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peachysunrize · 4 months

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Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid…

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily.

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way…

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,” he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,”

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.”

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little.

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #prince aemond #aemond x reader #rue:smut #rue:angst #rue:fluff

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mybworlds · 22 days

Text

Into your arms, the safest place

pairing: olderboyfriend!Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: You love Joel, you always have and you do everything you can to remind him of it every day.

Warnings: unspecified age gap, he's older than you, Joel is an insecure, back pain, use of you and Joel pov, not Y/N, the main character has female features, but no specific physical description so you can imagine her as you want. Established relationship, fluff moments, moments of daily life, hints of a sexual relationship, but in this one shot I'll be quite generic although some moments are precise if you know what I mean.

A/N: After reading a few posts about Joel, headcanons, etc my mind gave birth to this one-shot. I hope you like it, if you don't it's okay.

You love Joel. And he loves you. You both would do anything for each other. Even put up with things that the other finds enjoyable, but the other finds them indifferent. For example, Joel loves watching 80's movies, you keep him company, but only because you love to see his face relax and smile in front of some scene that he adores or makes him laugh and you enjoy the sight of his face relaxing for those films even if to your eyes they seem banal or unlikely. And you know that he watches reality shows with you on the couch just because he wants to see you happy by his side or watches stupid cat videos on Tiktok with you just because you giggle when you watch them waving your legs for fun.

You think about how far you've come together to be there, how many lies you've had to tell to see him, how many arguments and tantrums you've had with your parents because of your age difference.

You and Joel met at your parents' house, he had come to fix some things that were no longer working at home and that's where you shook hands and smiled warmly for the first time. You remember that you immediately found him sexy as hell, a little taciturn and brusque perhaps, but not to be criticized or despised as your mother did. At first you were around him just to follow the work he was doing, then slowly you started talking about his work, your work as a teacher, about your lives and you liked each other.

But, because of your age, Joel has always kept you at a distance in the hope that sooner or later you would meet a young man of your age rather than someone like him, a man of experience, a man with a broken marriage and a grown-up daughter who lives far away, but you've never seen other kids your age. Your best friends have also tried to dissuade you from the idea of being with Joel, but they have never succeeded even today when they ask you if you regret your choice, you always said that you love him as he is with his infinite merits and many defects.

Joel has always been afraid of losing you, he was afraid - and you're sure he still is - of losing you that you'd find him too old for you or too unattractive considering his gray hair that sprout here and there among his hair and beard every other day. But you always managed to reassure him and make him feel all your love and put aside his fears.

You managed to arouse Joel's interest from the very first moment, from when you were standing in the doorway watching him work and then you fascinated him when you transmitted to him all your love and your dedication to your work. You are a beautiful person, he remembers thinking from the very beginning. Your energy was clearly visible from the first glance and then, knowing you, he was sure of it. When you shyly confided in him that you had fallen in love with him, Joel thought it was a joke because there was no way a wonderful woman like you could want an old man like him. He later told you that he was flattered by your interest, but he pushed you to look at other boys, not at him. And you, in response, kissed him.

It wasn't easy at first because Joel realized that your family turned their backs on you because you chose him. He has always felt guilty about this, but you have never blamed him or reproached him for that. You chose him and the love you have for each other.

The days turned into weeks, the weeks into months and you still haven't gotten tired of him. Every evening when he comes home from work, you welcome him with a warm smile and kiss him happily.

This evening you get up from the table where you correct your students' homework and go to meet him, smiling and kissing him.

“You are beautiful, my love,” he whispers in your ear, kissing your lips first, your cheek then and burying his nose in your hair, while he hugs you tightly and feels you kiss the crook of his neck.

“I missed you,” you coo softly kissing his graying beard, his chin and back up the other side, “You are hot as hell, babe.” It's amazing how it seems like you can almost sense what he's feeling about his scruffy beard and his increasingly graying hair.

He smiles. He remembers how uncomfortable he felt in the early days when his few friends told him that he was probably having a midlife crisis dating a hot chick like you. He blushed, maybe they were right, although he loved (and loves) you deeply. For him you were never a passing thing to be forgotten in some time, as his friends told him, you were and are always more. He's so deeply in love with you.

“I prepared a dish for you, love,” you tell him wrapping your arms around his neck “I guess you didn't eat anything, right?” You ask thoughtfully and he loves that about you too. He makes sure to tell you this every day because he's always so afraid that you might realize one day that you want more, that you want a different person by your side, that he is not enough for you.

“You're still my wonderful, gorgeous girl,” he whispers in your ear. “I'm a lucky man,” he adds, gently kissing your earlobe and you shiver. He can clearly see the shivers rippling across your skin, and when they do, he places more kisses along your neck and shoulder. He loves hearing you giggle and holding you tighter. “How was your day?” He asks, nuzzling his nose against yours.

“Full, but you know I love my boys. They are always so full of creativity, energy, and then they are incredibly challenging. And. . . What?” you pause, noticing the small smile forming at the corners of his lips.

“When you talk about your students, your eyes light up.” he replies, smiling widely “I'd only go back to school if I had a teacher who knows what she's doing and who teaches with a smile on her face like you always do.”

Your smile becomes even wider if possible, “Why, what was your teacher like? Miss Rottenmeier?” you joke.

He shakes his head smiling, “No, but she wasn't beautiful as you are, baby girl.” You relax against him “Anyway, I was thinking that tomorrow night we could go out to dinner, would that be okay with you?”

“Sure, now let's go have dinner, I'm starving!” you exclaim grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen.

“You haven't had dinner yet?! Oh, poor lil thin’, I'm sorry.” He says as you sit down to eat "I'm sorry, I thought that considering the time you had eaten!" He adds sincerely sorry.

“You know that if you don't come back I won't be able to relax and eat.” You reply, biting with great gusto into the vegetable pie you had prepared.

The two of you talk at length about the new project that Joel is personally involved in, what he does, what he thinks he's going to do. His eyes light up and then you can't help but notice the passion and the energy he puts into talking about his work. It's something you've always loved about him. You remember when he told you about the fixes he was doing to your parents' house and all the technicalities he used. He probably noticed how you pursed your lips or the look on your face that you didn't understand what he was talking about and so he rephrased his words and from that moment on you never stopped talking.

You think back to that night of your first kiss, you remember how you were afraid of being rejected, but at the same time you didn't want to lose him. You noticed his ears turn red and his tone hesitant after your confession, but you knew what you wanted and most of all you wanted him.

He has always made you feel good, treated you well and with respect, he makes you happy in everything, even if he is tired after a day of hard work, just to see you happy, he would take you out to dinner. But you never asked for anything more from him than love and mutual respect.

You remember the first time you made love, you had already had other experiences, but in his arms it seemed like you had never done it, that you were still a virgin. You made love against each other's foreheads, your hot breaths mingling, your vision blurred with pleasure, even though you did everything you could to look into his eyes and don't miss a single expression of his. His hands gently cupping your face as he kissed you and thrust in and out of you sending jolts of pure pleasure up your spine.

“Whadda ya thin’?” he asks looking into your eyes and seeking your hand which he wraps in his and caresses it with a thumb.

“I was thinking about when we made love,” you answer smiling at him lasciviously "and when we met."

His smile becomes tender and his eyes sweet and soft looking almost like a puppy's. Oh, you love so much his well defined masculine features, his wrinkles.

“And I thought you never wanted to show me one of your photo albums! I'd love to see that so much,” you squeak, looking at him with doe eyes that you know make him melt.

Joel has jealously hidden them from your sight, not because he has something to hide, but because he is afraid that you might realize how old he is compared to you and that you might like him better the way he was. And so he always delayed that moment by telling you tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow, but now what excuse can he make up?

“Oh, c'mon, babe, I'd love so much,” you meow using a pleading tone and kissing him in a quick, gentle motion. You know he won't be able to resist. And in fact, he rolls his eyes and after muttering a stubborn lil’ thing to you, he wipes his lips and a little piece of food on his scruffy beard, he gets up and you see him disappear into the corridor.

A couple of minutes later, he reappears in the doorway with an open album in his hands and his gaze lost in a photo. Then he looks up and immediately finds your curious, “There it is,” he says placing the heavy tome in front of you on the table “I hope you're not disappointed by the comparison between what I was and what I am.” He says with his head down, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Your expression becomes surprised and sad because you understand that Joel is afraid of losing you and that you might find him less attractive today than in photographs when he was younger.

“Never.” you just whisper to him, holding out your hand which he immediately grabs, while you invite him to sit next to you.

His photographs show a decidedly younger Joel, the wrinkles are much less visible and superficial, the beard is less thick and sparser, the expression is more tender and shy, but his eyes are always the same sweet and deep, the same ones that made you fall in love with him.

“You are so beautiful,” you whisper “and I’m so in love with you and I’m so lucky to have you by my side.” You add kissing him softly.

“Boo,” he says rubbing his nose against yours “I'm the lucky one.” He says kissing you “And I will do anything to make you happy, but please, if you ever realize that you are no longer happy with me, just tell me.”

You know you're not going to calm him down by just telling him it'll never happen, so you say, “You know me. You know how stubborn and determined I am.”

He rests his forehead against yours, “I know. And that's also why I love you, my love.” He confesses to you, while you sit on his lap. You love feeling his hands on your hips or when he holds you tightly to him. Joel, even if he doesn't speak, is able with his gaze or with his gestures to make you feel like the luckiest woman in the world. So when he tells you that if you are no longer sure of your love for him, you would also like to tell him that no one has ever made you feel as special as he does.

“Oh, baby,” he groans, pulling you closer to his crotch, “if I didn't have this terrible back pain, I'd take you in my arms and we'd go to bed right away.” He confesses to you in a hoarse voice.

“Oh, damn!” You exclaim, moving away from him and getting up from on top of him, he looks at you puzzled, “Come on, get up, let's go to bed.” He looks at you with that lewd look and you roll your eyes and snicker, “Don't be so smart, come on.”

When you're in bed, you don't really know how long you can resist him if while you're giving him a back massage he keeps grunting and moaning telling you how good you make him feel. You are practically sitting on his ass while massaging his spine, shoulder blades and hips.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” he moans “I love you so much,” he adds in a whisper and you smile.

“Why do I give you amazing massages?” you tease him, continuing to move your open palms first along his back and then closing them into fists.

“Because no one has ever understood me like you do. With you, there's no need for many words. We understand each other with our eyes.”

“Are we soulmates or not, you and I?” You ask him and receive another moan of pleasure in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You add playfully.

He is so grateful for what you are doing. And when you say you are soul mates, he couldn't agree more. You are the perfect woman for him. Sometimes a little chatty, but other times the most understanding even without saying anything to you. He never thought it possible to find a love you. True love. He had always been convinced that his other half had been his ex-wife and that once he was alone, he would never have a real chance again. Then one day you came along and that was the moment he started breathing again. He thought that a young woman like you would get tired of him in a few weeks, but that's not the case. You are there for him, when he wants to vent about a problem, when he talks about his daughter who gives him a lot of trouble, when he wants to watch old movies, you listen to him, give him advice, support him and you watch movies with him, you lie down with your head on his lap and watch them with him. And he who never understood the meaning started following various trends just because you showed them to him and watching videos on Tiktok with you. And he started to love it.

“I love you, baby girl.” he says, caressing your legs in a sweet gesture. Your skin crawls as you continue. "I can feel it," he moans with his eyes closed as he continues his caress.

“What?” you ask leaning forward and placing a kiss on his shoulder, savouring the contact with his skin filling him with kisses.

He smiles, “Are you trying to seduce me?” He asks you, as you lean on top of him and brush his cheek against yours.

“I don't need to do this.” you say kissing his lips and he opens his hazel eyes “Never doubt how I feel about you, I love you and you know that in your arms I am perfectly safe. I love you, babe.”

He shifts slightly making you move from on top of him and lie down next to him where you cuddle and then make love again and again.

Joel loves the idea of you carrying his child, but he's afraid to broach the subject with you because you're young and maybe you don't want kids, maybe not yet. So he has never told you or pressured you in any way, but when he is completely buried inside you he can't help but think what it would be like if you told him you were carrying his child.

You moan deliciously in his ear his name as he makes you come and you intertwine his fingers with yours. Tonight Joel is making you enjoy like never before by giving you more than one climax. You are almost exhausted, some tears escape you and he wipes your tears away with his thick thumbs, whispering to you in a low, hoarse voice, “s’alright, baby girl, you're such a good girl fo’ me” wrapping you in his arms while you twist your face into an expression of pure pleasure as you collapse on top of him.

“I love you,” you say “Into your arms, there's the safest place”.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #hbo joel miller #the last of us #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel fic #joel tlou

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iz-star · 1 month

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Zayne: Hidden Motive - The hidden meaning behind these two images and other thoughts about this card.

Warnings: NSFW talk, personal interpretation about this card, some analysis (probably overanalyzing lol).

I've already mentioned this quickly over twitter, tho I have to admit that I hate to write down my thoughts over there cause it's already difficult for me to put my ideas in order, let alone writing them in threads (and not even in my native language, my brain can't do so much). So I'm going to try to explain this here better, especially cause I've seen a lot of people not so sure of what happened in this card, if what Zayne and MC did was straight up dry humping or if it was all just the movement of the chair without actually touching each other.

Of course, this card was wild just for the already suggestive (let alone, stimulating?) work of the camera when MC is on top of Zayne, but this game is not even rated +18 so they have to be careful about what they show. Sex isn't anything new to this game, however it all depends on the way it is portrayed and showcased. Most of the times, sex is always implied; there are spicy moments but it has never been anything overly explicit, most cases the sexy scenes are more like foreplay, what leads to actual intercourse/sex, the last part being left to the imagination. If they were going to be wild with this card, they had to be soft at portraying it, unironically. In order to do that, they had to resort to certain storytelling resources, in this case: the rocking chair, the leaf and the fabric over the couch.

The rocking chair's purpose I think it's quite obvious and it was to not to blatantly show MC and Zayne rocking against each other, it was like the perfect excuse to put them on such a situation without the characters doing it willingly, or so so cause it's already too much to know that MC is sitting on top of Zayne, however this is not new to the game, right? MC sitting on top of Zayne's lap is actually quite normal, she's done it several times; here they just had to give them an excuse to move and when Zayne pulled MC towars him, everything started. I seriously praise the masterminds behind this scene cause they literally gave us Zayne and MC starting to dry hump in front of our very eyes in a very subtle way.

Again, the camera direction is the most risky thing they had done to showcase a sexual act so far, and I'm not mentioning this to downplay any other sexy scenes from Zayne or the other LIs, it's simply bc the bouncing movement it's too explicit and induces quite strong sexual ideas related to it, to go further seemed to be impossible at this point, however it also looked like they wanted us to be sure of what was happening here somehow, that it wasn't only the rocking chair making us seeing things, so in order to confirm what our minds were thinking and it wasn't only the sound of Zayne's kisses filling the room, they resorted to metaphors: the leaf and the fabric over the couch.

Maybe this is my dirty mind speaking, but is so suggestive the way this image was showed right after Zayne asked MC "Do I look like I can work right now?" with all the movement of the camera going wild and he resuming to kiss/suck MC's neck. It literally started to rain in this very moment, and the drop running down the leaf seems to be a metaphor of MC's arousal. Yes, she was getting wet down there. For this one, I think that the reference is quite easy to understand and there's no need to explain more, except to say that I actually loved the subtle yet beautiful/elegant way to refer to her arousal.

But what about the fabric over the couch?

If the image of the leaf was a reference to MC, then this one is a reference of Zayne's own arousal. What this image has is a disheveled fabric that's hanging from the edge of the couch, so there's two things:

The couch → Zayne's thighs/legs (isn't it a common joke within the fandom that Zayne is MC's favorite chair due to all the times she sits on his lap, anyway?)

The fabric → Zayne's robe.

Did you notice that among the four LIs, it was Zayne's robe the only one with the loosest tie and both sides of his robe do not even cross? like this thing it's barely keeping together somehow.

Which is genuinely surprising coming from Zayne, the Zayne whose towel outfit has the safest tie, the Zayne whose workout outfit covers his body from head to toe, the same Zayne who has dressed five (or was it six?) layers of clothes in the past (Master of Fate), the same Zayne who is always wearing long coats and suits and literally the one who makes us feel like victorian man seeing a woman's ankles for the first time lol.

I definitely think they did this on purpose. Give him easier access? Hell yeah. What this image is intending to say is that he was already opening his robe down there, making the contact with MC's wetness closer? Maybe that's why after this, she told him not to be too intense? Hmm...

Now, this probably is my overanalysis, it's up to you if you choose to believe this or not. For some people, media is about what is explicitly told, but narrative resources say a lot most part of the time, it helps the writers to give the readers hints about certain foreshadowing or, in this case, to reference to certain things that are impossible to address due to censorship.

Personally, I loved this card so much, but at the same time, it leaves me with a sense of dread. Did you notice how emotional, bittersweet or even sad/nostalgic was Zayne's bgm during his kindle? I saw some people uploaded the recording of his kindle without the bgm just to appreciate the naughty sounds (no blame here cause I did too ngl ahaha), but it made me want to listen to the music alone and good lord, the music made me so emotional. After watching the kindle with the music on again, I realized of how emotional this moment becomes when the bgm is playing. It gives vibes of something so intense yet so fragile. Go listen and appreciate it alone, you'll see what I'm talking about:

youtube

I noticed that they used two new songs for these cards, one was this one and the other was used in Rafayel's kindle, for Xavier and Sylus' kindles, they used bgm that was previously used in other memories. It's also interesting that the art direction of Zayne and Rafayel's kindles has a bit of a somber mood to them, like even their scenarios make sure to use cold colors and emotional backgrounds, while Xavier and Sylus' use more warm and romantic colors, (tho at least Xaviers bgm music was also intense even if the song is not new).

I feel like the bgm wanted to give a sensual yet emotional feeling to most scenes (except Sylus' since this one was the most chill, which is normal considering that he's new), however, we can't deny that Zayne's song feels like something is about to break somehow, idk how to explain. Someone in the comments section of the video said that it was angsty and beautiful just like Zayne is...

I've been feeling like Zayne's latest cards have been really emotional an intense. In Snowy Serenity is Zayne the one who is in danger, in Hidden Motive, it's MC the one in danger and both cards showcase how far are they willing to get in order to secure each other's safety (and also how much they lie to each other about their own safety lol).

In Snowy Serenity, Zayne and MC get emotionally closer, in Hidden Motive they get physically closer and yet both cards have a bit of both themes too, emotional and physical intimacy on another level.

In Snowy Serenity, Zayne knew that he might not be back so he asked MC to see him off the airport and gave her a hug, even if he never said goodbye, and in Hidden Motive, he tells her that she's not allowed to leave him without saying goodbye. Then he tells her he'll like her as long as she's alive and well. We also have the Adventure above the clouds chapters where they talk about ther lifes in 50 years in the future and how they'll be together still relying on each other. In Dawnbreaker's anecdotes, MC gets to celebrate Zayne's birthday with him and tells him that from now on, she'll always celebrate his birthday with him.

It feels like they're starting to look into the future a little too much, like making promises too soon, it feels too perfect... as if something bad is about to happen and rob us from that bright future, you know?

Do you know who made promises before a tragedy?

I've been thinking about this since I finished Hidden Motive cause... my first thought was... Now what can top this? A lot of us got really surprised by Zayne's card cause the spice was unexpected and I think it's needless to say this, but even the kindle felt a bit different from what we are used to see normally, even some ppl said the kindle was a bit longer than normal. Why would they feed us so much good/emotional/intense content of Zayne lately? And how are they going to keep it up? My brain tells me that something sexual being released too soon after this might feel repetitive so in order to create a bigger impact after this they'll resort to angst. I don't think they'll make Zayne's bday event sad, however, they also announced that more main story branches are going to be added from September to December and Zayne's probably gonna be the first to return, since he was the first one to disappear from the main story.

I just can't help thinking about this, I have this bad feeling that I hope is just my stupid brain overthinking and that we will have happy sweet memories with Zayne from now on even tho the story seems to keep hinting that something bad is going to happen, ugh.

Anyway, sorry for my rant, I actually have a lot of thoughts about this card that I don't know if I'll get to write cause I've been really busy with work lately, however I wanted to at least get this out of my chest.

#zayne #lads zayne #l&ds zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #l&ds #lnds #hidden motive #Youtube

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nkogneatho · 8 months

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𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑬𝑹

—cw: perversion, panty sniffing, panty fucking, male masturbation, slight degradation and dirty talk, reader is not dating gojo but gojo has his eyes on her.

—a/n: perv suguru has been on my mind lately cuz he seems so bored and sweet sometimes that i can't help but think he is a closet pervert. shoot me.

Gojo has always been such an open pervert. he passes comments on you as you walk in front of him. Always teasing you. And you surely didn't miss the way he brushed his hands against your ass subtly when you were talking. But what you found more interesting was his bestfriend. Because he never even looked you way even though you three have been hanging out for a while. It's not like you had romantic feelings for him, but you were damn beautiful and witty. For a man like him to repulse that seemed to shady. And you were right on the money.

You already had a long day and all you wanted to do was hop in the shower then sleep. Panic settled in your eyes when you saw your door unlocked. Shit. I remember locking it. Should I call the police? Wait. I need to check first. You held the key with sharp edges in your fist ad you proceeded to make small and silent steps, making sure not to alert the intruder. You heard distorted creaking noises. As you approached closer, the noise got clearer. You regretted installing the thick laced curtains since it blocked your clear vision. You gulped and finally decided to just face it. Eyes shut close as an instinct before you fluttered them open to finally see Gojo chilling on the couch watching your television.

"What the fuck? How did you get in?"

"You need a safer doorlock. Do you know how easy it was with Suguru's hairpin?" he didn't even spare you a look, as if this was normal.

"I—Toru what are you doing here? If you wanted to hang out you could've called me."

"We ran out of chips."

"We?" You questioned him.

"Ah yes. Suguru's in your bedroom looking for a charger I guess." You sighed and threw the bag on the coffee table in the hall.

Anxiety settled in when you approached closer to your room. Something about Suguru being in your bedroom made your gut twist. You stepped closer to the ajar door. A hint of heavy breathing with moans brushed your ears but you thought it was just your imagination. There's no way—

Your eyes defied your thoughts. Suguru had your black lace panties, tangled in his fingers and wrapped around his cock as he fucked himself.

"fuck. fuck. holy shit! fuck." The moans were too subtle to be noticed but they didn't miss your ears that were now stuck to the door. A part of you didn't want to stop him but you needed to confront this scene that was unfolding in fornt of your eyes. You swayed the door open, announcing your presence. Yet, he wasn't fazed. Droopy eyes with scruched brows locked with your stunned ones but he didn't look bothered in the slightest. Veiny hands continued to fist his cock.

"What are you—"

"Just seeing what is all the fuss about." Before you could complete your sentence, he spoke. "You know—ah fuck!! Satoru always talks about how—shit how good you smell. And," his movement stopped. He brought the hand that had your black kace closer to his face and he sniffed it. A long drag of inhale. "He is right. You smell so fuckin' good." Your cheeks grew hotter. He looked so calm and put together. You always thought Satoru is the unhinged one. But you were proved wrong.

"Suguru—"

"Do you like it?" He asked.

"W-what?" You trembled in a feeling that was so foreign to you. Was it fear? Was it disgust? Perhaps, perversion?

"Don't pull that innocent shit on me," he cocked his brow. "Didn't you wear this last week and whore around me?" He stepped closer to you. "Bending over and shit so I can notice you." Big hand brushed against your clothed cunt. "You can fool around with him all you want but I know you want the forbidden fruit, baby." He cupped it so hard. "Attention whore."

You moaned.

Shit. You moaned loud.

Suguru's eyes looked behind you to see signs of Gojo because he sure as hell wouldn't have missed that sound. But he wasn't near. Maybe he was so indulged in whatever show he was watching.

"Here's what we're gonna do," he mumbled in your ear. "We're gonna go upstairs. I am going to lock the door and fuck you, darlin'," you were still processing his words. "and I am fine with you screaming your lungs out if you want to let him know I am taking what's his."

tags: @eapoes @charisma-rockstar @erenmyman @dawgkuna @hellkaiserinphoenix @anxious-chick

#geto x reader #geto smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto suguru drabble #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto x female reader #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x you #geto suguru smut

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whoahoney · 1 year

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Unbelievable

Eddie Munson x friend!Reader

Summary: reader has a crush on eddie and plans to confess her feelings at the bar, when she finds him sitting with a gorgeous girl, she doubts herself… what will she do?

Warnings: minors DNI, unwelcome advances, drinking, jealousy, anxiety, making out, allusions to smut

A/N: dedicated to the lovely @easy-peasy68 and this awesome request she sent in! I hope you love it, darling! 💖😌

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Tonight was the night—you were certain.

Tonight you’d worn your best clothes and redone your makeup twice. You prepared to drink until you were drunk of sorrow or happiness, one of the two.

“You’re not allowed to say that.” Robin chided over the phone as you walked to the bar and roll your eyes, “Think positive! He’s your friend, if he doesn’t return your feelings, how mean could he be about it?”

“I know he won’t be mean, Rob, he’s perfect!” You whine. “If he’s gonna let me down I know he’d do it in the sweetest most earth shattering way.” You watched the sidewalk pass beneath your feet and tried not to imagine the look of disappointment on his face.

“I have it on good authority that people can still be friends even after one rejects the other! Just look at me and Steve. We’ve been sailing this platonic love boat for years now! His dorky love confession is just a blip in the past now—“

“Whoa, wait, my love confession was not dorky—“ You hear Steve in the background and roll your eyes as you come to a stop before the sticker covered door that you’d grown quite fond of, this being Eddie’s favorite spot.

“Alrighty, Rob. I’m here.” You mumble and lean against the building.

Robin gasps, “Okayloveyou, call me after please, byeeeeee!” She almost sings as you end the call.

You take a deep breath and pull the door open. You’re so distracted looking for Eddie that you nearly blow right by the bouncer, sat at his laptop watching Lord of the Rings as he checked IDs.

You roll your eyes as he shoots you a questioning look, comparing your birthdate to your face before handing it back to you. You mumble a thanks and let your eyes scan the seats along the bar, where Eddie always sat.

You wondered if you beat him here for once, if you could be the one with two drinks waiting in front of you to be shared when he sat down like he’d always had with you.

You wonder if he’ll compliment your outfit, if he’ll even notice it. He typically always had a little compliment at the ready for you, about your hair or perfume, simple words that made you wanna shudder and savor the feeling forever.

A group of people grabbing drinks from the bartender caught your attention. They laughed merrily with each other and grabbed two tall glasses each to take to their awaiting table of friends, but when they moved, they also revealed a scene you never wanted to see; Eddie sat at the bar, and a gorgeous girl in your spot next to him.

Your heart ached and sank in your body, the beating of it suddenly so powerful it thudded in your chest. You wanted to swallow the lump in your throat, but your mouth was so dry you couldn’t, it just added to the sandpaper feeling prickling all the way down.

You wanted to cry at the way Eddie’s shoulders shook with a chuckle, facing the wall of bottles while she faced him, leaning closer on her hand and letting her ample cleavage show. She wore a red dress, one you wouldn’t even dream of wearing. Her lips were painted the same color and her eyes were lined with black so thick it reminded you of the music videos that sometimes played at the music store Eddie worked at.

She was perfect. And you suddenly felt as if you were not.

You feel someone bump into your shoulder and realize you were standing in the middle of traffic, grabbing a place at the bar with shaking hands, on the other side of three large old men that frequented the bar too.

Your mind was reeling and spinning without any alcohol to fuel it, so you opted for a water to collect yourself. When the bartender sat the tall glass in front of you, you take three big gulps of it and then some deep breaths. “Just go on over there, honey.” A gruff voice said.

“Yeah, that’s your spot!” Another said.

You turn to the right to see the old men looking at you, their leather vests, fading tattoos, and bald heads usually intimidating you, but when you saw them now, looking at you, you only saw concern in their eyes. You shake your head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

The men chuckle kindly, “Sweetheart, we know that’s your boy over there. And that broad has been buggin him for the last ten minutes about buying her drinks.”

Your brows push together and you lean over to view the two down on the other side of the man that spoke to you. Eddie had a tense smile, one he used when he didn’t wanna be rude.

“He could be nervous. She’s awfully pretty,” You think.

Another one of the men notice the skeptical look on your face, “He’s here to see you, ain’t he?” He asks incredulously through his thick mustache.

You shrug and nod, “We come here every week. W-We’re just friends though, so I should leave him alone.”

The men chuckle again before the third one pipes up, “Uh-uh! We gotta pool goin on how long it’ll take you guys to kiss. Poor boy always looks like he’s gonna make a move and doesn’t.” He rolled his eyes and his friends agreed.

Your jaw dropped, amusement on your face, “He does not!” You quietly chide before sneaking another glance at Eddie’s almost cowering figure as he kept his body facing straight, barely turning his head to respond to the girl.

“Between you and me,” the man closest to her almost mumbled, “if y’all kiss after this week, I lose—so it’s now or never.” He tsked and took a swig of his bottled bud light. You blush crimson and close your eyes. “If you go over there and plant one on loverboy, I’ll give you $50.” He held out his hand for you to shake.

You try not to chuckle when you notice these old men have you almost convinced. You take a deep breath and shake his hand, “I have to right now?” You ask.

“You just have to go over there right now, okay? And if it don’t work out, you gotta seat right back over here.” He nodded and gave you a firm pat on the back that almost knocked you over as you picked up or water and climbed off the stool. As you pass by them, you hear their rumbling cheers while they no doubt watch you.

You keep stepping towards where Eddie and the girl sat, Eddie’s hair practically a curtain between himself and her.

“You’re just shy, aren’t you?” She purred when you got close enough. She reached out to stroke Eddie’s hand that rested on the counter only for him to drag it away into his pocket.

“Nah, no, I-I’m typically not.” He said with a dry chuckle.

The girl tsked and leaned forward as you stepped up right behind her, still undetected, “Aww, so you just act this way for little ole me? All cute and shy?” She flattered herself and giggled in a way that you figured was supposed to be alluring.

As Eddie turns his head to face her, you step over next to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “Actually I think you just make him uncomfortable.” You remark, as you look her over and school your face to look unimpressed with the girl before you, as if you hadn’t envied her at first sight.

You look at Eddie, who stared at you with brown eyes wide with awe. Your lips twitch when they attempt to smile at the two waiting glasses in front of him, sips yet to be taken. “Can I have my seat or do I need to sit in his lap for you to understand?” You look back at her coldly.

She scoffs and looks between you two as she stands with her purse and returns to her table of friends in the corner.

You exhale deeply and look over at your biker friends who had heard the whole exchange. They raised their newest glasses to you and drank with hearty laughter.

“Friends of yours?” He asks with a uneasy chuckle, checking out the old men skeptically before he spotted their patches and smiled.

You shrug, “New friends.”

He nodded. You lingered by Eddie, your hand still on his shoulder before you move to sit in your spot, “My lap, huh?” He chuckled, amused and impressed at your display of courage he’d never seen before.

You plop down, the seat pleasantly warm from the bitch that previously occupied it. “Yeah, sorry about that, you just seemed…” you shook your head as he nodded gently.

“Thank you.” He looked you over, his eyes growing large again when they paused at your chest. “You look… fantastic, wow.” He says with a dumbstruck smile as he took you in again.

You chuckle and shake your head, “Oh, this old thing. Just threw it on, y’know, but, uh, I’m-I’m glad you like it!” You smile at him, feeling the difference in the air between you tonight. It felt good. Full of possibility.

Eddie clears his throat and slides your drink over to you. “A toast— to my best friend;” he started as you lift your glass with a quirked brow, “The bravest, wittiest ….” He hesitated, peering into your eyes, “…prettiest girl I know.” He nodded as he finished.

“Here, here!” The familiar gruff voices echoed behind you in agreement, lifting their shots before throwing them back. You guys chuckle and sip your beers, your nose wrinkling at the first taste as you usually did.

Eddie chuckled at you as you set the glass down, foam on your upper lip. “What?”

“You got a little…” he pointed at your mouth, but didn’t give you a chance to clean it yourself, bringing his thumb up to wipe it off with one gentle swipe. “There… much better.” He said softly, his face inches from yours. His touch sending pins and needles where he touched. He’d never touched your face before—not to mention your lips.

You look down and blush, finding your knees between his and his body leaned close to yours. He looked so much more like himself now, that ornery glint in his eye, his boyish smile that always said ‘trouble’ when he flashed one your way.

You watch his ringed hand rest on your knee, stroking in loving circles before you look up at him, his gaze more serious, yet not stone. Something else was hidden in the look he gave you, something that felt familiar to you.

He whispers your name, “—Tell me something.”

You cock your head and give him a single nod, “What’s to tell?”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes before taking a drink, “S’gonna be like that, huh?” He looks at you again, playful smile on display as he leans closer to you again.

“Like what?” You chuckle, enjoying this game. Eddie rolls his eyes with a smile and goes to turn back forward when you catch his knee, “No, no,” you pat him before turning him to you by the knee in your grip, Eddie’s gaze darkening as his eyes flicked back up to yours. “No need for that.”

You go to withdrawal your hand, but he catches it., “Were you jealous?” He asked, his hand stop yours.

You can’t help but balk, your mouth opening and eyes widening before you can pinch your brows together and shake your head, “N-No,” you find yourself in the lie, “I just—“ you shrug, finding his eyes on yours expectantly, obviously working hard to keep his mouth straight and resisting the smile that threatened to curl up at the corners.

“Just?” He prodded.

“Like—ugh, the way she was touching you. And looking at you—”

“And… that’s not jealous?” He broke a little, one side of his smile lifting as he bit the other cheek.

Your cheeks blossom into magenta, your avoidant smile rising up on your face as you grab your drink as a buffer, not daring to move your other hand from his grasp. Eddie watches you as you gulp the brew and set down the glass, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“Okay, maybe a little..” you shrug before looking up at him from under your lashes, your eyes darting back down when you saw his smirk.

Oh, great. It’s a joke to him.

“But if it was a guy, okay,” you start, “And if I was you, and I was looking the same way you did, you’d do the same thing, wouldn’t you?” You shrug in question. “You’d wanna protect me from an unwelcome conversation, right?”

Eddie nodded, “Yeah, absolutely.”

“See?” You go to move your hand from his, turning to face the bar when he catches you again.

“To protect you, yes.” He said, hidden urgency in his eyes as he squeezed your hand gently, “—But also because I’d be jealous.” He smiles at your hesitance to believe him as you gently shake your head in disbelief.

“So.. now would be a good time to tell you about my feelings?” You ask quietly.

“Feelings?” He asks in feigned incredulity. You fight the blooming smile as he teases you. “Feelings about what?” He mocks you at your own game.

You roll your eyes and push at his chest, smiling when he caught your wrist and released your other, turning his hand to face palm up, his fingers lingering on yours in the hope you’d wind your fingers through his.

And you do, just as he’s begun stroking his thumb over your hand, the one he caught on his heart.

“Tell me.” He says just above a whisper despite the chaotic barroom.

You nod, “I… I like you. A lot. An embarrassing amount, actually— since the day we met.” You stumble, looking down at the rings on his hands you’d never brought yourself to play with, though you thought about it a lot.

You’d never held hands like this before, always sure to stay in your own bubbles. But tonight, everything was different, and you both knew it wouldn’t ever be the same.

“I was hoping you’d say that.” He said casually.

You look up at him in surprise, to find him leaning forward and releasing your hand to hold you steady as he pressed a kiss to your lips. Your eyes melt closed and you kiss him back, not shying away from the urge to touch his face and neck.

You barely hear the cheers behind you until Eddie breaks the kiss to glance at your friends a few seats down the bar. You turn shyly to find them paying their tabs and handing cash to the man that convinced you to come over here in the first place.

He saunters over to you, cap on his head and a new dip in his mouth, the lump bulging beneath his bottom lip. “Here ya go, darlin, take your new boyfriend out on a date.” He dropped a fifty in front of you and shoved his winnings away in his pocket.

Your jaw drops and you go to hand it back to him, “Sir, I can’t take this—“

“The hell you can’t!” He said as his friends joined him, one of them taking his free hand. “I’m $200 richer because of you, let me share the wealth!”

“Gary, you leave them alone.” The man chided. “Congratulations, you two,” he said when he turned to you, “Seeing you guys here these last few months had us thinking about our old times—Gary and I have been coming here with our friends since ‘82.” He beamed at his partner and it was only then you noticed the pride flag patch, beneath the Satyrs Motorcycle Club emblem, along with a BACA patch to boot.

You smiled warmly as Eddie took your hand again and swiftly pocketed the $50 for you. “Well, we owe you fellas drinks the next time we meet!” Eddie said.

You smile at his heart and nod in agreement, “Thank you, so much.” You smile at Gary who nodded.

“We wish y’all the best—treat her right, pretty boy, she knows where to find me.” He pointed a thick callused finger in his direction with a teasing wink and a final pat on the back as they departed, hearing the unmistakeable revving of their friends preparing to leave.

Eddie looked back at you as you sighed, the tension from the last couple weeks finally falling away with each careful stroke of his thumb over your hand.

I could get used to this, you think.

“So…” Eddie said, in the way he always did when he had a new plan of action, “How about… we blow this popsicle stand, grab some food and then.. maybe spend the night at yours.” He said, looking down at your hands as he spoke, the way he did when he was shy.

You smile and think about the advantages you have now that your best friend might just be your boyfriend, how well you know each other already. How easy this felt since you said the words that felt like wire bristles coming out of your throat.

“Spend the night?” You ask with a hand pressed to your chest. Eddie blushes as he meets your eye, not bothering to clarify the sentiment of spending the evening at your place like you’d done plenty of times before.

But never spending the night.

You bit your lip before letting it slip out of your teeth, “You wanna?” You ask quietly.

His eyes shift again, that darkness taking over again as his mischief fell and lust took hold of him. He nodded.

“And before our first date!” You say in a theatrical gasp that had him giggling and shaking his head before taking a drink.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to—“

“Who said that?” You scoff, taking a sip of the water you brought over with you as Eddie chuckled into his now free hands, shaking his head and groaning, “you’re unbelievable.”

“I bet it won’t be the last time you say that tonight.” You say daringly.

Eddie’s mouth drops open before he lurches off his stool to pay your tabs. As he stands in line his gaze keeps drifting back to you, knowing you’re watching him with a coy smile he’d never gotten to see before now. He figures now you must’ve been too nervous and it makes him chuckle as he looks you over again.

You notice this and shoot him a look, narrowed eyes and a suspicious smirk, only able to guess what he’s thinking about you.

Your eyes shift behind him to find the girl from earlier still sitting in the corner, her eyes on you with curiosity. You wonder if she saw your kiss, or how Eddie held your hands. Before you can think too much about it, Eddie’s obstructing your view as he approaches and holds out his hand for you, something else he hadn’t done before.

You take it gratefully and smile as you fix your purse. You step forward and feel his hand at your lower back, almost bringing you to your knees at first. You gathered yourself quickly and smiled when you saw his hand shoot out from behind you to grab the door, ushering you through into the warm night air.

His hand slips into yours and he pulls you closer to him. His smile is set on you and he wraps his arms around you, staring at you for just a minute.

“Thanks for my drink.” You smile, finding a hand on his chest and the other stroking the column of his neck.

He chuckles, “Of course. More than happy to cover my girl’s drinks.”

“Ooh, your girl.” You sing teasingly.

You feel him stroking your back at the edge of your shirt where a sliver of skin was exposed. “Yeah. Unless your mind has changed about me in the last five minutes—“

You’re quick to cut him off with a shake of your head and a “Mm-mm, nope!” That sends him smiling wider as he pulls you over to his car.

“You didn’t drive, did you?” He asks as you approach the Kia. You shake your head again and catch his smirk.

“You dirty dog.” He tsks and puts his hand against the passenger door you leaned against.

“What??” You ask through a giggle.

“You came here with a plan didn’t you!” He leaned in close, til his nose brushed yours and you could smell the alcohol on his breath. You thought he was going to kiss you before he pulled back and appraised you. “What—plan A I’m your ride, plan B, you Uber?” He asks.

You nod.

“I’d never let you get into an Uber.” He scoffs and opens the door for you, guiding your body around the door and into the car.

He watches you buckle up, and waits patiently til you look up at him in question, wondering if he asked something you didn’t hear.

“What?” You ask softly, trying not to melt at the way he looked at you.

He shakes his head gently, “Nothin,” he leans closer to you, “Just… glad I don’t have to pretend anymore. Feels nice.” He smiles again. You nod in agreement. “Plus I need a kiss from my girlfriend if she wants a ride home.” He pauses right in front of your lips waiting to you to close the rest of the distance.

“Is that how it’s gonna be, Munson?” You ask.

He nods, “Oh, yeah, I’m capitalizing on it. I’ll do anything for you if it means I get a kiss.” He looks down to your lips and back up again.

You smile and push your lips to his, with more fervor than you did in the bar, his lips warmer and wetter than before. Eddie practically drops to his knees to keep the kiss going, internally debating on climbing inside the car this way until—

“Excuse me? Excu—Excuse me!” A voice said from in front of the car. You’re the one to pull out of the kiss, Eddie following you before following your gaze and finding the girl from earlier, her friends behind her as she holds her keys in her hand, “Can I get into my car please?” She asks in uncomfortable calm.

Eddie stands up, “Oh, yeah, for sure!” He shuts your door and jogs around the front of the car without another look in her direction, scrambling inside the car and starting it just to turn to you and pull you in to continue your kiss.

You crack your eyes open to find the girl’s friends opening the back doors to her car and piling in, as she remained frozen to the spot, her mouth dropped as she watched how Eddie kissed you. You close your eyes and open your mouth just a bit more and feel Eddie’s tongue slide inside, and you hate that you hoped she saw it.

You moan into his mouth and let him explore before tangling your tongue with his. His taste was intoxicating, even after the beer. Kissing him in his car was a different feeling than kissing in the bar, this was more private—special even.

You’d spent a lot of time in the passenger seat of his car, smoking, telling secrets, singing together, crying after hard days, eating take out when neither of you feel like cooking, it was another one of the places that was special to you because it was somewhere you shared with Eddie. And now you got to share this in here too.

Eddie let out a savoring groan before parting his lips from yours. “Now that, was unbelievable.” You said as he smiled in the same goofy way he always did.

You giggle and look away as he turns up the music and put the car in reverse. “Bet it won’t be the last time you say that tonight.” He says before sticking his tongue out. You look over at him with a glimmer in your eye and a smirk that had him driving 15 over the speed limit and kissing your hand every few seconds, like he had waited for this just as long as you had.

And just in case you’re wondering—Eddie had you calling him unbelievable (and a few other things) by the end of the night.

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Pity Party

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: 'I'm going to do it,' you thought triumphantly. 'I'm going to invite Malleus Draconia to the next Unbirthday Party as my date.' And naturally, the Universe in all its infinite omnipotence, went 'lol bet.'

A/N: A very fun commission for the lovely @toast-tales

“Heartslaybul is having another one of their Unbirthday Parties this Friday,” you said, a bit stilted but enthusiastic nevertheless. “And I was thinking—well, it was just a thought! But! Maybe it’d be nice if we, y’know, went together?” You finished, looking up from beneath your lashes at the looming figure before you.

The Gargoyle, naturally, did not respond. A sound rejection if ever there was one.

But! That attempt had sounded really good, hadn’t it? Totally natural and everything! Not a single stutter, fainting episode, or bought of nervous vomiting to be seen!

“Okay,” you muttered, pacing back and forth as you diligently fought the urge to ring your hands. “Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. It’s just, like, two sentences—Three? Was that three?—Doesn’t matter! Focus! It’s not that hard!”

You circled and circled around the alcove. It was a familiar little corner, for all that you’d only ever seen it in the dark of the evening. This was where you’d meet up with Malleus for your nighttime rendezvous. Normally you didn’t bother popping by for at least another hour, but you needed all the practice you could get. And while, yes, the stone carvings overhead were hardly the best conversational partners, it was easier to practice your totally smooth pickup skills on their emotionless faces than, like, Grim. Or God forbid, Ace and Deuce.

It was only Malleus, you reassured yourself yet again—your kindly, awkward, fey friend with the social awareness of a two-centuries-old potato. It was one thing to know, or at least assume, that he’d be sweet enough to take your offer in stride. It was another entirely to imagine the Briar Prince’s blank ass face saying something genuinely well-intentioned but harsh like ‘that doesn’t sound like a particularly riveting way to spend my afternoon,’ and immediately crushing your soul into itty bitty bite-sized pieces. It was an all too easy scene to picture, as you’d done at least a hundred times since your heart had set itself on its intentions.

You just—maybe just a bit more time. Yes. One more round of practice (perhaps two), and then you’d be ready. Like the Overblots, or whatever. Those hardly phased you at all anymore! It only took repetitive, mind rending, exposure therapy. That would do it. You just needed the teeniest bit more time to—

“Ah—Child of Man. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so earl—”

You jolted back with a truly heinous squawk and wheeled gracelessly into the stone pillar at your rear. You weren’t exactly a force of nature or anything, but the column hadn’t looked all that stable to begin with. So your frantic flailing took its toll, and the great, rock, beam creaked and fell. The Gargoyle perched atop it (the very one you’d been propositioning for the past half hour or so) crashed to the ground with an echoing BOOM and a cloud of debris fit to choke an elephant.

The poor thing lay in the dirt in pieces, its regal countenance split right down the middle. And Malleus Draconia, noted aficionado of all things carved from stone, looked two steps away from having an actual aneurism. So you hurriedly buried your invitation back in the depths of your brain and quickly went about carrying out the inanimate-object-equivalent of CPR.

“I think I have some super glue back in Ramshackle,” you offered. Even though you knew well enough that he could probably wave his hand and undo the entire thing. But it was the thought that counted, right?

“Supered Glue?” Malleus parroted, his neon eyes darting back and forth between you and the shattered gargoyle like you’d just offered him some mystical panacea. You nodded along and scuttled off in the direction of your dilapidated dorm.

‘Tomorrow,’ you promised yourself, as you rifled through your miscellaneous utilities drawer, tossing around rolls of tape and wads of too-thin elastic bands. ‘Tomorrow I’ll ask him.’

The next morning, you sat in Potion’s Class with the tacky remnants of last night’s nonsense dried along your fingertips. You sneezed and something ground unpleasantly behind your ear. You reached up to pluck a stray bit of gravel from your hair and flicked it aside.

Normally you tried to give Crewel’s lectures the entirety of your focus, primarily because you respected the man and wanted him to like you. And also, y’know, from the very rational standpoint of not wanting to lose your eyebrows or dignity when an incorrectly brewed potion exploded in your face. But today you were stuck in the clouds, replaying scenario after scenario and wondering what your next step in the whole ‘Ask The Crowned Prince of An Entire Nation Out to Lunch’ situation should be.

Your neck was itching again, and you scrubbed around mindlessly before pulling out another bit of gargoyle debris and tossing it. It bounced harmlessly off Jack’s shoulder.

“Did you get all that?” Your beastman friend asked, beginning the tedious process of organizing your group workstation for the day.

“Oh? Yes. Of course,” you nodded, not having heard a single word of what was going on. You grabbed your little instructions pamphlet for the day and made your way towards your own stool.

Jack turned and narrowed his yellow eyes at you in a way that clearly let you know that that superhuman schnoz of his had sniffed out your bullshit a mile away, but you generally had a better track record than the rest of the first years, so thankfully he let it slide.

Without further ado, you went about heating, and mixing, and tempering. And by the end, the pair of you had a lovely, silver, concoction that popped and fizzled like cola. Professor Crewel paused in his rounds of the rows to stare into your cauldron with an impassive sort of look that could have meant anything from ‘Content’ to ‘Outright Murder.’ Your eyes hastily flickered around the room, but everyone else’s potions looked liked Mercury Sprite too, so you couldn’t have been in too much trouble. You dipped the testing spoon into one of the bubbliest bits and brought it to your mouth to take a teeny sip. It tasted alright, and you smacked your lips as you tried to identify the flavor.

“Well?” The professor droned, crossing his arms over his chest in a fashion that looked entirely unimpressed. “How is it?”

You opened your mouth to reply and nothing came out but static. Literal static. Like you were some overloaded, old, plug—spitting sparks and whiny, high-pitched, nonsense that was most definitely an indication of some sort of fire risk.

Crewel hummed in that self-satisfied sort of way of his—the sort that was only mastered by those who were in the habit of being proven right during every, single, catastrophe.

“The Tickled Tongue recipe is fairly straightforward, you see,” he explained, stepping closer with a languid swishswish of his large overcoat. “It’s difficult to alter without any remarkable change or err. However,” he droned, “it is incredibly similar to the Stone Tongued Elixir. Do you know what the one, unique, ingredient in that brew is in comparison to our assigned project today, Prefect?”

You sighed fuzz.

“Stone,” he said, reaching out to pluck another bit of gravel from your hair.

Crewel brushed his hands against his vest and you debated if it’d be worth it to try jumping out of the window and escape while you still had at least some face.

“I’ve been kind enough to look the other way when you break curfew so that you may continue your… nightly excursions with a certain upperclassman,” he droned, and that open window was looking even more tempting. “But please at least give me the courtesy of cleaning up the evidence before attending my class in the mornings, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to say, but it just sounded like a busted landline.

“Hello, Child of Man,” Malleus beamed, his lips curling pleasantly at the corners. His usual trio were flanking his hind, all watching with varying degrees of interest that ranged from sharp curiosity (Lilia) to outright hostility (Sebek). “Would you care to accompany me for lunch?”

You opened your mouth and all that came out was the fucking AOL dial tone.

Lilia doubled over laughing and Malleus tilted his head at you like a dog listening to a whistle tone.

“Pardon?” He blinked.

“BZZZZZZ,” you said, miserable, and Lilia just laughed harder.

‘Two days left,’ you reminded yourself miserably. You had just under forty-eight wretched hours to not only complete your initial Date Objective, but also somehow do that whole thing while making up for the ego-crushing failures of your first two failures.

There was a Spelldrive match after classes today—another attempt for Leona to try and get one up on Malleus’s ‘Hall of Fame Worthy’ record before the pair of them aged out of the competition. And maybe that would be perfect! That was always sort of a Thing in teen movies, right? The big, heart wrenching, confession delivered on the field of whatever sport was in season. The fated couple lit all prettily beneath the glaring overhead lights and artfully drenched in a very timely shower of rain. This whole situation was practically writing itself.

So you tucked yourself into a warm, cozy, sweater fit for the breezy day and inevitable aesthetic downpour, and went to sit out in the stands. Which was your first mistake, because the match was being held on Savanaclaw’s practice field. So immediately you could feel sweat pooling along your lower back and along your brow as the magical, overhead, sunshine did its best to seer the flesh right off your bones. Malleus moved to step out onto the field and you went to wave at him enthusiastically, only to catch sight of the giant pit stains steeped into your stupid sweater. The dark spots opened up like the gaping maw on a beast, determined to derive its entire sustenance from your embarrassment alone. You clamped your arms back down to your sides and immediately began questioning the universe at large. Were you a murderer in a past life? Someone who scammed old ladies out of their pensions? What other reason could there be for the entire fucking cosmos to just perpetually go ‘hey, how about we make things worse.’

The game was probably going well or something, but you were swimming in so much swampy body heat at this point that you were starting to get dizzy.

With a sigh, you pulled the cute, wool, deathtrap over your head and tossed it aside—ruffling your sweat sticky hair for good measure to try and get some airflow going. It wasn’t the most dignified look or whatever, sitting there in only the thin cotton undershirt of your uniform and half drowned in your own secretions, but at least you weren’t in imminent danger of dying of heat stroke anymore. You leaned back on your elbows with another much more contented sigh and gave yourself a moment to let the last of that hot nausea settle.

“Oi! You horned bastard! Watch where you’re—”

There was a swirl of spitting green sparks and you looked back out onto the field just in time to get absolutely decimated by a Spelldrive disc to the face.

“He really didn’t mean it,” Lilia said, but he was laughing so hard into his fist that it was hard to make out anything beyond merry gurgling. “In fact, he’s really very upset about the whole thing.”

You stared blankly at the off-white walls of the infirmary, wondering how it was possible for one person’s luck to be this bad.

“Where is he?” you asked. Your tongue felt thick and sluggish.

“I don’t think he would appreciate me saying that he was off hiding—pouting, even,” the fey tutted, floating up to sit cross-legged at your eyelevel. “But I don’t believe there’s a much more accurate way of putting it.”

“Why would he be hiding?” you trudged forward again, mouth still entirely uncooperative. “I wanted to ask him something,” you admitted, chronically dejected and acutely brain damaged.

“Did you now?” Lilia grinned, something mischievous and far too knowing lighting his wine-red eyes.

You nodded. You could feel the tug of the bandages around your forehead.

“Well, I’ll ask that you be patient with him,” he sighed fondly, reaching out to pat your cheek. “For all his years, our Prince is still a bit stunted.”

“Oh, please! He’s six and a half feet tall!” you complained.

Lilia laughed again, doubling over in the air and doing a full roll about—like a pill bug.

“Oh, dear,” he snickered, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened back out to lounge upside down by one of the rafters. “You do deserve each other.”

This was it. The final countdown. Friday.

The Unbirthday Party was this afternoon, and with God and the Heavens as your witness, you would be dragging Malleus Draconia there with you if it was the last thing you did.

‘The hardest part is supposed to be the rejection,’ you thought bitterly. ‘Not that crap leading up to it. This is bullshit. I want a refund.’

But no, if the Universe was going to be so cruel to you, then you were just going to have to be needlessly paranoid and prepared in advance. You set aside two spare sets of clothing and an umbrella. You packed an entire feast’s worth of provisions in case a fucking hole decided to open up in the ground or something and trap you in a cave for a week. You scribbled a little ‘Would you please go with me to the Unbirthday Party today’ on not one, or two, but three separate notes. Each in a different pocket. And laminated. And, perhaps most daring of all, you walked up to Ace and Deuce that morning with a stiff upper lip and an even stiffer spine.

“I’m going to ask Tsunotarou to come to the Unbirthday Party today,” you told them, fighting the urge to twist your hands into your jacket sleeves.

“What?” Ace choked, just as Deuce stepped in to clobber him over the back of the head and tell you very sweetly that he was sure that the House Warden would appreciate that very much.

“You must like him a lot,” your blue haired friend said, polite but clearly also at least a little unnerved.

“Yeah,” you sighed miserably, thinking of each and every horrible failure as the world at large fought your stupid affections at every turn. “I guess I do.”

So you went about your day like a soldier trudging through a warzone—always at the ready for something unknowable to fuck you over yet again. You looked twice around every corner, always let someone else walk through a doorway first, immediately spritzed Azul in the face with a spray bottle when he tried to start a conversation. It wasn’t paranoia when you knew the universe was out to get you.

The school day was coming to an end and so far you’d managed to avoid any catastrophes. When you caught sight Malleus off in the distance, you had to fight down the sudden swell of dueling panic and hope that blocked off your throat. You made eye contact with the fey prince from across the near empty corridor and he seemed to straighten. You took a deep breath and took one step forward, then another.

“Tsunotarou!” you called cheerfully. “I was wondering if you—”

“FIRE!” Crowley wailed, careening around the corner with all the urgency of someone who very much genuinely cared about the safety of their school and all its inhabitants. Which was outright ridiculous. His glowing, golden, eyes locked on you like you’d been the target of this caterwauling all along, and you wanted to scream. “Ah! My most darling and favorite of Prefects! You have to help! There’s a fire in—”

“No,” you snarled, like some great monster of old. And you watched the Headmaster pale beneath his bird mask. You reached out to pat his shoulder with a pleasantly threatening thump. thump. thump. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to sort it out on your own, sir. Have a lovely afternoon!”

And before you could chicken out, or something else could happen—like a tornado ripping the entire school up at its base and flinging you into Oz—you rushed forward and latched onto Malleus’s sleeve with a wide, panicked, sort of look in your eyes. Hisown eyes went round and wide, but he didn’t pull away, so step one complete.

“Please come to Heartslaybul’s Unbirthday Party with me!” You entreated. “As my date! With me! Together!” you word vomited, clutching at his sleeve even tighter.

“Oh,” Malleus breathed—those sharp, reptilian, pupils of his jumping into something soft and huge that swallowed the green of his irises in a sea of black. A pale, rose, pink crept along the tips of his pointed ears and you could feel your own cheeks blazing like a bonfire.

“Yup,” you nodded lamely, realizing you were still clutching his hand like a starving leper.

“Lilia had mentioned that you might…” he trailed off, gaze sliding to your fingers tangled beside his. “I hadn’t thought that—well…” He cleared his throat and stood to his full height with a puff that almost looked prideful. “Nevertheless,” he grinned, almost shy, and offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You were going to die. Keel over. That would be the cosmos’s final strike against you. But though your heart beat like a rapid drum in your chest, you didn’t actually collapse in cardiac arrest. Your blood felt warm, but not with fever. It was… You’d actually done it!

You fought the urge to squeal and instead ducked excitedly against Malleus’s side with a secret little fist bump. His arm wound snuggly through yours and you were still too high on the thrill of victory to even consider being embarrassed about it.

“It may surprise you to know,” he said as you walked together towards the Queen of Heart’s Dormitory. “That I actually was attempting to ask something similar of you for this past week as well.”

“Really?” you gaped.

He nodded. “But it seemed as though fate itself was conspiring against me. The first evening went poorly, and then the next day you’d been cursed into silence. And you even ended up injured during one of my attempts.”

“The Spelldrive disc?” you blinked.

“Unfortunately,” Malleus sighed, leading you towards the familiar rose gardens. Which were lovely as always, and perfectly well painted for the afternoon’s festivities, and—

And… also on fire.

“Well what do you know…” you mumbled as you watched a furious Riddle chase a screeching Ace through the flaming fields. Trey had his head in his hands. Cater was filming the whole thing with an artful smear of ash drawn across his cheek.

Malleus made a low rumble of discontentment and you immediately swung the pair of you around to start heading back towards the Mirror Chamber.

“Not to worry!” you beamed, pointedly jostling the full picnic lunch in your bag. Sure, it hadn’t ended up being a gaping hole that had dragged you straight into the bowels of the abyss, but hey. Hellfire was hellfire. “I came prepared.”

“So did I,” Malleus smirked, the points of his canines peaking out of his lower lip. He twisted his fingers and the pair of you were surrounded in puffs of floating, sparkling, green lights.

And despite the Universe technically, yet again, having come out on top and flipped you and your date the proverbial middle finger, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be too upset at all.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #My Writing #Commission #Pity Party

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cho-aaacho · 7 months

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(HC's) JJK men and their prom experiences with you.

Masterlist

Characters : Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, Nanami Kento, and Fushiguro Megumi.

Gojo Satoru

He wants to dazzle at the prom because, of course, he is Gojo Satoru.

Hiring a skilled tailor and designer to make a suit for him. Well, he's rich after all.

Inviting you to be his prom is easy for him. Of course, he makes sure no one asks you to go out with them.

Gojo realizes that he is not that good at dancing or waltzing, so his mom hires a dancer to learn how to waltz.

Spamming your inbox with an annoying message, "I can buy a nice dress for you, you know."

"Hey, Nanami. Don't bother asking her to the prom; she's already going with me." Nanami, baffled, responds with, "What the heck?"

As the days approach, Gojo can't contain his gentle smiles, imagining all those romantic scenes he envisions with you. He's a man, after all.

However, on prom night, his confidence melts away as he meets your gaze, with your arm wrapped around his neck and even your nose touching his.

He suddenly forgot the dance moves he had practiced. Everything gets overwhelming for him whenever your face is close... close... to his. He almost fainted.

"How did you transform into an angel like this? Darling, how do I say thank you to an angel?"

"Oh, God. I want to kiss you."

Geto Suguru

He makes sure that Gojo doesn't invite you. Because it would be a mess if he asked the same person as his best friend.

Honestly, Geto invites you to be his prom date at the library, with him whispering those words. "Would you mind if I asked you to go to prom night with me?"

You always walk with him after school and talk about the prom. He just wants to know anything that would make you happy.

Geto's mom enthusiastically supports the idea, and, harboring genuine affection for you, she's tailored a dress for you.

He expressing his thanks with remarks, "You know, I'm genuinely happy that you've agreed to be my prom date. Thank you."

He is surprisingly good at dancing, and it makes Gojo so jealous of him.

At the prom, he makes sure that your gaze only falls on his and his alone. He didn't want anyone to get you distracted.

So gentle... so warm... so romantic. You have never experienced something romantic like this with a guy.

"You know, I love everything about you—the way you immerse yourself in a book at the library or the way you call my name under your lips. Thank you for letting me into your life. I hope to meet again after graduation."

Nanami Kento

He was listening to your complaints about the dress because you couldn't find a good one. But Nanami is Nanami. He just smiles and remarks, "Honestly... you are pretty in everything. I don't mind it."

Though he's not a waltzing expert, he's putting in his best effort to make everything look beautiful. His goal is to see you smiling and the happiest woman ever.

Despite having his own preferences, he didn't leave a bad comment when you're choosing your dress. Nanami is still leaving a positive comment.

He boldly proclaims to everyone that you were his prom date; he makes it clear that he has already laid claim to you.

Throughout the prom, he never stops showering you with compliments, asserting your beauty, kindness, and the way your eyes fall on him.

"Your fingers are so comforting and warm, and I'm so lucky to have the privilege of touching them."

"I find it surreal to be sharing this prom with you. I always thought that you might choose Gojo-san over me. Thank you for your kindness."

"I hope this night never stops because I love everything about us. I love you."

Fushiguro Megumi

He wasn't eager to attend in the first place. He didn't care about it at all. However, everything changed when he learned that you didn't have a prom date.

Asking you out proved to be quite challenging for him, not because he's too shy to talk to you but because he fears Yuuji might mock him.

When you said "Yes," it was the first time you saw Megumi smile—a cute, very warm expression.

He hurriedly met Gojo and asked for help, although Gojo initially struggled to understand due to Megumi's poor explanation.

His barrage of questions makes Gojo dizzy, it seems like it was his first time asking a girl to prom.

He spoils you excessively, inquiring if you need a new dress, shoes, a necklace, or even something silly like new makeup. "Don't worry, Gojo-sensei pays for us."

He worried about being too boring for your prom date. Sometimes, he suggests that you pick another guy, as long as it's not Yuuji or Todo.

At the prom, he can't stop smiling. He always wants to be close to you. Close enough until you can smell his cologne.

"I know it might sound a bit silly and corny, but Gojo-sensei once told me that if you find yourself smiling four times with someone, it's a sign that you love them and genuinely enjoy their company. Perhaps... I'm starting to believe in that sentiment. You know what I mean?"

A/N : Hello, thanks for reading, and I hope you love this! Honestly, I'm not familiar with prom because we don't celebrate it in my country. I only learned about it from TV. So I'm sorry if I made a mistake.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #megumi x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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angelsdean · 4 months

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All these thoughts also prompted me to think abt what John and Mary's fights were often about, especially the fight where John leaves and Dean then comforts Mary. And I think a big part of it was Mary keeping secrets and sneaking around with regard to hunting.

We know she was still hunting in 1980, when she saves Asa Fox. Dean would've been a year old and the hunt is not local, it's up in Canada. Mary says she's been tracking this werewolf for a long time and that they have history. I do think when she says "a long time" she means years and that she hasn't actively been tracking it but it's been something on the back-burner that she's kept an eye on all these years. But that still means she left for a number of days at the very least, and I wonder what she told John. What excuse did she come up with to justify suddenly taking off when they have a baby at home. And no, I don't think she needed to be there as "the mom" to take care of Dean or that she can't spend time away from the home or that fathers are incapable of taking care of their children or anything like that. But I think John would certainly wonder what's taking her away from them so suddenly. What could possibly be so important. And with a hunt like this, I don't think she could've exactly given him a set time-frame for her return.

Now, imagine that happening multiple times. Imagine that happening again when Sam is just a few months old. She says she has to go visit her uncle who's poorly (father of the Campbell cousins. The uncle that paid for her headstone when she died). And then she's gone for longer than she anticipated. And John is just suspicious. And when she comes back they argue about it. "I know you're lying! Just tell me the truth, Mary! What, are you seeing someone else?" And Mary holding firm to her lies because her family cannot know about the supernatural and hunting. Because she doesn't want her kids growing up like she did. Because John is her suburban fairytale. He can't know. And then John snaps. He's pissed. He thinks she's cheating while he's working to provide for the family AND watching the kids in her absence. So he flings a "Is Sam even mine?" at her in his rage and she slaps him and tells him "Don't you dare" and then John storms out in a huff but then calls later to talk about it more and Mary shuts him down. "No, John. … We’re not having this conversation again... Think about what? … You’ve two boys at home. …"

I can imagine a version of this phone call going something like this:

John calls. Maybe apologizes for what he said, but mostly just wants her to be honest with him.

John: Please, Mary, can we just talk about this.

Mary: No, John.

John: I just want you to tell me the truth! What are you hiding? What's going on that you can't tell me?

Mary: We're not having this conversation again.

John: Oh okay, 'we're not having this conversation again.' Well then can you blame me for where my mind is going? What would you think, huh?

Mary: Think about what?

John: You know how it looks, Mary. And I just, I can't keep doing this--

Mary: You have two boys at home. (and ohh the delicious irony of that in the context of her being the one leaving to continue hunting in secret)

John, probably, since the convo seems to continue: Oh that is rich coming from you right now, Mary.

Anyways, this is only one of many many scenarios I can imagine of their fights. And it's perhaps a little too sympathetic to John, but! I enjoy thinking of John complexly, especially considering how Young John is presented in SPN, and also John in the opening scene of the Pilot seems like the easy-going family man, who definitely had underlying issues prior to Mary's death (thank you SPNWIN for confirming that) but clearly those issues got worse after Mary's death, and for the most part he wasn't yet the guy we see him become after he is transformed by grief and anger. Also s12 Mary's rose-tinted recollections of John being such a good father, which starkly contrast to Dean's later memories of John, I think it's not a huge leap to say John pre-Mary's death was a good father, and I think seeing Mary leave them (likely repeatedly) under secretive circumstances for days at a time would have bothered John back then and been a continuous point of contention in their marriage.

And again, this is all simply one angle of interpretation, theorizing, and headcanoning and by no means the only possible scenario.

#john and mary #john studies #mary studies #mymeta #vic.txt

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hyukascampfire · 3 months

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To: Someone From a Warm Climate

wc: 17.5k (whew…)

genre: smut, angst, fantasy violence

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

synopsis: a life lived as a human among the fae is one hard-earned. the folk are built of indescribable beauty, and of debauchery and mischief. for some, a life lived subservient to the folk is just fine; but to those who dream of something more, they would spend their lives clawing and biting to make it happen.

you, looking for a way to escape a life as a faerie’s human servant, put a new foot forward thinking that any life could be better than that. but, when your first assignment as a king’s spy is alongside a brooding, icy faerie man, you begin to wonder what your place in this foreign world really could be.

a/n: y'all. Y'ALL. I have so much in store for you. I was hunched over my desk writing this like a crazed scientist mixing their chemicals.

! warnings: violence (stabbing... twice..), a dead animal appears in a scene, fem reader, mentions of past family trauma, cunnilingus, overstimulation, unprotected sex

playlists: taehyun | yeonjun | series

prev | next

It’s more difficult than you had anticipated to keep your mouth shut about what had happened, but Taehyun stays quiet, so you do too. You make yourself useful, packing up with him, hoping to ease the palpable tension.

Insecurities whisper in your ears that the kiss was just… disappointing to him. It was your first kiss, anyway. The feel of his lips on yours is brutally seared into your mind. You hope your mouth harasses his mind as much as his does yours. You can’t let that fester for too long, though. You have a lot to do to become a useful spy. Your inadequacy is why you’re even here, traveling in silence next to Taehyun, heading north. You’re not sure why they decided to throw you to the wolves for your first assignment, but there has to be a reason. You can only throw yourself more fully into improving your skillset.

You decide on trying to cut the nagging tension with words. You’ve walked for hours with it looming in the air. But, it isn’t easy. You open your mouth to speak, closing it to rethink your words, and repeat a few times, before finally just saying, “What are we going to even be doing, when we reach the north?” You readjust your bag on your shoulders, its thick straps digging into the bone of your shoulder. The bag is heavier than it was yesterday. Everything is heavier today. Maybe it’s the realization that you’re progressing toward your dream, but it’s all hazier than you imagined it would be. Or, maybe, it’s the awful cold shoulder Taehyun is throwing at you.

“Do you know much about the Unseelie queen?” He asks.

You shake your head. You know that her kingdom is revered as the most fearsome in Faerie, and you know that they hold a special brew of distaste for humans. But, you do not know much more. Your school lessons had, for reasons you could infer, brushed over the ice kingdom only very briefly. The folk prefer that humans don’t see those sides of this world. Not for your peace of mind—but, because it keeps you complacent. It’s not like you don’t see it, anyway. You know the evils of this world well.

“You need to be careful when we get there. Things get rough for humans up there. You need to remember that you can’t trust the words that come from their mouths.”

How long until snow powders the ground? The scenery around you has already grown wintry—trees are sparse, and foliage is hardier. It all is so much more muted. Probably not too long.

“We’re going to be infiltrating The Queen’s Court. She’s always pledged allegiance to him, but The King wants eyes and ears in the north.”

The King thinks that she’s going behind his back? There’s more in this world that you are oblivious to than you imagined. You’ve been under the impression that the Northern Queen was starkly allegiant to The High King. It makes sense, though. There isn’t much incentive to keep humans in the know on faerie politics when you’re just here to be working bodies. “Does he have any reason to believe that?” you ask. It would be nice to have some more information.

Taehyun explains, “The Northern Court and High Court have had a history of tension. It’s why it became a tradition to send their children to intermingle with each other’s courts. However, the Queen hasn’t upheld that tradition for at least the past hundred years.” An extra chilly breeze licks at your cheeks, and you shiver. You are definitely making progress northward.

“So, he risks the lives of his heirs?” you ask, pursing your lips. If the northern court is supposed to be so vicious, you cannot imagine why The King would even consider it, especially if relations are supposed to be so strained.

“The Queen would not outright harm them. She values the power that his alliance gives her too much, and she would lose the war that would follow. She is the scheming type.” Taehyun tugs up the hood of his cloak to keep the wind from chapping his skin, and you do so with yours as well. “Which is why we’re going up there in the first place.”

You acknowledge his answer with a nod. The wind whips past you, and you have to fight it to keep your eyes open. You would appreciate the accompanying snowfall if it was not blowing wildly down on you and stinging your cheeks. With a flex of your fingers, you confirm that they’re still mobile, but they’re lethargic and locked up in the cold. A powdery layer of snow builds on the ground, and you curse it for the way it has your toes freezing through even your leather boots.

“Can,”—Your teeth chatter—“Can we get a fire going, or something?”

You catch a glimpse of his face under his hood as he turns to you. His nose and cheeks are rosy, but it seems that the cold affects him less than it does you. The snow is high enough now that you have to drag your feet through with each forward step. Is the rest of the way going to be like this? You might freeze to death, then.

“We’ve got a bit of time. Let’s get as far as we can, before stopping.”

You roll your eyes. Maybe he wants you to freeze to death, and then he could be freed from any trace of what had happened last night. You bring your hands to your mouth and let out warm puffs of air as if it would thaw out your poor hands and nose.

Your mouth struggles to even form words.“I would appreciate living to see tomorrow,” you say slowly. You still lace it with plenty of attitude.

Taehyun doesn’t respond.

❈

Taehyun curses as visibility wanes to only a few feet. All that lays in your path is whipping snow and haze.

Your boot catches on something beneath the snow, and you tumble. Frigid snow and ice shards greet you on the ground, biting your skin. Looking up, you find Taehyun gone. He has to be at least somewhere in the gray haze around you; it’s only been a few seconds. If you can’t find him, you’ll die here. That isn’t up for debate.

“Taehyun?” you shout, your voice muffled and carried away by the howling wind.

You stay where you are, but lift yourself from the ground. You can’t start wandering blindly, you’ll end up separating further from him.

He calls your name, but it’s distant.

“Here,” you say, “I’m over here!”

There are many ways that you do not want to die, but you especially do not want to die like this. Your throat tightens the longer he doesn’t respond.

“Taehyun?”

He appears through the veil of snow and haze. A cry erupts from your throat, your voice breaking with relief. He takes you by the arm and tugs you behind him wordlessly, searching for something.

“I thought I was dead,” you say to the air, but it mostly drowns you out.

“I know.” His voice is thick. “I did too.”

He finds whatever it is that he seems to be searching for, and you might cry as you recognize the rocky opening to be a cavemouth. You won’t be dying today, at least.

“I’m going to start a fire,” Taehyun announces only moments after you both duck under the low cavemouth and step into the refuge of the cave walls.

“You’ll get lost.” It’s true, but you also just cannot stand the idea of sitting in this cave alone for any extended amount of time. Your hand is barely visible in front of you, and it’s only getting darker as the blizzard grows thicker outside.

“I’ll be fine. You’re going to freeze to death without it,” he says, before he dips out, leaving you alone and shivering. He could’ve at least given you a second to protest.

You’re not usually too scared of the dark, but you do press your back to the wall, decorated with liverwort, and sit. Getting separated earlier nags at your mind. You have to remember that you aren’t safe. A line of work like this guarantees it. You could easily have become a body losing heat out in that flurry of wind and snow. You would’ve died before ever seeing the fruits of what you could make of yourself; would’ve died living an insignificant life. Some jaded part of you wonders what Taehyun might’ve felt if you had. Would he move on with this assignment without delay?

At least the wind is no longer circulating about the cave and producing the howl that has been haunting you. There are no such wintry winds to freeze up your extremities in here, but it’s still cold enough to have you shuddering and tucking your hands underneath your knees to ration your warmth.

Will you even be able to make it all the way to the Northern Court? You imagine telling Taehyun that you can’t handle it, or that you’re going back, and you imagine the look that would fall over his face. No. You’d become a statue of ice, frozen forever at a crossroads between a meaningless life and new beginnings, before that.

The cold beckons you to sleep, and the aching in your tired back and limbs say that sleep is a splendid idea, but you resist. You need to see him return so that you know that a fire will warm your aching bones to sleep. But you are so cold, and sleeping it away sounds so nice…

Your eyelids are heavy, and it’s harder to keep them open than it is to just let them fall. Your veins are sluggish with the cold.

When your head drops, you’re brought back to consciousness, but it’s so, so cold when you’re awake. It’s so cold that it burns. Even your lungs are slow and weary.

You are so cold that you can no longer shiver.

Something is muffled and shuffling beyond your shivering huddle, but you can’t rally the energy to worry about it. You hang suspended between dream and consciousness. You want both so badly.

Taehyun curses. “I need you to stay awake,” He says. You can only muster a nod for him. Your eyes protest as you hold them open, watching Taehyun hastily sparking up a fire. He strikes rocks against each other, growing more frustrated each time a spark doesn’t catch. When one does, the flame starts slowly on the snow-wetted wood. Your skin tingles under the warmth radiating from it. The roiling flame is intense, having been cold for so long.

You bask in the fire’s flickering light. Movement comes easier to your limbs as you defrost. Taehyun produces a few hardy roots and skins them with a dagger that glints in the low light, then sets them to roast over the flame.

“How did you find those?” you say. It was hard to even walk out there, and you’re sure it had gotten worse while he was out. How would he even find them under the snowpiles, unless he knew where to look?

He gives you a long look, as if considering something. “Just got lucky digging through the snow while I was looking for the wood.”

That explanation doesn’t make sense; finding three subsurface roots underneath thick snow is different from finding hunks of wood protruding from it. It might be the truth, but you decide to ask, “Under the snow?”

Fire crackling is the only sound to fill the silent moment as he doesn’t answer. Well, if you weren't already iffy, you are now. He watches the flames prance around for a charged moment, the reflection of it shimmering in his dark eyes.

“I’m from the north,” he finally says. You frown. Why hadn’t he just said that in the first place?

“Is that why your ears aren’t pointed?” you ask, sitting up a bit. He pulls the roots, lightly toasted, off the fire.

His gaze rips away from the flame, landing on you. His eyes are a little too intense for such a simple question. “No,” he says. His behavior tickles a curious part of you; if you’re going to be on this assignment together for so many weeks, then it’s best to get to know each other. You also have been intensely curious about his ears from the moment you noticed their curvature. It’s odd to see fundamentally human features on a faerie.

You don’t mean to be overly invasive, though, and you feel bad for prodding so much as his face hardens. You hadn’t thought too much about why it might be a sensitive subject for him; you just wanted to satisfy your curiosity. You’re seconds from telling him that you like his ears, but he speaks before you can.

“My mother was human,” he says, his eyes trained on the cave floor in front of him. He’s half human? That’s why he’s so averse to mentioning his ears—he’s embarrassed by his human mother. You stew over that. If he dislikes his mother for her humanity, it explains how he has acted concerning you. You pity him, though. It would be difficult to belong anywhere with that specific mix of blood: humanity fears him, and Faerie does not treat half-blooded faeries as truly its own.

“She hid herself away when she found she was pregnant, and gave birth to me where she thought she would be safest. She knew what my father would do. He found her eventually. He killed her because she was dirt on his name. He couldn’t kill me, though.” Your stomach does a sickened flip. You know that, by faerie honor, he would have to raise Taehyun.

“I’m so sorry, Taehyun,” you say. He just presses his lips thin and hands you a roasted root to eat.

“I hated him for it more each day, so one day I took a blade to my ears and made sure I never resembled him again. At least, in that way.” Your heart lurches. The thought of him carving off the points of his ears to spite his dad… He had maimed himself, and you’ve been poking and prodding him about it. You wince.

You want to apologize again, but you have a feeling that he doesn’t want any more apologies, and you don’t know him well enough to comfort him in any meaningful way. Instead of saying something that you’re sure will ring hollow, you say, “The faerie that stole me from my parents was a seamstress. She wanted a human girl to work her shop for her, without having to pay wages like she would for a faerie. It was taxing work, even when I was this tall,”—you denote the height of a child six or seven years old with your hand—“Maybe she just didn’t know what it means to raise a human child, but she wasn’t the best replacement for parents. She knew that I needed to be fed at least regularly, and provided everything I needed for hygiene, but she didn’t know that I needed a mother. She gave me an education, and I know that humans here don’t usually get that. I’m grateful for it—I really, really am, but it’s just… The fact that it was more for her own benefit than out of the goodness of her heart…”

Taehyun listens, his eyes reflecting the oranges and yellows of the fire. You know that you’re rambling. “Sorry. What I’m trying to say is… I guess…” You hope the yellow glow of the flames is enough to disguise your embarrassment, and also that he doesn’t think you’re trying to upstage him. You just feel wretched for putting him in a position where he had to surrender such dark memories to you.

He doesn’t say anything, taking a root from the fire for himself and biting into it.

You bite into the fat, tuber-like root too, appreciating its nutty flavor, and you embrace the silence that grips the cave. Only the garbling of the fire speaks, but it is a comfortable quiet.

❈

The snowstorm must’ve died down while you slept, because the snow isn’t too much higher when you and Taehyun set back out the next day. It’s a bit of a drag to fight the mountains of snow it left with each step, but you don’t complain.

Sunlight shimmers off ice crystals and sends droplets down from snow-dusted branches and to your cheeks. Every breath into your lungs is crisp, but you have bundled yourself in the thermal clothing from the bag Taehyun had packed for you, so you’re mostly comfortable. At least your fingers and toes are mobile now.

Taehyun says that you have less than a day until you’re there. You repeat that like a mantra in your head as your feet ache with the strain of traveling so far by foot. He hasn’t said much else since, though, and you wonder if it has anything to do with last night’s topics of choice. His shoulders are as tense as his demeanor.

It’s getting boring walking for hours on end, and Taehyun isn’t the most talkative. The most you get for entertainment is your thoughts and watching the scenery change. So, you decide to put this time to use. You apply the silent walking technique that he had taught you despite how awfully your feet ache. It’s harder in the snow, but you’re better off knowing how to do it even in extraneous circumstances. You don’t know all that you’ll be facing in the north. Sliding your sword off your back, you realize how much it had been dragging your back down. No wonder your spine aches…. You practice swings and jabs, still sloppy with inexperience.

Taehyun hears you, and says over his shoulder, “Don’t push yourself today. You were close to freezing to death last night, just recharge your energy.”

Was it so bad? You know you had gotten pretty cold, but you feel fine now. “I was just exhausted, not freezing. We walked forever yesterday.”

You continue trying to get used to the weight of a sword in your hands.

Trees start coming fewer and farther between, and though the snow on the ground grows lower, it is crusted over in an icy layer that you have to break through with each step. Everything is sharper and more icy, less fluffy and light. Icicles drip from trees so sharp they could substitute for a weapon. You put away your sword; the ground is slick, and you’ll fall if you don’t think your steps through. You’ve got to be in the Northern Kingdom, now.

You walk like this for a while longer, only sparse trees and shrubbery, until an estate standing tall on the snowy flat peeks through the midday haze. An ancient and gnarled blackthorn tree sits proud on the estate’s grounds. Its spiny branches, bare of any fruit or leaf, twist among themselves. They remind you of impish claws.

Taehyun is heading straight for the estate.

“Are we about to meet somebody?” you ask, closing the distance between you with a little jog.

He shakes his head. “It’s my father’s residence.”

You stop, and he makes it a few steps ahead of you before he realizes. “We’re meeting your father?” you say. The thought turns your mouth to cotton. He had killed Taehyun’s human mother. Faerie hospitality doesn’t seem to mean much to him, and you don’t think he’ll like you much.

Taehyun’s brow creases. “What? No,” he says, looking back at the estate. “He’s been dead for a while.”

You reign in the relief that you feel, but that tidbit of information renders you curious again. Faeries don’t die of old age. How had he died? Is Taehyun pleased that he’s gone?

“Oh,” you say, not pushing it. You learned that lesson yesterday. “Good, ‘cause I’m not in any shape to be meeting anybody right now.” You drag your fingers through your knotty and tousled hair to make a statement. It’s wet in some places, where snowflakes found their way to your head and melted there. You’re sure it looks even worse than it feels. “Are we staying here, then?” You could use someplace to make yourself look less like you’ve just traveled three straight days, and it’s relatively optimistic that the sizable estate ahead of you has what you might need.

Taehyun hums in confirmation.

You approach the heavy ironwood front doors, and you gape at the wood interior and high ceilings. Nut-hatch’s humble cottage was more than the roaming life the wilder fae prefer, but it pales next to this. Charcoal-black banners hang down from the mezzanine and are embroidered with silver into a family crest that resembles the blackthorn tree that sits on the grounds outside.

“Who, exactly, was your father?” you ask, running fingers along the top of the dusty dining table that sits center of the estate. The sight of the empty chairs that encircle it is almost mournful.

Taehyun doesn’t answer, and when you look for him to see why, he is planted to the floor. A muscle feathers in his jaw as takes in the estate.

“He was general of The Queen’s guard. And, I guess, also a lord in her court.” There’s icy distance in his voice.

This is absolutely the estate of an esteemed general and lord if you’ve ever seen one.

“Anywhere for me to clean up?” you ask. You don’t want to intrude on whatever he’s dealing with returning here.

He nods, pointing up to the mezzanine floor where the walls are lined with doors. “There should be some stuff left over. You can use whatever you find.”

You follow him as he leads to a room. As you draw yourself a bath with water warmed over a fire stove, you cannot help but wonder what awful memories this place might hold for him in its ornate, wooden walls.

❉

Waking up in the warm sheets of a plush bed was a soothing balm for your aching joints and bones. Your hair is fresh and perfumed with the soaps and powdery-scented oils left over in the bathing room. You delighted in brushing out the tangles. The estate is full of pleasures that only the gentry could find mundane; you, on the other hand, are only left scheming how you might make this life your own.

You don’t see much of Taehyun all day, until he pokes into the bedroom you’re staying in and informs you that you’re attending Court tonight, and though you’ve known for a while now, a thick ball of nerves coils up in your stomach.

You unstring your travel bag, worrying that you’ll have to wear what you arrived here in, but Taehyun had packed accordingly. You tug out a mute dress, beige in color, and embroidered in the bodice and skirt of it with bronze threads. The short, puffed sleeves are pretty. There isn’t much to decorate yourself with, no pretty pins or silk shoes in the dressing tables or wardrobes, so you just wear your hair as it is and lace up your traveling boots for footwear. You find yourself in the mirror to be prettier than you’ve ever looked. Any dresses you’ve had access to in your life have been largely unspecial, and they marked you as a human servant. Even nakedness, in the land of Faerie, is more ornate than those kinds of dresses.

You hold the skirts of your dress up and above your feet so that it does not tread on wet snow and dirt as you and Taehyun leave the estate for Court. The knots in your stomach don’t let up any. You know you’ll stick out as a human, that’s a given, but you are deeply terrified you’re going to make a fool out of yourself by forgoing some unspoken faerie revel rule. You can’t compromise your assignment. Does Taehyun know you’ve never partied alongside the fae? Humans often attend faerie revels in the High King’s court, but are they even allowed to do so here?

Taehyun is dressed lavishly, clad in black from head to foot, and he wears a sleeved doublet encrusted with shimmering black beads and threads that glitter in the moon’s light. He wears the black fur pelt of some beast around the collar of his neck. He resembles entirely the son of a general. You feel plain, next to him.

“What do I do when we get there?” you ask, stepping around a puddle encased in a thin layer of cracked ice.

“The King wants to know if anything is going on, so you need to just listen. Look around a little, talk to people you think are interesting, and go from there.”

Sounds simple enough.

A thick forest surrounds the snowy flat that Taehyun’s estate sits on, and as you approach it, Taehyun says, “When we’re there, you can’t dance, no matter how badly you’ll want to.”

“I won’t.” You reassure him, but you’ll just run on the hope that Taehyun sticks near you. Faerie celebration is untamed, and if a human happens to dance among them, they will not be able to regain control over themselves until a faerie takes pity and pulls them out. That isn’t usually the case, though. The folk delight in seeing humans lose themselves to the abundance of faerie delights.

Taehyun accepts your answer, but he stops at one of the many wax-leaved holly trees and plucks a few jewel-red berries from their branches. Holly berries are faerie wards, and humans often carry a handful of them in their pockets to protect themselves from simple faerie glamours.

“I don’t have anywhere to keep them,” you say, taking the berries he drops into your hands. You feel around your dress to reaffirm that it doesn’t have any hidden pockets or pouches. None.

He produces a needle and some twine thread, offering it to you.

“What?” you say, a little lost. Obviously, he wants you to do something with it, because the berry’s juices would burn him, but you’re not exactly sure what.

“String the berries on it, and then I’ll show you.”

You purse your lips and do so as you continue on your way to the revel. Some squish as you do, but you tug them down the thread anyway. The thread seems long enough to wear as a necklace.

When you’re done stringing the berries, you look up to find that you’ve arrived. You admire how The Queen’s hall of revelries is not even a true hall, and is instead formed with tree trunks for walls and their branches for ceilings. Off-kilter faerie music twists and turns and floats alive in the air; the lilting flutes urge your limbs to move. Maybe it’ll be more difficult to stay off the dancing floor than you had initially anticipated.

Taking the strung berries from your hands, Taehyun gives you a look that you yet again cannot decipher before walking around you. He takes the top section of your hair into his hands.

“What are you doing?” you say.

He sections the hair into two and spins the pieces before pinning them in place. He continues fiddling with it for a bit, tugging something around and in between the hair, and then steps away. You feel your hair. He had pinned the hair into a half-updo with an ornamental hair comb and braided the berry string through it as a ward that doubles as a pretty hairstyle. It’s a fairly intricate hairstyle.

“How’d you learn to do hair?” you ask, spinning to face him.

He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s intuitive.”

You laugh a nose-crinkling laugh for the first time in a while and take him by the elbow to drag him toward the reverie ahead of you.

❉

You stand eating fruity delicacies and glazed meats off banquet tables, to curb your anxieties. There is plenty to enjoy—throngs of faeries dancing like nobody's watching to the rich song of the fiddle, long tables surrounded by chatting folk and rendered full with the plumpest of fruits and blocks of various cheeses. You had worried that you would stick out as a human attending Court in the north, but you have quickly realized that most are more worried about sinking in the debauchery than ogling you. There are so many conversations to listen to, but you don’t have the slightest clue which to even begin with. The Queen does not make an appearance today, but you don’t know if she ever even does.

You stand here, though, because Taehyun suggested it was best you split off and try to cover the most you can. You’ve been trying your best to strain your ear, but it all blurs into Court jargon to you. You inspect each of your snacks for the poisons Taehyun had taught you. It’s not like anybody cared enough to poison you, but Faerie courts are fickle.

A tap on your shoulders has you turning around to face the most beautiful faerie man you have ever seen. His brown eyes twinkle under the chandeliers hanging from branches overhead as he regards you, as do the plethora of crystals sewn into his extravagant white get-up. You gulp down the last of the cheese block in your hand.

He smiles, the corners of his lips turned up in a cheeky tilt. “Are the snacks any good?” he says.

It feels a bit odd that he’d be worrying what a human thinks of the food, but you reply anyway, “The cheese is fantastic.”

He laughs, having just watched you gulp down the last bit of it. His honeyed laugh compels laughter from you, too. And, so quickly that you don’t notice it, the rest of the revelry fades around you.

“Do you want to dance?” he says, gesturing over at the whirling sea of faeries. He holds himself with grace, down to his posture.

Your lips tug down into a disappointed frown. There are quite a few things you’re better off not doing here, but that is what you should do the least. “I don’t think I should.”

His eyes flicker with understanding, but his smile doesn’t falter any. “I’ll pull you out if it becomes too much,” he says. “I promise you that.” He presses a pristine hand over his chest, right at his heart, in testament to his sincerity.

Well, his words are plain enough to know that he isn’t lying. But you’re not here to dance; you’re here to perform your duties.

He can tell that you’re not convinced as he studies your face. “We can always stay here and enjoy these,”—he pops a cube of cheese in his mouth, so his next words are muffled—“No problem.”

His quickness to compromise is unfamiliar to you.“Let’s have some cheese.” You try to emulate his smile with your mouth, but you’re sure it looks better on him because he throws his head back and laughs.

The more you study his features, the more you realize how reminiscent of a fox they are. “Can I ask your name, pretty?” he says. The sugary-sweet words taste good in your mouth, and they rot your inhibitions. You shouldn’t be sitting here twirling your hair. Where is Taehyun under this canopy of branches? You wonder if he’s catching any useful stuff. Guilt digs its claws at your skin.

You flounder and try to catch your name as it seems to slip away from your mind and into the air. You’re not always this ditzy, it’s just that his sharp eyes and mouth confuse you. You tell him your name.

“Are all human names as pretty as yours?” he says. He thinks your name is beautiful? Human names are unspirited and prone to repetition, not singular like a faerie name.

You’re not sure how to respond, so you deflect. “What’s your’s?”

His black hair slides over his eyes as he tilts his head, eyes alight. He wears so much on his face. You’re wary, though. Maybe he is cunning like the fox, maybe his face tells you a different story than his mind. You worry again why he is sitting here making conversation with you.

“Yeonjun,” he says, and you try to remember when he had gotten so close.

“Well, Yeonjun,” you say, trying his name in your mouth. “I’m not the most interesting, so if you’re looking for entertainment, I don’t think you’ll find too much here.”

His eyes roam your face for a few heartbeats. ��I think you’re plenty interesting. Maybe the most interesting lady this court has had the pleasure of keeping.” His use of the word lady, addressing you, feels good in a bittersweet way. You’re a far cry from a lady, but the sound of it settles deep in your bones and warms you.

The way he sees your burning cheeks, and seems to delight in it, should alarm you. You know his words are saccharine. But, his attention is delicious. You find yourself hoping he’ll stay here and keep you company until the night is over.

“Okay, now I know you’ve got to be up to something,” you say.

He grins and, stepping back, says, “I’m going to go get something for you. Don’t move.” He slips through the gaps of chatting revelers before you can tell him that you won’t move; that you’ll be right here all night because you should be. Taehyun trusts that you’re doing your job. You sigh a breath, trying to force down the guilt that gnaws hungrily at you again.

You make an effort to tune your ears into the conversations around you. There was so much you could’ve missed in the time you spent talking to Yeonjun.

As you do, pair of frilly and silk-draped faerie girls, one with skin like white snow and crystalline wings at her back, and the other with hair inlaid with glittering strands of gold, approach the banquet table arm-in-arm. You hate the way their eyes land on you, and then on your awful dress. You hate the look they share, and the way one hoots at something the other says. Your skin burns with how you become something to laugh at.

You don’t notice Yeonjun’s return until he steps in front of you, his hands full with a bounty of bonbons and indulgences from various tables throughout the hall.

“I want you to try these,” he says. You shoot him a skeptical eye, raising a brow, to which he scoffs and says, “I just wanna know what you think. They’re my favorites.”

You take a sweetmeat and place it in your mouth. Your brows shoot up at its full, mallow flavor.

“You have a sweet tooth?” you ask, chomping on another.

“You could say that,” he says. The flip of his words and the facetious raise of his brows make you feel that he isn’t just talking about confectionaries. You squirm a bit under his heavy gaze.

You continue taste-testing the sweets he brought, but your mind keeps cruelly spinning the jeering of those faerie girls. You scorn your inadequacies; your inability to be a worthy spy, and your inability to ever fit in. It would be easier to act as one with the court and to coax out meaningful secrets if you look at least like you belong. However, Yeonjun seems like the only place you have to start.

“You meant what you said about pulling me out if it becomes too much?” you say.

Yeonjun doesn’t look at all taken aback by your words. He must’ve seen the way your eyes flickered over to the rambunctious dancefloor. “Of course. I won’t let you lose yourself, and nobody will touch a hair on your head.”

“Let’s dance,” you say, and giddiness blooms wide in your chest. Is dancing among the faeries as enchanting as it's said to be?

Here’s to finding out.

Yeonjun brings you to the dance floor, and he smiles down at you as you begin moving. Your limbs are heavy with hesitance. His hands find your waist, and the touch soaks up the stiffness right from you. Suddenly, you are alive in ways that you hadn’t known you could be before. Your boots slide over the packed earth, and he guides you to a rhythm that you can feel thrumming in your bloodstream. Yeonjun’s eyes are on your face. You can feel the other dancers all around you, and you brush up against some here and there, but you don’t mind much. You feel the music in your heartbeat. His fingertips dig divots into your skin, and it’s the only thing you can really feel.

He leans in over your shoulder. “I heard what they said. Do you want dresses? I can give you dresses more beautiful than those girls could dream of wearing.”

It takes the words a bit to cut through the fog in your head, but you narrow your eyes at him. “Is this one really so bad?”

He squeezes his eyes shut in a laugh, as if that were ridiculous, and then opens them to look you in your eyes. “Pretty, you’d look delightful even in your bare skin.” He tugs your bodies impossibly closer, melding them together into one spinning thing. “But, if what they said hurt you, I will give you whatever it is you ask for.”

Even in your hazy state, you know that doesn’t sound right. But, you don’t ask why he would bother with that, you only lose yourself further into his eyes. They devour you.

The music grows faster, and faster, and faster, coiling itself up and around your legs, willing them to dance for you. Yeonjun’s hands grab here and smoothe over there, exploring. Mapping.

“Do you love it?” he asks.

“Yes,” you breathe. Your head is swimming, crashing through the throes of waves, and the undercurrent of panic only thrills you into dancing more.

His eyes rove over you in a languid pass, before he kisses you like your lips are the sweet delicacies he so loves. You are as lost in his lips as you are the spirit of the dancefloor. His hot tongue explores and licks at your lips. The world swirls behind your eyes even as they are squeezed shut, but you welcome the dizzying nature of it. Your heart jumps from its cage in your chest as he brushes a hand along your collarbone, sliding it up the side of your neck, and then places it at the back of your head, pushing you further into his kiss. A vignette blurs your vision, lungs burning for air, but you can’t find it in you to care.

You’re abruptly pulled from the messy tangle of galavanting bodies. Like if someone were to just halt the Earth’s spinning on its axis, your body reels. Your mind comes back to you, but it’s scattered, and your heart pounds like drumbeat in your head.

Someone speaks. It’s Yeonjun’s voice. He situates you in between two of the pillar trees that make the walls of the hall, and you drag in the night air. It’s so fresh it burns your lungs a bit to breathe.

“I feel like shit,” you say. Your heart is still running amok in your chest.

He snorts. “Yeah, I bet. I’m sorry I didn’t notice that you were slipping earlier.”

You’re unsure how long you two danced, but the sky is breaking into day, so it had to have been for way longer than you remember. You groan. Taehyun has to be looking for you. Or, perhaps he left without you.

“Something wrong?” he asks, watching you recover.

“No, no, I’m fine,” you say. “Thank you for that. I’ve never done anything like it.”

His eyes crinkle. He really, really, is beautiful, down to the points of his ears. “You don’t need to thank me. Seeing you enjoy yourself like that was a sight for sore eyes.”

You laugh a little, looking out at the way the sun crests over the horizon from your little hiding spot. The breeze does wonders in brushing up on your blazing skin and placating it. The thrill still lingering in you makes you wonder if you could claim such a life for yourself.

The sound of Taehyun’s voice saying your name rips out that seedling of hope, and stomps it down into the ground. It was a useless hope, anyway. As he approaches you, Yeonjun nods his head in greeting. Taehyun’s face is drawn, but he bows low at the waist. It’s quite a formal greeting.

“It’s time to go,” Taehyun says, addressing you. His eyes are searching yours like he’s trying to find some answer in them. It seems he doesn’t find what he’s looking for.

A crooked smile tugs at Yeonjun’s lips. “Is she under your care?” he asks. It’s a less direct way of asking: does she belong to you?

Taehyun’s face morphs into something hard, but his words remain cordial. “Yes, she is.” You know he says it because it’s the best way to explain why a human would be attending Court, but for some reason, you had expected Taehyun to answer that a little differently.

Taehyun gives you a meaningful look and tilts his head to the side in a silent way to say let’s go. You curtsy a farewell to Yeonjun, letting a soft smile onto your lips before you depart with Taehyun. Yeonjun doesn’t say anything at all, but you feel his eyes following you.

You walk without words until you clear the hall and reach the forest, where the thicket can muffle your sensitive words and keep them just for you. “Did you find anything?” he says. His attention stays ahead, and his jaw is a bit strained. Here it comes; he saw you wasting time.

“Nobody around me was talking about anything other than gossip until I ran into him. His name is—”

“I know who he is.” Taehyun snaps. “Please, enlighten me. What did you learn of him?”

His words feel a bit like he’s spinning you a web. A trap. You don’t even have anything to offer him, because you hadn’t learned anything about Yeonjun.

“You made a promise to me. You promised you wouldn’t dance at all, and I find you dancing with The King’s son.” The world trembles underneath you at his words. You were flirting with a prince all night. You kissed a prince.

The dam of guilt and embarrassment and shame that has been filling you throughout the night crumbles and washes over you. “I didn’t mean to waste time, Taehyun. He just seemed like the most interesting person to talk to. I thought that maybe I could hear something interesting from him.” Your legs protest as you lift them to step over a tall bush. Dancing had exhausted you down to your marrow. “A prince seems like a pretty good place to find information, though.”

“Does kissing him entail hearing something interesting from him?” His words are spat, and when he looks at you, his eyes hold distaste. So he saw that, too.

You sigh. “I didn’t mean for that to happen, either.”

“You didn’t mean for it to happen,” he echoes, scoffing the words. “You are nowhere near serious about this. Why are you even here? Well, let me tell you this; you did not come here to suck the faces of pretty princes. This life is not yours.”

His words are everything you don’t want to hear, and they antagonize the anger in your chest where shame had previously sat. “It’s a little hard to do what you’re asking of me when you send me in looking like this,” you say, gesturing down at your get-up.

“This is about a dress?” Taehyun says. “You don’t need all that. They’re just putting on a show.” He doesn’t say them, but he dances delicately around the words: You’re human.

You get up in front of him so that he has no choice but to look at you. “You know that I’m going in there at a disadvantage! You know that I can’t just blend in, and it’s so much harder when I look like this.” You point your finger at him accusatorily. “And, did you even get anything? You’re sitting here, picking me apart, but really, what did you do?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Oh, that’s rich,” you say, tone mocking.

“The difference,”—he says his words slow—“Is that I didn’t use the night to enjoy myself in snacks and courting ladies.”

“That’s because you spent your night watching me,” you snap. If he was even trying to pick up information, he wouldn’t have had his eyes on you the whole time. “You just wanted to catch something to give me shit about. Can you not see any value in following this thread? If Yeonjun is the king’s son, and he’s taken interest in me, imagine what I can catch hanging around him.” The estate appears on the snow flat as you two clear the forest. The sun hangs well in the sky, now. Ugly hurt twists in your chest. Yeah, you could’ve been more alert, but you can easily turn whatever you’ve got going on into something.

Taehyun shakes his head at you. “I want you to remember this one thing, if you’re going to remember anything I tell you at all. The folk will never fail to make you into a spectacle. Your duties lie in The King, and only that.”

You walk the rest of the way to the estate, and then split off to your rooms, in an awful silence that sits itchy under your skin. It’s always silence, with Taehyun.

❈

Taehyun’s accusatory voice wakes you up from a hard slumber. You don’t have time to even blink out the sleep from your eyes as he roars, and you listen.

“You had him send you dresses?” There is a scorching flame blazing in his eyes, and they blister you.

“Huh?”

His face is pulled into a sneer. “You had the prince send you dresses because you decided you wanted pretty things? What are you doing?” He holds a silvery, glittering gown in one arm.

His words remind you of what Yeonjun had said to you last night, and you curse. How would he even know where to send them?

“I didn’t ask him to do anything,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m telling you that I didn’t, and I mean it! I didn’t ask him to send me dresses.” You slink out of the mess of a bed, the wood flooring cold under your feet.

“So a royal errand runner shows up at the door, with a pile of dresses directly addressed to you, and I’m supposed to believe that it’s random?”

“Why don’t you just believe me?” you ask, and the words sound pathetic even to you as they leave your mouth. “We’re supposed to be partners. You’re supposed to believe me.”

Rage dissolves from his face, but his features don’t soften. No, instead, they harden into stone. You almost wish they would twist back into fury. You can work with anger. But, whatever this thing that he does is, it leaves you unable to crack through his hardened exterior.

“Take your shit,” he growls, tossing the dress in his arm at you, and then spinning around without care of where it lands.

“I don’t want this, send it back to him,” you say. You go to throw the dress back at him, but his words stop you.

“I already sent them back.”

You watch him storm out. That means that the dress in your hands is not from Yeonjun; it is from Taehyun.

❉

You hold up the gown in front of you. Looking at the sheer material of it, embellished with beads and crystals that remind you of snowflakes in the sky, feels bitter. It only reminds you of the nasty terms you and Taehyun are on.

You haven’t seen him once today, and you assume you’re going to be heading to Court alone, too. All you can feel is resentment.

You go about getting ready with a ten-pound weight in your mind, and Taehyun is as absent as you had imagined he’d be when you leave the estate for Court. The walk feels a bit longer this time. Though you didn’t talk much last night, the presence of Taehyun just being there was enough to ground your nerves.

All is the same as last night in the hall. The tittering of folk and the lovely aroma of burning incense spices the air, and the music is just as inviting. You find that secluded spot Yeonjun had taken you last night when he pulled you out of the crowd and lean into the tree. Tonight, you’re going to just watch which faeries interact. The more you know about who associates with who, the more you’ll be able to dissect your priorities.

Your eyes fall over the throngs, and a majority you remember from last night, but some are new. These folk all have to be important in some capacity; they wouldn’t have a place in Court otherwise. If you look hard enough, maybe you can find who is the most important. It doesn’t help, though, that you’re not familiar with important figures in the Northern Court. Taehyun forgets that he was born into this Court, and you are a foreign human girl. You may be better off playing into your ability to lie; maybe you should spin up a good falsity and ask around with it.

You’re halfway to the crowd with the intent to poke around when Yeonjun steps into your line of vision. His wry smile is inviting, but you can’t do this again.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says. “But, I don’t recognize that dress.” He looks you over.

“You didn’t tell me who you were, last night,” you say, crossing your arms.

Yeonjun’s suave falters. “Ah. He told you. Did he also not like me sending you those dresses? You sent them back.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Please, I don’t appreciate being toyed with.”

His lips tug into the first frown you’ve seen worn on his ethereal face. “You wound me. I don’t just send gifts like that to anybody. I’m not toying with you. Not even a little bit.”

You’re not sure what to make of his words. He seems like the type that, even when his lips can not form the shape of lies, he would hide them in between the gaps of truths. But you do see sincerity shining in his eyes.

“I didn’t even get to see the dresses,” you say, relenting to the conversation. If he insists on making your company, you’ll entertain him. You wouldn’t dare shoo a prince away, anyway, and his words are a soothing balm to every thought that tugs at your mind.

“Did he give you this one?” he asks, looking down at the glittering thing.

You hum, nodding your head. You wonder if Taehyun has made it here tonight, or if he is even here at all. You’re going to put all your eggs in this basket. If it leads you nowhere, you’ll deal with that when you get there. You don’t know where else to start.

“They’re all yours, whenever you decide you want them. Just come and ask me, sweet thing. I’ll even send you more if you want.”

His words shoot a thrill through you, for whatever reason. It’s hard for you to imagine a life where those kinds of things can be given away so easily.

“Do you want to dance tonight?” He says. His fingers are warm against your skin as he takes your upper arm into his hand. Each time he rubs his thumb over the skin there, it makes you shiver more than it soothes you. You don’t remember much of the time you had spent dancing last night, but you do remember his kiss.

You really can’t do that. You need to do something that keeps you present so that you can pick up on stuff.

You tilt your head to one side and offer, “How about you show me around? I wanna see your hiding places. I know you’ve got some.” You smile a heart-felt smile; running around the hall and discovering the nooks and crannies Yeonjun hides away in actually sounds like fun. It’ll familiarize you with the layout of Court, as well.

Yeonjun agrees, his face lighting up. He brings you around to alcoves and hollows that you wouldn’t imagine even existed unless he was showing you. Leave it to a faerie to find little places to hide.

“How often do you come to the north?” you say. Taehyun had said that The King sends his heirs here for foreign relations. It must be why he’s here.

Yeonjun pauses his touring. “Most of the year. My father prefers me here, so he sends me out often.” You’re a bit taken aback by how generous he is with the information. You had expected to sly-foot it from him.

The King sounds like a paranoid, centuries-old man. Maybe you and Taehyun will find something in your time here that proves his fears right, though. It’s just as probable that tensions run deeper than you think.

“Why doesn’t he have The Queen send one of her children to his domain if it’s for diplomacy? It’s a bit strange that she swears fealty to him, but he’s the one sending his heirs out.” Also, why does he have you and Taehyun here, undercover, when his son is here already?

Yeonjun shushes you with a finger over his lips, and it reminds you that you can’t just say all that comes to your mind here. He doesn’t seem to take any offense, though.

“The Queen doesn’t send her children out as emissaries.” His words take on a rueful, bitter note. The look plastered on his face says what his words don’t: The King does, though.

Yeonjun is good company, and you don’t notice how night bleeds into day.

“I should probably go now,” you say. Your dress itches and your feet ache in a way that calls for the lush bed waiting for you back at the estate. The revelry is still very much alive and kicking, and the crowds haven’t even begun thinning, but they’re so drunk on pinot wines and faerie spirits that you doubt they even feel the toll the night is taking on their bodies.

He nods. “Let me walk you home?” He offers you an arm, his smile so very sweet. You would like nothing more than to have someone to accompany you on the trek home. The walk here had been dreadful in your loneliness.

You pretend to think about it for a minute, a teasing smile playing at your lips, before you say, “Why not?”

He swipes a baked good topped with sweet fig from a platter for the journey, and begins heading for an exit between trees.

“But!” you say, and he halts. Your eyes scan the crowd.

“What is it?” he asks, rejoining you.

“I need to find Taehyun.”

He offers you the delicacy in his hand. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I need to tell him if I’m going to be leaving.”

Yeonjun scoffs at that. He takes you by the arm and points out Taehyun in the crowd. He appears to be in conversation with a spindly, feather-skinned hob. “He’s right there. But, you’re not going to be doing all that. It’s not right that you have to report your every move to him. C’mon.” You know that he’s only saying it because he thinks that you’re Taehyun’s human servant, or something, but his words are simultaneously gratifying for your current woes.

Your laughs bounce off the darkwood trees as you walk shoulder-to-shoulder. Yeonjun has a way to him that makes you feel like you’re really living. Maybe you can let this hope fester. Maybe Yeonjun is genuinely courting you. And, you foolishly let yourself think, maybe you don’t need to be a spy to make something of yourself.

When you make it to the door of the estate, Yeonjun is behind you, peppering warm kisses up and down your neck. You pry yourself from him to open the door, and you stumble in. You then stagger up the stairs and to your room. Yeonjun doesn’t make it any easier, roaming his hands everywhere they shouldn’t be.

Yeonjun clicks the door shut behind himself, and your stomach drops seeing the unabated hunger written into his face as he turns and looks at you.

You fizzle under his gaze. “Thanks for walking me,” you say. “That walk is scary alone.”

“Turn around for me, pretty,” he says, his voice glazed with honey and sugary syrup. You do, heart thundering in your chest. Something in the deep pit of your mind feels guilt, but you don’t pay it enough mind to sort it out, you just suck in a breath and hold it as Yeonjun steps so close behind you that you can feel his breaths on your neck, and he starts working at the laces of your dress. He doesn’t lean forward and press any more kisses to your neck like you wish he would; he just undoes the ribbon, until the dress loosens on your body, and you have to hold it onto yourself. Should you drop it? Does he want you to drop it? Is he just toying with you?

A puff of air on your neck makes you shiver as he laughs softly, his face hovering over your shoulder. You wish you could see his face right now.

“You’re so tense,” he says into your ear. He takes the top of the dress into his own hands, sliding them under yours. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you breathe. Your heart is thrumming in your chest and your neck so hard that you hear it in your ears, and maybe even he can, too. He rubs a thumb over the skin where the dress starts to slip.

“Tell me you want it.”

You suck in a breath. “I want it.”

He begins letting the dress down, and you let him. Chills rise on your skin, both at the cold that meets your skin as it is freed to the air, and at the kisses and scrapes of his teeth at your now exposed shoulder. “Yeah? You want me to make you feel good?” he says, and you can hear the tease in it. His words douse you in flame.

“Yes, Yeonjun, please,” you say, and it sounds pathetic to your ears. He makes it so hard to sound like the confident spy that you’ve been trying so hard to convince yourself that you are.

The dress droops lower and lower on you, releasing your skin in tantalizingly slow increments. He’s in no rush. He just continues to pamper your skin with his tongue, nipping your ear here and nibbling at your shoulder blade there. Your mind unravels a bit more with each.

The fabric finally pools at your ankles, and the both of you sit in an electrically charged moment.

“Turn around. Let me see you.”

When your eyes meet his, your breath catches at the way he takes you in, but mostly at the way his eyes come back up and fix on yours with such depth that you feel it in the way your heartbeat skips. You resist every urge to cover yourself, ignoring the tensing of your muscles that tell you that you should run and hide yourself away. You can’t believe that such a beautiful creature is devouring you with his eyes like this; like he wants you, like it doesn’t matter one bit to him that you are so much less than him. And maybe it should. He’s a prince. A prince of the king that you are supposed to be serving right now.

He guides you by an arm around your waist to the bed, and then stands at the foot of it, looking down on you with hazy eyes. Your stomach flips, and your knees and thighs are pressed together. He drags his bottom lip into his teeth.

“Open your legs, baby. I want to see how much you need me.” He reaches down, patting at your knee.

You hesitate, but slowly pry your knees apart, letting him see the mess that had been brewing there. The cold air immediately brushes at the wetness, and it makes you feel impossibly more exposed.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging out the word like a hiss. The raw, ravenous look in his eyes reaches deep into an unwanted part of you, that had for so long believed that you’re not worthy of anything like this. You know that you’re still not worthy of it, but you’ll happily bask in its warmth while you have it. “So wet,” he growls, eyeing your center without ceremony, as if those aren’t the most lewd words you’ve heard spoken aloud. “Pretty, you’re dripping all over your bedspread, and I haven’t even really touched you yet. Makes me wonder if you’ve ever even been touched before.”

Your cheeks flame the more he stands over the foot of the bed, lazily drinking you in. You haven’t. You had your first kiss in the woods somewhere a few days ago. Flashes of those memories plague you for a second, of bark on your skin and Taehyun’s hand in your hair, and that guilt that you can’t seem to place tugs at you again. You need to forget about it; Taehyun doesn’t seem too caught up on it, so why should you be? Where is Taehyun right now?

“Has he touched you? Did you let him put his hands on your skin,”—he brushes a whisper of a touch on your inner thigh, so close to your center, yet not actually paying any attention to it—“like this?” The rush that shoots up your spine is lethal. He draws such intense feelings from you with the simplest of touches in a way that borders on scary.

Oh, yeah. Yeonjun still thinks that you’re Taehyun’s human servant, or something. You decide to just lean into it. “Why would he?” you ask.

“Because I saw the way he looked at me yesterday,” he says, and the plush of the bed dips as he settles his knees into it. He hovers over you, notched between your thighs. You knew the truth behind that look, though. Taehyun was livid at you, at how you had shirked your duties and danced all night. You don’t know how to convey that to Yeonjun, though. Any explanation would just lead to more questions you couldn’t answer.

He plants a line of kisses up the length of your inner thigh, just where his hand had ghosted, and you wiggle your hips in anticipation as if it would move him any faster to where you need him most. It doesn’t, he only continues to antagonize your skin with his tongue and lips.

“Please,” you breathe. Yeonjun’s lazy eyes flick up to yours from his place between your legs, and the sight makes the blood in your veins sing.

“You want my mouth?” he says, sitting back up onto his knees and running a smooth hand from the wet patch of skin on your thigh up and over your hip bone, and then the softness of your stomach, and then he brushes a thumb over your breast. You struggle to breathe a bit as he does, and it’s exponentially harder to as his words ricochet in your ears, cutting through the fog of your mind.

“Yes,” you say. You can’t muster anything else. A satisfied, lopsided smile plays at his lips, and he lets his thumb over your nipple, rolling it.

“Do you realize how badly you’ve got me?” he muses. His gaze leaves your chest, opting for your eyes as he says it. “I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted. I’ll do anything, if you ask it of me.” The alarm bells ringing in your ears sound more like music than warning. It should sound like too much; you’d met him yesterday. He’s a faerie, you’re a human. His words are cloying; he’s lying. He’s lying.

But, he can’t lie.

He settles his head down, a breath’s-width from providing you with relief from the burning that he so cruelly kindled there. “Here? You want my mouth here?” The words puff onto you. You can feel your ears reddening; he seems to enjoy seeing you debased. It’s like he wants to be the source of your ruination.

“Yes, right there,” you say, toes curling in anticipation. He hums, taking the back of your thighs into his hands and pressing them up. It leaves you even more exposed to him. When the first contact of his mouth to your cunt comes, it’s with a barely there roll of your clit with his tongue, but it spreads like alcohol through your system. You mewl as he holds eye contact as if entranced with the way you react to him, and swirls his tongue around it. Your hands find perch in his hair.

He is wholly overwhelming you: his hands dig divots into your thighs to hold you open for him to eat, his eyes make sure you’re watching as he does, the sound he makes into your cunt. You don’t know what else to do, other than squirm on the sheets and chant nonsensical words. The more his mouth consumes you, the more it consumes your thoughts, until you are tunnel-visioned, only able to feel his touches. He runs his tongue down, and you gasp as it prods at your entrance, but he brings it back up, and then suckles at your clit some more.

“More,” you say.

He detaches from you for only a moment, just to ask, “More what?”—he pushes your thighs further up, molding them to your body—“More this?” He pushes his tongue into you, and then out.

“Mhm!” you cry, digging your hands into his hair harder. He makes a low hum of satisfaction, slurping you up, lazed, as if you were a sweet sugarplum liqueur. A tense knot settles in your belly, sending your legs jittery even as he presses them, and your toes curling in the air. Your hips roll up and into the bed wildly, chasing that knot. “Yeonjun—”

Yeonjun knows what your cries mean, pulling from your hole, if only to suction his lips around your clit. It halts every thought and word in your mind, and the knot tightens so intensely with it that it snaps. You seize up in his hands and then explode in shakes and desperate whimpers. Your body rages, but your mind is suspended somewhere in the sky, removed from you. Yeonjun lavishes you through it, despite the way his tongue bumping into your sensitive spots has you jumping. His mouth follows your hips everywhere they go as you writhe to escape it; he isn’t letting you float down, he keeps your body on that high and builds on it. Your breaths come panted and whimpered.

“Slow—slow down, ‘jun,” you say, pushing at his head. When he pulls off of you, the sight of you all over his mouth draws a moan from you. His tongue swipes at his lips.

“You’re divine,” he purrs. “Did that feel good, sweet thing? Do you want more?” You lay, catching your breath, trying to let the waves of aftershock dissipate so that you can articulate yourself. You feel it still thrumming in the hollows of your bones. He skirts his thumb oh-so-lightly around your throbbing clit, and it’s no help in your efforts.

You nod. “I want to make you feel good, too.” You can’t fathom letting him please you like this without returning the favor. It would be so nice to see him fall apart, too.

“Yeah?” He drinks in your state. He stops circling his thumb to press it to your bud. You let out a surprised sound, your muscles coming back to life to jolt. He acts as though he’s thinking it over, but you can see the teasing lilt on his face. “Say my name again, pretty. It sounds loveliest on your tongue.”

“Yeonjun,” you indulge him. A content sparkle in his eyes tells you that he’s gonna give you what you want. He lets your thighs down, instead resting his weight on either side of your head, leaning down to capture your lips in a sultry kiss. He tugs your bottom lip into his mouth. The scrape of his teeth is dizzying. He’s freeing himself with one hand when he pulls back, and your spine tickles with anticipation until you see the look on his face.

Is he suddenly disgusted with you? You can feel the color drain from your skin as you ask, voice thin, “What?” He climbs off of you, and you could throw up. “What is it?”

“I think your friend is here,” he says, adjusting his clothes. Oh. Your mind wars between relief and terror knowing that, if Yeonjun knows Taehyun is here, Taehyun knows Yeonjun is here. Damn their superior hearing.

You curse. “Go,” you urge, slipping out of bed with sticky thighs and stumbling to the wardrobe to source a shift dress to slip into. Yeonjun thumbs your chin, tugging your face to him, and presses a parting kiss into your lips. It lingers on your lips as he lets out a soft laugh, shoving open the window and disappearing through it. You roll your eyes, finding the image of him clambering down the tree to escape quite humorous.

You clean up and settle into the bed. Is whatever you have going with Yeonjun sustainable? Echoes of Taehyun’s voice, vicious and tart, tell you that you should get it together; that you should nip this in the bud, and focus your energies elsewhere. You want so badly to make the little girl, snatched from her home, proud. You want to fulfill her dreams. But, you can’t shake yourself from whatever hold Yeonjun is securing over you. He so casually promises to give you everything you ever ask for; would you be stupid to ignore it? Is it naive to imagine that a man would say his words and mean it? A faerie, no less?

You sink further as sleep calls you. If Taehyun knows that Yeonjun was here, or what you had done with him, he doesn’t show up to chew you out for it. You wish he would.

❉

The next few days blur into hours of Court spent around Yeonjun and his courtly friends. You try to glean as much information as you can from it, but really, it’s mostly nothing of any importance. You begin to think that Taehyun is right; that you shouldn’t be sticking your nose into the business of a prince. If Yeonjun were to ever find out your reasons for even attending Court… Your stomach does a sickened flip. He might hate you for lying, maybe even begin thinking that you have been using him.

You really do like Yeonjun, though. It’s not just that he’s an interesting thread to follow; he treats you like you’re no different from him. Your bruised and beaten heart clings to him, hoping he’ll soothe over all the years you spent insignificant and unloved. If anything ever comes of all of your stolen nights and kisses, he’d have to know eventually. It can’t be shoved down forever, though you truly wish it could.

You sit at the ornamental vanity in your room, combing through your hair, when Taehyun makes an appearance at the door. You haven’t had even one conversation with him following the morning Yeonjun had those dresses sent to you.

“We’re not going to Court today,” he says, his arms crossed over his chest. His face is steely.

“Oh?” You place the boar bristle brush down. “What are we doing, then?”

He studies the room you’ve been staying in. It looks an awful lot like he’s searching for something. His eyes linger on the bed. “I think I got something last night. We’re going check it out. You’re gonna need your weapons.”

He’s gone from the room with that. The conversation was terse and majorly discourteous, but it’s the most you’ve seen of him in multiple days. You’ll take it. Maybe you’ll even have time to plead your case today, or some way to show him that you’ve been practicing your fighting stances and memorizing poisons on the days sleep doesn’t find you as easy.

You’ve armed yourself to the teeth by the time you meet Taehyun at the bottom of the stairs. He’s armed much lighter than you.

“Did I overdo it?” you say, slicing yourself some cheese to eat on bread.

He adjusts the blade sheathed at his hip, shaking his head. “That’s just fine.”

You frown and bite into your breakfast. What kind of information could he have gotten yesterday? The need for weapons worries you.

You like to think that you’ve adjusted to the chill of the north by now, but as you break through an untrodden forest with brambles catching your legs in each step, it does nip at your skin. You’re still only human, after all, no matter how hard you pretend yourself to be a faerie lady in the Court. You’re still only a spy, you’re reminded, as the two of you come across a mound of packed dirt sitting atop the snowy ground. It’s marked as an entrance only by a hole that looks hand-dug. You’ve lived long enough in Faerie to know that it’s more than just any old dirt hill or foxhole. The folk dwell in odd places like these.

“When we get in there, I need you to pretend that you’re a human servant. Can you do that for me?” he says. You’re unsettled, but you nod.

You head for the entrance first. It’s just big enough for you to slip a leg into, duck under, and wiggle in. The entrance opens up, and you’re sent sliding down a chute of twigs and dirt. It takes every bit of your willpower to not make a ruckus of shouts and gasps in your descent. When your feet meet the ground you stumble to steady yourself, you know you look a mess. Taehyun makes a much more graceful descent, and you explain away any mortification with the notion that Taehyun had been anticipating it.

A throaty voice hoots almost immediately, “So, great Lord Taehyun thinks to show his face at this honkey tonk?”

So, this is that kind of place, then. The reek of ale and wilder spirits tells you enough. What does he think he’ll learn from a place like this? Clearly, he’s known in this place, too. You’re always left with more questions about Taehyun than answers.

Taehyun doesn’t pay the barkeep any mind. “Fetch me a drink,” he says, before leaving you as he cuts through the measly crowd of revelers drowning in their merriments. You narrow your eyes and brew with distaste at his words, but you know he needs you to play the part of demure servant. You don’t know exactly why, but you can do it for him; you’d lived the role your whole life.

You scurry off, shoulders curled in, to the barkeeping hob that stands pouring foamy goblets of honey mead from barrel taps. He eyes you. “Pity you, girl,” he says. “That one’s a real brute.”

You infer that his words are about Taehyun. Really, you should just grab a drink and go, but curiosity compels you. The faerie laughs at the questions brimming in your eyes.

“A real, stone-cold killer,” he drawls, twisting open a different barrel. You resist the eye-roll tugging at your eyes. He’s just looking to entertain himself off of your human fright. You feign hesitance in your limbs when you accept the goblet full for Taehyun. He goes to fill another, from a third barrel. “The House of Blackthorn are all such a frightful bunch. The late Lord even more so, but he sowed a good seed of wicked into his son, regardless.” The worry you let your features into is real this time. There’s so little you know about Taehyun; this is the first you’ve ever heard of him that isn’t directly from his mouth. Should you be scared of Taehyun? Ice runs in his veins, sure, but you can scarcely imagine him as a brutal Lord.

“One mead for the Lord, and one sugar-sweet liqueur for the lady,” the hob says, handing the drinks to you. You offer him a meek, “Thank you.”

He shoots you an unsavory, toothy grin. “Welcome to The Hovel.”

You find Taehyun in conversation with a sweet-faced faerie boy who strums at a lute. Their conversation tapers off as you approach. You hand Taehyun’s drink off to him.

“You’re sure of it?” Taehyun says to the boy.

“Yup. Just last night,” the boy says. His waved mop of blonde hair moves as he nods. You see the cogs of Taehyun’s mind turning behind his eyes as the exchange comes to a close. So, the information he was following from last night came to fruition, then. You kick yourself for your lack of any real results.

“Who was that?” you ask, voice hushed. You tilt your head at the faerie as he rejoins the other musicians, and the stream of lute song intermingles with the other instruments once again. You pretend to sip from the drink the hob had given you for free, tipping it into the dirt when you think nobody is looking. You know it’s bad manners, especially in Faerie, but you have bigger fish to fry. Taehyun hadn’t paid that boy for that info, nor had he paid the tavernkeep for his drink. You recall the hob’s words of warning. They fear him.

He shakes his head. “Let’s get out of here, first.”

When fresh air meets your lungs, you realize how stale and muggy the air inside the little burrow is. You pull yourself out through the exit, following Taehyun. The two of you begin your battle against the wild forest again.

“So…?” you say.

It’s getting colder as night arrives. His breath puffs from his mouth, furling like smoke into the air as he says, “Apparently, there were some lackeys there last night asking around about me and a human girl in cahoots with The Prince.”

Your mind launches into a frenzy. Do they know that you’re spies? How would they even know? It’s not like the two of you have even done anything to garner any suspicion. Whoever has had their eyes on you and Taehyun has also noticed that you’re running around with Yeonjun. Is Yeonjun in danger? You gnaw at your cheeks. This person had to have been hovering around you two for days and days—not once had either of you noticed.

“Did you find out who it could’ve been?”

He shakes his head solemnly. You can tell he’s unseaming and picking apart every moment leading up to this one—you are, too. Nothing sticks out.

You freeze in your tracks. A pretty magpie sits dead on the forest ground, its blood decorating the snow in patches. No arrow pierces it, nor is it caught in any sort of trap. It lays with its little legs in the air. The imagery is unnerving.

“Poor thing,” you say, crouching down by it.

Taehyun pays you and the bird no mind, but you feel that something is off when he turns to you with his limbs and shoulders stiff. “What?” you ask.

His eyes survey the forest around you. He must be hearing something that you can’t. The hair on your skin prickles. Are you being watched? Taehyun narrows his eyes, looking over the surrounding forest for a few long moments, before continuing on his way, and so you decide that you should too, despite the feeling buzzing at the back of your neck.

Somebody comes crashing out of the foliage, securing your arms to your side before you can process that they’ve got you. They hold the point of a dagger to your chest.

Metal hisses as Taehyun frees the blade from his hip, but he doesn’t make any advancements. Your heart beats under the point of the weapon, chasing breaths as fear paralyzes your chest.

“A little birdie told me,”—your captor says from behind you—“that I’d find you two here.”

“Let go of her,” Taehyun says. He stands with so much restraint in his limbs.

A patronizing laugh hurts your eardrum with its proximity. He sounds like a cawing crow. “No, I don’t think I will, Lord.” He spits the title out like it is bitter in his mouth, letting the blade dig the littlest bit into your skin. You don’t even feel it with the way adrenaline buzzes in your gut, leaving your limbs shaky.

Taehyun can’t move, so you begin wiggling your fingers for your dagger. Fear chokes you.

“You won’t miss this one, right?” the man says. He uses the metal to point up at your face, before replacing it over your heart. You’ve almost made it to your thigh, and still, he hasn’t taken notice. “I’ll just get this over with, and then we can talk about this more comfortably.” You may throw up.

You bunch up the hem of your dress with the littlest of movements to free your thigh and slide out the dagger hidden there.

“Who told you where to find us?” asks Taehyun. Your palm is sweaty around the metal of the dagger, and you readjust your grip a few times, trying to muster the courage to swing it up.

“I told you already,”—the man readjusts his hold on you—“a little birdie.” There’s a sneer to his words. He points the tip of the dagger up to your chin, ghosting it down the column of your throat. Repressed whimpers of terror bubble to the surface.

“Shut up,” he spits.

Taehyun challenges him. “Do it, then.” Blood roars in your ears.

“You think I won’t?” your snatcher says.

“Do it,” Taehyun repeats, and you almost let your life flash before your eyes until you see that Taehyun is not looking at the man as he speaks; he’s looking at you. He’s telling you to do it. You tighten your grip on the dagger, before driving it behind you. It makes contact, and the faerie man bellows. You use his shock to free yourself.

You had driven the blade deep into the man’s shoulder. He thrashes, ruby-red blood inking his fingers as he holds the wound.

“Bitch!” he howls. “You’re fucking dead, anyway.”

What does that mean?

Taehyun plunges his sword through the faerie before you even notice he had approached, or ask the man what, exactly, he means. He drops to the floor, mouth filling with blood. You can see it when he opens his mouth to scream and is only able to burble. His own blood chokes him. Your fingertips feel numb, and so does your face.

Taehyun turns to you. “You did good.”

You did good? You don’t feel good.

You nod. “Thanks.”

Now, on the forest floor of white snow, lies both a dead faerie man and a dead magpie. You feel the sensation of his skin breaking under your dagger reverberating in your hands, twisting in your mind. His blood paints the ground a nauseating shade of death-red.

“Are you okay?” Taehyun asks, eyeing you.

“Yeah,” you say. “Yeah, I am.”

❉

You and Taehyun attend court the next day skittish. Taehyun delegates you a new role, now; make as big of a scene with Yeonjun as you possibly can. The goal is to throw attention to that, rather than to Taehyun as he continues snooping around.

It’s not hard to make a spectacle of you and Yeonjun when everybody is already noticing. He doesn’t hide the way he showers you with luxuries, nor does he want to. You can’t help but wonder why he’s making such a show out of it. At some point, his father will hear of him courting a human. Word flies fast in Faerie. You can’t imagine The King would be pleased.

A hand curls around your hip, and you know it’s Yeonjun’s.

“You weren’t here yesterday,” he says.

You frown. “No need to state the obvious.”

He laughs and thumbs your cheek, and you swear the butterflies that flutter in your stomach are nearly painful. “I missed you,” he says. His eyes glitter with the words. “Did you go somewhere with him?” he asks. You don’t miss the way the word him curls in his mouth, much like how a person of the court would speak of something more unfavorable in a sickly-sweet way, to keep up a mask of indifference.

“We just ran some errands.” You shrug it off. It isn’t the truth, but it also isn’t so far removed from it that you feel uncomfortable about lying to him. Lately, the guilt lays more heavily over you. With each dress and bejeweled trinket Yeonjun sends your way, the more you want to get this big lie out of the way. You should’ve done it before Taehyun set you out to do this; at least then, you could face him and not feel so deceitful. Is there a way to tell him that still conveys that you aren’t using him?

Yeonjun’s eyes flicker to your mouth, and back up to your eyes so quickly you could’ve missed it with a blink. “I see,” he muses. “I could take you under my care, you know. He wouldn’t have a say in any of it.”

Your expression sours a bit, and you know it’s not the reaction Yeonjun had expected if the look on his face says anything.

“I don’t want to just become a playtoy,” you say.

He looks taken aback. “You wouldn’t be a playtoy,” he says. “Ever.” He searches your eyes for something. “Why would you even think that?”

Because you’re a prince, you think. Because I’m a human. Because that’s all we are to your kind.

“Then why don’t we just stay as we are?” you say. There would be no real reason to even go through with such a thing—not when nothing would come of it. Princes of Faerie don’t marry humans. You’d become a mistress, and that’s being optimistic.

“Taehyun is not a good man,” Yeonjun says. His voice is stripped of its usual playful inflection. Why does everybody seem to keep telling you that? “I would feel better knowing that you’re safe.”

Safe? He thinks Taehyun would hurt you? “I’m okay, Yeonjun,” you say, if only to placate him. He doesn’t look convinced at all. “He treats me well,” you laugh. You meet his hand on your cheek with your own, curling it around his. While he doesn’t know the truth of everything, or why you stay with Taehyun in the first place, it stitches some old wounds inside you seeing that he cares for you.

His jaw tightens. “My offer will still stand if you ever decide otherwise.”

He brushes his thumb at the plush of your bottom lip. Your mind goes fuzzy. When he presses it fully to your lips, you suck his thumb into your mouth, tasting the imprint of his fingerprint with rolls of your tongue around it. He looks as though he could moan standing there watching you, so you make a point of not losing contact with his eyes. You feel multiple burning stares on you, but you shove them out.

He watches your tongue and his gaze comes alive with hunger, tugging your lower lip down before taking your chin into a hold and molding his lips to yours. His kiss conveys every thought plaguing his mind in its raw nature.

Their eyes are on you; so many eyes are. You know they look, but for the first time, you don’t falter under the weight. He tastes like broken shackles and weightless limbs. He tastes like salvation.

He roams his hands dangerously. When your mouths part, despite your shortage of oxygen, you say, “I’m sure you had many courtly ladies to entertain in my absence.” Your head buzzes.

You’ve never seen Yeonjun so much as interact with another woman, but you still worry that he doesn’t only have eyes for you.

His face turns sly again. “They’re honestly all quite dull.”

Maybe, one day, you’ll join those ranks. You remind yourself that you won’t be here forever—that this moment in time is finite. Hopefully, you won’t be here long enough to see that happen. You’re not sure your self-worth could handle that hit.

“Are you really so superficial?” you ask. You stay playful in your tone, peeling from him to waltz toward an entree table. He follows. The way he trails you like a puppy on a leash does a bit to bloat your ego, despite your worries. “What’s so special about me?” It’s cheap, you know, but you crave his praise. You’ve found yourself thriving off of Yeonjun’s sweet words like oxygen. The question had been plaguing your mind since he had first spoken to you, anyway.

He looks as if he can’t articulate what he’s thinking. Or, maybe, he’s just concocting some words that’ll sound nice to your ears. “This life has become tiring. It drains you, and I am surrounded by it. Endlessly.” He pops a treat off a platter into his mouth. “You’re like a breath of spring air to my lungs.”

You’re his distraction. He saw a human and decided it would be the biggest spectacle he could find to distract from his princely woes. You draw back. What do the faeries in this court think of you? Do they snicker when you turn your back? Do they laugh to see you think that you’re more than just entertainment to him? Does he join them?

“What’s wrong?” Yeonjun asks, seeing the way you retract into yourself. “What is it?”

You have to keep this act up; the well-being of your mission relies on it. You should’ve never gotten your feelings so entangled.

“Because I’m human?”

A frown etches into his porcelain face. “No. Maybe at first, but…”—he releases a measured breath—“No.” Selfishly, you’re thankful that his kind can’t lie.

You and Yeonjun find the dancefloor, more packed with cavorting faeries each day, and you accept the distraction from your dreary thoughts. The wild nature of it strips you of such things, leaving you bare to just your happier feelings. It leaves you just as breathless as the first time had. You kick and whirl and flail your limbs freely.

When Yeonjun inevitably tugs you from your trance and out of the throng of folk, you’re dazed. Exhausted. Your hands itch to be all over him.

“Breathe,” he reminds you, smoothing over the wild tousle that your hair had become. You focus on steadying your erratic breaths. “You’re a wild one,” he says, a pleased grin on his lips. The flush on his cheeks mirrors your own, despite his teasing.

You lean into him to support your legs of jelly. You must’ve danced for hours.

Yeonjun looks down at you, and his features are soft. “You wanna rest?” You nod. He laughs and then takes your hands into his. He guides you away from the soiree, out from the canopy of trees, but not toward Taehyun’s estate. You don’t question where he leads you, even as cold air makes you realize how bare this dress leaves your arms, even as the unfamiliar path catches at the hem of your dress. He notices how you don’t care to lift it from the ground, snorting, before lifting you into his arms.

“Woah!” you protest, feet off the ground in seconds. “I can walk.”

“Ah, but, only a fool would let a pretty lady like you soil her dress in the dirt.”

You scowl at him, but it doesn’t change the way your belly swoops. He treats you so delicately.

He carries you until you arrive at a mini palace that is no doubt royal—it towers over any surrounding trees. And, you had thought you had seen luxury. This is luxury. This is a life spent fed off of only crystal spoons. You admire the lush interior as he carries you into the palace.

“This is where you stay?” you say.

He hums, and you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “For one half of the year, this is my home.”

You notice how utterly empty it is. You had expected advisors and permanent guards and bustling servants. “It must get lonely here.”

“I prefer it here,” he says. You can sympathize with that. You had spent the entirety of your life in the land of summer, but you had found more warmth than ever here in the north. This place was supposed to be a death sentence for humans, and though you had briefly met the danger that the north could present yesterday, you almost dread leaving. Maybe you just need more time, and then you’ll be so overtaken by fear that it’ll make it easy.

Yeonjun carries you through a door, and into what you assume is his room. A bed so large it would swallow up a third of the room you’re staying at in Taehyun’s estate sits in the middle of his room. He sets you down onto its velvety, rose-petal coverlet, before he climbs in next to you, propping himself up onto an elbow so he can admire you.

Your skin sighs as he rubs sweet circles over your bare shoulder with the pad of his thumb. The two of you settle into a long, comfortable silence.

“Do you believe that I don’t care for you?” he asks into the quiet. Do you hear hurt in his words?

You meet his gaze and struggle to find words. Is it wrong to lie, just because you can?

Your hesitance tells him enough. His fingers on your skin stop. “I am not so shallow, if you actually meant that.” Your words from earlier must’ve been gnawing at him.

“It’s not that,” you say, avoiding contact with his eyes. It was exactly that. He doesn’t allow you to look away from him, sitting up to cut straight back into your vision.

“What is it, then?”

Your heart thrums. You want to tell him that you’re a liar, and that he should spit in your face and tell you to get out. You want to ask him if he’d still care for you the way he does if he knew your truth. You want to ask him if there’s any way that this can play out where the both of you end up together and unscathed. Your mind beckons you to ask him about every little doubt that has harassed your mind concerning him so that he can comfort you and assure you that they are just doubts.

You ask none of those.

“How can I show you?” he says. He climbs over you, knees straddling each side of your legs. “What would it take to prove to you that I mean it when I tell you that you make my heart ache? What will it take to make you become mine?” He lines a kiss up on your forehead, and then your cheek, and then onto the corner of your mouth. “This?” he asks, and then he hikes up the length of your dress, bunching all the fabric above your hips. He draws back so that he can plant a kiss on your clit, and he makes sure you’re looking at him while he does it. “Or is it this?”

You breathe in the sensation, gasping his name like prayer and making room for him between your thighs.

“Is that what it is, pretty? You need me to make love to you? I can do that,” he says. “I can do that, no problem.”

He works at his clothes with one hand and brushes touches to your cunt with the other. Eventually, his needlessly extravagant Court shirt is off, and he’s holding your hip down as he prods the tip of a finger at your entrance. Your hole flutters in anticipation, his eyes catch it, and he breaks into a lousy grin. He finally begins pushing the finger into you, watching as you gasp at the way he curls into you.

Pleasure whorls in your belly, rendering you increasingly dumber. “I need you,” you say. The muscles in his arm strain as he fingers you, and his black hair falls into his face with the movements. Your heart clenches.

“Slow down, baby. I need to do this, you’re not ready for me yet,” he says, pressing a soft kiss into your temple. “I want to make you feel good.” He slides another finger in, and you suppose he’s right, because it stretches you. He pumps and curls the both of them, and you dig your nails into his forearm as it all starts building in your belly.

Yeonjun tugs his lip into his mouth, biting it, as he watches you grow restless under his fingers. Your peak feels so close, but his pace is so leisurely that you’re worried you’ll never reach it, as if caught in a limbo of torturous delight. “Faster,” you cry. “Faster, please.” It amuses him, and he abandons his casual pace for sloppy curls that have you whimpering into the air of his bedroom.

“Yes, yes, yes!” A crescendo looms over you, until it crashes and your back is arching off the bed and you’re making embarrassing sounds. You dig crescents into Yeonjun’s arm when he continues to finger you. Your insides protest his stimulation, tugging and clenching tight in a way that borders tastefully on discomfort.

“Fuck,” you hear Yeonjun say through the haze. “Just like that. Doesn’t it feel good?” he purrs. His fingers plow you through this peak, hurling you toward another one brutally. “I know it does; you’re clenching around my fingers so hard.”

Your hand covers your face. His words are lewd, and he says them like it’s nothing. It makes your insides burn. You can tell that the orgasm he beckons you into with each deliberate thrust is going to be explosive, frantically squeezing your thighs around his arm to staunch the intensity of his movements. Wet sounds punctuate each curl of his fingers. You can hardly believe that those sounds are coming from you.

“You want another one?” he says. You only answer him with pathetic whimpers. “Keep making those pretty noises for me.”

You do, and he rewards you with his thumb on your clit. It drives you utterly wild. The blend of his fingers inside you and each bump against your nerves is exactly what you need to explode, and so you do, bucking. You’re worried he’s going to try and have you cum again when his fingers don’t stop, but he brings you down gently with small swirls.

You catch your breath while Yeonjun adjusts you on the bed, tugging you down by your hips and sliding one of his thinner pillows under the bottom of your spine in a way that lifts your bottom half into the air. You laugh through ragged breaths; it feels a tad ridiculous.

“What’s that for?”

He massages your inner thigh, soft humor twinkling in his eyes, but also so much more. “You’ll see,” he says. He hovers over you, bracing his weight into one arm at the side of your head so he can look right into your face. His free arm lines the tip of him up with you. Before making any moves to slide into you, he kisses you and takes your bottom lip with him as he pulls back. It exhilarates you; everything he’s ever done to you is exhilarating. You’re swept into a ripwave of emotion. Do you deserve all this? Is this life yours?

His hand rests on your hip, brushing over your hipbone with great gentleness, as he pushes into you. It’s slow and full of peppered kisses all over your face and neck, and then he’s in you to the hilt, and then he’s pulling back out of you so that you’re just so empty, but of course, with just a thrust he’s filling you back up. He falls into a swift pace, but each time he ruts up into you, it’s calculated and well-placed. Maybe it’s the pillow, or perhaps it’s just expertise, but he’s plunging into a sickeningly soft spot inside of you that makes your legs that are locked around his waist shake each time. Your eyes flutter close, but your mouth drops open in a soundless moan.

“No, open your eyes. Look at me. Do you feel it? Do you feel my love for you?” he says, voice raw. “Is this what you needed?”

Yes, this is exactly what you need. You feel so far removed from yourself that you can’t even feel your hurt or worries. You nod your head frantically.

“Please, open your eyes,” he repeats, pleading in his tone. His face is right in front of yours when you do. His eyes flicker between both of yours. The intimacy of it is as consuming as the flames licking your insides, winding you up so tight that you might explode into a ball of blazing fire. The rolls of his hips turn into short, needy ruts. His mouth drops open, but he won’t close his eyes. He wants to watch you.

“Yeonjun—” you breathe. Your muscles are tense all over, especially in your core, where he winds you tighter. The impending orgasm whispers into your ear that it will swallow you whole in its wake, and you believe it; you can’t breathe.

“I know,” he says. When you squeak, face screwing up, Yeonjun reads you like letters on paper. “I know, it feels so good.” He’s just as much of a mess as you, panting while his free hand grabs at each of your curves to ground himself. You hold back your climax; it’s so hot in your belly that you fear how it’s going to wreck you. The hair on your skin prickles and rises.

He feels how tightly you clamp down on him. “C’mon, pretty.”

Your nails rake paths down his biceps. “I can’t” you gasp. “Can’t—”

“Yes, you can.”

Warm tears pool in the corners of your eyes and you shake your head. You do everything you can to urge it back; wriggling under him to escape his thrusts, pushing at his chest, biting into your poor lip until you fear it’ll bleed. Pressure builds all over you, your eyes burn and your muscles burn, like a thousand pounds of ecstasy pressing on each square inch of you and begging to be released.

“Stop running from it,” he says, pushing your hips into the mattress, pinning them so that he can deliver pointed thrusts up into that place that is so sensitive. It works wonders. “Let go, baby. Let it happen; I promise you it’ll feel so good.”

You crumble, crying out into the air and clenching wildly around Yeonjun.

“Yes, fuck!” he growls. He’s chasing his own peak now, leaving you no time to breathe through your own.

You chant his name.

“Squeezing me so good—you’re driving me up the fucking walls, pretty.”

The sounds he rips from you are errant the more he pistons into you, and your hair sticks to your neck. For the third time, you cum, circling him in your arms and keeping him close while you try your best to ride this one out.

With the encouragement of you sporadically tightening around him, he stills over you, abdomen tensing up, before cumming into you, producing strangled sighs. He collapses down to his elbows and drops his head into your neck, delivering shallow rolls as he rides it out. Breaths puff onto your skin as he peppers warm kisses over every inch of your exposed skin. He stays like this, intertwined with you, for a while, lazily delivering thrusts until you’re both able to breathe fully again.

When he pulls out of you, you feel him dripping from you. You should’ve told him to pull out; you must have no fears. It’s hard to worry too much about that, though, with the way he’s looking at your cunt as if the sight of his seed oozing from you was like nothing he’d ever seen before. He takes your ankle into his hand from where it hovered in the air, feathering a kiss there.

“Do you see now?” he asks, bringing his eyes up to yours.

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”

END PART 2

a/n: there she is! I wanna see who y'all are more attached to this far.

tags: @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits

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