#i have a feeling someone already made this gif

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ bad liar ]❜

━━━ .°˖✧ requested by @gothic-rat112 (lost the ask...) ˚₊ ⊹

ft. seong gi-hun x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ how he is when jealous & insecure┊1.2k words 

setting: season 1 contains: age gap relationship (unspecified but legal obviously), insecurity & jealousy, he’s a little immature & broke as hell but it’s okay i love pathetic men, reader is a sweetheart, this is all over the place omfg

➤ author's note: okay i kinda went on a tangent, first season because i miss his stupid smile and his fluffy hair (also look at how cute he is in this gif omfg i love him sm, i need to write for him more, underrated in his own show, THE PUPPY EYES)

╰₊✧ honestly, gi-hun isn’t so much as jealous as he is insecure. sure, he has an outgoing personality and always makes you laugh without fail, but he can’t think of any other positive traits aside from that. he doesn’t think of himself as particularly attractive with his scruffy appearance, and he’s painfully aware that he’s lacking when it comes to finances and has a gambling problem to boot. on top of all that, he was a divorced middle-aged man who didn’t even have joint custody of his only daughter and still lived with his mom rent-free, a terrible husband, father, and son— he’s truthfully the type of man people avoid when dating.

╰₊✧ yet he still managed to pull a pretty young thing like you who looks past all that, not sure if you were stupid or desperate. during the first few weeks of being together, he made jokes about still being able to date younger women in his old age because he was still in disbelief it was happening, but when you stuck by his side through all his flaws and the first year passed with you supporting him to get better, insecurity hit him like a ton of bricks when he realized that he was genuinely in love with you and that he didn’t have what it took to be the boyfriend you deserved when he wasn’t even someone his biological family deserved. 

╰₊✧ he sees other people buying their girls jewelry and clothing from name-brand stores, taking them out to eat in luxury restaurants with multiple courses, driving them around in european cars, and he’s out here saving money to do something as little as cake for your anniversary. he’s always on cloud nine when he spends time with you, but there’s something so humbling about looking up “broke date ideas” and scraping together what he already has to make it more special. no matter how much things like that don’t matter to you with the mindset of the intention counting more than the price, he still feels shitty about having you pay for most of the things you do together when he’s the man and the older one in the relationship along with the fact that you were barely better off than he was. 

walks around to admire the sights: especially during holiday seasons when there are pretty lights, you like holding his hand and admiring the sights of the city you often take for granted. if the streets are empty then he doesn’t mind it, but he does get self-conscious about the looks you both get so it’s not super common.

candlelit dinners of takeout and beer: a regular one, gi-hun likes to gather a bunch of candles to make the place look a little more romantic, maybe even having some roses to make it look nicer. the man doesn’t cook much though, so you’ll just have replated takeout with bottles of beer, but he always makes it lively with conversation and puts effort into fixing his hair to look more handsome.

and anything else he can think of, he can be really creative when it comes to you and you’re pleasantly surprised each time.

╰₊✧ these things bother him a lot more than he will let on, but he tries to stay all smiles around you which you see right through like glass. he’s a bad liar, a trait he would always get in trouble for when he was a child since he couldn’t lie about his antics.

╰₊✧ he feels awful when he finds that you also entered these games to pay off your respective debts, because no matter how much you try to convince him you aren’t, he knows that you intended to use any extra money to help him out as well with his debt being higher than yours. it should be the other way around, he should be the one helping you, and when the first shots are fired during “red light, green light,” he makes you swear that you won’t come back.

╰₊✧ of course, you do come back, because while he is your boyfriend, you’re also a grown-ass woman who can do what she pleases (also because you’re desperate and prefer not to find out what those loan sharks would do to you if it took too long to pay them back, and you might as well go to support gi-hun because you know his ass went back).

╰₊✧ he feels a little bit better about himself seeing all of the other people in a similar position as him, drowning in debt and petrified of death. he tries to be protective over you, but let’s be honest, you’re the protective one who mothers him, and since the constant threat of death is always looming, he lets you do it even if it looks stupid. people are either judgemental or jealous, but there are bigger things to worry about.

“people are staring…” he muttered, his eyes darting around to meet theirs and watching as they looked away the second eye contact was made. “you don’t need to do this, you know, it’s a little embarrassing.”

“i don’t care, let them stare,” you stated simply, rubbing into the back of his shoulders with practiced circular motions. “they are just jealous that they don’t have a cute girlfriend to take care of them like you do, and i want to! your muscles are so tense— i don’t want you participating in the next games when you aren’t in the best shape. we could die any day here, i want to give you all the love i can!”

╰₊✧ jealous of sang-woo with his intelligence and emotional security. even if both of them are wearing the same teal tracksuit, his childhood friend was in here because of failed investments which sounded a lot better than just losing constant bets in gambling dens. (to be fair, if you were gi-hun’s controversially young girlfriend, i don’t think either of you would get along well as he probably looks down on you and you probably find him stuck up, so he doesn’t have to worry about you being stolen away by him). not really jealous of that block-head deok-su hitting on you, after the little altercation they had on the first day, more annoyed than anything but the feeling quickly vanishes when he sees you reject him with a roll of your eyes. 

╰₊✧ actually jealous of anyone your age paying attention to you, especially ali who has a really sweet personality and gets along with you really well, maybe even sae-byeok who has a pretty face and is decently nice once you get to know her. 

“you need to stop pouting.”

“‘m not pouting…”

“you’re a bad liar, you know that? but it’s so cute,” you exclaimed, reaching out to pinch his cheeks childishly. “you don’t need to be jealous of ali, he’s already married and has a kid.”

“i know, i know…”

“i don’t think you do.”

╰₊✧ it’s so obvious when he’s jealous, it’s actually painful. he stares holes into the head of the person talking to you and is pouty until you address it. he’ll also blush when you call him out and tease him about it, it’s so cute. please give him assurance, pinch his cheeks, ruffle his fluffy hair, and give him lots of kisses, he deserves it.

(author is slightly delirious with a fever, i took medicine dw, i just really wanna kiss gihun)

[kissbyoon]

( 🌲 ) ݁₊ “I ALWAYS COME BACK.”

╰┈ Jeonghan knows how to make you relieved and smile.

₍ 𝑓𝘵. ₎ 𓈒 정한 ˶ fluff, angst, comf * kissing, petnames (love, baby) ⎯⎯ 1.2k ꒱ ✦ husband!jh x wife&f!rea

♪ A/N : this was completely based on this reel I suddenly came across in my highlights and I knew I had to do this !! big thanks to @wonkierideul ღ hope u enjoy reading as much as I enjoyed writing!! (◠‿◠)

"love?" You called out.

Wiping your eyes, you tried to clear your vision as a yawn escaped your mouth.

You move your blanket to get up, but as soon as the cold air hits your skin, you're under the comfort of your blanket again.

Sighing, you wrap the blanket around yourself and groan as you use all your strength to lift yourself up.

The weather was undoubtedly not suitable for outings, but you're sure you hear some rambling coming from the next room and you panic.

“No, he can't be…” you murmur, immediately getting up and dragging your feet along the floor towards the living room.

As expected, your eyes landed on your husband, Jeonghan, who was stuffing clothes into a suitcase. It hadn't been months since his military discharge yet the company is already putting him on work.

You halt, observing his every move; when you have no idea, your eyes start to tear up.

Jeonghan leans back and rests his hands on his hips with a sigh. Just as he begins to zip up the suitcase, he feels someone staring at him.

He turns around, a bright smile spreading across his face as his eyes land on you—standing by the door in his clothes. But it soon vanishes when he realises that you were crying.

You don't remember for how long you've been standing by the doorway of your shared bedroom, sniffling and sobbing, using the sleeve of your (Jeonghan’s) t-shirt to wipe your tears away.

“Wha— baby?” Jeonghan was quick to throw his phone on the bed and rush to you, his face painted with concern. His one hand held yours, with the other on your cheek.

“Baby? Look at me, please?” He urged, his touch gentle as he stroked your cheek.

Raising your head, you tried to look at him, but it only made you burst into tears loudly, and Jeonghan tried to hold in his chuckle at the sight of you crying like a toddler.

Which, by the way, he found adorable.

You buried your face in his neck, crying out loud—your husband wrapped his arms around you, softly patting your back to calm you down.

“Shh… it's all okay, I'm here.” kissing the crown of your head, his words came out in a comforting tone; soothing the trembling of your body.

But your crying continued.

“Baby—”

“Don't go… please.” Your words came out as a plea; desperate and helpless. Jeonghan paused, staring at the floor.

He was expecting it, but not in this way.

He looked at you—who was clutching onto his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart, and it broke him.

“I'm not going anywhere, my love.” He inhaled deeply, and looked at you with a softened gaze.

Jeonghan was patient. He was patient as he waited for you to calm down before he could talk to you; gently holding you in his arms, swaying your body with his. Something that Jeonghan always did to relax your mind.

When you finally calmed down, your heartbeat and breathing steady—he placed one of his hands on the back of your head, slowly leaning back so he could face you.

As soon as your eyes met, the same beautiful smile spread across his face and he tilted his head. “So, that was the thing bothering you?”

His voice was comfortingly soft, with a hint of amusement that he always carried around to lighten the mood.

Nodding, you maintain eye contact with a pout on your face, sniffling. “When was the last time you stayed home?”

Jeonghan paused, sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, before… military…?”

“Exactly,” you choked out those words, puffing up your cheeks while a bright shade of red dusted your face.

He breathes a laugh, tightening his grip around you. Leaning down to bury his face in your neck, he rubbed your sides and smiled when your familiar sweet scent hit his nose.

“I'm sorry~” he cooed in a soft whisper, a hint of teasing in his voice that you could never miss.

“This won't make me happy by the way.”

Jeonghan pecked your neck, leaning back to kiss your cheek and jaw. “Now?”

“No.” you simply huffed, not even hugging him back as you kept your arms folded against your chest.

He lifted his head, eyes locked with yours and a gentle smile played on his lips that you wish you could snatch away with a kiss—

“It's just for a week, love. I'll come back and I'll not go anywhere else.” He widened his smile, cupping your cheeks that made you smile faintly. For a few seconds, you both stared at each other, his smile never leaving—he suddenly leaned in, pecking your lips.

“Wait here, okay?” In such a sweet voice, he said. It melted every part of you that was mad at him as he quickly ran towards your shared bedroom and soon returned with something in his hands.

Doljjongie. His pet rock, whom he often refers to as ‘our child’.

“Tada!” He squealed, taking your hands to hand you Doljjongie. You let out a laugh, holding it so gently as if it was alive and moving.

Your face brightened with a smile as you caressed Doljjongie—the silly face Jeonghan had drawn, making you giggle.

Jeonghan was satisfied.

He took a few steps behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pecking your shoulder. His hands reached out to rest over yours; caressing Doljjongie as you did so too.

“Take care of mom, okay? Protect her like I've taught you!” Jeonghan pressed his lips into a thin line, furrowing his eyebrows like he was lecturing a child; it made you burst into laughter.

He chuckled when your laughter echoed in his ears. Resting his chin on your shoulder, he kept his eyes fixated on you; the look of relief on his face accompanied by his boyish grin.

“Feeling better?” You could barely hear him, his tone hushed and soft, like you're the most gentle thing. Tilting your head to look at him, you nod; your smile growing when you made eye contact with him.

“I'm sorry,” you sighed, moving one of your hand over his to caress it. “I overreacted, didn't I?”

Jeonghan shook his head, not leaving you with any more questions.

“You didn't, my love.” He simply stated, sighing in contentment as he closed his eyes; settling deeper in the peaceful moment shared between you two.

His words were out quick but it was reassuring.

“I always keep you waiting, don't I?” He broke the silence.

“Hm, you do.”

“But I always come back, right?” He peeped his head a little forward to look at your face, and when you did turn your head towards him; he smiled with his eyes closed. You did too.

Jeonghan pecked your cheek, taking your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

“Don’t skip meals and sleep well while I'm away. Call me everyday, text me about your day, send me your outfit of the day. I'll be waiting, hm?”

You nod, putting doljjongie aside on the couch, turning around to face him.

“I'll be waiting too.” Smiling, you press a quick peck to his lips and pull away—to which he immediately responds by pulling you by the waist to deepen the kiss.

@kissbyoon ⌕ ۫ all rights reserved/copying strictly prohibited. @/kstrucknet !

[look-at-the-soul]

When you love a woman

Tommy Shelby x reader one shot 🎄

Summary: Tommy initially was trying to courtship Y/N when Grace broke the news of her pregnancy, so he had to step back and be responsible for his child. That was the only reason he decided to be there for Grace. Until one day he accidentally heard a phone call that would change everything.

Word count: 2,200

This was meant to be a request I got but somewhere down the road I decided to change it, no worries I’m still working on the request 🤭

Y/N took a step back to admire the Christmas tree she had been decorating for a few hours, she had a tight budget so going back home for the holidays to spend it at her aunt’s place wasn’t an option unfortunately. She had already made peace with the fact that she’d spend the holidays only with her grandma. Studying the tree it looked nice, she made a few ribbons and added faux pearls around it as decorations.

Tommy was fuming, he walked like a wild animal in a cage, his footsteps could be heard so loud even before he reached her door. It was so late now and unusual of him to show up like this. Specially after not having seen each other in months.

“What happene-” Y/N asked in confusion.

But Tommy wouldn’t let her finish her question, his mouth crashed hard against her lips taking her by surprise. The kiss was hungry and desperate.

One of his hands was holding her head in place while the other traveled down her back.

“You were fucking right…” he managed to say between heated kisses. “I heard Grace talking to someone on the phone, said the baby isn’t mine.”

His words made Y/N froze and she pushed him by the shoulders to look him in the eyes.

“What?!”

She had heard him, but she couldn’t believe his words.

“She tried to trick me into that husband infertility bullshit and she played her cards so well…until now.”

Y/N took a step back, trying to process this new piece of information. Her head was spinning.

She met him right after the Grace disaster, she knew all about his former partner and how she had left to go somewhere else but then she came back into his life, but he had only used her for revenge.

Tommy assured Y/N that with her he felt completely comfortable, that’s why he wanted to do things differently this time around. Their courtship actually started the right way from the beginning, he asked her out on dates, sent her flowers, walked with her on her way back home, he was truly a gentleman. He even started inviting her to the Garrison for a drink, sometimes in his office and other times at the betting shop, They were getting to know each other, but they weren’t officially a couple.

For a few weeks it was heaven, she was able to discover his sense of humor and how intelligent and interesting Tommy was. She still remembered so well when he kissed her for the first time, standing by her doorstep, Tommy cornered her between his body and the doorframe, his fingertips holding her chin while his other hand rested against the wall. It was tender and slow, it tasted like hope and she felt butterflies in her stomach.

She thought she found her chance to be happy with Tommy. But they were in the phase of getting to know each other and little did she know how things would change overnight.

Until one day he knocked on her door looking pale and so serious… she remembered it so well. She knew something was wrong right away.

And how wrong.

He confessed her then that the woman he had a one night stand with for revenge was pregnant with his child.

It took her several minutes to understand what that meant. Tommy would take full responsibility for that baby and the mother and that meant they couldn’t be together. Their relationship wouldn’t continue.

With a heavy heart she advised he shouldn’t leave the child unprotected and that the mother’s reputation would chase her all her life if she started showing without being married. Even though that she had feelings for Tommy, she couldn’t be the reason between he and his baby. And as much as he made his own rules, society wasn’t ready yet for a children to grow apart from their father, even if he didn’t love the mother.

At least they weren’t officially together when Grace announced her pregnancy, so it was supposed to be easier. Whatever that meant.

He apologized a million times, paced the room from side to side in an attempt to calm himself. But it changed nothing, he had to do the right thing and deal with the consequences of his decisions.

Tommy didn’t have feelings for Grace, she knew it, he was clear about that but she thought eventually after getting married and raising a child together she thought feelings would start to show up, that he’d fall in love with Grace and forget about her for good.

At some point she suspected Grace got pregnant on purpose and let the infertility issue drop so Tommy would step up for her child, like a prophesy he was caught up between his feelings for her and Grace’s unborn child, his sense of responsibility and lack of paternal figure won and Tommy took Grace under his protection, even heard they were planning a wedding after the baby was born. And in the end she was right, Grace had lied about the paternity and the mask finally fell.

“Talk to me, ey?” Tommy’s voice brought her back into reality.

“I knew she was fooling you.” She shook her head.

“Hey, look at me… let’s forget about that, yeah?”

“Just like that? And what about all the times I cried?” She slapped his arm. “What if you never found out about the truth?”

A lump installed in her throat, all of the things that could’ve happened crossed her mind.

“Let’s focus on what’s happening.” Tommy’s hand caressed her cheek carefully, he could see all of her emotions in her eyes. “I probably don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I know deep in your heart you can’t hold onto to that forever.”

He was standing right in front of her, with his eyes full of hope, but also worried that it would be late for them, in the few months they got separated because of Grace’s pregnancy they cut all kinds of commutation, and even though he still checked on her, Y/N knew it was for the best, they wouldn’t have an affair no matter what.

“So… you’re free?” She asked with her voice and her heart trembling, thinking of the possibilities.

“It’s over now, there’s no child and no woman between us.” Tommy assured her, his hands on her cheeks to force Y/N to look him in the eyes. “I ordered the maid to pack her bags, and the driver to take her somewhere else.”

He took another small step towards her, their bodies touching and their breaths mixing in the middle.

This new reality changed everything, yet somehow it all felt the same.

“It took me a couple of months to learn the truth, but all I need to know now is… do you still want us to be together?”

Even though they were alone, his voice was just a whisper, a secret between just the two of them.

The thought of her finding someone else crossed his mind, she was beautiful after all, no doubt a long queue of men would be happy to take his place. But could she give her heart away to someone else?

“What about the wedding?”

Although she tried to forget about him and didn’t want to know anything of their lives, she overheard the rumors, there was a big wedding planned for the next fall right after the baby was born.

“If the baby isn’t mine… why would I still marry her? The wedding is canceled. I know I messed up, but I need to know, if there’s still a chance for us?”

Tommy held Y/N’s hands in his, when he decided to step back from their courtship it broke his heart, he had been really looking forward to see where they’d go.

Tommy felt his heart beating hard, he really hoped learning the truth wasn’t so late for them.

“Yes. I do… do you want the same?”

Tommy released the air he had been holding in his chest, but instead of answering with his words, he let her know with his actions what he wanted.

Grabbing her head with both hands, he pulled Y/N for a slow kiss. He needed to believe it was really happening.

Feeling like he had been walking in the dessert for a long time, but he was finally home. He was finally able to do what he had wanted for so long.

Tommy decided he wanted to savor her slowly, without rushing, without hesitation.

There was nothing and nobody between them. Nothing that would keep them apart. Cherishing having her in his arms once more, he could taste her tears in his lips.

“Thank you, thank you.” He murmured against her mouth without breaking apart.

The kiss became more heated by the moment, it was intense and demanding, trying to make up for the lost time. As Tommy’s hand traveled down her thigh, she pressed both hands against his chest to stop him.

It was suddenly so much information in such a short period of time.

“Wait.” Y/N stated breaking the contact, Tommy stared at her disheveled hair and messed lipstick. God she was the most beautiful little thing. “I’m glad you realized the truth before it was too late… but you will have to talk to my grandma, she’s still mad at you.”

Tommy nodded profusely. “Will do.” And tried to kiss Y/N again, but she stopped him by placing a fingertip against his lips.

“And you’ll ask her blessing to ask me out properly again.” She stated firmly.

God he loved to see her like that, bossing him around it was such a turn on.

“Yes. Anything you want.” He tried to sneak his hands around her waist again.

“Who is that, Y/N?” Her grandmother asked from her bedroom.

Scandalized, Y/N covered Tommy’s mouth with her palms. “It’s Vanessa grandma, she needed something. Go back to sleep.”

Tommy used her distraction to pull her closer, he didn’t want to waste more time. Being away from her for a couple of months was enough.

“Ugh it’s past bedtime now, couldn’t it wait?”

Tommy chuckled when she tried to get away from his hands.

“I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.” She tried to push him but it was impossible his hands were like a lock around her.

“Can’t wait for you to take care of me, love.” He wriggled his eyebrows and licked his lips all while giving her a mischievous look.

“Stop it!” She hissed, worried that her grandma would return. “You’ve to go.”

“No.” Tommy stated firmly. Scared that she’d change her mind. “I’m not leaving you again.”

“Tommy I mean for tonight.” Y/N explained, but he shook his head.

“How do I make you understand that I’m not going anywhere?”

“You can’t sleep here.” He stole another kiss.

“Fine. I’ll sleep in the car.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Y/N frowned seeing he was determined to do so. “Oh my God, you actually mean that.”

“I need you to understand how serious I am about us. You’re all that I need.” He could now see it all so clear, he was willing to do anything for her.

Because only when you really love a woman you’re able to understand.

And by just one look in his eyes, she knew he was telling the truth.

Y/N could hardly process what was happening. Their relationship ended right before it could even start because another woman was pregnant with his child, then they found out the truth, their engagement was called off, Grace was out of his life and he was able to finally do what he really wanted and not do something to please anyone else.

“What plans did you have for these days?” He whispered, still holding Y/N close.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. “Just grandma and me and I’m cooking a little dinner.”

“How about you and your grandma spend the holidays at my place? Think about it.”

The shock of his plans made her open her eyes wide. They were just starting over, how would they spend the holidays together? That was everything but traditional. What would people say? That one day he was engaged to another woman and the next one he brought home a different girl.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Tommy could read it all over her eyes. “And honestly? I don’t care, we’re doing nothing wrong and it’s none of their business.”

“Let’s take one step at the time, yes?” Y/N proposed feeling more worried about her grandmother’s reaction.

It was crazy to give in so easily, yes. But what options did she have? Pretend to still be mad at him or turn things over and be happy finally?

“Try to get some sleep.” He showered her face with kisses before grabbing his coat and walking outside. “Goodnight love.”

From the window, Y/N saw him climbing in the back seat, he was really going to sleep there!

That was insane, but it was a small sacrifice he’d have to do after everything that happened.

A/N: thank you for reading! I know in today’s world you’d say oh they could still be together while Grace had the baby or he could always take a DNA test, but remember back then those things weren’t possible and this story is based in that period of time… if you want to leave a comment your feedback is always appreciated! ♥️✨

Edit- please don’t come at me, it was just an idea that crossed my mind, the possibility of Charlie not being Tommy’s son due to the bad timing in the series 🫢🤔

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[bookishdreamer28]

₊˚‧︵‿꒰୨ 𝑨𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖 ୧꒱‿︵‧˚₊

You couldn't see a thing. Your eyes were covered with a blindfold and all you could sense was the dark and cold energy that was radiating in the room they kept you in. It all happened too fast to remember anything right now.

"You can't keep me here forever! If you want to loo for something or someone, I'm not the person who can help you!" You loudly said so they could hear me from the other side of the closed door. Heavy footsteps approached the room you were in and you held your breath, as you waited for what was going to happen next. Once the door opened, the steps kept walking and stepped right in front of you.

The person in front of me kneeled down. He hooks my chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger and thumb.

"Why do you keep lying sweetheart?" The heavy voice of this man gave goosebumps to your whole body. It was so familiar...

"I'm not lying! You caught the wrong person and it's so frustrating that you don't even have the courtesy to explain why-"

"Ssh" His gloved fingers touched your lips and a burned sensation appeared in your stomach.

Then you felt him standing up and walked away.

He opened the door and talked to one of his guards you assume, but you was too deep in thought to bother hearong what they were saying. All you heard was that he was going to keep you company for the night.

When he closed the door, you heard his footsteps halting in front of you.

Then his hands were unwrapping the blindfold and it took you a second to get used to the bright light in the room, before your eyes fell on the figure staring down at you.

Your eyes widened as watched your best friend crouching down to your level, a worrying expression painted on his face.

"Are you ok? Are- are you hurt?"

You were speechless for a moment before your shocked expression turned into an angry one.

"Are yoy kidding me Caleb? I- I thought you were...and now you-.. what the fuck is going on?" Your eyes were stinging as tears made their way down to your cheek. The sight broke Caleb's heart into tiny pieces and all he wanted to do was to hold you in his arms. But he knew better than crossing boundaries right now.

"Love...I know you probably hate me so much right now and it pains me so much. But I had to do what I did. They were after you and-"

"I can't believe that our...friendship was based on lies." Calbed turned pale. He was scared that now he was going to lose you for good. He knew that he had hurt you with his actions but he felt like it would've been better than seing your hurt in the hands of the people who were after him. He promised to himself that he will never let anyone or anything hurt you, and he was going to keep it that way.

"Love what we had, and what I hope we still have, was never based on lies. My feelings for you are true. You mean the world to me. I had to act cold and distant now because the rest of my team was watching. I had to somehow keep you safw by showing them you're not important to me."

"Well, apparently I'm not."

"Listen to me please!" Caleb softly grabbed your forearms.

"You are my world, you are my best friend and damn it I- I wish I was more... I want to be more because I-"

His words never left his mouth, because all he could was just staring at you. Your eyes, your hair, your nose and your...lips. Those lips that he had never got the chance to kiss them and dreamed for so long.

"Caleb?" You whispered, defeated with this fight already. You knew him. Deep down you wanted to believe that what he did was actually for your own good.

"Please..." He exhaled as his face came closer to yours.

"What?" Your eyes fell on his lips.

"Kiss me. Please kiss me love." His voice trembled with emotion and you gulped down your own sobs.

This whole situation made you realize just how much you truly meant to each other. And since it has been so long aince the last time you talked, now it was time that no more words should be exchanged. But for actions to finally speak.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you kissed him like he was going to disappear any time soon. Like you were watching a dream and you were scared that your time was limited. You needed this as much as he did.

He moaned as he wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you close to his warm and strong body. But Caleb interrupted your kiss by pulling away for a moment and amde you whined.

"Caleb as much as I want to talk about how stupid your decision was to keep secrets from me, now's not the time."

"I'm sorry love I just need to know if you truly want this-" you answered by kissing him more.

As you were going at it, Caleb picked you up and placed on the small office on the other side of the room. He just couldn't hold back.

When you finally pulled back, Caleb was unable to open his eyes for a few moments. It was so quiet and all you could hear was the sound of you trying catch your own breath. Caleb cupped your cheek in his palm, his thumb brushing lightly over your soft skin.

"It was you, who kept me going. You were leaving in my thoughts the whole time I was trapped in nothing but darkness. I'm not deserving of your forgiveness and I'm willing to grovel for you my love. But nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever stop this heart" he softly grabbed your hand and placed on top of where his heart beats "beating for you."

Your glassy eyes knly stared at him for a moment and then a soft smile appeared on your face, making Caleb smiled widely at the sight.

"Always you." You said as you omce again kissed him, pouring all the love you had in you into it. Even thought you spent so much time away from each other, one thing for sure is that your souls were connected. And there will never be nothing to break this connection.

I got so excited when his trailer dropped that I HAD to post something ASAP!!!!!

[cupcakecatblog]

He has been microwaved for his crimes.

[vamptizm]

vi. MISSION JEALOUSY — p.bueckers

pairing: paige bueckers x clover amar (oc)

synopsis: in which paige bueckers and clover amar, two uconn wbb stars, have an ongoing mission of making each other jealous and outdoing the other.

warnings: angst. explicit language. that’s it i think.

word count: 3.6k

note: this took me soso long i apologize, i’m just not satisfied with this whatsoever. this series will not be revolving around just smut, so obv it’s not going to be in every or every other chapter. idk how long i’ll make it, but most of my chapters are rather short so probably double in the digit chapter count. yeah anyway thank u for being patient and reading this (i loveee comments of any kind so pls don’t hesitate to leave those)

series masterlist

Clover sat across from Vanessa in a quaint little sushi restaurant downtown, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her water glass as she tried—really tried—to focus on the conversation. The dim lighting cast a warm glow across the table, the soft murmur of voices and clinking plates filling the space between them. Vanessa was mid-sentence, her voice light and animated as she recounted a story from work, but Clover wasn't listening.

She couldn't.

Everything about the evening felt... off. The restaurant, the atmosphere, even the date itself.

Vanessa had been the one to suggest this place, raving about it for days until Clover finally agreed to go. It was supposed to be a fun night out, a break from the monotony of campus life and basketball practices. But instead, the girl found herself counting the minutes, waiting for the check to arrive so she could call it a night.

The truth was, she hadn't been feeling it from the start. Not the date. Not Vanessa. 

Vanessa was kind. Sweet. Energetic in a way that most people found contagious. Her laughter was bright, her gestures animated, and her eyes sparkled with sincerity whenever she looked at Clover. She was someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, someone who loved openly and fiercely, someone who deserved the same in return. 

But Clover wasn't that person. 

She wasn't someone who gave her heart away easily. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she had it in her to give it away at all. 

Relationships had never been her thing. The idea of commitment, of letting someone get close enough to see her cracks and flaws, felt like a weight she couldn't bear. Vulnerability wasn't something she handed out freely—it was something she locked away, hidden behind witty remarks and carefree smiles. And still, Vanessa wanted more. 

Something serious. Something Clover couldn't give. 

"...and maybe next weekend we could check out that new art exhibit?" Vanessa's voice pulled her back to the present. She was smiling, hopeful. Her hands rested on the table, fingers curled lightly around her glass. There was a certain softness to her expression, an eagerness that made Clover's chest tighten with dread. 

It was getting too much. 

"Hey, listen," Clover interrupted, her voice quieter than usual, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "We've already talked about this." 

Vanessa's smile faltered, just a little. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head, confusion flickering across her face. 

"I told you," Clover continued gently, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, "I'm not ready for anything serious." 

For a moment, Vanessa froze. Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn't come. Instead, she sat back in her chair, shoulders stiffening slightly as she processed Clover's words. 

"I know," Vanessa finally said, her voice quieter now, too. "But... I thought maybe if we took it slow, you'd change your mind." 

Guilt twisted in Clover's stomach, sharp and unforgiving. She hated this part — the part where things inevitably fell apart, where someone always got hurt. 

"I don't think that's gonna happen," she said softly, regret lacing her words. "You're... you're too good for me, Vanessa. It's not fair to let you act like my girlfriend when we both know it's not gonna happen." 

The words hung heavy in the air. 

Vanessa's face hardened, a flicker of hurt crossing her features before she quickly masked it. But Clover saw it — she always did. And it only made the guilt worse. 

"You show up to my games with signs," Clover added, her voice quieter now, her gaze dropping to the table. "You wait for me after practice. You plan dates, and you're always so thoughtful... I don't deserve any of that. And you know it." 

"Why wouldn't you deserve it?" 

The question came quickly, sharper than Clover expected. It caught her off guard, and she stilled for a moment, her thoughts scattering. 

Why didn't she deserve it? 

It was a loaded question, one one required an even more loaded and heavier answer.

Because she didn't appreciate it the way she should. Because it never felt like enough to change how she was. Because the butterflies Vanessa so desperately tried to give her never came—not from sweet gestures, not from thoughtful words or sex, not from anything Vanessa did. 

"Because I don't appreciate it," Clover finally said, her voice low, barely audible above the hum of the restaurant. "The way you'd like me to." 

Vanessa blinked, confusion clouding her gaze. 

"It doesn't... it doesn't do anything for me," Clover admitted after taking a deep breath, the confession weighing heavily on her chest. "It's not wooing me. It's not making me feel any butterflies. None of it. And I don't want you to keep hurting yourself trying to make it happen." 

Silence settled over the table like a heavy blanket. 

Vanessa's gaze drifted to the window, her jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin line. Her hand curled around her napkin, knuckles white. Finally, she nodded—a small, stiff motion that spoke of resignation more than understanding. 

The guilt was unbearable. 

Clover signaled for the check, pulling out her card before Vanessa could argue. She paid quickly, avoiding the waitress's curious gaze, and stood without a word. 

The silence in the car pressed down on Clover like a weight. The rain tapping against the windshield filled the space where words should've been. Vanessa sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, her expression distant and unreadable. 

Clover clenched the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting in her chest, but not in the way most people would expect. She didn't owe Vanessa anything — not her loyalty, not her heart. She had made that clear from the start. 

Still, something about the way Vanessa sat quietly, radiating disappointment, made the brunette’s stomach churn. 

Vanessa finally broke the silence. Her voice was quiet, but steady. "You're not a bad person." 

Clover exhaled, the lump in her throat tightening. 

"You're kind," Vanessa continued, her gaze still focused on the rain-slicked streets outside. "You're thoughtful. You care more than you want people to think. And I don't know why you keep trying to convince yourself that you're incapable of something real." 

Clover's chest tightened. 

She hated this. Hated that Vanessa saw her as someone capable of giving more than she actually could. Hated that Vanessa saw something in her that wasn't there. Or maybe, she just hated that she couldn't see it too.

The memory of Paige lingered — the weight of her touch still fresh on Clover's skin, the way her hands trembled slightly when they pulled Clover closer, the way their eyes met in that charged, unspoken moment. 

And then the look on Paige's face when Clover left. 

It had mirrored the one Clover wore the first time they'd crossed that boundary. She had been the one left standing there, confused and craving more while Paige walked away without a word. 

Tonight, it had been her who walked out, and she hated that it still hurt. That it felt so wrong.

Vanessa sighed, her tone softer now, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to reassure Clover. "I just... I thought maybe you'd change your mind. That maybe I could be the one to—" 

Clover cut her off before she could finish. 

"You're not the one." 

The words came out harsh, sharper than Clover intended, but she couldn't take them back. The truth was too raw to sugarcoat. 

Vanessa flinched, her lips pressing into a tight line. She nodded slowly, as if piecing everything together, realizing how deeply she had misread the situation. 

"I see." 

Silence returned, heavier than before. 

Clover wanted to tell her that none of this was Vanessa's fault — that she hadn't led her on, that Vanessa deserved someone who wanted to give her what she was looking for. But it would've sounded hollow. Pointless. 

Instead, she tightened her grip on the steering wheel, her mind unwillingly drifting back to Paige. 

To the way Paige had looked at her, eyes burning with something Clover could never quite name. To the feeling of Paige's lips against hers, desperate and insistent. To the ache in her chest when she walked out of the room, the echo of her own footsteps on the hardwood floor sounding louder than they should've. 

And to the nagging thought in the back of her mind—almost like a whisper from the devil himself—that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't running away from love entirely. She was just running from the wrong person. 

"I had sex with someone else before this," Clover said suddenly, her voice steady but quiet, cutting through the silence like a blade. 

Vanessa blinked, startled by the blunt confession. 

"What?" 

"I had sex with someone else," Clover repeated, this time slower, more deliberate. "Right before this date." 

Vanessa's expression shifted — not to anger, not to betrayal, but to resignation. 

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Vanessa said after a long pause. There was no malice in her tone, just disappointment. "I thought I could be different. That I could make you want... more." 

Clover stared straight ahead, her chest hollow. 

"I told you from the start I wasn't ready for anything serious," she said, her voice steady but distant. "I wasn't lying." 

"I know." Vanessa's voice softened again. "But I hoped." 

And there it was — the difference between them. 

Vanessa was someone who hoped, who believed in love and connection. She thought that if she showed enough kindness, enough patience, she could win Clover over. That she could make her feel the way Vanessa felt about her. 

But Clover had stopped hoping a long time ago. The only person who ever made her feel anything real was Paige. 

And that terrified her more than it should.

Vanessa cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Did it mean anything?" 

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. 

Did sleeping with Paige mean anything? 

Everything. 

"Not in the way you think," Clover lied, her voice barely above a whisper. 

Vanessa nodded again, her gaze dropping to her lap. "Right." 

The rest of the drive was silent, tension crackling between them like a live wire. 

When Clover finally pulled up in front of Vanessa's apartment, neither of them moved right away. Vanessa fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, and Clover kept her hands on the wheel, staring at the rain streaking the windshield. 

"I hope you find what you're looking for," Vanessa said softly, breaking the silence. 

Clover didn't answer. 

Vanessa gave her one last glance before stepping out of the car and disappearing into the building without looking back. 

As the door clicked shut, Clover let out a shaky breath. The weight of the evening bore down on her, but it wasn't Vanessa's disappointment that crushed her. 

It was the way Paige's name lingered on her mind like a brand, burning and inescapable. No matter how far she ran, no matter how many distractions she sought, Paige was always there. 

The way the blonde's gaze lingered a little too long during practice. The way her usually teasing and taunting voice softened when she checked in on Clover after a particularly rough game. The way her presence filled every empty corner of Clover's mind, no matter how hard she tried to push it away.

Because Paige had never just been a fleeting crush or a temporary obsession. 

It wasn't just admiration. It wasn't just complicated friendship. She had always been something more. 

It had been something more for a long time.

The apartment was quiet when Clover walked in, save for the soft clatter of a knife against what she assumed was a cutting board. She barely glanced at the kitchen, her mind clouded with exhaustion, her heart heavy with that same guilt. All she wanted was to crawl into bed and shut out the world.

But of course Paige was still up.

Clover cursed under her breath as she slipped off her shoes, hoping to make it to her room without incident. She knew how Paige operated. Knew the games she liked to play. And Clover wasn't in the mood for another round of it tonight.

"Late night?" Paige's voice cut through the silence, sharp and calculated.

Clover stopped in her tracks, her heart sinking. She set her bag down by the door, straightened, and took a slow breath before turning around. Paige was at the counter, slicing through an apple with a steady hand.

"Something like that," Clover said, keeping her tone flat.

Paige didn't look up. "Thought you'd be back later. Guess the date wasn't that great, huh?"

There it was. The edge in Paige's voice. That barely veiled disdain, like she was trying to poke holes into Clover's night without outright saying what she really felt.

Clover ran a hand through her straightened hair, none of her natural curls in sight. "It was fine."

"Fine." Paige repeated the word with a smirk, like it was a joke only she understood. She tossed a slice of apple into her mouth, chewed slowly. "Guess that's not exactly life-changing."

Clover's patience was already wearing thin. "Why do you care?"

Paige shrugged, finally meeting Clover's gaze. Her blue eyes were cool, assessing. "I don't."

The silence that followed was heavy, pressing down on Clover's chest. She could feel the unspoken tension between them, like a storm waiting to break. She shifted her weight, debating whether to walk away — but Paige wasn't done.

"You're wasting your time, you know," Paige said quietly, her voice softening. It wasn't a taunt this time. It sounded almost like a warning.

The brunette frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Paige set the knife down, her hands resting on the counter. "These girls you fuck around with. They're not going to give you what you want."

Clover's chest tightened, brow raised in an almost challenging manner "And what exactly do you think I want?"

Paige tilted her head, her gaze never wavering. "Someone who makes you feel the way I do."

The air between them went still, heavy with meaning. Clover froze, her breath catching in her throat. Her pulse quickened, a mix of irritation and something else—something she didn't have the guts to name—coursing through her veins.

"That's overly cocky, even for you," She responded, her voice steady but strained.

Paige's lips curved into a smirk, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe. But I'm not wrong, am I?"

Clover's hands curled into fists at her sides. She hated how easily Paige got under her skin. How she always knew exactly what to say to make Clover doubt herself.

"God, you just say the dumbest shit sometimes." Clover muttered, turning toward her room.

"You're scared 'cause I'm right, Amar," Paige called after her.

Clover stopped dead in her tracks. Her heart pounded in her ears, a feeling of unexplainable dread and frustration clawing at her chest.

Paige's voice softened, almost teasing. "Went straight from my bed to her arms. You always like to rebound, don’t you?"

Clover spun around, her eyes flashing with irritation. "Don't do that."

"Do what?" the blonde questioned, feigning innocence.

"Make it sound like it meant something to you," Clover near to snapped. "Because it didn't. You made that clear the first time."

Paige's smirk faltered for the first time. Her gaze dropped for a moment before meeting Clover's again. "And yet, it keeps happening."

The words hung in the air, raw and vulnerable in a way Paige probably hadn't intended or planned.

Clover swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing. "Yeah, 'cause we're both too fucked up to stop."

Paige's expression shifted—something between hurt and frustration flickering across her own face now. "Is that what you think?"

"What else is there to think?" Clover shrugged lazily. "We don’t do that healthy shit. That's how it's always been."

Paige pushed away from the counter, closing the distance between them with slow, deliberate steps. Her gaze never wavered, her expression unreadable.

"You keep saying that like it's a rule we mutually agreed on," Paige spoke quietly. "Like it's some fucked up contract we both signed."

Clover's back hit the wall. Paige was standing too close now, the scent of Clover's sweet vanilla perfume lingering in the air between them.

"Isn't it?" Clover whispered, her voice unsteady.

Paige's hand brushed a strand of hair away from the brunette’s face, a light, almost instinctive touch. But it sent a cold shiver down Clover's spine.

"Don't remember signing anything," Paige murmured.

Clover's heart was pounding, her mind racing. She hated this—hated how Paige made her feel out of control. Vulnerable. Exposed.

"You don't know what you want," Clover said, her voice deliberately bland and cold, despite the emotional chaos brewing inside of her.

Paige's hand lingered, her finger tucking the piece of hair behind Clover's ear. "Neither do you."

For a moment, Clover couldn't breathe. The tension between them was suffocating, the weight of everything unspoken pressing down on her.

"You think this is a game," Clover said, her voice barely audible now. "But it's not."

Paige's hand dropped away, and for a second, Clover saw something crack in her expression—a glimpse of vulnerability before the mask slipped back into place.

"It's not a game to me," Paige said softly.

Clover blinked, stunned into silence, though she didn't let it show.

But before she could say anything, Paige stepped back, the distance between them suddenly unbearable.

"Get some sleep," Paige said, her voice quieter now, almost gentle. "Gotta be up early for practice tomorrow."

Clover didn't respond. She watched as Paige turned away, heading back to the kitchen to finish her snack, leaving Clover standing there, harshly biting down on her tongue and heart aching with everything they couldn't say.

The sound of Clover's door closing echoed through the apartment, cutting through the thick silence like a blade. Paige stood frozen in the kitchen, staring blankly at the half-sliced apple on the cutting board. Her appetite was gone.

Her hands trembled slightly as she set the knife down, pressing her palms against the counter to steady herself.

'What the hell is wrong with me?'

Paige exhaled sharply, pushing herself upright. She rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers brushing over the faint mark Clover had left there earlier — a kiss, a bite, she wasn't sure which. It didn't matter. It wasn't supposed to matter.

This wasn't supposed to feel like this.

It was supposed to be easy. Fun. No strings, no feelings, no mess. That's how it worked. Clover hooked up with whoever caught her eye, Paige did the same. They'd judge each other, throw around meaningless jabs and at the end of the day they'd be fine. Back to being a team.

So why did it feel like her chest was caving in every time Clover walked away and into the arms of someone else?

Paige clenched her jaw, trying to swallow the frustration rising in her throat. She hated this. Hated feeling out of control. Hated how Clover had walked out on her earlier without a second glance — just like Paige had done with others so many times.

'Is this what it feels like?' she wondered bitterly. ‘To be the one left behind?’

She'd told herself it didn't matter. That Clover going on a date with someone else was none of her business. That it wasn't jealousy, just curiosity. But the sting in her chest said otherwise.

Because deep down, Paige knew the truth.

No one made her feel the way Clover did.

And that terrified her more than it should.

She grabbed the cutting board and shoved it into the sink with more force than necessary, the sound of it clattering against the metal louder than she intended. She winced, glancing toward Nika and Jana's rooms. No lights turned on. No doors opened.

The last thing she needed was a groggy Nika asking her why she was slamming things around at midnight.

Paige turned off the kitchen light and leaned against the counter in the dark, the faint glow from the streetlights outside casting shadows across the room. She could still hear Clover's words in her head, clear as day:

‘Because we're both too fucked up to stop.’

Paige ran a hand over her face, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Yeah, no kidding."

She'd spent so long pretending she didn't care. Playing it cool, keeping her distance, convincing herself that what they had was just physical. But it wasn't. Not anymore.

And Paige wasn't ready to admit it.

She thought back to the way Clover had looked tonight — tired, defeated, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. Paige had wanted to say something real, to cut through the bullshit and tell her whatever truth there was.

But that truth was messy. Vulnerable. And Paige wasn't good at that.

Instead, she'd resorted to what she knew best: cocky remarks and passive-aggressive digs. It was easier to act like none of it mattered. To pretend that Clover's wandering eyes and restless heart didn't bother her.

But as hypocritical as it was, it did.

And that scared her more than anything.

Paige glanced toward Clover's room, her heart aching in a way she didn't quite understand. She thought about knocking on her door, saying something — anything — to break the silence between them.

But what would she even say?

‘I care about you. More than I want to. More than I should. And it's killing me.’

No. That wasn't her.

Paige pushed off the counter and headed to her own room, her footsteps quiet against the hardwood floor. She paused outside Clover's door for a moment, her hand hovering in the air like she might knock after all.

But she didn't.

Instead, she whispered into the silence: "Good night, Clover."

And with that, she walked away, closing her own door behind her.

taglist (open) @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @starlighttsv @ekisokay @st4rrzynight @ohmybueckers @pbbucks

[bengiyo]

Ben's Big BL Blurb 4: I Hope I See Jay Sorathon Again

New year, new blurb. Time to reflect on a few shows finishing, talk about some new shows, and see where we're at in January.

Haunted Hearts Sucked

Final Verdict: 5.5, Not Recommended. Y'all don't need to watch this weird mess of a show. Despite joking about "devirginizing" its lead multiple times, it was so chaste in the end. It also did some weird world shenanigans I was not feeling. The leads are supposed to be in another Oxin Films project soon, so we'll see if they're better there.

Caged Again Flopped

Final Verdict: 6, Recommended Only For Jay Sorathon. This one really hurts me, because I genuinely loved the first half of this show. Jay Sorathon as Junior was one of the most refreshing experiences I've had in a while. This young actor is charming in a way that felt different, and I found myself enjoying every scene he was in because he could deliver what he was asked to do. However, the show generally failed to do much with most of its themes, and I think it was a real waste of Nokia and Jaonine as a pair. There were interesting themes about how Junior and Sun wanted different things out of their relationship that didn't get resolved, so all of their skinship felt disconnected from the big themes they were teasing out.

I am sad that I cannot really recommend this as a complete viewing experience, but I do not want that to detract from how much I enjoyed the entire cast's chemistry. I just cannot pretend that this show didn't peak at the gif used above before floundering completely.

An Apology to City of Stars

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended. I skipped this show originally because I was overloaded and unmoved by the first episode. However, this show was actually one of the most consistent narratives we've had about the consequences of fan culture, sponsorship, and commercialization of queer actors we've had this year. Unlike Only Boo!, this show inflicted real consequences on Feuang for coming out to the point that he essentially had to change careers (which happens to real actors all the time, going back as far or further than William Haines).

The leads also kept having sex after getting together! A novel experience! I loved that Krom had almost no swag, and Feuang fell for him entire on family photos and his mom gushing over him. He really won as a tech worker. Watch this if you're interested in seeing a show with clear ideas about the entertainment industry and are willing to deal with some weak acting.

Our Youth Left Me A Bit Wanting

Final Verdict 8: Recommended With Reservations. I wrote my write up for this already, and will say here that I like parts of this show a lot even though I wasn't fully satisfied by the viewing experience.

See Your Love Got All The Important Things Right

Final Verdict: 8, Recommended for the Mains. I will admit that I didn't much care for the side couple, but I loved Shaopeng and Sean's relationship. I loved that this wasn't a story about fixing someone's hearing so they could be in a romance. I also love that one of our final scenes in Shaopeng's dad telling Sean's dad to go fuck himself. The leads reminded me of Jimmy and Tommy from Why R U and I loved their work together.

Love in the Air Koi Was a Genuine Delight

Final Verdict: 9, Highly Recommended. I liked it a lot. I think new and old fans will be able to enjoy it. I have high hopes about cross-cultural adaptations as a result.

Love is Like a Poison Was Spectacular

Final Verdict: 9.5, Highly Recommended. I had so much fun with this show. I love that this show blended multiple genres together, and I loved that Shiba was always in a legal drama. By blending this together this way, the show supports the idea that the different ways we love and see the world are not incompatible in relationships. Shiba and Haruto are one of the best couples we had this past year, because they each made the other better, and they each add something to their relationship. Also, this show was actively horny the entire time. Run, do not walk, to support this show (if you can) on Netflix.

Fragrance You Inherit Was The One of the Kindest Shows I've Ever Seen

Final Verdict: 9.5, Highly Recommended. Thanks to the constant efforts of @isaksbestpillow we were able to enjoy this incredible show. @twig-tea already wrote a great review. I will be thinking about Sakura and Touki for years. I will just add that I really loved that Hoshii was just a goofy dude that loved the women in his home. He respected both of them, and was just so happy to be included in their shenanigans. I cannot overstate how much the episode where we met him properly kicked this show into overdrive for me. I loved that he was a good dad and husband and that it was clear his wife and daughter felt safe and happy around him. I loved that this show was about kind people doing their best.

Okay, on to the currently airing stuff.

Your Sky is Faltering, but I Still Like It (8/12)

Look, I am just not keen on the Oh redemption arc. I'm also feeling the show dragging its feet at this point. I also am not sure what the relationship between the various sides are contributing to this story. That being said, I continue to enjoy the chemistry between the leads, and I am looking forward to seeing their dating era. This show has been riding the line on the bubble, and I am curious to see where it lands.

Ossan's Love Thailand (1/12)

I've grown to love Ossan's Love over the last year, and so I was cautiously optimistic about this adaptation. I don't think the humor is as tight or zippy as I would expect, and I think the branded pair component is hurting some of the initial setup. I also feel like the shower scene shifted in a way that doesn't entirely work. In addition, making Kongdetch a widower slows down his dramatic development. I'll check in again next month.

Call Me By No Name Started Weird (1/8)

gif by @my-rose-tinted-glasses

This show got off to a moody and somewhat intriguing start. I am looking forward to our little gamer's interactions with this possibly-fey creature for the coming weeks. It's difficult when the show starts coy.

When It Rains It Pours Has an Uphill Battle (1/7)

I am personally interested in the journey this show wants to go on as what will more than likely be a double cheating narrative. I like that the show started with boy guys in relationships they feel a bit frustrated with due to a lack of intimacy that is being actively ignored by their respective partners. I'm also intrigued because both partners seem like they're overall committed to our leads. This one started off in a mild note, so I'm curious how it holds audience attention. Still, both leads had sad masturbation scenes, one explicitly remembering when his partner used to fuck him, so it has my attention.

That's all for now! I'll check back in with one of these in a few weeks and we'll see where we're at.

[jjunbug]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LORD TAEHYUNNNNNNNNN!!!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

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

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

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

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

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

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

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun froze.

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

It was her hair.

Pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“My god.” You whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

“Yeonjun, 

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

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

Yours Always”

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun”

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

“Yeonjun,

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

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

Yours always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her marriage announcement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bloodstained arrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the family of HueningKai,

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

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Requested by: @idkwthgoitmww <3 thanks, hun! Words: 2,451 Pairing: Negan Smith x Fem!Reader Warnings: language, descriptions of blood and injuries, references to assault and possible attempted sexual violence (did not occur, no description or details) Summary: Negan has to figure out why you've collapsed and try to patch you up. Concern and banter ensues... A/N: I intended this to be the final part, but now I think maybe we need a little more closure with these two? Hmm... should I do one more part? Let me know in the reblogs or comments!

Previous part here!

“Shit, shit, shit,” Negan growled through his teeth. “Alright. Okay…” He scooped you into his arms the rest of the way and laid you down on the couch as gently as he could. Clearly, more had happened out there than you had admitted to him. He clasped your face one more time in an attempt to rouse you. “Hey, doll? Wake up,” he urged. But not even an eyelid twitched. You were out cold. Negan straightened up and rubbed a hand over his face. Obviously, there was a reason you were passed out, so he needed to figure out what it was and fix it. A flash of terror seemed to seize his heart in a tight, icy grip. Hopefully, he could fix it.

His eyes went to your head, propped on the throw pillow at one end of the couch. Head injury? He knelt beside you and cupped your head in his hands gently, turning it slightly this way and that, feeling for any bumps or injuries. He felt and saw nothing besides the injury to your ear which he’d already noticed, and that certainly wasn’t enough to warrant you passing out. His hands and his eyes traveled down to your neck. He unwrapped your scarf and slipped it off. There was the mark he’d seen right away, which was quickly darkening toward a bruise. A bruise and a scratch? Someone had had you by the neck? Just the idea of it made a hot flame of anger flare upwards in his chest.

His fingers went to the buttons of your coat and he loosed them. The wool fabric fell open and he didn’t have to search for an explanation any longer. “Oh, shit,” he cursed. Your white sweater was completely stained crimson on your left side. The material was soaked with blood and it was running toward your back and starting to seep into your coat. “Fuck me,” Negan swore, climbing hurriedly to his feet. He rushed over to the shelves and grabbed a couple clean towels before returning to your side. He let out a shaky breath.

Negan peeled your shirt up, completely unsure of what he would find underneath. At first, he was met only with the sight of a gauze bandage taped to your skin, also completely saturated with your blood. But when he peeled that up, there was a rather significant round hole in your side, about halfway between the flare of your hip and your ribs. A gunshot wound. It looked like you’d tried to stitch it yourself, but the stitches were clumsy and ineffective, probably due at least in part to the fact that you wouldn’t have been able to see it well. “Jesus, doll,” Negan murmured. He gently rolled you slightly toward the back of the couch and tucked one of the towels underneath you. The other he pressed to the wound while he tried to think about what to do. He didn’t have a ton of first aid supplies on hand. His hazel eyes landed on your pack and he dragged it closer, keeping pressure on the wound with the other hand as best he could.

The first thing he pulled out from inside your bag was another bloodstained shirt. He held it up and could see the actual bullet hole through the fabric. He tossed it down. He dug inside again and finally his hands closed around a plastic bag full of first aid supplies. He let out a breath of relief and started setting them out on the little table next to him.

He looked at you lying prone on the couch and realized the bleeding might slow if he rolled you onto your side. “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you fixed up,” he said softly. He stood and slipped his hands underneath you again and gently tipped you toward the back of the couch, adjusting the pillow beneath your head. It was just then, perhaps jostled awake, when you started to stir.

The first thing you really remembered was the sensation of cold air on your side and the residual cloud of pain which seemed to be pulsing through your entire torso. “Fuck,” you muttered, dragging your eyelids open.

“Doll?” Negan sounded relieved and you felt his hand press down hard on your side, adding pressure to some wad of something soft.

“Ow!” you hissed, trying to sit up and push him off you.

“Whoa, whoa! Take it easy! You’re bleeding a lot here. We’ve gotta get this stitched up again,” Negan said.

“I already stitched it,” you argued, not thinking entirely clearly at the moment.

“Yeah, and you did a piss poor job, which is why you’re currently lying in a pool of your own blood,” he retorted, not letting up on the pressure to the wound.

You craned your neck to look over at Negan and your side, your brows tense in a wince. Your sweater was soaked crimson and pushed up so Negan could hold a towel over the wound. Your skin was smeared and stained. You felt suddenly tired and laid back down, trying to catch your breath. “Fine… okay,” you sighed. “Do whatever you need to.”

Negan let out a noise that was part laugh and part scoff. “I was planning on it. Hey—is the bullet still in there?”

You nodded, closing your eyes against another wave of pain. “Yeah…”

“Uh, shouldn’t we try to get that out? You could get an infection.”

You laughed grimly. “I was going to leave it in because going on a fishing expedition inside my body with dirty hands while I was laying in the woods didn’t seem like a good idea. Not to mention the fact that I can’t really see it. But please, by all means…”

Negan cleared his throat. “Alright. Hey—hold the towel on here a minute.” You placed your hand over his, sharply aware of even the glancing contact before he slipped away. You stared at the back of the worn couch, focusing on the little squares of woven stitches. You could hear him opening and closing cabinets in the next room.

“Take your time,” you said loudly. “Not like I’m slowly bleeding out over here...”

Negan came back in with a large glass bottle in his hand. Vodka.

You stared at him. “I’m more of a whiskey girl, myself,” you said dryly.

He let out a disbelieving laugh and shook his head. You were still cracking jokes with a bullet in your side. “Of course you are, doll. I’d have guessed that. But this is all I’ve got.” You finally noticed the long silver instrument in his other hand and any jest you had left in you slipped away. You gulped at the sight of the cold metal of the long tweezers.

“You better hand me that bottle,” you said.

“It’s for disinfect—”

“I don’t give a shit. I need a drink if you’re going to dig that thing into me,” you breathed.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The sound of your own breathing came first, steady but louder than normal, and then there was the comforting sound of a crackling fire in the background. Your eyes were a bit bleary as you opened them but cleared as you blinked a few times. Your side felt as if it was on fire.

You shifted on the couch and Negan straightened up in his chair, the grim expression on his face melting away. “Thank fuck you’re awake,” he said, leaning forward to study your face. “How ya feelin’?”

“Uhh—I think a little drunk actually,” you said, sitting up and putting a hand to your head. The room wobbled a little.

“I’m not surprised. You may have overdone it on the liquid courage. I barely had enough to do the job,” Negan said.

You pressed a hand over your side and could feel that he’d secured a bandage and gauze over the wound. The bandage wrapped all the way around you. “I passed out again?”

Negan nodded and then grabbed a little saucer off the table and held it out so you could see what was on it. “Fucker was in there pretty deep,” he said. The bullet made a sharp noise as it rolled on the ceramic. It was stained with a rusty coating of dried blood.

You nodded. “Right. Well, you got it. Don’t throw that out. I want it,” you said with a half-smile. “I’ll make a necklace or something with it.” Negan didn’t look amused. “It stitched up okay?”

Negan nodded again, discarding the plate on the table again and giving you a long, serious look. “Yeah, it was easy since I could actually see it.” He sighed as you avoided his hazel eyes. “Your ear. That’s a bullet graze.” It wasn’t a question.

You fiddled with the edge of blanket he’d tucked over you, but said nothing. Negan sighed heavily again and you were surprised to see him anxiously running both his hands over his face. You thought they looked a little shaky even. “I’m fine,” you said.

“Somebody almost blew your head off on the way here, but you’re fine?” he said. His voice was deep and gruff, and you could hear anger in it. Not at you, but at what had happened. It surprised you how much feeling was in his voice. “Tell me.”

You gulped and shrugged. “I—ran into some men on the way here. First, they demanded my gear but—that—wasn’t enough,” you said. You avoided his eyes again. “I don’t think they even wanted the gear...” you trailed off. There was a tense silence for a long moment before you hazarded a glance up at Negan and there was a shadow on his face and a violent rage behind his eyes. “They underestimated me. I fought them off but—the last guy had a gun I didn’t know about... But—I took care of it. I’m fine,” you said again, repeating it in the same tone you had every single time you’d already said it. Were you trying to convince yourself or him?

Negan leaned forward, his gaze still intense. “You were attacked by a group of men on the way here, shot in the side, and almost shot in the head which you barely survived, and you’re ‘fine’,” he said. His expression softened as he looked at you, the anger replaced with some mixture of worry and sorrow and regret. “Doll—”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I have to be fine! So, I am!” you said, perhaps a little more loudly than you needed to. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve been in almost the exact same situation since the world went to shit? Be glad you were born a man.”

His eyes flickered over your face, the worry on your behalf still pronounced. “Coming to see me would be a pretty fuckin’ stupid reason to die,” he said.

“I didn’t die, did I? I’m fine.”

He looked hesitant. “None of them got away? Because if they did, I will go out there right now and put them down myself. Just say the word.”

You shook your head. “None of them are left. I took care of it.”

His eyes flickered between yours and the feeling between you was intense and charged. His jaw tightened and he straightened up again in his seat. “For fuck’s sake, why the hell didn’t you just tell me what happened when you got here?”

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. Then, you finally said, “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Negan gave you a look. “You were shot. You almost died. It is a big fuckin’ deal. Besides, how’d that work out for you, hmm? Not making a big deal out of it? You passed out right in front of me and were suddenly soaked in blood.”

“I thought I’d taken care of it myself. I didn’t think—”

Negan crossed his arms, surveying you from his place at the table. “No, you just never want to have to rely on anyone else. Because you think that makes you vulnerable.”

You looked at him with a struck look of surprise and he knew he’d hit the mark. “What, were you a shrink in your last life?”

“No. A gym teacher,” he said with a small laugh.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that left you just after his. “Wow. Really? Sexy,” you said sarcastically.

His lips curved in a small smile. He was relieved you were cracking jokes again. Some of the tension in the air seemed to evaporate. “I’m glad you think so. You’re stuck here now for a few days, so get comfortable, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you think I’m going to let you, of all people, boss me around—”

Negan smiled more broadly. “I love when you try to argue with me. It’s good. I need a firm fucking hand. Speaking of jobs requiring a firm hand—”

“Negan—” you warned him, your tone dangerous.

“—I better go cut some more firewood before we run out,” he finished with a grin. You felt your cheeks flushing. “Jesus, where was your dirty little mind at?” he asked, climbing to his feet. “You relax and drink some water. I’ll be back in a few.”

You stared at his tall frame as he pulled his coat on and opened the door to step outside. “You said it that way on purpose!” you yelled after him.

He glanced back at you over his shoulder from the doorway with that same shit-eating grin. “What? I don’t get what you’re driving at. Maybe you could explain it to me?”

You flicked him off and shot him a glare. Negan only laughed. “Listen, don’t get your hopes up. You’ve got some healing up to do before we can—”

“Negan—” you growled.

“—walk back to Alexandria together. For fuck’s sake, what did you think I was about to say?” You gave him an unamused look and he laughed again. The sound warmed you. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’ve got it from here. Just rest. You’ll be back kicking ass before you know it. And in the meantime, I am fuckin’ thrilled to have your company.”

[earthlybeam]

Could you describę,how Thranduil's beloved has a problem with accepting her own body. Thinking that,Thranduil loves her less,which of course is not truę. Because of this,she starts to eat less,less,and less meals,and she starts to lose more and more węight. Her dress starts to hang. She is getting weaker,frailer. Thranduil sees this after a long timę,when she is already very bąd,assuring her that she is for him,the most beautiful elleth everewherę.🥺🖤🌌🧝‍♂️🔥

Trigger Warning: Anorexia

This story touches on themes related to anorexia. Please proceed with caution if this topic is sensitive for you. Your well-being is the most important, so take care of yourself and prioritize your mental health.

I’ve written this from the perspective of “she” (you, the reader), but it’s not overly detailed as I want to remain cautious and considerate. As someone in recovery from anorexia, I know firsthand how challenging it can be to navigate these topics. Writing this was both personal and difficult, but I wanted to create something meaningful for others who might be struggling or healing . I apologize if it doesn’t delve deeply into specifics—I intentionally kept it this way to avoid triggering myself or anyone else.

To anyone reading who is struggling with anorexia or disordered eating, please remember you’re not alone. Recovery is possible, even when it feels out of reach. Be kind to yourself. ❤️‍🩹🫶✨

🍷𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓾𝓲𝓵

Thranduil is often lost in his own duties and the responsibilities of his realm, but even he cannot miss the gradual change in his beloved. At first, it wasn’t as noticeable—small things that he might have dismissed had his keen senses not been so attuned to her presence. She would push her plate aside at meals after only a faint nibble, offering a quiet explanation that she simply wasn’t hungry or had eaten earlier. Her tone was soft and convincing, so much so that he hesitated to question her further. It was not unusual for elves to sometimes abstain from food when preoccupied, and he attributed it to fleeting restlessness rather than anything deeper.

But her habits grew more peculiar over time. More often than not, she would skip meals entirely, assuring him in gentle words that she had already eaten. Though her words seemed sincere, a faint doubt lingered in his mind. When he pulled her close during the night, wrapping her in his arms as they rested, the growing unease took root. His hands, brushing feather-light against her body, began to notice the subtle yet undeniable change in her. Where there had once been soft curves and warmth, there was now a startling firmness—sharp edges that made him pause, his brow furrowing slightly in the dim moonlight. Even then, he said nothing. Thranduil was no stranger to sorrow, to burdens that weighed heavily on the heart, and he respected her autonomy too much to press her before she was ready to speak. He told himself he would wait, that she would come to him in time. But as the days turned into weeks, his concerns only deepened.

In an attempt to ease her struggles, he began encouraging her to share breakfast with him in the mornings. He framed it as a small moment for them to spend together before the demands of the day pulled him away. She would comply, sitting across from him with a faint smile and picking at the food before her. She ate just enough to appease him—small bites that seemed painfully measured—but he watched her closely, noting the deliberate pace with which she moved. It was enough, or so he thought, to convince him she was eating, and he allowed himself to be reassured, if only for a short while. But the truth was far more troubling than he could have imagined. Once he left to attend to his duties, satisfied that she had eaten something, she would retreat to the privacy of her chambers or the nearest restroom. There, the food she had carefully consumed was discarded, her fragile body rejecting what little she had allowed herself to take in. This hidden ritual became her way of maintaining the facade, of keeping her pain and self-doubt hidden from him.

Over the course of months, her decline became impossible to ignore. Her once vibrant frame, so full of life and grace, seemed to shrink before his eyes. Dresses that once fit her beautifully now hung loosely, their fabric billowing around her as though the wind might carry her away. Her face, which he adored for its soft glow and gentle features, appeared hollowed, the light in her eyes dimmed. Even her movements, always so elegant and assured, began to seem too light, as though her body no longer held the strength to move with the same vitality. Thranduil noticed it all, though he told himself at first that it was not yet time to speak. He convinced himself that perhaps it was just a passing phase, that her appetite would return with time. But the weight of his doubts grew heavier with every glance, every moment spent by her side.

It wasn’t until a shared dinner one evening that the reality of her condition struck him fully. She sat across from him, her head slightly bowed, her hands trembling faintly as she held her utensils. He watched her take only a faint nibble of her meal before pushing the plate aside, her expression calm but distant. His piercing eyes, so often unreadable and aloof, softened with a mix of confusion and deep concern. As she rose from the table and quietly retreated to her chambers, Thranduil’s gaze followed her, his heart aching in a way he had not felt in centuries. The realization hit him with a force he had not anticipated: he had let this go on for far too long. Whatever pain or fear she was hiding, whatever thoughts had driven her to this state, he could no longer stand idly by. Though his duties had often drawn him away, he could no longer ignore the truth staring him in the face. His beloved, the one he cherished above all else, was slipping away from him. And this time, he would not let her fade.  

That night, Thranduil does not let her slip away into isolation as he has unwittingly allowed her to do before. His duties and the weight of his crown have often occupied his mind, but this time, he casts aside all else. His steps are purposeful as he ascends the stairs to their chambers, his heart heavy with guilt and determination. He has been blind for too long, content to wait, to let her come to him when she was ready—but now, he understands that the waiting has cost them dearly. He will not lose her to this. Not to her own self-doubt. Not to her pain. When he reaches their shared quarters, the soft glow of candlelight spills into the hallway. Pushing the door open with a deliberate calmness, he finds her standing before the tall, ornate mirror by the window. Her arms are crossed tightly over her middle, clutching herself as though trying to shield her reflection from her own eyes. She stares at her image, her expression a mixture of sorrow and silent disgust. Her gown, once tailored to her graceful frame, now hangs loosely off her shoulders, the fabric falling limply where it once hugged her figure.

The sight of her, so lost in this quiet torment, tears at his soul in a way no battle or grief ever has. For a long moment, Thranduil cannot speak, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her frail form, illuminated by the soft candlelight. Her gown, once fitting her like a second skin, hangs off her frame as though it were meant for someone else. The sight of her hollowed cheeks, the way her arms wrap around herself tightly, makes his heart constrict with a pain he has no words for. He feels as if the ground beneath him has shifted—this is not the woman he adores, the one who once stood strong at his side. This is someone drowning in a silent, invisible battle, and he had not seen it. He finally steps forward, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic vulnerability, shattering the heavy silence. “Why?” he asks, his tone laced with anguish. “Why have you done this to yourself, meleth nîn?” At the sound of his voice, she flinches, her arms tightening across her middle as though trying to protect herself from the weight of his words. She does not turn to face him, staring instead at her reflection, the shame and self-loathing in her eyes unbearable even to herself. Her voice, when she finally speaks, is brittle, as if it might break under its own weight. “Because… because I thought if I could just be better—if I could be worthy—maybe you would—” She cuts off, swallowing hard, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her.

Thranduil’s chest tightens as her words sink in, each one a dagger to his heart. “Stop,” he commands gently, though the sorrow in his voice makes it a plea more than an order. He takes another step closer, his movements slow, as if afraid she might break apart before his eyes. But she still doesn’t face him, her shoulders shaking as silent tears fall. “I look at myself,” she whispers, her voice breaking with every word. “And I see someone… weak. Someone ugly. Someone you couldn’t possibly still love. You deserve better—someone beautiful, someone strong, someone—”

“Someone like you,” he interrupts, his voice unsteady but firm, his own pain now laid bare. His hands rise, trembling as he gently turns her to face him. The sight of her tears, of her fragile frame, threatens to undo him, but he holds steady. He cups her face, his thumbs brushing the tears from her cheeks. “You do not see what I see,” he says, his voice low but thick with emotion. “You do not see how every part of you—the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way your very presence lights my path—makes this world brighter. You are not weak, nor ugly, nor unworthy. You are everything to me. You are my heart, my light. You have always been enough.” His voice cracks on the last word, and for the first time in an age, Thranduil’s regal composure breaks.

Her hands come up to grip his wrists as though anchoring herself to his words, but still, she shakes her head. “I… I don’t feel it,” she admits, her voice trembling, her tears falling harder now. “I don’t feel like enough. I feel broken, Thranduil. I feel like I’m fading away, and I don’t know how to stop it.” Her confession cuts him deeper than he ever thought possible. He pulls her into his arms, holding her tightly as though his embrace alone might keep her from slipping through his fingers. “Then let me hold you together,” he whispers, his voice raw. “Let me remind you every day, every hour, if I must. If I have failed you—if I have not shown you just how much I love you, how much you mean to me—then it is I who must ask forgiveness.”

She sobs quietly into his chest, her fragile frame trembling in his arms, and he holds her as if she is the most precious thing in the world, his heart breaking for her pain. “But promise me,” he whispers, his voice shaking, “promise me you will not fade from me. I cannot lose you, meleth. You are the root of my heart. Without you, I am nothing.” For a long moment, they stand there in the quiet of their chambers, her tears soaking into his robes as he holds her as though his very life depends on it. And perhaps it does—for in her, Thranduil sees not just his love, but his purpose, his joy, his everything.

In the days that follow, Thranduil becomes relentless in his devotion. He refuses to let her battle this darkness alone. Meals are no longer solitary; he invites her to eat with him, crafting each moment with care, ensuring she feels cherished rather than scrutinized. His words are tender, laced with love and affirmation, as though he is weaving a tapestry of reassurance around her heart. When she falters—when the doubt resurfaces like a shadow in her mind—he does not let her fall. He takes her hand, guiding her into the sunlight of the forest, walking with her through the golden glades and quiet streams. He speaks not only of her beauty but of her spirit, her strength.

“You are no less a part of this world’s beauty,” he tells her one day as they stand beneath the sunlight streaming through the canopy. “You are its center. Without you, the stars would dim, the forests would fall silent, and my heart… my heart would break.” Day by day, she begins to heal. The despair that once gripped her loosens its hold as his love surrounds her, unwavering and infinite. He does not rush her, nor does he expect perfection. He meets her where she is, every moment reminding her that she is enough, that she is loved, that she is his. To Thranduil, she is perfection—not for her outward appearance, but for the light within her, the love she has always given so selflessly. He remains steadfast, a king brought to his knees by the one he loves above all else. For her, he would wait an eternity. For her, he would give everything. And in time, as the shadows lift, he knows she will see herself as he does: beautiful, strong, and deeply, endlessly loved.

Thranduil, with the depth of his love and devotion, took it upon himself to help his beloved heal, piece by piece, moment by moment. Each day, he made it his mission to remind her of her worth, to show her that his love for her was unshakable and infinite. He didn’t merely speak his love—he lived it, weaving it into their daily lives with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt.

The Mornings: Each morning, Thranduil would wake before her, lying still so as not to disturb her rest. As she stirred awake, he would press gentle kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, and the corners of her lips, whispering softly, “Good morning, meleth nîn. You are my first thought of the day and my greatest joy.” If she resisted joining him for breakfast, citing a lack of hunger, he would never pressure her. Instead, he would bring a tray to their chambers, filled with small, carefully chosen foods he knew she liked. “Just a little,�� he would encourage, sitting beside her and eating with her so she would never feel alone. He never commented on how much she ate but celebrated each bite with soft smiles and warm words, making the experience gentle and unthreatening.

The Midday: As his duties called him to the throne room or council chambers, Thranduil would often find ways to keep her connected to him, even when they were apart. He sent her small notes, written in his elegant script, left where she would find them—a book she had been reading, a favorite resting spot by the window, or even tucked among the blooms of her favorite flowers. Each note carried his thoughts, like: “The world feels lighter knowing you are here.” “Your smile outshines the sun, meleth. I will see it again today, won’t I?” But it wasn’t just his words he offered. On days when her strength waned and she couldn’t bring herself to join him outside, Thranduil would bring the beauty of the forest to her. He would gather blossoms from the woods, arranging them in delicate patterns on her desk or beside her bed, whispering, “Even the most perfect bloom pales beside you.”

The Evenings: The evenings were sacred to Thranduil—time he could dedicate entirely to her. He would often draw her a warm bath, filling it with soothing oils and the petals of her favorite flowers. He would help her undress, and though she hesitated at first, he would take her hands in his and kiss her palms, whispering, “There is nothing here that is unworthy, meleth. Nothing I do not love.” When she let him, he would kneel beside the bath and gently wash her, his fingers tracing over the parts of her body she had grown to loathe. Her collarbones, once hidden, now too sharp in her eyes, he would kiss with reverence. Her arms, which she thought too thin, he would cradle, pressing his lips against them softly. “Each part of you is a piece of my world,” he murmured. “Without one, I would be lost.” Afterward, when she was clothed and resting, he would take her in his arms, trailing kisses over her skin. If she tried to turn away, he would stop her with a hand on her cheek, his eyes piercing yet soft. “Do not hide from me,” he would say, his voice heavy with emotion. “You are mine to love, wholly and without condition.” Every night before bed, he would kiss every part of her that she had grown to feel insecure about. Her wrists, her shoulders, her ribs—wherever her own fingers lingered in shame, his lips followed in devotion. He would press his lips gently to her stomach, his hands resting there with a tenderness that made her heart ache. “Here,” he would whisper, “is where life and beauty dwell. Here is perfection.” He would trail his kisses lower, over her thighs, her knees, and down to her ankles, his lips brushing the places she thought unworthy, as though he could erase every doubt with his touch. He kissed the curve of her hips, the small of her back, her collarbones, and even her fingertips, murmuring soft words of love with every press of his lips. “Here,” he said with quiet reverence, “is strength. Here is grace. Here is the one who keeps my heart beating.” No part of her was ignored, no inch of her body was left untouched by his worship. And in his touch, there was no hesitation, no doubt—only love, pure and unshakable, reminding her with every moment that she was cherished beyond measure.

The Small Things: Beyond the grand gestures, it was the little, unspoken acts of love that began to rebuild her confidence and trust in herself. Thranduil was attentive to her smallest needs, anticipating them before she even realized. If she shivered, he would wrap his cloak around her shoulders. If her hands trembled, he would take them in his own, rubbing warmth into her fingers. He began to guide her to the world outside their chambers again, never pushing but always encouraging. Together, they would walk the forest paths, and he would tell her stories of the ancient trees, the history of the land they walked upon. But always, his words would circle back to her. “These trees have seen thousands of years,” he once said, standing beneath the great canopy of the Greenwood. “And yet, it was not until you walked beneath them that they truly knew beauty.”

The Nights: At night, as they lay together, Thranduil would pull her close, her body pressed against his as he stroked her hair. “I will always love you,” he would whisper into the quiet darkness. “There is nothing you can do, nothing you could be, that will change that.” When she cried, overcome by the weight of her emotions, he would hold her tighter, his voice steady as he whispered reassurances. “You are not broken,” he would say again and again. “You are healing. And I will be here for every step, for every moment, for as long as you need me.” Sometimes, when words weren’t enough, he would sing to her, his voice low and melodic, the ancient elvish songs of love and light filling the space between them. These were his prayers for her, his promises woven into melody.

The Healing: Thranduil knew the path to healing would be long and fraught with setbacks, but he never faltered. When she doubted herself, he reminded her of her strength. When she pushed him away, he stayed. When she felt unworthy, he held her and whispered his love until she could no longer deny its truth. Through his daily acts of love—his unwavering attention, his patience, his gentleness—she began to see herself through his eyes. And though the darkness did not leave entirely, it no longer held her captive. Slowly, with Thranduil’s steady hand and boundless love, she began to find her way back to herself. And to him.

[levi-4uckerman]

: ̗̀➛ satoru gojo x reader // like ghosts in the snow // chapter five

♥ the one where it happens again. many times. ♥ (´ω｀*) ☾ ⋆ TWs: explicit sexual content, intimate sex, unprotected sex, creampies, nightmares, sukuna mention (fucking finally) ☾ ⋆ Words: 3.5k (shorter one, sorry!)

⇘  previous chapter  ⇙ •┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈• ⇘  story timeline  ⇙

⌦ Tokyo, Japan | February, 2015..｡.:*♡

It was supposed to stop.

Every time, you promised yourself it would be the last. The last stolen glance, the last late-night visit, the last time you’d wake up to find him draped across your bed like he belonged there.

It never was.

The rules you’d made— unspoken and fragile —were already ruined. You couldn’t remember when you stopped pretending. Maybe it was that time in the library, with his hot breath against your neck while your fingers tangled in his hair. Or maybe it was the night that he’d shown up at your place again, hair wet from the rain and desperation shining in his eyes as he begged you to let him in.

Any lines you’d tried to draw in between were crossed. Over and over again.

Satoru wasn’t supposed to be on your mind like this. In your bed. And yet… you wanted him there.

It didn’t matter where you met him— on the school grounds, in dimly lit hallways of the Council building, or on opposite sides of the same room— trading sharp words like weapons. It always ended the same way.

His lips attached to yours, hands planted firmly against your skin. His voice low and teasing in your ear. You hated how natural it felt, how easy it was. How inevitable it felt, to give in.

It shouldn’t have been.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The days passed in a blur, and although you hated yourself for it, you were welcoming of Satoru’s company. He was a soothing balm to your constant cycle of stress and frustration, between council meetings and consultations within the world of Jujutsu. As the first and only appointed Oracle, your technique was in high demand— by higher-ups and colleagues alike.

Satoru knew what it was like, to be needed in such a way… an impersonal sort of way, the kind that makes you feel like more of a tool than a human.

More of a weapon than a human, in his experience.

“You’re going to burn yourself out, Shi-chan,” he told you one afternoon spent on campus, sitting next to him in his office while sifting through paperwork. He had parked his chair way too close to yours, which was nothing new, but it was distracting. His bandages were discarded, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you flip through the reports in your lap.

“I don’t have a choice,” you mumbled, exhaustion tugging at you. “Someone has to take these requests. You wouldn’t understand—,”

A loud snort cut you off. “Wouldn’t I?” His eyes were teasing, but something in his expression was… softer. You’d miss it if you blinked. “Come on, Shi-chan. You think I don’t know what it’s like, to be the first person the executives call when they’re in over their heads? The only one they can turn to when they can’t handle their own shit?”

Your hands paused in their movements, but you averted your gaze.

You felt him creep closer, still; you felt him reach out to touch your jaw, gently forcing you to look at him. “You don’t have to keep saying yes, you know,” he continued. “You can let people down sometimes. It’s freeing.”

“No one else can do what I do,” you said. “I have to say yes.”

“No, you don’t,” Satoru said, releasing your jaw. “I say no all the goddamn time.”

“That’s because you don’t care,” you spat, heat rising in your chest.

“Wrong,” he sang in response, the grin spreading across his face infuriatingly attractive. “I care a lot. But I don’t owe the higher-ups anything, and I want them to know that.”

“Easy for you to say, Satoru,” your tone was cutting, angry. “You’re untouchable. They need you, whether you say yes or not.”

Satoru’s relaxed stance changed. His muscles tensed visibly beneath his uniform, his jaw ticked imperceptibly. He was upset, too. “They also need you,” he asserted. “And I don’t want you to kill yourself trying to prove it.”

You stood up, suddenly uncomfortable with his proximity. You were frowning, brows furrowed as you stared down at him. Unmoving. Unspeaking.

After a beat, you found your voice. “If I don’t do it, no one will.”

He stood, the scrape of his chair against the floor echoing slightly in the quiet room. He towered over you, personal space virtually nonexistent. You felt the quiet hum of his Infinity fizzle briefly against you, a familiar sensation after practically growing up together. You stiffened, but did not step back.

“What about what you need?” He asked. “Who’s going to look out for you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. The words came out stronger than you’d intended, surprising even yourself.

“Bull fucking shit,” he shot back, sharp but not unkind. “It matters, Shi-chan. And if you keep letting them drain you dry, you’ll find that out the hard way.”

You let the reports slip from your grasp, papers cascading to the floor of Satoru’s pristine office. "They gave me this promotion, Gojo. I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, turning away from him. You approached the door, hand reaching for the metal handle when you felt heat pressing against your back.

Satoru’s heat.

He reached around you, stopping your limb short. “There’s always a choice,” he murmured, the Infinity between you disappearing. You felt his breath on your neck, the low rumble of his voice caressing the shell of your ear. You closed your eyes tight. “You’re allowed to make one for yourself.”

Just as the silence began to settle, your phone buzzed on the wood of Satoru’s desk. From here, you could just barely make out the name— and you couldn’t suppress the way your face twisted into a scowl and a frustrated huff left your nostrils.

Before you knew it, Satoru appeared at the desk, gripping your phone in his hands. His gaze narrowed at the name in a way that suggested he wasn’t familiar. “Who is this?”

“The Administrative Liaison from the Jujutsu Council,” you muttered, tone dripping with disdain. “They’re summoning me for another investigation.”

His eyes flashed to yours, and your stomach dropped. “Satoru, no, don’t you dare—,”

Too late. He accepted the call, pressing a finger to his lips in warning before speaking into the receiver. “Myoji’s phone, this is Satoru Gojo,” he said smoothly. “What can I do for the esteemed Jujutsu Council on this fine evening?”

You watched in horror, helpless as he grinned, listening to the voice on the other line. The words were fast, practically mumbled from where you stood across the room. He leaned against the edge of the desk, tilting his gorgeous head as if pondering his next move.

“No,” he said finally, his tone pleasant. “I’m afraid Myoji is not available.”

Whatever response he got next made his grin widen. He tapped his fingers against the desk, a steady rhythm that only amplified your anxiety.

“Nonono, you’re misunderstanding,” he said, cutting off the voice on the other end. “She’s not your errand girl, and she’s not a tool for you to exploit. You don’t get to treat her like this.”

Your stomach twisted. “Satoru!” You seethed. “Stop this!”

He held up a finger, silencing you without so much as a glance. “If you keep bullying her into saying yes, the Council will have a lot more trouble than their precious Oracle could fix.”

The weight of his words seemed to ripple through the room, his cursed energy pressing into the very air around you both. Whatever the caller said next was brief, clipped, and cut short as Satoru ended the call without so much as a goodbye. He smirked at you, the edge of his energy easing as he let the silence stretch for another beat. He tossed the phone back onto the desk.

You stomped over to him, anger twisting your face. “What the hell was that?”

Satoru shrugged. “Me doing something you should have done a long time ago. You’re welcome!” He added brightly.

Your jaw tightened. “They gave me my first grade status, Satoru,” you pressed. “I owe it to them to—,”

“You earned that fucking status,” he said, leaning down into you. “They won’t touch it. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“I can handle myself, you know,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes with a similar fervor. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Despite your words, something softened in your heart. He’d… stood up for you. When had anyone ever done that? Why… did he do that? He was watching you now, his grin faint— the kind of smirk that was more armor than expression. His hands were tucked loosely in his pockets, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tilt of his head as he waited for you to snap, to yell at him, to tell him to stay out of your business.

And you should have done all of those things.

Instead, you stayed silent, chewing on your lip. You felt like you could see your reflection in those bright blue eyes— small, uncertain, and utterly undone by the man standing before you.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the overhead light.

Satoru swallowed before finally replying. “Yeah, I did.”

You were standing inches apart, if even that. Your breath caught in your chest when he reached out, long fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch was fleeting, almost hesitant, and it sent a wave of heat coursing through you.

“Satoru,” you warned, breathless.

“Shh,” he said, unmoving. “I’m not doing anything.”

You could smell his cologne— clean and refreshing with something spicy underneath. You closed your eyes, trying to remind yourself to be angry. Be mad. You were supposed to stop.

“Should I?” he asked, his words barely above a murmur. The faint curve of his lips dared you to reply. Dared you to say yes.

You said his name again, but your voice came out husky. Wrong. “Shouldn’t… be this close,” you managed to add, although lacking in conviction.

“Am I close?” He asked, the teasing lilt in his tone sending your stomach into knots.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering to his mouth before snapping back to his eyes. “Yes.”

“Does it bother you?” He tilted his head, just slightly, enough to bring his face closer to yours.

“Yes.” You whispered.

Your voice cracked.

“Liar.”

He leaned forward, so slightly— just enough to let your breaths mingle, your lips graze each other.

This dance, this… game you played was like a stuck record. It repeated the same verse over and over, infinitely.

You feared it would never get old.

“We really shouldn’t,” you said again, voice shaking as you braced your palm against his chest.

Oh. His Infinity was down.

Oh. He was warm.

“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, as if he could feel your resolve cracking. “You always say that, baby—,”

A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment, as abrupt and jarring as glass hitting the floor.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Satoru froze, his lips hovering just over yours. His instinct was to ignore it. Pretend no one was there, pretend the world didn’t exist outside of this moment, like in his domain—

“Satoru,” You whispered, your voice low and insistent. His head dropped forward in exaggerated defeat, the faintest groan slipping from his lips onto yours.

“Ignore it,” he pleaded, grabbing at your waist, pulling you closer.

But something in the air had shifted, the moment was over. You pulled away as another sharp knock cut through the silence, followed by a voice calling out for him, for Satoru.

He’d lost you for the moment, but not the evening. Straightening his posture, replacing his bandages, Satoru used his technique to straighten the papers scattered among your feet as you reclaimed a seat at his desk. The blush on your cheeks was faint, but not indetectable. Not for him.

This wasn’t over. He was sure of that.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Sitting in the windowsill of the Tokyo dorms, your fingers twisting nervously in your lap; you knew he was coming. You let your gaze linger over the the school grounds, unfocused, as the glow of the moon cast soft shadows over your face.

“You hidin’ from me?” Satoru said from behind you, the weight of his attention impossible to ignore. You turned to face him, pleased to see that his eyes were covered.

It was always easier to talk to him that way.

“Maybe I’m just busy.”

He stepped into your space, taking a seat next to you. A warm hand settled over your knee, squeezing gently. “You’re not.”

You sighed. “You shouldn’t be here, Satoru.”

“And why is that?”

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, voice strained. “This pretending.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing yours. “Pretending…?” His voice was teasing as usual, but there was a hint of something else. Something vulnerable.

Despite the bandages over his eyes, you felt incredibly naked before him. You swallowed before replying, “Pretending that this doesn’t mean anything to me. Pretending that every time we meet eyes in the hall, it doesn’t affect me, or that every time you play with my hair while we’re laying together in your silk sheets that it doesn’t make me want to stay there forever. This might be the sort of thing that works for you, Satoru, but I can’t. I can’t keep pretending.” You felt tears prickling at your eyes, proud that you managed to hold them in despite the quiver of your lip.

Satoru was silent for a moment, the room feeling heavier between you. His hand stilled against yours, while the other reached up to bare his six eyes to you. They were glowing, you noticed. Have they always done that?

“Then don’t,” he leaned closer, his words lacking any playfulness. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Your heart raced in your chest. The tension in the air was palpable. “You promise me you won’t regret it?” you asked in a trembling voice, each word a hesitant offering. You’d turned yourself toward him, and your eyes searched his for any measure of deceit or humor. You found none.

Satoru tilted his head slightly, the tiniest smirk pulling at the edges of his lips. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

His fingers rose to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. Despite the intimate proximity you’d been in with him up to this point, this felt different. Charged with something unspoken, something fragile.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your lips. But he didn’t kiss you— not yet. Instead, his mouth hovered, brushing yours in a gentle sort of way that wasn’t quite a kiss. The space between you dissolved into shallow breaths, the heat of his exhale teasing your skin.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, holding him there— unwilling to let the distance grow. “You always do this to me,” you murmured, the words barely audible.

“Do what?” He asked, his voice soft, the question slipping between you like a secret.

You didn’t answer, instead pressing your lips to his with more intention, but still just as soft.

He murmured your full name like a plea, his forehead pressed against yours. His mouth ghosted over the corner of your own, a touch so light that it nearly broke you.

“This,” you whispered, letting his hands slide to your waist. The touch was insistent, grounding you as the weight of him pressed into you- unyielding and steady. Still, he didn’t kiss you— not completely. His mouth lingered, tasting the edges of words unspoken, stealing breaths like something precious. When his lips shifted against yours, deeper this time, a soft sound escaped you. He caught it, swallowed it, his breath heavy with the same quiet desperation. It wasn’t a kiss. It was everything.

You fell into each other, feeling the world shift as Satoru warped you into the closest dorm. Students still used this wing, and you had to be quiet— something he reminded you of with a hand clasped over your mouth as he sucked on your neck, nipping and biting.

Your bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle; his warmth seeped into you, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. It was fast, it was desperate, it was careless. Murmured praise echoed into the room as he pleasured you— first with his fingers, then his mouth, and finally his cock. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer with each thrust. Somewhere in the back of your mind, it registered that you’d forgotten protection, but you didn’t care. You wanted Satoru close, wanted to be full of him, wanted him to seep out from between your thighs when he was finished with you.

When the waves of ecstasy finally washed over you both, you clung to him. His arms wrapped protectively around you as he pulsed within you, filling you so impossibly deep that you cried out into his shoulder, teeth baring down into his flesh until you tasted copper. His soft whimpers filled your ears as his tip kissed your womb, burying his seed deep into your walls.

When he flipped you onto your stomach for round two, you should have stopped him. Should have told him no, especially when his slick member pressed into you from behind, sloppily fucking his hot cum deeper into you. Should have at least made him pull out, instead of crying out in desperate pleas to give you more and more— egging him on, asking for it. Over and over until he lay spent on top of you, whining as he kissed you— for real this time. Desperate. Messy.

Meaningful.

Instead of thinking, you chose to exist. You let go of your questions and doubts, the looming shadows of what tomorrow might bring. Regret had no place here for now, not in his warmth, not with his breath steady against your skin.

You didn’t know how it would work or why it felt so certain, but there was an unshakeable peace within you. It whispered in the silence between the beats of your hearts— a fragile promise that, somehow, this… would be enough.

This would be okay.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

⌦ Somewhere out west... | 2018..｡.:*♡

You sat up abruptly in your bed, your blood feeling icy in your veins. The dream dragged you back to wakefulness with a cold grip, leaving your chest heaving. Your breath came in shallow gasps, cold sweat clinging to your skin despite the heavy quilt tangled around your lower half. The nightmare was fading quickly, vivid fragments slipping through the cracks like water.

Shriveled fingers. A boy with two faces. Something unspeakably dark coiled around his soul, whispering promises of destruction.

You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, willing your heart’s beating to slow. It wasn’t the first time you’d dreamed of him— this cursed boy. The details were always unclear, but the weight of his presence never failed to shake you. To leave you gasping for air, a cold sweat having taken over your body. Something about this dream felt eerily inevitable, like a thread woven thickly into your web of fate, intertwining with too many paths to ignore.

“Mama?”

The small voice cut through the fog in your head, pulling you back into the present. You turned toward the doorway, where Haruto stood, rubbing his eyes. He had his stuffed rabbit, Snowy, clutched tight against his chest. His white hair was sticking out in every direction, familiar blue eyes peering up at you with sleepy concern.

“Honey,” you started, softening your voice as you reached for him. “Did I wake you?”

He shuffled over to your bed, little feet barely making a sound against the floorboards. “You were talking,” he mumbled, climbing onto the mattress and curling into your side. “It sounded scary.”

Your heart twisted. “Was I?” you murmured, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “I was dreaming, sweetheart. I’m sorry it woke you.”

Haruto frowned at you, his little brows furrowing. “You have bad dreams, mama?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “But it’s over. And I’ve got my little warrior with me now!” You added the last part with a smile, warm and loving.

He seemed to accept that, nestling closer to you with Snowy pressed between your bodies. His warmth was comforting, a stark contrast to the cold dread still clinging to your chest. You pulled your quilt over the both of you as you laid back, idly stroking your fingers through his hair.

“Do our dreams mean something, mama?” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep.

Your hand slowed in its movements. “Maybe sometimes,” you said softly. “But not always.”

He yawned before uttering a soft “okay” and tucking his face into your side, drifting back to sleep with a tiny hand resting on your chest.

You watched as his breathing slowed, letting your gaze linger on his peaceful features. You saw Satoru in the curve of his jaw, the softness of his expression, the way his lips turned slightly upward even in sleep. It isn’t fair, you thought. That Haruto should be a living reminder of everything you’d been running from, everything you swore you’d protect him from.

And still, he was the most precious gift that Satoru had ever given you. The part of your past that you would never, could never regret.

Your fingers trailed through the mess of white hair on his head, your throat tightening as you whispered into the quiet dark of the room, “I’ll protect you. No matter what.”

Yet the question lingered, unspoken in the quiet air of your cabin. The dream still fresh on your mind, the unmistakable presence of a curse’s influence making you shiver. What, exactly, were you protecting him from?

.

.

This is Chapter 5 of a multi-chapter fic to be crossposted to AO3. Taglist below as requested. @starlightglimmersworld @mccookiemonster @leilakaro @certainduckanchor @itsbellablue-blog @shokosbunny @megumisthirdog @thegh0stwife @54fangirl @misslovingpearl @idkuluka @bitchycloudstrawberry @pinkpunkdynamite @theclassbookworm @okaywitheverything

[frost-queen]

To have all of you (Reader x Benedict Bridgerton)

Requested by: anon Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers,  @alex--awesome--22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23 , @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr , @melsunshine , @panhoeofmanyfandoms , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis

Benedict sighed deep. Having only entered the ballroom for a few seconds now. Swallowing nervously when a group of ladies eyed him. Giggling and snickering charmingly to try and win him over to their side. – “Good God.” – Benedict sighed out, letting his head fall back. – “They hunt in packs now.” – he mumbled underneath his breath. Feeling a presence near him, made him look up. Eyes widening at his mother. – “Benedict would you…” – she began as he already knew what she was going to ask. – “Let Colin fetch you a lemonade, sure.” – he finished turning the tide on her question.

“What?” – Colin answered confused, having only caught his name. Benedict slipped away before his mother could grab for his arm. Chuckling loud. – “Ben… Benedict.” – Violet wanted to shout out, but had to compose herself in front of the ton. She sighed deep, turning her posture to Colin. Smiling at her son with a hidden agenda. – “What?” – Colin repeated, far away from understanding what was happening. Violet locked her arm with him. – “You’ll dance with your mother right?” – she asked letting her hand brush up his arm.

Colin finally understood the sudden haste of his brother. Wanting to escape a dance with his mother. Benedict moved swiftly through the crowd, creating a large distance between him and his mother. He loved her dearly, but forced to dance with her was just a bit too much. His gaze fell on a figure, making him smile instantly. Seeing her stand a bit lost between the crowd.

Hands fidgeting, standing slightly on the tips of her toes. Clearly searching for someone till her gaze found what she had been looking for. A smile curling up at him. Benedict made his way over, gently moving a lord out of the way that was just about to step backwards. – “The highlight of my evening.” – Benedict called out opening his arms to you. – “Stop it.” – you responded teasingly, pushing his arms back down. Benedict smiled sheepishly coming to stand with you.

“Avoiding your mama?” – you asked quirking your eyebrow up. Benedict turned shockingly back at you, keeping a hand on his chest. It didn’t take him long to start laughing. His gaze drifted a bit away, seeing a group of three ladies eye him. Whisper to each other and actually get in motion towards him. Benedict swallowed, grabbing you firmly by the shoulders. Moving you in front of him.

“Benedict?” – you let out confused. He simply shushed you, shoving you forwards. You let him shove you forwards, seeing the three ladies in front of you. – “Are you using me as a human shield?” – you shout-whispered to him. – “Yes now hush before I get snatched.” – he answered, giving you a harder shove to break through the ladies. Making them part. – “Sorry ladies, I am already promised to dance.” – he told them whilst passing them. Hinting at you.

The ladies turned on their heel, watching him leave with you. Crossing their arms in defeat. Out of sight, you came to a stop. Turning around as he bumped against you. – “Is that so, then you must honour your words.” – you let out, bringing your hand up. Dance card dangling around your wrist by a cord. Benedict narrowed his eyes a bit, grabbing your hand. Turning your palm to him. – “Is that paint on your fingers miss Y/n?” – he teased with a charming smile.

“Did your mama not teach you to wash your hands?” – he pouted his lips. Clicking his tongue with a dismissive shake of his head. – “I could say the same for you.” – you took his hand, twisting it your way. Watching him fight against the pained position you were holding it. He puffed loud, pulling his hand down. Rubbing his fingers over it to erase the chalk stains on his fingertips. Crossing your arms, you laughed him out. Benedict showing you some childish mockery.

Hearing a man clear his throat nearby, made both of you stop and stare. The man’s eyes falling on you. – “Absolutely not.” – Benedict said loud, turning you around by your shoulder. – “Her dance card is full.” – he lied, shoving you away. Glancing over his shoulder to see if he wasn’t following. Coming to another stop, he let go of you. You shoved your dance card at him once more.

“Just sign your name on it so I won’t be bothered anymore.” – you sighed out. Benedict took it, chuckling loud. – “Only by me then.” – he responded with a flashing smile. You watched him write his name numerous times till every line was filled. – “There.” – he finished, patting you against your arm. You smiled admiring your dance card. Now you only had to show your full dance card as an excuse to every eager lord.

Benedict guided you towards the drinks table. Taking one lemonade one and one alcoholic drink. Keeping the alcoholic one behind his back. Turning his posture to the crowd. You stood behind him, taking the drink, looking away and taking a sip from it. Immediately shuddering at the horrible taste as you placed it back in his hand. Benedict turned around, handing you the glass of lemonade.

“Told you, you’d hate it.” – he said. An accomplish to your scheme of sneaking in a first taste of alcohol. You drowned the horrible taste down with lemonade. He couldn’t help himself but smile. Smile fondly back at you. Smile as if his entire world was right in front of him.

You noticed the certain gleam in his eyes, furrowing your brows. – “What?” – you spoke softly. Benedict smiling shyly down. – “Nothing.” – he responded touching your chin with a smile. Gazing back into your eyes as he was reminded of the first time he ever met you.

He had just finished a lesson at the academy. Walking out, entering the hallways. Coat and sketchbook in his hand. Exhaling loud as he didn’t felt like peaking. His focus wasn’t there. Roaming the hallways, his gaze caught a glimpse of something or rather someone. Making him stop and do a double-take that his eyes were not deceiving him.

Debating for a moment whether or not he should disturb. Too curious and noisy, so he did. Pushing the door slightly more open. Watching the back of a woman in an apron. Taking her paintbrushes to wash. Smiling curiously to see a woman at a man’s academy, painting. – “Are you going to keep gawking at me or carry on with your day?” -  you said looking briefly over your shoulder. Having felt a presence enter the room.

“I…” – Benedict said, unsure what to say next. You quirked an eyebrow up to him whilst cleaning your paintbrush with a dirty cloth. Wondering when he would finish his sentence. – “I’m sorry, but is that your painting?” – he asked pointing at the one behind you. – “Yes.” – you responded. – “Do you believe a woman cannot paint?” – you then asked.

Knowing in what kind of world you found yourself. – “No… it is not that… it is just most women here are…” – he began moving a bit closer to you. – “Models?” – you finished for him. Seeing him settle with a nod. – “Well that I am not.” – you responded putting your paint brushes away. You glanced his way, wondering why he was still present. Wondering if he required anything else from you.

“Why are you not…” – he asked as you finished the answer for him before he could end his sentence. – “with the other academics?” – quirking your eyebrow up to make it obvious to him. – “I am a woman. That is why.” – you stated, throwing the dirty cloth in your box with paint brushes. Benedict nodded understandably.

That was the moment that intrigued Benedict about you. That is what made your friendship grow and settle for something both were too afraid to say out loud.

Benedict felt good around you. Felt like he was the best of himself around you. He knew you felt it as well. Having shared many moments together. Painting next to each other. Him joining your little private room at the academy rather than join the crowed classrooms.

Share his poems with you and ask your honest opinion about them. Spend almost every moment together till you no longer could live without the other. That was until you started to get noticed by a gentleman. One who was very eager to have you as his wife. A pish-posh, Benedict would call him.

A high lord who had never did anything creative. Held no book. Held no brushes or musical instrument. A man thinking with only logic and falling for a pleasing face. There was nothing he could offer you and that he knew;

Benedict had found you once more at the academy. Being separated from you for the longest of all. As you rather spend your time with your new lord. – “Finishing up?” – Benedict asked, entering and closing the door behind him. To keep your hide-out private. – “That I am.” – you responded putting your paintbrushes away. You barely gave him any attention, continue to clean up.

Benedict moved to the front, coming to sit down on one of the two chairs on a small platform. In case you needed any models. He watched you take down your painting from the easel, setting it aside. It made him furrow his brows. – “What are you going to do with your life?” – he let out.

Wanting to know what you intended to do now that he was in your life too. You sighed loud. – “Become an ornament to society.” – you responded dropping some paintbrushes away. Benedict hummed, trying hard to hide his jealousy. – “That is where Fred Hughes comes in, I suppose.” – he answered.

“Don’t make fun of him.” – you replied. – “I said his name.” – Benedict answered slightly annoyed that it bothered you. – “You’re not engaged I hope…” – he added, not sure if he wanted to hear the outcome. – “No…” – you avoided eye contact. Benedict furrowed his brows at you, sucking in a breath as he leaned forwards in his chair.

“But you will be if he asks properly?” – he watched you look shyly away. Uncertain of your answer. – “Probably.” – you answered rather uncertain about your own answer when the time might come. Gaze meeting up with his as they rested there. A sorrowful expression on your face. Perhaps you wanted things to change, but weren’t sure if they were able too. Certainly not with the unspoken things between Benedict and you.

A loud knock on the door, broke your attention away from him. – “Oh that must be Fred.” – you said moving closer to Benedict. – “Can you unbutton me?” – asking as you turned your back to him. Benedict rose from his seat, coming to stand behind you.

Hands reaching for the top buttons of your painting apron. Moving downwards with each button unbuttoned. He stared at the back of  your head and neck. A million jealous thoughts crossing his mind. His hands lowered to the ribbon that held it all together. Taking one side between his fingers. Gently tugging at it as it came loose. Feeling the apron become loose, you glanced over your shoulder.

Opening your apron more to pull over your head. – “Thank you.” – you said stepping away from you. Benedict tugged his hands in his pocket, looking distantly away. You went to fetch your coat, putting it on. Tying the strings together.

“You look beautiful.” – Benedict said dreamingly with sorrow in his eyes. It made you pause your actions. Staring hopeful at him. Settling with a smile as you finished up. – “I will see you tomorrow.” – you let out, turning around to reach for the door knob. Hand grabbing the knob, opening the door slightly till it got shoved shut once more.

Benedict’s hand firm against the door. Standing beside you to prevent you from leaving. – “Ben!” – you called out confused. – “Don’t marry him.” – he whispered out, staring at the door. – “What?” – you said to make sure you had heard him right. He turned his head, meeting up with your gaze. Seeing how fragile they looked. – “Don’t marry him.” – he repeated.

This time loud enough for you to hear clearly. – “Benedict you cannot just…” – you started confused as to why he wasn’t letting you leave. Knowing Fred was waiting just outside that door. – “He can’t give you what you want.” – he let out keeping his hand firm on the door. – “And that is?” – quirking your eyebrow at him with a slight scowl. – “A life of arts.” – he answered. It made you scoff loud, crossing your arms.

“That is not something for you to decide for me.” – you called back, turning the door knob to open the door. Benedict startling you as he shoved the door shut once more with such force it made you gasp surprised. – “I can’t live without you!” – he shouted. – “I cannot stand it that I am about to lose you Y/n.” – his words echoing through your mind. Haunting you.

He took you firm by the arm, forcing you to look at him. – “I…I…” – he began eyes scanning your desperately. Pressing a hand against his chest. – “You have my soul and my heart. I do not wish to spend my life with anyone else but you. My heart sings but one song and that is yours.” – allowing his knuckles to brush against your cheek.

Releasing a shuddering breath from you. – “You are all I want. You are all I love, my Y/n. Please…” – his fingers resting on your chin. Pushing slightly down on your chin so that your lips parted. – “Do not marry Fred. I beg of you.” – he finished pouring his heart out to you. You could only blink startled.

Finally the silence between the two of you had been spoken out. You exhaled soft. – “That is all I ever wanted.” – you replied curling up a smile. Benedict smiled as well, cupping your cheeks as he lowered his head. Kissing your lips to have you as his.  

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[vxsellie]

𝔩𝔢𝔱𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔬. — E.W

summary. ellie slipped between your fingers, falling right out of your grasp as though she were liquid. it was better for you both, sure, but that doesn't make losing her any easier. ⌇ 4.7k wc.

notes. i posted a poll a few weeks ago asking what u guys wanted to see & this was ur answer so here she is! i hope it lives up to ur guys standards! anyway,, first and foremost, this is based off of the songs 'your needs, my needs' & 'call your mom' by noah kahan. he does a fantastic job depicting addiction and the impact of its severity. i heavily suggest listening to those songs in order to grasp the depth of what i'm trying to portray here.

second, i want to preface this by saying that i am not romanticizing or promoting addiction in any way whatsoever. drugs & alcohol are horrible coping mechanisms. as someone who has lost many loved ones to such horridly, i'm writing this in an attempt to shine light on the raw, dark side of what this can lead to. if u or anyone u know is struggling with something similar to ellie in this story, my DMs are always open!

warnings. graphic depictions of death and grief, substance abuse, alcohol & drug addiction, brief toxicity, intoxicated arguments, flashbacks, mentions of vomit, unintentional suicide attempt, angst angst angst

FEBRUARY.

cold fingertips brush the skin of your cheekbone, rousing you from slumber. you know who it is without having to open your eyes, her voice proof of that. ellie's breath still smells of her minty toothpaste as it fans across your face. she leans down to press a kiss to your nose. "good mornin'."

you groan, draping an arm over your eyes. ellie chuckles, her footsteps padding across the hardwood flooring of your shared bedroom. metal scrapes against itself as she pulls the curtains back, allowing sunlight to file through the space. your groans only grow in volume at this, pulling the duvet over your head.

"it's too early." you grumble, voice muffled beneath the pleated fabric.

"baby," she crosses the room back to the bed. you feel the mattress dip under her weight as she sits down on the edge, one of her hands coming to massage the calf of you leg. "it's almost noon."

begrudgingly, you peel the blanket away from your face and frown at her. auburn hair glows like a halo around the crown of her head, her freckles catching the light against her fair skin. oh and those eyes. god, you could look into them until the world came crumbling around you — which it technically has, considering the apocalyptic milieu that encompasses jackson.

"it's saturday, els." you tell her. "we can sit around and do nothing all day."

a smile tugs at her lips, dimples adorning her skin. "actually, maria wanted our help in the gardens today, remember? you got drunk a few weeks ago and agreed."

"oh. i was really excited to be unproductive." you sigh, expression falling. "we could've made breakfast, cozied up on the couch, watched a few sad movies, have sex. y'know, the domestic crap that elderly couples do?"

"first of all, i already made you breakfast." she says, nodding her head in the direction of the opened door. you turn toward it, craning your neck to peer through the doorway. sure enough, there's a plate of eggs and bacon sitting untouched on the countertop in the kitchen. "second, we can still cuddle and watch movies after helping maria. third, we can have sex whenever we want. we don't need to plan it out like teenagers anymore."

you grin at her, "yeah, but where's the fun in that?"

she laughs, the sound melodic. it carries through the air like a hymn, alighting the nerves within you like an ignited flame. if you were a wick, ellie would forever be the match. she lights you up, acting as apollo to your icarus. well. without the harsh fall, of course.

"c'mon, stupid." she says, grabbing you by the wrists and pulling you into a sitting position. you allow yourself to be pulled, dramatizing ellie's haste as you flop forward, leaning against her chest. it shakes with laughter as she removes a hand from your wrist to run her fingers through your hair.

it's matted and unbrushed, though she loves it just the same. loves you just the same. no matter how bad your breath smells in the mornings or how tangled your hair, ellie would never dream of complaining. why would she? to be given the chance to wake up next to you each day, she'd do anything. even if that includes putting up with your silly jokes and your dysania.

domesticity is irrefutably ellie's absolute favorite thing in the world. to make breakfast for you, moving about the kitchen you'd decorated together. to brush her teeth beside you. to give you a gentle kiss before leaving the house. to spend the day longing for your embrace. to come home to you warming dinner over the stove. to listen to you ramble on about your day over the meal. to take a shower where your shampoos sit side by side, her having to use yours when her own runs low. to return to bed to see you dressed into something cozy. to latch onto you under the blankets, limbs tangling together. to smell your hair and know hers smells the same. to fall asleep in the proximity of the girl she loves.

that's her favorite. that's what she'd rather eat glass than live without. and she'd never fathom the idea of doing it with anyone else.

MARCH.

the day joel dies is hard on everyone. he was a glue to the town of jackson, his country drawl and greying hair fading together into a soft presence that was adored by all.

especially by ellie.

and you knew this better than anyone. she loved joel like a father, perhaps even more so. she looked up to him as though the man had hung the stars in the sky. when he died, everything good and right in the world died alongside him. including ellie's gentility. her green eyes hardened, her smiles thinned, her hair matted. she was a wreck.

she doesn't do anything, though nobody in town expects her to. you've picked up on all the chores around the house, refusing to make her do anything in such a state of grief. she holes up in the bedroom all day, never leaving bed. not even to eat.

the first few days of this, you had to force her to eat, coaxing her into opening her mouth and having to remind her to chew. she claimed it tasted like chalk and she needed to spit it out. she cried when you refused to let her. "i don't want it." she'd repeated over and over between sobs, despite only having taken a bite of the stew you made. she leaned on you, her greasy hair falling over her face. you rubbed her back, the vertebrae of her spine poking through her skin.

"i know baby, i know." you whispered. it took everything in you not to start crying at the sound of her sobs, but you knew that would only make things worse. so you stayed beside her until her cries ceased and her limbs fell limp against you. you then laid her back against the mattress, making a mental note to approach this better next time.

she eventually got better at eating, though progress was slow. she's now currently able to eat one meal a day without puking it back up from nausea. the amount of times you've held that poor girl's hair back for her is immeasurable. she's not herself. and it pains you to see her like this, but you haven't a clue how else to handle it.

it's been two weeks since joel's death. ellie has still yet to leave the house and rarely leaves the bed, though she goes to the bathroom now. so thats good. you think it is, at least. she still needs to be reminded when to eat and needs help in the shower sometimes, or she'll stay in there for hours without even touching the soaps. her mind is a plethora of nonsense, malarkey acting as the puppeteer to her every waking thought.

"here," you speak softly, reaching across the tub to grab her shampoo. when you pick it up, you register that it's barely been used. you frown at this. "ellie, why—"

"i like yours better." she mutters, so quiet you can barely hear her voice.

"what? you never liked mine better." you say with a frown, though you don't hesitate to oblige her request. you place her shampoo down and grab your own. "you've always insisted that we buy that specific brand for you."

"yeah, because it's the brand joel uses- uh, used."

your movements cease, heart clenching. her voice cracked as she spoke, eyes burning as she swallowed harshly. you take a deep breath to ground yourself, blowing out through your mouth. you can not cry right now. not in front of her.

you'd made that mistake last week. you started crying when you saw her journal and all the crossed out drawings of joel. she frowned, appearing genuinely confused by your sadness. she comforted you, which only made you sob harder. you felt so, so guilty for it because she's the one who should be comforted, not you. but she's so loving that she can't even stomach seeing you upset.

as you apply your own shampoo into ellie's scalp, massaging it to bubbles, you decide that you'd do anything for her. for your light, your apollo.

MAY.

it's like living with a ghost. two months since joel's death and ellie has begun to change. drastically. she's never home anymore, always hanging out with her friends or busying herself with work. you have the sneaking suspicion that it's her way of keeping her mind from succumbing to that aching grief that embodied her in march. so you say nothing, deciding to let her be.

though, admittedly, you begin to wonder what she does when she doesn't come home. when she stays out for three days without telling you where she's going nor been. when you cook dinner for two, only to eat for one. when your shampoo sits in your shower only used on one scalp.

you've found it hard to fall asleep alone after living with ellie for so long. you'd grown dependent on the comfort her presence provides. tangling your legs together under the blanket while her arms wrap around your waist. now, in her stead lies an empty mattress and unwrinkled sheets.

it's currently been three days since you last saw ellie. you're sitting at the dinner table alone, picking at your pasta when you hear a rapid knock at the door. you instantly perk up.

you hope it's ellie, though you wonder why she doesn't just let herself in. she has her own set of keys, so why knock?

you stand from your chair, the legs scraping against the wood flooring as your push to your feet. the door creaks on its hinges when you pull it open. just as you'd thought, ellie stands on the porch. her head is lowered, auburn tufts covering her face like a veil. or perhaps a mask.

you open the door wider to allow her entry. the light pools out onto the porch and across the tops of her converse. she notices the shift and begins to enter, though she's acting strange. she's stumbling over her own feet, refusing to lift her head. your brows furrow as you lock the door behind you.

when you turn around, ellie is sitting in your chair as she begins to eat from your plate of pasta. you frown, "i can get you a serving, if you want. i made enough for two. i always do."

she lifts her head and you realize why she's acting so weird. between her lidded eyes and bloodshot scleras, it's clear that she's not sober. she raised a brow at your staring, "what?" her tone is sharp, unlike herself.

"nothing, baby. it's fine." you sigh, turning to grab her a plate from the cabinets above your head. you pull one from the shelf and begin to add pasta onto it. however, by the time you reach the table, ellie's passed out atop it. her face is smushed into the tabletop, hair getting all in your food.

you huff out a breath, shifting to hold her plate in one hand before lightly shaking her shoulders with your other. she doesn't rouse so you shake her even harder. eventually, she snaps awake. perhaps too quickly, because she thrashes out. her arms flail, knuckles colliding with your cheekbone.

the plate in your hand falls to the floor, glass shattering against wood. ellie's eyes widen, her gaze trained on your face as yours remains trained on the broken dish below your feet.

she begins to stand, "i didn't mean—"

"it's okay, els." you assure her with a small smile, urging her to sit back down. the last thing you want is glass in her foot.

"no, i—" she shakes her head, clearly fighting her own mind as she combats for ascendancy over her inebriation. "i hit you.. i never meant to— to ever—"

"ellie." you interrupt, voice hard. "it's fine."

her lips thin as she gives you a curt nod in response. you walk into the kitchen to retrieve the broom. when you return, ellie is out of her chair and walking toward the door. you frown at her and she gives you a pitying look before exiting the house without another word.

AUGUST.

"drugs, ellie?" you shout, hands flying up in emphasis. "you're taking fucking pills now!?"

"don't snoop through my shit!" she shouts back.

your voices bounce off the walls of your home. once such a cozy, quiet place of solace. now only visited in short increments when in need of food or a bed. the light of the candle you'd lit this morning glows a soft orange, almost taunting you with its clashing softness.

ellie hasn't been home all month. she finally came back last night, kissing you gently as she apologized for acting so strange. she confided in you, explaining how she's been having a hard time but intends to make up for it. her hands were benign as she ran them over your bare skin last night. oh so kind, she was. her words were like music, playing the exact lyrics that you'd coveted for months.

only to wake up this morning and find out the truth. you'd come into the kitchen to prepare her breakfast, a soft smile on your lips as you lit the candle. you'd noticed that she left her coat on the counter and reached to grab it for her. you hadn't meant to snoop, just to clean up behind her. as you've been doing since march.

but then you heard an odd sound from within the pocket. you reached into it, thinking she'd left her keys. and you knew ellie long enough to know that she'd freak out, thinking she'd lost them if you didn't put them on the table for her.

but they weren't her keys. they were pills.

"i didn't snoop, you asshole!" you exclaim. "i was trying to help you!"

"i don't need you controlling my fucking life all the time!" she shouts, features contorted into an expression of rage that you'd never seen her wear. it was disquieting.

"controlling?" you shake your head in disbelief. "i'm trying to keep you from doing shit you'll regret! i'm sorry for caring!"

"oh, don't fucking turn this on me." ellie scoffs.

you watch her with furrowed brows. is she serious? turn this on her? you're genuinely unsure on what you did wrong. you let her back into the home, slept with her, made her favorite breakfast in bed. then found out that she fucking lied. she was keeping shit from you.

your tone is much softer when you ask, "..were you even sober last night?"

her jaw clenches, but she doesn't respond. tears well in your eyes at the thought.

you'd never been more excited than you were last night. to finally have her back. your ellie. to have her coming back to you, for you. you'd fallen asleep last night studying her features. your fingertip traced the slope of her nose down to the cupids bow of her lip.

your chest aches as you say these next words. "get out of my house."

"your house?" she asks.

you feel like your drowning. or perhaps you're choking. or falling. but whatever it is, you're sure it's irrevocable. your throat is so tight you can hardly breathe. "i want all your shit packed and out of here by the end of the month."

ellie's eyes widen. "you're not serious."

"i've never been more serious in my fucking life." you say. "you can't storm in here whenever you want, use me like some whore, then leave when you feel like it. i'm tired of your bullshit ellie, that was my final straw."

her eyes are glassy as she grabs her coat — which is still full of pills — and leaves.

the moment the door slams shut behind her, you fall to the floor. your knees give out beneath your weight, the tile flooring cold against the palms of your hands. so this is what it is to fall. to chase the sun and get burned. to melt your wax and plummet. all you can thing, as you hear ellie's muffled cries outside the door, is how much you empathize with icarus for being foolish enough to reach for apollo.

OCTOBER.

jesse is throwing a party for his twenty second birthday. it's not a huge party, but large enough that you're sure ellie will be there. it's only been two months since you broke things off with her.

nothing, since then, has felt real. the length of your hair, the shape of your bones, the height of your spine. nothing is right in the world. in you.

but this is for jesse, not for ellie. if she's here today, that's her problem. not yours. for once, it's ellie's turn to regret. you're sick of being the one crying at night when you can hear her unlock the door to retrieve her things when she thinks you're asleep. you're fucking tired of it. she's the one who ruined everything.

you knock one, two, three times before the door swings open. dina smiles at you kindly as she widens the door to allow you inside. you thank her, though you know she's not your friend. you two aren't on bad terms necessarily, she just doesn't seem like you all that much. which is fine.

you enter the home to see that most guests have already arrived and are already drinking. jesse is in the living room, a goofy party hat atop his head as he shouts at the television. behind him, people laugh from the couches. one of those people is ellie. her legs are spread, an empty beer bottle hanging from her loose fingers. she doesn't seem to notice you, engrossed in whatever is happening on the tv. dina's gaze lingers on you for a moment before she leaves.

you walk to the kitchen to place your belongings down, pulling out the gift that you'd bought for jesse. the kitchen is empty, everyone else having crowded into the living room. though, it doesn't stay empty for long.

"what're you doin' here." ellie's voice speaks from the doorway. you don't look in her direction, not daring to.

"jesse's my friend too, ellie." you remind her with a sigh, placing the gift on the counter alongside all the other gifts.

part of you yearns to run to her, to pull her into your arms out of pure instinct. but you're not able to do that anymore because she's not yours. you spent over five months trying to comfort her into sobriety, only for your efforts to be in vain. so, instead of acting on foolish impulse, you keep your feet planted in place as you refuse to face her.

"you can't even look at me?" she slurs, voice tinged with annoyance.

"you're not yourself, right now." you say, eyes remaining pinned to the countertop in front of you. "i don't want to see you like this."

in truth, you know the sight of her so intoxicated would only ruin you further. it'd make you yearn for her even more as your mind reminisces on all that's been lost. all those wasted months you could have spent with her. all those nights you took for granted. those smiles. those eyes. seeing her like this would tarnish the few good memories that prevail.

"right," she scoffs, "'cause you're such a fuckin' saint yourself."

"i might not be a saint, but at least i'm still me." you say. "i haven't changed into some pathetic shell of a person."

her jaw clenches, "i'm still me, too."

"no, ellie, you're not." you finally lift your head to face her. your brow is knitted, concern painting your features with something akin to sorrow. it shoots through ellie's chest like a dagger, the sight of your saddened expression. she swallows, burying whatever sense of guilt she feels deep under a facade of vexation. "you're not the woman i fell in love with, you—"

"yes i am!" she shouts, slamming the empty bottle onto the countertop. a long clang rings through the space between you. "i'm the same fucking person!"

"ellie, dont—"

"y'know, back in april, you told me that grief comes in all different forms. you told me that what i'm feeling is normal! you—" her words are cut off by the sound of her voice cracking. your heart cracks along with it.

"that was before i knew how bad this would get." you say. "i thought it was just alcohol."

"it was!" she exclaims. "for a while, it was!"

"it doesn't matter what it was." you snap. "it's no longer just alcohol anymore. you're into pills and drugs and—"

"you can't fuckin' blame me for that!" she yells. you're sure everyone can hear her now. though, due to how drunk they are, you doubt they care enough to eavesdrop. "i was going— i am going through a lot!"

"i get that, ellie. i do." you argue. "but you can't ruin yourself like this! joel wouldn't want this from you and neither do i. you aren't thinking!"

her fists clench at her sides, voice lowering. "don't bring joel into this. he has nothing to do with it."

"he has everything to do with it!" you shout. sucking in a deep breath, you pinch the bridge of your nose in exhaustion. when you continue, your voice has dropped back down to a calmer tone, something you've learned to do during those on-and-off months with ellie. yelling at her only makes her grow more defensive and elongates her next expedition. "he's dead, ellie. he's gone and you're struggling with that. and that's okay. but turn to your friends for comfort. turn to people who love you, not drugs. they don't help you, els."

"turn to my friends? turn to people who love me?" she shakes her head, scoffing incredulously. "i tried that. i turned to you, i leaned on you. i tried and tried and tried and you left me."

"i didn't—"

"you left me when i was at my lowest. what else was i supposed to do?" she says, bottom lip quivering. you can't tell if it's from rage or sadness. a few months ago, you'd be able to read her like a book. not anymore. "you did this to me."

oh. that did it. tears well in your eyes embarrassingly fast. ellie's expression falters for a second, just long enough for you to respond. "fuck you, ellie. if you want to act like an asshole, go ahead. but if you think i'll just sit idly by while you kill yourself, you're painfully fucking wrong."

NOVEMBER.

someone's knocking at your door. it's well past midnight and you're in the middle of brushing your teeth. you curse under your breath, spitting before rushing to the front door. they continue to bang on the wood. "i'm fucking coming, calm down!"

you swing the door open, the chilly air sweeping inside. your eyes take a second to adjust to the light before you recognize ellie's silhouette. your eyes widen as she staggers inside. she leans against you instinctively, hands bracing your shoulders as she trips over her own feet. you hold her around the waist, guiding her toward your couch. the one she'd picked out three years ago.

"didn't know.." her words trail off and you shush her, rolling her onto her side in case she needs to vomit. she continues to mutter incoherently as you pace the room, not knowing what to do.

"fucking hell, els." you breathe, watching as her blinking slows and her mouth begins to drool. the black of her pupils take up more space than her irises, worryingly so.

"e'ryone else 's asleep," she murmurs.

you come forward, casting her hair out of her face. "shh, don't speak, baby, you're fine. no need to explain, 'kay?"

"mmm," she hums, eyes fluttering, "m'kay."

you nod, pushing to your feet as you continue to think of what the fuck you're supposed to do. what did she even take to get this bad? who the hell is selling it to her? everyone in jackson knows that she just lost joel earlier this year. god, if you could get your hands on them..

she begins coughing, though it sounds closer to gagging than anything. your heart rushes in your chest, "fuck fuck fuck."

without thinking, you grab your phone from your wall and dial tommy's number. it rings thrice before his voice comes through the line. he barely has time to ask who you are before you're explaining everything between sobs.

tommy, maria, and a few medics arrive within ten minutes. they haul ellie away on a stretcher, speaking too fast for you to pick up on anything. you stand in your living room as tommy follows them out. maria walks over to you as you're rubbing harshly at your eyes.

"you did the right thing, kid." she assures you, voice so soft that it only makes you cry harder. she frowns, humming sadly as she pulls you into a hug. "i know it's hard. grief always is."

you pull back, looking at her through teary eyes, "how'd you handle tommy? after joel passed."

"i hardly did." she admits. "we're not on the best terms, even now. that's just was loss does to people. it drives them apart until there's nothing left to drive apart."

"i don't..." you frown. "i don't think ellie and i have anything left."

APRIL.

you haven't spoken to ellie since november. after she awoke in a medical cot, she was more sober than she's been in months. her withdrawals were horrid, tommy said. he kept you in the loop with everything because ellie refused to see you, claiming to loathe you for having called tommy.

you can't lie, your heart definitely broke when you heard that. to imagine ellie from last year, kissing you awake with breakfast in bed, and comparing her to the ellie from now, claiming to never want to see your face again? the thought makes you feen genuinely ill.

snow sticks to the ground as you walk through the town of jackson. you're on your way to the grocery store when you see her. well, them. dina walks beside ellie as they saunter down the sidewalk, hands clasped together. she has that look on her face, the one she used to only ever give you. the one nobody else was lucky enough to see.

you huff breath, turning to look in the other direction as you pretend to not have even seen them together.

ellie seems to be getting better. and that's all that matters.

her eyes are bright, her nose is red from the cold. you can see her freckles from here, and you know the exact amount that coat her cheeks. you've counted them, memorized them as her fingertips traced your skin. as her viridescent gaze bore into your own with nothing but the same love she's currently looking at dina with.

you quicken your footsteps, forcing yourself to walk faster before you act on the biting pain in your stomach. the tangible agony that writhes within you.

FEBRUARY.

jj. that's his name.

no, you didn't stalk your ex girlfriend surrogate. you're not that crazy. maria actually came to you, explained that dina had a child and was raising him alongside ellie. she showed you a picture of them, a perfect family of three.

you instantly broke down into tears the moment you saw his gummy smile and fatty fists. dina held him tightly, having the same eyes as he. ellie had an arm draped over her, one hand on jj's shoulder as she beamed at the camera.

ellie is a mom. she has a baby. she has a baby boy who never would have gotten the chance to know her if she'd died that november night two years ago. and yet, she still refuses to speak to you. not a word has been uttered since that night. since she was dying on your couch from an overdose.

but it doesn't matter. who ellie is with and what ellie is doing doesn't matter at all. she's happy and that's all that matters.

you're perfectly content with watching her from afar with wax wings that are sure to burn under her brilliance. you'd tried it once and only ended in scorched flesh and the corpse of letting go.

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 perm. taglist @luvsturniolo.     @ilovewomenfr.     @zzombiegirl.     @elliessweetheart.     @shawangel.  @defnoteleonor.     @fatbootymuncher.     @autisticintr0vert. 

⊹ ࣪ ˖𐙚 series taglist @soodle-noup. @kirammanss. @vahnilla. @prwttiestbunny.

[whinyangel]

uncle!jj makes his niece feel so much better (contains incest)

jj was always there for you when you needed him. no matter what it was, he came when he was called. flat tire, shitty friends, needed some extra money, wanted to fuck, he was there. he was the best uncle anyone could asks for.

the only thing he can remember is seeing complete red—from the moment you called, choking on your words asking to come over, to you standing in front of his door, head pounding and burning tears staining your cheeks. of course all of this had to have sprouted from your dad. he could be such an asshole sometimes…

“he doesn’t get to talk or treat you that way.” jj paced back in forth in front of you. you could see the anger steaming from his head as he was thinking about his next move. he was furious. how could someone treat his sweet niece that way? let alone your own fucking dad.

“do you think you can make the pain go away? you know…comfort me.” jj stopped right in his tracks and slowly turned to face you. An almost helpless expression panned on his face while he apologized constantly for being in his own thoughts. he sat down beside you and reached his arm around your back, but that wasn’t the kind of comfort you needed. “no uncle j. i want you to make me forget.”

・・・・・

“fuckkk. just let it out sweet girl.” jj had you laid out on your stomach, face buried into the mattress while he slowly rolled his hips into yours. the sound of his skin slapping against yours matched up with your moans. the prettiest sound to ever grace jj’s ears. whines and sniffles escaped your mouth as he hit all the right spots. he made you feel so much better. he made you feel understood. jj leans down, pressing all his weight on top of you with his breath tickling your ear. “i could’ve have raised you so much better. just let me take care of you sweetie. you’re already so attached just let it happened.” before you managed to get any words out, he grabs a fistful of your hair and starts brutally pounding into you making you cum over and over. jj didn’t need to hear you say anything. he already knew the answer. he practically raised you. you’ve been so attached to him since you were a little girl.

@starfxkrinc

[yanderecrazysie]

Just the Way You Are (Yandere! Hinata)

Requested on Quotev.

I love writing chubby reader because I’m chubby myself and there isn’t enough content out there for us lol

Title: Just the Way You Are

Pairings: Yandere! Hinata Shoyo x Reader

WARNINGS: yandere themes, chubby reader, lots of insecurities

“When I see your face

There's not a thing that I would change

'Cause you're amazing

Just the way you are

And when you smile

The whole world stops and stares for a while

'Cause, girl, you're amazing”

-from “Just the Way You Are” by Bruno Mars

The gymnasium was not your favorite place to be. 

You fidgeted with the hem of your uniform shirt, feeling uncomfortable in the presence of so many tall, athletic boys. You had already pulled your skirt waistband up so that it would push your stomach in a little, but there was no way to hide your chubby cheeks and the flab you had on your arms.

You leaned back on the stands so that your back lay against the higher benches. Not very comfortable, but looking at the ceiling made you less insecure than looking at guys with clear six-packs or thin frames.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of practice, and footsteps rapidly approached you. You sat up and smiled shyly when you recognized your childhood best friend.

“You waited for me!” Hinata sounded surprised, his orange hair drenched with sweat. He sounded a little out of breath, but not too exhausted. If anything, he looked as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever.

“I always do,” you laughed, “Now, let’s go.” You didn’t want to stay here any longer than you had to.

Hinata nodded, his face lighting up in a smile as bright and beautiful as the sun, “I’ll grab my bag!”

You walked to the entrance and waited there. You stared at the ground when the other volleyball players walked by. 

What did Hinata see in you? Why didn’t he want to hang out with the rest of his team? They shared his love of volleyball and were athletic, after all.

“Ready?” Hinata asked, jolting you from your thoughts. You nodded and the two of you began the long walk home. The two of you both lived in the same neighborhood, which is how the two of you met. He had convinced you of Karasuno High’s awesomeness and you figured the bike rides would help you lose a few pounds. But no matter what you did, the weight stubbornly stayed.

Hinata always walked with a spring in his step, but he was so close this time that your shoulders brushed occasionally. He looked at you sideways and said, “Thanks again for waiting for me. I know you don’t really like volleyball all that much.”

It wasn’t so much the sport that bothered you, but you were too embarrassed to say that to him. “It’s okay, I like waiting for you, even if it’s a sweaty gym.”

The two of you walked in silence. You could tell by the way Hinata side-glanced at you frequently that he had something to say. There was no need to rush him, you decided, waiting for him to decide the right time to speak.

“You know, I’m really glad you waited there for me,” Hinata said softly, avoiding your gaze, “Like, really glad.”

Your cheeks grew warm, “All I do is sit there.”

“Exactly!” he said, spinning around to walk backwards in front of you, “You don’t have to do anything! Just you being there makes it easier for me to play!”

“I don’t see how,” you said, feeling like your face was on fire from how embarrassed you were.

“You are-” Hinata started, but he cut off as he ran into something, the consequences of walking backwards.

“Watch where you’re going, idiot,” Kageyama scoffed as Hinata jumped about a mile after realizing he had backed into his new teammate.

Kageyama’s steely eyes turned to you and softened, “I saw you waiting at our practice. What’s your name?”

You gave him your name, squirming a little under the gaze of someone so intense. You knew the two of them didn’t currently get along very well, but that Kageyama had “gotten better since junior high”. Whether that was about his volleyball skills or his attitude or both, you weren’t sure.

“You into volleyball?” Kageyama asked and, before you could answer, he suggested, “Maybe you could come to one of my weekend practices. You could play the spiker.”

You were surprised by the invitation and were about to accept, when you saw Hinata out of the corner of your eye. His sunny disposition had disappeared, like clouds blotting out the sun. His eyes were narrowed to slits, glaring a hole into Kageyama’s head.

“Yea- No.”

Kageyama was confused, “Yes or no?”

“No. Sorry.”

Kageyama shrugged, “Let me know if you change your mind.”

As he continued on his way, Hinata glared after him until the ravenette was out of sight. 

“You just let him flirt with you!” he hissed.

“Flirt?” you were genuinely surprised, “That was flirting?”

Hinata pouted for a moment, his cheeks puffed full of air, before he let out the breath he’d been holding and calmed down, “Of course he was flirting!”

“No one would flirt with me,” you laughed hollowly, “I’m too f-”

Hinata grabbed you by the shoulders, his pupils blowing wide as he pulled you closer, “Don’t. Even. Say. It.”

You looked at him, stunned by his change in demeanor, but let him finish.

“You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, with or without makeup. It’s not just me that thinks so either- you don’t understand the stares that follow you down the hall- but I do! And I can’t stand it! Of everyone in the entire world, I’ve only ever wanted you!”

You stared at him in silent shock. Hinata… thought you were beautiful? 

“Don’t talk to Kageyama ever again,” he warned, “Or I might do something we’ll both regret.”

From the expression on his face, you were pretty sure he wasn’t bluffing. 

Still, he liked you. Thought you were beautiful.

And in the end, that was all that mattered to you.

[ageofkarme]

Oh yeah! As a sculptor, Polaris probably knew better than Karme about the importance of choosing the right material. The witch's curious mind began spiraling about all the minerals he used in the mystery box to fix the statues of his boys. He wondered if Polaris could work with any of those and how many other types of crystals and stones he could make art out of.

He probably would've started asking questions about that too if he didn't get so flustered. Something about hearing that their date was meant to be no matter what made Karme feel like he never had before with a guy: secure. Even the way Polaris held his hand made Karme feel more grounded in this moment than he usually did with others. "I'm glad I get to be this version of myself with you on a date. Because this version of you is really really great, and this version of me likes him a lot and wants to know everything about him." His sentiment wasn't nearly as philosophical or romantic, but Karme was earnest in his fascination, which he knew was enough. That's why he felt good about himself around Polaris. The elvhen bard didn't seem to want or expect Karme to be anything but himself.

Confident was a good word to describe what he was feeling, but he still stammered out a few intelligible utterances. "A second date?" he practically whispers, his face flushing again. Sure he could hint at what he wanted, but the direct approach to his words had a way of making butterflies dance in his stomach. This was his chance though, a chance to be smooth and maybe, finally, seduce Polaris like the way he seemed to do without much effort. "Well we need to have one, don't we? I want to get better at flirting and you … well you…" Karme's voice dropped to a hush as if someone would overhear and judge Karme for saying something dirty. "…you haven't eaten me raw yet. So we need to have another. My treat. We could fly somewhere, or have a date among the stars. A date in the night sky is romantic, right?"

Karme didn't know how Polaris could be so bossy yet charming and still never make him feel judged. It was getting easier to push the voice of doubt about how real this date was away, but arriving at the studio made it significantly harder to ignore. "Your studio is close to the water?!" he exclaimed. Karme used to love the beaches of Genovia, so having to watch them get overrun by mechanical structures over time broke his heart. He got excited whenever he went to a place with a view and the windows here looked really big. "I do. I mean—" Karme looked at Polaris and started thinking about their previous conversation regarding this place. He cleared his throat as he felt a little hot under the collar. "—you have to show me your art. I want to see what you're capable of. Plus, wouldn't it be better if I already felt comfortable here when you sculpt me?"

It wasn't Polaris's first brush with the sort of energy that Karme was talking about, though the term witcher wasn't one that Polaris had heard until this age. They seemed widely hated and whispers of the process surrounding them were a far cry from what Polaris had previously understood. In Iskaldrik, children were tortured and those who survived had the great privilege of short lives spent being widely hated by the nation they served. "The right material for the right function." Polaris summarized Karme's statement, lacking in any fundamental surprise that Karme had

"In my experience, the Wheel doesn't want for anything, it's people who want. I think if we both wanted to, we'd have ended up on this date regardless, in the last turn or the next." Polaris believed that people were meant to find one another so long as they wished it to be true, when that ceased, so did whatever hand people took as fate.

"Is this... Are you asking me out on a second date? One kiss and look how bold you've gotten." Polaris all but tutted as he led the way, one foot in front of another while Karme vibrated beside him - completely energized in juxtaposition to Poalris's calm demeanor. "I'd like to see it firsthand, but I don't want to wait for it to become yours for our second date, so you'll have to fly me somewhere else."

When they came to a stop, it was in a high-windowed building facing the sea. There was no clear view of the Tower, or Potentia, just the open tides and everything that lay ahead. "This is it," Polaris stated evenly, "still want to see it firsthand?" He didn't wish to pressure Karme and the night hadn't been without its events.