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edenesth · 3 months

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The Way to His Heart [18]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 17 | Fic Masterlist | Part 19

Despite the blurring of his vision, Seonghwa desperately stumbled towards the entrance of his estate. He needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. If anyone noticed his severe wound, it would only be a matter of time before you found out too.

That was the last thing he wanted.

He had tried so hard to hide his injury from you, not wanting to cause you any more worry. Perhaps having Yeosang pursuing you wasn't such a bad thing after all. Unlike the general, the prince wouldn't have to leave for war and risk his life. His Highness also wouldn't have the burden of blood on his hands or the constant fear he instilled in you.

Most importantly, the fourth prince wasn't on the brink of death, bleeding out at this very moment. Prince Yeosang could consistently remain by your side, offering a life even more luxurious than this. Though it pained him to think about leaving you to another man's care, Seonghwa convinced himself that this was all for the best.

His gaze locked on his horse, still waiting by the entrance, servants tending to it. He was determined to ride back to the warzone, if he could survive the journey—or anywhere else, for that matter. He understood that you wouldn't be able to bear seeing him in such a state, regardless of the cruel words he'd uttered just moments ago.

That was the kind of angel you were.

From the beginning, he recognised your heart of gold. It was what endeared you to him so deeply; you were unique in that way. Despite the torture your family had subjected you to, he knew you would never wish ill upon them regardless.

This was all the more reason he couldn't allow you to discover his injury. He knew without a doubt that your heart would soften instantly and forgive him for all he had done. He couldn't afford that; he needed you to despise him. Only then would his absence hurt less, and perhaps, it would steer you toward the prince. You deserved far better than anything he could offer. Despite facing his own mortality, nothing frightened him more than the uncertainty of your well-being in the world he was about to depart from, leaving you behind.

"Master, are you departing so soon?" The servant, looking after the horse, was taken aback by his master's abrupt decision to leave. Everyone had anticipated him staying at least a day to resolve matters with the mistress and spend some time together before returning to the war site.

Seonghwa nodded, striving to maintain his composure, "Yes, assist me onto the horse. I'm needed back at the warzone."

Observing the general's slightly pale and sweaty visage, the servant refrained from commenting on it for fear of angering him. Instead, he bowed, "Of course, master."

But before your husband could even mount his horse, the last person he wanted to encounter at that moment called out to him from behind, "Yah, Park Seonghwa! How dare you try and leave without even saying hello?" He froze at Hongjoong's loud voice, a shiver of apprehension running through him as he glanced back to see his old friend, accompanied by Wooyoung, approaching, "Sir, are you really leaving already?"

Goddamnit, so close.

Meanwhile, across the estate, Yunho and Jongho hurried towards the House of Lotus, only to discover you all alone and heartbroken on the ground. The assistant gasped, rushing to help you up, "Mistress! Are you alright? Where's the general?"

Gazing up at him with tears streaking your cheeks, your heart ached at the mention of Seonghwa. Noticing the physician beside Jongho, eyes darting around urgently, you frowned in confusion, "He left not long ago... What's happening? What's wrong?"

You had remained motionless since your husband's departure, sprawled on the ground with tears streaming down your face as you struggled to comprehend the sudden change in his behaviour. Why was he treating you like this? Could there be any truth to his harsh words? Had he already grown tired of you? Just when you thought your anguish couldn't intensify, the anxiety evident on the assistant's and doctor's faces only heightened your dread.

"He left?! I'm sorry, mistress! There's no time to explain. Here, read this, and you'll understand." Jongho exclaimed urgently. Yunho dashed out as soon as he heard your words, prompting the younger man to swiftly shove a crumpled piece of paper into your hands before hurrying after the physician.

As you hastily wiped your tears, your trembling fingers unfolded the crumpled paper to reveal a letter from General Officer Song Mingi addressed to the doctor. Your heart sank to your stomach as you read the hurriedly written words.

'Physician Jung, I hope this letter finds you swiftly, for it bears urgent news concerning General Park. In the recent battle with the enemy forces, he sustained a grave injury inflicted by a weapon laced with viper venom. Upon discovering the nature of the toxin, we immediately recognised the severity of the situation. The venom acts swiftly and ruthlessly, spreading its deadly effects throughout the body if not treated promptly. Time is of the essence. I implore you to attend to the general without delay.'

Letting out a shaky exhale, the letter slipped from your trembling fingers and fell to the ground, the weight of its contents settling heavily in your chest. Every word echoed in your mind, painting a vivid picture of Seonghwa's dire situation. It felt as if the pieces of a puzzle were falling into place, revealing a truth you hadn't dared to consider before. Had he been in immense pain this entire time?

The thought sent a chill down your spine.

Was it possible that your husband's sudden shift in behaviour, his departure, and harsh words, were all a desperate attempt to protect you from the truth? Was he afraid to burden you with the knowledge of his injury, to face your worry and concern?

Park Seonghwa, you bloody idiot.

Your heart ached at the possibility. Despite the hurtful words he said to you, a wave of empathy washed over you, mingling with the fear and uncertainty swirling within.

With determination fueling every step, you left your quarters in search of the general, resolved to stand by him regardless of the obstacles ahead. Your love for him was unwavering, and you were prepared to fight for him with every fibre of your being. He was mistaken if he thought his attempts to push you away would succeed. You refused to leave his side without a fight.

As you arrived in the main courtyard, your heart lurched at the sight before you. Jongho and Wooyoung were scrambling to hold up your husband, who appeared unconscious, while Hongjoong and Yunho guided them past you, heading towards what you presumed to be Seonghwa's private quarters. Their apologetic glances only added to your distress as you stepped aside to let them pass, your eyes growing wet at the sight of his pale and weakened appearance—something you had never witnessed before.

A wave of fear washed over you as you watched him being ushered away, threatening to consume you whole. The possibility of losing him suddenly felt all too real, and you couldn't bear the thought of a world without him in it.

Regret flooded your mind as you chastised yourself for not being more perceptive to his suffering earlier. How could you have let your emotions cloud your judgement? How could you have missed the signs that he was in such pain? You should have known, should have realised that he was going through something. You should have known that there must have been a good reason for his actions, for his attempts to push you away.

Deep down, you knew that he loved you just as much as you loved him, and there had to be a greater purpose behind his actions. All you could do now was have faith in his love and pray for his recovery.

The head maid rushed to your side, her face etched with concern, as she gently steadied you by holding onto your shoulders. You hadn't realised you were swaying until then, your head buried in your hands, "Come, mistress," She said softly, "Let's return to the House of Lotus and wait for good news. The master is in capable hands with Physician Jung. Everything will be alright."

You shook your head, voicing your protest, "But Eunsook, I need to be close to him—"

She smiled gently, squeezing your hands, "I know you do. But you wouldn't want to get in the way, would you? Let the others handle things for now, alright? Master will be just fine; he's much stronger than you think."

With a heavy sigh, you finally nodded in defeat and allowed her to guide you back to your quarters, realising she was right. You wouldn't be of any help to the guys, and it was better to stay out of their way while they worked to treat him at this critical moment.

Please, Yunho. I'm counting on you.

"Jongho, I need you to gather as much echinacea herb as possible from around town. It's the most effective plant for treating venom and relieving pain." The doctor urgently ordered, focusing on removing the layers of clothing from the general.

The assistant bowed, "Yes, Physician Jung!" before swiftly departing with Wooyoung, who had volunteered to assist.

Hongjoong stayed behind to help out, though he struggled to conceal his worry. His hands trembled as he observed the blood staining Seonghwa's clothes and noted the general's pale complexion as he lay almost lifelessly on the bed.

Noticing the dressmaker's distress, Yunho attempted to divert his attention, "So, where's the mistress?"

Clearing his throat to dispel the growing lump, the older man responded with a strained voice, "The last I saw, Eunsook took her back to the House of Lotus."

The doctor nodded, mustering a smile, "Good, it's best she doesn't see him like this. Now, hyung, I need you to focus and keep your emotions in check. Can you do that?"

Blinking rapidly, Hongjoong straightened up, determined to shake off the previous scene. Seonghwa had passed out shortly after spotting him and Wooyoung, halting any attempt to mount his horse. The surge of fear the dressmaker felt then was beyond words. But now, he knew he had to concentrate. Hearing Yunho use "hyung" after so long was grounding, a reminder that emotions had no place in their current situation. He nodded resolutely, "Of course. Just tell me what to do."

Together, they swiftly removed the general's bloodied clothes and tended to his wound, expecting a deep gash but finding only a surface graze. They were puzzled by the discrepancy between the amount of blood and the minor injury. Fortunately, it seemed the venom hadn't spread far; the discolouration was limited to the immediate area around the wound.

The physician concluded that Seonghwa's loss of consciousness was likely due to exhaustion and lack of proper treatment rather than the severity of the injury itself. With the herb they were gathering, he should recover fully in a few weeks.

Right on cue, Jongho and Wooyoung arrived back at the estate, slightly out of breath but carrying an abundance of echinacea as requested by Yunho. Without delay, the group of servants assigned to the doctor immediately sprang into action, following his instructions diligently. They divided the batch of herbs in half: one portion was prepared into a paste for external use, while the other was transformed into a tonic for consumption. With both methods employed, they were confident they could expel all traces of the venom from the general's system in no time.

As the first batch of medication was prepared within a few hours, the team of staff assisted Yunho with applying the paste over Seonghwa's wound and feeding him the tonic. They breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw his condition stabilise. Hongjoong felt a weight lift off his shoulders as he watched the colour gradually return to his friend's face.

Turning to Jongho, the dressmaker spoke, "Go on and fetch the mistress. She must be worried sick about him."

With an enthusiastic bow, the assistant hurried off to find you after receiving an approving nod from the physician, signalling that it was safe for you to visit your husband. When he arrived at your quarters, he found you pacing anxiously. Your steps halted abruptly when he called out, "Mistress!"

You held your breath until the younger man broke into a wide smile, "He's okay. You can go see him now."

A wave of relief washed over you, melting away the fear that had gripped your heart just moments ago. A small part of you had prepared for the worst, imagining a world without Seonghwa by your side, and the thought left you feeling utterly lost and alone. The prospect of becoming a widow, of navigating life without the man who had brought so much happiness into your world, was almost unbearable.

So when Jongho appeared in a rush, your heart leapt into your throat with fear. But as he delivered the news of the general's recovery, you couldn't contain the flood of emotions that overwhelmed you. Tears of relief streamed down your cheeks as you thanked the assistant.

With a reassuring smile, the younger man gently led you towards your husband, guiding you to the one person who had always been your anchor in the storm.

As you approached Seonghwa's quarters, your heart raced with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. The memory of your last encounter with him lingered in your mind, casting a shadow of uncertainty over your thoughts. What if he didn't want to see you? What if his harsh words were a reflection of his true feelings, and he had truly grown tired of your presence?

However, anger also simmered beneath the surface as you contemplated the possibility. How dare he speak to you in such a manner, dismissing your feelings and calling you troublesome? The hurt of his words slowly gave way to indignation as you recalled the promise he had made to protect you from disrespect. Yet, he had been the one to wound you with his callous remarks.

Entering the room, you temporarily pushed aside the whirlwind of emotions that had consumed you moments before. Your eyes immediately sought out your husband's still unconscious figure lying on the bed, and all other thoughts faded into the background.

Yunho moved aside respectfully to allow you a clear view, bowing in acknowledgement before addressing you, "Ah, Lady Park, you're here. Well then, I'll leave the general to your care for now. I should probably go and write back to General Officer Song to update him on his superior's status."

You nodded gratefully, offering him a warm smile, "Thank you so much for all your hard work, Physician Jung."

He shook his head modestly, returning your smile, "Please don't mention it, my lady. I'm just doing my job. We've given him the first batch of medication so far, and thankfully, his body is responding well to it. I plan to administer this to him daily. I'm confident he should be fully recovered in a few weeks."

Sitting beside Seonghwa on the bed, watching him peacefully asleep, tears welled in your eyes. His chest rose and fell steadily, a reassuring sign that he was still alive, still with you. It felt almost like déjà vu, reminiscent of the moment when he had first discovered your scars, except back then, it was you who lay on the bed.

With a trembling hand, you reached out toward his face, longing to touch him, to reassure yourself that he was truly okay. But before your fingertips could make contact, his combat reflexes kicked in, and he startled you by grabbing your wrist tightly, his eyes snapping open in alarm. As recognition dawned on his face, he relaxed his grip, softening at the sight of you.

"It's you..."

His reaction, though simple, was more than enough to convince you that he still felt the same for you. Instant relief filled your being, realising that all your previous worries about him growing tired of you were for nothing. You should have known better than to doubt his feelings for you.

After a moment, as if recalling your earlier exchange, he released your hand and turned away, attempting to maintain a stoic expression, "What are you still doing here? Aren't you angry with me?"

You scoffed, withdrawing your hand and crossing your arms over your chest, "How long do you plan to keep up this facade? Wasn't it enough that you said those hurtful things to me earlier? Calling me a burden and suggesting I leave you for another man."

At that, Hongjoong and Wooyoung interjected, reminding you both of their presence. The dressmaker shot up from his seat, his expression a mix of shock and anger, "He said what?! Park Seonghwa, you'd better have a damn good explanation, or I swear I'll knock some sense into you again—"

The private investigator quickly intervened, slapping a hand over the older man's mouth and offering a sheepish smile to you and the general, "Oh gosh, I apologise for him. We'll step outside to give you both some privacy to talk things over."

Once you were alone, your husband sighed heavily before sitting up, stubbornly dismissing your attempt to help him, "Listen, I meant what I said. Perhaps considering Prince Yeosang would be beneficial for you. You want happiness, don't you? You'd find it with a husband who doesn't have to leave, risking his life in wars. Someone who isn't stained with blood, someone who isn't a complete monster. It's for the best."

Your fists clenched as you glared at him, "Who are you to dictate what's best for me, General Park? You said it yourself, I'm my own person now, capable of making my own choices. I can do what I want and love who I want. Shouldn't that be left up to me?"

When he remained silent and continued to avoid your gaze, you pressed on, "And yes, I do want happiness. But how can I find it if I'm not with the man I love?"

At that, you sensed his resolve faltering.

Sighing, you reached over to cover his hand with yours, "There, I've said it. I love you, you moron. I don't want anyone else but you. Why is that so hard to understand? I don't care about what you've done to those people who call themselves my family; they deserved it, and I've forgiven you for it. I just... all I wanted was the truth and an apology from you. Instead, all you've given me were hurtful words. But I understand now. You were just scared, weren't you?"

Your heart fell when he still refused to meet your gaze, "Or was I mistaken? Did you truly mean what you said, wanting me gone?" You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his tight jaw, a clear sign of his restraint, "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't love me then. If you can do that, I'll go as you wish."

Finally, he turned to meet your gaze, his eyes pleading, almost begging you not to push him. You couldn't comprehend his stubbornness; was it just his pride getting in the way? With a defeated nod, you relented, "I understand. You must truly want me to leave and be with His Highness. I suppose there's no point in staying where I'm not wanted. Goodbye, General Park."

Just as you began to pull your hand away and rise from your seat, he surprised you by wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his embrace. His whisper in your ear sent shivers down your spine, "No, I'm sorry... You're right; I didn't mean any of what I said. I love you too, my wife. Please don't go."

With a tired exhale, you melted into his embrace, finding solace in the warmth of his arms as you buried your face against his shoulder. Each comforting squeeze seemed to ease the heartache you had been carrying, restoring a sense of wholeness within you. This was where you belonged, in his arms.

"You're such an idiot, you know that?" You murmured softly.

He chuckled against your neck, his breath tickling your skin, "I suppose I am." He admitted with a hint of amusement.

"About damn time you realised it, Park Seonghwa. I've been telling you for years. Disrespect your wife like that again, and I'll make you regret it—" Hongjoong's voice cut through the room as he burst in, followed closely by Wooyoung and Jongho, prompting laughter from you as your husband pulled you closer, using you as a shield.

"Please, he just regained consciousness!" The assistant interjected, defending his master despite earning a stern glare from the dressmaker. Deep down, however, everyone knew Hongjoong couldn't have been happier to see his friend alright.

« Preview of Part 19 »

In the warzone, Mingi paced anxiously, his mind consumed with worry for the general's well-being. It had been only two days since he dispatched the messenger to deliver his urgent letter to Yunho. He could only pray that Seonghwa had made it home safely and that his message had managed to reach the physician in time.

Despite his concerns, the strategist forced himself to focus on the immediate tasks at hand. He delved into refining his current strategies and devising new contingency plans for any potential scenarios that might arise before his superior's return.

Before long, a breathless soldier burst into the main tent with urgent news, rambling away in a panic, "Bad news, Officer Song! We were on standby at the border when..."

Mingi placed a reassuring hand on the soldier's shoulder, "Woah, breathe. Calm down and tell me what you saw."

After composing himself, the soldier continued, "Sir, Ruhon soldiers have been sighted approaching once again!"

Oh, crap.

He struggled to understand why this was happening. General Park had defeated most of the enemy forces in the last battle. Where could Ruhon possibly be sourcing this new influx of soldiers from? With the general absent, the strategist knew he would have to take command of the army despite his lack of recent battlefield experience.

But there was no other choice.

I hope you're happy with the outcome HAHA y'all, it's hilarious how accustomed I've grown to writing angst for this story that it felt incredibly weird to write a happy scene. Only two parts left, yippee!

As always, thank you so much for reading, and please let me know your thoughts! <3

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#edenesth #the way to this heart #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fanfiction #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #arranged marriage au #joseon era #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa x you #ateez fic #historical au

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jiminiecrickets · 2 days

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HEAVEN'S SHEATH. KTH / M!READER

summary. a wealthy lord's pacifist son finds friendship and affection in a poor soldier, unremarkable except for the fact that he is the lone survivor of a massacre. fate has different plans for them.

wc. 10k

tags. smut | top!reader, bottom!tae, virgin!reader with a big dick (lol), reader is described as tall/strong, descriptions of blood/injuries/death, sex while injured (reader), riding, multiple orgasms, 2/3rds is only worldbuilding oops im just like that!!

a cloud of dust billows beneath the heavy black hooves of a friesian stallion, sturdy and strong-chested. the well-travelled dirt path swings over rolling green knolls, past flocks of white sheep herded into valleys and heavy brown cows grazing along the hillside. the untouched countryside is marked by clusters of tall green trees along the road and they shade the large river snaking through the vale.

amongst the verdant growth, throned between the river and the hills, lies a large manor built strong with stone and brick. other buildings lay scattered around its feet, and life is most evident here – servants hurry about, ushering goats into their wooden pens and their young ones out of the way of the black horse's brisk high trot. the little children stare with big eyes up at the regal stallion's wavy mane, watching how it falls softly over its long neck with each step. it is a horse that carries great presence and elegance, and its rider is no different.

at the manor's grand front entrance, an older man stands in wait, both hands resting on a cane tipped at both ends with gold. his hair is almost fully grey. his steely eyes track the horse and the dust and pollen dirtying its fine feathering on the lower legs.

"you've been sorely missed, son," he says in an unreadable tone, light enough for politeness but darkened by his heavy gaze. "does wartime make for a better view?"

the rider dismounts, hushing the horse as it snorts and tosses its head, hooves stamping. it yearns for the freedom of the run. he pets its soft mane. his voice is deep and monotone with disinterest. "certainly. it's quieter."

the man's eyes narrow. "you left all the kitchen girls alone, who i know you've a fondness for. you should be at home to protect them, taehyung, not gallivanting off to paint your pictures."

silently, taehyung passes off the reins to the stablehand, and turns to stare up at his father from the bottom of the steps. he tugs off his kid-leather riding gloves and places them in the pocket of his navy blue coat. "what do i know of war and fighting? you were the general, not i. i'd say you are much better suited to protecting these frail women from suffering under the hands of conquerors."

"you are the son of a general," he replies sharply. "the youth must carry on what their fathers forged."

"hate and subjugation, of course," taehyung sighs, shifting his bag of paints in one arm and his canvas in another. "humanity's pinnacle."

"stay your wit, boy. you'll find no friends with it."

he slips past him through the open doors of the manor, his paints clinking in its leather saddlebag. "yes, my lord."

upstairs in a large, sunlit room, he sets it all down with a soft huff. he glances around at the canvases lining the walls, leaning against cupboards and drawers full of paint thinners and varnishes. portraits of one woman dominate most of them – slender, pale, with dark hair, full lips, and a soft curving nose. in some, she sits primly on a chair amongst vases of flowers and goblets of wine, and in others, on chaises in simple dresses with a needle and thread in her hands, glowing with the early summer light blooming behind her.

these are the ones hung up or placed atop chests of drawers. not one touches the ground – that place, on the edge between floor and wall, is reserved for simpler landscapes and still lifes.

"i remember i told you to take down those portraits. do you find joy in antagonising me?"

taehyung turns. his father stands on the threshold, cane by his side. after he returned from the last war with a limp and new scars, he has not worn any other colour but black.

he turns back to his saddlebags, indifferent as he slowly pulls his paints and brushes one at a time from the bag. "no. i find no joy in speaking to you at all."

his father's expression tightens. "i did not make her ill. it was chance and nature. your hatred of me will not bring her back, no matter how intense. it is time to move on, son. lingering on it breeds only worse things."

"'worse things'?" taehyung snaps, gripping a put of paint so tightly his knuckles turn white. "i am not one of your soldiers, so don't speak to me like one. i don't need your pragmatism, your war-bred heartlessness. all she wanted was you. all she asked for was you, and you never came."

he has had this argument many times over since that winter. it festers hot fury in his chest just thinking of it, and it has not burned dimmer with time.

he turns and approaches his father, eye-to-eye. he is not a boy anymore. he surveys him for a moment. "war may have reforged you, made you richer and cleverer, but it burned away all that she loved. you never once held her again, felt her breath on your cheek." taehyung brushes his knuckles over his jaw. he shakes his head and begins to walk down the hall. "don't touch those portraits."

back for only a few minutes and taehyung already cannot stand the solemn weight of the air within these walls. he pushes open the front doors with more force than necessary and wanders through the large, walled estate, stone brick encompassing the major centres of activity.

mindlessly, he travels past the cowherds and shepherds leading in the meat for supper, and the stablemaster tending to his friesian, and the beekeepers. he passes the wall and almost reaches the wheat farm.

hushed whispers float up from the riverbank. he stops in his tracks.

by the water, the girls and women who work with the granary from the farm are crowded around something on the bank. the linens of their dresses are dark with water up to their knees, where they hold it back.

he notices the expressions on the girls' faces – bright with nervousness and fear, but tinged with… curiosity? they whisper amongst themselves behind their hands.

he approaches, ducking under a branch of the oak they shelter beneath. "what is so interesting?"

they startle, several sets of eyes turning towards him. one of the older girls, about his age, drops into a fumbled curtsy. "oh, young master—! we weren't doing nothin' bad, sir, but we was hiding from the sun when we found something the lord sir might need know. we found 'im caught up on the root branches here."

him?

taehyung steps past her. his eyes widen.

a young soldier, skin tinged grey, lies on his back on the riverbank, the water lapping at his calves. his boots have come off somewhere in the water. he wears an unfamiliar uniform: a mixture of thick fabrics to stave off the cold adorned with a strangely-patterned leather jerkin.

it is a poor man's armour, he realises, made of what he can scrounge up and what fits from the garrison's armoury. despite his lack of wealth, taehyung can tell he is a big man – tall, strong in ways only a life of hard work can create. he is fair of face, too, handsomer than many young nobles taehyung has met. perhaps a blacksmith's apprentice, or a baker's boy?

"which… which army is he from, master taehyung? can you tell?"

the question awakens him from his daze. he blinks. "ah – bring him higher on the bank, get his legs out of the water. let me closer."

he crouches by the body, pulling at the heavy cloth draped over the torso. at the neck, where the cloth is bunched and rolled to pack in heat, he finds a small red patch.

taehyung sighs and presses the soaked cloth back into place. "this man is very, very far from home."

the girls glance at each other uncertainly. "what does that mean, master?"

"many years ago, his homeland was seized, and now his people are under southern rule. he was an infantryman. simple cannon fodder." with a soft exhale, he leans over the torso and pulls him onto his side to reach the lashes holding together his water-heavy coat. "perhaps i can bury him someplace high, so that his soul may be reminded of home."

the body jerks and chokes out a lungful of water with a ragged groan.

the girls yelp, stumbling back. taehyung would have had he not already been on his knees. his eyes widen as the soldier's face pinches in pain, eyes still shut. taehyung reaches for the oldest girl, gesturing frantically towards the manor on the horizon. "find my father and tell him what you've found! you've my permission to leave the farm and all of that – he's alive!"

—

it is dark. everything hurts. this is hell – this is punishment, eternal and unforgiving. this is deserved for desertion.

then – light. light rings against bone and flesh.

velvet. mahogany. silk and down.

there is a girl beside you, leaning over you. her linen dress is plain but clean with a white apron over it.

your side explodes with pain. you launch upright with a violent shout, gasping and clutching the hot ache under your ribs. cries of shock throb in your skull.

you blink, hard, eyes adjusting dizzily to the brightness of the room. your torso is wrapped in cloth, which you can feel flat and taut against your skin. your hand comes away clean, and for several unthinking moments, you wonder why. your thoughts are slow and heavy.

"you ought to relax, master," echoes a soft voice beside you. her vowels are round and elongated, the accent so different from your own that you barely recognise it, much less understand it. you stare up unseeingly at her youthful face, framed by dark curls held back by a bonnet. she steps forward, a damp sponge in her hand. that is why your limbs feel cold. "your injuries are quite severe."

"where am i?" you mumble, your tongue thick in your mouth. words are unfamiliar. "who're you?"

she glances up at the other maids, huddling by the door. she sets down the sponge and extends a hand, though you flinch from it. she does not try again. "you are in the northern highlands. hadria. my name is aemma."

"aemma," you murmur. the sounds are soft and round, like a river pebble. like a river, you realise, you are damp and naked, save for a single sheet of folded cloth across your lap. you feel your face grow hot and you clutch it close, folding your legs towards your body for security. "m-may i – where are my clothes?"

aemma gestures for one of the other girls, who quickly scoops up a folded pile of clothes from atop the chest at the base of the lavish bed. the rest of the bedroom is similarly luxurious, with a dark palette that soaks up sunlight to warm its wood. the walls are pale, though framed by polished wooden frames embracing the room.

"here," she replies. "the lord father has gifted you some riding clothes to wear in their stead. they were to be given to the young master when he turned of age, but…" she pauses. she shakes her head and curtsies. "you're to meet the lord father and his son shortly. we were to inform them when you were to wake eventually."

"eventually…" you trail off. "how long have i been here?"

"two days, master."

your head begins to pound. you cradle it, wincing, and reach for the offered clothes. they are clean and soft under your callused fingertips. "ah… i'm no lord, miss."

aemma smiles briefly, folding her hands over her stomach. "the lord father requires it, master."

you have no heart to push. in fact, you would much rather lay down for another two days, though knowing you are under the roof of a lord churns up too much fear to do so. if northern men were anything like southern ones, you would do anything to keep your name clean.

"i'd like to dress," you say softly, glancing briefly at the maids watching you from the corner of the room. "alone, if the lasses would allow it."

with another curtsy, aemma ushers the other girls out of the room and closes the door after them. you do not miss how they sent you curious glances as they left. she now stands where they once were, watching you with badly-disguised intrigue.

you clear your throat and feel your cheeks and neck blaze, folding the cloth around your hips tighter. "i'm sorry. i meant entirely."

perhaps it is your imagination, but you think you spot a tinge of pink wash over her features. she finds sudden interest in the knots and grain of the floor. "the lord father instructed that you were not to be left alone in case you required immediate medical attention. you are evidently still in pain, so i must protest."

"ah." you swallow, and your mouth is dry. "p-perhaps… you could turn around, then?"

she glances up, as if to say something, but eventually nods, bobbing in a small curtsy before turning to face the wall.

as quickly as your aching body will allow, you shuffle off of the bed and dress yourself in finer clothes than you have ever worn before. the cloth is soft and sits finely against your skin like a baby's breath. you are so used to abrasive linens that you almost feel more naked than before.

"you found my boots."

aemma turns around – she almost regrets it, spying the last sliver of skin before white cloth falls over it like the pull of curtains. it is more titillating than seeing the entirety of you bare. "o-oh – yes, one of the servant boys found them downstream."

"ah, thank you. and my uniform, miss," you glance up at her, leaning heavily against the bed poster to slip on your boots, "do you know what happened to it?"

"they're with the hold's tailor. i heard it took quite the beating."

"that could be said," you mumble, straightening up at last. your side twinges with pain, but you attempt a smile. "well, s'pose it's time to meet your lord. i've got to thank my saviours."

it is just turning to twilight, and the hazy golden sun on the horizon feels like little more than a memory. candles light the path past gold-spun tapestries and gleaming windows. aemma leads you to a grand dining room, reminiscent of castles and times long gone. she halts by the entrance, curtsies to you, and hurries away without another word, which you find strange as she had been a pleasant conversationalist when helping you through the halls and down the stairs.

"the soldier awakens at last. how do you feel?"

you glance away from aemma's retreating figure. at the head of the long dining table is an older man with sharp eyes and a natural severity about him. seated beside him is a younger man, around your age, staring into his plate with his hands folded in his lap. you step forward cautiously, and a male servant pulls out a chair on the older man's other side. the lord gestures at it, watching you carefully.

"well, milord; thank you," you answer, taking a seat and quietly thanking the servant who readied it in the first place. he bows but does not otherwise acknowledge you, his gaze on the ground as he slinks back into the shadows of the dining room.

"you were asleep for quite some time. my son doubted you would live." he gestures to the young man across from you, whose romantic dark curls are loose over his forehead. "i am glad you are feeling strong enough to join us for supper. i trust that the girls took care of you?"

"yes, milord," you reply, glancing over the table almost longingly. you swallow the saliva building in your mouth. silver platters are laden heavy with dark ox roasts, honeyed lamb shanks, roasted salmon fillets, sausages and baked potatoes, and braised vegetable stews steaming hot. ruby wine is poured into silver goblets. you have never seen so much food at once in your life.

"the war has yet to touch us. we have plenty to share," the lord informs, his voice almost kind. "how long has it been since you have last eaten, soldier?"

your throat bobs before speaking. "ah… four days, maybe, including my time spent here."

the man's brow arches. "your general did not feed you before battle?"

"no, milord. they ambushed us before our rations were due." you glance at the young man. he has yet to look up, or indeed even move. "we… had issues with our supplies. weevils in the grain, rats in the captains' meat. we turned from two meals a day, to one a day, then one every two." you pause. "i don't think one more meal would have saved us."

the room falls silent, with only the crackling of the fireplace breaking the stillness. green wood pops in the flames.

"well, don't wait for me to begin," says the lord suddenly, shifting comfortably in his seat and reaching for a leg of ox, stabbing it with a knife and lifting it onto his plate. he piles his plate high with potatoes and mash. the action seems to spur on his son, who jolts into motion like a creaking old waterwheel, movements slow and measured. "tell us your name, soldier. i'd like to know the name and story of our guest. now, news comes to us slowly in this isolated place. how fares the war effort?"

glancing down, you realise exactly how many pieces of cutlery there are. knives and forks, spoons and little spoons, all slightly different in shape or size. you pause, hand hovering over the knives, nerves tightening in your chest.

a soft cough. you glance up.

across from you, the son rests his delicate fingers on the outermost knife and fork, using them to carry a richly-glazed steak onto his plate. he chooses a large spoon, fingers lingering on it where it sits on the table, and places it into his bowl of stew.

his gaze lifts to meet yours and just as quickly, a butterfly's flap of wings, he glances away. his cheeks are dusted pink, the rosy colour like gold on his sun-warmed skin.

you copy him. you take a slab of steak from the dish right in front of you. you are starving, but everything about this manor makes you feel small, and you fear taking more than you are offered. you give them your name, for it is the only thing you truly own in these foreign lands.

"the war?" you continue, trying to shake the tremor from your voice. "i wouldn't know, milord. the captains don't tell us much. it's all the same – i've fought in three different battles. this was the third. they give their speeches about king and country, and then we fight. it is noble," you say hastily, "but i am not a warrior. not many of us were. the enemy outnumbered us, outskilled us, and when the poppy fields lay silent, they piled the bodies of all our fallen and made pyres out of us."

"such would explain the scorch marks on your clothes." the lord nods. he leans in, and you fight the urge to lean away. "i shall ask the question we all ask ourselves, if you would not mind. how did you survive such a massacre?"

you glance at the son. he eats quietly, forking small chunks of meat into his mouth. you glance away. "i remember a spear. it was tipped… with a blue and white flag. it waved in the black sky as i looked up at it." you frown. "i'd never seen one like it before."

"the temerian lilies," he replies, almost approvingly. "you must have been some opponent – if the flagbearer loses his flag, it is a great shame to the army. it must be held aloft at all times. he would rather die than lose it to the enemy."

you lift a shoulder. the other aches too much to try. "they pulled it out of me after, then dragged me to a pile of corpses. i… don't remember much, but i remember them squabbling over another soldier's brooch for a while. i only wanted to escape the stench of death." you survey the feast laid out before you. "i s'pose i have."

"then we shall celebrate that," hums the lord, lifting his goblet of wine. "my son was the one who found you floating down the river. he said you were cold as ice and only recognised you from the flag you had sewn into your coat. it is brave to carry your homeland's colours when fighting for their conquerors."

"it was a small creature comfort," you respond as nonchalantly as you can. "they could punish me all they liked, but could never kill me. they needed every man in their ranks."

the lord raises his brows, and something like admiration crosses his features. he glances at his son and that admiration turns into a tiny downturn of the lips. he turns back to you. "not a warrior, you say, yet you stand with the united courage of a battalion. who was your father?"

you notice how his son stills, holding the steak on his tongue behind his lips for a long moment. he closes his eyes and with a deep inhale, resumes eating, as if unaffected.

"just a farmer," you say, diverting your gaze. "dead, long past. my ma raised the rest of us – six boys. i was their second. when the army came knocking, askin' for sons, i went, gave them my name. my older brother knew how to count, how to run the mill. i couldn't let them take him, especially not from the little ones – after da died and ma got sick, he was all they had." you tap the edge of the silver plate with your finger thoughtfully. "i imagined i'd either die or be done after one battle, so i'd be brought home quick regardless. now… it's been four years."

then, the servants bring out a round white cake, slices set down around the table – what a perfect intermission. you have made it rather impossible to return to frivolity with your story, and you gaze down at the cake in front of you. you assume this is their dessert, so quaint and pretty on its little silver plate, but you have little idea of how to go about eating one. something so small must require a similarly-sized utensil. is it the tiny spoon? the tiny knife?

you lift your eyes to the young man across from you. he is already watching, eyes large and dark. he picks up a small three-tined fork from the inner edge, tilting it towards you to show you its appearance, the little notch on the left prong. this time, he doesn't look away, and you have enough time to offer a grateful smile, however brief. he blinks owlishly, almost in surprise, before lowering his gaze again.

it is unfortunate. you would not mind looking at him more. he is undoubtedly beautiful, almost pretty, the sort of face people would immortalise in myths and paintings on temple walls – a kind of elven face, like those that turn goddesses to jealousy and gods to obsession.

you spend the rest of the meal stealing glances at each other when you think the other is not watching. he is far more successful than you.

—

from behind a balcony's closed doors, taehyung gazes up at the crescent moon hanging high in the sky, surrounded by pale stars glittering in the blanket of darkness. he cannot stop thinking about the shy farmer's boy, his accent unfamiliarly pleasant – the vowels are soft and blurred, with each consonant crisp and clear. it makes for a bouncing sort of melody to his voice, one that draws taehyung deeper into his song.

he sighs softly and turns away from the night's landscape, uncrossing his arms and meandering through the empty halls. most of the servants are already tucked away, and his father drowns himself alone in old letters and wine.

in loose trousers and a looser white shirt, the vee of the collared neck laced with string, he finds himself in his library, rich and warm from a hearth already lit. curious. he shuts the open double doors behind him quietly to keep the heat from dissipating into the night.

his silent feet carry him through the aisles, where the shelves brush the ceiling with books and ladders. a walkway surrounds the room, essentially giving it a second level.

silhouetted black against the white glow of the moon beyond the arched window, a familiarly unfamiliar figure stands in silence, gaze turned up towards the heavens beyond the lines of books and old tomes.

standing in this still and quiet room, statue-esque in the way of classics, taehyung cannot help the journey of his gaze wandering up and down the planes of your body, painting to himself the sturdiness of your shoulders, the perfect balance between your booted feet. there is a severity about you he recognises in his own father – he sees it in your arms, tucked behind your back, and the practised way of standing that arches the spine just so to emphasise the broadness of the chest. yet, he knows gentleness when he sees it, and he finds it in the almost childlike awe in your expression, aimed up at his personal collection.

he steps out, the shadows melting from him like the shedding feathers of a raven. "what are you doing in my library?"

you startle, and taehyung almost regrets interrupting you. coward that he is, he would rather watch from afar than bring you out of that handsome serenity.

"f-forgive me, sir," you stammer, twisting your hands together as you incline in an awkward half-bow, half-stumble, evidently having forgotten the extent of your injuries as your expression tightens and your hand brushes over your side. "i didn't know it was yours. the – the doors were open, and i—"

"invited yourself in," he finishes.

"i – yes, sir…"

before you, he stands perfectly still. you could fool yourself into thinking his heart does not beat, for he is pale in the moonlight and beautifully dark-haired, with eyes like midnight lakes and lips like a rose.

you tear your gaze from his, breaking your trance. you begin to move past him. "forgive me, milord. i shan't interrupt you."

his hand darts out, wrapping itself around your wrist. serpentine, it slides up your arm and grips your bicep, forming creases in the cloth.

"you shouldn't move so quickly. you're injured." he turns his gaze on you. "you'd leave so soon?"

"ah…" you flounder, helpless. "if the lord wish it so."

his searching gaze strips your body bare. you feel it prod your soul when his eyes meet yours. his eyes scan your face, and he reaches up with his other hand, brushing it lightly against the slope of your jaw. his skin is warm and tender-soft. your breath hitches.

"the maids missed a spot when shaving," he mutters, pressing his fingers against the patch of half-shorn stubble left on the soft underside of your chin. "a man would do it better."

all at once, he drops his hand and looks away. "i am no lord," he replies, his low, rich voice like waves lapping at the sides of a ship, almost careless. "just his son."

you hesitate, your heartbeat still in your ears. "th-then what should i call you, sir?"

he glances down where bandages hide the hole in your body. "just 'taehyung' will do," he says softly, eyes lifting again. he unravels his arm from yours, turning fully towards you. "you may stay – as long as you are quiet."

he moves away, so graceful he may as well have floated. his fingers glide over the covers like bumps of the spine, and they pluck a small yellow book from the shelf. he opens it, already turning to the first page even before he finds a chair to sit in. he curls up in front of the grand fireplace, the furry hide of a brown bear thrown across the floor in front of it.

for a while, you simply watch him and listen to the crackling of the fire. his slim fingers glide across the pages to turn them, the edge of the page caught gently on the pad of his thumb.

bathed in the yellow and orange hues of the fire, the lord's son is every bit as regal as northerners are said to be – hair like calligraphy ink, cheekbones fine, slim bodies tall and lithe. you could lose yourself in his cold, gentle darkness.

that burbling feeling of being out of place rises to the surface, worse than when you sat before the lord at his table. you and your callused palms, your worn and labour-worked body. you should not be here.

"you know you can choose a book, yes? i don't mind." he glances up. "forgive the mess. i can help. what do you like to read?"

"i'm sorry, sir," you murmur, averting your gaze. "i can't read."

it seems he'd forgotten your roots. he blinks. "oh. my apologies. but if not to read, what interested you about my library?"

"ah," you chuckle, scratching your head. "i've just never seen so many books in one place. travelling merchants would display some, but never like this."

"i see." he surveys you intensely, then glances away and clears his throat. he shifts in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs. at last, he says stiffly, "if you'd like… i can… read to you."

the silence is thick with more than just the fire's heat. it is hard to know taehyung's hot face is not because of the fire, and he is grateful.

"if milord wishes to," you reply quietly, watching him for any twitch of his expression that may give him away.

"of course. i wouldn't offer it if i didn't." he gestures to the chaise beside him. "sit."

you step into the semicircle of light afforded by the fireplace, licked by tendrils of warmth, and ease yourself into the chair with a soft grunt, holding your side. "milord is as kind as he is beautiful."

his eyes flicker down to your lap. "i wish you wouldn't call me that," he says suddenly, a little sharper. "can i not be called my own name in my home?"

your mouth opens and closes. after a moment, you reply softly, "i meant no offence. it just feels… wrong."

slowly, he exhales, closing his eyes and his book. he places a hand over its cover. "all of my life has felt wrong. everything is wrong no matter what i do – who i wish to be, the company i keep, the fears i carry… the love i desire." he pauses, opening his eyes to your earnest expression. he diverts his gaze to the yellow-gold cover of the book. "what more can one last wrong hurt?"

"i'm sorry," you whisper. "perhaps i can start over." you straighten slightly, offering a crooked half-smile. "what do you want to read to me, taehyung?"

he does not disagree that his name sounds strange coming from another's mouth, but he cannot remember the last time it was used by anyone else. he hums and rises to his feet, coming to stand over you in front of the fire; his shadow cast over your body deepens the maturity of your features.

"when you said i was beautiful," he asks, "did you mean it?"

staring up at him, you can do nothing but tilt your head in bewilderment. "yes. you are fair and handsome."

taehyung chooses his next words carefully. "if… i were a girl," he decides, clasping his book over his stomach with straight arms, "would it be a different sort of beauty?"

you frown, shaping an approximation of a girl with taehyung's features in your mind. "maybe. but she would still be beautiful if she was you." you shake your head, dispelling morphing images of regal dark-haired daughters. you hide your warm cheeks behind an apologetic smile. "i'm sorry. i don't know much. i don't usually deal with such thoughts."

but it was enough for taehyung. slowly, as if not to frighten you, he lowers himself, grasping the chaise's rests and draping himself gently over your lap. he watches your face all the while, his heart beating faster at the shock and nervousness that cross your face in a single second.

"is this… is this alright?" he whispers, placing his hand against your chest.

your adam's apple bobs, your hands hovering an inch off of his body as if he is made of glass. gently, you place one on taehyung's knee and the other behind his back, and glance up at him.

"perhaps you can sit closer," you murmur, eyes wide and searching, "so you may not fall."

taehyung smiles, then – the first smile of his you have ever seen. it is sweet, and crinkles the corners of his eyes. it makes your heart swell.

he hides his smile in his chest, his knuckles brushing the corner of his lips. he lifts his eyes, and a sliver of hope twinkles in them. "shall i read to you, then? i will give you a synopsis of each story so you may choose your favourite."

"please," you murmur, settling back in the chair and sliding your hand higher up taehyung's thigh so he may be more comfortable. "do whatever you wish."

"'whatever'?" he hums, and with a flippant little kick, throws off his boots to the ground, where they thump carelessly. he meets your eyes and falls into a nervous smile, tucking his bare feet against your leg and resting his temple against your shoulder. his hair is still slightly damp at the ends from his earlier evening bath. "then you wouldn't mind this, would you?"

"of course not," you whisper, biting back a shy, embarrassed smile. you are too old to be acting like this, especially with the only son of a wealthy lord, but the rush of excitement from seeing such a reticent man blossom and show his petals to you is too much to keep you away. "i am only a farmer's boy, taehyung. anything with someone like you is… a dream."

at the mention of his name, his smile widens slightly and a pinkness warms the apples of his cheeks. he busies himself with opening the book and flipping through its contents to find the correct page. he presses his thumb against the spine between the pages.

"here." he taps the words on the page. "this story is one my mother used to read to me. a princess is trapped in a tower, guarded by a dragon in an ever-changing thorn maze, and a brave, handsome knight rescues her. they are married and live happily ever after."

he looks up at you, searching for a reaction, and you can only give a breathy laugh in return, still dizzy with the idea that someone like taehyung could ever be interested in someone like you. "are you sure you should be telling me these stories? i'm not a princess or a brave knight. i'm plain."

"perhaps. but do you know who else was seen as plain?" he taps your chest. "the dragon, disguised as a statue. and you, strong dragon, will protect the princess," he taps his own chest, "from all the boredom and politics of castle life."

"don't you have other, richer boys chasing you?" you ask, because you know your place. "your own knight? i don't see what i offer that they can't."

he licks his lips, setting aside the small book on a round side table and swinging his legs over your lap to straddle you. reading it is the last thing on his mind. "i do, of course. but it is like you said – they are boys. when their wooden sword chips, they get a new one." he trails his fingers lightly down the centre of your chest, wide and strong, and tentatively cups what is between your legs. he leans in, long-lashed brown eyes flickering down to your lips. "i want more than that."

"i—" your breath hitches as he squeezes gently, learning its shape and heft with deft fingers. "a-are we allowed to…? i am a stranger in strange lands with nothing to my name."

he chuckles, pressing his forehead against yours. his soft hair curtains your eyes. "allowed? no. but when a handsome soldier from far away falls into my lap, what else is a man to do?" he draws his thumb over your jawline, stroking your cheek. he lowers his lips to yours, hot breath sweet with honeyed treats. with the faintest thread of a breath, he whispers, "may i?"

with your heartbeat thudding in your ears, your head inclines, and taehyung wraps his arms around your shoulders and pushes his lips to yours.

his moan is sweet and starved as you kiss back to the best of your ability, your hands falling naturally about his waist. his lips are plump and warm, pillowy, and slicken with saliva as he deepens it, cupping the back of your head and pressing himself higher onto your body. he is desperate and dominating, sitting in your lap and rolling his hips into yours. you can feel his excitement through the cotton of his trousers.

when you part regretfully, gulping down air, he cups your face, his eyes dark yet gentle. he licks his shining lips, parted to pant. "you seem apprehensive. have you ever done this with a man?"

you wipe your lips with your thumb, tongue swiping over them in an almost bewildered motion. your eyes are wide. "a-ah… no. not with… anyone…"

"not even a girl?" he cannot help the surprise that coats his tone.

you shake your head, face aflame. "i never… my older brother had my father's charm. he was the one they all wanted, strong but lean. i was too much of a bull. they had fantasies of princes, and he was closer to it than i."

deeply and tenderly, he kisses you again. "it only means i won't have to fight anyone to call you mine." he brushes his thumb over your lips. "that suits me just fine. i was never the fighting sort."

he sits up on your lap, thighs bracketing yours. his bare feet tuck beneath him under his knees. when his palm grazes the front of your trousers, your breath hitches in your chest, and taehyung gives you a soft, if coy, grin. "i'll be gentle," he promises. he tugs slightly on the laces of the waist. "may i?"

mutely, you nod, your words sinking into the whirling depths of his eyes. his deft fingers undo the laces with ease and he pulls the thick cloth down your waist, tracing the vee of your hips with a pleased breath. he reaches in, lifting his gaze to gauge your expression. your chest rises and falls rapidly, and your knuckles are tensed on the chaise's armrest. the other arm is tucked tightly by your side.

"don't be nervous," he whispers, stroking you gently in your trousers. it twitches in his palm. "place your hands on my waist, darling. good. very good."

hesitantly, your hands graze his hips, sliding up to grip his slender waist. you splay a hand beside his waist, measuring it against him with fascination. he is slim and lovely… like the city nobles' soft-palmed daughters. you had noticed his hands during supper but hadn't the room to mull over them then, though now you do. they are square, masculine, but slender and fine-veined. his nails are clean and cut short, with a thin crescent of white at the ends.

he could not have been more perfect if he tried.

he slides his fist up to the tip of your cock, rubbing his thumb against the slit and the smooth skin. you are mostly soft, but still impressive – the number of taehyung's clandestine trysts have lent him a certain experience when it comes to men.

you have reinforced your place as his favourite.

"i see why they call you a bull," he says slyly, squeezing your shaft as his fist sinks down on it. "they just don't know how to tame you."

your face floods with heat as you stutter meaninglessly. your grip tightens on taehyung's hips and a single slant of a thought marvels at how delicate he feels in your palms.

"be still, my darling," he murmurs, "and be at ease. you are no longer at war. you can close your eyes and hold me without fear. nothing will happen unless we want it to."

his voice, like syrup, melts the frantic whirlwind of thoughts in your head. you cannot help but want to believe him. "you make it sound so simple. i want to believe you."

"why can't it be?" he tilts his head, glancing down and stroking you contentedly. he swipes his thumb over the slit, where a bead of precome bubbles. oil – from a small bottle you only now spot in taehyung's palm – smooths each stroke of your shaft. "the world is so complicated. affection can afford to be simple."

he lets go for a moment to step back, sliding his trousers down his hips and calves and tossing them aside on the chaise. he flicks his dark hair and tucks a lock over his ear as he reassumes his place on your lap, pressing his chest against yours and tugging your cock to throb against the curve of his ass. the silk of his white shirt is cool and light against your hot skin.

his lips ghost over the shell of your ear as his hips roll languidly. he whispers, "do you want this?"

do you want more? the question is unasked, but you hear it anyway.

"i do, yes. please," you reply immediately, your voice rough with desire. your hands trail over his hips and tuck beneath the long hem of his shirt to caress his warm, creamy thighs, a feeling that traps your breath in your throat. you force out a sigh, shaky, and rest your forehead against taehyung's shoulder. he hushes you and cups the back of your head, reaching with his other hand behind himself to ease you inside his warmth.

taehyung's head tips back with a slow exhale, shuddering as you pulse with heat inside of him. he watches you closely, committing to memory the way your brows pinch and your mouth falls open as your grasp tightens, trembling, around his waist.

"do you like that?" he whispers, breathy. he bounces shallowly, grinding his hips into yours. "how do you feel?"

"good," you choke out through a groan. your hand slides down to the dip in his back, trying not to seem too eager as it cups his ass. "oh, fuck…"

"don't hold back for me," he murmurs, hips quickening. he moans in surprise as you buck up into him, thighs meeting his ass. the slap of your balls against his ass is obscene, and he scrambles to cling onto your shoulders for balance.

"wait – wait, wait," he gasps, lashes fluttering as your cock kisses that spot inside of him that burns pleasure through his guts.

you stop immediately, sliding your hand up his side. "i'm sorry! are you alright?"

he huffs a laugh, panting softly, and nods. "you're injured, darling. don't waste the good work we put into putting you back together. sit back – i will take care of you, understand?"

"a-ah…" your face burns with heat. "all right. whatever milord desires."

"very good." he presses down on your hips gently, his hands between his thighs. he lifts himself off of your cock until only the tip rests against his hole, then sinks down on it in one smooth motion. a strangled noise escapes your throat as you scramble to hold onto him. his heat grips your shaft like a vice, gummy walls clamping down around you with each drop of his hips.

he moans when your fingers dig into the sensitive skin of his hips, sweat gathering in the small of his back. the fireplace crackles softly, the air warm and sweet with the smell of sex.

he gathers his shirt in his hands about his ribs, revealing his dusky cock, swollen with need. he takes your hand and curls your fingers around his shaft, his eyes fluttering and lips parting as you tighten it. your callused palms drag deliciously against his veins and he grips your wrist with a soft groan, bouncing on your lap in such a way that he thrusts into the warm tunnel of your fist.

carefully, you stroke his cock, cautious about rubbing raw or tearing his skin. wealthy boys are a different breed – so much softer, easier to hurt. the smell of him, sweet and musky, hangs in the air around him, enveloping you when he draws close – crushed petals, herbs, leaves. it seems foreign, or at least the mixture does, for you cannot quite place your finger on it – then again, what do you know of luxuries like this?

"you are doing well," taehyung praises, gasping as you flick the head of his cock with your thumb. "oh, yes… f-fast learner, hm? oh!"

a jerk of your hips has him jolting forward, his cock spurting a sudden white rope onto your stomach. he purrs, bracing against your chest and slamming his hips down on your cock to slicken him with your pleasure. it works, and he seems unduly proud of himself when your cock throbs and leaks, forming a white ring around the hilt that thickens with each bounce of his ass.

"milord – milord," you gasp, a tiny pathetic noise that does not match your appearance, "please – i'm—"

"let go," he demands, a breathy moan escaping his lips. he closes his eyes and lets out a punched groan as your cock carves into his insides, deeper than any other man had ever touched. his reddened cock throbs, slit pouring precome over his belly and thighs. the pleasure curls around his thoughts, his head spinning from it, and he feels your stomach tense under his palms.

you spill into him with a deep, satisfied growl, head tipping back as he arches against you. your hips roll up against his and the coil tightening in his belly snaps at the sight of you so wrecked from so little. he cries out, ropes of white streaking across your shirt, and his hips stutter and roll, milking your pleasure for his own like a succubus. he presses his ass into your lap, white teeth sinking into his plump lower lip, and his eyes roll as the thick warmth fills him up to the brim.

at last, he slumps against your chest, thighs trembling and tensing as he hums softly into your neck. he buries his nose in the soft, warm skin, and cups your cheek to place a soft kiss on the corner of your jaw.

"mm… good," he purrs, smiling with tender satisfaction. "i – i shall bring you to your… mm… room. it is just down the hall from my own... should you wish to see me, you only need to knock." his breath hitches as he raises his hips slowly, hole twitching around your shaft, and when it pops out, a steady stream of come leaks from him, staining his tanned skin. he sighs, closing his eyes to the slowing of your heartbeat. "but i think i will stay here for a time, if you don't mind. just until i – until i regain feeling and control of my legs."

"is that… is that normal?" you ask, a tiny panting tremor in your voice. "to lose feeling like that?"

taehyung laughs into your neck, eyes crinkling. "sometimes, when i feel overwhelmed. it is no fault of yours – you are just… big. don't worry. i liked it."

he shifts in your lap to get comfortable but pauses as something pokes his thigh. a sly smile spreads across his fine features, his fingers lifting to trace your jaw and tip your gaze to his own. he purrs, "is that for me, love? excited again?"

you gulp, unable to tear your stare from his despite the embarrassment clawing at your throat. "i – i…"

"handsome and energetic. i'm a lucky man." he laughs softly, reaching behind himself and groping your hard cock with a low moan. "i myself have been told i'm rather voracious. perhaps you will be the first to keep up with me."

he lowers himself on your cock, head tipping back as he teases himself with the thick head. his dick twitches.

"what say you to a change of scenery?" he asks coyly, perfectly content with your ragged-breath silence. every word you might have said disintegrates on your tongue when he turns around, arching his back and pinning your cock to your stomach. shining precome smears along the cleft of his ass.

his body, carved out of shadows by the fire, rocks and rolls like a ship in the harbour when all its crew are asleep. with an encouraging smile, he takes your hands and places them on his hips, pressing on them to guide you to control his body. he hums softly as you squeeze his hips and spread his asscheeks, your breath shaky as he angles his messy hole against your leaking tip.

he watches your face with gentle eyes as he sinks down on your cock, his warm, wet hole swallowing up your shaft like he was made for it. you jump slightly when his ass firmly meets your lap, taking you hungrily until the hilt, and if he were a lesser man, your expression alone would have been enough to tip him over the edge. he sears every line of your face, every edge and plane, into the backs of his eyelids. it will make for fine company on lonely nights.

you speak for the first time in a while. "p-please…" you whisper hoarsely, blunt nails digging into his smooth, unmarred skin, leaving crescent moons in your wake. "please, move."

"ah, but you are badly hurt… i must take my time with you. mustn't alert the servants, either, for they'd certainly report to my father what they've seen." taehyung giggles to himself, gnawing on his lower lip in an effort to subdue his grin. he grinds down into your lap in circles, relishing in the pleasured, impatient groans that escape your throat. "he'd toss you out in an instant, and we cannot have that! i haven't yet had my fill of you."

"a-are you always so… playful with your men, taehyung?" you ask, voice slightly strained. you watch your cock vanish into him, over and over again. the sound that is made when he bounces on your lap is obscene and filthy. your heart stirs with desire.

"mmh – no. my past conquests have not been as – as alluring as you," he gasps, wrapping his hand around his throbbing cock, thumb rubbing circles over the ridge of his tip. "mostly, they bore me. you, however – you're more than a cock i can use to please myself, if i may speak so crudely."

"i – ah – th-think i should be grateful, then…?" you reply uncertainly.

"yes. unless, of course, you enjoy that sort of game… but tonight is about simplicity," he breathes, his skin tingling where your rough palms glide over his thighs, soft as cream. "we have only so long until the sun rises and the servants wake. i want to spend that time with you – learning your homeland's ballads and epics, your favourite flower, where i can touch to make you melt…"

he looses an airy laugh as your grip tightens on his waist, his shirt folded up between your fingers to reveal the curve of his spine and ass. you drag him down onto your cock roughly and he keens, eyes rolling back briefly. "ooh, y-you like that, don't you? ah—!"

already he is so sensitive. nowhere else has he felt pleasure like this – where his body is treated as more than a means to an end. he had been completely content with that when he entered this library, agreeable to the idea that you might like him only for what he can give you. but he swears – he swears on the old gods and the new – that the way you press your nose into the curve of his neck, the way you stroke him thin and thick tight and loose – caring, properly, for his own high – means your attraction is more than fleeting.

years of ending up alone in empty beds have made him soft. lonely. desperate. perhaps he is reading into things too deeply, as he always does – poor boy, always a poet. the backs of his eyes sting with hot tears as his tightly-controlled leash snaps, making him cry out, writhe, and shudder, knees and elbows buckling under the weight of his orgasm.

you catch him in your arms before he can slip, pulling him backwards towards your chest. it is warm, your throat shining with sweat, and he can feel the burning fever of your body through your clothes. still, you do not let go, push him away – you cradle him close, your heart thudding through your ribcage and into his own.

one of your hands tugs languidly at his cock, milking his pleasure from him. you watch quietly as it spills over your knuckles, your lips pressed against his sweat-slick shoulder, and help him lift his hips off of your cock.

for the first time in what feels like hours, taehyung takes a deep, full breath of air. he cups your face in a hand and smiles, wide and content.

"i didn't believe you could be more beautiful," you murmur, words slightly clipped at the end from a lack of breath. "i've never been happier to be wrong."

he opens his eyes with a flutter of lashes, pleasantly surprised. "haven't i already let you take me?"

"what do you mean?" you ask with a frown, tilting your head. your thoughts are foggy with warm laziness. the fire's heat does not help. "taehyung?"

the sound of his name almost startles him. he sits up, and a pleasurable ache sparks up his spine. he sucks in a deep breath. "you really… truly think that of me?"

you blink slowly, like a cat, and the fire's flames dance in your eyes. "i am a simple soldier. lies are above a man like me."

"you're more than that," he replies immediately, turning around on your lap to face you properly. "if you were just a soldier, you would have died on that battlefield. forgive me, but you had all the time to die on your way down the river. still, you survived." his voice softens, and he fiddles with your collar, straightening it and folding it down. "i am glad you did. i am glad to have met you."

"ah…" gently, you tug his shirt down, allowing him the return of some of his dignity, though he does not seem to care. "that reminds me – i shouldn't waste much time here. i should report to the general."

"for what?" taehyung scoffs, and it sounds… hurt. he glances away. "am i so repugnant you would rather march thirty miles a day in mud-soaked boots than stay here with me?"

"no!" you protest, sitting up as best you can with the growing ache in your side. you had been too caught up in the moment to remember it, and now your body reminds you jealously. "t'ain't that, taehyung. you are intelligent and kind and if we were in my homeland, i wouldn't hesitate to ask your hand. but surely you have a girl you're supposed to marry?"

"no, not at the moment. despite what he says, my father still grieves my mother. it will be a while yet before he'll allow another woman into the house." he traces shapes into your skin. "i will free you from the servitude of the evil king who bound you, and together, princess and dragon will live freely, with the wind in their hair and the sun on their backs."

at first, you smile at the newfound softness of his voice, but freeze. "free… of servitude?"

taehyung watches you, draping his legs over the other side of the armchair, kicking his feet lazily. his eyes are dark and watchful. "as i know it, the king's oath swears that you are only relieved of your duty when you give your blood for his and fall in battle against his enemies. have you not satisfied these requirements?"

"i may be no scholar, but i'm near certain that to 'fall in battle' means to die in it."

"have you not satisfied these requirements?" he repeats, firmer. "our doctors and priests said you were dead when i brought you to them. they said you may have been alive when i found you, but somewhere between the riverbank and their stone table marked the spot where you died. as they proclaimed this, you coughed again, and nobody could deny me this time when i said you were very clearly alive."

"you are telling me that i died… and returned? like a saint?" you ask sceptically.

"i only tell you what our doctors told me."

for a while, you are silent. determination creases taehyung's brow, and you cannot hold in the disbelieving laugh that erupts from you, though it morphs into a groan of pain in the middle. taehyung sits up and presses his palm to your cheek, his eyes so vivid and certain.

"you have already died, and thus retain no obligations to the crown," he whispers. his gaze scours your face. "you are free. free to stay here. live here…"

with me.

your heart drops into your stomach. you grip his waist, shifting in the velvet chaise. "i'm…"

"agree. agree to it. even if i cannot bear your children, we will sleep in the same bed, take walks in the wheat fields, eat and drink every meal together. you won't fear for your life every day. and as soon as the war ends and they open the trade routes to your home, i shall book passage on a ship and take you there. you may stay, if you wish. i won't deny you."

"then why offer at all?" you ask quietly. "if you think i'll leave you the moment i can, why would you even try?"

"i can hope, can i not? by all accounts our kings have no desire to cease any time soon. perhaps you will learn to love me in time." he smiles, faint, and averts his gaze. "otherwise, i will be glad to help another soul. you will survive the war and return to your family, whole and healthy. out here, away from people, i have little chance to do something so good and noble."

"and if i grow restless? if i want to do something with my hands?"

he tilts his head thoughtfully. "how is your aim?"

"fair, i s'pose. haven't missed when it's important."

"the lord's hunter grows old," he proclaims. "he can teach you what he knows, and if you like, you may take up the title once he can no longer ride and shoot. besides that, there is always work to be done in the fields and granary – perhaps you'll find some comfort in the farms?"

you think about it, long and hard. in essence you would be a prisoner at his beck and call, though if taehyung tells the truth and is as earnest as he appears, perhaps you'll find freedom and enough work to fill your days with…

you give your answer, and taehyung's smile is like the sun.

#top male reader #x male reader #male reader #dom male reader #dom reader #top reader #bts x male reader #bottom bts #bottom taehyung #taehyung x male reader #kpop x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x reader #bts smut #taehyung smut

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loko4koko · 5 months

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Cowboy Toji. He's taken over my mind. Imagine him tied up with his own rope, commanding you to help him, but instead, we tease him till he's all hot and bothered.

oh my sweet anon you have NO idea how this ask has affected me 😭 as someone who used to be heavy in the rdr2 fandom, i have a LOT (A LOT) of thoughts about sexy yummy cowboy men hehe

gn!reader but they do wear a dress!

MDNI 18+ BELOW THE CUT

cowboy!toji—well, he isn’t just a cowboy, he’s a bounty hunter. one of the best around, too. he has no rivals because everyone knows they aren’t even close to being as tough as him. he’ll hog tie a bounty right up (or shoot them if they’re being a pain in the ass), sling ‘em on the back of his horse, and when he’s done dropping them at the sheriff’s, he’ll use the hefty reward to celebrate at the nearby saloon.

only, toji may have celebrated a little too hard this time, ‘cause he fell victim to one of the oldest scams in the book. 4 whiskey shots and 2 beers in, toji gets approached by a working girl, and she’s real pretty, too, so who would he be to say no to a little company? so he stumbles off with her, following her lead to a secluded room in the saloon. but what happens there is far from what toji had expected.

when he wakes up, only a couple of hours later, he can’t see anything. the room is dark, and…why does it feel so cold? there’s a grimace on toji’s face as he tries to get up from what he thinks is the floor, only to realize his limbs are completely immobile. ‘that fucking girl…” he thinks, hissing as the ropes tied around his almost completely naked form dig into his flesh. he’s left in nothing but his underwear, grumbling angrily to himself while he tries desperately to wriggle out of his binds. that girl must’ve been a pro at this, though, ‘cause those ropes aren’t budgin’.

you’re in the storage room next door, organizing the newest case of liqour when you hear it. there’s someone groaning, some shuffling, and it startles the hell out of you. you set the box full of alcohol aside and listen further, and when the person swears your eyes widen. you tiptoe your way out to the hall, pressing your ear up against the door of the second, empty storage room. “goddamn thievin’ girl..shit..” you hear them say. it’s a man’s voice, real deep and boy, does he sound angry. your curiosity gets the best of you in the end, so you push the door open, reaching to turn on the lantern near the entrance. it takes a second for your eyes to adjust but when they do, your breath hitches.

there’s a man—just like you’d heard from the other room—and he’s..oh. your face grows hot as you take in the compromising position he seems to be in. his short black hair is tousled, scar on his lip twisted up as he tries to wriggle himself free, and when he looks up at you, it’s like a switch flips inside of you.

“ya mind givin’ me a hand here, doll?”

those dark, brooding eyes follow your every movement as you cross the short distance to reach him. you drop to the floor in front of him, dirtying the long skirt of your dress but you couldn’t care less. you’ve heard stories of a famous bounty hunter, one who could clear rooms with his gaze alone. the one with the scar and the midnight black stallion. the man who rides through the night like death incarnate. the one and only toji fushiguro. and here he was, bound in his own ropes, right in front of you.

your eyes are full of wonder as you take him in, hand subconsciously reaching out to smooth a thumb across his scarred lip. it’s real. he’s real. and he’s bared before you, wrapped up like a present that only you know about. your fingers skip a path down to his chiseled jaw, then further, down past the thick cords of his neck, before they come to a stop on his broad chest. the skin is flawed—healed knife slashes and bullet grazings etched across his pale flesh—but still so soft, so inviting with how it ripples under your delicate touch. as you explore him, your thumb brushes his nipple and he shudders, steely eyes boring into you when you meet his stare.

“this ain’t what i meant by ‘givin’ me a hand, sweetheart’,” he says, voice rumbling low.

“i- i’m sorry, do you..want me to stop?”

he’s silent for a long moment, jaw clenched tight while your hand hovers just off of his toned abdomen. your palm is so close you can still feel the heat radiating from him, and it’s killing you how badly you want that heat on you directly from the source.

“no.”

so you don’t stop. your hands are fully on him now, groping at his chest and caressing his stomach. and when your hand trails lower, your eyes meet his again and he holds your gaze quietly. you can feel how hard he is through his underwear, can feel how hot and big and throbbing he is. lip between your teeth, you take the plunge and grip him tight, barely able to wrap your hand around the girthy shaft. he hisses, eyes still on you, unwavering in their confidence. it doesn’t matter to toji that he’s the one restrained, he knows (in his sober state) that he could intimidate anyone into backing down, and you’re no exception. but there’s something in him, something that he sees in you that has him keening at your touch. in him- addicted, in you- addicting.

you’ve reduced this big, burly, violent man into a grunting mess. there’s sticky spots of pre staining his underwear and his head has fallen back between his bulky shoulders and fuck, he wants to cum, so bad—so fucking bad—but you’re not as sweet as you look, keep slowing the pump of your wrist down when his hips start to grind up into the strokes.

are you going to be nice, be kind to this scary man? or are you going to leave him there, high and dry? choose wisely, he’s a professional at finding people who’ve wronged him…

>thank u for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk toji #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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clonerightsagenda · 1 year

Text

I know this is just a numbers game like every other tumblr poll but I am still agitated on Death's behalf. Discworld Death:

Loves cats and fills his otherworldly home with strays (possibly ones that he was supposed to reap)

Gets takeout and attends costume parties

Named his pale horse Binky

Quit his job for a while and worked in food service

Had to pretend to be Santa Claus the Hogfather and got a little too into it

Was contractually obligated to ride out with the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse during the end of the world but pointed out to his fellow riders that nobody ever specified whose side they had to be on

Spends time living as a human and realizes that if death is inevitable, the least he can do is make sure someone gives a damn, and makes this argument successfully to the manifestation of universal entropy in what is my favorite monologue in the entire series

Goes through an amazing books-long character arc centered around reinterpreting his catchphrase "There is no justice. Just us." from meaning 'Life's not fair, shit happens and then you die' to 'There is no external force ensuring that life will be fair, so it is our responsibility to make the world better ourselves'.

Vote Death. No one but MY Reaper Man.

#discworld

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auroravictorium · 7 months

Text

high infidelity (pt. 3) (k.b.)

you know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love.

Summary: kaz and the crows arrive at a safehouse after rescuing reader, where kaz is confronted by his past. reader wakes up and starts the long trek to recovery. Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~3.1k Warnings: brief allusions to SA (inej expressing concerns about reader), mentions of injuries (head injury, severe wound on reader's arm, bruises, scrapes, etc.), mentions of blood, lots of grappling with trauma, mentions of sibling & parent loss/death Genre: angst? a bit of fluff? Author's Note: hello hello!! i'm so sorry about my long absence. college and life happened, BUT i have a birthday in the near future (libras unite!!) so have the final part of high infidelity as a lil birthday celebration :)) pinky promise next part is already in the works and it should be a lot less heavy!! enjoy <33

part one / part two / masterlist

Kaz gently pulled you back into his arms as Jesper navigated the exhausted horses toward a small, two-story farmhouse tucked away in a remote field a few miles from Lij. In the distance, a few farmhouses stood like faint silhouettes against the night sky. Beyond that, nothing for miles. The perfect place to hide, heal, and plot before their return to Ketterdam.

The air was clean, untainted by manufacturing smoke, and stars glittered above Kaz as he carefully stepped out of the carriage with you in his arms. He thought hard about the stars as he approached the porch of his childhood home; he thought about how much you would love them when you awoke and how your eyes might look as they caught their distant glimmer.

It was easier to ignore the stirring ghosts of his past if he thought about his present, the future he hoped to have. That present and future rested in the sleeping woman in his arms, her head against his shoulder and her weight a strangely comforting presence against him. The comfort was foreign to him, a sensation he could distantly remember if he reached far enough through the fog that had plagued his life since Jordie died.

The stars disappeared from view as Kaz stepped under the porch awning and turned to face Inej, silent as ever behind him. "The key is under the board with a split down the middle," he said quietly, jerking his chin to the end of the porch.

"Whose house is this?" Nina questioned as she arrived, pale and exhausted from working on you for most of the ride. "And do you think they'll mind if I sleep here for an eternity?"

Kaz shot her a glare and answered neither of those questions. He didn't feel like telling any of them about whose house this was, nor about the phantoms waiting inside. He had enough to worry about without fielding their questions, and his concern rested solely with you, unconscious in his arms. "Jesper, remove the furniture covers. Inej, Nina, help get Y/N settled." His eyes flicked between the Wraith and the Heartrender, a troubled face and an exhausted one. "Then rest. All of you. Jesper, on the couch. Nina and Inej, take the large room upstairs."

He didn't plan to sleep until he was sure you wouldn't die on him. He'd had enough of death in his life.

Inej unlocked the door and pocketed the key, moving inside and holding the door out of the way for everyone to trickle inside.

The room was spotless, remarkably untouched by dust. As Jesper started to remove the cloths over the couch, table, chairs, and small kitchen surfaces, not a single speck of dirt puffed into the air. "I was expecting more... dirt," Jes admitted, wadding up the cloths and tossing them in an empty corner. "For a farmhouse."

Kaz didn't respond, turning on his heel and marching up the stairs toward the small bedroom to the right. He nudged open the door to his and Jordie's old room and held his breath as he carried you in and settled you in the made bed. If he didn't breathe, he couldn't let the past settle in his lungs and choke him.

His gaze remained solely on your face as he carefully unlaced your bloodstained, beaten boots and set them aside. But his thoughts were elsewhere, on a presence he could feel breathing down his neck. The hairs there prickled, and Kaz pursed his lips, fighting the growing tremor in his hands as he tucked the blankets around you.

Jordie was there, in that room. Present, though he'd been dead for years. His father sat on the rickety old seat beneath the window, watching Kaz brush your hair from your face before jerking his hand back. His breathing was coming fast now, and though he longed to stay with you, he had to get out. His lungs burned and ached, unable to pull in the oxygen he needed.

Kaz had to get out of that room, escape the ghosts' eyes on him, their hands reaching toward the exposed skin of his neck, the small gap between his gloves and his sleeves that exposed his wrist. Anywhere there was skin for their cold, bloated, marred, dead hands to grab.

"I'm sorry," he breathed to you, the words barely audible. Kaz stumbled back and then fled like the coward he was. His lungs struggled to expand in his chest, his breathing shallow as he moved down the stairs and back into the living room. He walked past Jesper's unconscious, snoring form on the couch and grabbed a metal bucket from beside the back door with a trembling hand.

Coward, he thought, opening the door and stepping out into the cold winter air. It nipped at his cheeks and neck, but he didn't bother grabbing a coat. He deserved to brave the cold, to have to break the thick layer of ice in the well with his bare hands. He should be brave enough to stay with you until you woke, to hold your hand and think about everything he wanted to say.

He could kill a man, but he couldn't stay with the woman he loved. It was a cruel trick of the universe, a flaw in the new person the harbor made. Brekker, where there should be Rietveld, two clashing sides of himself with the wrong half winning.

Broken, twisted coward.

You deserved better than this, than him.

Kaz slammed the door shut, his breath clouding in front of him, and he limped off toward the edge of the Rietveld property to collect water.

The door rattled in the frame behind him, but Kaz paid it no mind. Inside, Jesper's snores seized for a moment before continuing, droning on alongside the eerie, anxious silence of the farmhouse and the cold, windy beginnings of snow.

Once Kaz was back from the well, his gloves soaked and cheeks flushed from the cold, Inej took a bowl of water from the bucket and a clean rag and slipped into the room you were asleep in.

She quietly pulled the seat from under the window to the edge of the bed and got to work, carefully wiping away the blood she could see without moving your clothing. As she ran the rag down your forearm, mindful of the deep gash cutting your tattoo in half, the concern that had been heavy on her heart came bubbling to the surface. She blinked away the unexpected tears in her eyes, turning her head toward the window and staring out toward the sky as she tried to collect herself again.

Inej hoped and prayed that this was the worst of what you'd been through. She didn't want to consider the alternative where you'd experienced the same pain and horrors she had. Unwelcome hands, permanent scars on the skin and beneath it, and memories of touches that didn't belong.

She did what she could to get as much grime from your skin without scrubbing too hard or moving your clothing, and when she was done, she watched the flakes of blood and dirt melt and turn the water reddish brown. Inej shuddered and stood, taking the bowl and leaving your room as silently and quickly as she arrived. She wordlessly moved past Kaz on the steps and through the living room and stepped outside to dump the water into a patch of brown grass.

Inej stood there long after the reddened water ran over the dead blades of grass, a glass bowl dangling from her hand and her face turned toward the night sky. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and two tears slipped down her cheeks.

Please, she thought, her lips silently forming the word. Don't let her suffer what I have.

You woke up as the sun started rising, a loud thud and quiet bickering startling you into consciousness. You peeled open your eyes, fighting against the weight of your eyelids, and you blinked to clear your vision. Shivering, you pushed yourself up onto your elbows and then upright.

The room was freezing, your nose and ears numb from the temperature, and you pulled your covers tightly around you. A coat laid over you, smelling of smoke and city. Kaz. As you pulled it around your shoulders, ignoring the bloodstains on the front, you turned up the collar to inhale his scent again.

As you turned your head to investigate the room around you, the world twisted, and you squeezed your eyes shut to steady yourself, your fingers curling into the silky lining of Kaz's coat. Once your head stopped spinning, you opened your eyes again.

The room was small, sparsely furnished with only the bed, a rickety chair beside it, and a chest in the corner with a thick layer of dust on top. The wallpaper was yellowed from age, and there were rectangular outlines on the walls where paintings had once been. Once, this had been someone's home, and the thought made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle with the sense that you were intruding. Distantly, you heard a quiet conversation from below, and the voices were too soft, the background too quiet for you to be in the city somewhere.

Where the hell am I?

You slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, determined to poke around further and determine where you were. Standing and pulling Kaz's coat tighter around your shoulders, you managed one step. And another. Your legs trembled and threatened to go out from under you, but you took another step. The door was almost within reach, and you stepped forward to place your hand on the doorknob.

A board creaked beneath your weight, and the voices you'd heard below went quiet.

Footsteps thundered against wood, and the floorboards creaked. The sound grew louder, and you took shaky steps back, your head already swiveling in search of a weapon. Your hand made contact with a glass of water left behind on the bench beside your bed, and you lifted it, ignoring the liquid sloshing over the rim and onto your hand. Your grip slipped slightly, but you held on.

The door screeched open, and you raised the glass as if you might throw it. Your heart raced in your ears as you took in the faces of your friends in the doorway, and it took you a moment to process that you were safe and they would not harm you. Your team. Your friends. Your family.

"Y/N," Jesper said, already stepping into the room, and you set the glass back onto the bench as he came toward you and wrapped his arms around you in a tight, bone-crushing hug.

You let out a quiet sob as unexpected tears sprung to your eyes, and you wrapped your arms around him, too, despite the spasms of pain running up your bandaged arm and throughout your body. You hid your face in Jesper's chest, breathing in his smell of gunpowder and metal, and he held you tightly against him, swaying back and forth a bit.

Jes pressed a teary kiss to your sweaty, bloodied hair. "Saints, Y/N," he whispered, and he didn't have to say anything else. You understood. I thought you would die, he was thinking.

You couldn't blame him. For a while, you thought you would too.

You pulled back and looked up at him, brushing away his tears. "Stop crying," you told him, your voice raspy from emotion and disuse. "You'll make me cry too."

Jesper laughed shakily and squeezed you in a hug one more time, and then a small hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back. Inej was there, her warm, brown eyes alight with concern. There were a million questions, a million worries there, and you knew she was terrified for you. It wasn't hard to guess what she was thinking.

"I'm okay," you said. "They didn't."

Inej's fear deflated, and she pulled you into a hug. Her grip was gentler than Jesper's, wary of your injuries, and she pulled back to grip your shoulders. "Thank the Saints," she whispered. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "If they had..."

"They didn't," you repeated, knowing she needed to hear it. You could feel the guilt and worry weighing down on her, and you didn't want her to shoulder that. So you pulled her back into a hug, even as the world tipped under your unsteady legs.

Nina didn't say a word as she joined the embrace, wrapping one arm around Inej and the other around you, pressing her fingertips against the nape of your neck. Her touch eased some of the stiffness and the persistent throbbing there, and you sighed, your head drooping onto her shoulder as you let your friends support you for once.

"I'll pour some hot water and grab some clean clothes," Inej whispered, withdrawing from the embrace before turning to Jesper and nodding, the two of them quietly leaving as Nina started to tend to your wounds without you having to ask.

"How bad is it?" you murmured, letting Nina carefully guide you to sit on the bed. She pulled your injured arm out before you and peered down at the bandages, and you averted your gaze so you didn't have to see the state of your tattoo.

"It'll scar," Nina said after a few beats, gently undoing the bandages and then running her fingers over the marred flesh. The touch would have caused pain, had it not been for the soothing rush of her magic over your skin. "When we found you, you had a bad head injury. I needed to work on that first."

There was an apology in her voice, and you looked up at her, finding her already staring back at you with so much sadness in her gaze that the tears you were barely holding back almost slipped down your face. But instead of focusing on what you'd lost, you took a deep breath and forced the tiniest of smiles.

"Thank you," you said softly.

Nina nodded and smiled back. For once, she didn't press. She didn't say what was undoubtedly on her mind, didn't ask about what had happened to you. Instead, she just silently started to work on repairing what she could of your tattoo, healing scrapes and bruises as she went.

And you let her support you as you did fall apart, her hands still tending to your skin as you turned your head into the black coat draped around your shoulders and let your tears mix with the smokey scent of Kaz and the city that lingered on the fabric.

The air was bitterly cold when you took your first step outside, and you breathed in as much frosty air as possible. Your lungs ached in protest, but you didn't mind. You couldn't after everything you'd been through.

Wrapping the long black coat tighter around yourself, you took slow steps toward the tall silhouette standing near the tree line. He must have heard you coming, and he turned to face you when you stopped a few feet away.

"Hi," you said, your breath clouding before you before dissipating into the dusk. You took another step toward him, then another, then another, until you stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Tucking your hands into the too-big pockets in the coat, you looked up at him. He was still watching you, his expression frustratingly yet understandably unreadable. "How long have you been out here?"

"I don't mind the cold," Kaz answered, his voice even raspier than usual. A typical nonanswer for Kaz, but the redness of his nose and around his eyes was anything but typical. The sight made your heart sink, and you longed to reach out to him and give him some reassurance that you were alright.

"Come inside. There's tea," you said, trying again to get him to thaw toward you. If he would say more than one sentence, you might have a better chance at finally talking with him.

"I'm alright," he said, turning back toward the tree line. His icy gaze flickered over the trees as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world, even as muddled shapes. Maybe they were when he wasn't busy looking everywhere but at you.

You were silent for a few long moments, then let out a slow sigh. "Kaz," you said softly. "Don't do that." The words tasted familiar on your tongue, like a memory shared long ago. You hoped Kaz would recognize them, would recognize what you were trying to say. He was shutting you out; at any other time, you would understand, and wouldn't push him to open up to you.

But you needed him. Don't pull away from me, you silently pleaded, looking up at him as you waited for him to react to your words, to understand what you were asking of him.

Kaz turned to you, and you saw something sparkling in his eyes. It was the first indication of emotion he'd given you, and it was precisely what you needed: a sign that he would open up to you eventually about what was running through his mind. "Do what?" he said, the words fighting to come up past the lump in his throat, the blockage formed by everything he wanted to say to you.

"The distance." The words were breathless, and you didn't follow them up with anything. You didn't need to, because Kaz let out a shaky exhale of his own and then dropped his hand from the top of his cane to his side. Your throat felt tight with emotion as you freed your hand from your coat pocket and then slipped your hand into his, lacing your fingers with his gloved ones. The leather was cool against your skin, but Kaz's touch alone warmed you up plenty.

Kaz gave your hand the gentlest of squeezes, and you felt his gaze burning into your face. It was heavy with the weight of words unspoken, and you decided that talking could wait until it was easier for both of you to bear.

Instead, you turned your head up toward the sky, taking a futile glance around for stars just as the first snowflakes began to flutter down around you and the earth continued its unaffected rotation on its axis.

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