#he wasn’t trapped in there with them they were with him

[momo-minomo]

I just intended to check tumblr for a moment before bed when this post caught me by the fucking throat. It’s now past 1:30am and I’m feeling loopy from the melatonin I took so forgive me if this drabble is trash lol.

I’ve made a huge mistake, Clark thought absently.

It had seemed so reasonable in the moment, both he and Bruce were hurting and exhausted after a near wold-ending threat. If Bruce hadn’t been every bit as clever and dauntless as he is Clark would have been trapped in the phantom zone with the dozens of world ending enemies that he’d put there, all of them wanting to tear him apart strip by strip. If Clark had been a fraction slower to react when he’d escaped their enemy would have torn out Bruce’s too-kind heart.

Having come so close to losing each other the pull to be near him, to get his hands on him and grip until they stopped shaking like that was inescapable. Undeniable. It was like being caught in the gravity well of an imploding star. All heat and the need to come closer, brush skin on skin and share breaths. They knew it was bad idea. Knew they needed clear heads to lead the Justice League and clear schedules to protect their separate cities.

When he’d pushed his forehead gently to Bruce’s, his best friend had clutched at his arms and pulled him closer, a broken “Kal.” the only sound in the little medical room he’d found Bruce belatedly catastrophizing in.

They should have forced themselves to separate and walked away because if he’d thought Bruce was on his mind too much before…

Batman sits strong and indomitable as always across from him, his sharp mind probably tearing data and observations from Green Lantern’s report to shreds and identifying a million problems the rest of them never saw coming. Clark will have to watch the security footage of this meeting later because god help him he can’t stop staring at Bruce’s mouth below the edge of cowl.

He knows what that mouth tastes like now. Know how it feels against his lips, his skin, his…

The quiet crack of displaced air startles him out of his memories. He barely resists a second flinch when another crack sounds and Flash is suddenly back in his customary seat beside him holding a sandwich he didn’t have 3 millisecond ago.

Taking a deep breath, Clark sternly reminds himself that he and Bruce had agreed it would only happen the one time exactly for this reason. He straightens up and determinedly tears his eyes from the man across from him and back to Hal.

The Lantern falters for a second under the weight Superman’s intense stare, clearly wondering what the hell he’d done to piss off the Man of Steel, before soldiering on.

He’s never in his life been more aware of a person he wasn’t even looking at. Bruce’s breathing was steady but a little shallower than normal, possibly from bruised ribs since he kept shifting subtly on the inhale to curl ever so slightly on his left side. Kevlar weave armor rasped near silently over the ridges and valleys of old scars he’d traced with hands and teeth and tongue.

Realizing he was subconsciously tapping his finger in time with Bruce’s heartbeat and that it was going a little fast Clark stilled the movement and snuck another quick glance to Bruce.

He was looking straight at him. Clark blinked hard, surprise getting the better of him. Without meaning to he peers straight past the cold lenses of the cowl and into piercing blue eyes dark and intent with desire. They were every bit as captivating 6 feet away as they had been 3 inches from his with Bruce moaning into his ear and his strong legs over Clark’s shoulders, flexible in a way a man with his bulk has no right being. For the sake of Clark’s sanity if for no other reason.

He takes a mental note to put some cash in Ma’s swear jar as a down payment. He has a feeling he’s gonna need it with how utterly fucked he is.

superbat, but they’re the next victim of the “surely this indescribable tension and attraction between us will be solved by just having sex once and realizing that we’re not all that compatible and being together isn’t actually something we want” trope and fucking doesn’t make it better, it makes it worse. so much worse.

[justkitkatthings]

OH MY GOD OR THIS https://www.tumblr.com/justkitkatthings/768357089618903040/i-know-this-isnt-possible-but-just-hear-me-out-a AND READER WHO BECOMES THE ONE WHO INCLUDES SIMON IN EVERYTHING OR IS NOT SNAPPY TOWARDS HIM???

YES ANON THAT'S WHERE I WAS THINKING OF TAKING IT!!! That or making them all in a poly relationship (because I did tag it as that) if I continue this but idk how to write for that, so just lmk what everyone wants because I fear I AM a people pleaser.

ANYWAYS, HERE’S PT 2

———

It was stupid, really. Sure, you had to relearn how to walk and run and drive and kneel down and do a push up, etc etc. But, like, after you did all that (with the help of some physical therapy and Just Dance) it was like nothing changed.

And it wasn't like it was your fault the bottom half of your leg got blown up. The least they could do was let you keep your job!

To make things worse, John, Kyle, and Johnny seemed extra busy nowadays. Or maybe it's just because of your replacement, which John is adamant about you meeting. It’s how you find yourself in the base you used to call home several years ago, with your old family practically smothering you in affection. It was less of you meeting this new guy and more of a reunion, which is how you wanted to keep it.

At least, at first.

You liked having the attention and affection of your three best friends, but you could only stand so many of the longing gazes from the brooding man before you cracked. He looked… kind of hurt, and definitely lonely.

He looked like you, almost.

As much as you tried, you can’t resist those big brown eyes and slumped broad shoulders. The night you finally cracked, everyone was drinking. Your stump was hurting and John, Kyle, and Johnny were too drunk to carry you, so you were stuck with Simon.

He picked you up with ease and you thought that it was done there, until he quietly spoke up.

“Why do you hate me?”

You’ve never heard his voice sound this small and vulnerable before. This wasn’t a big tank of a man asking you that, it was a scared and insecure child. Yep. Yep, definitely looks like you.

“I don’t hate you.” You huff and roll your eyes, but it’s not like you can do much while trapped in his arms.

“You act like it.” He countered with a petulant pout, or what you think is one, covered by the mask.

It's not fair! He can’t do that to you. His stupid pout and his stupid, strong, steady arms were going to be the death of you. He pulled on your heartstrings so hard, he made you take him under your wing (which is ironic, because he’s larger and older than you).

You didn’t act like you hated him for too long after that. Someone finally gave him the comfort he never got from anyone else, you offered him kind words and gentle touches, and now he’s stuck to you like glue. Soon enough, you’re spending more time with him than with John, Kyle, and Johnny.

You can’t say you hate it. The two of you understand each other more than anyone else ever could. It’s not that the other three don’t understand you both, it's just that you understand each other more.

No one will ever take that away from you. No one will ever take him away from you.

[natalievoncatte]

“She’s dying.”

Cait looked up from the spread of paperwork on her desk -no one told her that seizing sold command of the city as a military dictator would involve so much paperwork- and found Loris standing in her doorway.

“I was under the impression that you’d handed in your badge and left the force.”

“She’s dying.”

Cait said nothing, scratching at one of the papers with a pen, signing off on something that most certainly did not require her attention.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

She looked away, but still he dared throw a broad shadow across the room, across her.

“Yes, you do.”

Cait let out a low, rasping sigh, a deep gurgle of frustration in the back of her throat. Her fingers dug into her desk and she itched to hold a gunstock in her hands. She was tired of these problems, she was tired of challenges she couldn’t just shoot, like Ambessa ramping up the pressure to lead a full-strength incursion into the Undercity to clear the Lanes. Rooting out the chem barons hadn’t been ending, it turned out, as they were almost a stabilizing influence and… and she had seen artwork of Jinx, the people of the Lanes seeing her as some kind of folk hero.

“She disobeyed my orders and abandoned our mission. Because of her, Jinx escaped. Trusting her was a mistake.”

“Not how she told it.”

Exasperated, Cait spun, ready to order him to leave lest he end up in Stillwater himself, but then she froze. Is that how she handled her problems now, by locking then up in dungeons without a trial?

How had it come to this? She finally had the authority she craved in her hands and yet it seemed every move she made worsened the very problems she’d dedicated her life to solving. She had almost died to show the city what the Enforcers could be, had pleaded with the Council to show the Undercity grace, to recognize what their people and their government had done to their neighbors… and now she was the Council, and how would she now receive those same pleas she’d once made?

Loris regards her coolly. The big man held his cards close to the vest, didn’t show emotion, but during their strike raids he’d taken on a protective role over all of them, the oldest member of the team. She wouldn’t go so far as to say he was a mentor, or even a friend, he was her subordinate, but she did respect him.

“She’s been making her way fighting in the pits. She fights all day and drinks all night, barely eats, barely sleeps. By the time I left I don’t think she’d eaten I three days and she lost two straight bouts to jobbers. It’ll kill her soon enough, the bottle or an opponent with something to prove or just some random thug with a knife. Is that what you want?”

Cait kept her face schooled, her posture prim. How dare he speak to her so frankly?

The trembling in her legs, she couldn’t fight, nor the impulse to worry her lip with her teeth. She suddenly felt five years old again, confessing some petty transgression to her mother. What would her mother think of what she’d done?

“What are you suggesting.”

“We bring her home. Go in, get her, get out through the vents. Quick and quiet, no uniforms. Just us.”

Cait hesitated. This could be a trap- some wannabe ruler of the Lanes might have put him up to this to lure her into the Undercity to be dealt with directly. No, she wasn’t that much of a fool.

Her jaw twisted. Good gods she’d have someone tasting her food next. What was she turning into?

“We need someone else to watch our backs. Maddie.”

Loris nodded. “Sooner we go, the better.”

“I’ll ready myself now.”

“You’ll need a disguise.”

“I have one.”

Cait hadn’t worn these clothes since the night she lay on her bed, sharing secrets with Vi, trading gentle touches. If she had to pinpoint a moment that she’d fallen in love with Violet it was the gentle way she took Cait’s hand and pressed it to her cheek, such adoration in her eyes.

What had she done?

The three of them stole into the Undercity the same way they had as a team- the ventilation shafts. Loris knew the way.

As they worked their way through the always and twisting warrens of Zaun, Cait could only think of the first time she’d come here- scared and trying to put on a brave face as she rushed after the brash, confident brick wall of a woman she’d followed here, desperately hoping that her sudden conviction that it was a terrible idea was wrong.

It actually turned out worse than a terrible idea. She’d almost been blown up, had been kidnapped, almost murdered by Silco’s men if not for Vi punching out an entire tower structure.

It had been the best idea she’d ever had.

“We’re here,” said Loris.

“It looks like they dump bodies here,” said Maddie, looking up at the tenement.

“Shut up,” Cait snapped, remembering something similar she’d said once, not knowing the reverent meaning the place held for Vi.

Loris looked up at one of the windows.

“We’d best hope she’s here. If she’s not we’re going to have trouble.”

“Lead the way.”

Cait kept her head down and her hood up -they’d all be killed if she were recognized- as the trio made their way up. Vi was living in a flop house. All around were Shimmer addicts. Cait felt her gut seize as she saw them trembling, pale and sweaty and rubbing at sores.

She had taken away the chemical that kept the worst of it at bay for them, but then what had she done? Just smashing the chem barons didn’t reverse the harm they’d caused. The addicted were still here.

When they reached Vi’s room, Loris knocked and the door swung open, unbarred.

At first, Cait thought this a mistake, or that Vi had moved on, but then she realized the broken form lying on the narrow, sweat-stained bed was Vi.

She’d lost weight, and was pale as a sheet except for the profusion of bruises and scrapes that covered her back and arms. There were bottles and broken glass strewn about everywhere and the wall mirror was shattered, as if from a punch.

Cait, forgetting herself, rushed to Vi’s side and knelt by the bed.

“Vi? Vi? Vi, wake up.”

Glassy eyed, Vi didn’t seem to see her.

Swallowing hard, Cait probed, quickly checking her over for injuries.

She had a broken rib at the very least. Fuck!

“Vi?”

“Cupcake?” Vi murmured. “Are you real?”

“Cupcake?” Maddie broke in. “Is she hungry?”

“Shut up,” Cait hissed. “We have to go, we’ve been here too long already.”

“Let’s get her to the vents and back topside,” said Loris.

“Help me carry her,” said Cait.

“I’ve got her,” the big man said.

Something in Cait crumbled when she saw how easily he lifted Vi from the bed. Cait pulled her hood low and they swaddled Vi in what they could find, scrambling to avoid notice. Cait’s heart pounded with every step and she was sure they’d be spotted and mobbed and Zaun would be parading the body of the Commander of Piltover around the streets by morning.

Somehow, they made it. As the approached the bridge crossing, Cait her the sounds of rifles racking and threw back her hood.

“Get out of my way,” she snarled.

Her Enforcers obliged.

“Where are we taking her?” said Loris.

“Home.”

As soon as she was able, she arranged for transport and Loris lowered Vi onto a stretcher. It might have been better to conduct her to a hospital, but Cait would have none of that.

She took Vi home, had her men lay Vi in her bed, then harshly ordered them out.

“Thank you,” she said to Loris and Maddie.

The former nodded curtly and left. Maddie lingered for a moment, her eyes searching the room before she slipped out as Cait asked her to find her father.

Tobias appeared. Maddie did not join him, for which she was grateful.

Cait said nothing and her father kept his own council just as readily. They hadn’t been speaking much, the heartfelt talks and reminisces drying up as Cait threw herself into her work. She could sense her father’s distaste but above all else, he was a doctor. Cait waited as he made his examination.

Finally he said, “her torso will need binding for the broken rib, and those cuts will be needing treatment. She’s been drinking.”

Cait nodded.

“The withdrawal will be terrible for her.”

Cait nodded vigorously, biting her lip as she looked down at Vi.

“I’ll see to bringing in some nurses to help me. Stay back, and let us work.”

Her father called upon his own staff from the hospital and soon Vi was surrounded.

With all her authority, Cait could do nothing but watch as Vi’s ribs were bandaged for support. She didn’t wake through any of it, even as her body jerked while her wounds were cleaned and Cait herself unwound her wraps.

Her father ran a line into Vi’s arm and hung a bottle of fluids.

“I’ve started her on normal saline and a nutritional supplement, antibiotics to be administered every twelve hours on the hour.”

“Thank you.”

“I did it for you.”

Cait was not prepared to be alone with Vi but it happened anyway. She sat by the bedside and watched Vi breathe, her chest rising and falling steadily. She would call names in her sleep: Mom. Vander. Powder.

Cait.

Cait. Cait. Cait.

Vi called her name like a prayer, voice that of a lonely searcher calling out in the dark.

“I’m here,” Cait whispered, “I’m here, Vi. Just open your eyes.”

Hours stretched into a day, two. Cait was slumped in her chair when it happened, using her cape as a blanket.

“Cait?”

Her voice sounded different, somehow more coherent. It took Cait a stunned moment to realize that Vi was looking at her.

“Where am I?”

“I brought you home.”

Vi grunted as she started to sit up. Cait jolted to her feet and pressed her back down, gently.

“You’ve a broken rib, and the withdrawal.”

Vi fell back into the pillows.

“You should have left me where you found me, Cupcake.”

“I never should have left you at all.”

[itsnesss]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭 | lee myung-gi (player 333) × fem!reader

summary | you comfort myung-gi after being filled with guilt for killing Thanos

warnings | graphic violence (implied death and blood), guilt and psychological distress, sensitive themes surrounding survival and guilt

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me thanks ᡣ𐭩

The room had grown even darker with the news of the fight.

The murmurs of the players filled the air, most of them in shock, unable to process what had just happened. You knew that some of the bodies, now lying in the bathroom, would never return to this place. The faces of those men were still etched in your mind, even though you tried to block the image.

But the only thing that truly mattered at that moment, the only thing you could think about, was him.

Myung-gi.

He was sitting apart from the others, hunched over as if the weight of guilt was crushing him. His face was covered in blood, his shirt soaked with it, and his hands trembled uncontrollably. Although chaos surrounded him, he seemed trapped in his own universe, one where guilt was consuming him slowly.

You couldn’t leave him alone. Not without doing something.

You grabbed your green sweatshirt, the one you had left aside during the last trial, and approached him with firm but gentle steps. The silence surrounding him felt heavy, as if the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving only the gravity of what had happened in that space.

When you reached his side, he didn’t even lift his head. His eyes were empty, fixed on the floor, and his breathing, though barely audible, seemed shallow. At first, you feared he couldn’t hear you, but you leaned closer and called him softly:

"Myung-gi, look at me."

His face barely moved, and the words left his mouth without strength, as if they weren’t truly his own.

"I didn’t want to do it…" his voice was a desperate whisper. "But I couldn’t stop it."

You crouched in front of him, sweatshirt in hand, and began to wipe the blood from his face. Your touch was gentle, almost as if you were trying to heal not just his face but the inner storm tearing him apart. When he finally lifted his gaze, his dark, deep eyes met yours.

"I killed him," he murmured, his lips trembling. "I killed Thanos."

You paused for a moment, letting those words settle in the air. You knew what they meant; you knew what had happened in the bathroom. Thanos, the strongest, the most brutal of all. You knew Myung-gi had been pushed to his limit, that the fight was inevitable.

Despite this, your heart ached at the sight of the guilt shining in his eyes.

"You must’ve had a reason to do it," you said in a calm whisper, trying to help him understand that sometimes, circumstances left no other choice.

He shut his eyes tightly, as if trying to escape his own truth.

"He was choking me," he finally said, his voice breaking with pain. "I tried, I really tried. I didn’t want to kill him. But I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t… I couldn’t let him kill me."

You knew there couldn’t have been another way. Thanos was too strong, and he didn’t have the strength to defend himself otherwise. The words left your lips without thinking as you wiped away every trace of blood with the sweatshirt’s fabric.

"It was the only way, Myung-gi. If you hadn’t done it, he would’ve killed you. And if it wasn’t Thanos, it would’ve been someone else. You… you’re not a killer. You’re just a man trying to survive."

He didn’t respond, only lowered his head again as if he couldn’t face what had just happened. His sobs were barely audible, but they were there, tearing at his soul. You knew what he’d just done would weigh on him, would mark him forever. But there was something else. Something that needed to be said.

You leaned toward him, and before you could think twice, your lips met his. It was a soft kiss, but one heavy with everything you couldn’t express in words. In that brief instant, you offered him comfort, a promise that everything would be okay, even though, deep down, you knew things would never be the same.

When you pulled away, he looked at you, his eyes filled with surprise. He seemed bewildered, as if he couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. But you, your gaze fixed on his, gave him a gentle smile.

"Everything is going to be okay," you said firmly. Your voice was a whisper, but it carried an unshakable calm.

Myung-gi could barely respond, but his face softened slightly, as if your presence, your words, were the only thing that truly mattered in that moment. And though uncertainty still loomed, a small spark of hope began to glimmer in his eyes.

He lifted a hand and touched your face, as if to make sure it wasn’t a dream. The tenderness in his gesture made your heart race. And, for the first time since you’d come to his side, he seemed to find some solace, if only for a second.

You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t need to. You knew the road ahead would be long and painful. But as long as you were together, everything could change. You would be his refuge, and he would be yours.

Myung-gi closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, his gaze was no longer as empty. Though still filled with doubt and fear, there was something different about him. Something that hadn’t been there before. A spark of life.

Without saying another word, you leaned toward him again, and this time, he kissed you. It was a longer, deeper kiss, as if he’d finally allowed himself to feel something other than guilt. The touch of his lips was filled with hesitation but also relief, a yearning to be understood.

When you parted, you looked at each other, and without words, you both knew that whatever happened from that moment on, you would face it together.

"Thank you…" he whispered, his voice a little steadier, though still heavy with the tension of what had happened.

You only nodded, a soft smile on your lips. You didn’t need to say more. You knew the comfort you offered was the only thing you could give him at that moment. And as long as you were there, by his side, he wouldn’t have to carry that weight alone.

Myung-gi was still trembling, but it was no longer the same fear as before. Now it was uncertainty, the kind that always accompanies those who confront their own demons. But the difference was that, though the storm raged on, he was no longer alone. And for the first time since everything began, you felt that both of you had a chance to heal.

Everything would be okay. Because together, you would overcome it.

[jjunbug]

finally here hehe!! get ready for the absolute novel i’m about to drop in this reblog because you aren’t ready at all…

oh how i love the sheltered princess who’s desperate to see the real world who ends up meeting someone from said real world and finally feeling normal trope. it’s literally one of my favorites and it hits every single time. and lemme tell you, this HITSSSS. firstly, i’m obsessed with your writing. the prose is so gorgeous and i love the way each paragraph flows into another. secondly, you will pay for the pain you put me through, TRUST.

“Did it? Did love really follow, or did you simply learn to endure it?” MMMMMM… this line… i love it.

the bickering is so so good i love the way you write it!! them going back and forth, quick with their responses… hehe it reminds me of my lady jane. her and guildford was always bickering like this and it’s like the best part of the show!!

already immediately infatuated with yeonjun. like ooo tell me your story, archer hehehe~~ “Yeonjun the orphan. Yeonjun the cursed.” ????? i’m so curious. and the scar across his brow?? “a mark left by a long-forgotten accident but whispered about like it was the devil’s curse.” oh i’m tuned in!!!

AHHH THE SCENE WHERE HE SEES HER IN THE BALLROOM??? oh my god. the faltering and the recognition???? i’m literally on the edge of my seat stop. them thinking that they’ll never see each other again but here they both are?? and her being the princess of all people, part of the people who yeonjun absolutely despises… i love it. i love it so much.

“This is a mistake,” he said finally, his voice barely audible. “Then let it be my mistake,” you said, your voice trembling. SCREAMS AT THE TOP OF MY LUNGS. OH MY GOD. “You’re going to ruin me, princess,” he said softly. “Then let me ruin you,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss him again. This time, he didn’t hesitate.” AHHHHHHAHGHRRRAHEGRHWAHHHHH i have no words oh my god. the only person getting ruined is ME.

kai being so incessant on yeonjun teaching him how to shoot a bow and arrow is so cute and so funny to me. it’s like heartbreaking angst and then here comes kai with the papers😭😭

LORD TAEHYUNNNNNNNNN!!!!!

THE LETTERS. what if i started sobbing. what if i cried so hard and so much that i formed a new ocean. what if that ocean then formed a massive wave that destroyed everything. would you be able to deal with those lives on your hands? think about the greater cost here… i’m begging you… “The stars above seemed brighter somehow, as if he were reaching out to you through them.” THINK ABOUT THE WAVE AND THE LIVES OF THE PEOPLE WHO WILL BE CRUSHED. PLEASE.

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

“That night, as the moon rose high above the castle, you made your decision to see Yeonjun again, no matter the beefy guards.” just got a cold chill… please girl… stay inside for my sake. DONT MAKE UNNECESSARY JOURNEYS!! DONT TAKE RISKS AND TREACHEROUS ROADS!!!! PLEASE… ITS A TRAP!!!!!!

“I’m sorry. I can be your family now.” kai what if i cried. MY SHAYLAAAAA

“He was about to turn in for the night when a sharp knock echoed through the cabin. Yeonjun frowned. Kai was long gone, and he wasn’t expecting anyone else.” oh god… “You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at the royal palace to celebrate the forthcoming marriage of The Princess to Lord Kang Taehyun.” NOOOOOOOOOOO “But tonight, he let the weight of the truth settle over him, the words on the page a stark reminder of just how precarious their love truly was.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

them in the garden… i need them to run away together like PLEASE. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE. forget what said earlier and run to the further country, to the further corner possible. I NEED THEM TO HAVE A HAPPY ENDING. PLEASE RUN RUN RUN!!! and don’t look back!!!!!!!

“A hand wrapped around your mouth muffled your screams of protest, throwing you backwards and away from the view of Yeonjun.” NOOOOOOOOOO

“A bloodstained arrow.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO WHAT THE FUCK NOOOOOOOOO MY SHAYLAAAAA😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 i’m literally about to start crying WHAT THE FUCK.

“Choi Yeonjun, the hunter, is hereby sentenced to death for his treasonous actions and his insolence against the crown.” NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“Remind me to thank her—oh, wait.” i’m sorry but i laughed so hard… like😭😭 “oh wait” LMAOOOOO

“The castle loomed behind them, a monolith of power and oppression, but they didn’t look back. They ran, side by side, into the darkness.” YESSSSSSS RUN LIKE THE FUCKING WIND!!!!!!!

…….WHY WOULD THEY GO BACK TO THE CABIN????????

“To the family of HueningKai,” OH IM JUMPING OFF A BRIDGE.

“They walked hand in hand, leaving the cabin—and their old lives—behind. Together, they vanished into the horizon, bound by love, loss, and the hope of something better.” YESSSSSSSSSS‼️‼️‼️ you don’t understand how happy i am that they got their happy ending, even if it was a little bittersweet. i was seriously scared there for a second omg…

kai… my shayla……. sobs and cries and bangs head against a concerte wall. YOU DIDNT DESERVE YOUR FATE😭😭😭

FUCK THE VILLAGERS. FUCK THE GUARDS. FUCK THE NOBLES. FUCK THE KINGDOM. FUCK THE KING. FUCK THE QUEEN. AND FUCK TAEHYUN‼️‼️‼️‼️ beomgyu you’re cool

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

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

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

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

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

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

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

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun froze.

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

It was her hair.

Pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“My god.” You whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

“Yeonjun, 

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

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

Yours Always”

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun”

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

“Yeonjun,

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

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

Yours always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her marriage announcement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You froze, his words hitting you like a jolt. "Yeonjun, you can’t just—" You couldn't risk someone seeing you. No matter how badly you just wanted to run into his arms and never let go, this could turn dangerous and fast. 

"I had to," he cut in, his voice fierce. "You’re going to marry him, aren’t you? That’s what this whole masquerade is for. To announce it to the world." 

His words stung because they were true, but you didn’t have a choice. "It’s not what I want," you said quietly, your voice trembling. "But I don’t get to decide." 

"There’s always a choice," he said, his tone sharp, almost desperate. "You don’t have to do this. We can leave tonight—just say the word, and we’ll be gone." You stared at him, the weight of his offer pressing down on you. His intensity, his recklessness—it should have frightened you, but instead, it made you ache. Leaving was all you could ever think about. Leaving the prison you grew up in finally with the man you loved would be everything you had dreamed of. 

"Leave?" you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper. "And go where? They’d find us. They always do." 

"Let them," he said, his voice softening as he stepped closer. "Let them try. I won’t let them take you from me." 

His words broke something inside you, the carefully constructed walls you’d built to endure this life. You looked up at him, tears stinging your eyes. "Yeonjun, this is madness." And it was, but word by word he was convincing you. 

"Maybe it is," he said, his gaze locking with yours. "But I can’t lose you. Not to him. Not to anyone." 

The night seemed to still, the world shrinking until it was just the two of you. Slowly, you reached up and removed your mask, the cool air brushing against your tear-streaked cheeks. "I don’t want to lose you either," you whispered, the truth spilling out before you could stop it. He closed the distance between you in a single step, his hands cradling your face as his lips met yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, but it quickly deepened, years of longing and frustration pouring into it. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you upright. 

When you finally broke apart, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathless. His fingers brushed your cheek, his touch achingly gentle. "What do we do now?" you asked, your voice trembling with a mixture of fear and hope. 

“We go.” he said, his voice steady and sure. "Together." 

“Now?” You asked, your voice unsteady and unsure. 

“We have to,” he nodded, his tone urgent, almost frantic. His hand was firm around yours as he began to lead you deeper into the garden, away from the prying eyes of the guards and the glittering lights of the ball. “It’s now or never, Princess.” You hesitated at his words, glancing back toward the castle, its grand silhouette looming like a watchful predator. But the pull of his hand—and the fierce determination in his eyes—spurred you forward. The garden paths twisted and turned, the soft crunch of gravel beneath your hurried steps the only sound in the quiet night. The cool air bit at your cheeks, and your gown tangled around your legs, but you didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. 

“We’ll make it,” Yeonjun muttered, half to himself, half to you. “Once we’re past the outer gates, they won’t be able to follow us. Not tonight.” Your heart thundered in your chest, not just from the exertion but from the enormity of what you were doing. Running. Escaping. Leaving everything behind. Ahead, the garden’s stone archway came into view, the dense forest beyond it a promise of freedom. But as you reached it, something sharp and cold slithered down your spine—a sense of foreboding you couldn’t shake. 

“Yeonjun, wait,” you whispered, pulling on his hand. 

“What is it?” he asked, glancing back at you, his brow furrowed. 

Before you could answer, there was a faint rustling behind you. Then, a muffled cry—a sound so brief and so quiet you weren’t sure you’d heard it at all. 

A hand wrapped around your mouth muffled your screams of protest, throwing you backwards and away from the view of Yeonjun. The last thing before going dark was Yeonjun’s slumped body against the wall and the face of your father looming over the balcony…grinning. 

Yeonjun’s eyes fluttered open, and the world around him spun in dizzying circles. The pounding in his head was the first thing he felt—a sharp, blinding pain that seemed to come from deep within his skull. He was lying on cold stone, his body twisted in uncomfortable angles, the rough texture of the floor scraping against his skin. His wrists were shackled behind him, and he could feel the weight of the iron biting into his flesh, a constant reminder of his captivity. The air was damp, heavy with the smell of mildew, and the faint dripping of water echoed in the darkness.

"Awake at last," a gruff voice sneered from somewhere above him.

Yeonjun tried to lift his head, but the effort sent another wave of pain through his skull, making his vision blur. He blinked, trying to focus, and found himself staring up at two guards, their faces shadowed by the dim light of a single torch mounted on the stone wall. "Where am I?" he rasped, his throat dry and cracked. 

"The king’s dungeon," one of the guards answered, stepping forward with an air of superiority. "You should feel honored. Not many get to see it." Yeonjun tried to push himself up, but a sharp kick to his ribs sent him crashing back to the floor. He gasped, struggling to catch his breath as the pain radiated through his body. His fingers curled around the cold stone beneath him, grounding himself as he tried to regain control. 

“Why were you sneaking around with the princess?” the second guard asked, his voice low and threatening. “What were you planning?” 

Yeonjun didn’t answer. His lips were sealed, his mind racing. He wasn’t going to give them anything. The first guard knelt down, bringing his face close to Yeonjun’s. “Don’t play dumb with us,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “We know about the little messages you sent. Through that boy.” 

Yeonjun’s heart skipped a beat. His mind raced. Kai. They had taken him. His body ran cold, a shiver shooting up his spine. “What did you do to him?” Yeonjun demanded, his voice hoarse but filled with venom.

The first guard chuckled darkly, pulling something from behind his back and tossing it onto the floor in front of Yeonjun. It clattered against the stone with a sickening sound, and Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat when he saw it.

A bloodstained arrow. 

The arrow that had once been his, now soaked in the blood of the one person who had truly believed in him. A boy, not much younger than him but so full of life. Only wishing to make his family proud. Dead..because of him. 

"Recognize this?" the guard taunted, his grin widening. “Your little messenger screamed your name the whole time. Begged us to let him go. Begged for you to save him.” 

Yeonjun’s breath caught in his throat, his vision swimming as the truth hit him like a blow to the gut. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. No. no. no. Kai. 

“No,” he whispered, the words barely escaping his lips. Almost like a plea to any god that would hear him. Any god with mercy. 

“Oh, yes,” the second guard said, leaning in with a malicious smile. “And the old woman? The nursemaid? She put up quite the fight. But don’t worry. She didn’t last long either.” The words sliced through Yeonjun like a blade, and for a moment, everything in him went cold. 

"You bastards!" he shouted, his voice breaking with fury as he surged forward, only to be stopped by the chains holding him in place. He rattled them with all his strength, the metal digging into his wrists, but he couldn’t escape. The guards laughed at his struggles, their cruel amusement echoing off the stone walls of the dungeon. 

“You brought this on yourself,” one of them said, standing to leave. “All of this—on you. On them.” The sound of their boots faded as they retreated down the hallway, their laughter still ringing in his ears. Yeonjun was left in the suffocating silence of the dungeon, his heart heavy with grief and guilt. His body trembled as he slowly sank back onto the cold floor, the bloody arrow still lying in front of him—a symbol of everything he had lost.

Kai. Kai was dead. They had taken him, tortured him, dumped him god knows where. His family, oh god his family. Yeonjun couldn't take it. The curse, he knew it was real and for the first time since the death of his family he had felt it tenfold, piercing him like his very own arrows. They were the archer and himself the prey, left in agony to be eaten by the wolves of the kingdom. How dare they?

Kai was innocent. He was pure. He was good. All things Yeonjun was not. And Kora, Kora had only had nothing but love for the princess. She nurtured her and raised her. She did more than the queen could ever do, gone. Because of him. He closed his eyes, the weight of it all crashing down on him. His chest ached with the unbearable loss, and for the first time in years, tears welled up in his eyes. But there was no one left to comfort him. 

A sharp kick to Yeonjun’s stomach jolted him awake, the breath ripped from his lungs as pain shot through his body. He doubled over instinctively, coughing and gasping for air, but the guards were relentless. Rough hands grabbed him by the arms, dragging him to his feet. His legs felt weak beneath him, his head pounding from the lingering ache of his earlier beating.“Get moving,” one of the guards barked, shoving him forward. 

Yeonjun stumbled, the chains on his wrists clinking with every step as they led him out of the dim dungeon. The harsh light of the corridor burned his eyes, but he kept his head down, biting back the groan of pain that threatened to escape. As they marched him up a winding staircase, the familiar sounds of the grand hall grew louder—the murmurs of people, the echo of heavy boots on marble, the crackling of torches. Yeonjun’s heart sank. He didn’t have to guess where they were taking him.When they shoved him into the throne room, the sight that met him was worse than anything he could have imagined. 

The king sat on his golden throne, his expression smug and triumphant. The queen was beside him, her cold gaze fixed on Yeonjun as if he were nothing more than filth beneath her feet. And there, standing just to the side, was the princess. Her face was pale, her eyes red and swollen as though she’d been crying for hours. The moment she saw him, her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. 

“Ah, the infamous hunter,” The king said, his booming voice dripping with mockery. “I must say, I didn’t expect such a... lowly creature to have the nerve to court my daughter.” Yeonjun said nothing, his jaw tightening as he stared at the marble floor. 

The king rose from his throne, descending the steps slowly, savoring every moment of Yeonjun’s humiliation. “What? Nothing to say? No impassioned defense of your love? No heroic declaration of your intentions?” Still, Yeonjun remained silent. 

The king laughed, a cold and hollow sound that echoed through the chamber. “You see, princess?” he said, turning to his daughter. “This is the man you chose. A coward who can’t even speak for himself.” 

“Stop this!” the princess cried, stepping forward. Tears streamed down her face, her voice cracking as she pleaded. “Please, father, stop this! He hasn’t done anything wrong!”

“Silence!” the queen snapped, her tone sharp and unforgiving. “You will not disgrace this family further by defending him.” 

“But-” 

“I said, silence!” The king roared, and the princess flinched, her shoulders trembling as she bit back a sob. 

The king turned back to Yeonjun, his smirk returning. “Your little messenger is dead, you know,” he said, his tone almost casual. “And the nursemaid. Both gone, thanks to you. All because you thought you could play hero.”

Yeonjun’s head snapped up, his eyes blazing with fury. His heart twisting in his chest. 

The king gestured to one of the guards, who held up the bloodstained arrow as a grim trophy. “The boy cried for you, you know. Right up until the end.” Yeonjun’s chest heaved, rage and sorrow clawing at his insides, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of a response.

The king’s smirk deepened. “No clever retort? No fiery protest? Very well.” He raised his voice, addressing the room. “Choi Yeonjun, the hunter, is hereby sentenced to death for his treasonous actions and his insolence against the crown.” 

“No!” The princess’s scream pierced the air, raw and desperate. She ran forward, throwing herself in front of Yeonjun. “You can’t do this! Please, father, I beg you!”

The queen rose from her throne, her expression cold. “Move aside, child. This is what must be done.” 

“No! I won’t let you!” She turned to Yeonjun, her tear-filled eyes locking onto his. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “This is all my fault.” 

“Enough!” The king’s voice boomed, and the guards seized the princess, pulling her away from Yeonjun. She struggled against them, her sobs echoing through the hall as they dragged her back toward the throne.

Yeonjun stood tall, his eyes meeting the king’s without a trace of fear. If this was how it ended, so be it. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him break. But as the princess’s cries filled the room, a new thought burned in his mind. The memory of Kai, bright eyed and cheery. And everything he had taken from the both of them. She was apologizing but she was not the one at fault. He was. 

Yeonjun sat slumped against the cold stone wall of his cell, his wrists raw from the iron chains and his body aching from days of neglect and torment. His head hung low, the heavy silence of the dungeon pressing against him like a weight. Every sound—the drip of water, the faint scuttle of a rat—seemed magnified in the stillness. Sleep had come and gone in fleeting, restless bouts, and this time was no different. A muffled commotion echoed from somewhere outside the cell. At first, he thought it was another cruel trick of his mind, the dungeon’s oppressive quiet playing games with his senses. 

But then, there was a distinct clatter—a guard’s voice shouting, followed by a heavy thud. His eyes blinked open, groggy and unfocused. He straightened as best he could, his pulse quickening. Footsteps. He squinted into the darkness, barely registering the soft sound of keys jangling. The door creaked open, and a figure slipped inside, cloaked in the faint torchlight spilling from the corridor. 

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

“Princess?” he rasped, his voice hoarse and cracked from disuse.

She was at his side in an instant, her hands trembling as they fumbled with the lock on his chains. Her face, framed by the faint flicker of the torchlight, was a mix of desperation and determination. “What are you—how—” he began, but she silenced him with a sharp look. 

“No time for questions,” she said, her voice low but steady. “We need to get out of here. Now.” 

The chains around his wrists fell away with a loud clink, and she moved to the shackles on his ankles. “How did you even get down here?” he asked, still stunned as he rubbed at his sore wrists. 

She glanced up at him, a faint smirk tugging at her lips despite the dire circumstances. “My nursemaid taught me more than just calligraphy and how to curtsy,” she said, her tone almost teasing. “Turns out, lock-picking and sneaking around are also valuable skills for a proper princess.” 

Yeonjun blinked at her, equal parts impressed and incredulous. “Remind me to thank her—oh, wait.”

The smirk faltered, her eyes darkening with pain. “She taught me everything I needed to survive. And now we’re going to survive this. Together.” 

The last shackle came loose, and Yeonjun rose to his feet, his legs shaky but functional. She handed him a small dagger she’d tucked into her belt. “Where did you even get this?” he asked, gripping it as though it were the most precious thing in the world. 

“Confiscated it off a guard,” she said matter-of-factly, peering into the hallway. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fight, you know.” 

He couldn’t help the faint smile that crossed his lips. “Remind me never to underestimate you again.”

“You’d better not,” she shot back, her gaze darting around the corridor. “Now, let’s go before anyone notices.” The two of them crept through the winding passages of the dungeon, their movements swift but careful. The princess led the way, her steps light and purposeful, and Yeonjun followed close behind, his heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and disbelief. Every shadow felt like a potential threat, every distant sound a prelude to discovery. But somehow, they moved unnoticed, slipping past guards and evading detection at every turn. 

As they ascended a final set of stairs, the faint light of the moon filtered through a nearby window, illuminating their path. Yeonjun paused for a moment, glancing at the princess. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice soft but filled with curiosity. “You could’ve stayed safe, let them—” 

“Let them kill you?” she interrupted, her tone sharp. She turned to face him fully, her eyes blazing with emotion. “Do you think I could’ve lived with myself, knowing I left you here to die? After everything—after Kai, after Kora?” He opened his mouth to respond, but she shook her head. “You don’t get to question this. I made my choice. And I choose you.” Her words rendered him momentarily speechless, and all he could do was nod, his throat tight with unspoken emotion. 

“Now come on,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him forward. “We’re almost free.” The night air hit them like a cool balm as they slipped out through a side gate. The castle loomed behind them, a monolith of power and oppression, but they didn’t look back. They ran, side by side, into the darkness. 

The forest was eerily quiet as they approached the cabin, their breaths clouding in the cool night air. Yeonjun slowed as the familiar structure came into view, his steps growing heavier with every inch closer. The small home that had once been his sanctuary now felt hollow, haunted by what had been lost. The princess stayed close, her gaze shifting between him and the cabin, sensing the weight he carried. 

Inside, the room was as he had left it—simple and sparse, with few possessions to speak of. Yeonjun moved with purpose, pulling the golden bow from where it hung on the wall. He ran his fingers over its polished surface, the faint grooves where his hands had gripped it countless times. It had been his most prized possession, a symbol of his skill and survival. Now, it felt like a monument to the boy he’d lost.

“We’ll bury it here,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with grief. “It belongs with him.” 

The princess nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “I’ll help.” 

They stepped outside into the moonlit clearing, the ground soft from the recent rains. Yeonjun worked in silence, digging a small grave beneath the large oak tree at the edge of the clearing. The princess stayed by his side, her hands brushing against his to offer support when she could. When the hole was deep enough, Yeonjun carefully laid the bow inside, his movements deliberate and reverent. He placed a folded letter atop it—a message he had written to Kai’s family, explaining everything. His voice broke as he murmured, “I’m sorry. You deserved so much better.” 

The princess touched his arm, her fingers light but grounding. “He knew you cared for him. You gave him hope.” 

Yeonjun swallowed hard, nodding as he covered the bow and letter with soil, patting the earth down until the grave was complete. The princess knelt beside him, placing a small wildflower she had plucked from the forest nearby atop the fresh dirt. Together, they bowed their heads in silence, a quiet tribute to a boy whose life had been far too brief. 

Inside the cabin, Yeonjun sat at the worn table, scribbling out one final letter. His handwriting was rough, but the words were heartfelt.

“To the family of HueningKai,

I write this with a heavy heart. Your son was brave, determined, and far too kind for this world. He reminded me of the best parts of myself, and I hope you know he made a difference, even in the short time he was with us.

I leave everything I own to you: my cabin, my tools, and whatever small coin I’ve managed to earn. May it ease your burdens and honor the boy who fought so hard for his family.

Kai deserved better, and I will carry his memory with me for the rest of my days. 

Yeonjun.” 

He sealed the letter, pressing his thumb to it as though it were a seal, and placed it on the table where the family could find it. The princess stood nearby, her eyes glassy as she watched him. “You’re doing the right thing.” 

He glanced at her, his expression unreadable but softening. “I hope so.” 

With that, they gathered the few supplies they needed—food, water, and some tools for their journey. Yeonjun paused in the doorway, casting one last look around the cabin that had been his home for so many years. “This place was never really mine,” he said, his voice low. “It was always meant for someone else.” 

She slipped her hand into his, squeezing it gently. “Then let’s find something that is ours.” 

They stepped out into the night, the forest stretching out before them, vast and unknowable. The princess glanced back once, her heart heavy with the weight of what they left behind, but she didn’t falter. They walked hand in hand, leaving the cabin—and their old lives—behind. Together, they vanished into the horizon, bound by love, loss, and the hope of something better.

taglist. @izzyy-stuff , @beomiracles , @filmnings , @dawngyu , @hyukascampfire , @saejinniestar

[sorenphelps]

guard dog

i'm still very deep in the military outfit pit, so I was looking up reference pics for the official uniform of royal engineers, and found a lot of pictures where they carried each other like this... so i obviously had to draw this... then i realized that it sort of looks like the poster of The Bodyguard movie, and now i have 630 words written by AI summarizing this concept... (i'm also a little conflicted about using AI, but i am definitely not a writer, so... please dont hate me, my artwork is AI free!)

The Bodyguard AU under the cut, feel free to write this!

James is the son of an ambassador, raised in the United Kingdom. His life was turned upside down when his parents were stationed in a hostile country and an assassination attempt was carried out against them. James was also threatened, and for his own safety, he was placed under strict house arrest. Isolated from the world, his frustration grew. He felt trapped in a gilded cage, constantly under surveillance. His only escape was sneaking out when he could, desperate for even a fleeting sense of freedom. As a result of his repeated escapes and the increasing danger surrounding him, a bodyguard was hired to provide 24/7 protection: Sirius, an ex-soldier, now a top-tier security expert with a clear mission of keeping James safe at all costs. Strong, tall, and with striking good looks, Sirius exuded an air of danger, an impenetrable coolness that made him seem almost unapproachable. When James first laid eyes on him, the professional demeanor and intimidating presence were hard to ignore, and the idea of being constantly watched by such a man was hardly appealing. Sirius kept his distance both physically and emotionally, but as the days wore on, something unexpected began to happen: he proved himself to be not just an expert at protecting James, but someone who could be trusted. Sirius, though professional and distant at first, was not impervious to James’s charm. Despite his focus on the task at hand, there were moments when their eyes would meet, when James would catch a glimmer of something deeper in Sirius’s gaze. The heat between them was undeniable, though neither man spoke of it. Still, the chemistry simmered under the surface, growing stronger with every shared adventure, every close call, every moment where their lives were intertwined. The more time they spent together, the more Sirius’s tough, almost cold exterior began to crack. He started to show a side of himself that James hadn’t expected—gentle, caring, and protective in ways that went beyond the professional. James, for his part, found himself drawn to Sirius’s strength, his competence, and the tenderness that lay hidden beneath his stoic façade. It wasn’t just the physical attraction, though that was undeniable, but the way Sirius made him feel safe, cherished, even in the most dangerous moments. Despite the constant threats on James’s life, the bond between them grew—one built not just on trust and mutual respect, but also on the undeniable sexual tension that sparked between them. Their attraction was electric, their stolen glances and lingering touches all charged with the unspoken desire. But it wasn’t until one fateful night, when they found themselves caught in a perilous situation, that their feelings finally erupted. The close proximity, the adrenaline, the raw emotions they had kept locked away finally broke free in a passionate kiss that neither of them could deny any longer. What started as a professional arrangement became something far deeper and more complicated. They navigated their growing feelings amidst the ever-present danger surrounding James. Their relationship was a delicate balance—one that was often tested by their contrasting personalities and the constant threat to James’s life. But through it all, they found comfort in each other. James, once a prisoner of his own life, found freedom in Sirius’s arms, while Sirius, who had long buried his emotions beneath his soldier’s mask, allowed himself to love again. In the end, their connection became more than just a matter of protection—it was a bond forged through fire, a love that neither man had anticipated, but one that transformed their lives forever. Together, they faced whatever dangers the world threw at them, knowing that, despite everything, they had each other. And in a life filled with uncertainty, their love was the one thing that remained undeniable, unshakeable, and real.

[himluv]

On the Mend

Chapter 21 of Say My Name (Say it Twice) is here! Lucanis and Davrin finally have a much needed Chat™. Read it below, or over on AO3.

Lucanis took the wooden stairs slowly, each step measured, as he approached Davrin’s quarters. He was sure the Warden would not be glad to see him, but after all they’d seen that night at the Cauldron…? Besides, this conversation was long overdue. 

Spite seethed and growled, but said nothing as they entered Davrin’s room. For a moment Lucanis was struck by the openness – the tall, paneless windows inviting the Fade-sky into the room. It was so different from his own quarters that he felt off-kilter for several heartbeats. It was too exposed. 

Spite bristled in response to Lucanis’s momentary discomfort, but still the demon kept his silence. He was sullen, almost pouting. Like a dog who’d been caught with his nose in the trash.

The next thing Lucanis noticed about Davrin’s room were the wood carvings. Some were collected from elsewhere, merely decoration, but most were obviously made by Davrin with a startling eye for detail. 

The final thing that caught Lucanis’s attention was just how comfortable the room was. A fire blazed in the hearth, before which sat a sturdy, but worn wingback chair. Assan lay sprawled at its feet, his head perking up as Lucanis stepped further into the room. 

Davrin peered out from the back of the chair, surprise overtaking his scowl for just a moment. “Lucanis?”

“Davrin.”

Doesn’t like us. Doesn’t trust, Spite hissed. 

Well, whose fault was that?

Spite grumbled but said nothing more. 

The Warden turned back to his whittling. “Come to gloat about Warden secrets?”

Lucanis winced at that. “Actually,” he moved to lean against Davrin’s workbench –well within the Warden’s peripheral line of sight. “I came to ask if you’re all right.”

Davrin’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing. As if wary of some sort of trap.

Mierda, what was he thinking? Davrin didn’t want his assurances, didn’t even need them. Rook would have this conversation with him, and do a better job of it. And yet, his conversation with Neve needled him. She wasn’t wrong. He needed to interact more with the team, and he needed to smooth things over with Davrin. He couldn’t let their conflict jeopardize their work. 

Lucanis sighed and shook his head. “The Cauldron, what happened to the griffons? That was… harrowing.” He gave a pointed glance at Assan. “And I’m not guardian to the last of the griffons.”

Davrin watched him, then snorted. “You sound like Rook.”

Lucanis chuckled at that. It was possibly the greatest compliment he’d ever received. “She was here already, then?”

“Barely had time to change out of my armor.” He sounded exasperated, but fondly so.

Likes. Rook, Spite said. 

Lucanis froze, suddenly wondering if the demon meant Davrin had feelings for Rook. The last thing they needed to add to their already contentious relationship was jealousy. 

No! Spite said. Likes Rook. Like everyone likes Rook! Rook is good. Rook helps. 

Well, that was a relief. Lucanis smirked at Davrin. “She’s good like that.”

“Yeah,” he said. He leaned back in his chair and gave Lucanis an appraising look. “Speaking of… ‘our Rook?’”

Lucanis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mierda. I knew you’d pick up on that.”

“Kinda hard not to when a demon’s shouting it at you.”

Lucanis was surprised at how casually Davrin said that, at how much humor there was in the Warden’s voice. 

“So, you and Rook–”

Lucanis shook his head. “No.”

“Your demon seems to think so.” Davrin sighed. “And Rook definitely seems to like what she sees.” He chuckled. “I’ve never seen her blush as hard as she did in the kitchen the other day.”

Lucanis frowned. “Bellara certainly didn’t help matters.”

Davrin laughed. “Not for lack of trying!” His brow furrowed and he tilted his head. “So what’s holding you back?”

Lucanis raised an eyebrow at him. “Really?”

“The demon?” He shook his head. “Can’t say I agree with Rook’s taste, but if someone looked at me like that? It’d take more than a demon to keep me from them.”

Easy for him to say. He didn’t have a demon inside him. Lucanis glared at Davrin. “It’s not that simple.”

Davrin shrugged. “I get the feeling nothing is simple with you.”

HA! Spite barked. He’s. RIGHT!

The last thing Lucanis needed was Davrin and his demon teaming up against him. “I came here to talk about you,” he said. How had this conversation gotten away from him?

Davrin grinned. “You might sound like Rook, but she’s way better at this.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

They watched each other for a moment, their looks just cool enough not to count as glares. Then Assan stood and stretched, rubbing up against Davrin’s knee. 

The Warden sighed. “You might suck at this,” he said. “But, thanks for trying. I guess.” He winced at Lucanis. 

He shrugged. “I am sorry,” he said. “For Spite.”

Davrin waved him off. “It’s done,” he said. “And, Neve filled in some of the gaps.”

Lucanis scowled. “So she said.”

He smirked. “I told her you wouldn’t like that. But, it did help,” he said. “That shit with your cousin?” He shook his head.

Illario, Spite growled. 

“I’m handling it,” Lucanis said.

“I’m sure you are,” Davrin said. “I don’t envy the guy the pain you’ll put him through.”

Yessssss! 

Lucanis felt his face go blank as he shut down on the anger and heartbreak that swelled up in him at the thought of Illario. “The Crows are assassins, not torturers,” he said. “A good kill is clean and efficient.”

Davrin considered him. “For a contract, maybe. But this?” He shook his head. “This is personal. Family. That’s bound to get messy.”

It already was. It had been messy from the start, when Illario had been too cowardly to sink his blade into Lucanis’s back himself. 

“Yeah,” Davrin said. “That look, right there?” He chuckled. “That’s the real Demon of Vyrantium. And it’s scarier than whatever it is you have going on with Spite.”

I am. Scary! Spite grumbled. Tell him!

Lucanis ignored the demon and scoffed at Davrin. “Only if you’re a mage.”

“Yet another reason I’m happy just being a monster hunter.” 

Lucanis heard the slightly contrived note in Davrin’s voice, saw the forced cheer on his face. If he were more like Neve or Rook, he’d hone in on that inauthenticity, push and prod to help Davrin dissect that feeling. Hunt for the meaning hidden beneath.

Lucanis would rather chew glass. “So,” he said. “Are we…?”

Davrin sighed. “We’re good, Lucanis.”

“For now?” Lucanis smirked. 

Davrin chuckled. “For now.”

That was good enough for Lucanis. They nodded at one another, and Assan squawked his goodbye, then Lucanis hurried back to the close comfort of the pantry. But even before he was back in his comfortable space, he felt a weight lift from his chest. Losing control hadn’t permanently ruined anything. Nothing was broken that couldn’t be fixed. Maybe, there really was a through anything…

He hadn’t truly believed that until now. 

[witchthewriter]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐝 | 𝐏𝐓 𝟐

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: So, I've sort of aged up the younger dragons a bit. Not much. And Tyraxes is now a different colour? I've read a few times that he's a bit purple-ish/red.

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

๋࣭⭑ 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘 𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓 ✶⋆.˚

・Grey Ghost is known for being elusive, shy, and distrustful of humans.

・At first, he might keep his distance, circling his rider warily while growling or hissing softly.

・This would not be due to a lack of care but rather his instinct to observe and assess the situation before taking action.

・His sharp eyes would sweep across the area, and his ears would twitch at the faintest sound, ensuring that the injury wasn’t part of a larger trap or attack.

・In all honesty, Grey Ghost's natural instinct is to flee or hide and this would create conflict with his loyalty to his rider. Only for the first event of such kind.

・This inner turmoil would manifest as pacing, soft growling, or circling his rider protectively while he deliberates his next move.

・But he would never leave you on your own.

・Once Grey Ghost realizes the severity of his rider’s injury and identifies that they are in immediate danger (or distress), his protective instincts would kick in.

・His usual elusive nature would fall away, revealing a dragon fiercely devoted to safeguarding his rider.

・Grey Ghost would position himself over or around you, spreading his massive wings to shield you from any threats. His pale, ghostly form would seemingly blend into his surroundings, making it hard for enemies to target him directly.

・His tail might lash aggressively, and he could stomp the ground or snap his jaws at anyone he perceives as a threat.

・While Grey Ghost is typically non-confrontational, the injury of his rider would awaken a primal rage in him if he suspects foul play. His usual avoidance of human settlements or other dragons would be forgotten in the heat of the moment.

・If Grey Ghost identifies anyone responsible for harming his rider, his vengeance would be swift and terrifying. Despite his elusive reputation, he is still a dragon—a creature of fire and blood. His attacks would be calculated, using his natural camouflage to ambush and devastate his enemies.

・He might nudge you gently with his snout, his usually cold and distant eyes change to warmth and concern. If you're conscious, he might emit soft, almost apologetic rumbles, as if to comfort you.

・Grey Ghost would likely carry you to a more secluded, hidden location, away from prying eyes and potential threats. He would be hyper-aware of your condition, moving carefully to avoid causing them more pain or distress.

・Due to his distrust of humans, Grey Ghost might be reluctant to allow even trusted allies near his rider. He could growl or flare his wings at medics or friends attempting to approach, forcing them to convince him they mean no harm.

・If you are taken away for treatment, Grey Ghost would resist at first. But following you closely or circling above.

・His deep bond with you would make it difficult for him to be apart, even temporarily.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐍 ✶⋆.˚

・Known for her beauty, grace, and even temperament. Tessarion's reaction to you being injured would be a mix of deep emotional distress and protective instinct

・Tessarion would be instinctively aware the moment you were injured

・Her voice, often described as musical, would take on a mournful tone that would echo her concern.

・Despite her typically calm and composed demeanor, Tessarion’s protective instincts would flare to life in response to her rider’s injury. She would become a fierce guardian, determined to shield her rider from any further harm.

・Unlike more impulsive dragons, Tessarion’s actions would be measured. She wouldn’t lash out recklessly but would unleash her fury with precision, targeting only those she deemed a threat.

・Her flame, described as a brilliant cobalt blue, would light up the area in controlled bursts, warning enemies to stay away. The colour of the flame would entrance and create fear in allies and foes.

・When the threat is gone, she would become very gentle.

・Tessarion would lower her head to nuzzle her rider, her usually powerful and commanding presence softening in an effort to comfort you. Her large, expressive eyes would convey worry and sorrow, a silent plea for her rider to stay strong.

・If her rider were unconscious or unable to respond, Tessarion might grow increasingly agitated, pacing or flaring her wings in frustration.

・Tessarion’s even temperament would make her more likely than some dragons, to allow trusted allies or medics to approach her rider, yet she would still remain watchful and alert.

・She would recognize the difference between friend and foe, especially if her rider had established a connection with certain individuals. She might lower herself slightly to give others better access to her rider, though she would never stray far.

・After your recovery, Tessarion would definitely become more attentive, sticking closer to you during dangerous situations. She would even keep an eye when resting, ready to act at the first sign of trouble.

・Tessarion’s gentle and noble spirit would lead her to express her devotion in quiet moments. Either through soft purring sounds, affectionate nudges, or simply lying beside her rider, she would show her love in physical ways

๋࣭⭑ 𝐒𝐔𝐍����𝐘𝐑𝐄 ✶⋆.˚

・The Golden, would react to you being injured with a combination of raw emotional and unwavering protectiveness. His regal personality would shape his actions, making his reaction dramatic, furious, and deeply loyal.

・Feeling your pain, Sunfyre would unleash a deep, earth-shaking roar, his golden body gleaming fiercely. The roar would serve as both an expression of his anguish and a warning to anyone nearby.

・Sunfyre’s proud nature would make him defensive of his injured rider, viewing your harm as a personal affront.

・He might thrash his tail or stomp the ground in frustration, his distress manifesting in physical displays. His wings would flare dramatically, creating a display of dominance

・Even trusted allies might find themselves at the mercy of Sunfyre’s suspicion.

・If he perceives any danger to you or identifies those responsible for your injury, his response would be swift and catastrophic.

・Sunfyre’s flames, described as golden and almost as radiant as his scales, would blaze brightly as he targets threats.

・His attacks would be both theatrical and overwhelming, meant to obliterate his enemies and display his dominance.

・Despite his massive size, Sunfyre would lower his head to nudge you softly, emitting low, rumbling sounds that carry both concern and reassurance.

・His golden body would give a comforting heat, as if trying to envelop his rider in his presence and shield them from further pain. This warmth could be soothing, both physically and emotionally.

・He would allow medics or friends to help, but only under his watchful gaze. Any sudden movements or signs of aggression toward his rider would provoke an immediate reaction.

・Sunfyre’s reaction wouldn’t end once his rider is treated. The event would leave a lasting impact on his behavior and deepening his bond with his rider.

・After witnessing their vulnerability, Sunfyre would become even more vigilant and attentive to his rider’s safety. He might hover closer in dangerous situations or insist on staying near them, even when resting.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・Vermax is a spirited and bold dragon known for his youthful energy and eagerness. His reaction would be a mix of emotional distress, protectiveness, and a strong desire to "fix" the situation in any way he could.

・Vermax’s bond with his rider would alert him instantly to their injury

・Once his initial panic subsided, Vermax’s protective instincts would kick in

・If danger were present, Vermax would attack with swift, almost reckless aggression. His flames would burst forth in short, erratic bursts, his movements quick and sharp as he prioritizes eliminating the threat.

・Once the threat was gone, his focus would stay comepletely on you. Landing, he would choose somewhere with cover and natural protection. Getting as close to the ground as he can, you would hop off of him slowly.

・Then, he would position his body around you, wings spread wide and head lowered defensively. Despite his smaller size compared to older dragons, his posture would convey an undeniable determination to protect.

・Vermax would turn to you, and rub his snout on your cheek. He'd show an endearing, almost puppy-like concern for you.

・The green dragon's boldness might lead him to perceive any movement near his rider as a potential threat. He could snap at allies or growl at medics trying to help, only calming once he senses no ill intent.

・Vermax would refuse to leave his rider’s side, lowering himself so his body is near them, even curling protectively around them if possible.

・You would have to give the command to calm him, and let the others help you.

・Vermax’s reaction to his rider’s injury would leave a lasting impression on both his behavior and their bond. The event would serve as a learning experience, shaping his maturity and deepening his loyalty.

・Vermax would become more protective and attentive in the future, keeping a closer eye on his rider during dangerous situations.

・The trauma of this would influence some of his youthful impulsiveness, making him more cautious and deliberate in his actions.

・The experience would solidify the connection between Vermax and his rider, making him even more devoted and emotionally attuned to their well-being.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐗 ✶⋆.˚

・A nimble and intelligent dragon known for his responsiveness and strong bond with you, he would react to your injury with swift, calculated actions and visible emotional distress.

・Arrax has incredible intelligence and quick thinking. It would make his reaction precise and effective; perfect for a situation like this.

・His instinct is to release a high-pitched, distressed shriek or a series of short roars. These sounds would carry both his fear for his rider and a warning to any nearby threats.

・Arrax’s intelligence would shine in his ability to rapidly assess the situation and prioritize his rider’s safety.

・He would immediately survey the area for potential dangers, his sharp eyes darting around to locate enemies or hazards.

・Arrax would instinctively place himself between his injured rider and any perceived threat, his smaller but agile body coiling protectively around them.

・Despite his smaller size, Arrax’s protective instincts would be fierce. His loyalty to you would drive him to defend you with every ounce of his ability.

・If he perceived danger, Arrax would strike with precision. Arrax’s agility would allow him to outmaneuver larger or slower threats. He could take to the air, swooping low to distract enemies or disorient them with quick bursts of flame and rapid movements.

・He might use his quick movements to dart at attackers, snapping his jaws or unleashing bursts of flame.

・His flame, though less powerful than that of larger dragons, would be controlled and effective, aimed to intimidate or incapacitate rather than destroy indiscriminately.

・Once he perceived the immediate danger to be neutralized, Arrax would turn his attention fully to his injured rider, showing his concern in ways that reflect his bond with them.

・Arrax would prod you with his snout, letting out soft, crooning sounds as if trying to reassure you.

・He would want to be as close to you as possible. Lowering his body next to you, either trying to keep you warm, be a protective presence and somehow take some of your pain.

・Arrax’s intelligence would make him more likely than some dragons to allow allies or medics to approach you, though his protective instincts would keep him vigilant.

・This first time trauma, would leave Arrax different. One, it would deepen the bond with you, change his behavior by becoming more intune with you.

・As well as becoming more attentive to your well-being, staying closer during dangerous situations and reacting more quickly to threats.

・The experience would mature him

๋࣭⭑ 𝐓𝐘𝐑𝐀𝐗𝐄𝐒 ✶⋆.˚

・Tyraxes has a steady, balanced temperament. While his initial reaction might not be as volatile or dramatic as some dragons, it would be no less intense.

・Unlike more reactive dragons, Tyraxes wouldn’t thrash or panic. Instead, he might move slowly and deliberately his calm demeanor masking the depth of his worry.

・Tyraxes’ protective instincts would emerge fiercely in response to your vulnerability.

・If an immediate threat were present, Tyraxes would act decisively, using his flame or physical strength with calculated precision to neutralize the danger without endangering his rider.

・Tyraxes’ obedient and loyal nature would make him especially attentive to your well-being. He would stay close, offering physical and emotional comfort in his own dragon-like way.

・He'd gently nudge you, his large, expressive eyes reflecting his concern. His body heat would radiate toward you,making you feel at ease.

・Tyraxes might also produce deep, soothing sounds akin to a purr, an instinctive effort to calm and reassure his rider.

・His usually calm demeanor would become even more pronounced as he remained perfectly still, a silent but steadfast presence beside his injured rider.

・Tyraxes’ mature and even-tempered personality would make him more likely to allow trusted allies or medics to assist his rider.

・For strangers or unfamiliar allies, Tyraxes would need convincing.

・Unlike more reactive dragons, Tyraxes’ emotional response would be quieter but no less profound. His loyalty and concern would manifest through his steady nature.

・This occurence would strengthen Tyraxes’ already obedient nature, making him even more responsive to his rider’s commands and needs. It would have left a lasting impression; giving him a boost of confidence and moving him into maturity.

・Tyraxes’ reaction to his rider’s injury would be a masterclass in calm, controlled devotion. His docile nature wouldn’t stop him from fiercely protecting his rider when needed, but his response would always be measured and thoughtful.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐑 ✶⋆.˚

・Moondancer’s bond with you would allow her to sense your injury instantly, triggering an intense and visible emotional response.

・As a slender, quick, and fiercely spirited dragon, she'd react to your injury with a mix of emotional intensity, relentless protectiveness, and tactical ferocity.

・Moondancer’s body language would display a fierce determination. Her head would lower, her teeth bared, and her tail would flick with calculated aggression, warning anyone to stay back.

・Moondancer’s intelligence and combat style would come into play as she deals with any immediate threats to you.

・Moondancer’s flames would cause chaos and destruction. She'd pursue them relentlessly. Her smaller body alloing her to move through tight areas or challenging terrain.

・Once the immediate danger has passed, Moondancer’s fiery persona would soften as she turns her attention to you. Her loyalty and bond would manifest in tender, almost maternal behavior.

・Moondancer would nuzzle you with her slender snout, her usually sharp and quick movements becoming deliberately slow and gentle.

・She'd then make soothing trills or rumbles, her voice taking on a melodic, comforting quality to reassure you

・Her smaller size would allow her to curl closely around you, creating warmth and care.

・When help arrived, Moondancer may not allow others near, especially if she doesn’t trust them.

・However, if you were conscious and able to calm her, Moondancer would reluctantly allow help, though her watchful eyes would remain fixed on anyone near you

・After the event, Moondancer would become more attentive and protective

・Her fiery temperament might become more pronounced in future conflicts, her determination to prevent another injury to you driving her to act even more fiercely.

・The trauma of seeing you injured would deepen Moondancer’s loyalty, making the bond unshakable and the partnership even stronger.

๋࣭⭑ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 ✶⋆.˚

・Morning's reaction would reflect her spirited, loyal, and deeply protective nature.

・Her youth and bond with her rider would make her response emotionally intense, with her actions blending fiery determination and tender care.

・The pink and black dragon would let out a piercing, mournful cry—loud and desperate. This cry would be both a call for help and an expression of her anguish.

・Morning would become increasingly protective. It would take over quickly as she moves to shield her rider from further harm, regardless of the danger or odds.

・Quickly, Morning would place herself over or around you, using her slender, agile body to create a protective barrier. Her pink-and-black form, usually elegant, would become a fierce and imposing presence.

・If she needed to defend you, her wings would flare wide, forming a physical barrier. Even in her panic, Morning’s movements would remain precise, ensuring you are fully covered and safe.

・Then her next actions would be absolutely destructive. Swift, agile, she would release a breath of flame. Magenta in colour with white swirling through, it would be intensely hot.

・Precise and targeted, she would strike until they were nought but ashes.

・Once the danger passed, Morning’s demeanor would shift from fiery defender to tender caretaker.

・She would curl her body or tail protectively around you, creating a cocoon-like space of warmth and security.

・Morning would create a calm stillness as she watches over you.

・Her expressive eyes would reflect her concern, locking onto you as if willing you to recover through sheer devotion.

・Morning wouldn't like anyone to come near you; even allies. She may see them as threats - her connection with you means she can feel your pain and she doesn't want you to feel anymore. So, she might growl softly or block access with her body

・When you're getting help, she wouldn't be far. Probably much too close. But she wouldn't be able to leave your side.

・This would leave a lasting impact on her. From then on, she would become much, much more protective of you. It would increase the bond, or might bolster Morning’s confidence and refine her ability to act decisively in future challenges.

𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

acrosaurotaurus

yok.sa_art

the_art_of_armmy

kennykwanart

𝒈𝒊𝒇 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒕:

@targaryensource, @gameofthronesdaily, @daenerys-stormborn, @fireandbloodsource, @hvitserkk.

[cutthroatcarnival]

Shadows Settle On The Place You Left

A story of how two becomes one.

Read it on AO3!

Warning for: Major Character Death

This fic will include many things that go hand-in-hand with being a lab/experimentation AU, such as: mentions of blood and needles, experimentation (unethical), cruelty (in form of tests, limiting food intake, sleep deprivation, beatings, electrocution, etc.), hallucinations.

Inspired by: Take My Wallet by Jack Stauber

Title from: Youth by Daughter

The Project X AU belongs to @gtwscratch! Go check her out to learn more about this super cool AU- I’ve got a few more fics lined up for this idea… [rubs hands together like a scheming villain]. Also this was written really early on in the AU, so any new things Scratch has posted will not be reflected here (in later ones, yes).

—————————————————————————

Everyday was the same. The walls never changed, remaining devoid of anything but violent, ghastly white. Following the same routine over and over, listening to the same horrific screaming and wailing echoing from deeper in the facility. The definition of insanity is doing something over and over again, in hopes of a different result, and by that definition, Impulse could call himself insane. Doing the same routine over and over, hoping for change, hoping for an escape, hoping for this clinical hell to be over. Trapped here in this room, chillingly empty without the presence of his cellmate- but hey, at least the beds had mattresses. Maybe if he focused on that, he could block out the pained screams of his cellmate coming from one of the labs.

Impulse stared at his hands, mesmerized and sickened by the swirling purple that traveled down his arms to his legs, twisting into and around scars. He could call himself lucky just as easily as he could call himself insane, but it felt horrifically unfair- yes, he was lucky, his new attributes could be easily hidden (they weren’t getting out of here. They’re trapped). If only he could stop hearing the sounds of his own wailing echoing and the sounds of the file roughly shaping his horns into sharp points, stop feeling phantom pains from restraints digging into him as he struggled and the panic felt as ghost needles stabbed into his arms. If only.

There were seventeen others trapped here with him, Impulse never quite learned what happened to one of them- Mumbo, a pale, lanky male with dark eyes and black hair, and a frankly glorious mustache- Mumbo and Scar had been dragged away one day for more testing, and only the latter had returned, trembling with haunted eyes, spattered with blood. Impulse wasn’t stupid, he knew what that meant. It had been months- or what Impulse thought was months, time was pointless when you didn’t have a clock- since Scar had talked again, but when he did, it lacked the cheerfulness they were all so used to. Their hope dwindled more after that.

One steady remainder of hope for Impulse was his cellmate, Skizz. The two of them were inseparable, fighting to keep some semblance of their identities and previous life. While it helped, it also became their weakness; if a scientist wanted something from Impulse or Skizz, all they had to do was threaten the other. When they couldn’t sleep, whether from the horrors of the day or fear of the other disappearing, Skizz would tell stories- weird, wacky stories that were a welcome distraction. One of Impulse’s favorites was the story of a giraffe lifting weights, it was so outlandish it had made Impulse forget the agony he was in from that particular test, laughing so hard his stomach hurt instead.

Impulse noticed early on that the scientists didn’t like Skizz. They were rougher with him- not that they were gentle Impulse or the others- dragging him behind, laughing as Skizz struggled to stand and follow- a failure, that’s what they called him. All Impulse could do was watch as his best friend returned each day with more and more injuries- deep bruises and lacerations and scars that added to the collection already decorating his body. They even started to lessen the amount of food Skizz was allowed, even when the amount they had regularly was too little, but Impulse happily shared his own with him. And even while suffering through all these extra tests, Skizz never showed signs of his powers manifesting- so in retaliation to their own failure, the scientists got crueler. Void, Impulse hated the sleep experiments the most, where Skizz would become so sleep-deprived he began to hallucinate and stare through Impulse, mumbling about how the Boogeyman was after him, a haunting purple in his peripheral, always just out of sight, refusing to leave Skizz alone until his blood was spilled.

Days had passed, from what Impulse could gather, and there was still no return of Skizz. An uneasy feeling was eating at him, usually people returned after a while, but his best friend was still missing. He could feel his mind drift to Mumbo, how it was unknown what had happened to the man. Impulse could piece things together easily- Scar’s haunted look, the blood, oh void, the blood- and the picture was not pretty. With no way of getting information, he would rather not be shocked for speaking out of turn to a scientist, Impulse went through his routine. Day after day, hour after hour, rinsing and repeating over and over. There was one small hiccup in his routine; none of them had been taken away for more tests. While not unusual, having a quiet period so soon after the previous one made his skin crawl. And the screams. No longer did they echo down the halls. All that filled them was an eerie quiet, interrupted only by the murmuring of the other patients as they were allowed to move about their designated common room.

No matter how early Impulse’s powers had appeared, he still couldn’t quite grasp them in full- teleportation was simple, so was the swapping, but that was all done when he could see. They wanted him to teleport to a place he couldn’t. When the test was demanded of him, Impulse was blindfolded with a thick wrapping of gauze, leaving him unaware and jumpy. Then there was the cold, sharp prod of something, something very clearly meant to hurt, coupled with a faint buzzing- every muscle in his body failed to keep him upright, he had collapsed in a panicked heap, tearing at the gauze and yelping when electricity coursed through him. What did they want from them? Was this entertainment?

The clank of a dish being set in front of him brought him back to the present, the grim memories leaving a sour taste in the back of his mouth. Humming in thanks at Scott, who gave Impulse a wobbly smile in return, like he had forgotten how to do so. Impulse dug into the bland oatmeal- if it could even be called that, lip lifting in a light sneer at the slop. A reaction that would normally be met with a snicker, yet the seat next to him was painfully cold, devoid of its occupant who had been unseen for probably what had been days, if not weeks.

An angry shout from a scientist sent Impulse into a panic, forcing him to drop his spoon with a clatter as he slipped under the table, watching as the others made themselves similarly sparse. Another voice joined, and no matter how hard Impulse strained he couldn’t hear the conversation. A sharp intake of breath snapped his attention to the table next to him, where one of the blondes- Martyn, he reminded himself- was hiding under, hands clenched over his ears. Martyn. Martyn could hear them. Impulse felt an unsettling chill creep up his spine as he watched horror slowly creep over the blonde’s face, and when his tears started to flow over, Impulse’s own nearly did too. Time seemed to freeze as haunted blue eyes locked with frightened brown, lips forming two simple words; I’m sorry, before Martyn curled in tighter on himself. Impulse was left to stare at the other’s shaking form, mind frozen as he processed the words. I’m sorry. He looked back at Martyn. The blonde’s lips were moving, repeating a phrase that Impulse couldn’t quite place. Martyn looked ill, as he rocked there under that table, hands that were once muffling his hearing now grabbing at his hair.

As the voices disappeared, Impulse shifted, starting to maneuver himself out from under the table- he only had so much time to eat- until a weight crashed into him. Taken by surprise, he tipped sideways out from under the table, narrowly missing one of the chairs with his head. On top of him was Martyn, and Impulse raised an inquisitive eyebrow, only to be met with a sob. There were words falling from the other’s lips, but even this close, Impulse couldn’t hear them. Martyn shuddered, fisting the fabric of Impulse’s gown tighter, before inhaling and exhaling, bringing himself from the brink of hyperventilating. Pained blue stared into brown, eyes telling a melancholy tale.

“Skizz is dead.” Martyn declared, in the smallest, most defeated voice Impulse had ever heard from the other.

What.

“What?” Impulse could hear how his own voice was so small, breathy with disbelief. Skizz was dead? His best friend was dead?

“They said he was a failure, too weak to handle the tests,” the grip on his gown loosened, “they wanted to give him wings, but his body couldn’t handle it.”

Murmuring rose from the other patients that had gathered, all in various stages of grief and disbelief. Impulse was frozen on the floor, eyes wide as he stared at Martyn. Skizz is dead. The words kept repeating in his mind, a mantra that infected his brain. His best friend couldn’t be dead. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. Impulse felt all sorts of conflicted, experiencing every emotion in the book and then some, all because of three simple words; Skizz is dead. The following information that Martyn poured out finally made its way into his brain- his body couldn’t handle it. Skizz is dead.

The world around him shattered.

“Is he… he’s gone?” The tile beneath Impulse felt colder than it ever had. Colder than the metal of the examination table. Colder than the scientists. Even his heart felt cold, frozen, even, as Impulse felt his heart shatter.

“He’s really gone?” Above him, Martyn nodded, and Impulse broke. The world around him disappeared as static and ringing sounded in his ears, drowning out the noise of his own sobs. Never again would he see Skizz, because Skizz was gone. His best friend was gone, and Impulse never got to say goodbye. And didn’t that sting? Didn’t that just twist the knife that had already cut his heart into ribbons? Impulse would never hear that infectious positivity and optimism, even in the face of horrific experimentation, because the scientists had taken it- had taken him away from Impulse. They called Skizz a failure, telling him he was too weak, and those were probably the last things Skizz heard, alone on a cold operating table- nothing but biting, burning remarks. So lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t noticed Martyn roll off of him, or being helped up and guided to his cell. His empty, empty cell. One that would never be full again. And you know what they say about one; it’s the loneliest number you’ll ever know.

[magical-reid]

Little Things

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1K

Narrative Perspective: Third person limited (Reader’s POV)

Prompt: 25: “You bought me flowers?” “Yeah, well I noticed you’d seemed kinda down, so I wanted to cheer you up.” 

Summary: Feeling trapped in the weight of her own mind, you’ve spent days lost in a fog of hopelessness, convinced no one would notice. But when Bucky shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and no judgment, his quiet understanding pulls you out of your isolation, reminding you that you're not alone, and maybe, just maybe, there’s light even in the darkest moments.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt light.

Everything seemed weighted, from the gray overcast sky outside your apartment window to the simple act of breathing. Even getting up this morning had felt like scaling a mountain, each motion slow and deliberate, like you were dragging your limbs through molasses.

The world outside continued to churn—cars honked, people shouted, a dog barked somewhere down the block—but it felt distant, like you were underwater. It didn’t matter what was going on out there; you were stuck here, trapped in the storm inside your own head.

A part of you knew it wasn’t supposed to feel this way. That people didn’t sit on their couch for hours staring at the floor, lost in thought spirals that twisted tighter and tighter. That it wasn’t normal to feel like your chest was caving in every time someone asked, “How are you doing?” because the answer was always wrong.

I’m fine.

I’m tired.

I’m busy.

None of it felt true, but what were you supposed to say? “I feel like a hollow shell of myself, and I don’t know why or how to fix it”? Nobody wanted to hear that.

So you sat there, unmoving, as the afternoon bled into early evening, your apartment dimming around you. You didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Maybe it would be easier if the darkness just swallowed you whole.

A knock broke through your haze, startling you. It wasn’t loud or forceful—just two soft raps against your door—but it jolted you all the same. For a moment, you considered ignoring it. What if they just went away?

But the knock came again, and something about its persistence pushed you to your feet.

When you opened the door, Bucky stood there, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the drizzle falling outside. His dark leather jacket glistened faintly with rain, droplets clinging to the strands of his hair where it curled at the ends. In his left hand, the metal one, he held a bouquet of flowers.

For a second, you just stared. The image didn’t compute—Bucky, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, standing at your door holding something so bright, so cheerful.

“You bought me flowers?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could think.

Bucky shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting to the side. “Yeah, well…” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “I noticed you’d seemed kinda down, so I wanted to cheer you up.”

Something cracked in you at that. It wasn’t a clean break—it was jagged, sharp—but it let something through the fog. You lowered your gaze to the bouquet, taking in the vibrant sunflowers, soft daisies, and delicate sprays of baby’s breath. The yellows and whites seemed to glow against the gray of the day, like a stubborn little patch of light in an otherwise dark world.

“I…” You tried to speak, but your throat felt tight, the words sticking. You hadn’t expected anyone to notice. You hadn’t expected him to notice.

Bucky must have sensed your struggle because he took a hesitant step forward, holding the flowers out to you. “If you don’t like them, I can—”

“No!” Your voice came out louder than you intended, and you reached out quickly, your fingers brushing against his gloved ones as you took the bouquet. “I love them, Bucky. Really.”

Your voice cracked, and as soon as it did, you felt the hot sting of tears gathering behind your eyes. You bit your lip, trying to keep them at bay, but it was no use. One slid down your cheek, and then another.

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately—softening in a way that made your chest ache. He stepped closer, his blue eyes locked on yours, and you could see the concern etched in every line of his face.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it held no humor. “Everything?” you managed, clutching the flowers tighter to your chest. “I don’t know, Buck. I’ve just been… stuck. And it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. You hadn’t planned to say any of it, but once it started, it wouldn’t stop.

“I didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” you said quickly, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“Don’t.” His voice was firm but gentle, grounding you. “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to.”

You looked up at him, and the sincerity in his expression nearly undid you. There was no judgment, no awkwardness—just understanding. Bucky, of all people, understood what it was like to feel broken.

He reached out slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, and brushed a tear off your cheek with his thumb. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m here, okay? Whenever you need me.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled then—a small, crooked thing that made your chest feel a little less heavy. “Anytime, doll.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the quiet stretching between you. Then Bucky glanced down at the flowers in your hands. “I wasn’t sure what kind to get. They just… looked like something you’d like.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers over the petals. “They’re perfect.”

[gf2bellamy]

vest — aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: hotch helps you with your fest content warnings: mention of an unsub holding a hostage , mention of guns , mention of snipers a/n: hotch in a fbi vest <3 hope you guys enjoy this !!

You sat in the SUV for a moment, gathering your thoughts as you watched the flurry of activity outside. Police cars were scattered across the street, their lights painting the scene in sharp flashes of red and blue. Officers stood with their guns raised, their focus locked on a house at the end of the block. 

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the vehicle, following Derek Morgan as he strode toward the rest of the team. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to settle in your chest as you approached. 

This wasn’t your first case with the BAU, but you were still new enough to feel a little out of place. You’d learned quickly that there wasn’t much time for hesitation in this line of work, and standing on the sidelines didn’t help anyone. 

The unsub was holed up inside the house, refusing to come out, with a hostage trapped inside. Every second felt critical as the team discussed their plan. 

“Snipers are in position, but we don’t have a clean shot,” Emily said, her tone clipped and professional. 

“There’s only one way in and out,” Rossi added, nodding toward the front of the house. “If we breach, we need to control the situation immediately before he hurts the hostage.” 

You stood quietly at the edge of the group, listening intently but not speaking up. You weren’t sure if your input was expected yet, and you didn’t want to risk saying something that wasn’t helpful. 

Then Hotch’s voice cut through the discussion, calm and authoritative as always. “I’m going in.” 

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and before you could process them, his dark eyes shifted toward you. 

“You’re coming with me,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You froze, caught completely off guard. “Me?” you asked, your voice betraying your surprise. 

“Yes,” Hotch replied, already moving toward the house without waiting for further questions. “You’ve studied his profile. I need you in there.” 

You swallowed hard. The weight of the moment pressed down on you—this wasn’t a training exercise or a simple debrief. This was real, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. 

You walked back to the SUV, the cool night air doing little to calm the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. Opening the door, you grabbed your bulletproof vest and slammed the door shut, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 

Your hands trembled as you fumbled with the vest, trying to slip it on and tighten the straps. You cursed softly under your breath, annoyed at yourself for not being able to steady your movements. 

“Do you need help?” 

The deep, steady voice startled you, and you turned quickly to see Hotch standing just a step away. His face was calm, unreadable as always, but there was a faint softness in his gaze that caught you off guard. 

You hesitated for a moment before nodding. Without another word, Hotch gestured for you to turn around with a light touch on your arm.

You swallowed hard as you turned, your back to him now. The faint pressure of his fingers lingered against your arm, and you felt your heart pick up its pace. You cursed yourself silently.

Hotch’s hands moved with precision as he adjusted the straps of your vest. His knuckles brushed lightly against your sides as he tightened the straps, and you couldn’t help the nervous flutter that rose in your chest. 

“Follow my lead,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and you felt heat rising to your face. 

He finished securing the vest, his hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back. “And stay close to me,” he added, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

You turned around slowly, meeting his eyes. His expression hadn’t changed—calm, stoic—but there was something in the way he looked at you that made you feel just a tiny bit less terrified. 

“You’ll do okay,” he said simply, his voice firm but not unkind. 

For a moment, the chaos around you seemed to fade. You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to appear confident.

Hotch gave a single nod before turning, his focus already shifting back to the task at hand. But as he walked away, you couldn’t shake the lingering sensation of his hands on your vest—or the way he’d looked at you.

[cocostyles]

Hiii! This was me! Can i request Sasuke x fem Uchiha s/o arranged marriage pls? Also can you make it non massacred au! Thank you!

Blood Chains — Sasuke Uchiha

pairing: Sasuke Uchiha x fem uchiha reader!

word count: 4595 k ( I might have gone a bit overboard i really need to get a life)

summary: You are forced to marry in order to continue the pure bloodline.

warnings; none, arranged married (?

hope you like it!

The Uchiha Clan had always been one of the cornerstones of Konoha. With their strength, their honorable history, and, above all, the cherished power running through their veins, they had left an indelible mark on the village. However, not everything within the clan had always been harmonious. After years of internal and political strife, the Uchiha decided that the best way to maintain the lineage and the purity of the Sharingan was through an arranged marriage between two strong members of the same bloodline.

Y/n Uchiha, a beautiful young woman with a strong spirit and an indomitable character, had never imagined being part of a political marriage. She was born to be a warrior, to preserve the honor and memory of her clan. She had always believed that her life would not depend on a man. Yet, when the clan council announced her arranged marriage to Sasuke Uchiha, she couldn’t help but feel trapped. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she couldn’t deny her father’s wishes.

Sasuke, on the other hand, had long distanced himself from everything the clan represented. He loved his family but had witnessed too many horrors in his life—too many betrayals, too many broken promises. His brother’s death had scarred him deeply, and walking a solitary path, regardless of the cost, was his way of surviving. He didn’t care about the clan, arranged marriages, or bloodline purity. But destiny—or rather, duty—had caught up with him, and even though he resisted, he couldn’t refuse.

When you were informed that you would marry Sasuke, you weren’t surprised. But that didn’t mean you were happy about it. Y/n understood her duty and was willing to fulfill it, yet she didn’t expect Sasuke to be so… irritating.

The wedding day arrived. The air was heavy with unspoken expectations placed upon the shoulders of the two young ninjas. They exchanged glances at the altar—not the look of lovers, but of two individuals simply accepting what had been imposed on them. It was only a brief moment, and Sasuke, in his habitual silence, showed no emotion. Y/n, on the other hand, stood firm, her eyes reflecting a determination that Sasuke had known since they were children, but there was also a shadow of doubt. What kind of future awaited them together?

The atmosphere during the ceremony was filled with curious glances and expectations from all members of the clan, especially their parents, who viewed the marriage as a necessary step for the survival of the lineage. “The clan needs this union,” was all you repeated to yourself as you listened to the priest’s words. There was no turning back now. You were trapped with him for the rest of your life, fulfilling your duty.

The first few days after the wedding were a silent torment for both. Sasuke spent most of his time away on missions for the village, escaping from his new reality. You, on your part, tried to fulfill your role as a wife, but the household duties and the clan’s administrative responsibilities left you with no peace. The bond between the two was so distant it could be cut with a feather.

One evening, after a long day of training, Sasuke returned home, tired but unwilling to yield. You were preparing dinner—a small welcoming gesture you hoped he’d appreciate, though Sasuke didn’t even notice it. His indifference immediately annoyed you. You were trying, and he didn’t care. Why was he such an idiot?

“Do you have something to say?” your sharp voice broke the silence, almost challenging.

Sasuke didn’t respond immediately. He was too exhausted to argue, but at the same time, something inside him couldn’t ignore the spark of irritation that had been growing toward you during his days at home.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied indifferently, dropping his bag on the floor. He chose not to fight.

You didn’t look at him, but anger began bubbling inside you. How dare he be so distant? you thought. “Then… why don’t you speak, Sasuke? Why do you ignore everything here?”

“I already told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answered, now with a hint of irritation. There was something about his attitude that drove you mad. Crossing your arms, you stared at him with determination. This was the first conversation you’d had in days, and you weren’t going to back down so easily.

“I’m not here to play your games, Sasuke. This marriage—whether it’s just for the clan or not—forces us to live together. I’m not some decorative figure in this house you can simply ignore,” you said, unable to keep the anger from filling your voice. Sasuke observed you for a long moment, surprised by the strength of your words.

“And what do you expect from me? To call you ‘dear’ and live a happy life? This isn’t a fairy tale,” Sasuke said, his voice cold and distant as always.

And there it was again—that discomfort in the air, that insurmountable barrier between the two of you. You sighed, feeling your nerves start to snap. You couldn’t continue living like this, in constant friction. But he was right, so you locked yourself in your room with a loud slam of the door.

The next confrontation wasn’t long in coming. A week later, while Sasuke was away, you couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening between the two of you. You couldn’t deny that there was something about Sasuke that attracted you—a darkness that seemed to call to your own inner shadows. But there was also something about him that repulsed you: his indifference, his inability to connect. You were so alike, yet so different.

Since the wedding, your world had changed drastically, but that didn’t mean you would stay silent in the face of the contempt you felt from your husband.

Sasuke arrived home late, as always. You were waiting for him with a cup of tea in your hands, staring at the floor. Sasuke removed his sandals, paying little attention to your actions, and went straight to the window, seeking some calm after a long and exhausting day. The barrier between you remained firm.

You stood up, leaving the cup on the table, and slowly approached him. “Why are you here, Sasuke?” you asked, your voice firm but with a layer of vulnerability you couldn’t hide. “If you don’t want to be here, if you really don’t care to make an effort, just say so and leave.”

Sasuke turned to you, his dark eyes as empty as ever, but this time there was something different in his gaze—a spark of doubt, of guilt, as if your words were beginning to sink in. “I don’t understand you,” he said, letting out an exasperated sigh. “What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I don’t care about this?” His tone softened slightly, but his attitude remained cold, calculating.

“Then tell me,” you challenged, locking your eyes with his. “Because you haven’t said a single sincere word since we got married. I don’t know what you think, I don’t know what you feel. Is this really what you want, Sasuke? For us to live as strangers under the same roof?”

Sasuke stared at your face, noticing for the first time the intensity of your frustration, your pain. You were hurting, too. “Not everything can be solved with words,” he murmured, turning back to the window. “What I do, I do for the clan, for the future. If you have something to reproach me for, say it. I don’t have time for explanations.”

But in his eyes, you saw something else. An internal struggle, a battle he had never wanted to share. It couldn’t be that simple. Sasuke Uchiha—the man who had dedicated his life to revenge and solitude—was fighting against something he didn’t understand, something you couldn’t clearly see.

The tension in the room was palpable. You could feel the anger beginning to simmer in your chest, but at the same time, there was a strange sense of attraction toward him. His presence, his strength, the way he seemed so distant, so out of reach, stirred a mix of conflicting emotions within you. Once again, you let it pass, retreating to your room.

The next day, you decided to do something you hadn't done in a long time: step out of your comfort zone. For years, you had been part of the clan, always controlled, always aware of your responsibilities. But at that moment, you couldn’t keep ignoring what you felt. So, for once, you took a risk.

You walked toward the library of the Uchiha mansion, where Sasuke often spent long hours reading. The air was silent, the whisper of books sliding between shelves filling the space. He was there, standing in front of a bookshelf, his body hunched over the volumes.

“Can I talk to you?” you asked, the voice softer than usual, devoid of the anger that typically accompanied your words.

Sasuke glanced at you over his shoulder, his eyes void of emotion. “About what?”

You stepped closer, with your heart pounding in your chest. “About us,” you replied, a hint of vulnerability in your voice. "I don’t want to live like this, Sasuke. I don’t want to be in a marriage where all we do is ignore each other, and when we don’t, we argue."

There was a pause. Sasuke said nothing, but his expression softened slightly. You didn’t know if that was a good sign or not.

"Maybe, just maybe, if we give ourselves a chance, we could understand each other. Maybe even become... friends."

Sasuke turned fully, his eyes fixed on her. “I don’t want to be trapped in a lie,” he said, his tone heavy, but the intensity in his gaze suggested those words were not only for you but for himself as well. “I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to act. I...”

But seeing how much he struggled to open up, you didn’t let him finish. You took another step closer and suddenly stopped him with a hand on his chest. Sasuke froze at your touch, staring into your eyes with surprise, and though his body remained tense, the energy in the air shifted, both of you felt it.

"I know," you whispered. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t try. Because, Sasuke, if we don’t, this story will never have an ending.”

It was then that something shifted between them—a change so subtle no one else could have noticed. But in that instant, thanks to that small touch, you and Sasuke realized that the tension growing between you for so long was not just the result of the clan’s expectations or family responsibilities. There was something more, something that connected you, something neither of you could fully understand.

As days passed, the tension between Sasuke and T/n didn’t completely disappear, but something began to change in their strange dynamic. Both started interacting more subtly, less distantly. They no longer avoided glances or uncomfortable conversations. There was a fragile peace between them—one that seemed more like a temporary truce than a definitive solution.

One night, while dining in silence, Sasuke broke the stillness. “Y/n…” His voice sounded less harsh than usual. “Why do you always challenge me?”

You looked up, surprised by the question. Sasuke rarely spoke of emotions, let alone his thoughts. “Because I don’t think everything has to be so cold and calculated. The clan shouldn’t be the only thing that matters. Not when you’re so trapped in your own thoughts that you can’t even see what you have here.”

Sasuke stared at you, unsure if your words had any truth or if you were just searching for something more in him. But without a doubt, you had struck a nerve. He had always lived for his family, for the Uchiha clan, and had learned to disconnect from emotions. But with you, everything seemed different.

Silence fell between them again, but now it wasn’t as heavy. Though they didn’t speak, Sasuke began observing her more closely. There was something in her gaze—something defiant, something he had never noticed in any other woman of his clan. She wasn’t someone who would submit to the will of others, not even his. That intrigued him more than he wanted to admit.

A few days later, the Uchiha clan organized an important business meeting that you were both obligated to attend. During the meeting, Sasuke was absorbed in discussions with the leaders, while you watched with disdain the conversations about alliances and strategies. For some time now, you had been considering stepping back; you were tired of fighting. At that moment, a man from a rival clan began to make insinuations toward you, praising your skills and hinting at something more than mere admiration.

“You’re a very strong woman, Y/n,” the man said with a smile, stepping a little closer. “It’s an honor to meet such an… impressive Uchiha.”

You frowned, uncomfortable. However, the man’s words flattered your ego. “Thank you, Yamada,” you replied, stepping slightly away from the man’s hands, which had shamelessly landed on your waist. “But I’m not interested in your empty compliments.”

Sasuke watched everything from his position at the table, and although his face remained impassive, something inside him stirred. He couldn’t help but feel jealous. But what right did he have to feel that way? After all, he himself had treated you coldly, and you two were only just beginning to coexist in peace.

But the way that man approached T/n awakened something in Sasuke. He couldn’t let another man be so close to you. Though he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, he knew he couldn’t allow things to get more complicated than they already were.

When the party ended, Sasuke walked toward you without saying a word, brushing past the man with a deliberate bump. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, recognizing the tension in his posture.

“Was that necessary?” you asked, crossing your arms. “It’s just a game for him, Sasuke.”

“I couldn’t care less about what he wants,” Sasuke replied in a low tone, almost murmuring. “I care about what you want.”

The silence that followed was heavy, and though you wanted to challenge him, a part of you felt touched by his words. Sasuke, in his own way, was telling you something without fully saying it. There was something more behind his distant and protective demeanor. Why did he feel that impulse to protect her now?

The previous night, something had changed in Sasuke. Although he didn’t fully understand what he was feeling, seeing T/n distant from him—even smiling with another man—made him realize he wasn’t willing to let you go. Somehow, you were beginning to stir something inside him, something that had been dormant for years.

You, on the other hand, were confused. Although you still saw him as your husband by obligation, the tension between you had intensified in ways you couldn’t ignore. Was that what you wanted now? To have something more with Sasuke, even if he would never be the romantic man you had dreamed of?

One day, after a morning training session, Sasuke stopped in front of you while you practiced your ninjutsu techniques. It was clear that the way you both looked at each other had shifted, but neither dared to speak about what they truly felt. You were exhausted, your breath uneven, yet you stood tall and defiant as always. Sasuke, on the other hand, watched you with a mix of respect and... something else.

“What is it, Sasuke? Are you just going to stand there staring at me all day?” you said without stopping your training, a touch of sarcasm in your voice.

“I’m just wondering…” Sasuke began, his tone serious. “Why do you push yourself so hard, Y/N?” He had spent his whole life watching you push yourself to the edge, becoming formidable.

You stopped training and turned to him with a challenging look. “Because I need to be better. I can’t afford to fail. This is my life, Sasuke. The one I’ve built for myself. And you? Why do you do it? Is it just for the clan, or is there something more?”

Sasuke stared at her in silence, a mix of frustration and strange admiration bubbling within him. you are unstoppable.

“I do it for what I represent,” he finally said, his voice low but firm. “For my clan. For Konoha.”

“Then keep pretending you’re not human,” you replied sharply. “Keep pretending you don’t care what you think or feel and stay out of it.”

Your response left Sasuke silent, but inwardly, he felt wounded. It was true. He had always kept his emotions under control, never letting anything distract him from his responsibilities. But you had seen beyond his facade, and that both irritated and intrigued him.

That same night, after dinner, they found themselves once again in the Uchiha mansion garden. The moonlight bathed the ground covered in fallen leaves, and the stillness of the place allowed them to remain silent without the pressure of prying eyes.

“Have you ever thought that we could be more than a political arrangement?” Sasuke broke the silence, his voice deep.

You looked at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his words. “I don’t know,” you answered after a long moment. “I’ve never thought about what could be. I’ve only focused on what is.”

Sasuke stepped closer to you, cautiously, as though weighing every word. “And what is that, exactly? You and I living like this forever?”

Your gaze remained locked with his, a flash of emotion passing through your eyes. “I don’t want to be just another pawn on the chessboard, Sasuke. I don’t want to be your obligation.”

Sasuke studied you intently, feeling your words sink deeper than he expected. There was something in your gaze that was disarming him. Something that told him he could no longer ignore his own feelings, the ones he had kept locked away for so long.

“Then what do you want from me?” he asked in a low voice, a spark of desperation in his tone that felt foreign to him.

You took a step back, returning to the strong, defiant woman you had always been. “I want you to stop hiding behind your responsibilities and start being real with me, Sasuke. I can’t keep living in a world where everything is just another damn duty.”

The air between both of you grew heavier, but Sasuke didn’t back down. He couldn’t. Something in his chest was beating fiercely, and it wasn’t just for the clan, not just for Konoha. Something else was driving him to stand there, facing you, ready to confront his own demons.

For the first time in a long while, you were not just adversaries. Perhaps, just perhaps, you were beginning to understand each other.

Even though you and Sasuke shared the same home and, in theory, were fulfilling your duties as husband and wife within the clan, there was a palpable distance between you. However, something had shifted in your relationship: words were no longer necessary to acknowledge that your feelings were evolving.

A couple of months after the marriage, Sasuke was in his office reviewing documents when a shadow appeared at the door. It was you, with your usual defiant demeanor, but this time, there was something different in your gaze.

“What’s keeping you so busy, Sasuke?” you asked, your voice laced with curiosity. “You can’t spend the entire day buried in paperwork.”

Sasuke looked up, his expression as impassive as ever, but his eyes revealed a spark of interest. “Work, as always. Do you have something to say, Y/N?”

You stepped closer, placing a hand on his desk. “Do you really have to spend all day locked in here, doing things that have nothing to do with us?” Your words, though direct, carried a faint tone of reproach.

Sasuke watched you for a long moment, something he rarely did. For a second, everything about him seemed more vulnerable. His life, always so controlled and calculated, was beginning to crumble under the weight of his own heart. What did he truly want? He couldn’t keep living solely for the clan. You knew it, and he felt it too.

“What do you suggest, then?” he finally asked, his voice unusually gentle.

You smiled faintly, the spark of challenge in your eyes. “That we stop pretending we’re just tools of the clan, Sasuke. Maybe what we need is time... time for us.”

The change in Sasuke was subtle but unmistakable. There was something in your words that resonated within him, something he hadn’t considered before. What you needed wasn’t just to fulfill a duty. There was a need to be honest with each other, to finally be real.

That afternoon, Sasuke decided to break free from his daily routine, spurred by your words. He invited you to train outside the city, in a calm area far from the Uchiha mansion. You wanted to train together, simply to enjoy each other’s company without the expectations of the clan.

The sun was setting as you arrived at a clearing near the forest. You glanced at Sasuke as he began to stretch, preparing to start. His body, always so rigid, moved with an innate grace.

“How do you manage to stay so... cold?” you asked as you began your own warm-up.

Sasuke looked at you again, as if deciding whether to answer. “It’s not cold. Just... efficient.”

“Efficient,” you repeated mockingly. “I know you, Sasuke Uchiha. It’s a façade. And you know it.”

He said nothing, but inside, his thoughts were turbulent. Did you really see him that way? What you said had struck a nerve. He wasn’t just a “cold man” or a machine that only thought about the clan. There was more to him, and for the first time, he felt you were the only one who saw it.

When the two of you began training, the tension between you became palpable. Every movement, every technique, was a blend of challenge, rivalry, and something more... something that was slowly building. However, the most disconcerting thing was the electricity that seemed to flow—a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Suddenly, as you sparred, Sasuke blocked one of your attacks, causing you to fall to the ground. The air grew heavier, as if everything between you had condensed into that single moment. Sasuke extended his hand to help you up, and as your eyes met, you found yourselves closer than ever before.

“You’ll have to do better if you want to beat me,” Sasuke said, trying to deflect the tension, though his voice was softer, tinged with something he couldn’t quite identify.

Instead of responding with words, you challenged him with a fierce red gaze—the unmistakable Sharingan you both shared. He smiled. Something was brewing between you, something even your egos couldn’t deny.

After an exhausting day of training, you shared a light meal at the mansion. Though both of you were reluctant to show emotions, the dynamic between you had changed. Sasuke couldn’t stop watching you, noticing how you ate, how you smiled, how every small gesture seemed more genuine than the empty moments of his past.

When you both finished, Sasuke stood and walked to the window, gazing at the horizon. The silence in the room was comfortable, something he rarely felt.

You watched him from where you sat, saying nothing for a few moments. Something in the air had shifted.

“You know,” you finally said, breaking the silence. “I... I don’t know if we’ll ever become what the clan expects of us. But maybe, we can try to be something else. Just us.”

Sasuke turned to you, his piercing eyes meeting yours. For a long second, he said nothing. Your heart pounded, feeling the weight of your words. Perhaps you’d ruined things, and he would withdraw again.

Then, suddenly, Sasuke stepped toward you, close enough that your breaths mingled. “Y/N...” he murmured, almost in a whisper.

The world seemed to stop, and you weren’t sure if it was the right moment to continue, to take the next step. But something in his eyes told you that, perhaps, the future wasn’t as uncertain as it once seemed.

Sasuke didn’t move for a long moment, his gaze locked on yours. The tension in the air was palpable, indescribable, something you both felt but neither wanted to admit. Your hearts seemed to beat in sync, and the silence between you turned into something almost sacred.

Taking a deep breath, your hands trembled slightly, though you tried to maintain composure. Should you take the first step? Something inside told you yes. You couldn’t keep ignoring what you felt—not when every fiber of your being yearned for him.

Finally, it was Sasuke who broke the silence, his voice low and husky. “Y/N...” he whispered your name again in a way he never had before. It was soft but carried an emotional weight you immediately recognized. In that moment, it was just the two of you.

Without further thought, Sasuke stepped even closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek. The distance between you closed, and as you looked up, your faces were so close that your breaths intertwined.

“What... what is happening between us?” you murmured, your voice trembling with emotion.

Sasuke didn’t reply with words. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, and in an impulsive act, captured your lips with his.

The kiss was gentle at first, cautious, as if you both feared what would come next. But soon, the tension that had been building for weeks—that spark that had always been there but neither dared to acknowledge—exploded. Sasuke pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you as you clung to his clothes, seeking more of the feeling only he could give you.

The kiss deepened with urgency, as if everything you hadn’t said before was being conveyed through that single moment. The world disappeared. The clan’s duties, the weight of expectations—all of it faded away. Only the two of you existed, discovering a new feeling, something you’d never experienced before.

When the kiss broke, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads touching, gazes locked. Your heart pounded wildly, as if it had finally found its rhythm.

“This...” Sasuke began, but his words trailed off, unable to find the right way to describe what had just happened.

With a shy but genuine smile, you whispered in reply, “This is just the beginning, Sasuke.”

The room fell silent again, the weight of your words lingering in the air. But the certainty of what you had just shared, of what was growing between you, was clear. It no longer mattered what the clan thought or what the history of your families dictated. From that moment on, the rules had changed.

Now, the story was yours to write.

[darnell-la]

A MANS GAME

summary: Eddie’s mind instantly went wild when he saw a woman prancing around like she loved bands and board games. when that same woman asked him to sell her weed, she couldn’t help but think he wasn’t being set up by the one and only Jason Carver. if y/n thought she could humiliate Eddie, and make him look like a fool, she was wrong. he was going to show her that.

warnings: misogyny, hate, delusion, drug deal, drug use, planned trap, semi kidnapping, unconstitutional drugging, unconstitutional fingering, SA, slight BDSM, rough sex, baby trapping, etc

note: hey... this is another requested dark-themed story, but with Eddie Munson who our number one fans know we’re obsessed with. do not read if CNC/SA makes you uncomfortable!

If you like dark-themed stories, follow our account @dark-authorr. Request us anything!

———

“And, what exactly is she wearing?” Eddie asked as he saw the new girl pass with a gamer shirt, that he’s never seen before, only rarely. “I think it’s some kind of game. Don’t know exactly,” Dustin said, not really paying attention to her.

“So girls like games now? Hm,” Eddie sarcastically said, eying y/n through the hallway as people complimented her style. “Yeah, which is hot, actually,” Mike said, making Eddie roll his eyes.

In his years of living, he has never met a girl who genuinely liked games, unless they had a boyfriend. She was new to the school, so there was no way she had one. He wouldn’t believe it if she said she was long-distance.

“Isn’t that, like, all you’ve been looking for? Or are you still on Christy? — She’s never gonna leave Jason Carver, dude. Especially not for you! No offense,” Sinclair said. “None taken,” Eddie said, knowing Sinclair was right.

For the rest of the day, Eddie’s eyes had been opened every time y/n walked by, stalking and watching her every move. There was just someone about her that he didn’t like.

He swore she was just another preppy, stuck-up girl who would do anything to get a little attention.

“Hey, uh, Eddie?” Y/n asked, now in front of his face. He had zoned out. “Yeah?” He asked quickly, hoping she wasn’t here to ask what his problem was for watching her every move.

“I heard you sell, and I just left Cali. You wouldn’t mind selling me anything, right? I-I have extra if you’re afraid I’ll tell,” y/n said, watching how Eddie’s eyes widen.

When she looked at him, she couldn’t stop but think how amazing he was. She barely saw men like this around in Hawkins.

“Sure, but, I gotta ask — Do you even smoke? Or is this like a, I wanna fit in, thing?” He asked, making her giggle at his thought process. “I really smoke, hun,” she smiled, flashing diamonds that were glued to her teeth. She was truly into what she dressed like, but, Eddie couldn’t seem to believe it.

“Hm, well, I’ve got some at the crib. Maybe stop by later tonight? My uncles outta town so, any late times doesn’t matter to me,” Eddie said, getting a dark feeling in the back of his mind, but he slightly ignored it.

“That’s fine with me,” y/n said before she slowly walked off after giving one last smile. “Yeah, we’ll see if you’re genuine, girly,” Eddie said under his breath, convincing himself that she had to be some kind of setup.

Eddie had horrible overthinking problems. No one throughout his whole high school career liked him, so why, now that he’s in college, would a girl randomly know he sells weed and would want some from him.

“Dude, you good? Looks like she’s got your tongue,” Sinclair said, making Eddie laugh loudly. “Her? Oh, Jesus, no — A girl like that is just a plant to see if I’d fall for it,” Eddie spoke, sounding delusional as always.

“What do you mean, plant?” Mike asked. “You see, she just had a class with Jason, and I saw them talking. I bet you he’s setting me up by swinging a girl like that my way,” Eddie said, truly believing what he was saying.

“And, how would he possibly set you up, Eds? She doesn’t even look like she’d do something like that to you. A stranger!” Dustin said as he rolled his eyes, tired of him seeing everything as some trap.

“Oh, but I bet, she would. You see, a girl like that doesn’t exist. I bet you tonight, she’ll come over, make some move then leave before we get to do anything, then tell the whole school how I thought someone finally liked me,”

The younger men looked at each other, confused about why Eddie was acting this way. She was nice. They barely hear that around here, and he’s always shutting her down.

“Okay, man, whatever you say,” Sinclair said before he walked off with his basketball team that had just passed. “You need to work on yourself dude,” Dustin said. “Seriously,” Mike added.

It’s currently late at night, almost so late, that Eddie thought she wouldn’t show up. That was until he heard a knock on his front door.

Eddie got up from his and made his way to the front. He had a few things to ask y/n to test out what kind of person she was.

“Hey, I’m sorry I’m late,” y/n said as she walked in after Eddie stepped aside. “No problem, I was just looking at the band you have in your shirt, and I was curious,” Eddie got straight into it.

“This band? Oh, yeah, they’re kind of my favorite,” y/n smiled. “Ah huh — I realized they don’t really do music. They’re more into book writing,” Eddie said, which was correct.

“Yep, that's how I got into them. I love reading, and when I found out they had music, that was even better,” she said, making him chuckle low. “So you like sec?” He asked, making her laugh.

“Oh, uh- Yeah. Yes, I do,” she said as he scanned her figure. He hadn’t gotten a great look at her today, but now he did. Her body was more banging than he had thought.

“Hm, you into all that stuff they talk about? I mean, my bands are freaks, I’ve never seen one like yours. Especially with girls in them,” he said.

Y/n usually never felt off about talking about who she liked to watch and listen to, but there was something about the way Eddie came off, that made her feel weird.

“I guess, but I’m not really down to talk about that,” y/n said, warning Eddie that she was getting uncomfortable. “Oh, what are my manners- I’m sorry — Let’s get you your purchase,” Eddie said as he guided her to the back where his room was located.

Eddie stood to the side after he opened the door, looking at her for her reaction that he’d been waiting for all night.

Once y/n stepped into his room, her eyes slightly widened at his layout. She knew he was a metalhead, but she didn’t expect all of these sexual toys to be laid out. Some even looked fresh from the store.

“Over here — I’ve got a couple of pre-rolls, and this new hash I kind of whipped up myself, that’s It’s free. I want to see how my first costume feels about it,” Eddie said as he guided her to his bed.

The young man picked up this new roll-up he had made and handed it to the young woman. “Oh, I wasn’t planning on smoking now,” y/n said. “C’mon — Just one hit. I wanna make sure it at least smells, and tastes good,”

Y/n felt a bit off, but she didn’t want to shame the man. She knew he barely had people over, so she accepted what he was giving.

“Fine,” she smiled as she took the lighter that Eddie had lifted up to give her. “Sit down and get a little comfortable,” Eddie suggested as she hopped in his bed, and pat the spot next to him.

Y/n softly sat next to the man, ready to see what he’s created. She wanted to be a nice help, so she quickly lit the joint and took a hard hit.

She coughed a bit, not knowing it would be this strong. It barely had a taste of weed, more like something else that she couldn’t place her hand on.

“Take a few more,” Eddie pressured. “I don’t really think-“ y/n tried saying. “Hey — Just a few more, and I’ll even cut the price,” Eddie said, knowing exactly where he was going with everything.

Y/n took a deep slow breath before she took another hit. She didn’t exactly want to, but she’s driven a bit high before. She should be fine.

Y/n took another hit, each puff getting more smoke in her lungs, making it hard for her to feel what was happening.

“Feels good?” Eddie asked as he placed a hand on her thigh. “Actually does,” y/n said, surprised that she felt the high so fast. “Wanna know what’s in it, princess?” He asked, making her nod as she took another long drag.

“I knew you like California weed, so I put some pure hashish in the roll,” Eddie said as he rubbed her thigh, getting closer to her heat that she barely noticed. She felt him but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah, and you wanna know what else?” He asked as his free hand slowly moved up to her face, so he could rub at her cheek. “What?” Y/n asked low as she turned his way, feeling her eyes get extremely heavy.

“For the fun ride, I sprinkled a bit of opioids and benzodiazepine, just to get you a little woozy,” Eddie smiled, knowing that would trigger her brain. “What?” She wanted to sound more upset, but she couldn’t.

“I-I’ve gotta go,” the young woman said as she tried getting up, but she was too weak. “Why? I thought you liked it here? The room was decorated just for you,” Eddie said as he slowly reached under her skirt.

“No,” was all y/n could let out when she felt him pull her panties to the side. “What was that, princes?” Eddie asked as he leaned into her face, wanting to see and hear her struggle.

“No,” she breathed out as a tear rolled down her eyes. “And, why is that? I thought these half-high fishnets were meant for foreplay,” Eddie chuckled as he slowly pushed a ringed finger into her cunt.

“N-No,” y/n stuttered, saying that word too many times for him to keep going. “Just relax, princess — I thought you liked it kinky? I bought the chains, the gags, the toys, and the drugs. Wasn’t one song called, drug me? I assumed that would be your favorite,”

Eddie had pushed another ringed finger into y/n as he leaned down to her neck and began sucking on a few spots. There was no way he wouldn’t get what Jason set him up for.

Eddie still believed she came here just to humiliate him. He didn’t regret setting this up for her. She deserved it for what he thought she was going to put him through.

“Eddie?” Y/n choked on her cry as her walls fluttered around his fingers. “Oh, no, no — You don’t get to cum yet,” Eddie said as he pulled out of her, and pushed her down into his bed.

“You’re gonna let me fill you up first — Then maybe you can cum on my face while I eat out your overstimulated pussy,”

Eddie sounded evil to y/n. His voice echoed through her mind like a nightmare, but she couldn’t yell at him like she wanted to. She couldn’t fight him like she wanted to.

“I’m gonna tie your arms behind your back, somehow tie your legs so they’re forced open, then gag you before I get started,”

Eddie didn’t lie and did just that in under five minutes. He had looked up videos and learned quick. She should feel special for what he’s doing for her, since this is what she likes, after all.

“Tied you down for a little, and you’re already soaked, Jesus Christ,” Eddie teased as he played with her folds, watching his juice spill out of her hole that he could’ve sworn gripped a few times around air.

“You want me, don’t you? Even if this was all a joke for Jason, you actually want me, and not him — You could've just asked me, princess. I would’ve still rocked your world, but I guess you wanted it rougher,”

Eddie happily pulled himself out of his jeans, and stroked, seeing he had already been leaking pre-cum. She was too hot to be this hard already.

“You knew wearing that would catch my attention at school. Fuck, y/n, you’re just some being else — I haven’t even fucked you yet,” Eddie was surprised at how he felt about y/n in under twenty-four hours.

“I’m gonna make you mine, princess. Being pregnant in college isn’t too bad right? Wasn’t one of the female singers pregnant in college too?” Eddie asked the slightly uncomfortable woman as he slowly pushed at her entrance.

“Doesn’t matter — You’d look amazing with my kids. I’ll give you more than one — That’ll show Jason not to mess with me again,”

Eddie had gone too delusional by now. He thought that impregnated y/n would make Jason upset that his plan didn’t work, or show y/n that playing with a man isn’t a good idea.

“E-Eddie,” y/n cried low as he filled her with every inch. He wasted no time to begin his thrust and taunt y/n for her moans that she couldn’t hold back. He was huge and reached every good area y/n couldn’t even reach with her toys.

“You like it? C’mon, baby, tell me you like it. I’ll be fuckin’ you every day to show you who I am. If you thought you could make a fool out of me, then you were wrong, princess. So fuckin’ wrong. I’ll show you,”

[skvaderarts]

Jayvik Request #1: By Eros Set Ablaze

Summary: Word Count 3.9K A03 Link

Viktor heads to the forge for the first time to see Jayce about some discrepancies in their calculations and it awakens something in him. The "this better not awaken anything in me" meme except he doesn't even get past the first three words. Set right after they meet in S1.

Slowly working my way through the ones you voted for on this list.

By Eros Set Ablaze

Note: This one is for Kaylakenobi and Wuekka! Truly, we all have the Jayvik Brain Rot. There is no hope for us. I hope this was worth the wait!

—

It was a combination of necessity and curiosity that compelled him to leave the lab that day. 

Waiting for a break in the rain, he’d seized his opportunity and left behind the familiarity of the lab to venture across town, his destination a place he’d never been but had heard oh so much about.

Jayce had a complicated relationship with the forge, at least by Viktor’s personal estimations. He spoke of his work there often and held great pride and reverence for his family’s heritage as toolsmiths and skilled metal workers, but also seemed to feel trapped by that same legacy at times. Perhaps that was part of the driving force that had guided him down the path to creating Hextech. A desire to improve lives, but also a yearning to stand out via his own merits. To make something of himself outside of his family name. To break the mold, metaphorically speaking. He didn’t want to spend his entire life in a forge, hammering away against an unyielding anvil until his arms and back gave out any more than Viktor wanted to spend his existence as someone else's assistant. Neither of them was content to stay in the boxes that had been constructed around them by the circumstances of their births.

The two of them truly were more than the sum of their parts when they worked together. They were partners.

It was that little word, wasn’t it? The way that Jayce had claimed him as his equal the moment he’d proved that his conviction matched his own. The night it had become their dream, not just Jayce’s. The way his friend’s idealism brought out his own, long since buried under layer upon layer of staunch pragmatism. The way it inspired such undying loyalty in him. No one had ever looked at him and seen someone worth touting about at their side with pride. The vast majority of people didn’t even ask him his name. His position as Heimerdinger’s assistant had held more weight than his first name ever had. Yet he couldn’t muster the energy to lament that fact. It was simply the way it was.

Except with Jayce. Never with Jayce.

Jayce was out of the lab that day, working on a prototype mold for a new project they’d just finalized the dimensions on. Or so they thought. That was what his intrepid companion intended to find out and the reason why he’d made the decision to do the molding process himself. And consequently, the very thing had brought Viktor out in the rain. A risky endeavor for him specifically. He didn’t want to consider the dire consequences of slipping on the uneven cobblestones beneath him. Such a largely inconsequential thing to everyone else. But him?

Other workshops and small parts manufacturers were ready and willing to do the job for them should the need arise, but Jayce hadn’t seen the point in bringing anyone else on board when he was certain that he could handle it. He was going to try. And if he couldn’t then he would ask for help. It wasn’t a matter of pride so much as it was a matter of certainty in his competency. He knew from hard-earned experience that this should be a simple task for him, so why not spend a few hours doing the physical work required? He wasn’t above it.

And Viktor wanted to see it. He wouldn’t admit that, but he did.

Forge work wasn’t simple. Hammer work by its very nature refused to be delicate on the body. Yet the very notion of such a thing was strangely thrilling to him in concept alone. He’d seen the aftermath of a few of Jayce’s trips to the forge, but this time he wanted to see if he could watch the process unfold. To educate himself.

Such a romantic notion, to be physically capable of such a task. Though perhaps only to him. He didn’t desire to try it, but still.

Viktor fiddled with a folded sheet of paper in his pocket as he approached the address. He’d never seen the building in person before. In his mind, it was far smaller. And yet here it stood, in all its magnificence. The Talis family forge. As splendorous as it was intimidating at first glance.

Clad in bricks that reached a height equal to that of several multi-story buildings in its general vicinity, the factory building cast a shadow over him as he gingerly navigated the gravel path that led to its side entrance. He’d been told to use it instead of the bay doors should he stop by while Jayce was there. According to him, he kept it unlocked in case of emergency. A good policy. It was always best to take preventative steps when working with volatile, flammable substances.

It was a truly colossal building with soaring ceilings and mammoth riveted steel beams that spanned the width of the and breadth of the ceiling, supporting the building's roof. The structure was dark inside, save for the tall, narrow lead glass windows that flanked either side of the forge’s chimney that stood like a monolith at the center of the back of the building. Along the length of the towering central pipe were slats to visually indicate the position of the flame. 

And by that metric, the machine had only recently been activated. There were flames in the mouth of the forge, but they were low and didn’t seem especially hot.

Viktor paused as he got a better look at the machine. Surely he’d gone to the wrong part of the building? This didn’t look like the kind of complex mechanism that could be operated without a skilled team at the helm. He wasn’t familiar with how the forge was operated, especially one of this magnitude, but it was gargantuan. How was someone supposed to turn it on, let alone use it?

Clearly, he needed a better look at the machine.

As he ventured further into the vast space, the full breadth of the machine became undeniable. Impressive. Truly an impressive work of mechanical engineering. A tool of a truly timeless trade. But then something else caught his eye.

Standing ever so slightly off to the left side of the machine was Jayce, and he appeared to be assessing something. Perfect. Just who he was looking for. He hoped it wasn’t a bad time to interrupt him but-

Taking a deep breath, Jayce grasped one of the leavers on the left side of the machine, pulling it downward until it clanked loudly, a loud rumble emanating from the floor below them. With a concerted effort, Jayce then heaved the resistant leaver back into an upright position, locking it into the proper notch required by the mechanism to enable the machine to do… something. He released it and stepped back, watching as the cogs and gears creaked to life and slowly began to turn. They were larger than he was in both circumference and height, but they still budged, if only marginally. Stopping to observe, he caught sight of his unexpected guest.

“Oh! Hey, Viktor! I didn’t hear you come in! You got my note about me being away from the lab today, then?” He did not speak with the air of a man who had just done what he had. There wasn’t a hint of strain to his tone. Despite how difficult that had looked, it had posed little difficulty for him.

It was impressive, honestly. Viktor’s pulse picked up a bit, something he barely perceived, but still noticeable, even if the cause wasn’t clear to him. He had never considered Jayce weak by any means, but that had still thrown him for a loop a little. It had been, dare he admit it, thrilling to watch? Why was that?

Jayce made his way over to him at a leisurely pace, pleasantly surprised to see him. He’d been asking him for the better part of the last half a year or so to come by. Perhaps a tad longer than that. They were always working on some project or another, but mostly in the drafting and scale model phases. And if they weren’t then they were collaborating on the structure, Viktor was generally at home with all the small core components and mechanisms while he worked on the casings and structures. A harmonious whole. Complex algorithms; networks of masterfully drawn diagrams and grids. Sequences and probabilities. It was a science. Much like fire. And yet, so unlike it. So much less wild and uncontrollable. Or so they knew thus far.

“I’m surprised you finally took up my offer to see how this all works. Do you want a demonstration?” He asked almost a little too eagerly. The shorter of the two couldn’t help but be subtly amused by his thinly concealed excitement. He was trying to play it off as confidence, but Viktor knew Jayce well enough to recognize that special brand of childlike wonder that flared up in him any time he was eager to share something new with someone. How could he deny him the pleasure? And for what?

In truth, Viktor was there on other business entirely. His curiosity notwithstanding, he needed to go over a few key calculations with Jayce before they proceeded with the testing phase. He wasn’t sure if they would have a knockdown effect on the physical dimension of the prototype that Jayce was about to cast, so he’d elected to come. His desire to finally see the forge in person was a secondary personal desire, even if it was one that he was eager for an excuse to indulge in.

It was strange. He was a child of the Undercity. He’d never been a stranger to industrial processes, or especially curious about the majority of them aside from loathing their negative effects on the air quality of the place he called home. He’d seen bits and pieces of them during his time. But this was the first instance that he could recall where he was genuinely intrigued. Perhaps it was Jayce’s personal ties to the process that sparked his curiosity. He was contagious. His excitement and optimism.

“Certainly, Jayce. That being said, the calculations… “ Viktor gradually trailed off as Jayce untucked his collar and began to undo the front of his shirt, shrugging out of his vest. He then set to work undoing the buttons on the front as they continued their conversation, much to the growing confusion of his companion. Surely working with hot metals with no shirt on was an occupational hazard? Was it a matter of being more exposed to the air for cooling purposes? The mind boggled.

“Hold on. Give me one second to get this going and then I can give you my undivided attention. This isn’t nearly hot enough.”

“It isn’t?” Viktor eyed the forge curiously. How exactly did one go about heating something like that? Or gauging the heat levels when they were this low. Was there another lever that he needed to pull to facilitate this process? He supposed he would find out shortly but it was still an exciting prospect. He couldn’t fathom even trying to handle something like this. Knowing his luck, he would tumble into the forge. Not from clumsiness, but sheer bad luck. He seemed to be brimming with that.

But as he pondered this, his eyes drifted back over to Jayce and he froze. His body became as rigid as steel and his breath as slight as a whisper.

He’d… never seen Jayce with his shirt off before… 

Despite the amount of time they spent together, they’d never had any reason to. He was sure that Jayce had probably disrobed around him before, but his eyes were always on the task at hand and hardly ever on what was going on in his immediate vicinity. Their work demanded focus.

And perhaps that was a good thing because if he’d seen him like this under those circumstances it would have almost certainly resulted in an accident at the lab.

Jayce shook his head in response to his previous inquiry. He hadn’t noticed the look of surprise on Viktor’s face. Seen the look of perplexed turmoil that followed it. The quiet panic in his eyes as he realized he was staring and desperately tried to stop doing so to no avail. One eye on the forge at all times, especially with a second person there. There would be no slip-ups.

Viktor only vaguely registered what Jayce was doing as his eyes swept over individual muscles they could find from his torso to his shoulders and neck. It was an arresting sight, the way they flexed as he roughly folded what he’d been wearing, paying little mind to how the room had fallen silent. Each muscle was toned in a way that alluded to his industrious and unconventional athletic habits. It made perfect sense to him now why Jayce always looked so… fitted in everything he wore, but the sudden realization still blindsided him like being doused with freezing water. 

Perhaps that was what he needed someone to do, actually.

“Hold this for me, would you?”

The question was entirely innocent and mundane on Jayce’s part, but Viktor couldn’t help the way his heart threatened to spring from his chest as he accepted the garments with a nod, gesturing with an outstretched hand towards the forge. He kept his composure, feigning a demeanor of composed casual professionalism and unspoken comradery with his closest companion, but he would not attempt to deny the internal struggle he felt surging within him. He felt his heart leap again, this time pounding in a way that made him sure he was very close to embarrassing himself. What was happening to him?

“You might want to stay a few feet back.”

Stepping away from Viktor, Jayce returned to the front of the forge where he took a moment to loosen his shoulder before reaching up and grasping the two-handed bar-like handle that powered some sort of pulley system. The machine groaned and shuddered as gears turned again, faster this time than previously, expanding and contracting the bellows that sent air into the forge. He continued in a rhythm, pulling downward on the handle before allowing it to ascend again, the muscles in his hack and arms flexing as the machine did battle against him but was pulled back under his sway yet again, Jayce always winning the tug of war. Sweat ran down his body in channels from a combination of the exertion and heat, but he hardly noticed, so focused was he on the task at hand. He kept pulling.

The flame grew brighter. Bolder and more brilliant until it soared high above them, the central chamber whistling from the suffocating pressure that had been building up within it. The forge rumbled deep, the ground beneath them shuddering ever so slightly as the fire scorched white hot, silhouetting Jayce in a flattering light that highlighted every visible edge of every muscle his exposed torso was constructed from.

He wasn’t alarmed. Viktor hardly registered the vibration beneath his feet or the now deep red and pink flush on his face. He felt his breath catch and then slow, deepening before evening out gradually. Following the same rhythm Jayce’s body did until he came to a stop and pulled something from the forge, reaching over to grasp the handle of a large hammer.

He was cut like polished stone, chiseled from fine marble like the grandest spires of Piltover. Like a sculpture crafted for his eyes and his eyes only. It was mesmerizing. The rhythm of it. Viktor’s heart rose and fell with each deafening pound of the hammer, the sound wringing through his entire being. His gaze followed the arch and flex of the muscles in Jayce’s shoulder and back as his eyes saw little else. The exposed skin on his face and arms pricked from the warmth that flowed through him, be it from the scalding temperature of the forge, or the blood that pounded through his arteries and veins he did not know. He had stopped questioning it by then.

Viktor hadn’t registered that he’d gradually inched closer to him any more than Jayce registered the questioning gleam in his eyes as they bore into him from behind, the blaze of the flames reflecting in his warm amber-brown irises like light dancing off the shoreline at night. He crooked his head ever so slightly to the right, his normally brilliant mind unable to conjure any other image than the one before him. Unwilling to manifest a single other thought than the ones currently dancing about his now vacant skull.

This sight as he beheld it in all its unexpected splendor, this experience. It had such an effect on him. Such a hold on his failing faculties or lack thereof. And it gripped tightly, unyielding. Unrelenting in its almost vengeful power. He had never felt such a rush of sensation before. He felt the deep flush in his face spread to his neck and his ears as he let out a heavy breath. The air was stifling. Sweat ran down his face as he watched intently, only barely focused on the demonstration. He almost felt faint.

He suddenly thought better of his no doubt disheveled appearance and made a concerted effort to compose himself, shifting his posture ever so slightly for what little good it did. What he needed was a distraction, but there was no salvation to be found. Within the walls of the building stood only Jayce, the forge, and himself. Only the flames fanned by the kiln of Hephaestus himself as Viktor lingered upon the precipice of purgatory, lips sealed in voluntary damnation. Oh, how readily and unknowingly he’d strolled with open arms into the mouth of hell.

Jayce finally came to a stopping point in his demonstration and glanced over at him, immediately noticing two things. That he’d gradually made his way just that little bit closer but not close enough to put himself in danger, and that he looked noticeably dizzy. It seemed that way to him, at least. His face was flush and he looked almost startled that he’d turned around. His breathing seemed uneven in its pace and depth and he wasn’t standing up as straight as he normally was, leaning more on his cane than usual.

“Viktor, are you alright? You look a little overheated. Maybe you should sit down?”

“Overheated? No, I… ” He considered protesting for a moment before realizing that Jayce had misunderstood his current state and decided against it. He was right, in a manner of speaking. He certainly felt warm, but not externally as much as he did internally. Why push him away from a desirable conclusion in favor of one much more personally humiliating? He didn’t have the faintest idea how he would explain what had just happened to Jayce if he was pushed to. He hardly understood it himself. He’d never experienced such an intense reaction to something so harmless in his entire life.

But the more he thought about it, all he could do was shake his head slightly and let out a small chuckle. Jayce had promised to educate him should he ever stop by, and that was certainly one way of looking at the experience. Educational indeed. Eye-opening. He had some soul-searching to do. Or if he was willing to be honest with himself, perhaps he didn’t.

There were some… obvious conclusions he could draw from his experience.

“I suppose I’m unaccustomed to the heat.” It was a half-truth and he knew as much, but it was so much simpler than explaining that. He needed to figure that out for himself first…

Jayce hurried over with a chair he’d stolen from the back corner of the room, setting it a few feet back from where Viktor currently stood. Further from the offending flame but still within view of his work. He gripped the chair and held it still, concerned that Its wobbly back leg would prove to be a tipping hazard to someone who wasn’t aware of it. Maybe he should fix it just in case this visit wasn’t a one-time thing. He hoped it wouldn’t be.

“Seems that way.” 

“Still…” Viktor attempted to look in every direction aside from straight ahead at his friend’s chest as he leaned over him in the chair, his arms outstretched over him as he grasped the back of the backrest. He kept his eyeline and head straight ahead, lower than Jayce’s viewing angle allowed him to properly register, Viktor’s eyes lining up almost perfectly between his chest and his stomach. The way he glistened in the low light, the fire framing him as the storm raged on outside visible only through the murky windows behind the forge… “Did you have more to show me?”

Jayce nodded and stood back, letting go of the chair. If it was going to tip or he was going to fall over then it would have happened by then. “If you're up for it. I’ve got a few ideas to run by you.”

Oh, he most certainly was.

Clearing his throat and shaking his head as if to physically shake the image he’d just borne witness to down into the depths of his subconscious, he leaned back into the chair so he could reach into his pocket and fish out the piece of paper he’d brought all the way over from their lab. Unfolding it, he handed it to Jayce who grasped it and immediately started reading over the calculations. His brow furrowed. There was a problem.

“Most certainty. And your calculations are off. By half a percent, might I add. We must have been falling asleep when we did this.” Viktor sounded amused and they both shook their heads in disbelief, but it was still a problem. It would’ve cost them time and resources to make a second mold and they had too much going on for that. But that crisis had been averted so that was one less thing to worry about. “The corrections are listed on the back. You misplaced a variable. An easy mistake to make on two hour’s sleep.”

Jayce looked like he was going to ask if Viktor had come across town specifically to bring this to his attention, but he knew that was the case. He continued to wear that amused look crossed his face. They probably had been half asleep. It was becoming more and more common for them to spend grudgingly long hours in the lab. A habit he hoped they would collectively break after this new breakthrough. “Well, I’m glad you mentioned that now. Just in time, too. Looks like I have to make a few corrections. I’m going to have to heat the forge back up. Are you going to be able to handle that, or is it going to be too much for you?”

Oh, he certainly hoped to find out.

—

Am I the first person to write something like this? Probably not. Is it any good? Debatable. Did I laugh while writing it? Yes. So I hope you enjoyed reading it! Sorry for the wait! And if you have any further requests, let me know! I have a few more Jayvik prompts coming in the near future and more chapters of one of my existing works on the way (along with another mini multi-chapter fic that I’m about to start) so feel free to check those out. I’d love any feedback you can give me. Thanks for checking this out! I hope you have an awesome day!

[prophetic-hijinks]

When the Walls Came Down

Set after the events of this “Visions” comic

_________________________________________

“Ten years?” Elena uttered in a whisper. Her delicate proclamation is barely audible against the chittering of insects in the surrounding jungle. Bruno’s confession shatters the excitement of their shared future, bringing back to the reality of the past.

The day was eventful, to say the least. So many secrets were revealed, all because Elena surprised Bruno with her new car, offering to drive him back instead of making him brave the bus. Bruno, excited for her to meet the whole family, forgot the small matter of his magical family and house. To her credit, she held her grit between Casita bringing her bag in on rumbling tiles and Camilo shifting in front of her. But ended with her passing out because Antonio’s leopard decided to play tag with his rats, leaving her soaking wet from Pepa’s anxious deluge.

But all of that was forgiven with Bruno’s vision of a future full of love, complete with two babies cast in an emerald tablet. Its faint glow lit their faces, as a waxing moon bathed the unlikely pair on the grassy knoll in moonlight.

That is until Bruno dropped a bombshell delivered in a half-hearted joke as if that could soften the blow.

“I couldn’t help but notice when they recounted the story of the Encanto, you weren’t in it for a fair bit.” Elena mused.

“Oh I was behind the scenes… so to speak”. Further prodding sent her mind screaming when he elaborated.

‘He lived in the WALLS!’ She reeled as the same trepidations that haunted Elena, made her doubt her ability to pick men. The 20/20 Hindsight that had her second guess every relationship AFTER they failed trickled in. Carlos who fell out of love with her for not giving him children, secretly hated her success. Or the string of crimson men who wanted the vixen on the stage. Who didn’t care who she was or what she wanted.

Hugo always said Elena’s rose-colored glasses made it impossible for her to see the red flags. And a man hiding in his family home's walls for a decade sounded like a HUGE RED FLAG.

Elena looked at Bruno as he nervously picked at the frayed edge of his ruana.

But the flag wasn’t red…It was green. Green like the eyes of the man that waited until the third date to even TRY for a kiss. A kiss he asked permission for.

And it was also an emerald green. Telling her that for once, her heart was safe. He wasn’t going to hurt her. She could be a hopeless romantic, with actual hope. Bruno wasn’t Carlos who would keep her trapped for over a decade in a bitter marriage before calling it off. He was respectful. Loving. Gentle.

“Ten years?”, she repeated Bruno flicked his eyes to her, so much fear and hurt. She softened even more. “How did you survive?.”

“Ah well, heh Y’know, casita would sneak me food. Juli always made so much in the morning before heading to the square. She barely noticed it went missing, especially with Camilo nabbing thirds and…” He was rambling now. Elena put a gentle hand on his arm, his nervous tremble calming under her touch. He gave a sheepish chuckle. Marveling how she had that effect without a single word.

“Heh, it was hard. But I had hobbies to pass the time, and my rats to keep me company.”

“But why the walls? If life was so unbearable? Why not leave the Encanto?”

Bruno looked at the looming mountain path she passed through earlier today. The one split down the middle in a strange formation Elena had never seen in nature before.

“The magic protected us from the outside world. But it also made it dangerous to leave. The mountain path didn’t even open until the magic was gone. Only the bravest ever tried the climb to trade out. And heh, that’s not me.” He shrugged. ‘Sides I had to stay. I had to protect Mirabel.”

“Mirabel?”

“Ma begged me to look to her future, to understand why Mirabel didn’t get a gift.”

Bruno grabbed the tablet between them.

“I saw in the vision Mirabel as a teenager. Her future wasn’t fixed like ours, I saw Casita standing”. He said tilting the tablet to the left “And casita falling”. Tilting it right.

“I couldn’t bring that back to Ma. I Couldn’t saddle Mirabel with that burden. She was a baby, already denied her room, her dream, and what? Tìo Bruno was going to deliver a nightmare?” An anxious tremor entered his voice “No, no, no I thought if I just waited. Patched up the cracks, I could stop it from happening.”

‘He spent a decade alone to protect her. To be near his family.’ Elena recalled the sweet young woman she met today, earnest, loving, and without a hint of teenage angst. Who showed unbridled enthusiasm for Tio’s girlfriend. Another wall came down.

Bruno vaguely gestured backward to Casita.

“Heh, but a fat lot of good that I did. It still fell.”

“...But didn’t everything get better after it fell?.”

Bruno floundered, “Well… yeah! But I assumed we just got, I dunno, Lucky?”

“Sounds like Mirabel’s destiny was to tear it down,” Elena said.

“You think Mirabel was supposed to have Casita fall?” He sputtered incredulously.

Elena held up the tablet with the image of their twins and their proud happy faces. “You said this future was fixed?”

“Yes,” He said, reassuringly. She had already asked before if that future was destined to be hers. “This future was ours from the beginning.”

“Well Bruno, unless you had plans to take up mountain climbing, how do you propose you would have ever met me if Casita didn’t fall? Because I don’t see me traversing a jungle in kitten heels.”

“…”

For a moment, it seemed even the jungle quieted for the answer. “I..you…”. Bruno needed time to process the matter.

“Casita was always meant to fall. So I would be forced back to the family. So Ma could grieve at the river. So the villagers could help us and learn to depend on themselves. So Mirabel could heal the family and rebuild Casita better…” Bruno continued, looking at Elena and squeezing her offered hand on his lap.

“So I could give a shy little wave to a singer at the Chia Lounge?”. Elena smiled and leaned into him.

“Heh… Everything was meant to be this way?”

“It seems so, but I’m not sure if hiding for ten years was the most stellar problem-solving,” Elena said jokingly. Bruno flushed, embarrassed. Covering his face with his hands.

“But! But!” Elena quickly blurted panicked at the hurt she caused. Wrapping her right arm around his she gently pushed her left hand under his hand on his cheek. Then gently guiding his face to hers.

“But, I do know this. You said only the brave ever tried to leave. But you WERE brave in staying. To try to protect Mirabel.” She gently ran her thumb against his cheek.

“And I know most men; no matter how brave or stoic, would have broken into a million pieces being alone for so long. They would have become bitter and angry; or broken beyond repair.”

“The fact you escaped all that while remaining kind. Still so sweet and loving, is a testament to how strong you are.” Elena kissed his cheek, she could taste salt from a fallen tear. “Strong in the only way that matters to me.”

Bruno gave a relieved shudder, breath mingling with hers they were so close. “Heh, you aren’t ready to hop into your car and run from all this?”

“Not a chance.” Elena tilted the tablet between them. “I know for a fact we get through this. So let's get through this.”

She cuddled deep into him, her body fitting perfectly next to a body that never felt he fit in anywhere else. “Bruno I want all of you, scars and all.”

Bruno looked down at her in grateful awe. They were both crying gentle, cathartic tears.

“Besides, you’re not the only one with baggage.”

“Heh, Fucking Carlos?” He asked.

“Fucking Carlos” she concurred.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62109775

[thevegandarkelf]

A Familiar Face: Scud Frohmeyer & Familiar!Fem!Reader

AO3 link

Alternate title: Damaskinos’ Daughter

My first attempt at a Scud x Reader fic! Since I started writing for Daryl, I wanted to take a stab (or a bite hehe (sorry that was a bad joke)) at our favorite little stoner. Please be gentle or I’ll cry, and I’m sure you don’t want the responsibility of that on your shoulders, do you?

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 766

Warnings: Swearing, reader is also a familiar & is Damaskinos’ daughter. I think that’s it!

Scud Frohmeyer was normally the most laid-back of laid-back guys. Whether it was with a joint in his hand or the putting his skills to use for Blade, there were few things that got him worked up. Calm, cool, collected—a perfectly-crafted string of alliteration that accurately captured the inventor’s demeanor.

But when you waltzed into the workshop, arms folded over your chest and a delighted smirk on your face, to say he was caught by surprise would be an understatement. He nearly fell out of his chair at the sound of your voice, your soft but slightly sarcastic “hi there” as Blade introduced you sending his heart straight into his throat.

You worked together for the day, both of you feigning ignorance that you two were already well acquainted. However, when evening came & the dark knight stepped out for a bit, Scud took the opportunity to corner you for an interrogation of sorts.

You were backed against the wall, his piercing blue eyes locked on yours. His arms trapped you on both sides to ensure you wouldn’t escape.

Not that you would have tried to anyway.

As you eyed him up and down, you propped your foot against the wall, arms folded over your chest once again as you leaned back, stifling an amused chuckle. You tapped your other foot, the one with your familiar tattoo on the bottom, on the floor. For a few moments, the only sounds that echoed off the workshop walls were your breathing, your boot, and the faint dripping of water somewhere in the dark.

“The hell are you doin’ here, Y/N?” His tone was a cocktail of flustered and frantic, breaking through the quiet, but not quite echoing to where any prying ears would hear. Even though you two were alone, he still exercised caution with his volume.

“Guess daddy dearest didn’t think you could pull this off all on your own,” you mused, pretending to check over the polish on your nails before meeting his gaze again. That subtle smirk from earlier in the day broke out, bigger this time. “Sent his favorite to help with the job.”

He kept his voice low, leaning in closer, his face merely inches from yours. “You say a word to B—“

“Oh, so you have a nickname for him? It’s almost like you care,” you interjected, your statement booming in comparison to his. The laugh that followed awoke the butterflies in his stomach, sending them into a tizzy.

He’d always been enraptured by your beauty, too nervous to make a move on account of you being the elder’s daughter. Instead, he settled for close proximity, doing his best to make small talk any chance the two of you were occupying the same space.

But it wasn’t just your beauty that captured him. You were feisty, brilliant, and had quite the attitude. And he loved it.

This was different, though. He had a job to do, and as far as he was concerned, you were impeding on it, potentially even a liability, your status as the vampire lord’s daughter be damned.

Little did he know, you shared the same sentiment. On both accounts.

“What makes you think I would say anything?” The sass that laced your words hung heavy in the air as you continued. “We’re on the same side. I won’t say anything if you won’t.” You paused for a brief moment, fluttering your lashes as you dropped your gaze briefly to the floor and back at him. “Josh.”

His stomach nearly fell out of his body, and he unconsciously gripped at his abdomen. It wasn’t the use of his real name that was affecting him. Oh no, it was because you said it. But you didn’t just say it. You spoke it like it was the sweetest thing in the world, the simple name slipping off your lips like honeyed words.

The tension between you was thick enough to be cut with a knife. What type of tension that was…was up for debate.

Pushing himself off the wall, he spun around, his jacket grazing the side of your jeans. You watched as he sauntered off, taking a pack of smokes from his pocket and lighting one. He looked back over his shoulder at you for a split second, long enough to catch you wiggling your fingers in a flirtatious wave.

“This is going to be an eventual few weeks,” you said to yourself, sighing and leaning against the wall again.

There were many words you would use to describe those next few weeks, and eventful was certainly one of them.

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