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suguwu · 1 year ago

Text

christmas countdown

Your company is taking on a new project and desperately wants the backing and expertise of retired CEO Jing Yuan. Dispatched out into the countryside to bring him on board, you find it won't be as easy as you think.

Jing Yuan strikes a bargain with you: spend the upcoming days with him, until Christmas Eve, and he'll tell you exactly what it will take for him to come back if you don't figure it out yourself.

Let the Christmas countdown begin.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI.

pairing: jing yuan x gn!reader

word count: 16k (whoops)

notes: this came about through dms with my beloveds @petrichorium and @lorelune! they both were invaluable, and lore also was kind enough to beta for me, along with another friend. this fic feels like it possessed me; i wrote it in just over a week.

fic notes: hallmark au, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), jing yuan is taller than the reader, age gap (jing yuan is in his early 50s, reader is in their late 30s), this is mostly just fluff.

divider by @/cafekitsune.

“I’m sorry, Mom.”

“This is the third Christmas you’re missing,” she says, voice thickening, and you can almost see the way her eyes are going glassy with tears, shining beautifully in the light.

“I know. But this project is huge and I’m so close to the promotion—”

“You’ve been saying that for years.”

“This is different. The CEO herself asked for me,” you say with a sigh.

“When would you leave?”

“I leave tomorrow.”

“That’s almost a week until Christmas! Maybe you’ll get back in time! Or maybe it can wait until the new year?”

“No, Mom. The project is waiting on getting this person on board, it can’t wait that much longer. It’s just Christmas, I don’t see why this is such a big deal.”

“It’s time with your family,” she snaps, the words shattering at the edges, honed keen with hurt.

“I’m sorry. Next year, okay?”

“That’s what you said last year.”

“Mom.”

“Fine. But think about it, please. We miss you.”

You sigh. “I miss you guys too.”

The conversation continues on from there; she tells you that your father has taken up gardening, renting out a space in a greenhouse nearby, coaxing it into a full lushness that has him coming home flecked with flower petals. He’s already plotting out a vegetable garden come spring.

You listen as she chatters away, throwing in the occasional “uh-huh” as you scroll through your emails, typing as quietly as you can. You pause as she goes silent.

“Mom?”

“Are you working right now?”

You wince. “I just had a few emails—”

The line goes so quiet that you reach for your phone to see if your earbuds have disconnected. They haven't. Your stomach roils.

“Mom?”

“We’ll talk later, then,” your mother says, and the pit in your stomach grows at the sorrow threading through her voice. “Good night.”

You hesitate. Then your email pings again.

“Night, Mom.”

She hangs up, and the click of the line sounds like a dour bell, but it’s chased from your mind by the bright chirp of your email. You settle back down with your laptop, digging into work once more.

When you finally glance up from your laptop screen hours later, your eyes stinging, you realize it’s snowing.

In the orange glow of the streetlights, the flakes look like embers flickering through the sky, like the sparks of a bonfire on a summer’s eve. It’ll be stomped into slush tomorrow, trodden under so many boots, but for now the snow dances through the air, a ballet all its own.

It muffles the world, blanketing your apartment in oppressive quiet, and not for the first time you feel small in your own home. You shiver. The high ceilings of your apartment feel like a gaping maw, arching and empty.

You shift uneasily and turn on a soft lofi playlist despite the headache that’s settled in at your temples. It fills the air, creeps all the way to the empty corners of your apartment and softens them with sound.

You let out a gentle breath. Still, something cold uncurls behind your ribs, sinks its teeth into bone until it hits marrow. You pick up your phone, swiping up to your messages with your best friend, and you’re halfway through typing out a message before you catch yourself. A quick glance at the clock makes you wince. Your phone thunks against the table as you toss it down.

It’s late and she has a new baby—she needs as much sleep as she can get. You can’t disturb her, not for something as silly as this. You scrub a hand over your face and get to your feet.

It’s quiet as you get ready for bed, even the soft music doing little to soothe you. You turn on every lamp in your bedroom, flood the room with light, until it’s as if the sun has risen and is cradling you in its warmth. You keep them on until the last moment, flicking them off only when you’re tucked in bed.

That cold thing stays with its fangs sunk in until you fall asleep.

***

The airport is nearly deserted by the time you land.

It’s late, night blanketing the terminal, held at bay only by the light pollution of the airport. Your shoes click against the linoleum as you hurry through the empty hallways, eager to be done with your exhausting day of travel.

The taxi driver that heaves your suitcase into the trunk is talkative, but you’re too busy checking your phone, flicking through the emails that poured in while you were in the air. The car rumbles to life beneath you as you pull up an attachment, scanning over the analysis quickly, scratching out a few notes on a scrap piece of paper you’ve pulled from your bag. The countryside rolls by as you work, pitch black except for a few lit windows from passing houses, little lighthouses in the deep sea of the night.

“Here we are,” the taxi driver says cheerfully, killing the engine in front of the inn.

It’s clearly old but well-maintained, a piece of the past caught in the resin of time. There are fake candles guttering in each window. The wreath on the door is almost as big as the door itself, dotted with lights that twinkle like little silver stars and topped off with a perfect crimson bow.

“Thanks,” you say to the driver, trading a tip for your suitcase before heading up the steps of the inn. The scent of pine wafts around you; you step inside before it can stick to your clothes.

“Hi,” you say to the receptionist, who puts down her magazine. “I’m here to check in.”

“Name?”

You tell her. She nods and you check your phone again as she checks you in. Luckily, it doesn’t take long, because the long day is beginning to weigh on you, an ache deep in your bones.

“Let us know if there’s anything you need,” the receptionist says.

“Thanks.”

You pay little attention to the room, simply stowing your suitcase before pulling your laptop from your carry-on bag. There’s a small desk that you settle at; your laptop screen glows brightly as you open it. The world blurs, smears like a watercolor. You blink the fuzziness away to answer a few more emails.

A few turns into many, catching up on all of your current projects now that you have another project to take care of. The headache that slowly blooms is familiar; it lingers behind your left eye, throbbing like a wound. It’s what finally gets you to set down your laptop for the night. It’s late enough that when you peer out the window while getting ready for bed, even the stars seem to have gone cold, twinkling faintly.

By the time you crawl into bed, you don’t even want to look at the clock. Still, you see it when you set your alarm, and you wince. You only have a few hours before it goes off. You curse yourself and roll over to finally, finally go to sleep.

Tomorrow comes too quickly. You wake with the sun, before your alarm, watery light pouring into your room, pooling in soft gold puddles on the floor. It catches on the prism dangling from the window, throwing rainbows against the walls, a whirling ballet of color.

You make a mental note to close the curtains tonight. You hadn’t even realized they were open, with how dark the countryside is around the inn, far too used to the ambient light of the city. When you peer out the window, all you see is woods framing a large, clear space still dusted with snow.

In daylight the inn is even more quaint, brimming with Christmas decor: with thick garlands draped over the doorway arches, weighted down with golden ornaments that catch the light, sending it flickering like the flames roaring in the fireplace. Sprigs of holly are tucked among the garlands too, little fireworks of color. Add in the mounds of fake snow lining a sprawling ceramic village and it’s a picture-perfect display. You trace a finger over the tiny wreath on the village bakery’s door.

“Mornin’,” someone says behind you, a deep rumble of a voice, shaking through you like thunder splitting the sky. You turn around and find a man beaming at you.

“Good morning,” you say.

“Looking for breakfast? It’s in the dining room, right through there.”

“I was really just looking for coffee.”

“That’s in the dining room too,” he says. “I’m Lee. I own the inn with my husband.”

“Oh,” you say. “That’s nice. It’s lovely. I’m sorry, though, I really have to get to work.”

He raises a brow. There’s a whole conversation in that brow, you think. One you’re not interested in having.

You give him a tight smile. “Excuse me,” you say. “That coffee is calling me.”

“Sure,” he says. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.”

You trade nods with a few other guests as you get your coffee, but you’re in and out of the loud dining room in a matter of minutes. Your room, foreign as it is to you still, is a welcome respite from the chatter that fills the inn.

The coffee is good. It’s rich and nutty, the warmth of it warding off the slight chill that lingers in the room from the large windows. You try to peer out one of them but it’s whorled with frost, ice spun over the glass like embroidery, just opaque enough to let in the light.

You settle back down at the little desk and boot up your laptop. Your inbox has slowly filled up again, and you’re starting to work through it when your boss slacks you.

Qingzu: You’re off your regular projects for now.

Me: ??? I’m almost done with the analysis.

Qingzu: Fu Xuan wants you to concentrate on bringing Jing Yuan on board. I’ll delegate your usual tasks.

You wince. Your coworkers are going to hate you.

Me: I can still do the analysis at least.

Qingzu: What the CEO says goes. Focus on the job she gave you.

Qingzu: Also it looks like the address we have on file for Jing Yuan is outdated.

Qingzu: You might need to do a little searching.

Me: Okay.

You sigh, scrubbing your hands over your face before exiting out of your email. Not for the first time, you wonder why Fu Xuan didn’t reach out to Jing Yuan herself, considering she’d succeeded him at Luofu Corp. You’re not sure how negotiation from a stranger is the better option. And it would certainly have made your life easier.

At least she’s given you a profile on him. The picture is unnecessary considering how many magazine covers the man has graced, but it’s there, and you won’t say no to looking at a pretty face. Even in his official picture, there’s a small, lazy smile on his face. He looks half-asleep, but his golden eyes are knife-sharp.

A tactician's mind, Fu Xuan said, and you believe it.

You read through the profile carefully, taking in details large and small, trying to get a sense of the man you’re supposed to lure out of retirement. He’d retired early, barely into his fifties, and he’d only picked up a handful of projects in the last two years since, mostly charity work. You sigh, deeply jealous, and read on.

The profile isn’t particularly helpful; to be honest, you hadn’t expected it to be. You’ll need to meet him and gauge him for yourself to see what the best avenue is.

You shrug on your coat before leaving the room, slipping past a ragtag group of children. They’re led by a little girl in a hat bigger than her head, the fuzzy flaps of it bouncing as she scuttles down the hallway, her face shining triumphantly, a mug of hot cocoa carefully balanced in her hands.

You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs, glancing between the door and the front desk. You sigh and head towards the front desk. Lee smiles at you.

“Whatcha need?” he asks.

“I’m looking for someone in town,” you say. “I was hoping you could direct me to them.”

“Sure. Who is it?”

“Jing Yuan.”

His smile shatters at the edges, a slowly spreading crack. He leans back on his heels and eyes you up and down.

“You a reporter?”

“No.”

He nods to himself. “Should have known. You look a little too corporate for that.”

You smooth down your coat self-consciously. Maybe you should have brought some more casual clothing for this trip.

“Can you tell me where he is?” you ask.

“He’s not interested.”

“What?”

Lee shrugs, rocking back on his heels again. You think of a great pine tree swaying in the wind, bending, never breaking. “Whatever you want him for, he’s not interested.”

“How about he tells me that himself?”

“I’m sure he will,” he says. “If you can find him.”

“Which I assume you aren’t going to help with.”

“Sorry.”

You roll your eyes and stalk towards the door, wrenching it open and fleeing into the outdoors. The sun is shining but the air is frigid, the type of cold that sinks right through clothing and into your marrow. You shudder and pull up the collar of your coat to try and block the worst of the chill as you walk towards downtown.

It’s an easy walk; you find yourself in the heart of downtown in just a few minutes. It’s just as quaint as the inn, the lampposts lining the street decorated with wreaths faintly dusted with pristine snow. You glance up at the lights strung between buildings, shimmering like the icicles they’re mimicking.

It’s pretty, you suppose. You think people would flock here if they knew about it. Still, despite how small the town is, the streets are filled with people, some of them shouting greetings back and forth.

You duck into the crowds and weave your way through them carefully, pausing just before a cafe. A thought occurs to you as you take a quick peek through the frosted window. You peel off your gloves, holding them in your hand as you step into Auntie’s.

“Excuse me,” you say as one of the waitresses comes over to you, a tray balanced against her hip. “A man dropped these a block back and I thought I saw him come in here. I was hoping to return them. He was tall and had long white hair that he was wearing tied back. I think it was with a red ribbon.”

“Sounds like Jing Yuan,” she says. “You sure paid close attention to him.”

You cough, fidgeting with the leather gloves and she laughs. “Most people do,” she reassures you. You flash her a small, embarrassed smile. “He’s hard to miss, handsome as he is. I can give them to him next time I see him.”

“That’s okay,” you say. “If you know where he is, I don’t mind bringing them to him. I’m just enjoying wandering around town.”

Her eyes narrow; ice seeps into them, the slow creep of the first frost. Her grip tightens on the tray.

You blink at her guilelessly, trying not to hold your breath.

Her shoulders uncoil. “Sorry,” she says. “It’s just—nevermind. I haven’t seen him today. I’d check along Aurum. That’s the main street. If you don’t find him, you can come back here and I’ll give ‘em to him.”

“I’ll just check a few more shops,” you tell her. “I’m on the lookout for Christmas presents, anyway.”

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?”

“I know, I know,” you say. “I’m so bad about it. Thank you!”

“Bye.”

You hurry out the door, flexing your fingers against the cold as you keep your gloves in your hands. The second and third store yield the same results; the fourth shop is a bust too. The locals are more protective of Jing Yuan than you’d thought. You get a suspicious look every time you describe him, and that’s without even mentioning his name.

You step outside the fourth shop with a huff. At this point, you’re worried that someone is going to insist on keeping the gloves. There’s only so many times you can spin the same story before it bites you in the ass. Plus, your hands are freezing; the sunlight is doing little to warm the day despite the rays bathing half the street gold.

One more store, you think. Just one more.

You groan when you see the next store is a bustling toy shop. Children tug at their parents’ hands and smudge their noses up against the windows with gap-toothed grins. They spill out of the entrance like little ants, almost tripping over themselves as they babble excitedly to their companions. They part around you like flowing water as you make your way inside.

“Excuse me,” you say to the first person wearing a nametag that you see, holding out the gloves. “A man dropped these a few blocks back. I tried to catch up but couldn’t, but I thought I saw him duck in here. Have you seen a tall man with white hair tied up with a red ribbon?”

“Funny,” a rich voice says from behind you. “I don’t think those would fit me.”

You freeze.

The man peers down over your shoulder; a few strands of fluffy white hair brush against you as he examines the gloves you’re holding. He tugs one free of your slackened grip and holds it up against his hand, which dwarfs the glove. His low hum resonates through you, a honeyed drip of sound, soft and warm.

“A little small, don’t you think?” he asks.

You turn around.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, his eyes crinkling with it. There’s a wicked amusement tucked up secret in the corner of his full lips; you try not to scowl.

You see why Fu Xuan called him a scoundrel.

Still, there’s no way out of this. “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” you say with a shrug. “And I did find you, so.”

He chuckles. “That you did.”

“I—”

“Uncle!”

You blink as a blond blur zips past you and almost crashes into Jing Yuan. The blur turns out to be a young boy—no older than twelve—carrying a sizable sword. It’s almost as big as he is.

“Uncle,” he says again, tugging at Jing Yuan’s sleeve. “Look what I found!”

“It’s a very nice sword, Yanqing,” Jing Yuan says, his smile softening. “But let’s wait and see what Christmas brings, hmm?”

Yanqing pouts for a moment before he glances at you. You realize he shares his uncle’s eyes, as golden as the sun. He blinks. “Are you another reporter?”

Jing Yuan leans down to be closer to his height. “Worse,” he whispers. “They’re corporate.”

The boy wrinkles his nose.

Jing Yuan’s smile threatens to turn into a grin. “Go put the sword back, please,” he tells Yanqing, and you watch him dart off again.

“Could I—”

“I’m afraid I’m busy,” Jing Yuan says. “And you may have heard that I retired.”

“I know, but—”

“Business has no place in a toy shop, you know.”

“That’s not what the toy seller would say.”

He tilts his head, a sliver of a smile unfurling on his lips. “I suppose so,” he says thoughtfully. “Either way, I am busy.”

“Fu Xuan sent me,” you try.

He sighs. “Yes, I had assumed.”

“If I could just get a bit of your time—”

“Not now,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m with my family.”

“But at some point?”

“You’re at the inn, yes?”

“I am.”

“I’ll come find you tomorrow. Does that work?”

“Really?” you say and cough as he smiles, golden eyes twinkling like the ornaments decorating the toy shop. “I mean, that works. Here, here’s my card.”

He takes it; it looks tiny in his hand. He says your name, rolling it over his tongue like he’s tasting it, like it’s something to be savored. Your cheeks heat. A small smile plays across his lips.

“Tomorrow, then,” you say.

He nods, his white hair swaying with it, like dandelion seeds caught on the wind. “Tomorrow. Come on, Yanqing.”

You start as the boy goes past you like a little darting fish, settling at his uncle’s side and tugging on his sleeve. “Can we go to the smithy?” he asks as the two of them turn to leave. “Please?”

Jing Yuan laughs, the sound rich, spilling over you like smooth chocolate. “Just to look,” he says, and they’re almost out the door when you realize—

“Wait!” you call out. “You still have my glove!”

Jing Yuan pauses and glances back, one golden eye rising like the sun over the mountain range of his shoulders. “Oh?” he asks, raising a brow. “I thought you said it was mine?”

Behind you, the employee stifles a laugh. Your cheeks burn. “I—”

He chuckles. “Here,” he says, handing it back. “I’d hate for you to be cold.”

Then he and Yanging are out the door, leaving you standing in the middle of the bustling toy shop. You clutch at your glove; it’s still warm from his hand, like the soft heat that lingers in the hearth stones long after the fire has gone out.

It occurs to you that you may be in over your head.

***

The feeling doesn’t go away the next day.

“Where exactly are we going?”

Jing Yuan flashes you a smile; the edges of it curl into something smug. He’d called early and met you at the inn, coaxing you into putting your coffee in a to-go cup before shuffling you out the door with no real explanation. “Christmas tree shopping.”

“Christmas tr—I thought we were going to talk about the project!”

“We are,” he says easily, pulling into a gravel parking lot surrounded by towering, barren oaks. In the distance, you can see a grid of pines, laid out like an embroidery pattern. “But it’s Christmas.”

“It’s five days away.”

“That’s basically Christmas,” he says cheerfully. He slides from the pickup with feline grace, the flex of his thighs obvious even under the thick denim of his jeans. You stay put in the passenger seat. He raises a brow. “You don’t want to talk?”

That sends you scrambling for the passenger door.

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother to hide the little smile that blooms on his lips, an unfurling flower. You scowl at him as you join him next to the pickup; it has no effect.

“Shall we?” he asks.

You huff and follow him onto the tree lot. He clearly knows where he’s going, weaving through the pines with a dancer’s ease despite his size. You stop at a row of sizable trees, their blue-green needles rustling in the wind. They’re dusted in the lightest layer of snow, like frosting sugar has been sifted over them.

You’re searching for the words to start your pitch when he hums.

“What do you think of this one?” he asks, testing the thick branches of a plush pine, watching critically as needles scatter everywhere. It releases a waft of the sharp tang of pine.

“It’s a tree.”

“Noted,” Jing Yuan says dryly. “Thank you for your input.”

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” you tell him as he moves on to the next tree. “I thought we would go to your office.”

“I don’t have an office,” he says. “And the rec center needs a Christmas tree.”

“That doesn’t explain anything.”

He glances at you. His eyes are the color of amber shot through with sunlight, a deep, rich gold. His gaze is knife-edged, a flaying thing, and it sinks beneath your skin to open you on its blade. You fidget with your sleeve.

When he smiles, it’s soft and maybe a little sad. He doesn’t say anything; he just hums again and moves to the next tree.

“Jing Yuan!”

“Keep moving,” he says. “We have to deliver the tree too, you know.”

“We have to what?”

He laughs, loud and bright. “You heard me,” he says cheerfully. “Now come on.”

You follow him through the rows, giving him clipped answers when he asks your opinion about a tree. Finally, after several more trees—that all looked the same to you, tall and full of pine needles—he finds one that he’s pleased with.

He tells you to wait with the tree and disappears down the row.

When he comes back, he has an ax.

“Um,” you say.

“Hm? Oh. It’s fine,” he says, resting the ax nearby as he ties his hair up into a high ponytail.

“Is it?”

He hefts the ax up and motions you back before swinging. He strikes true, the trunk starting to splinter under the hit, and the next one is in the exact same spot. The tree groans in protest, but Jing Yuan doesn’t pause. His powerful shoulders bunch and flex as he keeps the ax in motion with ease, though he’s beginning to pant a bit by the time he’s halfway through the trunk. Sweat glints on his brow; it dampens the edges of his hair, darkening it to the silver of the moon.

He swings the ax again, his biceps bulging, and a crack splits the air. The tree starts to topple, falling into its neighbor, which keeps it mostly upright. Jing Yuan wipes his brow, chest heaving, and belatedly, you realize you’re staring.

Behind you, there’s the crunch of pine needles under boots. Two men wearing name tags stride by you and clap Jing Yuan on the shoulder. They confer with him for a moment before they pick up the tree and start carrying it back towards the parking lot.

“There,” Jing Yuan says, sounding satisfied. “We can go now.”

“Do you often just…cut down trees?”

“Only at Christmas.”

You snort. He chuckles before gesturing you back to the parking lot. You head back and come up to the pickup just as the two men finish tying off the tree in the bed of the truck. Jing Yuan gives them firm handshakes; you pretend not to notice just how much cash is transferred between their palms.

The two of you climb back into the truck. You have to move your briefcase in order to sit comfortably and the sight of it sets you back on track.

“You said we’d talk about the project,” you accuse.

“You didn’t say anything,” he says, putting the truck into gear. “So there wasn’t anything to talk about.”

You scowl at him. He pulls out of the parking lot; the truck trundles down the road.

“Insufferable,” you mutter, but from the way the corner of his lips lift, he’s heard it.

Quiet falls. The radio is crooning a soft Christmas song, but it’s faint, like an echo of the past. The heater is on, and the truck’s cab is soft with warmth, like sinking into bathwater after a long day. You lean against the window. Your breath fogs over the glass, a marine layer, and you resist the urge to draw something in the mist.

The rec center isn’t far; you pull up to it just a few minutes later. Your phone rings just as Jing Yuan hops out of the truck.

“I need to take this,” you tell him. “It’s work.”

He hums, something flashing across his face. It’s gone quickly, rolling by like a summer storm, and you’re already picking up the phone, your coworker’s harried voice filling your ears.

The phone call takes a while. At one point, the truck rattles around you—a quick glance in the rearview shows a group of teen boys pulling the tree free from the truck bed, leaving a sea of needles in their wake, a forest floor brought home. Their laughter fills the air, audible even through your earbuds. You turn up the volume.

Jing Yuan shows back up just as you’re finishing your call. There’s silvery tinsel woven into his hair, barely visible except when it catches the sunlight, a lightning strike gleam. “You must be cold,” he tells you. “Come inside.”

You shake your head. “I need to go back to the inn,” you say. “I have a project that just went sideways.”

He sighs. “As you wish,” he says, and climbs back into the truck.

You flick through your phone as he drives back to the inn, answering emails and trying your best to put out the embers of the fire that had sprung up on your project. When you reach the last one, you click your phone off and glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye.

The cold wind has nipped at his cheeks until roses bloom on his pale skin. The tinsel in his white hair shines, the full moon draped in ribbons of silvery shooting stars, and he’s beautiful in an untouchable way, a statue come to life.

Except—there’s a small, lopsided smile tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. It sweetens his mouth and adds a puckish curve; it makes him real again. It’s a contentment that you didn’t know existed, a quiet happiness that radiates from him.

Something in your chest goes tight.

You clear your throat. He glances over at you, that tiny smile fading into something more polished.

“Something to share?”

“The project.”

“Ah,” he says. “That.”

“Yes, that.”

“I suppose you have me trapped, don’t you.”

“For as long as the car ride,” you agree.

“Go on, then.”

You give him a basic overview, sweeping over the vast lay of the project, upselling things you’ll think he’ll care about while cutting out a few of the things you think he won’t. It’s hard to tell how it’s landing; you’re slowly realizing that Jing Yuan is a hard man to read. You suppose it makes sense, considering his years at the highest level in corporate, but it feels odd.

“I can see why Fu Xuan wants me on board,” he says as he pulls into the inn’s driveway. “And it is the type of project that appeals to me, which she knows.”

You let out a soft breath. “I don’t suppose that means you’ll come on board?”

He parks. “No,” he says.

You sigh. “I thought not. What would it take for you to come on board?”

“Don’t you think it’d be more fun to find that out yourself?”

You scowl at him, ignoring the way the corners of his lips lift.

“No.”

Jing Yuan glances at you, his eyes gleaming, the sun come down to earth.“I'll tell you what,” he says. “Spend up until Christmas Eve with me. You can talk to me about the project until then. And if you haven’t figured it out by then, I’ll tell you exactly what will get me onto the project.”

You eye him suspiciously. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Deal,” you say, sticking out your hand. He shakes it, his grip firm. You can feel the heat of him even through your gloves. It’s soft like the early spring sun, a gentle warmth that blooms through you.

“Not that I mind, but I will need my hand back.”

You let go immediately, snatching your hand back like you’ve been burned.

Jing Yuan smiles at you, eyes crinkling.

“I have to go,” you say, scrambling for your briefcase. You think you hear him chuckle under his breath as you pop the door open. You don’t even say goodbye; you slam the door shut before striding off towards the inn, pretending your dignity isn’t lying in pieces.

At the inn’s door, you can’t help yourself. You glance back.

Jing Yuan smiles and gives you a little wave.

Your cheeks go hot, a supernova burn. You retreat into the inn quickly.

Lee calls out a greeting, but you ignore him and rush to your room. You curse Jing Yuan’s name as you boot your laptop up. Your cheeks are still warm. You scrub your hands over them as if that will help.

Your email pings. With a sigh, you scrub at your heated cheeks one more time before you delve into your inbox.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of phone calls and emails; by the time you look up, stomach grumbling, the sun has set, leaving behind only its reflection in the moon to lead the way. You push back from the desk and rub at your stinging eyes.

When you go downstairs to grab something to eat, the inn’s lounge is full of people. You balk, unsure, but your stomach rumbles again. You make yourself a plate and sit down at the edge of one of the crowded tables, picking away at the food as laughter fills the air around you.

There’s a couple at the other end of your table, hands intertwined as they talk, pressing close to hear each other over the noise. The shorter woman smiles at her partner, quick and bright, a shooting star burning through the night sky, and you look away.

Across the room, a group of teens are laughing among themselves, draped over each other casually. You watch them for a moment. They vie for the handheld console they’re playing with, passing it back and forth as they chatter excitedly.

Something cold slithers behind your ribs. It winds around the bones like ivy, sending roots down into your marrow.

You take the rest of your meal upstairs.

***

The morning light streams through the frost on your windows, the feathered whorls of ice glittering as they cast dancing shadows on the walls. Beyond your window, the inn’s yard is full of bundled up families swooping down the slight hill in brightly colored sleighs, their whoops barely audible.

You watch a little boy tug his father up the hill. He’s so wrapped up in layers that he’s waddling. He throws his hands up in the air as they coast down the hill, snow kicking up behind the sleigh, his father wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady.

Someone says your name.

“Sorry,” you say, coming back to yourself and the conference call you’re on. “Could you repeat that?”

They do and you refocus, tapping away at your keyboard as you sip at your coffee. You’ve stepped back into some of your usual projects now that you’re at Jing Yuan’s whim. He’s clearly a late riser, based on the time.

He calls when you’re on your third cup of coffee. He tells you only to meet him in front of the inn in fifteen minutes. You’re out the door in ten, stamping your feet on the inn’s porch to keep warm, tucking your chin into your coat’s collar in hopes of keeping warm.

Jing Yuan pulls up a few minutes later. He slides from the car gracefully, looking cozy in a fleece-lined bomber jacket. You tuck your chin further into your coat collar as the wind gusts. He eyes you for a moment.

“Do you have anything warmer?”

“I brought clothes for business meetings, not whatever you have planned,” you say irritably.

He chuckles. “Fair,” he says. “Hold on.”

He disappears to the trunk of the car. When he comes back, he’s got a thick scarf and hat with him, the knit of them full of lumps, clearly handmade. There’s a neon bright pom-pom on the top of the hat.

“No,” you say flatly.

He chuckles. “Alright.”

The wind chooses that moment to gust heavily, biting through every layer to kiss frigid against your skin. “Shit,” you bite out, and when Jing Yuan holds out the hat and scarf again, you take them.

You jam the hat on your head and wind the scarf around your neck before burying your chin in it, pulling it up over your mouth and nose. When you breathe in, the air is tinged with what can only be traces of Jing Yuan’s cologne, a faint hint of warm cedar and bergamot, woodsy and bright. Beneath that, there’s a hint of smoke, of woodfire. It drapes over you like a soft, warm blanket. You resist the urge to close your eyes to breathe it in again.

“Cute,” Jing Yuan teases. You glare at him, but from the smile he gives you, it’s not very effective. You glare harder.

“Let’s go,” he says, urging you towards the car with a gentle hand at the small of your back. You can feel the weight of it even through the thick material of your coat. When you glance at him, he’s already looking at you. He chuckles as you glance away.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you slip into the passenger seat.

He flashes you a coy little smile. “You’ll see.”

You huff; he just smiles.

It doesn’t take you long to get back to the rec center, but you make the most of it, chattering to him about the project, trying to figure out what to highlight based on his reaction. He responds amiably, even asks a few questions, but it’s not enough. You know it’s not enough.

When you arrive at the rec center, Jing Yuan pulls around the back of the building. Before you can even ask, the answer comes into view.

“Oh,” you breathe, cutting yourself off mid-sentence about the marketing strategy, taking in the massive skating rink. The bleachers are covered with twinkling lights and pine garlands, massive red bows dotted along them like flowers. There are lights overhead, too, dripping down like icicles. A Christmas tree sparkles in the far corner of the rink, weighed down with ornaments and topped with a shining star.

Jing Yuan parks and you balk.

“We’re not—”

“We are,” he says cheerfully, the corners of his lips curling up into a lazy smile.

“What does this have to do with the project?” you ask desperately.

“Ah ah, that would be telling.”

You gape at him. He chuckles and gets out of the car; you follow him after a moment. He guides you to the skate shoe rental hut and before you realize it, you have a pair of skates on and are at the edge of the rink. You’re not even sure how he convinced you.

Jing Yuan is already on the ice. He moves like a dancer despite his bulk, swaying over the ice like kelp in a current, rippling and beautiful. There’s something utilitarian to it too, not a single move wasted. An athlete’s precision.

He comes close to the edge and holds out a hand to you. “Ready?” he asks.

“I know how to skate,” you snap at him.

“Okay,” he says, skating backwards to give you enough room to kick out onto the ice.

It takes you a minute to find your feet, skates almost skittering out from under you, but you find your balance quickly and start to skate through the rink. The ice is smooth beneath you, perfectly slick, and you pick up speed. When you glance to your right, Jing Yuan is there, keeping up with you effortlessly, a small smile unfurling across his lips.

His hair is streaming out behind him, barely tamed by the thin red ribbon holding part of it back. You think of the pelting snow of a blizzard, beautiful and dangerous, and look away just as he turns to you.

“So shy,” he says, a laugh rumbling in his chest, and you consider how much it might hurt the potential of the project if you hit him.

“I’m hardly shy,” you tell him.

“That’s true,” he says. “I don’t think anyone shy would have claimed their gloves as mine.”

The tips of your ears go hot. “I needed to find you.”

“I’ve heard that you can ask people things.”

“I tried. They’re protective of you, you know.”

His smile softens, goes tender at the edges. “More protective than I deserve,” he says, so quietly it’s almost lost in the whipping wind.

You bite at your lip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye; his smile is distant now, like the sun dipping just below the horizon.

“Jing Yuan?” you say tentatively.

He blinks. “Hmm? Oh. Sorry.”

You hum. “You skate well,” you say instead of the question that’s lingering on the tip of your tongue.

“So do you.”

“My mom was a skater,” you say, looping around a tottering child. “She taught me when I was little. I haven’t gone in forever, though.”

“How come?”

“Too busy.”

“Too busy working,” he says, and it’s not a question.

You think of the Instagram photos from a few weeks ago, all of your friends at a nearby rink, glowing under the lights as they pile into the frame, caught eternally in joy. The pictures of the food afterwards, of the drinks they used to warm themselves up, each one dotted with a little sprig of holly.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Too busy working.”

He hums.

You push yourself to skate faster. He keeps up with you smoothly, his footwork impeccable.

“I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You glance at him; he meets your gaze steadily, his eyes the color of sunlit whisky, deep and rich. “I’m not upset,” you say.

“Alright.”

The two of you skate quietly for a long while, keeping an easy pace around the rink, avoiding the wobbling tots being coaxed by their steady parents. Teens spin around in circles until they’re dizzy, falling to the ice with a laugh. There’s a girl holding hands with another girl as she scrambles across the ice like a baby deer. You watch them bobble along, a little smile blossoming on your lips.

“Careful,” you hear Jing Yuan warn, and you look up just in time to see a teen boy windmilling his arms as he comes straight at you. Before you can even blink, there’s an arm around your waist, tugging you out of the way. The momentum sends you directly into Jing Yuan; he turns the two of you quickly and grunts as he hits the rink’s edge, taking the brunt of the impact.

You end up pressed together. His arm is still slung low around your waist, holding you to him, the tips of your skates just barely touching the ground; you’ve fisted your hands in his coat to keep from falling. You can’t help but lean into the warmth of him. This close, you can smell his cologne more clearly. It’s different on his skin, the woodfire scent all but gone, while the cedar and the bright flash of citrus from the bergamot still lingers.

“You okay?” he asks, setting you down. His big hands are gentle as he steadies you, touching you as if you’re something fragile, something to be protected.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You still have your hands fisted in his jacket. You let go one finger at a time before stepping back.

“I’m fine,” he says, straightening up. “Doubt it will even bruise.”

“Thanks,” you say. “For the save.”

“You’re welcome. Think I’m done with skating for the day, though.”

“Me too.”

The two of you skate to the edge of the rink; Jing Yuan holds out a hand to help you from the ice. By the time you’re done returning the skates, the sun is setting, the fiery orange horizon giving way to the encroaching teeth of night.

“I should get back,” you say. “I still have some work to do.”

Jing Yuan glances at you. His gaze is assessing, golden eyes keen, and you wonder if this is what it felt like to be under his scrutiny when he was still a CEO. If other people felt his gaze like an autopsy cut, opening you for his perusal.

“Sure,” he says easily. “If you have to.”

“I do.”

He takes you back to the inn. Your goodbye is quiet, though he takes one last jab at how you look wearing the hat and scarf as he insists you keep them for now.

You watch him drive off, unable to shake the feeling that somehow, you’ve disappointed him.

You work for a while, your room quiet, before you give up in the middle of an email. You shut down your laptop and get ready for bed.

It takes you a long time to fall asleep.

***

“Do you really get up this late?” you ask, checking your watch as Jing Yuan climbs out of his car.

“No,” he says, sounding amused. “Do I give that impression?”

“They literally called you the Dozing CEO.”

“There are worse things to be.”

“That’s true,” you say thoughtfully. “Anyway, I wanted to talk about the second stage of the pro—”

“Later,” Jing Yuan says. “Right now it’s time for coffee. Let’s go to Auntie’s.”

The snow crunches under your boots as the two of you walk into town. The crowd is even bigger today, filling the streets. There’s a band at one end of Aurum, the musicians bundled up as they play lively Christmas music. They take a request from a passing child and they clap in delight as the band starts to play.

“Is it always like this?” you ask.

Jing Yuan nods. “The holidays are a big deal around here,” he says, holding the door to Auntie’s open for you. “It’s a close-knit community.”

He greets the hostess by name and asks about her family; she chatters familiarly with him as she leads the two of you to a booth.

“I can tell,” you say once she’s left. “Is that why you came here?”

He pauses.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, giving you a little smile. It’s soft, that smile, and sweet at the edges. Your cheeks heat a bit. “But yes, that’s a large part of it. That and I wanted to be out of the city.”

“Really? I thought you loved the city.”

He tilts his head in question.

You cough. “Most of the profiles I’ve read say you like the city.”

“When I was younger,” he says. “But now, I find the quiet suits me.”

The waitress comes by with a coffee for him; he thanks her kindly before returning his attention to you.

“The quiet here has been nice,” you admit.

“Would you ever leave the city?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “I’ve been there for almost twenty years now. I moved there when I was eighteen. Besides, that’s where my job is.”

He hums lightly. “So it is.”

“Speaking of—”

He sighs, cupping his coffee between his big hands to warm them. “Go ahead,” he says. “I said I’d listen.”

You launch into the second phase of the project, outlining the plans and how they’d be executed, as well as what his backing and involvement might look like. Jing Yuan drinks his coffee as he listens, only pausing you once so he can ask the waitress a question.

You wind down and he smiles at you. “You’re very convincing,” he tells you. “I can see how you got Feixiao to come on board for the last project that Luofu did.”

“But—” you say, knowing what’s coming.

“But I’m not sold.”

“Of course you aren’t,” you grumble under your breath. Jing Yuan breathes out a laugh and your face goes hot. “Sorry,” you say. “I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re very tolerant.”

“Am I?”

“You know you are.”

He chuckles. “I suppose I am,” he says. “Retirement has taken much of the bite out of me, I’m afraid. Though I don’t consider that a bad thing.”

“It’s not.”

He rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you from under his long lashes. Only one of his eyes is visible; the other is behind the silver of his hair, a sun hidden by clouds. His eye is heavily lidded, but his gaze is as keen as ever. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

“Right,” you say, flustered and unsure why. “Me too.”

“I find the best part of retirement is the softness,” he says. “It gives you room to be gentle. With yourself. With others.”

“You sound like a self-help book.”

“I do meditate quite often,” he says, eyes crinkling with his smile. “I would recommend it.”

“I don’t have time to meditate.”

“All the more reason to find some time for it,” he says mildly, taking another sip of his coffee. A droplet clings to his lower lip; he catches it with his thumb before licking his thumb clean. You almost choke on air.

“Are you alright?” he asks, a coy smile unfurling on his lips.

“F-fine.”

That smile grows larger, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Alright. Let’s have a late breakfast, shall we?”

“Okay.”

The food comes quickly, filling the air with the scent of crisp bacon and the sharp, woody tang of rosemary. The eggs melt on your tongue, perfectly fluffy, and Jing Yuan smiles when you let out a pleased sigh.

“Good?”

You nod eagerly, taking another bite.

“Good.”

You’re both quiet as you eat; when it comes time to pay, Jing Yuan doesn’t even let you reach for the bill, simply handing the waitress his card with a flick of his wrist. His playful glare silences you before you can even protest.

When you stand to leave, he gestures you in front of him. He follows you out the door of Auntie’s and the two of you stop under the awning—hung with crystalline stars that catch the sunlight as they sway in the wind—to stay out of the way of the crowds.

“Walk with me,” he says, tugging lightly at the end of your (his) scarf.

“Okay.”

The two of you thread through the crowds; eventually, they thin out and you settle beside each other. You take in the quieter part of town, still Christmas ready, with fake candles flickering in the windows of the offices and thick wreaths adorning the doors.

“Pretty,” you say absentmindedly, toying with a ribbon as you pass, the material velvety under your fingertips.

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says, sounding fond, and he’s already looking at you when you glance at him. “Come along, we’re almost there.”

“Where?” you ask, but you round the corner and the answer is there.

The park is beautiful, even barren, with the tree’s empty branches reaching towards the yawning sky. A light dusting of snow covers the ground, though it’s turned to slush on the paths. You and Jing Yuan pick your way around the worst of the melt, until you find a massive gazebo.

It’s a sight. It’s draped in garlands, each dotted with sprigs of holly and bright little lights that flash like shooting stars. Poinsettias line the gazebo, their stamen golden starfish amid the sea of crimson.

“Wow,” you say.

“It’s my favorite place in the park,” Jing Yuan says. “Though it’s normally a bit more subdued.”

“I would hope so.”

“But it’s not what we’re here for.”

“It’s not?”

“No,” he says, resting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you forward. “Let’s keep going.”

You talk quietly as you wander through the park until you suddenly notice there are a lot more people than there were before. Before you know it, you’re in a line. You look at Jing Yuan, but he simply smiles.

“No,” you say as the horse-pulled sleighs come into view.

“That’s what you said about skating, too.”

“Why is this town so into Christmas?”

“Why not?”

You sigh and let him guide you forward, abruptly aware that his hand is still at the small of your back. The weight of it prickles along your skin. He gives you a light push towards the front of the line.

The sleigh that pulls up in front of you is large. It’s decked out in garlands and holly, filled with soft, fuzzy blankets that look like they would keep you warm on even the coldest nights. The mare in front of it nickers, her tail flicking from side to side.

Jing Yuan slides into the sleigh with feline ease, though he’s broad enough to take up most of it himself. You hesitate.

He chuckles, patting the spot next to him on the bench. “Indulge me,” he says.

You sigh and slide in before sitting down. You immediately regret it. “It’s cold,” you whine, the chill seeping through your pants, but he simply tosses one of the blankets over you and tucks it in at the side, blocking out any chilly air.

“There,” he says. “Ready?”

“Okay,” you say, and the driver flicks her reins, sending the mare into a trot. The sleigh starts to slide forward and you grab onto Jing Yuan’s arm without thinking, sinking your fingertips into the muscle of his forearm.

He chuckles again and pats your hand. “You’ll get used to it,” he tells you.

“And if I don’t?”

“You can always keep holding on to me.”

You immediately let go.

He gives you an indolent smile. His eyes crinkle with it, and you want to curse him for being so handsome. Instead, you huff and bury yourself deeper under the blanket, which has slowly been heating.

“I could be working,” you mutter.

“Would you rather be?”

You blink, not having expected Jing Yuan to be listening to you that closely. “I—It’s hard to explain.”

“Try.”

“I just—it’s what I’m good at,” you say, and it sounds like a question even to your own ears. “I’m a good worker. A hard worker. I don’t really have much else to offer, so it makes sense to work all the time.”

“I think you’re underestimating yourself.”

“What?”

“You have much more to offer than just work,” he says gently.

“I really don’t,” you say miserably. “I barely see my friends and I worry about overwhelming them, and my family is just—”

You pause. “And I also just said all of this to you, basically a stranger and also who I’m supposed to be recruiting, so this is just embarrassing now. Goodbye.”

He catches you by the wrist as you start to throw the blanket off and try to wiggle away from his side.

“And here I thought we were more than strangers by now. I’m a little hurt.”

“Jing Yuan!”

“Alright, alright,” he says. “But it’s okay. I’m here to listen if you want.”

“I don’t,” you say, refusing to look at him as he reaches over you to tuck the blanket back in around you. “Just forget I said anything.”

Silence falls, broken only by the steady trot of the mare and the soft jingling of the bells you hadn’t noticed on her bridle.

“That’s part of why I retired, you know.”

You glance at Jing Yuan out of the corner of your eye. He’s staring off into the snowy treeline, his golden eyes hazed over, the sun under morning mist. “I wanted to be good at something other than work. And I wasn’t.”

“That’s not true,” you say softly. “You and your friends—”

“Fell apart,” he says, and you subside. You know just as much about the group of company heads deemed The Quintet as anyone does, which is to say that you only know of their end. Their exploits, their dreams, all overshadowed. Companies—people—that rose into the sky and then fell, burning up in the atmosphere until they were meteors, destined to crash.

Jing Yuan, barely out of his twenties, was the only one left standing.

“I put in years of work to try and get everything right again,” he says. “To acquire their companies and do right by them. I did it, too. And then I stayed. Because I was good at it. Because I didn’t know what else to do.”

You chew on your lip before throwing caution to the wind. You rest your hand on his forearm and don’t move when he jolts. His eyes cut towards you, burnished amber, and the sharp edges of him soften.

“You’re more than just work,” he says. “I can promise you that.”

“Okay,” you say softly, because what else is there to say? “Okay.”

The both of you are quiet for a few minutes. You chew on everything that’s been said, careful not to sink your teeth into the meat of it. You’ll leave that for later, preferably in the dark of your own apartment. Next to you, Jing Yuan seems perfectly at ease, and not for the first time, you’re jealous of his composure.

“Look,” he says suddenly, nudging you gently. He points to where the park meets true forest, where the saplings grow teeth. “Rabbits.”

“Where?” you say, leaning around him to try and see it. “I don’t see anything.”

“Here,” he says, and suddenly you’re encased in warmth, his arms wrapped around you as he points. You peer down the line of one bulky arm and finally see a family of hares in the underbrush, their downy fur as white as the snow that surrounds them.

“How did you even see them?” you breathe, watching as one of them noses at another, who shifts back into the brush. “They’re beautiful.”

“They are,” he says.

The horse nickers and the hares freeze before darting off deeper into the underbrush. You watch until you can’t see them anymore. You settle back before realizing you’re almost in Jing Yuan’s lap, his strong arms still wrapped around you. He’s warm against you, his chest firm despite the slight softness around his middle, and you can feel his voice rumble through you as he asks the driver a question, one you can’t quite make out through the static in your ears.

You push away quickly, settling on the far side of the sleigh. It doesn’t do much, considering his size, but at least you’re further away from him. Hopefully without alerting him to anything.

From the puckish curl of his lips, that hope is dashed. Still, he says nothing, continuing to talk with the driver as you stare out the side of the sleigh, huddling under the blanket now that you’re bereft of his warmth.

After he’s spoken to the driver, he turns back to you, that same little smile blooming on his lips, an unfurling flower. You brace yourself.

“If you’re cold, the ride’s almost over,” he says. “And then I assume you need to go back to work?”

You almost say yes. You almost take the out he’s given you, but you look at him instead, at the way his expression crinkles his eyes and the way his aureate gaze has softened. You look at Jing Yuan and something behind your ribcage writhes, battering against the bones.

“No,” you say quietly. “I think I still have more time.”

He smiles.

***

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon in the park, meandering through the expanse of it and chatting the whole time. You only turn back towards the inn when it starts snowing, a light fall of fat, fluffy flakes. They catch in Jing Yuan’s lashes when he turns his face up to the sky, his white hair cascading behind him, a river of starlight.

He’s beautiful. You’d known that before, of course—the man was a staple on magazine covers for a reason—but like this, it’s a different type of beauty. You wish you had words for it. Instead, you content yourself with watching him.

He cracks open an eye and sees you looking. “You’re staring,” he says, a small, sly smile blooming on his lips. “Something on my face?”

“Snow,” you say dryly. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

“Ah, so you do care.”

“Maybe,” you say, and relish the fleeting look of surprise that he can’t quite hide. It’s gone as soon as it came, replaced by his usual small smile, but you think there’s a pleased edge to it. “Now hurry up, it’s cold.”

He lifts his face to the sky for a moment more, letting a few more flakes drift down onto him. You wait for him. You’re cold even with the hat and scarf, but he looks so content that you can’t bear to drag him away.

Finally, he strides to your side. The two of you head back into town, taking a route that extends the walk. You chat quietly for a majority of the time, though sometimes you lapse into a comfortable silence, simply watching the snow fall.

He insists on accompanying you all the way to the inn’s doorstep, citing the icy path. You roll your eyes but don’t argue; his smile makes something in your chest twist.

“Thanks,” you say at the doorstep.

“For?”

“Everything,” you say, a little bit helpless.

He smiles again, gentle like the spring sun, and then says: “I’d like to take you to the house tomorrow.”

“The house? Whose?”

“Mine.”

“Oh,” you say.

“Only if you’re okay with it.”

“You haven’t murdered me yet.”

“True,” he says, that same little smile unfurling on his lips. “There’s still time, though.”

“Jing Yuan!”

He laughs, low and rich, more a vibration than a sound, as close together as you are. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

“Yeah,” you say. “See you then.”

“Goodnight,” he says. But he stays until you give him a tiny shove.

You go to sleep with a smile lingering sweet on your lips.

***

It’s still snowing the next morning. The flakes fall delicately, dusting over the trees like icing sugar, coating the inn like a soft blanket. You watch it as you sip your coffee. It’s slow and steady, like a snowglobe settling after a flurry.

You can tell when Jing Yuan pulls up; your phone vibrates on top of your closed laptop. You gulp down the rest of your coffee before throwing on your coat. The walk from the inn to his car is short but cold. You shiver as you slip into the warmth of the car; he reaches over and tugs your hat down a little more firmly.

“Thanks,” you say. “Definitely couldn’t have done that myself.”

“You’re welcome,” he says cheerfully. “Let’s go.”

The drive to his house is longer than you thought. It’s on the far outskirts of town, set back into a grove of pine trees, not at all the modern manor you’d thought it would be. It’s still large, but there’s a modesty to it that fits him.

He pulls into the garage and leads you inside, where you immediately hear running footsteps. Jing Yuan smiles as Yanqing rounds the corner, all but throwing himself at his uncle.

“You took forever,” he complains.

“I had to go pick up my friend here,” Jing Yuan says, patting the boy on the head. “We can get started now, though.”

Yanqing peers at you. “Are they helping?”

“Helping with what?” you ask, shrugging out of your jacket at Jing Yuan’s gesture.

“Gingerbread, duh.”

“Oh, um—”

“They’re helping,” Jing Yuan says smoothly, ushering you forward into what you quickly realize is the biggest kitchen you’ve ever seen, filled to the brim with sleek kitchenware. There’s already ingredients laid out on the kitchen counter, perfectly arranged.

“I’m afraid to touch anything in your kitchen,” you say.

He laughs, rolling up the sleeves of his dark red sweater. You watch his forearms flex, the muscle rippling beneath his skin, the tendons in his hands cording.

“Don’t be,” he says. “Now let’s get started before Yanqing eats all the chocolate chips.”

Yanqing pauses with another handful of chocolate chips almost to his mouth. He gazes at his uncle for a moment and then defiantly pops it into his mouth. Jing Yuan sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

The boy chatters at the two of you as you measure out the ingredients for gingerbread, though he mostly speaks to Jing Yuan. For his part, Jing Yuan listens intently, paying as much attention to Yanqing as he would to any adult. He nods seriously when Yanqing complains about something that happened at school.

“And then they took away my sword—”

“Wait,” you say, stopping in the middle of mixing. “Sword?”

Yanqing stares at you. “Yeah. My sword.”

You look at Jing Yuan, who laughs. “He’s a fencing champion,” he explains.

“I’m the best in the region,” Yanqing informs you, his chest puffed up. “But one day I’ll beat Uncle.”

You start mixing again. Jing Yuan is a former champion—that has been detailed in almost every magazine he’s ever interviewed with. With good reason, too. You’ve seen the photos of him in his fencing gear, his face mask by his side, his strong thighs outlined by the uniform. He’d been sweaty and smiling broadly, his senior Jingliu at his side, her lips pressed together sternly but her eyes gleaming.

“Ah, this old man can’t keep up with you anymore,” Jing Yuan says, ruffling Yanqing’s hair.

“Liar,” the boy grumbles.

Jing Yuan laughs again. “That looks ready,” he says to you. “Yanqing, do you want to roll it out?”

“Nope.” He’s already sorting through the candy that’s on the other counter, unwrapping various ones. “I’m picking decorations.”

“It’s up to you, then,” Jing Yuan says to you with a little smile.

“I don’t see you doing very much work,” you say. He’s leaning against the counter, looking half-asleep.

“I’m supervising.”

You point your spatula at him. “You dragged me here. Come help.”

“Of course,” he says, pushing off the countertop. He pauses to stretch, reaching high, just enough for his sweater to reveal a slice of his belly and the tiniest hint of silvery hair. You almost drop the spatula. He grabs it before you can, a smug little smirk playing across his lips.

But he doesn’t say anything, choosing instead to lightly flour the countertop and dump the gingerbread dough onto it. He flours the rolling pin as well, his big hand easily reaching around the fullest part of the thick pin. When he starts to roll it out, his hands and forearms flex with each motion, the veins protruding slightly from beneath his skin.

You decide it’s better for you to look at something else. You focus on Yanqing, who is humming happily to himself as he picks out varying decorations.

“Those would make good pine trees,” you say, pointing to the waffle cones.

He eyes you. “How?”

“Like this,” you say, flipping them over so the mouth of the cone is against the counter. “And then you pipe on icing to make it look like a tree.”

He deliberates for a moment. “We can try it,” he allows.

“Okay.”

He slips away to another counter that’s got piping bags and tips laid out all over it, along with several different colors of icing. You glance at Jing Yuan. “You really have everything, don’t you?”

He smiles, cutting out a few shapes from the rolled out dough. “Not everything,” he says. “But I do try to stay stocked for gingerbread house day.”

“Do you do it every year?”

“Yup,” Yanqing says, sliding in next to you. “Since I was little.” He concentrates on the piping bag for a moment, pressing the tip down until it’s at the bottom of the bag and then grabbing a glass and pulling the edges of the bag over the edges of the glass. It holds it nicely and he starts to pile icing in.

“I can tell,” you say, watching his careful precision. He doesn’t reply, too busy piping on the first bit of icing.

There’s a blast of heat at your back as Jing Yuan opens the oven to put the gingerbread pieces in. The pan clinks against the rack and then the heat at your back is softer, a gentle warmth instead. Jing Yuan leans over you to see what Yanqing is doing, his long white hair draping over your shoulder, a waterfall of moonlight.

“Clever,” he says.

“Pretty sure I read it in a magazine.”

He hums. “Still clever.”

“I guess.”

“Look!” Yanqing says. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”

“Very good,” Jing Yuan says, and he’s not lying. Yanqing has an eye for details, swirling the piping to achieve a needle-like texture in the deep green icing. “Now you can put ornaments on it.”

“Yeah!”

You watch him fish through the varying candies to find a handful of circular red and gold ones, which he starts pushing into place in the icing. He works diligently, setting them into patterns, but you’re distracted by the heat of Jing Yuan against your back. He shifts behind you and your fingers flex.

The timer saves you. Jing Yuan pulls away as it dings; you hear the oven open and close again as he sets the gingerbread on racks to cool.

“Make one,” Yanqing says suddenly, shoving a waffle cone into your hands. “We need more for the forest.”

“Is there going to be a forest?” Jing Yuan asks mildly. “I thought we were making a house.”

“We can do both!”

“I see.”

The three of you work on trees as the gingerbread cools. Yanqing chatters away, telling you all about his most recent bout and what he asked for for Christmas. It’s cute, really, watching him and Jing Yuan interact, his hero worship obvious even from such a short amount of time.

You’ve just put the finishing touch—a silver gummy star—on top of a tree when the doorbell rings. Jing Yuan pushes to his feet with a groan and goes to answer it.

When you look up from your tree, Yanqing is staring at you.

“Uncle doesn’t usually bring corporate people to the house,” Yanqing says. “So how come you’re here?”

“I don’t know,” you say. “You’ll have to ask him.”

Yanqing’s gaze isn’t quite as knowing as his uncle’s, but it’s gutting in its own way. “I think it’s because you’re sad,” he tells you.

“I’m not sad!”

“Okay,” he says in the way that pre-teens do. “Lonely, then.”

He grins in triumph when you can’t refute that. Then his brow furrows. “I think he’s lonely too,” he confesses. “He doesn’t want to say it, though. But he is.”

Your stomach twists.

“Yanqing—”

He glares at you. “He is!”

“I’m not saying he isn’t,” you say softly. “I just don’t think you should be talking about it with me.”

“But you understand!”

You sigh. “Yanqing,” you say. “If Jing Yuan wants me to know something, he’ll tell me himself, okay?”

“No he won’t,” he mutters.

“That’s his choice.”

His brow furrows; his lips twist, a sour lemon kiss. “Fine,” he says.

You bite at your lip but he doesn’t say anything else. “Let’s build the house?” you offer.

“We have to wait for Uncle.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Delivery, probably.”

That certainly explains the scuffing noises that have been coming from the hallway. Before you can go investigate, though, Jing Yuan reappears.

“Did I miss much?” he asks, before looking at the still dismantled house. “Oh, you didn’t start.”

“We were waiting for you,” Yanqing says.

“Oh? So considerate.”

“Let’s build already!” Yanqing says, practically bouncing in place. “Uncle, c’mon!”

Jing Yuan laughs and joins the two of you at the counter, looking down at the pieces of the gingerbread house. “Yes sir,” he says. “Where do you want to start?”

“Here!”

It takes several tries to even get two of the walls to stick together. Yanqing makes you and Jing Yuan hold them together as he pipes in royal icing to be the glue; the two of you crowd together on one side of the counter to try and keep them upright. This close, you can feel how thick Jing Yuan’s bicep is as his arm presses against yours, courtesy of his broad shoulders.

Finally, the icing sets. When you and Jing Yuan pull away, the walls stay standing, earning a cheer from Yanqing. He immediately picks up the next wall, gesturing for Jing Yuan to hold it in place. You take advantage of your moment of respite to pull up one of the kitchen stools, nestling into the plush of it.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” Jing Yuan warns. “We’ll be putting you right back to work.”

“Yeah,” Yanqing says. “You’ve gotta hold the next wall while the other one sets.”

“Okay, okay,” you say, reaching for the next piece of gingerbread. You set it in place, holding it carefully, bracing the corner of it with your fingertips and the side of it with your other hand. Yanqing ices it quickly, and you wince as he manages to get a good amount of icing onto your fingertips.

“Oops,” he says, looking abashed but not sounding particularly sorry.

“It’s fine,” you say, lifting your fingers away from the join of the walls, still bracing the wall itself with your other hand. You pop your fingertips into your mouth one-by-one without thinking, the sweetness spreading across your tongue rapidly, the sheer amount of sugar enough to make your teeth ache.

Jing Yuan coughs.

When you look at him, he’s already gazing at you, his eyes darkened to topaz, a deep, rich golden brown. For a second, his lazy smile goes knife-edged, something hungry tucked up into the corner of his mouth, but it’s gone when you blink, only a faint amusement remaining.

“There’s a sink if you would find that more useful,” he says, nodding towards the farmhouse sink just behind you. “Though far be it from me to stop you.”

Your cheeks heat. You wait a moment, letting Yanqing take the brunt of the gingerbread wall before you pull away. You wash your hands as the two of them chat behind you, the water burning hot as you try to compose yourself.

The little smirk Jing Yuan sends you when you turn around doesn’t help.

You take in a deep breath before rejoining them, taking the final wall and putting it into place. The three of you continue building, chatting the whole time. Yanqing’s delight is infectious and you find yourself laughing with every mishap and quietly cheering each time a wall stays up. The roof is the most precarious part; it takes the three of you several tries to get it situated.

“Now it just has to fully dry,” Yanqing announces. “Then we can decorate.”

“And in the meantime?” you ask.

“I’m going to my room!” he says, taking off down the hallway. You blink and glance at Jing Yuan.

“He means he’s going to snoop under the Christmas tree,” he says.

“Oh.”

“He thinks he’s sneakier than he is.”

“Don’t all kids? Besides, didn’t you peek under the tree when you were a kid?”

“I would never,” he says, eyes sparkling. “Who do you think I am?”

“The type to sneak under the tree. I bet you shook boxes and everything.”

He chuckles. “I stopped after I accidentally broke one of the presents doing that.”

“You didn’t!”

“I’m afraid so.”

You laugh, the sound bubbling from you like a spill of champagne. “Oh my god.”

Jing Yuan smiles, his eyes crinkling with it. “Don’t tell me you never shook the presents.”

“Of course I did. I just never broke anything.”

He hums. “Of course not.”

“Why do you sound like you don’t believe me?”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“You’re so annoying.”

He smiles, popping a candy into his mouth. You watch the way he licks the residue of it off of his lips. “Now, now, be nice.”

You pick up a candy too. It’s watermelon, the taste bursting over your tongue, stickily artificial. “Are we spending all day on a gingerbread house?” you ask.

“There’s a Christmas market that I’d intended to go to.”

You hum. “Alright.”

“No need to sound so excited about it.”

“Excited about what?” Yanqing says, flouncing into the room. He’s pink-cheeked and looking pleased with himself. You assume the present shaking went well.

“The Christmas fair.”

The boy’s face lights up. “We’re going, right? Right?”

“Yes,” Jing Yuan says. “After we finish decorating.”

“Is the icing dry yet?”

You test the gingerbread house carefully, seeing how well the walls and roof hold up. They don’t move under your gentle prodding nor when you apply a bit more pressure.

“I think so,” you say. “Let’s decorate.”

The three of you set to work. You and Jing Yuan mostly follow Yanqing’s direction; you build a chimney out of non-pareils, the uneven sides like trendy stone work. The fir trees are sprinkled around the yard, each one more decorated than the last; the shingles to the roof are made of gingerbread too, carefully cut into a scalloped edge. The very top of the roof is lined with gumdrops, the rainbow of them like Christmas lights. Chocolate stones make the pathway to the house; the path is lined with little licorice lamps.

Altogether, it’s probably the fanciest gingerbread house you’ve seen. Granted, Jing Yuan had clearly gone all out on different types of candy—so many types that you barely use half of them—but Yanqing’s eye for detail makes it all come together.

“Wow,” you say, putting a final star-shaped sprinkle in place over one of the windows, where it joins a line of others, a draping of fake Christmas lights. “This is really good, Yanqing.”

The boy puffs up. “I’ve won my school’s decorating contest before,” he says.

“I can see why.”

He beams and then turns to Jing Yuan. “When are we going to the market?” he asks.

“After we clean up.”

A pout creases his face for a moment, his lips turning down in an admittedly endearing way. “Fine,” he sighs, looking at the messy counter. You’d tried to keep the mess to a minimum, but between icing and sugar-dusted candies, you hadn’t quite succeeded. As Jing Yuan and Yanqing start to sort the candies and put them away, you start scraping up the dried-on icing.

For a moment, you think Jing Yuan is going to protest, but when you flash him a little stare that dares him too, he subsides without saying a word. You grin triumphantly and he smiles, soft and sweet. Something in you twinges.

You push the little flutter aside, wetting a paper towel to scrub off the worst of the icing. The three of you work away, chatting lightly, until the kitchen is almost as pristine as when you got there.

“That’s good enough for now,” Jing Yuan says, taking in the kitchen with a critical eye. “We’ll get the candy in the pantry later.”

Yanqing perks up. “Christmas market?” he asks.

Jing Yuan nods, a fond little smile unfurling across his lips. “Go change your shirt.”

Yanqing looks down at his shirt, which is spattered with icing from when he got a little overenthusiastic with the piping bag. “Okay!” he says, running off.

You head to the sink to wash your hands again; they’re sticky with leftover icing. Jing Yuan meets you there with a dish towel to dry your hands. His fingertips linger over your palm as he hands it to you. You take in a soft breath, but the touch is gone as soon as it comes.

Yanqing returns and the three of you bundle up—apparently the market is an outdoor one. Jing Yuan fixes Yanqing’s hat despite the boy batting his hands away. Then he turns to you and tugs at the end of your scarf.

“Ready?”

You nod. The three of you pile into one of Jing Yuan’s cars. The ride is mostly quiet, with Yanqing and Jing Yuan chatting here and there, but you’re busy looking out the window at the rolling countryside. It’s picturesque in a way no painting could ever capture, the trees lit golden by the setting sun, the snow glittering like stars as it sits heavy on their branches. The firs bend under its weight while the bare oaks soar into the sky, as if they’re painted in long, sweet strokes.

You pull into a stuffed parking lot. You shiver as you get out of the warm car, burying your chin into the scarf as your breath puffs out in a gentle mist.

The fair is stunning, little stalls lining the closed-off street, each decorated in its own way. Each of them is festooned with lights and garlands, with little stockings hung carefully from the tables. There’s a baker with bread shaped like wreaths, the crust of them perfectly golden-brown, tucked into star-patterned cloth; a weaver with stunning blankets with complex designs; a blacksmith with all sorts of metalwork, each more beautiful than the last. And those are just the first few stalls.

“Wow,” you breathe.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jing Yuan asks. “I hear it’s grown through the years. It seems to get bigger every year.”

“I’m surprised this place isn’t known as a Christmas destination.”

“It is,” he says. “If you know the right people to ask.”

“How did you find it?”

“A friend,” he says, and there’s something in the set of his mouth that keeps you from asking more. “Come on, let’s go take a look.”

“I want to go to the blacksmith!” Yanqing pipes up.

“Go ahead,” Jing Yuan says. “Don’t go far, please.”

“Okay!”

The two of you watch him take off into the crowd, his golden crown of hair bobbing along, dodging adults and other children alike. Jing Yuan sighs, shaking his head, but gestures you along to the first stall.

You linger over some textiles, including a beautiful tablecloth embroidered heavily with holly, each sprig carefully woven to look as real as possible. You can tell that love was stitched into it, and going by the stall owner’s gnarled fingers, she’s been doing it for a long time.

“It’s beautiful,” you tell her, stroking your finger over a holly leaf. She smiles and starts to tell you about her process; you listen intently, Jing Yuan lingering patiently at your side.

When you finally move to the next stall, someone calls Jing Yuan’s name. He smiles as they approach. They chat amiably for a few minutes before he excuses himself.

As you wander through the market, you notice that it’s a pattern. Multiple people come up to Jing Yuan, all full of smiles and good cheer, talking to him like he’s an old friend. Some of them eye you curiously, but just nod your way when you’re introduced, going back to catching up with some news they’ve heard or thanking Jing Yuan for a favor he’s done.

“You’re popular,” you tell him as you both step into another stall, this one filled with ornaments. They shine brightly under the twinkling fairy lights strung over the stall’s top.

“Am I?”

“Mhm.”

He hums, picking up a snowglobe ornament and giving it a little shake. You watch the fake snow settle at the bottom, revealing the little girl building a snowman, her figure exquisitely made. “They’ve been very welcoming since I’ve moved here,” he says. “I’ve been lucky.”

“I think it’s more than luck,” you say quietly. “I think you give as much as you get.”

He flashes you a little smile. “Maybe so.”

The two of you continue on before someone stops Jing Yuan again, this time near a stall that’s too full for the three of you to step into. You do your best to shift out of the way of the people making their way through the market, but it’s hard to do so with so little room.

You’ve just been knocked into when Jing Yuan loops an arm around your waist and tugs you into his side. It pulls you out of the line of fire for the crowds filtering by. He’s a line of heat against you and you feel it when he chuckles, the sound rumbling through you.

“You okay?” he asks.

You nod, cheeks hot.

“Good,” he says, and leaves his big hand high on your hip, keeping you close. He goes back to amiably talking to the other person as if he hasn’t noticed. If you lean into him, just slightly, no one but you needs to know. You peer at him from the corner of your eye. You take him in, from the moonlight spill of his hair to his sunrise eyes, to the little smile on his lips as he chats away.

He belongs, you realize, watching him slot back into his conversation with ease. He’s a part of the town, and based on how many people have come up to him, an important one. You think of the way the locals had eyed you when you’d been asking about him. It makes sense now. The town protects him as one of their own because he is one. And he’s happy, a subtle glow to him, a type you’ve rarely seen and likely never achieved yourself.

Something in your chest squirms, fluttering against the bones of your ribcage, trying to slip through the gaps. You resist the urge to press a hand to your chest.

He pulls away from the conversation a few minutes later, the hand on your hip dropping to the small of your back as he guides you forward. He stops to talk to a few more people, his eyes crinkling with his smile each time as they come up to him. It’s mesmerizing to watch.

And you’re asking him to give it all up.

Not all of it, you remind yourself. It’s a project, not a job, but something in you winces nonetheless. Your chest tightens, like a ribbon wrapped around it is cinching in.

Jing Yuan glances at you as you step away from his warmth, his hand falling from where it’s been resting on the small of your back. His brow furrows, but it passes quickly, a guttering candle.

You keep your distance for the rest of the fair. You’re still close enough to almost touch despite the thinning crowds, but the gap feels like a gulf between you, as if you’re oceans away.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say, but from the way Jing Yuan eyes you, he doesn’t quite believe you. He opens his mouth, but you’re saved by Yanqing, who runs up with sparkling eyes.

“Uncle!” he says. “The blacksmith says we can go to the forge and watch him!”

Jing Yuan chuckles. “Did you badger him into it?”

“No!”

“Alright, alright. We’ll set up a time with him later, okay?”

Yanqing pouts but nods. You hide your smile behind your scarf.

“Let’s go home,” Jing Yuan says. Night has fallen, the sky velvety and dotted with stars. He glances at you. “Would you like me to drop you at the inn?”

You nod. He hums. “Alright.”

The three of you pile back into the car. The inn isn’t far—you probably could have walked, but the cold night has only gotten more frigid. Jing Yuan comes up to the inn’s doorstep with you, catching you by the wrist when you’re halfway up the stairs. You turn around and he looks up at you, his golden eyes shining under the moonlight.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and it takes a moment to gather yourself, too focused on the way his thumb is rubbing small circles on the delicate skin of your inner wrist. You realize you’re leaning towards him, a flower to the sun. He smiles at you, eyes crinkling, and you see it again, that soft glow to him.

Something clicks into place.

“Nothing will make you come on board the project, will it?” you ask, sounding too calm even to your own ears. You shake off his hand. “There’s never even been the slightest chance.”

Jing Yuan lets out a low, slow breath. “No,” he says. “There hasn’t been.”

“Right,” you say. “Okay. Thank you for everything.”

“What?”

“My job is done,” you say. “If I can’t convince you, there’s no point in me being here.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” you say. Your chest hurts. Something sinks its teeth into your ribs, chipping away at the bone. “I came here to get you on board.”

“That’s not what the last day or two has been,” he says softly. “Right?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He reaches for you, brushing his gloved fingers against your cheek. “Yes, you do.”

You pull away. “I’ve been here to get you on board, Jing Yuan. To do my job. That’s all.”

“You—”

“I’ll catch a flight tomorrow,” you say. “It shouldn’t be hard, since it’s Christmas Eve.”

He lets out a low, slow breath. He gazes up at you, his golden eyes flickering with something you don’t dare name.

“Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“It’s time for me to go,” you say. “It’s been time for me to go since I got here, apparently.”

He says your name softly. It rolls over you like morning mist, blocks out the world. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Goodbye, Jing Yuan.”

He sighs. “If you change your mind, I’m having a Christmas party tomorrow. You’ll always be welcome.”

You nod sharply, turning on your heel to go inside. Jing Yuan says your name again. You glance over your shoulder. He opens his mouth. Closes it again. And then—

“Travel safe,” he says.

“Thanks,” you say, and then you’re inside the inn, leaving Jing Yuan standing out in the cold behind you. You don’t wait to see if he lingers, ignoring Lee’s cheerful greeting to make your way back up to your room.

You book the first flight you find. It’s late in the day, but that’s fine—you can catch up with your emails and calls. You’ve barely checked your phone today. You can’t quite bring yourself to do it now.

After your flight is booked, you close your laptop and fold your arms, resting your head on them. The fangs sunk into your rib bones dig deeper, hitting marrow.

“Fuck,” you say, sitting up and scrubbing your hands over your face. “Fuck.”

You stare out the window, into the deep bruise of the night. The woods rise beyond the hill, the trees skeletal as they reach for the sky, barely visible in the dark. Stars glitter coldly high above; the moon shines like a lonely mirror. It all feels distant, like a world you’re not part of.

You let out a deep, slow breath. It does nothing to loosen the string wound tight around your chest; if anything, it tightens.

You get ready for bed slowly, that fanged thing still biting deep, leaving teeth marks that ache deeply.

When you fall asleep, the last thing you see is Jing Yuan’s eyes.

***

The next day dawns too early. You once again wake with the sunlight, having forgotten to close the curtains as you drifted around the room last night. The watery light pools on the floor, sweetly golden. The wooden floor is warm under your feet as you cross through the puddles of sunlight.

You get ready for the day quickly. You pack up carefully, rolling your clothes up so they fit better before you tuck your toiletries in. You keep your laptop out to answer emails as they come in. The sun stretches along the floor as you work, barely coming up for air.

You don’t dare give yourself time to think.

You check out in the early afternoon. The receptionist is the one who checked you in. She’s quick and efficient, and you find yourself on the doorstep of the inn waiting for a cab in just a few minutes.

The taxi driver is quiet; you find yourself wishing for the same talkative driver as before. At least it would fill the air, give you something to concentrate on beside the noise in your head.

It’s all mixed together, a slush puddle that you keep stamping through, expecting to not get splashed this time. Jing Yuan, the project, your work, the promotion—it runs through your head non-stop, circling over and over again. Your work, all for nothing. Your possible promotion, just beyond the tips of your fingers. Jing Yuan with his golden eyes and his lips with a smile tucked up secret in the corner of his mouth. Jing Yuan with his laughter and his dedication to the town.

You check your email but it doesn’t help.

You’ve already told Qingzu that you’ve failed. She had taken it in stride; she made sure you knew that no one was going to blame you. The project is going to go forward with or without Jing Yuan. You knew that, but the failure stings anyway. Fu Xuan had asked for you specifically; she must have believed you could do it.

You should have been able to.

Except—you think of the quiet glow that Jing Yuan had yesterday. The way he’d slipped seamlessly into the town’s community, how they treat him as one of their own. He’s happy in a rare way, deeply content with his lot. How you’d felt at his side in the last few days, even as he dragged you around. What it felt like to not be so focused on work all the time; how it felt to live life again.

Something in your chest warms. It rises through you like sparkling champagne bubbles, fizzing across your nerves.

You think of the way Jing Yuan’s eyes crinkle when he smiles.

“Sir,” you call out to the taxi driver. “Can you please turn around?”

***

The party is in full swing by the time you arrive. There are people coming and going; laughter drifts out the door every time it opens. The path is brightly lit, with Christmas lights lining the side and elegant wreaths hanging from posts, each big red bow perfectly tied. They’re glittering with tinsel, woven expertly in through the pine boughs.

You slip inside quietly. It’s completely different from just yesterday: there are tables set up inside, piled high with an entire array of hors d'oeuvres, from tiny little tarts to a bacchanalian cheeseboard, overflowing with plump, glistening figs, wine-red grapes, and fine cheeses. The decorations have multiplied. There are fairy lights everywhere, twinkling merrily. They’re tucked into vast, lush garlands that drape along the tables; there are candles flickering in their ornate holders, little wisps of smoke dancing from the flames.

It's easy to find Jing Yuan; he’s holding court by the Christmas tree, perfectly visible from the doorway. He’s chatting away with the small group that’s gathered around him, but there’s something different about him. Something you can’t quite name.

He looks wilted, almost, like the flowers in the last days of summer, still thriving but sensing their end. He smiles at someone and there’s nothing tucked up secret in the corner of his lips. Your chest aches, something howling between the gaps of your ribs.

He glances up and your eyes meet. He goes still, and then there’s a brilliant smile spreading across his lips, the sun come down to earth. He excuses himself from his group and makes his way over to you.

“Hi,” you say as he draws near, a little bit breathless.

“Hi,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” you say, the words rushing from you like water. “The last few days haven’t been nothing. I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sorry that I led you astray.”

“Why did you do it?”

He sighs. “I remember what it was like to work like that. To give up everything for the job. No one should live like that. And you seemed so lonely.”

You wince.

“Sorry,” he says. “But it’s what I saw.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like you were wrong. And you made me less lonely, Jing Yuan.”

He reaches out and sweeps his thumb over the apple of your cheek. You sway into the touch, turning until your cheek is cradled in his palm. “I’m glad,” he says softly. “All I want is for you to be happy.”

Someone whistles. You balk, starting to step back; Jing Yuan catches you before you can go far, pulling you in close.

“You’re under the mistletoe,” someone calls.

You look up, and sure enough, there’s mistletoe hanging innocently above you, the tiny flowers white as snow. It’s tied off with a perfect red ribbon.

“We don’t have to—”

“It’s tradition,” you say, and then you’re surging up to kiss him. He meets you halfway and as his lips brush yours, warmth blooms inside your chest, embers stoked to flame. He cups the back of your head to pull you closer. You make a little noise; he swallows it down.

There’s a certain greed to the kiss; a longing, too. He steals the breath from you; takes in your air and makes it his own. You kiss him harder, as if he might disappear.

When you break apart, he leans down to press his forehead against yours. You close your eyes. You can hear people murmuring, but they seem far away. Only Jing Yuan feels real. You open your eyes and glance up at him. He smiles at you, his golden eyes crinkling at the edges. Your heart flutters behind your ribs, beating against the cage of them like a bird’s wings.

“Merry Christmas,” you breathe.

“Merry Christmas,” he says softly.

He kisses you again and this time, it feels like coming home.

#hsr x reader #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #honkai star rail x reader #bee writes hsr

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cherrytea556 · 1 year ago

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Lore Rekindled; The Lore Olympus that should have been

To be honest, I checked out the rekindled version before the original one and now having reading the original as well, it's extremely odd. Y'know goodbye volcanic high where the original was a mess but a group of 4chaners made a parody game which turned out to be of better quality than the original? This is like that but replace 4chan with tumblr users, mainly @genericpuff whose series is pinned in their tumblr blog where you can check all of the episodes, especially updated ones. In this post, I will be praising this series of how it fixes the problems of the original

The Pacing

One thing I notice about lore olympus and lore rekindled is the pacing. Not just the flow of the story but where it chooses to focus on. Now in lore olympus, the pacing is kinda a mess and its mainly to do with what it focuses on. An example is the magazine plotpoint; in the original, its basically kinda there in between doses to focus on other stuff like persephone and hades together, persephone's sa (i'll get to that later), eros story, zeus and hera etc...The flow generally isnt that bad per say (except for persephone's sa cuz that was way too quick) but for a story meant to be a romance between hades and persephone, you'd think it idk, it would focus on persephone and hades specifically, not eros which is another example of; its flashbacks. Eros specifically has such a dragged out flashback in episode 12 which we didnt need or at least with that much exposition when it should've naturally expand in the story and that's what rekindled does. The magazine plotline has turned into the first conflict of persephone and hades as we see how it affects their lives and relationships. This works for its pacing better because it doesn't give you too much stuff to jumble with, making the narrative more concise and easier to understand where the story is going. And with the flashbacks, rekindled cuts out the fat in the flashbacks from the original to a perfect balance where it gives exposition of the characters while also leaving mystery for the audience to be intrigued, my favourite one would have to be this (though it more of a nightmare than a flashback specifically speaking);

It's of persephone in a greenhouse her mother placed her in with this red eye thing following her from outside the greenhouse. I have no idea of this lurker if its her metaphorical rage or a danger in her life but either way, i am intrigued by its presentation.

The Characters

When reading lore rekindled and lore olympus, the characters are definetly an odd experience. For lore olympus, the characters arent exactly uh....great per say. I think the main reason for this is how their ultilised, with characters like eros, hera, hectate etc being there to mostly be a matchmaker for hades and persephone even if it was initially seen as wrong like with hera and hectate, be antagonistic as a way to have conflict between hades and persephone like minthe, demeter and recently leuce even if ones had reasons too like minthe with hades emotionally cheating on her and demeter because lets be honest, she had a point. Then there's hades and persephone, whoo boy where to start with them.

Hades starts off as a creep eyeing at persephone during a party, specifically at her body and still lusts persephone even being aware that shes 19 and he's 2000 years old. Also is a shitty boss, father AND contributes to slavery with it while being adressed in some way, doesnt change him which isnt good for a character that's meant to be the main protagonists love interest.

Persephone though, I can get the self insert vibes. From favouritism towards the story, being who most of the men in the story are attracted too, portrayed as a 'cinnamon roll' (they actually said that early on in the story, im not kidding) who cant do no wrong. She acts like a teenager rather than a young adult which makes the scenes where shes sexualised just more uncomfortable (and they already unnecessarily were) along with adding that uncomfortability to the romance

But with rekindled, they expanded on the characters much more than they originally were. Persephone for instance has turned from a 'sexy baby' legal teenager to an actual young relatable adult with agency and allows her to screw up (e.g, getting drunk on her own rather than eros drunking her). Her adult attitude makes the romance between her and hades not only more palpable, but also strays away from the infantilisation/uncomfortable sexualisation of her character which is nice to see. Hades also is written well in the series from how it acknowledges his faults while still making him likable. And thats the same for every character really, their personalities are much more fleshed out and nuanced which makes their characters feel real to life, gaining effectiveness for more emotional scenes with them. An interesting thing too is that they even expanded the magazine guy's character from making fake news for profit into feeling guilt over what they done, standing up for persephone which is a pretty nice change.

No Sa Plotline

Not like you cant have sa in your story ever but if you never planned it from the beginning and only did when people tell you that the scene you drew from your comic was sa then....maybe just not do it. Lore olympus does exactly that where while an attempt was made, it goes on to retcon it into making apollo (the guy who sa'd persephone) into a lesser evil like that would made a difference instead of just cutting it out from the very beginning. Lore rekindled thankfully just made apollo into his pilot version, a shitty bf but more likeable and expanded upon (which should have been his portrayal from day 1). His shittiness doesnt come up in the story, more like self absorbness/egotisticalness although with its recent chapter of the magazine guy offering persephone lunch, it might reveal some cracks or at least further down the story it will be revealed to us which futhers how effective rekindled character writing is in how its expansion of characters would give us the feels. That or portray him as not a good match for persephone, either way much better than the original.

Artstyle

Lore olympus has a pretty good artstyle (at least in s1/the early episodes, s3 is just kinda goofy) but lore rekindled has got a good artstyle which is on top, more consistent too. Here's some examples;

Comedy

It's objectively funnier than lore olympus, no question asked

All in all, if you want to read lore olympus, i recommend you to read the lore rekindled one instead as it's better in every way. Give it a read.

#lore olympus critical #lo critical #anti lo #anti lore olympus #lore rekindled #generic puff #genericpuff

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thewertsearch · 14 days ago

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@burntowl25 asked: I just got done binging all your live blog, I LOVED IT. OH MY GODDDDDD sooooooooo fucking good, your analysis is soo interesting and I love it so much. I also really dig ya kidsona+trollsona. I really, Really think that you should at least read the Homestuck Epilogues, to me they feel like an unremovable part of Homestuck, and don't think that the experience is relly complete w/out it. It also continues expanding the Lore and mechanics of the story in a really interesting way that I think that you will enjoy htinking about. It works better as a thinking work than a strict story, which plays well into your liveblogging style. @herestoanotherweirdo asked: hey ive seen you confused before about the like… "canonicity" status of stuff like The Epilogues and Homestuck^2/Beyond Canon, with regards to whether or not you'll get to that after finishing homestuck itself, and i think the best way to understand all that is basically like. It's a sequel. It's doing Thematic things with the FACT that it is a sequel, but it is still a sequel. Terms like "post-canon" and "dubious authenticity" (both official terms used which are often merged by fans to as Dubious Canon which is not officially used) are, more than anything, used to provoke thought on the position of these works in the thematic framework of homestuck, which is interested in examining the nature of stories, how we tell them, what they Do, using the nature of stories as a metaphor for Various Other Things, getting into unique metanarrative modes, ETC. But like, they are still Official Sequels in all meaningful ways. You can ignore them and focus on some alternate canon or continuation you made up yourself or found online, but that's also true of literally any other work of art ever produced. Homestuck, and in particular its sequels, just acknowledge that fact more than most works of art do.

Thank you!

I've been thinking a lot about how to handle Homestuck's semi-official continuations - and, like... ok. Here's the thing.

I understand that the Epilogue, at least, wasn't written entirely by Hussie. That obviously doesn't have to mean it's non-canon, but I'm also aware that it's explicitly presented as a fanfiction, complete with an AO3 header. That, to me, is a pretty clear indication that it's meant to be an optional part of the Homestuck experience, and not an 'official' part of its narrative. The additional fact that its authenticity is presented as dubious only makes me more sure that this is the case.

As such, while I absolutely will be reading the Epilogue, I'll probably be using a slightly different liveblogging style. I'll talk more about my exact approach once we're nearing the end of the comic - but, in short, unless it makes a really good case for being canon, I'll probably be interpreting it as a fanfiction, albeit one with the author's official blessing.

And, like - maybe it does make a good case for being canon. That's something I'm totally open to - and if it's the case, I'll happily liveblog it as if it's part of Homestuck proper. We'll see when we get there!

(Oh - and since Homestuck 2 is apparently set after the events of the Epilogue, my decision to liveblog that will depend on what I think of the Epilogue itself.)

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #asks

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certifiablyinsanez · 4 months ago

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This post is dedicated to our favorite sexual sacrifice, Emberlynn Pinkle, and why she is an important character even if we never see her again. Let’s buckle in for a crazy character analysis of someone we’ve only seen for 4 minutes.

There are many facets of this short that hold importance, including but not limited to the mysterious pendant, any potential foreshadowing, parallels between Emberlynn and pre-Ozzie’s Stolas, etc. What I want to talk about is the character of Emberlynn herself and what is truly represents.

Many anti’s of the show are foaming at the mouth over her, particularly the fact that Emberlynn is a caricature of the Hellaverse fandom that was created specifically to make fun of us. Funnily enough, many of us who have been in actual fandom spaces are not unfamiliar with people like Emberlynn, and at some point, a fair number of us admit to being like her, which is the main thing I want to touch on.

People watering Emberlynn and the short down to a cheap shot at fandoms and fans of the show is intellectually lazy. It can be seen as a critique of peoples’ own biases considering many of us that have been in fandom spaces have done so for a long time. And it’s funny, because these people have been threatening to doxx fans, harm them, send messages to their bosses to get them fired, to schools so they’d lose scholarships, etc. The kind of people that would order a hit on us in hell…Many anti’s and people who are against cringe culture often participate in it unwittingly. Take for instance, the anti’s of the Hellaverse shows who dedicate entire blogs to picking apart everything from character interaction to even three second frames. They take over the tags associated with the fandom just so they can pump bitter content out, and are actively hostile when fans confront them over their weird behavior. Because fans of Helluva Boss or Hazbin Hotel are normally not the kind of people who would watch entire seasons, keep up on content and lore, or interact with actors and fandom over something they hate. We would just…not watch it and not interact. And it’s that kind of strange behavior that is intrinsic in fandom. Fandom spaces have forever had a dark side, that much is undeniable, but now more than ever there has been an influx of people unaccustomed and socially unequipped to participate and interact in the spaces that have been infesting it.

I have been in fandom spaces since 2013 and my first fandom was Hetalia. If you know you know. Many people in these spaces have been targeted for being “freaks” for years, but the areas where we have thrived, made friends and enjoyed ourselves was relatively untouched by the “normies”. That’s definitely changed in recent years, especially when the pandemic forced people who would normally socialize in other spaces come to ours. We all remember alt fashion blowing up in 2020 just for people to be finding entire wardrobes of it at goodwill not even 2 years later. And when they came in, they started adding rules and stipulations. They would allow themselves permission to interact with us weirdo outcasts, but only in a way that could give them plausible deniability later when they knew the trend wouldn’t last. They would enter a space that was nerdy and when furry iconography would show up they would whine about furries “making it weird” when it was already “weird”. They would dress and call themselves punk but still think it was important to listen to “both sides”. And when it comes to the Hellaverse, it’s popular, and entering the mainstream via Amazon picking up Hazbin, but if you’re not willing to be critical of its unsavory parts then you’re complicit in things like rape, violence, drug use, etc.

These people have infiltrated our community, which sounds extreme but when I remember it from my teen years vs now, I think these people genuinely would’ve combusted on sight. Like I said before, I was in the Hetalia fandom for many years. If you don’t remember, people were cosplaying as Germany and doing the Nazi salute at cons and concentration camps. It was bad. It was equivalent to our new blackface Alastor controversy. Back then, the fandom handled it ourselves. We all agreed that that was unacceptable behavior, and people would express disgust, but they were also productive. Fans would post about how we needed to realize that there was real history behind this show and that we needed to be mindful when participating in that environment. I saw many cosplayers altering their costumes to be more mindful. Germany cosplayers would refuse to wear iron cross, which isn’t even technically solely fascisitic in nature, but did it anyway because it was seen as respectful. I’ve seen a resurgence of the fandom on tiktok recently and all of us are allowing ourselves to enjoy it, because for years we had to pretend that we were stupid weirdos for liking it to begin with. Fandom has to allow itself to be cringe again, as it has been affected by people that are in an echo chamber of self righteousness and acceptability.

Getting back to Emberlynn, I have hardly ever seen a take off of a character like this. Even when it was shown that Baxter was coming in season 2 of Hazbin I saw maybe a handful of fan arts and videos. But Emberlynn has EXPLODED. I watched the short when it had been out for only 26 minutes, and within the hour my feeds across all social media were full of her.

I genuinely think that it’s because she is the epitome of fandom, where all of our cringe has been rolled into one character. Her self insert name is literally a reference to old fandom. She’s a proshipper, a selfshipper, she gets into shipping wars and has been fighting with people online for almost a decade. She said the pendant was from an episode “569”, which is strange wording because episodes aren’t usually formatted that way in any sort of media, which could potentially mean that she’s watched over 500 episodes of Akuma no Otto. Her room is full of pornographic material, figurines, the BODY PILLOW. I mean come on. Her parents are fully aware that she watches hentai. She was upstairs moaning and crying while interacting with Blitz and being stabbed and her parents did not go up to check on her, nor think it was out of the ordinary. She is pastel goth, a subset of the gothic culture, and writes self insert fanfiction. She’s A MONSTERFUCKER. HELLO?? When everyone in the Hellverse is as hot as they are…come on. When she dies and goes to hell her sinner form has furry influences. All of us love her because even if we were never fully like her (ie stalkerish, obsessive), we’ve been like her in some way at some point, or even now. I write fanfiction. I’m part of alternative fashion and culture. I’ve been into cringe stuff for a while. I’m not necessarily super into furry stuff, but I love the suits, the artistry and even had an idea for an oc once. My profile pic is literally my Sinner OC.

Emberlynn is a return to form for the standard of fandom spaces and I think to those of us that truly embrace the lifestyle, it’s refreshing. She does not exist in the realm of acceptability; she’s fat, intense and unapologetic. And yet, she’s still super hot, funny, and entertaining. We don’t love her because she’s a respectable fan, we adore her because she’s insane. I’m a cofounder of a Facebook group about being fans of the Vees and we all agree that she would actually do well with Valentino, because that cutie needs some disrespectful eldrich cock ASAP lol. It’s refreshing, and even if we never see her again, I still find her completely relevant and interesting.

Emberlynn Light’ness Demonanya Pinkle, you are PRECIOUS.

#helluva shorts #helluva boss #helluva boss blitz #emberlynn pinkle #helluva boss emberlynn #Emberlynn Light’ness Demoanya Pinkle #hazbin hotel #hazbinhotel #hazbin memes #tumblr fyp #hellaverse #vivziepop #i love fandom #fandom

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boywithpinkcarnation · 1 year ago

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tbh kinda wanting some jealous!jb like if someone is filtering w her gf OR ESPECIALLY IF IT WAS A ANOTHER GIRL AHH THE DRAMA 🕳️🕳️

alrighty... i am in no way a writer, so this is. going to be bullet point, blurb, word vomit, unedited chaos. additionally, this is gonna be so incredibly self indulgent and catered to me so i hope it suffices for u bug 💝

frankly posting this is very scary for a little tumblr baby like myself, but i feel a need to serve my community 🫡

they style of writing and tbh most headcannons/lore is coming straight from @gingerjolover their blog is lowkey bible and they are the sweetest pookie pie ever. luv u g fr <3 like seriously i recommend you go just read through their masterlist bc this will not compare (not trying to fish here, just being very real as someone who is a like fein for fics as a source of comfort, i fear this will not fully suffice)

rpf content under the cut (no hate if that's not ur jam, just ignore me!), minors dni!!!

refering to jb's parter in this as "gf" and sense i am a selfish selfish girl in this scenerio she is roughly jb's height/a little shorter bc i am and theres no shorter than julien rep ANYWHERE

personally, i see julien as lowkey so possessive in a cutie non toxic way... and sometimes that manifests in some cutie jeleousy that gf can not get enough of. i think it obviously would come out in like flirty enviornments like bars and parties where people are loosey goosey... but sometimes it's just like and about on a normal date. here's a little thought i cooked up for like a more domestic environment jealousy:

aquairum date

the date starts out very normal, classic boyfriend!julien activities are happening

she's making sure y'all are touching at all times. like she'll die if you guys are not physically connected

i'm talking arm around your shoulder, iron grip within intertwined hands, hand in ur jean pocket 16 candles style, hand on the small of your back,,,, but i think eventually (and her favorite, albeit a little awkward) she's hugging you from behind as you walk, almost hanging on you, head perfectly slotted on your shoulder kissing your head and neck at every stop to look at the pretty fish

"jay! look at this one" "real pretty princess" *kisses your head* (its over i can'tttt)

then maybe she leaves you to go get you like a bottle of water or a jacket from the car (idk something to make you more comfortable, very "can't have my baby thirsty/cold" vibes)

then of course, you are looking so cute and so gay, a girl approaches you

you are very focused on the fish bc they are truly just so pretty (can you tell i love fish?) and only look up when mystery girl nudges you

"omg i'm so sorry" "oh uh, you're good" "sorry, i have a bit of a habit for running into pretty girls"

and your're kinda caught off guard bc like... this is an aquarium??

"haha um thank you" "so what are you doing here all alone"

mystery girl is sooo fuck boy coded just go with it

"well um my girlfr-"

julien is back behind you, re koala latching twisting open the water bottle for you and handing it to you, GLARING at this girl

"sorry it took me a second princess, who's this?"

then her grip tightens pulling you even closer to her chest

mystery girl, bless her heart, replies "we just bumped into each other. i was just letting her know how beautiful she was"

oh jb did not like that

she reaches over grabs your jaw tilting your head to the side and back to look at her

"she is beautiful. my sweet girl" and kisses you DEEPLY

and ur blushing because you know jealous/protective/possesive!julien is in the room with us now and kind of giggle out of the kiss

"well then... i should be going, sorry again for running into you"

instead of letting you respond or responding herself jb keeps your face turned and starts kissing all over ur face as you giggle letting mystery girl to just shuffle away.

for the rest of the date she is SO overly affectionate

squeezing ur hips

keeping you so close

kissing your cheek and neck as you tell her about all the fish and animals

"really baby? that's so cool" "my little biologist" "ooo princess what about these?"

it's times like these julien wishes she wore lipstick to leave a mark on your face so everyone knows

she's probably taking you to the gift shop and buying you some random thing for fun because when she's jealous she doesn't take it out on you, she's secure with you and knows you aren't doing anything but being your pretty self

in fact it just makes her softer and more affectionate

when you finally let her drag you out she had you against the car kissing you lovingly and deeply and sets her forehead against yours

"i just love you so much. my sweet girl. my priincess"

"all yours j."

note from c: i hope this is at least semi ok? literally no editing or even proof reading, just love sick delusion.

#i am so in love with her #julien baker x reader #julien baker fanfic #julien baker x fem!reader #boygenius fanfic #boy with the pink carnation writes!

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heich0e · 2 years ago

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bittersweet - vash the stampede/f!reader (trigun stampede): 7k, listen there's only been 2 eps and i don't know the lore so i am loudy and emphatically declaring creative license, in my mind this is set before the start of stampede but not by much, heavy on the wild wild west core here, light angst, smut, fingering, needy vanilla sex, domesticity, mentions of alcohol/alcoholism, boot-throwing related violence. 18+ NSFW MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

The desert smells bitter.

You wouldn’t think that sand would smell like much at all, but the fragrance that hangs perpetually in the air is heavy, singed, and acrid with the heady scent of life and its misery. Waste and runoff make their unpleasantness acutely known on the hottest days, and the fumes from old machinery that’s barely functioning thanks to age and disrepair—that no one can afford to fix, so they have to hold out hope it keeps running—clogs up the already noxious atmosphere as it rattles on throughout the day.

Mama used to tell you that outside of Jeneora Rock, the world smelled different. There’s somewhere else past the walls that mark the edge of the only town you’ve ever known, even past the wastelands—a place where almost no one ever goes, but that your Mama saw once. Or at least she said she did.

She told you it smelled clean. Sweet. Untouched by anything but the sun’s heat and the five moons’ glow.

Mama’s gone, has been for a long time now, and even though she never had much to give to you in the first place, that story is the most precious thing she left behind. You think about it almost as often as you think about her.

The end of another long day is marked by a familiar heaviness to your bones. Between the suffocating heat that makes you groggy and a hard day's work, there’s a palpable weight that bears down on you as you climb the never-ending metal stairs to your front door—your feet drag a bit more with every step.

The lock to your home is getting hard to turn. You’ve noticed it a few times now: a resistance as you slip your key into the keyhole, a pressure as you urge the mechanism to turn and let you in. There may be sand built up in there to clean out, or maybe it needs some oil.

But oil costs money, of which you don’t have much, so you really hope that it’s the former rather than the latter.

You examine the keyhole once you manage to force the lock open, dropping to your knees outside your door to peek into the narrow opening on the tarnished face of the lock. It doesn’t do you much good because the sun’s already dropped dark, and even if the light of day still hung overhead you doubt it would be enough to make the issue any clearer. You drag your thumb idly along a little scratch beside the keyhole that's probably been there for years; the metal is still warm to the touch from the heat of the day that still hasn’t quite broken, the surface a little rougher where the score is chipped in.

You sigh, picking yourself up off the ground and dusting off your skirt, and turn the knob into your home.

It’s dark when you get inside, but something feels wrong.

You shut the door behind you as you enter, pressing your back flat against it as your eyes struggle to adjust to the dark. Your home, like every other one in town, isn’t really much to look at even in the plain light of day. You’re luckier than lots of people though, you’ve got a couple rooms all to yourself where some families have no choice but to cram many people into just one. Papa left you this house, cause now he’s gone too just like Mama, but not much has changed since the day he left it to you—except now there’s less empty bottles rolling around underfoot, and you get to call the little bedroom off the main room yours.

It takes a second for your eyes to get used to the dimness with the door shut tight behind you, so you blink hard to make it happen faster. You see the rickety little table against the wall near the door, and the chair on the other side of the room where you sometimes sit by the window to mend your skirts when they wear and tear—but only when you get home early enough to catch the last few moments of sun, cause Mama always used to warn you about sewing by lamplight. The shutters on the window are closed and locked now, but there’s no light outside them to let in anyway.

Something shuffles in the dark.

Papa left you a gun, too. Even taught you how to shoot it. Mama hated that. She hated how good you were at it even more. She used to say that shooting was gonna be your husband’s job someday, and that even in a world this wicked Papa was teaching you things you didn’t need to know.

But now Mama’s gone. And Papa’s gone. And the world is still wicked. And you’ve got no husband, but you have a gun you know how to shoot.

You keep it and a little stash of 7 bullets underneath your bed where you can get to it quick, but it’s on the other side of the house, and even though that’s not very far away you don’t know what’s waiting for you between the door and your bed. You don’t know if it’s faster than you are, either, so running for it would be a fool’s errand.

Inside your chest, your heart starts pumping a little harder, ‘til you can feel the wet thump, thump, thump right in the back of your mouth.

You know you need light. You need to be able to see. You can’t make any decisions until you know what’s between you and your Papa's gun tucked up safe underneath your bed.

Slowly your eyes flicker over to the lamp on your table, just within reach.

You suck a little gasp into your lungs to steel your nerve. The air is less sour in here—more familiar, a little more comforting—but the acrid scent of the desert still lingers on the edge of each breath. Slowly you reach towards the lamp and flick it on.

“PLEASE DON’T SHOOT ME!”

The frantic plea frightens you so terribly that it sends you tumbling to the hard floor, landing flat on your ass with your back thumping painfully into the wall beside your door. In front of you is a face that has no right being as familiar as it is; eyes wide in panic beneath a round pair of glasses, blonde hair tousled in disarray, two hands (one flesh and one crafted) lifted in innocence.

Your heart is beating even faster now under the tight pull of your laced waistcoat.

“Are you an idiot?” you hiss, instinctively tugging your boot off your foot and lobbing it forcefully at the unexpected intruder. “You scared the daylights outta me!”

The man sidesteps the projectile easily, and it clatters to the floor. The expression on his face morphs from one of panic to something a little more chagrined.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, drawing out the word. His tone sheepish, and his lips pull into an apologetic little smile.

You place a trembling hand on your chest, pressing down on the spot where you feel your heart thumping the hardest and willing it to slow. You stare at your scuffed floorboards and take a few breaths to ease the frenetic beat of your pulse, and feel yourself begin to wilt as the adrenaline in your veins starts to fade.

“How’d you get in here, Vash the Stampede?” you ask, looking up again at the man in front of you from your place on the ground.

“I knocked first,” he says with a grimace, “but you weren’t home and I…”

“Broke in because you’ve got someone looking for you?” you finish his explanation for him, your tone flat and entirely unsurprised.

He sighs, shoulders slumping dejectedly as his head hangs forward.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

He lifts his chin only enough to guiltily meet your gaze.

“It’s just for one night,” he murmurs the plea, his bottom lip weighed down by a pout.

You shut your eyes tight, hands balling into fists over your skirt to hide the way they tremble.

“Fine.”

Vash falls to his knees in front of you, hands pressed to the floor as he gets right up in your face with a wide, cheerful grin. He’s almost nose to nose with you, the light of the lamp glinting in his glasses.

“Thanks so much! I promise I’ll be outta here before you know it!”

He doesn’t need to tell you that, because the pang in your empty stomach tells you that, even unspoken, you already knew it to be true.

Vash is travelling light again, just like the last time you saw him. He’s only got one bag that he begins to unpack onto the rickety table in your kitchen, leaving you to quietly go about your own business like you would if you hadn’t found him in your home that night. On the other side of the kitchen you unpack the meagre amount of food you’d managed to buy for yourself that day from little satchel you carried it home in. It’s barely enough food for one, and now you’ll have to stretch it between two.

“Where’s your father?” Vash asks as he fiddles with his gun at the table behind you. “I thought it was him coming through the door, and I thought for sure he was gonna blow my—“

“He’s dead.”

The silence that follows is heavy. Uncomfortable, even. Vash’s hands still even as yours keep quietly peeling the sad, withered skin from the vegetable in your hand with the blade of a half-dulled knife.

“I’m sorry,” his next words are quiet. “Your father was a nice man.”

“My father was a drunk who got himself shot in a bar fight with a merchant who came to town and was talking big. He just worshipped you because you saved the plant.”

That same uncomfortable silence creeps in again in the wake of your words, but after a few moments you hear Vash pick up his tools and start tinkering away at whatever he’s working on once more.

“Is the plant still running?” Vash is the first to speak again, though a fair amount of time passes before he risks another attempt at conversation.

“More or less,” you remark, setting a little pot on the stove to boil with whatever ingredients you’d been able to scrounge together into a meal. You watch the flame of the element burst to life as you flick the switch, a little hiss as the fire licks at the edges of your only copper pot. “Some days it’s more reliable than others. But whatever you did seems to be holding up all right.”

“Good!” Vash says behind you. “That’s good.”

You turn to face him, the unevenly mended hem of your skirt swishing around your ankles. You lean against the little countertop behind you, with your arms crossed behind your back.

“I’ll pop by the plant before I leave town—”

You watch as Vash’s fingers nimbly fiddle with his gun, broken down into its component parts to be cleaned and maintained. You’re sure it doesn’t need it—are certain he’s fired less shots from that gun in the two years since you’ve seen him than you’ve heard in town this week alone—but it’s kind of nice to watch him work, to appreciate how certain and precise his every move is, and to see how concentrated he is while he goes about it.

“—just to make sure everything’s still in good shape.”

He looks up at you, like for the first time he feels your gaze as it traces the lines of his profile. He smiles again, that same wide, willful expression of cheer that he always endeavours to wear even though he might be the person least entitled to it.

You hum. “I’m sure everyone would appreciate that. You should stop by to see Rosa too, she’ll box my ear if she finds out you blew though town and didn’t go see her.”

The two of you eat across the table from one another in silence. Just the scrape of cutlery and the occasional loud swallow passing between the two of you. Vash seems hungry, but appears to be trying his best to be at least a little restrained as he eats with you. Even though you’d given him the larger of the two portions, he’s still finished his plate before you’ve finished yours, but he sits patiently across from you waiting for you to swallow your final bite.

“I’ll take these,” he jumps to his feet before you have the chance to even push your chair back from the table, snatching both of your dishes up into his hands. “I’ll clean up, since you’re letting me stay.”

You don’t deny him, and instead slump back into your seat, dragging your wrist along your forehead. Your skin feels grimy from the hot day and the filth outside. Normally you would have bathed before you cooked, but you hadn’t eaten a proper meal all day—and Vash looked like it may have been even longer than that.

“I’m gonna wash,” you say, standing from your seat. You pause, your fingertips tracing against the rough, rutted surface of the tabletop. You know you don’t have enough water for two baths in your tank. You used to bathe with your mother when you were little, then once you were older and Mama was gone, you got the bathwater first and Papa would get in after you were done. It’s never been an issue until now. “Er—Vash?”

At the sink where your uninvited house guest is scrubbing at the dishes in the washbasin that you’d filled ahead of time, Vash pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. He’s taken off his familiar red coat, left hanging off the chair he’d been seated in at the table, and the black turtleneck he wears beneath it stretches taut over the musculature of his back as it faces you.

“The bath… there’s only enough water to fill it once. I don’t…Do you want…?” you aren’t sure what you’re even trying to ask him, but whatever is coming out of your mouth is even less clear than the thoughts running through your head.

“I’ll bathe second, don’t worry about me.”

Vash’s smile is gentle and obliging, his eyes crinkling at the corners as they narrow into little crescents. You nod stiffly, feeling heat flush through you at the softness in his expression, and shuffle off towards the other side of your home while avoiding his gaze.

The walls of your home are paper thin, and you’re certain that Vash can hear the splash of water in the tub as clearly as you can hear the scratchy, garbled sound of his radio from the other room. Once your skin’s been scrubbed clean of the day, you sit in the water with your knees pulled to your chest and your chin tucked between them. You strain to try to make out what’s being broadcast, but it’s difficult to hear since the reception in town is always so piss poor, and whatever coherent bits of news you manage to catch are just as abysmal as always.

It’s strange, hearing someone else in the house. It’s something you didn’t realize had become so foreign to you in the time you’ve learned to live alone. The idle puttering in the other room is a sound you didn’t realize you had missed. You lean back and dunk yourself into the water, where everything goes quiet.

The bathwater never gets very hot to begin with—tepid at the best of times, which seems unfair given the climate—but you know it’s not fair to waste time in the tub when someone else is waiting for it. You pull yourself up out of the metal basin, careful not to disturb the stopper in the bottom of the tub, and dry as much water from your skin as you can. Once you’ve deemed yourself sufficiently towelled, you pull on your nightdress and a threadbare housecoat overtop.

Vash looks up from the chair in the corner by the window when you emerge from the bathroom, and he meets your eyes so unwaveringly it feels decidedly like he’s trying hard not to let his gaze wander elsewhere. You fidget under his stare, fiddling with the fraying ends of the towel around your neck that’s catching the droplets that fall from your hair. He must realize that he’s unnerving you, because he averts his eyes to a point on the wall over your shoulder after a moment.

“My turn?” he asks, his tone chipper but polite.

“All yours,” you nod, stepping into your bedroom and leaving him to his business.

There’s an old trunk at the bottom of your bed where you keep some of the things your father left that you haven’t yet been able to sell or make use of. You find an old shirt of his near the very bottom, soft and worn-thin from years of washing. It’s something you could have easily sold or traded by now, but that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to part with—though you’re certain the day will inevitably come when sentimentality can no longer outweigh your basic needs.

You stand outside the bathroom door for a moment, your father’s shirt clutched tightly in your hands. You can hear the splash of bathwater you’re sure has gone cold from where you stand, only a few feet and a thin door between you.

You muster your nerve and tap your knuckles lightly against the door.

“I have a shirt if you need something to—“

The door opens, and you find yourself unexpectedly facing the bare chest of your one-night housemate, still damp and glistening from the bath, lined with silvery scars that the low light catches on.

You toss the shirt at him unceremoniously and turn quickly away, and Vash himself makes a little sound of surprise.

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be—“

“It’s fine,” you answer before he can even finish his apology, still refusing to meet his gaze. You gesture vaguely over your shoulder without turning. “Just take that.”

The bathroom door clicks closed again, and you clutch the belt of your housecoat over your diaphragm.

You need a drink.

You cross your home to the cabinet in your kitchen, reaching to the back of the nearly-bare shelf and pulling out a dusty old bottle that’s been there since your father died. It wouldn’t have lasted a day if he were still living, and you’ve made it years without ever so much as cracking it open.

Today however, you feel it’s well-deserved.

The dust caked on the bottle smears against your palm as you open it, and you wipe the grime furiously against the material of your housecoat as you pour a long glug of the amber liquor into a waiting glass. It’s vile, lukewarm from the constant heat of your home, and burns every inch of the way down—but as you set the empty glass back onto the counter, you still find yourself grateful for it.

You pour another drink.

“Take it easy,” you hear a voice say behind you, accompanied by a breathy little laugh.

You turn and see Vash hovering not far from you, his black turtleneck folded over one arm and your father’s shirt over his no-longer-bare chest. His hair is wet, a towel draped around his shoulders just like yours, and he’s taken off his usual eyewear. The mole underneath his eye seems more prominent now that he’s scrubbed himself clean.

Your empty glass dangles from the tips of your fingers, the acerbic taste of the liquor lingering on your tongue. You hold it out to him in offering, and he scrunches up his nose a little bit.

“I really shouldn’t—“

“It’s rude to turn down a drink your host is offering you, y’know.”

Things like rudeness don’t mean anything to anyone these days, least of all yourself. Decency is a luxury few people can afford.

Vash sighs, still smiling, and takes the glass from you. Your fingers brush as it passes from your hand to his, and then you take the bottle and pour another healthy splash into the waiting cup. He brings it to his lips, wincing against the fumes alone that waft up from the glass.

“It’s better if you don’t sip it,” you offer him, though even then you know the guidance doesn’t help much.

He tips it back and drains it.

Two drinks were enough to have you feeling woozy, but you pour yourself a third for good measure. You spare Vash the pain of another, much to his apparent relief, and let him off with just the one before tucking the half-drained bottle back into the cupboard you’d dug it out of.

When you turn around again, Vash is crouched down, examining something on the ground.

Your boot. The one you’d thrown at him earlier.

He peers up at you from the floor, he lifts the shoe slightly.

“It broke again.”

A memory floods back to you then, unbidden.

Sitting side by side with Vash on the edge of the steps outside the same house you live in now, but when the way you lived was different. The plant had just been repaired, and there was a palpable feeling of effervescent joy sizzling through the town around you. An uncharacteristic camaraderie amongst the people of Jeneora Rock as the celebration of Vash’s handiwork spreading through the narrow, grimy streets. The two of you were away from it all, sitting quietly together in a strange sort of celebration of your own.

You were less a woman than you were a girl back then, but still somehow neither. He’d patched the sole of your boot back on when it had ripped loose. And you’d laughed when he handed it back to you with an endearingly clumsy flourish, the sound as high and bright as the sun that hung in the sky overhead. You still remember the way your laughter had made his smile grow.

The patch job had lasted a year. You’d sobbed the day it came loose again, just shortly after the death of your father. You’d been using twine tied tightly around the toe of the boot to hold it together ever since.

Vash blinks up at you from the ground as you stare down at him with what you’re sure is a vacant look in your eyes.

“I brought you something,” he says, hopping up and skittering over to his rucksack with your boot still in his hand. He rifles around in the bag for a moment, his mechanical arm shoulder deep as he roots for what he’s looking for. His eyebrows shoot up and he grins when he locates it—a wide, brilliant smile splitting across his face as he pulls his arm out.

He holds his find up in triumph.

You look at it with narrowed eyes.

“What… is it?” you ask, after a moment of trying to identify the small, relatively unremarkable little container in his hand.

“Boot glue!” he says excitedly, waving it in front of your face. “I thought of you when I saw it! The merchant wanted an arm and a leg for it but I managed to—”

Tears have sprung up in your eyes against your will, and you quickly turn away from him to hide them from his sight.

“Hey, are you okay?” Vash’s voice is softer now, less enthusiastic and more concerned.

That softness is what upsets you more than anything. Tenderness is a foreign thing in the desolation of the wastelands.

“Thank you,” you say quietly, scrubbing your hand over your stinging eyes.

For thinking of me.

For knowing that you’d come back.

You leave that part off, but you feel it just as much as what you say.

You drain that third glass that’s been sitting on the counter waiting for you, hoping the burn of the liquor as it sloshes down your throat to your stomach will give you something else to focus on. Or, if nothing else, that it might numb the sudden pain that’s laid roots down in your core.

Vash sits at the table as he patches up your boot under the lamplight, much like he had the first time. You watch him from the chair in the corner, under the shuttered window, with your knees drawn up into your seat with you. You’re more shameless now than you had been while he cleaned his gun, observing him keenly as he scrubs your boot with a rag and leftover water from the dish pan. He makes sure no more grime clings to it before he carefully smears a thick layer of the glue along the sole, pressing down firmly to make sure the adhesion takes. He holds the boot up in front of him when he’s done, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, eyeing it from every angle to survey his own work.

You watch him just as raptly.

He turns in his seat once he’s satisfied, holding the boot up.

“All done!” he says, hopping up to his feet and shuffling towards you. He crouches down in front of you and holds out his hand expectantly. Slowly, you stick your foot out, and he cradles it gently in his roughened palm.

Carefully he slips the boot onto your foot, tightening the laces once it’s fully in place.

“How’s it feel?” he asks you, peeking up at you from his place on the floor.

“Feels good,” you reply, with an equally breathy tone.

The lamplight doesn’t reach this corner of the room quite as brightly as it does at the table, but you can still make out a blush that sits high and pretty at the top of Vash’s cheeks. You wonder if he’s starting to feel the flush thanks to the liquor, or if maybe it’s something else entirely.

“G-good!” he stammers a little, fiddling with the laces at your ankle. “I’m glad!”

“That glue must have been expensive,” you say. “Thank you, Vash.”

He shoots you a smile as he loops his fingers through the laces. “It's the least I could do, especially with you putting me up for the night.”

For the night.

Just for the night.

The reminder makes you ache a little.

Vash helps you slip your boot off again, carrying it over to the door and setting it down beside its mate.

“I’ll leave this here for you, in case you need it again,” he says, screwing the top back onto the little pot of adhesive at the table. “There’s not much left, but there’s some.”

You nod from your seat in the corner, one leg up and one leg still down—your nightdress drawn up to your knee from when he’d helped you into your boot.

Vash ruffles the hair at the nape of his neck, dry now after his bath. Yours remains a little damp, but you’re sure it won’t last long as the residual heat from the day still hangs in the air even though the sun has long set.

“It’s late,” he finally says after a moment. “You should sleep.”

You hum in agreement, moving to stand from your chair. The room spins slightly around you, those three glasses you’d knocked back sneaking up on you while you’d been sitting down. Your foot hooks in the hem of your nightdress because of the way you’d been sitting, but before you can stumble theres a strong arm wrapped around your waist to keep you steady. A warmth pressing into you as your face meets a heaving chest.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Vash murmurs, his grip on you tightening for the briefest moment.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, and you don’t meet his eyes as you nod, letting him lead you towards your bedroom.

Your hands fumble at the belt of your nightdress, pulling it off and tossing the garment across the end of your bed as Vash helps you onto the mattress. You tuck your feet under the thin sheet before leaning back against your pillows, and Vash is quick to turn and head towards the door after helping you pull it up to your waist.

“Wait,” you call to him before he can retreat. He pauses in the doorway, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Where are you going to sleep?”

You hadn’t thought much about this, and you ought to have considered it earlier. You only have the one bed, but you have two pillows you can share and a spare blanket in the trunk at the end of it that you could offer him if he wants to sleep on the floor.

But you don’t want to tell him that.

“I’ll just take the chair,” he says with a blithe smile, jutting his thumb towards the armchair in the other room.

It won’t be comfortable. You know that from experience, having fallen asleep there a few times yourself after a particularly gruelling day. The stuffing is lumpy and the springs are painful if you press against them the wrong way. You know he won’t complain about it. You even know that it’s probably still more comfortable than lots of other places he’s rested his head over the past two years.

But you want to be selfish.

For once you don’t want to be alone.

“Vash,” you say quietly, and you watch his entire body go rigid at the sudden bare vulnerability of your tone. “Please stay with me.”

You’d asked him the same thing once before, but different. The words once murmured desperately against his lips as you clung to his red jacket. Staring at him with eyes full of hope and a freshly patched boot on your foot.

He’d looked at you the same way back then too. That smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. As gentle of a no that he could ever offer you.

“I know you have to leave,” you murmur, eyes downcast to your hands as they rest atop your lap. “I don’t expect anything like that from you. I know it’s just for tonight.”

“Please don’t cry.”

The bed dips beside you, and Vash tilts your face up towards him. He looks troubled when you meet his gaze, even in the dim light of your bedroom you can make out the conflict on his features. It’s strange to see him not smiling, wrong almost.

But your eyes are dry.

“Stay,” you repeat yourself, meeting his gaze resolutely. You swallow hard over the lump in your throat, bracing yourself for the impending sear of rejection.

Vash cups your cheeks in his hands, and you can’t tell if it’s your cheeks or his touch that feels so warm.

“You deserve someone that can say yes to that and mean it properly,” he says ruefully, not dissimilarly to what he’d said the first time you’d asked the very same thing of him.

“I’m not asking anyone else,” you whisper, “I’m asking you."

You wonder if your mouth still tastes like liquor as Vash’s tongue dips inside of it, hovering over you as you lay sprawled across your bed.

It didn’t start like this, of course. The first kiss had been gentle, hesitant even—like Vash wasn’t quite sure if he was going to see it through at all, poised to flee at any moment. But neither of you could deny how right it felt when his lips brushed yours, an immediate wash of relief and of unadulterated want inundating you all at once. You’d been the one to crane up and bridge the gap, but soon Vash was crawling into your bed overtop of you, easing you back to lay flat as he succumbed to the same need you felt thrumming through your veins.

Your hands are tangled in his hair now—a gesture that earned you a pitchy, needy little groan from him as your fingers twisted through the blonde strands. It only seemed to make him more eager as he parted his lips against your own in a deeper kiss.

There’s something a little clumsy about it all, an eagerness and inexperience to every touch and graze. But it’s not the same as it was at first, no longer hesitant or wary—his reservations have been peeled away as surely as the clothes the two of you are wearing, until you feel nothing but his skin against your own.

Vash’s hands are as greedy and rapacious as his mouth; touching, grabbing, grazing anything he can reach. His calloused fingers cup themselves around the swell of your chest, squeezing lightly, and when you reward him with a little moan it stokes the flames of his curiosity, and his touch moves to the pebbled bud of your nipple next. He rolls it tentatively between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly, and when you gasp against his mouth, arching further into his touch, he makes his own little pleased sound of surprise before lavishing your other breast with equal attention.

His metal hand touches you more gingerly than the other, and he tends to favour the one made of flesh and bone. The contrast in sensations is a little disorienting—smooth, hard metal versus the life-roughened heat of skin on skin. It’s dizzying. You want more.

“Vash,” you murmur against his mouth.

Your lips are stinging now from the constant kissing. He’s scarcely left your mouth uncovered by his own since they first connected, but at your hoarse whisper of his name he pulls back slightly, watching your face for any sign of reproach.

“Touch me more, please,” you say to him, cupping his cheeks as he presses his forehead into yours, both of you sharing the same breath in the little space between you.

He makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a hum, nodding a little, and kisses you again as his hands slip further down your willing, waiting form.

If he’s surprised by the wet wet heat he finds between your legs, it doesn’t stop him. One finger and then two find their way inside you slowly; he moves in gentle thrusts and scissoring motions that have your jaw going slack. His palm presses against the swell of your clit, and each time your hips jump it grinds into the heel of his palm, earning a keen from the back of your throat.

“Feels good?” Vash trails kisses up the top of your cheek until his lips are by your ear. His breathing is laboured and the air of each breath is hot as it ghosts across your skin. Your tongue feels leaden, but you nod repeatedly, wrapping your arms around his neck and keeping him close.

“Yeah,” you finally manage to breathe out, “’s good.”

It’s even better when you feel the stretch of him pressing himself inside.

The sound that’s pulled from the depth of Vash’s broad chest as he carves his way into you makes your toes curl—high and sweet and desperate.

“’S hot,” he slurs, his hips giving a shallow, desperate thrust.

He’s needy, pulling you closer as he moves you how he wants you. He loops your knees up over his elbows, his mouth frantically finding it’s way back to yours as the weight of his entire body bears down on you.

The next thrust is harder, deeper. And the pace only increases after that.

The rickety headboard of your old bed knocks against the wall each time he brings his hips down against yours. It’s loud, but so is the sound of skin on skin, and you have the distant thought as the bed frame creaks that it sounds like it might splinter underneath you—but you don’t find it in yourself to care as the pressure in you core steadily builds, threatening to burst. It blinds and deafens you to anything but the pulse that pounds in your throat. It makes your fingers curl against the skin of Vash’s shoulder blades until your nails dig into skin.

He’s still kissing you, wet and messy and noisy as his tongue presses into your mouth. He never stops kissing you.

It's nice to be with someone. To be touched. To feel wanted and needed.

Especially by him.

Your eyes flutter open, and as though he can sense your gaze on him Vash’s do the same. His expression is heavy-lidded as he pants, a little drop of sweat sitting high on the edge of his blushing cheek. He smiles a little, a soft, gentle expression you’ve never seen before.

A tenderness in his gaze unlike any you’ve ever experienced.

The pressure in your core comes undone.

He takes your face in his hands as pleasure rips through you like a sandstorm, blistering and unescapable. He’s still kissing you. Keeping you so near. In the haze it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins, everything clouded into something thats both and somehow neither. Something new.

“Close,” Vash whines, grinding his hips down against your own.

Your muscles ache, the pleasure has worn you raw, and your lungs are pricking with the need for a full deep breath you haven’t been able to draw into them now for some time. But even so, you don’t want it to be over. Can’t bear the thought of being apart.

The headboard rattles a few more times, and then the pressure between your legs is gone as Vash pulls out and spatters his spend across your stomach with a long, low groan.

It’s hot. The mess on your skin, the sweat that clings to you, the paltry breaths of air you draw into your lungs. Even the sheets of your bed have absorbed the heat from both of your bodies, sticking to your skin as you collapse into them in boneless heaps, chests heaving and hearts racing side by side.

You tilt your face towards the boy crowded into your narrow bed beside you, and find him watching you expectantly.

“You okay?” he asks, brushing a piece of hair away from your eyes.

You hum, leaning into his touch.

Vash’s gaze travels down your body, eyeing the mess he’s made of you with wide eyes. He pops up suddenly, clambering out of bed and tripping clumsily over the sheet that’s fallen half-way off the mattress as he skitters out the door. You’re not too worried that he’s going far, considering he’s still stark naked, but you watch the doorway curiously as you wait for him to return.

When he does, he has a cloth in hand—still damp from your bath earlier in the evening. As gently as he can, Vash cleans you up; the cloth cool is against your sticky skin, and feels nice. Once he’s satisfied with his handiwork, he presses a kiss to the valley between your ribs, lifting his face to smile up at you.

You shoot him a feeble smile back.

He slips into bed beside you once more, crawling up towards the pillows and pulling the rumpled sheet up to your chins as he goes. He settles in, and with one sweep of his arm he tucks you safely against his chest, with your ear resting over his heart. His hand pats gently along the back of your hair down your spine, keeping you close to him.

Vash smells good. Clean and comforting. It makes you think of the place your mother told you about once. You wonder if he smells like that place, or maybe even better.

You wonder if he’s ever been there before.

You wonder if he’d tell you if you asked.

You open your eyes, though the effort pains you in your exhaustion, and you see him peering back at you. Vash’s lips pull into a smile, but it's one of the ones that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. An expression that you know is more for you than it is for himself.

You think the two of you have a lot in common, then. That maybe the two of you understand the same loneliness. The same feeling of being haunted.

Your ghosts live on in the trunk at the end of your bed and at the back of your cupboard, covered in dust, tucked away out of sight.

Vash’s live on inside of him, and it’s where he seems determined to keep them.

In that moment you know that even if you were to ask, he’d tell you nothing—and he’d do it for your own sake.

Tomorrow you’ll wake and the air will smell bitter and burnt, and he’ll be gone, but your boot will be mended, and the little pot of glue will remind you he was there. But tonight you’ll dream about the place your Mama told you about, and tomorrow you’ll still have the smell that clings to your sheets. So for now, the world smells different.

And that has to be enough.

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash x reader #vash x you #vash the stampede #trigun stampede fic #trigun stampede writing #writing

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genericpuff · 3 months ago

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WTs behavior sure is... *something* to watch as a latecommer. you've covered it all better than I can articulate but damn does it ever haunt that they've essentially tripled-down on Rachel as the winning racehorse, someone who's historically been the most "go girl give us nothing" (if not worse than nothing) of all their past bigshots even w/o the trust in the show sinking lower and lower day by silent day.

It's not a profound remark but I stand in the on going scene like "This is it? Your plan?" as they keep digging. They desperately need something new to have breakout popularity, but they can't do that if they don't take in new blood, which they won't because new blood is a risk, etc. And so the scene is damned anew.

look, off the non-existent record that is my shitposting blog, as someone who just spent half an hour listening to their recent conference call with Goldman Sachs... in my very humble opinion, there is allegedly a metric FUCKTON of copium being huffed and I don't think the Goldman Sachs rep even realizes how much he's being talked down to. It's actually fucking hilarious. And I'm just a dweeb on the Internet, I shouldn't be sitting here picking up on the condescending vibes for what they are throughout a meeting that talks about shit like investment opportunities and quarterly returns and advertising metrics but... let's just say, WT's CFO David Lee's statement, "...proof will be in quarters I release, and I'm humbled by the reaction to my Q2 release which, again, I have to say, I thought I over delivered every single metric... but here we are, and I just have to continue to post results I guess to help educate all of you on the business I think we have" is even more passive aggressive to hear than it is to read, soooo here we are. Like, the chirpy tone in his voice just makes me think of this:

and yeah at this point they're beating the dead horse that is LO harder than the critical community is because even the critical community has largely moved on with their lives and only talk about it casually with other critical readers; meanwhile Webtoons is seriously over here trying to sell people on LO as if it's still 2021 and they're not years late to the party 💀 Even that quote I included in my last post saying that Rachel got started "4 or 5 years ago"... Lore Olympus launched in the Canvas section in 2017 and then as an Originals in March 2018. It's been longer than 4 years, Mr. Lee, and at this point the amount of time that's passed since selling its TV rights to Jim Henson Company will exceed the amount of time it took to even complete the comic in the first place 😭😆 The time to capitalize on LO's success was when it was successful, not 3-4 years after the fact.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #webtoon critical #i hope Webtoons cries about how mean i am in their next meeting :) <3 #and i'm not joking btw when i say the way he said that statement is SO FUCKING SALTY #it's literally like “i tHoUgHt i oVeR-dELiVeReD eVeRy siNgLe mEtRiC”#idk if i can legally share the audio #but trust me it's wild

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lettersfromaphrodite · 2 years ago

Text

«it's high tide, baby.»

― pairing : Minho x fem!Reader ― content warnings : fantasy au, pirate au, angst with a happy ending, enemies to friends to lovers, soulmates (I know you saw it coming), isekai, LOTS of pop culture references (two aldo giovanni and giacomo’s references italian readers this is for you), magic au, mention of murder, mention of drowning, unprotected sex (wrap it up y’all), fantasy au ― word count : 24k ― notes : I sure do hope you’ve read Chris’ merman fic because I’m feeding on my own lore // Ananke is meant as the greek goddess of fate // extra kudos to Black Desert for having an amazing map and kudos to me for using the videogame aesthetic because I don’t have enough creativity in me to come up with a fantasy world // I have one (1) fear and that's I'll keep adding more and more everytime I read this story because it's just so dear and precious to me // yes, yes "The Bitter Dahlia" is exactly the one mentioned in «Protect Me, My Aurora.»

― notes : this fic looks familiar?it is! I’m reposting ALL my works on this brand new blog and therefore please, bear with me! as always, askbox is always open and feedbacks are always welcome 💌

― summary :

«I think I’ve never missed Cleo so much.» you quietly sniffled. «Your lover?» Minho questioned immediately. «My cat.» you clarified without hesitation.

“«Everything is over, now.» the Captain spoke in a confident voice, «I won’t let anyone else hurt you.» he added, before capturing his lover’s lip in a gentle kiss.” «Oh, holy fuck,» you blurted out as soon as you read that sentence, closing the book out of instinct, «holy shit, finally!» you added to yourself, almost closing the book out of excitement, completely aware about the fact that you were smiling like an idiot at no one but the now finished book in your lap but well, you couldn’t help yourself.

It was a book you’ve randomly found in the book-store next to your workplace, its cover had nothing special that immediately jumped to the eye: it was relegated in leather, some golden details that recalled the title written in beautiful handwriting. Actually, if you had to be completely honest, the detail that convinced you to buy it was the small golden stone embedded right under the title, instead of the actual plot – plot that in the end you came to adore.

«You are really lucky, this is the only copy that has been sent to us.» had said the old lady working there, making you furtherly curious and giving you another reason to buy it.

It was a love story, but it contained just the right amount of adventure as well. Christopher, a young, handsome and fearless pirate, was not only the Captain of the Golden Fleece – who was capable of intimidating anyone who saw its sails in the distance, but he had become the head of the entire commercial network that passed through all the known seas. Chris had at least 200 fleets under his command, each of them committing various raids in the name of their Captain - or some might say "the King of Pirates", and now was able to sail wherever he wanted without getting his hands dirty as he had done in the past.

During his adventures, he eventually fell in love with a girl – Leana, who was originally engaged with a navy’s soldier; after an awful lot of vicissitudes and obstacles in the path of their happiness, Christopher eventually stole her away – he’s a pirate after all, making her a member of his crew and finally allowing each other to live their so craved love story.

Of course, the Captain would have never made it alone; his seven long time friends had always been more than ready to help him and support him in every case of need.

Among his crew, you definitely had a personal favourite: Lee Minho, a young former bounty hunter enamoured with the feeling of freedom he felt while sailing that definitely made your heart race more than once. Not only he was described as handsome, with black raven hair that would almost always be tied up because he "hated the feeling of having hair in his face while being on deck" - but also not wanting to cut it short, a captivating and hypnotic gaze that let you wonder if you could reach the bottom of the sea if you ever took a dive into them, but he was also straightforward and sarcastic, a reason why Christopher found himself asking for Minho’s advice the most; despite his strong personality, he truly cared for his friends, and he considered them like a family. Chapter by chapter, you found yourself admiring his character so much that you anticipated every one of his appearances, eager to read more about him.

«Oh, Cleo, can you imagine a love like this?» you sighed dreamily, absently running your fingers through your cat’s thick fur, Cleo simply mewled at you, a faint noise that you interpreted as a proper answer, «or a life like this.» you added, your voice suddenly turning a little more hesitant, a little more lonelier. During the last few months, your life had fallen into an incredibly boring and obnoxious loop: go to work, finish your shift with an incredible amount of stress spreading through your body just to stop in order to buy groceries on your way home, see some friends once in a while, take care of your cat and repeat, repeat, repeat.

Of course, you would have felt a lot lonelier if it weren’t for Cleo: you found her sitting in front of your apartment complex on a random day two years ago and since then she started living with you, as if she had been expressively been waiting for you to find her that day.

«You always look angry, don’t you?» you cooed at her, hoisting her into your lap as to cuddle her a little closer. «Just like your mom.» you referred to yourself, shortly drowning your face in her soft fur, loudly smooching her a few times while adding some incomprehensible praises; Cleo mewled, as if she was exasperated at your behaviour and you quietly giggled, your soft laughter shifting into a sigh as your eyes fell on the book once again.

“I was really lucky to get the only copy of this,” you definitely had loved everything about the story, to the point to start fantasizing and wondering what could their next adventure be now that the crew gained a new very special member. Did Chris and Leana got married in an actual chapel or did they ask someone in their crew to randomly marry them just like Elizabeth Swann and Will Turner did? At the same time, what if they ended up recruiting more women? The thought of a stereotypical girls night on a pirate ship made you snort, but at least, Leana wouldn't have felt lonely, since living among men must have been boring at some point.

Engrossed in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you ended up drifting off on your couch – still uncomfortably wearing your jeans, and therefore, you definitely could not notice about the strange events occurring as soon as sleep overcame your senses.

The book you were holding in your hand seemed to be woken up by a curious kind of magic, as the golden stone began to glow in a faint light; the book opened by itself just as if it possessed personal will, and its pages quickly turned back and forth by themselves, as if it was deciding which page to read first.

The book’s golden glow gradually seemed to shine brighter and brighter, and it eventually woke you up.

«What the-» you mumbled, confused, when you felt as if someone or something was harshly tugging at your soul and all of a sudden, you felt like you couldn’t breathe anymore.

The book had closed once again, politely placing itself on your coffee table; the glowing had completely disappeared, and the golden stone returned to its original plain looking appearance.

However, in what has always been your home, all traces of your presence seemed to have vanished altogether.

Suddenly drowning was definitely not something you expected to happen on a Thursday evening, moreover, how could you be drowning when you’ve been reading on your couch until few seconds ago?

At first you thought of it as an extremely vivid dream, but as soon as you tried to breathe and water started to fill your lungs, you realized that your only priority was to get to the surface as soon as you could; thankfully, you were barely beneath the surface, so you managed to get your head out of the water soon enough, while finally breathing and coughing due to the salt water you had unintentionally swallowed.

«What the fuck?!» you shouted in disbelief, quickly glancing around yourself; first of all, judging by the sun burning up in the sky, it was the middle of the day, and moreover, everywhere you turned, you couldn’t see anything but water, except for an enormous galleon blocking part of your sight.

«Man at sea!» you heard many voices shout from its deck, and soon enough, a rope was thrown in your direction.

“What kind of rescue is this, where is the coast guard?” you thought to yourself as you swam towards the rope which was peacefully floating above the surface, unsure about how you were supposed to climb up there in the first place.

However, the answer to your thoughts came pretty fast, in the form of a boy dressed in typical piratesque clothes, urging you to grab his hand; you quickly pondered your options, and between dying from hypothermia caused by the cold water or probably being abducted and eventually killed by a boy with a strange taste in clothing, you considered the latter to be the safest.

«Everything’s fine now, don’t worry.» the boy reassured you with an unexpected friendly tone, and as soon as you locked eyes with him, your heart seemed to stop; his eyes were a deep shade of blue, while his hair, eyebrows and his eyelashes were as white as fresh snow.

Although you were completely certain that you’ve never met him before, you couldn’t help but wonder why his appearance was extremely familiar to you.

«Are you okay?» «How did you end up so far from land?» «She’s trembling like a leaf, poor soul.» «Let’s just throw her back in.» «Shut up, Minho, go fetch a blanket before she freezes to death.» «Can’t you see she looks shocked? Let her breathe!» «What in the bloody hell is she wearing?» The various voices overlapped in the exact moment in which you and the snow white boy had safely climbed on deck; however, everything you could do was to look around yourself in complete astonishment.

A large group of men was working on the ship, while only seven of them and a young girl were paying attention to your arrival; your eyes quickly took in both the strangers and your surroundings, and you definitely noticed that not only they were all dressed like pirates, but the ship seemed to be built exactly like one of those you generally saw in movies, historical re-enactments or museums.

«Oh no, roleplayers.» you whined in complete deject; they exchanged a confused glance among themselves, but eventually, only one of them spoke.

«I believe you’re confused, we’re pirates.» he clarified, and once again, his features seemed to be incredibly familiar, «I’m Chris, the Captain. She is Leana, my wife, and these are my friends.» you watched with dismay as Chris ended up naming his friends just like the characters of the novel you have been reading all afternoon.

«Oh holy shit, it’s even worse, cosplayers.» you nervously rubbed your eyes, shivering every now and then because of the wind mercilessly blowing on your soaked clothes.

«Poor thing, look at her!» Leana suddenly cooed, immediately rushing at your side and taking her jacket off in order to place it on your shoulders, «She’s freezing, let’s save the introductions for later, huh?»

«What if she’s a spy?» Jisung questioned, but his option was immediately silenced by Leana’s glare.

«In the middle of the ocean, Han?» she quickly retorted with sarcasm dripping from her tone, «What if it was mutiny?» she scoffed, gently pushing you to what seemed to be the Captain’s quarter, just to quickly make you sit in front of the small wood burning stove.

The following events seemed to happen in a confusing haze, you vividly remembered Leana commenting about her unfamiliarity with both the style and the fabric of your clothes as you allowed her both to undress you and to dress you up in fresh, warm clothes that belonged to her. Of course, now you were dressed like a pirate as well.

«What do you mean, you’re from Europe?» Chris had calmly repeated your words, «What kind of place is that?» you felt like crying out of frustration at his words. Under the Captain’s request Leanahad brought you into the ship’s interrogation room, and now you were sitting there, the whole room definitely smelling like blood – the strong scent more than enough to give you a headache, with nine pairs of eyes studying every single one of your moves.

«I don’t really feel like joking right now, I really want to go back home.» you repeated with a tired voice, not really understanding what was happening; it was like you had casually walked in the set of a movie, however, a terrifying feeling of dread creeping in your soul was suggesting you that there was definitely more to it. What if these people were real, and you had managed to shift inside the book you loved so much? No, that definitely couldn’t be the case, right?

«I don’t really feel like joking either, little lady,» in an impatient tone, Minho spoke out of the blue and quickly walked next to Chris, who was sitting in front of you at the other side of the table. If your heart picked up pace in happiness at the sight of your favourite character, it started hammering in your chest in pure dread as soon as Minho harshly planted his dagger in the wooden table, right in front of your folded hands. «next up is your tongue.»

«Nice work on terrifying her, Min Min.» Felix sarcastically commented his friend’s action, noticing how you started trembling once again, but this time everyone could easily figure out that it wasn’t because of the cold any longer.

«You cut her tongue, she can't talk, it's not that hard,» someone added, and if you weren't mistaken, he must have been Hyunjin, «see why I'm the one that usually handles the interrogation part?» he added with a sinister yet smug smile, and you had to force yourself to swallow that little bit of saliva you felt in your mouth, trying to avoid eye contact with both the pirates who were so casually talking about torture and interrogations.

«What if she drank too much sea water?» Seungmin chimed in, after he had been studying your behaviour with concern, «You know, in my medical books there are plenty of examples of people suffering from amnesia due to a huge amount of shock.» he suggested, and everyone seemed to consider that it could have been your case, with the only exception for Minho, who was staring at you with a look that you could swear that had probably killed someone at some point.

«We are currently sailing the Margoria Sea,» Chris spoke again, his voice a little kinder now that he had considered Seungmin’s suggestion, «and you’re on our pirate ship, the Golden Fleece.»

“Margoria,” you thought, “of course, in this universe, she's the goddess of the waves” you bit the inside of your cheek in frustration as you tried to convince yourself not to cry, recalling the exact moment the same goddess had been mentioned in the novel.

The more you thought about it, the more the surreal possibility of you shifting inside a book seemed to be the only possible answer to your list of infinite questions, especially because if those people really were cosplayers or actors, they would have eventually broken their act due to seeing you in the verge of having a panic attack. Moreover, the author had always been extremely descriptive in every single detail of the story, and therefore you found it a little bit too much of a strange coincidence for these people to naturally have the same somatic traits as the characters you had just finished reading about. It was undeniable that the people standing in front of you were the stark copy of the ones described in the book.

Few hours later, Chris’ authoritative voice filled the Captain’s quarters, and your eyes eagerly wandered through the room; you’ve read about this moment a lot of times, Chris would summon his long time friends in his quarters and they’d discuss what to do because he valued their opinion as if it was his own.

«Just, what is she doing there?» Minho spoke suddenly, clearly referring to your presence in the quarters; due to your first meeting, you were extremely wary about meeting his gaze, let alone the possibility of crossing his path by accident.

Actually, it’s not like destiny was working in your favour, since you were nervously standing in front of the wooden wall and next to Minho. Everything about your body language exposed how nervous you were about it: your arms were crossed in front of your chest, and you kept your legs spread just a tiny bit – enough to have a slight chance to attempt to sprint away if he randomly started to chase you in order to throw you off the deck.

«I swear Chris entrusted her to me literally two seconds ago,» Felix replied, eagerly waving his hand as if it could make his point even clearer, «pay attention when the Captain is speaking!» he snapped his fingers, admonished his friend, and you found yourself exhale the faintest trace of the hint of a brief laughter through your nose.

However, much to your dismay, you quickly realized that Minho’s hearing must have been otherworldly, since the barely audible noise you made did not go unnoticed by his ears, consequently making your face turn blank as soon as you felt his gaze burning into the side of your head. Hesitantly, you slowly turned your head to your right, confirming that Minho was most definitely staring at you; out of reflex, you immediately looked away, just to glance back at him for a short second.

Minho, who had been staring at you, secretly pleased about the fact that you seemed scared enough not to try some stupid tricks on them, shortly uncrossed his arms from the front of his chest, just to slightly lean towards you: he quickly mimicked the gesture of grabbing something with his hands, while mimicking a bite with his mouth at the same time. Instinctively, you rapidly tilted your head back as you followed your survival instinct, but you heavily slammed your head against the wooden wall behind you.

«Ow!» you winced in pain, grabbing the back of your head with both hands; you were certain that the impact you just felt was more than enough to give you a headache for days, and still, despite Leana immediately rushed at your side to see if you were okay, and despite the fact that you were crouching on the floor massaging your head, Minho kept his original position, staring in front of him as if nothing had happened.

Seungmin was right behind Leana, attentively cradling your head to see if you actually managed to hurt yourself; unbeknownst to you, Seungmin was actually holding back an amused laughter, since it has definitely been a while since he met someone as clumsy as you.

A couple of days later almost everyone seemed to have accepted you as a new entry of the crew; actually, you considered yourself lucky since most of the pirates on board seemed to not even notice your presence. Of course, you ended up going along with the amnesia excuse because the whole “you look like you all popped up from a book I’ve been reading and I’m trying to understand if I’m having a very vivid dream or I ended up shifting on accident but I actually didn’t really mean it and now I want to go back.” would have been definitely too troublesome to explain. Most importantly, you didn’t feel ready to process what could have happened to you but also, you didn’t want to face the realization that you had suddenly appeared in the middle of nowhere, without a real possibility to get back home safely.

Honestly you were pretty much useless on a pirate ship, and therefore you ended up in the kitchen, either helping Felix and the other cooks in their task of preparing the food or just cleaning and preparing the room where the pirates formed small groups and took turns to have their meals.

If the truth was that you really ended up in a novel, you had to admit that everyone beside Minho acted accordingly to their character. Chris and Leana acted as two lovebirds, completely smitten with each other; you rarely saw them – let’s guess why, but they overall seemed to act friendly towards you. Leana had eagerly helped you decorate the room that had been assigned to you, it was a little small and right next to the storage room – the window was wide enough for you to escape just in case, but it was perfectly okay to you, since you were hoping that you wouldn’t have to remain on the ship for too long.

Since Leana seemed to trust you, so did Chris; despite the fact that you’ve interacted only a handful of times, he seemed as reliable as he had been portrayed in the novel.

Felix and Seungmin were definitely the ones you’ve seen the most. Felix was literally acting as your keeper, paying attention to you as if he was a concerned older brother and not someone who you had met few days earlier. Still, you could expect this from him, since he had always been described as the kindest one out of their group – beside Jeongin.

Seungmin had examined your head a concerning amount of times by now, if you were to ask him; actually, he had quickly realized that you were pretending to have headaches only when Minho was around, and he simply got along with it. He treated you with respect, even if he seemed to be a little wary of your presence. «Let’s hope you can get your memories back soon,» he would say, «so that you can return home safely.» you never answered, his words always making your heart tighten as a reflexive answer.

Changbin, Jisung and Hyunjin were almost always nowhere to be seen; thanks to the author you knew that they had a gambling addiction, however, the only times you saw them they were joined by the hips, always joking around with each other – and Minho, always looking too busy to pay too much attention to you.

Jeongin was basically the miniature version of Chris: you knew that the Captain had saved him when he was still a little kid, and since then Jeongin had always followed Chris’ lead. He was the one that seemed to respect you the most, he was also absolutely certain that you must have been a Princess of a faraway land. «I’m really no one.» you would answer every time with an apologetic smile, earning a sad pout from the younger boy.

Minho, however, was openly against the idea of keeping you on board, and often suggested to throw you off the deck as soon as you started being too annoying. You couldn’t understand why he was so mean to you, and you weren’t definitely the only one to notice; more than once, the others had admonished his behaviour, reiterating the fact that he should have been a little bit nicer to you, especially after what you have been through.

«That’s exactly the point, Chris, we don’t know! She could be a siren or just a lunatic witch,» you overheard him argue with the Captain one day, «face it, if that were the case, no one would be immune to her spells, not even your beloved wife.» your hands instinctively clenched on the broomstick you were holding to sweep the floor of the corridors, and your gaze was lost somewhere in the wooden floor.

«She might as well be telling the truth,» you heard Chris answer in his usual calm tone, «I don’t want to deny her a shelter just because she lost her memories, because that sure wasn’t her fault.»

«What are we listening to?» Changbin’s voice right next to your ear almost made you jump out of your skin due to the sudden fright; his eyes widened in stupor as you almost dropped your hold on your broomstick – thing which would have definitely expose the fact that you were overhearing a very secret conversation. Luckily, Changbin’s reflexes were drastically quicker than yours, and so he collected the broomstick just in time, before handing it to you once again with an amused smirk. He placed his ear against the door, quickly connecting the animated argument to your sad expression and he gently smiled to you in an unexpected friendly manner.

«Don't worry too much about it, Ace, he’ll come around.» Changbin briefly stated before walking away, heading back towards the deck at the end of the corridor without uttering another word; you shortly stood there, speechless, staring at his withering shoulders as his silhouette gradually disappeared in the light coming from outside.

“What the hell?” you thought, incredulous: Changbin had barely spoken to you and now he decided to give you a random and most definitely sarcastic nickname and offer you words of comfort, all of a sudden?

“Something bad is definitely gonna happen,” you quickly deduced, going back to your original task; you were about to start sweeping the floor once again, before an ominous aura seemed to fill the packed space of the corridor.

“There it is,” you announced to yourself, refusing to turn around to confirm the suspicion that Minho had left Chris’ chambers, “oh, divine Xena, mighty princess forged in the heat of battle,please help me with this one,” you instinctively moved out of inertia, backing towards the nearest wall as Minho was walking towards your frame.

“Here we go, it’s him!” you dramatically thought, hugging the broomstick to your chest as if your life depended on it, the only shield between you and Minho, who was standing in front of you with his usual furious stare that magically seemed to disappear as soon as his eyes diverted from your general direction.

«I don’t know what you did to have everyone wrapped around your little finger, but that’s not gonna work with me, princess.» Minho spoke with a harsh tone, cornering you against the wall by placing his left hand next to your head; silence fell between the two of you, and you instinctively clenched your fists around the broomstick, just to be able to attempt to defend yourself in some kind of way.

Could you do self defence while using a broom? Of course. Could you defend yourself against Minho, judging the sheer force he used to plant a dagger in a thick wooden table? Of course not.

Minho spent few seconds studying your face with incredible attention, as if, if he stared hard enough, you would transform into a whole different creature, confirming his theories about you. However, Minho momentarily seemed to have forgotten the concept of personal space, because his nose brushed against yours at least twice as you were doing your best to avoid his piercing gaze.

«Now that I take a closer look, you’re definitely not as pretty as a siren.» he suddenly stated with a sly grin while raising his eyebrow, before detaching from you altogether, just to walk towards the deck’s direction.

«And you had to almost kiss me to find out?» you yelled back a little louder than intended as soon as he was at a reasonable distance; to say that you were outraged was an understatement, you were furious.

To think Minho was your favourite character when you were reading the novel, what were you, crazy?

Despite the fact that you were genuinely doing your best to avoid meeting Minho, the pirate was clearly doing the opposite, neutralizing every single one of your good purposes as the two of you seemed to keep running into each other. It didn’t matter whether you were simply doing your assigned chores or you were peacefully chatting with one of the pirates, he always seemed to find something to do in order to get on your nerves; sometimes he would just accidentally knock random things off the table so that you had to pick them up and clean them again, other times he would interrupt a conversation just to be mean at you.

Minho was definitely getting on your nerves, but you did your best not to pay too much attention to him, since you definitely had more important things to think about. Inside your heart, the growing feeling of homesickness was constantly calling for your attention; you often found yourself on the verge of tears, but it was a side of you that you were determined not to show to anyone, thing that lead you to cry yourself to sleep more than once.

The part of the crew assigned to the kitchen, of course, always had their meal before the others did, and more than once it led to your small group of friend to join, and today was not exception. Walking out of the kitchen, you saw Minho, Jeongin, Chris, Jisung and Seungmin sitting at one of the long tables in the room while eating and loudly chatting, and now that Jeongin was hastily and eagerly waving his arm to let you know that you should have sat next to him to have your quick lunch, you realized that yet another time, you couldn’t escape your fate of avoiding Minho as if he was the plague.

«May I, uh...» you walked next to Leana, who was walking towards their table as well; she immediately tilted her head towards you, listening, «May I approach the bitch?» she bursted out laughing really loudly, immediately understanding that you were talking about Minho; however, that happy and hilarious bubble of joy disappeared the same moment you heard Hyunjin’s voice right behind the both of you.

«What did you say?» never did the simple request to repeat something seem more dangerous; you swallowed, feeling your blood turn cold in the same moment the flashback of him mentioning his “interrogation habits” popped into your mind. However, the few weeks you spent living among pirates were teaching you how to build up your courage – or more like “fake it until you make it”, as someone would say.

«I said “may I approach the bench”,» you answered, pretending to be annoyed with the useless repetition of your sentence, nodding towards the long benches that you were using instead of chairs, «what did you think I said?»

The crew was incredibly hungry that day, you could easily tell from the speed at which they ate and the various groups took turns, thing that didn’t give you much occasion to chat with them as you often did; instead, you were frantically walking back and forth from the kitchen, helping two other pirates to deliver food to everyone.

“Maybe if I find a similar book I can get home,” you thought as you absently piled the dirty and empty plates on top of each other before carrying them to the kitchen, just to come back with clean ones, “where am I supposed to find a book in the open sea?” you sighed in deject, not liking the direction of your thoughts.

«I think you missed a spot, princess.» Minho’s arrogant tone caught your attention, and you watched with total unbewildrement the pirate hit the side of one of the wooden jugs placed on the tables, knocking it to the ground and spilling the water on the floor.

As if you were under a magic spell, all the traces of sadness seemed to vanish from your soul, just to be replaced by sheer anger; you were beyond furious, how dare he? He didn’t trust you, and you could understand his point of view; it pained you to admit to yourself that if you were in his shoes, you would have probably done the same. However, you could endure the teasing, you could endure everything he was putting you through but you definitely drew the line at this kind of disrespect. You closed your fist so tightly that you were absolutely sure that your fingertips would feel momentarily numb as soon as you tried to open your hands, and you were certain that your nails were digging a half crescent moon shape in your skin.

However, you and Minho were not the only one left in the room; Hyunjin, Changbin, Chris and few other crew members were not finished eating and therefore, they saw all the scene unfolding.

«Hey, fuck face!» you loudly called out, claiming both Minho and the other’s attention, «I get you feel powerful because you can swing a fucking sword, but you should learn to respect people who are working!» you stood your grounds, ignoring your heart wildly hammering in your chest and the nervousness you felt as soon as Minho stopped walking, just to turn towards you.

«You’re that interested in losing your head, huh?» Minho replied with an undecipherable gaze, quickly walking back towards you.

If there was a god out there, you were certain that they must have glanced towards your direction in that same moment, because right before Minho could close the distance between the two of you, Changbin’s shoulders appeared in your field of view.

«Calm down, buddy,» Changbin was still peacefully chewing on his food as he stopped him, placing a hand on the pirate’s chest, who tilted his head just enough to keep furiously glance at you.

«If we were still home, I would have get you arrested!» you spat, your chest tightening at the thought of your home town but also incredibly thankful to Changbin.

«Again with those stories? You sure do have flowers growing in your head, princess!» Minho immediately answered, trying to walk around Changbin, who was still pushing against his chest.

However, what no one actually expected was for you to actually try to confront Minho from up close, attempting to walk around Changbin as well; honestly, you were too furious to notice that you were about to face a pirate while completely unarmed and not knowing how to fight.

«Easy there,» Hyunjin suddenly spoke with amusement from behind your shoulders, placing his arms under your armpits just to stop you and hold you back.

«Say that to him, not to me!» you tried to free yourself without success; Hyunjin was very strong despite his slim figure and therefore, even when you kicked both your legs in the air while urging him to let you go, he didn’t move the slightest.

«Don’t you think this is the kind of energy we need on board, Binnie?» Hyunjin laughed, eagerly chatting as he had no trouble holding you back; Changbin scoffed a laugh as well, since it’s been a while since he saw Minho getting riled up that easily.

«That’s enough,» Chris’ authoritative voice seemed to be the only thing that could calm the atmosphere; «you, go back to your room.» he told you in a scolding tone.

«What?!» you whined, «I didn’t do anything!» you added, trying to wiggle out of Hyunjin’s hold once again.

«Don’t challenge my authority,» Chris shortly admonished you, his stern gaze not leaving any room to debate his decision, before turning his attention towards Minho, «you’re going to your room as well.»

«What?!» Minho asked in astonishment, not believing his Captain’s orders.

«I don’t want to see the two of you on deck until at least tomorrow morning.» Chris added, and that was your call to understand that the argument was officially over.

Hyunjin had offered to accompany you to your room, and as soon as you were about to walk out the door, you slightly turned towards Minho: you placed your index finger on your lower eyelid, tugging on the skin as you shortly sticked out your tongue as well. Still, you immediately turned around, so that you couldn’t see Changbin struggling not to laugh, reaching out to stop Minho once again, who was glancing at him with a murderous look.

“I want to go home,” you whined to yourself as soon as you were sitting on your bed once again; you laid down on your back, missing the sensation of Cleo immediately walking up and cuddle at your side. You wondered what happened back home, even though you were certain that your cat had found a way out of your apartment, since the window was still open when you had fallen asleep, however, what about your friends? Was someone worried about your sudden disappearance? Moreover, judging by the amount of days that had passed, you had most definitely lost your job.

«Ah, I hope they choose a nice pic of me if I made it to the news as a missing person.» you mumbled to yourself, your gaze lost in the wooden tiles of your ceiling.

“I could draw tiny lines on the wall to count the days I’m spending on here,” the sudden idea popped up in your mind, only for you to abandon it as quickly as it came. First of all, you didn’t have a knife – let alone a dagger or a sword, and therefore it would be impossible for you to engrave marks in the wall, most importantly, what if they found out and you had to repay for the things you’ve damaged? Those were the basic things happening back home, and although you were unsure about various dynamics of the world you were in, you didn’t want to try your luck. Chris looked scary while pissed off, and you read about how cruel he could be, you definitely needed him on your side.

“I could try to run away as soon as we reach the first port,” you wondered, but that option was discarded as well; although touching land was the only thing to confirm the shifting theory, you didn’t know what could have happened if it was the truth. Abduction and prostitution were sadly pretty much real in that world as well, and once again, you decided that the safest option was to stick around Chris and his crew; after all, what could harm you if he was in charge of basically everything and everyone sailing above the water’s surface?

Minho’s menacious glare appeared in your mind, and you reached out to grab the pillow from under your neck just to slam it against your face, “it’s not like I can throw a meteor at him, I’m not Zhongli,”, you thought, before suddenly sitting up in bed. «Who’s going to do my daily commissions in Genshin Impact now?!» you mumbled to yourself, thinking about all the time you’ve spent playing – time that of course had been wasted due to what happened.

Someone knocked on your door, and you genuinely wondered about pretending to be asleep in order to avoid giving explanation about what happened at dinner; nevertheless, you allowed the person in.

«Hi there,» Felix greeted with his usual cheerful tone, «I heard you caused quite a riot today.» he added, placing a small tray with a glass of water and a plate of stew on the small table next to your bed; you sighed, falling back to the bed and hoping that those blankets could swallow your frame and teleport you back home.

«I didn’t do anything, Felix,» you clarified, «Minho just hates me for no reason.» «Well..» «Please, don’t tell me this is the part where you say things like “he hasn’t always been like this”, or something.» you immediately added, preventing him from talking any further.

«Nah, he’s always been like this.» Felix quickly shook his head, sitting on the small mattress and next to your knees; he tapped your thigh twice, telling you to sit up so that you could eat dinner. «Keep up that attitude though, it’s funny to watch.» he chuckled, his face quietly shifting into a concerned frown as he noticed how you kept playing with your food instead of actually eating it.

Maybe from the outside your interactions with Minho were unusual enough to be considered funny, but to you they were incredibly stressful.

First of all, Minho had always been your favourite character, and you would have never imagined that he could despise your presence so much; most importantly, he had always been described as a whole different person, and you found yourself wondering why you wanted to be accepted by him so much. You were aware that late at night the dining room became the meeting point where some pirates gathered to drink and gamble, both because you had read it in the novel and because some sleepless nights you had passed in front of its door as you were walking towards the deck, hearing the echo of thunderous laughter or the loud chatter of the ones who lost and were unhappy with the rules. Sometimes the door wasn’t even completely close, and as you peeked inside on your way through the corridor, you could see Minho joke around and laugh with the others, thing that always made you feel sad and somehow, lonely.

«Aren’t you hungry?» Felix gently asked, noticing how you went silent all of a sudden. «It’s not that funny, though: he acts like I’m going to annihilate everyone while you sleep and well – he basically adores you.» you ignored his question, instead referring to the fact that he was the only one he didn’t threaten to kill anytime Lix called him “Min Min”.

«I’ll tell you a super secret secret,» Felix started to whisper, and you shifted your gaze on his lips, making sure that you could effectively understand what he was about to say, «me and Minho are half brothers.»

«What?!» you immediately shrieked out of disbelief, that was never mentioned in the novel! You clearly recalled their background stories: Minho was a bounty hunter, while Felix was… Felix… Well, he was…

“Now that I think of it, Felix’s past hasn’t been mentioned, not even once.” your questioning gaze met Felix, who eagerly nodded at the silent questions in your eyes.

«Our mother remarried,» he explained, before interrupting himself, «now that I think of it, mom and Minho’s father weren’t married – well, that’s not important.» Felix dismissively waved his hand in front of himself, and for the next hour, you had eventually started eating as you listened to his stories about him and Minho; despite all the times you wanted to clarify that “yes, I already know this part,” you kept silent, smiling at Felix’s eagerness and at the affection towards his brother that you could feel through his words.

«He’s really amazing,» he praised, «he’s always protected me since we were kids – you know, my… hair colour is a bit unusual.» he admitted, recalling the times when Minho would come home covered in bruises because he had protected Felix from being bullied.

«It’s beautiful, though,» you immediately replied, making Felix widen his eyes in sudden surprise, «you look like you've walked out of a fairy tale... and really, it suits you.» you added, making the pirate smile with a sad smile.

«I often said I could dye it, but Minho was always against the idea.» he said, but your attention was focused elsewhere.

“So, hair dye exist in this world as well?” the gears in your brain started to spin and twirl as you thought; once again, it had never been mentioned in the novel, but you thought that the author didn’t need to, since the story revolved around Chris’ point of view.

«Get some rest, princess,» Felix excused himself, collecting the now empty tray as he stood up; you nodded, the side of your lips curling into a small smile at how different the nickname sounded as it was spoken by the two brothers, «I’ll try to talk to him.» he reassured, and for a second, you decided to believe him.

Much to your dismay, nothing had changed after a week, leaving you to your usual routine; however, you had to admit that you barely saw Minho around, and when you did, you adverted your gaze before he could meet yours. It was as if, unlike the first days, he was keeping his distance as well, and you were grateful to Felix for it. “If you can’t defeat them, become their friend, some said!” you thought, “well, I failed miserably.”

Felix was now basically what you could call your best friend, as he had declared more than once; he always insisted for you to sit next to him when you were eating, and once you were finished with your daily chores, he would explain the most random things to you. Actually, you were incredibly grateful to him because you were finally able to tie a knot on a rope, thing which would have come handy if you ever decided to escape.

Most importantly, you and Felix had something really particular in common, and that was your admiration towards Chris’ and Leana’s relationship. The poor couple could have been simply standing in front of each other talking about the most random things and you would say something like «they’re so pretty I could punch myself in the face,» immediately echoed by Felix that would reply «wait for it, he’s gonna move a strand of hair behind her ear because of the wind,» and the both of you would dreamily coo at them as Chris did exactly what Felix had predicted.

Seungmin was still visiting you every now and then – mostly when you pretended that your head hurt because you saw Minho appearing out of nowhere and he was definitely too close for comfort, but nonetheless he spent most of his days in his study.

Jeongin was mostly spending his time with Seungmin, now, the older pirate insisting that he needed an assistant because he was tired to everything on his own, and Jeongin eagerly following his orders.

Jisung, Changbin and Hyunjin were now seeing you in a whole different light: the day you fearlessly challenged Minho seemed to have made you earn their respect, and they often tried to lure you into joining a gamble match with them. «Thanks, but I don’t know the rules,» you dismissively answered every time, and as soon as one of them suggested they could teach you, you immediately added that you didn’t have anything valuable you could gamble on.

Leana was more or less, an addiction to the piece of furniture in your small room; anytime she wasn’t with Chris, she would keep you company, telling you about the most various and dangerous adventures they have lived while sailing. You eagerly listened to her, often interrupting her to ask for more details, thing that she never seemed to mind, answering your question with the same eagerness. Leana’s stories were a perfect indicator for you to deduce that between what happened in the book and your arrival on the ship, at least three years seemed to have passed; years in which Chris’ domain on the sea had become even more clear.

«It’s like being on of those cruise ships; no one dares attacking us and we can do whatever we want to, I love it.» she confessed, voicing her hopes about you liking being on board as well; you didn’t trust yourself, and therefore you simply nodded.

«Come on, girls night,» Leana had announced one day as she sat on your bed, and you furrowed your eyebrows in obvious reluctance, familiar with the concept of her words; «has anyone caught your eye?» Leana’s eyes seemed to glimmer in curiosity, and you found yourself sigh in deject.

«Yes, I mean, no.» you spoke, unclear, confusing yourself as well. What were you supposed to say? You’ve never looked at anyone under that particular light, after all!

“Well, actually…” you immediately stopped the train of your thoughts: Minho was undoubtedly charming and handsome, but he was behaving like a complete jerk towards you, and therefore you sighed, resigning yourself to your fate as you met Leana’s curious gaze.

«Minho is cute, but don’t tell him I said so, I particularly like my head attached to my neck.» you confessed, panicking as you saw her eyes widen in disbelief.

«I would have bet money on Felix!» she yelled, just to lower her voice mid-sentence, staring at you in complete astonishment.

«Felix is really cute, but everything’s really very… platonic.» you explained, avoiding saying something she would have found too weird and incomprehensible like “he’s always nice andhe gives me really good vibes!”

However, Leana seemed to ponder your words about Minho, confessing that one morning, she saw Felix and Minho talking very animately, as if they were arguing about something. «Now that I think about it, it was the morning after you’ve been both confined to your room.» she added, and she confirmed as well the fact that the pirate seemed to been avoiding your presence as well.

Leana had soon returned to the Captain’s quarters, leaving you in the loneliness of your room; once again, you couldn’t sleep and therefore, you found yourself headed towards the deck of the Golden Fleece.

The night sky was clear, the stars seemed a bright blanket that made you feel a tiny bit less lonelier; you tried to smile at the thought that in your life, you had never seen so many stars due to the industrialization and the fact that there was always a source of light around the city. On your way to the deck you ended up both carrying one of the blankets in your room and stealing an apple from the storage room, and in the end you were sitting alone in a dark corner of the ship, completely hidden from the helmsman’s eyes and from the few pirates who were awake and in charge of taking care of the ship as long as the others were asleep – or gambling.

As your gaze lost itself in the darkness ahead of you, your thoughts inevitably wandered to dangerous places, and you found yourself silently crying because you missed home. Although in the past days you have done your best to avoid even the faintest traces of intrusive thoughts, it was probably time to face the truth; even though it seemed impossible, you ended up in a fantasy novel, and of course the historical period was completely different from the one you were living in, to the point of not having the comforts you were used to have in your everyday life. A phone, internet, a hairdryer, heating, a microwave… Despite the fact that you were slowly getting used to this kind of life, you madly wanted to go back home, and the thing that completely broke your heart was the fact that you highly doubted it would even be remotely possible. After all, the lady at the bookshop had clearly said that you bought the only copy of the novel, copy which was currently still on your coffee table in another dimension.

Completely engrossed in your crying session, you didn’t notice that someone had approached your trembling figure.

«See? I didn’t lie when I said you were probably a thief.» Minho’s voice shook you out of your train of thoughts, but you weren’t in the right mind to answer to his constant teasing; you stared both at him and the apple in your hand – apple that you ended up biting only once, just to wordlessly focus your gaze once again on the darkness in front of the ship.

The moon was high up in the sky, and Minho could definitely see the fact that you were crying, especially because you weren’t doing a good job to hide your occasional hiccups; he has never seen you so vulnerable, after all you’ve been arguing like dog and cat since the day they had saved you, but yet, he breathed a long sigh, before eventually walking closer to you, crouching down so that you were more or less at the same eye-level.

«Are you okay?» Minho questioned, every trace of hostility suddenly disappearing from his voice, and he saw you simply shook your head because no, you were definitely not okay. «Can I sit next to you?» he asked again, and waited for you to answer before he dared to move.

«Why, so you can throw me off deck as soon as I cry too loudly?» you spat with annoyance, and Minho scoffed as a silent answer. If he were to be honest, he wasn’t doing it for you, but for Felix; his brother had constantly told him to give you a chance, but the pirate kept ignoring him; however, for some weird reason he didn’t want to think about, the sight of you curled up against the wall just to cry your eyes out didn’t please him as he originally thought. «Yeah, something like that.» Minho shrugged, before sitting next to you. A somewhat comfortable silence fell on the corner you had been secretly occupying, a silence made of you occasionally hiccuping trying to hide a sob just to wipe your tears with part of your blanket and Minho completely silence as his brain tried to come up with a reasonable question about why you seemed so unconsolable.

«Has something happened in the kitchen? Did Felix say something bad?» Minho gently tried, even if he doubted that was the case, since Felix was the first among the people who seemed to be completely smitten with your presence; confirming his thoughts, he saw you shook your head without voicing an actual answer.

«Have you been having nightmares?» he questioned again, his left hand hesitantly scratching his left thigh; «it happens a lot, especially the first times you sail.» again, you wordlessly shook your head, and silence fell once again.

It went on for minutes, Minho coming up with the most various questions and you simply shaking your head because he never got it right.

«I miss my hairdryer.» you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

«Your… your what?» Minho quietly echoed, confusion dripping from his voice.

«My hairdryer,» you repeated, moving your right hand in the air just to mimic a general shape of one, «it’s made like this, and we use it to blow hot hair on our hair to make it dry faster, it works with electric – oh, never mind, you already think I’m a lunatic witch.» your voice trembled at the end of the sentence, and you ended up wiping more tears escaping the corner of your eyes, as Minho was staring at you with an indecipherable gaze.

«Tell me more,» he gently spoke – almost in a hesitant way, urging you to go on, «about your crazy stories, I want to hear more.»

«And give you extra reasons to make fun of me on a daily basis? No, thank you.» you bitterly answered, and Minho’s gentle smile slowly vanished from his lips. The pirate kept studying your features, pensive, and few seconds later his right hand was hovering in front of your face, his pinky finger outstretched.

«I won’t, I promise. I call truce.» he said, and for the first time you turned your head to glance at him, unconsciously smiling at the sight of a pirate using pinky promises as a way to seal official promises; it was as if you could feel your heart tremble, the sight of the Minho you used to adore while reading your favourite book was suddenly not that unreachable anymore, and something in his determined gaze illuminated by the moon made you trust him.

Unbeknownst to you, while intertwining your pinky finger with his, a little part of your fate had changed forever.

«I think I’ve never missed Cleo so much.» you quietly sniffled. «Your lover?» Minho questioned immediately. «My cat.» you clarified without hesitation.

Eventually, you and Minho shortly ended up bonding over your mutual love for cats. You described her to him, explaining that to you, she was indeed unique and beautiful; her black fur was occasionally painted with ginger spots, and her eyes were a light shade of green.

«She always looked incredibly pissed off, just like me.» you scoffed a laugh, and you heard Minho chuckle softly at your words.

«To think you were going to face me without a weapon, you sure do have some guts,» he commented, and you answered with an exasperated sigh, «you could ask Jisung to teach you a trick or two.» your head immediately turned towards him at the unexpected suggestion. Minho simply shrugged, explaining that you would be more useful on deck if something were to happen.

«I used to have three cats before I choose to sail with Chris.» he admitted then, changing the topic of your conversation, smiling to himself.

«I know.» you answered without thinking about it too much; only when you felt Minho’s inquisitive stare on your face, you panicked. Clearly you couldn’t tell him that you knew a lot of details about his life before he started being a pirate because you read it in a novel, and therefore you simply settled for a simple white lie known as: «Felix told me about it.»

«I miss my hair conditioner as well,» you admitted, «I even got the special edition with keratin – you know with the golden plastic jar and everything, and never got to use it more than twice.» for at least half of the night, you ended up explaining Minho every detail of what life was like where you were living; skyscrapers, air conditioning, electricity, supermarkets, videogames and malls, along with every kind of food you ended up craving, Minho had patiently listened to your rambles, occasionally asking about few clarifications every now and then.

«You know, princess, I still think you have flowers growing in your head.» Minho spoke after the two of you eventually managed to finish conversation topics; your heart sank to your stomach at his words, and of course, you felt like crying again.

«However…» Minho spoke again, his tone a little more firmer than before, as if he understood that his words hurt you, «your stories are a bit too much filled with details to be completely made up.»

«So?» you questioned him, glancing at him while leaning your head against the wooden surface behind your shoulders.

«So,» Minho echoed, mirroring your actions, so that you were staring at each other, «I think that somewhere in that flower field, there’s a little bit of truth.» a relieved smile erupted on your features, and you felt genuinely happy about the fact that finally Minho decided to take you seriously.

Despite the fact that you had managed to calm down, neither of you dared to move, and as you kept talking about your life, you ended up sharing your blanket with the pirate, whose hands were now as cold as ice.

Somewhere during the few hours remaining before dawn, you ended up falling asleep, unconsciously leaning against Minho’s shoulders, who didn’t move in order not to wake you up. However, as soon as the pirate saw a small glimpse of light starting to illuminate the sky as a signal of a new day, he gently picked you up just to carry you to your bedroom.

«Fucking finally, Min Min,» Felix’s groggy whisper called out from Minho’s shoulders; the younger had just woken up, and to be honest, he was convinced about being still asleep as the first thing he saw were his brother – who claimed to hate you, carrying you – who claimed to hate him, bridal style and soundly asleep towards your room. «Not a word, Lix.» Minho had simply answered, not bothering to stop.

Few days later, everyone was aware about the drastic change of Minho’s behaviour towards you, since the pirate went to completely ignore your presence to greet you occasionally. You found yourself smiling anytime it happened, your smile vanishing as soon as you could feel two different set of piercing gazes on your face; on one side, Leana was looking at you with pure excitement in her eyes, as to say «did you see it?» while on the other side, Felix was following the scene with a knowing smile, happy about his brother’s eventual change of heart.

Moreover, you had to admit to yourself that your mood was significantly better since you didn’t have to constantly watch your back, to the point where you found yourself thinking that if things kept going like this, you could have definitely got used to this new life. To be completely honest, you could already picture yourself trying to introduce some of your modern technology into this world, becoming the cliché mad scientist holed up in her laboratory, shouting a loud «it could work!» followed by a manic laughter as soon as you managed to create something useful.

Taking a small break from your daily chores, you decided to take a stroll on deck, enjoying what seemed to be the last days of summer; the days had already begun to shorten and in the back of your mind, you wondered how cold could it get on a pirate ship during winter, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know an actual answer, when out the corner of you eye, you saw them.

At first, you thought that either your mind was playing tricks on you or you were hallucinating, but once you turned your complete attention to the sea, you distinctly saw that there was a small group formed by seven girls not too far from where you were, casually sitting on some random pieces of wood – most definitely what remained of a sunken ship, while brushing their luscious hair; you narrowed your eyes as if trying to get a better view, because you could swear that all of them had a long fish tail.

“Mermaids?” you wondered; after all, you didn’t know how this world worked in the first place, and based on Minho’s accusations to you, for all you knew, they could be more than a superstition.

«Sirens!» the loud shout from the crow’s nest seemed to alert everyone, confirming that you weren’t hallucinating, but you weren’t sure what you were supposed to do in this situation; you saw some pirates running back to their quarters, as if it was a desperate attempt not to be lured by their voices.

Few minutes later, the situation was definitely taking a drastic and terrifying turn: some pirates were throwing themselves off deck just to try their luck swimming towards the sirens and therefore swimming towards their death, while the others kept soundlessly walking toward the railing as if they were possessed, their eyes void of any emotion.

Quirking a brow you stared at the group of sirens once again, silently admiring their beauty and their pretty tail. However something wasn’t adding up: you could clearly see their lips move, but you seemed to be the only one who couldn’t hear their chant.

Leana’s shoulder harshly bumping against yours was what made you wake up from your silent daze; like anyone else, her eyes were unfocused, and she had already thrown one leg over the railing.

«Wait, no!» yelling at her to stop, you covered her ears with your hands out of instinct, when the unthinkable happened: the fog that seemed to cloud Leana’s gaze had vanished as soon as you touched her, and she looked at both herself and you with a puzzled expression.

«What’s happening?» she questioned, confused, «why can’t I hear them?» at her question, it was as if your thoughts began to align, quickly forming a more or less clever answer; could it be that it was because you were from another dimension? You immediately tested your wild guess, wrapping around her wrist the hair tie you always kept on your wrist.

«Still nothing?» you asked, helping her safely climb back on deck, so that no one else could drag her in the water out of accident.

«I can see them singing, but I can’t hear them,» she confirmed with astonishment, glancing at the small elastic band now adorning her wrist, «is this some sort of talisman?» she questioned again but you kept silent, not sure about what you should have answered.

“Wait, if this managed to help her, this means that…”

«Leana, where are my clothes,? You know, the ones I was wearing when you found me in the sea?» you immediately questioned her: if things really were what they seemed, maybe you has a chance to save everyone.

«Come with me.» Leana immediately replied, and shortly after you both raced to the Captain’s quarters as if you were running against time.

«I have an idea, but that will make me sound like a lunatic witch» you quoted Minho, before explaining yourself, «we need to shred them in as many pieces we can and stick them inside the other’s clothes.» you kept your jeans in your hands, handing her both the cotton t-shirts you were wearing at home; however, there was no sign of mock in her eyes.

«You already saved my life, I trust you, witch or not.» she encouraged, and after nodding and each other Leana grabbed two of Chris’ daggers, and after handing one to you as well, you both ran back on deck.

“This is so wrong,” you thought, “I’m about to act like a typical heroine and I don’t have a catchphrase to say!” adrenaline was running trough your veins to the point of making you delirious, and you mentally tried to come up with an outstanding idea as fast as you could?

“How about “for Frodo”?… No, that would be plagiarism,” you kept thinking as you and Leana closed the Captain’s quarters room behind your shoulders, “I got it, “Geronimo!”… Nah, too corny.”

«I’ll take the right side and you take the left side?» Leana urged, already cutting some fabric out of your t-shirt with her dagger; she snapped you out of your thoughts, and your eyes immediately went back on the scenery in front of you.

No more than thirty pirates were left – a quarter of the crew, and much to your dismay, you noticed from the corner of your eye how Chris, Seungmin and Changbin were already in the water.

«Hey Leana, you know what we say in Europe before doing things like this?» your heart was hammering in your chest to the point you were certain it was trying to escape your body.

«Uh... May Margoria have mercy on us?» she tried, as the both of you started walking in opposite directions.

«No, no, it’s even better,» you chuckled at your own thoughts, before encouraging the both of you with a short and simple: «it’s Britney, bitch.»

From that moment, you and Leana were running like two desperate women on a mission, and you tried to ignore the pain that your heart was feeling as you were repeatedly cutting your pair of favourite jeans.

“It’s for a fucking good cause,” you thought motivating yourself, urging your legs to move faster.

Actually, if you and Leana were feeling like two heroes out of an adventure novel, the sight from the outside looked really bizarre: the deck was completely silent as the pirates were walking like zombies, and the only noise was the one made from your heels as you frantically ran back and fort, not to mention that you were occasionally screaming «tag, you’re it!» before running towards the next pirate.

Moreover, as soon as someone of the crew managed to wake up, nor you nor Leana ever stopped to explain what was going on; you just pushed a few pieces of uncommon fabric against their chest just to shout an order for them to follow. You could feel your lungs burn, and although you desperately wanted to stop and catch your breath, you saw that Minho was in the same position Leana had been in few minutes earlier and you quickly urged your legs to run faster, somehow.

“Why the fuck I never did jogging while I was home?” you internally cursed yourself, but the most important thing was that you managed to stop Minho by a harsh grip on his strong bicep. Minho’s eyes increasingly focused, and he looked at you with bewilderment; you didn’t give him time to ask anything, because you thrusted the only piece of fabric you had left in his hand.

«See this? This was my favourite pair of jeans,» you spoke, your breath ragged due to the fact that you had been running without stopping for more time than you were used to, Minho was about to question why he couldn’t hear the sirens anymore, when you interrupted him again, «let go of this damn denim fabric, and I’ll kill you.»

«What’s going on?» Minho finally questioned, swooning his leg over the railing so that he was once again safely on deck, but before you could answer, Leana had quickly walked towards you with Felix, Jisung, Hyunjin and few of the pirates who had managed to wake up, still clutching the piece of fabric as instructed.

By now, you had managed to save everyone who was still on deck, however, you still had a big problem: the majority of your crew – including the Captain, was still swimming towards the sirens.

«What now?» Leana questioned, her concerned eyes locked on her husband.

«I don’t know.» your shoulders fell as you admitted disheartened, your trembling hands still desperately holding Minho’s hands over what was left of your favourite pair of jeans. «Aren’t you still wearing that thing underneath your shirt?» Leana questioned, and your right hand reflexively touched your bra over your linen shirt. “Not my Victoria’s Secret…” you thought, but Leana quickly dismissed her own idea. «It’s not like we can throw ourselves down there, we’ll never reach them in time.» she added, and a nervous silence fell once again. The pirates kept silent, not daring to interrupt your conversation with Leana; no one knew what was happening but for all they knew, they owed their life to the both of you. However, the sirens have been focusing their attention on your presence for a while, and as you were considering some stupid and wild idea out of panic, the sirens had stopped singing; the pirates in the water woke up immediately from their daze, immediately yelling to each other to swim back to the Golden Fleece, and your head started to spin with confusion.

Apparently, for whatever reason, the sirens decided they weren’t hungry anymore, and therefore decided to leave, disappearing under the surface of water. Unbeknownst to you, those sirens knew about travelers like you, for it was not the first time that someone immune to their alluring voices had defeated them.

The pirates were now climbing on deck, and if it weren’t for Minho’s arms quickly wrapping around your waist, you would have fallen on your knees as the rush of adrenaline left your body altogether.

«What a week, huh?» you joked, your voice low enough only for the pirate to hear.

«It’s monday morning, princess.» Minho absently replied, studying your exhausted features and actually concerned about the state you were in.

Needless to say, less than an hour later – as soon as everyone had changed out of their soaked clothes, you found yourself in the Captain’s quarters with nine pair of eyes studying you once again; however, this time, the atmosphere was completely different.

«Although we are grateful to you, I believe we need an explanation.» Chris simply questioned; even though his voice remained polite, you could easily notice that he was demanding the truth.

«Are you really a witch?» Hyunjin suggested curiously and without hostility; you shook your head no, and your gaze briefly locked with Minho, who gave you a short nod, as to encourage you to tell them what you had told him as well.

«I’m not a witch, I.. » you sighed, what were you supposed to say? You definitely couldn’t break out the news that they were characters from a novel, but you could definitely tell them part of the truth, «I’m from another world. Or just another dimension, I don’t know. The thing is, at home everything works very different from here and… I really don’t know what to say. I ended up falling asleep in my house and waking up in the sea, right before you saved me.»

The room was silent for some seconds, before they eventually started discussing your explanation, but overall, everyone seemed to believe you.

«We are in your debt.» Chris announced, standing up from his chair, and you felt nervous all of a sudden; you loved his character and how reliable he was despite being a pirate, however, you always thought that he was a little bit too dramatic, especially in these kind of situations.

«No, no. We’re good buddy, really.» you anxiously waved your hands in front of you, as if to shake away the thought of having a whole crew of pirates indebted to you, «besides, you saved me first, I returned the favor, we’re even.»

«At least, allow us to help you!» Leana insisted, reiterating the fact that if they were alive was exclusively because of you.

«Do you remember how you ended up here?» Seungmin added, agreeing with Leana.

«I bought a book – a very specific one, and somehow I ended up shifting.»you had shortly explained; the information sent them into another brief discussion among themselves.

«Maybe fate is really on your side,» Chris commented, «we’ll be arriving to O’dyllita in few days; the capital – O’draxxia is known for having the biggest and best-stocked library of all known land.» the Captain explained that you could try visit there, to see if you could find anything regarding shifting dimension.

«Of course, if you don’t, you’ll be welcome to stay with us!» Jeongin had quickly added, and you found yourself nodding at his eagerness, thanking everyone else as well.

«Another thing,» Leana suddenly spoke, as if a thought had suddenly came to her mind, «who is that “Britney” you mentioned earlier? Is she a goddess from your world?» she innocently questioned, but you couldn’t help but find yourself laughing at the absurdity of the situation you got yourself in.

«More or less.» you admitted, and she seemed content with the answer.

The day had eventually fallen back into the same routine rather quickly, making you realize that this kind of situations weren’t that uncommon; however, every now and then some of the pirates would greet you, thanking you for saving their life before going on with their day.

«Excuse me, princess,» an unfamiliar voice called out, and you immediately turned your head. One of the pirates was standing not so far from you; he was definitely older than you, even if despite his youthful appearance his beard and his hair was almost completely grey. He hesitantly outstretched his hand towards you, and you curiously examined the small necklace in the palm of his hand. It was definitely plain looking, a thin looking chord with a too much familiar charm attached to it; without thinking, you took a step forward to take a better look.

Turns out – for the second time that day, that you weren’t hallucinating things: the small charm was indeed a piece of fabric from your clothes, now neatly braided together as to form a tiny charm.

«My old man was a tailor, so I learned a thing or two from him,» you patiently glanced at him, waiting for him to explain himself further as you glanced back and forth from his face to his hand, «I ended up making a talisman for everyone out of the fabric you gave us, since the Captain and Leana explained to us what you did fpr us,» you kept silent, not understanding why he was handing one to you as well, «I know you don’t need one, but we want you to have one as well.»

«“We”?» you echoed; glancing around, you noticed that few other pirates were definitely pretending to do their chores just to curiously overlook the situation, wondering what your reaction might have been.

«It’s a way to tell you that you’re in the crew,» Leana excitedly spoke, appearing out of nowhere and hugging your shoulder, «you saved a whole lot of pirates, you know what it means? You’re a pirate, love.»

«What?» you questioned, hesitantly reaching out to grab the necklace from the pirate’s outstretched hand, who thanked you for accepting his humble gift.

“Holy shit, I’m the hero of the day,” you thought, trying to process the fact that a pirate had just thanked you for accepting a necklace made out of clothes from another dimension.

«For your information,» Felix’s sudden deep voice made you turn around in surprise, since the new information had made your head spin, «it was a unanimous decision.» he clarified; as you happened to lock gaze with Minho, he simply winked at you with a mischievous smile, and you could swear that for the first time, you felt the butterflies in your stomach do somersaults.

The secret escapades you occasionally had with Minho during the night ended up being a habit, and as the weather started to become colder, you eventually decided to move things to your room; more than once, you and Minho ended up falling asleep after nights spent talking about the most various topics and every time, Minho would wake up before dawn just to sneak back to his room.

«Do you still think I’m a lunatic siren?» you quietly mumbled one night, quite scared of the possible affirmative answer. Minho was sitting opposite of you on your bed, your knees almost brushing against each other’s.

«I don’t.» Minho honestly answered after what seemed to be an eternal silence; he was still staring at you with an indecipherable gaze that made you feel extremely small, but it was significantly softer now. You were certain that something in your relationship with Minho had drastically changed since the night he found you crying alone, and somehow, even if you didn’t want to be seen in such a vulnerable state, you were happy he was the one who found you nonetheless.

Above all – most importantly, since Minho’s behaviour towards you had changed and gradually started to become softer, you could swear you felt your feelings drift towards him at a slow but steady speed. To state the obvious, he was handsome, and you often found yourself looking at him as he was talking with the others on deck, the wind blowing through his hair and his clothes making him look like a runaway Prince from a fairytale; he was also funny and an extremely good listener, and the more you spent time together, the more your heart would fill with feelings for him, just like a slow tide at noon.

«Do you believe me, then?» you mumbled, as if you were trying your luck; despite you told everyone that you came from another dimension, the topic of your conversations with Minho were a secret, and he was completely aware about that. Even though you desperately wanted him to believe your words, you couldn’t help but trying to imagine how you would react if you were in Minho’s shoes and of course, you had to admit that you would have your good doses of suspicions as well.

«I’m not really sure I can understand everything you tell me,» he admitted, «but I really want to try.» you found yourself genuinely smiling at his words.

A comfortable silence fell once again, and you searched for Minho’s eyes in the partial darkness of the place; three small candles were lightning up the room, creating an intimate atmosphere while allowing you to see each other just enough. «Thank you, Min Min.» you quietly mumbled, now definitely trying your luck; you knew that the only person allowed to call him like that was Felix, and although your relationship was completely different from how it started, you were certain that he would admonish you, telling you not to call him like that.

However, Minho’s reaction was definitely unexpected; his eyes met yours in less than a second, and despite the little lighting in the room, you could clearly see a sudden blush adorning both his cheeks and the tip of his ears.

«Wait, did you just…? No, nevermind,» Minho quickly dismissed, his unexpected flustered state was more than enough to make your cheeks flare up as well, «let’s suppose you ended up coming here from another dimension, why do you think it happened?» the conversation took another bittersweet turn, and you went back staring at your knees.

«I have no idea.» you confessed, disheartened, since you had wondered about that a concerning amount of times as well.

«Do you want to go back?» Minho questioned out of curiosity; he had immediately noticed how you eventually managed to find your place among the crew, and how you got along with everyone.

«I can’t even explain how much I want to.» you admitted, and before you could actually realize it, tears had started to escape your eyes.

«Hey, don’t cry, I’m sorry I brought that up,» Minho seemed to move towards you as if he had been hurt by a sudden static, «I didn’t want to make you cry.» he mumbled again, wiping your tears away as gently as he could, touching you as if you were made of frail glass despite his usual roughness. Eventually, he placed your pillow over his lap and you let him adjust your position enough that you could lay your head over it.

Minho kept gently stroking your hair with clumsy yet gentle movements – clearly unfamiliar with intimacy, lulling you to sleep while mumbling that «it’s okay, I’ll help you find a way,» or even «don’t cry, pretty princess, you’re safe now.»

That night was the first time that you and Minho willingly got so close physically, and you never expected for his touch to feel as comforting as it did; although you had stopped crying few minutes after you were laying on his lap, you didn’t want for that interaction to stop, and therefore you laid there, greedily taking all the unexpected affection Minho was showering you with.

Two days later, you were officially touching land; two days later, you were completely certain about the fact that you had shifted dimension – since there was a tiny part of your heart that still hoped you were having a really weird dream.

The port was large and full of people busy working; you looked around in amazement admiring everything: the small stalls of the market a little further on, people’s clothes, the type of architecture of the houses… However, something didn’t add up once again. There were various wooden signs hanging on the stalls, price indicators or more simply indicators of what could be found in each one of them, and despite the fact that the alphabet was a strange combination o weird symbols you’ve never seen in your life, you could understand them; fabrics, groceries, swords, you could read everything, was it another special ability you gained while shifting? “This is crazy,” you thought as you kept looking around yourself, “it’s like I chosen a default language in a videogame.”

Minho seemed to have noticed the puzzled expression on your face as you were glancing around, and quickly got to your side. «Not like it’s important for us, but can you read and write?» he questioned, watching as you hesitantly nodded at him.

«I’m not sure about the writing part,» you answered, looking around and not quite believing your eyes, «but it turns out I can read!»

«That’s good,» Minho’s sudden gentle smile made you feel incredibly flustered, and you shortly played with your fingertips since you didn’t know what you were supposed to answer, «I’ll see you tonight, then.» he added, making you furrow your eyebrows.

Before you could question his words, Leana and Chris had joined you, the latter informing you that he had already booked a carriage for both you and Leana.

“That’s it? They’re going to leave me here?” you met Minho’s gaze, just to switch it quickly towards Leana, who had reached out to hold your hand, gently tugging you towards her.

«I believe someone forgot to tell you,» she said, admonishing Minho with a stern gaze, «O’draxxia, the Capital, is a city in which men cannot enter, meaning that we have all the day for ourselves!»

The carriage ride lasted a little more than an hour, and both you and Leana kept staring out of the window, amazed by the scenery surrounding the two of you; it was the first time for Leana as well to venture into O’dyllita, and just like you, she was overly excited to finally visit O’draxxia, since she had often heard about it.

«From what I know, almost everyone in the city is a priestess,» she had explained, the two of you never looking at each other since your attention was completely engrossed towards opposite directions, «and they say the library is so huge that there are pillars as big as towers that are used as bookshelves!»

Despite the dense and rich vegetation, the landscape seemed to have a tremendously lonely air; in the distance you could see ruins of old structures that looked like castles or fortresses, clearly uninhabited and reclaimed by vegetation. Overall, the landscape almost seemed fiabesque, even if you couldn’t glimpse a trace of a living soul for kilometres. Just as Leana had said, O’draxxia was entirely populated by women, and all of them looked mesmerizing and stunning; some of them greeted you and Leana with a court nod, just like they did with the other women that were visiting the city. Despite the fact that the city was populated and animated by the priestesses and occasional tourists, the city gave you a serene yet lonely feeling. The houses were simple and elegant, made of grey bricks with bright green plants growing along the walls, covering some parts with elegant red and orange flowers. Both you and Leana followed one of the priestess’ indications to reach the library, as the two of you kept glancing around in utter wonder as you were walking.

«I’m really glad we get along,» Leana spoke out of the blue as you were strolling around town, headed towards the library, interlocking her arm with yours; you sent her a glance, only to start once again to focus on the unfamiliar scenery in front of your eyes, «we tried to let other girls on our ship, but it didn’t end well.»

«Why not?» you questioned out of curiosity, your gaze still focused on the unfamiliar flowers decorating the streets; the novel you’ve read ended as soon as Chris and Leana got their happy ending, so her words were definitely something you didn’t know about.

«They ended up liking Chris a little bit too much, and you know…» the innocent smile on Leana’s lips was a stark contrast to the gesture she made: she ran her index finger over her neck horizontally, and you suddenly widened your eyes, gulping nervously.

«You… did you kill them?» you whispered, only for her ears to hear, not quite knowing how to feel about it.

«And threw them in the sea,» she proudly clarified with a wink, «for all I know, they could be the sirens that attacked us.» her tone was as nonchalant as if she was talking about the weather, and you furrowed your eyebrows, familiar with what she was implying, since you clearly recalled the author mentioning it once.

Apparently, mermaids – or mostly known as sirens, were the women thrown off ships because of the common belief about “having a woman on boat brings bad luck”, and therefore, as those poor women sank to the bottom of the sea, they committed themselves to their rage and their desire of revenge. You clearly remember how that paragraph made you quite uncomfortable, empathizing with those women as they rightfully wanted to take revenge on the people that killed them without reason. Moreover, the author described how they started to change underwater, their lungs adapting to the water until they could breathe and their tied legs eventually became a tail over time. They drowned sailors and pirates in revenge, but especially, they seem to target the crew that did them wrong, until they could see the remaining of their ships at the bottom of the sea.

All of a sudden, one of your first conversations with Leana came to your mind. «So, what do you think about Chris?» she had questioned with an earnest smile, the both of you sitting on deck as you watched him ordering the others around.

«He’s awesome,» you immediately answered, excitedly, «Felix told me he’s in charge of each route of the whole sea, and he’s basically around my age. He’s really awesome for that!» you had excitedly explained, avoiding to mention too intricate details you read in the novel.

«He really is, don’t steal him from me though!» she had laughed back then, gently nudging your shoulders with hers in an almost friendly gesture.

«I wouldn’t dare,» you immediately scoffed, «you’re basically the perfect match! moreover, he’s not really my type.»

Only now you realized all the things that could have gone so incredibly wrong if your interaction had gone wrong back then, and you glanced at her once again. Leana was now gazing around the town in amazement, since you knew that she had never been here as well; you instinctively scoffed a laugh, to thing that you believed Minho was the biggest threat among the crew.

Not to mention that the surprises were definitely not over; shortly after, Leana asked you if you believed in soulmates.

«I think I do,» you confessed; it was definitely one of your favourite genres to read about, but you couldn’t admit that to her, «why?»

«I’ve been thinking about it lately, but I never had anyone to talk about it…» she admitted.

“I wonder why,” you silently commented, but kept silent.

«Sometimes I have the feeling that me and Chris were meant to be, you know?» she fondly smiled, her gaze lost somewhere in the scenery around the two of you as she was probably recalling one of the various memories she had created with her husband; you were about to answer something encouraging and motivational, when her next words definitely made your voice die in your throat. «I mean, I didn’t even like Chris when he brought me on the ship, let alone if I could imagine myself falling in love with him or even marrying him.» she admitted, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Wait a fucking minute now,”

«What?» you asked in complete disbelief. Once again, you perfectly recalled you read that Chris and Leana were in love before she got romantically and dramatically stolen away from him; to be precise, Leana was engaged to another man, who she didn’t love.

However, Leana was standing in front of you, telling you a completely different part of the story, making you question if the things you’ve read on your couch were correct in the first place.

«I was engaged with an officer of the navy, and I loathed pirates at first; I accepted to go with Chris because I agreed with my fiancée that I would have made Chris vulnerable in some way.» Leana hesitantly confessed, and you couldn’t bring yourself to find an actual reply, «in the end I fell for him little by little, to the point where I couldn’t imagine my life without him.»

“What the hell,” you thought; you had stopped walking altogether, and were simply standing still in silence, a whirlwind of thoughts floating around your head as you were staring at Leana. You never read something like this in the book, but if we had to be honest, the book was following Chris’ point of view, but again, by the way Leana was described, she was meant to be the typical damsel in distress that runs away from an unhappy relationship to find her love.

However, in front of you stood Leana, a damsel that was very not in distress, a damsel who had a concerning series of murders weighting on her shoulders, whose original plan was to serve Chris’ head to the navy.

«I’m glad you married him,» you ended up blurting out, «you look really cute together.» Leana loudly laughed at your unexpected comment, and as the two of you started walking again, she hugged your arm a little closer to her side.

«Wanna know who’s cute?» her teasing tone made you sigh out of reflex, not sure whether you wanted to know the answer to her question, «You and Min Min.» she chanted, making you whine as an answer.

«I don’t like him like that, let’s just – let’s talk about it another time, okay?» you pleaded, hoping that she would fall for your suggestion so that you could keep avoiding the topic forever.

The moment you stepped in front of the library’s entrance, you couldn’t believe your eyes: it was as if a huge castle had been redecorated just to serve a new and better purpose. Leana didn’t lie when she said about the pillars being huge, and the more you ventured in, the more you felt overwhelmed; you loved books, and for a second, you thought that you could become a priestess just to have a chance to read every single book you could see, even if it would have took literally a lifetime. In the end, you ended up asking to a priestess for help, since you would have taken at least a whole day in order to find some useful information without asking for help.

«Books about teleportation?» the priestess had repeated your words, as if making sure she heard you loud and clear; you hesitantly nodded, feeling incredibly small under her gaze; she eventually nodded at the two of you, asking to follow her. Needless to say, you ended up walking your way on the stairs around one of the pillars, just to reach the highest bookshelf.

«It’s been a while since someone asked for that,» she said, trying to make conversation with the two of you, but only Leana was answering her various questions, since you were way too nervous to speak. As you reached the bookshelf, your shoulders immediately lowered in deject; there were only four books about teleportation, but no one of them were like the one you brought.

«Sadly, we only have these ones.» the priestess excused herself, quickly taking notice of your saddened expression; you immediately tried to smile, shaking your head and answering that it was okay.

«Are you sure you’re okay?» Leana whispered to you, as soon as the priestess begun to walk down the stairs on her own and was now out of sight; your gaze was still on the books, which you eventually tried to examine.

What if the cover was different because you were in a different dimension? However, as your fingers leafed through the pages, you couldn’t understand your feelings; you almost seemed happy about the fact that your task had failed, as if what you really wanted was to remain into this world.

«I am,» you nodded, seeing Leana’s concern vanish from her features, «I really am.»

The fact that your mission had failed meant only one thing: you and Leana were free to curiously look around as you pleased, and that’s exactly what you did. At the end of the day, once you were back in the carriage, you could swear you almost had a headache due to all the informations the both of you had tried to assimilate in your brain.

«What was that one again? Flat parsley and saffron?» she mumbled, massaging the side of her head.

«This planet is not flat was the first part,» you tiredly answered, mimicking her actions, «I don’t know where you got the parsley and saffron thing from.»

«It was the recipes book I wanted to steal.» she urged, trying to give you another hint, as if you hadn’t read an infinite quantitative of books within few hours.

«Oh, that one,» you hummed, recalling the moment where Leana had tried to see if the recipes book would fit under her shirt, saying that Felix would have loved it, «it was the recipe of saffron rice… There was no parsley, though.»

When you got off the carriage, Minho and Chris exchanged a quizzical glance as they saw the two of you look exhausted; both of you were dragging your feet towards them, talking with a flat tone about how amazing your day had been.

«Found anything?» Minho questioned, ignoring how his heart was beating in a silent hope that you didn’t manage to find the book you were looking for; you kept walking, silently shaking your head. Minho didn’t say anything as he walked up next to you; the pirate breathed a soft sigh, swinging his arm around your shoulders and instinctively you hugged his waist, leaning your head towards his shoulder.

«You’ll find it.» you heard Minho’s reassuring tone, and you shrugged in a silent answer.

“I think it will be okay, even if I don’t.” you secretly thought, glancing at the pirate walking next to you.

Out of your sight, Chris and Leana were glancing both at you and Minho, before looking at each other.

«Am I hallucinating?» Chris questioned his wife; he knew that things between you and the pirate had improved, but he didn’t imagine they had improved that much.

«I think we’ll be celebrating another marriage soon.» Leana sighed, fondly smiling at the two of you. «“I don’t like Minho”, my ass.» she scoffed, mumbling to herself as an amused smirk erupted on her lips, recalling the moment you denied liking the pirate.

That night, you found out that Chris not only owned every single soul sailing above the sea, he also owned few taverns scattered around the land as well.

You and the others had ended up in the courtyard of a local tavern – the Bitter Dahlia, the musicians animatedly creating a joyful atmosphere as few people had eventually started to dance. You had let yourself convince to try a whole lot different kind of drinks by Hyunjin, and now you were tipsily strolling around the courtyard with a pint of beer in your hand, and thankfully, Minho had easily noticed it; that’s why as soon as you walked past him in order to find Felix, he reached out, placing his hand on your right shoulder and tugging you close to his body, your back pressed against his chest. You didn’t realize it was Minho at first, you simply pouted because someone was stopping you all of a sudden; when you decided to find out who was attached to the arm blocking your path you giggled as soon as you saw Minho’s face, and let him pull you closer to him.

Minho didn’t say anything, and neither did you – nor did you move away in the first place.

«I think you drank too much, princess,» his hoarse voice – probably affected by the drinks he had, spoke right against your ear, and you instinctively crossed your ankles just to press your thighs together; you let him take the pint of beer from your hand, his arm eventually found his way around your waist, and he leaned his chin on your shoulder.

«Felix!» you giggled, catching a hold of the boy’s forearm as soon as you saw him walk by, tugging him towards both you and Minho, «Look at them,» you excitedly spoke, «look at them!» you urged again, giggling excitedly as you obviously forgot that Minho was right behind you and therefore he could hear everything.

Even if he was in a worse state than you were, it didn’t take a genius for Felix to understand who you were talking about, and he followed your glance towards the small group of couples that were dancing; of course Chris and Leana were there, and of course you and Felix had felt the need to talk about how wonderful and amazing they looked.

«They’re both stumbling on their feet,» Minho had stated from behind you, holding your waist a little firmer, and you suddenly reminded that he had been unconsciously made part of your secret conversations with Felix, «they’re really drunk, like – three sheets to the wind drunk.» he clarified, amused with your behaviour.

«You don’t understand,» you quickly answered, your hand flying on top of the one the pirate had placed on your hip, «look at -» your voice vanished from your throat as soon as you turned your head towards him, and instead, your heart picked up pace at a concerning speed; Minho’s face was millimetres from yours, his gaze burning into yours, «them.» you eventually finished, your voice barely above a whisper. You and Minho had already been close enough to kiss once, but to say that the situation was completely different would be an understatement.

If back then neither you nor Minho would have considered the option to kiss the other – let alone being attracted to each other, to this day things had drastically changed. Even if you blamed it on the alcohol, you were very much aware about the fact that you would have loved to kiss him; the fact that Minho’s gaze kept shifting between your eyes and your lips clearly told you that your desire was reciprocated.

“If this was a movie we would make out while Céline Dion was singing her heart out in the background,” you drunkenly thought, “and all I get is drunk bards play the tarantella”.

«Well, this is something unexpected!» Jisung’s loud voice made you and Minho immediately turn your head towards him, and much to your embarrassment, he wasn’t alone; of course Changbin and Hyunjin were with him.

«She’s tipsy, I didn’t want her to fall over.» Minho had immediately answered, his voice a little bit too defensive if you were to ask Hyunjin, who carefully – and drunkenly, studied his expression with a sly smirk.

«And the empty chair next to you was claimed by a ghost?» Jisung questioned the pirate, who rolled his eyes without answering.

However, the worst still had to happen, because in that very moment, Leana seemed to appear out of thin air, as if she had magically listened to the conversation while she was dancing with her husband.

«You didn’t hear it from me,» Leana loudly announced as if you and Minho weren’t there, «but when we returned from O’draxxia, Minho straight up hugged her.» You felt Minho bury his forehead in the crook of your neck, and you shortly met Felix’s gaze, who was looking at you with a drunk dazed smile: «We better talk about this!» he said.

«And, he also kissed her forehead.» Leana lied, getting drunk shouts of surprise from your friends, and you knew that as soon as you got back on the ship, you and Minho would become the most interesting topic among the crew.

«Want to scoot over?» Minho spoke against your ear once again, and you found your mind drifting towards unholy thoughts before you could stop yourself; his question was sincere, and as he voiced it, he started to move his arm away from your hip. However, you didn’t bother to voice an answer; since your hand was still placed above his, you pushed it more firmly against your hip, purposely intertwining your fingers together.

As you felt Minho’s lips hovering above the exposed skin of your shoulder in a barely perceptible kiss, you could swear that all the noise coming from the loud party around the two of you had been ignored from your brain.

Back on the Golden Fleece, everything seemed to have fallen back to the usual routine, with the only addiction that your friends had decided to constantly tease you and Minho about your almost kiss.

Of course, even if three days had passed since that night and Minho had visited your bedroom as always, no one dared to approach the topic, and you kept dancing on your tiptoes around each other. However, what’s a princess without a fairy godmother?

That evening, right after dinner, Felix had bursted into your room unannounced, somewhat expecting Leana’s presence as well; the two of them were casually sitting on your bed, ignoring the fact that you were curled up under the covers, refusing to get out and face them.

«Well?» Felix urged, lowering the blanket just to expose your face; you hissed like a stray cat, but you quickly understood that neither of them was going to leave without an answer to the same question.

«I don’t have anything to say,» you stubbornly said, and you heard Leana snort.

«Okay, we’ll go first:» she spoke, leaning towards you, «I was drunk but I sure do have eyes, girl.» she spoke with an alluring tone, and you tried to roll over the opposite side in order not to hear her, «and my eyes are telling me that you like Minho, and Minho likes you.» choosing to groan instead of answer, Felix saw an opportunity to chime in.

«You were still dancing when it happened, but they almost kissed – like, kissed.» Felix added, empathizing the last part of his sentence, and Leana almost shrieked in disbelief, her offended voice questioning why you didn’t tell her such an important and fundamental detail.

«Did you tell him?» Felix questioned, just to add the question you didn’t dare to ask yourself, «Oh… Do you still want to go back home?» You eventually threw the blanket off your face hearing that, meeting your friends’ eyes as your face was filled with unsure doubt; you never thought it would have happened, but you had to admit to yourself that you were happy. You had friends, you felt accepted, and you managed to have fun thanks to your friends, who cherished you. Moreover…

«I don’t really want to hurt your feelings,» Leana suddenly spoke, interrupting your thoughts, «but when we were in O’draxxia and you didn’t find the book, you almost looked… relieved.» your gaze met, and you realized you had a problem: your heart was clearly telling that you wanted to stay there, in that absurd world you’ve read about one random afternoon.

When you met Felix’s gaze, you realized you had another problem, maybe a bigger one than the previous one: you liked Minho. Well, of course you already knew that, since he was your favourite character of the novel; however, liking the real Minho, the one daily standing in front of you, the one who went from threatening to throw you overboard to gently caress your hair until you fell asleep was a different kind of thing.

«I think I need a second.» you admitted with a sigh, staring at the wooden tiles on the ceiling,

“Let’s suppose I like him,” you thought, “I don’t think he actually likes me, he was probably tipsy,” you bit the inner part of your cheek, “what if he likes me and I like him and I find the book?” you scratched the back of your neck out of frustration, ignoring the fact that you wanted to scream, “what do I do?”

«Well, you could start with a simple “I think I have feelings for you and I don’t think I want to go back any longer”» Felix gently suggested, and as your gaze flew towards his, you realized that you had been unconsciously voicing your thoughts all along.

The same moment Felix was heading towards your room, Minho was heading towards the dining room, knowing that he would have found what he was looking for. The heavy smell of smoke and alcohol filled his nostrils, as he approached his friends’ table quietly.

«Loverboy decided to ditch his girl to embrace his old habits?» Chris glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow with a mischievous smile.

«I’m coming here in spite of myself, but I… have to.» Minho spoke in a dramatic tone that made Chris snort, waiting for his friend to tell them what was going through his mind, «I think I might like her.»

«We knew it already,» Hyunjin replied with no interest, his eyes still glued on his cards, admonishing Jisung because he was trying to sneak some of the coins off the table and inside his sleeve; Minho stared at his friend with stupor, but Hyunjin seemed too focused on their match to pay attention to his friend.

«"Like her" as in, “I want to hold your hand under the moonlight”,» Changbin – the only one beside Chris who was listening to Minho, suggested, «or “I want to ravish you until you can’t stand”?»

Minho didn’t answer immediately, choosing to think about it for a while, even if he didn’t really have to; he undoubtedly found you attractive, and over time, he found himself slowly getting incredibly soft for you, to the point where he would glance around at random moments of the day just to see what you were doing.

The more Minho’s silence went on, the more his friends had gradually stopped focusing on their match in order to look at him with curiosity and malice, enjoying how the pirate’s face gradually got flustered.

«As in… both.» Minho confessed, making his friends hum and mumble in acknowledgement.

«Ah! … Well, we knew that already.» Hyunjin replied again, his sharp gaze once again back to the table in front of them.

«What do you mean?» Minho asked quizzically, since it was the second time his friend had mentioned it.

«Yeah, well, remember when Jisung was teaching her the basic of self defence?» Seungmin – who had kept silent until then, asked making Minho immediately nod, how could he forget that day? Jisung had been trying to teach you a few simple movements for what seemed to be hours, but in the end, you kept doing stupid and predictable mistakes because you seemed to be too tense to use a dagger – let alone a sword.

«Leave it, Han, she’ll end up stabbing herself by mistake.» he had told his friend with an arrogant tone, and he clearly remembered the flustered expression on your face. As always, you tried to fight back, but this time it was a little bit different; that’s how you ended up chasing Minho through the deck while screaming «I’ll fucking kill you, I swear!» until Changbin decided to stop you by stopping you mid run.

«What about it?» Minho asked again, not understanding what his friend wanted to imply.

«Felix and few other saw you laughing,» Seungmin added, «therefore, it was just a matter of time.»

Minho placed his elbow on the table and roughly massaged the bridge of his nose, trying to analyse the situation he was in: he liked you, but what happened few nights ago was just a result of the both of you being tipsy, and moreover, he knew that you wanted to go back home. What was he supposed to do?

«I’m not an expert, but try with a simple “I like you, please stay here with me”.» Jisung had spoken as if he could read his thoughts; only then Minho realized that he had never been silent in the first place.

Minho had eventually joined you in your bedroom few hours after Felix and Leana had left, even if you had already stated that he either fell asleep or he was spending the night gambling with the others. You seemed to miss his presence more than you usually did, especially because that night you were freezing: no matter how many blankets you were laying under, you just didn’t seem to warm up.

“It wouldn’t be punk rock for me to die like this,” you thought, breathing in your joined fists as you tried to ignore the constant shivers of your body.

A familiar knock on the door caught your attention, and as soon as you recognized Minho’s voice whispering his greetings, you had to physically stop yourself from asking him to join you under the covers so that he could warm you up.

Unlike you, Minho didn’t seem to mind the cold that much, but nonetheless he quickly walked up to you, pressing the palm of his hand to your forehead just in case you had a fever.

«I’m genuinely wondering how the hell you manage to live like this.» you broke the silence, your jaw trembling because of the sheer cold; although you tried not to think to the accommodation of your original life, your mind couldn’t help but wander to your beloved electric heater, your faithful companions during winter.

«You just ... get used to it?» Minho questioned back, not really able to give you an actual answer; of course, during the first years he spent sailing he was in the same situation as you – everyone had, but he eventually got used to it. Minho sat on the edge of your bed, mindlessly running his fingertips through your hair – a simple yet intimate gesture he had come to love.

«I can hear flowers blooming in that flower field,» he smugly commented the fact that you were keeping silent, and you clicked your tongue, asking what he meant, «what did you use in your world to keep warm?» he curiously questioned, and your heart soared at the realization that he was honestly and genuinely interested in your stories.

However, you were too cold for your brain to function properly, and you ended up talking about the concept of the electric heating in a very confusing way; nonetheless, Minho didn’t seem to mind you words, for his concern had increasingly risen.

«Hey,» the pirate interrupted your explanation, «are you sure you don’t want another blanket?» despite the fact that you were doing your best, he still noticed the occasional shivers and clattering of your teeth as soon as you stopped speaking.

«It’s okay,» you reassured him, «I used all the blankets Leana gave me… I’ll warm up eventually.» you answered hopefully, but Minho didn’t answer immediately; instead, he reached out, shortly enveloping your hand with his just to comment that it was as if you had stuck your hand into ice.

«Come here,» Minho said, stretching over your legs and fully sitting on your bed with his back against the wall, widening his legs so that he could form a space for you to sit in; you kept still in amazed astonishment, not quite trusting your thoughts on the hypothesis that Minho wanted to cuddle.

«Are you gonna kill me?» you blurted out, for your frozen brain decided it was the most likely solution.

«Quit that, princess,» he clicked his tongue, urging you to come closer, «you know we’re past that.» folding all your blankets around your shape, you slowly crawled in the space he made for you, trying not to lose the small amount of warmth you had created; you immediately tensed up, sitting straight and clutching the blankets closer to your body.

Since the night you almost kissed, you had never been so close to Minho, and for some reason, it was enough for your heart to pick up pace as if it was begging you to set it free through your ribcage.

«Come here,» the pirate repeated, his voice a little gentler – a little softer, and you found yourself leaning against his torso. Unlike you, Minho wasn’t using a blanket to keep himself warm and therefore he could move his arms freely; of course he used them to loosely cage you in his hold.

Although you had to admit that the position you were in definitely looked kind of weird, it was extremely comfortable; Minho’s steady breathing was slowly calming your nerves as well, and you found yourself relaxing in his hold.

«Do you want some of my blankets?» you mumbled quietly, embarrassed about the fact that you didn’t ask sooner.

«I’m good.» Minho answered immediately, gently repeating that you should try to sleep.

Despite the fact that you were comfortable, despite Minho’s presence, despite the fact that you were slowly warming up, sleep was definitely your last priority. The pirate’s nose brushed against your forehead as he was trying to adjust his position to get more comfortable, and you quickly noticed that his skin was cold as well.

«Minho,» you called out again few minutes later; the pirate hummed, and you took it at a silent question to go on, «can we please share blankets?»

«Why?» he chuckled at your distress, and you could feel his soft breath in the side of your face. «You look cold,» you tried to justify yourself, «I have a lot of blankets, we can share.» you insisted.

Minho eventually gave up, and the both of you ended up shifting from your original position; however, this meant that your arms were touching as you were now laying next to each other, and there wasn’t a blanket you could use as an invisible barrier anymore.

Under the sea of sheets, Minho’s right arm snaked under your neck, pulling you to his body; as if you were magnets, you followed his lead, laying on your side and hugging his waist, resting your head in the crook of his neck, nuzzling as close as you could. Your nose was right against Minho’s neck, and you could almost feel the goosebumps he had whenever you breathed; you ended up blaming it on the cold temperature, since you were fond of keeping your mental sanity and you were madly trying to distract yourself from thinking about other ways to share body heat.

«You know, once we got stuck in the middle of an iced part of the sea,» Minho mumbled, talking about one of his adventures as if he was trying to prevent his mind from wandering towards the same sinful thoughts you were trying to avoid.

«What?» you hummed, too tired to try remembering if you read about it in the novel, «How did you get out of there?»

«Ropes,» was his immediate answer, «we ended up pulling on the rope until we could break the ice.»

«Like that “Vikings” episode,» you giggled to yourself in a tired voice; Minho had immediately questioned you about it, and you tried to explain to him what movies and TV shows were.

However, you were obliviously fighting falling asleep, reason why Minho ended up gently shutting you up with a gentle and earnest: «you’ll tell me about it tomorrow.»

As always you fell asleep first, but this time, when Minho moved you so that you could lay on your bed to sleep more comfortably and he could walk back to his room, you weakly grabbed his hand in your sleep.

«I get lonely if you’re not here.» you mumbled, still lost in dreamland. Minho was thankful to the lights being completely off and to you being asleep because the expression on his face was priceless: he was incredibly flustered, his blush was flaring up both his cheeks and the tip of his ears. That night, Minho slept next to you for the first time, and as you randomly woke up in the middle of the night, you found him laying next to you under the sea of blankets; you instinctively snuggled closer to his chest, only to realize that you were partially laying on top of his firm chest. Not wanting to disturb his sleep, you tried to scoot away as quietly as you could in order not to wake him up, just to lay next to him.

However, that was your initial plan, since you soon found out that Minho was indeed a light sleeper; the arm he kept around your waist had tightened out of reflex, harshly pulling you in your original position once again.

«Where do you think you’re going, princess?» he murmured, his voice still groggy due to sleep.

«I, uhm…» you hesitated, your brain was clearly too sleepy to come up with a clever and witty answer. Minho didn’t wait for you to find your words, though; keeping you close to his body, he gently rolled you on your back, partially draping his body over yours instead.

«Go back to sleep,» he murmured again, easing his left leg between yours, and nuzzling his head in the crook of your neck.

“He’s a cuddler?” you wondered in pleased surprise; your hand eventually ended up in his hair, running your fingertips trough it and trying to lull him back to sleep.

However, Minho found it impossible to fall asleep again, judging your wild heartbeat hammering right under his ear; he glanced up towards the small window in your room, and quickly deduced that it was still the middle of the night, meaning that you didn’t get to sleep much in the first place.

If at first he had tried to lull you back to sleep while caressing your hip in a loving manner, he quickly realized that his touch had quite the opposite effect on you; he also had to admit that the sudden proximity of your body and the position that you were in was making him significantly riled up as well.

«Can’t sleep?» he asked, shortly rubbing his eyes with his fingertips in order to get rid of sleep as fast as he could, deciding that you didn’t have to stay awake on your own; you settled for humming affirmatively at his question, and Minho effortlessly pushed himself up, partially balancing his weight on his right elbow so that he his face was hovering above yours. Due to the change of position, his thigh was firmly pressed between your legs, and you forced yourself to swallow a whimper as his knee slightly dipped in the mattress.

Despite the poor lightning, you could feel his gaze on your features, as if he was trying to see through the darkness; you were clearly trying to do the same, and another silence fell as the Golden Fleece was constantly rocking your body while gently following the rhythm of the night sea.

«Do you think the flowers growing in your head are contagious?» Minho blurted out all of a sudden, his left hand mindlessly running up your side in a gentle yet firm touch, «I think I might go back on my thoughts of you not being a siren.» he quietly added; you didn’t answer – your senses about to go overdrive due to all the different kind of constant stimulation added to the comfortable warmth of his body, settling for humming yet again, silently asking him to go on.

Minho ran his left hand from your side to your neck, and eventually started to run his fingertip over your features, delicately brushing over your skin ever so lightly, touching you as if you were some precious treasure he unexpectedly found in the middle of the sea.

«You have completely driven me mad,» Minho confessed with an earnest voice, his fingertips brushing over your cheekbones, «with affection,» he added, his touch brushing over the bow on your upper lip, «with desire,» you found yourself weakly gripping at the front his shirt as soon as you heard his hoarse voice overflowing with the feelings he was talking about, «to the point where I know I should want you to be happy, but I keep wanting – I keep craving, that you could find your happiness with me.» Minho’s confession made your head spin; you wanted to answer that his feelings were completely reciprocated, answer that you didn’t found happiness with Minho – you found a home. However, your voice died in your throat as soon as the pirate had leaned in, his lips hovering barely above yours, yet almost constantly brushing together due to the ship’s movement.

«I am completely enamoured of everything about you,» Minho had whispered then, making you suddenly tighten the loose grip you had on his shirt to the point that the necklace he had been wearing since they day you saved the crew from the sirens’ had fallen out of the collar, now dangling between your bodies, «your body, your personality, the crazy flower field in your head, princess, I – I don’t want you to go back.»

Your heart was overflowing with a different mix of feelings, but the happiness of your feelings being reciprocated seemed to prevail. «I stopped wanting to go back since me and Leana returned from O'draxxia.» was what you admitted out loud, your voice trembling due to all the sudden emotions that were almost setting your soul on fire.

Only then you leaned in – trusting your body more then your words, capturing the pirate’s lips in a timid first kiss, filling it with all the love you felt for the pirate. Minho returned your gesture immediately, kissing your lips slowly, tentatively, over and over again as he was trying to savour you, shortly kissing your lips just to drift his attention elsewhere and kissing your cheek, your nose, your chin, as if he was trying not to lose himself to the lust he was feeling. The kiss had eventually started to heathen when Minho leaned in to kiss you, just for you to run your fingertips through his hair and harshly closing your hand in a fist against his nape, tugging him closer to you and preventing him from running away, so that you could delicately running your tongue on his lower lip.

Minho’s kisses started to get less cherishing and more passionate, occasionally leaving a path of open mouthed kisses on your neck, his knee digging further in the mattress anytime he moved and creating the kind of friction you were honestly about to beg for. It was as if you were a small ship adrift caught up in a sudden storm; Minho kept worshipping your body and all you could do in that moment was to take, take and take, hoping that as soon as the storm had passed you wouldn’t have completely fallen into madness, wishing to stumble right in another one because you felt addicted to the rush of adrenaline. As your kisses grew hotter, so did your bodies and eventually, the sea of blankets you were covered with was progressively being scattered either on the floor or in a corner of your bed.

On deck, the sight of the sun about to rise in the distance was in stark contrast to the light drizzle that had started to fall, the sound of rain echoing on the wooden tiles and absorbing the faint noises of the pirates waking up for the morning shift; in your bedroom, Minho’s hair felt like gentle rain falling on your body everytime the pirate leaned down to kiss your skin as he was undressing you.

“Well, fuck,” you thought, admitting to yourself that Minho was definitely both a good and experienced lover. He had patiently took his sweet time to pay extreme attention to your body, studying how reacted to his different touches as if he was making up for all the lost time, occasionally showering you with praises as his head was nestled between your legs and he was lapping at your clit, making you quicklytumble on your first orgasm of the night. It had definitely been a long time since you had sex with someone, your boring routine had never actually given you an opportunity to meet new people – let alone think about a relationship, but you weren’t expecting Minho to act so smug about it.

As your bodies were finally connected,Minho had sneaked one arm under your waist while steadily moving his hips against yours, harshly pulling it upwards so that your back would be a little more arched and your naked bodies would be pressed together even more; once again, you were greedily taking everything Minho was giving you, helplessly running your fingernails on his back deep enough you would leave marks, beaming yourself in the feeling of his low moans and the goosebumps erupting on his skin out of reflex.

«Going dumb on me for this little action, princess?» Minho’s hoarse voice was filled with desire as he spoke, his hips gradually slowing until his movements came to a stop; you immediately whimpered loudly at the lack of friction, trying to move your hips in circles because you were desperately to create it on your own. You wanted to feel more, you wanted for that moment to never end. As you kept your movements slow and rhythmic – you had to admit that Minho still hoisting you up was doing half of the job, you grabbed the necklace sill dangling between the two of you with your left hand, harshly tugging it and therefore bringing Minho’s face closer to yours.

«Do you ever shut up?» you answered instead, the nails of your right hand – still gripping at his shoulders, were most definitely digging half moon shapes in his skin, and you felt proud of yourself for not ending up whimpering with need somewhere along your sentence; even if it was probably dawn already, you couldn’t see him clearly yet, but it didn’t take a wild guess for you to know that he was smirking at your words.

«I don’t know, do I?» he challenged, shortly capturing your lips in a passionate kiss, starting once again to move his hips to meet your movements.

«Ruin me, Minho,» you urged, keeping him close to you with your grip on the necklace, «I want to be yours,» you confessed then, your body slowly about to lose itself to the momentary euphoria of another orgasm, «I don’t want you to be anybody else’s but mine.»

«Do you think we can sleep in?» you mumbled, tired; you could both clearly hear that it was raining, and you desperately wished for your alone time with Minho to continue for few more hours; you were now laying in bed, lovingly cuddling in your post orgasm bliss.

«I’m on duty this morning,» Minho replied, caressing the bare skin of your shoulder, and admitting that he would have loved to spend the day like this; eventually, you and Minho woke up, washed up and got ready for your day.

Of course, during the day, the pirate had used any excuse to drive you in a corner of the Golden Fleece and kiss you as desperately as if it was your last time. Of course, you couldn’t escape a certain pair of eyes.

“Oh no, here they come, Sauron and Sauron jr.” you thought, chuckling to yourself as you saw Felix and Leana approaching with big and quick steps; you found it hard to contain your laughter, since they were lightly pushing and pulling each other as if both of them wanted to know first.

«Congratulations on the sex!» Leana had mischievously commented, and you immediately reached out to press your hand against her lips in a vain attempt to let everyone on the Golden Fleece know about your early morning activities, «you have hickeys everywhere.» you heard her mutter against your skin.

«Are you finally official?» Felix questioned, secretly happy to have you as a sister in law; you didn’t immediately reply, since you and Minho didn’t clarify it out loud.

However, as your gaze shortly wondered to your lover, who was continuously walking around on deck while changing his destination every now and then as he was trying to avoid Hyunjin’s Jisung’s and Changbin’s teasing – they were literally tailing him and occasionally trying to widen the collar of his shirt just to see «where do these scratches on your nape come from? Is there a stray cat on board or something?», you found yourself smiling gently at the sight.

«We are.» you confirmed, a smile on your face as you finally felt happy.

A month later, you and Minho were definitely official: he moved to your bedroom, and you managed to fit in your small bed nonetheless. You both spent your days doing your chores, and your nights enjoying your affection, either making love until you were exhausted or talking until you were on the verge to fall asleep.

Minho wanted to know everything about you, every single detail that you didn’t consider important, and you felt cherished, since you knew that no one had ever loved you like that. Actually, you wanted to know everything about Minho as well; although the author of the novel had paid enough attention to his character, there were a lot of things you didn’t know, and you found yourself listening to his stories, silently wishing that you were already in his company so that you could have experienced those memories together.

«You’re a pirate,» he had chuckled at your comment, «I’m sure you’ll get to experience your dose of adventures, too.» Minho was completely smitten with your presence, and so were you; slowly, you found yourself occasionally forgetting about your life before you had shifted into this dimension, admitting to both your lover and your friends that you didn’t want to find a way to go home any longer. Needless to say, they were all more than happy with your choice.

However, a month later, your destiny gave you an unexpected choice.

The Golden Fleece was now docked to a port for your usual restock of supplies, and as everyone was busy with their commissions, you and Minho decided to wander through the nearby marketplace, since everything about that world was new to you. You ended up buying a matching necklace, since the both of you were too scared to lose a ring in the middle of the sea, and you kept playing with it as you were strolling around, your fingers loosely intertwined together.

The marketplace was filled with the most random people, but what captured your attention was a small stall that seemed to be packed with books.

«I’ll check this out for a second.» you told Minho, who had simply nodded at you, answering that he was going to check out the stall right next to yours. As soon as you quickly approached it, a certain book seemed to catch your eye in a magnetic hold: it was relegated in leather, some golden details that recalled the title written in beautiful handwriting. Honestly, a small familiar detail was the one that caught your eye, making your heart rapidly hammer in your chest: a small golden stone embedded right under the title was quietly reflecting the sunlight.

Immediately, you found yourself fanning the pages with anxious fingers, and you couldn’t believe what you were reading; the book was talking about your life, the life you were leading before finding yourself in the novel you had been reading. What the hell was happening?

Quickly, you jumped to the end of the book to read the summary, and you felt as if you couldn’t breathe: it was a short novel about a girl – who coincidentally had both your name and worked exactly where you used to work, who spent her quiet life in a small home town, occasionally meeting her friends.

Of course, it sounded rather plain and boring, but the description was perfectly matching your life; anxiety was slowly clouding your emotions as you opened the book at a random page.

“«Cleo, don’t sit on the window sill!» the girl had yelled from the kitchen, worried about her cat’s habits.”

You closed the book immediately, recalling the scene a bit too vividly; your cat had the habit to sit on the window sill anytime it was open, therefore worrying you to death, and every time you ended up picking her up in order to give her some extra cuddles to refrain her from climbing there yet again.

A whirlwind of thoughts were occupying your head; if this book was talking about your life, that meant you could go back to your ordinary life and keep living your days as you used to.

Going back meant not having occasional nausea due to living on a ship and not risking to die of hypothermia; moreover, all of a sudden, you were definitely craving to eat some junk food.

«Are you interested in purchasing the book, young girl?» an old lady called your attention. She was probably the owner of the stall, and you squinted your eyes at the familiarity of her face; to be honest, you were almost certain that she was the same person that owned the book-store in your original time, but that couldn’t be the case, right?

«Hey princess, if you don’t hurry up, we’ll leave you here!» Minho’s voice interrupted your thoughts, and your head seemed to clear just like the wind clears the sky after a heavy storm; you turned your head to look at your lover, who was looking at you with his hands on his hips, a smug yet enamoured look on his face. The Golden Fleece was about to sail, you reminded yourself, you had simply stopped in town to get some supplies, water and enough provisions for the next trip.

Out of instinct, you hugged the book to your chest, as your eyes remained fixed on Minho; you didn’t know anything about how you managed to end up in this messed up reality, and at this point, you didn’t care.

The chance to go back was right in your hands, but as you watched Minho scoff a laughter at your indecision, every trace of doubt vanished from your heart; you and Minho definitely had a rough start, but you had to admit to yourself that you wouldn’t want to live in another dimension without the pirate who was looking at you as if you were the centre of the universe.

Going back meant not having Felix waking you up in the morning, or Leana bursting into your room looking for cuddles because «Chris is busy with stupid pirate stuff.». It meant not seeing both Seungmin and Jeongin incredibly proud about the latter’s progresses in writing and reading, or Changbin, Jisung and Hyunjin restlessly trying to lure you into their gambling circle.

Going back also meant no more Minho; no more walking up in the middle of the night just to cuddle closer to him, no more having quiet sex on deck in the middle of the night, no more laughing among yourselves because of a stupid inside joke you created, not having him gently chuckling at your unconsolable face anytime he was drying your hair with a towel as you kept whining about your limited edition conditioner.

Most importantly, it meant no more Minho telling you that he loved you, his eyes full of love and sincerity.

«Thank you, but I prefer adventure books.» you honestly answered at the lady, and with a content smile you placed the book exactly where it was; you quickly walked towards Minho, who hugged your shoulders out of instinct as the two of you walked towards the port.

«Saw anything you liked out there?» he wondered curiously; you sincerely seemed interested in the book you were holding, why didn’t you buy it?

«Yeah,» you answered honestly, «you.» the pirate scoffed a flustered breath, and you circled his waist as you kept walking.

Unbeknownst to you, the lady was looking at you and Minho with a some sort of fond smile on her lips; as soon as you were at a reasonable distance, the book seemed to vanish, as if it had completely disappeared from this world. In a blink of an eye, the old lady seemed to have disappeared as well, and in her place was standing the original owner of the stall, a man who was selling every kind of jewellery shining brightly on the table in front of him.

Few meters away, a cat with a very unique appearance – black fur randomly dotted with ginger spots and light green eyes, was quietly roaming the port, satisfied with her task. She recalled being called in a different variety of names during her immortal life, “Ananke” was probably the most used among different cultures; however, she will always cherish the memories she had made with a very special human who had randomly picked her up on a rainy day, giving her a shelter, keeping her well fed and gifting her with a brand new name: “Cleo”.

Walking towards the Golden Fleece, your attention was caught by some pirates who were carrying a dozen crates on board that looked quite heavy.

«Did we have so little supplies on board?» you questioned Chris, as soon as you and Minho joined the others on the wharf.

«We had plenty!» Leana answered instead, «Me and Felix decided to fill your wardrobe with new clothes, as a welcoming gift!»

«But… I don’t have a wardrobe in my room…» you answered, wondering how could a wardrobe fit in there now that you and Minho were sharing the bedroom.

«Not yet!» Felix answered, mirroring Leana’s euphoria; you were about to answer him, when Hyunjin had asked you whether you had decided to stay with them.

«I did, Captain said it’s not a problem.» you nodded, imperceptibly pushing your body against Minho’s side as if to look for an invisible shelter; what if the gambler trio was against the idea?

However, Hyunjin had simply nodded, while Changbin and Jisung seemed to be genuinely happy about it.

«Well, that’s great!» you said, clapping your hands once, «Chris said that I could chose the first thing to do, and so I decided we’re about to raid a merchant ship!»

«Are you sure you’re okay? Did you perhaps hit your head again?» Seungmin wondered, instinctively reaching out in order to touch your forehead, as if checking if you had a fever. However, you were already walking towards the Golden Fleece with confident steps, as if you were meant to be there.

«Come on, scallywags!» you eagerly announced in a loud voice, as if you were impersonating the Captain, «Let’s go, Min Min.» you added then, your voice definitely more softer and a smile on your lips.

«Wait!» Jeongin halted everyone, his hands hovering in the air, «Did she just call him-»

«You heard the lady!» Leana interrupted Jeongin, quickly pulling the palm of her hand on the younger’s mouth. «Let’s go!»

“Ah, I really shouldn’t have wasted the Britney quote like that,” you pouted, “now I have to figure out another iconic thing to scream as we walk on the merchants’ ship.” you sighed, instinctively leaning towards Minho as soon as you felt his arm circle your shoulders.

«You seem lost in thought,» he pointed out, noticing your eyebrows furrowed.

«Does “it’s high tide, baby!” sound scary and menacious to you?» you wondered out loud, thing that made Minho burst out laughing, «Why are you laughing? It’s not like we can crash against their ship screaming “vibe check”!» you pretended to be offended, but you found yourself laughing along with your lover.

«“Vibe” what? Where did that come from now?» he asked, already knowing that this was just another one of your weird figure of speech.

«My flower field.» you proudly answered, tapping your temple twice, Minho rolled his eyes, and leaned in, shortly kissing your temple.

Everyone was busy on deck, the Golden Fleece had sailed once again; your gaze lost itself in the vast sea in front of you, and you found yourself recalling the question Leana had asked you when you were on your trip to O’draxxia.

«Do you believe in soulmates?» she had questioned you, and back then you uncertainly answered that you thought you did.

“What if me and Minho are soulmates?” you wondered, unconsciously wrapping your fingers around your matching necklace - both the one you bought at the market and the talisman made out of your precious clothes; you found yourself recalling the unpredictable change of your relationship, and you breathed a content sigh, for the first time in your life feeling completely at peace.

«Yes, we must be.» you softly mumbled to yourself, your voice barely above a whisper losing itself in the wind.

Do not modify, repost, translate or plagiarize my stories. I only publish my works on tumblr & AO3.

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