#neither for herb | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 3 months ago

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I Hate Goodbyes

law × fem!reader

you're luffy’s sister, and after the tragedy at marineford, you join the heart pirates to heal and grow stronger during the two-year wait—but what happens when you start to fall for law, and neither of you knows how to say goodbye?

part 2

a/n: btw I have a similar one you might like too if you didn't read it yet 'tides of fate' (. ❛ ᴗ ❛.)

words count: 7.1k

tags: marineford spoilers, angst and fluff, hurt and comfort, marineford aftermath, protective reader, slow burn, healing

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The battlefield smells like blood and burning.

You stumble through the wreckage, heart pounding so loud it drowns everything out. You can’t breathe. You can’t think. You saw Ace falling, the hole in his chest, the way Luffy screamed like his soul got torn away.

You try to grab Luffy’s arm, but he’s already out cold. Broken.

“Lu! Luffy, come on, stay with me!” you cry, shaking him. His body is limp. His skin is hot, burning with fever and blood.

You fall to your knees beside him, useless, shaking, trying to wake your baby brother who doesn’t even hear you anymore.

Then, a voice, sharp, calm, cutting through the chaos “I’ll take him.”

You look up, eyes wide and wild. A man with dark hair and tattoos crouches beside Luffy. His gaze flicks to you quick, judging, but not unkind.

“You coming too?” he asks simply.

You don’t even think. You tighten your grip on Luffy and nod, tears blinding you.

“Please… Please don’t let him die” you whisper, voice cracking.

He nods once “Trafalgar Law. Captain. Now move.”

His crew surrounds you. You cling to Luffy as the door of the submarine slams shut, cutting off the nightmare behind you.

Amazon Lily is too bright. Too loud. Even the clean air hurts.

You sit beside Luffy’s bed, knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the wall. You barely notice the Heart Pirates moving around, whispering and working.

Days pass. Maybe weeks.

Sometimes you touch Luffy’s hand, just to make sure he’s alive.

Sometimes you dream of Ace’s last smile, and wake up gasping, your throat raw from silent screams.

One night, you sit in the hallway outside the infirmary, shivering even though the air is warm.

Footsteps approach. Then Law’s voice, low and firm “You can’t stay like this.”

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes on your hands, wishing you were stronger. Faster. Smarter.

He crouches beside you. His presence is steady, not pushing you but not leaving either.

“You fought to get him here,” Law says “You’re not useless.”

You laugh, but it’s a broken sound “Feels like I am.”

He sits down beside you, arms resting on his knees. His voice drops even softer.

“When he’s ready, Straw Hat’s going to train. Two years. Away from everyone.”

Your stomach twists painfully “I can’t leave him.”

“You don’t have to,” Law says. His eyes are sharp, cutting right through you “You’ll train too. Learn medicine. Herbs. Whatever you already know, I’ll teach you more.”

You finally lift your head to look at him. His expression is calm, but his eyes are serious.

“You mean it?” you ask, voice small.

“I don’t offer things I don’t mean” Law says. There’s the ghost of a smile at the corner of his mouth “You’re stubborn. You’ll fit right in.”

Later that night, you sit quietly beside Luffy’s bed. He’s awake now, barely, his body weak but his spirit burning stubborn as ever.

Law is sitting a little distance away, pretending not to listen but not going far either.

Luffy’s voice is hoarse when he speaks “You’re gonna train too, right?”

You blink “Luffy, I—”

He grabs your hand weakly, squeezing with what little strength he has. His eyes are serious, more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

“I’m gonna get stronger” he says, voice trembling a little “Strong enough to protect everyone. I’m gonna find my crew again. I’m gonna be Pirate King.”

Your throat tightens.

“But I need you too,” Luffy says. His hand squeezes yours tighter “You gotta get stronger too. So you can protect yourself. So you can sail with me.”

You feel tears welling up again, but you bite them back.

“I will,” you whisper “I’ll train. I’ll learn. I’ll get strong enough… strong enough to protect myself. Strong enough to protect you too, Luffy”

Luffy smiles, even though it hurts “I’ll be waitin’ for you.”

You lean your forehead against his hand, your heart aching with love and hope and fear all at once.

“I promise,” you whisper “I’ll come back stronger.”

A few feet away, Law watches silently. He doesn’t say anything. But for the first time in a long while, you feel something steady beneath your feet, like maybe, somehow, you’ll be okay.

The Heart Pirates welcome you in without questions.

Bepo brings you tea. Shachi and Penguin joke around loudly to make you smile. Even Jean Bart nods at you sometimes when you pass him in the hall.

You try to smile back. You try to act normal. You try so, so hard.

In the daytime, you throw yourself into studying. Law gives you heavy books, scrolls, and old medical charts. He shows you how to grind herbs, how to recognize poisons, how to stitch a wound without shaking.

“Again,” he says calmly when your fingers fumble “Until it’s second nature.”

You nod. You always nod. You’re determined.

You even start making your own little mixes, salves for bruises, sleeping powders (not that you dare take them yourself), small bombs made from herbs and oils.

“You’re like a damn witch” Penguin laughs one afternoon, watching you stir a smoking green liquid in a jar.

You snort “Better than being useless.”

Law watches from the corner of the room, arms crossed, saying nothing.

At night, though, everything falls apart.

You can’t sleep. Every time you close your eyes, you see Ace falling. You hear Luffy screaming. You feel the helplessness crushing your chest until you can’t even breathe.

You jerk awake gasping, heart slamming against your ribs, your clothes sticking to you with cold sweat.

You curl up on your bunk, pressing your fists over your face, trying not to cry out.

You think no one notices.

You’re wrong.

One night, after another nightmare rips you out of sleep, you stumble out of your room, trying to catch your breath. You sit on the cold metal floor of the hallway, pressing your back against the wall.

“Nightmare?”

The voice makes you jump.

You look up. Law stands a few feet away, arms folded, leaning against the wall. His face is calm as always, but his eyes… his eyes are softer. Sadder.

You wipe your face quickly “I’m fine.”

He doesn’t move. Just looks at you for a long moment.

“You’re a terrible liar” he says finally.

You let out a shaky laugh “Thanks.”

Silence stretches between you.

“You’re not weak for hurting” Law says after a while, voice low “Pain doesn’t disappear just because you pretend it’s gone.”

You swallow hard. Something cracks in your chest.

“I lost him,” you whisper “I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t save him. I just watched, just like with Sabo.”

Law’s jaw tightens slightly. He walks closer, slow, like he’s giving you time to push him away if you want.

“You did everything you could” he says “Sometimes… that’s just not enough but doesn't mean you did something wrong.”

You blink up at him, surprised by the rough edge in his voice.

“You talk like you’ve lost someone too” you say, almost without thinking.

His mouth tightens into a thin line. For a second, he doesn’t answer.

Then he says quietly, “Yeah.”

Another silence, heavier this time.

You hug your knees to your chest “It hurts. It hurts so much.”

Law kneels down in front of you. Close, but not touching.

“I know” he says simply.

And somehow, that’s the first thing that makes you feel less alone.

From that night on, things change.

Law still trains you hard. Still corrects your mistakes with sharp words and steady hands. But sometimes, when he catches you zoning out, lost in memories, he’ll tap the table sharply to pull you back. Sometimes, when the nightmares get really bad, you’ll find a cup of calming tea left outside your door. No note. No explanation.

You never say thank you and he never asks for it, but you both know.

Slowly, painfully, you start stitching yourself back together.

One day, you swear, you’ll be strong enough to protect what you love. And this time you won’t lose.

Days turn into weeks.

You spend most of your time training, reading, studying, practicing stitches, memorizing herbs. You work until your hands cramp and your head pounds.

One afternoon, you sit on the deck of the Polar Tang, grinding dried leaves into powder. Your hair is a mess, your fingers stained green, but you don’t care. You’re focused.

Law watches you for a while from the stairs, arms crossed.

“You’re learning fast” he says finally.

You look up, smiling a little “Thanks.”

“But,” he says, walking closer, “the Straw Hats already have a doctor. From what I know, he is… good.”

You blink. The words sting a little more than you want to admit.

“I’m not trying to replace him” you mumble.

“I know.” Law sits down across from you, setting his sword beside him “That’s why I’m telling you this now that you know enough.”

He taps a finger against the deck, thinking.

“You’re good with herbs. With potions. You’re creative,” he says. His eyes narrow a little, studying you like he’s fitting a puzzle together “What if we move on now and you focus on something that makes you stronger in battle?”

You frown, confused “Like what?”

Law leans back against the wall, looking almost lazy but you can tell he’s serious.

“Potions. Weapons. Transfiguration, even” he says calmly “You could craft poisons. Healing salves. Smokescreens. Maybe even weapons that change shape. Things nobody expects.”

You stare at him, heart thudding faster.

“You mean… like a battle witch?” you say half-joking.

Law smirks, just a little “If that’s what you want to call it.”

You stare down at your hands. It feels scary. Different. But also… right.

Something you can be. Not just following in Luffy’s shadows. Your own strength.

“I want to try” you say, voice steady.

Law nods once “Good. Then we start tomorrow.”

You blink “That fast?”

“Battlefields don’t wait,” Law says, standing up “Neither should you.”

He pauses for a second. His voice drops softer “You have potential. Don’t waste it.”

Before you can even answer, he’s already walking away, coat swishing behind him.

You sit there, stunned. Excited. Terrified.

And for the first time since Marineford, you feel something else, too... hope.

And then training starts again, and as hard as always.

Law doesn’t go easy on you just because you’re still healing. If anything, he pushes you harder, drilling you on herbs that can paralyze, potions that heal faster, even how to throw small smoke bombs to cover retreats.

“You can’t just make things,” he says one day, hands folded behind his back “You have to use them. In real time. No hesitation.”

You nod, teeth gritted.

The first mission comes faster than you expect.

A small island. A skirmish. A cargo pickup gone wrong.

You cling to the sides of the Polar Tang as it surfaces just offshore. Your stomach twists with nerves, but you press a hand to the little pouch of potions at your belt.

“You ready, Witch?” Penguin teases, grinning.

Law calls you that sometimes too now “Witch”.

At first it annoyed you.

Now… when Law says it, it almost sounds fond.

You push the thought away “Let’s go” you say, voice steady.

In the fight, everything you practiced crashes into reality.

You duck under a sword swing, whip a vial of sleeping powder at the enemy’s face. It explodes in a soft green puff, the man drops like a rock.

You barely have time to breathe before another rushes you.

Your heart races. You fumble for another potion, a heavier one before a blur of blue and steel slices the air.

Law steps between you and the attacker, katana flashing. In one smooth motion, he drops the enemy without even blinking.

“You’re still slow,” he says coolly, glancing at you “Fix that.”

Your face burns “I’m trying!”

But later, when the battle is over and everyone’s tending to scrapes and bruises, Law walks by you, pausing just long enough to murmur “Good instincts.”

You blink.

You don’t answer, but your heart skips anyway.

Weeks pass.

Your skills sharpen. Your hands move quicker, your ideas flow faster. You make small grenades from seaweed oil. Healing sprays that numb pain instantly. Distraction bombs that flash bright colors.

Law watches you more often now, from across rooms, over the tops of books, during training drills.

At first you think you’re imagining it. Until one day, after you bandage a wound on his arm, quick, clean and professional, and Law looks at you with something unreadable in his eyes.

“You’re not the same person you were when you got here” he says.

You smile faintly “Neither are you.”

His mouth quirks, just slightly, like he wants to smile but doesn’t know how.

You notice stupid things now, the way his hair falls into his eyes when he’s tired, the rare rasp of laughter when Bepo does something ridiculous, the low, calm hum of his voice when he explains something complicated just to make sure you understand.

You hate it.

You hate that your chest tightens when he stands too close.

You hate that you look forward to hearing him call you “Witch”.

You hate it because caring about people hurts. You already know how that story ends.

One night, you sit alone on the deck, knees pulled to your chest, staring at the stars. The ocean is quiet. The world feels… less heavy.

You hear footsteps behind you, soft and careful.

Law sits down beside you without asking.

For a long time, neither of you speaks. Then, he says, voice low “You’re still not sleeping.”

It’s not a question.

You close your eyes “Neither are you.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, a real smile this time, small and tired “Touché.”

You breathe in the salty air, heart beating way too fast.

It feels dangerous, but somehow, it feels okay.

Maybe caring doesn’t have to mean losing. Maybe sometimes, it means surviving together.

Months pass.

The Polar Tang feels like home now. The crew jokes with you. Bepo brings you your favorite tea without asking. Jean Bart lets you win at cards sometimes even though he’s terrible at hiding it.

And Law is still Law. Sharp words. Quiet stares. But sometimes, when you pass by each other in the narrow halls, your shoulders brush and neither of you moves away.

One afternoon, you’re hunched over a workbench deep in the ship. Herbs, powders, pieces of metal, tiny vials, all scattered in front of you. Your latest project.

“You’ve been sitting there for hours.”

You jolt, almost dropping your vial. Law stands in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you with that unreadable look again.

“I’m working on something” you say, defensive.

Law walks closer, glancing over your shoulder.

You bite your lip, a little embarrassed. On the table is a rough design of a kind of weapon. A bracelet lined with tiny hidden capsules you can trigger during battle, potions for healing, poison, smoke bombs, even flash bursts.

“Smart,” Law says, surprising you “Lightweight. Quick access.”

You blink up at him “You really think so?”

He leans in a little closer, studying the rough sketches. His shoulder brushes yours, warm through the thin fabric.

“You could stabilize the capsules with resin,” he murmurs, half to himself “Faster activation. Less chance of them breaking accidentally.”

You nod quickly, grabbing a pen, scribbling notes.

Law watches you work for a second. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and sets it on the table, a small silver clasp, shaped like a skull.

You look at it, confused.

“Found it last mission,” he says. His voice is almost… shy “Figured you could use it. For the bracelet.”

Your throat tightens.

It’s nothing. Just a small piece of scrap metal.

But it’s from him.

You swallow the lump in your throat and pick it up carefully.

“Thank you” you whisper.

Law shrugs like it’s no big deal. But when you glance up, you catch him looking at you, in a way that looks like you’re something rare and breakable and important all at once.

You force yourself to smile “If you keep being this nice, people are gonna think you like me or something.”

It’s a joke. A stupid, nervous joke.

Law’s eyes flash and for a second, just a second, you see something real. But he only smirks, tilting his head “Guess I’ll have to be meaner, then.”

You laugh real, loud, from your gut. And for once, the sound doesn’t feel heavy.

Later that night, you finish the bracelet.

It fits perfectly around your wrist, it's light, strong, deadly.

Yours.

You stand on the deck alone, letting the sea breeze whip through your hair.

Your fingers trace the little silver skull at the clasp. A gift. A promise.

And for the first time, you don’t just feel like someone who survived. You feel like someone who’s becoming.

Eight months.

That’s how long it’s been since Marineford. Since you left Luffy on the beach and promised you’d come back stronger.

You’re not there yet. But you’re close.

Your potions work. Your body is faster. Your mind sharper. You’ve learned how to move through chaos and how to survive it.

Your new mission’s supposed to be simple. Quick trade. Neutral island. In and out. Of course, it goes to hell.

A double-cross. Gunfire. Mercenaries.

You fight your way through smoke, throwing a blinding bomb at the enemy, your bracelet hissing softly as it dispenses the next ready capsule.

It’s working until you hear a gunshot too close.

You whip around just in time to see Law drop to one knee, clutching his shoulder.

Your heart stops.

“Law!”

You run to him, potion already in hand, shoving it into the wound before he can even argue “Don’t move—just let me—dammit, don’t move!”

He grabs your wrist, tight, to steady you “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine!” Your voice cracks “You’re bleeding!”

He watches you, not with pain, but surprise.

You never yell at him like this. Not even during training. But something about seeing him hurt, even a little, rips through you like fire.

You help him to cover. Bepo and the others push the enemy back, and soon it’s over but your hands are still shaking.

Later, back on the ship, the crew patches up the rest of their injuries.

You sit beside Law in the infirmary, cleaning blood from his coat.

Penguin strolls in and drops onto a stool beside you “Not bad back there, Witch. You actually looked kind of cool.”

You raise a brow, smirking “Kind of?”

He grins “Don’t get cocky.”

You snort and keep cleaning. But out of the corner of your eye, you catch Law quietly watching. His jaw a little tight.

He says nothing but you kind of feel the shift in the air.

Two days after the fight, you’re in the engine room mixing new compounds.

Penguin walks in, grinning as usual "Need a taste tester, Witch?"

You don’t even look up "Unless you wanna grow gills or pass out for an hour, I’d wait."

He laughs and leans against the counter "Still impressive, though. The way you protected Law back there."

You pause, hands tightening around the vial you’re holding.

"He’s the captain," you say flatly "I wasn’t gonna let him bleed out in the dirt."

“Still,” Penguin says “You were… intense. I think he even let you yell at him.”

You finally look up, frowning.

Then movement at the door. Law. He’s standing just outside the room, arms crossed. Listening. Watching.

You don’t know how long he’s been there. He doesn’t speak. Just turns on his heel and walks away.

Later that night, you find him alone in the medbay, reviewing some notes.

"You good?" you ask softly.

He doesn’t look up "Fine."

You hesitate "You sure?"

He finally glances at you. His voice is cool, not cruel, just... distant "As long as no one else is talking about how I was bleeding out in the dirt, yeah."

You blink. Okay. So he did hear that.

You try to shrug it off "Penguin’s just messing around. You know how he is."

Law doesn’t answer.

You stay there a few more seconds, then quietly leave.

The next day, on the island, you’re helping organize supplies when you see Law at a vendor’s table, trading herbs with a woman who keeps laughing too loudly at everything he says.

He doesn’t laugh back. But he doesn’t walk away either.

You feel something twist in your chest. You force yourself to smile, to turn back to your work.

Later, when he joins the crew again, you barely meet his eyes.

"You okay?" he asks, voice even.

"Yeah" you lie.

What the hell is happening to you?

That night, you lie awake in your bunk, staring at the ceiling.

You keep replaying the moment Penguin made that comment. The way Law left without a word. The way he stood near that woman. The fact that none of this should matter but it does.

Like why lately you notice things you never noticed before. Like why does it matter to you if a woman flirt with him?

You press your hand to your chest, right where your bracelet rests against your skin.

You don’t know what this feeling is.

You just know you can’t let it grow.

Across the ship, in his own room, Law stares at a half-written report.

He can’t stop thinking about the way you laughed with Penguin. The way you avoided his eyes afterward. The shift in your voice.

He tells himself it’s nothing. He tells himself you’ll be gone in a year anyway.

Still… he closes the report and doesn’t sleep at all.

One year and three months.

You’re stronger now. Faster. Sharper. You know how to fight, how to mix, how to survive.

You’ve lived through storms and gunfire. You’ve taken lives, and you’ve saved them too.

But sometimes, the past doesn’t care how strong you are.

Sometimes it sneaks in when you least expect it.

You’re sitting in the Polar Tang’s storage room, sorting herbs by scent. It’s a quiet job. A repetitive one. Usually it calms you.

Not today.

A smell hits you, one of the dried plants from a southern island. Strong. Burnt. Familiar.

You freeze.

Because it smells like Ace’s coat. The one he used to throw over you when you were cold. The one that always carried smoke and fire and sun.

Your hands stop moving.

Your chest aches like it did that day on the battlefield.

You press your palms over your face. Try to breathe.

You can’t.

You leave the room without thinking. Stumble down the hallway. Find the old supply closet and slip inside, shut the door, slide to the floor. And then you’re crying. Harder than you have in months.

You don’t hear the door open.

But you feel it when someone kneels in front of you.

"Hey" Law says quietly.

You wipe at your face, but your voice still shakes "I’m fine."

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sits beside you. Close, but not touching.

"You’re not."

You swallow hard "It’s stupid. Just a smell. Just—"

"Fire?"

Your head jerks up.

He’s not looking at you. He’s staring ahead, eyes distant.

"It reminded you of your brother" he says.

You nod slowly “It’s been so long. And I still—”

"I know."

You look at him.

And that’s when he says "Corazon… used to smell like gunpowder and old cigars. Not in a bad way. Just… constant. Burned into my memory."

Your heart skips. Because Law never talked to you about Corazon so openly.

You barely breathe.

"I forget his face sometimes," Law says softly “But I never forget that smell.”

The silence after is thick. Full of ghosts.

You sit with it.

Then, quietly, you say, “What happened to him?”

You think he won’t answer but then "He died to save me."

You blink fast, chest twisting "I'm sorry."

Law’s voice is dry "You didn’t do it."

"I know. I just..." You reach up, rub your thumb along your wrist "It hurts, doesn’t it? When someone gives up everything for you. And then they're just… gone."

He doesn’t speak but then you feel his hand, brushing yours. He doesn’t hold it. Doesn’t grip. Just enough to let you know he’s there.

You let your fingers brush back.

Both of you sit there, in the dark and the quiet. Neither of you names the weight in your chest. Or the heat that’s slowly grown between you over the months. The way your breath catches when he’s too close. The way you watch him when he’s not looking. The way you burn when someone else does.

You don’t name it but it’s there, unmistakable.

A minute passes. Maybe five.

Then Law stands.

"You should rest."

You nod, eyes red “You too.”

He steps toward the door. Then pauses.

“You don’t have to forget him,” he says “You just have to keep living.”

Your breath catches.

“Same goes for you” you whisper.

Law doesn’t turn around but you see his hand curl at his side. Tight.

Then he walks out, and the door closes behind him.

One year and six months.

That’s how long it’s been since Marineford.

And you are stronger and sharper.

The crew trusts you. Your skills are unmatched. Even Law lets you take the lead on some missions now.

But underneath all that, something else has grown. You and him, you're close.

He watches your back in battle like it's instinct. You can read the tension in his jaw before he even speaks. You can finish each other's plans before they're spoken.

But there’s a weight behind every shared glance because neither of you says what’s circling in your chest.

And now there’s a clock ticking.

“Four months” you say quietly, looking out over the deck at the open sea.

Law is beside you, leaning against the rail, arms folded.

You don’t look at him when you say it. You can’t.

“I go back to him in four months.”

Law doesn’t reply.

The silence stretches, long and heavy.

You force a smile “You’ll be glad to have the quiet again.”

Still, he says nothing.

Then finally, softly “I won’t.”

You freeze.

He looks ahead. Not at you. Not even close but your heart is pounding now.

You don’t know what to say. So you don’t say anything.

The silence between you shifts after that.

He stands closer now. His fingers brush yours more often. Sometimes, his eyes stay on you too long when he thinks you won’t notice. But you notice everything.

That night, you can’t sleep.

Your chest aches like it used to, only it’s not grief for the past this time, it’s for the future. For leaving this ship, this crew... him.

You lie on your side, staring at the dark ceiling. And just like before, when you’re about to drown in it there’s a knock.

Soft.

Rhythmic.

You already know who it is.

You don’t say anything. Just open the door.

Law stands there. Still in his coat. Still unreadable.

You don’t ask why he came.

You don’t speak.

You just step back and let him in.

He doesn’t touch you.

But he sits on the bed beside you, closer than he ever used to, and he stays for hours.

The two of you say nothing, but in that silence everything hurts, everything burns, because in four months, you leave and neither of you knows how to say don’t go.

You can feel it in the air.

There’s only a month left before you leave the Polar Tang, before you return to Luffy. To the Straw Hats. To the promise you made.

And everyone knows it.

Bepo watches you with round, quiet eyes whenever you walk into the room.

Shachi and Penguin keep pulling you into games and conversations, laughing a little louder than usual.

Even Ikkaku made you a new satchel for your potion tools with stitched initials and everything.

You feel it in the little things.

The way they hover when you pack.

The way Bepo asks if you’ll remember them.

The way Shachi elbows you and says, "Don’t get too famous without us."

They’re hurting but they’re making room for your goodbye.

All of them... except him.

Law has gone suddently cold.

Gone are the long silences in your room. Gone are the late-night conversations, the tea he used to make when he thought you weren’t sleeping.

Gone is the warmth.

Now it’s curt nods. Dismissed glances. Command-voice only.

He walks past you in the halls like you’re already gone, and you hate it so much it makes your hands shake.

You try to bring it up. Carefully.

Sitting at the dinner table with the crew, twirling your fork through your food.

“Hey,” you say “Is something going on with Law?”

The table stiffens.

Shachi and Penguin suddenly become fascinated with their soup.

Bepo clears his throat.

“What do you mean?” Bepo asks, too lightly.

“I mean he’s acting weird,” you say, eyes scanning them “He won’t even look at me. Did I do something?”

“No! No, of course not” Shachi says quickly.

“Maybe he’s just busy” Penguin adds.

You narrow your eyes “You’re all lying.”

Ikkaku chimes in “You’re imagining it.”

But they can’t even hold your gaze.

You drop your fork and lean back.

Something is wrong.

That night, you find him in the medbay.

Again.

Head bent over papers he doesn’t need to read. Same ones as last week. Maybe the week before.

“Hey...” you say, stepping inside.

He doesn’t look up.

You close the door behind you.

“You’re avoiding me.”

“No I’m not.”

“Don’t lie to me, Law. You haven’t looked at me in a week.”

“I’ve been working.”

“Bullshit.”

His eyes flick up, sharp.

You take a breath and step closer “Why are you doing this?”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re pretending I’m already gone.”

“You are going.”

The words slam into your chest.

“I’m still here now.”

“But you won’t be.”

Your voice rises “That doesn’t mean you get to treat me like I’m nothing!”

“I’m trying to make it easier.”

“For who? You?! Because it sure as hell isn’t easier for me!”

“I can’t—” He stops. Swallows.

And then, low, rough “I can’t do this.”

“Do what, Law?” your voice still high.

He finally looks at you and you wish he hadn’t.

His eyes are full of things you don’t understand.

“You’re going back...” he says “To your brother. To your captain. To your real crew.”

"And? These were the plans."

And for the first time since you met him, Law yells... and he yells someting you would have never expected “I’m gonna lose you!”

You freeze.

For you it just doesn’t make sense.

“...I’m not yours to lose.”

The words hang in the air like a slap.

You regret them the second they leave your mouth. But he’s already moving.

Crossing the space between you in two steps, fast and wild and furious, and then his hands are in your hair, his mouth on yours. And your world stops.

The kiss isn’t sweet.

It’s desperate. Like a dam finally cracking after months under pressure. His hands tremble as they hold your face, lips crashing against yours like he needs this to breathe.

You don’t think.

You kiss him back, full of every ache, every longing, every unanswered question.

You grip his coat, pull him closer. Your chest presses to his. Your heart feels like it’ll break through your ribs.

And when he finally pulls away, he looks at you like he’s ruined everything.

His voice is barely a whisper “I’m sorry.”

You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

You’re stunned. Breathless. Heart raw.

So he turns and leaves and you just let him.

It’s been four days since he kissed you.

Four days since his hands were in your hair.

Four days since his mouth was on yours like it was the only way he could speak. And he’s pretending it never happened.

You tried to wait. To give him time. To breathe. To be patient even though your heart won’t stop pounding every time he walks into a room.

But every time he does, it’s like it never happened.

He’s back to clinical, sharp, captain-mode.

“You missed a measurement in this report.”

“Meet me on deck in fifteen.”

“Test batch needs refinement.”

Not a single glance. Not a crack in his voice. And it’s killing you.

Even the crew notices.

Bepo watches you with big worried eyes.

Shachi looks like he wants to say something every time Law leaves the room, but never does.

Penguin just sighs.

You try to keep it together, you really do... until the fifth day.

You find him alone in the engine room, hunched over blueprints. Your stomach turns, but you step forward anyway.

“Law” you say, soft but steady.

He doesn’t look up “What?”

You stare at the back of his head “You’re really gonna act like nothing happened?”

Silence.

He slowly rolls up the blueprint “I don’t know what you mean.”

A hot, bitter laugh escapes you “Unbelievable.”

“Don’t start.”

“Don’t start?” Your voice rises “You kissed me, didn't you Trafalgar? You kissed me like I was the last person on earth, and now you won’t even look at me!”

He sets the paper down. His back still to you “It was a mistake.”

Your throat tightens.

“A mistake...” you repeat.

He finally turns, face blank. But his eyes are just dead and cold, like he’s trying to kill something inside.

You step forward “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pretend I imagined it.”

“I don’t have time for—”

“Stop lying.”

Your voice cracks “I’m leaving in three weeks, and you’d rather throw all of this away than be honest with me.”

“You’re leaving,” he growls “What’s the point in—”

“So what?! So you’d rather throw away everything we are than admit it hurts?”

He says nothing.

Your hands are shaking. Your chest heaves “I know what that kiss meant. Don’t treat me like I’m stupid.”

You’re close now. Too close. And still he won’t look at you.

So you whisper “…Did it really mean nothing to you?”

He finally looks at you and his mask slips just for a second.

Something flashes in his eyes, something like pain, regret and fear, and you see it, but then it’s gone, and his jaw hardens.

“I’m your captain,” he says, voice low “That’s all.”

You feel like the floor falls out beneath you.

“Right...” you whisper “Of course.”

You turn but stop right in front of the door and without turning to look at him you just say "Honestly? Fuck you."

You open the door and leave.

He doesn’t stop you.

The morning you’re supposed to leave is quiet. Too quiet.

Even the sea feels like it’s holding its breath.

You stand on the dock with your bag slung over one shoulder and your coat hanging heavy on your back. The same coat Bepo helped you patch up. The same bag filled with tonics, vials, and handmade notebooks stuffed with training notes.

You’ve done what you came here to do.

You’ve kept your promise to Luffy.

You’ve survived. You’ve grown.

And still, your heart is aching like it’s being pulled in two.

The crew is gathered to see you off.

Bepo’s ears droop “Write us.”

Shachi holds out a charm he carved, a tiny wooden whale “For luck.”

Penguin hugs you a little too tight and mutters “We’ll miss you.”

Even Ikkaku pulls you in and ruffles your hair with a forced smile.

They all know what this is. What it feels like to say goodbye to someone who became more than just crew.

But still, they try to send you off with warmth.

They all do... except him.

Law isn’t there. Not on the dock. Not by the ramp. Not even watching from the shadows like he usually does.

You glance toward the ship. Empty.

He’s really not coming...

It stings worse than you thought it would.

You pretend it doesn’t. You keep your smile steady. You hug Bepo one last time, gripping him tight like he’s the last safe thing left in the world. And then you step forward toward the small boat waiting for you.

The one that'll take you to Sabaody Archipelago so that the Heart Pirates don't have to change their route.

You’re two steps from the ramp.

And then “Wait.”

Your breath catches.

You turn and there he is.

Law stands at the edge of the dock, coat billowing in the sea breeze, expression unreadable but eyes unmistakably wrecked.

Your heart punches into your ribs.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

So you speak first. Voice soft “You weren’t going to come.”

“I wasn’t” he admits.

Silence.

“Changed your mind?” you ask, half a smile, half a plea.

He doesn't answer that. Just walks closer until he’s a few feet away. Not touching distance but too close to pretend you’re strangers.

He looks at you like he's memorizing every inch.

You want to cry but you don’t, even though your eyes are so full that your vision is all blurry.

“You came to say goodbye?” you ask.

“No.”

His voice is rough. Not angry. Raw.

“I came to say I hate this.”

You blink.

“I hate that you’re leaving. I hate that you’re not staying. I hate that I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again.”

Your heart clenches “I’m not dying, Law.”

“But you’re still leaving.”

“I told you I would.”

“I know.”

More silence but the wind is loud. The gulls are louder. But all you can hear is him.

“I don’t want to lose you” he says, eyes locked on yours.

The same words from weeks ago but this time, there’s no mask.

No cold walls.

Just him.

You swallow “You’re not.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not—"

“I don’t know how else to say it,” he snaps suddenly, and his voice cracks “As you said you’re not mine, and you never were, but I... I still...”

He cuts himself off.

And you’re shaking.

The words hover between you. Unfinished. Alive.

Your throat is tight “I never said I wanted to leave you behind.”

“You’re going back to him. To your new crew with your brother. That’s where your place is.”

“And where’s my heart supposed to go?”

The question spills out before you can stop it.

And that’s it. That’s what breaks him.

He steps forward. Hands trembling, eyes burning.

He grabs your face, not hard, but desperate, and presses his forehead to yours like he’s praying.

“I don’t know what this is,” he breathes “But it hurts.”

You’re crying now. Quietly.

“I don’t know either,” you whisper “But I think I’ll miss you so much it might kill me.”

He pulls you in, arms wrapping around you, burying his face into your shoulder. And for the first time in two years, Trafalgar Law lets himself hold you.

He holds you like he’s trying to burn the shape of you into his bones.

No kiss.

No promises.

Just the truth in the silence between your heartbeats.

And when you finally pull away, when the ship horn calls, when the wind rises again, he lets you go.

Not because he wants to. But because he has to.

You step on the boat.

The ramp is pulled up and you see the crew waving. And you see him still there, still watching.

And you think, I’ll see you again.

No matter what.

You will.

The boat begins to move.

Too slowly.

Too quickly.

Too final.

You're still facing the dock, still watching Law, frozen where you left him. Stoic. Silent.

The others wave. Bepo wipes his nose. Shachi keeps yelling “We love you, stay alive!” while Penguin shushes him with red ears.

But Law doesn’t wave.

He just stands there.

Like if he moves, he’ll lose whatever last piece of you he’s clinging to.

And then you feel it in your chest. That you can't go like this. That he needs more than silence. And so do you.

So you do something impulsive.

Something wildly you.

You cup your hands to your mouth and scream “LAW!”

Heads arount there all turn. The crew jolts. Even Bepo flinches.

But Law lifts his head. Eyes wide.

And you yell again, urgent and fierce and blazing “COME HERE—HURRY!”

He doesn’t ask why, doesn’t think.

He just runs.

For the first time anyone on his crew has ever seen, Trafalgar D. Water Law runs, coat flying, sword swinging on his hip, boots pounding against the dock.

Penguin blurts, “Holy shi—he’s running?!”

Even Bepo looks speechless.

Law reaches the edge just as the boat’s still close enough.

You’re at the railing, knees on the side, hand reaching.

He gets close.

You grab him.

Fist clenched in the collar of his coat, you pull him upward just enough and you kiss him. Fast. Fierce. Final.

You kiss him like it’s the last thing you’ll remember. And he doesn’t hesitate. Not this time.

His hands find your arms, just briefly. But you’re already pulling back, already slipping away as the boat starts to rise off the waterline.

His fingers curl at his sides like he’s trying not to reach again.

You’re breathless, flushed, beaming.

You cup your hands again.

“I’ll come back!” you shoutn“Wait for me, I promise!”

His lips part, chest rising. He doesn’t say anything but you see it in his eyes, that he believes you.

You grin wildly, tug your coat tighter, and shout one last thing “Break it!”

You point at his jacket where your hand was.

He looks down slowly.

Fingers brush his collar. Something’s there.

A small orb. Light, palm-sized, sealed with your initials carved faintly into the surface.

He narrows his eyes then snaps it.

A puff of smoke bursts out instantly, curling into the air in a soft spiral. The wind brushes it aside…

And inside, where the smoke clears a charm. Small. Handmade.

It’s a tiny glass bottle. Inside it, dried blue bell petals, the same flowers from that island you said reminded you of Ace.

The same ones you once said helped you sleep.

Around the neck of the bottle is a black thread.

A single word carved on a tin tag looped around it “Love”.

Law stares.

No one says anything.

Bepo swallows loudly “…She gave him a charm?”

Shachi whispers, “He’s gonna wear it under his coat, I bet."

But Law doesn’t respond. He doesn’t move.

He just stands there, charm in hand, watching your boat fade into the distance.

Watching until he can’t see you anymore.

And only then, he allows himself to close his eyes and hold the charm to his heart.

962 notes · View notes

shroompette · 5 months ago

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Maine Coon Cat!König living alone in his den, generally unbothered until Bunny!Reader shows up during a storm, seeking shelter under the overhang of his home. Wet, cold and with an injured leg, König takes pity on her and brings her inside.

MCCat!König who doesn't really have many veggies lying around, but he does have some fruit. He watches Bunny!Reader's cheeks grow chubby as she stuffs them with bananas and canned nectarines. Poor thing, she must have been starved. He gives her a can of strawberries as well, which she neatly tucks away in her raincoat. He does not question her about it.

MCCat!König who, after he feeds Bunny!Reader, carefully rolls up the fabric of her pants to inspect and disinfect the nasty cut on her calf, taking the opportunity to give a closer look to her as a whole. He finds himself enchanted with the long, fluffy ears that droop around the sides of her head. Even wet, they still look enticing, cotton-soft and he wants to brush them, rub his cheeks against them, kiss them, pull them, bite them-

MCCat!König who manages to make Bunny!Reader a little nest to sleep in out of spare pillows and blankets, the crackle of the flames dancing in the fireplace lulling her to sleep. He watches her for a while and nearly purrs with delight when she rolls over in her sleep and reveals the round little scut that he'd like to use as a stress ball.

MCCat!König whose big ears twitch as he hears the sound of his front door opening in the morning, knowing Bunny!Reader must have slipped out into the woods again and it makes his heart pang just a little before he resumes his everyday life.

MCCat!König who is absolutely flabbergasted when a week passes and there's a knock on his door behind which stands Bunny!Reader and her three little buns. Without a word, she ushers them inside before disappearing into the woods. He isn't sure what to do. He has half a mind to run after her, but he fears leaving the buns alone would give them an opportunity to cause mischief and he'd rather not come back and find his den on fire. He stays, letting them sit in his big lap and play with his tail that sometimes tickles them on their twitchy little noses, so similar to their mother's. They're very messy eaters too - they seem to love strawberries, little fingers and cheeks sticky with their juice.

MCCat!König who is equally relieved and enraged when Bunny!Reader finally shows up hours later with a satchel of herbs and veggies for her babies who are currently bundled up in the nest he reassembled. He is about to tell her off, inform her that he isn't a babysitter when she stands on her tiptoes and nuzzles his nose ever so gently, difusing his anger completely. He barely blinks before she's off to check on her buns, satisfied with the state she finds them in - alive, with full bellies and sleeping.

MCCat!König who slowly gets used to Bunny!Reader dropping off her kids at his doorstep and watching them for a day or two before she comes back and expresses her gratitude via soft gesture such as nuzzle or a cheek kiss.

MCCat!König who sometimes makes Bunny!Reader stay in the den with the buns to go on a veggie/herb hunt himself, just so she can spend some quality time with them. He can not pinpoint the exact moment he became so whipped for her.

MCCat!König who starts leaving the nest out permanently because he knows Bunny!Reader won't stop coming around and neither will her buns anytime soon (he'd miss them greatly if they did).

MCCat!König who lets Bunny!Reader sleep in the spare cot (that he built just for her) in his room until she decides one night that sleeping beside him would be more comfortable. He does not try to object this in the slightest, not when he can finally feel her fluffy ears against his face.

MCCat!König who regularly grooms the buns' hair and furry ears and Bunny!Reader's as well with his coarse tongue, thinking he's displaying dominance over her. He has no idea she thinks she is the one in charge by letting him groom her.

MCCat!König who's suddenly not alone anymore. The quiet days of his den are over as it's now filled with laughter and chattering of the three little buns who have began to call him "Papa". He never knew two simple syllables could bring him so much joy...and then there's Bunny!Reader, with her genius manipulative tactics that involve licks, kisses and adorable tiny stomps of her feet when she wants something done her way. He would not trade her for anything in the world.

MCCat!König who slowly starts thinking his den is too big for just the five of them...and that perhaps he and Bunny!Reader should start working on some kitten siblings for the buns.

masterlist • pt2

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deikshen · 5 months ago

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Shen Yuan was a beta all his life so then, now, being the omega Shen Qingqiu who can no longer suppress his secondary gender by Without-a-cure, needs to learn to be an Omega.

The information in the books is damn unclear and it would not be right to go ask for help from disciples or brothels, so he just... Well, he knows that Shang Qinghua is a spy for the demons, and he knows that Mobei Jun is an Omega for his meta knowledge. So he decides to go and threaten Shang Qinghua's ass with exposing him with the other Peak Lords for treason unless he allows him to have private meetings with Mobei Jun.

(At some point, they both reveal themselves as transmigrants? Yes. But not at the beginning for more drama lol Shang Qinghua racking his brains over what the hell Shen Qingqiu the scum villain and HIS KING will talk about in private- )

So, in private meetings with Mobei Jun, Shen Qingqiu humiliates himself with a half-truth: he tells him that I had never experienced anything like omega (after all, the entire CQMS thinks Shen Qingqiu is a beta), and now with Without-a-cure he has stopped taking his suppressants because the damage they were doing to his health, so right now he doesn't know how to do omega basic things like nest, purr, scent, pack behavior...

Mobei Jun agrees to teach him all those omega things; in exchange, Shen Qingqiu will give him more information and those things that Shang Qinghua doesn't have access to, since Shen Qingqiu is, well, Peak Lord of the second most important peak. They make a half-hearted and reluctant agreement, but they are on the same page.

And Mobei Jun teaches him. He teaches him how to fix a nest and the different ways he can use it. How apply blankets properly for softness, or comfort, or space, depends on what suits him. Teaches him to scent with the necessary amount of pheromones on people, objects, pack gifts, puppy gifts- It is a different level for each situation, and it is very necessary that it be respected, because otherwise it could give the wrong message!!

It also teaches purring, different growls, the type of reactions these sounds would have in Alphas or other Omegas. Also what kind of fabrics or robes are more comfortable to wear closer to the heat, what herbs to avoid, what kinds of things might not help him, what types of foods to stock up on for those occasions.

There is a lot of monosyllabic talk, a lot of directions and teachings, and Mobei Jun is not really the type to talk a lot, but neither is Shen Qingqiu, so unless necessary, they won't say much that is not so very important. They drink tea (iced) and they always end their secret meetings by scenting their wrists. It's a habit. Mobei Jun's omega scent is clear like ginger-mint and somewhat spicy, but it doesn't smell demonic itself, then it can go unnoticed.

The change in Shen Qingqiu's Omega behavior is noticeable, not only among the now very spoiled puppy disciples, but among the Peak Lords. Mu Qingfang is glad that Shen Qingqiu is finally accepting being part of the pack, scenting them, giving them scented gifts for their own common spaces. Alphas and betas do not necessarily nest, but in their homes they often have things with the aromas of their packs, giving shape to their home.

There is only one notable difference. Mobei Jun, of course, has taught his omega knowledge biased by his demonic family teaching. So, Shen Qingqiu finds himself... biting.

He bites his disciples' cheeks, he bites their little hands when he comes to scent them. It is easier to give them little bites, so they will only laugh or blush.

He bites Liu Qingge's cheek, one day the Alpha gets really close to him sniffing the clear scent of Mobei Jun on him, asking who is. In defense of Shen Qingqiu, he became nervous!!! And Liu Qingge stepped away as if he had been set on fire, walking away like a penguin.

Randomly bites Mu Qingfang's hands when he is checking him out by Without-a-cure, little bites on his fingers, on his knuckles. Mu Qingfang blushes, steps back, and quickly notes down the reactions. Pff. As if it wasn't normal for Omegas to bite and lick their packs!! Now they will tell that Omegas should not court their Alphas by proving they can kill them in a fight only to decide not to! Of course Binghe's harem didn't work like that, but those were female Omegas! He was a male Omega, that would make the difference, wouldn't it?

So, just, Shen Qingqiu is there, gifting his packs with things with his scent, purring when some Alpha around him is stressed, biting hands, wrists, cheeks. He shamelessly sits close to anyone and drenches them with his scent. He's much more tactile with everyone. He makes comfortable public-nesting spaces in gardens where he invites his youngest disciples (and Binghe, because how could he deprive Binghe of those experiences?! The poor boy is always hungry for affection, hugs, pats and bites more than any other disciple) to snuggle with him while purring and playing some music, just as Mobei Jun had explained that Omegas did with their pups so they could relax after long days-

(The other Peak Lords don't know if Shen Qingqiu has gone mad or is trying to court them all. They also don't want to risk asking and ruining whatever's going on.)

(Amidst all this, and instinctively, both Mobei Jun and Shen Qingqiu begin to see and feel like a pack. They give each other scented blankets, their scents are in their respective nests. There are new jewels among Shen Qingqiu's hair accessories, and new necklaces hanging over Mobei Jun's open necklines. They are a pack. Family of some strange and accidentally acquired kind. Even Shen Qingqiu relaxes in Mobei Jun's nest once while waiting for him due to an urgency among the rebellious demons - which almost causes Shang Qinghua to almost have a qi deviation when he sees him, comfortable in his king's nest just reading.)

(At some point, Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu reveal themselves to be transmigrants- and Shang Qinghua is laughing his fucking shit off, because now he has the explanation of everything, and he's definitely not going to tell him that the normal omega mode of demons is the omega-courtship-family mode of humans. Nope. He'll let Cucumber-bro figure it out for himself.)

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ikeu05 · 26 days ago

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𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 。 crawling back to you , busy being yours to fall for somebody new

synopsis in the gilded shadows of the Victorian era, hidden princess, yn and a charming bar boy, jake sim cross paths under impossible stars. what begins with playful banter and secret glances soon spirals into a love neither of them expected—but fate has a cruel sense of timing. when truth unravels and betrayal cuts deep, they are forced apart by forces far bigger than them. years later, a chance encounter reignites everything they buried. But is love still enough, or is it too late?

pairing commoner! jake x secret princess! reader

featuring jake, jungwon, sunghoon of enhypen / ness, an oc (me hehe) / cassendra "cassie" knight (23) — the oldest princess / genevieve "jen" knight (18) — the youngest princess

genre forbidden love, secret identities, fluff, angst, forced marriage, victorian themes

word count 23.5k :O

warnings jake gets betrayed, angst towards the end, kissing, nothing too explicit but kinda suggestive, yn is misunderstood as the second daughter, mentions of crying, mentions of cheating in marriage (i do NOT induce cheating!!!), ness has something going on with jungwon hmmm

playlist the lakes — taylor swift. war of hearts — ruelle. kingdom dance — tangled. sign of the times — bridgerton. where is my mind? — the blue notes. happiness is a butterfly — lana del rey. loss of my life — taylor swift. young and beautiful — lana del rey. mystery of love — sufjan stevens. my tears ricochet — taylor swift. i miss you, i'm sorry — gracie abrams. softly — clairo. do i wanna know — hozier.

nessie note hello and gm :3 posting this 5:30am after a WEEK (plus a little) of writing this. i hope y'all like my baby as much as i do. if it's not obvious by now, i LOVVVEEEE me some angst. it's my favourite thing to write about because if i'm not happy, NO ONE SHOULD BE HAHAHHAHA (kidding i love all of y'all everyone please be happy y'all deserve it <3333)

in the heart of the kingdom of decelis, where fog hugged the cobblestone streets and ivy curled up the walls of timeworn manors, there was a legend whispered in every bakery line and under every breath of steam from a blacksmith’s forge.

the royal family had daughters. but no one knew how many, or what they looked like. no portraits hung in the town square. no names were ever announced at royal galas. it was said the king kept them veiled behind silken curtains, safe from the world’s ugliness—or perhaps from its temptations.

still, in the morning haze of the village, a girl walked freely. she wore plain dresses, ones she sometimes patched herself with clumsy stitches. her boots were scuffed, her fingernails always had ink or dust beneath them, and she never introduced herself by anything but a shrug and a crooked smile.

to the children, she was the one who taught them to skip stones across the river. to the older women, she was the girl who helped grind herbs behind the apothecary. to the baker, she was the thief of day-old pastries—and the reason he never bothered locking his side door. but she didn’t belong to them, not really.

no one knew where she returned to when the market stalls packed up. no one knew why she refused to speak of her family. no one knew that beyond the forest edge, behind a wall lined with gold-dusted leaves, stood the royal palace of decelis.

and within it, she was princess yn of the house of ainsley, second daughter of the king, born under a rare moon and hidden just as quickly from the world.

she’d grown up reading books about the world outside her garden gates—about laughter that wasn’t stiff, words that weren’t rehearsed, dances that didn’t need permission. and when she turned sixteen, she started slipping past the guards at night.

what started as curiosity had become a necessity. because out there, beyond her velvet prison, she could breathe. no titles. no etiquette. no expectations. just the feeling of her own limbs belonging to her.

only her maid, her best friend, ness, knew the truth. and though she scolded her every morning yn returned—hair tangled, smelling of smoke and fresh bread—she never told a soul. she had once been in love herself, a long time ago. she understood. but secrets had a way of testing their holders. and hers, so fragile and young, was about to collide with a secret of its own.

and it would all begin on the day the boy from nowhere lost his job.

jake sim didn’t ask for much.

a roof, a stable job, maybe a warm drink that didn’t taste like scorched disappointment. oh, and not being yelled at before noon. that was his one request. and yet, here he was, standing outside the thistle & thorn tavern with his apron balled in one hand and the bitter stench of stale beer in his hair.

“you’re a menace, sim!”

that was the last thing the barkeep had screamed, red-faced, before tossing him out the back door like yesterday’s dishwater. jake scoffed, muttering under his breath as he adjusted his coat. "it was one broken tray. one. and it wasn’t even my fault—who puts a damn chair in the middle of the kitchen door?"

the town of riverfield was already proving to be a disaster. he��d arrived only a fortnight ago, hoping for quiet work and simpler living. but the villagers were nosy, the streets had too many corners, and now he was unemployed before breakfast.

brilliant. he rubbed the bridge of his nose and decided to sulk dramatically near the market, as any reasonable man would after being humiliated.

the village square was alive already, warm bread smells wafting from open ovens, flour dust in the air like snow, kids weaving through stalls barefoot, vendors shouting about turnips like they were made of gold. jake shoved his hands in his coat pockets and grumbled. he hated it here.

that’s when it happened. something collided with him. soft but fast. like a bird made of elbows and curses.

“bloody hell—” jake stumbled backward, nearly slipping on an apple someone had abandoned on the cobblestones. he blinked as the impact staggered off him.

it was a girl. or rather, a blur of wool and brown curls and very, very annoyed eyes. she turned around mid-step, clearly prepared to deliver some biting remark—he could see the way her brows lifted, mouth parted, about to spit fire—and then she stopped.

she blinked at him. and he blinked at her. and for a moment, the market noise faded to background fuzz.

jake didn’t know what hit him harder—the unexpected collision or the face staring back at him. she wasn’t the kind of pretty you could explain to someone. not with words. it was something else. something about the way her features didn’t quite sit still—soft and sharp all at once, like light flickering over river stones. there was dirt on her cheek. her coat was too big. she held a half-loaf of bread like it was a newborn child. and she looked at him like he was the one who’d bumped into her.

“watch it,” she muttered, brushing past him.

jake opened his mouth. nothing came out. he turned around to follow her steps, mouth still ajar like a stunned trout. “wait—you ran into me!”

the girl glanced over her shoulder. “and i survived. congratulations to us both.”

he gaped for a second and she was already gone. vanished into the crowd, bread still tucked under her arm like a trophy. jake stared after her, one hand lifted uselessly in the air. his pride? shattered. his job? gone. his brain? possibly leaking out his ears.

jake sim had never believed in fate. but now? now he was convinced it wore muddy boots and a stolen coat and smelled faintly of rosemary. and despite everything—the humiliation, the job loss, the fact that he was probably going to have to beg the bakery for leftover crusts—he was already wondering when he’d see her again.

whoever she was.

the lake behind the chapel ruins wasn’t much—just a quiet stretch of water cradled by willows and old mossy rocks. the kind of place that looked like it had secrets. the kind jake liked.

it had taken him an hour of aimless wandering and ten muttered curses to get there, but now, seated on the bank with his coat off and sleeves rolled to his elbows, he finally felt like he could breathe. no angry barkeeps. no nosy shopkeepers. just the soft slap of water against stone, the occasional chirp of a bird that clearly didn’t give a damn about the complexities of unemployment, and the setting sun casting gold onto the lake like melted coins.

he picked up a flat stone, tested the weight with a flick of his fingers, and threw.

plop. terrible. the next one skipped once. better. the third skipped thrice. by the fifth, he was starting to forget how annoyed he’d been. until—

“you’re terrible at that,” a voice called from behind.

jake turned sharply, squinting against the light. the silhouette stepped into view with an infuriating kind of ease, hands in the pockets of a different coat this time, a mischievous glint in her eyes like she'd been watching longer than she should’ve.

“you.” he blinked, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “bread thief.”

“unemployed flirt.”

jake huffed a laugh. “well. that’s new. usually i get ‘charismatic’, or ‘charmingly unfortunate’. but alright.”

she stepped closer, looking out at the water like she wasn’t impressed. “your form’s all wrong,” she said, crouching beside him. “you’re supposed to flick the wrist. not… lob it like you’re throwing cabbage at a wall.”

jake looked down at her, cocking a brow. “you’ve got strong opinions for someone who bodyslammed me this morning.”

“i was in a hurry.”

“to rob another bakery?”

“to feed a fox, actually.” she smirked, grabbing a stone. “not that you deserve to know.”

he watched her then—really watched her. the way her hair caught the gold of the setting sun, how her lashes cast little fans across her cheekbones, the effortless way she carried herself, like she’d grown up learning to dance between footsteps. there was something undeniably regal about her, even in oversized coats and scuffed boots.

“i’ve got to admit,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, “i didn’t expect to be blessed with your presence again so soon.”

she didn’t look at him. “don’t get used to it.”

jake grinned. “is that a threat? or a promise?”

she sighed audibly, lips twitching. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet,” he said, watching her skip a perfect four-stone ripple across the lake, “here you are. voluntarily sitting beside an insufferable man.”

“because i felt bad.”

“oh, don’t do that,” jake groaned dramatically. “pity is so unflattering. at least lie and say you missed my face.”

“i missed the way your hair looks like it lost a duel with a broom.”

he touched his hair, mock-offended. “that’s cruel. it’s got character.”

she stood again, brushing dirt off her skirt, already turning to go. “you talk too much.”

jake stood too, following without being asked. “you’ve got the eyes of someone who’s keeping a thousand secrets.”

she didn’t respond.

“and the mouth of someone who’s never going to tell me any of them.”

still, nothing. “also,” he added cheerfully, “a really pretty nose. has anyone ever told you that?”

she glanced at him sideways. “no. and don’t start.” too late.

“i’m starting,” he said, hands in his pockets now, grinning like a fool. “pretty nose. even prettier mouth. your insults are getting prettier too.”

“stop.”

“can’t.”

“seriously—”

“it’s a condition.”

she turned to him then, mid-step, and finally—finally—let herself smile, just the smallest bit. a twitch. a crack in the royal mask he didn’t know she wore. jake saw it. and something fluttered in his chest he didn’t want to admit.

“well,” she said softly. “i suppose the lake wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

the conversation had wandered without agenda—through stories of markets and misfortunes, complaints about loud vendors, exaggerated tales of fish that nearly bit his fingers off, and jake’s ongoing argument with the village baker about the definition of “too toasted.”

she had laughed once. once. jake had pretended not to notice, but the sound had echoed in his chest like church bells. not loud—just long-lasting.

she sat cross-legged beside him, hands buried in the sleeves of that oversized coat, the last rays of the setting sun brushing soft light across her cheek. her gaze wandered toward the lake now and then, but mostly it lingered on the ground, or on her fingers, or the fraying threads at the hem of her coat. like she wasn’t used to holding eye contact. or maybe she just didn’t like letting people in.

and then—just as he’d begun telling her a story about how he nearly set fire to a barstool while trying to impress a girl who said she liked “dangerous men”—she suddenly stiffened. her spine straightened like a pulled bowstring. her head whipped to the west, where the sky had dipped into a dusty indigo.

“…shit,” she whispered, eyes wide.

jake blinked. “wow. harsh review. i thought that story was charming.”

“no,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “no, i didn’t—i lost track of time—”

“what time is it?” he asked, confused, still on the ground.

“i—it’s nearly seven. i’m late. i have to go. i really have to—” she was already backing away, stumbling slightly as she turned on her heel.

“woah, hey, wait—late for what? did the fox schedule a dinner party?”

she didn’t even smirk this time. her face had gone pale, mouth drawn tight. it wasn't just urgency. it was fear. panic, almost.

jake stood quickly, taking a step forward. “at least tell me your name.”

that stopped her. barely. one step from vanishing into the trees, she hesitated—shoulders rising, then falling. she turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the silhouette of her profile.

“i can’t.”

jake tilted his head. “can’t? or won’t?”

she didn’t answer.

he tried again, softer this time. “okay. then can i tell you mine?” silence.

“jake,” he said anyway. “jake sim.”

and for a moment, she stood completely still. as if memorising it. as if folding the syllables up and tucking them somewhere deep.

then, she ran. not a polite jog. a full sprint into the fading light.

jake stood there, wind catching the edges of his shirt, watching her disappear like the last streak of sunset. he scratched the back of his neck, feeling oddly… cold.

“jake sim,” he said again to himself. then huffed a laugh. “that’s me. just out here... falling for ghosts.”

he looked down at the skipping stones scattered by his boots. she hadn’t given him a name. but she’d left something else behind. something far more dangerous: curiosity. and yet, jake sim had never really been good at minding his own business.

the palace of decelis was beautiful in the kind of way that made your bones ache. all white stone and sprawling staircases, with archways carved into scenes of myth and gold-gilded ceilings that caught fire in the afternoon light. it was the kind of place made for silence and stillness. every footstep echoed too loudly. every whisper risked being overheard. and nothing, absolutely nothing, ever felt truly hers.

especially not the back kitchen corridor she now sprinted through, boots caked in mud, the hem of her dress wet with river water and flecked with grass stains. the air smelled faintly of rosemary and smoke—dinner being prepped somewhere below. her breath caught in her throat as she turned the narrow corner, heart pounding against her ribs like it wanted out. just as she reached for the brass handle of the servants’ pantry door, someone grabbed her by the wrist.

“you’re late.”

yn yelped and whirled around, only to find the familiar face she knew she'd see.

“ness,” she breathed, half a laugh, half a wince.

ness stood there with one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, and her apron stained with flour. she was effortlessly pretty, even with her hair knotted into a bun and smudges of ash on her cheek. her soft, wheatish skin glowed under the candle sconces, and her big, doe-brown eyes were as expressive as ever—wide with worry and narrowed with judgement at the same time. and those dimples—those damned dimples—made it impossible to take her scolding seriously.

“you said you'd be back by six,” ness hissed, dragging yn inside and quietly shutting the door behind them. “do you have any idea what time it is?”

“just past seven?” yn guessed with a sheepish grin.

ness glared and grabbed a clean cloth, throwing it at her. “try almost half-past. your father asked where you were during the tea sitting. i lied. again.”

“i owe you,” yn muttered, peeling off her coat. “again.”

“you owe me your entire life at this point.”

the servants’ dressing quarters were narrow but hidden behind the massive kitchen halls, where the scent of firewood and cloves clung to every surface. here, everything was quiet. secret. safe.

ness pulled out a fresh dress from the linen shelves and shoved it into yn’s arms. “your sisters are already in the dining hall. you’ve got ten minutes before your absence becomes another point of gossip.”

yn quickly started changing behind the curtain partition. “cassie’s too busy talking about wedding colours to care. and jen will just say i was off with a headache again.”

“you're lucky they cover for you sometimes.”

“not really. no one actually cares where i go. they just don’t want me embarrassing them.”

ness’s gaze softened. she didn’t argue. instead, she helped yn out of her boots, brushing off flecks of grass. “you really shouldn’t run off so often,” she said gently.

“why not? it’s not like anyone notices when i’m here.”

“they do,” ness said softly. “your father does. your mother just… doesn’t like when things slip outside the script.”

yn rolled her eyes. “of course. because heaven forbid i step off the page cassie wrote for me.”

ness gave her a look. “you don’t have to become her. you just have to survive dinner without starting a scandal.”

yn snorted. “not promising anything.”

as ness fastened the buttons at the back of her dress, yn grinned over her shoulder. “speaking of scandal... jungwon’s coming tomorrow, isn’t he?”

ness froze, her fingers lingering on the last button. “he’s just bringing supplies.”

“oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

“yn.”

“he flirts like a boy with a crush. you tuck your hair behind your ear when he talks. it’s almost cute.”

ness flushed, swatting her arm. “it’s nothing.”

“liar. i saw him give you his scarf last week when it got chilly.”

“he was just being polite!”

yn smirked. “if that’s what we’re calling flirting now, i’m in trouble.”

ness tried not to smile, but her dimples betrayed her. “hurry,” she said instead, pushing her toward the hall. “go pretend to be respectable.”

the dining room of the castle was a cathedral of etiquette—high-vaulted ceilings, tapestries of long-forgotten wars, and candles floating like stars above an endless mahogany table. the three sisters were seated across from one another, and her parents sat at the head—noble, polished, cold.

cassendra knight, eldest at twenty-three, sat with her back straight, posture perfect, and a diamond pin in her hair. she looked like she had stepped out of a royal portrait. her voice was calm as she discussed seating arrangements and florists with the queen.

genevieve—jen—sat across from her, twirling her fork with all the ease of a youngest child, laughing softly at something the steward had said before dinner.

and yn, slipping into her seat at last, slightly breathless, dress still wrinkled from the rush, felt exactly as she always did. extra. she wasn’t the first. not the bride. not the youngest. not the darling. she was the middle—the blurry one.

"where were you today?" her father's voice rang across the table like a verdict. there it was. the question she always heard. not how are you. not what did you do. just where. always where.

"garden," she lied quickly, unfolding her napkin. "by the orchard."

the queen nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “your cheeks are flushed.”

“it's warm in the corridor.”

cassie said nothing, but she didn’t need to. she never did. her quiet glances said everything—that yn was unpredictable, that she would never be enough. jen kicked her under the table with a tiny grin. yn smiled back.

that night, dinner passed in silence on her end. she ate without tasting. spoke when spoken to. laughed at the appropriate moments. but her mind was somewhere else. somewhere by the lake. with a boy who knew her only as a girl with muddy boots and a pretty coat. with a name he didn’t know—and a smile he’d already memorised.

it had been an unusually warm morning, and yn was wandering the village again before she could even register her own feet moving. she told herself she needed to clear her head. that it was about getting air. that she was absolutely not looking for someone. someone with a crooked grin and eyes that made everything else around him blur. no, she wasn’t thinking about him at all. except she was. she had tried not to. but last night, as she lay in her canopy bed, drowning under silken sheets and royal silence, all she could hear was his voice.

"jake sim," he'd said. like it was the only name in the world. and of course, like a damn idiot, she hadn’t given him hers. the smarter choice. the safer one. so she had absolutely no business being this disappointed when she rounded the bakery corner and—

“—you.”

she walked straight into a warm chest. again.

“oh my god,” she muttered, stumbling back as familiar hands gently steadied her by the arms. “this is becoming a thing.”

jake looked far too pleased with himself. “you really need to stop bumping into me like this,” he said, eyes glittering in the sunlight. “people are starting to talk.”

she shoved him away. lightly. not convincingly. “are you following me?”

jake raised both hands. “i’ll have you know, i am a man of high moral standing. i was just heading to the well.”

“you live nowhere near the well.”

“…that’s true,” he admitted. “but you live nowhere near the bakery and you were here, so…”

yn narrowed her eyes. “so you were looking for me.”

jake grinned, like he was proud of himself. “i’ve got a mission.”

she crossed her arms. “let me guess. world peace?”

“close,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “figuring out your name.”

yn rolled her eyes and turned to walk again. “you’re wasting your time.”

jake followed with his hands shoved in his pockets. “i don’t think so. it’s like a puzzle. mysterious girl. stolen bread. muddy boots. lies for days. what’s not to obsess over?”

“you sound dangerously unwell.”

he laughed, catching up easily. “you know, last night i was trying to guess. thought maybe it was something sharp. like ravenna.”

she snorted.

“or something delicate. like lily.”

“do i look like a lily to you?”

jake tilted his head. “no. definitely not. you look like trouble.”

she didn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “that’s not a name.”

“it is now.”

they kept walking, their steps falling into rhythm without them realising. people passed by with baskets and chatter, but it all felt slightly removed—like they were orbiting something entirely their own.

“why does it matter so much?” she asked finally.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked ahead, toward the river path, lips pursed in thought. “because…” he said eventually, “i don’t want to keep calling you girl who threw insults and skipped stones better than me.”

she huffed a small laugh.

“and because,” he continued more softly, “if i’m going to fall into this story, i’d at least like to know the name of the main character.”

that stopped her. just for a second. she stared at him, expression unreadable. and jake, to his own surprise, didn’t fill the silence with another joke. he just… waited. her voice, when it came, was quieter. but steady. “call me…” she paused. thought. “addy.”

jake raised an eyebrow. “that’s not your real name.”

she smirked. “it’s enough.”

jake grinned, like he’d just been handed a riddle and a key at the same time.

“alright then, addy,” he said, testing it on his tongue. “can i walk you home?”

she hesitated. just a blink. but then she shrugged, starting down the hill again. she wasn’t about to expose where she lived, jesus christ as if. she had a destination by the lake she always lied to say she was from. then when jake walked away she would run away to the palace.

“if you can keep up.”

jake let her walk ahead, then caught up easily, bumping shoulders just slightly. “oh,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “and you’re thinking about me now, aren’t you?”

she didn’t respond. but she was. god, she was.

jake had expected a few things when he ran into her again—mostly sarcasm, some vague insult about his hair, and maybe, if he was lucky, another sideways smile that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to examine. what he hadn’t expected was for her to say, after a shared moment of stubborn silence and narrowed eyes, “come on. i’ll show you around.”

just like that. like she hadn’t been dodging every real question he asked. like she wasn’t the most confusing girl he’d ever met. like he didn’t already want to follow her anywhere.

he said nothing at first—just fell into step beside her as they turned down the sun-warmed path leading deeper into riverfield’s winding streets. she walked ahead of him, hands in her coat pockets, chin lifted slightly like she was daring anyone to ask where she belonged. for the first time, jake wondered if maybe she didn’t belong anywhere at all. or maybe she belonged everywhere—depending on who was asking.

their first stop was the bakery, which smelled like honey and cinnamon and exactly the kind of thing jake needed after another night on a lumpy mattress in the tavern’s spare room.

“edric,” she called casually as they stepped inside, “be nice. i brought a friend.”

the man behind the counter—mid-fifties, large belly, ruddy cheeks—looked up from kneading dough and narrowed his eyes. “a friend, huh?”

jake straightened, smiling reflexively. “pleasure—”

“don’t bother charming him,” she muttered under her breath. “he’s immune.”

edric’s eyes raked over jake’s coat, hair, boots. judging. thorough. a dad-level inspection if jake had ever seen one. “is he the one you stole the rye loaf for two days back?” edric asked, voice low.

jake turned. “you stole bread for me?”

she scoffed. “i did not.”

“she did,” edric confirmed, deadpan.

“i was testing its crust,” she insisted.

jake looked very pleased. “you stole bread for me,” he said again, like it was proof of something.

she rolled her eyes, tossing a coin on the counter. “one honey twist, and nothing more for this idiot.”

as they left, jake tore into the bread, humming in delight. “that was the best crime ever committed in my honor.”

next was thalia, the old florist who sat outside her shop surrounded by baskets of wild blooms and herbs. she looked up from arranging violets and clucked her tongue when she saw yn.

“you’re late, darling,” she said, brushing petals from her apron. “i saved the purple ones.”

“i wasn’t coming for flowers today.”

“well, too bad. you’re getting some.” thalia handed her a small bunch of lavender and yn accepted it with mock reluctance, then handed one to jake without explanation.

jake stared at the single stalk in his palm. “are you proposing?”

“i’m keeping your hands busy so you don’t touch anything,” she muttered.

they moved from stall to stall. she introduced him to the apothecary twins, mira and mabel—tiny, quick-witted women who sold everything from cough syrups to potions that allegedly kept suitors away. mira asked jake what his star sign was. mabel offered to brew him something to “stop being annoying.” they passed the old shoemaker, who gifted yn a polished button from his days in the royal guard. the fishmonger who greeted her with, “back for gossip or haddock?” the boy who sold ink and paper, who turned pink when she smiled at him. and jake watched all of it with growing disbelief.

“you know everyone,” he said, finally, when they reached the river bridge and paused to catch their breath.

she shrugged. “i’ve been here a long time.”

“but no one knows your name.”

she didn’t answer that. just leaned over the bridge’s stone railing, watching the ripples below.

jake glanced at her profile—how the light softened the edges of her, how the breeze played with the strands of hair that had come loose. “i like this version of you,” he said quietly. “the one that smiles more.”

she shot him a look. “you say that like you know other versions.”

“i’ve met the one who dodges questions and threatens to drown me in a lake.”

she smirked. “that version has her uses.”

he watched her for a beat longer, then joined her at the railing. their shoulders brushed. neither moved away.

“so,” she said after a moment. “what about you? what’s jake sim doing in riverfield?”

he blew out a breath. “that’s a loaded question.”

“i’m not in a rush.”

he looked at her, the way her eyes stayed focused on the water, not him. like she wanted the truth but didn’t want to press too hard. “my mother’s family is from the coast,” he said finally. “korean sailors. she married into a merchant line. my father’s… well, a mess. still chasing fortunes in ports that don’t want him.”

“i’m sorry.”

jake shook his head. “don’t be. i’m not. just got tired of following his shadow. figured if i had to be broke and aimless, might as well do it somewhere quiet.”

“and here you are. aimless and in excellent company.”

he grinned. “exactly.”

she turned toward him. “and what do you want, jake sim?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. “i’m still figuring that out.”

they stood there for a while longer. then she said, “come on. one more place.”

he followed her to the hill just behind the village, where a hidden orchard bloomed quietly, tucked away from the world. they pushed through ivy and wild roses, and the sunlight poured through the branches like it was spilling secrets just for them.

she pulled herself up onto a low wall and looked out across the trees. jake climbed up beside her.

he watched her more than the view. “did you ever want more?” he asked. “than this?”

she was quiet. then: “i don’t know. i think i just wanted… to be seen. to matter.”

“you do.”

she met his eyes. and for a second, everything in her chest fell silent. he said it so easily. so sincerely. “you’re strange,” she whispered.

jake tilted his head. “and you’re hiding something.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

“you can’t prove it.”

“give me time.”

she smiled despite herself.

he grinned like a boy with a secret. “addy,” he said again, deliberately. “i like saying that.”

she lowered her eyes. “don’t get used to it.”

“i think i already have.”

and then they sat, quiet again. but not awkward. never awkward. just… full. charged. like the wind might carry them both off if they weren’t careful. by the time they headed back toward the village, the sun had already begun to tip westward, throwing amber light across the fields. jake didn’t want to say goodbye. she didn’t either. so they didn’t.

they lingered by the well. talking about nothing. laughing about the honey twist. jake told a story about nearly falling into a cargo hold. she told one about a goat that chased her through a market when she was fifteen. and all the while, the air between them softened. tightened. pulled.

“same time tomorrow?” jake asked, half-hopeful, half-sure she’d disappear again.

but she just nodded, already turning away. “if you can find me.” and just like that—she was gone. jake stood there, grinning like a fool, lavender stalk still in his hand.

the palace kitchens, though tucked away from the grandeur and polish of the rest of the castle, had their own kind of magic. it was warmer here—always smelling faintly of cinnamon, boiling broth, or fresh herbs drying by the stone window ledges. the hearth crackled even in late spring, and somewhere in the corner, a cat dozed in a basket of cloth scraps, twitching in her sleep. yn liked it here. always had.

the marble halls above were cold and sharp, too clean, too quiet. but here, everything was alive. the clatter of spoons, the thump of knives on chopping boards, the soft gossip passed between maids like sugar cubes—this was the beating heart of the castle. and tucked into the far wooden bench, arms folded on the table, yn sat with her chin in her hand, watching ness devour half a blueberry pie with all the grace of a girl who hadn't eaten in days.

“you’re going to regret that later,” yn muttered, smirking as she reached over for a bite.

“you could have just taken a piece yourself,” ness muttered without looking up.

“i like yours better,” yn replied sweetly, dropping another berry into her mouth. “it tastes like justice. forbidden, juicy justice.”

ness gave her a look but didn’t bother swatting her hand this time. she was too content — cheeks slightly pink from the warmth, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair tied in the loose bun she always wore when she wasn’t “on castle time.” a smudge of flour dusted one cheek, and the corners of her mouth were stained purple-blue from the filling.

“i think i like him,” yn said suddenly, eyes fixed on the window across the stone courtyard, watching the flutter of birds and not the way her heart started speeding.

ness paused mid-bite.

yn rushed to explain herself. “not in the way like ‘ohh i have to have him. i have to kiss him,’” she giggled at the thought. “but like, in the way, it’s nice to have someone my age to talk to. you know, apart from you.”

“oh?” ness cocked a brow at her.

yn bit her lip. “it’s stupid. i barely know him. and i haven’t even told him anything real about me.”

“does he know your name yet?”

she gave a small, guilty shrug. “...sort of. i gave him a fake one. i told him it was addy.”

ness raised a brow. “addy?”

“do not judge me, ness. it came out of nowhere.”

“i’m not judging,” ness said, grinning as she stabbed a piece of crust with her fork. “it’s very... you.”

“you’re not helping.”

“well, you’re also not giving me details.”

“that’s because if i do, it’ll feel real. and if it feels real, then it’ll get ruined.”

“or it won’t.”

yn hesitated. then plucked another berry and popped it into her mouth, mumbling, “he’s clever. too clever. he’s already suspicious.”

“oh no. someone caught onto the act?”

“no, not the act. me. the real me. i didn’t mean to say so much yesterday, but i… i think i wanted to. and that’s dangerous.”

ness leaned forward, dropping her fork into the empty plate with a soft clink. “or it’s honest. sometimes, it’s scarier being seen than hiding.”

yn glanced at her, heart tugging. “when did you get so wise?”

ness smirked, just as the outer kitchen door creaked open. they both turned toward it — but only one of them froze. jungwon stepped in, his boots soft against the old stone floor, sleeves rolled neatly up his forearms, a light sheen of sweat still on his brow from the walk in. he was carrying two large sacks — one on each shoulder — filled with rice, his blonde hair slightly tousled from the wind.

“ness?” he called out, not seeing yn just yet as she sat tucked against the prep table by the hearth.

ness stood too quickly. “you didn’t have to carry those both at once—”

“they’re not that heavy.”

“you’re sweating.”

“you’re glowing,” he corrected, smiling like an idiot.

yn blinked. her mouth slowly curled into the beginnings of a grin. ness looked like she wanted to fling herself into the oven. “put them near the grain bins,” she mumbled, stepping aside. “i’ll sort them later.”

he did as she said, flexing a little more than necessary. his movements were fluid, casual, but there was something inherently gentle in the way he handled everything, like he didn’t want to make a mess of the space she’d made her own. as he returned, he brushed his hands against his trousers and looked at her again, eyes scanning her face like he was checking for something.

“you look tired. did your back hurt again this morning?” he asked quietly.

ness blinked. “how did—?”

“you always stand with your hand pressed to your side when it does.”

yn’s jaw dropped — silently, dramatically — from her place by the table. ness was flushed now, an actual pink rising from her cheeks to her ears. “i—i’m fine,” she said a little too quickly. “and you don’t have to say things like that—”

“i just worry,” he replied, stepping a bit closer. “you don’t let anyone else worry about you.”

ness’s eyes flicked nervously toward the kitchen entrance. “jungwon—”

“just let me,” he said, soft and honest. “at least once.” and then, very casually, very quietly, like he asked a million times before, he added, “can i have a kiss, darling?”

ness went completely still. her breath caught in her throat. her hand froze halfway through brushing flour from her apron. her eyes darted to the far corner, where she now remembered her royal best friend was very much present.

yn cleared her throat. loudly.

jungwon turned, startled — then horrified. his face lit up in a blaze of red so fast it could’ve set the pie on fire. “princess,” he croaked, eyes wide.

yn raised a hand like she was greeting a bird in a tree. “hi.”

“i—i didn’t see you there, i wasn’t—this wasn’t—”

“oh, no, don’t mind me,” she said sweetly. “i was just over here, eating pie and listening to the single most romantic grain delivery i’ve ever witnessed.”

ness groaned, burying her face in her apron. “i’m going to throw myself into the oven.” jungwon looked like he wanted to follow her in.

“you two are so obvious,” yn teased, grinning now as she slid off the table. “do you know how many times i’ve seen you blush like that from the stables? i thought maybe ness had allergies.”

“your highness—” jungwon tried, face bright red.

“i’m not scolding you,” yn said, chuckling as she dusted her skirt. “if anything, i’m rooting for you. i just think if you're going to confess your undying devotion, maybe do it when i’m not three feet away.”

“i wasn’t confessing—!”

“you asked for a kiss,” ness muttered into her hands.

“bold,” yn commented.

“brave,” ness added.

“embarrassing,” jungwon mumbled, before finally groaning and rubbing the back of his neck. “i’ll just—go.”

“don’t forget your reward,” yn called, grinning.

and as if that hadn’t already flustered him enough, ness stepped up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. “next week,” she whispered. “don’t be late.”

jungwon looked stunned. like he’d won a duel, a bet, and his own heart back all in one. “i—i won’t.” he turned and left quickly, practically tripping over the doorway. the second the door closed, ness let out a wail and covered her face.

“please,” she muttered. “please drop me into the pie.”

yn walked over and wrapped her arms around her from behind, giggling into her shoulder. “you love him.”

“i don’t—shut up.”

“he loves you too. it’s cute.”

“you’re evil.”

“and you’re soft.”

they laughed together, the kind of laugh that only came from years of friendship and secrets shared in corners like this. and for a moment, the stress of royal life, hidden names, and forbidden affections slipped away. ness turned to look at her finally, her smile gentle now. “so,” she said, picking up her fork again, “tell me more about the boy who makes you lie through your teeth and glow like you're standing next to the oven.”

yn smirked. “only if you tell me what it feels like when he brings you sacks of rice like a love letter.”

they leaned in close, and for a while, they were just two girls again. dreaming, scheming, hearts pounding. in love — just quietly.

the sky had barely settled into its blue when yn made her way into the village. she hadn’t meant to take the longer route, past the bakeries and spice carts, but her feet wandered. they always did when her mind was restless. she hadn’t seen jake in three days. not for lack of thinking about him. every time she caught herself smiling for no reason, every time her fingers played with a loose string on her sleeve, she’d think of the way he said her fake name like it meant something real. addy. whoever she was when she was with him, it felt honest. more than any title, more than any silk dress or ballroom rehearsal her family forced her through.

she was halfway to the well, about to pass the old bookseller’s stall, when she heard something unexpected. laughter. not just any laugh—jake’s. full, loud, a little pitchy-like a giggle. it froze her in her tracks. the sound came from across the square, by the corner where the new grain store had just opened. fresh wood. a proud sign written in both common tongue and hangul. it was the newest addition to the village—a korean-run family business, traditional and practical. most villagers welcomed it with open arms, especially when rice prices dropped overnight.

jake was standing right outside the front doors, animatedly talking to the older man behind the stall—a man yn assumed to be the owner. they were speaking in korean, rapidly, fluently, with that ease people only had when their native tongue curled back into their mouths after weeks of swallowing it. jake’s entire posture had shifted. he wasn’t leaning with arrogance, or slouching with charm. he was alive. eyes lit. gesturing excitedly with his hands. the quiet grin she was used to seeing had been replaced with something bright and genuine. he looked… happy. and for some reason, it made something tight coil inside her chest.

she didn’t realise how long she’d been staring until she caught sight of someone new approaching from behind the store counter. a girl. roughly her age—maybe a bit younger, but not by much. she wore layered robes, embroidered at the collar, sleeves lined with delicate silver threading. her hair was twisted into an elaborate braid that fell down her back, pinned with a piece that sparkled in the sunlight. it was the kind of outfit not even yn, a princess, would dare wear openly in the village. which meant one thing: this girl wasn’t hiding. and she wasn’t shy, either.

the girl slid up beside jake like she’d done it a hundred times before, pressing close, her hand brushing his arm as she handed something to her father. her eyes barely flicked to the pouch of grain. they were focused on jake. she laughed at something he said. touched his shoulder. stood too close. and jake—jake—was laughing back. flirty smile and all. not pulling away. not even noticing her.

yn blinked. her feet didn’t move. why… why wasn’t she moving? she told herself it wasn’t jealousy. it couldn’t be. she didn’t even know what she was doing with jake. they hadn’t even—he didn’t know who she really was. but watching him now, eyes crinkling at the corners, fingers brushing the girl’s sleeve as he handed her a bag of rice—it made her feel small. tight. like someone had grabbed her by the ribs and squeezed. this wasn’t part of the plan. she wasn’t supposed to care.

the girl leaned in and said something in korean—something that made jake laugh again, softer this time, sheepish. like a boy caught red-handed. and that’s when yn’s boots finally started moving. straight toward them. she didn’t even bother schooling her face into pleasantness. she just walked up, head high, back straight, and inserted herself right between them.

jake’s eyes flicked toward her, startled. then lit up. “hey—”

“hi,” yn said, sickly sweet, planting herself beside him.

the girl blinked, taking in yn’s slightly wrinkled coat and messy braid. her eyes dragged down and up slowly, expression cooling by the second. a perfect, practiced scowl hid behind her sugary smile. “and who might you be?” the girl asked, her tone casual, but her eyes anything but.

yn smiled wider. “addy,” she said, voice light. “nice to meet you.”

the girl didn’t offer her name in return. instead, she tilted her head. “never seen you around. are you from here?” before yn could answer, another voice cut in. low. tired. familiar.

“…addy?”

she turned just in time to see jungwon walking up, a stack of burlap sacks on his shoulder, brows furrowed from the weight and the sight in front of him. he stopped short. froze. his tired eyes went wide. “oh no,” yn whispered.

the girl blinked. “you two know each other?”

jungwon opened his mouth, clearly seconds away from saying something he absolutely should not—

“walk with me!” yn blurted, grabbing jungwon by the sleeve and dragging him around the corner of the store before anyone could stop them.

“wait, what—”

“i’ll explain, i swear,” she hissed, breath coming fast. “just—two seconds, please.”

jungwon blinked at her, confused but compliant. they ducked behind the wooden beam of the shop, away from view. he dropped the sack with a thud. “okay,” he said, crossing his arms, all his honorifics for her dropping immediately. “you want to tell me why the hell the princess of decelis is parading around the village using a fake name?”

yn winced. “shhh!”

“you’re lucky i didn’t say anything back there!”

“i know! that’s why i dragged you back here.”

jungwon looked like he wanted to scream. “does ness know?”

“of course ness knows.”

he stared at her, incredulous. “unbelievable.”

“i’m not doing it to stir drama. i just—i needed space. i needed people to see me like me, not as some perfect royal mannequin everyone expects me to be.”

he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “so let me get this straight. you’ve been sneaking out for months, hiding your name, and now you’re… what? flirting with jake sim?”

she flushed. “i’m not flirting.”

“really? because i walked up and it looked like you were about to maul him.”

“okay, maybe i was a little jealous.”

jungwon stared again.

then groaned. “you’re unbelievable.”

she tugged on his sleeve, desperate. “please don’t say anything. especially not to him.”

jungwon studied her face for a moment. the plea in her eyes. the way she looked more like herself than she ever had inside the castle. then he sighed. “you owe me.”

“forever.”

they returned around the corner, rejoining the other two. the girl—still looking thoroughly annoyed—raised her brows. “oh,” she said. “you’re back. that was quick.”

jungwon clicked his tongue at her. “wonlin, be nice.”

yn smiled. “just a quick hello. jungwon and i go way back.”

jake looked between them. “you do?”

before yn could answer, the girl–wonlin–cut in again. “that’s odd. we just moved here.”

jake turned toward her. “wait, really?”

she nodded slowly, eyes never leaving yn. “just two weeks ago. father opened this branch. we used to live further inland. so unless you know him from somewhere else…” her tone was thick with suspicion now.

jungwon, to his credit, stepped in smoothly. “ah,” he said quickly. “she’s friends with one of our former vendors. we crossed paths a few times. isn’t that right, addy?”

yn nodded vigorously. “exactly. small world.”

wonlin didn’t look convinced. jake seemed puzzled, but shrugged. “well, you’re lucky. jungwon seems great.”

wonlin smiled at jake, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “yea right whatever, i guess he is.”

jungwon, thoroughly done with the whole situation, grabbed another sack and muttered something about deliveries. as he walked off, he whispered to yn, “you seriously owe me.” and she did. but the moment jake turned back to her, smile soft and eyes gentle, she didn’t care. she’d find a way to pay him back later.

the air was softer as they walked—less sunlight, more breeze. the afternoon had begun to dip lazily into early evening, throwing amber and honey-gold across the cobbled streets of riverfield. a few market stalls had closed, and the vendors that remained were half-heartedly waving flies away or watching children race through the alleyways.

yn and jake strolled without purpose now. they’d already seen most of the village, and yet somehow, their feet kept finding new paths. jake kicked a pebble ahead of them, hands stuffed into his pockets. his strides were even, casual. he walked beside her the way one did when they had nowhere else to be and no one else to walk with. it felt… natural. comfortable. but something was off.

it wasn’t his voice—he was still talking, teasing, tossing the occasional flirty remark her way when she made a face or threatened to push him into a well. but something about the energy had changed. just slightly. just enough for her to feel it. “why are you being weird?” she asked finally, after they passed the old lamplighter’s post and he hadn’t said anything in a full thirty seconds.

jake blinked. “weird?”

“you’re quieter than usual.”

he shrugged, then shot her a grin. “maybe i’m just enjoying the scenery.”

she narrowed her eyes. “nice save.”

he bumped her shoulder lightly with his. “maybe i just know better than to keep talking when you’re lost in thought.”

“i’m never lost in thought.”

“you were definitely staring at a squirrel like it had insulted your entire bloodline.”

“i was imagining how i’d kill someone with that pinecone beside it.”

he laughed, genuine, but it faded too quickly again. they turned past the bakery, past the alley behind the mill, into the lesser-traveled part of town where the trees bent a little lower and the ivy grew thicker against cracked stone. she was about to ask again—press just a little further—when he spoke. “so…”

uh-oh. that tone. nothing good ever started with “so…” like that.

“do you think jungwon’s… cool?” he asked, and his voice was way too casual to be actually casual.

yn blinked, caught off-guard. “what?”

jake cleared his throat. “just asking.”

she tilted her head. “cool how?”

jake looked off to the side, like he was studying a particularly fascinating chunk of moss on a wall. “you know. just… cool.”

“…you mean attractive?”

he didn’t answer. which was answer enough. a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “are you jealous?”

jake scoffed, but she didn’t miss the way he rubbed the back of his neck, fingers twitching slightly. “no.”

“you’re totally jealous.”

“i’m not.”

“you are! oh my god.”

jake groaned, dramatic. “i just asked a question. why does that mean i’m jealous?”

“because you’ve been acting weird ever since we left the shop. and now you’re randomly bringing up jungwon like you’re on trial for something.”

he muttered something in korean under his breath that she didn’t quite catch but sounded very much like ‘stupid handsome stock boy.’ she burst out laughing. jake scowled, cheeks slightly pink. “it’s just—he’s nice. people like him. he’s always there. and you—you called out to him like he was your favorite cousin coming back from war.”

“my favorite cousin?!” she wheezed.

“i panicked!”

“jake,” she said, still laughing, “you’re ridiculous.”

he looked at her, face serious despite the blush creeping up his neck. “so? do you?”

yn paused. then softened. “no,” she said. “i don’t like jungwon. not like that.” he looked relieved, but she wasn’t finished. “he’s in love with my best friend.”

jake blinked. “what?”

“yep. been watching him fall harder every week.”

“but… he didn’t say anything.”

“he doesn’t need to.” she grinned. “it’s so obvious. he looks at her like she hung the moon. and she pretends not to notice, but she totally does.”

jake stared at her for a second, like he was trying to process the image. then he relaxed, finally, shoulders easing back into the posture she was used to. but now she saw it. now she knew. she couldn’t not say something. “you were jealous,” she said again, this time with a victorious glint in her eyes.

jake groaned and covered his face with one hand. “why did i even ask?”

“you blushed, jake.”

“i did not.”

“you did. like, full color change. red cheeks. heatwave.”

“i loathe you.”

“no, you don’t.”

he shot her a glare, but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. and then his cheeks flushed again.

“you’re cute when you’re flustered,” she added.

jake sim never blushed. not when he had his first kiss at eight years old with the girl who lived next door to his family’s old stone cottage. she’d pushed him into a patch of dandelions behind the baker’s shed, told him to close his eyes, and then kissed him square on the mouth before promptly running off, leaving him stunned and grass-stained. he’d gone home whistling. didn’t even tell his older brother because he didn’t want to share the victory.

not when he got caught sneaking into the pub cellar at fourteen, red-handed with a stolen bottle of plum wine and a bag of stolen sausages in his satchel. the innkeeper’s wife had laughed until she cried while jake stood there shrugging, entirely unbothered.

not even when, at seventeen, he’d taken a drunken dare to swim across the lake fully bare—and came up at the other end only to realize a group of visiting merchants (and their daughters) had arrived early for the midsummer fair and were all watching. he’d sauntered out of the water with nothing but damp pride and a wink. people still brought it up years later.

jake sim did not blush. it simply wasn’t in his nature. he flirted too easily, laughed too loudly, and recovered from embarrassment with the smoothness of a boy who learned young how to make people like him. how to make himself untouchable. he had a charm like armor—carefully worn, perfectly deflecting.

but now? now, standing on the edge of the village’s quieter road, the sun dappled through trees and birds half-singing their evening lullabies, he felt it. that tell-tale sting. a creeping warmth rising in his neck. the flush crawling up the back of his ears like an ambush. all because of her.

yn was looking at him with that impossibly smug, satisfied expression. the kind of look people wore when they found out a secret you didn’t even know you were keeping. and he was just standing there, like an idiot, caught red-cheeked in a moment he hadn’t prepared for. “you blushed,” she said again, voice a half-laugh, half-whisper of disbelief. “and now you're blushing again.”

jake swallowed, very aware of how warm his collar suddenly felt. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.” she stepped closer, eyes narrowing with faux curiosity. “oh my god. that was a real blush. that was actually pink on your face. i’ve never seen it before.”

“i’m sunburnt,” he tried weakly.

“you are not,” she said, too quickly, delighted now. “you’re flushed. oh my god. did i just witness history?”

“could you stop looking at me like i’m a fish that just learned to walk?”

“no. because jake sim—the most annoyingly smug, unfazed boy to ever exist—just blushed. over me.”

jake groaned and turned, walking a few steps ahead like it would help. it didn’t. the grin on her face was practically tattooed into his brain now.

“i’m never going to hear the end of this, am i?”

“oh, never,” she said, jogging to catch up beside him, eyes dancing with amusement.

and the worst part? he didn’t even mind. jake rubbed the back of his neck, willing the heat to dissipate. it didn’t. she kept walking, spinning a piece of thread around her finger absently, her steps light against the cobbled path. the light caught on her lashes, made her eyes seem brighter somehow, and the breeze tugged loose a few strands of hair that curled around her cheek. she wasn’t even doing anything special. and he still felt like gravity had tilted toward her.

when had that started? was it the first time she rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed but mouth twitching? or maybe when she shoved a honey twist into his hand and acted like it didn’t mean anything? or when she called his name across the river, barefoot and breathless, like she knew he’d look? jake didn’t know. all he knew was—he was falling. and fast. faster than he meant to. faster than he ever had.

he snuck a glance at her now, walking beside him like the village had always belonged to her. as if her bare feet knew every stone in the path, every branch that swayed, every wind that came through the orchard trees. she hummed something under her breath—probably one of those old tunes people sang in kitchens while shelling peas. jake had never liked quiet so much.

“you know…” he said slowly, casually, trying to ground himself in words, “if you keep bringing up the blush thing, i will find a way to make you pay.”

she raised a brow. “ooh. scary.”

he grinned. “i’m resourceful.”

“try me.”

jake tilted his head. “you ever been dumped in a haystack?”

she gasped. “you wouldn’t.”

he shrugged, stepping slightly behind her. “guess we’ll find out.” before she could retaliate, he grabbed her wrist gently and twirled her around once, just because he could. her laughter bubbled up mid-spin, bright and surprised, and when she landed in place again, their steps fell into rhythm without even thinking.

yn looked at him then—really looked—and for a split second, she thought: this is what it’s supposed to feel like. not staged, not planned, not royal duties or polite smiles at banquets. just… her. him. this road. this ridiculous moment. she didn’t say any of it aloud. but it sat in her chest like a second heartbeat.

“i didn’t think you were the jealous type,” he said, breaking the silence after a while, her voice quieter now.

yn raised a shoulder. “i’m not.” he looked at her knowingly. “i’m not!” she said again, laughing despite herself. “just didn’t like the way she looked at you.”

“she looked at you.”

“well, maybe i didn’t like that either.”

he laughed again. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are.”

“i must be bored.” jake bumped his shoulder into hers gently. “admit it. you like me.”

she turned toward him. “maybe.” he blinked. that was… not the teasing tone he expected. “maybe?” he echoed.

“maybe,” she said again, and her smile was soft this time. not mischievous. just real.

jake felt his heart clench and swell all at once. yeah. he was falling. and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

yn would remember it for the rest of her life.

the smell of rain on warm stones. the sound of it crashing against the wooden awning above them, rhythmic and relentless. the way jake’s arm brushed hers as they huddled close beneath the shallow overhang of the cottage roof, the sky split open in angry grays and soaked gold.

one minute they were giggling by clearing, the next they were scurrying around in what started as a drizzle—light, playful, teasing as they made their way back from the orchard path, laughing about something ridiculous jake had said about a goose with a limp. but within minutes, the clouds had rolled in like an avalanche and the heavens cracked. and now they were soaked. drenched, more like—her flyaway hair sticking to her forehead, the hem of her skirt heavy with water, and jake’s shirt clinging to his frame like a second skin.

they had ducked under the nearest shelter without a word, their breaths coming hard with laughter and surprise. and then… then the silence began. not the awkward kind. not even the kind you feel the need to break. the kind that simmers. that makes the world hold its breath with you.

rain poured just inches away from their boots, puddles rippling under the flickering glow of a single lantern hanging beside the cottage door. they were standing too close. she knew it. she could feel the heat of him even in the cold.

her head rolled sideways, eyes shifting to his side profile. his eyes were closed, raindrops sliding down his long nose. his slightly tanned skin was glistening and wet. he was still panting, the ran over from the clearing having happened so suddenly. she gulped unintentionally. eyes raking his features shamelessly, satisfying her sight and heart.

jake turned toward her, one shoulder leaning lazily against the wall, his damp curls pressed to his forehead. a droplet trailed down the line of his neck, disappearing into the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt. he caught her staring and smirked. “what?” he said, voice soft, low—dangerously playful. “never seen a man get soaked before?”

“you look like a wet dog,” she managed to say, though her voice wavered.

“and yet,” he drawled, “you’re still looking.”

she scoffed, turning slightly away, but he leaned closer. there was a hum in the air now. like tension tightening a string, plucked just once and still vibrating.

“admit it,” he murmured. “you like the view.”

she dared a glance at him. his eyes were darker in this light, pupils blown, hair curling at his temples, lips parted just slightly as he looked at her—not with mischief now. with intent. “you’re impossible,” she whispered.

“and yet…” he echoed.

her breath hitched as his hand came up—not touching her, not quite. just brushing the damp strands of hair off her cheek, fingers grazing her skin like a question. his hand lingered. god, it lingered. she could feel her pulse thudding under her jaw. jake’s eyes dropped to her lips. the space between them collapsed. their shoulders brushed. his thumb swept lightly along her cheekbone, anchoring her there, pinning her to the moment.

she swore the world had gone completely still. except her. she was trembling. not with fear. with want. she felt it in her stomach, her chest, her knees. felt it in the way he leaned in just a bit more, his nose almost grazing hers, his breath fanning across her lips as his other hand settled against the beam behind her, caging her in. and for a second—just one second—she knew he was going to kiss her.

he wasn’t teasing anymore. this wasn’t a joke. this was the moment. the one she’d been dreading and craving all at once. she tilted her chin up. just a little. jake leaned in. closer. closer—

“did you hear?” a voice said from the road, muffled by rain and distance but still loud enough to cut like glass through the haze. a man’s voice. excited. “her highness is throwing a ball! for the princesses, they said. it’s next week!”

yn froze. every muscle in her body turned to stone. the air between her and jake shattered like ice.

“…a ball?” came a second voice, a woman’s this time, her tone hushed and awed. “for all three of them? they’ve never even shown their faces—”

she stepped back. jake’s brow furrowed, lips still parted. “what’s wrong?” but she wasn’t listening. a ball? what ball? this was the first she was hearing of it. and it was her palace throwing it. her father. her mother. her sisters. cassie. jen. how—how hadn’t she known? her throat tightened. “i—” she stammered. “i have to go.”

jake blinked. “wait, what?”

she was already moving, stepping out into the rain, the water hitting her skin like needles. she stumbled into it like a fever, her heart pounding with panic and confusion and something dangerously close to guilt.

“addy!” jake’s voice cut through the rain, sharp and full of confusion. rain smacked his face like a thousand icy needles.

she was already halfway across the muddy lane, her braid a dark streak against her back, skirt twisting around her knees as she pushed forward, feet stumbling slightly in the flood-soaked street. she didn’t stop. not the first time he called her. not the second. not even the third, when his voice cracked slightly—caught between disbelief and desperation. she just… ran. she didn’t even glance back.

“are you serious—?” he muttered, more to himself than anything. jake stood frozen for half a breath. his hand still hung where her wrist had been. the warmth of her skin had already vanished, leaving behind nothing but cold rain and a burn he couldn’t name. and then he took off after her, boots splashing hard through puddles, his shirt sticking to his back like glue, hair plastered to his forehead. he wasn’t even thinking now—just moving. because whatever had just happened, whatever had made her flee like that, he couldn’t let it end this way. “addy!” he tried again, voice sharp and desperate now. “what’s going on?!”

she reached the edge of the orchard path before he caught her. jake’s hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist, spinning her halfway around. she stumbled, startled, nearly falling into him from the force of the stop. they both stood there—soaked, breathing hard, staring at each other like strangers suddenly aware of how much they didn’t know. his lungs burned. his shirt was plastered to him, heavy and dripping, curls stuck to his forehead. water ran into his eyes, into his mouth. but he ran. because something was wrong. her breath came in harsh, panicked gasps, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“addy,” he said again, softer now, barely audible over the rain hammering down on the rooftops above them. “what the hell just happened?”

she didn’t speak. jake blinked, heart racing. “we were… we were fine. we were more than fine. you were about to— i was going to—” he stopped himself, jaw clenching. “and then you just—ran.”

her lips parted, and for a second, he thought she’d finally say something. but she didn’t.

“i mean—was it me? did i do something? say something wrong?”

“no—” she finally gasped, shaking her head. “it’s not you.” she turned away, and he stepped in front of her.

“then what?” he asked, stepping closer. “because five seconds ago i was about to kiss you and i swear to god, i thought you wanted that too.”

her lips parted, but no sound came out.

jake searched her face—her trembling mouth, the way her hands curled at her sides, the flicker of something in her eyes that looked too much like panic. “i wanted to,” he said, voice hoarse now, rainwater sliding down his temple. “hell, i still do.”

her breath caught. he took one more step. they were inches apart now. close enough to feel the heat of her, even through the cold. close enough for the air between them to thrum again with that unbearable, beautiful ache.

“i don’t care what your name is,” he said, softer now. “or what you’re hiding. you drive me insane half the time and i still… i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.”

her throat bobbed with a swallow. she looked up at him—so vulnerable, so present, like she was seconds away from falling into him again. but then— her face crumpled. “i can’t.”

jake froze.

“i just—can’t,” she whispered again, voice cracking like thunder behind her words.

he stood there, stunned, the weight of her rejection hitting heavier than the rain. “why?”

she shook her head, eyes glistening, her hand slowly slipping from his grip. “i’m sorry.”

“addy—” but she was already pulling away. and this time, he didn’t follow. he watched her vanish down the orchard path, a fading silhouette swallowed by mist and leaves and storm. his hand was still outstretched where hers had been. jake sim had been stood up before. he’d been kissed and forgotten, laughed off, passed over, turned down—none of it ever stuck. none of it had ever mattered. but this? this left a hollow behind his ribs so loud he couldn’t hear the rain anymore. he stood there in the silence she left behind, the storm still raging around him. and for the first time in his life, he wished he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted her.

the rain was still coming down hard when yn pushed open the back kitchen door, breath heaving, hair soaked, her chest a mess of panic and guilt and something dangerously close to heartbreak. she stumbled inside, boots squelching, water pooling beneath her step. the castle kitchen, warm and dimly lit, smelled of rosemary and yeast. the air was thick with steam and the faint scent of woodsmoke—comforting, familiar. but nothing about her felt comforted.

she stood there, soaked to the bone, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud. her lungs still fought for air, but it wasn’t from the sprint through the rain anymore. her heart thudded like a drum inside her ribs, uneven and panicked. her hands shook as she brushed wet hair from her face. “ness—” her voice cracked before she could finish.

there was a rustle, a startled shift, and two heads popped up from the corner behind the flour racks near the hearth. ness and jungwon. curled up together, arms tangled and hair damp. jungwon’s coat was wrapped partly around her shoulders, and ness’s face was flushed, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide with surprise. her hands were still resting gently on his chest. his were on her waist. they had clearly been in the middle of something intimate—a kiss, or maybe the seconds right after one. their closeness was obvious. the tender atmosphere still hung in the air, soft and golden, thick with the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. on any other day, yn would have screamed. she would’ve laughed and thrown her arms around ness, shrieked something ridiculous like “finally!” and shoved jungwon teasingly for taking so damn long. she’d been waiting for this—for them—to admit what had been dancing between them for months.

but right now? she couldn’t even smile. because her heart was breaking.

ness blinked, pulling away from jungwon slightly as her eyes landed on yn’s soaked, trembling figure. “princess—? are you—?”

“did you know about the ball?” yn cut in, voice sharp with urgency, pain laced beneath it.

both of them froze. ness sat up straighter, glancing at jungwon briefly before rising to her feet. “i— i thought you knew,” she said cautiously, brushing her dress straight. “your father announced it this morning.”

yn stared at her, chest tightening. “you thought i knew?”

“i just assumed—”

“you assumed i would know about a ball thrown by my own family?”

ness stepped forward quickly, reaching for her. “yn—”

she pulled back, stumbling into a chair at the long wooden prep table and dropping into it like her legs had given up. her soaked dress made a sickening squish against the seat. she didn’t care. her hands rose to her face, fingers threading through her wet hair, elbows braced on the table’s edge. everything was spinning. her lungs refused to fill properly. her eyes burned. her head pounded with too many thoughts—of the rain, the roof, the closeness of jake’s mouth to hers. his voice. "i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.” and she’d left him. without an answer. without an explanation. without a damn thing.

ness crouched beside her, voice softening immediately. “yn… i didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”

“i ran,” she whispered. “i just… ran.”

“from who?”

yn didn’t answer. but ness knew. her hand found yn’s wrist gently, thumb rubbing comfort into her damp skin. “jake?” yn nodded once, then let her head drop forward, her soaked hair falling like a curtain around her face. jungwon stepped closer but stayed quiet, respectfully distant.

“i didn’t tell him, ness. i didn’t tell him anything. and he was about to kiss me, and i wanted it—i wanted it so badly and then…” her voice broke, the memory hitting her like a punch to the chest. “then i heard them talk about the ball. and i panicked. i just left.”

ness’s face twisted with sympathy. “oh, sweetheart��”

“he must think i’m insane,” yn said, choking on a laugh. “or cruel. or lying.”

“you’re not.”

“but i am, ness!” she hissed, sitting upright, voice raw. “i let him believe i was someone else. i let him flirt and fall and care—and now what? what happens when he finds out i’m not addy, i’m not some girl in the village? i’m a princess.” the word tasted bitter in her mouth.

jungwon finally spoke, quiet but firm. “jake’s not stupid.”

“no,” she agreed. “but he doesn’t deserve this. not the lies. not the mess. not me.”

“don’t say that,” ness said instantly, reaching for her again.

but yn shook her head. “i’m not like cassie. i don’t glide through rooms in silk with perfect words and a throne waiting for me. i’m not like jen—bright-eyed and brilliant and loved by everyone she meets. i’m the one who hides. who sneaks out. who disappears for hours because no one even notices she’s gone.” her voice cracked again, softer now. “and jake noticed me,” she whispered. “and i left him.”

ness was quiet for a moment, her hand still holding hers.

then slowly said. “you’re allowed to be scared. you’re allowed to not have all the answers right now.”

“but i hurt him.”

“then fix it.”

yn looked up. “tell him the truth,” ness said, eyes fierce now. “he deserves that. you both do.”

“i’m terrified,” she admitted.

“that’s how you know it’s real,” jungwon said from the corner. his voice was calm, sure. “the good things… they scare you before they save you.” yn stared at him for a long moment. then, finally—finally—she let herself cry. just a few tears. quiet ones. and ness held her hand through all of them. the ball was coming. the world she had carefully separated from jake was about to collide with him. with her. and whether she liked it or not… he would know. all of it. and she had no idea if he'd still want to kiss her once he did.

by the time yn reached her chambers, her dress was dry only in patches—along the edges where the fire-warmed halls had kissed away the rain—and her bones ached with exhaustion she didn’t know how to carry anymore.

she opened her door without thought, letting it creak softly into the silence. and paused. jen was there. her younger sister stood near the bed, arms crossed over the back of one of the velvet chairs, her chin resting atop them in a posture of almost-bored suspicion. the soft auburn curls she always wore half-up were slightly damp, as if she too had been out for a while. she was frowning. her eyes narrowed. “finally,” jen said slowly. “you took forever.”

yn blinked. “what are you doing here?”

jen didn’t answer right away. instead, she tilted her head with all the audacity only an eighteen-year-old princess could carry. “you look like someone shoved you into the lake.”

“i feel worse.”

“where were you?”

“not now, jen,” yn muttered, shutting the door behind her as gently as she could.

“i checked the west gardens,” jen continued. “the chapel, the music room, even that stupid little reading nook you think no one knows about. you weren’t in any of them.”

“i wasn’t hiding.”

“then where were you?”

yn sighed, stepping toward the fireplace to peel off her damp outer robe. her fingers fumbled at the ties. “i said i’m not in the mood.”

jen paused, sensing the fatigue. “yn…” yn looked at herself in the mirror—raindrops still dripping from the tips of her hair, her eyes rimmed in something close to grief. she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “with jake,” she said, finally. quietly. honestly.

jen’s eyes lit up. “jake?!” yn could’ve laughed at her sister’s instant transformation—eyes wide, mouth parting with excitement, body bouncing upright in glee. “oh my god—the boy you’ve been sneaking off to see?!”

yn let her head drop back against the mirror. “jen—” turning slightly, she met her sister’s wide, delighted eyes.

“it was him, wasn’t it? oh my god, you’re in love with him!” jen was already halfway across the room, spinning like she’d just heard the best secret of the century. “who is he really? what does he do? how does he talk? does he kiss like the poetry books say? was there touching? are you going to run away with him?! tell me everything, right now.”

despite herself, a sliver of a smile tugged at yn’s lips—just a twitch. a flicker of the old warmth that used to exist between them, before everything royal and wretched got in the way. but the smile never quite made it. it fell too fast. jen saw it. her excitement faltered. “…what happened?” she asked quietly, stepping forward again, more gently this time. “did he do something?”

yn shook her head. “then what?” jen's voice was softer now. yn took a breath. “there’s going to be a ball,” she murmured. “for the princesses. the whole kingdom knows. apparently.” there was a beat of silence.

“you didn’t know?” jen asked, brows furrowing. “but i thought—father said he sent out word to all of us two days ago.”

“no one told me.” yn looked down, her voice barely audible. “not father. not cassie. not you. not a single soul thought to mention it to me.”

“i thought ness would’ve—”

“i only found out because i overheard villagers talking about it.” her hands trembled at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “right as jake was about to kiss me.”

jen’s lips parted in surprise. “oh…” yn turned toward the fireplace again, wrapping her arms around herself. the warmth from earlier—the memory of him, of that roof, of that moment—was tainted now. ashy and sick in her chest. jen shifted nervously, then whispered, “it’s not just a ball, you know…” yn stilled. “what?”

jen rushed to explain, “i only overheard a few things! i wasn’t told directly or anything—just… in the corridors, you know? something about alliances and signatures and a royal visit—”

“who?” yn whispered.

jen blinked. “what?”

“who am i supposed to be engaged to?”

jen’s lips pursed like she was trying not to say it, as if saying it aloud might make it worse. “…park sunghoon,” she finally muttered. “from the eastern territory. the coastal kingdom.”

the room went deathly still. jen looked alarmed now, sitting upright, her voice wobbling with guilt. “i thought you knew! i—i assumed you had been part of the planning. cassie said something earlier about—yn?” but yn wasn’t listening.

“when were they going to tell me?”

“i don’t know. i didn’t think—”

“of course you didn’t,” yn snapped, her voice sharp as glass. “because you’ve always known what’s going on. you’ve always been part of the circle. but me?” her laugh was bitter now. “i’m just the invisible one. the middle one. the one no one bothers to ask.”

jen flinched at her tone, guilt flashing across her features. “yn, i didn’t mean—”

“an engagement?” yn repeated, stunned. “they expect me to walk into that room next week and be given away like livestock? to someone i’ve never met?”

jen looked down. “i thought you knew…”

tears stung yn’s eyes, hot and angry. all those times she wandered the village. all the sunsets she spent laughing with jake. all those stolen moments. her secret world. her life. all of it had been a fragile, borrowed fantasy. and now it was cracking. “what about jake now?” she whispered. jen looked up, confused. but yn was already sinking onto her bed, her hands trembling in her lap. “what do i do?” she whispered. “what the hell do i do now?”

jen stood frozen, arms crossed, unsure of whether to leave or stay. the room, usually so calm and filled with candlelight and books and memories, now felt like a prison. a cage about to close.

yn felt the weight of everything: the lie, the almost-kiss, the unspoken feelings and her impending engagement to a stranger. she felt it all settle like a stone in her chest. and all she could think was: he’s never going to look at me the same way again. “engaged,” she whispered bitterly under her breath. “to someone i’ve never even met.” she wanted to scream. or throw something. or cry again—but she had done enough of that tonight.

across the room, jen sat cross-legged on her bed, still dressed in her sleep gown, brows furrowed as she watched her sister quietly unravel. yn didn’t even notice her stand. didn’t hear the whisper of silk as jen padded across the thick rug toward her. she was too deep in her thoughts—jake’s voice still haunting her like an echo: “i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.” god, why had he said that? why had he meant it? and why had she wanted to let him?

“let’s go,” jen said suddenly, sharp enough to cut through the storm in yn’s chest.

yn blinked, turning around. “what?”

“to see him,” jen replied, as if it were obvious. “jake.”

yn gawked at her. “are you insane?”

jen shrugged, casually. “probably. but i’ve seen you spiral before and i’ve never seen you like this.”

“i’m not spiraling,” yn lied.

“you’re pacing like a lunatic. you look like you’ve been struck by lightning. and honestly, if someone told me earlier today that my sister—the invisible one, the one who disappears to the village every other day—was actually out here catching feelings? i’d have laughed.”

yn scowled. “you’re not helping.”

jen stepped closer, her voice softer now. “but i am. you’re hurting. i can see it.” yn didn’t respond. “you like him,” jen added, smiling faintly. “even if you’re being stubborn about it.”

“it doesn’t matter now. i’m—” she stopped, voice faltering. “i’m being promised to someone else. someone i’ve never met. someone who probably sees me as some diplomatic pawn in his father’s kingdom strategy.”

jen frowned. “and you’re just going to… let that happen?” “do i have a choice?”

jen was quiet. and then: “maybe not. but you do have a chance to say goodbye.” yn’s eyes met hers. jen tilted her head, voice earnest. “you can’t change the ball. or what they’ve planned. but you can tell him the truth. or lie. whatever you need to do to breathe again.”

“i can’t tell him the truth. not now.”

“then lie,” jen said, simply. “but don’t let him go thinking he meant nothing.” that settled in yn’s chest like a stone. jake. his smile. the way he looked at her under the rain. the way he waited, the way he believed her—believed in her—even when he didn’t have to. no one had looked at her like that in a very long time.

she swallowed. jen nudged her. “come on. get dressed.” “i am dressed.” jen raised a brow. “not like that. you’re still too… princess-y. he’ll smell royalty on you.” yn let out a huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “you’re impossible.” “and you’re wasting time.”

they crept down the east staircase, past the quiet wing where the staff quarters rested. the rain had stopped sometime around midnight, leaving the castle grounds coated in a slick sheen of mist and petrichor. lanterns flickered weakly in the distance. the scent of wet earth clung to the air. they had cloaks on now, hoods pulled over their heads, boots tight to their ankles. lamps clutched in hand, the two sisters kept to the side paths, ducking through hedges and along the stone wall behind the garden where the old vines grew thick. the world felt like it was holding its breath.

yn’s chest ached. she kept her eyes ahead, her feet moving forward though her body screamed to stop. jen’s words echoed in her ears: “you don’t have to tell him the truth. but don’t leave without saying something.” she didn’t know what she’d say, not really. maybe: “i’m sorry i messed with your head. i never should’ve let it go this far.” or: “forget me. i’m moving away.” it was easier to be cruel. to lie. to be forgettable. it was safer. because the truth was ugly and messy and filled with too many what-ifs. and if he knew—if he knew who she was, what she was bound to—she didn’t know if he’d forgive her. so she’d lie. just once. let him think she was some girl who came and went. a blip. a beautiful mistake. her throat burned at the thought.

they reached the village by the time the moon had slipped out from behind the clouds. its light stretched long over the cobblestones and shingled roofs, casting faint glows against puddles and windowpanes. a quiet hush blanketed the street. most lamps were out. the baker’s shop was long closed. a dog barked somewhere far off. and there—just ahead—was the small cottage tucked behind the bar. the one he sometimes mentioned working near. the one ness had once described as “the crooked-roof one with the green vines out front.”

yn’s steps slowed. her fingers tightened around the handle of her lantern. her heart… thundered. this was it. she had practiced the speech at least twenty times in her head. “i’m sorry for wasting your time.” “i shouldn’t have let it go on this long.” “i’m leaving the village soon, so you won’t see me again.” simple. clean. like surgery. sharp, neat cuts that would bleed later but not in front of him. that was the plan. she would say her piece, maybe offer a hug if he looked particularly hurt, and walk away without looking back. easy. except—nothing about jake sim had ever been easy.

and when the door opened, and she saw his face again for the first time since she ran away from him in the rain, everything fell apart. his hair was still slightly damp, curling at the ends. he was wearing a plain linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loose—he looked like he hadn’t slept much. his eyes were tired and guarded, rimmed with something like confusion… or maybe disappointment. and beneath all that, his expression cracked with the faintest, most visible shock at seeing her. and god, he looked sad. not angry. not cold. not mad the way he should have been. just… sad. like she’d taken something from him when she left. her lungs seized. the speech was gone. all of it. vanished like breath in winter.

jen peeked out from behind her, wide-eyed and grinning, oblivious to the thick tension cutting through the doorway. “hi!” she said brightly, completely ignoring the tension in the air. “i’m... aria. her cousin. visiting.”

jake blinked, his eyes flicking to jen. his smile, if you could call it that, was brief and tight. “jake,” he said shortly, polite but distracted. his voice was hoarse. then he looked back at yn. right into her. and the sound of her own heartbeat was so loud she was sure he could hear it too.

yn’s chest hurt. “i—” she started, and then stopped, because what was the point of the speech now? her script had drowned in the puddle at her feet the moment she saw his face. the sadness there. the softness. the hope he tried to smother in case it hurt too much. “i love you.” the words tumbled out of her mouth like a secret that had waited too long to be free.

jake’s lips parted, his brows shooting up so fast she saw the flicker of panic and surprise in his eyes before they even registered in his body. behind her, jen audibly gasped. yn’s breath hitched. she had no idea what her face looked like at that moment—only that her entire body was humming with adrenaline, her heart thudding like it was trying to claw its way out of her ribs. jake just stared. so she did the only thing she could do now: she kept talking.

“i love you,” she repeated, softer this time. her hands were shaking. “and i wasn’t going to. i was going to come here and feed you some ridiculous story about leaving town and wanting to say goodbye but... it’s a lie. not the leaving part. i am leaving. but everything else… i couldn’t go without telling you. i love you.” she swallowed, hard. “i left because i was scared. because i’ve never felt this way before. because—because you make me feel like i can be seen.” jake still hadn’t moved. so she took a shaky step closer, her voice trembling now. “and i didn’t want to lie to you anymore. not even with goodbye.” more silence.

behind her, jen’s grin was splitting her face. she gave jake a very obvious thumbs up and then, as though finally catching the memo that this was not her moment, turned around and muttered, “i’ll just… be over there.” rainwater dripped slowly from the edge of the roof behind her. the lantern in her hand flickered faintly, her fingers tight around the handle. the breeze carried the scent of lilacs and rain-wet leaves. jake finally let out a breath. his eyes hadn’t left hers once.

“addy,” he said softly—addy, still, like he was trying to convince himself she was real. jake stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. the candlelight flickered across his jaw, catching the hurt there, the cracks and the sharp edges she’d left behind. but there was something else too. something fierce and vulnerable and achingly tender. and slowly—so slowly—he exhaled. “say it again.”

her breath caught. “what?”

“say it again,” he repeated, stepping forward now, his own hands shaking. “like you mean it.”

her heart clenched. “i love you,” she whispered. “i think i’ve been in love with you from the second you called me an artful goose.”

jake let out a strangled sound—something like a laugh and a sob tangled together—and stepped forward until they were barely inches apart. and then—without saying a word—he pulled her into his arms. she nearly tripped over her own feet as he wrapped himself around her, arms tight, his face buried into her damp shoulder. “you’re an idiot,” he murmured into her cloak. her hands slid around his waist automatically, curling into his back, eyes squeezing shut. “i know,” she whispered back.

“you left me in the rain.”

“i know.”

“i couldn’t sleep.”

“i couldn’t breathe.”

jake pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes searching her face. “you love me?” he asked again, quieter this time. not teasing. not smug. just… hopeful. her fingers curled at his sides. “i really, really do.”

jake broke into the kind of grin that made her forget the name of the planet. “well,” he said, stepping impossibly closer. “i love you too.” her breath caught.

“i’ve been going insane, addy.”

“me too.”

“i thought i was too late.”

“you’re not.”

yn’s heart was a wild thing in her chest, thudding with a rhythm she couldn’t name. she could feel every point where their bodies touched—his hands cradling her waist, his chest brushing hers with each breath. there was a certain warmth radiating off him, like he carried the last remnants of summer in his skin. and she was burning in it. he hadn’t kissed her yet. not yet. but he was so close. so close. she didn’t move. couldn’t. she was afraid that if she did, the moment would pop like a soap bubble and she’d be back to the aching distance, the pretending, the constant weight of the truth pressing against her ribs.

jake’s eyes searched hers—gentle, unreadable, like he was trying to memorise the way she looked right then. like he knew something was different tonight, something quieter and more fragile than before. and then he whispered, “tell me to stop if you don’t want this.” his voice was low, but his hands never moved. he didn’t push. didn’t lean in. just… waited.

her chest rose sharply. “i don’t want you to stop,” she said, voice barely there. he exhaled, like the breath had been locked in his lungs for hours. “i’ve wanted to do this since the moment i saw you,” he said, tilting his head just slightly, his lips curling into a lazy grin as his eyes flickered attractively in a triangle with her eyes and lips. “when you marched up to me by the lake with mud on your skirt and sarcasm in your smile.”

she laughed nervously, breath hitching with nerves. “i was trying to be annoying.”

“you were,” he agreed. “it was adorable.”

she rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed, and he chuckled.

then—slowly, like he was afraid she’d vanish—jake brought one hand to her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over her skin. her heart skipped. “have you ever been kissed before?” he asked softly, just barely a whisper, not mocking—just curious. careful. she shook her head. “no?”

“no.”

jake smiled, and something about it—soft, reverent—made her chest ache. “alright,” he said, stepping even closer. “then let me take my time.” and god, he did.

his lips brushed hers like a secret, gentle and warm and impossibly slow. he didn’t rush it, didn’t deepen it too quickly. just let it linger, like a promise whispered between two people who had all the time in the world—even if they didn’t. yn's eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching in her throat. it was like falling—smooth and sudden and terrifying in the best way. jake kissed her again, just a little more firmly this time, one hand cupping her face, the other sliding to the small of her back. she tilted her head instinctively, chasing the softness of his mouth, her fingers clutching the edge of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

it wasn’t perfect. their noses bumped slightly. her teeth grazed his bottom lip once when she got too eager. but he didn’t care. he was grinning now—kissing her again between laughs, murmuring her name against her lips like it was the only thing he knew how to say. and yn—god, yn was flying. it was sweet and slow and completely her. her first kiss. not some stiff castle-dictated moment in a cold ballroom. not a stranger’s hand on her glove.

jake. jake, whose voice always softened when he teased her. jake, who listened to her rant about nothing. jake, who called her addy like it was the most beautiful name in the world. jake, whose thumb was now brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled back, just barely, to look at her.

“you okay?” he whispered, searching her face like he’d broken her. she nodded quickly, blinking up at him with flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. “didn’t expect you to be that good,” she mumbled.

jake smirked. “there’s more where that came from, sweetheart.”

she shoved his shoulder lightly, but she couldn’t stop smiling. her cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. “you’re such a flirt,” she said.

“you love it.”

unfortunately, she did. he kissed her again—just a quick press to the lips—and she melted into it like he was something safe. and for a few minutes, nothing else mattered. not the looming engagement. not the lies. not the ticking clock above her head. just him. his mouth on hers. his arms around her. the way her heart swore, for the first time, that it had found something worth holding onto.

the music from the ballroom poured through the open stone arches of the palace entrance, slow and regal, the waltz of a kingdom already celebrating a union not yet sealed. the evening air was scented with roses and polished wood, every corner glowing with torchlight and lanterns hung like stars in the garden beyond. and yet, in the shadows just beyond the grand ballroom, behind the towering palace gates where the guests couldn’t yet see her—princess yn stood completely still.

a picture of poise. a sculpture of stillness. dressed in a sweeping ivory ballgown embroidered with pearls and golden thread, she looked like the perfect painting of a royal bride-to-be. her corset pulled her waist taut; the skirts fell like a waterfall around her feet. her hair was pinned in glimmering loops, the tiara—modest, but unmistakable—balanced like a weight on her head. but beneath all of it, she was vibrating with tightly-wound panic.

beside her stood ness. no longer a maid tonight. but a guest. a woman of the court. and god, if yn hadn’t already known she was beautiful, tonight would’ve been proof. the deep blue of her gown glimmered in the moonlight, hugging her curves, the sheer sleeves glittering with the tiniest sewn-in gems. her hair was swept up into a delicate crown braid, neck long and elegant. her hand reached for yn’s. “you okay?” ness asked quietly.

yn’s fingers gripped hers. “nope.” they stood that way for a moment—hands clasped, eyes ahead—while the palace gates loomed before them, the ballroom inside filled with noise and expectation. behind them came the soft rustle of silk. jen and cassie. and then their parents. the king and queen.

cassie’s face was unreadable, elegant and blank as ever, but yn noticed the slight twitch in her brow, the barely-there furrow at her mouth. jen, by contrast, was fidgeting. she looked beautiful, yes, but she was clearly just as nervous as yn was. her soft lilac dress fluttered with every shift of her weight, and she cast quick glances at the gate like she might bolt. the queen glanced at the watch hanging from her gloved wrist. “he’s late.” of course he was.

the one man everyone had been waiting for—the one man yn was supposed to smile at and pretend to be in love with—was nowhere to be seen. until he was. jogging. from the far arch of the gardens, through the side entrance, breath misting lightly in the night air—park sunghoon.

she hadn’t known what to expect. she’d heard of him, yes—tales of his sharp swordsmanship, his noble lineage, how he was well-read and good with animals. but stories couldn’t quite prepare her for the quiet power in his steps or the way he didn’t seem fazed by the grandeur around him. he was, in a word, pretty. striking pale skin with a flawless jawline, his features so finely sculpted it made sense that half the noblewomen in the region had probably once pinned portraits of him to their diaries. his hair, raven-black and perfectly styled, caught the firelight. but what caught her eye most of all—was the constellation of moles across his face. a tiny galaxy on the slope of his cheek, near his eye. beautiful. unmistakable.

but still… he wasn’t jake. not with his sun-browned skin and soft tanned hands with thick veins and that nose she wanted to trace with her finger.. and then maybe sit—

yn swallowed the thought. because sunghoon was here now. and the kingdom was watching. he stopped a few feet away from her, straightening his coat, catching his breath. “your highness,” he said, voice cool, polite, practiced.

“you’re late,” she said softly, eyes unreadable.

he gave a faint smile. “i know.” she should’ve been furious. should’ve been insulted. but when his eyes flicked—not to her, but past her—yn followed his gaze instinctively. and found it locked on—cassie. cassie, whose usually stiff posture faltered for just a second. whose lips parted, ever so slightly. whose fingers dug into her own wrist. oh. yn turned back to him. “do you want this?” she asked suddenly. quiet enough that no one else could hear.

sunghoon blinked, startled. “what?”

“this.” she gestured to the looming ballroom. “the marriage. the show. all of it.”

he hesitated. then he leaned slightly forward, voice lower. “no,” he said honestly. “i don’t. i—” his eyes flicked toward cassie again, “—i wanted to marry her.” yn’s breath caught.

sunghoon’s voice was soft. “i tried. but she said she wasn’t going to marry anyone. said she wanted to study abroad. said it was her duty to put her brain before her heart.”

yn turned back toward her sister briefly. cassie was doing a phenomenal job of pretending she wasn’t listening. but yn knew. she knew now why cassie had been so sharp, so bitter lately. why her eyes had lingered too long whenever someone mentioned sunghoon’s name. “does she love you?” yn asked, just as soft.

“i think so,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “but she chose her duty. like we’re both supposed to do now.”

yn didn’t reply right away. but something in her chest shifted. because here they were. two people—being asked to pretend. to parade. to play parts they never auditioned for. and in that moment, looking into sunghoon’s quiet, pained eyes, she made her choice. “let’s fake it,” she said.

he blinked. “what?”

“we’ll play the part. be the picture of royalty tonight. but we don’t go through with it. not truly. let them see what they want to see. and then—when the time comes—we walk away.”

sunghoon stared at her. then slowly—slowly—a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “you sure?” yn nodded. “because there’s someone else, right?” he guessed gently. her silence was enough. sunghoon offered her his arm. “then let’s put on a good show.”

and just like that—the gates opened. the music swelled. and they stepped forward. two hearts belonging elsewhere. two masks held perfectly in place. but behind them, cassie's hand trembled. and ness watched it all, knowing there was only so much longer they could pretend.

jake sim had never expected to attend a royal ball.

hell, he hadn’t even expected to stay in the village this long. everything had been temporary. his job. his room above the pub. the friendships he accidentally made while drinking ale and talking nonsense with edric and mabel. even his fondness for the cobbled roads, the smell of hearthfire and rain. temporary. just like her. or at least, she was supposed to be.

she said she was leaving. she told him—told him with sad eyes and quiet panic—that she was skipping town, running far away. she never explained why, and he hadn’t pressed. he figured… maybe he wasn’t meant to know. so when she left, he didn’t chase her. he stood there with her confession echoing in his chest—i love you—and he let her walk away. that had to count for something, didn’t it? letting someone go? even when they were everything?

the ball had been the last thing on his mind. nobles. princes. silks and scandals—it was none of his world. but the pub owner, an old woman with arthritic fingers and too much love for his half-grumbled charm, had shoved the invitation into his hand that afternoon. “don’t waste this,” she’d said. “dress nice. see something golden before your heart rusts shut.” so jake had stood in front of the mirror with a starched white shirt and a suit he hadn’t worn since his mother’s funeral. it didn’t quite fit—his shoulders had grown broader—but it was the best he had. and now here he was. at the gates of the grand palace of decelis. a place he never thought he’d step foot near, let alone enter.

the crowd around him buzzed with excitement. edric from the bakery, thalia with her silver-rimmed glasses and too-loud laugh, the twins mira and mabel—all faces he’d come to know and cherish. they all looked at him with teasing pride.

“look at you,” mira smirked, elbowing his side. “all cleaned up.”

“don’t get used to it,” he muttered, but he smiled anyway.

the gates loomed in front of them, golden and glittering. guards moved people forward in groups, checking names against the guest list. carriages lined the walkway. the whole sky shimmered with soft lantern light, casting a halo over the castle’s stone towers. jake should’ve felt lucky. he should’ve been impressed. but the whole time, his mind itched with thoughts of her. addy. that impossibly frustrating girl who made fun of his scowl and rammed her way into his life with blueberry pies and muddy skirts. who kissed like she meant it and ran like it terrified her. he missed her. and even though she had left, he still found himself scanning every face in the crowd. he didn’t expect to find her. not truly.

but then—he saw her. and his world stopped. she didn’t step through the crowd. she descended. through the arched marble corridor at the far end of the ballroom stairs, like a painting come to life, a vision in ivory. her hair pinned in golden loops. a delicate tiara atop her head. jewels glittering at her ears, her throat. her posture was perfect. her expression, practiced. and her hand—her hand was in someone else’s. jake didn’t move. couldn’t. because standing beside her was a man jake didn’t recognise, but could instinctively tell was royal. tall. sharp-featured. dressed in a perfectly tailored coat that screamed pedigree. the two of them glided down the staircase like they’d rehearsed it.

the room hushed. people bowed. and jake—jake could barely breathe. because her hand fit into the man’s arm too naturally. because they looked like they belonged in every storybook he’d never read. and because… her eyes had found his. right through the crowd. right through the noise. the very second they stepped into the ballroom, her gaze found his—and locked. everything paused. and he saw it. the moment her mask cracked. in the blink of an eye, jake watched a million things flicker across her face: panic, regret, pain, familiarity. and he knew. she hadn’t left the village. she was the palace. addy… was a princess. and she hadn’t told him.

a coldness spread through his chest like frostbite. he felt his throat tighten. something deep in his stomach turned painfully. she looked at him like she wanted to speak. like she had something to say. but what could she say now? what words could undo this? his name wasn’t called from the ballroom entrance. the guards didn’t bow for him. he didn’t belong here, not really. but he stood, somehow frozen in gold and silk and betrayal. he watched as her gaze flicked away, like it was too hard to keep looking at him. and jake sim—jake sim, who had held her in his arms like she was something precious, who memorised the curve of her smile and the sound of her laugh—then her name rang through the ballroom—princess yn of decelis—something inside him crumbled. but the moment the herald added, “—and her betrothed, prince park sunghoon,”—that’s when the ache started.

a tight, twisting, white-hot sting that burned from his throat down to the pit of his stomach. it wasn't even the fact that she was a princess. it was the fact that she'd lied. the fact that she stood there in pearls and gold beside another man, head held high, looking like she was born to rule while he stood in boots caked in village dirt, barely clinging to the inside of the royal walls. she was staring right at him when the announcement was made. he saw her flinch and so did sunghoon. just for a split second—a wince so quick and sharp that no one else noticed but him. and suddenly, the sharp stab of betrayal was pierced by confusion. they… didn’t want this?

jake’s brows furrowed, chest rising and falling unsteadily. the whole room clapped. laughed. toasted. every noble within earshot turned with wide smiles and lifted flutes of champagne, the celebration thundering through the walls. but jake couldn’t hear any of it. because right then, sunghoon dropped to one knee. there was a hush. silence. the music faded, the lights seemed to dim, and yn was left center stage. jake could barely breathe as he watched sunghoon hold up a small velvet box, a thin gold band glinting inside. her fingers trembled. and then—“yes,” she said, the smile so fake it looked painful on her lips.

his heart cracked. but she wasn’t done. because after the applause—after the hollow claps and echoing cheers—came the kiss. it was gentle. chaste. polite. but it still knocked the breath out of jake’s lungs. he turned. and this time, his feet moved. Fast. his legs carried him through the ballroom, past startled nobles and confused guards, out through the archway and into the garden until he hit the front lawn. and that’s when the tears came.

jake sim—who never cried. not when he was six and his home was taken in a flood. not when he watched his mother wither into bone and silence before the age of thirteen. not when he buried her under a willow tree behind their old town. but now. now he cried. he cried into his forearm as he felt the tears blur his vision. shoulders trembling, his breathing sharp and uneven. because she—she made him believe in something more. in softness. in magic. in evening strolls and stolen laughter and the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone like him could be loved by someone like her. and it was a lie. all of it.

“jake!” her voice sliced through the quiet night like a blade.

he didn’t turn. she ran to him—her skirts heavy, shoes kicking up grass and dew. the jewels in her hair were loose now, a few strands of hair escaping, cheeks flushed. “jake, please—”

he wiped his face with the back of his hand. “don’t.”

she froze at the sight of him—red-eyed, tear-streaked, lips trembling.

“i told you,” he whispered, voice thick. “i told you i don’t cry.”

yn’s heart broke clean in half. “i know,” she whispered. “i know you don’t.”

“not even for my mother,” he choked. “but for you—” his voice shattered.

“jake—”

“don’t lie again,” he said sharply, voice cracking. “not now.”

“i didn’t lie—”

“you told me you were leaving, addy.” he poked his cheek with his tongue, correcting himself immediately, voice bitter. “sorry princess, i meant yn.”

she winced at the tone of his voice and cried out. “because i didn’t know what else to do! what was i supposed to say? ‘hey jake, i’m secretly the princess of the kingdom you just moved into?’”

“you could’ve said something!” he said, voice loud now, but still hoarse. “god, you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me—and i believed it. i fucking believed it.”

tears welled in her eyes. “i did mean it,” she said, her voice shaking. “i do love you.”

he looked away, jaw clenched.

“i’ve never loved anyone like i love you, jake,” she continued, stepping closer. “you think i wanted any of this? you think i’d choose to live in that gilded cage, with rules and duty and arranged marriages?”

he didn’t answer.

“do you know how long i’ve been sneaking into that village just to breathe?” she whispered. “just to feel like me? like a person? not a pawn on someone else’s game board?”

he slowly turned his head, eyes swollen, red. “so you ran there.”

“i ran there every day i could. and that day i found you sitting by the lake—” her breath hitched. “—it was the first day someone saw me. really saw me.”

jake looked at her like she was made of both fire and water.

“i wasn’t going to marry him,” she said. “we… we talked about it. we’re pretending. that was all for show.”

his brow furrowed.

“we planned it,” she explained. “sunghoon—he’s in love with my sister, cassie. and i’m—” she looked at him, stepping forward again, “—i’m in love with you.”

he let out a sharp, wounded breath. “then why do i still feel like i lost you?”

her hands twitched at her sides. “because for a moment… i lost myself.” silence fell between them. she looked up at him, eyes shining. “but i’m still here. and if you’ll have me, i’ll run again. with you, this time.”

he exhaled shakily, like her words cracked something open in his chest again. “say it again,” he whispered.

“what?” “that you love me.”

she didn’t blink. “i love you,” she said, voice steady now. “i love you, jake sim.”

he let out a quiet, broken laugh. and then he stepped forward. not with the same raw fury or desperation from before, but with a stillness that came only from letting his guard fall completely. he cupped her face, wet lashes meeting hers. “i love you, too,” he whispered.

she melted into him, and for a moment they just held each other, shaking, messy, broken—but together. jake stood still, tears still damp on his face, her hands cupping his jaw, her gaze begging him to believe her. and something in him cracked open. softly. quietly. but undeniably. because god, it had always been her. not the fake name. not the secrets. not the tiara or the silks. but the girl who made him laugh when his chest ached. the girl who rolled her eyes when he flirted but never walked away. the girl who once offered him half a burnt pie and a warm shoulder at the lake.

addy. yn. whoever she wanted to be. he didn’t care anymore. because she was his. she looked at him like she still wasn’t sure he would forgive her. her fingers trembled slightly where they held his face. her eyes shimmered with tears she hadn’t wiped away, cheeks flushed from crying. and jake—jake leaned in. slow. so slow it hurt. but when his lips brushed hers, she sighed. a real kiss. a soft one. like an apology. like a question. his thumb lifted to trace her cheek, still wet with tears, and then he kissed her again—deeper this time, his hand slipping to the back of her neck, anchoring her to him like he’d never let her go again.

she kissed him back with everything she had. not like that stunt in the ballroom with sunghoon—scripted, mechanical, cold. no. this kiss was the kind you felt in your lungs. like a breath after drowning. jake pulled back first, only just. their foreheads touched, noses brushing. they were both still crying but it was different now. “i’m sorry,” she whispered again, voice cracking.

he shook his head. “don’t say it again. just… don’t lie anymore.”

“i won’t.”

“promise me.”

“i swear.”

she clutched his lapel like she might fall over. “i’m going to fix this.”

jake’s brows furrowed softly, like he didn’t dare believe it.

“i’m going to talk to them,” she went on, quiet but sure. “my parents. tonight. i’ll tell them everything. that i don’t want to marry sunghoon. that i’m in love with someone who makes me feel more like myself than i’ve ever felt in that palace.”

he blinked at her, almost dazed. “you’d do that?”

“i’d run away if i had to,” she whispered. “but i want to do this right first. for you. for me. for us.” his jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry again. “and after that,” she added, her voice barely audible, “i’ll come back. to you. i will. just… wait for me?” jake let out a shaky breath, eyes burning again, but this time not from anger. she was coming back. she chose him. even after everything. he nodded. “i’ll wait,” he whispered. “just don’t be long.” she smiled, broken but real. then kissed him again, softer this time. just a brush. a promise. a quiet goodbye for now. and when she pulled away and turned, skirts swishing against the grass, her hand brushing his one last time—jake watched her go. heart in his throat and hope in his chest.

jake waited. for a night. then a day. then three more. and then a week and still, no sign of her. no familiar figure in the village square. no laughter by the baker’s window. no flutter of skirts at the lake. no addy. no yn. nothing. he paced the same roads they’d walked together, eyes scanning the corners of town she used to take him through. the flower stall. the blacksmith. the bell tower. he hadn’t even realised he’d memorised the route until she was no longer there to follow beside him.

the first few days, he held hope tightly between his hands like a glass that couldn’t crack. she said she’d come back. she said she was going to fix it. she’d kissed him like she meant it. and jake sim—stupid, bleeding-hearted jake—believed her. but then came the silence. and silence had a way of becoming truth.

the villagers knew now. of course they did. the morning after the ball, the whole town had been buzzing. princess yn. the second-born royal. the one they never saw. the one who had been among them this whole time, walking with muddy hems and wind-tangled hair, disguised as a commoner. there were whispers in every alley and bakery. jake couldn’t even open the pub door without someone side-eyeing him. like he was foolish for thinking she would ever choose him. and maybe he was. he hadn’t realised just how hard it would be to breathe without her. and yet he tried. every morning, he opened his eyes and hoped today would be the day he saw her again.

until he saw ness. he had recognised her features from the way yn had described her best friend—a natural pout on her lips, dimples poking through her rosy cheeks and wavy hair tied up into a messy updo.

it was late afternoon, the sun warm and golden against the cobbled road. jake was walking toward the grocer’s when he spotted a familiar silhouette tucked just outside jungwon’s shop—the weekly supplier’s little storefront with sacks of grains stacked by the door and flowerpots lining the front window. ness stood there. or rather—beamed there. her cheeks glowed, her eyes big and soft as she laughed at something jungwon had said. he stood too close. she let him. her fingers brushed his sleeve and lingered a second too long. he bent forward to whisper something in her ear, not pulling back without a soft kiss to her eyebrow as she averted her gaze from him. they were wrapped in a bubble so intimate it almost hurt to watch. jake had to break it.

he approached slowly, hands in his pockets, trying not to startle them. jungwon looked up first, blinking. “oh—jake,” he said, smiling politely. “didn’t expect—”

“sorry,” jake said, forcing his voice to stay even. “didn’t mean to interrupt. i just…” he glanced at ness. her face paled the second she registered who he was.

“you’re jake,” she said quietly, as if his name was a knife she’d been holding in her throat.

he nodded once. “yeah. i was… wondering if either of you had seen her.” no name needed, everyone knew who he meant.

ness stepped away from jungwon slightly, hands wringing at her waist. “i… oh, jake.” something in jake’s chest twisted. her eyes were swimming now, guilt written across every inch of her face. “i didn’t know how to find you,” she whispered, reaching into the folds of her robe. “she asked me to give you this. in case…”

jake didn’t ask. just took the letter with slightly trembling fingers. it was folded neatly, tied together with a very familiar twine. he recognised it from when they found an old bookstore, stealing a bunch of twines from the far end of the dusty room. the parchment was soft. royal. and it had his name. Jake. nothing else. no title. no princess handwriting. just his name.

he looked up once more to see tears brimming ness’ eyes. “i’m sorry,” she said. “she didn’t want to go. i swear it. but they—” he nodded once, a silent thank-you, and turned. he didn’t want to cry here so he made it to the hill just past the village, by the little tree where she’d once shown him the view of the valley. then sat and opened the letter.

dear jake,

i don’t know how to write this. i’ve rewritten this letter ten times already. nothing feels right. but if you’re reading this… then you already know. they sent me away. the moment i told them about you, my parents made arrangements overnight. i wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye. i barely had time to write this. i’m in the eastern kingdom now. sunghoon’s home. they said it was for “my protection”—to avoid scandal, to save face. they locked me into a new agreement. the wedding is approaching. it’s being planned around me, not with me. i’ve never felt more like a pawn.

sunghoon knows. he’s as miserable as i am. he said something funny though—he said, “i think we’re the only people in this situation who both want to run away.” maybe one day we will. but right now, jake… i don’t have a choice. i want to believe i’ll find my way back to you. i still do. but things are starting to slip through my fingers.

i’m writing this with my heart in my throat. i keep thinking about our kiss. your hands on my waist. the way you said you’d wait. and i’m terrified because i don’t want to ask you to keep waiting, not when i don’t know how long i’ll be gone. or if i’ll even get the chance to leave. but if i don’t say it, i think i’ll break.

i love you. i love you so much it hurts to breathe. please don’t hate me. please understand.

i'm so, so sorry.

forever and ever yours only and truly, addy yn

jake stared at the letter for a long, long time. the wind rustled the grass around him. distantly, he could hear birds. he didn’t move. didn’t speak. didn’t cry this time. he just folded the letter carefully, pressed it to his lips like he might keep her there for one more second and closed his eyes.

america was loud. louder than the hush of decelis’s palace halls. louder than the quiet sighs of tea poured into porcelain cups. louder even than the thoughts yn carried like stitched threads behind her ribs, still knotted after all these years. the clamor of the docks, the honking carriages, the rapid buzz of a foreign tongue—it overwhelmed her senses. and yet she smiled. because smiling was expected. because she had perfected the art of looking content. because she had sunghoon beside her—tall, polite, quiet—and their daughter asleep in his arms, her tiny head tucked into his shoulder, curled like she always had since she was born.

they had arrived in new york that morning. a beautiful estate waited for them on the edge of the hudson river, one arranged in advance through letters and assistants and layers of royal planning. sunghoon had looked at her carefully when he brought up the location months ago. “it’s where cassie studies,” he’d said. yn had only smiled. she hadn’t asked if he wanted to see her. she didn’t need to. “go ahead,” she’d said. “if that would make you happy.” sunghoon didn’t answer, but the way his throat tightened told her everything.

they had never fallen in love. not the kind that changed the way your name felt in someone’s mouth. not the kind that made you want to set the world on fire just to keep someone warm. not like she did jake. their marriage was like a book with pages glued shut. all appearance. all ritual. nothing bled through anymore. after the wedding, they’d simply become… two people who understood each other. enough to exist together. enough to survive. but not enough to live. and that had been fine.

until their daughter was born. a tiny, impossibly loud girl with curls that bounced and a mind that never stopped. she was six now, just old enough to question everything. just enough to start pointing out things they had both kept hidden. “why do you call dada ‘sunghoon’?” she asked once, nose scrunched. “mama nessie calls dada won ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’.” yn had just smiled and said, “because dada, sunghoon’s name is very pretty.” it wasn’t a lie. it just wasn’t the truth either.

ness arrived a few hours after they docked. a flurry of hugs, royal bows, and squeals from the little one who adored her mama nessie. jungwon followed soon after, bags in both hands, the same boyish charm still lingering on his face—though now his eyes held more quiet, more strength. he had grown into a man in those years, but his love for ness hadn’t changed one bit. they were married now. and had followed yn to america out of loyalty—not to the crown, but to her. they worked under the park household as trusted aides, but their affection for yn was never professional. it was personal. they had been her family when her real one had fallen quiet. now, years later, they shared a soft home on the far side of the estate. ness helped with yn’s daughter often, and jungwon helped sunghoon manage the household’s business affairs in the new city. the arrangement worked. but it never filled the hollow. that particular hollow had been carved by jake.

it was colder at night, even in early summer. not in the way decelis had been, with its cool marble halls and formal silences. but a bite in the air that felt more honest. more alive.

yn sat in the backseat of a carriage, her head tilted slightly toward the window, watching the cobblestones pass like old memories she couldn’t stop replaying. her daughter had been dropped off with the caretaker earlier, her laughter echoing down the hallway even as yn walked away. sunghoon had been gone all afternoon—said he wanted to visit cassie now that they were in the same country again. she’d just smiled, nodded, waved him off with nothing more than a simple “go ahead.” because if anyone deserved happiness out of this broken marriage… it was sunghoon.

yn had done her duty. had smiled and bowed and made her parents proud, her kingdom proud. she’d raised their daughter with more love than she knew she had inside of her. but still… something had always been missing. and today, as the sun dipped behind the buildings of new york city, she felt that hollowness gnawing more than usual. ness noticed it too. which was why she and jungwon had insisted on dragging her out tonight. “we’re not doing this, yn,” ness had said while adjusting her earrings. “you’ve been moping for days.”

“i haven’t,” yn argued weakly, slipping on her gloves.

“yes, you have,” jungwon chimed in with a soft grin, his coat already buttoned up. “you miss being twenty-one and reckless.”

yn had sighed. “don’t we all?”

the bar was warm, polished, crowded enough to be lively but not stifling. laughter rose in pockets, a piano clinked near the corner. americans were loud, but their joy was infectious. “this,” ness declared, spinning once, “is what the queen would faint over.”

jungwon chuckled. “that’s why we didn’t bring her.”

they found a booth by the window. ness and jungwon slid in first, shoulder to shoulder, their whispered giggles already starting. yn sat across from them, unwinding her scarf. her daughter was at home, napping peacefully under the eyes of their most trusted caretaker. sunghoon had gone out for dinner with some associates—and maybe, possibly, cassie. yn didn’t ask. she just wanted a night where she didn’t have to be anyone. no titles. no rules. just herself.

and then—“alright,” a familiar voice said from above, clipped with casual sarcasm. “what’ll it be tonight? let me guess. something that tastes like regret?” her breath caught. her spine straightened. slowly, so slowly, she looked up. and the world stopped moving.

jake.

yn hadn’t said his name in years. not aloud. but god, did she think it. everywhere. when she passed the smell of fresh bread near the bakery. when she caught a glimpse of old cottage roofs hidden behind flowerbeds. when her daughter smiled with too much mischief in her eyes, her hands smudged with blueberry jam. jake had never left her. not really. and some part of her hated herself for it. sunghoon never brought it up. never asked. but the weight of unspoken things hung between them, as ever-present as breath. still, she had made peace with it all. or so she told herself.

and there he was. older. sharper. but him. his jaw was more defined now, cheekbones stronger. his hair was a bit shorter, still dark and messy, like he never quite bothered with brushing. he wore an apron that read “no, i won’t marry you,” and it made her lips twitch.

his eyes met hers. and for one suspended second, everything fell away. no palace. no husband. no years. just two people who had once been everything to each other. jake blinked. his hand dropped slightly from where it rested on the tray, like it had forgotten what to do. “...addy?”

her heart squeezed. “yn,” she corrected, gently.

jake’s lips parted. “right. of course.” his voice was a little rougher now, but the warmth hadn’t gone. it was there in the curve of his mouth. the faint disbelief in his laugh. “you’re here.”

“i am.”

jake stared at her for a second longer—like he was afraid if he blinked she might disappear again. then ness cleared her throat, trying very hard not to grin. “you going to take our order, or should i get behind the bar?”

jake startled. “right. uh. drinks?”

“your strongest,” jungwon said, slipping an arm around ness.

yn smiled faintly. “surprise me.” jake hesitated. then nodded. “i can do that.”

the drinks came quick—jake clearly knew his way around a bar now.

the evening moved. laughter grew louder, the night warmer. ness and jungwon whispered and giggled across the table like teenagers, legs tangled beneath the wood. yn sipped her drink slowly, letting the quiet burn settle into her chest. she watched them with soft eyes. jungwon brushing a strand of ness’s hair behind her ear. ness fixing his collar like it was second nature. their love didn’t ask for attention—it just was. a constant. and watching it made yn feel something she hadn’t in a long time. envy. not the bitter kind. the wistful kind. because once, she might’ve had that too.

“want some air?” came a voice beside her. she looked up. jake. his expression unreadable, but his gaze gentle. she nodded. they stepped out to the patio behind the bar, string lights twinkling overhead, casting amber glows across wooden beams. it smelled like old whiskey and fresh bread and wind.

jake leaned against the railing. “didn’t think i’d see you again.”

“didn’t think i’d ever get to explain.”

“you didn’t have to,” he said, eyes on the city lights. “i figured it out eventually. your life was never really yours to begin with.”

she sighed. “still. i’m sorry.” he glanced at her. “i forgave you a long time ago.”

she looked down. “i never stopped thinking about you.”

“i know.”

she smiled faintly. “i still remember that day at the lake.”

jake laughed under his breath. “the almost-kiss?”

“you were going to kiss me.” “i wanted to kiss you.” “you looked so proud of yourself.” “i was proud. i was charming.” “you were insufferable.” “you loved it.”

she laughed. and god, it felt like breathing. silence fell between them then. comfortable. real. jake turned to her fully, finally asking, “so what’s your life like now?”

yn hesitated. “not what i imagined,” she said honestly. “we’re… comfortable. sunghoon and i. we tried to make the best of it. and then our daughter came and she became everything.”

jake nodded. “does he make you laugh?”

she looked at him, slowly. “no. not like you.”

jake smiled, sad and soft. then: “you look good. happy.” “are you?”

he shrugged. “i’ve got a bar. a decent place. friends. a dog named lady layla.”

she blinked. “seriously?”

he smirked. “she’s royalty, obviously.”

she laughed again. jake watched her. really watched her. and when the wind picked up and her hair swept across her face, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. her breath caught. the same hand brushed her cheek. “you still freeze up when i do that,” he murmured.

“you still know.” “i never forgot.”

she looked up at him. all those years. all that space. and still—it felt like them. and maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, but she whispered anyway—“if we’d met now... do you think it could’ve worked?”

jake’s smile was heartbreak and home all at once. “i think it still could.”

a beat. then he leaned in—not for a kiss, but for something simpler. his forehead against hers. his breath against her lips. no promises. no claims. just the quiet knowing that sometimes, love doesn’t need a title.

it just is.

456 notes · View notes

humaling · 3 months ago

Text

Nothing's Ever Gonna Hurt You, Baby.

pairings: finnick odair x victor!reader

summary: it's supposed to be another normal day with your husband—but it takes a turn when you wake up to eerie silence.

warnings: anxiety attack

word count: 3.8k

author's note: based on a req! i tried my best to write an anxiety attack. i got a bit lazy w the ending heh

When the war ended, you and Finnick moved back to District 4. It was a heartbreaking sight—the town lay in ruins, everything you once knew and loved buried beneath the rubble. But not all was lost. Some homes near the shore or deeper into the outskirts had been spared the worst of the destruction. A few were falling apart, some had been looted, but they were still standing.

Like the old family beach house you grew up in. Tucked away at the far edge of District 4, hidden behind thick jungle, it had always been out of reach—too remote for Snow’s influence to ever fully touch.

You hated living there as a kid. The jungle terrified you at night—the shadows, the sounds, the way the wind moved through the trees like whispers. You begged your parents to move closer to town, to where life felt brighter, safer.

Now, decades later, you and Finnick—your husband—have made that same beach house your home. It's the only thing that still feels familiar, untouched by the Capitol’s hand. Even with its isolation, or maybe because of it, you both prefer it here. It offers a kind of peace, a quiet freedom neither of you ever had before.

For a while, you both tried to believe that peace was enough. That the quiet meant safety. That the crashing of the waves and the rustling of the jungle could lull you into something like normal. You planted herbs in the garden. Finnick fixed the broken shutters. You spent long afternoons sitting in the sand, your feet buried in the warmth, watching the tide come in. There were even moments—brief, fleeting—when it almost felt like healing.

But peace is a strange thing when you've lived without it for so long. It starts to feel unfamiliar, almost threatening. You wait for it to be broken, because it always was before. Your body remembers even when your mind tries to forget.

But freedom, you’ve learned, comes with a price. Snow may be gone, but the scars he left on both of you remain.

They linger in the quiet moments, in the in-between spaces—when the chores are done, when the sun dips behind the trees, when the fire crackles low and there’s nothing left to distract you. That’s when it creeps in. The past. The memories. The ache you’ve tucked so carefully behind smiles and routines.

That’s when the silence changes.

Some nights, it’s too quiet.

That kind of quiet that creeps under your skin and settles in your bones. The kind that isn’t peaceful at all—it’s heavy, still, like something’s waiting to happen. You’ve come to hate that silence. Because that was what it sounded like the morning you were reaped. No birdsong. No waves crashing. Just this eerie, unnatural calm. The air so still, it felt like the world itself was holding its breath.

It was the same during the Quarter Quell. That silence before they called your name again. Before they dragged you back.

Now, even here—years later, with the war over, with Finnick beside you—you can still feel it. That weight. That pause before the storm. It comes without warning. You’ll be chopping vegetables or brushing your hair or just standing on the porch watching the sea, and then… silence.

Your hands start to tremble. Your breath gets shallow. And for a moment, you’re not in the beach house anymore. You’re sixteen again, standing on that stage, eyes fixed on the Capitol seal. Or you’re in the arena, cold and bloodied, waiting for a cannon.

Finnick notices every time. He doesn’t say much—he just comes close, presses his hand over yours, or pulls you into his arms, grounding you with his presence. Sometimes that’s enough. Sometimes it isn’t. But he never leaves you in it.

You wake to the sound of nothing.

No gulls. No wind through the trees. No boards creaking under Finnick’s footsteps. Just stillness.

The kind that wraps around the house like fog, thick and quiet and wrong.

You sit up slowly, the sheets tangled around your legs, damp with sweat. The sun’s already risen—soft light spills in through the window, casting long, golden bars across the floor. Finnick’s side of the bed is cold.

You already know he’s gone to the market. He mentioned it last night, just before falling asleep with his hand resting on your back. “Won’t be long,” he’d said. “Back before lunch.”

Still, knowing and feeling aren’t the same.

The silence isn’t peaceful. It’s oppressive. Heavy. Your chest tightens before your brain can catch up, before you can remind yourself that you’re safe, that this is your home now, that there are no cameras, no Games, no Capitol.

It doesn’t matter.

Because this is the kind of quiet that used to come before something awful. The kind of quiet that filled the square before a name was read out loud. The kind that settled over the jungle before a trap snapped shut.

You throw the blankets off and plant your feet on the wooden floor, grounding yourself with the texture, the temperature, the reality. You breathe in through your nose, slow, steady. Just air. Just the smell of salt and sun and old pinewood.

You tell yourself to move.

You go through the motions like it’s all fine—open the shutters, wash your face, tie your hair back. Pretend the pounding in your chest is just leftover from a dream. Pretend your fingers don’t shake when you reach for a cup. Pretend the silence is just silence.

You don’t let yourself cry. Not today. Not over nothing.

By the time Finnick returns, basket in hand, salt in his hair, humming something low under his breath, you’re sitting at the table slicing fruit with a steady hand.

He leans down to kiss the top of your head like he always does.

“You sleep okay?” he asks, voice soft.

And you lie with a smile. “Yeah. Just a little too quiet this morning.”

You don’t look up when you say it. Just keep slicing the fruit—steady, even strokes, the way you were taught back in the Capitol when everything had to be perfect.

Finnick pauses.

It’s just a moment, barely more than a breath, but you feel it. The way his hand stills on the back of the chair. The way his body goes quiet, not tense, just still. He’s watching you—reading more into your voice than the words you gave him.

You don’t have to explain. You never really have with him.

Still, he doesn’t say anything right away. Just slides the basket onto the counter and starts unpacking it like nothing’s wrong. Fish, bread, a jar of honey. A few apples, bruised but fresh. His movements are easy, casual—but his eyes flick to you now and then, like he’s keeping track of your breathing, your shoulders, the way your hand tightens just slightly on the knife.

“You know,” he says after a minute, like it’s just a passing thought, “the gulls were making a racket near the dock this morning. Could barely hear myself think.”

You glance up, and he’s got that look—half-grin, half-concern. The kind he wears when he’s trying to make you smile without calling attention to why you’re not. It’s light, but it’s there: the worry, tucked behind his lashes.

“They must’ve all flown off the moment I got back,” he adds, turning to rinse a piece of fruit in the sink. “Didn’t want to compete with your mood.”

It’s not a joke, not really, but the way he says it—soft, teasing, careful—it makes something inside you loosen. Not all the way. Not enough to stop the thrum of anxiety under your skin. But enough to let you breathe a little deeper.

You set the knife down, wipe your hands on a towel, and lean against the counter next to him.

“They’re cowards,” you say quietly.

He huffs a laugh. “That’s what I’ve always said.”

You don’t say thank you. He doesn’t need it. He just bumps your shoulder with his and starts slicing the bread, like the silence never touched either of you at all.

The kitchen settles into a soft rhythm. Finnick slices the bread while you arrange the fruit. The air smells like salt and citrus, and for a little while, it feels almost normal. The silence no longer presses—it breathes. Shared, it’s lighter.

You’re halfway through whisking eggs when the old telephone in the hallway buzzes. It’s a low, crackling ring—the kind that always startles you, even though you’ve lived with it for years.

Finnick wipes his hands on a towel and glances toward the doorway.

“I’ve got it,” he says, already moving.

You nod, not looking up.

The moment he steps out of the kitchen, the room changes.

It’s subtle. No footsteps. No hum under his breath. No weight in the air beside you. Just the eggs, the sound of your whisk scraping the bowl, and the sharp scent of rosemary from the sprig he’d dropped onto the cutting board.

And that’s what does it.

The rosemary.

The Capitol had used it in everything—on meats, in oils, in perfumes they gave to the stylists. That crisp, herbal scent that once meant luxury now coils in your chest like smoke. It clings to your skin, to the walls, and suddenly you’re not in the kitchen anymore. You’re in a room too clean, too white, too quiet, the kind of quiet that hums just beneath your ears. The kind of quiet that always came before someone screamed.

Your grip tightens on the whisk. You blink. You try to breathe, but your lungs don’t seem to want it. The light from the window feels too bright. The bowl is too loud. The silence is back—but it’s not empty this time. It’s waiting.

You tell yourself you’re here. That the war is over. That you’re home.

But your chest keeps rising too fast. Your hands won’t stop shaking.

You try to stir again, but the motion turns frantic. The whisk hits the side of the bowl too hard. The sound is sharp—like metal clashing—and it yanks you deeper into the memory.

Your vision blurs. You press your palms flat against the counter, the wood solid beneath your skin, grounding—but barely. Your knees threaten to buckle. You think about calling out to Finnick, but your throat’s too tight. You can’t make a sound.

Your palms are flat against the counter, your breath shallow and ragged, but it’s not helping. You’re still not in your body. You're still not here.

You're there.

The scent of rosemary thickens, warping into something else—metallic, sterile, suffocating. The kitchen tilts just slightly, enough to make your stomach twist. The light in the window shifts too fast, too bright—like the artificial sun in the training center, never rising, never setting. Just watching.

Your heart pounds against your ribs. Hard. Fast. Like it’s trying to outrun something. The room feels too small. Too loud. Too quiet. Your fingers twitch. Your jaw clenches.

And then—your elbow bumps the bowl.

It clatters off the edge of the counter and crashes to the floor. The sound shatters through the silence. Eggs spill across the wood in a yellow bloom, splattering up your legs. The metal whisk bounces once, then rolls, slow and mocking.

You fall to your knees in the mess, your hands trembling uncontrollably. Your chest tightens until there's no air, no space to breathe. Your vision blurs as your mind races, latching onto one terrible, impossible thought:

They’re sending you back.

You don’t know how or why or when, but it’s happening. The Capitol found a way. They always do. You can already hear your name echoing through the square again, see the seal flashing in the sky, feel the grip of peacekeepers dragging you toward that same metal door. You’re sixteen again. You’re twenty again. You’re never free.

“I can’t,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Please—I can’t do it again—”

Your hands are over your ears, trying to drown out a sound that isn't there. Your body curls in, trying to disappear, but the panic swells bigger than your skin. You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe.

Then you hear it—footsteps. Fast. Familiar.

Finnick bursts through the doorway, breath catching at the sight of you on the floor.

“Hey—hey, I’m here,” he says immediately, voice low but firm, already dropping to his knees beside you. “You’re okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

His hands don’t grab, don’t rush. He’s careful—always careful. He slides one arm around your shoulders, the other gently covering your trembling hands, coaxing them down. He presses his forehead lightly to yours, anchoring you.

“You’re not going back,” he murmurs. “You’re never going back.”

Finnick’s voice seems distant, muffled—like it’s coming from a far-off dream. You can see his lips moving, but you can’t hear him. The world around you is too loud, too chaotic. Your mind is racing, drowning in the fear, in the terror, in the impossible thought that this will never end—that you will always be herded, always be a tool for their games. Always.

His hands are on your arms, his voice in your ear, but it’s not enough. You’re still trapped. Still choking on the panic that rises up like a wall around you.

Finnick tries again, sliding his arms around you, holding you close. His warmth is solid—his touch soft but urgent. You feel him against you, but you can’t seem to grab onto the reality of it. The world is spinning too fast. You’re suffocating in it.

His thumb gently presses against your wrist, soothing, steady, but your breathing is still ragged, too fast. You can’t catch it. Can’t catch anything.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, a calm insistence, but it feels like your eyes are stuck behind glass. “I need you to look at me, sweetheart.”

You don’t.

He doesn’t press, doesn’t pull your face toward his. Instead, he leans in, just enough to let his breath brush against your ear. His words are a quiet hum, just soft enough to slip under your skin. He knows you’re listening, even if you can’t hear him all the way.

“Focus on me,” he whispers. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

But your mind can’t stop spinning, and all you can feel is the pressure—the terrible pressure—in your chest.

You feel him adjust his hold, and before you can process what’s happening, his hand is on your wrist, gently pulling it toward his chest. The rhythm of his heartbeat fills your senses—strong, steady, frantic with worry, but there. You press your palm flat against the warm, firm skin under his shirt, the thump of his pulse grounding you.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches you with his warm, quiet eyes, letting the gentle rise and fall of his chest work through the shaking of your body.

"Feel that?" he murmurs, voice soft like a lullaby. "I’m here, honey. I’m right here, and you’re not alone. You’ll never be alone."

You press your palm harder against him, feeling the frantic rhythm of his heart in time with the panic still swirling inside you, and for the first time, it anchors you. His heartbeat, frantic but real, becomes your lifeline. Something solid. Something constant.

He continues to breathe deeply, slowly, and as his chest rises and falls under your hand, your own breath starts to find its rhythm too. You can hear his voice again, soft and soothing, cooing gently at you.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart. In and out. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

It’s as though his heartbeat is guiding you, leading you back to yourself. You press your face against his shirt, taking another shuddering breath, then another. The panic still clings to the edges of your mind, but Finnick doesn’t let go, doesn’t pull away. He simply holds you, holds you together, as the storm inside you starts to quiet.

With every beat of his heart against your palm, you begin to feel the ground under your feet again. Solid. Real. Safe.

You cling to him, your hands still trembling, but now they’re locked onto the front of his shirt, holding on like he’s your lifeline, like he’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world. Your fingers dig into the fabric, needing to feel the warmth of him, the solid reality of him, beneath your touch.

You press your face into his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat the only thing that makes any sense. The terror still lingers at the edges of your thoughts, but Finnick is here. He’s always been here.

And that thought—he’s here—becomes the anchor you need.

He’s murmuring softly into your hair, his voice smooth and quiet, like he's speaking only for you, only to you. His arms are wrapped tightly around you, holding you close, his hand running up and down your back in soothing strokes. His warmth seeps into you, calming the tremors that still shake your body.

“They won’t bring you back,” he says, his voice firm but gentle, a promise etched in every syllable. “No one is ever going to send you back into those arenas. Not again.”

You try to breathe, to pull in the air that’s been so elusive, and the simple truth in his words begins to seep through the fog of fear. But the panic is still raw, still sharp. You squeeze him tighter.

He presses his lips gently to the top of your head, a soft kiss, as if that kiss could chase the darkness from your mind. “It’s just me and you now. Always. You’re safe here, sweetheart. I’m right here, and I always will be.”

Your hands move to his back, desperate to feel every inch of him, like you need to make sure he’s real. That this—this life, this peace—is real. You try to nod, but your body doesn’t quite follow.

“You’re safe, sweetheart,” he murmurs, pulling you even closer, his voice low, rhythmic, like a lullaby. “No one can take you from me. Not ever. It’s just us, okay?”

You breathe again—slow, even this time, like you can finally draw the air deep into your lungs. The crushing weight of it all lightens just a little. You feel him there, solid and unmovable, his warmth wrapping around you like a shield. The fear begins to loosen its grip, just a little, but the feeling of him—his strength, his presence—grounds you more than you ever thought possible.

You press yourself closer, clinging to him like you’re afraid of letting go, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull away. He lets you hold on. Lets you take the time you need to breathe through it, to feel the trembling ease.

“It’s just us,” he whispers again, voice soft, so tender. “And we’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

The words feel like the only truth in the world right now, and slowly, the storm inside of you begins to quiet. With every breath you take, with every beat of his heart under your hand, you start to feel yourself coming back. More grounded. More here. More safe.

The panic still lingers at the edges, but Finnick’s presence is a steady reminder that it won’t take you again. That this is your life now, and he’s right beside you in it.

You slowly lift your head from his chest, meeting his eyes, still clinging to him as though you never want to let go.

“I’m here,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek, wiping away the last of the tears. “And I always will be.”

The world starts to shift back into focus, but you stay in his arms. You don’t want to move, don’t want to break this fragile moment just yet. His warmth is like a shield, keeping you safe from the echoes of fear that still try to creep up from the depths of your mind.

For a while, you simply breathe. Slow, steady, in and out, matching the rise and fall of Finnick’s chest beneath your palm. It’s like he’s breathing for you, keeping the rhythm until you can catch it yourself.

His arms are still wrapped around you, one hand resting gently against the back of your head, the other at your waist, keeping you close to him. You don’t say anything, neither of you do, but there’s a quiet, unspoken agreement in the stillness between you.

You’re safe here. Safe with him.

Every time the panic tries to sneak back in, Finnick seems to sense it. His thumb continues to stroke up and down your back, the motion comforting, calming. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t push you to speak or explain. He knows. He understands.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you don’t need to explain. You don’t need to hide the fear. He knows it, just like he knows the quiet spaces inside of you—the ones no one else could ever touch.

“Whenever you need to,” he says softly after a while, his voice steady now, without the urgent tone from before. “You can hold me like this. You don’t have to face it alone. Not ever.”

The sincerity in his words settles over you like a blanket, the warmth of them seeping into your bones. You nod slightly, still curled into his chest, your cheek resting against the fabric of his shirt. Your hands are still gripping him, but not in panic anymore.

The silence between you now feels different. Not like the heavy, oppressive quiet you felt earlier, but something softer. Like a shared space where nothing is expected—just two people breathing together, letting time stretch out around them.

Minutes pass, maybe even an hour. You lose track of time, caught in the comfort of his presence, the steady beat of his heart against your palm. Slowly, the tension in your body starts to ease, the sharp edges of fear softening, melting away. You can still feel the residue of it, just a faint echo, but it’s nothing compared to the suffocating weight it had before.

You take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs. And then another.

“Thank you,” you murmur against him, the words thick with emotion, but they feel right. You’re not sure you’ve ever said them with more honesty.

Finnick presses his lips into your hair, the lightest kiss, and you feel the soft smile in the movement. He doesn’t pull away, doesn’t loosen his hold. Instead, he just stays there, holding you as you settle back into yourself, as you piece together the fragments of calm you can finally feel.

“I told you,” he whispers softly, voice laced with that quiet confidence that’s always been a part of him. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.”

You don’t have the words to respond. All you can do is hold onto him, close your eyes, and allow yourself to let the fear fade into the background. The world outside can wait. For now, it’s just you and Finnick, and the peace of this moment, fragile but real.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x you #the hunger games x reader

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yandere-sins · 30 days ago

Text

Forgotten Names

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

Your mother always told you to get home before nightfall. But what happens in the forest when it's dark? Who lurks there, waiting for you?

A lovely commission from an anon ♥ It was a lot of fun to work on this, thank you for giving me the chance to write out your idea!

Characters: Yandere!Fae!Malleus (TWST) x GN!Reader Words: ~6.5k Warnings: Yandere, Mystical Beings (Fae), Stalking, Hunting, Hypnosis, Manipulation, Mention of Death

Things linger where the sun doesn't shine, your mother used to say, and you had always believed her. There was no reason not to, and even as an adult, you were careful about where you went and at what time you traversed the darkest places. It wasn't easy keeping yourself afloat with the meager jobs there were for you to do, but most of the time, you still managed to earn your keep before night settled over the village closest to your home, so you never had to walk the forest in the dark.

Until that fateful night.

Not many things scared you, after all, you lived alone and knew how to defend yourself and your house against intruders. But the sounds of the forest, the rustling of the leaves, the cracking of branches, and the bone-chilling cries of animals still made your blood run cold. It was eery, even if you knew it was completely normal and explainable despite your nervous reactions. Looking back over your shoulder became a regular motion as you braved the way home. Selling your recent batch of bundled herbs had gone on way too long as you had refused to give up without selling every one of them.

Money was always tight, so exceptions had to be made.

Still, you hugged yourself as you kept moving forward, feeling and hearing the gravel beneath your feet. You had walked this road so many times in your life that it was second nature by now. Even without looking, you knew where the holes were that would make you stumble, and you knew how long it would take before you reached your home and could lock the door and bundle up. But even with that knowledge, walking the path this late at night felt… off. Strange. Wrong.

There had been recent rumors going around the town's people. Somewhere a few villages over, a changeling had been found. In another place, someone met a strange person asking about their name. Those same rumors appeared every couple of years, and you had never believed them. They were merely figments of imagination, perhaps to scare the children from misbehaving. Your mother never used those scares on you, although she had never directly denied the existence of other creatures in the forest. Creatures that were neither animal nor human. Fae, she called them. The fair protectors of the woods and tenacious tricksters, if they happen to take a liking to you. She was an odd woman, you had to admit, but she seemed convinced of her own stories.

You tried not to think of the stories of abduction and disappearances you had heard over the years and how they had always correlated to her stories, but your mind was racing, as was your heart. "There is nothing to be afraid of," you tried to calm yourself down, but every step you took, leading deeper into the barely lit woods, terrified you more.

What if there was something? Something otherworldly, that couldn't be defined by human standards and used mischief and trickery to take advantage of careless wanderers? What if there were lost souls all around you, and you weren't even aware of their cries for help because they were taken to another realm? What if something followed you home?

Internally, you cursed yourself for letting your thoughts run wild neither productively nor helpfully. Those stories weren't true, they wouldn't really happen, especially not to you. So what, you had to go home in the dark once? Realistically, many people had to, so why would anything happen to you specifically? Deciding to not let your thoughts freak you out any further, you took a deep breath, curling your hands into fists as you marched onwards. Soon, you'd be home; that was all you should think about.

It wasn't until the sound of gravel beneath your soles was multiplied that fear managed to creep back into you.

Your heart was pounding, and your posture stiffened. You noticed the figure approaching you on the same road, going in the opposite direction of you. Even in the dark, punctuated by the moonlight, you managed to make out the outlines of their cloak swishing in the wind, their hood covering their face as they walked confidently. They seemed to have no hurry, even though the forest was dark and menacing, in stark contrast to you, who only felt more nervous the closer you two got.

In a split-second decision to get more distance between you two, you jumped off the road and onto the grassy bit separating the way from the forest. It was a minimal difference, but it made you feel safer as if you could avoid the person better. Step by step, your pulse seemed to rise, pounding in your ears as they got closer and closer until they were right beside you, respectfully lowering their head a little in a bow. You scrambled to do the same, not needing a disgruntled wanderer on your tail now, barely making eye contact with them from under their hood as you took larger steps to get away faster.

The figure was huge, but perhaps that was just your imagination.

You were so lost in your hurry, simply trying to get away, that you didn't listen to the sound of gravel coming to an abrupt spot behind you, sharp green eyes watching you, piercing through the night effortlessly. There would be no harm if you were far enough away, right? A stranger could smile all they wanted behind your back, you didn't have to care as long as you escaped their sight before they could catch up to you. So, with steps stumbling over themselves, you hurried alongside the path, your breath hitching as you kept holding it.

There was no way that person could catch up to you after you got away this easily, right?

But was it that easy?

Your feet dragged over the path, the forest stretching out before you endlessly. For years, you had taken the same route and walked the same road that your mother had shown you. You knew every curve and obstacle on the way, yet everything seemed so different at night. Had the stones beneath your feet always been so big, the trees' branches loomed over you, the way home taking so long? You weren't sure anymore. If there had been any sunlight left, you could have told the time that was left exactly, only by the trees you were passing. But in the dark, everything was shrouded in mystery, much to your dismay.

When would you be home? The question kept recurring over and over as you forced yourself forward, legs burning with strain, and sweat collecting on your forehead. Surely, at some point, you'd reach your home, giving you a chance to put up your feet and rest your aching back. Even if you worked to survive, some days were harder than others, and with a forest that seemed to go on forever, even more so. But there was no time to rest. No time to think or wait out the pain, the only thing that could make you stop in your tracks would be…

A fork in the path.

"There is no fork!" you gasped, both confused and surprised. "There never is a fork in the path!"

In all these years, you never had to make a choice. Left or right were directions reserved for the marketplace when you decided to open shop every day—but not for your way to and from the village. Never once, not even subconsciously, did you have to decide which path to take, and you didn't know where the other one would lead you. Another town? A clearing in the woods? Someone's property, however odd the choice was to live far away from civilization? But perhaps someone else was like your mother, preferring the solitude over the convenience and bustle of a village.

Perhaps you had taken a wrong turn somewhere prior? "No, impossible," you whispered to yourself, biting your lip in confused frustration. How could this have happened? All you did was a mere repeat from yesterday and the day before. The only difference was the time of day, and that simply wasn't reason enough for this change.

Turning towards the slightly straighter split, you decided it must be the right one. If you had never taken a left turn before, then wherever that path went, it couldn't have been the correct one. It was hard to ignore the gnawing feeling of something being terribly off about all of this, but there wasn't much you could do other than move on. Standing here in the middle of the dark forest simply wasn't an option; the real and not-so-real risks of being an easy target out here were nothing you wanted to tempt.

You always walked the direct way home, and you'd not change now. Nothing would tempt you astray, and you were prepared to face what lay ahead. Surely, the strangeness and off-putting feelings were deeply established fears from your childhood. You always hated your mother leaving you alone at night to perform her little rituals and speak to what she called the "protectors of the forest". What an odd woman she was, but you were different, much, much different. You survived the many nights she left, and the one morning she didn't return. Surely, you'd survive this forest as well.

A soft gasp escaped you as you detected movement straight ahead. The moonlight that threw dots of light onto the ground kept disappearing and appearing repeatedly with the swaying of the leaves, closer and closer to you as your feet slowed down, the exhaustion forgotten with your heart working twice as fast, hitting your rips uncomfortably. A figure, huge and with steady movements, closed in on you, their body covered in a cape, their face hooded. You've seen them before, knowing it right away, but it made no sense that they came from the path ahead of you. They passed you before, right? You didn't just imagine that?

With only two, perhaps three steps, separating you two, the figure came to a stop. As had you, you noticed only now, your feet frozen to the ground while your knees shook unintentionally. Somehow, you hadn't avoided the person this time, even though you had to be so careful the first time. They reached up, and you watched with wide-opened eyes as the figure grabbed their hood, slowly peeling it back to reveal their face. In the dark, you were barely able to make out his features, as they were draped in thick, long, black hair. However, with eyes so piercing, shining even without the reflection of the moonlight, it was impossible not to stare. You had no words to describe his deep, striking green gaze, lacking any comparison from your simple life. But it was the colors of jewels you heard about in the market, those that rich people bought and wore, and unlike anything you had ever seen.

The wind rustled the leaves above your head, swaying the branches heavily, although you were barely affected by it where you stood. Neither was the stranger, whose image became clearer as more light slipped through the trees, a soft smile playing on his lips as he looked down at you, his hand outstretched, with a luscious vine of grapes in it, towards you. Even the fruits seemed to shine in the light, plump and big, nothing like the grapes you were used to. They were enticing, and you felt even more confused about why he'd show you something as precious as this fruit since it wasn't common in this area.

"You seem exhausted," he spoke, his voice like a sigh in the wind. The stranger took another step forward, invitingly shaking his hand with the grapes. "Feel free to have some, replenish your strength. You will need it on your journey."

Feeling your mind focus in on the tempting allure of fruits, you bit your lip as you felt your mouth water. How sweet would they be? Juicy and delicious as you popped them in your mouth? The idea was enough to make your resolution sway, the offer too enticing. And yet, you managed to stop yourself, gripping your own hand as something inside you began to scream.

Trap. Trap. TRAP!

"No, thank you," you replied politely, tearing your foot away from the ground to make a step to the side. It was only a small resistance against the trance you felt under, but it slowly put your body back into motion, your thoughts becoming your own again, your flesh coming alive. It felt like you hadn't breathed for a while, your lungs filling with air and your heart picking up the speed again, blood pumping through your body.

The stranger's smile seemed to crack in one corner of his mouth before he drew the grapes back towards him, his eyes narrowing. "Are you lost?" he asked, and this time, you thought you heard an echo repeating the words from inside the forest. It gave you the creeps. "Do you need help? I know the way back, I can show you."

Shaking your head, slow, then vehemently, you tore your eyes off him, forcing another heavy step to take place, putting one foot in front of the other. It was all so tedious, or perhaps, as if time had slowed down, and with it, your very being. All your thoughts came and went, but the impulses and movements were slow and heavy, and nothing worked as you were used to it.

So it was no surprise that one step to the stranger's side put him right before you.

The alluring scent of an elderberry tree wafted into your nose, your mouth now watering from both the thought of the grapes and the memories of your mother's elderberry jam that you had always loved as a child. He had yet to block your path completely, but your body could barely move from the same spot as he inched closer, his free hand raising up, close to your face as if to caress you.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and you felt inclined to answer with a resolute "No!" but the words wouldn't press out of your throat, your lips opening, but no sound escaping them. You pressed them together in frustration, fear rushing through you as the stranger was about to touch you. You didn't know him and didn't want to know him; all of this was wildly inappropriate! All you wanted was to get home and lock yourself into the cabin, hoping and praying he wouldn't find you there.

Luckily, that was enough to give your body the push that was needed.

With the agility of a fox, you ducked and slid past the stranger, too fast for him to react. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw his eyes widen in surprise, his whole body straightening up to this full height as his features widened and spread, his expression turning into something more akin to elatedness. It was as if a thrill of excitement overcame him before it suddenly vanished, the person returning back into a state of calm, watching you run.

You felt his gaze at your back for a long time, those piercing green eyes drilling into you violently as he watched every step you took away from him. You found yourself looking back a few times, seeing him simply standing there. Eventually, you watched him pluck one of the grapes, eating them demonstratively as if to show they weren't poisoned. And the next time, he had pulled up his hood again, turning to walk in the direction you had come from, just like before, both of you disappearing back into the forest's darkness again, as if you had never met at all.

But you knew better than that. Something about that person had triggered an inherent need to get away from him. Even when you had been held back by the unexplainable resistance of your own body, you had still realized that you needed to get away. These feelings had been very real, even if you tried to reason with yourself that you were overreacting and there was nothing that warranted such extreme emotions towards someone looking out for you.

However, even so, you couldn't help but keep looking back. Although there was nothing more to see as the darkness enveloped you again, you felt as if his eyes were still digging into you, trying to bore into your very soul and display it openly for him. Whoever he was, from the first meeting on, you knew something wasn't right about him. And this feeling only confirmed it for you.

You had to get home.

No matter what you had to do, and despite your best efforts to calm yourself down, you had to get out of the darkness. Maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe all that happened was mere coincidence, but it no longer helped to imagine it as such. You could feel the fear pulsing through your veins and the panic govern your muscles. Everything was strained and stressed, and the only thing on your mind was the safety of your home and the light of your fireplace. It had been a stupid idea to stay in town for too long; no amount of money was worth what you were going through now. No amount would save you if you fell victim to whatever was lurking in these damned woods.

Stricken with fear, you brushed aside any branch and any thorn that was in your way. In retrospect, it seemed like a warning. Like they were trying to hold you back from something, and latest, when you felt your footing slip, you knew from what. First, you landed on your back, the ground disappearing beneath your soles and throwing you back. Next you knew, you were tumbling through fallen leaves and into the occasionally growing bush on the incline. However, nothing was stopping you now, not even the dense forest, the trees seemingly giving way to your fall, and the scream you emitted at first turned into gasps and grunts as the dirt led you further and further into the thicket.

There was no hill on your way. There was nothing you had to climb and even fewer obstacles as the way down had. Had you chosen the wrong split when you were given the options? Should you have gone left where you walked right? Were you even on the correct path to begin with, or had it all been fated to go wrong the moment you entered the forest at a time your mother warned you about?

You didn't know, but it stopped as abruptly as it happened.

With a loud oomph! sound, your body finally came to a halt. The world was still spinning, light flooding your vision despite you barely opening your eyes. You didn't know if you were standing or lying on the ground anymore, even though you felt cold moonlight shine down on you, your body aching harder than it had all night. For a moment, you considered just lying down in the spot you were, tackling the intricacies of getting up, taking care of your bruises and scratches, and making your way home once the sun was rising over your head again. Maybe if you stayed still, nothing and no one would come to harm you. It almost seemed like the safer option at that moment.

Dreadfully, your body was forced to disagree, an ominous shiver running through you. The lovely scent of elderflower washed over you as someone held out their hand, asking, "Are you alright, Darling?" in a voice sweeter than honey and reassuring you of not being alone, the true culprit in all of this. Your body reacted like any desperate human would, seeking the comfort of another person to lift your spirits. Fingers wrapped around your palm and wrist as you rested your hand on the stranger's, and you felt the tug in every muscle along your arm and back strain as if this was a punishment.

Your face landed in a solid chest, layered with soft fabrics that cushioned your fall. You knew this person, yet you knew nothing at all, and that was what your mind concentrated on. After all the panic, stress, and pain, it felt safe not to be alone anymore, and you relished in the feeling of receiving help. When he stepped to the side, your body followed, and when he turned you around, sending a chill down your spine as you felt his gaze fall on you, you opened your eyes for the first time, looking up.

For a moment, it felt like you were falling again, but then, your behind landed gently on top of a stump, your chin raised towards the man in front of you, smiling just as tenderly down at you as he had before. Perhaps even more so, as the smile seemed to reach his eyes this time, a weird sense of knowing him tingling in the back of your mind. You had never met him before, yet it felt like he knew you.

Taking a knee before you, the stranger didn't make your neck strain to look at him for very long, one hand landing on your thigh while he raised the other up and towards you, the same, voluptuous vine of ripe grapes resting in his palm. "You look so exhausted, my dear," he whispered, only loud enough to be heard by you. "Let me help you recover your strength. It's been such a long way, hasn't it? It must have been so hard."

As tempting as the fruits were, displayed to you so invitingly, your unfocused gaze shifted further, grazing over the pale fingers and the long, black nails. In fact, the color seemed to start from the fingertip, eventually resulting in the deep, dark at the tip of his claw-like ends. The longer you looked, the more your vision began to blur, endings and beginnings becoming unclear, and even the deep red shining in the moonlight mixing into his skin's pale whiteness. It was uncanny and unreal.

And it hit you like a blow to the head.

The rumors, the stories. Your mother's warning and tales. Even if you tried to deny it for so long, suddenly, you realized deep inside of you that all of them had been real. That there truly was something otherworldly out there. Not nature, not animal, not human.

Your eyes shot upwards to look into his, and you suddenly felt very clear and awake, unlike some seconds ago, the daze fleeting. His eyes were nothing like a human, the green nauseatingly bright, and the pupils slitted. However, they seemed to quiver as they looked at you, only a small part of your reflection visible in them. And from the dark curls, horns wound themselves towards the sky, a feature you had missed before.

"Who are you?" you mumbled, a part of you still in disbelief even if the evidence was clear. Nothing about this stranger was human, and you doubted it ever had. That would explain him appearing again and again, and you shuddered at the thought that you, getting lost in the woods, was his doing as well.

His lips curled higher, exposing his teeth, the hints of fangs protruding from his open lips. At the same time, his face softened, and with his free hand, the stranger reached for yours, clasping it tightly. "It's only natural for you to forget my name. It's been such a long time, hasn't it?"

Every word he spoke ran another chill down your spine, and you quickly tore your hand out of his grip, wanting none of the closeness he was initiating. You didn't know him, or did you? Nothing sparked in your memories, only your instincts were on high alert as they urged you to get away.

The stranger lowered his gaze to his hand, his expression turning sullen, but he quickly looked up at you again, this time, determination swirling in dark green threads in his irises. "I'll help you remember, then."

This was getting out of hand, goosebumps spreading over your arms as you attempted to get up. With his proximity, it was hard to create enough space. Out of panic, you turned towards him, wanting to push him away, your lips opening in verbal protest. But you were completely taken aback by the push of a round, firm grape to your lips, his long fingers resting at the side of your face as his thumb pressed the fruit into your mouth unrelentingly. Even though you tried your best to resist, pressing your teeth together, the pressure and the slight threat of sharp claws close to your throat eventually made your jaw yield. Before long, the fruit rolled onto your tongue, his thumb lodging beneath your chin and keeping your mouth closed so you couldn't spit it out.

"Remember," he spoke auspiciously, the expectations of the unknown in his gaze, his whole body leaning forward until his scent wafted all around you.

You felt overcome by dizziness as if your body was going to fall, but every time you braced for impact, nothing happened. Inadvertently, your teeth cut the skin of the fruit as you tried to tear out of the trance that you felt creeping through your body, a dangerously sweet taste washing over your tongue. Immediately, your mouth watered, desiring more of the flavor, the grape swaying back and forth on your tongue, more cuts appearing and tearing it apart as it collided with your teeth. By the time you realized you were actively biting into it, savoring the taste spreading all over your mouth, you were slowly succumbing to the magic twirling around you, now visible to even your eyes.

Laughter from the trees, colors swishing by. The night turned into day, but it was all just a dream that was slowly devouring you without you realizing it. Flowers began to bloom all over the clearing that you could see clearly now, with other figures standing nearby, some of them dancing, others eating fruits from each other's hands and licking up the juices.

"Remember, darling," the fae before you urged, popping another grape into your mouth that your body practically inhaled.

"Remember who you are. Remember me."

But how? You kept munching the grape as you pondered the question, trying to solve the riddle you were given. Why was it so important, and what could there be to remember?

Looking up once more, the scenery had shifted again. You were in the forest, garlands of flowers were hung between the branches, and people wore flower crowns and danced. You could even hear the music playing from somewhere. A hand holding yours helped you stand up as you looked at the people who turned towards you, cheering and clapping their hands as if to celebrate you, but why? What was the reason? The scenery was… familiar. You had been here before, hadn't you?

"It's our wedding day. Do you remember now?"

Turning your head towards the stranger next to you, you noticed he had a change of clothes. Long, flowing garments robed him, and when you looked down at yourself, you noticed them on you, too. The wind was blowing gently, the air warm and humid, and everyone was happy and jolly, but that wasn't right… why would you marry a stranger?

"It's not… we're not marrying. I don't know you!"

In an instant, the magic dispelled, the laughter fell silent and the people disappeared. It was night again, the moon shining down on the angry expression on the fae's face. For some reason, you had managed to break the spell on you, and for a moment, your thoughts were as clear as the night sky above you.

"I've been patient, my love," he spoke sternly. Picking up another grape, he made a step towards you as you took one back. "I've accepted your mother's conditions. I waited. I waited for so long, watching over you as you took the road through my forest every morning and every evening. Waited silently for you to take it at night, as was the condition of the pact your mother and I made. She swore you'd never walk my forest at night or be mine once more. You will remember now."

Claws shot towards you, burying one more grape in your mouth. You tried to spit it out before it could do its damage, but the fae's palm sealed your lips, and you had no choice but to swallow. Immediately, you were overcome by its taste again, sweetness coating every inch of your mouth and all the way down your throat. It was irresistible.

You were craving more, and Malleus was happy to provide it. One after another, he plopped the magical grapes into your mouth, providing you with more of the bliss-like effect they had on you. At first, you struggled against his hand, pulling at his arm, but he didn't move an inch, even as you used all your strength. Instead, he squeezed the grapes, their delicious juices running down his fingers and coating your lips until you lapped them up like a greedy dog.

Only then did you realized.

"Malleus," you mumbled against his palm, the words pressed into his hand like kisses as your eyes widened. You did know him. You knew his name, you knew what he was. You two met before. Before when you…

"Yes," he purred, "Yes, my love. Finally."

Without hesitation, he pushed another grape between his fingers, making you swallow it and remember everything. The forests, the games of hide and seek you used to play with the fairies. The "imaginary" friend you told your mother about. By the time you were eighteen, you were so lonely. Still, she thought you made up friends that you played with all day.

Until you didn't return and the night set in the forest.

The day she vanished, and you were left alone at the cabin, unable to remember what happened.

"This time, there is no one stopping us from exchanging our names. I'll be yours, and you'll be mine, just like we promised years ago," Malleus announced. "Tell me. Tell me your name."

A very bad feeling overcame you as his hand lifted from your mouth, and you pressed your lips shut, the sticky sweetness of the grapes grasping its greedy claws into your brain, fogging it again. You caught yourself wondering what would be so bad about telling him. That it would be okay, if it was Malleus, right? He should know; he was your husband, after all.

"Tell me your name," he demanded again, sounding more forceful this time.

Don't tell him! the voice of your mother rang out in your mind, it was like a scream, one you had heard before. Before, when she interrupted the ceremony. That's right! You were about to marry the fae, telling him your name, when she came running, breathless and panicked, pulling you against her chest and screaming in a language you didn't understand. There had been hissing all around you, and then she was gone, screaming at you to run.

"No…" you mumbled, furrowing your brows. "I won't."

And with that, you turned, your legs staggering but quickly catching themselves as you suddenly sprinted off in the opposite direction. Somewhere, anywhere. As long as you got away, you'd be safe. You had been before and you would be again as long as you made it until sunrise, your mother had made sure. You simply needed to avoid him until then, and everything would be fine–

With a shriek, your body plummeted to the ground. You felt the tight wrapping of vines around your ankle before you saw them, instinctively kicking at them with your other foot. Panic set in as the vines seemed to avoid every one of your kicks, and you grew more desperate by the second.

"You won't escape. Not this time. Not. Again!"

Looking up, you watched helplessly as Malleus closed the distance, his body convulsing in a strange manner, blurring the lines of his form as his body seemed to disperse into shadows. Scales appeared on his skin, reflecting and shimmering in the moonlight. He looked more and more like a creature from the nightmares you often had rather than the handsome appearance he had shown himself to you. It only proved that the game was over for him, that he was determined to have you this time.

Because you knew his name. You held the power over him until he knew yours, too.

"Mall–" you started to say, realizing what you had to do. But with an inhuman screech, he reached for you, holding your mouth shut. The air was pressed out of your body as you were pinned to the ground, more vines wrapping around your limbs until they held you down tightly, the fae cowering above you, his eyes having turned as black as his hair.

"Do not even try, human!" he spat, knowing fully well what you were about to do.

For a short second, he released your mouth, and you gasped for air, stupidly giving him the chance to push a handful of grapes into your mouth. "What's your name?" he repeated his question, making sure you had no choice but to chew the grapes as he covered your mouth and pinched your nose. You struggled against the vines but couldn't move an inch, growing more desperate as time passed by, your jaw tensing until it happened: the first grape popped. And once it started, your body was uncontrollable, chowing down on all of them while tears began to form in your eyes. You couldn't stop, even if you wanted to, your mind falling into addiction as the sweetness overcame you. It washed through you alongside his magic, and before long, you were licking at your lips and his palm for more.

More, which Malleus provided.

He might have been impatient, but he fed you the whole vine of grapes in his possession, his body turning back into a solid form and the tendrils around your limbs disappearing as you reached for him, licking his fingers for more of the grape juice as if possessed by the desire to eat. Your mind was rapidly losing the battle, rationality thrown out of the window as you crawled towards Malleus, eating the fruit he so readily provided to you, grinning from ear to ear as he watched you succumb to the fae magic.

Until there were only two grapes left, and you mewled, reaching for them like an impatient toddler.

"First!" he announced, holding the grapes up into the air and far away from you. After all, he was so much bigger than you. "What's your name, my love?"

Your name? Pff, that was easy! "It's [Name]," you responded, happily watching as he lowered his hand again, feeding you one of the grapes. It tasted heavenly, much like the others before but even better! Perhaps because it was given to you by your husband—then again, he had given you all of them.

Why did you ever resist?

A man who loved you for years, took away the loneliness, and gave you food without you having to work yourself to the bone. He waited years until you'd make a mistake that would finally return you to him. That's how much he loved you and how dedicated he was to you. And he could provide for you, having shown you his home and the abundance of happiness there all those years ago! Unlike your mother, who had left you alone, he had waited and desired nothing more than to be with you. You were stupid not to give him what he wanted from the beginning. After all, Malleus loved you.

"I love you," he whispered. "Now, we'll be together forever, living happily until the end of our days."

Your lips widened into a big smile. It was all you had ever wanted. Someone to be with, who loved you, who'd care for you. Take away the loneliness and replace it with an unfiltered, passionate love that goes far beyond that of mere humans. This way, you'd be happy. You'd be taken care of and loved.

Tears fell from your eyes as you nodded, agreeing all too readily. "I look forward to it!"

"But first," Malleus stopped you, tapping your nose affectionately. "A kiss to seal the deal."

Popping the last grape between his lips, your eyes fixated on it hungrily, wanting nothing more than to tear it from him and satisfy your own desire. Because it's what the fae did, right? Give the humans what they want in exchange for their very being. No one returned from the fae world, because they were happy there. Maybe you'd even meet your mother again! You'd be a good spouse, one that Malleus had waited for so long. You two would be happy together, just like he promised on your wedding day!

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you drew in close, pressing your lips to his and feeling the fruit splash open between your mouths, coating both of you in its juices. Malleus lapped them up just as hungrily as you did, his tongue slipping into your mouth to taste more of it, and you allowed it, finally ready to let him take what he wanted.

"Mine," he grunted against your lips. "Finally mine."

You were overcome by happiness as you heard him say that, only wishing the tears would stop so you could see him better. Behind you, the sun began to rise, and Malleus's arms wrapped around you, drawing you against his chest but never stopping the kiss. Your tears began to burn against your skin, making you wonder why you couldn't just be happy, why your own happy tears had to sting so much, feeling like needles as they ran down your cheeks.

Lifting you up and turning around, you watched the sunrise as Malleus carried you back into the forest, towards his home. Somehow, the sight of the glowing light felt like betrayal. But you didn't remember why.

"Let's go home," Malleus mumbled, finally breaking the kiss. "We have to make up for a lot of missed time."

You nodded, glancing back only once into the beautiful sun before your bodies slowly disappeared into the dark forest. And with them, the memories of the life you lived until now, all your thoughts replaced by Malleus and the sweetness of his kiss.

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charliemwrites · 10 months ago

Text

Unfamiliar Nobody

You are a witch preparing for winter. Luckily, you have an extra set of hands - if they'd ever help.

Content: Possessive behavior, Semi-Safe/Semi-Sane/Consensual Intimacy, implied (pseudo) cannibalism, Violence and Death, Unhealthy but Happy Relationship

You haven’t been the same since the ritual.

Souls are tricky things, somewhere on that rickety fence between the Seen and Unseen, a bit of practical magic so common that people don’t think much of it.

Souls are like stones or plants. Abundant, but varied. Some are rare and precious, some are beautiful, some are poison. One soul does not weigh the same as another, and the beings that deal in their collection and sale value them differently. Souls aren’t rare and only some of them are powerful.

It’s a narcissistic misconception of humans - even the ones that can perceive beyond the physical world. That a soul is considered precious and coveted and powerful by all things of heaven, hell, and beyond.

Not so.

That said, like a bit of gold or a well-woven blanket, a soul can be commodified. Reshaped and displayed, butchered for parts, sold…

The selling of a soul has its merits, though not many. High risk, high reward sort of gamble. Tempting for clever witches - or desperate ones.

You were neither when you built the summoning circle that night.

You weren’t looking to forge any contracts or make deals beneath that moon. Didn’t expect to invoke any infernal beings or heavenly apparitions with the stars.

Well, best laid plans and all that - not that it had been an especially well laid plan anyway.

Baring your soul that deep into midnight had not yielded the results you intended. Or maybe it had and your expectations were just skewed. Souls are tricky things.

And yours hasn’t been the same since.

You always rouse as the sun begins to set. Late afternoon at the earliest, when most everyone else is finishing their suppers.

You can manage stark daylight, but poorly. It hurts your eyes and prickles your skin. A deep hood and long sleeves does the trick when required, but you don’t make a habit of it if you can help it, if only for the teeth that bury in your throat when you return.

Tend the garden in the dying rays, light the shop candles before night nestles in. Say your blessings, leave your offerings, wriggle out from beneath clingy weight to secure any provisions or materials from the town.

As the temperature cools and the shadows deepen, you settle into your work.

The shop once belonged to an apothecarist. Died in a plague some four decades ago, or so you’ve been told. No one of any skill or natural talent replaced them afterwards. Too frightened, perhaps, of what could be lingering within.

It wasn’t haunted until you (and your shadow) occupied it.

You’ve stocked it up quite nicely now. Herbs and spices, vegetables and fruits, roots and seeds. Thistles hang from the ceiling and bones rattle in the drawers. Mortars and pestles line a wall, weights and measures beneath the counter. Not a single thing labeled or organized, the latter of which disconcerts your… companion.

Fickle is not the word for him, but it’s the one you use.

(And he is a he, at least according to the long, thick cock he crams into you every chance he makes for himself. Though you suppose such trifles as gender are superfluous to nonhumans. A categorical fallacy for your own ease of reference.)

You told him once, that if he did not like the disarray of the shop, he was welcome to rearrange as he saw fit. In response, he left teeth rings around the base of each of your fingers, telling you how easy it would be to bite them off. He didn’t, of course - wouldn’t - but you spent a good portion of that evening updating the inventory logs (sat on that long, thick cock.)

The shop was never reorganized.

Tonight you wake to his tongue, a dark and wicked thing, improbably dexterous, lapping at your thighs.

“Winter comes,” he drawls into your skin. His voice is dredged up from the deepest pit in his chest, scrapes against his throat before nuzzling into your ears.

“I thought so,” you sigh, sleep laden and languorous. “Felt it on the wind yesterday.”

He hums. Or maybe it’s a growl. It’s hard to say when he’s sinking his teeth into the plush of your thigh, though he does it without hurry.

For a creature without definite expiration, there is little need to be hasty.

You click your tongue when he threatens to break skin. His jaw locks like that, just on the verge of taking without being asked. This is his price for greeting the evening with you - or so he claims.

“We’ll have to begin preparations,” you muse to the inky ceiling. “I’ll make a list over tea. You’ll help, won’t you? What kind of winter will it be?”

He relaxes his bite, laps at the iridescent fluid left on your skin. His saliva, or what passes for it in this vaguely human form.

“Long,” he drawls. An unseen thumb rubs circles into your calf. “And frigid.”

You hum, can already see it in your mind. Howling winds and a silent earth. Still and peaceful, little creatures huddled down and hibernating. It was a good, warm, lush summer that promises a sweet, abundant harvest.

“A lot of snow?” you ask, fingers buried in something almost too coarse to be hair.

He unseals his mouth from a fresh, livid mark on your hip. “Da. Snow.”

Your fingertips trail over the gnarled, raised topography of long-healed wounds. Marks that go beyond flesh, wounds of essence. No matter his appearance, he will always be scarred - disfigured, even.

Sometimes you fancy that he was some fearsome fae king or warlord of hell before retiring to become yours.

Sensing the direction of your thoughts, he nips at the meat of your thumb. Draws blood the time. You hook your index finger around a too-sharp canine and shake a bit. He grunts and slides his tongue over the pinprick of blood.

“Any storms?” you ask.

“Two,” he rumbles around your finger. “Maybe three.”

You didn’t used to love winter so. But this will be your third with him. As the climate chills and the nights lengthen, he comes into his patron season. It’s helpful to have a thing of the cold and dark when times are lean and everything (even people) lose their pretty foliage.

“Shall I expect more pelts, then?”

You balked the first time he brought (more) death to your door. Thought him cruel and ruthless. Perhaps he is without you to metamorphose the slaughter into necessity.

Furs for warmth, meat for food, bones for your work. Nothing gone to waste under your care.

“Pelts,” he agrees, “skins, down.”

You trace your thumb over the bridge of his crooked nose, press between his brows when he tries to tilt his head into the warm apex of your thighs. He bares his teeth against your wrist but cannot defy you.

“Tea for that drop of blood,” you bargain.

He sighs deep and vexed. “Mistress.”

Before slithering from your blankets, though, he buries his nose against your pubic mound and takes a deep, noisy inhale.

“Nikto!”

A village girl comes a little after the sun has fully set.

You finished your tea (and bread, for the price of a wet, filthy kiss) while making a list of preparatory chores. Have started grinding up rosemary to replenish your stock.

Nikto senses her before you do, pthalo eyes flicking up. She hesitates at the closed door, poised to knock, then decides against it and simply pushes in.

You pretend as if you’ve just glanced up from your mortar, an easy smile at your visitor.

“Good evening,” you call.

“E-evening,” she replies, lingering in the door.

While you’ve taken measures to keep the air of the shopfront clean and light, it’s something of a fruitless endeavor when Nikto’s made his den here. (Or more accurately, in the room behind the shopfront, where you dwell.)

Still, she only wavers another moment, finding nothing immediately alarming or perilous. She can’t see him lounging on the back counter like a lazy cat.

“Have you need of something?” you ask.

Your easy, friendly tone loosens her shoulders, coaxes her from the doorway.

“I’m here for something for my grandmother?” she says.

You tilt your head. “Anna?”

She blinks. “How did you know?”

Because Nikto grumbled it just now.

“You have her eyes,” you lie. “I have her medication just over here. One moment.”

You turn away to collect the little parcels that make up Anna’s bi-weekly order. Brews for her tea, ointment for her joints. You’ll mix extra as the chill sets in, fewer trips while seeing her through the harsh season.

“Usually Alexei comes to collect these things,” you say.

She rocks back and forth on her heels, a more curious eye trailing over your wares now.

“Mama and I have come to take care of nana. She’s getting older, you know. And this town has better prospects than our old village.”

You hum in agreement, neatly bundling all the items in a cloth and tieing a length of twine to secure it.

“Uncle Alexei is away with papa to finish sorting matters back there.”

“So you and your mother have come ahead, then,” you summarize.

“Mhmm!”

“Well, Anna is lucky to have you. She speaks fondly of you and your mother,” you say.

The girl lights up, cheeks rosy with pride. You slide her grandmother’s order across the counter.

“Anything else?” you ask.

“No, thank you!” she replies, dropping coins into your palm.

You glance at them (overpaid as usual, oh Anna) and sigh fondly.

“Hold on,” you call, “here.”

You pass her a little jar sealed in wax. She accepts it with a bemused smile.

“What is it?”

“For travel sores, when your father and Alexei return.”

She absolutely beams. Any apprehension she had when entering your shop is long melted away.

“Thank you, Miss!” she chirps, waving, and sweeps out the door.

Niko pounces in an instant, arms so tight around your waist that you don’t even stumble from the force.

“What’s gotten into you this time?” you ask.

“You were thinking of those men,” he grumbles. You’d call it childish if he wasn’t damn near mauling your neck.

“They’re well-paying customers,” you scoff, “and more good will is never remiss.”

He snarls, but moves on quickly. “You were so kind to that little girl. She had stars in her eyes.”

You hum in question, surprised.

“Makes me think of you with little ones. Younger ones.” He’s near rambling, drool soaking into the collar of your dress. “My brood. Clinging to your skirts and your hips. Getting sticky hands in the beeswax.”

You huff out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking of babies?”

He moans into your ear, pressed tight to your back. Broad palms knead at your lower abdomen.

“Little voices calling ‘mama’. They would all adore you, want to be just like you. Mother is god in the hearts of children.”

“All?” you repeat, twisting to stare owlishly. “How many is ‘all’?”

“As many as you will let me breed into you.”

Another laugh escapes you, a bit bewildered. He’s never spoken like this before, never seemed interested at all by the women (or their husbands) that come to the shop to ease their pregnancies or births.

“You couldn’t stand to share my attention,” you scoff. Which is to say nothing of it even being a possibility. You’re not sure that you and he could produce viable offspring.

He pauses, nose in your hair, considering.

Finally, he grunts, “Maybe.”

You’d thought so.

It’s not just the change in your natural sleep rhythms. You crave the iron of raw meat and inhale deep the burn of black smoke. Sometimes, you’re too preoccupied with the spill of ink on parchment, or the length and depth of shadows.

Subtle things, perhaps. A change beneath the skin, in the dark parts of your eyes.

You used to ask your questions in the sun, and look for the answers in the bloom of flowers or swirls of clouds. Now you whisper into abyssal shadows and they whisper back with a man’s rasp.

Not everyone can see it, the unusual glint in your eyes or the sharp edge to your smile. For those that do, it’s something of an open secret - that you provide more than helpful tonic and tinctures for common ailments.

A serum against pregnancy. A syrup for unkind spouses. Cut cords for bad friends and bent coins for poor business partners.

Tonight it’s the smith’s daughter. She’s just come into adulthood this past spring. A crown of youth on her brow, vitality draped around her shoulders. Darkened, this eve, by deals made with her as the currency. You see it beneath the sweep of her skirt, a chain of her father’s own making, a key in the hand of the mayor’s son. It drags her step in your doorway, rattling along the wood floors.

“Irina,” you greet.

She doesn’t admit it right away, demuring to purchase her father’s usual burn salve. You don’t pry, instead taking your time to spoon the thick, cloudy mixture into a small jar.

“You’ve…”

You tilt your head to show your attention, expression open. She clears her throat, smooths her skirt, tries again.

“My father designs to wed me to Boris.”

She blurts it like the words escaped between the gaps in her teeth, looks shocked in their wake You flick Nikto a reproachful glance.

“Is that so?” you reply mildly, as neutral as you can manage.

“I don’t want to,” she whispers, as though it is a shameful secret. But there is little shame to be found in your presence, and when your expression only reflects polite interest, she repeats herself, stronger. “I don’t want to. Boris is a coward and his father is…”

Mean. Lascivious. A bastard with a heavy hand and wine for blood, kind only to coin.

You don’t make her say it all aloud, you’ve heard it just fine.

“Is it an ear you’re after?” you ask. “I’ll listen.”

You do not offer more. It is something she must request of her own will. For your sake as much as hers.

It only takes another breath for her to gather the courage.

“Would you help me?”

“I would.”

You don’t jump as Nikto pours himself over your shoulders, teeth already scraping the nape of your neck. He’s hard and insistent against your spine, where scars of his teeth have begun to blossom. You sense that you’ll have a new notch for the collection soon, already feel slick and achy with the promise of his maw.

“What will it cost?” Irina asks, fidgety.

Your cunt three times over. Your blood on my tongue. Your juices down my throat.

“That will depend on our solution,” you say over Nikto’s sibilant entreaties.

Irina’s brow furrows. “Not coin?”

“Maybe coin,” you correct. “Do you want any of these three men dead?”

She startles, pales. Nikto groans in your ear, hips jerking hard, cock catching on the laces of your corset. Irina mistakes the sound for your shop settling, eyes flicking nervously around as if either of you will be caught.

“N-no!” she answers. “No, that’s too - I just want papa to change his mind. O-or for Boris to… to wed someone else. Is that wicked of me?”

You shake your head, soften your smile to ease her conscience. Once upon a time, you stood on the other side of the counter like she is now.

“Then coin won’t be necessary. I have a different price.”

Her shoulders lower, just a bit, curiosity where she should be wary. Coin is a paltry payment in comparison to things a creature like you could request instead.

“What is it?”

“Scrap from your father’s forge, as much as you can manage, and whatever Boris gave you for your hand. Bring them to me tomorrow night.”

You fish a shirt button from beneath the counter. Prick your thumb on a needle and press the droplet of blood that wells into the smooth surface.

“This is a contract of my services,” you explain as it dries in the open air. Nikto inhales deep and ravenous, tongue flicking over the shell of your ear.

“If you take this, there is no going back. Do you understand?”

Irina hesitates; she’s always been a smart girl. That’s why she knew to come to you.

“What happens if I don’t come back with the payment?”

You flick a glance at Nikto, but he’s too busy toying with the ribbon around your throat. Patience fraying with each beat of your heart.

“Even I don’t know, but I’d rather neither of us find out, yes?”

“Alright. I understand.”

She accepts the bloodied button and drops it into the pocket of her frock.

“Tomorrow,” she promises, and steals out into the night.

Nikto bends you over the counter, heavy body flattening you to the polished wood. It’s unnaturally warm beneath your cheek. You suck in as much air as you can while he paws at the hidden parts in your skirts. He growls to find you wet and willing (always, regardless of what your mouth says) between your thighs.

“Tithe,” he rasps, sinking to his knees.

Massive arms snake around your thighs as he finds his home between them. Buries his nose in the soft crop of curls so that his tongue and lips and teeth can partake in the sweet offerings below.

“All this for a severed tether?” you gasp, hips twitching in a bid to escape the too much, too fast, too good of it all.

His grip does not relent. On the contrary, it only tightens, dragging you down to smother himself in your cunt.

“Yes,” he hisses.

He takes and takes and takes. Sucks your clit until it’s throbbing at the slightest touch. Licks at the rim of your cunt, forcing his tongue deeper and deeper. Impossibly deep, until you feel the tip of it curl against the hard wall of your cervix, the root of it as thick as two of his fingers.

Your knees have long given out, your voice but a weak trill in your throat. It’s only when he hears you sniffling that he wrenches himself away.

“Give me,” he demands, surging up.

Laves that slick, black, inhuman tongue up your jaw, over your cheek. Doubles back to swipe at half-dried tears that dripped down your neck and onto your hands. He makes an obscene sound when the salt mixes with the dried blood on the pad of your thumb.

“I want to eat you,” he snarls, baring his teeth against the tender veins of your wrist.

“Maybe one day,” you pant, “when I’ve passed on. You can have my corpse.”

His eyes snap open, a manic rage burning so hot it feels cold.

“Never,” he snarls, cruel fingers plunging into your tender cunt.

You cry out and grip onto his shoulders, fresh tears sliding down your hot cheeks. There is no mercy in Nikto, not even for you. He strokes and pets your walls relentlessly, abusing all the sensitive places he’s long mapped out. Brutal as the muscles in his arm bunch and jump with the pace and force of it.

“Never,” he repeats. Teeth in your throat but you can still hear his voice. It’s so loud and rough that glass rattles. “Just like this. You stay just like this for me. Mine, all mine. Always. My little witch.”

He makes you cum on his fingers, then jerks his angry cock using your release to ease the way. Spends himself in burning, sticky ropes directly onto your clit. As you drag in ragged breaths, he draws his sigil inside your cunt with your mixed fluids.

The bond has long been formed, there is no need to renew it. Your soul is no more or less his than before. You still shiver with the memory, an echo of the sublime sensation of your soul taking new shape. Making room for something else to lace through it.

“S-someone is coming,” you whimper, weak in every sense.

“Dmitiri,” Nikto answers. You knew who it was, of course, but you don’t think he would abide you saying any other name right now.

“Leave his order on the counter and make sure he pays,” you sigh, limping away in search of water.

Nikto may be a bastard, but he manages to follow your orders most of the time.

Irina returns the next evening with all that you asked. A bucket of metal scraps and shavings. In a little velvet pouch, a simple gold engagement ring.

“The button too,” you request.

Nikto, raven-shaped this evening, swoops in to snatch it from her fingers. She yelps, moon-eyed as he perches on a tall shelf and swallows the button down his scarred gullet.

“Should… should it eat that?” she asks.

You don’t even glance at him. “Too late now, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t look amused so you laugh softly and assure her, “He’ll be alright. He’s done it before.”

You turn away, scooping up the items for the spell.

“Now then, take this pin. Carve your name into one candle, and Boris’s name into the other,” you instruct.

“Which one is which?” she asks, a green candle in one hand.

“Your choice,” you reply simply.

When she’s done as you ask, you tie a piece of twine between the two, about halfway down. Set them on a metal plate facing each other and light first Irina’s, then Boris’s.

“Pull up that stool. Watch the candles burn down to the wick.”

It takes nearly an hour. You keep half an eye on it. Watch the candle meant to represent Boris start to eat at the twine, a slow encroachment towards the midpoint. Only for Irina’s flame to latch onto its end of the tie and scorch through the knot, the remaining length falling away.

Irina gasps softly, glances up to find you already watching. Studiously turns back to observe the remainder of the melt.

In the meantime, you continue forming the other half of your spell. Irina has been too preoccupied to notice the raven’s disappearance. Nikto is behind you again, guiding your hands to carve the woodblock in neat little peels. His fingers are threaded between yours, dripping raw power that you shape with intent. If Irina were to look, it would just seem that the candlelight casts strange shadows down your forearms.

When the candles have burned down to nothing, and Irina turns to you expectantly, you press a finger to your lips.

“Do not speak again until sunrise. When you get home, throw this into the hearth, as deep as you can get it. No trace of it will remain, rest assured.”

You press the carved wooden key into her palm. Her eyes trace the unfamiliar runes in wonder, but she keeps her silence and takes her leave with one final, grateful nod.

It is only just past midnight, but you yawn. The connection between Irina and Boris was not a strong one, but severing the covetous teeth of the mayor’s greed was tedious.

He has a weakness for fair hair and light eyes - both qualities passed down to Irina in lovely spades. Qualities his own wife doesn’t possess, but he would gladly see in his son’s if he had his way.

“Nikto.”

“All for a severed tether,” he purrs.

You tsk at him, shove his face away when he tries to steal a kiss.

“Finish the spell and then you will be rewarded,” you huff, waving him off. “Useless thing.”

He moans softly, eyes burning into you. “Useless,” he agrees, sharp teeth grazing your cheek. “Worthless.”

“Out with you. We’ve not all night,” you chastise.

He sinks slowly into the shadows; his eyes are the last to disappear.

Winter preparations are well under way.

A small mountain of firewood is steadily accumulating in the backyard, stacking higher and wider by the day. You’ve already finished harvesting the last of the garden, drying, preserving, and pickling by the jar. Have knitted half a dozen more shawls and socks with thick wool yarn.

Cough medicines, warming tinctures, lotions and ointments. You’re accumulating your winter remedies along the back wall and in crates beneath the counter, well-stocked for the town and smaller surrounding villages that frequent your shop.

Thus far, Nikto has brought you two pelts, and promised two more before the season truly sets in. A new pillow has also been added to your nest bed, a puffy, heavy thing of feathered down and cotton.

You like it so much that you bounce on Nikto’s cock until morning when he brings it to you, spitting into his mouth whenever he opens it in supplication. You drop lavender buds into the casing and breathe it deep as he lays you down after daybreak. It makes an excellent throne for your pelvis when you’re too worn (or over-pleasured) to hold yourself up any longer.

Still, as promising as your preparations are, you need items unavailable even in town. The journey to the nearest city is one day's (or night’s) walk there, and another back. Well worth the trouble.

Nikto has no particular affection for any dwelling, so long as it’s yours. He’s just as eager to travel as you are.

Before nightfall, you drop off any orders expected in your absence, and receive well wishes from your customers. No one asks why you are traveling alone at night. No one warns you that it would be too dangerous.

Nikto accompanies you along the well-trod road, a hooded figure more likely to be mistaken for the grim reaper than your familiar. He’s human enough if you don’t look at him for too long. A tall man thick with muscle, broad-shouldered, built for labor. Likely malformed beneath the scarf hiding his features below those blue eyes - or perhaps just shy.

Just don’t try to peer into the depths of that hood, or ponder that mysterious scarf for too long. The moon acts as a strange prism, waters down the light into eerie refractions. One might start to imagine sharp teeth peeking through ripped lips. Or glimpse poorly sewn hills of flesh, nothing but dark, empty space between the seams.

Luckily, there are no travelers on the road this late into the night. Any errant gaze is that of night creatures, and those know well to avoid the shadow at your side - and you by extension.

The trip into the city is no great adventure, but you weren’t looking for one. Nikto, you sense, is something almost like disappointed. You arrive in the small hours of the morning, just as the earliest risers have begun their day.

The innkeeper seems surprised by such an early (or late) guest, but is happy enough to welcome you in. Bread has yet to be bought from the baker, but there’s stew that’s been simmering overnight. It’s warm and hearty and thick. You eat two bowls with a cup of peach wine, pay for food and board for the next two days, and retire to the second story of rooms.

The bed is not nearly as comfortable as yours. The blankets are thin and woven, though they are layered enough to be warm. The mattress and pillow are both straw - comfortable by most standards, but a poor substitute for your cotton and wool and furs and down.

You make due on Nikto’s rumbling chest (prideful that you miss what he has so diligently provided) and let yourself drift into slumber.

At midday, you wake. City merchants aren’t accustomed to your odd hours, and you don’t want anything to be out of stock - you’re not the only one that’s made the journey for winter.

Luckily, it’s an overcast day and the sun isn’t too obnoxious when you venture out. You get a sweet bun from the bakery to tide your hunger while you shop. Follow Nikto’s whispering for directions, or to pick the best items of any selection. Spoil yourself a bit on honey from abroad and a new grimoire.

Return to the inn at the brightest part of the day for a nap. Rouse again in the late afternoon for more exploring and shopping, as well as a drink at one of the alehouses.

You’ve no friends in the city - or anywhere, really, for that matter. But being surrounded by good spirits and bright noise provides an unusual source of energy. There’s a band to watch and strong drink, some gambling that you amuse yourself meddling in from afar.

There are eyes on you, but there always are in such a busy place. You tend to attract very few gazes, but the ones you do will return time and time again, musing at the lone figure by the wall. None are brave enough to approach - especially not when it grows dark enough for Nikto to reveal himself.

Even he is in unusual form, telling you stories of a bygone time. A time when perhaps he was more finite than he is now. He uses names you’ve heard before, in passing, and chuckles at exploits more mortal than he deigns to participate in now. You like to hear it, like to provide him with the excess buzzing in your veins.

When the crowd begins to thin, you take your leave. He stays at your side (always too close, nearly underfoot) all the way to the inn, and is waiting in your room when you come up with the meal. He manhandles you into his lap and feeds you with his fingers, pours water into your mouth from his.

You stave him off until your food settles, and then he’s taking you into his lap. Has you twice before you doze off. Wakes you three hours later with his tongue lapping at your swollen folds. Has you twice more before you settle in properly until dawn.

The second day passes in much the same fashion as the first. Your indulgence this time is a pretty, slender knife, a length of ribbon, and a simple burgundy frock. The combination has Nikto salivating by the time you return to your room to rest. Not that there’s much to be had with you splayed out over your new garment, his hands and mouth and cock working you over until a puddle of slick and cum forms beneath your writhing bodies.

You send him to wash the stains in annoyance, and it’s returned seemingly pristine - though he gloats that the scent of your coupling remains. At least to him.

Nasty creature.

“If I get tired, you will be carrying me,” you huff on the road home.

He nuzzles his nose into your temple, a silent assurance that you need only say the word.

Halfway there, a band of highwaymen makes the fatal mistake of trying to ambush the two of you. Aware that anyone coming from the city will be laden with coins or goods, they would be correct if you were anyone else.

You click your tongue, steps never faltering.

“Kill anyone that’s taken an innocent,” you call over your shoulder.

“Mistress,” Nikto churrs into the air, breath so cold it sinks in the chilly air.

An unnatural growl reverberates off the trees. You don’t spare a glance behind you, steps easy and light, crunching over dead leaves and dry twigs.

A hand lands on your shoulder - heavy… and then not. Heat splatters and soaks into your sleeve, dripping down towards your wrist. The severed arm falls with a wet, fleshy thump.

Always so messy.

You tilt your head, veer off the road and follow your intuition until you find a stream. Humming, you shed your clothes and saunter into the gentle current. It’s frigid, only just unfrozen. You sigh, minding your step for slippery rocks as you wade deeper. The water rises past your scratched calves, over bitten thighs, soothes your well-used cunt and the bruises on your hips. Tingles over the silvery flesh of your scarred back until it’s nearly to your breasts.

Only then does the water darken around you.

Nikto’s hand closes around your wrist, draws your arm back until he can lick away the smears of a stranger’s blood.

Feast before the season’s famine.

You moan softly at the drag of his serpentine tongue along your skin. The ball of your shoulder, the curve of your tricep and bicep. Tickling the bend of your elbow… up your forearm… and wrist. Twisting between each digit. You lean into the sturdy pillar of his body until his other arm curls around your waist. You stand with him in the water like that, cradled by shadow and bathed in moonlight.

He is never hasty, but tonight he’s unusually slow. Almost lazy.

Wait, no. Not lazy.

Deliberate.

Each flick of his tongue, scrape of teeth, brush of lips is applied with the same care and reverence afforded to an altar.

You tilt your head to rest against his shoulder, bare your throat. Peer through lidded eyes at the thick fingers twining with yours.

It’s as if he plunged his hands into a fireplace and didn’t care to dust away the charcoal and ash afterwards. It fades at the forearm into alabaster. In the crease of his elbow, it looks like he has ink for blood. You know from experience that it tastes of almonds and tannins, heavy on the tongue like thick wine.

You let him lay you down on the bank, dry and clean. He pampers you on his cock with slow, languid rolls of his hips. Grinds deep, pulls out only halfway to massage the head into that sweet spot over and over until you’re shuddering apart with a deep, heavy moan. He finishes on your stomach and thighs, drawing symbols into your skin before rubbing it in.

“Nikto,” you croon, thumb drawing a line down the left side of his face. From forehead, over his eye, down to the corner of his mouth where there’s an unnatural split. He lets you scrape your nail against the big canine, amusing yourself on the sharper bicuspid just beside it. “My Nikto.”

He purrs into your chest, drooling down your sternum.

“Who do you belong to?” he asks.

You smile, indulgent.

“I belong to Nobody.”

There is a possibility of a second part. Maybe. If that's something people want.

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #nikto fic #nikto cod #nikto x reader #witch reader #afab reader #mind the warnings #heavy kink

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