gardnhee

[gardnhee]

guys.

Merry Go || Christian Yu

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Fluff, heartbreak, bittersweet ౨ৎ

Inspo: The song Merry Go, by DPR IAN on his album "MIITO (Moodswings In To Order)" ౨ৎ

Word count: 1.6k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

The rain was pattering outside his window, soft at first—like fingertips on glass—but gradually building into a restless symphony of storm and sorrow. Each drop slid down the pane like the seconds he was losing, time running through his fingers again.

He was in a rush.

Always in a rush.

But this time, it was different.

This time, it mattered.

He cursed under his breath, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. His car had broken down again—this time in the middle of the highway. The engine had coughed, sputtered, and finally died, and the headlights, long flickering like they had one foot in the grave, gave out entirely.

You always told him to fix it.

Over and over.

But he never listened.

Not about the car. Not about anything.

Now, with the sky barely blushing blue and the streetlights flickering out like tired stars, he sat stranded, helpless, and too far away.

He slammed his fist into the wheel, head falling forward, his forehead resting there in defeat. His breathing was shallow, rapid. Then slower. And then, suddenly, there were tears. At first, he tried to fight them—like always—but this time he couldn’t. They spilled. Heavy, hot, and angry.

He picked up his phone.

5:30 AM.

He was late.

He missed your flight.

His vision blurred, the cold light of the screen glowing in the darkness of the car. Panic twisted through his chest like a knife. But even as the tears fell, he didn’t give up. He couldn’t.

He hailed the first taxi he could find, yelling into his phone, voice cracking as he gave the driver the destination: LAX.

By the time he arrived, the airport was already alive. Bright lights, sterile air, people moving like static through the halls of departure. He ran—ran like his entire soul depended on it. He pushed past faces, past security lines and escalators, past time zones and memories. He searched until his lungs burned.

Then—he saw you.

You were standing near the gate, your suitcase at your side, hair gently tangled from the wind outside. And for a split second, everything froze. You hadn’t boarded yet. You were still there.His chest collapsed with relief, and without hesitation, he broke into a sprint. The moment you turned, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground. You gasped, more in disbelief than fear, and when he set you down, his eyes were red, tear-streaked, and wild with emotion.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered, voice trembling.

You reached up, your thumb brushing a tear from his cheek. You were calm, heartbreakingly calm. “I have to,” you said softly.

He cupped your face in both hands, thumbs stroking your cheeks, trying to memorize everything—the shape of your lips, the small crease between your brows, the way your eyes looked when you were trying not to cry.

“You know I’ll long for the boring nights we used to rock?” he whispered, a faint smile breaking through the grief. “I remembered the last time I was at your spot. These might be unknown dead ends, but we...we were all that.”

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead in a kiss that ached like goodbye.

Then he held you. Just held you.

But before he could say anything else…He woke up.

Cold sweat clung to his skin like static. His chest was heaving, heart galloping like it was still running through that terminal.

Another nightmare.

Not a dream. Never a dream.

It had been months now, but that nightmare haunted him like clockwork.

Because in reality, he never made it in time.

You never waited.

And he never got that goodbye you both had longed for.

He checked his phone again.

5:32 AM.

That hour. That cursed hour. Always lingering like a ghost.

He blinked against the blue light, rubbing his eyes as if doing so would erase the image of you. But it never worked.

He must’ve passed out again last night, midway through reliving your memories. He always did that—ruminated on the past, tried to dissect every what-if like an autopsy. It was a habit now. A ritual of pain.

He remembered that specific moment with perfect clarity—the last time you tried. The rain was pouring then, too. The universe had a twisted sense of humor.

You stood at his door, drenched and trembling, mascara smeared like war paint, eyes swollen from crying. You had begged him to open the door, just like every other time your worlds had started slipping apart.

He opened it.

And maybe… maybe that was his biggest mistake.

Because he let hope in again. He let you in again.

You collapsed into his arms like you belonged there, like home was a person and he was it. He carried you inside as if you were weightless, as if you hadn’t both been dragging invisible baggage behind you for months.

You sat on his lap later that night, both of you cross-legged on the couch in dim lighting, legs tangled, hands framing each other's faces. Your fingers brushed through his hair gently as your gaze locked with his, unwavering.

“What do I do to you?” you asked, quiet and deadly.

The question pierced him.

You never really understood what you did to him—not fully—because he never opened up. But that question…It cracked something wide open.

“You make me feel like I’m on a merry go,” he whispered.

You blinked. “Merry go?”

You knew what he meant. But you needed him to say it.

“I keep spinning,” he said. “Round and round. Same place, different day. Always hoping it'll stop. But it never does.”

His grip on your hips tightened. His eyes shimmered with unshed guilt.

“I don’t know if I can keep doing this back and forth… I’m a mess, darling. You know that.”

You said nothing. What could you say? It was all true.

So instead, you rested your head on his chest, while he ran his hands along your back beneath your shirt. His hands were warm. Familiar. Real.

This… this was the comfort you craved. Not the yelling. Not the slammed doors or bitter silences. Just this—him, close, breathing with you.

You’d been there too many times—love, break, repair, repeat.

You both knew how it started and how it always ended.

But that didn’t stop you from missing each other.

Even now, he missed you with everything inside him.

You took pieces of him with you when you left, like shards of a mirror—reflections of who he used to be when he was with you.

The night before you fled, you were lying in bed together. The windows were foggy from the rain. Your head was on his chest, your arm draped across his torso.

You tilted his face toward you, gently.

“Can we be forever?” you asked.

His breath caught.

You felt his heart race. Loud. Erratic.

“What do you mean?” he asked, playing innocent. But you could see through the cracks in his mask.

“Don’t act stupid, baby,” you whispered, voice feather-soft. “Just tell me if this can genuinely work.”

You were brave in that moment. Braver than he’d ever been.

But he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t give you what you wanted.

“I can’t,” he finally said.

And then, even softer, almost inaudible—

“I’m scared.”

You understood.

God, you understood.

You gave up your fear to be with him.

But he couldn’t do the same.

So, while he slept—breathing softly, peacefully, unaware—you booked your flight.

You sent him a message before the sun rose:

|| I’m leaving. If you care… come see me before I go. ||

When he woke up the next morning and saw your message, it felt like drowning. Like waking up underwater.

He sent you a flood of texts.

One read:

|| Haven’t I made it any further? You know I told you I was nervous... I didn’t mean to murder the moments I had with you. ||

But he forgot something.

Something his mind buried so deep in regret it erased it entirely.

That same night, before bed, he had said:

|| I’ve been telling myself I could be better off alone. ||

And he said it casually. Like it meant nothing. Like it was just air.

But it meant everything.

And now… it’s been a while. Time moved on.

But he hasn’t.

He still feels like he’s on that merry-go-round. Only now, you’re not there.

The spinning never stopped.

He went on a world tour after that. Music was all he had left to cope.

Then, one night, his tour brought him to the city you moved to. He never knew where you went—never asked. Maybe he was too ashamed. Maybe he didn’t think he deserved to know.

You, however, knew.

You stayed quietly updated. You knew about the album he released after you. You knew the song he wrote for you.

And despite everything—despite the pain—you bought tickets. Third row. Not close enough to be seen. But close enough to see him.

When the concert started, he walked out into the blinding lights and roaring crowd.

But somehow, someway… he saw you.

You didn’t wave. You didn’t smile.

But he saw you. Instantly.

His breath caught. His fingers tightened around the mic. He kept singing.

But something shifted.

And then… the song. Your song.

The one that bled you onto paper.

As it played, he locked eyes with you. And the world stopped spinning.

His voice cracked, raw with emotion. He cried. You did too.

No one else noticed. But somehow… they felt it. The emotion in his voice. The ghost in the crowd. The pain in every note.

They cried too.

Fighting their own demons.

The song ended.

You left.

Before the encore. Before he could find you. Before anything could start again.

And he didn’t chase you.

Because for the first time…He knew.

It was time to fully let go.

And that…That was the last time you ever saw each other.

But even now, even still—He spins.

Around and around.

On a merry go.

Without you.

[gardnhee]

NAIDIDJENDIFJRIRRJ AHHHHHHHH

The train station || Christian Yu ; Part 4

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Comfort, Fluff. ౨ৎ

Inspo: "Nothing lasts forever. But because nothing is everlasting, every moment we shared together was all precious." That's what they should've believed in. ౨ৎ

Word count: 2.1k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You parted ways that evening with a kind of ache you didn’t expect. It wasn’t painful—more like a soft tug at your chest that lingered as you watched him walk away. You had told yourself you were just meeting someone interesting. That’s all. Nothing more. But something in the way Christian looked back at you, with that half-smile and the hesitant wave of his fingers, made you feel like maybe you weren’t the only one walking away a little slower than usual.

That night, neither of you could sleep.

It started with a “made it home safe?” text from him—sent just five minutes after you got off the train.

You replied instantly:

You: Yeah, I’m in bed now. Tired but in a good way. U?

Christian: Same. That was nice today.

You: Really nice. Unexpectedly easy.

There was a pause, a few bubbles that blinked and disappeared, like he was typing and backspacing. Then finally:

Christian: I felt like I could talk to you forever.

You: Haha don’t say that, I’ll hold you to it

Christian: Good. Hold me to it.

You blinked at the screen, heart thudding lightly.

He followed up with a voice note—his voice a little lower, a little slower than it had been earlier, like the night had pulled something softer out of him.

|| “I keep thinking about how you looked when you were talking about your favorite movie. You went off for like five minutes and didn’t even realize it.” ||

(you laughed softly)

|| “I like that version of you... the one that forgets time when she’s talking.” ||

You recorded a voice note in return, your own tone shy, but honest.

|| “You make it really easy to forget time. And I don’t know, it’s been a while since I felt that comfortable with someone.” ||

His reply came quickly.

Christian: Same. I think... you might be a little dangerous.

You raised a brow, amused.

You: Dangerous?? Me??

Christian: Yeah. The kind of dangerous that makes people wanna stay up talking all night.

And so you did.

You talked about childhood, about old dreams. He told you about the time he thought he could build a treehouse in his grandma’s backyard and ended up hammering a nail through his shoe. You told him about your obsession with space when you were ten, how you wrote letters to NASA thinking they’d write back.

“You’re like... secretly a nerd,” he said with a grin in his voice.

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“I love it.”

Around 2 a.m., you were both speaking slower, yawns sneaking in between words, voices quieter.

“I don’t really do this,” he said suddenly.

“Do what?”

“Stay up talking to someone like this. Not unless I really want to.”

You bit your lip. “Same.”

“I’m glad we met.”

“Me too.”

A long pause followed.

Then his voice, almost a whisper: “Can I call you tomorrow?”

Your heart did a little somersault. “Yeah. Please do.”

---

The next morning, you woke up smiling. The kind of smile that lasts even as you brush your teeth and brew your coffee.

From that day on, the rhythm was set.

Every morning started with a good morning text. Every night ended with a sleepy exchange of thoughts or dreams or silly photos. You sent him a picture of your breakfast one day—a sad, deflated pancake—and he replied with a video of him dramatically judging it, Gordon Ramsay-style.

He’d send voice notes when he was walking somewhere alone, telling you random thoughts like, “Do you think dogs ever think we’re their pets?” or “If you had to eat one thing forever, what would it be?”

You’d answer with giggles and over-thought answers like, “But what are the long-term consequences of eating just mochi forever? Asking for my future self.”

It was flirty without being heavy, honest without being scary.

Then one night, as he was rambling about almost setting off his smoke alarm while trying to pan-fry dumplings, he stopped mid-sentence.

You were brushing your teeth when you noticed. Foam in your mouth, you glanced at your phone.

“Christian?”

There was a pause.

Then:

“Hey... how do you feel about picnics?”

You blinked, spitting out toothpaste. “What?”

He chuckled. “Just answer.”

“Mmm... they’re nice. Why?”

“Wanna go on one tomorrow?”

You giggled. “Of course I do.”

---

The next morning, you took your time getting ready.

It wasn’t a date.

Not officially.

But something about it felt like it could be.

You stood in front of your mirror longer than usual, curling strands of your hair with practiced ease, reapplying gloss to your lips every time it faded. You wore a flowy, baby-yellow dress that caught sunlight like it was stitched from the morning itself. The neckline dipped gently, revealing just enough to make your heartbeat speed up when you imagined Christian seeing you.

You packed with care. Strawberries—real ones and also strawberry-flavored everything: macarons, mochi, soda. You’d bought a pale pink cooler and matching plates just for the occasion. And the mat? Strawberry patterned, of course. Something about it felt ridiculously on theme and perfect.

You looked at the mirror one last time before leaving and whispered to yourself, “It’s just a picnic.” But your heart didn’t believe you.

You arrived a little early. The park was quiet, sun-drenched, with trees offering pockets of shade and dappled light on the grass. You picked a spot not too crowded, under a wide tree that gave just enough privacy without making it feel too intimate.

You spread the strawberry mat, arranged the cooler beside it, and took a deep breath.

Then you waited.

Your hands fidgeted in your lap. Every passing group of people made your head lift. Was that him?

When he finally appeared, it was almost cinematic. He was walking toward you in slow strides, dressed in black cargo pants and a cream-colored shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His hair was slightly tousled like he hadn’t tried too hard, and he carried a paper bag and a grin that made your stomach flip inside out.

“Hey,” he said, once he was close enough.

You stood up, smoothing your dress nervously. “Hey.”

He paused, eyes scanning over you. “You look... wow.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I tried.”

He laughed and set the bag down. “I can tell. You’re glowing.”

You both sat down, the moment folding into something gentle, something shy but safe.

You poured drinks into paper cups. He unwrapped a baguette he brought and added it to your carefully prepped spread. You both laughed over how accidentally coordinated you were—he’d brought strawberry lemonade without knowing anything about your theme.

“I swear I didn’t copy you,” he said, taking a sip.

“This is just... fate.”

You pretended to gasp. “Did you just say fate?”

He gave a smug smile. “Don’t read into it.”

But you were.

You already were.

---

The sun was warm, not too hot, and the breeze played with the edges of the blanket, making it flap softly. Birds chirped in the distance. Every so often, the quiet between you two would stretch, but it never felt awkward. Just calm. Easy.

You laid on your back, staring up at the tree branches, your fingers brushing the soft fabric of your dress. Christian laid beside you, hands folded on his stomach, eyes half-closed against the sun.

Without thinking, you said, “I think I’m scared of love.”

He turned his head slowly toward you. “Why?”

You exhaled, letting the wind catch the weight of your voice. “I don’t know... I feel like every time I acknowledge that I’m experiencing love in my life, it goes wrong.”

You said it quietly, like it might break the moment.

He didn’t speak right away.

Then, softly, “I get that.”

You looked over at him. His expression wasn’t pitying. It was understanding. He’d been there.

“But you shouldn’t run from it forever,” he said.

You smiled faintly, eyes stinging more than you expected. He reached out, brushed a strand of hair gently from your cheek, and let his fingers linger for a heartbeat too long.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

You turned to him, searching his face.

“Do you say that to all the girls you go on not-a-dates with?”

He grinned lazily. “Nope. Only the ones who bring mochi and look like they walked out of a photoshoot.”

You laughed, trying to hide how much it affected you. “That’s dangerously smooth.”

“I’m not trying to be,” he said. “I mean it.”

Your heart fluttered like it had wings.

Later, leaning against the tree trunk, you picked at a mochi while Christian laid stretched out, hands behind his head.

“Do you believe in timing?” you asked.

He looked at you, eyes thoughtful. “Yeah. I think... the right people show up when they’re supposed to. Even if it’s messy.”

“What if you’re scared when they show up?”

“Then you hold their hand until you’re not.”

You looked away, but your smile lingered.

The sun dipped lower, painting the park in golden hues.

Christian pulled out a disposable camera. “Can I take a picture of you?”

You blinked. “What? Why?”

“So I can remember today,” he said simply.

You tried to protest, but he raised it, capturing you mid-laugh, hair caught in the breeze.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Then he handed it to you. “Your turn.”

You caught him pretending to model with a mochi in hand, eyes wide and dramatic.

“Perfect,” you said, snapping it.

He laid back down, and sighed. “Today was good.”

“Yeah,” you echoed. “It really was.”

And when he walked you back to your car, his fingers brushed yours and didn’t let go.

“Text me when you get home,” he said.

“You already know I will.”

---

You had just gotten home when your phone buzzed.

Christian: You home safe?

You: Just walked in. You?

Christian: Yeah. Took the long way. Wasn’t ready to go inside yet.

You smiled at the message, standing in the doorway with your shoes still on, your dress lightly brushing against your knees as you leaned back against the wall. Something about the air felt different. You were still carrying the softness of the day with you.

Your phone buzzed again.

Christian: Can I call?

You didn’t even reply—just hit the green button.

It rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hey,” his voice said, warm and familiar through the speaker.

“Hey,” you echoed, already smiling.

There was a soft, companionable silence for a moment. You could hear him moving, maybe sitting down.

“You sounded surprised I wanted to call,” he teased.

“I wasn’t,” you replied, kicking off your shoes. “Just... you know. Trying not to seem too eager.”

He chuckled. “You don’t have to do that with me.”

You curled up on your bed, the phone pressed to your ear. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I like knowing you wanna talk to me.”

Your chest bloomed at the quiet honesty in his tone.

“I’m still thinking about today,” you admitted, brushing your fingers over the hem of your dress absentmindedly. “It was simple but... really special.”

“I was thinking the same,” he said. “You looked beautiful, by the way.”

You rolled onto your back, cheeks burning. “You already told me that.”

“I know,” he said. “Just wanted to say it again, in case you forgot.”

You paused, eyes flicking to the ceiling, letting the compliment settle into the quieter parts of your heart.

“Thank you.”

Christian sighed softly on the other end. “You know that thing you said today? About being scared of love?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ve thought about that a lot since you said it.”

You shifted, more alert now. “What do you mean?”

“I think... I used to feel like love had to be dramatic. Like... chaotic or complicated or intense to be real. But today felt different. Peaceful. And I don’t think I’ve had that before.”

You swallowed. “That’s kind of sweet.”

“I’m serious. I think I’ve always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. But with you today, I didn’t feel like I had to keep my guard up.”

The silence stretched again, this time heavier.

“I’m really glad you asked me to go,” you said softly. “Even if it was just a picnic.”

He laughed under his breath. “You keep saying just. But it didn’t feel like just anything to me.”

You stayed quiet for a beat too long, and he noticed.

“What?” he asked gently.

“I think I’m still afraid,” you admitted. “Not of you. Just... of what I might feel if I let this happen.”

There was a rustle, like he was adjusting how he was sitting.

"You don't have to be." He whispered.

You both stayed on the line, not talking much after that. Just listening to each other breathe, letting the weight of the day dissolve in shared silence. It wasn’t awkward. It felt like the beginning of something. Something real.

Eventually, his voice came again—sleepier now.

“Don’t hang up yet.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

You smiled into the phone, letting the sound of his breathing lull you into a sense of safety.

And that night, you both fell asleep on the call.

Still not a date.

Still not a label.

But something was quietly unfolding between you—something tender, unspoken, and entirely yours.

[gardnhee]

fuck yes.

The train station || Christian Yu ; Part 3

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Comfort, Fluff. ౨ৎ

Inspo: "Nothing lasts forever. But because nothing is everlasting, every moment we shared together was all precious." That's what they should've believed in. ౨ৎ

Word count: 2.2k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You were there again. Same bench. Same time. Same hope ticking like a second hand in your chest. The rumble of the train echoed through the platform, a familiar thunder that somehow still managed to make your heart stutter. You looked up. Every time those doors slid open with a hiss and a wave of warm air, your eyes darted to the entrance, scanning, hoping.

But each time, it wasn’t him. Just strangers and briefcases. Tourists fumbling with maps. A little girl licking ice cream. A couple arguing in hushed tones. Your shoulders slumped just slightly with every miss, the glow in your eyes dimming a little more.

This was supposed to be the last time, you told yourself. The last time you waited like this. The last time you let your heart do this to you. You pulled your coat a little tighter, the chill of disappointment creeping in, sharper than the wind.

You looked down at your shoes, mentally preparing to get up and finally leave. Enough was enough.

Then you heard it.

The scrape of sneakers against the platform floor. The breath of wind carried something else too—something warm and sweet. Before you even looked up, your heart knew. And when your eyes lifted, there he was.

Christian.

He stepped through the train doors, head turning, scanning the crowd like he was searching for something. No—someone.

You.

And the moment his eyes met yours, his face lit up like morning sun breaking over quiet hills. That smile—lopsided, boyish, brilliant—took the air from your lungs. You couldn’t stop the way your own lips curved up in response.

You were just about to wave him over, but he didn’t give you the chance. His feet were already moving toward you, purposeful and steady, like he’d known exactly where you’d be.

“Hey, strawberry,” he said, voice warm with affection and something unspoken.

This time, unlike yesterday, the seat beside you was empty.

And without hesitation, he dropped into it like it had always belonged to him.

You blinked, letting out a laugh under your breath, still reeling from how his presence could shift the entire weight of the world off your shoulders.

“Hey,” you replied, barely able to contain your smile.

“Back on the train again?” he asked, playfully nudging your shoulder.

You shrugged. “I guess I’m starting to like train rides more than I thought I would.”

He gave you a knowing nod, the kind that said me too, even if he didn’t say the words aloud.

From beside him, he picked up a small brown paper bag, the kind that crinkled softly in his hands. “Got something for you. Picked it up on my way here.”

Your eyes lit up. The moment he held it out, the scent hit you—sweet, rich, comforting.

“Oh, so this is what I’ve been smelling?” you teased, taking the bag from him. “For a second, I thought it was you.”

He laughed, a soft rumble that settled deep in your chest. “You hurt me,” he said with a grin. “But fair enough.”

You opened the bag slowly, like it held something delicate. Inside, nestled carefully, were chocolate-covered strawberries. Your favorite.

Your heart melted a little more.

“These are my favorite…” you murmured, touched. “Thank you, Christian.”

He leaned back with a grin, proud of himself. “You’re welcome, my soon-to-be favorite strawberry.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue like it had always been meant for you, and the way he said it made your pulse trip. Something in your chest tightened in the best way.

You couldn’t look at him without smiling.

“You know…” you began softly, keeping your gaze on the strawberries, “what if I wasn’t here today? What would you have done with the bag?”

He smiled again—God, that smile. Dangerous. Soft. “Well, I guess I’d just eat them while thinking of you. Then hope I get lucky again.”

You giggled, but it came out a little uneven. You could feel the question sitting heavy on your tongue, and you hesitated. Should you say it?

Your fingers toyed with the edge of the paper bag. Then you took a breath.

“Maybe… we don’t have to hope to see each other anymore.”

His head tilted, curiosity flickering behind his lashes. He didn’t say anything just yet, and for a second, panic buzzed in your throat. But you powered through, cheeks burning.

“I mean… maybe we could just exchange numbers?” you said quickly. “So we don’t have to leave it up to fate every time. I mean, I like seeing you. It doesn’t have to be a maybe, or a coincidence. You know?”

You swore he looked like he got whiplash from how fast you said that. But then—his expression softened. A shy smile pulled at the corners of his lips, eyes crinkling slightly.

“I… yeah. Of course,” he said, a little breathlessly.

He handed you his phone without another word. Your fingers brushed, and the contact sent sparks right up your spine. You typed your name in, added a strawberry emoji next to it before handing it back. He looked at it, smiled, and then saved it without hesitation.

“Strawberry,” he said again, almost like a mantra. “Perfect.”

There was a beat of quiet after that, but it wasn’t awkward. It was soft. Warm. The kind of silence that holds promise instead of discomfort.

You both watched the train tunnel blur past through the glass. The world moved, but for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you.

Christian nudged your arm lightly. “So… what now?”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean?”He smiled. “Now that we’re not leaving it to the universe, what do we do with all this time?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well… you did bring strawberries.”

“I did,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“So I guess we eat them,” you grinned, pulling one out and holding it between your fingers. Before you took a bite, you offered him one.

He looked at you, eyes dark and focused for a beat too long. “Feed me?”

You laughed. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said, leaning forward slightly, eyes never leaving yours.

You rolled your eyes playfully but brought the strawberry to his lips anyway. He took a bite, slow and deliberate, a tiny bit of chocolate smudging the corner of his mouth. He licked it away with a smirk that should’ve been illegal.

“Delicious,” he murmured. “But I think I like the feeder more.”

You looked away, flustered, biting your bottom lip to hide the grin threatening to split your face.

The train began to slow, and the speaker crackled with the next stop announcement. But neither of you moved.

“I was actually planning to get off here,” you said, glancing at the platform.

Christian turned to you, voice softer. “Do you want to?”

You looked at the crowd moving outside the window. The rhythm of feet, the flutter of coats, people chasing lives that didn’t involve chocolate strawberries or sudden smiles.

“No,” you said honestly. “Not today.”

He nodded, content, and the train pulled forward again.

You stayed on the train.

Neither of you said much as it pulled out of the station, just exchanged glances like you were both silently admitting: Yeah. Let’s see where this goes.

The hum of the tracks filled the air again. Outside, the city blurred past in streaks of steel and glass, speckled with color from flashing signs and scattered street vendors. Christian shifted beside you, elbow barely brushing yours. You didn’t move away. The paper bag rested between you now, half-full of chocolate strawberries, but the excitement of the moment had you forgetting to eat more.

“Let’s get off at the next stop,” he said suddenly.

You looked over. “Why?”

He shrugged, eyes still on the view outside. “No reason. Feels right.”

A pause.

Then you nodded. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

There was no logic behind it, no real destination in mind—just the kind of impulsive idea that felt exciting in the way only something new could be. So when the train screeched to its next halt and the doors slid open, the two of you stepped off into a neighborhood neither of you knew by name.

The platform was quieter here. Less foot traffic. Fewer signs. You followed Christian up the stairs that led to the street, emerging into a place that felt tucked away—unfamiliar buildings, a faint smell of incense in the air, and narrow sidewalks lined with shops that didn’t match. A bubble tea place next to a hardware store. A florist wedged between a tattoo parlor and a bakery.

He looked around and exhaled, hands in his coat pockets. “Huh.”

You smirked. “You brought us to the middle of nowhere.”

“Hey,” he grinned, “middle of nowhere’s got charm.”

You started walking, nowhere in particular. Just side by side, shoes scuffing pavement, city noise soft in the distance.

“So…” he began, glancing at you. “What do you actually do? Besides haunting train stations, I mean.”

You laughed. “Wow. You make me sound like some cryptid.”

“A cute cryptid.”

You gave him a look, and he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. No flattery. Serious question.”

You folded your arms loosely as you walked. “I’m a design student. Visual communications. I do freelance here and there—posters, logos, album art, that kind of stuff.”

He looked impressed. “That’s dope. You make stuff people see every day.”

“Hopefully not on accident,” you joked. “What about you?”

He nodded slowly. “I do film stuff. Music videos mostly. I direct and edit. Sometimes shoot, too.”

You looked at him sideways. “Wait… wait, are you that Christian Yu?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean that Christian Yu?”

You tried not to smile too wide. “You’re the guy who did that dreamy short film with the piano and the mirror scene and—”

He winced. “God, don’t remind me.”

“It was good!” you laughed. “Overdramatic, yeah, but beautifully shot.”

He squinted like he was deciding whether to take the compliment. “I’ll take ‘beautifully shot.’ I’ll ignore ‘overdramatic.’”

You nudged him with your shoulder. “You’re allowed a little drama. You’re a director.”

He chuckled. “Fair point.”

As you turned the corner, a small independent bookstore caught your eye—dusty windows, warm light spilling out, a wooden sign swinging faintly in the breeze. Without saying anything, you both veered toward it, pulled by the same instinct. A bell jingled softly as you stepped inside.

It smelled like paper and pine. A record played low in the background—jazz, maybe. The place was cluttered but in a cozy way, floor-to-ceiling shelves with books piled on every available surface. A cat snoozed near the register, unfazed.

You wandered to a shelf in the back while Christian lingered nearby, flipping through a photo book.

“You read much?” you asked, peering at a collection of poetry.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Mostly scripts. Sometimes journals.”

“You journal?”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh. “Not every day. Just when I feel like I’ll explode if I don’t.”

You turned to him. “That’s kinda beautiful, actually.”

He looked at you for a moment—really looked. “Yeah. I guess it is.”

You didn’t break eye contact right away. Something quiet settled between you again. Not romantic. Not quite. But something.

You found an old paperback with a worn cover and held it up. “This was my favorite book in high school.”

Christian took it, flipping through the pages. “Looks like it’s been through war.”

“It has. That’s why it’s good.”

He smiled and handed it back.

Outside, the light had shifted—golden hour blooming between buildings. You exited the bookstore, hands empty, but heart a little fuller.

A light breeze had picked up, tugging your hair, and Christian reached over without thinking, gently brushing a strand away from your face. The gesture was instinctual, subtle. He didn’t linger.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Always,” you said.

You ended up at a food stall tucked between a pharmacy and a graffiti-covered wall. A woman in a red beanie sold hot rice cakes and fish cakes from big metal trays. You each got a skewer and stood by a faded bench to eat.

The city was starting to darken. Neon signs blinked awake. Somewhere nearby, a busker started singing—something soft, something aching.

You both sat down on the edge of a wide planter box near a mural, watching people pass.

Christian looked down at the bag still in his hand and offered you the last strawberry.

You took it. “Even after I teased you about the smell?”

He smiled. “Even then.”

You bit into it and leaned back, head resting against the cool brick behind you.

“This has been weird,” you said after a minute.

“Weird good?”

“Yeah. Weird good.”

You looked over at him, and his expression matched yours—half-amused, half-intrigued. You could tell he wasn’t sure what this was either. And that made you feel okay.

You didn’t need it to be anything yet.

You just liked being around him.

“Hey,” he said, standing and stretching. “Come on. Let’s catch the next train back.”

You stood too. “Back where?”

He shrugged. “Wherever we started. Full circle.”

You smiled. “Okay. Full circle.”

You walked to the nearest station, chocolate-stained paper bag in one hand, and a kind of calm you hadn’t felt in weeks sitting quietly in your chest.

[gardnhee]

YESYESYESYESYESYES GOD

The train station || Christian Yu ; Part 2

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Comfort, Fluff. ౨ৎ

Inspo: "Nothing lasts forever. But because nothing is everlasting, every moment we shared together was all precious." That's what they should've believed in. ౨ৎ

Word count: 1.7k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You wake up slower than usual, a thick fog of unrest clinging to your bones.

The weight in your chest doesn’t come from exhaustion—but something more alive, more electric. Anxiety stirs in your gut like a warning siren you can’t shut off. But you know exactly what it’s about.

The boy. From yesterday.

You spent most of the night turning over thoughts of him like pages in a worn book. You kept wondering... was his accent Australian? British? Either way, it dripped off his tongue like honey and wrapped around your mind until all you could do was chase it again. You replayed his voice, his eyes, that moment he looked at you like you were the only person in the world worth seeing. You didn’t even know him—but somehow, your body did.

And today? You’re going back. Back to that same train station. Same time. Same route. Even though you don’t have anywhere to go.

You don’t need a destination. You need him.

Without hesitation, you get up from bed faster than usual and kick off your blankets. You skip the lazy scroll through your phone. Your fingers tremble slightly as you apply mascara, each stroke mirrored with thoughts of him. You recheck your outfit five times before deciding it’s “perfect enough”—but perfect for who? A stranger you only exchanged a few sentences with?

Yes.

Your hands tremble slightly again as you do your hair—you tell yourself it’s just nerves, not obsession. But your mind betrays you. You wonder what he’ll be wearing today. Will he remember you? Will he speak to you again? What if he doesn’t show?

That last thought makes you physically sick.

By the time you finish getting ready, your heart is pounding against your ribcage like a warning knock. You grab your bag, barely tie your shoes, and run. Fast enough to feel the wind bite your cheeks, but slow enough to keep yourself from looking too desperate.

The train station comes into view—almost like a mirage. As you step inside, your steps slow. Your breath fogs slightly in the early morning air. Your eyes immediately scan the crowd. Every face. Every guy. But none were him.

Your shoulders drop like dead weight. The rush in your chest starts to cool and crack. Maybe you’re early? Or maybe you're late? Or worse—maybe he just isn’t coming at all. What if he took another route today?

You find an empty seat—one of the few—and collapse into it with a soft sigh. Your fingers fidget with the edge of your sleeve, your leg bouncing nervously. You don’t know what to do with yourself. You don’t even have a plan for where you’ll get off the train. This isn’t about the ride—it’s about the chance of running into him again.

Then the train hisses, and the doors slide open.

You don’t look up right away. You’re too scared to be let down again. But something inside you pulls your gaze—something warm and magnetic, like a whisper tugging your chin.

And there he is.

Dressed sharper than the day before—dark fitted slacks, a crisp charcoal button-up with the sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. You hate how much you want to see him out of that outfit.

His tattoos peek through, his jaw freshly shaved, his hair slightly tousled like he’d just run a hand through it. He looks like a dream walking out of someone else’s life and into yours.

Your heart skips—not just a beat, but a whole measure. You can’t breathe right. Can barely blink.

He stands still for a moment, eyes scanning the train. Then they land on you—direct and unwavering. His brows lift for a second, like he almost doesn’t believe you’re real either. Then comes that smile. Subtle. Nervous. Honest.

He doesn’t hesitate this time. The train is filling quickly, and while he’s not fast enough to grab a seat, there’s one handle left—right in front of you. He reaches for it. Your proximity feels even closer than the day before.

And then your eyes meet.

It’s not a glance—it’s a moment. A pause in time, where the chaos around you fades into background noise. You stare. Both unsure who will speak first. Your thoughts are scrambling. But he—he breaks the silence.

“Hey,” he says with a crooked smirk that almost doesn’t reach his eyes.

You blink, then offer a shaky breath of a smile. “Hey… um, about yesterday. I really appreciated it.”

He nods, shifting slightly to lean closer. “Those guys? Yeah, they were jerks. Couldn’t believe how hard they were laughing at their own stupidity.”

You giggle softly, biting your lip to hide how much his voice warms you up. Your nervousness melts into something lighter.

He tilts his head slightly, dipping his head a bit to hear you over the murmur of the train. “So... what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you say gently.

He repeats it, once—twice—like it’s the first and last name he ever wants to know. “Y/N,” he murmurs. “Pretty name... I’m Christian.”

You smile, then lean forward, “I was actually wondering… are you Australian? Or British?”

He opens his mouth to answer but pauses. Something shifts in your face—your eyes flicker behind him, and he doesn’t miss it. He turns subtly to see what made your demeanor change. Them. The same group of boys from yesterday.

His jaw tightens, but he keeps his tone easy. No tension. No power given. “Australian,” he finally replies. “Is it that noticeable? I’ve been told I’m losing my accent.”

You roll your eyes with a smirk. “Losing? That’s the thickest Australian accent I’ve ever heard.”

That earns a real chuckle from him. God, that laugh. Low. Warm. Unfiltered. And just like that, the tension from seeing the boys vanishes. You’re too focused on him.

Then he feels the buzz of his phone. Checks it. Shit. His stop is coming. He’s not ready for this to end. But he doesn’t want to make it awkward. His expression shifts slightly as he looks back up at you.

“My stop’s coming up,” he says reluctantly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your pulse spikes. You don’t want this to end. Not yet. Not when you’re just starting. You look out the window, take a wild guess at the stop, and blurt, “Wait—this is mine too, I almost forgot!”

He stares. That’s a lie. He knows it. But you’re here. Walking with him. Choosing to stay. Then he blinks in fake surprise, grinning wide. “Really? Guess the universe isn’t done with us yet.”

You step off together, walking side by side into a quiet part of the city. The air smells like morning—fresh and full of promise. But your anxiety is creeping back. What are you doing? What if he reaches his destination and you’re just stuck on the sidewalk, looking lost?

“Wanna grab coffee?” he asks suddenly, stopping in front of you with a hopeful smile. “I’ve got some time before I clock in.”

You blink. Your stomach does a backflip. “I love coffee. And I love quality time. Of course I will!” He laughs at your enthusiasm—that beautiful, unfiltered kind of laugh.

“There’s this place I love,” he says as you start walking. “Best sweets in the area. You’ll love it, promise.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think that?”

“You seem just as sweet as the treats,” he teases, voice low.

Your blush gives him all the answer he needs.

You walk into a cozy little café tucked between two shops. It smells like roasted beans and sugary pastries. You sigh, “God, it smells so good in here.”

Christian smirks, leaning toward you. “Sure it isn’t me?”

You nudge him, eyes rolling. “Don’t get cocky.”

He lets out a low chuckle, because he likes that. The way you don’t flatter him. The way you meet his energy and double it.

You order—your iced coffee with cream, his plain black with sugar—and sit by the window.

You sip your drink and squint at his. “Black coffee with sugar? That’s all?”

He arches a brow. “What, that’s boring?”

“Kinda,” you tease. “I expected you to be a caramel drizzle with oat milk kind of guy.”

He fake gasps. “You wound me.”

You talk—about music, about flavors... Then you start ranting about strawberries like they’re sacred, how cute and delicious they are, and he just watches you.

Eyes wide. Hands moving. Like you’re telling a secret.

He listens. Really listens. When you pause, he grins. “I wanna give you a nickname.”

You tilt your head. “What is it?”

“Strawberry.”

You blink. “Because I can’t shut up about them?”

“Maybe. But I think you and strawberries have a lot in common."

You raise a brow. “Or maybe you just forgot my name.”

He laughs too hard at that, waving his hands in protest. “No, no—I swear! Your name’s unforgettable.”

Eventually, he checks his watch. Regret flashes in his expression. “I’ve gotta go... work calls.”

You feel the moment slipping. “Can I maybe… walk with you?”

His smile is instant. “Absolutely. Come on.”

As you near his workplace, he stops at the café counter again. Orders something.

You watch curiously. “What are you doing?”

“Just a second.”

He turns around with a box of strawberry pastries and hands them to you. “For you.”

Your lips part in surprise. “Christian... thank you..”

He smiles and pats your head softly. “No problem, Strawberry.”

You walk the final few feet in quiet conversation until you reach his building. You stare at it like it’s some kind of border between your little bubble and the real world.

“I guess this is it, huh?” you mutter.

He nods, and before he could think.. There was his hand. Resting. On your shoulder. “You say it like moments like this don’t last forever.”

You chuckle, heart heavy. “They don’t.”

“But maybe,” he says gently, “they’re supposed to lead to more.”

You smile. “So… I’ll see you again?”

He doesn’t even hesitate. “I hope so.”

And with that, he walks inside. And you stand there, strawberry box in hand, heart full. Maybe you didn’t get his number. Maybe you don’t even know where he works. But you know you’ll be back. Same time. Same train. Every day if you have to.

As he walks into the building, his phone buzzes with missed calls, the day already waiting to swallow him whole—but he turns once, just to see you again.

Still there.

Holding his box of strawberries like it means something.

Like he means something.

Because love—real love? It doesn’t always come with directions.

[gardnhee]

y’all. please go read this it’s literally a masterpiece.

SHOW MY GIRL SOME LOVEEE!!

tags - @lunesdesire @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @babymochibeargyu @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @beomiracles @inkigayocamman @vivicake @biteyoubiteme

The train station || Christian Yu ; Part 1

Pairing: Christian Yu x Fem!Reader ౨ৎ

Genre: Comfort, Fluff. ౨ৎ

Inspo: "Nothing lasts forever. But because nothing is everlasting, every moment we shared together was all precious." That's what they should've believed in. ౨ৎ

Word count: 2.1k

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

You stepped into the train station like a stranger stumbling into a foreign land for the first time. The heavy scent of rubber, diesel, and stale coffee lingered in the air, thick enough for you to taste. Your boots clicked against the cold, grimy tiles as you tried to gather your bearings, eyes darting left and right, unsure of which way to go. It was your first time in a place like this—and it showed. Your confusion painted your face with a soft panic, and you instinctively shrunk into yourself, hoping no one would notice how lost you were.

Still, you couldn't help feeling like all eyes were on you.

You hated that.

The layout wasn’t complicated—it just took a few glances and a handful of steps to figure out where the boarding area was, where the lines began, where the seats waited. But even then, every movement felt like a misstep under the weight of imaginary and silent judgments. You wandered through the waiting area and quickly realized—every single seat was taken. Great.

You let out a breath, quiet and frustrated, and reached up to grab onto a cold, metallic handle bar near the back of the terminal. Your fingers curled tightly around it as the tension in your chest began to rise, slow and suffocating. The kind of anxiety that didn't announce itself with loud alarms—but rather crept in like fog.

Why does it feel so hot all of a sudden? So stuffy?

You tugged at the collar of your hoodie, suddenly aware of the fabric clinging to your skin. Were you just overthinking everything? Probably. Maybe. But then again, why did it feel like everyone was watching you from the corners of their eyes?

You bit your lip, hard. Of course. You didn't exactly blend in.

A constellation of piercings shimmered along your ears, your nose, your brow. Once, you loved the way they made you feel—unique, loud, alive. But in this moment, you by unfamiliar faces and low whispers, she regretted every needle.

It was as if each piercing turned into a neon sign screaming "look at me, judge me, label me."

And then—laughter.

A group of guys behind you chuckled loudly, the sound cutting into your thoughts like a jagged blade. You tensed. Were they laughing at you? Was it something you did, the way you stood, the way you looked? Or was it just a joke not meant for you at all?

Did it matter?

Either way, it stung. A sharp, shameful sting, like being smacked in the chest with a brick that fell from an abandoned, crumbling building.

Your discomfort was no secret—it was plastered all over your face like a billboard even a baby could read.

And then you noticed him.

Him.

The guy sitting directly infront of you, his long legs stretched out around yours, one foot tapping against the floor with the kind of nervous rhythm only someone with his own anxiety could create. His headphones sat snugly on his head, but they didn’t seem to be helping—his expression was pale, clenched, eyes flicking up only to quickly dart back down.

He was clearly trying to disappear, just like you.

You could see yourself in him.

But there was something else too. He smelled faintly of something comforting and strange—like cedarwood mixed with ocean breeze. A woody ocean. Who even smells like that? And why the hell did you like it?

Your gaze traced his face—smooth, thoughtful, a few piercings glinting under the flickering fluorescent lights. They weren’t exactly the same, but there was a familiarity in the way he looked, like they came from similar pages in different books.

He was attractive in that quiet, magnetic way. It hit you like a wave—powerful and unexpected, pulling you into a moment where everything else melted away.

Until the laughter came again.

“Hey jumbostick!”

The boys snorted like they’d said something clever. You didn’t flinch this time, just rolled your eyes. Really? "Jumbostick?" What kind of playground insult was that?

But suddenly—he stood.

The guy.

He rose from his seat like some kind of reluctant hero, startling you in the process. For a second, your heart raced in confusion and surprise. Why?

He didn’t even blink. His face was close now—too close. You could see the way his eyelashes curled slightly at the ends, the way his breath came out shallow. He looked at you like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Then he spoke—barely a whisper, but somehow it echoed in your chest.

“Sit down, dear. I got you.”

Your breath caught. Not because of what he said—you couldn’t even remember the words, not really. It was his voice. Cool. Calm. Laced with something you couldn’t place. And then—mint. His breath smelled like mint. Fresh, clean. Distracting.

Your eyes slid down his frame—tall, broad shoulders, lean muscles under a fitted shirt, tattoos peeking out from the collar, winding down his arms and hands. Neck tattoos too—subtle, almost invisible unless you were close enough to kiss them.

Like you were now.

He groaned softly under his breath, clearly noticing your stare. He didn’t usually repeat himself—he hated it, actually. But something about you made him pause. Made him consider breaking his own rules.

He leaned in closer. Your knees nearly gave out.

With one arm, he reached behind you, steadying you as you stumbled just slightly.

“Sweetie, would you mind sitting down?” he murmured in your ear, voice warm, firm. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a demand. It was something else entirely.

A shiver ran through you like static. Your lips parted. “N-no, it’s uh… it’s fine…”

He could already tell you were the stubborn type. The kind to argue just to prove you werent weak. He didn’t have time for that right now.

Gently, but without hesitation, he gripped your hips and spun them around, guiding you into the seat like it was choreographed. His hand gripped the handle you'd been holding just moments before. He stayed standing.

He hoped to God you didn’t think he was some creep. That wasn’t his intention. He just didn’t like the way those guys behind you had laughed—like hyenas who thought they could mock someone into silence.

And you? You were too real for that.

Your cheeks flamed red as you sat down. Not from anger—but embarrassment. Pure, soul-scorching embarrassment. He didn’t know, of course. He probably thought it was from them—the boys. But you wanted to melt into the plastic seat and disappear.

Then he did something that almost made your heart stop.

He turned to the group of boys and whispered something—something sharp, cutting, precise. You didn’t hear it, but the result was immediate. Their laughter died, their grins wiped clean. They looked at him like he’d just flipped their world inside out.

Relief washed over you in waves. Relief… and something else. Something warmer, more complicated. Something you didn’t know how to name.

Then his stop was called.

He turned. He didn’t say goodbye. He just stepped off, blending into the crowd like smoke.

You watched him walk away, your chest hollowing like he’d taken something with him. It was ridiculous—you didn’t even know him. But it felt like losing something rare. Something you didn’t know you were looking for until it showed up and left again.

So that night, as you laid in bed replaying the moment over and over again, you made a vow.

You'd keep taking that same bus.

Every day.

Every night.

Until God himself told you to stop.

[gardnhee]

bye i decided to check tumblr today and realized i reached 200 followers ahhhh 😭💕💕 i love every single one of you, thank you sm!!!

[gardnhee]

where are you I miss your fics 😫😫

hi babyyyy i’ve been so busyyy ugh 💔💔 i have a couple fics in the works but if im being honest i haven’t had time to even think about them lmaoo 😞

taglist. @lunesdesire @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @babymochibeargyu @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @beomiracles @inkigayocamman@vivicake @biteyoubiteme

[gardnhee]

A KISS FOR THE CURSED - ,, ୧ ‧₊˚ c.yj

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

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

》 𝔱𝔵𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 & 𝔪𝔬𝔯𝔢…

pairings » archer!yeonjun x princess!reader

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢 » smut » royal au » forbidden romance »

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

« 𝔭𝔩𝔞𝔶𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 »

word count « 24K »

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He snorts. “Overbearing parents? Shocking.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perfect. The word feels like shackles on your wrists. 

“Do you understand?” your father demands. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun raised a thick brow. “What?”

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

Yeonjun’s expression darkened immediately. “No.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun froze.

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

It was her hair.

Pink. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re reckless,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeonjun. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not scared,” he shot back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe I do,” you said quietly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Use your words sweetheart.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have you ever touched yourself?” 

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

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

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

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

“My god.” You whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. Please move.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

“Yeonjun, 

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

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

Yours Always”

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

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

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

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

“Princess,

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

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

Yeonjun”

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

“Yeonjun,

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

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

Yours always.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I love you," you whispered. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Cursed?" Yeonjun offered dryly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her marriage announcement. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kang Taehyun. 

The one she was supposed to marry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A bloodstained arrow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeonjun.” a hushed, urgent voice whispered. 

His breath caught. It was her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To the family of HueningKai,

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

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

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

Yeonjun.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gardnhee]

i cant believe i have to un anonymous for this but PLEASEE DO YOU SEE THE SUB YEONJUN IN THJS DO YOU LIKR JUST LOOKING UP AT YOU LIKE ADMIRING AND IT DOESNT EVEN HAVE TO BE IN AN NSFW WAY AUURGRRENSBJA

like i feel like i need to tell someone this and who better to tell than one of my fav writers

heh…(with rizz)

omg first off thank you so much >< (your rizz worked btw) i’m so glad to know you enjoy my writing :(

AND YES. tbh when i see that pic i’m reminded of a video where the guy’s in a club and he’s looking up at a girl who’s pouring a shot in his mouth … and she’s like holding his chin MAKSNSKWNWWK that clip legit reminds me of yeonjun so much LIKE JUST IMAGINE OH MY GOD.

anyway, sub!yeonjun for the fucking win.

@vivicake

[gardnhee]

no i am not dead …

but i am working on a new soobin fic!!

stay tuned and happy new year!!

taglist. @lunesdesire @jjklvr9 @binniebakery @beomies-world @hyukaaa @ninoshome1 @babymochibeargyu @lunathewritingcat @duckywuckypookiepie @naoristerling @oddracha @soohashits @beomiracles @sendhelpiloveyeonjun @beomtasticc @inkigayocamman @vivicake @biteyoubiteme @soobnara

[gardnhee]

𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐧𝐞𝐭 ── 𝐚 𝐬𝐟𝐰 & 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐱𝐭 .ᐟ

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all rights reserved. do not copy, repost or translate without explicit permission ( 2024 / 2025 ) moadiarynet ™ jihyokat & loserlvrss.

[gardnhee]

Eats you

blushes and giggles

[gardnhee]

CRAVE。⧼ PROLOGUE ⧽ ─── 투모로우바이투게더

stay away from the woods。

★ pairing。txt ot5 x fem!reader‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎g。⧼ 📖 ⧽ fantasy , romance , comedy , angst , eventual smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎cw。descriptions of personal injury and blood ・animal attacks ・mentions of illness and death ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎wc。2. 1 k | to library。

★ includes。。。heeseung from enhypen

notes from lia。finally!! happy thanksgiving everyone, i'm thankful for every single one of my amazing readers!! i hope you enjoy the prologue to my very much anticipated crave series!! look out for the first chapter in the beginning of december!!

all your life, you had been told to never step foot into the woods. that there were monsters lurking just below its dark canopy, hiding just out of sight and patiently waiting to strike. and yet the whistling of the pines has never been this entrancing. the trees taunt you from your safe little cabin, their outstretched branches waving and creaking in the wind as if they were beckoning you closer and closer.

you can see them just as perfectly from the bakery as you can from your bedroom window. they feel inescapable.

the shrill, tinny ringing of a bell snaps your attention away from the open window, your thoughts having consumed you as you laid out fresh loaves of bread to cool in the frosty air. you brush your floury hands off on your apron and turn to welcome your customer, your polite smile growing into a warm grin when you recognize the lanky boy standing by your workbench.

“that’s an awful lot to be doing all on your own.” he comments with a sideways smile, running his fingers through his auburn hair.

“i open the shop by myself every morning, hee.” you reply pointedly, rising to your tip toes to give him a quick hug before brushing past him towards the towering stone oven. “you know mother can’t work this early anymore.”

“couldn’t you ask one of your siblings to help?”

“they’re too young to use the oven or mill the wheat, they’d be no help at all. it’s not even that much work, really, just baking and cleaning. i don’t want to burden them with all of this on top of everything else.”

nothing has been the same since your father fell ill. the bakery was his and your mother’s, a humble way to support their family and their quaint little village for decades. you were never particularly wealthy, but you had enough to get by. consumption, the village doctor had called it. it was a truly fitting word for the disease that slowly consumed your poor, frail father whole. nothing was left, not even the bones. a mere shadow laid in bed all day, a ghost whose coughs have began to sound like rattling chains. none of the medicines the doctor prescribed ever worked, they only seemed to be making him sicker. he said that there was a hospital in the royal city, but your village was days away by carriage, and you and your mother had nowhere near the means to fund the trip. part of you were certain he wouldn’t survive the journey either way.

your mother now spends her days caring for him, an apothecary’s daughter clinging on to the last shreds of hope that her remedies will ward off the hands of death. you desperately wish you could feel the same, but you’ve already begun grieving… until recently.”

“mother said she’d stop by to help this afternoon.” you assert, leaving no more room for discussion. you can feel his eyes on your back, watching you as you stoke the firewood and slide trays of dough into the oven. “you worry about me too much! i’m not a little girl anymore.”

“i worried about you then and i’ll worry about you now.” heeseung chuckles endearingly, erupting a swarm of butterflies in your belly. “you’ve always been a little too brave.”

his words remind you of your mulling thoughts, pulling your gaze back to the window. “heeseung, have you ever known someone who went into the woods?”

heeseung is quiet for a worryingly long time. “the blackwoods? not anyone who made it back… why?”

your mind is screaming at you to keep your mouth shut, but you just can’t keep it all bottled up inside anymore. you’ve never hidden a single thing from your best friend, except this. “i was reading my mothers books the other day.” you admit softly, unable to look him in the eye. “in one of them it said there is a plant that grows in the blackwoods, a type of flower. it can cure any illness, save people from the brink of death…”

“y/n.” heeseung warns, his face dropping. “you’re not seriously considering going in there, are you?”

you hesitate for a second too long— he cuts you off with a scoff, stepping forward to grip your shoulders with his rough carpenter’s hands. “there’s no way that flower is even real, y/n. don’t be childish. just some fairytale out of one of your mother’s quack medicine books.”

“it was my grandfather’s.” you defend softly, finally looking up into heeseung’s eyes— the coldness you find in them frighten you.

“he was a quack too.” heeseung retorts, releasing your shoulders to turn and swiftly slam the bakery window shut. your loaves shake from the force. “there’s no magical flower that is going to save your father, especially not in the blackwoods. i love you, y/n, seriously, but you can’t keep believing in fairytales— and you wonder why i worry about you so much! promise me, you won’t go in those woods. please. one step inside and you’ll never come out. i can’t afford to lose you— your family can’t afford to lose you.”

“okay.” you relent, just loud enough for heeseung to hear. “you’re right, i was being ignorant. i won’t go into the woods.”

“say you promise.”

“i… i promise…”

standing at the edge of the forest, your cold clammy fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of your satchel, you’re caught frozen in place. you just can’t seem to get your feet to step forward, your psyche screaming at you to turn back and run home. heeseung’s words circle your thoughts, so all-consuming that you swear you can hear them in the howling wind— you haven’t told a lie since you were very young, and never to heeseung of all people. the guilt nags at you to the point of nausea.

but you had made up your mind long before you had spoken to heeseung earlier that morning. he’s a simple woodworker, he doesn’t understand a single thing about the healing magic that hides in nature… but your grandfather did. he wrote those books himself, a man who would risk his life in the pursuit of knowledge, just to help others. you wanted nothing more than to continue his legacy, save your father and prove to your close-minded little village that he was anything but the insane, rambling idiot that they all viewed him as. before and after his death. you’ve been preparing for weeks, reading as much as you can about the dangers of the blackwoods, packing whatever you possibly could think of to help you on the journey. you might have overpacked, to be honest, your weathered leather satchel hanging heavy on your shoulder. if everything went as you planned, you would be back home before anyone would notice that you were gone.

your breath fogs in front of your face, reminding you of the hearth smoke billowing from your cabin’s chimney. you can still see it, just beyond the hill, its straw hatch roof just visible over the tall grass waving in the wind. you could turn back now, put all your things away and fall asleep in the safety of your bedroom. you could forget about all of this and wake up tomorrow morning as if you had never planned anything at all.

you will yourself to move your feet, frozen in your boots like the frost on the leaves, and you enter the ominous pitch-black dark of the blackwoods.

the tree canopy is so thick that the moonlight barely breaches it, everything swathed in darkness as you walk farther and farther away from home. the flickering candle in your lantern does little to illuminate much except what was right in front of you. you focus on what you can see, the dead fallen leaves and frosty underbrush that crunch loudly underneath your feet as you venture deeper. it’s deafening in your ears, the forest eerily silent all around you, not even the distant call of an owl, the scattering of a chipmunk— you’re certain that any creatures hiding in the trees or in the brush knew of your presence.

including the monsters.

in none of the books you read would they ever describe them more than just that; monsters that use the night as camouflage, that kill livestock in their pens and steal children from their beds. any intruder in their own territory will certainly be made short work out of. you’ve always believed that they were nothing but scary stories to keep children well behaved, a tall tale your mother would use to get you to come inside for bed.

distantly, cutting sharply through the silence, you hear the howling of a wolf. it sounded a safe distance away, yet it still sent you jumping. the sudden movement causes your lantern to extinguish, plummeting you into complete and total darkness. your heart dropping, you curse, placing it on the forest floor against a mossy tree before opening the flap of your satchel and rummaging blindly through the contents for your matchbox. you try to steady your breathing, heart rattling against your ribcage, matchbox just beyond your grasp as you struggle in the dark.

you hear the rustling of leaves just to your right. desperately, you tell yourself that you’re just hearing things.

finally, you wrap your fingers around the familiar shape of your matchbox, pulling it out to fumble with its contents before you pick back up your lantern. with a strike of the match against the rough bark of the tree, you’re illuminated once again, carefully lighting the candle before putting out the match with a shake of your hand. triumphantly, you turn to continue to venture farther into the woods, before stopping cold. your breath knocks out of you all at once, leaving you gasping in the cold air.

farther up on the oak tree, carved crudely into the bark, are three sharp claw marks you’re almost certain weren’t there before.

but they had to have been, because there was simply no way that something could have snuck up so close to you without you noticing. these woods were driving you mad, you feared, still trying to steady your breathing as you turn and step forward.

as you continue deeper into the forest, you swear you hear another pair of footsteps following your own. you stop abruptly to catch them, but you hear nothing— another thing you must be imagining… yet you set onward a little faster than before.

maybe it was that wolf you had heard, you entertained as you examine the dark twisted trees. it sounded rather far away, but you couldn’t be one to discount the creature’s speed. maybe it was just watching you to make sure you weren’t a threat, and it would leave you shortly…

a growl, deep and barely audible, rumbles from between the bushes. you break out into a wild sprint, gasping and panting, running deep into the unknown. the creature chases you with frightening speed, no longer trying to hide its footsteps as it weaves through the forest floor. you had no idea where you were or where you were going, but this beast… this was his home. the hunt was on.

low hanging branches scratch and tear at your skin and clothing as you run, blood running down your face, legs and arms— you couldn’t feel the pain, the adrenaline numbing everything except for the terror in your heart. now you were just easier to track, you agonized, but you couldn’t do anything but keep running, dropping your satchel and lantern to lighten your load as much as you could. alas, you barely ran any faster… you were starting to slow down, exhaustion was starting to creep up on you, your chest aching and desperate for breath, your legs screaming in pain as you stumble and stagger through the labyrinth of trees. you couldn’t see a single thing in front of you, completely lost in the darkness, your arms outstretched to feel around as you ran.

the creature was advancing, it’s footsteps thunderous right behind you, its snarls and growls growing closer and closer. in a desperate attempt to escape, you sharply turn to the right to run in a different direction.

just as you move to step forward, your boot wedges itself underneath an exposed tree root, and you are sent tumbling to the mossy ground. you try to break your fall with your hands, but you react far too late— you slam your head against a jagged rock, blinding white light flashing behind your eyelids before your world goes black.

the last thing you feel is pain, and the last thing you see are two bright, bloody red eyes staring at you through the darkness.

[gardnhee]

let me hit

come over.

[gardnhee]

SHE’S ALIVE!! 👏🏻👏🏻 *cue standing ovation*

I JUST SAW THIS OMG. but yes, i am in fact alive. just lurking and brainstorming ideas for my next fic ><

[gardnhee]

Reblog if you write fic and people can inbox you random-ass questions about your stories, itemized number lists be damned.

[gardnhee]

giggling as I kick my feet

I have arrived for kinktober ><.

SO. Thinking of wrestler!Taehyun + semi(?)public sex GAHHHH. Okay here’s the deal, Taehyun is on the way to a tournament but there’s no more available seats in the van because they’re all taken up by his teammates (txt + small van = no space) so you have to sit on his lap in the back of the van. The road is bumpy so obviously you’re grinding against him. He basically fucks yn the whole way to the venue (plsplspls add some slut shaming, like whispering in her ear type shit!!).

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒

DAY 29 : TAEHYUN + DRY HUMPING — “Can never wait until we’re alone”, he continues, fingers sliding along the outskirts of your thighs. “But I guess you enjoy an audience.”

Dry humping is sexual contact, but without the contact of body fluids, usually through underwear or clothes.

pairings wrestler!taehyun x fem!reader warnings dry humping, slut-shaming, very public, uhhh idk what else to put hm hm hm, lots of degrading and txt-cameos.

#serene adds ✎ heh, I changed the plot a TINYY little, hope it's still to your satisfaction baby :3

EVENT POST

The interior of the small van rattles as the vehicle moves forward on the far too bumpy road. It’s dark out, and though you didn’t know what time it was, you could guess that it was late. You try to imagine the trees outside, you try to picture the way the road turns, you try to think about tomorrow’s weather, about the warm bed waiting for you at the hotel, or a really cold shower. — But nothing takes away from the persistent heat between your legs, the throb of your cunt as your boyfriend’s jean covered thigh presses against you. 

Taehyun seems unfazed, his hands are on your hips as he keeps you on his lap. He’s got your head resting on his shoulder, face buried in his neck as he shields your flustered expression from the rest of his teammates. — They all think you’re asleep, that you have been for the past thirty minutes. But they’re wrong. You were wide awake, and fighting for it not to show. 

The van goes over another small bump, and the discarded phones rattle against the seats. You nearly flinch at the involuntary friction against your sore clit, biting your lip as you swallow back the moan nearly slipping off your tongue. — Around you, conversation flows, it was as if they hadn’t even noticed the catastrophic bump and just continued on with whatever they were talking about. 

Everyone except Taehyun of course. 

You could practically feel his smug smirk. The way his fingers trailed up and down your sides, a soothing caress to an outsider, but Taehyun and you both knew better. “Something wrong, angel?” He whispers the words, loud enough only for you to hear. His breath is warm against your already hot skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t respond, you don’t have to, it was a rhetorical question. 

Taehyun hums, leaning back in his seat as he shifts slightly. The subtle motion is enough for his thigh to deliberately brush up against you, making your hips jerk forward. His grip on your waist becomes tight, deadly, as he keeps you from moving. “You’re supposed to be asleep, aren’t you?” He drawls, burying his face in your soft hair as he inhales the familiar scent of your shampoo. 

Your fingers twist in the fabric of his shirt, a breathless hum of agreement passing your lips. And though you can’t hear it, you can feel the rumble of his chest as Taehyun silently chuckles. It’s a mocking laugh, like he’s got you right where he wants you. And he does. 

His hand slips from your hip, unnoticeably so. Then he’s between your legs, fingers brushing over your soaked panties. “That’s a bit pathetic, don’t you think?” He pinches the fabric, making you whine against his neck. — Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Taehyun pushes your ruined panties to the side. A glimmer of hope fills you, hope that he’ll actually touch you. 

But he doesn't. Instead he withdraws his hand, only for it to return to your waist. Your eyes screw shut, the rough texture of his jeans now perfectly aligned with your throbbing clit. It takes everything in you to keep from grinding against him, from blowing your cover. — Taehyun, clearly noticing and relishing in your struggle, forcefully tugs you closer. Your thighs quiver and you suck in a sharp breath, hoping that none of his teammates looked your way. 

Luckily, they’re all engrossed in a pointless conversation about techniques for tomorrow’s tournament. Far too busy to ever notice the way Taehyun is torturing you. — “Fuck”, he mutters, “You always act like such a slut.” His voice is taunting as it brushes the shell of your ear, and the subtle kiss he places to your shoulder feels far from loving. “Can never wait until we’re alone”, he continues, fingers sliding along the outskirts of your thighs. “But I guess you enjoy an audience”, he sneers, and before you know it, he’s shifting beneath you again, making the denim of his jeans press against your dripping cunt. 

Tears threaten to spill from your eyes as you breathe in through your nose, desperately trying to remain composed. “P-Please..” The quiet plea is barely audible, but Taehyun, who’s been listening so intently to every hitch of your breath, catches it. — “Please what?” He grunts, his face still buried against your shoulder, masking the fat smirk on his lips as his hands travel over your lower back. 

You nearly whimper at the thought of having to whisper it out loud, in the presence of his teammates. But Taehyun beats you to it, “Ruining my jeans with your sheer desperation wasn’t enough? You need to be fucked dumb completely, don’t you?” — And though his words were crude and menacing, you knew them to be true. 

Faintly nodding, your fingers claw at his shirt as you subtly shift forward, begging him for more. Taehyun hums, one of his hands snaking between your thighs once more. You bite down on your tongue so hard, you think you might draw blood. But it does little to stop the breathless moans ripping from your chest. Taehyun’s fingers press against your fluttering cunt, dragging along your slick folds before he shifts his attention to your throbbing clit. “Such a greedy slut”, he spits, but the insults only make you squirm as you finish against his thigh with a small sob. 

He lets you grind against him, not even bothering to hide how desperate you looked anymore as he leaned back to press a kiss to your forehead. — Only when you come down from your high do you realize that the entire van has fallen silent. You don’t dare lift your head from the safety of Taehyun’s neck, instead you hide yourself further. 

Yeonjun’s voice is the first to break the silence as he asks, “Is she okay?” — Taehyun brushes his teammate off with a small shrug, his hand cradling the back of your head. “Probably had a nightmare”, he says.

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