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Baby can think of a million different things he’d like to do on this sunny Saturday morning, and none of them involve watching Zoey kiss another man.
Alas, the Saja Boys desperately need at least two of its members breaking into the acting scene for maximum profitability purposes—so sayeth Jinu. After the group’s leader scored a main role in some office romance K-drama, it quickly became clear that between Abby’s obsession with being shirtless and Mystery’s tendency to bark at every mild inconvenience, only Baby and Romance could follow. And when Baby landed this role, Romance was happily freed of any acting obligations.
So here he is, sulking in the corner of the set, watching Zoey and the actor of her love interest making moony eyes at each other.
“You’re still beautiful to me,” the actor—a twenty-something year-old named Eun-so, or Eun-woo, or whatever the fuck—murmurs, cradling her cheekbone. “You’ll always be beautiful to me.”
“You mean that?” Zoey’s eyes widen, glistening with tears. Her dark hair spills down her back in a wave of black curls, and Baby has half a mind to suck the souls out of everyone on set so there’s no one left alive who’s seen Zoey with her hair down. He does no such thing, though—knowing she’d just drive her knives into his abdomen and send him back to the underworld just like she did that night at Namsan Tower. It took weeks of work to return to the human realm after, and he’s not about to ruin the goodwill Jinu worked so hard to build with the hunters.
Nevertheless, it’s very tempting.
The K-drama he’s signed on stars Zoey as a court physician tangled in a forbidden romance with the crown prince. Filming’s half-way done, and today, the director’s decided to shoot the scene where the palace eunuchs discover their love story and banish her from the kingdom, chasing her away on horseback until she’s forced to cut her braids so no one recognises her. The prince then rescues her in a dramatic sequence, and when he finds her with her fluffy tresses framing her face like a halo, he falls in love all over again.
Baby thinks it’s the dumbest plotline in the world. Even dumber that he’s been given the role of the prince’s annoying, tattletale younger brother.
What a joke.
“I do,” Eun-woo says, bringing his face closer.
I’m going to kill you, Baby thinks. I’m going to kill you, and I’m going to feed Mystery your bones. Then Abby can use your veins as a jump rope for his workout routine.
Zoey bats her eyelashes, casting her gaze to his lips—then promptly pulling away. She plays the demure Joseon physician too well. It doesn’t help Baby’s anger.
“Then, if you still find me beautiful…” she bites her lip, blushing. Fiddles with the cotton skirt of her hanbok before standing on her tiptoes—
“Cut,” the director’s voice pierces through the scene.
Zoey sighs, and Baby tells himself it’s because she’s relieved. Because she doesn’t want to kiss her co-lead. Because the man she’d much rather be kissing has been forced to play the co-lead’s brother, and she can’t run to his arms without ruining the whole script.
… Maybe Romance’s late-night poetry waxing is getting to his head.
“Great work, you two,” the director praises. “We’re thinking of not showing the kiss scene and just shooting your hands close together, but we’re still workshopping the idea. You can take five.”
Zoey beams upon hearing the praise. Even under the studio’s ugly fluorescent lights, she’s still the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. It’s easy to admit that now, when he’s no longer under the ironfisted control of a Demon King. The difficult part is getting her to actually take him seriously.
“I think the role suits you,” she says earnestly. It’s the day after callbacks, and he’s in her room, fuming at the character they’ve given him. “It’s not all bad. You get a few cool moments, like in the second arc when you rescue me and the crown prince, and they put you in this really cool robe.”
“Have you seen the character details?” He hisses, demonic temper overtaking him. “The script says I’m eighteen. Eighteen! Six years younger than you!”
She giggles. “Your nickname is Baby.”
“I’m six hundred years old, Zoey.”
“You are,” she concedes, rising from the bed. Before he knows it, her hands are on either side of his face, and she’s squishing his cheeks with her soft palms. He can’t remember the last time he felt anything this warm. “But the casting director doesn’t know that. All he knows is that of the seventy-three people who auditioned for your role, you were the best.” She smiles, and he’s gone. Completely gone. “So let’s put on a good show together, okay?”
A crew member hands Zoey something. Baby watches her take the bundle before retreating into the village set.
Curious, he stands, ready to follow.
“Oh, Baby,” the director calls. “Could you stand by? We’re about to film the dinner scene—”
“Later,” he says, ignoring the potbellied man.
He sneaks between the houses, tailing after her footsteps. Honestly, he has a lot to say about the historical accuracy of this set, but he made a deal with Jinu to never speak in front of humans unless he has anything nice to say—which he rarely does. But the set’s layout provides a conveniently good cover for when he finds Zoey in- between two village huts, the rest of the studio separated from the two of them by a row of wooden structures.
“Hey,” she greets, flashing him a grin. The bundle, as it turns out, carried a costume change: a pretty hanbok made of golden silk, leagues above the tattered runaway clothes she wore for her previous scene. She’s half-way to changing into the hanbok when he turns the corner, and he catches a glimpse of her smooth thigh just before the skirt hits the floor. “Ugh, I hate how far the changing stations are from the set. It’s so much faster to just change here and get back.” Then, as if remembering something, she gives him a pointed stare, “Aren’t you supposed to be shooting your scene?”
He shrugs. It’s not easy, plastering his usual nonchalance when she’s dressed like a Joseon princess, but he makes it work. “Wanted to see you first.”
A soft flush clouds her cheeks—genuine, unlike the fake blush she was giving her co-star. “You’re going to get into trouble,” she chides, putting her hands on her hips in a gesture that she has to know doesn’t intimidate anyone. “The whole schedule might lag because of you.”
“Oh, no,” Baby laments, sprawling on the porch. “That’d be terrible of me. Might even be the worst thing I’ve ever done my whole life.”
“I’m serious,” Zoey goes on, in that sweet tone that lets him know she’s not. She sits beside him, “Jinu told me how much you need this role.”
“Jinu told you how much he needs this role,” he corrects, scooting sideways to rest his head on her lap. They’ve never put an official label to it, this thing between them, but as long as she’s his and he’s hers, Baby doesn’t mind. “I couldn’t care less. I’m only here because I heard they casted you as the lead, and look how that turned out for me.”
“I can’t believe you’re still sulking about that,” she huffs, running her fingers through his hair. He has to look up at her from this angle, and between the doting affection in her eyes and the softness of her fingertips, he feels like he’s just died and gone to heaven, greeted by an angel at the pearly gates. Only he’s a demon, and that place has long since been out of reach for him. He’s made his peace with that.
“Course I am,” Baby grumbles. “My character’s nothing more than a spoiled brat.”
“Mm-hm,” Zoey hums.
“A tyrant who whines when he doesn’t get what he wants.”
“Exactly.”
“Only reason people excuse half the things he does is because of how young he is.”
“Right.”
“And he doesn’t do anything but—” he stops. Stares at her and squints. “You find this funny, don’t you?”
She dissolves into giggles, happy little sounds he never wants to stop hearing. “It’s just,” she says, “you looked so serious about it. Like—like you were so grumpy. Grr, they’re making me play a carbon copy of myself, I’m so mad—”
“I don’t sound like that,” he scolds. “And I’m nothing like the prince’s brother.”
“Maybe not,” Zoey smiles mischievously, clearly unconvinced, “but you have to be—at least when you’re on camera. They haven’t even started filming your big scenes yet, and I’m already worried.” Her eyes soften, “Getting into character is super important for period dramas, you know?”
“You’re overthinking it,” Baby dismisses. “I’m a demon. Fooling people into thinking I’m someone else is as natural as breathing to me.”
“Really?” she teases. “I noticed the way you were looking at me earlier.”
Damn it. “That was a fluke,” he grumbles.
“Sure it was,” she says, then pokes his cheek. “Come on. I want to help you here. Have you been practicing with the script?”
“Mm.”
“And how’s that going?”
“Awful,” he answers. “I think the scriptwriter should be fired.”
“Oookay,” Zoey glosses over his remark. “So clearly that method’s not working.”
“Clearly.” He knows what’s going on. It’s a distinctly Zoey thing, he’s learned. She sees someone else going through a problem, and she immediately goes out of her way to help them—regardless of whether they deserve it or not. It’s a compulsion within her, a weak spot Gwi-Ma manipulated all-too easily. Even so, he obliges her —as he usually does.
And, anyway…
He might be able to get something out of this.
“It’s just not natural,” he says, sitting up. “The dialogue, the pacing. I’ve met my fair share of nobles when I was alive, and none of them talked like that.”
“Director says we’re allowed to improvise if it makes the scene better.”
“I have nothing to improvise with, though,” he complains, putting on his best show of helplessness. “The script isn’t exactly the best outline.”
Zoey’s brows furrow upwards, making her look like the saddest bunny in the world, and he almost feels bad—a feeling that evaporates immediately when she takes his hands in hers. “You could try improvising with me,” she suggests, and the gleam of hope in her eyes could blind mountains. “I know we don’t have a lot of scenes other than you peeking at your brother when he comes to my office, but—but maybe we could expand on our roles? I’m still the royal physician, and you’re still a prince. It’s not that big of a stretch.”
“How do you mean?” he feigns ignorance.
“I mean,” she continues, “you’re struggling to get into character, right? That’s your issue? And—and you signed into this drama because you knew I’d be in it,” she blushes again. “So why don’t we combine that? You pretend to be your character talking to my character. Like you’re sick, or you need herbal tea, or something.”
“That could work,” he nods solemnly. Then he takes a deep breath—because he’s taking this so, so seriously—and makes his eyes as wide as possible, “Zoey-noona, I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately. I keep tossing and turning in my bed, and I don’t know what to do. Do you have anything that could help me?”
Zoey blinks. “Wait, you’re supposed to use my character’s name—”
“I’m so tired during the day,” he keeps going. “I can’t focus on my tutors’ lectures, and my grip’s always slipping during swordfighting lessons.”
“I’ve heard of cases like this before,” she says slowly, deciding to play along. She must have thought it’d be easier to help him if she just goes with whatever he starts. “I can’t imagine how difficult it has been for you. Could I, um, do you mind if I check your temperature, Wangja Agissi?”
Wangja Agissi.
His Young Highness the Prince.
Yet another reminder of his character’s age. Of how he—Baby, the cute-faced rapper of the Saja Boys—is perceived.
It feels like a slap in the face.
“Not at all,” Baby shakes his head, gritting his teeth.
Zoey wiggles forward, then presses her palm against his forehead. Her brows furrow in a look of pretense concentration.
Tentatively, he places his hands on her waist.
“I wonder if it’s because of how lonely I am,” he says, adding a whiny edge to his voice that’s honestly kind of pathetic, but it feels true to his character.
Her gaze darts to his hands, then back to his face, but she doesn’t say a thing. Doesn’t comment on the way his fingers dig into the fabric of her hanbok. “Your temperature’s normal,” she says nervously, “but if you want to talk to me about the loneliness while I set up your medication, I’m here for you.”
Of course you are, he almost snorts.
“I feel like there’s nothing for me, noona,” he confides. She tries to move away—probably to mix leaves together for medicine, just as she said—but he doesn’t let her. Keeps her there with him, tightening his grip. “I’m nothing compared to my brother. I’m just the spare.”
“Don’t say that,” she chastises kindly. “There are many duties a secondborn son can fulfill for the kingdom. You’re so much more than just a spare.”
“It doesn’t feel that way,” he mumbles, leaning in. They’re sitting so close together that she’s almost on his lap, her knees overlapping his. “All people care about is my brother.”
“That’s not true,” she denies. “The king and queen care about you. Your tutors care about you. Your nurses, your maids, and your guards, they all care about you—”
“Do you care about me, noona?” he asks, eyes wide and glassy. The perfect picture of innocence, of a neglected secondborn prince with a crush on his physician. Taking advantage of his youthful appearance is never a bad idea.
“I—” Zoey blushes again. “Of course I do, Wangja Agissi. You’re my patient.”
“So you care about all your patients the same way?”
“I have to,” she nods. “If I don’t, I’m not a very good physician, am I?”
“Do you care about my brother that way, too?”
“I do,” she says, sounding confused.
Baby drops the naivete and works his angle. “That’s not true,” he accuses, letting a hint of anger slip in his voice. Purely method acting, of course. And if a bit of the frustration from watching another man place their hands on his girl shows just a little, well, Zoey doesn’t have to know that. “I’ve seen the two of you together, when you think no one’s watching. I’ve seen you hold hands. I’ve seen you kiss.”
Zoey reacts the way her character would; panicking, hands defensive. “That’s—it was a misunderstanding,” she quickly says. “It’s not what it looks like—”
“You’re a liar, noona,” he snarls. “You claim to care about me, but you’re just like everyone else, giving my brother special treatment.”
“It’s not special treatment,” she cups his cheeks. “If the two of you were wounded, I’d heal you with the same effort—”
“Liar,” he repeats, scrunching her hanbok. “Stop lying to me, noona. He’s the only one you care about. You’d never even look at me if you didn’t have to.”
“Stop saying that,” Zoey pleads, pretty brown eyes wide as dinner plates. He sees his reflection in them, the patterns gleaming between the gaps of his costume. Even sees his own irises glowing yellow. He wonders what it’s like for her, to constantly mirror the people she loves. To look at them and spend every second trying to gauge what they want, then desperately rising to meet that need. She’s doing just that now when she presses a kiss to his forehead, “I care about you. I really do. And I’d never lie about that.”
“Prove it, then,” he whines. One swipe of his knee, and that’s all it takes for her to finally stumble onto his lap. She lets out a small squeak, but he quickly boxes her in —doesn’t give her a chance to escape. He knows how fast she is. “Prove that you care about me. That you’re not just reserving that special treatment for my brother.”
“What do you want me to do?” her eyes dart to the side. Somewhere in the studio, the director’s calling for another scene. He’ll have to be quick, then.
“Give me what you gave him,” Baby says. “You know—to help me sleep.”
She relaxes. The tension in her shoulders release, and her lips part, eyes half-lidded. It’s as good of a permission as he’s going to get.
Baby surges forward and captures her in a kiss, putting his hand on the back of her head when he pushes her down to the porch floor. She kisses back almost instantly, falling into step with ease from the months of learning how to pleasure each other. Her hands, previously kept at a respectful distance, tangle in his hair and grip at his shoulder.
“Noona,” he murmurs into her mouth. She’s younger than him by five hundred and so years, but something about using that honorific with her sends a thrill down his spine. “Zoey-noona,” he says again, testing the word, grinding between her legs. It repeats like the beats of a song, those three syllables, over and over as he kisses her with reckless abandon.
“Slow down, Wangja,” Zoey manages to gasp in-between kisses. “You’re—ah, tired, remember? D-don’t waste your energy for… for something…”
“It’s not a waste if it’s you, noona,” he counters. Bites the junction that connects her neck to her shoulder, nibbling lightly. He’s forbidden from leaving hickeys anywhere visible, but gods, does it get tempting sometimes.
He moves away from his neck before the temptation overtakes him, returning to her lips. Her lipstick’s all smudged, and if he looks into a mirror, he’d probably see traces of pink on his chin, too. They’d return to the director together, evidence of their little rendezvous recorded on their faces, but with just enough plausible deniability that no one can say a thing about it. But everyone—everyone, including that stupid Eun-woo who gets to play her love interest—will have known what they’ve done.
It’s too much for him. The imagery of it; the confirmation. Before he knows it, he’s sliding a hand under her hanbok, searching for her underwear amidst the layers of fabric.
“What are you doing?” she mewls, wiggling her hips.
“I asked for what you gave him,” he says. “I’m taking it myself. You’re too slow, noona.”
“Should we… should we…” she’s a little out of breath. Can’t even finish her sentence, the poor thing.
Baby finds her underwear—finds the lace fabric of her panties, already damp with slick—and slips a finger underneath.
Zoey keens.
“Gonna… gonna get the hanbok all sweaty,” she huffs, breaking character. “Should take the top half off, probably—”
“You don’t have to, noona,” he coos. “We don’t want to take up too much time. My brother might come looking for you.”
It’s the truth—or a version of it, at least. Unlike the lavender-haired demon they both love, Baby is far more patient when it comes to the bedroom. He enjoys taking his time, breaking Zoey down bit by bit with soft caresses and open-mouthed kisses on her body. But the longer they’re gone, the higher the chances are of getting caught by a wandering crew member, and as wonderfully scandalous as that sounds… Jinu is going to kill him if it happens.
So he slides two fingers into her wet cunt, her arousal helping a smooth entry. Her breath hitches, and he holds her as he pumps those two fingers back and forth.
“You’re so cute,” he whispers. He’s got his arm around her torso to prop her up close as he fingerfucks her. Her flush deepens when her folds twitch around his knuckles, eyes glazing over with lust, jaw clenched in a desperate attempt to suppress her own noises. It’s the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Close already, noona?”
Zoey nods, because she’s always, always honest. With him, with her girls, with the world. She wears her heart on her sleeve and shows her emotions all over her face for her fans to see. That earnest innocence of hers makes Baby thrust his fingers harder, overcome by a dark instinct to corrupt something so sweet even when he’s supposed to be getting better.
But he’s not getting better, though, is he? It might look that way, since he’s not leaving a transparent trail of bodies anymore, but deep down, he’s still the same person. The same old demon, rubbing at her sweet spot and silencing her cute whines with filthy kisses whenever her pitch rises high enough for others to hear.
“Careful,” he warns, grinning, “if you’re too loud, people will hear us.”
She looks like she’s about to say something, but then she moans, burying her face in his shoulder. Her hair—those fluffy, tousled curls—brushes his cheek, and he thinks of what a privilege it is, to see her like this. Then he remembers where they are; what they’ve just done, the roles they’re playing, and all the other clueless humans in this studio who have seen the same damned thing.
And something snaps.
Baby pulls his fingers back, deciding he deserves more. Deciding he should be rewarded for his earlier generosity of keeping his wits together.
“Ah?” the soft, confused little sound Zoey lets out sends a streak of… something, through him. Something violent and ugly and addictive, like the rush of euphoria he felt that night when he swallowed hundreds of souls after singing Your Idol. In any case, it’s not making his attempts to hold back any easier.
“I want all of you, noona,” he begs. Swallows his own spit like a desperate teenage boy, nervous and shy but hungry all the same. “I want something you’ve never given anyone else. Not even my brother. And I want it… I want it to only be for me.”
“Wangja,” Zoey—or rather, the physician she’s playing—says, reverting to his role’s princely title. “Wangja, I’m not sure if we should…”
But he doesn’t wait. He kicks his boxers down and frees his cock from its confines, then positions it to her entrance.
“You’re mine, noona,” he says. He’s an entitled prince and a greedy demon all at once, and it’s funny how they want the same thing. “You’re mine.”
He breaches in and sheathes himself to the hilt, his hardness sliding against her wet walls. She’s all loose and pliant after the foreplay as he bottoms out inside her, and when an adorable, startled gasp escapes her mouth, he’s quick to put his hand over her lips and smother her noises. He gives her a few seconds to adjust, peppers soft kisses on the bridge of her nose all the while. Noona, noona, he tests the name over and over again. Feels her tightening around him as his voice drops, as he slips into that low, gravelly tone in the midst of addressing her like she’s older.
Interesting. He files this information for future usage.
“Wangja,” Zoey keens under his hand. “W-Wangja, are you going t-to… please…”
“Shh,” he croons. “I’m going to take good care of you, noona.”
He understands, logically, that he shouldn’t be too rough. The more he lets his lust run wild in this fragile movie set, the higher their chances are of getting caught. But then he thinks of Eun-woo brushing his knuckles against Zoey’s cheek. Thinks of the make-up artists, running their fingers through Zoey’s hair as they style her for an upcoming scene. Thinks of the crew members and how easy it would be for any of them to snap a picture of Zoey and leak it to the public. It’ll be trending topic by next morning: Huntrix’s Zoey sports loose waves for upcoming drama. Then everyone’s going to talk about it, and they’ll get to see it for themselves when the show releases, and Baby will be forced to share what belongs to him with thousands—millions—of people.
He rocks his hips forward and sets a feverish pace from the get-go.
“Baby,” Zoey moans, legs wiggling. “I—ah, you’re t-too—you’re—someone m-might—”
“They were all looking at you,” he cuts off, growling. “They were all looking at you, Zoey.”
He hammers in hard, battered thrusts against her sweet spot as he heaves over her and pins her down. He’s memorised the weak points of her body just as much as he remembers his own. She’s his treasure, his shining hunter girl, his and his alone by right of blood; when she pierced his stomach with her knives that fateful night at the tower, when he tasted her skin with his teeth months later. She understands this, he is sure. Understands just how much of her belongs to him as she moans so prettily for him, legs spread perfectly to let him pound her at a better angle.
“It’s just—ah, it’s just staring,” she tries to reassure him, because she’s Zoey. Even with a cock stretching her insides and splitting her apart, she’s always going to think of how she can make you feel better. “It doesn’t—d-doesn’t mean anything—”
“It better not,” he husks, gripping her hips to keep her still. They won’t leave this set with their souls intact if it does.
He keeps that last part to himself, though. Chooses to express that side of his desire by slamming inwards hard enough to grind his hipbones on her clit, an added friction to the already no doubt overwhelming stimulation he’s giving her. There’s drool in the corner of her lips, trickling down her chin as her mouth remains parted and moaning, her lewd sounds spurring him to plunge deeper inside her.
“Noona,” Baby tries again. Somewhere in the distance, he hears shouting, then the angry muttering of a director wondering where one of his leads went. But Baby’s not going to let this go, now that he’s with her, now that he gets to have her like this for the first time since they started this project together. She’s so warm and soft all over his manhood that it’s easy to get lost in her and just indulge. And when he feels her thighs massaging the sides of his waist, coiling around him, his hundreds of years of practiced self-control goes down the drain.
He threads his fingers through her hair and pulls her head back, forcing her to arch her spine.
“Baby,” Zoey cries, straining. The wood beneath them creaks. One of the planks fall off. “Oh, please…”
If this set breaks because of me…
He won’t be dealing with just Jinu. No, he’ll be dealing with Mira—and gods know he’s already on thin ice with the pink-haired hunter.
His attention returns to Zoey, sweat trickling down the slope of her neck, hardened nipples visible under the layers of her hanbok.
It’s worth it.
“Promise me you won’t let him touch you outside of filming,” he murmurs. There’s an echo to his voice, a bass layer beneath the depth; the way a demon sounds when they’ve shed all their disguise. If he looks at himself, he’ll see his prince’s costume is no more, replaced by the black hanbok he knows all too well. She’s made him go full demon, this little hunter, and the only reaction she has to give for it is cooing softly as he rams into her all feverish and wild. “Promise me, Zoey.”
“I promise,” she whispers.
More sweet reassurance. He wants to believe her.
But that’s the thing about being a people pleaser, isn’t it? You spend so much time reassuring others that eventually you can’t remember which words are genuine, and which are spoken just for the sake of keeping the peace.
And he’s a dokkaebi. A creature from the Underworld, a stain on Joseon’s history.
He’s always, always going to assume the worst of everyone. Even her.
“You’re mine,” he snarls, burrowing to the fullest. Unhinges his jaws and closes in on her neck, sinks his teeth where she’s most sensitive.
And Zoey—
Zoey comes from that.
It’s an accumulation of the pleasure he’s been giving her, certainly, but what triggers her to go over the edge is his fangs laying claim on her skin. Him, showing the rest of the industry that she’s his, even if the casting department was too stupid to give him the role of her love interest. Her cunt clenches down on his cock as she shudders, a high keen spilling from her lips the very second she has the sense to hide her face in his shoulder again. Her hair—her hair, soft as silk, soft as clouds—engulfs half of his face, and he can’t help it.
He inhales.
She smells like citrus, he thinks.
Baby reaches his own orgasm, shooting ropes of semen into her waiting pussy. It’s a new kind of thrill, emptying himself inside his sweet human lover in places they’re not supposed to be fucking in. He peppers kisses on her neck as he finishes, licking and suckling at the fresh purple bruise he gave her.
“Oh my god,” she mumbles.
He snickers. “You’re adorable,” he says, nipping at her nose.
She laughs. Returns his gesture with a kiss between his brows. This part is almost as good as the sex; coming down from their highs together, trading jokes and sweet words in the descent back to the present.
Footsteps to the left.
“Zoey?” the voice of a crew member, one he doesn’t recognise—not that he’s ever put much effort to remember them—calls. “Baby Saja? The director wants to shoot the next scene, and then we’re filming the garden shot—”
“Oh, no,” Zoey wriggles, scrambling. “We have to—have t-to clean up—”
Baby wraps his arms around her and takes her with him in a puff of smoke.
He teleports to Zoey’s trailer and sets her on the couch.
“Wasn’t expecting them to actually come looking for us,” he mutters, irritated.
“It’s a good thing you’re a quick thinker,” she smiles at him.
He kisses her. Helps her fix her clothes, finds tissue and wipes her legs down with it. “You feeling okay?”
“Mm. I’m not fragile, you know.” Beneath her feet, the Honmoon glitters. “I’m a hunter, after all.”
“So you never stop reminding me,” he teases. “Take a break here. I’ll bring snacks when I come back.”
“The crew guy from earlier called for both of us,” Zoey pouts. “I’m supposed to go with you.”
“Like I’m letting you go back to work without a breather after what I just did to you.”
“But I have to—”
“No,” he cuts off. “No, you don’t. Take a break.”
Zoey folds her arms like a petulant child. Baby wants nothing more than to suffocate her with kisses. “Or what?”
“Or,” he curls his lip like a child on the verge of a tantrum, true to his namesake, “you’ll upset me. It makes me really, really sad, Zoey, when I see you overworking yourself.”
She falters, biting her lip. “Thirty minutes,” she says, raising three fingers. “Then I catch up to you.”
He bites the tip of one finger. She squeals. Briefly, he entertains the idea of burning down the set and spending the rest of his day cuddling in this trailer with her. It’s a thing that happens, sometimes; the sight of her being lovely and vulnerable sends a streak of violence through him. Romance calls it cuteness aggression.
“Thirty minutes,” Baby agrees.
Giving her one last kiss, he adjusts his trousers and leaves the trailer, dreading his next few Zoey-less hours.
When he reunites with the rest of the crew, one worker greets him with confused eyes. “Weren’t you just…” she points to the village set, “I could have sworn I saw you follow Zoey in that direction…”
“Weird,” he says. “I never went there—neither did she. She needed help with something in her trailer.”
Don’t check the houses.
“Where is Zoey?” the director asks, approaching. “I need her, too. After we film your scene, we’re jumping right back into hers.”
“She’s a little tired,” Baby says dismissively. “She’s done for now, I think, so we should just focus on filming my scenes today.”
The director frowns. “But—”
Baby raises an eyebrow. Lets a bit of yellow irises flash, a bit of teeth. The peek of a fang under a dead purple lip. “But?”
The director freezes. There’s a part of him that’s terrified, and another part that doesn’t even believe what he just saw. And that’s what’s so neat about humans—when they think no one’s going to believe them, they’ll usually drop the topic.
“I agree,” the man says nervously, a touch too quick. “Yeah, yeah, we’re kind of behind on the schedule anyway, it’d be good to speed up your scenes…”
Baby smiles. From the corner of his eye, he sees Eun-woo staring at him—partly wary, partly apprehensive. He decides to flash Eun-woo a bit of demon eyes, too.
The actor quickly looks away.
Yeah. No human’s ever going to be bold enough to try to take his hunter away from him.