#drawing the characters and writing out the story? what's that never heard of it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aeragan · 1 month ago

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ᴀ ʟɪᴏɴ'ꜱ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ

✭ pairing(s): mydeimos x afab! gn reader

✩ inspo: lots and lots on nine inch nails.

★ summary: mydei is able to make you confess one of your deepest fantasies after you torment him with a scandalous depiction of him.

✧ a/n: mydei got meee soooooo fuckeddddddd upppppppppppp. ENJOYY. this will probably be the only time i write him being (relatively) rough.

🗒 cw: SMUT, gn reader, afab reader, porn with plot, p in v, predator/prey, biting, manhandling, marking, overstimulation, mating press, pronebone, creampie, breeding kink, aftercare, PROOFREAD

✎ wc: 8.9k

MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY

Kremnoans were quite the popular choice for a strong, dominant male lead in explicit novels. Given today’s market, and the Okhemans views on Kremnoans, romance has become quite popular these days. Perhaps it was just the circle you had been in online, but it seemed that all the newest books released were of this genre.

One of these books wasn’t so subtle, depicting a certain someone as the male lead for a book that was just full of… interesting scenarios. You preferred not to oversaturate your shelves with romance books, but when you heard your lover was depicted in this book, you couldn’t help yourself. You bought one right away. The idea of him knowing what part of the populace fantasized about him made you laugh.

You were sprawled out on the couch, holding the book above you as you read. Mydei, which you had tortured thoroughly with retellings of what the mcs had gotten up to, was sitting across from you in a lounge chair, trying to enjoy the sun. He had his eyes closed, head craned back as the sun casted warm rays from the balcony onto his skin.

“You know, if they knew you enjoyed basking in the sun like a cat, perhaps this book never would have been written,” You chuckle, looking over at him.

All he does is furrow his brows and grunt, not offering you much else to respond to. You sigh and go back to the book, barely halfway into it. You suppose you should have expected just how raunchy it was going to be, but with a sex scene right out of the gate and a poorly disguised breeding kink paired with an author who seemed like they wanted to write omegaverse, but couldn’t quite get behind the idea, no one could fault you for being surprised. The writing was bad, horribly so, but amusing nonetheless.

On top of that, the author had Mydei horribly wrong. You guess you can’t blame them though, they never had the pleasure of having the man in their bed. They wrote him as more beast than man, all grunts and huffs and occasional obscenities. They got his stamina right, though. Unfortunately, with an immortal lover, especially one forged in war, he had what seemed to be an endless amount of stamina, compared to yours.

Oftentimes, you found yourself tapping out by the third round. He was not cruel, either. He didn’t like to toy with the idea of overstimulating you, because when your moans turned into cries, it always reached his heart specifically. He always pulls away, cuddles you a bit, then draws you a bath.

The Mydei – which they have called… ‘Frydei’– in this book, however, did not give the main character a chance to tap out. He barely gave her aftercare. He was more of a walking red flag than the content cat in front of you.

To be honest, you couldn't really picture what you were reading. It was… a lot. The story was barely coherent with its sex scenes, even worse with its plot. The most you could make out on this page–

“Oh. He just tore off her lingerie,” You chime, not allowing Mydei a moment's peace.

“That's just redundant.” He responds with a hint of annoyance, finally opening his eyes.

“Right? Who would do that? Aside from–” You snicker, “My– Sorry, Frydei, of course.”

“For the last time, that is not my name.” He growls, finally giving you a reaction as he scowls.

“You're right, it isn't,” You tease, “It's only the protagonist of this book, who is very clearly not you.”

“I am going to take that book away from you, I swear it.” He says with a huff.

“What? Like I'm a child? You won't.” You tease, a fading laugh in your voice.

“I will. You’re acting like one.”

“You can go anywhere else in this house, you know. You wouldn't have to listen to me read it, but here you are. You've stayed here for an hour.”

Mydei falls silent, then opens his mouth after a beat to retort, only to find no words. He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms, closing his eyes once more, the tips of his ears turning red.

“C'mon… have a little fun with me!” You sit up, looking towards Mydei, who seems to feel your stare, as his face begins to turn away. “It's not that bad if you laugh. Enjoy it!”

“Enjoy what? Those odd fantasies that people have of me? I am not that… brutish. Nor sex-crazed.” He says indignantly.

“Okay, I see your point. It is kinda weird when I think about it. But it's also kinda funny…”

“No, it is not.”

“Well, it's kind of no different than me telling you about my fantasies.”

“It is. That author is a stranger. You are my partner.”

“Okay, okay, you're right… but c'mon! Indulge me a little!”

“In… what, exactly? Do not tell me you dream of me doing those things to you.”

“I would never.”

Oh but you have. You so have. You do your best not to show it, but somehow your voice comes off as sarcastic rather than truthful. Which, in turn, leads Mydei to open his eyes once more and look at you, catching your gaze as your face blooms in all sorts of shades of red and pink.

Okay. You love Mydei, and you've really loved the sex with him. The lazy, indulgent sex, where he drags you along his cock, groaning your name while you draw out more moans from him. Even the rougher, more heated nights, when he has you pinned to the wall or bent over. You've always loved his desperation when it comes to you.

“You… are lying,” He gawks, brows furrowing as they always did while he tries to decipher your face. “Do not tell me you really want me to take you in those ways.”

You fluster, giving him a sheepish, awkward smile, before closing the book. No need for a bookmark, anyways. You bought this just to see how badly they butchered Mydei.

“No! Noooo… I really would never…” You brush off, tearing your gaze away from him. “It's not like I'd want you to chase me down like an animal and have your way with me or anything.”

It is like you'd like him to hunt you as his prey.

He calls your name. You fall still.

“Did you buy this book to read about your fantasies with me?” He stands from his chair, and you freak out internally.

“No... I bought it ‘cause it was funny,” At least that part was true.

“I don't believe you. You realize you can just talk to me–”

You clear your throat, then stand up quickly. It's clear this is starting to turn into a serious conversation, the way his words slow and his tone deepens. Just as you turn on your heels though, he grabs your wrist. He knows you all too well. His grip is something you can easily slip from, as to not hurt you.

“– As I was saying. You can just talk to me about any fanta–”

You clear your throat again.

“– sies or things you'd like to try. As long as it doesn't hurt–”

You clear your throat again, and pull your hand free of his grip. He doesn't chase after it, at least, not with his hands. You take one step, and he is behind you, crossing his arms and looking down at you. You really, really, don't want to look back.

“Will you let me finish? Or are you going to keep acting so childish?”

Yeesh. You'd rather not have to deal with a lecture, but now you're being scolded, too. He is right, however. You understand you're being childish. And while nothing has ever made you feel the need to be embarrassed around Mydei, there was a fantasy of yours that you were too ashamed to talk about. You don't know why, you were sure there were a million other things that were more debauched. And it wasn't like you thought he'd find it disgusting… you think. There was just an odd shame attached to the thought.

Taking notice of the way you relax, he steps back, giving you time to make a quick remark. When you don't, he continues,

“As long as it doesn't hurt you, I am willing to try,” He finally finishes, his own form relaxing. “You shouldn't have to read books about me in… those ways… just to live out a certain fantasy.”

“I swear that I did not get the book for that reason,” You defend yourself, still unable to meet his gaze as you turn around. “It has nothing to do with it... Okay, it sorta has something to do with it. But not in the way you think.”

“Care to tell me?” He raises an eyebrow.

“It’s really embarrassing…”

“Have I done something to make you feel that way about anything?” He takes a step closer to you, voice softening.

“... No…”

A silence falls between you two, as you shrink away from his gaze. He raises an eyebrow once more, and just as he decides to give it up–

“Please don’t make me explain predator and prey to you…”

He lets out a huff of laughter, uncrossing his arms. “That’s what you find embarrassing?” He doesn’t give you time to answer, placing a hand on your shoulder and staring down at you. “Why would I have any qualms with a desire like that?”

The way he looks down at you, piercing eyes heavy lidded, as he crowds you, sends a bolt straight to your core. It honestly catches you off guard. The corner of his lip twitches upwards, gracing you with a scorching smirk that makes your head spin.

For once, Mydei allows himself to indulge in your stupor. He reaches up and cups your cheek, running his thumb over your bottom lip. That in of itself chases away all your words. You’re too stunned to speak, and find yourself chasing after his hand. He hums in response, his smirk blossoming into a smile. His hand falls from your cheek, down to your neck, wrapping his fingers around your throat, pressing the heel of his palm against the column of your neck. He doesn’t restrict your breathing, but the action causes you to whine. A sound that pleases Mydei even more.

You are, in essence, trapped. Even with the amount of space behind you, Mydei’s presence and the way he’s caging you in makes you feel trapped. A wonderful feeling that mingles with a hint of fear, which makes you feel lightheaded. Every single nerve of yours is alight with something close enough to adrenaline, your pulse jumping and skipping beneath his fingers.

“This…” He purrs, leaning closer, closer, even closer… “... is all it takes?”

With a proud smile, he lets go, leaving you momentarily dazed.

“In due time, my love,” He chuckles, clearly taking pleasure from leaving you on the edge. “I’d quite like to indulge in your fantasy. However, this room is not the place for such things. Let me find somewhere more fitting, then we can have our fun.”

You answer him with a feverish nod, watching as he takes his seat back down on the chair. You take notice of the way he readjusts his pants, but make no attempt to point it out. You look away sheepishly, fidgeting with your hands.

“At the very least, please throw away that book,” He breaks the silence, looking over at the book, still in your hands.

“No way! It’s gold, and also, that’s wasteful,” You huff, finally coming back to your senses.

“Please. I’ll get you something better. I’ll get you actual literature.”

“This is literature! It’s art, actually!”

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Mydei had chosen the Strife Ruins of Castrum Kremnos for your little… escapade. With Nikador gone, the danger there was waning. Not only that, but the gods would not be looking down on such debauched acts, either. There had still been titankin roaming around the area, but he made quick work of them the day before, not wanting to exert himself too hard the day of, nor risk getting you into any danger.

You had never seen Castrum Kremnos, not even its ruins. What you didn’t expect was the way into your ‘hunting ground’ being a massive chain raised high above the ground. As such, you ended up clinging to Mydei’s bicep, shaking your head fervently.

“You’re more than fine with me hunting you down, but you’re afraid of heights?” He scoffs, looking down at you as you wrap your arms around his, pressing further into him.

“One is something very exciting–” You huff, turning your head up so you wouldn’t look down. “The other could very well lead to death. Scratch that– will. I’m not immortal, Mydei.”

He responds with a hmph, wrenching his arm from your grip, before leaning down and scooping you up into his arms. You are quick to curl up in them, hiding your face in his neck as he starts to walk. You do your best not to think about the drop beneath you. Mydei’s steps are steady at least, and even if he had teased you earlier, he held you close. Unfortunately, it did little to abate your fear of the drop. The chain does not creak beneath you, the only sound within the ruins is the wind– which only serves to remind you with the height–, and the lightning.

A minute feels like five, and by the time you two reach solid ground (that isn’t raised several thousand feet above ground, or at the very least, has proper supports beneath it), your knees are weak. When you look behind you, a staircase leads down to the swaying chains that you were just on. The room was quite nice, more well kept than the rest of the ruins you’ve seen.

“This is where you’ll start,” Mydei places his hand on your head while you catch your breath, trying to still the shaking in your legs. He runs his fingers through your hair, either to calm you or–

You whine. You didn’t mean to, but it escapes your lips nonetheless. Not because of the fading fear, no, the way that Mydei’s hand pets you feel oddly… small…? Well, yes, you were, compared to him. But you feel smaller. Like you could be easily overpowered by him. Which, he also could. He was toying with you. Waiting for you to calm down so you could run. He stared down at you with a beastly glint in his eye, as he shifted on his feet impatiently.

He preens at this noise that escapes you, but doesn’t do much else. He waits for you to make your decision, crossing his arms and tapping his fingers along his muscles. He was too calm. You stare for a second longer, and notice how his breath shook, and chest expanded with each breath of air. He was eager.

You won’t deny him any longer. Despite your shaky legs, and the rapid thumping of your heart, you start. As the mechanism for the door spins and unlocks, you look back at Mydei. He smiles. You run.

A heat that is almost foreign to you wracks your body. It clings to the muscle beneath your skin, a mix of adrenaline and something more; arousal. You can already feel the heat gathered between your legs, and you haven’t even started the proper chase yet.

The first room you end up in is a total nothing-burger, empty, with no place to hide. You turn to the hallway at the left, met with a staircase that leads to a bigger room. The ruins opened up above you, the dull light of the evernight shining down on you. A chill washes over you, before you continue up the staircase. It’s messy– of course it is, these ruins have been untended for far too long. Next to you lay a pile of rubble that descended from the floor above you, knocked over crates littering the corners with mechanisms. In front of you is a statue of what you assume to be Nikador.

When you step forward and look down the floor beneath you almost seems pristine, save for one or two stone pillars that were shattered. You step away, not wanting to accidentally slip and fall. Opposite of the rubble beside you, there is a door that is just a couple steps away. But, to you, that feels too easy. With a huff, you scramble onto the pile of stone, hopping over to the other side. Taking a couple more steps, you look down a rather tall hallway, which led to… nothing it seemed. Next to you, however, were two stairways. You choose the right stairway instead, the one with a narrow passage through the rubble seeming more promising, as you believed it led up higher.

As you ascend, you realize how quiet it is. You are alone. Possibly. Perhaps Mydei had chosen to forego the head start he told you he’d give you. After all, why should a predator be fair to his prey? That thought alone tears a low ‘haah’ from your throat, making the seat of your underwear wet. You pick up your pace, climbing up to the stairs faster.

You scramble once you reach the top, looking for some place to hide. Your earlier thought does little to quell the sudden fear of being watched. Even with the empty ruins, and the titankin dead, there is a lingering feeling, something in the back of your mind tells you that this silence is unnatural. Could Nikador possibly still be here? Or was it Mydei? You didn’t know, but the idea made your skin prickle. You end up hiding behind a pillar and some rubble, peering over the rock, watching the door you came from diligently.

You were right. Mydei emerged from the entrance shortly after you took up your position. His footsteps echo throughout the ruins, accompanied by the faint chimes of his jewelry. He was naked. You bite back a shudder as you ogle him from so far away, sinking further down as you do your best to stay calm. Even with how far he is from you, you can still see the vague ridges and lines of his body, accentuated by the evernight. He had left his necklace and armband on, yet had shed the rest of his clothes. You can’t help but wonder why, perhaps he was too impatient? You couldn’t fault him for that, considering how quickly you started to run.

You don’t get to think about it any longer. He begins to look around, and you duck completely behind the pillar and rubble to conceal yourself, curling up against it. You place a hand over your mouth to shut yourself up, just in case you were to shudder or whine. You can hear his footsteps, bare against the tile. By the sound of it, it seems he chooses not to take the route you did, as you hear his steps get fainter, quieter. You peek out just a little, to see where he’s going. He doesn’t go through the door, instead walking through a small path of rubble, towards a different door, almost parallel to the other one. He pauses for a moment, his movements quickly slow, and you duck back away.

It’s so quiet. You tremble a little, closing your eyes. You can hear his breath echo in the space, which soon turns into a grunt of irritation, or anticipation. It’s hard to tell. Then, he continues walking. You push yourself further against the rubble, as if there was a chance he truly could find you there. He keeps walking, walking, walking… you can hear him beneath you as he went further into the ruins, and it terrifies you. Your breath hitches and you press your legs together, either to keep trying to make yourself invisible or ward off the heat between your legs.

His footsteps continue beneath you. However, they start to fade once more, slowly, slowly, before disappearing all-together. You wait for another minute, curled up tight, until you are sure he’s really gone. Not a single sound rings out in the ruins as you do.

Slowly, you stretch out your legs, peeking out from behind the pillar and looking around. No sign of him below. You look across from you to the other floor and see nothing. Slowly, you stand up. Your legs shake, either from how hard you had just scared yourself, or adrenaline. Most likely both. With one more sweep across what you could see, you confirm he has left the room. Carefully, you make your way to the stairs, doing your best to stay silent. Your own footsteps echo all around you, even as you try to tip-toe your way down. You keep your hand latched over your mouth to muffle the sounds of your breathing.

You trace back what path you assumed he had taken, following the side of the stairs and rounding a corner. There had been a doorway just underneath the platform you were hiding on, which you hadn’t noticed. You step closer, heart beating faster. He must’ve taken this way down. Slowly, you lean forward, swaying gently, trying to see if he was simply hiding behind a corner.

Above you, you hear a ‘hmph’. Fear shoots up your spine and wracks your nerves, as you jerk your head up.

Mydei stands proud, staring down at you with a smirk. His arms crossed, as if he’s waiting for you to do something. Your stomach flip-flops as you stare up for another moment, before you finally choose to run. The minute you so much as flinch, you hear him turn around towards the stairway and run. This makes you yelp, his footsteps much heavier and faster. Fast. Titans, he’s fast. Faster than you.

Your legs burn as you muster all your strength to run. You make a dash for the door you saw earlier, and it opens just barely, causing you to hit your shoulder on the way out. You wince and cry out, but you don’t stop. You can hear his footsteps falter behind you at this, but soon pick up all too quickly.

Looking to your left, there is a rather large door that seems all too heavy to open, especially with this man so close behind. As you make your decision to run to the right, he lunges for you. As his arms reach out to catch you, you duck, and push with all your might, scrambling, but ultimately dodging him. It burns. You let out a sharp breath, barely pushing yourself up the stairs. You can hear him grunt behind you, clearly dissatisfied. You stumble for a second, the heat in your core throwing you off as you hear his borderline beastly breathing, but you don’t dwell on it, scrambling left and running up another set of stairs, and another. Unfamiliar with your surroundings, you have unintentionally cornered yourself. Only Mydeimos knows this. He is quite pleased with the route you’ve taken. You keep running further and further, the light from the moonlight above getting dimmer and dimmer as your legs begin to shake more and more, there's no chance anymore if he gets close again. You can only hear the sound of your own heartbeat and breathing as you step closer to whatever fate you've paved for yourself. And now, you realize you can no longer even hear him, not his footsteps, his breathing, not a single thing. The way you run so frantically only makes him harder, the head of his cock flushed a deep red, a pearl of precum forming, then clinging to his skin and dribbling down his shaft. He knows this hunt will be over soon enough. His breathing only gets heavier, a slight rasp in the back of his throat as he watches you. It has been far too long since he’s been this excited, desperate even.

With your heart pounding loudly in your ears, the only sound that rivals it now is your harsh breathing. You didn’t take notice of the way Mydei had slowed to a walk behind you and kept running. There was no time to think about the circular platform with the most redundant stairs you’ve seen, ones that circle around the platform and down, instead of leading straight down into the floor beneath it. You almost throw yourself off of the platform. You quickly duck, feeling as if Mydei would catch you, pushing yourself to the set of stairs. Taking two steps at a time, your mind finally catches up to where you are.

In front of you, a bridge to what is most likely the arena spans before you. The air is only slightly warm, as the air blows past, the heat rising from the magma beneath you, also flowing through the Kremnoan crest at the head of the stands. There’s not much more to think about, only one word following up as you begin to move. Run. You must run.

You continue on, despite the pain blossoming beneath your arm, the searing warmth tearing at your muscles, or even the way each breath feels as if you are drawing in ash into your lungs. You find yourself in the middle of the grand arena, the flames in the braziers still burning bright, the stands towering up behind them. You take another left, towards another heavy looking door. It doesn’t matter to you at this point, your body and mind both tell you to get away.

You scramble over the rock and rubble, pushing into the door to open it. The door clatters, but doesn’t budge. You push again and all it results in is a clank of the door hitting what you assume is rubble behind it. You whine as you try one more time, to no avail.

Behind you, a deep laugh rings out. You spin around quickly, met with your one and only. The faint light of the evernight, paired with the glow of the magma and fire casts a near ethereal glow on his figure. He opens his arm, a devilish smile gracing his lips as he walks towards you, his hair swaying with the wind, normally so kept, now disheveled, messy. The fear goes straight to your core, as you let out a wanton whimper and push against the door with desperation, even if you understood it wouldn’t open.

Mydei closes in, slowly. You take notice of the way his tattoos glow, something that makes you press your legs together. Closer, closer, closer he comes, and you find yourself frozen. All that running took so much out of you. You press against the door and crumple, a pitiful whimper escaping you and carrying across the wind. You watch as his cock twitches, each step closer making him seem more feral. He loved seeing you this way, loved the way you trembled, and most of all, adored the little whine that escaped your lips.

No longer able to take the suspense he was creating, he rushes up to you. You’re not even capable of registering what’s going on, before he scoops you up and throws you over his shoulder. You gasp as he begins to haul you back to the center of the arena, but you’re so tired that you can’t even feign an attempt at escape. The most you can do is mewl.

You give up, pliant in his arms. Eventually, he sets you down in the middle of the arena. The ground is cold, despite the lava flowing beneath the platform. He hovers over you for just a moment as if taking in his catch. Then, he hooks his thighs under your knees, locking your legs against his, propping himself up with his hands by your shoulders. He’s warm. So warm. It’s nice, if not dizzying.

He wastes no time, tugging the hem of your shirt up impatiently. He only seems to get warmer as your shirt is thrown off, discarded somewhere amidst the decorated arena. Just as eagerly, he pulls at your pants. Given the position, it’s a bit awkward, yet he struggles to pull back enough to pull them off. You do your best to wiggle your pants and underwear off as he pulls away, the minute the cloth drops, he’s back between your legs.

His cock slots between your pussy lips, causing you to let out a wanton moan. You are already so wet that it’s pathetic, it makes it easier for him to slowly drag his cock against your folds. He shudders above you, eyebrows knit together as his moan turns into a growl. His precum smears against your pussy, tip notching on your clit.

Leaning down, his lip meets yours, giving you no movement to protest as he cages you in with his body, and his lips. His tongue pushes past your lips when you moan, licking into your mouth lewdly. Your tongue presses against his, but doesn’t fight it, allowing him to have his way. He takes and takes, until you are a second short of gasping for air. He pulls back with a pant, a string of spittle keeping the two of you connected for just a moment, before it breaks, dribbling down your chin. You shouldn’t waste this, he decides, so he leans down and licks up from your chin, to your lips, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the corner of your lips.

You mewl and write beneath him, but in truth, his kiss warms you. You find yourself seeking out his warmth. He rewards you with grinding his cock against your pussy once more, making you moan into his ear. He can’t stand it anymore. His prey is so pretty beneath him, pathetic and tuckered out and in desperate need of satiation. He is hungry.

He pulls away further from you, causing you to whine in turn. He pulls his hips back as well, but doesn’t leave you yet. Instead, he pushes the tip of his cock into your heat. Your whine turns into a hot moan, head falling back against the stone floor.

Mydei’s big. A man of his stature is bound to be packing. You’ve gotten used to it, over time. Still, it’s a stretch. He pushes another inch in you and you arch your back, reaching up, your hands find purchase in his shoulders. You dig your nails into his skin, causing him to grunt and begin to rut into you, bullying his cock further into you. Pinned beneath him, his strong legs and arms caging you in, all you can find the strength to do is moan.

He leans back down, sinking his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. Your cunt clamps around his cock and he groans, but does not let go of your flesh. It burns. It's a sharp pain that settles beneath your muscle and makes you feel dizzy. You lean your head against his and moan directly into his ear, toes curling and nails pushing even deeper into his skin as he finally hilts himself inside you.

He stops there for a moment, breathing– panting, chest heaving like just the act of shoving his cock into your cunt took so much out of him. His tattoos cast a warm, faint glow onto your body. You take it in, a rich, almost obscene beauty. He wasn’t exhausted, far from it. So perhaps he, too, had stopped to appreciate the view…?

Just as you look up to gauge his reaction, you feel a sudden burst of energy. As he pulls away from the bite, that little voice in the back of your head starts telling you to run once more, and adrenaline shoots through your veins. You writhe underneath him, hand pushing at his shoulders frantically. He growls, and instead, you start to push at his face. When his teeth part from your skin, you feel a brief moment of freedom. With a gasp of exhilaration, you feel his legs let up. You push away, pulling your knees into your chest and pushing at his side with the ball of your heel.

Mydei has had enough. With a growl, he grabs your thighs, now resting on his knees. He pushes them up, practically bending you in half. You whimper as his hands trail up to your knee, thumb pressing into the sensitive skin. With this, his cock drives deeper into you, stealing your breath away, causing you to gasp and finally, yield beneath him.

It seems he’s feeling merciful– or perhaps the opposite, you can’t tell which–, because he stops. Completely. He stares down at you, his golden gaze only serving to stoke the flame that began beneath your stomach. You meet his gaze, and feel smaller. You shrink away (or, as much as you can in that position), before looking anywhere but his face. Your eyes land on the sight between your legs, his cock buried within your pussy, an image of sweet– if not lewd– joining. The way his hips were pressed up against yours, the glow of his tattoos, and the fact that you could just barely see the base of his cock from between your legs.

Your body reacts before you can, heat clutching him, as if trying to suck him in impossibly further. You want to call his name, but all that escapes your lips is a breathy, low moan. Mydei pulls back teasingly slow, as if he was enjoying the feel of your walls, every groove and contour. This movement alone already had you panting, though, that could also be chalked up to your earlier struggle. Regardless, just before he pulls the tip out, his hips cant forward, as slowly as before.

You don’t get to complain, the man finally leaning down and pressing his lips against yours. Then, he begins to thrust, forcing you to open your mouth to moan. He takes what he wants then, lapping into your mouth fervently, drinking down every single one of your moans, gasps, and whines. He does this until you are one second short of breath, before finally tearing away. You both pant, breath mingling as he continues to fuck into you.

You close your eyes and use the back of your hand to cover your mouth, muffling your little breathy moans. You don’t get to for long though, because the minute he hears anything less than the desperate way you were moaning earlier, he reaches down and pulls your hand away by the wrist. When you try to cover your mouth with the other hand, he grunts, brings your legs up to his shoulders, grabs both wrists, and pins them down to the ground above you.

Your hands clench as you try to wrench them free, but his grip only tightens. You whine and huff, as his pace starts to pick up, pounding into you with much more force, as if he were just opening you up earlier. It’s hot. You feel so hot, dizzy, and wonderful. Each thrust pushes you further and further away from lucidity. You give up on trying to pull your hands free, instead, you keen as the tip of his cock bullies your g-spot, over and over again.

Perhaps it is the position, or your previous exertion, your body is so tired yet so pliant, but you feel the flame beneath your stomach burn incessantly warmer. Your breathing comes out much more ragged as you pant, biting your lip and trying so desperately to will your orgasm away. Mydei doesn’t let you, of course. So well attuned to your body, he understood that the moment your pussy had squeezed him so tightly, as if to keep him there, that you were so damn close. At this, he drives into you just a tad bit faster, which, in turn, makes it achingly hard to hold back. You roll your head back once more, eyes shut tight as your toes curl and you arch your back. His hands find yours just at your peak, the tight little knot finally snapping as euphoria washes over you.

Your thighs twitch and tense, stomach fluttering with your breathing as you let yourself go around Mydei’s cock. Your head feels hazy, a tingling sensation wracks your body. You don’t get time to relish in the feeling, the constant rutting of Mydei’s dick against your core quickly brings you back down, causing you to wriggle underneath him once more. He squeezes your wrists, and you fall still, but that doesn’t stop the way your own hips start to grind. The movement isn’t necessarily the greatest given the way he was holding you. But, it makes him groan above you all the same.

He doesn’t let up. His thrusts only get more forceful, his breathing heavy and labored. His fingers flex, nails digging into your knuckles. You squeeze back out of instinct, something to help ground you– which, in this case, it did fuck all, considering he was doing his absolute best to fuck you dumb; and, it was working.

Despite his increased fervor and desperate pace, he still seemed to enjoy taking his sweet time torturing you. He leans down once more, hot breath fanning over your skin. You feel goosebumps prickle up at the contact, before his tongue laps over his previous mark. A strained ‘haah..’ leaves your mouth, earning you what you assumed to be a chuckle in return.

Your head swims as he continues his feverish pace, and it is not long before he manages to pull another orgasm from you. Your heat clutches around him as you keen, and he presses open-mouthed kisses to your neck as he continues to rut into you through your orgasm. The hazy, heavenly feeling that washed over you was given an edge, a strong hand bringing you straight back down from the clouds of euphoria. Every thrust doesn’t hurt, at least, not yet, but your legs and bottom start to feel numb.

Mydei knew he had tired you out, long before he had even caught you. Even with that measly burst of energy you had shown him earlier, he understood that you had expended most, if not, all of your energy. Given the fact that you were already two orgasms in as well, you must be overstimulated.

With great effort (and restraint), Mydei pulls out. You only register this when he lets go of your hands, but before you can mewl or whimper, he grabs your hips, flipping you over. Taken by surprise, you land on your forearms and knees rather harshly. You don’t get a chance to protest– not that you could, words had left you long ago–, before he pushes his cock back inside your cunt. It makes you gasp, inadvertently pushing back and grinding against him. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip, nails leaving little crescent-shaped dimples in the skin. His other arm props himself up by your head.

He holds still for a moment, savoring the way you still clamp around him, even with how exhausted you are. Overstimulated and still wanting… oh how lovely you were for him. He rewards you with a low moan, the effect that you have on him makes his own head swim. If this were any other circumstance, he’d believe he was pathetic for how quickly he wanted to come in this position.

Doing his best to gather himself, he starts to thrust again, his breathy groans turning into grunts as he starts to chase his own high. He leans back down, his body shadowing over you, reminding you of just how weak you are. You tremble as he leans his head down, suppressing a whine as he begins to lick at the skin on the back of your neck. You, unable to hold back the sound bubbling in your throat, let out a strangled moan. The warmth of his tongue and the agonizing closeness of his teeth paired with the growing numbness crawling up through your legs makes you want to break.

Mydei does before you, teeth sinking into your neck as his breathing becomes rapid. The warmth that floods your cunt feels almost unbearable in a sinful way. You want to push up against him and milk him for what he’s worth, at the same time you just want to collapse and let him have his way. You are so exhausted, yet so insatiable. You got what you wanted, right? You were chased, caught, fucked, and filled. And you’ve never felt better. Your thoughts are barely coherent, the most lucid string of words you can form in your head is that you're good. Once he’s spent, his mouth leaves your skin. But he doesn’t stop entirely.

His thrusts start to become more sloppy, hand falling from your hip to join his other one up by your head. You kept your ass up and pressed against him obediently, even as your thighs shook. You felt caged. Trapped. You were trapped. You were his prey and you were properly caught. His strong arms above you, his body above you. It made you impossibly hot, causing you to squeeze his cock. Above you, he groans, before his hips stop.

You don't ask why, prey shouldn't ask why.You don’t need to, either. Predators shouldn't toy with their prey. His hips are flush against your ass, chest heaving, jewelry dangling just within hands reach. But he isn't done, no, Mydeimos is never done. He hasn't had his fill.

His hot breath ghosts across the back of your neck. You bite your lip, a new wave of fear and danger washing over you. Every nerve screams at you to pull away, run, but you don't. You're good. You're good prey. After all, you've been caught.

His teeth meet your flesh once more, this time sinking deeper, making sure that mark on the back of your neck stays fresh. It feels as if the skin is about to break, his breath and saliva seeping onto your heated flesh. You shiver, and whine, pressing your ass further against him. He doesn't move. He stays there for a while, staking his claim. Your stomach flutters with every harsh breath you take, cunt clamping around him in turn.

You whine again, fingers digging into the cold ground beneath you. Only then does he pull away. You feel your skin stick to his teeth for a moment, little lines of spittle connecting his teeth to your warm flesh as he pulls away. The air quickly cools his saliva over, causing another shiver to wrack your body.

There is no time to think about this bite, he allows you no time. With sharp, harsh, half-thrusts, he begins fucking back into you. He barely pulls his cock out a centimeter and he's rutting back into you, every pass earning a grunt from him. You can see the veins in his arms tense with every thrust, his fingers flexing with every moan. The sound of his necklace jangling with every push.

Within the empty ruins, the obscene harmony of skin against skin echoes through the bones of what once was. Each thrust has you retreating into your hands, pushing your face further into the ground. Mydei does not help keep you up this time. When your legs give out, thighs painted with dried arousal and cum, his previous release dripping slowly from your folds, to your clit, onto the stone floor, he only fucks back into you.

Body pressed flat against the floor, he adjusts himself so he's holding himself up by his forearms, strong arms blocking out the little light that remained in the ruins. His chest now pressed flush against your back, you can feel every ridge, every muscle, and how they tense and twitch as he continues to drive into you. His grunts turn into half-moans, and he finally, finally looks down at you.

His mouth is agape, drool lining the bottom of his lip, like he was just as hungry as you were. His eyebrows knit together, eyes holding a ferocity you have not even seen in battle. It makes you whimper. He smiles. It is a predatory grin, one that shows off his teeth, a clear sign of intimation. It works. You shrink further into the safety of your hands (and his arms), panting heavily, looking up at him and batting your teary lashes, as if to beg him for mercy.

The mercy you get is not from him. Your body, under the pressure it's been subjected to, refuses to give you warning signs anymore. Your toes curl and your belly tenses as you arch your back, coming weakly on his cock. You whine and mewl, closing your eyes and craning your neck. The sight of your throat beared to Mydei is pure torture for him. From this angle, he cannot reach it. It causes him to jerk his hips, pushing impossibly further into you.

You pant heavily, laying your head on your arms. You whine pathetically and shudder under his gaze. Unfortunately, this Mydeimos isn't feeling as tender as he normally would. He hasn't had his fill. And you, you are so good, you will allow him to take what he wants. Until he was sated.

With a particularly hard thrust, Mydei jostles your body, causing you to pull away from your hands. His eyes meet yours, holding your gaze as he drives into you. You can’t help the pathetic little moans that fall from your lips, accompanied by the desperate groans that come from Mydei’s throat as he chases his high once more.

He, too, seems to have lost all coherent thought. His barely restrained hesitance from earlier washes away, replaced by an almost reckless need to finish. It’s almost primal, and if he were in his right mind, he’d be embarrassed with how easily he fell into that ‘predator’ mindset. But, he isn’t, and as of now, he holds no shame as he ruts into you like an animal, head heavy as he soaks in all the little pathetic noises you make underneath him. The way your cunt clamps around him, overstimulated but oh so desperate, it’s enough to make him cum embarrassingly early. A lucid part of his mind wants so badly to lean in and kiss you and lick into your mouth and take all he wants as he crests, but instead, he pushes himself back up, once more caging you in with your arms, but leaving you with space between your bodies.

You whimper, already missing that closeness– so close, so goddamn close, his entire weight keeping you down–, but his mind barely registers this. His ears fill with static (or perhaps, he is willingly ignoring all your little pleas), and he finds coherency and perhaps even humanity slipping away from him. All that remains in his mind is the need to orgasm. He looks down, and– ah, the sight of the mark that brandishes your skin, where he sank his teeth, goes straight to his balls. His thrusts stumble once more, the most pathetic sound you have ever heard from him spilling from his lips. It means you’re his, all his, only his. His, his, his. Perhaps he, too, would like you to mark him in the same way.

A thought that is quickly chased away. He hasn’t even noticed that he’s managed to pull a fourth orgasm from you by now. No, he is close. So goddamn close. Every thrust of his is like sparks, filling you with a sharp, but heady pleasure, bordering on pain. You feel your mind blank as he pushes his hips flush against your ass, a strangled grunt filling the air. Barely moments later you feel warmth flood your pussy once more. You can feel his thighs tremble slightly as he cums, hips jerking weakly with every wave.

Once Mydei was finished, he practically collapses on top of you. His warmth was missed. His chest heaves as his arms wrap around you, scaring away the chill of the stone floor seeping into your skin. He nuzzles into your neck, lapping at the skin as… an apology, maybe? You can’t quite tell, your own mind is a jumbled mess.

He pulls out slowly, the drag of his cock against your walls making your own thighs shake for a second, mewling softly. You can feel his release ooze out of you a moment later, a strange sense of fulfillment and contentment washing over you as you find yourself basking in the aftermath. Both of you sated and tired, now absorbing the deafening silence of the ruins.

Mydei only pulls you closer, huffing against your skin. He doesn’t pull back for a long time. His weight grounds you, allowing you to collect yourself, even in your debauched state. Even as his breathing evens out, he doesn’t pull away, eyes closing as his hands smooth down your arms, and you can feel a smile grace his lips. Only then does he pull away, looking down at you with a soft smile and blush; a rare sight that causes warmth to bloom in your chest.

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

The water in the baths is quite soothing for your muscles, now aching and protesting against the… ‘physical activity’ you two had gotten up to just barely an hour before. Mydei sat next to you, arm wrapped around your shoulders. He leans back, staring down at you as you soak, eyes closed. His gaze breaks from the back of your head every now and then, trailing down to the mark he had left you. He does his best not to reach out and trace it, worrying that it might be tender. You moved so stiffly when you two came back, and now he can’t help but feel a bit of remorse. But you were quite happy.

“Hmm,” He hums above you, instead choosing to place his hand on your shoulder and squeeze lightly.

You open your eyes and look up at him, leaning further into his touch. His eyes meet yours, incredibly soft. Despite the man that took you so thoroughly earlier, his kindness does not escape you. You’ve always quite enjoyed this side of him, even if he was still stubborn. Reaching up, you cup his cheek, and he leans down obediently. Your lips meet his, the kiss is sickeningly sweet and tender. His lips are still slightly chapped, yet oh so warm. This warmth travels through you once more, making you feel dizzy. You can only pull back with a giggle, but he follows your lips to steal one more fleeting kiss.

Satisfied that he’s stolen a couple kisses and reassured himself that you were okay, the stands up from the bath with a grunt. You watch him walk away, making his way to the kitchen. But, he stops just before he disappears from your view, before he sighs heavily.

“I thought I asked you to throw this away,” He crosses his arms and comes back into view, holding up a book. That book.

“Awh, c’mon, I told you it’s art,” You shrug, trying to brush it off. Like hell you were going to throw it away.

“It is not. It’s abhorrent, really. I’m going to throw it away for you.” With that, he turned on his heels. You fluster, before pushing yourself up and out of the bath and scrambling towards him, not caring about the wet trail you leave.

You wrap your arms around his back, understanding you won’t be able to pry the book from his hands, but you could at least slow him down.

“Enough. You really shouldn’t be attached to this book. I’m right here.” He grunts, but makes no effort to shrug you off.

“You are. But the book is kinda good now that I think about it,” It really, really isn’t. But, to you, it was still funny. “You and the male lead have so much in common–”

“– No. We do not.” He growls, looking back at you.

“Well when I think about what we did…”

“That’s because you asked for it. I was simply indulging in your desires.”

“But… you were rough–”

“– Were. I am not rough normally, you know this,” He finally pushes you off.

“Okay, you’re right,” You sigh dramatically and step back, crossing your arms like a petulant child. “When it comes down to it though, you were kinda like how you were in the book.”

“It is not me in this book.”

“Right. What I mean is you were kinda like Frydei–”

“I am not. You told me what you wanted and I followed through, did I not?”

You deflate a little, finally accepting the book's fate. It was only a matter of time, truly. Plus, it's not like you couldn’t just read it online. Not that you were reading it for fun. To have the book physically, though… Well, it made you happy. Not because of the contents, but the fact that it made Mydei squirm made you laugh. You loved him, yes, but sometimes it was entertaining.

Now, however, he stands before you, grabbing the book by both sides. You cringe as he rips the book in half. No book�� even one as awful as that– should suffer such a fate.

“Now,” He huffs, making his way out of the bedroom. “I’m going to buy you something actually worth reading.”

“Ah! But–” You finally snap out of your daze, following after him.

“Not ‘but’s. Seems I need to show you what true literature is. Or, as you called it, art.”

#⁺◟aeragan #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr smut #honkai star rail smut #hsr x gn reader #honkai star rail x gn reader #mydei x reader #mydeimos x reader #mydei x gn reader #mydeimos x gn reader #mydei smut #mydei x you #mydeimos x you #mydeimos smut

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rorygilmoresbisexuallighting · 2 months ago

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The Daddy's Little Toy author situation just goes to show how anti ideology has hurt people. Like an author is in jail for fiction fucking fiction! From what I know the author is placed in prison or is being held in jail awaiting sentencing currently. For from what I'm gathering a completely fictional story. You don't have to like what she's writing to think that people shouldn't go to jail over fiction. That the thing. Also who the hell gets to decide what is and isn't simply vent or awareness spreading and what is and isn't titillating. Also many trauma survivors create vent art that may sexualize their trauma but it's still vent art. I understand Australia's free speech laws are different than America's but this is the same country that's forcing people to upload their ID to access any social media site essentially. You don't have to like the story to essentially say "you shouldn't go to jail for that". Fiction is not and never will be equivalent to actual CSAM. And supporting obscenity laws will never be for the benefit of the public. And it's harmful to equate real CSAM with fucking fiction. You cannot be anti-censorship for fiction and then draw the line at things you don't like . Like imagine if your horny Sebaciel fanart put you in JAIL under CSAM charges. With the same cell as real people who actually exploited real children or wanted to look for and use real exploited children. "Stop imposing your American views on everything!". How is it imposing my American views to say that free speech should be a right for everyone not just people on America and that thought crime isn't real and shouldn't be normalized. Studies don't show a causal link between consuming dark romance media and actually committing abusive acts or consuming fictional depictions of CSA and actually harming people if anything artistic expression can get out some pent up frustration. People with intrusive thoughts may have intrusive sexual thoughts about inappropriate things and write them down what if those are found and it's considered CSAM even if it's fiction? Like thought crime as a concept should not be normalized. Fiction is fiction. I've only seen the snipbits going around social media. But like I hated it thought it was gross so I refused to listen to it anymore and went about my day. No one should go to jail over fiction yes even if that fiction has problematic themes. For example I am. Trans person I don't think anyone should go to jail for writing a transphobic book. I might hate the author but I won't advocate for their arrest and imprisonment. Like I've seen and stumbled upon much horny Sebaciel fanart and I don't think any of those artists should go to jail or be on a register with people who've actually exploited or aides in the exploitation of REAL CHILDREN. Obscenity laws are bad things and we shouldn't normalize them. From what I've heard the book doesn't even talk about sexual contact between an adult and minor it mentions the audit man listing I've the character when they were a minor but many non-banned dark romance books have that and the writers aren't jailed. Obscenity laws are bad. No one should be in jail over fiction.

#free speech #anti censorship #sebaciel #profiction #profic #profic safe #antis dni #fandomless post #obscenity laws are bad

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roguerambles · 8 months ago

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I understand the disappointment, I really do, but I think people might be blowing the whole world state thing a bit out of proportion. "This is SPITTING IN THE FACE of long-time fans" no it's not Steve, calm down.

The series has always had to compromise when it comes to the state of the world because so many of the choices (especially from the end of Origins) were so wildly different that trying to build a sequel from so many conflicting factors would be more or less impossible. It's why we've never seen the Architect again, because him being alive or dead has HUGE ripple effects that are damn near impossible to write around.

Heck, it was entirely possible for Anders to die at the end of Awakening, but the writers wrote around it by saying "oh no he actually faked his death" even though logically that made very little sense because at that point he'd have absolutely no reason to do that? But Anders was in the sequel so that had to come up with something.

Basically nothing from Dragon Age 2 was important in Inquisition - Hawke siding with Mages or Templars made no difference, Anders being alive or dead made no difference, whether Carver or Bethany were dead or Wardens or whatever made no difference. We got some flavour text and that was literally it, everything else played out exactly the same.

Hell, the Temple of Sacred Ashes gets blown to bits at the beginning of Inquisition, rendering everything to do with that quest from Origins basically moot. And we've never gone back to Orzammar, and everything we have heard from it has been kept super vague, because depending on who the King is and if Branka is still alive things would look WILDLY different. Crafting a new story there would be borderline impossible because the dozen different possible world states make the foundation shaky at best.

It's why I highly doubt we'll be able to side with Solas and help him tear down the Veil because that would result in basically a whole new world being created. Imagine them trying to make Dragon Age 5 and being like "okay 50% sided with Solas and tore the Veil down and 50% kept the Veil intact....wtf now what do we do--?"

Again, I understand the disappointment, but I just hope once the dust has settled and people calm down a bit they'll see that, realistically, very little has changed. Your saves are still there, your experiences and enjoyment of the games and the characters and the story are still there, but they were always gonna have to draw the line SOMEWHERE.

And that's not to say none of our previous choices will come back - if we get another game, or a spin off or something they'll probably do what they're doing with the Inquisitor now. They're just taking what's relevant to the story they are trying to tell, and leaving what they aren’t going to use presently ambiguous.

#dragon age #dragon age the veilguard #I get the disappointment but I think some people need to take a deep breath and calm down #it's gonna be okay

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piosplayhouse · 1 month ago

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wait ok pio my beloved mutual pls explain nu carnival to someone whos never heard of it. like i have heard of it and ive read some gay ass smut about it thats not important dont worry about that. pls pretend im a beautiful nu virgin and present the basics. what do you actually Do in the game like what are the basic mechanics

Nu: Carnival is a game in which a kind and beautiful orphan boy named Eiden grows up to be a beautiful and kind freaky switch sex toy designer and then finds a jerk off crystal and gets isekai-ed into a fantasy land where gorgeous men around him keep going into qi deviation and need him to fuck them. The reason these guys' energy is out of whack is because they have gems attached to their bodies Steven universe style which soulbound them to Eiden's (at the beginning of the game absent and mysterious) dad 5 million bajillion years ago before the fantasy land became a kingdom. It's a wacky premise but in all seriousness the writing is spectacular, especially for a gooner gacha game. Nu: Carnival's greatest strength is undeniably the bonds between the characters who find themselves in Eiden's polycule. Eiden is a fantastically written character and it's easy to see why he deserves 11 boyfriends. The bonds between his polycule members are also great, you can tell that they all genuinely have chemistry with each other and aren't there just because of Eiden. They also all have individual motivations and tragic back stories that make it hard to dislike any character. The climatic (heheh) parts leading up to intimacy scenes are also included in this btw. The majority of them are pretty naturally written and convey a lot of emotion that further expands on the characters' multifaceted personalities. We're gooning but in a sensitive and contemplative way. There are dick sucking scenes in this game that have made me cry. Eiden also fucks himself at some point and that's also pretty hot.

The game itself sucks I cannot not recommend it enough it's horrible and will ruin your life. Worst fucking gacha in the world and gameplay itself is a constant slog of auto battling in a desperate effort to get mats to upgrade characters occasionally punctuated with sometimes fun but also mostly infuriating strategic battle strategy levels. The porn draws you in but you can't even goon while playing because you'll be too busy wanting to kill yourself over drop rates. Awesome theme songs though and there's a really beautiful animated cutscene for it. My kingdom for a full nu carnival ova

youtube

(actually the first theme song is my favorite. My friend and I were trying to find a place that had it on their karaoke machines but alas we could not 😞😞)

youtube

#nu carnival

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santsukii · 10 months ago

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ᯓ✿ say you love me

ˋ°•*⁀➷ anemo boys falling for you (alt angst version here)

ˋ°•*⁀➷ venti, xiao, kaedehara kazuha, shikanoin heizou, wanderer x gn! reader

₊˚ character story spoilers, this is more or less just an excuse to write the silly little scenarios in my head involving these boys, some more angsty than others but it’s like 90% fluff

it’s not as if venti were completely oblivious to his own emotions, he understands what’s going on when he notices his heart fluttering when you’re around. when you smiled at him, it was as if his heart were beating right out of his chest. his music so clearly and beautifully graced the air, drowning out his own whispered confession of love. if he were to say it loud enough for you ears to pick up, how would you look back at him? as if fate itself were turning its head and laughing at him for falling so helplessly in love with someone he only considered a friend until recently.

to all but the archon himself, such melancholy tunes played on his lyre while sitting on the hands of a statue made in his likeness were simply meaningless and carried little to no weight whatsoever. the sky was clear, allowing him to gaze ever so wistfully at the constellations in the night sky as he thinks of you. maybe he’d find yours, reaching up and tracing the connections of the brightly shining stars with his finger. he knows he’s nothing more than a god fallen from grace, and not even you knew of the gnosis that had been taken from him. venti’s heart ached at the idea that he may never be able to scream out his love for you due to his own doubts.

yet right now, in the dead of night, he could sing of the love residing deep within his ever-beating heart. with a final song to confess to the night sky, he sings and plays so softly that it’s difficult to hear. even with that, his voice is so soothing and comforting as he sings out the love that had plagued him for a long time now. as he finished his song, he noticed the smallest amount of tears dripping from his face as he finally let out the pent-up emotions. even if he presumed you were far away, he hopelessly hoped that his voice would reach you. your beautiful smile and laugh were etched in the archon’s heart, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

if xiao met the same fate as those he once held dear, he hoped he could at least let out his love for you. it brings him peace that he can protect you as the last yaksha of liyue. he often finds himself separate from society for their own sake, his karmic debt often drawing closer the demons he swore to kill. yet, you stayed close to him despite the immediate danger you often faced. sometimes, he would find the tears pricking at his golden eyes as he reminisces the life he wished he could have lived with you. it would have been a peaceful life full of happiness and love beyond compare, surrounded by his fellow yaksha.

even with that, the light of your smile never passed him by. silently watching over you from afar during the lantern rite, he was torn. xiao wanted nothing more than to join you in the crowd, but what if you got separated from him? would he have the courage to hold your hand? those doubts landed him sitting atop a building and watching from a distance, silently hoping you’d turn around and notice his affectionate observations. as hundreds of lanterns gently floated into the air, he found himself once again fighting the urge to join you in the crowd. it would only be a matter of time before the fireworks begun, maybe then he’d have the opportunity to stand beside you and welcome in a new year.

in the bitter cold of the night air as the first of the fireworks exploded into the inky dark sky, you saw him next to you. xiao smiled gently, not saying a word as the landscape was illuminated with the bright and lively colors of the fireworks. his hand in yours, welcoming a new year together with a kiss. the one thing that couldn’t be heard beneath the explosions of color that could outshine the brightest star was his voice, saying three words he never thought he’d say again. “i love you”

he had fallen for you without a care in the world, allowing it to grow as the days go by for no reason besides the idea that he has nothing to lose by falling for you. kazuha’s heart felt as if it were bursting with love and passion whenever he looked at you. it was a whirlwind type of romance, one in which both parties involved were constantly sharing knowing glances and giggles, overly affectionate with a passion that will surely burn itself out if given enough time.

but it didn’t. he never once doubted his love for you, in fact he was quite open about it. it was bound to make others jealous, the way he was constantly sending letters with gifts when he was away on various travels. whenever kazuha was away from you, he found himself missing you exponentially more as the days went by. oftentimes, he only wanted to return to the place he belonged, in your arms. he doesn’t really enjoy being all alone, so he’d take your hand and hold it ever so tightly. you’ve always been what guides him and gives him peace of mind. your smile was like a guiding star in the darkest of nights, always there to light the way despite the circumstances.

kazuha never truly “confessed”. his actions alone indicated his love for you, and he one day just began saying he loved you. it came so naturally to him that he could never overthink it, like a second nature. those three words flowed so naturally out of his mouth with that beautiful and soft voice of his, it just felt right. what began as simply a lighthearted summer romance had quickly grown into a love that would stand the rest of time, despite any struggles the two of you may face. if nothing else, you’d face it together.

heizou is a naturally flirty person, using that to his advantage to conceal his true feelings for you. being a detective, he was naturally able to read people, yet he could never truly understand what was going on behind those eyes of yours. really, it was such a nuisance to hold these feelings in. alas, it was a hinderance to his work. sometimes he wondered if you could hear his heart beating out of his chest whenever you were around, surely it wouldn’t take much to realize what’s going on here. he’d need for you to simply let him in and he’d be the happiest man in teyvat.

it really doesn’t take a detective to figure out he loved you, it was quite obvious really. how many words at minimum would it take for you to notice his love? even with heizou attempting to hide the feelings in his heart, the summer days spent with you made his feelings soar. sitting on the beach and watching the sunset together, he really couldn’t be happier. he knew he was helplessly in love with you, warmth creeping onto his face every time you smiled or laughed because of him.

so here he was, singing and dancing in the warm sand with you under the sun’s fading light. the crashing of the waves on the shore drowned out your voices, but he hadn’t a care in the world. with his hands in yours, your laugh as the both of you fell into the cool water, he couldn’t be happier. even if both your clothes were now wet, you didn’t care even one bit as his lips met yours.

ever since the day he met you, he feigned indifference and rudeness to hide his feelings for you. he was a perfect example of using his naturally intimidating demeanor to hide the love he held for you. a puppet made without a heart, you had given him all the more reason to continue living. the nameless wanderer was so into you that he couldn’t help but smile to himself after any interaction with you. of course, he wouldn’t be caught dead smiling over you. just like magic, he was immediately done in by you without your knowledge.

he wanted to hate you as much as he pretended he did, that much was true. even after he warmed up to your presence, he wanted to stop acting like his true self around you. he wished he could just shut you out again, yet he couldn’t stop wondering if you felt the same. he assumed you did, based solely off of your words and actions without even the slightest verbal proof. with every single touch of his puppet body, his heart beat out of his artificial chest. maybe he had known you in his past life, maybe his heart broke knowing you wouldn’t remember him.

yet, you seemed to love him in every iteration of his life. he knew it all along, he said as he held your hands and forced himself to confess. the more he tried to fill the metaphorical gap between you, the more he unintentionally forced himself away. sure, he’d admit that he was greedy for your love. it wasn’t that bad to be in love, was it? under a beautiful tree surrounded by colorful flowers, he had his first kiss. hundreds of years living, but you were the only one he ever seemed to want to be around. angry looks and scoffs had been replaced with smiles despite all odds.

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herstoryheaven · 10 months ago

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Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: The Golden Glow of Change

Request: Hi! you could do a Harry hook x princess reader (Rapunzel's daughter) the reader is very shy, and when the barrier is removed, Harry flirt with her (can you not write the length of the hair, because I was thinking of a reader with short hair "in my case" but I don't know if it's okay for who read it) ty!

Reader: Female

Word count: 1739

Average reading time: 6 min 20 sec

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None

The atmosphere was magical as fairy godmother raised her wand, summoning her magic to bring down the barrier separating Auradon and the Isle of the Lost. A golden glow enveloped the barrier, and moments later, it shattered like glass, the shards dissolving into shimmering dust.

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Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

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Cheers and applause filled the air as the people of the Isle began to cross the newly created bridge, stepping cautiously into Auradon. Y/n watched in awe, her heart swelling with a mixture of hope and nervousness. She knew this was a historical moment, but the uncertainty of what lay ahead left her feeling slightly uneasy.

As the celebration of Ben and Mal’s engagement continued, music began to play, and the people of Auradon and The Isle started to dance and mingle. Y/n found herself drifting toward the edge of the crowd, her shy nature making it difficult to fully enjoy the festivities. She was happy for her friends, but the thought of all these new faces made her stomach flutter with anxiety.

Just as she was thinking of finding a quiet spot to catch her breath, she overheard a conversation nearby. She couldn't help but eavesdrop, the voices familiar yet slightly out of context in the celebratory setting.

"So she's definitely taken?" Harry Hook's smooth, accented voice inquired, talking about Mal. There was a certain casual curiosity in his tone, laced with his usual mischief.

Evie nodded, her dark blue hair catching the light as she affirmed, "Definitely."

Doug, standing next to Evie, added with a hint of protectiveness. "So is Evie."

Uma, standing nearby with her signature confident smirk, interjected, "Ah! What's my name?"

Harry responded swiftly, leaning in towards Uma with a teasing smirk. "Uma."

Uma shook her head, her expression playful yet firm. "No."

Suddenly, Y/n found herself caught in Harry's line of sight. She hadn't intended to draw attention to herself, but there she was, standing awkwardly on the side of the gathering. Almost instinctively, she blurted out, "Hi."

Harry's eyes lit up with surprise and curiosity as he looked directly at her. "Hi. Whoa!" he exclaimed, nearly bumping into her in his enthusiasm. His ocean-blue gaze locked onto hers, and a charming smirk spread across his face. The glint in his eye made her heart skip a beat. His dark hair, tousled by the sea breeze, framed a face that was as captivating as it was dangerous.

"H-Harry Hook." she stammered, recognizing him from the stories she'd heard about from Mal and Evie. His reputation preceded him, tales of his daring antics and roguish charm were legendary.

"At your service, princess." he said with a dramatic bow, never taking his eyes off her. His movements were fluid, like a dance he'd perfected over years of navigating treacherous waters. "And who might you be?"

"I'm Y/n Fitzherbert" she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Daughter of Rapunzel and Eugene."

"Ah, the princess with the glowing hair." Harry said, his grin widening. "Though I must say, it's your eyes that have captured my attention, darling."

Y/n felt her cheeks heat up at his words. "Thank you," she murmured, not quite knowing how to handle his boldness. The people around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them in a bubble of their own making.

Harry's gaze softened slightly, sensing her discomfort. "You don't need to be shy around me, lass. I'm harmless... mostly." He winked, extending a hand to her. His fingers were rough from the years spend on the isle, yet his touch was surprisingly gentle. "Care to dance?"

"I-I don't know if I'm very good at dancing." Y/n admitted, looking at his outstretched hand hesitantly. The idea of dancing with a pirate, not just any pirate, Harry Hook, was messing with her head.

"Good thing I am, then." Harry replied, taking her hand gently and leading her to the dance floor. The music surounded them, a lively tune that seemed to mirror the rapid beat of her heart.

As they began to dance, Y/n found herself getting lost in Harry's eyes. They were so blue, like the deepest part of the ocean, and she couldn't help but feel drawn to him. Harry seemed to notice her staring and chuckled softly, the sound like a warm breeze on a summer night.

"Enjoying the view, princess?" he teased, his voice low and playful.

Y/n quickly averted her gaze, feeling her face flush. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"No need to apologize, darling." Harry interrupted, twirling her gracefully. "I find your shyness rather charming." His smile was infectious, and she found herself smiling back, the nervous tension in her shoulders easing slightly.

"It's just... all of this is so new to me." Y/n confessed, her voice barely audible over the music. "The idea of all these people from the Isle coming to Auradon. It's wonderful, but also a bit scary."

Harry's expression turned more serious, though his eyes still held their playful spark. "I get that. Change can be scary. But sometimes, it's necessary. Besides, it's not all bad, is it?" He gave her a boyish smile, the kind that promised adventure and mischief.

Y/n couldn't help but laugh softly. "No, I suppose not."

They danced in comfortable silence for a while, the music and laughter of the celebration swirling around them. Harry's hand was warm and steady on hers, and she found herself feeling surprisingly at ease. The world outside their dance seemed to disappear, leaving just the rhythm of the music and the soft murmur of their breaths.

"You know," Harry said after a while, his voice thoughtful, "you're braver than you think, lass."

Y/n looked up at him, surprised. "Me? Brave?"

"Aye," Harry nodded. "It takes a lot of courage to face the unknown, to welcome people you've been taught to fear. Not to mention, standing here with a pirate like me." He grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief and admiration.

Y/n smiled, feeling a little more confident. "Maybe you're right. But it's still hard sometimes. Especially with the idea of becoming queen one day. I'm not sure I'm cut out for it."

Harry stopped dancing and looked at her seriously, his gaze unwavering. "Listen to me, darling. Being a queen isn't about being perfect or never being afraid. It's about caring for your people, about wanting to make things better. And from what I've seen, you've got plenty of that."

Y/n felt her heart swell at his words. "Thank you, Harry. That means a lot." She realized then that his words were more than just flattery, they were a reassurance, a promise that she wasn't alone in her fears and uncertainties.

He smiled, a softer, more genuine smile this time. "Anytime, princess. Now, how about we enjoy the rest of this celebration, aye?"

She nodded, feeling a newfound sense of courage and hope. As they continued to dance, Y/n realized that maybe, just maybe, she could embrace this new beginning. And with Harry by her side, she knew she wouldn't have to face it alone.

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As the days turned into weeks, Harry and Y/n spent more time together. Harry was constantly by her side, guiding her through new experiences and helping her find her voice. He took her on adventures around Auradon, exploring the beauty of the land and its people together. One evening, Harry took Y/n to a secluded spot by a lake, where the water reflected the twilight sky.

"I've got a surprise for you, princess." Harry said, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"A surprise?" Y/n asked, her curiosity piqued.

Harry led her to a small boat, helping her in before pushing off from the shore. As they glided across the water, Y/n noticed small lanterns floating in the sky, their soft glow reflecting off the surface of the lake.

"Lanterns." Y/n whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. "Just like the ones my mother told me about."

Harry grinned. "I thought you might like them. It's a little piece of your history, right here in Auradon."

Y/n's heart swelled with emotion. "It's beautiful, Harry. Thank you."

As they watched the lanterns, Harry turned to her, his expression serious. "Y/n, I've seen you grow so much since we first met. You've gone from a shy girl to someone who's starting to find her own strength. I'm proud of you, lass."

Y/n felt a warmth spread through her chest at his words. "I couldn't have done it without you, Harry. You've helped me more than you know."

Harry reached out, taking her hand in his. His touch was gentle yet firm, his thumb slowly brushing over her knuckles. "And I'll continue to be here for you, princess. No matter what."

Their eyes met, and Y/n felt her heart flutter. The connection between them was undeniable, and as the lanterns illuminated the night, it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

Harry's hand left hers only to reach up, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered for a moment, his touch sending shivers down her spine. "You look beautiful," he whispered, his voice soft and filled with sincerity.

Y/n's breath hitched, the intimacy of the moment making her pulse quicken. "Harry," she said, her voice barely audible, "I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything," Harry replied, his gaze never leaving hers. "Just be here with me."

He leaned closer, and Y/n's heart raced in anticipation. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the gentle glow of the lanterns and the warmth of Harry's presence. His lips were inches from hers, and she could feel his breath against her skin.

In that perfect moment, Harry closed the gap, his lips capturing hers in a tender, lingering kiss. Y/n felt a surge of emotion, the kiss speaking volumes of the feelings they shared. It was soft and sweet, yet filled with a passion that took her breath away.

As they pulled back, their foreheads rested against each other, and Y/n smiled, her heart full. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "For everything."

Harry smiled back, his eyes shining with affection. "Anything for you, princess."

They sat there, wrapped in each other's arms, under the lights of the lanterns, feeling more connected than ever before. In that moment, Y/n knew that with Harry by her side, she could face anything the future held.

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Copyright: All stories contained herein are the intellectual property of the author. Unauthorized copying, reproduction, or distribution of these stories, in whole or in part, without explicit written permission from the author, is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action. Respect the creator's rights and creativity. For permissions or inquiries, please contact: [email protected].

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Requested by: Anonymous

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yoonia · 1 year ago

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Ever A Never After: Act 1

⟶ Chapter Summary | It feels like a dream come true. Prince Charming comes to the rescue, and then he is suddenly proclaiming his love to you. The promise of your happily ever after is suddenly within arm’s reach. Yet sinister ploys are at play, coming in the way of your happy ending just when you are merely a step away from reaching it

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Rom-com ⟶ Word count | 19,688 words ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | PG-13, +18 / M for future chapters; slow burn, black magic, curses, fantasy beasts/monsters, fantasy violence, fantasy weapons, mentions of (possible) characters death, blood, self inflicted injury (pretty harmless, no weapons are involved in this part), sudden wedding proposals, coercion, hypnotism, betrayal. ⟶ Special thanks to my beta readers, @downbad4yoongi, @theodea

⟶ Story Masterlist: Ever A Never After | next chapter ⇢

⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

Once upon a time, in a magical kingdom known as Andalasia…

A place where each story ends with happily ever afters and a dream can become reality with one simple wish. Ruled by the powerful Sorceress Queen Rosalyn, who reigns the kingdom with her iron fist, steel heart, and enchanting spells, the kingdom prospers with riches and an abundance of good fortune.

Magic exists in this place as the main core that holds the entire kingdom together.

It protects the people of the kingdom from the evil forces lying in wait within the shadows. Magic also brings light and joy to the people of the kingdom, opulence and prosperity to the land, allowing Andalasia to bloom magnificently for the past century among other magical kingdoms within the realm.

With magic, the people of the kingdom—even those who aren’t mages or sorcerers—are able to have a strong connection with the surrounding nature. The blessings of magic spreads through the land, providing crops and provisions for the people throughout the year. It also spreads through the waters flowing from the mountains and all the way to the open sea, enriching the land, the towns and the vast farmlands within the kingdom’s territories.

The blessings of magic also allows the humans and the creatures of the wild—the animals and fairies—to speak in the same language. Allowing all part of the kingdom to live in harmony and peace under the same sky.

But just like two sides of a coin, magic has another face that the people despises the most; dark magic, with its evil spells and curses, which often draws in malicious forces and lures the beasts and monsters that would pose a threat to the kingdom.

For years, the mighty Sorceress, Queen Rosalyn, has managed to protect the people by using her powers. Yet dark magic has always been powerful. Enough to continue existing in the darkest places of the kingdom, hiding in the shadows, waiting in the crevices of the land for anyone who would be strong enough to wield and harness it.

There is only one kind of magic in Andalasia that is strong enough to defeat these dark spells.

Stronger than the magic that the Queen possesses and casts to rule the kingdom and its people. The most powerful magic that everyone holds out their hopes, dreams, and wishes for. The one that everyone most desperately seeks, no matter what risk they would take to find it. Even the animals and wild creatures of the woods would sing praises about it between the breezing wind, while people within the kingdom would write fables to commemorate its existence.

It is the magic mostly known as the true love’s kiss.

Ever since you were just a little girl, you have heard many stories about it. From the tales that had been written in the books and scribes about the magical moments that are shared by those who have embraced their happily ever afters with their true love’s kiss.

Once you become old enough to understand all there is to know about the magic made possible with true love’s kiss, you begin to feel a deep sense of yearning growing within you. A desire so profound to find your own happily ever after, and to find someone that you could share your true love’s kiss with. This desire has filled your thoughts and dreams, always keeping you wishing and praying for the opportunity to look out to the world so you can find it for yourself.

And last night, after a seemingly long wait, fate itself has decided to answer your prayers by sending you a wonderful dream. A dream filled with signs telling you that your wish may soon come true.

What you saw in your dream was everything that you had always pictured to happen. It got you feeling elated, hopeful, and it had woken you up with the strong desire to immortalise it while you had the chance to.

The sun was barely up when you first opened your eyes, yet there was no way you could remain idle, no matter how comfortable it would have been to stay in bed. Your energy was already high, pushing you to start working on bringing the key piece of your dream into reality while it is still fresh in your memories.

An hour or so has passed since, and you have been moving around your quaint bedroom, bringing with you scraps of fabrics, ribbons, and various other raw materials that you managed to gather from the garden before the sky grew bright. The rapid thrum of your heartbeat becomes the music you hum to while you carefully combine the materials, pinning each piece onto the wooden mannequin standing in the center of your bedroom—the same mannequin you would normally use to create your pretty dresses.

Except instead of displaying a dress, the wooden mannequin has been set up to display your newest creation. These beautiful scraps of fabric that you have collected and formed together aren’t meant to be any piece of clothing that you might be wearing later once the season changes, but to bring the object of your dream—the object of your deepest desire—to come alive.

As your creation is slowly forming into its final shape right before your eyes, you feel a rush of enthusiasm and joy brewing inside your chest. A feeling that you share with your busy little helpers that have been moving in tune with you from every corner of the room.

Their presence has become another reason why you are so full of energy this morning. They are the true blessing that had come from the forest, lured by the sound of your voice as you were singing the wistful tune of your aspiration the moment you woke up from your deep slumber.

Each animal now present in the room are either having fun watching and cheering for you, or helping you with all the different tasks that they can handle. You enjoy watching your small friends following your instructions obediently while singing along with the cheerful tune you are humming while you continue to work.

The wild hummingbirds that are usually shy and diffident are now fluttering around the mannequin, securing the ribbons that you have specifically chosen for your project. The fluffy chinchillas keep running back and forth to bring in more scraps and little accessories from your drawers to add to your creation.

Once in a while, some more of your fluffy little fellows slip into your room. Always carrying with them the various items that they could find from the forest and the small patch of garden right outside of your cabin in case they would be useful.

Just like the pair of wild sparrows that are flying in through your window right this moment. The sound of their cheerful chirping fills the room, drawing your attention to their arrival. “Here are some more leaves and fresh straws that you can use for the hair, sweet Blossom.”

A smile is lifted on your face as they drop some autumn leaves and fresh-smelling straws from their beaks and talons into your open palms. “Why, thank you, sweethearts,” you gratefully say to them, “These should make the hair look all fluffy and soft.”

Soft flutters rise in your chest as you lean to give each sparrow a light peck on top of their heads. A gesture that you give not only because you are feeling grateful for their help, but also for the way they are calling you with your childhood nickname in such an endearing way.

Blossom.

Your mother had been the one who gave you the special name when you were born. It was said that the flowers seemed to blossom more beautifully the moment you came into this realm, and the nickname has stuck on you ever since. The name that is interchangeable with your birth name, and one that anyone who is close to you would often choose to call you with.

You begin humming to yourself again as you drift back to your mannequin, pinning the leaves into the crown of the mannequin’s head. You have yet to get everything done when you hear soft voices calling for you excitedly from below.

“How about these bronze quartz for the eyes?” A pair of white wild bunnies call out to you as they hop around your ankles. Clapping your hands with joy, you bend down to gracefully accept their gifts.

“Oh, yes!” you squeal as you lift the pair of bronze quartzes to your eyes, loving how they glow under the bright morning sunlight.

“How lovely, and they look perfectly similar to the eyes looking back at me in my dreams,” you delightfully exclaim to them as you attach the dark-coloured crystals to the mannequin’s face, giving it a pair of eyes that are glinting beautifully as if they are coming alive. “Those eyes looked as dark as the night sky but were glowing like twilight when I looked deeply into them in my dream, and these pretty quartz are reminding me of them.”

Ada, the gentle deer, prances over, bumping her head against your calves to draw your attention to her. “Then how about these are some goose feathers I found at the lake this morning? Would these help too?” she gently offers as she drops the delicate feathers by your feet.

With an astonished gasp, you bend down to your knees to retrieve it. You take a moment to marvel at them as a flutter of delirious giggle rises in your throat. “What beautiful feathers, perfect for a prince. I wonder where I should put this,” you ponder to yourself, tapping your chin as you admire the feathers’ colouring—its golden-brown gradient shade that looks luxurious, like pieces of expensive materials that you can only see adorning the fancy dresses or suits that the nobles wear to the Queen’s royal ball.

With a soft bubbling laughter, you twirl on your feet before pinning the feathers on its upper torso, and you can almost see it shimmer as the sunlight falls on them.

“Oh, how perfect!” you marvel at the mannequin standing right before you with a sigh. Stepping back from it, you take in the result of your hard work, making sure that you have followed every little detail that has been engraved in your memory.

“Just what exactly are you making so early in the morning? Keeping everyone busy before you even had your breakfast,” Poppy, the sassy squirrel who is also your most loyal companion, huffs curiously as she climbs over your shoulder, wanting to have a clear look at what you are creating.

“Oh, Poppy. My dear sweet Poppy.” A dreamy sigh escapes from your lips, which only draws more confusion on your little friend’s face. “I had a dream last night.”

“A dream?”

“Oh yes, Poppy. A wonderful dream.” You cannot help but giggle as a giddy feeling fills your chest. You also feel a sense of longing, an odd sensation which has been plaguing you ever since you woke up from this magical dream.

“Tell us about the dream, Blossom,” your friends chirp and sing from all around you, “Tell us!”

With a smile, you slowly drop down to the floor cushions at the corner of your bedroom, finding comfort as you begin to share your tale, “I dreamed of a prince. A very handsome, charming, and powerful prince.”

With your eyes on the wooden mannequin, you gesture your hand at your nearly finished work, “And he looks just like this.”

The statuette figure that stands before you, shaped by the decorated and fully-dressed wooden mannequin, appears like the prince of your dream. Standing tall enough that you have to lift your chin up to look at it properly even while you were on your feet, the replica of the prince seems to come alive. You may not have been able to see his face as clearly as you would have liked, with how hazy that dream now seems to your mind. Yet as you run your gaze over your creation, you have to admit that you may have come close to getting at least something about him right.

The upper frame of the mannequin is draped with a made-up attire that looks like a three-piece suit. While it doesn’t look as refined as the suit you pictured in your mind, it still looks intricate enough to resemble the fancy suits made for nobles.

The jacket, made from a piece of wool which you once used to craft yourself a winter coat, is fitted to show the figure’s broad shoulders and trim waist. You didn’t forget to add a long tail at the back of the jacket, giving it a more sophisticated look—which you can imagine would flow prettily should the ‘prince’ walks across the room to ask you for a dance. The royal blue hue of the fabric allows the suit to stand out under the bright morning sunlight penetrating into the room. You can almost imagine it, the person wearing this jacket shining among the other people in a massive ballroom, drawing everyone’s attention just as you are unable to look away from it now.

The golden-brown goose feathers that Ada had brought you look like golden embroideries adorning the lapels of the jacket. With a subtle sheen on them, the feathers are able to catch the sunlight perfectly as you try to look at them from different angles.

Beneath the jacket, a waistcoat made of a matching fabric but in deep brown hugs the mannequin’s torso. Its snug fit creates an illusion of a broad and strong chest that would have filled its form perfectly as a powerful gentleman would. Various stones and crystals that you have pinned at the front of the waistcoat make up to replace the fancy buttons, and they all look almost like polished jewels against the dark backdrop as the sunlight falls on top of them.

A pair of trousers are set up to cover the lower part of the mannequin. Using a smooth fabric that looks almost like satin, the piece of clothing looks no different than what most royals or nobles would wear in the fancy parties that you had quite a few experiences attending to. The trousers seem to have added an illusion that looks captivating to your eyes; a silhouette of a pair of legs that are long and strong, with toned muscles hidden underneath and a sturdy foundation that would display class and elegance.

A crisp dress shirt in pristine white completes the entire ensemble. The light ruffles from the collar are peeking out from beneath the jacket, creating the illusion of the figure’s long neck. A silk tie is knotted around the throat, created from your silky scarf that has a spread of tiny blue flowers on a white background which seems like the perfect match to the dress shirt and the intricate looking jacket.

“Yes, this is all perfect. This is how he looked like in my dreams,” you muse with a contented sigh, grateful that you were able to bring the image of your prince to life only based on the memory of your lovely dream.

“But what did you see in this dream of yours, Blossom?” you hear the wild doves chittering from the windows, no doubt asking on behalf of your other animal friends who are present here, all silently swooning over your story, “What did you and the Prince do?”

“Oh,” you stutter as you remember the beautiful moments that you saw in your dream.

“It was so, so romantic. He was fighting this evil beast, a black dragon that was breathing out fire so hot it could burn down the entire magic forest—” you start by sharing the part of the dream that gave you a fright, drawing a collective sound of sharp gasps from everyone in the room as well as you talk about the fierce dragon who was fighting against your Prince from the top of a dark tower.

“—and then, once he won the battle and peace was reclaimed once more, he came to catch me as I was falling from height. We locked eyes with one another and had our moment, and that was when he chose to stay longer with me, ensuring my safety instead of returning to the castle. We talked for hours, walked through the forest, and he even took me on a ride in his glowing carriage. And when evening came, once the moonlight and the bright stars came to replace the sun, he finally asked me for a dance.”

A collective sound of dreamy sighs echo through the room, increasing the excitement you feel bubbling inside your chest. And you have yet to reach the best part of it.

“And then? What happened next, Blossom?” the fluffy and shy badger, Brew, asks you curiously from behind the curtains, where he had been hiding while watching you have fun with his friends.

With a happy giggle, you lean back against the cushions while keeping your eyes on your made-up Prince. “We danced, and danced, and danced all night, and right at the sound of the clock chiming at midnight, we shared one of the most magical moments ever”—you let out a long, deep sigh as you murmur softly—”with a true love’s kiss.”

“A true love’s kiss?” everyone gasps and sighs, sharing the elated feeling that is now surging through your chest.

“But how will you be able to have a true love’s kiss,” Poppy teases as she climbs over the right shoulder of your ‘dream prince.’ She bends and points at the empty space at the bottom of the face as she jokingly asks, “If this prince of yours doesn’t even have a pair of lips?”

Your eyes follow Poppy’s little fingers and an astonished laugh slips out of you. “Oh, dear me! We forgot the lips!” You quickly cover your mouth before the sound of your laughter reaches outside of your bedroom, realising too late that this is still early in the day. Yet your eyes remain on the mannequin’s expressionless face. “Oh, what should we place there as his lips? Does anyone have any idea?”

Almost immediately, your little friends begin to chirp and squeal and chitter with each of their own ideas.

“How about some fresh flower petals?”

“Red roses don’t bloom as much or as pretty in this time of year!”

“Berries?”

“How about red chilli peppers?”

The last response makes you laugh, joined by your delighted forest friends who seem to be enjoying their time with you, just as much as they seem to be enjoying the look on your face as you are filled with happiness and joy.

But before you can say anything to respond to their ideas, a gentle voice calls out to you from downstairs.

“________! Sweet Blossom, where are you?” the voice echoes through the small cabin, and your friends scatter to different places to take cover. Some remain, yet they choose to hide in small places, while others jump into safety right out the window. The voice continues, “I know you’re awake. I can hear you singing from all the way down here.”

“Oh, it’s Grandmother!” With a stifled laughter, you rise to your feet and rush to move. “Quick, help me hide this.”

Grabbing a blanket, you bring it to the mannequin, hoping that you would be able to cover it in case your grandmother ever decides to walk up to your bedroom. While it may not cause you any trouble should your grandmother ever finds out what you have been up to all morning, you know that she would only worry once she sees the ‘dream prince’ standing in your bedroom.

You don’t even want to try and imagine what your grandmother would say, or what kind of look that she would give you if she ever hears why you are using your working mannequin to create your own Prince Charming.

“Get your head out of the clouds, dear. We have other important things to worry about and focus on. It’s not good to be dreaming too much when you’re awake.”

That is what she would always say whenever you talk about your dreams of finding your happily ever after, or whenever you listen to your grandmother’s friends and customers about the most recent gossips and tales from the kingdom.

“Blossom, quick!” Poppy’s voice snaps you out of it, as she and the rest of your remaining forest friends begin to pull on the other side of the blanket to help you cover the mannequin.

Once it is perfectly hidden, you pull yourself together and turn away, only making one last glance at the now-covered ‘dream prince’ before making your way downstairs to see your grandmother before she starts calling for you again.

“I’m coming, Nana!”

The place that you call home is nothing more but a small wooden cabin located deep in the woods, right at the heart of the Amaranth Forest. Located quite a distance away from the Queen’s castle, your home serves as a place of solitude, away from the bright and bustling life of the kingdom.

This is where your sweet grandmother has raised you all on her own ever since you were a young child. You may have no recollection of your parents, being so young when they were gone. But everything in the cabin serves as the reminder of their existence. From the pictures that are being hanged on the walls and placed on the mantle above the fireplace, to the small trinkets that they left behind, each one holding pieces of their memories for you to remember them by.

Growing up without them, you barely felt the weight of their absence. To every void formed by the lack of their presence in your life, your grandmother fills it with her overflowing love and beautiful memories. Being under her care allows you to live with happiness and joy, as she continued to make sure that you could live your life to the fullest. She has also taught you to remain grounded, to be able to build your own life without losing your focus or getting lost in your dreams.

And there are also your friends from the forest, the wild animals that would often come to visit you whenever you are in need of company. They have kept you from feeling lonely, whether during the good days, but more so on your darkest days. The same way they are keeping you company right this moment, as you are trudging along the woods to finish the day’s errands which your grandmother had sent you out to do.

“I’m making breakfast for both of us before I will have to leave to the shop downtown,” she said once you joined her in the kitchen earlier when she called for you to come downstairs, “But I need help getting some ingredients from the gardens and the groves. I would go myself, but my knees have been bothering me. Will you be a dear and fetch them for me?”

There was no way you could have refused your grandmother’s request. Not when you saw the look on her face this morning when you first came down from your bedroom.

The dark pockets under her eyes have been more obvious as of late, so have the lines of age marring her skin. You cannot remember seeing your grandmother so tired and weary as she did today, but she has always known to hide her exhaustion well. Even if it means having to force a smile on her face just to stop you from worrying about her as she continues with her day.

Still, it doesn’t stop you from wondering if there is something for her to be wary about. The thought follows you as you are gathering all the ingredients needed—the wild mushrooms from the nearby woods and some fresh vegetables from the small patches of gardens that your grandmother has been tending to.

Perhaps your worries have been written so clearly on your face, because the moment you announced your leave after seeing your grandmother, your animal friends immediately insisted to come with you. And you are grateful for their company. Because despite having these worrying thoughts filling your mind, you still find yourself enjoying your time in the open with them around to entertain you.

It is also a blessing that the weather is nice this morning.

The sun feels warm on your skin, while the canopy of trees above your head are keeping you safe from the rising heat. Small birds are flying between the trees above you while accompanying your walk with their melodic tune. You also have Poppy joining you, as she is perched comfortably on your shoulder when she isn’t jumping around to help you plucking out fresh ingredients from the ground.

The wild bunnies and Brew the badger are also there, jumping all around you as they follow you through the woods. Even Ada is following you close, as she acts like a guide before she will be making her way to the river to continue her morning stroll.

After quite some time has passed, and almost all of the ingredients that you needed have been gathered, your friends begin to remind you of your ‘dream prince’ once again when their constant teasing continues.

“Now that we have everything that your Nana needed, shall we go around to look for the perfect lips to give your dream prince?” Poppy suggests as she places the last piece of the potatoes into your basket.

“Oh, my! I almost forgot!” You gasp, and immediately, all the delightful feeling you had earlier returns to you tenfold as you remember about your Prince Charming. “You’re right! Now that we’ve gotten everything, we should continue with our mission to find the Prince’s lips. We do have some time left before Nana has to go to open the shop for the day.”

After sharing a quick discussion between you and your friends, everyone decides to follow Ada to the nearby river where she always does her morning stroll. Arriving there, she leads you to the thick bushes where the wild berries always grow during the season. The luscious shade of crimson from the fresh berries looks perfect, just the shade that you were searching for, and it makes you feel even more enthusiastic about finishing your creation.

Seeing the look on your face, Poppy rolls her eyes and makes a tutting sound. “Oh, Blossom, do you think that your dream boy truly exists?” she wonders out loud.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” you simply answer, feeling optimistic about it still as you carefully pluck the berries and slip them into your basket. “If he could come into my dreams, then he must be out there somewhere.”

“Where?” Poppy teasingly asks as she dramatically begins looking around, peering through the woods to find your prince.

Rolling your eyes back at her, you simply laugh at her antics. “He could be anywhere. He might be somewhere within these woods, getting lost between the thick trees while he is making his way to find me. Or he could be on the other side of the mountains, fighting off dragons and monsters to claim as his prize while proving himself worthy before winning my heart and sweeping me off of my feet.”

With a sigh, Poppy shakes her head at you. “Oh, _______. I think your grandmother was right when she said that you have your head up in the clouds. Remember to get back to the ground before you fly too high.”

You can only smile as you recall your grandmother saying the same thing; that you have always been dreaming even when you are awake, and that you always let your imagination run too far, when your mind is filled with all the wishful thinking you have about finding your happily ever after.

You can understand why she would feel so worried about you, wondering if one day you would find it hard to face reality with how much you keep dreaming about your happiness. Even though it had been your grandmother herself who made you believe in happily ever afters in the first place.

“Your parents had their happily ever after. That was how you came into this world, and why they are still together now. Wherever they may be,” you heard her speak one time while she was lost in thoughts, soon after she was done telling you all the tales about happy endings and finding true loves.

It wasn’t often for your grandmother to talk about your parents. Except for the rare occasions where she would tell their stories, about how they met and fell in love, and how their happily ever after made it possible for you to be born.

She would always wear a look of longing in her eyes whenever she talks about your parents. Although it would always be accompanied by sadness and hurt — the emotions that are constantly written so vividly in her face. It has always made you feel hesitant about bringing up your parents when you talk to her. But there is something in the way your grandmother tells what little tale she has about your parents’ love story and happily ever afters that continues to bring you hope. It makes you wish that the kind of love they had does exist, and that you may one day find it.

Sighing to yourself, you embrace the blissful feeling that you have each time you recall parts of your dream which makes your heart flutter. The more you think about the dream, the more you refuse to believe that your dream had meant nothing at all.

Andalasia is a land filled with magic, after all. A place where dreams come true. And you believe that the dream had been a sign telling you that your happily ever after is near.

“I’m not going to fly off to the clouds just to find him, Poppy. Not when he might be somewhere close by,” you simply tell your friend as you finish up your hunt for the perfect lips that you are giving your made-up Prince.

Little do you know that your words are merely moments into coming to reality.

Because just as you are finishing up your errand, when you are ready to turn back home with your basket filled to the brim with fresh assortments, a commotion begins to rise on the other side of the woods.

Oblivious to the possible danger that is coming towards you, you continue prancing between the trees, enjoying your time with your animal friends playing by your side. You start singing along to the song that they are singing about your dream prince, the true love’s kiss, and your happily ever after, unknowingly luring the incoming peril that is coming to find you as the sweet tune of your voice echoes through the deep forest.

On the other side of the woods, beyond the steep hills covered in thick clusters of trees, the sound of a deep, feral roar echoes through the vast woodland.

Gone is the peaceful morning, and the entire forest wakes up to a sudden rising turmoil.

The trees are shaking with the echoing roar while the ground is rumbling violently, sending wild animals around to scamper away to find places to hide. Some have barely made their safe escape when the dense trees are suddenly parted, and a giant troll bursts through the thickets.

The creature’s massive foot stumbles as he rushes through. Avoiding the trees and boulders that are getting in his way seems like a struggle, yet his speed has yet to falter even when he can barely stay upright in his hasty run. It isn’t so much of the obstacles that appear on his path that are making it hard for him to run across the woods, but more because of the remnants of the broken restraint still dangling around his ankles.

As the creature continues to scramble to find escape, a white horse appears to be racing not to far behind. The sound of its hoofs hitting the ground in rapid speed adds to the entire commotion. The steed pushes forward, giving its full strength as it runs between the trees to keep up with the troll, while the rider continues to shout his commands, pushing his steed to keep giving a chance.

Following behind is yet another man in a horse, barely keeping up with the first rider and the relentless creature running before them.

“Sir Noah! How did you manage to let that creature escape? He’s running even faster than before!” the first rider shouts with a firm voice.

“Forgive me, Your Highness,” the man following the first rider calls out between his heaving breath. He can barely keep his composure while his darker horse seems to be struggling to maintain its speed and trying its best not to get left behind.

“I was sure that I’ve tied the monster’s hands and feet as strong as I possibly could. I merely step aside to, ugh—” the man gets his breath knocked out of his chest as his steed leaps over a fallen tree, “To rest my old man’s back and all of a sudden, the rope on his hands snaps, and he just rose to his feet and began running.”

The man stops shouting to catch his breath while trying his hardest to control his loyal horse. Both himself and the horse that he is riding are old and withered, not as young or as strong as the Crown Prince who is riding ahead with his massive white horse. They have all been running and working on the hunt since the break of dawn, yet the horse has yet to show any signs of exhaustion. It doesn’t seem to be losing its strength, just as the Prince’s stamina has yet to falter even when he was the one to fight the creature to its submission less than an hour ago.

“It was the voice!” The man, Sir Noah, manages to scream out once he has his breath steadied. “There was a strong breeze coming while the troll was tied down, and I swear I heard a voice coming with the wind, a voice that sounded so beautiful. Like a birdsong. Perhaps the voice enchanted the troll to gain its strength!”

“Then we must find the source of that voice to stop the troll!” the Prince shouts back, still with vigour that has yet to fade.

“But, Prince—” Sir Noah tries to shout to stop him as the Prince rides ahead, speeding faster away from him. “Prince Jungkook, wait!”

To Sir Noah’s surprise and disgruntlement, the Prince seems to find joy in this entire predicament as he laughs and shouts to his horse to pick up speed right as the troll stops struggling in his run. “Go, Onyx! Don’t lose him!”

“No, Prince! Your Highness, you need to stop before you hurt yourself,” Sir Noah continues to shout, although his voice is slowly fading as he is beginning to lose his breath once more.

“No, I won’t. I can do it! I know I can!” Jungkook continues to shout back, almost like he is chanting to himself with pure confidence as he leads his horse to keep its steady pace through the thickets. “I’ve had him before so I can’t give up now.”

Sir Noah has lost track of time and distance, unaware of how far they have gone since the troll started making his escape. All he can see around him are trees, more trees, a couple of small hills to run over before the land opens up to a small meadow that fades into another part of the forest that is just as dense as where they first started this intense chase. He cannot help but blame himself for his recklessness, even more so as he watches in horror the moment the troll jumps off of a small hill to cut more distance to wherever he is heading to, with the Prince’s horse making a huge leap right after.

“No!” Sir Noah screams out, before his voice turns to a loud screech when his horse follows its younger counterpart to jump off the hill in his shadows. “Lord have mercy!”

“This is so much fun!” Prince Jungkook shouts with a boastful laugh, completely disregarding Sir Noah’s fright. The excitement that is palpable through his voice only makes Sir Noah’s stomach drop.

“No, this is not fun, Prince Jungkook!” Sir Noah yells out of frustration before groaning, “Oh dear, the Queen is going to have my head for this.”

Before he can say more, the previous sound that he heard through the wind is starting to reach him again. He can tell that they are getting close to the source. Close enough for him to listen to the alluring tune that has been calling for the troll more clearly and identify it as a female voice, singing to the animals and the forest, and his fear escalates further.

Oh yes, there is no doubt that the Queen will have my head for this, Sir Noah wonders to himself as he straightens up and clutches at the horse’s reign tightly to keep it steady. He knows that he is only going to put the Prince in danger, but Sir Noah has no other choice.

“Your Highness! It’s the voice! The troll is after the one who is singing this melody!” he starts shouting at the Prince, who now has his eyebrows furrowed with deep focus, growing concerned with Sir Noah’s pleading words.

“Prince Jungkook, you must hurry and stop him before he gets to the singing lady!”

“There you are, sweet little Princess. Such pretty voice. Pretty enough to eat!”

For a moment, you cannot comprehend what is actually happening.

One minute, you were walking between the bushes and the flower beds, admiring the wildflowers blooming under the morning sky while humming to the birdsong echoing through the woods. And then, suddenly, the lovely birdsong stopped, the forest fell quiet, and your animal friends became so agitated that their cheerful chirps and giggles faded to whispers.

The next thing you knew, your peaceful moment with your friends was broken when the ground you were standing on began to quake, the trees up the hill began to shake furiously before they parted, and a giant troll burst through the thickets. He spoke with broken dialect and a menacing tone of voice, followed by an eerie roar coming out of his mouth as he started barrelling his way towards you.

At first, there is nothing that you can do except to remain frozen. You are too stunned to move, unable to react as you watch this monster running straight towards you. It is also baffling to see that the creature is doing it while screaming and looking so happy about eating you.

“_______! Snap out of it!!” Poppy suddenly screams, snapping you out of your daze. “We need to run. Now!”

With a gasp, you hike up your skirt and quickly turn away. “Run, everyone!” you shout at your friends who immediately scatter to find their escape, while you struggle to run the opposite way to confuse the creature.

Although it doesn’t seem like your effort is needed, because the troll seems to have set his eyes on you and you alone, as none of your fleeing companions catches his eyes and he is still running to get you. “Why is it chasing me?”

“I don’t know, but keep running!” Poppy continues to scream, still perched on your shoulder with her claws sinking into the fabric of your dress as she holds on tightly.

Normally, you consider yourself quite a runner. There have been times when you would run in the woods, racing against Ada or the wild hares that would often hang out by the lake just for fun. Sometimes you would run with the fairies, even if only to see if you could outrun those who have magic on their side to give them speed.

Yet for some reason, running seems like a struggle as you try to escape the giant troll that seems so engaged in the thought of grabbing you with its filthy hands. You feel as if there is some weight slowing you down, forgetting the fact that you have a basket filled with assortments hanging in one arm while your long skirt is dragging you back.

“The basket! Leave it!” Poppy yells at you once she realises that you are struggling and notices the reason why.

“But it’s for Nana!”

Poppy growls—actually growls—in response. “There’s not even going to be any part of you left to bring them home to Nana if you get freaking eaten by that—that thing!”

As you take a quick glance over your shoulder, seeing how close the giant beast is getting to you, you realise that Poppy is right. At the corner of your eyes, you see the cluster of narrow trees leading up the hill and aim for it to find your escape, hoping that you can shake him off on a rising terrain.

It’s going to be a struggle running up the hill, yet your gut feeling tells you that it’s worth the effort. So you make a run for it, clutching the basket tightly to your chest to keep it safe until you can find a place to hide it.

As you slip between the narrow opening between the trees, you can hear the troll having a hard time following your trail without breaking and getting stumbled by them. You keep running, getting out of breath as you reach the top of the hill, and soon the cluster of trees opens up and grass gives way beneath your feet.

“We’re running out of trees!” Poppy screams, getting a good grasp of what you have been planning to do.

“No, we’re not! We’re almost there!” you yell back at her with gasping breath, and with your eyes set on your destination.

Right there.

Right before your eyes, there stand the twin old elm trees that have grown nearly doubled the height of the hill, with massive branches spreading out to look like two giant canopies of leaves covering the top of the hill. Situated right between them is a massive boulder, firmly standing like the crown of the hill and you have decided — sometime between the hysteria of seeing a troll in this part of the forest and the terror of knowing that he is hunting you — that this place would serve you perfectly in your escape.

Because that boulder marks the end of the hill, and there is nothing else but a massive drop of cliff with rocky walls and the rough stream waiting below.

“Hold on, Poppy!”

Your warning is barely enough to get your friend to tighten her grip on your shoulder when you hop over the boulder, using it to dodge the troll’s hand as he tries to swipe you off the ground. Tossing the basket to the side of the boulder with the hope of keeping it safe until later, you plant your hand on the rock’s surface and swivel around, using it as leverage to switch your direction right before reaching the very edge of the precipice and evade the troll as you roll to the left.

“Aahhh, Blossom!”

“Stop running and let Troll catch you!” the troll roars as he fails to grab you, and his voice grows louder, shifting into a pained roar the moment he loses his balance and trips over the boulder.

Seeing this, a victorious squeal almost escapes your lips. But before you even get the chance to celebrate the success of your escape scheme, you notice too late that your ploy isn’t going as planned.

“Oh, bollocks!” you cry out when you realise that the troll has fallen a bit too soon.

Instead of being thrown off the ledge as you had expected he would after tripping over the boulder, the troll is sprawled on top of the rock, with one hand holding on the edge to stop him from falling over. And the troll—although fallen over and is struggling to push himself up—is still determined to grab you.

Adding salt to your wounded pride, you seem to have also failed to measure the beast’s size. Even sprawled at an odd angle, the troll’s limbs are still long enough to reach you. Sliding back on the slippery rock, you try to put some distance between you, just in time for his massive hand to swipe over the rock, missing the hem of your dress merely inches away.

In desperate need of escape, Poppy jumps off your shoulder just as you are getting off-balance and nearly falling over the ledge instead. You watch breathlessly as Poppy starts climbing up the tree rapidly in her panic while you feel like you cannot move.

“Come on, ________!”

Once again, her voice snaps you out of it, and you begin to follow suit, seeing that there is no escape now with the troll blocking your way back down the hill and the long drop down the cliff walls waiting for you on the other side. Right as you start climbing up the trees, you sense the troll struggling to rise beneath you. Climbing up takes quite an effort when you are in your summer dress, but all the shenanigans you got yourself into growing up may have taught you enough how to climb up quickly.

From the corner of your eyes, you see the troll rising back up to his feet. Wobbling and swaying around as he tries to find balance over the rocky slip beneath him. But you barely pay attention to the beast when something else is grabbing your attention from not so far away.

You can hear the sound of hoofs rapidly racing through the trees. You have been hearing this noise for quite some time already, you realise, coming from a distance while you were focused on trying to escape the troll. Maybe it even started at the same time the troll first appeared from that other hill, chasing the beast the best it could even though failing to catch up on time before the troll reached you.

And now, you can hear it getting closer. And closer.

You can almost see it, the white horse that is running through the cluster of trees to get to you. Yet your curiosity to know where this stranger is coming from and who might be riding the white horse becomes a distraction, causing you to make another mistake.

You start to climb over the nearest long branch that looks strong enough to withstand your weight, hoping that it can keep you away from the troll’s reach. Yet you cannot help but keep throwing quick glances over the line of trees, hoping to see this stranger who is racing towards the foray instead of running away from it.

That is how you miss your footing.

Within a blink of an eye, instead of perching securely on the branch, you find yourself dangling desperately onto it, your hands barely making it in time to find a firm hold to stop you from falling over.

“Aaahhh!!”

“Blossom!” Poppy calls out in panic at the sound of your scream, and she quickly races back down, grabbing onto your wrist as she tries to pull you up. Only that the poor squirrel’s effort seems futile when gravity keeps pulling you down instead of giving in. “Girl, I don’t have enough muscles for this! Pull yourself up!”

“I’m trying!”

While you and Poppy are panicking and struggling to get you back up on the tree, the troll starts balancing himself on the boulder while humming, “Come here, pretty girl. Come to Troll’s hands!”

You open your mouth to shout back at the offensive troll with disgust, only to have another voice shouting before you can get your voice out.

“No! Keep your hands off of her!”

All heads snap to look at the white horse coming out of the woods. The steed races with full force up the rising terrain. But it is the rider that manages to catch your eyes the most. His eyes look fierce with determination but also a hint of thrill as he focuses on the troll.

As if he is having so much fun with this hunt and is eager to finish it.

And he looks captivating as he is doing it. Even more so when he pulls out his sword, wielding it to challenge the beast that barely takes notice, as he is busy trying to grab your ankles.

But you take notice of him. You also notice the way your heart is racing rapidly for a different reason.

Unable to process what—or, in this case, who—you are seeing, Poppy speaks first, ”And who in the Fates’ name is that?”

“That’s—”

There is no way.

Your words fail you in your shock and relief. Pure disbelief runs through you, and you almost feel your grip loosening with how astonished you are at what you are witnessing.

Because there is no possible way for the Prince Charming himself to come and save you. Just like he did in your dream.

“Hang on! Stay where you are!”

The thrill that Jungkook has been feeling while he was racing across the hills to chase the damn troll is slowly shifting into fright once he gets a clear sight of what is happening. He watches with wide eyes as you desperately dangle from the tree branch, your legs swinging to avoid the troll’s grasp and your hands barely strong enough to hold on.

He noticed that you stopped trying to pull yourself up for a brief moment, distracted by his arrival. Yet his shout snaps you back to focus, and he is relieved to see you pulling up, trying your best to climb back onto the branch with the help of a—a squirrel?

Now that he believes that you are going to be safe—even if only for a while—Jungkook focuses on the troll again. This time, he is ready to swing his sword, which reflects the sunlight as Jungkook raises his arm over his head. The strong shine is blinding, and Jungkook uses it to distract the troll and pull his attention away from you.

“Over here, you damn troll!” he shouts with a wicked laugh that will definitely give Sir Noah another headache.

With a feral roar, the troll turns to face Jungkook. “You again. Troll don’t want to go with you. Troll want little girl for snacks.”

A sharp, panicked scream escapes you while Jungkook marches forward with his sword swinging. The troll fights back, bending forward with his arms swinging left and right, back and forth, between trying to grab Jungkook and stopping the sword from reaching his chest—right where he would easily be wounded.

Yet Jungkook easily evades each swipe of hands, his white horse following his command to escape and slip away while bringing him closer.

Except while Jungkook manages to avoid the troll’s attacks, you aren’t having as much luck. Because with each swipe of the troll’s hands and each stomp of his feet, the troll causes the tree where you are dangling on to shake and sway along with the force of his movements. And it is making it harder for you to hold on, much less to climb back on top.

Jungkook waits until the troll is fully facing him before initiating his final attack, making haste about it before you lose your grip and fall over. With a grunt, Jungkook swings his arm back and flings the sword forward, aiming for the troll’s left chest. The sword floats in the air for a brief moment before it strikes its target perfectly.

The troll roars in pain. His hands reach up to grab the sword—which has lodged deeply into his chest—and he staggers back, losing his balance before he falls over the ledge and starts plummeting down the cliff.

Unfortunately, the troll refuses to fall alone. Right before his fall, he reaches out, trying to grab onto the elm tree where you are hanging from as if to stop his fall. Yet his grip never takes hold. Only his sharp nails manage to scratch the tree trunk, shaking the giant tree.

Shaking you, until you finally lose your grip.

A scream erupts through your lips as you start falling from height.

You close your eyes shut during your fall, fearing the long drop and the pain that may come after. Except the pain never comes. Instead, you fall right into something that is soft and hard at the same time.

Warmth engulfs you right away, even before a pair of arms wrap themselves around you. Whatever surface that you have just landed on is beginning to move, rocking back and forth as if it is trying to balance itself under your weight.

You are not too sure yet if you are safe, so you keep your eyes closed shut. It doesn’t matter if you just witnessed the troll falling off the cliff, you can almost feel the shadow of his presence. As if you still have to avoid his relentless attacks.

But then a soft voice reassuringly speaks to you, coaxing you to open your eyes, “It’s okay, Princess. I got you.”

Slowly, your eyes flutter open. And the first thing that you see once your gaze clears out brings those flutters down to your chest.

A pair of dark-coloured eyes that remind you of the night sky are looking back at you, glowing as if there are a million stars in them. He has a pretty face framed with strands of soft hair that have fallen in a flurry mess, perhaps from racing through the woods on his horse to get to you.

And that pretty face seems to grow even brighter when the man, your hero, smiles at you.

It won’t be until later for you to realise that the steady rocking you felt earlier had been the white horse’s movements, as it was struggling to adjust to your weight, while its rider struggled a little to adjust your position on his lap and control his horse until it calmed down. Yet none of it matters now. Not when you are completely entranced with his presence.

All because it feels like you have just witnessed your creation—the dream prince statue that you worked hard on this morning—coming to life right before your eyes.

“It’s you. The boy I saw in my dreams.” The words slip out of your lips before you can stop yourself.

Your voice comes out as nothing more but a whisper, but there is no doubt that he can hear you perfectly. You can see it from the way his smile is growing wider.

As if it pleases him to see you so stunned, while he takes pride in this moment when he says,

“It’s me. Your Prince Charming.”

He winks, and your skin flushes with warmth. “I’m Prince Jungkook. But you can call me Jungkook.”

An incredulous laugh begins to bubble its way up your throat, yet not a sound comes out of your lips as you look at him, stunned, as you are still feeling as if you are caught in a daze which leaves you speechless. It was mere moments ago when you had almost gotten trampled down and then eaten by a giant troll after all, and then he came out of nowhere, rescuing you from said troll right before you ended up getting flattened into the forest’s grounds or deep into his stomach.

And then you suddenly found yourself falling into your hero’s lap — quite literally. And that hero turns out to be Prince Charming himself, who seems to have pride as massive as the entire kingdom of Andalasia as he speaks about himself while smiling broadly at you.

It is quite a lot to take in, and you have no idea what to say or how to react. The only thing that you can do is to sit there, perched sideways above his massive horse with his arms holding you to him and keeping you from falling, while your gaze remains locked on the deep eyes that were similar to the ones you vaguely saw in your dreams.

Unaware of the reason why you are stunned to silence, the Prince, Jungkook, may have misread your loss for words as fear. Because he suddenly begins rubbing your back while speaking gently to you, “It’s okay. You are safe now.”

“Yes, thank you,” you mutedly whisper, before you finally snap out of it and realise — he did just save your life! “Oh, that’s right! You saved my life.”

“I guess I did.” There is a hint of relief in the sound of his soft chuckle, making you wonder if he was deeply concerned with you because of your silence. “Do you live anywhere near these woods? Will you be able to return home?”

Blinking your eyes, you turn and look around to notice how far you have gone. It’s not like you had paid much attention to where you were heading while running away from danger.

Yet you are quite familiar with this place, recognising the twin elm trees on the top of the hill which have always been visible when you look out the windows of your bedchamber. Except the distance has always made them seem smaller than their actual size, now that you are looking at it from a closer angle.

You are surprised to realise that you have deviated quite far from your original route, and most obviously, away from home. So surprised that you have no idea what to say to the Prince.

He asks you again, sounding more concerned this time, even if his smile has yet to fade. “Where do you live? How about I give you a ride home?”

Before you can answer him, a sharp gasp breaks the moment between you. Followed with a rushed, panicked voice, saying, “N-no, Your Highness. Forgive me, but you should really go back to the castle. I’m sure the lady is going to be fine without—”

“Forgive me, Sir Noah. But I won’t be much of a gentleman if I don’t take the lady home right away and let her run home on her own after facing such peril,” the Prince says, cutting the other gentleman off before he can say more, without even looking away from you.

You, on the other hand, are shocked that you have failed to notice that there is someone else who has been there with the Prince. Too captivated with your hero’s arrival to realise it. Now, however, as you look over the Prince’s shoulder, you see an older—much older, looking at his partly greying hair and his deep scowl—gentleman on a darker and slightly older horse slowly coming up to the Prince.

“Go back to the castle and collect some men to retrieve the troll,” the Prince continues as he pulls on the rein, ready to command his horse to start moving again. He only looks briefly over his shoulder to greet his companion with a smirk, “I’ll see you back at the castle.”

“But wait, my Prince! Your Highness!” the gentleman shouts, yet the Prince has already ordered his horse to set off to leave this place. But not before he expertly guides the horse to leap across the boulder, giving him a chance to snatch the basket full of goods which you tossed away earlier and allowing Poppy to jump onto your lap.

“Is everyone ready?” he asks, eyeing you as you hold your basket and Poppy securely in your arms. Without waiting for your answer, he nods and shouts an order. The horse takes off, heading downhill at a rapid pace as if it hadn’t been racing across the forest and working hard to help its master defeat the troll.

The other gentleman, Sir Noah, tries and fails to catch up as the horse begins galloping through the thick woods. The gentleman’s voice quickly fades in the distance as he calls out to Prince Charming desperately to make him come back, “Prince Jungkook! You must not do this!”

After reaching halfway across the forest, Prince Jungkook orders his horse to slow down, and the journey continues leisurely. It seems like he is giving his dear horse a chance to take it easy while he takes a moment to enjoy this moment of calmness.

“This is a beautiful forest,” he muses as he looks around. You cannot help but straighten up proudly at his comment. Because you cannot help but agree with him.

Here, away from the scene of chaos, everything feels right again. The breeze feels calming after the entire ordeal. The sound of rustling leaves above you becomes music to your ears, even though it doesn’t do much to drown the rapid sound of your heartbeat. Even the birdsong has returned. The rustling sounds in the bushes let you know that the little critters have gone out of their hiding places.

As if peace has been restored, and the upsetting event which disrupted the entire forest has been erased from existence.

But while the Prince is comfortably taking everything in, you find yourself unable to tear your eyes away from him.

Feeling your gaze, Prince Jungkook suddenly looks at you. His deep, amused gaze feels so overwhelming that your face immediately starts to flush warmly. You look away when it becomes too much.

“The other gentleman from before,” you ask with a small voice, “Is it really all right to leave him behind and send him away? He seemed—concerned.”

Jungkook laughs. There is something wicked and naughty in the way he is smiling when you look at him again. “There is no need to worry about Sir Noah. He gets concerned of almost about everything. Mostly about me, though.”

“Ah, I see.”

Falling into a brief pause, you feel the tension slowly being chipped away. You realise only now that Jungkook has been using the hand that is not holding the horse’s rein to hold your waist, keeping you safe against his chest.

“So, um—Prince Jungkook?” you speak again to break the tension between you, “What were you doing in the forest this early in the day?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows form a deep crease at your question. “The castle received news about a troll that has been going on a rampage—ruining farmers’ properties, stealing crops and livestock from those poor farmers, and threatening to loot nearby villages. Sir Noah and I left the castle before dawn to catch the troll before it could reach another village.”

He stops with a grimace before looking at your face again. “Perhaps I should apologise. If only I had done a better job at capturing the troll and stopping it from escaping us, you wouldn’t have found yourself in such peril.”

You wave your hand at him. “Oh, that’s all right. You saved my life, so all is forgiven.”

The crease between his eyebrows eases when he smiles. “You said you saw me in your dreams?”

Your eyes grow wide when you recall the way you had blurted out about your silly dream when you had just met him. “Yes, yes I did!” you nervously admit to him, before adding with a whisper, “I—think?”

Jungkook’s grin widens as he admits, “I may have seen you in mine too, Princess.”

“Oh, I’m not a princess. I’m just _______,” you say to him with a nervous chuckle, “Although my friends and my grandmother often call me Blossom.”

“Blossom. Interesting nickname,” he muses, “My mother used to call me ‘her silly little rabbit,’ although I’m not quite sure what that means.” His eyebrows crease again as he thinks deeply about it, making you realise that he looks—adorable, when he isn’t focused on defeating beasts and having fun racing with his horse.

Yet your admiration fades when you come to a jolt, realising what he meant. “Your mother? The—the Queen?” you ask him and he nods. You have many questions running through your head right now, yet you simply ask him the one thing that seems to have gotten stuck in your mind, “What did you mean that you may have seen me too?”

With a grin, Jungkook answers you excitedly, “I might have. I don’t always remember my dreams, but I’m sure that I’ve seen you in it.” He seems sure of himself that you don’t feel any need to question it. Any doubt that you may feel disappears anyway when he is looking at you with those eyes of his, and with a smile that makes your heartbeat jump and gallop. Just like his white horse earlier, especially when you hear him say, “That’s why I know that our meeting must have been fated, don’t you agree?”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Is that so?”

“I know so,” he confidently says as he pulls you even closer to his chest. “Our dreams have shown us that we are meant to be. That’s why, I think we should get married.”

You let out a surprised gasp. “M-married?” The sound of your laughter erupts through the woods, drowning the sound of Poppy’s surprised screech.

“Yes, absolutely. We can get married tomorrow.”

The flutters that have been growing in your chest start to go wild. “To-tomorrow?!”

“Yes, isn’t that how the story goes?” he says with a wide smile on his face, reminding you of the smile that you wore all morning when you were talking about your dream prince. It seems as if you are still dreaming now, or that you have been brought back to your dream from last night when he recounts what had just transpired, making you think back about your dream. “I saved you from the evil monster who tried to harm you, swept you off your feet, and then we’ll marry in the castle, and then we’ll share our true love’s kiss—”

Your eyes grow wide. “A true love’s kiss,” you murmur to yourself, to which Poppy turns to look at you with an expression of shock and bewilder. Yet you pay no mind to her, when you are in too much in awe, unable to believe that this is real.

“—and we’ll live happily ever after,” the Prince continues with a beaming smile. “Isn’t that right? So why wait? What do you say?”

You can hear your grandmother’s voice in your head, reminding you not to get lost in your dreams and to always think rationally. You can also feel Poppy’s panicked little grip on your dress and the sound of her stuttering, asking you to pay attention to her.

But every part of your dreams—both from the one you have harboured since you were a young girl and the one you had last night—comes to drown everything to the background. This is it, you wonder to yourself, this is my dream coming true!

With an incredulous laugh slipping out of your lips, you wrap your arms around his neck and say, “Yes, let’s get married. Tomorrow.”

Prince Jungkook joins you in laughter, neither of you noticing the way Poppy is now shaking her head rapidly in disbelief when he says, “Then I shall send the news to the castle and we will have our magical wedding by noon tomorrow.”

“Yes!” you excitedly say with a cheer, “Oh, I can’t wait.”

Your chest is filled with joy and a flutter of nerves that it almost feels like you are about to burst. Things are happening so quickly, so suddenly, so soon. You had woken up this morning with joy and hope that came from the dream you had about your prince, believing that it was a sign from the universe. You never expected to have your dream coming into reality when the day has yet to reach past noon.

But here you are now, looking deep into your prince’s eyes as he is taking you home for the last time, merely a step away from your happily ever after.

Once Prince Jungkook has succeeded in bringing you safely back home to your anxious grandmother, he immediately races back to the home castle. He wastes no time making his way to the Queen’s sitting room, where he knows he will be able to find his mother enjoying her afternoon downtime.

“Queen Mother, I have news!” Prince Jungkook calls out as he marches into the den with a wide smile on his face. There is an air of joy and pleasure following him as he comes to greet his mother.

Queen Rosalyne was in the middle of arranging a flower bouquet when Jungkook rushed in. His excitement bounces against the walls, making her smile as she raises her head to look at her son. “News? What is it now, my Prince?”

Jungkook is nearly breathless when he stands before the Queen, announcing proudly. “I have good news! I know you’ll be happy.”

Holding back her soft laughter, the Queen sits back down and urges Jungkook to continue, “Fine. Tell me.”

“I have found my true love. The one I’ll be sharing my true love’s kiss with,” Jungkook declares proudly with his arms spread wide.

“Is that so?” Queen Rosalyne asks with her eyebrows raised. Soft laughter escapes her, while Jungkook has to hold back his own laughter when he notices that the Queen is saying the same thing as you did when he brought up the idea earlier.

“Who is she? From which kingdom did she come?”

Jungkook is so overwhelmed with bubbling excitement that his entire body is almost shaking. “Her name is ________, and she is from here, Andalasia.”

“Really?” the Queen asks, though she sounds quite doubtful about it. “And where did you meet this girl?”

“It’s actually an interesting story,” Jungkook says before he launches into a story time and shares with his mother everything that has happened since he left the castle this morning.

Starting from the reports about the troll and how he decided to depart at dawn to capture it, how he managed to defeat the troll the first time, only for Sir Noah to accidentally let the creature escape. Then Jungkook starts pacing back and forth as he enthusiastically describes how he raced through the forest to catch up with the troll, while the beast was focused on capturing you, and how he had saved you from the creature.

“It was love at first sight, Queen Mother. Just like the kind that people talk and sing about in their songs. The kind that is celebrated in written stories,” Jungkook concludes his story as he turns to his mother. “It was fate’s work of bringing us together, so it would be right for me to take her hand in marriage, share with her the true love’s kiss, so our love can spread magic all over our mighty kingdom.”

Silence falls between them. Jungkook feels nervous when the Queen barely shows any reaction.

“Mother?” he asks, slowly taking the seat next to the Queen. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes, I hear you. I’m not quite sure that I heard you perfectly.” The Queen looks at Jungkook with a deep gaze, her brows furrowing when she asks him, “Did you say you wanted to—marry this girl?”

“I did. It would only make sense. That way we can celebrate with everyone else as we share our true love’s kiss.”

Queen Rosalyne purses her lips. She dislikes any talk about the ‘true love’s kiss,’ and she finds that she doesn’t enjoy it the most when she has to hear it coming from her own son. Yet seeing how excited the thought seems to be making him, as the Prince’s eyes are shining so brightly as he speaks about his possible marriage, and his smile grows wide, genuine, and free—something that the Queen hasn’t been able to see for a long, long time—she finds no reason to deny his wish.

It seems so wrong to deny him happiness. If any, the Queen feels relieved that she finally gets to send him off into the world and give him a reason to stop chasing beasts and monsters throughout the kingdom.

“Fine,” Queen Rosalyne says with a light scoff, “Have it your way. But you must deal with it all on your own. Have Sir Noah help you prepare for the feast if you wish to do this entire thing tomorrow.”

Prince Jungkook is so elated to gain the Queen’s approval that he is practically bouncing on his feet. The Queen holds back a smile, wondering to herself, my silly little rabbit.

She recalls how frustrated Jungkook made her when he was a child, unable to hold back his energy as he kept hopping and running all over the castle. The Queen had sniffed when she was too exhausted to catch up to him and called him out, “Stop playing like a wild rabbit and calm down,” and the nickname stuck with him—and she has used it to call him with it more endearingly—once he started growing up.

Lost in her thoughts, the Queen is caught by surprise when Jungkook bows before her and takes her hand to kiss the back of it. “Thank you, Mother. Your Majesty. You are truly a great and wise mother. I could never repay you.”

Queen Rosalyne is too stunned to speak. She isn’t one to get affected by emotions too easily, but Jungkook’s words seem to have stirred something inside her heart that has grown cold and frozen after so long. She says nothing as Jungkook turns to leave the chamber, leaving her with her running thoughts and the unsettling feeling that has been growing so intensely in her chest since the moment Jungkook mentioned your name.

At the center of Queen Rosalyne’s sitting chamber, there is a small indoor garden with a small water fountain which is made of black stone. Surrounded by well-trimmed hedges of black blooming roses, patches of green grass and white cobblestones covering the ground, the water fountain becomes the center point of the space which represents serenity and solitude.

Yet this is also the place where the Queen often practices her magic, using the secret spells that she keeps mostly to herself. She does this only when she is all alone, whether to watch over her kingdom and cast spells to protect the land, or for reasons that have nothing to do with the well-being of her people.

By the time evening comes, the Queen often uses her spells to fulfil her secret desires. Something that she is planning to do to ease the uneasiness which has been plaguing her ever since the conversation she shared with Jungkook.

As the day slowly shifts into dusk, and the Queen is quite sure that Jungkook has been gone long enough to be deep in arranging things for tomorrow, Queen Rosalyne summons Sir Noah into her chamber.

“The Prince has found a maiden to marry,” Sir Noah announces upon his arrival, meeting the Queen directly in the secret garden which he has frequently visited before.

“Yes, he had come to me this afternoon to announce his intention to marry a girl,” the Queen says, in a most calm, yet dubious tone of voice. “I’m going to assume that you have met this—girl, since I know that you were the one to join the Prince in his excursion today.”

Swallowing hard to ease his nerves, Sir Noah nods. “I was with the Prince when the maiden, uh—fell into Prince Jungkook’s arms.”

This has the Queen’s attention. Turning away from the black blooming roses that she has been tending to, Queen Rosalyne regards Sir Noah with her eyebrows raised. “How—romantic,” she murmurs, “And where did this chance encounter happen?”

Sir Noah clears his throat before answering, “The Amaranth Forest, Your Majesty. It was where Prince Jungkook and I ended up after hunting the giant troll that has been terrorising the people in Sunny Brook Hills.”

All of a sudden, the Queen’s shoulders grow tense. “Amaranth, you say?”

The cold tone of the Queen’s voice and the expression she wears on her face draws chill running down Sir Noah’s spine. He has been working in the castle with the Queen for a long, long time. Long enough to know that she is not happy to hear the information that he just gave her.

After processing this, Queen Rosalyne rises to her feet and turns, making her way to the magic water fountain. The Queen merely stands before the fountain when the thing reacts to her presence. Immediately, the air grows cold and heavy, and it becomes even more intense as Queen Rosalyne raises both of her arms over the water fountain.

The surface of the water ripples as a dark green light emerges from her hands, shining brightly while the Queen enchants her spell. The green light descends into the water, blending with the ripples as the mana shines in dark green.

The Queen steps aside and gestures at Sir Noah to come closer. “Show me.”

Gulping nervously, Sir Noah comes to the Queen's side and slowly folds the cuff of his sleeve. Offering his hand, the Queen raises her sharp nails and slits the skin of his palm, causing a small wound which is enough to let a few drops of blood taint the water inside the fountain. Once the blood blends into the water, the surface ripples intensely until the green light within starts to stretch out, and images begin to appear on the water, framed by the green mana sparkling under the calm ripples.

The Queen bends over the fountain as she is shown the series of events that happened within the depths of the Amaranth Forest this morning. Everything seems to unravel just the way Jungkook relayed it to the Queen.

The giant troll in his escape. The Prince’s relentless chase. And the maiden who was running from the wicked troll before she finally fell into the Prince’s arms.

The scene in the water changes when the Queen swaps her palm over the surface, turning back time to see your daily life in the small cabin with your grandmother. She can see you singing with your forest friends, and then cooking and laughing with your grandmother.

Seeing your grandmother, the Queen’s jaw clenches with recognition.

Too nervous to remain silent, as he is unable to read the Queen’s hard expression and lack of words, Sir Noah begins to explain the events that happened this morning, “The troll was lured into the forest by the maiden’s voice, who was singing to the forest’s creatures. And right after the Prince was able to apprehend the troll, he captured her as she—”

“How uncanny,” Queen Rosalyne murmurs almost to herself, completely disregarding Sir Noah’s rapid blabbering.

“Y-your Majesty?”

Straightening up to her full height, the Queen moves her hand over the water to enlarge the image that she is now seeing on the surface of the water. With a glance, Sir Noah can see a close-up of your face as you are riding on the horse with Prince Jungkook, before the image switches back to you working in the gardens with your grandmother.

“She looks just like her. Exactly like her,” Queen Rosalyne continues to murmur gently, astonished by the sight of you—a commoner girl from the magic forest that even Sir Noah has never met before.

“The maiden? Who are you referring to that would look like her, Your Majesty?”

The Queen gives him no answer, and instead waves her palm over the water until the image dissolves, leaving nothing more but the calm, clear water.

“When will this wedding take place? Has it been decided yet?”

Sir Noah wrings his hands together with nerves. The tension has risen exponentially within the chamber. The change in the Queen’s attitude makes him wary, and he has no idea what is happening.

“Prince Jungkook insisted on having it soon. As—as soon as tomorrow, Your Majesty. The entire castle is already in the height of the preparation for the ceremony.”

The Queen holds back the urge to curse as she turns away, enraged, and she wipes her gardening tools off her work table. The noise and clutters and the flying objects cause Sir Noah to flinch. He has no idea what is currently going on inside the Queen’s mind and chooses to remain silent rather than risk having her unleash her rage on him.

He has witnessed what happened to those who aren’t careful with their words, especially when the Queen is losing her patience like this.

“Call it off,” the Queen suddenly speaks. Her voice has calmed down, yet there is an eerie chill in her tone which makes Sir Noah shudder in fear.

“My-my Queen? What do you mean?”

Queen Rosalyne turns to face him and snaps. “I’m talking about the wedding, you fool! Call it off!”

“But-but Your Majesty, you have given your approval to the wedding,” Sir Noah struggles to speak, “The preparation is already underway. Everything is almost ready, even the Prince has gathered enough—”

The Queen releases a frustrated snarl. Her energy erupts, and a few potted plants within the garden explode under the power of her rage.

Deep down, the Queen didn’t think that it would be possible for Jungkook to make things happen within less than a day. The boy has always been hasty, and she has secretly hoped that he would stumble upon obstacles and give up on the idea of having a wedding so suddenly and have it postponed either way. But now—

Now it’s too late.

When the Queen first gave Jungkook her approval to marry you, she never thought that you would be someone who would be related to her past. She should have been more careful and made sure to find out more about your identity first before she said anything. She had a feeling that something was amiss, and now she is regretting that she hadn’t been listening to her gut.

How? How could this be?

Holding her head in her hands, the Queen chastises herself for being so reckless. Memories of her past come back to haunt her. Guilt, remorse, and hatred, all mix into one. And in her mind, everything blends together to form the shape of your face.

The face that she wishes so desperately to forget.

“Fine. Then I shall do it myself,” the Queen finally says with an eerie calmness in her voice.

“My Queen? What—what do you mean?”

Queen Rosalyne looks at her loyal aide once more and raises her chin. “I’ll make sure the wedding never happens. My son can marry, as long as it’s not with her,” she says as she slowly walks closer to Sir Noah, who can only stare at her with his eyes widening in fear.

“And you are going to help me make it happen, wouldn’t you?” the Queen whispers to him as she gently places the tip of her finger on Sir Noah’s chin, forcing him to only look at her eyes, unable to move or look away.

Gulping hard, Sir Noah quickly nods his head and faintly whispers, “Yes, my Queen.”

The steady rocking of the carriage taking you to the castle should have been able to soothe your anxiety. Maybe lull you to sleep, even.

Yet you have been too anxious that your eyes remain wide. Your hands continue to fidget on your lap and trace along your wedding dress. Not that you have no faith in yourself about the dress. But focusing on making sure that you haven’t missed a seam feels better than looking out the window and focusing on how close you are getting to your destination.

Soon enough—much sooner than expected—the carriage stops with a jolt. The rough sound of cobblestones cracking under the wheels snaps you back to focus, forcing you to raise your head just as a royal guard opens the door for you.

“Welcome to Castle Andalasia.”

Clutching the skirt of your wedding dress, you slowly step out of the carriage. Yet you fail to take notice of how tense your body has gotten. Your muscles have grown so stiff that your steps become clumsy, causing you to lose your footing.

“Oh, my!”

Barely catching yourself from falling, a nervous giggle escapes you as you straighten yourself up before anyone can step up to help. “I’m fine, so sorry.”

The royal guard steps away, leaving you alone with your little friends who have decided to keep you company, all jumping out of the carriage to surround you.

Standing at the castle's threshold, just a few steps away from entering through the main gate, you feel as if you are walking into a dream. There is a giddy feeling rushing through your body that is hard to shake. The urge to pinch yourself is also strong, yet there is nothing that you can do but clutch your skirt tighter until you feel pain in your palms to know that this is real.

That you are now standing right in front of the castle.

The castle.

The place where Queen Rosalyne resides with Prince Charming and her loyal aides. And you are not here simply to come for a formal visit like other common people would do to seek an audience with the Queen to confide about their problems. You are here today for the wedding.

And it will be your wedding.

It still hasn’t truly sunk in yet that you are to be married to Prince Charming. To marry Prince Jungkook, who is loved by everyone in Andalasia for his heroic actions in defeating all the beasts and monsters posing threats to the kingdom.

Before proceeding further, you take a moment to turn around, taking one final look at yourself through the reflection you see on the glass window of your carriage.

Pride blooms within as you look at your wedding dress. The dress is immaculate, handcrafted by your own talented hands since the moment your wedding date was made official and your loving grandmother gave her blessings. Despite her misgivings on your upcoming wedding day, your grandmother stayed up with you, assisting you as you spent all night creating this dress.

Looking at yourself, you must admit that this dress is your true masterpiece.

The bodice of the dress is made of delicate lacework that hugs your figure perfectly while hiding your flaws. The floral patterns on the bodice represent the beauty of the forest and your lovely garden back home perfectly, intertwining and cascading down your form like fresh vines with wildflowers blooming at every tip.

The lace, meticulously stitched by your own hands, is filled with every drop of hope and love that you harbour for the happily ever after that you have dreamed about for as long as you can remember.

From your shoulders, down to your arms, a similar ensemble of delicate lacework covers your skin in a comforting fit, adding modesty and elegance to your dress which seems presentable for your special day at the castle.

From the waist, the fabric flows down like a river of light, billowing into a skirt that trails down to your ankles, rippling in subtle waves with each step that you take. Layers of soft, finely crafted tulle form the skirt to create an illusion of a cloud, making it seem as if you are floating as you slowly turn and twirl to see yourself in every angle.

Around your shoulders, a veil made of the finest gossamer falls in a delicate cascade down to your back, instead of acting like a cover to shield your face from view. You have the veil fastened to your hair, which is styled in a fancy yet simple twisted bun. Tiny pearls and crystals in different sizes and shapes are woven into the fabric of the veil, and they sparkle like dewdrops under the soft glow of the bright sunlight.

Growing even more tense with nerves, your hands continue to clench and unclench around your dress, feeling lost with nothing else to hold on to. You wish that your grandmother had been fit enough to be here so you could hold her hand for support, yet you force that thought away, knowing that she hasn’t been well enough to travel far from home. Much less to walk you down the aisle to give you away to the Prince.

“Stop that right now before you ruin your dress,” Poppy suddenly scolds you, slapping the back of your hands until you let go from where she is perched on the side of the carriage.

“Here,” she says, shoving a small bouquet of flowers—filled with a collection of wildflowers, carnations, and baby’s-breath—into one of your hands while Brew, the wild badger, and the white bunnies run around the skirt of your dress as they shove a glowing tiara into your other hand.

“Put this on your head, Blossom,” they sing together cheerfully, forcing you to lean down as you accept their little gift and gently place it on the crown of your head.

“Thank you, my sweet little angels. I don’t know what I would do without you,” you whisper with a content sigh, feeling your nerves calming down as you look at your little friends.

Your eyes meet Poppy’s worried gaze as she sighs. “Are you really sure about this, ______?”

Smiling at your friend, you bend down to match her gaze. You know that Poppy has been feeling unsure about all of this. She may have kept her words to herself when the two of you were on your ride home with Prince Jungkook yesterday, yet you could still sense her concern along the way. She has also voiced her concerns about how quickly everything is unfolding, yet she did nothing to stop you from carrying on with this wedding plans when you showed how hopeful and confident you were with your decision.

Even your grandmother had been worried when you first came home with the news. Yet the Prince was there with you when he asked for her permission to marry you, which melted her heart a little that she had no other choice but to let you go.

“I am sure. What are the odds that I was to meet with Prince Charming the morning after I dreamt about him? It was definitely a sign from fate, which I must follow if I want to find my happily ever after. Surely, you’d understand.”

You said the same thing last night, when Poppy was there to help you finish your wedding dress. The same thing you also said to your grandmother once Prince Jungkook left to return to the castle, reassuring her that fate wouldn’t have given you the signs if this wasn’t meant to be.

“I do. I’m happy for you,” Poppy says with a small smile, “But you must promise me that you’ll never leave us behind and forget about us.”

“Never. The forest will always be my home. I’m sure Prince Jungkook is open to helping me make arrangements so I can still spend time with you,” you gently reassure her, “And for me to visit grandmother too from time to time.”

Poppy shakes her head and shrugs. “All right, if you say so,” she says, finally giving in, “What are you waiting for, then? It’s time to go.”

Your other forest friends who have been silent while watching you and Poppy going back and forth about the wedding are now cheering for you to go. “Let’s go, Blossom! Go!”

Their positive energy quickly rubs on you. It helps build up your excitement. A bubble of laughter comes out of you as you feel every bit of your apprehension being chipped away.

“All right, I’m ready!” you shout, inciting more cheers from your friends. “Let’s go watch me get married!”

Hiking up your skirt just enough so you won’t be stepping on the hem, you turn and start to track down the pathway leading to the main gate of the castle, carrying with you a new determination and your little friends shadowing your footsteps.

At the main gate, you are welcomed by a familiar face. Standing right before the gate is Sir Noah, still looking as graceful as how you remember him. Wearing a royal suit in dark plum colours and gold linings, his greying hair neatly combed back instead of falling down his face, he looks just like any royal advisor would.

A smile grows on his face when he sees you coming near, and you greet him with a curtsy. “It’s so nice to see you again, Sir Noah.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Miss. Welcome to Castle Andalasia,” he says in return. As you straighten back up, you see him looking around you while looking confused. “Are you, perhaps—on your own? Do you not have anyone with you today?”

Smiling ruefully, you slowly shake your head. “I no longer have any family other than my grandmother,” you answer with a soft voice. “It’s unfortunate that my grandmother isn’t doing well and she couldn’t travel far in a carriage.”

Something flashes in Sir Noah’s gaze—surprise, pity, sadness, and an odd look of guilt, although you cannot understand why he would feel so guilty about hearing this—before his expression clears to normal.

“But, there is nothing to worry about,” you cheerfully add, “because I have my friends here with me to witness this wonderful moment.”

Sir Noah raises his eyebrows while your friends release a loud cheer. Yet Sir Noah quickly clears his throat and shakes his head. “I see. Unfortunately, I’m afraid your friends will have to enter separately. They are guests, after all, and you might need time to finish preparing.”

While your friends express their displeasure with a series of protesting sounds, you keep a smile on your face to change Sir Noah’s mind. “Oh, but—these friends can help me get ready for the ceremony,” you let out a nervous laugh as you try to convince him, “They were the ones who helped me make this dress too.”

“And they’ve done a marvellous job,” Sir Noah smoothly says, “But I can assure you that our palace maids will be able to help you, and it will be better for your friends to simply enjoy the ceremony as guests, don’t you agree?”

Right beside you, Poppy stares at Sir Noah with a scowl on her face. Yet she also sees you getting nervous again because of the sudden change of circumstances. That is why—reluctant as she is to leave you—Poppy masks her emotions and turns to help calm you down.

“It’s okay, Blossom. I’m sure Prince Jungkook has ordered the palace maids to assist you. We’ll be seeing you later inside, okay?”

Still feeling unsure, you eventually agree. “Okay,” you murmur to Poppy before turning to Sir Noah, “But Poppy will be the one walking me down the aisle in my grandmother’s place.”

Sir Noah barely hides his displeasure this time. With his jaw clenched, he releases a sigh and says, ”Fine. That can be arranged. But you really should go now, or else, you’ll be late for your own wedding.”

“Oh, right! Absolutely.”

Finally, with a deep sigh of relief, Sir Noah steps aside to let the royal guards open the main gate for you to enter. “Follow this path right here to enter the royal garden, and someone will see you to show you where to go,” Sir Noah instructs you while gesturing towards the long-winded stone-covered pathway leading you towards the maze-like garden. With lines of green hedges on either side of the pathway and a wooden arch-shaped pergola covered in vines waiting for you halfway into the garden.

“Okay, here we go,” you whisper to yourself, saying it with a clear mind as a self-pep talk before you start walking again.

With your hands holding your skirt up, your head held high, and a long, deep breath to calm your racing heartbeat, you begin to walk down the pathway towards the center of the garden where the wedding ceremony is about to be held.

While you keep getting further away from your friends, Poppy cannot find it in her to look away. Call it a gut feeling, but the poor squirrel feels uneasy about letting you go off on your own. But she doesn’t really have a choice now, does she?

She is no longer in the forest where she gets to call the shots, and this shady old man next to them is the one controlling the situation.

Poppy throws a side glance at the man who you called as Sir Noah. “So where are we supposed to go?”

The smile that Sir Noah gives her then brings chill through her tiny body. “Come with me.”

The group of little animals look at each other before they follow Sir Noah through a separate pathway. Here, the path is covered with a rougher kind of gravel, and the vines and hedges look more unkempt. The further they walk, the closer they huddle together in fear, while Sir Noah barely cares to soothe their worries.

Even his warm welcome earlier has shifted. He acts more cold with the animals and is even rough when he sends the royal guards away.

They continue to walk until an iron gate appears down the pathway. It looks a bit rusty, and Poppy has an odd feeling about all of this when she sees Sir Noah pulling out a key from his pocket.

The iron gate creeks heavily when he opens it, causing all the animals to grimace. “You can enter through this gate,” Sir Noah gestures toward the other side of the gate, and every inch of her muscles fight back to stop Poppy from walking forward.

“Where are you leading us to?” she snaps, and Sir Noah’s expression darkens.

“Are you insinuating that I’m separating you from the maiden?”

Brew, now shaking in fear, innocently whispers loud enough for everyone to hear, “But this isn’t the way to the royal garden.”

Your forest friends may not have had any experience visiting the castle, but they are wild animals from the forest, capable of telling the difference between the well-kept garden and the wild. Beyond the iron gate, the air flows differently. The grasses are thicker, and they can all smell the scent of the muddy lake from all the way here.

“You are sending us away from the castle,” Poppy growls, absolutely pissed off that the one that you have trusted to take care of your friends is doing this behind your back.

Sending them away from you, from the wedding, and back out there into the wild.

“What is going on? Is _____ even safe?”

“What are you planning to do?”

Poppy’s little friends begin to protest once they also sense that something is wrong, while the scowl on Sir Noah’s face deepens. “Oh, bollocks. You are too loud,” he snaps. All so suddenly, he lifts a massive shovel that seems to come out of nowhere and starts swinging it towards Poppy and her friends, forcing them to run towards the opened gate before they can get hurt.

“Now, shoo! Get out of here!” he shouts between each swing.

Once every single one of your little friends is out the gate, Sir Noah throws the shovel away and closes the iron gate. The sound of the lock being latched back in place pierces through the animals’ chests.

“Nooooo!”

“Blossom!”

Some of them begin snarling and growling, even if they are completely powerless against the tall, elegant, yet evil human before them.

“What about Blossom?” Brew asks while shaking, both in fear and rage, “What’s going to happen to our friend?”

Sir Noah leans down, showing his evil smirk as he peeks through from between the iron bars. “Don’t worry about your friend. We’ll make sure that she’s in good hands.”

With his evil laugh, Sir Noah turns away, leaving your frightened animal friends behind.

“Where is the Prince? I know that Prince Jungkook will never stand for this!” Poppy shouts in her last effort to threaten Sir Noah, only for the latter to ignore her words, and the sound of his laughter continues to echo further away before he disappears into the royal garden.

At the depth of the royal garden, you find yourself getting lost.

It turns out that this place is a maze, confirming your first suspicion when you first laid eyes on the winding pathway disappearing between the tall green hedges. The deeper you walk into the garden, the higher the hedges grow, and the thicker the trees and bushes around you become. The variety of flowers can’t help much to show you where you are, since everything looks the same no matter where you go.

While worrying about not being able to find your way, you also worry about your friends. You wish you had insisted on having Poppy come with you. Perhaps then, you wouldn’t feel so alone and she could help you find the way by using her sharp senses.

Will they be alright, you wonder as you think about your furry friends. But knowing that they are in the hands of Sir Noah gives you some peace of mind. Surely, the kind gentleman will be able to help and keep them safe. Right?

But speaking of Sir Noah—

I thought he said that someone would come to see me and show me the way. But where are they?

You have been walking for a while, yet there is nobody in sight. Not even a shadow of a person. It seems odd to think that the royal garden will be this empty, especially with a wedding happening this afternoon.

Turning at a corner, you find yourself at an opening between the maze. A small gazebo is placed at the center with wooden benches inside. Your exhaustion draws you towards it, and with your eyes focused on the benches that seem comfortable for you to sit on, you don’t notice it when a movement suddenly happens from nearby.

The rustling sound of the bushes is the only warning that you get before someone suddenly emerges from the shadows.

“Aaahh!” you scream in fear, while the figure before you quickly apologises.

“Oh, dear me. I’m so sorry, dearest,” an old woman’s voice speaks to you, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Eyes still widened in fear, you look at the person before you. Instead of a royal guard or a palace maid, you are met with an old woman wearing a long dress in an earthly colour under a worn-out cloak that hangs to the ground.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you answer with a nervous chuckle. “It’s a harmless mistake. Are you—are you from around here? I think I’ve gotten lost. I’m supposed to be at the wedding spot by now, but I haven’t seen anyone.”

The old woman smiles. “Oh, you poor thing. His Highness the Prince should’ve done better to prepare a guard for his bride,” she complains, tsk-ing her tongue and shaking her head with disappointment. “Maybe I can help guide you there? This old hag may not look it, but I do know my way around the castle like the back of my hand.”

Perhaps, it would have been best if you were wary of an unknown stranger suddenly offering help during dire times. Yet you are quickly reminded of your grandmother waiting back home and think nothing of the old woman who is offering her assistance so kindly.

“Please, if you may. I don’t want to be late for my own wedding,” you answer her with a relieved sigh.

“Excellent. Come along, then,” the cloaked woman turns and starts moving towards a different pathway with confident strides. You begin to believe that you are making a good decision then.

“You look nervous, dear. Is everything okay? I’m sure you're excited about the wedding, aren’t you?” she asks after you walk with her for a moment longer, surprising you that she notices.

Because you are nervous. Only that it has been suppressed under your worries while you were getting lost in the maze earlier.

“I actually am, if I must admit. Both nervous and excited,” you answer as the flutter in your chest grows wild all of a sudden. “To think that in a matter of minutes, the Prince Charming and I are going to—” your voice falters with nerves, “That we’re going to have our—” Thinking about what is going to happen causes your heartbeat to race, making it hard for you to breathe, to speak, that when you speak next, it almost feels like you are listening to yourself from a far distance away, “We are going to have our true love’s kiss.”

It feels too surreal to think that it is finally happening. Your dreams are coming true. Even saying it out loud doesn’t seem to make it real. Stunned at how your life is changing so rapidly, you come to a halt.

“I am most happy for you, my dear. But surely you can’t go into your wedding without going through the old tradition of the castle,” the old woman speaks again with joy—as if she is truly happy for you.

“The old tradition?” you ask, confused. Because you are quite sure that you know everything that you need to know about any kind of wedding tradition within the kingdom, and you are not sure if you are missing anything.

“Why—to visit the magic fountain, of course,” the woman explains nonchalantly. “All brides would go to the magic fountain and make their final wish, hoping for their happily ever after before they are to wed. The fountain has magic spells, you see, to make sure that your wish is to be granted and for everything to go well until the end.”

“My—wish?”

“Yes. Your wish,” she says. The smile that the old woman shows you as she turns to face you brings a shudder to your skin. It is an indescribable feeling. Yet you brush it off, telling yourself that maybe your nerves are acting up again. “Do you have a wish, sweetheart?”

“I wish,” you find yourself answering, “that we’ll live happily ever after.”

Because that is the only wish that would make sense, after all. Who wouldn’t want to find their happy ever after? While you are so close to having it, deep down, this is what you have been wishing for since you were a little girl and you want nothing to come your way from getting it.

“Then you should pray for your wish to make sure you’ll have it fulfilled, don’t you agree?” the old woman asks you in the most tempting way that you cannot find it in you to say no to. When she sees that you don’t seem convinced enough to follow her, she immediately adds, “It’s not too far from here, and it’ll take only a few seconds, so you won’t be late for your wedding. I promise.”

“You’re right,” you say to her, suddenly feeling hopeful again. “Besides, it would be wrong for me to skip a tradition on my special day.”

“Good girl,” she says. For a brief moment, you believe that her voice oddly changes. Yet you pay no attention to it as she already begins moving—suspiciously quickly, for an old woman wearing a long, heavy cloak—through the maze again, giving you no other choice but to follow her close behind.

It doesn’t take long before you emerge into another opening. This time, it seems like you have reached the far end of the garden, and right before your eyes stands the fountain that the kind old woman mentioned earlier.

“Here it is, the magic wishing fountain,” she says as she steps aside, allowing you to have a good look at the fountain.

And what you see right in front of your eyes leaves you completely lost for words.

“It’s—beautiful,” you muse softly, admiring the beautiful fountain that you have never once seen before.

The magic fountain is placed deliberately at what seems to be the heart of the royal garden, right where the sunlight is filtered through a canopy of emerald leaves, giving it a mellow, yet romantic atmosphere.

Surrounded by cobblestone pathways and vibrant flower beds, the water fountain stands elegantly between the wall of green around you. It is not made in a grand, ostentatious structure, but a modest creation which seems like it was naturally formed between the green hedges and lush trees, almost blending into the solid castle wall that spreads wide through the royal garden.

The base, crafted from gleaming white marble, frames a pool of crystal-clear water which ripples gently from the center. The intricate design of the marble stone makes it seem like a bed of white flowers emerging from the ground, delicate and sturdy at the same time, instead of a stiff rock which made up the small fountain your grandmother built back home.

The marble stone frame at the base goes all the way to the back, blending into the contrasting dark wall made of natural stones. You can vines of wild ivy growing from the top of the wall, extending down to the back of the circular pool filled with fresh water.

The dark wall rises to the very top, where crystal-clear water cascades down from a seemingly mysterious source. To your eyes, it looks like a small replica of the natural waterfall from the heart of the Amaranth Forest, your secret sanctuary that not even your grandmother has ever been to before.

The fountain's waterfall sparkles in a silver glow that looks ethereal to your eyes, casting a soft, shimmering light as it spills down to the pool of water underneath. The pool water also exudes a silvery luminescence that is almost blinding, yet you find yourself unable to look away.

There is something about the fountain that keeps drawing you in. A tightness forms in your chest while you are drawn to the mesmerising sight of the water fountain that looks more like it was crafted by nature instead of manmade. It seems to be reminding you of the forest, helping you forget where you are for a brief moment and taking away all of your worries at the same time.

The soothing sound of the trickling water feels entrancing, calming every nerve-ending, every tension in your body which has grown since you left home.

Standing this close to it, you can almost feel it, the magic that comes from the spilling water, beckoning you to reach out for it.

Too immersed in the water fountain and its spellbinding magic, everything around you seems to fade away. Every other sound becomes nothing but white noise, and the presence of the stranger beside you becomes nothing more but a shadow looming close by. You barely notice when she slowly begins to move away. Her voice starts fading in and out through your senses, alluring you in an oddly enchanting way.

Just like a spell would.

At times like this, Poppy wishes that she has wings instead of these flimsy paws.

She also regrets not having her winged friends—the twin sparrows, the doves, and the little hummingbirds—with them this afternoon so she could ask them for help. But they hadn’t been pleased to make the long trip to the castle, and someone had to stay behind to watch over your sick grandmother and help her around the cabin.

Yet she pushes aside those thoughts for now, focusing on climbing up the wild vines to reach the top of the outer walls of the castle instead. She is hoping that being high enough from the ground will help her find out where you are, to see if you are safe or if Sir Noah is putting you in harm’s way. Maybe she can also find Prince Jungkook and let him know what had happened.

Poppy has no idea what is going on and why things are turning this way. She can only hope that Prince Jungkook has nothing to do with this. However, she does have a suspicion about a certain someone who might have planned this whole thing up to ruin your and Prince Jungkook’s wedding.

The only thing that she can’t understand is — Why? Why would anyone do this?

Poppy is out of breath when she is finally at the top of the wall. Now that she is high enough, she can see the outer area where she and her friends had been discarded to — the small lake that is surrounded by trees in various odd shapes, unkempt bushes and grass, with growing wildflowers that are scattered in all visible corners that she can see from up high.

On the other side of the walls, the garden looks like a massive maze, but way more well-maintained and luxurious — except for the small area beyond the locked iron gate that seems to be neglected compared to other parts of the garden.

Yet Poppy doesn’t waste any more time idling by. She isn’t here to watch the scenery and marvel at it, after all. Once she manages to catch her breath and calm down, she takes one last glance and her other friends who are waiting for her on the ground and launches into a sprint, tracing the top of the wall with a steady run to find a better spot that will allow her to have a better sight of the inner garden.

It takes a while, but eventually, Poppy can see a glimpse of your wedding dress flashing between the tall hedges. Relieved, she starts cheering to herself. She has been separated from you for long enough that anything could have happened. She keeps going, finding the right spot with the perfect angle where she can draw your attention.

“_________! Look over here!” she keeps shouting while waving her paws in the air. “Please, Blossom!”

When she fails to get your attention, Poppy jumps onto the nearest tree, hoping to get higher. The new angle allows her to see what she failed to see earlier.

“Who is that?” she wonders out loud once she notices that you are not alone. But it isn’t a maid or a guard who is with you, as promised by Sir Noah when he sent you away.

Instead, all Poppy can see from here is an old woman wearing a cloak that may have seen better days. From this spot, she can also see the hag smiling wickedly while you have your attention on a fountain that looks to be a part of the garden, and you definitely cannot see what the hag is up to when she secretly moves to stand behind you.

“No! ________!”

The wall of falling water on the fountain looks so mesmerising that you cannot look away. It seems alluring, enticing you to come closer.

But you are frozen on the spot. And for a moment, you almost forget why you are here. The thought of your wedding no longer takes the front seat in your mind when you keep feeling like you are being pulled to the fountain.

“Now, go on then. Make your wish,” you hear the woman coaxing you. Once again, her voice seems to change, no longer sounding like the weak and soft voice that you first heard from her. But then again, it could have been your imagination, because her voice softens again when she speaks,

“Didn’t you say that you have a wish, my fair maiden? This is your chance to make your wish come true.”

“Yes,” you hear yourself speak as if you are no longer inside your body. “Yes, I do have a wish.”

Closing your eyes, you look deeper into your heart and mind, knowing what exactly you want to wish for before taking the next step. Clasping your hands together, you begin to make your wish.

“I wish—that we, Prince Jungkook and I, will live happily ever a—oh!”

All of a sudden, you feel a strong push. You barely open your eyes in shock when you see your entire world being tilted over, and you are suddenly plunged deep into the water. The faux waterfall continues to flow, covering your entire body as you continue to submerge into the bottomless body of water and the world around you fades.

Up on the surface, the cloaked hag bends over the fountain and releases a wicked laugh. She waves her arms around her and starts chanting a spell on the fountain, and a thick, dark green mist emerges from the ground, surrounding her like a cloud. The moment the mist fades away, the cloaked hag has disappeared, and in her place stands the mighty Sorceress, Queen Rosalyne.

Her laughter dies down, just as Sir Noah comes out of his hiding. Wringing his hands together, he looks between the fountain that is calming down—the ripples fading as if it hadn’t been disturbed by your entire being—and the smiling Queen who is silently celebrating.

“If I may ask,” Sir Noah speaks gently, afraid of how the Queen will react to his curiosity, “Where have you sent her, Your Majesty?”

A soft chuckle slips out of the Queen’s lips as her smile widens once more. “She is now off to the alter-world. To a place far, far away from here. A place where there are no happily ever afters.”

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | Thank you for reading!

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #k-vanity #bangtanwhq #jungkook scenario #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts smut #bts angst #bts fluff #bts x reader

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emperor-kumquat · 2 months ago

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"Public domain Sunder" outside of Tumblr (How my project art runs away)

This is NOT a general Sunder! As cool as he looks, he belongs to me and Mynametia/ Inishira (Instagram)!

I want to talk about how reposted art causes harm. It has been stressful to see and I hope fellow artists can sympathize or empathize. And please, if you base art off this Sunder, credit the project Transformers: Mercy!

Firstly, I've heard both "you're niche and unknown" or "you have a big following so watch your mouth"

It feels mean either way... :( Like the jab takes whatever stance is most convenient.

Bottom line: I don't consider myself special. I am just a very hard worker. The only reason I have gotten as far as I have was my hours of daily work for years on my project and YouTube channel.

I am awed when I reflect on how far I have come. Growing my social media platforms, working with 100 different artists from all over the world, commissioning comic artists like Alex Milne and Livio Ramondelli for posters, getting interviewed, collabing, or having shoutouts on other YouTube channels, sitting on panels at TFcon in front of hundreds (although it was t e r r i f y i n g) and getting to talk to them about Transformers: Mercy! And this year, I will be selling Mercy merch at a table at TFcon in the art gallery!

So I don't think I am niche anymore... I don't think my project Transformers: Mercy is. Over the years it has become very widespread with art posted on blogs across social media platforms. As I will discuss, maybe too widespread in one wrong way.

But... there is a long way to go to completing the project. I have about 1000 images now. That's insane! This is no tiny lil project. And I am gunning for 1000s more to make this TFP fan-made sequel. But, I have to pay so so much out of pocket despite making less than minimum wage most months. I need a lot of support to make this big dream possible. Thank you to all who have already helped me thus far.

I think I am just writing this post to clear the air. I am honoured deeply by fanart or fanfictions or fan animations people have created for Transformers: Mercy. It is very motivating and heartwarming and helps me keep up the pace of working hours every day on this project.

I don't mind inspiration being taken from my work. It is an honour. My project draws inspiration from James Roberts' MTMTE and would be nothing without his appealing takes on characters. We may critique MTMTE but where would we be without his Whirl, Rodimus, Drift, Ratchet, Pharma, Cyclonus, Tailgate, Chromedome, Rewind, Swerve, Overlord, DJD, etc.? I carried on from him, others may carry on from me.

A while back, I never meant offence when pointing out one animation of Sunder had features that looked eerily similar (to me) to the Sunder of my game. The reason I got a jolt of horror stems from the fact that this project has fallen victim to reposts on places like Instagram, Pinterest, Reddit, the fan wiki, and other TF forums with zero credit to me or the artists. The growing popularity of Mercy art has also caused it to appear in general searches for IDW or TFP characters. This is why if you search "Transformers Sunder concept art" you are likely to see Mercy Sunder right there but uncredited. So you would see our art but not know what it was for. And Mynametia/Inishira (the artist) did such a good job that it even looks like IDW concept art. It can be mistaken for official content.

But it's not. It was created for my project with very specific features to match my story. A project which costs so much of my time and money and it needs all the donations it can get. It is loses support when its art becomes popular with no tie back to this project. It is still a project in development and is therefore vulnerable.

Transformers: Mercy, after all the years, has become a famous project. But it is a struggling project due to the high financial cost. It is made with ok not blood, but real sweat and tears as I have pushed so hard to make it this far. It has been emotional. It even brought me the love of my life, my spouse.

I want to continue to work on it, the largest Transformers fan project that I believe has ever been attempted. But I need that support, that credit. It hurts when I use google/another search engine and search "Transformers Sunder concept art" and see our work totally visible to the public and not at all attached to Mercy. It then jumpscares me to see other people creating something that looks just like my creations. I see fanart that uses the face of my ghoul Sunder, the one-eyed purple-eyed version with a gaping black pit where the other eye should have been with a small white light within (or the other specific features I requested for Mercy Sunder).

It feels like my ideas are running away from me.

I do not believe anything was done with intent to harm or any malice or spite. I did not believe my project art had been knowingly stolen by any animator or fan artist of Sunder. But when I wrote my post in response to one animation, I did believe that Mercy Sunder had been seen and used as an inspiration because he does appear in general Sunder searches on the Internet. So this is where I came from and why I felt compelled to step in at the time.

I hope I have expressed myself better than last time and I just would like to voice that not this artist/ animator I first reblogged, but other people have reposted Mercy Sunder and caused him to become like.... public domain? Please, I just want it to be known that what you see on search engines, forums, wikis.... was taken from my project. Please do not base your Sunders on that art without crediting Transformers: Mercy and Inishira (Instagram or X).

I hope all the artists here can imagine the feeling of distress I feel seeing credit and support fly away from me and that talented artist, Inishira (who designed Mercy Overlord, Sunder, Crankcase, Fulcrum, Misfire, Krok, Spinister, Waspinator (bug form), and angel Starscream).

I don't want drama or a public back and forth. I seek amicable relationships going forth. Please be very mindful and go back to add in credits if you realize you used this Sunder design as a reference!

#tf mercy #transformers #transformers mercy #transformers sunder #sunder #idw sunder #tf sunder

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requiemforthepoets · 6 months ago

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broadway darling 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x sainz!reader

SUMMARY: you and lando never met each other in person despite him being best friends with your brother, but when carlos had dragged him to your opening night, he hated to admit it but he was charmed by you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n in the narrations, photo do not belong to me and all photos are taken from pinterest, inconsistencies of photos, use of y/n on the smau, not proofread, magui, profanities, mean comments, and typos

WORD COUNT: 696

FACE CLAIMS: taken from pinterest

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i missed writing for lando 😭 i made this one shot/smau to appease my broadway x f1 racer agenda in my mind, and since i’m a big fan of les miz and hamilton. though let me know if you want part 2 lol i hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it! this one’s for all the theatre girlies out there (i hope i did you justice 🥹)

It was an unspoken rule that opening nights were sacred in your family. The excitement, nerves, and anticipation of the curtain rising for the first time in Melbourne—it was all part of the magic you had fallen in love with since your broadway debut at sixteen. Tonight was no different, the backstage bustle surrounded you, but you remained calm, dressed in your costume for Fantine, the tragic heroine of Les Misérables.

The makeup team finished their final touches, ensuring every detail conveyed the pain and hope of the character. You took a deep breath, whispering a quiet prayer as the stage manager gave the fifteen-minute warning.

In the plush velvet seats of the packed theater, your family had taken their places. Carlos was flanked by your parents on one side and, to your surprise, his best friend, Lando Norris, by his side. You had heard of Lando countless times through Carlos’ stories, seen him in the occasional instagram post or race weekend interview, but never met him in person. Lando was not exactly the type you imagined sitting through a three-hour musical, but there he was, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, looking slightly out of place but undeniably intrigued.

“I still don’t understand why you brought me with you.” Lando murmured to Carlos as they flipped through the program.

“Because you need culture in your life,” Carlos teased, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Besides, it’s my sister. I’m always there to support her.”

Lando just nodded, unsure what to really expect. He had heard of you, of course, Carlos never stopped talking about his little sister’s accomplishments, but he had never seen you perform. Lando wasn’t even sure how someone who belted out ballads for a living would compare to the thrill of racing, but as the curtains rose and you stepped onto the stage, he felt something shift.

When you sang I Dreamed a Dream, the theatre fell silent, and Lando forgot to breathe. He didn’t know much about broadways and musicals, but even he could tell this was something special. There was a rawness in your voice, an honesty that made him feel like you were baring your soul to every person in the audience, him included.

“You good?” Carlos asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Lando blinked and sat up straighter. “She's…really good.”

“Told you,” Carlos smirked, “she’s a broadway darling for a reason.”

Lando did not respond, his eyes fixed on you as you poured your heart into the performance, and by the time the curtain fell and the audience erupted into applause, he was on his feet, clapping so hard his palms stung. Carlos laughed as he nudged him.

“I think you liked it more than me, mate.” Carlos chuckled.

“She’s, uh, really talented.” Lando flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. Carlos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Backstage, you were surrounded by castmates and well-wishers when Carlos arrived, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“You killed it out there!” He said, pulling you into a bear hug. “Mamá and Papá are so proud, they couldn’t even stop crying.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, wiping a bit of makeup from your cheek. “It felt good tonight.” You admitted, though your eyes flicked curiously to the familiar figure a few steps behind Carlos.

Carlos caught your glance and stepped aside. “Oh, right, this is Lando. You know him, my best friend.”

“Hello.” You said warmly, extending a hand.

Lando stared at you for a second too long before quickly shaking your hand. “Hey, uh, you were amazing. Like, really amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at his slightly awkward demeanor. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I never pegged you for a theatre type.”

Carlos snorted. “Oh, he’s not. He didn’t even know who Fantine was before tonight.”

“Hey, I know now.” Lando muttered as he shot Carlos a look, which made you laugh.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Lando,” you said. “Thank you for coming.”

As you turned your attention back to Carlos to discuss dinner plans, Lando just stood there, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, feeling like he had just been hit by a train.

ynsainz

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, lesmizofficial, iamrebeccad, landonorris and 456,736 others

tagged: lesmizofficial

ynsainz do you hear the people sing? 🇫🇷❤️

opening night of les misérables in melbourne was nothing short of magical. i’m so grateful for the chance to bring fantine’s story to life again and share it with the people i love the most. a night that i’ll never forget! ❤️✨

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carlossainz55 incredible, hermanita! Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it ❤️

ynsainz AAAAAHHH LOVE YOU 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad you.are.amazing! GIRL THOSE PIPES YOU HAVE!!

ynsainz rebeccaaa, thank you so much!! i’m glad that you were able to come 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad of course! wouldn’t miss it for the world!!! 🥰

landonorris amazing show last night! first theatre experience and definitely won’t be the last 👏🏻🙌🏻

ynsainz thank you lando! glad that les miz was your first theatre experience. well, hoping to see you again soon! 😆

lesmizofficial opening night couldn’t have been more better, it was unforgettable! you’ve brought fantine to life in a way that will resonate for years to come. the team couldn’t be prouder of you! ❤️

ynsainz thank you, les misérables! 🥺❤️

username1 PERFECTION PERFECTION PERFECTION

username2 carlos wasn’t lying when he said he’s sister a star 🥹 i came for the sainz connection and left absolutely blown away by your TALENT!!!!

username3 an icon, a legend, a queen!!!!!!

username4 I STILL CANT BELIEVE THAT I WATCHED YOU LIVE 😭😭😭😭

username4 I NEED TO SEE YOU ON LES MIZ TOUR I CANT LET THIS PASS BY 😭😭😭

username5 THE MEMES 😭😭😭

username6 THEATRE KIDS UNITE!!!

twitter posts

f1gossip

liked by username1, username2, username3, username4 and 20,837 others

tagged: ynsainz, carlossainz55, landonorris

f1gossip is there something more than just racing between lando norris and the sainz family?

spotted: lando norris attending the opening night of les miserables in melbourne with none other than carlos sainz and his family just days before the aussie grand prix weekend.

the mclaren driver, who’s usually more focused on the track than the theatre, seemed to be all flirty and smiles as he mingled with carlos’ little sister, ynsainz—the broadway darling herself! rumors have been swirling around ever since lando was seen front and center at the opening night, and now, it’s got us wondering…is there something between the two off-track?

while lando’s always kept his private life under the wraps, this cozy night with the sainz fam is raising some eyebrows. could les miserables be just the beginning? are we seeing a new f1 power couple in the making?

drop your thoughts below! ❤️

view all 18,636 comments below

username7 okay, but if lando is really into her, can we talk about what an upgrade this is from his usual dating rumors? she’s a literal goddess. broadway, west end, and disney??? ma’am.

username8 so lando’s in attendance at les miz in melbourne? okay, that’s cool, but is it bad that i care more about her perfomance than this so-called gossip? priorities, people!

username9 not at all!! everyone here in the comsec acting like they personally know lando or y/n lmao what a bunch of losers

username10 this is a bit of stretch, don’t you guys think? maybe he’s genuinely wanted to be there for support. he’s literally best friends with carlos and close with the sainz, is it now bad to support a best friend’s family member? not every guy and girl showing support or hanging out equates to dating.

username9 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

username1 finally, someone saying relevant here for once!!!

username11 can we please stop making everything a love story? maybe she’s just being nice and lando’s just being lando

username12 oh you are so sick for tagging the people involved in your nonsense gossip!!! leave them alone!!!!

username13 now why us, broadway fans, suddenly being dragged into an f1 drama? can we just stay away from this and focus on supporting her and appreciating her talent? we don’t need this kind of drama

username14 lol lando is just tagging along with carlos like they usually do! NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE A SHIP NOR A DATING RUMOR!

username15 she’s just probably using him for clout lmfao

username16 i don’t ship it, but if carlos approves, i guess it’s fine

username2 ????? weirdo

username17 she’s been killing it on broadway since she was young. why do people always have to reduce talented women to ‘who they’re dating/involved’ with? do better people, you all are really embarrassing

username18 honestly, i don’t really care who she’s dating. just give me tickets to see her next performance 😭

username3 oh you’re so really for this

username4 why do broadway tickets have to be so expensive 😭😭😭

username5 bank heist plan meeting at my house at 8pm, pull up

username6 time to sell feet pics 😔💔

username19 she’s just gonna use lando for fame just like *coughs* magui *coughs* and besides, she wouldn’t be famous if it weren’t for carlos LMAO what a nepo baby

username7 DON’T YOU EVER COMPARED THAT VILE AND WRETCHED WOMAN TO Y/N! THE BLANTANT DISRESPECT. SHES BEEN SELLING OUT THEATRE BEFORE YOU COULD SPELL BROADWAY. CARLOS MAY BE HER BROTHER BUT HER TALENT GOT WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT COUGH OF YOURS.

username8 username7 SLAYED, ATE, DEVOURED, LEFT NO CRUMBS

username20 yeah, i don’t really trust her. she’s probs only interested in lando bc of the clout that comes with being an f1 wag

username9 you DISGUST me. clout? clout??? mary, she’s the one with standing ovations every night. meanwhile, you’re hating from your couch. maybe try again.

username21 LANDO IN SPECS 😭😭😭 HES SO DREAMY 🥺🥺🥺

username10 people out here are tearing each other apart and so close in inciting civil war, while you’re out here commenting lando looks good in specs is so REAL 😭😭😭

username11 the vibe i bring to the function:

username22 the whole comsec got me laughing my ass off 😭 y’all are really bursting your nerves over this gossip that is completely baseless 😭😭😭 it’s NORMAL for him to hang out with carlos’ family and show support to carlos’ family member. like what the other commenter said, not everything has to be a dating rumor 😭😭😭

username12 EXACTLY.

username22 these people need to unclench their asshole. like omfg relax, brenda!

username23 if this is true, i don’t like it. lando needs someone who understands his world, not some theatre diva who’s only there for the spotlight

username13 ???? theatre diva ???? she’s literally been called the voice of this generation, a generational talent. she DOESNT need lando or his world, she has her own. stay bitter, though

username24 why are people so mean? she’s insanely talented and gorgeous.

username14 some people are just really fucking opinionated, like they know lando personally and that their opinions would matter. well news flash, lando wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at you nor date you all. fucking weirdos

username25 welp, this isn’t the comment section that i was expecting at all 🧍🏻‍♀️

username26 is this a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans? 😭😭😭😭

username27 vroom vroom kids vs. theatre kids

username28 this post alone had incited a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans 😭

289 notes · View notes

no-road-home · 1 year ago

Text

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.

What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.

Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!

(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)

The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.

As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!

Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):

The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?

NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.

Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.

Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running.

Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?

Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.

Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.

Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?

A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?

Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?

A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.

A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you to mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.

A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.

In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.

New games for this crowdfunding campaign:

Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.

Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.

A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't.

Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.

A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.

A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?

#ttrpg #my games #indie ttrpg #ttrpg design #ttrpgs #stewpot #stewpot: tales from a fantasy tavern #backerkit #crowdfunding #fantasy #story games

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sapphireserpens · 24 days ago

Text

Honey Latte

Pairing: Dokyeom x Reader

The first time you stepped into Honey Latte, it smelled like burnt sugar and fresh beginnings.

You’d taken the job on a whim—bills stacking, your last job imploding, and this place offering just enough hours and just enough charm to feel like something new.

You didn’t know then that your new beginning came with a tall, messy-haired boy who made you question whether you were the main character… or just someone in his story.

Your first interaction with him wasn’t magical.

He stumbled into the back room mid-shift, half-asleep, clutching a notebook and a half-eaten bagel.

“Oh—hey,” he blinked at you.

You stared. “Hi.”

“You’re new.” He grinned, sleep still in his voice.

You nodded.

“I’m Seokmin,” he said, offering a flour-dusted hand. “But most people here call me Kyeom.”

You shook his hand cautiously. “You work here too?”

He laughed. “Technically? My parents own the place. I just… exist around it.”

Which was true. Over the next few weeks, you noticed him constantly—drifting in during late mornings, claiming the corner booth, hoodie sleeves too long, sketchbook always open, eyes flitting between customers and the steam of the espresso machine.

He talked to everyone. Always smiling. Always kind.

And yet, somehow, you were the only one he left notes for on napkins. The only one he waited around to walk home. The only one he ever sketched with that expression.

You didn’t know that part yet.

Not until the Wednesday afternoon.

It was quiet. You were restocking syrup bottles behind the counter when he stepped out for a call, leaving his sketchbook abandoned near the register.

You weren’t nosy.

You just… glanced.

At first, it was typical: a café scene, a girl behind the counter, a boy watching her with too much emotion in his eyes.

But then you saw the details.

The girl’s apron was loose at the same spot yours always came undone. Her earring—identical to yours. Even the tired pinch in her eyebrows, the way her hair was clipped up in a hurry.

You turned the page.

A conversation written in dialogue bubbles.

“You should tell her.” “What if she doesn’t feel the same?” “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Another page: The boy handing over a drink with shaking hands. The girl smiling—finally—soft around the edges.

“I like the way you draw me,” she says. “It’s the only way I know how to say it,” he replies.

You shut the notebook.

And jumped when you heard the door creak.

Kyeom stood in the doorway, phone still in hand. But his eyes were locked on yours. And the sketchbook between you.

“…You read it?”

You nodded slowly.

He ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean for you to—well. Not yet. Or maybe not ever. I dunno.”

Your heart pounded.

“They’re us,” you said quietly.

He smiled, lopsided and nervous. “Is it that obvious?”

You nodded again.

He took a breath. “I’ve been drawing you since your first week. I couldn’t help it. You always look like you’re trying not to be seen.”

That caught you off guard.

He stepped closer.

“But I see you,” he said, softer. “And it kind of… won’t stop replaying in my head. The way you concentrate. The way you laugh when you don’t think anyone’s listening. The way you made this place feel different just by walking in.”

You stared at him.

Words caught in your throat.

“And if you hate that,” he added quickly, “I get it. I’ll stop. I’ll never bring it up again—”

“I don’t hate it.”

His mouth closed. Eyes wide.

You reached out, lightly brushing your fingers over the edge of the sketchbook.

“I… like the way you draw me too.”

The silence was warm.

Comfortable.

“I was going to write a confession scene,” he mumbled.

You raised an eyebrow. “Was?”

He stepped closer again.

“I think this might be better.”

And then, quietly—shyly—he leaned in and pressed his forehead against yours.

Just closeness.

A beat in the story.

“…Can I draw this next?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You smiled.

“You better.”

And then—just like that—he kissed you.

It was clumsy, kind of. Warm. Hesitant at first, like he was scared you’d disappear if he got too close. Like this was still part of the dream he'd been sketching in his notebook for weeks.

But then your fingers curled into the front of his hoodie, and you kissed him back.

And that was it.

No more drafts. No more almosts. Just the real thing.

You pulled away, barely, noses still touching. His eyes were wide and glowing like someone had just told him he got everything he ever wanted.

“…That was better than the version I drew,” he whispered.

You laughed.

“Good. Because that one’s mine.”

And when he handed you the new page the next day—comic-style, coffee stains and all—it showed two characters behind the counter, kissing like they had all the time in the world.

And scrawled underneath in thick marker:

“Chapter One: Finally.”

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foreverisntenough · 1 month ago

Text

‘Aperture’

Summary: A professional footballer with a playboy reputation finds his world reframed when he meets a talented photographer who captures the light and depth he’s never seen in himself. As their friendship develops, he finds himself illuminated by her presence—a stark contrast to the shallow spotlight he’s used to, but her guarded heart keeps her from fully trusting his intentions. Their friendship develops, like film in a darkroom, shifting into something far more intimate. But when their connection begins to blur the lines between friendship and something more, he realizes she’s the light he’s been chasing without knowing it and fights to prove he’s ready for something real. Yet, their love hangs in the balance—will the film of their story overexpose and fade, or will it develop into something vivid and timeless. Sometimes, love is about adjusting the focus, letting in the right light, and trusting the process.

Chapter Index:

Fashion Index: For all Y/N's looks! No more bad links!

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI [ smut, slight mention of drugs, drinking - not sure what else really… if i miss anything please lmk!]

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series!

Please read: Little note from me about him and one more about our community In summary: This is a swan song fic. The fic was never really about "him" as much as it was a fictional story and character I got to create and share with you all. I hope you still love reading it as much as I still love writing it. xx

Chapter 14- 'Golden Opportunity' | 'Aperture'

word count - 15k 🥴

LA seeped into your skin like gold-dusted warmth, soft and all-encompassing, wrapping around you the way Trent just did. He was just like the city—radiant, effortless, a thing of beauty you could look at forever and still not fully understand. He was light, and you were struggling to open the aperture, to let him in without overexposing yourself, without burning under the heat of him. You sighed, boneless, and let yourself sink into the bed that’d be yours for the next week, your body still humming from the imprint of him—his hands, his mouth, his weight pressing into you and pulling you under like a riptide you had no desire to fight. The room still smelled like your Soleil Blanc but also the slick remnants of what you'd just done, of a line you didn’t even have time to draw and yet one you’d manage to completely ignore. Your skin glistened with the afterglow, your lips swollen from his kisses. You reached for your phone, fingers trembling slightly as you hit Campbell’s contact. The moment she picked up, you didn’t waste a breath.

"We just fucked." A confession. A statement of fact. A prayer and a problem all at once. On the other end, Campbell let out a giggle, equal parts unsurprised and entertained.

"Yeah, no shit, hun.” You barely heard her, too lost in the electric aftershocks still dancing across your skin. “Record timing though." She teased. You had barely been in California for a few hours. But you and Trent were magnetized, orbiting each other with no regard for logic, no hesitation, just instinct. And it shouldn’t have been a bad thing—it was incredible. Your body was still thrumming, your face glowing, a smile tugging at your lips no matter how hard you tried to fight it because he had put it there. But your mind wasn’t as easy to tame. It ran in circles, fast and frantic, trying to keep up with the questions flooding in. Was this just sex? Did he bring you here for this? For exactly what just happened? What if he hooked up with someone else while on this trip with you here? Would he sneak into your room again tomorrow? And the next night? Until the holiday was over and then—what? Was it all fleeting? But the thing was, that wasn’t what it felt like at all. The way he touched you, the way he whispered your name, the way he pulled you against him afterward and just held you—it didn’t feel like an ephemeral thing, like a body to pass time with. No, the sex didn’t feel like just sex at all. It hadn’t for a long time. It felt like making love. And that was what scared you most of all.

—

[Golden - Harry Styles]

The afternoon air was thick with summer, heavy with the scent of chlorine and suntan oil, mingling with the salt-tinged breeze that drifted lazily in from the Pacific. The sun beat down in golden ribbons, wrapping the back garden in warmth, igniting the crystal-blue water of the pool until it shimmered like a jewel set in ivory stone. The laughter of boys—pretty English boys, tanned and adorned in Van Cleefs round their wrist and Louis Vuitton swim trunks sitting too low on their hips, bronzed and gilded in the way only the wealthy and well-loved could be—echoed through the space, bouncing off the sleek, modern lines of the villa. They were beautiful. Effortless. Like golden idols sculpted under a Mediterranean sun, the kind of men who moved through life with the careless ease of those who never had to chase anything—because everything was already laid at their feet. They splashed in the water, tackled each other onto sun loungers, lobbed a football across the lawn with competitive grins. Boys. No matter how much money dripped from them or how perfectly their hair curled under the sun, they were still just that. And then there was you.

You stepped onto the smooth stone patio, the soft slap of your turquoise Oran sandals [ref index] against the earth a quiet contrast to the raucous sounds of their play. A woman among boys, a blade slicing through their perfect world. Your skin glowed beneath a veil of shimmering oil, golden and slick, kissed by the California sun and still bearing the heat of the man who had claimed you behind closed doors upstairs. Your bikini was a whisper against your body, smocked yellow velvet clinging to curves he had worshipped, the tiny crochet mini skirt a mere suggestion of modesty, more of a tease than a covering. Heads turned. It was subtle at first, the way movements stilled, the way conversations faltered for the briefest of moments. Some looked out of curiosity, others out of hunger. But one pair of eyes—the only pair that mattered—watched you like they had already claimed you, dark with the kind of satisfaction that sent a slow, knowing heat curling low in your stomach. Trent was already moving toward you before you even reached the poolside, his easy stride giving nothing away except to you, because you knew him—knew the slight tension in his jaw, the way his fingers flexed just once before he reached you, as if fighting some primal instinct.

“C’mere,” he murmured, voice smooth, low, just for you. And then his hand found the small of your back, warm and possessive, spreading wide against your spine as he guided you forward into a waiting circle of introductions. A simple touch, one that might’ve seemed casual to anyone else—but you knew better. You could still feel him on your skin, in the marrow of your bones, and the memory of his hands in the dim-lit room burned brighter with every second they rested on you now.

Names were exchanged—some familiar, some only half-recognized from whispered mentions, others entirely new. They were gracious, charming, all smiles and easy conversation, but your thoughts tangled in the quiet knowledge that if they knew, if they had even an inkling of how his hands had touched you, how his mouth had traced your body in ways that made you tremble—would they still be looking at you like this? Would they speak the same, laugh the same, knowing you had already been ruined by their friend? Still, you smiled, demure and polite, let them welcome you into their world. A world where money meant nothing, where dinners were paid for without glancing at the bill, where the night would stretch long and languid over designer fabrics and flickering candlelight. A world you lived in just the same. Because it wasn’t judgmental at all, no, it just felt like suddenly you were on the inside of somewhere you were never meant to see. Inside the walls of a lads only holiday; a private plane ride away from everyone they knew, home, and yet he’d placed you here.

The photos would start tonight—the beginning of the work that had brought you here in the first place, the reason you were supposed to be here, beyond him. They didn’t have any fits planned until then. So for now, you settled into the sun, stretching yourself onto a lounger, the heat seeping into your skin, the scent of summer, chlorine, and Xerjoff Erba Pura, swirling around you. And though you kept to yourself, you felt their eyes—lingering, wandering, assessing. Some were puzzled trying to work out what was going on. How this –you– photographer they were told would be staying at the house ended up being an attractive girl their age. Some didn’t care why– they were greedy, feeling as if someone had just placed a present in their lap. And then there was Trent—his gaze heavy, dark, filled with something else entirely. Possession. Smug satisfaction. The knowledge that in some unspoken, undeniable way, you were already his. That he knew the way you felt, the way you sounded, the way you looked when you were needy, desperate, begging and only he did, in all the ways they never could.

—

You felt like your brain was shutting off, you were fading fast. The weight of the sun pressed down on you, thick and golden, wrapping you in a slow, dreamlike haze. Jet lag clung to your bones, making your limbs heavy, your thoughts sluggish, drifting in and out of focus like a radio signal just beyond reach. The warmth of the patio, the distant splash of water, the overlapping voices of too many boys playing too many different games—it was all blending into a gentle, lulling blur. Your eyelids fluttered, the world shifting between sharp clarity and soft-edged nothingness. You had met all five or maybe it was six of the boys, their introductions lost in the sleepy tangle of heat and exhaustion. Some names stuck—Trent’s brother, you’d met before a few times, but up close the resemblance felt oddly uncanny under the influence of a new time zone and the Californian sun, although everything about him was distinctly his own and completely different and yet confusingly similar all at the same time. Jude was Jude, a name and a face etched into the country’s consciousness, familiar in a way that needed no explanation. Kiernan, you knew in your own right, an acquaintance already marked in your memory. Some names stuck best they could, you were trying, honest. The others? Their faces blurred, names slipping through your fingers like sand. They were friendly, easy, the kind of boys who made you feel like you’d always been here, part of this strange, gilded world where the days stretched long and the nights were always waiting with something new. But right now, you had nothing to do, no fits to shoot until later, no demands, no expectations. And that’s what the ‘job’ promised: the pitch was a holiday with a little bit of work on the side. So if only for now, it was just the sun, the heat, and the hum of voices melting into the edges of your consciousness. And Trent. Somewhere close, always close. His presence wasn’t something you needed to look for—you just felt it, a pull in the atmosphere, a weight that settled in your chest like gravity. You could feel his gaze even now, burning low and lazy, sincere, like he was watching because he knew you wouldn’t last much longer before sleep took you under. A soft pout in the distance you didn’t need to see to sense it was there as you baked in the sun, the whole villa slipping into something closer to a mirage than material.

—

The heat of Los Angeles was a slow, creeping thing, sinking into your skin, settling in your body. It had been pressing down on you since you landed, weighing your limbs, making your thoughts thick and syrupy. Jet lag was tugging at the edges of your mind, and the golden hour light hit the villa like it was something holy, but you— you were fading.

The back garden was sprawling, its excess so ridiculous it almost became abstract. Bigger than a football pitch, maybe, the infinity pool that bled into the hills, a shimmering mirage against the haze of the city below, swallowing the skyline whole. Half of the yard was covered in an expanse of smooth stone stretching, too big to be anything but an empire of leisure. Sun-bleached boys were scattered across it, all golden skin, bare shoulders, flashing teeth. There were beers sweating onto tabletops, card games played without real focus, bursts of laughter that rang loud but never lasted. Their names half-remembered, tangled in accents you’d heard in football stadiums and on television interviews, boys you had history with, some only faces in the periphery of your life. But even that small grasp on reality began to falter.

You stood up from the lounger unable to bear the direct heat anymore. But all you did was draw more onto yourself, this time not from the sun’s rays. You were walking in your tiny bikini across the concrete stone to go sit in the shade, maybe get some water, some mercy, but it felt like you were under a microscope the second you moved. Like you’d crossed into enemy territory. A girl on the inside. You felt drunk and you hadn’t had a sip of liquor. You entered the reprieve of the shaded area of the back garden with no real direction, the sun slanting through the pergola, cutting sharp lines of light against the cool shade, the contrast stark—like the line between you and Trent, between what was professional and what was inevitable. The heat still clung to your skin, the stone under your bare feet warm despite the retreat into shadow. And yet, even as vast as it was, the space felt tight, cluttered with boys draped over lounge chairs, drinks in hand, voices rising and falling over each other in a lazy, languid symphony of youth and money.

You weren’t looking for him, but you always knew where he was. It was muscle memory at this point, the way your body tuned to his presence, the way your pulse tripped when you passed him. You feigned nonchalance, the same way he had when you walked out, ignoring his body somehow still managing to glisten even out from under the sun. You moved through the space like a slow orbit, your tiny bikini catching the light, body glistening from earlier, a soft sheen over sun-warmed skin. The crochet mini skirt still barely a barrier, your sandals slapping lightly against the stone, adding a rhythm to your steps. The boys watched you, some in passing, some lingering a second too long, some covetous and appreciative, and one in particular— remaining possessive and smug. You weren’t here for them, and they knew it. You weren’t even sure if you were here for Trent. But you weren’t not here for him either. You wove through the maze of outdoor seating, past sun-dazed boys slouched, past conversations about football, girls, and nights out—things they’d rarely had to struggle with. But as you moved, mid-stride, mid-thought, mid-breath—Trent reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist, catching you. Firm, but gentle. A tether.

"You alright?" His voice was low, quiet enough in a way it didn’t need to be, because he’d just interrupted his own conversation with Marcel and Jude to ask you. But the moment he touched you, his entire world had already paused.

"Mmhmm. Just knackered. It's really warm.” Your lips curled into something soft, too tired to pretend, too aware to ignore the way his fingertips lingered against your pulse point, like he could feel the way he set it off-beat. Jude and Marcel clocked it immediately. The shift, the leak, the way something unspoken passed between all of you. The secret they hadn’t been privy to, bleeding slow but steady into the villa air. Marcel flicked his eyes to Jude, a knowing side eye exchanged—so this was her. The one Trent wasn’t talking about but also never shutting up about, the one tangled between the sheets and months of back-and-forth that had been too quiet, too private, too charged to be platonic. Unreadable to most, obvious to you. A silent acknowledgment that you were the one. The girl threaded through Trent’s late-night texts, the one who had been slipping through the cracks of his playboy reputation, the one he couldn’t even try to hide anymore. The one who was now locked into being with them for a week. Jude clicked his tongue, smug, and stood. The cat was out of the bag, the unraveling had begun.

"Sit in the shade for a bit, sweetheart. Be careful, hot out here." Jude smirked moving past you. The word hung in the air, harmless in theory, meaningless in Jude’s mouth—except that it wasn’t. Not to Trent at least. You knew it meant nothing. Jude had a hundred girls he actually cared to flirt with, and you weren’t one of them. It was a friendly nudge to his friend more than it was words spoken to you. You felt the shift before you saw it—the sharp edge in Trent’s gaze, something sharp and territorial flashing behind his eyes, the way his fingers twitched against your wrist, the muscle that flexed in his jaw. Possession looked good on him, though he didn’t mean to wear it. Jude dove into the pool a second later, followed by Marcel. The moment could have dissipated, washed away in the ripple of water, in the stretch of this endless summer, in the pretense that this was still professional. But it hadn’t, it wouldn’t.

"Come sit with me." Trent’s voice was gentler, scratching at something beneath your skin. The words were softer now, a pull instead of a demand. You hesitated for a second, then nodded, too exhausted to fight that pull. You perched yourself on the edge of his lounge chair, barely there. Attempting to keep space between you that felt ridiculous, considering the way you had no interest in any space between you earlier up in your room. "C’mere." He chuckled, boyish, easy, amused by your restraint as if you both hadn’t already broken every invisible rule within an hour of you landing. His hand reached for you, lazy, instinctual. It wasn’t a question. And just like that, you let yourself fold into him, into the space that was always meant to belong to you, into the gravity of him, warm and golden and inescapable. Was it professional? No. But neither was having sex when you arrived but here you were.

—

The sun had begun its slow descent into the hills, bleeding soft hues of amber and rose across the sky. The heat of the afternoon still lingered in the villa, though the intensity had dulled, making way for that dreamy in-between of day and night, when everything felt just a little hazy, a little surreal. The pool shimmered under the fading sunlight, its surface disturbed only by the occasional ripple of lazy movement. Laughter still carried from across the garden, boys still draped over loungers, half-heartedly kicking a football between them, trading jabs and jokes with the easy camaraderie of old friends. The air was thick with the lingering scent of chlorine, sun-warmed skin, and faint traces of cologne, but none of it cut through the heady, grounding presence of you. Because you hadn’t moved in hours. Neither had Trent.

At first, you had just leaned into him, your weight pressing softly into his shoulder, your breath evening out as jet lag finally pulled you under. It had been subtle, something careless, something that could have been brushed off. But now—now you were draped over him like a claim, like gravity itself had dictated that this was where you belonged. Your cheek pressed against his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing lulling you deeper into sleep. One of your hands rested across his abs, fingers barely curled, your thigh hooked over his waist in a way that was almost too intimate, too familiar, too similar to how you slept in his bed. Your body, slick from the heat, was a contrast to the cool press of the silver chain around his neck, catching on the dewy sheen of your skin. And Trent… he didn’t care. Didn’t care that anyone looking would see it, see the way his hand smoothed over your thigh. Didn’t care that Jude had been watching him from the water for the last ten minutes, chin propped up on his forearms resting on the ledge of the pool, eyes a little too sharp, a little too knowing. Didn’t care that with each second, the easy facade he had tried to maintain—the one that kept this whole thing —casual, unspoken, deniable— was slipping.

–

It began as a game last summer. Cat and mouse. A well-rehearsed chase, one Trent had played before, one he had mastered. He had set the traps he didn’t even know existed effortlessly in Ibiza—woven from smooth words, teasing smirks, touches that lingered just a second too long. And you, despite knowing better, had stepped right into them. He wanted to have you. To catch you. To claim you. At first, it had been simple. Something close to wanting just sex. No promises, no illusions, no tangled emotions to trip over. Just heat and hands, lips and longing, the sharp thrill of getting too close to something dangerous. But almost out the gate, the lines had blurred. The rules had shifted. Because now, here you were a year later. Not just another night, not just another stolen moment, not just a fleeting indulgence. No, you were here—invited. Welcomed into an all-boys summer holiday under the thin, wavering guise of ‘work.’ But everyone knew better. Trent wasn’t offering opportunity. He was offering proximity. He had pulled you into his world, wrapped you in it, hidden the truth behind excuses that no one close to him truly believed. Because there was no ‘just fucking around’ anymore. This wasn’t a game. This wasn’t a trap. This was a loaded gun. And there was only one outcome.

Now, you were here—laid over him like you’d always been meant to be, like he wanted you to be, like you had lived in this space for years, like his body had been carved to fit the exact shape of yours. His hands traced you absentmindedly, but there was nothing careless about them. No, there was possession in the way he held you, in the way he breathed you in, in the way he pressed his lips to your hair as if he were trying to keep you inside him. And Jude? Jude saw through it immediately. He could smell the bullshit from a mile away. Because he knew Trent. Knew him in ways that stretched beyond the pitches and stadiums and cameras. Knew when he was pretending not to care. Knew when he was lying, especially to himself. And this? This was one big fucking lie. And now things were finally adding up. Abnormal moodiness and sneaky behavior making perfect sense. Jude had been the one to bring you up, a photographer he’d heard and wanted to nab for clout, a coincidence but nevertheless the one to offer the idea. But the second your name left his lips, Trent had tensed. His jaw had twitched. He had agreed too quickly, too easily, as if saying no had never been an option at all. And then, when you arrived—he ran. Bolted from the house like the weight of it was too much, like the reality of you being here, of you stepping into his world outside of those late nights and stolen moments, was too overwhelming to process. But it wasn’t avoidance. Because when he introduced you to the others, his hands were on you. Firm. Unyielding. Holding you to him like a prized possession, like a toy he didn’t want to share, like he could silence every knowing glance, every smirk, every unspoken word with the sheer force of his touch. But it was obvious. So fucking obvious.

"So she is…" Jude’s voice cut through the lazy hum of the evening, heavy with amusement, tinged with something dangerously close to smug satisfaction. Trent’s shoulders stiffened beneath you, already irritated, already knowing exactly where this was going.

"Nah, steady, bro." His tone was dismissive, his hand peeling off you gesturing for Jude to keep it quiet, low, but even as he said it, you made a small, sleepy noise, a little sigh against his skin, fingers flexing as if searching for him even in your unconscious state. Trent didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—his hand returned back to you, tightened his hold on you, pulling you closer, anchoring you against him. The way he always did. They way he had for months. And that was the mistake. Because his lips brushed your hair—a quiet thing, an absent thing, a thing he had done a thousand times before without even realizing. And Jude caught it immediately. His brows lifted, slow and deliberate, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement.

"Mate…" Jude smirked, holding in a laugh. Trent exhaled through his nose, sharp and irritated. "You know her… like well." It wasn’t a question. It was a fact, vague and yet potent. Trent’s jaw clenched. He didn’t flinch, didn’t let go, didn’t even fucking react— not beyond the tension in his spine, not beyond the way his thumb traced absentminded circles against the bare skin of your hip.

"She’s here to do her job, yeah?" His voice was flat, unwavering. Not a lie. Not the truth either. Jude just smiled wider. He wasn’t an idiot.

"Alright, lad. You tell yourself that. I just don’t think what you’re getting right now and clearly have gotten before this holiday is exactly what you're paying for.” Jude smirked before he corrected himself. “...what we’re paying for." Trent rolled his head back, exhaling through gritted teeth, already tired of this conversation, mostly because Jude was right.

"Me knowing her doesn’t make her less qualified for being here, bro." Trent pushed back.

"Nah, I didn’t say that!" Jude finally laughed, hands up in surrender. He wasn’t calling you out. He wasn’t questioning your work. This wasn’t about you at all. This was about calling Trent out on his bullshit. "I’m just saying… you knowww her." That smirk again. That push, that nudge toward something Trent wasn’t ready to admit, maybe not even to himself. Trent’s nostrils flared. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

"Okay? I know her." He shrugged, as if that could be the end of it, as if it explained anything at all. But Jude was watching. Watching the way Trent was still holding you, the way his hand didn’t leave your skin, the way he looked at you—even now, even as you slept, even as he tried to dismiss it. Jude didn’t even need to prod any more for Trent to step on his own toes, attempting to unnecessarily explain things further. "She’s also jet lagged and just got to a house with a bunch of lads she doesn’t know, like you, so I’m just being nice innit? If she’s tired, I’ll be here." His voice was steady, too steady. Jude hummed, tilting his head.

"Mm-hmm. Well, aren’t you just the nicest lad in all of LA." He mocked him. The smirk deepened, too amused, too entertained by whatever the fuck this was. He pushed himself out of the water, flicking droplets onto the stone patio as he stood, giving Trent one last look. One last look at you—bikini barely there and tangled up in his best mate, looking far too much like something real.

"Mate, just—" Trent sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. He was too fucking tired for this. Jude just laughed.

"Yeah, alright, bro. Leave you to it." He shook his head knowing better. Trent knowing exactly the same.

—

The air was different now. Crisp from your shower, your body still dewy with the remnants of warm steam and the ghost of Trent on your skin, you should have felt reset—cleansed. But you didn’t. Your mind was a fucking battlefield. Your job. Your professionalism. Your reputation. Your pride. And Trent. His hands. His mouth. His pull. You knew what you should be doing. You should be charging your camera, reviewing the shot lists, making sure everything was perfect for tonight, a first impression. That was why you were here. That was why you had been flown across the world, why you had been welcomed into this lavish villa of tanned, spoiled boys who trusted you to capture them in their most effortless, enviable moments. But instead, you were walking to Trent’s room. Your bare feet padded softly across the polished floors, the hush of the villa’s evening preparations humming around you. Music spilled faintly from someone’s speaker, showers ran behind closed doors, voices bounced from room to room. The anticipation of a night out, of flashing lights and expensive liquor, was settling into the bones of the house. And you were standing outside Trent’s door, feeling fucking stupid. You exhaled, pressing your knuckles against the wood in a quiet, hesitant knock, already shaking your head at yourself. What were you even doing? The door opened slow, and there he was. Cheeky as ever. Trent leaned against the frame, shirtless, still in just the towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water clinging to his chest like they, too, refused to let go of him.

"Wish you showed up before I took the shower." His voice was warm, amused. Teasing. Expectant. No. You weren’t here for that. Though it pinged in your head the second your eyes dropped to the v shape dipping into his towel. Your arms crossed over your chest as you straightened your spine. As if doing so could stop your heart from leaping out of your chest.

"I just—" You sighed, closing your eyes briefly before meeting his gaze again. "I just need you to have some professional discretion, Trent.” You looked at him pleadingly. Full name. Serious.

"Course." He nodded, returning the seriousness, understanding.

“I’m here for work. I care about my job. I have to be professional, baby." But the pet name fell out. Like something slippery you’d never be able to hold onto. He smirked, his hand already on your hip, pulling you into his room, his other reaching past your head, the vein in his bicep too close to you, pushing the door behind you shut. Sexy. Your breath hitched. God, you were so weak for him. Now you were alone in his room, both of his hands on your body, caressing the resilience right out of your body. The slow drag of his palms over the silk of your dress, thumbs pressing into your skin through the thin fabric. Familiar. Possessive. "T," you warned, but you didn’t move. Your body stayed rooted, betraying you. The reprimand should have been sharp, but instead, it was a sultry purr, a breathy exhale that had no real bite.

"Relax." He hummed, tilting his head slightly. As if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t.

"You have to take this seriously." You swallowed hard, steeling yourself.

"I do." A slow smirk tugged at his lips. But his fingers only tightened, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes. Dark, teasing, pulling you under. You inhaled sharply, finally stepping back, breaking contact before you could melt completely. But not before you saw the flicker of satisfaction in his gaze.

–

You had made it out of Trent’s bedroom unscathed. Not without some cheeky comments, and a kiss to your forehead– it was serious after all but more so because you both knew anything more would spiral into something else but he couldn’t let you leave with nothing either. Downstairs, the house was buzzing with energy, a growing anticipation thrumming in the air as the boys gathered, half-dressed, debating outfits, splashing aftershave onto tanned skin, passing around bottles of pregame liquor. It was easy. So easy. The effortless camaraderie, the way they bantered, how they made room for you like you belonged—like you had always belonged. But you weren’t just settling into the background. No. You knew exactly what you were doing. Perched on the kitchen stool, you looked like something out of a dream—an effortless composition of silk, diamonds, and delicately draped elegance. You adjusted your posture, shoulders back, spine elongated, tits perfectly on display in the delicate slip dress [ref index] that clung to your curves like a second skin. You had swiped a subtle highlighter across your collarbones, the glow catching the light with every movement, an invitation, a whisper of something untouchable yet utterly captivating. Your legs crossed, shimmering like they were still basking in the sun, dangled. Your heels dangled precariously from your feet, the barely-there strap slipping just enough to tease. Like they weren’t holding you, but rather, you were holding them—wearing them with a grace that made it seem as though they were crafted solely for you. The soft glow of the kitchen lights cast shadows along the arch of your foot, highlighting the pristine white of your pedicure, each toe a quiet luxury peeking through. Your necklace draped down your chest, diamonds catching the low light as they skimmed over silk, dipping into the valley between your boobs where the cowl neck of your dress pooled just enough to hint, but never fully reveal. The faint imprint of your nipples pressed against the fabric, a whisper of something sinful beneath all that satin restraint. On your wrist, your braclets clinked softly, a delicate chime that barely broke through the quiet hum of the night. The thin diamond bands stacked along your fingers glinted whenever you shifted, tiny flickers of light that felt almost sentient, winking at him—at Trent—as if they, too, knew exactly what they were doing. And maybe they did. Maybe everything about you in that moment, poised yet unbothered, draped in clothes like a little doll dressed up just for him, was a silent provocation. A challenge. A promise. The scent of your Cashmere and Vanilla Byredo perfume drifted toward him, curling around him like something sentient—warm, decadent, laced with the kind of softness that made his teeth clench. It was intoxicating, the way it clung to the air between you, as if it was only for him, no one else in the room, wrapping around his senses like silk and sin. He watched you, unmoving, caught somewhere between reverence and ruin. Like you were an angel—too perfect, too delicate, something he should worship. And yet, all he wanted was to wreck you, to crease the silk, to leave fingerprints on diamonds, to make you unravel beneath his hands. Trent saw the taunt. He loved it actually. Even though you had told him not to. Even though you had attempted to lay down some rules. Even though you had demanded professionalism. His gaze was a slow drag over your body, a reverent study, a silent defiance of your request. And he didn’t look at you like you were here for work. No. He looked at you like he had bent you over, arched and begging for him mere hours ago. Like he had pressed you into his mattress a million times before, his breath hot against your ear, his fingers digging into your thighs, his name leaving your lips in a quiet, desperate plea. And you—God, you loved it. Because no matter how much you told yourself that this was about the job, about the work, about a moment in your career— You wanted to be looked at like that. By him. Only by him.

–

The night had taken on a feverish edge. Malibu stretched before you like a dream—moonlit waves crashing against the wooden beams of the pier, the air thick with salt and the echo of bass from the party raging at the other end. Music spilled into the night, tethering you to the present while the buzz of alcohol, of something electric and untamed, made your grip on reality feel loose. Your camera felt different in your hands. Heavy, slippery, like a tether to something you weren’t entirely sure you could hold onto. You had tried so hard to be careful. To be professional. And yet, here you were. Jude stood in front of you, golden under the glow of string lights swaying above, his hair meticulously done, as per, his smile lopsided, lazy with liquor and the ease of someone who never had to try too hard. Not even to look gorgeous.

“How’d you meet Trentski, sweetheart?” he asked, squinting slightly as if trying to focus. That damn beautiful smile of his, both charming and dangerous. “You two seem close.” The words rolled out smoothly, but there was something behind them, something prodding. He wasn’t just making conversation. Your lips curved, but the stretch of them felt practiced.

“Erm, I mean we know each other. Friends of friends.” You lifted the camera, clicking a few shots. Focusing, grounding. “Head this way a little,” you instructed softly, and Jude did as he was told—but his gaze lingered, sharper now.

“Pretty good friends for you to come and stay with us.” The shutter clicked. You kept your face even, your head tilting slightly.

“Well… you all invited me, no?” You mused. Jude smirked, and you didn’t like the way it felt. He knew what you were saying, and you knew exactly what he was implying.

“We did. Just, you know, you agreed to come—that’s all.” He rocked back on his heels slightly, blinking like he was just now realizing maybe he had stepped on something far more delicate than anticipated. Your fingers flexed around your camera. “You shoot for big brands," he continued, running a hand over his hair. "So for you to come to LA with us…Don’t know, might be a little bit of a downgrade for ya.” It wasn’t meant to be rude. You knew that. And it really wasn’t. Jude wasn’t someone who bit with malice—he just asked the things that others thought but never said aloud. But still, the wind coming off the water felt sharper now, colder, the moonlight against your skin no longer felt soft, it felt like a spotlight. You lowered your camera, the weight of his words sitting heavy in the space between you.

“Not a downgrade,” you murmured, adjusting your stance, as if physically realigning yourself could help steady your mind. You smiled softly back at him.

“Oh yeah?” Jude hummed, watching you closely.

“It’s about opportunity, not always about something like pay,” you added, the words slipping out smoother than they felt. Polished. Neat. Tidy. “You’re a big deal if you haven’t heard.” You teased him, a little jab at an ego. He laughed, surprised you’d had a go at him. You giggled in response because you just were trying to keep things from unraveling.

“Opportunity,” he repeated, drawing out the syllables like he was tasting them. “Well, we’re lucky you see us as an opportunity,” he said, speech slightly slurred by tequila but his voice was lower now. Slower. Then, a flicker of realization passed through his features. The teasing edge was still there, but something about it felt different. His lips parted slightly before he exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk, and a chuckle, dragging a hand down his face like he wished he could take back what he had just stumbled into. He walked towards you and you felt the shift in the air, felt the obviousness of why you were here thick in it.

“Don’t say it like that,” you chided with a small smile and giggle as you turned the camera for him to view the photos you just took. He shifted closer, draping his arm over the wood railing behind you, his gaze dipping to your camera as if seeking distraction along with genuine interest. You laughed lightly, shaking your head as you scrolled for him. Diverting. Redirecting. Trying to soften whatever the hell just passed between you.

“Nah, you know what I meant,” he countered, glancing at the photos, his smirk returning. "You’re very talented, and you’re here with us, so that’s good. Lucky us, lucky you.” He smirked. It was harmless but you both knew exactly what it meant. Because this wasn’t just work. It never was. Jude saw it now. And whether or not Trent had tried to keep it quiet, his friends were finding out.

–

[Ode to a Conversation Stuck in Your Throat - Del Water Gap]

The night was a blur of golden light and glows, of music pulsing beneath your skin like a second heartbeat. You tried to lose yourself in the night, in the people, in the effortless ease of Los Angeles. You spoke with Kieren, the conversation easy, flowing like liquor into an empty glass. Too many glasses. You got to know Marcel more, learning the cadence of his voice, the way he laughed with his whole chest. His accent slightly different from his brothers. You sipped your drink, let the warmth of tequila bloom in your veins, let yourself be swept into the rhythm of the night like the waves on the shore in the distance. But you could feel him. Even as Trent stood across the room, deep in conversation with Jude, you felt his eyes. The weight of them. The heat of them. It was a thread between you, invisible but unbreakable. A pull neither of you could escape. No matter where you turned, he was there. A shadow stitched into your night, a whisper curled into your thoughts. Maybe you should have maintained the careful space between you, upheld the barrier you had tried to draw earlier. But how could you? Not when he looked like that. Not when he looked at you like that. Not when his gaze flickered over your skin with the memory of his hands, the way he had touched you earlier like he had the right, like he had always had the right. Not when his mouth twitched in that barely-there smirk, knowing, confident, taunting. Not when, despite the sea of people around you, the only place you wanted to be was with him. Neither of you interested in anyone but the other and yet offering the space for temptation to creep in. Still, it never came. And maybe you should have been professional. But the night unraveled, hour by hour, drink by drink. The boys scattered, collecting new company like souvenirs—California girls with effortless charm, drawn in by their sharp wit or maybe deeper pockets. But none of that mattered. Because it was you and Trent, always you and Trent. And as you stumbled into the house, the moonlight stretching long shadows over the marble floors, it was like you had been wound too tight all night and now—now you were finally free to unravel. Trent’s hands drunkenly too forward in the car ride home, a fit of laughter spilling from your lips after he’d helped you out of your heels, your resolves that had been slipping all night had come undone.

"No!” You whined pulling Trent back by the fabric of his shirt at the bottom of the stairs. “You have to start at the same time or it’s not fair!” You giggled, your voice high with exhilaration, your movements light as air. Trent scoffed, shaking his head, his grin wide and wicked.

“Nah, I don’t need to cheat! Baby, c’mon, I’m not messing about.” He smiled at you, pupils blown with infatuation and the desire to win. “You tell me when I can go.” He said softer, sweeter, a tone saved just for you, one that never existed until he met you. How you ended up about to embark on a race up the staircase of the house, you weren’t sure, only Don Julio knew truly, but you didn’t care. You liked the way his focus was only on you. Greedy too. Slowly you reached out and cupped his cheek, your thumb caressing the skin like you might lean in for a kiss, and Trent’s whole world blurred but it was all a ruse. A distraction. Because a half second later you took off with a cheeky childish giggle. He let his head roll to the side with a scoff and a smile he couldn’t fight. “Ah see! Now that’s cheating.” He complained first, as always, but then he was after you. The game was playful at first—a race, a challenge, a chase. But the closer he got, the more it turned into something else. Something breathless. Something dizzying.

His hands brushed your waist as he caught up to you, planning to move you to the side for him to pass to get to the finish line at the top. You yelped, spinning in place to face him, stop him, grabbing at him in an attempt to slow him down. But he was faster, stronger, his grip sure as he caught you by the hips at, fingers digging into the silk of your dress. He didn’t want to get to the top of the stairs anymore, no, you were the finish line, you always had been. A startled laugh broke from you, your balance tilting, your body pressing into his in a desperate attempt to win—but there was no winning, not against him. Not when he moved so easily, so effortlessly, and hauled you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You squealed, your hands pressing against his back muscles, his low chuckle vibrating through his chest, through you.

“T,” you gasped between laughter, “No! This is cheating!” You whined as he strode down the corridor with you slung over him, his grip firm, possessive, his one hand unapologetically underneath the fabric of your dress, like it belonged there, like you belonged there. Like you had always had. And then—then you were falling. Not for long, not in a way that hurt. Just a breath of weightlessness before your back hit his bed, his scent lingering on the duvet sinking into your skin, his presence towering, all-consuming, overwhelming. You looked up at him, breathless, pulse hammering beneath the surface. And Trent—he only grinned, slow and knowing, his eyes dark with something heavy, something hungry. The barrier had already broken. There was no pretending now. You’d done a poor job thus far anyway.

—

There was something about the stillness of the early hours of morning. The kind that were so early they were a part of your night—the way the villa hummed with the remnants of the evening, the scent of tequila and summer heat still lingering in the air. Conversations had dulled to murmurs, some of the boys scattered in dimly lit rooms, wrapped up in fleeting company, their laughter dipping in and out like waves crashing on the Malibu shore you’d left behind in exchange to be hidden in the hills. In the kitchen, Marcel leaned lazily against the counter, a girl tucked into his side, her giggles soft against his shoulder. His voice was drowsy, but amused as he spoke, words slurring slightly at the edges.

“Anyone see where Trentski went? Have his wallet.” Jude, who was nursing the last of a drink he definitely didn’t need, smirked, a knowing glint in his eye. He didn’t need to look for Trent. He already knew.

“Said he went up.” No he didn't. Jude's voice carried a lilt, smug in its certainty. Trent hadn’t needed to say a word. The truth was in the air, thick and unspoken. It was in the way he had looked at you all night, in the way you had moved around each other, orbiting too close to be anything but inevitable. And upstairs, where the noise of the villa faded into a distant hum, where the only thing that existed was you and him, Trent’s body hovered over yours, his warmth pressing you further into the California king, his voice a low, lazy drawl that seeped into your skin like the heat of the night.

“Baby, you’re not gonna need your own room here in LA, alright?” His words were slow, thick with satisfaction as his fingers traced over your bare thigh, pushing up the soft fabric of your dress. You hummed, breathless, looping your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into you, pulling him home.

“Mmm, okay,” you whispered, your voice melting into the darkness, into him. “Stay with you.” A pleased hum vibrated from his chest, his weight pressing deliciously over you, grounding you, anchoring you. You were already drunk off him—off the way he smelled, the way his skin felt against yours, the way his lips ghosted over your collarbone, his breath warm and claiming.

“Yeah, you’re staying with me.” His voice was a promise, rasped against your lips as he rested his forehead against yours, his hands learning you again, like he had wanted them to all night, like he would never get enough. You inhaled sharply as his hands skimmed higher, every nerve in your body alight under his touch.

“Every night?” you mused, the words a tease, but laced with something real—something vulnerable, something that asked for more than this holiday,more than just this summer. Trent didn’t hesitate.

“Every night you’re with me.” And when he kissed you, it wasn’t just hunger, wasn’t just want—it was worship. It was love. Your hands were greedy, desperate, pushing at the fabric of his shirt, pulling it over his head as you arched into him.

“Just for you?” you whispered against his lips. A low growl rumbled from his chest as his mouth traced down the column of your throat, his lips mapping every inch of you he had missed.

“Just for me,” he vowed, his voice dark, his touch a brand, a claim, a promise.

—

The house hummed with the remnants of the night—low laughter drifting up from downstairs, the occasional thud of a closing door, the muffled voices of boys tangled with their fleeting summer flings. But none of it mattered. Not when you were in here, pressed against Trent, his breath warm against your lips, the taste of tequila and temptation lingering between you. His hands, rough and sure, mapped over your hips as if committing the curves to memory, pulling you into him like he couldn’t stand the space that separated you.

"Can you be quiet for me, baby?" he murmured, voice thick with liquor and lust, a teasing lilt lacing the command. You’d asked for professional discretion after all. His lips ghosted over your jaw, down the column of your neck again, kissing, biting, worshipping. You nodded—you tried. But when he peeled your dress from your body, when his fingers traced over your bare skin with something that felt reverent, when he guided you further back onto the mattress with a whispered "Good girl"—you already knew you were doomed. Because Trent didn’t rush. No, he took his time, lips pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, teeth grazing over your hip bones, his breath teasing the place you ached for him most. He was patient, methodical, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you, and God, he did. And then his mouth was on you—hot and sinful, all-consuming. Tongue curling, lips sucking, fingers stretching, pushing, pulling you apart in ways that made the air thick and your body tremble. You tried—you tried so hard—to be quiet, to bite down on your lip, to bury your face in a pillow, the way he was buried between your legs. Tried to muffle the whimpers that spilled from your mouth, but Trent knew you better than that. He knew how to pull the most sinful of sounds from you. He knew the way your thighs quivered, the way your fingers fisted the sheets, the way your body arched into him like a plea, like a confession that words could never touch. And when you came—shuddering, crying out, muffled against the pillow—Trent only chuckled, slow and victorious, kissing back up your body. Still catching your breath, still lost in the haze of him, you barely noticed as he pulled the pillow away, his dark eyes flickering over your flushed skin, the way you trembled in the wake of him.

"Hate when you're quiet with me, y’know," he taunted, the wicked smirk on his lips betraying the softness in his gaze. And then, with an infuriating ease, he tossed the pillow off the bed, like your silence had offended him, like the pillow’s ability to even hush the sounds had. Your chest rose and fell in shaky breaths, your lips parted, the words teetering on the edge of them. The words. The ones neither of you had said, the ones that lived in the way you touched, in the way you pulled each other closer when you should’ve let go. But Trent had spoken first. “Love when you're a good girl f’me though.” He whispered, soft, playful. He heard the word too. And he knew. They weren’t the words you ached to hear, but they were something close enough, something that still made your heart stutter in your chest as he hovered over you. And then, without hesitation, he took you again. And again. And again. Until the night melted into morning, until exhaustion took over, until you collapsed against him, tangled in his sheets, wrapped in nothing but his warmth. Until there was nothing left but you and him.

–

The morning had long since bled into the afternoon, but time inside this room had stopped moving altogether. You were still tangled in Trent, your limbs woven into his as if they had never known any other place to be. The world outside existed—surely, it did. The sun had risen, the house had stirred, the boys had woken up with groggy complaints and dry throats, seeking greasy breakfasts and lukewarm coffee to soothe the remnants of last night’s recklessness. But none of it mattered. Not in here. Trent’s fingers traced absentminded circles over your bare back, slow and tender, as if memorizing you all over again. His breath was warm against your temple, his lips brushing over your skin every few seconds like he couldn’t help himself. You’d been talking about nothing all morning. The kind of nothings that felt like everything. He’d said something silly that made you feel like a schoolgirl. Blushing and bashful. Something completely weightless and yet it was potent, something that’d sink deep into your heart. You giggled, burying your face in the crook of his neck, the sound soft, sleepy, full of a kind of happiness that made his chest tighten.

"Mm, you laughing at me?" His voice was husky, thick with sleep and satisfaction. You shook your head, biting your lip, but the smile pulling at your lips anyways betrayed you. Trent hummed, tilting your chin up with two fingers, his eyes searching yours before his mouth found its way back to yours, capturing your giggles in a slow, lingering kiss until you melted into him all over again. He didn’t care about the time. Didn’t care about the world still turning just beyond his bedroom door. Didn’t care that the house was awake, that the boys had surely noticed neither of you hadn’t emerged from this room all morning. Because the only thing he wanted in the entire world was lying here in his arms, smiling against his lips, tangled in his sheets, wanting him back.

But downstairs, the world was awake as expected. Marcel stood at the kitchen island, stretching his arms above his head with a tired groan, his bones still heavy with exhaustion, his mind still foggy from the night before. Around him, the others sat slumped in various stages of hangover recovery—some staring blankly at their phones, some picking lazily at their plates, some sipping Gatorades with tired, pensive expressions deciding if they liked it more than a Lucozade.

"Nah, I noticed last night too—my balcony looks out onto hers." Marcel yawned, rubbing at his face before smirking, his voice hushed with intrigue. "Room hadn’t been touched. And this morning… bed wasn’t slept in. They slept together." His tone wasn’t scandalous. It wasn’t even remotely surprised. It was just fact, casual and knowing. A shared observation between friends who had all seen this coming long before either of you should have.

"Slept together again." Kieren corrected, leaning back in his chair with an amused tilt to his lips, arched a brow. Because this wasn’t new. It wasn’t even close to new. This had been going on for months. It had started long before LA, long before this trip, long before the excuses of work and opportunity could mask the truth of it. This thing between you and Trent—it had spiraled. Since Ibiza, since that first night in Paris, since the first time neither of you could resist each other. Jude, freshly intrigued, leaned forward over his plate, his voice lower now.

"So… are they dating, then? I’m a bit lost because he’s said nothing and she said something to me about this trip just being an opportunity." His brow furrowed trying to follow, trying to catch up about something he almost couldn’t believe Trent kept so hushed now seeing how blatant it really was.

"Nah. They’re not, mate. Trust me, they’re not." Marcel scoffed, shaking his head. “He wishes but no.” He added for good measure and accuracy.

"Ah, so she’s got the reins?" Jude’s brows lifted, loving every second of this gossip session. Marcel let out a knowing chuckle, glancing toward Kieren, who had his mug halfway to his lips.

"I wouldn’t say that," Kieren mused, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he took a sip of his coffee. Then, with a quiet smirk, he echoed the word that had been tossed around too many times this trip. “Like you said… the opportunity is there.” Kieren raised his brow as if silently inferring that you wanted to be with Trent as much as he wanted to be with you and yet… you weren’t. The weight of it lingered in the air, heavier than the hangover pressing against their temples. Because, sure, this was a job. This could be used as a good opportunity. Just Jude alone sharing your photos would make waves. This was a chance to do something new, to expand your portfolio, to work with people who would bring more exposure. But it was also Trent. And you wanted Trent. And Trent wanted you. And yet, —you weren’t together. This holiday was the opportunity for more, shimmering and golden, lurking on the west coast of America.

"There are no reins," Marcel laughed, shaking his head as he reached over to squeeze Kieren’s shoulder in shared disbelief at how ludicrous it’d been from the jump.

"It’s completely out of control." Kieren huffed a quiet chuckle, tipping his head back against the chair. Trent would barely talk about it but he didn’t need to for all his friends to know it was quiet chaos.

"What a fucking idiot." Jude smirked, shaking his head as he leaned back in his own seat. Maybe it was the hangover, maybe it was the sheer ridiculousness of it all, maybe it was just the clarity that always came after a long night and a slow morning. But this situation? It was so painfully obvious. And so painfully inevitable.

—

The restaurant neatly nestled into West Hollywood pulsed like a club, the bass weaving through your bloodstream, the heat of the room thick with movement and liquor and the kind of reckless abandon only a second night on holiday could bring. Everything felt softened, blurred at the edges—maybe it was the shots you kept taking with Jude, maybe it was the way Marcel had you laughing, the way Kieren was more charming than you ever gave him credit for when he let his guard down, the way Michael—Michael?—had seamlessly blended into the group, as if he had been there all along. You didn’t remember meeting him yesterday. He was an afterthought at best, another face in the sea of them, another voice in the chorus of accents that stretched from Portsmouth to Leeds you were getting accustomed to flittering between. And yet, here he was, leaning in a little too close, speaking into your ear over the music, laughing a little too easily at your jokes. You didn’t have an end goal, not really. But you did have an incentive—to make it clear you weren’t some girl Trent had flown out for the sole purpose of warming his bed. You weren’t some secret, hidden away in the shadows, waiting for him to decide what you were. Like Trent had paid you to fuck in LA, not photograph it. Like you were something close to pathetic for following him around wishing. So, you invested in everyone else. You threw your head back laughing with Jude, you clinked glasses with Toby, you let Marcel tease you, you let Kieren’s banter chip away at any old reservations. But Michael—Michael was different. He was flirting. And you were letting him. Across the room, Trent saw all of it. At first, he let it slide. He could firm you getting along with Marcel, he’d hope you would. He knew you were friends with Kieren. He trusted Jude. Toby was harmless. But Michael. Michael was pissing him off. At dinner, he’d already felt the slow crawl of irritation when Michael had earned one too many of your smiles, but he hadn’t said anything. He’d clenched his jaw, exhaled through his nose, and let it go. Because what was he meant to do? He didn’t own you. You wanted to be friends, right? But now? Now, he was watching Michael touch you. A hand ghosting your bare arm in your tank top [ref index,] a whisper into your ear that had your lips parting in a smirk, a lingering glance down at the hem of your little skirt riding up. The clothes that Trent had planned on peeling off you the same way he did just last night. It was too much. Marcel had noticed the shift in him first, the way his body had stiffened, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides, the way his eyes darkened, locked onto you like you’d become the only thing in the room.

"Bro," Marcel warned, voice low, but it was already too late. Because Michael had crossed a line. A line he didn’t even know existed. But Trent did.

–

This was a moment you weren’t prepared for. One you probably should’ve anticipated but hadn't. A night that had spiraled so out of your control, that had shifted into something far more real than the blurred edges of a drunken holiday should have allowed. Trent’s breath was hot against the shell of your ear, his grip unforgiving as he yanked you back against him. Possessive. Unrelenting. Not hurtful but his fingers dug into your waist, firm and unyielding, as if he was trying to anchor you to him—as if he was afraid you’d slip away.

“Nah, not having this.” His voice was low, a rough whisper meant only for you. You stumbled in your heels, head spinning, the world tilting just slightly—or maybe that was just him.

“What?” you slurred, brows furrowing in confusion, but Trent’s grip didn’t falter. His eyes burned into yours, a frustration simmering just beneath the surface. What you didn’t get was that Trent felt like you were taunting him, forcing his hand and while he didn’t like it, he also felt like you didn’t have to do that. Not here, not somewhere in front of everyone, a place so public, so foreign that he was merely a name people might recognize. Because claiming you, what he felt like you were mocking him for, wasn’t that simple and this felt unfair– to him.

“Stop. You’ve made your point.” You hadn’t meant to make a point. But his tone, his hands on you, the fire in his gaze—they all told you that you had. You just were trying to not look desperate for him, to blend in, to not be more than a friend to him around the boys, but in doing so, you’d set him off.

“What point?!” you yelled, voice a little too loud, only in an effort for him to hear above the music, but it also was a little too raw. Confusion laced with hurt. The emotions behind your words creeping in uninvited, wrapping around you like a vice. Kieren had caught the shift, his attention snapping toward you both. And Michael? Michael was long gone. Too drunk to notice, too drunk to care, already lost in the arms of another.

“Yo, you two good?” Kieren stepped between you two, his presence meant to diffuse but only adding to the heat pressing down on your chest.

“I don’t know...” Your voice wavered, eyes stinging. You were too drunk for this. For facing feelings. For the way Trent was looking at you, for the way his words crawled under your skin like they had been waiting there all along. But Trent? He wasn’t backing down. He was just drunk enough for this.

“Nah, you know exactly what you’re doing,” he said, his voice a shade darker, something dangerous laced between his words. You shook your head, emotion climbing your throat like it wanted to break you. You were innocent in some respects but you weren’t free of blame. This was bigger than tonight.

“I’m not doing anything. I’m just being with the group. What am I doing wrong?” You asked, your words slurred by tequila. You felt attacked and there was only one excuse on your mind… You loved him and it was killing you. You were merely treading water. Trent could see that word, that feeling, that unspoken truth and yet aching pain flare in your eyes. He didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, his chest rose with the sharp inhale of someone barely keeping it together. And then—

“You know what you’re doing. You’re acting like we’re friends.” The air in your lungs vanished. Kieren’s mouth parted in shock, his eyes flicking between you and Trent, reading between the lines of everything unsaid and everything Trent managed to say in two sentences. Kieren didn’t really anticipate being there for this moment. The moment it all cracked open. The sea of bodies moved around, but the three of you were completely still. But inside, you were breaking down, your heart a wrecking ball against your ribs.

“You’re doing the same thing!” you whined, voice cracking, frustration bubbling over because— he never asked for more! Yes, you’d asked to be friends but only because he’d never wanted anything else and he’d shown you that. He hurt you before this non-relationship even got off the ground. Things had changed massively since the Burberry event. But only because you were friends. It worked because of the “friends” arrangement, right? He invited you here. Hadn’t he wanted it to be just like this? But no, he didn’t. Not like this at all. He’d only agreed to be your friend because that was the only way he could stomach how much he loved you— The only way he got to keep you, when you wanted to pull away so badly.

“Trentski, we’re on holiday. Everyone’s just chilling. No big deal. We can all just do what we want,” Kieren tried, but it only added fuel to the fire.Trent’s expression twisted, his head shaking. You felt like tears were gonna tip over. Like things finally were coming to ahead so you looked away for a moment, searching for courage.

“I’m not just doing what I want.” You looked back at Trent, broken. Your eyes met his, searching, pleading, burning. “I’m doing what you want.” You confessed. He blinked, stunned, chest tightening. “I’m acting the way you want. I bend to what you want, to your schedule, to what you need…” It was a half-truth. But half-truths still cut. It wasn’t the most fair statement but it wasn’t exactly false either. You felt like being friends was ‘best’ for him. As long as you got some of him– maybe you could bear the pain. That way he didn’t have the expectations and he didn’t have to try not to hurt you but it’d become one big tangled mess. But your words had pierced through Trent’s heart. He almost physically flinched at them. His mouth parted, his fingers twitched at his sides. What he wanted!? What he wanted was you. What he wanted was to pull you into him and never let go, to love you freely, openly, recklessly—not just behind closed doors, not just in the spaces between what you both pretended to be. What he wanted was to love you, to have you and tonight for the first time in a long while you were acting like you weren’t his to have. And then—the words that ruined everything...

“You’re not famous. It’s different.” It slipped from his lips, raw and unfiltered, a thought spoken aloud before he could stop himself. Kieren stiffened. His breath caught in his throat, eyes wide because—fuck. It was the worst thing he could have said. He didn’t mean it. Not in the way it came out. Your entire body went rigid.

“Excuse me!?” Your voice was sharp, slicing through the space between you, and Trent knew—he knew he’d just fucked up. You didn’t wait for an answer. You turned, wobbling slightly, the dizziness of the night crashing into the weight of his words. Kieren caught you before you could stumble too far, steady hands on your arms, his touch firm in a way Trent wished was his. Trent exhaled sharply. Dragged a hand over his face, frustration thick in the air, self-loathing curling in his gut. How did it get to this? His voice cracked when he reached for you.

“Baby, please.” It was soft. Raw. Desperate. And it broke you. You sniffled, shaking your head, fighting back tears and Kieren didn’t let Trent try again. He waved him off, leading you toward the exit. Not now. Not like this.

“Baby, huh?” Jude, ever the opportunist, swooped in with a grin, missing the actuality of the moment, slinging an arm around Trent’s shoulders. Trent shoved him off, barely sparing him a glare, eyes still fixed on the door you just walked through. Still hoping you’d turn back. But you didn’t.

–

Trent wanted to be mad. That would’ve been easier. It would’ve been easier to let the frustration consume him, to pretend it was just jealousy, just ego, just some territorial instinct that would pass once he fucked you out of his system. But it wasn’t. It never had been that simple. And the sick feeling pooling in his stomach wasn’t anger. It was worry. Worry that you’d left almost in tears. Worry that he’d been the one to put them there. Worry he’d ruined any possibility of finally getting more. Finally telling you he loved you. And then– worry that you were drunk and on your way home to a too-big house, and Kieren was with you, and maybe he should trust that, trust him, trust you, but he was too far gone on tequila to think straight. He stayed put, though. He knew he said the wrong thing. And under the neon glow, beneath the weight of his friends’ gazes, he didn’t move. Didn’t call. Didn’t text. Didn’t let himself chase after you the way every cell in his body was demanding. Instead, he threw back another shot, let the burn chase away the fear, let the alcohol blur the sharp edges of the night. But it didn’t work. Because all he could picture was the way you looked naked, the way your body fit against his, the way your skin had learned the language of his hands. And usually, that thought would have his pulse kicking up, his stomach tightening with anticipation. But now? Now it made him fucking sick. Because the image had twisted, darkened, turned into something unbearable. It had turned into Kieren. Turned into another body over yours, another pair of hands mapping your skin, another mouth claiming you in ways that were his. And it was irrational. It was unfair. But it was clawing at his throat, making it impossible to breathe. He must’ve been too tense, too caught up, because Marcel didn’t even have to ask. He just leaned in, fingers pitching into the muscle at Trent’s shoulder, a quiet suggestion to relax. To pull himself back before he gave too much away.

“Wouldn’t happen,” Marcel murmured, low and careful, no names, no unnecessary explanations. Trent turned to him, jaw tight, eyes unreadable, but Marcel knew. Of course, he fucking knew. “Want me to text him?” Marcel asked, voice still quiet, still controlled. Trent just shook his head. Because admitting he wanted to? That was something he wasn’t ready for.

–

It wasn’t really about the words. The pit in both your stomachs had nothing to do with his drunken, misplaced jab about fame. Frankly, in a different state you would’ve firmed it, not cried and left. Frankly, in a different universe you would’ve told him to shut up, you loved him. Trent hadn’t meant it that way. He hadn’t meant to separate himself from you, to make you feel smaller, to make you feel like there was a gap between you that couldn’t be bridged. When liquor hadn’t swirled his words, he knew you were ‘famous’ just in another way, in another light. You chose to be behind the lens when he knew you merited to be in front of it. He wasn’t trying to remind you that his life was different, only that it was complicated. That his schedule belonged to a machine larger than himself, that his movements were rarely his own, that even the simplest relationships came with scrutiny. None of it mattered. And yet all of it did. You understood—maybe too well. And that’s why you had drawn the line in the first place. You had kept him as a friend, kept your hands to yourself when they ached to reach for him, kept your lips sealed when love threatened to spill from your mouth. You knew it’d hurt but it was for the ‘best.’ You had given him space, given him an out, pretending it was nothing more than a fleeting thing, something physical, something non committal. But Trent didn’t want you to understand. He didn’t want your patience, your quiet acceptance, your selfless ability to pretend like this wasn’t eating both of you alive. He wanted you to be selfish. He wanted you to ask for him, to need him, to demand something more even if he wasn’t sure he could give it. Because the truth was, he wanted to give you everything. And he hated that you weren’t asking for it.

—

You’d gone back to the house with Kieren. The music still throbbed in your veins, the tequila a warm weight in your bloodstream, but everything else had cooled. The fight– was it a fight? –the tension, the way Trent had looked at you like you’d done something unspeakable—like you’d hurt him lingered. You’d apologized too much on the ride back to Kieren, words tumbling out slurred and unnecessary. You felt stupid. Like dead weight. Like the girl amongst a group of boys who barely even registered the altercation, who would wake up tomorrow with nothing but hazy memories of a night well spent. But Kieren hadn’t just noticed, he felt it as he witnessed you and Trent’s house of cards begin to crumble. He didn’t say much, didn’t try to fix it, didn’t press you for answers you weren’t ready to give. He just kept his distance in the way only someone who truly knew you, knew your friends, knew the situation could. Close enough to be there if you needed, far enough to let you hold your own grief. Still, before you parted ways in the house, innocently, he squeezed your arm—a quiet reassurance.

"It'll be alright," he murmured. But nothing more. And you were grateful. Because there was nothing else to say. No confessions. No analysis. No attempts to rewrite what had already happened. Just silence, just space, just the cool night air swallowing you both whole. And somewhere across the city, Trent sat with his friends, drowning in tequila and jealousy, convinced something that never would happen was.

—

It was supposed to be easier this way. That’s what you told yourself. That’s what you told him. You’d drawn the line in the sand, convinced that keeping the emotional distance would stop you from getting hurt, from forcing his hand, from making him one day look at you and feel the weight of obligation instead of want. If he never had to choose you, he’d never have to let you down. You thought you were saving yourself, saving him. You thought you were doing the right thing. But nothing about this was easy.

Because you weren’t his friend. You never had been. And he wasn’t yours. Not in the way you claimed. Not in the way you tried to be. There was nothing friendly about the way his fingers mapped out the places on your body he already knew by heart, the way his lips whispered prayers into your skin, like he was seeking salvation in the taste of you. There was nothing platonic in the way you curled into him when no one was looking, and even when they were, in the way he held you like a man who wasn’t willing to let go. And still, you stayed silent.

There wasn’t the long game Trent tried to claim either. No, this was a painful stalemate. His heart was hurting and so was yours. Every time he fucked you, every time he did something so innocently in juxtaposition, your heart broke. Wanting for him. Wishing for him. And yet waning it all away. You told yourself this was what he wanted, even as he kissed you like a man starved, even as he murmured your name like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. And he told himself the same, even as you broke for him, again and again, in the dead of night. A miscommunication so tragic it almost felt intentional. So easy to fix that it felt impossible. And so you loved him the only way you knew how. In whispers. In tangled sheets. In stolen moments where your bodies spoke the words you refused to say. And Trent? Trent loved you just the same. But he thought he wasn’t allowed to. Thought he had to be patient, to let you dictate the terms. Thought he had to love you from a distance, even as you melted against him, even as your hands clutched at his back like he was the only thing keeping you whole. And it hurt. The loaded gun was waiting to go off. A crash inevitable and starting to begin. And in the end, you weren’t sure who would walk away unscathed. Maybe no one. Maybe you’d both lose. Maybe you already had because tonight was the beginning of it all.

—

[Her - The American Dawn]

The house was heavy with sleep, the air thick with the remnants of the night—laughter soaked into the walls, new perfumes still lingering in the corridors, the muffled echoes of bodies pressed too close behind closed doors. And yet, even with exhaustion pulling at your limbs, you couldn’t will yourself to close your eyes. Your bed was too big, too cold, too lonely. You weren’t waiting for him. You told yourself that. Again and again. But when you heard them all stumble in around two, maybe three in the morning, something took over you. Something stupid. Something reckless. Something that had you slipping out from under the sheets, padding barefoot down the hall, past doors you wished you hadn’t listened too closely to.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for. Maybe clarity, maybe closure, maybe just a reason to not feel so utterly alone. The house was eerily quiet, save for the distant murmurs of hushed laughs and the unmistakable creak of bedsprings behind closed doors. You shouldn’t have kept walking. Each step felt heavier than the last, your feet softly moving against the cool hardwood floors almost against your own will. You should have stayed in bed. Should have let sleep take you, should have curled into the cold sheets and pretended they were warm, pretended they felt like him. But you couldn’t. Not when the house hummed with the aftermath of a reckless night, with laughter fading into slurred murmurs and footsteps. Not when the weight of his words still pressed against your chest, heavy and unshakable.

The alcohol was wearing off, leaving behind the sharp sting of reality. The night played over and over in your head like a cruel rerun, every word, every glance, every mistake twisting into something unbearable. So you walked. Barefoot and silent, slipping through the halls with the kind of hesitation that made you feel even more foolish. The muffled echoes of the night drifted through the closed doors, moans that made your stomach twist. You shouldn’t be here; maybe tonight, maybe in the house at all, or just the trip in general. You were moving through the dimly lit hall anyway though, your hands brushing against the walls as if grounding yourself, as if stopping yourself from turning back. And you almost did. Almost retreated to your empty bed, almost swallowed down the lump in your throat, almost convinced yourself that you didn’t need to see him. And when you got there, you hesitated outside his room, your fingers brushing over the wood, your breath uneven. Your pulse thundered in your ears but you knocked anyway. You didn’t even know what you would say but the sound came out unplanned, weak.

“T…” you whispered, barely knocking, as if you weren’t sure if you wanted to be let in or turned away. And then, just for a moment, your stomach twisted violently—because what if he wasn’t alone? What if you had been fooling yourself this whole time? A drawn-out moan from a room down the hall made your heart sink. You weren’t sure if it was relief or fresh agony that flooded you when Trent groaned from the other side of the door. The mere reminder that he even existed on the other side of the door made your throat tighten, your fingers hovered over the handle and then—you pushed the door open. Just enough for the silver glow of a moon leaking in through the windows of his room to spill into the hallway.

“Mmm, that you baby,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. The sound of his sheets rustling. “You alright?” He shifted, propping himself up to get a better look at you standing hesitantly in the doorway, your small pajama set suddenly feeling too exposed, too little for how fragile you felt. His eyes softened, his hand reaching lazily toward you. He shifted in bed, his silhouette barely visible in the low light. And for a second, you paused. Maybe you shouldn’t do this to him. For only a second, you thought about lying, thought about saying you didn’t mean to knock at all, thought about pretending this wasn’t exactly what it was. But then—

“Can I have a cuddle?” The words tumbled out, small and soft and far too revealing. A pout you couldn’t control. You didn’t need an explanation as to why. He knew why and so did you. Trent let out a breath, something between relief and surrender.

“’Course.” He murmured. Your hesitation felt like a tangible thing, pressing at your ribs, curling around your throat. You shouldn’t have come. You shouldn’t be doing this. You almost wished he’d met someone else tonight. That he wasn’t on his summer holiday in LA coming home to you after crying over him, begging for a cuddle. But before you could talk yourself out of it, your feet moved of their own accord, bringing you forward, onto his bed like it was the only place that had ever made sense. You barely made it under the sheets before his hands found you, pulling you against him like gravity itself had conspired to keep you there. “C’mere…” His warmth enveloped you instantly, the scent of him intoxicating, his lips pressing into the crown of your head making your chest ache in a way you weren’t ready to name. His arms tightened around you, his eyes shutting, not sure if he was allowed to just do that. Shit. “Sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath against your hair, but weighted down by something deeper. Something that felt like an apology for far more than tonight, for more than just kissing you when he maybe wasn’t supposed to. You exhaled against his chest, fingers grazing over the warm skin of his ribs, tracing thoughtless shapes, losing yourself in the simple act of touching him.

“You can always kiss me.” You admitted and it was the honest truth. His breath hitched. Just slightly.

“Yeah?” He murmured, voice still thick with sleep, but now laced with something else entirely. You nodded, pressing a feather-light kiss to his chest without thinking. Without questioning, your fingers splaying across his skin like you needed to ground yourself in the reality of him. Trent exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. His hands skated lower, over the curve of your spine, the dip of your waist, the place where your body fit into his like you were carved from the same breath of the universe.

“Sorry,” you whispered your own apology, but you didn’t know what for. Maybe for the kiss. Maybe for being here. Maybe for wanting him this much. Maybe for pretending like you didn’t.

“You can always kiss me,” he echoed, voice quieter this time. Like the words meant something more. Your eyes gently shut. Your bodies were too close, hands moving too much but it was subtle, it was soft. And then, silence. Just the two of you tangled in the dark, breathing in the same air, hands moving without thought, like they had always known each other. “Still for me?” he asked, voice uncharacteristically small. Vulnerable in a way you rarely heard him but in a way he seemed to find himself feeling with you too often. The question was hushed, like he was scared of the answer. You hesitated, not because you weren’t sure, but because the answer felt too big. Because the weight of it pressed into your chest. But when you lifted your head, your lips found the column of his throat, and the sound that left him was enough. His head lolled to the side, giving you more room, and his hands—God, his hands—possessive now, grounding you against him. You didn’t need to respond. Not with words. Not yet. You let your mouth answer for you, let your lips trace a path over his skin, let your body press into his like it had been aching for him all night because it had, it always would. His grip tightened. His resolve cracked. He pulled you into him more with possession, with a need that pulsed between you like something alive.

“Maybe,” you finally whispered an answer against his skin, though your voice lacked its usual sharp edges. The brush of his fingers over your hip, dipping lower in anticipation. “I’m not famous. That okay?” You murmured, voice teasing, but the ache beneath it was real. He exhaled sharply, like your words had knocked the wind out of him. His hold on you tightened more. His lips found your temple, your jaw, your shoulder.

“You should be. As long as it's you,” he breathed. “You’re fucking perfect, baby.” He babbled, completely enraptured in you as he began to knead your ass in his big hands unable to stop the unrequited pull of each other. You swallowed thickly, unsure if your voice would betray you.

“Hmm?” You hummed looking for clarity not in protest, letting your body melt into him. But still not totally sure what he meant.

“Nothing. I’m a fucking idiot, that’s all, baby. Just need you,” he admitted, voice so quiet, so raw, you barely caught it. And there it was vulnerable out in the open, maybe coaxed by the early hours or the liquor but it didn’t matter once it passed his lips, you heard it. Felt it in the way he clung to you, in the way his lips found your skin like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. He inhaled you in, saying I love you silently. “Can I need you?” He asked and he felt pathetic but he didn’t care anymore, you came back to him. You had to need him, even if it was just for tonight. Your fingers curled into the back of his neck, pulling him into you, your body pressing impossibly closer.

“Yeah. Missed you tonight.” You admitted, the words barely a whisper.

“C’mere, beautiful,” he whispered. “Supposed to stay with me on nights out. None of this running off.” He murmured, pulling you greedily entirely over top of him, his lips meeting yours like a secret you couldn’t keep. A kiss that screamed those three words never uttered. You whimpered against his lips, your fingers clawing at his shoulder, your bodies moving in a rhythm that was entirely your own.

“Were you with anyone else?” Your lips ghosted over his hesitantly. The question slipped out before you could stop it, raw and insecure.

“What?” Trent pulled back slightly, his brows furrowing. How did you still not get it?

“Tonight,” you whispered, searching his eyes, honest and scared. “Did you want to be with someone else? I— ” His expression softened, and he shook his head immediately.

“Nah, baby. Came home to you.” He purred. Relief flooded through you, though you didn’t have time to dwell on it before his lips were on yours again, before his hands were moving lower, before you were falling apart under his touch, gasping into his mouth like a prayer. Trent groaned, rolling you onto your back, his mouth crashing into yours like he was starving for the taste of you. His hands mapped familiar territory, tracing over curves and dips he knew too well, his body slotting against yours like it had been built for it. His body reacted instantly, pressing you further into the mattress, his hands gripping tighter, his mouth trailing across your skin like fire. And then it unraveled. You unraveled and Trent already had. You let yourselves love each other in the only way you knew how—messy and desperate, without words, without promises, only the quiet ache of needing and never saying. Until exhaustion pulled you both under, limbs tangled, bodies pressed too close, your name a breath on his lips even in sleep. And that night, you did what you always did. You broke each other’s hearts by loving in silence, by saying everything in the way your bodies fit together, by letting your hands speak where your mouths never dared. Still for him.

•

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Next part - Chapter 15 - Don't

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#trent alexander arnold #Trent Alexander Arnold x reader #alexander arnold #trent alexander arnold imagines #taa x reader #footballer x y/n #footballer x reader #fie fic #aperture fic

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