#A willow tree purpose | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

antlersarchives · 2 months ago

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𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐲𝐦𝐞 - remmick origin story.

remmick x reader

description - the earliest colonial history for settlers and immigrants alike were some of the most terrifying times to live in, somewhat considered one of the most dangerous times to be alive - famine, disease, disrupting Native American land and now... the undead reaching its ancient hand from the grave. now here you sit, beside the water just after the hot, summers sun has bid farewell, with the only person who stop by your side - the same one you had met many, many years ago.

warnings: blood/gore, vampirism, manipulation, death, 1800s and medieval Irish history mixed together - mildly inaccurate.

w/c: 9k

a/n: his took way too long to get out but here it is, so let me know if you want part two with the reader and how they met or anything otherwise! i'm going to be writing more, I had some things come up.. but I hope you babes enjoy this was hurtful to write :)

Liadan (lee-a-dan) - Remmick's younger sister. Meaning 'poet'.

Cónán - Remmick's younger brother. Meaning 'young hound.'

Is tú mo ghrá. - Meaning 'You are my love.'

1816

“Alasdair Mhic o ho / Alexander son, o ho, Chollo Ghasda o ho / Of gallant Cholla, o ho”

Under the silver glow of the rising moon, you tenderly sang an ancient Irish ballad, your voice drifting across the riverbank as your fingers delicately gathered bluebells that lay there. The tranquil night scene unfolded like a painting coming to life: your bare feet rested near the cool, rippling water, while above you, the willow tree swayed its branches in the gentle breeze. The distant bonfire smoke wove through the velvet darkness, adding a nostalgic warmth to the crisp night air.

Throughout it all, your gaze remained fixed on the delicate bouquet cradled in your palm, as you slowly turned the tender stems, admiring the moonlight on the damp, rich soil that embraced the roots of your precious midnight harvest.

“As do laimh-s’ gun o ho / Into your hand, o ho, Earbainn tapaidh trom eile / I would heroic entrust deeds”

The breeze danced against your clothes, lifting the loose fabric, you closed your eyes gently, breathing in the feeling but the sudden eruption of applause shattered the serenity, cleaving the veil between solitude. Your head pivoted sharply, muscles tensing as you scanned the landscape behind you. There, through the sea of golden meadow grass, you glimpsed him perched upside on the ancient willow, his lips already curved into that knowing smile—a face so familiar it resonated within you.

His was the kind of presence that effortlessly dismantled every fortress you'd constructed, bypassed every defence you'd established, reaching deep into the most guarded chambers of your soul and claiming what he found there. In that silent exchange lay something profound—a wordless communion.

The night’s reflection filtered through the trees, it landed on him through gaps in the brush, but the intruding dusk, gave purpose for him hanging a torch on the tree beside him. Spinning on his heel, he danced through the shadows, banjo on his back and dirtied cloth shirt wrapping his undying body, stopping just as he stands beside you, swaying back and forth.

“I always knew you liked to keep to yourself when you sang, so I was gonna say I’d only just seen you, but that would’a been a falsehood.” He brushed the dirt from his knees before settling down beside you, keeping his shoes safely away from the water's edge while gently bumping yours with his foot, his lips still curved into a warm, lingering smile.

He placed his elbows up onto his knees, looking out over the water, bathing in the open air now that he could; now that you both could, he stretched his neck in a circle before looking back at you. "I've snuck upon you to listen to you sing many times." He added, and you shook your head, hanging it in your lap, placing the scattered bluebells onto the tip of his knee.

He rested his elbows upon his knees, his eyes drifting across the water as the breeze caressed his face. There was something magical about sharing this freedom with you—the ability to simply exist in the open air, unrestrained and together. Now that you both could. With fluid motion, he rolled his neck in a circle before his eyes found yours again, warm with affection.

“I've stolen quiet moments to hear your voice,” he confessed softly, his words floating between you like a tender secret.

You felt warmth bloom across your cheeks as you shook your head, gently lowering it toward your lap, fingers gathering the scattered bluebells to place them with care upon the tip of his knee—a small offering.

"You think I haven't noticed," you remarked with quiet dignity, not yet raising your look to meet his as you moved to gather fine blossoms nestled in the tall prairie grass, a shy look gracing your features. "What are you after, Remmick?" There was exasperation in your tone, though your own passions hid between it.

”Only to engage in pleasant discourse with my most cherished woman," he replied with a chuckle.

His eyes sought and captured yours as he collected several flowers and weeds and selected a slender blade of grass from the rich soil. With practiced fingers, he began to bind the bunch, his attention alternating between his handiwork and your countenance, his movements unhurried.

"Oh, that's it, I'm your woman now, m'I?" You brushed up against Remmick, and you reached for felt through the long pieces in the grass; he watched you, the way your irises glinted when they flickered across his, all hues white and orange, like the final bit of sun he had set on his back all those years go.

The memories washed over him like a wind, reminding him of all he held dear. He recalled those sun-soaked afternoons sprawled in the meadows after long hours of labouring in the fields, the warm earth beneath him, and the scent of wildflowers filling the air. Sweat would trickle down his forehead, matting his hair, while the fabric of his shirt clung loosely to his back, taut from the day's work.

Like those golden summers when laughter rang out as children frolicked nearby by the shimmering waters of the creek, their playful voices weaving through the air like music, he would watch their spirit alive while they chased each other and splashed water. Whispers of young love drifted through the air, born from the shadows of the trees. Each moment reminded him of the strength of youth and the fragility of love lingering in his heart long after the sunset.

To him, you were something spiritual, almost holy, the only save he had left.

He cursed softly beneath his breath, shaking his head with a nod before fixing his gaze upon you.

"Do you ever miss the sun?" you asked abruptly with gentle melancholy, your mind drifting to memories of days long past when you would walk freely beneath daylight's embrace.

"Miss the old life, darlin'?" His head tilted, accent thick as honey as he smirked at you, genuine curiosity in his eyes.

"Not really. Truth is, I always preferred stargazing anyway." You rested your chin on your knees, meeting his gaze with a flush and a playful smile.

"Had I known that, I might've claimed you sooner." He moved closer, wrapping his arms around you and planting teasing kisses along your jaw. Your laughter bubbled up as he murmured against your skin.

"Funny how these folks fear witches, while a vampire walks right beside them." His whisper was soft as he loosened his hold, gently pulling you back against him. His fingers intertwined with yours as you settled comfortably against his chest, his back cushioned by the soft moss, both of you content in the shared moment.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" you asked softly. "If anyone found out, I'd simply tell them all about you too." Your head nestled comfortably against his chest, your hand resting there as he laughed—not mockingly, but with warmth. The sound vibrated soothingly through you, drawing out your own quiet laughter.

The scene around you settled into tranquility as you noticed the torch on the nearby tree slowly burning, its gentle glow enveloping you both in a warm halo of light. This moment felt like true peace—still complex and layered like any paradise described in ancient tales, yet real despite the harsh frontier lands surrounding you. In his embrace, you found something you'd been searching for all along—a sense of belonging, a sanctuary that finally felt like home.

"Do you think you can keep singing that song f'me?" His deep voice broke the heavy silence that had settled between you, causing your eyelids to flutter as you blinked several times, trying to compose yourself. He reached out, placing his warm, calloused hand on the sensitive skin at the back of your thigh, his intense gaze meeting yours with a mischievous, almost predatory smirk that made your breath catch.

His fingers gave your flesh a gentle but possessive squeeze, the unexpected intimacy of his touch sending a shiver up your spine. You froze momentarily, your thoughts scattered, and swallowed hard before clearing your suddenly dry throat.

1212 AD

Remmick had never given much thought to his fate, where he would end up in this harsh world, or how. The days came and went in the misty hills of Ireland, where ancient stones stood sentinel over lands still untouched by the grand castles rising elsewhere. Villages nestled in valleys, their thatched roofs glistening with morning dew, smoke curling from simple hearths.

Dark days descended over Ireland.

Common folk toiled from dawn till dusk beneath capricious skies, tending crops and livestock while Norman lords claimed ever more territory, trespassing darkness of conversion of their beliefs on the people . They traded wool and hides at muddy crossroads markets, bartering with passing merchants or neighbouring clans, all in desperate hope of keeping hunger from their door during the long, bitter winters that plagued the thirteenth century isle.

Its ancestry fading like whispers in abandoned stone circles.

Remmick trudged along the muddy path toward their cottage - a small and humble structure with weathered stone walls and a roof that sagged slightly in the middle, nestled on the misty outskirts of the village. Only fields of golden farmland surrounded the building, stretching toward the horizon like a patchwork quilt, now becoming barren from the winter months.

A small parcel of food was clutched tightly in his underarm, filled with the meagre goods he could manage to acquire - yellow cheese wrapped in cloth, a plump pheasant with feathers still clinging to its neck, and coarse grain for the livestock that waited in the pen behind their home.

The bundle felt impossibly light against his aching palms, a pitiful reward for fourteen hours of back-breaking labor under the merciless sun.

The same weathered path he'd walk religiously each day, a ritual etched into his existence over countless seasons. The winding trail where he'd once been with friends during those fleeting moments when being outdoors was still permitted, their faces tilted to the sky, drinking in the golden warmth of the sunlight.

Or the shadowy route he'd traverse with his first love every evening just as twilight surrendered to darkness, when the village retreated behind locked doors, and they'd exchange fervent, forbidden kisses beneath the silver glow of the moon, standing on the bridge others avoided with superstitious dread.

But those days had withered away—the present grew increasingly bleak, corroding treasured memories with its harshness.

Sunlight had become rare now, a gift that townsfolk no longer dared to enjoy, ducking between safe place to another with hunched shoulders and fearful glances, finding it best to be inside. And his beloved—vanished mysteriously months prior, alongside his mother and several villagers with them, leaving only questions hanging in their.

Questions that were answered only weeks ago when their desecrated remains were discovered—limbs scattered like discarded dolls, flesh stained crimson, and skin charred by malevolent forces beyond what was mortal.

The countryside had already surrendered to darkness, the moon barely visible through the thick, swirling mist that clung to the moor around them like a ghostly shroud. Ancient trees stood along the path, their gnarled branches reaching as he trudged the path further down the lane, looking around at every noise. The muggy air carried the earthy scent of decaying leaves and wet soil, while distant sounds seemed muffled by the oppressive fog.

And something felt amiss, a subtle wrongness that crept along the branches spines and whispered warnings they couldn't quite hear.

He approached the farm—where his father's familiar grumbling and the children's defiant shouts should have greeted him, but instead the silence that hung, raised goosebumps along his arms. Drawing closer, Remmick's pulse hammered against his ribs as his eyes fixed on the front door, swinging ominously back and forth, each gentle tap with the stone wall echoing across the empty yard. His feet refused to move forward.

A faint, unnatural gleam seeped from inside, casting an eerie glow along the path to the entrance. He stood frozen, each thunderous heartbeat threatening to burst from his chest as dread crawled up his spine like ice-cold fingers. Something was wrong.

Then he heard it—desperate screams piercing the night, familiar screams. Some emanated from nearby but he could care less, the ones that echoed from within the cottage itself sent his body into overdrive and he took off running.

The package slipped from his fingers, its contents scattering across the ground in his wake as a cloud of dust kicked out from under his feet. He turned sharply into the doorframe, pressing his palms against the hinges with such desperate force that the wood groaned in protest, threatening to give way beneath his weight.

And once he saw it, his stomach dropped, not taking his eyes off of the scene.

Everything was flipped upside down.

The table and chairs lay violently overturned, the somewhat white tablecloth and dishes scattered across the weathered oak floor, and a crystal vase now reduced to glittering shards from across where he stood. As his trembling gaze slowly traversed the room, he noticed the tapestries—family heirlooms passed down for generations—savagely ripped from the walls, their threads dangling like exposed nerves. The once cozy cottage, suddenly appeared foreign—all the heavy wooden doors stood eerily ajar, hinges moaning softly in the draft, while the stained-glass windows had been violently smashed inward, leaving jagged teeth of glass in their frames.

But his eyes then landed on something else.

Blood.

Dark, ruby red, thick blood.

The coppery stench saturated the air, clinging to every breath. What began as speckles across the floorboards transformed into a viscous stream that snaked its way into the kitchen where it collected in a dark pool. Remmick's body finally responded, his lungs barely drawing in oxygen as the biting winter air invaded through the open doorway, his shaking fingers releasing their grip on the frame as the door slammed shut behind him.

He rounded the corner and recoiled. His father stood there - slumped against the wall, one hand clutching his throat, guttural groans coming from his mouth as consciousness slipped away from him. As his father slid down the wall, Remmick moved to help but froze at a sound that pierced the air. Sobbing.

His head whipped toward the table, where a pair of trembling legs poked out from beneath. Abandoning his father, Remmick approached the hiding spot. The shoes were unmistakable—more familiar to him than his own: scuffed brown leather, with frayed laces dangling past the soles. Cónan.

His baby brother.

The room seemed to stretch, each step needing effort just to cross the smallest distance. And there they lay behind the overturned table, drenched in crimson. And yet, somehow, they remained bathed in an ethereal white. Untouched amid the carnage.

What remained of his family—Liadan and Cónán, his beloved sister and brother—sprawled lifeless upon the floor. He collapsed to his knees and crawled toward them, gathering their still forms into his trembling arms with a curse.

His forearms and hands became covered in the substance, sticking to him beyond recognition, so much so, that no longer seemed his own. Liadan's lifeless body lay slumped against Remmick's side, her once vibrant presence now horrifyingly still. His fingers tenderly brushed the matted hair from her sunken face, a broken sigh escaping his lips as hot tears blurred his vision. The weight of despair crushed his chest, making each breath agonising. Only a fire-poker remained clutched in her delicate hand—hastily snatched from the fireplace in a moment of desperate terror—its metal length now partially coated with congealing blood.

The bitter truth pierced his heart like a blade; she was already gone, her warmth fading with each passing second as his world collapsed into darkness.

The acrid tide had engulfed her body, soaking her neck and cascading down to her chest, covering her dress—like a poison—and something in his heart told him she had been aware of this. An intelligent girl, possessing wisdom beyond her years, tragically so. No one else could have committed this act; that life wasn't theirs to claim. No. So she had taken control of her fate.

"Oh lass..." The words caught in his throat as he gently cleared away the final traces of dried blood from her soft features, the truth sinking in, and he felt the slight of a touch upon his arm.

"Rem..." A voice croaked from below, causing his head to snap downward. His brother's head rested in his lap, and he instinctively clutched at his middle, drawing him closer. Tears already blurring his vision yet his eyes opened wide, straining to focus through the stinging moisture, yet tragically able to see everything clearly.

Cónán's body trembled violently in his arms, blood seeping from the wound at his neck as he cried out in agony. Remmick placed a gentle hand over his chest, trying to still the convulsions while softly shushing him. His eyes darted desperately around them, searching for help—for anyone, anything. But there was nothing.

Nobody.

His thoughts collapsed into singular focus as the boy spluttered weakly. Dark ichor bubbled from Cónán's lips as he tried to speak, the same poison that had claimed his sister now spreading through his brother's body. Remmick shifted, attempting to tilt Cónán's head to prevent him from choking, but the venom's flow was relentless. With trembling fingers, he pressed his hand over the neck wound, knowing it was already too late, blood pouring through his fingers.

The boy’s face fell pale, and whined at the touch,

"Shh, it's alright, I've got ya. I'm here." He was at a loss, the child in his hands crumpled into something smaller, reminiscent of how he'd held him as a newborn when their mother first brought him into the world.

Remmick was much older than the two, and yet no gap existed beyond the years between them. From the moment they entered this life, they were his, and when their mother was taken from them, he had claimed them as his own without hesitation. Now, he strained to hear anything—no sound, no cries, nothing remained—as the only treasures he truly cherished faded away in hi shaking arms.

With one final lament, the life in his hands ebbed away. He cradled him like a mother would, drawing his brother's limp form to his chest as he wept bitterly. "Curse you.” he cried into his brother's auburn locks, stifling the keening that threatened to escape his throat. From his wool pocket he withdrew a dagger of ash wood, carved with ancient Celtic knots, as he rocked Conan's body gently.

The spear lay heavy in his grasp, and he thought it over briefly through the veil of his brother’s unkempt hair. With blood now soaking his garments, he drove the blade into his back, piercing through to his heart from behind.

His hair was now wet with Remmick's tears, holding the spear tight enough, air let out of Conan's body but it wasn't a gasp, more an escaping of life. He was gone too.

Emptiness.

Everything that had already been taken from him and his family, from the land, from their home from others was enough. But now? This was beyond empty—a raw, gaping wound where his heart should be. A weighted crushing feeling collapsed his chest from within, and though his mouth fell open in a silent scream, not even the faintest sound emerged. Grief had stolen his voice just as death had stolen his loves, leaving Remmick hollow.

He spent what felt like hours there, though it was only moments. He cradled his head in his hands before gently laying him on the floor beside Liadan. After closing both of their greyed eyes, he carried them one by one to their beds, as he had done so many times before.

Returning to the kitchen, he stepped over the mess without a second glance. He soaked a cloth he found in water, wringing it out and moved mindlessly back to their rooms, motions seeming to carry him like a puppet. Remmick cleaned them both—their clothes, their faces—as much as possible, though the blood wouldn't fully wash away. Stepping back, he observed how peaceful they looked, as if all the sin that had touched them couldn't reach them anymore, instead only granting them one final sleep.

"Rest now, Is tú mo ghrá," he whispered, his voice cracking with pain. He placed a final, wavering kiss to their now untouched foreheads, the skin cool beneath his lips. Singular tears carved down his hollow cheeks as he stood back up, his movements slow and weighted. For several heartbeats, he remained there, suspended in his grief, unable to tear his away from their peaceful faces, memorising every feature as if afraid they might fade from his memory like morning mist.

"Boy."

A shout thundered from outside the room, rattling the walls with its force. That same voice he'd heard every day, barking the same old command.

His father.

Remmick spun on his heel, fury bubbling beneath his skin, reluctantly leaving the kids but pulling the door nearly closed behind him as he stalked out. Protecting them still. He'd almost forgotten his father was even there, and despite everything that had just happened—what he'd seen and done—Remmick felt nothing toward the man. Nothing but cold resentment.

He came into view, swiping shattered glass from beneath his feet as he settled on his father. His eyes, as crimson as the blood on his oaked shirt, reflected both exhaustion and anguish, his shoulders hunched with each laboured step. Opposite him, his father leaned against the wall for support, one trembling hand clutched at his neck while unintelligible words spilled from his lips. He couldn't tear his eyes away, watching blood seep between his father's fingers just as it did his own. Something inside him fractured then—a final, irreparable breaking. How could his father still be standing when they lay lifeless?

What took his lover from him, what killed his mother and siblings, what destroyed the family, what destroyed him.

Everything that this evil was, that it caused, was in him. And now he was one of them.

His father turned, pushing himself off the wall, a viscous mixture of froth and yellowish drool oozing from the corners of his discoloured mouth. His reanimated corpse twisted into a grotesque smirk as he staggered forward, now connected to something more, head hanging low yet tilting upward just enough to reveal rows of blackened, rotting teeth—just enough to confirm Remmick's worst fears.

Remmick lunged forward with primal fury, driving his fist into his father's putrid cheek with a sickening thud. The impact slammed the creature against the wall, but Remmick didn't stop. He delivered blow after savage blow—one cracking against the thing's that was his father’s face, another smashing into its skull. Spittle flew from Remmick's mouth as he screamed, his vision consumed by a crimson haze of rage and terror.

Blood.

Red hot searing pain. It coated his shirt, and his palms, in between his fingers and his nails.

Not even the biting could distract his mind from the overwhelming sensation. He retrieved the gleaming blade from his pocket once more, pressing its razor-sharp edge against his neck, directly over his pulsing jugular, stretching the fragile skin until it whitened beneath the cold metal. But he hesitated at the threshold of no return, not yet piercing the surface.

"Did you do this?" Remmick demanded, observing as his father's expression emptied of all emotion, the ghostly, waxy pallor of his freshly transformed skin capturing the dying rays of light. The murderous fury in his father's countenance subsided, yet his eyes remained cavernous, ravenous, and focused—though still as lifeless as they had always been. Droplets spattered his father's face as he stood motionless amid the grotesque mangle of bodies that had once been their beloved family.

"Tell me." Remmick pressed the dagger deeper against his father's cold neck. His face twisted with fury as he leaned in, voice cracking with years of pent-up accusation.

"You have always had your mother's eyes." A cruel smirk curled across his father's shadowed face. Remmick's eyes widened, rage and heartbreak warring within him as his hand tightened around the wooden hilt. Years of abuse flashed through his mind like lightning.

"Who?" Desperation clawed through his voice as he pressed harder, but his father remained motionless, refusing to speak. This monster—once merely his tormentor and now something inhuman—would not hurt anyone ever again.

"And now they'll be the last you'll see," he spat out, eyes welling with sharp tears. His hand moved before his mind could process it. The blade plunged into his father's neck, crimson life spilling forth in a cascade. He withdrew the weapon only to drive it again, this time into his heart, pushing with both hands and twisting with savagery . His father's face contorted in agony, one hand reaching out in a final, desperate gesture as the color completely drained from his features and his body slackened into the stillness of death, restrained against the wall.

Remmick fell backwards taking in the sight. Relief should have washed over him, taken him away in a dream as it did many times before, but this was no dream. Not even the death of that man could rescue him from this damnation. They were all gone. And he was alone.

He cursed himself, he cursed everything, screaming out into the air. Every window and door that was open, allowing the darkness to creep in around him as he kneeled on the hard ground.

Hours really did pass this time, each minute stretching into an eternity as he searched through the remnants of what once was. His fingers trembled slightly as he gathered anything of significance, anything that could preserve the memory of what was gone, carefully tucking each precious item onto his person, collecting fragments of a shattered life.

The silver chain his father had worn faithfully every day caught the light as he lifted it from around his cold, still neck. The metal felt impossibly heavy in his palm, weighted beyond its physical form, only tiny crimson droplets decoratively stained the delicate links. After a moment's hesitation, he brought it to his own throat, the metal cold against his skin as he fumbled with the clasp, his fingers clumsy with grief. The chain settled against his collarbone, where it now hangs like an anchor to his past, the occasional blood spots having dried to a rust-like brown against the polished silver.

He then reached for his mother's wedding band with greater admiration. The simple gold circle had rarely left her finger in life, but since her passing, his sister had carried it faithfully in her pocket, a portable shrine to their mother's memory. He held it between his thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly to catch sight of the deep engravement in the gloom.

For several heartbeats, he grappled with the propriety of taking it, wondering if his Liadan would forgive the theft of something so precious to her. Eventually, sentiment overcame his hesitation, knowing this would carry with them both, and he slid the ring onto his own finger with gentle determination. It squeezed uncomfortably tight around his knuckle before settling into place, the band digging slightly into his flesh—a physical reminder of how much he'd grown since childhood, how his hands had broadened and strengthened while his mother's had always remained delicate, hands that had once cradled him with such tenderness now existing only in his memory.

And lastly, his eyes fell upon the dainty lyre that rested on his brother's rumpled bed. The small stringed instrument and its polished wood carrying years of echoes—evenings spent huddled together, their fingers plucking melodies that filled their modest home with warmth. It had once belonged to Remmick himself, being gifted by one of the free-house patrons, but after noticing the way Cónán's eyes lit up with the same passionate fascination that had consumed him, he couldn't help but pass it down.

A lump formed in Remmick's throat as he carefully lifted the instrument, his calloused and dirtied fingertips tracing the familiar curves of its frame, gracing over the strings lightly leaving a strum in its wake. With shaking hands, he found a sturdy piece of lace, long enough to secure around the ends of the cherished lyre. He tied it with care, attaching each end to his suspenders, feeling the weight of it against his side—both comfort and burden of what he was leaving behind.

And that was it. A heaviness settled in Remmick's chest as he walked through the house one final time, overlooking the mess of what was once beloved and full, was now empty.

His heart pounding against his ribs.

If he didn't force himself to leave now, in this moment of fragile resolve, he knew with certainty that he would never find the strength to walk away at all.

His hands were mere tremors, as Remmick backed through the doorway, his gaze lingering on what was being abandoned. The weight of the matchbox in his pocket seemed to grow heavier with each step. Once outside, he drew a single match, striking it against the rough edge. The flame danced before his eyes, hesitant, like his will. Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he touched it to the dry thatch of the roof. The fire caught quickly, hungry fingers of orange spreading across what once was, and what could have been.

And he walked away. Into the night, not knowing what would become of him, and he didn’t care one bit.

6 Years Later

"C'mon a good word never broke a tooth, give us another." A man encouraged from the back of the dimly lit tavern, his voice cutting through the haze of pipe smoke, and a chorus of voices followed after, "Ay." They echoed back, continuing in raucous laughter over the loud symphony of music. Drinks clinked together, amber liquid sloshing over weathered mugs.

"Right well after ya chuck me a penny hey?" Remmick stood before the eager crowd, his laugh genuine despite the hollow ache still nestled in his chest. He swayed back and forth, finding solace in the numbing embrace of ale and the familiar weight of the fiddle in his calloused hands.

The music flowed through him like medicine, each note a temporary bandage over his wounded heart. Around him, a band of merrymen both sat and stood, picking up into another lively tune as the man he'd been bantering with waved him off jokingly. For tonight at least, the melodies and the drink would keep the darkness at bay.

He continued to play, moving with the music and dancing about with the drinkers and musicians alike. And he began to sing in front of the dimly lit congregation, ceiling hanging low.

“Tim Finnegan lived in Walkin Street” A pluck of strings here and he paused, as the raucous picked up. “A gentle Irishman mighty odd.”

He had a brogue

both rich and sweet

An' to rise in the world he carried a hod

You see he'd a sort of a tipplers way

But the love for the liquor poor Tim was born

To help him on his way each day

He'd a drop of the craythur every morn

The singing intensified throughout the tavern as Remmick's voice rose to a near-shout, sweat soaking through his shirt while his vocals remained clear. His eyes danced around the room as he sang, his face alight with smiles and laughter, his body feeling every pulse of the music.

But though his jolly, his gaze caught something at the window—shadowy figures passing by. He dismissed the first glimpse, but then it happened again, and again.

The movement was too quick to ignore—there were two figures now. Then another appeared. Three. And once more, multiple silhouettes lingered outside the tavern. Remmick tore his attention away as one of the musicians playfully bumped against him, momentarily pulling him back into the revelry inside. But just as quickly as they came, they disappeared.

Whack fol the dah now dance to yer

Partner around the flure yer trotters shake

Wasn't it the truth I told you?

Lots of fun at Finnegan's Wake

They continued to sing and Remmick stopped playing, uttering protests from those gathered around as he clung the instrument to his side, pushing through the grow of people to get to the door. Sticky hair stuck to his forehead and he breathed heavily, shoving through the door to the outside.

One morning Tim got rather full

His head felt heavy which made him shake

Fell from a ladder and he broke his skull

And they carried him home his corpse to wake

The music faded away as the door slammed behind him, and he hummed to himself, singing the lyrics softly under his breath. His steps carried a telltale swagger from the drunken haze clouding his mind. Around him, trees thrashed violently against the wind, while darkness blanketed the lane and fields beyond.

Standing there, he questioned why he'd ventured outside—perhaps it was the crisp air momentarily clearing his thoughts, or maybe it was that persistent ache he tried so desperately to ignore, that knowing part of himself he couldn't escape.

“Ay, they're wondering where ya went, going to be kicked out of here if you don't play. Now c’mon." A voice shattered the stillness and Remmick turned sharply, finding one of the musicians lingering in the doorway, silhouetted against the amber light from inside.

Rolled him up in a nice clean sheet

And laid him out upon the bed

A bottle of whiskey at his feet

And a barrel of porter at his head

He dismissed him with a casual wave, "Yeah I'll be in soon, give me a minute would'ya." The door creaked shut with a dull thud, and Remmick seized the opportunity to circle the building, the coarse gravel crunching beneath his worn boots.

The night air carried fragments of sound that pierced the darkness surrounding him—whispers, shifting movements, the faint rustling of fabric against skin. An unmistakable presence hung in the air, prickling at the back of his neck as he searched the shadows, determined to identify those mysterious figures he'd glimpsed from inside.

The obscure faces—unfamiliar yet somehow important—pulled him forward through the darkness. Not fear but a compelling curiosity propelled each step, a need to uncover what lurked just beyond his vision.He froze at a weathered fence, its splintered beams marking the boundary between safety and the vast, shadow-drenched fields beyond.

Cautiously, he hopped onto the structure, fingers digging into the damp wood as if some unseen force threatened to drag him to the other side.

The trees loomed and swayed over the misty low-lying land, and the breeze penetrated his clothes with a bone-deep chill and he shuddered, the eerie silence broken only by his shallow breathing and the occasional distant rustle that seemed to follow his movements.

With trembling hands, he retrieved a small pipe from his pocket and lit it, the brief flare illuminating his features before dying down to a soft glow—a tiny beacon in the darkness.

"You've managed a long time out here. Alone." A feminine voice slithered from the shadows, each footstep cracking the ground beneath her like brittle bones. Remmick jerked his head to the side, coming face to face with the being, jumping slightly clutching his chest.

Something about her presence made the air feel heavy, poisonous. He looked past her to see where she came from, not recognizing her from inside. No one else in sight, and the shadowy figures he'd seen before had vanished—as if they had served their purpose in leading him to this encounter with something far worse.

"I could say the same for you, out here, on your own. It's not safe in these parts—there have been attacks out her for years now," he reflected back, tilting his head confused and a little shaken up at the sudden sound, sitting up straight and laughing it off.

She released a gentle laugh, a primal rumble resonating beneath it as she shook her head. Observing her presence, one could sense she belonged to distant shores, her attire speaking of bygone eras—not the traditional garments he had known, but something more elusive. She floated within delicate fabrics that whispered like silk against her form, draped as if the heavens had adorned her with scarves.

The intricate patterns sewn throughout resembled those discovered in forgotten mosaics—fragments of beauty like it was etched in stone. Ancient.

“Are you lost? I didnae spy ye in the tavern." His words tumbled forth, voice thick with both accent and smoke, slightly muffled by the clay pipe he withdrew from his mouth. Remmick squinted at the weathered alehouse from where he came, wondering if any soul within might offer aid to this woman. The mead still clouded his vision, yet he found himself oddly at ease.

Though her appearance in the misty lane was peculiar, he felt no alarm—only an unnatural comfort washing over him, like warm peat smoke on this cold night. Something in her eyes glinted like polished flint, but the sensation of peace she cast upon him pushed such misgivings aside.

She shook her head again, eyes darkening with a patience as her laughing quieted to a measured cadence. "No no, I'm precisely where I need to be. But your music... it called to me. I simply couldn't resist when curiosity beckoned." Her words carried the weight of centuries, though wrapped in disarming charm. Remmick's head quirked as her gaze held him captive, her eyes never releasing their subtle grip on his attention.

“Well I’ll take the kindness. But curiosity, what would that be of?" He leaned his head back in confusion and from the subtle flirting, brining his hand up to relight the pipe in his hand. With a smooth motion, he jumped down from the fence where he'd been perched, landing softly beside her.

"I'm merely curious about you," she said, her voice gentle yet assured. "There's something about you that drew me here.” Winding her body closer, she raised a light touch to his arm enough to make his arm stand on end.

"Drew you here?" He raised an eyebrow, standing close enough now that she could feel the comfort of his presence. The cluelessness through every bit of pain. A sense of purity still dawned on him.

She nodded, glancing up at him. "The music. I heard you playing earlier. It was... alluring. I couldn't help but follow from where it came." Her eyes met his, stroking a finger at his arm. "And here I found you."

She stepped closer, her body subtly guiding them backward into the woods, each movement drawing them deeper into the darkness. The warm lights from the tavern dulled behind them until they stood secluded among the trees. "I was watching you, from outside," she whispered, confirming the suspicions that had prickled at him earlier.

"But not just tonight," she added, her voice like silk against the night air. “And not just alone." The ember of his pipe cast an eerie glow across her knowing smiles he pulled it away just as fast, her face seeming to contort and he backed up slightly.

The last comment raised his hairs, glancing around and reaching through the darkness seeing eyes dance in the distance.

Two. Three. Four. The same as before.

“Well you and yer friends should have came on in with the rest of us if you enjoyed it that much.” He shook her touch off, brushing past her without a care, sensing something more going on. His back now to her, he realised the glowing eyes from afar came slightly closer, more figure into view.

She spun around from the tree, facing him from behind.

“Would giving them name help you to remember?” Her voice lowered slightly, snarling in her words.

He continued looking forward, his dizzying eyes tracking down the building from where he came from and he chuckled, shrugging of whatever kind of trick this was, “I don’t care to go by name.”

“Not even for them?”

Them.

“And what is it you’re implying?" His chuckling faded and it turns into a grunt of words, stomach churning as he spoke, unsure yet certain of every word that came from her mouth. Remmick glanced around warily, brushing off his shirt and trying to sober himself up. He leaned against a tree for balance, his vision swimming.

"You crowd yourself in music, and drink yourself to stupor, and no man can return what you lost." She paused, stalking closer as he pushed himself off the tree standing straight, readying to leave thinking this as some sort of trick. He shook his head, staying with his back turned, somehow froze by her choice of words.

Even through his drunken haze, he noticed something different in her demeanour, something predatory and knowing, different to the odd and sweet one it had been.

His back tensed and his expression fell slack, eyes dilating in the darkness as he began to pick at the bark, trying to bypass the thoughts, moments and memories but he pushed them aside, collapsing under the weight.

"I'm afraid to say ye have the wrong man." His head felt heavy, and shivers ran through his body. It had to be the drink, that liquor was no joking matter. But she continued on.

"What became of them? What fate concludes you all? Your lover, your mother, your dearest brother and sister. Even your father. And yet you walk here, wouldn't you want to be with them?"

Her words sliced through him like a blade of ice. Remmick froze completely, unable to step away despite every instinct screaming to flee. Her cruel questions burrowed into his mind like parasites, crushing what little composure he had left. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he wiped his face roughly, the devastating truth settling in his bones.

This wasn't the drink's doing, wasn't some fevered dream he could dismiss. This was real—a venomous enchantment that held him there even as it destroyed him piece by piece. His feet remained rooted to the spot, betraying his desire to escape her words. Merciless.

“How..” Remmick turned, his face red and flushed from the cold and he panted, trying to calm himself as his movement staggered, he felt anger, and hurt. What he tied down for so long was being set free, and not in the way it should have. She shushed him and placed a hand at his shoulder, fingering the buttons on his cloth shirt and he didn’t move.

"You left without scratch, or any harm at all leaving the dead behind, but here you stand as one of them, but only your heart beats."

Something clicked. Years had passed and yet everything may as well have been hours ago, time seemed to still and stand where he'd left it. He hadn't seen anyone, anything, the night it happened, but the smell, the taste in his mouth that the blood left, the dirt it left that he couldn't wash off. And she reeked of it, her scent a sweet poison that clouded his judgment with each breath he took.

Her crimson lips curved into a knowing smile, her pale fingers brushing against his arm, sending involuntary shivers down his spine. Lights weaved through the trees, in the shapes of eyes, standing tall at all angles around them both and he froze, focusing in on them.

Three men with hollow cheeks and predatory gazes, and another woman with hair like midnight, dressed similarly enough in tattered finery from various eras—some wearing more recent clothing that he recognised through the dying light. Their pale faces seemed to glow with an unnatural luminescence as they watched him with hungry anticipation. A glinting fang in the corner of his eyes snapped his head back to her.

As their eyes met, he felt his resistance melting away, his fear transforming into a strange acceptance.

He understood now what she was, what they all were, and somehow knew this moment had been inevitable since that night long ago. His heartbeat slowed as he surrendered to her silent call.

"Except something can change that." She stalked closer, her face contorting with a toothed grin. "If you let it." Her hands placed onto Remmick's shoulders as she stalked around him, running her hands along as she whispered into his ear, dragging her hidden teeth around the side and back of his neck, her breath hitting it deeply.

Seductive and strong she grips him tightly, shivering under the feeling. Her fingers trail down his arm until they find his hand, toying with the ring on his finger, twisting it playfully and he shook his hand away.

She plucks at his clothing, examining the fabric between her fingertips, handling his belongings with intimate familiarity. Remmick remains transfixed, his gaze never leaving her face, captivated by her every movement. Only occasionally do his eyes flick back to the others, noting their growing impatience, their shuffling feet and pointed glances, before his attention magnetises back to her, unable to resist her pull.

"You know what we are." She declared, snaking around his body to face him. Her face was something evil, a soft spittle remained at her mouth, and her eye glowed a dark red and the mouth into a jagged curve - something unnatural. There is no restraint, no screaming for help, no pleading. He stays stood without seeming to care.

"I've known." His voice was tired and sunken as he hung his head high.

"Then you know what can set you free. No burden, no pain."

"Salvation," he whispered, a word that once held meaning in his childhood prayers. He longed for peace, that divine grace the gods had promised, though faith had taken over abandoned him years ago. "The redemption I sought in empty churches, the ones they build on broken ground.”

Her clawed fingers tightened around his wrist. "We offer a different salvation. One you can touch."

In that moment, something primal awakened within him.

“You offer no savin’.” With unexpected swiftness, he twisted violently from her grip, slamming his elbow into her temple. She shrieked, a sound more beast than human, as he bolted toward the woods.

Behind him, howls erupted from the darkness – her brethren, her pack. They would hunt him now, their prey who dared to flee. Through the underbrush he crashed, knowing they followed, their hunger intensified by his defiance but he didn’t panic. Not once.

Fate was not defied by prophecy, it was defied by choice. And this was no way to die.

Remmick winced as the sharp brushes cut into his flesh, shallow wounds appearing along his arms in delicate slashes—a necessary sacrifice. He pressed deeper into the woods, sensing the pursuing figures following his trail exactly as he intended. The sound of their movement confirmed they were taking the bait.

Suddenly, the Earth beneath him gave way, forming a crater just large enough to swallow his foot. It pulled him downward with surprising force, dragging him into the sodden dirt that scraped against his chest and tore at his shirt, ripping the material to shreds.

His face pressed into the damp ground, the taste of soil filling his mouth as he lay there, not in defeat but in calculated patience. Through his blurred vision, he watched as a quoir of shadowy figures materialised and gathered around him.

The woman caught up first, her breath a cold whisper against his neck as she circled him, crouching behind him tutting. One by one, they revealed themselves—pale faces contorted with hunger, lips curling back to expose elongated fangs.

“An unwise choice.” She teased, her voice like silk over steel. They encircled him, taking turns to slash at his flesh with razor-sharp nails that glinted in the moonlight. Blood welled from each precise cut, drawing hisses of pleasure from his tormentors. The woman knelt beside him, gripping his chin and forcing him to meet her ancient eyes, smirking at their motions. "You cannot escape what you are said to become, we all shall be" she whispered, tracing a cold finger along his jawline.

"You belong with us. Belong to." The words hung in the air like a funeral dirge. “Many years of freedom-“ she paused, letting silence fill the space between them, "and yet you are so unhappy... living amongst it like this won't give you happiness, it won't bring them back to you." Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“And debts must be paid, each one owed back to us in blood. It's only what makes you whole.” She slowly raised her hand, the dim light catching her nails one by one as they came into view, each twinkling with crimson that seemed to pulse with a life of its own.

His eyes widened as she brought them closer, close enough that he could smell the metallic tang. Her lips curled into a smile that never reached her eyes. “And I intend to collect…” she trailed off, dragging a single nail along his cheek, leaving the faintest trace of red, “.. you become one of us, all of that you knew before will disappear.”

He trembled violently in her iron grip as she hoisted him upward, his battered body sagging against her kneeling form. Blood seeped from his numerous wounds, staining his tattered clothes crimson as his strength ebbed away with each laboured breath.

"No... I'd rather die empty than become like you," he rasped defiantly, his voice barely above a whisper. She ignored his resistance, drawing nearer with predatory intent, her eyes gleaming with hunger. Her razor-sharp teeth pierced the tender flesh of his neck with savage precision. He screamed in agony, his body convulsing as he desperately clawed at her arms, thrashing wildly to escape her deadly embrace. White-hot pain radiated from the puncture wounds as she drank deeply, each greedy pull draining more of his humanity.

A molten fire coursed through his veins, spreading to every extremity until his limbs grew leaden and unresponsive. His skin, once flushed with life, now took on an ashen pallor as it began to claim him.

Salvation.

And yet it struck like a vice.

The others backed away, their forms stalking around the periphery like shadows retreating before dawn, gradually fading into the misty distance as the eerie blue lights in their hollow eye sockets dimmed to nothing. She cradled him there against her chest, her once-beautiful face now adorned with crimson streaks, thick rivulets of blood dripping from her chin onto his cold skin.

His vision blurred and darkened at the edges, consciousness slipping away like water through fingers, while something else stirred deep within—a hunger, ancient and primal, beginning to unfurl in his chest as his humanity ebbed away, replaced by something colder, something darker, something... eternal...

His own thoughts that carried him now assimilated into a hundred - maybe a thousand by now, as the poison coursed gently through his veins like a warm embrace. His limbs grew weightless, each heartbeat stretching longer than the last.

"You'll soon awake," a mutter came from the air singing to him like a lullaby, carrying him as he faded. The world around him softened at the edges, colors bleeding into one another as his consciousness expanded beyond his transforming body. The pain that had anchored him dissolved, replaced by a peaceful floating sensation as his cells surrendered to the sweet toxin flowing through his blood. Reality peeled away layer by layer, revealing something vast and welcoming beyond.

A life, now ended.

But something more was beginning.

The days, weeks and months that followed were nothing short of nightmarish.

Ages passed all into one, everything that was known before was passing one moment at a time into a blur. He tore through the countryside like a tempest, ruthless in his desperation, draining every whiskey cask from Dublin to Galway, bedding maidens from thatched-roof villages to walled towns. His blood burned with reckless abandon as he plundered and pillaged his way through a changing world that cared nothing for his sensibilities - and not that he did either.

The age of knights and honour was fading, yet he clung to old ways while simultaneously destroying them, taking anything and everything without purpose - nothing giving meaning to what he lost, what he sought after. He shattered tavern doors and broken hearts alike, trying to catch up with himself, to outrun the void.

A song. A poem. A love as pure as time.

Some people came and went, stood by his side as they surrendered to the same poison he did once - some went willingly, and some put up fight. But the ones that stayed, had a purpose.

And the only one that did stay, that he had found in all of this, was you.

1816

The night deepened into a velvet stillness as your singing faded to a gentle hum, your body settling comfortably against his chest, legs intertwined beneath the star-scattered sky. Remmick's breath caught slightly as you turned to face him, moonlight silvering his features while he rested against the tall grass.

He studied you with wonder, as though emerging from a trance, and you offered him a soft smile in return. At the sight, something stirred in his chest—a warmth spreading through him that you never failed to ignite. Your eyes met, both a blue shimmer reflecting the connection between you in the quiet darkness. His fingers found your hair, gently weaving through the strands as he held you close, the gesture both protective and tender.

He lifted you up more towards him, drawing you to him as he pressed his lips to yours, it was with unhurried affection as a small, contented smile formed against your mouth at the taste of his lips.

Is tú mo ghrá.

The words fell from his lips against your own, like poetry off of his tongue, and without knowing of the language that came from it. A silent understanding instead. You bumped your nose against his, resting your hands on his shoulder bracingly.

“As are you.”

Tags: @fuckoffbard 💗

#sinners x reader #sinners 2025 #remmick x reader #remmick #remmick sinners #sinners movie #jack o'connell #jack o connell x reader

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the-case-book-of-fanfiction · 2 years ago

Text

Crawl Home To Her

Ship: Astarion x fem!Tav/reader

Summary: As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Word Count: 5,461 words

Warnings: sexual content (18+) blood, gore, nudity, sexual & non-sexual touching, bathing each other, soft Astarion, established relationship, brief mention of past sexual encounter, dealing with past trauma, teasing from Karlach, mention of dismemberment, fluff & smut mix

18+ Warnings: brief fingering (f receiving), tiny bit of a hair kink, sensual touching, semi-public sex/nudity

Note: Part 2 of Burns Like Rum is coming soon! But here's a little something to tithe you over until the sequel (Sweet Like Rum) is ready!

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Shafts of pale sunlight fell on your face as you walked through the forest, your arms swinging at your sides, small critters running amok in the bushes around you. Birdsong filled your ears, pleasantly light and summery, reminding you distantly of a childhood memory you couldn't quite reach. The weather was warm enough that you were thinking you might have to change into something lighter. The few weapons you had on you were already starting to make you break out into a sweat.

For a day that had started with murder, the weather was surprisingly nice.

You hummed as you walked—the song pulled from your childhood, the words long forgotten but pieces of the melody clunking around in your head. You strung them together the best you could, tapping out a rhythm against your leg.

You were on your way to the waterfall you'd spotted several days ago while hunting. It was small and nothing too violent. The pool it fell into wasn't deep enough to drown you, nor was the flow of water all that fast. You trusted it—and the rock ledge behind it—would suit your purposes quite nicely.

Coming upon the pool was like stepping into one of the fairytales you had heard in your youth, sitting upon your father's knee in a tavern, listening to a traveller tell a story you weren't sure was entirely true.

It was guarded by willow trees with branches that swayed in a breeze you hadn't felt until you came upon them. Pushing the curtain of branches away revealed an almost perfectly circular clearing, the ground covered in vibrant green moss that squished delightfully beneath your feet and sprung back up when you stepped off of it. Patches of flowers sprouted all around, pink and yellow and purple blooms that grew up to the sun. The pool was as blue as the sky above, clear and shallow, surrounded by a few feet of soft white sand. The water shimmered in the sunlight, rippling over the pebbles that covered its floor. From the pool, the water flowed into a thin river that could hardly be called a river and out into the woods.

You sat by the pool's edge and pulled off your boots. They were just as bloody as the rest of you, the sticky and quickly drying substance staining the black leather. You splashed water over them and scrubbed with a cloth you had designated for this purpose that had once been grey.

Only after your boots were clean did you stand back up and step into the soft sand. You wiggled your toes, smiling at the feeling. You breathed in the crisp, sweet air. It smelled faintly of flowers and citrus, a scent that was familiar, though you couldn't place it.

You stripped slowly, hissing and wincing as you tugged at the places where blood had stuck the fabric to your skin. It acted like glue when dry, staining your skin and leaving a mottled pattern across your flesh. The fabric of your shirt had grown stiff with semi-dried blood.

One by one, you pulled off belts and straps holding weapons, the gloves you protected your hands with, your shirt, your trousers—until you were standing naked at the pool's edge. You gave yourself a cursory inspection, searching for any wounds you had acquired in the fighting this morning that you hadn't noticed; it wouldn't be the first time you'd walked away from a fight and realized you were injured only hours later. But, this time, there was nothing.

Usually it was Astarion who noticed you were injured, catching your smell in the air when it shouldn't have been. But you were drenched in so much blood already that you imagined it would have been very hard to pick out your distinct scent.

You waded into the pool, taking your clothes with you, and sat at it's deepest point. Standing, it reached your knees; sitting, it almost came to your shoulders. You scrubbed the blood from your clothes, using the soap you had brought with you.

You watched the blood and soap swirl together in the water and flow toward the river, a thin stream of red and bubbles slipping away from the crimson cloud surrounding you. You almost felt bad to ruin the clarity of the water, but the others—back at camp—were taking far too long to wash the blood from themselves with your limited store of water. This was better, in the long run.

Astarion would have a field day with this if this wasn't goblin blood, you thought to yourself, staring at the blood drifting just below the surface. He would drink it, from time to time, but never happily.

You scrubbed at your clothes until your fingers were stiff and sore and the blood was no longer coming out of the fabric. You inspected them and deemed them clean enough to put back on the moss, spread out so they would dry faster.

To clean yourself, you headed toward the waterfall. You climbed up onto the stone ledge behind it, reveling in the surprisingly gentle spray of water that reached you and the stillness of the water that it fell into, high enough to reach your knees.

You stepped under the water. It cascaded over you, dousing you in its coolness that reminded you of the first time Astarion had ever touched you—

—gentle hands, cascading down your sides—fingers lifting your chin so you would meet his gaze—a kiss to your forehead—a hand on the small of your back—his lips on your own, warmer than you had anticipated—his fingers in your hair, keeping your head off the ground—his hand slipping between your legs—his little giggle when you shuddered beneath him—the pleasured sigh from his lips as he slid inside of you—

Stepping out from underneath the water, you shook your head, banishing the memory. You had spoken recently about all of this. He'd told you, "I don't think I want you to think of me in terms of sex." He'd said, "I don't want to be just a body for you, darling." And though he'd teased you that you were more than welcome to "sustain yourself" (his words) with your memories of him while he took time away from intimacy, some part of you still felt like you violating his wishes any time it was his body that you thought of, rather than of, well, just him.

You wiped the water from your eyes and knew your tears had mixed in with it; Astarion had been very vulnerable with you, so you knew his reasons for it all. You had two responses: either unbearable sorrow that he had been forced to endure it all (which the current cause of the crushing weight in your chest), or blinding rage that birthed the desire to see Cazador's head on a spear.

You carded your hands through your wet hair, trying to work out the tangles. Your fingers came away covered in watery blood.

"Mind if I join you?"

You jumped, eyes flying open, and looked up. Leaning against the stone wall was the vampire himself, a gentle smile on his face. Gods, how you loved that smile. In this light, you couldn't tell his eyes were red and his fangs were hidden. If you didn't pay attention to how pale he was, you could imagine he was just an elf again—the life he deserved.

Astarion still wore his clothes, which were slowly darkening as they soaked up the spray of water and splattered with as much blood as his handsome face, but his boots were placed neatly next to yours on the moss. He'd cleaned them already; how had you not heard him before?

While he waited for your answer, aware of your admiring gaze on him, he pulled his shirt off over his head, mussing the curls you loved so much. He stripped quickly, nearly falling over when his trouser leg caught on his foot, and left his clothes in a pile on the rock ledge. Perhaps you were imagining things, but his skin looked paler than it had this morning, when you'd been rudely awoken by a horde of goblins invading your camp.

You held your arms open to him. "I'd like that very much."

He stepped into your arms, wrapped his own around your waist, and buried his head in your neck, breathing in deeply. "My love," he whispered, his lips against your skin. He kissed your neck softly and pulled away, cupping your face in his hand, to look into your eyes. "Are you alright?"

You nodded. "I'm okay."

"No injuries this time?" Astarion's eyes slid down your naked body, examining, his gaze concerned when it had once been sensual. You felt yourself relax in his arms, at ease with his concern. It felt real, honest in a way you hadn't had a chance to be yet. It was natural, somehow, to be checking each other for injuries in the time you finally caught together, away from the others.

"Not this time," you said, leaning into him. More watery blood dripped from your hair and across his chest, leaving streaks that made it look like he'd just returned from a rather messy feeding.

He kissed the top of your wet head. "Good." He leaned away to smile at you. "I was worried you'd run off to take care of your injuries by yourself, if only to keep me from smelling the blood."

You shook your head. "If only we'd been attacked by something you could drink from, satisfy your hunger for a few days." He smiled weakly and you knew the thought had been on his mind, too. "What about you? Are you okay?"

He spread his arms and did a little twirl for you. You giggled at his antics, glancing over his skin, pleased he was comfortable enough to even be naked with you. "Yes, darling. Not a scratch on me."

The two of you looked at each other, your hair already damp and clinging to your head, and his curls slowly being matted down by the thick mist of the waterfall. His ears poked out, more noticeable than normal.

Astarion bent and picked up your bar of soap. "May I help you wash off all this grime?"

"Please," you said, your voice soft but as loving as you could make it, your eyes fixed firmly on his.

He lathered his hands with soap and scrubbed gently at your skin. His nails, kept trimmed and neat, were hardly more than a light sensation as he worked at the dried blood until it crumbled away from your skin and ran down your body in red rivulets. His touch was soft, caring where it had once been lustful and groping. You leaned into his touch, enjoying the sensation of his fingers digging into your tired muscles, and held him. You adjusted your hold on him as he moved across your body—an arm draped across his shoulders, a hand on his bicep, your fingers against his chest, your head on his shoulder.

You looked up at Astarion, blinking quickly to keep the water out of your eyes. His gaze remained fixated on your hips as he gently washed off the blood, but he smiled, aware of your stare.

"See something you like?" he asked, tone playful.

"Someone I love," you corrected. He looked up at you, a tender smile growing on his lips. "Someone I love dearly." You leaned close, cupped one side of his face, and kissed the other. "I love you, Astarion."

He kissed your cheek, too. "And I love you." His lips found yours. He kissed you with a sweetness that simultaneously broke your heart and mended it. You wrapped your arms around his waist. He hummed happily into your mouth and cradled the back of your neck.

The pair of you fell into a tight embrace. You felt the adrenaline drain from you and leave you limp in his arms, your hot skin going cold under the water. Despite how suddenly you must have slumped against him, Astarion held you with ease. He gave the crown of your head a quick kiss, then made an unpleasant sound of surprise from the back of his throat.

"Darling, do you mind if I wash your hair? There's an awful lot of goblin blood in it."

You forced yourself to stand up straight on your own, still holding his sides for support. "Oh, yes—that would be from Karlach throwing one she'd just chopped into over my head." Even as you said the words, you felt the blood splattering into your hair again and shuddered.

Astarion grimaced. "Let me help you with it, then." He lathered his hands and put them in your hair. As he fell into a rhythm, you closed your eyes and let him doing the work, your thoughts drifting...

At first, you weren't sure why you had even woken in the first place. The light coming in through a crack in the tent's opening was still the watery and grey color of pre-dawn, much earlier than you usually woke. You frowned and pushed back into Astarion, his arm squeezing you tighter, sleep once again tugging at your eyelids.

And then you heard a shout, vicious and loud. It was close to camp, maybe even in camp. The shout came again and you realized it was Lae'zel's war cry.

All at once, the sounds of a battle filled your ears. You jerked awake in an instant, clambering onto your knees and shaking Astarion awake next to you. Of course the one day Astarion decided to indulge in the very human activity of sleep was the day you and your friends were attacked.

"What's going on?" he mumbled as his eyes flickered open, his words slurred together.

"Come on, grab your knives," you said, pulling your lightest set of armor on over your clothes. You were suddenly very relieved Astarion had decided skin to skin contact was a bit too much for him last night. "I think we're under attack."

He woke just as quickly as you had. He swore, dragged a quick hand through his hair, and grabbed his knives. He waited until you had your own weapon in hand before he opened the curtain flap of his tent.

The camp was a sight to behold. Already it was trashed and overflowing with goblins. Some were already on the ground, their blood oozing everywhere in the dirt and grass. Gashes from Lae'zel's sword seeped blood and gristle, if she hadn't horribly disfigured the corpses and turned them into little more than lumps of flesh. Many of them bore scorch marks that ranged from minor burns to melting flesh. It smelled horrendous and nearly acidic; you bit back the bile in your throat.

A dismembered arm fell at your foot. You kicked it away on instinct, looking up to see Karlach ripping a second goblin limb from limb.

"Now that's just vile," Astarion said, still looking at the arm, a fang poking out over his curled lip.

"Complain about it later," you said, grabbing his chin and giving him a quick and customary 'good morning' kiss. "We've got to help the others."

"If you insist."

Astarion ran to Karlach's side; you headed for Shadowheart and Gale. Wyll was approaching, too, cutting a path through the goblins.

"Morning, you two!" you said cheerily. "How'd this happen?"

"We're not sure," Shadowheart said, kicking a goblin in the face as it ran at her with a scream. "Lae'zel said they came from the north, just over those hills."

"Odd. I wonder if we camped too close to them for their liking, and now they're trying to do something about it. Are goblins territorial creatures?"

Gale grunted, casting another fireball. "Enough chatting. Let's just kill these things and figure out where they came from and why later. Got it?"

"Fair enough," you decided. "Whoever kills the most chooses dinner for a week."

"I'll take you up on that," Wyll said from behind you. "I'm dreaming of a good meal for once."

Astarion's hands sliding out of your hair abruptly brought you back to reality, to his body pressed against yours and the waterfall at your back, shielding the two of you from the world.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, voice soft. You could feel his fingers toying with the ends of your hair, curling it on his fingers.

"Back to the fight," you admitted. "I just keep wondering how they snuck up on us."

"No matter now," he said. "We'll let Lae'zel criticize us all for not anticipating every possible disaster when we get back, but not yet. Not here."

He went back to massaging your scalp, despite the blood being long gone, and your sighed happily. He smiled and kissed your forehead, adding pressure. A content whimper slipped from your lips and you blushed instantly as his eyes lit up; he'd heard far more obscene from you, yet still the slightest sounds you made embarrassed you and delighted him.

"My, my, the noises you make for me, lover," he teased, giggling. He wrapped his hand in your hair and tugged, hard enough to draw a loud moan out of your chest.

Astarion covered your mouth with his hand, his eyes playfully wide. "Shhh, unless you want the others to come looking. We're not that far away from camp."

Heat rushed through your body. "Oh, gods, Astarion, I'm— I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— And I certainly didn't expect it to be that...that loud—! I..."

He swallowed your frantic apologies with a kiss. Against your lips, he whispered, "If you can keep quiet, though...I can grant you all the pleasure you want. You need only ask, darling."

Your heart skipped several beats in your chest. You put your hand up to his face. "Oh, I don't... Star, I don't need you to, I wouldn't want you to...feel obligated." He pulled his forehead away from yours to see your face. "We agreed not to do anything until you're ready. And that wasn't that long ago, so... I don't want you to be uncomfortable—"

Astarion cupped your chin with his hand, dragging his thumb across your lower lip. The words died in your throat. He met your gaze, his crimson eyes open and honest, and said, "Your pleasure is a gift. Even if I don't want to be touched yet, that's not stopping me from touching you. Only you can stop me from touching you."

"Star..."

He pulled you into a tight hug. You wrapped your arms around him, suddenly too aware of the raised scar you felt against your arms. "I trust you. Wholeheartedly. I trust you to...to respect my boundaries. To check in with me. To see when I'm uncomfortable. You've already done it, again and again, and proved that you're worthy of that trust. And do I look uncomfortable now?"

You studied him. His pupils were blown. His eyes told a story of contentment. The tenseness you had once noticed laying deep and dormant in his muscles was gone. He looked at you with a fondness you realized now was a profound trust and he stood utterly relaxed in your arms.

So you answered him honestly. "No."

"Exactly, darling. I'm not uncomfortable. I want to do this for you, if that's what you also want. I feel...safe with you. I've never felt like this around anyone before," he admitted, a bit of sadness creeping onto his face, "and I don't want to ruin it. I don't know... I don't know what I'm doing, but I'm going to try to do right by you. So if you want me..." He placed his hand low on your abdomen. Your stomach did flips. He put his lips against the shell of your ear. "Tell me, darling, because I certainly want you. All I ask is that you not touch me, not just yet."

You whimpered. "Please, Star. I promise not to touch you, I promise. But please touch me."

"That's my girl," he whispered. "Spread your legs for me, no need to be so nervous."

You readjusted your stance, widening the space between your previously clenched thighs. His hand filled the gap, cupping you gently. You sighed, leaning your head against his chest again, looking down to watch his ministrations.

Astarion pressed his palm to your clit. You watched his wrist move as he slid his fingers along your slit, teasing you and never quite touching you where you needed him. You whimpered as his fingertip lightly ghosted your entrance, just barely dipping inside before he moved his hand back up, his fingers toying with your clit.

"That's it," he whispered in your ear. "Make those quiet, pretty sounds for me. Show me how you feel."

You rocked your hips against his hand. "Astarion, please..."

He kissed your temple. "Feeling good?"

Your broken moan was your answer. He chuckled, sliding his hand up your side, taking your breast in the palm of his hand. He rolled your nipple between his fingers, making you gasp and buck your hips against him. He closed his lips around it and sucked gently.

"More," you whispered. "Please. I need...I need you."

"Alright, darling, alright," he said against your skin. He rubbed your entrance for another moment, then slid his finger inside you. You clenched down on him as you sighed your pleasure. He curled his finger inside you, rubbing away at your walls, and you gasped loudly.

Astarion grinned. "Make those noises. Moan for me. I want you to show me how good this feels, show me you want me." You gripped tightly onto him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other on his hip. Your breaths grew heavy and your whimpers louder. "Yes, that's it! Be loud for me, my sweet, the loudest you've ever—"

A branch cracked in the forest. A voice called out your name, then Astarion's. You jumped a mile and Astarion's finger slipped out of you. You stared at each other with wide eyes.

"D...did you hear that?" you asked. "Or am I hearing things?"

As if an answer, the voice—Gale's—shouted again, "I know you're over here, I can see your boots!"

"Shit," Astarion sighed. He craned his head to peer around the curtain of water. "What the hells do you want?"

"Is she with you?" Gale asked. "Shadowheart sent me to find you both, the rest of us have all finished washing up! There's water left for you."

"That's what we're trying to do, Gale!" you called, reaching an arm through the waterfall and waving at him. "Use the water for something else, we'll make do here."

He harrumphed. "If I had known this was just a few minutes away from camp, I would have come to wash up here ages ago."

You and Astarion exchanged a look. So much for a secret getaway spot.

"Be back soon, or Karlach will start worrying," Gale said, in the tone of a chiding parent. "And no funny business!"

"Oh, shut up!" Astarion shouted, the tips of his ears turning a deep pink. He ducked behind the water again and holding you close. You barely held back your giggles while the two of you listened for Gale to walk away. One slipped out and Astarion hurriedly covered your mouth with his hand. You licked his palm and he pulled it away quickly. "You weirdo!"

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his chest. "Yes, but I'm your weirdo. You love me anyway."

Astarion pushed a strand of your wet hair behind your ear. "I love you anyway," he admitted, with a fondness that turned you into mush in his arms. He held you close for several moments, then asked, "Do you want me to continue?"

You thought about it, then shook your head. "Not just now. I suspect Karlach will be on her way to investigate the waterfall I didn't have the decency tell anyone about very soon."

"Very well," he said. "I'll finish you off later in my tent, then. As long as you can keep quiet for me, darling." He gave you that charming smile that made your stomach do flips.

"I thought you liked me loud," you teased.

Astarion rolled his eyes, playful and flirtation in such a comfortable way that it warmed your heart more than any of his touches ever could, delightful as they were. "Only when I have you all to myself, lover." He nipped at your neck, his fangs scratching but not breaking your skin. "Your moans are mine."

You stood together like that for several more moments, his hands on your hips and your arms looped around his neck, your foreheads pressed together. You exchanged dainty kisses, basking in each other in the few minutes left you had alone.

At last, you planted one firm, lingering kiss to his lips. "Let me clean you off," you said. "Though you're going to have to crouch for me to get your hair." Most of the blood and grime had been washed away by the waterfall's spray, but his silver hair was still speckled with it all, and you could taste it on his lips—sour and gritty. No wonder he only drank from goblins as a last resort.

Astarion bent his head down, pressing his forehead into your shoulder and holding you by the waist. You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and smiling (but saying nothing) every time your touch managed to pull a soft whimper or moan from him without him realizing it.

You washed his body anyway, wiping away the remaining grime and massaging his muscles. You enjoyed the way he relaxed in your arms, quietly asking for more or less pressure.

"My back," he said, voice quiet and almost timid. "Can you...?"

"Are you sure?" you asked, frowning.

He nodded and turned in your arms, exposing his back to you. You started slowly, massaging his upper back and shoulders before working your way down, giving him plenty of time to tell you to stop if he needed to. But he leaned into your touch and responded with more of those gentle and timid—but happy—sounds.

You kissed the nape of his neck when you were finished, rested your head against his back, and wrapped your arms around his waist. His hands found yours and laced your fingers together.

"Thank you, my love," he said. "I've never... No one has ever done that for me before."

You hugged him tighter. "Any time you need me—I'm here. I will always be here." You stepped away and guided him out of the water with a hand. "Come on, we should head back."

The pair of you helped each other dress, though neither of you were wearing anything that required the help. You suspected Astarion just wanted to keep you close; when he got into his cuddly moods, it lasted for hours at a time. You would sleep wrapped up in your vampire's arms, safe and comfortable, tonight.

You were both pulling on your boots when Karlach found you.

"There you are!" she said. "Why didn't you tell us where you'd run off to?"

You shrugged. "I wanted the peace and quiet," you said honestly. "Besides, you all take forever to clean off."

Astarion snickered. "She's right about that."

Karlach sat on the moss, staring at the waterfall. "Well, you're right about one thing, soldier—this place is peaceful."

You hummed your agreement. "Yes. I'm glad we camped near it, or I never would have found it."

"How did you find this place?" she asked.

"Hunting," you said.

"Really? I assumed it must have been when you and Astarion sneak out so the rest of us can't hear you having sex." You choked on air and she laughed. "What? He found it easily!"

Astarion spluttered. "Because I could smell her!"

You sighed. "Karlach, we stopped sneaking off ages ago. We don't need to, we sleep in the same tent now. Rest assured, if anything is happening, it's happening silently and the rest of you are none the wiser to it."

"That doesn't make me rest assured."

You laughed. Astarion smiled at you, the kind of smile that made his eyes seem a little less dark and made you really remember that he was an elf.

"Well, I don't know about you two, but I'm going back to camp," he said. "I'm sure there's much to discuss about these...impertinent creatures who keep attacking us." He kissed your cheek and whispered into your ear, "I'll see you tonight, darling. What we do is up to you."

Before he could leave, you reached over and held his cheek, kissing him firmly on the lips. He smiled into it.

"Lovebirds," Karlach groaned, rolling her eyes, "will you please get a room?"

"The next time we stop at an inn—yes," Astarion said, winked at you, then disappeared into the woods.

You gulped. "I pity whoever is in the room next to us."

Karlach snorted. "I pity you and your poor cervix!"

"Karlach!" You splashed her with water and she roared with laughter.

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Only slightly."

You huffed, scooped up your weapons, and started back to camp. Karlach followed.

"I mean, in all honesty, you two were so loud that first time we all heard you at camp, even though you snuck away. Kept us all awake, but you sounded like you were having a good time. So clearly he's doing something right, but can you take all of that every time? You were walking with a limp the next morning—"

"Okay, let's change the subject," you said loudly, heat racing through your body. Remembrance pulsed through you again, ghostly touches and reminders of just how easily Astarion made you scream.

She giggled. Gods, she was spending too much time with you and Astarion; he was rubbing off on her. "Oh, yes, because what would poor Gale say if he heard?"

You rolled your eyes. "It's not Gale I'm worried about, it's Astarion. If he hears you, he's going to become insufferable."

"Isn't he already?"

You whacked her with the flat end of your sheathed dagger. She laughed, putting her hands up in surrender.

The others were cleaning up camp when you arrived, scrubbing blood from tents and carpets and hauling away corpses and severed limbs.

Gale waved when he saw you, then jerked his thumb toward Astarion. "Didn't he just wash?"

You looked over at your vampire, only to find him feeding on a goblin. He looked up at you and grinned sheepishly, a trickle of blood sliding out of his mouth and down his neck.

"I just washed him, actually," you said dryly. "Astarion, you aren't that messy of an eater. What on earth are you doing?"

"Oh, so now you deign to eat the goblins," Karlach scoffed.

He shrugged. "What? I'm hungry!"

You spluttered. "You could have just asked me!"

Astarion wiped his mouth with a feral grin. "Well, I'll keep that in mind later, darling." He winked at you and then blew you a quick kiss. He shoved the carcass into the woods and went into his tent, closing the flap behind him.

Gale sighed heavily before looking back at you. "That one. Are you sure you want to choose that one?"

"Yes, Gale, I want that one."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

~❊~

Night fell. One by one, the others retired to their tents. Only Karlach and Gale remained awake when you left the fire and slipped into Astarion's tent.

He was laying on his side, reading and drinking blood, the picture of leisure. He closed his book immediately when you laid beside him and pulled you flush against his body.

"There you are," he said, snuggling into your shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming."

You reached up and dragged your fingers through his perfect curls. "You don't have to wonder about that ever, Star. As long as I live, I'll be coming home to you. Even if I have to crawl."

"Gods, I love you," he said, wrapping himself around you. You kissed the top of his head.

"I love you, too," you whispered. He sighed happily and cuddled into you, sliding one of his legs between your own and settling there. A few minutes later, you felt the pressure of his knee against your clothed crotch. "What are you doing, mister?"

He grinned at you, showing both fangs. "Finishing what I started," he said cheekily. He began undoing the lacing at the front of your pants. "Now, just lay still for me, dear. And please do your best to keep quiet—I'd hate to have to cover that pretty mouth with my hand. Again."

☞ ❊ ☜

[Image Caption: I do not give permission to repost, translate, or publish my work on any other site or app by anyone except myself. I do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI (for audio, art, or writing).]

Baldur's Gate 3 // Astarion Acunin

Taglist: {comment and let me know if you'd like to be added to the Astarion taglist!} @wayward-hel @cheeslyy @ofmyth-andmagicart @neetheslayer @whispering-depths @freesidexjunkie @lightsinmycity @the0ldmann @gobbodoggo @oooof-ifellforyou @beeblisss @fangboner @aquaarietes @fiercest-eigengrau-skies @niqhtfell @call-me-nyxx @lueji-m @ceres-xiv @tricksy-trinity @graynstairs @rosa-rubus @ynisthatyou

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chaaistained · 5 months ago

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☕︎ my marauders dr; intro •°

🗝️ you’ve now unlocked the recipe to my marauders dr ≈

name : julia ephemeri potter

age (when i shift) : 15 — i’m experiencing the whole slow burn.. and i just know it’s gonna be torture . but we persevere

— (when i post about my script) : most of the time, i’ll be talking about me from the ages of 16-21 onwards

occupation : student of witchcraft at hogwarts

+ (eventually) some form of adult occupation . i’ll edit this later i genuinely don’t know and i don’t need to know for good few years at least so..

details :

— house : gryffindor

— wand : sandalwood with a mermaid hair core , 9.5”

+ wand breakdown

— patronus : brown bear / sable (undecided, i love both.. help)

— amortentia : ocean air , candle wax , musty books

+ amortentia breakdown

— fav subject : alchemy

— top subjects : (+ alchemy) ancient runes , charms , muggle studies

— pets : sadie / sadie sue (ginger tabby cat) , barnaby (brown barn owl , shared with james..)

side hobbies/hustles : gryffindor quidditch team seeker

+ (eventually) editorial team of the hogwarts herald

+ (eventually) prefect

s/o : regulus arcturus black ৻ꪆ

౨ৎ meet miss juju berry

an incandescence, forged of tart blood and a permeating sense of melancholy — she finds herself in a constant search, an unsolvable quest for meaning, latching onto anything that can define her identity and yet feeling irrevocably lost to herself — she is only the light, not the sun . she is only the shell, not the pearl . she is only the stain , not the blackberry

i unfurl into this reality with the kind of effervescence found in firewhiskey, a bubbling surprise of sorts, one that my own parents weren’t expecting. my mum calls me a gift, she calls my brother a blessing . i don’t know if the difference in term denotes a difference in how we’re perceived, and truth be told it drove me crazy as a kid and sometimes it still does but for whatever purpose or prosperity, the fates resolved that i was meant to be born and here i am

a toppling fire cracker of a girl, or so i’m told, i’m one of the rambunctious gryffindors that barrel down the marble hallways of hogwarts castle. i bunk with seven other girls, one of whom is my best friend — mary macdonald. along with the charming ravenclaw — emmeline vance — and a snark of a hufflepuff — hestia jones — the four of us can be found in various locations around the school campus; passed out in a heap on the softest patch of grass near the black lake , shooting pine cones over the whomping willow and keeping score of who gets the most over without the tree smacking them away , secluded in the third booth on the second floor of the library . our quills drying out while we distractedly ignore our transfiguration homework in favour of finding the right spell to conceal our carved names on the bottom of the booth’s oakwood table (the result of emmeline sneaking alcoholic butterbeer into the school, and a series of bad decisions later, we’d all drunkenly vandalised the furniture.. thankfully mcgonagall doesn’t know or i might lose my prefect badge)

with small flowers in my braid and golden earrings that shimmer as i shake my head, i slip between the sea of students with an ease that can only be spotted in the agile gait of a seeker. though, nothing about my speed on the ground can compare to that which i showcase when i’m hundreds of feet in the air, my broomstick being an extension of me, something i trust to a concerning degree, coming up with the sorts of tricks and techniques that would land me in the hospital wing if i wasn’t as good as i am. that attention to detail, the pedantic precision of my sight is also what makes me a renowned editor of the student body’s newsletter — a semi-professional scrapbook of a weekly issue, a holistic voice of all students from all houses . honestly it can be hard to maintain that harmony but perhaps that’s why dumbledore sanctioned the club, a forceful hand at coexisting

regardless, it’s the least of my worries, a pastime really, my main focus being the exceedingly irritating presence of a certain slytherin seeker, who grows more and more unbearable by the day, not to mention he’s constantly around, in almost all my classes, assigned to same hours of prefect patrol, not a moment of peace . and yet paired with that bothersome nuisance brews the burning desire to find out more

and if you want to know why, then i suppose you should keep reading

(merlin’s name, i can write intrigue splendidly, they should assign me as the journalist not just the bloody editor)

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ my black bird

a rising tide in his own right, he is determined to maintain what is deemed to be perfection, unwilling to admit that no two waves ever look the same, no two stars ever shine alike, there is no apex . and yet he tries. haunted by ancestry, rippling currents that pull him into the ravine of his family’s legacy, it’s a future he wishes to inherit whilst believing it impossible. until his brother abandoned his birthright and that status, that title, that name he always wanted to earn yet never actually trained for, was now his

that unassuming final breath before striking a curse, the calm interwoven with calamity, that’s what regulus feels in every waking moment .

there is a blurry haze of memories when he tries to decipher where it all began — did envy bleed out of him every time sirius entered the room and commanded attention with his mere presence? or was it admiration? did he love his brother or loath him? maybe neither, maybe both, maybe everything in between and nothing at all, it never made sense and it probably never will.

so then leaves the question of his own significance — fostered from birth? or handed down simply because he is the spare to the heir? in this instance both made sense but neither option would ever be clarified.

and so regulus chooses to not feel anything, reserve all emotions to be shared with a few select friends — evan and barty had a way about them, his laughter was not something he could hold back in their presence . dorcas founded a semblance of solitude even though the space was shared, as if their silence was a mutual understanding, a shorthand of sorts . pandora had the gift of gracing their group with his smile, he considered it a curse that she had such a superpower, to bring out these genuine joys in other people, but he knew she wouldn’t see it that way — those were his people

not his brother . who he shifted his eyes to look away from whenever they passed each other .. only to turn back and glance over his shoulder, observing the elder son’s movements, wishing he’d turn back too, and then hurriedly clenching his fist, squashing the thought before it even had the chance to breathe

not his parents . who stood tall yet hollow, ghosts of who they were before their family was “torn apart” according to them, holding metaphorical goal posts only to keep moving them higher and higher every time regulus attempted to score, before tutting as he slipped and fell, unable to maintain the impossible altitude of their expectations

no. his people were his friends, the people who could mellow out his misgivings, erode his stone walls

and yet, those stone walls remain intact, erosion takes time.

unless of course someone me shattered the very structure of his world view, erupting his life into firework flurries of emotions, clandestine nights, musty sunrises drenched in dew drops and fog, leaving a wafting air about the world, scented jasmine and blackberry, amber gold flecks embedded inside twin irises . the kind of beauty that haunts his dreams and burns fire in his heart

he really should not be giving in to such a tragically stupid connection, not when majority of the time is spent bickering amongst dusty textbooks, whispering shouts bouncing off cold castle walls in the middle of the night, hexes spewing back and forth before finally forfeiting from fear of being caught .. that isn’t what he should want

he shouldn’t want anything

and yet he does

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

౨ৎ candlelit hearts

sinking into an unknown abyss, falling from the sky with a smile on your face while the halo around your head crackles, wax dripping down the curve of your back, you were destined to fall, that’s what you are meant to do, that’s who you are meant to be — a tidal wave tore through your heart, engulfing you entirely and yet you let yourself descend deeper and deeper — for reasons unknown, you found a companion in the darkness, a fire in the flesh, a home between interlaced fingers, foreheads pressed together and a single flickering candle flame that burns bright from the magic of your shared love

it’s funny, when i look back at it. because i suppose we always knew the other existed, but i only really met him when i was 13..

whatever classes we shared before, whatever moments were missed where we walked past each other through hallways or on moving staircases, those never really registered.

i just remember the cold, the prickly sensation of snow on my bare fingertips, crunching under my feet, glittering from the shy slithers of sunlight that flitted through the bleak grey sky. the constant dinging bells, the sound of students exploring all that hogsmeade had to offer, and yet there we stood, facing each other in an alley between shops, frowning in a way that would become all too familiar in the years to come

for what it’s worth, it’s easy to dislike the guy — almost always beating me by a few marks, his facial expression was more than enough of a gloat in itself . creating nicknames for whatever trick i use in a quidditch match and always coming up with a counter move (he can’t ever let me win. personally speaking, of course, i win plenty of matches) . it’s always something with him, and whatever quick bursts of emotion i bring out are hurriedly buried under a blank expression and a tired, almost uninterested visage that boils my blood in a way i cannot possibly describe . and yet i find myself thinking about it, about him, in the ungodly hours of the night.. only to get back at him of course

and it isn’t as if i can speak for him, for the longest time i had no clue what he’d be thinking no matter how long i stared, trying to decipher his thoughts.. but i’d be an idiot to have not noticed a change — the way he would walk through life with a strive to prove himself and yet constantly controlling how much of that ambition he could show.. living each day almost half present, half minded, elsewhere entirely, focused on a far reaching future as if it was right around the corner

he wasn’t like that anymore, he seemed to flourish, to spark, to appear alive . but only when teetering on the tightrope of an improbable partnership, an impossible romance, a strange little love story written between the aged cushions of an abandoned couch, in a hidden lounge, behind an old potions classroom — we found it together . or, more so, we argued and raced to unlock the door first, but regardless, it was our space . a space in which the kindling fire of an unlikely friendship would blossom into something greater than i could ever hope for

and when the mysteries within the castle walls start to crack through, when the secrets between the students stir the cauldron of rumours, and the history of influential families begins to pull itself up from the grave .. i guess it’s not so surprising to admit, but someone as curious as me, paired with someone as persistent as regulus? it’s no big shock that we find ourselves in the middle of such a storm

one transmutation away from uncovering the truth, waking up old bones, and burying the new ones

don’t swallow the tea leaves ! for they leave you a message 🍂

the people have spoken (i’m referring to the poll) and so i post ^this .. it did take a while bcs of numerous reasons that i don’t want to go into but anyway, i adore this dr so so much and i’ve worked so hard on the fic version of it T^T however it is a bit too traumatic for me to actually live out so .. this dr is slightly more tame — i just want to relive high school in hogwarts with the people that helped me through a lot of the shit i faced when i was in high school and they were merely characters on a screen — although, i can’t help myself, there are a few mysteries and bouts of intrigue to keep me entertained, i just .need to figure out what.. i could leave it up to my subconscious but . i don’t wanna do that ≈

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

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my-religion-greek-myth · 8 months ago

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Freedom far away

It's been burning my brain ever since the finale of Agatha All Along.

This blog isn't for the writing purpose but I'm bending my own rule in the name of Agatha XD. I might upload one more if I can organise my imagination on these two

Fem Reader X Agatha X Rio

You were the firstborn of an esteemed aristocratic house, a position that brought both privilege and a constant, heavy gaze upon you. Eyes followed every room you entered and every event you attended. Though the title of heir would never be yours solely because you were a lady, it never seemed to matter to those around you. They treated you as if the future of the house rested upon your shoulders. The elders murmured of marriage alliances with royalty or influential families, whispering that your union could change the fate of your house. Other noble families saw you as a formidable rival, watching closely, ever-ready to seize on the slightest misstep, to turn it into fodder for gossip and criticism.

But you despised the role thrust upon you. While others revered the traditions, the traditional rules and propriety that dictated your every action, you only saw them as chains, binding you to a life scripted long before you were born. You longed to live on your terms, laugh freely, speak without calculation, and defy the mould others sought to press you into. You knew well that the path to freedom would not be simple—but that only made the dream burn brighter.

Besides, you possessed a power that would bring fear and scorn if anyone found out. In a world so bound by tradition and superstition, it was a power that might get you branded as a freak or, worse, stoned to death. You knew the origin of this ability, even if the elders dared not mention it. One of your ancestors had been a shaman, a fact buried under layers of silence and shame. Shamans were both revered and despised—consulted in times of desperation, yet viewed with suspicion and disdain due to their mysterious power.

Only your parents and siblings knew of your gift; not even the current lord of the household, your grandfather, had any inkling. You could command animals, bending them to your will. It had always been that way. At first, it simply seemed that animals were drawn to you. Birds would land beside you without fear, perching on your shoulder or finger. Dogs and cats would flock around you whenever you went outside, rolling onto their backs, begging for your touch. When an agitated horse reared at the central market, a single whisper from you could calm it. It was a charming quirk to everyone else—a testament to your vibrant, gentle nature. But you knew better. This wasn’t mere kindness; it was a hidden power that connected you to the earth's creatures in a way no one else could understand.

But then, it did not matter.

You sighed deeply, resting your chin on your hand. If anyone from the household saw you like this, they would scold you, demanding you act like a noble lady and not lounge on the ground like some street thug in your fine dress. The thought made you scoff.

Earlier, you had overheard a conversation between your grandfather and parents about a potential marriage proposal, and as soon as the word "marriage" came up, you’d bolted from the house. You ignored the calls of your servants and dashed out, uncaring of the stares you attracted along the way.

You kept running, heading toward the edge of the city to the well at the foot of the mountain, next to an ancient willow tree. It was a public place but one where you felt most free. Hardly anyone came here, as it was too remote, and many were scared in case of tigers coming down from the mountain. There was another well closer to the city centre where people preferred gathering and drinking water. Besides, this well was near a shaman’s house, marked by the colourful ribbons tied to the trees nearby—a symbol of ritual and mysticism that kept most people away.

You savoured the solitude of this place, where you could escape the eyes and expectations of others, if only for a moment. Then, you saw them; a couple approaching the well where you sat. The man was wearing a garment in a shade between blue and green, a black fan flicking in his right hand as he spoke. The woman beside him was clad in a dignified violet and purple dress, her posture commanding, though her face was drawn into a faint scowl. They seemed to be in a heated exchange—not quite arguing, but the woman was rolling her eyes while the man chuckled, clearly amused by whatever they were discussing.

As they came closer, a realisation struck you. The man's voice… it was softer, lighter than you had expected, almost too gentle to belong to an adult man. In fact, there was something subtly feminine about him, something that made you look again. He moved with an effortless grace, and though his features held a certain softness.

You couldn’t help but feel a spark of curiosity. Strangers rarely ventured to this remote spot—especially not ones with the dignified grace this pair exuded. As they noticed you, the man gave a slight nod, acknowledging your presence, while the woman raised a single eyebrow, appraising you with an air of amusement. Despite your longing for freedom, the ingrained teachings of etiquette tugged at you, urging you to be polite. You rose to your feet as gracefully as you could manage, offering them a courteous greeting. The man’s dark brown eyes were warm, but behind their softness, you saw a glint of sharp intelligence and a touch of mischief, as though he saw through everything around him. Then, your gaze fell upon the woman. Her eyes—a striking shade of blue—were unlike any you had seen before, deep and captivating, like the ocean’s endless expanse. You found yourself unable to look away, entranced by their beauty. Noticing your gaze, she offered you a small, knowing smile, soft yet tinged with a subtle seductiveness that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Why would a noble lady be here without anyone to protect you?" the man asked, his gaze drifting over the surrounding deep mountains looming over them.

Hearing his voice so clearly, you began to suspect the man was, in fact, a woman. Her voice was captivating, with a rich, melodic quality, yet there was a subtle softness in her frame—a faint curve at her chest that might go unnoticed by most.

"I always come here," you touched your wrist. "Whenever I feel the need of an escape." You leaned back against the well, feeling the cool stone pressing into your back, grounding you.

The woman exchanged a look with her companion before shifting closer and leaning against the well wall beside you. She gave you a mischievous smile. "Wanna talk about it, doll?"

"I don't even know you," you replied cautiously, sizing them up.

Both exuded a quiet authority, an unmistakable presence. It was obvious they were not ordinary travellers—they bore the poise and refinement of nobility. But were they friends or potential adversaries?

The woman in men’s clothing smiled, her eyes briefly darkening as a cloud cast a fleeting shadow over the sun.

“I’m Rio,” she said, her voice lilting like a soft melody as if each syllable held a secret. Her gaze slid toward the woman standing beside you.

“I’m Agatha,” came the whispered reply, the words warm and close, her fingers grazing yours, sending a shiver of electricity down your spine.

"Rio, Agatha," you murmured, savouring the unfamiliar rhythm of their names as they lingered on your tongue.

This was how you met them, how they welcomed you into their embrace. And it was at this moment that your status as a noble began to crumble, all in the name of seeking freedom. To be with them.

#agatha #agatha harkness x rio vidal #agatha harkness x rio vidal x reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness #rio vidal #agatha x rio

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writing-fanics · 1 year ago

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silly little love affair [part iii.five of vi]

Lucifer Morningstar x F!Reader [Adam’s Sister]

[side chapter] this entire chapter takes place around two-three years before the show during the time Lilith and Lucifer divorced

[summary: y/n tells Lucifer everything about her past and her struggles this takes place when they were friends]

[warning: angst: depictions/implications of self-harm: mentions of depression: mentions of loneliness: adam being a jerk]

[a/n: hopefully I did justice of writing readers struggles with loneliness and depression, it doesn’t stem from being apart from Lucifer but something she’s dealt with since the beginning of time also there will be an eventual smut poorly written like in the last chapter]

previous part > next part

[Once again this takes place in the past]

Sera looked down at [Y/n] who stood before her sheepishly, “What is it, Y/n?” asked Sera, looking down at the human who fiddled with her fingers nervously.

“I-I, was wonder c-can I maybe have a partner as well?” She asked, nervously biting her lip. Sera looked at her raising her eyebrow, “You come to ask me now of all times?”

Her eyes widened, “I-I didnt mean?!” She stammered, looking at her. Sera looked down at her, “Lucifer Morningstar, has just corrupted the world with his concept of free will. Bringing evil into the world we created.” said Sera, and furrowed her brows at the human.

“You’ve come to ask me for a partner?” She growled. [Y/n] looked down and her body seemed to shrink, as tears brimmed her eyes feeling embarrassed.

“I-I was just feeling lonely.” Y/n said, sadly. She’d been jealous of Adam, he’d gotten everything he wanted served to him on a silver platter. His sister was an after thought, made up of whatever was left over. She wanted a partner someone who would love her and never leave her side, who would cherish her and value her.

Sera sighed and stared at the human, “I don’t have time for such a foolish request, Y/n.” said Sera, turning away from the human. [Y/n] lowered her head and frowned, slowly turning to leave tears brimming her eyes.

She sat alone at the creek staring into the water, at her reflection. Hugging her knees to her chest, sniffling as she cried. Was it too much to ask for? A simple request for a partner?

Is she being selfish for asking for something? She hasn’t asked for anything before, she thought that they would give her a partner. Someone to love and cherish her but maybe, she wasn’t deserving of such a thing.

What purpose did she have then, being here in paradise? To Wander around aimlessly, tending to the countless flora and fauna. She wanted a partner a family with kids of their own, was she going to die alone?

The thought scared her and shook her to her core, she hated being alone. The only thing keeping her company, the small amount of animal creatures in the garden. That would sleep beside her whenever she felt down, or would curl up on her lap. As she petted their fur.

Alone in the garden of Eden, sitting alone underneath a willow tree. Her rabbit friend curled up on her lap, as she stared at the dawn, the beginning of a new day. A lonely day, how she craved a human partner.

She sighed, leaning her head against the tree.“I-I just want someone to love me.” She said, scratching the top of the rabbits head.

“Yeah, and who would love you?!” A voice said, interrupting her thoughts causing her to sigh and groan.

Adam revealed himself from behind the bush, the rabbit on her lap scurried away. Leaning her alone with her annoying brother, “Talking to animal likes you’re Some freak!” He said, and she looked down.

As much as she hates being alone, whenever Adam was around she wanted to be. “Oh wait you are!” He laughed, hitting his leg as he laughed hysterically pointing at his “pathetic” sister.

She folded her arms across her chest, “Can you just leave me alone?” she mumbled, quietly. Adam of course didn’t listen, “Look at you without a partner,” he taunted, and she frowned clenching her fist as she looked down, trying to avoid Adam’s gaze.

“Says the one who’s first wife left him, and the second being casted out of the garden.” She said, furrowing her brows as she glared at him.

He glared at her angrily, “Fuck you bitch! At least I had a wife! Y-You you have nothing no one.” He said, and she glared at him but her shoulders fell to her side.

“Loner loser!” He said, causing her to clench her fist. She sucker punched him in the face, causing him to fall back. Cleanching his nose in pain, “Fuck you psycho bitch!” He shouted, as he clenched his nose and she stormed off angrily.

She knew he was going to tell on her, and at this point she didn’t care. She hoped, that they would destroy her then she wouldn’t have to worry about being alone anymore she’d be gone.

Adam gets everything served to him on a silver platter, she was forced to apologize for punching her brother. Sera had taken her request of given her a partner into consideration, but now was no longer an option for her actions.

Adam gets a slap on the wrist even though m, he said awful things to her he doesn’t even get punished she does.

Adam was cheerful, ‘calling her a loner loser’ it was brutal her time in Eden. She hated it, every little second. Lonely, watching as her animal friends found mates and had children of their own. Leaving [Y/n] behind, alone.

She watched as mankind was created, because of Adam. What was her purpose of existing, why was she even here? Adam had a purpose to be the first man? Y/n was made from the scrapped of whatever, the angels had left over. A second thought. A mistake.

She felt empty and distant, feeling inadequate with herself at times. The motivation to do anything she felt on a daily basis, she felt empty. Trapped in darkness that she couldn’t escape from, as the cuts on her wrist slowly appeared.

She didn’t know why she felt the need to do this, maybe to make her feel something? She just wanted the pain the feeling of loneliness to stop. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. She couldn’t bring self to talks to others, stammering nervously unable to get her words out.

Her own brother didn’t like her and even though, there were times she legitimately tired. He would always tell her off or call her names, and say things to her that. Slowly ate at her and she began to think were true.

She watched as seasons change and people die, as the world grew bigger and hers grew smaller. Adam being the first man he created mankind, in his words “everybody came from his nuts” he started calling himself “dick master” she couldn’t stand of egotistical he is. So full of himself.

[Y/n] on the other hand felt as if she had no purpose, why was she even created? If she was just a second thought a whim? They’d given her no guidance or anything to have her figure out her purpose on Earth.

Just telling her to tend to the garden that really didn’t even need tending to. Then take care of the creatures. They can take care of themselves.

She would wander around aimlessly, around the garden just doing minimal tasks to get her through the boring day. Hoping for a better tomorrow that would just be the same thing over and over.

Adam didn’t even seem to care or notice, that his own sister was hurting. He was so full of himself he didn’t even bat an eye. Calling her names digging a further wedge into their nonexistent brother and sister relationship.

Ironic, how the one person she should’ve been able to go to for help. Or someone to talk to wanted nothing to do with her. Same thing for the angels as well, as she was an after thought.

The Garden of Eden, was supposed to be a paradise. But to her it was an absolute Hell, being alone drowning in darkness when no one seemed to care everyone around her not even bating and eye to try and even comfort her.

she’s been in heaven for thousands of years at this point, and it hasn’t gotten better. maybe a tad bit, Emily a younger Seraphim that brought joy to those in Heaven.

Treated her with kindness and was her shoulder to cry on. Emily didn’t see it as doing her job and duty in heaven, but helping someone who really needed it.

someone who’s been hurting since the moment she was created, who didn’t get the help they deserved they needed. Emily knew she couldn’t help her with everything, but she was there to listen to her vents her frustrations.

—-

[Y/n] shuddered, as she brought her knees to her chest. “Even now, I still feel that way there are nights where I can’t sleep.” She said, bags under her eyes from the lack of sleep.

She reached down taking a sip of the wine, he had offered her. Lucifer knew how she felt heck, he was going through it right now. It’s only been around a year almost three, since him and his wife divorced.

The fallen angel and angel, seemed to bond over their feeling of loneliness, and failure. “Sometimes, I wonder why I’m even here why was I even created?” She mumbled, looking at the red sky staring at Heaven in the distance.

Lucifer looked at her sadly, “I wasn’t given any purpose when I was created, even now I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing?” She said, frowning. “Maybe, you haven’t found it yet,” He said, and she looked at him an sighed.

“Maybe, by the time I find my purpose the world would’ve ended.” She said, sarcastically. Her watch beeped, signaling it was time for her to go back.

“Already?” He asked, and she nodded sadly. Taking a final sip of her wine, finishing up the glass.

She looked at the rubber duck, her heart skipping a beat. “So you won’t be alone in Heaven,” He said, her cheeks turning a slight shade of red.

She carefully took it from his hands, “Thank you,” she smiled, looking at it in awe. It resembled him, “It’s not much but..ah.. I hope it helps.” He said nervously, and she smiled.

“It’s perfect.” She smiled, carefully placing the rubber duck in her bag. Her alarm going off again, causing her to groan in annoyance. “U-Um, I’ll see you later.” She said, as an opened a portal to her bedroom in Heaven.

“I-I’ll miss you!”

“I-I mean see you later,” he stammered, hoping she didn’t hear what he had just said. She smiled, and nodded waving goodbye to him and she entered the portal.

[no sneak peek cuz it will be spoilers]

A/n: I wrote this at time time when you know your typing out a story and your tired and is slowly drifting to sleep eyes getting heavy but force urself awake to finish the fic

also the next chapter will have a flashback of y/n telling Lucifer about her struggles before they started dating when they were just friends at the time

taglist

@lxkeee @the-attention-whore @httpakasha @dickmastersworld @littleladydemon @sugarpookie @aria-tempest @abby-likesdraw8 @bethleeham @azullynx @baileyohemgee @haleypearce @cheoriemoawa @kaileyn-everdeen @froggybich @chirikoheina

#lucifer morningstar fanfic #lucifer morningstar fanfiction #lucifer morningstar x y/n #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #x reader #fanfic #angst #romance #headcanons #fluff #hazbin hotel

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easyboyrecliner · 12 hours ago

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GRAVITY FALLS INTRO

ACT I. UPTOWN GIRL

JOLYNE MORGAN, born on a hot summer day in 93’, is the daughter of former rancher arthur morgan & his ex wife mary. the former couple lived on a ranch in montana, near darby. her winters were spent up in the mountains, trying to learn skiing but in actuality drinking too many hot chocolates and avoiding the cold. summers were spent plugging strawberries and tending the animals. she bonded with a giant shire called, perseus. he is her greatest joy.

her childhood was a peaceful one. surrounded by the people and animals she loved, christmas evenings spent at home with too many christmas presents to count underneath the tree, given by her uncles and aunts. during the cold evenings she’d be tugged underneath the blankets and would watch the animated rudolph the red nose reindeer movie.

she was always a quiet child, with interest in mythology. jolyne had always had pet geese and named them after the gods. greek, egyptian, hindu or norse, that did not matter. she also always had an abundance of cats and dogs. her two borzoi dogs are the eldest, they’re five years old. caesar and cleopatra. the youngest is a rottweiler called, rufus. her german shepherd, reinhard, is three years old. her two cats, ted and mikkel, are often seen lounging about.

though jolyne is no stranger to the weirdness of the town that is gravity falls. no, its strangeness is known all throughout the states. mostly because her dad is great friends with the legend that is stan pines. he adored young jolyne and promised her that one day she’d work at the mystery shack. … and that she’d learn to haggle and cheat at poker. that peaked her excitement for the day she’d work there.

but before that day could happen she had school before her. many interests were made and many friends along the way. tears where shed over a video game (out of anger and frustration) & jokes where made over a boy band that could’ve bought her from her parents (one direction reference). musicals were learned, dance choreography’s were studied and taught.

ACT II. YOUR SONG

“hey duffer 1..? 👀” “yeah duffer 2? 🤓” ☆ the first conclusion that was made about school: it sucks. the people? cocky and self obsessed. expect some cool people from the older grades. the ups and downs of a private school for rich kids.

jolyne quickly found some friends. same age or a bit older, or younger. ashley lachér & her brother crouton, their cousin shagford, sylvester ko-hen, jessica rose, katelyn jackson, claire willows, sebastian coleson, the eclair twins, devahir & jaxon. the twins including katelyn were super popular. like super duper. so why’d they hang out with the theatre, punk and goth kids? who knew. it is a very fun friendgroup, loud and tight knit. because who else would perform moulin rouge in the middle of the auditorium? watch creepypasta & fnaf videos during class and get away with it? read cringe one direction fan fiction and claiming that they can write better ones? they did. they were simply called the headache and that’s still their group chat name.

around that time jolyne discovered bloodborne, a terrible mistake but beautiful mistake. that game brought her to tears (not for good reasons). beautiful story, music and designs but the bosses…she doesn’t talk about the frustrations she felt while fighting them. (know that she’d groan at the mention of micolash or gehrman)

the craziest thing they could’ve done at that rich private school? join the german course. herr zeki müller was maybe the craziest but best experience they could’ve ever asked for. yes, they are still in contact with him. he cried during their high school graduation. they have a picture. purpose unknown. blackmail? who knows. the small german class, that mostly consisted of the friendgroup & some other poor souls, had the best excursions to other countries. they got lost in japan, almost imprisoned in the netherlands & made many memories they’d never forget. (the polaroid pictures aren’t talked about, they are peak drunk embarrassment)

but all good things come to an end…

ACT III. FRÜHLING IN PARIS

GOOOO TIGERSS ☆ the year is 2012 & jolyne is currently undergoing a midlife crisis despite only being eighteen years old. her parents divorced and they moved away. away from her friends and beloved mountains. to fucking oregon out of all the places. arthur sold the old ranch and has bought a smaller farm at gravity falls. at least she could see stan again. the old man was very funny.

arthur claimed it’s just because of stan and needing a familiar face to cheer him up with. jolyne knew that wasn’t the truth but she didn’t press. while she struggled with moving away from her friends, playing hades so often could only help little. listening to her favorite songs could help so little. jolyne spends most of her time recreating her friends in the sims while streaming the game process. it’s a mess (sylvester always ends up dying?). they spend a lot of time calling together, initially. after arthur had to warn them to stop screaming at 3 am in the morning, the calls became less; but the text messages doubled. she usually practices the dances from dirty dancing, because it is ashley’s favorite movie.

jolyne got the job stan pines promised her. and what a mistake that is to put a socially anxious eighteen year old at the cashier. but nonetheless she stayed. when jolyne isn’t working, she is exploring the small town and avoiding wendy corduroy’s friend group. robbie is rude, tambry is…tambry….and the rest of the boys she hasn’t seen much, maybe some glimpses here and there. but she has heard the crazy stories from stan, soos & wendy herself. gravity falls, in itself, is a beautiful town with many mysteries she wishes to uncover and explore. because last wednesday she saw a unicorn…?

the pines twins arrival is just around the corner and she is most excited about it (with stan of course). she has a feeling in her bones that the summer will be memorable.

side note: Yes if you know RDR2, it’s mary and Arthur. THEY DESERVE THE LIFE ROCKSTAR TOOK AWAY FROM THEM. The aunts and uncles are the rest of the Van der Linde Gang, tihihi. For German folks , i just had to script Herr Müller in.. we all need a herr müller in our lives. Hades and Bloodborne come out earlier because they’re my comfort games alright. They’re peak. And this contains some PRETTY MUCH IT references because it’s my fav YouTube channel.

playlist:

ALORS ON DANSE ; stromae

REMEMBER THE TIME ; michael jackson

NORDISCH BY NATURE ; fettes brot

EYES WITHOUT A FACE ; billy idol

TIME WARP ; rocky horror cast

THE ZOMBIE SONG ; stephanie mabey

SECRET ; the pierces

PROM QUEEN ; icp

HUNGRY EYES ; eric carmen

taglist: @briiverse , @bridalribbon , @salemisha , @katmikaelsendevotee , @miainbetween , @snoopysites , @sozhuo , @polyhymniae

#shiftblr #shifting #shifting antis dni #mae’s corner #shifting blog #shifting community #reality shifting #Gravity falls dr #dr intro #shifting introduction

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whimsyfaes · 9 months ago

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Hi,

could you please write a Hannibal one-shot, where Hannibal is Will‘s substitute as an FBI teacher as long as Will is in prison and he falls in love with one of the students? She is one of the best in her class and he also sees she is attracted to him, so he asks her to stay after class?

The Drowning

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x female reader

Details: smut, (reader mid 20's), teacher/student, foreplay, mentions of gore

Minors DNI, 18+

Flashes of the overhead's images on the wall made your eyes squint slightly from the brightness, each photo depicting different scenarios of the surrounding area's murder sprees. You're used to seeing such explicit imagery, though sometimes an image or two will make your skin crawl with discomfort. But you haven't been called the best of your class for nothing, always rising to the top and taking on the challenge with no complaint. The other FBI students were slightly jealous of your natural academic mind, but they also looked up to you for guidance on their own performances.

And Hannibal took note of this.

It was no secret to yourself that you have felt infatuation for the new professor, already knowing of him since he was your former teacher's psychiatrist. You've heard nothing but great things, some even of gossips of how entrancing he was, like a Greek God that stalked the school's concrete walls. It was hard NOT to feel some type of attraction to him. And for the other student's, they had felt the same way.

He was a masterpiece.

But little did you know, that the masterpiece before you thought of the same when it came to you. Which if you were to find out, thought it was absolutely ridiculous. You, of all people, a meek, tired little thing who had an obsession with black coffee to keep you going through the day. To him however, this was a breath of fresh air, and one he would gladly inhale for the rest of his days.

"Now, can anyone tell me why the killer decided to have such a intricate display of the victim's body? Do we have any idea of what the killer was inspired by?"

Hannibal's eyes trace the crowded room with a raised brow, silence filling the air and the occasional tap of a nervous pencil. You sighed to yourself quietly, knowing that if no one blurted out the answer, it was most likely going to fall upon your shoulders. Your hand then raises upward embarrassingly, some eyes rolling because of course the best in the class knew the answer.

How this excited Hannibal.

"Perhaps the killer was inspired by Shakespeare's Macbeth, the drowning of Ophelia? It could be indicated by the water lilies that surround her body, a common flower connected to water and innocence. The opening of her chest could also indicate that she died of a broken heart, plus she is under a willow tree, where the famous Ophelia fell."

More silence filled the air, a cough from someone sounding before Hannibal gave a smile of excitement. "Excellent, precisely. The killer was obviously inspired by the famous Poet, which seems to also be the case when it comes to any serial killer really. Artistry, is the main innovation for their motives."

Your eyes connect for what seems like an eternity, small breaths escaping your parting lips with the harsh fluttering of your beating heart.

Were you, the Ophelia, about to fall into darkness?

The ringing of the bell caused you to jolt in surprise, the rustling of bags and paperwork filling the room as everyone began to depart to their next field. You couldn't stop the slight trembling of your fingers as you pull your things together, the last student's footstep leaving the room before you hear a familiar voice.

"Not you, stay for a moment please."

You halt in place before lifting your gaze towards him, his lithe body stalking with purpose behind his mahogany desk.

"You did very well today, and color me surprised on your Shakespearean knowledge. Not a lot of FBI workers have the comprehension of his complex writings."

A small swallow forms, your cheeks flushing a bright shade of crimson before moving your gaze downward to your fingers. Your nails are obscenely short from your nervous nail biting habit, but it makes it easy to pull a trigger.

"I do a lot of reading in my spare time, Professor Lecter. Shakespeare has always fascinated me, even as a little girl."

His delicate hand lifts with a small chuckle escaping his soft lips, which you did not intend to stare at this long. It's funny, if there was a black shroud upon his frame, he would almost resemble the Grim Reaper himself.

Shouldn't that frighten you?

"Please, call me Hannibal. I am only filling in Will's time for a couple of months, and would rather not fully take on his title."

A smile forms on your face before biting your bottom lip, nodding in agreement before you begin to collect more of your paperwork into your bag.

"Well, Hannibal. You have been doing very well in his stead. He might have some competition when he gets back."

Was that a tease that spilled from your lips? Gods, it came out so naturally that you didn't even notice at first. But once he starts to move slowly towards your frame is when you began to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

"And what kind of competition would that be?"

If you just kept your mouth shut, you wouldn't have this overwhelming desirable feeling to hide yourself in the darkest corner imaginable. But alas, this wasn't the first time your mouth got you in trouble. He's towering over you now, your rear hitting the back of your desk with a slight creak of metal against floor.

"Well I mean, -...um...your teaching methods..."

His head cocked to the side with a sly, devilish grin, those darkening orbs in his skull drawing to gaze upon your slightly chapped lips.

"You believe my teaching methods are superior to Will Graham's?"

A small meek nod forms, your fingers reaching behind you to grasp the desk's wood tightly with white knuckles. He has waited so long for this moment, to ensnare the little rabbit who always just seemed a hand's touch away. A satisfied smirk trails on his gaunt face, for he knows he has finally caught you, the perfect subject to twist and form into his own twisted masterpiece.

"Shall we test that theory?"

He waits patiently while moving a soft hand to caress the side of your jawline, your eyes fluttering from the gentle gesture before meeting his gaze with a deep breath.

"......Yes...."

You have fallen, dear Ophelia.

The sudden feeling of his lips against your own made you gasp in fever, his other hand moves to cup both of your cheeks for guidance. Flesh kneaded against your own in a steady rhythm. He's taking your time with you, not to scare off the poor little rabbit too fast. You're hanging upon the desk for dear life, brows knitting together in concentration of his lead, a waltz of lust that you haven't experienced before in your lifetime.

It was then that he quickens the pace, pushing himself harder into your trembling frame while diving his skilled tongue past your opening mouth. You moan wantonly then, a small growl of his own forming in unison as he moves to pull upon your ponytail with control. It's as if you are melting under his touch, his experience in the art of seduction almost too much for you to bear.

Hannibal release then, breathing heavily upon your jawline before giving chaste kisses and slight bites with teeth, his calloused hands moving to cup upon your clothed breasts in a firm movement. It almost startles you, a shocking gasp escaping before he moves his mouth to assailant yours once again. You don't remember raising your hands to grasp his shoulders, but when you can feel the soft expensive silk under your fingertips, it brings you back to reality.

You are kissing your Professor, and Hannibal of all people.

He pulls away to begin to unbutton your uniform attire, a white button up shirt you thrifted not too long ago. Each movement is calculated, like a pianist wanting to get the perfect note each time.

"Are you ready for your lesson, my dear?"

His voice is hoarse from his own arousal, your eyes widening in surprise from his words. Was he seriously going to try to teach you something, while doing THIS type of behavior? It made your heart flutter wildly in your caged chest, it rising and falling before he reveals your cotton bra.

"What-...what kind of lesson, Hannibal?"

Oh how the devil smirks, his eyes trailing up to meet your own doe ones while holding your tender bust in his hands.

"Recite for me....the Death of Ophelia..."

It was then that you felt some type of fear hit your entire being, like a deer that had stumbled upon thorn bramble and unable to escape. Your breathing intensifies as you stare upon him with parted lips, his hands continuing their kneading while patiently waiting for you to begin. He was TOYING with you, and of course your stubborn brain wouldn't allow that to happen.

You've been through far too much to have this man steal your tongue.

" -....W-When down her weedy trophies....and herself...." You begin with a meek tone, his skillful fingers moving to remove the article of clothing in one swift movement. You can't hold back a loud whimper from the sudden feeling of chill air licking your breasts, his mouth moving to envelope around a hardening bud for protection.

"Her -....c-clothes spread wide... and mermaid like... awhile they bore her up..."

Hannibal praises you with a muffled hum of approval, tongue sliding effortlessly around your sensitive bud and giving a lewd suckle. His other hand moves to dive slowly, carefully, down between your legs, which you open obediently with a roll of your head.

"Which time she chanted snatches-....o-of old tunes..."

After that singular word he dove his hand down your work trousers to rub against your clothed sex, your panties already beginning to soak under his touch as you moan heatedly from the act. He has you in his complete control, and every circular motion of his finger combined with the flicking on his tongue on your breast causes your stomach to tighten and coil with pure arousal.

Hannibal pauses for a moment, his own hair a bit disheveled and falling across his sunken eyes while gazing upward at you. He wants you to continue your rehearsal, and will not proceed his lewd actions until you do. With a huff, you move your hands to hold onto the back of his head tightly, hips subconsciously rolling into his hand as you begin once again in a hoarse tone.

"As one incapable of her own d-distress...or l-like a creature....ah-...native and indued..."

He's absolutely purring now with delight, his mouth retreating from your sensitive nipple to have both hands quickly thrust your pants downward in a harsh movement. It caused you to jump slightly, his usual professional demeanor now replaced by pure hungry desire. Like a wolf that has been starved, finally able to feast on what he has been dreaming most nights alone in his bed.

"Unto that e-element...but not long it could not be..."

You're watching him slither down your frame like a viper, his eyes locked upon you as if you were about to dissipate and never return. But you knew, deep down in your heart, there was no going back. And you did not want to. No, you belonged here, your hand outstretching to brush a fallen lock behind his ear. He takes this gesture with a tilt of his head towards your touch, his hungry mouth opening to breathe wantonly against your thigh with a dash of tongue.

"Till that h-her garments... h-heavy with their drink...."

Hannibal removes your panties while staring into your soul with each word that escapes your lips, his own mouth moving to ghost along the wetting of your folds in a delicious torture. It is mentally noted that you must finish the prose, before getting your ultimate reward. Your blunt nails move to grasp the desk's sides while bending your back slightly in the sitting position for more access, a long sigh escaping your lips while you gaze down before him.

A God....upon his knees....

"Pull'd the poor w-wretch from her melodious lay....to muddy death..."

You were gone before it even began, the sudden wet heat diving into your wanton core causing a strangled cry to escape you. Tight tremors from each sinful lick upon your folds made the desk move slightly in rhythm, a starved growl emitting from his lips that vibrated upon you. More, you needed more, a small series of babbles leaving you as you tilted your head backward in pure ecstasy. Of course he was this skilled with a tongue, a finger moving to rub along your swollen bud in time with his flesh diving inward inside a nectar crevice. You can hear the lewd actions echo in the room around you, another one of his hands moving to grasp your thigh in a tight vice grip, the other fingers moving to spread you open like the most desired prize he has won in his lifetime.

You couldn't think, couldn't fully register what was happening for it was all too much to feel, your toes curling in your shoes as he dove two fingers inside you with purpose.

"H-Hannbial -.... ahn God..."

He chuckled against your folds before lifting his head towards your gaze, slicked with your essence of your coupling in the most beautiful of ways.

"There is no God here, my love..."

And with that, he plunged into you with a faster rhythm, your thighs convulsing from the intensity as he lavished your budding flower. There was only so more you could take, a hand moving to grip his lose locks tightly enough to cause a groan from his lips.

"I-I can't...I'm...."

"Come on me....."

His deep hoarse voice against your throbbing cunt was enough to send you over the edge, your back arching in the most angelic way while you spill your essence on his fingers and face. He's ravenous over it, taking it all in as if he were drunk on it. And when he pulls away and your body shivers from the lack of contact, he can only gaze into your eyes with pools of black that are his own.

His mask had cracked, revealing what truly laid there all this time.

The monster, is finally revealing himself.

#hannibal x reader #hannibal x fem reader #x reader #smut #hannibal smut #reader insert #fem reader #reader imagine #omg i loved doing this #i hope this came out how you wanted it to!!!

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hyukalyptus · 10 months ago

Text

the willow tree — prince!yeonjun x servant!oc (mira)

cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, chubby!reader (rarely self conscious), exes to ???, unsupportive parents, dual POV, classism, mira is described as chubby and has long wavy hair, mira often wears dresses/thongs/etc, smut, sir kink, sneakin around, pet names (darling, babe, baby, love, my girl), lots of cunnilingus/bjs/handjobs, more specific content warnings before each chapter, NSFW/MDNI!!! notes. this has taken me forever!! i know i've been talking about this for so long and i really hope you love it. the poll said to post everything at once, but i put chapter headers so you wouldn't lose your place since its so goddamn long. anyway, enjoy!! wc. 26K im so sry

cw. yeonjun is a bit of a jerk in a flashback, classism, yj is an environmental activist and if u are a climate change denier, feel free to block <3, mira (oc) is described as chubby, yeonjun sneaks into mira's room (but not in a pervy way).

YEONJUN'S POV

Open your heart to the adventure ahead. I glare back at the cheesy quote slapped across the page-a-day calendar resting on my desk Mother gifted me last Christmas. The phrases usually amount to nothing more than fortune cookie wisdom or elementary classroom poster encouragements, and today's offering is no exception.

It’s plastered in meetings and to-dos I have today. One meeting is with a new landscape architect for the garden, another with Gemma about the upcoming quarterly dinner, and another with our ambassador about an upcoming international environmental meeting I’m attending later this year.

Philanthropy has always been a forte of mine. No matter the cause, I can persuade the richest of the rich to contribute to the cause, I host grand fundraising events, and love speaking for what I care about. My pursuits have evolved over time, ranging from childhood health to advocating for mental wellness and combating food scarcity.

It’s been difficult to choose what I cared about most, but I simply can’t commit all of my focus to every cause, no matter how hard I try. Within the last few years, my focus has been the environment—an urgent matter demanding action, even if I’m not a major contributor to the problem. Nonetheless, I certainly have influence over large corporations that do, not to mention my political influence. I've also cultivated a deep appreciation for the arts, advocating for universal access. Last year, I facilitated the donation of $125,000 worth of instruments to local public schools.

Outside of work, I like learning new instruments and artforms—right now, pottery and piano—and reading. And I love to travel. I always fly commercial—never private.

“Honey, be in the common room in fifteen minutes,” Mother—the Queen—says at my door. She glows as her deep ruby chiffon dress flows with her movements, exuding royal, elegance, and authority. She finishes putting in her gold earring before adding, “We have a new hire.”

Ah, the customary introduction of new staff. I finish watering the peace lily on my window bench before heading down the hallway.

Our castle is opulent yet sophisticated and contemporary. I genuinely love the peacock-green walls, the gold trim, the myriad of photos on the walls—memories of the Queen presenting awards, snapshots from my trips, simple portraits. Despite the grandeur of it all, it’s home.

The common room is large and well-lit thanks to the floor to ceiling windows. Lots of comfortable seating scatters the floor for when guests are over. A large Morisot painting hangs on the wall opposite the windows—brushstrokes full of energy and splashes of rich greens and blues. But it’s the simplicity I love about it. It’s why I bought it.

“Good morning, Your Majesties,” Gemma states as she enters the room, fifteen staff people following behind her. Everyone does their obligatory bows and curtsies, something I never particularly liked. But I understand the purpose behind it.

The staff stand in a straight line facing us, Gemma being the stiffest of all—she commands the room, adores perfection, and keeps everything in order. She isn’t my personal favorite staff person, but I don’t know what we’d do without her.

They’re all wearing their boring uniforms—half are in drab grey frocks with white aprons and the other half are in drab grey suits. I’d rather they wear whatever they want.

Formal introductions like these aren’t to my taste. I like getting to know the staff on our own terms. Organically. But this is important to Gemma. It’s a sort of initiation, a welcome into the family. So I let her do what she needs to do, but I’m busy reminding myself of my to-do list.

Email Princess Everly about the upcoming benefitReschedule interview with Philanthropy DailyOutline Climate Week keynote speech

“As you know,” Gemma startles me out of my thoughts. “We’ve welcomed a new person to our team. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Walking to the end of the line, she introduces her, “This is Mira.”

Mira smiles softly with a curtsy that I’m assuming she learned to do in the kitchen moments earlier.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ma’am,” she says, tilting her head toward Mother. “And you too, Sir.”

“Nice to—oh.” My mouth hangs open. What am I supposed to say again? Oh right, “Um…it’s nice to meet you too,” I finally murmur. That was embarrassing.

Everything flashes across the movie screen in my mind—memories with her. The girl I fell in love with when I was a stupid teenager. The girl who stole my first kiss. The girl that was so sweet to me and treated me like any other kid because that’s all I was—a kid.

But she wasn’t just a girl to me. She was the first—only—person I was in love with. The girl I snuck out of the castle at night to go stargazing with. The girl I told all my secrets to. The girl I never thought I’d see again. How could I have forgotten her?

Do you remember me?

Perhaps that’s all I was to her, though—a boy. Another insignificant teenage romance. Then again…how could she forget? We’d talk for hours about spending our lives together. She’d even picked out her favorite room in the castle that we’d move into together when the time came. It’s now the music room, complete with a piano among other instruments.

We’d sit under her favorite willow tree in the garden eating red bean buns she’d brought back from the next town over when she’d visit her cousins.

Have you forgotten? To be fair, It has been six…seven years. Wow.

The room soon clears, except for Mira and myself. She paces around and smooths her skirt.

“Oh!” Mira gasps. “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone had left,” she says with an awkward curtsy. Simply shaking my head, I stay put. “...Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?”

“Nope…uh, no,” I start, fiddling with the edge of one of the couches before finally speaking up again. “Where are you from?” I’m testing the waters. Trying to see if she remembers me without coming straight out and asking. Honestly, I do this with all our staff: ask where they’re from, get to know them a bit. I don’t like having robots I know nothing about doing everything for me.

“I’m originally from the next town over.”

Hm. Am I wrong? Maybe she simply looks a lot like my Mira. And has the same name. And the same gorgeous brown eyes. Perhaps I shouldn’t refer to her as my Mira anymore.

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid though,” she adds. Ah, okay. That seems like something I should’ve known. Nodding, I open my mouth to say something else, but Mother calls me from a distance.

“Yep.” I stand up straight as a pin, turning to exit the room. “Be right there.”

Rummaging through my drawers, I finally find it. The necklace I’d bought Mira all those years ago—a delicate circle pendant with an “M” stamped in the middle hanging from a delicate gold chain. She wore it everyday for six months. I can’t remember how I ended up with it, though.

So, she’s real. At least that’s true. What should I do with it? I pace up and down the hallways clutching it, brainstorming about what to do with it. Perhaps I should simply walk up to her and ask her about it. Should I wrap it for her and give it to her as a present? Should I give it to Gemma to return to her?

“Oh, Gemma, I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for almost bumping into her.

“Not a problem, sir.” She curtsies and begins to walk away, but—

“Gemma?” She turns, holding her hands behind her back, awaiting my instruction. “Can you tell me where the new hire stays? I want to make sure I’ve got everyone’s rooms in order in my head.”

“Mira?” I nod. “She lives in room number six, sir.”

“Thank you.” I smile, but she simply waits. Ah— “Dismissed.”

As I nonchalantly make my way to the staff wing, I keep an eye out for anyone who might be watching. Not that anyone would question me, but I don’t like people in my business. I eventually find her room in the same hallway as everyone else’s—a basic wooden door painted white with a brass “6” nailed to it—I hesitate before knocking softly. No response. I try again, slightly louder. Still nothing. On the third attempt, I test the door handle and find it unlocked. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m just gonna get in, put the necklace somewhere, then get out. I won’t bother any of her stuff.

But her room is so sweet. Plain and organized since she just moved in. A single photograph of her and her parents with who I’m assuming is her grandmother rests on the dresser. The bed’s made neatly. There’s a glass of water sitting on the bedside table.

Ah, the bedside table drawer. That should be a good spot, but I find things that are way too personal in there and decide against it, respecting her privacy despite the fact that I’m breaking and entering.

Hm…where to put it? Sock drawer? The windowsill catches my eye—a perfect blend of visibility and subtlety. I approach it, careful not to disturb anything, and hang the necklace on the window latch. It’s hiding in plain sight but still easy to find and doesn’t show that I rummaged through her drawers, which is a plus.

Now, we wait.

A week passes. Radio silence. I haven’t gone back to her room to see if it's still hanging on her window, but I haven’t seen it around her neck either. Perhaps she threw it away and I should give up.

Trudging through my bedroom door, I loosen my tie and toss my phone and wallet onto my bed. I attempt to rub the tiredness out of my eyes, but I’m exhausted. Thankfully, my dinner is already waiting for me on my dresser under a cloche.

Next to my plate is a glass of ice water dripping in condensation along with a napkin and a set of cutlery. And resting right next to my fork is Mira’s necklace. The sight of it sends a jolt through my system. I knew she came into my room somewhat regularly—all the staff do—but thinking about her in my room makes me tingle.

I sink onto the edge of my bed with a sigh as the chain slips through my fingers. When I first gave it to her seven years ago, her eyes lit up and her smile made everything feel right. I knew we were supposed to be together. That all seems so distant now.

Why didn’t she simply get rid of it?

Maybe she hasn’t given up entirely and neither should I.

It goes back and forth between us for a few weeks. After I found it on my dresser, I slipped it into her apron pocket. Then I found it between the pages of my notebook. The day after I wrapped it around the sugar bowl’s lid handle, it appeared wrapped around the handlebar of my bike.

We never spoke a word of it.

Every time I found it, it made me smile, but I knew this couldn't continue forever. I need to see her, to talk to her, to find out what was really going on. Does she want to talk to me? Does she hate me? Does she even remember me?

The next morning, I slip a note under her door.

Meet me under the willow tree at 8. - Y

Every minute of the day feels like an eternity as I wait for evening to arrive. Doubt gnaws at me, but the thought of seeing and speaking to Mira keeps me sane.

The evening air is cool and crisp. The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep blue. Waiting under the willow tree, I think about the many times Mira and I have sat under here and talked for hours, watching the stars as the branches swayed in the wind. We’d talk about our days, places we wanted to visit together, how I wanted to tell everyone about us but she was too hesitant.

Minutes start to feel like hours as I wait, the silence around me amplifying my racing thoughts. What if she never comes? What if she didn’t get the note? What if she’s avoiding me? Does she hate me?

Finally, soft footsteps approach and I turn to see Mira, her silhouette framed by the dim garden lights. She walks slowly, like she’s dragging it out as long as possible. As she comes up to me, her eyes search mine. My heart races, there’s a lump in my throat.

"Mira," I start, my voice barely above a whisper. She curtsies. “You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my job, Sir,” she says flatly. Rocking back on my heels, I press my lips together.

"I thought I’d return this straight to you,” I say, holding up the necklace. “It seems like it keeps getting lost.” I chuckle nervously, trying to break the tension.

“Thanks,” she replies flatly as she accepts the necklace. Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. I thought I’d memorized every detail about her, but seeing her now under the lamppost, it’s like I’m rediscovering her all over again. She’s beautifully chubby and always has been. Her long, dark brunette hair has a tint of red that makes it look like cinnamon. The wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants paired with an old pair of flip flops tells me she either forgot about our meeting and got dressed in a hurry or wants to get this over with. Or perhaps both.

“What can I help you with, Sir?” Awkward silence.

“Mira,” I whisper, her name a fragile plea on my lips. She stares at the ground, avoiding my eyes. What was she expecting? For me to never bring us up? Of course I’d talk to her about it. “Mira Ashenrose, right?” She hums quietly. “I realized I never asked your last name since you started working here.”

The silence between us is thick with tension. Memories flood my mind and I hope the same is happening to her. The last time we were here, we laid with each other for hours, so long that the sun started rising. She fit so perfectly in my arms.

“I can’t forget you, Mira,” I say, stepping closer. “Why are you avoiding…us?” The space between us is charged as electricity swirls around us. “Remember us? All those nights we went stargazing? Our picnics? Those daisy chains you made me? You can’t tell me you don’t—”

“Of course I remember,” she interrupts, tears glistening in her eyes. My heart aches at the sight. “I remember everything, Yeonjun.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “I remember falling asleep under this willow tree with you. I remember dancing with you. I remember kissing you before sneaking back into my house. I remember everything, okay?” Her voice trembles. “But that doesn’t mean I want to.”

“What? Why wouldn’t you?”

She looks utterly heartbroken. “Don’t do this to me, Yeonjun. Stop being cruel.”

Her words punch me in the gut and everything comes rushing back. The reason we ended. I’d asked her to our annual ball—our first public appearance together. The Queen would find out. My royal friends would find out. The whole country would find out. She was a wreck for weeks leading up to it, but I reassured her every chance I got that it would be okay.

She was—and still is—smart, incredibly beautiful, but most of all, I loved her. Why should anyone care if she wasn’t a royal as long as I was in love with her? That should’ve been enough.

"Yeonjun, darling," my mother's voice sliced through the delicate hum of the ballroom. "I'd like you to meet Princess Penelope. She's your esteemed companion for the evening." Always so professional.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering a strained greeting to Penelope before turning to face my mother. "May I have a word with you in private?"

Graciously excusing herself, she left me to confront my mother amidst the grandeur of the ballroom. "Why would you do this? I told you I didn’t want to be set up.”

"I understand, Yeonjun," my mother replied with a tight-lipped smile. "But it's time you started considering your future—"

"My future?" I scoffed. "I'm eighteen."

"Exactly," she countered, her tone firm. "You need to think about a suitable partner. Someone who embodies the qualities of a Queen—dignity, wisdom, influence. And most importantly: royal,” she pointed a finger at me. “I won’t be around forever, darling.”

“Do they really need to be royal?”

My mother's smile widened, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

I swallowed what I really needed to say. There’s no way I’d win an argument anyway. With a resigned nod, I returned to Princess Penelope, the weight of my mother's expectations—and I suppose my entire country’s—heavy on my shoulders. So heavy I’d forgotten—

“Mira,” I said under my breath. There she was, staring at me in disbelief as I danced with Princess Penelope. Ignoring the questioning from Penelope, I abandoned her mid-step and made a beeline for Mira, my heart pounding with a mixture of dread and urgency. "Mira, wait!" I called out, desperation lacing my voice as I chased after her out of the ballroom and into the moonlit courtyard.

"Why, Yeonjun?" Mira's voice cracked as she finally turned to face me, tears staining her cheeks. "Why would you do this?"

"I had no choice," I confessed, my mother’s expectations running circles in my mind. “My mother made me.”

"You could've told me," Mira interjected, her voice trembling.

"When?" I demanded, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I only found out thirty minutes ago—"

"You could've texted me.”

"I can't risk—"

"What, people finding out about us?" Mira's voice rose with each word, her anguish palpable in the cool night air. “Are you ever going to tell The Queen about us?” Squeezing the bridge of my nose, my eyes twist shut. “Well?”

Looking at her—possibly for the last time—she looked absolutely beautiful. Her gown was perfect. Soft lavender satin that caught the light as it cascaded down the skirt, a glimmer of fuschia reflecting in the light. I wanted nothing but to hug her, to feel the satin on my fingertips. The sweetheart neckline was gorgeous on her, accentuating her frame perfectly. The M necklace rested around her neck. Her hair was absolutely perfect—she’d been trying out styles for weeks and the final choice was supposed to be a surprise.

“Answer me, Yeonjun.”

I couldn’t do that anymore. Mother meant what she said to me earlier that night: they must be royal. “Just go home,” I said, turning to leave her there alone. Breaking her heart was the best thing to do in the moment. If I could never truly be with her, breaking it off right then and there was the easiest thing for both of us.

“What? Why—”

“What do you expect, Mira? You’re not royalty. You’re nothing,” I said. “Now go home.”

Too stunned to speak, I stare at her in disbelief. How could I have been so evil to her? What was I thinking? Why did I forget that? Must’ve blocked it from my memory. And now that I’m older, I’d never let some stupid outdated rule like that stand in our way.

“I’m so—”

“Save it,” she says flatly. “I should’ve thrown away the necklace the first time I found it.” Straightening her posture, she wipes the final tear rolling down her cheek, shaking her head to rid of the emotions. “Let’s pretend this whole thing never happened, yeah?”

Fine. If someone did that to me, if someone told me I was nothing after telling them they were in love with me for six months, I’d probably feel the same way, if I’m honest.

As I accept my fate, I turn to walk away, but halt in my footsteps. “No,” I start. “I don’t want to forget this—that we ever happened.” She stays standing there, arms crossed, trying to control her breathing. But I hover over her, waiting for a response. “Please. I miss—”

“Don’t.” She snaps, shaking her head. “Don’t even think about starting that bullshit with me…Sir.”

“I told you, Mother set me up with her.”

“I don’t care about that. You told me I was nothing.” Speechless again, I can’t move. “You never even tried to contact me again and you expect me to give you a second chance?”

“That was seven years ago.”

“So?”

“I’m…we’re both so different. I used to be a stupid teenager. I would never— Please—”

“Please, what? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t—” Honestly, I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off, but I don’t know if that’s possible at this point. I hadn’t felt lonely until she showed up, drowning in my endless to do lists, barely ever hanging out with anyone that wasn’t on my staff or another royal. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe think about that first.”

cw. eating food.

MIRA'S POV

On my days off, I hide away in a gazebo in a quiet part of the garden and sketch. It’s a nice place to escape to, away from everyone while staying close to home. Home. It’s still hard to believe this castle is my home, even if I am just a servant.

The gazebo sits against a stone wall on one side—one of those that looks so old you wonder how it's still standing, withered with moss growing between the stones, vines going up and around it. The bench theoretically offers lots of seating, but most of it is covered in pots, plants, and gardening supplies. It’s more storage than an intended place to rest.

My spot was bare when I found it and it gives me a full view of the grounds. To the right, our village is on full display—colorful, quaint, and inviting. To the left, a thick forest stands tall, leaves rustling with the wind.

Someone’s foot crunches the gravel as they walk toward me and my little corner, but I don’t react. As long as I stay relatively still and quiet, no one bothers me. I continue my sketch of those cute squirrels running around together under the willow tree I’ve always loved. Although it’s left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth recently.

But the presence of a person looms behind me. Can’t I have one quiet day to myself? Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. They’ll leave eventually. Maybe. Hopefully.

“...Mira?” A familiar voice says, slow and undeniably warm.

“Oh.” I stand up straight, giving my obligatory curtsy Gemma has ingrained in me since day one.

“I told you not to do that,” Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun—says. He’s dressed casually today, cute even. But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that. A simple maroon cashmere sweater that fits perfectly with his dark wash jeans that barely gather at his ankles, exposing his black vans. A short necklace of black beads sits around his neck. One of those outfits you’d see him wearing in a magazine with a caption like, ‘Royals – they’re just like us!’

“And I told you, it’s my job,” I say, returning to my seat, continuing my drawing.

“Not right now though,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s your day off, right?”

“You have my schedule memorized?”

“No,” he chuckles, running his fingers through his shiny, black hair that I can practically feel on my fingertips. “Why else would you be hiding in my corner?”

“I figured you followed me—your corner?”

“I wasn’t following you,” he says, walking closer before rocking back on his heels as he stops. “I read here sometimes.” He holds up a book. “You thought this spot just happened to be clear on its own?” I hum, scooting over and patting the bench next me. “You’re really okay with me here? I don’t want to bother you,” he says, as genuine as one can sound. But I’m still surprised. Sure, he’s not the demanding type, but I don’t know if I’d act the same if I were royalty.

“To be fair, I was here first,” I say smugly. Although, he is still my boss. It doesn’t matter that we know each other from that past. I add a quick, “...Sir.” for good measure. “Go ahead and sit.”

“Don’t you hate me?” He asks and I chuckle, but when I look up, I see he’s serious.

“No, I don’t hate you,” I say. “I’ve moved on, Yeonjun.”

Shrugging, he sits near me, opening his book. I tried to get a peek at the title, but I never got the chance without being too obvious. As he sits next to me, I must admit his presence adds a peaceful comfort to what would typically be a relatively silent, if not boring, morning. There’s even a sort of completeness. Birds seem to be chirping more harmoniously. The clouds have disappeared. Oh, what am I saying? That’s ridiculous. That’s a coincidence, Mira.

“You still draw?” He perks up, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Of course,” I answer immediately.

“What are you working on?” Straightening on the bench, I riffle through some papers quickly, trying to hide any potentially embarrassing sketches I don’t want him to see.

“Just sketches.”

He nods, curiosity etched on his face. “Can I see?”

“Uh,” I clear my throat. “Sure,” I say, sitting one of my feet on the ground, turning toward him. Our knees brush each other for a moment, but I quickly move it out of his way. Smiling, he examines my drawing of my favorite willow tree I finished yesterday before bed. My cheeks flush as I remember why it was on my mind while drawing, but I hope he doesn’t draw that conclusion.

“Ah, you’ve gotten so much better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I chuckle.

“I just mean,” he looks at me, eyebrows raised in defense. “I can tell you’ve been working on it, I dunno. How else would I say that?”

“That’s fine,” I say. Awkwardness fills the air as I shift my weight around.

“I’ve been doing pottery, you know.”

I do know. But I’m not supposed to be listening in on their conversations at dinner. I can’t help I’m nosy. I simply ask, “Really?” Humming, he pulls out his phone.

“This one just came out of the kiln.” He hands me his phone—I wonder what world secrets are on Prince Yeonjun’s phone—to show me a beautifully hand thrown vase. The body is smooth and cylindrical with a slightly tapered neck that gracefully flares out at the top. White glaze covers the surface, contrasting with the thick organic strokes of black glaze. Small, oval handles are attached on both sides. “I just learned how to do handles.”

“Oh my gosh, Yeonjun…” My breath is taken away. I had no idea he was such an incredible artist. It looks like it was plucked straight out of a museum. “It’s gorgeous.” He always was one to do things perfectly—an all-or-nothing kinda guy.

“Thanks,” he smiles, pressing his lips together.

“Show off,” I say, lightly nudging his arm with my elbow.

An hour or so passes and I’ve switched sitting positions several times, eventually landing on a classic leaned-back-against-the-wall position with my feet up on the bench so I can use my knees and thighs as a desk. He’s barely moved an inch though, sitting happily with his back pressed against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, reading.

I barely notice my toes absent-mindedly tucking themselves under his thigh like I used to do when we were—

“Oh!” A servant that I haven’t learned the name of yet stumbles in on us, carrying a tray full of food. “I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay,” Yeonjun says, but I’m doing everything I can to hide my face. This can’t get back to the other servants. They’re all such gossips, which I guiltily love, but that doesn’t mean I want them gossiping about me. “Come on over, Natalie.”

“I swear I didn’t tell her about your spot, Sir,” Natalie says nervously.

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay,” he offers a gentle smile, reaching out for the tray, dismissing her after she curtsies, scurrying off quickly. “Don’t worry,” Yeonjun says to me. “She keeps all my secrets—she’s the only one that knows I come out here. She won’t say anything about,” he trails off, gesturing his hand between us.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “You hungry?”

“No.” My stomach growls at the worst possible moment.

“I kinda feel like you are.” I ignore him, focusing on my drawing. “I asked her to bring another meal. You can have it if you want.”

Peeking over my sketchbook, the tray is fully decked out in sandwiches that look absolutely delicious; sides of mac and cheese and fruits, complete with two glasses of water and a little flower.

“I suppose I’m pretty hungry.” My stomach growls again at the sight of it. “Oh, ignore that; she’s been fussy all day.” I scooch closer to him hesitantly accepting the offer.

“Mira,” Yeonjun starts. I hum, reaching for a pineapple slice. “Why are all the staff afraid of me?”

“Huh?” I look up at him.

“You saw how nervous Natalie was just thinking I might be mad at her.”

“I think you forget you’re a literal prince,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Are you scared of me?”

Hm. That’s an interesting question. No, of course I’m not scared of you. Why would I be? But perhaps the real answer is Yes, but in the way that everyone makes fun of when people say it out loud. Honestly, I am afraid. Afraid of falling for him again. Getting my heart broken again. We’ve barely talked since I started working here, but I know how convincing he can be. If I’m not careful, he’ll have me wrapped around his finger by next week.

And let’s not forget he told me I was nothing. That kind of thing doesn’t simply go away.

I wonder if he’s ever said something like that to one of the servants. Does he think all non-royalty are nothing? No, he wouldn’t be like that anymore. But how would I really know?

Shrugging, I finally say, “No.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

I roll my eyes, “I don’t know, Jjun—” I catch myself as that dumb nickname comes out of my stupid fucking mouth. What’s wrong with me? He looks at me with wide eyes. “Uh, Yeonjun…Sir.” Let’s just pretend like nothing happened. “You said some hurtful stuff to me. Have you said anything like that to one of them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You could ask a servant if they’re scared of you.”

“I just did,” he points out. Right. I’m…a servant. I keep forgetting that bit when we’re alone. When we’re alone, it's like we’re friends. It’s casual and comfortable. See? What did I tell you? A few hours of silence followed by a few minutes of talking and I’m right back to where I was seven years ago. Stop being so pathetic.

“Ah.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” I chuckle. “You’re right. But maybe ask a servant that seems like they’re scared of you. They’re probably scared of Gemma more than anything.”

As we wrap up our lunch, his phone buzzes—a calendar reminder probably.

"I have to get going," he announces, moving efficiently to gather the remnants of our meal onto the tray. But as he stands to leave, an inexplicable urge pulls at me, begging him to stay. Please don’t do this, Mira. Don’t be stupid.

With a gentle smile, he suggests, "I'll talk to you later?" It's then that I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence for the past who knows how long. "Oh, you have a leaf in your hair." I attempt to remove it myself, but without a mirror, it’s proving to be difficult. "Here," he offers, leaning down. My mind screams at me to resist, but his closeness sends a rush of warmth through my body. With gentle precision, he plucks the leaf away, discarding it casually.

Yet, instead of stepping away, he stays close. I pretend not to notice the magnetic pull between us. Stop it. Admit it. You want him to stay. Straightening my posture, we’re almost leaning into each other, like we’re about to—no. Our gazes dart between each other's lips, ghosts of his touch haunting my senses. Does he still taste the same?

The cool breeze snaps me back to reality. What were you thinking? "Thanks," I mumble, retreating to reestablish a distinct boundary.

"No worries," he replies. The fading sound of his footsteps on gravel leaves me facepalming.

How can I be this close to him without seeing him? Without falling for him again? There’s only one thing to do.

Avoid him at all costs.

cw. sexual tension, suggestive.

MIRA'S POV

“Didn’t you finish Mother’s painting in two weeks?” Prince Yeonjun asks, leaning against the doorframe to the sunroom. It’s become my makeshift painting studio. Once the Queen found out I sometimes do art, she thought it’d be a good idea to commission me for new portraits to replace the old ones in the Great Hall. I like painting and I need the money so I of course said yes.

“Mm-hmm,” I nod, finishing up the final touches on the pattern of his royal cloak. “I’ve been busier recently,” I lie. In the painting, he sits with an arm resting atop a piano against a backdrop of rich velvet curtains like the ones in the living room. The intricate details of his uniform are perfect if I do say so myself. His face, though, is a grey blob with a basic sketch. I work off photographs for the most part, but for faces, I like them sitting right in front of me to get every detail.

But him sitting a foot away from me while I carefully analyze every detail of his face for hours does not sound like a good idea right now. Even if it does sound appealing.

“You almost ready for me?”

I should get it over with, but my hands are tired and I have a lot of tasks for my actual job to do before the end of the day.

“Tomorrow,” I say, walking my paintbrushes to the sink. “Does that work for you?” He’s quiet, so I look over my shoulder to make sure he heard me. Pushing himself off the doorframe, he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Y-yeah,” he says. “That should work.”

“Okay.” I wipe my paintbrushes with a towel. “Meet here after lunch?” Smiling gently, he nods. “Well, I’ve gotta get back to my real job. See you tomorrow,” I say with a curtsy.

Tomorrow comes way too fast. I brush my teeth, floss, use mouthwash, and chew some gum to get rid of any trace of my lunch. Dragging my feet down the hallway, I can’t get there slow enough.

“Ah, Mira,” he says with a smile that warms me from the inside out. I respond with a simple hello, but I’m already burning up as I gather my brushes and paints while he watches me in silence. I realize I’d forgotten to curtsy, but I decide to omit it this time considering he hates it so much.

“The Queen sat on this stool when I painted her,” I say, moving the stool into place. “You might need to adjust the height.” While he does that, I mix a base for his skin. Starting by mixing the primary colors to get a deep brown, I add a good amount of white to lighten it up then a good amount of yellow and a touch of red for warmth. “Sit still,” I giggle, holding my palette knife next to his cheek. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing while I add more brown to darken it a bit. Clasping my hands together, I say, “Alright, I’ll be painting for at least two hours, so do anything else you need to do.”

“I’m good.”

Shrugging, I adjust my easel so he’s in my sightline but not too close.

Two minutes into painting, he asks, “So how’s your day been?”

“Good. You?”

“Good,” he responds. I truly don’t mind silence between us two, but I must admit this silence is deafening. “Do you work in silence or can you talk?”

I giggle and say, “I can talk. Or you can play music if you want.”

“How about both?” I nod. “Alexa, play classical music to focus,” he pauses, waiting for it to respond and start playing. “Tell me what you’re working on.”

“Well,” I start, swishing my brush into some clean water. “I’d already had a basic sketch of your face, but I made some skin tones first. A base, a highlight, and a shadow,” I say, showing him my palette. “Then I’ll go in and fine tune everything.”

Time passes by—I’ve honestly always liked simply existing near him. We used to do this all the time back when we were dating. Sit near each other and just be. Quietly. Like the other day in the garden when I was drawing and he was reading. It’s peaceful. I can focus.

It smells like that day in here—soil and paint. Whoever keeps up with these plants is great at their job. They’re gorgeous even in the winter.

“Now I’m working on your eyes,” I say matter-of-factly. Part of me starts with his eyes to get it over with and avoid them as soon as I can, but the other part counts myself lucky that I have reason to stare at them for the next thirty minutes or so. I mix a deep, cool brown and dip my pinkie into it to hold it up next to his eye. “I’m, um,” I glance down. “I’m gonna touch your face.” My pinkie rests on the apple of his cheek so I can get as close as I can to his eye without touching it. “Open your eyes.”

Damn. Those eyes are like mirrors reflecting my deepest emotions. The world around us fades. I almost drop my palette. Glimpses of our history, our laughter, tears, and dreams we’ve shared together swirl around in them. They take my breath away.

Realizing we’re staring at each other, I snap out of it, jerking my hand away from him and dive into painting them instead of gazing into them.

“First try?” I hum in question. “You got the color of my eyes right on the first try?” My ears warm up.

“Well, you know…” I say, my head hanging low. “They’re the same as the Queen’s.” Lie. The Queen’s are much warmer. Hues of deep mahogany and amber; they’re vibrant with hints of gold and copper that catch the light. They glow in the sun. His, on the other hand, are intensely dark. Deep and rich like shadowy moonlight. You could get lost in them like a maze at night. They’re like reading a book by candlelight. They’re gorgeous.

“Why do I need to be here again?” He asks and I look jokingly offended. “I mean, you worked off photos up until now.”

“So I can get the details of your face I might otherwise miss,” I say, closely examining his face. “Like this freckle,” I say, poking the freckle on his right cheek with the end of my paintbrush that I would never miss in a million years. It’s one of my favorites. “Or this little birthmark.” He’s got the slightest purple splotch on his cheek that again, I’d never miss.

“You’re painting those?”

“Of course,” I say. “They’re part of you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him grazing his fingertips over his cheek, smiling to himself. “Move closer.” Examining his features even closer, I’m a few inches from his face. I, again, realize I’m staring at his face and my heartbeat quickens. I snap back and say, “Um…sorry.”

“You’re okay.”

But this keeps happening. I keep getting close to him, our hearts beating together as our breath gets sharp. And fuck, I miss him. I can’t help but think about if I were doing this for fun, not as a staff person. I used to draw him all the time.

And now, here he is, grown up, mature, tall, and utterly handsome as I’m forced to paint a larger-than-life portrait of the guy I used to love and thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I was such a stupid eighteen-year-old.

He doesn’t stop staring at me. Not when I add details to his nose. Not when I clean my brush. Not when I observe my painting from a distance. I catch his glare.

“Can you stop staring at me like that?” I ask, a smile teasing my lips.

“Like what?”

“Like…” I cock my head to the side.

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” Ah, fuck you. The warmth that rushes through my body is overwhelming and I swear my knees are ready to buckle. My hands tremble as I fight the urge to drop everything. “I don’t think I can stop that, Mira,” he adds softly.

“You can’t say shit like that to me, Yeonjun,” I manage to say, my smile stubbornly betraying my attempt to stay cool. I keep my eyes on the brush, pretending I’m not seconds away from screaming.

“Why not?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“Because…” I finally look over at him, incredibly close to me, eyes flitting all over my face, indiscreetly hovering on my lips. Admittedly, my eyes do the same: land on his lips and suddenly the only thing I’m thinking about is kissing him. “Because…” I repeat, trying to get me to do literally anything but kiss him in this moment, but we both know that’s the only thing either of us want. Each other. To be together.

I try to remember what his lips feel like. Strong and passionate. At least they used to be.

How have they changed now that he’s older and has most likely gone through a few serious partners and several hook-ups? Are they softer and more loving now that he’s not a dumb ego-ridden eighteen-year-old? Are they even stronger now that he’s found himself and has solidified his position as a Prince? I wonder. No. Don’t do this. Oh, but why not?

In one ear, the wise and cautious version of me begs me to refrain from kissing him. Don’t do this, Mira. Remember how heartbroken you were. Mixing romance with your boss is a terrible idea.

The more rebellious, lust-ridden version of me counters, Look how much hotter he’s gotten. Just make out with him. The Queen is your boss, not him. You could always make out with him, maybe even fuck him, and pretend like nothing happened.

Wise Mira gasps, That’s mean!

Right, Lustful Mira says. But he was mean to her.

Listen to me, Wise Mira chirps up. Don’t kiss him at all.

Lustful Mira chimes in again, But Mira…look how absolutely delicious his lips look. You want him. He clearly wants you. Don’t you wanna—

“Because I said so.”

He chuckles, “Fair enough.”

cw. brief mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus, fingering, mira briefly feels self conscious about her body and pubic hair, mira lies to a stranger, begging, yj sneaks into a room she's in, sir kink.

MIRA'S POV

"What are you wearing friday?" Hyomin casually asks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she effortlessly dusts the coffee table while I clean the windows—the newbie’s job.

"Aren't we supposed to wear our uniforms?"

"Oh no, darling! The quarterly dinners are the sacred day we break free from the uniform chains—as long as it’s formal." Hyomin is one of few servants I genuinely like. Most of the others are constantly trying to play the game to move up the ladder—none of them really want to be friends.

The ones that aren’t too busy playing the game are too on edge, following each rule to the letter.

Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun, I correct myself for the millionth time—unexpectedly knocks on the door. I, Hyomin, and Natalie perform our obligatory curtsies, even though I know he hates it. If we don’t though, Gemma fusses at us, which he also knows, so he plays along.

"Excuse me," he says, clearing his throat. "Could I trouble someone for a refill on my coffee?"

Natalie, always willing to volunteer, seizes the opportunity and responds quickly. "Certainly, Sir." She breezes by the coffee table to scoop up the metal coffee pot resting on it, returning to the Prince to pour him a fresh mug.

Our eyes catch each other, a small yet obnoxiously noticeable smile appears on both our faces. Hyomin nudges my arm and mumbles, "And you've gotta wear something extra special for him, right?" What? My eyes widen, shock and annoyance evident in my expression. Shooting a piercing glare at her, I’m rendered momentarily speechless. Hyomin persists, her voice low, "Oh, don't act all innocent. I've seen how you two look at each other.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A mischievous smile plays on her lips, "It's adorable, really. The blushing, the hair-tucking when he says hello, the clumsy encounters,” she says, tilting her head toward him. “Look how red his ears are.” I must admit, they are pretty pink. “We all talk about it, you know.”

“Did Natalie say something?”

“No,” she says confused, but her look soon turns suspicious. “Why would she?” Damn it. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I avoid eye contact, hoping she’ll give up, but I doubt she ever will. “Mira, why would Natalie say something?”

“No idea.”

She hums knowingly. "Yeah, right. You two are so obviously dating, it’s ridiculous,” she says, folding the decorative blanket that hangs on the back of the couch while he leaves the room. “We're all waiting for the announcement."

“We are not dating.”

Persistent as ever, Hyomin challenges again, "Look me in the eye right now and swear you haven’t at least kissed him."

I stand tall, smoothing the skirt of my uniform, then take a deep breath and lock eyes with her. “I swear I haven’t kissed him.”

Hyomin narrows her gaze, searching for any crack in my expression. My stomach churns, and before I can stop it, the words spill out in an unfiltered confession.

“…in seven years.”

Damn it. How did she get that out of me?

“What?”

“Shh—!”

“But wh-what do you mean?” She giggles, eager to hear what I’m assuming is the best gossip in years. Although, with royals, there has to have been something juicier than a teenage romance, right?

Motioning for secrecy, I say, “Promise you won’t say anything to the other servants. Please.” Hyomin nods, an expression that practically screams, Spill it. “We knew each other when we were teenagers. We dated then, okay? We broke up seven years ago. I’ve barely spoken to him since.”

“Oh. My. God. Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!”

“Calm down.” I hold my hands up. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? It’s a huge deal,” she exclaims. “Y’all are totally still into each other.”

“I mean, he’s cute,” I say. “But that ship has sailed.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.” I nod. “We’re just too different.”

“I dunno, I think—”

“Nope.”

“I just mean—”

“Drop it, Hyomin. It will never happen.” My words carry a finality to the discussion.

“Fine,” she concedes, folding her dust rag to place on the table. “The question still stands—what are you wearing Friday?”

Shrugging, I shake my head, “I don’t have anything formal.”

“A perfect excuse for a shopping trip—let’s go into town tomorrow,” she suggests. “I’ll get someone to cover for us for the lunch service.”

“Ah, look at you!” Hyomin cheers. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

“I can’t remember the last time I got this dressed up.” Actually, I do. That night. The night he broke my heart. But I’m not thinking about that right now. In fact, I won’t be thinking about Yeonjun at all tonight.

Walking down the stairs into the royal hall, the silk of my dress rustles gently as it shimmers in the light. It’s a gorgeous deep viridian that cascades to the floor, creating an ethereal effect with every move I make. The bodice is fitted perfectly, with boning that snatches my waist and makes my tits look amazing. The off-the-shoulder straps elegantly drape across my arms. To complete the look, I’m wearing gold dangle earrings and my hair is styled in loose waves that cascade down one of my shoulders. Around my neck is a delicate circle pendant with a moon stamped into it.

It’s simply beautiful in here. I’d helped set it up this morning, but seeing the guests dressed up, hearing the musicians playing, the grandeur of it all—it takes my breath away. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation with an occasional loud laugh.

One couple glides along the dancefloor in each other’s arms, both of their dresses flowing gracefully across the dancefloor. A group of young people wearing crowns and tiaras clink their glasses near the champagne tower. Someone else checks their jacket at the front door.

Deep emerald velvet curtains drape along the walls, adding even more drama. Every detail of the Hall has been meticulously curated to evoke a sense of luxury.

“Excuse me,” someone says as they brush my shoulder. “Oh.” It’s Yeon—Prince Yeonjun. “Hello.” I nod to him before my obligatory curtsy. Not even trying to hide the fact that he looks me up and down, he makes my cheeks burn. “You look…” He clears his throat. “Um, really pretty.” Well, there goes me not thinking about him at all tonight. How could I put him out of my mind when he looks like this? Positively sexy as hell in his prince uniform. So regal, rich, and powerful.

“Thank you, Sir,” I say. I catch Hyomin out of the corner of my eye looking stiff as a board with her mouth hanging open.

Extending his arm out, he asks me, “Care to dance?”

God, I’d fucking love to. How did he do this to me so quickly? We have one nice conversation, maybe a few glances in the hallway and suddenly he’s making my heart race like he did when we were dating. “I don’t think it would look very good for either of us if you were dancing with one of your servants.” Is that even true? I don’t know.

He nods, pressing his lips together. “I’ll see you later then?”

“When?” I ask as he raises an eyebrow. I hope I didn’t sound too desperate. “I just mean, I don’t know why we would see each other.”

“Right,” he says. “Well, have a good evening.” He nods gently at me and then to Hyomin before walking away.

Turning to Hyomin, she looks at me with a wide smile and knowing glare. She’s such a smug bitch. “Oh my god,” she gasps under her breath, drawing the edge of her wine glass to her lips. “Look at Prince Sipho over there.” Tilting her head to the side, she adds, “He may be even dreamier than Yeonjun.”

I scoff in my head, but I’d never tell anyone that. Instead, I murmur, “Where?”

“Right over there,” she smirks, tipping her head toward a literal tall, dark, and handsome man. Commanding the room with his height, he undeniably catches my gaze—not an eye contact that stops time in its tracks, but one where we can’t take our eyes off each other.

Prince Sipho pushes his way through the crowd toward me, but I can’t help but wonder where Yeonjun is. Actually, why do I care at all? Shaking the thought out of my mind, I welcome this new prince’s hand reaching for my own as he delicately touches my knuckles with the poutiest part of his lips. I suppose he’s too much of a gentleman to fully press them to my skin.

“May I have this dance?” He asks, looking up at me through his eye lashes. So formal. Quickly glancing at Hyomin, she gives me an eager nod. I guess the servants will have something to gossip about later. At least that’ll replace the conversations about me and Yeonjun.

“Yes, you may,” I say, returning the formality. We do all the obligatory dancing things—hand on my waist, mine around his neck, holding each other’s free hands. Slowly stepping with the classy romantic music of the string quintet, he admittedly looks stunning in his formal wear—baby blue with gold trim. The baby blue brings out the radiant sapphire undertones of his deep brown skin, the gold showcasing the warmth of his amber irises.

“So,” he starts, his voice deep and rumbling. “Who am I dancing with?”

Without any hesitation, I lie, “Charlotte.”

“Well, Charlotte,” he says. “You’re on Prince Yeonjun’s staff?” I blink up at him with confusion etched on my face. How did he— “The rose?” He asks, tilting his head toward my chest where a delicate ivory rose is pinned to my dress to differentiate us from the guests in case someone needs something from us.

“Ah,” I giggle. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Where is he anyway? No. I’m not dancing with Prince Sipho to make Yeonjun jealous—I’m dancing with him because he’s hot, seems sweet, and seems to think I’m hot too. Why would he be watching anyway? This is his party. He’s probably busy schmoozing with some high-stakes donors or some other royals.

Prince Sipho’s hand glides down to the spot right above my ass—he’s really testing the boundaries, huh? I love it. But guilt twinges my heart. Half of me hopes he isn’t watching this and the other half hopes he is. I don’t know which is worse.

A loud crash brings the room to a halt and I try to locate where the accident is, but Hyomin waves me over. “Damn it,” I murmur. “I’ve gotta go…clean that up. Excuse me.”

After rushing to clean up the broken glass, I return the broom to the closet that’s three times the size of my bedroom. I take my time putting it back—a break from the hustle and bustle of the party is very much needed right now. The click of the deadbolt jolts my heart.

A million things run through my mind. A creep is in here with me. Hyomin locked it from the outside and forgot about me and now I’m locked in until someone remembers to come get me. How long am I gonna be in here? Is someone in here with me?

“Hello.”

“Oh,” I say, relieved. “Hello, Sir.” I curtsy, tilting my head toward Prince Yeonjun as he steps into the light. Why is he in here anyway? I’ve been trying so hard to avoid him since the garden when we almost—nevermind. But he’s weaseled his way into my life. Telling the Queen I paint so I’d paint those portraits of them—yeah, I saw right through that bullshit. Bumping into me earlier tonight. But there’s nowhere to run now. We’re utterly alone.

That’s terrifying.

He’s never looked at me like this. Dark pupils dilated with lust and desire. It makes my heart race and I stumble back, tripping over some old cardboard boxes, but I catch myself on the countertop.

Walking toward me, he keeps his hands in his pockets, but manages to box me in, cornering me and standing tall over me, intimidating and somehow…safe. I know he’d never hurt me. Physically at least. But I also can’t wait to see what he does next.

“So it’s okay for you to dance with Prince Sipho but not me?” His voice grumbles with the low hum of the music right outside the door.

“I’m not one of his servants,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why do you care anyway?” I ask cheekily as he creeps closer and closer. So close I’m fully backed into this counter now, almost sitting on top of it. “What are you—”

“Can I kiss you?”

“No,” I answer quickly.

“Mira…” he sighs. “How can you expect me not to kiss you when you look like that?” That makes me feel things all throughout my body that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling for ex-boyfriends, especially an ex-boyfriend that’s also my boss. And the prince of my country.

My mouth parts and I swear I tried my best not to lick my lips. “Don’t kiss my mouth,” I say. I told Hyomin I haven’t kissed him in seven years. At least that’ll still be true after whatever happens next.

Reaching for my hand with his white-glove-clad one, he places a gentle yet devastatingly sensual kiss to the back of it, looking up at me through his eyelashes like Prince Sipho did moments ago. But he had nowhere near the effect Yeonjun has on me. I bet he can smell the nail polish from when Hyomin painted it on my nails a few hours ago. As his perfect pouty lips kiss my hand, I can’t help but wonder how those lips would feel in other places.

“You look—” he stops for another kiss on my palm. “Absolutely—” then the pulse-point of my wrist. “Stunning.” Then inside my elbow. Making his way up higher, my breath hitches in the back of my throat. “As usual,” he adds.

That fucker.

He’s always been like this. Silky smooth then sugary sweet. It gives me whiplash.

Eventually, his lips explore my collarbone. “You’re so warm.” I don’t know how I got up here, but I’m fully sitting on the counter now. His hands are all over me—brushing my upper arms, grazing the smooth satin of the dress that covers my thighs, digging into the folds of my hips.

How did this happen? How did I go from dancing with one Prince—a perfectly nice and gentlemanly prince—to sharing this romantic…something with Prince Yeonjun? Something because it’s not a kiss, it’s not more than a kiss, but it’s certainly not less than a kiss. It’s…something.

His palm brushes the side of my breast and he stops himself from pushing any further before he whispers in my ear, “Can I touch you?”

“I think you already are.”

Firmly squeezing my tit over my dress, I groan as my back arches. Oh my fucking god. Is this real?

Something in his body language switches at the sound of my groaning and he drops everything to get to his knees. He pushes the skirt of my dress up and past my thighs, looking up at me for permission.

Is he…?

My pussy clenches around nothing at the sheer thought of those gorgeous plump lips around my clit. I let him explore further with his lips without any hesitation whatsoever. Then they’re inside my thighs, slowly moving closer where I desperately need him. Nerves fill my stomach. Flashbacks of other guys going to taste me and not liking what they find enter my mind. Is that gonna happen with him? Is he gonna be turned off by my hair? My stretch marks? The way my fat thighs cover his ears?

As much as my inner feminist hates those thoughts, there’s always that twinge of embarrassment that I still haven’t managed to work through.

“Yeonjun…” I sigh. “You don’t have to.”

“What if I want to?” He asks. “Do you want me to?” Obviously. I nod. Pressing his lips to the outside of my panties, he breathes me in and I realize he’s never been this close to me. Ever.

Sure, we’ve kissed, but we were teenagers, we had no idea what we were doing. It never got this far. Never got past the occasional makeout session on my picnic blanket under the willow tree. “You smell so good.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious. You smell delicious.”

Lips delicate and careful, he takes his time. I never thought this is how it would be with him. I always thought of him as the kind of guy to get straight to it. At least that’s how I imagined it—him embracing me because he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed me right then and there. Whisking me off to his bedroom to undress me, never careful, never delicate.

But I love it. Love taking a deep breath, letting my head lull back onto the wall behind me, my entire body relaxing. The feeling of a tongue flicking my clit for the first time in months, and the first time it’s his tongue. I card my hand through his hair, gripping some strands between my fingers. Mouth dropping open, I sigh, looking down at him, eyes closed, fully entranced by my taste. Thank fuck he knows exactly what he’s doing now.

The softness of his white cotton gloves feels like heaven against the heat of my thighs, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want his bare hands on me.

Like a mind-reader, he plucks his gloves off, one finger at a time, putting me under a spell as he goes. I stare at him as he loosens the glove by pulling on the pointer finger, then the middle, the ring, his pinky, then tugging it all the way off. It’s so sexy. I think I caught a small smirk, but it's just dark enough for it to be hidden.

The tip of his finger teases my entrance and I can tell— “Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so wet, darling.”

Don’t call me that. But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud…I’m not even sure I’d mean it if I did. He finally pushes his finger all the way inside me, curling the tip of it to find just the right spot that makes me absolutely moan. He lets go of my skirt to grip my thighs, finally feeling him squeeze and touch me after all these years of wanting him. I beg myself not to stop him and make him touch me everywhere before continuing.

My pointer fingers graces his and he intertwines his fingers with mine. Something this intimate only happens between lovers, right? Holding hands while fucking in the closet when there’s a party right outside the door? I can’t decide if this is the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done or if it’s the most romantic thing.

Arguing with myself internally, a second finger breaches my entrance, filling me even more so than before. He’s incredible…almost skillful with his fingers. It’s sexy. And exciting.

Expertly flicking his tongue, he finds the perfect spot with his fingertips, forcing me to buck my hips…fuck I’m so close already. How did he do this to me?

“Please…”

Everything comes to a halt. “Please what?”

“Fuck, Yeonjun, don’t do that to me.”

“Don’t do what to you? Get you to talk to me?” I look down, defeated. How am I supposed to respond to that? Is that the only reason he’s doing this? Because I’ve been avoiding him and this was the only way he could think of to get me to talk to him? “Tell me what you want. What are you asking for?” Oh. It’s like that. Okay.

“Please…” It’s already unbelievable that we’re doing this in a closet with a party going on outside. Prince Yeonjun is on his knees for me. And he’s making me beg? I can hardly take it. “Uh…” I stutter, trying to close my legs instinctively. He backs off, eyebrows furrowed. He’s worried about me. I didn’t mean it like that. “You’re not finished yet, are you?” I ask, pushing him back closer with my heel.

“I’ll finish when you tell me what you want.”

Gracing my finger under his chin, I force him to look at me in the eye before saying, “Make me come. I need it so bad. Please.”

Cocking his head to the side, he says, “I’ve always wanted to hear you beg for me.”

My chest heaves as he dives back in for more, flicking his tongue the way I love, thrusting his fingers in and out of me.

“Fuck, you feel good.”

“You are delicious.” I’d love it if he could talk to me the way I—and hopefully he—likes. Dirty, up close and in my ear, but this’ll have to do for now. He can get to the real good stuff later. Will there be a later though?

A white-hot feeling that someone hasn’t made me feel in quite some time quickly approaches. Deep in the pit of my stomach, it bubbles as my body tenses, breath shallow and quick. It builds and builds until all I want to hear him say is Come for me, darling. I know you’re so close. But I know he won’t. He has to stick to the matter at hand.

With a sharp inhale, I moan and whimper, euphoria washing over me as my thighs tighten around his head. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this good. He’s incredibly talented—like I said, he’s an all or nothing kinda guy and I love that about him.

“Fuck. Oh my god,” I gasp, my hips rolling needing more, more, more. Goddamn, I’m in trouble. “Holy shit.” I trail off, my breathing shallow. My eyes squeeze shut as my head drops back before my body starts flinching. “Thank you, Sir.”

My body goes slack as he slows down. Once I catch my breath, my eyes flutter open to see him looking at me with a cheeky smirk. He’s so fucking smug.

“Sir?”

Shit. That is just about the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been correcting myself for weeks, reminding myself to call him Prince Yeonjun, Your Majesty, Sir. I know he hates when I call him that, even in normal scenarios. I can’t imagine how mad he is now that I’ve called him that while giving me an orgasm. Not just any orgasm, though. One of the best I’ve had in months. All while wearing our formal wear too. Fuck, he looks so sexy in his uniform. Especially with it slightly disheveled, hair messy, gloves off.

“It must’ve slipped.”

He simply stands, darkness and lust still in his eyes as his hands grip my hips, squeezing harshly before moving them up further to my waist. His right hand trails up even higher, cupping my face to force my ear to line up with his lips. “Call me that again next time.” Next time? There’s gonna be a next time? “Got it?”

Speechless, I compose myself before whispering, “Yes, Sir.”

cw. cunnilingus, mentions of previous bjs and hand jobs, mira is described as chubby/fat/curvy in a good way, hickeys, biting, masturbation.

YEONJUN'S POV

“Mira,” I say simply as she walks by me looking gorgeous as always. Since our little rendezvous in the butler’s closet last month, we’ve “seen” each other several times since, each meeting ending with at least one of us coming. Nothing beyond oral and hand stuff—we still haven’t kissed or seen each other fully naked yet—but even so, it’s been amazing. She’s so good at it all. The teasing, the touching, the talking, all of it. I don’t think I can pick a favorite moment.

Maybe when she asked me to give her hickeys on the inside of her thighs. Her whispering, Give me hickeys, please…wanna look down and imagine you’re there after you’re gone. Oof. Chills.

Or maybe when she laid her back against my chest and I rubbed her clit so perfectly, she dug her nails into my forearm for dear life, so hard it broke skin. I had to wear long sleeves for three days.

Perhaps her seeing my cock for the first time, eyes wide as she said Oh my god, Sir. You have a beautiful cock. No one’s ever called me beautiful before, let alone my dick. That made me giddier than I even thought possible.

“Yeon—Sir,” she quickly corrects herself in case anyone’s listening. Glancing around, we’re the only ones nearby. “You look nice. New uniform jacket?” I nod.

Tonight’s occasion is much less grand than our first night together. A simple gathering with a few royals. It was the high-stakes donors I was hoping to get some money from tonight, but they’re all donationed-out it seems.

“You look…” I look over her, never subtle about ogling her. “Absolutely stunning. New dress?” She subtly tilts her head. I stuff my hands in my pockets. What’s the point of delaying it any more? “I need to taste you again.”

“Already? You ate me out yesterday.”

“What can I say?” I chuckle. “I’ve got a craving.” She takes a deep breath before nodding at me, not changing her facial expression. “Closet, five minutes?”

The closet isn’t the only place we’ve had our meetings but it is definitely our most frequented spot. Honorable mentions include the library, the sunroom, and under the willow tree where she laid back against me. That was only once but it was magical.

As she turns away, I can’t help but wonder what the rest of her looks like. She’s got what feels like the most perfect ass, but I still haven’t gotten a good look at it. And her tits…good lord what I’d give to bury my face between her bare tits.

“Prince Yeonjun?”

“Ah, Prince Sipho,” I say, returning his bow. “Nice to see you again.” He holds his hands behind him and maintains his intimidating eye contact. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner.”

“Can I ask for a favor?” He asks, almost urgently.

“Sure.”

“I saw you were talking to Charlotte,” he says. “I danced with her last month and I never got her phone number.” His expression softens. “I realize how awkward and potentially inappropriate this is considering she’s on your staff. Would you mind providing me with her phone number?”

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I don’t think I know a Charlotte.”

“You were just speaking with her,” he says matter-of-factly. “Right over there.” He tilts his head in the direction of…Mira? Happily prancing off in the direction of the closet. Our closet. Oh no.

I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. Someone was bound to be interested in her at some point. I just didn’t think my competition would be another handsome prince. What am I saying? Competition? Stop being such an ass.

“You can ask her yourself, you know.”

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t think now’s a good time though,” I rush to say, stopping him in his tracks before he turns around. “She’s busy. I just sent her to do a task.”

“Then I suppose you should give me her number now, then?”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I finally speak up to say, “I’ll talk to her first. You know, make sure she’s comfortable with me giving out her phone number.”

“Of course.” He tilts his head and walks away. My mind races with questions. Did he sweep her off her feet? Have they slept together? Or worse: have they kissed? Why does he think her name is Charlotte? But I’ve gotta get back to the matter at hand.

“You’re already ready for me, hm?” I ask, seeing her proudly sitting on the countertop, waiting for me. She nods cutely, wiggling her feet back and forth. Locking the door, I take my gloves off one finger at a time before stuffing them in my pocket for safe keeping. Then I loosen my collar a bit, something I know she thinks is hot, so I always make a show out of it just for her.

As I step closer, she grips the edge of the counter so tightly the veins on the back of her hand pop out. She crosses her ankles and looks down briefly but puts on a brave face to stare me in the eye. Wrapping my arms around her, I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in.

“You smell so good.” I’ve noticed she’s started wearing a specific perfume for special occasions—the gala last month, dinners like these, she even wore it once when she shyly asked me to eat her out again on a random Tuesday.

“Thank you, Sir.” Never taking my lips off her neck, I feel all over her, albeit over her dress, but she feels lovely. Dropping to my knees, I lift her skirt up to access her thighs with my lips, placing kisses everywhere. And there they are—those gorgeous hickeys I gave her last week. Still there. I swipe my thumb across one before biting her skin gently.

“Can I ask you something?” She hums as I move closer and closer to her center. Glancing up at her, her eyelids have fluttered shut and her hands are in my hair. “Do you know Prince Sipho?” Her hands stop.

“I know of him,” she says plainly. “Why?”

“No reason,” I say, nudging her thigh with my nose to encourage her to open wider. I add, “Said he danced with you and I guess he likes you.” I place a kiss on the outside of her thong right between her pussy lips. “Asked me for your phone number.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No.”

“...Oh.” She leans back, resting her hands behind her back for support. Is that a good oh or a bad oh?

“He thinks your name’s Charlotte though.” I chuckle. “What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” she says awkwardly while I dig my fingers into her thong, pulling it down her legs, still watching her body language carefully. “That’s weird.”

“Mira.”

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, but still welcomes my lips around her pussy. “I dunno—I wasn’t interested so I gave him a fake name. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

“Mm…I suppose,” I say, spreading her lips to flick my tongue against her clit. Fuck, she tastes amazing. Every fucking time. Her hand flies to my hair again, taking quick breaths. “Why wouldn’t you be interested in him?”

“Can we not talk about Prince Sipho while you’re eating me out, please?”

“I was just curious.”

Why wouldn’t she be interested, though? He’s definitely her type—tall, handsome, smart, royal.

Images of them dancing together, arms wrapped around each other, his hand sliding further down her back make my vision red.

Maybe she’s interested in someone else with those same qualities, perhaps even more devastatingly handsome than him. And hilarious, might I add.

But thinking about her dancing with Sipho while thinking about me makes me giddy. When else does she think about me? When she’s eating breakfast? Doing her chores? Getting ready to go to bed? In the shower? When she touches herself? Oh. That sends shivers down my spine.

“How often do you think about me, Mira?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when do you think about me?”

She takes a deep breath, letting her head fall back against the wall, the slightest smile flashing over her lips before she says, “When I’m horny.”

“So you think about me when you touch yourself?”

Her fingers stop again and she looks up, eyes wide like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been. I’d never let her see it, but I’m giggling on the inside. She’s so cute.

“Um,” she clears her throat. “I guess, yeah.” There’s a looming awkward silence while I keep licking her. She’s trying not to react to how good it feels. Trying not to give in.

“Well, go on.”

“What?” Mira asks.

“Tell me,” I say. “Tell me exactly what you think about.” She takes a deep breath to collect herself, like she’s trying to hold back her noises and movements. I don’t like that she feels the need to do that with me. If anything, I crave hearing and feeling them. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything.”

Her breath hitches, eyes flitting away before locking back to mine. "I think about you touching me," she admits quietly, but I can tell she’s gaining confidence. "The way you did the first time.” She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "I think about your hands on my body," she continues. "The way you knew exactly where to touch me, how to make me feel..."

"How to make you feel what?" I prompt, my hands gently caressing her thighs, urging her to keep going while my mouth is nowhere near her pussy.

"How to make me feel good," she breathes out, her eyes closing as she loses herself in the memory and the feeling of my tongue on her clit.

“Do you miss it? ” I ask, my breath hot against her skin. "Do you miss me when I’m gone and can’t make you feel good?”

She nods, her breath sharp and quick. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice trembling with desire. "I miss it so much." My hands continue to explore her body, relearning every curve and contour, desperate to rip this dress off her, but we haven’t crossed that boundary yet.

"What else do you think about?" I ask, my voice a gentle command.

“The way you taste.”

"And how do I taste?" I ask, my lips ghosting over her skin, teasing her with the promise of more.

"Salty," she whispers, her voice hitching. I can’t tell if she means— “That’s a good thing.” I smile against her skin, relieved while my hands squeeze her thighs. “But I mostly think about your mouth. How good you are at this. Those hickeys you gave me have certainly come in handy.”

“How so?” I slide two fingers inside her and her breath gets quicker.

Groaning, she says, “Looking down at them turns me on so much.” She swipes her hand across them. “Thinking about us sneaking around like this. It makes me feel…dirty.” She giggles. “Is that cheesy?” I shake my head and start licking her clit again. “They need to stop assigning me tasks while you’re around.” I hum in question. “The other day they made me clean the studio while you were in your pottery lesson—why it couldn’t wait, I don’t know—but it was too much,” she says. “Watching you with your sleeves pushed up, your hands on the clay, oh my god, you were so hot. You had me hot and bothered all day long.”

I genuinely had no idea. She does a great job of hiding that. Little does she know, I was stealing glances of her that whole lesson—I don’t remember a single word my instructor said. The only thing I was looking at was her body, her curvy thighs, full breasts, squishy tummy, the greatest ass I’ve ever seen and I haven’t even seen it bare yet. “What did you do afterward?”

She hesitates, tensing up, holding back. “I don’t wanna say.”

I stop in my tracks. “Tell me.”

“No,” she whines. “Don’t make me.” Refusing to speak or look down at me, I pull away from her, looking at her like, I’m not gonna keep going until you tell me. With an insatiable eye roll, she finally speaks up, “I thought about you.” I look at her again like, That’s not enough and you know it. “Fine,” she says. Of course, if this truly bothered her, she knows our safe word. Tapping her fingers on the counter before bashfully looking away, she admits, “I thought about you while I touched myself.”

Satisfied, I give her a kitten lick on her clit, making her gasp.

“I, uh…I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, at the hickeys you gave me.” I start licking more and more, rewarding her for talking. “I thought about what it would look like if someone walked in on us while you did this to me. Or what someone would think if they saw the hickeys you gave me.”

Her hips start to roll and I know I can’t speak anymore. Because that would mean taking my mouth off her pussy, which neither of us want. Instead, my grip on the fat of her thighs gets harsher and I stay steady with my mouth, knowing this is the exact speed and pressure she needs.

“I thought about you ripping my dress off but then slowing down to take my thong and bra off,” she says. Well, that’s new. We’ve never mentioned anything further than this. Does she want something more than this?

“About you pressing your bare chest against mine,” she adds breathlessly. “You licking my tits.” Her thoughts and words start speeding up, like she’s telling me not to stop no matter what. “You tapping my clit with your cock.” Oh my god. She wants to do things like that with me? Fuck. I can’t show how giddy that makes me, not right now at least.

Her hands hold onto my hair for dear life. Her moans pitch up and increase speed, like a chant, getting louder and louder. “You fucking me from behind,” she says. “Fucking me so good I can hardly take it.” She’s so close. “Until—until…” She's panting, clearly right on the verge of reaching her orgasm. “I’m coming so good for you,” she whispers breathlessly. I can feel it when her thighs tremble, when her clit pulsates against my tongue, when her nails dig into my scalp.

Catching her breath after she comes, she finishes off with a sweet, “Thank you, Sir.”

cw. more yeonjun environmental activist, suggestive, cheesy idk.

MIRA'S POV

“I can’t believe you did this,” I spit at Yeonjun, messily packing my old beat up carry-on. He refolds one of my t-shirts and hands it to me.

“I thought you’d be excited to go.”

Scoffing, I put a fist on my hip and face him. “I’m going as your servant.” He rolls his eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets. “All the other servants already think there’s something going on between us. Requesting me for your dumb business trip is gonna look suspicious.”

“Dumb?” He’s visibly offended. “This is an important business trip for me.”

“Still. They won’t shut up about this for months and you know it.”

“I thought you said there was nothing to talk about,” he says smugly, but I ignore him. “Look, I knew you wouldn’t act all servant-y the whole time, okay? Mother insists I take someone, but I’m a grown-up. I can do things on my own,” he says. “I knew you would be…normal, I don’t know. You wouldn’t curtsy, be on edge, or call me Sir.”

I stop in my tracks to look him in the eye and ask, “Except for when you want me to, right?” I hadn’t thought about what we might do at the hotel while we’re gone. Would he invite me to his room so he could taste me? Would he surprise me with a knock on my door? Would he text me to meet him somewhere else? I don’t know but I admit I’m excited to find out.

The next morning, I hoist my suitcase into the trunk of the town car while the chauffeur, Eston, opens the door for me. I’m greeted with a sleepy “Morning,” from Yeonjun as he hands me a travel mug full of coffee that I didn’t ask for, but I’m definitely grateful for.

“We’re taking the same car?”

“Of course,” he says. “Less cars on the road.”

Oh my god, he looks so cute with his sleepy eyes and messy hair. Although he flies commercial everywhere he goes, he wears every disguise possible: hat, face mask, hoodie with the hood up, you name it. We get to go through security privately though, which is nice.

After our long flight, I want nothing more than to crash into a nice, warm bed—actually, any bed will do. It’s still light, but it’s evening and I’m ready to go to bed early. While he handles check-in, I scroll through my phone—international data plan paid for by the Queen, thank you very much.

On the elevator, I ask , “Which floor am I on?”

“Seven.” I nod, reaching for the seven button on the elevator, but it only goes up to six. There’s only one above it, which is labeled ‘Penthouse.’

Wait. “Did you only get one room?”

“Well…”

“Yeonjun!” I scream-whisper. “What is wrong with you? What did you think—”

He holds his hands up to clarify, “It has two rooms, okay? I wasn’t trying to…I dunno, make anything happen. It seemed easier.”

The room is truly magnificent. Luxurious gold silk drapes frame the windows to let light flood the room. Sofas and armchairs surround a marble fireplace—cozy yet regal, just how Yeonjun likes it. An intricately carved coffee table sits in the middle of the room holding a vase of fresh flowers. There’s even a piano sitting in the corner.

The view from the terrace takes my breath away. The gorgeous blues of Lake Geneva and the snow-capped alps are gorgeous. The air is crisp and clean and refreshes my lungs from the inside out. I lean on the railing, letting the cool breeze brush against my face as calmness washes over me.

“Gorgeous, huh?” Yeonjun asks as he stands beside me, his eyes scanning the horizon.

“This is fucking incredible,” I say, my gaze never waiving from the beauty of the landscape.

“I knew you’d like it,” he says. I glance over at him and he gives me a warm smile.

“You’ve been here?”

“I’ve never stayed in this hotel, but I’ve been to Geneva, yes.”

There’s a silence. Like we both know we want to do something, but we’re unsure of exactly what. Go in for a hug? No. Let him wrap his arm around me? No. Kiss him? Absolutely not. We can’t fall into that relationship space. The tension presses down on us, unspoken but palpable.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” he says, breaking the silence. “Did you wanna take a shower first or…?”

“You can go ahead,” I say as I walk through the room, planning to unpack a bit first. Extending my suitcase’s handle, I ask, “Where’s the other room?” He grimaces, avoiding my gaze. “What?”

“Don’t be mad,” he starts, but I’m already visibly mad. “I must’ve looked at the website wrong.” I brace for the inevitable while he braces for my reaction. “This is it.”

“Seriously, Yeonjun? One bed?.” This is not gonna turn into a cheesy only-one-bed-left story. Nope. I won’t let it. “You better get me another room.”

“I already called and they’re out.” I’m fuming. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says. My face softens. I didn’t necessarily want that. “Really, it’s okay.”

“Yeonjun,” I say, guilt in my voice.

“Mira, it’s fine. Really. It was my mistake, so I’ll take the couch.”

“Okay,” I say. “I guess you can’t do stuff on your own, then, huh?”

The next morning, I wake up in this giant bed. Alone. The smell of coffee is already wafting through the air. Stretching under the covers, I sit up to see Yeonjun on the terrace, reading a newspaper. Not on his phone—a literal printed newspaper. I don't even know where he got it.

An adorable little prince sitting there with his luxurious silk PJs, fuzzy slippers, messy hair, and the cutest pair of glasses anyone’s ever seen. Before joining him, I pull a hoodie over my tank top.

“Aren’t I supposed to get you your coffee?” I ask, admiring the view of the lake.

“When you wake up on time, yes,” he says, not looking up from his paper while he pushes up his glasses.

“I…I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself back into my professional persona.

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckles, sitting his coffee on the coaster and looking at me. “I wasn’t trying to be bossy. You seemed like you needed sleep. And I can get my own coffee,” he says. “Besides, today is a day off. You can get me coffee tomorrow.” I nod. “Did you have plans today?”

“I dunno…maybe I’ll draw by the lake or something.”

“I’m kayaking on the lake and having a picnic lunch if you want to join me,” he suggests. “You can bring your sketchbook.”

The lake shimmers like a bed of gems, crystal-clear waters reflecting the sunlight in brilliant shades of blue. As we paddle alongside each other, our rowing is rhythmic until we reach a small pebbled shore on the other side of the lake.

Yeonjun jumps out first, standing up in the water to pull his kayak to shore. He’s so charming with his crocs and shorts short enough to expose his muscular thighs. The t-shirt he’s got on is somehow the hottest thing I’ve ever seen him wear, perfectly accentuating his pecs and clinging to his biceps. And the cutest lake hat sits on his head, making me absolutely giddy.

Without having to ask, he pulls my kayak in so I don’t need to step in the water or pull it up myself. He offers his hand to me with a smile, my fingers lingering a bit too long after I stand to my feet.

While I set up the blanket on the pebbled shore, I ask, “What’s tomorrow’s meeting about?”

His eyes light up while he unpacks our picnic. "Tomorrow's meeting is with the Global Environment Facility," he begins, settling back against the kayak, pouring some juice into two glasses. "We're discussing several things, but we’ll be focusing on keeping our water clean.” He tilts his head toward the sparkling Lake Geneva in front of us, its pristine waters a reminder of the importance of this endeavor. "Access to clean water is a fundamental human right," he says passionately. “But there’s so much…crap in them. You know 26% of the world doesn’t have access to safe drinking water?” My eyes widen. “And so many beautiful oceans and rivers and lakes like this one keep getting trashed.”

His dedication is contagious, and I find myself leaning in, captivated by his words. "It's more than policies and proposals," he continues. "It's about creating real, tangible changes that will protect our planet.” He smiles, a mix of determination and hope in his expression. "I mean, I dunno…it’s a big goal I guess,” he says, glancing down in embarrassment.

“Seems like you’re actually doing something about it.”

“We’re at least trying to make change happen.”

Sitting on the blanket, I fest my legs out in front of me with my hands supporting me from behind. He hands me a glass while he sits criss-cross next to me. “You seem really passionate about it,” I say.

“I am,” he nods.

A comfortable silence settles over us as we enjoy our meal. Afterward, he takes his book out of his backpack, reclining back to rest his head against the kayak. I take out my sketchbook and pencils, setting it up against my knees and thighs.

I try to focus on capturing the serenity of the lake, but my eyes keep drifting to him. His presence is so comforting and I’m reminded of that every time we’re alone like this. Watching him, I can’t help but think about what it would feel like to rest my cheek against his chest. Warm. Strong. Safe.

“Yeonjun?”

“Hm?” He looks up at me from under his hat, but I don’t know what to say. After a few seconds of silence, he sits up completely and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I stutter, returning to my drawing.

An hour or so passes—I’ve made great progress on my drawing and it seems like he made a nice dent in his book, but the sun’s setting fast.

“We should probably go soon,” he notes. “We shouldn’t kayak in the dark and it’ll probably take an hour to get back.”

“Everything okay?” Yeonjun asks, startling me on the terrace. I hum, avoiding looking at him. He looks too good after showers—hair damp and skin pink from the hot water—so I better not take a peek. I’ve clipped my wet hair up—it holds its waves better that way.

“I’m finishing up this drawing I started at the lake. Adding some watercolor.”

“Is that me?” He asks, pulling the other seat around to sit next to me.

“Yeah,” I nod awkwardly. “I just drew what I saw.” I say, giving in and glancing at him while he smiles to himself as he examines the art.

Seconds pass before he adds, “I had a lot of fun today.”

“Me too,” I say, my arms crossed. He’s so, so close to me.

“Yeah?” I hum. “Since you showed me this,” he says, gesturing to the drawing. “I’ll show you this picture I took of you,” he says, reaching for his phone in his pocket. Leaning even closer to me, I feel his warmth. I must say I look pretty. My hair’s windswept, I have a nice pink in my cheeks, and I look genuinely happy looking out over the water. His fingers mindlessly touch mine while he looks at me. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says. “You know, on the picnic.”

“No worries,” I say.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, not moving an inch. Oh my god, he looks so kissable right now. I can’t believe how long we’ve gone without kissing each other even once. I didn’t think we’d last one week after we started…whatever we’re doing. Hooking up?

Regardless, I’m relieved. We should not be starting something right now. He’s my boss. My boss and my ex that broke my heart.

But we’re leaning in closer and closer, like we’re about to—don’t you dare. I catch myself first.

“You can, uh…you can sleep in the bed with me if you want,” I whisper. He shakes his head and starts to protest. “Really, it’s okay. Swear. It’s a huge bed.”

cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, yeonjun environmental activist, eating food.

YEONJUN'S POV

As I make my way toward the grand conference hall, the weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. Today's meeting is a pivotal moment in my advocacy work and I need to be right on. I love this though. Speaking for what I believe in. Convincing people. And admittedly, sounding smart, which I am.

Glancing over my shoulder, Mira follows close behind me, which is what she’s meant to be doing. It still sends shivers down my spine. Our return to our professional roles after our idyllic kayaking excursion feels strange, but duty calls and we both have our parts to play. I square my shoulders and quicken my pace, the marble floors echoing under my feet.

With a final glance back at Mira, she offers an encouraging smile and asks, “Ready?” I take a deep breath. “You’re gonna be great.” She opens the door and I step into the grandeur of the conference room. The air is charged with energy, a palpable sense of purpose radiating throughout the room.

Taking my place at the head of the table, pride and excitement surges through me. This is it—the moment I’ve been preparing for, the chance to make a real difference.

Coming back home—hotel room—I’m exhausted but exhilarated. As I’m about to collapse onto the couch, a knock at the living room entryway wakes me up.

“You hungry?” Mira asks, flipping through the room service menu.

“Order whatever you like.”

“What would you like?”

“Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.”

After she places the order on the phone, we chat about the meeting a bit, but it isn’t long before the conversation gets lighter. We laugh about our kayaking adventure yesterday, recalling the near-disaster when I almost tripped into the water face first. The room service arrives promptly, and we dig into our meal.

"So, tell me," she says between bites of her spaghetti, "what got you interested in environmental advocacy in the first place?"

I lean back, chewing the bite of pizza in thought. "I guess it started when I was a kid. You remember how much I loved nature even back then.” She nods. “Whenever I got stressed, I’d go outside—you know, for a walk, camping, whatever, and one day, I looked around and only saw wealthy people and it was one of those moments where I realized how lucky I am,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “Access to nature is a fundamental human right. It’s already inaccessible to many and it’s only getting worse.”

She nods. “It's easy to take it for granted.”

“It was something I’d never thought about,” I chuckle. “I was a fucking prick back then.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, a little too easily. She’s not wrong though.

“As I got older, I started to see the impact of pollution and climate change. I knew I had to do something, even if it was just a small part."

We continue talking late into the night, sharing stories and dreams, discovering new facets of each other's personalities. It’s in these quiet moments I cherish that I get to see some real parts of her, like in the garden, when she painted my portrait, when we went kayaking.

“What’s something you’re passionate about?” I ask. She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nah, come on, you gotta be passionate about something.” Shrugging, she shakes her head. “How about your art?”

Smiling to herself, she asks, “What about it?”

“Why are you an artist?”

She leans back, tracing patterns of the fabric on the couch with her finger. "This is cheesy but when I look around, I see colors, shapes, emotions. When I draw or paint or whatever, it's like I'm putting pieces together, creating something whole. It’s not about making something beautiful, but capturing a moment or a feeling, things I can’t say out loud,” she says, glancing around the room bashfully. “Or whatever.”

“Not or whatever. You need to give yourself more credit.”

She nods shyly, looking down with a grin. "I remember this painting I did. It was of an old barn, you know, out of town a bit. Everyone thought it was just a pretty picture of decay. But it was about resilience, how even in decay, there’s a story that refuses to be forgotten, even if it can’t speak for itself or if no one’s listening but me.” I nod. “That’s what I really love. Finding those moments that only a few people notice. It’s like saying, ‘Hey, I see you and I feel this too.’” That’s amazing. She’s never spoken so candidly like this with me before. “Like when you asked if I was gonna paint your freckle and your birthmark, like, of course I am! That’s a part of you and I see you, you know?”

I chuckle with her. “Do you have a favorite piece?”

She thinks for a moment. “Probably a painting I did of my grandmother’s hands. She was a seamstress, and her hands were always so busy, always creating. When she wasn’t sewing, she was sketching, measuring, creating patterns. It was my way of honoring her, capturing her essence. Her hands have so many stories to tell.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “She was the one person in my family I really wanted you to meet back then.”

“Invite her over for dinner some time,” I suggest.

“She, uh,” She clears her throat. “She passed a couple years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” She waves her hand. “I would’ve loved to have met her.”

“It’s okay.” But her eyes are tearing up just a bit. She blinks them away and adds, “She meant so much to me, but I guess that’s…how things go.”

“Where’s that painting now?”

“It’s back home, like, my home home, not the castle.”

“I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll find it the next time I go back home and bring it back with me.” As the conversation winds down, we sit in comfortable silence as the city lights cast a soft glow through the window. "I should probably let you get some rest," Mira says, breaking the silence.

I nod, feeling a pang of reluctance. "Yeah, we have another busy day tomorrow."

She stands up, but before she leaves, she turns to me, her expression gentle. "Goodnight, Yeonjun. And thank you for tonight. It was nice to just...talk."

"It was,” I reply. “Let's do it again sometime."

cw. cunnilingus, protected sex, mira’s body is described as squishy/chubby in a good way, mention of moles and vvv brief mention of armpits, toys, body worship, masturbation, pet names (darling, love, babe, baby).

YEONJUN'S POV

After another grueling meeting, I’ve ditched my tie and unbuttoned a few of my shirt buttons while Mira has completely changed into lounge clothes back at the hotel room. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense her watching me, leaning up against the wall. But I let it slide. I don’t think she realizes how often she does it.

“How did today’s meeting go?” She asks.

“You were there.”

“I know, but how did it go from your perspective?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events fresh in my mind. "It was intense," I start, a mix of relief and excitement in my voice. "We covered a lot of ground. Like I said, we talked about keeping waters clean.”

“Did you all come up with any new ideas?"

"Actually, yes," I say, a spark of enthusiasm igniting. "We talked about implementing advanced watershed management and enhancing wastewater treatment technologies. But what really stood out was the proposal for a global initiative to reduce industrial runoff. It's ambitious, but the potential impact is huge."

She nods, clearly intrigued. "Was everyone on board?"

"For the most part," I reply, recalling the lively debates. "There were a few moments of contention, especially when it came to funding, so I’ll be doing a lot of fundraising for awhile, but everyone agreed they seem like good ideas.”

Mira's smile is warm and encouraging. "I'm glad it went well.” Her words, simple yet heartfelt, warm me up. She finally pipes up again to add, “You looked hot up there.”

I chuckle. “Yeah?” She nods. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she starts, walking closer to me. “How smart and passionate you are. That’s hot.” That is exactly what I was hoping she’d say. I kept catching myself stealing glances of her during the meetings. It was hard to tell if she was looking at me to look at me or because that’s technically her job. Even if it is her job, I can tell between her different looks—her checking in look, her secretly admiring me look, and her I need you and I need you now look, which might be my favorite.

The look she’s got on her face is starting to lean toward that last one, but she’s not quite there yet. I only observe, let her fall into that place if she wants to.

“Well, thank you,” I tilt my head in her direction before the piano behind her catches my attention. “You know, I’ve been taking piano lessons.” She hums. Sometimes I forget it's also her job to know everything about me—everything about my schedule and activities at least. “You still like classical music, right?” She nods gently, a slight smile constantly on her lips.

I’m not the best at piano, so I start fumbling through Moonlight Sonata. Giggling through every wrong note, she brushes some hair away from my face.

“Ah, I need the sheet music,” I say quietly. Wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs, I know she’s still staring at me with look number three: I need you and I need you now. All professionalism has gone out the window. The biker shorts she’s wearing outlines her stomach perfectly, her thighs barely bulge at the hem, and her tank top accentuates her breasts beautifully. She’s a stunner.

I reach for her hand and drag my thumb across her knuckles. My hands rest against the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer so she steps between my legs, my hand moving to her backside, squeezing her so deliciously. Her hands rest on my shoulders as I bury my nose between her breasts, taking a deep breath. She always smells so goddamn amazing.

“I need you,” she whispers as her fingertips drag across my scalp.

“I know, darling.”

“No,” she chuckles. “I need more from you this time,” she says breathlessly. I stand up straight, looking down at her as she looks at me through her eyelashes. “I need you inside me. Please.”

“Of course,” I say, diving straight for her lips, but she turns her head, so my lips crash into her cheek.

“Did I say you could kiss me?” Picking her up, I let my face rest in her chest again as I carry her to the bed, praying I don’t trip over anything along the way. As I sit her down on the mattress, she says, “Kiss me everywhere but my mouth, okay? Everywhere.”

I don’t wanna argue with the no kissing rule right now, so I simply nod, covering her neck with kisses while I tug her shorts off her legs. Holding her leg by her ankle, I press my lips to it, trailing it all the way up to her thigh while her hand slips under her thong. I’m looking over her body, closing my eyes for a few seconds at a time, but I can feel her eyes on me.

“Everywhere, babe,” she reminds me. Babe? I decide not to mention it—don’t ruin the moment. I slowly lift her shirt, but she gets impatient and takes it off herself, throwing it somewhere before tugging at the hem of mine, hinting at me to ditch it.

My lips land right above her bra, kissing and nipping the tops of her breasts. I literally can’t wait to see her completely, so I waste no time in snapping it off and taking a second to admire her. Then, I gently kiss her neck and feel her whole body with my hands. Warm, soft, welcoming, curvy, squishy, perfect.

When I squeeze her tit for the first time, she moans, arching her back while I sloppily stamp her collarbone with my lips. I want nothing more than to lick her nipples—it’s all I’ve thought about for the last few days—but…I dunno. I’m nervous.

“Jjun…please,” she starts. There’s that nickname. It made my heart sing when she accidentally called me that a couple months ago. It used to slip past her lips so easily when we were together all those years ago, but now she stays so formal. “Lick my nipples, please.”

Tongue flicking her nipple, her eyes roll back as her body follows. As I kiss further down her body toward her tummy, she reaches for my hair and pulls, making both our breath quicken. She takes the liberty of taking off her own thong and I get rid of my pants.

We’ve been desperate for this. Desperate to actually feel each other’s bodies. Not clothing-clad bodies, but bare, vulnerable, warm bodies that want each other. And I can’t get enough. I thought I could taste her forever, but now that I’ve gotten my hands on her, on her squishy, chubby body, I’ll never be able to keep my hands off her.

She starts to get impatient, but I’m not finished with her yet. Landing back on top of her, I say, “Lemme just…kiss on ya for a second, okay?”

“Not my—”

“Not your mouth, I know,” I say, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, trailing down her jaw and sneaking in to nuzzle her neck. Whispering into her ear, I tell her, “I love making you gasp like that.” She chuckles, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, but I grab them and put them over her head to continue kissing her everywhere, tasting each bit of her with the tip of my tongue before pressing my lips to her. Her collarbone, her shoulders, her underarms. Everywhere.

She’s got the cutest mole on her side of her breast I kiss three times before moving on.

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips when I gently kiss under her breasts. I lick a stripe up her chest between them, making eye contact with her, followed by a harsh bite of one of them. Reaching for her arm, I kiss her palm, then gently suck on the tip of her pointer finger.

“Remember when you painted that portrait of me?”

“How could I forget?”

“When you put this pinky on my face,” I say, sucking on the tip of it. “I thought I was gonna explode. Feeling you so close to me like that. You looked so pretty that day too. With the sun shining in through the window and the plants around you.” Okay, shut up dork, too many feelings. I squeeze her tits harshly, burying my face in them. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.”

Rubbing up and down her sides, she scrunches her shoulders, letting out a giggle. I kiss and bite her tummy—I’ve always loved her stomach, but especially so when she wears biker shorts. The way the fabric pulls, creating an outline of her tummy with rays of fabric going toward her hips. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And to finally see her bare tummy right here in front of me, there’s no way I’m not gonna cover it in kisses.

“Why are you being all touchy?”

Why wouldn’t I be? Spreading her lips, she looks absolutely delicious. I lick her clit, earning one of the most gorgeous moans I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth.

“I told you, Sir,” she says. “I want all of you this time.”

“I know. I’m just tasting you, darling.” I glance up at her. “You thought I was gonna fuck you and not taste you first?”

Grinding against my mouth, she can hardly take it before she starts begging. “Please, please, please, Yeonjun. I need your cock inside me. Please. I need it so bad.”

“You’ve never had to beg like this before, hm?”

“Nope,” she says. “People usually do what I ask.” Standing, I leave her briefly for a condom that’s in my toiletries bag in the bathroom. When I come back, she asks, “Prepared, huh?” I nod awkwardly. “Wait, wait,” she stops me from rolling the condom down myself. “Let me see you.” I stand back, letting her look at me in awe before she reaches her hands out, rubbing all over my chest and stomach, kissing my hips, squeezing my balls and licking my nipple, making me gasp.

Taking a deep breath, I admit, “I want to fuck you so bad, Mira.”

Sitting up on her knees, she reaches for my hand and places it on her breast before leaning into my ear to whisper, “Then fuck me, Sir.” Then, she takes the condom and rolls it down my cock, drawing out the process as long as she possibly can. “Your cock is so fucking beautiful,” she says. “I’m still not over it.”

She lays on her back and spreads her legs while I think of all the things I wanna do to her. I really wanna kiss her, but I can’t. She’s right. We shouldn’t. Resting between her legs, I rub my hands over her body again, taking my time contemplating, even if she protests, claiming I’m teasing her too much. But she teased me, so now I get to tease her.

Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we’d never get past oral in the closet. I line myself up with her entrance, bending to press my lips to her neck and whisper, “Are you sure?”

“Yeonjun,” she says, placing a hand on my cheek to force me to look at her. “I’m sure. Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

As I push into her slowly, my whole world comes crumbling down around me. She is perfection. The way she wraps around me like a warm blanket, her eyes full of pleasure sparkling up at mine, the noises she’s making. Nothing else matters anymore but her.

She breathes out like she’s relieved and says, “I’ve been waiting for this for seven years.” My head reels. Our arms wrap around each other as I find a slow and steady pace. Everything is her. She fits right in my arms as her nails claw at my back and her legs wrap around my waist to make sure I won't go anywhere, which I won’t. But I need to see the way her body moves.

Sitting up, I stare down at her, pumping in and out, her tits bouncing with every move I make. Finding her clit with my thumb, the noise she makes in response is intoxicating. She arches her back, squeezing her own tit, which is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

“That’s my girl.” Can I call her that? I don’t care. I’m going to.

She giggles and scratches my thigh, whispering, “You feel so good. Faster?” And I can’t help but comply, speeding up my thrusts but maintaining control. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up though. I want…need to go faster and she’s asking me to, but I also want to take things slow, be with her forever. “Faster, please,” she almost sounds like she’s in tears.

I don’t go much faster, though. This has to be perfect. I can’t be too much. But—

“Hey, stop for a second,” she says genuinely and I oblige, slipping out of her to sit back on my knees. She sits up and reaches for my hands. “Come here,” she says, pulling me closer so our chests are grazing each other’s. “Are you okay?” I nod enthusiastically. “It seems like you’re holding back.”

“I just…you feel so good and I don’t wanna get carried away. And I don’t know your, like, limits.”

“You can fuck me so hard—no, I want you to fuck me so hard. You don’t have to hold back, okay?” She reaches down and squeezes my cock, waiting for a reaction from me. “I’ve been waiting for this cock and I need you to fuck me and don’t stop until I’m begging you to.” She smiles. “Unless you ever wanna stop, of course.” I nod. “Did you wanna take it slow?”

Without giving my brain time to process, I flip her onto her stomach, yanking her up by her hips so she’s on her knees, ass up. I gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail before thrusting into her so hard it takes her breath away. She feels indescribable—a radiating ache overcomes me and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let her go after this.

My thrusts reach a speed finally fast enough for her as she’s whimpering on my cock, shuddering from the feeling of me buried deep inside her. The room fills with the sound of my thighs smacking her ass, making ripples roll down her cheeks. My hand tingles wanting to spank her, but that’s a bit much, no? But she said not to hold back.

I decide to indulge myself, spanking her harshly, my hand making a loud smack, earning an irresistible moan from her. She whispers, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, who?”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whimpers. I spank her again, rubbing it to soothe the sting. I’m fucking her so fast and hard that we’re both sweating, skin getting sticky and slick. Pushing on the small of her back to deepen her arch, I find an even deeper spot inside her. “Ohmygod—” Mira gasps.

“You sound so sexy,” I groan. I don’t want her to hold back either. I want her to be as loud as she wants to be. No one else is on this floor anyway. Pulling her up by her shoulder, I reach in front of her to rub her clit, her head dropping back and onto my shoulder.

Slipping out of her, she shudders and whines at the sudden loss but I turn her around so she’s on her back before I land on top of her again, pinning her hands above her head. Her knees fall open and I hook my hands under her thighs before thrusting back into her, earning an incredible eye roll from her.

“Fuck, Yeonjun.”

“I know, darling,” I say lowly. I wonder if she actually likes it when I call her that. Should I call her something else? Baby? Babe? Love?

The speed of my thrusts increases again, while I massage her tit. She grips her legs by the back of her knees, holding them wide open for me. “Look at you…being such a good girl for me, hm?” Using my body, I push her legs down gently, letting me in even deeper. Our faces are so close to each other, her lips are just begging to be kissed, but I resist.

She takes a deep breath, her eyebrows stitch together and she looks up at me before saying with the most genuine sounding voice, “You’re so pretty.”

That makes me absolutely gush. My shoulders scrunch as I run my fingers through my hair before I bend to lick one of her nipples so slowly she can hardly stand it. Kissing up her chest, I whisper, “You’re fucking beautiful, Mira.” Her arms wrap around my neck to pull me closer.

“Wait, Yeonjun,” she says. I stop in my tracks. “Can you, uh…” she asks, pushing me out of her before getting up off the bed.

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Did I hurt you?”

She’s rummaging through her bag and replies, “No, Sir.” Returning, she hands me a small clit vibrator. Oh. “Can you, um…can you use that on me?”

“Whatever you wish, darling,” I say, watching her lay on her back again, spreading her legs open for me. I switch her toy on to the lowest setting. “Do you think about me when you use this to make yourself feel good?” Before she can answer, I place it onto her clit.

Gasping and nodding, she says, “Yes, Sir.” Her fingers grip the sheets before she admits, “I think about you every time.” She sighs. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

“Of course.”

“What do you think about doing to me?”

“I think about licking all over you. About making you feel good,” I say. “About you screaming my name.”

“You like making me feel good?”

I nod and we’re both desperate as ever now. Desperate to feel each other. To come together. I thrust back into her, quickly reaching a speed we both like, increasing the intensity of the toy along the way. Her mouth drops open as she furrows her eyebrows, her moans getting higher pitched and quicker.

“Mira, I wanna see you cum.”

Dropping one of her legs, she wraps it around my waist, grabbing my forearm, clearly close to losing it. “Don’t stop, babe,” she whimpers. I shake my head. “Please, Yeonjun, don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, darling.”

I reach the deepest part of her, and she finally lets go—eyes rolling back, thighs trembling, clit shuddering under the toy. She’s fucking stunning when she cums. Her other leg falls to the bed while she moans out loud, the corners of her mouth curving upward. “Babe, fuck,” she says breathlessly, “You’re making me cum so hard.”

My thrusts get sloppier and I bury my free hand in her soft waves, groaning and whimpering in her ear as I cum inside her, collapsing on her shoulder. That was truly the best I’ve ever felt.

Forehead glistening with sweat under the moonlight barely shining through the bedroom window, she looks fucking gorgeous. Her post-sex glow would make anyone swoon. My stomach swirls with emotions. I need her. But I just had her. But I need more. No, I need something else.

“I wanna kiss you,” she says. Fuck, don’t do this to me. “Please?”

I think about it for a second—I really do. That’s what I want, no, that’s exactly what I need, but— “You told me not to.”

Shaking her head, she admits, “I don’t care.” She looks absolutely kissable right now. I need to feel her lips on mine again. Passing by each other in the hallway and pretending not to be fucking has been miserable. Every time I see her, I refrain from running up and wrapping my arms around her to give her the best kiss she’s ever had. Not being able to do that has been bad enough, but not even kissing her when I’m literally still inside her? Now that’s torture.

The way she looks at me too—up through her eyelashes, eyes glistening from pure pleasure, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen and utterly plump.

She hooks two fingers under my necklace to pull me closer, tilting her chin up toward me. Fuck, don’t do that. My heart races. “Please,” she says. “I need to kiss you.”

No. Don’t. She’s the one that initiated the no kissing rule. And for good reason. We shouldn’t get involved right now. I let her tug me a few inches closer, but I dodge her lips and turn to my side to lean on the bed before clearing my throat.

“Let’s go take a shower, yeah?” I suggest.

She sighs and says, “Okay.” Standing up silently, I watch her walk slowly to the bathroom, her body moving so beautifully, but I can tell she’s upset even from behind. I plop down on my back. Did I do the right thing? I want to kiss her more than anything but she’s told me over and over again not to. I didn’t want her to regret something because of the heat of the moment. I don’t want her to feel like I took advantage of her but I also don’t want her to feel like I don’t want her.

The shower turns on, making me stand up. I catch her looking at herself in the mirror before she glances down. Without speaking, we both get in the huge shower that luckily has two shower heads. She wets her hair then smiles at me sweetly.

“Can I at least have a hug?” She asks. I chuckle, opening my arms up to her. She wraps her arms around my waist. We wash the day off each other—stressful meetings, long walks to and from the conference center, the amazing sex we just had. The room is mostly silent with the occasional Can you hand me my soap?

After drying off, we crawl back into the shared bed. I’m sitting up with my back against the headboard while I flick through the TV channels. Half laying down and half resting against the headboard, she keeps awkwardly moving closer to me, opening her mouth and breathing in like she wants to say something but never does.

I slouch a bit to get to her level before opening up my arm up to her and so she can lay her head on my chest. As she snuggles into me, I swear I could die happy right here. The air is calm and sweet and warm, her presence provides an overwhelming sense of comfort and I can’t help but graze my fingers up and down her arm until she falls asleep.

As predicted, insomnia is my enemy tonight. Questions swirl around my mind.

Should I have kissed her? What does she want after this? What’s she gonna be like tomorrow morning? How should I act tomorrow morning? After eating some almonds and a banana to try and induce sleep, I go for a walk around the hotel, trying to tire out my body and mind. Eventually, I lay back down thinking about what I really want between the two of us.

Normally, I’d squeeze my eyes shut to picture her lips and eyelashes, but the real Mira is lying right next to me. But I probably shouldn’t stare at her without her permission. With the warmth of thinking of her, there’s also a tug of uncertainty. What if she doesn’t feel the same way I do? What if she just wanted sex? I couldn’t really be mad at her for that, though. That’s what we both wanted at the beginning, even if there may have been some underlying feelings. That’s at least all we were expecting.

Sighing, I turn away from her, thoughts tangling into each other, emotions pulling on the threads in every direction. I count my breaths, slow and steady, but each breath is full of her scent, making things worse, the adrenaline of unspoken feelings keeping me awake.

Time stretches out and I look at my phone, the clock glaring back at me—4:37 AM. Another sigh escapes me, heavier this time. My meetings are done for the week, but I don’t like massive changes in my sleep schedule, even when I'm abroad.

Pulling the covers over my head, I block out the world before quietly whispering her name, like it’s a confession I hope she may hear. I’m answered only by the faintest of snores that have been steady for hours. Finally, my thoughts blur, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep. But even in my dreams, she’s there, a shadow at the edge of consciousness.

“Hey,” I say groggily to Mira. “What happened to you?” Mira’s already dressed in her work clothes with her hair neatly tied back. The smell of the coffee she’s pouring wafts through the air and warms me up. I start to hug her from behind, but—

“I made coffee,” she replies, her tone professional and clipped.

“Why’d you get out of bed?”

“To work. That’s why I’m here.” Her voice is detached and she finally turns to look at me.

Searching her face for the warmth I’d seen last night, I say, “Yeah, but I thought after—”

“We shouldn’t have done that last night.”

“What?”

“Sex,” she says matter-of-factly. “We should not have had sex last night.”

“I know what you meant, but why not?” I ask, my heart pounding. “We’ve been practically having sex for months now.”

“Last night was different.”

“So?”

Mira takes a deep breath before sitting the coffee pot back on the table. “Because, Yeonjun, I’m your servant and we used to date and now…”

“And now what? We pretend it didn’t happen?” Anger and frustration bubbles inside me. Whether I consciously knew it or not, I’d made my decision last night. I want to be with her for real and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, as long as she’ll have me. I was hoping she felt the same way, but she’s still not willing to admit the depth of our relationship out loud. “Mira, last night was…it was real. You can’t just ignore that.”

She looks away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t do this anymore.”

My heart races faster with each step I take toward her. “It’s okay to have feelings.”

“No, it’s not,” she spits, twisting her head back to look at me. “I cannot do this again. We cannot do this again.” I start to interrupt. “I don’t wanna hear it, Yeonjun.”

“Mira, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking. “We have to end this before it even starts.” Her words bring a finality to us before she walks out of the kitchenette and onto the balcony. I suppose that’s it then.

The silence left in her wake is deafening. I slump into a chair, running my hands through my hair, the weight of every unspoken word heavy on my shoulders. The morning light filters through the window, casting long shadows across the room. It’s surreal.

No. This is not how we end.

Following her out onto the balcony, she stands with her back to me, staring blankly at the lake. The same lake we kayaked on together a few days ago. I envy the serenity of the water. “Mira, you can’t just walk away,” I say softly, hoping to reach her through the wall she’s built around herself.

She doesn’t turn, but her shoulders tense. “You said it yourself, Yeonjun. I’m nothing. We couldn’t even be together even if we wanted to.”

“Is that what this is about? You’re still upset about something I said seven years ago?” She shakes her head. “Then what is it?” She keeps turning away from me. And ignoring me. “Talk to me. Please.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

cw. crying, kissing.

MIRA'S POV

The rest of our trip to Switzerland was business as usual. I made sure of it. I woke up on time, got his coffee, did everything a servant does and in the manner a servant would do. No smiles. No anger. Just business.

“What’s been up with you recently?” Hyomin shakes me out of my daydreaming—or daynightmaring, perhaps—replaying that morning with Yeonjun. How hurt he looked. How it felt to break my own heart. How it felt to break his heart. “You haven’t been acting like yourself. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, glancing over at Yeonjun sitting at the dining table without even realizing it at first.

Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” I say harshly.

“You can’t be serious.” I shrug. “You went to Switzerland together for a week and nothing happened? Not even a kiss or a not-so-platonic hug?”

“I have work to do, Hyomin.” Shaking my head, I stomp away in the direction of my room. Slamming my door shut, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears from coming but it's no use. My phone buzzes but I already know who it is.

Yeonjun 3:52 PM Are you ever gonna talk to me again?

It’s been four days since Switzerland but that’s the twelfth message since we got back.

Can we talk? Can you meet me in our closet tonight? Just to talk, nothing else. I’d really like to talk to you. Please stop ignoring me.

I have sent zero. I can’t bring myself to. Tossing my phone on my mattress, there’s a black dress bag and a note on my bed.

For Saturday. –Y

Are you fucking kidding me? He’s buying me gifts now? What kind of relationship does he think we have? We make each other come a few times, have sex in Switzerland once and now he won’t stop texting me and buying me dresses? Fuck this.

Me. 4:01 PM Closet. Now.

“Hello, darling,” Yeonjun says smugly as I slam the door shut.

“What the fuck is this, Yeonjun?” I scream-whisper, shoving the dress bag into his chest as his face turns horrified.

“A dress,” he says defensively, trying to not let the dress bag fall to the floor.

“Don’t patronize me,” I spit. “You think you can buy me or something?” He shakes his head nervously. “Taking me to Switzerland, staying in a fancy hotel, buying me food, now you’re buying me an expensive dress?”

“I took you to Switzerland as a member of my staff,” he reminds me.

“If you think for one second that I’ll just come running back to you because of this—”

He grabs me by my forearm and gently yanks me close to him to stare down at me hungrily, like he wants to take me right then and there. I know this look very well by this point.

“You’re cute when you’re mad at me.”

“Shut up.” I throw the dress down and attempt to turn away from him. “Leave me alone, Yeonjun.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firmly enough to prevent me from going anywhere.

“Why are you so angry, really? Is it the gifts, or is it because you’re scared of what this means?” I glare at him, feeling the anger bubble up again.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes. He sighs, letting go of my arm but not stepping back.

“I’m not trying to buy you, okay? I just...I like you. And I want to do things for you.”

I cross my arms, trying to maintain the obviousness of my anger but I can’t help I’m shocked. He likes me? Like that? I mean, I was hopeful but I never thought he’d ever say it out loud. Should I say it too? I almost think about it, but instead, I ask, “You think throwing money at me will make me like you more?”

“No,” he says softly, surprising me. “I just don’t know what to do, Mira,” he raises his voice. “You’re ignoring me and I want to show you I care about you.”

“I know you care about me, Yeonjun. I’m telling you to stop caring about me,” I say sternly. “It’s over.”

Over the next few days, he stops texting me, talking to me, I don’t even catch him glancing at me like I usually do several times a day. He must be avoiding me—or doing exactly what I asked him to do, I guess. Which pisses me off too.

Saturday rolls around and we have yet another fancy dinner to host. The Queen pulled out all the stops for this one too—amazing food, open bar with fancy drinks, great music, even greater decorations. It’s gorgeous. I’d realized I should probably stop being such a bitch and make amends with him. As a gesture, I show up wearing the dress he gave me.

“Prince Yeonjun?” I ask, watching his ears perk up as he turns around, a clear smile on his face at the sound of my voice. “Can I have a dance, please?” His face relaxes as he nods before he extends his hand to take me to the dancefloor. He performs his customary bow, followed by my curtsy. My tummy tingles a bit at the formality of it all. I feel like a princess.

As my hand falls into his, nothing matters. Not our history. Not our future. Not his title. Not the lack of mine. I’m with him. We’re together. The soft music from the chamber orchestra is perfect accompaniment for us.

I’d thought about the idea of us for so long. What we could be, what I want us to be, what I think he wants us to be. I don’t think it’ll ever work, but at least there’s tonight. There’s this dance.

We sway together, hand in hand, my other hand on his shoulder while his rests around my waist. Eyes locked. His jacket catches the flicker of the chandelier while my gown flows down my waist and onto the floor gracefully.

Expertly turning me, I can’t help but think back to the first night he broke my heart. Would he do that again? Pressing his hand firmer against my waist, I welcome it by pressing my body more securely against his. The warmth between us grows stronger by the second. We’re falling in love again. Or maybe we already did.

He towers over me, much like he did the night of our first kiss. Returning from a night where we’d once again snuck out to see each other, he walked me home. Standing on the front porch of my cottage, we refused to wish each other a good night. The moon was the only light source, but it was enough to see how handsome he was, even back then.

“Yeonjun…” I whisper as he continues to lead us through a casual dance that lets us focus on a conversation. “I’m sorry.” He looks at me questioningly. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset about the dress. I felt…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I just felt so used, I dunno.” Horror crosses his face.

“Mira…I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” I say. “But I felt like we could never be together, not really anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath and say, “Keeping secrets, never being able to tell everyone…we should probably stop…you know, what we’ve been doing.” I look up at him through my shaky eyes and he frowns but forces himself to nod.

“If that’s what you want.”

“I just can’t,” I sniffle. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’m right here.” He presses his hands even firmer against my waist to prove it.

“But where were you seven years ago? I’ve—” My eyes can’t hold my tears any longer, breaking free to run down my cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know. I’m so sorry.” Brushing the apple of my cheek with his thumb, he lifts my face to meet his eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” Pressing my lips together, I blink a tear out of my eye and I shake my head in protest. “Mira…listen.” He never lets me go. “I am so sorry for what I said that night. If I could take it back, I would.” I smile. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. You mean so much to me,” he says genuinely. “That night in Switzerland meant so much to me.” Everything halts. Our eyes meet. “But if you want me to stop, I will. I’ll never bring us up again.”

“Us?”

“You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.” The wind’s knocked out of me. My heart races as he inches closer and closer. So close I can see each individual eyelash. “Tell me to stop.”

“No,” I say, welcoming his lips on top of mine. His lips meet mine softly, a whisper of a kiss that feels like a promise. It's gentle, tentative at first, like we’re both terrified to lose each other. But then, the years of longing we've kept hidden surge forward, and the kiss deepens.

The room around us fades away, the music, the murmurs of the crowd, the flickering candlelight—they all dissolve into a hazy backdrop. All that exists is us, bound together in this moment of rawness. His hands move from my waist to cradle my face, his touch tender yet insistent. My hands rest against his chest.

His kiss is everything I've ever dreamed of—sweet yet passionate, comforting yet electrifying. It speaks of forgiveness and second chances. The saltiness of my tears mingle with the softness of his lips.

It's as if we're communicating without words. Each movement, each touch, each breath shared between us is a declaration of our feelings for each other. His arms encircle me, holding me close, and I feel safe, cherished, and utterly adored.

When we finally part, breathless and overwhelmed, our foreheads rest against each other, our eyes closed as we savor the moment. The world starts to come back into focus, but it's different now. Everyone’s eyes are on us. The room has come to a halt. Glancing around the room, there isn’t one person that hasn’t stopped what they’re doing to stare at us. Not us. Me.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Excuse me.” I scurry off quickly, leaving him there alone.

cw. unsupportive parents, classism, crying, love.

YEONJUN'S POV

Everyone watches as she runs off like it’s a movie. She’s picked up her skirt to avoid tripping, and her head hangs low as she searches for the nearest exit. I awkwardly look around the room, excusing myself with a few head bows.

Running through the castle hallway, I catch up to her right outside my bedroom door. Her forehead’s pressed against the doorframe, arms wrapped around her body while she waits for me. She’s waiting for me. That gives me hope. At least she’s not running from me anymore.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I whisper, grazing my hand across her shoulder blade. “C’mere.” I pull her into my chest, wrapping one of my arms around her while I open the door with my free hand. I lead her to my bed where she sits awkwardly scrunched into a ball while I rush to flick on some lamps. Then, I sit next to her, my hand resting on her shoulder blade for comfort.

“I can’t—” she can hardly speak through her tears.

“It’s okay.”

“I can’t do this, Jjun, I can’t.” She’s shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks. “I really want to but I just…” She trails off. Before I can speak up, she adds, “Your mother—”

My heart sinks. “My mother? Did she do something to you?” Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Take some deep breaths, love, and tell me what she did.” She does as I say, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, attempting to compose herself.

“After,” she starts hiccuping and I encourage her to take more deep breaths by modeling the breathing technique she was using earlier. “After that night in Switzerland,” she begins, but it’s too difficult for her to speak. Pulling out her phone, she silently thumbs through her phone to her voice mail box. My mother’s voice, cold and stern, plays from the speaker.

Mira Ashenrose, the audacious servant who dares aspire beyond her station, it has come to my attention that your eyes linger far too long on my son. Your actions are not only bold but also insolent, as you seem to have forgotten your place within my castle walls.

Let me be clear: the Prince's future is one of sovereignty and grandeur, a path predetermined by bloodline and duty. Any attempts to disrupt or divert his focus with your insignificant presence will be met with severe consequences.

You are a servant, a role you should embrace with humility and gratitude. Your duties do not include entertaining fantasies of a life beyond your given position, especially one involving a royal whom you are unworthy to even address directly.

Cease your imprudent behavior immediately. Should I find even the slightest hint of your infatuation resurfacing, you will discover that my patience is not to be tested. Your continued employment—and indeed, your very well-being—hangs by a thread of my tolerance, a thread that I am fully prepared to cut.

Do not mistake this warning for mere words. You will find that I am a queen of action. Refrain from crossing boundaries that were never meant for you, and remember your place. It is only in your compliance that you will find any semblance of mercy from me.

Consider this your only warning.

By this point, her crying has subsided to sniffles but I’m speechless. How could she have done this? “I woke up that night after we…were together. You were still next to me. I was just checking the time and I had that message waiting for me.”

“Mira, I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

“I care,” she says. “I can’t be with someone whose mother thinks of me like this,” she says, gesturing to her phone. “And you used to think of me that way. What if you start thinking like that again? Or do you already think of me this way?”

“Of course not,” I say, grabbing her hands. “Look at me.” She puts on a brave face before looking me straight in the eye. “Do you wanna know what I think of you?” She hums. “Perfect. Beautiful. Kind. Caring. Talented.” Smiling to herself, she looks down at our hands. “That’s what I think of you.” She nods gently and I brush some hair back. “You should have told me.” She shakes her head.

“I decided to quit anyway,” she sniffles. “I already put in my two weeks. That’s why I asked you to dance. I wasn’t gonna leave without dancing with you at least once.” She glances down at my lips. “Or kissing you at least once,” she giggles.

“Or twice?”

She chuckles again, glancing down at the floor, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Sure.” I peck her lips gently.

“Three times?” I ask, barely backing away from her.

“How about you kiss me over and over until I tell you to stop?”

I don’t waste any more time playing silly games with her. I crash my lips into hers and we melt together, she groans against my lips and I deepen the kiss, my hand against her cheek. But she soon breaks it to ask, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why didn’t you kiss me? You know, when I asked you to.”

“Because I thought if I did, you’d do exactly what you did the next morning,” I say. “I didn't wanna lose you.”

Nodding, she runs her thumb across my knuckles. “What are we gonna do?” She asks.

“About what?”

“Us.”

“There’s an us?”

“Ah, shut up,” she laughs, nudging my shoulder. “You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.”

“Yeonjun, what is it? I’m very busy,” Mother says, not bothering to look up from the many papers that are shuffled across her desk.

“Mother, we need to talk,” I say, my voice steady but firm.

Sliding her glasses off her nose, she drops them on the desk and turns in her chair to make eye contact. “You’re right,” she says and I look confused. “What are these policy proposals you wrote?” Why is she reading those? How did she even find them? “This Freshwater Sustainability Proposal,” she says matter-of-factly.

“What’s wr—”

“This is some of your worst writing. Half of it doesn’t even make sense,” she says, my stomach dropping. Those were drafts. “I mean, what is this part about ‘aquatic ecosystem revitalization through bioremediation techniques’? You think the council will understand that jargon? And this section on ‘community-based water stewardship programs’? It’s laughably naive. Who’s going to manage these programs? Volunteers?”

“That is a well-researched proposal meant to—”

“Well-researched?” She scoffs, flipping through the pages with a dismissive hand. “It’s idealistic drivel, Yeonjun. We need practical solutions, not fanciful ideas that belong in a classroom.”

“These ideas could make a real difference.”

She waves a hand, brushing off my words. “Idealism is pointless. We can’t gamble on untested theories.”

“Untested theories?” I can’t help but let a note of disbelief slip into my voice. “They’re proven methods many other countries have successfully implemented.”

“Our priority is status and stability.”

“What good is status and stability if our environment collapses?” I challenge.

She glares at me, her eyes cold before she lets out an evil chuckle. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

“Is that why you feel the need to control every aspect of my life?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I take a deep breath, preparing for the moment of truth. “When did you find out about Mira?”

The question hangs in the air, catching her completely off guard. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, but she quickly masks her surprise. “Who? Oh, that servant that quit last week? I did see you two kiss at the party.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mother,” I say, my voice hard. “I know you knew about us before that. That voicemail you left her? Where you threatened her, told her she was nothing but a servant, and to stay away from me.”

She recovers quickly, her expression turning cold. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

“How dare you do such a thing?” I shoot back. “Mira is someone I care about and you had no right to interfere with our relationship,” I say.

“Relationship?” She rolls her eyes. “Your relationship is a shallow, pleasant distraction at best. She’s simply a way to blow off steam, to indulge in sexual frustrations.”

Ew. But okay. “It’s more than that, Mother. Mira means something to me.”

She sighs, a mix of impatience and disappointment in her voice. “Yeonjun, you’re too young to understand the complexities involved here. You have a duty to this kingdom, to your people. Mira is not part of that equation.”

“If you can’t find a way to accept the woman I love, then…I don’t know if there’s anything else for us to say to each other.”

“You’ve known her for three months, Yeonjun. You’re not in love.”

I shake my head. “We’ve known each other for seven years.”

“What?” She asks, shocked. “You’ve been seeing her behind my back for seven years?”

“No,” I say. “We used to date a while ago and then we…I dunno, started back up after she started working here.”

“You think you love her,” she counters sharply. “But what you feel is temporary. It’s not sustainable. And you’re all for sustainability, right?” I roll my eyes. “I will not allow you to jeopardize your future and duty for a fleeting infatuation,” I say. “Your choices affect everyone,” she says, her tone unyielding. “Including the stability of this kingdom.”

“You’re trying to control me,” I accuse, feeling the weight of her authority pressing down on me.

“I’m trying to protect you. You must think beyond your own desires.”

Eventually, I say, “Mother, mind your business.” I storm off, headed in the direction of the garden to get some air. I don’t stop walking until I find myself sitting under the willow tree that Mira and I love so much. She’s always loved it here.

Maybe Mira’s right—I don't know if it's such a great idea to be with someone whose mother thinks of them like mine does about her. Fuck, this is so unfair. Regardless, Mother’s getting what she wants. Us not together.

Quiet footsteps approach me. Not now, please. I can’t argue with Mother anymore.

“The woman you love, huh?”

“Mira,” I say, happiness evident in my voice. “Hi.” She smiles, holding her hands behind her back before she walks closer to me. “Um…” She sticks her hand out for me to grab and helps me to my feet.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear,” she says but I wouldn’t care if she were to be honest. “I was getting some water from the kitchen and overheard.”

“Mira…” I say, an undeniable smile spreading across my face, my hands running down her arms, wrapping around her waist to bring her closer. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Why’s that?” She asks with a sweet smile.

“I’m always happy to see you,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to hear what she said about you.” She shakes her head. “I do by the way,” I say. “I love you.”

“Fucking finally,” she whispers before reaching her arms around my neck to pull me closer to her, crashing her lips into mine. They move over each other passionately. She tastes so fucking delicious. She feels so fucking warm. She smells so fucking good. “Oh, I love you too,” she giggles, breaking the kiss. “Sorry, I should’ve said it sooner.”

“I love you too too,” I say between kisses. “So much. You have no idea.” She looks so sweet. “I guess we should probably talk about—”

Shaking her head, she says, “Not yet. Let’s just—” She gives me another deep kiss. “We can think about that later, okay?” I nod and press my lips to hers again.

Everything is so perfect. The way her laugh echoes in my ear like nothing could ever go wrong, the way her body slowly but sensually grinds against my own, the way we know we love each other and can finally say it out loud, even if we don’t know what the future holds for us.

Breaking the kiss gently, she’s absolutely stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as gorgeous as her. I brush my thumb across her eyebrow and say matter-of-factly, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “So are you.”

The air shifts. We’re alone and we’re hyper aware of that fact. I doubt anyone could even hear us. Our eyelids get heavy as we lean into each other, our lips touching in a fiery kiss that leaves me needing more. Holding her cheek in my hand, it grows deeper and hotter until a tiny moan leaves her mouth. “Fuck,” she says under her breath. “You’re such a good kisser.”

“That’s all you, baby,” I say, sliding my hand down to squeeze her amazing ass.

“Yeonjun,” she whines. “You can’t tell me you love me and then not immediately fuck me.”

“I can’t even imagine doing such a thing,” I chuckle.

“You think…” she glances behind her. “Think we can sneak into your room together?”

“Absolutely.”

Walking back to the castle makes us all the more giddy. Hands touching each other playfully, giggling and flirting in hushed tones all the way back to my room where I lead her to my bed.

Landing on top of her, she’s so pretty. Covering every inch of her bare skin with kisses, I can’t stop whispering compliments to her. Real compliments I’ve always wanted to say.

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky I get to love you. I love every inch of you and I’m gonna show how much I mean it.

“Please, Jjun, I need you.”

“You know I need to taste you first, though, right?”

“Of course.” She lets me slip her sweatpants off her legs, the cool air making goosebumps prick her skin. Her maroon thong is so sexy. Desperately moving her thong to the side, I take a deep breath, wanting to take my time with her. Letting go of her thong, it snaps back into place, covering her back up. I press my lips to her tummy, peppering her with soft and slow kisses.

“So perfect,” I whisper against her skin. And I mean it. Every time I say it. “I could worship your body for hours.”

“We’ve got time, my love.”

All I know is by the time I’m done covering her body in kisses, the sun has completely set and she’s illuminated only by the lamp on my bedside table. But I can absolutely still see how beautiful she is. I could see her beauty in the pitch black.

“Yeonjun,” she starts, pulling me up to look her in the eyes. She brushes some of my hair back and says, “Whatever happens after this, I want you to know—” I start to protest. What does she mean? I know what’s gonna happen after this. We’re gonna find a way to be together. “I want you to know that I love you, okay?”

“Mira…I love you too.”

“Just know that…” she takes a deep breath. “I’m yours.”

I give her a long, lingering kiss and say, “And I’m yours.”

@aduh0308 request a tag :)

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avatarmerida · 1 month ago

Text

365 Days

I posted part of this awhile ago so if it seems familiar in the beginning thats why. So this is told like over the course of a year, so imagine the breaks are just timeskip to different days. We’re obviously skipping around alot and I wrote this in fragments in like a million notes on my phone lol. Also I think I had one more section I just can’t find rn but it’s been forever since I shared something

---

“Hey there, Mr. Man-of-the-hour,” Willow greeted in a low, teasing voice as she shut the door behind her. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Oh, just catching my breath,” Hunter chuckled, the cold air capturing it as he exhaled. “I haven’t danced like that in awhile.”

“Yeah, not since Grom I bet,” she said, walking over to stand beside him.

“Oh my Titan, don’t remind me,” he groaned endearingly.

“What? You looked so cute!” She insisted. “And you were a really good dance partner.”

“I think I stepped on your toes like 6 times,”

“Well seven but hey it’s a lucky number!” She said and they both laughed. He had bought a wallet purely for the purpose of keeping their Photo Booth pictures in jt. After the group had gotten their classic shot, she insisted they get as many of just the two of them as possible. They did all the classic poses, it was bright and loud and the best kind of chaos and for the final photo she had pulled him down to kiss his cheek. It was quick and she didn’t make a big deal about it so he didn’t make a big deal about it, at least not outwardly. That was the photo he had gotten laminated.

“Yeah well, alots changed since then,” he sighed.

Not really, Willow thought as she took in his relaxed profile. He was still sweet and dorky but now he was more rested. Her feelings for him certainly hadn’t changed, if anything they’d gotten worse. Well, worse wouldn’t be the best way to describe it, it was an overwhelmingly positive feeling but it just never found the right time to be fully expressed.

When she had kissed his cheek that night, she had intended for it to signify that she didn’t want their first date to be their only date. But Hunter had endearingly mistaken it as a ritual of the event and so she took it as a sign. She couldn’t deny there had been a shift between them after that night, that he felt more comfortable initiating contact and lingering when they found themselves sitting closer during game nights and the way he looked at her… well that might not have changed but he didn’t shy away right away anymore when she caught him. It was like she knew she had him but saying it aloud might undo it somehow.

“Did you ever think when you started helping Dell that you’d be traveling the Isles as this big shot hero?” She asked with a sigh as she took in the cool night air.

“‘Hero?’ Pshh, hardly,” he scoffed. “I’m just doing my part to help fix something I didn’t realize I was a part of hurting.”

“Hey, no one knew,” she said as she put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not gonna let you blame yourself or deny that what you’re doing is pretty cool.”

He sighed, the fire in her eyes melting any guilt he tried to harbor. “Okay yeah it is pretty cool,” he admitted.

“There ya go,” she smiled, moving her hand up to brush his hair from his face, as though she just wanted an excuse to touch him. “I’m really proud of you Hunter.”

“Proud of me? You wanna talk about cool go look in the mirror Miss Pro Flyer Derby,” he countered, crossing his arms and shaking his face at hers in a cocky way he could only adopt when he was talking about her.

“Okay…” she said with a sigh of fake annoyance that he knew meant to kept going.

“Youngest ever recruit before she even graduated and is already on track to be captain? All while creating her own major in advanced plants studies? Now that’s cool.”

“Well you deserve a little credit,” she said. “How many times did you stay late to help me work on my drills?”

“Well how many times did you stay late helping me find the right PH level for the soil for the trees?” He countered.

“Oof, no wonder we’re so tired,” she joked and they laughed again. Oh, he was going to miss that laugh. He wondered if it would be weird to ask to record it. He knew they promised to talk as much as possible to keep in touch but there was nothing comparable to being beside Willow when she laughed.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it to your first match,” said Hunter sadly, leaning on the railing again.

“Hey you can stream it,” she said, bumping his shoulder with hers. “I’ll give you a shout out.”

“Thanks,” he said, feeling a tug in his chest as he felt like it was some kind of sin not to be there in person to support her. Had he been smarter, he would’ve cherished their last one on one practice session more. Who knows the next time they’d be able to play and have it just be the two of them. “But ya know, it’s only a few weeks away I could probably push my trip back so I could-.”

“Hunter,” she cut him off. “As sweet as that is and as much as I want you to come I can’t let you do that for me. They need you over there and the sooner you go the sooner you can start changing the world.”

And the sooner you can come back, she thought.

“Besides, rookie games aren’t usually that exciting,” Willow somewhat lied. “I might not even play.”

“Well then that’s their loss,” said Hunter, knowing she was right. As excited as he was to go and as much as he cared about the work he was entrusted to do, well he just couldn’t help but care about her maybe a tiny bit more. In a perfect world, he could stop time and help the palistrom trees and come back before her season started. But unlike Willow, the world was far from perfect. “But could I at least get your autograph?”

“Only if I can get your autograph,” she teased, hitting the side of her hip against his. “I wanna brag about you to my teammates.”

“Brag about me?” He teased, inching closer to her. “Oh no no, I’m the one who will be bragging about you to my colleagues.”

“Well I’m the one with half a dozen hand made jackets I get to show off,” she said smugly.

“Oh no, what? You seriously kept all of them?” He asked with a sigh of fake embarrassment. He truly loved making her things and he had improved immensely but his early work was very obviously his early work. But nevertheless, Willow cherished them as though they were from the hottest designer (which in her opinion, they were.)

“Well I want something to remember you by.” She said shyly. She had a jacket for nearly everyday of the week, and for the day she didn’t have a homemade jacket she had acquired quite the collection of his own jackets he had lent her whenever she showed any indication of being cold. They smelled like him, which she used to think was a gross thing to say but she couldn’t argue with the peace it brought her. He smelled like wood chips and old books and fresh grass. It was like an easily accessible embrace when she was out of teleportation distance.

“Oh what, you don’t have enough pictures, ‘Miss 20 Scrapbooks?’” He teased. She loved when they entered this type of banter, how Hunter’s brand of flirting was mostly asking questions as though he knew just how to set her up. They ebbed and flowed until it was like a competition to see who could compliment the other more subtly and they were both extremely competitive.

“Well I blame you for being so photogenic,” she teased back. “It’s not my fault you have such a cute smile.”

“Well it is your fault I smile so much.”

Oooh, he won that round. She sucked her teeth, knowing the blush on her face was clear even in the dim lighting. She was having trouble crafting a response to top that. “Well I’ll gladly take that blame,” she said softly, seeing one of those smiles forming now from the corner of her eye. Oh she didn’t need a photograph to remember that.

She sighed and let her head fall against his shoulder. She was only somewhat overly aware of how much she was touching him tonight. Every playful shove or brush of the hand hid the severe urge to scoop him in her arms and trap him in the tightest embrace. But that would only make letting go harder.

She felt him lean back against her and her mind flash back to a movie night not long ago but now felt like lifetimes ago. They had found themselves left alone, the rest of the group not up to finishing the marathon they had been so excited to start and the pair found it up to them to see it through. It was late, and the movie was fine but Willow had for some reason felt the overwhelming need to be close to him. The way the screen reflected off his eyes, the way he muffled his laughter so as to not awaken everyone else, the way he yawned and stretched his arms and it landed… over her shoulders? She slyly scooted closer to him, testing the waters. He did the same. She pretended to adjust the blanket so she leaned into him more, and his arm held her in place. It was somehow both certain and uncertain, neither of them wanted to bring it to attention in case that was what broke the spell, but they both felt safe and cozy in this midnight bubble.

Now, many midnights later his arm found her shoulder again. More purposely. She looked up at him and he offered her a lopsided smile, still not speaking over what exactly it was but assuring her he was aware. He wanted her this close.

Being this close was another contradiction, the way it was both common and uncommon. They’d always manage to sit next to each other or wind up finding each other but without the guise of a crowd or being crowded, it came down to how to make it happen when you couldn’t simply happen upon it. It felt like always being on the brink of something, so being here now with all the space in the world to occupy and choosing to act magnetized… well how long could it exist without a reason?

“Oh man,” she chuckled, reaching up to cup his chin in her hand, looking up at him to memorize the way he looked in the moonlight. “I’m really gonna miss that smile.” She said it softly, as though it was meant to stay a thought. She brushed a loose hair to the side of his face, another excuse to touch him as their eyes locked. He leaned into her touch again and placed his hand over hers. It was chilling and warm and natural and fleeting. His smile softened just when she thought it couldn’t get any softer and it was so warm she could just melt.

This was the moment he had hoped for. He cleared his throat and went to stand up.

“So there’s actually something I- oh! Ergh!” He stopped himself as he realized he had gotten tangled in some low hanging lights Luz had added for the event.

“Oh! It’s okay, stand still,” said Willow reaching up to help him untangle himself. “Hang on, I might need a flower to stand on, I can’t quite reach.”

He couldn’t duck down much more lest he bring the collection of lights down with him. Willow’s hands untangled him as carefully and quickly as she could manage, the task making her seemingly unaware at just how close their faces were. Hunter didn’t realize he was holding his breath as he focused on the determined and adorable way she stuck her tongue to the side as she freed him.

“Sorry, I uh think I got taller recently? Somehow?” He said awkwardly, not sure how else to explain it but feeling like he needed to apologize. More feeling like he needed to say something or else the silence would lead him to get lost in her features. He couldn’t imagine how he’d come back from the embarrassment he’d feel if she caught him actively daydreaming about her when she was right in front of him.

“No actually I think I got shorter,” she responded playfully, sensing his uneasiness. They both laughed as the light above them seemed to circle them like a sun, as though creating an illuminated midnight bubble. Like they were living in a fond memory.

“No, you’re the perfect height,” he said just as she freed the last lock.

“Well I won’t argue with you there,” she said softly, staying close to him, always loving the way she looks up to him. The way she could always tell when his gaze was on her. “Seems like even the Owl House is gonna miss you.”

“I guess so,” he chuckled, trying to steady his breath as he tried to determine if she was getting closer or waiting for him to step back. His arms remained at his side, holding back the urge to return to her shoulders.

“I’m sure Luz wouldn’t mind if you took the lights though,” Willow continued. “Maybe you could hang them in your new place, like a going away present.”

“Yeah,” he gulped. He didn’t think he’d get a better opportunity. “So uh speaking of that, uh there i-is something I wanted to give you before I left.” His voice was a mixture of nerves and determination she found utterly charming.

“Hunter this is your party, you’re supposed to be the one getting gifts!” She insisted, knowing that Hunter had specifically instructed no one to bring gifts and how everyone had definitely not listened.

“Heh, I think you know what I’m gonna say to that,” he said with a smirk.

“That me being here is already the best gift you could ask for,” she responded in her best Hunter impression, playing with his collar.

“Exactly,” he chuckled and nodded. “You just know me too well.”

“Okay so then lemme guess what you wanna give me,” she giggled and closed her eyes to think, her hands going down to take his and swinging them between the two of them as her mind collected her guesses. “Hmmm I know you’ve been trying out knitting recently so maybe a scarf? Oh! Some mittens maybe?”

“Um, well it’s more-.”

“Oh, I hope you didn’t think what I said before meant I had too many jackets cause if it’s a jacket I know I’m gonna love it,” she went on. “Clover loves all the secret pockets you add. Well anyway, I know anything from you is gonna be-.

Before she could finish, he leaned down and gently kissed her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered and looked at him in a small shock, uncertain if this was the gift or if it was just something that had come over him in the moment. Either way his face indicated he did not regret it. It was a simple gesture and he seemed relieved, as though it had been something heavy he had been carrying for her. She wished she could somehow preserve it, tattoo it or frame it or carry it in a locket around her neck. He hadn’t gone too far from her and her eyes quickly darted to his lips and back to his eyes which seemed to have done the exact same thing.

She suddenly wondered if he had been waiting for her out here, hoping she’d wander for air or knowing she’d go looking for him so they could have one last moment to themselves. She felt like she was in a dream she suddenly gained control of, the details of everything were simultaneously crisp and blurry, like Hunter being so close had frozen time and changed the air.

They both held their breath as they gravitated towards each other. It was unclear who pulled who in but suddenly their arms were wrapped around each other as they found themselves in a deep and long anticipated kiss. It was a quiet night, but they brought forth an orchestra and collection of fireworks without saying a word. Like it was the thing they had been on the brink of for all those midnights.

Hunter eagerly moved down to reach her better and she summoned a flower to stand on for a boost so they met the middle. Maybe it was meant to be a quick, chaste peck but it evolved and then evolved again, neither of them finding it in themselves to be the one to break it.

So they didn’t.

His arms secured around her waist and he held her close, cradling her and dipping her like the cover of some grand romance novel and her arms anchored around his neck as one hand found its way through his hair. He somehow knew how to carefully remove her glasses and how to angle his face so their noses didn’t collide as though he had thought about it before. He delicately moved the hand with his glasses to the side of her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. He could feel her smile against his lips which made his own wider and soon bits of laughter were mixed into their exchange.

It was a laughter of joy and relief and certainty. It wasn’t shy or awkward, they fell into it naturally as though they had fallen so many times before. But because they hadn’t, they had so much time to make up for.

When he needed a moment to breathe, she covered the rest of his face with kisses. His jaw, his nose, his forehead all demanded to be shown affection. When she went to kiss his neck she could feel his sharp inhale as he pulled her closer and went to reunite their lips with such vigor that Willow subconsciously summoned a vine to wrap around them as her knees went weak.

They weren’t sure how much time had passed or if it had stopped all together and frankly they were fine with that until a loud crash from inside brought them back to reality. They heard the muffled sounds of Luz and King assuring everyone there were okay to a response of laughter. Although they pulled apart, they still held onto each other like they were a life preserver.

They were each breathless, processing and replaying everything as their forehead naturally rested against each other as they panted. Their insync panting brought forth more laughter, hushed as though they were suddenly worried about being caught. It felt as though so long as it was just them then the moment could go on forever.

Willow wanted it to, it felt as though she had waited lifetimes to be able to take in his smile this way, like a wave that had been building and building just waiting to crash.

But they both knew there were other earthly obligations that needed attention and words that needed to be said. But the words were just as complicated and as much as Hunter was elated that his gift had been welcomed and returned, he had only worked up the nerve for actions and less for words. He didn’t know if it was the emotions of the evening that had gotten them here or something brewing longer but he didn't want to tamper with the moment. But he couldn’t just vanish into the night, well he could but he certainly didn’t want to.

He cleared his throat, still memorizing the way the moonlight hit her hair. “Um I have to get up pretty early in the morning tomorrow,” Hunter managed to say at last, his voice hoarse. He was unsure of what he was supposed to say as he handed her back her glasses. He knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to keep her in his arms and tell her how much he adored her and how amazing she was as he kissed the rest of her face, one for every minute he hadn’t taken the chance to.

“Oh, oh yeah uh you should probably get going,” said Willow, meaning the exact opposite. Now that she had been held by him like this she didn’t want to know any other feeling. She wanted to squeeze him and tell him over and over and over again how lucky she was to know him and how much she trusted him and all the things she had written in her diary about him. She hoped he could read her mind and come back down to her so she kiss him silly.

But instead she released him slowly, returning to the ground and felt his hold on her loosen. Leaving his embrace felt like falling from a precipice. They stood there for a moment, both waiting for the other to say what needed to be said. Their hands soon found each other, naturally entering their signature pinky hold like a promise they always returned to. Like a light always visible in the darkness.

“So I guess this is… goodbye?” She asked.

“Yeah I guess it is.” He replied with a sad smile.

He felt like he could kiss her goodbye, that it would be appropriate and wanted and reciprocated. But he felt that if he kissed her now he wouldn’t know when to stop. That he wouldn’t let go. He worried he couldn’t recreate the confidence and passion the spontaneous act had brought out in him. He worried it was a dream. He worried that she had only kissed him because he was leaving. He worried he had waited too long.

“But only for now,” she went on, her voice shaking as it was apparent she was holding back tears. She powered through as she looked up at him, her lipstick smeared over most of his face. “Promise me you’ll message me as soon as you get there?”

“Of course,” he said.

“Okay good,” she said, searching for something more profound to say. She wanted to send him off with something more, something to assure him this was something more. But he already had so much on his mind, she didn’t want to add any uncertainty or pressure to his plate. But regardless of any additional feelings she harbored, she cared about him no matter the label their relationship wore and that was something she did not let him forget. “Have a safe trip, captain’s order.”

“Of course,” he said again with a smile and he pulled her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around his torso and his chin rested atop her head.

He heard her let out a small sniffle and he felt his own eyes sting with tears.

“I’m really gonna miss you captain,” he whispered.

“It’s not that long,” she said, muffled by his shirt. “It’s just 365 days until your next day off, right?”

“Right,” he said and felt her hug him tighter. He remembered the first time she had said that, as if that was the day his days began to hold value. The day he knew he didn’t have to be alone, that he didn’t want to be alone. The day he knew he wanted her in as many days as possible, and one day he hoped to have more days with her than without her. He had endured worse things, he needed to remind himself. Saying goodbye to everyone had been emotional, but saying goodbye to her carried so much more.

“It’s just 365 days.”

He hoped it would be there when they said hello again.

“…aaaand this is the kitchen,” Hunter declared proudly as he moved the scroll around to get everything in frame.

“Oooh veeery cute!” Willow cooed, having said that about every room his apartment contained.

“It’s small but I mean it’s just me,” said Hunter, to which he promptly received a peck to the nose by a certain palisman. “Ow! Sorry, heh, I mean it’s just us.”

“Hehe looks like someone is hoping you’ll be making her namesake in that kitchen, huh?” Willow laughed as Waffles chirped happily in agreement, nuzzling her image on the scroll as though Willow could pet the Palisman that way. Clover buzzed happily atop her friend, greeting her friend.

“I bought all the ingredients in town this morning,” laughed Hunter, scratching under her beak. “Luckily Camila sent plenty of pans and pots and plates, oh gee I hope I have enough room for all of them.”

“Well you love making shelves so I’m sure it won’t be much of an issue,” said Willow. “Show me your room! I wanna see how the quilt looks on your bed!”

“Oh yeah! That rooms the best part!” Said Hunter as he teleported to the room. The camera was shakey as Hunter tried to linger one part before excitedly moving onto the next. “Ta-da!” He said proudly, showing off the decorating he had done in just a few days.

“Oh wow, Hunter! It looks great!”

“Right? I still have to find a place for the rest of the photos, but my desk had enough space for our championship one and grom and graduation and-.”

“Is that my yearbook photo?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yeah I guess it is.” Hunter said nervously, going out of frame so she couldn’t see him blush. “Is that okay? That I framed it? I know you gave it to me cause you get them in a package and I found this frame that matched the color of your eyes and you just look so happy and it-.”

“Hunter! It’s fine!” She insisted with a giggle. “I just thought it was funny because…” she put the scroll down for a moment before returning with a wide smile. “I have yours framed too!”

“Really?” Hunter marveled at the image of himself, hair slick as he presented his best posture, donning his cosmic frontier cosplay beneath a suit jacket Darius had bought him.

“Yeah,” she said, unaware of the joy swelling in his chest. “Isn’t that funny?”

“Heh, funny yeah…” he wanted to say it was romantic, but he didn’t know if that ship had sailed. Now it was a coincidence, a fun thing in common between friends. It was nice, it was sweet, maybe in another life it was romantic.

“So the move has been good so far?” Willow asked, making herself comfier at her desk.

“Yeah, the trip was fine and all my stuff came just in time and I didn’t have much to unpack anyway,” Hunter went on. “I live close to the shops and didn’t get too lost when I went for groceries.

“Awh, proud of you,” Willow smiled. “It looks really cozy, Hunter. You picked a good place.”

“Thanks,” Hunter said with a small blush as he went to lay on his bed. “I don’t know how much free time I’ll have when we get started but there seems to be some cool stuff to check out.”

“Well I expect full updates on our calls,” smiled Willow. “I want to know about all your adventures.”

“I don’t think going to the store is considered an adventure,” said Hunter.

“It was when we’re in the human realm,” she pointed out and he couldn’t argue with her there. “But you don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t want to, I guess I just thought hearing about it all would make me miss you a little less.”

Hunter was still coming to terms with what it meant to be missed. It wasn’t layered with worry or paranoia or distrust, but everyone told him how much they would miss him. He thought it meant after awhile, that they just got used to having him around but Willow missed him already. He didn’t understand it but at the same time he did because he missed her. It was so odd, missing someone and knowing where they were and even still being able to see them and talk to them. He wondered if she missed him in the same way.

“I miss you too,” he said sheepishly, not knowing what else to say. “Will you… tell me about your day too? Even if… nothing happens, I like knowing what you’re up to I guess.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “I’m glad you’re settling in okay. Luz said the photos Darius showed her made it seem really small.”

“I think I like small,” said Hunter, laying on his side. “It’s easier for it to feel full. It’s weird because for like most of my life I basically lived alone, I mean it was a big castle but it was pretty empty most of the time. Then I guess after being in the human realm I got so used to having people around it’ll be weird living alone now.”

“Well soon everyone there will see how smart and funny you are and you’ll be hosting wild parties in no time,” Willow assured.

“Won’t be much of a party without you,”

“Awhh, well that’s true,” she said with a giggle. “But nothing will compare to the party we’ll have for you when you get home.”

He smiled. “So what time is it there?”

“Uh, it’s almost midnight.”

“What? I thought I was three hours ahead of you.”

“Nope, other way around.”

“Willow, you have a morning practice tomorrow! You need to get to bed!”

“I knoooow,” she groaned playfully. “But I wanted to talk to you.”

“Why? I don’t have anything exciting to say,” he chuckled.

“Well then I’ll talk to my girl Waffles,” she joked.

“Waffles is still on Isles time and she is in her bed” said Hunter, switching to authoritative mode. “Just like you should be.”

“Oooh, so strict,” Willow pretended to act betrayed. “C’mon Hunter I’m not even… tired.”

“Did you just hold back a yawn?” Hunter accused, his face way too close to the screen.

“Nooooo,” she lied, hiding her face from the phone as she was about to do it again.

“Willow!”

“Okay, fine!” she surrendered. “But I want a full apartment tour tomorrow!”

“Deal,” he agreed, excited to have a mission. He was even more excited to hear about her first practice, he knew she was going to be amazing. “Talk to you later?”

“It’s a date,” she smiled, as she could feel sleep starting to claim her. But she still didn’t want to hang up.

Hunter chuckled to himself, hearing a small snore escape her as she battled to keep her scroll upright in her hand. She was adorable.

“Willow… do you really think I can do this?” he said softly, not expecting her to hear.

“Wha-?’ she sputtered, suddenly stirring. “Hunter, of course you can.”

“I just… I dunno,” he sighed, embarrassed he had woken her up after telling her she should be sleeping. “Sorry, it’s nothing. It’s dumb, I’m dumb, I just-.”

“It’s not and you’re not,” she said firmly. “Now tell me what you mean or I’ll stay up all night.”

“Okay, fine,” he chuckled, gently petting Waflle’s sleeping head. “I just mean… it’s only been a few days and I already feel kind of homesick.”

“Oh, Hunter, that's normal,” Willow sweetly insisted. “I think we all missed you before you even left.” “Really?”

“Really,” she smiled. “I mean, Luz and Gus have already sent you like five care packages, you’ll probably get them before you’re even done unpacking. It’s a big change, you’re by yourself in a new place doing something big. It’s a lot, it can be scary; anyone would feel the same. But you’re gonna do great things, we’re all so, so proud of you. You’re really brave.”

“Really? You think I’m… brave?”

“Hunter, that can’t possibly be news to you,” she said as she lovingly rolled her eyes. “If I list all the examples I’ll definitely be up all night. I promise, Latisa is lucky to have you and you’re gonna love it there.”

“Thanks Willow,” Hunter said. “I guess I just need to give it time.”

“You’ll be back on the Isles before you know it,” said Willow, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Just 362 days,” Hunter said fondly.

“Just 362 days,” Willow agreed with a yawn. Neither wanted to be the first to hang up so they laid beside their scroll on opposite sides of the world until they fell asleep.

——

“Captain!” Hunter nearly shouted as he answered the call after half a ring.

“Hunter, I’m not the Captain of this team,” she giggled, making herself comfortable on the bleachers. She was certain she was the last one there, the sky behind her turning and comforting shade of pink.

“Pshh, you’ll always be my Captain,” he said proudly as he continued.“Gus and I were video chatting the whole time! You looked beautiful, Willow! You guys did great!”

“We still lost though.”

“Yeah but in double overtime! You didn’t make it easy on them! And you were the top scorer! That’s amazing!”

“Thanks I-.” She took a closer look at her screen. “Hunter, did you paint your face?”

“Yeah! It’s tradition.” He said simply. She smiled and took a screenshot of the perfect moment, his smile was wide and toothy and she got the display in its full glory.

“You dork,” she said with a smile as she quickly made the photo her scroll background. “I love it.”

“Thank you, I did learn from the best after all,” he said. “So how do you feel?”

“Well tired mostly,” she sighed. “I’m bummed that we didn’t win but I’m proud of the game I played. A few players on the other team stopped me after to say how impressed they were with my moves and the coach said that I’m starting the next game.”

“Any plans to celebrate?”

“Well the team usually goes out for dinner afterwards.”

“So why aren’t you there?”

“Cause I’d rather talk to you,” she said simply.

“Willow, this was your first game! You should be celebrating with your team!” He said. “Don’t let me keep you from team bonding, you always said it was just as important as running drills.”

“Yeah but…”

“But what?” He asked, concerned.

“I just…” she didn’t know how to say it wasn’t the same without him in a way she wasn’t sure would make him feel guilty. And he was so happy and proud of her and she didn’t want him to feel bad about that. She didn’t have to tell him how badly she wanted him to be there in person, how she wanted to celebrate with him. But she was just as proud of him, and she knew they were both doing new things and she would need to bully him into going out to make friends where he was eventually. She needed to lead by example.

“We’ll hang out in 333 days.” she said.

“333 days.” he agreed.

—-

“A ball?” Willow repeated with a gasp, unable to beehive how Hunter mentioned his evening plans so casually. “Oooh how fancy!”

“Yeah I guess,” he said, off screen as he finished getting ready, adding on some last minute additions to his outfit. “I mean it’s technically a fundraiser for the organization and we have to dress up but I don’t know if everyone calls it a ball.”

Willow gasped in excitement. “Oh! Are you wearing a suit? Show me, show me! I wanna see!”

He tried to suppress his smile at her excitement as he adjusted the scroll on his desk and walked into frame so she could see the whole outfit. He stood there just kind of gestured to himself, not sure if he should do a pose or something. It wasn’t a suit he would normally pick out, it was more classic and simple but Darius had approved it. They had compromised on a dark green velvet jacket highlighted with a signature gold bow tie and matching cumberbun. He pressed the white shirt himself and added a floral lining to the inside, half because having a sewing project calmed him and half because he had impulsively bought the fabric because it reminded him of the girl on his scroll. Either way, it put him at ease. It was comfortable and only for one night. He stuck his hands out to the side and gave them a little shake and let out a small: “Ta-da?”

“Oh dang,” Willow said under her breath, as though she didn’t realize he could hear her as she took in the sight of him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Uh, heh um y-you look really nice Hunter” she said, catching herself. She couldn’t help but think he looked like a spy or a prince.

Or a groom.

She had been taken back by the suit he had worn to grom, but this was more fitted and styled. It balanced his professionalism and silliness perfectly, making the sharp features of his face even sharper and the soft brown of his eyes seemed to shimmer like new copper.

“Really? Are you sure?” He asked, still uncertain as he fiddled with the sleeve. “I dunno, it feels kinda snug and my hair is growing again and I tried to tie it back but this one part keeps sticking out in the front-.”

“Hunter, trust me you look great.”

“Really?”

“Really really,” she giggled. “You look… hot.” She said it as though the response overwhelmed her.

“Hmm? Really?” He said, his hand darting to his forehead. “That’s funny, I don’t feel warm. Is my face flushed?”

“No Hunter that’s not what I- “ Willow giggled nervously, finding it necessary to clarify despite her flusteredness. “I mean you look very attractive. Very handsome.”

“Oh!” He gulped, the directness catching him off guard. “Oh, well thank you. So do you.”

“What? Me? Pssh, I’m not even dressed up, you goof,” she giggled.

“Well you don’t need to be to look attractive,” he fumbled.

“Well thank you,” she said, her eyes darting to her tiny box on the screen. She was in pajamas and her hair was a frizzy mess but she knew Hunter’s compliment wasn’t just an automated response. “Are you excited?”

“I’m actually a little nervous,” he admitted with a chuckle. “They want me to give a speech about what we’ll do with the money we raise and the hall it’s at is huge and it’s kind of a big deal I guess.”

“Hunter, that's so amazing,” Willow said sweetly. “I’m really proud of you, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah I know,” he said with a lopsided smile that made Willow’s heart spin. “Thanks Willow.”

“And I know it’s a big important serious event and stuff but don’t forget to have some fun, okay? For me.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Good,” she said, readjusting her scroll so she could lay on her stomach, wishing they could talk all night. “So do you have a date for this thing?”

“A-a date? No! Wait, am I supposed to bring one?” He asked in a small panic.

“Oh no I mean you don’t have to but you could,” she clarified. “Ya know, if you wanted to. I mean, I was kind of just wondering if you were uh going on dates or meeting people there like that.”

Wow Willow, reeal smooth she mentally groaned.

“Oh, yeah uh n-no not really,” he replied.

“Oh,” said Willow, surprised. “Just… too busy?”

“Yeah, uh that’s why,” he stuttered as he shyly looked at the real reason, twirling her hair on her finger.

“Oh too bad,” said Willow unconvincingly. “Well, I hope you still have fun tonight though.”

“It’d be more fun if you were here,” he sighed, unable to help but fidget with his tie. Willow wished she could reach through the screen and fix it for him. He sighed as he accepted it was as good as it was gonna get. “I wish you could be my date.”

He said it without thinking. Willow knew it wasn’t technically a real invitation, but her heart skipped again knowing he genuinely meant it.

“Me too,” she said, not giving him a chance to realize his slip up and try to cover for it. Her new favorite movie was Hunter wearing this suit absentmindedly complimenting her.

“You wanna know something funny?” He asked with a small chuckle as he tried to flatten his hair.

“Sure.”

“The only time I’ve ever asked anyone on a date is when I asked you to Grom.”

She smiled and shifted to her side. “Why is that funny?”

“Because I didn’t even finish asking you because I was so nervous,” he laughed. “So I’ve technically never asked someone on a date before.”

At the time they hadn’t officially labeled the outing as a date, but that’s what they each hoped it was. They were a bundle of cliche nerves and jitters as they eased into the evening, making googly eyes at each other as they worked up the nerve to slow dance. Willow wished that real life had more opportunities where it was expected to slow dance as she thought she could stay forever swaying in Hunter’s arms as he tried to hum along with the song. She made a mental vow to take him dancing the moment he was back in town.

“Well I still said yes,” she teased.

“Thank Titan you did,” said Hunter, wondering if it were possible if he’d have the nerve to ask her to go with him tonight face to face. He used a grand evening and obligation as an excuse, trying to build up to asking her on a date that wasn’t particularly special except in company. But he knew any evening would be special if it involved her.

“Let me know if you ever wanna try again.”

“Try what?”

“Asking someone on a date,” she said. “This time I’ll let you finish talking before I say yes.”

“Uh…” He tried to remember how to breathe. A knock on the door told him he was out of time to think of something clever. Darius had flown in to help with the fundraiser and he knew if he walked on them chatting he’d have a comment that Hunter wouldn’t be able to combat so before he answered the door he offered their usual sign off. “300 days.”

“300 days.” She said back, watching him fumble to hang up, his face red as a tomato.

His scroll buzzed, with a call from Willow. This wouldn’t normally be unusual, except for the fact that it was rather late which meant it was even later where she was. It was Willow’s 21st birthday and as someone who had only recently learned the importance of birthdays, it pained him not to be there with her to celebrate. They had talked earlier between her fathers taking her out to lunch and then she was getting ready for Amity and Luz to pick her up for their own celebration. She opened the gift he had sent her and couldn’t stop gushing about how much she loved the gold earrings he had found in a hidden shop in town. She had implied that she’d be occupied after they hung up and of course he was always happy to talk with her but the timing still seemed odd.

He propped himself up, and turned on his light as to not let on that he had been sleeping, not wanting her to think she was bothering him.

“Hey captian, happy birth-.”

“Ahhhh! Hi Hunter!” Willow exclaimed with joy as her bright face filled his screen. Her makeup was smudged and she was sitting under her covers in her favorite party dress. He could tell she had an eventful night.

“Hi Willow,” he tried not to laugh, finding her to be extra adorable. “Happy birthday.”

“Thaaaank you good sir,” she giggled. “Oh my Titan, do you know what’s funny? Some blood can taste the same but this one when you drink it you feel different?”

“Oh yeah, Luz told me Eda got you spiked Apple blood,” Hunter chuckled.”I take it you’re a fan?”

“Oh yeah, it’s super ‘licious,” Willow beamed. “It’s like… candy liquid? It makes me feel… everything , like everything is funny and fun and all my friends are friends.”

“I’m glad you had a good time, captain,” Hunter said with a smile. Her lips were stained from the sweet drink and the birthday crown Amity had got her sat askew on her head, her curls covered in glitter that clung to her skin.“Tell me about your night.”

“Weeeeell,” she began with excitement. “We went to one place and everyone bought me drinks and then we went to another place and everyone bought me drinks and then we went to another place and everyone-.”

“Bought you drinks?”

“And nachos!” She added with joy. “And I felt so bubbly and spinny and then I thought about you and I got sad.”

“You got sad?” He asked, unable to hide the worry in his tone.

“Yeah because I just missed you and stuff,” she said with a sigh. “They played a song that reminded me of the one we danced to at Grom so it made me think about you and then I thought about the last time I saw you, which was the night we kissed...”

He tensed up at the mention. They had never brought up that night, at least not that specific moment. For a while Hunter was convinced that he had imagined the whole thing, and didn’t dare bring it up to see for certain in case there was a reason she hadn’t mentioned it. Eventually, enough time had gone by that talking about it didn’t seem like an option but the causal way Willow brought it up made it clear she remembered it very very well.

“And that made you… sad?” he nearly hesitated to ask.

“Yeah,” she pouted overdramatically. “Cause that was the last party we had and I didn’t get to throw you a birthday party and now it’s my birthday and you had to work.”

“Well knowing you had a great time makes me happy,” he said with a small chuckle. “And don’t worry about me, you guys gave me a great party.”

“Mhmm it was a really great kiss too” she said dreamily before erupting into a fit of giggles. Hunter saw his face turn bright red in the bottom corner of his screen. He wasn’t sure how to emote that the feeling was mutual without his voice cracking, so he just gently nodded.

Willow didn’t call attention to his awkwardness as she continued in a dramatic whisper. “Do you know what my birthday wish was?”

“What?”

“That we kiss again,” she whispered softer, before covering her mouth with her hand to try and soften her giggles as well.

“Really? I mean you… did you really use your wish in that?”

“Well you know Isles tradition is you get a wish for each year,” said Willow. “But I used a few of them. But shhh! Don’t tell Amity I told you, she doesn’t know I stole my scroll back to call you.”

“Why doesn’t Amity want you to call me?”

“Cause I’m engebriyated,” Willow mispronounced with confidence. “And they think I’m gonna tell you things I wouldn’t want to tell you but I tell you everything so what do they know?”

“Willow I… I think maybe they’re right,” he said gently. “I mean, I always want to talk to you but-.”

“But what?” She said, turning onto her side. “I’m gonna tell you my secrets? I don-I don’t have secrets. It’s not even a secret that I think you’re cute, like that is fact. Issa fact and Amity is a hater hating. Very rude on my birthday of her, hello.”

“Is Amity still there?”

“She and Luz are downstairs cleaning and they think I’m sleeping but I’m noooooot,” she whispered, having reminded herself she was supposed to be in stealth mode. “I mean, they’re probably not even cleaning, they're probably kissing. Everyone is kissing on my birthday but me, what even?”

Hunter tried desperately to change the subject. “So uh, did you guy have any cake or did you-,”

“Have you kissed anyone else?” She interjected, clearly in no state to notice a hint.

“Uh… no.” He said simply.

“Since then or ever?”

“Uh, both?”

“How come?” She said munching on her chips that she seemed to pull out of nowhere. “You’re a good kisser.”

“Am… I?” He said both flattered and shocked, he wondered if he should message Amity to let her know Willow got her scroll back. He didn’t want to ruin her day but he was worried she wasn’t in her right mind.

“Yeah, you’re like… hmm,” she couldn’t bring herself to finish as the words she wanted to say flooded her with giggles. “Pshhh, you know.”

“Do…I?” He asked nervously. “Willow, uh are you sure you’re up for talking… about this? I-I mean I don’t want you to say anything you don’t-.”

“Hey hey hey now,” she cut him off. “It’s my birthday and I wanna talk to you. It it illeeeeeeegal to not talk to me on my birthday. I was born today, Hunter.”

“Yes Captain,” he agreed with a soft smile. Hunter didn’t drink on his birthday, it felt silly to be the only one and so he wanted to wait until the next birthday to celebrate with them.

Which just happened to be Willow’s.

“Are you happy I was booorn?” She slurred with a delighted smile, resting her cheek on her hand.

“Yes, very much so,” he said, mirroring her.

“Hmm, I’m happy you were born too,” she cooed.

“Umm…” he thought about correcting her, but bringing up the grimwalker lore tended to complicate things and she seemed like she was not in a state for complications and technicalities, she seemed more inclined… to flirt. “Thank you.”

“Soooo?”

“Sooo… what?”

“Am I a good kisser?”

“Oh!” He nearly dropped his phone as though it was on fire. “I mean I… well I’d say you’re… you know, you’re very-.”

“Willow! I can hear you!” Amity’s voice came from the other side of the door. “Did you take your scroll from my purse?”

“You’ll never take me alive coppers!” Willow hissed at the door as she buried herself in her blankets.

“Who are you talking to? You were supposed to drink water and go to bed!” Amity said, entering the room.

“Hunter, when you come back we have to get nachos at the place,” she managed to say as Amity summoned an abomination to snatch her phone. “They have different cheeses! Hunter, did you know?”

The call went blurry and muffled as Amity picked up the scroll, and he could see Luz in the back trying to get the crown untangled from Willow’s hair.

“Forget anything she said!” Amity demanded dramatically. “We specifically told her not to call you after all the Apple bloods she had. She kept sneaking drinks.”

“I’m a sneaky sneakster,” Willow giggled.

Luz patted her head endearingly. “Aww, you sure are, birthday queen.”

“Luz, don’t encourage her!”

“We don’t take orders from you!” Willow replied dramatically. “Hunter, tell her I outrank her!”

“Um… I don’t…”

“Willow, you specifically asked me to make sure you didn’t…” she dropped the scroll and the rest of the conversation became muffled, but he could make out the general sound of Willow’s zealous rebellion.

“Um, Willow will call you back when she’s… had some water,” said Luz, picking up the scroll and doing her best to angle it away from her best friend and girl friend.

“Wait! We have to say our thing!” Willow called. “I have it on my calendar! Luz, show him! We say the numbers left!”

“Awww that’s so cute!” Luz gushed, her eyes wide. “You guys are so cute. Okay lemme see oh did you put a little heart next to the number?”

“It’s 252 days,” Hunter said, not knowing how else to help. “Eh, well I guess 251 days now, since now it’s the next day, heh.”

“Hmm, just 251 days,” Willow hummed with a giggle. She offered him a wink from the back of the scene and blew a small kiss before Luz managed to hang up, half enjoying the exchange and half feeling like she should be helping Amity to restrain the birthday girl.

He had thought about it, he had dreamed about it many times. He imagined her turning around, maybe right after she blew out the candles to see him standing there with a bouquet. Or she’d say she wanted to go dance and he’d tap her on the shoulder and offer her his hand like he just happened to be in the neighborhood. It would be memorable and perfect and romantic.

But with the time it would take to get there with the time he’d have to be back, he’d only be able to stay for maybe an hour. It would be worth it, to see her in person for even a moment. To have her rush into his arms and hold her tight and spin her around and-

but he also didn’t want to make her night about him, knowing she’d insist on seeing him off and take her leaf away from her own party. Not to mention he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to leave her a second time.

“Did you get the flowers I sent?” Willow asked excitedly, still taking off her jacket, having called him the moment she walked through the door.

“Oh, yes! I did! Thank you!” Hunter said, angling the camera so the flowers were in frame, sitting on his desk in a vase she knew he had gotten just for them, a congratulations for successfully planting enough palistrom trees to begin the process for the land to be declared a national park.

“Is something wrong?” Willow asked, detecting a hesitation in his voice. She hoped he wasn’t working too hard (or that he didn’t like the arrangement).

“Huh? Oh, no! No, of course not!”

“Hunter, you know you can tell me,” she said, knowing there was something more in his voice.

“Well, one of the interns brought in the flowers and said they were beautiful, which they were, they are! And they asked if they were hybrids and then asked if they were from my girlfriend and I said yes and I meant it as the answer to the first question but they asked the second one so quickly and then they wanted to see a picture of you and I admittedly had one in my pocket and by then it was too late to backtrack, I mean in like from a social standpoint, so now a lot of people at work think that you’re my girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’m fine with that.” She said after a moment of silence.

Hunter was taken back by her response, he had expected her to laugh at the predicament or offer to help him with a scheme to change the subject but it almost seemed like she was a little happy about it. Maybe he had explained it wrong?

“But, ya know, these aren’t random people I see out one night for an hour and then never again they’re people I work with everyday.”

“So you… don’t want them to think I’m your girlfriend?”

There was no right way to answer that was there? “I don’t want you to think I’m lying to people about you,” he said. “You know if it ever came up.”

“So if Amity had sent you flowers and they had thought she was your girlfriend, would you have corrected them?”

“Well yeah I’d say she was my sister’s girlfriend,” he said. “But Amity wouldn’t send me flowers, she-,”

“So you’d correct them because there’s absolutely no way she would ever be your girlfriend even if she wasn’t dating Luz, right?”

“Right.”

“So like…” she fiddled a piece of hair, her hair finally growing back enough to twirl as she tried to decide how direct to be . “Would you say that about me?”

“That you’re Luz’s girlfriend?”

“No,” she couldn’t help but chuckle. “That there’s no way I could ever be your girlfriend.”

She didn’t think she could be more direct, she couldn’t help but be obvious in the fact that she wanted to know. She suddenly really wanted to hear him say, feeling a spontaneous impatience.

“Well that’s… that’s not really up to me is it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… if I would like for you to be my girlfriend I could like it alot like I could really really like the idea but it doesn’t matter if you don’t like it.”

She couldn’t help but be impressed at the way he managed to flip what she had thought was unflippable.

Well I think I do like it, she said in her head. Oh she could do it, she could do it right now. It was all set up, it was waiting, it was perfect. It was bold and risky and oh it was right there and she could just-.

“I’m honestly surprised they believed me,” Hunter continued before Willow could vocalize her thoughts. “I mean…they’re always saying how illogical a long distance relationship is, they’re always giving the soil expert a hard time and his partner only lives two hours away.”

“So are you saying they’re trying to break us up?” She asked with dramatic gasp, playing into the bit.

He laughed, amazed at her ability to somehow always know the exact right thing to say.

“I mean, if we’re being honest it’s not the first time something like that has happened,” WIllow pointed out with a laugh. The amount of times Darius or her dads or even Camila slipped up and referred to them as romantic partners. Sometimes it was playful teasing, but most times it was a genuine slip up.

“Oh, Luz is inviting Amity over for dinner and Vee is making Masha so why don’t you ask Willow over too? Make it a triple date, mijo.”

“Tell Hunter he did amazing at the match, petal. It’s so nice to have another flyer derby player in the family. Imagine how talented your kids would be!”

“Little prince, your girlfriend is in the front room waiting for you.”

“Yeah,” Hunter agreed. Everytime they brushed it off, shared a small laugh about it but never really addressed it further. They stopped correcting people because they really didn’t mind and secretly they sort of liked the implication.

“On my birthday there was this guy who wouldn’t leave me alone when we were trying to dance and he only considered letting up when I said I had a boyfriend, and Gus gave us those charms to make our scrolls look like phones and you're my background so… I kinda said it was you.”

“Oh, well that’s fine I mean that guy should've left you alone regardless but I’m happy to help, indirectly I guess.”

“And then I was kind of… having fun talking about my boyfriend and it made me miss you which made me talk about you more and it just kinda… got away from me.”

“So you… remember that night then?”

“I mean, bits and pieces are fuzzy and some are kind of like in slow motion but yeah, for the most part.”

“So… you remember calling me then?” he asked, his voice getting high.

She sucked her teeth. “Yeah,” she winced. “Oof, not my best moment. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable with that. Also sorry I didn’t apologize sooner, I guess I was just kind of embarrassed.”

“Oh please don’t be! You didn’t wake me up or anything, and I was planning on calling you anyway but I didn’t want to interrupt your night and I-.”

“I mean, I meant more about… what I said.”

“Oh… oh,” he suddenly connected the dots of what she meant. Of course, he had dwelled on that part of the call, wondering if he should’ve responded differently. But more so he wondered if she brought it up because she had just remembered it or if it had been on her mind the way it was always on his. “It’s um… y-you don’t have anything to feel embarrassed about. Please don’t. I mean, I-I don’t think it’s.. I mean it was…”

“So you’re not embarrassed that we kissed?”

“Embarrassed is not the word I would use,” he assured her. “I don’t know what words I would use, actually. But… I have thought about it.”

“Okay,” said Willow, relieved she wasn’t alone. “So… why haven’t we talked about it?”

“I guess I… didn’t know if it was something we could talk about?” He winced.

“Really?”

“I mean, you didn’t bring it up so I wasn’t sure if I should or how I would or what I’d say or-.”

“Hunter, it’s okay I get it,” she assured him. “I mean, I guess I was kind of in disbelief, so much was happening and I didn’t know how to process it all or maybe that was me processing? And eventually enough time passed that I didn’t know how to bring it up.”

“Did you… want to bring it up?”

“I mean… I like talking to you about things I’m thinking about but how do I do that when I’m thinking about you?”

“Oh, heh well I… I think about you too,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck trying to seem casual.

“Oh yeah?” She asked with a smile, a flower emerging from behind her ear. “Do you… think we think the same things?”

“Um I…” he cleared his throat as he tried to summon something both suave and assuring. “…hope so.”

“Okay…” Willow sighed, trying to figure out how to move forward when it seemed like they were both worried about being too forward. She knew how she felt and she was so so sure that he felt the same way about her but if not… it was a harder conversation to hang up from. “So how did you feel? After we kissed.”

“I felt… like I was about to wake up?”

“Hmmm…” Willow processed the comment as a mischievous smile overtook her face. “So you’ve dreamt about it before have you?”

A blush took over his face in record time. “No! I mean, no that’s not what I meant! I mean… I just mean it was… t-that it didn’t feel real. I don’t have any other feeling to compare it to really.”

“In a good way?”

“In a very good way,” he said with a breathy chuckle.

“Well that’s… also kind of exactly how I felt too.”

“Oh,”

“So if we both felt the same way about it then I guess we know that we feel the same way about each other,” she said. “Maybe a way we don’t feel about anyone else?”

“I think… maybe we do?” He said, uncertain about what was happening but certain he knew what he wanted to be happening. It was a big thing to just assume, especially over a call where it could be days until they could sort things out and then in the meantime he would speculate and escalate things and have no idea if they were still on the same page or if he had too much or not enough and then there was no telling how things would-

“Hunter, I like you,” Willow said bluntly, a thick blush suggesting she had blurted it in an attempt to drown out her own matching spiraling monologue.

Hunter’s heart stopped. The world froze. The air shifted. Everything went slow and fast at the same time.

“What?” he dared to ask, needing to make sure he hadn’t misheard or imagined what she had said.

“I like you,” Willow repeated with a laugh, as though it got easier to say somehow. “Romantically,” she made sure to clarify, finding herself suddenly giddy. “And I liked you for a long time, even before we kissed,” she added as though reading his mind. “This is probably not the best time to tell you since you still have 200 days left over there but I‘ve just waited so long and not being around has just made me realize how much I really like you and that I want you in my life and I want to be more than friends. So… yeah. I like you, Hunter.”

How could so much dodging and planning and second guessing and confusion just be surrendered in one moment? How was Willow so effortlessly wonderful that she had so easily done the thing that he had only ever accidentally dreamed about doing but nothing ever seemed good enough? She had done it so casually, so minimally, so in a way that he would never consider good enough and yet it was beyond perfect?

She had removed any reason

And then his scroll died.

He paced the room as his scroll charged, his eyes wanting for the light indicating it had enough power to make a call. He needed what he said next to be perfect, profound, romantic, and memorable. He was right at the edge of something and he didn’t want Willow to think he had any doubts and didn’t want her to take his forgetfulness to charge his device as a sign that they weren’t meant to be. On the other side of the world was the most wonderful girl he had ever met and she just told him she had romantic feelings for him and fate had cut him off before he could tell her he felt the same way.

The light went off.

He nearly leapt to the scroll, muscle memory typing in Willow’s information as the request was sent. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing to ease into his prepared series of points to work up to the big question as Willow accepted the call. Her bright, bubbly face filled his screen.

“Hi Hunter!

“Hi Willow canIbeyourboyfriend?”

He hands shot to cover his mouth, mortified at his own betrayal to his preparedness. All that rehearsing just to begin with the end.

She thought about saying “do you wanna be” but she knew he’d say “do you want me to be” which would lead to “do you want me to want to be” and they’d dance around it until the end time so instead she said what she wanted the answer to be:

“Yes.”

“Oh,” said Hunter softly, looking as though he had been broken in the most gentle way. She saw the tears form in his eyes, held up by the reach of his smile. “Okay cool.”

“I also think it’s cool.” She said, trying not to erupt into a fit of giggles.

“So… I like you romantically and you know that and you also like me…”

“…romantically,” she happily finished for him.

“So that means… you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m your girlfriend.” She confirmed with a nod.

“I’m your boyfriend.”

“You’re my boyfriend,” she confirmed sweetly, loving how it sounded in stereo.

“I’m your boyfriend,” he said, still in a daze. “I’m your boyfriend.”

“Yeah,” she said, trying to conceal her giddiness as small yellow flowers overtook the top of her head. “Who woulda thought, huh?”

“Oh, I’ve thought about it many times,” Hunter chuckled, then caught himself. “Oh, not that I- wait, no it’s okay that you know. Yeah, I have thought about it. I’ve always thought you were great I… I’m sorry I don’t think I know how I’m supposed to act now.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve… I’ve never been a boyfriend before,” he said. “And being your boyfriend that’s like… a really big deal.”

“Yeah? And why is that?”

“Because you’re a really big deal,” he said, matter-of-factly. “You're really amazing and you’re one of my favorite people and you’re so beautiful and smart and strong and funny and I-.” He looked up at the screen at the soft expression she offered him as she absorbed his words, and those soft green eyes made him feel lighter as his worries left his mouth on delicate breath. “-I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Have I told you how cute you are when you’re worried?”

Hunter just blushed and offered her a chuckle and felt safe and at ease at the way her smile grew at his reaction. She managed to erase and validate his nerves just by looking at him.

“So… what’s next?” He asked.

“Hmm… I dunno…”

“Should we… tell Gus?”

“Oh my gosh yes! Add him! Add him!”

“So…I take it, you got my letter?” She asked with a smirk, opening the chat to see Hunter greeting her with a goofy smile covered with tiny kiss marks.

He simply giggled in response and gave her a small nod and she was delighted that her gift was so well received. It was commonly known as a ‘kiss-o-gram,’ a red envelope that flew to the recipient and once it found them covered them in air kisses the sender had blown into the envelope. Most people sent one or two but Willow sent one for every day he had been gone.

“Amity sends them to Luz all the time,” Willow explained, unable to suppress her smile. “And I just… wanted to send you one for Bleeding Hearts day. Is that okay?”

“Tehee yeah I-I think yeah I-, uh um thanks heh-.” Hunter giggled.

“So…” Willow took a deep breath and tucked her hair behind her ears as she sat up straighter. “Hunter, will you be my bleeding heart?”

Hunter nodded dreamily, a bit in a daze. “O-oh m-me? You want me? Me?”

“Yes you,” she giggled. “Unless, someone else has already asked you to-.”

“No!” He said louder than he meant to. “I mean, no they haven’t. But even if someone did I’d say no. Unless it was you! I… was actually going to ask you. Or I was going to try and ask you.”

“Well, great mind thinks alike then,” she declared happily. They had only been boyfriend and girlfriend a couple of days, and navigating the difference in status long distance was a unique challenge. But Willow was determined to take every opportunity to remind the blushing boy how much she absolutely adored him.

“Guess so,” he chuckled. “I’d… be honored to be your bleeding heart.”

“I had a feeling,” she smiled, setting down her scroll so her full outfit was in frame.

“You got my package then too I see,” Hunter said softly, seeing her in a green sweatshirt he had lovingly adorned with hearts and flowers. A project he had been admittingly working on long before they were official.

“Oh? You mean this old thing?” She said cheekily, hugging herself to feel the sweater’s warmth as though he had stitched sunshine in the lining. “You like it?”

He chuckled, finding it ironic that she was asking him.

“Yes, I do.”

“Thanks, my boyfriend made it,” she said giddily and he somehow knew she had been doing this bit all day.

He couldn’t wait to see it on her in person.

182 days. Halfway there.

Their calls became more infrequent and shorter. They started to text their updates, each line littered with hearts and words of affirmation. They both had growing responsibilities, Hunter called on to consult on palisman carving and care and Willow became acting captain of her team when the acting captain was injured, not to mention she was placed in an advanced plant care class that put her on the fast track to graduate early.

But no matter how busy they both got, they always managed to send each other the numbers left until they saw each other again.

Distance did not deter their hearts from growing fonder every day.

At some point they tried counting the hours instead of the days, and then the minutes to see if it made the time seem shorter. The number got longer but each check in seemed like more time had passed.

“Bye dad! Bye papa!” Willow sang as she rushed down the stairs. She didn’t wait for a response before continuing, so excited to be in a rush. “Hunter gets back today and I wanna be the first one to see him! I have something I need to tell him and I have to tell him in person and I can’t wait any longer because I-.”

She stopped when she turned and saw it was not her dads who were sitting at the table.

“Hey there Captain,” Hunter said with a gentle wave, holding a bouquet in his lap. How long had he been there?

“Hunter,” she breathed as though he was a ghost, her hands subconsciously smoothing her dress and her hair like none of her knew what to do. “W-what are you-.”

“I got an earlier ship back,” he said, slowly standing up. “I wanted to surprise you, I guess I just couldn’t wait to-“

She cut him off by wrapping him in a tight secure hug, curling her arms around his waist as she buried her face in his chest. It took little time for him to respond in grand, wrapping his arms around her and holding her like she’d float away. She smelled like a greenhouse, a smell that he had experienced everyday working on the palistrom trees that dwindled the intensity of missing her. Oh but nothing compared to the real thing. Her natural warmth that made him feel like he was bathed in sunshine, oh it made actual sunshine seem dull.

“Did you get taller?” She asked, muffled in his shirt.

“Hmm, no I think you got shorter,” he smiled, resting his chin atop her head.

“No, I’m the perfect height,” she chuckled, holding him closer as her glasses pressed into him.

“I can’t argue with that,” he laughed, lifting her up and spinning her around.

He put her down and stepped back to look at her. “Wow,” he marveled. She looked the same as she did through a screen but having her in person was like living in a dream. He had so many things he wanted to say but he settled on something obvious. “Your hair got longer.”

“So did yours,” she said, reaching up to trace the shaggy blonde edges. “Want me to cut it again?”

“Whatever you think will look best,” he smiled, placing his hand over hers.

She smiled and leapt up to press a firm kiss to his cheek, pulling him down to be closer to her.

“Um, there’s actually another reason I came back early,” he said, clearing his throat as she went to kiss his other cheek. “There’s… something I needed to say to you in person. I uh, well I thought about it a lot and I just… I couldn’t wait another day uh-.”

“I think… I think I know what you’re talking about,” she said brightly. “It sounds like I was going to surprise you at the station for the same reason cuz there’s something I wanna tell you too.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as he held his and gathered his courage. They spoke at the exact same time.

“I’m in love with you.”

“Will you marry me?”

She opened her eyes and saw he had gone down on one knee, his hands shaking as he presented her with a small dark green box, holding a simple yet brilliant ring.

She knew what this meant, what it was but still she could not help but be confused. “What?”

“I… I just realized how I felt about you because I missed you well. I realized that I missed you and it made it clear how I felt about you and how I feel about you and I… I thought this was…”

She struggled to catch her breath as she realized this had not been an impulsive or last minute decision.

“Wait I’m sorry, what did you say?” He asked

She got down on her knees to eye level with him.

“I said I love you,” she said, cradling his jaw in her hands. “And I’m guessing… this means you feel kinda similar, huh?”

“Yeah, well I guess…” he chuckled nervously, having been so nervous he hadn’t really gotten to look at her. “Well how could I not love you?”

She moved her arms around his neck. “Well I am pretty lovable I guess.”

“You are pretty and lovable,” he said.

“Well takes one to know one,” she giggled. “But I have to ask… about that?” She gestured to the ring. He knew from her tone that he might’ve skipped ahead a bit.

“I just… thought about you all the time and when I realized I loved you I guess I just figured that’s what people in love do. So I started making the ring because I… I love you Willow and I want to spend my life with you.”

There was no air left in her lungs.

“Oh Titan,” she said, falling forward to catch his lips in a kiss and knocking him to the ground. She covered his face in kiss marks, just as she had planned to do when she saw him. She finally managed to calm herself long enough to bring them both back up, delighted in the lipstick prints that decorated his love struck face. She sighed. “Oh I’ve waited so long to do that.”

“So um… I didn’t mess things up?’

“No you dork, you’re so sweet,” she said, cradling his precious face. “But I think it might be a little soon for that.”

“So are you saying you don’t wanna get married?” Hunter teased, not really considering it a rejection as her eyes assured him they thought the absolute world of him.

“Well maybe not quite yet,” said Willow. “But I really do love you and I’m not gonna lie, I have thought about marrying you more than once.” He couldn’t help but giggle like a fool, eager to hear more details. “But I mean it’s a really big step and there’s still so much we both have to do and you’ll be heading back soon and-.”

“Yeah, I guess I just got excited,” he chuckled.

“And I love that about you,” she said, booping his nose. “But we have plenty of time for that. And I kind of feel like we should maybe live together first.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re probably right.”

“So… why don’t we?”

“What?”

“Well, it’s the off season and I can do that training anywhere,” started Willow. “And I miiight have volunteered to help regrow palistrom trees in Latissa.”

“Really?”

“Really,” she said, matching his smile. “So I kind of need a place to stay.”

“You wanna stay with me? Really? I-I mean w-would you stay with me? If you want to?”

“I think that sounds great,” she said. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose-.”

“No! No, are you kidding?” Hunter practically shouted. “Please, I’d love it if you stayed with me. They’re moving me to a bigger place closer to the site so it’s perfect! A-and I’ll get to see you everyday? Willow, would you want to-?” As her answer, she pulled him in for a kiss and he eagerly returned her affection. A smile pressed against her own as his mind flooded with possibilities. Not wanting to completely break the kiss, his lips only parted from hers when he thought of something wonderful they could do together.

“And we can, *kiss* have movie nights and *kiss* Clover and waffles can play and we can *kiss* “go running in the morning and *kiss* I can make you breakfast and-.”

Willow pulled him in for a long kiss before settling her chin on his shoulder and hugging him tightly.

“I can’t wait,” she whispered.

He exhaled as he looked down at her. “Ya know, to be honest this was not how I thought this would go but it’s somehow better?”

“Heh, oh yeah,” Willow said looking down at the ring box sitting on the table. “Oh, it really is beautiful.”

“Thanks I… I’ve been working on it for awhile.”

“Do you think I could… try it on?”

“Y-yeah! Of course!” He sputtered. “I mean, it’s for you. You can still have it, if you want. For… whatever I guess.”

He had carded small flowers and vines to frame a jewel he had found in a market that reminded him of her eyes. She admired the way the peridot sparkled in the light and then at the way his eyes sparkled looking at her. It fit perfectly.

“I think you should keep it,” she decided. “For when you… ask again.”

His face turned bright red, his romantic gesture suddenly flipped on him.

“Yeah, I’ll uh… good idea,” he said. “How long do you think I should wait?”

“Hmmm, I’d say about 365 days.”

#huntlow #huntlow fanfiction #toh #willow park #hunter toh #the owl house

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