old-age prosthetics for the Grey Havens. But then word came down that he didn't want to have prosthetics, so they were to just make him look old with makeup. They were really disappointed, but then on the day, Ian Holm saw the prosthetics sitting off in the corner and asked what it was. When they explained, he said it wasn't true, and insisted on them putting the prosthetics on instead.

One thing that was really impressed upon me during this whole commentary (over all three movies) was just how much love and joy all of the crew had for the project. Sometimes you watch a movie or read a book that really means a lot to you, that's changed your life, and you wonder if the people who made it fully grasp what a beautiful thing they've created. These people know. They were fully aware, from start to finish, that they were making something truly great and worthy of praise. And I think that's beautiful.

[theprettywriter]

The devil's darling : Osamu Dazai

Synposis : with your first visit to the port mafia's headquarters, you see the other side of your lover. The one that he never showed you before. It was as if you suddenly remembered that he wasn't just your sweet boyfriend . He was also the most feared man in Yokohama. He was also the youngest boss of the criminal organisation, the port mafia.

Genre/ warnings: port mafia boss dazai, fluff, angst, mentions of blood, knife, mentions of getting stabbed, slightly suggestive

A/n: this story doesn't follow the original beast au storyline. In fact I won't even call it beast au because everything else is same other than dazai being the boss.

Author's pov

You hummed a soft tune as you walked around the huge office, lightly touching the art piece that hung on the wall in fear of damaging it somehow. Now you know you just shouldn't touch the delicate art work but you couldn't help yourself. If you find something fascinating then you just need to feel it once. And you also know that your boyfriend wouldn't blink an eye even if the art piece got damaged. He's more than capable of buying a few hundreds of the same piece if he wants but you'd rather live without the guilt of ruining it.

Deciding that you should probably stop touching it, you took a step back, opting to admire it from a distance. "sweetheart" you perked up at the sound of his voice and turned around, your lips curling up in a soft smile as your eyes met. "hmm?" you hummed silently asking him to continue.

Dazai placed the papers he was going through down on his desk, looking at you with soft eyes "are you feeling bored, my love?" he mumbled and you quickly shook your head. Well you admit that you were starting to feel a tiny bit bored with him silently working on some papers but you didn't want to disturb him so you opted to look around his office to pass some time. You know he's a busy man so you cherished every moment with him that you can spend in comfortable silence.

He looked at you silently for a moment before pushing his chair back slightly and extending a hand towards you "come here angel" your smile widened and you skipped towards him, placing your hand on his. A small smile tugged on his lips as he pulled you on his lap, kissing your wrist when you cupped his face with soft hands.

He hummed raspily when you leaned forward to press a quick kiss on his lips, his one arm wrapping around your waist while the other tucked your hair behind your ear "hey samu" you whispered against his lips before pulling back, giggling when his lips chased yours "hey angel" he mumbled pulling you in another kiss "you know I can tell when you're getting bored, sweetheart. You keep looking at the clock every now and then."

You scrunched your nose smiling sheepishly. Of course he'd catch on "okay I am feeling a little bored but it's fine. Your office is so big I'm sure I'll find something interesting in here" you said tucking a side of his hair behind his hair. You love it when he tucks his hair behind his ear. He hums as his hand slips inside your shirt, lightly caressing your bare waist "do you want to go back home? I can call a car for you -" before he could finish his sentence, you cut him off quickly shaking your head "no no I'm fine. I want to stay here with you. I can wait until you finish your work and we can go home together " you paused before adding "b-but I can go back if I'm disturbing you"

He tched pulling you closer "nonsense. You're never disturbing me, angel. I'm happy that you're here. I was asking in case you wanted to go back" you smiled at that, kissing his nose "then we'll go back together" he smiled softly with his hand going to the back of your neck. Pulling you towards him, his lips brushed against your forehead before he pressed his lips on yours in a deep kiss. Your eyes fluttered shut as you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back softly.

At the same time, someone knocked on the door and you pulled back startled, going to get up but dazai didn't let you. You looked at him surprised when his grip around your waist tightened and he held you firmly on his lap while someone entered the room "boss" Nakahara Chuuya's voice sounded in the room and you turned your head to see chuuya standing there with his head bowed and his one hand holding his hat against his chest "they've been taken care of as you asked" who was taken care of? You'll never know and you don't even want to know.

You were just here to spend some time with your lover "good. Now chuuya, you've come right in time" chuuya looked up, silently asking dazai to give him his next orders "see, this is the first time my sweet girl has visited the headquarters and she's started to feel bored so would you mind giving her a tour around the building while I finish my work?" you looked at dazai surprised while chuuya nodded "of course not. I'd be happy to" "samu" you whispered tugging his coat slightly to make him look at you "I'm fine staying here" dazai smiled, running his thumb across your bottom lip "I know your curious little brain is dying to look around the building, sweetheart. So go with chuuya and I promise I'll be done by the time you come back. Then we'll go home"

You hummed thinking for a moment before nodding and looking at him with a smile. He raised an eyebrow when he recognized the mischievous glint in your doe eyes . You bite his thumb lightly, giggling softly when you saw his eyes darken a shade before getting off of his lap and pressing a kiss on his forehead "then I'll see you later Samu" he hummed, squeezing your hip and watched as you turned around and started walking towards the door.

You said a small thank you to chuuya as he held the door open for you and turned around one last time to wave at dazai, smiling as he waved back. You fiddled with your fingers awkwardly as you both passed by the multiple guards whose jobs were to guard the boss's office. Each one bowed towards you and you almost told them to stop bowing so much. You weren't used to it, unlike dazai who wouldn't even glance at them.

The long walk towards the elevator was silent with chuuya walking besides you in a respectful distance. You'd seen him many times before. You're aware that he's dazai's right hand man so you've seen him besides dazai multiple times but you've never talked to him properly so you were a little scared that the whole time will be spent in awkward silence.

So when you both reached the elevator and he pressed the button, you finally decided to break the silence "I hope I'm not disturbing you while you're busy, nakahara san" Chuuya's gaze snapped at you and his smile made you feel a little at ease "of course not, y/n San. I could actually use a little walk right now too. And please just call me chuuya" you nodded smiling softly as you both stepped in the elevator, now feeling more relaxed.

"is there anything you'd like to see first?" chuuya asked before pressing any button. You shook your head and he nodded "then we'll start floor by floor" the moment You both stepped out of the elevator, you were suddenly aware of the many eyes on you and it made you feel very, very uncomfortable. It was like every person in the floor was staring at you and judging you.

Your gaze fell on the floor and you whispered to chuuya "is it just me or is everyone staring?" chuuya kept his eyes ahead, chuckling softly. He didn't need to look around the room to see what everyone was looking at. "don't worry. This is the first time the mafia is seeing their boss's partner. That's why they're all staring. They don't mean any harm" even though he said that, he still looked around the room once with his eyes cold and stern. And once was enough to make all the men look away.

You didn't notice when people stopped staring at you because you were already busy looking around the huge place. There were so many long hallways and even more doors that you were sure you'd get lost in here if you wander around alone. Every person around you stepped back as you walked past them. But thankfully you were distracted enough to pay them no mind.

"this is the security room" chuuya said stopping in front of a black door before opening it. You hummed leaning forward on your tiptoes to look at the dark room. The only light in there being the many monitors that showed each and every part of this building. "you can go inside" chuuya smiled as your eyes widened "I can?" he nodded "of course you can" he held the door open for you but before you could take a single step in, the men sitting inside were already standing up and bowing a full 90°. Ah they must have probably seen you with dazai through the cameras when you had entered the building. Your eyes widened even more and you hastily said "p-please continue your work!" before looking at chuuya who nodded chuckling softly and closed the door.

"let's not go inside any room from now" you look at him sheepishly and he nodded "as you wish" you had a feeling he was trying to be polite by now laughing at you.

The next half hour went by a blur. Walking around the building, with him showing you the various rooms. You actually managed to see the inside of their training room because it had glass doors instead of the black wooden ones. From the outside you could see various types of guns hanging on a wall and many men training. And After only seeing men on every floor, you were surprised and very happy to see a girl outside the training room. She was wearing a mask so you couldn't see her face but before you could stop yourself, you waved at her with an excited smile. Your smile softened when you saw her eyes widen for a moment before she shyly waved at you and bowed before entering the room.

"that was Gin" chuuya said as you both walked towards the elevator "gin?" you looked at him and he nodded "Gin akutagawa. She is Ryunosuke's sister" your eyes widen in recognition "I didn't know he has a sister. They seem completely opposite of each other " you smiled at the image of the two siblings "they are" chuuya replied shortly.

After walking around the building for another 10 minutes, you were starting to feel tired. You've been walking around since 40 minutes but there are still places left to see. It seems like chuuya noticed your pace getting slower and stopped before turning around and looking at you "are you feeling tired, y/n San?" you smiled slightly and nodded "a little" ''would you like some water?" chuuya asked pressing the button on his ear piece and you nodded again "yes some water would be great. Thank you" he gestured for you to follow him "this is the resting area. You can rest here for a while and then I can take you back to the boss's office" he told you before saying something in his ear piece.

You wanted to tell him that you were fine and that you can continue the tour but before you could say anything, you both heard a commotion from nearby. Chuuya's gaze snapped towards the voices and he looked at you for a second "please wait here for me y/n San. I'll be back in a second" you know that you're safe here. This building literally belongs to your boyfriend and all these men work for him. But still the idea of being left alone in between all these new faces made you a little uncomfortable so you shook your head and stood up "I'll come with you" he nodded and got in front of you. All this time he was walking besides you so you were confused as to why he suddenly got in front of you "I'd like You to stay behind me" all the warmth in his voice had disappeared and you recognized the coldness in his voice. You've heard it before when he's doing his job as dazai's bodyguard and second in command.

You followed him as he walked towards the direction where the voices were growing louder and louder, until you both reached what looked like a room made for holding different types of weapons. You peeked around chuuya to see a small group of men standing at the center of the room but your eyes widened when you saw him "dazai?" you whispered, a smile blooming on your face but it soon dropped when chuuya growled "what the fuck are you doing?" you realised that the words weren't directed to dazai but the man standing in front of him.

"y/n San don't come any closer" chuuya said without looking at you and rushed by dazai's side. Your nervousnsess seemed to grow when you sensed the tense atmosphere in the room. Dazai looked calm at once glance but if you looked closely you could see the coldness in his eyes as he raised a single hand "chuuya. Stand back" Chuuya's jaw clenched but he didn't argue and stood a step behind dazai.

"now" a shiver ran down your spin when his lips tugged up in a smile. Not the smile that he gives you. But a cold and humorless one. "why don't you continue?" his voice was calm when he spoke to the man in front of him and only then did you look at the unknown man. While dazai looked as calm as ever, the man in front of him seemed to be shaking with fear. You looked at dazai nervously when he took a step ahead, causing the man to step back "you were saying something weren't you? Cat caught your tongue?" his lips pulled up in a smirk and there was almost a pleasant glint in his eyes when the man opened his mouth to say something "you're crazy" he sneered causing an empty laugh to slip past dazai's lips "oh really? I wouldn't have known until you told me"

Suddenly your eyes caught the movement of the man's hand and your eyes widened when you noticed the shine of a knife in his belt. For some reason the only thing going in your mind was that you had to take dazai out of here. So your legs started moving before you could even comprehend it and you were already running towards him. The man stumbled back when you got in between him and dazai and you breathed shakily reaching up to cup his face "samu" you whispered, your thumb rubbing his cheek softly. You didn't know what you were feeling when his gaze fell on you. That cold and empty gaze looked at you for a moment before a smile pulled up on his lips. But that wasn't the same smile he gave you almost an hour ago. That smile was full of love and warmth but this one lacked both of those emotions.

Chuuya had pulled his gun out the moment you stepped in but you were too busy trying to find your dazai to notice that. Your eyes searched his and you felt his hand gracing your waist in a light, feathery touch. And then as you continued looking in his eyes, trying to find the same warmth, you realised with a sinking feeling that you weren't looking at your lover right now. You were looking at the most feared man in the city.

"sweetheart" he mumbled, his fingers digging in your skin slightly with his voice void of an emotion. He always calls you that so why did it feel so different right now? "go back to my office. I'll be there soon" he wasn't asking you. He was telling you to go back. But that didn't stop you from shaking your head. You needed to get him out of here. "come with me" you whispered with pleading eyes, gripping his coat and hoping that your dazai would come back.

Before he could say anything, you heard chuuya yell "oi!" and all of a sudden, your were in dazai's arms. His arm was wrapped around your waist tightly and you were pulled in his chest. Your heart was pounding when you looked up, noticing that every man standing in this room were pointing their gun at the man who was arguing with dazai. "d-dazai?" you called him turning your head back and a fearful gasp left your lips when you saw dazai gripping the sharp end of the knife with his bare hand. The knife that was inches away from touching you. You looked up at him, tears filling your eyes when you saw the blood dripping from his hand while the man holding the knife stumbled back with wide eyes "samu y-your hand-" he shushed you softly. Placing a hand on the back of your head, he pulled you in so that your face was hidden in his chest. Once he was sure that your vision was blocked, he kissed your head and mumbled the words that only you could hear "those pretty eyes were only made to look at beautiful things, angel. Not at these worthless and pathetic beings"

Because your vision was blocked, you couldn't see him flipping the knife around in his injured hand. But you heard the blood curdling scream that left that man's mouth when dazai raised his hand and stabbed straight above the man's heart. Your eyes widened and your hands trembled as you gripped his coat tightly at the same time another scream echoed the walls.

A cruel smile lifted dazai's lips as he twisted the knife in the man's flesh. His smile widening at the screams and cries of help. "you know" he mused digging the knife deeper "I would have loved to hear you talk, had you not made the mistake of thinking you could get away after trying to hurt my love" with that he pulled the knife out only to stab him again. A small whimper left your lips when you heard another scream. The one that caught your lover's attention even with all the screams and cries. It was as if your voice snapped him back from his deranged haze. He dropped the knife and looked at chuuya who nodded, ordering a few men to take away the body.

He rubbed the back of your head with his uninjured hand, mumbling "don't look back angel. I want you to only look at me. Do you understand?" your reply was a small nod as you slowly pulled back and looked up with teary eyes . His jaw clenched at the sight but he didn't said anything and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, walking towards the elevator. The whole way towards his office, you didn't say anything but your bottom lip trembled when your eyes caught the sight of his bloodied hand hanging by his side. Chuuya took a different elevator and followed you both at a distance as dazai guided you back to his office.

As you entered the room, you turned around and looked at chuuya, your voice coming out shaky "c-can I get a wet towel and a first aid kit please? " "right away" chuuya replied and you saw him speaking something in his ear piece just as the door fully closed. You didn't say anything as you took his good hand and guided him towards his desk but you felt his eyes on you the whole time. When a knock sounded, you rushed towards the door and opened it to find chuuya standing there with the things you asked for. Taking the kit and the small basket of wet towels from his hands, you whispered a small thank you and turned around not waiting for his reply.

Still chuuya nodded as the door fully closed, and he turned around, standing there on guard with his hands clasped behind him "no one is allowed to enter this floor until I say so" every guard in the hallway nodded before passing the order in their ear pieces.

You found dazai leaned against his desk, watching you silently as you stood in between his legs, holding his injured hand gingerly and started cleaning the blood off of it. He didn't as much as blink an eye but you felt your own getting teary when you saw the blood staining the whole towel. You exhaled shakily, treating the wound as gently as you could all the while avoiding his eyes.

He observed you silently. His sharp eyes not missing a single detail from your shaky hands to you avoiding looking at him. His looked away for a moment, his voice coming out eerily calm "are you scared of me?" your movements halted and you finally looked at him. Again, his face seemed calm but you didn't miss the subtle tense in his jaw and the many emotions swirling in his eyes. Holding his uninjured hand for a moment, you said "I'm not scared of you, Osamu" his gaze fell on you and he gently squeezed your hand "then why are you avoiding me?" he asked quietly and you looked down again, resuming yout work "i-i'm not'' you both know that was a lie.

Placing his pointer finger under your chin, he tilted your face up, mumbling "look at me angel" you were trying to avoid his eyes to stop yourself from crying. You didn't want to appear so weak in front of him but you couldn't help it. A single tear ran down your cheek and dazai pulled you to him swiftly, wrapping an arm around your shaking form "i-im sorry" you whimpered burying your face in his chest while dazai's brows furrowed "why are you apologizing? You've done nothing wrong sweetheart" he whispered, his hold around you tightening as he pressed multiple kisses on your head "y/n please don't cry" he buried his face in your hair, exhaling the sweet fragrance of your shampoo "y-you got hurt because of me" you pulled back slightly to look at him and wiped your tears, a smile almost pulling on your lips when you saw the visible confusion on his face "what do you mean I got hurt because of you?" his honey eyes stared in your own as he patiently waited for you to finish your sentence.

"well" you looked down "i-i feel like if I hadn't come in between, then you wouldn't have gotten hurt. It was silly of me. Chuuya and everyone else wouldn't have let you get hurt even if that man had tried to attack you. But because I came in between.." you trailed off fiddling with the buttons of his coat. He tched shaking his head with a small sigh and made you look at him "angel I didn't get hurt because of you. That shit head was thinking about swinging his little knife at me before you were there too" your eyes widened at his words "y-you knew he was thinking about hurting you?" a raspy chuckle left his lips as he nodded, taking your hand and pressing soft kisses on your fingers "of course I did" he mumbled "then why didn't you move away? O-or-" he cut you off with a small smile "because thinking and doing are two different things, doll. He was thinking about it. He wanted to do it but he couldn't. He didn't have the guts to stab the boss so he decided to be a fucking coward and tried to hurt you thinking he'd have a chance to escape" his eyes darkened at the last sentence and his arms wrapped around your form, pulling you in his deep embrace again.

You hugged him back, noticing all the tension leaving his body as he relaxed against you. His voice much more soft now "you didn't hurt me angel. You'll never hurt me. So stop worrying that pretty little head, you hear me?" you nodded pressing a soft kiss on his jaw "Samu?" he hummed nuzzling his face in your neck causing you to giggle softly as you placed one hand on his shoulder while the other stayed wrapped around him "what did that man do? Y-you looked angry when I got there" you asked hesitantly not knowing if he'll even answer it or not. He has told you many times before that the less you know, the safer you will be. But there are only rare times when dazai truly gets angry. So you couldn't help yourself but ask.

He sighed tiredly and pulled back a little to cup your face with one hand "we found out that there were a few spies in the mafia" your eyes widened at that "chuuya had managed to find every one of them expect one person" "you knew that man was the spy?" he nodded looking proud at how quick you catch on "I had my doubts but I didn't want to risk him running away so I stayed quiet until my doubts were cleared. When he saw me he got flustered and you know a flustered human will always make mistakes. He didn't have any chance of escaping so he started babbling nonsense" he didn't want to tell you that the nonsense he was speaking, included you. He was already planning on how to make him see hell on earth but you gave him a quick death by coming in between. He wasn't mad at you about it. If anything, it made him realise the difference between you and him once again. While he's out here killing people, you're saving them without even knowing. And a quick death wasn't known as a punishment in his books.

He noticed you've gone quiet again as you absentmindedly played with the locks of his hair "sweetheart" you looked at him questioningly, his hands a little desperate as he pulled you in "tell me I didn't scare you" you smiled softly cupping his face and leaned forward until your lips brushed against his "I'm not scared of you, Samu. You didn't scare me. I was just a little... I can't find the right word for it but I'm not scared of you" he looked at you quietly for a moment before exhaling and pulling you back in his arms "I love you" he mumbled kissing the side of your head and you smiled "I love you too samu"

After a few moments of him holding you, you turned around in his arms so that your back was pressed against his chest and his one arm was wrapped around your waist . He watched you silently as you gently cradled his bandaged hand close to your chest "does it hurt?" you whispered and he could only manage a small shake of his head as he felt his heart skipping a beat when you raised his hand to your lips and pressed a soft kiss on his knuckles.

He knows what you were feeling. The emotion you couldn't name and neither could he to be honest. He was damaged since the early age of 14 so blood and gore didn't have any effect on him. Catching and punishing spies wasn't any surprise either. But this was the first time you, his precious angel witnessed something like this. And he was mad at himself for every letting you see something like this. When he was walking you to his office, he was convinced that he had scared you. That you will start hating him after seeing the side of him that he desperately wanted to hide. That this morning was the last time he was able to see your sweet smile. So imagine how he must have felt when you still welcomed him with open arms. When you still kissed him and heard him and held him with that smile and gentle warmth.

As he saw you softly caressing his injured hand, he wondered how you can treat him with the same love and affection after witnessing his true side. Holding you again was another thing. He was terrified that he won't ever be able to see you and your warm smile again. It scared him more than he expected. And this was the first time his expectations had gone wrong but he was so glad they did went wrong. Because he fell for you all over again. He loved you a little more than yesterday and he held you just a little tighter as you kissed his cheek, asking if you both can go home now.

Home. He never thought he would have a place that he could call home but here he was, letting you decorate his lifeless penthouse with your yellow cushions and curtains and flower pots and what not.

Smiling softly, he nodded, holding you just for a second more before pressing a deep kiss on your lips.

"let's go home, sweetheart"

[hyukascampfire]

𝒯𝑂: 𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐸 𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀 𝐴 𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐴𝑇𝐸 ༉

𝓘N THIS STORY 〃 a life lived as a human among the fae is 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.

wc ➳ 24.5k

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

warnings violence, death, descriptions of past trauma, oral (m receiving), PIV sex, poisoning, mean taehyun... tell me if I missed anything

playlists ⑊ yeonjun ˒ taehyun ˒ series

…🪶 ashlynn's note this one is hhheeefttty and packed with a bunch of angst, so buckle up pls. also... if you see any typos or weird sentences, no u didn't... 24k is a lot of words guys... but also lmk so i can fix it LMAOO. enjoy!!

← ⑊ →

You wipe at your forehead, dragging in breaths as you realign your stance. Each swipe and jab you run through wells up inside you, amassing frustration. They all feel infuriatingly sloppy. You had cracked open a window in the room. Though it lets a nasty winter breeze in, the cold works wonders against your clammy skin.  

You had initially been practicing in the sparring room, but the heavy, blood-stained and battle-worn swords displayed on the walls, hung right next to the taxidermy heads of fallen faeries, began making you uneasy so you opted for another room in the estate. Taehyun’s father must’ve been a vicious general.  

The words of both Yeonjun and the barkeeping hob at The Hovel are snug under your skin like burrs. He sowed a good seed of wicked into his son, the barkeep had said. Staring into the lifeless, beady eyes of the felled creatures had made you wonder exactly how wicked that seed had been. As far as you know, Taehyun harbors no love for his father, though. It doesn’t make any sense that he’d want to resemble him, especially in his behaviors. You can’t help but feel that you’re missing some intrinsic piece that would clear it all up for you. 

There’s also the matter of what that man in the forest had said after you had stabbed him. You’re fucking dead, anyway. The words have echoed and ricocheted in your head endlessly, and you’ve tried ardently to dissect them. You’re only left with a queasy pit in your gut each time you do. You’ve decided that it’s best to pretend that they’re just the angry words of a man stabbed. You’d probably try to instill fear in the person who’d stabbed you if it was the last thing you could do, too. 

Despite that, it still is concerning that he had known where to find you and had claimed that someone had told him where to do so. There’s also the fact that there had been people in The Hovel looking for you two. You’re not exactly sure what would happen if you and Taehyun were discovered; your suspicions range from a slap on the wrist to the breaking out of war between The North and The High Court. You’ve never so much as seen The Queen, but you can’t imagine she’d take too kindly to discover that The King has spies actively infiltrating her court. Your chest becomes tight with the reminder that the mission that you and Taehyun are on is endlessly delicate. 

“You’re leaving too many openings between swings.”  

Taehyun’s voice tugs you from your own mind. You drop your arms, making great effort to breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Your limbs wobble with exertion. You had wanted to practice alone; having Taehyun observe and pick at your shortcomings would only irk you and make you so consciously aware of them that you could think nowhere beyond them. You had pointedly avoided seeking out his help for a reason. 

 “And,” he adds, “you’re so focused on what you do with your arms that you forget to move your feet.”

You toss your head back, willing down the tightness in your throat and the warm, frustrated tears pooling at your eyes. He’s right; you can feel it yourself, but no matter your efforts, your own limbs work against you. Your frustration manifests itself in the form of your heart thumping in your ears. It’s all you can hear. You snap at him. “I know.”  

Taehyun doesn’t look taken aback by the bite in your tone, but he does release his sword from its scabbard, approaching you and leveling his arms into an offensive, swinging stance. Your arms are dead weight as you do the same, but with a defensive one. You anticipate his first swing, meeting it with a sturdy block. Metal sings as he sends you another one.  

“Frustration throws your technique and strength out the window,” he says, going for a jab with the hilt. You narrowly miss it, throwing yourself back. 

 That would’ve been a black eye.  

You furrow your brows at him, and then step forward, slashing your blade with hostile shock. He knocks it away. You throw your free hand up in an exasperated gesture. “What the hell? That would’ve knocked my eye out,” you say. It’s an overdramatization, but it definitely would’ve left a mark. 

He slides a swift foot right at your feet, sending you crumpling the floor of wood. Your body quakes, soft and jelly against the ungiving ground. You stay down for a few moments, trying to brave the bout of roaring pain that sears your body in its entirety. Your knees weep red as you lift yourself to your arms, looking up from your spot on the ground right to the point of his blade in your face. You look past it, into his eyes. He’s studying you, picking apart where you lack and internalizing it. 

“You let yourself get too frustrated. You need a level mind to make clever moves,” he says, sheathing the weapon and offering you a hand up. You accept it, not before sending him an accusatory glare first, your weary muscles pleading with you as you stand. You shake off the radiant pain in your wrists; you shouldn’t have broken your fall with your arms. Taehyun circles you, and you listen to his footsteps creaking until he’s standing behind you.  

“Get in position.”  

You collect your sword from the ground and bring it up by your face, staggering your feet. You shift and readjust your arms and legs here and there, trying to find a sweet spot where it all feels right. None of it does.  

Taehyun’s arms find your shoulders, squaring them. You hold your breath as one of his arms then adjusts the height at which you’re holding the sword, reaching his arm around you. His skin is as cold to the touch as you remember it being, and the way it slides against the skin of your arm is tauntingly familiar.  

You scramble to shove those memories far, far back. When his hands finally drop off you, you stifle a sigh of relief. 

When Taehyun reappears in front of you, he’s holding the hilt of the sword at his hip in a white-knuckled grip, and his jaw is clenched tight. You hold your new stance, trying to settle into it, afraid you’re frustrating him. 

“Swing,” he says. You hesitate. He doesn’t even have his sword out, but he’s watching you so expectantly, and so you do it, cutting the air. You don’t even get to finish the swing before the world whirls around you, Taehyun’s arms twisting you and encasing you so that your sword-wielding arm is stuck behind you. He smells of frosty pinewood musk as he holds you there. Your mouth drops open, and you try to register how he even approached you, caught your swinging arm, and pinned you in that minimal time frame.  

He takes the sword from out of your compromised hand and tosses it. The heavy thing clatters to the ground a few feet away. “What would you do if I was an attacker?” he asks. “You’ve got no weapons. Show me what you’d do.” His muscle-corded forearms hold you pinned in a similar fashion to how that faerie man had in the forest, except now your arm is twisted behind you in an unnatural way that pinches your shoulder blade. 

You wonder if he’s getting flashes of that moment in the forest, too. 

Wiggling proves useless, so you try hooking your own leg into one of his to knock him down. He’s planted too well to the ground. You huff out in frustration, letting your head drop. He’s got you in his arms so tight that your lungs can’t even fully expand.  

“Okay, I can’t,” you say. “Let me go.”  

A few heartbeats pass before he does.  

Taehyun crosses his arms over his chest. “You’d die, if that was real. We don’t know if we’re going to run into more things like what happened at The Hovel. There are ways to defend yourself from bigger attackers.” 

You wince. The press of that dagger into your chest haunts you along with the sensations of hot blood coating your hands, and the pained grunts of the man. “We might at least know a little more, if you hadn’t stabbed him through the stomach before I could ask him any questions.” You rest your sword up against a wall, along with yourself.  

“He was just trying to scare you,” Taehyun says, leaning back onto the edge of an old war strategy desk. You can tell he doesn’t even believe the words himself, his eyes narrowing as cogs turn in his head. 

You shake your head. “No, I don’t think he was.” It takes every ounce of resilience you’ve got to not crumple down to the floor. You’ve been practicing for hours. “He said that he had found us, not that he just stumbled across us. And he knew who you are.” You remember the distaste with which he had regarded Taehyun. It may allude to his motivations. 

Taehyun listens to you, his eyes narrowed in thought, and you take it as an invitation to continue. “I think he knew, Taehyun. He’s got to be the one who was asking about us at The Hovel. Unless he’s not even the only one who knows.” You kick yourself off the wall, despite the ache, and pace. “But he knew you. And I don’t think he liked you, either.”  

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a few moments as he thinks, tossing metal pieces from the strategy table he leans on as he does. His brow creases. “The Queen must have her own people laying low in Court. Summer’s solstice is only a few weeks away,” he says.  

“What about the Summer Solstice?” you say. You know that the constant holding of Court in your time here has all been in service of the Solstice, but you can’t imagine why that would entail needing ears in your court. 

“I’m not sure,” Taehyun says, thumbing over that figure of metal, feeling its grooves and features. “But The Queen would not have people out there looking for our kind unless she had something she wants quiet.”  

You lick your dry lips. The Queen knows you’re here. “What do we do about the fact that they know there’s infiltrators?” At the very least, that faerie who saw your faces is dead. How much more death will you see in these coming weeks? Telling yourself that it’s for your own safety is doing a flimsy job of soothing you already; you’re unsure how well it’ll work when you have more blood on your hands.  

Taehyun breathes out through his nose, standing up from the desk and taking another metal figure from it. He pushes the ones left, most of them fallen and in disarray, off to the side, before standing the two in his hands. They’re stood generally where the estate would stand on the map. He erects a few of the discarded figures, lining them up around where Court might be, and then lays one felled off in the woods that The Hovel boasts as its home. The faerie he had killed. 

Something about seeing Taehyun, shady eyes and clad in the clothes of a warlord, interacting with the same strategy table that his father would’ve used to lay out his plans of carnage reminds you of repeated warnings and wary eyes bowing before Taehyun. Had the downfalls of those lifeless heads in the sparring room been planned on that same table, with those same figures? 

“All we can do is keep doing what we’ve been doing. Can you promise me that you’ll be as discreet as possible from this point onward?” Taehyun finally pries his eyes from the table up to yours. “You need to watch your words no matter who you’re around. That includes the prince.” 

Attitude flares in your chest at his last words, but you wrangle it back. You don’t think you have to worry about Yeonjun, but you know it’s better to err on the side of caution. You nod. “And if something happens?” you ask. The question is grim and grey on your tongue. Now that you’ve gotten a taste of what this life really means, you can’t help but ask.  

“You do what it takes to survive, and then we return home with all the information we’ve got, and that’s that.”  

The smell of hot iron melts over you, red and suffocating. You remember the thickness of it, and how it had crusted over a deep brown color and stayed plastered to your skin until you took water to it and scrubbed.  

“Taehyun, I barely made it out of that forest. I’m...” You steady your breathing as it seems to get ahead of you. “I’m not going to win a fight one on one, Taehyun. I’m trying to get better, but that’s just not realistic, and you know it. That was luck.”  

Some emotion passes over his face, his eyebrows pinching and eyes wincing, but it’s gone before you can even name it. “This is how you learn to survive. You don’t learn in sparring rooms,” he says. His sword clicks from the scabbard and its metal trills as he draws it again. "But for now, you need to make sure your odds are as good as they can be.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, releasing your breath.  

“I’ve been in here for hours, Taehyun. I’m tired.”  

He shakes his head. “You need to know how to fight tired.” 

You’re not sure you’ll even be able to swing properly. You don’t barely have it in you to talk, nonetheless fight in any way worthwhile. But he’s right. You swipe your sword off the wall, the dingy metal no longer warmed by your hands. It bites your skin as you settle into the best stance you can muster. To use every bit of your energy in a wild offensive attack, or to slip into the defensive and try to last as long as you can? You’re not sure.  

Taehyun seems to be making the decision for you, though, rooted in his spot, his eyes steady on you. He doesn't urge you to attack him; he just watches to see what you’ll do. Willing your poor, poor legs into motion, you gain on him. You know your legs and pace are lethargic as you move, but you just need to be closer so that you can begin to make moves. He doesn’t comment on the height of your arms or your pace this time. 

You dart your eyes about his torso as if planning a hit there, before swinging down at his sword-bearing arm. Taehyun’s eyes flicker with something akin to surprise, but he dodges well before you can connect. You try not to groan as he darts away and sets back into that unmoving, certain stance. He’s trying to gauge the attacks you opt for. You throw a few unexceptional swings, and he meets all of them. You dart and swing. You need to catch him unaware or unprepared.  

Every time you bring down your sword, it’s doing nothing for you except for draining your energy. He’s full of energy; he hadn’t been practicing like you. You drag full breaths in through your nose, each one not feeling like enough to feed your starved lungs. If you keep fighting like this, you’ll run your well dry.  

You narrow your eyes. Everyone has openings, you just need to find Taehyun’s, however hidden and subtle they are. You take in the sure stance of him, the glimmering dark metal of his heavy blade, the slight way he has his face drawn so that it betrays none of his thoughts, and even the broad musculature of his chest. None are particularly helpful in finding you a clever attack, so you swing at his left. Taehyun is left-handed, you’ve observed that much in the time you’ve known him. Swinging closer to his sword will leave him with less airtime to deflect your hit. Hopefully. 

Taehyun manages to parry your slashing, but it’s just with the edge of his blade, and he has to stumble back. He’s quick to reset, regarding you with twinkling interest in his licorice black eyes. That doesn’t matter—you have your angle, now. You suck in as much air as you can. Your limbs plead with you, whispering that your bed is waiting for you. You answer them by feinting a blow to the right, before pulling back and raising your arms and bringing the entirety of your blade to his left. Metal screeches. Taehyun narrowly meets your sword with his own, supporting the flat side of it with his palm, looking down at you with a smile twitching at his lips. 

 Is that a dimple? 

A sturdy arm curls around your waist, spinning you up and tangling you into a knot. Taehyun pins you against him in exactly the fashion the faerie man had, arms pressed to your sides without seam.  

“Damn it!” you hiss. You dig your fingers into the expanse of his forearm, tensed across your chest like a metal bar. Your sword lies discarded somewhere on the floor. Taehyun is quite a bit taller than that other faerie; he has you held so crushingly that only your toes connect with the ground. 

“You need to stop wearing your thoughts on your face,” he says. His words puff out onto the breadth of your neck, so warm on your skin tingling with the winter air. “But good job trying to find an advantage.”  

You tap out at his arm. “Okay, okay,” you say, trying to find good purchase on your tiptoes. 

“No,” he says, voice thick and stern. He holds you fast to him with his one arm. “You can get out of this. I’ve seen you do it, so do it.”  

You’re sent back to caging arms and words snarled into your ears for the nth time today. “I can’t,” you say, voice wobbly and untrustworthy. “I had to stab him, Taehyun.” You feel nauseous and claustrophobic.   

“He was going to kill you. You don’t need mercy for those who have none for you; It doesn’t serve you.” He wraps his free arm around your waist, tight and oppressive in the same way his other arm is. “C’mon.”  

You grit your teeth kick and buck wildly, digging your heels into his shins and prying at the bar of his arm. Your veins are empty of any fire. You let your head fall back, huffing, and it makes contact with the hardness of his shoulder.  

He pulls you in so that your hips are flush to him. His head drops down near the crook of your neck. “Come on,” he repeats, more punctuated and demanding this time. The contours of his body are solid and hard against you. Your brain feels a little fuzzy. Is it from your shallow breathing, or the way you can feel the heaviness of his eyes boring into you? You’re unsure.  

You pry and pry at his arms, wriggling yourself in hopes that, at one point, you’ll bend your body in a way that will let you slip out. You even reach behind you and shove at the hard planes of his stomach. All of it is infuriatingly futile.  

“You can do more than that,” Taehyun says. “Hit me. Do something. A real captor would’ve done whatever they please with you by now. Come on!”  

“I don’t want to hit you!” you say. When you begin twisting again, he opts for holding you to him by one hip, rather than his whole arm. His fingers dig into you. 

Taehyun’s voice is low in your ears. “I told you to hit me, so do it.”  

All that can be heard in the room for a few long, long moments are your panting breaths, until you bring your foot up and stomp down on his foot, driving your heel down. The thick leather and laces of his boots may pillow some of the force, but not all of it. He grunts, cursing thick and meaningful. He falls back from you, stumbling back until he’s propped up on that strategy table.  

“I’m sorry,” you say, rushing over to him. You had brought your foot down on his harder than you had wanted.  

Taehyun raises a dismissive hand, the wood of the table creaking under his weight as he leans on it, but his face has dropped and smoothed over. You wonder how one could ever be so good at veiling their emotions so completely. He nods at you, his eyes rounded and soft, despite how his foot might be groaning. “Good job,” he says. 

You shake your head and cross your arms over your chest. “You’re insane,” you say. 

He smiles at you. “Maybe.” 

There’s that dimple, again. It’s a soft, kind thing, so at odds with the hard lines and angles of his face. Finally, you let your shoulders soften and relax. You may fall asleep standing upright, if you don’t find the plush of a mattress soon. 

❆

You bite down your hisses and sounds. Yeonjun runs his thumb over the deep purple and yellow bruises that litter your legs and arms, and some are too fresh to be touching. His face is pinched and troubled as his eyes linger over your scabbed knees. 

“Where are you getting these?” he asks. His eyes flicker up to yours, sparkling under the dim firelight that he keeps in his room. Your mouth goes dry. The concern you see brimming there has you wanting to explode in a frenzy of apologies and truths. He deserves to know what you are.  

Sighing, you prop yourself up and onto your elbows. “I do a lot of work at the estate,” you say. It’s a weak excuse for the severity of your bruising, but it’s all you have. His eyebrows lift, and he tilts his head to one side as he looks down at you, something unnamed playing in the lines of his eyes. 

“He lets you get all beaten up like this?” he scoffs. “What kind of work does he even have you doing, anyway? What a piece of shit.” 

 You can tell he wants to extend his offer again. His eyes plead silently with you. You feel guilt the most of any emotion, these days. You shake your head, shrugging him off. “It’s not his fault, Yeonjun. Seriously. I’m just not the best at what I do.”  

“It is his fault, if you come back to me looking like this under his care. I’m sick of it.  Look at your arms,” he says, picking up the battered thing pointedly. “It kills me every moment you’re there with him, and I don’t know what’s happening to you. But then, you show up... like this. It’s hard for me to believe what you say, pretty.” 

You sit up fully. You’re trying to find a way to explain it all away for him. You really are. 

Your silence has him recanting. "I believe you. I do. It’s just...” Yeonjun takes his hand and soothes it over a deep bruise, his eyes trained on it and a bit distant. “I don’t trust him.”  

There it is again. It’s beginning to feel more like cryptic omens the more you hear it. You gnaw at your cheek. “Why?” you blurt. “Why not? I don’t understand.”  

“That family is a line of blood-drinking generals, and I can assure you that he is no different. His father pillaged and devastated as he pleased. Taehyun had no qualms with taking on his father’s legacy. He’s no stranger to killing, pretty. I don’t want you staying in that home.” 

You shake your head, stomach feeling sick. You’ve known about Taehyun’s lineage. But you also know that Taehyun hates his father. Why would he maim himself the way he did if he’s just like his father?  

An image of Taehyun, stone-faced and dark-eyed, standing over the body of that faerie man comes alive in your memories. He had sliced through that man like he was some sort of practice dummy, not a living, breathing thing.  

“Please. I just want you to at least consider why I am asking you to stay with me.”  

You nod, letting him bring you into soft, warm arms. His skin is flush and full of life against yours. It only makes you think of the crystalline and cold that Taehyun’s is. Where Yeonjun is a lush, living thing, Taehyun is more like if frost was stricken with the curse of sentience. 

“Some of my friends are out having a bonfire,” he says, his voice soft. “Do you want to go?” 

You nod. A night under the stars may not be enough to free you of your worries, but it’s enough to let you pretend that they don’t exist.  

❆

The company Yeonjun keeps is admittedly less stuffy and pompous than you had in mind, but still, they are unfamiliar to you. You sit leaned into Yeonjun on some chopped up log, its dry bark digging into your palms and dirtying your skirts. The rumble of Yeonjun’s chest as he laughs and talks with the other faeries circling the towering fire is smooth on your ears. All that lights the gathering is the orange of the flame and the stars above. It’s a moonless night.  

Some of his friends dance free and unabashed to the strumming of a lyre. The faerie plucking at its strings had stricken you a bit frozen when your eyes had first laid on him. You’re familiar with that flop of blonde hair, and that delicately built face. It was the same faerie Taehyun had spoken with in The Hovel. Your eyes linger on him the most—you’re not entirely sure why, but it just feels like an odd coincidence to you. The Hovel, or even its patrons and performers, is not the kind of place you imagined Yeonjun would find his friends. 

He sings to some ridiculous and bawdy faerie ode that you pay no mind. His voice is clear, and it harmonizes wonderfully with the crackle of the bonfire. A jaunty pixie girl cracks up between her dancing at an especially outrageous line.  

“Who is that?” you say, looking up at Yeonjun.  

He looks down at you with starlight in his eyes, alive with the fragrant bliss floating through the air. “Who?” he asks, lips sweet with a smile. You want to kiss them. Is it okay to kiss him here? 

“The guy playing the instrument,” you say, pointing him out. Yeonjun looks in the direction you point. 

“Oh,” he says. “That’s Kai. Why, pretty?” he says, looking back down at you. His black tunic is silken and shimmers under firelight. He brushes strands of your hair from your face so that he can look into your eyes better.  

You shrug. “No reason. Is he a bard?”  

He nods, eyes searching yours. “He is. What are you so curious for?” he asks, the corners of his lips upturned and playful. His skin is fire-warmed, smelling of his familiar sandalwood and clove. You breathe him in. 

“I’m just trying to get to know your friends,” you say. You maintain an air of cheekiness, but you can’t help running over the moment you had first seen the instrument-strumming faerie. 

Yeonjun’s heart seems to tug at that. “I know. Thank you,” he says. His smile is radiant and smooth, and his eyes form crescents.  

“They’re a bit less...” you say. You sit up from him, studying your company to find your words. They’re all more familiar to you—wilder fae, like the kind you might’ve interacted with back home. Not the preening gentry that you’ve mingled with in Court. As a prince, you had imagined Yeonjun might find his home in children of the gentry. 

“Less what? Less frumpy than you thought?” he asks, laughing. His cheeks are flushed with some thick, nectary faerie spirit that the lot have been sipping on, and his breath is sweet with it. “I can’t stand that crowd. Reminds me of home.”  

Your brows pinch with curiosity. “What is your court like?” you say. Someone hoots off in the background, but neither you nor Yeonjun are phased by it. You’ve been surrounded by similar sounds from the moment you arrived here. 

His gaze turns skyward. “Court is court, no matter where it is,” he says, breathing out softly through his nose. “But... at home, things are different. At least, for me they are. I can’t...” He shakes his head as if he’s sorting through old memories that you’re asking him to bare. “I can’t live up to what they expect me to be. There was a time in my life where I tried, but It’s not who I am. You grow tired when it’s your own blood smiling in your face before sticking their blades in your back. All this,”—he takes his silken shirt in his hands— “It becomes tired.”  

His eyes become duller as he speaks. You wince.  

“Maybe it’s a cage of gold, but it is still a cage,” he says into the buzzing night air. Or, rather, he says it to the stars. “So, you get real good at pretending. When everybody is wearing a mask around you, you learn to wear one too.”  

Yeonjun’s head finally drops back down, and he scans around, eyes drinking in the sight of cavorting faeries and the living fire. His eyes then land on you, soft and brimming and full. “It’s nice to have some place to take that mask off.” 

You feel your heart surging in a bittersweet way. You don’t deserve to be that for him. All you do is lie to him, and yet, you can’t help the way your heart aches for him. 

His gaze flickers down at your lips, and he’s leaning in tentative and unsure. You bridge the gap between your lips. He cups your face delicately with a hand, running it back into your hair. His lips have become something familiar; some sort of tonic that washes over you and seeps into your wounds. When you inevitably pull from him, he’s looking right into you. He tastes like that nectar liqueur, as well.  

“I’m gonna go talk. You coming?” he says.  

You shake your head. “I’ll stay right by this fire, thank you very much. It’s cold.”  

He snorts, a corner of his lips turning up. “Yeah, it is. Who let you outside with nothing more than that dress, anyway? It’s freezing out here.” 

“You did.”  

He rubs at the back of his neck, sucking his lips in sheepishly before shuffling away. You roll your eyes and settle into your earthy seat, watching him go. You observe the gathering around you some more while you sit alone, enjoying the sound of true laughs and the music that Kai fills the rest of the air with. Some are sappy, and some are tellings of ancient faerie epics, but there’s one that, for a reason that you’re unsure of, catches your ear and beckons you to listen to it. 

Walls have ears,

 Doors have eyes,

Trees have voices,  

Beasts tell lies,

Beware the rain,

Beware the snow,

Beware the man You think you know. 

You listen as he repeats the ode like a mantra, your bones unsettled. It’s just an ode; you know that. It’s no different from any old, dauntingly ominous faerie folk song. But you think of Taehyun as the bard repeats the words, and you think of how many times you’ve been told to do just that. You try to shrug off that zinging feeling in the back of your neck telling you that you don’t really know Taehyun. In Faerie, there are no coincidences. You don’t know how long you can let words of concern and warning bounce off of you before you start to let them soak right in. 

The metal tang of blood on your tongue tells you that it’s time to get up and distract yourself from your thoughts. You’d gnawed your cheek up. You stretch your limbs and find Yeonjun. He stands talking to a small crowd of faeries, and you join, sliding in next to him. A few of them gawk, and you feel it burning your skin, but you keep your eyes on Yeonjun and do your best to shimmy the feeling off. He wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you in closer to him. 

Their conversation is quite honestly hilarious. Their snorts and hollering draw laughs out of you. They loosen your limbs and leave your cheeks pink. You feel as drunk on your laughter as they are on their drinks. Kai soon decides that, since nobody is even listening to his word-spinning anymore, he should join the circle.You don’t notice it, but at some point, the circle cracks off into many different conversations. You stick with Yeonjun, clinging to him for a sense of belonging among the unfamiliar faces. He talks with Kai and a lanky, bark-skinned faerie. The unfamiliar faerie’s eyes are beady and wet, and you feel uneasy under them. You have to strain your ear to clearly hear what they talk about as the other conversations around you mingle and turn into a big blur of jumbled words and sounds. 

“Wouldn’t you?” the tall faerie says, his voice gravelly and heavy with bass. “The Queen knows it. She has until the Solstice to deal away with it.” Yeonjun and Kai share a look that is quick, but it is charged with meaning. You don’t miss how they shift with his words. 

You shove down the urge to snap your head up and frown. The Solstice? What does The Queen know? And what is it? 

The faerie adds, “I heard from a bird that they’ve got something set up at The Hovel for it, anyway. No worries.”  

His word choice sends a chill over you. You can almost feel the blood draining from your face. It’s an echo of what you had heard in the forest after leaving The Hovel. It feels intentional, like some sort of code or meaning that you’re not privy to. Your mind begins patching together thoughts and memories and gathered information in a messy, hodge-podged way, but none of it forms a coherent line of reasoning. You commit the features of this unfamiliar faerie to your memory. You buzz with the consuming need to begin tearing through the woods and find Taehyun, wherever he might be tonight. 

“Are you okay, pretty?” Yeonjun asks, leaning down. His voice is low and delicate. “You’re pale. Are you cold?” 

You failed to contain your jolt of surprise, and a frown etches deep between his brows. “Is something wrong?” he says. 

You can hardly feel your face. “I’m fine,” you say, dismissing him with a shake of your head. “Just tired. Really tired.” You need to be back at the estate. You need to tell Taehyun what you just heard. 

Yeonjun’s face softens, and he pulls back. “Okay. Let’s get you to bed, then,” he says. 

You can’t help but gnaw at your already chewed cheeks and lips as he walks you home through the ice-capped forest. Your feet break through shrubbery and, though some snap back up and claw at your legs, you can barely register their sting through the fogging of your brain. You’re not sure exactly what or when, but something is going to happen at The Hovel.  

❆

You suck in breaths through your nose, holding your pounding chest as you come flying through the front door of the estate. You visit each of the rooms Taehyun frequents—his room, the sparring quarters, the war room—you find him in none of them.  

You groan. Is he still at Court? Yeonjun had only just dropped you off here; seeking out Taehyun at Court would be a risky move. If he decides that he’s not done with the day and you run into him... You don’t even have a time, nor any idea what is actually going to be happening at The Hovel, to offer Taehyun anyway. But there’s this electricity flowing through your veins. It urges you to move; to do something.  

You pace the floor of the estate furiously until you fear you may look down and find the wood weathered and worn down by your boots. Once you’re sure that enough time has passed and Yeonjun would have cleared the flat and the wooded area, you set for Court with your mind racing in the very same way your heart does. 

Your feet carry you with the lightness of determination and will until you find yourself looking onto the warm, dancing lights of Court. You let yourself fear the consequences of what Yeonjun spotting you might bring for only a moment before you stamp it out and slip through the old pillar trees and join the merriments of Court with every morsel of bravery you have in you. 

Your eyes rake over the scene. You filter out the noise of dancing bodies and opt for tunneling in on the faeries standing still and making conversation—that’s where you’ll find Taehyun. There are multiple groups and bundles littering the floor, and yet, you find that tall head of hair and cold face in none of them. You soothe over your dress with anxious hands as you narrow your eyes and look over the hall again. If not conversation, where is he? 

Your eyes brush past a tall, brooding figure posted at the end of a table, his arms crossed and a heavy sword at his hip. Your eyes sweep back for a double take. Taehyun. 

 You restrain the initial urge to pick the hem of your dress off the floor and take off for him. It would only bring curious eyes your way, and you absolutely do not need that. You need to keep a low profile, like how a spy would. You forget yourself more with each moment you spend at Yeonjun’s side. Fearing attention is what you should be doing, not just as a spy, but as a human intermingling with cruel faerie courts, anyway. You make your way through the thick bunches of court-goers and tables. 

Taehyun’s brows furrow when he spots you, full of questioning. You don’t usually seek each other out during court; it’s easier to float below everybody’s attention when separate. 

Your veins buzz, thrilled to spill every word that has been sitting on your tongue with urgency. “Taehyun,” you say, closing the last steps of distance between you. “I have something to tell you, but... I can’t say it here.” He scans your surroundings, and you can see curiosity brimming all over him. He doesn’t ask the questions he has on his mind, though, simply departing from his post at the table and sifting through the crowds. You follow.  

Only once you’ve left the hall that holds court and are into the trees does he ask, “You found something?”  

You nod, but hasten your pace. Not only is the outside air biting into your skin without any tall bonfires to ward it away, but you’ve felt watched for a while now. The woods that you use as a segway between Court and Taehyun’s estate no longer feels like a haven—instead of just ancient holly and pine trees decorating the snowy grounds, you feel eyes on trees and ears in bushes. Taehyun doesn’t push any when you don’t explain, his face only grows increasingly grim. 

When you’re surrounded by the sturdy, familiar walls of the estate you finally stop and lean into the dining table, running your hands over your face. Taehyun’s shoulders have become tensed and rigid. Your silence must be getting under his skin. 

“I was out with Yeonjun, and I heard something. It was like—” 

Taehyun cuts you off, his face souring. “Why weren’t you at Court? Where were you?”  

“A bonfire,” you say, avoiding his other question. “Just with some of his friends. But that’s not the point. The point is that there was somebody there that was talking about The Queen knowing something, and that something is supposed to happen at The Hovel for it. He said something about how she has to deal with it before the solstice.” Your words run over each other and twist with the way you hurry to get their weight off your tongue.  

Taehyun seems to process your jumbles of information for a moment before he says, “What did he look like?”  

“He had bark skin, and was pretty tall,” you say. “I didn’t hear his name, or anything. Do you think you know him?”  

He shakes his head. “I don’t. Did Yeonjun?” he asks, and something in his tone feels accusatory.  

You shake your head. You’re not sure why you do it. “No, but that wasn’t all. There was something he said,”—your stomach flips at the memory— “it just felt off.” 

“What?” 

“He said that he had heard about whatever is happening at The Hovel from a bird,” you say, fiddling with frayed nerves at a heavy jewel hanging in your ear that Yeonjun had gifted you.  

You recognize the look that etches itself into his features as you say it—it mirrors exactly the way your insides twisted when you had heard it. “We have to go see what’s going to happen, Taehyun. I mean, The Queen is involved! Doesn’t it all feel like it’s something bigger? What if that guy who attacked us was in on it?” You toe the wood flooring. “I feel weird about it.” 

His face pulls into a grimace, but he nods. “We can check it out,” he says. “But I’m still wondering why you were out in the middle of the forest with a group of strangers, instead of at court where you should be.”  

You cross your arms over your chest. “I’m doing what you told me to do,” you say, tired of this conversation. “You asked me to make a show out of it, so I am. It was a little hangout with his friends, and Yeonjun was there with me anyway.”   

“There’s no purpose in showing yourself off to his friends,” he says, his voice taking on a biting, sword edge. “Listen to yourself,” he says, throwing his hands up in an exasperated gesture. “I don’t care if Yeonjun was there. You were in the woods, surrounded by only him and his friends, alone. You found out for yourself what kind of company he keeps, didn’t you? What makes you so sure that he would choose you over your friends?” he sneers, and then his jaw sets. “I don’t care how much you’re practicing, or how many weapons you wear, you should be smarter than to put yourself into situations like that.” 

You spin on your heel, venom spinning itself up potent and mean in your mouth. You choose to keep it there despite the way it sours and begs for you to spit it all out.  

Taehyun’s fingers dig into your wrist as he catches it, as firm and unforgiving as his temper. “Don’t walk away from me,” he grits out. You throw your head back in an effort to keep yourself together, but all the effort it had taken you to not explode suddenly slips through your fingers like water.  

You rip your arm from out of his hand, scathing him with your eyes. “It’s not up to you. If you want me to do something, then tell me. Otherwise, leave me alone. I’m tired of you acting like I don’t have my own brain. I can decide for myself what’s safe and what’s not.” 

He shakes his head, tugging at the collar of his tunic as if it’s stifling around his neck. “I know you can,” he says, his words trained. “I expect more than whatever this is from you. This behavior is unbecoming of a spy.”  

Your shoulders slump heavy with his words. “What? What is?” you say. “We’ve found nothing of value in court. The only thing you ever brought us fell flat on its face, and you brought me closer to death than I ever have. So, tell me how what I did is so awful? I found us something to follow. Can’t you just acknowledge that and move on, without reaching to find something to criticize me for?” 

When you study his face, you expect to find only his torturous mask of ice, but you find his eyes at war with his face. While he seems to be trying to pull that mask over his face, he’s unsuccessful in smoothing over the layered, flickering emotion that his eyes are brimming with. You’re unsure of which emotions you see there. They’re knotty and thorny, and so viscous that you can’t see through or discern them. He doesn’t reply, only pressing his mouth into a thin, cruel line. You wish you could read his eyes and see there what he can’t seem to say with his words. When Taehyun feels his mask slipping away from him, he frantically grasps at straws of rage and mean words to distract from it. 

“Yeah, I’m going to bed,” you say. You know it’s not what this conversation needs; you know that what you need to do is stay here and talk, but that would just be a waste of your time. Taehyun will never offer you the amount of bare emotion that something like that would require, and so you just save yourself the frustration. 

 You chew over more angry words as you storm off for your quarters. Taehyun does not make any attempts to stop you. 

❆

Your eyes flutter open, and you blink them a few times to adjust to the morning rays of light. Birds trill outside your window.  

Your bedding is a warming embrace around you, and it has your eyes drooping and mind fuzzy with sleep just as quickly as you had awoken. You fight it for only a few moments before letting sleep settle itself into your bones once more. 

Your eyes pop back open as the sharp sound of something small and hard colliding with glass rings through your room. You sit up, removing yourself regretfully from the nurturing arms of your bedsheets, and listen. You jump when it happens again. It’s coming from your window. You slide regretfully from the bed and rub at your eyes before padding over to your window. 

You frown at Yeonjun’s silhouette staring up to you from the ground, his hands in his pockets. The grin that he plastered over his mouth when he spots you in the window tells you that he is aware of the fact he had just dragged you out of your slumber. You push open the window, grimacing down at him. 

“Why don’t you just go through the front door?” you gripe, running fingers through your tangle of hair. “Like a normal person would.” 

He tilts his head, swiping his tongue over his lips. “I’m not normal,” he snarks. “You should know that by now, pretty. Do you need me to show you how special I am again?” 

You flush at his innuendo. 

“Tell me why you’re throwing rocks at my window at this hour,” you say, skirting around his words. 

He scoffs. “This hour? What time do you think it is? It’s midday, darling.”  

It’s midday? You’d slept like a rock. 

“Anyway,” he says, “can’t a man just visit a pretty lady? You look lovely fresh from bed, might I add.” He waggles his brows in a gaudy, overdone way.  

You grab at the open window. “Tell me why you’re here, or else I swear I’m closing this window and going back to bed.” 

Yeonjun snorts, leaning his shoulder into the tree at his side. “I have somewhere to take you.” 

You can’t help but remember how Taehyun had scorned you last night for something just like this.  

You shoot a suspicious look down at him. “Where?” 

“Somewhere,” he says. “You’ll love it. I promise.” 

You close the window, saving your room from the bite of the morning air. You have such little time here with Yeonjun. It wouldn’t hurt to use your time together to its fullest extent. A knot forms in your throat as you think of the day you leave this place for home. Would Yeonjun follow you? 

You meet him outside. Your breath furls from your mouth in white plumes, and his nose is tinted pinkish. You quirk an eyebrow, hunched and rallying your own warmth with your arms wrapped around yourself. “What’s inspired you to drag me from my sleep today?” you say. 

Yeonjun shakes his head, eyes creasing into a sweet, sweet smile that wraps your cold bones and rids you of chills. “You’ve seemed worried recently. Is it so wrong for me to take you away for only a day? Would your lord object to even that?” 

You hadn’t realized how much your double life has been weighing down on you. Is it that obvious? He must’ve been worrying. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, kicking at a snow-tufted tree root jutting from the ground. "I haven’t meant to be uptight, or anything.” Your skin prickles as straying snowflakes twirl down and pepper your skin. 

Yeonjun takes your chin in a firm hand, turning your face up from the ground to meet his own. He shakes his head at you, his eyes firm. “Don’t apologize,” he says. “You don’t have to apologize for being tired, or worried, or whatever it is. Not to me, at least. Let me take care of you; let me make it better.”  

If your heart was fluttering before, it has grown legs and escaped you by now. You blink once, twice, or even three full times before you suck your lips in and give him a wordless nod. He smiles a content smile, running his thumb just under the plumpness of your bottom lip. “Good,” he says, voice thick. He presses a chaste kiss to your lips that leaves the cold skin of your cheeks warring against the blush that rises there. He slides a warming arm around you and leads you around the estate.  

You pause as you round the corner and catch sight of a powerful, pearly-coated creature standing on the front grounds. It paws the ground, muscles rippling under its shining pelt.  

“I am not getting on that thing,” you say, looking between Yeonjun and the frilly horse with your eyes blown wide. Horses are something only the gentry use as means of transportation—the rest of faerie ride by other means or simply by foot. This one is perhaps the second you’ve seen in the entirety of your life. You gawk at its long, powerful legs. 

Yeonjun digs into a pouch that sits on the white flank of the creature, a taunting twist to his face. “You’re afraid of horses?” 

His words rile you. “No,” you say, voice tilting up in affront. You reach out to run your fingers over the smooth surface of its neck and retract your hand when the muscles there flinch. Yeonjun, or perhaps his attendants, must care for it well. Its tail is laced with flowers of faerie, only unwilted for the fact that they have some form of faerie enchantment placed over them, and its mane is a white, dripping silk that does not even look windblown, though you assume Yeonjun had ridden it here. It seems that all things flourish under Yeonjun’s touch. “I’ve just never been on one before.” 

He finishes rummaging through the pouch and produces something from it. A thick, fur-lined coverup made of white deerskin, inlaid with whorls of silvery thread. He offers it to you, and you gladly drown yourself in it. You sigh as it thaws out your skin. "I won’t let anything happen to you,” he says, reassuring you before kicking himself up over the top of the horse with practiced ease the speaks to his upbringing. He looks exceedingly princely as he extends his hand down to you, his hair falling into his eyes and his lips lined with charm. When you hesitate, eyeing up the climb onto the horse, he adds, “Trust me.” 

And you do. Perhaps it’s foolish in a world built with elaborately hidden non-truths into its seams, but you do. You’re unsure of whether it emphasizes your foolishness or Yeonjun’s innate charm. You take his hand and slide your foot into the stirrup. You teeter on one leg before you feel the firmness of his hand in yours, and you throw the other one up and over, and then you’re seated on the solid back of the impressive creature. You laugh in disbelief, looking around at the world from this height. When you look down at the floor beneath you, you gasp and circle your arms around Yeonjun’s middle. 

He runs and hand over yours, interlocking your fingers over his abdomen. “Hold on well, okay?” he says over his shoulder. He pats your hands before taking the reins into his own. You dig your fingers into the front of his doublet and press your cheek into his back, squeezing your eyes closed. When he feels your hold tighten, he snaps the reins. The way that the horse whinnies and then takes off, moving faster than you’ve ever moved within only a few blinks, has you reeling. The pull of the speed that you bolt with makes it feel as though you’ll tip back or fly off the rear of the being. You scoot yourself closer to Yeonjun; so close that your front melds into the hardness of his back, the muscles there tensed as he works on guiding the horse.  

Wind whips your hair behind you, and you’re thankful for the way trees begin to litter the scenery. You slow to a trot, winding through ancient, towering trees gray of bark and crawling with lichen. The ambience of the silvery light rays that filter through the branch overhang and the singing of little songbirds has you breathing in until you feel as though you are bursting with air and then releasing it all in a deep, deep sigh. Hoofbeats form a deep, resounding song that you find yourself lost in. 

“You’re quiet back there,” Yeonjun says. You can feel the reverberations of his voice through your cheek.  

You hum, letting your eyes droop closed. “Mhm.” 

A laugh rumbles deep in his chest. “Are you going to fall asleep?” he says, and you can hear his smile in his voice. “We’re not too far from where we’re going, pretty. Why are you so sleepy? You didn’t go to bed too late last night.” 

His question drains every bit of exhaustion from you. You manage the tensing of your limbs carefully. To him, you had gone to bed early last night, but you were too busy sneaking around him and tossing in your bed to get a full night’s sleep last night. “I don’t know,” you say. Your lie is wretched in your mouth and mind. You’re sat on the back of his royal steed and he’s taking you somewhere because he’s worried about you, and you have the gall to lie to him straight through your teeth. For the first time, you envy the faerie composition for their inability to lie. Words claw long, raking welts down your throat as you tamper them down and pretend that they are not there. If you ever tell him your truth, it shouldn’t be now. 

The trotting of the horse turns into leisurely walk. You sit up. Your surroundings look no more special than the last thirty minutes had.  

“We’re here?” you say. 

He slides off the back of the horse, his feet meeting the forest floor the only sound bar the typical buzzing of the forest. He offers you his arm. “We are.” 

Despite his help, your descent is marginally less graceful than his. “Here, where?” you do a full spin before leveling him a curious stare. “This forest is nice, I suppose, but...” 

“I’ve spoiled you rotten,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “This isn’t enough for you? I mean, these trees are just something else.” 

You know the sparkle in his eyes is all taunt. You narrow your eyes at him. “It’s beautiful, yeah... But I could’ve gone tree gazing literally anywhere else.” You inspect the hollows between trees and the forest floor for some sort of faerie trick or veiling.  

He smirks off your complaining, producing a small, silken cloth from the horse’s satchel. He unfolds it to unveil a glistening, plump chunk of Lachrymose. Faerie fruit.  

“What is that for?” you say, giving him an incredulous stare.  

He raises it to you. The dusty blue skin of it is coated in a fuzz. You’re not mistaken at all—that is faerie fruit. “I need you to eat it,” Yeonjun says. 

“But that’s Lachrymose,” you say. “It’s faerie fruit. I can’t eat that. Why do you want me to eat it?” Shame tickles at your skull as you replay Taehyun’s words from last night. Yeonjun has showered you with nothing but his affection, you have no reason to doubt his intentions now.  

“I know,” he says. “I know it is. Do you trust me?” 

Do you? He had led you here to the forest and now is holding the fruit known to drunken your kind. Taehyun’s words double, and they meld with all that you know about the folk. They don’t care about you. What makes this faerie prince any different? Who’s to say that he didn’t bring you out here with ill intent? It’s not like anybody would come searching for you, anyway.  

But, despite it all, you do. You trust Yeonjun with the blazing intensity of a girl who has not known what it is to be treated delicately. You trust Yeonjun even if it is to a fault. You nod.  

He brings the chunk of yellow-pulp fruit to his lips, and his bite is punctuated by the crisp puncturing of the skin. He chews the fruit and swallows it, and then swipes his tongue over the pink of his lips to collect the thick nectar there. He drops the fruit to the ground. 

Any words or questions die in your throat as he crashes his lips into yours. He rolls his tongue around yours and brings his hands up to hold your face in place. You mewl surprise into his mouth, but the cloying flavor of the nectar lingering on his tongue has each inch of your skin buzzing with the twinkle of faerie enchantment. The taste of Yeonjun mingles with the fruit in a way that seizes your senses. He licks at your bottom lip before pulling off of your mouth. The black of his pupil threatens to drink his eye whole, his eyes dilated and heavy with rolling lust.  

You reclaim your stolen breaths as you watch him and his wet lips, but something behind him catches your attention. You peer around him.  

Behind Yeonjun are multiple merchant stalls so full of odd ornaments and draping fabrics that you fear they’ll spill over onto the forest ground, seemingly appearing where nothing had stood before. Behind the stalls stand a myriad of different fairfolk, some haggling with customers and some fussing over their goods. Your feet grow roots into the ground and you gawk at the scene in front of you. 

“How?—” 

Yeonjun pats the flank of the horse, looping a lead around its gear and making a tree the anchor for the other end. “Faerie fruit is intoxicating to humans, yes,” he says, “but at lower doses it gives you true sight.” He looks over the little marketplace. “There’s so much of Faerie that you miss. Hidden places like this... I want to show you all of them. This is your home, too, isn’t it?” 

Your eyes burn and your throat burns as you strain to bottle your tears up. Your home.  

He takes one of your hands and gestures toward the stalls in a pointing gesture. “Come on, let’s see what they’ve put out for sale.”  

You peruse the stalls with only your eyes for a few moments before walking up to one. This one, you find as you approach the stall, has art for sale. Canvases slathered with paint and telling stories of betrayals and greatness are propped up on display easels, so plentiful that the shopkeeper began littering them about the ground as well. Earthenware and pottery glazed in sparkling silvers and bronzes stand tall and beautiful alongside them. You can’t help but notice that the subjects of the art pieces are all human. 

You drift to the next stall, but Yeonjun stays admiring the art pieces. This one boasts an odd collection of all sorts of seemingly stolen things. Piles of worn buttons and door handles and all other sorts of trinkets. You look over all the hanging baubles and dangling metal pieces that chime when a breeze worms through them. Much of it you can’t even recognize what sort of purpose it may serve, or at least what purpose it may have served at some point. 

It’s all human. 

A gnarled voice startles you. “Do you not see something you like, girl?” says the goblin shopkeeper as he peeks up and over the piles of his selection. The cap on his head is pointed and red, and his ears membranous and bat-like. You immediately know upon seeing him that all of this was gathered by the shopkeeper himself, and not bought off of suppliers. Goblins are infamous for their sticky fingers and fondness toward inconsequential human things like these. He zeroes in on a heavy, unfamiliar coin in your hands, his nose snuffling on his pointed snout. “That’ll run you a fair chunk of your hair.” 

“Oh, I’m just looking,” you say, letting the coin drop back into the piles of unsorted knick-knacks. “Is this all human goods?” 

The shopkeeper chortles. “This is a market for human things, girl. You’ll be harder pressed to find something of faerie make here.” 

Your heart skips a couple beats. Yeonjun had brought you here because he thought being among human things might comfort you.  

You move on to the next stall. This one offers delicate works of silver—earrings, necklaces, bangles, and even cold silver weaponry. You pick up a resplendent dagger, embellished with a myriad of swirling carvings running up the handle. You test its weight. It is heavy and the blade of it is in great shape. The ones you have been using from the arsenal at Taehyun’s estate pale in comparison. 

“Anything catching your eye?” Yeonjun says, his voice sneaking up to your left. He must’ve caught up to you while you were busy browsing. 

You nod, holding up the dagger of silver. "This is gorgeous.” 

He gives you an odd look, tilting his head as he looks down at the weapon and then up at you. “What would you need a weapon for?” he says. “Not that it isn’t lovely.” 

You laugh, and you hope it doesn’t sound as nervous as you feel. “I was just saying that it’s nice,” you say, shrugging. It’s hard to part from the beautiful, silver thing as you place it back down. 

“This is all human stuff, isn’t it?” You turn to look at him. 

He smiles, and his nose crinkles with it. “So, you noticed,” he says. “I thought you might like it.” 

“I do,” you say. “I... I didn’t know there was anything like this here.” You gesture at the market around you, seemingly risen from plain snow and tree. It doesn’t make any bit of sense that there would be a market for human things when faerie craft is unfathomably superior. “I’m not sure why, though. It’s all so...” You mull over a way to put your thoughts into word for a moment. You look over the selection of the stalls, their goods dented and rusting and frayed around the edges. “Lackluster.” 

He shakes his head, looking back at the paintings of the first stall that he had hovered at. “What makes you say that?” he says.

You pick up a necklace on a white gold chain, heavy with a weeping pearl at its apex, from a pile of other odds and ends. “A lot of it is pretty,” you acknowledge, bringing the pearl into your palm and feeling the imperfect shape of it. The color of it is a pale, oil spill mauve shade that you’ve never seen on a pearl, and it is not lovely and round like other pearls, either. “But none of it really matters, like handcraft here does. Like, those paintings don’t strike love in the viewer’s heart...” You look around, and your eyes are pulled like gravity to the blade that you had laid down. “And that dagger doesn’t gift its wielder the blessing of guaranteed victory in any fight they bring to it. They’re just... stuff.” 

Yeonjun takes the necklace from your hands. He reaches around you, clasping the ends of it at the back of your neck. He picks up the drooping pearl from where it dangles about your cleavage, observing it and spinning it in his fingers. “Maybe this necklace isn’t inlaid with magic. Maybe it doesn’t gift its wearer boundless beauty, or act as a ward against evil enchantments. But how I look at it, somebody worked hard days of their lives learning the skillset and working their fingers raw to finally be able to make a piece like this. They had no faerie magic to help them do it, and they did not have the long lifespan of a faerie, either. Their lives were short and valuable, and yet, they spent their scarce time mastering their craft until they made this. Don’t you think that is more lovely than any faerie thing?” 

You take the necklace into your own hand. Suddenly, the weight of it on your chest is more right than anything ever before. The junk around you begins to sparkle with the light of someone’s passions.  

“It looks lovely around your neck, darling,” he says. The husky timbre that is spun into the words makes your skin burn. “It’s yours. Whatever you want from here is yours.” 

You shake your head, still holding the pearl between your fingers and feeling its shape and temperature. “This is all I want.”

He smiles at you before pulling out a heavy bagful of coins, handing it to the shopkeeper who finally looks up from his ministrations behind the counter. “The necklace for the lady,” Yeonjun says. The shopkeeper’s eyes almost bug out of his head as he accepts the jingling pouch of coins that is visibly too much for just the necklace, but he does not protest or point it out. 

Your heart tugs. That shopkeeper knows Yeonjun is prince—there is not a sentient being in these lands that does not know his title. Yeonjun could’ve asked for the necklace and the shopkeeper would’ve given it to him. Maybe a bit begrudgingly, but he would. And yet, Yeonjun handed him the payment for the necklace and more. The amount of money that Yeonjun just handed him is no dent to him, but to the shopkeeper... 

“C’mon,” Yeonjun says, looping his arm around you. “We don’t have long before your true sight fades off. Let’s look at everything before then, yeah?” 

You nod, leaning into his touch. You’re not sure you ever want that fruit to fade; not sure you ever want to leave the forest and face what you’re really here for. But, at least for the time you have here, you’ll pretend that this is it. 

❆

You bound down the stairs, greeting Taehyun with a nod of your head when you spot him leaned against the wall by the door. He returns your nod. It’s the first you’ve seen of him in a few days. 

You frown at him. He looks as if he’s been waiting on you. What other reason would he be hovering around the front door? 

“What’s up?” you say. 

He lets out a sigh, laced with frustration. “Whatever they’re doing at The Hovel, they’ve got it under wraps. It doesn’t matter if I sit there for half the day; nothing but usual customers pass through.”  

You appreciate that he doesn’t mention how your information might be null, despite the fact that you know he’s thinking it. You are. Hopefully, it’s not because you whined so much about being taken seriously that he just accommodates you like a moody toddler. That can’t be the truth, though. If he’s taken multiple of his own days from your finite time here in the north to check it out, he has to believe that it holds some water.  

Shrugging, you say, “We could just leave it, if it doesn’t seem like it’s actually anything.” 

He shakes his head. “No. We’re going to follow this through,” he says. “Get some shoes on. I want to bring you with me, this time.” 

He wants you to come this time. He wants your help. Maybe he’s just saying it to mend the tension that seems to be a permanent aspect of your relationship, but that doesn’t feel like Taehyun’s style. It feels dizzyingly validating for each of the nights you’ve spent running through your sword fighting skills until you wore your muscles down, even when you felt you might collapse.  

You bend down to lace up your boots. Your necklace dangles from your chest, swinging and bumping your chin as you do. When you stand to ask him why he believes you being there might help, you pause as you catch his eyes trained intensely at your chest. You furrow your brows, thrown off by the smolder in his narrowed eyes.  

He steps toward you, reaching up and taking Yeonjun’s necklace from where it rests. His fingers brush right where your breasts begin, if only for a brief, heart-stopping moment. “Where did you get this?” he asks, his tone flat and untelling, but his eyes blaze and do not flicker away from the pearl around your neck for even a moment.  

You can’t muster an answer for a few beats, blundering with his sudden and uncalled for intensity. But, when you finally can, your voice wavers. You have no reason to have guilt roiling in your belly for wearing Yeonjun’s necklace, but you do. “Some market that sells human stuff,” you say. 

His face tightens. “How did you get there?” he says. He must know exactly which market. He won’t look at you. “It’s from Yeonjun,” he says, more a statement than a question. He sounds scorned, as if you wearing some necklace has any reason to encourage this sort of reaction.   

You wince, ready for him to berate you for drowning yourself in Yeonjun’s luxuries, but he doesn’t. Instead, he drops the necklace as if it’s cold iron searing into his skin, stepping back from you. “Let’s go,” he says, cold and sharp and short. 

There it goes; a smooth, flawless mask slides over his face and clicks into place without falter. You’ve become so sick of staring into an emotionless face. 

“No,” you say, crossing your arms. 

His eyebrows shoot up. “No?” he echoes. 

“You’re angry about something. What’s your problem?” You narrow your eyes at him.  

“My problem?” he asks, his lip curling. “I have no problem. We need to go.” 

You bark out a barbed laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Sure, let’s do this again. You lead the way.” You gesture at the door in an overblown, dramatic wave of your arm, utterly sardonic. 

He gives you a long look before he does. When the heavy wood door swings open, a cold front of air blasts in, smacking you in the face. You snatch a woolen cloak up from near the door, wrapping yourself up in it and following Taehyun out into whipping wind. 

You drag your feet through snow without any complaint or word exchanged with Taehyun—it’s not the first time you’ve braved a snow storm alongside a sickeningly quiet Taehyun, anyway. 

❆

As you hook your boot into a low-hanging branch, tugging yourself up on unsure arms, you look up to see Taehyun already squatted and settled onto a thick branch a few levels up. He reaches a hand down to you, and you take it, amazed by how much easier it makes the rest of your climb up feel. You remember the buff of his forearms and the feel of them wrapped around you like solid metal through flickering memories, and it adds up. Taehyun does not just wield weapons well; his whole body is honed and molded to be used just as well as any weapon from what you’re sure are from years of spy work and being a general’s son.  

You wobble on this higher branch, wrapping an arm around the trunk of the tree when you look down and see how high you are from the ground. Though it is powdered generously with a white layer of snow, you’re sure that fall would hurt. You focus on breathing. You’re not sure you would, if you don’t. 

Taehyun and you had made the trek to this forest in a familiar, tense silence, only broken when he told you that you’d be climbing into a tree and keeping a bird's eye view of the path to The Hovel. Even now, he won’t address you. It irks you down to your soul; you had done nothing to deserve a cold shoulder from him.  

Taehyun readjusts his footing on the branch and it wobbles under your feet, creaking. Your heart jumps up into your throat, and your arms encircle the tree until it aches. Bark bites your skin, but you couldn’t care less.  

“You need to relax,” Taehyun says. “The more tense you are up here, the more likely it is that you’ll actually fall.” 

You breathe out through your nose shakily, gritting your teeth. “It’s not that easy.” 

“I know it isn’t,” he says, placing a steadying hand on your back. “But you have to.” 

 You attempt to let go of the trunk, but the second you let go, you find that your footing is insufficient, and you teeter. Your arms are back around the tree faster than you can even think. 

“I didn’t say let go of the tree.” 

You bite back a snark, opting to focus your energy on not slipping and cracking your neck. You would not be this uptight if the branches weren’t coated here and there in sheets of snow that has hardened into ice, making good foot placement imperative. 

“How long are we going to be sitting up here?” you ask. You’re thankful for the way the branches and pine needles shelter you from the wind, but you’re unsure of how long you can handle the feeling of your lungs frozen in fear. 

“A while.” he says. 

You shudder out a breath at that. Well, if the tense atmosphere between you two wasn’t already enough on your plate, the threat of falling from this height is a lovely addition. 

The two of you sit perched and hidden in the trees without so much as a passerby for awful stretches of hours. The more you throw yourself into listening and watching, despite the absence of anything to listen or watch, the less taut your muscles grow. At some point, you’re able to let go of the tree, holding to the branch underneath you. You grow intensely bored by the monotonous sight of falling snow and the occasional forest creature. Of course, nobody is visiting The Hovel today. Who would be? 

“Okay, I think it’s safe to call it quits, Taehyun,” you say. Your knees ache furiously from the constant crouch you’re sat in, and you’re reaching your measly human threshold for cold temperatures despite your bundling. “Nobody’s coming. I’m sorry, I guess I interpreted things wrong. Let’s just cut our losses and go back.” 

Taehyun looks at you with a strange look in his eyes. “I’ve been doing this for days. For days, I’ve been sat up in these trees and poking around the place. Do you think I’d waste that time on something that sounds like it could’ve been interpreted wrong?” he snaps. “None of that sounded like coincidence. You found something good, and we’re not going to leave it now.” 

He says the words a bit harsher than you had hoped, but in some odd way that only Taehyun could pull off, it feels like an apology for treating you like dead weight before. 

You huff. “If it’s nothing, you can’t say it’s my fault that we’ve wasted time on this.” 

He doesn’t answer, and the forest slips back into just the quiet howl of wind and rustling branches. You rest your cheek into the tree, submitting to another bout of painfully fruitless watching. 

Taehyun rustles on the branch next to you, sitting up and suddenly very alert. You shoot him a confused glance. There’s nothing and nobody in sight. You mouth the word “What?” at him.  

He presses a finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture, holding it there as he seems to listen to something that you can’t hear. He pulls his bow off his back, notching an arrow. Your heart thumps in your neck wildly as you watch him do it. What, exactly, does he hear? 

It’s a few long, long minutes before you start hearing anything. Indistinct chatter bounces off of trees and reaches you as a pair of faeries, one of them a long-limbed pixie and the other more humanoid aside from the pointed ears peeking out from his hair. You watch them trudge through the piling snow, unable to pick up their conversation from even this distance. 

Taehyun pulls the bowstring taut, aiming at the pixie one with deadly precision. Your eyes bulge, and you turn your gaze to him with a wide-eyed stare. You want to ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but you keep your mouth sealed water-tight. You can’t let them know you’re hidden away up here. 

The utterly remote look on Taehyun’s face, even while having his bow pulled tight and ready to shoot a killing arrow at them, makes you nauseous. He doesn’t look to you, he only narrows his eyes in on the pair, studying them. They look inconspicuous to your eyes—he won’t let that arrow fly, you tell yourself. You tell it to yourself again as he readjusts his squat to better angle at them as they travel further down the path. That consolation does not work, though, when he releases the arrow out onto the pixie. It whistles before piercing the faerie right in the neck. 

You cover your mouth so as to not cry out in shock, but the wail of the other faerie does the job for you. He drops to the floor, his eyes wide and his hands clasping around the entry point of the arrow as if to staunch the bleeding—as if it would save a man with an arrow through the neck. He looks up and around, searching for where the stray arrow had flown from, but Taehyun has you two hidden too perfectly among the branches.  

You look up to Taehyun. He’s loosing another arrow, locking it into place and lining it up with the living faerie, his hands steady in a killing calm. The poor faerie is only just able to realize how vulnerable they are to an arrow before one spears through his chest. Taehyun had aimed for his heart, and he had not missed. His eyes go wide, his skin draining of its color, before he crumples over himself and joins his companion on the ground. 

You watch the sight of their blood slowly embellishing the white snow unable to look away but so sick at the sight that you might bend over and hurl up your guts.  

‘Why the fuck did you just kill them?” you say, and it’s all you can manage to get past your paralyzed lips.  

When he turns away from his carnage and looks at you, all you can see is that detached face as he had made the conscious decision to let those arrows fly and rob those faeries of their lives without warning or even speaking to them. “They’re errand runners for The Queen,” he says before he slinks down the branches, landing on the forest ground. You follow him, suddenly lithe and unafraid of falling with the liquid adrenaline simmering in your bloodstream. 

“So, you shoot and kill them on sight?” you say. “They didn’t deserve that. The most they do is run messages for her, they have no part in any of this.” Your lips tremble as you avoid looking at their still bodies, already losing heat in the snow. You can’t look; not this close. Down here, at their height, you can almost imagine the fear of looking up and knowing that someone sits somewhere in the shadows and knowing that you will be the next on the ground. 

“That’s exactly it,” he says. “They run messages. We need those messages, and we wouldn’t have gotten them by just asking them and saying please.” The rustling sound tells you that he’s searching their bodies.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, the noxious tang of blood finally hitting your nose. Your knees feel like they’ll buckle under you as you remember a time where you had been the cause of that smell. Only a few long steps away from here, you had dug your dagger into the flesh of another living being. How many more times will you see death, now that you’ve found yourself as a spy? Will you one day be as desensitized to its presence as Taehyun is? 

No, you won’t. You can’t see yourself ever valuing the life of any living thing so little that you view it as some means to an end. 

“They had lives, Taehyun. You have no right taking the liberty of that into your own hands. What are you going to do if you find nothing on them? What are you going to do?” 

There’s some more rustling before Taehyun answers. “They would laugh to see you die.” 

It’s true. You know it’s true. Yet, you still can’t find justice in their deaths.   

“You don’t know that; you didn’t know them,” you say. 

He laughs, but it’s empty of what a laugh should be. It feels cold and mocking. “They all would. Every last one of them.” 

You spin on him, hearing his unspoken words. Yeonjun, too. “And you wouldn’t?” you hiss. As you finally look at him, you notice the folded-up paper he holds in his hands.  

His eyes flash. “I am not one of them.” 

Your eyes run over the roundness of his ears. No matter how round he may have sheared them, they can never soften the sharp faerie angles of his face. Not when you’ve seen him kill as wildly and beastly as they do. He has human running in his blood, and yet, the most terrible things you’ve seen have been at his hands. “Aren’t you?” you say. “I think it’s time you come to terms with the fact that you are, and learn how to live with it.” 

He looks at you with eyes of such intensity that you have to make sure you’re still breathing. “You know nothing about me,” he snarls.  

“Maybe I don’t,” you say, rubbing your hands together to fight the cold. “But... killing them, that wasn’t human.” 

“I’m not human, either,” he says, shaking his head. 

“Then, what are you, Taehyun?” you ask.  

He looks at you for a long time, his face unmoving as if he tries but cannot conjure up an answer. “I don’t know,” he says, his tongue lashing. The raw emotion consuming his features, cracking his mask of ice, softens you.  

“Why not?” you say, stepping toward him despite the turning of your stomach when the two fallen faeries come into view. The snow is already dusting them over and covering them; the earth reclaiming what is hers. “You don’t have to live your life in the shadow of that man. You don’t have to deny yourself your own identity because he was a monster. You are not him.”  

As quickly as he let it fall, Taehyun plasters his face in ice and stone. “You have no clue who I am, or what I’ve done.”  

With that last menacing line, Taehyun unfurls the piece of paper he pulled off the errand runners. You’re not sure if the chill resting at the base of your spine is you surpassing your threshold for freezing temperatures, or if the thought of Taehyun committing the same unimaginable atrocities as his father scares you that bad. With what you had just seen... Maybe Taehyun is the same monster that you’ve been continuously warned he could be.  

His brows pinch as he takes in what’s scrawled on the paper, slowly becoming translucent is some places as snow flurries down and falls on it.  

“What?” you say. You hope that whatever is on that paper is worth their lives. 

“It’s just a nursery rhyme,” he says, flipping the paper over to check if there’s anything more. There isn’t. 

You frown. “Let me see.” You take the paper from his hands. At the top sits a crude scribbling of a bird, and beneath it is a nursery rhyme you are vaguely familiar with.  

One for sorrow,  

Two for mirth, 

Three for a wedding,  

Four for a birth,  

Five for silver, 

Six for gold,  

Seven for a secret never to be told,  

Eight for a kiss, 

Nine for a wish, 

Nine for a bird you must not miss

It’s a rhyme about magpies and the meaning behind the numbers you might see them in. On the paper, the last line is written over many times, the writing jagged and almost violent. At the bottom, there are the words tomorrow day written, small and less likely to draw the eye than the bold lines of the rhyme. Your mind freezes up. 

“Taehyun,” you say, swallowing hard. “Do you remember what kind of bird we found dead before I got attacked?” 

He nods, as if catching on to what you’re saying. “It was a magpie.” 

“And everybody is talking in these... codes about birds, right. There is some kind of organized thing happening here, Taehyun, and it involves The Queen. And, down there,” you say, pointing at the bottom of the paper. “Do you think it means that tomorrow is when it’s happening?” 

He thinks for a long moment, probably running through any other possibilities. He nods. “Sounds like it,” he says, inspecting the paper for another few beats before folding it back up and stashing it away. “Let’s get back before it gets too dark.” 

You look up at the overcast and dimming sky, nodding. You’re not sure what you’re going to run into tomorrow at that hidden little tavern, but you feel that you’ll need a better night’s sleep to face it than you’ve been getting. “Okay,” you say. 

❆

You didn’t sleep well last night. Not at all. You tossed and turned, torn between trying to figure out what all the stuff you’re finding could mean and spinning your conversation with Taehyun over and over in your head until you’re sick of it, and then you spin it some more. You thought of the dead indifference on his face as he killed them, and you thought of what he had told you. You have no idea who I am, or what I’ve done. You had hoped for some showcase of the monster that everybody paints him out to be, and you had gotten it.  

You know that the life of a spy is not a cake walk—you know it comes with violence and the constant threat of death. Killing those errand runners was clearly vital to discovering whatever The Queen has going on, and that note was a great help, yeah. Sure. But you can’t convince yourself that the loss of their lives was justifiable. You just can’t. Not even when the inhabitants of this world would do the same unto you without any such remorse. 

When you tug yourself out of bed and meet Taehyun out by the blackthorn tree, he looks at you strangely. You must look as sleep deprived as you feel. He doesn’t mention it, though, and only runs his eyes over you to check if you’ve armed yourself adequately. Nodding in approval, he sets out. 

Once you’ve cleared the trek to The Hovel and are looking upon the little hidey-hole entrance, you suck in a shuddering breath. This moment had plagued you last night, too. You run your hands down each place where you store away your hidden daggers—just for reassurance. 

“Same as last time,” Taehyun says, breaking the silence of the woods to preface your entering the tavern. “If we look like anything other than lord and human servant, we’re going to get attention that we don’t want. Especially when we don’t know who could be in here. If they were able to find out who we were last time, we need to be a thousand times more careful this time. Unless I tell you otherwise, you need to stick by me, understood?” 

You have to breathe manually, wiping your palms on your plain dress. You don’t have the luxury of wearing pants this time, no matter how much better it is in the case that you have to fight your way out of here. Female servants do not wear pants. “Understood,” you say, nodding your head and stepping into the mound entrance. 

Your entrance into the tavern is almost as wild and slippery as last time, but at least you know what to expect this time around. You scan the room as soon as you catch ground, smoothing down your dress. Instantly, you catch sight of Kai’s blonde mop of hair, leaned up against a dirt wall, strumming a fast-paced song on an instrument. The crowd is no busier than the first time you had been here, either.  

Maybe you had interpreted the paper wrong. Nothing looks amiss or curious. You let a little bit of your bottled-up stress out in a slow puff of air.  

When Taehyun appears next to you, you whisper to him, “What do we do?” 

He scans the room in a similar fashion that you had, before he cocks his head to the side in a follow me gesture. He pushes into the measly crowds. You follow him, weaving around drunken bodies and cackling, snaggle-tooth hobs until he comes to a stop. 

You suck in a breath. Of course, he had to head straight for Kai. Just your luck. Taehyun may think that Kai is a good source for information, but you really wish he would’ve picked quite literally anybody else to try and pull information from. Kai is Yeonjun’s friend, and you have no idea what might happen tonight. 

Kai looks up from his bored playing, and his brows shoot up as he spots you next to Taehyun. He doesn’t stop playing his music, though. You’re sure he could be asleep and his fingers would still be plucking strings. “Odd seeing you here,” he says, smiling at you before nodding his head in greetings to Taehyun. “Especially odd that you’re not with Yeonjun. What brings you here?” 

Taehyun looks between you and Kai. You know he’s wondering how you two might know each other.  

“Just out for some fun,” Taehyun says, cutting in and answering before you can. “She’s my ward, I’m unsure why she would make an appearance here with the prince.” There’s a distinct sour undertone to his words, but you can hardly determine why.  

Kai is undeterred by Taehyun’s brooding, a lilting smile tugging his lips up. He tilts his head to one side, and the action reveals a pair of short goat’s horns that peek from his hair. The brown of them compliments well his forest green doublet. “I’m sure you’re well aware of the prince’s fondness for her, then, if she’s your ward.”  

You had, when you first met him, thought that Kai fears Taehyun. Now, you’re more under the impression that he is not the type to really fear anyone.  

Taehyun’s lips pull into a muted frown, but you can tell that he’s ruffled by the stiffness of his shoulders. “I’ve been made aware of it, yes,” he says. His jaw feathers, and he turns his gaze on you. “Would you bring us some drinks?” he says. 

Kai gasps dramatically, furrowing his brows and placing a hand over his chest to feint offense. “That’s no way to treat a lady, Lord,” he says. “It’s no wonder she runs around with Yeonjun the way she does.” 

You resist the urge to snort when Taehyun grits his teeth. He’s only acting like that because it’s how most faeries treat their human servants, but Kai knows how to taunt in a way that meets its mark. 

“She is far from a lady,” Taehyun says, crossing his arms. “Grabbing a drink is a reasonable task for a servant, is it not?”  

You decide to just scurry off and grab drink to save yourself the effort of not laughing at him. When you find the tap barrels from which you had gotten drinks from last time, it’s the same barkeeper. He greets you, but his demeanor is totally different now. He doesn’t speak to you again as he flips up the taps and fills you some goblets. It unsettles you, but you had only interacted with him that one time. You don’t know him well enough to justify saying that he’s acting weird. 

You observe the patrons around you more closely while you wait for the drinks. If there is anything at all supposed to happen today like you had heard, they did a fine job of concealing it. You narrow your eyes, passing everybody over once more and then twice more. You had only been given a date, not a time. You may have to be here all day. 

“Your drinks,” the barkeeper says, jousting out the goblets. Some of the drinks spill over the top and seep into the dirt below. You accept them and try not to let any more go to waste as you slither through the crowds.  

Slipping back into Kai and Taehyun’s conversation, you hand Taehyun his drink. He doesn’t look at it or drink it; it’s more a prop than for his enjoyment.  

“Oh yeah?” Kai says, challenging something Taehyun must’ve said while you were away. He looks to you. “How would you like to dance to some of my music, Lady?” he asks.  

Dance? You look to Taehyun. You doubt he’d want you dancing right now.

He doesn’t object or shake his head like you think he might. 

“Right now?” you ask, looking around you to the faeries cavorting and spinning. “I’m not sure I should. Dancing is dangerous, you know?” 

Kai laughs, easing one song into another, more wild and twisting one. “You won’t lose yourself here. My music is different from other faerie music.” 

You step back so that you hover near where most of the dancing folk are, looking to Taehyun. You’re not sure if this is what you should be doing right now. What if something happens, and you’re here dancing carelessly while he needs you? Maybe it’ll work wonders to keep your cover if you look like a simple human girl losing herself to dancing. You look around once more, gnawing at your cheek, before asking Taehyun with your eyes again for any objections.

He smiles, leaning into the dirt wall behind him and crossing his arms. “Dance,” he says, his tone softer and more playful than you've heard from his lips before.

Well, if he wants you to dance, then you’ll dance. You pick up the ends of your dress and begin twirling and letting yourself fall into the intoxicating ups and downs of Kai’s music. Kai is right—the edges of your vision don’t blur, and you don’t feel your mind slipping away from you, but your cheeks do begin to flush as you tap your boots to the floor and let your hands swirl about to Kai’s singing voice. You feel the burning of Taehyun’s eyes on you. It sends an electric feeling up from the root of your feet to the center of your spine. You can’t explain why the weight of his eyes is so exhilarating, but perhaps it has something to do with the fact that, for once, you are being free in front of him and he isn’t pretending that it’s the worst thing ever. Or, maybe, it’s because you remember the way he tastes.  

You look out from your spot of spinning and enjoying yourself to Taehyun. He rips his attention off of you when your eyes find him, sipping at his drink and looking over the tavern as if he had not been watching you at all.

Once your skin grows slick with effort and your thighs begin to burn, you crawl off the dancefloor and sidle up next to Taehyun.

Well, if he’s drinking, then you can drink too, right? You seek out yours, taking it into your hands. You swirl it and inspect it as you stand beside Taehyun. The bubbly liquid tornadoes beneath an unmoving, frothy layer on the top.  

You pause. You suppose you couldn’t have expected a place like this to have the highest quality wine. You sip it anyway—you intend to relish the sour taste of the plum wine. It’s a bit powdery upon the first drink; little grits of something wash down with the sweet fruitiness. Your nose crinkles. It’s nasty. 

Taehyun doesn’t speak with Kai any more. It seems that he did not have any of the information he had hoped he could find from him. Still, he stays nestled in the little corner where Kai prefers to perform in; you’re sure it’s because it keeps his back protected against the wall, not to mention it lets him observe the entirety of the tavern. Kai doesn’t seem to mind; he’s far more interested in his music, anyway.  

You try and look over the place as well, but there isn’t much to note. Faeries stumble around drunkenly when they aren’t tittering and dancing. Kai’s music begins to swirl and blur in your ears. You blink away the same blurring around the edges of your vision. That must be an awfully strong cup of wine. 

You affirm that none of it is indicative of some covert, shady thing that you’re anticipating. Your stomach feels heavy. Taehyun had sat out here for multiple days because he relied on you; he had killed those two errand runners because of your information. And here is the fruit of your efforts to contribute to this mission: you’re wasting your time in a shabby, dug out little tavern alongside drunken faeries, joining in on their debauchery with a drink in your own hand. You frown down at your cup of wine. The image of it bends and wobbles. 

“Did I do a bad job?” you ask. Your words slur, as if your lips can’t keep up.  

Taehyun stops his monitoring to look at you. His face is fuzzy in your eyes, but you can see the confusion written all over it. “What?” he says. 

You stumble a bit. Your feet don’t seem to be falling where you will them to. “I’m sorry,” you slur. “It’s my fault.” 

He rushes over to you. You don’t even notice you’re falling until he’s catching your weight, keeping you held upright. “Shit,” he says, snatching your drink from you. He inspects it for a moment, swirling it how you had earlier. Whatever he sees makes his face drop, his eyes hardening—as if preparing for something. For what? You lift your head with much effort. It feels dragged down to the earth. You blink and look around.  

Taehyun throws your drink to the ground, the goblet thudding against the dirt. You watch a few heads pop up from the crowd. They watch as Taehyun tries to carry you out. Your clumsy limbs make his efforts more difficult. You can feel him growing more desperate beside you until he curses under his breath, and then hoists you over his shoulder. The world spins around you until you’re staring down at the ground, and Taehyun is heading for the exit. Your fingers and toes buzz. 

Taehyun crawls up the entrance, all while you’re laying over his shoulder like dead weight. Fresh air burns your skin as he clears it. You watch the ground turn from trodden dirt and twigs to snow path. He secures an arm around your waist to steady you, and then he’s taking crashing through the forest. 

You can feel your mind slipping more, as something liquid and hot replaces your blood. You watch the ground pass you by, trying to count the bushes and study the shrubs in hopes that it’ll help you stay present. You can’t tell if it’s working. 

Taehyun stumbles to the ground. You, being on his shoulder, follow. The white blanket on the forest floor does not do anything to cushion the fall. Sharp foliage greets you, slicing up your skin. You bite down a warbled yelp as you struggle up onto your arms.  

Taehyun is hunched over into the snow, grunting into the ground. A bird-feather arrow pierces his shoulder, making the cloth around it dark and sticky with his blood. He writhes there for a moment that seems to stretch. You crawl toward him; you’re sure that if you stand, you’ll just fall anyway.  

“Taehyun.” You shake him. Your heart is up in your throat, choking you. “Taehyun, get up,” you beg. The ground thunders beneath you. There are people coming. Too many of them to fight off by yourself, if the roar of their approach is anything to go by. Adrenaline pumps through you, pushing out some of that substance and making room for itself. It sobers you up, just enough to grasp the dire situation you’re in. You can’t fight them in this state, and you’re not sure if Taehyun can now, either. “Please!” 

He trembles as pushes himself off the ground. The growled sounds of pure, undiluted pain he makes twists your stomach sick. “Do I pull it out?” you ask, your voice thin. Your words are still a bit slow and they still blend into one another, but at least you’re making sense now. 

He pants, shaking his head. “Break it off,” he grits out through his teeth. You crawl behind him on your knees to inspect the arrow. A short breath of relief slips past your lips. It’s shallow enough that you’re certain it didn’t puncture his lung. You bring your hands up and take the whittled shaft of the arrow into your hands. His shuddered breath as you do makes you pause. 

You can’t. You really, really can’t get your hands to move. You’re stricken down by fear, frozen by it. Your breaths come shallow and inadequate—as if your fear constricts your lungs and takes up the space where air should be. Approaching voices and the rumbling forest floor devastates every last ounce of rationality you’ve got in you. 

“Now,” he snaps. “Do it now. Break the end off, and get back. Don’t worry about me.” 

You blow out air, gripping the stem of the arrow harder. You betray your mind and wrench the thing down, trying to snap it in half. It doesn’t work, only digging the tip end of it around in his shoulder. You cover your mouth with your quivering hand as he roars, digging his fingers into his pant legs. His whole body is wracked with tremors at your clumsy hand. Acid crawls up your throat. You grab the portion that is nearest to his skin, holding it in place as you try and snap it again. It works this time. Taehyun’s chest rumbles with a deep, tortured groan under your hands, but it worked. 

He rises from the ground, his pupils blown wide and his skin clammy. He turns to face your pursuers, sliding his sword out. He takes on a defensive stance. There’s a grim set to his face. You wonder if he’s making peace with the impossibility of you making it out of this alive. He’s wounded, you’re not of the right state of mind, and you’d be outnumbered in even a perfect state. 

A flock of faeries you recognize from The Hovel surround you. A red cap with a gnarly scar scrawled across his face, a man with spindly black hair and jagged tusks that curl up from his mouth, and a lanky horned imp with beady eyes. All of them had been separate and inconspicuous when you had seen them, hidden between the crowds. Despite your imposition, you drag yourself off the ground. They don’t even spare you a passing glance. 

“I thought we’d just be snuffing out some forgettable flame today,” the red cap says, laughing. “Oh, could you have imagined it’d be the general’s son?” 

The one with the tusks barks a laugh from your left. He’s holding a bow—he’s the one who shot Taehyun down. “To think you gave your loyalties to The King, considering your own father’s loyalties to our queen,” he says, sneering at Taehyun. This is a hunt—they’ve chased you down like a wild animal, and now that the arrow has hit its mark, they intend to laugh and yip at you like prey. “You’re the spy,” he says, and then gestures at you, “and this is the human companion, then?” 

Taehyun doesn’t answer. 

“Fine. We don’t need your conversation to enjoy this, Lord.” He spits out Taehyun’s title in the very same way the man had during your first run-in that had taken place in this forest. They’re connected—it’s all connected in some grand scheme. And, The Queen is involved. Even if you and Taehyun make it out of this forest alive, leaving a single one of these lackeys alive would expose your identities. Not to mention, it would confirm the fact that The King has spies here. Even if you don’t die here, you and Taehyun are done. Where had you gone wrong? You’re not sure where any of this had slipped off. You hope that it’s just been to the effect of some grand plan much, much out of your own control. You hope it isn’t Taehyun’s blood on your hands, next. 

“I’d heard that you returned to Court recently,” the man continues. “I couldn’t have imagined that it would be because you’d return to your own Court as a spy. Is that why you ran off to those lands? To work at the hand of that worthless king? What would your father think?” 

Taehyun tenses up, the grip on his sword white-knuckled. You pray he doesn’t slip right into their taunting. If you’re to die here today, let it not be as their entertainment. The one thing you promised you would no longer be is their entertainment.  

The horned one cuts in, speaking for the first time. He sounds young. “Speak up, you piece of shit. You at least owe us your fear, for all you and your father did to these lands.” 

They’re growing more antsy and aggressive, their jaws snapping like hungry, circling wolves. You’re not sure how much longer they plan on just taunting.  

“And where is your allegiance?” Taehyun says, breaking his tense silence. “What is this?” He gestures at them with his sword. 

The three of them share a laugh, short and sardonic. The black-haired one speaks. “This is what happens when a worthless man sits on the throne for a millennium, expecting fealty for only his name. This is revolt.” 

You frown. As far as you know, the land of Faerie has never known a time where its denizens, specifically the ones that swore fealty to him, would outright denounce The King. A revolt is unheard of—the throne is an ancient, primordial thing. 

“The Queen is committing treason,” Taehyun says, low and menacing. “And so are you. What name do you call your insurgency?” 

The redcap answers. “We call ourselves The Magpies,” he says. There it is—it all makes sense. All the weird, cryptic words and the wobbly scent trail you and Taehyun have been following. That poem you found on those errand runners, that dead magpie you had found before getting attacked. One for sorrow. It was a message. All of this was a set up; they had intended for those errand runners to die, and they had anticipated you would catch wind and wind up here. You’ve walked yourselves into a wolf den, fully believing that you were the ones a step ahead. You walked yourselves to your deaths.  

No. You walked the two of you to your deaths.  

They don’t plan on you surviving. Them laying this all out for you attests to that. You don’t want to die; not now, not when you’ve found something to live for. Not when Yeonjun will have to deal with the loss of you.  

“C’mon. Where’s all your fight now? Where’s the man that tore down villages by his father’s side? Do something.” The redcap says. They all inch a little closer.  

Your heart stutters in your chest. You hope that he lies; that he’s embellishing Taehyun’s past. You look at Taehyun, and that dead, killing face is there. You know it’s true. He’s exactly the monster you’re supposed to be wary of. But you’re here clawing for your life right beside him. He’s here making a stand to protect you; he could run and leave you here in order to save his own life. You’d be stuck here on poisoned legs and be swiftly dealt with before they take off for him. But he doesn’t leave you. He won’t let you die alone. Is that the heart of a beast? 

“I am loyal to no king or queen,” Taehyun spits out. “Not to my father, either.” 

The red cap groans a patronizing groan. “You’re loyal to nothing, not even yourself. It’s why you fled your homeland the moment you could, isn’t it? You thought distance would change what you’d done?” 

You have to do something. They won’t expect you to, and to sit here would be to just lay down and accept it. You refuse to. If Taehyun can stick his neck out for you, you can try. Maybe your limbs are clumsy and drunken, but if you die, it won’t be for not trying. And, if you make it, you can sort all of this stuff out with Taehyun. 

You inspect the three men. They don’t have their eyes on you; you’ve got that to your advantage. Plus, your blade is made of cold iron. A normal stab would hurt, but a stab with iron would poison them. If you can eliminate at least one of them, you’ll even the playing field just enough for a real fighting chance. You narrow your eyes. You’ll have to use the fact that they aren’t paying attention to you the most efficiently you can—you have to get the biggest threat down. The horned imp is reedy and he doesn’t scare you as bad as the other two do. The black-haired one is wide set and imposing, but you know you’ve got to go for the redcap. Their kind are violent and savage by nature; they breathe the tang of blood in the same way you breathe air. Once they satisfy their bottomless thirst for killing, they dip their red cap into the blood of their victim, and wear it as a trophy. This one’s cap is a testament to his danger, so crusted over and made stiff with old, brown blood that it does not move. You’re unsure why he believes he has the right to accuse Taehyun of violence while he wears his own violence upon his head. 

You bring your hand down to your hip and find a dagger under your dress and at your thigh as fast as you can. You know that if you don’t move fast enough, they’ll see you reaching for something and put an arrow or sword through you. You stumble for the redcap, willing your legs to keep you upright as you do. Please. Please, let this work. Let you be good for something. 

You drive your blade into his abdomen, and then reclaim it from his body. The spray of warm, molten blood comes as less of a shock this time, but it makes you no less nauseous. He makes a sound of howling pain, and then he falls to the ground, spitting out blood. His abdomen hisses and steams, as if burning. You’re sure he’ll stay down there. 

Stabbing him had them finally tearing their attention away from Taehyun. The one with black hair grabs you up quick, spinning you into a hold. He grabs you by the throat, cutting off your air supply. You sputter, clawing at his hand.  

“You’re a sneaky little bitch, aren’t you?” he growls, pulling you tighter. You make a strangled noise. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. “I was going to deal with you after him, but look what you’ve done now. Should’ve stayed in your place, huh? Have you forgotten what it is? Let me remind you.”  

You’re shoved down to cold earth, and then his foot comes down onto your neck, twisting and digging into it. “In the dirt. You are nothing. You had no right poking yourself into the business of your superiors, so what made you think you could come here as a spy—”  

You can tell he intends to continue, but he’s cut short by the sword that pierces his chest. He stumbles off you, and you suck in air once his foot is off your neck.  

Your body hurts. It hurts as if your muscles and bones are punishing you for depriving them of their oxygen, as if the poison still loitering around in your veins is making a final, excruciating hurrah. You don’t have time to sink into it, though. You push yourself up on your arms just in time to see Taehyun, wide-eyed and looking part beast, cutting down that imp as well. It’s quick and brutal. Once he’s down and unmoving, Taehyun looks to you. You almost flinch at the sight of him, blood-sprayed and lip-curled. He clears the distance between you in a few, long-legged strides and tugs you up. 

On your feet, you look down at the carnage below you. Blood sits on the snow in puddles and sprinkles it like terrible little blooming flowers. The redcap writhes on the floor, slow and meaningless, as the iron works itself through him. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever seen in your life. 

Taehyun tugs at your arm. “We need to go. We need to go now.” 

You find yourself unable to move. 

“Now,” he growls. “I don’t know if there’s more of them. We need to get out of this forest before we die.” 

You try, but your legs are as solid as water as you do. You were clear headed enough for that last-ditch effort, but it was just that: a last-ditch effort. You barely have control of your limbs enough to go running through the forest. 

“Damn it,” he says, sheathing his sword and taking you back over his good shoulder. It’s just as disorienting this time, but you don’t have it in you to complain. And then, he’s cutting through the forest again, the forest floor of ice and snow whirling by and rendering you sick. 

Please, let there be nobody following you. 

❆

At some point, the poison had worn off you enough for you to travel the rest of the way yourself. It’s an awful journey, with both you and Taehyun watching over your shoulders and each sound of rustling forest creatures makes you jump. Taehyun doesn’t make any commotion about the arrowhead still nestled into his shoulder, but you can see in the stiffness of his movements that it’s bothering him.  

The last stretch of white, snow flats until you’re finally back at the estate is long and arduous. You sigh in relief as you stumble through the front door.  

You can’t fully relax yet, though. Taehyun collapses into the table almost immediately, sliding down into a seat. His skin has a sickly pallor to it.  

“You need to take this thing out of my shoulder,” he says, straining to look up to you. His eyes are so, so wary.  

Your stomach does a cruel twist with just the words, but you know it’s true. You nod. “I’ll go get some thread.”  

You clamber up the stairs and throw open drawers in a frantic search for your sewing kit. If working for Nut-hatch had taught you one thing, it was the importance of keeping a sewing kit around. Oh, and how to sew a solid stitch. You’re not so sure how well your stitching skills will cross over into suturing skin closed, but it has to be better than nothing. It has to be. 

You find the little wooden box in a dressing drawer, and then you bolt back down the stairs. He had spent so much time free bleeding that you worry he’s lost too much; you’ve got to get that closed up. 

Taehyun is peeling off his layers as you’re bounding down the last steps. You help him peel the last bit of his doublet off, and then his tunic, until his bare back faces you, a plane of toned muscle and marred skin. Your heart thunders in your chest. 

His back is littered with an outrageous number of scars, some superficial and some so deep that they leave jagged valleys in their paths. None of them are as gruesome or gnarly a sight as the festering wound at his shoulder, shimmering with his blood. The tip of the arrow is lodged well into it. You run a hand up the skin of his back until it’s resting right before the puncture wound begins. The thought of digging your fingers in there and tugging that arrow out from his flesh is a terrible, terrible one.  

You just have to do it. 

You curl your fingers around the ragged, splintered butt of the arrow where you had snapped it off, and you begin trying to wiggle it loose. Taehyun’s head drops, and he suppresses strangled grunts.  

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. You know it doesn’t make it feel any better, but you want him at least to know that doing this to him is making you ill. You tug on it some more, trying to find the path of least resistance. He shakes under your hand. “I’m sorry, Taehyun.”  

The arrow dislodges finally, leaving an awful open wound now dripping with fresh blood. You take a deep breath before reaching for your sewing kit, grabbing a curved needle. It doesn’t steady your trembling hands.  

He doesn’t make so much noise as you stitch the wound closed, just dangling his head, facing it head-strong. Each time you dig the needle through his skin on one side and then again on the other to form a stitch, you grow increasingly ill. You rub circles into his other shoulder. You’re not sure if they even register for him. Maybe they’re more for you than they are for him. 

“What do we do now, Taehyun?” you ask. You know it’s not the best time to be interrogating him, but you’re lost. You’re not sure if you’re going to be fleeing here tonight, or if you’re going to be able to carry on under the radar. “Do we leave?” 

Taehyun speaks through gritted teeth. “We don’t know all who was at The Hovel. We have no idea who saw what happened. We can’t be certain that every loose end is tied up.” 

Your stomach drops, swift and heavy. You can’t leave; you can’t leave Yeonjun here. You know he returns to his court for the rest of the season, but things will be different there from here. Can’t you just stay here, in this time and frame where you are cherished, forever? At some point, you had forgotten that this was your fate from the very start.  

You wince as a particular stitch has Taehyun trying to hold back his shaking. “When do we leave?” you ask. Let there at least be enough time for you to see Yeonjun.  

He steadies himself. “I don’t know—” he sucks in a withering breath as you stitch him mid-sentence, “let me think about it.” 

You sigh out a selfish, self-serving puff of air. At least you aren’t packing up and scrambling tonight.  

You continue sewing his wound closed for a few tense, silent moments more. 

“Taehyun,” you say. You have to ask; have to talk about it. You have so many questions. Do you leave with Taehyun to continue being a spy when you now know that Taehyun has skeletons in his closet? Is that the new life you dreamed of when you ran away from your old one? 

Taehyun lifts his head to let you know he’s listening. You’re sure he can hear the tension in your tone. 

“In the forest,” you begin. “They said you did those awful things with your father. And, they’re not the only ones I’ve heard say stuff like that.” 

His head snaps up. “From the prince?” he says, his eyes dark and dense with pain.  

“What does it matter?” you say, stepping back from your stitching. “What does it matter where I heard it from? Explain it to me, Taehyun.” Your tone is rigid and accusatory, but there’s also an undercurrent of pleading that slips from you before you can catch it.  

His jaw feathers, and he swallows hard. 

“So, it’s true, huh?” You finish up your last stitch with imprecise hands, tying it then and cutting it off so that you make some distance between you and him. You had known that, but you had hoped it’d all be by your misunderstanding. “What was that story in the cave about your father, then? Buttering me up so that I wouldn’t be afraid of you? And I believed it all, too. Are you even half human? What are you, Taehyun?” you say, your words a bitter echo of a question you had already asked him. 

Hurt fizzles over his eyes and lines his face. “It seems you’ve already decided what I am for me, haven’t you?” He stumbles up from his seat, towering over you with a curled lip. “Say it,” he challenges. “Say what I am.” 

“You’re just like all of the rest of them,” you say. You back up some more; he’s standing over you with more venom and unadulterated emotion than you’ve ever seen him allow. It terrifies you. How deep had you driven your pick, that you had shattered that ice mask and revealed his true face? “You’re a monster.”  

“Like the rest of them?” he says, his eyes blazing. “What about the prince, then? Is he a monster, too?” 

Your back touches the wall. He’s standing right over you. It’s a mirror image of the time he had you backed against a tree, but this time he doesn’t reach out and touch you. “Yeonjun is different. Different from you, at least. He isn’t a murderer. He loves me.” 

Taehyun reaches up for your chest. You flinch, bracing, but he only grabs Yeonjun’s necklace there. Disbelief and hurt flashes over his eyes as you do. You’re not sure why he’s surprised; you had just dubbed him a monster. Maybe the distinction lies somewhere on the borderline where you would believe that he would hurt you. 

“You can’t trust a word from his mouth. Not one.” He rips the necklace from your neck, snapping the delicate chain. You reach up, feeling the empty space there. And then, you see red. 

A few moments of thick, charged disbelief fill the air before you’re finally able to pull together your scattered, frayed and vicious thoughts. “And I’m supposed to believe yours?” you snap, blood roaring in your ears. “You are a filthy, filthy liar, and a murderer too.” You’re not sure whether or not Taehyun can lie. You’re not sure whether or not he is any part human. You’re not sure of anything about him at all. 

“The prince is a liar, too,” Taehyun says. "You really think that he is going to wed you? To make you his wife? Maybe he loves you today, but he will forget you tomorrow. You’re nothing more than a thing to dress up to him, until he finds the next thing to do the same to.” He holds up your ruined necklace and dangles it in the air. “He thinks he can buy you with this. Is that your worth? Pretty necklaces?” 

When you don’t answer, he continues, his face pulled taut into a sneer. “It is now, isn’t it? You’d be content with a life as his mistress, hidden away because he is ashamed of you, for the entirety of your life, just as long as you’re draped in his silks and bows. He will never marry you. He is a prince.” 

That one drives deep into your chest, the wound as visceral and aching as the one in Taehyun’s shoulder. You will back scalding, angry tears. “He said he loves me,” you say. You try and not let your voice wobble, and to not let it sound pathetic and self-convincing. You try to make it sound true. 

He laughs in your face. “He’s had a lifetime perfecting how to lie in his own way.” 

You shake your head. You know sincere eyes when you see them, don’t you? His words weasel down into your mind, anyway. Perhaps you had let your disgusting, decayed heart cling to the smallest morsel of what you had thought was love just a little too tightly. You hope it would not destroy you to try and pry it off; that you are not so sickeningly dependent on the thought of being wanted that it would ruin you to lose it. 

You have nothing. No longer a home, no longer a companion, and no longer a lover. Though, maybe you never had Yeonjun in the first place.  

“Maybe he’s just playing me,” you say. “Maybe that’s true, but you are a murderer, Taehyun.” 

“I never had a choice,” Taehyun says.  

It’s your turn to laugh in his face. “It wasn’t your choice to kill?” 

He shakes his head. His face is still pale with blood loss. “My father brought me when he’d tear down those villages. He’d make me sit and watch because he knew it tortured me. I never once killed any of those people. He was embarrassed to have an heir that didn’t carry out his will, and so he let them think I did it by his side.” 

You reel, trying to imagine a young Taehyun made to witness the gory deaths of innocents. Your words from earlier rise like bile in your throat. You want to ask why he never did anything, why he wouldn’t save them, but you know looking over the jagged, nasty scars that litter his arms and torso that he had. He had, and he took his father’s wrath each time he did. 

“Why didn’t you try to tell them that you didn’t?” you ask. “Why did you let them believe that about you?” 

“I don’t care how they see me. I don’t care for any of it.” 

The estate is silent again as you grapple with your own mind. You know why he left the north, but none of this explains why he’d found himself as a spy to The King.  

Taehyun retracts. You can tell that bearing this out is not a comfortable thing for him; his face is grave and almost sullen.  

Your stomach feels full of rocks. His mean words fill your mind to the brink, and then your own top it off until your mind is spilling over. You grit your teeth. You want to stomp off and explode in your room, to scream into a pillow and pace the floor until daylight. But you can do none of that without disinfecting his wound. 

So, you take a rag and alcohol from the kitchens, and you dab it at the stitching in dense, dense silence. And once you’re done, you disappear upstairs to toss and turn in your bed with awful thoughts and fitful sleep. 

❆

You slip out of the estate as soon as the sun settles into the sky. You don’t know if Taehyun intends on leaving today, or any day soon, but you can’t go without seeing Yeonjun. You have so much you want to leech from your mind. You can’t leave with your mind full like this. When you make it to Yeonjun’s place, no servants even send you a second glance. They know your face, now.  

Your body buzzes as you reach his tall, white doors, and you walk in without any hesitating. You had been tortured with the inability to see or speak or touch him not just since last night, but also for the past few days.  

Yeonjun’s head swivels to you once you’re in his room, eyebrows pulling together. He’s buttoning up a silken shirt, no doubt getting dressed and ready for the day.  

“Is something wrong?” he says, looking over you with worried eyes. 

You crash right into him, circling your arms around him and holding him in your arms. 

He rubs one hand over your back, the other cupping the back of your head. You stay that way for a bit, before he pulls you off him and inspects your face. His eyes then dart to the empty space at your neck. “Where is your necklace?” he asks, his voice dipping. 

You hate the concern on his face. You can’t tell if it’s an act, or if he really worries for you.  

“Hey,” he says, taking your face in one hand with a grounding hold. “Say something. Please.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, it got broken,” you say, grimacing. “Just hold me, please.” You want to feel his arms around you, to have him envelope you so entirely that you can’t help but believe there is anything but love in his hold. 

He does without question, delicately guiding you back into the wall. “It can be fixed, darling. We can fix it,” he says, soft and lovely into your ear. 

It feels as though he reached his hand right into your core and brushes his fingers over your tainted thoughts. You almost begin fearing that he has been keen to your thoughts this whole time, the way his words patch over your open wounds. It’s as if he knows something beyond just the necklace has been broken here. 

He presses your hip into the wall with a hand. He brings his head back to inspect your face before bringing your lips together in a warm, savory kiss. You flatten your palm against his stomach, and then drag it down until you cup his rapidly hardening length through his pants. He makes a sharp sound into your mouth and then pulls his mouth off of you to shoot you a look.  

“What are you doing, you little vixen?” he says. You palm him harder, reveling in the way he sucks his lip into his teeth to repress a groan. Please, just let you have this one night in his arms before you have to go. You need his warmth to thaw you out, and then maybe you can leave this frozen place and return to the place where there is no frost or snow. Maybe it’ll make it harder in the end, but you can’t find it within yourself to care right now. You need to breathe him in like oxygen. 

You slide down the wall and let your knees rest on the cold wood of the floor, looking up to his hair obscuring his eyes as he watches you get on the floor for him. You work on his pants, unbuttoning them with nimble, eager hands and then freeing him. The way his length stands tall in front of your face exhilarates you—you did this to him. 

“You don’t have to do this, baby,” he says, but the haze over his eyes says differently.  

You take his cock into your hands. It’s warm and heavy, and leaking from the tip. You do. You need to see how much he needs you; how he craves your touch. You want to make him so ravenous for your touch that he’ll declare his love for you, and it’ll be real, and then you can stay here like this forever. You want his arms to be home, where you don’t have any other place to call home. “You don’t want my mouth?” you say, drunken with the potent need in his eyes. 

“I didn’t say that,” he says, groaning as you kitten lick his slit and then down the side. “On your knees is such a filthy place for a pretty lady to be,” he says, eating up the image of you.  

You take him into your mouth, making sure to run your tongue along the bottom of him as you let him in. He shudders and lets his head fall back, and then snaps his head back down as if thriving off the sight. You bob your head, taking him down until he tickles the back of your throat. You have to force down the gags that prick tears at the corners of your eyes. He cradles the back of your head. 

Yeonjun laughs. “How did you learn to use your mouth like this?” he says between his panted breaths. “You haven’t let him have this, have you?” 

Your eyes flutter open as he says it, your brows furrowed.  

He grabs the hair at the back of your head and uses it to pull you off of him. You suck in full breaths while you have the chance. “What?” he says, letting his saliva-slick length rest on your cheek. It feels more lewd and dirty than having him in your mouth. “I know you kissed him. He told me himself.” 

Your mouth drops open, but he’s guiding himself back into your mouth before you can say anything. Taehyun had told Yeonjun you’d kissed? You couldn’t defend yourself if you tried; he’s rutting into your mouth, hand fisted at the back of your head as he looks down at you with something blazing in his eyes. You can feel the restraint in his hands and in his face. His stomach grows taut. 

“I should’ve known he’d get his hands on you the second he could, pretty. That dog doesn’t know how to keep hands off of what’s not his. I’m going to have to keep you on a tighter leash, huh? I don’t like other men knowing what you taste like, baby.” His words are measured and taunting, but he’s twitching in your mouth and his thrusts are growing more frantic, and his hand is twisted into your hair as if you’ll run away and leave him needy if he doesn’t hold you there. 

You’ve never heard Yeonjun speak like this. He’s expressed distaste for Taehyun before, but never like this. Never like he’s sinking his teeth into you and staking his claim. Yeonjun doesn’t need to cling to his possessions—not when everything he’s ever wanted has been at his fingertips. So, why does he sound like a frantic dog showing its teeth so that another won’t reach for its toy? 

His thrusts become more feverish and shallow, whimpers escaping the back of his throat. Saliva pools out from your lips and sullies your chin, but you’re too focused letting him use your throat that you can’t be bothered with it. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, his abdomen going rigid. He slips out of your mouth quick, before he can melt into your mouth and cum. His cock is red and angry, frustrated with denied release. “Your mouth is so good, baby, but when I cum, I want it to be in you,” he says, reaching down to wipe the mess off your chin with his thumb.  

You whine, the sound a bit hoarse with use. He uses his words in a way that leaves you so weak. The two of you stumble over to the bed, where he lays out and you climb up over him. He pushes your dress up and over your thighs, the skimming of his fingers electric and shooting up straight into your cunt. You hover just above him, lining the weeping tip of him up with you, but not yet sinking down onto him. 

“I waited for this,” he says, taking your hips into his hands. “For multiple days, I yearned to touch you like this again. And, where were you these past few days, darling? In his bed?” 

You brace your hands on his chest, the shirt there disheveled and unbuttoned now, despite him having only freshly put it on. You sink down just a little bit, watching his face contort despite his fiery words. 

“No,” you insist, sinking lower. He stretches you just as deliciously as the first time. “No, ‘Jun. I promise, baby. This is just for you.” 

His head falls back, and he’s looking at you down his nose, his fingers digging divots into your hips. You take him down to the hilt, and then pick yourself up and drop back down, falling into a delicious rhythm. The roll of your hips and the perfect angle of his cock has him brushing up against a sweet, soft spot inside of you, sending your thighs trembling each time it does.  

“Make me believe that, pretty,” he says. His lips are bitten red as you pick up speed, leaning forward onto your hands to fuck yourself down on him harder and faster. You relish in the way he reacts for you. “Make me believe you never gave him what is mine.” 

You try. Oh, you try. Your thighs begin aching, burning with exertion, and sweat sheens your neck. Once your thighs are unable to fully lift you off of him, you opt for rolling your hips into him frantically, chasing that knot deep in your belly the same way you chase to watch him grow restless under you, his hands alternating between holding your hips and the bedsheets and your chin. 

His hands come to your hips again, taking them with a more solid, reinforcing grip. His cheeks are tinted pink. “Need help, baby? Getting tired?” he purrs, picking you up and bringing you back down on his cock with renewed vigor that has you falling forward and whimpering into his neck. He opts for fucking up into feverishly you now that you’re bent over him. 

“I love you— I love you, Yeonjun,” you pant, clinging to his chest. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” 

You’re sorry for so much. You’re so sorry that you can’t help but let it slip out into his skin while you’re in his arms. You’re sorry that you’ve lied to him, you’re sorry that you’ve doubted him, and you’re so awfully sorry that you have to leave him.  

“It’s okay, darling. It’s okay,” he manages through his labored breaths. He holds you to his chest like he can meld you into him there. You know he’s not comforting you for what you wish he would be, but it swells emotion up in your chest regardless.  

He’s so, so close. You can feel him twitching inside you, so riled up that he’s going to cum before you.  

You lift off of him, taking in his heavy eyes and rapidly rising and falling chest, before you crawl off of his cock.  

He whines, reaching out for you. “What are you—” he says, cut off by the strangled hum of relief as you wrap your hand around his length, slick and ruined with your essence. A look of recognition passes over his eyes, and something akin to hurt as well. You hadn’t worried about letting him cum in you last time, but last time you had been reckless and forgotten that you’re living on borrowed time. Your mind was not jaded with the knowledge that you don’t have forever like it is now.

You slide your wrist up and down him, devouring the bucking of his hips and the way he chants your name. Your name. Finally, he stills, cursing and cumming white, hot spurts up onto his belly, soiling part of his shirt that had not yet ridden up. The sight of it has you fluttering around nothing.  

He pants, but picks his head up off the bed with effort before frowning. “You didn’t get off. Let me help you, pretty. Let me take care of you.” He pushes up off the bed, taking your face in one hand. 

You shake your head, falling down into the side of his bed that has become yours. “I’m okay,” you say. Though you’re a sticky, awful mess between your thighs, that’s not what you need. You usher him to lay down with you with a hand. “I just want to be here with you.” 

He gives you an odd look, but lays down on his side, facing you, albeit tentatively. The two of you are quiet for a minute, eyes flickering over each other's faces as if you both have something you want to say, but both can’t form the words or speak them. 

You breathe in a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself. You have to tell him; it’s what you came here for. Can’t your last day just be left untainted? You worry you’ll be forever forced to remember these moments by the sick flipping of your stomach, instead of the angles of his face and the rhythm of his heart beating as it floats down from euphoria. 

“I have to leave this place, Yeonjun,” you say, eyes flickering up to his finally. “I’m leaving tomorrow. Something happened, and I have...” You swallow hard. “I have to tell you something.” 

You expect his face to twist up in confusion or worry, but it doesn’t. Instead, it falls. He doesn’t speak for a moment too long, and your heart plays cruel tricks on you.  

“I know,” he says, and all the air is whooshed from your lungs. 

“What?” you say, flying up onto your arms. “What do you mean?” 

“I know why you’re here. I know that the both of you are spies for my father.” 

Your mouth is paralyzed with all the moments you’ve spent petrified of this exact moment so that you can barely speak. “How?” you say. “Since when?” 

He sighs, sitting up as well. “Since today.” 

He doesn’t answer how, but you already know. It all clicks into place in at this very moment. The only way that he might have found out just today was that Kai had told him. You remember the looks on their faces when that bark-skinned faerie had said something about the solstice and some kind of set-up at The Hovel. Not only had that been a set-up, but Yeonjun had known about it. Him and Kai both had. Whether or not they knew it would be you and Taehyun who would show up until you did, you don’t know. Kai knew there would be a poisoned drink for the spies if they fell into that trap that day, and the moment he saw you go down he knew it was you and Taehyun. 

You jump off the bed, backing up and away from him. “You’re one of them?” you say, your voice fragile.  

“What?” he says, looking at you weird. “One of them? You mean part of the rebellion?” 

You scoff. “Yes.” 

“Is there something wrong with that?” 

Is there something wrong with that? They had tried to kill you twice. Would he be complacent with your death, so long as it’s in the name of his loyalty to The Queen? 

“Your people poisoned me, and have made attempts on my life twice,” you say, stepping away from him again. “And I’m leaving because they might make even more.” 

He shakes his head, his eyes wary watching you back away from him. “They won’t,” he says. “Not now that I know it’s you. They will never lay another finger on you again, nobody will. You don’t have to leave here.” 

“Oh, but if it were any other human girl, that’d be fine? You’d live with the knowledge that the people you cozy yourself up with killed her? And, what about Taehyun? Does your courtesy extend to him, prince? You expect me to just accept your protection and let them hunt for his head? I know your distaste for your father and that crown, Yeonjun. But, is this really the way you intend to do this? Inciting war is not going to mend that.” 

He shakes his head, closing in on you and taking your face into his hands. “War is going to happen regardless of my meddling. It has been charging up for years. I don’t want you working as a spy for my father when it happens; I want you here.” His eyes dart between yours. “If Taehyun decides on staying here, if it will allow me to keep you here, then I will extend every bit of my power to protect the both of you. Forget your duties to my father. You have no need to work as a spy when I will support your life endlessly, pretty. Please.” 

Your stomach roils with flame and acid. Yeonjun hadn’t lied to you, but somehow this is worse. You suppose you can’t feel too left in the dark—he had just found out your deceit, and yet... Here he is, pleading with you to stay. You had imagined he’d cast you out and renounce you upon finding out your truth. In some ways, that almost seems better. You don’t know how to work with this, and you had not prepared for this.  

 Would Taehyun even agree to stay here? You honestly don’t know. You don’t know what Taehyun’s intentions are with being a spy, but you can’t imagine him wanting to stay here. Not when you know his past here in the north.  

Do you want to be a spy? If war is genuinely coming, would it just be returning home with a target on your back?  

Taehyun’s spitted words crawl up to the forefront of your mind. You’ll never be sure if Yeonjun will stay true to his promises of protection and love. Would he wed a human, even when estranged from the throne and his father? 

You search Yeonjun’s desperate, pleading eyes. You hope that what you see there is more than just sparkling need to dig his claws into his play toys. 

…🪶 ashlynn's note yeaaah. i said it was angsty!! i know u taehyun girlies are waiting on a taehyun scene but guys i promise the longer you wait the better it'll be I PROMISEEE. also, lmk in the comments if you think she should leave the north or stay there with Yeonjun.

﹙🏷️ ﹚ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[maidragoste]

Chapter Two: A United Front

The Hunger Games AU

Katniss!Jacaerys x Peeta!Reader

Chapter One Chapter Three

First of all, thank you very much for all the support that the first chapter had! It made me really happy to see every comment and reblog, it really motivated me to continue writing 🥰🥰

Please let me know again what you thought of this chapter in the comments, as always, likes and reblogs are appreciated too 💖💖

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

Jacaerys was irritated. Firstly, because it is evident that you had already begun to play in front of the cameras since when you two arrived at the train station you did not bother to hide your tears, you probably thought that perhaps this way you could get a sponsor or else your strategy was to show yourself weak and like an easy prey to later fight in the arena. That's what Sabitha Vypren, from District 7, had done in her games.

The second reason for his irritation was his uncle. Larys hadn't said a word to him since before the Repair or even now that they were on the train heading to the Capitol. This was supposed to be the time for them to prepare strategies together, for Larys to give them advice on surviving the arena, but his uncle seemed more focused on enjoying the pork chops and mashed potatoes. Jacaerys was also eating, he was ready to eat everything he could to gain the most muscle mass before the games started, but now and then he would stop and stare at Larys hoping that at some point his uncle would decide to speak.

“So, what do we have to do for Jacaerys to win?” you asked, breaking the silence and making him choke.

You were the first to react, you quickly got up and started hitting him on the back until he finally spit out the piece of meat. Effie looked at him with disgust.

"Are you okay?" you asked, looking at him with concern and now caressing his back. Jacaerys noticed how his uncle looked at the two of them with interest. He had no idea why, neither of you two had done anything extraordinary, he made a fool of himself by choking and you ran to save him…Well, I had to admit that your action was striking, someone else would have let him die by drowning to have one less competitor in the arena, not only that but you just said that you wanted to help him win. It didn't make sense… Unless it was another strategy to gain his trust only to then stab him in the back in the arena.

"I'm fine," Jacaerys responded, putting his hand on your arm to stop your caresses. You blushed and moved away from him as if you had been burned by his touch. “What do you mean by that you said earlier?” he asked you once you sat back down.

"You have a chance to win, Jacaerys," you declared as if it were obvious. Evidently, he couldn't hide his confusion because you continued talking "You know how to hunt and you have good aim. Every time my father buys you squirrels he says that the arrow always hits the eye, you never ruin the body" the boy felt the heat rise to his face at your words and he was sure he was blushing because suddenly you seemed to be stopping yourself from smiling. "So if either of us has a chance of winning it's you. I'll probably be one of the first to die but I think I can be of help in the interview" you said the last thing looking at Larys.

Jacaerys felt his appetite disappear. It didn't sit well with him to hear you talk as if you were already resigned to dying. "She's got a good right hook," he said, looking at his uncle. He couldn't let Larys give up on you quickly, if you lost his interest then he surely wouldn't bother trying to help you win. "Lucerys told me. She hit a boy who was bothering him and gave that idiot a black eye."

"Jacaerys, I won't be able to win just by hitting people. Besides, there are surely tributes even bigger than that boy, they will attack me before I can even land a hit on him."

For a moment he had the image of an unknown tribute mercilessly attacking you with a sword before you had the chance to defend yourself. His stomach fluttered at the image of your broken body.

"You, on the other hand, can attack from afar with your bow. If you hide well you can have an advantage" you continued and went back to eating without realizing that your companion was looking at you with a frown.

Your attitude was irritating him. You should have been trying to impress Larys by saying what other things you can do but instead, you keep talking about him. It did not make sense. It had to be a strategy or maybe you were thinking it was a lost cause to try to win the games by having him as a district partner and his uncle as his mentor. You probably believed that Larys would choose to put all the chips on him just because he was his nephew. That made him furious.

"She can lift weights. I saw her lifting sacks of flour"

You suddenly dropped the cutlery sharply on the table. "Enough, Jacaerys," the annoyance was evident on your face and in your voice. "Don't try to make me feel good just out of pity, please. I know I'm going to lose. Everyone knows that." "You made a gesture with your hand to let you continue talking when you saw him open his mouth." Do you know what my mother told me when she came to say goodbye to me? There may finally be another winner in 12. She wasn't talking about me" you said looking into his eyes.

Everyone knew that your mother was a witch but Jacaerys never imagined that she would be one with her own daughter. It was cruel to tell you that when perhaps it could be her last talk. She should have faith in you. Or at least give you the benefit of the doubt. He wanted to comfort you but he had no idea what to say. Besides, he didn't think his uncle would be happy if he saw him being nice to you. He would tell her that he was weak and that he didn't come here to make friends.

So Jace settled for looking into your eyes, hoping that you could somehow understand that he didn't want you to give up.

"Oh, darling, that's horrible," Effie said, breaking the tension between the two of you, placing a hand on her heart, she seemed genuinely moved. "I think you should try hard to win and prove your mother wrong."

You didn't say anything, you just gave a sad smile to the district escort. A moment ago Jacaerys felt bad for you but now he can't help but think that maybe you only told your last conversation with your mother to gain Effie's sympathy and get her to talk about you to her friends in the Capitol. He hated analyzing everything you did but he couldn't let his guard down with you if he wanted to go home to his brothers. He was sure that if Lucerys was with him and could see what was going on in her mind he would tell him that he was being paranoid. But maybe it wasn't wrong for him to doubt you, Jace thought when he noticed that Uncle Larys seemed to be evaluating you with his gaze.

“Let's start to see who his competitors are,” Larys finally spoke, ending the dinner.

Jacaerys was relieved to see that your stylist had put you in an outfit just like his, at least if he ended up making a fool of himself at the parade he wouldn't be the only one. You're wearing the same shiny leather boots and the same full-length black leotard with the cloak that flutters in the wind. The only difference between the two of you was that your suit seemed closer to your body, highlighting your curves.

As you are taken to the lower level of the Renewal Center, Portia, your stylist, along with her team can't stop talking excitedly about what a sensation you two will be. Cinna, Jacaerys' stylist who came up with the idea of setting their outfits on fire, seems tired of the congratulations. Jace couldn't help but wonder if perhaps he, too, was nervous that it wouldn't work and would end with them dead. You didn't look nervous, which shouldn't surprise him considering you were probably used to fire since he worked at the bakery.

Once they arrive, they basically find a giant stable. The opening ceremony is about to begin so the stylists are having their tributes ride into carriages pulled by a group of horses. Cinna and Portia lead you and Jacaerys to their carriage, both of them carefully arranging the posture of the two of your bodies and your cloaks before stepping aside to talk something between themselves.

“What do you think of the fire?” Jacaerys asked you in a whisper. He tells himself that he's just talking to you to distract himself from his nerves.

“At least we're not naked,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders. Jacaerys grimaces as he remembers those poor tributes who had to parade naked covered in black dust. It had happened years before his uncle became a victor, the only reason why everyone knew about that incident was because whenever the games approached on television they did a recap of the best kills, the best dressed as well as the worst deaths and the worst dresses. In the latter, those poor tributes always appeared.

“Uncle Larys definitely wouldn't have let that happen. He probably would have hit them with his cane as soon as they told him that idea,” Jace said with a small smile as he imagined his uncle hitting the stylists and scolding them. You must have imagined the same thing too because you started laughing. Your laughter was contagious so he soon joined you, feeling his nerves disappear for a moment as well as the heaviness in his shoulders. Cinna and Portia will probably be upset that you two lost your posture but neither you nor Jacaerys seemed worried about it.

"If something goes wrong I promise to take out your cloak while you take out mine," you said trying to get serious again but from the corner of your lips, it was evident that you wanted to smile.

"Deal," he agreed with a small smile.

Jace's calm demeanor disappeared the moment he saw his uncle. He tensed as he watched him walk towards the carriage, ready to feel his eyes judging him and scolding him for acting like a child. His uncle was right to be angry, now the other tributes would see them as weak and stupid.

"I want you to present yourself as a united front," Larys said, surprising his nephew.

"What?"

"If you want to win then you have to do everything I say" the mentor reminded them "So you will go out, hold hands, and greet the audience" In his tone of voice there was no room for discussion but Jacaerys had many questions. He couldn't do any of them because when started playing the opening music Larys headed for the exit.

"Come on, don't look so upset. It's not like I have scabies," you nudged him. If he hadn't been focused on seeing the tributes from District 1 in his glowing robes then he would have noticed how the sparkle in your eyes seemed to have dimmed.

It's not many minutes before you and Jacaerys are near the doors. As the District 11 tributes leave, Cinna appears with a torch. You and Jace don't have time to back away when the stylist turns on both of your cloaks. The three of them sigh in relief when they see that it worked.

“Remember head up and smile. Oh, don't forget the most important thing, hold hands. They're going to love you!" Cinna quickly tells them before getting out of the carriage.

Jacaerys hesitates before taking your left hand. Unlike him, you don't hesitate to intertwine your fingers with his. You give him one last smile before his carriage enters the city. The crowd seems alarmed at first when they see the fire but then they soon begin shouting both their names. Jace can't help but feel overwhelmed by the feeling of everyone's eyes on him so he focuses on staring at the screen. For a moment he is breathless, the two of you look wonderful, especially you look brilliant as you wave and blow kisses to the crowd. In the low light of twilight, the fire illuminates both of your faces and your cloaks seem to leave a trail of flames behind. Cinna got what he wanted and gave you both a chance, no one would forget about you two, you really made a sensation.

You squeeze Jacaerys's hand and remind him under your breath to “Smile.”

Then he tries his best to give his best smile and starts greeting you. Someone among all these people must have wanted to sponsor him. This was an excellent opportunity to win over the audience and he had to take advantage of it. He remembers the words of his uncle Larys, so he raises their joined hands, making the screams increase even more. When they enter the City Circle they lower their hands but neither you nor Jace try to let go. During President Snow's speech, Jacaerys is distracted by feeling you caress his skin with your thumb, he tries not to think about it too much, he tells himself that you must be nervous and you do it unconsciously. Luckily it doesn't take long for the national anthem to be heard and the carriages travel around the circle for the last time. Jacaerys notices that the screens seem to show you two more than the other tributes.

He finishes confirming that it was not his imagination once you arrive at the Training Center and get off your carriages. As Cinna and Portia remove their cloaks, you and Jacaerys notice the angry glances of the other tributes, especially Royce Baratheon, the burly boy from District 2 who volunteered, and his district partner Agatha Durrandon.

Jace notices that the two of you are still holding hands so he lets you go.

"The flames suit you well and you have a beautiful smile" you declared with a smile making him blush.

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hotd masterlist

[cas-kingdom]

For drabble requests how about something for Greys Anatomy where while Derek is busy in surgery the reader comes in injured and Amelia is there to comfort her and make the medical decisions? It doesn’t have to be anything serious really, I’d just love some reader and Amelia bonding 🥰🥰🥰

The walk of shame along the corridors of Grey Sloan was not altogether unfamiliar to you. Many times had you trudged reluctantly along the polished floors of the surgical unit, clutching some injury or another, purposefully trying to avoid the eyes of anyone you knew--which, in such a unit, was pretty impossible.

Years ago, you would have been slightly less embarrassed. Kids always got into medical equipment, right? At least kids of surgeons who were constantly working. But now, it didn't seem quite right. You were a month away from Johns Hopkins, had aced all your exams and probably wouldn't have even needed the reference letters from half the surgical team, and here you were, head hung low in disgrace as you held your bleeding hand to your chest.

If it weren't for the fact you knew your dad would absolutely murder you if he found out you had hidden an injury from him again, you would have locked yourself away in a break room somewhere and attempted to patch yourself up best you could. Alas. Your father was Derek Shepherd. And after the broken nose you'd managed to keep from him for almost twenty-four hours a couple years ago, he'd all but held you hostage until you promised on his life you wouldn't do it again.

So, here you were. Reluctant as hell but somehow still not regretting the situation that had lead you to this moment.

"Hi, have you seen Dr. Shepherd around?" you asked a passing intern. When he made to walk over to the surgery board, finger already pointing at one row in particular, you visibly grimaced.

"Uh, no, the other one. Amelia Shepherd?" You had no intention of crying to your dad today. Your pride had been smashed to pieces enough.

The intern pointed down the hallway and you saw your aunt walking around a corner with another nurse. Pressing your lips in a thin line, you thanked the intern and followed after her. Your pace was fast enough not to lose her but slow enough that you had time to rehearse your lines before you were bombarded with judgment.

Amelia ducked into a radiology room and you steeled yourself before pushing the door open. "Amelia?"

"Y/N. Why are you holding your hand like that?"

You wouldn't have been surprised at the question, in fact you had fully expected it, if Amelia had turned around to actually see who had walked through the door. Your aunt could do powerful stuff, but mindreading was not on that list.

"I saw you earlier." Amelia turned, arms crossed, brows raised. "Well done, by the way. Meredith thought it would take you longer to find someone. I said it would take..." She glanced at her watch and shrugged. "Twenty minutes. Not bad."

Her supposed victory was short-lived when she looked up. Her eyes fell on your hand and her face dropped as she walked quickly over to you. "I'd rather you not drip blood on the floor," she said, an obvious tease behind her words, as she gently pulled you over to sit down.

You made a face, not having realised. "Oops."

"Oops is right, kiddo." Amelia knelt in front of the swivel chair and let you uncover your hand, humming under her breath when she noted the long, jagged line running down the side of your hand from the base of your wrist to the middle of your pinky finger. "How'd you manage this, huh? Don't tell me you found the electrical saw again."

You rolled your eyes. "I stabbed myself, actually," you said matter-of-factly.

"Ooh, that's a new one. With what?" When your reluctance finally kicked in, Amelia looked up. "With what, Y/N?"

Your hand began to throb and only then did you decide that answering your aunt's questions was probably the easiest way to getting relief. "A needle," you said. "I found a suture practice kit and, oh my God, Meelie, you know that's like giving me candy. I couldn't just leave it alone."

Amelia nodded along, gently probing at the red skin around your wound. "So you practiced sutures on fake skin and, what? Sewed yourself?"

"There was a noise outside and I jerked my hand," you deadpanned. Amelia glanced up, on the verge of laughter, and you looked away stiffly. "It hurts."

"Well, lesson learnt. For now," she added after as a second thought. There was a short silence after that was broken only by your hiss of pain when Amelia touched an exceptionally sensitive spot. Sucking a breath through her teeth, the surgeon sat back on her heels and looked up at you. "How were your sutures?" she asked. "Straight? Neat?"

You lit up, Derek's smug smile curving your lips not a second later. "Straightest and neatest you'll ever see."

"That's my girl." Amelia squeezed your knee before standing to her feet and taking out her phone. "Now, what do we tell your dad when he sees you later with stitches in your hand?"

You couldn't have groaned louder. If the chair didn't have a straight back, you would have fallen backwards with the force of it. When you righted yourself, a fierce look of indignation on your face, Amelia wasn't even attempting to hide her amusement.

"I need stitches?"

"Yup. Aaand, lucky for you, I think Derek should be out of surgery by now." Chipper as ever in the face of her niece's almost tangible disgust, she held open the door and nodded in its direction. "Come on, kiddo. He'll be glad to do a little needlework. Bring him back to basics."

You rolled your eyes once more as you got up, cradling your hand to your chest. "Like brother, like sister," you grumbled as you passed your aunt.

"What was that?"

"I said: like brother, like sister, you sadist."

Amelia snorted.

Grey's Masterpost

[death---dealer]

I was just going to ask you if you were thinking about writing about Proximus, they beat me to it hahaha. I'd love to read that! Proximus has potential 🫦🫦

I love you and your books, and how you write and AAAA-

I dont write characters like this very well someone kill me im crying im just gonna crawl into my hole and never write for him again </3

Title: Nightly Reading. Fandom: ( Kingdom of the ) Planet of the Apes. Pairing: ( Mildly, I am easing myself okay ) SUPER VAGUE Implied! Proximus Caesar x Human! Reader. Rating: K. ( Not fluffy, but not like, bad lol. ) Words: 2.3K Summary: You were brought in to share duties with Trevathan. The only task was to read to a King.

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・●・○・

Books were such fascinating things. All of Human history had been documented, years and years upon knowledge now sitting in your hands at once moment like all the time was squeezed out, like lemon. Your fingers flitted across the page as if your touch alone was going to memorize the words that your eyes were able to read and make out, some faded and lost to the same concept that marveled you about them. Time. 

Admittedly, three-hundred years was bound to do something to the poor pages despite some groups of Humans trying to keep them safe. But, once Apes got their thick hands on them, you thought bitterly and let your eyes glide over to the Bonobo sitting atop his throne, most didn't care and they were left to ruin just like the rest of Humanity. Water damage was prominent in the book you held in your grasp, finger gliding right along the spine and feeling the imprint of the title against your fingertips.

Your movement was full of intent and was languid, almost sitting on the notions of flirtation. Proximus Caesar has never said anything to you about it out loud, but the glances that often fell on your hands were nothing short of curious morbidity. He was probably thinking just how easy it would be to get them all to snap off, one by one in his own hand, if you refused to read for him, if you refused to teach and entertain the ideas of a very clear Tyrant. Swallowing softly at the feeling of a lump in your throat, your gaze skirted along the rather delectably decorated room itself. Draped in red, the window off to the side let in enough of the Summer breeze and you were blessed with the scent of sea water. It was clear that he favored Roman History, just from the sweep of his throne that any Emperor had to be jealous of, the copper shining of his head dress, a crown not strewn of delicate greens of an olive branch usually depicted in the books you read to him, the draw of the chest piece, same flushed color as the head dress, draping down the taut muscles of his chest that you knew could rip you limb from limb without remorse. 

You dwindled at that, as you so often did in the recent meetings you had with him. The allure of his tapering waist was substantial before you snapped yourself out of it and focused on the encapsulating red of the drawn in shawl around his admirable waist, tucked so intricately that you had to wonder to yourself which female Ape he chose to tie it every morning. Or maybe he did it himself, there was nothing there to cure your curiosity on that. If you weren’t flushed with red that matched his dress, you were now as you let your eyes linger on it momentarily, almost admiring the stance of which he sat. 

The elongated table that Caesar himself could have been stabbed against was next to beckon homage. The table was strewn with a dance of fruits, some nuts, and a neatly sat pile of books and the gaze Proximus had moved from your hands to your face was clearly stating and demanding that you begin reading. In comparison to the earlier mentioned table, you felt small in your seat, and even smaller when he would graze his eyes from head to toe, as if he were able to pierce the wood of the table itself to do so.

Afraid to meet his gaze, you brought your knees in together and looked at the book once more, taking a note of the words on the spine rather than feeling them. Today’s topic was a personal favorite of your own you realized, drawing many parallels that the Bonobo was going to refuse to see even if you were adamant and you had the pleasure of spilling each sadistically-sounding word to him every other day, coordinating the duty with Trevathan. 

Proximus, in all his glory, had blessed you with a one-on-one conversation when you first arrived in the Kingdom. And, looking back at it, it was very obviously a coy play against an already starved and half-alive Human, a tactic you knew he enjoyed using if you used or said something he disliked and he’d pull the rest of the meals from coming to your door for the rest of the day as a punishment. He liked variety, that his other advisor only told him what he wanted to hear, not what he needed to hear. It was recognizable that you were fastened to do the same thing, but you were more able to play the game that Proximus himself set up for you, at least that’s what you thought when you took the agreement just to get some food and to save your own life.

He valued more than one opinion, and thus the idea was born that you would also read the same things that your human counterpart offered, and give your counteractive opinions to see what the King thought was best. You had to give it to Proximus --- While you did not agree with his ideology, he was remarkably smart to think of these things on his own.  Given the topic, it made no sense to have a juxtaposition position though. It was history, and nothing, not even a crazed Bonobo with piqued interest in you, in the very history sitting in your hand, was ever going to change. 

You simply told him what he wanted to hear, more subtly than Trevethan who had a hard time even facing Bonobo face to face when he knew what he was saying was being taken out of context. A spineless snake, you thought to yourself, like you were any better. Proximus only took you in because you were able to read, and in return, he gave you refuge. Only part was you were able to play the same game that Proximus played, and deep down, you loved it because you knew that it kept waiting for more, and kept him eager to keep you around instead of the other human. More chance for your survival that way. 

Now, two months later, you found yourself in a dance with Proximus every other evening, sometimes in the mornings if he never sent for you in the evenings, knowing it to be a point of contention with you, a stickler for schedules. You knew all the pieces, pawns, queen, knights, and at times, when he came towards you with intense movements, his feet racketing the ground and sending shock waves through your entire body, his eyes focused and incredibly darkened,  you thought that he had figured out your game, but nothing ever came of it and you needed to remind yourself to stay calm. 

Proximus would just ask you a question, or he’d move towards you to point at the book, emphasizing that he wanted you to explain further. Never with the intent to kill you, never with the idea that he knew what game you were playing against him. You had to bargain with yourself that while you were indeed playing chess, you left him to play checkers.  A shiver exploded down your spine in pride that you were able to pull the wool over his eyes, using the charm of Humanity rather than the easier tactic of laying over. Still, the prospect rose from time to time. You were just a Human, he was just an Ape. It became a teetering routine that you were beginning to enjoy.

Now, telling him that History was just that and there were no opinions to be made on it, and getting into the vault was going to prove fruitless was going to get you skinned by either Lightening or Sylva. You held your tongue. Probably both at the same time, one taking your bottom half off and the other taking the top, when you stopped to think about how truly sadistic these Apes were, but you tried to push it to the back of your mind upon living with them. At the very least, you were alive now and even though you had to climb your way up the theoretical tree to gain favor with the King, and even though the Ape who gave you sick solace in life also gave you the option of death, you liked your position of power. Maybe, you laughed sarcastically, that’s why Proximus was so relentless to keep it. 

“Caligula.”

Your words always put him on edge, so different from Trevethan! He wondered about that. The fact that you chose to stay rather than choosing death - Many Humans were fast to do that once Proximus had offered a deal. Very sad, but he never rested on it for long and would have them slaughtered. Not full of fear or pandering, you were honest, at least that’s how it came across, he never knew the malice that you held towards him. It was gentler in nature, but still packed a punch when you inflicted your words a certain way, garnering you more favor to him as he liked the way you pronounced words.

Infliction was a strong thing, and Proximus himself took a lot of what you said based purely on the tone you chose to use. Flirty at times when you knew he was taking in the delectation of how your smooth lips formed the words, softer at others when you were speaking of the Roman Emperors wives or lovers, something he found intensely interesting as he himself only had concubines, as far as your knowledge went. Never anything serious, never anything to the level of standard he held himself to, harder and more adamantly aggressive upon talking of the concept of Wars waged in the past. 

“We usually read about Julius Caesar,” You noted almost dully having admired the book and knew the change of topic beforehand. Tilting your head at the Ape a few feet away from you, the action and your words seemed profusely innocent --- Always intended and always strategic. “Why---” You were cut off.

“Something… New,” Proximus’ voice leaked torturous enthusiasm which made your stomach turn in on itself. Not terrible, but it wasn’t something you’d want against the shell of your ear in the moments of intimacy. Too hard, too mean in all aspects. But, the idea did hit the back of your mind vaguely at that. For such a Tyrant, he looked at you with eased gentleness that never came naturally to him. Make the Human feel more comfortable, the action usually yelled at you but it did the very opposite once you were able to see what he was actually doing. It was usually faux, but for a moment as you stared at each other, it seemed a thoughtful idea was that he --- was genuine, giving you something new to read about, genuine, giving you more grace and time rather than Trevethan.

“Thought it good… I learned about the… Other Rulers."

Proximus staggered to his feet, the movement leaving your entire body on edge, hair raised. That was one thing that always struck you; he moved with such innate aggression in even the simplest of actions.

Your eyes widened at the pure strength and power in his gait as he sauntered closer to you, one foot after the other, shoulders bobbing with the walk. Mindlessly, your throat closed as he stood beside you, letting a finger tap against the book cover. You only looked at his hand, having him so close in proximity. Your breath escaped your lips, hitting Proximus at his wrist and you watched vividly as the fur against his forearm wrestled with your exaltation. He got close, often choosing to sit next to you but this--- 

Your eyes looked upwards towards him, catapulting you into a panic at the look of his canines as he was resting in his usual scowl. You’d never seen them that close, and your fingers twitched mildly at the idea of just… Touching them to see how sharp they truly were. Eyes were remarkably different than any other Ape you’d been in close quarters with. Not very many, but you knew that they had sharp, intuitive and smart green irises.

While Proximus’ were similar in color, the backdrop almost seemed… Black, like the rest of his fur, but upon further inspection they appeared more blood shot. You noticed the hackles rising and falling when you brought your gaze to his shoulders, admiring the density of the fur that cushioned against his chest piece.

You swallowed, suddenly hit with a fluttering of fear that ravaged the front of your skull. Why was he so close? Why was he so----

 “Is he… a good one? This…” Proximus brought his lips together and coated his mouth with saliva, a few droplets ultimately falling on you when he finally spoke again. “Emperor?” Your eyebrows furrowed at that question and your mouth popped open as you scrambled for an answer, cursing yourself silently for getting so distracted. Usually Trevathan would read to him first followed by you the next night, always the same book, he just took in the way that you both read the material. This was the first time that Proximus was asking you to read him new material exclusively. 

Patting yourself on the back for finally climbing your way into his lap, you raised your eyebrows now at the question and processed. From what you knew about Caligula, he was quite a fervent and crazy leader. Wild things were done under his rule and all the things were done with the justification that he was indeed the Emperor and he set the standards for his people. He was known as the Mad Roman Emperor for a reason. Huh. That sounded familiar. 

Gracing Proximus with a smile of sorts, baring your teeth in the way that you knew he found amusing, you nodded and whispered softly for only him to hear as he was so kind as to bring his entire being so close that you were able to smell the crisp nature of gunpowder mixing with crisped sand and ocean water clinging to his fur. Green gaze fell to your shoulders out of curiosity, a very easy way to see if Humans were lying was to see the rapid nature of their breathing but you forced yours to stay rational and calm.

“He’s a great one.”

Kind of crazy, actually really, really out of his mind, you wanted to tack on but only smiled to yourself as you watched Proximus leave your side, finally allowing yourself to take a deep breath in as he sat across from you, fingers cracking open the book to finally proceed with the lesson.

[oiveyzmir]

Living with Eddie is… well, it’s an experience.

It’s not a bad thing, not in the slightest. There’s nothing Steve loves more than the fact he gets to fall asleep next to the love of his life, wake up to his soft little snores, and go about their lives together. There’s a soft kind of domesticity to it Steve wouldn’t give for the world.

He loves their routine so much he’s even willing to move past the little things Eddie does that make him lose his mind, like the way he never washes the sink properly after doing the dishes or how he constantly leaves the cabinet doors open. He can even move past how Eddie will come home from a late night shift at the bar when it’s raining and forget to take his shoes off, leaving a muddy trail of footsteps anywhere he goes. Hell, Steve’s even willing to excuse Eddie’s phases.

Wayne had warned him about those when they first moved in together three years ago. “It’s just that he gets easily excited about things,” he reasoned then. “Which doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

Steve didn’t get what it meant then.

He surely gets what it means now.

He found something- a bout of inspiration- and hyperfixated on it until moving on to the next. There was this one time Eddie got really into gardening and bought 11 different herb seedlings, only for them to wilt and die three weeks later when he got into water coloring, then moved on to filmography, then to operas.

He had that month once where he’d developed a sudden interest in learning to play the violin (It’s for a song, Stevie, did you ever listen to Skyclad?), so he stayed up until 5 AM to play something that resembled music (but was closer to being nothing but) with the instrument he burrowed from Robin’s then girlfriend. That month was so close to being a breaking point for Steve, but he loves Eddie too much to do anything about it. He honestly believes that if he managed to live through Eddie’s Violin Month he can live through anything.

He lived through Eddie’s sewing phase, his novel-writing phase and his (honest-to-god awful) baking phase, and survived to tell the tale.

Nothing had prepared him for Eddie’s current phase, though.

It seemed harmless at first. It was even kind of adorable, really; the way Eddie’s eyes glinted with excitement when he sat Steve down to watch him do a cute little card trick, the way he laughed triumphantly when it was, in fact, Steve’s card.

It got less cute when Eddie got himself cuffed to their bedpost for hours in the most unsexy way Steve could imagine, refused Steve’s offer to let him out and making him feed him since his hands were, well, preoccupied.

It also wasn’t cute when Eddie stabbed himself with a pencil in attempt to make it disappear.

But it’s plain rude now, when Steve’s trying to get a little nap after a terrible day at the school where he’s started teaching. Eddie knows he’s sleeping, Steve made sure to call him on his way home and let him know he had a bad day and that he’ll be spending as much of it as he can sleeping it off. He trusted Eddie enough to keep it down that he didn’t bother to close their bedroom door properly, and he had also kinda hoped Eddie would see it as the invitation it was for him to cuddle up to Steve and make his awful day just a bit better.

Yet here Eddie is, an hour or so after he got back home, seemingly running into every single piece of furniture they own.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles, and Steve has to give him credit for at least trying to be quiet. “Come back here.”

Steve sleepily opens one eye at that. There shouldn’t be anyone out there but Eddie, right? He listens intently to hear someone else speaking, but he can’t hear anything but the quiet thump of someone hitting their kitchen table and Eddie’s frustrated grunting.

“Please, babydoll. Come back to me.”

And now Steve’s interest is really piqued.

Steve opens his other eye and sits up. He debates heading out there and seeing whatever happens out there himself, but decides to let it all play out just a little bit longer. It’s not like he believes Eddie is capable of cheating on him; he knows Eddie loves him too much to make him go through something like that, and he also isn’t dumb enough to do so when he knows Steve is sleeping in the other room.

He listens as Eddie makes some quiet tsk noises with the tip of his tongue. “C’mon, princess,” he whispers, not loud enough to wake Steve up, but definitely loud enough that Steve hears now that he��s really listening. “No, no, don’t go there, Steve’s sleeping, fuck.”

Steve lies back down quickly when he hears the door creak a bit wider to pretend being asleep, covering himself up to his eyes with their blanket. He can hear something’s small feet tapping on their bedroom tiles before hearing Eddie’s steps, and is he tiptoeing?

Even when he’s almost panicked about whatever it is Eddie had brought home, Steve can’t help but have a fond smile spread across his face. There is love in this, so immense and great, and Steve can be nothing but grateful and madly in love as well.

The tiny feet keep running around and Steve can vaguely imagine what it is- a kitten, or maybe a puppy, but relatively tiny ones at that. The tapping sound comes to a short stop then starts off again.

Eddie sighs, relieved, and it sounds like he crouches down. “Come on, come on,” he whispers. “There you go, good girl.”

The sound of tapping feet stops and Eddie gives the thing a kiss. “Don’t ever make me go through this again, babylove.” He mutters accusingly. “How can I trust you in battle if you pull this kind of shit on me?”

Eddie turns to go. Steve can imagine the kitten cuddling itself in Eddie’s arms. Knowing Eddie, the kitten’s probably black, maybe missing an eye or an ear, whichever makes it harder to adopt for regular people. Eddie’s not a regular person, though. The mental image he created is so endearing to him that he can’t help but loudly yawn. “Baby?” He says, trying to make his voice sound as sleepy as he can, even though he’s been wide awake for a while now. Eddie stops and turns around.

The room is dark, but even in the darkness Steve can see that whatever it is Eddie’s holding is both white and obviously not a cat.

“Hey, Stevie, did I wake you up?” He whispers, his tone apologetic, like a kid found out with his hand in the near-empty cookie jar.

“What’s that?” Steve asks back instead of answering.

Steve turns his bedside light on, and after the initial shock of light momentarily blinding him he can clearly see it; a white bunny being cradled in Eddie’s arms.

“She’s my assistant,” Eddie explains, as if it explains anything, “her name is Jessica. Get it? Jessica Rabbit?”

“Your assistant.”

“Yeah,” he says sheepishly.

“For the…”

“Magic tricks?”

“Oh.”

“I’ll take care of her, though,” Eddie sits down on the edge of the bed, Jessica sitting in his lap, “take her out on walks and feed her and everything. You wouldn’t even notice she’s here.”

Steve sits up and motions for Eddie to hand him the bunny, which he dutifully does. Her fur is so soft, probably the softest thing Steve had ever felt. “That’s not how you take care of a bunny,” Steve says as he rubs his hands gently through her fur, “she isn’t a dog.”

“How do you take care of a bunny then? ‘Cause I bought, like, a bunch of carrots.”

Steve laughs. “Oh god, I love you.”

“That means we’re keeping her, right?” Eddie takes his shoes off- Steve pointedly does not think about how their living room might look like- and cuddles up in bed next to Steve. He looks up at him so hopefully Steve is flooded with warmth and love, so flooded he can’t even remember what annoyed him so much at work today.

Steve kisses his forehead, then his nose, then softly his lips. “Sure. One condition, though.”

“What is it?”

“Can you teach me the pulling her out of a hat trick?”

Eddie grins wide. “Of-fucking-course.”