#swift blue line | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shotmrmiller · 11 months ago

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Big man, Big mouth

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!reader (because demeaning girl usage) WC: 4.9k it's just gross smut and simon gets kinda mean sometimes nothing crazy :) ty to the brain to my pinky @xoxunhinged and precious beta @waves-against-a-cliff catching my errs

The smile you’d had on your face all morning is subsequently wiped once you’re told that you won’t, in fact, be spearheading a team meeting with air conditioning and a cup full of your favorite medium roast, but instead, you’re being sent somewhere where practical experience trumps theoretical, textbook knowledge. And alone, at that.

Guess your travel mug is about to make its big debut.

The construction site is alive with purpose— the buzzing of drills, raucous banter, and the low hum of music from a stereo. You run a hand down the back of your skirt that is more tourniquet than office attire you were forced into wearing, regretting not drawing the line at the heels pinching your toes. "Professional setting, professional appearance," your boss had said. Nothing here demands you to stand in ironed clothes with dust settling on your eyelashes and the taste of grit on your tongue.

You feel out of place, a white-collar worker surrounded by hard hats and steel-toe boots. Perhaps taking this job for a promotion was hasty on your part. But it’s too late now and the sun above you is wilting the starched collar of your blouse.

Best get this over and done with. (The bottle of barefoot wine at home will be your reward for your suffering.)

Walking to the home still in a semi-skeletal phase had been a bit uncomfortable, anxiety gnawing at your nerves and the polished shoes at the skin of your heel. But what made your shoulders tense and spine stiffen was the crew. You'd expected disgruntled workers, sure. A bit of grumbling here and there. No one likes to have someone with more authority and less experience trample all over your work, telling you what's what.

Not them eyeing you like you're a fish in a shark tank. A little minnow pulled out of her natural habitat and into the mix with dominant predators. The paper on your clipboard crinkles audibly as one of them— the leader, you gather— stops you before you can get any closer than he feels necessary. He plods over, hard hat tucked into his arm, wiping his sweaty brow with his sunbaked forearm, a few wood curls nestled into his beard.

"Ya lost?" he grunts.

There's a guy with a comb for hair and limpid blue eyes staring right at you from the back as he leans on a half-built wall with a smarmy grin on his thin lips.

"No! No, I, um—" you stammer, "I'm here as a temporary replacement for, um—"

He cuts you off with a dismissive wave, fingers thick as steel beams. "Right. Yeah, yeah." Bloody rude. "The inspector." His head tilts and spits on the cement, eyes giving you a once over, lingering on the bare skin of your calves. "John," he says then jerks his head behind him, to the shady inside of the home. "Let's get ya out this sun 'fore you melt like sugar on the driveway."

You keep your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down the retort sitting on your tongue with a hint of frustration, and follow him on swift feet. It is unforgivingly hot and at least there's a roof overhead. Most of the walls were still just wooden beams, the foundation concrete covered in dust. Rough-bristle brooms lean in corners, the stereo now sitting silently in the center of what’s to be the living room next to a man with a massive frame and a sweat-soaked wifebeater who didn't bother turning around as you made a beeline for the only fan feebly cutting through the muggy heat inside.

John from behind you grabs your attention. "So? What's the issue this time? We jus' had tha' muppet pass through a week ago." You turn around, the breeze now somewhat cooling the back of your neck.

"Just need to personally check what's left—" you clear your throat, giving the clipboard a waggle, "on this. Nothing too grand." The blonde one with shorn hair hasn't looked up once from the blue cooler between his legs.

John scratches his head. "Right." There's a drag of heavy boots behind you. "Temporary, eh?" His eyes are like cerulean rivets, pinning you in place.

Gruff Scottish cuts in, tone dripping with amusement. "Will ye look a' tha'," he mutters, accent thick and deliberate, "bosses up top sent a bonnie wee lass to keep an eye on things. Make sure ye pay good attention, aye?" The brute comes to stand in front of you, flexing one arm, bicep like a knotted tree trunk. "Would hate ye missin' the show."

Show ‘em your teeth, little fish. That promotion is already in your hands, don't let it slip through your fingers.

"Listen, you—" you snap back, cheeks burning hot but then his eyebrows raise to his hairline, the corner of his lip curling in challenge.

"It's Soap, hen."

“...Right.”

What the hell kind of name is Soap?

A third voice— crisp English just like John's— cuts through the air from the second floor. "Wipe the slobber off ya chin 'nd leave 'er alone, Soap! You still hav'ta sweep up 'ere!" A man with bronze skin and a cap adorned with the Union Jack in the center pokes his head out from over the wooden railing. His smile looks stiff.

"Miss." His eyes flash to Soap. "Move it. You can get your cock—" wow, mouth like a sailor, that one, "wet while on company's time." His gaze falls on you for a moment longer before disappearing back into the upper level.

Soap grumbles what sounds like a "fuckin' 'ell Kyle" but heads for the stairs anyway, steps creaking under his weight. "Ah'll be 'round if ye need me," he says with a wink.

Unlikely.

John absently shakes his head and turns to the grizzled, mountain of a man still hunched over that cursed cooler of his. "Simon." He suddenly moves then, rising smoothly to his feet for someone his size. He's a wall of muscle, a very clear force of nature, and he's now staring at your—

your shoes?

"Alrigh'," he gruffly says, "We'll get outta your way. The faster you can look for, whatever it is you're lookin' for, the faster you can get out o' my beard." He places his hard hat back on and gives Simon a nod. "To work, break time's over."

Simon walks past you without so much as a glance, his thick arm brushing roughly against your shoulder with enough strength to make you take a step back but then he speaks. "Don't trip on nothin', girl. I'd hate f'r our pretty mascot t'get injured on the," he emphasizes the last word, tone heavy with mockery, "job."

Your tongue is pressed firmly behind your clenched teeth as you straighten your skirt. Get this shit over with.

Their attitudes toward you had left some to be desired, but they had done their job seamlessly. Not a crack in place nor a bolt out of it meaning that ticking off the rest of the boxes on your clipboard had been a cinch, making the promotion even easier. By the time you were ready to go home— the thought of leaving behind the tangy scent of sweat and iron adding a pep to your painful step— the sun had already dipped, casting long shadows over the construction site.

Until John's unwelcome chivalrous gesture: sending one of his to accompany you to your car. "t's late out," he says, leaving no room for lip. Fine, whatever. The faster you get out of here the better. Saliva pools in your mouth at the thought of having a chilled glass of wine with chinese takeout for dinner.

Except the one waiting for you in the garage with a lit smoke between his chapped lips is Simon. He flicks it to the ground, smothering out the embers with the heel of his boot. "Move. Ain't got all day."

The last strand of your patience snaps and your mouth twists into a snarl. "Then leave off! I don't need a fucking chaperone. Believe it or not, I do know how to look both ways before crossing the street."

You'd only taken three irate, swift-footed steps away from him, clipboard trembling in your grip when the back of your shoe dug into raw skin; a sharp, sudden agony flaring out in a hot, thick wave and you stumble. The world spins for a second, colors blurring together until—

The relief is immediate. The hot needles on your raw nerves dulled down to a throb, vision blurring from the brief bite of intense pain. You breathe in a deep lungful of air, tasting salt and sawdust while you flex your feet, hissing when the blistered skin stretches. At least the damage to your toes is minimal.

But not to your pride. Tripping over your own feet, because the driveway while unfinished is still flat, now means you're being hauled over his shoulder, which is broad enough to be surprisingly comfortable, in the opposite direction of where your car is with your heels in hand. The fabric of his tank feels stiff under your sweaty palms.

"Is this kind of behavior normal for you? Or am I just lucky?" your voice is tinged with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. His arm tightens uncomfortably around the back of your bare thighs even though the office skirt you managed to squeeze into is knee-length.

"Only when I spot clumsy-footed birds like you. Can't 'ave ya splat on the concrete like a crime scene outline." A slow creeping flame spreads from your neck to the apple of your cheeks when you notice the guys staring at you from a window upstairs, Soap giving you a toothy smile. Even Kyle seems amused. Mortifying. Someone strike you down now. Actually, no. Then who'd feed your cat once you’re gone?

"'nd John would chew me out f'r lettin' ya break these," his long fingers circle your ankle, "in 'alf." You try to muster a response, but the words sit behind your teeth, your chagrin having tangled your tongue into knots.

Then he stops and the creaking of hinges reaches your ears. "Wait." Your eyes land on a black cargo bed, caked with dried mud. "Are you just going to sit me in your car?" He sets you down in the back seat anyway, tossing your shoes inside.

"Truck. I can drop ya on the patch of grass if ya like." Simon leaves you there, going to the driver's side rummaging through the middle compartment. His work truck is exactly what you'd expect from a man like him. The seats are covered in a thin layer of dust, you imagine he gives no one a ride, a well-worn visibility vest strewn about, an extra pair of work boots stained with splatters of white paint—the size difference of your shoes compared to his has you swallowing a lump the size of your fist down.

Simon pulls out a mid-sized red box and places it on the floor mat then props your leg up on his. His grip is firm but gentle as he inspects your open wounds and then sucks on his teeth. "A bit stupid, wearin' ankle breakers when out on a job." He prods around the inflamed skin, the pain making you tense.

"Don't worry about me and mi—" you hiss when he digs his thumb into the arch of your foot, "mine. Maybe I wanted to look nice." Fuck those shoes.

"'m sure ya did, though the skirt's all ya need." The warmth of his breath spreads through your toes and up your calf, raising gooseflesh.

You can't hold back a snort. "And now you're going to tell me that you prefer women in skirts and dresses?"

Simon switches legs, careful to not aggravate the blisters further. "I prefer my women with no clothes. But both of those make it f'r easier access. Like yours. Can see your knickers from 'ere." That has your heart skipping a beat, eyes widening with disbelief. Instinctively, you sit upright, back straightening with a pop.

"They're red."

You chuff out a breath. He's lying. You'd put on the only available pair you had at the time since you'd forgotten to dry your laundry the night prior. A simple, cotton grey. "You—! Fucking hell, I almost kicked you in the teeth." Simon's looking at you now, eyes dark and intense.

"Wouldn't be the first time someone's tried," he says with a smirk, voice low. "White, then."

The first aid kit still lies on the floor mat. "Stop talking." Simon ignores you, instead grabbing your other leg and pulling you closer toward the edge of the seat. Toward him.

"Green," he rumbles, his hands cupping the bottom of your feet, thumb and pointer coming to gently tug on your toes before moving his way up. You feel like a young, dewy-eyed farm girl having her first tumble in the hay and he's only now stroking the protruding bone of your ankle. The motion is slow, deliberate, a tender caress that sends a shiver up your spine. Has it truly been that long since you've had your body shape imprinted into the mattress?

"How about," you swallow thickly, "you patch me up proper and I'll be on my way?" If anyone else had heard, they'd say you're trying to convince yourself that being here isn't what you really want. But the little garble in your voice gives you away.

Simon hums, a sound that vibrates in your chest, sinks into the marrow of your bones. "Little bird wants t’go home 'nd 'ave only a throw 'nd a cat t'warm 'er bed?" You feel a different kind of ache this time, pulsing sharp and deep in your core. "Eh? Y'wanna curl up on the couch with one o’ those sex books while playin’ with your pretty cunt?"

The idea of having to use the blue bullet sitting inside the nightstand drawer sounds unappealing. And it’s probably out of battery too. Damn.

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip and shake your head. He doesn’t accept that as your answer.

"Wha's tha'? You will speak when spoken to, pet. Do you," he emphasizes the last word as he begins to open your legs by the knees, "wanna go home with an empty pussy or let me fill it 'til you're leaking cum out ya ears?"

Can't say no to him serenading you like that. You clench around nothing, hesitance crumbling like sand. "B-but what about your job? Aren't you still working?"

Simon grabs you then, dinner plate-sized hands wrapping around the softer part of your waist. "'M on a break. I'd say I deserve it after all my 'ard work." He lifts you effortlessly, the hem of your skirt rolling as you widen your legs further.

He rolls his hips once, feeling the bulge in his jeans brush against your sex, feather-light, and you bite on the thickest part of your tongue to keep from moaning like a cat in heat. "And what about us being in the open?" you ask though the question is redundant. Besides the crew's work vehicles, there's not another car in sight. If anyone else had been working nearby, they've long since left.

He seems to share your sentiment. "If tha's all? 'm tryin' t'see if I got it righ'."

No, that'll just about do it. "Okay. Alright." God knows you need this. Even if it comes from a stranger you'll probably never see again. Simon doesn't wait any longer, pushing up the rest of your skirt to pool above your thighs.

He hisses long and low through his teeth. "Tight little thing, innit?" Yeah, well. You were going to tell him that while putting on your skirt that morning had been an absolute nightmare, it wasn't that small on you until the tips of his fingers glided along your clothed slit. Oh. He's not talking about that.

"I guess grey's my new favorite colour. Especially this—" he thumbs the darkened wet spot on the fabric, "shade." When he adds more pressure, you can't help but let a gasp out as you buck your hips in want of more. "Easy. 'aven't even started with you." Simon opens the front of your blouse with a single hand, coming undone easily. He goes for the clip of your bra that's serendipitously placed on the front.

"Gotta let the girls breathe," he says. Whatever his reasoning doesn't matter because all there is, is relief. No more underwire digging into your skin, no more suffocating restraint. You only wore the blasted thing because all of your sports bras would've been visible through the blouse.

Simon rolls a hardened bud with one hand while unbuttoning the front of his jeans with the other. "Eatin' this," he gives the mound of your pussy a mean tap, "gonna 'ave t'wait. I'll get ya off though, don't worry tha' little head o' yours."

You wonder if he says that to everybody he fucks in the back of his truck. "What? Why?"

His length sits hot and heavy over your cunt. And it's big enough to kill. Death by cock. That'll be on your epitaph. "'m a big geezer," he mutters, fingers toying with the side of your panties, "lyin' down so you can sit your cunt on my face isn't gonna work righ' now."

Definitely says that to everybody. "Doesn't matter. I'll take care o'ya 'nother way." Simon pulls the dampened gusset to the side and lowers his head to— "Pretty like I thought it was." A fat glob of spit lands on the puffy lips of your pussy and he smears it around with his cock, tip sliding right along your clit. He uses his thumb to press himself down harder, more friction, more sensation, each slow roll of his hips pricking neglected nerves awake, alive, and it feels good. Surprisingly good.

The way the scar on his lip whitens as he bites it tells you it's just as good for him too. "Thought about it much, did you?" He goes lower this time, ruddy tip catching on your entrance momentarily before returning up.

"Since you walked inside a place you 'ave no business bein' in. Birds like you shouldn't be minglin' in the trenches with us grunts." The tips of your ears are hot as he stares down at you. "Should be sittin' nice 'nd pretty in a cubicle with air conditionin' 'nd an oversized mug o' watered-down coffee."

Simon cups the swell of your arse, canting your hips to glide himself better. Every bump and ridge on the underside of his cock is rubbing slowly on you and the thought of licking a slick stripe on the vein only tightens the white-hot coil below your navel.

"Or better yet, sittin' at home doin' wha'ever else while waitin' f'r a man like me to come back from work with a ribeye 'nd redskin potatoes in the oven." He lets your panties fall back into place; the sodden front almost transparent as he rubs against your swollen clit at the same time. God, he's fucking. your. panties! And you're bloody letting him.

What a way to break this year-long dry spell.

He bends your legs so that your feet are now being held flat on the thick of his chest with his hands as he picks up the pace. The suspension springs on the truck begin to groan. "I like mine medium rare."

Your back's come off the seat, spine bowed. You're close, so fucking close, you've got slick coating the inside of your thighs, dripping down to your arse, probably staining his polyester material underneath. This is torture and your pussy feels tender, raw, yet he's barely touching the focal point of your desire. If he doesn't make you come in the next minute, you're breaking that thick neck of his.

It's like he read your mind because he uses his cock to tap on your clit firmly, hard enough to hear a wet thwack and he does it once, thrice and—

And then your body gives, an intense climax that steals the breath in your very lungs, has you your blunt nails biting into the muscle of his forearms, his groan drowned out by the shrill ringing in your ears. Your face feels hot, probably is hot to the touch and there's a sting on the middle of your bottom lip and can taste iron on your tongue. Even the tips of your fingers tingle.

Through your half-lidded gaze, you see Simon holding onto the top of the truck while his breath comes in ragged gasps. Did he come? You curiously touch the expanse of your stomach. Not sticky.

"No. I didn't come. You," he takes in a deep, steadying breath then reaches to squeeze the sides of your face, cheeks plumping under the pressure. "You almost 'ad me, though. I don't remember the last time I 'ad to think tha' 'ard of London t'not finish. But I'm not done with you."

Simon hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your panties and takes them off with urgency only to stuff them in his back pocket. "Better with no clothes on, remember." You can feel his twitching cock leak onto your heated skin.

"If ya need, use this." A black bundle of fabric lands on your chest, what is— It's a mask? If he means to hide your identity from his coworkers, you're not sure this skull mask is going to work. He drags you to him roughly until your arse is hanging off the seat. And then there's a hot, dull pressure pushing against your entrance that's followed by a searing sting, and it, it's so much, it's too m-

"Tight fucking-, Ya need t-, fuck, to relax," he grunts, fingers dimpling your thighs. Simon's thrusts are jerky, short, as he wrenches your walls apart. Even with your creamy cum and his spit it's still a struggle. "'Alf way there," and a rattled breath escapes you. You're being split right down the middle and there's still some left?

For the next few moments only your squeaks and mewls can be heard as he makes room for him, your hand flat on his lower stomach— feeling the coarse, thick patch of hair on it— as if you're trying to keep him away, out, something but then he snarls and snaps his hips. You've heard of a ring of fire some women experience at some point in their life and you think this is yours. The thin skin of your entrance burns, most likely stretched to its limit, like a rubber band about to snap.

"Easy," he drawls out, "The worst's over. Took me like you're made f'r me. G'mme ya 'and." He takes your clammy hand and has you touch where the two of you meet. His eyes are glued to your fingers that are split into a v, pads feeling your cunt soaked in viscous slick.

The groan he lets out at the sight makes the world around you spin. "Stay jus' like tha'." Sure, not like you’ve got anywhere to go. Not with his hands tight around you like metal cuffs. Simon holds nothing back, not even in the very first minute. Doesn't warm you up to it, don't let you try to get used to him turning you inside out. His thrusts are long, firm, hungry— bottoming out every single time until he sits snugly at the plug of your womb. Grinds up when he meets resistance, eyeing your features in case there's discomfort.

The only ache you've got is the one he's fucking into you. (And you also might be partly lying on his tape measurer.)

But then he hitches your legs up, hands around the back of your thighs as they're pushed toward your chest and that pulls a whine out of you that you're sure John and the crew heard. "There she is, bird's got a healthy set o' lungs on 'er." He keeps the same, unforgiving angle and doubles down, using the bulk of his weight to pin you in place, forced to do nothing but take and take and take.

Until Simon's strikes the side of your arse with an open palm. "D'ya hear 'em?" Wha? What? Hear who?

And then you hear it. Him. The handsome one with the hat from upstairs. "Ghost?" he sounds right across the street and Simon hasn't stopped rocking the truck as he fucks you right through it. "Wha's tha' Kyle?" His voice is steady even though there are beads of sweat rolling down the side of his temple.

"I said good job on all your 'ard work 'nd we'll see ya tomorrow. You 'ave a good night too, Miss." There's a crude whistle followed by a pained grunt and a quick mumbled apology. Maybe if you don't respond they'll just get in their car and go home.

But then John calls out to you too.

"Simon must’ve missed you, sweetheart. “Wow. He barks out a laugh. " 'ave yourself a good night, Miss.” Then, sternly says, “Tomorrow at 6, Simon.”

Simon, though, has no intention of letting you take the easy way out. He smacks your arse again, right in the same— already tender— spot from just moments before. "Answer 'em, pet. Or 'ave I fucked all the manners outta ya?" He accentuates the last three words with thrusts so sharp that if he hadn't been holding you in place, you would've been sent sprawling back.

Whatever words you're supposed to say are snagged in your throat like hooks, only whimpers and high-pitched gasps falling past your trembling lips. He drags his thumb over your bottom one, the calloused pad of it tough. "Go on. Be good 'nd tell 'em to 'ave a good night too. And no names. Only one comin’ outta you should be mine."

When you open your mouth, he weaves a hand down to your clit, jerking it in fast little circles that have you forgetting where you even are. "Mf- g-good," he gives you just a second of respite to spit on it. "Good night-," his fingers are almost torture, and god, you're going to come in front of all of them. You warble out the words hastily, feeling your impending orgasm come at you with the speed of a freight train.

"Tha's a good bird, singin' when I tell ya to." There's no stopping this, not with all of his focus on the little bundle of nerves and every drag of his cock making your spine arch as if he were winding it. "Squeeze my cock, tha's it."

Your legs shake violently, toes curled, and you can feel a cramp begin in your calf but none of it matters, not when you're seeing bright lights behind your scrunched eyelids, not when you feel fingers in your mouth to stifle the scream that's viciously wrenched from your throat nor when Simon growls out a "Fuckin' 'ell."

"I told ya, if ya needed somethin' t'bite on, use tha'," he jerks his head toward the mask that's tight in your fist. Your soul is still floating adrift in the wind and he's already trying to make conversation. And he did not say to bite on it.

"I'm not puttin' this unwashed thing in my mouth." You languidly watch him inspect his hand, looking at the deep purple teeth imprints on his fingers. Whoops.

"But you'll 'ave me after sweatin' under the bloody sun for 'ours." His hand slides behind your nape, lifting your head a bit as he lowers his chest to meet your sweat-slick one. Your hands come to claw at the shifting muscles of his back when he begins anew, this time his pace is relentless, sharp, predatory. He's a shark that has scented blood and is now on the hunt.

The prickling bristles of his facial hair scratch against your temple. "This," the hand around your neck tightens, your rapid pulse now roaring in your ears, "is the best pussy I've ever had." His thrusts are jarring, make your teeth clack together hard enough to hurt, and after a dozen of them, he comes with a cruel bite to the junction of your shoulder, snarl animalistic.

Hopefully, the guys drove off a while ago otherwise you're re-dressing and driving home with that mask Simon tossed your way.

Your blouse is unfortunately beyond saving. Your skirt isn’t faring any better if that massive tear in the front has anything to say about it and your shoulder will require at least half a bottle of concealer plus a couple of bandaids, which the first aid kit is completely empty of. Not even the first aid guide is inside.

You sluggishly begin to button up one of Simon's spare flannel shirts when he asks you if you're hungry.

"No." Not really. Hard to feel much when most of your nerves from the ribs down are shot.

"Get in the front, I'd like t'eat my dinner soon." He's staring right at the apex of your legs, your cunt still throbbing from the abuse."'m 'ungry." There’s no tow car sign on the street, actually, there’s not even a simple stop sign here.

It better not get towed. You’re not paying a dime if it does.

(Are your feet still hurting or can he fuck those too? No? Next time, then.)

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #cod smut

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hannieoftheyear · 13 days ago

Text

LUCKY STRIKE [C.VN]

Vernon would never let anything happen to you. But when the time comes, and he's standing at your doorstep, flowers in one hand, and bloody cuts in the other, it's your turn to take care of him for once.

pairing: mafia!vernon x fem!reader

word count: 4,5k of lazy and messy sex for you

genre/au: mafia au, established relationship, smut with the barest plot, a bit of fluff.

content warnings: vernon is terribly down bad, light mafia themes, implied violent encounters, blood, bruises, cuts, minor injuries, reader takes care of his injuries and he gets horny, this is corny, you were warned!! | explicit smut: couch sex, switch!vernon, switch!reader, sucking fingers, they both have a thing for hands and fingers, biting, spit kink, spit as lube, handjob, unprotected sex (don't be stupid pls), cumming inside, nicknames: baby (both).

♥�� thank you to everyone that tolerated me sending clips of vernon on the thunder stages for days ♡ this is for you

🎧: shining star (vernon solo) — seventeen

THIS FIC IS FOR +18 READERS ONLY. I can't control what people read, but I can control who interacts with my blog. MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED

check out my main masterlist ♡

note: i'm a sucker for lazy couch sex with vernon and i won't apologize for it!! i hope you enjoy this silly thing ♥︎

this was, of course, heavily inspired by all the 'happy burstday' concept photos and stages

mafia prompt taken from here ♥︎ dividers here

"Being adopted into the local mafia has its pros and cons."

Pros: You can safely do your 2 am. grocery shopping at the one superstore that's open all night without fearing for your life. Those scary looking men, the ones you'd normally cross the street to avoid, treat you like their little sister. All except for the cutest one of them all.

The gloomy night accompanies the swift movements of the crochet needle between your fingers, tangling the strings of light blue and red knitting wool you bought days ago in a whim. In the search for a new hobby, your algorithm acted out again, and you ended up on the granny activities side, peaking your interest enough to sit on your uncomfortable couch for hours trying to make a usable piece of clothing.

Normally, on a weekend night, the cold wind would be welcomed by your barely covered skin, walking hand in hand with the only guy your self proclaimed body guards allowed you to be in close proximity to. But something, or rather, someone, told you to stay home for the night.

Another pro of being close with the bad guys: they help you avoid confrontations with threatening rival gangs. You're left blissfully out of the mess, but, as you're still able to hear the rounds of loud noises on the streets around the neighborhood, you're also not unaware of the bruises you see covering the guys' arms and faces the next day.

Your forehead hurts from all the frowning you've been doing for the past hour, trying to figure out the pattern you should be following and restarting every few rows.

A soft, unsure knock takes your concentration away, but it quickly puts a smile on your face as you realize who's the only person that'd show up at this hour at your door. The amateur crochet project is left forgotten on the coffee table, the metal needle crinkling against the glass as you get up from the couch.

But, whatever excitement you had, it drops completely as soon as the doorknob turns under your hold, and the door opens to reveal who you were expecting.

Vernon stands at the entrance, with his side smile painting his face as if everything was okay. You instantly know it's not. His lower lip is swollen red, probably from a punch, the neck line of his t-shirt is stretched far more than normal, with a tear visible on the side.

Cons of being adopted by the local mafia: your big bad mafia boyfriend constantly gets hurt on the job.

With one hand busy holding a bouquet of your favorite yellow flowers, he wraps the other one around your waist when you don't move, frozen analyzing his state. "Not happy to see me?"

Vernon's teasing smile so close to you, mixed with his breath fanning your face as he leans in to give you a peck, is intoxicating. His bruised lips are soft against yours, taking seconds longer to feel you on him than normal. One would never guess he's hurt from the way he's pushing himself against you.

"Baby, what happened?" Your hand reaches for his behind your back, the cuts on his knuckles harsh under the pads of your fingers.

He sighs against your parted lips, chuckling lightly before taking a step back and letting himself in into your apartment. "You should see the other guys."

"Multiple?" Your wide eyes follow him as he searches for a vase to put the flowers he brought.

It's natural for him to have his way around your home. After all, he's the only one that you, or your neighborly mafia, ever allowed in. It's your sacred place, safe from the dangerous outside world, the only place where you can be truly calm, be with him with no fears.

While he occupies himself with his gift, you take the chance to escape to your bathroom, wash the dried blood from your hands, and find your first aid kit. The one you've never had to use before.

You were always the one who he took care of, who he protected, made sure you were intact. After so many times he was there for you, it's your turn to take care of him and heal his wounds the best you can.

"Remember I told you to stay in today?" His gaze is trained on you as you sink down next to him. The click of the aid kit opening breaks the silence as he waits for your answer.

You only nod, half hearing him, half focusing on grabbing what you need to disinfect the cuts in his hand. His hand that places itself on your thigh to draw your attention.

"We're okay—I'm okay," his voice is soft, knowing you worry every time he goes out to parts of the town they don't have under their control, "it was just a small payback."

"Baby, you're bleeding," Vernon hisses as you clean the wounds around his knuckles with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball, "who did you go with?"

"Mingyu and Wonwoo," your insides burn, feeling his stare, boring holes on the side of your face, "they took on the bigger guys." Vernon jokes.

You shouldn't sigh in relief hearing that, but you do so anyway.

It's a regular occurrence for the guys to tease him for his objectively smaller build, but he counters it with a perfectly learned strategy. He knows how to fight, knows the places that hurt the most being punched, where to kick, poke, slap to make his opponent lose their balance, and ultimately, the fight.

"Let's hope these people don't come back after you."

"Believe me, they won't." He smirks, charging his words with smugness.

You wrap the little bandage you had saved around his hand with care. Not too loose, not to tight. You feel his eyes on you as you leave the aid kit on the table, right besides the mess of knitting wool you alredy forgot was there.

"I have the best nurse ever." Vernon wastes no time, lifting your hips with his, now working, hands, and sits you on his lap, both your legs fitting naturally at his sides as he realizes you're only wearing panties under your t-shirt. "I should come here hurt more often."

"Then you'll have to replace the stuff I use on you!" Looking slightly down to connect your eyes with his, your teasing tone vanishes at the soft glimmer in his eyes. "Please, just… be careful next time."

The side of his face feels warm against the palm of your hand, and he leans into your touch, feeling your care even through the smallest, most mundane touches.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shown up like this." His doe eyes turn glassy, searching for any anger indicators on your expression, but only finding worry. "I just wanted to see you."

You could never get mad at him. Not when you got to know him well aware of what his life was like. Not when he pursued you by showing you he can still be a gentleman despite his shady life. Not when he never gave you any reason not to trust him.

"I wanted to see you too," you reveal as if you didn't constantly wait for him. Sitting on this very couch every night, longing for that knock on the door you always know it's him. "I don't mind taking care of you."

"I should be the one doing that." Vernon's hands fix their grip on your hips, reminding you that they're still there, holding you close to him.

"Well, I'm not the one getting into fights with 6 feet tall buff guys on the daily."

He chuckles, full of endearment, and your stomach tightens. If you could rank every sound you ever heard, Vernon's kinds of laughs and giggles would all be at the top, not a very close race with anything else. It's a distinguishable sound you never want to forget.

Your hand goes down the side of Vernon's neck, his pulse accelerating under your touch as you check to see if he's real, if he's really sitting on your couch with you straddling him.

His focus get lost on your touch now going down the side of his arm, and soon finds your hand with his. He interlocks his fingers with yours as soon as he gets a hold of it, directing your hand to his mouth and leaving a gentle but teasing kiss on the back of it.

"Vernon," you reprimand, but don't stop him as he places peck after peck everywhere on your hand, each triggering a wave of different feelings down your nervous system. He's uncontrollable and always finds the way to get you in the mood with him.

"You look so pretty over me, all worried." His hot breath tickles your fingers that were just taking care of him.

Your thumb swipes gently over his busted lip, raw from his habit of gnawing at them with his teeth and from the fight you're nursing him from. He purses his lips, teasing your awaiting skin, goosebumps waking up all over your body at the anticipation.

"You can't seriously be turned on by this," you snicker to try and hide the very real reactions he's eliciting from you.

His eyes snap back to you at your words, as if a challenge was set.

So quick you barely have time to register it, the hand at your hip travels to your lower back and Vernon's sliding you across his lap, showing off his strength to get you closer to his torso until you're completely against him.

Every part of you is against him. His right hand on your back, holding you electrically close to his growing hard, pulsing against your core. Your hand's held hostage by his left hand just above where your chest flushes against his.

"You have no idea how crazy I am for you." Every word he says reverberates through his chest and into yours.

Gasping is your only answer. You don't trust your ability to apeak properly in your current state of increasing bodily heat.

"When I wake up and you're not next to me," he continues, "my first thought is always to come looking for you." His fingers wander inside the big t-shirt you're wearing, one you stole from him after your first night together.

"Nothing stops you from staying the night here." Your voice draws the smirk back on his face.

"I'd stay here every night if it didn't mean putting you in danger." Longing bleeds through his words, true and hurt.

"But you'd be here to protect me." You're not naive. You know what he means. But that doesn't stop you from wanting to be close to him every second of every day.

Vernon nods in acknowledgment, a silent agreement between the two of you. It's dangerous. Everything about your relationship is risky. But even if he's willing to put himself at risk for the chance of seeing you, he'd never put you in danger. He'd never take that chance.

His lips kissing your hand again catch your attention, every fiber of your body now focused on his next move. Your fingers, cold against the warmness spreading across his face, seem to be the only thing on Vernon's mind.

When he wraps his mouth around your index finger, gently sucking on it with a new admiration, fire expands from your insides and out, taking everything with it, filling you with a new, unexpected want.

"Vern—" Your breath halts at the mention of his name, fueling his need as he dives in further, playing with his tongue around your finger like it was his new favorite toy.

You've never felt anything like this. A hot, sizzling arousal rushing through your veins at the sight of your boyfriend worshiping the fingers that were just nursing him.

A choked up moan escapes you as he sucks another finger in his mouth. Your index and middle finger are now coated in his spit, making a messy, wet toy out of your hand.

The couch moves just slightly as you push yourself against him at every swirl of his tongue, feeling his length hardening with every uncontrolled grind of your hips against his.

Vernon's other hand travels all over your torso, finding you're wearing no bra under the shirt that was once his. He loves making a moaning mess of you, mixing the arousal from sucking on your fingers with the touch you've been craving on your chest.

Everywhere. He's everywhere. His thighs under yours, his hard pressing against your barely covered core, his hand feeling your chest up as your fingers scrape the sides of his mouth.

Every second it passes, you search for more of him, pressing against his chest until he has trouble fondling your breasts.

He pulls your fingers out of his mouth slowly, a string of saliva connecting them with his lower lips stretching until it breaks, undoing the trance you were in while watching Vernon have his way.

"I should be taking care of you," your voice breaks into a whisper, your boyfriend’s dark stare punching away any thought you had.

"Having you on top of me is all I need," your wet fingers trace his jaw as he speaks, and he smirks at the sounds you make when he flicks one of your nipples with his thumb, "making you moan my name when I've barely touched you."

His eyes train on your parted lips, exhaling heavily as he plays with your nipples exactly how he knows you like it. You can only fist the stretched neckline of his t-shirt, making it worse but making it yours.

Your other hand finds the back of his head, his growing buzz-cut threading between your fingers.

"Have I told you I love your hair?" How you find it in you to speak is beyond your knowledge, but he chuckles at your nonsense, and the fire burning at the pit of your stomach spreads down your thighs and soaks your underwear further. "I love it so much."

Vernon's hard groin twitches under the needy grinding of your hips, his throat swallowing with trouble as you break down his facade little by little.

"Let me," you know he won't take his hands off of you willingly. You don't really want him to stop either, but you're focusing on him tonight.

He groans as you push yourself off him, quickly finding the zipper of his jeans. "Baby…" his words trail off seeing you kneeling on the floor against him.

Trying to slip his jeans and boxers down, he gives in and lifts his body to help you. He'd never deny you of anything you want.

You don't restrain yourself, your hands finding the flesh of his thighs and traveling up and up until you're barely touching where he most wants to.

But a hand sneaks under your jaw, tilting it up until you're connecting eyes with Vernon again. "Don't," you barely whisper, a plea for him to let you make him feel good.

"Want you on top," he doesn't ask, doesn't order you, only outers his wish, with his eyebrows quirking in the way that always has you melting for him, "I'd feel much, much better."

You snort with an endearing smile, "I thought you were fine." Even after your teasing remainder, you oblige what he wants.

"Every time you get off of me, I start feeling sick," he coughs a few times to get his point across, "my body needs you to feel well.

Vernon's always been able to make you laugh, even when you're on the brink of tearing all his clothes off. "Then we better listen!"

His bare legs find themselves under your weight again, the skin to skin contact igniting every connecting point of your bodies. You tug at the ends of his damaged t-shirt until he gets the hint you want it off.

Vernon groans as the dampness of your panties rubs against his length, gripping your hips to flush you against him harder, not wanting to wait any longer to feel you all over him. You waste no time, holding his face between your hands and closing the electrifying distance between you.

A moan fights out of him a soon as your lips take his, molding together perfectly, as if they were meant to be connected forever. You can feel where his lower lip is hurt, swiping your tongue over the bruise as he moans on your mouth again.

Your hand caresses the side of his face, not letting his lips go as the other travels down his heaving chest. His muscles tense under the teasing touch of your fingers, nails raking down his skin.

Another moan coming from him is exactly what you need as you sneak your hand between your bodies, wrapping it around his cock that craves your touch.

He chases your lips as you lean back, revealing the state he's in, all because of you. His lips glisten with the mix of yours and his spit, parted and calling for you again as he catches his breath.

The changing shine in your eyes alerts him that you're planning something, an idea planted by the sight before you.

You swirl your tongue in your mouth, gathering as much spit as you can before locking eyes with him and letting it drop out of your lips, falling in a glob until it sits at the tip of his hardness.

Vernon's eyes darken at every one of your moves, his gaze entranced on your lips. Lips that were spilling all kinds of worried words minutes ago, and now are coating his cock with saliva so your hand can glide up and down at your desired pace.

"God, baby," your hand squeezes around him, spreading the mix of spit and precum so slowly on his girth that he's having trouble breathing, "you're so good to me."

The back of the couch holds his head as he leans back with another groan. His neck stretched out, glistening with sweat, calls to you. And who are you not to answer?

Your core traps his erection against your hand as you lean in, leaving wet kisses on your boyfriend's throat, feeling his every sound vibrating against your lips. He mumbles praises into the air, letting his hands wander across your back and squeezing your ass to press your further to him.

The wet fabric of your panties sticks to your folds in the shape of his length, everything pushing your cores together harder and harder. You let the swift rhythm of your hand on his cock and you grinding your covered clit against him take you to another world.

"Feel better?" Your lips graze the sensitive skin on his neck as you half ask half gasp.

Vernon's automatic response is to tighten his hold on your ass, grinding your hips against his with more force, the friction between your cores breathtaking. "I could," he teases.

"Greedy," your hot breath hits under his earlobe, and even you can feel the shiver going down Vernon's body.

His cock twitches as you slow down the pace of you hand. The combining feel of your folds and your hand stroking him almost make Vernon go crazy.

"You feel so good, baby," his eyes close in concentration, every touch of yours too much for him, "can't wait to be inside you."

In the midst of his senseless words and your desperate touches, Vernon finds the way to sneak a hand under you. Between his legs, his digits find the dampness growing at your core. "So wet already, for me."

Another hand grabs a fistful of your hair, detaching your mouth from licking your way up his jaw. He forces you to look at him, eyes full of desire, waiting for your answer.

"Yes—all for you-u," your words break in a moan as two fingers sneak under your panties, collecting your arousal and triggering another wave.

"Good." It is all for him. All because of him. The only one who can have you like this.

Smirking, his eyes lock in with yours, full of fire as his hand appears in your field of view. You don't stop looking into his eyes, the mischievous glint on them keeping you there, all while he sucks your juices off his fingers.

It takes all your strength to get up from the couch again, with only one objective in mind.

Your boyfriend gawks as if you were putting on a show only for him, slipping down his favorite panties, now stained with an unholy amount of juices. He stares with his mouth agape, but he's not patient. As soon as the fabric's off, he's grabbing your big t-shirt and pulling you towards him again.

Lips crash with lust and desperation, messily craving more and more. His teeth nibble at your lower lip, a matching bruise waiting to appear, but you don't care. You moan in his mouth, tangling your fingers with the short hair growing at the back of his head.

His thigh becomes a mess of your arousal, careless about your position as you let Vernon have his way into your mouth. Your tongues dance around the other, slowly melting into each other.

"Spit," you chase his lips as he separates to demand. Seeing his non-injured hand under your jaw, you quickly realize what he's doing.

Your living room's filled with gasping sounds and hot breaths, time stopping as your eyes lock. Vernon's eyes are on you as you let your spit drop into his hand.

You hover over his groin, dripping into his hand as he lowers it down between your cores. The tip of his cock grazes your entrance as he pumps his hard with his spit covered hand, the wet sounds reaching your ears.

Sinking down on your boyfriend's lap, the head of his cock enters you just right, your walls welcoming to mold into his shape.

Your lips stop working as you're filled to the brim, sitting on Vernon's thighs and gasping into his mouth trying to get used to the unprepared stretch.

As you're draped over his torso, he easily finds his way down your neck.

"Relax, baby," he says against the skin of your neck.

Every spot he knows you like, he kisses, whispering encouraging praise that gives you chills. Under your ear, along your jaw, over your pulse point, his lips press and suck at your skin, feeling how you warm up around him.

When he shifts his position slightly, his length pushes inside you just a bit more, your walls clamp against him, sucking him further inside in a whine, "That's it."

His husky voice goes through your ear and down to your core, and you swivel your hips up just to elicit another sound from him.

Vernon's hands find themselves gripping your hips again, helping you as you start a lazy pace on his lap. Your teeth sink down on the flesh between his shoulder and his neck, and he moans in your ear at the sensation.

"You'll have to take care of that one too," his breath tickles down your ear, and the vibrations of your chuckle almost make you lose your focus on him.

You kiss on the dent shaped like your teeth, "like you don't love it."

He hums a broken moan, the combination of everything you're giving him finally working like you intended.

Your walls tighten around him just as your fingers find his scalp, short nails raking between his growing buzz-cut trying to have him losing his mind under you.

It's not long before his hips join the fun, thrusting up to meet your pace and making you lose your breath. You feel him up to your throat, every place inside you marked with his name.

Vernon's hands roam all over your torso, indecisive, keeping you close but in the search for his favorite places to grope and touch. Your body's on the verge of giving out, and he knows it.

When he wraps his arms around your back and leans back against the couch, flushing your chest completely against his, you both lose it.

You're not in control anymore, if you ever were. Your knees barely stay at his sides as he thrusts up incessantly, the sounds of your ass slapping against the flesh of his thighs echoing around your living room.

But his groaning in your ear, his rambling words about how good you are for him, are only for you to hear.

Intercalating between lazy and desperate, no matter the time or the place, Vernon always finds that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

So quickly, it'd be embarrassing if it was anyone else, your body starts quivering, every one of your senses losing focus as your insides get closer and closer to snapping.

"I'm c-close," you manage to form a coherent string of words in between a few merciless thrusts.

"I can feel it—" a breathless whine mixes up between his words, "cum around me, baby." He's as desperate as you.

With everything combined, Vernon's noises on your ear, his arms tight around you, and every spot inside you being abused at once, the world becomes a blur of fire and white light as your orgasm rips through you.

Your body shakes on top of him as Vernon chases his own orgasm, stretching yours for as long as his cock grinds inside you with a purpose. But he's a weak man when it comes to you, and with the way your walls clamp hard around him, making him work for every thrust, it's not long before he's lost too.

You feel the ropes of cum coating your walls, his length twitching as you take it all. All of him inside you as if you were one.

Silence, deep breaths and the smell of sex fill the room as your bodies take in everything you just did.

Only when Vernon's lips kiss along your shoulder, you realize he's still inside you, and you shouldn't rest.

"I have the best nurse ever," Vernon chuckles along his words as you get up from his lap to find your discarded panties.

Everything is still the same. His clothes disregarded on the floor, the flowers sitting on a vase you haven't seen since you moved in.

You turn around to find him putting on his boxers, his eyes a promise that he's not done with you yet, "I don't think a good nurse would recommend this type of cardio after a fight."

"Then I don't trust them."

Chuckling again, and knowing he'll join you later in the shower, you fall between his arms again, laying together on the couch like you've done so many times before.

Now is your turn to look up at him, the fire in his eyes not gone, but now overpowered by endearment.

You don't want to. You really don't want to. But your eyes close with tiredness, and the rhythm of Vernon's breathing is so serene that you fall asleep in his arms.

There, in your couch, everything around you forgotten and replaced by him.

note: thank you so much for reading! pls share your thoughts I'd love to read them ♥︎

#vernon smut #kvanity #keopihausnet #svthub #thediamondlifenetwork #seventeen smut #vernon x reader #seventeen x reader #vernon fanfic #seventeen fanfic #vernon imagines #seventeen imagine #vernon au #seventeen au #hansol smut #hansol x reader #ema.library #seventeen imagines #svt smut

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rocknroll2024 · 6 months ago

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You’ll love it!!!🤠🎸🎶🎧❤️

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yandere-daydreams · 1 month ago

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tw - kidnapping, stalking, symptoms of depression, and obsessive behavior. reader's not doing great in this one and dick's doing worse.

Dick Grayson gets around.

Whatever you're thinking, it's not like that - except when it is. He's just the people person, the golden child, the performer. He's everything that Bruce pretends to be whenever he takes off the cowl and plays socialite. He remembers names, calls on birthdays, sends out Christmas cards the second snow hits the ground. He knows everyone, and he gets what he wants.

You get around... less.

Not that you don't show you face. No, someone committed to staying totally anonymous would never make it to one of a hundred annual galas held by Wayne Enterprises, stocked to bursting with reporters and celebrities and wealthy Gotham transplants, eager to make a good impression with local royalty. He spots you sticking close to the wall, moving between polite conversations, careful never to stay long enough to make a lasting impression. When you're not busy, your eyes dart from wall to wall, tracking waiters and taking stock of the exits. Every now and then, the light catches on a diamond ring you hadn't been wearing a second ago, a sapphire necklace too expensive to hang so sloppily from your neck.

You're transparent, if a bit out of place. Even pickpockets usually had the decency to skip charity events.

His course of action is swift, surgical. He corners you next to the bar, offers to buy you a drink. You counter, explain with a smile that you couldn't take a stranger's money. He adopts a new tactic - asks you to dance with one, instead. Another parry, now you're looking for your date. After fishing for a description, he mentions he might've seen them on the balcony. His scalpel run through your throat, you take his arm and let him lead you outside.

The routine is standard, practiced to the point of perfection. Find a corner away from the other guests, apologize for ending your night so early, then produce enough cash to pay half a year's worth of rent for Gotham's most expensive high-rise - just like he has a million times before with a thousand other petty thieves. Dead-eyed, you card through the bills slowly. Finally, you look to him.

"This isn't really my line of work."

Dick grins. "I can tell."

"Is there a closet we can use, or...?"

He blinks once, then twice. You stare at the money in your hands, eyes glassy and expression hollow. It doesn't take long to clear up the miscommunication. You leave with your stolen treasures and a well-earned tip, and Dick neglects to mention the incident in his status report later that night.

The next day, he seeks you out on instinct, tells himself it's no different than a follow-up for any other case. You are not a people person. You don't smile at strangers, or greet your neighbors by name, or let your eyes leave the sidewalk as you make your way through the rush-hour crowd, your pockets a little heavier with every step. Your apartment is a testament to your separation - no pictures, no creature comforts, no spare tooth brush left by the sink in case of overnight guests. There's only one cup in the entirety of your kitchen, a little black mug with white paw prints painted around the center. He leaves a second on your doorstep - this one decorated rim to base with blue jays.

You aren't from Gotham. That's clear enough, but it's cemented by the phone calls he overhears from your windowsill every Sunday morning, all reassurances to a faceless recipient that you're doing fine, that you have plenty of friends, that your stressful-but-rewarding corporate job is keeping you busy enough. You have younger siblings - a lot of younger siblings. He got to know them as he went through your phone, perched on the edge of your twin-sized mattress, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest in stolen glances. The most recent picture was taken more than two years ago, but he can't judge. He knows what it's like to be the trial run, the practice round, the disappointment. At least you have the self-awareness to keep your distance from the people you love, to make sure the only thing you can hurt is yourself. He's never been so strong.

And you do hurt yourself, don't you? He's seen the drawer of treasures you can't bring yourself to sell, the collection of unopened bills on your dining room table, the strung-together days you go without letting yourself so much as see another person. He knows why you want to be left alone, but even you can't go on like that, not forever. Everyone needs someone. No one can completely resist the urge to leave their mark on something else - anything else, even if they really ought to know better.

And you know that, too. You don't even scream when you wake up in Dick's bed, hands bound and body curled up against his chest. It could just be the lingering sedatives in your system, sure, but he'd like to think that you remember him, that you know you and him are two of a kind, birds of a feather. You ruin everything you touch, but maybe, you won't ruin him.

Maybe, just maybe, you won't ruin each other.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere dc #dc x reader #dc #dc imagines #yandere dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #yandere nightwing #nightwing x reader

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melmedardaapologist · 6 months ago

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with arcane’s focus on visual elements, something that’s been nagging on me lately is mel medarda’s final design and why it compounds the tragedy of her story:

firstly, when we see mel in her flashback, she’s already wearing her significant white/gold, but tempered with blue—noticeably missing her mother’s greys and reds, even then, showing her idealogical differences

then in piltover, we see mel as her own self-actualization—all white and gold and black, colors connected to power, and with an elegant cut that still places her slightly apart from piltover fashion. it shows her place as a non-combatant (long skirt) and someone privileged (the pure white) and wealthy (the gold. so much gold.). this is mel medarda at the pinnacle she’s worked so hard to achieve—it’s elegant because she is elegant

which of course becomes subverted when we do see the gold accessories taken away and the white dirtied when she’s kidnapped by the black rose—this is the first and only time we see mel in actual disarray, and it shows how vulnerable she is when she’s outside the political sphere

and after her transformation, we have this costume change, where aside from the increased gold (now representing magical ability instead of just wealth), we have mel in a a skin-tight catsuit style getup, allowing for greater movement, and her hair done in micro-braids in a style that won’t affect her center of gravity. at first, when i was watching, i was confused (especially about the hair), but then i realized—

this isn’t mel dressing herself to reflect a change, this is leblanc’s vision of mel, where power is swiftness and she is markedly different than others in a way that is now impossible to ignore

and she tries to return to her previous sense of self with the white hood, going back to a trademark of her style, but notably this is an outfit worn to conceal, not reveal and show off like her previous iconic dress, and her change is visibly with even just the hood off

and when mel accepts black rose’s help and betrays them and her mother dies, the white hood disappears—try as she might, she cannot go back to who she was, and she stands before noxians as a mage and mother-killer and a wolf, something dangerous

and then, when we see mel leaving piltover, she’s wearing nothing of her original self, but a combination of black rose’s getup and her mother’s colors. there is almost nothing of “mel” in this outfit, as if she’s been subsumed by these two identities—noxian and mage

even her makeup has shifted, with the red line under her eyes and the gold in her lower lip directly copying her mother

this isn’t a mel who’s realized herself in a new identity. this is a mel who, when faced with the enormous loss of her brother, mother, lover and former identity, has fallen into the definitions and roles that were presented to her, and who is now primed to continue the cycles started by her predecessors

and moving on from arcane, i think it would be fascinating to see mel in one of the newer shows to see how she grapples with this and if she either falls back into tradition and dooms herself, or if she’s able to break free and reforge her identity on her own terms

#arcane #mel medarda #arcane analysis #costume design #mel rambles #arcane meta

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xazse · 6 months ago

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Cw: A/b/o dynamics + Omegaverse + Alpha!Satoru x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Suguru + my Abo dynamics are different so sorry + mentions of anal + smut + knotting + crying + size difference + biting

If you’re meant to be Sugurus Omega that means you’re definitely Satoru’s, you don’t get a choice they’re a package deal, they can’t stand being away from one another so they went against everything that alphas stand for and bit each other: now fully intertwined with one another.

Suguru yearned for you, he knew he had to have you, those nights where he was ravishing Satoru and feeling something was missing, an itch he couldn’t scratch, he hated it, he hated how rough he’d get with Satoru even though the blue eyed man said he enjoyed it so much.

Knotting Satoru was something he loved but the thought of knotting your little cunt alone drove him mad, made him so hard he’d think about it all day, constantly having to go “adjust” himself.

When he finally had you, he went absolutely fucking mad, he couldn’t stop smelling you: you smelled like cookies and vanilla. He couldn’t stop licking your soft supple skin, your spongy cunt that he’d have to finger for a good while to get you ready.

And of course he’d have Satoru by his side just as thirsty for the sight of you, he’d be fondling your tits and giving you long drawn out kisses that you’re eager for, like a puppy.

There was no argument about who got to fuck your cunt first, that was always going to be Suguru, he was gonna be your first for your ass as well.

His leaky redden tip lined up with your awaiting slick hole, his counterpart distracted you with sweet words, Suguru couldn’t afford to be sweet right now, he slams his fat cock in one swift move, the whines that spill from you do nothing but egg him on. He pushes your legs toward yourself and the sound of skin meeting skin feels the room, he fucks your soppy pussy so messily, he’s been craving this for so fucking long, he’s constantly readjusting his long hair that he doesn’t bother to put up, your pussy is just the sweetest thing.

When his fat tip starts to swell inside of you, you’re crying into Satoru’s kiss, he knows it hurts, your first ever knot is always gonna hurt he tells you in a comforting tone.

You don’t know it but Satoru absolutely is obsessed with you also, you look so cute crying trying your best for them, trying your hardest to accept Suguru’s fat knot, youre small compared to them and he loves it.

When Suguru bites you, all you see it white, he isn’t surprised that you passed out, you’re gonna have to do it all over again when it’s Satoru’s turn.

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cuteandhughesy · 6 months ago

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I’ll Be Home For Christmas ╰┈➤ NH13

summary: nico hischier acting as your fake boyfriend to try and get your family off your back this holiday season seems like the perfect solution - or so you thought.

[word count] 14.9k

a/n: based off this request! is this a plot i’ve seen before? absolutely! do i eat it up every time? ABSOLUTELY! hope you guys enjoy my third fic of my christmas special—I cant believe it’s almost christmas 🎄 this was originally supposed to go up on Christmas eve, but i finished it early 😘

🎵 i’ll be home for christmas by michael buble, christmas morning by megan moroney, someone like you by van morrison, run rudolph run by chuck berry, little saint nick by the beach boys, christmases when you were mine by taylor swift, blue christmas by megan moroney, + my only wish (this year) by britney spears

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"I think the only way to solve this is if I jump off the highest mountain in jersey."

bree pauses her stirring hand, glancing at you sternly over her shoulder. "don't jump off anything, y/n/n."

you let out another unsatisfied grunt, a disgruntled noise that has come out your mouth many times since you arrived at your best friend's apartment - and you've only been here an hour.

the sound of the wooden spoon scraping along the metal soup pot starts up again, bree continuing to mix her homemade chicken vegetable soup she coerced you over with.

you watch the blonde with a pout on your slightly chapped lips - but it matches the rest of your appearance, so you're not even bothered that they are dry. resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you can't help but zone out and drown in your own dreadful bubble.

you've been feeling overwhelmed and stressed since last night. it started as you'd just finished eating your sad excuse of a frozen meal dinner, beginning to queue up the next episode of stranger things - when your evening was interrupted with your mom’s call.

"mom? is anything okay?" you answer quickly, brows pulled together in a curious manner.

you can hear her gentle laughter through the grainy line. "don't sound so scared to speak to me, honey. everything is fine."

you sigh. "just wasn't expecting a late night call is all....what's up?"

"well," she singsongs, and you can practically hear her wide smile through the phone. "you remember my friend susan, right? from work?" you hum once, so your mom continues. "well she has a son named scott, and he's around your age."

"why are you telling me this?"

she tuts her tongue like it should be obvious. "they are staying at same same skii cabin resort as us this christmas! and you're still single so I want you to meet each other - get to know one another."

that has you sitting up in a hurry, she's blown wide as you take in your moms words. "mom, no i'm not going to entertain this."

"why not? he's nice and cute-" your moms familiar voice fades into the background, as you can't focus on anything but the swirl of panicked thoughts in your head.

you've been single for three years - three years since your last boyfriend cheated on you with his macdonald's co-worker. honestly his first red flag should've been working at macdonald's at his big age of 28 - you should've broke up with him right then and there.

since then, your mom has been wanting you to get back out there, and 'give her grand babies' - you try to not shutter just thinking about it. she's been trying to get you to meet a million different young men, changing between her friends kids and even random baristas she meets at her local starbucks. and honestly you're just tired of it.

you won't find the love of your life through your mom - and it seems that only you can see the logic behind that.

you'd been looking forward to the few days away from the city for christmas, especially with your boss really coming down on you about upcoming new year business proposals that were honestly out of your job description. now your extended weekend that was supposed to relaxing and festive was tainted by your mom and this mysterious scott dude.

you come back to, your mom still lengthly explaining the christmas plans and scott and everything else in between. you huff anxiously, and before your brain can stop the word vomit that is festering on your tongue, you interrupt her.

"i'm bringing someone to christmas."

the blabbering in your ear comes to a quick stop, your mom going completely silent on the line. "who?"

you swallow, "my boyfriend."

the conversation went on for a bit longer, and you had blabbed about your fake boyfriend without giving away any type of physical details- heck you even avoided giving him a name. when your mom had asked, you told her that you didn't want to give anything away - the element of surprise much more enjoyable.

you cringe thinking back on it, closing your eyes tightly. you are so screwed.

the front door opens quickly, alerting you and bree to her boyfriends arrival. it's only a few seconds following the thud of his hockey bag hitting the hardwood floor that dougie saunters into the kitchen, hair still damp from his post-practice shower.

he looks up from his phone, finding you sitting with a frown at his kitchen island. "what's up with you?"

this time it's bree who groans out. she takes the spoon out of the soup and sets in on the countertop, spinning on her heels to look at you and her boyfriend properly—without straining her neck. "don't get her started."

you squawk. "bree! you're supposed to be consoling me."

she pouts at you, "I know - i'm sorry." bree swiftly moves towards you, wrapping her small arms over your shoulders sweetly. she smells like broth and caramel perfume, which is an oddly comforting scent. "I just don't like seeing you so stressed."

dougie peeks in the soup pot, humming softly at the sight of the various vegetables swimming among perfectly shredded meat. he turns back to you both, leaning back against the counter as he stares you down. "so are you going to tell me? or do I have to wait for you to leave, which inevitably will have bree spilling her guts."

"dougie!" your best friend screeches, eyeing her boyfriend wildly.

you all but whine, letting your eyes fall closed in pure embarrassment. "I'm screwed." you manage to mumble, one eye peeking open to look over at dougie.

he looks rather amused at your dramatics, and you kind of want to get swallowed up and never be let go. "why?"

you take a deep breath. "because....because I told my mom that I had a boyfriend and was bringing him to christmas."

dougie snorts and bree sends him a warning glare. immediately he stops, playing off the laugh with a small cough. "you don't have a boyfriend."

you eye him irritatedly. "you think I don't know that?" bree, like the most amazing and supportive friend she is, begins gently rubbing your shoulder, grounding you. you take another shaky breath, your earlier pout returning. "I just...my mom was all pushy and wanted me to meet her co-workers son and I just panicked."

bree gently pipes up. "you didn't give him a name or talk about his appearance, y/n/n - it gives you some freedom in trying to find someone. maybe you should re-download hinge and make it known in your bio that you're needing a christmas date."

you pull a face, the thought of scrolling through medacore men who don't meet your ethical standards and are most likely teetering on borderline homophobic doesn't sound appealing - like, at all. "i'm going to pretend I can't go - i'll just tell my mom something came up."

"hold on," dougie steps forward, resting his palms on the island. he looks between you and bree, his brows pulled together as he gathers his thoughts. "you didn't give your mom a name?"

you hum. "or any physical attributes."

a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips, and he looks rather pleased with what we thought he's conjured up in his mind. "hear me out here...what If you take nico?"

you blink once. and then you blink again.

behind you, bree gasps. "that's a good idea!"

you shake your head, clearly confused. "he's not going home for christmas?"

dougie shakes his head. "no, the schedule didn't work in his favour, and his parents can't come out for a four day break. he was telling me today he was just going to be alone at his apartment....but maybe he could go with you."

it's....its actually not a bad idea. you like nico, he's always been so kind and sweet anytime you two have been together - which, granted, was quite often. surprisingly enough, nico and dougie were really good friends, and anytime you, bree and him wanted to go out, dougie would have nico join along. it's been like that for a few years, and the dynamic between you and nico was easy.

but...."no, I can't put him through that. you know how my mom is, and she's going to be all over him! and my sister and her husband, and god I can't have my niece getting attached....I just can't."

"you can." dougie hums, pulling out his phone from his sweatpant pocket. "you're just making excuses - nico won't care if your family asks questions. he's a team player who will easily help you with all your problems." he's busy swiping on his phone, barley glancing at you as he talks. "plus, it's not like he'll be out of your life after this - I already know he will be your fake boyfriend as long as you need him to be."

"dougie, no." you sigh.

"yes."

"no."

"too late," dougie hums, "i'm face timing him right now."

you left watching in horror, dougie coming around to your and bree's side of the kitchen island. you squawk, "absolutely no - dougie don't."

he's setting his phone up against the vase of flowers in the middle of the counter, displaying all three of you on the ringing face time screen. dougie looks at you, and grimaces. "try and look pretty. you look like a mess - c'mon."

bree smacks his arm. "dougie!"

you're not even going to disagree with him, because you do look like a mess. your hair is slicked back with your own oil - too lazy to get into the shower before coming over. your face is bare and you're in the middle of your period, with lingering hormonal pimples littering along your chin and jawbone. all that combined with your anxious eye bags, dry skin and ice cream stained pyjama shirt - well let's just say you've looked better.

your eyes widen as the sound of the call changes, indicating that nico is picking up the phone. "seriously I don't - heyyy nico." your hushed and panicked whisper towards your best friend's boyfriend quickly changes as nico hischier’s face takes over dougie’s phone screen.

"....hey?" he looks confused, and rightfully so. you're sure the last thing he expected with a call from his assistant captain was to be met with not only him, but his sheepish looking girlfriend and her hot mess best friend as well. his eyes move between the three of you, brows pulled tightly. "you guys okay?"

his accent sounds thicker through the phone, voice deeper....it's kind of comforting and as soon as your brain registers that calm feeling, it lets you spew. you begin telling nico all about your situation, but it seems that dougie and bree has the same idea, and all nico can hear is a jumbled sentence.

"y/n needs your help." dougie says, the words barley reaching nico's ears over bree's - "and she's just really stressed." that combined with your pouty lips as you tell him, "and his name is scott - like what kind of name is scott?"

you all come to a stop, eyeing nico through the phone screen. he adjusts the angle of his phone, giving you a glimpse of his location, which seems to be on his couch. "you're going to have to say that again, y/n. couldn't hear you over dougie's loud mouth."

so you tell nico everything - just you this time - starting with getting the phone call, your mom trying to set you up, your fake boyfriend lie and dougie's reason for the facetime. the entire time nico listens, not even interrupting you once as he digests the spoonfuls of information.

you sigh gently, "and dougie shouldn't of called you, nico. I really don't want to ruin your christmas by dragging you into my mess and-"

"i'll help you out." this time, nico does interrupt you, his soothing voice agreeing to the whole fake boyfriend story you'd thrown at him, cutting off the end of your lengthy ramble.

"really? why?"

he shrugs through the screen, a gentle smile beginning to pull on his face. "i'm not doing anything else. you're my friend, y/n, I want to help you out."

the relief that floods through you is ethereal, and you can already feel some of the stress leave your body. "nico, thank you...thank you, oh my god, okay I'll text you the details."

he grins. "looking forward to it."

the phone call ends just as the soup starts to bubble loudly on the stove, which has bree cursing, skipping back towards her food and turning down the burner. as she returns to stirring the mixture, she shrieks happily, glancing back at you. "no hinge needed!"

"you're welcome." dougie chimes playfully, pocketing his phone before he moves to grab three bowls from the cupboard, ready to serve some of bree’s delicious chicken vegetable soup.

although you're feeling stress free about the actual boyfriend part of finding a fake boyfriend— thanks to the devils captain— there is still the matter of having to prep nico for your family, as well as playing pretend with one another in hopes of convincing your family that you and nico are in love.

....and the stress is back, prickling under your skin in a way that has you jittery. you can only just pray nico doesn't get overwhelmed and ditch you on the side of the road on the way up to the lodge, leaving you to fend for yourself while he speeds back to the city.

bree slides the hot bowl full of soup in your direction, plopping the gold spoon into the liquid before she leaves. you thank her gently, and as you dig in into the meaty broth, you begin to create somewhat of a plan for you and your fake boyfriend.

DAY 1

you text nico after leaving bree and dougie's apartment once you had settled back at your place, assuming your usual lounging position on the living room couch. you send him the main details of your family christmas getaway like the name of the resort and it's location, as well as when you'll be leaving and how long you'll be staying.

thankfully, the devils schedule almost perfectly aligned with your families getaway, meaning that nico would be able to spend the entire holiday season with you and your family—he just has to leave early on the 25th for the boxing day game—which you can't yet decide if you're relieved about or stressed about.

regardless, three days after your impromptu facetime call on dougie's phone, you and nico are packed up in his car, backseat full luggage and various wrapped presents— all ready to head up to the ski lodge.

it’s been 5 minutes since nico pulled out of your driveway, and you still haven't said anything other than your initial greeting. the pressure of the day ahead is knawing away at you, turning your stomach into a wave pool of nerves.

the christmas music flows quietly through the speakers, providing a comforting hum in the background. nico keeps switching his gaze from the road to the side of your face, analyzing your anxious eyes as you zone out, nibbling the skin around your thumb nail.

he sighs gently and with a free hand turns the already quiet music completely off. the lack of the original taylor swift christmas song in your ears snaps you out of your daydreaming, looking over at nico with a tight pull to your eyebrows.

"why does your face look like that?"

you frown, "like what?"

"like you've just shoved your nose full of expired smelling salts," nico smirks at his own joke, glancing over at you once again. "seriously what's going on that head?"

you take a deep breath, your mouth opening and closing like a tiny fish—unsure what you want to admit. you don't want to seem ungrateful for nico‘s help by complaining, and you don't want to look stupid and embarrass yourself for being so nervous about spending christmas with your family. after a moment, you let out a quiet sigh, glancing over at nico.

his flickering gaze is soft—comforting—and it has you faltering, head falling back against the head rest with a thud. "I can't lie." nico huffs a laugh, and you almost scoff at the sound. "i'm serious - I can't lie."

"technically, you're not lying."

you eyes widen comically, looking over at him wildly. "what part of this trip isn't based on a lie."

he sighs gently, fingers flicking on the cars turn signal as he approaches the highway lane. nico has always been so nonchalant in your presence, the complete opposite of you at any give moment, and honestly you're envious of that. he glances at you quickly, pulling onto the highway. "I mean, it's not like we are strangers—we're friends."

you don't say anything, too busy trying to understand what he actually means by that. nico smirks easily at you, "so we only have to pretend that we kiss and well....fuck."

you blush. "nico!"

“it’s true.” amused, he looks at you. "and, well, you can't turn red anytime someone makes a suggestive comment.”

groaning, you pull your knees to your chest, creating a spot for you to hide your burning face, tucking your head between your kneecaps. "can't help it." you say, but all nico can hear is your muffled voice making no sense as you talk into your legs.

"it's okay." he reassures you lightly. "so, what's your family like? what do I need to know?" he changes the flow of topic easily, which successfully has you pulling your head up.

"well." you start, voice a pitch higher than normal—contemplating what to say. “my mom she's very.....out there. she's not shy, and her social awareness isn't very high, meaning she doesn't care about strangers or what they think of her." your eyes flicker away from the busy highway infront of you, looking over at nico to gauge his reaction.

he hums, "what else?"

you sigh, eyes finding the road once again. "she also loves me...too much I think. and she always wants what's best for me — even if she thinks that's scott."

"she sounds fun." nico's words take you by surprise, because fun usually isn't the first word that comes to mind after describing your dear mother. you quickly turn your head, but much to your surprise, nico isn't joking. he's being sincere—smiling softly. "honestly she sounds like my mom."

the mention of nico's family has you feeling a bit hallow, and you remember the only reason he's able to help you out is because he couldn't fly out to be with his family. you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, nibbling the skin until it feels sore. "i'm sorry about your family, nico. I really wish it would've worked out for christmas."

he shrugs once, glancing back over at you. "it's not your fault. besides, i'm here with you, right? so my christmas is coming together." you deflate slightly, nico's sweet and almost vulnerable words leaving you feeling rather soft. "so who else will be there? besides your mom and this scott guy?"

you huff a laugh, "well I don't know how much of scott we will be seeing now that i'm bringing you, but I do know that my older sister, tammy and her husband brody will be there. along with my niece, taylor - hence the disney princess wrapping paper." you thumb over your shoulder where there are multiple oddly shaped presents, all wrapped in disney paper.

nico snickers, sending you a teasing look. "thought you were just wrapping your own gifts."

"nico!" you laugh sweetly, "you’re ridiculous."

he smiles. "okay, okay. how old is your niece?"

"she just turned 6, back in november." you hum, leaning over slightly to turn the radio back up—only at volume 2—letting the familiar jingles add to the ambiance of the snowy jersey weather.

one of nico's brows raise. "so you've got a birthday twin?"

"wha-how do you know my birthday is in november?" you're clearly baffled, looking at nico like he just told you he met your long lost twin.

he glances at you wildly. "I don't have a brick for a brain! c'mon y/n/n, just because dougie is a stupid hockey player doesn't mean I am."

a dig at your best friends boyfriend never fails to make you chuckle, and you wrap your arms around yourself tighter, keeping yourself warm. although nico was joking around, you still aren't sure how he knew the month you were born in—how he remembered when your birthday was. it's just not something you thought nico would take note of. you don't do big parties for yourself, and you don't even post to social media—bree being one of the only people to celebrate you online.

your laughter dies down gently. "i'm just suprised that you'd remember."

his lips tug downwards in the beginning of a frown. "why would I forget?" nico's eyes flicker to yours once again, holding your gaze with a soft and warm expression. you take in a shaky breath, unable to find yourself wanting to look away from nico. his words, although nothing that deep, feel like the bottom of a warm lake, heating your chest with his question. it's a bare minimum that you've yet to experience with any boyfriend, real or fake.

he clears his throat quickly, eyes flickering away from your face and back through the snowflake covered windshield. "okay, what are our rules here? I don't want you to be uncomfortable with any of this fake dating stuff."

"oh. right, ummmm-" you blink, trying to recover from the abrupt shift in conversation and shift in your heart. "well to start, any question that my family asks about us and how we met, just tell them the truth. no need to fabricate some elaborate story—especially considering i've brought you up before...god my mom is going to die when she sees you." you mumble the last part to yourself, already picturing your moms face when you tell her the nico you're dating is also your friend nico.

he doesn't hear the end of your scentence, and only nods understandably, switching lanes. "got it."

you continue, "and this relationship between us is a new thing-- i'm talking’s within the last two months new. if they ask we say that we were just testing the waters of our relationship. and that gives me an excuse of why I hadn't told my mom about us before tuesday."

"that's good" nico hums appreciatively, clearly impressed with the little plan you'd made for you both. "plus it will make us look less insane when we are all over other and acting lovey dovey. that it’s just the honey moon phase."

your belly swoops, and your eyes widen in a slight panic. "why would we be all over each other?"

nico looks almost dumbfounded at your rushed question, his brows practically touching the edge of the hockey branded beanie sitting across his forehead. "because we are supposed to be dating."

you feel a little stupid in that moment, and when the end of nico's reminder is accompanied by a teasing smile you begin to feel very embarrassed. you try not to face palm, clearing your throat. "right, duh! that makes sense then." nico nods in amusement, which really has you wanting to face palm.

wanting to get back to the earlier discussion of rules, you hum in continuation. "I think cuddling and stuff is fine, right? like we can cuddle on the couch and hold hands in town."

"if you're comfortable with that." nico says, shooting you a glance, taking in your face to try and dissect your expression—trying to find an answer on your face before you say anything.

you laugh once, and even that sounds weird—no wonder nico keeps looking at you. "why wouldn't I be?"

"you're turning red just talking about it."

you face falls. "i'm going to throw myself out of this car."

"no, no." nico chuckles. "any other rules you want to lay down?" his eyes twinkle with playfulness as he shoots you another glance. "like what about kissing?"

obviously you blush because what. you don't let yourself react in the way your body desperately wants to, instead you keep your posture the same, humming in thought. "we don't need to kiss unless absolutely necessary."

once again, your eyes fall back to the driver's side, looking at nico as you wait for his response. you watch him smirk softly, eyes still on the busy roadways as he answers. "sure."

the rest of the car ride is filled with easy conversation and multiple impromptu karaoke sessions— nico laughing anytime you turn the music up and claim that it's impossible to not sing along to a justin bieber christmas song. the easiness of the whole dynamic between you and nico has you feeling much more at ease than you'd been when he first picked you up, and the idea of bringing nico to meet your family is becoming increasingly less stressful.

that is until your mom open the door, squealing in excitement at the sight of you and nico parking in the un-shovelled driveway of the rented ski cabin—waving at you both—your stress levels start to rise back up.

you swallow nervously, the sound of the car engine shutting off setting in your ears - there's no escape now.

"hey," nico mumbles, gathering your attention. he gently reaches towards you and gives your shoulder a reassuring and grounding squeeze. "don't worry too bad. it'll be okay."

all you can muster is a nod, watching through the front windshield as you sister peeks over your moms shoulder, her perfectly styled hair blowing in the wind.

"wanna get the bags now?"

"no," you finally speak, shaking your head. "save them for later just incase we need an escape route."

he chuckles. "okay dramatic - let's go."

with another encouraging nod from the devils captain, you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting out the car along with nico. at the sight of your face, your mom screams, waving at you like a crazy woman from the porch—the woman didn't even put on a coat before coming outside, leaving the door wide open behind her. "y/n, honey! you're here!"

"i'm here." you make your way up the pathway, nico's hand providing a ghostly pressure on your lower back as he trails behind you. "merry christmas momma."

she scoops you into a tight hug, kissing the side of your head repeatedly until it feels like all her lipgloss has transferred to your hairline. "merry christmas! and oh, honey don't be rude—introduce us to this handsome man." over your shoulder, your mom catches sight of nico and his ridiculously charming smile.

he looks so relaxed and happy that you're jealous. you're also jealous that nico manages to look that good after spending 2 hours in a car—but that's not important.

you quickly wrap your arm around nico's torso, bringing yourself into his warm side. nico easily follows suit, wrapping his hoodie covered arm around your shoulders, giving you another comforting squeeze. you smile—extra big—at your mom, rubbing your free hand over nico's covered stomach. "right of course, this is nico. my boyfriend."

recognition flashes across her face, eyes darting between you and your fake boyfriend—who you are currently cuddling with on the cold porch in front of your mom, an action that is very out of the ordinary for you. you can only pray she doesn't think too hard about everything. suddenly, she gasps. "nico?! like your friend nico?"

you scrunch your nose through a faux smile, "that's the one!"

she laughs, "is that why you were so secretive over the phone? so it would be a suprise?"

"yes." you say through gritted teeth, arm tightening around nico's muscular torso, grounding yourself through your white lies.

your mom beams again, hands clutched to her chest as she admires you both - granted your shivering and your toes are borderline frozen.

"it's nice to finally meet you, ms. y/l/n. i've heard so much about you." nico says easily, his accent perfectly complimenting his relaxed tone and demeanour. he removes his arm from your shoulders, and you fight the urge to pout from the lack of warmth, watching as nico puts his hand out for your mom.

she dismisses the formality, moving towards him with her arms wide open. "oh, honey, please call me ella - and i've heard so much about you, I can't believe you're finally here."

your eyes close in embarrassment, face flushing a deep pink as your mom embraces nico.

"mom, let them come in! it's freezing." your sisters honey laced voiced calls out from inside the house, and you can see her making her way back towards the front door, taylor on her hip as she easily saunters over.

your niece happily shouts as she catches sight of you, begging to be put down. tammy obliges, but tells her to wait until you get inside, not wanting a coat and shoeless toddler to walk onto the wintertime porch. behind her, your brother-in-law joins you, smiling and waving at you through the open door before pressing a kiss to your sisters head.

"yes, of course." you mom smiles, turning on her heels and walking through the door. "c'mon in you two, before you turn into ice."

too late—you think.

right before you and nico can pass the threshold into the log cabin, you mom puts her hand out, stopping you with a playful smile ghosting her face. you sister looks borderline fed up, closing her eyes at your moms actions, and brody just looks excited.

confused, you quirk a brow. "what's happening right now? you all look very weird."

you mom points up, "honey, you're under the mistletoe!" you smile falters, your eyes slowly moving up until you catch sight of the array of green mistletoe leaves dangling above you and nico. "it means you have to kiss - house and mistletoe rules."

nico laughs awkwardly beside you, warm eyes also on the festive plant.

"mom, no." you follow suit, chuckling through your discomfort as you set your sights back on your mom.

her brows pull together, a frown overtaking her face. "what, why not? just a little smooch?"

"they just got here, mom. at least let them take off their boots before you make them get to business." you sister—ever the saving grace—tries to move on from the discussion, sending you a wide eyed look behind your moms back.

you nod in thanks, "yeah. don't you think that's a little inappropriate?"

"why would that be inappropriate?" she gawks. "nico doesn't mind, do you?"

"I mean-"

"i'm your child, and you just met him." you interrupt whatever people-pleasing answer nico was about to spew, looking at your mom with an expression mixed up of amusement and bewilderment.

"c'mon, y/n," brody chimes in playfully. "it's not like we are asking you to suck his-" tammy smacks her husbands chest, a warning for him to not finish that scentence. "ouch, babe!"

"little ears." your sister reminds, gesturing to your six year old niece, who is still bouncing on her heels, desperate for you to get inside so she can steal you away. "don't egg her on." tammy is talking about your mom, who is still clueless on why making you kiss your supposed boyfriend when they just meet him is a bit weird.

the whole situation is stressful and overwhelming, and you kind of just want to turn around and make a run for the car. as if nico can sense your anxiety, his grip around you—now with his arm around your waist—tightens ever so slightly, reminding you that you're okay.

you swallow nervously. "let's not make nico-"

you're interrupted by the firm press of nico's lips on your cold cheek, kissing your face gently. the action seems to momentarily silence your family, but soon you can hear your mom cheer happily, mumbling something about how she 'should've taken a picture to send to your aunt shirley'

but you’re too distracted to register anything other than the lingering kiss against your cheek, and there's no doubt that your flesh is warming right under nico's lips. he pulls away, an easy smile taking over his face—like he's not even affected.

brody snickers, "see, y/n? wasn't so hard."

it seems that everyone is satisfied after that, your mom too busy texting on her phone to stop either of you from coming inside—thank god because you're pretty sure the inside temperature has dropped 10 degrees from the door being open.

as soon as you shut the door, taylor comes skipping over, her gapped tooth smile wide as she looks up at you. surprisingly, she doesn't attack you with hugs, but instead stops in front of nico. she looks up at him curiously, her hands resting on her tiny hips. "who are you?"

her bluntness has you laughing, even more so as you take in nico's amused expression, looking down at your niece softly. he bends down to meet her level, placing his hand out infront of her. "I'm nico, i'm your aunties boyfriend. what's your name?"

he already knows her name, but the formality of it all has you melting slightly, watching the interaction with an amused look. her tiny fingers splay over his palm, doing her best at shaking nico's large hand. "i'm taylor. you’re my auntie y/n's boyfriend?" her bright eyes flicker between you and nico curiously.

"I am."

she hums. "but you're too pretty for her."

you gasp, hiding your laughter. joining nico in his crouched position, you drag your giggling niece into your chest, lightly tickling her torso. "excuse you missy!"

"I don't know, taylor. I think your auntie is actually too pretty for me."

"yeah." she shrugs lightly, finally breaking free of your tickling. taylor shuffles back towards nico, "do you want to see my stuffies?"

"you have stuffies?" nico beams, "of course I want to see them." it's instantly that taylor grabs nicos fingers, leading him through the log cabin and presumably towards whichever room she's loaded off her stuffed animals in. you can hear taylor's excited babbling all the way down the hall, accompanied by nico’s enthusiastic responses as they disappear out of sight.

"honey can you go make sure she doesn't bore him to death. I can picture the tea party now." your sister sighs, looking at her husband expectantly.

"yeah," brody then looks at you, a teasing glimmer in his expression that you have grown to recognize. already, you're rolling your eyes. "I can't believe you're fucking an nhl captain y/n. good for you."

"go!" tammy hides her laugh behind her hand, but you can still hear her amusement through the muffled sound. brody waggles his eyebrows in your direction, further teasing you as he leaves.

thankfully your mom had slipped into the kitchen in the time you and nico had been talking with your niece—saving you from facing her after your brother-in-laws ludicrous comment. you can hear brody mutter something along the lines of 'course i'll go talk to the professional athlete, fuck kinda question is that?' — but you can't be so sure.

tammy grabs onto your arms, guiding you into the large, high ceiling living room. from what you've seen of the ski lodge so far, you're very impressed. it's got that rustic christmas feel that reminds you of your childhood, with grand windows and entry ways that overlook the winter scenery. with only a 5 minute drive to the hills, the resort was practically perfect.

you let your sister plop you onto the worn leather couch, the plaid throws scrunching behind your back as they slip around. tammy immediately sits down beside you—close enough that you're touching knees—facing you with wide eyes. "what the hell."

you make a face. "what?"

she scoffs a gentle laugh, eyes darting all over your warm face. "how long have you been crushing on nico?"

"what-what do you mean?" you blush timidly. you're unsure why the question has you feeling nervous—feeling caught—because nico is just a friend. a ridiculously generous friend who immediately agreed to spend christmas with your family to help you out, and is currently playing with your niece just because she wanted him to....its fine, really.

"well you've told me and mom that he was just a friend—you've been saying that for years and now you're dating? what's that about."

"oh, right." you really need to get a hang of the whole fake boyfriend thing, because the amount of times just today you've already forgotten is just criminal, and you're practically begging to get called out. you huff a gentle laugh, tucking your loose hair behind your ear shyly. "I don't know something just....changed."

"clearly." tammy laughs brightly. "how long have you been together?"

you swallow nervously, thinking back to the discussion with nico in the car about this very question. "only a few months. we kept it secret just in case...you know—bree and dougie are the only ones who knew."

tammy nods understandably, but a disgruntled expression quickly forms on her perfectly blushed face. "i'm kind of offended you told dougie before me."

"if it makes you feel any better, dougie was the one who set us up - so I didn't technically tell him anything." the twisted truth comes easily, and you give yourself a mental pat on the back for that one.

"fine. I feel a little better." tammy smiles, shifting her body so that she's tucked against your side, loungewear covered legs bent towards her chest as she relaxes into you. her blonde hair tickles your neck as she tilts her head up towards you, eyeing you with a playful undertone. "he's cute."

"hey! hit on your own man." you try and push her off of you gently, but tammy doesn't allow it, wrapping her arms around you tighter as she laughs.

"i'm just stating the obvious, y/n/n." her nickname for you has you feeling warm and fuzzy, settling back into your cuddly position. you and tammy have always been close, even with your 6 year age gap. you've always done everything together, and told one another all your secrets—so you feel guilty for not telling her about nico, even though it's not real.

"you really like him?" tammy's question is a gentle and sweet whisper, looking up at you like she just knows.

you nod, probably too fast and too enthusiastically—but thankfully tammy isn't paying attention to that, only listening to your words and watching the way your eyes change into a more relaxed and emotional state. "of course," you breathe, smiling. "I mean...he's always been really sweet and kind. always making sure I feel comfortable in a crowded room, checking in on me when he hasn't seen me in a couple days. and well, just today he's made me the most relaxed i've felt in a long time...." you trail off, clearing your throat gently. "sorry, god i'm blabbering."

tammy shakes her head softly, gently grabbing a hold of your hand. "it's okay. it's sweet."

"auntie y/n! look at nico!" the tiny and shrill voice of taylor interrupts the rather tender moment, but thankfully it allows you take take a calming breathe and let your heart rate turn back to normal. your niece skips down the hall, dragging nico behind her as they round into the living room.

the sight of nico has you stifling laughter. "oh...wow."

nico smirks, hands held out as if he was showing himself off. the princess aurora tiara nestled in his brown hair catches the setting sun, sparkling in the dimming light. that combined with the bright pink lipstick smeared around his mouth and the lime green tutu that is 5 sizes too small for a professional athlete around his hips is just too much. "handsome right?"

you hum, nodding sarcastically as he gives you and tammy a spin—showing off taylor's work. "oh yeah."

when nico faces you again, he winks—so quickly you're not even sure if it happened. it has your face warming once again, your sister nudging her pointed elbow into your side as she wordlessly teases you.

what have you gotten yourself into?

after a very amusing hour of dress up—which of course you got dragged into—you all had dinner, thanks to your mom and her random bursts of energy that allow her to cook up roast dinners every other day.

dinner went surprisingly well, and nico seemed to fit into the family dynamic nicely. it was a weight lifted off your chest as you watched him easily discuss sports with your brother in-law and excitingly answer all of your moms borderline intrusive questions. it's full of laughter and honestly you're surprised at how well everything seemingly is going—it's a relief you didn't think you'd get to experience this christmas.

after a long travel day for you and nico, you both decide to retire to bed early, leaving your sister and your mom in the living room— your mother shouting out a general explanation of which bedroom is yours as you go.

you're not sure what you were thinking, but the sight of the large bed in the middle of the room has you feeling nervous, stomach swooping at the thought of having to share a bed with nico. you suppose you believed that some part of your mom still pictured you in highschool with a boyfriend and would make you and nico sleep in separate rooms or beds.

clearly not.

the bed looks absolutely heavenly though, with lots of fluffy pillows and a nice duvet with complimenting throw blankets draped over the corner—you can't wait to sink in and pass out.

nico, who had gone and got your luggage right after dinner, drags both of your suitcases towards the dresser, the gentle click of the handle sliding back into place echoing throughout the room. he turns back to you, "I can sleep on the floor if you're uncomfortable."

your eyes snap away from the luscious bedding and over to nico—he must’ve seen your blank stare. you shake your head quickly, "no - no, we are adults. i'm not going to make you sleep on the floor."

you can practically see the relief on his face and in that moment you're completely convinced that nico would've set up camp on the rug if you asked him to.

you continue, ignoring the weird flutter in your stomach. "plus my mom will probably burst in here every morning to wake us up and I don't want to make up some lie about why my boyfriend is sleeping on the floor instead of in the bed."

"of course." he chuckles, the quiet sound settling through the warmly lit bedroom comfortably. "what side do you want?"

you snicker, waving your hand as if you're trying to appear nonchalant. "oh, i'm not picky."

nico eyes you, one brows raised in question as if he can see right through your attempt at coming across easy-going—you've never even been close to that. "are you lying?"

your shoulders deflate. "yes."

he laughs again, watching as you make your way over to the left side of the bed, tossing your phone in front of the pillows as if you were marking your territory. "it's furthest from the door." you hum like it's obvious, looking at nico with timid eyes.

"sure." he hums softly, eyes lingering one yours for a moment longer before turning away.

nico has his back turned to you, digging through his carry-on in search of his toiletry bag. you watch the way his muscles move, his compression shirt giving you the perfect view of the ripples and hard work he's put into his body. you've never really noticed how in shape nico is—I mean sure you've like noticed he's got muscles because he's a professional hockey player...but you've never appreciated them like you are right now.

"y/n?"

you blink. "huh?"

nico smirks, and you instantly realize he's caught you checking him out. you blush wildly, trying your best not to collapse into an awkward puddle. "I asked if you want to use the bathroom first."

you clear your throat, "no go ahead."

he gives you another knowing smirk before disappearing into the on suite bathroom (which, holy, how nice is this place), travel toiletry bag and a new pair of sweatpants tucked under his arm. as soon as the door clicks shut, you let out a deep breath—one you hadn't realized you'd been harbouring.

thankfully you hadn't worn makeup today, knowing that you’d be travelling—the feeling of being stuck with makeup on your face during the couple hour drive here sounded like a living nightmare. so while nico is busy in the bathroom you quickly change into your christmas red striped pyjamas, shoving your dirty clothes back in your suitcase before nico can see.

the door opens again just as you locate your toothbrush, revealing nico is his team branded sweatpants and...oh he's not wearing a shirt. you swallow heavily, eyes quickly flicking over the expanse of his muscular torso. "bathrooms free." he says, easily moving towards the bed.

you nod. "yeah, thanks."

right before you can shut the door, he calls your name, stopping you in your rather frantic pursuit into the bathroom—which is lingering with the scent of nico's cologne. he smiles at you playfully. "i'll keep the bed warm."

that's it - you're going to drown yourself in the toilet.

DAY 2

you managed to not drown yourself last night—shockingly enough. after nico's fluttering eyes and stomach swooping tease last night, you'd made some stupid joke, one that you can't even remember—you're pretty sure you blacked out. you shut the bathroom door quickly, taking as many deep breathes as you felt applicable.

the entire time you'd been brushing your teeth, you just kept going through calming mantras in your head, desperately trying to grasp ahold of the shit show inside your head. thankfully the rest of the night was easy—easy because as soon as your head hit those inanely comfortable pillows you were out.

the reason for waking up this morning—like expected—was because of your mother, who loudly entered your and nico's room with a tinsel covered sweater and bright smile. "wake up love bugs. taylor wants us all to go into town and look at the trees together!"

you're then hyperaware that nico is obviously still without a shirt, and you happen to be tucked against his bare chest like your life depended on it. his peck, although it doesn't look it, is a surprisingly comfortable pillow. your body stiffen's against him, but before you can roll away, nico tightens his grip around you, keeping you in place.

"give us a few minutes." you manage to tell her, practically rigid against the devils captain. "nico isn't wearing pants." you can hear him make a noise of protest beside you, pinching your hip between his fingers.

"take your time you two!" she sing songs, leaving the room with as much pep in her step as usual. as soon as the door clicks closed, you push off nico, but he doesn't let you get too far, fingers wrapping around your wrist to stop you.

"why'd you tell your mom i'm don't wearing pants?"

"I panicked."

"you're ridiculous—you know she's going to think we had sex now." his amusement is clear, and although it's at the expense of his dignity, nico is enjoying the humor of it all.

you shrug, slipping out of the bed. "hate to break it to you but they already think that."

through the mirror you left your bag in front of, you watch nico eye you from the back, his brows pulled curiously. "and why's that?"

"didn't you know? i'm secretly this like crazy minx who brings different boys to family trips and-" you're interrupted when nico tosses a pillow towards you, his laughter echoing throughout the room.

"get dressed freak."

—

you think one of your favourite things about being around nico is that no matter how his comments make your stomach swoop and how his gentle lingering eyes leaves your heart pounding, it's always easy to speak with him and just...be his friend.

which you suppose is normal with friends—you think?—its kind of hard to tell. you've only been close with your sister growing up, and then when you met bree in college she became your only other companion. when bree met dougie and inevitably started dating him, it opened up this new world to you; going to events and games, meeting so many people all with different personalities and backgrounds.

meeting nico was different though, because unlike the catalog of people that had come in and out of your life, nico was a constant. in the four years of knowing him, he's always managed to be that person—that friend—you felt you'd been missing. despite always playing nonchalant about your relationship with nico, dismissing him to be just a casual friend, you did really like him and cherish that friendship...and it kind of scares you.

after you moms abrupt wake up call, you and nico quickly got ready for the day, bundling in your warmest clothes to bare the chilly downtown weather—granting your nieces christmas tree browsing wishes.

the town is decorated beautifully, with stunning icicle lights dripping from every building, red ribbon wrapped around poles and pulled into bows at every corner, and the trees—filled with various sized and shaped ornaments that perfectly encapsulate the christmas season.

it feels like something out of a hallmark movie with the gentle pressure of nico's hand in yours, guiding you both behind taylor as she excitedly makes you look at everything. your sister and brody watch in amusement, very used to their daughters excitable personality. and of course your mom makes you and nico pose for hundreds of photos, because she has to 'capture the beautiful moment and the beautiful couple.'

she evens asks for you and nico to kiss—again—but just before you have to make up another excuse, brody chucks a snowball right at your chest. you immediately start hurling them back at your brother-in-law, distracting everyone from another non-kiss moment between you and nico.

after a few hours in town you all head back to the lodge, stomachs ready for some warm food to heat up that achy cold emptiness.

you place the serving tray full of freshly buttered buns in the middle of the table, next to the sour cream and shredded colby jack cheese—both necessities with your moms homemade chilli.

on the other side of the table, nico places one of the last bowls, the ceramic dishes clanking together—it's a peaceful noise, one that's often heard in kitchens. his eyes suddenly flicker towards you, and when he catches your stare a slinky smile curves at his lips. "are you judging my placement right now?"

the tease—so mundane and playful—has your smile growing, butterflies tickling the lining of your growling stomach. "never."

his gaze narrows, "well i'm definitely judging your butter abilities—that spread is so uneven."

you gasp, "think you could do better, hischier?"

"oh," he laughs, "I know I could."

you smirk, picking up one of the grapes sitting loose in the fruit bowl at the end of the counter, tossing it in nico's direction. but like the coordinated athlete he is, catches it in his mouth, chewing the crunchy grape slowly—winking at you while he chews.

"y/n," your mom looks at you over her shoulder, "do you mind just finishing adding the herbs? I gotta run upstairs quick."

"sure." you hum, making your way over to the stovetop, taking the long handled wooden stirring spoon from your mom. she thanks you with a squeeze on your arm before waltzing out of the kitchen, disappearing up the stairs.

as you begin twirling the utensil through the thick chilli, you feel nico come up next to you, his chest brushing against your arm. "why are you stirring it like that?"

you look up at him with wide eyes, your amusement clear. "you are just tearing my cooking apart today."

he laughs, "you're not cooking anything. you're simply just spreading and stirring."

a noise similar to a scoff falls from your mouth, and you tear your gaze away from nico quickly. "i'll spread something all right." you mutter with faux irritation, turning your shoulder away from him.

nico laughs again, chest rumbling against your skin. "that sounded dirty." his forearm wraps around your torso, holding you against his chest.

you're momentarily speechless with the feeling of nico touching you so intimately. your slow stirring comes to a stop, the end of the wooden spoon almost falling into the pot—but you don't notice. your head slowly falls backwards, resting just under nico's collarbone. "what are you doing?" you ask quietly, looking up at him.

nico leans down, his lips brushing against your ears. "what does it feel like i'm doing?" his breath is warm on you and you feel a static travel over your body—from your ears, down to your neck and shoulders, even reaching your toes.

"it feels like you're trying to hit on me." your words comes out breathily, barley reaching your own ears.

"maybe I am," he shrugs, and like he didn't just send your heart plummeting to your stomach, nico says, "your sister is watching us."

discreetly your eyes dance towards the large living room where you catch a glance at tammy—who is trying to not make it look obvious as she stares at you both lovingly, a cheesy smile on her face.

"so the only reason you're touching me is because of the audience?—that's a bit freaky, even for you nico."

he pinches your side lightly, which sends you squirming backwards, further into his embrace—chilli and herbs long forgotten. "i'll take any excuse to touch you, y/n."

nico looks down at you warmly, that boyish grin on his face that makes him look so warm and cuddly. you feel your face heat up at his insinuation, and you look away from his playful expression, bowing your head so you're looking back to the chilli.

"you're so pretty when you blush," nico mummers against your skin, pulling you back to his chest.

your blush deepens, a light laughter bubbling through your chest as you playfully push him away. "you're distracting me."

before nico can say anything else, the distant voice of your mother approaches. "and this is the kitchen! isn't it just so beautiful susan? I mean not just the lodge but the whole resort."

susan? who the hell is—oh my god.

nico watches your face drop, your eyes darting towards the kitchens entryway as the voices grow closer, this susan lady answering your mother just as enthusiastically.

he's quickly back at your side, a gentle hand brushing against your lower back. "what's wrong?" nico's question is hushed—determined.

you're honestly surprised that you can hear his whisper over the blood rushing in your ears. the rush of anxiety that pumps through your blood is overwhelming, and the reason you'd brought nico to your families christmas vacation comes trampling back. you swallow roughly, "susan...she's my moms friend and-"

"guys, this is my friend susan and her son scott!" your moms chipper tone halts your scentence, you and nico watching silently as your mom gestures to the unexpected company.

scott is...actually not that bad to look at—which is a gold star on your moms part. the dark haired man is standing merely few feet away from you as he moves to greet tammy. he's got that finance bro look to him, with a crisp button up shirt underneath his puffer vest—why men insist to wear vests inside is something you'll never understand.

he greets brody like a typical male would, bringing him in for a quick slap on the back—a smile on his face that shows his perfectly white teeth.

"y/n, honey this is scott." you mom singles you out, which of course she does, pointing towards scott with a wink in your direction.

you can feel nico stiffen against your back, his forearm snaking back around your waist. before you can think, you let your hand rest over nico's, interlocking your fingers between his resting against your torso.

"nice to meet you, y/n." he greets with a grin. "i'm scott. i've heard so much about you."

"you too, scott." you smile politely. "this is nico-"

"her boyfriend." nico finishes your scentence firmly, the hand that wasn't around your body jutting out on the other side of your body for a handshake.

scott breathes a laugh, shaking his hand. "boyfriend, huh? lucky guy." briefly scott's eyes flicker back towards you, eyeing you with a look you can't decipher. you feel yourself shrinking further back into nico, seeking that comforting aura that is the devil's captain.

"very much so." he agrees firmly, squeezing the flesh of your hip. there's a tense moment of eye contact between the two men, almost like a wordless battle of alpha male energy—which isn't very like nico.

scott hums curiously. "you look really familiar. do I know you from somewhere?"

"must have one of those faces." nico answers modestly, shrugging his shoulders once.

tammy waltzes into the kitchen, followed by her husband who is holding taylor in his arms. hearing the tail end of the conversation, brody pipes in with a quick laugh. "he looks familiar cause he's the devils captain dude—we are in the presence of jersey royalty."

"a professional athlete?" scott questions, that curious but condescending tone still laced in his voice. "bit unstable, no? unpredictable with trades and that?"

"can be. thankfully i've been lucky enough to have been with the devils since 2017."

"lucky indeed." once again, scott's eyes flicker back to you—giving you that awkward and uncertain feeling.

sensing the tension, tammy quickly intervenes. "taylor did you want to show scott and susan your stuffies before dinner is plated?"

taylor glances towards the two guests. "no." then her tiny brown eyes move towards you and nico, and instantly she's skipping towards you both. "nico can you sit beside me at dinner?"

something prideful blooms in your chest at taylor's request and dismissal of scott and his rather uncomfortable presence. "I don't know taylor," you begin teasingly, "I wanted to sit beside nico first."

she laughs, her adorable toddler giggle like music to your ears. "how about we both sit with nico."

you hum in faux thought. "should we ask him? see what he thinks?"

"yes." she giggles.

nico, who has obviously heard the entire interaction, pretends like he was unaware of the conversation happening quite literally in front of him—he ponders the question playfully, index finger tapping against his chin. when he tells taylor that he will sit with both of you, her tiny face lights up, and you can't help the way yours does as well.

dinner is served very quickly after, brody on serving duty as he fills every bowl with a hefty amount of chilli. the dinner runs relatively smoothly, saved for a few condescending questions from scott asking about only nico. for somebody who was seemingly trying to get to know you—despite having a boyfriend—scott seems to be really interested with the man beside you rather than you yourself.

thankfully only an hour after dinner and enduring painfully boring conversation with susan and scott, they end up leaving to go back to their lodge, and thank god because you desperately are ready for sleep by that point—excusing yourself and nico as you head towards the bedrooms for another much needed nights rest.

you pull the duvet back, creating enough space for you to climb in.

nico follows suit, slipping under the cool flannel sheets. "scott seems..."

you interrupt his trailing thought. "like an asshole?"

"yeah." he breathes. "truly what is that guys deal?"

"I don't know." you roll onto your side, facing nico with a huff. "I can't believe my mom still invited them to dinner. even though susan is supposedly her friend—who, by the way i've never heard of before tuesday. I thought she would've at least...I don't know? respected my boundaries? is that fucked up to say?"

nico shakes his head against the pillow. "no, it's not."

you groan, your irritation clear. "and then when she first introduced us and she winked at me? like hello, what is that about? because as far as she's concerned i'm clearly not looking for a relationship. I brought you here for this exact reason and-"

"hey," nico breathes gently, gathering your attention by running his hand over your pyjama sleeve covered arm. "it's okay, you're okay. I understand that you're feeling stressed and frustrated but don't get in your head about this."

you take a deep breath, nodding.

nico continues, "I don't think she had any malicious intentions with inviting them to dinner. I think she was pleasing people—like you would."

"I just wish her people pleasing didn't involve a literal walking bag of crap."

nico breathes a quiet laugh at your insult. "she just wants what's best for you, y/n—like you said. she doesn't realize that it's making you uncomfortable and she's too distracted by it all to notice that scott is 'a literal walking bag of crap.'"

your lip tugs upwards slightly.

"you should talk to her about it."

you groan, face rolling into the fluffiest part of your pillow. "I think as my boyfriend you should talk to her for me."

"i'm not actually your boyfriend." he laughs.

you scoff. "way to ruin the mood."

nico's smile is barley visible through the dark bedroom, but you can still see it, and the sight had you following suit, a grin taking over your face. he rests his head on his bicep, facing you. it all feels so intimate and precious and you never want to forget it.

your heart beat feels like it's bordering on dangerously fast—making you feel the best kind of nervous. you're glad the room is dark because you blush, clearing your throat. "i'm so happy that you're here nico. I don't know what I would've done today if you weren't with me."

his smile falters slightly as he swallows thickening salvia, eyes trained on your face softly through the moonlit room. "i'm happy i'm here too..with you."

DAY 3

you peer down the snow covered hill, gnawing on your lip in an unsure manner. "does it seem bigger from up here?" your hands wrap around the ski poles tightly, desperately trying to keep yourself from moving forward.

nico expertly slides in front of you, his skis bumping yours. "do you want to go back down? we can just walk back to the lodge if you're feeling scared."

you shake your head quickly. "i'm not scared...im just worried about falling on my face." truth of the matter is that you are feeling scared—scared because you actually hadn't skied since you were 10, and you'd actively avoided the actual ski part of your holiday trips by sitting in the lodge and reading whatever book you'd been into since then—but not this year.

nico wanted to get out on the hills, and even though he said that he didn't mind if you wanted to stay at the house or even in the holiday themed ski lodge, you didn't want him to feel alone out there, especially because he's doing you a favour in just being apart of your families christmas—so here you are on top of the ski hill. plus, any excuse to get away from scott, which of course your mom invited him and susan to spend the day with you all, you'd take.

"you're not going to fall on your face." nico tells you, his tone gentle as he looks down at you.

"you don't know that." you say. "what happens if my ski catches a divet in the ice and I go head over heels into the snow?"

he laughs gently. "the only reason you'll fall is because your hairs in your face—here." nico ditches his poles in the snow, and with glove covered hands he reaches towards your face. gently he tucks your hair underneath your hat, pushing away any hairs that have fallen out from your braid.

you swallow, eyes flickering over his face. "i'm a little nervous." you finally admit.

"it's okay to be nervous." nico adjusts the strap of your goggles over your pink helmet, moving it into a proper position. "it's also okay to back out."

"I don't want to back out." you huff. "I want to do it."

his lip tugs upwards in a half smile. "yeah?"

"yeah." you nod. "but you have to do it with me." you both make your way—you very cautiously—towards the edge of the slope. "i'm serious nico."

"I won't leave your side, okay? fix your knees like I showed you earlier...yup, just like that." he watches you intently, making sure you're in a proper position. nico finds your face again, an apprehensive look in his eyes. "you sure?"

"think so." you hum. "it’ll be fine." before you can decide to back out, you manually push forward until your skis take over, sliding down the first dip of the hill, sending your downward.

the sound of your skis slicing through the icy snow is a rather relaxing sound, one that has a smile breaking out on your face. the feeling of quickly moving through time, with the cool air kissing your exposed cheeks is rather freeing, and for a moment you're not thinking about anything other than yourself and nico.

you can hear nico follow suit, following your tracks within a safe distance. "good! keep your blades a little bent! like pizza." he calls to you, voice travelling through the wind whipping past your ears.

"am I doing it?!" you question loudly, eyes still casted forward as you reach the middle area of the slope, continuing the rather speedy descent down the snowy hill.

"you're doing it." nico answers proudly—a boyish chuckle following.

"oh my god!" you scream happily, "i'm doing it." you slide over a small lip on the hill, propelling slightly into the air. miraculously, you land with only a small teeter in your legs, continuing to ski downwards.

in a moment of excitement, you turn to look over your shoulder, eyes wide and full of disbelief as you find nico. "did you see that?"

his face falls. "y/n, watch out!"

as soon as nico's warnings finishes, you feel somebody slam into you, affectively sending you off balance and smacking towards the ground. you feel the snow cover your face as you land, and you groan out, eyes closing as a quick wave of pain washes over you.

"holy fuck—y/n are you okay?" the voice sounds a little distant to your ears, like they are muffled. they help you sit up, gently cradling your biceps with their hands as they pull you into a sitting position.

you squint in attempt to focus your vision, blinking quickly to clear the blur. "what?"

nico's concerned face slowly appears in your eyesight. "are you okay?"

you groan again. "I think so."

he breaths loudly—a sound of relief. his hands move from your arms and towards your face, un-clipping the helmet strap from under your chin. nico pulls the hot pink protective gear off your head, leaving you with your damp beanie and snow coated braid. "you scared me for a second there. does anything hurt?"

"not really, maybe just a little sore and bruised." you swallow gently as you watch nico as he gently moves your head from side to side, checking for external injuries. his gaze is so intense—so focused. the embarrassment and lingering pain in your limbs has you feeling emotional, and your lip trembles. "i'm sorry."

instantly, nico's eyes snap back to yours. "don't apologize." he watches the way your eyes begin to well up with tears, quickly looking around as if you're seeing how many people are watching you. immediately he knows you're feeling embarrassed on top of everything else, and he pulls you into his chest, pressing a quick kiss against your hairline over your knitted hat.

you can barley feel the kiss, but it's enough to where the gesture has you melting—melting because he wasn't doing it because somebody in your family is watching or making him…nico simply just wanted to.

"you're okay." he mumbles against your hat.

"I think I wanna walk the rest of the way." you mumble waterly, attempting to joke.

he smiles against you, "you think so?" pulling back, he meets your eyes, a boyish grin on his face. the sight instantly has you feeling better, and with a small grin you nod.

nico helps you remove your boots from the ski blades, popping open every latch and button so you're easily able to slip out of the boot slot. he follows suit with his own ski's, freeing himself of the blades hold so he's left in only the chunky boots.

a familiar voice calls your name, approaching you and nico. "shit i'm sorry." scott says, stopping in front of you with his ski's tucked under his arm. "I didn't realize it was you."

nico stiffens. "you hit her? seriously?"

"I just said sorry man." scott huffs. "no need to get all annoyed."

his brows raise is pure shock, eyes squinting accusingly in the shorter man's direction. "sorry doesn't help. what if she got seriously hurt?"

"she didn't though."

nico breathes in disbelief. "that's not the point."

scott takes a step back, "relax, dude."

"she's my girlfriend. I can't relax."

"whatever." scott looks back towards your shy face, offering you a sympathetic shrug. "sorry again y/n."

you nod once. "thanks."

that's all it takes for scott to leave again, practically jogging away from the both of you, back down the hill. he disappears behind the slope of the hill, and immediately nico is turning back to you, his expression that was only moments ago hard and strong, now soft. "he doesn't deserve your apology."

"I know." you breathe. "but I was done listening to him."

nico nods understandably, but he looks slightly worried—guilty maybe? "are you upset with me about that?"

"no. i'm glad you were here to defend me honestly. I would've crumbled under the pressure of my own need to be a people pleaser." you laugh lightly.

the ghost of a smile takes over his face. "promise?"

you nod. "help me down the hill? I need you right now—my hips a little sore."

in an instant nico is grabbing you, careful of your sore hip as he wraps an arm around your torso. "let me know if you need to stop at all, okay?"

you both begin to slowly walk down the hill, nico dragging the ski stuff behind you. "you worry too much." you tease him, gaze flickering to his face.

he breathes a laugh, not looking away from the hills. "yeah I worry cause I—" he pauses briefly, a gentle gulp following. "cause you're my friend, y/n."

"your friend?" you question his choice of words quietly—timidly.

finally, he meets your eyes. "yeah."

there's a moment then, where you're looking at one another with eyes that say a million things your mouths can't yet. you're unsure whether or not nico was about to admit to something—deeper feelings—before correcting himself, and you're not sure if you'll ever know.

but you're too scared—to anxious—to find out. because if it's not the answer you're hoping for, your christmas eve will be ruined, and your heart will be broken.

you laugh, breaking the tension. "that's not very fake boyfriend of you to say."

nico blinks once, but soon his expression changes into a more playful one, eyes twinkling with amusement. "c'mon y/n/n."

—

the warm bubbles are slightly ticklish against your skin, but it's a pleasant feeling. you sink further into the hot tub, letting the jets and heat do their job on your sore body.

as the sun started setting through the kitchen window, the pain of your earlier incident was only getting worse, and you could barley move without hissing in pain.

after the 8th groan of discomfort during jim carey's grinch, your mom suggested the hot tub. after all what good were you trying to put presents under the tree if you couldn't even bend over to pick them up.

the almost instant relief from the hot tub was enough to have you moaning out, submerging up to your shoulders and letting the water splash up your neck.

a beat passes and the sliding door sounds, opening into the cool night. "hey, got the presents from my car." nico stands by the entrance, peering through the dimly lit deck over in your direction.

"did you give them to tammy?" you question gently.

"I did." nico hums, gently shutting the door behind him. "you okay in there?"

"getting there." you sigh, eyes carefully watching as nico makes his way through the covered deck—no doubt the cold snow covering his feet in the slides he’d slipped on before getting the presents.

"anything you need from me?"

the nighttime pain reliever you’ve been popping since getting back from the lodge has you feeling a bit sleepy and loopy—completely erasing any kind of filter you have. you raise a brow, squinting at him through the mist coming off the water. "I want you to get in."

he laughs gently, resting his hands against the edge of the tub as he looks over at you. nico takes his lip between his teeth briefly, eyes flickering over your submerged figure. "didn't bring a bathing suit."

"nico." you whine, dragging his name out.

"you can't get upset with me," he smirks, "you didn't tell me there'd be a hot tub."

"okay, well just strip down into your underwear and get in." you breathe, "promise I won't look." you hold your hand up like you’re in scouts, looking up at him with most puppy-dog expression you can manage.

"y/n..." he trails off, almost like a gentle warning.

you continue. "i'll even let you have one of my three towels afterwards so you don't have walk back inside in just your underwear.”

his brows pull together. "why did you bring three towels?"

"I like to be extra warm—just get in."

a moment passes—practically watching the gears turn in nico’s head as he debates your ask. just when you think you’ll have to beg again, desperate to have nico close to you, he sighs, pushing off the edge of the hot tub. in one swift motion he pulls his hoodie off, his muscles flexing beneath his rising t-shirt, exposing nico’s hard v-line and happy trail.

you smile in satisfaction, watching as he continues to shed his clothes until he's left in just his black boxer shorts. you try your best to not stare—you really do—but when your fake boyfriend happens to be that muscular and hot, it's hard to keep your eyes away.

he quickly steps into the steaming hot tub, joining you under the water. "happy?"

you smile triumphantly. "very much. I feel better already."

"I bet you do."

a beat passes, only the sound of the running jets to be heard through the night. it's very relaxing, and with nico with you it now feels 10 times better. under the water you extend your leg until your foot gently nudges his leg—grabbing his attention. "thank you again for today. for everything, I just...i'm really happy that dougie called you for me. because I would've been too nervous to ask you myself."

his brows raise. "why would you have been nervous?”

shyly, you shrug. "I don't know, I just didn't want you to think I was...taking advantage of you or something."

"I wouldn't have thought that—I don't think that." nico moves closer to you, the warm water sloshing around slightly as he comes to a stop in the seat beside you. instinctively you turn your body towards him, eyes curious and knowing all at once.

a beat passes.

"did you know when I was a kid on christmas eve I used to convince my sister that if she didn't let me have her last advent chocolate santa wouldn't come."

you grin. "you didn't."

he laughs. "I so did. and I remember feeling like such a badass about it to. then when she found out that santa wasn't real and I was simply just conning her into an extra chocolate she lost it—and I mean lost it."

"what did she do?"

"obviously she told my parents, which was expected." nico hums. "but she also smashed my game system—like completely destroyed it with our dads hammer."

you gasp, "no."

"yeah and I cried like a baby."

you laugh gently.

nico continues. "looking back now I definitely shouldn't of been so sneaky. and now every christmas I always buy her an advent calendar as an apology."

"that's kind of cute." you coo sweetly.

his eyes soften at the sound, watching your head tilt in admiration. "you would really like her. you two are kind of similar."

you stifle a knowing laugh. "after hearing how she smashed your gaming stuff I think I have to agree—one year I sent taylor's favourite scarf for a trip in the fireplace."

nico snickers, "you little rebel."

"don't laugh," you smile. "she had taken my favourite babydoll I'd opened that christmas and covered the entire face in marker. so instead of going to my parents like I should have, I just threw her scarf right in the fire."

"damn," he breathes. "remind me not to steal your baby dolls."

"oh since then i've kept them all locked away, so you'll never find them." your eyes glisten with a playful shimmer, looking at nico teasingly. he mimics your lighthearted expression, a warm smile pulling on his lips.

your eyes wander to his exposed arm, catching sight of the familiar pattern of ink on his inner arm. "i've always like this one." slowly you reach out, tracing the tattoo with a wet finger.

"yeah?" he watches the way your touch moves over the artwork, your fingers leaving a wake of goosebumps on his skin—despite the heat from the hot tub, chills run over his body.

"yeah." you nod. "does it mean anything?"

"it's my families star signs," he points to the first one, tracing the greek symbol. "they all bleed into one another, almost like it's representing a family line."

“nico that’s…really cool.” you smile gently. "when did you get it?"

he laughs gently, a blush coating his cheekbones. "long time ago."

you snicker, eyes flickering back towards his face and away from the sentimental tattoo on his string bicep. “alright old man.”

he quirks a brows at you, amused. "we're the same age."

playfully you shush him, bringing your finger towards his plump lips in a silencing motion.

quickly, nico grabs your wrist, pulling your tiny hand away from his face. his firm yet teasing grasp around your hand sends your skin into a flurry of flames, igniting under his warm palm.

his eyes flicker between your eyes and your pouty lips as if he can't decide where to look—what to do.

you lean in ever so slightly, scared that if you move too suddenly you'll wake up from a dream. nico's hold on your hand changes, fingers trailing down your wrist and off your arm.

his hand finds your slick thigh under the bubbly water, and your heart feels like it's going to jump out from your ribcage with how hard and intensely its beating. as nico's thumb begins to rub along your skin, pleasantly tickling your thigh, you think you may just die.

your hand inches towards his torso under the water, your fingernails just scraping softly against his abs—

"I should get out." nico mumbles. "I haven't packed yet and I gotta leave before 9."

you swallow the disappointment you're feeling, blinking away your emotions as you pull your hand away. "yeah. sure."

he gets out of the hot tub, and you can't even watch him as he does. nico wraps himself in one of your towels before gently looking back towards you. "i'll see you inside, okay?"

you hum in acknowledgment.

and then he leaves.

you mope in the hot tub a little bit longer than expected, and by the time you finally drag yourself back inside the only person awake is your mom.

she sits on the couch silently, finishing up some last minute wrapping of what seems like a gift for brody—some football jersey for a team you don't recognize. "feel better honey?" she asks.

you nod once. "yeah, thanks." you start to walk further into the home, towards the stairs, but your mom stops you, calling out your name quietly.

"before you go upstairs," she sighs, "I just wanted to say i'm sorry about scott. I shouldn't have even put that idea in your head when I called you and I shouldn't have invited him and susan around the that times I did. he was not only disrespectful towards you, but he was disrespectful towards nico and your relationship."

your chest warms. "thanks mom. it's okay."

"but I already invited them for breakfast after presents tomorrow—honestly susan is kind of a bitch and the last thing I need is for her to fuck me over to corporate because I didn't have her and her asshole son over for breakfast."

you snort, which has your mom joining in on the hushed laughter. you're truly not upset about that, and if anything the whole thing is so authentically your mom that you're almost glad she invited them.

just when you think she's done, your mom continues with a twinkle in her eyes. "I must say y/n, I've never seen you happier or more comfortable in a relationship that what i'm seeing when you're with nico. honey I don't know why it took you so long to realize there was something more between you, because nico is special."

you feel tears well up in your eyes, a million unsure emotions coming to a tilt in your throat. you nod. "yeah. he is."

DAY 4

"do you really have to go?" taylor's tiny voice wobbles with emotion slightly, looking up at nico with her wide animated eyes.

he crouches down to her level, soft gaze unwavering. "unfortunately. I have to work tomorrow.”

"okayyyy." she pouts. "maybe next time you can bring your stuffies for the tea party."

"that's a great idea." he grins at the way your nieces face lights up, already giddy at the thought of the next party.

your mom suddenly cooes, moving towards the front door where nico stands with his suitcase. she frowns at him, "honey thank you so much for coming, you've been wonderful."

he stands to his full height, embracing your mom as she wraps her arms around him in a familiar hug. "thank you for having me."

you watch silently, gnawing the skin around your thumb anxiously. you'd been dreading this since you were awoken at 7 by your niece for presents, and saying goodbye to nico today was weighing on you heavily—even with the lingering unspoken words from last nights abrupt departure.

"safe driving, nico." tammy smiles towards him kindly.

brody chimes in, "yeah man, can't have you going down. the devils need you."

your fake boyfriend laughs gently, nodding. "i'll try my best to get home in one piece." then nico's eyes flicker towards you, a soft yet sad expression pulling at his face. he takes a deep breathe, plastering on a bigger smile. "i'll see you when you're home."

you nod, your own forced smile on. "i'll see you then, nico." there’s an unspoken meaning with the goodbye—one that feels permanent and you hate it. with one more emotional glance in your direction nico waves goodbye to your family….and then he leaves.

the hallow feeling that runs through your bones is almost painful, your eyes trained on the spot he was just standing. a million feelings run through you at once—hurt, anger, confusion, warmth, guilt. it's all one big stressful ball, but yet somehow through all that you know there's real feelings for your friend there, ones that have been making your heart run ramped and your stomach flip around with butterflies for years.

"hey," scott's quiet voice interrupts your thoughts, looking over at you with flirtatious eyes. "if things with lover boy don't work out, ill be here." you’d honestly forgot him and susan were here, arriving just after taylor had tore through all her presents for breakfast.

it had you rushing to open your present from nico—because of course he bought you a present—his jersey and a handbag you’d been wanting for years. a handbag that only bree knew you loved, meaning that he talked to your best friend to get you the perfect christmas gift.

and yeah…you really like nico hischier.

blinking out of your thoughts, you properly turn and face scott. "that will never happen."

you look around the room at your family, who have now all resumed their normal routine throughout the home. taylor’s making your brother-in-law open every new toy so she could play with them, while your mom and susan busy themselves in the kitchen, talking while the kettle boils for another round of coffee.

you catch tammy's eyes and she nods—knowingly. you breathe a sigh of what feels like relief, and a tiny smile begins to pull at your lips. "i'll be right back." you mutter, and before you even realize what you're doing, you slip on somebodies slides, leaving out the front door.

the wind blows right though your gingerbread pyjamas, the cold biting against your skin—but you don't care as the only thing you can think about is him. "nico!"

the sound of your voice has him pausing, rounding from the back of his vehicle where he was loading his suitcase in. nico’s brows pull together tightly, looking and feeling rather confused as you hurriedly make your way towards him—merely slipping out of your shoes as you hit a patch of ice.

"what are you doing?" he questions.

"don't go." you words a rushed, looking up at him with a shy confidence in your eyes.

nico sighs quietly. "I don't really have a choice."

you shake your head, eyes closing in frustration. "I know - fuck don't don't go just stay...for a second."

"what are you trying to say, y/n?"

"I like you - like really like you." finally you break, looking towards nico with nothing but vulnerability on your face. "and I think deep down I always knew that, but something about this weekend...watching you interact with my family and seeing how much they like you—it's amplified everything to 100."

you swallow the lump forming in your throat, trying your best at keeping your voice steady as you continue. "and I really didn't think i'd be chasing after a guy in my pyjamas this weekend, but here I am. because you're not just some guy, nico. you're the guy. and I can't let you leave without saying that because I don't think i'll ever have the courage to say it again."

nico swallows. "I can't believe you just told me that." he pauses, a small laugh bubbling past his lips. "and right when I have to leave. because now I really want to stay."

you let go of a breath you weren't aware you were holding, relief rushing over you body at his words.

he continues. "I like you so much it's not even funny."

"you do?" you question shyly.

"yes." nico takes a step towards you, now close enough to reach out and touch. "you're my favourite."

"favourite what?" you whisper.

"everything." he reaches out, gently taking ahold of your face between his cold palms. his thumbs stoke along your cheeks comfortingly, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes as his gaze moves towards your lips. "what was the rule about kissing again?"

you inhale sharply, your own eyes watching nico's lips inch closer and closer towards yours. "only if absolutely necessary."

"thought so." nico's words are mumbled between you, lips brushing against yours before he finally closes the gap, connecting your mouths in a much desired kiss.

in that moment it's hard to think about anything other than the skillful and practiced kisses nico is giving you, his hand nestled at the base of your skull as he holds you to him, but one thing you do know is that you should've done this fake boyfriend thing years ago.

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ikeu05 · 13 days ago

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𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 。 crawling back to you , busy being yours to fall for somebody new

synopsis in the gilded shadows of the Victorian era, hidden princess, yn and a charming bar boy, jake sim cross paths under impossible stars. what begins with playful banter and secret glances soon spirals into a love neither of them expected—but fate has a cruel sense of timing. when truth unravels and betrayal cuts deep, they are forced apart by forces far bigger than them. years later, a chance encounter reignites everything they buried. But is love still enough, or is it too late?

pairing commoner! jake x secret princess! reader

featuring jake, jungwon, sunghoon of enhypen / ness, an oc (me hehe) / cassendra "cassie" knight (23) — the oldest princess / genevieve "jen" knight (18) — the youngest princess

genre forbidden love, secret identities, fluff, angst, forced marriage, victorian themes

word count 23.5k :O

warnings jake gets betrayed, angst towards the end, kissing, nothing too explicit but kinda suggestive, yn is misunderstood as the second daughter, mentions of crying, mentions of cheating in marriage (i do NOT induce cheating!!!), ness has something going on with jungwon hmmm

playlist the lakes — taylor swift. war of hearts — ruelle. kingdom dance — tangled. sign of the times — bridgerton. where is my mind? — the blue notes. happiness is a butterfly — lana del rey. loss of my life — taylor swift. young and beautiful — lana del rey. mystery of love — sufjan stevens. my tears ricochet — taylor swift. i miss you, i'm sorry — gracie abrams. softly — clairo. do i wanna know — hozier.

nessie note hello and gm :3 posting this 5:30am after a WEEK (plus a little) of writing this. i hope y'all like my baby as much as i do. if it's not obvious by now, i LOVVVEEEE me some angst. it's my favourite thing to write about because if i'm not happy, NO ONE SHOULD BE HAHAHHAHA (kidding i love all of y'all everyone please be happy y'all deserve it <3333)

in the heart of the kingdom of decelis, where fog hugged the cobblestone streets and ivy curled up the walls of timeworn manors, there was a legend whispered in every bakery line and under every breath of steam from a blacksmith’s forge.

the royal family had daughters. but no one knew how many, or what they looked like. no portraits hung in the town square. no names were ever announced at royal galas. it was said the king kept them veiled behind silken curtains, safe from the world’s ugliness—or perhaps from its temptations.

still, in the morning haze of the village, a girl walked freely. she wore plain dresses, ones she sometimes patched herself with clumsy stitches. her boots were scuffed, her fingernails always had ink or dust beneath them, and she never introduced herself by anything but a shrug and a crooked smile.

to the children, she was the one who taught them to skip stones across the river. to the older women, she was the girl who helped grind herbs behind the apothecary. to the baker, she was the thief of day-old pastries—and the reason he never bothered locking his side door. but she didn’t belong to them, not really.

no one knew where she returned to when the market stalls packed up. no one knew why she refused to speak of her family. no one knew that beyond the forest edge, behind a wall lined with gold-dusted leaves, stood the royal palace of decelis.

and within it, she was princess yn of the house of ainsley, second daughter of the king, born under a rare moon and hidden just as quickly from the world.

she’d grown up reading books about the world outside her garden gates—about laughter that wasn’t stiff, words that weren’t rehearsed, dances that didn’t need permission. and when she turned sixteen, she started slipping past the guards at night.

what started as curiosity had become a necessity. because out there, beyond her velvet prison, she could breathe. no titles. no etiquette. no expectations. just the feeling of her own limbs belonging to her.

only her maid, her best friend, ness, knew the truth. and though she scolded her every morning yn returned—hair tangled, smelling of smoke and fresh bread—she never told a soul. she had once been in love herself, a long time ago. she understood. but secrets had a way of testing their holders. and hers, so fragile and young, was about to collide with a secret of its own.

and it would all begin on the day the boy from nowhere lost his job.

jake sim didn’t ask for much.

a roof, a stable job, maybe a warm drink that didn’t taste like scorched disappointment. oh, and not being yelled at before noon. that was his one request. and yet, here he was, standing outside the thistle & thorn tavern with his apron balled in one hand and the bitter stench of stale beer in his hair.

“you’re a menace, sim!”

that was the last thing the barkeep had screamed, red-faced, before tossing him out the back door like yesterday’s dishwater. jake scoffed, muttering under his breath as he adjusted his coat. "it was one broken tray. one. and it wasn’t even my fault—who puts a damn chair in the middle of the kitchen door?"

the town of riverfield was already proving to be a disaster. he’d arrived only a fortnight ago, hoping for quiet work and simpler living. but the villagers were nosy, the streets had too many corners, and now he was unemployed before breakfast.

brilliant. he rubbed the bridge of his nose and decided to sulk dramatically near the market, as any reasonable man would after being humiliated.

the village square was alive already, warm bread smells wafting from open ovens, flour dust in the air like snow, kids weaving through stalls barefoot, vendors shouting about turnips like they were made of gold. jake shoved his hands in his coat pockets and grumbled. he hated it here.

that’s when it happened. something collided with him. soft but fast. like a bird made of elbows and curses.

“bloody hell—” jake stumbled backward, nearly slipping on an apple someone had abandoned on the cobblestones. he blinked as the impact staggered off him.

it was a girl. or rather, a blur of wool and brown curls and very, very annoyed eyes. she turned around mid-step, clearly prepared to deliver some biting remark—he could see the way her brows lifted, mouth parted, about to spit fire—and then she stopped.

she blinked at him. and he blinked at her. and for a moment, the market noise faded to background fuzz.

jake didn’t know what hit him harder—the unexpected collision or the face staring back at him. she wasn’t the kind of pretty you could explain to someone. not with words. it was something else. something about the way her features didn’t quite sit still—soft and sharp all at once, like light flickering over river stones. there was dirt on her cheek. her coat was too big. she held a half-loaf of bread like it was a newborn child. and she looked at him like he was the one who’d bumped into her.

“watch it,” she muttered, brushing past him.

jake opened his mouth. nothing came out. he turned around to follow her steps, mouth still ajar like a stunned trout. “wait—you ran into me!”

the girl glanced over her shoulder. “and i survived. congratulations to us both.”

he gaped for a second and she was already gone. vanished into the crowd, bread still tucked under her arm like a trophy. jake stared after her, one hand lifted uselessly in the air. his pride? shattered. his job? gone. his brain? possibly leaking out his ears.

jake sim had never believed in fate. but now? now he was convinced it wore muddy boots and a stolen coat and smelled faintly of rosemary. and despite everything—the humiliation, the job loss, the fact that he was probably going to have to beg the bakery for leftover crusts—he was already wondering when he’d see her again.

whoever she was.

the lake behind the chapel ruins wasn’t much—just a quiet stretch of water cradled by willows and old mossy rocks. the kind of place that looked like it had secrets. the kind jake liked.

it had taken him an hour of aimless wandering and ten muttered curses to get there, but now, seated on the bank with his coat off and sleeves rolled to his elbows, he finally felt like he could breathe. no angry barkeeps. no nosy shopkeepers. just the soft slap of water against stone, the occasional chirp of a bird that clearly didn’t give a damn about the complexities of unemployment, and the setting sun casting gold onto the lake like melted coins.

he picked up a flat stone, tested the weight with a flick of his fingers, and threw.

plop. terrible. the next one skipped once. better. the third skipped thrice. by the fifth, he was starting to forget how annoyed he’d been. until—

“you’re terrible at that,” a voice called from behind.

jake turned sharply, squinting against the light. the silhouette stepped into view with an infuriating kind of ease, hands in the pockets of a different coat this time, a mischievous glint in her eyes like she'd been watching longer than she should’ve.

“you.” he blinked, half a smile tugging at his mouth. “bread thief.”

“unemployed flirt.”

jake huffed a laugh. “well. that’s new. usually i get ‘charismatic’, or ‘charmingly unfortunate’. but alright.”

she stepped closer, looking out at the water like she wasn’t impressed. “your form’s all wrong,” she said, crouching beside him. “you’re supposed to flick the wrist. not… lob it like you’re throwing cabbage at a wall.”

jake looked down at her, cocking a brow. “you’ve got strong opinions for someone who bodyslammed me this morning.”

“i was in a hurry.”

“to rob another bakery?”

“to feed a fox, actually.” she smirked, grabbing a stone. “not that you deserve to know.”

he watched her then—really watched her. the way her hair caught the gold of the setting sun, how her lashes cast little fans across her cheekbones, the effortless way she carried herself, like she’d grown up learning to dance between footsteps. there was something undeniably regal about her, even in oversized coats and scuffed boots.

“i’ve got to admit,” he said, leaning back on his elbows, “i didn’t expect to be blessed with your presence again so soon.”

she didn’t look at him. “don’t get used to it.”

jake grinned. “is that a threat? or a promise?”

she sighed audibly, lips twitching. “you’re insufferable.”

“and yet,” he said, watching her skip a perfect four-stone ripple across the lake, “here you are. voluntarily sitting beside an insufferable man.”

“because i felt bad.”

“oh, don’t do that,” jake groaned dramatically. “pity is so unflattering. at least lie and say you missed my face.”

“i missed the way your hair looks like it lost a duel with a broom.”

he touched his hair, mock-offended. “that’s cruel. it’s got character.”

she stood again, brushing dirt off her skirt, already turning to go. “you talk too much.”

jake stood too, following without being asked. “you’ve got the eyes of someone who’s keeping a thousand secrets.”

she didn’t respond.

“and the mouth of someone who’s never going to tell me any of them.”

still, nothing. “also,” he added cheerfully, “a really pretty nose. has anyone ever told you that?”

she glanced at him sideways. “no. and don’t start.” too late.

“i’m starting,” he said, hands in his pockets now, grinning like a fool. “pretty nose. even prettier mouth. your insults are getting prettier too.”

“stop.”

“can’t.”

“seriously—”

“it’s a condition.”

she turned to him then, mid-step, and finally—finally—let herself smile, just the smallest bit. a twitch. a crack in the royal mask he didn’t know she wore. jake saw it. and something fluttered in his chest he didn’t want to admit.

“well,” she said softly. “i suppose the lake wasn’t a complete waste of time.”

the conversation had wandered without agenda—through stories of markets and misfortunes, complaints about loud vendors, exaggerated tales of fish that nearly bit his fingers off, and jake’s ongoing argument with the village baker about the definition of “too toasted.”

she had laughed once. once. jake had pretended not to notice, but the sound had echoed in his chest like church bells. not loud—just long-lasting.

she sat cross-legged beside him, hands buried in the sleeves of that oversized coat, the last rays of the setting sun brushing soft light across her cheek. her gaze wandered toward the lake now and then, but mostly it lingered on the ground, or on her fingers, or the fraying threads at the hem of her coat. like she wasn’t used to holding eye contact. or maybe she just didn’t like letting people in.

and then—just as he’d begun telling her a story about how he nearly set fire to a barstool while trying to impress a girl who said she liked “dangerous men”—she suddenly stiffened. her spine straightened like a pulled bowstring. her head whipped to the west, where the sky had dipped into a dusty indigo.

“…shit,” she whispered, eyes wide.

jake blinked. “wow. harsh review. i thought that story was charming.”

“no,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “no, i didn’t—i lost track of time—”

“what time is it?” he asked, confused, still on the ground.

“i—it’s nearly seven. i’m late. i have to go. i really have to—” she was already backing away, stumbling slightly as she turned on her heel.

“woah, hey, wait—late for what? did the fox schedule a dinner party?”

she didn’t even smirk this time. her face had gone pale, mouth drawn tight. it wasn't just urgency. it was fear. panic, almost.

jake stood quickly, taking a step forward. “at least tell me your name.”

that stopped her. barely. one step from vanishing into the trees, she hesitated—shoulders rising, then falling. she turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the silhouette of her profile.

“i can’t.”

jake tilted his head. “can’t? or won’t?”

she didn’t answer.

he tried again, softer this time. “okay. then can i tell you mine?” silence.

“jake,” he said anyway. “jake sim.”

and for a moment, she stood completely still. as if memorising it. as if folding the syllables up and tucking them somewhere deep.

then, she ran. not a polite jog. a full sprint into the fading light.

jake stood there, wind catching the edges of his shirt, watching her disappear like the last streak of sunset. he scratched the back of his neck, feeling oddly… cold.

“jake sim,” he said again to himself. then huffed a laugh. “that’s me. just out here... falling for ghosts.”

he looked down at the skipping stones scattered by his boots. she hadn’t given him a name. but she’d left something else behind. something far more dangerous: curiosity. and yet, jake sim had never really been good at minding his own business.

the palace of decelis was beautiful in the kind of way that made your bones ache. all white stone and sprawling staircases, with archways carved into scenes of myth and gold-gilded ceilings that caught fire in the afternoon light. it was the kind of place made for silence and stillness. every footstep echoed too loudly. every whisper risked being overheard. and nothing, absolutely nothing, ever felt truly hers.

especially not the back kitchen corridor she now sprinted through, boots caked in mud, the hem of her dress wet with river water and flecked with grass stains. the air smelled faintly of rosemary and smoke—dinner being prepped somewhere below. her breath caught in her throat as she turned the narrow corner, heart pounding against her ribs like it wanted out. just as she reached for the brass handle of the servants’ pantry door, someone grabbed her by the wrist.

“you’re late.”

yn yelped and whirled around, only to find the familiar face she knew she'd see.

“ness,” she breathed, half a laugh, half a wince.

ness stood there with one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, and her apron stained with flour. she was effortlessly pretty, even with her hair knotted into a bun and smudges of ash on her cheek. her soft, wheatish skin glowed under the candle sconces, and her big, doe-brown eyes were as expressive as ever—wide with worry and narrowed with judgement at the same time. and those dimples—those damned dimples—made it impossible to take her scolding seriously.

“you said you'd be back by six,” ness hissed, dragging yn inside and quietly shutting the door behind them. “do you have any idea what time it is?”

“just past seven?” yn guessed with a sheepish grin.

ness glared and grabbed a clean cloth, throwing it at her. “try almost half-past. your father asked where you were during the tea sitting. i lied. again.”

“i owe you,” yn muttered, peeling off her coat. “again.”

“you owe me your entire life at this point.”

the servants’ dressing quarters were narrow but hidden behind the massive kitchen halls, where the scent of firewood and cloves clung to every surface. here, everything was quiet. secret. safe.

ness pulled out a fresh dress from the linen shelves and shoved it into yn’s arms. “your sisters are already in the dining hall. you’ve got ten minutes before your absence becomes another point of gossip.”

yn quickly started changing behind the curtain partition. “cassie’s too busy talking about wedding colours to care. and jen will just say i was off with a headache again.”

“you're lucky they cover for you sometimes.”

“not really. no one actually cares where i go. they just don’t want me embarrassing them.”

ness’s gaze softened. she didn’t argue. instead, she helped yn out of her boots, brushing off flecks of grass. “you really shouldn’t run off so often,” she said gently.

“why not? it’s not like anyone notices when i’m here.”

“they do,” ness said softly. “your father does. your mother just… doesn’t like when things slip outside the script.”

yn rolled her eyes. “of course. because heaven forbid i step off the page cassie wrote for me.”

ness gave her a look. “you don’t have to become her. you just have to survive dinner without starting a scandal.”

yn snorted. “not promising anything.”

as ness fastened the buttons at the back of her dress, yn grinned over her shoulder. “speaking of scandal... jungwon’s coming tomorrow, isn’t he?”

ness froze, her fingers lingering on the last button. “he’s just bringing supplies.”

“oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

“yn.”

“he flirts like a boy with a crush. you tuck your hair behind your ear when he talks. it’s almost cute.”

ness flushed, swatting her arm. “it’s nothing.”

“liar. i saw him give you his scarf last week when it got chilly.”

“he was just being polite!”

yn smirked. “if that’s what we’re calling flirting now, i’m in trouble.”

ness tried not to smile, but her dimples betrayed her. “hurry,” she said instead, pushing her toward the hall. “go pretend to be respectable.”

the dining room of the castle was a cathedral of etiquette—high-vaulted ceilings, tapestries of long-forgotten wars, and candles floating like stars above an endless mahogany table. the three sisters were seated across from one another, and her parents sat at the head—noble, polished, cold.

cassendra knight, eldest at twenty-three, sat with her back straight, posture perfect, and a diamond pin in her hair. she looked like she had stepped out of a royal portrait. her voice was calm as she discussed seating arrangements and florists with the queen.

genevieve—jen—sat across from her, twirling her fork with all the ease of a youngest child, laughing softly at something the steward had said before dinner.

and yn, slipping into her seat at last, slightly breathless, dress still wrinkled from the rush, felt exactly as she always did. extra. she wasn’t the first. not the bride. not the youngest. not the darling. she was the middle—the blurry one.

"where were you today?" her father's voice rang across the table like a verdict. there it was. the question she always heard. not how are you. not what did you do. just where. always where.

"garden," she lied quickly, unfolding her napkin. "by the orchard."

the queen nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “your cheeks are flushed.”

“it's warm in the corridor.”

cassie said nothing, but she didn’t need to. she never did. her quiet glances said everything—that yn was unpredictable, that she would never be enough. jen kicked her under the table with a tiny grin. yn smiled back.

that night, dinner passed in silence on her end. she ate without tasting. spoke when spoken to. laughed at the appropriate moments. but her mind was somewhere else. somewhere by the lake. with a boy who knew her only as a girl with muddy boots and a pretty coat. with a name he didn’t know—and a smile he’d already memorised.

it had been an unusually warm morning, and yn was wandering the village again before she could even register her own feet moving. she told herself she needed to clear her head. that it was about getting air. that she was absolutely not looking for someone. someone with a crooked grin and eyes that made everything else around him blur. no, she wasn’t thinking about him at all. except she was. she had tried not to. but last night, as she lay in her canopy bed, drowning under silken sheets and royal silence, all she could hear was his voice.

"jake sim," he'd said. like it was the only name in the world. and of course, like a damn idiot, she hadn’t given him hers. the smarter choice. the safer one. so she had absolutely no business being this disappointed when she rounded the bakery corner and—

“—you.”

she walked straight into a warm chest. again.

“oh my god,” she muttered, stumbling back as familiar hands gently steadied her by the arms. “this is becoming a thing.”

jake looked far too pleased with himself. “you really need to stop bumping into me like this,” he said, eyes glittering in the sunlight. “people are starting to talk.”

she shoved him away. lightly. not convincingly. “are you following me?”

jake raised both hands. “i’ll have you know, i am a man of high moral standing. i was just heading to the well.”

“you live nowhere near the well.”

“…that’s true,” he admitted. “but you live nowhere near the bakery and you were here, so…”

yn narrowed her eyes. “so you were looking for me.”

jake grinned, like he was proud of himself. “i’ve got a mission.”

she crossed her arms. “let me guess. world peace?”

“close,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “figuring out your name.”

yn rolled her eyes and turned to walk again. “you’re wasting your time.”

jake followed with his hands shoved in his pockets. “i don’t think so. it’s like a puzzle. mysterious girl. stolen bread. muddy boots. lies for days. what’s not to obsess over?”

“you sound dangerously unwell.”

he laughed, catching up easily. “you know, last night i was trying to guess. thought maybe it was something sharp. like ravenna.”

she snorted.

“or something delicate. like lily.”

“do i look like a lily to you?”

jake tilted his head. “no. definitely not. you look like trouble.”

she didn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “that’s not a name.”

“it is now.”

they kept walking, their steps falling into rhythm without them realising. people passed by with baskets and chatter, but it all felt slightly removed—like they were orbiting something entirely their own.

“why does it matter so much?” she asked finally.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked ahead, toward the river path, lips pursed in thought. “because…” he said eventually, “i don’t want to keep calling you girl who threw insults and skipped stones better than me.”

she huffed a small laugh.

“and because,” he continued more softly, “if i’m going to fall into this story, i’d at least like to know the name of the main character.”

that stopped her. just for a second. she stared at him, expression unreadable. and jake, to his own surprise, didn’t fill the silence with another joke. he just… waited. her voice, when it came, was quieter. but steady. “call me…” she paused. thought. “addy.”

jake raised an eyebrow. “that’s not your real name.”

she smirked. “it’s enough.”

jake grinned, like he’d just been handed a riddle and a key at the same time.

“alright then, addy,” he said, testing it on his tongue. “can i walk you home?”

she hesitated. just a blink. but then she shrugged, starting down the hill again. she wasn’t about to expose where she lived, jesus christ as if. she had a destination by the lake she always lied to say she was from. then when jake walked away she would run away to the palace.

“if you can keep up.”

jake let her walk ahead, then caught up easily, bumping shoulders just slightly. “oh,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “and you’re thinking about me now, aren’t you?”

she didn’t respond. but she was. god, she was.

jake had expected a few things when he ran into her again—mostly sarcasm, some vague insult about his hair, and maybe, if he was lucky, another sideways smile that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to examine. what he hadn’t expected was for her to say, after a shared moment of stubborn silence and narrowed eyes, “come on. i’ll show you around.”

just like that. like she hadn’t been dodging every real question he asked. like she wasn’t the most confusing girl he’d ever met. like he didn’t already want to follow her anywhere.

he said nothing at first—just fell into step beside her as they turned down the sun-warmed path leading deeper into riverfield’s winding streets. she walked ahead of him, hands in her coat pockets, chin lifted slightly like she was daring anyone to ask where she belonged. for the first time, jake wondered if maybe she didn’t belong anywhere at all. or maybe she belonged everywhere—depending on who was asking.

their first stop was the bakery, which smelled like honey and cinnamon and exactly the kind of thing jake needed after another night on a lumpy mattress in the tavern’s spare room.

“edric,” she called casually as they stepped inside, “be nice. i brought a friend.”

the man behind the counter—mid-fifties, large belly, ruddy cheeks—looked up from kneading dough and narrowed his eyes. “a friend, huh?”

jake straightened, smiling reflexively. “pleasure—”

“don’t bother charming him,” she muttered under her breath. “he’s immune.”

edric’s eyes raked over jake’s coat, hair, boots. judging. thorough. a dad-level inspection if jake had ever seen one. “is he the one you stole the rye loaf for two days back?” edric asked, voice low.

jake turned. “you stole bread for me?”

she scoffed. “i did not.”

“she did,” edric confirmed, deadpan.

“i was testing its crust,” she insisted.

jake looked very pleased. “you stole bread for me,” he said again, like it was proof of something.

she rolled her eyes, tossing a coin on the counter. “one honey twist, and nothing more for this idiot.”

as they left, jake tore into the bread, humming in delight. “that was the best crime ever committed in my honor.”

next was thalia, the old florist who sat outside her shop surrounded by baskets of wild blooms and herbs. she looked up from arranging violets and clucked her tongue when she saw yn.

“you’re late, darling,” she said, brushing petals from her apron. “i saved the purple ones.”

“i wasn’t coming for flowers today.”

“well, too bad. you’re getting some.” thalia handed her a small bunch of lavender and yn accepted it with mock reluctance, then handed one to jake without explanation.

jake stared at the single stalk in his palm. “are you proposing?”

“i’m keeping your hands busy so you don’t touch anything,” she muttered.

they moved from stall to stall. she introduced him to the apothecary twins, mira and mabel—tiny, quick-witted women who sold everything from cough syrups to potions that allegedly kept suitors away. mira asked jake what his star sign was. mabel offered to brew him something to “stop being annoying.” they passed the old shoemaker, who gifted yn a polished button from his days in the royal guard. the fishmonger who greeted her with, “back for gossip or haddock?” the boy who sold ink and paper, who turned pink when she smiled at him. and jake watched all of it with growing disbelief.

“you know everyone,” he said, finally, when they reached the river bridge and paused to catch their breath.

she shrugged. “i’ve been here a long time.”

“but no one knows your name.”

she didn’t answer that. just leaned over the bridge’s stone railing, watching the ripples below.

jake glanced at her profile—how the light softened the edges of her, how the breeze played with the strands of hair that had come loose. “i like this version of you,” he said quietly. “the one that smiles more.”

she shot him a look. “you say that like you know other versions.”

“i’ve met the one who dodges questions and threatens to drown me in a lake.”

she smirked. “that version has her uses.”

he watched her for a beat longer, then joined her at the railing. their shoulders brushed. neither moved away.

“so,” she said after a moment. “what about you? what’s jake sim doing in riverfield?”

he blew out a breath. “that’s a loaded question.”

“i’m not in a rush.”

he looked at her, the way her eyes stayed focused on the water, not him. like she wanted the truth but didn’t want to press too hard. “my mother’s family is from the coast,” he said finally. “korean sailors. she married into a merchant line. my father’s… well, a mess. still chasing fortunes in ports that don’t want him.”

“i’m sorry.”

jake shook his head. “don’t be. i’m not. just got tired of following his shadow. figured if i had to be broke and aimless, might as well do it somewhere quiet.”

“and here you are. aimless and in excellent company.”

he grinned. “exactly.”

she turned toward him. “and what do you want, jake sim?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. “i’m still figuring that out.”

they stood there for a while longer. then she said, “come on. one more place.”

he followed her to the hill just behind the village, where a hidden orchard bloomed quietly, tucked away from the world. they pushed through ivy and wild roses, and the sunlight poured through the branches like it was spilling secrets just for them.

she pulled herself up onto a low wall and looked out across the trees. jake climbed up beside her.

he watched her more than the view. “did you ever want more?” he asked. “than this?”

she was quiet. then: “i don’t know. i think i just wanted… to be seen. to matter.”

“you do.”

she met his eyes. and for a second, everything in her chest fell silent. he said it so easily. so sincerely. “you’re strange,” she whispered.

jake tilted his head. “and you’re hiding something.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

“you can’t prove it.”

“give me time.”

she smiled despite herself.

he grinned like a boy with a secret. “addy,” he said again, deliberately. “i like saying that.”

she lowered her eyes. “don’t get used to it.”

“i think i already have.”

and then they sat, quiet again. but not awkward. never awkward. just… full. charged. like the wind might carry them both off if they weren’t careful. by the time they headed back toward the village, the sun had already begun to tip westward, throwing amber light across the fields. jake didn’t want to say goodbye. she didn’t either. so they didn’t.

they lingered by the well. talking about nothing. laughing about the honey twist. jake told a story about nearly falling into a cargo hold. she told one about a goat that chased her through a market when she was fifteen. and all the while, the air between them softened. tightened. pulled.

“same time tomorrow?” jake asked, half-hopeful, half-sure she’d disappear again.

but she just nodded, already turning away. “if you can find me.” and just like that—she was gone. jake stood there, grinning like a fool, lavender stalk still in his hand.

the palace kitchens, though tucked away from the grandeur and polish of the rest of the castle, had their own kind of magic. it was warmer here—always smelling faintly of cinnamon, boiling broth, or fresh herbs drying by the stone window ledges. the hearth crackled even in late spring, and somewhere in the corner, a cat dozed in a basket of cloth scraps, twitching in her sleep. yn liked it here. always had.

the marble halls above were cold and sharp, too clean, too quiet. but here, everything was alive. the clatter of spoons, the thump of knives on chopping boards, the soft gossip passed between maids like sugar cubes—this was the beating heart of the castle. and tucked into the far wooden bench, arms folded on the table, yn sat with her chin in her hand, watching ness devour half a blueberry pie with all the grace of a girl who hadn't eaten in days.

“you’re going to regret that later,” yn muttered, smirking as she reached over for a bite.

“you could have just taken a piece yourself,” ness muttered without looking up.

“i like yours better,” yn replied sweetly, dropping another berry into her mouth. “it tastes like justice. forbidden, juicy justice.”

ness gave her a look but didn’t bother swatting her hand this time. she was too content — cheeks slightly pink from the warmth, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair tied in the loose bun she always wore when she wasn’t “on castle time.” a smudge of flour dusted one cheek, and the corners of her mouth were stained purple-blue from the filling.

“i think i like him,” yn said suddenly, eyes fixed on the window across the stone courtyard, watching the flutter of birds and not the way her heart started speeding.

ness paused mid-bite.

yn rushed to explain herself. “not in the way like ‘ohh i have to have him. i have to kiss him,’” she giggled at the thought. “but like, in the way, it’s nice to have someone my age to talk to. you know, apart from you.”

“oh?” ness cocked a brow at her.

yn bit her lip. “it’s stupid. i barely know him. and i haven’t even told him anything real about me.”

“does he know your name yet?”

she gave a small, guilty shrug. “...sort of. i gave him a fake one. i told him it was addy.”

ness raised a brow. “addy?”

“do not judge me, ness. it came out of nowhere.”

“i’m not judging,” ness said, grinning as she stabbed a piece of crust with her fork. “it’s very... you.”

“you’re not helping.”

“well, you’re also not giving me details.”

“that’s because if i do, it’ll feel real. and if it feels real, then it’ll get ruined.”

“or it won’t.”

yn hesitated. then plucked another berry and popped it into her mouth, mumbling, “he’s clever. too clever. he’s already suspicious.”

“oh no. someone caught onto the act?”

“no, not the act. me. the real me. i didn’t mean to say so much yesterday, but i… i think i wanted to. and that’s dangerous.”

ness leaned forward, dropping her fork into the empty plate with a soft clink. “or it’s honest. sometimes, it’s scarier being seen than hiding.”

yn glanced at her, heart tugging. “when did you get so wise?”

ness smirked, just as the outer kitchen door creaked open. they both turned toward it — but only one of them froze. jungwon stepped in, his boots soft against the old stone floor, sleeves rolled neatly up his forearms, a light sheen of sweat still on his brow from the walk in. he was carrying two large sacks — one on each shoulder — filled with rice, his blonde hair slightly tousled from the wind.

“ness?” he called out, not seeing yn just yet as she sat tucked against the prep table by the hearth.

ness stood too quickly. “you didn’t have to carry those both at once—”

“they’re not that heavy.”

“you’re sweating.”

“you’re glowing,” he corrected, smiling like an idiot.

yn blinked. her mouth slowly curled into the beginnings of a grin. ness looked like she wanted to fling herself into the oven. “put them near the grain bins,” she mumbled, stepping aside. “i’ll sort them later.”

he did as she said, flexing a little more than necessary. his movements were fluid, casual, but there was something inherently gentle in the way he handled everything, like he didn’t want to make a mess of the space she’d made her own. as he returned, he brushed his hands against his trousers and looked at her again, eyes scanning her face like he was checking for something.

“you look tired. did your back hurt again this morning?” he asked quietly.

ness blinked. “how did—?”

“you always stand with your hand pressed to your side when it does.”

yn’s jaw dropped — silently, dramatically — from her place by the table. ness was flushed now, an actual pink rising from her cheeks to her ears. “i—i’m fine,” she said a little too quickly. “and you don’t have to say things like that—”

“i just worry,” he replied, stepping a bit closer. “you don’t let anyone else worry about you.”

ness’s eyes flicked nervously toward the kitchen entrance. “jungwon—”

“just let me,” he said, soft and honest. “at least once.” and then, very casually, very quietly, like he asked a million times before, he added, “can i have a kiss, darling?”

ness went completely still. her breath caught in her throat. her hand froze halfway through brushing flour from her apron. her eyes darted to the far corner, where she now remembered her royal best friend was very much present.

yn cleared her throat. loudly.

jungwon turned, startled — then horrified. his face lit up in a blaze of red so fast it could’ve set the pie on fire. “princess,” he croaked, eyes wide.

yn raised a hand like she was greeting a bird in a tree. “hi.”

“i—i didn’t see you there, i wasn’t—this wasn’t—”

“oh, no, don’t mind me,” she said sweetly. “i was just over here, eating pie and listening to the single most romantic grain delivery i’ve ever witnessed.”

ness groaned, burying her face in her apron. “i’m going to throw myself into the oven.” jungwon looked like he wanted to follow her in.

“you two are so obvious,” yn teased, grinning now as she slid off the table. “do you know how many times i’ve seen you blush like that from the stables? i thought maybe ness had allergies.”

“your highness—” jungwon tried, face bright red.

“i’m not scolding you,” yn said, chuckling as she dusted her skirt. “if anything, i’m rooting for you. i just think if you're going to confess your undying devotion, maybe do it when i’m not three feet away.”

“i wasn’t confessing—!”

“you asked for a kiss,” ness muttered into her hands.

“bold,” yn commented.

“brave,” ness added.

“embarrassing,” jungwon mumbled, before finally groaning and rubbing the back of his neck. “i’ll just—go.”

“don’t forget your reward,” yn called, grinning.

and as if that hadn’t already flustered him enough, ness stepped up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. “next week,” she whispered. “don’t be late.”

jungwon looked stunned. like he’d won a duel, a bet, and his own heart back all in one. “i—i won’t.” he turned and left quickly, practically tripping over the doorway. the second the door closed, ness let out a wail and covered her face.

“please,” she muttered. “please drop me into the pie.”

yn walked over and wrapped her arms around her from behind, giggling into her shoulder. “you love him.”

“i don’t—shut up.”

“he loves you too. it’s cute.”

“you’re evil.”

“and you’re soft.”

they laughed together, the kind of laugh that only came from years of friendship and secrets shared in corners like this. and for a moment, the stress of royal life, hidden names, and forbidden affections slipped away. ness turned to look at her finally, her smile gentle now. “so,” she said, picking up her fork again, “tell me more about the boy who makes you lie through your teeth and glow like you're standing next to the oven.”

yn smirked. “only if you tell me what it feels like when he brings you sacks of rice like a love letter.”

they leaned in close, and for a while, they were just two girls again. dreaming, scheming, hearts pounding. in love — just quietly.

the sky had barely settled into its blue when yn made her way into the village. she hadn’t meant to take the longer route, past the bakeries and spice carts, but her feet wandered. they always did when her mind was restless. she hadn’t seen jake in three days. not for lack of thinking about him. every time she caught herself smiling for no reason, every time her fingers played with a loose string on her sleeve, she’d think of the way he said her fake name like it meant something real. addy. whoever she was when she was with him, it felt honest. more than any title, more than any silk dress or ballroom rehearsal her family forced her through.

she was halfway to the well, about to pass the old bookseller’s stall, when she heard something unexpected. laughter. not just any laugh—jake’s. full, loud, a little pitchy-like a giggle. it froze her in her tracks. the sound came from across the square, by the corner where the new grain store had just opened. fresh wood. a proud sign written in both common tongue and hangul. it was the newest addition to the village—a korean-run family business, traditional and practical. most villagers welcomed it with open arms, especially when rice prices dropped overnight.

jake was standing right outside the front doors, animatedly talking to the older man behind the stall—a man yn assumed to be the owner. they were speaking in korean, rapidly, fluently, with that ease people only had when their native tongue curled back into their mouths after weeks of swallowing it. jake’s entire posture had shifted. he wasn’t leaning with arrogance, or slouching with charm. he was alive. eyes lit. gesturing excitedly with his hands. the quiet grin she was used to seeing had been replaced with something bright and genuine. he looked… happy. and for some reason, it made something tight coil inside her chest.

she didn’t realise how long she’d been staring until she caught sight of someone new approaching from behind the store counter. a girl. roughly her age—maybe a bit younger, but not by much. she wore layered robes, embroidered at the collar, sleeves lined with delicate silver threading. her hair was twisted into an elaborate braid that fell down her back, pinned with a piece that sparkled in the sunlight. it was the kind of outfit not even yn, a princess, would dare wear openly in the village. which meant one thing: this girl wasn’t hiding. and she wasn’t shy, either.

the girl slid up beside jake like she’d done it a hundred times before, pressing close, her hand brushing his arm as she handed something to her father. her eyes barely flicked to the pouch of grain. they were focused on jake. she laughed at something he said. touched his shoulder. stood too close. and jake—jake—was laughing back. flirty smile and all. not pulling away. not even noticing her.

yn blinked. her feet didn’t move. why… why wasn’t she moving? she told herself it wasn’t jealousy. it couldn’t be. she didn’t even know what she was doing with jake. they hadn’t even—he didn’t know who she really was. but watching him now, eyes crinkling at the corners, fingers brushing the girl’s sleeve as he handed her a bag of rice—it made her feel small. tight. like someone had grabbed her by the ribs and squeezed. this wasn’t part of the plan. she wasn’t supposed to care.

the girl leaned in and said something in korean—something that made jake laugh again, softer this time, sheepish. like a boy caught red-handed. and that’s when yn’s boots finally started moving. straight toward them. she didn’t even bother schooling her face into pleasantness. she just walked up, head high, back straight, and inserted herself right between them.

jake’s eyes flicked toward her, startled. then lit up. “hey—”

“hi,” yn said, sickly sweet, planting herself beside him.

the girl blinked, taking in yn’s slightly wrinkled coat and messy braid. her eyes dragged down and up slowly, expression cooling by the second. a perfect, practiced scowl hid behind her sugary smile. “and who might you be?” the girl asked, her tone casual, but her eyes anything but.

yn smiled wider. “addy,” she said, voice light. “nice to meet you.”

the girl didn’t offer her name in return. instead, she tilted her head. “never seen you around. are you from here?” before yn could answer, another voice cut in. low. tired. familiar.

“…addy?”

she turned just in time to see jungwon walking up, a stack of burlap sacks on his shoulder, brows furrowed from the weight and the sight in front of him. he stopped short. froze. his tired eyes went wide. “oh no,” yn whispered.

the girl blinked. “you two know each other?”

jungwon opened his mouth, clearly seconds away from saying something he absolutely should not—

“walk with me!” yn blurted, grabbing jungwon by the sleeve and dragging him around the corner of the store before anyone could stop them.

“wait, what—”

“i’ll explain, i swear,” she hissed, breath coming fast. “just—two seconds, please.”

jungwon blinked at her, confused but compliant. they ducked behind the wooden beam of the shop, away from view. he dropped the sack with a thud. “okay,” he said, crossing his arms, all his honorifics for her dropping immediately. “you want to tell me why the hell the princess of decelis is parading around the village using a fake name?”

yn winced. “shhh!”

“you’re lucky i didn’t say anything back there!”

“i know! that’s why i dragged you back here.”

jungwon looked like he wanted to scream. “does ness know?”

“of course ness knows.”

he stared at her, incredulous. “unbelievable.”

“i’m not doing it to stir drama. i just—i needed space. i needed people to see me like me, not as some perfect royal mannequin everyone expects me to be.”

he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “so let me get this straight. you’ve been sneaking out for months, hiding your name, and now you’re… what? flirting with jake sim?”

she flushed. “i’m not flirting.”

“really? because i walked up and it looked like you were about to maul him.”

“okay, maybe i was a little jealous.”

jungwon stared again.

then groaned. “you’re unbelievable.”

she tugged on his sleeve, desperate. “please don’t say anything. especially not to him.”

jungwon studied her face for a moment. the plea in her eyes. the way she looked more like herself than she ever had inside the castle. then he sighed. “you owe me.”

“forever.”

they returned around the corner, rejoining the other two. the girl—still looking thoroughly annoyed—raised her brows. “oh,” she said. “you’re back. that was quick.”

jungwon clicked his tongue at her. “wonlin, be nice.”

yn smiled. “just a quick hello. jungwon and i go way back.”

jake looked between them. “you do?”

before yn could answer, the girl–wonlin–cut in again. “that’s odd. we just moved here.”

jake turned toward her. “wait, really?”

she nodded slowly, eyes never leaving yn. “just two weeks ago. father opened this branch. we used to live further inland. so unless you know him from somewhere else…” her tone was thick with suspicion now.

jungwon, to his credit, stepped in smoothly. “ah,” he said quickly. “she’s friends with one of our former vendors. we crossed paths a few times. isn’t that right, addy?”

yn nodded vigorously. “exactly. small world.”

wonlin didn’t look convinced. jake seemed puzzled, but shrugged. “well, you’re lucky. jungwon seems great.”

wonlin smiled at jake, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “yea right whatever, i guess he is.”

jungwon, thoroughly done with the whole situation, grabbed another sack and muttered something about deliveries. as he walked off, he whispered to yn, “you seriously owe me.” and she did. but the moment jake turned back to her, smile soft and eyes gentle, she didn’t care. she’d find a way to pay him back later.

the air was softer as they walked—less sunlight, more breeze. the afternoon had begun to dip lazily into early evening, throwing amber and honey-gold across the cobbled streets of riverfield. a few market stalls had closed, and the vendors that remained were half-heartedly waving flies away or watching children race through the alleyways.

yn and jake strolled without purpose now. they’d already seen most of the village, and yet somehow, their feet kept finding new paths. jake kicked a pebble ahead of them, hands stuffed into his pockets. his strides were even, casual. he walked beside her the way one did when they had nowhere else to be and no one else to walk with. it felt… natural. comfortable. but something was off.

it wasn’t his voice—he was still talking, teasing, tossing the occasional flirty remark her way when she made a face or threatened to push him into a well. but something about the energy had changed. just slightly. just enough for her to feel it. “why are you being weird?” she asked finally, after they passed the old lamplighter’s post and he hadn’t said anything in a full thirty seconds.

jake blinked. “weird?”

“you’re quieter than usual.”

he shrugged, then shot her a grin. “maybe i’m just enjoying the scenery.”

she narrowed her eyes. “nice save.”

he bumped her shoulder lightly with his. “maybe i just know better than to keep talking when you’re lost in thought.”

“i’m never lost in thought.”

“you were definitely staring at a squirrel like it had insulted your entire bloodline.”

“i was imagining how i’d kill someone with that pinecone beside it.”

he laughed, genuine, but it faded too quickly again. they turned past the bakery, past the alley behind the mill, into the lesser-traveled part of town where the trees bent a little lower and the ivy grew thicker against cracked stone. she was about to ask again—press just a little further—when he spoke. “so…”

uh-oh. that tone. nothing good ever started with “so…” like that.

“do you think jungwon’s… cool?” he asked, and his voice was way too casual to be actually casual.

yn blinked, caught off-guard. “what?”

jake cleared his throat. “just asking.”

she tilted her head. “cool how?”

jake looked off to the side, like he was studying a particularly fascinating chunk of moss on a wall. “you know. just… cool.”

“…you mean attractive?”

he didn’t answer. which was answer enough. a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “are you jealous?”

jake scoffed, but she didn’t miss the way he rubbed the back of his neck, fingers twitching slightly. “no.”

“you’re totally jealous.”

“i’m not.”

“you are! oh my god.”

jake groaned, dramatic. “i just asked a question. why does that mean i’m jealous?”

“because you’ve been acting weird ever since we left the shop. and now you’re randomly bringing up jungwon like you’re on trial for something.”

he muttered something in korean under his breath that she didn’t quite catch but sounded very much like ‘stupid handsome stock boy.’ she burst out laughing. jake scowled, cheeks slightly pink. “it’s just—he’s nice. people like him. he’s always there. and you—you called out to him like he was your favorite cousin coming back from war.”

“my favorite cousin?!” she wheezed.

“i panicked!”

“jake,” she said, still laughing, “you’re ridiculous.”

he looked at her, face serious despite the blush creeping up his neck. “so? do you?”

yn paused. then softened. “no,” she said. “i don’t like jungwon. not like that.” he looked relieved, but she wasn’t finished. “he’s in love with my best friend.”

jake blinked. “what?”

“yep. been watching him fall harder every week.”

“but… he didn’t say anything.”

“he doesn’t need to.” she grinned. “it’s so obvious. he looks at her like she hung the moon. and she pretends not to notice, but she totally does.”

jake stared at her for a second, like he was trying to process the image. then he relaxed, finally, shoulders easing back into the posture she was used to. but now she saw it. now she knew. she couldn’t not say something. “you were jealous,” she said again, this time with a victorious glint in her eyes.

jake groaned and covered his face with one hand. “why did i even ask?”

“you blushed, jake.”

“i did not.”

“you did. like, full color change. red cheeks. heatwave.”

“i loathe you.”

“no, you don’t.”

he shot her a glare, but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. and then his cheeks flushed again.

“you’re cute when you’re flustered,” she added.

jake sim never blushed. not when he had his first kiss at eight years old with the girl who lived next door to his family’s old stone cottage. she’d pushed him into a patch of dandelions behind the baker’s shed, told him to close his eyes, and then kissed him square on the mouth before promptly running off, leaving him stunned and grass-stained. he’d gone home whistling. didn’t even tell his older brother because he didn’t want to share the victory.

not when he got caught sneaking into the pub cellar at fourteen, red-handed with a stolen bottle of plum wine and a bag of stolen sausages in his satchel. the innkeeper’s wife had laughed until she cried while jake stood there shrugging, entirely unbothered.

not even when, at seventeen, he’d taken a drunken dare to swim across the lake fully bare—and came up at the other end only to realize a group of visiting merchants (and their daughters) had arrived early for the midsummer fair and were all watching. he’d sauntered out of the water with nothing but damp pride and a wink. people still brought it up years later.

jake sim did not blush. it simply wasn’t in his nature. he flirted too easily, laughed too loudly, and recovered from embarrassment with the smoothness of a boy who learned young how to make people like him. how to make himself untouchable. he had a charm like armor—carefully worn, perfectly deflecting.

but now? now, standing on the edge of the village’s quieter road, the sun dappled through trees and birds half-singing their evening lullabies, he felt it. that tell-tale sting. a creeping warmth rising in his neck. the flush crawling up the back of his ears like an ambush. all because of her.

yn was looking at him with that impossibly smug, satisfied expression. the kind of look people wore when they found out a secret you didn’t even know you were keeping. and he was just standing there, like an idiot, caught red-cheeked in a moment he hadn’t prepared for. “you blushed,” she said again, voice a half-laugh, half-whisper of disbelief. “and now you're blushing again.”

jake swallowed, very aware of how warm his collar suddenly felt. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.” she stepped closer, eyes narrowing with faux curiosity. “oh my god. that was a real blush. that was actually pink on your face. i’ve never seen it before.”

“i’m sunburnt,” he tried weakly.

“you are not,” she said, too quickly, delighted now. “you’re flushed. oh my god. did i just witness history?”

“could you stop looking at me like i’m a fish that just learned to walk?”

“no. because jake sim—the most annoyingly smug, unfazed boy to ever exist—just blushed. over me.”

jake groaned and turned, walking a few steps ahead like it would help. it didn’t. the grin on her face was practically tattooed into his brain now.

“i’m never going to hear the end of this, am i?”

“oh, never,” she said, jogging to catch up beside him, eyes dancing with amusement.

and the worst part? he didn’t even mind. jake rubbed the back of his neck, willing the heat to dissipate. it didn’t. she kept walking, spinning a piece of thread around her finger absently, her steps light against the cobbled path. the light caught on her lashes, made her eyes seem brighter somehow, and the breeze tugged loose a few strands of hair that curled around her cheek. she wasn’t even doing anything special. and he still felt like gravity had tilted toward her.

when had that started? was it the first time she rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed but mouth twitching? or maybe when she shoved a honey twist into his hand and acted like it didn’t mean anything? or when she called his name across the river, barefoot and breathless, like she knew he’d look? jake didn’t know. all he knew was—he was falling. and fast. faster than he meant to. faster than he ever had.

he snuck a glance at her now, walking beside him like the village had always belonged to her. as if her bare feet knew every stone in the path, every branch that swayed, every wind that came through the orchard trees. she hummed something under her breath—probably one of those old tunes people sang in kitchens while shelling peas. jake had never liked quiet so much.

“you know…” he said slowly, casually, trying to ground himself in words, “if you keep bringing up the blush thing, i will find a way to make you pay.”

she raised a brow. “ooh. scary.”

he grinned. “i’m resourceful.”

“try me.”

jake tilted his head. “you ever been dumped in a haystack?”

she gasped. “you wouldn’t.”

he shrugged, stepping slightly behind her. “guess we’ll find out.” before she could retaliate, he grabbed her wrist gently and twirled her around once, just because he could. her laughter bubbled up mid-spin, bright and surprised, and when she landed in place again, their steps fell into rhythm without even thinking.

yn looked at him then—really looked—and for a split second, she thought: this is what it’s supposed to feel like. not staged, not planned, not royal duties or polite smiles at banquets. just… her. him. this road. this ridiculous moment. she didn’t say any of it aloud. but it sat in her chest like a second heartbeat.

“i didn’t think you were the jealous type,” he said, breaking the silence after a while, her voice quieter now.

yn raised a shoulder. “i’m not.” he looked at her knowingly. “i’m not!” she said again, laughing despite herself. “just didn’t like the way she looked at you.”

“she looked at you.”

“well, maybe i didn’t like that either.”

he laughed again. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are.”

“i must be bored.” jake bumped his shoulder into hers gently. “admit it. you like me.”

she turned toward him. “maybe.” he blinked. that was… not the teasing tone he expected. “maybe?” he echoed.

“maybe,” she said again, and her smile was soft this time. not mischievous. just real.

jake felt his heart clench and swell all at once. yeah. he was falling. and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

yn would remember it for the rest of her life.

the smell of rain on warm stones. the sound of it crashing against the wooden awning above them, rhythmic and relentless. the way jake’s arm brushed hers as they huddled close beneath the shallow overhang of the cottage roof, the sky split open in angry grays and soaked gold.

one minute they were giggling by clearing, the next they were scurrying around in what started as a drizzle—light, playful, teasing as they made their way back from the orchard path, laughing about something ridiculous jake had said about a goose with a limp. but within minutes, the clouds had rolled in like an avalanche and the heavens cracked. and now they were soaked. drenched, more like—her flyaway hair sticking to her forehead, the hem of her skirt heavy with water, and jake’s shirt clinging to his frame like a second skin.

they had ducked under the nearest shelter without a word, their breaths coming hard with laughter and surprise. and then… then the silence began. not the awkward kind. not even the kind you feel the need to break. the kind that simmers. that makes the world hold its breath with you.

rain poured just inches away from their boots, puddles rippling under the flickering glow of a single lantern hanging beside the cottage door. they were standing too close. she knew it. she could feel the heat of him even in the cold.

her head rolled sideways, eyes shifting to his side profile. his eyes were closed, raindrops sliding down his long nose. his slightly tanned skin was glistening and wet. he was still panting, the ran over from the clearing having happened so suddenly. she gulped unintentionally. eyes raking his features shamelessly, satisfying her sight and heart.

jake turned toward her, one shoulder leaning lazily against the wall, his damp curls pressed to his forehead. a droplet trailed down the line of his neck, disappearing into the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt. he caught her staring and smirked. “what?” he said, voice soft, low—dangerously playful. “never seen a man get soaked before?”

“you look like a wet dog,” she managed to say, though her voice wavered.

“and yet,” he drawled, “you’re still looking.”

she scoffed, turning slightly away, but he leaned closer. there was a hum in the air now. like tension tightening a string, plucked just once and still vibrating.

“admit it,” he murmured. “you like the view.”

she dared a glance at him. his eyes were darker in this light, pupils blown, hair curling at his temples, lips parted just slightly as he looked at her—not with mischief now. with intent. “you’re impossible,” she whispered.

“and yet…” he echoed.

her breath hitched as his hand came up—not touching her, not quite. just brushing the damp strands of hair off her cheek, fingers grazing her skin like a question. his hand lingered. god, it lingered. she could feel her pulse thudding under her jaw. jake’s eyes dropped to her lips. the space between them collapsed. their shoulders brushed. his thumb swept lightly along her cheekbone, anchoring her there, pinning her to the moment.

she swore the world had gone completely still. except her. she was trembling. not with fear. with want. she felt it in her stomach, her chest, her knees. felt it in the way he leaned in just a bit more, his nose almost grazing hers, his breath fanning across her lips as his other hand settled against the beam behind her, caging her in. and for a second—just one second—she knew he was going to kiss her.

he wasn’t teasing anymore. this wasn’t a joke. this was the moment. the one she’d been dreading and craving all at once. she tilted her chin up. just a little. jake leaned in. closer. closer—

“did you hear?” a voice said from the road, muffled by rain and distance but still loud enough to cut like glass through the haze. a man’s voice. excited. “her highness is throwing a ball! for the princesses, they said. it’s next week!”

yn froze. every muscle in her body turned to stone. the air between her and jake shattered like ice.

“…a ball?” came a second voice, a woman’s this time, her tone hushed and awed. “for all three of them? they’ve never even shown their faces—”

she stepped back. jake’s brow furrowed, lips still parted. “what’s wrong?” but she wasn’t listening. a ball? what ball? this was the first she was hearing of it. and it was her palace throwing it. her father. her mother. her sisters. cassie. jen. how—how hadn’t she known? her throat tightened. “i—” she stammered. “i have to go.”

jake blinked. “wait, what?”

she was already moving, stepping out into the rain, the water hitting her skin like needles. she stumbled into it like a fever, her heart pounding with panic and confusion and something dangerously close to guilt.

“addy!” jake’s voice cut through the rain, sharp and full of confusion. rain smacked his face like a thousand icy needles.

she was already halfway across the muddy lane, her braid a dark streak against her back, skirt twisting around her knees as she pushed forward, feet stumbling slightly in the flood-soaked street. she didn’t stop. not the first time he called her. not the second. not even the third, when his voice cracked slightly—caught between disbelief and desperation. she just… ran. she didn’t even glance back.

“are you serious—?” he muttered, more to himself than anything. jake stood frozen for half a breath. his hand still hung where her wrist had been. the warmth of her skin had already vanished, leaving behind nothing but cold rain and a burn he couldn’t name. and then he took off after her, boots splashing hard through puddles, his shirt sticking to his back like glue, hair plastered to his forehead. he wasn’t even thinking now—just moving. because whatever had just happened, whatever had made her flee like that, he couldn’t let it end this way. “addy!” he tried again, voice sharp and desperate now. “what’s going on?!”

she reached the edge of the orchard path before he caught her. jake’s hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist, spinning her halfway around. she stumbled, startled, nearly falling into him from the force of the stop. they both stood there—soaked, breathing hard, staring at each other like strangers suddenly aware of how much they didn’t know. his lungs burned. his shirt was plastered to him, heavy and dripping, curls stuck to his forehead. water ran into his eyes, into his mouth. but he ran. because something was wrong. her breath came in harsh, panicked gasps, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“addy,” he said again, softer now, barely audible over the rain hammering down on the rooftops above them. “what the hell just happened?”

she didn’t speak. jake blinked, heart racing. “we were… we were fine. we were more than fine. you were about to— i was going to—” he stopped himself, jaw clenching. “and then you just—ran.”

her lips parted, and for a second, he thought she’d finally say something. but she didn’t.

“i mean—was it me? did i do something? say something wrong?”

“no—” she finally gasped, shaking her head. “it’s not you.” she turned away, and he stepped in front of her.

“then what?” he asked, stepping closer. “because five seconds ago i was about to kiss you and i swear to god, i thought you wanted that too.”

her lips parted, but no sound came out.

jake searched her face—her trembling mouth, the way her hands curled at her sides, the flicker of something in her eyes that looked too much like panic. “i wanted to,” he said, voice hoarse now, rainwater sliding down his temple. “hell, i still do.”

her breath caught. he took one more step. they were inches apart now. close enough to feel the heat of her, even through the cold. close enough for the air between them to thrum again with that unbearable, beautiful ache.

“i don’t care what your name is,” he said, softer now. “or what you’re hiding. you drive me insane half the time and i still… i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.”

her throat bobbed with a swallow. she looked up at him—so vulnerable, so present, like she was seconds away from falling into him again. but then— her face crumpled. “i can’t.”

jake froze.

“i just—can’t,” she whispered again, voice cracking like thunder behind her words.

he stood there, stunned, the weight of her rejection hitting heavier than the rain. “why?”

she shook her head, eyes glistening, her hand slowly slipping from his grip. “i’m sorry.”

“addy—” but she was already pulling away. and this time, he didn’t follow. he watched her vanish down the orchard path, a fading silhouette swallowed by mist and leaves and storm. his hand was still outstretched where hers had been. jake sim had been stood up before. he’d been kissed and forgotten, laughed off, passed over, turned down—none of it ever stuck. none of it had ever mattered. but this? this left a hollow behind his ribs so loud he couldn’t hear the rain anymore. he stood there in the silence she left behind, the storm still raging around him. and for the first time in his life, he wished he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted her.

the rain was still coming down hard when yn pushed open the back kitchen door, breath heaving, hair soaked, her chest a mess of panic and guilt and something dangerously close to heartbreak. she stumbled inside, boots squelching, water pooling beneath her step. the castle kitchen, warm and dimly lit, smelled of rosemary and yeast. the air was thick with steam and the faint scent of woodsmoke—comforting, familiar. but nothing about her felt comforted.

she stood there, soaked to the bone, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud. her lungs still fought for air, but it wasn’t from the sprint through the rain anymore. her heart thudded like a drum inside her ribs, uneven and panicked. her hands shook as she brushed wet hair from her face. “ness—” her voice cracked before she could finish.

there was a rustle, a startled shift, and two heads popped up from the corner behind the flour racks near the hearth. ness and jungwon. curled up together, arms tangled and hair damp. jungwon’s coat was wrapped partly around her shoulders, and ness’s face was flushed, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide with surprise. her hands were still resting gently on his chest. his were on her waist. they had clearly been in the middle of something intimate—a kiss, or maybe the seconds right after one. their closeness was obvious. the tender atmosphere still hung in the air, soft and golden, thick with the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. on any other day, yn would have screamed. she would’ve laughed and thrown her arms around ness, shrieked something ridiculous like “finally!” and shoved jungwon teasingly for taking so damn long. she’d been waiting for this—for them—to admit what had been dancing between them for months.

but right now? she couldn’t even smile. because her heart was breaking.

ness blinked, pulling away from jungwon slightly as her eyes landed on yn’s soaked, trembling figure. “princess—? are you—?”

“did you know about the ball?” yn cut in, voice sharp with urgency, pain laced beneath it.

both of them froze. ness sat up straighter, glancing at jungwon briefly before rising to her feet. “i— i thought you knew,” she said cautiously, brushing her dress straight. “your father announced it this morning.”

yn stared at her, chest tightening. “you thought i knew?”

“i just assumed—”

“you assumed i would know about a ball thrown by my own family?”

ness stepped forward quickly, reaching for her. “yn—”

she pulled back, stumbling into a chair at the long wooden prep table and dropping into it like her legs had given up. her soaked dress made a sickening squish against the seat. she didn’t care. her hands rose to her face, fingers threading through her wet hair, elbows braced on the table’s edge. everything was spinning. her lungs refused to fill properly. her eyes burned. her head pounded with too many thoughts—of the rain, the roof, the closeness of jake’s mouth to hers. his voice. "i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.” and she’d left him. without an answer. without an explanation. without a damn thing.

ness crouched beside her, voice softening immediately. “yn… i didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”

“i ran,” she whispered. “i just… ran.”

“from who?”

yn didn’t answer. but ness knew. her hand found yn’s wrist gently, thumb rubbing comfort into her damp skin. “jake?” yn nodded once, then let her head drop forward, her soaked hair falling like a curtain around her face. jungwon stepped closer but stayed quiet, respectfully distant.

“i didn’t tell him, ness. i didn’t tell him anything. and he was about to kiss me, and i wanted it—i wanted it so badly and then…” her voice broke, the memory hitting her like a punch to the chest. “then i heard them talk about the ball. and i panicked. i just left.”

ness’s face twisted with sympathy. “oh, sweetheart…”

“he must think i’m insane,” yn said, choking on a laugh. “or cruel. or lying.”

“you’re not.”

“but i am, ness!” she hissed, sitting upright, voice raw. “i let him believe i was someone else. i let him flirt and fall and care—and now what? what happens when he finds out i’m not addy, i’m not some girl in the village? i’m a princess.” the word tasted bitter in her mouth.

jungwon finally spoke, quiet but firm. “jake’s not stupid.”

“no,” she agreed. “but he doesn’t deserve this. not the lies. not the mess. not me.”

“don’t say that,” ness said instantly, reaching for her again.

but yn shook her head. “i’m not like cassie. i don’t glide through rooms in silk with perfect words and a throne waiting for me. i’m not like jen—bright-eyed and brilliant and loved by everyone she meets. i’m the one who hides. who sneaks out. who disappears for hours because no one even notices she’s gone.” her voice cracked again, softer now. “and jake noticed me,” she whispered. “and i left him.”

ness was quiet for a moment, her hand still holding hers.

then slowly said. “you’re allowed to be scared. you’re allowed to not have all the answers right now.”

“but i hurt him.”

“then fix it.”

yn looked up. “tell him the truth,” ness said, eyes fierce now. “he deserves that. you both do.”

“i’m terrified,” she admitted.

“that’s how you know it’s real,” jungwon said from the corner. his voice was calm, sure. “the good things… they scare you before they save you.” yn stared at him for a long moment. then, finally—finally—she let herself cry. just a few tears. quiet ones. and ness held her hand through all of them. the ball was coming. the world she had carefully separated from jake was about to collide with him. with her. and whether she liked it or not… he would know. all of it. and she had no idea if he'd still want to kiss her once he did.

by the time yn reached her chambers, her dress was dry only in patches—along the edges where the fire-warmed halls had kissed away the rain—and her bones ached with exhaustion she didn’t know how to carry anymore.

she opened her door without thought, letting it creak softly into the silence. and paused. jen was there. her younger sister stood near the bed, arms crossed over the back of one of the velvet chairs, her chin resting atop them in a posture of almost-bored suspicion. the soft auburn curls she always wore half-up were slightly damp, as if she too had been out for a while. she was frowning. her eyes narrowed. “finally,” jen said slowly. “you took forever.”

yn blinked. “what are you doing here?”

jen didn’t answer right away. instead, she tilted her head with all the audacity only an eighteen-year-old princess could carry. “you look like someone shoved you into the lake.”

“i feel worse.”

“where were you?”

“not now, jen,” yn muttered, shutting the door behind her as gently as she could.

“i checked the west gardens,” jen continued. “the chapel, the music room, even that stupid little reading nook you think no one knows about. you weren’t in any of them.”

“i wasn’t hiding.”

“then where were you?”

yn sighed, stepping toward the fireplace to peel off her damp outer robe. her fingers fumbled at the ties. “i said i’m not in the mood.”

jen paused, sensing the fatigue. “yn…” yn looked at herself in the mirror—raindrops still dripping from the tips of her hair, her eyes rimmed in something close to grief. she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “with jake,” she said, finally. quietly. honestly.

jen’s eyes lit up. “jake?!” yn could’ve laughed at her sister’s instant transformation—eyes wide, mouth parting with excitement, body bouncing upright in glee. “oh my god—the boy you’ve been sneaking off to see?!”

yn let her head drop back against the mirror. “jen—” turning slightly, she met her sister’s wide, delighted eyes.

“it was him, wasn’t it? oh my god, you’re in love with him!” jen was already halfway across the room, spinning like she’d just heard the best secret of the century. “who is he really? what does he do? how does he talk? does he kiss like the poetry books say? was there touching? are you going to run away with him?! tell me everything, right now.”

despite herself, a sliver of a smile tugged at yn’s lips—just a twitch. a flicker of the old warmth that used to exist between them, before everything royal and wretched got in the way. but the smile never quite made it. it fell too fast. jen saw it. her excitement faltered. “…what happened?” she asked quietly, stepping forward again, more gently this time. “did he do something?”

yn shook her head. “then what?” jen's voice was softer now. yn took a breath. “there’s going to be a ball,” she murmured. “for the princesses. the whole kingdom knows. apparently.” there was a beat of silence.

“you didn’t know?” jen asked, brows furrowing. “but i thought—father said he sent out word to all of us two days ago.”

“no one told me.” yn looked down, her voice barely audible. “not father. not cassie. not you. not a single soul thought to mention it to me.”

“i thought ness would’ve—”

“i only found out because i overheard villagers talking about it.” her hands trembled at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “right as jake was about to kiss me.”

jen’s lips parted in surprise. “oh…” yn turned toward the fireplace again, wrapping her arms around herself. the warmth from earlier—the memory of him, of that roof, of that moment—was tainted now. ashy and sick in her chest. jen shifted nervously, then whispered, “it’s not just a ball, you know…” yn stilled. “what?”

jen rushed to explain, “i only overheard a few things! i wasn’t told directly or anything—just… in the corridors, you know? something about alliances and signatures and a royal visit—”

“who?” yn whispered.

jen blinked. “what?”

“who am i supposed to be engaged to?”

jen’s lips pursed like she was trying not to say it, as if saying it aloud might make it worse. “…park sunghoon,” she finally muttered. “from the eastern territory. the coastal kingdom.”

the room went deathly still. jen looked alarmed now, sitting upright, her voice wobbling with guilt. “i thought you knew! i—i assumed you had been part of the planning. cassie said something earlier about—yn?” but yn wasn’t listening.

“when were they going to tell me?”

“i don’t know. i didn’t think—”

“of course you didn’t,” yn snapped, her voice sharp as glass. “because you’ve always known what’s going on. you’ve always been part of the circle. but me?” her laugh was bitter now. “i’m just the invisible one. the middle one. the one no one bothers to ask.”

jen flinched at her tone, guilt flashing across her features. “yn, i didn’t mean—”

“an engagement?” yn repeated, stunned. “they expect me to walk into that room next week and be given away like livestock? to someone i’ve never met?”

jen looked down. “i thought you knew…”

tears stung yn’s eyes, hot and angry. all those times she wandered the village. all the sunsets she spent laughing with jake. all those stolen moments. her secret world. her life. all of it had been a fragile, borrowed fantasy. and now it was cracking. “what about jake now?” she whispered. jen looked up, confused. but yn was already sinking onto her bed, her hands trembling in her lap. “what do i do?” she whispered. “what the hell do i do now?”

jen stood frozen, arms crossed, unsure of whether to leave or stay. the room, usually so calm and filled with candlelight and books and memories, now felt like a prison. a cage about to close.

yn felt the weight of everything: the lie, the almost-kiss, the unspoken feelings and her impending engagement to a stranger. she felt it all settle like a stone in her chest. and all she could think was: he’s never going to look at me the same way again. “engaged,” she whispered bitterly under her breath. “to someone i’ve never even met.” she wanted to scream. or throw something. or cry again—but she had done enough of that tonight.

across the room, jen sat cross-legged on her bed, still dressed in her sleep gown, brows furrowed as she watched her sister quietly unravel. yn didn’t even notice her stand. didn’t hear the whisper of silk as jen padded across the thick rug toward her. she was too deep in her thoughts—jake’s voice still haunting her like an echo: “i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.” god, why had he said that? why had he meant it? and why had she wanted to let him?

“let’s go,” jen said suddenly, sharp enough to cut through the storm in yn’s chest.

yn blinked, turning around. “what?”

“to see him,” jen replied, as if it were obvious. “jake.”

yn gawked at her. “are you insane?”

jen shrugged, casually. “probably. but i’ve seen you spiral before and i’ve never seen you like this.”

“i’m not spiraling,” yn lied.

“you’re pacing like a lunatic. you look like you’ve been struck by lightning. and honestly, if someone told me earlier today that my sister—the invisible one, the one who disappears to the village every other day—was actually out here catching feelings? i’d have laughed.”

yn scowled. “you’re not helping.”

jen stepped closer, her voice softer now. “but i am. you’re hurting. i can see it.” yn didn’t respond. “you like him,” jen added, smiling faintly. “even if you’re being stubborn about it.”

“it doesn’t matter now. i’m—” she stopped, voice faltering. “i’m being promised to someone else. someone i’ve never met. someone who probably sees me as some diplomatic pawn in his father’s kingdom strategy.”

jen frowned. “and you’re just going to… let that happen?” “do i have a choice?”

jen was quiet. and then: “maybe not. but you do have a chance to say goodbye.” yn’s eyes met hers. jen tilted her head, voice earnest. “you can’t change the ball. or what they’ve planned. but you can tell him the truth. or lie. whatever you need to do to breathe again.”

“i can’t tell him the truth. not now.”

“then lie,” jen said, simply. “but don’t let him go thinking he meant nothing.” that settled in yn’s chest like a stone. jake. his smile. the way he looked at her under the rain. the way he waited, the way he believed her—believed in her—even when he didn’t have to. no one had looked at her like that in a very long time.

she swallowed. jen nudged her. “come on. get dressed.” “i am dressed.” jen raised a brow. “not like that. you’re still too… princess-y. he’ll smell royalty on you.” yn let out a huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “you’re impossible.” “and you’re wasting time.”

they crept down the east staircase, past the quiet wing where the staff quarters rested. the rain had stopped sometime around midnight, leaving the castle grounds coated in a slick sheen of mist and petrichor. lanterns flickered weakly in the distance. the scent of wet earth clung to the air. they had cloaks on now, hoods pulled over their heads, boots tight to their ankles. lamps clutched in hand, the two sisters kept to the side paths, ducking through hedges and along the stone wall behind the garden where the old vines grew thick. the world felt like it was holding its breath.

yn’s chest ached. she kept her eyes ahead, her feet moving forward though her body screamed to stop. jen’s words echoed in her ears: “you don’t have to tell him the truth. but don’t leave without saying something.” she didn’t know what she’d say, not really. maybe: “i’m sorry i messed with your head. i never should’ve let it go this far.” or: “forget me. i’m moving away.” it was easier to be cruel. to lie. to be forgettable. it was safer. because the truth was ugly and messy and filled with too many what-ifs. and if he knew—if he knew who she was, what she was bound to—she didn’t know if he’d forgive her. so she’d lie. just once. let him think she was some girl who came and went. a blip. a beautiful mistake. her throat burned at the thought.

they reached the village by the time the moon had slipped out from behind the clouds. its light stretched long over the cobblestones and shingled roofs, casting faint glows against puddles and windowpanes. a quiet hush blanketed the street. most lamps were out. the baker’s shop was long closed. a dog barked somewhere far off. and there—just ahead—was the small cottage tucked behind the bar. the one he sometimes mentioned working near. the one ness had once described as “the crooked-roof one with the green vines out front.”

yn’s steps slowed. her fingers tightened around the handle of her lantern. her heart… thundered. this was it. she had practiced the speech at least twenty times in her head. “i’m sorry for wasting your time.” “i shouldn’t have let it go on this long.” “i’m leaving the village soon, so you won’t see me again.” simple. clean. like surgery. sharp, neat cuts that would bleed later but not in front of him. that was the plan. she would say her piece, maybe offer a hug if he looked particularly hurt, and walk away without looking back. easy. except—nothing about jake sim had ever been easy.

and when the door opened, and she saw his face again for the first time since she ran away from him in the rain, everything fell apart. his hair was still slightly damp, curling at the ends. he was wearing a plain linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loose—he looked like he hadn’t slept much. his eyes were tired and guarded, rimmed with something like confusion… or maybe disappointment. and beneath all that, his expression cracked with the faintest, most visible shock at seeing her. and god, he looked sad. not angry. not cold. not mad the way he should have been. just… sad. like she’d taken something from him when she left. her lungs seized. the speech was gone. all of it. vanished like breath in winter.

jen peeked out from behind her, wide-eyed and grinning, oblivious to the thick tension cutting through the doorway. “hi!” she said brightly, completely ignoring the tension in the air. “i’m... aria. her cousin. visiting.”

jake blinked, his eyes flicking to jen. his smile, if you could call it that, was brief and tight. “jake,” he said shortly, polite but distracted. his voice was hoarse. then he looked back at yn. right into her. and the sound of her own heartbeat was so loud she was sure he could hear it too.

yn’s chest hurt. “i—” she started, and then stopped, because what was the point of the speech now? her script had drowned in the puddle at her feet the moment she saw his face. the sadness there. the softness. the hope he tried to smother in case it hurt too much. “i love you.” the words tumbled out of her mouth like a secret that had waited too long to be free.

jake’s lips parted, his brows shooting up so fast she saw the flicker of panic and surprise in his eyes before they even registered in his body. behind her, jen audibly gasped. yn’s breath hitched. she had no idea what her face looked like at that moment—only that her entire body was humming with adrenaline, her heart thudding like it was trying to claw its way out of her ribs. jake just stared. so she did the only thing she could do now: she kept talking.

“i love you,” she repeated, softer this time. her hands were shaking. “and i wasn’t going to. i was going to come here and feed you some ridiculous story about leaving town and wanting to say goodbye but... it’s a lie. not the leaving part. i am leaving. but everything else… i couldn’t go without telling you. i love you.” she swallowed, hard. “i left because i was scared. because i’ve never felt this way before. because—because you make me feel like i can be seen.” jake still hadn’t moved. so she took a shaky step closer, her voice trembling now. “and i didn’t want to lie to you anymore. not even with goodbye.” more silence.

behind her, jen’s grin was splitting her face. she gave jake a very obvious thumbs up and then, as though finally catching the memo that this was not her moment, turned around and muttered, “i’ll just… be over there.” rainwater dripped slowly from the edge of the roof behind her. the lantern in her hand flickered faintly, her fingers tight around the handle. the breeze carried the scent of lilacs and rain-wet leaves. jake finally let out a breath. his eyes hadn’t left hers once.

“addy,” he said softly—addy, still, like he was trying to convince himself she was real. jake stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. the candlelight flickered across his jaw, catching the hurt there, the cracks and the sharp edges she’d left behind. but there was something else too. something fierce and vulnerable and achingly tender. and slowly—so slowly—he exhaled. “say it again.”

her breath caught. “what?”

“say it again,” he repeated, stepping forward now, his own hands shaking. “like you mean it.”

her heart clenched. “i love you,” she whispered. “i think i’ve been in love with you from the second you called me an artful goose.”

jake let out a strangled sound—something like a laugh and a sob tangled together—and stepped forward until they were barely inches apart. and then—without saying a word—he pulled her into his arms. she nearly tripped over her own feet as he wrapped himself around her, arms tight, his face buried into her damp shoulder. “you’re an idiot,” he murmured into her cloak. her hands slid around his waist automatically, curling into his back, eyes squeezing shut. “i know,” she whispered back.

“you left me in the rain.”

“i know.”

“i couldn’t sleep.”

“i couldn’t breathe.”

jake pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes searching her face. “you love me?” he asked again, quieter this time. not teasing. not smug. just… hopeful. her fingers curled at his sides. “i really, really do.”

jake broke into the kind of grin that made her forget the name of the planet. “well,” he said, stepping impossibly closer. “i love you too.” her breath caught.

“i’ve been going insane, addy.”

“me too.”

“i thought i was too late.”

“you’re not.”

yn’s heart was a wild thing in her chest, thudding with a rhythm she couldn’t name. she could feel every point where their bodies touched—his hands cradling her waist, his chest brushing hers with each breath. there was a certain warmth radiating off him, like he carried the last remnants of summer in his skin. and she was burning in it. he hadn’t kissed her yet. not yet. but he was so close. so close. she didn’t move. couldn’t. she was afraid that if she did, the moment would pop like a soap bubble and she’d be back to the aching distance, the pretending, the constant weight of the truth pressing against her ribs.

jake’s eyes searched hers—gentle, unreadable, like he was trying to memorise the way she looked right then. like he knew something was different tonight, something quieter and more fragile than before. and then he whispered, “tell me to stop if you don’t want this.” his voice was low, but his hands never moved. he didn’t push. didn’t lean in. just… waited.

her chest rose sharply. “i don’t want you to stop,” she said, voice barely there. he exhaled, like the breath had been locked in his lungs for hours. “i’ve wanted to do this since the moment i saw you,” he said, tilting his head just slightly, his lips curling into a lazy grin as his eyes flickered attractively in a triangle with her eyes and lips. “when you marched up to me by the lake with mud on your skirt and sarcasm in your smile.”

she laughed nervously, breath hitching with nerves. “i was trying to be annoying.”

“you were,” he agreed. “it was adorable.”

she rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed, and he chuckled.

then—slowly, like he was afraid she’d vanish—jake brought one hand to her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over her skin. her heart skipped. “have you ever been kissed before?” he asked softly, just barely a whisper, not mocking—just curious. careful. she shook her head. “no?”

“no.”

jake smiled, and something about it—soft, reverent—made her chest ache. “alright,” he said, stepping even closer. “then let me take my time.” and god, he did.

his lips brushed hers like a secret, gentle and warm and impossibly slow. he didn’t rush it, didn’t deepen it too quickly. just let it linger, like a promise whispered between two people who had all the time in the world—even if they didn’t. yn's eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching in her throat. it was like falling—smooth and sudden and terrifying in the best way. jake kissed her again, just a little more firmly this time, one hand cupping her face, the other sliding to the small of her back. she tilted her head instinctively, chasing the softness of his mouth, her fingers clutching the edge of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

it wasn’t perfect. their noses bumped slightly. her teeth grazed his bottom lip once when she got too eager. but he didn’t care. he was grinning now—kissing her again between laughs, murmuring her name against her lips like it was the only thing he knew how to say. and yn—god, yn was flying. it was sweet and slow and completely her. her first kiss. not some stiff castle-dictated moment in a cold ballroom. not a stranger’s hand on her glove.

jake. jake, whose voice always softened when he teased her. jake, who listened to her rant about nothing. jake, who called her addy like it was the most beautiful name in the world. jake, whose thumb was now brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled back, just barely, to look at her.

“you okay?” he whispered, searching her face like he’d broken her. she nodded quickly, blinking up at him with flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. “didn’t expect you to be that good,” she mumbled.

jake smirked. “there’s more where that came from, sweetheart.”

she shoved his shoulder lightly, but she couldn’t stop smiling. her cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. “you’re such a flirt,” she said.

“you love it.”

unfortunately, she did. he kissed her again—just a quick press to the lips—and she melted into it like he was something safe. and for a few minutes, nothing else mattered. not the looming engagement. not the lies. not the ticking clock above her head. just him. his mouth on hers. his arms around her. the way her heart swore, for the first time, that it had found something worth holding onto.

the music from the ballroom poured through the open stone arches of the palace entrance, slow and regal, the waltz of a kingdom already celebrating a union not yet sealed. the evening air was scented with roses and polished wood, every corner glowing with torchlight and lanterns hung like stars in the garden beyond. and yet, in the shadows just beyond the grand ballroom, behind the towering palace gates where the guests couldn’t yet see her—princess yn stood completely still.

a picture of poise. a sculpture of stillness. dressed in a sweeping ivory ballgown embroidered with pearls and golden thread, she looked like the perfect painting of a royal bride-to-be. her corset pulled her waist taut; the skirts fell like a waterfall around her feet. her hair was pinned in glimmering loops, the tiara—modest, but unmistakable—balanced like a weight on her head. but beneath all of it, she was vibrating with tightly-wound panic.

beside her stood ness. no longer a maid tonight. but a guest. a woman of the court. and god, if yn hadn’t already known she was beautiful, tonight would’ve been proof. the deep blue of her gown glimmered in the moonlight, hugging her curves, the sheer sleeves glittering with the tiniest sewn-in gems. her hair was swept up into a delicate crown braid, neck long and elegant. her hand reached for yn’s. “you okay?” ness asked quietly.

yn’s fingers gripped hers. “nope.” they stood that way for a moment—hands clasped, eyes ahead—while the palace gates loomed before them, the ballroom inside filled with noise and expectation. behind them came the soft rustle of silk. jen and cassie. and then their parents. the king and queen.

cassie’s face was unreadable, elegant and blank as ever, but yn noticed the slight twitch in her brow, the barely-there furrow at her mouth. jen, by contrast, was fidgeting. she looked beautiful, yes, but she was clearly just as nervous as yn was. her soft lilac dress fluttered with every shift of her weight, and she cast quick glances at the gate like she might bolt. the queen glanced at the watch hanging from her gloved wrist. “he’s late.” of course he was.

the one man everyone had been waiting for—the one man yn was supposed to smile at and pretend to be in love with—was nowhere to be seen. until he was. jogging. from the far arch of the gardens, through the side entrance, breath misting lightly in the night air—park sunghoon.

she hadn’t known what to expect. she’d heard of him, yes—tales of his sharp swordsmanship, his noble lineage, how he was well-read and good with animals. but stories couldn’t quite prepare her for the quiet power in his steps or the way he didn’t seem fazed by the grandeur around him. he was, in a word, pretty. striking pale skin with a flawless jawline, his features so finely sculpted it made sense that half the noblewomen in the region had probably once pinned portraits of him to their diaries. his hair, raven-black and perfectly styled, caught the firelight. but what caught her eye most of all—was the constellation of moles across his face. a tiny galaxy on the slope of his cheek, near his eye. beautiful. unmistakable.

but still… he wasn’t jake. not with his sun-browned skin and soft tanned hands with thick veins and that nose she wanted to trace with her finger.. and then maybe sit—

yn swallowed the thought. because sunghoon was here now. and the kingdom was watching. he stopped a few feet away from her, straightening his coat, catching his breath. “your highness,” he said, voice cool, polite, practiced.

“you’re late,” she said softly, eyes unreadable.

he gave a faint smile. “i know.” she should’ve been furious. should’ve been insulted. but when his eyes flicked—not to her, but past her—yn followed his gaze instinctively. and found it locked on—cassie. cassie, whose usually stiff posture faltered for just a second. whose lips parted, ever so slightly. whose fingers dug into her own wrist. oh. yn turned back to him. “do you want this?” she asked suddenly. quiet enough that no one else could hear.

sunghoon blinked, startled. “what?”

“this.” she gestured to the looming ballroom. “the marriage. the show. all of it.”

he hesitated. then he leaned slightly forward, voice lower. “no,” he said honestly. “i don’t. i—” his eyes flicked toward cassie again, “—i wanted to marry her.” yn’s breath caught.

sunghoon’s voice was soft. “i tried. but she said she wasn’t going to marry anyone. said she wanted to study abroad. said it was her duty to put her brain before her heart.”

yn turned back toward her sister briefly. cassie was doing a phenomenal job of pretending she wasn’t listening. but yn knew. she knew now why cassie had been so sharp, so bitter lately. why her eyes had lingered too long whenever someone mentioned sunghoon’s name. “does she love you?” yn asked, just as soft.

“i think so,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “but she chose her duty. like we’re both supposed to do now.”

yn didn’t reply right away. but something in her chest shifted. because here they were. two people—being asked to pretend. to parade. to play parts they never auditioned for. and in that moment, looking into sunghoon’s quiet, pained eyes, she made her choice. “let’s fake it,” she said.

he blinked. “what?”

“we’ll play the part. be the picture of royalty tonight. but we don’t go through with it. not truly. let them see what they want to see. and then—when the time comes—we walk away.”

sunghoon stared at her. then slowly—slowly—a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “you sure?” yn nodded. “because there’s someone else, right?” he guessed gently. her silence was enough. sunghoon offered her his arm. “then let’s put on a good show.”

and just like that—the gates opened. the music swelled. and they stepped forward. two hearts belonging elsewhere. two masks held perfectly in place. but behind them, cassie's hand trembled. and ness watched it all, knowing there was only so much longer they could pretend.

jake sim had never expected to attend a royal ball.

hell, he hadn’t even expected to stay in the village this long. everything had been temporary. his job. his room above the pub. the friendships he accidentally made while drinking ale and talking nonsense with edric and mabel. even his fondness for the cobbled roads, the smell of hearthfire and rain. temporary. just like her. or at least, she was supposed to be.

she said she was leaving. she told him—told him with sad eyes and quiet panic—that she was skipping town, running far away. she never explained why, and he hadn’t pressed. he figured… maybe he wasn’t meant to know. so when she left, he didn’t chase her. he stood there with her confession echoing in his chest—i love you—and he let her walk away. that had to count for something, didn’t it? letting someone go? even when they were everything?

the ball had been the last thing on his mind. nobles. princes. silks and scandals—it was none of his world. but the pub owner, an old woman with arthritic fingers and too much love for his half-grumbled charm, had shoved the invitation into his hand that afternoon. “don’t waste this,” she’d said. “dress nice. see something golden before your heart rusts shut.” so jake had stood in front of the mirror with a starched white shirt and a suit he hadn’t worn since his mother’s funeral. it didn’t quite fit—his shoulders had grown broader—but it was the best he had. and now here he was. at the gates of the grand palace of decelis. a place he never thought he’d step foot near, let alone enter.

the crowd around him buzzed with excitement. edric from the bakery, thalia with her silver-rimmed glasses and too-loud laugh, the twins mira and mabel—all faces he’d come to know and cherish. they all looked at him with teasing pride.

“look at you,” mira smirked, elbowing his side. “all cleaned up.”

“don’t get used to it,” he muttered, but he smiled anyway.

the gates loomed in front of them, golden and glittering. guards moved people forward in groups, checking names against the guest list. carriages lined the walkway. the whole sky shimmered with soft lantern light, casting a halo over the castle’s stone towers. jake should’ve felt lucky. he should’ve been impressed. but the whole time, his mind itched with thoughts of her. addy. that impossibly frustrating girl who made fun of his scowl and rammed her way into his life with blueberry pies and muddy skirts. who kissed like she meant it and ran like it terrified her. he missed her. and even though she had left, he still found himself scanning every face in the crowd. he didn’t expect to find her. not truly.

but then—he saw her. and his world stopped. she didn’t step through the crowd. she descended. through the arched marble corridor at the far end of the ballroom stairs, like a painting come to life, a vision in ivory. her hair pinned in golden loops. a delicate tiara atop her head. jewels glittering at her ears, her throat. her posture was perfect. her expression, practiced. and her hand—her hand was in someone else’s. jake didn’t move. couldn’t. because standing beside her was a man jake didn’t recognise, but could instinctively tell was royal. tall. sharp-featured. dressed in a perfectly tailored coat that screamed pedigree. the two of them glided down the staircase like they’d rehearsed it.

the room hushed. people bowed. and jake—jake could barely breathe. because her hand fit into the man’s arm too naturally. because they looked like they belonged in every storybook he’d never read. and because… her eyes had found his. right through the crowd. right through the noise. the very second they stepped into the ballroom, her gaze found his—and locked. everything paused. and he saw it. the moment her mask cracked. in the blink of an eye, jake watched a million things flicker across her face: panic, regret, pain, familiarity. and he knew. she hadn’t left the village. she was the palace. addy… was a princess. and she hadn’t told him.

a coldness spread through his chest like frostbite. he felt his throat tighten. something deep in his stomach turned painfully. she looked at him like she wanted to speak. like she had something to say. but what could she say now? what words could undo this? his name wasn’t called from the ballroom entrance. the guards didn’t bow for him. he didn’t belong here, not really. but he stood, somehow frozen in gold and silk and betrayal. he watched as her gaze flicked away, like it was too hard to keep looking at him. and jake sim—jake sim, who had held her in his arms like she was something precious, who memorised the curve of her smile and the sound of her laugh—then her name rang through the ballroom—princess yn of decelis—something inside him crumbled. but the moment the herald added, “—and her betrothed, prince park sunghoon,”—that’s when the ache started.

a tight, twisting, white-hot sting that burned from his throat down to the pit of his stomach. it wasn't even the fact that she was a princess. it was the fact that she'd lied. the fact that she stood there in pearls and gold beside another man, head held high, looking like she was born to rule while he stood in boots caked in village dirt, barely clinging to the inside of the royal walls. she was staring right at him when the announcement was made. he saw her flinch and so did sunghoon. just for a split second—a wince so quick and sharp that no one else noticed but him. and suddenly, the sharp stab of betrayal was pierced by confusion. they… didn’t want this?

jake’s brows furrowed, chest rising and falling unsteadily. the whole room clapped. laughed. toasted. every noble within earshot turned with wide smiles and lifted flutes of champagne, the celebration thundering through the walls. but jake couldn’t hear any of it. because right then, sunghoon dropped to one knee. there was a hush. silence. the music faded, the lights seemed to dim, and yn was left center stage. jake could barely breathe as he watched sunghoon hold up a small velvet box, a thin gold band glinting inside. her fingers trembled. and then—“yes,” she said, the smile so fake it looked painful on her lips.

his heart cracked. but she wasn’t done. because after the applause—after the hollow claps and echoing cheers—came the kiss. it was gentle. chaste. polite. but it still knocked the breath out of jake’s lungs. he turned. and this time, his feet moved. Fast. his legs carried him through the ballroom, past startled nobles and confused guards, out through the archway and into the garden until he hit the front lawn. and that’s when the tears came.

jake sim—who never cried. not when he was six and his home was taken in a flood. not when he watched his mother wither into bone and silence before the age of thirteen. not when he buried her under a willow tree behind their old town. but now. now he cried. he cried into his forearm as he felt the tears blur his vision. shoulders trembling, his breathing sharp and uneven. because she—she made him believe in something more. in softness. in magic. in evening strolls and stolen laughter and the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone like him could be loved by someone like her. and it was a lie. all of it.

“jake!” her voice sliced through the quiet night like a blade.

he didn’t turn. she ran to him—her skirts heavy, shoes kicking up grass and dew. the jewels in her hair were loose now, a few strands of hair escaping, cheeks flushed. “jake, please—”

he wiped his face with the back of his hand. “don’t.”

she froze at the sight of him—red-eyed, tear-streaked, lips trembling.

“i told you,” he whispered, voice thick. “i told you i don’t cry.”

yn’s heart broke clean in half. “i know,” she whispered. “i know you don’t.”

“not even for my mother,” he choked. “but for you—” his voice shattered.

“jake—”

“don’t lie again,” he said sharply, voice cracking. “not now.”

“i didn’t lie—”

“you told me you were leaving, addy.” he poked his cheek with his tongue, correcting himself immediately, voice bitter. “sorry princess, i meant yn.”

she winced at the tone of his voice and cried out. “because i didn’t know what else to do! what was i supposed to say? ‘hey jake, i’m secretly the princess of the kingdom you just moved into?’”

“you could’ve said something!” he said, voice loud now, but still hoarse. “god, you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me—and i believed it. i fucking believed it.”

tears welled in her eyes. “i did mean it,” she said, her voice shaking. “i do love you.”

he looked away, jaw clenched.

“i’ve never loved anyone like i love you, jake,” she continued, stepping closer. “you think i wanted any of this? you think i’d choose to live in that gilded cage, with rules and duty and arranged marriages?”

he didn’t answer.

“do you know how long i’ve been sneaking into that village just to breathe?” she whispered. “just to feel like me? like a person? not a pawn on someone else’s game board?”

he slowly turned his head, eyes swollen, red. “so you ran there.”

“i ran there every day i could. and that day i found you sitting by the lake—” her breath hitched. “—it was the first day someone saw me. really saw me.”

jake looked at her like she was made of both fire and water.

“i wasn’t going to marry him,” she said. “we… we talked about it. we’re pretending. that was all for show.”

his brow furrowed.

“we planned it,” she explained. “sunghoon—he’s in love with my sister, cassie. and i’m—” she looked at him, stepping forward again, “—i’m in love with you.”

he let out a sharp, wounded breath. “then why do i still feel like i lost you?”

her hands twitched at her sides. “because for a moment… i lost myself.” silence fell between them. she looked up at him, eyes shining. “but i’m still here. and if you’ll have me, i’ll run again. with you, this time.”

he exhaled shakily, like her words cracked something open in his chest again. “say it again,” he whispered.

“what?” “that you love me.”

she didn’t blink. “i love you,” she said, voice steady now. “i love you, jake sim.”

he let out a quiet, broken laugh. and then he stepped forward. not with the same raw fury or desperation from before, but with a stillness that came only from letting his guard fall completely. he cupped her face, wet lashes meeting hers. “i love you, too,” he whispered.

she melted into him, and for a moment they just held each other, shaking, messy, broken—but together. jake stood still, tears still damp on his face, her hands cupping his jaw, her gaze begging him to believe her. and something in him cracked open. softly. quietly. but undeniably. because god, it had always been her. not the fake name. not the secrets. not the tiara or the silks. but the girl who made him laugh when his chest ached. the girl who rolled her eyes when he flirted but never walked away. the girl who once offered him half a burnt pie and a warm shoulder at the lake.

addy. yn. whoever she wanted to be. he didn’t care anymore. because she was his. she looked at him like she still wasn’t sure he would forgive her. her fingers trembled slightly where they held his face. her eyes shimmered with tears she hadn’t wiped away, cheeks flushed from crying. and jake—jake leaned in. slow. so slow it hurt. but when his lips brushed hers, she sighed. a real kiss. a soft one. like an apology. like a question. his thumb lifted to trace her cheek, still wet with tears, and then he kissed her again—deeper this time, his hand slipping to the back of her neck, anchoring her to him like he’d never let her go again.

she kissed him back with everything she had. not like that stunt in the ballroom with sunghoon—scripted, mechanical, cold. no. this kiss was the kind you felt in your lungs. like a breath after drowning. jake pulled back first, only just. their foreheads touched, noses brushing. they were both still crying but it was different now. “i’m sorry,” she whispered again, voice cracking.

he shook his head. “don’t say it again. just… don’t lie anymore.”

“i won’t.”

“promise me.”

“i swear.”

she clutched his lapel like she might fall over. “i’m going to fix this.”

jake’s brows furrowed softly, like he didn’t dare believe it.

“i’m going to talk to them,” she went on, quiet but sure. “my parents. tonight. i’ll tell them everything. that i don’t want to marry sunghoon. that i’m in love with someone who makes me feel more like myself than i’ve ever felt in that palace.”

he blinked at her, almost dazed. “you’d do that?”

“i’d run away if i had to,” she whispered. “but i want to do this right first. for you. for me. for us.” his jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry again. “and after that,” she added, her voice barely audible, “i’ll come back. to you. i will. just… wait for me?” jake let out a shaky breath, eyes burning again, but this time not from anger. she was coming back. she chose him. even after everything. he nodded. “i’ll wait,” he whispered. “just don’t be long.” she smiled, broken but real. then kissed him again, softer this time. just a brush. a promise. a quiet goodbye for now. and when she pulled away and turned, skirts swishing against the grass, her hand brushing his one last time—jake watched her go. heart in his throat and hope in his chest.

jake waited. for a night. then a day. then three more. and then a week and still, no sign of her. no familiar figure in the village square. no laughter by the baker’s window. no flutter of skirts at the lake. no addy. no yn. nothing. he paced the same roads they’d walked together, eyes scanning the corners of town she used to take him through. the flower stall. the blacksmith. the bell tower. he hadn’t even realised he’d memorised the route until she was no longer there to follow beside him.

the first few days, he held hope tightly between his hands like a glass that couldn’t crack. she said she’d come back. she said she was going to fix it. she’d kissed him like she meant it. and jake sim—stupid, bleeding-hearted jake—believed her. but then came the silence. and silence had a way of becoming truth.

the villagers knew now. of course they did. the morning after the ball, the whole town had been buzzing. princess yn. the second-born royal. the one they never saw. the one who had been among them this whole time, walking with muddy hems and wind-tangled hair, disguised as a commoner. there were whispers in every alley and bakery. jake couldn’t even open the pub door without someone side-eyeing him. like he was foolish for thinking she would ever choose him. and maybe he was. he hadn’t realised just how hard it would be to breathe without her. and yet he tried. every morning, he opened his eyes and hoped today would be the day he saw her again.

until he saw ness. he had recognised her features from the way yn had described her best friend—a natural pout on her lips, dimples poking through her rosy cheeks and wavy hair tied up into a messy updo.

it was late afternoon, the sun warm and golden against the cobbled road. jake was walking toward the grocer’s when he spotted a familiar silhouette tucked just outside jungwon’s shop—the weekly supplier’s little storefront with sacks of grains stacked by the door and flowerpots lining the front window. ness stood there. or rather—beamed there. her cheeks glowed, her eyes big and soft as she laughed at something jungwon had said. he stood too close. she let him. her fingers brushed his sleeve and lingered a second too long. he bent forward to whisper something in her ear, not pulling back without a soft kiss to her eyebrow as she averted her gaze from him. they were wrapped in a bubble so intimate it almost hurt to watch. jake had to break it.

he approached slowly, hands in his pockets, trying not to startle them. jungwon looked up first, blinking. “oh—jake,” he said, smiling politely. “didn’t expect—”

“sorry,” jake said, forcing his voice to stay even. “didn’t mean to interrupt. i just…” he glanced at ness. her face paled the second she registered who he was.

“you’re jake,” she said quietly, as if his name was a knife she’d been holding in her throat.

he nodded once. “yeah. i was… wondering if either of you had seen her.” no name needed, everyone knew who he meant.

ness stepped away from jungwon slightly, hands wringing at her waist. “i… oh, jake.” something in jake’s chest twisted. her eyes were swimming now, guilt written across every inch of her face. “i didn’t know how to find you,” she whispered, reaching into the folds of her robe. “she asked me to give you this. in case…”

jake didn’t ask. just took the letter with slightly trembling fingers. it was folded neatly, tied together with a very familiar twine. he recognised it from when they found an old bookstore, stealing a bunch of twines from the far end of the dusty room. the parchment was soft. royal. and it had his name. Jake. nothing else. no title. no princess handwriting. just his name.

he looked up once more to see tears brimming ness’ eyes. “i’m sorry,” she said. “she didn’t want to go. i swear it. but they—” he nodded once, a silent thank-you, and turned. he didn’t want to cry here so he made it to the hill just past the village, by the little tree where she’d once shown him the view of the valley. then sat and opened the letter.

dear jake,

i don’t know how to write this. i’ve rewritten this letter ten times already. nothing feels right. but if you’re reading this… then you already know. they sent me away. the moment i told them about you, my parents made arrangements overnight. i wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye. i barely had time to write this. i’m in the eastern kingdom now. sunghoon’s home. they said it was for “my protection”—to avoid scandal, to save face. they locked me into a new agreement. the wedding is approaching. it’s being planned around me, not with me. i’ve never felt more like a pawn.

sunghoon knows. he’s as miserable as i am. he said something funny though—he said, “i think we’re the only people in this situation who both want to run away.” maybe one day we will. but right now, jake… i don’t have a choice. i want to believe i’ll find my way back to you. i still do. but things are starting to slip through my fingers.

i’m writing this with my heart in my throat. i keep thinking about our kiss. your hands on my waist. the way you said you’d wait. and i’m terrified because i don’t want to ask you to keep waiting, not when i don’t know how long i’ll be gone. or if i’ll even get the chance to leave. but if i don’t say it, i think i’ll break.

i love you. i love you so much it hurts to breathe. please don’t hate me. please understand.

i'm so, so sorry.

forever and ever yours only and truly, addy yn

jake stared at the letter for a long, long time. the wind rustled the grass around him. distantly, he could hear birds. he didn’t move. didn’t speak. didn’t cry this time. he just folded the letter carefully, pressed it to his lips like he might keep her there for one more second and closed his eyes.

america was loud. louder than the hush of decelis’s palace halls. louder than the quiet sighs of tea poured into porcelain cups. louder even than the thoughts yn carried like stitched threads behind her ribs, still knotted after all these years. the clamor of the docks, the honking carriages, the rapid buzz of a foreign tongue—it overwhelmed her senses. and yet she smiled. because smiling was expected. because she had perfected the art of looking content. because she had sunghoon beside her—tall, polite, quiet—and their daughter asleep in his arms, her tiny head tucked into his shoulder, curled like she always had since she was born.

they had arrived in new york that morning. a beautiful estate waited for them on the edge of the hudson river, one arranged in advance through letters and assistants and layers of royal planning. sunghoon had looked at her carefully when he brought up the location months ago. “it’s where cassie studies,” he’d said. yn had only smiled. she hadn’t asked if he wanted to see her. she didn’t need to. “go ahead,” she’d said. “if that would make you happy.” sunghoon didn’t answer, but the way his throat tightened told her everything.

they had never fallen in love. not the kind that changed the way your name felt in someone’s mouth. not the kind that made you want to set the world on fire just to keep someone warm. not like she did jake. their marriage was like a book with pages glued shut. all appearance. all ritual. nothing bled through anymore. after the wedding, they’d simply become… two people who understood each other. enough to exist together. enough to survive. but not enough to live. and that had been fine.

until their daughter was born. a tiny, impossibly loud girl with curls that bounced and a mind that never stopped. she was six now, just old enough to question everything. just enough to start pointing out things they had both kept hidden. “why do you call dada ‘sunghoon’?” she asked once, nose scrunched. “mama nessie calls dada won ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’.” yn had just smiled and said, “because dada, sunghoon’s name is very pretty.” it wasn’t a lie. it just wasn’t the truth either.

ness arrived a few hours after they docked. a flurry of hugs, royal bows, and squeals from the little one who adored her mama nessie. jungwon followed soon after, bags in both hands, the same boyish charm still lingering on his face—though now his eyes held more quiet, more strength. he had grown into a man in those years, but his love for ness hadn’t changed one bit. they were married now. and had followed yn to america out of loyalty—not to the crown, but to her. they worked under the park household as trusted aides, but their affection for yn was never professional. it was personal. they had been her family when her real one had fallen quiet. now, years later, they shared a soft home on the far side of the estate. ness helped with yn’s daughter often, and jungwon helped sunghoon manage the household’s business affairs in the new city. the arrangement worked. but it never filled the hollow. that particular hollow had been carved by jake.

it was colder at night, even in early summer. not in the way decelis had been, with its cool marble halls and formal silences. but a bite in the air that felt more honest. more alive.

yn sat in the backseat of a carriage, her head tilted slightly toward the window, watching the cobblestones pass like old memories she couldn’t stop replaying. her daughter had been dropped off with the caretaker earlier, her laughter echoing down the hallway even as yn walked away. sunghoon had been gone all afternoon—said he wanted to visit cassie now that they were in the same country again. she’d just smiled, nodded, waved him off with nothing more than a simple “go ahead.” because if anyone deserved happiness out of this broken marriage… it was sunghoon.

yn had done her duty. had smiled and bowed and made her parents proud, her kingdom proud. she’d raised their daughter with more love than she knew she had inside of her. but still… something had always been missing. and today, as the sun dipped behind the buildings of new york city, she felt that hollowness gnawing more than usual. ness noticed it too. which was why she and jungwon had insisted on dragging her out tonight. “we’re not doing this, yn,” ness had said while adjusting her earrings. “you’ve been moping for days.”

“i haven’t,” yn argued weakly, slipping on her gloves.

“yes, you have,” jungwon chimed in with a soft grin, his coat already buttoned up. “you miss being twenty-one and reckless.”

yn had sighed. “don’t we all?”

the bar was warm, polished, crowded enough to be lively but not stifling. laughter rose in pockets, a piano clinked near the corner. americans were loud, but their joy was infectious. “this,” ness declared, spinning once, “is what the queen would faint over.”

jungwon chuckled. “that’s why we didn’t bring her.”

they found a booth by the window. ness and jungwon slid in first, shoulder to shoulder, their whispered giggles already starting. yn sat across from them, unwinding her scarf. her daughter was at home, napping peacefully under the eyes of their most trusted caretaker. sunghoon had gone out for dinner with some associates—and maybe, possibly, cassie. yn didn’t ask. she just wanted a night where she didn’t have to be anyone. no titles. no rules. just herself.

and then—“alright,” a familiar voice said from above, clipped with casual sarcasm. “what’ll it be tonight? let me guess. something that tastes like regret?” her breath caught. her spine straightened. slowly, so slowly, she looked up. and the world stopped moving.

jake.

yn hadn’t said his name in years. not aloud. but god, did she think it. everywhere. when she passed the smell of fresh bread near the bakery. when she caught a glimpse of old cottage roofs hidden behind flowerbeds. when her daughter smiled with too much mischief in her eyes, her hands smudged with blueberry jam. jake had never left her. not really. and some part of her hated herself for it. sunghoon never brought it up. never asked. but the weight of unspoken things hung between them, as ever-present as breath. still, she had made peace with it all. or so she told herself.

and there he was. older. sharper. but him. his jaw was more defined now, cheekbones stronger. his hair was a bit shorter, still dark and messy, like he never quite bothered with brushing. he wore an apron that read “no, i won’t marry you,” and it made her lips twitch.

his eyes met hers. and for one suspended second, everything fell away. no palace. no husband. no years. just two people who had once been everything to each other. jake blinked. his hand dropped slightly from where it rested on the tray, like it had forgotten what to do. “...addy?”

her heart squeezed. “yn,” she corrected, gently.

jake’s lips parted. “right. of course.” his voice was a little rougher now, but the warmth hadn’t gone. it was there in the curve of his mouth. the faint disbelief in his laugh. “you’re here.”

“i am.”

jake stared at her for a second longer—like he was afraid if he blinked she might disappear again. then ness cleared her throat, trying very hard not to grin. “you going to take our order, or should i get behind the bar?”

jake startled. “right. uh. drinks?”

“your strongest,” jungwon said, slipping an arm around ness.

yn smiled faintly. “surprise me.” jake hesitated. then nodded. “i can do that.”

the drinks came quick—jake clearly knew his way around a bar now.

the evening moved. laughter grew louder, the night warmer. ness and jungwon whispered and giggled across the table like teenagers, legs tangled beneath the wood. yn sipped her drink slowly, letting the quiet burn settle into her chest. she watched them with soft eyes. jungwon brushing a strand of ness’s hair behind her ear. ness fixing his collar like it was second nature. their love didn’t ask for attention—it just was. a constant. and watching it made yn feel something she hadn’t in a long time. envy. not the bitter kind. the wistful kind. because once, she might’ve had that too.

“want some air?” came a voice beside her. she looked up. jake. his expression unreadable, but his gaze gentle. she nodded. they stepped out to the patio behind the bar, string lights twinkling overhead, casting amber glows across wooden beams. it smelled like old whiskey and fresh bread and wind.

jake leaned against the railing. “didn’t think i’d see you again.”

“didn’t think i’d ever get to explain.”

“you didn’t have to,” he said, eyes on the city lights. “i figured it out eventually. your life was never really yours to begin with.”

she sighed. “still. i’m sorry.” he glanced at her. “i forgave you a long time ago.”

she looked down. “i never stopped thinking about you.”

“i know.”

she smiled faintly. “i still remember that day at the lake.”

jake laughed under his breath. “the almost-kiss?”

“you were going to kiss me.” “i wanted to kiss you.” “you looked so proud of yourself.” “i was proud. i was charming.” “you were insufferable.” “you loved it.”

she laughed. and god, it felt like breathing. silence fell between them then. comfortable. real. jake turned to her fully, finally asking, “so what’s your life like now?”

yn hesitated. “not what i imagined,” she said honestly. “we’re… comfortable. sunghoon and i. we tried to make the best of it. and then our daughter came and she became everything.”

jake nodded. “does he make you laugh?”

she looked at him, slowly. “no. not like you.”

jake smiled, sad and soft. then: “you look good. happy.” “are you?”

he shrugged. “i’ve got a bar. a decent place. friends. a dog named lady layla.”

she blinked. “seriously?”

he smirked. “she’s royalty, obviously.”

she laughed again. jake watched her. really watched her. and when the wind picked up and her hair swept across her face, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. her breath caught. the same hand brushed her cheek. “you still freeze up when i do that,” he murmured.

“you still know.” “i never forgot.”

she looked up at him. all those years. all that space. and still—it felt like them. and maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, but she whispered anyway—“if we’d met now... do you think it could’ve worked?”

jake’s smile was heartbreak and home all at once. “i think it still could.”

a beat. then he leaned in—not for a kiss, but for something simpler. his forehead against hers. his breath against her lips. no promises. no claims. just the quiet knowing that sometimes, love doesn’t need a title.

it just is.

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