YESSIR

When your husband tells you he’s going away again, you don’t know how to feel. Relieved. Excited. Terrified. Super horny. Felix hasn’t given you much space; still coming over to swim and help out with Henry; your husband’s presence not deterring him in the slightest. In fact, you swear he is actually going out of his way to emphasize his youth whenever he can. He’ll stand next to your husband, subtly flexing, his smooth, tan skin on display. Your husband is so smitten with him, touting his helpfulness, politeness, good upbringing. Really, you just think he rushes to help so much because he wants to prove that he’s better. Which just gives you incredibly mixed feelings. 

When the day comes for him to go, you kiss Henry on the cheek and hand him over. He’s taking him to one of the other kids’ homes for a sleepover. You’d managed to make exactly one friend in your mom group and you actually trusted her and her husband with Henry and loved their son. You kiss your husband, too, soft and quick. He barely notices. You lean against the doorframe and wave to your baby as his dad carries him to the car. Into the carseat he goes, then they’re pulling out. One more wave then you’re alone. It’s always strange to be alone here; in this huge house. Sometimes you love it. Sometimes it makes you feel paranoid and you have to tuck yourself away in a room so you can’t feel the vastness of the entire house pressing down on you. Today, you feel in between. It’s not suffocating but you’re restless enough to need a distraction. So, you decide to organize your closet. You can surely find some things to donate as well, to the shelter you used to go to when you needed it. You donate as often as you can with both goods and money. 

You pour yourself a huge glass of wine and play some inappropriate music. Loud. It loosens you up, making you feel lighter. Younger. You’re deep in your closet, deep into your second large glass of wine, singing and shaking your ass and throwing clothes haphazardly behind you, not caring about how you’d have to pick them up and fold them and package them to donate; just living in the moment. But when you turn to start on just that a few moments later, you freeze. Everything is already folded. You are very confused, your brain scrambling to come up with a solution for what the fuck could be happening, when you peek out a little more and to the side. You yelp when you see him, startled. Felix just sits there, cross-legged and grinning. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” he says. Your face burns. 

“How long have you been there??” You ask, sitting back on your heels and smoothing your slacks down your thighs to hide your embarrassment. 

“Long enough,” he smirks. You sigh, frowning. “Aw don’t be like that! I’m enjoying the show,” he says. 

“This is humiliating!” You cry.

“I thought it was pretty hot,” he replies. You finally look him full in the face and your cheeks burn more from the look he’s giving you. “You should dance more often.” 

“Well I didn’t know you were there,” you mumble. 

“And if you did?” He asks, raising one brow a little, “How would you dance for me then?” 

Your stomach drops and you come to the realization that you are alone for the first time since last time. Henry isn’t even home this time. Truly alone. You gulp. He tracks the movement with dark eyes. 

“Felix,” you say lowly, warningly. But he cuts you off with a groan, closing his eyes and dropping his head back. 

“Fuck, I love it when you say my name.” 

You stare at him, completely caught off-guard. Your eyes drop to take him in without your permission. His sharp jawline. The thick column of his throat. Even his Adam’s apple is hot. Sharp clavicles. Strong chest. 

“Why are you shirtless?” You ask breathlessly, mindblown that it took you this long to notice. 

He lifts his head and smirks at you, rubbing his tongue over his fang. You feel a sharp pang between your legs. 

“Saw you were making a donation pile. Wanted to give to the needy,” he said, his mouth caressing those words in a way that made them sound filthy. “In fact…” he said, regarding you for a moment. Then, he stood and his hands dropped to his fly. “I don’t think I need these pants, either.” 

“Felix!” You gasp as he shucks them off in record time. 

“Yeah, baby?” He smirks at you, making a show of bending over to pick them up then fold them, flexing with every motion. Your brain wipes itself clean, all of your thoughts completely gone. He drops the jeans then slowly walks toward you. You’re eye-level with his dick and it’s already half-hard in his boxer-briefs. You’re frozen in place as he approaches. He looks sexy and intimidating, standing over you like this. You look up at him helplessly. “Looks like you have more than enough, too, don’t you?” He asked lowly. When all you can do is stare, he chuckles. 

You find his hands beneath your arms then he’s lifting you and you're standing in front of him, mere inches away. You can feel the heat radiating off of him; smell his cologne. It evokes a very physical memory. You go to take a step back, overwhelmed. 

“We can’t-” you start. 

“Now, now,” he tuts, stepping with you. “I’m only trying to help. Surely you don’t need these,” he said, his fingers already in your waistband. He flicks them open with astonishing ease and they slither down your legs traitorously. Before they even hit the ground, those fingers are deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse. “Or this,” he whispers, pushing it off your shoulders. You don’t try to catch it as it flutters uselessly to the floor as well. 

“Jesus, do you just wear lingerie every day?” He asks, his eyes burning as he looks you over slowly. You open your mouth, but he puts a finger right to your lips. It feels like static, like an actual spark hits you when he touches you. “You know what? I lied. I’m not going to help you anymore. I’m going to fuck you,” he says and you stare up at him. He pulls you from the closet then leans in to lick gently at your lower lip. 

 Then, he steps back, casual as you please, and gestures with a finger, “Get on the bed for me, so I can get a good look at you.” 

You hesitate but your body starts moving before your mind fully agrees. He watches you as you walk away. You hesitate again when you get to the bed. 

“Get comfortable, gorgeous,” Felix purrs.  

You swallow and climb up on the bed. You once again feel half sexy as hell and naughty in a good way and half embarrassed by your mom bod and anxious. But it doesn’t stop you from arching your back a little and sucking it in to give him the best visuals. 

“Lay down,” he commands next, walking to the end of the bed and looking down at you. You do. “Spread those legs for me.” Your heart is pounding but you do that too, slowly. You bite your lip as the air hits the wet lace. Felix moans and the sound is so filthy, so sexy, so primal that it has you clenching around nothing. It’s nearly painful to be empty right now. “You’re so wet already. Is that for me?” 

“Yes,” you reply, your desperation for him quickly overshadowing everything else. 

“Run your fingers over that lace for me,” he says, eyes glued to the place between your legs as he palms his thick, aching cock then he’s shoving his boxer briefs down and kicking them to the side. 

You can barely function because you’re too busy ogling him, but you manage to lightly drag your fingertips up, making a soft sound at the contact. Felix’s eyes flash and he crawls up the bed toward you. He keeps eye contact as he lifts your hand to his mouth. He inhales first, closing his eyes then sighing then he’s sucking on your fingertips one by one. He opens his eyes again and watches your face as he laces his fingers through yours, then he’s leaning forward and your intertwined hands are above your head, pressed into the mattress by his weight as he hovers over you. 

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, his lips a mere inch from yours. You nod. 

He leans in and kisses you. It’s hard and deep; he doesn’t tease you at all. He kisses you like he’s been starving for it for so long that he’ll die if he goes one more second without it. You moan into his mouth and he growls in his chest. His free hand finds yours and laces your fingers there too. It joins the other hand above your head. You arch up against him. He pulls back after a moment, his pupils blown with lust. He looks your face over one more time and hums then he’s moving, lifting up. He gets himself on his knees and straddling your chest, lifting your interlaced hands to sit high on his hard thighs. His cock bobs in front of your face and you stare, your hands squeezing his as you hold yourself back by a thread. 

“Don’t be shy,” he purrs, canting his hips forward so you can reach him.

You lift your head and wrap your lips around his dick gladly, licking at the tip. His head falls back again, just as obscene as the first time, but this time it’s accompanied by the taste and weight of him on your tongue. You flick your tongue over the little slit, teasing him. He moans and pushes further into your mouth, dropping his head forward now to look down at you; watching as his cock disappears into your lips, wrapped tightly around his shaft. 

“Fucking good girl,” he moans, squeezing your hands. You moan too, rubbing your tongue against his hot skin. You are liking this too much. 

He fucks into your mouth with long deep strokes, his face contorting in pleasure as you suck him. You squeeze his hands back when the blunt head of his cock nudges against the back of your throat. You gag, just a little, and it twitches in your mouth. 

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he moans, his mouth open and brows furrowed. It’s a VERY sexy sight when you look up at him, his insane abs tensing and his dark hair falling into his face a bit. You suck a little harder and he pulls out, letting go of your hands. You pout a bit but he just chuckles. “Don’t worry,” he says with a wink, “I’m not nearly done with you.” 

You don’t even have time to say anything before he’s flipping you and yanking your hips up, manhandling you yet again. Your breath escapes in a little huff as you try to keep up, bracing your hands on the mattress. He runs a hand down your back and you arch it for him, sticking your ass up a bit. You’re desperate for him, you can’t even hide it; he wore you down before you could even really start. He ran his hand down your ass and thigh next, then gave you a harsh spank, making you cry out. 

“You’re so perfect, gorgeous,” he groans, grabbing a handful of your ass, “Everything I want, all spread out in front of me. You want my tongue, hmm? My fingers? Want me to lick you all over?” 

“Yes!” You gasp, arching harder until you can’t anymore. 

“Yes, who?” He asks, leaning over you a bit like it will help him hear you better. 

“Yes, Felix,” you hiss, the tiniest bit angry at the effect he has on you. He chuckles and spanks you again. 

“That’s my good girl,” he praises and then he is peeling your panties off, slowly down your legs. When you try to move to let him get them down your legs, he places a hand on your leg to stop you. Instead, they suffer the same fate as your dress had - he wraps his hands around the lace, gripping it tight, then gives one good yank. It gives out immediately, far too delicate for his strength, with a ripping sound that takes your breath away. 

He looks at them then looks at you, something dark and contemplative in his eyes. Then he leans forward and presses the wet, ruined lace into your mouth slowly with two fingers. You part your lips, letting him. It’s worth it to see the look on his face. The way his cock bobs, twitching, like his body is trying to get inside of you RIGHT now. You push your hips back again. He smirks, then he’s lowering himself from your limited sight and all you can see is his shapely shoulder past the curve of your hip and thigh, his hand wrapping around to hold you. Then his tongue is on you. You choke out a moan through your panties, gripping the covers. It’s been years since anyone has done this to you, and you have never had it so good in your life. 

He takes his time with it, savoring you like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. No one has ever taken such care, such pleasure in this before. It’s only making it hotter. When he presses two fingers inside of you, you cry out. 

“Close already, gorgeous?” He asks in that deep voice, going back up on his knees behind you. He presses his free hand to your tailbone then starts to fuck you with his fingers.

“Y-yes, oh God!” You moan, bracing yourself. 

“Say my name,” he grunts, giving your ass a squeeze. For some reason, you can’t. You don’t want him to stop and you clearly gave your consent but your face burns. He’d already made you say it once. You couldn’t do it again. When you hesitate, he bends over, draping his chest over your back, his fingers still working you, and he says it in your ear, his voice impossibly deep. “Felix,” he reminds you. And you come. Hard. You moan, squeezing your eyes shut against the pleasure, but you still don’t say it. 

He works you through it with care, kissing your shoulder as you pulse around his fingers. Once you sigh, coming down, he makes you yelp by biting your shoulder. 

“Feeling stubborn, gorgeous? Don’t worry. I can handle that,” he smirks then runs his tongue over the spot he just bit. You whimper softly in your throat. 

He sits up and flips you again. Your breath catches - you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to that; him throwing you around like this. But you like it a lot. Now you’re face to face with him in all his glory, unable to look away or pretend this isn’t happening. That it isn’t what you want more than anything. He obviously reads it on your face, because he looks more smug than ever as he bends over you. His dick is wet from your mouth and it bobs between you with his movements. Your eyes go from his face to his cock, back and forth, unable to decide where to land. Between the two is his insane body - his abs and chest and arms. So strong. So hot. 

“Felix,” you sigh, caving. Part of you wants to hold it in, make him work for it. See what he would do to you to pull it out of you. But that part is overruled by how much you need him. How weak you are for him. 

You watch as his brow furrows, his thick lips parting with a soft groan. “That’s it,” he murmurs, pleased. His hips dip and he rubs himself against you. You make a noise and he nods, “Just like that, gorgeous. You ready for me?” 

“Yes!” You insist, lifting your hips. 

He chuckles then nudges against you before pressing his hips forward, sinking into you inch by inch. He watches your face contort in pleasure and bites his lip on a groan. Fuck, he feels incredible. There’s no way you will be able to deny yourself the pure bliss of having Felix inside of you in the future. Not now that you know pleasure like you’ve never known before. His skin hits yours as he bottoms out and he stays there for a moment, both of you breathing a little harder, your lips mere inches apart. 

He rolls his hips down into you and you moan, your hands coming up to curl around his biceps as he holds himself above you. His muscles shift beneath your touch, his strength apparent, and it only fuels your lust for him. He leans in as he starts to move in earnest, thrusting into you with skill, deep and firm. You kiss him back, near desperate in the way that your lips move against his. You can’t get enough - he’s taking up all of your senses and you wish you had more just so they could be overwhelmed by him too. When he hits you just right, you choke on a gasp. 

“You like that? Right there?” He asks, nudging the tip of his dick against that same spot. A big moan comes out of you and you nod. “Then take it, gorgeous,” he breathes. 

You wail as he hunches above you, snapping his hips hard to drill his cock into that sensitive spot. Your nails dig into his arms and he hisses, twitching inside of you. He drops one hand and starts to rub your clit, making you see stars. You gasp for air, your orgasm barreling toward you quickly, and he knows it. He keeps fucking into you at the perfect angle, his fingers quick and precise on your clit, and when he moans your name in that low timbre, you lose it. 

“Felix! Felix, fuck!” You cry out as you come again, pulsing around him in tight squeezes. The pleasure rips through you hard and fast and you cling to him to anchor you. 

“Fuck, gorgeous, squeezing me so fucking hard. Gonna make me come too,” he groans, his face screwing up in pleasure. 

“Y-yes!” You choke out. 

“You want it? Want it so deep inside of you? So you can feel me for days. Fuck, gonna fill you up so full of me, baby, you ready?” You nod helplessly, staring up at him. “Here it comes- unnghhhh,” he moans, his eyes closing in bliss as he finally comes, snapping his hips into you to get as deep as possible. Once. Twice. On the third thrust, he stays there, twitching as his cock pumps out every last drop. 

                You hold onto him, your legs shaking, as he comes down with a big sigh that ruffles your hair. He collapses on top of you and you wrap your arms around him, a pang going through you. You’re addicted to him, you know it. You can’t deny it any longer. So you let him stay there, on top of you. Inside of you until he softens enough to slip out. Still, he stays close. 

               What really gets you is how he takes you to the shower after and treats you like something precious. You shouldn’t, but you let him. It feels too good to even try to stop it. When you’re both dressed again, he sticks around and helps you pack up all your clothes. Helps you donate them, chatting easily the entire way. 

             He’s back the next morning, under your car in the garage because of course he can fix it. When it’s done, you go to pick up Henry. He’s happy to see you, and you him as well. His sweet little face lighting up when you arrive. You hold him close, breathing him in. And you can’t help but picture a sibling for Henry. One with a sweet face like Felix… 

The forest of Orlinea has never seemed so still as in that moment. And crouched on the path with her familiar at her side, Danhiele’s every mote of power is focused on sniffing out whatever is lurking in those trees. In her mind’s eye, she can see this being’s signature, his power, but the moment she attempts to focus on it, the signature eludes her, slips away. Like trying to capture smoke in one’s palm. Above all else, the witch’s biggest concern is the direction of this power signature, this aura. She holds utterly still until she is certain that this aura is not following after the princess. Only once Arumay’s fangs have slipped back beneath his gums and his stance has relaxed, does Danhiele decide it is safe to move on. “Winds of change,” the witch murmurs to herself, as if she doesn’t even realize she’s said it. With that, the two companions make for home.

***

There is another unknown presence near, but this is one far from evil. The lithe elf rests easily on the branches of a tree a few yards behind the sorceress, watching her as he tends to do. He smirks to himself and hops noiselessly from branch to branch, running agilely along them to keep her in sight. Her beautiful eyes have never rested upon him, of that he has made sure. He simply watches from afar. He thinks soon maybe he will reveal himself to her, one day in the sunlight where he can do it in a way suited to his mischievous tendencies and his natural beauty can have its full effect. That day is not today; not with the darkness lurking around that has every living thing within the forest on edge. Today, he contents himself with making sure she gets back to her eccentric cottage. It is no secret that elves dwell in these woods, and Danhiele is no stranger to their auras. She catches whiffs of them now and again, and sometimes she finds baskets of fruit on her porch, as an offering of continued coexistence. In return, she will often send along one remedy or another, carried into the elven city by a helpful elk or fox, though she is sure that the elves accept her offerings purely to be polite; their magic is far more sophisticated than her own, and she would give many things to be allowed to study their library. But for now, the witch is not thinking about elves, or offerings, she is thinking about fire. Her legs carry her home on pure muscle memory, without any conscious thought as to where she is going. By the time she crosses the threshold of her cottage, Danhiele has made up her mind: she will be attending the masquerade, no matter Princess Daneia’s trepidation. With no easy conscience could she allow the princess to be without proper protection in a time such as this. Tonight, the Witch Of The Wood has much to prepare.

***

At the farthest edge of the southern Sandrea Ocean, where the light is scarce and the wind is cruel, there is a mountain. Many mountains, in fact. In this place, the creatures grow thin and sure-footed, bred for climbing and cutthroat survival. In this place, dragons were once king. When sharp peaks pierce the heavens, wings are directly related to dominance.

Now, in this place, dragons are slaves. The highest mountain in this forsaken crop of rock and solitude is called Throtiway. A jagged summit upon which no greenery can be found, the very reason that this land is wholly avoided is due to its formidable conditions. Utterly uninhabitable, not a soul resides on Throtiway, or anywhere in the vicinity.

Save for one.

Having a dragon as one’s own personal errand boy expectedly comes with its share of uses. Carved into the very rock of Mount Throtiway is a satire of a palace. With windows and spires and towers blasted forth from the mountainside, this castle is the antecedent of Riodrea’s own pomp and brilliance. Which, in fact, was exactly what the castle’s inhabitant was hoping to achieve; satire, farce, and a sneer in the face of all that is considered “right.”

It is in this place, this center for stench and barren ground, that resides the last true warlock. Marrion, the man who everyone believes to be dead; the man who started the war.

Standing tall in his state room, Marrion gazes unblinkingly through the towering window, which is void of glass or any tangible barrier to the elements. His hands rest on the stone sill, pale toward the palms but seeming to blend right into the rock itself. Skin that was once pure and untarnished has been stained by years of bitter magic and cruel intent. This gradation begins at the fingertips, a sooty, sickly black which melts into the natural shade of his skin. It is with one of these hands that Marrion ticks his fingernails upon the stone, waiting. Waiting. Then, finally, sweeping toward Throtiway as if made of darkness and smog itself, two massive wings beat at the air, descending quickly upon the stone palace. The figure in the black distance grows larger, and larger still, until two red eyes become visible through the haze. With those eyes, come scales. Scales like obsidian, reflecting what little light that can be found in this place as if turning it away and absorbing only the dark.

It is then and only then that Marrion turns away from the window and crosses the room. His boots click on the bare floor, sending echoes throughout the castle, alerting the whole of the mountain to his movement. The man, tall and thin and dressed in faded robes of black and crimson, makes his way down a flight of stairs, his path illuminated by ever-lit torches set into the wall.

The hallway into which he continues is long and similarly lit. Donned with no tapestries, no portraits, nothing but sigils and spells carved into the very stone, inspire no hints of warmth. Everything, to the last flickering torch, is precisely to the man’s wishes. Just as Marrion steps out onto an open balcony, his pet, his slave, large enough to darken the sky and fearsome enough to drive away entire armies, lingers in midair and bows his scaled head to his master. The wind stirred by his wings causes Marrion’s dark auburn hair to flutter around his face.

“Come inside, dragon,” says the warlock, “You have much to tell me.” He gives the beast a cursory glance, then once again turns away. Though the balcony itself is large enough to support an entire dragon, just as its massive claw brushes the stone there is a swirl of black smoke, a rise of the oldest magic, and what touches down is not a dragon at all, but a young man.

“Sir,” calls the newly changed man, “Wait, I don’t think you’ll like what I have to say.” Unlike his master, this man is physically stronger in appearance. Where Marrion’s face appears shrunken and dried, the dragon’s is smooth; youthful, and handsome. At his neck, marking his enslavement, black runes have been set into his skin. These tattoos disappear beneath his clothes and reappear at the wrist. His high cheekbones cast shadows onto his face as he passes through the torchlit archway, following after his master.

Marrion turns on his heel, advancing upon the boy. “Excuse me?” he asks, though there is no hint of apology anywhere in his tone or expression. “Did I ask of you to assume what I will and will not like? Did I ask you to think, worm?”

“No. No, sir. You did not,” answers the dragon. The contrition in his voice is limited, almost nonexistent. His deep red eyes do not waver from the warlock’s face. Dragons do not falter.

For a moment, Marrion simply stares at his slave. Then, when the moment of challenge has passed, the warlock straightens and gathers his robes around himself. “Now, what of the princess?” he asks. In the light, it may be hard to tell, but it appears that a moment of sick pleasure crosses the dragon’s human guise. His lips lift in the slightest of smirks, and despite his warning, he does not hesitate in relating the news:

“Your princess, sir, may be onto us.”

***

The princess is awoken early the next day by a sharp spike of sunlight through the previously covered window. Daneia thrives in the sunlight, is often compared to it herself, but this morning, she cringes at its warmth and brightness.

“Lune,” she groans and turns into her pillow. She was having dreams, strange dreams that were no doubt a product of the bracken root she used the night before; but they were helpful...she thinks. She only wishes she had not already forgotten them.

Lune shakes her head fondly at the young girl and puts her hands to her hips, “Miss you must get up. We’ve much to get ready for; Prince Hyunjin will be arriving in a mere three hours!” She reminds her charge. She is met by another groan, muffled by the rich silk of a royal’s pillow. A few moments later, there comes a sigh and the princess emerges from her pile of blankets, hair wild and tangled.

Lune holds back a giggle and Daneia grins at her, then climbs off the bed, “Okay let us prepare.” Today she must be bathed and rigorously prepared like the castle has been.

Her round of scrubbing takes two quarters of an hour, though by the end of it, the princess looks as rosy as a princess should. Lune helps her mistress into a soft blue gown the color of the summer sky. “Are you excited to meet the prince, m’Lady?” Lune inquires as she brushes out the princess’ hair, “Can you imagine? A real prince in our halls, ma’am.”

Daneia looks at the girl in the mirror and smiles, “I must admit that I’m very excited. And tired,” she yawns. She can tell the girl is trying not to giggle so she makes a ridiculous face, breaking the very important rule where ‘princesses do not make faces.’ Lune glances up and sees her. She is startled into a laugh and claps a hand to her mouth, “Milady!” she cries. Daneia giggles and settles down with an apology she does not mean.

It takes the rest of the time to dress and groom the princess and she is ushered out to her family. She does not actually see her father and mother very often, so she is grateful for her pristine presentation. She curtsies to them and is met with a smile. Her father stands tall and proud next to her beautiful mother. Her father has golden hair like she does, though it is turning to white. Her mother has hair the color of chocolate, like Cyristine who is standing beside her. The youngest of the family takes her place beside her sister, who is shaking just enough for her to notice. Daneia brushes her hand briefly against Cyristine’s for comfort as they wait for the prince to arrive at the castle. His ship made port one hour’s time before now.

Assembled in the great hall of the palace are all of the noble families of the kingdom, the heads of whom make up the king’s council. The palace staff is lined against the opposite door closest the wall, all in their best, cleanest uniforms, heads bowed.

Positioned behind the royal family is the palace guard. Armor gleaming and heads held proud, they are led by Captain Seo, the youngest Head of Guard in Riodrea’s history. He does not falter from his straight-backed stance even for a moment, such is his determination to honor his kingdom. From the entrance of the hall, the royal family is presented as strong and near perfect, unquestionably powerful. After several minutes, a man dressed in fine robes of the North enters the hall. Head held high and bearing the Hwang family crest aloft, this man cries out,

“I now present unto the most noble family of Ulrich, the king of Riodrea, and all gathered here – Prince Hyunjin of Obrany!” Following the crier, a man who can only be Prince Hyunjin follows suit into the hall. True to the gossip of Princess Cyristine’s waiting woman, his cloak is trimmed in fur, and hanging from his belt is a decorative axe. Flanked behind him on either side are several people dressed in similar deep tones, all with fur trim.

Daneia has to fight to keep her composure when he comes in, because the gossip of his good looks is also true. More true than she could have imagined. She is for once very glad that Cyristine is so proper and would never reveal her emotions, because the prince is handsome enough to cause a maiden to swoon. He walks on his own toward the family, stopping the appropriate distance away and sinks to one knee, bowing his head. He stands again and they bow to him as well. He is very tall. His brown hair is wind swept from travel, cheeks rosy from the unfamiliar heat of the bright sun that shines always on Riodrea. His lips are full and pink and his eyes are a deep brown.

King Ulrich descends the few steps first, ahead of his family, arms spreading to welcome the prince. "It is long that I have dreamt of this day,” says the king. His hands fall onto Prince Hyunjin’s shoulders like old friends.

Immediately, Prince Hyunjin smiles in return, nodding to the king. “Hello, King Ulrich,” he says, his voice lightly accented and smile sincere.

“How did you fare on the journey?” the king asks. “With a smile,” replies the prince, which draws a light chuckle from some of those gathered. In particular, Princess Cyristine finds herself fighting a wide grin.

“Come!” The king booms, stepping to Hyunjin’s side and keeping one hand on his shoulder as he sweeps the other to proudly indicate to his family, “Meet your future family, my boy!”

Hyunjin smiles and follows him with long, graceful steps and his eyes dart between the two princesses, unsure which is his betrothed. His eyes keep landing in the taller of the two and he can’t help but smile. That must be her. She answers with a soft smile as well, blue eyes brighter than ever.

The king brings him up to the family and Hyunjin smiles kindly at them. He bows again and is introduced to each, Cyristine last. The king brings her forward and she proudly steps up to him, head high but not meeting his eye. She risks a glance and he is looking right at her. They both smile. Her cheeks turn pink and he smiles bigger. After a few pleasantries, Princess Cyristine is charged with showing Prince Hyunjin the castle and grounds. Once they are finished, the tournament in Prince Hyunjin’s honor to select the new members of the royal guard is to take place. It is an important celebration, and it is a high honor to be in the royal guard.

***

While the fine people go about their regal business, Captain Seo Changbin - though he is highly distracted by Prince Hyunjin’s pretty sister, Princess Maegyn - has a duty to address the prospective guardsmen out in the courtyard. Once King Ulrich dismisses those gathered, Changbin grips the hilt of his sword and leads his men outside.

The grounds have been transformed into a proper gaming court, and the contestants are all being strapped into armor with the help of their squires. Some men have many helpers, and their armor is of the newest make, their family crests emblazoned proudly onto the saddles of their horses. Others, like one particular blonde smithy, have only the bare essentials.

Lee Felix, though he is a capable young man, cannot for the life of him sort out how to tie up the side of his armor without assistance. He is of the poorer class of assembled contestants, and his section of the dressing tent is near barren in its modesty. He does not complain, however, merely focuses on his work.

The captain instructs Chan to go assist and talk to the contestants and figure them out. Captain Seo is a very fair and loyal captain; he believes firmly that his men should be of pure intent and loyal hearts as well as strong of body and steel of will. Chan nods and bows shallowly to the captain, heading over to the men. He starts with the upper classes, wishing to end with the lower class. They tend to have shorter answers and mostly very sad though they contain less pomp and lies to make themselves seem closer to the throne than they really are. He asks questions and listens respectively to each of their answers. He nods to the last man and heads over to the poorer section.

He travels through the sparse crowd of contestants on this side, speaking with them and getting as much information as they allow. He had saved the blond smithy for last, knowing exactly who he is. He walks over and nods to the man, “Good afternoon. Is your armor secure?”

Felix’s head lifts, and immediately he stands taller, bowing his head to this man of rank. Of course he recognizes Chan; in all the times that he has watched the princess walk about town, her side is never without this man. “Good afternoon, sir,” he replies, “Er. I’m afraid I’m having a spot a trouble with my armor, now you mention.” He looks down at the wayward buckles he has not managed to secure, because they are simply out of his reach.

Chan gives the man a small smile and another nod. He moves to his side and starts to strap him in. At first glance, the armor seems that of a poor man; the type of armor that never makes it past the first challenge of strength against opponents. But once he sees it closely, Chan has to pause a moment and inspect it. “Where did you get your armor?” he asks, “It’s quite sturdy.” He is impressed.

Felix can’t hide the proud grin that sneaks onto his face in response. He remains humble, knowing that boasting will get him nowhere. “Made it myself,” he answers. “I’m the apprentice to the smithy.” He lifts his arm so that the officer may adjust the straps without hindrance. Chan looks up at him and then nods again, moving to make sure he is secure. He is impressed and for some reason, knows he must make sure his armor is on correctly. It would be bad if the young man were hurt and he’s not sure why. But he doesn’t exactly trust him. “What brings you today?” he asks casually, “Money? Honor?” Admitting that he is here out of infatuation for the princess would be out of the question, and so Felix tells a small white lie, which isn’t quite a lie. “Duty,” he says. “My parents died for this kingdom, and I will too, if the gods call me away.” He says it with all the charming conviction of a child.

Chan steps back as he finishes strapping the armor and looks at Felix, “Your parents?” he asks. It’s unlikely but possible that his father was in the guard yet entirely impossible that his mother was. The blond man seems sincere in his answer, but Chan can’t seem to shake his feeling that there is something more to this man. Something secret. The boy only offers a nod and a smile. “Thank you for your help,” he says simply enough. Chan’s eyes narrow just

a bit and he looks the man over. He nods again and heads back to the captain. He wishes he knew what the man’s intentions were. He doesn’t like anyone having secrets about the very family he is supposed to protect.

Felix is perfectly aware that the longer he holds his secret, the more suspicion he draws, but he has no choice. If he intends to get close to the princess, he will have to do so with as much anonymity as possible. Dressed now and ready for a fight, Felix sends a brief prayer to his parents. He needs their guidance now more than ever.

***

All of Princess Cyristine’s fears that Prince Hyunjin would be some sort of monster were cast aside after their first five minutes together. He is exactly the sort of prince she had hoped, and precisely the kind of man she could fall in love with. When they return from their time together, both prince and princess wear a smile, and it is obvious to all who look upon them that their match is a favorable one.

The hour of the tournament fast approaches, and Princess Daneia is led to the booth with the rest of her family. Prince Hyunjin is to sit on the side of the King not occupied by the Queen, and Cyristine will sit beside her intended. Daneia, currently uncourted, has a seat all her own toward the end, where she is in easy view of any aspiring knight in need of inspiration.

Daneia settles into her throne on its lonely perch and sighs inaudibly. She has only ever attended one tournament in her life. The kingdom has been in prosperous peace for many years and the guard hardly needs replenishing as often as it used to, nor have they had an occasion such as this to celebrate. Her first was when she was fourteen and it was far from pleasing. The fighting and prancing around of the men, so proud that they hurt another, did absolutely nothing for her. And as much as she enjoys people believing and telling her she is beautiful, sitting here as an object on display for the men slightly irks her. She would never show it though, and sits like a proper lady in her seat, surveying the scene below her.

In the dressing tent, Felix stands before a rip in the canvas, peeking out to the royal box, where he has the slimmest view of golden hair and alabaster skin. He has no choice but to emerge victorious today, no other possible destiny, and yet…he is wracked with anxiety. This young man is utterly oblivious to the sudden fanfare that strikes up, at least until he hears the metallic shuffle of other would-be knights gathering their lances and swords. Each man competes in four areas of specialty; things like swordplay, archery, and jousting. Those who come out on top in two categories each, and only those on top, will be given the honor of entering the guard. It is likely that those who fail will simply die.

Captain Seo comes out and bows stiffly and respectively to the royals in the box, including Hyunjin’s sister. He has to hide a smile, and he has to try quite hard, when she smiles right at him. He steps over to the side and a thin man bearing the crest of Riodrea comes forward with a scroll and begins to announce each contestant from highest rank to lowest, and they come out as announced to form a line. As he expected, Felix is among one of the last to be called. All the same, he stands tall, helmet tucked beneath his arm. While most men choose to direct their gaze forward, just below the royal box, Felix looks straight to the princess. This is all for her, and he intends her to know it. The audience, which is comprised of peasantry as well as royalty, applauds these brave men, to which they bow as best they can in their heavy armor.

It is all the young princess can do to stay in her seat, though every part of her tenses when he steps out. Felix. Somehow, she is not surprised that is his name. Strange. Her next thought makes her eyes widen. No. He should not be here. No no no. She is still unsure as to why, but she knows she could not bear to watch him perish in the arena. Her hands clasp each other tightly in her lap.

“First, we will have the contestants in hand to hand combat!” announces the man with the scroll. “Those contestants are…” He goes on to read through the list, at the bottom of which is, yes, Lee Felix’s name.

Felix takes his place with the other men who await their turn, after bowing to the royal family once more, of course. He allows himself the brief thrill that…maybe, just maybe, Princess Daneia looked right back at him.

The first two men to fight are older than Felix himself, and their armor appears far more battle worn. Each man is hulking and vast, their footsteps as heavy as their swords. It is quite a first match-up. As is customary, the men nod to each other, then begin the fight the moment the Captain Seo calls for it. They launch viciously into combat, and the clash of steel is like thunder in the rapt arena. As they duck and shift in the dirt, dust is thrown into the air and swirled around the pair by their movements. Felix can tell just by a few moments of watching that they know what they’re doing, which only means that the victor will have to earn his title the bloody way.

The match takes little more than ten minutes. As Felix anticipated, one of the men grows weary before the other, and his footwork falls short for it. His competitor’s sword comes down hard on his helmet, and the whole of it caves in with that one blow. Falling hard, the beaten man collapses to the dirt, though it is not clear whether he is alive or dead. Princess Daneia already wants to leave. She thinks back to the first tournament, where she cried then spent the remainder of the afternoon losing her small, ladylike lunch into a bucket as Lune tried to comfort her and assure her she would grow used to it, as it is a Princess’ duty. She concentrates on breathing; this time she is too old to cry. This time she has to keep herself composed. This time so much more is on the line. She watches intently as the man’s body is taken aside. Felix is next in line and Daneia thinks she may just faint, though she is well used to the heat and the tightness of her corset.

Felix is rather lithe, for a prospective knight. Even in his armor, that much is apparent. All the same, he dons his helmet and steps up to the ring, walking with confidence. When he gets to his place, his head turns once more in the princess’ direction, and then on to face his opponent. The man striding toward him now is announced as Lord Gareth Yulebritch. His massive figure hulks toward the ring, a heavy hand already at the hilt of his sword. Though this match seems heavily favored in Lord Yulebritch’s direction, Felix could not be happier with his chosen foe.

As before, Captain Seo announces the start of the match and, as expected, Yulebritch takes the first swing. He shouts like a madman, but Felix doesn’t lose his composure. He steps swiftly to the side, and Yulebritch’s sword strikes nothing but air. While the heavier man takes a moment to realize that he has, in fact, missed his target, Felix turns and brings his sword down across the man’s back. The blow leaves a sizeable dent in his armor, though Yulebritch does not stumble. The princess is trying very hard not to react to this. She is quite tense in her seat, and it takes her a moment to realize her father is discussing Felix with Prince Hyunjin. “Quite small, that one,” he says, “Won’t last I wager.” He sounds…guilty.

Prince Hyunjin shrugs, “He is fairly sure footed, sir,” he says politely, smiling pleasantly as if there weren’t a slew of human beings at their feet hurting each other.

King Ulrich responds with a grunt, “Sure of foot does not always equal strength of the arm,” he returns, and drinks from his horn of ale. Understandably, Yulebritch is quite enraged that this child could get the first strike against him, and he counterattacks with ferocity. Felix is unable to simply dodge the attack this time, and raises his shield in defense. His arm throbs with the force of the blow, but better that than a direct hit to his body. Three strikes, and loser will be declared. Felix already has one in his favor, which is a hopeful start.

Yulebritch lashes out again, then again, trying to catch Felix in a bad step and catch him with the shield down. Instead, Felix throws his arm out when Yulebritch swings down, which falters the man’s grip on his weapon. This allows Felix to gain another strike to his opponent’s belly, but this success is not without repercussion.

In the time that it takes Felix to back away, Yulebritch is able to land a blow to the younger man’s shoulder, which is quite a gainful hit. The pain is sudden and intense, and affects Felix’s shield arm. He stumbles back, cursing beneath his helmet. Yulebritch advances.

The princess gasps loudly and as her mother’s head turns her way, she puts a shaky hand over her mouth and fakes a dainty cough. Lune immediately brings her water and Daneia cannot even thank her, she simply takes it and turns back to the fight. She holds her breath as she watches, wishing that she could be somewhere she could react, but wishing more that she didn’t have to react. She wonders why Felix is here and why he keeps looking at her. Her mind is confused about him and she is sure her heart is also affected by him, but refuses to acknowledge it; though she is about to have a heart attack. Felix is, at that moment, deaf and blind to everything that is not Yulebritch. He creates some distance between them, reconstructing a plan of attack until, just like that, Yulebritch maps it out for him. With another monstrous roar, the older man launches himself at Felix. Their swords clash and struggle, then slide away. This pattern is repeated. Strike, struggle, and again, until finally Felix finds his opening. He uses all the remaining strength in his wounded shoulder to throw Yulebritch back with his shield, then gives a cry of his own as he makes his victory blow.

The crash of Felix’s sword on Yulebritch’s armor is lost to the roar of the crowd. Clearly, they all were keeping score, because it is instantly known when Felix defeats his opponent. Raising his sword, Felix faces the royal box. But rather than look to his king, naturally, he awaits Princess Daneia’s reaction.

The princess is looking right back at him, openly gaping. She felt a huge rush of relief as he won but as soon as he raised his sword, it was as if she smelled a faint whiff of the bracken root and she saw in her mind a very young boy with fluffy blonde hair, holding up a small wooden sword and grinning at her. Her past with the man in the arena rushes back to her so quickly it dizzies her. She does not even hear her mother’s concerned voice. It is not until Lune puts a gentle hand to Daneia’s arm that she realizes she has an appearance to keep. But she cannot. She stands suddenly and gives her parents a brief curtsey, apologizing and excusing herself by way of an unsettled stomach and quickly turns to descend the stairs from the box. She needs to be alone. She cannot stay. It is with a heavy heart that Felix watches his princess run from the very sight of him. Perhaps his victory was, to her, a brutality? What must she think of him, if her first response is to flee? He has no time to dwell on this, however, as the tournament must go on.

***

The moment Felix enters the dressing tent once more, he is approached by nurses. Now that he is a victor of at least one event, his poor man’s status means little. He has more events to win, and more honor to gather. For that reason, he now has no shortage of help. His armor is removed with care, and a salve is applied to his bruised shoulder. He can hardly move his left arm at all, but the longer the salve has to seep in, the better it will do. For now, he sits bare-chested in the shade of the tent and sips water, resting for his next event. Daneia had fled to a secluded little part of the castle wall, having successfully gotten rid of her concerned maid. She gathered her thoughts and just as she was sure she would swoon into oblivion, her mind unclouded. She remembers now. Felix, son of a Lord and Lady. Felix, whom she grew up with until the war in which his parents died. Felix, banished to live a poor and lonely existence outside the castle walls after his parent’s death. Felix. Her Felix.

She could not fight her heart any longer; it was about to burst right from her chest. She gathered herself and smoothed her appearance. She found Chan and instructed him to stand guard outside the tent that held Felix; to not let anyone pass through the material as the princess herself was there to visit the wounded. No one needed to know that there was only one wounded in the tent and the nurses had all left. No one had to know the princess herself was alone in the tent with the “commoner.” She takes a steadying breath and strides importantly past Chan and into the cool and quiet tent.

Felix had just closed his eyes for a moment of reflection when he hears the telltale sound of skirts swishing. At first, he imagines it’s just a trick of his weary mind but, no, with that sound is brought the scent of perfume fit for a…

“Princess,” he says with no small amount of surprise, eyes wide and trained right in her direction.

He sits up as quickly as possible and bows to her, shoulder be damned. While he may have said this single word to her a dozen times over the past years with nothing but the utmost civility, he now has no chance to compose himself. Just as his armor has been removed, so too have his pretenses.

Her breath is gone and she stares at him for a moment. She knows she should compose herself and treat him like a princess to a commoner turned victor, but she cannot. Not anymore. She blinks to steel herself and goes to him, actively trying her best to not let her eyes wander his strong frame. Never has she been this close to a man such as he. A man with rough, manly hands, half undressed and injured, smelling strongly of sweat and sun. But none of that matters.

“Felix?” she breathes without even meaning to.

That one whisper lifts his head, brow furrowed as if he cannot believe the reality he finds himself in. For one long moment, he stares back at his princess. For the first time in so many years, he is able to look her in the eye and know that she is looking at him too.

She stops right in front of him, her blue eyes unwavering from his brown ones, and she knows without a doubt, what she remembers is true. He is her Felix, down to the piercing depths of those eyes, though they speak much more than fun all these years later. Slowly, the victor stands. He hadn’t realized before how much taller he is than the princess, and it seems odd to him to see her from above rather than below.

Her eyes widen a bit as he stands. She has to tilt her head to look at him and is most disconcerting. He is the epitome of masculinity and she is wholly unprepared for it.

“Princess,” he says again, tone plagued by wonder, “You…you remember?”

“You knew?” she says softly, “This whole time?” She cannot fathom what he must have felt; must have thought of her. What he thinks of her now. She suddenly finds herself in an entirely unfamiliar position – the feeling of self-consciousness.

“I’ve been waiting for you to remember,” Felix admits, voice equally soft in tone. Never once do his eyes leave her face. He has waited long enough to look upon her without shame, and feels that he has earned this moment. “Thought that maybe if I made myself into something better, you might take notice.” He quirks the smallest of smiles, still too enthralled with her beauty to pay much mind to his own expression. She gives a small smile too, equally entranced by him. It occurs to her somewhere in the depths of her mind that she is falling far too fast. Far too hard. That this is wrong and against everything and that he could still lose the tournament and his life. But all she can do is look at him. “I noticed you every time,” she whispers and her hand lifts itself and her fingers brush tentatively over his arm, as if to make sure he is truly real. He is real; warm and solid. She feels suspended in time itself.

Felix follows her hand with his eyes, and his lips part in amazement at her touch. “Princess,” he murmurs, “I…I don’t want you getting yourself in trouble.” All the same, he’d really rather not see her go. Not yet. There is still so much left unsaid. He returns his gaze back to her. “I don’t care what it takes, I’m coming out of today a victor. I’ll get myself to the wedding ball, and we can talk. Please, promise me you’ll meet me then,” He looks the picture of adamant, almost pleading in his expression.

She lifts her eyes from her hand to meet his again and her expression is soft. She nods, “I will wait for you beneath the ballroom balcony at midnight,” she promises. There are voices outside the tent and she finally realizes the position she is in. She turns back toward the injured man and allows herself to take his hand, giving it a squeeze, “I cannot bear to watch. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Do not abandon me,” she says desperately, searching his eyes with hers. The voices get louder and she slips from the tent through the back.

Before Felix has his chance to bid her farewell, his moment is gone. This seems to be the theme of his life: moments that arise too suddenly and are gone too swiftly. Sighing, but with fresh vigor in his heart, Felix dresses his own wound and begins to climb back into his armor. He has a tournament to win, after all.

***

Of all the sun that shines on all of the Western Kingdoms, it is said that the light favors Riodrea far above any other. Born of a simple fishing harbor and a few modest cabins, the kingdom now rests at the skirts of the vast forest of Orlinea, nestled at the base of mountains to the east and a large, flowing river to the south. Its people are hearty and almost as full of light as their bountiful lands, but none so much as their princesses. While some kingdoms are so unfortunate as to fall oppressed by their Lords and Masters, Riodrea celebrates its royalty, particularly at a time such as this. The eldest Princess is to be married. 

While the folk down below prepare their shops and streets for the lively parties and feasts of a royal wedding, those in Riodrea’s lavish palace do much of the same. Every inch of the castle is to be scrubbed and polished, and by order of the King, there is to be no reason for embarrassment left behind. 

“We are playing host to our finest friends,” he had told the steward, “and we can’t have our friends sleeping in dusty beds.” And so, while the palace’s some hundred servants dash this way and that in a mad rush to prepare for their guests from the North, the princesses enjoy a wholly different scene. 

Princess Cyristine, the eldest and soon-to-be-wed of the two, sits on a bench before her open windows, enjoying the midday sun as a mild breeze sends her gossamer curtains waving, the hem tickling her bare foot. Her silver hairbrush glints in the light as she passes it through her long, dark hair, each stroke careful and with purpose. Her pet, a Persian cat as graceful and lithe as she, lies curled in a patch of sun on her expensive rug. It is a clever creature, rich gray and white in color with bright blue eyes.

Princess Daneia, having spent the sunny day after her chambers had been cleaned marveling at the view of her garden out of her window, had grown bored when servants overtook that area as well to trim up the flora around the castle. She pokes her head into the door of her sister’s chambers, long hair free from any proper restraints and falling past her shoulder as a smile lights her face at her sister’s presence. She steps into the room and approaches the bench, smiling.

“May I?” she indicates the brush. 

Cyristine smiles and gives a soft laugh, shaking her head, “Has your hair been through a windstorm today?” she asks, “Or did you not let Lune fix it at all?” 

Lune, her sister’s waiting woman, is always in a constant battle to convince the younger of the two princesses that there’s nothing wrong with having your hair done up and braided. 

Daneia grins and takes the brush, moving to sit behind her older sister, “I’ve not had it fixed today. I see no reason to have it fixed every day anyhow,” she explains, taking Cyristine’s long, silken hair in her small hand and running the brush through it again. She still smiles; rare moments alone with her sister, always fond yet ever frustratingly proper, are cherished. 

Cyristine laughs lightly again and rises from the bench. “Well I hope I can rest assured you’ll have it looking manageable for the wedding,” she replies, “I can’t have people asking if I’ve put a troll in my sister’s gown and sent her into the church.” While rather reserved and dutiful, Cyristine has her own brand of wit. She casts a smile at her sister over her shoulder, then inspects her appearance in the looking glass above her vanity table.

Daneia  laughs loudly and nods, “For you I will let my poor head be tortured.” She watches her sister fondly and smiles softly, “I can hardly believe you are to be married,” she says, looking down at her hands, “it seems so soon doesn’t it?” 

She is always excited for festivities, but is nervous to lose her sister to Olbrany. The loss of the older girl will mean all of the attention, criticism, responsibilities, and expectations will fall solely to the younger; not to mention how lonely the palace will be. 

“Soon?” the elder repeats, “The engagement has been arranged since my birth. It’s been a long time coming, if you ask me.” Seemingly satisfied with what she sees, Cyristine turns away from the mirror and joins Daneia  on the bench once more. “Can I confide in you?” It’s a meek question, and a blush has risen to Cyristine’s cheeks, just as her gaze drops to her lap.

Daneia nods. She’s used to being mostly on her own in the castle, though she often seeks and enjoys the company of others, no matter their class or status. She is honored to be confided in by anyone, especially her elder sister. The younger woman’s eyes lift as her sister’s drop and she smiles kindly with a nod, “You know you may always,” she says.

For a moment, there’s no sound in the room save for the distant shouting of one workman to another, out in the palace courtyard. Then, Cyristine meets her sister’s eye and smiles strangely, like she’s attempting to play off her nerves. 

“I haven’t met him before,” she says, “Prince Hyunjin. What if he’s cruel? What if he’ss not the person Father has promised me he is?” Her head bows again, and it’s as if she’s speaking to herself now. “I’ll go through with the engagement no matter what. I have to. It’s my duty. But…I so desperately want him to be kind.”

Daneia sits for a moment in silence. She’s hardly the one to be asked about any sort of romantic relationship, but she understands her sister’s concerns. She leans forward to put an almost tentative hand to her sister’s shoulder, “He is kind; I am sure of it. All I’ve heard of him is praise. And you know, they say he is rather handsome as well,” she grins.

Cyristine manages a hint of a smile at that, though she tries her best to hide it. “I suppose that is a reason for optimism,” she says, “Aren’t all men of the north meant to be handsome? Molly told me some gossip she and the other maids had been sharing.” Though Cyristine believes in the lines of social class, chatting with her own waiting lady does lead to interesting things.

Daneia bounces on the bench, not even attempting to be ladylike. She is far too excited at the promise of fresh news, maybe even naughty news. “Do tell!” she pleads.

The older girl laughs behind her hand. “Settle down first!” she insists. Her sister always makes her smile; the princess Daneia  is rarely seen in poor humor, and this fact is known by nearly everyone in the kingdom. Cyristine leans in a touch, a little smile on her face. 

“I heard that all these Northern men know how to swing an axe by the time they reach five,” she says quietly, as if someone might overhear, “And that they venture on hunting expeditions with their fathers by the time they turn eight. They’re all said to be very rugged and clad in fur. Can you believe that? Real animal fur.” Cyristine gives a small shiver at the very idea. Riodrea rarely sees winter, at least not a winter fit enough to require anything more than a spot of wool.

Daneia ’s eyes widen as she speaks. It is so strange to think of the world outside Riodrea, though she has always been curious, “Wow. So he.. he is like a real warrior then? One you hear of in legends of the north. Cyristine how exciting! Do you think he could teach me to swing an axe?”

“Why on earth would you want to do that?” Cyristine looks shocked by the very idea, though she probably shouldn’t be. Her sister has always been prone to strangeness, particularly regarding the divide between behavior that is and isn’t fit for a princess. Axe-swinging most certainly is not

“Because! It would be fun! And useful! What if I needed a larger fire in my chamber? Or if there was a battle??” She looks back to her sister and deflates as she sees her wide blue eyes staring at her in shock and disbelief. She clears her throat lightly, "It was just a thought. It sounded interesting… Do you think he knows our dances?” She changes the subject.

The two sisters continue in this much more civilized vein of conversation for the next little while, though Cyristine hasn’t forgotten the comment. She doesn’t want to so much as consider the possibility of another war under her reign. Rather, her husband’s reign. If the gods above have any love for her at all, then she trusts they will make her time one of peace. 

The sun has begun to sink just a touch lower in the midday sky when their talk is broken by a soft knock at the chamber door. Cyristine lifts her head. “Come in,” she allows, “Oh hello, Molly.”

The waiting lady makes her curtsy. She is a young woman, though very good at her job. “I’m sorry, my Lady, but the seamstress says it is time for your gown fitting,” she says. Her hands tuck behind her back. 

Cyristine smiles immediately. Though she does have her fears about her to-be-husband, there is absolutely nothing wrong with trying on her wedding gown, “Wait for me outside, Molly, I’ll be ready in a moment.”

“Very good, m’Lady,” the servant returns, and the door is closed once more.

Daneia shifts a bit and waits for Cyristine to stand before she rises as well, a smile on her face. She isn’t altogether a horrible princess. She curtsies to the older woman, “I’ll entertain myself elsewhere now. Go grace the dress with your beauty,” she tells her sister fondly. She can’t wait to see Cyristine on the day of the wedding.

After bidding goodbye to her sister and reminding her to stay out of trouble, Cyristine joins her waiting woman in the hall and accompanies her to the seamstress’ shop. The door is left open, which only fills the room with further indication of the palace’s liveliness. Everywhere there are voices and people and the sounds of work. 

Daneia stands for a moment then decides that although she is rather fond of all the bustle in the castle, she’d prefer to be outside on a day like this. She hurries back to her own chambers before anyone can reprimand her for not wearing shoes again or take her to a fitting of her own. She does love to indulge in clothing and shoes, but she does not appreciate standing straight and still for hours in silence. She calls to her own maid as she enters, “Would you put my hair up? I’ll be going into the kingdom today.”

The girl looks up from a bit of needlepoint, then quickly rises. “I’m sorry, m’Lady,” she says, curtsying in apology for not standing sooner, “Of course I will, m’Lady.”

Daneia almost wants to laugh, but that would be rude. The realization that she will be the sole princess of the kingdom in two days’ time dawns on her and she makes a conscious effort to do better. She nods, “It’s quite alright Lune,” she assures her kindly, “I am in no particular rush.” She smiles faintly at the girl, who nods quickly and goes about doing the princess’s hair. She keeps it simple and fast, knowing Daneia won’t want to sit for long. Once she is finished, she curtsies again and hurries to ready the outside clothing for the princess.

Daneia follows her and allows the tall girl to dress her. She almost wants to make conversation about the wedding, but knows she will only be met with polite “yes ma’ams” and “no ma’ams,” and her patience is not full enough for that. She is dying to go outside. She bows her head to Lune once she’s dressed and walks down the stairs to the main floor in search of Chan, her personal guard who accompanies her on all her walks, boots clicking faintly on the stone tile floors.

The ground floor of the palace is far busier than any of the private floors above, and all manner of merchants and such people are going this way and that, arranging one thing or another, and all looking very preoccupied. Those who are not completely absorbed in their work pause to bow to the princess and bid her good day. 

It is not until Daneia makes her way outside that she finds Chan; removing the saddle from his horse. He smiles when he sees her, his sun-drenched face friendly and maybe just a little sweaty. 

“Good day, m’Lady,” he greets the princess, offering her the customary bow, “I expected them to have you tied to a post and stuffed into a gown by now.”

She laughs, completely joyous because she’s finally in the sunlight and in the company of her lifelong friend and protector, “I’ve successfully avoided them. Would you care to take a walk around the kingdom and look at the festivities?” She asks. He agrees and hands his steed to a lesser stable boy. He pulls on his official tunic over his shirt and breeches and leads her to the gate. It opens with no hesitation and they make their way leisurely down the path toward the people’s part of the kingdom. “A lovely day, as usual,” she observes, “fine weather for a wedding I dare say.”

“And for travel,” Chan agrees, “Let’s hope the Prince’s ship makes it on time, or I fear your sister might swim out to him.” Only in Princess Daneia’s sole company could Chan get away with such a comment, but the two are more friends than members of separate classes. He gives her a wink, just to ensure she understands he speaks in jest. 

She laughs yet again and nods her agreement, “I must say you’re likely correct,” she says, “Though I must also point out how it would be completely understandable, wouldn’t you agree? It’s been years since anyone but tradesmen have come to our shores and I feel a party is very much overdue. A masquerade ball, Chan! I’m quite excited,” she admits, cheeks turning a bit pink. Daneia is not the most reserved person, especially for a princess, but when it comes to the prospect of romance, she has always been rather tight lipped and rosy cheeked; and the prospect of being courted by handsome young men at the ball has her in a bit of a tizzy. 

The two are addressed by passing citizens as they walk, having made their way through the castle walls and down the road past the first of the kingdom’s shops. A pasty matron selling her goods from a stall calls out the day’s wares, and the smell of sweet dough drifts on the same summer wind that had wafted Princess Cyristine’s curtains. Daneia inhales the scents of the kingdom with a smile. There are few things more comforting and precious to the young woman than the feel of the sun as she walks through the streets of her city. Though she is insatiably curious about the outside world, she is constantly grateful to live in the best kingdom in the world.

“And what will you be disguising yourself as, Princess?” Chan wants to know, a grin on his face, “Perhaps you’ll borrow some feathers from Uller’s tail and fashion yourself a crown?” The princess was gifted a falcon for her birthday a few years back, and she loves the creature dearly.

She smiles over at the tall man, noticing- as per usual- all the maidens they pass looking at his broad frame, dark hair, deep eyes, and tanned skin. “That is an excellent idea! I’m unsure what to make though. What would you become? If you were me?”

“Queen,” Chan replies promptly, then laughs loudly at his own joke. 

Daneia  laughs too and shakes her head, “Sometimes I am not altogether sure whether to flog you or praise you,” she laughs. As they walk, she ponders her costume. The ball is the night after tomorrow, after the tournament, so of course her dress is ready. It’s the disguise itself she has yet to complete. She is quickly distracted by another amazing smell. Her favorite bakery. She stops walking completely, closing her eyes as she breathes in, humming as she lets out the air. 

“Princess!” calls the baker, standing in the doorway. He smiles warmly and waves at the girl, “We have fresh croissants just for you. Can I tempt you?” Every shop owner and tenant along the High Street, in particular, knows the princess by sight. Her frequent visits out among the people make her very popular, not to mention her kind nature. 

She clasps her hands down in front of her and rocks back and forth on her feet, skirt swaying. She smiles and hurries over, breaking her pose, “You always tempt me, Hugh,” she laughs. She follows him into the shop and inhales again, sighing, “Smells amazing. How did you know I was coming?” she asks him as he steps behind the counter.

 The man gives a laugh, belly shaking. “With all that hoo-hah going on at the palace?” he says, gesturing vaguely in its direction, “I thought you might be looking for an escape.” Hugh sets the pastry on a bit of rice paper and hands it to the princess. Chan remains by the door, hands clasped behind his back, watchful and silent. 

She laughs again and nods, “you know me so well,” she admits. She takes a bite and sighs again, “Hugh you do know magic is banned right?” she teases. She’s got no idea how he manages to be so good at his job. 

Even Chan has to hide a chuckle behind a clearing of the throat, but Hugh outright booms with laughter. “For that, my Lady, I’ll bag up three more for you,” he says, and does just that. 

She laughs again and smiles warmly at the man. She finishes her croissant and takes the bag, thanking him. It is routine for her to offer payment and for him to decline, but she sets a few coins on his counter and smiles, leaving before he can protest. She hands the bag to Chan, “Have one. They’re amazing,” she offers.

As they get into the heart of the kingdom, a colorful maypole is assembled. The princess stops and watches the children playing with a giant smile. Sometimes she almost wishes she lived here so she could just blend in, but she is mostly content to visit as much as possible. As she stands at the front of the crowd, she feels the familiar sensation she gets each time she ventures into the common villages. The feeling of someone watching her. She smiles faintly because she knows exactly who it is. 

Indeed, there is someone aside from Hugh the baker who anticipates her visits. Every day, the man looks toward the palace with the hope that she will descend from her high walls and, on the days that she does walk these common streets, he makes it his mission to get at least a single look at her. 

As the princess and her companion move past the blacksmith’s shop, this one such man pauses ever so briefly in his work. “Princess,” he says, the one word said in a low voice and accompanied by a respectful nod of the head. Once his greeting is complete, he resumes his hammering of metal on metal, and the moment is gone. His blonde hair is slightly curled from sweat, and it hangs down into dark eyes. Customary of all blacksmiths, his hands are rough and stained with soot. Chan casts the man a look, but makes no comment to the princess about him. She isn’t the only one who knows that it is this man whose eyes can’t seem to be torn away.

Daneia lifts her light blue eyes to him as they pass, almost stopping. She always almost stops. But never does. She wishes he would meet her eyes. Say more than that one, formal word he repeats each visit. That one word spoken in that voice that holds so many feelings for her, and the confusing sensation of nagging memories she can’t quite reach. She gives him a small smile and declines her head in answer, then they are past the shop and the moment is gone. She always feels time slow and her breath catch when she is near him. She knows Chan notices her cheeks brighten in color but is grateful he holds his tongue. The princess scolds herself for her folly and continues her walk.

Almost as soon as the princess moves on from the smithy, she is bombarded by children who have become bored of the maypole and want to touch her pretty dress. Knowing better, Chan doesn’t even attempt to shoo them away. He knows that the princess doesn’t mind such things, and that being welcomed so warmly brings her joy.

A huge grin lights Daneia’s face as they approach and she crouches down to be closer, greeting them. She thanks them for their compliments and returns them eagerly. She knows if Cyristine were here she would frown at her behavior. Cyristine is one of the kindest people Daneia knows, but she is also the most dutiful and proper, and a proper princess does not interact with the peasants in quite this way. Daneia has never cared less for grace or custom as she does when the children come to her, and today is no exception. She giggles as they run around her and allows them to touch the material of her dress. After a few moments, their mothers come to get them, apologizing profusely. The princess waves off their pardons and stands again. She looks to the large clock tower and realizes the time. She plans on going to see Danhiele in secret today and needs to get going.

She gestures for Chan to take her home and he nods. They walk back and eat the rest of the croissants on their way, just chatting easily. Once they run out of things to say, they walk in comfortable silence. Daneia ponders her costume again. This will be the first party she’s attended in a long while and she wants to make it a good one. For some reason, this ball in particular sends a thrill deep through her and she can’t wait to see why. 

***

 The forest of Orlinea is within easy reach of the whole kingdom, as it spans the length of every last cottage under King Ulric’s rule. While it is a well lit and often magical expanse of trees, the forest can be rather treacherous to navigate. Many a traveler has gotten lost amongst her gnarled roots and heaven-reaching trees, which is why the princess’ magically gifted friend has laid a path for her that only she will be able to find. 

The moment the princess steps beyond the borders of the forest, a line of fairylights spring from the ground. They glow faintly gold, roughly the size of a bird’s egg, and no matter where the princess enters, they will guide her straight to the witch’s cottage. 

The princess grins in delight as they light up her way, never unimpressed with her secret best friend’s talents. She begins to walk down the path and pauses to crouch and scoop one into her hands. She holds it lightly cupped in her small palms and smiles at it. It’s warm and buzzes very faintly with power. She concentrates hard, closing her eyes and waving her hand over the light. When she opens her eyes, the light is pale pink and she grins. Though Danhiele had been banished from the actual kingdom for years, Daneia has been going to see her regardless and they often spent the time talking and with Danhiele continuing to verse the princess in ways of magic. 

Daneia has much to discuss with her trusted friend on this day and she puts the light back and stands. As she does, she feels eyes on her. She pauses and glances surreptitiously around the forest. She sees nothing and continues walking. There are protection spells in the fairylights and Daneia has been in these woods often enough she knows how to stay safe. But she’s never felt so… watched. She pauses again and straightens to her full height; a pose she reserves for looking like the princess she is and intimidating people when necessary. She looks around again, but sees nothing. So she continues until she comes into the clearing of Danhiele’s cottage. 

The first living soul that the princess encounters is a large wolf, curled up on the porch of his mistresses’ home. He lifts his head the moment he senses Daneia ’s approaching scent, and she is met by the gaze of large blue eyes. The wolf, a snowy white creature with intelligence above that of any average beast, arises and approaches her, sniffing eagerly at the princess’ hand. 

“Arumay, leave her alone,” says a laughing voice from the porch, “If she’d wanted to share her treats with you, she would have.” 

The wolf’s ears droop a bit and he turns back to the girl now standing where he’d been resting. Her vividly red hair contrasts boldly with both the dark wood of the cottage and her deep green dress. 

The blonde girl laughs and crouches down to smooth a hand over the creature’s snowy fur, “Next time,” she promises and stands. She looks to the woman on the porch, meeting her grey eyes with a smile, “Hello old friend. Been awhile.” She moves gracefully up the steps to embrace the tall redhead, the skirts their dresses swinging around each other, deep green and light purple.

Danhiele breaks the embrace only so that she can hold her friend at arm’s length and get a proper look at the princess. “One of these days I won’t even be able to recognize you,” she laughs. “Look at your hair! They have you like a proper lady, don’t they?”

Daneia scoffs lightly, hand immediately going self-consciously to her updo and her cheeks grow a bit pink, “Oh stop it you know I’m not allowed out without it up.” Nevertheless, she reaches up and tugs a pin from her golden locks and they cascade down her back. She grins at her friend, whose hair is always wild and free; curly and long, and shrugs, “They will never know.”

“Much better,” Danhiele approves with a nod. “Come inside, I just made dinner,” she opens the door to her cottage. 

The entire place is rather cluttered; hanging from the ceiling are dried herbs, all banded together with bits of twine. In her exile, the witch has not been idle. Her walls are lined with books and artifacts retrieved on travels to foreign lands that the princess has only dreamt of. Arumay’s bed is in one corner, comprised of soft grass stuffed inside of handspun wool, and is currently occupied by the wolf himself.

Right in the very center of it all is a large black cauldron hung over an open flame. But tonight, rather than playing host to one potion or another, the vessel is keeping their stew nice and hot. 

The blonde follows her friend inside and inhales deeply, exhaling on a hum, “Smells amazing,” she approves. She is really quite hungry. “I’ve not eaten all day, sparing a croissant or two from Hugh. The wedding has the palace all in a tizzy,” she says. She sits on one of the chairs at the table, back straight and hands folded. It always takes her a bit of time with the witch to disregard her life’s training and be wild, but it always does happen. Then it takes even longer for her to achieve it again once she returns to the castle. But she doesn’t mind. 

“You look well. What have you been up to?”

The other woman stirs her stew, tucking a wildly curly strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve been experimenting with a few things,” she says, “I’ve finally had some success, so I guess I’m a bit thrilled.” 

Danhiele ladles out two bowls and sets one before the princess, then pours them each a horn of crisp water, which she keeps cool with an enchantment. It’s hardly a meal that the princess would expect to find at the palace, but a good meal nonetheless. After retrieving a loaf of fresh bread, the witch finally joins her friend at the table.

The princess does not at all mind the simple meal. In fact, it is comforting and familiar. Delicious. She smiles at her friend and picks up a chunk of the bread, “Success? Tell me all about it. We’ve much to cover.” With the upcoming festivities, it’s been hard for Daneia to sneak away. But now, with the wedding a mere two days away, everyone’s attention is on Cyristine and the Prince’s chambers so she could all but disappear and no one would notice. 

Danhiele’s expression lights up with a very honest sort of excitement. “Maybe it’s better I just show you,” she replies. Forsaking her meal for the moment, the woman rises from her stool and stands tall for a moment. Her gaze loses focus, and she mutters a few words under her breath. As she does, her elegant hands glow with a faint gold light. 

The little cabin feels almost electrically charged as the incantation mounts, then finally… Gone is the witch’s flaming red hair, and in its place is a short cropped head of hair dark as a raven. Her face has changed shape as well, shifting from a square jaw to a rounded one. In fact, nearly every aspect of her appearance has changed, save for her grey eyes. She looks like another person entirely, though her voice remains the same. 

“Shape shifting!” she announces triumphantly, lifting her arms. The sleeves of her dress, which had originally been the perfect length, now sag past her hands even when they are hoisted into the air; the spell has reduced her height as well.

The princess’ hunk of bread has fallen to the floor and she gapes at her friend, who looks nothing like her friend. She’s been around Danhiele’s magic her entire life and yet it somehow never fails to amaze her. But this is even more incredible. She couldn’t shut her mouth to save her life and she just stares, green eyes wide. She can hardly comprehend. “Oh my,” she breathes. 

She’s on her feet as soon as she can move again and she walks very carefully and slowly to the witch. She lifts a hand and brings it up very slowly and tentatively to touch the now shorter girl’s arm. It feels solid. Like a real person. Daneia brings her hand back into her own body and steps back, shaking her head, “That. That’s dangerous. You should not do that,” she says in uncertainty.

 The girl frowns a bit, her unfamiliar brow knitting together. “I thought you’d like it,” she says. In her disappointment, the guise melts away and the trick is gone. Her long fiery hair grows back down to her hips in seconds, and she stands back at her usual height. 

The blonde looks her over and sighs. She steps closer again, not wanting to upset her friend, “It was incredible. Truly. I’m amazed. But that takes very strong magic. Will it not create a… trace at all?” Daneia would not be able to bear it should her friend get herself in some sort of trouble by using magic that could possibly reach the kingdom itself. The witch is safe here in the woods where the king never ventures, but it would not do to have her discovered so close to the very place she is exiled from. 

“Oh hardly,” the witch waves a hand then chews her lip. “I thought maybe...maybe I could use this magic to slip into the kingdom. I’ve heard about the masquerade they’re having before the wedding,” Danhiele says.

 Daneia pauses and looks up at her friend, who is now taller again, “The masquerade? What if they catch you? Can you keep it that long?” No one else in the entire kingdom looks like Danhiele and if she shifted back, she would be easily recognized even if no one saw the actual transformation. 

Bowing her head, Danhiele sighs, “I guess it was stupid of me to consider it,” she says. “Arumay did try to talk me out of it.” She looks over at her familiar, who lifts his head, clearly having understood every word she said.

Daneia looks over to the wolf too. She briefly considers allowing it then shakes her head, “Well I am very sorry but if Arumay will not support it, I cannot bring myself to either. He is always right,” she points out, “come on now, let us eat.” She returns to her seat at the table, hoping her friend will not be too disappointed for long. 

The witch returns to her seat, but appears rather pouty about it. Her life is a solitary one, due to her magical nature, and while she is not bitter about the way her life has come to pass, she is rather sore for some true human connection. Her animals are great, but there is something to be said for the companionship of those she does not have to hide around. 

Seated again and back to their meals, the two women look across the table at one another. “Now,” says Danhiele, “do tell. What has your regal experience been as of late?” 

The princess shrugs, “It is the same as usual. Though there are a few things that have taken my notice, I suppose,” she starts. Sometimes it is hard for her to open up about things like this, even to her lifelong friend whom she knows has experienced much in the romance department with many partners in her travels, and will never pass judgment. She fidgets with her spoon then glances up. The witch’s intelligent grey eyes are trained right on hers and she returns her gaze to her stew again, “I went along High Street today. Chan and I. And I saw a man there. I see him every time I go, always working in the smithy. He always greets me the same way. He’s polite and proper, brief even, and I truly do not understand why I cannot… cannot seem to stop thinking of him,” she sighs. She is acutely embarrassed. 

The witch’s lips hint with a small smile. “Could this be infatuation I’m sensing?” she teases. She sips at her chilled water, hand then dropping to Arumay’s head. The wolf has rested his muzzle on her thigh. 

Daneia’s eyes widen up at her friend, “No!” she exclaims, then looks down again, “No,” she says softer, “it is not.” It is forbidden and unfathomable for a royal to be with a commoner in any kingdom. It is a fact. But why does he occupy her mind at her quietest moments? Why does she always almost stop at his smithy? She shakes her head a little, “It is not,” she repeats, “I feel… something though. Something that feels like… a memory,” she admits. Maybe it is more than that, but that is something the princess will keep a secret from even herself; she pushes it from her mind.

Still, Danhiele’s smirk persists, as if she knows something her friend does not. “I am sure you’ll riddle it out,” she replies, “Perhaps I could prescribe you some herbs to promote recognition?”

Daneia thinks for a moment then she lifts her eyes to Danhiele and sits back up straight, “Yes,” she says decisively. She is sure there is a reason she feels the way she does. If she could just figure it out, she could maybe sleep easier at night; could escape the image of his face as she closes her eyes to rest.

Rising from her stool, the witch’s robes swirl around her legs. She peruses her rows of dried herbs for a moment, reaching up to touch several of the bundles. “Not anutay, no, that would do no good,” she mutters to herself. “Perhaps…ah. Yes, here we are. Bracken. Perfect. Quite a clever little root.” She detaches the bundle from its place and brings it to the princess.

“When you return to your chambers tonight, you need only to light the ends of the root aflame and breathe the fumes,” Danhiele instructs. “It may not set in right away, but you will have your answer within a few days.” Arumay sniffs at the root, then seems to nod in approval. He is, after all, always right.

The girl listens closely and nods, taking the root carefully from her friend and smiles gently at the wise wolf. Their approval is all she needs to know that is exactly what she will be doing tonight. “Thank you,” she says and bundles it into the folds of her dress. She takes a sip of the water and thinks. “I have a feeling. About the ball. Excitement; like something will happen. Something big.”

Danhiele seats herself again, fingers playing over one of the many charms she wears at her neck. Her gaze goes far away, her thoughts distracted. “I have the same feeling,” she agrees. “But…there may be reason for caution.” Her eyes meet Daneia’s once more. “I am not sure why, but please, do not lose your guard. I have sensed a presence in these woods for some time now, and I fear that presence may shift its focus to the kingdom itself. To you.”

The princess looks right back at the witch for a long moment, surprised. Then she nods once, “I will not,” she promises. A presence. She stares down at her bowl, brow slightly furrowed, wrinkling her always pale despite the sun skin. She felt someone…something watching her in the wood when she came. She decides to not say anything about it. There is no reason to cause worry, she is certain. 

Despite the princess’ best efforts, not much escapes the witch’s notice. She can see the frown in Daneia’s eyes, and she knows there is something that her old friend is not saying. 

“I think,” the fire-haired woman says, “that I will accompany you back to the forest’s edge. Arumay and I both. We could use a walk, couldn’t we?” She looks to her familiar, whose ears perk. 

Light blue eyes lift to meet grey and a small, grateful smile graces the princess’ features, “Thank you,” she says softly. She can certainly handle herself and it would be false of her to say she doesn’t constantly daydream of situations to turn her life into adventure, but the invisible eyes she felt on her as she walked made her heart pick up a pace. 

Once the meal is complete, Danhiele shows off a spot of magic. With a wave of her hand, fingers trailing golden energy, their bowls lift themselves from the table and to the washing tub below the window. Their spoons dance a waltz across the table, then each utensil taunts Arumay’s attention, staying just out of the wolf’s reach. Finally, the spoons spin and dive into the sink. 

Daneia watches in awe, giggling with glee and she grins at the redhead and sits up straighter, “Will you teach me a bit? Before I go?” She asks hopefully. She knows she would be in a lot of trouble should anyone find out, but she does not care. 

The witch regards her for a moment, then smiles. “I know just the thing. Come with me.” Then, like an excitable child, Danhiele hurries from her seat and out the door, skirts dancing behind her as she runs to the garden.

The princess grins hugely and springs up too. She knows Danhiele will use her magic to clean up her skirts once she is to return home and hurries out behind her friend to the garden eagerly. She loves to learn magic; loves to feel it. She’s quite proud she is able to perform it.

Outside the little cottage, around back where the sun is best, is a lavish garden full of wildflowers that have never been seen inside the kingdom’s borders. These plants belong to the forest, where magic grows strong and without limits. As Danhiele approaches, her crop of orange blooms begin to sway, singing softly in thin little voices to greet their caretaker. The witch crouches in the dirt, petting the blooms. Each flower purrs like a cat at her touch, and their color seems to intensify. 

“These are Chicory flowers,” Danhiele explains, smiling up at the princess, “They live off of the touch of living things. See how much stronger their song has grown?” And indeed, their voices are noticeably more substantial. 

Daneia’s eyes are wide with excitement and wonder. She smiles at the witch, completely enchanted and crouches beside her to gently run her fingers along the silken petals. She smiles bigger as the flower leans into her touch, “They are beautiful beyond measure,” she admires. 

“I found a little family of them in the heart of the forest, starved for attention,” Danhiele explains, watching the flowers fondly. “Once they mature, they will secrete a sort of honey that, when drunk, gives the drinker invisibility. Of a sort.” She speaks with pride, like that of a mother with no shortage of love for her children. 

“But Chicory blooms will be of no use to you just yet,” the witch continues. She rises, and gathers several ordinary roses of a pale pink, which grow along the exterior wall of the cottage. As she does, Arumay lopes toward the trees and returns with several thin sticks. “Ah, thank you,” says Danhiele, scratching the wolf’s ears. 

The princess stands as well and watches the witch in curiosity, remaining silent. The witch collects several more blooms, some magic, some commonplace, and by the time she is finished, she has a respectable pile of materials there in the center of the clearing. Danhiele waves the princess over, a smile on her face. 

“This is a very simple spell,” Danhiele says. “It takes whatever is in your mind, and translates that vision onto the materials gathered.” She gestures to her collected flowers and sticks. “Since I expect you have yet to get yourself a masquerade costume, I thought that maybe this could help.”

Daneia smiles sheepishly and nods, watching intently, “so whatever I want my mask to be, it will become?” she clarifies. She does have an idea of how she wants it to look, but never got it fashioned.

“Whatever you want it to be,” Danhiele confirms. “Even if you don’t have all the details fresh in your mind, the spell will take the exact construction from your mind’s eye.” The witch sits on the grass, her legs tucked beneath her, and invites the princess to join her.

Daneia smiles and sinks to the ground to join her friend and looks over at her then to the bundle, “What do I have to do?” She can already sense the energy in the air and she is growing very excited. 

Danhiele rubs her hands together, as if warming them up, and as she does an ember of gold begins to seep through her fingers. Her power signature is bright and warm, and she calls upon it easily. “Go ahead, call upon your power like I taught you,” she instructs, a gentle smile on her face. 

The princess smiles widely then nods, pursing her lips in concentration. She closes her eyes and inhales, concentrating. Danhiele is incredibly powerful and can call on all the energies, but Daneia  can only really call on plants and the tiniest bit on the light from the sun. She places her palms on the grass and feels the energy. She smiles again and opens her eyes to look to Danhiele, “now what?” she wonders. 

“Now say the words with me,” the witch invites. Staring straight back at Daneia, she begins to intone a series of words in an ancient language, then waits for the princess to repeat. 

Arumay, a conduit of his mistress’ power, circles them slowly, large paws silent on the grass. Daneia keeps the witch’s gaze and speaks the strange words, loving the feel of them on her tongue. She feels a shift in the air and tries to picture what she wants for a mask. 

Danhiele nods in encouragement. “Repeat it now, repeat the words,” she coaxes, voice low and soft and slow. Her hands continue to glow, intensifying when she guides the princess through the pronunciation. Daneia closes her eyes again and repeats the words, concentrating hard on the picture in her mind, hands in the grass underneath them.

Between the two of them, at the center of the circle travelled by the witch’s wolf, the collected materials begin to move. The twigs float skyward, gradually bending easily as if made of matter much more pliable than wood. Like ribbons, the wood bends, manipulating itself as the princess calls upon their intended shape. Danhiele peeks one eye open and smiles, proud of her student. 

The blonde keeps her eyes closed, concentrating as she speaks the words again. She can feel it working, but doesn’t dare open her eyes. Her own fingers are a light green color against the deeper green of the grass and she sees a mask come together in her mind. It is exactly what she wanted and did not even know.

With the frame made, next the flowers come. Small blossoms with golden centers rise, each of their petals tearing away from the stem to wrap around the wooden base, tinting it a flawless shade of white. Their centers lend accents of warm gold to the white wood. 

The princess whispers the incantation, focusing on each detail. After she has completed the image in her mind, the air stills. She opens her eyes to see a gorgeous white mask, intricately laced together and not at all looking like wood. It looks more like lace, pure white and delicate with a small golden jewel at the top. The sides are curved up like butterfly wings and Daneia smiles in wonder, slowly crawling forward and picking it up carefully to inspect it. “It is beautiful,” she murmurs to her friend.

“And it is completely of your creation,” Danhiele praises. “You will look lovely in it.” She welcomes Arumay to her side and strokes her hand down the wolf’s spine, leaning against his flank as he sits on his haunches. 

Daneia turns to her friend and smiles widely, “Thank you,” she says and tilts her head a bit. She stands and tucks the mask into her skirt too and swipes the dirt off the dress. She looks to the slowly setting sun, “I should return,” she says.

The witch rises as well and sighs softly at the mounting orange in the sky. “Yes, perhaps you’re right,” she agrees. “Come, I will walk you through the forest, as promised.” With a smile, Danhiele waves the princess toward the treeline. Arumay follows close beside her.

Daneia smiles back and walks to her side. She joins the tall woman and as she steps into the shade of the forest, the fairylights light again, winding out of sight to lead the way home. “Look!” Daneia smiles and turns a light pink like she did before, holding it out for Danhiele to see.

The other woman laughs, applauding. “Have you been practicing, my Lady? Practicing magic in your father’s walls? How scandalous.” The forest floor is covered in moss and leaves, making for a silent walk along their way, with no twigs to snap and no fallen acorns to stub their toes. 

The princess giggles and shakes her head, “I would not dare do such a thing. I think about it a lot, though. Perhaps my mind is stronger,” she suggests. She takes a few more steps then she feels it again. She does not pause, not wanting to alarm her friend. There are many mysterious forces in the forest and it could be any number of things. She ignores it and lifts her skirts to continue walking.

Unfortunately, there is no fooling a witch, particularly not a witch who has lived for so long on her own. Danhiele stops several paces down the path and peers into the trees. She can hear the animals murmuring something about a visitor here, though none of them have gotten a good look. “Stay close to me,” she tells Daneia, grey eyes still moving around the surrounding area. 

The princess nods tersely and keeps a brave face though her heart speeds up. She slows her pace to be only a step from the witch as she walks down the path. She can hear the faint hum of the lights’ protection spells. She would really rather be home now, feeling like the disturbance is somehow her fault. Maybe the forest does not wish to accept her any longer.

 There is a slight…acidity to the air. A slight bitterness that not even the witch can place. Whatever the source, it is not a being that either woman should hope to face that day. 

“Listen to me close, old friend,” Danhiele speaks softly, urgently. “Over the course of these coming days, I fear you shall meet someone. If my assumption is correct, you will know this person when you see him. I tell you this, because I can sense a capacity for evil here, already staining these woods, evil that not even King Ulrich’s high walls could prevent.” Arumay begins to growl then, a low, foreboding rumble deep in the creature’s throat. 

The princess has stopped and is facing the witch now. She listens closely, as requested and her eyes search her friend’s face in worry. Her gaze darts to the wolf and she swallows hard. She turns back to the witch, “Meet who?” she whispers, “How will I know?” She can’t help but be a bit afraid, though as they speak, the presence seems to withdraw slowly.

“I wish I knew,” the other woman replies, her expression almost pained. “And I wish I could be there to defend you. I’m afraid not even the sharpest blade could protect you as well as I could, not against something like this.” Danhiele’s head snaps around, stance lowering a bit, just as her familiar’s hackles raise and his snarling mounts. “Keep close the weapons I have given you,” says the witch, not looking away from whatever has caught her very pointed focus. “And now, I must urge you to run.”

Decay. All in the air, the smell of decay somehow overpowers the many other smells - blood, feces, smoke, burning flesh. Pim was shocked to discover just how fast the smell set in; not long at all after the worldly body falls to the ground. He’s nearly blind with blood, sweat, and smoke; but he dares not move to wipe it from his face. Lying amongst the bodies of his fellow soldiers and friends, he concentrates on breathing very quietly. Moments ago, the air was filled with the sounds of a battle and he could hardly hear his own survival instinct. Now the battle grounds are much quieter where he lies. 

Crunch.

Crunch.

Squish.

He hears the slow, purposeful footsteps of the troll as it surveys its handiwork, making sure all are dead. It walks heavily over the rubble and the bodies, paying no mind to whether its foot crushes gravel or a ribcage. Finally, it has passed and all he hears is the crackling of a nearby fire. It takes several horrendous moments to free himself from underneath the ravaged corpses of those he loved; and when he stands again, he does not look back. The large battlefield holds very few upright figures, the majority of them beings like dark elves or trolls. Pim looks for his best friend, wincing as he finds him on his back in the dirt, chest flayed open and eyes gouged out. He swallows bile and sends a prayer to the gods for his fallen friend as he limps on. 

Limping with an arrow still lodged in his leg and holding the flowing gash on his arm, he heads for the heart of what remains of the battle. To his captain, Sar, who fights still against the warlock. Flashes of light and explosions of black smoke erupt from the hands of the dark man, fearsome in his flowing robes. He stands before hundreds of mangled bodies from both sides, bearing down on Sar. The large man expertly blocks the attacks but cannot get close enough to sink his sword into Marrion. It seems they are well-matched though both look exhausted. 

The rise of the fine hairs on the back of Pim’s head are all the warning he has to move before a blade comes slicing down into the air where he just stood. Whirling, he lifts his own sword and blocks a second attack from the impossibly fast dark elf. It grins and kicks him in the pelvis, sending him flying backward. Pim hears his own bone snap, feels the pain ricochet through his body. A cry flies from his lips as he lands hard on the bloody dirt, dust whirling up into his lungs. He barely raises his sword in time to block another downward swing by the elf.

Pim’s eyes meet the black depths of his opponent’s and he’s unnerved by the complete lack of emotion there. Its lips, however, are curled in a malicious sneer, baring slightly pointed, gray teeth. With a curse, Pim’s arm shoots across his body, the steel of his sword clanging against the dark metal of the elf’s blade once more. With great effort, Pim manages to stand, fending off the elf’s thrusts. Unsteady on his feet, he feints to the left but strikes to the right, hoping to throw off the elf just long enough. It works and he’s rewarded with a spray of black/purple blood from the elf’s side. It screeches and takes a step back, giving him the opening he needs to sink his sword into its chest. Narrowing his eyes against the spray of blood and the force of its scream, he leans against the thrust, using all his strength to cut through muscle, flesh, and bone.

The elf sneers, face freezing in that expression as its black eyes glaze over white and its body slumps down. Pim pushes it off his blade with his foot, eyes going once more to his captain. The warlock has advanced on him and though he is still fending him off, trying to get in a killing blow to save his kingdom, it seems the battle is very close to tipping toward the warlock’s favor. Pim is exhausted, even his adrenaline is barely enough to keep him going much longer. His lungs strain painfully against his ribs as he starts to run toward Sar; ready to give his life for his captain. His vision grows spotty and narrow, blackness coming in from his peripherals as his arm continues bleeding through his fingers. His sword nearly drags on the ground, but he pushes on. 

A large club swings into his vision from the right and hits him square in the face. A burst of pain shoots through his head as he flies backward once more, landing in a crumpled heap on the ground. His head spins and blood gushes from his nose, choking him. He forces himself to lift an arm in defense, attempting to stand, but his sword falls uselessly to the ground as he loses his ability to grip it. He stumbles and falls again, groaning. A huge troll lumbers toward him, dragging its club behind it; and just behind it, he can see his captain once more. He was close; so close.

“Wait,” a sibilant voice comes from behind him, and the troll stops. “Move, you fool,” it hisses. 

The troll shuffles heavily away, footsteps shaking the ground beneath Pim, but he cannot even lift his head to look at whoever, or whatever, is behind him. His head falls to the ground, pain beginning to ebb into nothingness, but then something grips his hair, lifting his head for him. He watches helplessly as the warlock bears down on Sar. The evil man lifts one arm, a blinding white light shooting out of it to create a hellish blade. Sar expertly blocks it, but it does no good. The blade cuts right through his sword and his elbow, severing his arm in half. It thumps to the ground, his hand still holding the sword, and the white blade continues its path as if it had met no resistance at all, right through the man’s body.

“No!” Pim croaks as he watches his beloved captain die, his body falling to the dirt in messy halves, his blood running in rivers away from the motionless lumps.

The thing holding Pim’s head laughs maniacally, wheezing in pleasure. Pim closes his eyes to send a prayer to the gods; it is over now. His eyes fling open when the thing grasps his hair harder with a gasp.

“Impossible!” it seethes.

Sloane’s world tilts as Minho straightens, lifting her with ease along with him. He casually holsters his gun at his hip. She can’t stop staring at him. She wants to check on the man who was chasing her, to make sure he’s dead even though she knows that he absolutely is, but she cannot look away from Minho. He lifts his head and starts to walk. He pauses, looks down. Kicks the man’s body once. After, he lifts his gaze to Sloane and quirks a brow. 

“Come on, then. Not leaving you alone after that, am I,” he says. It’s not a question. 

She stumbles over to him, her feet and brain hardly connected properly at the moment. She pauses too and gives the man a hard kick of her own. It’s sickeningly satisfying. When she looks up into Minho’s face again, he is wearing a pleased and hungry expression. Her stomach dips. Then her heart drops as she hears more gunshots. Her head whips to the side and she starts to run again but she doesn’t get far because Minho catches her by the wrist and yanks her to a halt. 

“What are you doing?” She cries, pulling at her arm but he’s stronger. 

“Apparently babysitting you,” he says flatly, looking unamused. “Surely you know running into a gun fight in nothing but spandex is a fucking dumb idea.” 

“I need to help,” she protests, but she stops pulling against him. He’s right. She deflates. 

“Good,” he says curtly, dropping her wrist. He starts to walk and she stays at his side though her whole body is tense with the need to find her people. “Wouldn’t do to displease my host so early now, would it? Imagine; he begs me for my help and the first thing I do is let you get killed and then everything is for naught.”

Sloane stops walking. He takes a few more steps then stops and turns toward her, so casually and slowly that it makes her eye twitch. He looks at her like she should know what he’s talking about. 

“What do you mean by that?” She asks. He looks her over for a moment then narrows his eyes. 

“Thy didn’t tell you.” It’s not a question. 

“Tell me what?” She breathes. 

A flash of real anger passes over his face before he schools his expression back to his usual neutral state. “Come on,” is his only answer and Sloane has no choice but to follow him. It’s eerily quiet now as they exit the forest through the treeline, passing the body against the tree and the lab - still sealed safely shut. Minho is a sight to behold; he’s not walking or creeping, he is stalking. He moves through the shadows like one himself, only his eyes and his gun catching any light. He makes no noise. He keeps Sloane close behind him and she can tell he sees everything. Her mind is still reeling from all of this. The shock. The guns. The chase. Minho. Minho. How is he here? Where is Chan? Felix? Hyunjin? Her stomach flips with dread. They come around the building and find Chan first. 

He’s in his natural state of leadership, commanding his people. “Sweep the east side; see if you can find him.” To another person, “Get me a count of casualties.” He kneels at the side of one of his men who is laying on the ground bleeding and calls for a medic. He looks up sharply when he sees movement and when his eyes lock on Sloane, everything stops. There is a pause then he’s standing, crossing the distance between them so quickly she hardly can blink before he is standing before her. His eyes run over her, cataloguing everything. The dirt smudges. The lack of a jacket. The blood. 

“Are you hurt?” He asks, 

She opens her mouth, but before she can answer, Minho speaks. 

“She’s fine.” 

The atmosphere shifts as Chan looks over to Minho. It’s the first time they’ve been face to face since he’d had to take Sloane to Minho for the blacklace. She watches him, unsure what to think or how to feel. His jaw ticks once. Then he nods. 

“Thank you.” 

Minho blinks, the only sign of his surprise. His head turns before anyone else notices him, but then Hyunjin appears. He clocks everyone but of course he goes immediately to Sloane. His big hands cup her face, his eyes intense on her. 

“Let me look at you,” he murmurs, gaze tracking over every inch of her. She can’t help her shaky little laugh. 

“I’m ok,” she assures him.

“You’ve got blood on you.” 

“It’s not mine,” she says, trying to not think too much about the warm spray she felt when Minho killed that man. 

“Good. That’s good,” Hyunjin finally relaxes a bit, closing his eyes and nodding. 

“Sloane,” Felix is right on Hyunjin’s heels. He sweeps her into a tight hug and she wraps her arms around him gladly, letting him tuck her head under his chin. She feels safe in his arms and beyond grateful that he’s ok too. He’s solid and steady. 

Finally, he releases her and steps back. They all stand in a loose circle, looking at each other a little awkwardly now. Minho breaks the silence. 

“You didn’t tell her,” he says calmly to Chan, but there is an undercurrent beneath his tone. 

Chan sighs, frowning a bit, then turns to Sloane, “I didn’t get a chance yet. But…I-”

“You asked him to come,” Sloane says, recalling Miho’s words from the clearing. The look on Chan’s face affirms it before he nods. She doesn’t understand. “Why?” 

“Felix found some information that made us realize that Minho has intel no one else does. So I called him.”

“You need me,” Minho adds helpfully, looking Chan straight in the face. When he doesn’t deny it, Minho turns to Sloane. “You need me,” he repeats, softer this time. She stares at him, caught as always by his gaze. 

She can feel everyone else’s eyes on her - on them - but it’s too much. All of them, here in the same place. Working together…. The ambush. It’s all too much. Minho’s eyes drop to her mouth as her lip gives the barest of trembles. He’s already stepping toward her but stops when one of Chan’s men comes back with a report. Eight dead, including the one who’d escaped earlier. He’d taken a pill to kill himself before they could find him. Chan curses lowly. Of their own, there are three dead and a few injuries, nothing major. 

“Who were they?” Sloane asks quietly. She knows the answer already, but a part of her is hoping she’s wrong. She’s not. 

“Your father,” Felix confirms her fears. She clenches her jaw and nods. He wasn’t going to stop; he kept giving her just enough time to let her guard down before his attacks resumed. She can only be grateful that whatever fucked up thing he is making in his facility wasn’t used here tonight. But Chan had said Minho had intel. Minho never loses. It makes a wild hope bloom in her chest. Her last hope. The situation is now serious enough for Chan himself to ask Minho to come into the heart of his compound. To help. And that terrifies her. 

She goes to Chan now, the adrenaline starting to fade. As soon as her hand lifts a little, he’s there, pulling her into his arms. He rests his forehead on hers. 

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” she breathes, her hand resting on his chest to feel his steady heartbeat, her eyes closing. She feels like the fear of losing him is never going to fade. 

“Not a scratch,” he promises quietly. She nods against his forehead, letting it sink in. They’re fine. All of them are fine. Thank God. “Hey,” Chan murmurs and she opens her eyes to look at him. “I love you,” he says. 

“I love you,” she replies, sagging a little in relief. He pulls her into a hug and she feels like he’s the only thing keeping her on her feet. 

After a moment, they break apart. Felix goes to start with the clean up of the ordeal. Hyunjin takes Sloane back to the house. Chan accompanies them, not wanting to let Minho out of his sight. Minho is shown to the guest wing, Chan’s wing between his and Sloane’s, a fact that isn’t lost on her. As Chan and Hyunjin turn to leave, Sloane hesitates. She looks at Minho, feeling torn. He stands calmly in his sparse new room, his bags already here, and looks right back at her. She can’t read his expression. 

“Sloane,” Chan says, his voice just a little sharp. 

Minho stalked away from the tent, jaw set. Why was she taking such risks? Why would Felix literally throw her across the fucking tent like that? Why was she laughing so much with him? Why did he care?? He let out a frustrated growl and pointed himself instinctively toward Maggie’s tent. She accepted him no matter what mood he was in; was always safe and he could be angry. Which he was. He ducked in out of the sun to find the tent empty. He huffed and decided to wait, drifting over toward her little table of trinkets. He saw a broken necklace sitting there and picked it up to fiddle with it. Maybe he could fix it for her while he waited. He held it up close to his face, narrowing his eyes in concentration. He couldn’t quite get the little metal thread to twist the way he wanted. Maybe he should use his left hand. Nope. He almost got it! But then he heard a noise behind him which made him jump. The metal slipped and poked his thumb hard enough that a drop of blood welled up. He hissed and set the necklace back down a bit aggressively. 

“Hey, hey, now. You break it, you buy it. No exceptions, even for you,” Maggie’s voice came from behind him. 

“Then quit sneaking up on people,” he said.

“I was not sneaking. It’s my tent, Chong-gak. Besides, you were brooding too loudly.”

Minho snorted, “I am not brooding.” 

“Hmm,” was all the answer she deigned to give to that response. 

Minho picked up a long pink crystal, inspecting it for a moment before he scoffed again and tapped it hard against his palm. “She’s impossible. A liability.” He huffed. “Drea,” he tacked on at the end when he realized it wouldn’t be as obvious to others who this was all about as it felt to him. 

“Interesting choice of words,” Maggie said noncommittally. Minho turned to face her, still gripping the crystal. 

“She’s here during the day, climbing up on shit too high in the air and jumping off, flinging herself around like it’s nothing with no experience! Probably going to ask really invasive questions in her interviews, like what even. She threatened me earlier, you know! With her pen,” he added the last part more quietly, his eyes going to the side; well aware of how childish he sounded. After a moment of quiet, he glanced at Maggie, who was fighting a smile. “What?” He snapped.

“Oh nothing,” she said casually, “just so nice to see you passionate again.” 

“I’m not passionate. I’m irritated.” 

“Same family,” she shrugged, coming around her chair. She settled into it and gestured for him to sit across from her. He hesitated but set the crystal down with a sigh, crossed over, and sunk into the chair.

“What’s her deal?” He huffed under his breath. There was a long silence in which Maggie looked at him much too closely. He had no idea what she was about to say, but he knew he was already annoyed by it. 

“No,” he said flatly. 

“I haven’t said anything,” Maggie protested. 

“You have that face,” he gestured. 

“What face?” She laughed. 

“The one where you’re about to ruin my day,” he sighs dramatically and slumps over, plunking his chin into his hand, elbow on the table. 

“Well now that is a wildly unfair thing to say to someone who has done nothing but support you through your many personal defects,” she teases. 

Normally that would make him laugh; break him out of his bad mood. But not today. “Maggie,” he said, looking at her with a straight face; his voice coming out more pleadingly than he wanted.

She sighed and folded her arms, leaning back. “Alright. You want to know what her deal is?” 

“Yes!” 

Maggie tilted her head, “She’s yours.” A beat. Then, Minho gives a sharp, short laugh. 

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“A very compelling argument,” she said dryly. 

“Absolutely not,” he said, straightening. 

“Why?” she asked curiously, “Because it’s inconvenient?” 

“Because it’s stupid,” he said scornfully. 

“Ah,” she said, nodding like it makes sense, “Well, unfortunately the universe remains deeply committed to being stupid. Go figure.” 

Minho felt a headache coming on. He sighed, placing both elbows on the table and leaned his head into his hands, rubbing at his temples. Then he sat back and looked at Maggie as he stood. “I can’t do this Maggie,” he said, his head shaking as if to prove his point, “I…I have to go. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s ok, Chong-gak. I understand,” Maggie assured him, her voice warm but further away as he stepped out into the sun once more. 

He went about his day the best he could, trying to mentally dissipate the storm cloud over his head. His friends helped bit by bit as he crossed paths with them. He caught Jeongin as he tripped on his way by, handing him carefully over to Addie as they all laughed. He came across Han, who was feeling very playful today and drew him into a weird game only they understood, mostly consisting of making strange noises and half-lunging at each other like they were going to fight. That dissolved into laughter too and when Han finally conceded, Minho gave him a solid pat on the bum for a good game. He practiced for the performance that night, spending a few hours with Juniper. He loved his family dearly. Fiercely. He would do anything for them and they for him. And they were making him feel better. But he couldn’t shake the weight of Maggie’s statement. She’s yours. How could this be happening? 

He had some free time and decided to visit where the kids were wrangled for the day. He had a special bond with children - he was good with them and they warmed his heart in ways nothing else ever seemed to. To his amusement, Changbin was reading a story, trying very hard to get the kids to pay attention. They were not. Most of his friends were there, too. Hyunjin sat in the audience with the young ones, looking up at Changbin like he was transfixed, just a big kid himself. Jeongin, Felix, Han, and Chan were actually dressed up to act it out. Seungmin was sitting with the kids like Hyunjin, his mark moving languidly and golden, like water sparkling across gentle waves. He was calm and happy. It made Minho smile.  

As he approached, Chan was playfully growling at some of the kids. One of the babies, Chanwook, was Minho’s little buddy and when he saw him, he got up on his chubby legs and toddle-ran right over. Minho bent to scoop him up dramatically. 

“Ah! Is that big bad wolf gonna get you?? Not if we get him first!” Minho cried, then stepped over to Chan and leaned over. “Get him! Get him! Aghhh good job he’s down!” He cheered as Chanwook’s tiny little hands patted at Chan’s onesie and Chan sprawled theatrically onto the ground. Now the kids were paying more attention and a swarm of them rushed over to tackle and climb on and tickle Chan, who was giggling so hard his throat was making a squeaky noise. Chanwook laughed and Minho grinned at him, holding up a hand. He got the cutest little high five. “That’s my man,” he said approvingly. 

It wasn’t until just then that he noticed some of the other audience members. Sitting to the side on a bench, laughing and having the best time were Daphne, Addie, Maggie…and Drea. Somehow his brain hadn’t put together the fact that she was with Chan and Felix so where else would she be now? But it still shocked him. He actually jumped a little, then pretended like there was a bug flying by his head in case anyone saw him. He forced his legs to move and sat on the ground, holding Chanwook in front of him like a pudgy little shield. The kid leaned back against Minho’s chest and played with his fingers as he listened to Changbin. Minho watched his friends make absolute idiots out of themselves, laughing like everyone else. But he could feel her there, just barely in his peripherals. It was like someone had dimmed the sun a little but she was lit from within and only glowing more because of it. Her white hair was a huge cloud around her face, falling in curls past her shoulders, still free from her escapades with Felix. It was blinding. Distracting. 

The show ended and Minho blinked himself back to the present, realizing he’d spent the entire rest of the show deep in thought. About her. He sighed again, kissed Chanwook’s little cheek, and handed him back to his mother. He was about to make a very graceful exit before everyone else could start dispersing but he was caught. His teeth clenched a little when he heard her voice close behind him. 

“Minho!” God. His name coming out of her mouth made him feel…he didn’t even know how to describe it. He braced himself and reluctantly turned around. 

“Are you stalking me now? Or is this still journalism?” He quirked a brow.

“Hmm that depends. Are you going to give me the recipe for your honey lemonade?” 

“That’s top secret,” he insists, starting to walk again. 

“Did you come up with it yourself?” She followed. He glanced over at her. 

“You ask too many questions.” 

“That is literally my job.” 

“And what’s your official title? Professional Nuisance?” 

“Investigative Nuisance, actually,” she shot right back. He laughed despite himself, making her grin. 

“Can I steal you for an interview please? Maggie said I should talk to you.” Of course she did. Minho stopped again and looked at Drea.

“Did she,” he deadpanned. 

“Unless there’s another deeply judgmental man with sharp cheekbones, unresolved issues, and a surprising talent for managing children who has been here the longest,” she stopped as well, fully facing him. 

“You think you know me already?” He asked. He meant it to be teasing, like the rest of the conversation. But it came out soft and vulnerable. 

“No,” she said simply, her gaze piercing him to the soul, “But I think you want people to think they can’t.” There was a long pause, then she tilted her head, “Soooo…” She looked so hopeful, so eager to spend time with him, that he knew immediately that he would not say no. 

“Ok,” he agreed, successfully hiding his own excitement and turmoil. He shouldn’t have gone to see Maggie. Drea had affected him before that, of course, but the knowledge of who she was made him overthink every single second. 

She gestured for him to lead the way and he took her to the tent that housed his knives. Why not? It wasn’t like he wanted to share it with her. It was a logical place for an interview. Quiet. Personal. Intimate- dammit. The lanterns were low, the late afternoon sun hazy and hushed through the fabric. There was equipment everywhere, the tent was neat but full. His knives were all laid out on a table, shining. 

“Wow do you always bring people somewhere this serial killer coded or am I special?” Drea joked as she took it all in. 

“If I wanted you dead, you wouldn’t have made it past the entrance,” he said, tilting his head a little as he looked at her. 

“Oh,” she breathed, looking stunned. Then she grinned, “So I am special.” 

He fisted his hands behind his back and gave her his best bored face. It didn’t deter her in the slightest. In fact, she looked a little pleased if anything. He snorted internally. What a brat. He could wipe that smirk off of her face so easily. She wouldn’t look so smug when he wrapped his hand around her throat. Before she even knew it, she’d be stepping right into his hold, begging for more. And he would - what the fuck? 

His own eyes widened a bit as he realized that he was standing there fantasizing about fucking her while she dug in that admittedly cool bag of hers for a pen and her notebook. He felt his ears heat up and the knowledge of how red they would be now only embarrassed him, which made them flush harder. Dammit. She flipped her notebook open and clicked her pen, finally looking at him. 

“Should we sit?” She asked, gesturing toward the stack of hay bales in the corner. He nodded and followed her over. He sat carefully on the scratchy stalks, watching her perch on the one beside him like it was the comfiest chair. He always had a knife on him and now he took it out and flipped it in his hand as he waited for her to start. It was a much needed distraction. “Are you trying to impress me or intimidate me?” She asked, sounding much too flirty for either of their good. 

“If you were intimidated, you wouldn’t be here,” he pointed out, keeping it light. 

“True,” she hummed, allowing it. A pause in which he said nothing. “Alright,” she filled the silence, “Lee Minho - how long have you been performing at the carnival?” 

“Long enough,” he said.

“Vague. Love that,” she said sardonically, making a note on the page. 

“You asked a boring question,” he couldn’t help but push her. He was tense and on edge but he was also…having fun? More than anything, he was not looking too closely at what he was feeling. 

“You’re avoiding a simple answer.” 

“You’re asking for information you could easily Google.” 

“Ah, but I couldn’t find anything about you online,” she narrowed her eyes a bit. 

“Then I guess it’s working,” he said, genuinely pleased to have such privacy. 

“Ok. Mysterious, off-grid knife thrower,” she spoke as she wrote, “very on brand.” 

“Are you actually writing that or just saying it for my benefit?” He had to ask, peeking over. 

“Both,” She said, looking up from the page to smile sweetly at him, “Multitasking.”

“Hm,” he said, eyes glued to her; the sound coming out low and hungry. He watched her swallow. 

“Were you always a knife thrower?” She asked, clearing her throat and looking away.

“No.” 

“What were you before?” Her pen hovered above the page, ready. 

“Something else.” 

She laughed, “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you keep talking to me,” he smirked, leaning in a little. She leaned too, like she didn’t even realize she was doing it. 

“That’s because I think you’re lying,” she murmured. His gaze sharpened. 

“About what?” 

“Everything,” she said thoughtfully, her eyes searching his, “Or at least not telling the whole truth.” 

The words hung in the air between them, their faces suddenly so close. Minho broke the spell by leaning back. Drea looked disappointed. She sat up too, shifting a bit. Her knee brushed his for a second and he went still. She either didn’t notice or just didn’t comment. He wasn’t sure which was worse. Her next question was just as bad as the previous. 

“Do you trust easily?” 

“No,” that was an easy question to answer. 

“Ever?” 

“No.” 

“That sounds lonely,” she said quietly. 

“It’s efficient,” he replied. 

“Hmm,” she started writing again, “And here I thought knife throwing was mostly about precision not speed.” 

“It is,” he said, brow furrowing a bit. Her train of thought was interesting. 

“You seem more concerned with control.” His stomach dropped at her words. It really was terrifying, the way she could see right through him so quickly. And yet she was such a mystery to him. 

“That’s a reach,” he said breezily, determined to not let it show how much she was getting under his skin. 

“Is it?” She murmured, inspecting him once again. He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“Are you going to ask me any questions that don’t seem like an astrology quiz?” He challenged. 

“No. What’s your sign?” She deadpanned. He couldn’t help but laugh once again. Her grin was blinding. Wow, she was beautiful. 

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he quirked a brow at her, throwing in a little smirk as well. The satisfaction he felt curl in his lower tummy at the expression on her face was worth every second of her being a pain in the ass. 

“I’m a Pisces,” he was surprised that she gave him a straight answer. And he knew enough from some of his friends that loved that sort of thing that Pisces was his best match. He scowled. 

“Ohhh what does that look mean?” She laughed, tilting her head. 

Some of her hair shifted over her cheek as she did and he moved before his brain could catch up. His fingertip ran over her soft skin as he pushed the hair off of her face. He was looking at it - so stark and pretty - distracted for too long before his gaze shifted to her face. She was staring at him, lips parted in a surprised little ‘o,’ eyes wide and filled with unmistakable desire. Her cheeks were flushing a bit, a beautiful peach color against her skin. He wondered what color her ass would turn if he were to spank her. 

All of this happened in the span of seconds, the few seconds it took for Minho’s mind to join the party. When it did, his own eyes became round and he felt his ears go red again. He pulled back like she burned him. 

Drea left the office in a blur. Talking with this person, planning with that one, discussing a topic that quickly became another topic. It was always like that here and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love it. The chaos, the debates, the intelligent conversation. It excited her. It made her better. She’d grown up with dreams of becoming an author (after she had grown out of her astronaut and pirate phases), but being a journalist was a pleasant alternative, at least for now. Today, she was headed to the carnival that had come to town. It was the first one this town had ever hosted and people were very excited about it. Drea felt like she shouldn’t love the fluff pieces so much, but she did. Humans were so interesting; she loved digging into the connections between them; their thoughts, their emotions. She was good at it, too; she’d had years of practice. 

Last night, she had gone to the carnival for the first time, merely to observe. She’d stayed the entire time - the first at the gate to enter and leaving only when things were being shut down. She’d seen every act and taken several pages of notes. It was a great start. It really had only intrigued her more, though, and she was ready to get to it today. See behind the scenes. She’d been in contact with the Ringmaster, Chan, who had agreed to let her come and interview people and he’d promised to show her around. When she parked, she gave a brief little shudder, shaking off the sudden chills she got out of nowhere, and climbed out of her car. She had her hair up and as out of the way as it ever would be, her lucky pencil stuck into it as always, and was wearing comfortable clothing that she could easily move around in. She carried her most prized possession - her Gucci bag - over her shoulder. Inside was everything she needed to write. 

The carnival had been a spectacle last night, a glittering jewel in the darkness of her usually boring town. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting during the day, but it somehow looked…sad. She was met at the gate by Chan, who gave a warm smile as she approached. She greeted him and firmly shook his hand. 

“Thank you so much again for giving me access to all of this,” she said excitedly, “I will do my very best to do your operation justice. Though I don’t think it will be that difficult,” she winked. 

He laughed, his cheeks going a tad pink at the compliment. He was cute. But she knew that would absolutely help with business when you were looked at for a living. They got right into it with a tour. She could tell Chan wasn’t expecting her to ask as many questions as she was or linger at every single thing as long as she did. But she truly wanted to understand it all. It was part of her writer's brain, she supposed; the urge to take everything apart and understand it to understand the whole. She’d been like that as long as she could remember. And it had come in handy in several situations. When they arrived at the tent with the aerialist equipment, she grinned at Chan. 

“I love this. Is there any chance of me being able to go up there and try it out? I’ll sign any waiver.” 

Chan looked both amused and surprised then thought for a moment. He looked up at the rigging then back at her and shrugged, “I don’t see why not. I’ll go get some paperwork for you and see if I can track Felix down. You can wait just here at this lemonade stand; I’ll send someone to make you one.” 

She thanked him again and headed to the trailer. She looked it over as she waited, taking in the details. The colors, the script of the writing, the designs. She heard something and realized that someone had arrived. The door must be on the other side since she didn’t see them coming. Some thumping echoed from inside the closed-off stall, then the metal shade blocking the windows rolled up with a metallic zing. Drea actually took a step back, her entire body also giving a metallic zing when she saw the man inside. He was leaning casually on the counter in front of the window, having just lifted the shade with one hand. Then he was flicking the lock on the order window, and when he swung it open and she saw him with no barrier between them, she was absolutely stunned. 

Drea had seen countless men in her life that others would faint over - actors, musicians, politicians, even a random weatherman who went viral for being so hot. Gorgeous, beautiful, sexy, insanely attractive men; she’d interviewed all sorts. And she wasn’t blind; she appreciated them. Some quite a lot. But she always kept her composure. No one had ever had this effect on her before. He had black hair that fell in jagged little strands over his eyes. Good lord, his eyes. Huge. Dark. Shining. Straight nose. The poutiest lips she had ever seen. Even his philtrum was stunning. He parted those lips and she noticed his teeth. Slightly crooked, the front two a bit prominent, almost rabbit-like. It only made him more attractive. There was a weighted pause and she realized he had spoken to her. Her eyes widened a little with embarrassment and she jerked her gaze back up to his. 

“Sorry?” She managed. 

“I said,” he spoke in a voice that was light, soft, and thickly accented, “are you thirsty?” He was looking at her like she was crazy and she didn’t blame him one bit. 

“Oh, yes. Please,” she stepped forward again. 

He straightened slowly, watchful eyes still on her as if she would jump him (which, now that she had that thought, a part of her brain was certainly running away with it…). She gave him a friendly, reassuring smile and he made a short “hm” noise then turned to make the lemonade. Drea went up on her toes, folding her arms on the customer side of the counter, trying to watch what he was doing. Lemonade at carnivals and fairs surely had crack in it - how else would you explain how good it is? She just couldn’t prove it yet.

“Can I help you?” The man spoke again, not even turning around. 

“I just want to see how it’s done,” she said, undeterred, “you know, by a professional.” 

She looked him over from behind now, noticing his ears going a bit red. She stuck her hand into the window briefly, curious to see if it was hot inside. It wasn’t. She pulled her hand back and became so distracted admiring the frame of him best she could with his casual clothes on that she completely missed him doing the final touches. 

“Honey?” 

Her eyes snapped up to his again in shock. But she realized he was literally offering her honey when he gently shook the bottle in his hand. 

“Oh,” she said, then tilted her head, “in lemonade?”

“It’s good.” 

“Ok,” she nodded, “I’ll try it.”

He did some more magic then poured his honey concoction into her cup as well before handing it over. She felt sparks when his fingers brushed hers and she looked to see if somehow there were literal embers flying around. There weren’t. She thanked him and took a big sip. It was amazing.

“Oh wow! Yum!” She said then took another long pull from the straw. 

“Nice bag,” he remarked as he leaned on the inside counter, watching her. She glanced down at it fondly. 

“Thank you! It’s my favorite. I always have it on me.” 

“What’s in there?” The man lifted his head a little, casting his eyes down at it as if he could peer inside. 

“That’s a very personal question,” Drea laughed, “especially from someone whose name I don’t even know.” 

He looked at her and a devastating smirk came across his mouth. “Minho.” 

“Drea,” She stuck her hand out. 

He looked at it for a moment then slowly put his hand in hers, like he was reluctant. She gave him her signature shake - something she’d perfected so she’d be taken seriously in her field - and his lips twitched. Minho, she repeated in her head. It sounded like a word that would feel good coming out. He must be having similar thoughts, because he repeated her name then, very quietly. It made her stomach flip. 

“So, Drea,” he said her name again, tilting his head and pinning her with those eyes, “What’s in your Gucci Night Courrier GG Supreme Messenger bag? Now that we’re friends.” 

“Wow you really know your Gucci,” she said, impressed. “And, since we’re such good friends now, I’ll even show you. You gonna come out of there...Minho?” she couldn’t help but try out the taste of his name and it was just as good as she thought it would be. 

“Well I don’t know,” he joked, peeking at her bag again, “I’m a little wary that I have to come out in the open for whatever is in there…”

“I’ve seen you handle weapons. I don’t know what you’re worried about,” she had to laugh at him being silly all of a sudden. 

“That so?” He asked quietly. 

“I came last night,” she admitted. 

“And what are you doing here again now? During the day of all times. The carnival is nocturnal, you know. No one ever comes during the day.” 

“I’m a journalist,” she informed him, then patted her bag, “the only dangerous thing in here is my pen. Which they say is mightier than the sword. So I don’t know; maybe you should be afraid.” 

He laughed at that, his eyes crinkling and nose wrinkling. The laugh transformed his entire face. Drea was transfixed. She smiled, proud of getting that reaction out of him. 

“Want to be my first victim?” She asked in a conspiratorial whisper, leaning in a bit. 

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said, sounding way too serious, as he straightened, almost as if to put space between them. She was taken aback, but before she could clarify, Chan returned with the aerialist in tow.

“There you are! Is Minho being a welcoming host?” Chan asked, looking at the man as he spoke in a way that seemed half threat and half amusement. 

“He’s perfect,” Drea assured him, keeping a straight face after she said it as she realized how much she meant it. 

“I think so too,” the aerialist spoke. She looked at him in surprise. “I get that a lot,” he laughed with an easy smile. “Felix, nice to meet you,” he shook her hand. He was lithe and graceful, strong but lean, with glowing blond hair and one of the prettiest faces Drea has ever seen in her life. And his voice was the deepest voice she’d ever heard. 

“Drea,” she smiled, feeling instantly comfortable. 

“I hear you want to go up?” 

“Oh, please,” she nods, “I would love nothing more.” 

“Chan you’re going to let her go on the trapeze?” Minho asked, straightening. 

Drea looked over at him in surprise. His tone sounded…angry? Was he offended? Why? She glanced back at Chan, who was giving Minho a look she couldn’t decipher. She frowned. 

“And why not?” She asked, her own voice calm but with a slight edge. Those dark, penetrating eyes met hers. 

“It’s dangerous.” 

“I’ll sign the waiver, don’t worry,” she waved a hand, fighting an eye roll. She wasn’t going to sue them for God’s sake. 

“Chan-” Minho started again. Drea looked at him incredulously. 

“Hello?” She cut him off, “I think it’s me who gets to decide what risks I take, not Chan.” Minho’s eyes flashed but she stood her ground. There was a tense pause where Felix looked between them nervously. 

“Fine,” Minho finally said, sounding very much like a child. 

“Fine,” Drea retorted. 

“Alright!” Chan clapped, grinning, “Now that that’s settled.” Felix laughed. “I do need you to sign this waiver, please. It’s not that I don’t trust you.” 

“I understand. You have to protect your own,” Drea said, opening her bag to pull out a pen. 

She set the paper on the counter in front of the window, right in front of Minho; and signed it with a flourish. Her eyes met his again, challengingly, as she picked the paper back up. His eyes narrowed slightly at her and she felt an intense pulse of heat between them, a thrill. The entire interaction lasted only a few seconds; she was already turning to hand the paper over to Chan, but it shook her regardless. She needed to get laid, that’s all. Her eyes went to Felix. But she felt…aversion? He was stunning; it wasn’t that at all. She couldn’t explain it but she knew immediately she could never. Whatever. There were plenty of men outside the carnival and she could worry about that later. Chan took the paper from her and nodded. 

“You’re welcome to join us if that makes you feel better,” Chan said to Minho. 

He turned and Drea and Felix followed him, ambling easily toward the tent. She refused to look back to see him still standing there. But, to her surprise, he ducked into the tent behind her. Her heart kicked up a little from his mere presence but she somehow felt safer at the same time. She really wasn’t sure what her body was doing today; maybe she was going to start her period? But all of her worries were wiped away when she took in the aerial set up in front of her. This was a dream come true. She broke into a grin, unable to help herself. 

“You look ready,” Felix said and she turned to him to find him smiling too. A kindred spirit. She nodded enthusiastically. 

He gestured for her to go up the ladder first like a gentleman and she felt her anticipation grow with each rung. She felt like she would burst by the time she reached the top. He joined her on the platform and let her take the view in. She was grinning hugely when she turned to him once again. 

“I’m ready.” 

“Let’s do it.” 

She nodded, took a deep breath, and flapped her hands a little to shake out the nerves and dry her hands. She clapped the chalky powder he offered her in her hands, then he was holding the trapeze for her. She stepped to the edge, eyes on the bar, and grabbed it. The smooth wood felt perfect in her hands, the seats and everything so far below her. She felt like she was in her own world. Quiet. Exciting. There was a pause, everything silent, then she flung herself off of the platform. She soared through the air with an exhilarated whoop that echoed throughout the tent. 

It felt exactly the way she’d hoped; the way she’d always thought it might. Weightless. Truly free. For the first and only time in her entire life. It was addictive. She swung backward, arcing back toward the platform, and let out a laugh now. She brought her legs up, trying to go upside down; but she was apparently not ready for that yet because she slipped. She yelped as she plummeted, but the rope web caught her. She laughed again as she bounced, then it cradled her as it settled. She lay there for a moment, just grinning, then popped back up. 

“Again!” She insisted, crawling off of the ropes and speeding back up the ladder. Felix was laughing when she got to the top. 

“You like it?” 

“I love it.” 

“Want me to take you?” He offered, “We can do a little more than just swing. You just have to trust me.” 

“I trust you,” she answered automatically, a little surprised by how much she really did. He looked at her so seriously, so softly, that she could feel that he felt the connection too. She felt such an odd sense of belonging with these people. He positioned her then joined and swung into the open air. She was having the time of her life. After a few swings, she decided that she wanted to really fly. 

“Throw me down!” She requested. 

Minho rolled his shoulders back, the fabric of the armless vest he wore for performances rubbing against his skin. He was just coming back from the storage room for the prizes down the gaming alley, where he always went right after a performance to catch his breath. The festivities were winding down and his head was nice and clear. Tonight had been another success. He returned Daphne’s wave as he headed to the costuming trailer to give Felix back his pieces, but a ruckus drew his attention. There were two men who had clearly had too much to drink getting loud nearby. Minho sighed. This happened a little too often. Being relegated to nighttime only, they’ve seen their fair share of late-night debauchery. He supposed there was no way to avoid it with the carnival opening around 10 pm and closing at 3 am. But still. He was already angling himself toward them, ready to break it up, when it escalated. One of them flat-out punched the other right in the face. Some people nearby screamed and jumped out of the way, making everything all the more dramatic. Minho was quick on his feet, there in a flash, but not fast enough. Daphne had gotten there first. 

The man who got punched had tackled the first man now and they rolled across the pathway; over their own spilled beer, crunching pieces of popcorn beneath them. They struggled to their feet and Minho didn’t have time to intervene before Daphne tried. One of the men made the mistake of grabbing her arm to roughly push her away. Minho braced himself for the inevitable - he knew exactly how hard his punches landed - and connected his fist with the man’s face. The guy stumbled back, holding his cheek, and security reached them then. Of course, Minho thought, just like the cops in scary movies. Just a little too late. He hadn’t stumbled, but he moved his jaw around a bit to try and relieve the ache on the side of his face. 

“Are you ok?” He asked Daphne, who nodded. She opened her mouth to say something but stopped, looking surprised. Then confused. Fuck. 

“How did that happen? Are you ok?” She asked him now, one hand raising up to gingerly graze the fresh cut and bruise on his cheekbone. Minho hissed quietly and she frowned.

“I’m fine.” 

“You punched him,” she said and Minho clenched his jaw, ignoring the eye-watering pain it caused him. 

“Congratulations. You have eyes.” 

“But you got hurt,” she was still going. 

“You should mind your business," he said, avoiding. Always avoiding. 

“That isn’t normal.” 

“Nothing here is normal,” he pointed out. 

“Hey, you alright?” Suddenly Chan was there, checking on Daphne, who was still very much looking at Minho like he was a puzzle she refused to give up on. 

“I’m fine. But he’s not.” 

Chan looked over at Minho and frowned. “Had to do it, huh?”

“Yup,” Minho sighed heavily. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

“Why don’t you come back to our trailer? I’ve got my first aid kit, the guys are there, and I was just finishing up some grilling,” Chan invited.

Minho nodded and let his friend usher him away. It was loud when they got to the trailer, like always. Since Chan had splurged on the fancy RV for Daphne, there was almost always at least one of the guys there. And Minho could tell Chan and Daphne absolutely loved it. A lot of people called her mom now, she fit right in with “dad” Chan. Endless patience. Yummy food. A listening ear and wonderful advice. A keen eye. Too keen and too focused on Minho for his liking right now… He tried to mosey over to the grill with Chan, casual as you please, but she was not deterred. When Minho sighed again, Chan fought a smile. 

“If you really don’t want to tell her, she’ll accept that,” he pointed out. 

Minho studied his old friend’s face for a moment. His feelings were written as clear as day. Chan didn’t understand the hesitation. He thought everyone should talk to her about everything; that she could fix everything. And she was helping people, it was true. But Minho wasn’t wearing the rose-colored glasses that Chan and Jeongin had permanently stuck to their faces now. No one could fix this. And talking about it didn’t make it go away. But he supposed she might as well know about it. 

“It’s fine. It’s not like it’s a secret,” Minho finally caved. 

He followed Daphne into and through the trailer to the bedroom in the back. She closed the door, giving them a surprising amount of quiet even with some of their bonehead friends inside as well. She fetched the first aid kit from the bathroom and started to gently sanitize the cut. She didn’t say anything, didn’t push. Minho watched her, knowing it was pointless but also knowing it wouldn’t matter to say so. 

“It’s my curse,” he finally spoke, letting his gaze unfocus on the wall behind her. She gave a little hum, just to prove she was listening. “A Blood Debt Curse. Any time I inflict physical pain on others, I suffer the same consequences.”

“Oh,” she said, pausing in her ministrations. “That sounds really difficult to deal with. I understand why you avoid it.”

“It improved my aim,” he joked weakly and she gave a smile, pressing a little bandaid to his cheek. He healed quickly; the visible aspects of the injuries didn’t last long, just the pain. But he let her fuss over him. It did feel a little nice. 

“There, all better.” She straightened and looked at him seriously, “Thank you, in that case. I’d thank you anyway but you hurt yourself to help me and while you don’t need to do that, I appreciate it.”

“You’re one of us, now. You and Addie. I’d do it for any of the guys and I’d do it for either of you.”

“Aren’t we blessed to have such a perfect little family?” Daphne smiled and stood aside as Minho leaned over to peek in the mirror. His bandaid was brightly colored and had little cartoon bunnies all over it. He couldn’t help the laugh that came out when he saw it.

“Wouldn’t change us for anything,” he assured her quietly with a soft smile, meeting her eye in the mirror. 

🎪🎪🎪

A few nights later, they made yet another debut in another new town. The first night was always special; the energy and excitement from a fresh crowd feeling the magic for the first time really charged the carnival up. Minho was feeling in fine form himself tonight. The crowd was very responsive to his and Juniper’s act. They’d gone through their routine of her holding up objects and him hitting them with knives. People loved it when the metal ring of a swing came down and Juniper was lifted, getting further and further away; holding up targets that got smaller and smaller. Minho never missed. They were on the finale of their act - what people really came to see - The Wheel. Minho strapped Juniper to the big wooden target with the cuffs that were attached. He threw daggers at her as she started to spin, faster and faster. At the end, she’d come to a stop and he would throw the final knife to complete the perfect outline of her body - the one right above her head. She was really hamming it up and he was certainly amused but he had excellent control over himself and nailed the serious look he always portrayed when throwing at her. He wasn’t worried - he hadn’t missed even by a hair in years…he couldn’t even remember when. But he was always diligent, regardless of his talent. Until he saw it. 

“Yeah you fucking like that, don’t you?” Lino grunts, gripping your hair. 

His chest is slicked with sweat and he’s got you on all fours on your bed, one hand in your hair and one gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises. It was Saturday afternoon now, only about 12 hours after Lino had crawled into your bed and wormed his way into your…heart. You’d managed to get some sleep, at least; he’d tired you out after your shower. But he’d woken you up earlier with his tongue and you’re on your third set of sheets since last night. You can say with full confidence now that Everly was not faking it. You’re sore all over and already bruises are blooming all over your body like splashes of ink on parchment. You’re jerked out of your head by the harsh spank Lino lands on your already pink ass cheek. You yelp then it dissolves into a moan as he uses both hands to grip your hips, yanking you punishingly back onto his cock until he was hitting you so deep it was borderline painful. He grunts as you spasm around him. 

“How long is it going to take you to learn, baby? I don’t like to ask twice. I said you fucking like that, don’t you?” 

You know you need to answer him, but you’re lost in a haze of pleasure and have no access to the connection between your brain and your mouth to form a proper response. He tsks and you open your mouth to at least try, but he doesn’t give you a chance. 

“Poor little slut,” he coos, making your stomach drop, “no one has ever fucked you this good, huh? Can’t even speak anymore.”

“Hnng,” is all you have to offer. 

“That’s alright,” he says and you can hear him smirking, “Your body is answering me anyway. Can’t you hear it? How fucking good I am making you feel with my cock?”

He punctuates his sentence by pulling out almost the whole way then slamming himself back into you in three rapid successive strokes. The wet sounds it makes definitely convey exactly how good he’s got you. Your hands curl, fisting the sheets, and you distantly think a fond goodbye to this set; you can feel that now familiar pressure building and you know these sheets are destined for the laundry room graveyard with the rest of them. But you both freeze when you hear something. A voice in the hallway. A familiar voice. Getting closer. You look back at Lino with wide eyes as a thump of a large bag sounds then keys jangle. You’re in motion before you can think at all. Lino has you up, your covers yanked up into a haphazard but normal configuration, then he drags you into the closet. You turn to him just to get a shirt shoved in your face and you sputter but grab it and yank it on. Everly’s voice sounds clearly in the apartment now, extra loud since you didn’t bother to close the door to your room given the fact that you were alone… 

She says goodbye to whoever she is on the phone with then calls your name, sounding annoyed. She’s home SO early. Your heart is racing. You look at Lino again and he jerks his head toward the wall separating the closet from the hallway. Your mouth drops open and nothing comes out for a minute. You barely get a sound out before her voice comes again. Shrill. Demanding. Close. 

“Helloooo?” She says from your doorway. 

“Oh hey!” You manage, your voice a little scratchy. 

“What are you doing?” She asks, stepping into your room. Of fucking course. She never comes in here but of course she would now. 

“Just organizing my closet,” you say, heart pounding so loud you’re afraid she’ll hear it. You clear your dry throat. 

“Not sure that’s going to help but good idea,” she states dismissively. You hear the sound of her sitting on the edge of your fucking bed and you cannot believe this. You can practically hear her wrinkle her nose as she speaks again, “Why do you sound weird? Ew, are you sick?” You’ve never been more grateful for her self-centered attitude as you are when she doesn’t even bother to wait for a response before launching into a tirade. “I’m probably going to get sick too now. I’m very delicate, you know. That on top of the stress Lino has put me through this weekend. He didn’t speak to me at all, can you fucking believe that?” 

Another rhetorical question because she doesn’t stop. You make little noises here and there to convey that you’re listening. But you’re not. Because Lino has apparently had enough of being good and his hands are slowly drifting up your thighs. You try to smack his hands away but he just grips the meat of your inner thigh hard enough to make you yelp. Everly pauses and you mutter some excuse about hitting your head on the shelf. She continues. The closets in this place are one of the few saving graces - they’re decently roomy and have sliding mirrored doors. One side is open a crack from your haste to get in but luckily she’d have to try to look in and you know she won’t, but it still makes you nervous. Your legs are shaking a bit, half from your activities with Lino and half with being so anxious and tense. You’re dripping down them. You bite your lip hard enough to taste blood when you feel Lino’s tongue trace up your skin, licking up the wetness. Good God is he actually doing this right now??? He laps his tongue over you from where he is behind you on his knees. He is actually doing this right now. 

He tortures you for the entirety of Everly’s first story, making you come on his tongue and you clench your teeth to stay quiet. When he moves, you slump in relief. She’s still on your bed. Still talking. But you don’t get much of a reprieve because you feel him brush against your ass then his knuckles slide along your inner thigh as he guides himself between your legs, dragging his length through the wetness. You look back at him in warning but the look he gives you in return has you facing forward again, completely powerless to stop him as he presses back inside of you from behind, one excruciating inch at a time. You hold your breath as he pushes in and it takes him long enough that you are dizzy by the time you allow yourself a breath because he’s in all the way. 

He starts to move, slow enough to be silent. Deep enough to be a problem. Everly gets a little louder as she gets more worked up, which is a blessing and a curse because it allows you to make a little noise but it also allows Lino the same. He starts to fuck you harder, still managing to control the sound of his skin hitting yours so it’s not loud, but it’s there. He rolls his hips in that way of his you’re so weak for and you whimper. Everly falters for just a second then plows on. You hear a rustle behind you; then, without missing a stroke, Lino’s hand comes around your face and he is shoving fabric into your mouth. You can’t fight him but it thrills you and apparently him as well that you try a little. Your tongue scrapes against lace. He just stuffs the panties in more, making you gag a little. You let yourself make some noise then, testing it out. It’s good enough. He’s fucking you so good now, you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel your orgasm building. You have a very hard time keeping quiet when you come and you are fighting it but it’s winning. 

Lino must feel you tense, reading you like a book, because he reaches forward again but this time it’s to rub your clit and pinch one of your nipples through your shirt. Your legs lock up as you come, biting down hard on your underwear so you won’t make any sounds. You clamp hard around Lino, your legs shaking and your eyes squeezed shut. He makes a small noise of pleasure then he pulls out and guides you - roughly but controlled - to your knees in front of him. He yanks the fabric out of your mouth and you watch him. He looks fucking incredible from this angle, all sharp jaw and thick neck, lips parted and eyes hooded as he strokes himself in harsh jerks. You’re blind and deaf to everything around you; all you can focus on is Lino. You keep your eyes on his face as he looks down at you, bites his lip, then comes. You feel it hit your cheeks and lips in powerful spurts, some even getting in your mouth. You keep your mouth wide open for him to see but as a little bit hits your lip, you can’t help but stick your tongue out to catch it before it drips off. His eyes flash then he’s picking your panties up again. He uses them to wipe some of the sweat rolling down his abs then to wipe the cum off of his hand and dick. He drags it across your face, gathering all the cum on your skin as well. Then, he almost lovingly pushes the lace back into your mouth, sticking his fingers in to make sure it all gets in. When he removes his hand, you bite gently down on the material and swallow his cum the best you can. 

He leans against the wall of the closet, fully naked and completely glorious, and looks you over. Nothing but a shirt on (pointless, as you luckily never had to pop your top half out to speak to Everly), on your knees, gagged. All for him. He smirks. 

“Ok well I have to go shower now. I told Lino to come over in a bit so I’ll catch you later,” Everly finally says, flouncing out of your room with the same entitlement she’d flounced in with. 

You relax and pull the underwear out of your mouth. Lino actually helps you up. “You’re insane,” you hiss at him as he does, but it lacks venom. 

“You like it,” he whispers back mockingly. You can’t argue with that. You do. 

You go close your door and the two of you get dressed and he sneaks out while Everly is showering. You clean up after her with the little hot water she’d left and when you emerge from your room, Lino is back. The three of you have dinner together and you are so grateful once again for Everly’s lack of attention on you because you feel like you are being weird. It’s not helping that you’re seated directly across the table from Lino, who keeps staring at you and smirking at you and licking his spoon obscenely. When dinner is done, Everly doesn’t bother to get up as you and Lino start to clean. 

“Let’s have a movie night,” Lino suggests as he hands you the last dish to dry. 

“Why?” Everly asks, wrinkling her nose. 

“Because I want to,” he replies flatly, looking over his shoulder at her. 

“Ok,” she shrugs. 

He absolutely insists on you joining and when you try to politely make excuses, you can tell he is willing to make a scene so you finally give in. He’s sitting right in the middle of the small couch, Everly on one side. She’s leaning against the arm, away from him, and is on her phone. He’s manspreading, his knee a few inches over the line of where his cushion and yours meet. You brace yourself and take a seat, your body stiff. You have suspicions when Lino picks a movie you know he knows will bore Everly to tears. She barely glances up from her phone then ignores it and the two of you. Lino turns off all the lights and comes back with popcorn and a huge blanket. He drapes it over Everly and himself…and you, setting the popcorn bowl between Everly and himself. He starts the movie innocently, leaning back and spreading out even more. His thigh touches yours and you swallow hard. 

A little into the movie, Lino’s hand starts to wander. Down his thigh to his knee. Onto your knee. Up your thigh. So slowly, not even moving the blanket. You give him a panicked glance then look past him at Everly, who is oblivious and scrolling away. You try to resist him, really you do. This was never ever meant to go this far. But you can resist him about as easily as you could last night, which was not at all. You shift, parting your legs a bit and he gives your thigh an approving squeeze. He makes a little show of adjusting, tucking his foot up on the cushion so his knee is up, tenting the blanket and making a little barrier between Everly and you. As he does, he lifts his other leg and you find that muscular thigh draped over yours, trapping your leg. He slowly lifts his foot, dragging it along your calf and pushing your other leg further away. 

You stay stock-still as his fingers find your clit immediately, despite the sweatpants between his hand and your cunt. He rubs it for a whole scene, achingly slowly, then he’s slipping his hand into the waistband. He pauses briefly when he registers you’re not wearing panties. You glance at his face once more to find a little smirk on his face. It brings you sick pleasure to please him. His fingers meet the bare, wet skin of your well-used pussy and you bite your lip as he slowly but firmly circles your clit with the pad of his finger, as if he’s learning you. As if he hadn’t spent hours doing so already. He knows exactly where and how to touch you and he drives  you higher and higher and higher until you are fighting your hips to stop squirming. Finally, he shoves two fingers inside of you and starts to fuck you with them. The hand between you flies up to grip his thigh, still over yours, and you dig your nails into the soft material of his sweatpants, feeling the hard muscle beneath. He hisses quietly and you look up at him. 

He looks at you then to your free hand then to where his hand is under the blanket. He does it a few times before you finally get it and then you’re snaking your hand in, your arm pressed against his, and rubbing your clit while he fingers fucks you. It feels incredible. You’re going to come again. He curls his fingers just right and gives a rub against your sweet spot. Your legs try to close but he holds the one leg you could move open with his foot as the pleasure wracks through you. You hold onto his thigh for dear life. You are so lucky the movie is loud and at a perfect part for the noise you can’t stop yourself from making to be easily brushed off. Lino keeps his fingers pressed against you until you come down then he pulls them out like nothing. He reaches over with that same hand and grabs some popcorn then eats it far too sexually for your nerves, then makes a show for you of licking his fingers. You give one last weak little spasm around nothing. 

Finally, the movie ends and Everly practically yanks Lino away to her room, leaving you alone in the living room. You pause for a second, feeling a bit off-kilter now. This is new territory and you aren’t sure how to feel. But you shake it off and concentrate on folding the blanket and cleaning out the popcorn bowl. You manage to get through your nighttime routine and all comfy in bed, lights out and just on the verge of sleep when you hear it. Everly. Moaning. You wake fully with a start, a sick dropping feeling in your stomach. You listen. She moans again. You lie there, eyes wide open as you stare at the wall and listen to Lino fuck Everly in the next room. Your hand is sore from how hard you’re gripping the covers. It feels like…betrayal. Which is insane because that is quite the opposite of reality, but you can’t convince your stupid emotions of it. 

You are beyond thankful when she finishes far too loudly. You can relax but you know you won’t sleep for a while. You watch the clock as the minutes pass by. Five. Ten. Fifteen. You’re so in your own head you don’t hear your door open or click softly shut. So, when a weight presses on the mattress behind you, giving you deja vu from last night, you whip around in shock. There he is. Lino. Crawling into your bed not twenty minutes after fucking someone else. You stare at him incredulously as he slips under the covers, naked. As soon as he is in, you snap. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hiss, and this time there is plenty of venom in your words. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” He grumbles, sounding annoyed. It only pisses you off more. You roll to face him, anger rolling through your body. 

“I think you just fucked my roommate right next to me where I can hear it and now you’re coming to what, gloat? Fuck you, Lino,” you spit, keeping your voice hushed. He watches you, not saying a word to defend himself. You bristle. “Get the fuck out,” you demand. He scoffs. “Get. Out. Lino.” 

Finally, he loses his calm demeanor and you find yourself flat on your back, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he grips your face and holds it steady so he can kiss you. It’s bruising, punishing. He’s shoving his tongue into your mouth like he’s trying to prove something. Nipping at your bottom lip like he wants to taste your blood. You automatically kiss him back but then you bring your free hand up to smack him, hitting his shoulder. He catches it with his free hand and pins it to the pillow beside your head. You moan against your own will. He pulls back and looks down at you, his eyes shining in the moonlight; blazing. He looks rabid. 

“I have to have you,” he says. 

“Too fucking bad,” you manage with him still holding your face the way he is. He watches you thrash beneath him, trying to free your face, then he moves his hand but he doesn’t move away. He simply adjusts, hooking two fingers into your mouth and behind your bottom teeth. He yanks you forward a little and you freeze. 

“All I could think about was you,” he said accusingly, “I faked it to make it end and she fell asleep and now I want to come and you’re going to help me with that.” Your lips purse a bit but he gives another tug on your jaw. “Don’t fucking argue. I made you come earlier.” He finally let go. 

“Against my will,” you mumble, frowning up at him. He laughs. 

“Please You want me just as bad as I want you.” You glare at him. You do. You really fucking do. But you still feel hurt and angry. But you’re no longer trying to push him off. He notices. “How about this, baby - if you aren’t wet, I’ll leave. But if you are, then I am going to fuck you so hard you won’t even remember you have a roommate. Is that clear?” 

You nod, staring up at him. You’re absolutely fucked because you know for a fact you’re wet. You swallow hard as he gets his hand between your legs for the second time that night. His eyes slip closed when he feels you and his face smooths out in relief. When he opens his eyes again to look at you, they’re dark and predatory. 

“That’s what I thought. You’re my little slut and you know it. Say it.” You stare obstinately up at him, silent. “Say. It.” He demands sharply, wrapping a hand loosely around your throat. When you still don’t, his expression changes and he switches tactics. He ducks his head and licks up your neck. “Say it,” he murmurs, and it sounds almost sweet, like he’s about to say please. “Say it,” he whispers again, right in your ear. Your lips part. “Say it,” he says one last time, “My,” he licks the shell of your ear, “little,” again, “slut,” he sucks on your earlobe and presses his thumb harder into your neck. 

“I’m your little slut,” you sigh, arching up in surrender. 

“Good girl,” he purrs, then he’s flipping over onto his back, pulling you between his legs. He’s so hard. “Now suck me off.” 

“What??” You gape at him. He doesn’t seem to have showered…

“I said I want you. Now clean her off of me so I don’t have to fucking think about her anymore. You want that, don’t you? For me to think only of you?” 

You do. And you’re so mad at yourself for it. Mad at him. Mad at Everly. Stupid bitch, your brain spits uncharitably. You’re too far gone to care. You lower yourself and wrap a hand around him, going for it out of pure spite. When you wrap your lips around him, it’s subtle but you can tell. A shudder rolls through you, a confusing mixture of pure disgust and pure lust overtaking you at the taste. At the idea of this. Fuck it. You’re damned already. You start to bob, sucking on him as hard as you can as punishment and because you want him so bad you could just inhale him. He hisses through his teeth, arching a little. Once you’re pretty certain you’ve got him nice and clean, you pull back and sit up. You lean over a little and spit forcefully onto the floor, showing him exactly what you think about him fucking anyone else. He watches you with wide eyes then moans as he twitches against his own stomach, his cock bobbing as he comes untouched. You watch in surprise then it’s you who is feral as you lean in and greedily suck the rest right out of him. You drag your tongue all over his skin, gathering the pearly liquid. This, you swallow. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, eyes glued to you. 

You look him over, your lip curling slightly in disgust at yourself for how fucking bad you want him. You pause when your gaze lands on his dick. He’s still hard. Your eyes fly up to his face. 

“Come here,” he demands. When you shift closer, he yanks you over his hips, facing away from him. “That’s right, baby,” he purrs, his voice pure sin, “Sit on my dick and let me see that ass of yours.” 

You can’t wait any longer. You finally - finally - sink down onto him, loving and hating the way he feels so fucking perfect inside of you. He should be yours. The thought sends a rush of competitiveness through you, a sick need to prove to him that you’re better than her. So, you arch your back and start to roll your hips in a motion you know makes you look good and it feels amazing, too. Lino lets out a moan and you smirk. You didn’t hear him moan once earlier. So you move faster, lifting up and dropping down hard onto him. His breath picks up behind you and you bite your lip against a moan you know will be too loud. 

“Fuck, slow down,” he gasps and you look over your shoulder to find his head pressed against the pillow, his neck arched. His eyes are squeezed shut and he’s grimacing as if fighting off the pleasure hurts. His hands are fisted in the sheets. 

“Hm don’t think I will,” you say petulantly. You tighten around him in anticipation when his eyes slit open. He smirks and wets his lips slowly. 

“What was that?” he said darkly. 

“Sorry I just can’t stop fucking you, you feel soooo good,” you moan, only half hamming it up as you slam yourself down on him again. 

He grunts then he brings his left hand up and grips your ass cheek hard enough that you pause. 

“Stay right fucking there,” he insists.

He keeps eye contact as he sticks the thumb of his right hand into his mouth, wrapping those pink lips around it. He gets it nice and wet then that hand comes to cup your other ass cheek. His thumb nestles right between them and you jerk a little when you feel the wetness against your asshole. He smirks evilly, then slowly pushes his thumb inside. Your mouth drops open. It feels…good? Oh God. You make a little noise and his eyes flash. 

“That’s what I fucking thought,” he says, “Now tell me again who you are.” 

“Your little slut,” you whimper, clenching around him. 

“Does my little slut want to cream all over my cock?” He coos. 

“Yes, please,” you nod, staring at his face, transfixed. 

“Whatever you say, baby,” he says then he’s gripping you hard, his thumb pushing in a little more with the force of it and he starts to move you, using your ass like a handle to guide you up and down how he wants you. 

“Oh my God,” you moan, throwing your head back. NO one has ever made you feel this way before. 

He yanks you along his length harder, faster. You can feel it coming. You reach back with one hand and slap it over his on your ass, squeezing hard as it barrels toward you. He sits up and pulls you down so he’s so deep, getting his left hand over your mouth just in time to muffle your cry. You shake on top of him, gushing all over his lap and another set of sheets. It feels so good you swear you white out for a second. He adjusts his hand, shoving three of his fingers into your mouth as he comes too, grinding up into you as far as he possibly can. He twitches hard when you choke a little on his fingers. You stay there, glued to each other for a long moment as you catch your breath then he finally lets you go, catching you when you slump forward. 

ONE YEAR LATER

“It’s not your love that’s making me half crazy; let’s go!” Chris yelled, ten steps ahead of her. 

She tried to walk as fast as she could in her tall, hot pink heels. “I’m coming, you goon!” 

He chuckled and stopped, waiting for her to catch up. When she got there, he scooped her into a piggy-back and jogged across the plaza. Once they entered the building and checked in, taking their nametags that were some of the last left, they filed into the auditorium with the other stragglers.

“Oi!” a loud shout made them look up.

It was Lee Know, waving both arms. He sat with Changbin, Hyunjin, and Lee Know; and there were two seats beside them that they managed to save. Chris and Daisy climbed up the stairs and scooted past the row of people to plop into the seats. 

“Thanks,” Daisy sighed, pushing her hair back out of her face.

“What took you so long?” 

“Someone had to wear her special shoes,” Chris said and Daisy gaped at him.

“Excuse me?? We had to go back for you because you put two different shoes on!” 

“Yeah but you couldn’t run back as fast,” he crossed his arms, sitting back in his seat. 

“Carry me sooner next time, then,” she sniffed, crossing hers and sitting back too. They were both flushed and grinning. 

The rest of them just stared at them, then everyone dissolved into laughter. Neither Chris or Daisy mentioned the real reason they were that late, which was technically because of the shoes but very much both of their faults… It was time, then; and the coordinator started guiding them out of the auditorium to the back stage area. 

“Perfect timing,” Chris held up a hand and Daisy high fived it. 

“A queen is never late, everyone else is simply early,” She said and laced her fingers through his.  

They waited and waited and waited until, finally, it was their turn. Chris had a very loud cheering section as he strode across the stage. He waved and collected his diploma, shaking the dean’s hand. He turned his tassel to the other side and held it up in triumph. They cheered louder. Daisy grinned then walked out herself. The lights were bright and warm and the roar of her loved ones made it even more so. She shook the dean’s hand with a big grin, turned her tassel, then made her way to the other curtain. She and Chris cheered from backstage as Lee Know, Changbin, and Hyunjin each got their diplomas. Together, they walked back into the auditorium and hung out until the ceremony was over and they were allowed to meet their friends and families out by the fountain.

They weren’t hard to spot, seeing as Han had Seungmin on his shoulders. Seungmin sat tall, waving something around as they came over to greet everyone. They were congratulated and hugged and passed around until finally they were able to see what Han and Seungmin were up to. They managed to get Seungmin down without injuring anyone and he handed Chris the small envelope he was holding. 

“What is this? It’s heavy,” Chris looked down at it. It had his and Hyunjin’s names on it. 

“Open it,” Seungmin scoffed, like it was obvious. 

Chris shot him a look but Seungmin only smiled and then the envelope was opened and Chris was pulling out a thick piece of stationary. It was an invitation to a special awards show, one they had submitted their final project to. Hyunjin read it over Chris’s shoulder, his eyes widening as they scanned the words. 

“I thought we didn’t make it,” he said, “we never heard back.” 

“We did it…We did it!!” Chris cried and turned to scoop Hyunjin up. He bounced him in his arms, crowing in delight and Hyunjin lifted both arms in victory. When he finally put him down. Chris re-read the invitation. “We get a whole table! Our music video was one of five that made it into the showcase. The award will be presented to the winner on the night of. Black tie apparel.” 

“Oh my God I am so proud of you!!!” Daisy beamed. She knew how hard they both worked on that project. How they had been carrying the weight of disappointment when they hadn’t heard back about it. But Chris never gave up. He was already planning the next several projects, determined as ever. Now he could take a break - even for one night - and celebrate what he’d already accomplished. Daisy was beyond grateful; he tended to not do so unless she forced him to. And they deserved it. 

★★★

Daisy smoothed her hands flat down the lapels of Chris’s jacket, looking up at him.

“Breathe,” she reminded him softly. 

He nodded, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. She nodded too, watching his face. It relaxed a little and she smiled. 

“I want one more, do you think you can do that for me?” She said mischievously. These were words he often said to her in the bedroom and it made him laugh. She giggled too and then they took one more big breath together. “Alright?” 

“Much better,” he nodded, his eyes finally really focusing on her as he got out of his own head. 

“Do you want to stay here a little longer?” She offered. They were in the short, dark hallway behind the bathrooms, a small, in-between space before the public area turned into the employee area. Quiet. Safe. 

“No, we should get back out there. They’re gonna announce it any time now,” he said. She nodded and dropped her hands. He caught one as she stepped away and pulled her back to his chest. “Thank you,” he said quietly, putting a hand to her cheek. She smiled softly. 

“Literally always,” she responded. 

He lifted her hand to his lips then kept it in his as they walked back out into the ballroom together. People were talking, milling about around their tables so it wasn’t noticeable and Daisy was glad. Chris shined in the spotlight, exuding a calm confidence that made him the envy of most people. He commanded a room like this naturally. But not effortlessly. Daisy knew him like she knew her own soul. He let her in always now; let her see the cracks more than ever. Confided his fears. Let her share his burdens. She was beyond honored to do so and did everything she possibly could to make sure he was never carrying anything all by himself. Just like he did for her. He pulled her chair out for her and scooted her in, careful of her long, beaded dress, then took his seat beside her. Hyunjin, on his other side, reached over to pat his knee. Chris smiled gratefully at him and Hyunjin visibly relaxed now that Chris was back. He just had that effect on all of them. 

The lights dimmed then brightened a few times, signaling for everyone to take their seats. Daisy glanced around the table at her friends. The group included Laura and Alicia now, both in serious relationships with Jeongin and Changbin. She glanced at Chris last as the lights dimmed and stayed dimmed, clocking the tick of his clenched jaw. She took his hand under the table and gave it a squeeze to let him know he could hold on as tightly as he needed to. He did; the only real outward sign of his nerves as the presenters took the stage. They announced the nominees and gave some info on each of them then a sample of each work was played. Chris winced a little when their very sexy video was displayed. Hyunjin just looked more than pleased. The lights came up a little more as one of the presenters opened the envelope. The winner was announced. A pause. Then they were all turning to Chris and Hyunjin, beaming, as the room applauded. Chris sat stunned until Hyunjin pulled him up and they walked to the stage together to accept the award. 

Daisy took hundreds of pictures and videos that night. Every word of their acceptance speech, every proud expression of their friends, every little moment she knew Chris wouldn’t remember but would want to see once he was home and calm. They came back to the table with a shiny award and a check. Not only did they just win acclaim for their art, but money as well to continue pursuing their passions. By the time they were all climbing into the limo Han had insisted they ride in tonight, Chris and Hyunjin both had a handful of business cards from people in the industry eager to work with them. 

In the limo, they celebrated; having the driver just drive around aimlessly. The boys loosened their ties. The girls kicked off their shoes. And they had a night to remember. When they finally got home, Chris was vibrating, already adding so much to his plans he already had. Daisy watched him pacing the room fondly from the bed until he pounced on her and they celebrated again, just the two of them. After, when they were intertwined under the covers, Chris shook his head. 

“I couldn’t sleep if I tried.” 

“I didn’t expect you to,” she laughed. 

“Hey, let’s do some planning,” he looked down at her excitedly and she laughed again, delighted. 

“It’s so hot that you’re such a planner like me,” she said happily as she got up to grab their wedding binder and the shared agenda notebook where they put all of their events and deadlines in on the calendar and their many ideas in the notes. 

She laid on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and opened both. Chris rolled over to join her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder and staying there, reading over her shoulder. They passed the night together in their room (now shared, of course; her room turned back into an office/library), sharing ideas and kisses and love. It was cozy and quiet and perfect, just the way it should be. 

★★★

ONE YEAR LATER

Daisy stood in the hallway, listening to the music change. Her cue. She stepped into the doorway, taking her father’s arm as everyone turned to watch him walk her down the aisle. It was beautiful inside, exactly the way she’d pictured. But all she could see was Chris. He stood by the altar in his finest suit, waiting for her. The smile that broke out over his face when he saw her was like a sunrise bursting over the horizon. She mirrored it as always. By the time she was passed to him, she could hardly even notice there was anyone else in the room. Just her and her best friend, about to be her husband. The ceremony was over before she knew it and, finally, he wore a ring to match hers and he was pulling her close with those strong arms, dipping her and pressing a loving kiss to her lips. She was more than thankful that he was holding her, tethering her to the world because she felt she could float right into the air. 

The reception was the most fun she’d ever had. The group of them stayed later than anyone else, most on the dance floor until the end with a few sleeping slumped over on one of the tables. They ended the night with a big group hug, just like old times. When she and Chris were alone in the elevator, headed to the penthouse suite in their hotel, she leaned against one wall and he the other and they just looked one another over slowly. By the time the elevator dinged open, Chris looked downright hungry. He scooped her into his arms and carried her down the hallway and into their room. It was, once again, a fairytale but they could be in a cardboard box for all they knew. They only had focus for each other. Chris made love to Daisy all night and when they finally drifted off to sleep, it was as husband and wife. 

★★★

6 MONTHS LATER

Daisy held Chris’s hand. The other was wrapped around the familiar worn chain of the swing. The day was warm, the breeze gentle. The swings softly squeaked as they rocked a little on them, both quiet. They’d been out here last night, too. To see the stars one last time. 

“I can’t believe how sad I feel about leaving this random playground,” Daisy chuckled, fighting tears. She was half pure excitement and half nostalgic longing already. 

“I am too,” Chris admitted, looking over at her with a wry smile. 

“At least it’ll be the same sky,” she mused, looking up at the puffy clouds drifting above their heads. 

“We’ll find another place like this,” he promised, giving her hand a squeeze, “even if we have to buy a crappy little swingset for the tiny backyard for now.” 

“That’ll be something,” Daisy laughed, picturing them in the tiny space trying to sit on swings smaller than they were, trying to have a peaceful time with all the neighbors around. And their friends. 

“It’ll be an adventure,” Chris grinned. 

“HEY ARE YOU COMING OR WHAT?” Seungmin’s yell floated to them from over by their apartment. 

Chris lifted an arm to wave at him and Daisy watched him round the corner back to the front then sighed. One last press of the chain into her palm, like she could brand it and everything this swing has meant to her onto herself; one last little swing; one last little look around. Chris waited patiently, completely content to let her take her time. He was watching her, memorizing her because he couldn’t picture this place without her right on that swing next to him. Finally she stood and he followed suit, wrapping his arm around her waist. They walked together back to the front of their building and paused once more to look at the door. Behind it, the apartment they’d shared with each other and Jeongin and Changbin was empty. They had been too busy to move yet, to buy a house or anything, and it was a good thing. Because they were leaving. 

Chris pressed a kiss to the side of Daisy’s head and she leaned into him then they turned to the little brigade of cars, stuffed to bursting with belongings and snacks with just enough room in each for the people to squeeze in for the long drive to Los Angeles. Chris and Hyunjin had been meeting with people since the awards show, working so hard, and they finally had it - a record deal. The boys would join them, hopefully realizing all of their dreams. Daisy wasn’t sure what she would do - anything she wanted, she supposed. The future was nothing but wide open possibilities for her creative soul. For her and Chris. 

“You moved in as my best friend and you’re moving out as my wife,” Chris mused, rubbing his big hand up and down her arm. 

“Pretty wild if you think about it,” she hummed, “though you’re still my best friend too,” she looked up at him. 

“You’re mine, love,” Chris agreed, looking back at her with so much love. 

They were the last to get into their vehicle, Chris’s truck. As soon as they were settled, Han and Lee Know in the backseat, they turned to the stereo in anticipation. Daisy’s phone popped up and she cheered, making Chris laugh. She grinned and scrolled as Chris drove them out of the parking lot, leading the parade. She finally found what she was looking for - Chris and Hyunjin’s follow-up song to the original. She, Lee Know, and Han all laughed when Chris blushed and the smiles stayed on their faces as they turned toward the road ahead of them. Chris’s hand found Daisy’s like a magnet, his fingers fitting between hers in a way that was so familiar now but still so special. Daisy didn’t think she’d ever really get used to how wonderful Chris was. That he was hers. He glanced over at her and winked, making her smile even bigger. 

The road opened up in front of them as they left their city behind. Their state. And they drove toward their dreams the way they did everything - together. 

Epilogue

Daisy watched Chris from her seat in the audience. On either side of her, Alicia and Laura held her hands tightly as they waited. Another awards show, but on a scale that made what had - at the time - seemed so fancy look like a toddler put it together. They knew the drill by now; this was no longer their first rodeo. They no longer lived in the cramped apartments with leaking ceilings and loud neighbors. But all of the boys had stayed humble, working as hard as ever to keep up with the growing demand for more - more of them, more of their music. It was a world they had slipped into with relative ease, given the work ethic and talent of the group. Alicia spent her days near or on or in the ocean as a marine biologist and Laura was working on her third novel. Daisy had wrapped filming her first movie just last week. They were busy. They were tired. They were happy. 

She heard the announcement of the winner and watched her boys as they realized it was them. The presenter was a household name, a familiar voice to pretty much everyone in America. The venue was huge and filled to the brim with people she’d seen on screen and on stage, all in their designer attire. They’d come so far and learned so much but some things were still the same. The pause. The genuine surprise on their faces before they started looking at each other, grins breaking out. Chris was practically glowing as he led them to the stage to accept the award. His speech was emotional, graceful, eloquent. Daisy felt a rush through her body when their eyes met. She still somehow felt like a girl with a huge crush. 

As they celebrated at the after party with all of their friends, Chris swept Daisy into his arms to dance. She pressed her cheek to his chest, closing her eyes. Everything around her faded but him. His solid strength, never wavering. His heartbeat. His cologne. His warmth. His hands on her back. When the song was over, he led her off the dance floor and snagged two glasses of champagne, holding one out to her in offering. She shook her head, fighting a smile, and the flute in Chris’s other hand stopped halfway to his lips. He seemed to hold his breath for a moment then he lowered the glass, turning to face her with his whole body. She mirrored him, biting her lip to control her expression. 

“Daisy,” he breathed, “is..are you…are we-” he stumbled over his words and finally the grin broke free as Daisy nodded. 

“Yes, Chris. I am. You’re going to be a daddy…in a different way than you are now,” she laughed. 

He stared at her for a long moment then scooped her up, lifting her and holding her tightly but carefully to his chest, cradling the back of her head. She held him right back, radiating happiness. 

“I can’t believe it,” he said, joy evident in his voice. He set her down and shook his head, “what perfect timing too.” 

“Well, it is our child,” she pointed out, “a little planner.”

Chris melted and looked down. His hand came to rest flat on her lower belly. The bump was so barely there you couldn’t quite see it yet but he could feel it; knew how every inch of her body felt and quickly registered the change. His lip quivered once, the briefest of warnings, before he was holding her again, crying softly into her neck. She stroked the back of his neck, gently scratching her nails up under his hair - now longer and silver. When he calmed, he straightened and smiled down at her. 

“Well then, I guess it’s water for you,” he said.

“Wotah,” she echoed, a strong pang of love going through her. “Bleh water’s for pussies.”

“Water is for pussies,” he agreed, enunciating the word carefully, “but wotah is for the mother of my child and the love of my life.”

“Well how can I argue with that?” She melted. 

The first thing Daisy was aware of was the little sounds in her throat. She felt them before she heard them. It wasn’t at all uncommon for her to moan loudly in the middle of falling asleep, sometimes loud enough to wake herself back up; she’d always had that issue. But this was the first time it had ever happened when she was waking up. The next moan that tore from her throat was ragged and desperate and it made her eyes pop open. She felt the way her body was positioned next; on her back, legs open. Something warm touched her thighs. Something warm was between her legs. She looked down blearily to find Chris with her thighs up on his shoulders, his eyes already on her face, and his mouth buried between her legs. 

“Oh,” she said in surprise. “Oh,” she sighed again, in pleasure this time. 

Chris gave a big smile. “Good morning, my love.” 

“Good morning!” She laughed, putting a hand over her face. He returned to what he was doing before - licking her perfectly - and she dragged her hand down her face then down her front and pushed her fingers into his hair. When the morning sun hit the ring on her finger, the dark strands of his hair criss-crossing over it, pure happiness overtook her. 

“How did you sleep?” Chris asked innocently. He looked up at her, forcing her to drop her hand from his hair. Instead, she traced her fingertips down the side of his face. 

“Mmm, good,” she sighed, back arching up as he slowly pressed two fingers inside of her. He playfully nipped at her fingers, which were just dangling uselessly by his face now. She giggled but it was cut off with another moan as he started pumping his fingers. “Fuck, Chris, how are you so good at that?” She sighed. 

“Just lucky, I guess,” he winked rakishly and a laugh wanted to come out but she felt too good to laugh anymore. 

She arched up again with a deep hum. He waited for her to settle in again and look him in the eye before he dropped those lips down to wrap around her clit. His mouth and his fingers were deadly on their own but when they were combined, she didn't stand a chance. And she didn’t actually know how long he’d been doing this before she woke up, either. So it was no surprise when he had her coming hard around his fingers within moments. He hummed in satisfaction, only slowing a little while she came down, then he was right back at it. Her hips lifted toward him and he let her move, just moving with her. His fingers moved faster, her orgasm making everything more wet and loud, and licked and sucked at her clit. When her breath hitched just right, he stayed exactly where he was until she came again, calling out his name. 

He pulled back but only to crawl over her. She welcomed his body against hers, opening her legs more so his hips could nestle between them perfectly. He was hot and hard and heavy against her and she moaned into the deep kiss he gave her. It still blew her mind how big he was, how perfect. 

“Fuck, I love you,” she murmured, hardly stopping to speak. His lips curled against hers. 

“I love you too, baby girl,” he replied. 

With a nip at her bottom lip, he adjusted his hips then he was sliding slowly inside of her. Her breath caught at the stretch of him, but she was more than ready. 

“Fuck. Right there,” he sighed as he bottomed out, hips pressing down into hers. 

“Yes,” she agreed on a moan. 

He lifted onto his elbows to look down at her and started to move, slow and deep. He leaned in and gently rubbed his nose against hers, making her giggle again. When it dissolved into another moan, Chris sighed. 

“That’s my favorite sound in the world,” he said, “Two of my favorite things - making you laugh and making you moan, all in one.” 

“Well lucky for you, you get to hear it for the rest of your life,” she breathed into his ear, giving the lobe a little lick. 

That had him moving harder and she pressed her hands against his back. It wasn’t long before she was having her third orgasm, wrapped around him so perfectly like this. He kissed her deeply as she pulsed around him, swallowing her moans. Her hands went back into his hair. 

“So beautiful. So mine,” he moaned, moving his kisses to her neck. 

“Chris,” she whimpered, panting a little. His hips were still snapping rhythmically against hers, giving her no rest. She was no stranger to multiple orgasms in a short period of time - with herself, but especially now she was with Chris - so she was still ok for now, but she was really feeling it all over her body. 

“Yeah, baby? You like that?” He nipped at her neck. 

“Yes, God,” she moaned, tilting her head back as far as she could. 

“Jesus, baby girl, it’s so sexy how you surrender yourself to me so fully. I’m so lucky to have your trust. Control your pleasure,” he groaned, lifting his head to look down at her. 

“God, yes, it’s all yours. Do whatever you want with me,” she sighed, really meaning it. 

“Anything?” 

“Anything.” 

This time, when he got up off of the bed and went into the closet, it is sex stuff he came back with. Her eyes went wide. 

“Is that-”

“The chain from the music video? Yes, it is.”

Her stomach dropped hard and she watched him as he started to loop it up around the headboard. 

“Do you want some silk for your wrists, baby? So the chains aren’t right against that pretty skin?” He asked, taking a moment to caress her cheek. 

“No,” she shook her head, “I want to feel them.” 

He closed his eyes, face pained, and took a deep breath. Then, he nodded and got back to it. The first touch of the chain against her wrist had her fingers curling into fists, her hips squirming. 

“I knew you’d fucking like this,” Chris declared as he tied her up, “I heard you moan when we were shooting the music video.” 

“Oh,” she blushed and he chuckled darkly. 

“I liked it. A lot.” 

“So did I,” she breathed, watching the concentration on his beautiful face. He was so quick with it, so perfect. 

“Make it tight, please? I want to be completely at your mercy,” she requested. 

“Christ, Daisy,” Chris groaned. He stopped, leaned down, grabbed her face and tilted it toward him, and kissed her hard. He pulled back an inch, strong fingers still gripping her cheeks, his hand cupping her chin, “You really were made for me.” 

“Then show me,” she whispered, a little challengingly. 

His eyes flashed and he finished tying her to the headboard with a few sharp movements. When the chains tightened and she couldn’t move her arms, she hummed in pleasure. 

“Do you remember your safe word?”

“Cucumbah,” she replied, mimicking his accent playfully. 

He grinned, “Good girl.” With that, he was back on the bed. He took a long moment to look her over, stroking himself slowly as he did. She squirmed again and he smirked. “You want it that bad, huh? Three orgasms and you’re still so fucking greedy.” 

“Yes, daddy,” she answered honestly. 

“Remember you asked for this, baby,” he said, quirking a brow. 

He gave her no time to get nervous from his words before he was pushing back in again. He was less careful this time and when he started to move, he hit her deep inside almost punishingly. 

“Oh fuck!” She cried. Her arms automatically tried to move but she really couldn’t move them and it only made her hotter. She moaned. 

“Look at you,” Chris said, thrusting into her, “You love this; being completely out of control. Tied up. All mine.”

“Yes,” she moaned. 

He leaned over and wrapped a hand around her throat, squeezing harder than he ever had before, but still safely. Her eyes went wide. She loved it. 

“Then fucking come for me,” he growled and her eyes rolled back. 

She did, and this time it was sharp and nearly painful. He applied more pressure as it hit her, heightening the pressure, then let go when she was coming down. It felt fantastic. 

“Ohhh,” she sighed, a little dizzy with the pleasure. Floaty. And loving it. 

“Good, baby?” 

“Yes, daddy.” 

“Good girl. I want one more - can you do it for me?” 

“Anything for you,” she mumbled, her body pliant under his touch. He grinned and pulled out again. She let him rotate her hips to the side, her upper body still where it was before. When he bent her top leg, hitching it up as high as he could in front of her, and pressed back in, she sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh! Holy fuck,” she cried. He wasn’t even halfway in yet but she felt like she was going to break. 

“Safeword?” He checked, pausing. She clamped her mouth shut and shook her head. He nodded and kept going, his arms shaking a bit from holding himself up and being so tense. By the time he was in all the way, it was so intense already that when he started thrusting, her body jerked, her arms straining as she tried to scoot up, just a little. He was hitting her so hard and so deep and she didn't know if she could actually take it. He tutted. “Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

“A-a-ahh,” is all she could manage. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said and gave a sharp thrust. She screamed out, back arching off the bed. 

“Oh God, oh God, I can’t do it,” she cried, nails digging into her palms. 

“You begged for this, baby. Now you’re going to be good and take it,” he said lowly, leaning down to breathe the words to her. He pressed one chaste kiss to her shoulder then straightened. The slight angle change got him somehow even deeper and she shook her head. He looked like he’s about to stop, but she shook her head harder. He gave her a chance to say her safeword, but she didn't. So he started to really fuck her. 

It was too much. It was way too much. Even after having him and Hyunjin inside of her at the same time, this was blowing her mind. All she could hear was her sharp cries, her ragged breathing, the sound of his skin on hers. All she could see was him. All she could feel was him. His big hands on her hip and ass, gripping her tight, holding her down to take what he wanted. His huge dick, pounding relentlessly into her deeper than should be possible. When his hand moved off of her hip and his fingers pressed to her clit, her whole body spasmed. 

“You can do it, baby,” Chris panted, rubbing at her as he railed her hard.

“I can’t,” she heaved, feeling the pressure building with a frightening intensity. 

“Shh, just fucking take it. Take my cock like you’re going to take my last name.” 

She didn’t stand a chance when he said that. She was coming so hard she couldn’t see, her whole body tensing like she was being electrocuted. She cried his name helplessly. 

“Oh shit,” he moaned, slamming deep inside of her one last time. She distantly felt him twitching inside of her, pumping his hot cum into her body. “That’s it, fucking take it. Take it all. Fill you up so fucking good,” his voice shook a little as he moaned the words. 

Slowly, he came down and loosened his grip on her. She was limp, useless, definitely back in her floaty space again. He pulled out and settled her hips back down onto the mattress, leaning down to kiss her hip bone. Then, he was unwrapping the chains from her wrist so carefully. He kissed each of her fingers, then her wrist and lowered her arm straight down at her side. He repeated on the other side. He carefully climbed in beside her and pulled her against him, nuzzling into her hair. 

“Ok, baby?” 

“Hnng,” she managed. He laughed, but then he stroked her hair away from her face and looked down at her. 

“Gonna need a real word this time please. Are you alright?” 

“I feel like a noodle in a boiling pot of water. A noodle that’s just had several life-altering orgasms,” she murmured, limbs heavy and weak. 

Chris pressed his lips together in an attempt to not laugh, then rubbed her arm, “That’s good, sunshine.”

“I love you so much wow. Do you want to get married or something?” She asked, looking up at him. 

He couldn’t control his laughter then and she grinned, overtaken by the beauty of his joy. His throat made a little squeaky sound and her mouth dropped open. 

“Dude, you cannot be this cute so soon after you fucked me like that,” she said and he just grinned and leaned in to rub his face against hers. Then she laughed too. 

Finally, he pulled back, both of them still grinning like idiots at each other. He scooped her up and got her into a lovely, hot shower, apologizing for the lack of a bathtub like it was his fault somehow. She waved him off, already planning on a big tub in their house together one day. They washed each other, staying close and stealing gentle kisses every once in a while. They dried off together then got dressed together. Finally, Chris looked at her in a way that had her narrowing her eyes. 

“What?” she asked suspiciously. 

He sucked in a breath between his teeth and rubbed the back of his neck, “I kinda need the ring back.”

Her gasp was loud and she clutched her hand protectively against her chest, covering it with the other, and took a step back, “What? No!” 

“Aw Daisy, don’t look at me like that,” he pouted, giving her puppy eyes, “I don’t want you to ever take it off again either but…my plan.” 

She blinked, processing his words, then softened, “You still want to propose?” 

“Of course I do,” he smiled gently. 

She beamed then looked down at her hand. She pouted again as she pulled it off, “I really don’t wanna take it off,” she grumbled. 

“I promise you’ll have it back soon and I will only ever put rings on you from that moment on, not take them off.” 

He waited patiently as she reluctantly held it out toward his outstretched hand. She finally dropped it into his palm and he caught her hand before she pulled away, yanking her to him. She squealed in surprise as he caught her then used her momentum to dip her. She threw her head back and laughed, the tips of her hair brushing the floor. When she lifted her head, he kissed her. And how could she ever say no to him? 

★★★

Daisy and Chris walked down the stairs together, fingers laced, to find Jeongin in the living room on the couch. He was sitting forward, elbows on his knees, eyes intent on his video game. He didn’t look away when he spoke. 

“Hey, hi, yeah, I am traumatized thank you for asking.” 

“I think you’ll live,” Chris assured him while Daisy’s face burned. 

“He’s fine; I took him shopping to give you some privacy. And protect his innocence,” Changbin said, walking into the living room from the kitchen. “But I did have to tell him where babies come from. When a Chris and a Daisy love each other very much-” 

Jeongin cut him off by throwing a couch pillow right at his face, still not looking away from his game. It hit its target, which was pretty impressive. Changbin only caught the pillow as it dropped and laughed and laughed. Daisy couldn’t help but laugh, too. Nothing cured the soul like Changbin’s laugh. And that was very funny. 

“Gotta give the kid something to aspire to,” Chris rolled his shoulders back, puffing out his chest. He deflated when Daisy whacked him there. 

“Gross! I’m sorry, Jeongin. I…truly couldn’t help it. But we won’t do it again.” 

“Hey now-” Chris protested, turning toward her. 

Jeongin finally looked up from his game and smiled at her. “I’m just kidding, noona. I mean, kind of not, but it’s ok. And Changbin bought me this new game, so I guess I should thank you,” he laughed. She blushed and chuckled, putting a hand over her face. “Besides,” Jeongin said casually, turning back to his game and leaning cockily back on the couch, “I’m doing just fine in that department, thank you very much.” 

“That’s my boy,” Chris said proudly as Changbin laughed again. 

“Are you seeing someone??” Daisy asked excitedly. The way Jeongin glanced over at her, somehow slyly and shyly at the same time, she knew she was right. “When can we meet her??” 

“Oh shit is it that serious?” Changbin asked, looking at Jeongin. 

Jeongin paused his game with a sigh, but he couldn’t suppress his smile, “It’s new but…yeah. Yeah, it feels like it’s serious. I’m crazy about her. Laura,” the way his mouth formed around the word, his lips nearly caressing the letters as they fell out of his mouth proved how much he meant it. 

“Bring her tonight,” Chris said. Jeongin and Changbin’s heads whipped toward him and they gaped. 

“Hyung!” Changbin gasped, his eyes wide and darting between Chris and Daisy as if Chris didn’t know she was there.

“Ok well if the surprise wasn’t already ruined, that would’ve done it for sure you idiots,” Chris laughed. They looked confused. “I proposed last night,” Chris admitted, blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck, “I couldn’t help it. But I still want to do everything. She knows it’s happening but nothing else so please, for the love of God, have better poker faces than that today, yeah?” 

They saluted him and he just shook his head then turned back to Daisy, giving her hand a squeeze.   

“I don’t want to leave you but I have to. Just for a few hours, ok?”

“Ok,” she said, half pouting and half thrilled. He laughed at the expression on her face and kissed her nose then her lips. The kiss broke when both of them were smiling too wide to pucker anymore and Changbin sighed, stepping further into the room. 

“Ok, ok, I can’t take it anymore,” he joked, “I was going to ask you to come to the gym with me as a distraction but now I don’t need an excuse so what do you want to do? He insisted we get out of the house.” 

“Not the gym, please,” she said, her body already sore from last night and that morning. Changbin pouted and she laughed, “Anything else. You choose.” 

“Hey, Laura is free and wants to hit up the arcade. Do you guys want to go do that?” Jeongin asked, looking up from his phone. 

They agreed and parted, Chris and Daisy watching each other until the door shut between them. Daisy endured a lot of good-natured teasing on the way to the arcade. About how Chris couldn’t wait and ruined the surprise. About how they knew the whole time and it took her and Chris long enough to catch up. About James. She laughed at it all. Nothing could bring her down today. They arrived and Changbin and Daisy watched Jeongin basically leap from the car to greet a pretty girl with curly hair and a cute blue dress on. They got out and were introduced. By the time they finished their first game, Daisy and Laura were officially best friends. 

“Whoa, who is that?” Changbin asked, staring. Daisy turned to see another beautiful woman headed their way. She wore one of the coolest outfits Daisy had ever seen, her hair up in a cute style. 

“Oh that’s Alicia,” Laura said, smiling and waving as she approached, “my friend.” 

Daisy watched as Changbin tripped over himself for the next hour trying to impress Alicia, who seemed totally delighted by it. Jeongin was behind Laura at a pinball machine, caging her in with his arms. They were both smiling, obviously totally enamored with each other. Daisy felt tears well up and excused herself to the bathroom. She couldn’t help the bout of sobs that overtook her as she locked herself in a stall. She was just so happy. She really thought this would never happen to her. When she was done, she splashed her face with cold water and took a minute to look at herself in the mirror. She thought of Josh. She felt strong. Peaceful. With a start, she realized she hadn’t heard that terrible voice in her head cutting her down in…weeks. She was quiet for a moment, looking herself over. Pausing for a second on the parts of her she usually felt self-conscious about. But instead of hearing Josh insult her out of the blue or her bad voice reasoning out why no one would ever love her, she heard Chris. He loved her so much she loved herself. Feeling like a balloon, she grinned at her reflection, not caring at all that her eyes were a little red, and skipped out of the bathroom back to her friends. Changbin pulled her into a side hug when he saw her, just holding her for a moment tightly enough she knew he knew. She was so grateful for him. For all of them.

Finally, it was time to go home. Daisy was alight with butterflies. Not exactly nerves but anticipation. Jeongin drove Laura and Alicia in Laura’s car, Daisy having insisted they attend the party as well. They branched off at one point and Changbin parked, leading her back in. Nothing had changed. No one was home. 

“I’m going to change; you might want to freshen up in your room?” He suggested in a way that wasn’t remotely subtle, and she booked it up the stairs. 

A garment bag and a shoe box waited for her on her bed. She unzipped the bag to find a gorgeous white dress. She changed into it and it fit her perfectly. As did the nude colored heels that waited in the box. She put on some minimal jewelry, already feeling naked without her ring, checked her hair and makeup, then met Changbin at the bottom of the stairs. He whistled and she grinned, taking his arm as he offered it. He turned to her when they got in the car and made a face. 

“Chris insisted I blindfold you…is that ok?” 

“It’s fine,” she chuckled and let him tie the white silk around her head. 

The drive was short and when he parked, he came around to get her. He guided her carefully up some steps and into a door. Her heels clicked on a hard floor. She was trying to figure out the feel of the space when the door opened and shut again. She lifted her hands to undo the ribbon, assuming Changbin had gone to meet Chris but deft fingers beat her to it. 

“Allow me,” someone who was definitely not Changbin said. 

She both tensed in excitement and melted back against Chris, who let her lean on his solid, warm chest as always. The ribbon fell and she meant to look back at him but couldn’t look away from the room. Her hands covered her mouth as she took it in. They were in a restaurant, one of her favorites. It was empty, the tables gone somewhere else except for one. It sat in the center of the room, a white tablecloth over it and a bouquet of flowers in a vase on top. Making a sort of aisle, an insane amount of flowers lined the entire room and not even just along the walls. They were everywhere. At the front of the room, at the end of the aisle, a white sheet was up on the wall. 

Chris led her to the table and pulled her chair out for her. She got a good look at him when he sat across from her and he looked so handsome it physically hurt. He smiled in that endearingly shy way of his and she took his hand on the table, rubbing her thumb gently along his knuckles. He relaxed and then nodded toward the sheet. She looked as it lit up with a projected image of one of her oldest friends. She glanced at Chris but he nodded again toward the screen so she focused as the video began to play. Her free hand found its way over her mouth again as it went on. Everyone who was important to her was in it, one by one in a type of interview style. Each one was saying their favorite things about her and telling a memory they had of Chris and Daisy. It cycled through her family, his, their friends. In the end, everyone had mentioned one thing in common - that they’d hoped for ages that Chris and Daisy would end up together. And that they were so happy about it. She was crying again, she couldn’t help it. Especially when the last person to go was Chris himself. He popped up on the screen, grinning. 

“Hi baby,” he said, looking straight into the camera, “if you’re watching this, then it’s already the happiest day of my life so far. I wanted you to see yourself the way I see you - the way everyone sees you. To know that you are so loved and valued and cherished, by me most of all. But I’m gonna stop yapping and let myself tell you in person just how much. See you soon, love,” he winked and the screen went dark. Daisy turned to Chris, who had misty eyes too. He stood and smoothed his hands over his pants then stepped confidently in front of her. He was smooth with it as he pulled the box from his pocket and kneeled for the second time. No amount of knowing it was coming could have prepared her for it and she held her breath as he opened the box. 

“I spent so long trying to figure out how to ask you the right way. We know now how that ended up.” They both laughed. “But it doesn’t matter too much because every version I thought of came back to the same thing. One truth in the center of it all. Every good thing in my life somehow leads back to you. You were my best friend before I knew what loving someone like this even meant, and now I can’t picture a future that doesn’t have you in every part of it. I don’t want to. I chose you in that classroom, I’ve chosen you every day since. I choose you today and will choose you every day for the rest of my life if you let me. So…will you marry me?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes,” she nodded, her lip quivering. He beamed and they both gave pathetically teary laughs as he slipped the ring back onto her finger. 

“There. Now you never have to take it off again,” he murmured, looking up at her with adoration shining in his eyes. 

“I won’t,” she promised solemnly, the weight of it settling on their shoulders for a quiet moment. It was substantial and real but not at all heavy. It felt right, like she’d finally stepped into the place she was always meant to find. 

“Then let’s party,” he grinned and stood. 

He bent and scooped her up before she could fully stand and carried her to the elevator. He kissed her lovingly as they rode up and when the doors opened to the rooftop bar, cheers broke out. He carried her out then set her down in front of a crowd of people. All of her favorite people. Their people. The rest of the night was a blur of pure happiness, each moment a small but important dot on a canvas and when she looked back at this night years later, she wouldn’t remember every single one but together they painted a beautiful picture. There was music and champagne and lots of hugging. Her cheeks hurt from smiling. Chris never left her side. The party lasted for a long time before winding down. Daisy leaned on Chris, her hand tucked between his side and his arm, curled around his arm. Her head was on his shoulder and they were walking slowly so as to not part. Daisy couldn’t stop smiling softly at the ground. When they got to his truck, she was a little surprised to see Lee Know and Han waiting and even more so when Chris tossed his keys to Lee Know. When she looked up at Chris, he just smiled. 

“I knew I wouldn’t want to let you go even for the drive,” he said, “Besides, I heard he’s a good chauffeur,” Chris laughed. 

“Har har,” Lee Know said but he was smiling. 

Daisy smiled at him and Han (no one had to explain his presence, she knew he just wanted to be included and also at Lee Know’s side and she loved him for it). They got in the back as their friends got in the front and Chris pulled Daisy to sit sideways on his lap, his arms looped around her to hold her close. Lee Know pulled out of the parking lot and Daisy smiled at Chris. 

“Guess he’s on the list, huh?” She had to bring up how picky he was with who could drive his precious truck. 

You shouldn’t have joined this club. You’d felt you had to; you wanted the other moms to like you. You wanted them to respect you; see that you’re a good person. Or, at the very least, a person in general. When you’d married your husband, you knew what people would think. Gold digger. Slut. Pathetic. Really, you’d just always wanted a family. Kids. And he was the first and the only man to ever treat you with any sort of respect and care. Sure, now you were in your mid-twenties and he, in his mid-fifties, but that didn’t dictate the way you’d gotten along so well so immediately. He was stable. Secure. Responsible. He took you places you’d only ever dreamed of traveling to. He bought you the nicest things. But, more than that, he helped you feel like you weren’t worthless. You hardly had a family of your own before him; nothing even worth mentioning. Your exes should all have come with warning labels. He was a shining light, illuminating a tunnel you didn’t know existed, a path to another world entirely where you could leave the sewers of your old life far behind. 

At first, you’d been incandescently happy. The snide comments and sideways looks from your husband’s friends’ wives and the other moms rolled right off your back. Even the attitude your stepson gave was manageable. You did have to admit that it was a little awkward he was less than ten years younger than you. But you pushed past it. And, one day, he’d gotten hurt and you’d been the only one around. That day had bonded the two of you and now he treated you like any other stepmom (any other good stepmom that is). Three years ago, you’d had your first baby. The cracks started to show then. Your husband was used to paying for his problems to go away. You were used to working hard to make them go away. Only one of you had been successful in the past but this time, it was your child in question. And he wasn’t even a problem, either. He was just a baby. Your husband had wanted to hire an au pair but you didn’t want to have to keep changing people plus you wanted to bond with your baby. It’s not like you had a job anyway. And you didn’t want to be one of those moms that only saw their kid here and there. No, you treasured your child. You’d wanted him your whole life. 

Your husband wasn’t cruel, he was just distant. He hadn’t rearranged his schedule at all once Henry had come. A slow, small, simmering resentment had started to grow then. Now, three years later, your marriage feels more like a business partnership than a marriage. But you have a safe home and your son and that is all you really need. That is, that’s all you needed before you joined this social club. It was working a little bit; you were inching your way toward your goal of being accepted finally. But it took up so much of your time and you knew if you missed even one meeting or outing, you’d have to start all over again or worse. It is becoming increasingly hard to ignore that you need some help with Henry. 

Your stepson would be perfect if he wasn’t in Europe for the summer. But, as you looked out the window, you noticed movement in your neighbor’s yard. Felix. You hadn’t seen him in years and you didn’t know he’d come home. Your neighbor’s kid and stepson’s best friend since they were kids, you’d gotten to know Felix enough to know his character before they went off to college. You wondered if he was home all summer. If he wanted some extra money or to use your pool or whatever else you could bribe a filthy rich young man with to babysit a three year old several times a week. 

Over the next week, you watch out for Felix and, sure enough, it looks like he’s staying a while. You start spending more time in the backyard, hoping to catch him. Finally, you’re sitting poolside with Henry beside you napping under an umbrella as you read when a splash startles you. You look up from your book to find a neon orange frisbee floating on the surface of the water. You turn toward the fence just in time to see Felix lope up and fold his arms on the top of the fence. 

“Sorry, Mrs. Carter!” He calls and though you’d met him after he’d his puberty, voice and all, it has been long enough that the depth of his tone startles you all over again. 

You set your book down and make sure Henry is still asleep before bending to retrieve the frisbee. Once you have it dripping in your hands, you make your way to the fence with a friendly smile. Before you stands a man. Felix is definitely no longer a child. That’s bizarre to see. You hand him the frisbee. 

“It’s not a problem,” you assure him, “How have you been? How’s school?”

You launch into a conversation that flows much easier than you had expected it to and you’re so glad when the babysitting comes up naturally. 

“I know you probably have a million things to do, but if you’re at all interested, I could really use some help this summer watching Henry,” you admit, wincing a little as you ask; bracing yourself for the refusal. But he just shrugs with that easy smile of his. 

“Yeah I can do that,” he agrees. 

“Really?? Oh thank you so much, Felix,” you gush, relaxing, “you are such a lifesaver.” 

“I aim to please,” he grins. 

One week later, he starts. At first, you hardly see him other than when he arrives and when he leaves once you get back home. But your conversations get longer and longer, branching out from revolving solely around Henry to other things. He’s funny and kind and mature for his age; an attractive mixture of responsible and caring and wild and unapologetic. You find yourself taking a little extra care with your appearance now. At first, you brush it off. You’ve always had this sick and inescapable urge inside of you to be attractive for men, whether you were interested in them or not. Could probably thank your mom for that. But it was a fact you’d accepted long ago and it only makes sense that you are reacting to it now. 

Today, you were by the pool again. You’d come home from an early morning excursion and needed to relax. Felix has no plans today, so you told him he could stay and get some pool time if he wanted to. He wanted to. You are bouncing Henry on your knee, listening to his little babbling sentences and thinking about how it is about time you gave him a sibling when Felix comes out of the house. He is in his swimtrunks, no shoes and no shirt. He carries a towel and wears dark sunglasses. This was the most of him you have seen and you can’t help but stare. He’s a lean guy but apparently incredibly in shape, holy shit. Bulging biceps, abs that stand out with definition you have never seen on an actual person. He has a light dusting of body hair trailing down from his belly button into his low-slung trunks. His skin is tan and freckled, his black hair gleaming in the sunlight as it flops over his shades a little. 

You catch yourself staring and quickly turn back to Henry, cheeks burning. You need to get a fucking grip. It has just been a long time, that’s all. Your husband is well in the midst of a huge merger and has been gone more often than not the past several months, traveling to Japan for weeks at a time. You have toys, of course, but that just isn’t the same. Felix snaps his towel out of its roll and lays it flat on the lounge beside yours. You look over just in time to see him tossing his sunglasses onto the chair in a way that shouldn’t be sexy but is. He heads over to the deep end and dives perfectly into the water. He comes up and tosses his head to get his hair out of his face. It’s soaked and whips droplets into the air, sticking to his forehead. He grins at you. 

“Just what I needed,” he says, then lays back and lets himself float on the surface. You keep your eyes trained on his face, but honestly it’s not any less devastating than his body. “So refreshing. You coming in?” He glances over at you and cocks a brow. 

“Me? Oh no I think I’m ok for now. I like the heat,” you say, shaking your head. 

He simply hums and closes his eyes, tilting that beautiful face toward the sun. It’s quiet for a while, Henry under his umbrella beside you, playing. You, with one eye on your son and one on Felix. Felix, happily swimming around like he was born to be in the water. Eventually, he has had enough and comes climbing out of the pool, using the ladder right in front of you. It may be well before your time, but you know all about the pool scene from Fast Times at Ridgmont High and this is that in real time but worse. You swear he moves in slow motion (your brain helpfully providing the soundtrack) as he emerges. Your gaze takes him in one piece at a time. 

The jet black hair that he’s pushed back, one little piece flopping rakishly over his forehead. His huge brown eyes. Perfect little nose. That fucking mouth - so full. He licks those stunning lips, making your stomach flip. Strong neck, Adam’s apple bobbing. Shoulders. Chest. Arms, the muscles working under his skin as he grips the railing to pull himself up the ladder. His hands, wrapped around the ladder, the veins on the back of them standing out. His abs, flexing; hard as a rock. A tiny waist and trim hips. The slight bulge where his swimsuit sticks wetly to his body, hugging every little bit. Shapely calves. Even his feet are nice. And, wrapped all around all of those muscles is golden skin, freckles splattered like paint on a canvas. Your eyes track one of the rivulets of water as it drips from his hair and slides sinuously down over a pink nipple and abs until it hits the waistband of his trunks. 

You snap out of it, more than thankful you’re wearing sunglasses as he walks, no longer in slow motion, over and sits on his chair. He shakes his head and drops of water hit you, making you gasp then laugh. He laughs too, rich and deep in his throat, then lays down and puts his sunglasses on. He slings an arm up , bending it to prop his head up, and stretches out his long legs. 

“So where’s Mr. Carter?” He asks after a moment, “Haven’t seen him since I got back.” 

“He’s in Japan,” you sigh. You don’t mean for it to come out the way it does and you are quick to correct your tone, “Very important business.” 

“Is he gone a lot?” Felix asks. 

“Yes,” you reply lightly. 

“Are you lonely?” He asks next, surprising you enough to look over at him. He tilts his face in your direction too then when he sees you watching him, he turns onto his side to face you fully with his entire body, keeping his bicep as a pillow. He pushes his sunglasses up. “Sorry, I know that’s personal but I would be.” 

“Well I have Henry,” you say, “and my club now. They keep me pretty busy.” 

“You have me, now, too,” Felix chimes in and you glance over at him, startled once more. 

His full mouth tips up a little on one side, managing to achieve a smirk that somehow looks both seductive and wholesome. 

“Yes,” you nod, a little curtly, trying to curb yourself, “I have you.” 

“Do you want more kids?” 

You soften and look over at Henry. A smile takes over your face and you nod, “Yes.” 

“You’re a good mom,” Felix says softly. 

“Thank you,” you say just as softly, truly grateful; feeling more seen by the neighbor kid than your husband ever made you feel. 

A few more weeks pass and Felix becomes a regular part of your life. He joins you in taking Henry to the park or the store or the movies sometimes. He helps around the house. Not that you need it; you have cleaning staff. Cleaning staff that you catch spending their extra few minutes he saved them ogling him. You can’t blame them. But you do begrudge them a little bit. They’re his age, their whole lives ahead of them. You wouldn’t give up Henry for the world and you are determined to never become jaded and ungrateful for your husband and your life, but seeing Felix wakes up a part of you you didn’t know was asleep - because you didn’t know it existed. You’d been in survival mode as long as you can remember. Your husband got you out of there. Now that you’re settled, you find that you have some…not regrets, more like wistful longings. Instead of marrying someone 30 years older than you, you could’ve gone to college. Maybe been with someone like Felix. You can’t remember what it was even like to sleep with someone who wasn’t much older than you. 

You cannot stop it. You see him all the time now; notice him. Stroking through the pool with those strong arms and back, running around the neighborhood all backwards caps and tank tops and sweat, how big and manly his hands look when he scoops Henry up. Henry loves him, too. It only makes him more attractive. One day, Felix has Henry and you know they’re at the park and getting ice cream so you enjoy an empty house for a moment. Empty house. You run to your room and break out a toy, nearly giddy with horniness now that you’ve had the idea. You strip down to your underwear and bra, slinging your silk robe on just in case you need to cover up quickly, and get in bed. Your head goes on the pillows and you spread your legs, teasing yourself with your vibrator. 

You try. You really do. To think of your husband, or celebrities, or even just naughty scenarios; but your mind keeps circling back to one subject: Felix. You fight it to no avail and finally give in. It’s working and you want to be quick so fuck it. You’ll just forget this happened once you’re done. In your mind, you’re on your pool chair and he’s coming out of the water again. This time he doesn’t go to his own chair. Cool water hits your hot skin, nearly sizzling as he leans over you. He reaches for you but you’re faster. Those pretty pink lips part as you grip him over his wet trunks, finally getting a feel for something you’ve gotten far too good of a look at through those trunks before. He kisses you. 

You moan, wet enough to work the toy inside of you with no lube. You arch up and knead at your breast with your free hand, pretending it’s him. Imagining him fucking you on the pool chair right out in the open for anyone to see. The way his muscles would work on his back as he fucked into you. It’s like you can see it from above, see him moving over you, see the pleasure on your face. Pleasure you’ve never felt before in your life. Your breath comes quicker as you approach your orgasm and when it hits, you indulge yourself by moaning his name. You have enough time to come down, clean and plug in your vibrator, and get re-dressed in something more comfy when you hear Felix and Henry. You sigh in relief and practically skip out to greet them. Felix doesn’t stay long this time, leaving you and Henry to the rest of the day. It’s a great day. 

A few days later, you’re getting ready. Your husband is flying in from Japan today and you will meet him at a gala, so it’s the works. An everything shower, hair up, makeup done, high heels, and a beautiful dress. You even have some lingerie on underneath, hoping to get laid tonight when you and your husband come home. Felix is coming over to watch Henry for the night; staying over as you don’t know how long you’ll be gone and you know your husband will want to sleep in the following day. You’ve told him to just let himself in, so you hear him calling out that he’s here just as you’re struggling with your zipper. 

“Who fucking puts these worthless zippers on the heaviest fabric???” You grumble to yourself (not for the first time) as you try to work it past the dip in the waist. “You’ve got to be kidding me grrrrrrr!” 

You jump as a laugh sounds from the doorway and you look up to find Felix leaning against the door frame. He’s got one arm up above his head, leaning on it to the side, his eyes raking slowly over you. You blush. 

“I’m sorry, how embarrassing,” you laugh, “I just can’t get this to work.” 

“Let me help,” he says, dropping his arm and straightening to saunter confidently into your bedroom. 

It feels a little harder to breathe now, just him being in your room like this. You glance over at the bed where you’d touched yourself to the thought of him just the other day, and you’re glad you have some blush on. Maybe he won’t notice. His fingers brush yours as you let go of the zipper and he steps closer to you. Close enough you can feel his presence overtaking your personal space. Close enough to feel his breath on the back of your exposed neck. You fight a shiver with everything you have. The zipper sounds so loud in your ears as he drags it up slowly. 

“Thank you, Felix,” you murmur once it’s closed. 

He leans in, his voice deep and low and hot in your ear, “I like the way you say my name.” 

“W-what?” you gasp, stiffening. 

“I’d rather be unzipping you and seeing what that lace looks like all over,” he murmurs. 

You step forward and turn, eyes wide. Your hand flies to your sternum like you’re some Gone with the Wind girl who’s never seen a man before. Felix simply stands there, looking at you. His eyes are dark. Burning. Hooded. He’s standing straight and tall and confident. He always is beautiful, but right now he has an aura he has never shown you before. It makes your knees feel weak. 

“Felix, that’s…you can’t say that to me,” you reprimand him, but your voice is coming out all breathy and….wanting. 

“I know you want me,” he says simply stating it as if it’s a fact. Your stomach drops. You open your mouth to sputter some denial but he speaks again before you can, “I saw you the other day. Heard you moan my name.” 

Your jaw drops hard, your eyes widening in shock. “But..but you weren’t home yet,” you protest. 

“Oh no, I was,” he says conversationally. He crosses his arms and smirks, “you just didn’t hear me. I came to let you know we were back but when I heard what you were doing…and when I saw you? God you looked amazing. I've never been so hard in my life, just looking at you through the door crack.” He takes a step toward you, his eyes dropping to trail over your body. “All spread out for me, arched up so pretty with your hair on the pillows and your hand on your tits. I can give you the real thing.”

“Felix,” you breathe, gaping up at him as he gets closer. He looks into your eyes then. 

“The only thing is that you won’t be moaning my name by the end. You’ll be screaming it.” 

Your stomach drops so hard you fear it is gone for good. This time, your knees actually buckle, but he’s here to catch you. You shake your head, even as his strong arms are around you. You push him away once you regain your balance and flee to the kitchen. Henry is already put to bed and asleep by now but being in a public space makes you feel a little safer. Until he follows you, undeterred. He steps slowly closer, backing you up toward the island.  

“This is wrong,” you argue weakly, “I’m married! I’m…too old.” 

He scoffs, looking amused, “You’re perfect. And he neglects you. I would never leave such a gorgeous woman all alone for so long. Let me take care of you, hmm? I’ll make you feel pleasure in ways he never could.” 

“Felix,” you whimper. You can feel yourself caving. Your panties are wet. He smells so good and he’s even prettier up close. His eyes are hypnotising, drawing you in. 

He stares you down and one of his hands slowly goes around you, splaying on the bare expanse of your upper back before dragging down. He catches your zipper once more and starts to undo it. The zipper is even louder this time, like a warning bell. You don’t move. It gets caught again at your waist and he huffs, giving a short little laugh. But then his face gets serious and his jaw juts out, brows furrowed in concentration as he uses both hands. Before you can protest on behalf of your insanely expensive dress, he grabs both sides and yanks. A ripping sound reaches you then you feel the air on your skin. Your dress is falling off of your hips before you fully realize what just happened. You gasp, looking down as it hits the floor with a soft thwump at your feet, the jagged edges of the torn fabric on top, like they’re accusing you. He catches you with a finger under your chin and lifts your face to his instead. 

“Oops,” he says, his smirk so wide it’s showing his fangs. You can’t stop your shudder this time. 

He drops his hands to grip the counter on either side of your waist, caging you in. He looks down between you to see your lingerie and groans. 

“Did you wear this for him?” 

“Yes,” you breathe, staring at him. “He’s my husband.” 

He looks you full in the face now, gaze so predatory you almost want to run. “I’m going to make you feel so good you won’t even remember his name.” He grasps your hips and lifts you onto the island, making you gasp. He pulls you to the edge, your legs parted around his hips, and runs his hands up your thighs. 

“Fuck you’re so sexy,” he says, pressing his thumbs into the creases of your legs. He looks you over once more, eyes lingering on your tits as he pulls his shirt off. Your breath catches. When his gaze drops to his belt buckle, his hands going to undo it, he pauses. “Oh my God. Your panties are soaked, gorgeous. I can see right through that wet lace. Is that for me?” 

“Yes,” you whimper. You’re too turned on. Your desperation for him is very quickly overshadowing everything else. 

Felix moans and the sound is so filthy, so sexy, so primal that it has you clenching around nothing. It’s nearly painful to be empty right now.

“Run your fingers over that lace for me,” he says, eyes glued to the place between your legs as his deft fingers undo his belt and pants without him looking, then he’s pulling them and his underwear down and kicking them aside. He’s fucking glorious. Your mouth waters. 

You can barely function because you’re too busy ogling him, but you manage to lightly drag your fingertips up, making a soft sound at the contact. Felix’s eyes flash. He keeps eye contact as he lifts your hand to his mouth. He inhales first, closing his eyes and sighing, then he’s sucking on your fingertips one by one. His free hand drops to his dick like he can’t help it and he wraps a hand around himself, giving one slow strike and squeezing a little at the head. He opens his eyes and looks down at where he’s touching himself so close to you. His knuckles are almost brushing your underwear as he moves. 

“I need to feel you,” he says, his voice pitched dangerously low, “Just let me rub on your panties. I’ll be good, I swear.” 

You nod, not trusting your voice, and he steps closer, dropping your hand and splaying his on your thigh instead. His other hand guides the tip of his cock to press against the wet lace and he drags it firmly up your slit then rubs it over your clit. You moan, your hands fisting. Holy shit. 

“Feel good, gorgeous?” He asks.

“Yes,” you sigh.

“Feels good for me, too,” he murmurs, repeating the motion. 

He does it again and again. Slowly. Firmly. You’re basically dripping onto the counter now, panting. He starts to press against your underwear on each downstroke, pushing just the tiniest bit inside of you through your underwear, making you whimper. That shouldn’t be so fucking hot but it is. His hand tightens on your thigh, his fingertips pressing into your skin hard, and he gently thrusts his hips, doing it again and again. 

“Ohhh,” you moan, watching with furrowed brows. 

He gives a harder push and suddenly, the lace breaks and the head of his cock is inside of you, skin to skin. You gasp as he moans, both of you freezing and tensing up. His pause doesn’t last long, though. He starts to move his hips again, slowly jerking his length as he pulls and pushes the tip in and out of you. 

“F-Felix,” you say in a strangled whisper. 

“Shhh, just the tip, ok? I’ll be good, I swear.” 

His hand leaves your thigh and he presses his thumb to your clit, rubbing gently before you can protest anymore and just like that, he breaks you. Your head falls back with a moan, your legs wrapping loosely around his hips. 

“Fuck, there she is,” he breathes, “Good girl.” 

“Oh my God,” you moan. 

“Come here,” he insists after a moment, pulling out and mandhandling you once more until you’re on your feet, facing away from him. He bends you over the counter in front of him, your breasts squished against the marble. You hiss at the cold that hits your nipples right through the lace. You feel his touch between your legs then he’s ripping your panties open more, just like he did with your dress. He makes a noise of approval and gives your ass a good squeeze then he’s pressing back inside of you. 

“Just the tip!” You remind him, slightly panicking, even as your body trembles in its desperation to feel all of him. 

“Just the tip,” he agrees and resumes fucking you with the head of his dick. “Just the tip,” he repeats breathily. He does this for several moments and you grow wetter and wetter, more and more noises falling out of your lips. “Just the tip,” he mutters once more, like he’s trying to convince himself. 

“Just the-ohhhhhh!” You cry out, your back arching hard as he snaps his hips against your ass, burying himself to the hilt. 

He grips your hips and starts fucking you properly. He’s fucking you hard, the sounds of his hips slapping your ass and his cock burying itself in your wet pussy loud. He moans, hitting you so deep and so good with each sharp thrust. He fucks you like he’s trying to prove a point. 

“Felix! God!” You cry. 

“Yeah you like that?” he grunts, reaching up with one hand to tangle it in your hair. He yanks your head back, just sharp enough to mean business but not hard enough to hurt you. It takes you by such surprise and you like it so much, you find yourself orgasming around him. You moan helplessly as it hits you, your muscles clamping almost painfully hard around his dick. “Oh fuck I guess you do,” he pants. He fucks you through it, giving your ass a slap. 

You’re gasping for air, trying to recover as he continues pounding into you. He reaches around with his free hand and grips your breast, pinching your nipple. Your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

“Feels so fucking good,” he pants, “gonna come.” 

“Don’t come inside,” you manage to choke out. 

“Dont’ worry,” he says and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “I’ll be good, I swear.” 

You open your mouth but he doesn’t give you a chance to respond. His hand leaves your hair and shoves between you and the counter, his fingertips pressing expertly to your clit and rubbing it. His hand on your breast slides up to wrap around your neck, holding you steady as he fucks into you so hard. Your toes are going numb. 

“Oh fuck, here it comes,” he gasps and you can feel his thighs trembling a bit as he presses against you hard, burying himself deep, “Fucking gonna give you another kid, just like you wanted. Fuck my baby right into you - God,” he moans and then you feel him twitching inside of you, hot ropes of cum spurting deep into you. It’s filthy and awful and it has you coming again, so hard you feel like you’ll black out. Your body pulses around him, milking him of every last drop, like it wants what he’s offering. 

You barely have time to catch your breath before your phone starts to ring. You jump then you’re pushing past Felix to run back to your room. Shit. It’s your husband. 

“Hello?” you answer.

“Are you ok?” He asks instead of a greeting. 

“What? Oh yeah I was just checking on Henry and had to run to catch your call,” you lie, trying to calm your racing heart. You jump again when you feel Felix behind you. His fingers run up your inner thigh then he’s pressing the cum that’s begun leaking out back up inside of you. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 

“Well, I just wanted to let you know I’m at the venue. Are you almost ready? You’re going to be late.” 

“Yes,” you promise, “I’ll be right there.” 

You hang up and turn to see Felix opening drawers in your dresser until he finds what he’s looking for - your panties. He chooses a pair and comes back to you, helping you out of the ruined ones and into the fresh ones. Once they’re on, he cups you over them, “Gotta make sure it stays in there,” he winks. You flush and he chuckles as you hurry to fix your hair and makeup. He zips you into another dress like nothing happened then you’re practically running out the door. You pause before you get into your car, looking back at him. He’s leaning against the door frame, watching you. The light from inside is behind him, casting his front in shadow, so you can’t see his expression. Honestly, you don’t know what expression you’re even making either. You get in the car and go. 

The gala is fine, but your mind is elsewhere. You manage to muddle through then you go home with your husband this time. You change in the bathroom, determined to get out of your lingerie before he sees it. The thought of him touching you right now is not remotely appealing. Luckily, he’s already asleep by the time you emerge from the bathroom. The next morning, you shower and dress then head into the kitchen. Felix is there with Henry. He’s got him in his high chair and is feeding him some cereal. He looks up when you step into the room and his lips curve. Your husband is on your heels and he places a hand to your back, pressing a kiss to the side of your head as you and Felix stare at each other. 

“Felix!” Your husband says, sounding genuinely pleased to see him. “I heard you were helping out.” He strides over and shakes Felix’s hand. “How’s school?”

“Just fine,” Felix replies with a smile. 

He walks over to the counter, dragging his hand over the countertop of the island on his way by. Right where he fucked you last night. Your face burns and you wait for him to move away before busying yourself making coffee. Your husband kisses Henry’s cheek and then sits down, opening the paper. Felix leans against the counter between you and your husband, a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch tucked against his chest. He eats it piece by piece right out of the box, glancing between the two of you with a very smug look on his face. The Juxtaposition of him eating kids’ cereal you’d bought so innocently for your child and the way he’s looking at you as he eats it, dragging each piece unnecessarily sensually over his lip as he places it on his tongue and licks his fingers makes you feel dizzy. 

You hate school. You don’t even want to go to college; the predetermined “correct” life path people tend to follow just isn't for you. Why can’t anyone see that and just be ok with it? You’re never going to have to know most of the things they’re teaching you here. You’re sick of it - the useless information, the tests, the hours spent wasting time. How all of your teachers and your parents can’t get over the fact that you’re “such a bright young woman with the potential for a really great future if you just applied yourself.” It’s like they think you should be a druggie loser because you have better things to do than homework. You do extracurriculars. You have a lot of friends. You are smart. You’re respectful, kind, and helpful. You just don’t want what other people want. All you want is to pursue your art. Is that so wrong? 

Apparently so, because you’re getting another lecture from your mother. This time, she seems angrier than ever. When she tells you that she hired a tutor for you, your heart drops. That’s even less time for your passions and even more time wasted. You try to argue, to reason, but she’s not having it. When your dad comes in and takes her side, it’s the end of the discussion (if you can even call it that). You spend the last weekend of freedom you have until God knows when outside - drawing, painting, taking photographs. Trying to live before you’re sentenced to the hell that is tutoring. 

When Monday comes, you go to school as usual. You try to pay attention, you really do - maybe you can speed this tutoring thing up if you do - but it’s so fucking boring and useless. You just can’t do it. You’re in a terrible mood as you walk home, grumbling the whole way. And you can’t stop thinking about how you could use this anger in your art but noooo. When you get home, your mom is in the kitchen. She’s making your after school snack, chatting away - on the phone? But you stop short when you get to the doorway. She’s not on the phone. She’s speaking to someone who is sitting at the island in the middle of the kitchen. You can only see the back of him from a side angle. Jeans. A nicely fitted black t-shirt. Jet-black hair. Tan arms. HUGE tan arms. Holy shit. Your mom looks up and smiles. 

“Oh hello, dear. I was just making a snack for you and Han here before he started your first session,” she says brightly. 

The tutor - Han - turns around and you are shocked. He’s hot. Like, really hot. His hair is thick and looks soft, his bangs parting to frame his face - ginormous brown eyes, pouty lips, round cheeks. You blink, trying to form a coherent thought. 

“Hi!” He says warmly, standing up. You get a good look now at the front of him and you could just keel right over at the way his chest stretches the front of his shirt just a bit and the belt cinching the jeans around his tiny waist. You’ve never seen anyone with a body like that in real life before. “I’m Han,” he steps forward and puts out a hand. You meet him in the middle and place your hand in his, letting him shake it. 

“Nice to meet you,” you manage, earning yourself a smile. 

You stay in the kitchen with your mom for a while, trying to subtly observe Han. By the time you head up to your room, snack in hand, you feel you have a pretty good read on him. Warm, funny, kind, patient. Nerdy. Too hot to be so nerdy. It only makes you like him more. You lead him in and shut the door, setting the plate on your desk and flopping onto your bed with a sigh. Han’s soft laugh makes you lift your head and look at him. 

“Not looking forward to this, huh?” He asks. 

“I’m sorry,” you wince as you sit up, “I don’t mean to be rude. I just don’t see the point.” 

“The point?” 

“Of this! School. I know there are things everyone needs to know and that’s great but we’ve passed those already. Now it’s just wasting my time. I just want to make art,” you quiet as you finish, feeling a little embarrassed for the rant. But Han doesn’t seem deterred. He comes and sits next to you and speaks easily, like a friend. 

“You know, art isn’t made in a vacuum,” he says. Your brow furrows as you look over at him. 

“Huh?” 

“Every painting, every song, every movie you’ve ever loved was made by someone who paid attention to the world around them. The more you know, the more you have to say. Besides, you think artists don’t use this stuff?” 

“How?” You ask, turning a little toward him unconsciously.

“Perspective is geometry, color theory is science, selling your work is business, negotiating prices is math, understanding people is psychology. You don’t stop needing knowledge just because you chose a cooler career than everyone else,” he smiles at that and you can’t help but laugh. “Besides, you know how annoying it would be if you became a famous artist and some guy scammed you because you didn’t know how to calculate percentages?” 

You laugh again then look down at your hands as you take in his words. Finally, you look back up at him, feeling clearer than you have in a very long time. “I never thought of it that way. Thank you.” 

His eyes are so beautiful, so dark and so warm. He’s so close to you. His smile is even more gorgeous up close. “Anytime,” he replies, then he gently slaps his thighs, “Well should we get started then?” 

“I suppose now is as good a time as any,” you agree, not excited but at least determined now. 

Time starts to fly by. School gets better. You look forward to your tutoring sessions, grateful they’re most days of the week. You practically skip home from school, eager to tackle your homework with Han. Han, who has become a really good friend in the span of weeks since you’d met him. Han, with whom your text conversations evolved into actual discussions about things real and deep instead of just school. He is insanely intelligent and capable - there’s nothing he can’t do. Competent. He is also sweet and funny and surprisingly silly and goofy and clumsy, making you laugh a lot with the pictures he sends you of him being a weirdo or him finding a squirrel in the park or his food that day. You find that, for every version of yourself, there is a version of Han that matches it. You never have to hold back with him; he always effortlessly understands you. When you’re giddy and obnoxious, when you’re overwhelmed and snappy, when you’re anxious and paranoid, when you’re sad and introspective. The only side you hide from him is the side of you that is getting increasingly louder with every interaction - the side that wants to fuck him. BAD. 

Sometimes, you literally can’t help yourself. You flirt with him. He brings it out of you so naturally, you don’t even realize at first but you can’t seem to stop. Just like you can’t stop staring at him while he’s trying to teach you. Today is Friday. Your parents are gone for the weekend and Han promised that if you were good while you were studying today, you could celebrate the grade you’d gotten on your test the other day by getting take-out and watching trashy horror movies together. You couldn’t wait. He looked particularly scrumptious today in black jeans and an oversized red jersey. He was wearing his glasses, too; something he didn’t always do. And it was working for you. He caught you ogling him for the like seventh time today and just looked back at you instead of looking away this time. Your eyes widen a little in surprise. 

“Y/N,” he says lowly and heat crawls up your neck. 

“Hmm?” You say casually, eyes darting around every few seconds. The eye contact is too intense, you can’t keep it. 

“You’ve been staring at me all day…look at me.”

You lift your eyes slowly to find him still focused on you. 

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, his voice still a little rough. You swallow. 

“N-nothing. My assigned reading,” you lie. 

He chuckles and looks you over then locks eyes with you once more. “You know, you really shouldn’t come on to your tutor.” 

“What?? I’m not!” You gasp, affronted. 

“And why not?” He asks with a quirked brow, completely throwing you. You sputter for a second, like a fish out of water, then clamp your mouth shut. He watches you, looking amused. When you don’t respond, he tries again, “Are you waiting for me to make the first move? Is that it?” 

“I…” you are truly at a loss for words. 

“Am I wrong?” He asks, but it doesn’t sound like he’s trying to tease you or flirt. He sounds so serious, like he’s really asking. Like he needs solid confirmation that he’s not crossing a line. You’re blushing but you can’t let him think that; can’t let him pull away. And you do want him. So you shake your head slowly. You watch his throat bob as he swallows and he nods then turns back to the textbook. You watch for a moment, once again surprised; but when he doesn’t say anything else, you slowly return to your work. It’s quiet for a while then you finish your worksheet. Han looks up at you. 

“Ready for that reading?” 

“Do we have to?” You pout. It’s not too early to start it, really, but you definitely don’t need to just yet. You’re ready for the night to begin. 

“Do it for me?” His words hit you like the weapons they are and you shoot him a glare but he’s blinking at you so innocently that it makes your stomach drop. You can’t deny him anything. 

“Ok,” you allow softly and his eyes flash. 

“This can be the last thing we study tonight, ok? And we can be comfy. Why don’t you lay on your bed and read?” He suggests lightly. It’s not the weirdest thing; given how often he’s there and how close and comfortable you are together now but it’s not exactly an everyday request. But it’s Friday so maybe he’s just trying to make it more appealing for you? Still, you can’t help but feel some type of way as you crawl into your bed with him in your room too. Once you’re comfy, you crack the book open but you freeze when you feel the mattress dip. Han is joining you. You are barely breathing, hiding behind your book as he comes to your side. His elbows are by your hips and he props himself on them. He’s looking at you when you peek around the side of your book. “Why don’t you read it out loud? So I know you’re really taking it in.”

“Ok,” you agree again. You don’t want him to get bored. Your hands are a little sweaty and you hope you don’t sound like an idiot as you start to read aloud. 

You feel him shift and assume he’s just getting comfortable but then he touches you. Just a brush against your thigh, but it has you stopping. 

“Don’t stop,” he says softly and you clear your throat and resume. 

The tension between the two of you is electric. His presence is like a fire - warm and impossible to ignore. He’s taking up nearly all of your concentration, it’s really a miracle that you’re able to form words with him so close. He makes it worse when he touches you again. This time, he’s bolder. His hand dips under the hem of your shirt and when his fingers touch your bare skin, you choke on your words. He pauses and you push forward, remembering what he just told you. Your face burns as his hand slowly slips up under your shirt. He runs a hand up the front of you, hesitating for just a second. When you don’t falter, he carefully cups your breast.

You force yourself to keep going,terrified he’s going to stop, but you’re reading so slowly. When he gives you a little squeeze, your next word comes out on a moan. You hear him curse under his breath and you arch up a little into his touch. He does it again and you lower the book to look down at him. His eyes are glued to your chest, at where his hand is moving beneath the fabric. When he realizes you stopped reading, he meets your eye again. 

“Can I take this off?” He asks, voice soft. He’s tugging at your shirt. 

You watch him with parted lips and nod, not trusting yourself to speak. You set the book aside and start to sit up. His hand glides along your skin, around your waist to your back then up to support you as you lift up. It’s thoughtful. It’s sexy. He doesn’t look remotely bothered though he is holding your upper half with one arm only, showing his strength. You reach for the hem of your shirt but he catches your hand.

“Let me?” 

You nod again and he looks pleased. Han brings your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it then lets go, using his free hand to pull your shirt up and over your head then he lowers you with insane control back onto the mattress. You’re barely breathing as he looks you over, biting his lip.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, shaking his head. His eyes are on your face now. You blush and open your mouth but he leans in and kisses you. 

His lips are soft, the kiss exploratory. He’s careful with it, just learning you. It’s slow. It’s sweet. It’s not the kiss of a casual hookup. But you push that thought to the back of your mind. He pulls back and looks down at you with those eyes and a dazed little smile. 

“Wow,” he says. Then, “Sorry I’ve wanted to do that for a while now and I couldn’t stand for you to say anything negative about yourself so I kind of just…went for it.” 

“You could…go for it again if you wanted,” you say hopefully.

He flashes a grin at you and leans back in. You let your eyes drift shut and sigh as you feel his lips on yours once more. After a moment, the kiss grows hungrier. Deeper. He somehow ends up on top of you, between your legs, and with your arms wound around his neck. Your hands are feeling his strong shoulders, his thick hair. He feels amazing. His hand slides up your side and he hesitates again. He pulls back enough to look into your eyes. 

“Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” you beg, your self control out the window, “Everywhere, anywhere, just…please.” 

“Fuck,” he murmurs, even as he is dipping down to capture your lips again. 

This time his hand covers your breast and he doesn’t hesitate to knead at it, both of you moaning at the sensation. He drags it down between you then and slips his fingers right under the waistband of your sweatpants to press down over your panties. You make a choked noise into his mouth and he kisses you harder, rubbing now. His lips trail down your neck and you press your head back into the pillow. 

“Han,” you moan helplessly and he actually whimpers. 

Your hips jump up at that and he slips his middle finger down to press against your entrance through your panties. 

“Fuck, please,” you are literally opening your mouth to say the same thing but it’s Han who is begging. A rush of lust sweeps through your body, feeling hot and red. 

He adjusts himself until he’s laying on his stomach between your legs. You stare at him, stunned. You were not expecting this. He looks obscene, his hair a mess, his glasses slightly askew, his pouty little lips pink. He runs a hand up your thigh. 

“You’ve gotta finish your homework, honey,” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to your hipbone. 

“W-what?” 

“Wouldn’t want your mom to fire me, would you? Keep reading,” he insists. When you stare at him, he dips his chin to give you a look over the rim of his glasses and you pat the bed beside you, trying to find the book without looking away from him. He laughs and reaches up, grabbing it and handing it to you. 

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

“Don’t mention it,” he replies, tracing the hem of your panties with his fingertips. 

You start to read again, your voice shaky, as his fingers continue exploring you. Suddenly, he puts his mouth on you over your panties and you are already struggling. He finally pulls them to the side and licks a hot stripe up you, making you moan. The book in your hand falls to your chest as you arch a little, closing your eyes. When nothing else happens, you open them and find him staring once more.

“Don’t stop,” he says again, “If you stop, so will I. Which would be a shame because you taste fucking incredible.” 

“God,” you breathe, then you’re lifting the book. 

He mouths at you as you read, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over your mound and lips and the creases of your thighs. Your voice hardly even sounds like your own as you try your best to not stop. You moan the words when he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, then his tongue is working its way between your folds to drag from your entrance up to your clit. You’re writing as he eats you out; he feels amazing. 

“You want to come, honey?” He asks after a few moments, glancing up at you. 

“Yes please,” you nod, lifting the book so you can see him. 

“How much reading do you have left?” 

“One paragraph,” you reply. 

“That’s all I need,” he grins.

Then he’s really going at it, dragging his tongue with the perfect pressure in the perfect places. He presses two fingers into you slowly while sucking on your clit and you start to shake. You’re panting, struggling harder than ever to read. And, just as you get to the very last word, you moan it out as your orgasm hits you. Your thighs close around his head and you arch up, throwing the book to the floor as you pulse around his fingers. He works you through it gently then lifts his head, pulling his fingers out as your legs collapse on either side of him. You manage to look down at him and he looks wrecked. Hair a mess, glasses fogged up, lips and chin shining. His expression is half cocky and half desperate. He takes his glasses off and reaches over to set them on your nightstand, leaning over you again. You can’t help it, you have to pull him down for another kiss. 

He hums against your lips and it makes you blush a little when his tongue rubs against yours in a now familiar way. You came so hard just now, but you are far from done with him. He notices when your hips lift, seeking more attention from him. You feel his lips tilt a little against yours but before he can even try to speak, you’re blindly undoing his belt. You’ve got it hanging open, the button on his jeans popped, and your fingers on his zipper before he can pull it together enough to actually react. 

“Are you sure?” He asks you, lifting up on his arms to look you in the face. 

“Yes,” you say with all the conviction you have. You’ve never been more sure. 

He wets his lips and nods then in a matter of moments, you’re both completely naked. You can’t help but look him over. Slowly. He’s insanely in shape and beautiful, with his tan skin and muscles and the triangular shape of his shoulders tapering to his waist. And he has a fucking tattoo. 

“Oh my God you are sexy,” you say in awe, just admiring him. 

He blushes and you smile at him then place your hands on those cute cheeks and pull his face back to yours. He just brushes against your wetness with his dick, making a whimpering noise, when the front door opens. You both freeze like statues, eyes wide as you look at one another, listening to your parents come into the house. Footsteps sound on the stairs and your heart is practically racing out of your chest. 

“Y/N,” your mom says from the hallway. 

“Y-yeah?” you call, still staring up at a frozen Han. 

“I know you’re having your tutoring so we won’t bother you and Han - hi Han!” 

“Hi!” Han squeaks. 

“Just wanted to let you know your father forgot something so we had to come all the way back for it and of course I spilled my pop on myself so I’ll just be changing then we’re going to go again, alright?”

“Alright,” you say. You bite your lip as Han starts to drag his cock along your slit, the head rubbing on your clit just right with each stroke. 

You hear her bustle down the hall into her room. Han is trembling above you from holding himself still and being so tense. 

“Don’t stop,” you whisper. 

“What?? No way,” Han says with huge eyes, “your parents are right there.” 

“Just the tip for now then, come on, Han, please,” you beg, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. He moans then covers it with a cough, looking helplessly down at you. “Ok here,” you whisper, pushing at his shoulder. He moves off of you and you get him sitting up against the headboard. He looks absolutely fucking mouthwatering. 

You crawl over him, straddling his lap, then place your hands on his shoulders. He grips himself at the base to keep steady and you slowly sink down onto him until the head of his dick is inside of you. He grips your thigh with his free hand, hard enough to bruise, but it helps him keep quiet and you don’t mind. You kind of like it. You bite your lip as you start to move, just enough to get some friction. Even this feels amazing. You hear your mom go into the laundry room, which is across from your room. Han panics. 

“What’s the square root of pi?” He asks you so it seems like you’re studying. 

You shoot him a disbelieving glare but he pouts at you. 

“1.772,” you answer on a downstroke. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh. 

“Good,” he replies, nodding as he stares up at you with parted lips and furrowed brows, “You’re doing so well.” 

Your mom heads back down the hall and you let a little moan out. After a moment, you hear footsteps receding down the stairs, then your mom calls up again. 

“I’ve left you some cash on the island in the kitchen - get some dinner soon, ok? Don’t work too hard!” 

You and Han yell your thanks and the door opens again. As soon as it shuts, Han wraps a strong arm around your waist and yanks you roughly down onto his cock. You cry out, your head falling back as you move your hips against him, fully seated in his lap now. He fucks up into you with little thrusts as you grind and the whimpers and moans that leave his pouty pink lips just turn you on more and more. 

“God you feel fucking amazing holy shit,” Han whines, his own head back agaisnt the headboard; his eyes squeezed shut. 

“You too, Han,” you moan. 

He twitches inside of you. “Say it again,” he begs. 

“Han,” you moan, “Han, you’re fucking me so good. So deep, Han.” 

He whimpers and grips your hips, the high-pitched and needy sounds coming from his mouth belying the strength of him. He starts to fuck you faster then drops a hand, placing his thumb on your clit and rubbing. Your breath catches. 

“I’m gonna come,” he pants, “and you’re gonna come with me.” 

You nod quickly, feeling it build as you work yourself on his dick and he hits you just right inside. 

“Fuck, honey, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come. I’m commmmmmmiiiinnnnggggg ohhhhhhh,” he moans, burying his face in your neck as he pulses inside of you. You’ve never had that happen before and it feels so surprisingly good on top of everything else, it sends you over the edge too. 

“Han,” you moan out as you come too, clinging to him as he clings to you. 

You hold each other tightly as the pleasure washes over you then his grip on you loosens but he doesn’t let go as you both come down, panting. After a moment, he is careful as he lifts you off of him. He stands up and you make a surprised noise when he just picks you right up. He grins and carries you out into and down the hallway to the bathroom. He sets you on the sink and presses a gentle kiss to your lips then starts running a bath. When you are submerged in the hot water and bubbles, comfy leaning back against his chest, he laces his fingers through yours. 

“Can I take you out soon? On a proper date?” He asks, sounding pretty shy for someone who just fucked your brains out.

“I would really like that,” you set your head back on his shoulder to smile up at him. 

Sloane

Sloane doesn’t see Felix for the rest of the day. She ends up in Chan’s room once she’s cleaned up, assisting with another extra PT session. He’s stronger now, so much so that he barely needs help anymore. Her heart is practically bursting with pride and joy as she watches him go through the same exercises that a few months ago were taking him out of commission for days. Once. Twice. On the third round, he slows down. On the fourth, he is shaking a bit. He completes the fifth with sweat dripping down his face, which is a little paler than before; but he completes it. She joins him in the shower after because though he no longer needs help cleaning himself, he should still have someone present just in case. And because she wants to. She’s worked up from Felix earlier and watching Chan’s rippling muscles all afternoon didn’t exactly help. 

She’s determined to be respectful, though; to not burden him with her seemingly insatiable sexual appetite. He’s worked hard enough today already. But it’s clear she’s not the only one following that train of thought because after only a moment in the shower together, the warmth of Chan’s naked body is against her back and he is hard and heavy as he presses against her ass. She sighs, folding immediately. Gratefully. She turns and is on her knees before him so fast his hands are still held up a bit, hovering in the air where they were on their way to grab her. He lowers them and watches her with dark eyes. One of his hands comes down to cup her jaw. His grip is tight enough to notice and her eyes flash as she realizes he’s recovered enough to dominate her like he used to. His plump lips tilt into a cocky smirk. 

“Miss me, my love?” He asks, his thumb sweeping back and forth over her lips. She nods, eyes glued on his face. “I missed you too, my good girl. Gonna fill you up with so much cum. Guess you want it here first, hmm?” His thumb presses against her lips. She nods again, faster. Eager. “Fuck you’re so beautiful. Open up, baby.” 

She drops her jaw, opening her mouth for him, and watches the pleasure cross his face as he presses his cock into her mouth so slowly, one inch at a time. She stays still, letting him lead, letting him glide along her tongue. They haven’t really washed off yet and he still tastes a bit like sweat, like musk. And she fucking loves it. When he hits her throat and she relaxes for him, his head drops back with a moan. He starts moving his hips, gently fucking into her throat and looking down to watch her. She can’t help but touch him now, her hands gliding along the wet skin of his taut thighs up and around to get a good handful of his fat ass. She gives it a hard squeeze and they both moan. Then she’s running one hand along the cut of his hips, tracing the v-shaped muscles while the other hand drops to cradle his heavy balls. She holds them lovingly, carefully rolling them in her hand; running her thumb along the seam of them as he continues fucking her mouth. He’s basically whimpering above her, the sounds coming out of him are high and needy and she’s so wet. 

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Chan groans, dropping his head back again as he gently sets a hand on her head, “Gonna make me come already.” 

She hums around him in pleasure and anticipation, moving a little faster and sucking a little harder. His breath starts coming faster and then his abs are tensing and he is moaning her name as he shoots ropes of cum down her throat. She swallows them eagerly, running her tongue over his skin and swirling it around the head of his dick. He shudders and she pulls back reluctantly. He looks down to see her little pout and gives a breathless laugh. He bends to help her to her feet. 

“What a good girl,” he says lowly, making her smile. 

He steps forward, pulling her against his front tight enough that there’s no room for the water to flow between them. She revels in the slip of his wet skin against hers and opens her mouth for him as soon as she feels a hint of his tongue as he kisses her. His big hands roam over her body and she loops her arms around his neck. She can feel him getting hard again, his huge cock lifting to nudge against her hip. She can’t help the self-satisfied smile that lifts her mouth. Chan feels it. Before she can even blink, she’s hissing in a breath from the cool glass against her nipples. He’d turned her over and was pressing her to the shower wall. Her breasts made a squeaking noise against the fogged up glass, which she would usually giggle about. But not now. Now, she just feels wetter than ever. His touch is firm and he’s got her pressed hard against the glass, right at that perfect spot of the most she can take without it hurting. She moans. 

“Not so cocky now, are we, love?” He hums into her ear. She tries to press back against him but he spanks her, making her gasp. “You may have had a break while I was recovering, but I think I’m strong enough now to remind you who exactly you’re dealing with, hmm? Who you belong to. Would you like to test that theory?” 

“Please!” She begs breathlessly. After the day she’s had, she’s desperate. 

“As you wish,” he says, sounding more than pleased. 

She feels him adjust, one arm still holding her to the glass effortlessly. He carefully nudes her feet apart, making sure she doesn’t slip, then he’s between her legs, rubbing the head of his cock over her. She moans again but she needs more. And he must too because he only tortures her for a moment before he presses inside of her. She whimpers at the stretch, fluttering around him as her body fights to adjust. He moans deeply as he sinks into her wet heat. Halfway in, he pulls out a little then pushes back in. The friction is divine and though he’s not even all the way in yet, Sloane finds herself orgasming, shaking against him. 

“Fuck baby, already?” He breathes incredulously. She nods helplessly as the aftershocks hit her in waves. “So desperate for me. So fucking beautiful. I’m desperate for you too, love. Can you feel it?” 

“Yes,” she moans as he starts moving again, pressing slowly into her until he’s fully seated. “Chan,” she has to say his name; moan it. 

He growls behind her and when she leans back to wrap a hand around the back of his neck, he doesn’t resist her pulling him in for a kiss. It’s sloppy; they’re all wet and at a weird angle and his thrusts are moving her entire body, but they are so hungry for each other that neither of them minds. She’s panting against his lips but she throws her head back onto his shoulder when he gives a particularly hard thrust, hitting her so deep. She shudders against him and he runs a hand down her body to her thigh, which is trembling. Now it’s his turn to smirk. 

“Close again, baby girl?” 

“Yes,” she pants, her fingers curling against the slippery skin of his neck as her pleasure builds. 

“Feels so good, huh? The way you take my cock so perfectly. It’s yours, baby. Come all over your husband’s big dick and show him how good he makes you feel.”

“Oh God,” she moans. He slips a hand between her and the glass and gives her clit one flick, sending her over the edge. 

She cries out his name as she clamps around him, this orgasm even harder than the first. 

“Oh fuck you feel too good, gonna come. Gonna fill you up so good,” Chan babbles. He tips his head toward her, “Kiss me,” he begs. 

She does, whimpering into it because her pleasure is still at its height. He moans into her mouth after a second and she feels him lose it inside of her, prolonging her own orgasm. She presses against him, shaking, and he holds her so tight. Finally, they come down and he drops his forehead to her shoulder with a big sigh. This time, she does giggle. He smiles too then kisses her shoulder. He’s gentle now as he pulls her back under the hot spray of the water. They move slowly, languidly, washing each other with palpable love. She can’t decide where to look - his perfect body, so strong after such a hard path back from the accident; so real and warm and alive. His gorgeous face, soft with satisfaction and affection. His eyes, open and warm, looking at her so tenderly that she feels a lump in her throat. His plump lips form a small smile, slightly sad and understanding. He pulls her against him again, one hand cradling the back of her head as she cries into his shoulder yet again. This time, she is pretty certain he joins her. But she says nothing; just holds him in return as he is his most vulnerable he’s ever been in front of her. And pretends to think that the saltwater of his tears on her skin is simply the shower. 

♤♤♤

A few days later, she’s walking down the hallway, greeting people as they pass. When she gets into a stretch of hallway that’s empty, her gasp echoes in the space as someone grabs her and hauls her into a little alcove that’s just around a corner from the main hallway. She comes face to face with Felix, who gives her just enough time to register his presence before he’s crashing his mouth against hers in a needy kiss. She melts into it immediately, molding her body to his like it was always meant to end this way. He presses her against the wall and grabs her thigh, pulling it over his hip then he runs his hand up it. She moans softly as he rolls his hips against her and she can feel how rock hard he already is through his pants. She thanks God that she wore a dress today.

He scoops her up, holding her against the wall, and she wraps her legs around him, still kissing him deeply. His tongue is all over hers in a sloppy, desperate way that is making her panties stick to her. She makes a little noise when he hits her clit just right then he’s pulling back to look at her with those big, shiny eyes. 

“Shh,” he murmurs, leaning in to drag the tip of his nose up her neck. 

She hears him inhale her scent deeply and it makes her shiver. His lips are plush and soft against her neck as he kisses her skin then he parts them to suck a bit. She writhes against him, trying to be quiet. This time, he doesn’t make her beg. Doesn’t apologize. He simply lifts his head to watch her face and slides his hand up her thigh under her skirt. He brushes against the wet fabric of her underwear and his lips part, then he wastes no time pulling it aside and sinking two fingers right into her. Her mouth falls open in a silent gasp and he bites his lip, looking at her expressions with dark eyes. He fucks his fingers into her immediately. Harshly. She’s getting wetter by the second. 

“Fuck,” Felix whispers when she clenches around him. “Gonna come for me, dove? I want to see it.” 

He twists his fingers expertly in a way she’s never felt before and presses his thumb to her clit, sending her over the edge. Her hips jerk against him and he exhales, long and slow, looking down at where his fingers disappear inside of her. He watches himself pull out slowly and lifts his hand between them. When he parts his fingers, they stay connected by a film of slick and he can’t help the groan in his chest. 

“Look at that,” he sighs, rubbing his fingers together now. They’re shining. Soaked. “So wet just for me.” 

“Felix,” she whimpers quietly, well aware that there are now people in the hallway. It’s much more dangerous than last time, when they had a door between them and the house. Now someone only had to step around the corner and they’d be seen. It made it even hotter. 

“I know,” he murmurs, “Don’t worry, you have me.” 

He undoes his pants as he speaks and lines himself up, then he watches his cock disappear into her inch by inch. He’s moving so slowly, so dazzled and distracted by the sight of it; and it’s driving her crazy. When he’s finally inside of her, he presses against her, turning his face into her neck as he starts to thrust. She moans and her hand flies up to cover her mouth. 

“Feels good for me, too, ae-in,” Felix pants.

She bites down on her finger to keep the noises in but he’s fucking her so good she can already tell there’s no possible way she’s going to be able to be silent. She runs her hands down his arms, feeling the strength beneath his shirt. God he’s sexy. 

“Still can’t believe this is real,” Felix whispers, fucking deep into her, pressing her hips to the wall with his own. “Feels so fucking unreal.” 

“Felix,” she moans again, fingers grasping at his shirt to hold on for dear life. He feels too good. She’s losing it. 

He kisses her to cut off her sounds, sweeping his tongue into her mouth. She clings to him helplessly. He starts to fuck her even harder and she wails into his mouth. Even muffled, it’s not as quiet as it should be. A conversation in the hallway pauses. Felix pulls back and Sloane looks at him in alarm as he pauses. But it doesn’t last long. Barely a second later, he’s moving again, fucking her with long, deep strokes; unable to help himself. Her eyes roll back and her knuckles go white as she holds his shirt. The conversation resumes and she’s more than grateful because she’s about to come. He thrusts into her then grinds his hips in a circular motion, pressing against her so good. Just like that, she’s coming hard around him, gripping him tightly. He’s in her so deep, he can feel everything so well. His breath stutters. Her throat hurts from keeping her moans in, but she’s managing. Felix, however, lets out a groan that nearly echoes in the small space as he loses it, pumping his cum deep, deep inside of her. She moans too, softly, at the feeling, lost in the pleasure. 

“Did you hear that? I swear I keep hearing something,” someone stops the conversation in the hall again. 

Sloane’s heart is racing; from the sex, from the risk. They’re so close to them, barely hidden. Felix pulls out and sets her on her feet. “Sorry,” he says quietly, his voice rumbling. 

“Felix?” Another person who was talking before says. 

Felix’s eyes snap up to Sloane’s, wide with surprise. She mirrors his expression, startled. He quickly tucks himself away and does his pants back up. She’s running her hands over his shirt, trying to smooth the fabric out. When he’s decent enough, she jerks her head toward the hallway and he nods. He takes one more second to look at her, squeezes her hand, then strides around the corner like nothing. 

“Oh hey I knew it was you! I’d know your voice anywhere,” the person sounded pleased. 

“You caught me,” Felix chuckles easily. “Just had to duck back there to take a call but let’s go.” 

They continue chatting, their voices getting farther away, and Sloane slumps against the wall in relief. 

♤♤♤

Today, Sloane is enjoying the warm afternoon with Hyunjin. Everyone is healthy, they’re having a family dinner and game night tonight, and she feels really good. She sits on the blanket on the grass near the little stream, beside Hyunjin. In front of him is a large canvas on a little easel. He’s painting the gazebo and river. Well - they’re painting - at least, that’s what is supposed to be happening. But Sloane is feeling too playful to be helpful today. The river is dry now as it was the first thing Hyunjin painted, so she grabs her brush and some paint and leans in, making some brushstrokes. She sits back when she’s done and Hyunjin lets out a laugh so bright and loud that her heart skips a beat. 

“That’s quite the duck,” he remarks, leaning over to look at it. 

Big and yellow, a rubber ducky with googly eyes floats on the river in the serene scene. Sloane grins proudly at him and he returns the smile, clearly in just as good of a mood. 

“I think that sort of talent deserves a kiss,” he declares and leans in. 

She leans in too, more than happy to oblige. They’re both smiling when their lips meet but she relaxes into him quickly, the soft press of his lips against hers like a warm bath after a long day. She sighs and he lifts his hands, pressing them to both sides of her face to anchor her there. She wraps her hands loosely around his wrists, just to hold him. After a moment, she finds herself tipping backward and Hyunjin lays her down on the blanket, coming over her to continue kissing her. When he pulls back, she smiles at him but his eyes are tracing her face, her shoulders, the hair splayed on the blanket beneath her. 

“Stay just like that,” he murmurs. 

She obeys and he sits up, grabbing his sketchpad and pencil. She lies still, watching him as he sketches, his beautiful brown eyes darting between her and the page. When he meets her eye, she’s smiling. He breaks into a smile too and laughs. 

“Stay still,” he insists, but he’s smiling too big to take seriously. 

“Sorry you’re just so cute,” she defends herself. He giggles and she softens. “I love you,” she says quietly. 

He melts and sets the sketchbook aside, crawling over her once more. “Say it again,” he requests, holding himself up with straight arms so he can see her well. 

“I love you,” she whispers. She looks over his face, tracing his flawless features with her fingertips. “I love you,” she brushes over his cheekbone, “I love you,” she follows the line of his eyebrow, “I love you,” she touches his lips. 

“I love you too,” he sighs, going to his elbows now so he can kiss her. 

The kiss is slow; unhurried in its confidence. They have time. They have each other. Sloane threads her fingers through Hyunjin’s hair as their lips move against each other’s. Hyunjin slips his fingers into her waistband as he slips his tongue into her mouth. He finds the perfect spot without having to try, stroking her in time with the sweeps of his tongue. She sighs, lifting her hips into his touch. He pulls back only to peel her pants and underwear slowly down her legs, eyes on hers the whole time. He’s gorgeous as he looks up at her from beneath his lashes and all she can do is stare. 

“Can’t ever look at that gazebo again without craving you,” he murmurs, “and I’m not one to deny my cravings. Let me devour you, darling.” 

Sloane bites her lip and nods. He smirks a little then presses a gentle kiss slowly to the soft curve of her inner thigh. Another. Another. He does it on the other side, as well. She’s spread open, bare to him and the sun and the breeze;  aching. He works her up until she’s about to complain. He knows it; smirks just as she opens her mouth, and dives in. Her protest dissolves into a moan as his tongue sweeps firmly up her, lapping up her wetness. 

“Hyunjin!” She cries when he presses two fingers inside of her. He has her arching off the blanket; has her pushing her hand into his hair in no time.  

“Every time I think you can’t possibly get better at this but you do,” Sloane breathes incredulously. 

Hyunjin looks up at her, eyes alight and smirk smug. “Is that so, darling?” He asks casually as he pumps his fingers in and out just right. 

“God yes,” she moans, her hands fisting the blanket beneath her. 

“It’s because I love you more every day,” he replies then bends down to use his mouth too. Her heart does a giddy flip and then she’s coming, arching up and moaning his name. He moans against her, working her through it with the utmost care. 

When she comes down, he kisses her thighs again then moves slowly up her body, littering her skin with loving presses of his lips. He lingers at her breasts, pulling her nipples into his mouth with a slow suck on each and twirling his tongue. Her hands go into his hair and stay there as he finally comes over her. He hovers above her with an angelic smile and she can’t help her laugh of pure happiness. His smile turns into a grin then he’s kissing her and she’s melting into it, hands tightening in his hair. 

“Need you,” she murmurs against his lips. 

“Say no more,” he responds, nudging her thighs open more with his hips. 

He ruts against her, dragging the length of his cock along her wetness. That never gets old. She’s a little surprised when he pulls back but when he turns her on her side to press his front along the back of her, she hums in satisfaction. She lifts her leg and his big hand wraps around it, holding it up for her. He presses a kiss to her shoulder then sinks into her. She moans at the feeling and his name comes stuttering out of her lips when he bottoms out and bites her shoulder. 

“Oh my God,” she whimpers as he starts to move in long, devastating strokes. 

He feels amazing, his cock dragging along her inner walls so deliciously. He’s moving perfectly, just the way she likes. He starts to kiss her neck and she tips her head for him with a moan. 

“Touch yourself, darling. I want to feel you come,” he breathes against her skin. 

She manages to snake a hand down the front of herself to rub circles on her clit. He starts to snap his hips harder, faster. His hips slap against her ass and he grunts with pleasure and exertion. She turns her head, blindly and desperately seeking his lips. Luckily, he’s on the same page and he tilts his head to kiss her. She starts to pant into his mouth as her pleasure builds again. He pulls back to look at her, into her eyes. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” she whimpers. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, looking her face over hungrily as he bites his lip. 

She moans his name as she comes, her hips stuttering back against his as she squeezes him. His hand tightens on her trembling thigh and he fucks her even harder and faster. She cries out at the intensity of it but doesn’t want him to stop. He lets her leg drop and grabs her face instead, guiding her lips back to his. He kisses her sloppily, both of them moving with the force of his thrusts. After a moment, just when she starts to come down, he stops moving, pressing deeply inside, and she feels him twitch and unload inside of her. The moan he lets out is beautiful, almost melodic. She opens her eyes to watch his face and the pure pleasure on his stunning face is like a work of art. She watches him in awe as he comes down, panting as well. His eyes slit open to find her watching him and then he opens them fully, just taking a moment to look at her too. He stares as his hips give one last twitch, then sighs. Sloane feels like her body is made of Jell-O as he leans in to kiss her softly. 

♤♤♤

Later that day, Sloane finds herself in the kitchen again; surrounded by her men. And this time, things aren’t awkward at all. Felix isn’t jumpy when their hands brush. In fact, he seems to be going out of his way to try to caress her fingers with his as much as possible without being obvious. It makes her smile; as does his own cheeky, private smile when he ducks his head after, looking rather proud of himself. Hyunjin sits on the counter to her right, next to the stove. His long legs are dangling down and he’s swinging them like a giant kid, his heels gently thudding against the cupboards. She feeds him the occasional ingredient and his happy little hums as he chews make her grin. Chan is - of course - setting the table and helping. But he manages to make his way over to her more often than necessary, sometimes looping his arms around her, sometimes setting his chin on her shoulder to watch what she’s doing. Once, he does both then even presses a kiss to the back of her neck before pulling away. 

Dinner goes smoothly. The food turned out delicious, the wine flowing. There’s more and more laughter as the dinner comes to an end. Yet another bottle is opened. Felix is true to his word from the last dinner - he’d actually made a dessert. He insists that Sloane stay seated and he serves it to everyone instead. When he sits back down, he watches them all try it with an intense stare and a slight, nervous smile on his lips. It’s incredible and they react accordingly. His smile grows into something warm and proud and it takes everything in Sloane to not lean across the table and kiss him right then. They clean up quickly as a team then make their way toward the living room to play some games. Hyunjin sets a big hand on the small of her back, subtly (kind of) guiding her to sit beside him and be on his team. Chan settles directly across from her, looking up at her from under his lashes with a challenging smirk. 

Hours pass in a blur of laughter. Tonight, in this room, they have their own little bubble of safety. Tonight, in this room, they’re just four best friends and lovers. Just people. Sloane gets a glimpse at what might’ve been in some alternate universe where they were regular people without the responsibilities and harsh realities of living in the world that they did. But if she had to go through everything bad she’d ever been through to find them again, she knows she would in a heartbeat. Eventually, things die down. Chan heads to bed first, his body still needing extra rest. Hyunjin taps out a while later, barely able to keep his eyes open. Alone now, Felix helps Sloane to her feet and loops his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He kisses her in a way that speaks volumes about things neither of them have said yet. She kisses him back just as carefully, letting him know she feels it too. When they part, he rests his forehead against hers and smiles softly. 

“Stay with me tonight?” She asks quietly.

“I want to more than anything but I have to get some more work done tonight,” he sighs, looking truly regretful. She forces herself to not pout but he catches the look on her face anyway and laughs a little. 

“Soon, ok? I promise,” he says, straightening and reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear. 

“Ok,” she agrees. With one more kiss, they separate and she heads to bed. 

♤♤♤

Sloane can’t sleep. At this point, she wonders why she even tries sometimes. With a sigh, she’s out of bed and heading to the kitchen. She’s not even thirsty, just restless. And she’s going where she always does when she feels this way. Through the secret door. Down the stairs. Felix is working away, like he said he was going to; but he stops when she steps down from the last step and turns toward her. His smile is welcoming, his eyes warm. 

“Come here,” he says, not even bothering anymore with the initial ‘can’t sleep?’ He knows her too well now. Knows what she needs. Him. 

She smiles gratefully and follows him to the couch. He pulls her into his arms and kisses her softly, making her melt, then sits down. She lies beside him, curling up and laying her head on his thigh. She tucks one hand under her cheek, holding onto him, and closes her eyes. He masterfully flips the blanket off the back of the couch to cover her and then he starts to hum quietly, running his fingers through her hair. When she relaxes, her breathing evening out, he stops humming; but he doesn’t return to his computer. He props his other elbow up on the armrest and works on his phone instead, starting to hum again. 

Chan

Chan can’t sleep either. He’s got a little pain in his rib and a lot on his mind. He has been ruminating on the report Felix showed him regarding Minho’s movements and he still can’t stop thinking about it. He gets out of bed and pulls on a pair of sweatpants then does some stretches. He pads silently into the kitchen and gets a glass of water. He’s drinking it when he notices something and he freezes, tilting his head a bit. The faintest crack of light in the wall. The door to the lab. He sets his glass in the sink and strides across the room to close the door. He should probably go down first and remind Felix that this can never happen, being an emergency secret door and all. He can speak with him about the latest reports as well while he’s down there. He thunks lightly down the stairs but stops short when he gets to the last step. 

Felix isn’t at his desk. He’s on the couch. And he isn’t alone. Chan takes a long moment to take in the scene before Felix notices him. It’s quiet as always down here, but this time another soft sound accompanies the buzzing of the equipment. Felix. Humming. His eyes are glued to his phone, his face slightly tense with focus like always but he’s humming. And his other hand is buried in Sloane’s hair, running slowly through it in an achingly intimate way. Sloane is asleep on his lap, her breathing deep and even. She looks so peaceful it makes Chan’s chest physically ache. She’s been through so much; he cherishes every time he sees her really relax now. Chan’s eyes go back to Felix as he takes a break from his phone to look down at Sloane. Chan’s lips part. He’s known Felix for years. Years. And he has never - not once - seen him look at anyone like that. 

And, suddenly, everything clicks into place. The way Felix always volunteers to help her. The way he always knows where she is. The haunted look on his face when Chan woke up to find that Felix of all people had sent her to Minho. The fact that he had sent her to Minho. The way he’d changed once she’d returned… Everything. It all makes sense now. Chan is careful and quiet as he creeps back up the stairs, making sure the door is shut tightly, no signs of it in the room before leaning against the counter to process it. Apparently no one is sleeping tonight because Hyunjin strolls in, hair a mess and eyes sleepy, yawning as he heads to the sink. He notices Chan and rubs an eye. 

“Oh,” he says, “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Chan greets distractedly, eyes still on the floor. 

Hyunjin notices, looking him over closely. “What is it?” 

“Nothing, I just…Just saw Sloane sleeping in Felix’s lap downstairs. Saw the way he looked at her. Touched her.” He looks up at Hyunjin then, unsure of what to expect. When Hyunjin doesn’t react at all, Chan is surprised. 

“You didn’t know?” Hyunjin asks, sounding surprised himself. But not at what Chan thought he would be. 

“Seriously?” Chan stares at him, “How did you know??” 

Hyunjin takes him in then sighs a little chuckle, shaking his head and relaxing. “Felix looks at her like she’s the answer to a question he’s been asking his whole life. They move differently around each other since she came back. And you didn’t see him when the whole Minho thing went down. He was comparatively calm by the time you woke up.”

“Yikes,” Chan mutters, glad to have missed out on whatever that must have been like. 

Hyunjin hums in agreement then gets his water. He pats Chan on the shoulder on his way by and shuffles back toward his room. 

Sloane

The next morning, Sloane walks into the kitchen to find some of the boys there at the table, a little breakfast feast laid out in front of them. Chan and Hyunjin are on one side of the table, leaving two seats open across from them. Sloane is surprised, but she takes a seat. Felix walks in a moment later and hesitates, looking at them all seated before him. He slowly sits down beside Sloane, both of them a tiny bit tense. Chan and Hyunjin, however, are merrily pouring everyone orange juice, unbothered. Chan holds his hand out for Sloane’s plate and she passes it silently to him, letting him pile it up for her. 

“You know,” he says oh-so-casually, “for two people trying to be subtle, neither of you are particularly good at it.” 

Sloane freezes, feeling Felix do the same next to her. Chan holds the plate out to her and when she doesn’t move, he shakes it a little at her until she takes it. He smiles, clearly pleased. He takes a bite of bacon. 

“That’s it?” Sloane can’t help but ask. Felix tenses up even more. 

“Were you expecting a formal interrogation?” Chan asks. 

“Maybe,” she admits. 

“Seems like a waste of breakfast to me,” he says lightly. Sloane glances at Hyunjin, who only smiles at her too. She feels a bit like she’s in the Twilight zone. Could she really be so lucky? Chan sighs when Felix doesn’t relax. “Are you happy?” 

Felix’s eyes go wide and he glances at Sloane, who is already watching him. The shift in his expression is far too obvious to even pretend to try to hide now and she can’t help a smile. “Yeah,” Felix replies, smiling back at her. 

“Good,” Chan nods once, then goes right back to eating. 

“Just so you know, I figured it out first,” Hyunjin has to point out, making Chan roll his eyes.

“Wait, what?” Felix says, shaking his head. 

“I notice things, Felix. You’re not the only observant one here. Besides, last night at game night you stared at Sloane exactly seventeen times within a ten minute frame.” 

“Did not!!” 

“Did too. I counted,” Hyunjin says smugly. 

This makes everyone laugh, the tension chased away like shadows in the strong morning light that is shining through the windows. Sloane feels something, a tap on her foot. Then another foot settles warmly on top of hers. Hyunjin meets her eye with a little smile and wink. When Felix reaches over to lace his fingers with hers in her lap, she sees him smile too. She makes eye contact with Chan, who is watching her with eyes so full of love she could just die. He smiles too. Sloane has never felt so thoroughly loved in her entire life. 

♤♤♤

Days pass normally, Sloane getting used to the new dynamic. She’s happy. Until they all disappear to the lab for a meeting, just the three of them. She shouldn’t be able to hear them down there, especially not from the living room. But she hears someone - Hyunjin - yelling. She can’t make out what he’s saying, but she bolts to her feet in shock. She’s running, on her way to help with whatever it is, when the door opens. Hyunjin comes through, looking like a storm cloud. He barely glances at her as he slams the door behind him. 

“I’m sorry,” he manages before disappearing down the hall. 

Sloane frowns. Hyunjin is passionate, sure; but she has only seen him that angry once or twice. A sinking feeling in her stomach makes her bite her lip. Chan is next to come out and he looks like he could be made of stone. Not necessarily angry, but stoic. Hard. The way he is when he is confronted with making a choice he doesn’t want to make. Sloane takes a step forward and he pauses. She tentatively walks to him and when she lifts a hand to set gently on his chest, he lets her. She feels his heart thundering beneath her palm. 

“What-”

She is cut off when he hugs her, holding her almost painfully tightly to his chest, one hand cradling the back of her head. 

“Nothing to worry about,” he assures her, but she can hear the strain in his voice. 

She doesn’t press as he pulls back and leaves the room as well, just frowns at the empty space he leaves behind. Things are slightly off after that. With everyone. Just enough to notice but not enough to pin down. Sloane is out on the balcony getting some air one night. She looks down at the spindles, lost in thought. In memories of other balconies. The door glides quietly open then shut behind her, then Chan is joining her with his steadfast presence and two glasses of whiskey. She smiles, taking one and leaning toward him as he joins her at the railing. His cheek presses to the top of her head and they stay like that for a long time, not speaking. Eventually, the quiet turns into gentle conversation. Once the drinks are all gone, Chan takes her empty glass and heads back toward the door. He stops and speaks, not turning. 

“You miss him, don’t you?” 

Sloane’s heart drops a little. She doesn’t turn either. She watches the leaves sway in the breeze. 

“Yes,” she won’t do him the dishonor of lying to him. 

He says nothing. A few seconds later, the door opens and closes once more. 

♤♤♤

It’s dusk on a warm night and Sloane is going for a jog around the complex. She’d started in the garden but didn’t want to stop, so she went through and past the gazebo, smiling as she saw it. Now she was under the cover of the trees. Her jog slows to a walk and she deeply breathes in the scent of the forest. She loves forests. Always has. It was one of the only things that brought her comfort here when she’d first arrived before she got to know anyone. The chirping of crickets is calming and the slight breeze is cooling her off. She is in the middle of a big, content sigh but it chokes her when the alarms at the house start ringing shrilly through the air. It’s getting dark quickly now and she sprints through the trees, trying to take a more direct route back. The unmistakable sound of gunshots pierce the air next and Sloane’s heart nearly stops. They seem close but are getting further away as she approaches. She heads for the lab door but stops short, her breath completely leaving her lungs. 

Someone is slumped against a tree. Not moving. All she can see is a bloody hand on the ground, also not moving, and part of the back of their head. Blond. She stumbles forward, needing to see him, dreading it. When she rounds the tree to find someone she doesn’t even know - not Felix at all - her knees buckle and she gives one hard, dry sob of pure relief. Sloane forces herself to her feet again, taking a few shaky steps toward the door. She has to find them. Chan. Hyunjin. Felix. She has to help. She has to make sure they’re ok. Two figures step out from around the corner of the building and she draws up short. She doesn’t know them either. They look a little surprised to see her too but then they just look sickeningly pleased. 

“Well that was much easier than I expected. Look, she’s all alone and delivering herself right to us,” one of them says to the other. Motherfuck. Not again. 

The man to whom the other is speaking doesn’t take his eyes off of Sloane. The smile on his face is bizarre. Unnerving. “There you are,” he says, as if she’d been with them the whole time and just got lost for a moment. “He’s waited so long. He’s going to be so happy to see you.” 

Sloane’s stomach drops. Her father? Who else. She can’t let this happen. She takes a step back and the first man tuts. 

“Don’t run,” he warns, “we’ve come to take you home.” 

A horrendous sound that she can’t even make out sounds from behind them, toward the front of the house. More gunshots. Yelling. 

“Go,” the second man says to the first, jerking his head back. When the other hesitates, he snaps, “Now!” 

He basically pouts then starts to walk back, breaking into a jog right before disappearing around the corner. The second man is watching him, making sure he leaves. Underestimating Sloane. She takes this moment of distraction to fucking bolt. She hears his shout from behind her nearly instantly, but she doesn’t slow. Doesn’t look back. She weaves through the trees, braced for him to try to shoot at her. When he doesn’t, it doesn’t feel like relief. It feels like dread. He wants her alive. That’s worse. He’s gaining on her; she can hear the heavy thudding of his steps behind her. But she’s fast. And she knows these woods. Her heart is racing, arms pumping. She feels him catch her workout jacket that’s open and flapping behind her. With a cry, she quickly yanks her arms out of it before he can get ahold of her and the loss of a counter force makes him stumble. She turns and darts to the side, trying to lose him. It doesn’t work. She takes a risk to look behind her to see how close he is now and instantly runs smack into something - hard. 

Her breath knocks out of her again and everything suddenly becomes like a movie in slow motion. She falls to the side from the impact but doesn’t go far. Someone has caught her. Because she didn’t run into a tree - she ran into a person. She’s held in a dip that would be romantic any other time, staring with huge eyes up at the last person on Earth she expected to see. Minho. He’s bent over, his strong arm banded around her waist, and looking right back at her, into her eyes. His other arm is straight out in front of him, a gun steady in his hand, and she flinches when she hears two precise bangs split the air in quick succession then the big thud of a body hitting the ground and rolling across the forest floor. Then, silence. She can’t look away from Minho’s face, watching in dumbstruck awe as he smirks. 

Everything felt better with her there - the entire carnival felt different. Sturdier. Though the shift had been strong enough that he felt it when they left the city behind, Daphne in the passenger seat of his RV like she’d been there forever, it took weeks for Chan to even begin to relax. No one had so much as stubbed their toe and Changbin was fully recovered now. Chan could feel the absence of the curse, like a dark cloud had finally been chased away by the sun. It just seemed too good to be true. What had he ever done to deserve this? Could it really be that simple of a solution? It really was, in the end. 

They had just arrived to their third stop after Daphne’s city and she was in Jeongin and Addie’s RV, on a video call with them and Joey. Joey still loved Chan and Chan talked to him often as well, but today was not his scheduled day and he didn’t want to stress Joey out by throwing it off when it was Jeongin’s turn. This also gave him the perfect chunk of alone time to carry out his plan. Hyunjin and Felix helped him with it; Hyunjin was surprisingly handy for what an artist he was and Felix was just always helpful no matter the task. Chan couldn’t stop grinning as they finished their set up. 

“I can’t wait to come over all the time,” Hyunjin grinned, looking up at it.

“Knock first,” Felix laughed. 

He’d had the misfortune of accidentally walking into Chan’s trailer the other day out of pure habit and finding Chan and Daphne very much occupied and very much undressed. Chan turned red but he laughed too, shrugging. Nothing could get him down. Not today, not tomorrow. Not for a long time. He bid his friends goodbye and thanked them again when it was almost time for Daphne to come home. Home. The word struck him every time. This was her home now. She’d assimilated with astonishing ease; it really was like she’d been there for years. Everyone loved her, no exceptions. She helped him run everything but her real passion was still helping people. Unofficially, she was everyone’s therapist. The one they came to when things were heavy. The one who helped them make sense of the world. Helped him make sense. He often caught sight of her speaking with someone, either laughing and carefree or deep into a thoughtful talk, her brows furrowed a bit the way they did when she truly listened and was thinking and it made him glow. Though, she could be making any expression and he would be struck with the same power-of-the-sun level feeling of love for her. 

He was so proud of her. She had done what most people never could. Never would. She had followed her heart and found her true path in life. He was beyond lucky that her path happened to run right beside his. He heard her footsteps and was yanked from his sappy reverie. He turned with a grin to find her gaping at the massive RV behind him. Shiny. New. Modern. Huge. 

“What is that??” She asked, slowly approaching him but not taking her eyes off their trailer. 

“It’s our new home, baby,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist.

“Are you serious??” She gasped. She finally looked at him, “We don’t need this.” 

“Only the best for my girl,” he said, shutting down any more protests before they could really start, “I couldn’t have my queen living in such a cramped space. It was fine for me but you deserve more.” 

“Oh Chan,” she softened, looking up at him with so much love that he could just die. 

“Come see inside?” he asked, expression hopeful. 

“Of course,” she smiled. 

The tour took more than one minute, so that was already a big difference from the last trailer. There was a real bedroom, a shower they could both actually fit in. Closets. A bigger kitchen. More seating. This was actually really nice because though they all ate together every dinner, the boys loved Daphne’s cooking and often wanted to come over other times to eat and just spend time together. She fit in with them as flawlessly as Addie did and nothing warmed his heart quite like seeing that. He never thought he would get to have this. He was grateful every day. When he picked up a remote and pressed a button to lower a ridiculously big TV from the ceiling, Daphne’s laughter pealed through the space and it suddenly felt like home. 

“You are never going to get Felix out of here with a TV like that for his gaming,” she teased. 

“I can think of one way,” he gave her a smirk. 

“Is that so?” She quirked a brow, feigning ignorance. He pulled her into his arms and she looped hers around his neck, smiling up at him. “What would that look like?”