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monzabee · 2 days

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the alchemy - cs55

masterlist || part 1 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where not Carlos, nor you, have the power to fight the alchemy.

Pairing: dad!carlos sainz x mom!reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: absolute fluff (been a while), possible ovary explosion bc of dad!carlos, cursing (because i use way too many f-bombs in real life too), kids (apparently, it’s a tw for some people), i tried hating charles but it’s not happenning so a cheater redemption arc (kinda, he's trying okay??)

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! first of all, thank you all so much for the love you showed for part one, i really appreciate it and i'm sorry that this part has been a little delayed, but i just wanted it to be just as drama-filled as the first part whilst still being a bit lighter so i hope i found the right balance for it. while we love dad!carlos, i felt like charles still deserved a chance to redeem himself and come to his senses so we love that redemption arc for him (well, kinda guess?). also, i know we have one more part of this little mini-series to go, a social media au (yay!), but i just wanted to let you all know, once again, that i do not have a taglist, and no i will not be making one!! however, i do appreciate all your support and comments, and please do let me know what you think about this part! thanks to @percervall once again, who had to listen me talk about this part for many many hours and who was kind enough to help me proofread!! i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms.

It only happened once every few lifetimes.

You honestly did not expect to end up with one of your closest friends – especially not after you told your cheating husband that you were getting a divorce, after he chose his lover over you and your baby; and most definitely not after the said close friend told you that he would step up instead of your cheat of a husband.

But there you are, in the arms of non-other than Carlos Sainz, your boyfriend, having just woken up by the excited pitter patter of feet right outside your bedroom door. “Carlos,” you whisper, nudging him softly to wake him up, “Carlos, wake up.” You watch as he stirs, and then buries his head onto his pillow mumbling all the reasons why he doesn’t want to be awake, but you just chuckle softly as you poke him again. “Carlos, please.”

With a disgruntled grunt, you watch as his eyes open, and with a scratchy voice he whines, “What, amor, I was sleeping.”

Rolling your eyes, you point to the bedroom door, “Listen,” you tell him, and watch as his eyes widen as realisation sets in at the same time his expression turns into a smiling one. “I think someone is excited for today.”

“You think?” He retorts, snorting lightly as he pulls you closer, “That’s all he’s been able to talk about for weeks, amor.”

“Well, can you blame him?” You nudge him, ignoring the sound of scraping of your son’s step stool outside your door. “He just wants to watch his father win.” Watching the smile on your boyfriend’s face grows as the door handle is jiggling, you point to the pillows with your head, “Let’s just pretend we’re asleep, he’ll be happier that way.”

With a deep sigh, the happy kind, he pulls you closer to himself – at the right time too, as you hear the patter of footsteps getting closer. With a tug at the comforter, you hear, “Papa, wake up.” You can hear Carlos, badly, muffling a chuckle by burying his head deeper into your neck, but the little voice beside him is non-relenting. “Papa! You promised me we’d go to the race today!”

“Carlos,” you whisper covertly, “you’re going to make him cry.”

Giving you a look that silently says, No I won’t, he turns towards the little intruder in your bedroom, quickly gathering him in his arms as he puts him on the bed next to you. The sound of laughter coming from two of the most important men in your life bring a sleepy smile to your face as you watch Carlos tickle your son despites his protests for him to stop.

“Mommy!” Your son exclaims, climbing over Carlos to reach you, “Tell Papa to stop! We need to get ready!” His face is flushed with excitement and laughter, a sight that fills your heart with warmth.

“Alright, alright,” you say, giggling as you pull him into a hug, “let’s get ready then. You don’t want to be late for your big day, do you?”

Carlos finally stops his playful assault, sitting up and stretching with a groan. “She’s right, buddy. We should all get up and get going. Lots to do before the race, you still remember our plan for breakfast?” Your son’s eyes light up even more, if that were possible, and he scrambles off the bed, running back to his room to get dressed. You and Carlos exchange a glance, something you seem to do more now than ever.

You wait until Rafael is out of the hearing distance before you tilt your head sideways and narrow your eyes in question, “What plan are you talking about?”

“Nothing for you,” he boops your nose with his pointer finger as he straightens up and gets out of the bed, “to worry your pretty little head about. Just come to the kitchen when you’re ready.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued but willing to play along. “So, you think I’m pretty?” you ask, batting your eyes at him exaggeratedly as he gently shoves you back into the bed. Getting up and stretching, which you shamelessly take the opportunity to ogle him, you watch him with a smile as he heads towards the kitchen following your son. Getting ready consists of brushing your teeth and hastily throwing on a robe for you, too anxious to see what you son and husband cooking up in the kitchen – literally.

The scene in the kitchen is enough to melt your heart on its own – Rafael is standing on his trusty step stool at the counter, his little hands busy arranging an assortment of fruits on a plate. The concentration on his face is evident by the way his tongue peeks out slightly in that adorable way he does when he’s focused, a habit that he picked up from his father. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, is busy with flipping something in a pan, shirtless might you add.

“Oh my God, look at my boys!” You croon, leaning against the doorframe with a playful grin. “You even have matching hats and everything!”

“Boys?” Carlos scoffs, turning to Rafael and pointing his finger towards you, “Can you believe her?” He then turns to you as he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. “We are not boys, amor, we are men.”

You chuckle at his exaggerated display of masculinity, shaking your head as you walk further into the kitchen. “Oh, of course, how could I forget? The two manliest men I know,” you tease, your voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

Rafael, picking up on the banter, puffs out his little chest just like his father, mimicking his stance. “Yeah, Mommy! We're strong, right, Papa?”

Carlos grins, his eyes twinkling as he looks at Rafael. “That’s right, we’re the strongest men in the world." He turns back to you, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “And we make the best breakfast too. Isn’t that right, Raf?”

“Yes!” Rafael exclaims, beaming with pride as he holds up the plate of perfectly arranged fruit. “Look what I made, Mommy!”

You lean down to inspect his handiwork, smiling softly. “Wow, this looks incredible, sweetheart. You’re so talented!” You give him a big kiss on the cheek, making him giggle.

Carlos steps closer, holding out a fork with a piece of pancake speared on it. “And how about a taste test, amor?” His voice is softer now, the playful tone giving way to something more tender.

You take the fork from him, taking a bite of the pancake. The fluffiness and warmth of it fill your senses, and you can’t help but let out a contented sigh. “This is amazing, Carlos. You’ve outdone yourself.”

He watches you with a satisfied smile, clearly pleased with your reaction. “Only the best for you.”

Rafael, not wanting to be left out, grabs a piece of fruit and holds it up to you. “Try mine too, Mommy!”

You take the fruit from him, savouring the sweetness as you chew. “Delicious! You’re both going to spoil me with all this great food.”

Carlos chuckles, wrapping an arm around your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. “That’s the plan,” he murmurs against your skin, making you shiver slightly. “I can also spoil you in the other way you like,” his voice drops enough for only you to hear.

You glance up at him, meeting his playful yet heated gaze, and feel a blush creep up your cheeks. “Carlos,” you murmur, half-warning, half-inviting, as Rafael happily oblivious to the exchange, chatters away about his breakfast creation. “I would like to still be able to walk by the time we get to the paddock.”

But Carlos just smirks, leaning in to brush his lips against your ear, his breath warm and intoxicating. “Later, amor,” he promises, his voice thick with affection and mischief.

Before you can respond, Rafael tugs at your robe, breaking the spell. “Mommy! Let’s eat now!” His voice is filled with the kind of innocent excitement that only a child can muster, and it instantly brings you back in the present moment.

You smile down at him, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Alright, let’s eat. I’m starving.” Carlos gives you one last knowing glance before stepping back to grab the plates. As the three of you settle down at the table, you try to ignore his lingering gaze that makes your heart race just a bit faster, though you’re not exactly that successful.

It would be safe to say that it had been a crazy few years for Carlos Sainz. Or at least, that’s what Charles would say – if, you know, anybody was to ask him his opinion. First, he had lost his seat at Ferrari, and Charles really felt for him at first; after all, he was his teammate. But he was also the man who ended his marriage, so his feelings for Carlos changed for the worse very quickly. The whole situation had him coming to some revelations.

First revelation he came to was the fact that he was wrong for cheating on his wife, however complicated the situation might be. He had tried to justify it to himself, blaming the stress and the strain, but deep down, he knew there was no excuse for what he’d done.

Second revelation was that you deserved to be happy, with or without him – he was just being petty because it was with his old teammate. You deserved to be happy, and while Charles could admit that in theory, accepting that your happiness was now tied to Carlos was a bitter pill to swallow.

Third, and probably the biggest, revelation was that he had royally screwed up when he chose the other woman over you and your son, and it was a loss that he mourned every single day. If he thought seeing Carlos thrive after his own life was crumbling down was hurting his ego, seeing Carlos be the father to his son, was a thousand times worse.

Life took an interesting turn for Carlos after that night at the hotel in Monte Carlo. You had no expectations for him, you didn’t expect him to stay true to his words and be there for you and your baby. But that was the thing, because he kept his promise. He was at your door the next morning with a short list of apartments and penthouses in Monte Carlo. Anticipating your need of getting out of the country, he was prepared – he also looked at apartments in New York, houses in LA and townhouses in London (the few apartments he chose in Madrid also didn’t escape you, but it was a conversation you weren’t ready to have yet). So, when you were having, yet another breakdown in front of him, he just stood next to you and held you until you calmed down. He was always next to you, somehow managing his schedule for the racing season and coming out to see you between races. He kept true to his promise as he made waffles for you at midnight, grumbling about how pancakes were superior, and he held your hand when you were in the delivery room even though you were probably close to breaking the poor man’s hand. The bigger shock came when he announced that he would not be racing for the next season – something he had conveniently not told you in the months leading up to your pregnancy. It also led up to your first fight, and your first real confrontation since this unexpected journey began. The news that Carlos wouldn’t be racing the next season blindsided you. It wasn’t just the fact that he had made such a monumental decision without consulting you; it was the realisation that he had chosen you and your child over the sport he loved so deeply.

“What do you mean you’re not racing next season?” you had asked, your voice edged with disbelief. You were standing in the kitchen of the new apartment he had helped you find, your baby—your son—napping peacefully in the next room. Carlos was casually leaning against the counter, arms crossed, as if he had just announced something as mundane as what was for dinner.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit you had come to recognize as a sign that he was about to say something serious. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” he said, his voice calm, and God it drove you insane how calm and rational he was being with a decision so irrational to you. “And after everything that’s happened... I just think it’s the right decision for now.”

“But racing is your life,” you insisted, the weight of his words settling in. “I don’t understand how you can just walk away from it.”

Carlos met your gaze, his brown eyes steady and full of determination. “It’s not about walking away,” he explained. “It’s about priorities. You and Rafael... you’re my priority now. I want to be here for you both, not halfway across the world, missing out on everything.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. For so long, you had been used to being let down, to promises that were made and then broken. But here was Carlos, standing in front of you, willing to give up something he loved more than anything for you and your son.

“That’s not fair to you,” you whispered, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the reason you give up on your dreams.”

Carlos stepped closer, gently cupping your face in his hands. “You’re not taking anything away from me,” he assured you. “You’re giving me something I didn’t even know I needed. I’m choosing this, because I want to. I want to be here for you, to be the father Rafael deserves. I want us to be a family.”

His words broke through the wall you had been holding up, and you let the tears fall. It wasn’t just about the sacrifice he was making; it was about the fact that he was doing it willingly, without hesitation, because he wanted to be with you and Rafael. It was a love that was deeper than anything you had ever known, and it terrified you as much as it filled you with hope.

“But what if you regret it?” you asked, your voice trembling with the weight of your fears.

“I won’t,” Carlos said firmly, his thumbs gently brushing away your tears. “I know what I want. And if I ever go back to racing, it’ll be when we’re ready. When we both decide it’s the right time. But for now, this is where I need to be.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of doubt, but there was none. He was as serious as ever, and in that moment, you realized that this wasn’t just about him making a choice— it was about him choosing you, over and over again, in a way no one ever had before.

The argument you had anticipated fizzled out before it could even begin. There was nothing left to fight about, not when he had laid his heart bare for you. All you could do was fall into his arms, holding onto him tightly as you let the weight of his decision sink in. It was overwhelming, knowing that someone loved you that much, that they would uproot their entire world just to be by your side.

So, yeah, Carlos Sainz had not raced for the 2025 season. If it were up to him, he would stay with the two of you for the 2026 season as well, but you and Carlos Sainz Sr managed to convince him to get back to the real world, no matter how much he was enjoying being a stay-at-home dad. But the biggest shock for the world, and Charles, wasn’t that Carlos was returning to the F1 grid – no, the biggest shock was that he was returning to the F1 grid in one of the most coveted seats; right next to Max Verstappen. The reaction to the news had been mixed. Some were thrilled to see him back, eager to see what he could do in a car as competitive as the Red Bull. Others were skeptical, wondering if a year away from the sport had dulled his edge. For Charles, the news was a bitter pill to swallow. Carlos wasn’t just returning to the grid—he was stepping into one of the most sought-after seats in F1. But more than that, it was the reminder that Carlos had taken something else from him, something far more personal and painful. Watching Carlos step into his new role at Red Bull, knowing that he was now part of your life and Rafael’s life in a way Charles never could be, was a constant, aching reminder of everything he had lost.

And so began the Leclerc-Sainz rivalry – which although sounds riveting, is probably the reason why you had to visit your cardiologist more times than necessary within the last couple of years. On the surface, it was the perfect storyline: two former teammates, now on opposing sides, battling it out on the track in some of the most intense and thrilling races the sport had ever seen. But for you, it was far from entertainment. Each race weekend became a new source of anxiety, and Carlos knew how much it affected you, so he tried his best to keep the rivalry on the track. He would reassure you, telling you that whatever happened during the race, it wouldn’t change how he felt about you or Rafael. But even he couldn’t deny that the tension between him and Charles was personal. It was more than just racing—it was about proving something, not just to the world, but to themselves and each other. And so, race after race, you found yourself on an emotional rollercoaster. The thrill of seeing Carlos perform at his best was always accompanied by the fear of what might happen if things went wrong. The rivalry wasn’t just a storyline for the media—it was a real, living thing that had a profound impact on your life.

So, when Rafael told you that he wanted to watch his father race live, you were hesitant to agree. The thought of bringing your son into that world—where emotions ran high, and the stakes were even higher—filled you with dread. The last thing you wanted was for Rafael to witness the intensity of the rivalry that had consumed not just Carlos and Charles, but your entire life.

Carlos, however, was adamant. He knew how much it meant to Rafael to see him race, to be a part of something that had been such a significant part of Carlos’s life before Rafael was born. “He needs to see it,” Carlos told you one evening as you sat together, discussing Rafael’s request. “He needs to know what I do, why it’s important to me, and why I went back to racing in the first place.”

You couldn’t deny that Carlos had a point. Rafael idolized his father and seeing him in action would only strengthen the bond between them. But the idea of watching the race unfold, of seeing Carlos and Charles go head-to-head while your son was there, was almost too much to bear. The days leading up to the race were a blur of preparation and anxiety. Carlos did his best to reassure you, but the tension was palpable. He understood your fears and promised to keep things professional, but you both knew that once the lights went out, everything would be on the line. So, you weren’t exactly surprised that your boyfriend spent the entire morning buttering you up and getting you to relax as much as possible about the day ahead of you.

And to be perfectly fair, he was right for the most part. It had been fine from the moment you made it into the paddock, which somehow worked wonders on your anxiety. As you made your way to the circuit, Rafael’s excitement was infectious. He was practically bouncing in his seat, his little face pressed against the window as he took in the sights. You couldn’t help but smile, his joy momentarily easing the knot of anxiety that had been tightening in your chest since the moment you agreed to come to the paddock in the first place.

Seeing him so happy and in his element, you know instantly that the paddock, no matter in which country, is going to become his safe place. Rafael keeps asking Carlos questions about everything from how they manage to keep the cars so clean to what would happen if they didn’t wear helmets. And Carlos is patient as he answers all his questions, no matter how childish or obvious they might seem. So, when he told Rafael that maybe, just maybe, he might end up in one of the cars he admires so much one day, you know your son won’t miss the beat. “Can I?” He asks you, eyes widened with a pleading look as he clasps his hands together under his chin, “Please, Mommy, I promise I’ll be very careful.”

“Absolutely not,” you shake your head, mind immediately starting to think about all the things that could go wrong, “it’s so dangerous! Just think about how afraid you’d be of the speed.”

Rafael scoffs, arms crossed on his chest as he pleads through the pout he has on his face, “I’m not afraid of the speed! Papa, tell her I’m not afraid of the speed!”

Carlos reaches over Rafael’s head as he takes off his cap and ruffles his hair, which manages to get a series of giggles from the little boy, and he affirms, “You are not afraid of the speed, but your mother is right.” You have to hold in your laughter when you see the indignant look on Rafael’s face, but Carlos continues talking as he signals for his son to listen, “We can talk about it when you are older, but for right now you are my lead strategist, capisce?”

Rafael steers his pout towards you, and you shrug innocently in response, which gets a resigning sigh from him. “That’s fine, I guess.” He mumbles, and points to the garage door behind the table the three of you are sitting, “Can I look at your car again?”

“Be careful, and make sure you tell Caco where you are.” Carlos reminds him, as Rafael excitedly scurries off toward the garage, leaving you and Carlos to share a quiet moment.

Carlos leaned back in his chair, a content smile playing on his lips as he watched Rafael dart off. “He’s got the bug,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice.

You sigh, shaking your head playfully. “I know. He’s already got the attitude. I don’t think I’m ready for him to jump in a kart and never look back.”

Carlos reaches for your hand, his touch grounding you. “We’ll keep him safe,” he says quietly, his gaze meeting yours. “I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll make sure he’s ready, and we’ll protect him from the worst of it.”

You nod, squeezing his hand in return, trusting him like you always have. As you sit together, watching Rafael’s excitement fill the garage, the sweet moment is interrupted by a voice both of you know very well. “Seriously? You’re using him to get to me on a race day now?”

Your fingers nearly crush your poor boyfriend’s hand as you look at the intruder, your heart immediately racing. You turn to see Charles standing there, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. His eyes flicker from Carlos to you, then toward the garage where Rafael had just run off. “Excuse me?” You manage to get out, your voice sharp with surprise. The audacity of his accusation stings more than you expected. Charles' gaze hardens as he steps closer, clearly not backing down.

“You heard me,” Charles says, his tone edged with bitterness. “Bringing Rafael here, right in the middle of everything... it’s not a coincidence. You’re just trying to—”

“To what?” Carlos cuts in, his voice calm but firm. His protective instincts kick in as he stands, placing himself between you and Charles. “To have a good day with our son? To let him enjoy the race?”

Charles scoffs, shaking his head. “He’s not your son, he’s mine. Stop fooling yourself into thinking you’re his father just because you’re here.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, everything goes silent. Carlos' expression tightens, but he doesn’t move, his body still a shield between you and Charles. You feel your breath catch in your throat, the weight of Charles’ words hanging heavy in the air. “I know who his father is, Charles,” Carlos says, his voice calm but steely. “And considering the fact that he doesn’t even know you exist, I’d say me being here is more than proof that I am his father.”

Charles' jaw clenches, and his eyes flicker with something raw—pain, jealousy, frustration, all mixed together. “You think you can just step in and take my place? Be the dad, play happy family with my son?”

“Cabrón,” Carlos warns, and though you’ve heard him use that nickname for his friends countless of times, this voice is devoid of all affection, “you lost all right to call yourself Rafael’s father when you decided to choose whatever flavour of the month you were with at the time.” You feel your heart race, not from fear, but from the sheer intensity of the moment and the murderous look on Carlos’ face. Carlos steps forward, his voice low but terse. “You think being a father is about biology? About showing up when it’s convenient for you? Rafael doesn’t even know who you are because you’ve never been there for him. I have. I’ve been the one tucking him in, I've been there when he was sick and crying, and I’m the one showing him love every single day.”

Charles flinches, the sting of the truth evident in his expression. For a moment, the fire in his eyes dims, replaced by something else— regret, perhaps. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and he straightens his posture, trying to regain control of the situation. “I made mistakes,” Charles says, his voice quiet but defiant. “But you can’t just erase me from his life. He has a right to know who his real father is.”

Carlos’ gaze doesn’t waver, his protective instincts blazing. “Rafael knows who his real father is. He may not understand all the details yet, but he knows who’s been there for him. And when the time comes, when he’s ready, we’ll tell him the truth. But that decision isn’t yours to make anymore, Charles. You gave up that right a long time ago.”

“You’re just going to sit there and let him talk to me like this?” Charles hisses, turning towards you in an attempt to find sympathy. His eyes are pleading, but there’s anger simmering beneath the surface.

Your chest tightens as you meet his gaze, feeling the weight of everything that has been left unsaid between the three of you for so long. You take a deep breath, your voice soft but firm when you finally respond. “It’s time to let go, Charles.” Charles' face falls at your words, the weight of their finality hitting him hard. His lips part slightly as if he wants to argue, but no words come. The tension in the air is suffocating, each second stretching out painfully. Carlos remains silent, standing tall beside you, his hand subtly resting on your back for support. He knows this conversation is yours to finish. “It’s not about erasing you from Rafael’s life,” you continue, your voice steady though your heart is pounding in your chest. “It’s about doing what’s best for him. And right now, that means protecting him from the confusion and hurt that the fact that you were too much of a coward to choose him.”

Charles takes a step back, the anger in his expression dimming into something more fragile. His eyes search yours, perhaps looking for a trace of the bond you once shared, but it’s clear that things have changed too much. Too much time has passed. “I’m not trying to hurt him,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just… I apologised countless of times, what more do you want from me? I am sorry, okay?”

“Are you quite done?” Charles flinches at your sharp tone, the weight of your words settling heavily between the three of you. His gaze drops to the ground as if he’s searching for something to say, but nothing comes. Carlos stands steady beside you, his presence strong, comforting, even. “I am sorry, too, about it all.”

You can feel Carlos’ confused stare on you, and Charles looks at you with the same expression as he asks, “You... do?”

“I’m sorry that you were cheating on me from the start, I’m sorry you were too weak to stay faithful to me after we got married,” you continue, the words heavy but resolute as they fall from your lips. Charles' expression shifts, a mixture of guilt and pain crossing his face. Carlos’ hand tightens slightly on your back, offering silent support as you finally lay bare what you’ve held inside for so long. “I’m sorry I ignored it for as long as I did, and I’m sorry that I ever found out.” Charles’ face hardens, his eyes clouded with guilt and perhaps a hint of defensiveness as your words hit him. The weight of what you're saying seems to pull him down, and he takes a deep breath as if trying to absorb the impact. He opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, not willing to let this moment slip away before you say everything that’s been weighing on your heart. “I’m sorry I ever found out about the lies, but most of all, I’m sorry for Rafael. He deserved better, he deserved a father who was present and loved him without conditions,” you say, your eyes locking with Charles’. “You weren’t there, Charles, you weren’t there before Rafael, and you weren’t going to be there after him. So, I suppose what I’m not sorry for is falling in love with a man who was courageous enough to fill that role for both me and him.” Charles’ lips part as if to argue, but no words form. His eyes betray the guilt and regret he’s been carrying, but there’s nothing left for him to say. He knows it. You know it. Even the mechanics and people around you who have stopped what they are doing to watch this whole thing go down know it. “Finally, I’m sorry that you felt the need and audacity to come down here, now not only have you ruined our marriage, but you’ve also ruined my day-off which I intended to spend with my boyfriend, and our son.”

Charles flinches at your final words, his face crumpling under the weight of it all. The sting of your truth, laid bare for everyone to hear, leaves him speechless. His bravado has completely evaporated, replaced by a hollow sense of regret and defeat. He opens his mouth as if to respond but quickly closes it, realizing there’s nothing he can say that will undo the damage he caused, the pain he inflicted, or the years he lost. His eyes flicker to Carlos, who stands steady, unmoved by Charles’ turmoil. There’s no room for pity here. “I—” Charles begins but stops as Carlos raises his hand.

“I think you’ve said enough,” his voice lacks all sympathy for his old friend, his old teammate, “it’s best you should go before you distress my girlfriend, or my son any further.

Charles’ eyes widen slightly at Carlos’ words, the final blow landing hard. He looks as if he’s been physically struck, his shoulders slumping as any remaining fight drains from him. His gaze flickers between you and Carlos, searching for something—anything—but finding no redemption, no sympathy. There’s nothing left to say.

He swallows hard, his lips pressed into a tight line, before finally nodding in a reluctant acceptance. “Fine,” he mutters, his voice barely audible. He turns on his heel, walking away with slow, defeated steps. The tension that had gripped the air slowly begins to dissipate as he disappears into the distance, leaving only the echoes of his footsteps behind.

Carlos turns to you, his hand still resting on your back, but now it’s a comforting gesture rather than a protective one. His expression softens as he searches your face. “Are you okay?” he asks gently.

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of everything that’s just happened, but also a sense of relief. “I think so,” you reply, your voice steady despite the emotional whirlwind you’ve just gone through. “It needed to happen.”

Carlos nods, his thumb brushing soothingly against your back. “He’s not going to ruin this for us. Not today, not ever.”

You smile faintly, grateful for his support. “No, he’s not. He’s gone now, and I’m finally free of it all.”

“We’re free of him,” Carlos adds, a reassuring strength in his voice. “You, me, and Rafael. That’s what matters.”

“Just promise me you’ll be careful on the track today,” you plead, chin resting on his chest as you look up to him.

Carlos chuckles softly, his warm smile easing the tension that still lingers. “I promise,” he says, his voice light but sincere. He tilts his head, giving you a playful wink. “But you know me, I can’t drive too carefully. It's in my nature to push the limits a bit.”

You roll your eyes with a small laugh, but your heart flutters slightly at the thought of him racing. It’s something you’ve grown used to, but there’s always that edge of worry. "Just... don’t make me regret asking," you tease, though the concern in your voice is real.

Carlos leans down, brushing his lips gently against your forehead, the gesture filled with tenderness. "I’ll come back to you both, safe and sound," he whispers softly, his forehead resting against yours for a brief moment. "Always."

You smile, feeling reassured by his words, and you give him a small nod. "Alright. Go show them what you’re made of, then."

As Carlos pulls away, you can see the familiar spark in his eyes, the passion and excitement that he always carries before a race. He gives your hand one last squeeze before turning to head toward the car. You watch him for a moment, taking in the sight of him—confident, composed, and ready for whatever comes next. Just before he reaches the garage doors, he turns back and flashes you that signature grin that always makes your heart skip a beat. “For you and Rafael,” he calls out. Your smile widens as you watch him go, knowing that no matter what happens on the track today, you’ll always have each other.

It’s not hard for you to find Rafael when you head back to the garage yourself. He’s completely engrossed in conversation with one of Carlos' engineers, pointing out different tools and parts of the car with wide-eyed fascination. His little hands gesture excitedly, and the engineer listens with a warm smile, clearly amused by Rafael’s enthusiasm. Carlos stands off to the side, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, watching his son with a look of pure affection and pride. His eyes sparkle as he takes in the sight of Rafael’s excitement, and there’s a certain softness to his expression that makes your heart swell.

You walk over, standing beside Carlos, who doesn’t take his eyes off Rafael but greets you with a small grin. “He’s already talking like he’s part of the team,” Carlos says quietly, his voice filled with pride. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking over the pit crew in a few years.”

You chuckle softly, watching Rafael explain something animatedly, his little voice echoing through the garage. “He’s got your passion,” you say, leaning into Carlos slightly, feeling the warmth of his presence.

Carlos hums in agreement, his arm slipping around your waist. “Maybe,” he says, his tone affectionate, “but the way he talks about everything… that’s all you. He’s got your curiosity, your heart, so, all my favourite parts of you.”

“My boyfriend the charmer,” you mumble as you lightly hit him on his chest.

Carlos chuckles, catching your hand gently against his chest before pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “Just telling the truth,” he murmurs, his eyes twinkling as he holds your gaze for a moment longer. “You deserve all the charm in the world.”

You roll your eyes playfully, though you can’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re lucky you’re good at this, or I might think you’re just trying to get out of bath time for the next few days.”

Carlos laughs, his warm, deep voice sending a wave of comfort through you. “I’d never do that. Bath time is part of the job.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice with a mischievous grin. “But if I do this race right, maybe we can negotiate something.”

You raise an eyebrow, feigning suspicion, but you can’t help the flutter in your chest at the way he always manages to make you feel light and cared for, even in the most mundane moments. “Alright, we’ll see how you perform today,” you tease back “if you win, I’ll let you put a baby in me, how about that?”

Carlos freezes for a moment, his eyes widening in surprise before a slow, playful grin spreads across his face. “You’re serious?” he asks, his voice filled with both excitement and disbelief.

You nod, biting your lip, unable to hide your own smile. “If you win today, we can start thinking about it.”

Carlos lets out a short laugh, running a hand through his hair as if trying to process what you just said. “Well, I’ve never been more motivated to win a race in my life,” he says, his eyes gleaming with a new intensity.

You chuckle, your heart racing at the look on his face. "Just make sure you’re focused on the track and not… well, other things."

“Oh, I’ll be focused,” Carlos says, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “But now, I’ve got the best reason in the world to win.” He leans in, brushing his lips against your ear. “For you, and for giving Rafael a baby sister or a brother.” Your breath catches at the sincerity in his voice, and as he pulls back, he flashes you that charming grin again before heading off toward the car. You watch him go, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness settle in your chest.

Eventually going behind the barriers and watching the race is harder than you’ve expected, you realise. As the laps go by, you keep glancing at Rafael, who’s glued to the action, his eyes wide with admiration for his dad. You smile at the way he clutches his little racing helmet, a miniature version of Carlos’ gear, his excitement evident. It’s clear he’s living every moment of the race through his dad’s performance, just as you are. When Carlos is in the lead, you hold your breath, willing him to stay ahead. When he’s fighting for position, you’re on the edge of your seat, cheering him on with every ounce of energy you have.

As the final laps approach, you glance at the clock and then at Rafael, who’s practically bouncing with excitement. You can tell he’s just as invested in the outcome as you are. You squeeze his hand, giving him an encouraging smile, and he returns it with a determined nod.

When Carlos crosses the finish line, the roar of the crowd is deafening, and you let out a cheer of your own, tears of joy welling up in your eyes. You look down at Rafael, who’s jumping up and down, his face beaming with pride and excitement. “He did it!” you shout, lifting him up in your arms as you join in the celebration.

Caco and a couple of the mechanics help you and Rafael to get to the barriers, weaving through the throng of celebrating fans and team members. As you approach the barriers, Rafael’s excitement is noticeable. His eyes are wide with wonder, and he clutches his mini helmet tightly, bouncing with every step. Caco, with his warm, reassuring smile, offers a few words of congratulations and gives Rafael a high-five. Carlos comes into view, his car parked in the parc fermé. His grin is infectious, and you can see the joy and relief in his eyes as he looks up at you and Rafael. The moment he gets out of the car, he’s enveloped by his team, but his gaze quickly finds you and Rafael. He finds his way to you after getting weighed and you can see him grab his cap before finally rushing towards you. Carlos scoops Rafael up into his arms, spinning him around as they both laugh, and then turns to you, his eyes shining with gratitude and affection.

“Well, looks like we’ve got a baby sister or brother to start thinking about,” Carlos says with a wink, setting Rafael down so he can pull you a in for a kiss.

You smile against his lips, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the joy of this moment. When you pull away, you look up at Carlos, your eyes sparkling with love and excitement. “We do, don’t we?” you say softly, your heart full as you take in the sight of your family together in this victorious moment.

Rafael, still buzzing with excitement, tugs on Carlos’ sleeve, his little voice bubbling over with enthusiasm. “Papa, did you see me cheering? I was so loud!”

Carlos laughs, his eyes crinkling with joy. “I heard you, buddy. You were the loudest cheerleader out there.”

As the celebration continues around you, you feel a profound sense of contentment. The day’s events, the race, the emotions—everything has come together perfectly. You take a deep breath, savouring the feeling of being surrounded by the people you love most.

Carlos pulls you close, wrapping his arms around both you and Rafael. “Thank you for everything today,” he murmurs, his voice filled with sincerity. “You’ve made this day even more special.”

You rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart. “It’s been an incredible day,” you agree, looking out at the jubilant scene around you. “I wouldn’t have wanted to spend it with anyone else.”

As you watch him savour the moments with your son before he needs to go for his interview and the podium celebrations, you realise just how lucky you are to have something that only happens every few lifetimes.

#monzabee #requests open #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #f1 smut #formula 1 #fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz imagine #imagine #fluff #angst #smut #carlos sainz angst

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thedigitalbard · 22 hours

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Campaign Spotlight

Ahmad Waleed's Family

In a town once filled with the laughter of children, the rumble of distant explosions became a constant reminder of a war that seemed never-ending. The day the fighting reached his neighborhood, 14-year-old Ahmed watched in horror as his home crumbled into rubble, the echoes of his shattered dreams mingling with the cries of despair from his family and neighbors. Ahmed and his family had no choice but to flee, carrying only what they could on their backs. They found refuge in a makeshift camp where thousands of other families sought safety. But there was no school, no electricity, no sense of stability. The camp was a place of survival, not a place where dreams could grow. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Ahmed's hope began to fade. He felt the weight of the war on his shoulders, a burden too heavy for a 14-year-old to carry. Yet, amid the uncertainty, a glimmer of hope appeared—an organization dedicated to helping children like Ahmed. They set out to rebuild the community, to offer education, and to provide a safe haven for those who had lost everything. We need your support to help Ahmed and others like him rebuild their lives. With your donation, we can provide shelter, so children no longer have to sleep in fear. We can create classrooms where they can learn and pursue their dreams. We can offer them a second chance at a brighter future. Your contribution can make all the difference. It can be the beacon of hope that guides Ahmed and others through the darkest of times. Join us in our campaign to bring light to their lives, to show them that the world still cares. With your help, we can give these children the tools they need to rebuild, to learn, and to dream once again. Together, let's create a future where children like Ahmed can grow up in peace and safety.

Hello everyone. This campaign is number 167 on the Vetted Gaza Fundraiser List by @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi. Ahmad has been fundraising since April, and he is still less than 50% of the way to his goal. The last donation to Ahmad's campaign was 21 HOURS AGO. We really need to help him reach the short-term goal of $10k as soon as possible. Ahmad is only 14 and he has put so much effort into raising funds for his family's campaign. I really don't want to see his efforts ignored. Please support Ahmad's family by sharing and donating. He has already had two accounts shadowbanned by Tumblr, but you can follow his campaign on this new account @ahmadwaleed55.

$9,225 / $25,000

Tagging for reach: @brutaliakhoa @buttercuparry @transmutationisms @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness

@neptunerings @heliopixels @commissions4aid-international @fading-event-608

@malcriada @turian @girlinafairytale @abnormalicacid

@appsa @sylvianritual @mothblossoms @autisticmudkip

@lesbianmaxevans @schoolhater

#mutual aid #palestine #gaza #free palestine #free gaza

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fandomxo00 · 3 days

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can you do a headcannon about Hugh getting reader pregnant and he’s like “omg how am I gonna have a kid at 55!?” But reader tells him he’s gonna be great and Hugh is like all dad mode now

hope this makes sense 😭😭

note: i'm so deulu is not funny, when i was younger i would come up with these same time of plots where like i'm related to a celebrity so i meet famous ppl and whatever or literally anything, ive come up hundrds of scenarios while i was playing outside, completely enveloped in the world. if i did that now....well lets just say im not going to and can go into so much detail when writing that its so much better.

Hugh never thought he was gonna be a father again, he never that he would have a biological child. It wasn't a loss for him, he loved his children so much. But he's nervous about how he was going to fit to your standards. He had many mistakes the first time around, and this was different for him. The love he has for you is something he hadn't ever felt before, he did need more children but Hugh wanted to give you everything. You didn't come from a loving family, you didn't feel safe for such a long time, in the beginning of the relationship you couldn't believe that he actually liked you.

You didn't think you were his type and you were in your early thirties. You'd met through the grapevine, your little sister, Gracie was getting really close with Taylor. The two of you being huge fans, you couldn't believe the two actually connected. You were closer to Taylor's age than Gracie was and the two of you became fast friends. She even invited you to help with The Era's Tour, being one of the backstage managers. That's when you met Hugh, he'd been heading towards divorce with his wife for a long time, and they were in the middle of it. You were hesitant when he was confident and respectful, the two of you getting to know each other better through different dinners and hangouts before you officially started going out with him when the divorce was finalized.

But after that things moved pretty quickly and within two years you were married to him, and deeply in love. Hugh couldn't believe that he had met you know. He'd wish that you had been a little older and he could've met you sooner. When he met you, there was this innate attraction and comfortably around each other. You were never comfortable around people you didn't know well, but Hugh made it seem like he'd known you forever. He knew about what you wanted, and he didn't even hesitate when it came to you. There wasn't anything that Hugh wouldn't do for you and vise versa.

Even though he wanted to give you children one day, he didn't realize it would be so soon. Though it wasn't and you'd been trying for awhile when you finally got a positive pregnancy test. You were so excited, even in your mood swings, weird pregnancy craves, and constant pain literally everywhere. Hugh did everything to soothe you asking you what you needed and doing that exactly for you. Listening to you carefully especially when you were so upset you were crying over something as simple as a snack or spilling a glass of water. Taking care of you reminded him of what his past looked like and what his future would consist of. He felt a warmness come over him as he did some refreshers on different parenting books. Going through a list of questions with you, things that were important for your parenting journey. It was important to compromise and listen to each other.

But one night he let out that he was indeed nervous, "I mean I'm 55, what if I'm not good at this, anymore? What if I can't be a good husband and a good dad? I mean look what happened-." He rambled, as your hand came up to his cheek. Hugh's hand coming to round pregnant belly, as you looked into his eyes.

"You are a great dad, and a great husband. And the difference between when you did this with your ex and me, is that our love is different. Right? You always told me that."

"Yeah baby, our love is different." Hugh hummed, leaning in to lightly kiss your lips.

The two of you balanced each other, it wasn't that you couldn't handle yourself without him. But rather it was just easier to be when you were with him. When you feeling like you were lacking he never forgot to remind you how valued and how much you meant to him. You tried to do the same, trying to give him hope at the end of the tunnel.

@ me for forgetting to tag ppl : @ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland

#hugh jackman imagine #hugh jackman #hugh jackman fanfic #hugh jackman fanfiction #hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman dad #hugh jackman request

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tibbycaps · 3 days

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Do you know have any tips on how to draw a comic? As in simple style and easy to draw and consistent in redraw? I love your style and I can't help but wonder how you got here and if you could help. Thank you

okay sorry i left this in the inbox for a bit because. where to start lol! there's a lot of thought that can go into making comics i think. but i believe you're specifically asking about having a consistent art style and being able to draw the same character a lot over and over again, so i'll try to focus on that

i think a lot of consistency is just playing around with character designs and getting something you feel comfortable with. ill use grian as a good example because it took me a while to come up with a grian design that i liked. once i liked it, i was able to draw my grian a lot & very consistently. every time you draw a character, even if it's a little doodle, you gain that muscle memory for ur lines a little better, so you should doodle always as much as you can and never be afraid to try something new and experiment with your style

the pipeline

i think a good way to establish a character design that you really like to draw & can familiarize yourself with is by defining some key features about them. like in this image for example, my older grian designs don't really have anything about them that stands out to me. he wasn't rlly that fun to draw. but nowadays i think i have a distinct hairstyle & expression & glasses shape i give him, which are fun to draw. even if it's a tiny doodle with like, 15 strokes, you can still identify it as my grian design i think

something that i noticed (i didn't consciously do this but it just sort of happened as i was trying to make them all look different from one another) is that i assign different shapes to grian, cub and scar. these guys are good examples because 1. they're the three characters in my hotguy comics part and 2. they're the three guys i draw the most often

grian i tend to go for more rounded shapes, cub more squares/rectangles, and scar is more pointy and triangular. little things like this can help them stand out from one another and makes them fun to draw in my opinion. when i draw grian's hair i always have the hair come to a rounded point and is more neat/tidy. when i draw scar the hair is more spiky and wild. cub is sort of in the middle where his hair is more pointy, but is kept neat, which gives it those straight lines and right angles

TL;DR how i draw characters easily and consistently is make key features & shapes that make them fun to both draw & look at. and then draw them a lot

i hope that makes any sense, i like yapping about character design so hope you don't mind the long response lol ^_^

#asks #my art stuff #grian #cubfan135 #gtws

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hyukascampfire · 1 day

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To: Someone From a Warm Climate

wc: 23.2k

genre: smut, angst, fantasy violence

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

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

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

a/n: this part, i put my heart and soul into! i rewrote so many parts and agonized over following the path that i most wanted the story to go down—i hope it shows! xoxoxoxo, love ya! again, this is a long one, so pls let me know about spelling mistakes :,)

! warnings: angst, unprotected sex, voyeurism, orgasm denial, jealousy, angst again, dubious intentions of multiple main characters... poor mc has no idea who to believe

playlists: taehyun | yeonjun | series

prev | next

You had hoped that learning of Yeonjun’s relationship with the same crowd who have made attempts on your life would be enough to rattle your brittle heart into sense. You really had. As you watch Taehyun, bent over the war strategy table, though, you wish you had more time to sort it out in your head. You hate the thought of settling on half-baked answers and information all for the fact that time is not on your side. When had time ever really been kind to you, though? It had not made exceptions when you were small and innocent in your cradle, had not slowed down to allow you to at least cherish your final moments a normal child with her human parents. You can only fantasize who you would be if you had been given just enough time to know that gentle love. Even now, time makes your choices for you.

Taehyun looks over those metal figurines as if searching for something in them. There are more of them stood and strewn out on the map. It reminds you how you are now faced with a plethora of newer, more powerful players.

You miss when this had been a simple spying mission—when your path forward had been unobscured and clear. You envy that version of yourself: able to believe that bad things presented themselves as such. The world had been clean-cut. Evil had jagged teeth and foul breath, and good had soft edges and sweet smiles. You’re not sure where that distinction lies anymore.

“How’s your shoulder?” you say, making your presence known. You’re sure he had been keen to your presence from the moment you’d entered the estate, though; not only thanks to his better hearing, but also because Taehyun is constantly assessing his surroundings. The smallest insect could hardly sneak up on him. You push off the doorframe and enter the room.

He nods his head once in greeting, but he doesn’t tear his gaze away from the table’s ensemble. “It’s doing fine.”

Sighing, you decide not to push it. The sight of that puncture had been ghastly, and it wreaks havoc in your belly every time you replay it, but the tick in his jaw when you mention it tells you enough of how he feels about disclosing whether or not anything might hurt him. How many times in the past few weeks had you forced him to do just that? It’s no wonder that the two of you butt heads so terribly. Allowing you to stitch him up must’ve been the extent of how far he’d let you see him in need of help.

You gesture toward the table. “Have you decided when we leave?”

Taehyun answers you with a strained sigh out through his nose: a testament to how he’d been mulling it over. He levies those figures a few more moments of his gaze as if they might speak an answer for him. They don’t. He concedes to their lack of direction and turns to you. “Every moment we spend here, we risk our identities further,” he starts, crossing his arms over his chest.

You wince. He still believes that you’d at least contained some of your identity by taking out those three faeries. You know better. Even the bard in that tavern had known what had happened; it’s why Yeonjun ended up finding out in the first place. Even if not all of them had been a part of that rebellion, it’s reckless to assume that there were no more than that.

Continuing, he says, “And judging by what we’ve picked up, we need to get it all back before the solstice.” He doesn’t pace as he thinks. Only the faraway look in his eyes betray the noise in his head.

You hate the way it sounds like he’s going to demand that you leave immediately, and you hate how it sieges your tongue and makes it dance into a pitiful ploy to stay. To give yourself some credit, it’s better that Taehyun knows every bit of information you have. This moment is desperate for informed decisions.

“I saw Yeonjun this morning,” you blurt. The words bubbled and bubbled behind your lips until they’d found the tipping point and spilled out. You’d agonized over what to make of it all for hours: that Yeonjun had been as deceitful with you as you’d been with him, that you are a sorry human girl that had wedged her way into the cross-firings of a war much beyond yourself, that you still have the gall to consider your own feelings despite its grandness... None of that worrying had led you to a conclusion that both your heart and mind would agree on.

Taehyun’s gaze snaps to you, contained and remote aside from the twitching at the corners of his lips. The intensity of it makes you waver, but you have no time for wavering.

“He’s... been made aware of our purpose here. He knows that we’re spies,” you say. As you watch him try to piece that together, you add, “He’s part of their rebellion.”

Now he laughs, barbed and full of mock and disbelief. “The prince is rebelling against his father? He thinks he’ll find the throne like that? What’s his plan for when this falls through? For when his father hears of his mutiny? The prince will lose his head.”

The thought makes you nauseous, despite how Yeonjun’s image has grown to be something murky. You don’t know what Yeonjun’s intentions are in aligning with the rebellion here. You hardly know anything about his relationship with his father and the High Court aside from the fact that he feels suffocated by his life back there. You’d assume that there’s a lot more to his reasoning, but you’ve learned your lesson about assuming that you know who people are. The inability to lie comes with the need for secrets. The thought that perhaps Yeonjun is only making a shady attempt for power crosses your mind, but either your own reasoning or your own stubbornness shoves it down. Nobody in faerie would hand their fealty to a prince who’d taken the throne of a long-standing king by those sorts of means. He’d be a king with no denizens to preside over.

You interject Taehyun’s parade of scoffs. “He told me that war is coming, that it’s been coming.”

His face drops, and he straightens up. “Of course it is. It’ll begin the moment we return with what we’ve found.”

Your lips go a bit numb, and then your fingers follow. You know that this is your duty—it’d been this all along. It should come as no shock to you that he intends to relay this all to The King. But that was before you allowed your heart to make its home here. How simply he demands that you return to those lands with information that would kill Yeonjun... it has acid crawling a path up your throat.

You make your best effort to ensure that your voice doesn’t falter as you speak. “He offered us protection as long as we stay here,” you say. “We don’t have to leave now.” You try to catch his gaze as you add, “We don’t have to leave at all.”

You know that Yeonjun plays a part in the rebellion, but you don’t know how deep his devotion goes, and you also don’t know to what ends you can trust his intentions. How far do his loyalties to the rebellion go? And, where do his loyalties to you stand? The thought that he may have never loved you at all... it’s been a plague to your heart and mind from the very moment he’d revealed the truth to you this morning. Your guilt has chipped away at you without mercy—you’ve spent so many awful nights wishing you could unload your deceptions in front of him. How had it ended up so trivial in the grand scheme of things? How are you the one left feeling betrayed?

You really, really cannot imagine having Yeonjun’s blood on your hands. He is one of them—a creature deception, and yet you still cannot shake those stolen nights from your bones. He had been your first. He’d made this place a home for you, where you had never had a home. It’s pitiful to search so deeply in someone else for your own strengths; even you can see that. Nevertheless, you do it. You suppose that a pair of warm arms and sweet words will do that to someone, no matter if you know that they could rot you like sweets do the tooth. It’s not unlike drunkards who find their day’s comfort in their drinks, even as it rots their body and mind away. Anything for a stretch of belonging and bliss. You're desperate for it.

Taehyun’s sinewy words rattle your wandering mind back to reality. “He tells you that he is a member of the same group of people that have tried multiple times to kill you, and you believe him when he says he’s going to protect you? Still?” he spits, shaking his head. “What makes you so sure that he’s not just keeping us from running? That he isn’t handing us on a platter to his rebel friends? You’re going to get us fucking killed.”

Blood roars like frothy-white rapids in your ears, warring with the echoes of his honey-glazed exclamations of love. To some capacity, he had to have meant those words. Faeries can’t lie, and he had said it so plainly. He loves you.

“We can’t leave yet,” you say, stepping toward him on legs that you fear might collapse beneath you. “You said it yourself; we can’t return without the whole story. If we return now, we could be missing something.” You study the frosty set to his face and suck in a stabilizing breath. “Please, Taehyun. Please trust me on this.”

You sound desperate and pleading, but you don’t reel it in at all. You are desperate and pleading. You have no intent of returning as some successful spy and continuing a life of deception and violence. It’s not who you are; it’ll never be who you are. Maybe this world tries to ask it of you, but you refuse to concede to it.

“Part of our job is staying alive,” he says, his body rigid. He doesn’t like where you’re going with this, you can tell that much.

“Is that what you want? To be a pawn of war? Isn’t that what we are if we bring this information back?” you challenge. “Don’t you think that if the prince of all people has turned against him, then serving at his hand is the wrong choice? I don’t know The King—I’ve never even seen him! Why should I be excited to serve him?”

“The prince has more reason than anybody to want his father off his throne.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” you say, stepping further toward him. Though, it does make you revisit those thoughts. If vying for the crown is really Yeonjun’s intention, you suppose he’d have no problems pleading with you to stay in order to tie off loose ends. You wish you could see it all from somebody else’s untainted eyes. “What I’m saying is, do you want to be a spy? What has The King ever done for you to earn your loyalty?”

Taehyun looks at you with disbelief, the corners of his mouth tilting down. “I don’t care about the damn king,” he snaps, and then gestures down at the table with all those figures. “The Queen operates on necessary evils. Where she can find a string to pull, she will pull it. My father was her general for a reason. Do you think she would keep him unless she approved of his violence? There is no good side to this war—just sides. If you’re suggesting that we stay here and try to forget that we came as spies, then you can forget it.”

You glance over at the war table and wonder how you’ve become a moving piece in ancient faerie politics when all you’d set out for was a purpose. You’d been so warped by your bitterness with your upbringing that you’d failed to see how anything could be worse than that. You’d been so excited that you jumped willingly into dark water without knowing how deep it was, and now your feet can’t touch the ground. Is this the purpose you want?

“Leave, then,” you say, stepping back. “You can leave. Just let me stay here. Please.”

Something in Taehyun’s expression flips, so subtle that you can’t name it. It unsettles you, your hair standing on edge. There is something in his eyes that you do not like.

“So, that’s it?” he says, his voice odd too. “That’s all it took for you to hand your future over on a leash to him?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you stammer. The only ones with a collar around your neck are the spies. They’re the ones who insisted on that geas—the ones who needed to compel you with their faerie magic.

“It means that you got all the way here, uncovered a whole rebellion, and made a life for yourself, not handed to you by a prince, and you’re going to trade it in. It means that you’ve let him convince you that you are weak and need to be coddled.”

Your fists curl tight and dig your nails into your palms. “I never wanted to be a spy,” you grit out. Yeonjun is not the reason you want to stay here. He may be part of it, but you’ve come to be utterly unwilling to return to that spy den like it’s your home, or something. It’s not. You’d slept there for one night. Beyond just your word and that geas, what reason do you have to return?

“You didn’t? And yet, it’s what we are, isn’t it?” he says. “Do you think that I dreamed of being a spy? That I do it because I love it?”

“Then, what do you do it for, Taehyun?” you say. “When will you begin living your life for you?”

Taehyun seems to consider your words for a few long heartbeats, and then he seems to settle into something in his head. You allow yourself to let go of some of the tension in your shoulders as you watch his expression morph into something much less poisonous.

You hadn’t expected him to react like that.

“Do you have any weapons on you?” he says.

Faltering, you sputter out, “What?” You look over the room. The last time you’d been in here, you’d sparred. Does he intend to properly fight you in here now? Had you pushed him too far? Shaking your head and feeling at all the places you usually tuck your blades away, you say, “No... I don’t.”

“Get some. Where we’re about to go...” he trails off, as if reconsidering, but then he continues, “I’ll get you a hag stone.”

You furrow your brows, not taking off to do so. “A hag stone?” you echo, thankful that he isn’t trying to duel you, but wary at the need for such a faerie ward. Hag stones are of the more serious class of wards used to protect humans from faerie enchantment or glamour. Most often, humans would string theirs up with a bit of thread through the hole of it and wear it around their necks as a pendant. Unlike turning one’s clothes inside out or taking red berries on your person, hag stones protect against the more devastating faerie magic. You shudder simply wondering what you might need a hag stone to protect yourself from.

He nods a bit solemnly. “Kelpie do not let a meal or trick pass them by when they wait so long to have them.”

You look at him with wild eyes, hoping to see him laugh or play his words off as a joke. He does not, but of course he doesn’t. Taehyun doesn’t waste his words on jokes.

“Why... Why would we be going to a kelpie?” you ask him, laughing around the ball of fright in your chest.

He lends you a wretched look. “I have old debts to call on.”

❉

The forest in which Taehyun leads you is untamed. At some point, the sound of nature’s buzzing tapers off, and you know that you’ve entered a deeper forest than you ought to be sticking your nose in. When the forest goes silent, it’s only for one reason.

You’d grown up here. Maybe you’d been born elsewhere, but that does not negate the fact that you had grown up scared every day of the powerful creatures that inhabit this world. Your fear has ruled you for your whole life, and you let it. You’d be a fool not to. It’s how you survive in this world. Your limbs tremble; they plead with you to listen to everything you’ve ever known—do not mess with what is bigger than you.

You step around frost-capped puddles and dance between briars, careful not to snag yourself on their claws. It unsettles you further that this part of the forest is so untrodden and overgrown. With no folk coming through, you fear how the kelpie might behave when you make an audience before it. Will it climb straight from its frosty swamp and drag you back down with it? Is the hag stone you clutch at your chest enough to keep you safe?

“I don’t understand why we’re doing this, Taehyun,” you say, delicately avoiding any tumbles as you speed up to gauge his feelings by his face. You’re not fond of the remote blankness in his eyes, nor the staunch determined set to his jaw. “That thing might kill us, and your shoulder is hurt. You shouldn’t be out here; you should be letting it heal.”

“I know my limits,” he says.

Grimacing, you return his curt tone. “Taehyun.” You grab at the material of his sleeve with urgency. When he stops to look at you, you continue. “I want you to actually listen to me. You’re being unreasonable. Yeonjun said he’d use his pull to protect us. Both of us. We have no reason to be out here, you’re just putting us in danger.”

He lets your words stew in the air for a moment before saying, “I’m the one putting us in danger? Me?” He scoffs. “We are about as safe dealing with a kelpie as we are living off his promises. I’m doing what’s best for us. Trust me.”

You’re winded by his choice of words. You’ve become wary of dealing out your trust so frivolously. Those two words ring alarm bells.

“But where is this coming from? You didn’t want to stay.” Your breath furls out in a plume of white smoke in front of your face as you speak.

He looks as if he doesn’t want to answer that. It only makes you more apprehensive. Your limbs fill with lead, planting you where you stand. “Taehyun, I’m scared,” you say. “Isn’t finding help from a solitary faerie a bit too far? How is trusting Yeonjun any more dangerous than that?”

Taehyun steps toward you. “He is going to kill us. It’s not if, it’s when. That bastard is going to hurt you. This... This is for us. We are self-sufficient; we don’t need his protection shit.” A bitter tang colors his words. “I know that you’re scared. I won’t let it hurt you; I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise that you’ll be okay. You want to stay, don’t you?”

You nod. You would even make deals with a kelpie for it.

“Okay, then, let’s go,” he says, taking off with those words, effectively punctuating the conversation.

You follow him.

You grow more anxious the deeper you trudge into the forest without any consolation as the daylight begins creeping away. Following behind Taehyun, the wind whips at the perfect angle so that his form takes most of its terror, allowing you a respite from at least some of the brutal cold. You don’t feel any remorse using him as a shield against the elements—frost runs through his veins. He doesn’t shiver or wince at it.

Taehyun stops a few feet before a wintry mire framed by crystallized cattails and reeds. Your heart stutters as he looks around to ensure that this is the right spot. The water is dark and deep. You stay a healthy distance away from it. You do not want to find out just how deep it is.

“Where is it?” you say, keeping your voice low as if the beast might lunge from the water and snatch you up if you don’t.

Taehyun surveys the forest surrounding you and then the body of water as he always does, and when he looks to you, you already know he’s calculated and planned. He doesn’t face a situation without thought—that notion soothes you, even if it’s to the slightest degree.

“It won’t come until I call it,” he says, gesturing at those murky and horrible watery depths. Swallowing hard, you consider how close you stand to it. You take a shuffled step back. “When you see it, you need to stay calm. Don’t let it see your fear. It’ll find it amusing and latch onto you. Do you understand?”

A rush of heavy dread spreads from your core and seizes your lungs at his words. You’ve made it this far. You want to stay. You want to stay, bad. If this thing outsmarts you, you will not go down without swinging this time. You have your daggers, and you know how to wield them. Bravery is most of the battle, isn’t it?

You muster a nod, trying to give yourself a brave heart, but Taehyun shakes his head. Your eyes must betray how stricken you are. “Do you understand?” he repeats, his voice sharp and grave.

“I do.”

He accepts your words, pressing on. “It will try to trip you over your words and spin you into a trap with tricky words. Do not entertain it, even as it tries, okay?”

You’ve been terrorized by faerie tricks your whole life. You can handle their schemes just fine. “Okay.”

Taehyun frees a blade from its hiding place and brings it to his palm. He slides it there, slicing it open. Crimson creeps from the slit, running in between his fingers and trickling onto the snow. He’d cut pretty deep.

“Why are you—Taehyun?” you say, stepping toward him as he curls his wounded hand into a fist over the water, shaking it so as to let the droplets down into the black water. You regret those steps you’d made toward him as something comes crashing through the surface.

No, rather than emerging from under the surface, the beast is born from the water, manifesting from it as something gangly and wretched. From its pointed ears to its hooves, it pushes up from nothingness until it is standing there, real and terrible before you. Its skin glistens with a thickness like oil and its hair and tail hang in heavy, seaweed-like tendrils, plastered against its body. The scum floating on top of the water clung to its hair and pelt as it rose, twigs and the like poking from its withered body. A bridle cages its head, leather reins dangling down. Of all its awful things, you believe that its eyes are the worst—bone-white and piercing, they send a terror down your spine that solidifies in your bones. You know you will not soon forget the ancient soullessness that lives there. The folk do sometimes resemble the places in which they hail from; you suppose that the kelpie bares striking resemblance to the swirling water that sits at its feet.

You try not to choke or gasp or react in any way at all, but it isn’t easy. You focus your adrenaline on keeping your breathing as even as you can manage.

“It has been a long time since I’ve found a human at my doorstep,” the creature says, steam blowing from its nostrils as it snorts. How long might a long time mean to a faerie, especially one you know is so ancient? You hope that your presence does not intrigue the beast at all.

Taehyun swoops in before you can speak, and you are boundlessly thankful for it. “I’ve come to call on the debt you owe me,” he says. He doesn’t leave any room for any familiarity or playfulness.

“Is it that time?” the kelpie says, placing one hoof down onto the snow. It had looked so incorporeal and liquid that you half expect it to burst and turn to water as it does, but it climbs out just fine. Very real.

Taehyun eyes the kelpie as it makes land, dribbling with water and its kelp hair swinging. You swallow hard as it disregards his presence to observe you. You’re used to the folk disregarding you, not this. How many years had you yearned for their attention? Right now, you scare under it.

“For what do you need my help, boy?” it says, voice gurgled, “And why do you bring this human along? Is it for her? Or, rather, have you brought her as your peace offering?”

Your legs tremble beneath you.

“I don’t owe you any peace offering, kelpie,” Taehyun says, his head held righteously high. “You’ll offer me what I ask, or you’ll suffer for it.”

Shifting under the tense atmosphere, you still don’t speak. In Faerie, debt is law. The folk live by a law that is, like many other things about them, foreign to you. Whatever natural laws by which they govern themselves are vastly lost on you—but of keeping promises and respecting debts, you are very aware. They hate to be indebted—you’re sure it’s why this kelpie is so peevish. You hope that the folk’s need to balance their debts is enough to keep it hospitable.

The kelpie makes a rumbling and throaty sound that mimics that of a laugh. It rumbles the ground below your feet. “Just as rigid as the last time we met like this,” it says. “I wonder if it's because you’ve inherited your father’s stone heart, or because you fear me?”

The kelpie remains playful with its intonation, but tension lies thick and dangerous beneath both of their words. You know well enough that the beast is not being light-hearted.

Taehyun holds his face firm. He refuses to give an inch. “Do not try that with me. You have your word to upkeep for my help.”

Shimmering under the moon’s light now, the beast treats us with a long moment of hostile silence. You can feel its malintent despite how hollow those eyes remain.

“What do you ask of me?” it finally says, whipping its drooping tail behind it.

“There is a rebellion here,” starts Taehyun, shoulders relaxing to the slightest degree as the kelpie defers, “The north is uneasy. I’m optimistic that you’ll lend us your protection and hand, whenever I call on it. Regardless of it being in my interest, I’m sure that you aim to keep your lands peaceful, no?”

“Rebellion? For what would anything of the courts be in my interest? Of their rebellion or even just their ridiculousness, I do not care. I’ve left your gentry to you, leave me to mine.”

Taehyun’s nostrils flare. “I’m not asking you to care about the courts, I’m asking you to lend me your help when I ask of it,” he grits out, “Or, rather, I’m not asking. I am informing you that I am expecting you to uphold your debt to me, and you’d better be ready to do so. This is just courtesy.”

You feel the kelpie’s offense in the hollow quiet that follows Taehyun’s demands. Among many things, the fae are prideful creatures. Your stomach is in terrible knots. Taehyun is just trying to regain the power in the situation. You know that. It doesn’t make you any less scared for your life. With an ancient creature like a kelpie, it is paramount to earn its respect, or else it will push you around.

Worse than that. It will drag you down into its waters and make your soul into a meal.

“It’s a pity you think that hag stone will save you from me, human.” The kelpie turns its attention back on you. You bade your knees not to crumple. “It takes much more than that to protect you in places like these. Perhaps you’ll be safe from petty enchantment, though.”

Taehyun shoves his words in before you can give the kelpie any sort of reaction. Not even a tremble. “Understood?”

“You’ve made deals with our kind before. The magic reeks on you. It’s lousy enchantment, I could dissolve that geas for you. All you’d have to do is climb up on my back, and I’d grant you your freedom.”

You can’t help but perk up. The prospect of ridding yourself of the geas placed over you is a painfully delicious one.

Bristling, Taehyun steps between you and the kelpie. Whether he does it to fight off the beast should it lunge at you or to prevent you from approaching it, you’re unsure. “Do not,” he says.

“Wasn’t going to.” You say it, and of course it’s true. The kelpie is poking around to see what will most entice you. Regardless, you can’t deny how awfully you wish that geas were gone. It’s the one thing that you fear will tether you to The King’s bidding. No matter how you armor yourselves from the rebellion here in the north, what’s to stop the spies from tugging on the enchanted leash? One command from Cricket, and your body would betray you and walk the whole way there itself.

Though you don’t verbalize your interest, the kelpie no doubt sees the interest alight in your eyes. It pounces accordingly. “Unless you’d prefer that I give you a whole other enchantment. Protection against any of our kind’s glamours? Permanant true sight? A touch to my pelt would be all it would take for you to make yourself free.”

Taehyun clicks just the hilt of his sword free from the sheathe. “Stop with the tricks. You can find your fun elsewhere.”

Like the swampish water behind it, the kelpie stands there totally still, studying Taehyun. You really wish this altercation could wrap up at any pace faster than it currently is. You’re itching to escape those white eyes. They’re much more intimidating as night settles in. What sort of thing had Taehyun even done to indebt a creature like this to him? Once again, you’re left confronting how little you know of him and his past. By the time you’ve come to terms with the last thing, the next arrives to remind you that the folk lead much longer lives than you do.

It finally speaks again. “Why have you brought this human with you, Lord?” Its furls out the term like a weapon. This bitter intonation that you’ve seen be used multiple times to speak of Taehyun’s title sticks with you. The title is a taunt. In this case, the you know it comes from the kelpie’s place of utter indifference and lack of obeisances toward whatever sovereignty the Courts may claim. The kelpie only answers to the land.

“Because I needed you to know that your protection will extend to her. Know her face, learn it so that when I call on you, you’ll play your part correctly.”

“I fail to see why you dote over her safety. Who is the human to you?” The kelpie takes a step forward, its powerful muscles rippling with the moon’s white light on its ink pelt. You mirror it with a step back. Taehyun stays put. “I owe her no help. That’s not how this works. I concede that I am bound to your help, but I do not repay double. You overestimate my generosity.”

You watch as Taehyun takes on a posture that you’ve come to recognize as his offensive posture, potent adrenaline twisting up your stomach and sending your heart into a fit so fierce that you feel it in all your pulse points. You’re sure that swords are a laughable matter to the kelpie. Iron, though, you’re sure would still burn. Turning your hands to fists, you make a conscious effort not to find your iron weapons. If the kelpie were to see that, it may escalate things. You do not want to escalate.

It’s only smart for you to consider your disadvantages: Taehyun is wounded. He had literally been struck by an arrow last night. You’re so far into the woods that running would consist of stumbling over roots and avoiding thorny bushes. Taehyun might know them, but you’re fully unfamiliar with a kelpie’s weaknesses, or if they even have any at all. You’re better off appeasing the beast.

“Taehyun,” you warn.

He pays it no mind. “I said,” he snarls, “stop with the tricks. You owe your very ability to draw breath to me, and beyond that. It was my neck on the line to grant you that. What I did for you was worth many debts. If you want to settle it all to even, you’ll do it. Don’t play this like a fool.” He doesn’t address the kelpie’s first question.

Taehyun creeps toward the kelpie. You’re not sure where he sources all that fearlessness from inside himself. He’s way too close for your comfort. “What are you doing?” you hiss, quiet and meant for just him. There is no way he intends to fight this thing right now. You’d prefer taking the risk of trusting Yeonjun’s word over this any day.

“Even the general”—the kelpie spits that word with a similar distaste as he had Taehyun’s title—“knew when he was in over his head. Ask a more respectable payment of me.”

You suck in a breath. “Let’s just go,” you tell Taehyun. “We don’t need to do this; we didn’t need to in the first place.”

As Taehyun takes one last step toward the kelpie, he reaches a sword’s distance from it.

Really? Is this happening right now?

“I’m giving you grace right now, kelpie,” he says, his voice pure warning, “My father is the one who landed you like that. It’s humorous that you’d even speak of him while we’re sorting out the debts that you incurred because of him. I suggest that you give up the sly act.”

Once again, a charged and meaningful pause rings throughout the forest. The silence speaks volumes of how the kelpie takes his words.

It’s a flash of movement, the two dark figures like blurs as Taehyun’s hand flies out to grab a hold of the reins that hang from its head and the kelpie rears back with a bone-piercing, harrowing whinny. He braces himself on its side and uses its flank to push off of. The creature bucks fast, but Taehyun is faster.

The rage that it bellows with guts you. The forest ground trembles with its frantic clambering, hooves battering the snow.

The kelpie’s frenzy ends as Taehyun takes the reins in both hands. It doesn’t make any more attempts to send him off, nor does it stumble about wildly. It settles. The kelpie bows its head. Your hands cover your mouth. They’re ready to muffle your scream. You wait for Taehyun to become one with the beast’s figure and for it to drag him down to the depths of its water that don’t see the sun’s light. Nothing happens. Instead, he slips off the back of the kelpie without any trouble, landing with a thud back on the ground.

“Fix your appearance,” Taehyun commands.

You allow a sound of surprise to slip as the beast melts down, shedding water to the ground and crumpling over. You watch it shrink all the way down until, where once the gangly beast had stood, the form of a faerie man stands. He unfurls from the forest floor to his full height, taller than Taehyun and reedy in his limbs. His hair cascades down from his head in shaggy, damp brown locks with twigs and leaves tangled in. Sharp faerie ears protrude from it. It confirms to you that this is just another form of the kelpie, not someone else entirely.

“You’re a fool,” the man says, turning on Taehyun with wild eyes.

You join his confrontation on Taehyun. “What the hell is going on?” you say. You’re still jittery with the urge to run.

Taehyun entertains only you, saying, “I hoped that he’d just make things easy in the first place.”

The man, dripping with water from his tattered, sopping rags for clothes, sneers. “I would not serve you if you fucking killed me. Of course you had to take my bridle.”

You give Taehyun an expectant look. You’re in dire need of being filled in.

“His bridle,” he says, grabbing the reins that still hang from the man’s face even in his human form and tugging him into a walk into the forest, “I grabbed it. He serves me, now. He can hate it all he wants, but he’ll do what I ask.”

The thought makes you deeply uncomfortable, but you can’t pin exactly why. It lives somewhere around the place inside you that loathed the way the folk made your kind into their glamoured servants.

“We’re just going to bring him back with us?” You trail them tentatively back through the woods that you had arrived from. “Like a prisoner, or something?”

“Exactly like a prisoner,” the man says, excited to get a hit in on Taehyun. Of course, he’s unhappy.

He stumbles as Taehyun tugs him forward by his bridle. “Shut your mouth,” Taehyun says. It’s more commanding than angry. “What’s your name?” he asks him.

The man looks as though he wants to deny him that knowledge. Names are a powerful thing to a faerie. They spend their lives hiding them away—to give away their real name would make them totally vulnerable to the whims of whoever knows and uses it. However, you assume that whatever hold Taehyun has over him now works in a similar way, and his lips move despite his revolt.

“Beomgyu,” he answers, eyes full of bite.

You climb between a pair of close-resting, gnarled trees. “Does he have to keep that thing on, Taehyun?” you say, struggling with the sight of him being dragged along. It’s unsettling. “Like, does it work without that?”

Stopping, Taehyun reaches up to pull the bridle off and around from Beomgyu’s head. He lets it fall to the snow. “You can use his name if you need to command him and I’m not around. He’ll have to do what you say.” Pushing Beomgyu into a walk, he says, “You’re going to protect us if in any case we need it. That includes her. You’re going to stay within my estate, unless one of us brings you somewhere. You won’t try your hand at any escape, and you won’t make any attempts to harm us either directly or by omitting something you are aware will do so.”

You rub your hands together to generate heat as he lists his commands. Why would he even need those precautions, if Beomgyu is supposed to be his compulsory servant now? Would that not mean that he’d be unable to harm him? Either Taehyun is being extra precautious, or the command he has over him is weaker than you had thought at first. Beomgyu scowls the whole way through. Perhaps if Taehyun had not spoken those exact words, he would have lunged at him.

As the kelpie stalls, Taehyun urges him forward once again with a shove. “Walk,” he snaps. “You did this to yourself. If you’d been a respectable man, I’d have only asked for your help when we needed. Now, you’re following us everywhere.” He allows him to stew on that for a little before saying, “You do your job well and I’ll let you return to your waters. I’ll forget I even made you my servant, and you’ll live knowing you’re no longer in my debt. You’ll not have to worry that someone might tame you again, because I already had, and I won’t even utilize it. We’ll never even make each other’s acquaintance again. You’ll be free to toil in your forest, and I will stay far away. All I need is for you to keep us alive and unharmed.”

At least he doesn’t intend to keep him forever as an eternal servant. Most faeries that fall into debts work their long lives as living servants. Your years as Nut-hatch's worker taught you how that life whittles your soul down. Hundreds of years of just that is unfathomable. Maybe that is the cost of betraying honor here, though.

“So be it,” Beomgyu says, teeth gritted.

You continue to trudge through the forest behind them.

❉

Once you’re within the walls of the estate and Beomgyu is given a place to stay, you turn to Taehyun. “What part of that was safer than trusting Yeonjun?” you say.

His eyes drop closed and he sighs. “It was worlds safer,” he grits out. “I knew what I was doing. You had that hag stone, and I’d have cut him down if he tried anything.”

He stretches out his shoulders, shifting them uncomfortably under the fabric of his tunic. You know that his sewn-up wound bothers him. Could it be getting infected? You hope not—an infection this early on would most definitely mean it would be a nasty one. If only he weren’t insistent on pretending that it’s nothing. “I don’t think you could”—you gesture at your own shoulder—“you’re going to infect your shoulder. I don’t know how to treat an infected wound that big.”

“I wouldn’t have even gone there if I thought I couldn’t handle it. I had a plan. I can protect us just fine.”

Us. You’ve been wondering what your purpose here might become once you abandon returning to your duties. Would you be staying with Yeonjun? If he betrays you, and Taehyun were to push you out now that you’re no longer partners in duty, where would you go? Crawl to the doorstep of some random faerie to place yourself in their services, just to find yourself a warm place to stay? Taehyun now makes it clear that he still sees the two of you as a pair, but why? You still can’t understand why he’d suddenly switched up the moment you said you’d stay here even if he left. Realistically, he should’ve killed you for being a traitor to the king that he serves. You know that his intentions are more complex than that, but you fail to grasp where they lie. His actions and his words clash.

“And when Yeonjun doesn’t betray us? What will all of this be for?”

“This doesn’t stop at the prince,” he says, “there are more players than just him and The Queen. Any one of them could determine that we’re liabilities. Don’t you think that we should prepare for that? We came here as spies infiltrating their court from the very king that they rebel against; of course they’ll have plans for us.

“It’s still best that you stay your distance from the prince from this point on, regardless, unless you bring the kelpie.”

Your mouth drops open, brows pinching. You don’t like the thought of being chaperoned at all. If Yeonjun is to betray you, then it’ll be your own fault. You can take the consequences of your actions just fine. “I think I can make that decision for myself,” you say, voice low. “And I can protect myself, too. Are you saying my skills aren’t up to your standards? Well, I didn’t spend that time working on them for nothing, and I don’t plan on stopping. I know I’m not perfect, but I think I can at least use a dagger adequately, no?”

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Taehyun says, eyes flat with frustration. “You can protect yourself well. I know that. What I mean is that you shouldn’t rest your life on his integrity. I have no doubts that you’d be able to protect yourself from him alone. He’s delicate. The King doesn’t pamper his children, but I have no doubt that the prince hasn’t wielded a sword anywhere other than in sparring. But you don’t know if you’ll ever truly be alone, and you don’t know whether or not he’s setting you up. I think you can at least agree that it’s best that you can acknowledge that and behave accordingly, no?”

“I rested my life on your integrity today. Am I supposed to trust you blindly, too? What if you’re just stringing me along until you kill me for my treason to The King? You were his spy, no? How many years did you serve him? Why have you given it up so easily? Why are you staying here? None of it makes sense to me, but I still trusted you. Was I wrong for that? Are you a liar, Taehyun? Does your tongue tell lies?”

His eyes crystallize, a few degrees colder than you’d seen them all day. “I can lie,” he says. “But would I have done what I did today if I intended to kill you? It’s time that you see that actions tell you so much more than words ever will.”

Again, he treads around your questions about his intentions. “Why are you staying here?” you repeat, studying him with your suspicion.

He’s quiet.

“Answer me,” you demand.

“Is this not my home?” he says.

Unsatisfied, you press more. “I thought you hated this place. Why would you want to stay here? Don’t you have an awful reputation here?”

His eyebrows shoot up, but his face stays hauntingly blank. You’re used to his blank mask, but this feels different. “If you think that I left here because of my reputation, then you’ve fooled yourself.” He begins making for his quarters. “I have obligations to fulfilling my father’s role as Lord of this estate,” he says before turning and ending the conversation on his terms.

That leaves you just as confused. If he cared about his responsibilities here, he would’ve never left them in the first place to become a spy under The King. It makes no sense. Whether or not it’s true, you’re positive that you aren’t getting the whole story. You sigh and drag your feet bed-bound. You hope to never have another day as unending as today again.

❉

You dodge Beomgyu for the entirety of the day, not sure what to make of a new presence around the estate, even if it’s an indebted servant beast of a presence. You’d half expected Taehyun to rope him up in the horse stalls outside, making that his permanent residence, but he’d given Beomgyu a place somewhere in the servant’s quarters. You’re glad of it—you may be wary of him, but you don’t wish anything like that for him. Now that he has a more human form, you find yourself able to empathize with him more than you were when he was a hulking, killer water horse. He doesn’t necessarily run around much—without a doubt because he’s not the happiest about being forced into Taehyun’s servitude. You don’t blame him.

Despite your efforts, he enters the kitchens while you’re alternating between chomping on a slice of bread and a platter of dates. He eyes you. Though in this form his eyes are not as piercing, they’re still heavy.

You offer him a slice of the bread and push the platter toward him. “Hungry?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t eat the way you do.”

Then why’d he come to the kitchens? Either he’s exploring, or he came looking for you. “Not even like this?” you ask, gesturing down to his form.

“I eat when someone is foolish enough to come to my waters,” he says. “I thought I’d be eating yesterday, but the Lord subverted those plans, didn’t he?”

You laugh a bit, though it’s absurd to laugh about being eaten with the same creature that had intended to do so.

“I sometimes go for more years than the entire span of your human life without eating,” he says, tilting his head to one side. Shaggy locks of hair follow his head with it. It’s unkempt and in dire need of a washing to rid it of dirt.

You gesture at his dirt-smudged cheek. “Do you want to clean up? I’m sure Taehyun has some clothes to spare for you. There are some pretty nice bathing quarters, here, too. The kind that makes you reluctant to get out.”

A wry smile cracks across his face, a bit feral like the rest of him. “I’m not afraid of some dirt. These are my clothes. I’d go naked before dressing myself in his.”

“Okay, then,” you snort, shrugging. “No baths.” You rip a bite out of the wrinkled fruit in your hand. “How did you even end up... in debt to Taehyun?” you ask, eager to fill yourself in. If Taehyun insists on not telling you anything, you’ll find it in other places. You’d picked up that it had something to do with his father, but you need to know more. The more you’re able to piece together, the better you’ll be able to make sense of Taehyun’s behaviors. You hope so, at least. He holds is truths very close to himself, and almost everybody else seems to harbor a poignant distaste for him.

Beomgyu’s face sours up again. “I had a dispute with his father. The General was going to raze my forest and kill each one of us. I’d called on him and asked for his help. I’m not sure what he did, but The General never came. If I knew it’d land me like this, though...” He grimaces. “I’d have just let him make me history.”

Reigning in the laugh that bubbles in your chest at his resentment, because you’re positive that you finding humor in his misfortunes would ruffle him, you nod and pocket that information. “Then, why didn’t you just agree to help when he tried to collect your debt in the first place?”

“I was going to,” he snaps. “He’s just a prideful creature. No patience. If he’d waited a few moments, I’d have agreed.”

Humming, you don’t tell him that he’s definitely the one who wound himself up like this. Taehyun had made it clear multiple times that Beomgyu needed to stop playing around.

Taehyun’s voice comes from the doorway, cutting into the conversation with its matter-of-factness. “Speaking bad on my name while I’m away, kelpie? Should I amend your list of commands to include watch your mouth?” His tone is bare and humorless.

Beomgyu bristles beside you, about to rebut him before you spy the weapon at Taehyun’s hip and interrupt before they can come to verbal blows. “Where are you going?”

Taehyun rips his icy gaze from Beomgyu to you. “To Court,” he answers, plain and as if it were obvious.

Furrowing your brows, you say, “Court? Why didn’t you tell me we’re going? I don’t want to get ready in a rush.” Your mind turns. You weren’t even sure what you’d be doing now that you’re no longer here as spies. There’s no need to infiltrate Court, now. Would you just be attending as revelers? Not to mention that Yeonjun no doubt has no clue that you’re even staying. You hadn’t seen him since you’d ran to him yesterday morning and had your world thrown for a loop as he revealed his truth. How had so much happened in one day?

His mouth hardens. “You’re not attending with me,” he says, knuckles turning white over the pommel of his sword. “You’ll stay here with him today.”

Your heart thrums in your chest; not with fear like it had been doing so much over the span of the last few days, but with anger. “What?” you say, voice strained with shock. “No. I’m getting ready; wait for me, or don’t. I don’t care.” You spin on your heels to do just that, gritting your teeth. He thinks he can tell you what to do? Is that it? You don’t care what he’s done for you, or what power he thinks he has over you because of it. You’d left your life of taking commands behind for a reason. This was supposed to be new beginnings, not just your past life under a new skin.

He catches your upper arm frantically. Whipping your head to him, you rip yourself away from him and back off. “I said, no!” you say, lips twitching into a heavily emotional scowl. It’s not just that he’s telling you to stay back today. You know that what he’s doing is much bigger than that. It sends memories of a life in a seamstress’ cottage flooding back. You struggle to keep your head afloat, to keep yourself from drowning in it, but they’re old and deep wounds.

“Oh, look at that,” Beomgyu croons. “You are just like him. Except, your father was a general, so at least he had some reason to believe that folk would obey him. You? Not so much.”

Taehyun’s head snaps to him. He barks a command. “Leave.”

His eyes flash and he reels against it, but Beomgyu’s body moves against his own will. There’s a spark of ravenous hate smeared across his lips and in the glare he gives Taehyun as he leaves.

“So, you’re just going to hand out commands and expect them to be followed now, huh? Because you’re suddenly just... taking up this role as Lord? Well, you’re not my Lord. You’re not his, either.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Stop that.”

Laughing a bitter laugh, you spit, “Stop what? Oh, I’m sorry. I should just obey you like a good human does, huh? ‘Cause that’s what we’re for, right? My bad, I’ll get a head start on working around the estate—what would you like for dinner, my lord? Or, do you need me to press your clothes?” Your words are angry, but you choke toward the end around the lump of emotion in the back of your throat.

He takes both your arms into his hands, his brow furrowed hard. “Stop it,” he snarls. “Stop it, damn it. Don’t do that. You’re not a servant here. Don’t you try to cry to me, I expect better than this from you. That’s not it at all.”

You shove back on his chest, putting some distance between you. “I’m not crying,” you say. “And, so what if I was? There’s nothing wrong with it. I think it’d do you a little good to cry some time.”

“It’s weak,” he says. “Pitying yourself just ends up making you a fool. If you just sit around and wallow, you’ll just stay where you are. The only thing you can do is act.”

That sounds about right coming from his lips. “Is that what your father taught you?” you ask. “Well, he was wrong. You can cry and try and take care of things at the same time.”

“I’m just asking you to stay back today,” he says.

“Why?” you say, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Tell me why? It’s not like we’re spying around or have some sort of mission to keep secret. Why can’t I just go enjoy it like that for once?”

“Can you just do this for me?” Taehyun says, jaw tight. “I just need you to stay.”

You’ve become sick of him not telling you things. Being in the dark never feels good, but it especially feels like shaky ground now. If he thinks you’ll be attacked, so what? You’re the one who wanted to stay here. Let you come. You’re better off being attacked as a group of three than he would be by himself, no?

You decide to lean into his own concerns to appeal. “What if they’re waiting for you? Wouldn’t it be better that Beomgyu and I are there? Isn’t that why you did that whole thing yesterday?”

He shakes his head. “If they are, then it’ll be easier for me to slip out if it’s just me.”

Crossing your arms over your chest, you determine by the solemn lines to his face that he’s not going to give. “Fine,” you say. “I’ll stay here today. If it’s so necessary, I’ll stay here. Do you want me to stay inside the estate, too? Could I go see Yeonjun?”

“I’d prefer that you stay here,” he says, slow and measured and veiling tension.

You shake your head, pairing it with a tired laugh. “Yeah, right, I forgot. He’s a threat too. Well, you have fun then.” Turning and departing from the kitchens, you leave behind your bread and dates. So much for lunch.

❉

Reaffirming Taehyun’s ability to lie, it was not just that one day. The next day, Taehyun slipped out for Court, sword on hip and pleading with you to stay in the estate on the terms that he believes they still might have an attack planned for you. It turned into a week that you were cooped up in the estate, and then two. The same walls you’d once looked at in wonder for their beauty became the ones you stared at mindlessly during the most boring of hours.

You spend most of your time listening to Beomgyu drone on and on about the ways he’d tricked faeries and humans. He’s quite odd, but it’s not like you can blame him for it—most of the folk are odd to you, and he’s an ancient beast among them. You feel like that warrants a spunky personality like his. He’s nice company, anyway. Such a long life lends you an impressive wealth of stories.

You can’t help but think about Yeonjun. He’s got to have seen Taehyun at Court by now. If there haven’t been any incidents at this point, doesn’t that mean that he doesn’t intend to betray you? The images of him thinking that you’re avoiding him makes you want to slip out to see him. You not sure why you don’t. Maybe the lies that sat between you affect you more than you thought they did. You’re quite the hypocrite, though. You’d kept secrets just as much as he had.

You miss those stolen nights you two had shared. A knot, queasy and pessimistic, sits in your belly each time you lay in your bed and remember them and tells you that you’ll never see anything like that again. You’d allowed a girlish part of you to blossom beside him—a part of you that could throw caution to the wind and melt into the fun things in life.

As you rot your days away in that estate that has become more like a dungeon than an estate, you allow yourself to miss him only a little. Once it begins transforming into a certain impending doom about how you’d thought that staying here would be everything you’d ever wanted, you find something else to do. If you aren’t toiling around by yourself or listening to Beomgyu drone, you’re practicing your combat skills. The times that Taehyun stops in to help you, it ends with you insisting that you’re fine to make appearances in Court by now, or at least see Yeonjun with Beomgyu in attendance. He never agrees. Each time, it’s the same awful excuse: Tensions are worse. He doesn’t know if they’re planning something. When you ask why he demands that he can attend, but you and Beomgyu can’t join: He’s a lord. It’s his duty to attend Court.

The solstice is nearing, too. You’d looked forward to it, honestly. Hopefully Taehyun will let you attend by then.

You sit crisscrossed on the hardwood flooring, running your fingers through your hair. Beomgyu is stood a couple feet away, and makes big gestures as he explains the one time he’d been called to attend Court as a solitary faerie. Moments like this have kept you grounded over the weeks.

“And the stupid crone tried to say that I was wrong for catching him,” he exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head as if the ancient memory were still as fresh as day one.

You laugh. “What did you even do to end up there, anyway?” you ask. You can hardly picture Beomgyu in the setting of Court, even more so meeting with The Queen and her council. Moreover, you’re intrigued to know what he’d said to talk himself out of trouble. You’re amazed that he managed to make a sufficient enough case to save his life.

“They said that I’d been taking too many of their folk—hah! I must eat too, you know? Oh, the pretention! Do they expect me to starve? If a fool lands themselves on my pelt and then in my waters, it’s only natural that they��re eaten. I’m simply freeing them from one more mud-brained fool. The Courts are full of those, too. It’d take me a millennium to eat them all. What are they so worried for, I wonder? They do the very same to their own people.”

“Aren’t they ridiculous?” you say. Like you, he’d been an outsider in Court. Though you’re sure that it’s just as, if not more, intricate to those well-versed in it, to the ones like you two... It’s odd to see. You had grown used to it in the time you spent there, but you still know what the first day had felt like. Anyway, you hadn’t spent as many days there as you feel you had. All that had happened had bloated that time in your memories. “To be quite honest with you, your kind are all so odd to me. I grew up among you, but still... my instincts are always kinda at odds with my surroundings, you know?”

Beomgyu considers that for a moment, as if trying to view the fae from a human’s eyes. “Even when we look so similar?” he asks you, grabbing at a lock of his hair and making a round gesture over himself.

You nod. “Even in this form, you just... I don’t feel like I’m looking into the face of another human. Maybe that’s because I watched you turn to this from a horse, though.”

“A kelpie,” he corrects. “What gives it away?”

“Sorry, a kelpie,” you snicker. You look over his face. It’s so close to right, but somewhere in your mind you can decipher that something is not right. Like all of the fae, though, there’s an unspeakable beauty there, beyond explanation. It demands your human attention. Even the most terrifying are beautiful. “Well, for starters, your ears. They’re pointy. All of you have that, and none of us do. And then... I guess”—you narrow your eyes—“your eyes? They’re just different. And your limbs are pretty lanky, too.”

He frowns as if he’s unable to see it. “You don’t sound so sure,” he says, joining you on the floor. “I’ve had quite some time to look at myself in my life. I don’t think I ever saw any of that when I was in this form...”

“I’m sure you did,” you say, lips turning up in a playful mock. A water creature no doubt has an eternity to stare into the water at themselves in its rippled reflection. “Did you do a lot of that?”

Scowling, he huffs. “No. But I’m sure you would, if you looked like this, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.” His face morphs from dismay to careful concentration. Frowning, you look around and ask, “What?”

“I hear somebody,” he answers, pushing off the floor.

Your spine tingles, but you search for the logical explanation. “Like... Taehyun?”

“No... the walk is definitely different.” He strains to listen. “He’s usually pretty quiet. This one... they don’t conceal their footsteps.”

Neither of you can get to a window to scope anything out before there’s three heavy knocks from the door, the metal knocker ringing. You shoot him a wary look and tilt your head toward the door. You mouth the word, answer?

He considers for a moment and then nods. Well, he’s the one able to hear their approach. You trust they’re at least not imminent danger. You pull the door open. A breeze of frost comes rushing in as you do, blowing your hair and as jarring as a hit to the face might be. You’ve been cooped up in here for so long you’ve forgotten how bitter the cold here is.

Behind the door your eyes lock with a pair of inky ones, settled into a pinched and snooty face. “Letters from the palace I have for you, my lady,” she says, her voice mousy. She holds out a stack full of letters to you, all held together by some twine.

An errand runner. You furrow your brows down at her and accept them. The little hob wrings out her long fingers. “From who?” you ask her.

She bows her head to you hurriedly. “Oh, from the prince, my lady! He sends these for you!”

You look down at the stack in your hands, and your heart begins to run amok in your chest. He’d sent to you? You thank her. She scurries off in the snow and you close the door, sharing a look with Beomgyu.

“The prince?” he says, brows shot up. “Meaning, The King’s son? He’s sent letters for you?”

Nodding, you hold the stack close to you. Your feet ache to find your quarters and to begin tearing into each one; you’re ravenous for any sort of word from him. Does he hate you? Does he miss you? At least he still thinks of you. You’d worried that he might’ve found another lady of the court to dote on in your absence...

“Yeah,” you say over your shoulder, more interested in tearing the letters open than explaining to him why the prince would be sending you letters. Curiosity sits in his furrowed brow. You hadn’t exactly prattled on about Yeonjun to him. Had you even mentioned him at all?

He tags along as you head to your room and plop onto your bed. You don’t tell him to leave you; opening these letters alone... You appreciate his presence in some odd way.

Unstringing the pile, you pull the first one out and run a thumb over the wax seal that identifies it as definitely from the High Prince—a fine silver dusted over white wax and branded with the image of Yeonjun’s insignia, the fox. It’s uneven and dribbled, clearly sealed by Yeonjun himself with the insignia ring he often wears on his finger. You pry it open and then unfurl the parchment inside.

Do you intend to return to Court? Perhaps we keep missing each other. Though, the Lord is always there. I wonder where you are. If my letter reaches you, please write me back. Or better, come see me. My doors are open to you.

They always have been.

Yeonjun

Beomgyu’s gaze burns holes through you as you read this first one. You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you reach for the next one. This one twists a hot knife of guilt into your belly and up into your heart.

Have I done something wrong?

The General’s son continues to attend Court, and though I seek your lovely face beside his, you’re never there. I’m under the impression that he wants you not seeing me. Although, perhaps that’s only because I loathe what your absence might mean otherwise.

Is it because I learned of your identity? Is it that you think I hate you?

Allow me to make it utmost clear: I do not. I doubt I could if I tried. You’re quite the heart stealer.

I know I sound a bit ridiculous telling you I love you when we only knew each other for so long. I understand that. It’s that sort of love that ought to burn bright and short, right? But I won’t let it. Not us.

Some might say that a love found so easily is fickle. That it doesn’t exist. I say it does, because I have felt it.

Do you remember how it felt the first time our eyes met, too? How odd is it to feel something so deep inside you, but also so far beyond your reach that you cannot alter its course?

Please write me, pretty. If I can’t see your face, at least allow me the pleasure of knowing that you’re okay.

Yeonjun

“What do they say?” Beomgyu asks, timbred voice whipping you apart from the words on paper that manage to send your heart hurting.

You’re not entirely sure how to tell him that they’re desperate letters of the High Prince’s love for you, a worthless human girl that had avoided him on purpose. He probably wouldn't believe you, anyway. Leaving behind your old life, you had pleaded with the sky to make your life something worth note. It seems that it had answered. Life works in odd ways.

“A lot,” you say, brushing him off. Your voice cracks with the word, though,

Hearing the veiled emotion, he frowns, inching forward to take a peek. “Why are you upset?” he pries, and then gasps as a thought formulates in his head. “Have they called you to be tried by the council?” He considers his own suggestion for a long moment and then shakes his head. “You hardly have gone anywhere enough to cause that degree of trouble, though.”

You let your face drop into your hands. Is the tremor in your chest from laughter, or from crying? You can’t tell. Maybe it’s both.

The kelpie makes an unsure sound, clearing his throat. “I... uh, I jest...”

Collecting yourself, you say, “No. I’m not being called in for trial.” You reach for the next letter.

The next envelope has dried up rose petals that come falling out when you pull out the letter. The flower of love.

Have you left the north? Could you not have at least lent me one last look at your face before doing so? I don’t mean to be so pathetic, but my heart is lonesome. I thought we’d have more time. Hadn’t you wanted to stay with me?

If you still reside in his estate, I send these letters to you. I’m not sure if they’ll reach you, but I hope that they’ll move you. Don’t you know that I’d give you anything?

Please come see me. I beg. Let’s talk. I just want to know what’s wrong.

Yeonjun

Why hadn’t you at least gone and told him that you’ve stayed? How had you allowed yourself to feel fear when you think of him? You don’t deserve his love.

You don’t even know if you deserve love at all. All it would’ve taken was one night of slipping out. He deserved to know that you’re okay. You don’t remember being this selfish. When had this happened? Maybe this is just what happens when someone spends a lifetime not allowed to think of themselves before serving others. You don’t want to be selfish, though.

The next one you open is more raw. Hurt. The paper, scrawled in writing that becomes less elegant and more frenzied as you read down it, crumples in your hand.

If you think that I’m the sort of man that will easily forget what we’ve shared, I am not. I love you. I love you. I love you. Please return to my arms. They ache for you. They remember your weight, and they won’t soon forget it.

Do I need to say it anymore?

I love you, darling. It’s making me sick.

Yeonjun

You stuff the letters back in their envelopes and shove them into a box in your wardrobe. If you don’t, you’ll read them over until you’re ill. Once over was enough for you.

❉

“The Lord would have my pelt if I let you leave,” Beomgyu, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, says. “Let alone by yourself.” Realizing that his words insinuate that Taehyun holds any true power over him, he backtracks. “If it weren’t for the harness, I’d be unconcerned with his anger, but... Of course, you know, I’m obligated by my imposition to his word, so...”

Tugging your boots on, you say, “So, tell him I commanded you to stay. You’ll be fine.”

You had waited for Taehyun to leave for Court, anyway. You have hours of the night to sly-foot your way around him.

You’d moped around for a few more days, your gut heavy with stones each time you remember Yeonjun’s letters. Stuffing them into a box, no matter how deep into the corner of your wardrobe, still could not wipe those words from your mind. You’d turned them over and over until you couldn’t handle imagining him writing those letters with a hopeful heart any longer.

The solstice is only a few days away now, too. You’d been bound to the estate for weeks. Although you’re unsure what Taehyun’s real intentions are in boarding you in, you can no longer even care if leaving will end up getting you attacked. You’ve become a bird with clipped wings.

Even if your wings are out of order, you’ll walk your way to your freedom. Hell, you’d crawl there. It just so happens that Yeonjun’s doorway feels like freedom in this moment.

Like he’d always said, the doors remain unbarred. You don’t even have to use the metal knocker; you just push through the doors of swirling white engravements. Just as if nothing had changed. He’d been waiting for you.

Instead of Yeonjun in his quarters, you find a brownie diligently working on doing up Yeonjun’s bedding. When she turns to you, her hands continue their efforts.

“The prince is not here right now, dear,” she says, snout twitching. Round eyes recognize you before you can introduce yourself. “He’s only just made for Court, though. You should catch him quite quickly, if you mean to.”

It seems he hasn’t given up searching for you in Court, either. You offer her your gratitude and slip out from his room. Picking up the hems of your dress, you race to catch Yeonjun before he’s arrived at Court. Once he does, things get more sticky—if Taehyun spots you... Pushing down the anxiety that bubbles up at the thought, you cross your fingers. Let luck be on your side.

Your Court dress, though heavy, feels nice on your skin. Although you often look down on court goers for their pompousness, you can’t deny how good it feels to fit in. That’s perhaps the reason you cling to Court the way you do; you’re beyond desperate for belonging.

On the plush, snow-dusted bits of the forest’s floor, you spot a set of footsteps. They’re quickly being filled with the flurries. You clasp your hands in an overwhelming bout of gratitude—luck had listened, this time. Those tracks are as fresh as can be. You double your pace.

Around a bend, you’re overjoyed to see his figure walking there. Finally hearing you coming over the roar of snowfall, he spins. His face pinches and then drops as he recognizes you.

“You... You came?” he says. Disbelief flips his lips into a frown. “You got my letters?”

“I did,” you answer, catching your breath. “I’m so sorry.”

A few feet float between you, the space not yet closed but so magnetic. His cheeks are tinged pink with the cold. Yours must be too.

“I’d thought you left. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Your chest caves in a little at the hurt in his voice and the way it clashes with the longing in his eyes. He wants to be angry; he wants to yell at you. He can’t do either when he’s just thankful to see your face. You had missed his just as much.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat. “It shouldn’t have happened.”

Yeonjun approaches you and takes your face into his hands. His fingers are ice on your skin. He swallows in your face, soft black eyes darting from your eyes to your lips and around the rest of it; just like he’d begged you to let him do in his letters.

“Why?” Yeonjun asks you, brushing your hair back with his fingers like he’s just testing the feel of it.

You don’t know how to answer him. You could tell him a lot of things: Taehyun told me to stay away. He had told me that you’d hurt me. I’d started to believe him. I became scared of you. We had lied to each other. None of them feel adequate in this moment, so you shake your head.

His eyes harden to a degree as you don’t answer. “Why wouldn’t you come talk to me, pretty?” he urges. “If something was wrong, why couldn’t you come to me? We can’t leave things broken. I sent you weeks of letters. Weeks.”

Weeks? You’d only seen four.

“Finally, I got smart enough to send them when he’s at Court. And then you show up here. Tell me, how am I to think that you’re okay? When he won’t even let you speak with me?”

You blink once. Twice. Taehyun had been intercepting letters. A pit of anger flares in your belly. Whatever this protecting thing he’s doing really is, you’re sick of it. Since when had he become your keeper? He’d demanded that Yeonjun was trying to do just that, but here he is, and you have no clue why he’s doing it.

“I didn’t know you’d sent letters until yesterday,” you tell him. “I should’ve come and seen you.”

Running his thumb over your cheek, he murmurs, “You’re not going back there. Please, tell me you’ll stay with me. If you’re to stay here in the north forever, let it be with me. We can’t slip around like this forever.”

Shaking your head in his hands, you pull back. You can’t decipher the dread that washes over you at his suggestion once again. Your heart is wary with the need to do just that—to not return to the estate where you’d become some sort of prisoner. Something washes over you and tells you that it won’t go the way you’d wanted, just as most things in your life hadn’t.

Seeing the way you retract, Yeonjun becomes more desperate. “Please,” he says, hands finding your shoulders to hold you as if you’ll leave him there.

“We’ll figure it out,” you say. “Just give me a few days to think about it, okay?”

His face stays drawn as if he wants to argue it, but he relents. Taking your frozen hands into his own and wrapping them up in attempts to warm them, he says, “Okay. Okay, let’s get away from this blizzard, then. I’ll wait for you, love.”

Your chest sizzles. The cold isn’t so bad, today. In a way, you’d missed it. You nod.

Yeonjun brings you to his chambers and urges you to settle into a plush seat. You run your hands over the embroidered whorls of thread on the cushions as you watch him rummage through a chest. “What are you looking for?” you ask him, drinking in his figure. He’d switched his Court shirts for some more comfortable wear, but even in those he looks princely. He’s so pretty. Your heart flutters as he fishes out what he’d been searching for and turns to you with a smile. He settles beside you carrying a leatherbound book and a miniature wood sculpture of a girl.

“These,” he says, setting them down on the cushion between you.

You pick up the wood thing, looking over its painted pink cheeks and feeling the carvings that make its face. It’s fitted with a dress; one unlike any you’d ever seen. Your brow furrows. “What’s this thing?” you ask.

“It’s called a doll,” he says explains. You feel his eyes on you, watching your reaction, not on the thing in your hands. “Human girls carry them around to play with. They change the dresses and stuff. They even make things for them to hold, but... I couldn’t get ahold of any of those.”

Heart stuttering, you look at the wood-carved thing. “Human girls?” you ask, imagining a life where you too could have worried only about what dress your toy would wear. You revere the resilience your younger self had to have. At least you didn’t know any better; you didn’t know how you could’ve had it. That ignorance saved you. The painted eyes of the doll stare back at you.

“Kinda cute, huh?” he says, smiling and scooting closer to fiddle with the thing’s hair. “They even do their hair up all pretty.” Looking back up to you, he says, “It’s a shame that no human who has ever grown up here knows of things like these. Simple joys.”

You nod, a little choked up. “Yeah. I wish I had. It would have been nice to have something like this as a girl.”

He tucks some hair behind your ear to get a better look at your face from the side. “How did you ever end up being a spy?”

Tearing your gaze from the doll to meet his, you find a sadness there despite you not even having told him yet. It’s as if he knows it’ll hurt him already. You fiddle with the little doll’s dress as you recount. “I was a servant to a seamstress,” you start. “A royal seamstress, too. She was favored well by the gentry. She brought in hordes of clients and made dresses and Court clothes for them—but, really, her work mostly ended at being there to hear what they’d want and inlaying the dresses with her magic when they’d ask for it. The rest was my work. Taking their measurements, making their dresses... I worked her shop as soon as I became able to.” Memories of cruel and wicked faces that snickered at your expense or those who found it entertainment to scare you come back, as fresh as ever. Those memories never leave you; the ones so early on that they’d calcified into permanent parts of your personality. That terrified little girl will always be somewhere in your mind. She surfaces quite a lot, these days.

“There was this one time...” you say, trailing off to trudge up a more awful memory. “A Lady had come in to have a dress made. She brought a guard along with her. He was this massive troll with grey skin like a toad.” You’d recall his details without any trouble for the rest of your life, you think. “I’d ran off to grab some fabric for the Lady, and he followed,” you say, voice wavering just how your little heart had wavered as you had turned around from the bolts of fabric to see the goblin stood there. “He yanked me around by my hair until I sobbed, and then he had me get on the floor and beg him to let me live.” You know now that of course he wasn’t going to kill you—he wouldn’t want problems with Nut-hatch—but you hadn’t known it then. You thought you were dead. “When he had enough of his fun, he let me go. When the other two saw how hysterical I was, all I got was being asked why I’d left them waiting so long.”

Yeonjun asks, voice soft and tender, “The seamstress allowed that?” His eyes are heavy with a mixture of emotions. You see sadness and anger there, but also something a bit more.

“Nut-hatch?” you say. “Of course.” They’d known what he was doing in there, of course. Even a human could have heard it. As long as you served your purpose, the folk could not care less.

He looks taken aback at that, recognition turning his brows up. “Nut-hatch? You worked for Nut-hatch?” he asks.

Nodding, you hum. You had no doubt he’d know her name. Her work was well-renowned in his father’s court and beyond. “I did.”

His eyes rake over you for a long few beats before he turns your face up. “Their names?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“The goblin and the Lady. What are their names?”

You try to tug at the threads of that old memory. “I don’t remember,” you say. Much of it is fresh, but you hadn’t committed their names to memory. Inconsequential in the grand scheme of it. “It’s okay. It’s passed now.”

He doesn’t look very convinced, mind wheeling behind his eyes. You don’t want to stay on this memory for too long. Pushing it back into the dusty corner where it stays, you continue explaining. “I accepted that as my life for a long time, but... At some point, I just wanted more. I imagined all the ways I could find a new life as a human here. There are so many other things I’d preferred, but the only one I could manage was that. Even that, I was wrong about. I’m not really made for that, you know?” You lighten your tone in hopes that it’ll make your chest feel lighter as well.

He listens intently and then leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead. Pulling you into his chest and keeping you notched under his chin, he says, his voice smooth to your ears, “I’m so happy you’re here now, pretty.”

Letting out the weight in your lungs in a long, meaningful sigh, you melt into his touch. It’s difficult not to when his body is so warm against yours. You revel in it for some time, just letting him smooth over your hair and rub your back. You try your best not to let any old, sad emotions pour out through your eyes; this is a happy moment. You’ve made it. Perhaps things had been harder than you imagined they’d be, but you knew it’d be a long journey when you escaped that sewing cottage anyway.

Peppering a few last kisses to the top of your head, he releases you to pick up the book he had also grabbed from that chest. On the front it reads: Pride & Prejudice.

“A book?” you say, looking over the brown leather and gold printing. It’s an unfamiliar name to you, but you never read much anyway.

He nods and pries it open. The spine crackles with age. “It’s also from the human world.” Thumbing through the pages, he adds, “It’s a story. I read it often, it’s quite a nice one. I want to give it to you so that you can read it too; it’s a beautiful love story.”

You lean in to take a look at the words, too perfect to be handwritten. “Where do you get all this stuff?” you say. It reminds you of he’d brought you to that market for human goods. He seems to be interested in things that are human. Perhaps that includes you. Either that or he continues to show you these kinds of things for your sake.

“I lived in their world for some years,” he says, flipping through the pages. “It’s quite different. Though... I found myself not wanting to leave. When the time came, I brought these back with me to remind me of that time.”

Lived? Not just visited, but Yeonjun had lived in the human realm? Your heart flurries with a lifetime of wondering what your true home was like. How ironic is it that he knew more of humans than you? That you’re the one asking him questions about your kind? “How long?” you ask first. “And why were you living there?”

“Just for something my father wanted me to do,” he answers, “Somewhere around a decade, I believe.”

He’d spent ten years there. Multiple things click into place—no wonder he’s so able to understand your human emotions. No wonder it feels as though you’ve been seen to a different degree by him than you’d ever known before. He’d spent years with your kind. “What is it like?” you say, not sure where to begin with your questions.

He smiles fondly. “You wouldn’t even be able to believe me, pretty. You’ll just have to see it.”

See it. “You’d take me there?” you say.

“Of course,” Yeonjun says, frowning. He takes one of your hands into his, pressing a kiss to it. “You deserve to see it.” He presses another kiss to your skin, now at your wrist. The hair on your skin raises at the contact. His eyes find yours as he begins a slow ascent of kisses up your arm. Each is warm and sends your spine blazing. Once he reaches your shoulder, he slows down, leaving a long moment between kisses. He continues this pace—one that both makes you wish he’d slow down and that he’d hurry and quell your want—right up the juncture of your neck and up the column, too. His controlled breaths puff out like fire on your skin where his mouth lingers. You let your head back to help his path up. He places one final kiss at your jawline before his lips land on yours, drunken and in no rush at all.

You can’t help the visceral urge to run your hands over his soft skin, to check if the warmth there was real or if you’d manifested it in your longing. Yeonjun breaks this lethargic kiss just to laugh, but he’s quick to recapture your lips. He meets your hand and brings it under his silken shirt, guiding you up the soft planes of his abdomen.

Pushing you back, he whispers into your mouth, “I missed you so much, pretty.”

You rememorize the gentle muscles of his stomach beneath your palm. “It was only so many days,” you tease, “you’re just horny.”

He lets go of your hand to begin slipping down your dress from the shoulders. “Yeah?” he hums, gobbling up each inch of skin that he reveals. “I suppose I am. It’s a gift to be able to love you in this way.” Once the fabric is clear of your hips and he’s tugging it down your legs, his face turns sly. He studies your wettened core. “I think you missed me too, though, love.”

You drag your bottom lip into your teeth. You had. Your chest thumps rhythmically in your chest, syncing like symphony with the throb between your thighs.

Blood sings in your veins when he places his palm right on the boundary between your lower belly and your cunt. Your stomach soars, too, so excited by his touch so near where your body craves it. He runs it up, feeling the curves of your body, up to your breast. You expect him to stop and pay attention to your chest, but he presses his hand down right over your heart and feels its beating against his palm. His eyes flutter to a shut, and he leaves his hand there for a few moments, relishing in it.

“What other purer form of love can I show you?” he says, tapping on your hip. “On your hands and knees, baby.”

You flip, your limbs a bit clumsy in anticipation. Once you’ve found your way there, he dances his fingertips on the small of your spine.

“Did you think of my touches while we were apart?”

“Mhm,” you hum. Especially on the nights when the estate seemed the emptiest. Some nights, your fingers were just not enough to save you, and you’d contemplate making a big escape to find him.

“Well, I shouldn’t make you wait too much longer then, huh?” he coos, running that hand down to ghost touches over your slit. Though minimal, you jolt. You’d been so ravenous for this. He’d worked his shirt off so that when he leans forward to meld his chest to your back, it’s his skin that touches yours, not fabric. His hand stays ghosting touches that leave you softly gasping.

He teasingly pinches your clit, laughing in your hair at the sharp hiss it draws from you. “So reactive,” Yeonjun muses. His fingers find their way to your hole. He dips the middle two in. “Just like the first time we made love like this. Your lovely face is burned into my mind, pretty. You have such hungry eyes.” As he pushes his fingers in, he uses his free hand to tilt your face against the cushion so that he can better see your eyes.

You sigh, shuddering and breathy, as he begins to curl his fingers. It only takes him a few curls to rediscover that spot that has sparks flying behind your eyes.

“There?” he asks, chin on your shoulder. “That feel good, darling?”

Your muscles tremble at their own accord, rendering your huffs trembled as well. “Yes,” you answer. Each meaningful curl hits its mark, knees unsteady pillars that dig into the cushions. “So—so good. Please don’t stop.”

He maintains a sickening pace—your muscles twitch around his giving fingers, just enough so that your entire body buzzes and your stomach twists, but not enough to send you shaking yet. You collapse down from your elbows, chest in the cushions. He brushes back the hair that obscures your face with the movement, adamant to see your face.

He eggs you on by curling deeper; faster. Your answering groan is shaky and tense—you can’t get enough of the knot he curates in your belly, but at the same time, it’s daunting. He sits back, but his fingers don’t falter. His free hand explores, feeling your body up for all the time he couldn’t.

Stomach taut and brimming on your peak, you suck in a breath. Your orgasm sits so close, running a line of electricity from between your legs up to your spine, raising goosebumps on your skin.

Your eyes fly open, mouth ready to scold, as Yeonjun pulls his fingers from you. Your chest bubbles up with frustration, your orgasm drifting off to somewhere else. “Why?” you ask, cheeks burning. It slips and slips away from you, hole twitching around nothing as if seeking out just enough stimulus to bring it crashing back. “I was so close.”

His hand soothes the loss ever so slightly by circling your cunt, but he does not make the mistake of offering you any touch where you most need it. It only prolongs the float down, keeping you suspended. You abhor it.

“Please,” you whine.

He doesn’t entertain your whines. He only continues to deliver just enough to torment you until he’s sure that you’re not so wound up that you’ll cum the moment he touches you, and then he slides his fingers back in and begins building up a more tense knot with pointed curls. Your insides delight in the return of attention, falling almost instantly back into a brutal climb. Yeonjun doesn’t bother with languid, teasing strokes now. He aims for your ruining.

You writhe against the cushions. Your heart is a fluttering bird in your chest, trilling at the prospect of your release. It’s so close—so close that you might be able to just touch it. It tastes like honey on your tongue, painting your words sweet. “Love you,” you tell him. “Love you so much.”

Yeonjun rewards your sweetness with his free hand on your throbbing clit, sending your hands gripping at the cushions. You wiggle your hips helplessly in search of just the right amount of friction that it’ll finally give you want you’ve been wanting. “Yes,” you mewl. “Yes, so close—”

“Wait, baby,” he commands from behind you. “It’ll feel so much better. I promise. Hold it back.”

He reins in his touches once again, not stopping like last time. It’s not enough to put a stop to the orgasm rippling right under your skin, right at the edge of ripping through you. You can’t hold it back; it’s right there.

“No,” he says, once again ripping his touch from you. It doesn’t stop anything—you go rigid just before it crashes over you, and then you’re shaking without his hands even on you. You cum with a vengeance—body reclaiming twofold what he had denied you.

“Holy shit.” Yeonjun groans watching you come unraveled without his help. “So riled up that you’re cumming by yourself, pretty,” he says, running a hand around to feel your belly muscles twitching and the way they roll along with the twitches of your hips. He eggs on your orgasm with gentle touches at your clit, sending you jolting, until you’re a panting mess and he can tell that you’ve had enough.

You attempt to push yourself off your chest, but he gently guides you back down with a palm against your back. “Stay there, pretty. You can handle a little more, right? You did so well, I know you can. Let me make love to you, darling.”

The cushions are awfully warm against your skin and you’re still dealing with the waves of pleasure that drift up from your cunt, but you nod your head for him. “’Kay,” you say.

The rustling behind you tells of how he’s slipping out of the rest of his attire. You lay boneless as he does, focusing on the waves running down your thighs. It’s ecstasy in its purest form. It floats through your veins, addling any consciousness and breaking you down into what you are at your core.

The familiar prod at your entrance jolts you back to life. As he presses in, he presses a hand to your flushed cheek. It’s a welcome temperature difference—you feel set ablaze in some sort of languid flame, one that takes its time to consume you. He laughs softly. “You’re burning up,” he says as he bottoms out, as if the feeling of him filling you up isn’t rendering you jittery in anticipation. “Ready for me, pretty?” he teases, taking your hips into his hands. “I need you to make those pretty sounds for me. I want to know that they’re just as sweet as I remember them.” He punctuates his sentence with deep rolls of his hips, aiming where he knows will have you singing.

You’re helpless to the chorus of ‘Oh's and ‘Yes’s that he draws from you, the smacking of his hips and your sweet moans much too loud for you. You dread the thought of his servants hearing you and push your face into the cushions, muffling the array of sounds that bubble over. It’s all you can do—you could hardly contain your sounds.

Your scalp strains as he tugs your head back, tugging your face from the cushion. “None of that, love. I waited too long for that. Don’t hide your pretty voice.”

You shake your head. “Too loud,” you pant. “They’re gonna hear.”

“I don’t care who hears you. Let me hear how good I’m making you feel, or I’m going to stop. Do you want me to stop?” His fingers cling to your soft hips, betraying how much this is affecting him. You know that he hardly wants to stop.

You’re turned to mush, though. In this moment, being heard feels nowhere near as awful as Yeonjun ceasing those dizzying thrusts. You shake your head, scalp aching against the movement. “No,” you say, breathless.

“That’s what I thought,” Yeonjun taunts, letting your cheek drop back into the fabric. “Let them hear our love. Let them hear how real it is, darling. Louder.”

You tentatively let your sounds out into the thick air, but he decides that it’s not enough for him. Taking his hand off your hip to brace himself on the seat’s plush armrest, he doubles down his thrusts, feverish and desperate to guide you both to a beautifully explosive end. Your mouth drops open, unfiltered words and sounds spilling out from your chest as you grab at the cushions for help. With the hand that he doesn’t use to deliver those wild thrusts, he encases your hand in his own, threading his fingers between yours.

For a few more incandescent moments, Yeonjun’s room only consists of your unabashed cries, his alternating grunts and whines, the rhythmic and hollow smacks of his hips to your skin, and the musk of your passion. Frantic bodies dance against each other, skin against skin in the purest way. Your thighs tremble pathetically, his cock brushing against your sweet spot until you squeeze your eyes shut and ride out the quivering of your cunt around him. You squeeze his hand as you shake.

“Yes,” his pretty voice whines, “Just like that.”

Picking up his pace, he chases to join you in your orgasm. He pants behind you, desperately fucking into you until his hips stutter and he stills, falling into your shoulder to deliver needy rolls and shooting warm spurts of his release into you.

You two stay like this for some unhurried moments. You focus on his heartbeat; feeling it thudding against your back reminds you that he is real, and he is love. You hold his hand in yours a little tighter.

❉

“I doubt that this will go exactly as you believe it will,” Beomgyu says, watching you do your hair up. Your eyes meet his in the vanity’s mirror.

Arms burning as your hold them over your head, your words come out clipped with the ache. “It worked yesterday, didn’t it?” you say. You push a filigree comb into your hair to secure it up. “I got back hours before he did.”

“I’m not saying that Taehyun is right,” he says, “but I think that it would do us both a favor if you practice a bit more precaution.”

“What, are you afraid of Taehyun?” you ask, raising your brows at him in the reflection.

Your taunt hits its mark, Beomgyu shifting in your bed and scowling. “Of Taehyun, never,” he parries, “of the fact that he could ask me to do anything and I’d do it, yes.” He shakes out his lightly matted tresses, a habit you’ve noticed over the passing weeks. “I played a little too closely to the fire with him once, and it landed me like this: no longer the owner of my being. I’d sooner chew off my own fingers than become his obedient dog, but I believe you also know that it’s best to soar low with this, no? Are we not together in this?”

You press your lips into a thin line. In a way, you’d come to an alliance of sorts with Beomgyu. Despite his being a kelpie, the two of you are not so different now. Both confined to these walls, listening to Taehyun when he commands it. You don’t want any of your actions to snap back on Beomgyu, though. With you attending Court today, it’s almost definite that Taehyun will see you. You turn to face him. “Why don’t you join us, then?” you offer. “I’ll tell him myself that I commanded you to come with me. I’m sure he’ll be less upset if I have you there with me.”

He gives it a thought, his eyes looking as tired and sunken as they always do. “I’m not one for Court,” he says.

“But I’ll be there,” you plead, unable to help the twitching of smirk on your lips. “If we do it together, it can’t be so bad.”

He frowns, but you can see that you’ve won. “I grieve for how the forest left me to my own,” Beomgyu grumbles.

You surge up from your seat, eyes bright. “You’ll go?” you say, giddy to return to the thrill of faerie revelry and also to see the strange kelpie in the center of it.

Grimacing, he answers, “I will join you.”

You take his hands into yours and press a cheeky kiss to his forehead. “You’re not so scary as you try to paint yourself,” you tell him, watching as he catches bait. You laugh as he glowers.

“Don’t push it.” He climbs off your bed. “I’m scarier than you should imagine, girl. I do this for my own reasons.”

You pull a patronizing frown and nod. “Of course, I know.”

You don’t have to wait for him to get ready to any capacity; he tells you that he has no intentions of making any impressions, and you’ve seen faeries in far more drastic states of disarray. Many show up for their reveling in just their skin.

Beomgyu drones on about how he detests the audaciousness of the gentry folk while you make for the hall. The forest around you is as quiet as you remember it being when you’d first met him. It reminds you that, no matter how used you become to him, he is a creature to be feared. The little folk are right to hide away. For you, though, his might is a relief: should Taehyun be right, you’ll be safe. He moves at your beck and call. Though, the thought of forcing the kelpie to carry out your will is an uneasy one that you do not strive to fulfill.

Once the buzzing of Court comes into earshot, wonderful faerie music along with it, you breathe it in. “First time in... how long since you’ve shown your face here?”

“Perhaps four-hundred-something years,” he answers, looking over the scene with as much distaste in his face as his voice. “We solitary folk don’t make ourselves known here unless to bow to a crown. I do not bow to any crown.”

Itching to find your prince, you gesture toward it. He should be fine—Court is supposed to be an insouciant place. “Don’t they host anybody who decides to come? Faerie hospitality, and all that? You’ll be fine.”

“It’s all hospitality until you step foot from those trees,” he says. “And even hospitality is sometimes betrayed. You know how capricious we can be, I’m sure.”

You approach the warm lights, but his words remain with you. It beckons you to remember that their minds are fickle and fundamentally different from yours. However you think they may act, they might act in the complete opposite way. You should at least let that guide how you conduct your actions a little bit.

As you breach the pillars of trees and are finally surrounded once again by their pinched faces and gangly limbs, you search for both Taehyun and Yeonjun. You see neither, and so you make your way to the tables to seek snacks. You scour them for something sweet to chew over as you wait for him to appear. He’d said he’d be coming around this time, right? You surely hadn’t mistaken the time he’d told you?

Beomgyu speaks from beside you, observing a hag that loiters nearby. “Is he not here?” he asks.

Shrugging, you say, “He’ll be here soon.”

You watch the hag inching closer, bent over with age; though, you assume that’s she’s been old for the entirety of her life. Her pointed ears droop from her thin tresses of silver, cuffed with gold.

Turning from her, you gesture over the cavorting crowds, more frantically chasing their merriments than ever before. The solstice arrives tomorrow; they welcome its presence with their excitement. “This is all for the solstice?”

He offers you an affirmative nod. “Just some excuse to entertain themselves like this,” he explains, “the solstice will arrive whether they encourage its coming or not. I believe that they just enjoy this debauchery too much.” His hollow eyes rake over the throngs. “Anyway, many of them are just here because it’s the only time that they’ll see Court. Otherwise, only the gentry gather here.”

“What makes you any different than them?” you ask. “What makes you so averse to offering your allegiance to the High Courts? Would it not be nice to have their protection, and to keep them off your back?” You seek Yeonjun once more in the crowds, but still, he doesn’t appear. “You know, so they don’t call you in for things like eating too much?”

“I do not surrender my sovereignty to any. Come they to my doorstep and demand that I do, I could not care. I’m content with the way I make my life.”

His refusal to do just that must be why Taehyun’s father had come to claim his life. You’re sure that it’s also why the coming of the General’s son to steal his autonomy must’ve made him so angry. You don’t blame him.

Why would The Queen demand fealty from the solitary folk? You’d thought that, like the High King, she’d leave them to their forests. If they’re all as adamant as Beomgyu, it seems like a lost cause.

“Well,” you say, “I’m glad that—”

A gnarled hand, fingers knobbed against your skin and skin about as soft as tree bark, tugs your arm. You spin to find who owns it.

The hag’s eyes remind you of Beomgyu’s, piercing and dull with the weight of a long life. Though, hers are much more unsightly than his mud-brown ones, saggy eyelids drooping over a pair of eyes with ink-black where the whites of her eyes should be. She pulls you toward her by your skirts.

You tug yourself back, pinching your brows. “Who are you?”

She points her clawed, grey hand out at you, bangles of gold and chunky beads jingling as she does. “You, girl,” the hag says, urgent. Her voice is harsh and it crackles as she speaks. She reaches inside of her furry robes and produces a wood trinket from it. In her palm that she shoves at you lays a bit of wood carved into the shape of a wolf, painted in black. Its shaggy black fur reminds you of the kind Taehyun would sometimes wear over his shoulder.

“I don’t need that,” you say, rejecting her hand. Nothing in faerie comes for free—the hag just sees a human girl that she can offer free things to in hopes that you’ll know no better and take. Then, you’d be in her debt, and she’d demand something from you. You do know better, though.

“Oh,” she says, shaking her head as she draws out the word. “You do, girl. Take it, take it. You need it, I know it. Take it, I won’t hold it to you, girl, just have it.” Razor teeth appear behind her curled lips. “It is dormant with me. But, in your hands... Take it.” She shakes her jousted hand out at you each time she demands that you take it. “It offers you protection. It would do no good in my possession. It beckons me to give it to you, its pleas are so loud—loud, loud, loud! Take it off my hand, won’t you?”

Her urging unsettles you, but so do her words. You assume that it’s inlaid with some sort of protective enchantment. Why would you need protection? Although, she could also just be fooling you. She could be holding a perfectly plain hunk of carved wood in her palm for all you know. You shoot a look at Beomgyu. If she were any trouble, he’d tell you.

He looks about as lost as you do, shrugging.

“Oh, sakes!” the hag grumbles, clutching her robes to her body. She takes Beomgyu’s hands and places the thing there. “There. I have no reasons to be here fooling humans. Useless debts, what could you give me? Nothing I need.” She points a sturdy, twiggy finger at you. “Keep it on you, girl, else it won’t do its work.”

With those final ill-boding words, the hag hobbles off, her curved back disappearing between the gaps in the crowd.

“Here,” Beomgyu says, regarding the trinket with his observation. “That hag really wanted this to be yours, so I think it ought to be in your hands.” He tries pushing it off to you.

Laughing, you don’t reach out to take it, darting his hand with your whole body. You hang your hands in the air. “I’m not taking that thing,” you say. “She handed it to you, so I really think it ought to be in your hands.”

He deadpans. “I’ve just been collecting myself a heap of debts, haven’t I?” He closes it into his fist for his lack of pockets. “What’s this one to add?”

“Does it... feel like it has anything bad on it?” you ask, remembering how he’d identified your geas. “Like a curse, or a bad enchantment, or something?”

Shaking his head, he says, “No. I feel it does have a protective purpose, but the magic there is... odd. Hard for me to decipher. Probably that hag’s.”

You purse your lips, nodding. Regardless, whatever protection that thing might have offered you, you’ll be fine without it.

Shaking off the odd interaction, you resume perusing the snack platters in your wait. You skip over glazed pinecones. Those would be terrible on your human stomach and teeth. You can only imagine how they’d jab at your gums. You opt for a helping of braised fiddlehead ferns. Chewing on the furled thing, you entertain yourself with the revelers. Littler folk dart in and out of legs. Long-limbed gentryfolk with flowers in their hair spin with interlocked hands at the center of the clamor. Sharp-eyed faeries with even sharper mouths speak in clusters, no doubt scheming. In all its oddness, you’d missed it.

A silk-smooth voice steals your attention. “A kelpie?” Yeonjun says, regarding Beomgyu beside you. “Now, how did you manage to befriend a kelpie? Even better, how did you drag it here?”

Your chest lights up. “Long story,” you say, brushing his curiosity off. “What took you so long?”

He’s dressed in his Courtly best—cuffs made of ruffle and an array of rings decorating his fingers. They catch light as he brings his hand up to run a hand along the expanse of your collarbone. He hesitates to answer for a split second. “I ran into Kai on my way,” he explains. “He’s performing here today and for tomorrow's solstice.”

Accepting his answer, you go to tell Beomgyu that you’re going off, but he’s not even there as you turn. He must’ve wandered off as Yeonjun had arrived.

“Want to join them?” he asks, tilting his head toward the dancing bodies. Soft black strands drift over his eyes.

Shaking your head, you offer him some of the sweets you’d been eyeing, knowing that he’s got a knack for sweets. “Not today. I think I want to remember all of tonight, and, well...” Memories of the way you’d danced uncontrollably until it’d fade to black lick at your mind. You want to revel in your return to normalcy fully, not with a buzzing mind. You can’t deny the allure of that tingling in your bones as you hear the faerie music, though. It curls a wild finger at you, beckoning.

An uncomfortable look passes through his eyes, gone as fast as it had come. “All right, darling,” he hums, accepting the sweets. “Does the Lord know you’re here?”

Lips tugging into a faint frown, you say, “Not yet, I think.” The quick expression doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Unlike the ice the Taehyun offers you, Yeonjun wears his feelings all over himself. It’s just one way that they are fundamentally different. “Is something wrong?”

Yeonjun looks taken aback at your asking. “I’m doing just fine,” he says. “Why do you ask?”

He does not say nothing wrong. You know it is because he cannot lie. You look him over. What had happened? And, why is he averse to telling you the truth? “Just thought you looked a bit upset.” You shrug. “Did you want to dance?”

His nose crinkles with a laugh. “No, pretty. I’d be in your presence doing nothing and still be content.” He takes your hands into his, the metal on his fingers biting cold against your skin. “How about we go listen to Kai play?”

He leads you to where the musicians work at concocting their works, claiming a chalice of some drink from a table on the way. Kai, of course, stands away from the rest, back to a tree while his fingers dance on the strings. You look around for Taehyun from here, but still, you don’t see his face.

Yeonjun holds the chalice’s neck between his middle two fingers, sipping from it. “It’s nice to know that even as this season ends, I won’t be forced to go back there.”

His pretty lips wrap over the edge of the chalice as he drinks from it. “Won’t your father know something is up when you return?”

Nodding slowly, he grimaces. “I suppose that time has finally come.”

You squeeze his hand in yours. “We both sacrificed things to be here, huh?” you say. You don’t know a lot of what Yeonjun’s life back in his home court was like, but you know that it would be hard to revolt against your own family for anybody. Even for the prince of Faerie.

He captures your eyes, his soft brown ones making crescents with his gentle smile. “We did,” he muses.

“Remember our first night in Court?” you say. You’d been so uneasy, searching for a place to fit in. Then, from the crowds of overwhelming faces, he’d appeared, all charm and welcoming smiles. How couldn’t you have let your heart fall?

Another flash of disconcertment flashes, his smile faltering. He hides it behind another sip of his drink. Swallowing, he nods, laughing off-kilter. “I do. I think watching you dance that time was the best thing I’ve ever seen.”

Odd, but you don’t push the issue. If he says that he’s fine, it must just be something to little effect. “What made you come up to me that night?” you say, remembering how confused you’d been when such a pretty gentry boy had taken interest in you. You’d agonized over why he’d done so for long, and sometimes you still, but you’ve made some peace with it by now.

His lips are tight. “I... It’s hard to explain.”

You accept that answer at face-value and let your head fall into his shoulder while you watch Kai dutifully work at his songmaking. Among those making the music for Court, his contributions stand out as the most enthralling. Faerie music is too elusive for you to decipher why, but perhaps it’s just his lazed passion. “I understand,” you say. His shoulder is tight and less cushy than you expect it to be. Looking up to him, you frown to see how he’s looking down at you, eyes stormy. He looks like he’s sick to his stomach. You go to ask if he’s going to be okay, but he speaks before you can.

“Pretty, I... I have to tell you something.” He pulls you off of him to look into your eyes. He’s always been so steadfast and sure, but now his gaze wavers. “I’m so sorry.”

Your stomach drops. You don’t like the way he’s looking at you. “What?” you say, a tingle in your spine telling you that something isn’t right; that you’re not going to like what he’s going to say. “Yeonjun, you’re making me nervous. Is something wrong?”

You know it’s awful and you’re not sure why you do it, but for a split second, you inspect the hall for possible attackers. A terrible bout of potent adrenaline makes you want to run or cry. Beomgyu is here, right?

He swallows hard, face a ghostly pallor. “I can’t keep doing this,” he says, voice trembling. “I need to tell you the truth, it’s... it’s been eating me alive. I can’t look into your sweet face and know...”

Acid climbs up your throat. Your heart joins it, thick in your throat and choking you. “What? Know what Yeonjun?” you ask, lips trembling. Your skin prickles, hair raising. You may throw up. He looks stricken in place, not answering you. “What?” you demand.

“I didn’t come up to you for no reason that day.”

Your heart, still caught in your throat, bursts. It’s a horrifying, bloody affair. “No,” you say, shaking your head. You feel so removed from your body that you can almost envision how your blood-drained face might match his.

“I knew that you were the spies the moment I saw you. It was....” He sucks in a breath. Your world spins around you as you wait. “I was supposed to determine who the spies were. I was supposed to have them killed, but pretty, I knew I couldn’t do that the moment I saw you. I thought it was just going to be some... some random faerie that I’d...”

If your world was spinning before, it’s now flipped upside down and inverted. “No,” you repeat, a guttural plea that you know won’t change anything. It’s the only word that your mouth will make for right now, though.

You’re hurt. You’re scared. You’re angry. You’re frozen.

Yeonjun grabs for your hands, but you rip yourself away from him, your glaring eyes so at odds with your wobbling lips. “It doesn’t change anything,” he says. “It doesn’t change how I love you now. You know I love you. You know I love you, right? I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. I did my best to protect you. Please, I never wanted to hurt you,” he rambles, frantically grabbing for your arms as he falls down to his knees before you.

A few faeries around you gasp, and a blur of their commotion forms around you. The crowned prince of Faerie just went to his knees. Your eyes dart wildly around their guffawing faces, and between a space you spot a familiar face: cold eyes and a cracked mask of indifference. He looks right at you.

What on earth is going on? How is this life right now? You snap back to Yeonjun in front of you.

“Please, don’t look at me like that, pretty,” he pleads. “Please.” His voice cracks, eyes frantic. “Slap me. Tell me you hate me for it. But please, don’t look at me like you’re scared of me.”

Tears scald your cheeks.

“I know that it’s selfish of me to ask you that; I know, I know it—but please, I can’t handle it, love. I was never going to let anything happen to you, I knew it the moment I saw you. I felt it right here”—he gestures to his beating heart, the one your hand had felt and cherished so only last night—“I knew that no matter how big my ambitions were, they would never be bigger than that.”

You can’t listen to any more. His words pour out onto your skin, but they all slip off like rain upon a beast’s winter pelt. None can penetrate the ringing in your ears.

Yeonjun sees how retracted you’ve become. “Pretty, please,” he says, slower and more dire now. “Say something."

You don’t know what to do. Your feet are rooted fast to the ground, but you know that you have to leave, or else you’ll start creating excuses for him. You know yourself too well to let that happen.

Picking up your skirts, you manage only a few words to part him with. “Though your kind can’t lie,” you say, “you have been the biggest liar I have ever known. You said you loved me.”

“I do,” he says, shaking his head, eyes twinkling. “I do.”

Maybe love is a different thing to a faerie.

You take off. He calls for you, but it’s muffled by the restlessness of the folk around you and the still-playing music. You dart between openings and bounce off bodies, lights and angry faces a blur in your frenzy. Most folk don’t spare you even a glance; nothing could pull them from their merriment. But others gawk at you like you put on a performance, greedy eyes drinking in any amount of fanfare. Their eyes itch under your skin. Crossing the expanse of the hall has never felt so arduous.

You’ve become their spectacle.

Breaking into the cold night air, you don’t run home or collapse to your knees in a sob. You hold your dress hard in your hands, the one he’d gifted you among so many others, its fabric bunching in your fists, and stand there as if frozen staring into the tree line ahead. You don’t move and you don’t think; both would remind you that this is real and that you are a fool. You just allow the bitter air to swaddle your skin.

You don’t even know if you doubt that he loves you. You don’t even know if he actually never intended to hurt you. Had there been times where all you’d done was look at him with starry eyes, and he’d look at you deciding whether or not to have you killed?

Why are you even here? There is nothing left for you. Whatever simple joys you thought you’d found, they’re gone. You’re so far away from home, and you’ve nobody to call home. You’d left behind your beginnings of a purpose, and now the only purpose you serve is to rot away in Taehyun’s estate because you demanded that you stay here.

All that time you’d spent worrying, and still, you walked yourself into this. You’re a joke.

White breaths unfurl into the night air before you, floating off to join the snowflakes and heavy fog. You just watch those fluffy flakes fall for a while.

Snow creaks under a few footsteps behind you, someone letting you know that they’re there. “You’ve gotten awfully good at sneaking around,” Taehyun says.

You let your head fall back, sighing slowly out through your nose. Turning to him, you spit, “I understand. You were right. I got it, okay? I don’t need you to come here and rub it in.”

Beomgyu approaches from behind Taehyun.

Taehyun doesn’t say anything for a bit, ice-hard eyes darting all over your face. “Take her back to the estate,” he tells Beomgyu.

Glad to escape him, you begin your way on your own. You know that he’s only looking at your break down as pathetic. Perhaps it is, but recognizing that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Wind lapping at your wet cheeks have them stinging as you walk.

Beomgyu awkwardly trails behind you as you follow the path that had become trodden in the time that you and Taehyun have been here, foliage and shrubbery broken down to make somewhat of a path.

He doesn’t speak; you don’t expect him to. Instead, you break the quiet yourself, unable to stand only the sound of wind twirling between trees. “I should’ve taken that ridiculous charm thing,” you say, laughing through your tears. That hag had absolutely been able to feel what was coming with you with whatever intuition that the magic in her bones lends her.

“But then,” Beomgyu says, “you wouldn’t know the truth.”

That’s true. Not knowing the truth doesn’t make it untrue, but at least it spares your fragile heart. “I don’t know if I’d mind that,” you tell him. “I think I’d prefer it.”

Ignorance is bliss, as the saying goes.

❉

You don’t remember falling asleep. You remember climbing into your bed, dreading that you’ll be in your head all night, but to some mercy, you’d found sleep not long after that.

You’d pulled yourself from bed, no matter how it had grown a gravitational pull and insisted that it’d hold you warm while you weep. If you hadn’t, you might not have gotten up at all. As a girl, you’d force yourself into the day’s routine when you had your worst days. It’s the only way that you live through it. You’d also made an effort to walk past your wardrobe. It carries so much of him: the lovely things he’d gifted you, his letters, and that book he’d lent you. It’s not that you don’t want any of these things; to wither away in your bed, to go through his things and wonder how someone who’d showered you so had meant to be your killer, to drag your feet... It’s that you can’t.

You poke your needle through the fabric. On the cut of white fabric stretched inside the embroidery hoop, you’ve embroidered a dozen woven wheel stitch flowers of different colors and types. Your bottom aches against the hardwood flooring and your lower spine strains, but you don’t pay any mind to their complaining. You just continue to embroider the little flowers. Some are poppy, some rose, and some you’d made up just to have more to stitch.

A knock resounds through the war room from the doorway. You look to see Taehyun there. He’s dressed in his Court attire.

“You should get dressed,” he says. “It’s almost midnight. If you want to make it in time, you’ve got to get ready now.”

Since when had he decided that you’re okay to go? It’s as if this elusive threat that’d he’d been so careful has up and disappeared. “You can go. It’ll take me too long to get ready.”

Truth be told, you’d go sick seeing Yeonjun’s face, and you know without a doubt that you would.

“It’s the solstice,” Taehyun says, stepping into the room. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

Despite how much you had wanted to see it, your heart is too apathetic for it to be worth anything now. Returning to the same faces that had seen your demonstration and no doubt now talk of it... You’d rather finish your fifth rose. “I know.”

He hesitates, studying you while gears turn in his head. “Hadn’t you thought that something would happen on the solstice?” he says. “Come on. It’s worth seeing how this unfolds.”

“Why? We aren’t spies anymore. I don’t care what happens in their conflict. It’s well beyond my control as a human here.”

He grimaces, but you don’t recognize the look there to be anger, more a rigidness. He rests his hand on his sword as he always does. “Then we’ll stay here.”

You furrow your brows. “Huh?”

“We can celebrate the solstice here,” he elaborates. “We don’t need to do it there. Plenty of folk celebrate on their own.”

It dawns upon you that this is his stilted attempt at comforting you. It’s the only way he knows how. You push off the ground. You couldn’t ignore this sliver, however little, of tenderness. You’re not sure if you’d ever see it again if you did. You’ll take anything to distract your mind, as well. You can’t escape the image of Yeonjun’s eyes as he’d pleaded with you from the ground. “I’m not sure Beomgyu will join us, though. He doesn’t believe in the need to celebrate the solstices.”

“He will if I command it,” he says.

“What, you’re going to command the poor kelpie to sit and watch a bonfire with us?” you say, imagining how he’d brood.

The north is wickedly cold at all times, but it’s especially so after night falls. You shuffle closer to the bonfire that Taehyun had built. It’s multitudes smaller than the bonfire you’d sat around with Yeonjun, but it’s warm enough for just the two of you. You quickly shove down those tainted memories before they sting. A lump of emotion forms in your throat before you can, though. You clear it. “Is there anything special that you’re supposed to do?”

Feeding one last log into the flame, he watches it catch. “We started this really early,” he says. “The fire is supposed to keep you warm and represent the sun’s warmth until sunrise...” He trails off, sliding the cuffs of his shirt that he’d slid up to his elbows to tend to the fire down and sucking in an awkward breath. He looks between the fire and you as though he’d not fully thought out his offer when he’d made it.

You face your palms to the orange flame, letting the roiling waves of heat warm them. “It’s nice like this.”

The flame sizzles and pops, spewing sparks and eating up the wood, for a few long moments. You’re not in a talky mood, and Taehyun doesn’t seem to know where to begin on conversation with you that isn't functional. No snow falls around you, and any wind is cut by the estate. This—a place to lose yourself to your mind—is both the thing you need and what you most should not have.

Taehyun stands watching the fire twirling, his arms over his chest.

“Is your shoulder healing fine?” you ask, once the air starts feeling a bit heavy with the weight of the prolonged quiet. “Are my stitches holding up fine? No infection, or anything?”

His gaze flicks up to you. “You stitched it up pretty well,” he answers. “I saw the flowers you were making. You’ve got a good hand.”

Frowning, you say, “You didn’t say it’s not infected...”

“It’s not infected,” he says.

That could be a lie or the truth, you know. But... this sort of deception, you’re more comfortable with. Your human mind can pick up on these subtleties, can catch the careful intonation of somebody trying to hide something behind a lie. “Could I see it?” you ask him.

He hesitates, expression flat as his eyes convey the extent of his consideration. “You can.” He grabs at his tunic, the fabric the only thing his frost blood even needs to wear out in the cold, and pulls it over his head.

You swallow hard and fight the flush to your cheeks at the sight of his scar-flecked flesh, his muscled abdomen disappearing as he turns around to show you his back. When you’d last seen his bare skin, you’d been so high on your fear and adrenaline that you’d barely flinched.

Blinking, you focus on the arrow puncture at his shoulder blade. It’s done some healing, but tinged by an angry red and visibly swollen around the stitches. You curse.

Of course, he’d rather let his shoulder rot away than admit that he needs any more of your help than he’d been forced to allow. That would require admitting that he’s not just an impenetrable wall of ice. “That is definitely infected,” you say. “Were you just going to let that kill you? Infections like that are beyond help once they get in your bloodstream.”

“I’ve had infected wounds before,” he says, preparing to put his shirt back on. “This one is nothing. It’ll take a bit longer, but... It’ll heal up fine.”

You grab his arm. “Just let me clean it a bit,” you insist. “It’s not that big of a deal. You’re not scared that it’s gonna hurt, are you?”

Sighing, Taehyun says, “I thought you wanted to enjoy the solstice.”

The hopeful girl you’d been had wanted that, but now it’s just a reminder of everything you don’t want to remember. You wave your hair in the air dismissively. “We did. Come on.”

You find a bucket to fill with water and cloth along with some stash of ancient spirits in the kitchens, their containers lined with a layer of dust so thick that you know they’re left over from Taehyun’s father. He watches you gather it all.

You beckon him to turn and show you his shoulder again. He does, bracing his arms on a counter and letting his head hang. You spill out some of that strong liquor into the wound. You’re not really sure if it’ll work as a disinfectant, but as a girl you’d seen an older woman pour it over her wound once, and it’s all you know.

Gently dabbing at his shoulder now with the water-soaked rag, swollen except for where the stitches sinch it, you say, “You should’ve been going gentle on this thing.”

Taehyun doesn’t make any fuss as you prod at the wound. “I had more important things to concern myself with,” he says plainly. You press the wet rag to the wound and hold it there, and he begins to try and redirect the conversation to anything other than about himself. “What did the prince say to you at Court?”

Your stomach drops. “It was nothing.”

“I know that’s not the truth,” he says, picking up his head to try and look over his shoulder at you. “Tell me the truth.”

You take the long, torn strips of cloth and begin wrapping it around the expanse of his broad shoulders in a sloppy and amateurish wrap. As long as it shields the wound, it’ll work. “That’s rich coming from you,” you say. “There’s plenty that you lie to me about. You even lied about this.” You tap his shoulder.

Turning now that you’re done, Taehyun eyes you. You don’t know if he’d been able to hear anything over the sounds of Court or if he’d heard it all with his better hearing ears. You can’t tell which it is.

“I’ll hear it from some Court gossiper anyway. I think you’d prefer to tell me it yourself.”

The thought of that scene being a topic of Court gossip makes you ill, but you know that it’s true. The folk love the show, especially one that includes a prince of Faerie on his knees in front of a human. Red-hot embarrassment takes a leisurely stroll up your spine. Your biggest fear has taken flesh in the cruelest way possible.

Well, if he’s going to end up knowing anyway... You’d prefer it’s from your mouth. You don’t know what sort of conflated half-truths the folk might come up with, since they have no more idea what happened than what they saw. “He was supposed to kill us,” you say, chest too tight to explain it in any depth. “Or, at least, find out who we are, so that we could be killed.”

Taehyun doesn’t look shocked. He nods. “So, they anticipated our arrival, then. The odds had been stacked against us from the beginning.”

You nod. Would you have been able to escape? If things had never become entangled between you and Yeonjun, would you and Taehyun lived beyond the first day? Taehyun is strong and you know that he’s no doubt survived plenty in his life, but you’d have been caught completely unaware. “Yeah.”

“I told you that he’d show you his colors eventually.”

You want to fight him on that, but you can’t. You have nothing to say. He’d been right.

What’s left for you now that he has?

END PART 4

a/n: RAHHH! like i said, this part gave me a bit of grief because part 3 was left so open ended—i had so many options and paths i could follow, but ultimately, i chose this one! how do we feel?

taglist: @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @sanshiningstarhwa , @hyucktapes ,

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lovelynim · 2 days

Text

May the best one win

Genshin Impact - Xiao, Aether, Albedo and Wanderer

A/N: First things first, I want to thank @eliankrios for his support, patience and - above all that - his trust. This is my first big project in a good while and I think (and hope) that I managed to do a good job so... yeah.

I'm not really used to larger fics, but before I noticed, I was already reaching the word count. This was trully a ride, hahah. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, my dear, faithful customer!

Summary: One day away from starting the next cycle of his journey, why not gather a few friends - and a special person - to hang together?

Word count: 6605 words

Aether sat down and placed a bunch of letters on top of his desk, spreading them out in a fan. He couldn’t help but feel the expectation building up inside him, hoping for a positive outcome.

A couple weeks ago, Aether decided to promote some sort of gathering with his friends. A little farewell party before heading out to the next cycle of his adventure - after all, who knows for how long he will be away in Natlan?

So, with this thought in mind, Aether used his bestest writing to invite the ones he held dear over. Delivering the letters across all the continents he visited so far was a tough task, but Aether knew it would be worth the effort. Not only his friends, but he was also inviting him over, so of course he had to do each and every thing in his reach to make it work.

Back to the present, the replies to his invitations began to arrive, one after the other. The different seals in each stamp showed where they were from: Mondstadt, Liyue, Inazuma, Sumeru and Fontaine. Aether sighed, picking up the first one and carefully ripping it open.

His eyes scanned over the words written down, beaming with excitement with the positive answer by the foot of the page. A sense of relief and happiness filled his heart by the time he opened the second letter. And the third… well, the traveler pouted, maybe not everything would work out, after all. The fourth and fifth balanced each other out: both answers surprised Aether as they came as the completely opposite of what he had anticipated.

So far, Albedo, Xiao and Wanderer agreed to come over, while Kazuha and Lyney had to decline his request: one thanks to The Crux’s sailing plans and the other to his busy agenda. Still, managing to bring these three, with him included, was enough to fuel Aether’s imagination, dreaming of the day of the gathering.

He looked down at the letters, his mind now wandering to the second matter: what was he going to do with those three together? Thinking about it, would they even get along? Well, surely about was an easier person to be dealt with, but Xiao and Wanderer…

Aether shook his head. He shouldn’t be expecting the worst. What if they ended up enjoying each other's company? Or even became friends? Yes! The traveler stretched out his arms above his head, crossing his hands behind his head as he stared at the Serenitea Pot’s ceiling. He couldn’t wait for the day to come!

…

Well, they were talking to each other, at least. Not in the way Aether expected - or wanted, for that matter - but, still, a conversation, he supposed.

Clenching his hand around his cup, Aether peeked left and right, hoping to spot any improvement in his guests’ mood. So far, however, Albedo was the only one to be enjoying himself, it seemed. He sighed, a faint voice inside his head already telling this whole meeting was a bad idea.

It’s not like he could say things went downhill from the very start. At first, with just him and Albedo - the first one to arrive -, everything worked out just fine: they had a little chat, Albedo tried out one of his dishes and even complimented Aether on the whole idea. It, indeed, felt like it was about to work out amazingly.

However, it seemed like his plans shattered in front of his very own eyes from the moment his second and third guest arrived - both at the same time, coincidentally. As soon as Xiao and Wanderer landed eyes on each other, animosity and an ominous feeling began to fill the room.

For some unknown reason, they did seem to get along. Aether couldn’t recall a time where they could possibly have interacted before and, being in his right mind, he wouldn’t consider inviting them both together if he knew about any of this - so why do they seem to… hate each other?!

Still, at first, Aether tried to think that it was just his impressions. After all, they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats for the whole night, now, would they?

They would. In fact, they were still at it.

There was no need for words when the two anemo users stared at each other like that, silently threatening their opponent and throwing daggers with their piercing looks. Aether could barely breathe as the tension began to get to him. It felt like they would start to throw punches if Aether took his eyes out of them for a single second!

Suddenly - breaking the silence like a rock thrown at a peaceful lake - Albedo hummed, clearly pleased. “The tea is really good, traveler,” he said, taking the cup away from his lips as he lowered it, “where did you say it came from again?”

Aether’s jaw dropped. ‘My savior’, he thought, coughing to clean up his throat before proudly holding his cup up. “From Fontaine! It might be a bit too sweet, but I really liked it, hehe… I ended up getting a couple more, so drink as much as you want, ‘Bedo!”

“Huh, ‘a bit too sweet’?” Wanderer scoffed, leaning back in his seat and cocking his head to the side, throwing Aether a teasing stare. “You have such a childish taste, traveler. I bet you even added sugar to your cup, didn’t you?”

“A-ahah,” Aether giggled nervously, blushing slightly. He indeed added an extra sugar cube… “Well, I just-”

“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it,” Xiao interrupted drily, his arms crossed in front of his chest while his brows furrowed. Uh oh. “Aether had all the trouble in preparing it for us. It’s rude to complain like that.”

“X-Xiao, it’s not that ser-”

“So what? Why are you even hurting in his place?” Wanderer snapped back defiantly, barely shifting in his place if not for his head tilting back - moving it just to look down at Xiao.

This was bad. Really, really bad. Aether looked left and right, trying to utter something to ease the tension, but ending up just getting interrupted before managing to utter anything. He didn’t even know if he should step in at that point - what if they thought he was taking a side? Even worse, what if they wanted him to take a side?!

While Aether lost himself in a flurry of thoughts, with one idea running over the other, Xiao and Wanderer continued their ‘little’ bickering, getting more and more flared up with each other.

“You should show proper respect to your host - especially if it’s someone as Aether,” Xiao hissed, leaning forward in his seat as if ready to jump at Wanderer’s face within the next seconds.

Still, the other guy didn’t seem like he was planning to back down. “I can talk to him however I want. We are friends and he doesn’t mind. Why should I listen to you?”

“Apologize to the traveler. Now.”

“Or what, Yaksha?” Wanderer grinned. “Want to take it outside? I can b-”

Clap!

“Ahem.”

The two stopped, widening their eyes in surprise and turning their attention to Albedo, who still had his hands together. He also managed to call Aether’s attention, who watched him with expectant eyes - almost as if begging him for a solution. Someone as smart as him surely could come up with something, right?

“I didn’t plan to step in, but it doesn’t seem like you two will figure it out peacefully,” he sighed, his eyes scanning the room from one side to the other, making eye contact with Xiao and, then, with Wanderer. “Am I right?”

The two guys looked away, one puffing out his cheeks while the other clicked his tongue. Why did it feel like he was dealing with two kids..?

“He started it,” Xiao mumbled, saddened to see how distressed Aether was at the whole scene. “He was being rude to Aether.”

Wanderer sighed, rolling his eyes, “exactly, to Aether. Not to you. He doesn’t even care, you are the only one complaining.” Just as he finished speaking, Wanderer also shot a glance at Aether’s face and, despite his attempts to conceal his emotions, it was clear that it also bothered him.

However, even when they were aware of the consequences of their bickering, it didn’t seem to be enough to appease the mood. In a blink of an eye, they were about to start the whole discussion all over again.

So, for the second time, Albedo decided to meddle in their fight. “Do you two really wish to fight each other so badly?”

The unfriendly duo huffed, keeping themselves quiet, but clearly agreeing with Albedo’s statement.

“Sure, you can fight, then.”

“A-Albedo?!” Aether gasped, what was he even trying to achieve by allowing such a thing? Did he want to take notes on the results of Xiao and Wanderer’s falling out?! “N-no, you can’t fig-”

“But,” Albedo continued, skilfully capturing the attention of all the people in the room, “to prevent any harm to be done, you’ll have to solve this through a contest. And, whoever wins, gets to be ‘right’ about this matter. Good enough?”

Silence quickly sat in the room. Albedo could be a really mysterious - if not confusing - person when he wanted and, at times like these, it was almost impossible to figure him out. What was he even planning with this ‘contest’?

“Why would I even joi-”

“Fine for me,” Xiao abruptly cut Wanderer’s speech, looking at his possible opponent. “I can do it, no matter what it is.”

Wanderer gritted his teeth, growling quietly as Xiao managed to easily get into his nerves. “Ok, let’s do it. I can’t wait to hear the Yaksha begging for my pardon.”

Albedo smiled, looking at his side to meet Aether’s eyes. “Would you like to join as well, traveler?”

“H-huh? Me?”

“Yes, you can take part in it too,” Albedo nodded. “If you win, then they both shall apologise to each other.”

Aether furrowed his brows slightly, taking the offer in consideration. Certainly, winning on their terms would probably prevent Xiao and Wanderer from getting into another fight so it should be worth the try, right?

“Alright, I’ll join you guys too!” Aether clenched his hands, excited. This was getting interesting. “So, what’s your idea, Albedo?”

“Yeah,” Wanderer added, “what’s the ‘contest’ about?”

“Endurance.”

…

“What?” Xiao, Aether and Wanderer asked, almost in unison.

Albedo chuckled, taking back his seat and elegantly crossing one knee over the other, ready to start his explanation. “So, the main goal here is to prevent you,” he pointed to Xiao, “and you,” then at Wanderer, “to hurt each other. My proposal, then, is an endurance test. Whoever lasts longer, wins. Simple as that.”

“And how exactly do you plan to test our endurance? Making us run around the house?” Wanderer mumbled, supporting his head on his hand as he looked at Albedo.

“By tickling you,” Albedo said with a smile, contrasting the unsettled faces of the other three. “Whoever takes the longest time to yield, wins.”

It didn’t take long for a pink hue to cover everyone’s faces. While Aether’s eyes widened and his whole body tensed up with a shiver running up his spine, Wanderer looked away, trying to hide his blushing cheeks by pretending to cringe at the idea. Meanwhile, Xiao fiddled in his seat, trying to find courage to face such a trial while telling himself that ‘it was for Aether’.

And, just like that, no one dared to object to the idea - each of them with their own reasons to not do so. “It’s settled then,” Albedo said as he clapped his hands together, his eyes scanning the whole room while a subtle smirk planted itself on his lips. “Is there anyone that would like to go first?”

That question seemed to spark a whole new level of anticipation among the ‘contestants’. Eager eyes shifted back and forth between one and another, trying to read who was going to make the first move.

A sharp inhale, then, directed everyone’s attention to Wanderer. “Fine, I’ll do it. Just get over with this stupid contest already,” he groaned, throwing a deadly glare to the other three as if daring one of them to even lift a finger towards him.

And as expected, his silent threats seemed to do the trick for Aether while, as for the Yaksha, it seemed to make him hesitate - after all, he wouldn’t want to start a fight in front of the traveler again. However, during the few seconds Wanderer occupied himself with keeping an eye on them, Albedo made his move.

“AH!” Wanderer squeaked like a toy, quickly shooting his arms down and pressing them against his body as hard as he could, trying to stop Albedo’s hands from climbing his ribs any further. “Y-you- fuhuck! G-grhrr, I wihill f-fuhucking kihill you!!” He growled, leaning his head back into the chair rest, but further into Albedo’s grasp.

“You’re allowed to laugh, though. I think I forgot to mention that,” Albedo mused, his index fingers poking at different spots in Wanderer’s ribcage, prodding at the little spaces between each bone in search for a sensitive spot that would make him crack. “Just say ‘yellow’ when you can’t take it anymore and I’ll stop, ok? That’s also what will count as ‘yield’.”

“I d-dohon’t need a fu- pfft, d-damn it! A sahahafe word! I’m n-nohot tihihicklish!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Albedo mocked, digging into the back of Wanderer’s ribs with his thumb. Getting behind him was proving to be awfully convenient for him, he thought while making little notes in his head about Wanderer’s ticklish spots.

It was a sight to behold, from Aether’s and Xiao’s point of view. Albedo made touching someone like Wanderer seem easy, even casual, completely tickling his way through the threats and curses.

“You’re pretty ticklish here, right?”

“N-NOhohoh!! G-gehehet off, ahAHAH!!”

If it weren’t for the fact that they were up next in the line to get that treatment, it would be a pretty amusing scene to watch. As expected of Albedo, it seemed that every tweak of his fingers, every poke and every stroke were planned, calculated. Wanderer didn’t stand a chance as no matter what direction he arched or twisted his body, Albedo would already have his hands ready to welcome him with more tickles there. “Yohohou jehEHEHerk!! It tihihickles!”

Albedo simply scoffed a laugh and continued with the ‘contest’s trial’, his digits kneading at Wanderer’s lowest set of ribs. “Of course it does, that’s my goal.”

But despite how hard he tried to make it tickle or how bad Wanderer claimed it to be, he was still not yielding - which meant it wasn’t time for Albedo to stop or let him go yet. A small pout took place in his lips while he pondered if he should try a different spot or, maybe, look around Aether’s place for a quill or a brush?

Then, feeling the gazes of his audience upon him and the current contestant, a different idea popped up in Albedo’s mind. Right, why didn’t he consider asking for some helping hands before?

“Would you like to join us?” Albedo suggested, cocking his head to the right while one of his hands managed to sneak under Wanderer’s arm, managing to tickle the smooth skin with the tip of his digits even with Wanderer clasping his arms down as hard as he possibly could. “Oh, did I hit a good spot?” He mused, looking down to the one squirming in his grip.

“NOHohohoh!! I-it’s ahAHAHahwful!!” Wanderer whined, his feet kicking up as he threw himself back in his seat, hoping to make Albedo lose contact with him, even if it was just for a split of a second.

Back to the other two, they pondered about Albedo’s offer - after all, that seemed to be a double edged knife: if they did join, that meant Wanderer would also get to join when it was their turn to get tickled? But wouldn’t that also mean they had the chance to make him surrender faster? Well, it was worth the shot, Xiao thought, while Aether only considered that it would make things more fun - and that should be enough to outweigh the cons.

Wanderer - too busy laughing and squirming in his seat, trying to fend off Albedo’s skilful fingers - barely noticed the two figures walking towards him. Not only that, but it wasn’t like any other sound besides his giggles could make it out of his mouth at that time.

All he could pay attention to was Albedo’s fingers trying to move and wiggle their way further up his torso, still managing to tickle him under his arms even when he tried so hard to protect that spot. Each move sent that awful signal that made him want to smile and laugh through his nerves and straight into his brain, over and over.

He wasn’t even human, so why was he so sensitive?

Suddenly, that and other inquiries that crossed his mind lost all the room they had inside Wanderer’s mind. With his eyes still pressed shut, he could only feel - as focused for a brief moment - that Albedo’s hands managed to… multiply? Wait, that didn’t make any sense. If he was tickling his armpits, then who the hell was holding him down by his waist?

Oh.

“W-wahahait!! I didn’t sahahay you’d gehehet to join!” Wanderer whined, pulling his knees up close to his stomach as his in a vain attempt of stopping Aether from joining in. “GeEHEhet ahaway frohohom me!!”

“Stop squirming,” Xiao groaned coldly, grabbing one of his ankles and forcing him to stretch out his leg, “Albedo said we could join. You weren’t already thinking of yielding, were you?”

“Don’t be mean to him, Xiao,” Aether said, but didn’t complain about the extra room Xiao provided him. His fingers roamed freely, wiggling over Wanderer’s lower sides and stomach.

“YOHOHOU!! AHahAHaha, y-you suhuhuck!” Wanderer laughed, scrunching up his shoulders and thrashing his head left and right.

Albedo tickling his armpits and ribs from behind, Aether playing with his middle like an instrument and that stupid Yaksha holding his legs down. This couldn’t possibly have gone any worse, Wanderer thought while a wide, careless smile bloomed into his face.

“Tickle tickle tickle! ~” Aether cooed, repetitively poking Wanderer around his navel, circling his stomach and even going down to tease his sides as well. “I think I’m better than Albedo at tickling you, won’t you agree?”

“That’s bold coming from you, traveler,” Albedo snapped back, “I would say he is barely feeling your hands.”

It was hard to even process what was happening around him. Wanderer’s body mostly moved out of reflex, barely having room to ponder about his actions. He arched his back, tried to kick his feet up and even twist his torso, swatting his hands at any ‘threat’ within his reach. “S-stohohop it!! Y-yohou ahHAHare all s-so- aHAHaha, so l-lahahame!”

If this was how things went, Wanderer could probably achieve a decent score with much effort. However, there was a missing piece that he failed to notice: Xiao. The Yaksha, while keeping Wanderer’s legs held down, watched the whole scene carefully and plotted his strategy - the main goal was to defeat him, after all. Why show him any mercy?

“I tohohold you to stahAHAHAH!!”

Aether and Albedo widened their eyes as his laughter soon rose a pitch. Maybe even two. To their surprise, the ‘best tickler’ wasn’t Aether nor Albedo, but Xiao. “This is the weak spot,” Xiao muttered, his eyes coldly staring at Wanderer’s laughing face. He kept one of his legs outstretched while, with his free hand, he squeezed the spot just above Wanderer’s knee, sending him into hysterics.

Simple. Effective. Even a bit cruel, if you asked Wanderer. The tickling from Albedo and Aether even slowed down a bit, but Wanderer’s laugh only seemed to grow more and more frantic.

“NOHOHOH MOHOHOREHEH!! AHAHAhah, f-fiHIHIHINE! AHAH ~” He whined, desperately trying to pull his leg out of Xiao’s grip, “Y-YEHEHEHELLOW!! StahAHAH-”

Clap.

Xiao lifted his eyes from Wanderer’s to Albedo’s face. The alchemist had a pleased smile on his face while holding his hand out in front of his chest.

“A-ahah… ah… y-you freheheak…” Wanderer cursed through tired giggles, his body going limp on top of his seat. His disheveled hair sticking to his forehead while his chest waved, trying to catch up his breath.

“Well, that wraps up our first round,” Albedo explained.

A cocky smirk took place in Xiao’s lips as he looked down at his main opponent, almost as if mocking him. Meanwhile, Aether’s eyes opened wide, beaming with excitement and anticipation - as that was probably what would wait for him. “H-how long was it, ‘Bedo?”

“I can’t say it yet, traveler,” he chuckled, “I don’t want anyone trying to push themselves beyond their limit just because of a silly game. So, let’s just stick with the rules for now, yes?” With that said, Albedo slowly walked around the chair, letting Wanderer rest while looking at Xiao and Aether, “should I decide who is going next, now?”

If it weren’t for Wanderer’s heavy breathing, the room would have been engulfed by silence again. However, just as Albedo was about to say something else, his attention shifted from the pair of “upcoming contestants” to the one next him. “Wanderer, what are you-”

“The Yaksha is going next,” Wanderer said as he got up, walking towards Xiao with bloodlust in his eyes. Did he really remember the goal of this contest was to not use violence?! “Come here!”

“G-get away from me!” Xiao groaned, trying to step back just to be tackled down into the soft carpet. Before Aether or Albedo could express their concern, Wanderer was already… tickling him. “S-stohop it! I dohon’t want y-you to doho it!” Xiao whined, kicking up his feet and swatting his hands at Wanderer's in a rather careless manner - it was not like he would bother himself with trying to not hurt him by accident.

Wanderer, with a wicked grin spreading over his face, continued to knead into Xiao's sides, determined to break him into laughter as soon as possible. “What do you mean? You wanted someone else to tickle you, you freak?” He mocked, pushing his hands away before dig into his lower stomach.

“S-shuhut it!! This ihihis nohohothing!” Xiao laughed out loud, caught off guard by the sudden change of spots. A faint blush began to spread over his face as he realized Aether had been watching him all this time. “I c-cahan tahahake it,” he boasted, almost as if trying to impress the traveler.

Wanderer, however, wasn't going to let that slide off easily - he was also one of the contestants, after all. “Suit yourself, Yaksha,” he muttered, half annoyed by Xiao's stubbornness, half amused by the whole situation.

Xiao was fighting not only one battle, but two. One to restrain himself from laughing, to make that revengeful tickling a bit more bearable and last the longest among them - or, at least, longer than Wanderer. The second was to maintain a collected image in front of Aether - the one he was ‘fighting’ for. It was just a childish, stupid game, not something that could beat a Yaksha. It was just tickling - he could, and would, take it, yes.

“I-ihihit’s useless!” Xiao mumbled through gritted teeth, trying to mock Wanderer’s attempts to crack him up. “Yohohou are teheherrible at this!”

And as much as he would hate to admit, seeing Xiao taking it so well was starting to get on Wanderer's nerves. He tried tickling his sides and ribs, scratching his stomach and even pinch his waist, but couldn’t find a spot that really worked: all he could get from Xiao was those quiet, annoyed chuckles. “It doesn’t sound like you agree with that, Yaksha.”

“Are they always this competitive?” Albedo muttered to Aether with a surprised smile on his face, unable to do anything but be amused by the whole scene. “I didn’t expect they would take it so seriously.”

“W-well, they never hung together before,” Aether chirped, scratching the back of his head in surprise. At least no one was getting hurt and they were… enjoying themselves? Having fun? Something like that, he thought. “But I think it’s a good thing they… are sort of getting alo-”

“Hey, you two,” Wanderer groaned with a frown, “aren’t you going to help me as well? Or did you suddenly decide to not get involved?”

“H-hah, I knehehew you cohohouldn’t do it b-by yohohourself,” Xiao taunted again, a confident smirk taking space in his lips amidst the restrained giggles. He, however, kept a tight grip around Wanderer’s wrists, limiting a good amount of his moves. “You ahahare not up fohor the tahask!”

“Shut it, Yaksha,” Wanderer groaned, growing frustrated. He moved his head left and right, switching his attention between Xiao and the other duo, “I’ll make you eat your words, j-just you- ugh, let go,” he hissed, yanking his hands out of Xiao’s wrists before latching them at his sides again, making the latter arch his back and kick his feet as a loud fit of laughter nearly broke through his throat.

Aether and Albedo couldn’t help but to snicker at the scene. Nodding as if in some kind of silent agreement, they decided to join Wanderer’s efforts in making Xiao laugh.

Albedo first positioned himself behind Wanderer’s, further restraining Xiao’s legs. Despite the whines and protests, he managed to pull off one of his boots and pin his leg into the soft mattress to scribble over the socked sole with his free hand. Albedo’s fingers wiggled upwards, stroking from Xiao’s heel up to his toes.

As for Aether, he took upon himself the task to take care of Xiao’s hands, taking a seat right next to the Yaksha’s head and allowing him to use his lap as a pillow. With a bit of Wanderer’s aid, he managed to pull Xiao’s hands up, exposing more of his torso for Wanderer’s merciless tickles. For some reason, having Aether holding his wrists down was flustering him the most among everything that was happening around him.

With the ticklish feeling running back and forth all over his body, Xiao thrashed his head, pressing it further into Aether’s lap as he laughed brightly. His free leg kicked and his back arched - his defenses had, indeed, crumbled. Still, the whole point wasn’t to make him laugh, but to make him surrender.

“T-thahAHAH- that’s unfahAHAhair!!” Xiao laughed, a faint red shade covering the whole extent of his cheeks. “L-lehehet go, trahAHAhaveler!” He pleaded, his hands clenched into fists while he desperately tried to pull down his arms, only to have Aether stopping him midway and pinned down again

“Not so cocky now, eh?” Wanderer grinned, his fingers digging into the side of Xiao’s ribs while his thumbs prodded at the spot below his chest, determined to find that spot, that sweet spot that would make Xiao apologize for nagging him. “Tsk, just yield already, stubborn Yaksha,” Wanderer groaned, quickly shooting his hands down to pinch Xiao’s sides, “you are clearly at your limit.”

“It would be wise to not push you to your limits, Xiao,” Albedo said, barely bothering himself to look back at the whole scene as he was too entertained with Xiao’s foot trying to squirm away from his fingers. “If you feel like it, just say the word.”

“I’m doHOHOhon’t neh-HEHEHEH NEEHEHED IT!”

The three sighed, something giving them the feeling that Xiao would rather have his brain melted by the laughter than admit defeat. “Oh, Xiao, why are you always so stubborn?” Aether chuckled, his fingers itching to do a bit more than just holding Xiao down… but, if he were to join, he should pick a good spot - but where?

His eyes roamed from Xiao’s flushed cheeks down to his neck, then up to his ears and to his arms, which were held up next to his head. Oh. Aether smirked, letting go of one of Xiao’s hands and reaching out for his exposed underarm, clawing at it with his free hand. “Come on, Xiao ~ I know it tickles too bad, even for you ~”

Just as expected, Xiao bursted into a louder fit of laughter as soon as Aether joined the efforts into cracking him up. The Yaksha’s banged his free hand against the soft mat underneath him, clenching it into a fist.

His cheeks and the sides of stomach were hurting from laughing so much and he couldn’t even make some meaning out of the conversation that was happening around him. It tickled so, so bad… Xiao pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the tickling, but each second of that electric feeling running all over his body felt an eternity. He couldn’t take it.

“AHAHAHAH, YEHEHELLOW!! YehEHEHEllow, plehehease!!” Xiao barked out among his cackles, turning his laughing face to the side and trying to bury it into Aether’s legs to hide his blushing cheeks. It took his brain some solid seconds to process that the tickling was over and, after all that “torment”, he was free.

“H-hehe, are you ok, Xiao?” Aether hummed, brushing his hand through Xiao’s head and wiping out the little tears that clung to the corner of his eyes.

“Tsk”, Wanderer pouted, totally not jealous of the little aftercare the Yaksha was receiving, “it’s just tickling. What kind of warrior would he be if he can’t take it?”

Albedo chuckled, but spared Wanderer of the reminder that he was the one laughing his head off just moments ago. “Don’t be mean, he did a pretty good job at this round,” he added, sliding off Xiao’s legs, “now… there is only one contestant left, right?”

That comment seemed to switch something inside Wanderer and Xiao’s heads. While Albedo displayed a playful smile, the other two locked their gazes into Aether’s face, one from below and the other in front of him, the latter just a half-a-Xiao away. “A-ahm… wait a second, I-”

“You’re not going back on your word, right?” Wanderer said with a smirk on his lips, already moving off of Xiao’s lap. Before Aether could even think of arguing back, the Yaksha was already sitting back up, staring at him with his golden eyes.

Aether swallowed, already accepting that there would be no way out for him this time. “F-fine, you cahAHA! W-wahahait a second, Xiao!”

“No,” Xiao muttered in a quiet, almost serious voice tone while he shyly pawed at Aether’s exposed sides, kneading into any patch of skin he could reach.

Truth to be told, Aether would have to deal with both him and Wanderer tickling him from the start if it weren’t for the way Xiao looked at the other two - like a wild animal fighting for its territory. Still, Aether was too busy laughing and trying to defend himself to notice those bits of possessive behavior. “You shouldn’t have agreed to this, traveler,” Xiao hummed, his words as firm as you’d expect from a warrior, but still… gentle somehow. “You’re too ticklish for it, it’s unwise.”

“I wahahanted to try!” Aether giggled, letting himself be handled by the Yaksha and comfortably placed on Xiao’s lap. With one arm around his back, Xiao continued to tickle Aether, smiling fondly as he managed to hang this close to the traveler. “X-Xiahahao,” Aether whimpered, scrunching up his shoulder, “n-not my ehehehar!”

“But I’m not tickling you there, I’m just breathing,” Xiao chuckled, his fingers dancing around Aether’s stomach while he nuzzled his face against the side of Aether’s neck, “I told you, you’re too ticklish for this contest.”

While Xiao insisted on teaching and lecturing Aether about the sensitive spots in his body, Wanderer and Albedo exchanged glances, watching from afar as Aether laughed out brightly. ��Doesn’t this count as going too easy on him?” Wanderer pouted, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he sulked against the couch.

“Let him have it,” Albedo sighed with a slight chuckle, “and I’m not talking about the traveler,” he added quietly, making Wanderer arch one of his eyebrows. Well, at least someone in the room knew how to read in between the lines, after all. “Besides, don’t you think you’re taking this competition a little too seriously?”

“What?” Wanderer huffed, entertaining himself with the conversation while Aether’s laughter grew in the background, “do you expect me to compete for the second place? Someone needs to teach that Yaksha his place.”

Albedo laughed, covering his lips with the back of his hand in a charming manner. “Well, if you say so,” he shook his head, returning his attention to Aether - who was already blushing from laughing. For some reason, Xiao was also blushing just as much, if not more, while tickling the traveler.

“Xiahahahao, n-not thehehere!” Aether giggled, tugging at Xiao’s wrists and leaning his head back into Xiao’s shoulder while Xiao pinched and squeezed his waist, prodding at the soft spots just above his hip bones. “I-it tihihihickles too bahahahad!”

“I-it’s supposed to,” Xiao nodded, resting his chin by the side of Aether’s neck and allowing him to sink deeper into his embrace, “but you’re d-doing quite well, traveler. I expected you to tap out much faster than thi-”

“It’s because you’re going too easy on him,” Wanderer interrupted with a smirk, pushing himself back up into his feet and walking towards the little couple duo. Xiao frowned, too greedy to share his precious traveler with that… guy.

“I know how he likes it,” Xiao snapped, making Aether groan in embarrassment. Did he really need to say that out loud, the traveler thought, but didn’t voice it. “Unlike you, it seems.”

However, against what he expected, Wanderer chuckled at his snark. He shook his head and clicked his lips, almost as if spotting a fatal flaw in Xiao’s method. “That’s the problem. He shouldn’t like it, right? He needs to beg!”

“AHAHAH!!”

Xiao widened his eyes as Aether bursted out in a loud, unrestrained fit of laughter - and only then he realized the traveler was only giggling all this time, and not laughing for real. “He is pretty ticklish all over, all somewhat the same,” Wanderer scoffed, pushing his hands under Aether's arms and clawing at his ribs and the sides of his chest, “you need to go harder or you’re not going to make any progress.”

As much as he hated to admit, Xiao couldn’t deny that Wanderer seem to be… right. Could he actually have been going easy on Aether all this time without notice?

Despite the little bickering happening around him, Aether could only mind the fact that it tickled. Xiao’s gentle, playfully tickles around his stomach and hips made him feel lighthearted, made his heart flutter. Meanwhile, the restless, almost maniac-like touches from Wanderer’s fingers around his ribs made his head spin and even made his chest hurt a little from the lack of air. “A-AHAHAHALBEDO,” Aether cried out, pressing his arms down against his sides as he tried to protect his vulnerable torso from the tickles that seemed to come from all sides, “HEHEHELP MEHEHE! AHAHA!!”

“I can’t,” the alchemist said from the distance, his voice barely audible among the loud cackling, “you didn’t say it yet.”

Right, the word. That word. Aether shook his head, gritting his teeth as he tried to gather strength to say it. “Y-YEHEHE- AHAHAH!! Y-yehehell- hhahAHAH, I CAHAHAN’T!”

“Come on,” Wanderer mocked, “it’s a simple word, how come you can’t do it?”

“I’M TRYHIHING! AHAHAH, PLEHEHEASE!” He whined, shaking his head while tears of mirth clung to his lashes, “Y-YELLOW! YEHEHEHELLOW!”

Wanderer grinned triumphantly and Albedo sighed in relief, but Xiao pouted slightly, feeling like his fun was ruined by that other guy - even though he was still glad he managed to have Aether for himself, even if for just a bit.

“A-ahahah… o-oh my…” Aether giggled, nearly melting over Xiao as the tickling finally came to halt. His head was spinning and he could swear he almost ascended to Celestia right there and then. “T-thihis was fun, heh…”

“It’s not supposed to be fun, it’s a competition,” Wanderer corrected him, that self-assigned superiority back in his eyes. “Now, alchemist, who wo-”

“Wait,” Aether stopped, shaking his head as if to force himself to recover, “it’s not over yet,” he smiled, taking one last gasp of air to stead his breath. “It’s Albedo’s turn now.”

“What?” Albedo blinked in confusion, pointing to himself with one of his hands as if to emphasize his shock. “But I’m not participating,” he said while letting out a small giggle, trying to hide his nervousness.

“How come?” Wanderer added, reading through Aether’s intentions and deciding to encourage them for once, “it’s only fair you get a turn too, this was all your idea, after all.”

Albedo’s eyebrow twitched slightly while his body leaned back into the couch, the apprehension growing within his chest. “M-my idea to solve your conflicts, I’m not part of the deal. W-what would I even win by beating you?”

“That’s up for you to decide,” Xiao added, standing up again before helping Aether to get back into his feet, “but I agree you should participate.”

Aether looked at Wanderer, at his right, and then at Xiao, at his left. He didn’t expect them to join or support his plan - he only wanted an excuse to tickle Albedo, after all - but this whole ‘contest’ thing seemed to, indeed, have made them closer. “Get ready, ‘Bedo! ~”

“A-Aether!” Albedo gasped, trying to get up in a hurry to evade Aether, but only managing to get a few meters away from the couch before being tackled down by the traveler. “S-stohop!”

“I didn’t even start,” Aether laughed, straddling Albedo’s back before starting to tickle his sides and lower ribs. “Show them how it’s done, ‘Bedo!”

Damn it. Of all the things that could’ve happened, a turn of tables against him - with even Xiao and Wanderer fighting on the same side - was the last one Albedo expected. “Nohoho! I dohohon’t wahahant to pahaharticipate!”

Aether smirked, shaking his head, “too late for that! But don’t worry, I’m rooting for you,” he said, letting out a short giggle while trying to move his fingers towards Albedo’s armpits - an attempt the alchemist promptly blocked, stopping to flail his arms and using them to try to protect his body instead. “You two,” Aether called out, looking over his shoulder, “aren’t you going to join?”

Xiao and Wanderer nodded, walking towards where Albedo had been restrained, “of course, he is the ‘most promising contestant’, after all, “Wanderer commented sarcastically.

“W-wahahait! Yellow! I-I quihihit!”

“That’s not acceptable,” Xiao added in a cold voice tone despite the warm, playful smile on his face, “you’re clearly not being fair with us. You should always give it your all, no matter the circumstances.”

“Nohoho! W-what ahahre you two doin- aHAHAH! H-hehehey, lehehet me go! ~” Albedo laughed, feeling some more weight against his legs before the new sets of fingers began to roam and tickle any spot they could find around his legs. If they were already so determined to tickle him, Albedo didn’t even want to imagine how they would react when they found out that there was no true winner - after all, he had never timed their turns to begin with.

Sigh, at least they seemed more friendly towards each other now, Albedo thought while trying to sound “genuine” enough in his attempts of yielding between his laughter. This was going to be a long - but fun - night…

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