#anyway this concludes that part of the series

[smallidarityfan]

Joel keeps bringing up the limited life sacrifice bit for Jimmy i don't think he ever left that bread bridge guys

from Jimmy's/Joel's mcc practice stream yesterday

[lovelyhan]

— starcrossed losers ⟢

one night was all it took for your world to unravel. you live now as a princess with no kingdom, a daughter without a family. but when jeonghan reminds you what it feels like to be selfish again, you're torn between reclaiming your birthright and surrendering to the comfort of his arms forever.

★ FEATURING; jeonghan x reader

★ WORD COUNT; 23.8k words

★ TAGS; princess!reader, enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, magic & fantasy, angst, grief/mourning, slow burn, yearning if you squint i guess, smut (MINORS DNI)

★ NOTES; remember when i said this was going to have two parts only? yeah about that... :') the lore was just A Lot, so to speak LOL. it's nigh impossible to conclude in two chapters, so surprise! there will be part three hehe (this is real, no more additions i PROMISE). and just a heads up to those seeing this fic for the first time, this is PART 2!! not a lot will make sense if you don't read part 1 (as linked below hehe).

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

★ SMUT TAGS; oral (f receiving), intercrural sex, drunk sex, they're both just yearning so much for each other your honor, jh still calls you 'your grace' in bed lol, explicit letters? they're freaky with their correspondences (think: medieval sexting), masturbation, fantasizing abt ur lover who's half a kingdom away

The portrait hall was colder than you remembered.

Your steps didn’t echo much across the marble, muffled by the hush that clung to the air like dust. It smelled of polished stone, old candle wax, and something harder to name. You weren’t supposed to be here, not alone and not this late, but no one stopped you anymore.

You walked the corridor slowly, trailing your fingers along the stone. Paintings lined both sides—every monarch who ruled before your father, frozen in oil and velvet, with stiff collars and colder eyes. You didn’t know all their names, but they were not the ones you came here for.

The last portrait at the end of the hall is framed in gold. Lit by a dozen quiet candles, it hung just a little higher than the rest.

Your mother.

You tilted your head back to see her face. She looked taller in the painting than anyone ever described—poised, regal, with a kind of beauty that didn’t invite affection so much as reverence. She looked like you. Or maybe you looked like her. You’d heard it since you were old enough to understand words—how you were her mirror. Her shadow. Her echo.

For a long time, you simply stared, hoping something might change. That if you stood still enough, the memory you never had might rise out of the quiet. That she might turn her head to smile and speak with you. 

“Your Highness.”

You didn’t turn right away

Siwon stepped closer, his shoes making no more noise than yours, and bowed low. Neither formal nor stiff, but familiar—the same way he always did with you and your father.

“You take after her more than you know,” he said softly. 

You kept your eyes straight. “But I never met her.”

“No.” Siwon stood beside you as he folded his hands behind his back. “But she’s with you, all the same.”

You hesitated. “What was she like?”

The king’s advisor was quiet for a long moment. When you looked up at him, he was watching the painting with something gentle in his face—like even now, after all these years, he was still trying to remember the sound of her voice.

“The queen was a quiet woman,” he said. “The court often mistook that for softness, for weakness, but it was far from that. I’d daresay, what she had was strength. She didn’t have to raise her voice to be heard.”

You didn’t answer, but you listened anyway.

“Her magic is… unique,” he said. “She could speak to animals.”

Your brow furrowed. “People can do that?”

He smiled faintly. “Not most people. But your mother could.”

Your chest tightened. The thought felt too large for you, too wild and far away.

“Do you think I can speak to animals too?” you asked.

Siwon turned to you fully, studying your face in the candlelight. His expression was unreadable, but not unkind.

“I do not know,” he told you honestly. “What I do know is this, Your Highness—you will be great. Just as the queen was. In your own way.”

You nodded, slowly, but your eyes were already drifting back to the painting. Her eyes were the same color as yours. But hers knew more. As if they had already seen the road waiting for you.

A faint breeze stirred through the corridor. One of the candles flickered, its flame bowing low before righting itself again. The shadows on the queen’s painted cheek shifted just for a moment, as if she’d breathed.

You stood very still.

Beyond the glass, an owl perched silently on a high branch, its feathers blending into the dark. You didn’t see it, but it watched you with eyes the color of tarnished gold—patient, ancient, and strange.

Siwon said nothing more. He only bowed once, and left you alone in the hush. You stayed a little longer to gaze up at your mother, memorizing the lines of a face you somehow already carried. Then, without a word, you turned and walked back down the hall. 

Behind you, the owl did not blink. Its eyes held no judgment. 

Only memory.

The road was longer than it should’ve been.

Ancarra sat beside Seraphia on every map you’d ever seen, but tonight, it felt impossibly far—like a dream slipping out of reach. Ahead, Soonyoung gripped the reins tight as the coach hurtled forward, the horses driving through the dark as if speed alone could outrun the ruin swallowing your homeland.

Minghao’s scheme was an attack on all fronts. He didn’t just seize the capital, he struck it like a blade to the heart, then sent his forces spilling outward into the neighboring cities before anyone could react. Fires erupted within hours. Screams echoed through the streets. Those who resisted were cut down without mercy, their bodies left where they fell as a message.

You hated that you were fleeing while your people suffered. The guilt clawed at your chest, louder than the thunder of hooves or the distant roar of collapsing stone. You should’ve stayed. Fought. Died, maybe. Anything but this helpless retreat into the night.

The carriage jolted over uneven ground, wheels rattling as it sped through the dark. Inside, it was tense and still, save for the tremble in Joshua’s clasped hands. He sat across from you, his usual calm replaced by something sharper. You’d never seen him this shaken before, but how could he not be? He came to this kingdom to partake in your name-day celebration, and now you were all escaping from the ashes of the capital—its streets overrun, its people scattered, its sky lit with fire. 

Every now and then, Joshua looked like he might speak. A prayer, maybe. A scrap of comfort. He was good at those. But you didn’t move. Didn’t meet his gaze. Didn’t say a word.

So he stayed silent too.

Each breath you took was shaky as the night’s events replayed in your mind. From the argument that broke out between Jeonghan and Minghao, to leaving your father and Siwon and Reya behind. You wanted to scream, to cry, to tear the world apart until it made sense again. A pit had settled in your stomach, cold and unmoving, as if grief had anchored itself there before you’d even had time to mourn. 

You hadn’t even noticed Jeonghan shifting closer until you felt the warmth of his shoulder brushing yours. There were no clever remarks. No biting retorts. This silence was unlike him. Jeonghan had always met fear with wit, always masked discomfort with a smirk or a well-timed jab. Now, he just sat beside you like he understood. Like he knew that if he spoke, the weight you were carrying might shatter into something neither of you could hold.

You only realized you were shaking until Jeonghan shifted beside you, just enough that his voice could reach you without disturbing the hush in the carriage.

“Back in Seraphia,” he said quietly, “Joshua and I used to sit through hours of meetings. Couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even glance at each other without getting called out.”

Joshua stirred across from you, lifting his head just slightly at the mention.

“So,” Jeonghan went on, “we came up with a system.”

He reached down and tapped your knee once, light and deliberate over the fabric of your dress.

“One tap means ‘okay.’ Or ‘understood.’”

Then he tapped twice.

“Two means ‘I’m here.’”

You blinked, the simplicity of it landing with more weight than it should’ve. You turned to look at him, but Jeonghan wasn’t watching you—his eyes stayed focused somewhere just past the smoke-fogged window. He wasn’t trying to fix anything. He was just… offering.

Across from you, Joshua gave a faint, weary smile. “He’d overuse it,” he said softly, his voice hoarse but laced with familiarity. “Especially when he wanted me to lie for him.”

Jeonghan didn’t deny it. But he tapped your knee twice again.

I’m here.

You didn’t know where a trick like that would ever be useful again. But something about it made the carriage feel a little less cold. A little less like a coffin.

With a quaint sigh, you leaned into him just a bit, and finally let your eyes close as the carriage hurtled deeper into the night, toward a future that hadn’t yet begun—and away from everything you could never return to.

You fled Ancarra at midnight. You arrived in Seraphia at midnight, too.

Weary didn’t begin to describe it—there was a bone-deep exhaustion no salve could soothe, no rest could touch. But still, you pressed on because you had to. Because turning back was no longer an option.

The royal gates opened in silence.

No guards shouted. No horns were blown. Only those within the highest circle had been told of your arrival. Soonyoung stayed close. He hadn’t let go of your hand once since you left the carriage. Even now, as the royal halls unfolded before you, too lavish and too golden in the low candlelight, his grip was still tight, still trembling.

Jeonghan and Joshua led the way. Their home was pristine, but it was the tension in the air that choked you. Familiar, but no longer comforting.

You’d been to this castle before—more times than you could count. You’d played in these halls. Danced in that ballroom. Once tripped down those stairs and cried into the queen’s lap until she bribed you with an entire tray of sweets. And still, you’d never felt smaller than you did tonight.

The Seraphian king and queen were already waiting when you were ushered into one of the drawing rooms. They looked exactly as you remembered them: regal, elegant, kind. But this time, the queen didn’t reach for your cheek with a gentle tease. She reached for you like a mother.

“My dear,” she whispered, folding you into her arms. “Oh, my poor girl.”

That was all it took. Your knees nearly gave way, and you had to grip her robes to keep yourself upright. But you didn’t cry just yet. You just clung to her like a lifeline.

Soonyoung bowed hastily, words pouring from his mouth before anyone else could speak. “Your Majesties, I—please forgive me. If Renxing learns you’ve taken us in, they’ll see it as an act of war. We didn’t mean to bring that to your doorstep. We’ll leave at first light—”

“Nonsense,” said the king, rising to his feet. “You will do no such thing.”

The queen nodded. “You are children. Brave, loyal children—but still children. You should not have to live on the run. Not like this.”

Joshua stepped closer to your side, quiet but watchful. Jeonghan on the other hand, hadn’t moved far either—lingering near the door, as though still expecting trouble to follow through the threshold. But the queen looked at him then. 

“Jeonghan. Take them to the west wing. Let her rest,” she said all while smoothing a hand across your hair. “Tomorrow we’ll speak with the court, but tonight… She's home.”

Home.

You didn’t know if this place still qualified as that. But you let yourself be led away anyway, the promise of a bed and safety something you no longer had the strength to refuse.

Shortly after stepping into the west wing, Joshua handed you a change of clothes. The fabric was soft, finer than anything you remembered from Seraphia’s stores—lavender-dyed linen, threaded with silver at the hems. Fit for royalty. 

You barely registered it when he placed the bundle in your arms. Your eyes kept flickering to the stonework. The sconces. The tapestries. All things that reminded you of home.

Of a home that was no longer yours.

Jeonghan said nothing as he walked ahead, guiding you and Soonyoung down the hall. He knew these corridors like the back of his hand. You remembered once accusing him of being born with the entire palace floor plan stamped into his skull. Now you trailed behind him like a ghost, your hand still clasped around your advisor’s. When you reached the two doors at the end of the hall, the older prince opened both. 

“These rooms are yours for as long as you need them.”

Soonyoung started to step away, finally giving you a little space. But your grip tightened, your breath catching in your throat.

“No,” you said quietly, urgently. “Don’t.”

Your advisor blinked. “...Princess?”

You turned to Jeonghan. You hadn’t called him by name once since fleeing the castle, but now, your voice cracked under the weight of formality. “May I share a room with him? Just for tonight.”

It was strange. The way the words sounded in your mouth, like they belonged to someone else. But you couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone. You were used to the velvet canopy of your bed. The tinkle of windchimes outside your window. Reya curled beside your feet, a silent guardian through the night. Tonight, you had nothing. 

No father. No Reya. No home.

You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And Soonyoung—

He was the last piece of Ancarra you had left.

“Of course.”

Your eyes met Jeonghan’s for only a moment. He didn’t press. Didn’t question. Didn’t flinch at the unspoken wound in your gaze. He simply told you, “Rest easy. I’ll be right next door if you need anything.”

And then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Joshua quickly excused himself to his own bedchambers down the hall as well, bidding the two of you a good night’s sleep. The concern lingered in the younger prince’s gaze, but like Jeonghan, he knew better than to press. You wouldn’t know how to respond in your current state either.

So for tonight, you clung to what was left. To Soonyoung’s hand, and the sound of your own breath.

The council chamber was stifling. Heavy with incense, arguments, and the scent of fear. Seraphia’s nobles lined the carved obsidian table, draped in silk and pride. The royal mages sat to the side, faces sharp with suspicion. You stood beneath their scrutiny like a shadow that did not belong.

“…and still, we do not know the full scope of the damage,” one mage—high-collared and ageless—was saying. “No formal declaration. No surviving messengers. Instead, we’re relying on the testimony of fugitives.”

You flinched at the word.

Soonyoung stepped forward immediately, jaw tight with barely restrained frustration. “Her Highness is not a fugitive. She is Ancarra’s rightful heir.”

“And Ancarra,” one noblewoman drawled, “may very well be gone.”

Jeonghan, seated beside the Seraphian king, said nothing. But you felt his gaze flick toward you, subtle and reassuring. His fingers drummed once, then again, against the dark wood of the table. Two quick taps.

It came and went like a ripple in still water. But you caught the message, and with it, the ache in your chest lightened just slightly. Jeonghan couldn’t speak now, not when the room brimmed with eyes trained on every twitch and breath. But he had found a way to reach you anyway. 

I’m here.

His father leaned forward.

“We have no confirmation,” the king said. “There have been no proclamations from Renxing. No movement at our borders either. Everything surrounding Ancarra has been… suspiciously quiet. We mustn’t act hastily.”

“You are asking us,” another noble spat, “to shelter the target of an imperial coup. The general of the Renxing army ransacked her castle—what happens when he turns his gaze here?”

“And what happens,” Soonyoung countered, “if we do nothing? If we let Renxing consume one kingdom after another while we pretend not to see?”

A harsh silence fell.

Someone muttered under their breath, “We are not ready for war.”

“We don’t have to be,” Jeonghan said at last, voice calm but deadly precise. “Not yet, at least.”

All heads turned.

“The princess and her advisor will remain under our protection,” he went on. “If Renxing wanted to make a move, they would have done it already. Minghao isn’t a fool—he’s waiting to see how the other kingdoms respond. How we respond.”

“And if our response is weakness,” someone murmured, “he’ll strike.”

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t. Not with the sight of your father’s blood still fresh in your memory. Not with Reya’s last words still echoing through you like the toll of a funeral bell. But you felt Jeonghan’s gaze on you again, a flicker of warmth in a room gone cold.

Two taps on the table.

I’m here.

Time passed like molasses. Slow and suffocating.

In the weeks that followed, you learned what it meant to haunt a place while still being alive. You were a ghost in the Seraphian castle—seen but untouched, spoken of but rarely spoken to. After that council meeting, the king swore every noble and mage present to silence. A blood oath of secrecy. Your name, your survival, your very presence within Seraphia’s marble halls became a state secret punishable by death.

You knew it was necessary. Still, it left a hollow sort of guilt in your chest. How many of them resented you for it? How many feared the noose for sheltering the broken thing Ancarra left behind?

You had nowhere else to go.

So you stayed. Hidden.

Some days, you didn’t rise from bed. Others, you sat at the same window for hours, watching the sunlight shift across the floorboards without ever touching your face. Birds came sometimes—tiny, curious things you would have spoken to once without thinking. But now their songs only deepened the quiet inside you.

You didn’t speak to them.

You didn’t speak much at all.

Soonyoung tried, in his quiet and patient way. But even he couldn’t always get through. He gave you space, and Jeonghan filled in the spaces you didn’t know how to ask for. He never pushed. Never chided you for letting yourself drown in your grief. 

Instead, he left things for you to have. A fresh cup of tea on your bedside table. A shawl when the castle halls turned bitter cold. A book he thought you might like, even if the pages remained untouched for weeks. Joshua would come by to spare you the exact same kindness every now and again, but it was different when it was Jeonghan. 

You weren’t used to this version of him. It even unsettled you at first. You’d built your walls tall and sharp, braced for the inevitable moment he’d strike a nerve just for the fun of it. But it never came. Jeonghan did not demand anything from you. Not even conversation.

He simply remained.

Sometimes, you would catch him watching you from the doorway of whatever room you’d choose to linger in that day. Not like a hawk, but like a boy who’d once laughed too loud and too often, now standing very still for fear of making you disappear. You weren’t sure what to make of it, but you let him linger. 

One morning, you actually made it to the dining hall.

You weren’t even that hungry, but Soonyoung had pressed gently and Jeonghan had waited in the corridor without saying a word, just long enough for you to force yourself out of bed and into something clean. That was how most things happened lately. Not because you wanted them to. But because the people who hadn’t left you yet… waited long enough.

You sat alone at a small table in the far end of the hall, poking at a bowl of warm barley stew. The fire crackled in the hearth, and the morning sun slanted through stained glass in ribbons of gold and violet. You barely noticed.

“Princess?”

You looked up.

The woman that approached you was unfamiliar. Mid-thirties, maybe. Her pale robes were brushed with ink black sigils and constellations. You’ve studied Seraphia's geography before, so you vaguely recognized the embroidered crest on her clothes. She was a royal mage of Aragorn, one of the southern cities.

You blinked at her, unsure what to say. The woman didn’t bow, but she placed her hand gently over her chest in a gesture of greeting.

“I hope I’m not intruding, Your Highness. My name is Taeyeon,” she said softly. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

You stared for a second too long, then dropped your eyes back to your half-eaten bowl. 

“I’m… still alive.”

The words escaped your lips with no real thought. You hadn’t meant to say them aloud, but they were true. And in some small, exhausted part of you, it felt like that was enough. However, Taeyeon didn’t smile at your answer, nor did she grimace. All she offered in response was the slightest nod of her head. 

“It’s a relief that you’re very much alive,” she said. “But, Princess, are you truly living?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because that sentence cut straight through you like a drawn blade. Your spoon fell gently back into the bowl as your chest started to ache. Your breath hitched before you could stop it, and in that flicker of pain, you remembered:

Ancarra will never die as long as you live.

You had survived that night; you were surviving still, but you weren’t living.  Not in a way Reya would have believed in. Not in a way your father would have wanted for you.

Taeyeon didn’t press you for an answer. She simply stood there, hands folded loosely in front of her, watching with the kind of stillness that made you feel like she saw more than she should. Not just your body seated at the table, but the frayed thing beneath it trying not to come apart.

After a moment, she spoke again. 

“In Aragorn, when we lose someone,” she said, “we say: May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.”

You lifted your head. Taeyeon gave a small smile before continuing.

“It means there’s no shame in not feeling whole,” she explained. “Sometimes the part of us that knows how to live stays behind with the ones we lost. But that part can find its way back, when we’re ready to want it again.”

You couldn’t respond, but you didn’t turn from her, either.

Taeyeon inclined her head again. “Forgive me for interrupting your morning, Princess. I’ll take my leave.”

And just like that, she turned and walked off, robes trailing soft behind her, the sigils on her sleeves catching light like starlight on ink. 

That evening, the castle was quiet. 

You sat by the window, letting the breeze pull through in slow, whispering drifts. Moonlight spilled across the floor in a soft silver veil. You hadn’t lit a candle. The dark felt easier somehow—like it knew how to hold the ache without asking you to explain.

Taeyeon’s words still echoed in your chest.

May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.

You repeated it in your head like a spell, tracing it over the ache in your ribs, the hollow behind your sternum. And for the first time in weeks, you felt… lighter. As if some part of you was no longer curled in on itself.

A knock at the door broke the quiet.

Soonyoung stepped inside after your soft murmur of permission. His brows were drawn, a solemn expression fixed to his face as he closed the door behind him. He looked exhausted—but it wasn’t just that. You recognized it now. Determination. The kind that didn’t come without a cost.

“…There’s something I need to tell you,” he said.

You looked at him. And your stomach twisted before he even began.

“I’ve made the decision to return to Ancarra. Or beyond, if that’s where the truth leads.” His voice was calm, but beneath it, his hands were clenched. “It’s been more than a month, and we still don’t know what Minghao truly wants. Or if the Renxing emperor is even complicit in his actions. That silence is not mercy—it’s misdirection.”

“... So you’re leaving me?” Your body tensed, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. “You’re leaving me alone?”

Soonyoun’s expression grew even more pained. “I must, Your Highness. It’s the only way we can take back the kingdom.”

You stood too quickly. The chair screeched behind you.

“But you don’t even have magic, Soonyoung!” Your voice cracked like glass. “How will you protect yourself? What if—what if—”

“He won’t go alone, Your Grace.” 

The interruption came from the doorway.

Jeonghan leaned against the frame with his arms crossed. You didn’t even notice him slipping into your bedchambers. 

“Soonyoung asked for my counsel before he made this decision. Seraphia will assign him two of our finest knights. They’ve been given clearance to act under our name, and they shall die before they let harm come to him.”

But none of that comforted you. None of it made the hollow, aching grief in your chest feel any less unbearable. Because it wasn’t just about strategy or survival.

It was about losing the one constant you had left.

“I can’t…” Your voice was hoarse as tears slipped past your lashes. “I can’t lose you too.”

Soonyoung crossed the room in three strides, and this time, he didn’t wait for permission. He held you as your breath shook, as your hands clutched at his sleeves, as all the agony you’d kept buried for weeks came tumbling loose from your chest.

“You won’t lose me,” he murmured into your hair. 

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “Swear it. Swear you’ll come back to me alive. Swear you won’t even think about letting yourself get killed out there.”

Soonyoung  raised a hand to his heart and bowed his head solemnly. 

“I swear it. “On Ancarra. On my life. I will return to you.”

At that moment, you believed him.

Because you had to.

The library was quiet this afternoon.

You sat tucked into your usual corner, nestled between shelves that reached toward the vaulted ceiling like ancient sentinels. A book rested open in your lap—one Jeonghan had brought you days ago—its pages worn at the edges, words curling like ivy down the margins. The scent of dust and cedar wrapped around you, warm and unintrusive.

You'd begun venturing beyond your chambers more often now. Not much. Not far. But it was something. The worst of the weight had lifted, even if grief still hung from your shoulders like a veil. You could breathe again, even if each breath was fragile.

But you still kept your distance.

The Seraphian nobles who roamed the castle in silks and polished boots looked at you like a stain on the tapestries—an echo of a ruined kingdom. Their glances were sharp and slick with quiet disdain, and so you’d learned to disappear before they could speak your name.

Here in the library, though, no one expected anything of you.

You had just tucked your knees beneath you, settling deeper into the window seat’s cushions, when the door eased open with a soft creak.

Jeonghan stood in the doorway with a bundle of red roses in his hands.

You blinked. “What… is this?”

The prince stepped inside, the edge of his cloak brushing the floor like a velvet shadow. “What does it look like?” he said, one brow lifting. “Am I not allowed to bring flowers to my betrothed?”

You stared at him. Then at the roses. Then back again. “…Did you pick those from the palace gardens?”

“Not quite. Shua bought them for me from a florist in the city.” A crooked, boyish smile tugged at his lips. “So maybe it’s a gift from him, too.”

You took them slowly, careful not to crush the velvet petals. The scent was unexpectedly sweet—deep, almost honeyed. “They’re beautiful,” you murmured. Then, with a bitter little laugh, “But… can I still be called your betrothed when my kingdom is in ruins?”

Jeonghan didn’t even hesitate. He crossed the room without hesitation and sank into the seat beside you, close enough that your shoulders touched.

“I’m betrothed to you,” he said, brushing your cheek delicately with his knuckles. “Not your crown. Not your court. You.”

The roses trembled slightly in your grip. You looked down at them, then at his other hand resting between you. That warmth beneath your ribs stirred again. Like the first hint of spring in frozen ground.

You lowered your gaze, letting the silence settle between you.

The roses in your lap were the same deep red as the ones that always bloomed late in your garden back home. You hadn’t thought about those roses in months. Maybe longer.

Your fingers tightened slightly around the stems.

You’d spent over ten years loathing Jeonghan. Not because he was a stranger. but because he never missed a chance to get under your skin. He’d tease you until your temper frayed, smirk when you snapped, and always walked away looking far too pleased with himself.

And by some twist of fate, the two of you fell into each other in ways that would have made his mother faint. You hadn’t stopped being confused. Not when he kissed you back behind that statue of a winged-lion. And certainly not now, with red roses in your lap and his breath soft beside your cheek.

If only he’d been like this from the start, you thought. We would’ve been married at eighteen.

But you didn’t say it aloud. You didn’t dare. Because what if this was just another version of him you didn’t know how to keep?

“…Thank you,” you said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Jeonghan didn’t look away when you voiced your gratitude. He just nodded once and then leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the moment stretch into something more familiar. 

“You know… since you’ve been out and about lately, I was wondering.”

“Wondering what?”

“If you’d be interested in getting a bit of exercise.” His mouth twitched. 

You blinked. “What kind of exercise?”

“The kind that gets your blood moving. Not a walk in the gardens or a stroll in the city,” he added, as if reading your mind. “Something a little more… hands-on.”

You arched a brow. “Are you offering to fight me?”

“Please.” He huffed a laugh. “I like my bones unbroken.”

You snorted despite yourself.

“I was thinking,” he continued, “the captain of the royal guard is in the capital for once. He’s only around for a few days, and I figured… he might be a good sparring partner. If you’re interested.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around the roses in your lap. You hadn’t picked up a sword in—gods, months now. Maybe longer. Before everything fell apart, you’d been too busy preparing for your name-day. For the wedding. For the future you were supposed to have. But now that future was uncertain, and you were tired of feeling like a ghost inside it.

You let out a slow breath. “All right. It’s about time I stretched my legs.”

“Perfect. Seungcheol gets cranky in the mornings, but it’ll be worth your time,” he reassured.

That’s how you found yourself following Jeonghan to the castle’s training grounds. You were given a set of training clothes before you left—the fabric lighter than your usual garments, loose enough for movement, fitted enough not to snag. 

The castle’s training grounds were nestled behind the east wing, flanked by low stone walls and a cluster of blooming trees that masked the sound of the city beyond. A rack of weapons stood at the far end, well-maintained and meticulously ordered. You could see chalk lines on the ground, which Jeonghan said were for marking the sparring space.

Everything here breathed discipline.

The captain of the royal guard was already at the center of the yard, shirt damp with sweat, muscles taut with the effort of repetition. He held a longsword in one hand, his other arm wrapped loosely behind his back, and swung with precise, unhurried control—over and over, like a pendulum. 

“Seungcheol does that a thousand times every day,” Jeonghan whispered. “Exactly a thousand. He won’t stop until he hits the count.”

You watched the glint of the blade arc through the air again. “Why?”

“He says if his body forgets how to move, his men might not live long enough to remind him.”

At the sound of your footsteps, Seungcheol paused mid-swing. He didn’t sheathe the sword—just lowered it, slow and steady, turning to face you both. His expression was unreadable. Eyes sharp beneath dark brows, jaw set in a way that suggested he didn’t approve of being interrupted.

“Captain,” Jeonghan greeted, polite but casual. “Hope we’re not intruding.”

Seungcheol’s gaze flicked between the two of you before sparing a shallow nod. “Your Highness.”

The prince gestured toward you. “We were hoping you’d spare some time. She wants to spar.”

Seungcheol’s frown deepened. His eyes settled on you again, more pointed now. “Pardon the bluntness, but I’ve heard from the staff you’ve barely left your bedchambers these past few weeks. You’ve been… recovering.” His tone didn’t mock—but it didn’t soften either. “You’re in no condition to spar.”

You met his scrutiny with a calm smile.

“Then,” you said gently, “would you please help build my strength back up?”

For a moment, the only sound was wind through the leaves, and the faint creak of leather as Seungcheol’s grip tightened on his sword.

He didn’t answer right away. He studied you for a moment, like someone measuring the weight of a blade before deciding if it would bend or break. Then, wordlessly, he turned and walked toward the weapons rack.

Jeonghan leaned in, voice low beside your ear. “That’s as close to a yes as you’ll get from him.”

You followed the captain, pausing at the display of steel. Seungcheol gestured for you to take your pick, and you scanned the rack quietly until something caught your eye. 

A light looking blade with a slender edge and a modest curve—closer in length to a saber than a broadsword. It wasn’t built for brute force. It was built for speed and control. For footwork and momentum. You tested the balance with a quick flick of your wrist, feeling it settle in your palm like it belonged there.

“I’ll go easy,” Seungcheol said once you faced him across the chalk-marked sparring circle. His tone wasn’t patronizing, just careful.

“Don’t,” you replied simply. “I won’t learn anything that way.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. Then he lifted his blade.

You moved before he did.

Not because you were faster, but because it was how you fought. Nimble and reactive. Fencing had been etched into your body since you were a child; every muscle remembered the rhythm of lunge and parry, advance and retreat. That grace had bled into your swordsmanship over the years, giving you a certain elegance that traditional soldiers often lacked. Where Seungcheol’s footwork was grounded and economical, yours was fluid—almost like you were dancing. You ducked and pivoted, letting your momentum carry you in and out of reach.

Still, the difference in strength was undeniable.

Even with Seungcheol clearly restraining his strikes, each blow sent shockwaves through your arms, your shoulders, your core. You felt it everywhere—sinew, bone, the spaces between your ribs. It didn’t help that your body was still readjusting to this level of activity. Your blade met his again, sparks flaring where metal scraped metal. You twisted your body, slipped past his side, and landed a touch against his arm. It wasn’t a real wound, but a point nonetheless.

Seungcheol adjusted his stance, looking more serious.

Despite his earlier protests, it was clear he wasn’t holding back where it counted. He saw you not as a princess, or Jeonghan’s betrothed, or a grieving shadow—but as a fighter. And he responded accordingly.

It wasn’t easy. But that was the point.

For the first time in weeks, you felt something more than the dull ache of loss. You felt fire in your muscles, purpose in the press of your feet against the dirt. Your pulse thundered in your ears—not with fear, but focus.

By the time the sparring session wound down, your limbs ached in the best possible way—burning from use, not from injury. Seungcheol lowered his blade and gave you a curt nod, sweat darkening the collar of his tunic. 

Jeonghan, ever dramatic, clapped twice as he stepped back into the ring. “I thought nothing could top your archery, but clearly, I was mistaken. If I’d known you could dance like that with a blade, I might’ve started picking fights even sooner.”

You gave him a flat look, but the smile you tried to suppress betrayed you.

Nearby, the palace maids arrived with a tray of refreshments: cool water, fresh fruit, and honey-dusted pastries. Jeonghan plucked a slice of melon and collapsed dramatically onto the grass, gesturing for the two of you to join him.

Seungcheol accepted a waterskin and sat with a soldier’s ease, posture still straight. He glanced at you over the rim as he drank. “You don’t fight like most nobles, much less a princess. Who trained you?”

You wiped your brow with a cloth, accepting a small plate from one of the maids. “The captain of the royal guard in Ancarra,” you replied, selecting a piece of apricot. “Yesung. He was my master since I could walk straight. My father trusted him a lot.”

Seungcheol paused mid-chew.

“You know him?” you asked, catching the subtle shift in his eyes.

“I’ve heard of him,” he said eventually, voice neutral. “Respected name, even here in Seraphia.”

But there was something else—something he didn’t say. The tension around his jaw hinted at it. His gaze drifted off, distant, like he was weighing the risk of continuing.

You watched him carefully, but he said nothing more.

Instead, you exhaled and reached for your cup. “I regret not spending more time training,” you said softly. “When I got older, there were just… too many duties. My blade started collecting more dust than not.”

Seungcheol looked at you then. “You’ve still got the edge. It’s not gone. Just dulled from disuse. You get it back by doing what you did today.”

Jeonghan leaned his head back on the grass and let out a satisfied sigh. “And by winning dramatically in front of handsome soldiers,” he added unhelpfully. “That helps.”

You snorted into your drink. Seungcheol rolled his eyes.

The walk back to your bedchambers was quiet, the sun already dipping behind the spires of the palace, painting the corridors in molten gold and deepening shadows. The soreness in your shoulders had begun to settle into something warm and satisfying, and your thoughts floated somewhere between the scent of red roses and the weight of Seungcheol’s blade against yours.

Jeonghan walked beside you with an easy, unhurried gait, arms folded behind his back. For a while, he said nothing.

Then, casually, “You two got along fast.”

“Hm? Who?”

He glanced at you. “You and Seungcheol.”

You laughed. “You set that match up, remember?”

“I did,” he said simply. “Still. You didn’t hold back.”

“Neither did he.”

You stopped at the entrance to your chambers and turned to him with a no-good smile. “Wait—are you jealous?”

The prince scoffed. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You stepped forward, narrowing the gap between you, your voice dropping into something deliberately teasing. “Prince Jeonghan of Seraphia, green with envy because someone dared to match me blow for blow.”

“I’m not envious of Seungcheol.”

“Oh? Then why the face?”

“I do not envy his swordsmanship,” he clarified slowly. “But I don’t particularly enjoy watching someone else touch what’s mine.”

You opened your mouth to remind him that one: you do not belong to anyone; and two: sparring with Seungcheol was his idea, but Jeonghan moved before you could get the words out.

The prince pushed you gently but firmly against the nearest wall, the cool stone kissing your spine through the thin fabric of your tunic. Your eyes widened instinctively, darting down the hallway for any unfortunate witness. But no one was there. 

“Jeonghan—”

His face was too close. You could see the mischievous glint in his eyes now edged with something darker, something you weren’t used to from him. His palm rested just beside your head, the other curling lightly around your hip.

“I may not be a fighter,” he whispered, “but you know very well how good I am as a lover.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

And just like that, Jeonghan stepped back, smirking faintly as if nothing had happened at all. “I’ll let you have your bath,” he said lightly, already walking away with a brief wave. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Princess.”

Your heart hammered in your chest as he disappeared around the corner, carrying the heat of the moment with him.

To Her Highness, the Princess of Ancarra,

I hope this letter finds you in a place of quiet strength. It has been a few weeks since we last spoke, but your presence has lingered with me. I write to you not only to offer my continued condolences, but also to speak plainly of something I withheld during our first meeting.

You see, I sought you out not only because of political curiosity—but because I had heard whispers of your beast magic. There are few in this realm who bear such a gift. Beast magic, as I know it, is more than just communication or communion with the animals you encounter. And in the right hands, it can move worlds.

Forgive my boldness in bringing this to you now. I know you may still be in mourning. I know healing rarely follows a straight path. But if your heart is ready—if your spirit stirs with the thought of reclaiming that part of yourself—I wish to offer something more than words.

There is a mage here in Aragorn. Older than most, and not fond of titles, but a veteran in every sense. She has mentored magi of all kinds, but has always been drawn to those with wild souls, whose power doesn’t stem from structure, but from instinct. I believe she would take you as a student, if you so wish. You will have space, safety, and the freedom to shape your magic on your own terms. 

Should you agree, sign the edge of this letter in ink. I have enchanted the parchment to alert me of that choice, and I will come to you shortly, wherever you may be. But please only do that when you’re certain that you wish to leave the capital. My method of travel takes quite a toll on me, and I must prepare accordingly. I ask for no immediate answer. Only that you consider what your power might become, and what peace you might find in knowing it better. 

May your shadow return when your heart is ready to follow it.

With respect and warmth,

Kim Taeyeon Royal Mage of Aragorn

You had already read the letter by the time the light slanted low across the windows, gilding the old stone floors in gold and ash. It lay open on your lap, creased in the middle where your fingers had pressed too tightly—half from surprise, half from the rush of hope you hadn’t meant to feel.

When it first arrived, you thought of Soonyoung. Your heart had leapt, sharp and high into your throat. But no, Soonyoung wouldn’t send letters. He wouldn’t risk a paper trail, not when enemies watched every corridor and whisper. 

Still, the disappointment lingered. And yet... Taeyeon’s letter had been a surprise. 

She’d written with care, but she hadn’t danced around her purpose. You read the letter twice. Then a third time. The ink smudged faintly where your thumb had lingered too long.

Now, hours later, you sat in the small borrowed study near Jeonghan’s wing, the one with the wisteria vine crawling halfway across the outer windowsill. The Seraphian castle was beautiful, but it wasn't home. You missed the way the light fell in Ancarra’s hallways. You missed Soonyoung’s presence like a missing sleeve in winter—a functional, familiar part of you.

You’ve been training your swordsmanship again even when Seungcheol had already departed for his next mission. But gods knew that adjusting had been slow for you. On top of the fact that you were practically inconsolable for the first few weeks, the guards didn’t know how to speak to you, the maids were too kind, and the Renxing forces remained ghastly quiet. Taeyeon’s letter didn’t fix any of those things. But it gave you something you hadn’t had in a long time: direction.

A quiet knock stirred the air. You tucked the letter under a book, as if it were a secret.

The door creaked open to reveal Jeonghan, relaxed as ever in a loose cream shirt and embroidered vest. Behind him trailed Joshua, who offered you a polite smile, hands folded behind his back.

“Fancy going out for a drink?” Jeonghan asked, like he was inviting you to a garden stroll and not suggesting a public outing for a supposedly hidden political exile.

You stared at him. “A drink?”

“Mhm. In the city.”

“You mean the city city? Where people... live?”

Jeonghan tilted his head. “Well, yes. Unless you’ve found a secret tavern in the catacombs.”

You glanced from him to Joshua, as if the latter might somehow provide clarity—but Joshua only gave you a sheepish little shrug, like he’d already tried and failed to talk Jeonghan out of this idea.

“Jeonghan,” you said slowly, “your father threatened the entire royal council to keep my presence here quiet. And now you want to parade me around in broad daylight?”

He snorted. “First of all, it’s past dusk. Second, I’m not parading anyone. Third,” he clapped a hand on Joshua’s shoulder, “this one sneaks around all the time and hasn’t been caught once. If anyone can get you in and out without raising suspicion, it’s him.”

Joshua rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. “We’re going to The Bitter Swan. My—uh, my lover works there. She’s a bartender. Best in the kingdom.”

That actually made you pause.

Joshua had been engaged some time ago—before Ancarra fell, before the world started collapsing beneath your feet. You didn’t know the full story, only that it hadn’t ended well. But now, he looked... different. Not visibly changed, but lighter in a way you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re seeing someone?” you asked, more surprised than you meant to sound.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Yes. For a while now.”

You nodded, something soft brushing against your chest. It was relief, you realized. You were glad for him.

You glanced at the hidden letter, then back at the two boys. “Fine,” you said, rising reluctantly from your seat. “But if I get recognized and we end up sparking an international incident, I’m blaming both of you.”

Jeonghan grinned, wholly unrepentant. “Noted.”

The Bitter Swan was tucked between two shuttered bakeries and lit by a pair of storm glass lanterns swinging above the doorway. The place was alive with sound—laughter, the shuffle of boots on worn floorboards, the clink of glass—and warm in a way that most Seraphian halls, no matter how finely gilded, never quite managed.

You kept your hood up until you were past the threshold, nerves twisting sharp beneath your ribs. But no one gave you a second look. No one whispered. No guards came bursting through the door with drawn blades.

Joshua led the way, weaving easily through the crowd with Jeonghan at his heels. You followed, careful not to draw attention. Then you saw her—behind the bar, sleeves rolled to her elbows, hair tied back with a leather cord. Her smile cracked open the moment she spotted Joshua.

“Well?” she called. “Did you bring me anything worth my time or just more of your sweet talk?”

Joshua grinned and flicked his fingers, conjuring a small daisy out of thin air. It hovered for a moment, pale and delicate, before he caught it and stepped behind the bar to tuck it behind her ear.

His lover groaned. “Every time. It’s always a daisy.”

“And you always keep it,” he said, smug.

You tried not to stare. Not at her, or at the way Joshua’s magic came so easily now. You hadn’t realized how long it had been since you saw him do that. Since he let himself do that.

Then he turned to you. “This is Yoona,” he said, gesturing proudly. “Yoona, this is—”

“Yes, yes, I know.” She rolled her eyes and wiped her hands on a cloth. “You already told me. Don’t say it out loud or you’ll blow her cover.”

That startled a laugh out of you. “You told her?”

“I trust her,” Joshua reassured. “Besides, she would have figured it out before I even said anything. Might as well cut to the chase.”

Yoona winked. “Your cloak screams ‘I’m totally not a royal in disguise.’ Kind of reminds me of someone who used to do the same thing around these parts.”

You blinked. Then laughed again when Joshua’s ears flushed red. 

Jeonghan slid onto the barstool beside you like he belonged there. “Could I get an Oak Walker for myself and the lady? Shua said he’ll be our designated chaperone for the evening.”

You blinked. “You just decided I’d like it?”

Jeonghan shrugged, a faint glint of mischief in his eyes. “Everyone likes an Oak Walker.”

The night unfolded slower than you'd expected.

At first, you stayed stiff, elbows tucked, back straight, eyes flicking toward the door every time it creaked. You scanned faces, counted exits. Even as Yoona poured drinks with practiced ease and Joshua lingered at her side like a puppy off-leash, you couldn’t quite unclench your shoulders. You kept your hood up for the first half hour.

But then Yoona started talking.

She shared funny little anecdotes from her years working the bar. About a traveling bard who sang so terribly he cleared the room, or the night a drunk warlock accidentally enchanted every pint glass to sprout legs and sprint off the counter. Her storytelling was effortless, the kind that made even strangers lean in. Somewhere between the second and third tale, you realized you'd relaxed. Your hand had drifted away from your hip. You weren’t glancing at the door anymore.

The Oak Walker helped, too.

It was deceptively smooth—sweet with oak and vanilla, warm with something spiced—but it hit harder than it had any right to. You told yourself you were sipping, pacing yourself, being careful. Then your empty glass would surprise you again and again.

Yoona snorted every time you ordered another. “You’re going to end up horizontal if you keep that up,” she warned, sliding yet another refill your way.

You stuck your tongue out at her.

At some point—when exactly, you weren’t sure—Jeonghan had moved closer. He was sitting right beside you now, his thigh brushing yours every so often as you shifted. His posture was lazy, but there was a sharpness to his eyes that suggested he’d been tracking your slow descent into tipsiness for some time.

“You’re swaying,” he murmured near your ear.

“I’m not,” you argued before promptly hiccuping.

“Gods, you’re such a lightweight.”

You glared at him. Or tried to. “Shut up or I’ll stab you with a sword next time I get my hands on one.”

Jeonghan barked a laugh. “Drunken threats. Very classy.”

But his arm, which had come to rest around the back of your chair somewhere between the second and third drink, stayed where it was. Steady, warm, and protective. You didn’t even notice when you let yourself lean into the space he made for you. Just a little.

The three of you left Bitter Swan not long after your fifth—sixth?—Oak Walker.

To be fair, it wasn’t your idea. You were perfectly content demanding another glass while challenging a very large, very confused sailor to an arm-wrestling match you absolutely would have lost. But Joshua caught Jeonghan’s eye across the bar, and that was all it took.

“Time to go,” Jeonghan said, patting your shoulder lightly. You squawked in protest but didn’t resist too hard when they flanked you—Joshua at your right, Jeonghan at your left—as if you were some rare treasure they had to smuggle back to the castle.

The streets outside were quieter than you expected. Somewhere in the distance, bells were ringing curfew, and the fog had begun to settle low over the cobblestones.

You, however, were a menace.

“I’m not drunk,” you declared at one point, even as your boot missed the edge of a step and Joshua had to steady you with a hand to your elbow.

“Of course not,” Jeonghan said. “You’ve just decided stairs are beneath you.”

“They are. Stairs are a scam. A royal scam. Heh, royal. That’s funny.” You paused, frowning. “Wait, no. That was supposed to be a joke. Go back.”

“I’m afraid we can’t rewind time, Princess,” Joshua said patiently.

By the time they got you to the carriage, you had insisted on giving a passionate speech to a very disinterested cat, tried to compliment a streetlamp, and proclaimed your full, undying allegiance to the Bitter Swan and all its patrons.

Inside the carriage, nestled between velvet seats, the city slowly falling away behind you, you finally slumped back with a long sigh.

“This was nice. I never got to go out like this back home,” you mumbled, head tipping toward Jeonghan’s shoulder. “I also like when you’re like this. All... not princely.”

He made a quiet sound in his throat, something between a scoff and a laugh. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or offended.”

“No, you don’t get it,” you said, voice softer now—slurred at the edges, but anchored by something true. “You walk around like nothing touches you. You flirt like it’s a game, like none of it matters. But it’s like… no one actually knows you. Not even me, and I’ve been engaged to you for ten years.”

A breathy laugh slipped from your lips before fading into a quiet, almost wistful smile.

“But when it’s just you like this... it makes me feel like I can breathe.”

Jeonghan stilled beside you.

Joshua’s brow furrowed across the seat. He looked at his brother, then back at you. You didn’t seem to notice. Your head lolled back against the cushion, eyes fluttering shut.

“Even if you’re a smug bastard,” you added faintly. “Don’t get ideas.”

The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken. Joshua turned, meeting Jeonghan’s stunned gaze with one of his own. Neither of them said anything.

But the look they shared said enough.

Back at the castle, the journey to your room was a blur of hushed giggles, missteps, and Jeonghan hissing at you to keep your hood up while Joshua kept watch for wandering guards.

By the time the three of you reached your door, you were hanging heavily off Jeonghan’s arm, still swaying from the Oak Walkers. Joshua muttered something about returning to the pub to keep Yoona company until closing before slipping away into the shadows like he’d done it a thousand times before.

Inside your chambers, Jeonghan helped you sit at the edge of your bed. “You’re going to regret all six of those drinks in the morning,” he said mildly, crouching to unlace your boots.

“Mm, but they tasted like joy,” you mumbled, tugging at the laces of your bodice.

Jeonghan helped with the ties carefully, without looking where he didn’t need to. He passed you your nightgown and turned his back while you changed, though that didn’t stop you.

“You’re very noble all of a sudden,” you said, grinning lazily. “Trying not to peek?”

“I’m showing you the courtesy of basic decency.”

“You didn’t care about basic decency when we—” you hiccuped, then giggled, “—when we kissed behind that statue of a winged lion. You still remember, don’t you?”

He paused, his back still turned, jaw tightening faintly.

Once you were dressed, Jeonghan turned to tuck the covers around you. “Get some sleep,” he said quietly, smoothing the blanket near your shoulder.

But before he could pull away, your arms slipped around his waist from behind.

“Are you really going to go,” you murmured against his back, “just like that?”

He sighed, long and steady. “You’re drunk, Your Grace. It wouldn’t be proper.”

You tilted your head, voice featherlight and slurred with sleep and something else. “It wasn’t proper either,” you said, “when you touched me like that in the solarium. What’s your point?”

He stilled.

Then slowly—almost reluctantly—he turned to face you. His hands found your shoulders, firm but not rough. His expression had lost all pretense of ease. For once, Jeonghan didn’t smile.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” he said firmly.

But he didn’t move away.

You could feel his heartbeat beneath your fingers when you reached out to touch his chest. His pulse rabitted beneath his sternum, like this moment held more weight than the two of you were willing to admit. Jeonghan didn’t move. He could only grip your shoulders like you might shatter if he didn’t. Or maybe the one he’s keeping from unraveling is himself. 

You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your breath warm against the hollow of his throat. “You haven’t kissed me in so long,” you said softly. “Why is that, Jeonghan?”

His jaw tensed. “You’re mourning. It isn't the right time.”

You tilted your head, defiant despite the haze in your mind. “When is it ever the right time with you?”

“Princess—”

“You always hold back,” you murmured, stepping closer, your voice a thread pulled tight. His grip on your arms tightened just enough to betray the shift in him. “You flirt. You tease. But you never let yourself go too far. As though anything beyond stolen trysts is suddenly too dangerous for you. Tell me—” your eyes searched his, “is that why you haven’t married me yet? After all this time?”

Jeonghan was right. You didn’t know what you were saying at all. 

If you were sober, these words would’ve stayed buried behind the iron seal of your mouth. You hated the thought of being bound to Jeonghan. It was why you’d begged Soonyoung to delay the wedding for as long as he could.

So why were you spouting all this nonsense now?

“That’s not true,” Jeonghan said hoarsely.

You leaned in, lips brushing the corner of his mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to burn like one. And with a quiet, tantalizing whisper, “Then prove it.”

That did it.

His restraint, so carefully held, snapped in an instant. His hands slid to the sides of your face, cradling it like something precious right before his mouth crashed against yours. There was nothing tentative in it—no diplomacy, no distance. Just months of longing, of near misses, of moments swallowed by duty and danger, unraveling all at once.

When you gasped against his lips, his hand curled around the back of your neck, and you thought, dizzy and triumphant: 

Finally.

You reached for the buttons of his shirt, fumbling. The fabric shifted under your clumsy fingers, but coordination was beyond you now—your limbs soft, your blood warm and slow with drink and heat. Jeonghan caught your hands gently. 

“Be patient,” he murmured, brushing a kiss to your knuckles.Then he moved slowly, guiding you back against the pillows. You shivered as his hands slid down your sides, a reverent touch that made your breath hitch.

You could only arch into him as he settled between your thighs, drunk not just on the Oak Walkers but on the ache of him, on months of silence breaking like a tide. And when his mouth found your skin, your name a prayer between his teeth, you thought:

Let them find out. Let the whole castle burn. Just not this. Don’t take this away from me.

His lips traced fire along the inside of your thigh, and you bit down on a moan—more out of disbelief than modesty. Jeonghan, with all his control and quiet arrogance, was unraveling before you, piece by piece.

“Say something,” he murmured. “Tell me this isn’t just the alcohol acting out for you.”

You blinked down at him, flushed and breathless. “It’s not. And you know it.”

“If I keep going, I won’t be able to pretend nothing’s changed tomorrow.”

Jeonghan met your eyes, and without thinking, you reached for him—hands threading through his deep red hair. 

“Then don’t pretend.”

Once the words left your lips, he surged upward to kiss you again. It was deep and consuming, like a dam finally giving way. You clung to him, pulling him closer, and the weight of him, the feel of his breath tangled with yours, made your head spin more than the whiskey ever could.

You felt the tremor in him, not from fear, but from feeling. From how deeply this meant something.

“I should’ve said something,” he murmured into the curve of your neck, voice wrecked. “Back in Ancarra. Before everything fell apart.”

“You still can,” you whispered, tilting his face to yours. “We’re not gone yet. I’m still here.”

Maybe that was the most dangerous truth of all—that despite the kingdoms collapsing, despite Renxing’s siege and the shadows gathering at every border, this moment felt more real than any prophecy, any throne. Just skin and breath and the way Jeonghan looked at you like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

You smiled faintly, heart thudding. “I think I’m starting to.”

Then he kissed you again—fierce and open and hungry for all the time you’d lost. And this time, you didn’t hold back either.

Not when his hands tangled with yours above your head, not when his mouth trailed lower, slower, lingering in places that made you gasp his name like a prayer. 

When his mouth finally touched where you wanted him most, it was with unbearable tenderness. A gasp escaped you, sharp and involuntary, your hips twitching toward him. He moaned softly at the sound, as if the taste of your pleasure was more intoxicating than wine.

Jeonghan didn’t rush. He mapped out your cunt with his mouth, tongue tracing patterns that made your legs shake. His lips sealed around the most sensitive parts of you like he wanted to unravel every breath, every thought, until only he remained.

And you let him.

Your back arched as a wave crested inside you, and still he didn’t stop—drawing moans from you like music. His hands anchored your hips, firm but never demanding. 

It wasn’t control. It was devotion.

When release finally came, it tore through you like a storm, and Jeonghan held you through it, never looking away—his gaze dark, intense, and awestruck. You reached down breathlessly, pulling him up to you. His lips were wet, his cheeks flushed. You kissed him without hesitation, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Jeonghan’s breath was still heavy as he hovered above you, eyes searching your face like he was memorizing every inch. His hand cradled your cheek, thumb brushing over your lip. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured. 

You tilted your hips toward him, guiding him between your thighs. His breath caught as he realized, as your legs pressed around him, skin on skin, warm and slick and aching.

“This,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I want you like this.”

For a moment, something flared behind his eyes. Hunger, need, maybe even love. But then he huffed a soft laugh and shook his head. 

“Not when you’re drunk, Your Grace.”

You blinked up at him, still breathless, heat pulsing in every part of you as disappointment started to simmer just beneath the lust. “But—”

“I can give you something else,” he said, and leaned down to kiss your cheek—gentle yet maddening. “Something that can make you feel good regardless.”

Confusion started to seep into your face, but Jeonghan answered by grabbing both of your thighs as he let both of your legs dangle across one shoulder. The angle was odd, but something told you he wanted your thighs pressed closely together. 

You were about to let out a quiet protest until he undid his trousers, hauling his cock from the confines of his clothes with a sigh. 

His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like the weight of your mutual desire was too much. Then, tentatively, he slid his length between your thighs, fitting perfectly into the space where your heat welcomed him, even without the final joining.

The friction was maddening.

He rocked forward, slow and careful at first, your slickness easing every motion. The head of his cock dragged against the seam of your sex with every thrust, the pressure hitting just right, over and over. You squeezed your thighs tighter, gasping his name as he groaned—low and hoarse, like the effort of holding back was burning him from the inside.

“Gods, you feel—” He cut himself off with a sharp exhale, hips stuttering against you. “I’m not going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

“Then don’t,” you breathed. “Don’t hold anything back.”

And he didn’t.

His rhythm grew faster, desperate. The sounds he made were nothing like the prince the world saw. This was Jeonghan stripped bare, undone by the feel of you, by the friction, by the intimacy of it all. Your hands gripped his back, your bodies flush, breath tangled between moans and whispers of each other’s names.

His thick head caught on your clit with each pass. Part of you just knew Jeonghan deliberately did that to spur your pleasure just as much as his own. And as he continued to piston his hips, you found yourself growing dangerously close to the edge once again.

“J-Jeonghan,” you whimpered, tears streaking your vision. “I… I—”

The words were lost as your orgasm crested like a tidal wave, washing over your entire body until the water pulled you under. You shook beneath him as ecstasy rushed  through your veins, but Jeonghan remained steadfast in fucking himself between your thighs, letting you ride it out.

When he came, it was with a trembling cry whispered into the air, spilling between your thighs as his body shuddered against yours. You held him through it, stroking his arm, grounding him all while he collapsed into you.

You stared at the ceiling, the soft hush of dawn just beginning to graze the edges of the sky. There was no clock here, no crown, no war bleeding at the borders of your memory. Only the warmth of his body, the scent of him lingering on your skin, and the echo of your name on his breath.

And for a moment, you wanted to stay like this.

You wanted to forget Ancarra. Forget Minghao’s blade slicing through everything you’d ever built. Forget the looming war and the kingdom you were supposed to save. You wanted to let the world burn and bury yourself in this fleeting mercy.

You shifted slightly, curling closer to Jeonghan.

Maybe just a little longer.

The capital of Ancarra was a corpse wearing its own crown.

Soonyoung kept his head low beneath the hood of a merchant’s cloak, blending into the flow of hushed voices and weary footsteps. Smoke still clung to the skyline, the charred bones of once-proud towers jutting upward like broken fingers. The flags bearing the royal crest were torn down, replaced with strange foreign emblems—Renxing’s deep red and black, fluttering like bloodstained silk in the wind.

Where once there had been music, laughter, street hawkers and flower-sellers, now there was silence. Watchful, suffocating silence. Soldiers patrolled every alley, every market. People avoided eye contact. The bakeries had stopped baking. The temples stood shuttered.

The king was dead. 

The princess had vanished. 

And Minghao had claimed a throne he never earned.

Soonyoung moved quickly through the ghost of the city he once knew, slipping through side streets and old guard passages, the kind of hidden routes only a fixture of the palace could recall. He’d asked his knightly chaperones—the ones Prince Jeonghan loaned—to stay back for this one. They’d refused at first, but Soonyoung always had a gift for convincing others to his whims.

He reached the outer walls of the castle, scaled the crumbling servant stairwell, and ducked behind fallen scaffolding before finding a familiar breach behind the armory—one that led straight into the lower corridors.

Inside, the air was damp with mildew and blood. Tapestries had been ripped down, and the scent of iron lingered in the halls. He heard boots echo overhead and paused, listening. Then, with careful precision, he descended into the dungeons.

That’s when the strangeness began.

Locked behind rusted bars weren’t just criminals or dissenters—but beasts. Hunched and hostile things with glowing eyes and matted fur. Creatures with scales, tusks, or too many limbs, some caged and chained, others muzzled or sedated. All trembling in the cold. All watching. It made no sense.

And then came a low growl.

Soonyoung turned just in time to dodge a lunging wolf—wild-eyed, massive, its teeth bared. It would’ve ripped his throat out if not for the blast of cold that knocked the beast backward. Ice exploded against the wall, sending a dusting of frost across the floor.

“Easy,” came a low voice from behind another cell. “You’ll spook the rest of them.”

Soonyoung turned, breath caught. “Siwon?”

The older man looked tired but alive, dark hair damp with sweat, his hands bound but his magic clearly not entirely suppressed. “Nice disguise,” he muttered. “You always did look better in rags.”

“You’re alive.” Soonyoung rushed forward, already brimming with questions. “What happened? Why are there beasts in the dungeon? What the hell is Minghao planning?”

But Siwon raised a hand, glancing toward the stairwell. “Quiet. They’re keeping me alive for now—to broadcast Minghao’s ‘generous new rule’ when the time comes. And for when the princess resurfaces. I’m leverage.”

“Leverage and locked up with beasts?” Soonyoung hissed.

Siwon nodded grimly. “They’ve been experimenting. Testing something. I don’t know what it is yet, but—” His eyes flicked to a cage where another animal that looked too much like Reya lay unnaturally still. “I think it has to do with cursed magic.”

Soonyoung paled. “Cursed magic? But that’s—”

He didn’t finish. Footsteps echoed down the corridor accompanied by shouting. Torchlight flickered around the corner as Soonyoung felt his stomach drop.

“Go,” Siwon said, voice urgent. “You can’t be caught.”

Soonyoung hesitated, hand curling into a fist. “I’ll come back. I’ll get you out.”

Siwon gave him a thin smile. “Just bring her back in one piece. That’ll be enough. Oh, and Soonyoung?”

“What?”

“...Tell the princess it was Yesung who did it,” he said with bated breath, “The one who betrayed us. The one who sold the kingdom off to Renxing.” 

The information struck Soonyoung like lightning in the middle of summer. Yesung? The captain of the royal guard? But as much as he wanted to probe Siwon for more details, time was running out.

With one last glance at the wolf pacing behind the bars, Soonyoung turned and vanished into the shadows.

Morning hadn’t come yet. The world outside was still cloaked in that hushed, pre-dawn blue, the kind that made you wonder if time had stopped altogether. Your head pounded and your body ached in places you didn’t expect, even though Jeonghan was careful. Even though you didn’t go all the way.

He was still asleep beside you, one arm draped lazily across the bed, red hair spilling over his cheek like spilled ink. His face looked softer in sleep. Open, vulnerable. You found yourself staring too long.

You didn’t hate yourself. Not like you thought you would. Instead, you felt something worse. The slow, terrifying crawl of something tender. Something like the beginning of love.

Because for a moment, you forgot everything that mattered. Jeonghan let you forget what it meant to survive, and helped you remember what it felt like to simply exist.

But now, in the quiet, it hit you like cold water: staying here made you complacent. Safe. Soft. You were a princess without a kingdom. A daughter without a family. And every second you spent here pretending otherwise was another second lost.

Your gaze drifted to the window. The letter still sat on the table beside it, right where you left it. You rose without a sound, careful not to disturb him, and took up the quill and ink.

Taeyeon warned you that her method of travel required preparation, that you should only sign when you were sure. You expected it would take a day or two—maybe more. So you thought you’d have time. Time to think, time to say goodbye. Time to figure out how to look Jeonghan in the eye and explain why you couldn’t stay. You thought you could sign it now and still have a moment to breathe.

But the moment your name met the parchment, the magic activated with a pulse of light.

The letter glowed gold, the ink lifting from the page like threads spun from starlight. Then it curled in on itself, folding and folding until it collapsed inward and blossomed into a glowing portal—right there, in your room. You stumbled back in disbelief, heart hammering, the rush of air from the magic tousling your hair.

And then, from the other side of the portal, Taeyeon stepped through.

There was no fanfare, no sound but the hum of power quieting in the air around her. The royal mage surveyed the room calmly—eyes briefly catching on the prince still fast asleep in your bed, shirtless and oblivious—before settling on you with a look somewhere between curiosity and disapproval.

“You were going to leave without saying anything?”

You hesitated. You planned to write him a letter. Maybe to wake him with a kiss, or not at all. You hadn’t decided. But none of that mattered now, not with Taeyeon already standing there, the magic still warm and thrumming behind her like a living thing.

You glanced at Jeonghan, at the peace on his face you almost convinced yourself you deserved to see one last time. 

Then you nodded.

“It’ll be easier that way,” you murmured. “It’s not like I have anything to bring with me anyway.”

Taeyeon didn’t argue. She only lifted her hand toward you.

You took it.

And with one final glance at the life you nearly let yourself want, you stepped into the portal. The air folded around you like silk and silence.

The letter vanished. The portal closed. The room was empty.

And all you left behind was the shape of your absence.

You stepped out onto the balcony and caught your first real glimpse of Aragorn.

The southern city stretched far beyond what you expected—sunlit and sprawling, built into cliffs and winding hills, with a hundred mismatched rooftops like shattered pieces of stained glass. It didn’t have the symmetry of the capital, or the soft elegance of Seraphia. It was a riot of color and sound even from a distance. Banners flapped. Smoke curled from chimneys. Somewhere below, someone shouted, and laughter followed like a wave.

It was chaos. But it felt alive.

You’d bathed and changed in Taeyeon’s estate, which wasn’t so much a home as a half-forgotten villa carved into the side of a ridge, overtaken by vines and mountain wind. It had a well-worn warmth, like someone had lived here a long time and only kept what they needed.

Taeyeon joined you on the balcony, pulling her hair into a loose twist. Out of her usual robe dotted with magic sigils, she didn’t look like a royal mage. She looked like someone’s older sister. Someone who could disappear into a crowd.

“Southern cities like Aragorn are free,” she said, following your gaze. “Too far from the capital for the crown to keep a firm grip. That’s why I brought you here.”

You blinked. “And the king?”

“Doesn’t know.” She smiled faintly. “Nor does the queen.”

Your chest tightened. The guilt sat bitter on your tongue, but before you could speak, she added, “There’s another reason.”

You glanced at her, and she said, quietly, “Refugees from Ancarra have been trickling into the southern cities. Mostly women and children. Soldiers who deserted. Farmers who fled. Those far enough from your capital to not be held hostage by that tyrant general.”

The words knocked the wind out of you.

“What—why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m telling you now,” she said calmly. “But you’re not ready to see them. Not yet.”

You tried to object, to insist—but your voice caught, and she looked at you like she could see every fracture in your heart.

“I know it’s been a while, and you’ve been waiting on news from Ancarra as much as the rest of us. But even I can tell you’re still bleeding, Princess,” she said. “There’s a time for reunions. And a time to gather yourself. Let’s start with food.”

Taeyeon led you down into the city, into the belly of Aragorn, where stone staircases spiraled through sloped streets, and balconies overflowed with drying laundry and flowerpots. She took you to a tavern built into the bones of what might’ve once been a watchtower. 

It was cramped, loud, and the air was thick with spice and woodsmoke. You couldn’t imagine someone like her here. But Taeyeon walked in like she’d been coming for years.

“Lady Taeyeon!” a woman called from behind the counter.

Another man shouted, “She’s brought a friend! Should we be nervous?”

The royal mage raised a hand in greeting, utterly unfazed.

You watched in quiet disbelief as the room seemed to fold around her presence, not with reverence, but with the easy familiarity reserved for someone who belonged. No one bowed to her or whispered about her greatness. They greeted her like someone who knew the names of their children and the best time to buy peaches at the market. 

It was strange to see someone like Taeyeon received not as a myth, but as a neighbor.

She didn’t hesitate. She ordered for you both without ceremony—“You need to try the stuffed flatbread,” she said—and waved off your hand when you reached for coin. With practiced ease, she slipped through the crowd and guided you to a table tucked beneath a cracked window, where the breeze carried in the mingled scents of rosemary and dust.

As you settled into the corner seat, your plate still steaming between your hands, a flutter of movement caught your eye. A small brown bird—scruffy, no larger than your palm—landed neatly on the cracked windowsill beside you. It tilted its head, eyes trained on the food, and let out a sharp chirp. You smiled, at first thinking nothing of it. But then the bird spoke.

That smells like heaven. Is that stuffed with cheese? I’d kill for cheese.

The voice was bright and insistent in your mind, clear as thought but not your own. For a moment, you froze—your fingers tightening around your fork. It had been so long since you let yourself listen. You’d shut that part of yourself away the moment you left Reya behind, too afraid that hearing the voices of animals would remind you of everything you abandoned.

But here, now, something in you had gone quiet enough to let it in again. No pressure. No grief. Just the sound of the wind, the hum of the tavern, and a hungry bird with far too much personality.

Without thinking, you broke off a corner of your flatbread and offered it up. The bird hopped forward with greedy joy, clutching the crust in its beak before flying off again, wings catching the light like a wink. When you turned back to the table, Taeyeon was watching you with an amused look.

“You haven’t been listening lately,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

You looked down at your plate. “No.”

“Why?”

You didn’t answer right away. “Because if I heard them, I’d remember Reya. And if I remembered him, I’d start mourning. And mourning takes time I didn’t want to lose.”

Taeyeon nodded, slow and knowing. She leaned back in her chair, arms folded loosely across her chest. “Instinct magic like yours is a funny thing. It doesn’t demand permission—it just lies in wait until you’re ready to use it again.”

You paused, fork halfway to your mouth, the word catching like a splinter in your thoughts.

“Instinct magic?” you echoed. “Is that what I have?”

Taeyeon didn’t answer immediately. She was watching the bird again, which had settled on a rooftop across the street, fluffing its feathers against the wind. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet—not lecturing, not grand, just a simple truth shared over brunch.

“Magic like mine—you study it, shape it, discipline it until it bends to your will. It’s rigid and mathematical. A spell goes here, a sigil there. If you mess up the sequence, things fall apart.”

She looked at you then.

“But yours… yours doesn’t wait for a spell. It listens. It lives in your body, in your breath. It’s older than theory; wilder, and much closer to the roots of things.”

You frowned slightly. “But I can’t control it.”

“No,” she agreed. “You don’t control it. You coexist with it. That’s why it scares people, or why they don’t think it’s real magic. And probably why you stopped trusting it.”

You turned her words over, trying to fit them into the corners of yourself that had long gone quiet. You’d never thought of your gift as anything so dignified, it was just something you had. Like a birthmark. Something no one else quite understood, even when they pretended to.

But instinct magic—that felt like a name you hadn’t known you needed.

After brunch, Taeyeon turned to you with that same unreadable calm. “Do you want to meet Hanya now? The veteran mage I mentioned in my correspondence?”

You didn’t have anything better to do. And something in you—maybe curiosity, maybe restlessness—said the sooner, the better. You nodded.

Taeyeon gave a short hum. “Then we better bring her a gift first.”

She led you into a narrower, more tangled part of the city, where the buildings leaned in on each other like gossiping friends and flowering vines crept along every fence. A painted sign above a crooked door read Vines & Embers.

“The shop’s run by a plant elemental named Hyejin,” Taeyeon explained as she pushed open the door, “and her husband Chan—he’s a fire elemental. Bit of an odd couple, but they make it work. Somehow.”

A little bell jingled overhead, and a young man with tousled hair and a permanently sunburned grin looked up from the doorway.

“Lady Taeyeon?” he greeted, eyes lighting up. “What can we do for you today?”

Behind him, a woman waved lazily from the counter, where she was pruning something that looked like a rose crossed with a starfish.

“Just the usual for old Hanya,” Taeyeon called back.

Hyejin gave a knowing nod and disappeared into the back room.

Chan lingered near the door, folding his arms as he looked between the two of you. “And this must be…?”

Taeyeon didn’t miss a beat. “My niece from the coast. She’s visiting for a while. Poor thing needed some fresh air after the capital.”

You blinked once, then remembered to smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“Ahhh, makes sense,” Chan said, beaming. “You’ve got her eyebrows. And the general look of someone who's been breathing too much palace air.” He winked.

You didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but you let it slide.

As Hyejin worked in the back, Chan kept the conversation going, bouncing from gossip about the midday heatwave to which blossoms had opened early this year. Eventually, the topic veered toward the refugees.

“Some of the Ancarra folks came through here last week,” he said. “Quiet lot. Tired eyes. They don't ask for much—just space to rest. Hyejin's been growing nightshade and balm to help with the headaches. Too many of 'em wake up screaming.”

You kept your face as still as stone. 

Taeyeon didn't look at you, but you felt her shift ever so slightly—her sleeve brushing yours in what could have been an accident. Or not.

Just then, Hyejin emerged with a bundle wrapped in waxed paper and tied with gold thread. It smelled of lavender, iron, and something like starlight or ozone. A few pale blue feathers, still shimmering faintly, had been tucked beneath the twine.

“She’ll know what it means,” Hyejin said simply.

“Of course she will,” Taeyeon replied, reaching for the package. “Thanks, Hyejin. And tell your husband to stop setting fire to the begonias.”

Chan coughed. “I swear they like it. It’s character-building.”

You followed Taeyeon out of the shop with the bundle in hand, still wondering what kind of person received a gift like this—and what exactly you were walking into next.

Taeyeon brought you to the edge of the mountains the same way she fetched you from the capital—through a shimmering cut in space. You stepped through the tear in the air and landed on solid ground, but she stumbled slightly as the portal winked shut behind her.

“You okay?” you asked, catching the way her hand gripped her hip a second too long.

She straightened, gave a breathless laugh. “I’m fine. Spatial magic has its price. It would be too powerful otherwise.”

You frowned. “What kind of price?”

Taeyeon shrugged. “Call it the law of equivalent exchange. Power doesn't come from nowhere. I burn a little bit of myself every time I open a gate like that.” She glanced back toward the now-empty air. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth it.”

You didn’t press further. Because ahead of you, nestled into the foothills, was a crooked little house stitched from stone, ivy, and old wood, half-sunken into the slope like it had grown from the mountain itself. A windchime of bones clicked gently from the awning. Chickens wandered the yard, unpenned. A goat napped on the porch. A monkey dozed in the rafters.

You could hear them all. Thoughts like quiet murmurs in the back of your head—curious, distracted, and alive. It had been so long since you let yourself listen to animals, yet here, among the clamor, you felt your magic stir like an old song.

Taeyeon stepped onto the porch and knocked once, sharply. No answer.

She knocked again.

A rustle, then a grumble. “Go away! I’m not buying anything and I’ve got enough potions to last through winter.”

Taeyeon didn’t flinch. “It’s me. I brought someone who wants to study under you.”

For a while, there was only silence. But then came the groan of old hinges. The door creaked open to reveal an elderly woman with tangled gray hair and a face carved deep with lines. She squinted at Taeyeon first.

“I told you, I’m too old to be anyone’s damn teacher.”

You stepped forward quickly, holding out the bouquet from Hyejin’s shop. “These are for you, ma’am,” you offered.

Hanya didn’t even look at the flowers. Her gaze landed on you—and stopped. Her face went still. For a second, it was like she didn’t see you at all, but something beyond you. 

Then she slammed the door shut.

“Teacher,” Taeyeon said flatly, rubbing her temple, “that’s not very polite.”

“Get that girl away from here.”

“She came all the way from the capital.”

“I don’t care if she came from the moon. I’m not touching that cursed magic. You hear me?” A pause. Then quieter, like a huff of disappointment: “You should’ve known better.”

You stared at the door, still holding the flowers. “What does she mean?” you whispered. “Cursed magic? I just talk to animals. That’s all I can do.”

Behind the wood, Hanya hissed, “That’s not all you can do at all. And if you don’t know it yet, you will. And when that happens, you’ll wish you’d never come knocking.”

Taeyeon only sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with quiet resignation. “Leave the gift,” she murmured. “There’s no getting through to her today.”

You hesitated, glancing again at the shut door. But you obeyed, setting the bundle of paper and twine neatly by the threshold. The goats watched you with interest. The monkey stretched out a lazy limb and scratched its side. You stepped back down onto the grass and asked, “What even is it? The gift, I mean.”

“She’ll feed her beasts with it,” Taeyeon said.

You blinked. “Beasts?”

Taeyeon nodded, gesturing toward the scattered creatures dotting the property. “Hanya practices beast magic. Like you, she can understand and talk to animals.” Her eyes lifted toward the awning, where the monkey now dangled by its tail. “These ones? They’re naturally drawn to her. But sometimes, more dangerous ones come too. Wild wolves. Mountain cats. I’ve even seen a wyvern once.”

You stared. “And she just… lets them near her?”

“They come and go. She doesn’t cage them. She tames them.” Taeyeon smiled faintly. “They all love those flowers we brought. It’s called cindersong. Has a scent only beasts can smell, something sweet and strange and grounding. Hyejin grows them by hand. That bundle will be gone by nightfall.”

You looked again at the door, now just a closed shadow in the stone. “If our magic isn’t so different… why’d Hanya refuse to teach me?”

Taeyeon was quiet for a long time.

Then she glanced once more at the shut door and said, “Let’s head home. We’ll talk more there.”

Back at the estate, the portal spit you out into stillness. The sun was lower now, and so was Taeyeon’s energy. You noticed the tremble in her fingers as she straightened her robes, the slight wobble in her step. 

But before you could offer help, a maid appeared—someone you hadn’t seen this morning, with cropped hair and quiet hands. She moved without a word, as if she’d known what was needed long before you arrived.

A steaming towel was pressed into Taeyeon’s palms. A small vial uncorked beneath her nose. A flask of something bitter and glowing, passed from hand to hand as she gulped it down. By the time you reached the study, Taeyeon looked a little less hollowed-out, though her eyes were still rimmed with strain.

You both sat. She didn’t waste time.

“She was from Ancarra too, you know,” the royal mage said quietly. “Hanya.”

Your breath caught. “She was?”

Taeyeon nodded. “She never talks about it. I didn’t even know for years. I only knew her as the former royal mage here, in Aragorn. She was the one who taught me everything I know.” She exhaled slowly. “But beast magic... that’s an old kind of magic, almost ancient. It was hers long before she came here to Seraphia.”

“She said I’ll regret coming to her,” you murmured.

Taeyeon’s eyes softened. “She doesn’t mean that. But there’s a theory—just a whisper, really—that instinct magic, beast magic, whatever you want to call it, was born in Ancarra. That it came from there and nowhere else. But no one remembers how. Or why.”

You tilted your head. “No one?”

“I tried looking,” she said. “I went to Ancarra once. Searched your libraries. Your temples. Nothing. No records. Not even mentions. It’s like the world agreed to forget it.”

Your chest tightened. “So now they call it... cursed?”

Taeyeon’s lips pressed into a line. “That’s the word people use. Cursed. Dangerous. Unnatural.” She shook her head. “But I don’t know why. Teacher never explained.”

The silence came like a tide. You let it wash over you.

Then, softly: “But she recognized you. Your blood. That voice inside you. It frightened her. Maybe you reminded her of who she used to be. Or what she ran from.”

You looked at your hands. They didn’t feel cursed. But they didn’t feel innocent either.

Before you could form a proper response, there was a knock at the study door. Taeyeon raised her head. “Come in,” she called, and the quiet maid from earlier slipped in with barely a sound. She didn’t speak. Just walked up to you, placed an envelope in your hands—not Taeyeon’s—and bowed before disappearing again.

You stared at the envelope, then at Taeyeon, who was already laughing under her breath. “Minjeong,” she explained. “A woman of few words. But I promise she knows everything before the rest of us do.”

You barely registered the words. Your gaze had dropped to the wax seal now pressing cold against your thumb. The crest of Seraphian royalty gleamed there in deep red, too familiar to mistake.

Your heart sank. “Oh.”

Taeyeon’s smile faded into a sigh. “That boy’s fast. I thought we had at least a week.”

You blinked. “What?”

She didn’t elaborate. So you cracked the seal and opened the letter.

Jeonghan’s handwriting was sharp as ever—elegant and scathing in equal measure.

Dear Princess,

Congratulations on your daring escape. Truly, I admire the stealth. Slipping away in the morning without so much as a goodbye kiss? Bold of you. One might say... cowardly, but let’s be generous.

I’m writing this from my private study, where I’ve spent the last several hours wondering if you were kidnapped, murdered, or simply decided I was a regrettable phase of your mid-royal crisis. I even considered the possibility that you ran off with Choi Seungcheol, but he just came back to the castle again, equally clueless of your whereabouts. 

In case you're wondering how I tracked you down: say hello to Dandelion. He’s the highly trained storm petrel currently biting your finger, unless someone else suffered that fate and handed this to you instead. He can locate anyone in the world by scent. (Yes, even yours, and yes, you smell like roses and rain, it’s weird.)

Now. If you do not respond—promptly—and assure me that you have not been carted off by Minghao’s forces or worse, eloped with a royal mage named Kim Taeyeon, I will stop at nothing to find you.

I am, after all, a very concerned fiancé.

Yours unwillingly, Jeonghan

By the time you reached the bottom, Taeyeon was sipping her tea again, trying to hide a smirk behind the cup. 

“Storm petrel?” she asked mildly.

You stared at the paper. “He named it Dandelion.”

Taeyeon hummed. “Affection is such a strange language.”

Later that evening, you decided to dignify the whining prince with a correspondence of your own, lest he level his own kingdom the same way Minghao did to yours. 

You lit the candle with a flick of your fingers and settled at the desk in the bedchamber Taeyeon lent you. The flame wavered with the breeze drifting in from the open window, casting long shadows over the parchment. Dandelion the storm petrel hadn’t left yet. He perched like a judgmental gargoyle on the bedpost, fluffing his feathers with great, self-important fuss.

“I’m not writing a novel,” you muttered.

I’ve been waiting, he chirped back, more sullen than stern. The eldest prince said I’d be plucked and roasted if I returned without your reply.

“Dramatic as always,” you sighed, but the guilt twisted in your stomach anyway. You pulled the blank sheet toward you and smoothed it flat. The ink smelled sharp, like iron and smoke.

And then, under the dim, flickering light, you began.

Jeonghan,

Thank you for your concern. Truly, the mental image of you pacing around your study, catastrophizing my disappearance, is something I’ll cherish. 

I’m safe. Not kidnapped. Not murdered. Not swept away by a charming stranger (though Taeyeon did try to buy me stuffed flatbread, which I’m beginning to suspect was a bribe). No need to summon the cavalry.

You may relax your Very Concerned Fiancé act. I didn’t vanish to hurt you. I left because I needed clarity—on my magic, on myself, on what all of this means now that Ancarra isn’t mine to call home. I didn’t say goodbye because I knew you’d try to stop me, and I didn’t want to leave angry. I wanted to leave clean.

But you found me anyway. Of course you did.

I’ll write again soon. Don’t storm the continent in the meantime.

Not yours, Go Die

P.S. You are the regrettable phase of my post-royal crisis. Get your timeline straight.

P.P.S. Dandelion lives in constant fear of becoming your next lunch. He’s feathered, not marinated. Be nicer to animals, Your Highness.

You tucked the letter into the envelope with a final sigh, sealing it with the wax Taeyeon had left on the writing desk. Dandelion, still perched on the bedpost like a little sentinel, fluttered down as you approached.

“Here,” you said, offering him the letter. “To Jeonghan. Straight to the capital.”

The storm petrel took it delicately in his beak, clamping down with practiced care. But when you eyed him skeptically, wondering how on earth a creature his size could cross a continent with a letter in his mouth, he made a raspy scoffing sound that sounded an awful lot like offense.

“Right. Sorry for doubting you,” you muttered, raising your hands.

He tilted his head. You’re not so bad, he seemed to say. Tell that fiancé of yours to feed me something better than dried sardines next time.

With that, Dandelion turned, wings unfurling in one smooth movement. He took off toward the open window, a flash of white feathers disappearing into the night sky. You watched him vanish into the starlight, feeling oddly... lighter.

Still alone in the room, you crawled back into bed, the mattress soft but unfamiliar. You lay in the dark, arm tucked beneath your head, and tried to make sense of the day. The bizarre flower shop. Hanya’s slammed door. Taeyeon’s reluctant honesty. You still had no leads on improving your magic, not when your supposed mentor treated you like a plague, so maybe you’d go back to the one thing you could rely on—your body. Training. Swordwork. Something solid. Something that didn’t vanish the second you thought you understood it.

Just as your thoughts began to settle into that decision, the sound of flapping wings returned. You sat up, expecting to see Dandelion again. Maybe he forgot something.

But it wasn’t him.

An owl now perched on your window’s edge, dark-feathered and still as a shadow. Its eyes gleamed gold in the candlelight. It didn’t blink. It didn’t move. And yet, it didn’t feel ominous. Quite the opposite. You couldn’t explain it—but something about its presence was… calming.

You barely noticed the way your eyelids started to droop. A deep, sudden fatigue swept over you like mist.

When you finally fell asleep, it was under the owl’s silent, unblinking gaze.

It had been a few days since you arrived in Aragorn, and the stillness was starting to press in around the edges. Jeonghan hadn’t written back—not a word, not even a feather—and though you tried not to let it bother you, his silence echoed louder than you expected.

Taeyeon was doing what she could. She promised she’d talk to Hanya again, try a gentler approach in-between her duties as a royal mage. But even magic couldn’t untangle years of someone else’s pain overnight.

And you… you’d been trying too. You'd crept through the market in borrowed clothes and a pulled-down hood, heart racing, hoping to slip by unnoticed. The refugee quarter wasn’t far. You made it to the edge more than once—close enough to hear voices in your own dialect, smell the cooking you remembered from your palace kitchens—but each time, something in you buckled. You turned back. Not yet. Not today.

So instead, you trained.

Taeyeon had told you that Chan trained under a warrior named Jongkook, and now here you were—bruised, panting, and flat on your back in the dirt.

"You're dead again," Chan said sheepishly, hovering over you with a hand outstretched. "Sorry about the fire."

You blinked up at him, still trying to catch your breath. The edge of your tunic was charred, the singed fabric curling at the hem like dead petals. He’d almost set your entire sleeve ablaze during a block that got a little too passionate. Again.

"I noticed," you muttered, grasping his hand and letting him haul you to your feet.

Jongkook only watched from the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, unreadable behind his weather-worn face. “How many times do I have to tell you—you’re relying on your feet like they’re swords.”

“Force of habit,” you said through clenched teeth.

“No habit survives the battlefield if it gets you killed.”

You didn’t argue. You couldn’t. Not when you knew he was right. You'd been trained in precise swordplay, elegant footwork, and quick reflexes—all the hallmarks of a princess pretending to be a warrior. But Jongkook wouldn’t let you touch a blade, not until you learned to fight with your body alone.

No weapon. No titles. No shortcuts.

Only fists, breath, and bruises.

Back in Ancarra, the very idea of you brawling would’ve caused a scandal. Fencing was already a rebellion in silk; hand-to-hand combat would’ve been cause for exile. And yet, here you were, sweating like a farmhand and aching in places you didn’t know existed.

Jongkook finally grunted and motioned for the two of you to follow. “Enough for today. Come eat.”

You didn’t expect lunch to be anything more than a few dried rations or stew on a stone fire, but Jongkook surprised you. His home was humble, tucked into a cluster of pine trees, but the smell of simmering broth and grilled meat hit you before the door even opened.

"You cook?" you asked, incredulous, as he set down bowls with a practiced hand.

“I fight. I eat. I survive.” His voice had no hint of ego—just fact. “Same as you’ll do.”

Chan handed you a bowl and gave you a crooked smile. “I can’t feel my shoulders.”

You lifted your own bowl, still wincing as you sat. “I can’t feel my dignity.”

Chan snorted. Jongkook said nothing, but you swore you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. You might’ve been losing the fights, but something told you that you were starting to win something else.

You returned to Taeyeon’s estate just before sundown, dust and sweat clinging to your limbs after another brutal round of training. The moment you stepped past the threshold, Minjeong was already there—silent as ever, like she moved on ghosts’ feet.

“My Lady won’t be back until morning,” she said.

You blinked. “Sorry—what?”

It was the first time you’d heard Minjeong speak. Her voice was soft but steady, like a stream running beneath snow. She tilted her head at your reaction, not bothering to answer.

“Any requests for dinner?” she asked next, as if nothing strange had just occurred.

You shook your head. “Anything will do.”

Minjeong nodded once and disappeared into the house, leaving you standing there with the peculiar weight of her words hanging in the air. Taeyeon wouldn’t be home tonight. That… felt strange. She’d been a constant since your arrival—a reliable north. The house felt too large without her.

You marched up to your bedchambers, peeling off your outer tunic, planning to draw a bath after grabbing a change of clothes. Taeyeon had filled the wardrobe with outfits tailored for your size—soft cottons and loose robes you wouldn’t have been allowed to wear in Ancarra. She really had thought of everything. You were in her debt more than you could say.

But before you could open the drawers, you noticed the flick of movement by the windowsill.

A storm petrel.

Not Dandelion. This one was sleeker, darker, its feathers almost blue in the candlelight. It perched stiffly, an envelope clenched between its beak.

“Are you alright?” you asked gently, stepping closer.

No answer, just a quiet ruffle of wings. You took the letter from its beak and the bird lingered like some feathered guardian by the window. Even if it didn’t bother talking to you, you could tell that this one was waiting for you to write up a response as soon as you could, too. 

You turned the letter over, and your heart stuttered when you saw the same dignified wax seal as before. You broke it with one finger.

Princess,

So you can write. I was starting to worry the storm petrel union had gone on strike. You know, I thought I’d be angry when your letter finally arrived. But I read it three times instead. I think I hate how well you know me.

Dandelion is alive, thank you very much. Traumatized, perhaps, but alive. He’s been flapping around like a nervous maid since his return. The cook offered to pluck him for stew and I haven’t had the heart to correct her yet. I might. Depends on my mood.

As for you—don’t vanish again. Not without telling me first. It’s very hard to be a dramatic, wounded fiancé without an audience. Also, if you think you can just slip away from me after that very passionate night we shared, you are sorely mistaken. My spine still hurts, by the way. I’m convinced you were trying to kill me.

I miss you. That’s the part I wasn’t going to write, but here we are.

I’m glad you’re safe. Even if you’re halfway across the continent dodging affection and soul-searching.

Your eternal headache, Jeonghan

You didn’t realize you were grinning until the nameless storm petrel let out a low coo from his perch—watching you with the bored impatience of someone who had five more deliveries to make and a schedule to keep.

So you picked up your pen and got to it.

Jeonghan,

Three times? That’s almost romantic. I would accuse you of sentimentality, but we both know your ego would never survive the scandal.

I’m glad Dandelion survived his brush with death and domestic labor. He deserves better than you, frankly. If you let him become soup, I’ll never speak to you again. 

As for that very passionate night—I wasn’t trying to kill you. If I were, you wouldn’t have walked again, let alone written me such a smug letter. But I’ll take the compliment. I’ve been told I leave an impression.

Don’t worry. I won’t vanish again. Not without warning. Not unless I have to. (There it is, my honesty for the week.) I didn’t expect your letter to hit as hard as it did. You miss me—and I believe you. That’s the part I wasn’t going to write. But here we are.

I’ve been training these days, sparring with my fists instead of a sword. I lose a lot, but I think that’s the point. You’d laugh if you saw how bruised I am right now. My fellow mentee said it builds character. I told him I liked mine just fine before.

I miss you too.

Don’t let them make a martyr out of you while I’m gone.

Still not yours, Ancarra’s rightful heir

You didn’t sleep well.

The letter from Jeonghan sat folded beneath your pillow, like a charm you pretend didn’t matter. You read it again before the sun rose, and again while pulling on your boots. 

Every morning since arriving in Aragorn, you told yourself tomorrow. Tomorrow, you would go to the quarter Taeyeon had quietly given to the displaced people of Ancarra. Tomorrow, you would face the ones you’d left behind. But “tomorrow” kept slipping further out of reach, buried under bruises, training drills, and the uneasy ache of being both too much and never enough for the person you used to be.

Taeyeon had done more for them than you could have asked before you even set foot in the city. The district she gave them had once been a lively hub of artists and potters, abandoned years ago after a flood rerouted the river. Now it stood reclaimed—tent cloth strung across old balconies, makeshift hearths glowing behind broken windows, and gardens sprouting defiantly between the cracks of sunbaked stone. 

The people of Aragorn had helped them, quietly and without fanfare—sharing food, teaching them how to barter, offering stories instead of suspicion. Their reception of your people was so much warmer than how the royal council welcomed you and Soonyoung the day you arrived, and you received that knowledge with quiet relief.

You didn’t know what you expected to feel, walking into that space. Guilt was a given. Shame too. But the nausea that coiled in your gut—that was new. You kept your hood up and your hands hidden, as if either could disguise the lineage stamped across your face.

Hyejin spotted you first.

She stood beneath the faded awning of an old workshop, sleeves rolled high and violet-stained hands doling out jars of nightshade balm. Her presence was a calm one, even surrounded by the sick and weary. You watched her laugh gently with an elder as she re-wrapped the woman’s wrist, murmuring something too soft to hear.

Then her eyes flicked up.

“Oh!” she called, brightening. “You’re Lady Taeyeon’s niece, right? What are you doing all the way out here?”

You froze. Right. That was the description Taeyeon gave to them—her niece, a woman just visiting from the capital. Nothing more. It was safer that way.

You opened your mouth, but then someone else called out to you.

“…Princess?”

You turned.

A middle-aged woman stood at the edge of the path, a basket of foraged roots slipping from her arms. Her eyes widened as if she were seeing a ghost. You didn’t know her. Not by name, not by face. She was one of thousands you’d failed to protect. But the way she looked at you made your throat tight. It wasn’t just recognition, it was faith. And that was harder to bear.

Now she fell to her knees.

“Princess,” she choked, tears welling fast. “It’s really you. Thank the gods, you’re alive. We—we thought you were gone. We thought they—”

Her voice broke, and you dropped beside her, grasping her hands before she could press her forehead to the dirt.

“Please,” you whispered. “Don’t. You don’t have to—”

But more eyes had turned. More voices picked up. Murmurs of your title wove through the narrow street like wind in dry leaves. And the nausea returned when you dared to look at Hyejin.

She stood very still, a jar of balm still cradled in one hand. Her gaze swept from the kneeling woman to you, her expression unreadable. You braced for a question. A quiet who are you, really? But it never came.

Instead, Hyejin held your gaze for a moment longer, then offered a small, knowing smile. With a slight dip of her head, she turned and slipped away into the crowd, leaving you exactly what she had given the others: space.

You stayed kneeling beside the woman longer than you meant to, your hands still wrapped around hers. She was trembling, her tears falling silently now, one after the other.

Then the others began to gather.

They didn’t crowd, not exactly. But one by one, they drew closer—shuffling feet and hesitant steps, eyes wide with something like reverence. One man offered you a stool. A girl no older than ten held out a cup of watered tea with both hands. Someone murmured something about fanning you, someone else about soup.

You tried to stand, to wave it all off, but the attention followed like a tide. Hands reached to steady you, voices overlapped.

"Let her sit, she must be exhausted."

"Princess, do you need anything? Say the word—"

“No,” you said, gently but firmly. “There’s no need for that.”

They quieted.

You looked around at the faces—lined with fatigue, hollowed by worry, but still somehow soft. Still kind. “I’m no different from any of you,” you said. “Titles don’t matter now. I’m just another child of Ancarra who had to run.”

A few exchanged glances, unsure. Still, the space around you loosened. Their fussing eased, retreating into murmured apologies and lowered gazes. You hated the way the word princess seemed to build a wall no matter how gently you tried to tear it down.

You accepted the tea from the little girl with a nod of thanks and turned to the group.

“Has there been any word?” you asked, voice quiet. “From home?”

The silence that fell was louder than words.

A few exchanged glances before a younger man finally spoke. He had a bandage along his forearm and eyes that looked far older than his face.

“There’s been nothing since we crossed the border. No letters, no couriers. Not even smuggled word from the traders. It’s like the land itself closed up behind us..”

He paused, voice growing rougher. “But before that... we saw enough.”

Another woman nodded, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “The new king… He’s changed everything. The patrols. The laws. People vanish, sometimes whole families if they so much as defy him. The soldiers say it’s for peace and order—but they act more like hunters than guards.”

Your heart ached with every word. For the longest time you could only assume that Minghao would seize the throne the moment he’d killed your father, but hearing from the citizens’ mouths that he’s been bastardizing the place you called home… You couldn’t even begin to fathom how to feel about it. 

All of a sudden, someone else muttered, “And the animals...”

You turned toward the speaker, a boy barely in his teens.

“They're not right,” he said. “Things from the mountains and the marshes showing up in the city. Creatures we’ve only heard in stories. I saw one—twice the size of a horse, with eyes like glass. The guards didn’t even flinch. They walked it like it was trained. And when they ordered it to kill my parents…” 

Your hands tightened around the cup.

“Minghao has been gathering beasts all across the kingdom, Your Highness,” said an elderly man, leaning on a carved cane. “My daughter told me that his armies brought them into the capital in droves. Those that he wasn’t interested in experimenting on were given as pets to his high-ranking soldiers…”

Experimenting? For what? 

Minghao had always been a steady, gentle presence in your life. Despite the harshness of his upbringing as a Renxing royal, he never let it harden him, at least not with you. He was the one who first placed a bow in your hands, one of the few who stood beside you when others scoffed at the idea of a princess learning to fight. He never saw you as less for wanting more. And for a long time, you remembered what it felt like to trust him.

So why did this sound like something he’d planned for a very long time?

Your people’s eyes clung to you, heavy with hope that hadn’t been asked for, but had somehow taken root the moment they recognized your face. It wrapped around you like ivy, quiet and persistent, tightening with every breath.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“You’re the rightful heir,” the woman in front of you whispered with hope. “We don’t ask for miracles. Just… tell us you haven’t given up. Tell us we’re not waiting for nothing.”

A few others murmured in agreement.

You met her eyes. Then the eyes of the boy who’d lost his parents. The man with the bandaged arm. The old man with the cane. Each one etched with wounds and wear, and yet—each one daring to hope again.

And in your chest, something twisted.

I don’t know what to do.

The thought tried to rise, thick and shameful. You didn’t know how to reclaim a kingdom, or face someone you once trusted with your own life. You didn’t know what it meant to be queen, or even if you wanted to be.

But you remembered your father—how even in the face of every problem the throne had to face, he never once let the people see the storm in his heart. His spine had been a spine for all of Ancarra. When grief nearly drowned you, his voice was still the one you searched for in the dark. 

You rose slowly to your feet, pressing the tea back into the girl’s hands with a soft smile. The circle around you widened just slightly, respectful and watchful.

“I know it’s been hard,” you said, your voice calm, steady—more than you felt. “For all of us. We’ve lost so much. But we’re here, we’re still alive. That means something.”

A few people nodded faintly. Others just watched, unmoving, like they were afraid this moment would vanish if they blinked.

You turned to look at them one by one, drawing strength from their presence even as their weight settled deeper on your shoulders. “We may not be in Ancarra anymore, but Ancarra still lives—in us. In our choices. In what we fight for. That hasn’t changed. That won’t change.”

You breathed in slowly, deeply, like your father used to before addressing a court that expected miracles. You remembered how he never flinched when the weight of the country bore down. How he didn’t always have the answers, but he never let them see his doubt.

He was gone.

Now it was your turn.

“We don’t know what’s coming next. But I promise you—” You paused, squaring your shoulders. “Whatever it is, we’ll meet it. Together.”

A long silence followed. Then someone whispered, "For Ancarra."

Another voice echoed it. Then another. Until the street hummed with the quiet beginnings of belief. You didn’t let yourself cry, though you wanted to. Because you were not just some girl lost in a country that wasn’t her own. 

You were Ancarra’s future. 

The sun had begun to dip when you returned to Taeyeon’s estate. The cobbled path was golden in the light, and the silence of the grounds wrapped around you like balm. You half-expected to find the courtyard empty again, but as you stepped through the arched gate, a familiar voice called out:

“You’re just in time for tea.”

You blinked, surprised.

Taeyeon sat on the front porch, a delicate porcelain cup in one hand, the other resting loosely across her lap. She looked far too serene for someone who had been managing half the city’s magical logistics. Her dark hair was pinned back today, but loose strands shimmered around her face in the late light. A second cup sat beside her, already steaming.

“I thought you were still out,” you said, walking closer. 

Taeyeon smiled apologetically and gestured to the seat beside her. “I had to tend to some administrative tedium. The mage’s guild gets skittish every time I miss a meeting—afraid I’ve gone off to start a war, probably. But now I’m back. And far more free to help you with the Hanya issue.”

You sank onto the cushion beside her with a sigh and reached for the tea. “Minjeong’s cooking was plenty company,” you said truthfully, a little grin tugging at your mouth. “Seriously. I’ve never had noodles like that.”

“She takes it as a personal offense if anyone walks away hungry,” Taeyeon said fondly.

For a few beats, the quiet settled in. Then you set your cup down and turned toward her, more serious now. “About Hanya…”

Taeyeon arched her brow.

“I wanted to tell you… you don’t have to scheme on my behalf.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “I want to speak to her myself.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head, lips twitching. “What spurred this on?”

“I met with some of the Ancarrian refugees today,” you said quietly. “They’re still holding on. Somehow. And they looked at me like I’m still someone worth believing in.”

Her smile deepened, warm and proud. “You are someone worth believing in.”

You looked away, the words settling somewhere too close to the bone.

“Okay,” Taeyeon said. “I’ll take you to Hanya at first light. But for today—rest. You still have bruises from your sparring sessions at Jongkook’s. I’m afraid Prince Jeonghan will have me maimed alive if he finds out I permitted those blemishes on you.”

You snorted, the tension easing from your shoulders. “He would not.”

“Speaking of that prince,” she added, “he sent another letter for you. The bird’s already waiting by the window of your room.”

You blinked. “Already?”

Taeyeon laughed cheekily. “I think he’s working through separation anxiety in written form.”

You thanked Taeyeon quietly and slipped back into the house, the scent of roasted nuts trailing from the kitchen. As you passed, Minjeong barely looked up from her chopping, but she gave a small nod, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. You returned it before heading upstairs.

Your room was bathed in amber light. The shutters had been opened just enough to let the sun filter through, casting golden stripes across the floor. Perched on the windowsill was a familiar bird—indignant, and unmistakably sulky.

“Dandelion,” you breathed.

He stared at you like he’s been waiting for hours.

Took you long enough.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re in a mood.”

You would be too if someone plucked you out of the royal aviary at an ungodly hour reeking of alcohol. Dandelion fluffed his feathers with great offense. Is that guy really your type? He’s a little insane, you know.

“He’s plenty insane,” you corrected, not bothering to answer his question as you reached for the letter he’d placed on your nightstand. “Jeonghan woke you up just for this? Couldn’t even wait until morning?”

With no bribe, too! Not even the crust of a honey biscuit. Ungrateful bastard.

You stifled a smile, already recognizing Jeonghan’s dramatic scrawl on the parchment. But as your eyes parsed through the words he’d written, a scowl slowly rooted itself on your face.

Princess,

Do you know what the problem is with Oak Walker? It makes a man honest.

I was going to write something refined. Polished. The sort of letter your new mage friends would be proud of. But then I started thinking about the way you looked the last  night we were together—moonlight on your collarbone, moaning like the pretty thing you are—and suddenly, grammar didn’t feel that important anymore.

Do you ever think about it? The way you ruined me?

I haven’t slept a full night since. My bed’s cold. My back still aches. My staff won’t meet my eyes. They think I’m possessed. And maybe I am because every time I close my eyes, I see you beneath me, skin flushed, breasts bouncing, my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours.

You should come home. I promise to let you pin me to a wall as revenge for the last time I did that to you. Or the floor. Or the damn balcony—I’m not picky.

Yours in body and soul,  Jeonghan

P.S. If you burn this, I will know. I will feel it.

You stared at the letter.

The words were very much still there.

Your ears burned. Your soul burned.

“…He did not just—”

Your voice strangled itself in disbelief as your gaze flitted wildly across the page, trying to make sense of the absolute audacity bleeding from every line. And oh, there it was again—my cock nestled between those supple thighs of yours—and—

You slapped the parchment face down on your desk like it had personally wronged you.

From the desk, Dandelion ruffled his feathers. You alright? Did he insult your ancestors or something?

You made another strangled noise and slapped the letter facedown, as if that would undo the image now seared into your brain. Gods, you could see it all again—Jeonghan’s mouth on your skin, the way his voice had gone hoarse whispering your name, the heat of his body against yours, the—

You groaned and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes. “He’s actually insane.”

You keep saying that, Dandelion said dryly, and yet you’re redder than a boiled beet.

“I’m not—! Shut up.”

Just say the word and I’ll drop something in his bathwater. Maybe something that turns his voice high-pitched for a few hours.

You gave him a look. “You’re supposed to be neutral.”

I’m not that neutral. A pause. So. Am I taking a response back? Or should I just cough dramatically near his ear for a full day and let him know it’s from you?

You groaned again—but this time, you reached for a fresh sheet of parchment. “He’s not getting the last word.”

Dandelion chirped happily. That’s the spirit.

Jeonghan,

Have you completely lost your mind?

Actually, don’t answer that. I already know the answer. No sane person sends that kind of letter via bird in the middle of the night, without so much as a crumb of food for the courier. Dandelion is offended. I am mortified beyond belief. 

Do you even remember what you wrote? You’d better hope not, because if you ever say any of that out loud to my face, I’ll make good on the “pinning you to the wall” part, but not the way you meant.

Gods, Jeonghan. I came to Aragorn to figure out who I am outside of what the world made me. To breathe for a moment. To think clearly. And then you go and send that? You really are the most ridiculous man I’ve ever met.

But since I’m concerned that my lack of a direct response to your… debauchery might result in further punishment for Dandelion, then yes. I think about that night more often than I’d like to admit. However, unlike you, I don’t write important correspondences while under the influence of Yoona’s evil Oak Walker, so that’s all you’re getting out of me. 

Sincerely, Dandelion’s only friend

P.S. Your staff thinks you’re possessed because you are. I should know. I’ve spent more than enough time in your orbit to recognize the symptoms.

P.P.S. Get some sleep. I mean it.

You folded the letter with great precision, like you were packing away something volatile. Sealed it with the little copper signet Taeyeon had given you, stamped with Aragorn’s flame. Then you turned to Dandelion, who was very visibly preening like he hadn’t just been dragged into a royal sex scandal against his will.

“Here,” you said, handing over the rolled parchment. “Straight to the prince. No stops. No flirting with the bluebirds on the southern cliffs.”

I have done no such thing! 

You shook your head, trying not to laugh. “Just go. And if he tries to read this out loud to anyone, claw his face off.”

Dandelion took off in a sweep of dark wings and indignant muttering, leaving you alone once more in your sun-dappled chambers.

For a moment, you simply stood there, the silence hugging your shoulders. Then you sank into the bed, curling onto your side as your eyes drifted toward Jeonghan’s most recent letter. You’d tossed carelessly on your quilt like it wasn’t responsible for the blush creeping up your neck.

You reached for it. 

(You shouldn’t have. You absolutely shouldn’t have.

But you did.)

Your gaze traced the lines again, the scrawl that grew progressively less elegant the filthier it got. You could almost hear his voice in it—drawling, drunk, and smug. And unfortunately for you, your treacherous memory filled in the rest.

The curve of moonlight over his skin. The way your names had blurred on each other’s tongues. The pressure of his mouth between your thighs, and your fingers tangled in his red hair as you gasped for—

You groaned into a pillow, mortified.

What was wrong with you?

Why did your body remember every second with such vivid, burning clarity? You pressed your legs together and tried not to think about the fact that you were embarrassingly warm all over. You’d literally just met with the remnants of your people this morning, and now you’re fantasizing about an uncouth prince?

He’d ruined you, and he wasn’t even in the damn room.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, as if suffocating yourself could somehow drown out the memory. It didn’t. If anything, the darkness behind your eyelids made it worse. You could still feel Jeonghan bracing himself above you with that maddening smile before stealing the breath from your lungs. You reached blindly for his letter again, the parchment crackling beneath your fingers. Read the lines a third time. Maybe a fourth. Your thighs shifted.

“Stop,” you groaned at yourself.

But the memory was a wildfire now, licking across your skin—his mouth, his hands, the weight of him, the way he'd said your name like it was holy. And gods help you, your hand started moving before you could talk yourself out of it.

You bit your lip as your fingers brushed over the waistband of your trousers, breath catching in your throat. 

But your body didn’t seem to care—because your mind was already there. Back in his arms. Back in that room lit by moonlight and madness, where the air had smelled like sandalwood and wine and something distinctly him. 

Tell me what you want.

You slipped your hand lower, hips shifting as heat pulsed through you.

“I hate you,” you whispered.

Your fingers moved slower, firmer, guided by the rhythm of memory. His hands on your thighs. His mouth at your neck. You moaned softly, biting down on the edge of the pillow as your heart  raced. The ache built steadily—hot, urgent, and overwhelming. His name fell from your lips again, this time as a whimper.

That night you hadn’t gone all the way. But what if you did? What if Jeonghan had sunk his cock into your needy heat? You just knew he’d fuck you until you saw stars; knew he’d whisper how good your tight cunt felt around him. And then you’d take everything he gave, let him mark you, make you his—

And when the wave crested, when it shattered through you like a tremor beneath the skin, you clung to the sheets like they were him.

You lay there for a while, panting, flushed, half-glaring at the ceiling.

Jeonghan. That infuriating man. 

Even half a world away, he still had you wrapped around his goddamn finger.

The morning sun hadn’t yet burned off the dew clinging to the leaves when you and Taeyeon stepped through the shimmering veil of her portal, landing on the mossy path outside Hanya’s crooked little house.

You still couldn’t meet Taeyeon’s eyes.

Not after last night.

Every time your thoughts wandered, they wandered—and your cheeks burned hot all over again. If Taeyeon noticed anything strange about your stiff posture or the too-casual way you’d greeted her this morning, she didn’t mention it. She just handed you a piece of toast, opened a portal, and strolled through it like nothing was out of the ordinary.

Which, thankfully, gave you room to pretend nothing was.

The animals were already stirring around Hanya’s porch. You saw the same monkey from last time perched on the railing, along with a sleepy fox curled beside the doorstep. As you approached, the fox cracked open one eye and regarded you lazily.

Most give up after the first rejection, it said.

“I’m not like most,” you murmured back, steeling your resolve as you lifted your hand to knock.

The door creaked open as Hanya filled the doorway like a shadow, her sharp gray eyes already narrowed in irritation. Her lips curled into something resembling a snarl.

“I thought I made myself clear last time,” she said. “I don’t want your cursed magic anywhere near me.”

You met her gaze head-on, spine straight. “But don’t you carry the same cursed magic too?”

There was a pause. Barely half a breath. But you saw it—the way her shoulders tensed, the way her eyes widened slightly, just for a second. Behind you, Taeyeon gave a quiet, knowing laugh. Hanya’s glare returned full force, but something about it had changed. She muttered something under her breath—probably a curse—and turned with a huff.

Honestly, this was a bit of a surprise. You didn’t think that was all you had to say to change her mind.

“Well,” she grumbled, stomping inside. “Don’t just stand there.”

You exchanged a glance with Taeyeon, your chest still tight with nerves. But you followed, stepping into the home of the one mage who might finally understand what had always made your magic feel wrong.

Hanya stepped back with a grunt and a reluctant flick of her wrist, gesturing for you and Taeyeon inside. “Don’t touch anything,” she muttered. “Especially if it hisses.”

The moment you crossed the threshold, the air changed.

The interior of the house felt less like a home and more like the heart of a living, breathing wildwood. The scent of moss, singed herbs, and fur lingered in the air. Wooden shelves lined the walls, cluttered with bundles of dried grasses, enchanted bones, claws from creatures you couldn’t name, and glowing vials that pulsed with slow, otherworldly light. 

A spiral of thick roots twisted up through the center of the room, acting as a natural column. Hanging from it were dozens of charms: teeth strung on thread, bits of crystal, and bells that rang with no breeze. A fat marmalade-colored cat blinked at you from the top of a high shelf. The fox from outside slinked past your ankles like mist, its nine tails fanned with interest.

Hanya poured steaming water over crushed bark and a cindersong bloom in a chipped stone teapot. The scent was bitter, like burned honey and pine. She set it on the hearth without ceremony, then turned to you.

“If you want me to teach you, girl,” she said, “you need to know where you come from. What you carry.”

Taeyeon gave you an encouraging nod, stepping aside as if to say: this part is yours.

Hanya motioned for you to sit. “There are two kinds of beast mages left in Ancarra—those who speak, and those who become. You think you’re the first kind. But you need to understand both.”

You sat down, back straight, heart pounding.

“In the beginning,” Hanya said, settling across from you, “beasts ruled those lands. Not animals, but spirits. The First Beasts. Embodiments of instinct and truth. They were united by a trifecta: the Owl of Wisdom, the Tiger of Loyalty, and the Serpent of Vengeance. Humans were nothing but prey. Until some brave soul knelt before the trifecta and listened instead of running away from them.”

“A covenant was made between the First Beasts and the Ancarrans of old, and two kinds of magic were born,” she continued, “The Tongue of Beasts—this is yours; the path of the Speakers, of empathy and true listening. The other is the Shape of Beasts, which belongs to Shapeshifters. Borrowed form. Physical memory. The two were meant to exist in balance.”

“But something happened,” you murmured, voice hushed.

Hanya nodded, dark eyes unreadable. “A warlord rose and called himself the Beast King. He thought speaking was weak—why whisper when you can devour? He took the forms of the spirits without their permission, without their wisdom. Killed them. Absorbed them. And in doing so, shattered the pact.”

The fire popped behind her, sending sparks up the hearth. 

You thought about Hanya’s words long and hard. The two kinds of beast magic, the story of the Beast King usurping the First Beasts… Was this what Minghao was planning? The reason why he was bringing those creatures to the capital of Ancarra?

“Your mother was a Speaker, too,” Hanya said. “She may not have worn the title openly, but she carried the gift. So did her mother before her. The Royal Bloodline wasn’t just made to rule humans—it was made to speak to what came before humans. The First Beasts. Your voice can stir them from slumber.”

You swallowed, a lump forming in your throat. “Why… why didn’t anyone tell me? About the truth behind our magic? All I was told was that Mother could speak to animals, too…”

“Because the world calls it cursed now,” she said, voice cool. “Because after the Shapeshifter betrayal, they lumped all beast magic together as dangerous. Dirty and forbidden. And so the stories died. The line was broken. And you, little Speaker—” her gaze flicked over you with something between scorn and pity—“were left to figure it out alone.”

A kind of aching clarity poured in. You had spent your entire life speaking to animals in whispers, never knowing why the birds sang back, or why Reya’s voice rang louder in your heart than most people’s ever did. You’d been told it was a blessing, then a curse, then something to be hidden. Now, finally, it had a name—a legacy. You weren’t broken. You weren’t a mistake. 

You were part of something ancient.

“I want to learn,” you said, quietly. “I need to.”

Hanya gave a slow, grudging nod, already rising to her feet with a determined look on her face.

“Then let’s see if your blood remembers what the crown forgot.”

The castle halls were quieter than usual when Joshua went looking for his brother. Morning light filtered through the tall stained-glass windows, casting blue and gold patterns on the stone floor. When he asked after Jeonghan, the maids exchanged uneasy glances.

“His Highness left at dawn,” one whispered. “Didn’t say where.”

Joshua sighed. Of course he didn’t. Jeonghan hadn’t been himself since you disappeared. He told everyone you were safe—that you’d gone somewhere to train, and that your letters proved you were alive—but even Joshua could see the cracks beneath that assurance. His brother doubted it. Every second of every day.

So he followed instinct, rather than logic. Out past the castle gates, through the eastern woods that had long since been declared off-limits to servants and guests. There was a place there that no one else knew about; a clearing only he and Jeonghan used to sneak away to when they were younger.

And there, in the center of that clearing, was a black dragon.

It lay curled in a bed of flattened wildgrass, wings folded tight to its back, smoke curling from its nostrils. Massive and ancient, yet somehow familiar in posture. A creature no longer supposed to exist. Joshua froze, breath caught in his throat. Then his boot crunched softly against a patch of dried leaves.

The dragon cracked open one enormous eye, golden and slitted. It narrowed slightly at the sight of him, but did not move. Joshua swallowed and smiled, trying not to be overwhelmed by awe. 

“You know,” he said, voice casual, “you’re a lot more talkative when you’re human.”

A puff of smoke answered him. Clearly irritated.

Joshua tilted his head. “Come on, brother. I know it’s you. Talk to me in a form I can actually understand.”

There was a pause.

Then, with a low rumble that shook the leaves, the dragon began to shift. Bones and scales folded inwards; wings collapsed; the long tail vanished in smoke. What remained, standing amid the dissipating steam, was a man—naked, barefoot, breathing a little too hard. His hair was black again, same as the dragon’s scales.

Joshua stared at him. “Really?”

“You came looking for me. You get what you get.”

The younger prince tossed him his cloak. “I swear to the gods, I’m the only thing standing between you and a dozen traumatized gardeners.”

Jeonghan caught it, but didn’t laugh. He sat down in the grass, folding the cloak loosely around him, gaze lost in the distant treetops.

Joshua sat beside him, knees drawn up. “You didn’t even tell me you could do that. Back then you only transformed into… simpler things. A dog. A squirrel. But a dragon?”

“It’s not exactly something I advertise.”

“No,” Joshua said quietly, “but it’s something you should have told me.”

Jeonghan didn’t answer. The wind stirred the grass. Smoke still lingered faintly in the air, curling around them like memory. Joshua leaned closer to feel for his temperature with the back of his hand, the fussy brother that he was.

“You’re burning up from the inside,” he frowned. “That form… You shouldn’t hold it for too long.”

“I know.”

“Then why use it?”

Jeonghan looked down at his hands, still trembling. “Because when I’m a dragon,” he said, voice soft and raw, “I don’t have to feel how much I miss her.”

Joshua blinked, taken aback. Not by the words themselves, but by how easily they’d fallen from his brother’s mouth. Jeonghan wasn’t one for confession. He wore his emotions like armor: controlled, polished, impossible to pierce. But here, now, stripped of everything—title, pride, even clothes—he looked like a boy again. 

A boy mourning something that hadn’t died, just disappeared. And Joshua, who had always been his quiet shadow, his tether to the world, suddenly felt the full weight of that love. Not just longing, but devotion. The kind Jeonghan had never been able to unlearn, no matter how much time passed or how far you had gone.

Jeonghan let out a shaky breath. “And gods help me, Shua… The longer she’s gone, the harder it is to believe she’s coming back.”

Joshua didn’t answer him.

He had always known his brother loved you. That part had never been a mystery. It was in the way Jeonghan lingered at the edge of your world—never gentle, never far. Even as children, he needled and provoked, the way some boys do when affection is too sharp to name. He kept you close by keeping you off balance. He orbited you like gravity—not because he was soft, but because he didn’t know how to let go.

And he’d known about the shame, too. About the curse.

His shapeshifting magic had always been a secret, one locked behind palace doors, spoken of only in whispers within their family. Their parents never acknowledged it directly, but Joshua had seen the signs. The fear in Jeonghan’s eyes after a transformation gone wrong. The burn marks on his skin that no one ever treated aloud. The way he would disappear for days whenever the magic overwhelmed him. Their mother’s cold silences. Their father’s refusal to meet his gaze.

So no—none of this was new to Joshua.

But what he hadn’t understood, not until now, was how tightly Jeonghan’s self-hatred was knotted around the fact that he loved you.

Being betrothed to the girl he adored should’ve been a blessing. But it became a terror. And so he did what he did best: pushed, provoked, made himself unbearable. He gave you every reason to hate him. Because if you loved a cursed thing, maybe the curse would claim you, too. And Jeonghan—fool that he was—would rather be unloved than be the reason you were ruined.

Joshua reached over, not saying a word, and rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder. In the quiet, the trees swayed. Somewhere far off, a hawk cried.

And the two princes sat alone in the clearing—one still smoking from old magic, the other quietly holding him together—as the last vestiges of dragonfire cooled to ash.

PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE

⟢ end notes: i'm having SUCHHH a ride writing this, you guys have no idea lmfao!!! and if you noticed, joshua's mc from his fic in the series finally has a name too + chan and hyejin appearance, who else cheered? i was supposed to have this up next week, but today's a holiday for me, so i got around to editing and finally cleaning up this part :3c i really really tried to make two parts work but... :( however, like in my jeongcheol x reader fic, inflection point, all the best things come in threes! that said, thank you oh-so much for the overwhelming reception on the first part T T i was gone for more than a year, so i didn't expect people to like my stuff after all this time UEUEUEUE see you in the finale!!!!

this is part of the it’s complicated series.

[confuzing]

"We're rebooting the multiverse?" the new hire asked, sounding like he didn't believe her.

Mei nodded. "Well, part of it. It's actually not that big of a deal? It happens a lot- especially the PIDW subsystem. I blame the Prime."

"You're talking about Luo Binghe right? One of the other guys was saying he ripped something?"

"The coding of the multiverse- hence the restart," she said. "And there's lots of Luo Binghes." To prove her point she stopped at the observation window for Room 668G.

The new guy blinked in shock at all the Luo Binghes inside, mostly disciple Binghes, though there were a smattering of fluffy puppies in the room too.

"Are those?"

"Bingpups yeah- look the multiverse is vast - this isn't anywhere near the weirdest thing I've seen."

"How do you know who the Prime is if there's so many?"

A good question. "It varies by section but the PIDW section goes with the guy living the original novel. You read it right?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Mei continued down the long hall. "Anyway we figured out which one he was because he doesn't seem to have a husband?"

"A what??"

"Let me explain," Mei said. "So it's kinda weird but in literally every iteration after the Prime, Luo Binghe has a husband- it's all the same guy too- and all the Luo Binghes are desperately in love with their husbands and vice versa. But the Prime just... doesn't have one. Like you'd think having a bunch of overpowered demons around would be more of an issue but the little ones are very polite and the rest of them chill out tremendously when you pair them up with their husband."

"But Prime doesn't have one." the new guy frowned.

Mei shook her head. "Not that we've found anyway. Believe me the research team is looking. It wasn't a big deal for a while but then there was an... incident. Prime spent ...18 hours I think? In a universe where there was a husband and he got extremely jealous that he didn't have one. So he's been looking for his own ever sense.

"Which causes problems when he's running around in everyone else's world trying to steal and/or bride-nap their husbands," Mei concluded. "He usually does that when he's here too but I haven't heard any alarms today... Here let's peek..."

She deflected the new guy down a side hall, taking him through a series of twisting turns until they stopped outside another holding cell. This one had only one Binghe in it, this one in full Demon Emperor regalia. He was kneeling on the floor with his eyes shut- meditating probably?

"Wow," the new guy said softly.

In the holding cell Luo Binghe Prime's blood red eyes snapped open.

Time to leave! Mei began gently shoving her new coworker away from the window.

"...Can he see us?" the guy asked.

"Oh yeah," Mei said. "Hear us too. Two way mirrors do jack shit for Heavenly Demons. Come on, the boss is waiting for us."

That got the guy to start moving. As they left Mei remembered something.

"Hey, I don't think anyone actually told me your name?"

"Oh they didn't!" New Guy said. "I'm Shen Yuan."

Behind them the alarms on Luo Binghe Prime's cell started beeping rapidly. Thank fuck that wasn't her problem. She just had to get Shen Yuan to part two of his orientation in one piece. Still, wouldn't hurt to just ... She linked their arms and started walking faster.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

hi mira can i pls req a sae x reader and it’s like falling in love with someone. like you know that feeling when you’re really getting to know someone and it sounds like a soft song

i love uu take care x

Synopsis: Thanks to a chance encounter on the beach, you spend your vacation trying to apologize to the famous soccer player you inadvertently offended. Unfortunately, Sae Itoshi has other plans.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Sae x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 11.6k

Content Warnings: love at first sight, fluff, humor, teasing as a love language, sae does not understand emotions or relationships but he’s rich asf, reader has a little brother and loves eating, meet-cutes, summer romance, SEAGULLS

A/N: although sae is a difficult character for me to get a hold of, i ended up having fun with this LMAO as i’m sure you can tell by the massive word count 😭 i hope he’s not horribly ooc or anything and that this is kind of what you were looking for anon!! tysm for requesting and ily too <3

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You tried to evaluate the series of choices you had made which had led to you lying atop a boy with green eyes and sand smeared across his cheeks, a blank expression on his face despite the way you were literally sprawled over him.

First: your family had decided to spend your summer vacation in Spain. This was innocuous and broad enough, considering how large the country was, so you concluded that your brother’s desire to practice his rudimentary Spanish in a more realistic setting than his high school classroom could not be blamed for your plight.

Second: your father had gotten a great deal on rooms in a luxury beachfront hotel. He was like a bloodhound when it came to haggling and discounts, so it wasn’t a surprise that you were staying in such a nice place for a relatively cheap price — and with a complimentary breakfast every morning, too! Anyways, the hotel had its own private pool that you could’ve been lounging around beside, so that probably wasn’t the cause, either.

Third: your mother had told you that the beach within walking distance of the hotel was famous for its smooth waters and pale sand. You had to visit at least once, according to her and every other travel guide written about the region, but since no one had wanted to go with you, you had decided to go alone, bringing a book, a bottle of sunscreen, and a blanket with you, throwing a dress on over your swimsuit and preparing yourself to spend the entire day soaking in the sun’s rays. This was definitely a contributor to your current predicament, although considering the miles of beach that stretched out in both directions as far as the eye could see where you could’ve been instead of right there, it wasn’t the sole factor.

Fourth: you had thought you would get hungry at some point and had had the foresight to bring a sandwich with you. That was definitely the reason. If only you hadn’t been so concerned with your stomach! If only you had just sucked it up and made the trek back to the hotel upon feeling peckish instead of being so lazy and planning ahead, you wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Can you get off of me?” the boy groaned.

“I am so sorry!” you said, scrambling to your feet and offering him your hand. He did not take it, standing on his own and doing his best to wipe the sand from his face. Then he shook his head like a dog, shaking out the grittiness from his soft hair. “I’m really sorry. I was just running so fast, and I was so worried about my sandwich that I didn’t notice you were there until it was too late!”

“Sandwich?” he said. A few paces away, a seagull landed, the remnants of your lunch held in its beak. You and the boy watched as it tilted its head back, swallowing the last few bites before cawing at you in satisfaction.

“You pig!” you shouted, pointing at it, the boy beside you temporarily forgotten as you fumed over the loss. It cocked its head at you. “That was mine!”

“Ah,” the boy said. “Your sandwich.”

The seagull hopped towards you, like it was teasing you or something, and you screeched before diving at it. Satisfied with the mischief it had caused and the food it had stolen, as well as with making a fool out of you, the seagull took wing, flying well out of reach and leaving you facedown on the ground, your stomach grumbling sadly and emptily.

A foot nudged against your rib cage. “Hey. Sandwich girl. You’re not concussed, are you?”

Being referred to as sandwich girl was so humiliating that you were instantly pushing yourself into a sitting position, folding your arms across your chest as you gazed up at the boy, who still wore that same unimpressed expression from when you had barreled into him.

“No,” you said.

“That’s great,” he said, though he did not sound particularly concerned nor relieved. “Mind elaborating a bit more on why you ran me over? You could’ve seriously injured me, and then you would’ve been in a bunch of trouble.”

“You would’ve been in a bunch of trouble,” you mocked, making your voice high and smarmy. “Jeez, what are you, some kind of celebrity or something? I ran you over because I was taking a break from reading my book, and I realized that I was hungry. Well, luckily, I had brought a sandwich along with me, so it wasn’t a huge deal. I was just about ready to dig in, when that fat pig of a bird swooped down and stole it right out of my hands! The gall! The shamelessness! It was definitely laughing at me, and I can’t stand anyone who laughs at me, so naturally I took off in pursuit, and, uh, that’s how I ended up crashing into you. Though you really should’ve been paying more attention, too. What’s so fascinating about the horizon that you just blocked out the rest of the world for it?”

“I like looking at the ocean,” he said. “But, wait. What do you mean, some kind of celebrity? Don’t you know who I am?”

You gave him a once-over. He was tall, though not impressively so, and definitely well-muscled. His hair was a warm shade, and his green eyes were framed with long eyelashes that fluttered every time he blinked. A pair of sunglasses was perched atop the crown of his head, and the top few buttons of his white shirt were undone, lending him a breezy appearance.

“You’re not handsome enough to be an actor, so that can’t be it,” you said, chewing on your lower lip in thought. “Plus, I’ve seen a bunch of movies, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t been in any of them, so if you were in the film industry, you’d be a D-lister at best, and there’s no way you’d want to flex that kind of status.”

He furrowed his brow, the first hint of a different expression than the one he had kept for the entirety of your very brief acquaintance. “What?”

“What else are people famous for?” you said. “Oh! Are you a singer or something? Were you in that one boy band from a few years ago? I’m sorry, I was too busy having a ‘not-like-other-girls’ phase when they were popular, so I never got into them. I’m over the phase now, if you were wondering, but that would be why I didn’t recognize you.”

“You are amazingly off the mark,” he said.

“I am? I’m kind of out of ideas at this point, though. Can I have a hint or something?” you said.

“Do you watch soccer?” he said. You made a face.

“Hell no,” you said. His eye twitched, so you hurried to elaborate. “My little brother is obsessed with it, so by law, I’m required to hate everything related to the sport. Do you have any siblings? You’d get it if you did.”

“Ask your brother about Sae Itoshi,” he said.

“Okay,” you said, drafting a text to your brother and sending it when you had deemed it to be a perfect blend of uninterested and cool while also underscoring the urgency of the request. “So, your name’s Sae Itoshi? I’m Y/N L/N! I’m not a celebrity, though. If you text anyone and ask them about me, they’ll probably be pretty confused.”

“Yeah, I got that impression,” he said. Your phone vibrated in your hand, and when you looked at the notification, you saw that it was from your brother.

uglier sibling: no shit i know about sae itoshi. he’s that one super talented midfielder on re al. he’s dad and i’s fav player atm.

You gulped, glancing up at Sae before returning to your phone.

me: lol wtf is re al.

uglier sibling: it’s madrid’s team lmfaooo dumbass how do you not know that

uglier sibling: actually wait why are u even asking lol

uglier sibling: did u meet him or something

me: funny story actually!

uglier sibling: WHAT

uglier sibling: y/n are u with sae itoshi rn.

uglier sibling: y/n answer pls

uglier sibling: can you at least get his autograph for me or smth???

Pretending like you were still texting your brother, you typed the name Sae Itoshi into your phone’s search engine. The photos that came up matched the boy in front of you, and the news articles made your heart pound. He actually was a celebrity, and furthermore, his earlier arrogance was deserved. If you had somehow injured such a famous player and put him out of commission for the season, then you really would’ve been done for. It hadn’t been an exaggerated sense of self-importance but an honest evaluation of himself.

“Ahem,” you said, feigning a cough to appear dignified and mature. “It seems like you are a pretty well-known soccer player, Mr. Itoshi.”

“It seems like I am,” he said.

“My brother and dad are big fans, apparently,” you said.

“Good thing you didn’t take me out permanently, then, or I’m sure they would’ve been pretty disappointed,” he said.

You cringed. “I’m sorry again.”

“Whatever. I won’t hold it against you; all’s well that ends well, after all,” he said.

“I feel really bad, though,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

“You didn’t do anything, so there’s nothing to make up for,” he said.

“Not true! I knocked you over and said you’re not handsome!” you said. “I’d say that warrants some kind of recompense.”

“It’ll warrant more recompense if you keep saying it,” he said.

“You agree that you deserve payment, then? Great! Um…how about I…buy you lunch?” you said, the insistent pangs of your stomach reminding you that you still hadn’t eaten.

“Is food the only thing you can think about?” he said.

“For your information, it is not, but I haven’t eaten since the morning, so I’m hungry,” you said.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” he said. “It’s okay. I’m not interested, and just so you know, I’ve been asked out by plenty of girls, but by far, this has been the lamest attempt.”

You supposed, looking back, that it did seem like that was your end goal. But, of course, it had been nothing of the sort; you were just planning on going to eat yourself and thought that you might as well kill two birds with one stone. It was just your luck that he had twisted your words into such a request, though! How were you supposed to maneuver yourself out of this position? If you denied it furiously, then it would seem like you were just ashamed at getting caught, but if you didn’t say anything, then it would be akin to agreeing with his accusation.

There was only one way out of it, and even though you were usually opposed to lying, and even more opposed to bullying others, it was the only thing you could think of. So, bowing your head, you clasped your hands together in front of your heart.

“I’m sorry, but you’re not my type, Mr. Itoshi,” you said. “Like I said, you’re really not that handsome. Also, I’m into tall guys.”

That was how you found yourself sitting across from Sae Itoshi in a private booth at a fancy restaurant, your hands trembling as you read over the menu items and their associated prices.

“I’m in the mood for steak,” Sae said, stroking his chin and setting down his menu, interlacing his fingers and raising his eyebrows at you. “What about you?”

“Steak is a dinner item, don’t you think?” you said, your head spinning at the fact that he had picked the most expensive thing that was served at the entire establishment. “It’s lunchtime.”

“I’m an athlete,” he said seriously. “I need a lot of protein in all of my meals. Especially because I’m so short. It’s important for me to build muscle, don’t you agree? How else will I manage to compete with the taller, better-looking players?”

“Steak it is,” you said with a faux smile. “As for me, I’ll just get crackers.”

“Crackers? What kind of lunch is that?” he said.

“An affordable one,” you muttered under your breath.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing!” you said. “It’s nothing. I just really like crackers.”

He gave you an odd look. “Alright.”

You waved the waiter over. He had been hovering around your table for the past few minutes, and as soon as he saw you beckoning him, he sprinted to your side, fumbling with his pen and notepad before reaching you and bowing.

“Sae Itoshi, sir! I’m sorry to interrupt your date, but I just wanted to say that I’m a huge fan of yours. If — if it’s not too much trouble, could I have your autograph?” he said.

Sae sighed, a long-suffering and irritable sigh. “Just take our order first. I’ll give it to you after we’ve eaten.”

“Oh, my apologies,” the waiter said. “What would you like?”

“I’ll have the steak, and I also want this sandwich, but omit the tomatoes, please,” he said, pointing at the menu items he wanted.

“Got it,” the waiter said. “What about you, miss?”

“Just the crackers,” you said. The waiter paused, but when you did not say anything more, he giggled nervously.

“Would you, uh, like some cheese with those?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I’m really the biggest fan of plain crackers. That’s all I want.”

“Sure, miss, if that’s what you’d like,” he said. “So, one steak, one sandwich, and a plate of crackers?”

“That’s right,” Sae said, hardly looking up from his phone when he did so. It was only once the waiter had run off to place your orders that he put the device away, resting his elbows against the table, setting his chin in his hands and giving you a bored look. “Why are you glaring at me?”

“Steak and a sandwich, really?” you said.

“A conversation with you was more than enough to increase my appetite,” he said. “Forget about that. This is the part where you ask me questions about myself and I pretend like I am interested enough to answer them.”

“Why would I do that?” you said, rolling your eyes at him. “Actually, I’m pretty sure your answer to that question will be something that makes me even more annoyed than I already am, so don’t bother. What’s your favorite movie?”

“You’re not going to ask me about soccer?” he said. “It’s Taxi Driver, by the way.”

“I don’t know that much about soccer, so what would I even ask? Based on what I’ve seen from the matches my brother and dad watch, it’s just a bunch of sweaty guys kicking around a ball and pretending like they’re dying whenever another player happens to look at them the wrong way,” you said. “Oh, actually, I am curious about that. How many of those injuries are real? Have you ever faked getting hurt?”

“Almost none of them,” he said. “Generally, players will overreact for the sake of entertainment and the possibility of the opposition receiving yellow cards. I’ve never needed to do anything like that, and I never want to, because it looks stupid. Also, soccer is more than that mediocre description you just gave me.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” you said. “Man kick ball. Ball go in net. Man happy. That’s the extent of it.”

“Women play soccer, too,” he said.

“It’s the same concept there, but with women instead of men. Not the argument you thought it was,” you said.

“I can’t believe you actually dislike soccer,” he said.

There was definitely some irony in the fact that you couldn’t care less about his chosen sport, and yet you were the one who had somehow finagled your way into eating with him — even if you were the one who was paying. There were so many people who’d do anything to be in your place, but to you, it was a begrudging chore that you were only performing because you felt obligated to. Mentally, you had already marked the entire encounter down as something that you’d laugh about to your friends later; a fun story you’d tell at parties, but little else.

“Like I told you earlier, I’m the older sister. If I didn’t rag on my brother’s interests, then I couldn’t claim that title in any way that mattered,” you said. Sae’s eyes flicked down to the ground.

“You should be nice to your brother when you can,” he said.

“Are you some kind of an only child or saint, then? There’s no way you’re saying that if you have a normal relationship with any possible siblings,” you said.

“I have a little brother,” he said. “Our relationship is okay. I haven’t seen him in a while, though.”

“Long distance?” you said, reaching over to pat him on the hand sympathetically. “That’s the worst. I miss my friends and my pets already, and I’m only here for vacation.”

He snatched his hand away. “You make it sound like we’re dating or something. It’s alright. I’m sure it’ll be the same as it was whenever I go back.”

“True, it’s not like he can dump you and find a new brother who’s both better and more conveniently located than you are. He’s kind of stuck with you forever,” you said.

“Enough about my brother,” he said. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Okay,” you said. “What TV shows do you watch when you’re bored?”

The two of you continued on in that mindless manner until your food arrived. Your mood, which had steadily been rising as Sae proved himself to be, if nothing else, a willing conversationalist, rapidly plummeted as the waiter set the steak and sandwich in front of Sae and the crackers in front of you.

“Enjoy your meal,” the waiter said.

“I’m sure one of us will,” you said, picking up a cracker and biting into it rebelliously. Sae began to cut his steak into small pieces, using his fork to demurely place the meat on his tongue, doing nothing to disguise the indulgence of eating such a wonderfully prepared meal while you were stuck with crackers.

“What a shame,” Sae said when he was about halfway through his steak. You hadn’t spoken since the food had come, mostly because you were too busy fervently hoping that he would choke and you would somehow be awarded a free meal as an apology on the restaurant’s part, so you jumped at the sound of his voice cutting through the silence. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach. I don’t think I’ll be able to eat that sandwich after all.”

“We should send it back, then,” you said.

“What sort of place do you think this is?” he said. “It’s already been ordered, so it’s ours now.”

“Are you serious?” you said. “What now? I’ll have to pay for something that you didn’t even eat!”

“You’ll just have to have it,” he said.

“Me?” you said, already salivating at the delectable sandwich, the bread which was taunting you. Come, it seemed to be calling out to you. Eat me. You know you want to. “I guess that’s a sensible prospect. Someone’s going to have to take it.”

“Someone will,” he agreed, sliding the plate across the table and stealing a cracker for his troubles. “It might as well be you. My coach will be pretty upset if I get stomach cramps next season because I overate too much on my off time. I’d have to tell him that it was your fault, and then you’d have all of Re Al after you, and you don’t want that. They’re relentless.”

Your fingers inched towards the sandwich. “I definitely don’t. That sounds scary.”

“It would be amusing,” he said. “A waste of resources, though. They might cut my salary to make up for it. ”

“Then the only solution is for me to eat this sandwich,” you said.

“Essentially,” he said. You gave in, taking an enormous bite of the tantalizing sandwich and exhaling in delight. It really was as good as the exorbitant price tag claimed it would be, and although you would never buy such a thing for yourself, you found that you were a little more grateful for the series of events that had led you to be in this position now that your stomach was finally being greeted with something substantial.

“It’s good,” you said, your words muffled by the napkin you held in front of your mouth as you finished chewing. “I can kind of get why they charge so much now. It’s still way more than any sandwich should ever cost, ever, but…I kinda get it. Is your food good, too?”

“It is,” he said.

“Alright!” you said, giving him a double thumbs up. “Then you can consider this a worthy apology! Let’s finish eating and be done with the entire mess.”

“Hm? But how can it be a worthy apology when I’m the one who paid for everything? To me, that doesn’t sound like an apology at all,” he said. You froze, your mouth wide open, the sandwich still halfway to your mouth and drooping in your hands. Sae looked at you, still expressionless, though if you really focused, you would’ve noticed something like mirth dancing in his irises.

“What do you mean?” you said. He unlocked his phone and showed you his screen.

“You can pay by app here,” he said. “I did it as soon as we were done ordering. I was going to tell you after you ordered what you wanted for yourself, but I wasn’t expecting you to be so frugal that you’d really only order crackers!”

“But — but I was supposed to pay! To apologize for—”

“You don’t have to say it,” Sae said sourly, cutting you off. “Believe me, I remember exactly what you have to apologize for, and I’m not going to forget. I just paid this time because I was feeling generous, but you still owe me.”

It was a little suspicious, but you didn’t have any reason to accuse him of anything, so you only narrowed your eyes at him. Taking another bite of your sandwich, you mulled over the latest reveal. He was paying for the entire lunch? You still owed him? You could manipulate that in your favor, then.

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pay for your breakfast,” you said. “The hotel I’m staying at has complimentary breakfast for guests, but outsiders can eat for a certain fee. I’ll pay for your entrance, and then we can be even.”

“Sure,” he said. “I eat breakfast early, though.”

“How early?” you said.

“I have a snack at 7:00 a.m., before I go for my morning run, and then I eat a proper meal afterwards,” he said.

“Oh!” you said. “Any chance you could not do that?”

“It’s part of my training regimen,” he said. “How about you pay for my food and come on my run with me?”

“I hate running,” you said.

“You’re apologizing. It’s supposed to be an agonizing process,” he said. “You’ve called me short and ugly at least three separate times already, not to mention the entire slamming into me ordeal. It’s really the least you can do.”

“7:00 it is,” you said, though you were fighting back tears at the mere thought of getting up so early while on vacation. “Give me your phone.”

“No way,” he said, holding the phone away from you while you tried to swipe at it. “What are you going to do, post something embarrassing on my social media accounts?”

“Why would I do that?” you said. “I was going to text myself so I had your number and could send you my location for tomorrow.”

“Or you could tell me which hotel you’re staying at now, and then my phone is entirely removed from the equation,” he suggested.

“Do you think I remember the name?” you said. “That’s a rhetorical question, by the way. I don’t.”

He handed you his phone with an aggravated huff. “Fine. Don’t abuse the privilege. I only give important people my contact information.”

“Woah, you really are stingy,” you said, scrolling through his contacts list. All of them either had the designation of work attached to their profiles, or they were clearly members of Sae’s family.

Clicking on the plus sign in the corner, you created a new contact for yourself, typing in your number and giving yourself the name Y/N L/N — sandwich. It fit the naming conventions he had going on, and if it weren’t for the reminder that you were the so-called ‘sandwich girl’, you doubted he would remember who you were in the first place.

“Of course I am. Imagine I gave every crazy fan I met my number. I’d have a million stalkers before you could say Re Al,”he said.

“I’m not a crazy fan. To clarify, I’m not a fan in the first place,” you said, texting yourself from his number before taking out your own phone and responding to the message with a thumbs up.

“Correct, which is why you get my number,” he said.

“I feel so honored,” you said dryly. “Actually, you know what? I would feel honored, if it weren’t for the fact that you’re only giving it to me because you want to wake me up at an unholy hour and make me run with you before paying for your breakfast.”

“Would you rather pay for this meal?” he said, showing you the receipt he had been emailed. Your eyes widened, and then you shook your head rapidly.

“Nope! See you tomorrow!”

The next morning, you tiptoed around the hotel room as you got ready, trying your best not to wake your mother up. She, and the rest of your family, had been up late last night, going out for dinner and dessert well past your bedtime. Far too embarrassed to tell them the realreason you were going to sleep early, you had said you were sick and went to bed as soon as the sun set.

Angrily gnawing on a granola bar from your mother’s emergency stash, you stomped down the spiraling hotel staircase, your eyes still bleary as you texted your family group chat that you were going out for a morning walk but would be back for breakfast.

Sae Itoshi was waiting for you in the lobby, doing some weird stretching routine that involved pressing his foot against the wall and leaning over it. You watched him, bemused, wondering which muscles he was trying to stretch before giving up and deciding it was probably one of those pro moves that you were too uninterested and unathletic for.

“Oh, you’re here,” he said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” you said, giving him another one of the granola bars you had taken from your mother’s backpack. “Sorry, it’s sort of smushed. It’s been in a backpack for the last few days.”

He pinched the wrapper between his forefinger and thumb, looking at the granola bar with a disgusted expression. You didn’t think it was thategregious, but according to Sae, it must have been all but an offense against humanity, as he tossed it into the trash can within seconds of having it within his grasp.

“I already ate my snack,” he said.

“Why did you throw that away? I could’ve eaten it!” you said.

“That thing had probably melted and reformed at least twice. It was most definitely radioactive. I did you a favor, so you should say thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, Mr. Itoshi, for protecting me from the horrors of a slightly misshapen granola bar. I’m sure that, by throwing away that still edible brick of deliciousness, you have done me a great service. Possibly, you have even saved my life. I am eternally grateful,” you said.

He snorted. “You’re terrible at groveling. No wonder you have to do all of this ridiculous stuff to apologize to me instead of just saying sorry and moving on like a normal person.”

“Look, it’s a product of my upbringing,” you said. He finished stretching and headed out of the door; you followed after him with a smile at the hotel concierge, who seemed surprised to watch you go — whether it was the hour or your company, you weren’t sure. “Whenever my parents did something to upset me, they never apologized. They just came to my room with a bowl of fruit they had cut for me.”

“At least you got fruit,” he said. “My parents just told me to go practice soccer until I had cooled off.”

“Wow, really? That’s hardcore,” you said. Sae began to jog, and you did the same, though it was closer to a run for you than anything. “Did you just kick around the ball until you were less mad?”

“Pretty much,” he said.

“How horrible,” you said.

“Eh, it’s fine. It was a good way to get my anger out, and it had the added benefit of making me better at the sport, so it was pretty constructive overall,” he said.

“I still can’t imagine it,” you said, shaking your head. “What’s it like, being a professional athlete? Your entire life revolves around a game. What about when you can’t play anymore? When you’re too old, or if you get injured?”

His upper lip curled. “Do you want that to happen or something? Why are you speaking it into existence?”

“Not the injury part, but everyone grows old. You can’t stop that,” you said.

“I’ll play for as long as I can, and then I’ll coach for longer,” he said. “After that, I’ll retire and make sure my kids follow in my footsteps. Athletes make a lot of money, so I luckily won’t ever have to worry much about my finances.”

“What if your kids don’t want to play soccer?” you said. He actually sneered this time, the expression at home on his cold face.

“What else would they do with themselves? If they don’t want to play soccer, or if they have no talent at it, then they’re definitely not my children in the first place,” he said.

“Hm, maybe cooking? What if they want to be a chef?” you said.

“Then I’d wonder how your kids snuck into my house,” he said. You gasped, though it was as much for breath as it was out of offense.

“Stop it! You just happened to catch me at a hungry time!” you said.

“Sure,” he said.

“Just entertain the hypothetical that you really did somehow father children that were into cooking instead of soccer. How would you react?” you said.

“I would put them up for adoption,” he said.

“Seriously?” you said.

“No, obviously not,” he said. “What kind of person do you think I am? Why did you actually find that to be within the realm of possibility?”

“I think you’re some kind of soccer fiend. Who knows how dedicated you are to the cause?” you said.

“Not that dedicated,” he said. “I’d be disappointed if my kids can’t play soccer, and our relationship would probably be a bit distant, as I don’t know much about anything else, but I wouldn’t disown them.”

“You don’t know much about anything besides soccer? That’s a little sad,” you said.

“Kind of,” he said.

“Do you wish you knew about other things?” you said.

“Everyone has something they specialize in. It’s not uncommon for someone to know a lot about one thing and only a little about others,” he said. “My ‘thing’ is soccer. If it wasn’t that, then it’d be something else, so if I was in the business of wishing, I’d always be unsatisfied.”

You were already panting for breath when Sae picked up the pace, though he had not so much as broken a sweat yet. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, taking in your obvious struggles, and then he made the decision to not slow down at all.

“I get it,” you said. “You’ll face no judgment from me.”

“Like I would care if you did judge me,” he said. “You’re already dying, and we haven’t even started running yet.”

“This isn’t running?” you said. “What the hell? How much faster can you even go?”

“If you think that this is anywhere near the pace of an average soccer match, then I don’t even know where to begin with you,” he said.

“You look slower on TV!”

“What, so you think I’m slow, too?”

You and Sae returned to the hotel in markedly different conditions. He wasn’t even warm, still appearing to be perfectly put together and entirely perspiration-free, smelling faintly like body soap and cologne. On the other hand, you were still trying to regain your wits about you, leaning on his shoulder so that you did not fall over from exhaustion.

“This is embarrassing for you,” he informed you as you walked towards the breakfast area.

“You’re a professional athlete and I’m a normal girl! It would be embarrassing for you if I could keep up!” you argued weakly.

“That would be true, if I wasn’t going easy on you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you and helping you into it, brushing his arm off when he was sure you were seated. “I’m going to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

“Have fun,” you said, resting your head in your hands, already knowing what you wanted to get. “We can walk through the buffet together. I’ll take the time to recover.”

“You do that,” he said.

While he was gone, you opened your phone, catching up on all of the texts in the family group chat that you hadn’t been able to read while you were attempting to run with Sae.

me: going for a morning walk but i’ll be back for breakfast

me: just wanted to let you all know so you weren’t worried!

uglier sibling: yeah nobody was worried LMFAO

mom: Hope you’re feeling better, honey!

dad: Make sure you’re back before 10. That’s when the complimentary breakfast ends, and we’re not paying for overpriced toast with jam.

uglier sibling: i still can’t believe u went for a morning walk

uglier sibling: like

uglier sibling: since when do u voluntarily wake up in the mornings at all let alone leave ur bed LET ALONE TAKE A WALK

uglier sibling: bitches will meet sae itoshi one time and suddenly they’re fitness influencers or wtvr

uglier sibling: btw i’m still mad that u didn’t get his autograph or a photo with him or anything

uglier sibling: i bet u made it up

uglier sibling: LIAR. FRAUD. HACK.

mom: Honey, leave your sister alone. Why would she make something like that up? 

dad: Your mother is right. Y/N doesn’t even know who Sae Itoshi is.

So it was a typical conversation, then. You hadn’t missed much; just your brother being salty and your parents showing some care for your well-being, as well as your father worrying for his wallet like he was prone to do. You didn’t even bother responding, just liking your father’s two messages and then putting your phone away.

“Y/N, you’re back already? What good timing!” your father called out to you from the entrance to the hotel restaurant. The world slowed as you turned to see the rest of your family walking into the restaurant, dressed in their typical touristy outfits. Your mother waved at you, and your brother faked gagging.

“Wow, you look like shit,” he said. “The fuck kinda morning walk were you on?”

“Gross, it’s you,” you said. “Go away! I’m busy.”

“You don’t even have any food with you,” he pointed out. “Can I sit with you? The parents are way too chipper in the mornings.”

“No!” you said.

“But there’s an empty seat at your table. Are you saving it for someone?” he said.

“Yes,” you said, wishing that for once they would’ve all slept in instead of getting here at the exact time that you and Sae had.

“No, you’re not,” he said.

“Come on, you two, let’s sit together and have a family breakfast!” your father said, motioning you and your brother over from where he and your mother had settled at a four-person table. Your brother gave you a pleading look.

“I’ll owe you forever,” he said. “I’ll grind on all of your video games for you the entire plane ride home!”

“I’m not lying, dude, I actually am sitting with someone. Now fuck off and leave me alone!” you hissed.

“Who?” he said, crossing his arms. “Your imaginary friend? Or your imaginary boyfriend!”

“Excuse me? Sorry, I was sitting there. Do you mind—?”

The most comical expression you had ever seen flashed over your brother’s face just then. It was horror mixed with incredulity mixed with extreme confusion. He turned slowly, his jaw dropping as he made eye contact with Sae Itoshi, whose dry countenance and perfect posture were as off-putting as ever.

“What?” your brother said. “What is going on?”

Sae sat opposite you. “This hotel has the most confusing first floor layout I’ve ever encountered. It took me ages just to find the bathroom.”

“There’s signs. Can you not read?” you said. He stared at you dully.

“I can read. I just happened not to look up at them,” he said.

“If I didn’t want to pay for even more food, I’d make another short joke, but I shall refrain,” you said.

“That was cutting it close,” he said.

“Y/N. My beautiful, amazing, wonderful older sister,” your brother said.

“Yes?” you said, preparing yourself for the incoming explosion. “Also, that’s not what you were calling me in the group chat earlier, was it?”

“Is that Sae Itoshi?” he said.

“Liar, fraud, hack, was that what it was?” you said. “Run along, loser. Maybe if you were nicer to me, I’d let you sit with us.”

Your brother opened his mouth to argue, but then, like he had remembered he was standing in front of his idol, he hung his head and trudged off, scuffing his toes against the floor as he did and giving you a betrayed look over his shoulder.

“That’s your little brother?” Sae said.

“Yup,” you said. “Your self-proclaimed biggest fan.”

“And you made him go sit with your parents instead of talking to me? You’re super mean, big sister,” Sae said.

“He wouldn’t shut up if I let him stay here, and considering the goal of this is for you to eat and then leave me alone for the rest of my vacation, that would not be conducive,” you said.

“I see,” he said. “I didn’t realize that was the goal.”

“Isn’t it yours, as well? I’m sure you’d like to enjoy yourself on your time off from soccer,” you said.

“Who says I’m not enjoying myself?” he said. You furrowed your brow at him.

“You’ve had the same expression on your face every time we’ve spoken,” you pointed out, lowering your eyelids and pursing your lips in an imitation of his resting mien. “Like this. It’s totally amphibious.”

“Amphibious?” he repeated. “What does that even mean?”

“You don’t know what amphibious means? Man, when you said you only focused on soccer, I didn’t think it was this bad!” you said.

“I know what amphibious means! I just don’t see how the word applies,” he said.

“Oh, right. Well, you kind of look like the frog emoji,” you said. “Sorry, I could’ve been clearer. That’s my bad.”

“Were you dropped on the head as a baby? I’m asking this from a place of concern, not anger,” Sae said. “It’s because you say so many nonsensical things. After all, I look nothing like the frog emoji.”

“Sure, and people tell me I look like a famous actress,” you said.

“Really?” he said.

“No, I thought we were both saying things that aren’t true,” you said.

“I think you look like a famous actress,” he said. “There. Now we’re both saying things that are true.”

“Well done, Mr. Itoshi! That was clever,” you said, knowing when to concede.

“Thank you,” he said. “Let’s go get our food now. If you die of starvation on my watch, it’ll be a major scandal for Re Al.”

“Your manager must love you,” you said. “So conscientious of your public image.”

“Nope, he’s usually pretty pissed at me,” he said as the two of you got in the buffet line.

“What for?” you said.

“Contrary to what you think, I’m pretty unconcerned with my public image. I’m a soccer player, not some kind of philanthropist or actor or whatever,” he said. “What does it matter if I offend people? My value is in playing well, not being friendly or kind.”

“No one ever accused you of being either of those two,” you said, spreading butter and jam over your toast. “You’re not that bad, though.”

“You’re not that bad, either,” he said. “At least, you’re better company than my manager.”

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” you said. He scoffed.

“You have low standards,” he said.

“Yours are lower,” you said.

“Very mature response.”

“Thanks!”

Sae was a pretty agreeable breakfast partner. He wasn’t as impossibly cheerful as your parents, who generally drove you crazy with their talkativeness so early in the day, but he also wasn’t as silent and closed off as your brother, who was prone to snapping at others until he had finished at least half of his meal. As with lunch yesterday, it was almost an enjoyable experience, right up until you remembered whose card he was eating on.

“Where are you going?” he said when your plates had been cleared and you had pushed yourself to your feet. He followed after you as you made your way to the hostess’s station, ignoring the whispers that echoed behind the two of you.

“To pay for you to be here, duh,” you said, fishing around in your purse for your wallet. “I know you’re famous and all, but that doesn’t mean you get to eat for free. In fact, that was kind of the point of the meal.”

“I already paid for myself, so you can go and sit back down with your family if you’d like,” he said.

“What? When?” you said.

“I wouldn’t spend that long in a bathroom,” he said. “Not a public one.”

“You little—! Now what?” you said.

“Now you have to see me tomorrow,” he said. “Bye. I’ll pick you up for dinner, so make sure to wear something nice, and bring your credit card. It’s your treat.”

He walked off with a jaunty wave, leaving you standing there, confounded by the development. He had paid for himself again? What was the point of making you take him places if he was just going to cough up the cash himself anyways?

“Psst. Y/N,” your brother said. You weren’t sure when or where he had appeared, but it remained that he was suddenly tapping you on the shoulder and whispering in your ear. “Does Sae Itoshi have a crush on you? If so, please ask if he can get tickets for dad and I to attend his next game.”

“What?” you said, a shockwave running through your entire body at the mere thought of Sae having a crush on you. It was so juvenile and cliched as to be out of Sae’s character entirely. “No! I just owe him.”

“For what?” your brother said.

“I ran into him, called him ugly, and said that he was short,” you said. “Indirectly, of course, but it still happened. I was supposed to buy him lunch yesterday as an apology, but then he ended up paying for us both, and then today, I went on a run with him, and I was going to pay for him to have breakfast here, but guess what?”

“He paid for himself?” your brother said.

“He paid for — yeah, how did you know?” you said.

“There weren’t that many ways the story could’ve gone. Also, I overheard you guys talking,” he said.

“Creep,” you said.

“Weirdo,” he said.

“Freak,” you said.

“Stupid,” he said. “I bet he has a crush on you.”

“Why would he? We have zero common interests, and I’ve mostly only insulted him in our very short time knowing one another,” you said.

“Maybe he’s into that. Some guys are. My one friend is — actually, I’m not exposing him like that,” he said.

“Thank you, because I really didn’t want to know,” you said.

“Anyways, where I was going with that is some guys like girls who humble them a bit. Especially someone like Sae Itoshi; he’s probably so used to people falling all over themselves to get his attention that it’s nice for him to hang out with someone who’s too oblivious to care about that kind of stuff,” he said.

“People like you?” you said. “I told him you were his biggest fan, just so you know.”

“Why would you do that?” your brother said, his eyes bugging out and his mouth forming a pained grimace. “He probably thinks I’m a nerd now!”

“You do it to yourself, buddy,” you said. “Let’s go. It looks like the parents want us to go sit with them. Think you can handle it?”

“After learning that my hero has a crush on my sister and, furthermore, probably thinks of me as some kind of dweeb, I can handle anything,” he said.

The entire day, you pondered your brother’s words. Did Sae have a crush on you? Running through his actions and every conversation you both had ever had led you to think that he did not. It didn’t seem like he liked you very much in even a platonic sense, so how could anyone begin to think he liked you romantically? It was just tolerance for the sake of his pride, that was all.

And you definitely didn’t like him. He was emotionless and conceited and teased you far too often. What did it matter that he was somewhat attractive? He had a terrible personality, and you bet that if more of his fans knew what he was like, he wouldn’t have any to begin with.

No wonder Sae’s manager hated him. He was probably a jerk to his poor employees, too.

“We’re thinking of going here for dinner tonight,” your father said the next day. “Look, their reviews are pretty high, and their prices aren’t crazy. What does everyone think?”

“I’m fine with anything,” your mother said.

“Same here,” your brother said.

“Y/N?” your father said. You were about to respond when your own phone buzzed. You knew exactly who it was texting you, and you sighed as you opened it.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I will be there in one hour.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): You better not have forgotten about our plans for tonight.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): I made a reservation, so I’ll really be mad if you stand me up.

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Especially because you’re paying.

me: I WILL BE THERE OMFG STOP TEXTING ME

sae itoshi (dumb haircut): Okay.

“I can’t,” you said.

“Why not? Are you on some new diet or something? They should have vegetarian options, so that won’t be a problem,” your father said. “We can look at their menu beforehand if you prefer, and if you really don’t like anything, then we can find somewhere else.”

“I already have plans,” you said, your lower lip jutting out childishly. “Not that I want to! But I made a promise.”

“You already have plans? What’s that supposed to mean?” your mother said.

“I’m having dinner with someone,” you said.

“Ooh, how exciting! With who?” she said.

“I bet I can guess!” your brother sang.

“Enough out of you!” you said, kicking him in the back of the leg. He doubled over, though that did not stop him from smirking at you.

“Y/N and Sae, sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” he said.

“You’re going out with Sae Itoshi?” your father said. “You should’ve just said so! That’s perfectly alright, honey. Actually, he’s the one man I’m not upset about you dating!”

“We are not dating!” you said. “It’s a more transactional relationship than that. No feelings involved. It’s just me apologizing to him.”

“Are you close enough to him to get an autograph for your brother and I?” your dad said.

“Um.” You thought about it. Would Sae give you an autograph for them? You weren’t sure. There was a chance he would, but there was also a high chance he would not. “I dunno. I can ask.”

“You’ll ask for dad, but not for me? Wow, I see how it is,” your brother said.

“Yeah, because you’re annoying!” you said. “Ugh. I have to get ready now. He’ll be here to get me in an hour. Have fun at dinner, all of you. Keep me in your thoughts and prayers.”

“You have fun as well,” your mother said. “Make sure not to bring any money with you. Gentlemen should always pay on the first date.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” you said, giving up on explaining things to your family for the sake of your sanity.

Sae was aggressively punctual. Exactly an hour after he had texted you, a shiny black car was pulling up in the valet lane, and a tall, bald man in a suit was opening the door for you. You climbed in awkwardly, finding Sae to be sitting on the other side, gazing out of the window pensively.

“Hello,” you said, smoothing your dress and buckling your seatbelt. “You have a driver?”

“Of course I do,” he said. “I usually walk places when I’m on vacation, but this restaurant is kind of far, so I thought it’d be more prudent to have the driver take us.”

“I see,” you said. “Thank you, driver, sir.”

The driver hummed in acknowledgement but did not say anything else. You supposed he probably wasn’t used to talking with his passengers; you doubted Sae ever spoke to him much.

“It’s been so hot out recently,” Sae said stiffly.

“That’s what happens during the summer, yes,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said.

“You’re right, though,” you said. “It has been hot.”

“Super hot,” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “Super hot.”

That must’ve been why there was a slight redness to his cheeks. There was definitely no other reason. And there wasn’t any other reason for why you felt uncomfortably warm, shifting in your seat to dissipate the feeling in your stomach. It was the temperature. That was all.

Given the trend, you really should have anticipated it when Sae paid for your dinner while you were freshening up in the bathroom, but you really had not seen it coming in the slightest. He scrunched up his face when you argued, simply telling you that he would see you tomorrow before dropping you back off at your hotel, the receipt in your hand, his flourishing signature scrawled across the back.

“For your brother,” he had said, handing it to you before you could even ask him for his autograph. “You said he was a fan, right? I’ll get him a better one later, but for now, this should do.”

You spent every day of the rest of that vacation with Sae Itoshi. Some days, you would accompany him on a morning walk — he had softened to slowing his pace, so that he was only barely jogging instead of the full on run that he had forced you into that first time — and on others, the two of you would have some meal or another together. The common theme was that, if there was money involved, he would take care of it. Without question, without hesitation, he always slapped your hand back and pulled out his own credit card, telling you that now you both had to meet again, and the next time you really would be the one paying, or else he’d never be able to forgive you for your terrible behavior.

Your parents and brother complained about it at first, as your new friendship with Sae — could it be considered a friendship, or was it something else? — meant you did not see them much on what was supposed to be a family vacation.

You brought it up with Sae, and he responded with something about how it wouldn’t have been a problem at all if you weren’t such a freeloader and actually paid for him, like you were supposed to. This resulted in a lighthearted squabble between you both, which in turn made you forget your family’s whining, and as well you should have. You could take a million more vacations with them, but you’d likely never get a chance to hang out with Sae Itoshi again, so why wouldn’t you take advantage of it when you could?

Sae didn’t forget, though. He sent you back from dinner the next evening with a soccer ball he had won in one of his games, his signature and a note of gratitude scribbled on it in black marker.

Thank you for letting me borrow your daughter and sister from you while you’re on your trip. I really appreciate it, even if she doesn’t know anything about soccer. — Sae Itoshi

They stopped complaining after that. The ball became your brother’s most prized possession, and every day, your father would tell you how happy he was that you had made such a considerate friend.

“And you know, if you ever want to date him,” he’d say, elbowing you in the side with an obnoxious wink. “We wouldn’t be opposed!”

Your mother was in the same boat. “He really cares about you, I think. Enough that he gave your family something so precious just because he thought we didn’t like him. You could do a lot worse than that.”

“Plus, he’s rich and famous!” your brother would chime in without fail. “Double win!”

“You guys are all nuts,” you’d tell them, shaking your head to disguise how pleased the thought of dating Sae made you.

It could never happen. Like your brother was so happy to remind you, he was rich and famous, an athlete that was adored worldwide and played for the best soccer club in history. He could have any girl he wanted, so why would he ever choose you? You and he were from two different planes of existence. Maybe you could pretend for a little bit that you weren’t, but the date for your eventual departure from Spain was drawing closer and closer, and that day meant the certain end of the fever dream that was your closeness with Sae.

You had been prepared from the start for it to finish in this way. You would go home and tell all of your friends about your trip, how you had spent almost every day with the famous soccer player Sae Itoshi, how he had given you his phone number and made you go on runs with him, how together, you and him had eaten lunch and dinner and breakfast and several meals that you were convinced he had just made up to have an excuse to buy food for the two of you — brunch, linner, midnight snacks and third desserts.

There were other things that you wouldn’t tell them, too, things that Sae had not necessarily said to you in confidence but which you sensed were held close to his heart and which you would therefore hold close to yours. His little brother was named Rin, and they had the same eyes, though Rin’s were quicker to water and perpetually had hair falling into them. He still watched the same shows he used to when he was very small, because they reminded him of his parents’ home. He thought that a person’s athletic potential could be determined by the shape of their butt, but he tended to avoid looking as a form of respect for others.

“That’s a pretty cool skill, Sae! What do you think my athletic potential is?” you had asked when he had revealed that last fact.

“If it’s possible for a person to have negative potential, then that’s about what yours is. If it’s not, then you’re definitely at a zero,” he had responded.

“You didn’t even look,” you had said, shoving a French fry into his mouth as punishment. He hated French fries for how unhealthy they were, and you had half-expected him to lecture you about fats and oils and salts, but instead, he had dutifully chewed and swallowed without any theatrics.

“Don’t need to, and don’t plan to,” he had said, and that was that. “I’ve already seen you run, and that told me all I needed to know about your athletic skills. Or, in this case, your lack thereof.”

If you took his words at face value, then you would’ve thought he truly hated you. He never missed a chance to make fun of you, and you were the same way — certainly, anyone who overheard your conversations would’ve been convinced that you and he were bitter enemies. But that was because they didn’t see the way he always positioned himself on the sidewalk so that he was between you and the oncoming traffic. They didn’t see the way he’d pull out your chair and only pretend to frown when you’d thank him for it. They didn’t see the way his ears would turn pink if you dared to smile in his direction or, heaven forbid, agreed with what he was saying instead of arguing, as was your go-to.

No, you were pretty confident that Sae Itoshi did not hate you. It was just that soccer was his thing and all other areas were beyond him, areas which included such fields as emotional awareness and sensitivity.

Maybe you might tell the friends you were particularly close to about that. Sae Itoshi treated me pretty well, you’d say, with grand, sweeping hand motions to emphasize the point. As well as he knew how to, which was well enough for me. If I ever get a boyfriend, they’ll have a lot to live up to. Seems kind of unfair to whatever poor schmuck gets stuck with the task, don’t you think? Considering the two of us never even dated…

“I'm going home tomorrow morning,” you said. The sun was setting, and the two of you were walking along the same stretch of beach that you had first met at. “I finished packing all of my things before dinner. It’s surreal, almost. I feel like an entirely different person now, compared to when I came here.”

“Is that so?” he said, the corners of his lips twitching slightly. “I wonder why.”

“Did you just smile?” you said. Immediately, he scowled.

“No way,” he said. “I’d never smile because of something you said.”

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, you definitely smiled. I made you smile! I made you smile! I made you smile!” you said, poking him in the cheek repeatedly. Sae’s expressions were so subtle that it was easy to overlook them before they had vanished, but there was no overlooking what you had just seen. He had definitely smiled at you, or at least he had been about to.

“Stop poking me,” he grumbled.

“No,” you said, poking him again. “Only if you smile again.”

“Hell no,” he said. You poked his cheek again. “Y/N. Stop it.”

“Will you miss me?” you said.

“Not if you don’t quit that!” he said, grabbing your wrist when you prepared to poke him again. Heat rose to your cheeks at the way his thumb rested against your pulse, and when he realized he was holding your hand so familiarly, his own cheeks flushed. “No. I won’t.”

“I’ll miss you,” you said, digging your feet into the sand, turning out to the sea because you couldn’t stand to look at him when you were being so vulnerable. “I’ll tell everyone I know about you, of course, but it won’t be the same. Something funny will happen, and I’ll think to myself, oh, Sae would’ve snorted at that — but not laughed, because you don’t laugh. Or I’ll order shitty French fries, and it’ll remind me of how much you’d scold me for eating them. You’d say something like, those are basically heart attacks in a box, and then you’d pour a bottle of salted kombucha down my throat to cleanse my system.”

Somewhere in the distance, a seagull squawked, reminding you of the fateful encounter from so long ago. You wished you could go back and get to know Sae all over again. You wished you could ask him the same questions and not know the answers, so that you were surprised when he told them to you. You wished you could argue with him for a little bit longer. You wished that, one more time, you could imply he was short and ugly and slow and a thousand other rude adjectives, even if he was really none of those things, none of them at all.

“I’m going to ask you one last question, okay?” you said. “Please think over your answer carefully. It’s important.”

“Okay,” he said, uncharacteristically gently. “I’ll really consider it well.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” you said.

“Seagulls,” he said immediately, directly contradicting his solemn oath. You laughed at this, burying your face in your hands to hide the hitch in your throat.

“You traitor,” you said. “You know all about the feud between seagulls and I, and yet you’re still claiming they’re your favorites?”

“They always have been,” he said. “I like migratory birds, how they don’t stay in one place but are always moving around. It must be such a blissful life.”

“But it’s probably pretty lonely, too,” you said. “They don’t have anywhere to call home.”

“I like lonely things,” he said. “That’s why the end of the summer is my favorite season.”

“Hm,” you said. “Then, if I tell you that I’ll be lonely once I leave here, will you like me, too?”

He looked at you, but you stared resolutely ahead, your gaze trained on the horizon, the way his had been on the day you had run into him. It was such a kiddish question, and internally, you were beating yourself up for asking it, but deep down, you wanted to know, so you did not move to retract it.

“Well, I like seagulls for a different reason now,” he said.

So that was your answer, then. The waves crashed against the shore, and a balmy wind blew through your hair and clothes, carrying the light scent of Sae’s cologne to your nose, the same one he had worn for as long as you could remember.

“I understand,” you said.

“These days, it’s a specific seagull I’m fond of, actually,” he said.

“Huh? Like a breed or something?” you said.

“No, just one bird in particular,” he said. “It did me a really huge favor recently.”

“What are you talking about? You always say that you suspect I was dropped on the head as a baby, but between the two of us, I think the one that was dropped was you,” you said, the fraying ends of your rejected feelings driving you to irascibility.

“A while ago, I was standing on the beach, feeling pretty annoyed with the world — as usual,” he said. “I had had to run from the paparazzi in order to go on this vacation without being bothered, you know, and I honestly was starting to question if I’d ever be seen as a normal person. I get that the only thing I’m good at is soccer, but it’s pretty tiring to be thought of as a guy who kicks balls around and nothing more.”

Unbidden, you inhaled sharply, because the story was starting to sound familiar. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of Sae smiling shyly, peering down at you through his unfairly long eyelashes.

“That seagull must’ve known how I was feeling. There’s no other explanation for it all. It must’ve known how I was feeling, and somehow, it managed to find the one person in the entire world that saw me as something other than that. Do you know what it did next? It stole that person’s sandwich, and it led her right to me,” he said.

“Are you talking about me?” you said.

“How many people do you think have called me a short, ugly, D-list celebrity instead of asking for my autograph upon meeting me?” he said.

“Probably not very many,” you said. He chuckled.

“Probably not any,” he said. You rested your forehead against his shoulder.

“Probably not,” you said. He stroked your hair, though his motions were like a marionette’s — he was not very used to this type of relationship, after all. But he was trying his best, and you found that to be far more endearing than any suave gestures might’ve been.

“I know you have to go soon, so I was planning on not saying anything,” he said. “What would be the point? I figured this was just a summer fling for you. But then you had to go and be all sentimental, and I had to say something.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said. “It would’ve been worse if I had returned home without knowing at all. Where do we go from here, though?”

“Where do we go from here? Let me think. Well, I’ll ask you to be my girlfriend,” he said. “And you’ll say yes, because who would ever reject me? Then we’ll talk on the phone every day, and you can send me photos of things you find funny, and I’ll have a sixth sense for when you’re eating French fries and I’ll send you strongly worded texts in reprimand. You’ll fly over to watch my matches whenever possible, and when I’m on my next break, I’ll come visit you and meet your family and friends properly.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we? What if I say no?” you said.

“Will you?” he said.

“Not sure. How about you ask and find out?” you said.

“If you’re going to say no, then I don’t want to,” he said. You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I can’t be with a man who’s afraid of rejection. It was nice knowing you, Sae,” you said. “See you around. Hope you lose the Champions League.”

“Wait! I’m not afraid of rejection,” he said. “Y/N, will you be my girlfriend? Officially, I mean.”

“Yes, of course,” you said. “But you’re going to have to buy my plane tickets if you want me to watch you. Even with frequent flier miles, I doubt I can afford coming to see you that often.”

“Consider it done,” he said. You grinned at him.

“You know, if you’re my boyfriend, then you’re going to have to keep paying for our dates, as well. My mother said that’s the gentlemanly thing for you to do,” you said.

“Right, I was expecting that,” he said. “Don’t you think there’s a reason why I haven’t let you buy anything yet?”

“Then how am I ever supposed to apologize to you for the circumstances of our first meeting? I mean, I was pretty harsh,” you said.

“That’s true,” he said. “Let me think.”

“Mhm,” you said. “I know that that’s out of your comfort zone, so I’ll give you a minute.”

“I have an idea,” he said, though it was accompanied by a slight glare at your jab.

“What is it?” you said.

“Close your eyes,” he said. You obliged, squeezing them shut, though not without widening your feet into the defensive stance he had demonstrated to you on the day he had attempted to teach you basic soccer skills.

“What are you going to do, tackle me or something? I’m using the position you taught me, but please be gentle, you’re way more muscular than—!”

You were cut off by him pressing his lips to yours. It was a soft kiss, gentle and light, like feathers in the air or water against the sand, and he pulled away before you could really react or reciprocate. He had left you wanting, and you knew he knew that, because there was a smugness to his voice when he spoke next.

“Apology accepted,” he said as you blinked at him in shock, your mind still lagging well behind your body. “Now we’re even.”

“Hold on,” you said. “I’m suddenly feeling very repentant and remorseful. Are you quite sure you forgive me with just that?”

He laughed. It was such a lovely sound, his laugh, and you would’ve told him so if you weren’t afraid that he’d stop when you pointed it out.

“Maybe not,” he said. “You might have to apologize a bit more.”

“That sounds doable,” you said. “Yeah, I might be able to work that in. It’ll be agonizing, but a wise man once told me that that’s just the nature of apologizing, so it’s the least I can do, right?”

“Oh, shut up,” he said, holding your face in his hands and leaning in. You did the same, your eyes closing all on their own as you sought out the connection he had deprived you of earlier.

As the sun set over the horizon and the seagulls settled in for the night, he kissed you again.

[and-claudia]

Yours (Paddy x reader) (Speak No Evil)

This is part one of a currently untitled mini series for Paddy from speak no evil (2024)

Warnings: Paddy (he is a warning himself), manipulation, age gap, drinking, infidelity, smut (with plot), unprotected sex, p in v, controlling relatives, fingering, multiple orgasms (i think that is it but if I missed one let me know)

This story will get dark. this is your warning, this part isn't really that dark and can be read as a stand-alone fic

summary: You are with your Aunt, Uncle and cousin on a small vacation in Italy where you befriend a couple and you take particular interest in Paddy

Word Count: 3700+

Taglist (Read the rules, follow them or I will remove your response)

When I met him in Italy, I was immediately drawn to him. He was like no man I had ever met before—exciting, inviting, and intoxicating. He was significantly older than me, but maybe that is what I needed. All the guys my age were the same, and none of them had the charm that Paddy did. But he was married, and I had tried my best to respect that. 

However, that all changed when he invited me out a few nights after meeting. We were at dinner, and I was sitting beside my aunt, one seat down and across from Paddy. Drinks had just been served when Paddy eyed my drink. 

“Water? Really? On vacation?” He asked, noticing my lack of alcoholic beverage. 

“Oh, she doesn’t drink.” Louise said for me, causing me to roll my eyes. 

“What, why not? Personal health? Religion?” Paddy asked, tilting his head, his blue eyes soft. 

I side eyed my aunt before sighing and looking back to Paddy, “They’ve never let me.” 

Paddy pulled back with a shocked face, “Oh, come on! You’re on vacation! You’re an adult! Indulge a little. I’ll tell you what, order whatever you want, it’s on me.” He said. 

I smiled at him, “I appreciate it, but I’m afraid I wouldn’t even know where to begin.” I said honestly. 

He laughed, looking down and shaking his head before looking back at me. “Let me help.” 

He then proceeded to ask me a list of questions about my preferences, like if I liked sweet or bitter things, do I like fruity things, what flavors I preferred etc. Once he was, he nodded. 

“Okay, I think I got it. Do you trust me?” He asked, and I nodded. 

Then he flagged down the waiter and secretly ordered my drink for me. I could feel my aunt looking at me in slight disbelief. But I didn’t care. She and my uncle drank wine all the time. I was old enough to drink, so why not? 

Eventually, the waiter brought my drink to me and I hesitantly took a drink as Paddy watched with anticipation. 

“So?” 

“That’s really good.” I said honestly. 

Paddy clapped his hands in a small personal celebration, “Perfect!” 

Dinner continued on with conversation among all of us. I finished my drink and began drinking my water again. I was listening to my Uncle drone on about something when I saw Paddy flag down our waiter again and point to me before sending me a small wink. I was brought another drink, which I happily accepted. By the time dinner concluded, I had downed 3, and I was feeling it, especially once I stood up. 

“How we feeling?” Paddy asked. 

“Great.” I said, giggling. 

“Ah, yes, a giggly drunk, much better than a grumpy one.” Paddy said to my aunt, who just gave a thin-lipped smile and nodded. 

“We should probably get going. It’s late.” She said waving me over to her. 

Even with my mind fuzzy, I knew there was no point in putting up a fight. 

“Actually,” Paddy’s voice made me pause, “Ciara and I were going to go to a club down the road after we put Ant to bed. We wanted to see if you, all three of you, wanted to join us. Just for a couple of hours, nothing crazy.” 

“Not tonight, we’re all pretty tired.” My uncle said. 

My aunt nodded in agreement, “Yeah, it’s late anyway. But thank you for the invite.” 

Paddy’s eyes fell on me, and he raised an eyebrow in question. The liquor flowing through me gave me the courage to look at my aunt and uncle before turning back to Paddy and Ciara. 

“I would love to.” I said, making Paddy smile. 

“Oh, Yn, come on, you don’t want to impose.” My aunt said, touching my shoulder, but I brushed her off. 

“She isn’t, I promise. I’ll keep an eye on her.” Ciara said, “Go on up and get changed. We’ll swing by and get you after Ant is in bed.” 

Reluctantly, I followed my aunt and uncle up to our room. When we got there, I went straight to my suitcase and dug out a specific dress. I pooped the tags off of it before going into the bathroom to change into it. It was definitely unlike anything I had ever worn before. I showed off all my best assets, and I looked hot. I touched up my makeup before walking out to change my shoes. 

“What on earth are you wearing?” My uncle asked from where he sat in his bed. 

“A dress.” I said bluntly, grabbing my shoes. 

“You’re not wearing that out. You look like a hooker.” He said but Louise put a hand on his arm. 

“Look, you can’t even insult your niece without her telling you what to do.” I said as I put on my shoes. 

“Yn, maybe you should stay in tonight. Meet some of the people your age here. I’m sure they’d go to the club with you.” Louise offered. 

“Why wait?” I said, but before they could say anything, there was a knock on the door. 

I opened it, and Paddy was standing there dressed nicer than he was at dinner. It was taking everything in me not to stare. 

“Ready?” He asked. 

“Yup!” I smiled. 

“Don’t worry, Ben, she’ll be returned in one piece!” He called into the room after I stepped out. He pulled the door shut, and we began walking down the hall. 

“So… change of plans… Ciara isn’t coming…” He said, watching to gauge my reaction. 

“Oh…” 

“Is that okay with you? I mean, if you’re at all uncomfortable, we don’t have to go.” 

“No, I still want to go. I think I’m losing my buzz, though.” I said with a small laugh. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” He said, offering me his arm. I took it, trying not to blush, “Let’s go.” 

Walking into the club, attached to his arm, just felt so right. It felt powerful. Paddy had an intimating aura about him that when people saw him they stepped out of his way. He walked us straight to the bar and ordered us some drinks. 

Before I knew it he and I were on the dance floor, his hands on my hips as we danced together. Our bodies were pressed against one another. The booze in my system was clouding my judgment. I knew this was wrong. I was grinding on a married man over twice my age. 

They called for the last call at the bar, and I drug Paddy back to it for us to get one more drink in. We both had a thin sheen of sweat covering our bodies as we waited for our drinks. There weren’t many seats so I was sitting while he stood right behind me, chest pressed against my back. 

“You look stunning, by the way.” He said over the music. 

“Thank you. You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself.” I shot back just as our drinks were set down. 

We drank them quickly before stumbling out and making our way back to the hotel. I was a complete stumbling, giggling mess, holding onto him for support so I wouldn’t fall. 

“Wait. I have a horrible idea.” I said. 

Paddy looked over at me, waiting for me to answer. 

“We should go jump in the pool,” I said, giggling. 

“I bet you won’t.” He said, challenging me. 

I wasted no time grabbing his hand and leading him over to the now-closed pool. I quickly took my heels off before walking over to the edge. With one last look over my shoulder at him, I jumped. When I resurfaced, he was laughing his ass off, clapping. 

“Well, come on! Your turn!” I said. 

He quickly slipped his own shoes off and took his watch off, setting them on one of the chairs before jumping in with me. He swam under the water and popped up right in front of me. His hands went to my hips once again as he pulled me flush against him. 

I was looking up at him, eyes fliting from his eyes to his lips and before I could process it he was leaning in. But I stopped him.

“Wait… what about Ciara?” I asked quietly. 

“It’s okay. That’s why she didn’t come tonight. She wanted me to have this tonight, to have you tonight.” 

That was all the convincing it took me to reach up and pull him down to meet my lips. He backed us up until my back hit the wall of the pool. His hands roamed my body, and one of mine was tangled in his hair. Things were heating up until we heard someone clear their throat. 

He slowly pulled away from me, and then we both turned to see one of the hotel workers standing there with their hands clasped in front of them. 

“I am sorry, but the pool is closed.” They said in a thick Italian accent. 

“Oh yes, sir. My apologies, you see, she fell in, and I had to save her… I was just making sure her airways were cleared.” Paddy said. 

The worker was clearly not amused by the jokes. 

 “We’ll get out right now.” Paddy said grabbing my hand as he led us to the stairs. 

We got out and collected our belongings, still laughing to ourselves until we were out of sight of the worker. Then, all hell broke loose as we began laughing fully. 

“He was so not impressed with your bullshit, Paddy.” I said, holding onto his arm with one hand while I carried my shoes in the other. 

“He’s just got a stick so far up his ass he doesn’t know what humor is anymore.” He replied. 

I grabbed him by the open collar of his shirt and pulled him to me and attached my lips to his once again. He aggressively pushed me against the wall, deepening the kiss. Slowly, his lips left mine and began making their way down the side of my neck. I tilted my head to the other side to give him better access to it. He was alternating between soft kisses and small bites. Then he bit down harder than he had been right on that sweet spot on my neck, and a small moan left my lip. He stayed there working on what would be a dark hickey come morning, but I couldn’t care. I would wear it with pride. 

Once he was done, he pulled away to admire his work. Then his lips were on mine again. My mind was wandering off to all the things I wanted him to do to me. His hand found my wrist and grabbed it. Then, he brought my hand down between us and placed it firmly against the growing bulge in his pants. 

“You see what you’re doing to me, baby? I want you so bad.” He said, pulling away and resting his forehead against mine. 

A small whimper left my mouth as he grinded against my hand. 

“Take me. Please, I’m yours, Paddy.” I said, kissing him again. 

He pulled away once again but then began leading me by the hand still on my wrist down the halls to his room. I hesitated as he went to open the door. 

“She’s not here. She’s across the hall with Ant in his room. Remember, she wanted me to have this.” He said, eyes dark with lust and his voice dropping low. 

I nodded at him to continue and he opened the door, leading me inside. He once we were inside he shut and lock the door behind him. I suddenly felt shy and was subconsciously pulling the bottom hem of my dress down in a futile attempt to cover myself up in front of him.

“Oh, baby, don’t hide.” Paddy said, walking over, grabbing gently by the hips and kissing me surprisingly softly compared to earlier. 

“I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never…” I sighed in embarrassment. 

“Oh, you’re a virgin?” He asked, eyebrows knitting together softly. 

I shook my head, “No… not technically…” I said.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything, we just go to bed.” He offered but I shook my head again. 

“I want to, trust I want you. I’ve just never orgasmed before with someone else…only myself.” I finally admitted, clearly nervous. 

“Do you doubt my ability to make you feel good, darling?” He asked, voice dropping low again. 

“No, I just worry somethings wrong with me.” I said truthfully. 

Paddy shook his head this time and began walking backwards, pulling me with by the hands still on my hips. He sat down on the edge of the bed and then guided me to straddle him. 

“We’re not leaving this room until I give you the most earth shattering orgasm I have ever given a woman. Understand?” 

I took in a sharp breath at the sudden commanding tone he took on, but nodded my head. 

“Use your words. I won’t remind you again.” “Yes, sir.” I said, voice already breathy from the way he was making me feel. 

“Good. Now, be a good girl and take this dress off for me. I want to see you, all of you.” He said. 

I stood from his lap and then reached behind me to unzip my dress. Once I had it unzipped I pulled it down off my body exposing my bare brests to him. He moaned at the sight of them but I kept going. Since it was a tighter dresser and was still wet from the pool, I had wiggle a bit to get it off my hips and over my ass, causing my tits to bounce with the movement which only spurred Paddy on. Once it was past my thighs, I was able to drop it and have it fall around my feet. Since I hadn’t worn any panties with the dress I was now standing completely bare in front of him as his eyes roamed over my body. 

“This whole time that’s all you had on? I could’ve been fucking you with my fingers this whole night…” He said, shaking his head. 

I bit my lip at his words. That would’ve been hot. 

“Oh, you like that idea… next time.” He said, making my stomach do a flip. Would there really be a next time? 

“Get over here, I need to see those tits up close.” He said. 

I stepped forward again and straddled his waist once more. His hands wasted no time going to my brests. He toyed with them roughly, rolling my hardening nipples between his rough, calloused hands.

“Fuck, these things looked great in that swimsuit you wore yesterday but nothing, nothing compares to them in the flesh.” He said, before dipping his head down and taking one of them in his mouth. 

His tongue swirled around my nipple before his teeth ever so subtlely grazed it. He didn’t actually bite down but it was enough to earn a moan from me. I was become desperate for some friction and I hadn’t even noticed that I was grinding down on his lap until he removed his mouth from my tit. 

“Ooh, someones eagar.” He said. 

Then, without warning, one his hands dipped between us and he ran his fingers through my folds, feel the wetness that had already began to pool. 

“Oh she’s very eager.” He said as one of his fingers just barley entered me before he removed his hand completely urning a whine from me. 

“Don’t whine, baby, Paddy is going to take good care of you.” He said, using his oter hand to pull me into a quick kiss. 

He then guided up off his lap to sit beside him before he stood up. 

“Fair is fair, darling.” He said as he began to remove his own clothes. 

He began with his shirt, which while he was extremely toned and very attractive physically, it wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen laying out by the pool. Then he stepped forward towards me with his pelvis slightly forward. I couldn’t help myself from starring at the pitch that was clearly aching to be let out of the confines of his pants. 

“Go ahead, darling, you can do the honors.” He said. 

I slowly reached up and grabbed his belt before undoing it. My eyes met his as I looked up through my lashes and I undid his pants. Then my focus dropped back down as I grabbed the waist band of his boxers and his pants and pulled them gently, finally releasing his hard cock. I couldn’t help myself but stare at it and admire it for a moment. 

“Are you gonna stare at it all night, or do you want me to fuck you with it?” He asked, voice deep. 

I looked up at him once again through my lashes and went to nod my head but remembered his words from earlier. 

“I want you to fuck me with it.” I said making him smirk. 

“Then get up there.” He said, nodding the head board. 

I scooted up on the bed and he crawled over to me. His lips found mine and this time I allowed my hands to explore his body from his toned chest to his hair to his strong arms. Everything about him was intoxicating. It was like ever single on of my senses was completely consumed by him. 

He was using one hand to support his weight above me as his other travled down my body to my core. Once again, he ran his fingers through my folds then slipped one in. However this time he let it go in much further. Then he slipped another one in, working me open and stretching me out to prep me for his cock. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, can already feel how tight you are.” He said, against my lips. 

He kept pumping into with two fingers for awhile until he slipped a third one in which took my breath away. My moan was swallowed by his mouth as he fucked in and out of me with his thick fingers. 

When he finally pulled them out he pulled away from my lips and began cleaning his hand off with his mouth. “Taste like fuck heven, sweetheart.” He said, leanined back down to kiss me, allowing me to taste myself on his lips. 

He finally pulled away, leaving my lips swollen from the kiss.

“You on birth control?” He asked. 

I nodded, “Yeah.” “Good.” 

That was all the warning I got before he was sliding into me. The stretch was borderline painful in the best was possible. And the moan that I let out sounded like it was straight out of a porno. 

“Fuck, baby, you trying to wake up the whole damn hotel?” He teased. 

“I’m sorry.” I said, still out of breath. 

“No, let them hear you. Let them know you’re getting the best fucking you’ll ever have. Let them know you belong to me.” He said. 

My walls squeezed around him at his last words. 

“You like that? You want the world to know I fucked your brains out?” “Y-yes.” I managed to sigh. 

“Good.” 

And with that he began pounding into me at a brutal pace. He had grabbed one of my legs and hooked it over his hip, giving him the angle to hit so deep into me, I was sure my cervix would be bruised the next morning. 

He continued his pace, never letting up for a second, “You’re so fucking tight. Feels so good. No wonder no other man could make you come, they probably came within a minute of being in your perfect pussy.” 

He adjusted his angle ever so slightly and was hammering into that soft spongy spot that had me seeing stars. He must of seen my reaction to this new angle because he began getting cocky. 

“There it, that’s the sweet spot isn’t it? Those other men couldn’t reach if they tried. Your pussy was made for me and me only, sweetheart. You needed Paddy to fuck you. Only I can make you feel this good.” 

I could feel that familiar tension grownign deep in my stomach. It was a feeling I had only ever felt when it was me alone with my vibrator. It was building up faster than it ever had before. 

“Fuck, Paddy, I-” I couldn’t even finish my sentence before I was clamping hard around his dick as I came. 

Paddy was muttering curse through gritted teeth as I held him in a vice grip. Then, just as my orgasm was dropping of, he shifted he weight to one hand and brought the other one down to rub tight circles on my clit as he began thrusting into me once again. It was almost overstimmulating as I was rushing towards a second orgasm so quickly. I was reduced to a blubbering mess under him as he did exactly what he set out to do, fuck my brains out. 

I could feel the second orgasm soaring towards me, my hands were gripping the bedsheets in a deathgrip. I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence at this point. 

“You close baby?” Paddy asked. 

I managed to nod. 

“Go ahead, come for me one more time.” 

With that, my second orgasm his me like a wreaking ball, completely shattering the world around me. My walls squeezed him even tighter than before if that even possible. This time he fucked me through it chasing his own release before his rhythm faltered and he released thick, hot ropes of cum deep inside of me. He stayed like that releasing every last drop he had before slowly pulling out. 

He flopped beside me with a heavy sigh as I laid there catching my breath. I could feel the mixture of our releases seeping out of me but I honestly couldn’t care less about that. 

“How was that?” He asked. 

“Fucking perfect.” I said, eyes closed in pure bliss. 

I heard him let out a low chuckle before turning onto his side and pulling me to him so I was laying there with my back pressed against him. He held me close as we both enjoyed to stillness that had settled over the room. 

“You’re mine now, don’t forget it.” He whispered darkly in my ear. 

It sent a shiver down my spine in the best way possible. I turned around in his arms to look at him. I leaned in pressed a soft kiss to his lips before whispering back, “I’m yours.” 

taglist: @comicbookslut @dreamygirli3

[laurynjc-art]

Forgiveness: Part 3- Acceptance

Part 1

Part 2

Thus concludes the finale of the angst I’ve been cooking up; one off-comment made by the squip has Jeremy convinced Michael won’t forgive him, and when he does so without hesitation, Jeremy can’t even believe him. Which leads Jeremy to the conclusion that Michael was lying and will get over himself eventually, and Jeremy decides to just cut to the chase and isolate himself to save the pain of being left by anyone else (while not realizing in doing so he’s hurting Michael all over again).

Michael clocks him right away, though, and is like, "I dunno man, I'm pretty sure I said we were still buds but I guess I need to hear it from you now"

idk Jeremy probably having abandonment issues is something I think about a lot

but anyway thanks for all the love on this little series, making these comics has been a lot of fun 💖

[hermitcraftguesstheauthorevent]

GUESS THE AUTHOR IS BACK! 

Get to your keyboard and get those betting slips ready, because it’s Guess The Author time again! This is the third annual GTA! Wow! 

But what IS Guess the Author? It's a writing challenge and a guessing game, all in one!

Our fabulous authors will have until THE DEADLINE to write a new work (or dust off an unpublished thing you’ve had rotting in your drafts, we won’t judge) and post it to our anonymous collection. 

Don’t worry if you don’t have any clue who’s who- we’ll publish a list of our authors to make guessing easier. From there, readers will have one week to guess who wrote what! 

After that week, we’ll reveal the collection in full and you can see how you did! It’s like Guess Who, but with more block men and word documents. 

And without further ado:

THE DEADLINE WILL BE JULY 6TH, 2025, AT MIDNIGHT EDT.

(Here’s a handy little countdown clock for you!)

You have until THE DEADLINE to get your work in the collection, and you can find instructions to do that by checking our handy post right here! 

All that fun aside, we do have a few rules: 

-THERE WILL BE ABSOLUTELY NO EXTENSIONS TO THE DEADLINE. We will not make exceptions. If your work isn’t in the collection by THE DEADLINE, it’s not getting in. If you don’t make it, you shouldn’t despair- post it anyway! This challenge is all about getting people writing, not some silly collection. That said, we will not reopen the collection for any reason.

-Your work must be Hermit-centric! This is a Hermitcraft event, we’re Hermitcraft fans. Feel free to have other people show up, but the focus should be on at least one Hermit! (NPC’s or Hermit characters such as NPC Grian, Grimdog, Goatman, EX, Hels, and so on are all fine!)

-No smut. Period. Sorry. Cut around it, fade to black, heavily imply it, just no onscreen NSFW action. Everything else is fine!

-Use of AI tools such as ChatGPT or whatever flavour of the Plagiarism Machine is popular this week is strictly banned. This is a writing challenge for human creativity, and we want to hear your own unique voice! Any submitted works found to be AI-generated will be removed from the collection and you will be blacklisted from this and future challenges. 

-Don’t do anything that breaks TOS. Tumblr’s or AO3’s. 

-Minimum wordcount is 50 words. There is no maximum wordcount. 

-A maximum of ten posted works per author, please! If you want to have more, consider creating a single “Collection” piece where each chapter is a new work. Thank you! 

-The mod team reserves the right to remove works from the collection that violate these rules or violate the spirit of the challenge. That means, for example, please don’t add a work that’s a part of your ongoing series! That’s just spoiling the fun.

-If AO3 implodes on launch day again, the mod team reserves the right to scream. 

Other than that, do what you like! We don’t care! There are no rules around content. Horror, shipping, high school AU’s, space opera, Shakespeare…go nuts! We can’t wait to see what you create! 

You’re encouraged to lie, misdirect people, write in another author’s style, write about Hermits you don’t usually write! Any trick you want to use is fair game.

For those wanting a more formal schedule for their calendars, here it is: 

May 4th, 2025, 12:00 PM EDT: Event begins, collection opens! That’s right now! 

July 6th, 2025, 12:00 AM EDT: THE DEADLINE. Writing period ends, collection closes, and guessing begins! 

July 13th 2025, 12:00 AM EDT: Guessing concludes! All works are de-anonymized, and readers and writers celebrate! All works will be promoted on the blog for readers to pick through at their leisure. 

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask the blog. We have five mods: 

-Mod Bayonet 

-Mod Butterfly Knife 

-Mod Machete

-Mod Rapier

-Mod 🔪

What are you waiting for? Get out there and get writing! Can’t wait to see you in the collection!

Lastly, if you want to chat about your work anonymously, head over to our NEWLY OFFICIAL buddy blog @hcguesstheauthormessageboard!

@mcytblrsource

[livingdxadwriter]

A Love Game II

DI!Single!Dad!Leon S. Kennedy X F!Teacher!Reader

Summary: You, Leon, in his bedroom. What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it children), p in v, fingering, multiple orgasms (f receiving), hair pulling, minor choking, creampie, praising, soft!dom!leon, Leon has kinda of an innocence kink, parent/teacher dynamic, Leon has a mouth on him, the s stands for slut, foul language

WC: 4.4k

A/N: yay I made it past the 2 part mark for a "series" how exciting. I hope I can post this in peace. For anyone that cared enough to want more parts, here we are. There's some more in the works. What do we say? Do we want to see this second date and leon being dumb and in love? Dunno when those will come out but, for now here's this.

Part I | Universe Masterlist

Were you really driving halfway across town to get laid?

Absolutely. 

Leon didn't even have to ask you twice. It wasn't like you had much going on anyway. And you really wanted to see him.

You made it three, maybe four feet into his apartment, enough for you to take a look at him. Hair wet like he had just taken a shower, shirtless, and only a pair of pajama pants hung from his hips. That man was without a doubt, trying to drive you insane. Though you had concluded you were in fact insane, the second you said yes to going out with him. 

"Hi." You stood in front of him, the scent of his body wash taking you in. A mixture of light bourbon and vanilla. It wasn't overbearing, but it was definitely intoxicating. That, or you were already drunk on the thought of him.

"Hi." His lips irked up and he leaned down, lips barely brushing over yours as he threaded his fingers through your hair. "I really wanted to see you again." 

You were in his bedroom in record time. Somehow in between hushed laughs and messy kisses, always doing your best to stay quiet. But ultimately, he closed the door behind you, his body pressing you against it as he kissed you.

His lips were hard on your own, messy on your jaw, like he didn't know which part he wanted to kiss more. Your fingers were entangled in his perfectly soft honey brown strands, already melting under his touch. His hand came up under your jaw to grip your face in place, long fingers sprawled out over your neck. He pulled you back by your face and his eyes were hard on you, with this mixture of authority and utter need to fuck you. He could be both. 

"This is how this is gonna be. I'm going to throw you on that bed and fuck you the way you deserve. But I better not hear a single fucking sound leave those pretty lips of yours. Not tonight. Got it?" 

Your jaw hung agape, a sharp shudder leaving your lips at his words laced with confidence and dominance. Christ, the things this man made you feel. You felt like you would have slipped right onto the floor had he not been pressing you against the door with his body. It took a long hard look from the ocean of blue that were his eyes for you to even speak. 

"I.. Yeah. I'll be quiet. I just.." You swallowed, lip quivering with anticipation, your hands landing flat against his chest, attempting to grip at something other the hairs across his chest. "I need you, please."

Leon watched you ever so amused, flashes of lust and need overcoming his otherwise stoic eyes. And his lips irked up with malice. 

"You sweet girl," He gripped your chin between two fingers, tilting your head ever so slightly to look over your pretty face. The need to see this face covered in tears as you begged him to come overcame his rational mind. All he could think about was ruining you. "How is it possible for such a pretty and innocent looking thing to ever be so needy?" 

"You. You do this to me. I've never—" You wetted your dry lips, a wave of heat flashing between your thighs as your voice died in your throat. 

I've never wanted to be ruined by someone. 

I've never wanted to be fucked into nothing. 

Until I met you. 

The words never left your lips, though. All you could do was look at him with those pleading eyes of yours, hoping he would understand. 

And fuck, did he understand. 

His mouth was on yours without another word being spoken. You were more than eager to let him take over. His hands guided you carefully through his bedroom as his lips did with yours as he pleased. He sucked, pulled, and bit all he wanted. And the sounds that would sit in your throat every time he did so only made him all the more eager to have you on his bed. 

Your feet were no longer on the floor, and your back hit something soft and warm. With a soft gasp you landed on your back and his body encased you under him. His lips once again found your neck, making work of your skin as his hands fell down your body. He forced your hips off the mattress long enough to push your sweatpants and panties down your hips. You kicked them down the rest of the way with a shiver, watching through half lidded eyes as he lifted his body up enough to settle beside you. Your eyes followed him with confusion, for a moment forgetting about the cold air now settling between your thighs. 

"You, Miss, are going to keep your legs wide open for me, okay?" A large hand fell on your thigh, fingers digging into the tender skin for a second before he pulled your legs as far apart as they went. You gasped, unconsciously flinching at the cold air. Leon slightly narrowed his eyes at you. "I remember you like to squirm, and close your legs. But these better stay open, or I will fingerfuck you until you cry. Understood?" 

Your lips parted, but you simply nodded, not saying any words out loud. 

"Use your words baby, I know you can." 

You breathed out a shudder, "Yes, I.. I understand." 

Leon flashed you a pleased smile as he positioned himself on his side, his chest pressed against your shoulder and he used his legs to trap one of yours, making sure they stayed open. He didn't trust your self-control very much right now. 

"That's a good girl." He leaned down, his lips pulling your own into a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was heated and it was fucking messy. But it was enough to distract you from where his hand was about to go. 

His lips parted from yours just enough to leave room for him to spit into his fingers, before his lips were back on yours. Your mouth didn't stay open long though, for the second his fingers grazed your already sensitive clit, you gasped. His lips curved up, his nose brushing against yours as he rubbed slow circles around the nub. It was slow, agonizing, but fuck, it felt so good. 

"Oh my—" the words fell from your lips in a quiet whimper, your head falling to the side into Leon's chest as you attempted to quiet yourself, but the longer his fingers worked you the stronger the ache in your stomach became. "Fuck, Leon." 

"I know, sweetheart. You're so wet for me. Is this what you wanted me to do to you earlier? Finger you wide open in your bathtub?" He spoke into your ear, his voice was raspy and so full of arousal with each word he said. 

You tried to respond, but when you felt two long fingers slip into your wet cunt all you could do was scream. You weren't sure just how muffled the sound was but Leon didn't say anything about it. He definitely heard you, but that only made him want to work his fingers harder. He loved the sound of it, too, the lewd sound of his palm slapping against your wet cunt each time he snapped his wrist. It was his favorite sound— after your moans, of course. 

"Shit. Shit. Leon— a-ah—" Your voice was broken as you weakly grinded against his palm, but his fingers were buried so deep already all you could was desperately chase with your hips. Leon only found this all the more arousing. 

"Mhmm, yeah, just like that. Fuck yourself on my hand just like that. You look so goddamn pretty." He spat, watching as he curled his fingers against that one spot that made your squirm. The sight of you, pathetically grinding against his hand as you weakly attempted to stay quiet shot straight to his cock. 

He needed to fuck you so goddamn bad. But he needed to focus. He could be selfish after. 

"Shit, baby, look at yourself. I don't think I've ever seen a more perfect sight." He made you watch, his free hand fisted around the roots of your hair and he held your head in place to watch as he slid his fingers in and out of your soaked cunt. His hand as well as your thighs were glistening with your slick.

The sight was absolutely filthy, the sound more so. But fuck that only made you want to come even more. You couldn't help it. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your mouth fell open in a silent cry, the wind-up in your belly getting tighter and tighter. 

"Please. Please Leon. I'm gonna come. I think I'm gonna come." The words came out in parts, high-pitched and in between pants. 

Leon bit his lip, feeling the tightness of your walls around his fingers and he hummed, letting go of your hair to clasp a large hand over your mouth. He was shifting his weight more on his side, and he slammed his fingers so hard and so deep his palm rutted against your clit. He was a smart man. The cry you would have let out then would have woken up anyone in that apartment, or next to it. 

"Let go for me, pretty, I got you." His fingers left your hole to rub harsh circles on your clit, his fingers so wet he didn't even have to spit on them again. 

Though, he did surprise himself with how fast he had started to learn your body, because the second that wave of blinding heat hit you, you were squirming on that mattress like you wanted to run away. He, admittedly selfishly so, slightly ground his own hips against your leg as he fingered you through your orgasm. He could only handle so much with the sounds you had been making and how you oh so desperately wanted to come. 

He watched your face, teeth digging marks into his bottom lip as his fingers slowly stopped their rhythm. Only when you couldn't take it anymore and you attempted to squirm away from him, that was. 

"You did so good, baby." His lips replaced his hand with a much gentle kiss. He pulled back as he sat up, slipping his coated fingers past his lips in the process. "You taste really fucking good, too." 

This man was going to be the fucking death of you. 

You breathed out long pants, your forearm over your forehead as you tried to bring yourself back down to earth. You watched him shuffle around a bit. Until he was once again above you, his massive arms caging your head. 

"You okay, pretty?" He ran a careful hand over your face, looking you over with tenderness. It warmed your heart just how gentle he could be after absolutely wrecking you. 

"Uh huh. I'm perfect." You gave him a lazy smile, throwing your arms around his neck to hold him closer. "Are you going to fuck me now, handsome?" 

Leon looked at you with surprise at your shot of confidence, but the look in your eyes was of need. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip as he tugged his pijama pants down his hips, kicking them off the rest of the way somewhere to join yours. Your sweatshirt was next, and Leon was more than pleased to find you bare under it. 

"Just the way you deserve, pretty girl." He pressed a long, hard kiss to your lips before he sat back on his knees. 

Your legs hung lazily over his hips, completely at his mercy as he slowly rubbed himself through your folds, covering himself in your slick. Your lips fell open into a soft whimper. Leon shot you a small grin, his blue eyes filled with a wave of lust not once leaving your face as he slowly slid into you. His own lips parted and a grunt fell from them as your walls took him in. It was intoxicating. He was fucking addicted to it. 

"Goddamn baby, you take me so well." He sighed out, grinding his hips ever so slightly, enough to make you whine. 

"Leon, please. Just take me." You whined, slightly grinding your hips to give yourself some relief. He tilted his head at you, both hands gripping your hips with a tight grip. 

"Why are we so needy today, hm?" He teased, lazily dragging his cock in and out, not stopping but also not giving you what you wanted. 

"Ugh— you! You do this to me." You all but shouted at him, instantly regretting your volume and you swallowed hard at the glare he shot you. 

"I swear to God if you woke up my daughter." He groaned and leaned down, picking up his pace without a warning. "I am so going to fuck this attitude out of you." 

Any and all witty comebacks you could have come up with then were lost the second he started to drill into you, the angle making you feel the little hairs at the base of his cock brush against your clit with each snap of his hips. Your body would have slid back and forth on the mattress had it not been for the tight grip he kept on your hips. You were sure you were going to have his fingers printed on your skin in the morning. But God, you didn't care at all. 

"Shit— shit Leon— you feel so—" You whined into the air, your head falling to the side to muffle your cries on one of his pillows.

"Feels good, baby?" He gave you a particular deep thrust that made you slide up the mattress and you nodded harshly. "Yeah?" 

"More—" You breathed out, mindlessly reaching for him, only finding his wrist. 

Leon bit his already puffy red lip, long strands of hair falling over his forehead as he moved above you, his body now hovering over yours. Your knees were now damn near next to your head as he kept fucking you into the mattress. The new angle made you see fucking heaven now. 

"Like that?" 

You barely missed his words entirely, you were so drunk on the feeling of his cock, on his scent now mixed with your own. You didn't know many things, but of one thing you were certain, you could never get enough of this man. 

"Yes, yes, yes." You chanted into the air, almost delirious, like a praise only meant for his ears. 

Leon grunted softly, leaning down to brush hid nose against yours. He spoke words of praise so quiet you would have missed them had he not been so close. Your hands were on his face, barely holding on to him for dear life. His lips found your wrist, then your palm and in an instant one of his hands gathered both of yours, pinning them both above your head. You were absolutely helpless and at his mercy. And you wouldn't want it any other way. 

"Are you gonna come for me, pretty girl?" He slurred the words against your cheek, his cock buried so deep it was only a matter of time before you fell apart. You gave him a half nod, mouth agape as quiet moans fell on his ears. "Yeah, you are. I want to feel you come on my cock, c'mon. Fuck— I need to feel you come on my cock again." 

"God Leon— fuck— I'm gonna—" Your back arched against his chest, toes curling as wave of pleasure overcame your body. And it only took the feeling of his thumb on your swollen clit to fall apart completely. 

His mouth covered yours as your body convulsed under his, your orgasm hitting you so hard you were squeezing the shit out of Leon's hand above you. He happily swallowed the cries from your mouth as he continued to drill into you, rutting himself against you. He could only control himself for so long. 

"Fuck me— Goddamn baby, you drive me crazy. You take me so fucking well." He grunted against your cheek, his free hand now sprawled across your neck. He didn't squeeze this time, he only held you as he gave you one, two more thrusts of his hips before he was spilling himself inside you. "Atta girl. Atta girl." 

His lips were lazy on your cheek, leaving gentle kisses in his wake. A drunken giggle left your lips at the slight tickle his stubble left on your skin. His hands were now beside your head and he lifted his head enough to look at you. 

"Doing okay, pretty?" He asked with this pussy-drunk smile on his face, one of his fingers brushing the side of your face, "hm?" 

"Yeah, I'm living my best life." You giggled softly, opening your eyes to find his sapphire ones staring sweetly at you. 

"Sure you are, with my dick deep enough to feel me in your stomach, what more could you ask?" He teased, his lips curved up into a smug grin. You widened your eyes at him and smacked his shoulder. 

"You're insufferable." You rolled your eyes at him and attempted to move from under him but he was a brick wall above you, he refused to move a muscle. 

"You adore me. Wouldn't be here otherwise." He pressed a kiss to your shoulder and removed himself from you. His words lingered on your mind. You weren't sure what the fuck it was that you felt for this man, other than the utter need to be fucked by him. But outside of the obvious chemistry, you wanted to be around him, to be around Isabella. You couldn't help it. You were catching feelings for him and his little girl.

You watched with big eyes as he stood up and walked around the bed, you couldn't help but giggle a bit. He turned to shoot you a questioning glance. 

"You actually took your pants off today." 

Leon furrowed his eyebrows even more confused and looked down, in fact very naked, "Yeah?"

"You didn't last time," You laughed softly, sitting up, amused by the way his cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. 

"How would you know that? You were on your stomach, then on your back the whole night." He teased you back, making big eyes at you. 

"I heard your belt rattle the whole time.'" You rolled your eyes, now sitting on your knees at the edge of the bed to meet where he stood. He narrowed his eyes at you as he leaned down to meet your lips. 

"Guess I was that eager to fuck your brains out." He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before he nudged to his bathroom. "Clean you up, then maybe, stay the night?" 

"Really? You scrunched up your face at him, eyes slightly widening at the idea of being in his bedroom while Izzy was down the hall. But you had to admit you couldn't say no to this man. "I mean, that'd be nice but—"

"Hey, don't worry. She doesn't have to know you're here if that's what's on your mind. We'll get there when we have to." 

We'll get there when we have to. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You weren't sure exactly when morning came. Leon had closed the blinds before getting into bed with you last night. Tiredly so, after he decided taking you one last time would be ideal. You had decided to spend the night with him. What was the worst that could happen, right? 

An embracing warmth surrounded your body, and it wasn't exactly the thick soft duvets that covered you. When sleep slowly slipped from you, your eyes fluttered open to find Leon. Your face was snuggled deep into his chest as his arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, keeping you warm. The bourbon and vanilla lingered on his skin and took you in like the sweetest of greetings. You smiled softly, snuggling further into him. Leon had been awake for a little while. But he refused to get up so as not to wake you, he simply held you, his fingers resting on your scalp soothingly. Only when he felt you stir awake did he move. 

"Morning, pretty." His low raspy voice filled your ears and you felt a pair of cold lips on your forehead. You hummed softly, lifting your head to find him already looking at you with those eyes. 

"Morning, handsome." You pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone as you laid your head on his chest. 

"You sleep okay?" You heard him mumble above you. You nodded.

"Slept nice and warm." You smiled, running your fingers over the prominent patch of hair on his chest. 

"I'm good at something after all." He snorted. 

You were about to respond with one of your witty comments when you heard a few rapid but soft knocks on the door. The doorknob turned a couple of times with no result since it was locked. You and Leon jumped into a sitting position at the sound. Leon in particular had a 'oh uh' look on his face. 

"Daddyyyyyy! Why is your door locked?" You heard Isabella on the other side of the door. 

You looked at Leon who was frantically looking on the nightstand for his phone. 

"Fuck. Goddammit." You heard him curse under his breath as he harshly stood up, shuffling around the nightstand. 

When the fuck did he leave his gun out last night? He groaned to himself. Walking across the room with his handgun in one hand and his phone in the other. Which you clearly didn't miss. 

"Leon, why do you have a gun right now?" You asked, anxiously holding the covers up to your chest, suddenly feeling self-conscious and embarrassed. 

"Government issue. Forgot to put it in my safe last night." He answered over his shoulder as he went into his walk-in closet, he came out a minute later. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I completely forgot she had to get up early today. Let me get her in the shower then I'll be back, okay?" 

You pursed your lips softly, a bit disappointed you wouldn't be able to spend the morning with him. But it was understandable, his daughter was first, and it certainly wasn't time to introduce, well whatever the two of you were. He leaned down to capture your lips into an apologetic kiss. 

"'S okay. Go, take care of Izzy, I'll be here." 

He shot you a smile and nodded. He found his pants from the night prior and slipped on a random sweatshirt he found sitting on his dresser. He shot you a wink before he slipped out the door, closing it behind him. 

"Daddy." 

Leon was met with a very grumpy and frowny little girl as soon as he closed his bedroom door. His eyes widened at the sight of her with her arms crossed. 

"Yes, bee?" Play dumb. Why not? 

"Why was your door locked?" She repeated her question from earlier, sapphire eyes intensely staring him down. Like he was a suspect that needed intimidation and she was the agent doing the intimidating.

"'Cause I'm an adult and I can lock my door. What did I tell you about minding your business?" He gave her a look, but he wasn't being serious, not really. Her face didn't otherwise change, though. 

"I'm going to be late, daddy." 

"No, you're not. Isn't your ballet lesson at 9:00 a.m? It's 7:00 a.m." Leon rolled his eyes at his little girl and picked her up. She, of course, didn't protest at all. 

"Well, yeah, but I want breakfast." She rebutted. Leon couldn't help but chuckle at her. 

He took her to her bedroom, setting her on her bed before he walked to her closet. 

"Yeah, well, you're taking a shower first, bee, you stink." He snorted when she very loudly disagreed, that she did not, in fact, stink. 

"I do not! You do!" 

"I showered last night. I can't stink. Your nose doesn't work." He kept annoying her until he found her ballet clothes. He walked back to her bed, handing her the folded clothes. "Go on, go shower. Just don't get your hair wet, remember I have to put it up, okay?" 

"Okay daddy." Izzy happily took her clothes and skipped out of her bedroom, but not before popping her head back in to say, "Can I have waffles for breakfast please? With lots of syrup and bacon?" 

Leon looked at Izzy with soft eyes, his heart warming ever so slightly at his little girl, and he nodded. 

"Of course, Izzy. Whatever you want." He waved her away and she happily skipped, going on about her daddy being the best daddy in the world. He couldn't help but laugh to himself and at the wonderful daughter life decided to give him. 

When Leon returned to his bedroom he watched you hurry back to his bed like a child that just got caught doing something you weren't supposed to. He raised an amused eyebrow at you when you slightly bounced on his bed, eyes big as you tried to hide the smile on your lips. 

"You're so nosy." He chuckled, rolling his eyes at you. 

"What? I wasn't doing anything.." You bit your lip softly, holding back a giggle. "Just that your little girl has you wrapped around her finger."

If he had rolled his eyes any harder, they would have gotten stuck there. But the tiny curve on his lips told you he was more than happy about it. He shrugged as he stood in front of you, leaning down to your eye level. 

"She's not the only one." He grinned softly at the confused look you gave him. "I know it's soon but I can't stop thinking about you. You're sweet, absolutely gorgeous and you're kind to my little girl. So, maybe you'd like to try something with me?" 

"If you wanted to ask me on another date you could just say so, you know my answer." There was a playful smile on your lips as he leaned down to kiss you. 

"After I drop Izzy off at ballet? We could grab brunch, and, I don't know, let's do something you like. How does that sound, Miss?" 

Christ, you felt so stupid, so naive, like this could go all kinds of wrong but, what's the worst that could happen? 

“Sounds like a start, Mr. Kennedy.”

[httpknjoon]

an awful good girl | myg

plot | that time in december of their tour where popstar!yn sang while sitting on santa's lap. (but who's santa anyway?)

w.c | 4K+

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff, enemies to lovers

note | supposed to be another song but loved this one more. also, a little manhandling somewhere there... ps. i was listening to earth kitt's version of this song before switching. hence why some parts made it here.

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

DAY 64 of Love Is.. On Tour

For your first December concert in Love Is... On Tour, you prepare a themed costume and performances for your fans. But a surprise song became the highlight tonight.

@.JUN0BABY: can someone tell me what's going on tonight??!?

@.t4asteme: WTF WDYM YN GAVE A LAP DANCE ON STAGE TONIGHT

--@.THEB0YISDIVIN3: she just sat on santa's lap

@.pov.yn: siri play that should be me by justin bieber

@.3435outro: as someone who's bi, idk if i'm jealous of yoongi or yn

@.FredInTheDrums: lol santa won tonight [insert picture from the stage]

@.0nlyangelz: her bassist is so hot i can't blame her 🥵

@.loveisviscious: lol how can they do shit like this

--@.BEDCHEMENTHUSIAST: ikr?! they are prolly really good friends

---@.YNFan37489265: we <3 that yn-yoongi friendship

But how did the concert even led to these tweets?

"Okay, band, gather in."

Before the band could go on their ride back to the hotel, Paul, the tour's wardrobe supervisor, called them to the wardrobe department's area. Exhausted from just performing, Yoongi slumped on the blue couch next to Noah, who was probably the only one still having the energy from the rest of the band.

"What's up?" Akio, the band's keyboardist, asked since she had been craving to go back to her bed.

Paul clapped his hands, "Okay, so you know that days from now is December. And we only have four concert dates left before the holiday break, right?"

The band members nod in answer.

"Good. So, each concert date will have different Christmas themes for these last dates. The first one will be Santa's workshop. And I just need you to pick your characters through the fishbowl method again." Paul explained, reaching for a cup filled with folded papers.

Having themed events is not really new with the band. During Halloween week, you did the same thing. You had two concerts then and decided to turn them into fun costume parties for your staff and fans. Yoongi, who was never lucky with the fishbowl method, got to be the Danny Zuko to your dreamy Sandy Olsson. They were only a week old on the tour at that time and the couple-costume made some rumors that eventually died down after you told the backstory during the same concert.

"Do you want to look at your characters or do you want it to be a surprise?" Paul asked.

Noah and Fred answered at the same time, "Surprise! Make it a surprise."

Both Yoongi and Akio just let them. Yoongi does not really care, while Akio is just dozed off on his shoulder. He tapped her knee to wake her up when Paul began making them pick a paper. After that, they handed back their secret characters to him one by one while he listed them down in his mini notepad.

"Okay, you are now free to go. You'll see your characters in the next performance. I already have your measurements anyway." Paul concluded, knowing how much the band had been dreading to rest.

The band got up and walked out of the room. On their way to their van outside, Fred and Noah were having fun teasing the youngest, Akio, like her little brothers. She groaned at their energy to wake her up. Yoongi walked behind them, busy on his phone, reading some text messages he missed during the concert. Most of them were from his friends and colleagues inviting him to work with them. But one message stopped Yoongi for a second.

From (555) 436-*22*

Hello, Yoongi. S, here. New number. Need to talk to you about something. Please call as soon as you see this.

It was a new number on his phone. But he can already recognize who sent it. Suddenly, his heartbeats were louder than his bandmates' laughs while he stared at the message in front of him. His jaw tightened when he read the text message once again. What does she want now?

"Hey, guys!"

All of a sudden, he hears your voice, greeting the band. He looked up, pushing his phone back to his pockets. You are now back in your oversized grey sweatshirt, after wearing your sparkly outfits all night.

"Did Paul already tell you about the costumes?" you asked, striking a small conversation with them.

You, yourself, are on your way to Paul to talk about your wardrobe for December performances. Costumes and themed parties are always your thing, so you try to do them at every chance you get. Cal stood next to you, busy on her phone for your schedule.

"Yeah, but we just picked some random paper. Then, asked Paul to just surprise us with our characters." Fred replies.

"Oh, that's exciting." you smiled.

You began talking about your plans for the next Christmas themes, making Noah excited as he is another big enthusiast of the holidays. Yoongi watched quietly on the sidelines. You two barely had any interaction since you cried on stage while singing POV, which was three days ago. It was too peaceful between the two of you, no arguments at all. On stage, you have interacted more with Akio or Noah. Not like he minds at all! It's just that it feels like you are avoiding him. You laughed around with everyone in the band during the show and rehearsals except him. He remembered you were being chatty with him before the rehearsals for POV days ago.

"And I got this new notebook, so like I took it as a sign to write new songs! I already have Christmas-themed ones, just need some help with producing them so I can release them before we take a break," you shared with the band, breaking Yoongi's thoughts.

The notebook! You got them. That's good to know. Yoongi did not really know if you got that souvenir notebook he left on your door as a peace offering gift since you haven't really said anything about it. He felt bad making you cry, although that was not his goal, and he didn't know what to get you since his options were limited at the time. He wanted to apologize and talk to you personally but you were always busy and he didn't know how, where, and when can he approach you.

"I know a guy for that!" Fred exclaimed, turning around. "Yoongi, you can help with YN with that, right?"

For the first time in a couple of days, you looked directly at him. It was like there was a switch. Your smile dropped and you blankly stared at him.

Caught in surprise, Yoongi looked away, "Yeah... Yeah, sure. I can help if she wants me to."

Although they won't speak about it, everyone, along with Cal and the other band members, can feel that there is some weird tension between you and Yoongi these last couple of days. There was no petty argument even though there are times that it can potentially start. Like when Yoongi accidentally knocked over your water bottle, you didn't say anything, which is unusual. Because normally, you would make a big deal out of it and Yoongi would fight back, making a bigger deal with it. But nothing, nada. You two were just robots around each other.

"It's fine, I still have other holiday songs that I can cover later these days." you smiled back to his friends. "Anyway, I won't hold you guys longer. I know that you want to rest already— Aren't we all?"

His friends laughed. You continued, "But thank you, guys. I had the best show tonight. I think the fans enjoyed Bed Chem the most."

Oh, yeah. That performance earlier where you invited Noah for the outro part of that song. It was wilder than what you did with Yoongi since behind the curtains, your silhouettes were shown taking each other clothes before getting into a suggestive pose, which you and Noah have fun doing since it was nothing but for entertainment. You are closest with him in the band since he was the only one who stayed from your past band. Plus, he is gay and everyone knows it.

Without any reason in mind, Yoongi's face felt so hot watching the scene, he had to look away.

Two days passed by quickly, you and the entire crew are now in another city. You left the hotel earlier than usual since you were excited to try on the costumes Paul made.

"Oh my god. This is so cute!" you exclaimed, checking yourself out in front of the mirror.

It was a red mini dress with a heart cutout in the chest area. Its upper and lower hems are lined with white fur. Paul even sewed silver gemstones everywhere, still in the theme of your sparkly aesthetic. You also have the matching gloves that equally looked perfect.

"I'll just show you the other ones every rehearsal." your wardrobe supervisor said. "Just to keep you coming here excited."

"I am always excited coming here to see your creations," you told him, twirling in front of the mirror. "How's the band's costumes?"

Paul pulled a rack of costumes that were made for your live band. There are two sets of costumes for the elves, a brown onesie and headband for Rudolph, and a red sparkly suit, matching yours, for Santa Claus. The faux white beard was ditched as it might disturb the member's performance.

"So, who's my Santa for tonight?" you smiled.

The surprise performance you planned for later needs a Santa. So, other than your costume, you were also excited to know who got the special role. You don't really mind who it is since you get along with almost everyone—

"Yoongi."

2:37 PM

You looked at the time on the upper right of your phone screen. The call time was exactly thirty-seven minutes ago. Initially, the rehearsals for the surprise performance will be practiced first since it is a new addition to the setlist. But Yoongi said he'll be late for a few minutes. So, they moved to doing a soundcheck for other songs. But it has been five songs without her bass guitarist. Where is Yoongi? He has never been this late before. You walked up to Cal, who was talking with Art.

"Should we just change San-"

"Sorry, I'm late."

As if on cue, Yoongi walked on the stage with his guitar. He looked different, you thought. Maybe because it was your first time seeing his flowy, black hair in a man bun, which you won't admit looks good on him. You rolled your eyes at thinking that. Yoongi went straight to his usual spot in the band. He was setting up his guitar when you walked up to him.

"You're almost an hour late," you told him, crossing your arms over your chest.

"I know, that's why I said sorry," he replied nonchalantly, looking down at his guitar. "I told Art that I am going to be late-"

For the thousandth time, he is avoiding looking at you again. You remembered him looking away nights ago when Fred asked Yoongi if he could help you produce your self-written songs. He was also doing the same thing for like two weeks now.

"Why can't you look at me?!"

Like a volcano that erupted unexpectedly, you cut him off. Everyone watched in silence at you and Yoongi. Your brows were furrowed as you stared at him. But instead of glaring back at you, Yoongi just replied, unbothered.

"As if you weren't avoiding me these past few days?"

You blinked, "Uh... I'm not."

Thank God liars don't really get their pants on fire when they lie in real life, because you would end up burning your legs if they do.

"Yoongi, YN, please follow me. Now." Art suddenly spoke.

He's mad,. You rarely see the older guy look serious. You looked at Cal, who simply tilted her head to Art, raising an eyebrow like she was telling you to follow him. You walked when Yoongi walked past you to where Art was going.

No one spoke as you two walked behind Art. But both you and Yoongi can feel the atmosphere feeling like you two are second graders who are about to get a lecture from your teacher. Maybe get sent to detention. Art stopped in one of the vacant dressing rooms at the arena. He opened the door for you two. he did not say anything but you and Yoongi took it as a sign that he wants you to go in first.

"Please occupy the couch— the same couch." he had to correct himself when you and Yoongi sat on a different sofa that was on each wall of the room. He sighed, kids.

Following what Art said, you and your least favorite band member sat on opposite ends of the couch. An obvious three-feet distance is between you two. Your tour manager reached for a monoblock chair, sitting before you.

"I have had enough of this whole eye contact thing, okay? We have to solve this here and now. It's wasting everyone's time." Art spoke sternly like he was a dad for both you and Yoongi. "Who can tell me what's the problem?"

"He won't give me any eye contact when he talks to me," you said, trying not to sound too bratty or childish.

Yoongi crossed his arms, "Two weeks ago, she was telling me not to look at her and now, she's asking why I'm not looking. I'm just doing what she wants me to do."

Art nods, then looks at you.

"He was staring too hard that day, it was uncomfortable. And I didn't mean for him not to look at me at normal conversations on the daily." you defended.

"We never had any normal conversations." your bassist mumbled lowly, making you roll your eyes.

Art intervened before another fight ensued, "So, what do you want now, YN?"

"I... I just want him to look at me when we're talking..." your volume gets lower when you realise how that statement felt a little needy.

It was like you heard Yoongi put on a smug smirk (if that was even possible), and you turned your head to him just to confirm that yes, he had that stupid smirk on his lips.

"We never see each other eye to eye. Why are you so bothered about it?" he asked.

Before you could pause and ask yourself the same question, you replied, "Uhm, eye contact is part of having a proper human conversation. I mean, it just feels like I am being ignored when I can't see the eyes of the person I'm talking with."

What the hell even is that answer? You mentally slapped your forehead.

"Yeah, you would know something about ignoring someone, right?" Yoongi scoffed.

You looked at Yoongi, who is now looking back at you. Art is starting to feel that this is something deeper than the eye contact thing.

"Should I leave you two alone?" he asked, more careful this time.

"Yes."

Yoongi was the first to answer, being firm with it. You were taken aback for a second by how quick he was but nodded when Art turned to you to get your answer.

"Fine, I'll give you five minutes. Then, everything should be good and we'll go back to rehearsals." Art stood up.

Yoongi waited for him to close the door before turning to you. He wasted no time.

"I'm sorry."

Confused, you squinted, "For... what?"

That was not what you expected you hear from him when he agreed to talk with you alone here. You thought he would just keep on implying that you were the issue and confusing.

Yoongi sighed, "I'm sorry for saying what I said when we were in rehearsals for POV. It was not my intention to make you cry while performing it."

"Oh..." you gulped. That was not his fault. "It's a decision I made, I just got carried away, that's all."

You know that there is something more to that, but you hate to sit and drown yourself alone with your feelings. So, you won't do that today.

"Yeah, I know. But I feel like I pushed you into it. That's why you were ignoring me. Right?" Yoongi added. "I know that everything is probably still—"

"You know what? It's fine, it's okay. I appreciate your apology. But really, it's not fully on you. Let's just move forward from this." you cut him off before he can say more things.

He looked at you for a moment, like he was studying you. You hate it. That is what you mean when you say you don't like him looking at you. It was like he could see right through your lies. Like some magician.

"Please stop staring," you whispered, feeling a little small. "Don't stare like you are reading me like a book."

His stare softened when you said that. Nodding, he looks away.

You quickly spoke, "But you can look at me! Just... don't stare too hard. I'm not that kind of diva."

He chuckled, "Okay."

"Okay." you sighed. There are things that are still not discussed but you can probably talk about it next time or whatever. As you felt the awkward silence filling in the room, you asked. "Are we back to normal?"

"Yeah."

By normal, it means professional colleagues who probably still have a very tiny animosity due to their differences. Because normal, to you and Yoongi, is not being friends. You are not friends, just two people who need each other for your jobs. But now, you are about to sit on your bass guitarist's lap for a performance later.

"Are you comfortable with this?" you asked him after letting him know that he would be involved as Santa tonight.

"You're just gonna sit on my lap?" he asked with a blank expression.

"Yeah," you replied shortly.

It was supposed to be something freakier than that but considering the unexpected changes earlier in your tour, you changed whatever that is into a simple sit on Santa's lap.

"Okay."

Everyone can feel the tension lifting from you and Yoongi the moment you two returned with Art. You were communicating at each other better and they could see it especially when you began rehearsing for Santa Baby.

The dancers and other band members were teasing and laughing when you two began with your bit on Santa's throne. Yoongi was quiet, but smiling at some parts. You, on the other hand, were playing along, loving the energy with your crew. You were back in your playful persona while dancing around Santa, teasing him, just to make others entertained.

You were enjoying the song, Yoongi understands. But you cannot stop unconsciously wiggling on his open lap and you were getting dangerously close to him, while he is wearing his grey sweatpants. He just have to do something.

"Santa baby— oh."

You gasped at Yoongi's sudden pull down on your waist, making you stay in the same spot on his lap. You looked at him, instantly recognizing the slight tint of blush on his cheeks.

"Just stay here," he whispered with his voice lower than usual.

"Oh, okay... sorry." you pressed your lips together before looking away to smile at something else.

"Just don't move around too much." he added before removing his hold on your.

You nodded, "Noted."

"Good." He whispered under his breath.

"Of course, we won't let this night end without a surprise gift for you!"

The fans screamed as you announced that. You have been performing for almost an hour now. four outfit changes later, you are now in a sparkly, red cloak with faux fur on its hem, hiding your themed outfit underneath. Your surprise holiday performance is conveniently placed in the final performance of the night.

"Hit it!"

As a signal, you posed, raising your index finger and putting your candy cane before you. The local barbershop quartet that you hired for your four December shows began singing.

"Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom..."

Once the instrumental of the classic, sultry Christmas song began, Yoongi watched you turn around, instantly meeting his eyes. Unlike before, the director are now aware of your actions since you promised to follow what was rehearsed.

"Ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom…"

In every ba-boom, you step closer to Yoongi with your candy cane. The corners of your lips are curved up slightly. Your eyes say nothing but mischief that Yoongi can only hope that you will not do anything that can make him trend online. Like when you did your favorite freaky position before him.

"Santa, baby. Slip a Sable under the tree for me..."

The fans cheered when your soft voice began singing. You are an angel with the spotlight serving as a bright halo behind you, Yoongi thought. Whenever you sing to him during these live shows, Yoongi sometimes finds himself getting transported to another space. Maybe it's because of the light... the songs... the atmosphere... or the way you nod your head in every word you sing like you mean it. It's hypnotizing.

"I've been an awful good girl..."

By that line, you are already next to him, leaning your back to his side like you are in distress. You continued singing next to him, while a famous Santa Claus throne was being put up on the farther heart-shaped centerstage.

"Santa, baby, a '54 convertible too, light blue. I'll wait up for you, dear..."

Yoongi bobbed his head along with you while playing his guitar, seemingly enjoying the song.

"Think of all the fun I've missed, Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed..."

You began walking around the band and all over the stage, singing to your fans who joyfully sang along with you.

"Next year, I could be just as good. If you check off my Christmas list..."

You took the time to sing and bond with them, giggling at the funny signs they brought with them.

"Santa, honey, So hurry down the chimney tonight..."

While moving to the song's fourth verse, you walked back to Yoongi. The fans screamed when you playfully teased him with your candy cane, before pulling yourself closer to him. You clung to his arm and you two walked down to the center stage.

"Come and trim my Christmas tree, With some decorations bought at Tiffany's..."

While singing, you pushed Yoongi to sit on the throne. He acted like he would stand up but you pushed him again, placing your candy cane on his lap. Finally, you dramatically remove your cloak, revealing your shimmering your mini-dress.

"I really do believe in you, Let's see if you believe in me..."

You danced around the throne, leaning over it before finding your way back to Santa. Yoongi mentally prepares himself, and even adjusts his pants.

"Santa, baby, forgot to mention one little thing, a ring..."

As soon as you found your place on his lap, your audience went crazy. You continued singing, facing Yoongi, your Santa for tonight. You pointed to your empty ring finger. Yoongi was just vibing along to your singing, swaying his head along.

"Santa, baby, and hurry down the chimney tonight..."

But you were so into the song that you forgot what Yoongi told you earlier. You kept wiggling on his lap once again, singing along with your fans. Screams erupted when Yoongi held your waist. You felt his hand firmly holding you down, making sure that you would sit still. Although taken aback for a second, you smiled and felt blood rushing through your cheeks.

"Waiting... Hurry, tonight... Hurry down the chimney tonight."

When you sang those last lines, you acted like whispering it close to Yoongi's ear. leaning a little closer to him. Yoongi simply raised an eyebrow, an action enough to get loud reactions.

The lights slowly dimmed down with you still sitting on his lap. Fans cheered for the last time, knowing that it was the last song. But suddenly, a familiar tune plays in the whole arena.

"You didn't think that was all, right?"

note | i received your requests and i'm working on it. but please know that holiday-themed drabbles are currently prioritised 🥹 tysm for the love

taglist rules

SERIES TAGLIST

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones

[deathbxnny]

So, this is another addition to our Arlecchino x Wife!Fem!Reader series, and I had to make a separate post from the ask due to formatting issues. You can see the inspo of said post HERE, tho!

Thank you otherwise to our dear X Anon for another great request, and I hope this is to your liking!!<33

(Also, sorry this took 5 years to make X Anon... life hates me-)

(Part one) (Part two) (Part three) (Part five)

Content: Female reader, fluff, slight angst, established relationship, actually wholesome for once!

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns

((Not proofread))

Sweet strawberry cakes and stitched together teddy bears. (Arlecchino x Fem!Reader)

You only vividly remember the last time you celebrated your birthday. You had just turned sixteen, and whilst no one usually ever put much importance on this day for you, Peruere and Clervie always did. You recall the pink haired girl approaching you in the darkness of your room as she crawled into bed with you carefully. Peruere stood at the door, unmoving and still, but she was there. Just for you.

Placing a clumsily made cake onto your lap, Clervie leaned her head against yours, her voice quiet and hushed in fear of being heard. "Happy birthday." She whispered into your ear, and it meant the world to you. Peruere delicately held a small gift in her clawed hands, her emotionless face partially illuminated by the moonlight filtering in through the window. It was a teddy bear they had made themselves, or maybe Clervie stitched it together whilst your wife found it's pieces. Either way, it was lost to time eventually, just like your dearest friend was.

Now, many years later and far away from the past that still haunts you, you forbade Arlecchino to ever mention that day again. Or, well, you never had to say anything. Both of your birthdays meant nothing to you after your previous "mother's" fall and so, you took your rebirths into your own hands.

Your past life wasn't a part of you here.

But on this day, in which you are forever reminded of your mere mortality and the fact that many of your companions never got older than the last birthday you remembered, you find yourself rather somber, even more than usual at that. And despite your wish to forget about it, your wife still acknowledged it with a kiss on your wrist in the morning. You felt bitter every time she did so, even of you knew she meant well.

Thankfully, however, this day would usually pass every year without anyone even thinking about it being your birthday. You often forget it yourself, too, anyway.

But today felt... different.

Perhaps it was the way Arlecchino's gaze seemed sharper and more focused even in the home, or the way Freminet was practically sweating buckets as he asked you to come along with him and his other two siblings for a "short" outing. But you could tell something was off.

"... You want to go run errands with me?" The question was asked carefully, yet the three siblings could immideatly tell that you were suspicious. It wasn't often that you left the home and everyone knew that you would rather not if you could help it. You were always worried about everyone's well-being, considering your past and its hardships. So your son's request was definitely quite odd. They usually never bothered to ask unless the errand runs were absolutely necessary. And you couldn't necessarily remember anything out of the ordinary happening this week either.

Lyney gave you a sly smile as he pressed a hand against your back and practically pushed you towards the front door with a tip of his hat. "Yes indeed, mother! Now let's get going before the bread at the baker sells out for the day!" He chimed as happily as always, yet that just earned him a raise of a brow from both you and Lynette for similar reasons. It was 12 pm... the bread had most definitely run out by now.

Deciding not to question it, you concluded that they may have just wanted to spend time with you outside. Fair enough, you supposed that you could grant them a small outing. Surely everyone will be fine for an hour or two. Arlecchino just gave you and the three siblings a silent nod in approval from her seat in the kitchen as she flipped through her paperwork with mild interest. The Father of the Hearth house being home certainly quelled your worries as you finally allowed Lyney to drag you out with no further complaints.

--

The streets were rather busy at this time of the day. You usually stayed clear around these hours and preferred to go out at night if there was ever the need for it. But Lyney was ever so determined to complete this errand run and if it was the last thing he did. Lynette had yet to say a word about it, whilst Freminet clinged to your side, often glancing at his pocket watch in near worry for a reason you couldn't figure out.

"Lyney, child... are you sure this is absolutely necessary?" You asked just as you were about to reach the bakery. "Ofcourse! We just ran out of bread after all... and you know how the younger kids get about that, mother." That was a flat-out lie, you noted swiftly. You were pretty sure that you had more than enough at home. But once again, you didn't say anything more. Perhaps they really did want to just spend time with you... but why couldn't they just say that outright?

As expected, however, the baker not only had no bread left but had closed shop early too. Lynette gave her sweating brother a deadpan, as he clearly was trying to come up with an excuse. One glance at Freminet, who was quickly shaking his head behind you whilst holding up his watch, made it clear that they couldn't turn around yet. They doubted that everyone was done setting everything up and needed to buy time. But you were always so hard-headed when it came to spending too much time away from the house. So what should they do now?

Clearing his throat, Lyney turned to you with a strained smile. "Ah! My, my... quite the bad luck, right? No matter, we still have other things on the list we can get for todays dinner!" Your brows furrowed at that. You don't recall even mentioning what you'd make today to anyone yet. Lynette swiftly elbowed her brother in the ribs knowingly whilst you were deep in thought, which made the man quickly straighten up and take off his hat. "Oh ah! Because we wanted to cook today! Together!" "... You've never done that before." "Ahahaha... you're so funny, mother! Now let's get going before the other shops close too!" He quickly grabbed onto your arm and pulled you along, his head turning to give his other two siblings a silent nod to proceed with their plans.

Since the two were trailing after the both of you, they were quick to pick up any small gifts when you weren't looking. They already had plenty for you at home, but with you watching everyone intensely every day, hiding anything from you was near impossible. It was a blessing and curse alike, yet you taught them well as they began practically hoarding anything they found under their clothes or making them disappear through some little magic tricks. Freminet was shaking like a leaf throughout all of this, yet hoped you didn't notice it too much.

Thankfully, you were more preoccupied with your oldest son dragging you around for his imaginary ingredient list that you were by now convinced didn't even exist. The more time went by, the more anxious and irritated you became. Sure, you appreciated that they wanted to go out with you, but unfortunately, your excellent perception was beginning to make you restless. You just wanted to get home already and resume your schedule with the other children.

"Okay, next up is-" "-Lyney, enough of this boy. Let's head home." You said as the setting sun bathed the world around you in its last sun rays. Freminet hid behind Lynette at the finality in your voice, which made it clear that you were very much done with their games. They knew that you were catching on and that hiding everything from you was impossible. It was truly impressive yet expected from the Mother of the House of Hearth.

Said young man gave you his usual smile, yet you could tell how nervous he was. "But Mother-" "-I'm unsure of what you're doing, all three of you." You began as you crossed your arms with a frown. "And I appreciate it if all you want is to just spend time with me. I really do. But you can also just say that, children. I know how busy your father and I can get, so I can understand... but you also have to also understand, that I have alot to do at home and can't stay out for long." You gently scolded the three, who just glanced at eachother in response. Well, this was not necessarily their goal... but it did hold you up for longer anyway!

After your lecture, you dragged the three back home. You were very tired from the outing, and whilst you found it nice to leave the house for a bit, today just felt so awfully wrong for you. Stepping into the dark and silent house, however, you couldn't help but freeze. The house of Hearth was never silent. It was always moving one way or another, even into the late hours of the night. It never laid still, never truly slept. Your anxiety shot through the roof, as many possibilities ran through your mind at once. Years and years of loss, torture, and pain always made you fear for the worst in moments like these.

Yet when you quickly rounded the corner to the grand living room in absolute terror and worry, the lights suddenly came on and a deafening yell of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOTHER!" rang through the vast house. Confetti flew into the air, and you blinked in surprise, as the three siblings, including the rest of the children and even your wife, stood in front of you around a large table filled with a beautiful cake and plenty of endless gifts. You opened your mouth in surprise, yet were left speechless in shock, as the fear melted away in relief.

Suddenly, everything made sense, and you nearly felt proud that your children were able to sneak past you and organize such a grand party... but only nearly. A sob suddenly shook your body as you pressed a hand against your mouth. That was definitely too much for your heart to handle. Everyone stopped for a moment, realising that they maybe had gone too far, yet Arlecchino approaching you made them all relax again.

She took hold of your hands and wiped away your tears with her claws so delicately. "My apologies. We may have gone overboard." The party wasn't necessarily her idea, nor did she truly understand its purpose, but she had hoped that it would bring you some joy on a day that had been soured forever. And thankfully, when you gave her a weak smile, she was glad to learn that it indeed had done exactly that. "No, I... am just very happy. That's all." It was a partial lie. But it melted into the truth when you looked at all of your happy children in your home. You had made it so far in life. Who would've ever thought that you would ever find yourself happy on this accursed day? "However, give me another heart attack like this one, and I am kicking you all out for a day." You huffed, making everyone giggle before dragging you over to the table to celebrate.

Arlecchino calmly watched you from afar, her gaze calm and gentle. Especially when you opened your wife's gift to find a certain teddy bear in it that instantly moved you to tears once more. You met her eye, an expression on your face she understood well.

You both hoped Clervie was celebrating with you from above, just like she always would.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I know Leona is messy in terms of clothes but he really need to adjust his shirt why must he leave a part of his stomach/side for view? Who are you trying to pull by that sir? 🤨/j

(also I actually love modest and no skin clothes too! It just look aesthetically pleasing for me maybe that's why I'm such a fan of masquerade event outfits.)

He's trying to pull me/j I STAN CLOTHES THAT COVER UP AS MUCH SKIN AS POSSIBLE 🤡 because then it's more of a shock whenever you see them with like one less centimeter of fabric on... but I'm personally not a fan of the Masquerade Dress series. I believe that's more of a case of me not vibing with the designs of that historical era and not how much they cover though.

I think Leona's dorm uniform shirt is... definitely a design choice made for fanservice rather than for any in-universe reason??

According to Vil in his Halloween Dress vignettes, "The school allows housewardens/dorm leaders to make adjustments to their dorm uniform as they see fit.” And since Leona's the only person in his dorm with his shirt skewed like that, one can only conclude that he intentionally altered his dorm uniform to be like that???? Or is the excuse that one side of his shirt is riding up (from lying down or tossing around a lot) and he doesn't bother pulling it down??? AND IT'S LIKE THAT ALL THE TIME, IGNORING THE LAWS OF PHYSICS????? That doesn't make any sense... but it also doesn't make sense why he'd pin one side up or get it tailored to be like that by default??? The devs have yet to explain why each dorm leader has settled on the current version of their dorm uniform, save for Riddle explaining why he wears heels for his. I'd really love to hear what Leona's diegetic reasoning for that weird-ass shirt is...

BY THE WAY 💀💀💀 YOU KNOW WHAT I NOTICED WHILE STARING AT THE SAVANACLAW DORM UNIFORMS TO COMPARE TO LEONA'S???????

The usual way to wear the shirt (which is oversized) seems to be to tuck it inside of your pants. Rook tucks his shirt in loosely, Jack and the mobs tuck it in properly, Ruggie doesn't tuck it in, and Leona... well, you already know the whole mess with him.

But the dorm leader is supposedly the only person that's allowed to have uniform alterations, right??? Then why does Ruggie have sleeves on his dorm uniform and Leona, Jack, and Savanaclaw mobs don't...? Rook in his Savanaclaw era also seems to have torn the sleeves off of his uniform, which implies that the standard issue Savanaclaw uniforms might have sleeves. Or are there just two variations (sleeveless and with sleeves) of the Savanaclaw dorm uniform??

LASTLY (and this one really kills me OTL)… Jack, Ruggie, Rook, and the mobs all have… smaller boob windows than Leona does. I’M NOT EVEN KIDDING I wish I was, LOOK AT THEIR MODELS??? They’re all narrower than Leona’s… Kind of hard to see on Ruggie and Rook, but we can assume it’s the same as Jack and the mobs’. (Ruggie does have one voice line where he says he has a hand-me-down from Leona, meaning his shirt might be just as open, but that’s in reference to his school uniform and not his dorm uniform.)

You can say maybe his discrepancy is a matter of… size difference?? But then that implies Jack (who has a shirt with a narrow opening) is less muscular than Leona even though Jack is more muscular (at least in the arms), isn’t he…?

Twst devs… TWST DEVS **grips them by the shoulders** DID LEONAlitERALLY uSE HIS DORM LEADER poWERS TO CHSngE HIS dORM UNiFORM TO bE SCIENTIFICALLY SLUTTiER 😭 Is that what you’re trying to tell us????????? (He’d probably be sarcastic about it and claim his skin “needs to breathe”…) Or is it that he canonically has bigger boobs than even Jack... BECAUSE JACK LOOKS WEIRDLY FLAT IN HIS... Or is this a case of the live 2D models not accurately reflecting what the characters actually look like since surely Jack has to be beefier than this (just judging by the tight clothes he wears in other models):

… Anyway, I have probably gawked at Rook + Savanaclaw’s arms, chests, and waists for far longer than what is socially acceptable 💀 That’s enough for one day 💦

[koneko48]

The Queer Reading of HxH

I’ve read and re-read Hunter x Hunter at least 46 times, and I always come back to the same conclusion: HxH is a queer manga.

First of all, this post is just the first part of my analysis, so I’ll be posting the rest on my account later ;P

1. fan service in shonen manga ૮꒰◞ ˕ ◟ ྀི꒱ა

1. Fan service in shonen manga

In the shonen industry, fan service is super common — and it's usually aimed at straight guys. You know the drill: women and girls with boobs bigger than my future, who serve no purpose other than being love interests, random nude scenes for no reason, super sexualized outfits… The thing is, these manga are traditionally made for an exclusively straight male audience, so they often end up being sexist or ignoring the existence of complex female characters altogether.

2. Fan service in hxh ? ¯_(- > -)_/¯

So, is there fan service in HxH? The answer is yes. Like most other shonen series, Hunter x Hunter does include fan service — but in a very… unique way.

While reading Yoshihiro Togashi’s work (the mastermind behind the manga), I realized something wild: the fan service is almost entirely male. Nope, not a joke!

There are tons of shirtless dudes in HxH — really, it’s everywhere. But if you’re looking for even one nude woman? Good luck. I haven’t found a single one. And when I say fan service, I’m not kidding!

Hisoka, for example, (besides wearing heels) is very "provocative" — that's what people would say about him if he were a woman.

Hisoka at his prime.

And don’t even get me started on Killua, who made me so jealous because when I was 12, I didn’t have a six-pack… (╥﹏╥)

Bro’s supposed to be younger than me, help!

Besides the sexualization, female characters are actually quite well represented in the manga, as well as in both anime adaptations (1999 and 2011). Take Biscuit Krueger for example, Gon and Killua’s Nen teacher. At first, we’re led to believe she’s a cute little girl — very kawaii (probably a nod to Togashi’s wife’s manga, Sailor Moon). But a few episodes later, we see her true form: she’s actually 57 years old and can transform into a bodybuilder whenever she wants. Biscuit is known to be very strong and uses Nen like no one else, since she even taught it to her students. Remember after her transformation in front of one of the three Boomers, Boomer #3 asked her why she hid her true form from people, to which she replied that she was very self-conscious about her body (I’ve never seen that in any other manga in my life) and that it wouldn’t be a secret technique otherwise.

Anyway, besides Biscuit, I have plenty of other female characters in mind, like Morena Prudo, who is insolent, mean, wants to kill everyone, very intelligent and doesn’t hide it, and scares men, etc. Or Senritsu / Melody (I really like Melody), who literally has baldness and works as a bodyguard in the mafia. And then there’s Teta, who has a square-shaped head (I cried when I saw her design ✧｡٩(ˊᗜˋ )و✧*｡) and teaches Nen to the biggest antagonist in the story, which requires great mental strength, and who doesn’t hesitate to shoot him dead cold in the head.

3. Oh I almost fgt ! Kurapika ! ‧₊˚🕷‧₊˚

His case is quite funny since we don’t actually know if Kurapika is a girl or a boy. At first glance, if you watched the English version or any non-Japanese one, you’d be sure he’s a boy... But if, like me, you have the IQ of a rock and when you first read about Kurapika, you thought she was a girl because he wears a dress and has long hair, then concluded he was a boy after googling… well, Google lied to us! In reality, we DO NOT know Kurapika’s gender. In the manga, he uses "watashi wa," a very rare pronoun in everyday language because it’s gender-neutral. On top of that, Togashi (he’s insanely talented) has never stated anything about it. Conclusion: I have no freaking idea and honestly, I don’t care. Maybe he's non-binary...

Ultimate conclusion of my whole post: It’s clear that Togashi didn’t create HxH for a straight male gaze (no one will talk about the reactions me and my friends had when we saw Hisoka half-naked).

ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Coming soon: "LGBT Characters in HxH" 🌈 (yeah, I put a rainbow)

[self-made-purgatories]

Bare Feet on Holy Ground: A Story Of Doubt and Acceptance. (Part 5 of a series of long posts about my thoughts on Star Trek TMP and the Spirk fight arc that begins in Season 3.)

(Another long post, etc. etc., but this one is a good one! Here, finally, comes their happy ending.)

Leonard McCoy is a doctor, not a fortune-teller. And yet, he can foresee the future. In a certain sense, anyway. He is a realist. He isn't afraid to see the negative side of things and follow it to a logical conclusion. Unlike idealist Kirk, he can often guess where things are going to go wrong. It is a type of foresight.

His perspective is very valuable to Kirk. The two of them make a good team. And Kirk knows this. He trusts Bones' judgment. In spite of Bones' often blunt delivery, Kirk can trust him to tell the truth. And he often allows Bones to be the voice of reason, the voice of doubt in his life.

McCoy has had a front row seat to Spock and Kirk's painful breakup. Remember that look he gave them when Spock shouted in Kirk's face in The Cloud Minders?

He knows both of them better than anyone. He knows the whole story. He remembers. When Spock walks back in the door of the bridge, Kirk forgets everything. Not Bones. Bones has a long memory. He has not forgotten how Kirk hurt Spock. And he has not forgotten what Spock's leaving did to Kirk. And throughout the movie, McCoy is the voice of reason and doubt as Kirk grapples with his feelings for Spock.

I wrote last time about how, after Spock's return, Kirk goes through the five stages of grief about what his love's return to his life means for their relationship. It is difficult. Spock is here, but he is still gone. It's a long process we can see unfolding over several scenes.

For McCoy, however, this process happens almost instantaneously. When Spock answers McCoy's warm welcome on the bridge with a stony silence, McCoy's face falls from a warm smile to confusion to deep resolve in a matter of seconds.

By the time Spock exits the bridge, Kirk is still hopeful, but reeling with confusion. McCoy, on the other hand, already has his guard completely up. He can see that this isn't going to end well.

One Important Question

At the end of my last post, I left you all hanging (sorry, @mama-mia-its-mia) before Kirk reached the final Acceptance stage of grief. Spock returned, and then Kirk felt the deep pain of losing him all over again as he realized that Spock had come back, but he wasn't truly back. In fact, Spock inflicted seven emotional injuries on Kirk to show him exactly how not back he is.

At the end of the scene with the three of them in the officer's lounge, Spock gets up and leaves, even though so much is still left unsaid. Kirk jumps up to follow him, but McCoy stops him. After Spock leaves, the two of them conclude the scene with this conversation:

McCOY: Jim. If this super-intelligence is as important to him as he says, how do we know...? KIRK: ...That he wouldn't put his interests ahead of the ship's? I could never believe that. McCOY: How do we know about any of us?

Even with everything Kirk and Spock have been through, Kirk already trusts Spock again completely, as though nothing has happened. McCoy is more cautious.

It is also important that, earlier in the scene, when Kirk is trying to tell Spock that he loves him (remember, when Kirk says "I need you," it means, "I love you"), he technically says it to McCoy. He is looking right at Spock, he is talking about Spock in the third person, but he is talking to McCoy: "Bones. We need him. I need him." Kirk is still hoping that Spock will come back to him. But he doesn't just have to grapple with his own feelings. He has to grapple with the voice of reason and doubt.

The scene ends with Kirk compartmentalizing his grief so that he can get back to work. But the grief process continues. Throughout the movie, McCoy is the embodiment of Kirk's doubts about Spock and their relationship.

The (Silently) Continued Conversation

I also wrote recently about a particular moment on the bridge, when Spock again holds his own hand, but steeples just one finger on each hand. It's an important clue about what is going on in Spock's mind. But what is going on in Kirk's mind? There is actually a very important clue in the same scene.

When Spock's fingers are steepled, this conversation happens between Decker and Spock:

DECKER: Captain, a maximum phaser strike directly at the beam might weaken it just enough for us to break free. SPOCK: Break free to where, Commander? Any show of resistance would be futile, Captain. DECKER: We don't know that, Mister Spock. Why are you opposed to trying?

And this exchange is immediately followed by a very significant look between Kirk and McCoy.

Honestly, in general, I spend a lot of time watching Star Trek going, "Okay gentlemen, what the hell was THAT about?" so this shared look didn't actually register to me as important at first. But it's very important. It is a wordless continuation of that conversation in the officer's lounge.

Spock, who has already explained that he feels he must find his personal answers within V'Ger, is asserting that they should not try to escape. And both Kirk and McCoy are reacting to that assertion with an appropriate question of whether Spock is thinking of his own good at the expense of that of the ship and mission. Kirk throws a sharp look at Bones, whose face reads as both concern and an "I told you so." It is hard to interpret Kirk's sharp look. It could either be a "Yes, I know what you're going to say and don't you dare say it," or it could be a, "Yes. I heard that. And you might be right." In fact, it might be both.

When Love is Not Enough

In the meantime, the other plot of the movie advances. In a story that weirdly echoes and intertwines with Kirk and Spock's love story: Lieutenant Ilia is abducted and copied as a mechanical device that becomes a probe for V'Ger to interact with the humans on board the Enterprise.

Because of the uncharacteristically warm way the probe version of Ilia interacts with Decker specifically, Spock, of all people, suggests that there may be some echo of Ilia's emotions within the probe. Kirk and Spock suggest that Decker attempt to reconnect with the probe based on his shared history with Ilia. This dialogue is telling:

SPOCK: Captain, this probe may be a key a key to the aliens. DECKER: Probe? Ilia? SPOCK: Exactly. It's a programmed mechanism, Commander. Its body duplicates our navigator in precise detail. Suppose that beneath its programming, the real Ilia's memory patterns are duplicated with equal precision. KIRK: They had a pattern to follow. SPOCK: Indeed. They may have followed it too precisely. KIRK: Ilia's memory, her feelings of loyalty, obedience, friendship... might all be there. SPOCK: You did have a relationship with Lieutenant Ilia, Commander.

So Spock defines a relationship in terms of memory, loyalty, obedience, and friendship. Which, you may recall, are the exact things he has been purposely suppressing since he returned to the Enterprise. He refused to greet Kirk or any of his friends after his long absence (a betrayal of memory). Remember also the way Spock refused to sit down until Kirk had asked him three times. First, when Kirk asked him directly (a betrayal of obedience), when Kirk sat down himself as a way of invitation (a betrayal of loyalty), and finally, when Kirk lost his cool (a betrayal of friendship).

It is also worth noting that the relationship between Decker and Ilia, a canonically romantic relationship which concludes with the two of them literally becoming one whole (both a sex metaphor and a soulmate metaphor), is never actually described in terms of "love" or "romance." It is instead described in these terms, which are remarkably similar to the terms through which Kirk and Spock's relationship is also described in canon.

Decker departs with Ilia in an attempt to woo her, to reconnect with her, and to get through to V'Ger in the process. But Spock has other ideas. He says to Kirk, "I am concerned with that being our only source of information."

Spock does not trust love to be the answer to the problem. He feels he must resort to further exploration and experimentation.

Into the Dark

And so he steals a spacesuit and exits the Enterprise, in an attempt to travel as close as he can to V'Ger's center in search of the answers he seeks.

He begins recording a voice log of his progress. And he addresses the log directly to "Captain Kirk." His journey into the belly of the beast is not just a journey in the name of science or curiosity or even bravery and duty in the face of a danger to humanity. It is a journey in the name of love.

A short while later, back on the bridge, Chekov announces that a thruster suit has been taken. Kirk realizes right away that it is Spock. Observe (sound up):

CHEKOV: Sir! Airlock four has been opened. A thruster suit is reported missing! KIRK: A thruster suit? That's Spock! Damn him! Bring him back here... No, wait!... Get a fix on his position.

Welcome. to. Acceptance.

The whole movie, Spock has been running away figuratively. Now, he has finally run away literally.

The whole movie, Kirk has been grappling with two realities, love and doubt. Doubt says that Spock has hurt him and can't be trusted. Doubt says that exploring V'Ger is dangerous and that Spock must be brought back right away. Doubt says that Spock must be saved from himself.

But love. Love says that he still trusts Spock, completely, even after everything they have been through.

He trusts Spock. Completely.

Even if it means allowing him to leave.

In this exact moment, Kirk reaches Acceptance. He gives up reason and doubt and surrenders to love. He allows Spock to go. For the first time, he allows Spock to pursue the exploration he needs to find peace.

And, because he has reached Acceptance, because he trusts Spock with all that he is and has, he takes it even a step further. Without knowing or understanding what Spock is doing, he follows him into the dark.

And Spock returns to him. Broken. Nonresponsive. In many ways, his return is a powerful echo of the figuratively broken and nonresponsive Spock that returned to Kirk earlier in the movie. And he catches him. He holds him. He says his name over and over, just as he did when he first arrived on the bridge. And he carries him to safety.

A Miracle on Holy Ground

It strikes me as significant that Spock appears barefoot in this sickbay scene. First, it is a symbol of vulnerability. Spock is about to show a sacred inner part of himself that he never allows to show.

But also, it is another religious symbol: remove your shoes; you tread on holy ground. There are numerous religious traditions that call for bare feet on holy ground. It is not shown in the movie; the floor-scraping robes and strategic framing hide all views of the Vulcans' feet in the kolinahr scene. But consider this behind-the-scenes photograph of Leonard Nimoy as kolinahr Spock. I believe that Vulcans also hold this sacred tradition of bare feet on holy ground.

And Spock's feet are now bare in the sickbay. He has gone forth and faced his demons head-on and returned. And he is now on holy ground. A miracle is about to happen here.

At first he is dazed, still nonresponsive. But then, he returns to himself, and strangely enough, he laughs. Kirk and McCoy rush to his side.

KIRK: Spock! SPOCK: Jim... (Slight chuckle.) I should have known. KIRK: Were you right? About V'Ger? SPOCK: A lifeform of its own. A conscious, living entity. CHAPEL: A living machine? KIRK: It considers the Enterprise a living machine. That's why the probe refers it as an entity. SPOCK: I saw V'Ger's planet. A planet populated by living machines. Unbelievable technology. V'Ger has knowledge that spans this universe. And, yet with all this pure logic... V'Ger is barren. Cold. No mystery. No beauty. (His eyes fill with tears.) I should have... known. (Drifts out of consciousness.) KIRK: Known. Known what? Spock. MCCOY: (Grabs Kirk's arm.) Captain. KIRK: (Turns quickly, breaking free.) Bones.

I have seen three different versions of this movie: the Original Release, the Director's Cut, and the Remastered Director's Cut. These three versions are all slightly different, and each version casts a slightly different light over the story. For example, in the Original Release and the Remastered Director's Cut, Spock awakens from his trance with a laugh. This laugh is missing in the Director's Cut.

Perhaps more importantly, in this scene, there is a moment when Spock drifts back out of consciousness and Kirk calls him back to reality. In the Original Release, while Kirk is calling him back, Bones tries briefly to stop him. You can see this version in this YouTube clip.

To me, this is an extremely important detail. This is doubt again, rearing its head one last time, and Kirk swats it aside immediately. He knows that what is happening here is important. Call it persistence, call it blind faith; but he has chosen love, he has chosen trust, and it is about to pay off in the most miraculous way imaginable.

KIRK: Spock. What should you have known? What should you have known? SPOCK: (Grabs Kirk's arm.) Jim... (Kirk and Spock grasp hands.) This. Simple. Feeling. Is beyond V'Ger's comprehension. (Kirk grasps their joined hands with his other hands. The two exchange a meaningful look. Kirk nods. Spock nods.) ... No meaning. No hope. Jim. No answers. It's asking questions. Is this all I am? Is there nothing more?

This is the miracle.

Spock is finally at peace with his human side.

Spock is finally at peace with his love for Kirk.

Spock has found his answers: the mystery and beauty that only love, not logic, can bring.

And he is. finally. at. peace.

The long look. The nods. This too is the miracle: they are communicating telepathically again.

Kirk says to him, Does this mean you are back? For good? Does this mean you are mine?

And Spock nods back. Yes, Jim. I am back for good. I have been, and always shall be yours.

Duty calls, as always. The commlink tweets and Kirk answers. It's an update from Uhura. Kirk must return to the bridge. Kirk turns around and says, "I need Spock on the bridge."

I need you.

Remember. It means, "I love you."

Resolution

There is another very important scene that is only in some versions of the movie; namely, the Director's Cut and the Remastered Director's Cut. I am not able to link more than one video in a post, but you can see it here.

KIRK: Spock… Spock? (Spock turns, and Kirk and McCoy see that he is crying.) KIRK: Not for us? SPOCK: No, Captain, not for us. For V'Ger. I weep for V'Ger as I would for a brother. As I was when I came aboard, so is V'Ger now. Empty. Incomplete. Searching. Logic and knowledge are not enough. McCOY: Spock, are you saying that you've found what you needed, but V'Ger hasn't? DECKER: What would V'Ger need to fulfill itself? SPOCK: Each of us, at some time in our life, turns to someone, a father, a brother, a god, and asks, "Why am I here? What was I meant to be?" V'Ger hopes to touch its Creator to find its answers. KIRK: "Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?"

This scene speaks volumes.

First, this shows that Spock has finished searching. He sees his prior self, the self "when he came aboard" the ship, in V'Ger's emptiness. And he weeps for himself, for lost time, as much as he does for V'Ger.

Second, Spock again folds his fingers together as he speaks. But there are no steepled fingers. They are interlaced loosely, both hands open. Although the ship is in grave danger, and he is weeping, the trapped feeling is gone. The feeling of identity crisis is gone. He is at peace.

Third, very importantly, McCoy is a part of this exchange. He is incredulous to see Spock crying, and he, ever the blunt truth-teller, asks him if he has found what he needed. It is now Kirk's turn to turn to McCoy and give him his own very brief, "I told you so" look. McCoy is convinced. Doubt is, finally and forever, laid to rest.

And finally, it is significant that Spock specifically mentions "a brother" as one of the people we might turn to for answers. Throughout the whole series, Spock canonically refers to Kirk as his "brother." Brother is also a part of the meaning of t'hy'la. Spock is referring to finding his own answers with Kirk. He also mentions that V'Ger hopes to touch its "Creator", which is how V'Ger has referred to the source of its own answers throughout the movie. In fact, before the movie is over, V'Ger will express a wish to be completely united with its Creator as one, and will complete that wish through the uniting of Ilia and Decker.

Spock is expressing the same wish: touching and touched, united forever as a new, complete whole.

"Why am I here?" he is asking. "What was I meant to be?" But he knows the answer now.

This. Exactly this. Together. Touching and touched. United forever as a new, complete whole.

[watermelonlovershigh]

Aftercare {part. 15} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

Long Awaited Punishment {part. 14} (housemate!harry series) (SMUT)

AN: disclaimer- i've never been in subspace so i have no real experience with what it's truly like. in this chapter i'm writing how i've seen others write about it and based off some things i've read. so it may not be 100% accurate but that's okay because this story is made up anyways. i hope you enjoy and don't forget to leave your feedback. xoxo

This story contains: aftercare, talks of anal sex (pegging), subspace, male sub/female dom, crying, peeing (in a toilet, of course), comfort

{ housemate!harry - boyfriendrry - softrry - au!harry - subrry - dom!reader }

word count- 2,664

After a night of dominated Harry, you give him great aftercare with a relaxing bath and your nurturing demeanor.

Previously-

You slowly remove the strap-on from his body, which causes him to cry out more intensely for a moment, and then you carefully pull your end out as well. Despite feeling just as drained as you believe Harry is, you understand that the dominant role comes with responsibilities. The key responsibility is aftercare, and you conclude that the first step in providing aftercare tonight is to help Harry calm down.

-Continuing

You adjust your position on the bed, moving so you're no longer behind Harry, allowing him to see you and recognize your presence. His eyes remain closed, tears streaming down his face and soaking the pillow beneath him. You lean closer, softly caressing his wet cheek with your gentle hands. "Shh, it's okay. You did such a good job, baby. It's okay. I'm gonna take care of you now."

Your words have not yet registered in Harry's mind, but the gentle sound of your voice causes his eyes to open slightly. He stares at you, and it's evident that he's not entirely present; he seems to be in a state of subspace. His gaze appears to look past you rather than directly at you. While you may not have extensive knowledge of subspace, you're committed to helping Harry return to the moment. You want to provide him with lots of cuddles and let him know how safe he is with you.

The first step into helping him come back down to earth is a nice bath, you think. It'll also be beneficial because you both are actually sweaty and need to wash off the smell of sex from your bodies. As you go to climb out of bed, Harry mutters his first words since entering an alternate state of mind. "No, don't leave me."

You turn to face him as he clutches your wrist, and the look on Harry's face is nearly one of alarm. "Hey, hey," you reassure him, "I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m just going to run a bath for us, alright? I’ll return shortly." Harry hesitantly releases your wrist, his gaze following you as you step out of your bedroom, heading off to an unknown location. Even though you had just informed him of your plans, he struggled to hear you clearly, as the intensity of his orgasm still reverberates in his ears.

In a brisk manner, you enter the only bathroom in the house and turn on the bathtub. You hastily hang up two towels on the rack beside the bathtub and set the soaps you'll need on the edge of the tub. Once the water is running, you return to your room where you find Harry crying on your bed, lying on his back, unclothed and exposed.

He had finally stopped crying before you left to get the bath ready, so him crying once again has you worrying. Stepping to the side of the bed, you ask slowly, "Harry, why the tears? Everything's okay."

With his hearing slowly coming back, he's able to understand your words enough to answer, "You......you left me." Another sob leaves his throat and it brings tears to your own eyes. You know he's only acting this way because of how intense everything just was but it still saddens you to see him so upset.

You climb back onto the bed and straddle Harry. You then lean down to wrap him in a tight embrace. Initially, his arms lie loosely at his sides on the mattress, but he eventually raises them to encircle your back. He truly needed this moment of comfort. The weight of your body helps to anchor him in reality, and the sensation of your naked skin against his intensifies his feelings of vulnerability.

"Shhh, I'm right here. I have the bath running for us. Would you like to join me and relax?" Harry gives a timid nod in response. You carefully detach yourself from atop his body, which he seems to dislike, and take hold of his large hands, aiding him in rising from the bed. He's initially a bit unsteady, his mind still disoriented, but with your help he soon finds his balance and walks toward the bathroom with you.

As you start to lead him towards the now filled tub and turn the tap off, Harry stops you and quietly inquires, "Um, can I have a wee first? Gotta wee."

You smile up at your boyfriend with affection and answer, "Yeah, of course. I'll step out to give....."

Before you could finish, he blurts, "No, don't leave. S'...... turn away, I guess." The last thing Harry wants is for you to leave him again. He doesn't care that he has to pee, in his current state of mind, there's no embarrassment in his body.

Turning around, you find yourself staring at the floral wallpaper while unintentionally hearing the sound of Harry pissing in the toilet. After what seems like an excessively long time, Harry finishes and flushes before you turn back to help him step into the tub. You enter first, allowing Harry to follow, which allows his body to lean against yours. While the tub is not particularly large, it offers just enough room for both of you to relax and move around without discomfort.

As the warm water envelops you both, Harry lets out a sigh, surrendering to the comfort that surrounds him. The warmth of the bath water, your body resting against his back, and the gentle scratching of your fingers on his scalp create a peaceful setting. He's nearly asleep when you speak softly, "Hey, don’t fall asleep on me. I need you to come back to me, alright Harry?"

Although Harry continues to experience a slight mental haze, he predominantly feels as though he's returned to reality. His thoughts are becoming clearer, and he's beginning to recall the majority of the events from this evening. However, the manner in which you're currently treating him makes him want remain in a submissive mindset for a bit longer. But, he understands that he should let you know he's back, present mentally, to avoid causing you any more concern. You've never observed anyone in a state of subspace before.

"M' back, baby. Just really like it when you talk to me all soft and baby me. Feels nice."

You sigh in relief. "Thank God, you worried me there for a second. With all your crying."

"I cried?" Harry turns his head from where it rests on your chest and questions.

"You don't remember, Harry? What do you remember?"

Turning back around to face forward, he pauses to gather his thoughts before replying, "I remember you teasin' me. Then you briefly sat on my face. After that, you fucked me so hard I came from both my cock and my prostate. Then my memory jumps to havin' a wee and gettin' in the tub where we are now." It appears Harry blacked out following his orgasm, which is quite fascinating. You wonder if there will ever come a time when you can enter subspace with him, if you're even able to. You know not everyone can get into a subspace.

"You had a prostate orgasm? Didn't know that was possible."

"Hh-mh, some men can, others can't. Though technically all men can achieve one, it's a matter of stimulatin' it just right and allowin' your body to embrace the stimulation. Why do you think I like anal sex so much? Yeah I enjoyed havin' sex with men and the presence of a male figure because m' attracted to them, but really anyone can fuck me and if done right, it feels so - fuckin' - good, man or women. Even fucked myself in the past. Doesn't feel as good but it's good enough."

While you recline against the tub, Harry positioned in front of you, you quietly take in his words. The exploration of anal sex for men is a captivating topic in your opinion. In your past relationships and hookups, the men you were with typically shunned any contact with their bums, associating it with being gay. Most men are determined to avoid any accusations of being seen as gay. Because of their stubborn ways of viewing things, they remain unaware that if they were to try anal sex, they might find it quite enjoyable, especially if it's as pleasurable as Harry says it can be.

In all honesty, you probably wouldn't have had any desire to participate in giving anal to your previous partners. The only reason you were open in doing so with Harry is that you feel at ease around him and are confident in his hygiene practices. Otherwise, you would have kept your distance from that aspect of Harry as well.

------------------------------

After a few minutes of silence, you become aware that the water is cooling down and decide it's time to actually wash up before settling into bed. You sit up from your position against the back of the tub to retrieve the soap, which causes Harry to also sit up. In doing so, he lets out a sharp hiss, prompting you to worry. "Are you okay, H? Are you hurting anywhere?" Given the intensity of your actions tonight, it wouldn't be unexpected for him to experience some soreness in his joints and, other areas.

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry admits, "M' bums a bit sore, s'all. But it's not your fault. It typically happens when I get fucked or pegged as well as havin' gotten spanked. It'll go away in a day or two."

Despite the lingering worry within you, you accept his reassuring words and start applying soap to the washcloth. Once the cloth is well-lathered, you begin gliding it over his body, though there's certain areas he has to wash on his own due to your position behind him. After making sure his body is clean, you take the old cup located by the tub and drizzle water over Harry's head to wet his hair. You're uncertain why you opted to cleanse his body first, but it doesn't matter at this point.

Ensuring his hair is nicely wet, you take a generous amount of shampoo and apply it to your hands before working it into his brown locks. In your effort to pamper him, you massage your soapy fingers into his scalp, prompting Harry to moan softly. When you feel you've given his scalp enough attention, you lift the cup again and instruct Harry to lean his head back to keep the soap out of his eyes. He follows your directions, just as he did in the bedroom earlier, leaning back as you carefully rinse the shampoo from his hair.

Once you've finish bathing him, you swiftly wash your own body before pulling the drain plug and aiding each other in standing up in the tub. You're the first to step out, taking your towel off the hook to dry yourself off before wrapping it around your naked body. You then take Harry's towel and move towards the shivering, tattooed man. Assisting him onto the bath mat, you ask, "Are you cold, baby?"

Nodding as his teeth chatter, he stands there while you dry his wet body off. "Ye...yeah."

When Harry's body is completely dry and his hair is only damp, you ask another question. "Do you wanna wear a pair of briefs or sleep naked?"

"Naked, please." Of course he'd choose sleeping naked.

With your towel still secured around your body and Harry's towel held tightly in your hands, you open the bathroom door to discover an adorable sight at your feet. Harry's cat Pixie is comfortably sprawled out on the floor just outside the bathroom door. It seems she's been patiently waiting for you to emerge so that she could receive some affection. Upon noticing his cat, Harry lets out a soft coo, bending down to pick her up.

"Pixie, sweetheart, were you waitin' for us? Have we failed to give you the attention you deserve this evenin'? M' sorry. Mummy gave me all the attention tonight and she's so sorry too." Your eyes nearly pop in disbelief when you hear Harry refer to you as the mother of his cat. You don't dislike being called Pixie's mum. In fact, your affection for Pixie has grown immensely since you've been living in Harry's home. However, the reference makes you envision a time when that cat is a human baby, and he calls you mummy because you truly are a mother to a child you've brought into existence.

Snapping out of those thoughts, you smile up at Harry as he gently holds Pixie in his arms and proceeds to follow you to his room. The decision to sleep in his bedroom for the night is probably influenced by the state of your bed, which is soaked with bodily fluids, and your current fatigue giving you no energy to deal with that situation tonight. Thus, you'll be sleeping in Harry's room. Which is fine because you often flip back and forth between sleeping in your room or his.

While he walks around the bed completely naked, his cat still in his embrace, the slight limp in his walk is hard to miss, presumably due to his sore bum. You can't help it when you let out a laugh, prompting Harry to look at you from where he stands on the right side of his bed. "What? What's s' funny?"

"It's just..... your walk. Looks like you've......"

Harry interrupts you, completing your sentence with a sleepy grin. "Looks like v' what? Been fucked in the ass? Because I did get fucked in the ass, by my hot, sexy, confident, girlfriend." He sets Pixie down softly at the foot of the bed, where she curls into a tight ball. You let your towel fall away as both of you slip beneath the duvet, naked and vulnerable only to each other. A worry crosses your mind that Pixie may get scarred seeing so much nakedness, but Harry assures you that she's seen far worse things than just naked people and that's something you'd rather not think about.

As you reach to turn off the lamp that sits on the nightstand beside the bed, you're taken aback when Harry shifts over and lays half his body on top of you. Although you don't mind the closeness, a little warning would have been appreciated. His head rests on your right collarbone, with a significant portion of his body draped over you, his right leg positioned between your legs. He casually throws his right arm over your left shoulder, gently tracing the soft, bare skin in a calming manner.

Before Harry drifts off to sleep, you whisper in the dark room, "I love you. Hope you enjoyed tonight and I hope I took care of you enough after, when you were in, um, subspace."

With his eyes shut, Harry murmurs in response, "You were incredible, m'love. The sex, the aftercare, everythin' was perfect. You attended to my needs so well while you were in control and even afterwards in the bathtub. But, just wait; my turn is comin' up. I plan to have you wear those vibratin' panties you purchased throughout the day, teasin' and edgin' you, before I completely rock your world in the bedroom."

You smile at his sweet words but then lose the smile after hearing his promise to you. "Not in the ass though, right?"

"Hm? Me fuckin' you in the ass?" You hum a yes and Harry continues, "Well, not unless you want me to. I can, but I honestly wasn't even thinkin' of that when I said I was gonna rock your world. We'd only do what you're comfortable with."

"Yeah, I'd need some time to think about letting you try anal on me first. Maybe one day, but no promises. Otherwise, I can't wait."

You both end up drifting off to sleep, pressed together, naked, and dreaming of what's to come next in your growing relationship.

(PLEASE REBLOG BECAUSE WRITING IS NOT EASY AND IT'S FREE SO JUST DO IT)

(if you want to be apart of my new tag list, let me know right here !! )

tag list: @swiftmendeshoran // @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite // @hsonlyangelxo // @lunabai // @ppleasingg // @harryscherrysugar

______________

My Masterlist Masterpost

A Trip to the ER {part. 16}

[sweeterthanficstion]

— coast2coast (pt. two) || l.s.k

pairing: life guard!leon kennedy x surfer!fem!reader

tags: surfing au! set in malibu, 1998, i wrote this with re2 leon in mind but re4 leon works too, UNEDITED! fluff, fluff, fluff

summary: Summer is a fickle thing, sticky-sweet and fleeting, gone before you're ready. You've learnt to love it while it lasts. For you, every summer has been the same—surf, sand, salt-water tides and the hot Malibu breeze. But this summer brings a new sort of challenge, a spotlight your not so sure you're ready for, as well as a boy with golden hair, eyes as blue as the waves, and a way of making your heart rattle between your ribs like it’s desperate to break free.

word count: 2.8k

a/n: ngl yall this actually sucked the life out of me, i'm high on like 3 choccy milks and delirious and tired i have work tmrw i wanna sleep.... anyway thank u cressie for providing me with million ideas this ones to u cheers *raises choccy milk to u* --- also sorry i literally hate writing dialogue but this ended up being more dialogue than anything im so sorry in advance if anything sounds WEIRD </3

playlist⭑series masterlist⭑AO3 || part 1⭑part 2⭑part 3 (coming soon)

You have this recurring dream that feels like a distant memory. Washed in milky sunlight, somewhere in Santa Monica, you lost yourself to hot summer days and salt-water tides, sticky fruit juice running down your arms, and the sting of a sunburn peeling across your shoulders.

The year was 1986, August was young and so were you. You’d learn this year just how quickly it’d slip through your fingers.

Barefoot and sun-dazed, you’d escape to the beach each evening. There, you met a boy by the waves. Older, taller, with sun-bleached hair and sun-kissed cheeks. 

You remember a sunset that bled out over the water that evening, long and golden. His laugh echoed yours, and you smiled when he did. He must’ve been summer personified, you’d concluded. With his hair like sunshine and eyes like the ocean…

You never did learn his name.

You startle awake to the sound of your alarm clock blaring angrily atop your bedside table. Groaning, you slam a groggy hand down on it, killing the noise, and drag yourself out of bed in twenty minutes flat, your surfboard tucked under your arm.

You track the familiar path behind your old oceanfront home, the sandy trail winding its way down the bluff like a lazy ribbon, overgrown with beach grass and wildflowers that nod in the soft morning breeze. Thick sycamore trees stretch their sprawling branches overhead, casting the path in dappled shadows, leaving behind little islands of light that shimmer over the fine sand. It smells like salt and earth, and the faintest hint of blooming jasmine from somewhere you’ve never quite been able to pinpoint.

Ahead of you, at the base of the trail, your view opens up to the rocky cove that cradles your little slice of the coast. Tucked away from prying eyes, smooth stone outcrops rise like bones from the earth, their surfaces slick with sea spray. Between them, shallow rock pools glimmer in the early morning light, and if you look close enough, you’re sure you’ll find tiny crabs skittering to hide under the lichen-covered stone.

You leap from stone to stone, board tucked under your arm all the while. Your bare feet always know exactly where to land without slipping. 

The sandy shore calls to you in the familiar language of gulls overhead and the steady rush and retreat of waves against the rocks. That’s where Claire will be, you know—her board already waxed and her camera slung over her shoulder.

Claire’s love for the ocean has always been as steadfast as yours, but is her own secret language all the same. Where you see the waves as an escape to get lost in, she sees them as her muse. 

By the time she was twelve, her parents had bought her a little film camera, and she’d started seeing the world in snapshots and light leaks.  

Hopping down from the rock, with your board under one arm and your sandals dangling from your fingers, you make your way to the sand. 

You spot Claire easily, a blur of sun-kissed skin and red hair, crouched by the shoreline with her camera in hand.

She must hear you coming, or maybe it’s years of friendship that stirs the feeling in her chest and urges her to look up.

“Morning, sunshine,” she calls, grin as wide as the ocean behind her.

“Morning,” you echo, dropping your board on to the sand before you follow suit, knees bumping hers as you settle beside her. She hands you her wax wordlessly without a second thought, a quiet, easy rhythm of familiarity you’ve both fallen into over the years.

You think that’s why you love her, love this. Corral Beach is stagnant, always will be. Even the tides seem to move in a familiar pattern around here. After years of following your parents around the globe, constantly chasing something new, you think this is what you need.

“You’re slow today,” Claire hums after a while, bumping your shoulder with hers. “Something on your mind?”

You shrug your shoulders instead, unsure of how to put into words the strangeness in your chest after a lingering dream that feels more like deja vu. “Just savouring it. The water’s not going anywhere.”

“Good thing,” she quips, before leaning back on her hands. Her gaze fixes on the horizon for a moment, but Claire’s never been one for small talk, it’s not long before her eyes dart back to you. “So…”

Here it comes.

“Have you thought about that surf comp yet?” She asks, tilting her head at you in the way she does when she’s trying to be casual but failing miserably.

You groan in dramatics, dragging out the sound as your head falls back. “Claire.”

“What?” She feigns innocence. “It’s not like I’m saying you have to sign up right this second.”

“Not happening,” you sing-song, getting to your feet and taking your board with you. 

“Oh, c’mon! Don’t be like that,” she rolls her eyes, watching you make your way towards the water.

“Can’t hear you!” you shout dramatically, cupping your hand around your ear is if the waves are just too loud. 

She raises an eyebrow, her grin sharpening into something knowing. “Oh, you heard me.”

“Nope, not a word!” you call back with a shrug, and before she can press further, you break into a sprint, your feet kicking up sprays of sand as you rush toward the shoreline.

You can hear Claire laughing as you wade into the cool surf, the water rushing up eagerly to greet you. She doesn’t follow with her longboard in tow, and when you look over your shoulder, the rising sun warming your back, you see her still at the shore, camera held at the ready as she flashes you a thumbs up instead.

The ocean seems to move in whispers beneath you, gentle ripples that build into the promise of a wave. You see it first—a set forming, steady and clean, beckoning you like a siren's call you can’t deny. You paddle out towards it, letting the swell lift you effortlessly. The ocean is alive beneath you, humming its own rhythm, and you move with it. 

The wave stretches on, long and peeling, giving you time to cut back and forth across its glassy face. You dip low, almost touching the water with your hand, then push into a sharp turn, feeling the spray kiss your legs. 

As the wave softens, you coast to a gentle stop, stepping off your board into the shallow surf. The sand squishes under your toes, and it’s only then you see Claire waving her camera in triumph. 

“That’s the one!” She grins, as you wade back towards her, the waves still lapping at your ankles as if begging you to come back. 

Claire meets you halfway, tilting the camera to show you the screen: It’s the perfect shot of you mid-turn, your board slicing through the wave, sunshine filtering through and catching the spray just right, refracting in tiny rainbows like a million scattered diamonds. You have to admit, you do look killer. 

“Are you gonna upload that one?” you ask, brushing wet hair from your face. 

Claire looks at you like it’s a silly question. “Are you kidding? Look at this, it’s perfect. Surfline is gonna eat this up—and if they don’t, they’re insane.”

Her passion radiates off her in waves like the tide does. Claire’s been at this for months now, chasing every opportunity she can find to get her photos not just noticed, but seen. You’ve just about lost count of how many times she’s sent in shots to Surfline.

“Now c’mon,” she continues, “show me what else you’ve got.”

And you do. Over and over, the waves pulling you in, the ocean pulling you home. By the time the sun rises higher in the sky, Claire’s memory card is nearly full, and you’re sure you’ll be late to your shift at Bunny’s if you let yourself fall into the ocean’s allure for any longer. The cove has started to fill with other locals, the place a well kept secret between surfers wanting a quiet retreat.

Claire waits as you shake the last of the saltwater from your hair—or, well, try to—perched atop the sun-bleached remains of an old tree topped sideways. Her legs swing lazily, her tote bag by her feet.

Something must catch her eye, because suddenly she’s letting out a gasp.

“Holy shit.”

Her voice is nearly reverent. You pause, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see him. 

And yeah, Holy shit.

It’s then you see him again, and it feels like magic watching him cut through the wave he’s catching with the ease of someone who does really know what they’re doing.

Blue-eyed blondie from yesterday is out in the surf, carving through the water like he’s part of it, like he’s spent his whole life learning how to move with it instead of against it. He’s all ease, all instinct, cutting clean lines into the wave before it folds beneath him.

It’s hypnotic. Magic, almost.

“He’s good,” Claire murmurs.

“Yeah,” you breathe, unable to tear your gaze away from him. He is good. Too good for someone who claimed to be just okay.

And then, as if he sensing your gaze, he falters.

A hair-width miscalculation, a break in his rhythm, something or other. Then he’s toppling off his board and crashing into the whitewater with all the grace of a bird missing a branch.

There’s but a breath of silence before Claire cackles. “Poor guy.”

You bite down a smile, shaking your head.

“Do you know him?” Claire asks, jogging to catch up as you start walking back toward the trail, her longboard dragging behind her in the sand. “I’ve never seen him around, I wonder how he knows about the cove.”

“No,” you say too quickly before realising how it sounds, “yes? Sort of.”

Her eyebrows shoot up, as if catching onto something unspoken, and you wish all at once for the ground to swallow you up. “That’s not an answer.”

“I met him at the beach yesterday, he saved my board.”

“Oh,” she says, her tone lifting like something just clicked into place. Then, after a pause: “So…”

“So what?” You glance at her, sounding a little exasperated.

“So… what’s the deal? Did you talk to him? Does he live around here?”

You groan. “Claire, it’s nothing. I don’t know.”

“Mm-hmm,” Her grin spreads wider, brighter, knowing. “You’re antsy.”

“No I’m not!” you say firmly, picking up your pace like it’ll somehow leave this conversation behind.

“Sure,” she hums. “Whatever you say.”

The next time you see him is during the afternoon rush at Bunny’s. 

The late-afternoon heat hangs over Corral Beach, and the diner feels like it’s baking under the weight of too many bodies pressed into too small a space. The air conditioner rattles helplessly above the front counter, but it does little to cut through the syrupy warmth.

You’ve been working at Bunny’s long enough to know the rhythm of summer shifts like the back of your hand, the sound of the kitchen, the clatter of dishes, Claire humming along to the shitty little radio perched atop the front desk.

You’ve got a tray of iced teas balanced on one hand, weaving around chairs, tables, and sketchup sticky toddlers, when the bell over the door jingles.

“Welcome to Bunny’s!” Claire chirps from the register, her voice bright and automatic. 

And you don’t look up at first, mind too occupied on your tasks, but then—

“Uh, hi. I—oh, no, you first. Wait— oh, okay.”

That voice. It lilts over the chatter, low and sweet like something you’ve heard all your life.

You turn instinctively, and there he is—standing awkwardly in the entryway, looking like he’s just wandered off a postcard. Blondie, with his damp hair curling at the ends, a stripe of sand on his forearm, like he didn’t quite get it all off. He’s holding the door open for an older couple, sweet boyish grin across his face as they thank him.

He’s swapped out the lifeguard uniform for a thin cotton shirt, and a puka shell necklace.

You blink, fingers tightening around the tray. You wonder by what twist of fate you’ve managed to run into him again.

“Hey, table four’s waiting on their drinks,” Claire calls, snapping you out of it.

“Right, yeah.” 

You drop your gaze, forcing yourself to focus as you slip between tables, pretending the sight of him doesn’t tie your stomach into some ridiculous knot.

It’s not even like he’ll recognise me, you tell yourself as you weave between tables, dropping drinks off at one and sliding a basket of fries onto another. But when you glance back towards the door, you catch him talking to Claire at the register, and your pulse trips over itself.

You head back toward the counter, heart sinking with every step, trying to avoid his gaze, save yourself from any possible embarrassment, say you trip over your own feet or say something utterly stupid.

But Blondie’s perceptive, apparently, just as he’s about to turn away, he does a double take, like he wasn’t expecting you to be here, like maybe he’s not even sure it’s really you. His brows pinch slightly, lips parting as he huffs an amused breath.

“Guess Malibu’s smaller than I thought,” his voice is smooth where you feel jittery all over.

Claire’s brows shoot up, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.

“Oh, so you two know each other?” 

He glances at you again, that stupid smile on his lips. “Yeah.”

“No,” you blurt at the same time, you turn to fiddle with the drinks machine to hide the blush on your cheeks. “Well not really,” you mumble.

Leon’s mouth quirks into the faintest of smiles, like you’ve confirmed some suspicion of his. “That clears things up.”

“I don’t know you,” you mumble, more to yourself than him, though it doesn’t sound nearly as dismissive as you’d hoped. It’s true in half, you don’t know him. Don’t even know his name yet. But why then does it feel like you’ve inexplicably known him forever?

“You could,” he offers, voice light, but his expression betrays him—like his own boldness catches him off guard. 

You bite back a smile. “Don’t push it.”

“You’re holding up the line,” Claire chimes in, all too entertained by whatever this is.

There is no line, unless you count the kids loitering by the counter, trying to nonchalantly steal more straws to build their makeshift tower.

Blondie raises his hands as if in surrender, “alright, well what do you suggest?” And he’s looking at you when he asks. 

God, damn him and those eyes. He has a way of making you feel like the center of the world. You clear your throat, slipping back into safe, scripted territory. “We have the best shrimp tacos on this stretch of the PCH,” you say, repeating the slogan on the chalkboard outside with practiced ease.

His smile softens, like maybe he finds your delivery a little more amusing than convincing. “Sure. Shrimp tacos it is.”

Claire rings him up, and he reaches into the pocket of his board shorts, presumably for his wallet, but before he turns away, he hesitates briefly. “Actually— I was wondering if I could ask a favour.”

You quirk a brow. “Uhuh?”

“Was wondering if you could, y’know… show me a few moves.”

You blink. “Moves?”

“Surfing,” he clarifies. 

“You don’t need my help, you’re already great.” You chuckle softly, not exactly sure what to do to hide the heat creeping up your neck now.

His mouth twitches, as if fighting another one of his stupid smirks. “How’d you come to that conclusion?”

“Oh… uh,” You rub the back of your neck, suddenly regretting your words. “This morning. At the cove.”

His lips part slightly before he lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “Malibu can’t be this small.”

“You’re telling me.”

“Anyway, yes or no?”

You narrow your eyes a little, “What’s in it for me?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You owe me one don’t you, for your board? Unless you’re scared of a little challenge.”

You scoff at that. “Oh, watch it, Blondie.”

The grin lingers, easy and teasing. “It’s Leon,” and something about his voice softens. “You can call me Leon. And you?”

You don’t answer right away, caught up in the way his name rings around your head, the way it suits him somehow—like salt air and early mornings and something easy.

His lips press together, “Alright then,” he murmurs, pushing back from the counter, his eyes still on you. “Keep your secrets, sunshine.”

You roll your eyes but don’t fight the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

His order is up in five, and when you slide the basket of tacos across the counter, there’s a napkin tucked underneath—your name scrawled across it in quick, slightly smudged ink, punctuated with a little smiley face.

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[novasintheroom]

125. Scar

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.2k

♡ Warnings - mention of scars, negative view toward scars (from Vash toward himself)

♡ Description: You finally lay eyes on Vash's scars.

Part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

The lamplight of the inn room is gold. Dusty. Yours and Vash’s shadows sit squatly on the walls. His chest is bare.

Slowly, Vash realizes – his brain is going haywire. How did he get here? When did he take off his shirt?

He looks to you for guidance. Your lips are kiss-swollen, your clothes ruffled, but your eyes are worried. “Birdie?” You ask, sitting up from lying on him. The bed shakes with the movement. “What’s wrong?”

But he can’t answer. Wide-eyed, he feels his hands curling up on his chest. He feels the scars all over his body – ridges and bumps and ugly, ugly, ugly.

You’ve never seen them.

You’ve never seen him.

Your brows furrow. “Vash, what’s – “ You look at the movement of his hands. It clicks, then. Looking past his hands, at his scars, you gasp, “Oh…Oh.” You sit up, scooting yourself away and stuttering. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t – ! Vash, it’s not – we don’t have to – “

He can’t hear it. Skin crawling, eyes shaking, toes curling. He wants to cry. He should do something.

You stop your panic, realizing his own. “Hey,” your voice has a tinny feel to his ears, “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t think about…” You look around and quickly reach for his shirt, thrown to the side. “Here, I’m sorry…hey, Vash? Vash?”

He’s waiting for it. To see it in your eyes: the disgust, the hate, the fear. Who could love someone who looks like this? Swallowing once, twice, he reaches for his shirt, the ringing in his ears slowly dissipating. The black material scrunches in his fist.

You scoot back, making sure not to touch any of him. You look ashamed. “I’m…Vash, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think about your scars. I forgot you don’t like…”

A part of his mind realizes – you’re not repulsed by him, but by your actions that lead here. You became too passionate, too eager, and he, in his love-drunk state, let you take off his shirt. But still, a larger part shrinks at the way you won’t look at him. He desperately needs reassurance. He needs you to…to what?

Your brows twitch with guilt. Vash finally snaps himself out of it – because you need him. “It’s…alright,” he gets it out, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. He swallows once, twice. “I…” He looks at you. What should he do?

Tilting your head, you say, “No, it’s not. Don’t pretend like it is, Vash.”

His shirt bunches more in his hands. “But I…I let you…”

“Because that’s you, Vash. You’d let me – “ Frustrated, you shake your head, waving your hands. “No, I’m not turning this into you comforting me.” You put a hand to your heart. “I went too far. I’m sorry.”

The fog of his brain is clearing. Pursing his lips, Vash throws the shirt over his head and tugs it down. He’s ruined yet another moment, hasn’t he? All because of…He sighs. “Mayfly, it’s not your fault.” He looks at you, your downcast eyes. A trail of warmth bleeds from his heart. You care too much, far too much about him.

“I always forget about your scars,” you whisper. You glance up and away again. “I haven’t seen them. I wasn’t trying to…”

“Mayfly, I let you. It’s my own damn fault, not yours.”

You shake your head and reach for his hand. He gives it. “Vash, birdie, you weren’t ready for me to see, and I let myself get too caught up without thinking about you.” Biting the inside of your cheek, you murmur again, “I’m sorry.”

“We both made mistakes, then,” he concludes. That’s the end of it. He squeezes your fingers. “Okay? And we’re both okay.” Another sigh, and he looks down. “I’ve…been meaning to show you, anyway. Just wasn’t expecting it tonight, is all.”

You blink, looking at him from eye to eye. “Would you…I mean, would you mind telling me about them?”

He straightens a bit and cocks his head. “Like how I got them?”

You nod. “I’ve…been wondering.”

“They’re not…good stories,” Vash hunches, “I mean…a lot of them…” He trails off.

Lips thinning timidly, you whisper, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, birdie. I’m just curious, that’s all.”

And he knows that. If he were in your position, he’d be itching to know what happened to you, who did what, who does he have to go after – he stops that thought there. Licking his bottom lip, he asks, “You sure you’re okay? With the stories?”

And he’s graced with the smallest of smiles. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

Vash breathes deeply. He knows you’re telling the truth. Still, a part of him trembles in fear. What if you react badly? What if you leave? Everyone always leaves –

“Vash,” you murmur. Finally, you scoot closer, letting your knees touch his legs and reaching out, taking his face in your hands. He sighs and leans into the touch, hand coming up to hang on to your wrist.

With his other, he lifts the hem of his shirt and points at the pinched circle of skin on his left side. “I was caught by this scientist guy. He figured out I was a Plant and kept me locked up and experimented on for three weeks. This is where the tube went to pump me with…I don’t know what.”

You don’t even flinch, but stare at the mark. “How long did it take to heal?”

“There were chemical burns, so…a while.” He hisses like he can still feel it. “Yeah. A while.” He points to the next: a large gash on his other side. “Got this one from an explosion that went off right by me. I was trying to shield a little girl from it.” Blue, blue eyes, so sad and forlorn. “She didn’t make it.”

Gently, you thumb under his eye. His skin twitches. You lean forward and peck his nose. “I’m sorry.”

Then, being brave, he takes your hand – the one he held on to – and guides it under his shirt and up to the grating over his heart. You let him rearrange your fingers how he’d like, and he sighs. “A pair of sisters caught me. They wanted to see what a man’s heart looks like – whether it’s as small as they believed. So they cut me open.”

Here, you clench your jaw. Gently, ever so gently, you press against the grate, as if you could keep his heart from falling out just with the action. Unbidden, he smiles. “Somehow, I managed to get to the next town. They happened to have a surgeon. He sewed me up, heart and all. I…I asked him to put the grate over my heart. Make it harder the next time around, y’know?”

“There won’t be a next time,” you promise.

“Don’t know that,” he murmurs, but lifts your hand to press a kiss to it, silencing your protest.

There’s a thousand more he could show. He isn’t sure he has the energy to do so right now. Instead, he pulls at your wrist, gently, gently guiding you to lay on him again. To bring comfort to you both. You’re hesitant, eyes looking between him and his chest, seeing if it really is alright. When he nods, all forgiven, you carefully fall on him. Goosebumps rise from the feel of your breath through his shirt. Your hands curl under you to keep from wandering to the scars you want to touch, to love.

You both stay like that for a long, long time.