#i am i am i am: seventeen brushes with death

[beombunni]

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

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

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

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

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

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

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

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun froze.

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

It was her hair.

Pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“My god.” You whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

“Yeonjun, 

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

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

Yours Always”

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun”

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

“Yeonjun,

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

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

Yours always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her marriage announcement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bloodstained arrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the family of HueningKai,

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

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[beenbaanbuun]

Seventeen’s reaction to their S/O laying their head on their lap

seungcheol

big baby

will not let you go for h o u r s so have fun being trapped!

tells you he loves you every 5 minutes because he desperately needs you to know just how much you mean to him

constantly touching you in some way just because it brings him comfort

“i love you so much,” he said for the millionth time, “i’ll never let you go, baby.”

jeonghan

says nothing but his smile says enough

he thinks that you’re the cutest thing on the planet, not that he’d tell you that

no, he’d much rather tease you

then when you inevitably pout at him, he’d just press a kiss to your lips to soothe you

“oh hush, you,” he’d chuckle as you separated, “you know i think you’re adorable.”

joshua

another one to relentlessly tease you

he doesn’t do it for any reason other than to see you blush… he thinks it’s cute when you squirm and hide your face

of course, that won’t stop him. he’ll just pull your hands away from your face so he can see just how precious you are

“you’re so clingy, aren’t you,” he chuckled, yet kept you pinned to his lap, “no, no. don’t get up, angel!”

he’d keep you there for a while, dampening down the teasing just so you didn’t attempt to get up again

hoshi

giggly!!!

literally will not shut up rambling about how much he loves you, but you don’t mind

he only does it because he loves the way you get shy

“you’re so pretty- no don’t hide! i want to see your beautiful face!”

will cancel every single plan he has just to keep you with him

jun

quiet but just because he gets shy

he’s the one blushing this time, but only because you keep telling him how pretty he looks from that angle

almost puts his hand over your mouth multiple times just to shut you up

finds you adorable, but doesn’t know how to express it so he just sits there and lets you ramble to him

eventually shuts you up by kissing you - you don’t like the interruption, but the kiss is welcomed…

wonwoo

another shy one

will just blush and stare at you as you do the same

quiet on the outside but on the inside he’s screaming

shows just how much he loves you by tracing your facial features with his fingers

pays extra attention to your lips before bending down and placing a kiss upon them

woozi

silent… you are not getting a word out of this man

he tries his hardest to continue whatever he was doing before you lay yourself on him, but he can’t concentrate anymore, not when you look so cute

of course, he’s much too embarrassed to tell you that

he carries on with what he was doing, albeit much slower and at a much lower quality than he would without you close by

“you’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters eventually, “how am i supposed to do anything when you’re so cute?”

seokmin

very vocal

practically squeals when you settle your head on his lap

will literally not stop touching your face or kissing you. how else is he supposed to react when you act so sweet?

there’s no escape for you, at least for a few hours. you’ve made your bed, now you have to lie in it

“do you know how much i love you?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “i love you to the moon and back, sunshine.”

mingyu

oh god… what have you done

another squealer except this time he won’t stop

rambles about how cute you are but goes into excruciating detail

“your lips are just so pink and pouty,” he brushed them with his thumb before his eyes flickered to something else, “and your cheeks! they’re so round and cute and… ugh!”

so overwhelmed by love that he can’t even finish half of what he’s saying before he starts getting excited and squeezing again

minghao

“can i help you?” he asks as if he’s not holding back an amused chuckle

when you don’t reply, he just smiles and let’s you get comfy

won’t tell you how cute he thinks you are, but he’ll show it

either brushes through your hair with his fingers or smooths his thumb against your cheek

very rarely stops what he’s doing to give you attention, but will 100% try and get it done faster so he can show you just how much he loves you

seungkwan

if you think jeonghan and joshua are bad, there would be no escape from this man’s teasing

but just like joshua, he has you tightly wrapped up in his arms so you can’t leave his side

will play with your hair or your fingers as he jokes with you

“oh you love me so much, don’t you?” he laughs, “you’re obsessed with me, right?”

would never let the teasing go too far though… he loves you too much

vernon

very awkward but in a cute way

“hello,” he says as you stare up at him, “did you need something?”

eventually realised that you don’t actually need anything and you just want to be close to him

who is he to deny you? so he just sits there and let’s you use him as a pillow

will try to watch something on his phone but inevitably gets distracted by how pretty you look lay on his lap like that

dino

no escape… ever

once he has you in his arms you best believe he’s never letting you go

pulls you ever further onto his lap so he can lock you in with a vice-like grip and properly cuddle you (squeeze you half to death)

will not leave your lips alone!!! spends half of his time pressing chaste pecks to your lips and the other half devouring you like you’re his last meal

insists on carrying you if you need to grab something from another room… he’s so serious about not letting you go

[kingkatsuki]

Kaji in an apocalyptic setting where he takes extra risks in order to get his hands on lollipop bags

@katsukikitten sent me this ask ages ago, and I finally finished it Ilysm thank you🥺😭

Pairing: Kaji Ren x f!reader.

Warnings: Apocalypse AU, profanity. Not proofread!

Word Count: 1.3k.

“I don’t know how anyone can be so fucking stupid.”

You heard Sakura before you saw him, looking up from an old copy of Seventeen magazine you’d found inside the house you were currently staying in. Kotoha jolted awake beside you from the loud noise as the front door swung open.

“That’s it, just walk away.” He continued as he arguably became louder.

Kaji stormed in first, followed by an irate looking Hiragi and an exhausted Sugishita. Sakura was bringing up the rear as he continued shouting at his old senpai.

“What the hell happened?” You dropped the magazine onto the coffee table as you slipped out from beneath the blanket you were sharing with Kotoha, noticing Kaji avoiding all eye contact.

“You need to keep your voices down, you’ll wake the dead.” Nirei trembled at the same time, while Suo looked up from his book with a twinkle of amusement in the eye you could see.

“I think that already happened.” Kiryu offered with a wide smile on his face.

“Shut up.” Sakura bit back, dropping down into the seat you’d just vacated moments earlier as he slouched back against the soft cushion.

“Is someone going to tell me what the fuck happened?” You looked back at them with worry in your eyes as Kaji stormed past you.

“I don’t know, ask your boyfriend.” Kaji had already disappeared beneath the makeshift curtain to your bedroom, “Clearly he’s got a fucking death wish.”

“What?”

“Did you get the supplies?” Kotoha chanced asking from behind you, “Ume and Tsubaki are in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, we got ‘em—“ Hiragi started before being cut off by Sakura.

“No thanks to Kaji.” He pouted from his position on the couch, “If I wanted to die I’d take my chances with the undead.”

“What did he do?” You looked at Hiragi nervously.

“Just go and talk to him.” Hiragi sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and calm himself down.

You raised a brow before turning on your heels to make your way back to the small room you shared with Kaji, hearing the tail end of the conversation from the living room.

“Ren, what happened out there?” You fixed the curtain before walking towards him.

Kaji slumped against your makeshift bed — your sleeping bags nestled on the floor — his nose scrunched in irritation as a you noticed something between his lips. His back propped against the wall.

“Nothin.” He replied bluntly, his voice muffled by the sucker that now sat positioned in his left cheek, causing it to bulge slightly as you raised a brow in confusion.

“Is that a lollipop?”

Kaji gave a shrug in response as you came closer, planting yourself on his lap with your legs on either side of him. Gentle fingers tentively reaching out to brush back the greasy hair that sat on his forehead to check the small red gash that now crossed his eyebrow.

“I need to get the first aid kit,” You murmured, “It might get infected.”

“S’fine.” He mumbled, catching you by surprise as he circled his arms around your waist to stop you from getting up.

“So are you gonna tell me what happened or am I gonna have to force it out of Hiragi?”

“We picked up everything we needed from the pharmacy,” Kaji mumbled, suddenly finding a stray piece of cotton on your worn jeans more interesting as he began to pick at the fabric, “And we were getting ready to leave.”

“Okay.” You tried to coax him, wrapping youe arms around his shoulders comfortably as you continued to listen.

“And it’s not like I meant for it to happen, it wasn’t my fault—”

You waited patiently for him to continue as he found the words, clinking the lollipop to sit on the flat of his tongue as he sucked hard before continuing.

“A shelf fell, and then another one and I got my leg trapped under it,” He scoffed, “I could’a got out of it myself.”

You frowned as he told the story, wondering whether that was why he’d come back covered in dirt with a cut on his face.

“But they tried to help me anyway, and the noise woke bunch of the undead and they blocked the exit.”

“Jesus, Ren.” You exhaled, your heart hammered against your ribcage at the thought as you imagined them fighting off a small hoard, “But Hiragi wouldn’t have been mad at you for that— accidents happen.”

“It’s because I went back for these.” He sighed, pulling out three lollipops from the front of his hoodie pocket and holding them out to you.

The only thing that kept him from exploding on all his friends on the walk home, and the main constant in his life before the world went to shit.

“Ren.” You wanted to hit him for risking his life for something so meaningless, but deep down you could understand it from his point of view.

You’d seen Kaji at some of his lowest points since the world had changed, having to find new and experimental ways to try and manage the beast inside him when you couldn’t just open Spotify and find a playlist or grab a pack of lollipops from the local konbini.

It was difficult for him to adjust, and you knew the random outbursts left him feeling shameful and guilty despite them never being his fault. You knew Kaji better than anyone, and you knew he’d never purposely endanger you or his friends. He’d do whatever it took to protect you, but it didn’t mean he wasnt still terrified of the old him coming out in this new world order.

“You should’ve left them,” You shook your head, “Your life is way more important than candy.”

“But I’m still here, ain’t I?” Kaji scoffed, “Dunno why they’re so mad, I would’ve been fine.”

“They’re mad because they worry about you,” You hum, dropping down onto his lap as he instinctively wrapped his arms around you, seeking out the warm comfort your touch provides.

“Yeah but if something went wrong they could’ve just left me there.” He rolled his eyes, “I’d rather die than survive on cough sweets another day.”

“Don’t say shit like that,” You glared at him, “They’d never do that, and if they did I’d go and find you myself.”

“You shouldn’t risk your life for me.” He shook his head.

“Well, I would.” You glared, “You better not risk your life like that again or I’ll kill you myself.”

Kaji’s lips curled into a smile at that as he positioned the lollipop stick to the corner of his mouth so he could lean forward and kiss you, feeling his chapped lips brush against yours as you tasted the artificial candy on them.

“What flavour is it anyway?” You pulled back before moving your hand to tug at the bottom of the stick inside his mouth, hearing it clink against his teeth before he parted his lips enough for you to pull it out, “Cola?”

Kaji’s lips curled into a small smile as you held the brown spit-soaked ball up to the air with a frown, wanting to roll your eyes at the insanity of it all, “You risked your life for cola chupa chups?”

“Hiragi risked his life for a pack of gas-kun 10s last month and you didn’t say anything.” He replied defensively.

“You risk your life for a cola chupa chups again and I’m definitely killing you myself.”

Kaji’s warm fingers brushed yours as he took the lollipop from your hands, lifting it up to press the hard ball of candy against your mouth as he pushed it past your pouty lips to shush you.

“You think you can silence me with candy?” You spoke around the sweet, narrowing your eyes at him as Kaji broke into a grin.

“I can think of a few other ways,” He murmured, reaching out to grasp the back of your head as he pulled you into a languid kiss, his tongue lapping at the cola sucker as you matched his movements.

[whotfislai]

Focus on you | seventeen, chan!

pairing lee chan & fem reader. (he says girl once)

genre fluff type shi

doei speaks! i love lee chan and you should too😤 ++ dividers came from h-aewo <3

it was one of those nights again. you were cuddled up under your silky sheets, missing your boyfriend.

dating an idol wasn't easy but the two of you made it work. being in LOVE with channie just felt good.

and he felt the same way about being in love with you.

you were the one thing that was constantly on his mind. from when he woke up, to during practice, and deep into the late hours of the night.

and you knew this because when you least expected it....

my channie♡ [12:50]: BABYYY I MISS U SO MUCH!! i need u right now😭

(yn) [12:51]: AWWW i miss u so much more <33

(yn) [12:51]: but its okay, you have an off-day in a couple of weeks from now or something, right?

my channie♡ [12:52]: i think so? but fuck. that's not soon enough.

(yn) [12:53]: i agree w that😔 BUT we'll spend time together soon, we both just have to be patient yk🥰

you weren't sure exactly how soon that would be, but for him, you'd wait and see. (THAT RHYMED AHAHAHAHSHS)

although, you wouldn't have to wait much longer.

around twenty-ish minutes of your conversation, you'd fallen asleep. but only ten minutes later, two notifications from your boyfriend woke you up.

my channie♡ [1:23]: babe, i know you're probably sleeping but i couldn't take it anymore

my channie♡ [1:23]: i need u SO BAD. i forgot my key pls open the door or imma have to break in

and almost immediately after reading his texts, you heard faint knocking at the front door.

"oh...no way..." you whispered to yourself as you tiredly got up, and made your way to the front door.

when you opened it, you were instantly engulfed in the tightest hug. he quite literally swept you off your feet.

but it was sweet, the way he held you so tight, almost cutting off your airflow. and even when he set you down so he could step inside the house, it was only momentarily.

"(yn), baby, i missed you so, so much." he whispered in your ear, pulling you into another breathtaking hug.

you returned the intensity of his hug as best as you could, plastering sweet kisses all over his face in the process.

and oh my god, chan loved every second of it.

"not being able to have you for that long would have KILLED ME, i swear. i just need you for tonight..." he mumbled, giving you a tiny kiss in the crook of your neck.

and then another one, and another one, and....

"lee chan!! you JUST got home, at least cuddle with me first!! gosh, you're so needy for me." you said, half-jokingly.

he laughed, releasing you from his death grip. "so what if i am? you're everything to me (yn). i need you to live y'know, i could DIE."

most people would assume he was joking but to be honest, you weren't too sure he was joking about that.

i mean, he did just sneak out of his dorm at one in the morning to be with you sooooo 🤭!

the two of you headed back into your shared bedroom, and began cuddling one another in bed, when you paused.

"are you sure this is okay?" you whispered, avoiding to look him straight in the eye. "i love that you're here, but what if you get in trouble for leaving? channie please, if you need to go back that's okay, i understand."

chan tilted his head a bit, narrowing his eyes. as much as he disliked worrying you, knowing you cared about the consequences he may face made his heart explode.

he gently pressed his hand to your chin, causing you to look upwards at him.

"(yn)...my sweet, beautiful girl. i couldn't give a shit about any consequence i might face. being with you is worth it all," he cupped your cheek, "and if you thought this was bad, you'll hate the things i plan on doing for you in the future."

before you could ask what the hell he meant by that, he leaned in and gave you a tender kiss on the lips.

so naturally, you brushed it off and decided tonight you'd focus on him.

just as he had been doing to you.

End!ㅤ

thanks for reading! i js love dino SO MUCH & i wanted to write a cute fic for him.

reblog / like it if you enjoyed <3

[wangxianficrecs]

The Winner Takes It All by YilingSani

The Winner Takes It All

by YilingSani (@yiling-sani)

M, 46k, Wangxian

Summary: "Wei Ying doesn't know why he ended up on this exact island. All he knows is that he's scared, alone and hungry. And with a child." ----- 18 years later Wei Yuan has grown into a proper young man, helping his Baba to run the hotel on the island. On the week of his wedding, Wei Yuan comes across Wei Ying's diary and decides to invite the man mentioned in it to the island, unaware of the consequences it will bring. Kay's comments: I never knew that I needed a MDZS Mamma Mia AU until I started reading this story. I have never even watched Mamma Mia (I know, shame on me, what kind of gay even am I), but I was so hooked on this story. So hooked in fact, that I read it first as it was published as a thread fic and then once again once it updated on AO3 and I could still hardly wait for the updates. The drama, the heartbreak, the angst, the found family! All of it was such a delight. The angst hit especially hard in this story and for the longest time, as a reader, you're wondering whether you even want Wei Ying and Lan Zhan to get back together again, but it all works out in the end without being a magical fix-it. Highly recommended. Excerpt: Granny Wen extends a hand to brush away a strand from the young man's face, but the moment her fingers touch his forehead, she feels the heat coming from the boy. He's running a fever. It would be inhuman to leave the boy to fate, so Granny Wen nudges him awake. Once the silver eyes open, they immediately fill with fear, and the boy draws deep into the corner, looking like a frightened deer. "It's alright," the woman speaks softly. "I won't hurt you." The silver eyes are puffy and red-rimmed - it's clear that the young man has cried himself to sleep. "It's alright," Granny Wen repeats. "You’re safe. I’m Granny Wen. What's your name?" "W-Wei Ying," the boy's voice is hoarse, his throat dry as a dessert. "Are you from the mainland?" she asks the next question, and the boy nods. She notices how the boy's hands are placed protectively on his belly and she frowns. "How old are you?" "Seventeen." Seventeen.

pov alternating, modern setting, modern no powers, mpreg, single parent wei wuxian, inspired by mamma mia!, one night stands, first time, unplanned pregnancy, traumatic childbirth, post-traumatic stress disorder, ptsd, illnesses, chronic illness, teen pregnancy, panic attacks, angst with a happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, families of choice, no jiang cheng & wei wuxian reconciliation, background character death

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[ksiondzkanexkiii]

MAYBE YOU'RE NOT A BAD PERSON | John Price

Next chapter (2)

The story is also on wattpad, Nebook, Tumblr Enjoy

Chapter One

Jinx. A teenager they approved of as a lost cause incapable of fixing a teenager who is and will forever be rebellious and unfit for society. She herself has earned this designation

A lost cause

Did it bother her? As long as she was at peace then no. But life on the street could never be peaceful, she had never learned that in all her sixteen years of life. Life is never peaceful and everyone lies, ever since she could remember she had been alone, but did that bother her? No. Yes.

She felt lonely, of course, but she also felt that she could make it on her own. A bit of narcissistic thinking, but that's how she thought she would survive, and apparently she succeeded, because she is still alive today.

Miracle.

Lying on the uncomfortable bed of the reformatory she looked up at the ceiling, the teddy bear who accompanied her like a faithful friend lay on her chest exceptionally she would pull him out to hug him she always did when she doubted. It gave her peace of mind as if the teddy bear was the only person dead because he was an object, but she had the feeling that he understood her. As the only

The day was to begin as always wake up after Friday morning toilet breakfast at six o'clock school activities from eight to fifteen free time until seventeen afternoon study time until nineteen showers and sleep. The constant routine that blended into her veins was tedious, of course she tried to find entertainment wherever she fell, but it wasn't enough.

The boredom that entered her nostrils like oxygen that sucks in caused her to be bored. Who would have expected that? She didn't know what to do. She knew to strive for routine, she had already learned many times that it was better not to piss off the guards, it always ends uninterestingly from an intense beating with a baton to leaving her for days in solitary confinement with poor food and drink such that she would not die of thirst.

She longed for freedom, every day she would have prayed to escape this hell, which was called a juvenile correctional facility, but a new name had formed in her mind. Cops' mental institution.

How much she would give to be able to run free again, to feel the same adrenaline rush when she stole something to be able to run away from a familiar shopkeeper again. She longed for that come what may, those were her darkest times, every day she wondered if she would survive.

Would god be so merciful as to give her extra moments of life, before placing new stumbling blocks at her feet, she would give her whole body along with her soul for... for a good home

Every day described was routine, but today... today was something different, she woke up later than usual as if the guards had skipped her. As if they wanted to starve her to death, when she jumped off the top of the bunk bed she noticed Isolde her cellmate. She disappeared not there.

Didn't she wake me up?

Jinx thought, more and more questions were being asked in her head, but there were no answers. The cell was closed, the small wooden table was further against the wall and continued as small, but also large, because two people could write in notebooks on it, the small lamp continued to stand on the desk, the lower part of Isolde's bed was bedded. As they always do when they get up, so they did not forcibly lead her out by herself she left

Why am I alone? As she approached the cold bars of the cell she leaned her hands against them trying to look out through the closed bars she saw nothing. It was dark in the corridor

Is it still night? Am I asleep?

No answers to these questions

Isolde was not there. She was alone, confused unusually. She wouldn't remember Izo was supposed to go to solitary confinement for misbehavior, Izo was more of the docile inmates. Jinx wondered how she ended up here, but the younger girl always brushed off the question by saying she didn't want to talk about it. Jinx did not press

She thought she shouldn't

Isolde didn't press Jinx to talk about her life either, Jinx thought her life was twisted like... How? Well, that's how she always came up with all sorts of twisted things, but now nothing was popping into her head. She let out a shuddering breath and goosebumps appeared on her skin, it was cold in the cells as if she was in a cooler, but the heat to the icy room was gently getting in. And she had nothing to warm herself with anyway, her navy blue prison uniform hung loosely on her body and a white undershirt hugged her chest. Jinx wasn't a fan of buttoning up her uniform shirt, so she walked around with the undershirt on and the navy blue uniform shirt served as outerwear.

The navy blue pants hung on her like a sack of potatoes were certainly too big, but they were fine at the waist, only every now and then she had to pull them up to keep them from falling off her waist and showing the underwear underneath. The washed and slowly deteriorating sneakers that were the only ones that came with her to the prison and had not been taken away were already slightly chafing the teenager's skin, she was definitely slowly growing out of them, but there was no point in asking for new ones yet.

Besides, she loved the shoes too much to leave them behind, they had gone through so much time with her that she didn't want to leave them behind even if it was to end up with bruised feet.

Her legs carried her to the wall, where she impetuously hit the cold brick wall to slowly slide towards the ground to sit on it. As cold as the wall was the cells were never heated only for the winter the guards gave them thicker quilts that was it, if they froze to death the guards did not grieve. To them it was normal, as if every kid in this reformatory was a lost cause as if there was no saving them.

Jinx thought otherwise

Of course that those kids were doing wrong she also committed crimes, but behind every bad act there was a reason. There could have been a myriad of reasons, but the criminals, at least the juvenile ones, were never listened to why they did it, they just had these two phrases written into their files, which hurt everyone.

A lost cause

They could have helped give them another chance. To listen to them. But no.

The authorities thought they knew better what was worth saving and what was written off, everything according to them was listed as unsalvageable, unchangeable. But every kid who came here was panicked. They were afraid. She was also afraid when she came here could she blame the kids there for being afraid? No, but the guards were of a different opinion every day new juvenile prisoners who were not understood and were sent here to change to serve time for their actions were doomed to eternal derision and insults from the prison guards.

Was there anything they could do? No. They couldn't even stand up to them, say enough, that they should stop. There was nothing they could do, they were doomed to it. The reformatory was supposed to teach humility and calmness listening to orders and learning to enter society, but the reformatory only taught how people in authority control us as they lie to us right to our faces mocking us behind closed doors.

Jinx was no longer the youngest, but she was still not an adult, she was a teenager who lived on the streets because that was the way life had chosen her. As if a god had said it was her destiny to suffer forever, but feeling pain, she believed she shouldn't exist after all, she was the one who escaped from her parents' basement to try to survive on her own. At the age of ten she learned quick turns in sprinting, as well as refining her sprinting and mind, when she was eleven she learned to do parkour well jumping from one fire cage to another or jumping over a fence didn't always end nicely at least at first. When she was learning skinned knees and elbows and hands were the norm, but eventually she learned, she also perfected the art of stealing to somehow survive.

The hardest time was in winter, thick clothes blocked some of her movements as well as slowed her sprinting, she couldn't wear anything lighter because she would freeze. Winter was always the hardest like the period when people wish each other happy holidays and the new year she was undergoing the most important test then. Whether it was all she learned on the street or learned from it, she survived winters with difficulty, but then it was a signature that she learned to live in winter. She didn't care about dirt she was constantly dirty, being homeless involved

With constant struggle

With constant filth

And that rats are your friends, unless they have rabies, then not.

And that everyone lies and there is no help on the streets, no friends of the homeless. The rivalry among the homeless was of two camps, either you are their family not even biological family, but family or you are their enemy for life, Jinx chose the term enemy of all. She didn't trust them, she preferred to gather supplies herself and live alone rather than give away what she managed to gather and give to others as generosity, she was the one who gathered it all then why should she give it away claiming that these elderly homeless people need it? They're going to die sooner or later anyway, they're going to die faster than her so why waste food on them?

- Stop feeling sorry for yourself. - the British voice of a familiar guard spoke up. Sullyvan. This nasty guard stole her affection, she liked him. In a friendly form of meaning of course, she loved to tease him and he loved to remind her how much she had fucked up in her life - after you grieve elsewhere," sighed Sullyvan pulling out his keys with a clank.

Raising an eyebrow Jinx watched his movements as he opened the cells, the key went into the lock and was turned the clank of metal against metal echoed through the empty cells and the prison hall. The teenager didn't know what he was talking about. As if a familiar guard caught her unspoken question he smiled - You're out. That's what you do. - He confessed to her, the teenager's lips parted

Going out? To freedom?

She won't have to look at those nasty gray shades of the walls in the cell as well as the walls of the prison, she'll be able to escape this routine that boiled in her veins which she vomited and shit so much she couldn't count. She won't have to eat food in this nasty place, come on it can hardly be called food mostly watered down noodles with some unknown sauce she always wrinkled her face at the sight of it while holding back her vomiting motions.

But she had to eat it to not die, come on she would have gladly jumped into the arms of the dark reaper. But not like this, death by starvation was for those who gave up those who no longer had the will and strength to keep fighting - Oh fuck on, don't think so much," Robert complained, his patience was never great. For that she liked him he often lost patience, but he was a good man a good nicotine dealer - Jeez, you can't just tell me I'm leaving and not give away the details - I muttered raising myself gracefully on my hands to get up from the ground.

- You'll find out all the details soon enough - confessed the guard began to lead me down that familiar dingy corridor, the echo of our footsteps spread along the entire length of the corridor and bounced off the walls - What's there to explain much? I'm going to freedom - the surprise written on the face of the teenager exceptionally amused the guard, who patted her on the shoulder

- You'll be surprised honey, you'll be surprised," he confessed with a slight giggle and his British accent sounded on his lips so that she had to strain her hearing and wits to understand him. If sight kills Sullyvan would be dead more than once he could have already dug himself thousands of graves thousands of times Jinx sent him the same or that threw daggers when she didn't like something - You watch out Sullyvan yet you will find that your dick will get smaller - muttered quietly the teenager entering the room where she had been questioned many times.

She didn't like this room, not because this is where they interrogate all juvenile delinquents, but for the fact that they also used this room for torture as she called it. When someone misbehaved they would take them into this room lock them up and beat them as if they wanted to kill them, but at the edge of life and death they would restrain themselves as if they guessed that what they were doing was wrong, but... they kept doing it self-reflection was lacking and the trauma in the prisoners grew with every fucking day.

Jinx wished the walkers of these youngest had it better, but she could only dream. All she could think about was what was about to happen to her next interrogation? Not then the main one of the guards would come for her. Torture? After all, she hadn't done anything wrong, at least not recently. They could have found out about the cigarette dealer, but then Robert would have been screwed too and not just her, she was already alone in the room a metal table stood in the middle of the room and two black chairs beside it, she couldn't forget how uncomfortable those chairs were she spent hours sitting on one of them as she got up from the table the other day she could sit down that her legs didn't exist. The same for her butt.

She didn't even notice the moment the woman walked in she was quite an older woman to her eye, but she didn't have that many gray hairs, she could have been in her forties, but work had caused her a mass of wrinkles and the little gray hairs that are in her bun and in her bangs - Oho fuck Laswell - muttered Jinx running her hand over her already tired face, a day full of thoughts was slowly killing her

She knew Kate, she was the one who caught her. If only she hadn't trusted her she wouldn't be here, but that trust hadn't disappeared by some miracle she respected this womanodź herself couldn't explain why. Maybe it was the idea she came up with when they tried to catch her, the local police couldn't handle it so they called for better support not the military, but the CIA agency was no longer a go-between as Jinx found out the day she was caught. She was extremely snarky and annoyed, but Laswell saw something in her, but never told her what - Should I be happy to see you? - The rhetoric in Jinx's question was ignored by Kate

- Yes you should. I have an offer," the older woman confessed as she sat down in an uncomfortable chair at the table, feeling sorry for her she doesn't know what she's done sitting down in that chair, "You'll get out of juvie," the woman began as she saw Jinx's eyes glowing her blue irises showed hope which Laswell beat like an egg to scrambled eggs, "But you'll be in the care of the military so you can re-enter the civilian world when the government decides you won't harm anyone," Laswell explained

The hope in the teenager's eyes was extinguished, someone is supposed to watch over her like a child? She is not a child to hell she is sixteen years old. And she is not dangerous! She has changed, no. She hasn't changed.

But the offer sounded so beautiful she wouldn't have to see all those guards' faces anymore, she wouldn't be afraid of whether she did everything right and whether she would end up in this Hall but for the torture. Everything sounded so beautiful, she couldn't believe it

Everyone lies, after all

But. If she turned it down she would be a fool, she didn't know what to do herself. But if an unsuitable and incompetent caretaker came along she could easily escape, but then she would lose a sure roof over her head and food, if she got it at all. New caretakers might not trust her as much and claim that the food they give her is plenty and there would probably be enough to keep her from starving to death, but she would certainly lose weight.

She didn't know what to do

A mass of questions few answers

To trust or not to trust?

What should she do?

She didn't know. She was at the mercy of fate, which was anyway like a flimsy thread that had survived more than she had in her entire life - And what will I get out of it? - asked the skeptical teenager Laswell turned her head slightly to the side without taking her eyes off the younger girl - If you behave well and show the committee that you have changed you will regain your full freedom - stated Kate leaning back crossing her arms on her chest. The teen squinted her eyes wanted to find any sign that Laswell was lying, but couldn't.

Either the agent is so adept at hiding her lies or it's Jinx who can't read them. The offer sounded so beautiful in the teenager's mind - Fine. I'll go," Jinx stated, "But what if I don't change? - she asked suddenly, when Laswell started to get up, the older woman interrupted her activity to look at Jinx - Then you will come back here. And most likely you'll get out when you grow up, but it won't be that easy you'll then be monitored constantly every day until you make one mistake and end up in an actual real prison and not a reformatory," she explained without lying to Laswell

It sounded a little like a threat, Jinx began to regret asking - Well no matter. Let's go," she said, wanting to lose this topic already not to think about it intensely, she was tired. The day had just begun and already sucked all the essence of energy on her.

- Okay, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning. For that, pack to what you want to take, if you have anything," Laswell stated, waving her hand towards the Venetian mirror for the guard to escort me to my cell.

A new opportunity?

New fun. But if they fucked it up it will come back here and it won't be colorful, but was Laswell lying sometimes? She didn't know, but new paths in life interested her she wanted to check them out.

She had been on this show before she had been with police officers most often commentators, but they gave up at her frequent pranks she had been with ex-military men who had retired, but she was too quick and resourceful for them.

Jinx is now curious to see what Laswell has come up with for her, already new plans are forming in her head on how to fuck up the life of the one who wants to take on her care. This is going to be interesting

[jazzthatonewriterchick]

Hit ‘Em Up! (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Cowboy!Gojo Satoru x Cowboy!Geto Suguru x Black!Cowgirl!Reader (Slow Burn/Enemies to Lovers)

Synopsis: You get to meet Geto & Gojo the Gunslingers, the notorious outlaws that have every town and law enforcement in a twist, when your bum-ass BF offers you as payment to avoid going to prison. Little do they know that this is only a part of your plan to get what you desire. But when you realize that the infamous gun-slinging, smooth-talking cowboys could be everything you want and more when they offer you a deal to team up with them, will you successfully be able to go through with it? 

Warnings: Smutty Smut; 18+ (MINOS GTFO); poly!SatouSugu; Reader is Black & Fem; Mention of other JJK characters; Porn with Plot; Tragic Backstories; T/W for Childhood Trauma, Parental Death, Violence, Panic Attacks & Torture; Angst/Hurt/Comfort; Hand Kink; Masturbation; Voyeurism; Gay Sex; Polyamorous; Double Deepthroat; Mutual Oral; Fingering; CMNF; Spitroast; Riding; Unprotected PiV Sex; Creampies; Outside/Public Sex; Shotgunning; Multiple Positions; Spit Kink; Facials; MDom/fsub Undertones; Aftercare

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer's Note: Hey, y'all! This update is extremely late & I'm so sorry for the wait (that rhymed lol don't look at me). I've been so busy preparing for my new job in August & getting ready to start school that updating this story slipped my mind lol. BUT I am still writing it! I really wanna finish this story. So to make up for the slow updates, I decided to drop three new chapters instead of two. Please enjoy! -Jazz

Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen PT I & II. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Epilogue + Soundtrack.

********

SEVEN: HIT ‘EM UP!

You arrive in the tiny, dusty, damn-near abandoned town of Bull’s Creek by the next morning. 

You three didn’t stop for a night of rest, only taking breaks to feed the horses and let them rest their hooves before continuing on your journey. Most of what you do is on Reneigh’s back: brushing your teeth; eating your snacks; power naps. You now feel sweaty and tired, but not exhausted, only happy to finally be at your destination. 

Bull’s Creek is as depressing as it is quiet. Nothing moves but a tumbleweed that noisily rolls across the dusty road among the disturbingly quiet shops and boutiques that you’re sure once were brimming with life and vibrancy, but are now dingy and sad-looking. “Beauty, ain’t it?” Gojo sniggers as he and his horse totter beside you. 

“Where is everybody?” you question, feeling eerily uncomfortable with the silence. You half expect to be ambushed because of it. “Most of ‘em moved because of Benji’s crew members takin’ over,” Geto explains. “Sad. Most of the civilians had been here for years, but couldn’t take the terror anymore.” 

“Buuut,” Gojo interrupts with a grin, “lucky for the ones who stayed, we’re here! And we’ll make sure we send the baddies on their way.” You continue to look around for someone, anyone, in this ghost town. “So how are we supposed to find these guys?” you ask. “Just ask around?” 

“Exactly that, little miss,” Geto chuckles, suddenly coming to a stop in front of you. “And we’ve found just the spot.” You and Gojo stop your horses in front of a small saloon where you can just hear the sound of music and chatter. Gojo hops off of his horse first and goes to help you down, but you ignore him, choosing to get down yourself. 

You walk by, ignoring Gojo’s pout, and look up at the bar’s sign coated in dust: “Bull’s Bar,” you read, hearing Gojo giggle. “That’s so original,” he comments as he pats the holster carrying Hollow Purple.

He goes in without even waiting for you or Geto, but his partner doesn’t seem to mind. “The woman who wrote us asked us to meet her here in her letter,” he explains as he walks you inside. “So she should be…” 

His words die when he opens the wooden doors and lets them swing shut. The sound of them creaking is the only sound among the silence in the bar. The bar is small with tables covered in cowskin, bullheads mounted behind the bar, and every eye in the place on you, Geto, and Gojo, including the piano player in the corner. 

It’s beyond uncomfortable and you feel your face prickle with nervous sweat beneath your bandana. But Gojo and Geto are immune to discomfort as they confidently walk towards the bar. “Rough crowd,” Geto mutters under his breath. You nod in agreement, keeping a close hand on your hip. 

The bartender watches you come to the bar and sit, slowly wiping off a glass. He is tall and burly with unruly, spiked brown hair and a lollipop sticking out of his mouth. “So what’s a guy gotta do to get a drink around here, mister?” Gojo kindly asks. 

The bartender doesn’t say anything at first; just continues to stare you all down. The music hasn’t resumed yet and that makes this moment even more tense. “Kusakabe,” he says, his voice smooth and rough. “What will y’all have?” 

Gojo’s smile widens, pleased. “Jack n’ Coke for me and my partner; Sherly Temple for the lady.” You shoot him a look that could kill. “All Jack n’ Cokes, please,” Geto sighs, passing Kusakabe a couple of coins. He takes them and nods, still giving you a suspicious look that has your skin crawling. 

“U-Uh…excuse me?” a small, feminine voice asks behind you. You turn, finding a young, petite girl with long, sky-blue hair cut into a bang standing there, looking nervous. “You’re Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru, right?” The duo turns to face her now, making her face go beat red. “That, we are, ma’am,” Geto says, tipping his hat at her. “And you’re Miwa, I’m presumin’?” 

The girl damn near pops a blood vessel. “T-That’s correct, yes!” she stuttering replies. Another young girl with two blonde ponytails comes up beside her. “You ain’t ask ‘em to sign your book, Miwa?” she snorts. “That’s all you’ve been talkin’ about since we showed up here.” Miwa gapes at the girl, mortified. “Momo!” she shrieks. “That was private!” 

“Miwa!” a male voice calls suddenly from across the room. A young man comes hurrying up to the two girls, tall and handsome with a spiked, black ponytail and a scar on his right cheek. “Are you alright? Who are they?” He ticks his eyes between you three suspiciously. “Mechamaru, it’s okay,” Miwa soothes him, gently stroking his arm. “They’re here to help us.” 

“Friends of yours?” Gojo chuckles, not at all phased by this. Mecamaru glares at him. “I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he sharply corrects the gunslinger. Miwa nods at Momo who barely even smiles. “This is Momo. She’s a Bull’s Creek native, just like me. She told me not to write you guys!” 

Momo narrows her eyes at her friend. “Way to throw me under the bus,” she huffs. “It was only because I didn’t want more trouble comin’ into this town!” Geto nods understandably. “We ain’t here for trouble, little miss…well, not the kind that’ll get y’all killed. We just want the four we came here for.” 

“And who would that be?” Kusakabe asks suspiciously. “Who the fuck are y’all to come into my place of business askin’ around like y’all own the damn place?” You go to put your hand on your glock, but Gojo stops you, shaking his head at you. 

“We don’t mean no harm,” Geto gently says, “but we’ve got business in this town and with her.” He nods at Miwa. “She wrote a letter to us askin’ for help to save you from the four takin’ over this town.” 

The three younglings share a wary look with each other. “Don’t say their names,” Mechamaru warns. “They’ve got a tight hold on this town already. Last I heard about them is that they’re livin’ up in the mountains beyond the creek among the riches they snatched from the town.” 

“We’ll take you to them!” Momo excitedly announces. But Mechamaru shakes his head. “No,” he firmly says. “You two are stayin’ right here. I’ll take them.” While Momo tuts in disappointment, Miwa looks damn starstruck by her boo. 

Gojo gulps down his drink, finishing it off with a burp. “Fine with us, just as long as we get to where we need to. But before that…” He takes an ink pen from his pocket, smiling at Miwa. “Who wanted an autograph?” 

But before Miwa, who has now turned red, can hand over her book, Kusakabe stops her. “Hang on.” He leans over the bar toward the three of you, his eyes deadly and intimidating. “You get them and then you get the fuck out of my town. We don’t need no more trouble here.” 

With a silent nod, you three agree and Mechamaru guides you into the mountains.

*********

The creek is quiet when you make it up the hill. 

Too quiet. Though the soft sloshing of the water should be comforting, it’s damn disarming to you as you walk with the duo and Mechamaru along the creek yards away from Bull’s Creek (funny enough). The air is sweet, the sky is blue, and you know danger lurks. 

You finally come to a shabby-looking house up on a grassy hill yards down from you four. The roof is missing some tiles, one wall is caging in, and it looks abandoned. “They should be in there,” Mechamaru says, pointing at the house. “They stay there because there are trails in the woods to escape through if the law ever happened to sniff ‘em out. But they haven’t for months because so many people are too scared to speak up for fear of being killed.” 

The young man stares you all down as you silently examine the home. “You gonna get them out of here?” he asks, hope in his eyes. The duo doesn’t answer, so you do, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Mechamaru,” you gently say. “We’ll take it from here.” ‘Yes, we’ll get them out of here for you.’ 

Mechamaru seems to be happy with your words. Meanwhile, Geto is stringing up the horses to a nearby post while Gojo spits his cigarette out of his mouth and crushes it under his heel. This is just ordinary work for them. “Go on back to your girl,” the white-haired outlaw says with a wink. “She’s a cutie.” 

Mechamaru narrows his eyes, but doesn’t say anything back. Instead, he backpedals and hurries back the way he came towards town. Once gone, you follow the duo up the hill to the small house, the grassblades tickling your ankles as you move.

Finally, you come to the wooden front door padlocked shut. “So how are we doin’ this?” you ask. “Do we just bust in there and–” 

You’re rudely cut off by Gojo’s foot smashing into the padlock, forcing it open. The door opens with a long creaking sound like in a horror film.

The way this house looks feels like a horror film too: stained, old furniture in the living area; dishes in the kitchen sink and rotten food on the counter down the long hallway leading to the back door; ripped curtains covering the stained windows, making the entire downstairs dark and dreary. The smell in the air is rotten and rancid like something died in here. You cover your mouth despite the bandana covering your lower face. 

As you creep inside with the duo, your hand on your holster, your eyes shift from left to right, top to bottom. You look for a shadow; some slight movement from around a corner or behind something. The floorboards ominously creek under your boots, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. “There’s no one here,” you whisper. 

While Gojo stays behind, Geto walks ahead of you towards the circle of furniture, his gun hanging from his hand. He places a hand on one of the leather armchairs and shakes his head. “No,” he protests. “There is. Feel the chair.” You carefully walk over and place a hand on the seat, your hear thumping wildly. “It’s warm,” you gasp. “Someone is–” 

“Y/N, look out!” Geto shouts from behind you, but it’s too late. Your words are cut off when you suddenly feel something snatching you by the ankle, causing you to fall onto your back. The noose tightens and begins to pull you throughout the house on your back despite your screams. You try to grab the knife in your pocket, but you can’t. You’re moving too fast. 

Finally, you stop and face two men with very bad intentions in their eyes. One of them is nothing short of a pretty boy: beautiful bone structure in his face with high cheekbones, dimples, blue eyes, and a Colgate smile. If it isn’t for the gun in your face, you’d think he was a model. This is ‘Angelface’.

“Well, well, look what we’ve got here, Zankoku: the prettiest little trespassor we’ve gotten.” He smirks at his partner. “What do you reckon we should do with her?” 

His partner, Zankoku, looks like he’s all types of crazy: unruly curls that fall in his face; a bumpy nose like he was punched too many times in his lifetime; a scar running from his left ear down to the corner of his mouth; wide, wild eyes that frighten you more than the gun pressing against your noggin.

“I’ve got one idea that would make her sorry,” he growls, his voice like jagged glass to you. “Do you know what we do to trespassin’ bitches like you?” Angelface shakes his head at Zankoku. “Now, now, that’s no way to talk to a lady!” he mockingly tuts. 

“Y/N!” Geto shouts from beyond. You manage to twist around to look behind you and find the duo running to save you. However, they are stopped by a woman who pops up from under the staircase, pointing a gun at Geto’s head and a man jumping out from behind a wall to pull Gojo back and put a knife at his throat. 

The only woman in this crew, Makima, is tall and slender with long red hair and cold eyes. “Don’t move,” she warns. “You move and either I put this bullet in you or Arata puts that knife in your partner’s throat.” Arata is mute as you’ve been told, his tongue cut out long ago. But what he lacks in words he makes up for with his knives that are as long as his hair that cascades down to his hips. 

“Or we fuck up this cutie’s face,” Angelface growls, pushing the gun into your cheek. “Never thought I’d meet the famous Fatale Femme in the flesh.” He uses the barrel to pull your bandana down, revealing your nose and mouth to him. “And see her gorgeous face,” he cackles. “You’re almost prettier than me.” You could spit at him. 

“You motherfuckers got a lot of nerve comin’ here,” Zankoku snarls. “First you leave like y’all are better than us and then you start workin’ for the fuck ass law?” 

Gojo smiles despite nearly grazing the knife at his neck. “Good to see you again too, Zankoku,” he titters. “I guess this is our welcome wagon?” Makima rolls her eyes, annoyed. “God, you always talked too much,” she huffs. “I should put some lead in that throat right now just to shut you up.” 

She cocks her gun, moving it away to point at Gojo while she slips another out of her holster and points it at Geto. The entire room has turned into a warzone. One wrong step and you’re dead. “Listen,” Geto says, raising his voice. “We don’t want no trouble.” 

“Oh, shut up!” Makima spits. “Why else would y’all be here? You’re obviously here to wrangle us up like cattle and bring us into the sheriff.” 

“Y’all tryna get in a good place with the law?” Angelface scoffs, grinning at the gunslingers. “Tryin’ to become good guys ‘cause prison scared y’all? So sad to see what happened with that train.” You can almost feel the rage radiating off of Geto and Gojo in waves. “We don’t want to put y’all in prison,” Geto says, his voice roiling with simmering anger. “We just want information on Benji. We need to find him.” 

The bandit crew share a brief look. “Why would we tell you?” Angelface scoffs, eyes narrowed. “We don’t know where he is anyway. We were in Cherrywood before he fucked outta town months ago. We haven’t seen him since.” As soon as he says it, his partners look at him like he just sealed their fate. And he did. 

“You dumbass!” Makima hisses. The gears in your head are turning and you share a look with Geto and Gojo. “Benji was in Cherrywood?” you ask, finally speaking. “When? Why?”

But the cold barrels of the guns pressing into your head and chin stop you. “Enough,” Makima growls. “We don’t have to tell you fuck shit. Now hold still so we don’t fuck up our home.” 

She points her guns at Geto while Arata pushes the knife further into Gojo’s throat. You stare at the guns in your face, shaking. “Sorry we couldn’t have any fun, darlin,” Angelface sighs. “You’ll make the most beautiful corpse though.” Staring into the barrels is like staring into death and suddenly, you see a flash of your mother’s face. 

You don’t think. You just do. Quickly, you wedge your hand under your ass and pull a knife out. In a flash, you stick the knife into Angelface’s side, making him scream in pain. Immediately, Makima shoots but Geto ducks and swings his leg to trip her. Gojo elbows Arata in the face and rolls away just as Arata cups his nose to stop the blood flow. Makima, who fell, quickly rises and pulls the trigger on both guns. 

Bullets immediately start flying from Zankoku and Makima aimed for Geto and Gojo who you’re sure are hiding. You have no time to see where though, too focused on your attacker. Angelface staggers back and drops the gun, holding his wounded side. “You fuckin’ bitch!” he bellows. “You’ll pay for that! Kill her, Zankoku!” 

Zankoku is momentarily distracted, too busy popping shells. You take that loophole to cut yourself free with the bloody knife and kick him in the back. He staggers, but not enough. He turns around, baring his dirty teeth at you. “You,” he growls and raises his gun. He suddenly falls onto his knees, revealing Gojo standing behind him with a gun that whacked him in the back of the head. 

A bullet zooms over his head and Gojo quickly covers you. “Over here!” he yells as he drags you into the kitchen as quickly as possible.

Geto quickly crawls in behind you and rips the table up to turn it over to serve as a shield from the bullets. Gojo pulls you behind the overturned table. You sit there, the three of you, as bullets whiz past you, breaking windows and putting holes in the walls. “She’s still shooting!” you announce among the flying bullets. “This bitch is crazy!” 

Geto busies himself firing back at Makima from behind the table while Gojo points at the back door. “You go out there,” he tells you. “We’ll take care of her in here.”

He slides his gun out of his holster and cocks it. “Just wait for us with the horses,” he whispers. “We’ll find you.” So you go, hurrying over to the backdoor as fast as you can on your hands and knees. 

You turn for a second to see Arata stabbing through the table right above Gojo’s head. You itch to help him and Geto both, but you know they’d tell you to get out and save yourself. So you keep going. When you finally make it, you shove the door open with your shoulder and roll out into the open, landing on your back in some grass. Quickly, you look up, squinting in the sun. 

The backyard is nothing but an empty pig pen and a stretch of forest. Down below the slope of the hill the house is on is the creek and beyond that, your horses. On wobbly legs, you get up and try to run, but two arms wrapping around you stop you. One tightens around your midsection while the other wraps around your neck, nearly choking you.

“Hel–!” Your scream is cut off by a choke as you struggle to breathe with the arms squeezing you tight than a vice. 

“Gotcha,” Zankoku chuckles. “Stupid bitch, thinkin’ you could run from me…but I’m not goin’ to prison. So I’ll let nature take ya.” He begins to walk with you as you struggle helplessly in his arms, not even able to reach your weapons. 

When you realize where he’s taking you, it’s too late: you’re suddenly being dangled over the side of the rushing water of the creek. Without a warning, Zankoku drops you in. 

Your body plunges into the icy depths of the water, shocking you to the core. You immediately swim to the surface and gulp down the air. The waves are rough and wild, splashing you repeatedly in the face as you struggle to reach for a rock, a tree branch, anything to stop you from going downstream.

Zankoku stands at the bank and pats his knee once. A horse comes running from out of the forest, stopping at his feet and allowing him to climb on. “Have fun with the fishes, bitch!” he cackles before galloping off on his horse upstream. 

“Wait!” you scream, so loud that your throat goes raw. You watch helplessly as Zankoku disappears, growing smaller the farther the water takes you. You try to pedal to stay afloat, but the current is too rough and the water too deep. You can’t feel the bottom. “Gojo!” you wail out. “Geto, help!” 

All that answers you is the water flooding your ears and mouth, salty and overbearing. All of your senses are taken over by it as the current swallows you up. Tears of desperation begin to slip down your cheeks, sobs leaving your mouth. You once again feel alone. Abandoned. Just like all those years ago. And you’re tired. So, so tired. 

Finally giving in to the creek and the ache in your muscles, you let the current take you and find yourself going beneath the ice-cold, salty depths of water. But you don’t sink. Just as quickly as you went under, you’re suddenly pulled back up by some invisible force yanking on your arm. You look up into the sun’s rays, wondering if it’s God. 

But when you turn to look, you realize that it’s Geto. He is hanging off the side of the bank, boots and pants muddy, grunting as he struggles to pull you out. He finally slips in and yanks you to his body, both of you floating in the water together. “Keep your eyes open, Y/N!” he yells among the rush. “Geto,” you try to say, but your voice is so weak that it gets carried away by the water. 

Geto swims to the side of the creek with one arm and quickly grabs an upturned tree root to pull you both up and out of the water. “I’ve gotcha,” he huffs, dragging you into the mud once he’s on the surface. He then pulls you into the grass and finally releases you. 

When he does, the shakes start. And the shivers. Your body convulses as if it’s back in the water and not in the warm sun on dry land. You can’t stop. It’s as if your body has kicked itself into fight or flight. Your fingers tremble and your heart pounds, causing your breath to become labored. “Y/N?” Geto questions. You don’t see him. All you see is the blue sky above you. 

“C-C-C…” You don’t know what you’re trying to say. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. Geto’s handsome face appears above you and his expression softens when he realizes what’s happening. “Y/N, you’re havin’ a panic attack,” he says. He slowly picks you up and places his hands on your forearms. 

“Breathe,” he demands, his voice and eyes firm. “I need you to breathe, Y/N, okay?” You shake your head, still trembling like a leaf. “I-I can’t,” you gasp. “C-Can’t…” It’s a struggle to form a coherent sentence. Your brain can’t keep up, sending warning signals to your body when there isn’t even any danger anymore. 

“Look at me, darlin’,” Geto coos. His big, calloused hands hold your cheeks, willing you to look at him. “Watch me, okay?”

You do, hypnotized by his warm, soulful eyes. “Do what I do, slowly,” he instructs. “In.” His chest expands.

“And out.” His chest falls. He does it again and you mirror to the best of your ability. It’s shaky and choppy at first, but soon, your breathing is less labored. 

Then your heartbeat slows and your body relaxes in his touch. All the while, he is gentle and patient. “That’s it,” he says, nodding. “It’s alright now. I’ve got you now.” And you believe it. You believe that you are safe. How the fuck did he do that? 

A whistle pierces the air from down below the hill. You look to see Gojo jogging uphill with the horses. His smile fades when he sees you and Geto, soaking wet and coated in mud. “What happened?” he demands. Quickly, you stand without Geto’s help and wipe at your snotty nose. “It’s not important,” you sniffle. “Did you get her?” 

Though Gojo still looks concerned, he doesn’t push it. “We got them,” he corrects you. “Angelface is knocked out cold ‘cause of blood loss thanks to your knife, but the other three are conscience so we should be able to talk ‘em.” You sigh, relived. 

You hop on your horses and ride back up to the house where, sure enough, the four bandits are bound tight in a rope tied to the pig pen, back to back. Angelface is slumped over, his side stained in blood. Meanwhile, his partners look downright scared, no longer having their weapons to help them. 

You and the duo stomp over to them, relishing the way they shiver at the sight of you. “Please don’t kill us,” Makima whimpers. Geto kneels before her, his expression like steel. “Then tell us what we want to know: Benji the Bandit. Where is he?” 

Gojo kneels beside his partner and pulls down his blindfold to reveal his piercing, blue eyes. It’s enough to make the bandits cowar. No weapons or force needed. It makes you wonder just what the duo did to them while you were in that creek. “The last time we saw him was in Cherrywood,” Zankoku admits. “He was conspirin’ with the outlaw Valentine to rob a train.” 

“Valentine?” you gasp. “He works for Benji?” You look at Geto and Gojo as realization hits you. Could it be that Benji was behind that train masscre? Could it be that he framed his two former employees? “After the train massacre, Benji cut us some money and said he was headin’ to Sage County to hide out,” Makima adds. “That’s all we know, we swear!” 

Gojo smiles, happy with this turnout. “Thank you for your participation,” he sweetly says as he stands up. He reties his blindfold before letting out a whistle that echos across the land. 

You hear the sound of horse hooves and thudding footsteps, each sound mingling into one loud heartbeat. You turn, findinding law enforcement and other townsmen following close behind running out of the brush of trees and nature towards you. Among them is Kusakabe sporting a golden star on his shirt as the sheriff of Bull’s Creek (who also so happens to be a bartender). 

“They’re all yours, fellas!” Gojo yells, moving away so Kusakabe and his posse can swarm the bandits like flies. Other townspeople follow shortly after and with them, they bring rewards for you and the gunslinging duo: money; food and spices for cooking; whiskey and ale; and more importantly, thanks. 

Despite your reputation and appearance, the people stare you in your face and pour their hearts out to you. They shower you with gratitude, give you warm smiles, and shake your hand. It is overwhelming, but at the same time, it makes you feel good. It gives you a better feeling than how you feel after smoking a gunslinger and taking off down the road: cold and vengeful. Now, to see the very people you’ve helped with your own eyes, it makes you rethink your career path. 

Nearly an hour later after collecting your rewards and goods to place in a sack for the road, Gojo comes up to you with a big, fluffy towel while Geto chats with some of the victims. “Gotcha somethin’,” he says, wrapping you up in the fluffy thing. 

You don’t look into his eyes, still feeling weird from earlier. Once you’re wrapped up tight, he gives you space and chomps down on a sugar cookie given to him by a sweet old lady earlier as her thanks. “So where to now?” you ask, glancing at him. He just smirks at you. 

Sage County it is, then. 

**********

The night is still and so is the steely, cold, unforgiving prison cell Valentine sleeps in that night. 

He’s been in the Black Water County prison for days now, eating their terrible food and facing terrible mistreatment at the hands of the guards. He is housed in a private cell, isolated from other prisoners. Being a wanted criminal outlaw means that you have many enemies, so the sheriff thought it was best to keep Valentine isolated to avoid Valenine being attacked….not because he cares, but because he wants Valentine alive for his trial. 

Valentine hasn’t tried to escape, waiting for the right time to do so. He has decided to lay low for now and play nice, keeping to himself and doing what the guards tell him to do. Meanwhile, in his head, he fantasizes about the moment he can put some bullets in those damn gunslingers and wrap his hands around your lying, backstabbing throat. 

Right now, as he lies asleep on his pad, he can almost see your face turning purple as he wrings your neck. He can almost feel the way your hands claw pathetically at his, your body slowly going limp like a rag doll as he– 

Clang. 

Valentine immediately opens his eyes and sits up in his cell, looking towards the strange sound of metal banging against something solid. He squints into the dark hallway outside of his barred cell door. “H-Hello?” he stutteringly whispers in the darkness. “Is someone there?” 

There isn’t an answer for a while, making him feel as if he imagined it. But then he hears footsteps and the young guard usually posted at his cell appears, staggering slightly as he does so. In his hand, he carries a tray of sloppy Joe and beer, possibly for himself, but Valentine makes a joke anyway.

“What’s that?” he scoffs. “You finally bringin’ me some decent dinner, boy? Do you even know what time of night it is?!” The young guard doesn’t answer. Instead, he teeters forward and falls onto his face like a tree that was just axed, falling at Valentine’s feet. 

“Shit!” Valentine gasps, jumping and backing up against the cold cell wall. The food and beer spill along the floor, just like the blood pooling from the back wound the guard is sporting. That’s when he sees it: the knife in the guard’s back. 

More footsteps follow and Valentine shakily looks up at the shadow figure entering the hallway, dressed in black clothes with a bandana covering his mouth. As he gets closer, Valentine cowares against the wall, shivering. “W-What did you–” 

“Shh!” the stranger shushes him. He bends down near the guard’s body and takes off his black glove. There, Valentine recognizes the black rose tattoo on his knuckles. The flower of death. Benji the Bandit’s signature symbol. “The boss sent me here to get you outta here,” he whispers. He begins to dig into the guard’s back pocket and retrieves a ring of keys which he uses to unlock Valentine’s cell. 

The door opens with a click and the stranger slides it open, narrowing his eyes at the outlaw. “If you don’t wanna spend the rest of your sorry-ass life in here, follow me and keep quiet.” It doesn’t take Valentine long to make up his mind. He would take anything over wearing an ugly black and white jumpsuit and eating God-awful slop. 

Quietly, he follows close behind the stranger down the hallway and around a corner between two other wards of cells. Commotion begins to arise from each ward, prisoners awakening and realizing that someone is escaping. The stranger bends down to move a tile from the floor out of its place, revealing a deep hole that must have taken days to dig. “Down here!” he hisses before ducking down into the manmade hole. 

The prisoners begin to knock against their cell doors and walls, yelling and hollering. Quickly, Valentine gets down onto his stomach and slides himself down into the tight, dark hole. He has never escaped in this manner before and he can’t see why any criminal does it.

It’s dank, dark, and dirt keeps getting in his mouth and nose. Not to mention how physically taxing it is. He grunts and struggles to get through certain spaces that are too tight, shimmying along in his elbows and stomach. 

But finally, he sees an opening and the stranger pull himself up out of the hole. Valentine follows close after, pushing himself through the opening by his hands. With a gasp, he rises from the hole, breathing in the open air and the night sky above. He’s never been so happy to be above ground before. 

But he isn’t at all happy to see who is waiting for him. Other than the stranger, Valentine’s eyes trail up the strong legs of a black Bronco before settling on the man sitting on its back.

He is a big man––at least six feet––and the size of a bear with long hair, a salt-n-pepper beard, an eyepatch, and a gold tooth that glints at him in the moonlight. He wears black everything: a black hat; black slacks; black boots; a black jacket adorned with fringe. He is the most terrifying man to exist in the Wild West. “Benji,” he gasps. 

Benji’s smile grows, laugh lines and wrinkles appearing by his eyes. “Nice to see you too, Valentine,” he says in his deep, gruff voice that could make any man tremble. “How was prison for you?”

He doesn’t answer. He rises from his knees and dusts himself off, looking towards the prison. They are right outside of its wired fence, deep in the woods that surround it. “Ya know, crawlin’ through dirt as an escape route ain’t really my style,” he grumbles. 

Benji keeps smiling, menacingly so. “You’re lucky I even sent someone to get your ass bein’ that you fucked up and got yourself caught.” He nods at his goon who has settled onto his own horse. 

“It wasn’t my fault!” Valentine protests. “That damn idiot duo came after me and threatened to toss me in prison!” He seethes, thinking about you. “And now the bitch that they’re with is against me. She turned out to be the Fatale Femme.”

He has no problem throwing you under the bus. You ruined his entire operation! He was so sure Geto and Gojo would take his offer and let him go free. He was going to leave the county, maybe go overseas, and make his life from there. 

It’s bad enough to let Benji once again rope him into another one of his schemes. He just knew that robbing that Cherrywood train would bring him bad luck, but he listened to his boss anyway. “All ya need to do is grab the money with my men and kill the witnesses. You’ll get your cut and I’ll get mine.” 

Down on his luck and in need of some quick cash, Valentine agreed, but also had questions: “What about Geto and Gojo? Why are they apart of this? You haven’t worked with them in years.” 

Benji just smiled, puffing on his cigar. “Because they need to be reminded that they can’t run from me,” he answered, sending chills down Valentine’s spine. “They’ll never know that I was behind this, but that won’t matter. They think they can suddenly become these saviors, but when the law find them on that train with a bunch of dead bodies, they’ll finally understand that they can’t run from their sins.” 

It was punishment for leaving Benji. He wanted the Gunslingers to suffer. Valentine just wanted the money, so he went with it and ran. Now, he not only wants revenge on the duo but on you too. 

Benji’s brows rise at the mention of you. “The Fatale Femme teamin’ up with my old gunslingers, eh?” He ponders this, stroking his beard. “Then that means they’re a threat to me, but not for long. That means we’ll have to take them all out of the equation.” 

He looks down at Valentine like he’s no more than a bug, those dark eyes like a shark’s. “Listen to me very carefully,” he whispers and Valentine roughly swallows his spit. “I only got ya out of here because I’ve got another job for ya.” 

Valentine nods, hanging onto every word: I got word that those two gunslingin’ maggots are headin’ out of the West toward North,” Benji explains. “They’ll be passin’ through Sage County. I need you to follow ‘em with my crew and meet me in Sage County. Attack ‘em on the road if you need to.” 

Valentine nods, placing all of these instructions in the back of his mind. “But why are you goin’ to Sage County?” he asks. 

Benji pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and holds it between his teeth. “I got a call from four of my old workers earlier after they got arrested in Bull’s Creek. I know Geto and Gojo, so I know that they ask around and obviously know where I’m headed.” He pulls out a match box and lights a match in one strike. 

He then lights his cig and takes a puff, holding it between his ringed, inked fingers. “If they show up, I wanna kill them myself–especially that nosey bitch they’ve got with ‘em,” he spits. “I can’t have no one lookin’ for me.” 

The severity and seriousness of his words are set by the silence that looms over them along with the ice in Benji’s eyes. Finally, he glares at Valentine. “What are ya waitin’ on, idiot?” he huffs. “Get goin’ and don’t disappoint me.” 

He snaps the reins on his horse and takes off into the woods, leaving his goon and Valentine alone.

[ladyinred2248]

King of the North, Part 8

Warnings: Mature. Minors DNI. Sexual themes. Violence. Angst. Mentions of SA. Mentions of self-harm.

Three months later.

The Prince of Ulaid stood on the endlessly tall battlements of the palace, his hands in front of him gracing the stone wall as his deep brown eyes looked out to the horizon. Nervously he fidgeted with his rings and chewed on his lower lip. His intuition had been wrenching him for some time now, a twisting feeling in his stomach he couldn’t ignore.

Ronan was tall, with dark brown hair and eyes that complimented his fair skin, akin to his true father’s handsome features. The young Prince was kind to people of all walks of life and steadfast with loyalty, remaining untainted by the royal family and yet burdened by his own duty, just as Finan had been so many years ago. He had been loved dearly by his mother, who had seen his father in him more every day as he grew, and it had planted seeds of regret in her heart regarding her first husband’s fate. Ronan was raised to know Conall as his “father”, but in all his years had not spent any time of measure in his presence.

“My Prince,” Amelie, a servant girl, beckoned from behind him. “You are troubled that your father has not returned?”

Ronan shook his head softly to her. He had been left in charge of the palace in Ulaid for what was supposed to be a month or so, but now so much more time had passed. Yes, his nerves were getting the better of him. But it was more than that. It was a feeling of unease, a rumbling in his mind that mirrored the storm clouds in the distance.

“I am quite alright, my Lady. Don’t fret,” he winked at her, ever charming her as she felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks. He always called her Lady, even though she couldn’t be further from a woman of nobility.

“Can I assist you with anything, Your Grace?” Amelie spoke quietly again.

Ronan shook his head, reaching over to take her hand in his and placing a kiss to her knuckles. “You may retire for the night. Thank ya for checkin’ in.”

Amelie bowed to him with a girlish giggle, then looked out to the horizon that seemed to eternally hold Ronan’s gaze.

“Take care, Your Grace. The lightning is near.”

He gave her one last soft smile, then looked out to the distant horizon once again and hummed. “A storm is coming.”

The normally calm and collected teenager continued to pace the grounds long after his servant had left, wondering when his adoptive father, Conall, would return. He attempted not to show his worried emotions too easily, as his younger brother, Cinaed, was still reeling from the death of their mother. Ronan was seventeen summers old, and Cinaed was only three summers younger, and yet he lacked emotional maturity and held a more tumultuous temperament.

Cinaed was often free to roam the palace grounds at his leisure, while Ronan had been bound to duty from the very beginning being the first born child and heir. The young prince had been praying that Conall wouldn’t return, the brute that he was. The Kingdom itself was in turmoil, as Conall had been a tyrant of sorts, denying assistance to the poor and collecting hefty taxes regardless of the poverty stricken lands. Danish raids had been striking the coasts relentlessly, further threatening the people of Ulaid and seemingly breaking any spirit they had left. Ronan accepted that it would one day be his duty to overturn the strife that had been continually bestowed upon the people since he was a child. He took in a deep breath, feeling the winds pick up and brushing across his face as storm clouds rolled in closer. He could see the coast just barely in the distance, and his intuition made him take yet another speculative look, but there was nothing to be seen.

Ronan, unlike his younger brother Cinaed, knew the truth of his upbringing. His mother, Dealla, told him the story when he was old enough to truly understand. Dealla strangely had sympathy for his true father’s fate, though she would never admit it in front of Conall for fear of his wrath. Finan and Dealla’s marriage had been arranged for alliances between Kingdoms, and although she had never fallen in love with Finan, she had deep respect for him. She had actually understood to some extent why he had forsaken the Crown. She was plagued with the same noble duties, the same golden cage. They had become at the very least good friends, holding an understanding of one another. Finan treated her kindly, and they assumed their duties, up until Finan had escaped Ulaid.

What followed was painful to live and to watch for his former wife, and Dealla held a tinge of jealousy to know he had fallen in love with another woman. Regardless of their circumstances, she thought Finan would be a capable father to her children, and she felt betrayed. The woman Finan had fallen in love with, Conall’s wife no less, was killed brutally. So the price had inevitably been paid. But Dealla would have simply banished them both if not for Conall’s insistence. She winced in pain whenever she thought back to the day he was caught and beaten, his lover raped and killed. Conall was a monster, and Dealla knew it before that day. She took Conall as her new husband, pressured once again by honorable duty and sealed to a miserable fate. And so began years of strife and political conflict. Ronan had never taken a particular liking to Conall, but Cinaed was younger, more malleable and easier to influence. The younger child and Conall held a bond with one another, while Conall secretly resented Ronan for his likeness to his former brother.

When Ronan came of age to begin the duties necessary to assume the throne, Dealla felt it was her own duty to tell him the story of his most noble father. She told him of the arranged marriage and of the moment the two of them met, how their fathers bargained an alliance with their lives. Furthermore, she spoke of Finan with the utmost respect. The warrior who surpassed everyone in sword craft. The kindest man in all of Ulaid. The man whose smile and laughter would light up the entirety of the King’s Hall. Her greatest friend. She told her son everything. Even the fated tale of Finan being stripped of everything.

Dealla fell ill in the early Spring that year, and her health took no measure of recovery. She was resolved to the fact that she would not live to see her son wear the Crown, however Ronan’s strength and resilience, along with the attributes she loved most about her late husband, were evident in his every movement and actions. She cursed herself for allowing Finan to be sold to the slavers on the coast on that fateful day. He surely hadn’t survived. This was the one lasting regret she had when she closed her eyes one summer evening and never opened them again.

Constantin, Domnal, and the Scottish forces had traveled to the North with you in tow and taken you to your birthplace, back to your homeland once again. The palace where you grew up no longer had the warmth and grace it held before. It was your own personal dungeon, a cage of sorts that held no meaning nor semblance to the peaceful home you had created in Coccham with your lover… your husband, you were painfully reminded every time you thought of him. No, it was only a shell of a predetermined life, one that you had willingly let go of the moment you had met the love of your life.

No longer did you hold the light in your eyes that made Finan beam with longing and lust. Your hopelessness gave way for a seething rage, a deep bitterness that had settled into your body once you knew that there was no resolve to be made. You had been separated from the other half of your soul, forevermore, the worst part being that Finan had resolved to let you go. You understood why he had allowed it, but it shattered your heart just the same.

You had decided to spend your days training in sword craft, either to give you something to look forward to or something to pass the time, you weren’t sure. Regardless, you were through with being a helpless woman of nobility. You would garner strength, and you would someday be capable of defending the child who grew in your belly. You accepted that his or her father might never be there again to protect the both of you. As time went on, it was difficult to hide the growing child in your belly as five months had passed since your last blood. But your father had not yet found you a hand in marriage, and thankfully knew nothing of the bastard child, as he would refer to it. Soon, your father would find out and his plans would be disposed, as no noble man would take you as his wife knowing you had been “ruined”. You scoffed at the thought. At least that was one silver lining to this miserable debacle.

Every time you held the sword in your hands you imagined Finan’s large, calloused hand curling around yours, as if wielding it for you until you had the strength to hold up the heavy blade in any position. Your body now held the resilience to strike quickly and the agility to hold off other offensive blows, your opponents often coming to their knees to defend themselves.

A woman like you needs to be brave.

The words that came from Finan early in your relationship rang in your head over and over with each devastating strike. You were no longer the young woman who was sought out by old men in pretentious castles. You were a force to be reckoned with, so brutally scorned, you simply had nothing left to lose and nothing to gain. Your fury engulfed you so intensely now that you simply had no fear. All of it had melted from you. It had dissipated from your bones the moment you were pulled from his arms, and it was replaced with an unyielding and ungodly fury.

You found as time went on that your preferred weapon was a bow. It was easier to wield given your current state, and you had quite the knack for it as you practiced and managed the craft. You could hit a target from a far distance away, and it helped to imagine your cousin, Domnal, at the end of the target. The liar and betrayer he was. No more loyal to Finan than he was to you. These men only sought out their own ambition, or to cowardly save their own hides. Finan’s fate was sealed the moment he met the Scots, Domnal whispering in his ear and influencing him from the very beginning.

Your heart ached at this thought. You had cried yourself to sleep for months, and the sting in your chest had lessened over time, but time did nothing to ease the pain when you simply brought your mind to your lover and the joyous past. The fleeting moments you held, the joy of getting to know one another. The memories of his laughter and his cheeky grin as he spoke of something that triggered your own laughter. The way his body melted into yours so effortlessly and the way he worshipped you. You took a deep, shuddering breath at the thoughts. His hand intertwined with yours, or searching your body in a passionate frenzy. Nothing had ever felt so natural as when he took your body fervently and passionately. The very act of which gave you the most precious gift, the only thing you had left of him, now slowly growing inside you. You set down your bow as you choked out a sob, falling to your knees and hugging yourself with your arms to brace yourself for the wretching pain.

You loved him more than life itself. You would have put an end to your own life by now if not for the blessing he had bestowed upon you. Your child… your only saving grace. You stood from your knees. You would find Finan again. You would return to him, or you would die trying.

Unbeknownst to you, Uhtred and Finan along with Sihtric and Osferth had devised a crew of men that would accompany them in their travels to Ulaid. The journey thus far had been brutal, but after several months they had finally made headway. They had to cross the sea momentarily and find horses to journey to the palace, but they had made it. It was a grueling journey for Finan, one of hope and of despair. He was without the woman who made him whole, the other half of his soul. The woman who gave him hope to survive, the drive to carry on. He had traveled months to reach his objective, and now that he was faced with it, his fears were plenty. He would meet his own sons. The ones he left behind with such cowardice and foolishness. Would they turn him away? Would they spit in his face? Would they arrest him on sight? Perhaps he didn’t care anymore.

Finan trusted Uhtred more than anyone in the world, and he knew that his Lord would help him see this through. As he had during the siege of Wessex, Finan sought out his own rage to endure the journey, to stay steadfast in his quest. He prayed for your safety and resilience. This whole journey, his whole life’s purpose ever since he had laid eyes upon you had been for you. He would give you his sword, he would lay his life at your feet without a second thought. His love for you was endless and unwavering, and so he endured the torture of coming to the lands of his birth once more.

Ronan was startled as the shouting of an Ulaid guardsman’s voice rang through the hall.

“Your Grace, riders approaching the gates!”

Ronan stood, feeling his own heartbeat in his throat. He would need to address this, as a King would, just as he would need to address everything until Conall’s return. The responsibility gave him a shudder, but he calmed himself with a slow, deep breath.

“Archers to the ramparts.” Ronan commanded loudly. “Do we know who they are?”

“They look like Danes, Your Grace.”

Ronan’s breath hitched once again as he tried to remain calm. The fortress will hold, there is nothing to worry over. Perhaps they are traders. Yes. Perhaps.

Ronan took himself to the stoned battlement, finally allowing himself a gaze of the foreigners who approached the gates now with horses and a band of men that did indeed look like Danes. One of them in particular had his hair shaved on the sides, weaved with braids, and he held himself as if he was their leader as he rode slightly ahead of the rest of the men. Ronan and the Danish leader locked eyes from a far distance, and the Dane shouted up to him.

“Your Grace, we come peacefully. We only wish to speak. I am Uhtred of Bebbanburg, oathman to King Alfred of Wessex.”

The Dane Slayer? Ronan thought. He had heard of him by tales of reputation. He was Alfred’s sword and shield. Conall had traveled South to Mercia with a promise of betrothal by the Scot’s, so perhaps this was a related matter? He looked over the band of men behind the Danish leader, a strange mixture of Dane and Saxon men, one in particular close to Uhtred, a Saxon no doubt, cloaked and hooded mysteriously with a thick beard. No sign of Conall with them, which piqued Ronan’s curiosity. Perhaps they had word of his travels. Regardless, he could not let his guard down. These men had traveled far for a reason of importance, surely.

Ronan cautiously gestured for the guards to lower the drawbridge before shouting down to Uhtred once more. “Welcome to the palace of Ulaid, Uhtred Ragnarsson.”

Finan shuddered at his son’s voice. The current events were now all too real. He had waited for this moment impatiently but loathed it just the same. Uhtred turned his head to look at him, giving Finan a nod, a sympathetic look in his eyes. Not only was Finan likely traumatized to see his homeland and the place he grew up, but to see his firstborn full grown and commanding his guardsmen…it had to be quite the riveting experience.

Uhtred led his men inside the gates, cautiously looking around and observing the stoned fortress, marveling at the craftsmanship and differences between this fortress and the ones he knew well in Wessex and Mercia. The Irish definitely held some advantage when it came to their preparations. Several guardsmen looked in their direction suspiciously, their weapons already drawn.

Uhtred, Finan, and the others dismounted their horses, and a few Ulaid guardsmen quickly came to lead their horses to the stables, much to Uhtred’s surprise. He continued to gaze at the scenery, for it was impressively fortified, a tantalizing sight. Before he knew it, a young man with dark hair and eyes, dressed in noble clothing and surrounded by several guards was coming towards him. Anyone could see plainly with one glance that the young man was a child of Finan’s. It was a sight to behold.

“Lord Uhtred,” Ronan gave him a soft smile, “Welcome. How can I be of assistance to ya?”

Uhtred’s eyes grew soft as he pinched his lips together to hold back any emotions. Inevitably, it was astonishing to see the young man standing before him. Unbelievable even. He could only imagine how Finan felt at that moment.

Uhtred paused to speak. Ronan looked at him suspiciously, then turned his head to look at his guards, then back again at Uhtred. “Uh…Lord?”

Uhtred grinned. “My apologies. This is quite an honorable experience… you have my brother’s eyes.”

Ronan could feel his heart beating strongly in his chest. What was this man talking about? Was this some kind of trick to catch him off guard? He felt his cheeks turn hot with rage, or rather, fear.

The bearded man next to Uhtred suddenly threw the hood of his cloak back, his dark eyes glistening. The guardsmen surrounding Ronan all let out soft gasps, sounds of weapons clashing lightly in preparation and anticipation. Ronan knew then who was standing before him, whether by his eyes or by his heart, he wasn’t sure.

Finan stepped closer to him now, passing Uhtred, and Ronan’s hands trembled as they stood before each other. He had never seen anyone, besides Dealla and in some ways Conall, who bore such resemblance to himself.

Ronan let out a choked whisper.

“You’re alive?”

Finan cocked his head to the side.

“…You know who I am?”

“…I do.”

Finan softly smiled at him. His son was so tall and dashing in his armor. Such a brave young man to be standing here in front of foreign invaders. His nobility shined through him like he was born to lead, and he was.

The silence between them was deafening as Ronan walked even closer, giving Finan a firm nod.

“I am glad you are alive.”

Finan’s glistening eyes finally let a tear escape, rolling across his cheek. He couldn’t help himself any longer. He trudged forward, grabbing his son up into a strong embrace, which made Ronan’s tears escape as well.

“I am so sorry about yer mother, Lad. I am sorry for everything. I am here now… if ya will have me.”

Ronan felt more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his entire lifetime as he wrapped his arms tightly around Finan. He sobbed into him relentlessly now as Finan returned the tight embrace. They had never met, and yet here they were, so naturally bonded.

Sniffles were made between Uhtred’s men at the sight. Most of the guardsmen recognized Finan, and it was a sight to behold seeing him back again, his own son in his arms.

Ronan pulled away slightly, wiping tears from his face on the back of his hand. “Come. I feel there is much to discuss.”

Finan smiled, patting his son on the back as he looked over his shoulder at Uhtred, who gave him a smile in return.

>>>Part 9

Note: I used the same name for Finan’s first wife as some other Fics have, to keep some continuity established by the Fandom. :) hopefully that’s alright with everyone. If not, feel free to reach out 💖

Taglist: @gemini-mama @persephones-journey @alexagirlie @justanother-sihtricgirlie @whitedarkmoonflower @bcon24 @ficnation

[theetherealbloom]

UNEVEN ODDS - CH. 9 (Epilogue)

Chapter 9 (Epilogue): There’s Some Kind Of Heaven Just Around The Corner

Summary: The Reader is dragged into the Last of Us universe and has no choice but to watch the events unfold or will she be able to change what was already written?

Paring: Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Age-gap Romance, Violence, ANGST, Swearing, Suicide, FLUFF, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, the pandemic, character death, INFECTED, MY SCIENCE IS WONKY, probable plot holes, rusty writing, TLOU is dark please read at your own risk!

Word Count: 2k

A/N:  After many months of not writing, I present to you the epilogue of S1 for TLOU. Thank you for sticking by me with my silly little stories, I can never express how grateful I am to have you all. I’m horrified and excited at the thought of S2, maybe the reader could change the important ending… who knows. Stay safe everyone &lt;3

Song: Intermission by Sleeping At Last

Previous Chapter -> Season 2 | Series Masterlist

TLOU WORLD 2023

SILVER LAKE, COLORADO TO SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH – A FEW WEEKS LATER…

The cool breeze of the evening brushes against your face as you sit on the porch of the farmhouse, strumming the strings of the guitar Joel now treasures. The people of Jackson have embraced you warmly, welcoming you back into their community. The topic of the Fireflies remains unspoken, a shared understanding between you and Joel. It lingers in the background, a memory that only surfaces when necessary.

Life in Jackson has brought a sense of normalcy, a semblance of the life you had before the chaos consumed the world. But this time, it's different. This time, you feel like you belong, like you are loved. The little family you've formed with Joel and Ellie has found solace within the walls of this farmhouse. As the seasons pass by, a routine settles in, and the farmhouse pulses with life, as if it has its own heartbeat.

The bugs begin to retreat once again, signaling the transition from summer to autumn. You find yourself on the porch, the guitar resting gently on your lap. It was a gift for Joel, a token of appreciation and love, but it also earned you a playful scolding. Joel made it clear that you should never leave Jackson without informing him first. It was a testament to his protectiveness, a reminder of the bond that has grown between you.

At this moment, the world seems so simple. The rush of blood through your veins transports you back to your youth, when fear and uncertainty were distant notions. Seventeen again, you find yourself unafraid of death, daring to dream once more. The curve of the valley before you holds a profound meaning. Happiness emanates from within as you gaze at the serene surroundings.

As the words echo in your mind, they bring a smile to your face. Joel's voice resounds in your memory, "I'll never let you go." Those five words hold a depth of emotion, a promise that transcends the hardships you've endured. In this tranquil moment, you realize that you have found a home, a place where love and safety intertwine. You are content, knowing that Joel is by your side, ready to face whatever challenges may come.

The future may hold uncertainties, but for now, you bask in the stillness, cherishing the connection that binds you and Joel together. The world may be broken, but within the embrace of this farmhouse, you have found solace, love, and a renewed sense of purpose. And as you continue to strum the guitar, the notes reverberate through the air, carrying the harmony of your newfound happiness into the world.

Lost in the nostalgic melody, you find yourself humming a tune that holds a special place in your heart. The tranquility of the moment is interrupted by the gentle reminder that you're wearing one of Joel's shirts, two sizes too big. It's a simple gesture, a symbol of the closeness you share, but it also serves as a reminder that nothing is certain in this world. Doubts linger, even as you begin to feel at home.

The passing year has been arduous, and its weight lingers in your mind. The slow progress makes you question if you're truly moving forward. Trust is a scarce commodity, earned by only a select few. The scars etched upon your bodies, remnants of battles fought in your youth, serve as a constant reminder of the dangers that persist. And yet, the revelation of a collapsing sun and rising seas, of crumbling buildings, brought about a new understanding of the fragility of existence.

As you continue strumming and humming, Joel stands by the door, captivated by the beauty that radiates from you. The sun begins its descent on the southern horizon, casting a warm glow on the scene. Unable to resist any longer, Joel quietly approaches, his footsteps barely audible. He wraps his arms around your waist, his presence causing you to giggle. His lips press against the side of your neck, the scruff of his chin tickling your skin.

"Joel!" you playfully chide, a mixture of surprise and delight in your voice. He responds with a hum, his voice filled with affection, "My sweet Birdie..."

You quickly place the guitar on the side, and in that tender moment, you realize that despite the uncertainties and doubts that surround you, you have found a sanctuary in each other. Joel's embrace offers a sense of security, a refuge from the storms that rage outside. You feel a rush of gratitude for the love you've found amidst the chaos, and a renewed determination to protect what you hold dear.

Basking in the warmth of Joel's affection, you turn your head to meet his gaze, curiosity tugging at your thoughts. "How was the patrol today?" you inquire, wanting to know about the world beyond the safety of Jackson's walls. 

Joel plants gentle kisses on the side of your head, your cheek, and finally on your lips, his love conveyed through each tender touch. His gaze locks with yours, his southern accent subtly peeking through as he responds, "Today was good, darlin'. Nothin' for your pretty head to worry about."

A sense of relief washes over you, knowing that for at least one day, the dangers that loom outside haven't posed a threat. But your thoughts naturally drift to Ellie, the young woman who has become an integral part of your lives. You can't help but bring her up, knowing that Joel's bond with her is unbreakable.

"What about Ellie? How's she doing?" you ask, genuine concern lacing your words. Ellie's resilience and determination have become a source of inspiration, even amidst the darkest of times.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of Joel's lips as he replies, his voice filled with fondness, "Ellie's holdin' up. Been keepin' busy, learnin' new skills, and takin' care of herself. She's got that fire in her, just like you."

The mention of Ellie's fiery spirit brings a wave of admiration. You can't help but feel proud of her growth, of the strength she embodies. In this broken world, the relationships you've forged hold immense importance, anchoring you to hope and reminding you of the enduring power of love.

Nestling closer to Joel, you rest your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart a soothing lullaby. "I'm glad she's finding her way," you murmur softly, your voice filled with genuine affection. "We're lucky to have her in our lives."

Joel's arms tighten around you, his voice brimming with tenderness as he responds, "Ain't that the truth, darlin'. We're blessed to have each other, and no matter what comes our way, we'll face it together."

Feeling a surge of love for Joel, you lift your head from his chest to meet his gaze. The twinkle in his eyes tells a story of unwavering devotion, and a mischievous grin plays upon his lips. You can't help but become enveloped in his warmth, finding solace in his presence.

"I don't tell you enough, Joel," you begin, your voice filled with sincerity, "but you mean the world to me. I love you.”

Joel's expression softens, his gaze locked with yours. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his touch gentle yet purposeful. "You know, darlin'," he replies, his voice slightly husky, "you mean the world to me too. There ain't a day that goes by where I don't thank my lucky stars for bringin' you into my life."

The vulnerability in Joel's words tugs at your heartstrings, and you lean in, pressing a tender kiss against his lips. It's a gentle affirmation of the love that binds you together, a silent promise of forever.

As you pull back, a playful glimmer dances in Joel's eyes. "You know," he says, a mischievous grin spreading across his face, "I reckon I'm the luckiest man alive. Not only do I have the most beautiful person by my side, but I've also got a hell of a good kisser."

His words elicit a giggle from you, the sound filling the air with pure joy. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you whisper, "Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Miller."

The two of you settle into a comfortable silence, relishing the closeness and the unspoken language of love that flows between you. With each passing moment, the world outside fades into insignificance, leaving only the warmth and tenderness of this intimate connection.

A gentle breeze rustles the leaves overhead, the delicate dance of foliage creating a symphony of nature. Your fingers entwined with Joel's, each touch a testament to the warmth and tenderness that envelops you in this serene moment.

In the ambient glow of the evening, the air pulses with an almost tangible affection. The space between you and Joel becomes a canvas painted with an unspoken promise that transcends the limitations of words. In the delicate interplay of shared vulnerabilities and profound love, you find a sanctuary where the concept of time fades, replaced by the eternal embrace of this connection.

In this fleeting instance, bathed in the gentle twilight, you take solace in the richness of your conversation. Despite the shadows that loom from past events and the uncertainties that await, the presence of Joel beside you becomes a steadfast beacon, guiding you through the dimly lit corridors of life.

The embrace continues, a dance of shared whispers and laughter, a rhythmic exchange that weaves together the tapestry of your lives. Amidst the harshness of the world, the cocoon of your love becomes a refuge, a source of strength, and a testament to the formidable power of unity.

Yet, beneath the surface of this idyllic scene, a quiet ache persists, a shadow that lingers in the corners of your consciousness. There are nights when Joel lies peacefully asleep beside you, unaware of the storm that rages within your mind. In those quiet hours, memories materialize, hazy and elusive, casting a spectral glow on the canvas of your thoughts.

You can see him on the porch, the soft strains of a guitar accompanying the melancholic melody of your recollections. The air is charged with the bittersweet echoes of a past that refuses to be forgotten. There are nights when tears silently trace the contours of your face, the weight of remembered endings pressing upon your heart.

Joel, the silent guardian at your side, remains oblivious to the tempest within. His presence is a comfort, but the specter of a different ending, an alternate narrative, leaves you restless in the quiet hours of the night. The story, once written in ink, now seems to bleed into the realm of what-ifs and what-could-have-beens.

And so, in the embrace of the night, you grapple with the dichotomy of love and loss, finding solace in the tangible warmth of Joel's presence, even as the ghosts of untold stories linger in the shadows.

TAGLIST:

@memento-mora @elijahssuit @tartiflvtte @lillylilly2 @kyuupidwrites @amethystwonder11 @syd-vixious @kidkrow666 @soulofapatrick @ponyboys-sunsets @superflymaterial @chaotic-imposter @vainbimbo @eva-stark @loki-an-idiot @littleshadow17 @undermoonlightwalk @afternoon-evening @notmysunnydale  @slurmp69 @gyllord @aerangi @mac5323 @friskynotebook @earth-to-lottie @chaotic-imposter @kodzuvk @hawkins-2000 @reallysparklychaos @trust-dreamcatcher @darkened-writer @memeorydotcom @welcomebackfelicia @rainbowpitofdoom @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @marvelsimpcz @dorck26 @evienorville @munsons-queen @little-miss-bi @mxltifxnd0m @ohjoelmiller @coalix @taestrwbrry @avengersheart @gyllord @valentine-babe@missdragon-1 @ponyboys-sunsets @ipadkidsworld @otternanamilolo @issybee0611 @technicallysassyfox @cupcakemachete @manuchyy @darkened-writer @andyrazzledazzle @glossythor @virtueassassin @witchy-jadda @imonmykneessir @norr1e @mando-bix @thicficbich1 @adoringanakin @lalla-04p @reallysparklychaos @hollywoodmariposa @mando-bix @lunatic1012 @davosmymaster

[cookies-over-yonder]

the ballad of an (un)diagnosed private investigator

In junior year, Riz is finally forced to face one of his worst enemies yet—an undiagnosed anxiety disorder threatening to compromise his grades, his relationships, and, most of all, his sanity.

chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | ?

Chapter 3 Summary:

Pok gets paid a visit.

ao3

Pok wasn't expecting a visit this late, but it's certainly a pleasant surprise.

He sits at his chair in front of his grave, and sees Sklonda sit down across from him.

"I need you, Pok," she starts, running a hand through her hair.

It's a line Pok's heard many times since death.

Actually, many times before death too.

"I can't raise him on my own. I fucked up. I keep fucking up."

He watches the tears slide down her face.

He remembers the days when he could wipe them away with a swift motion of the thumb.

"He has so much anxiety, Pok. It's bad. It's really bad. And—and I yelled at him. I yelled at him for brushing it off, because—because he scared me. I—I held him in my arms for an hour while he was hyperventilating, and when he woke up afterward I yelled. What kind of mother am I?" she sobs, "What kind of mother does that?"

Pok doesn't bother to speak, because he knows she wouldn't hear it.

Instead, he gets off his chair and walks over, kneeling down next to her and putting his hand over hers on the grass.

It goes right through, with a translucent glow.

Pok looks around, turning to gaze at the sky, glittering with stars, and when she looks up too, he almost feels like he's young and alive again, stargazing with his wife and a baby on the way.

Something in him makes him turn around, and he sees, off in the distance, Riz, tall and seventeen, not a baby in the womb, standing still and staring at his mom, before promptly running away.

He sighs loudly at the sight, and Sklonda shivers.

Maybe she felt it.

Or maybe it was a trick of the wind.

Either way, he sits with her, stewing in the wonder, and concern, and awe, and fear, and love that is their son.

And when he tries to hug her, he wonders if she can feel his tears too.

[hel-phoenyx]

New Year's Eve, Interlude

A little text with no incidence on the story because I am bored in the plane, still a part of @corneille-but-not-the-author's @soupedepates's and my collab

They've been blowing up my phone for hours now.

It started with Oli. They sent at least a hundred text messages. Started calling at some point. Oli is not a caller. I must have done something to deserve that.

Then it was Kaizarz. Seventeen missed calls in half an hour. The count probably exceeds the two hundreds now. Usually I would be afraid after the first twenty calls, because that means I would get an earful. It got to thirty when I collapsed.

It was nice knowing you, I told Oli Domi and Meili when that happened. I barely survived the scolding. And the hug afterwards.

I don't think I will survive his hatred.

Then it was Meili. He called once, Twice. Sent a text. Then ten. His ringtone is burgundian lullaby since I joked about our long-awaited aryanification. I can recognize it.

Meili is not the kind to be that insistant.

After that it was Brynja. And Aarni. Then Hector and Thorfinn. I picked up none of them.

Nothing from Domhildr.

Of course. Why would she call you? You hurt her. She told you she loved you and what did you offer her? Silence.

Did she say that to make me feel better?

She could never love someone like me.

I do not deserve someone like her.

I do not deserve her feelings.

I do not eat. Do not shower. Do not do anything. Kriss is the one blowing up my phone, now. I don't answer.

Just leave me alone. Stop clinging to me. What am I to you?

The second choice?

I hear a knock on my door. It's morning, judging by the sun's angle on my window. It looks like I fell asleep on my couch. Still in yesterday's clothing.

I would like not to answer, but the door opens without me wanting to. Behind it is the worried expression of my brother-in-law.

Relief seeps through his worry wrinkles when he sees me prostrated on the sofa.

"Thank gods! I thought you did something irreparable."

"......... Gustav?"

He nods, sits next to me. Brushes a lock of sweaty hair off my face.

"You scared Kriss to death, you know. To the point she told me where was the emergency key to your flat."

"what....... why?"

"Well, you're her brother. And even if she calls you a piece of work, she cares, so, so much about you, kiddo."

I can taste something on my mouth.

Blood?

"Don't..... Call me kiddo. Please."

"Too bad, you need to be a child right now. So I will treat you like one and ask you to tell me what happened to warrant such a crisis."

He's still smiling.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

"I've just.... Hurt people. Again."

"As one does. I'm not asking you to wallow in self-hate, said Gustav softly. I just want to know the context."

"........ Context is, I don't know how to communicate."

Gustav has a little laugh.

"That's not new."

"...... It's worse."

"I can see that. But you won't solve anything with despairing away in your flat."

His finger pinches my cheek.

"Hey, tell you what. Come spend a little time home with the kid and I. When Kriss returns you can tell her about all this, but in the meantime I'll brew you tea and get chocolate out and maybe we can bake you a cake, how about that?"

...

In fact

I would like that very much.

Seeing the family I don't loathe.

Forget all this for a moment.

But

".... Gustav?"

"Yeah?"

"Why all this? Are you doing this because Kriss asked you to?"

He smiles.

"Of course not. I have known you before her, Tyr. I care. And I will always, always, care."

I am sat on my sister's couch, mug in hand, while my nephew all-excited is baking me my favorite chocolate cake. I hope he's not messing the kitchen up, while his father is not here to look at him. But Gustav seems confident in his abilities.

He's now sitting next to me, his hand stroking mine. The good one.

"Goodness, he ends up saying. That is a fucked-up situation."

"I'm sorry."

"No, I am. I told Fenrir I saw you. Didn't expect him to do that."

"....... Me neither."

Gustav sighs.

"He got too far. And Domhildr... As much as I feel bad for her, she didn't exactly choose the right way. To tell you that, I mean."

"Was there even a right way?"

"I mean, there is certainly a better one than asking you to kiss her after Fenrir got to your head, and getting away when she heard your silence. Like, sure, you handled that poorly, and you will have to make things right. But this was.... Heated to say the least."

My eyes are fixated on the swirls in the tea. Black, no sugar, with cinnamon. Gustav's emergency bad day tea. Sometimes I can see a smiley face calling from me in the movements of the liquid.

I can't believe that face is truthful.

"I think.... She said that to snap me out of it. Why wouldn't she? Poly or not, there's people... Far more lovable than me."

There's Oli. There's Kaizarz. Fuck's sake, there's Sigismund. That I hope will manage where I failed. Making her happy.

Gustav smiles a little sadly.

"Dear me, Fenrir really got through your head."

"It's not Fenrir. Not only. It's also... I can recognise when people have had sex together, Gustav. I've tried to hard to see those hints on you and Kriss, you know. And yesterday... Oli and Domhildr..."

I sigh.

"I sound petty and jealous and I probably am but it cristallized the fact I am, once again, the second choice."

There's a silence. Gustav just looks at me for a long, long while. I can hear the kid having fun in the kitchen, probably mixing the cake batter judging by the noise. Before, finally, Gustav squeezes my hand.

"Tyrfing, you are not the second choice of anyone. You are my brother-in-law, Kriss's baby brother, Brynja's favorite person in all the world. You are Kaizarz's, Meili's and Oli's best friend. And it would look like you are, also, one of the people Domhildr loves."

His smile is shining like the sun.

"So please, don't put yourself down like this. You are, as everyone you love is, your own person."

It may be what kickstarts the crying.

[ryttu3k]

BECAUSE I AM DUMB (and it is almost 2am) I sent you an astarion ask for the ship ask, but my brain meant wyllstarion! (apparently my brain decided that astarion is intrinsically connected to wyllstarion)

Haha, all good! <3

[ship meme]

Ship It

1. What made you ship it?

lmao it was a post about that clip saying that Astarion used to dream of marrying a man like Wyll. Just the thought of Astarion feeling like he's too old and jaded and cynical for this very pure romance, but Wyll still being young and idealistic and intensely romantic and, you know what, he's going to woo the heck out of this mysterious and charming elf he's crushing on.

2. What are your favorite things about the ship?

Okay so. I have a List.

They bring out the best in each other. Wyll encourages Astarion, by his actions, to help people, to do good, to be heroic. Wyll so wholeheartedly believes in being a hero that it just... starts rubbing off on Astarion too. Conversely, Wyll can be selfless to a fault, and Astarion can sort of reel him back a bit, get him to think about himself and his own needs. I absolutely believe that left on his own, Wyll would agree to Mizora's deal and sacrifice his own freedom for his father, and Astarion is probably the one best positioned to get Wyll to think about his own future and reject the pact.

The contrasts and parallels in their story. The obvious contrast, monster vs monster hunter, starting out (more or less) chaotic evil vs lawful good, but eventually meeting somewhere in the middle (see: above point about bringing out the best in each other). And then the parallels - both of them are heavily under the influence of someone else, seemingly abandoned by the gods and any other important support structures (Astarion being cut off by Cazador from any kind of support, Wyll being disowned by Ulder who I still haven't forgiven, he was seventeen years old!!), and their main narrative arc is about breaking free from their respective tormentors, and working out who they can be as their own free people. Why not do that together?

The romance is so healing for Astarion. More one-sided here, in that it's more of a benefit for Astarion than it is for Wyll, but a slow courtship is exactly what Astarion needs, with this foundation of trust building, knowing that Wyll cares about him for more than just what he can do in bed.

The mutual attraction. They're so down bad for each other. Using your own post here, Astarion critically fails a charisma roll and Wyll is just. Lucky for you I'm into that shit.

The hands the hands. The hands!

3. Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

Honestly, I think they genuinely do work best as a poly ship (or like, a QPP thing) with Karlach. I love all three relationships individually, but I also love them together (there's a lovely post on their dynamic as a trio here, looking at them platonically, but it still holds out for a romance). Wyll and Karlach's storylines are intrinsically bound together, and indeed the only way for Karlach to have a happy ending at this point is with Wyll and/or a love interest accompanying her back to Avernus. I... can't really see Wyll being able to brush off not helping Karlach, leading to her death; I think if she does die, he'd be deeply depressed and feel a lot of guilt for it.

Astarion, too, really values Karlach. He's the most gentle about her if Tav is torn between them, there's just this very sweet dynamic between them. And Karlach clearly adores both of them too! She and Wyll become best friends, she's basically ready to go to war against Cazador to protect Astarion, there's just... so much love and care between the three of them that I can't see any one of them wanting to leave one of the others behind. My 'canon' ending for them would be all three going to Avernus (which Wyll openly offers to do and which Astarion is 100% willing to do as well), finding a solution for Karlach's engine and Astarion's sun issues, and then returning to Baldur's Gate to start working out a future - together.

So in conclusion:

Astarion/Wyll: Good shit.

Wyll/Karlach: Good shit.

Karlach/Astarion: Good shit (but please fix the Origin spawn Astarion ending, Larian!!)

Karlach/Wyll/Astarion: 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

[thompsborn]

gonna make little chapter recaps while i reread what's posted of homeward bound so far. and then i am going to bust out chapter seventeen. might not finish it this weekend, but i hope to get a majority of it written. let's get into it.

starting with chapter one - i'm so tired of being afraid

word count: 7,535 (7,515 without the chapter lyrics at the start)

chapter song: six by sleeping at last

chapter lyrics:

what would it feel like to put this baggage down? if i'm being honest i'm not sure i'd know how

recap + lines i felt were important enough to jot down:

peter moves into his new apartment (december 2024)

peter decides that needs to be alone

"when he's alone, there's no one to let down but himself."

peter looks up norman, otto, max, flint, and curt as a precaution now that he knows they turned into villains in the other worlds

norman and otto: started oscorp together during the five year gap between snaps, but have not gotten very far due to the world mourning the half of the population that's gone and also because stark industries is already a powerhouse in all the industries that oscorp is trying to step a foot into. peter deems them not a threat for now but will occasionally check on them just to be safe.

max and flint: peter is unable to find records of anyone with their names when looking them up. that's doesn't guarantee they don't exist in this world, they could have different names or something like that, but peter finds no trace of them and feels like it's safe to assume they don't exist here. he'll still check again occasionally to see if anything pops up down the line.

curt: a professor at empire state university with no signs of any of the things that happened in the other world happening to him here. again, peter will check occasionally to make sure, but overall he thinks that his world is most likely safe from these five people becoming villains like they did in the other peter's worlds.

peter looks into empire state university after looking up curt and thinks about how he'd like to go to college. it's always been part of his life plan. his life is completely different than what it was ever supposed to be and he'd need to get his GED, but he thinks about how he'd like to still go if he can make it work.

peter decides he needs to remake his suit, partially because he other suits can't be used anymore now that karen doesn't recognize him - edith doesn't recognize him anymore, either, which makes peter sad because he feels like he's lost a connection that he had with tony after tony's death - but he also wants to remake his suits because he knows the other peter's made their own from suits from scratch as well, so he thinks it's pretty fitting and thinks that it's kind of like he's building himself up from scratch and starting over for good - "...as both Peter Parker and as Spider-Man"

"and karen not knowing him feels a lot like losing another friend."

he includes peter 2 and peter 3 in his suit design to honor them and remind himself that, even if he is alone in his world, he isn't alone in the universe.

raimi spidey emblem on his chest:

and tasm spidey emblem on his back:

"when peter gets lost, or angry, or overwhelmed... he has reminders of them, interwoven into his suit, for him to brush his fingers against and think to himself, be strong, peter. do it for your brothers."

peter had an uncle ben in his world, but his uncle ben died less than two years after his parents did when he was six and a half years old. peter thinks about how his uncle ben impacted his life in a much different life than the other peter's. his uncle ben's last words shaped his morals and his outlook in life, to the point that, when tony first showed up to recruit peter for germany, he had used his own wording based on what ben said to explain why being spidey is so important to him.

"he remembers ben shrugging, remembers him smiling, remembers him saying, "if i didn't help, it'd be my fault, too." the way he said it had been so simple, so sure - a philosophy he fully and passionately believed in."

actually just this whole section feels very important to me so i'm going to copy and paste it right here:

In a way, Uncle Ben played a significant part in Peter becoming Spider-Man, but not in the same way that the Other Peter’s seemed to be influenced by their Uncle Ben’s. Peter remembers that he didn’t think much of the last words he heard his Ben say for a while, but that they seemed to click in his head around the time he was nine or ten, and suddenly they were words he wanted to live by. Doing good, and getting in the way to stop bad things, no matter how big or how small, because then it’d be his fault, too, if he didn’t.

It’s what he told Mr. Stark, back when he was still fourteen almost fifteen and the man had appeared in his apartment. When you can do the things I can, he had said—not exactly what Ben had said, no, kind of added onto by Peter, altered with the weight of Spider-Man stacked on top of the same philosophy he already lived by—but you don’t, and then the bad things happen… they happen because of you.

It’s not what the Other Peter’s talked about, though—because Ben didn’t tell Peter that great power comes with great responsibility. Aunt May told him that. But, for the Other Peter’s, it had been an Uncle that lived longer than his own did.

Then again, the Other Peter’s didn’t have the Avenger’s, and they never had Mr. Stark. Maybe it’s just different because each world isn’t supposed to be the same, and that’s all there is to it.

also may's line from right before ben died, which peter later tells harley about when telling harley the truth about his life:

“You stupid Parker men,” May had scoffed. “Way too selfless for your own good.”

peter thinks that it feels important that uncle ben had such a huge role in shaping who he is, and how the ben's of the other worlds had such a huge part in the other peter's lives as well, even if it was in vastly different ways. he then thinks about how, out of the very few things that peter was able to get out of his and may's old apartment before it was cleared out, one of them happened to be a box of uncle ben's old stuff - including, at the very top of the box, ben's old camera.

peter learns how to use ben's camera to take pictures properly in order to then take pictures of himself as spidey to sell to the daily bugle. he thinks it's amusing and ironic that the pictures he takes are used for articles that slander spidey, knowing that jjj would probably lose his shit if he knew he bought the pictures from spider-man himself.

"everything seems to be trial and error these days - life was never a certainty before, but now it's pretty clearly up in the air and he's left scrambling to try and figure it out, approaching every corner completely blind to what he'll find when he turns it - but that's alright, because he's got the brain of a scientist and trial and error could just be another term for experiment, so it works out well."

that ^ quote is a nice tie in to the tony flashback that happens in chapter 16, where tony calls peter an observer and says that peter is always gathering information and how peter looks more than most people do because peter likes to be prepared and likes to understand.

peter spends new years eve alone (new years, 2024) and watches the fireworks while thinking about the other peter's not being alone before going back to patrol.

peter gets his first Big Injury since ending up completely on his own. he has no one to call and he has no super pain killers like the ones tony had made for him before tony died. the injury starts at his left hip, goes over his ribs, stops at the center of his chest. it was done with a knife. peter has to stitch himself up. it's the first time he's ever done stitches on himself.

he passes out after finishing the stitches and wakes up almost a full day later. thinks about his healing and how his enhancements are definitely being negatively impacted by his lackluster eating habits - he's broke as fuck and also doesn't have much of an appetite due to being traumatized and depressed.

"part of him wonders how drastic a change it really is - wonders if, maybe, the scars will stop fading away. for some reason, that's the thought that makes him feel sick to his stomach."

fun fact: this injury is the one that peter tells harley about in chapter 15 when harley is asking about some of peter's scars.

and that's the end of chapter one! these little recaps are entirely for my own benefit - the only reason i'm posting them is because giving myself the expectation and responsibility of posting them will make me actually commit to recapping every chapter, which will make working on chapter seventeen a lot fucking easier and will make it so i'm able to finish chapter seventeen a lot fucking faster.

i will be reblogging with the chapter two recap shortly

[laurasimonsdaughter]

Florence watches Chris brush her hair in front of the floor-length mirror. There is something utterly, timelessly charming about a woman thoughtfully brushing her hair. It’s one of the treasured moments that make her feel less tied to her age, less tangled up in history. This – smooth, careful strokes combing through long, raven tresses – is a moment that might as well have occurred a century ago. Even though the brush wouldn’t have been plastic then, and undercuts were not yet in fashion.

Even from across the room she can hear Chris’ heart beating, strong and warm and alive. It’s such a common sound. So normal, so human. Everything she is not.

“You better not be making yourself guilty again.” Chris directs two reproachful eyes Florence’s way, her head still slanted and her fingers still combing through her hair. “I can’t be having that.”

Florence shakes her head, but Chris’ dark eyes narrow and she sweeps across the room to sit down on her lap, all sun-kissed skin and perfumed hair. She winds her arms around Florence’s neck.

“You know Goethe, right?” she asks.

“Mm,” Florence hums, more than a little distracted. “Nice guy, a touch dramatic.”

Chris pokes her in the ribs, making her squirm. “Shut up you didn’t know, Goethe. You weren’t alive in 1832, much less undead.”

“I know of Goethe, yes,” she relents, smiling.

“Well, he knew what was up, all the way back in seventeen-whatever.”

There’s poetry coming. Florence can see it in Chris’ eyes, in the way she draws breath, in the slightest change in her voice as she recites:

And she comes, and lays her near the boy: "How I grieve to see thee sorrowing so! If thou think'st to clasp my form with joy, Thou must learn this secret sad to know; Yes! the maid, whom thou Call'st thy loved one now, Is as cold as ice, though white as snow."

Then he clasps her madly in his arm, Then he clasps her madly in his arm, While love's youthful might pervades his frame: "Thou might'st hope, when with me, to grow warm, E'en if from the grave thy spirit came!

Florence listens, silently, her arms wrapped loosely around Chris’ waist.

“See?” Chris says. “Death means nothing love.”

“I didn’t know you when I was alive,” she says, softly, and painfully fond.

Chris face is close enough to hers for her eyes to be as deep as the night’s sky. “But you love me now.”

“Yes-”

Their kiss only lasts as long as Chris can keep down the rest of her poetry. She rests her head against Florence’s shoulder when their lips part and murmurs:

But from out my coffin's prison-bounds By a wond'rous fate I'm forced to rove, While the blessings and the chaunting sounds That your priests delight in, useless prove. Water, salt, are vain Fervent youth to chain, Ah, e'en Earth can never cool down love!

From my grave to wander I am forc'd, Still to seek The Good's long-sever'd link, Still to love the bridegroom I have lost, And the life-blood of his heart to drink;

She had never cared much for poetry. Not until she heard Chris recite it. “How does it end?” Florence asks quietly. “Your poem.”

Chris lifts her head and gives an indifferent shrug with her shoulders. “They both die, of course, it is ancient. And Goethe loved a tragedy.” She smiles. “But that won’t happen to us. I’ll join you. Some day.”

Florence sighs. Some day. She wraps her arms tighter around Chris, feeling her every breath and heartbeat. “That’s all well and good for you,” she complains. “But I have to face your mother afterwards.”

Chris laughs and it sounds like the memory of sunlight. “It’s her own fault. Tell her that if Ma scolds you.”

She rests her forehead against Florence’s, still smiling like the sun, and Florence can't help but smile back, fangs and all.

“If she didn’t want me to fall in love with you...she shouldn’t have named me Christabel.”

[dk-thrive]

The world was suddenly still; nothing was being required of me; I could stand in the quiet of my own skin.

— Maggie O'Farrell, from "Spine, Legs, Pelvis, Abdomen, Head (1977) in I Am, I Am, I Am: Seventeen Brushes with Death (Vintage, February 6, 2018)

[unhingedwomandiaries]

Made pizza tonight because apparently I'm a glutton for fucking punishment. You'd think after the Great Lasagna Disaster of Last Month I'd have learned to stay away from Italian food, but no. Here I am, being a proper dickhead again.

So I'm making this garlic bread, right? Proper fancy shit with enough cheese to clog an elephant's arteries. And there it is – one sad little piece of mozzarella just sitting on the stovetop like some dairy-based trap. Now, any normal person would've binned it or at least thought twice about eating random cheese off kitchen surfaces. But me? Nah. My brain's like "eat the mysterious floor cheese, you absolute weapon." So I did.

Holy fucking Christ on a unicycle. The second that cheese touched my tongue, it was like I'd French-kissed a bottle of Domestos. Tasted like what I imagine licking Satan's bathroom floor would taste like. And my brain – my stupid, anxious, overthinking bastard of a brain – immediately goes "Well, this is it. This is how we die. Not in some cool way like fighting a shark or saving orphans from a burning building. Nope. Death by dodgy mozzarella. Brilliant."

Then my tongue starts doing this thing where it's swelling up with these red spots like I've got some sort of STD of the mouth. Proper horror show stuff. Full-on panic mode engaged – we're talking Defcon 1, red alert, someone call the fucking cheese police. My mouth goes numb and I'm sat there thinking about all the cleaning products that could've been on that stovetop. Like, was this how Breaking Bad started? Am I going to turn into Walter White but instead of meth it's deadly cheese?

I've spent bloody ages getting my anxiety under control, haven't I? Proper proud of myself and everything. But here I am, trying to eat my pizza while convinced my taste buds have gone on permanent strike. Like they've formed a union and are now picketing outside my mouth with little signs saying "Better Working Conditions" and "No More Mystery Cheese."

Had to neck an antihistamine in the end, like some sort of dairy junkie getting their fix. Retreated to the bathroom to brush my teeth about seventeen times because apparently that's what we do now when we've potentially poisoned ourselves with rogue cheese.

And now I'm lying here in bed, trying not to think about how I nearly topped myself with a bit of mozzarella. Maybe I should write a memoir: "Fifty Shades of Whey" or "The Girl with the Lactose Tattoo." Bet it'd be a bestseller in the "Complete Twats Who Nearly Die in Stupid Ways" category.

Next time I'm ordering takeaway. At least when they poison me, I can sue someone.