Summary: You have spent your entire life preparing to meet your soulmate. Even with the words inked on your skin, you could never have imagined how badly your other half would hurt you, nor how much you'd want him anyway.
Content: GN!Reader, Angst, Soulmate AU, Imprisonment, Medieval AU, Yearning, Unwanted Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending, Starvation, Isolation, Illness
Word Count: 2.5k
You hear whispering outside. The soldiers usually make no effort to hide their conversations from you. Youβre a mere set piece in the background most of the time, or, if youβre lucky, a participant that can chime in whenever they please. You know what this means: you will die soon. Itβs honestly shocking theyβve kept you around this long, considering the circumstances. They must be working hard to make this a real show-stopping event.
Some traitorous little part of you whispers that someone might have been working hard to stop this, to protect you as long as he can. You smother it the best you can. Itβs not kind to you or him to linger on such thoughts. To leave behind thoughts of what was and could have been. You know you wonβt be a happy memory.
The specter haunting your thoughts doesnβt appear for a few days, and the soldiers are mercilessly silent. They donβt speak of the wife theyβve left at home, or how their son is doing with his sword training, or how they heard the chef is making their favorite tonight. Such thoughts must feel blasphemous to speak aloud near the almost dead. They think itβs for your sake, not to taunt you with what you donβt have, but itβs really for them. So they donβt have to think about how you wonβt get to experience such beautiful little moments once the guillotine drops. So they donβt have to think about how youβve experienced them before, as every human being has. They donβt have to think about the life youβve led, and how theyβre actively facilitating its end.
One day you finally break, watching two of the men whoβve been kindest to you shift nervously on their feet, eyes fixed straight ahead. βYou can still talk, you know.β
They jump, as though somehow they forgot you were still here, alive and breathing. In their minds, youβve already died. They share a look you canβt quite decipher, mouths set into twin grim lines. βWe know,β one says.
βDo you?β
His shoulders are so tense you worry he may crack himself in half, but to his credit he manages to keep his tone calm. βWe just have nothing to talk about.β
They flinch when you laugh, an edge of madness creeping into the noise. βOh, yeah? Every single soldier in this entire place has nothing to speak about? Every single one? Do me a favor and donβt lie to me. I barely have any time left, Iβd like to spend what little I have pretending things are normal. I canβt do that if you all have already buried me.β
They donβt give you the mercy of speaking again, but you almost think you see one of their shoulders shaking, his hands trembling around his blade. It makes you relax a bit, despite the fear and rage and defeat swirling in your chest. Theyβre mourning you. Isnβt it something of a blessing, to know someone is? Perhaps theyβve grown fond of you, or perhaps their time on the battlefield hasnβt beaten the gravity of death out of them, but either way they know that youβre here now and canβt help but fear the thought of your absence. Thatβs something.
Zoro only comes to visit his dear ghost after yet another week of staring at the wall, listening to nothing but the dripping of water and occasional footsteps coming down the hall. At first, you convince yourself that youβve dreamed it, the familiar sound of his boots thumping against stone. It has to be wishful thinking. Youβve been dreaming of him enough that itβs worked its way into your waking hours, and soon youβll feel the warmth of his arms around you and hear his soft voice whisper something youβre far too afraid to admit you want to hear.
But heβs here, flesh and blood, gesturing the soldiers away with a single jerk of his chin toward the door. They scramble off, desperate to be free of you. You think these two find you unsettling, disturbed by the way your sharp eyes have gone vacant and your normally proud posture has started to slump. A walking corpse.
Your cell creaks as he opens it, the sound bouncing off the walls and back to you again and again, an infinite loop reminding you exactly where you are and whatβs coming. Zoro sits across from you, hair mussed and eyes tired. βYou alright?β
You canβt help but chuckle. βWhat the hell do you think?β
He rubs his forehead, the weight of what heβs carrying dragging his shoulders forward. βYeah, thatβs fair.β
You sit in silence, waiting for the other to speak, but youβre both struck silent by the gravity of the situation. Itβs coming any day now. You can feel the breath of the reaper against your neck, a constant chill running down your spine and a tension in your body as you await for his bony hand to wrap around you. Zoroβs warmth canβt drown out the feeling, even if you know heβd like to try.
βTell me more about yourself,β he finally murmurs, his eyes boring into yours. Thereβs a heat there, a determination youβre used to seeing in an enemy commander.
You should answer. You should give him this, just a few small pieces of you to carry with him. But the more of you he carries, the more it will weigh him down and hold him back. The more it will make him suffer, make him mourn someone he never really knew. Every piece he has will just remind him of how much he didnβt know.
βNo.β
βNo?β He blinks, once, twice, surprise clear on his face.
βNo. No more talking. No more pretending this isnβt happening.β
βWho says weβre pretending this isnβt happening?β
Heβs a terrible liar. You can see it in his eyes, the pain and regret and longing. Or maybe heβs a fine liar, but youβre made to be his weakness, to slip through his defenses in the exact ways he wouldnβt want you to. βZoro, this is for your own good.β
He scoffs. βMy own good? Just another choice youβre making for me, huh? I want to know you. I want to spend time with you. No matter how little it is.β
He reaches out to you, but you flinch backwards, head hitting the wall. βNo, you donβt get it. You donβt know what itβs going to be like to be alone. To lose someone you never really had.β
βIβm going to have to know it. Thereβs no way out, alright? I know that. But that doesnβt mean I canβt know you at all.β
He doesnβt care. He doesnβt care that heβs going to have far more time without you than he ever did with you. That heβs going to spend years remembering a few memories he managed to scrounge together, a few stolen moments in this damp and rotting cell. He needs to leave you to rot with it.
βYouβll never really know me. We donβt have time for it. This is kinder.β
βYou seem very sure everything youβre doing is kind. That itβs all for my sake.β He shakes his head. βYou donβt have to worry about what comes after. Thatβs my problem.
You can hardly hide the shake in your voice, but you donβt want to let him know heβs getting to you. You need to stay strong. "You're going to regret this. One day, years from now, you're going to see a beautiful sunrise and, for a moment, wonder what I thought of it. You're going to see a flower and wonder if I would have loved it. You're going to wake up and realize you never knew my favorite color, favorite food, favorite song. You're going to regret not knowing me, Zoro. It's going to haunt you for the rest of your life. And you're going to understand why I tried to spare you from this."
He's silent for a moment, jaw clenched. He breathes in the stale air deeply, before quietly asking, "Well, what is your favorite color?"
You laugh, a low, bitter sound. "That's not the point! There will always be something you don't know! Always something you'll regret not having said! Nothing we do now can change any of it."
He looks at you with a degree of pity you don't understand. "But I can know this. So what is it?"
You sigh. "Blue. My favorite color is blue."
He chuckles softly. "Some part of me hoped it would be green."
"Maybe it could have been," you say, before you can stop yourself. You can see it clearly in your mind; a soft, sunny morning where the rays of light catch his eyes so perfectly that you cannot help but fall in love a little bit more, enough so that you begin to see him everywhere there's even a hint of green. But the only life you have is this one, and it's ending shortly. "But that doesn't matter now."
"It still matters," he whispers, "to me. I'll remember."
Your frustration mounts again. He's promising to torture himself in your absence. That's not what you wanted. You didn't suffer countless silent nights and the arguments that followed just for him to end up suffering anyway. If he does, it was all worthless. You refuse to accept it was all for nothing. "What, so I can live on in your memory? My heart's still going to stop. I'm still going to be six feet under, if they even bother to bury me. Stop doing this, Commander." There it is, that distance you need. He'll remember you like this: cold, bitter, unworthy. He can freely bury you in his mind, let you rest the way you deserve. He'll find some unpaired soul to settle down with, one that could never compare to a martyr in his heart but that might just stand up to a pathetic shell of a soldier.
"Is that an order?"
You stare unblinking. He doesnβt flinch. In a battle of wills, you are unfortunately perfectly matched. And god, you are so, so tired of fighting.
βYouβre the most frustrating man Iβve ever met,β you murmur, eyes falling closed in defeat.Β
βIβve heard that before.β You can hear the smile in his voice. You donβt let yourself open your eyes to see how handsome he looks when heβs smug. You donβt need to know. Itβs better to never know at all than to see it once and know youβll never experience it again. No matter what he thinks. If he wants to carry your body around with him, you canβt stop him. Youβre finally realizing that. Youβre both horribly stubborn, but heβs better equipped than you. Better fed, better rested, better everything. He knows he can outlast you. No matter how determined you are, youβre worn down beyond repair, even if you did have any way to build yourself back up. But youβre so very tired.
βWhat else do you want from me?β You ask softly, thoroughly defeated.
He reaches forward to take your hand in his. Itβs rough, your calluses rubbing together, years of training and combat sanding away all of the softness from both of you. He stares at where your skin meets, intertwining your fingers and clinging to you as though the moment he lets go youβll be taken from him forever.
Thatβs a lot closer to being true than youβd like.
He shifts closer, approaching with the same amount of caution one might use for a feral animal. Maybe a feral animal would be less dangerous to him. He squeezes your hand, warmth seeping in and banishing the ever-present chill thatβs haunted you from the moment you were thrown into this cell. First his shoulder presses against yours, then his hip, then his thigh, until heβs pressed every inch of his side to yours. His body heat seeps through his uniform and your tattered clothes, and you canβt help the way your eyes flutter shut as you lean into him.
You shouldnβt do this. You shouldnβt give in. But god, it makes you feel more alive than you have in years. It makes you feel human again. So you push down the martyr in your head and allow yourself to relish in the feeling of another human being, of his hand gently cradling yours, of being cherished in what little time you have left.
βIβll miss you,β he whispers, because he is the cruelest man you have ever known.
βI donβt want you to.β
βI know.β
His head leans against yours, and you can smell the salt of his sweat and the leather of his uniform and god that smell shouldnβt make you so weak. But it does. Everything about him rips away the things you know should be and leaves behind only the confusing what is. Reality makes no sense with him.
His voice shakes as he speaks. βAre you afraid?β
You laugh. βOf you? Yes.β
He scoffs. βYou know what I meant.β
βI do.β Your answer was more honest and vulnerable than he could possibly understand.
βI wish it wasnβt like this.β
βWishing wonβt change anything,β you whisper. βBut I appreciate the sentiment.β
Itβs the closest thing to real gratitude youβve ever given him, and he looks at you like youβve blessed him with his truest and greatest wish. He shifts, pulling away so he can face you, and youβre mortified by the soft whimper that leaves your mouth as his warmth gets further away. βWould you have wanted this, if things were different?β
He clasps your hands together again, fingers intertwining. His eyes are shining with emotion, pleading with you for something, anything, and unfortunately Zoro makes you more honest than youβve ever been in your life.
βI want it now.β
He lets out a single shaking breath, and you expect him to pull away, but suddenly the world shifts.
Itβs frantic, the way he pulls you toward him. Your teeth clack together, his callused fingers pressing hard enough into your arms to bruise. It doesnβt seem quite right to call it a kiss; it is far too consuming, as though he wants to steal all of you, down to the breath in your lungs, and refuse to let you go. And he doesnβt, not until youβre banging against his chest, begging for release, and gasping as he backs away from you. Your cheeks are wet from the tears that forced their way out, and you heave out the only words you can think right now. βI hate you.β
And you do right now, for being cruel enough to give you a taste of him. Werenβt the kind words and gentle touches bad enough? No, not for him. With his next words it becomes clear: Commander Zoro, your enemy, the destined love of your life, has never held any mercy for you.
Summary: You have spent your entire life preparing to meet your soulmate. Even with the words inked on your skin, you could never have imagined how badly your other half would hurt you, nor how much you'd want him anyway.
Content: GN!Reader, Angst, Soulmate AU, Imprisonment, Medieval AU, Yearning, Unwanted Soulmates, Eventual Happy Ending, Starvation, Isolation, Illness
Word Count: 2.5k
You hear whispering outside. The soldiers usually make no effort to hide their conversations from you. Youβre a mere set piece in the background most of the time, or, if youβre lucky, a participant that can chime in whenever they please. You know what this means: you will die soon. Itβs honestly shocking theyβve kept you around this long, considering the circumstances. They must be working hard to make this a real show-stopping event.
Some traitorous little part of you whispers that someone might have been working hard to stop this, to protect you as long as he can. You smother it the best you can. Itβs not kind to you or him to linger on such thoughts. To leave behind thoughts of what was and could have been. You know you wonβt be a happy memory.
The specter haunting your thoughts doesnβt appear for a few days, and the soldiers are mercilessly silent. They donβt speak of the wife theyβve left at home, or how their son is doing with his sword training, or how they heard the chef is making their favorite tonight. Such thoughts must feel blasphemous to speak aloud near the almost dead. They think itβs for your sake, not to taunt you with what you donβt have, but itβs really for them. So they donβt have to think about how you wonβt get to experience such beautiful little moments once the guillotine drops. So they donβt have to think about how youβve experienced them before, as every human being has. They donβt have to think about the life youβve led, and how theyβre actively facilitating its end.
One day you finally break, watching two of the men whoβve been kindest to you shift nervously on their feet, eyes fixed straight ahead. βYou can still talk, you know.β
They jump, as though somehow they forgot you were still here, alive and breathing. In their minds, youβve already died. They share a look you canβt quite decipher, mouths set into twin grim lines. βWe know,β one says.
βDo you?β
His shoulders are so tense you worry he may crack himself in half, but to his credit he manages to keep his tone calm. βWe just have nothing to talk about.β
They flinch when you laugh, an edge of madness creeping into the noise. βOh, yeah? Every single soldier in this entire place has nothing to speak about? Every single one? Do me a favor and donβt lie to me. I barely have any time left, Iβd like to spend what little I have pretending things are normal. I canβt do that if you all have already buried me.β
They donβt give you the mercy of speaking again, but you almost think you see one of their shoulders shaking, his hands trembling around his blade. It makes you relax a bit, despite the fear and rage and defeat swirling in your chest. Theyβre mourning you. Isnβt it something of a blessing, to know someone is? Perhaps theyβve grown fond of you, or perhaps their time on the battlefield hasnβt beaten the gravity of death out of them, but either way they know that youβre here now and canβt help but fear the thought of your absence. Thatβs something.
Zoro only comes to visit his dear ghost after yet another week of staring at the wall, listening to nothing but the dripping of water and occasional footsteps coming down the hall. At first, you convince yourself that youβve dreamed it, the familiar sound of his boots thumping against stone. It has to be wishful thinking. Youβve been dreaming of him enough that itβs worked its way into your waking hours, and soon youβll feel the warmth of his arms around you and hear his soft voice whisper something youβre far too afraid to admit you want to hear.
But heβs here, flesh and blood, gesturing the soldiers away with a single jerk of his chin toward the door. They scramble off, desperate to be free of you. You think these two find you unsettling, disturbed by the way your sharp eyes have gone vacant and your normally proud posture has started to slump. A walking corpse.
Your cell creaks as he opens it, the sound bouncing off the walls and back to you again and again, an infinite loop reminding you exactly where you are and whatβs coming. Zoro sits across from you, hair mussed and eyes tired. βYou alright?β
You canβt help but chuckle. βWhat the hell do you think?β
He rubs his forehead, the weight of what heβs carrying dragging his shoulders forward. βYeah, thatβs fair.β
You sit in silence, waiting for the other to speak, but youβre both struck silent by the gravity of the situation. Itβs coming any day now. You can feel the breath of the reaper against your neck, a constant chill running down your spine and a tension in your body as you await for his bony hand to wrap around you. Zoroβs warmth canβt drown out the feeling, even if you know heβd like to try.
βTell me more about yourself,β he finally murmurs, his eyes boring into yours. Thereβs a heat there, a determination youβre used to seeing in an enemy commander.
You should answer. You should give him this, just a few small pieces of you to carry with him. But the more of you he carries, the more it will weigh him down and hold him back. The more it will make him suffer, make him mourn someone he never really knew. Every piece he has will just remind him of how much he didnβt know.
βNo.β
βNo?β He blinks, once, twice, surprise clear on his face.
βNo. No more talking. No more pretending this isnβt happening.β
βWho says weβre pretending this isnβt happening?β
Heβs a terrible liar. You can see it in his eyes, the pain and regret and longing. Or maybe heβs a fine liar, but youβre made to be his weakness, to slip through his defenses in the exact ways he wouldnβt want you to. βZoro, this is for your own good.β
He scoffs. βMy own good? Just another choice youβre making for me, huh? I want to know you. I want to spend time with you. No matter how little it is.β
He reaches out to you, but you flinch backwards, head hitting the wall. βNo, you donβt get it. You donβt know what itβs going to be like to be alone. To lose someone you never really had.β
βIβm going to have to know it. Thereβs no way out, alright? I know that. But that doesnβt mean I canβt know you at all.β
He doesnβt care. He doesnβt care that heβs going to have far more time without you than he ever did with you. That heβs going to spend years remembering a few memories he managed to scrounge together, a few stolen moments in this damp and rotting cell. He needs to leave you to rot with it.
βYouβll never really know me. We donβt have time for it. This is kinder.β
βYou seem very sure everything youβre doing is kind. That itβs all for my sake.β He shakes his head. βYou donβt have to worry about what comes after. Thatβs my problem.
You can hardly hide the shake in your voice, but you donβt want to let him know heβs getting to you. You need to stay strong. "You're going to regret this. One day, years from now, you're going to see a beautiful sunrise and, for a moment, wonder what I thought of it. You're going to see a flower and wonder if I would have loved it. You're going to wake up and realize you never knew my favorite color, favorite food, favorite song. You're going to regret not knowing me, Zoro. It's going to haunt you for the rest of your life. And you're going to understand why I tried to spare you from this."
He's silent for a moment, jaw clenched. He breathes in the stale air deeply, before quietly asking, "Well, what is your favorite color?"
You laugh, a low, bitter sound. "That's not the point! There will always be something you don't know! Always something you'll regret not having said! Nothing we do now can change any of it."
He looks at you with a degree of pity you don't understand. "But I can know this. So what is it?"
You sigh. "Blue. My favorite color is blue."
He chuckles softly. "Some part of me hoped it would be green."
"Maybe it could have been," you say, before you can stop yourself. You can see it clearly in your mind; a soft, sunny morning where the rays of light catch his eyes so perfectly that you cannot help but fall in love a little bit more, enough so that you begin to see him everywhere there's even a hint of green. But the only life you have is this one, and it's ending shortly. "But that doesn't matter now."
"It still matters," he whispers, "to me. I'll remember."
Your frustration mounts again. He's promising to torture himself in your absence. That's not what you wanted. You didn't suffer countless silent nights and the arguments that followed just for him to end up suffering anyway. If he does, it was all worthless. You refuse to accept it was all for nothing. "What, so I can live on in your memory? My heart's still going to stop. I'm still going to be six feet under, if they even bother to bury me. Stop doing this, Commander." There it is, that distance you need. He'll remember you like this: cold, bitter, unworthy. He can freely bury you in his mind, let you rest the way you deserve. He'll find some unpaired soul to settle down with, one that could never compare to a martyr in his heart but that might just stand up to a pathetic shell of a soldier.
"Is that an order?"
You stare unblinking. He doesnβt flinch. In a battle of wills, you are unfortunately perfectly matched. And god, you are so, so tired of fighting.
βYouβre the most frustrating man Iβve ever met,β you murmur, eyes falling closed in defeat.Β
βIβve heard that before.β You can hear the smile in his voice. You donβt let yourself open your eyes to see how handsome he looks when heβs smug. You donβt need to know. Itβs better to never know at all than to see it once and know youβll never experience it again. No matter what he thinks. If he wants to carry your body around with him, you canβt stop him. Youβre finally realizing that. Youβre both horribly stubborn, but heβs better equipped than you. Better fed, better rested, better everything. He knows he can outlast you. No matter how determined you are, youβre worn down beyond repair, even if you did have any way to build yourself back up. But youβre so very tired.
βWhat else do you want from me?β You ask softly, thoroughly defeated.
He reaches forward to take your hand in his. Itβs rough, your calluses rubbing together, years of training and combat sanding away all of the softness from both of you. He stares at where your skin meets, intertwining your fingers and clinging to you as though the moment he lets go youβll be taken from him forever.
Thatβs a lot closer to being true than youβd like.
He shifts closer, approaching with the same amount of caution one might use for a feral animal. Maybe a feral animal would be less dangerous to him. He squeezes your hand, warmth seeping in and banishing the ever-present chill thatβs haunted you from the moment you were thrown into this cell. First his shoulder presses against yours, then his hip, then his thigh, until heβs pressed every inch of his side to yours. His body heat seeps through his uniform and your tattered clothes, and you canβt help the way your eyes flutter shut as you lean into him.
You shouldnβt do this. You shouldnβt give in. But god, it makes you feel more alive than you have in years. It makes you feel human again. So you push down the martyr in your head and allow yourself to relish in the feeling of another human being, of his hand gently cradling yours, of being cherished in what little time you have left.
βIβll miss you,β he whispers, because he is the cruelest man you have ever known.
βI donβt want you to.β
βI know.β
His head leans against yours, and you can smell the salt of his sweat and the leather of his uniform and god that smell shouldnβt make you so weak. But it does. Everything about him rips away the things you know should be and leaves behind only the confusing what is. Reality makes no sense with him.
His voice shakes as he speaks. βAre you afraid?β
You laugh. βOf you? Yes.β
He scoffs. βYou know what I meant.β
βI do.β Your answer was more honest and vulnerable than he could possibly understand.
βI wish it wasnβt like this.β
βWishing wonβt change anything,β you whisper. βBut I appreciate the sentiment.β
Itβs the closest thing to real gratitude youβve ever given him, and he looks at you like youβve blessed him with his truest and greatest wish. He shifts, pulling away so he can face you, and youβre mortified by the soft whimper that leaves your mouth as his warmth gets further away. βWould you have wanted this, if things were different?β
He clasps your hands together again, fingers intertwining. His eyes are shining with emotion, pleading with you for something, anything, and unfortunately Zoro makes you more honest than youβve ever been in your life.
βI want it now.β
He lets out a single shaking breath, and you expect him to pull away, but suddenly the world shifts.
Itβs frantic, the way he pulls you toward him. Your teeth clack together, his callused fingers pressing hard enough into your arms to bruise. It doesnβt seem quite right to call it a kiss; it is far too consuming, as though he wants to steal all of you, down to the breath in your lungs, and refuse to let you go. And he doesnβt, not until youβre banging against his chest, begging for release, and gasping as he backs away from you. Your cheeks are wet from the tears that forced their way out, and you heave out the only words you can think right now. βI hate you.β
And you do right now, for being cruel enough to give you a taste of him. Werenβt the kind words and gentle touches bad enough? No, not for him. With his next words it becomes clear: Commander Zoro, your enemy, the destined love of your life, has never held any mercy for you.
β₯ SKZerton, Foes to Paramours (lol), Opposites Attract
β₯ Contains: "Extra! Extra! Entitled Victorian Fuckboy Lets Slip Softboi Charms, Fainting Couch Sales Suddenly Triple", Hyunjin in serious denial that he has it BAD already, so much horny yearning (feat. serious craving for a ragefuck), suspicion of Hwang rakeism being genetic, bars (i jest, I just like rhyming stuff), significant fluctuation in HHJ affection stats, bland pudding, Schadenfreude, Hyunjin getting horny for books, hornier for art, and the horniest when the said art depicts him
β β (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here. See masterlist for more): Corruption fetishismβconsider it an overarching warning from now on
β₯ Seething in his bitterness, Hyunjin resolves to face his humiliator head-on, but he learns she's no longer at Madame Gabriella's. When he returns home, he finds the household by the door welcoming the new lady's maid.
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Β« Previous chapter
When he opened his eyes that morning, Hyunjin wondered if he was ever going to know peace again.
It had been days, but restlessness had made a home out of him. Ever since the night of his return, he had been living with this borrowed block of lead pressing on his chest, making it damn near impossible for him to breathe. He had become so irritable that the former jester of the family couldnβt take the lightest joke, spewing snide remarks left and right and making everybody walk on eggshells around him.
Who in their right mind would want a slice of that bitter pie three meals a day?
Not that he wasnβt an avid reader before, but even the aides had noticed this was excessiveβHyunjin would go into his study right after he woke up and wouldnβt come out until the sun set. Every day, when Minji went to serve his morning tea, she would see a new mountain of books on the desk, and by dinner time, it would have been reduced to an anthill already.
And Chaerinβs efforts to discreetly learn what was happening to her son were yielding no results.Β
The abrupt bookwormism had come about due to Hyunjinβs desperate need to keep his mind occupied. If he didnβt deplete all his mental resources by the time he went to bed, he couldnβt sleep a wink, tossing and turning just to end up back in his study again. If he was lucky, he would doze off on the chaise with a book on his face, but the next day, he would have to pay for the shuteye the next day with severe back pain.
All this trouble because of a splinter, and it was driving him crazy.
He wouldnβt be this agitated if sleeplessness was his only problemβMinji probably knew some herbal tea recipe to remedy it, but if only she knew how to brew potions instead. Something that would let him dictate the shape his thoughts took if he so much as spaced out for a few seconds.Β
Because the counterfeit courtesan was all he could think about, and it was driving him fucking crazy.
He kept reenacting that exchange in his head over and over again, each time writing even wittier lines for himself to turn the conversation in his favor, but make-believe was no substitute for the satisfaction of the real thing. She didnβt leave him be even in his sleep, that atrociously beautiful demon, scorning how vain he was, how foolish he was, how he never earned anything himself in his life. To his face.
GOD, the audacity!
βTop of the morning, brother.β
Suddenly, the drapes were opened with a sharp swish, flooding the room with blinding sunlight.Β
βUGH, MINJAE!β
βIβm surprised you still havenβt left,β the older leaned against the windowsill, cheesing into his ornate blue mug.
βWhat are you talking about?β Hyunjin sat up in his bed, eyes shrunken into lines trying to adjust to the brightness.
βCalm yourself, grumpy. I was just referring to your grand declaration. How you would leave if your return wasnβt glorious?β He loudly slurped on his coffee as Hyunjin started clothing his half-naked body. βI heard you didnβt touch your food that night.β
WHO would have the fucking appetite after getting punched in the stomach, seriously? It was astounding enough that Minjae had any wits left for gossip when he was around Gabby, but out of everything he could have heard, did it have to be the one that involved him? Hyunjin wasnβt sure of the extent his older brother knew of his humiliation, but he wasnβt exactly prepared to defend his honor on the matter ten seconds into consciousness.
Or, you know⦠Ever.
βThat was uhβ¦ I didnβt realize how travel-worn I was,β he lied the best his drowsiness allowed him.
βYou were too travel-worn for a good time,β Minjae cocked a brow. βThe rakemeister himself.β
βWhat do you want, Minjae?β
βNothing,β he shrugged, annoyingly grinning. βMother asked me to wake you up. She is expecting you in the drawing room.β
What the heck was that smirk about, though? Did that mean he knew everything? Was the exasperatingly tempting demon a friend of his? Was this whole thing concocted as a tasteless welcome prank? Was that why Jaehyun told him he wouldnβt forget that night?
Because he sure as hell didnβt!!!
βGood morning, dearest,β Chaerin welcomed her son with a big smile and patted the couch cushion next to her. βCome, sit.β
βIn high spirits this early, are we?β Hyunjin held his motherβs hands and kissed them.
βI sure am. There is something I should like to talk to you about, but before thatβ¦β she nervously wiggled in her seat. βAre you quite well, dearest?β
βWhy wouldnβt I be?β
βYour absence isβ¦ amply noticeable,β she carefully broached the subject, her shields fully up just in case. βI understand you enjoy your reading, but itβs as if you havenβt returned at all. Do we not make you feel welcome? Or is there another reason you are holed up in your study so much?βΒ
There is this make-believe courtesan that I almost fucked, Mother, wasnβt a sentence he could utter in this lifetime. Well, nothing about that night was explicable, to be frank. The excessively libertine details that led to the moment of his damnation. Why he had been haunted by a ghost for days on end. How he was going to ridiculous lengths just so he wouldnβt think about her. Because if he thought about herβ¦Β
If he thought about her, he was overcome with these intense urges toβ¦Β
He closed his eyes and took a deep, sharp breath to calm himself.Β
βIβI did not mean to upset you,β Chaerin panicked.Β
βYou did not upset me, Mother,β Hyunjin looked at her with furrowed brows, flashing a confused smile. βGosh, have I been that unpleasant lately?βΒ
The fact that she only opened and closed her mouth, unable to give him an answer, was answer enough. Why, yes, he had been unpleasant and a half, actually. No one in this house had the correct tweezers to remove splinters, yet Hyunjin was acting like it was a cardinal sin that they didnβt when nobody even had to, raining on everyoneβs parade just because a few clouds were passing by his.Β
Selfish would be a wild understatement of his egregious behavior as of late.
βPlease forgive me,β he apologized with those big eyes his mother could never resist, gently squeezing her hands. βThere is nothing to it, Mother, I promise. I just thought I could spend my time doing something valuable is all.β
Well, Chaerin knew there was something to it, but she also knew what happened every time she was relentlessly insistent. Her children were butterflies, the bunch of them. Flying far, far away the second she started chasing them, so she always had to wait for them to come perch on her shoulder instead. Even more the case with this unbelievably stubborn morpho.Β
Charcoal black on the outside, iridescent blue on the inside.Β
βIf you say so, dearest. Onto the matter at hand, then!β she squeezed his hands back with a smile. βListen, Hyunjin, this seasonββ
βI will have to stop you, Mother,β Hyunjin emphatically interjected. βYou know how I feel about these things. If this is about me joining the marriage mart againββ
βI said listen,β she interjected back, tone unusually firm to convey just how serious she was. βRina and Nari are making their society debuts this year, and it is of utmost importance that they find good matches. I should like to have you accompany me to the events we will attend to chaperone your sisters.β
βMinjae and Jaehyun are perfectly capablββ
βThey will be there, as well!β Chaerin impatiently raised her voice. βHyunjin, please. I need all my sons with me to make a good impression.β
βYouβre not seriously expecting Jinseok toββΒ
βAll my sons of age! Stop being a wiseacre,β she lightly slapped his hand. βYerin and her husband have known each other since they were children; she never had to present like this. This is going to be our first official season, and I will need all of you to be on your best behavior.βΒ
Accompany me to chaperone was just a thinly veiled way of saying βso I know youβre not defiling someoneβs daughter somewhereβ, but who could blame Chaerin? The Hwang name was held in such high regard, but certain members of this family seemed to have long forgotten it, coming dangerously close to crossing the line between esteem and notoriety with their excessive pleasure-seeking.Β
But Hyunjin couldnβt care less.Β
He had declared long ago that he was never going to pretend to be something he wasnβt just to sire heirs like cattle. Why would he willingly imprison himself to become someoneβs husband when he had no interest in building a husbandry? If anyone was genuinely interested in him and not his last name, they were always welcome for a conversationβstrictly no words, tactile communication only.Β
It was fine if people were talking ill of him, but it had never occurred to Hyunjin that this could come back one day to hurt the people he loved most dearly.Β
βI will not jeopardize the prospects of my sisters, Mother. You have my word.βΒ
βOh, you have elated me, dearest!β Chaerin hugged her morpho tightly. βYou may go read now if you wish to.βΒ
Hyunjin left the drawing room and started climbing the stairs to do exactly that. His footmen had managed to find the goods at long lastβa few first-edition novels and a rare volume of poetry he had been searching for everywhere. An eternity of waiting later, they were finally on his desk, and just the thought of getting his hands on them was making him salivate.Β
Among other thingsβ¦
God, to feel the firmness of that bindingβ¦ The thickness of that spine. The subtlest creak when he gently opened the cover like he was undressing an untouched angel. The satisfying flutter of pages turning, delightfully crisp, giving him the kind of goosebumps only derived from caressing an untouched angel. Lips on delicate skin, good deed and sin dangerously akin, making his own ears ring while kissing an untouched angel.Β
And if feeling lust for a damn book made him a deviant, then he was going to enjoy every deviant minute of it.
But twelve steps later, his parchment-scented arousal evanesced out of nowhere.Β
Ughβ¦
Ugh, if that infuriatingly enticing demon knew, she would fuss about the footmen, too, would she not? Ugh, she would ridicule that he didnβt even walk to the bookstore himself. Ugh, she would taunt that he simply had to have the first editions. So what, huh? Was it a crime to be a collector of things?
Was it?!
All you do is reap the unearned advantages of your fatherβs station, no?
As if an invisible hand slapped him on the face hard enough to draw blood, Hyunjin suddenly turned around and stormed out of the house and blacked out shortly after. He had no recollection of what may have transpired between slamming the front door and the coachman declaring their arrival at his desired destination.Β
Magnolia Alley.
βAlways a pleasure to host a Hwang man,β Gabriella welcomed him by the front door, looking like she had recently woken up herself. βThough is it not a bit too early for debauchery, my lord?βΒ
βIβm not here for entertainment, Gabs. Itβs information Iβm looking for.βΒ
Unless he was severely concussed and didnβt remember that he used to practically live on Rain Street.Β
βOf course. How may I be of service?β she wrapped her shawl tighter around her.Β
βThe night we were here, a woman came to my room. Well, before my intended appointment,β Hyunjin began describing his suspect. βShe pretended to be a courtesan, but then confessed to not being one, andββ
βJESUS CHRIST, HYUNJIN, YOU HAD BETTER NOTββ
βNO! God, nothing like that. We only exchanged words,β he immediately raised the defense flag. βTell her to come down, please. I have a few words I should like to say to her.β
That was a lie. Not only did he have no idea what he was going to say, but his unfinished plan entirely leaned on a maybeβthat words were somehow going to come to him when he saw her face.Β
Wellβ¦Β
βIβm afraid that will not be possible as she is no longer here,β Gabriella uttered the last words Hyunjin wanted to hear. βShe left just before your arrival, actually.βΒ
Noβ¦
He had finally found the correct tweezers, but they had chosen today of all days to vanish into the wind? Was this some sick joke designed to drive him even crazier?
WAS IT?!
βWHERE DID SHE GO?!β Hyunjin inadvertently yelled at Gabriellaβs face out of acute frustration.
βWell, pardon my respect for privacy, my lord,β she emphatically spoke with a dangerous frown, warning him to put a cap on the insolence eruption.Β
βIβI apologize for my unseemly behavior,β he instantly dipped his head. βIβmβ¦ quite distraught nowadays.βΒ
βWould you like your scotch early to take the edge off?β she offered him breakfast, not at all jesting. βYou seem like youβre about to fall from it.βΒ
βI will hold you to it for another day,β he heaved a resigned sigh and turned around. βOh, and Gabby.βΒ
βYes?βΒ
βMinjae sends his regards.βΒ
The most exquisite woman in Magnolia Alley, if not the entire Clarendon, was uncharacteristically timid, unable to hide the smile tinting her lips pinker. Just the mere mention of the name, yet she was all but twirling her beautiful black curls cascading down to her waist.
βYou deliver my regards to him, as well,β she gracefully nodded.
Hyunjin sent the carriage away and decided to walk home, hoping the crisp air would help clear the fog in his head. As he mindlessly wandered the streets, he racked his brains trying to understand just what the hell was happening to him lately.
Nothing about this made any sense.
He had always lived his life however he damn pleased unapologetically, and for good reason. Instead of fantastically performed plays, Clarendon loved watching people fall from grace, which was why this townβs gossip pots were never going to stop boiling for anyoneβnot if you were an exceptionally well-mannered gentleman, not if you were a notoriously depraved rake. It was actually quite comical that opium was considered illicit when Schadenfreude had a lot more people addicted to it. Nevertheless, for a rumor to have scandal quality, even the hypothetical thought had to make one feel ashamed. If you, like Hwang Hyunjin, took obnoxious pride in it instead, you were kind of being a spoilsport.
Then why did a lifetime of blissfully deaf ears suddenly decide to have absolute pitch? What was it that bothered him this much when he never paid any mind to what anybody ever said about him? Why?Β
Why?Β
Just WHY?!
Hyunjin was well aware that he had to put an end to this strange fixation before it started causing him some serious trouble. And he was genuinely going to.
Until he noticed the woman a few feet ahead walking towards the square.
βHey!β
He had been seeing that figure behind his eyelids for so long that he would recognize it everywhere. Same hair. Same posture. Even the same manner of walking. Rags of a commoner yet way too much grace. Allure of a seasoned courtesan but a vexingly pure face.
Just like an untouched angel.
βHey, wait!β
Oh, she was going to get an earful now. Oh, she was finally going to pay for dragging him through her hell. He was going to scream at her at the top of his lungs to either leave him fucking be, or beg her to come grace his bed even for one night so he could finally remove this maddening splinter once and for all.
Rightβ¦
Fuckingβ¦
NOW!
βLOOK AT ME!β
He grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her close. Such a coarse touch, yet it was enough to alert his entire body as if the gods of wrath and lust were smiting him simultaneously. He had been longing to look into those angelic eyes once again. He had been yearning to be perceived by them, no matter how much scorn, disdain, and contempt were crawling in those pristine waters. He still wanted to swim in it to his heartβs content even if the poison was going to burn him into nothing.
When he finally met the gaze that haunted his every waking minute, Hyunjin saw that they were widened in terror and immediately let go, a burning sensation rapidly spreading all over his face.
βIβ¦ I most wholeheartedly apologize, my lady,β he folded his body in half with a deep bow. βI humbly beg for your forgiveness. I mistook you for someone I know.βΒ
Someone I know.Β
What a load of total and utter crap!Β
βOh, itβs quite all right, my lord,β the young woman smiled when she realized her aggressor was a Hwang, the one that was more princely than the prince himself, hysterically giggling as she looked back a few times while walking away.
Hyunjin had committed an act any sane person would call the constables for, but just becauseβ¦ he looked a certain wayβ¦Β
His shoulders drooped when he heard the glass of disappointment shatter in the distance. He then heaved a deep sigh, turning around to head home. And he was genuinely going to.Β
Until he noticed where he was standing. Right at the doorstep of what used to be the container of his soul.
Harlequinβs Jubilee on Rain Street.
He suddenly lost the ability to move. He had never been one to believe in signs, but Hyunjin couldnβt produce one logical explanation as to why he ended up there when he had been avoiding this place like the plague for years. Even the briefest thought of going inside, and his breathing turned erratic, drowsiness and nausea charging at him at full speed. He started sweating as if it was a scorching summer day, his ears ringing loud enough to muffle everything around him except for a horseβs heartwrenching neighs echoing through a timeless void. His vision was blurring, darkening from the outside, and if he couldnβt hold onto something right fucking nowβ
βMy lord, are you quite well?β
βHUH?β
The three men now surrounding him flinched in fear, but Hyunjin was at least pulled back to reality. If he knew he was going to sink neck-deep into the quicksand of embarrassment today, he never would have left home in the first place.
βYβYes. I justβ¦ felt faint for a moment. Thank you for your concern.β
Thousands of miles traveled. Just so this would never happen again.Β
And yetβ¦Β
The resignation that everything had been in vain became too heavy a burden for him to stand on his two feet. Finally accepting he had to host the fog in his head for the foreseeable future, Hyunjin got on a carriage to go home and just watched the streets with vacant eyes. Maybe it was just not the time. Or maybe this was the trial he had to endure for a lifetime. The very one that was going to either make or break him.Β
Thousands of miles traveled in vain, but it at least had the saddest silver lining. At least he now knew he could endure it. Even if he broke out in a cold sweat in the middle of nowhere, even if he froze rigid in the worst slum he could possibly be in, even if worse came to worst, he at least knew he wouldnβt end up in a nameless grave in a remote corner of the world. Anyone in Clarendon would at least recognize him and send word to the Hwangs that their son was about to take his last breath. If he never left the house, he might not even have to experience the frigid terror ever again. He couldnβt stand the excess liveliness of the estate sometimes, but that was still the only thing that made him forget everything for a moment.
When he crossed the threshold of his front door, he hoped he would be welcomed by intolerable noise.Β Β
β...and these are my oldest sons, Minjae and Jaehyun.βΒ
There was an unusual crowd in the mudroom. His mother, his siblings, and Minji were gathered together, welcoming someone with warm smiles. Hyunjin thought he was going properly insane because for the briefest second he thoughtβ¦Β
No.
He wasnβt about to make the same mistake twice within the span of a single hour. He just needed some sleep to readjust to reality, and that was it. And he was genuinely going to.
βIt is my honor to work for a family as illustrious as yours, my lords.β
Until he heard the woman standing before his entire family.Β
He did recognize that figure. He would recognize it everywhere. Same hair. Same posture. Even the same manner of speaking. So soft but bore blades under her tongue. So gentle but knocked the wind out of his lung. So serene like a warm summer breeze embracing him at the sunset, caressing his hair as she lulled him to sleep.
Just like an untouched angel.
βAh, just in time! Dearest, come meet the newest addition to our aides,β Chaerin beckoned him. βThis is Nariβs new ladyβs maid. Came with a stellar recommendation from the Kim Estate.βΒ
Hyunjin was dying a thousand deaths.
He didnβt know whether to cry out of sheer rage or unmitigated glee. He had been searching all corners of the sky when all he needed to do was turn his gaze to the ground.
If he knew you were going to land right into his palm like that, he would have wished to bring his beloved grandmother back from the dead instead.
He spent all his willpower not to do anything rash and just waited for you to turn around. No coarse touch this time, but your mere presence was still enough to alert his entire body. Your jasmine scent still quickened his heartbeat dangerously. He still didnβt know what to say, but he just knew that words were going to somehow come to him when he looked into those angelic eyes once again. Just once. Then he would know.
He would know how to end his inexorable misery.
Look at me. Turn around and look at me. Perceive me. Perceive me!
All you needed to do was twist your body so he could drown in your eyes, but Hyunjin could swear it was taking hours, and he was losing patience. He was dying to see how you would react to seeing him again. Had you been thinking of him, too, by any chance? Was his mere thought vexing you enough to lose sleep, or were you dreaming of a romance? Would you say yes if he asked you for a midnight dance?
Did you touch yourself at ungodly hours of the night to the memory of him kissing your skin at all?
When your gaze finally met his, however, Hyunjin saw that your eyes were widened in terror just like the lady on Rain Street, but unlike her quick shift to shy giggles, you were screaming silent βoh noβs at him as if you had faced your death. For any other person, a long-awaited second encounter falling flat would simply be considered lackluster, suboptimal, or anticlimactic at best.Β
If you were Hwang Hyunjin, this was as offensive as getting your entire lineage cussed out.Β
What do you mean youβre not melting at the sight of him? Did you NOT remember anything from that night?!
Who knew? He was right. He indeed knew what to say now, but even he didnβt think it would be thisβ¦
β¦odious.
βA new ladyβs maid, huh?β he tilted his head, voice way too condescending for no reason. βI sure hope she at least knows not to run her mouth.β
Even the unison gasp that rose from behind you wasnβt enough solidarity. Oh, you knew. You knew from the minacity dripping from his words. You knew from the animosity crawling in that blank stare. This loathsome beauty, trapped between an angelic fiend and an infernal seraph, was going to make life hell for you. Clarendon was supposed to be your safe haven, the shelter you could finally breathe easy, yet out of everywhere you could start the first day of the rest of your life, you had ended up at the one place you shouldnβt have even walked pastβthe den of the cavalier lust incarnate you had rattled.
And now he wanted revenge for stomping on his pride.
βBrother, that was entirely uncalled for,β Minjae quietly warned him, but his mother was not as calm.
βCollect yourself this instant,β Chaerin hissed. βI will not have you embarrass me like this.β
βI simply stated my wish that Nari should be treated with utmost respect, Mother,β Hyunjin put ample amounts of stress on the word, the curve of his lips somewhere between a leer and an evil grin. βNowadays, even courtesans think they can say whatever they please to gentlemen way above their stations under the guise of candor. As is common knowledge, there is a line that shall never be crossed.β
βHyunjin!β
Hyunjin. So the name of this walking brittle ego was Hyunjin. Even his name was offensively pleasant. Probably infinitely satisfying to moan. Inducing a violent urge in you to slap his ridiculously stunning face just to listen to him whine.
Ugh⦠Hyunjin.
βIt is quite all right, my lady. Young master is indeed right,β you reciprocated with a polite smile. βLady Kim has instilled in us that the foundation of any smooth-running estate is the mutual respect between the staff and the household.β
βAh, is she not the wisest!β Chaerin nervously laughed to disperse the thickening air. βMinji, my dear, please show her around. Then hasten dinner preparations. We are hosting the Seos this evening.βΒ
βCertainly, my lady.β
As you walked past, you glared at Hyunjin still smirking at you, trying extremely hard not to roll your eyes at him.Β
Ughβ¦ Hyunjin.Β
Once you managed to shake off the annoyance, Minjiβs tour turned into a majestic sightseeing experience. The Hwang Estate was so large that it was like a sovereign state of its own, not to mention unbelievably beautiful. Invaluable china vases filled with fresh flowers from their massive elysian garden, precious artwork displays transforming rooms into miniature museums, enormous portraits all over the walls of Lord and Lady Hwang, of who you assumed to be all their childrenβfour boys and three girls, all looking like personally chiseled by god herself.Β
Your indoor promenade ended in the bustling kitchen, as big as the main drawing room of the Kims, if not bigger. It was like a pocket-sized factory inside. Everyone was working at a dizzyingly fast pace, but the rhythm was so memorized that everything worked like a well-oiled machine, so smooth that simply watching everything from afar was oddly satisfying.Β
βAll, may I have your attention please?β Minji gently tapped a knife on the edge of a silver plate and introduced you to everyone. βThis is Miss Nariβs new ladyβs maid. She will be helping around the estate, as well.βΒ
βHow do you do?β you slightly dipped your head to the small crowd.Β
They acknowledged your presence with friendly nods and murmured βwelcomeβs, carrying on with their tasks at full speed. You didnβt take any offenseβit was obvious that no one had a single moment to spare from the noble duty of running this house, and soon, neither would you.
βHow do you do?β a girl noticeably younger than everyone around here approached you with a big smile.
βThis is Giselle. She was Miss Yerinβs ladyβs maid up until the day she became Mrs. Seo Yerin,β Minji introduced the girl to you. When her eyes landed on the cook fervently chopping in a corner, she headed towards him with quick steps. βI shall ask Pascal what you can help with for tonight.β
βLady Hwang took me in when I was only twelve,β Giselle chirped as if she was talking about a dear friend. βShe is just the kindest, is she not?β
βShe certainly is,β you smiled back at her, but it vanished when a certain someone popped into your mind again. βThough I cannot say the same thing about her son.β
βWhich one?β
βThe rude one,β you deadpanned with even deader eyes, convinced your description was enough to discern who you were referring to. βThe older ones seem quite kind.βΒ
Giselle giggled like a virgin at the mention, touching her ear like a cute nervous tic. βThe Hwang men are famously handsome, but Young Master Hyunjin isβ¦β she looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then leaned into you to whisper, β...a rake.β
βA what?β
βA rake,β she repeated, still giggling. βWe wager on how many hearts he will break every season. His record so far is five.β
βWell, count me in for six this year, then!β
βMinji!β
When a manβs voice bounced off the kitchen walls, you and Giselle both turned your heads towards the door, and she let out a small gasp, clutching at your arm as if she was about to swoon.Β
βMr. Jaehyun, you have no business here, sir!β Minji scolded him, albeit with the warmth of a grandmother.
βOh, come on, this is the best part of the house!β the handsome man launched his charming dimples, sure to melt even the most unthawable hearts.Β
βSuch tomfoolery,β she involuntarily broke into a chortle. βHow may I be of service?βΒ
βMother says Lady Seo is not to be served any bread tonight. It upsets her stomach.βΒ
Despite meeting this man just a minute ago, he somehow felt eerily familiar to you, but it made absolutely no sense. There was literally no place on the face of this earth where you would be able to cross paths with a man of his status. But that voiceβ¦Β
Was this gentleman perhaps leading a double life as a chanteur at Magnolia Alley?Β
βCertainly, young master. Anything else?β
βShe also requests to make adjustments to the dessert. Lord Seo prefers pudding over jelly.β
Huhβ¦
You did know this voice from somewhere, but where? You were trying not to stare as you rolled your memories as far back as a few weeks. Your last days at the Kims. The ride to Clarendon. Rain Street. You would remember seeing a face as handsome as his. Did you see him in a dream or something? No, that wasnβt it, either. It was right at the tip of your tongue, and you were pushing it as hard as you could so it would fall off.
Just where did you know this man from?!t
βAnd Pascal is to replace sugar with honey for Lord Seoβs servings as he enjoys it when it tastes a lot sweeter.β
Ohβ¦
Oh, waitβ¦
OH MY FUCKING GOD!!!
βA whoreβs cunt tastes a lot sweeter. I think I prefer women over girls.βΒ
Your eyes suddenly widened like saucers. Didnβt a certain rake mention he and his brothers were quite the esteemed patrons at Gabriellaβs?Β
THIS was the Jaehyun you had heard that night!
A feeling of unease started to spread in your chest even though you had nothing to do with any of this. By any chance, did Giselle know that this man, who was a complete Prince Charming by day, was also a rake by night?Β
Oh, the dilemma was nauseating. She could be your first and maybe only friend here, but she was also clearly smitten by Jaehyun. You didnβt want to hurt her, but you also didnβt want her to have any false impressions. Nor did you want your first exchanges with the estate residents to be salacious gossip about your masters. If you did tell her what you witnessed, would it be kindness or just cause unnecessary pain?Β
But what if she knew everything, and it just didnβt matter to her?Β
As you were in the eye of this turmoil storm, Jaehyun and Giselle shared a look, and it suddenly distorted your perception of him. The man who spewed unspeakably shameful words in bed with a woman looked like a clueless boy, little hearts bursting from his eyes as he blushed all the way to the tip of his ears. Maybe Giselle wasnβt nursing something entirely unrequited within her. Maybe this was how two people from irreconcilably different universes loved each other.Β
You couldnβt bring yourself to splatter tar on her beautiful vista. It wasnβt your place anyway.Β
Nothing about shattering someoneβs source of happiness could be deemed βkindness.β
βWell, the Hwang men are handsome,β you quietly spoke into her ear, βbut Young Master Jaehyun is the fairest of them all for you, is he not?β
βHush, you!β she bit into her bashful smile and left to chop vegetables, looking like a cute tomato herself.
Once you received your task for the evening, you surrendered to the current of the kitchen, and you couldnβt tell how fast time passed; one minute you were whipping cream, and the next you were serving soup for a table of fifteen. When you finally saw Yerin in person, you had half a mind to tell Lady Hwang to sue whoever made her oldest daughterβs portraits because NONE of the paintings had done justice to this jaw-dropping beauty. The kindness of her heart was shining through her angelic face, just like the rest of the Hwangs.
Well, except for one.
Throughout the whole dinner, Hyunjin was staring holes into your soul, looking clearly displeased with everything. He wasnβt doing anything particularly malicious, but as the end of the dinner drew nearer, the sense of impending doom in your chest was intensifying.
Apparently for good reason.
βWho made the soup tonight?β Hyunjin asked out of the blue as you were clearing the dessert plates.
All heads around the table turned in his direction, and a dense hush instantly fell over the table. You were confused as to why you were subjected to the question when Minji was right there, but you answered nevertheless.
βIt came from Minjiβs capable hands, my lord.β
βAnd the appetizers?β
βIt was Giselleβs meticulous work.β
βAnd the roast?β
βPascal personally oversees all main courses.β
βAnd the pudding?β
βThat would be me.β
βIt was terribly bland,β Hyunjin threw his fork onto the silver plate, tsking in disapproval. βWe shall not have such incompetence again.β
βHyunjin!β Lord Hwang raised his voice.
βWhat? I am simply stating my opinion, Father,β he calmly responded. βThe Seos are not only our esteemed family friends, but our honorable in-laws now, and they should not have been insulted like this, would you not agree?βΒ
No offense to Lord Hwang whatsoever, but this goddamn spawn of Satan was simply stating way too many things today, entirely unsolicited. It had not even been twenty four hours, yet he was already on the clock, hellbent on causing as much misery to you as possible. You could take it if he at least had the decency to do it in private, but it was a different story altogether when he decided to do it with not one, but three families present.
βItβIt was quite delicious, my lord! Truly!β Lady Seo shrieked in panic.
βI have matters to tend to. I bid you all a pleasant evening,β Hyunjin stood up, leaving everyone mortified in his wake.Β
The fucking NERVE of this man!!!!Β
All he knew was the pleasures of the flesh and nothing else. ZERO sense of humanity. What did these ladies even see in all his impertinence? He could be the most beautiful thing to ever exist, but what did it even amount to when he had a rotting corpse for a heart?
You were internally screaming your lungs out, but stood scarily silent on the outside, holding the crystal jug in your hands so tightly that you were moments away from shattering it.
βBrother doesnβt know what heβs saying,β Rina held your hands tightly. βThe dessert was absolutely delightful, I assure you!β
βI am most appreciative, my lady,β you brokenly smiled at her.
You politely nodded at everyone at the table, then left for the kitchen as calmly as you could manage, trying your hardest not to smash every single piece of china you saw on the way. When he himself had no power to exert on mere mortals like youβ¦ Just because he shared a last name with a man who worked hard for it to mean somethingβ¦ When the said man could not be any kinder to the people around him, regardless of their stationβ¦ But his sonβ¦ His goddamn monster of a sonβ¦
That fucking brat!!!
βYoung Master Hyunjin wants his scotch served to his study,β Minji informed you as soon as you entered the kitchen, immediately making all your hair stand on end. βTwo ice cubes, with a twist.β
βThen he shall be served promptly,β you stared at Giselle, silently begging her to please please rescue you.
βHe has specifically asked for you,β Minji urged.
βDid you do something to anger him so?β Giselle quietly asked, clearly scared, though unclear if for you or of you. βYoung master usually has quite the mild temperament.β
βPerhaps my existence alone is enough to antagonize him for some reason,β you held back angry tears.
You briefly considered spiking Hyunjinβs drink with laxatives to teach him a lesson, and you would do it if you didnβt need this job. You dropped the ice cubes into the glass like you would throw rocks into a lake with all your might, hoping some of your hostility would at least embitter the taste. You prepared the rest of the tray flawlessly out of spite and went up to his study, taking deep breaths back to back by his door.
βYour digestif, my lord,β you soullessly declared as you entered the room.
βYou at least know how to pour a drink, I hope?β he uttered without taking his eyes off the book he was reading.
You dropped the tray on his desk with a loud thud, barely avoiding slamming it on his face.
βDid I do something to you?β you raised your voice, not caring what he might retaliate with. βWhy do you relish vexing me so?!β
βI am merely reminding you of your place,β he replied, finally holding your gaze. βThere are proper ways to express opinions to a gentleman, but you shall not provide them unsolicited.β
βOh, you are one to talk!β you groaned, exasperated enough to choke him to death.
βI most certainly am,β he calmly closed his book. βI am not about to ask for permission to speak as I please in my own home.β
βIs this about that night?β you furrowed your brows deeper. βI got under your skin so bad, you are now trying to get back at me for it?β
βI shall not waste my time arguing about this with the likes of you,β he reached for his drink and took a long sip.
Likes of you, huh?
It wasnβt even a conjecture, was it? This was godβs honest truth unlike his self-proclaimed seductor charms. He really did not care for anything in this world other than himself. Paid no mind if he broke hearts. It wasnβt even a case of ifβGiselle had said herself that they were wagering on how many.
βYou are incapable of feeling anything, are you not?β you scoffed, no longer able to contain the quiver in your voice. βI wager you do not even know what shedding a tear feels like, you sorrow-ignorant, affection-agnostic, soulless villain of a man!!!βΒ
The man who was unaffected by literally any and all human emotion looked like his entire world was uprooted all of a sudden. He wouldnβt react any differently than this if you had struck him right across his face, breathing labored, nostrils flared, and knuckles turning white. His widened eyes were scarily unblinking, and all the color that had drained from his face was dripping into his eyes, painting them redder with each passing moment. Along with a coat ofβ¦Β
β¦mist.
βGet out,β he ordered you in a barely audible voice.
But⦠How?
Had you gone too far with your insults in the heat of the moment? So what if you had; how come it suddenly legitimized his horrendous behavior the entire day?Β
But unlike this angelic fiend, you owned a conscience, and when his lips started trembling, it felt like getting stabbed in the chest back to back to back to back.
βMy lord, Iβmββ
βI SAID GET OUT!!!β
You left the room as requested, letting all your tears run free as soon as you closed the door. At least you wanted to until you ran into Lady Hwang in the hallway. A part of you, the tiniest part of you wanted to ask. If you had been doing something to upset him. If you were truly incompetent tonight. What the hell her ice prince son might have been crying about.
If she knew he was capable of crying at all.
βI am so so sorry on my sonβs behalf. His actions tonight were unforgivable, and he will face consequences for it,β she held your hands tightly, eyes filled with remorse to the brim even though she had no reason to feel it. βHe isnβt usually like this, I assure you. He seems to be distraught by something lately, but it is no excuse to treat anyone that poorly. Please accept my sincerest apologies.β
You were shocked to the core that the lady of the house would debase herself like this for a mere aide. You werenβt used to it at all. What you were used to was the ice princeβs glacial monstrosity.Β
It wasnβt even a conjecture, was it? Lady Hwang did have a kind heart. Giselle had said herself that she took her in when she was only twelve. What kind of a monster would do that?Β
How come that man was the son of this woman?Β
βPlease do not fret, my lady. All is well,β you smiled through your tears. βIf there isnβt anything else, I should like to retire for the night.β
She nodded, still silently apologizing, and let you go. You descended to the servantβs quarters in the basement, put on the darkest clothes you owned to blend into the night, and snuck out to go to Rain Street for your first lesson with Vi. You felt terrible for lying to Lady Hwang, but maybe she would understand if you explained why. Maybe she would understand that the charcoal her kind would never touch for fear of soiling their delicate hands was your one and only source of happiness in this life.Β
You had high hopes that studying with Vi would help ease your heart a little bit; you had been looking forward to tonight for the longest time after all. Nevertheless, even though you did feel happy, something wouldnβt stop sizzling in your chest like a piece of ember that refused to die out, making you writhe in guilt. You did follow Viβs instructions to a T, but you kept thinking about Hyunjin. You kept thinking about the deepest browns you had ever seen turning hazel when clouds passed by them. His tears didnβt fall; they crashed around you like thousands of crystal balls. Sure, you hadnβt done anything to deserve such abhorrent treatment, but did you have to stoop to his level? Did you have to demand two sorrow-stricken brown eyes for the price of one?Β
Why were you even surprised to notice you had been sketching his painfully beautiful face as if to confess to your sins?
βMay I see the results?β Vi asked at long last.
You immediately covered the parchment you were working on and handed her the assignments she had given you. She seemed quite pleased with the results, but you couldnβt even enjoy it. Now you were mad at yourself for two reasonsβyou were the one that begged to be here, but you couldnβt even focus on a word she was saying, all going in one ear and going out the other. The last thing you remembered from the night was promising to come back on your agreed-upon date, this time to hold your end of the bargain.Β
You couldnβt stop thinking about Hyunjin as you left Harlequinβs Jubilee. You couldnβt stop thinking about him the whole way home.Β
You were still thinking about him when you crashed into him as you were trying to sneak back in, scattering the contents of your binder all over the spotless marble floor.Β
As soon as you saw his face, all the ugly feelings came rushing back, but it was now just a plate of cooled-down bitterness instead of boiling hot acrimony. You acted like he wasnβt even there as you were gathering pieces of paper and sticks of charcoal. Maybe you shouldnβt have.Β
Then you would have noticed he had stepped on a piece of parchment the size of a hand, discreetly dragging it towards himself. Right after, he crouched with you as if nothing happened and started helping you collect your things.
βDo not bother yourself with it for the likes of me,β you quietly spoke without looking at him. βI can pick it up on my own.β
βWhere are you coming from?β he asked in his blizzard voice.
βNowhere that concerns you, my lord,β you answered equally frigidly.Β
βItβs midnight,β he declared the obvious. βIf you are coming into my house at this hour, it very well concerns me. There are modest ladies living under this roof.β
You heaved a deep sigh as you rose to your feet, already too tired to play his tiresome games. Not today. Maybe tomorrow, if you could restore enough energy in your sleep. If you couldnβt, not ever. There was no rule carved in a stone mandating you to converse with your masters beyond a simple yes and no.
But there wasnβt anything forbidding you from taking one last jab at him, either.Β
βFirst of all, I am coming into your honorable fatherβs house, but you can rest easy. It was nowhere near Magnolia Alley where you would return from at this hour,β you spat in a single breath, snatching the papers in his hand. βI shall bid you good night.β
As soon as you turned around, he lifted his foot and picked up the piece of parchment he had hidden underneath. All his features immediately softened when he saw a scarily accurate charcoal depiction of himself, all the way to the dimple that only appeared when he frowned.
As Hyunjin watched you descend the stairs to the servantβs quarters, something he had buried sixteen feet under his soul tried to take flight again.
β₯ Reblog & drop your feedback to smash bland pudding on Hyunjin's stupidly beautiful face.
Thank you for reading! If we've just met, kindly check pinned for blog rules π
β₯ Crime Lord Werewolf, Cyberpunk Fantasy, Destined Soulmates
β₯ Contains: Love and Deep SKZace, tsundere wolfie who is a softie but I'd be careful when he's horny, pregnancy risk because bro doesn't flirt he wordfucks you, toxic possessiveness but it's sexy because it's himβ’, opposites that cannot attract any more than this, mythical levels of simping, thousands of years worth of angst and romance, werewolf awakening
β β (Non-exhaustive, full cw policy here): Violence
You can tempt fate, but you cannot beat it.
Whatever is set in stone, you have to fulfill it.
You can repent, but it means nothing.
The debt of anguish must still be paid.
You can tempt fate, but you canβt defeat it.
Whatever is set in stone, you have to fulfill it.
The same torment rewinds to punish a stray vow.
Unless you can turn the stone into ashes somehow...
Ice stuns fire.
Fire swallows ice.
Frost soothes pyre.
Blaze lulls rime.
And higher above desire
Lays our paradise.
Everywhere your light touches is home to me.
ππππππ ππππ
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.Β
He walks into his cavernous living room barefoot, stepping on the pages of sheet music scattered all over the floor. The name of the room is just a figure of speech; even though some decorator has put serious effort into this cathedralesque space, it has not been lived in.
His castle of darkness is not meant for entertaining guests.
The misty night framed by the floor-to-ceiling windows doesnβt let much streetlight in, but he has no desire to illuminate his den anyway. He sits on the piano bench, puts one arm over the open fallboard, and rests his forehead on it. His slender fingers make love to the keys, delicately playing a glum tune that has been living in his head for as long as he can remember. Itβs reminiscent of Moonlight Sonata but with no moonlight in it.
The soft keystrokes wake up the miniature phoenix sleeping by the fireplace. She flies across the room and perches on his shoulder, gently rubbing her head on his stone-cold cheek. The longer he plays, the more perfectly symmetrical snow crystals form on the keys with cracking sounds. Itβs always fernlike stellar dendrites, and each needle pierces his heart, spilling his longing for something obscure all over his insides.Β
He relishes that pain. He thrives on it.
It makes him feel alive.Β
He doesnβt feel much, nor does he want to. That detachment is the finger that pulls the trigger with no hesitation. Itβs the thumb that wipes the blood splatter on his face. Itβs what makes him walk away from dead bodies with outrageous nonchalance as if all he did was break a glass. He has committed lifetimesβ worth of sins to be found guilty, but he feels no guilt whatsoever.
He lives to be feared above all else. Itβs the only thing that satiates his appetite for destruction.
βThe car is ready, sir.β
He turns to the man backlit by the entryway lights and nods, then pets the phoenixβs head to say goodbye. The fiery bird is the only thing that makes him feelβ¦ something. He puts on his combat boots, grabs his leather jacket resting on the Chesterfield sofa, and heads out.
The ride to his destination is silent spare some jazzy instrumental playing in a tolerable volume. He watches the neon lights pass by from his tinted window, a murder of crows flying circles in his head. Every minute heβs awake, heβs playing chess with invisible opponents, and he has to calculate all the way to the endgame, not just two moves ahead like a fucking amateur.Β
Heβs had enough of busybodies, especially an exceptionally nosy law enforcer constantly trying to get all up in his business. She just doesnβt know when to give up. She thinks sheβs all that, but he thinks heβs all this. Sure, he can make her think sheβs onto him, that she can throw him behind bars any day now. He has some needs, too, you know. Even a man who spits on the world he owns needs to be entertained sometimes.
Everything bores him to tears.
She is not your ordinary agent, he knows that. She is all that. Criminally beautiful even though she runs something called Criminal Resonance Intervention Team. Quite intelligent; it hasnβt exactly been a walk in the park to dodge her. A fellow Sigma gene holder, but most likely clueless about the actual extent of her power. There is no way the people she blindly pledged her stupid allegiance to told her the truth. Itβs not like she can find out she is an Outlier on her own anyway.
But he knows. He knows everything.Β
Thatβs why he wants her.
He finds it cute that her core is fire when his is ice. Itβs like the universe wants them to slash each otherβs throats while doing a bad impression of star-crossed lovers.Β
He doesnβt believe in hogwash like destiny.Β
When the car comes to a stop, he loads his gun for good measure and gets out. Lifeβs volume is so mute in this part of town that his steps on wet concrete sound louder than bombs going off. Next to the rusty door of what looks like an abandoned hangar is a brick column. He slides the third brick from the bottom and a holographic retina scanner appears before him. The authenticator decides he is not a stranger whose eyes should be pierced with neurotoxin needles and authorizes his entry. There is only darkness inside. He walks down the stairs towards the only light at the bottom of the chasmal space and meets three men in surgical attire working under sickly fluorescent lights.Β
βItβs ready, Boss,β one of them greets him with childlike enthusiasm.
There is a reason why one manβs trash is another manβs treasure. He collects suspended doctors like a dragon hoards gold. He looks at the corpse on the table bearing his identical features all the way to the freckles on his body.
βNice work. I should give you all a raise,β he smirks in contentment. βWhen you wrap up here, serve it to our friends from the press at our agreed-upon time.β
As he climbs the stairs to the ground floor, he issues three payment orders of a million each. His chauffeur is waiting outside holding a bottle of hand sanitizer for him. He dispenses two pumps and coats his ruthless hands with invisible gloves, then gets into the car.
βDid you feed the bird?β
βYes, sir. Everything is in place,β the man in the crisp suit confirms and starts the obscenely expensive car. βShe thinks she is meeting Callum in person.β
He flashes a sensuously devilish smile as his contentment doubles.Β
They head to a vantage point that reveals what a beautiful slut Verona City is. He gets turned on while gazing at her sometimes. If he could fuck her, he most certainly would. Maybe even take her as his mistress. He finishes two glasses of scotch while he patiently waits. When the alarm on his phone goes off at exactly 2:23 a.m., he takes out something that looks like a car remote from his pocket. The small device has a minuscule orb that contains glowing blue plasma and a whimsical button under it that says βBye Byeβ.
βI havenβt said happy birthday to you yet, have I?β he speaks to the man in the driverβs seat, the apology in his voice a genuine knockoff. βMake a wish.β
He rolls down the car window, sticks his hand out, and presses the button. One of the warehouses on the West Side turns to dust with a deafening roar. He watches the explosion in the distance like heβs watching fireworks, not as cheap but certainly tenfold more entertaining.
Even a man who is sick in the head needs to be entertained sometimes.Β
βLetβs head home,β he closes the window and looks at his chauffeur in the rearview mirror. βIβm fucking starving.β
The car starts again, and they take the scenic route back to the base. He makes a quick stop on the way to pick up cassia seeds for Ember. As soon as he makes it home, the bird smells her favorite treats all the way from the fireplace and flies like a bullet to greet him by the door.Β
Instead of his dinner table, however, he heads to his piano, sits on the bench, puts one arm over the open fallboard, and rests his forehead on it. His slender fingers make love to the keys, delicately playing a glum tune that has been living in his head for as long as he can remember.
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
He has never once claimed he was sane.
ππππππ
Third night in a rowβ¦Β
Itβs the middle of a very harsh winter, but it feels like someone is pouring molten lava all over you. These hot flashes youβre getting every month only seem to deteriorate. You canβt breathe. You canβt sleep. Every healer that steps foot into the palace claims they have the remedy, but nothing works. You are so restless, you are about to claw yourself out of your skin.
You have heard the rumors like everyone else, of course, but your father deems it a foolβs tale. There is no such thing as healing springs. You are not to leave the grounds under any circumstances, especially when you do not have any control over your blaze. You are strictly ordered to just rest and wait for this desert storm to pass. Sleep on it. Take baths maybe.
You are about to die laughing.
How about you bring spices with you instead of lavender petals while you are at it? It would certainly do a much better job of bringing out the flavor of the stew you will turn into, since the water starts boiling the second you dip your toes in.
Youβve had enough.
You wait until midnight to make sure the meddlers are asleep. Once the murmur in the marble hallways comes to a standstill, you gently wake up the phoenix sleeping with her head under her wing by your bed.
βWe have to be really quiet, Cyra,β you offer her a veiled apology. βWe wonβt be long, I promise.β
The fiery bird rubs her head on your cheek, then flies to the balcony by your side. She perches on your back and sinks her claws into your cloak, swiftly taking you away to Skotia Woods. The darkness of midnight safely shrouds you, and the cold wind blowing at such heights is already so soothing that you can only imagine the relief you will finally get when you arrive at your destination. Your heart races in your chest as if you are running to a lover you have been longing for all your life.
Cyra makes her descent into the heart of the dense forest and lets go of you a few feet away from the lake, perching on a rock nearby to keep watch. As soon as your bare feet touch the pure white snow, you can feel your soul healing. You slowly walk towards the frozen body of water, your eyes closed, relishing the comfort of the rime melting under your steps.Β
Once you make it to the edge of the lake, you strip. Itβs perfectly dark everywhere else, but the moonlight shines bright, ricocheting off the solid white surface to place heart-fluttering kisses all over your naked body. The ice begins to crack with each step you take. Steam starts to rise as you move further into the water. When you reach a point thatβs deep enough, you submerge yourself fully, entrusting your misery to the cold, hoping it keeps it and never ever gives it back to you. Itβs blurry when you open your eyes underwater. There is nothing much to see anyway. Darkness reigns supreme here, too, but you can still make out the whites of the ice further ahead.Β
You resurface and comb your hair back with your fingers. The harsh wind howls in the distance. It must be below zero; you can see your breath in the air, but it feels like a balmy spring day to you. You smile in delight when you look around. The path you have paved under the water is perfectly visible on the surface, drawing a nonsensical abstract shape. You start laughing. You are genuinely laughing for the first time in a very long time with the joy of a child making snow angels on the ground. You swim some more, paying no regard to the time, bathing yourself in the moonlight as much as the healing waters of the small hot spring you have unintentionally carved in the ice.
When you are sufficiently rejuvenated, you walk out of the water. Ghosting your palms on your body, you dry yourself and put your clothes back on.
βYou really shouldnβt venture so recklessly.β
The low voice manifesting out of thin air gives you a terrible start, and your heart sinks with sheer terror. Cyra shrieks and flies towards you, opening her gigantic wings to the sides to shield you. You are more scared that something will happen to her. If the approaching shadow is what you think it is, there is no way she can survive a strike.
βDown, Cyra,β you whisper your command to the bird. βDo not move.βΒ
A pair of Alexandrite eyes glows in the dark like a kaleidoscope, part blue, part violet, part aqua in hue. You try to keep a composed faΓ§ade, but your heaving chest betrays how unnerved you are. No rumors. No legends. Most certainly not a foolβs tale.
The Ice Lycan is as real as the healing springs and is now prowling towards you.
βStay back, beast!β you muster all your courage to come off as intimidating as you can. βShow some respect for your princess!βΒ
βTsk, but where are your manners?β he taunts, words falling off his lips like rolls of velvet.
The closer he approaches, the more prominent his figure becomes. He stands tall like he has unyielding pride for a spine. His arms are burly like he has built this very forest with his bare hands. He quietly growls like he is sick and tired of being starved.Β
The shadow steps into the moonlight and transforms into flesh and blood. Your heart falls out of your chest.
You have never beheld such beauty in your life.
Itβs the kind of beauty that hides inside the most weathered boulders. Coarse at first. Badly beaten. Most will take one look and then walk away because itβs just a stone. Itβs nothing special. Itβs everywhere. But if you can be patient enough, if you are adamant to crack that rockβ¦
The Alexandrites it carries in its bosom will mesmerize the life out of you.
βYou are on my land, and you expect me to bow down to you?β he leans into your face threateningly.
βYour land?β you scoff, in disbelief at the audacity. βEverywhere is my land!β
βWhy, please grace me with the tales of your triumphs to conquer this land, princess. How much blood did you spill? How many tears did you shed?β he places his hand on your face, descending to your chin beguilingly softly, then harshly lifting it to force you to look into his eyes. βDid you at least break some sweat?β
You are stunned, frozen in your place, but it has nothing to do with his subzero touch. You get lost in those eyes. The fractals dancing in them hypnotize you. You can see every detail quite clearly from such proximity. The subtle cracks on his skin, the stray snowflakes clinging to himβ¦
Your vision starts to blur for some reason.
He feels confused; you are supposed to be petrified, not look at him like he is the only thing you have ever wanted from this life. You are even more confused; his frigid existence not only brings your heat back but also makes it ten times worse. You donβt even realize how heavy your breathing becomes when your gaze lands on his lips, tempting you like all seven sins morphed into one. You want him. You want him.
You want him.
Your world is shaken to its core when you hold his face and close the distance between you completely. The glacial sensation engorges the quiet fire burning within you like a rising tide, but somehow pacifies it at the same time. The thin layer of ice coating his skin starts to crack at the corners of his lips. Your fingertips go numb and begin to stiffen, slowly taking on a light blue tint.Β
You feel a thump in your chest, but itβs by no means metaphorical.Β
He pushes you away and presses his fingers on his lips, eyes widened in shock. His bare torso looks like itβs suddenly drenched in sweat, little drops freezing as they trickle down his magnificent body. He waves his hand in the air in panic, palm facing the ground, and the sword-like icicles manifesting from the hasty line he draws between you all point at you threateningly.
βTake your songbird with you and do not come back here!β he roars and disappears into the darkness.
Your heart should break, but instead, it sings. A smile creeps up your lips. You have always been told these lunar beasts are as vicious as they come, but you arenβt as sure anymore.
You have never seen something as endearing as a flustered Lycan before.
ππππππ ππππ
βGood morning! Todayβs date is September 25, Friday, 2054, and itβs -2 degrees Celsius outside. Your outfit recommendations are ready in your closet if you wish to go out today. Your breakfast isββ
βGeez, Xandra, youβre worse than the Chief!β you groan at the voice of the faceless digital assistant, salty as fuck for waking you up from a bombastic dream.Β
As soon as the word βbreakfastβ is pronounced, a white cloud bolts into your bedroom as the final destination of his parkour route, jumps on your bed, and licks all over your face.
βYes, okay, breakfast time, Samoyay!β you break into a giggle fit. βGood morning to you, too, baby boy.βΒ
While baby boy describes his mannerisms perfectly, it paints a very misleading picture of the gigantic Samoyed that smiles all the time like heβs constantly excited about something. As you refill his bowl in the kitchen, your phone rings, a remarkably odd occurrence for 6:30 a.m in the morning.
βDid you see me in your dream last night?β you answer Minhoβs call.
βGet your ass in here,β he urgently cuts to the chase in a dismal voice. βNow.β
At the bureau, the entire CRIT crew has its eyes on the big screens decorating the walls of the watchfloor. The breaking news is about an explosion that has taken place on the West Side, citing multiple casualties. The arson is suspected to target Duskfallβs notorious leader Zephyr, real name unknown, who has been pronounced dead on the scene.
βWe are two seconds away from storming that base and itβs razed to the ground with him in it?β you loudly scoff. βNot buying it.β
βCongratulations on unlocking a brand-new paranoia achievement, Captain,β Minho retorts.
βHow did they even identify the body?β you point at the screen like you want to pick a fight with it. βWe have jillion different visuals all claiming itβs him, plus all the verbal accounts weβve collected to date vastly differ from one another.β
βThe coronerβs team ran the DNA samples from the scene and got a hit in the evidence database,β he explains. βThey confirmed the death.β
βFor all I know, the coroner works for him. I expect everything from that motherfucker,β you cross your arms over your chest.Β
βPut the tinfoil hat away. You need to accept that our prime suspect is gone,β he implores you to see a microscopic amount of reason. βItβs over.β
βItβs over when I say itβs over, Minho.β
βI donβt think it works that way, Agent.βΒ
The Chiefβs voice echoes behind you, stern but somewhat resigned. When all else fails, you always look to him to reassure yourself that itβs only turbulence, but when even a seasoned commander like him looks that defeated, itβs about 97% confirmed that the plane is going to crash.
βPatrol fleets did a pulse check. All his known affiliates went into hiding,β he debriefs the team. βUntil there is at least Level 2 activity resurfacing on our radar, this case is now classified as cold. Effective immediately.β
βBut sirβ!β
βLet it go, Agent. Itβs time to move on to other things that can actually yield results. We wasted enough time,β he gently taps your shoulder. βDismissed.β
You donβt want to accept it. It canβt end like this!
Your every waking minute has been dedicated to this energy smuggling case for god knows how long now. With every extraction operation you have busted, with every base you have raided, you have been closing in on your faceless target inch by inch. Indeed, the distance between two things will never close if one of them jumps two steps further every time the other comes only one step closer, but for you, thatβs never been a reason to just give up. Because giving up means you are turning Verona City into an all-you-can-eat buffet for Duskfall. Giving up means no Sigma gene holder is safe from being randomly kidnapped on the way to work one day. Giving up means even stronger weapons of mass destruction will be built harvesting their core energy.
Countless hours, terabytes of data, hundreds of victims, comrades dead along the wayβ¦
It cannot be wiped out with a half-assed βBecause I said so.β
Once the crowd starts dispersing, you get closer to Minho and nudge him to walk towards the break room.
βIβm still going tonight,β you whisper to him after making sure no one is in the vicinity to eavesdrop. βMy guy is meeting me there.β
βCaptainβ¦β
βI just know it in my gut that Zephyr is still alive, Minho,β you start arguing your case. βCallum says I will definitely find what Iβm looking for at this event, and he knows who Iβve been fucking bloodlusting after.β
βYou keep calling him he for convenienceβs sake, but you donβt even know who this silent informant is,β he begins his own opening remarks. βHow do you even know this is legit?β
βBecause every piece of intel he has ever provided us checked out,β you answer feverishly. βDid you forget we cleaned up most of the West Side thanks to him?β
βYes, but that was then. The winds have shifted since,β Minho assumes his role of logicβs advocate as usual. βIf Chief hears youβre disobeying a direct order, you will get suspended!β
βWhich is why he wonβt,β you emphasize, eyes threateningly widened like saucers. βIβd much rather ask for forgiveness than permission, and Iβm just letting my partner know on the off chance that something happens.β
βAt least let me come with you.β
βNo, that will draw unnecessary attention. I only have one ticket anyway,β you firmly refuse. βAre you still my ride or die?βΒ
Heβs exasperated. There is no point in trying to talk you out of it since itβs nothing but a futile attempt with your stubbornness.Β
βIf it looks like things are gonna go south, do not do anything dumb,β he urges you, more like a brother than a subordinate. You squeeze his shoulders with a triumphant smile on your face.
Yes, itβs a risk. Itβs a stupidly big risk, but youβre willing to take it.
Because you have nothing to lose anymore.
ππππππ
Oh, itβs a miracle.Β
The news of the princess waking up with no embers on her skin reaches His Majesty first thing in the morning, and the latest healer that just happened to be in the palace receives his weight in gold as a reward. You have no intention of telling your father that he is being scammed because you cannot risk divulging that you are indeed frequenting a certain spring mentioned in some foolβs tale.
You have been visiting the woods every night to bathe, but itβs not just to soothe your blaze. A small, unwavering hope in your heart longs to see the Alexandrite eyes again. You want to feel his frost on your skin again. You want to tell him if he feels lonely all by himself among the evergreen trees, you can keep him company. But he never shows up.Β
Your hope is dying like a candle in the snow.Β
As you prepare to leave on the fifth night, a deep howl reverberates throughout Skotia Woods. Itβs not a bone-chilling omen of danger; it wrenches your heart the way it sounds like a lament over something that will never come back. Itβs dead silent except for the echoes still resonating within you, and you are trying to figure out which direction is home to that sound.
Before you can take three steps, a leviathanic cotton ball appears through the trees. It has to be a cotton ball; you have never seen a wolf this big and white as snow. It looks more like an oversized dog. Cyra flies towards it in alarm, but her shrieks are quick to subside when she hears whimpering. She lands and hops alongside the beautiful beast as it limps closer and stops at your feet to smell you. Cyra sadly chirps, showing you the red stains on the dogβs back legs.
βOh, you poor thing, what happened to you?β you kneel, eyes filled with worry. βItβs alright. It wonβt hurt in a bit, okay?β
You sit in the snow and tenderly embrace the gentle giant in your lap. It looks twice your size when you are at eye level. You close your eyes. A warm breeze blows from your palm as you ghost your hand over the bleeding wound, and vibrant pink strings of light swirl around the leg. Moments later, the whimpering stops, and you are attacked with affectionate licks all over your face.Β
βWhat did I tell you last time? Are you trying to fall prey?!β
Your giggle fit instantly stops like a sword has fallen on it, but your heart chirps as loudly as Cyra does at sunsets. The Alexandrite eyes are looking at you again. Then they look at the dog. Then its legs.
They take a full aqua hue when they land on the blood stains.
βWhat did you do to him?β he lunges at you, coarse hand holding your throat in a tight grip. βWhat did you DO?!β
βIβI didnβt do anything, I swear! He was hurt! I wβwanted to soothe the pain!βΒ
The cotton ball acts faster than Cyra and bites the Lycanβs ankle to throw him off, then gets in front of you and aggressively growls at him. Your cough softens as you rub your throat. His heavy breathing calms down. As he caresses the dogβs thick fur, an icy blue light appears, covering it in a coat of ice so thin that itβs invisible if the moonlight doesnβt directly reflect on it.Β
He suddenly gets up and leaves with rushed steps. The cotton ball takes one look at you, then follows suit. You hurriedly get on your feet and start tailing them.
βWhat is your name?β you ask as you try to catch up to him.
βStop following me.β
βI just want to know your name.β
βDo you intend to call out to me at nightfall?β he derisively spits. βI do not grant death wishes. Leave.β
βWhy do you have to be so rude?!β
βA myriad of apologies. Did my beastly ways upset the princess?β
βWhy are you staying away from me?β your voice rises. βIβm harmless. I wonβt hurt you.β
βBut I will hurt you.β
βJustβ¦ LOOK AT ME!!!β
He turns around so fast you almost bump into him. His chest is heaving, nostrils flared, jaw clenched tight like heβs forcing restraint. It doesnβt scare you. His eyes still glow aqua, but not as brightly anymore. You approach closer. Slowly. Throwing caution to the wind. You donβt know why you naively think heβs not going to do anything to you. Maybe he will, and you will die in this forest tonight, and no one will ever find your body. But you donβt care.
You just donβt care.
You reach for his face and put your hand on his cheek again. It feels like the finest porcelain under your touch. You are terrified you will somehow damage it.
βHow are you this beautiful?β you admire him, hypnotized by his sheer existence. βI just want to gaze at you for hours.β
The softening of his features is imperceptible to the naked eye. As your hand descends from his cheek to his neck, his heart races just like the way it does when heβs running wild in this forest, but this feeling is brand new. He doesnβt like it. He feels tickled inside. His spine starts to sweat.
You are quite literally melting him.Β
βKritzephyr.β
You donβt understand what heβs trying to say. Your eyes narrow when this seemingly unknown tongue caresses your ears.Β
βMy name,β he averts his gaze from you, brows still creased. βItβs Kritzephyr.β
Your failed attempt at replication amuses him. The crack in his stoic faΓ§ade is so subtle that you will miss it if you donβt own a magnifying glass.
βSure,β he suppresses the chuckle growing in his throat.Β
βCan we sit here together?β you point at the lake to your right.
He nods as he stares at his feet. The cotton ball chases Cyra like sheβs a butterfly, and she taunts him by floating over his head. You both sit on a rock, just watching them in silence. This is the first time you witness his smile, and itβs nothing less than glorious. Your heart beats harder when you notice he has dimples embellishing the curls of his lips. He doesnβt look at you, but he can tell you are looking at him. His pinky moves just enough to touch yours. You intertwine your finger with his like youβre making a promise.
Behind the trees, a pair of poison ivy irises gleam as they watch the two silhouettes sitting side by side. The more she wants to throw up jealousy, the brighter they glow with homicidal rage.
ππππππ ππππ
βAltipotens.β
If Chief were to see you in your disguise, he would probably bid you a fun evening rather than confiscating your gun on the spot since it looks like youβre about to attend some nepo babyβs ostentatious wedding. The hosts have packaged the event as a fundraiser, but their choice of venue is remarkably bizarre for something thatβs supposed to be for public benefit. There are no lights oozing out of the derelict building you are standing in front of to indicate any sort of human activity inside.
Worst case scenario, you will commit your first arson in self-defense and flee the scene.
The Judas window on the iron door slides close when you utter your bespoke code, and the door opens. You are greeted by five people in security uniforms and Venetian masks covering their entire faces, a perfect addition to the already strong off-the-wall vibe, and they scan you for any devices or weapons you may possess as you are strictly not allowed to carry any on you. One of them gives the green light, and the door to the right of the dark space unlocks on its own. Jazz progressions immediately flow into the darkness you are standing in and hold your hand to come play.
Your itinerary is pretty much by the book so far. Wear an ice blue dress: check. Find the correct location: check. Go through security detail: check. Donβt die in the meantime: in progress.
You approach the bar and sit on the only stool available, squeezing yourself between two sharply dressed people. Now all you have to do is wait for Callum to spot you.
βAnything to drink, miss?β
βAny sauvignon you have is fine. Thank you.β
As you look around the room, impatiently tapping your fingers on the counter, a shadow is cast on the dapper bartenderβs features. He subtly presses a button before him, then reaches for a wine glass.
βShe meant guacamole,β the stoic voice of the man sitting to your left corrects. βExcuse the improper fundraiser decorum. She is a virgin.β
The bartender dips his head in acknowledgment, but his eyes cling to suspicion as he leaves. You donβt know if itβs to prepare this strange order or not. Your head turns towards your savior. He has an almost-finished glass of scotch before him.
βIf you think a bartender wants to take your drink order in a place like this, youβre asking to get killed,β he softly whispers, then finally turns to his right to meet your gaze.
The second you lock eyes with the pair of Alexandrites behind the Phantomesque mask covering half his face, a strange feeling sets in. You would remember if you knew anyone with such distinct gemstones for irises, yet itβs so strangely familiar that itβs driving you crazy you canβt place where you know him from. He reaches for your face and leans into your ear, warm breath starting an ice cold blizzard on your skin.
βDonβt say anything stupid and follow my lead,β he whispers with a gentle kiss on your earlobe.
βFirst time someone is with you, sir,β a man in a crisp suit greets with a synthetically polite smile.
βThat would be because Iβm not usually the biggest fan of human interaction,β your barmate responds with a languid turn of his stool. βShe is obviously my guest.β
βMay I see her insignia?β
He breaks into a smile. Itβs a smile of tranquil lunacy. Itβs the kind of smile that signals a rapidly depleting supply of patience, and there is no telling what may happen if itβs completely bankrupt.
βI will pretend I didnβt just hear this for your sake,β the nameless Phantom pulls you close from your waist with aqua hellfire blazing in his eyes. βCertain parts of my ladyβs body are for my eyes only, and I will be required to gouge yours if you perceive her.β
The suit man swallows. He pretends he has asserted sufficient authority to follow code.
βMy most profound apologies,β he nods in remorse wrapped in equal parts respect and terror, then leaves.
When the suit man walks out of your field of vision, the relief spreads in your veins so fast that it gives you a headrush. Your shoulders droop as you catch your breath.
βIβ¦ really appreciate it,β you offer your gratitude.
βYouβre welcome, but I canβt say I reciprocate the sentiment. Iβm a little sick and tired of constantly moving because of you.β He waits for a couple of seconds before he lowers his voice to a seductively discreet volume. βAgent.β
His endlessly entertained smile feels like the most derogatory insult that can touch any pair of lips. It jumpstarts your synapses. Your breath stutters in your throat, and something hot starts spreading in your chest.
The legend of the underworld stands right before you.
βItβs you.β You work up the courage to utter the name you have only heard in hushed whispers. βYou are Zephyr, arenβt you?β
βExtreme pleasure to meet you in person,β he inserts a chivalrous filter in his voice, still acting like the intents and purposes of the night are entertainment-related. βI donβt mean to be crass, but you are so much more pleasant to look at up close.β
βI fucking knew it!β
Your impulses take full control of you, and tremendously miscalculating what would be the correct time and place to blast a scorchstorm on your mortal enemyβs face, you raise your hand. At least you want to. All he does is move his gaze from your lips to your hand, and in the zeptoseconds that lapsed between the two destinations, you lose the ability to move. He stares at your hand like he is no longer amused. He stares like he is disappointed. Like he is offended.
He stares like he is bored.
βDonβt make a scene. You will be dead before you can say freeze,β he turns to his drink again and conjures ice cubes in his glass with a circle he draws in the air. He chortles to himself when he realizes the unintended pun he made. βThe irony would be almost as cute as you, though.β
βUnfreeze my hands, fucking monster,β you quietly spit through your clenched teeth.
βSome jobs make you a monster, some jobs you have to be a monster to do,β he takes a lackadaisical sip and relishes the chilly bitterness on his tongue before it burns his throat. βWhichever you think I am is wrong, by the way.β
He twists his stool in your direction, and one look at your hands melts your invisible shackles. You can move your hands again, but barely; it feels too hot and too cold at the same time like a frostbite. Like youβve been standing in a snowstorm for hours.
βLetβs skip the foreplay. Iβm getting turned on,β he heaves an impatient sigh. βI will give you something way bigger so youβll get off my dick.β
βThereβs nothing bigger than you!β
βWhy, thank you for noticing,β he grins, all but humble. βFeel free to ride me to death, but I meant metaphorically.βΒ
Youβre caught so off guard, your mind goes fully blank. He takes the opportunity to segue into more serious matters.
βDynamo Inc. in exchange for an already dead man,β he rips off his seductor dimples as he makes his offer. βIβll tell you what theyβre bidding on tonight and what they intend to do with it over the next five years.β
If you could find your voice, you would yell a deafening βWHAT?!β like you do when you are astounded at the choices made by the characters of your favorite shows. You canβt believe their affiliates are roaming this shady as hell place right this moment.Β
Dubbed βpioneers of human life bettermentβ with those Xandra assistants they invented, Dynamo has created a βrespectableβ front for themselves as energy tech giants, and that tremendous success came with an absolute market monopoly they can abuse. Even though there is still no conclusive evidence on it, itβs a known fact that their corruption goes deeper than the sewers of Verona City, and the talk behind closed doors has it that Duskfall is just a measly subcontractor serving the gargantuan scope of Dynamoβs activities.
No matter how much you suck at mental math, this probability problem holds grave importance, and you have to solve it fast.Β
Hard fact: He is not actually giving you Dynamoβjust the information that can tank one of their hundreds of possible operations, which apparently has a five-year plan.
Harder fact: There isnβt a single person that embodies Dynamo as a whole, which means they can always grow back an arm thatβs cut off. The absence of the man that finishes the job, on the other hand, will inevitably expose a lot of operational vulnerabilities until they can replace him.
The hardest fact: Zephyr is a solid yes whereas Dynamo is a doubtful maybe. He is standing right in front of you right now.
Ergo, close but no cigar.
βNo,β you firmly reject. βI want you.β
βBaby, believe me I want you, too, but there are too many people here,β he licks his lips as he drags one finger from your shoulder down your bare arm. His soft voice suddenly turns ruthlessly stern, painting a clearer picture of the actual status of his mental stability. βYou should think of this as payback for the informant services youβve been using for free for so long.β
Fuck.Β
Fuck.Β
FUCK!Β
You should have known better. You shouldnβt have naively believed in the vigilante spirit of the civilians wanting to fight for their city. You should have known that you were being played for a majestic fool.
βYouβre Callum?!β
βIn the flesh,β he triumphantly smiles, knowing full well he just checked the mate, and tucks your hair behind your ear. βIf word got out who your source was all along, one might thinkβ¦ I donβt know, you are colluding or something. We wouldnβt want the honorable captain of CRIT to get a corrupt rep now, would we?β
βWe didnβt ask you to provide intel for us.β
βBut you also never bothered to ask for the price. Youβve racked up quite the debt, beautiful.β
He gets off his stool and stands tall before you, wrapping one hand around your waist like a snake as he lifts your chin with the other. He gazes at your beauty with eyes glowing a ferocious violet, utterly mesmerized. You should feel angrier than whatever it is you are feeling right now. He looks at you like he wants you both to get the fuck outta there and have your naked showdown in an obscenely expensive bedroom somewhere, ravishing each other all night long.
And a granular piece of you wants to let him.
βYou really should pay attention to who youβre getting in bed with before you get your cunt licked. Iβll gladly do it either way, but itβs you who will black out when you canβt take it anymore,β he throws your biggest failure to date with the suavity of an overpriced homme fatal, each word whispered against your lips like sweet nothings as if youβre in between his sheets. βItβs time to pay the piper now.β
βAnd if I refuse?β
He pulls you closer, and something sharp and pointy presses right under your left ribcage. You canβt tell what it is, but it feels too cold to be a mere blade. Itβs somehow dry and wet at the same time.Β
βI donβt think you have that luxury,β he places the softest kiss on the tip of your nose. βPlease donβt make me do it before we kiss even once.β
βWhat do you want from me?β
βNothing within the realm of impossible.β The poking feeling subsides as he pleasantly smiles at you as though you just agreed to a dinner invitation. He nods towards a large matte black door in the distance, the very same one the suit man walked through not too long ago. βWeβre gonna go into that room, and youβre gonna put your horrendous acting skills to good use for me.β
βAs what?β
βI already insinuated something to cover your pretty ass, and everybody inside is probably already talking about it,β he brushes your face with the back of his fingers. βYou will act the part of either my mistress or my queen. Your call.β
It isnβt excitement, youβre sure of it, but you still donβt know what caused something to thump that hard in your chest when he said queen.
βIβd still like to keep whatever remains of my dignity, thank you very much.β
βMy queen, it is,β he finally peels himself off you. You shiver when he takes a step back. He extends his hand, launching his dimples at you without any servings of smugness for once. βDo we have a deal?β
As if you have a choice. Exhaling out of your nose in frustration, you shake his hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours and places a chivalrous kiss on your hand as he stares into your soul. You canβt tell for how long heβs lingered there, but it feels like minutes, nor can you look away from his hypnotizing Alexandrites, now gleaming in a shade of warm purple. Much closer to a cozy pink than a faded blue.
You could swear you heard a cracking sound when he removed his lips from your skin this time.Β
ππππππ
βWhy do you never come out during the day?β
Snowdrops are in full bloom in Skotia Woods. Itβs much colder than usual tonight, but the thin layer of scorch that outlines your body helps you keep warm. You are unwittingly radiating a pink hue around you. Cyra and the cotton ball you now named Chion are playing as usual as Kritzephyr sharpens his dagger. You wonder why he feels the need to carry a blade when he has several of those for teeth already.
βHow do you know I donβt?βΒ
You falter when he responds with a question in that blizzard voice of his. He steals a glance when youβre not looking, and the corners of his lips curl ever so slightly.Β
So you come to the forest looking for him when the sun is out, too, huh?
βI sleep through the day now,β you pierce the silence again, a somewhat bashful smile creeping up your lips as you glue your eyes on the small fire you set before you.
βWhy?β
βSo that I can wake up at night.β
βBut why?β
Isnβt it obvious? It should be obvious, but he insists. It embarrasses you when he does. You feel like you are overstepping even though you are the owner of everything the light touches.Β
βNoβ¦ reason,β your voice wanes into a whisper.
He has been alone for as long as he can remember and liked it that way. Never in a million years did he think there would come a day he would enjoy someoneβs company. He likes asking you questions he knows the answers to. He likes being liked by you.Β
Maybe a bit too much.
βIt is not wise,β he sternly declares as he turns the other side of the blade. βThe forest is crawling with all kinds of beasts.β
βI can take care of myself.β
βBy blasting little matches from your hands?β
Oh, you see red. It makes you so mad that you unleash that fury by sending a raging fire on a mass of ice floating on the river. It doesnβt melt; it immediately sublimates.
βThat was unnecessary,β he looks at the hot vapor floating in the air with blank eyes.
βWhat does it take with you?!β you jump to your feet in exasperation. βI have done nothing to you! Why are you so cold to me?β
βAre you really asking that to me?β he retorts, voice as calm as a winter night, and points to his left to remind you of the white blanket covering the entire forest. There is nothing but ice as far as the eye can see.
βIf you didnβt want me here, you would tell me to go,β you pout with the stubbornness of a child.
βI did. Many times,β he corrects. βYou donβt seem to understand what it means.β
βDo youβ¦ really not want me here?β
He looks up at you and witnesses your sorrowful eyes. The glow around you has turned into a faded pastel. Fuck, he has gone too far. He panics really really bad and feels his chest tightening. He wants to ask you to burn him alive as punishment. No. No. Donβt cry. Please donβt cry.Β
βItβsβ¦ nβnice,β he stammers, βwhβwhen you are here.β
You smile at him so brightly that he can feel his spine sweating again. Your heart takes flight. You rush to his side and sit right next to him, one hand gently caressing his face. He melts a little more when he feels you on his skin.
βWhat are you so afraid of, my ice king?β
He closes his eyes and leans into your touch. He wants the world to stop. He wishes he could be something else other than the monster he is. He canβt even look you in the eye as much as he wants to.
βOfβ¦ scaring you,β he quietly replies.
βYou mean when you change?β
He musters a little courage and aims his Alexandrites at your gaze. His brows are furrowed. They are furrowed so often that there are permanent creases on his forehead.
It still doesnβt take anything away from his beauty.Β
βDo you know what happens when my kind falls in love, princess?β he continues without waiting for an actual answer. βItβs very ugly.β
The glow around you suddenly turns hot pink when he says fall in love. You wonder whether that question means what you think it means. You have heard things about Lycans beingβ¦ devoted creatures, but thatβs about it.Β
βBut how can something as pure as the snow be ugly?β you ask him with genuine curiosity.
He squeezes his eyes like heβs in pain, then abruptly stands up to leave.
βYou wonβt understand.β
βThen explain it to me,β you grab onto his wrist.
βNo.β
βTell me!β
He turns around and kneels to be at eye level with you. From that up close, he looks like a predator about to devour you in one bite, eyes glowing a ferocious violet. He looks enraged. He looks wild.
He looks hungry.
βI will forsake everything thatβs not you. I will know no such thing as a moral compass, and I will be solely ruled by my instincts. Anything and anyone that dares to take you away from me will perish. My devotion to you will be my sole guide in everything I do, and every full moon, I will love you so vehemently that you will gasp for air. Will you still want to be my crystal bride THEN?!β
You lean forward and take his lips within yours with no hesitation. He doesnβt push you away this time. His is a passion so clandestine, and the frost itβs buried under is the only thing that can calm your blaze. It doesnβt matter that he is a beast; itβs still as pure as the snow surrounding you. His kiss is a soothing touch on your lips. Your kiss is a cozy embrace on his. It feels like the exact thing the other needs.
β¦has needed since lifetimes ago.
βYes,β you delicately hold his face in your hands. βAs long as you have room for me in your heart, I will always want to be your bride for an eternity.β
He holds you tight in his embrace, feeling your heat on his fingertips. As he tastes your lips deeper, your heat comes back, fueling his. There are voices in his head, whispering abominable things to him. His breathing escalates. He is scared of himself because he can feel how violent he is getting inside.
He forces himself to stop even though itβs not even the last thing he wants.
βDo you notβ¦ want me?β you look at him with the saddest eyes heβs ever seen.
βThere is nothing I want more,β he holds your hands tightly. βNot in this life, not in any other, but justβ¦β
You are willing to completely devote yourself to him, but you canβt understand why he is so apprehensive. Itβs not naive to think heβs not going to willingly hurt you. Maybe he will, but even if he does, you know it will not be because he wants to inflict pain on you. Even if he does, pain from his hands will still taste so sweet, you know it.Β
You just know it.
βYou are my snowdrop,β his face falls with shame. βHow can I ever do this to you?βΒ
Your sorrow subsides, and a smile blooms on your lips again. Your heart swells with your adoration for him.
βYou are not doing anything to me,β you touch his face. βI want to belong to you. I already belong to you; I just want to seal it.Β
βI donβt wish for you toβ¦ see me like that,β he divulges his biggest fear. βI donβt want you to be scared of me. It will kill me if you abandon me with myself again.β
You lift his chin and make him face you. His beautiful eyes are glowing a faded blue. You press your hand on his chest, hoping against hope that you could absorb some of his burden.
βThere is nothing that can make me walk away from you,β you reassure him. βEven you couldnβt.β
A small drop of relief burns his chest. He kisses your hands with gentleness that does not match his frame.
βIn three nightsβ time, it will be new moon,β he hesitantly speaks. βIf youβ¦ still want me thenβ¦β
βI will always want you.βΒ
He canβt help himself and steals a kiss from you again. It rapidly escalates. You force yourself to stop this time because otherwise you wonβt be able to keep your hands off of him. You know you belong here with him, but if your ice king wishes for it to be on a new moon night, you shall respect it.
You shall be his under the sheets of the night.
βIn three nightsβ time, I shall take you as my bride,β he kisses your forehead and sees you off. βCome back to me safely, my queen.β
He watches the fiery bird whisking away the owner of his heart until it becomes another gleaming star in the sky. As he touches his still ablaze lips to feel you once again, he notices there are remains of a smile there. He feels excited. He feels nervous.
βGood evening, my lord,β a raven-haired woman approaches closer. βWent for a walk in the moonlight, did we?βΒ
And when he hears that voice, he feels furious.
His smile immediately perishes. He doesnβt acknowledge her and walks away with firm steps.
βDidnβt you forget a little something during your littleβ¦ confession?β she chirps, following right behind him. βLike how you are supposed to take me as your bride?β
βI told you this many times,β he responds without looking at her. βNo such thing will happen.β
βI am your fate, my lord. No one can go against it.β
βOnly fools would believe in your voodoo called fate,β he suddenly turns around and threateningly points at her. βAnd even if it existed, you sure as heavens would not be in mine.β
She is not intimidated in the slightest. She contently chuckles like a lunatic instead. He attempts to leave, but with a snap of a finger, poison ivies from both sides of the path hold hands and block his way.Β
βThis is your friendly warning. I strongly urge you to come to your senses and untether yourself from the princess when there is still time, or I will not be as nice next time,β she warns. βI will destroy everything you hold dear.β
Snowdrops are in full bloom in Skotia Woods, but when she stares at them with that much envy in her eyes, they turn charcoal black and wither in an instant.
βStarting with her,β she places a kiss on his bare shoulder and walks away with a sinister smile.
ππππππ ππππ
βStop looking so nervous. We are here to shop,β your forced plus one hisses under his breath, his arm linked with yours. βYouβre my queen. Act like it.β
You start walking among the tables hosting different casino games, the kind of cash that can save a small country thrown around like measly tips. Itβs unclear what fund is being raised for what cause here since nothing about blood money says philanthropy.
βYour little trick at the bar,β you speak softly not to raise suspicion, watching dice roll and cards flip all around. βYour core is ice?β
βIf you have to ask, I will start second-guessing my estimation of your intelligence,β he responds with a smirk.
βIs it considered cannibalism if you eat ice cream?βΒ
βVery amusing,β he turns his head to you. βQuit your job and come be my personal entertainer instead. Iβll pay you bank.β
βYouβre a Sigma gene holder, too,β you grimace, not hearing him. βHow can you even live with yourself?β
βYouβd be surprised what you can live with, beautiful. Nothing is ever what it seems,β he heaves an indifferent sigh, detaching himself from you once he notices a table in the distance. βWait for me here.β
βWhat the hell am I supposed to do by myself?!β you shriek.
βJust check out the merchandise,β he fixes his cuffs. βIf you like something, put it on my tab.β
βCanβt I just come with you?β
βEntrance is by invitation only, and not even being my mistress entitles you to admittance.β
βYour mistress?β you repeat in the language of βI beg your fucking pardon?β
βWhat? Youβre still my queen,β he smiles with mirth in his eyes. βDo you see anyone around wearing wedding rings? People come here to misbehave.βΒ
He pulls you close by your waist, catching you off guard, but as soon as the distance between you becomes almost nonexistent, his face falls. The smug grin evaporates. He looks like heβs getting mad at something, and you can see his eyes are slowly turning violet again.
She is yours. Take her.Β Β
A shiver slides down his spine.
He has never felt anything like this before in his life. A hot flash envelops him like a straitjacket, immobilizing all his faculties of reason, and he suddenly feels very antsy. His chest is tightening, his heart rate is escalating, and his teeth are itching. He wonders if heβs on the verge of a heart attack because if he is, he really needs to get his priorities straightβall he can think about is creaming your pussy so thick that it gushes out of you.
Then you kiss him out of nowhere like an intrusive thought, and his knees almost give way.
When you look at each other again, his eyes somehow turn into shooting starsβthey flash luminous violet for the briefest moment, but the gleam instantly dies out.Β
βDo not mingle. I donβt like anybody touching whatβs mine, and Iβm not in the mood to off someone,β he speaks into your lips in a hushed tone. βItβs hard to find a body shop that doesnβt ask questions at this hour.β
He then walks away, and something finally releases you from its death grip. You can breathe normally again, though slightly dazed like you just woke up. You pat your cheeks to snap out of it and channel your attention to the room instead, scanning the tables for any familiar faces.Β
βGood evening.β
To your left stands a man. He wears a cologne crafted to make people smell like gentlemen, but it isnβt enough to mask the stench of his sleaziness.Β
βGood evening,β you greet him nevertheless.Β
βYou seemed so lonely from afar,β he approaches closer. βCan I offer my company to the beautiful lady?β
βOh, Iβm withβ¦β
You donβt know anything about this man! Do people know heβs Zephyr? Does he go by another name? You donβt want to divulge something youβre not supposed to and make people even more suspicious. You would prefer it if you stayed in one piece tonight.
But youβre horribly blanking.Β
ββ¦a date,β you eventually finish your sentence.
βSome date, huh?β he rests his hand on your bare shoulder. βI wouldnβt let a beauty like you off my arm for one second.β
You stare daggers at the fingers calloused from counting so much money, giving this entitled slime a three-second grace period to fucking remove it. Youβre trying your best not to make a scene here, but if it comes to that, youβre not above killing a man just with your thumb.Β
βDo you want me to handcuff you to myself, baby? Because Iβll do it,β a maniacal voice graces your ears.
His blizzard arrives before Zephyr does. He appears out of thin air and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close as if to shield you. He pierces a hole into the slimeβs forehead with his radioactive aqua eyes, bright enough to blind half the room, yet he has such a pleasant smile on his face. So damn pleasant that itβs fucking terrifying.Β
βGood evening, Markus. Did you have a death wish?β he politely asks.Β
βMβMr. Bang,β the slime stutters, clearly about to faint. He then bows so deep, his forehead almost touches the tip of his toes. βI apologize, sir. IβI didnβt know you had a guest with you.β
βGuest doesnβt quite cover our bond,β he turns to you and gently kisses your neck. βWouldnβt you say, my queen?β
He is yours. Make him kneel.Β
His lips make contact with your skin, and you hear words reverberate inside your head. You donβt know why, but you believe it. In that moment, you believe you are his queen. Your heart has already started doing weird somersaults when heβs close by, but the more you are around each other, the stronger your body seems to be responding.Β
When you remain silent, he lightly squeezes your side for you to come to your senses and react.
βStop embarrassing me in public,β you touch behind your ear and giggle bashfully.
He knows itβs fake, but it still sounds like music to his ears. He holds your hand and brings it to his nose, the hot flash blasting on his face at full force again. His eyes close on their own. He doesnβt know why either, but he finds himself inhaling your scent from your wrist and softly kissing it, looking damn near blackout drunk. Or maybe heβs been drunk this entire time.Β
On what, the juryβs still out on that.
βKeep this seat warm for me, will you? Your man has a littleβ¦ business to take care of,β he emphasizes, holding your chin. βDonβt miss me too much. Iβll be back before your drink arrives.β
Heβll be away just for a few minutes, but he still kisses your lips goodbye like heβs going to war, and your heart tries to break free from your throat. You get whiplash when the butterfly-adjacent feelings quickly turn to stone-cold terror as Markus gets dragged to what seems like a supply closet in the distance. Itβs so loud that nobody even bothers to look in that direction when the door slams close.
βWhich hand did you touch her with?β Zephyr asks with eerie tranquility.Β
βSir, pleaseβ¦β
βWhichβ¦ hand?β
Markus raises his right. Zephyr grabs the work gloves resting on a shelf nearby and shoves them in the slimeβs mouth. His face contorts in pure rage, and thereβs no telling what heβs about to do to this man.Β
But all of a sudden, he stops as if invisible fingers pull him back from his collar.Β
βWhat am I doing?β he shakes his head like heβs just coming to his senses. His features soften, he smiles, and reaches for a handshake. βJust promise me that you wonβt do it again, okay?β
Markus fervently nods and takes the hand that will absolve him. As soon as the ice-cold fingers wrap around his, however, his entire arm freezes solid, little snowflakes forming on his skin with subtle crackling sounds. It feels so fucking heavy that heβs about to fall to his side. He canβt move.
βBut you did touch my queen, though.β
Zephyr twists the arm as hard as he can, and it breaks with a loud crack like heβs walking on ice wearing lava shoes. Markusβ eyes immediately well up with tears, his ear-piercing scream a mere whimper because of the suppressor heβs chewing on.
βEnjoy the rest of your evening,β his punisher smiles like all is well and leaves.Β
When he walks back into the loud room, Zephyr spots you grabbing two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. He smiles again, but this time itβs by no means saccharine. Come to think of it, this might be the only thing from tonight that was genuine.Β
Well, along with that other thing that happened when he kissed you.
βAw, you care about me,β he coos while reaching for the extra flute in your hand.Β
βBang,β you repeat what youβve heard a few moments ago. βWhatβs your first name? Click?β
βTrying to be funny?βΒ
βNot trying, Iβve been told Iβm very amusing,β you imitate him.Β
βYou are,β he acknowledges, clinking his glass with yours. βMy offer stands. Just one hour a night with me, and Iβll change your life.β
βIβm not your actual mistress,β you deadpan. Youβre not sure you even want to hear the answer, but your morbid curiosity puts a gun to your head to ask him, βYou didnβt do something to him, did you?β
βDoesnβt concern you since he will soon be a dead man,β he casually answers.
βWhat? Why?!β
βBecause no one touches whatβs mine,β he leans into your face, βand certainly not my queen.β
βIβm not your queen!βΒ
βArenβt you, though?β
He rests a finger on your collarbone and slowly drags it towards your cleavage where the pendant of a snowflake necklace rests.Β
βSuch good taste,β he admires. βYou should know, nothing turns me on more than blind loyalty.βΒ
βHow the fuck is wearing a necklace pledging my allegiance to you?β you cock a brow.
βEverything ice touches is mine, snowdrop,β he firmly declares.Β
You shudder from head to toe when you hear that name.
No one has ever called you that before. Youβre not sure youβve even seen snowdrops in your life. Thenβ¦
Then why?
βDance with me,β he holds your hand and pulls you to a secluded corner.Β
He doesnβt ask. He tells and he does. For such a crass man, he holds you unusually tenderly. A strange feeling fills you up when you look into his eyes. They are so distinct; no way there is another pair like this in the universe, let alone in Verona City. Which is why itβs even more uncanny that you feel likeβ¦Β
β¦you know him.Β
You donβt know why you feel the need to wrap your arms around him tighter, but you do. For the first time the entire night, you see him get the tiniest bit flustered, and it surprises you.
βYouβre not really the big bad wolf you make yourself out to be, are you?β you chuckle.
βSure,β he suppresses the laughter growing in his throat.Β
He doesnβt understand it. He doesnβt know you, not personally at least. This is the very first time you have interacted in person, yet it still ticks him off to homicidal levels when he notices the mark on your neck.
βWasnβt aware you were already running with the wolves,β he clenches his jaw. βIβm a very jealous man, just so you know.β
βLook whoβs trying to outfunny me,β you scoff.
βI wasnβt trying to be funny. Iβm known to cause bloody scenes,β he responds flatly, βbut you already know that.β
βI donβt know what your sick mind is imagining, but thatβs a birthmark,β you inform him.
He doesnβt believe it. It looks too distinct to be a birthmark. He wonders if he can remove it if he stares at it long enough. He wonders when you would be available for a dermatology appointment.
His thumb caresses the mark, and you suddenly wince like someone has pinched you. A frame of a frozen lake flashes before his eyes in one-tenth of a second.Β
She is yours. Take her.Β Β
He looks at your lips. You look at his. The violet shooting stars appear again, but they donβt immediately die this time. Your hands move on their own and slide down his broad chest. His hands move on their own and slide down your back. One of them stops at your hips, but the other continues until it reaches your inner thighs. You suddenly forget what youβre supposed to do, where you are, who you areβ¦Β
All you know is that you want him deliriously.
He is yours. Devour him.
βChristopher,β he says out of nowhere.
You donβt understand what that has to do with anything. Your eyes narrow when this unfamiliar name caresses your ears.Β
βMy name,β he repeats, not even blinking as he breathes heavily. βItβs Christopher.β
Christopher. Chris.
This is the very first time youβve heard it, but somehow a part of you still wants to say βI knowβ. You look around to see if there is a clock nearby so you can declare the time of death for Zephyr.Β
βWhy are you telling me this?β you ask him. βIt can and will be used against you.β
Chris never sweats, but he can feel the drops forming on his spine. He can feel the scorching heat you are exuding, pulling him in, swallowing him whole, threatening to melt him to depletion. But he doesnβt care.Β
Even a man who has seen everything including death needs to be entertained sometimes.Β
βBecause I wanna hear you moan it,β he answers and crashes into your lips headfirst.
You grab the collar of his shirt and pull him close until your back hits against a wall. That tight space you are squeezed in between a locked door and an out-of-order slot machine is not exactly interchangeable with a room. You are indecently groping each other in a room full of people. Any passerby can see what youβre doing if they squint into the darkness, but you donβt care. This isnβt a sudden itch you have to scratch. This isnβt a whim you are luxuriating in.Β
This feels like a survival need that has to be met right now, otherwise you will fucking die.
As he lets you undo his belt, Chris runs his hand up your thigh. He slides your underwear to the side and teases your dampened folds. You are wet, but you canβt take him like this. Without him getting you to beg for mercy. Without him working you to the brink of passing out. Without him making you flow a river of slick.
Slick.
SLICK.
He sees red.
She is yours. Take her.Β Β
GOD he should have just grabbed your hand and fucked right off to an obscenely expensive bedroom somewhere, but heβll make do with what he has.Β
He harshly rips your underwear and drops to his knees, sliding your dress up to your hips. Fuck, you look so tight. Oh, you look like he could gobble you up in one bite. Like he could swallow you whole.
He puts your pussy in his mouth, and thatβs exactly what he does.
He is yours.Β
His hands are wrapped around your thighs, firmly keeping you in place, but you feel like an earthquake is happening. You donβt understand how this is even possible. He just licks, but licks deep. He licks like a dedicated servant serves the master heβs crazily in love with, so intense that youβre screaming at the top of your lungs like youβre getting triple penetrated. Itβs intense, but you still push his head deeper into your cunt, trying to beg for your release. You would if you could form a single sentence. All that comes out of your mouth is incoherent sounds of pleasure. And guttural moans of his name.Β
Chris is about to lose it.Β
The more his tongue flicks on your swollen clit, the hungrier he gets. The more he pushes you to the edge, the more your legs shake. Itβs alright. He just needs you to be ready for him. He needs your walls all engorged. He needs you to drown him in your slick.
Slick.
SLICK.
βCHRIS!!!β
The more you seize with inhuman amounts of pleasure, the more he feels an inhuman kick between his legs.Β
You dig your fingers into his shoulders and pull him up, then latch yourself to his lips. The more you swirl your tongue around his to taste yourself, the more you feel the rasp of the growl in his throat. You finally free him and palm his girth, but something feels odd enough to make you stop and stare.Β
Heβsβ¦ big. Inhumanely so.
It caresses his colossal ego that your jaw drops at his size, but your frantic movements come to such a sudden halt that he looks down, appalled at what heβs seeing himself. He is almost twice as big as he knows himself to be, and what leaks from his slit does not look like precum. You look at each other again. Your eyes are questioning. His neon violets are impatient.
βSpit on it,β he firmly orders.Β
He says the words, and something drips down your thighs as though on command. Itβs so much that you think youβve soiled yourself for a moment. Itβs thicker than water, but not as thick as blood. Colorless, but not at all odorless. Smells sweeter than a flowerβs nectar, in fact.
Itβs as if youβve rented your mind and soul to someone else. You no longer feel like yourself.Β
A deranged smile blooms on your lips as you stare at him. You collect all the spit in your mouth, let it slowly drip on his soaked tip, and as soon as it makes contact with his skin, your back hits the wall again. It hurts a little bit, but it hurts good. Your smile devolves into maniacal laughter that does not belong to you.Β
So do your words.
βDevour me,β you demand with narrowed eyes.
And thatβs exactly what he does.
You donβt remember ever feeling this wet. Itβs so slippery that he slides right in despite his inhuman size, and he seems to be growing even bigger inside. The obscene squelch of his thrusts is the only thing you can hear. It hurts, but it feels so right. You feel like youβre about to burst with how full he makes you feel, but it feels so right. You might die right fucking now, but it feels so right that youβre on cloud nine.
βChrisβ¦β
βLouder. No oneβs gonna hear,β he pants into your mouth. βNow be a good girl and take it.β
βChris.β
βTake it.β
βChris!β
βTake it!!!β
Something explodes inside you with such pressure that it feels like a bomb has gone off, your thighs drenched with the cum gushing out of you. As the euphoric haze starts to clear, you feel disoriented like youβre coming down from a bad trip, and a sharp headache pierces your head. The awareness of what youβve just done knocks on the door of your consciousness, but the commotion that you havenβt even noticed has erupted in the room doesnβt let you process any of that.Β
βWhatβs going on?β you ask, sanity barely there.Β
βWeβre leaving,β Chris grabs your hand and bolts towards the exit.Β
You remember there were maybe fifty people in here, but itβs as if the population has somehow tripled. Chris tries to push through the crowd as fast as he can, but there are so many people trying to make a break for it that they push through you, the torrent of bodies separating you in an instant.
βCHRIS?!β
βWHERE ARE YOU?β
βCHRβ!β
The loud explosion temporarily deafens you. Darkness swallows your vision as the ringing in your ear subsides. The last thing you remember from your consciousness is a painful howl,Β but itβs not a bone-chilling omen of danger.
It sounds like a lament over something that will never come back.
β₯ Reblog & drop your feedback to make Chris' eyes glow violet.
*a/n: End of Vol. I. Don't freak out; this story only has two volumes.
Thank you for reading! If we've just met, kindly check pinned for blog rules π
γπππ ππππ πππ πγ Β· mini series
SYNOPSIS
β₯ The ladies' ideal husband candidate, the gentlemen's target of excessive hate, Young Lord Hwang III is Clarendon's number one rake.
Hyunjin finally returns from his travels, and his agenda for the season is the same as always: declare no interest in the marriage mart and enjoy the pleasures of the flesh to the fullest.
And if it weren't for a certain beautiful know-it-all vexing him beyond humanly possible, he was going to do EXACTLY that!
This work of fiction is intended for 18+ audiences only.
β» Hyunjin x Reader (f) β SKZerton, Alternative History, Foes to Paramours (lol), Romantica, Opposites Attract, Slowburn, Mutual Pining, Angst
β» Reader discretion advised β Period-typical attitudes, class differences and related assholery, themes of loss and grief, flawed characters overall, strong language, explicit sexual content.
CONTENT Β· γTentativeγ
β₯ One
β₯ Two
β₯ Three
This was supposed to be a Valentine's one-shot, but it got so out of hand that I won't be able to finish it by Friday. There's no point in releasing it after the V-day either, so it became a mini series instead. No worries, I've written most of it; it won't drag on for a year, nor will it interfere with other ongoing work. I'll actually start updating other wips starting this week, as well.
Thank you very much for your lovely messages during this difficult time. Even though I may not have publicly responded to them, I've read them all. In addition to you, I found a lot of solace in Bridgerton this past week, and I guess this is my way of dragging it on until the rest of the season drops. Hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.
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