#I hope y’all enjoy this it’s certainly been a trip to write

[sunkendreams]

Ok hear me out bc this has been in my mind for a minute. Lester secretly toying and touching reader in the truck while someone is standing outside the truck, be it Bo, some potential victim I just feel like he is the type

heatstroke.

( lester sinclair x fem!reader. )

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: lester sinclair x fem!reader.

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓: one-shot — requested.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.3K.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: SMUT! (mdni), public sex, risky location, vaginal fingering, fingering (f!feceiving), fingerfucking, spit as lube, dirty talk, praise, finger sucking, very mild coercion, lester is a bit of a pervert, bo sinclair cameo, obsessive/slightly creepy behavior from lester

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: listen ,,, you were onto something incredible when you requested this, this was so hot to write you don’t understand !!! lester is criminally underrated aaaaand this was so much hornier than I thought it’d be !! hope y’all enjoy! ❤️

TAGLIST: @freyjasfenrir ; @darklylucid ; @chaotichellscape ; @kiki-dohedo ; @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better ; @iamcautiouslyoptimistic ; @milland ; @the-anxious-youth ; @nastymensimp

Summertime in Louisiana was akin to setting fire in a desert — humidity on top of an acrid, stifling heat. You didn’t have a clue as to why your friends dragged you all the way out here under the false pretense of a camping trip. In all actuality, they wanted to visit this town that wasn’t listed on any map — Ambrose.

The journey itself was treacherous, going through thick, endless woodlands, marshlands, and bogs before coming towards the town. It was just around the bend, a large chunk of the road missing, now consumed by swampwater, jagged rocks, and erosion. Your friend was confident that he could maneuver his truck through it — boy, was he wrong.

“It won’t make it,” Josie chimed, standing beside you as the both of you watched a pair of young men attempt to push the truck through the wash. The truck unceremoniously came to a grinding, screeching halt, tires partially buried within the mud. “Idiots.”

You kept quiet, idly smoothing your palms across the little, floral sundress you wore. You certainly weren’t dressed for camping — you had no interest. Going to Ambrose was supposed to be a ‘day out on the town’, with your desire being to look at small shops and simply enjoy the atmosphere.

“Maybe we should call somebody,” You piped up, nervously wringing your hands together. “There has to be a tow truck around, you think?” Anxiousness blossomed within the pit of your stomach, giving you a feeling of uncertainty. You wished that they would’ve just listened and tried to drive around it.

“Cut the shit, we don’t need a tow truck.” Josie’s boyfriend, Tate, growled in protest. Admittedly, you had no idea why you were out here in the staggering heat with these three. Tate and Josie had been your friends since high school, but Cody, the third boy, was simply here out of devotion to Josie. You were confident that there was something else going on.

Josie shot you an apologetic glance, but you had enough of watching them push at a truck that wasn’t moving anywhere whatsoever. With a begrudging sigh, you started down the dirt path in the direction of Ambrose, carefully stepping across rocks to avoid caking your boots in a layer of viscous mud.

“Where are you going?” Josie called out, and you simply waved your hand at her, dismissive of her concerns. You were sick and tired of being around the trio, anyway. A walk and a bit of fresh air would do you a world of good.

“Going to town to find somebody.” You replied, and continued walking, crossbody purse slung over your frame as you made the short trek into town. It seemed exceptionally lively — plenty of stores, the chattering ambiance of a quaint neighborhood, and vintage, neon signs that pointed you toward your destination.

You were delighted to discover the gas station and mechanic shop, which already seemed to be inhabited by someone. An old, beat-up pickup truck sat by the gas pumps, back of the bed shoddily cleaned-out, save for a few remnants of roadkill and animal bones. There was an ‘L. S.’ carved into the worn metal above the back wheel, which you curiously traced your fingers over.

The hot sun blistered down upon you, making it stifling due to the now-faded asphalt you stood upon. You quickly ducked underneath the shaded cover of the gas station, almost colliding into someone when you rounded the front of the truck.

“Oh!” You gasped, chest tight with a momentary lapse of fear. “I’m so sorry!” The energy you carried was akin to that of a nervous nelly, clearly unnerved by her surroundings. You felt horrible for running into some innocent bystander — the owner of the truck, you figured.

You were met with the skeptical, hazel-eyed gaze of a man who reminded you of a possum. Rugged, scraggly, and clearly meant for the woodlands. He straightened his hat out, head cocking to one side when he peered down at you — prettiest thing he’d seen in ages. “Nothin’ to be sorry for, sugar! Guess I wasn’t watchin’ where I was goin’, neither.”

His voice bore that native Southern dialect, but he didn’t sound hostile whatsoever. When you finally got a good look at him, he seemed scrappy — maybe he lived in Ambrose. A large buck knife was holstered to his hip, neck adorned in a series of chokers and necklaces, decorated in some sort of animal bone.

“Say, what’cha doin’ ‘round here, anyway?” He inquired, leaning against the door of his truck. “Y’look a little lost.” His tone remained friendly, high-spirited, even. He was somewhat grimy, covered in a layer of dewy perspiration, wiping his hands off on a damp cloth.

“My friends and I were coming up here to visit the town, but our truck got stuck in that patch of marsh just around the bend,” You sighed, somewhat agitated with the whole scenario. If they would’ve listened to you, the truck would be just fine and not tire-deep in the mud. “I was just looking for some help.”

There was a sparkling in his eyes, a peculiar glittering that intrigued you to no end. A chuckle escaped him, finding humor in the situation. “They should’a jus’ drove ‘round.” He mused, and you had to laugh, even if it was a bitter sound. You kept your hands tucked together, idly fiddling with the strap of your purse.

Your expression was somewhat amused, lips twitching into a sardonic smile. “That’s what I said,” You sighed, happy to be away from the oppressive glare of the midday sun. “Either way, we’re stuck. Do you know if there’s a tow truck around here, or someone who could help?” You asked.

He grinned — a toothy, wolfish grin. Lester wasn’t blessed with Bo’s natural handsomeness, but he certainly had the personality to offset it all. He liked that you smiled and laughed along with him, didn’t treat him like backwoods trash, either. “M’brother’s got a tow truck! Bet he’d help ya out! Why don’t I give ‘im a call?”

Finally — your savior.

Relief rippled through you as you nodded several times over, rifling through your purse to unveil a crumpled twenty-dollar bill. “Here,” You insisted. “For the call and for your help. I can’t thank you enough.” You nodded, but the man simply pushed your hand away.

Being around you was a reward in itself — and once his brothers took care of your friends, you would be his prize in all of this. He couldn’t have been any happier with how all of this was progressing. Lester opened up the driver’s side door, grabbing a rather shoddy-looking flip-phone. He was still trying to figure these things out.

One call to Bo later, and his older brother was coming out with the tow-truck and all of that oozing charm, like a shepherd leading the flock to the slaughter. Lester insisted that he keep you out of it — you were sweet, he could tell.

He liked that.

“He’s on his way,” Lester chimed, swiveling around to face you again. He stuck out his hand in greeting. “M’Lester, by th’way! It’s real nice to meet you, sugar. Say, if you’re bakin’ in the sun, could sit in m’truck with me while the rest do the heavy liftin’.” The offer was absolutely tempting to you.

You reached out, introducing yourself with a charming grin and another burst of bubbly laughter. “It’s nice to meet you, Lester. Thank you so much for all of your help, again. You’re an angel.” He was very kind and upbeat — Jesus, you even found him to be cute. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a bother.”

Lester grinned again, completely and utterly enamored with you as he waved a hand towards the truck. “I’m real sure, promise! Don’t want that pretty little face of yours t’melt right off. You can sit with me while Bo works his magic.” He insisted, opening up the door as a sign of invitation.

A pleasant wave of heat flooded throughout your body — and while you thought it was from the weather, it was from Lester’s subtle flirtation. You couldn’t help but giggle, nose wrinkling in amusement as you climbed up into his truck. Lester stood behind you, shamelessly admiring the way your dress fit you, from lovely curves to the faintest glimpse of your thighs.

As you crawled into the cabin, you noticed the morbid array of bone and rope dangling from the top mirror. The inside smelled of stale blood, damp dirt, and the faint scent of cigarettes. You folded one leg over the other, swiping away a thin layer of sweat that built up along the back of your neck.

A tow truck came soaring down the road, rickety and beat-up. The driver wore a mechanic’s uniform and a ball cap — you assumed it was Bo, the man Lester was referring to. “M’gonna drive us back down to the bend. No reason for you t’walk.” He mused, hopping in beside you as he started the engine.

The truck roared to life, and Lester maneuvered the vehicle out of the gas station, whipping it back around to approach the swampy wash where your caravan had gotten stuck at.

“Have you lived here your whole life?” You asked, head canting to one side. You leaned up against the door, palm tucked underneath your chin. Whenever you weren’t looking, you were completely oblivious to Lester’s constant ogling of your body.

He kept one hand perched atop the patchwork, leather-covered steering wheel, the other resting along the edge of the window. “Mostly,” Lester piped up, letting out a low whistle. “Ambrose ain’t on the map. Hard for anybody to come out this way without lookin’ real close.” He replied, truck slugging along at a crawl.

“It’s pretty out here,” You hummed, tracing a finger along the dashboard, collecting a layer of dust in the process. “I wouldn’t want to leave. You’ve got everything you need here in town. It’s peaceful.” When you adjusted your position, your dress hitched just a little higher.

“Yer welcome t’stay, if y’like it so much.” Lester mused, which got you to laugh. As tempting as it sounded, nestled away within the Louisiana wilderness, you knew that your friends would go against it. “They even got a beauty pageant, Miss Ambrose.”

Intrigued, you cocked your head to one side, letting out another giggle as you peered outside towards the forests. “A beauty pageant? I’ve never done one of those before. I’m sure I’d have plenty of competition.” You sighed, idly fiddling with the hem of your sundress. The jean jacket you were wearing over it only made you nearly collapse from heatstroke.

Lester grinned, a playful chuckle escaping him. “Naw, I think you’d win th’whole thing.” He was really laying on the compliments and old-fashioned charm, driving the truck down the path and around the bend. “You’re the prettiest thing I’ve seen ‘round here!” Singing your praises was one way to get you flustered.

This was the last thing you ever expected, being hit on by a rugged stranger you’d just met. Nevertheless, the attention you were receiving was amazing, something you weren’t used to. “You’re really sweet.” You accepted the compliment without retort, idly preening your fingers over the top of your head.

By the time you’d gotten back to the wash, Lester’s brother was sitting in the cab of the tow-truck, attempting to haul the other vehicle out of the mud. You waved at your friend from the window as he put it into park, letting it idle. Josie and Tate happened to use it as something to lean on, but Lester didn’t say anything to protest.

“Ain’t you jus’ gorgeous?” Lester crooned, pinching the hem of your dress between his thumb and forefinger. Your skin felt abnormally hot, like a fever as you shifted in your seat, visibly sheepish to the man’s seemingly harmless flirting. “Real nice dress, too.”

“Thanks,” You mumbled, ducking your head as his knuckles innocently brushed over the top of your thigh. Goosebumps erupted in his wake, causing you to shiver as you averted your gaze. “Maybe I should get out and see if everything’s okay.” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

Lester cocked his head to one side, eyes glittering with something indiscernible. The rough, calloused pads of his fingertips traced over your thigh. “Y’sure, sugar? I was thinkin’ you could stay here with me,” He mused, lips spitting into a toothy smirk. “Could make it worth yer while.” His voice was sickly-sweet, like honey.

Something hung heavy in the air — suffocating heat coupled with the flurry of tension crackling within the cab of Lester’s truck. Admittedly, you were more aroused than you should’ve been, given how forward and crass this was, but there was certainly a thrill in it.

You swallowed the growing lump within your throat, stealing another glance outside the window. Your friends were just outside of the truck — if you made too much noise or squirmed, they would notice. “What if somebody sees?” You whimpered, feeling a rush of oozing warmth coalesce between your thighs.

“Looks you’ll have t’be real quiet,” Lester hummed, hand prodding at your dress again. “Why don’t you go on an’ lift that up for me, gorgeous?” You shouldn’t have been this riled up and turned on for a complete stranger, but he was tempting — maybe it was his kind demeanor coupled with lust. You weren’t sure.

A fluttering sensation erupted throughout the pit of your stomach, prompting you to shift your thighs together as you began to shyly tug your dress up. Lester had subtly shifted closer, shorter than an arm’s length distance as you let some of the fabric pool around your hips.

There was some sick thrill you got with this, buried deep down — in hindsight, you shouldn’t have been entertaining this, but Lester seemed more than willing. You glanced toward the window, breath hitching when Josie glanced back at you with a puzzled expression.

To quell her concern, you swiftly gave her a thumbs-up, perspiration creeping along your spine as you subtly shifted a little closer to your new friend. His soft snickering filled the cab, calloused palm gingerly kneading into your thigh.

“Nice n’soft,” Lester mumbled, Southern drawl dropping to a hushed octave. “Y’feel like velvet.” His compliment made you shiver with anticipation, legs parting as you shyly began to ruck the skirt of your dress up. He leaned in, giving your hair a sniff — you smelled sweet, like a fresh bouquet of honeyed flowers.

You swallowed the lump within your throat, angling yourself a little more in his direction, enough to remain inconspicuous. Lester traced his hand along your thigh, drinking in the feeling of your velveteen complexion underneath his fingertips.

Without missing a beat, you sluggishly placed your hand atop his, guiding it toward the heat coalescing between your legs. Lester appeared surprised, cracking another bemused grin as you let his fingers settle along the waistband of your panties. You were desperate, wriggling atop the sticky leather beneath you.

Your fingers curled into the seat, chest tight with a familiar fluttering once his fingers finally crossed the threshold, slipping beneath the thin, cotton material. He nudged your legs further apart, deliberately stroking at your cunt, toying with you just a little bit. “D’aw,” He crooned. “That all fer me?”

Part of you wanted to simply melt into a pile of nothingness, lips parted as a sweet moan escaped you. His touches were tantalizing, feather-light and leaving you aching for more. “Y—Yeah,” You sighed, keeping your voice low as Lester pushed past your folds, two digits beginning to glide against your cunt. “Keep going.” You mewled.

Lester rarely, if ever, did anything like this.

Admittedly, once he saw you, that beautiful beam of sunshine, he had to have you — he wanted to keep you for himself, too. Your willingness to let him touch you made you all the more tempting, something to be coveted, worshiped. Lester would do it all for you if you’d let him.

Quietly, he obeyed your breathy command, ministrations becoming more vigorous. His fingers were erratic and choppy, sloppily sliding across your cunt with a fervor. You didn’t care, lulled into submission by the myriad of sensations, pleasure rippling throughout your stomach.

Your gaze occasionally flickered toward the outside of the truck, but your worry of getting caught was steadily subsiding. Lester’s calloused digits glided along your slit, moving up until they found that clutch of sensitive nerves buried between your thighs. His thumb sluggishly circled your clit, causing your hips to jolt forward.

“S’at feel nice?” His drawl had dropped into a husked purr, voice wrought with desperation. Lester liked having this level of control over you, but he enjoyed seeing your reactions even more. Embarrassment washed through you, knowing how insane this scenario seemed.

A sweet whimper tore past your lips, and you nodded your head, attempting to keep the gesture subtle. You wanted more, shifting your thighs together to relieve some tension until Lester prodded you with his knee. He began to rub at your clit, prompting you to press the back of your hand over your mouth.

Lester snickered, swatting your hand away. “Don’t keep those sounds from me, sugar. You’re jus’ so pretty like this.” He murmured, causing you to bite at your lower lip. Your thighs shook, cunt throbbing and oozing with liquid heat as he continued to touch you.

There was a thump against the front of the truck, nearly making you leap out of your own flesh, hastily covering your lap with your jean jacket. It was just Cody, huffing and puffing as Lester’s brother continued to try and pull the truck out of the mud.

“W—We should probably stop,” You whimpered, voice low and hushed, attempting to grab at his wrist, but Lester stopped you. “Lester, please.” The terror of being caught outweighed pleasure, but he shushed you, tugging you just a little closer, until you were nearly leg-to-leg in the cab.

“Jus’ keep quiet, sweetheart. They ain’t gonna catch us, swear.” He reassured you, coercing you into a more docile state — admittedly, he really wanted to make you cum on his fingers. Lester was hellbent to receive that from you, whether you protested or not.

As much as your mind screamed at you to stop, you wanted to keep going. You nodded, still keeping the jacket tucked within your lap, but Lester nudged it aside, wanting to watch everything. Your dress was all disheveled and ruffled around your hips, panties halfway down your thighs.

You began to squirm, hips jolting and spasming into the sensation of his hand, nails digging into the old, cracked leather of the truck’s frayed cushions. Your mind stopped worrying so much, submitting to basic desire and instinct, letting pleasure hold the reins as he flicked his thumb around your clit.

Honey-sweet arousal pooled between your legs, coating Lester’s digits in a fine sheen. You almost pleaded for him to come back when he withdrew his hand, watching with complete and utter shock as he licked his fingers, saturated in saliva. The noises he made were crass and somewhat lewd. “Taste jus’as good as y’look.” He murmured.

A molten wave of heat dropped right into the pit of your stomach, prompting you to whimper as his fingers hotly returned to your core. He was vigorous this time, using those spittle-slathered digits to invade your cunt, pushing two fingers inside of you as he began to piston them in and out. His rhythm was intense, and you nearly clamped your thighs together.

Your limbs felt heavy, weighed-down by the waves of ecstasy that consume you, as if dragging you down to the bottom of an ocean. You can barely distinguish what’s happening outside of the truck — you don’t care anymore, either.

This stranger fingerfucking you in his cab is all you can concentrate on.

Another soft, throaty moan escaped you, tearing past your parted lips as you rolled your hips sporadically, in-tandem with the motion of his fingers. They pushed inward, nearly knuckle-deep inside of your cunt before dragging out halfway, only to ram right back in. You sighed, pleasure scrawled all over your face.

Lester kept a watchful eye out, knowing that Bo would take his sweet time, damage your friend’s truck in the process. He was happy to have snatched you up when he did, gaze flickering toward you. Your body was contorted with delight, a glistening sheen of perspiration shimmering along your collarbone.

Tension crackled through the air, and you were none the wiser to Lester’s little plot to keep you. His thumb toyed and circled your clit, pouring fuel on the fire as your hips bucked forward again. “M’close,” You whimpered through the dizzying carnality, knuckles tense and tight as you clawed at the seat. “Oh, Lester! S—Shit, please don’t stop!” You squeaked.

He was enthralled, as if trained to obey your every wish. He didn’t slow down, keeping the same pace, fingers scissoring in and out of your weeping cunt. The thick scent of arousal hung heavy in the cab, intermingled with that of fresh earth and a coppery twang from the blood of roadkill, baking away in the back of the truck.

The thin straps of your pretty dress began to sag upon your shoulders, giving way to the faintest glimpse of your breast. If it weren’t for the oblivious audience outside of the truck, Lester would’ve been sucking on your chest. Instead, he settled for a brief peek of your heaving tits, and nothing more.

When the truck rattled, you barely paid it any mind — just your friends sagging against it. Lester snickered, opting to add a third finger, if it were a possibility. “Can y’handle another, sugar? Yer almost there.” He whispered, and when your friend began to step back towards the passenger door for shade, your eyes went as wide as saucers.

Again, Lester silenced your worry with the softest coos and gentle shushes, thumb working away at your clit as he attempted to wriggle a third digit inside of you. You were all wound up, chasing after your orgasm as you turned your face away, skin feverishly hot, as if you’d been scorched by the Louisiana sunshine.

As soon as Lester’s fingers rocked into your cunt for the umpteenth time, curling just slightly, you were gone — wasting away in a white-hot explosion. The tension within your stomach unfurled as you coated his digits in your slick nectar, huffing and puffing as you attempted to compose yourself.

“Lester, Lester,” The breathy, hushed way in which you whimpered his name made him want to devour you. Your cunt clenched pathetically around his fingers as he withdrew them, watching the tension unfurl from your body. You looked embarrassed and downright flustered, having made a mess of his seat. “M’sorry.”

“Sorry?” Lester cajoled, grinning a toothy, bemused smile as he began to lick his fingers clean. “Don’t gotta apologize none for that. Jus’ do it again sometime.” He teased, watching as you hastily covered your lap with your jean jacket when your friend thumped a hand against the window.

“Hey, we’re going up to this guy’s house. He said he has a tire that we can borrow, one on the truck is flat. Are you coming?” Josie asked, ogling Lester with skepticism and a high degree of disgust, too.

You gasped, heart pounding erratically in your chest. As you opened your mouth to answer, Lester interjected on your behalf.

“Yer friend here is goin’ through a bad wave of heatstroke. I’m gonna drive ‘er back t’my place an’ get her some water. It’s a cabin ‘long the path, you can’t miss it.” Lester confirmed, but Josie looked at you for an answer instead.

You nodded several times over, mustering up a smile after having experienced one of the best highs of your life. Pretending that you hadn’t let him touch you just moments ago made you feel strange. “I’ll be alright, Josie. You guys can meet me at his place once the truck is all fixed up.”

Josie nodded and reluctantly moved away from the window, joining Tate and Cody as the three of them followed Bo towards the tow truck. You were impervious and oblivious to the fact that this would be the last time you would ever see your friends alive.

Fortunately for Lester, he had other intentions.

He started the truck again, peering toward you with a twinkle in his eye — it wasn’t the same high-spirited, innocuous man you’d encountered at the gas station. This gleam was different — obsessive, possessive, and absolutely enamored with you.

“Why don’t we see what we can do about this heatstroke of yours, sugar?”

#slasher x reader #slasher x you #lester sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x you #lester sinclair #house of wax #house of wax smut #house of wax fanfic #slasher fanfiction #slasher fanfic #slasher fandom #slasher x y/n #sunkendreams masterlist

[birdiewriteslit]

“summer of difference”

chapter one: miss americana and the heartbreak prince

various house of the dragon boys x fem!stark!reader

me writing? since when?? ik it’s been a while but i’ve been thinking about writing a series for house of the dragon! it’s summer, and i’m rewatching the summer i turned pretty, so this is kind of inspired by it? but also not, yk? i’m happy to be writing things again, hope y’all enjoy!

p.s. the boys i’ll be writing about include jacaerys, aegon, and aemond (and this is modern au obvi)

warnings: suggestive/sexual themes

This would be your fourth summer with your brother’s best friend’s family in King’s Landing. Summers here were always so different than the summers back home in Winterfell. Not only was the temperature much warmer, but things were actually interesting in this lakeside town.

You sat sandwiched between your siblings in the backseat of your mother’s Toyota. Cregan reached behind your head to smack Sara’s headphones off.

“Hey!” she shouted, watching the device fall into her lap.

“Quit it, Cregan,” your father warned, not taking his eyes off of the road.

The long drive south was the only thing you hated about this trip. Being the middle child meant you were always stuck in the middle seat. At hour four, you were unbelievably relieved when the road to Rhaenyra’s house finally came into view late afternoon.

A smile appeared on your face as you pulled into the driveway. It was times like these when you were grateful that your brother had rich friends.

The house was huge. It was white with light blue accents and three garage spaces. One of these hosted Daemon’s red convertible, which you had some interesting memories with Jacaerys in.

Speaking of Jace, he ran out the front door as soon as Cregan exited the car, you sliding out after him.

You couldn’t really focus on whatever complicated bro hug they were doing because Jace looked so different.

His hair was long and curlier, and his features were sharper. His smile was bright and perfect as he patted your brother on the back. He had certainly matured since last summer.

As he parted from Cregan, his eyes shifted to you, his smile never faltering. “Wow, Y/n,” he said as he took you into his arms.

You breathed him in. He smelled of salt air and the beach scented candle his mother was always burning. His damp hair brushed against your cheeks as his arms tightened around your waist.

“Gone swimming with out us?” Once you pulled away from him, you gestured to his bathing suit trunks, which had left a few wet splotches on your shorts.

“Yeah, Daemon’s with the boys by the dock,” he explained, then looked over your shoulder at your sister taking her things out of the trunk. “Luke’s inside, waiting for you.” He smirked, glancing at Cregan. You turned to Sara, copying his expression while she rolled her eyes, grabbing her duffel bag.

“You three are so immature,” she said, shoving past Cregan to enter the house.

“I don’t like being looped in with you guys,” you said.

“You’re lucky to be,” Cregan said. “Now help me with all this shit.” He gestured toward the open trunk.

“Watch your mouth, Cregan. We’re guests here,” your mother scolded.

“It’s all good, Gilliane. I’ve heard worse from my stepdad,” Jace said.

“I bet,” your dad muttered.

“I’ll meet you guys inside, alright?” Jace pointed at you and Cregan.

“Yeah, I’ll see you in there,” you said, smiling stupidly.

Cregan nudged your arm. “‘I’ll see you in there,’” he mimicked your words in a high pitched voice. Your face burned as you told him to shut up.

You walked into the house with your bags and brought them upstairs to the blue room. You always shared the room with Baela. The walls and the carpet were different shades of light blue, and the skylight above the bed always made it seem brighter.

You stopped in your tracks when you saw Sara fishing through her bag on the ground. “What are you doing in here?”

“Nyra told me we’re sharing this year. Apparently Baela and Rhaena are with their mother for the month,” Sara said nonchalantly.

“What?” This was news to you. Daemon’s stepdaughters were always here for the summer. Baela was your best friend away from home. Your stomach dropped when you realized what this meant. You’d be forced to hang out with the boys all summer, or worse, your little sister.

“I can’t share a room with you,” you said. Sara scoffed and pulled her bathing suit from her bag, going into the bathroom to change. You pulled out your phone and texted Baela immediately.

—

You: how could you do this to me?? why didn’t you tell me you weren’t coming this summer :(

my bae🤍: i’m sorryyyy!! it’s only a few weeks though. my mom thought it was unfair that dad gets us all summer. tbh it is unfair like he doesn’t even hang out with us.

You: mannn you cant leave me with creg and jace

my bae🤍: i don’t think you have a problem being alone with jace lol

You: don’t even start! creg has already reminded me today. it doesn’t help that jace has gotten sooo much hotter since last year.

my bae🤍: please refrain from talking about my brother like that. and btw NOBODY has forgotten about it.

You: thanks for that. i ran upstairs so i wouldn’t have to face nyra and daemon again. i’m literally gonna die from embarrassment.

my bae🤍: don’t worry, nobody brings it up in front of dad and her. rhaena, luke, and i just make fun of him when they aren’t looking. you should see how red his face gets. seriously, it’s hilarious.

You: ughhh i was hoping this would just go away

my bae🤍: nah you’re never living this down

You: he hugged me and i swear to god i heard a taylor swift song playing in the background

my bae🤍: i bet it was lover lol

You: more like miss americana and the heartbreak prince

my bae🤍: y’all are so lover shut up. PLEASE update me tonight if anything interesting happens. i am fucking devastated that i cant watch you guys reunite.

You: you’ll get over it

—

You rolled your eyes at her last text and set your phone on the bed, beginning to unpack your items. A knock on the doorframe made you turn around. Rhaenyra stood there, a soft smile on her face. “You didn’t even say hello to me.”

“Sorry, Nyra. I wanted to see Baela as soon as possible,” you lied.

“Ah, well, you’ll see her in July.” She sat on the bed in front of you and placed a strand of hair behind your ear. “How have you been, sweet girl?”

You grinned at the nickname, almost sighing from relief that she wasn’t even thinking about the incident from the last time you were here. “Really good. I’m happy to be back here, though.”

“I love having you here. You’re my favorite girl. I hope you know that. Don’t tell your sister.” She winked.

“I won’t,” you promised.

“You know, I always hoped you would be my future daughter-in-law,” she said cheekily. Your eyes widened as heat crept up your neck. “Only teasing, my dear,” she said, standing up from the bed. “Get your suit on, Jace wants you to come tubing.”

“Okay,” you squeaked, turning to fumble around in your bag.

-

This is a little tight, you thought as you exited the basement and walked on the stone path to the dock.

You initially bought the bikini because it was your favorite color, but now you felt a little self conscious about the amount it revealed. You grabbed a life jacket from the bench on the dock and hopped onto the boat.

“Put that on, Y/n. We’re going first,” Jace said, wearing the same smile from earlier, and eyeing you up in a very unsubtle way.

Butterflies surged in your stomach. You would be alone with Jace for the first time in nearly a year. But does it really count if you were being dragged behind a pontoon boat with water spraying into your faces and both of your families watching you? You wouldn’t say so.

Nevertheless, you were still nervous when you felt his eyes on you.

Cregan, Sara, Luke, and Joffrey were already on the boat, all thoroughly intrigued by their favorite reality show, aka you and Jace.

Daemon untied the boat from its posts and gently pushed it away from the dock, jumping on with your father following suit.

“Rickon, you spot while I drive,” Daemon said, and your father nodded. Their dad fits were impeccable on this afternoon. Matching sports sunglasses with cargo shorts and shirts that sponsored separate breweries was definitely the move.

“You aren’t driving, Rickon?” Jace said, sounding worried.

“Nope. My shoulder hurts from, uh, weightlifting.”

You snorted at his fake excuse. You knew he just didn’t want to do it, based on all of his complaining during the year. He claimed it stressed his muscles too much.

“It’s my boat, kid. I won’t whip you if you can’t handle it,” Daemon taunted.

“I can handle it,” Jace said firmly. “Come on, Y/n.”

Rickon pushed the pancake tube off of the boat and held the rope tightly as you and Jace climbed on. As he slowly let go of the rope, letting you drift out into the lake, you said, “Why the fuck would you tell him we can handle it? He’s going to fling us like 50 feet into the air.”

Jace grinned evilly at you. “I said I can handle it. Not my fault if you can’t.”

You looked at him incredulously. “Have you forgotten what happened last time he drove the boat? I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes.”

“He was drunk that time.” Jace shrugged.

“He’s worse sober!” You gripped the handles tighter as the boat began to move. “Seven hells,” you muttered.

The boat quickly sped up, and soon you and Jace were bouncing across the lake. The motor combined with the rush of water was loud in your ears, the spray cold and nearly blinding.

Daemon swung the boat around and the tube flung out to the right, you screamed while Jace laughed hysterically.

“Jace, oh my God, what is that?” you yelled, looking at an upcoming wave.

“I think that’s your downfall,” Jace shouted.

“That’s not fucking funny!” The tube bounced up over the wave, flinging you and Jace off and into the water.

The water came up over your head before the life jacket brought you back to the surface. You breathed in deeply and pushed the wet hair away from your face.

You looked to your left and saw Jace about ten feet away grinning and shaking his wet hair. The boat was turning around to come fetch you both.

You quickly swam over to him and grabbed onto his shoulders, dunking him from behind. He was coughing when he came back up. “You bitch!” he said as you laughed.

“That’s what you get,” you fired back. He raised his hands and splashed water in your face. You spit out what got into your mouth and splashed him back.

“Get on the boat, lovebirds!” Sara called, laying on the sundeck as the boat approached.

“Shut up, Sara,” you said, casting your eyes down to your legs treading water. “And speak for yourself.” You glanced at Luke, who knelt on the seat behind her. She stuck her tongue out as you climbed the ladder onto the deck.

You made your way to the front of the boat, taking off the life jacket and wrapping yourself in a towel. “Cold?” Daemon asked.

You glared back at him. “Clearly.” He smirked and called out to Sara and Luke, making sure they were ready for the hell he was about to put them through.

Jace sat next to you after grabbing his own towel and two sodas from the cooler. He handed one to you before draping his arm across the back of your seat. Cregan and Joff sat on the opposite side of the boat, the younger one absentmindedly playing with the buckles on his life jacket.

“Why didn’t you go with me, man? Now I have to go on the slow ride,” Cregan complained, gesturing to Joff.

Jace shrugged. “Baela isn’t here, and I couldn’t leave my favorite girl hanging,” he said, squeezing your shoulder.

Cregan rolled his eyes and pretended to retch when Jace wasn’t looking. You motioned for him to stop as Jace looked back at him when the boat started moving.

You slipped out of Jace’s grasp and went to sit at the back of the boat to watch your sister and his brother get tortured by Daemon. It didn’t take long for Sara to go flying through the air, screaming Luke’s name as she went. He whipped his head around to watch her splash in the water, accidentally taking his hand off the handle and landing a few feet in front of her.

Your father reeled the tube in as Daemon turned the boat around to fetch them. Creg and Joff went next, their ride relatively uneventful. The perpetual frown on your brother’s face made you feel better about him teasing you the whole day.

Daemon slowed down and rode back to the dock with them trailing behind. Your father reeled them in while Jace and Luke hopped off the boat to tie it to the posts.

“How was that?” Jace asked, grinning at you as you walked up to the house with him.

“Exhilarating,” you said, giving him an annoyed look.

“My girl, always so adventurous.” He said it sarcastically, but your heart always skipped a beat when he called you his girl. You smiled nervously as he opened the door for you.

You shivered as the air conditioning hit your bare skin. “Why is it always so cold down here?”

Jace shrugged. “Daemon is a diva. He always has it on.”

You laughed. “He needs the best of the best.”

“No less,” he agreed, following you up the stairs.

When you entered the kitchen moments later, your mother immediately scolded you for dripping water on the floor.

“Oh, she’s fine. My boys do it constantly. Look at Jace doing it right now,” Rhaenyra countered, continuing to stir the contents of the pot in front of her.

“I walk in the room and I’m a victim,” Jace said, sitting on one of the barstools.

“Don’t sit on my stools in that wet bathing suit. You two, go shower and clean up for dinner,” Rhaenyra commanded.

“Yes, mom.” Jace stood from the stool and followed you down the hallway.

You left him at the bottom of the stairs as you hurried up the steps to gather your things for your shower. Sara wasn’t there yet, probably still outside with your brother and the boys.

You headed to the bathroom and felt instant warmth when you stepped into the shower. You washed your hair and body, and once you were done, you were so happy the smell of lake water was gone from you.

After getting changed, you left your wet bathing suit on the bathtub to dry, and exited the bathroom. Sara was laying on her cot in her semi-wet swimsuit when you got there, watching TikToks on her phone.

“Finally,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the door. “You were in there for like thirty minutes.”

“Time escapes me,” you said, plopping down on your bed and pulling out your phone to do the same thing she was doing.

There was a text from Jace in your notifications.

-

J: Night swim tonight??

You: i just showered i don’t want to get back in the lake

J: Where’s your sense of adventure from earlier?

You: long gone

J: Pleaseeeee

You: fine but only because you asked nicely

-

The real reason you agreed was because you were hoping he would talk to you about what happened the year before. So far, he had made no move to bring it up, but maybe all it took was being alone with him.

You sighed into your pillow and opened TikTok to distract you from this situation. After a good thirty minutes that felt like five, you were being called downstairs to eat by your brother.

“Smells good,” you said, entering the kitchen and grabbing a plate.

“Thank you, darling,” Rhaenyra said, patting your back as she moved past you into the dining room.

“Man, I’ve been waiting all year for this.” Cregan proceeded to fill his entire plate with spaghetti and meatballs, drowning it in parmesan cheese.

“Save some for the rest of us,” you muttered, grabbing a piece of garlic bread.

You took your plate into the dining room and sat down next to Luke. Jace and Cregan sat across from you two, with Daemon and Rhaenyra at the ends of the table. Sara sat down on Luke’s other side, your parents on Rhaenyra’s end of the table. Joff, Aegon, Viserys, and Visenya all sat at the foldable kids table. You stared wistfully at the empty seats at the adults table that were usually reserved for Baela and Rhaena.

“So,” Luke said to you, hardly disrupting the conversations of the other people at the table. “I hear you got your license. Are you and Jace planning on taking another spin in Daemon’s car, if you know what I mean?”

You nearly choked on the piece of spaghetti dangling from your mouth. Of course, you knew what he meant. The sly fucker just had to bring it up at the family dinner. Luckily for you, Jace was occupied with eating like a starved man on the other side of the table. Daemon was one empty chair away from hearing Luke’s remark. You thought he wasn’t listening, but it was hard to tell when he was eavesdropping.

“You better shut your mouth right now before someone hears you,” you said quietly, holding your fork at him threateningly.

“Does it matter if they do? Everyone heard you last year. It might’ve been embarrassing for you but it was downright traumatic for me,” Luke said.

Jace had successfully cleared his plate at this point, it was impressive, really. He had his attention turned towards you now.

“What was traumatic?” he asked.

“No, Jace. Do not even ask,” you warned.

“I think I’d like to know,” Daemon chimed in, smirk on his face, not even bothering to look up from his food.

You gave him a horrified look that contradicted his unbothered one. Luke shifted uncomfortably, no longer having fun. He cleared his throat. “I’d rather not talk about it at the dinner table.” Liar.

“That’s what I thought,” Daemon said coolly, twirling his spaghetti in a rather unsettling way.

“No, seriously, what?” Jace pushed, utterly clueless.

“Drop it, Jace,” you warned again, an embarrassed heat rising up your neck.

Seeing the look on your face, realization dawned upon him. “Oh,” was all he said as he cast his eyes to his plate, the leftover marinara sauce the same color as his cheeks.

Luke snickered to himself, and you kicked him under the table. “Jesus, Y/n, what was that for?” he hissed. You only glared in return.

Soon enough, everyone finished dinner, and you dragged your feet to your bedroom, collapsing on the bed. You were stuffed and tired, but you promised Jace a swim tonight. All you could do was hope that it wouldn’t be awkward.

You went on your phone to pass the time until nine, which was the usual time you met up with him for your night swims. Sara was passed out in her bed when you swiftly left the room to change.

When you got down to the dock, Jace was already in the water. He slicked his wet hair back with his hand as grinned at the sight of you. “The water’s warm, get in.”

“Look what I’m doing,” you said, going down the stone steps and slowly entering the water.

“Come on,” he said, nodding his head to the raft about twenty feet from the boat. He started swimming towards it with you in tow, trying to ignore how tired you felt from the long day.

He climbed the ladder and laid down on the raft. “I thought we were going to swim,” you said, laying beside him.

He was quiet for a moment, staring up at the stars, leaving the crickets and other night animals to fill the silence. He turned his head and met your eyes. “I don’t really care what we do. I just wanted to hang out with you. I missed you, you know,” he confessed.

“I missed you too, Jace. We have all summer to hang out together.” And hopefully sooner or later, you would sort out your unspoken history.

“Even when Baela comes back?” he asked tentatively.

“Even then. I’ll always make time for you.”

He smiled and looked back up at the sky. “Let’s just stay out here for a while.”

You nodded and looked away from him, gazing at the stars instead. You expected to come out here and have an awkward conversation about the incident from last summer, not pick up where you left off. Why wasn’t he bringing it up? You knew he hadn’t forgotten, but why wouldn’t he talk to you about it? He was always so open, so forward with you.

As you laid together on the raft, he looped your fingers through his, and you were all but transported to the year before.

#birdiewriteslit #birdiewritesfics #house of the dragon #hotd #jace velaryon #jace velaryon x reader #jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen x reader #modern au #summer au #cregan stark #jacaerys velaryon x stark!reader #aemond targaryen x stark!reader #aegon targaryen x stark!reader #stark!reader #female reader #summer of difference #summer of difference fic

[missmaywemeetagain]

Moonlight, A Pink Scarf Universe Story

A/N: So, I was challenged to do a prompt game, and since I'm desperately trying to fight my perfectionism and become more consistent with my writing, I took on the challenge and wrote this dramatic little heartbreaker this afternoon just under the wire like crazy person. I hope you enjoy this short, barely edited extension of Pink Scarf. It takes place a few months after the Christmas 1960 flashback in Part 16. (Please go easy on me because it is literally the least revised/edited thing I've ever put out and I desperately hope you like it 💗)

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen @whositmcwhatsit @ellie-24 @from-memphis-with-love @be-my-ally and @vintageshanny for challenging me to do this even when I wanted to convince myself I couldn't do it.

Prompt: “Do you mind? I came here to get away from other people.”

Rating: PG-13 || Word Count: 2k

TW: Miscarriage, medical trauma, angst, depression, intrusive thoughts

Moonlight

Hawaii, March 1961

The room is pressing in on you with all these jovial faces, celebrating in paradise after Elvis’ successful benefit concert for the Pearl Harbor Arizona Memorial. You should be celebrating with them.

You wish you could.

Instead, you are fighting back tears, praying that no one notices your frantic need to escape the otherwise wonderful atmosphere.

Elvis decided to bring you all along for a month-long vacation of sorts as he films his newest picture, Blue Hawaii, and performs the benefit concert to raise money for the Memorial. Y’all need some rest and recreation, he’d said joyfully, his eyes falling on you in particular, and how could you possibly refuse? It genuinely seemed like a great idea, even though he’d technically be working, and so would Jack by extension, but a change of scenery would do you some good after everything that's happened. Maybe you and Jack could reconnect on the tropical getaway, you’d thought.

But so much had happened since you agreed to this trip.

No one knew, of course. Not Jack. Not your family. Certainly not Elvis. You had made sure of it because you couldn’t stand the hopeful looks that would have come with the news, and the inevitable pity that would’ve come after.

The humid Hawaiian air coupled with the room full of people makes you feel as though you can’t draw a full breath. Lightheaded, you push your way through the throng of people filling the lavish home that had been rented for the express purpose of Elvis being able to stay comfortable and private during his shooting schedule. It’s an incredible relief once you burst out onto the patio, then stumble down the sandy path to the breathtaking beach.

Surprisingly, there’s not a soul on the moonlit sand, and for that you are eternally grateful because you cannot hold back your choked sobs any longer. The ebb and flow of the surf crashes over your crying, and you very much wish you could drown your sorrows in the vastness of the ocean in front of you.

Getting pregnant again was not even something you thought was possible. It was cruel, you thought, that you’d nearly made it 12 weeks this time before your body decided that it would reject the baby. You had just started to really, truly think it would be different this time. You were getting ready to tell Jack. You were almost, almost happy.

Even more cruel was that it was almost a year to the day of you bleeding out on the floor of the Rollerdome.

In some ways you’d been thankful that everyone had been so busy preparing for the trip that no one paid much mind to the fact that you locked yourself in the bathroom for hours, silently sobbing through the cramping and the bleeding and the clotting. You’d known then it was too late.

Tears stream down your cheeks as you hug your knees and begin to rock in the soft sand. At least it’s beautiful here, you think absently, trying to soothe yourself.

You’d taken to bed, claiming a bout of food poisoning, and no one was the wiser, being as excited and busy as they were. Not one of them seemed to bat an eye or think it was strange that no one else had any symptoms. A small part of you breaks a little at that, feeling more alone in the world than you ever have. But another part figures it’s just as well. Perhaps it is a blessing that no one knew of your latest failure. Honestly, you so were disappointed in yourself over it all you didn’t think could handle that disappointment from others, especially Jack.

Two days after losing your second child, you’d gotten on the plane to come here, spending hours upon hours with a false smile spread across your features. Maybe if you smiled enough you’d start to believe it. After all, you were in paradise with Elvis Presley. Millions would kill to be where you are.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Be grateful for what you have, you berate yourself, as you have more than once on the trip. Not even the stunning beauty of the island has been able to push your thoughts away from your loss, your seemingly unending sorrow permeating even the most beautiful of sunsets.

The only moment when you’d felt truly free of it had been watching Elvis’ concert earlier. He was so mesmerizing that it was impossible not to be caught up in his performance. You’d been happy for the momentary distraction, for the way your heart had flip flopped a little at the sight of him in his element, sweaty and feeding off the crowd effortlessly. It was easy to get swept away amongst all the screaming fans, to understand why the man you’d called a friend was the sensation that he was, and to forget everything but him for just a little while.

But by the time this stupid afterparty rolled around, the dark cloud that followed you this past year found you once more, and you were honestly too tired to push it away any longer.

You can’t help thinking how you should have an infant with you now, that in a kinder world you’d have your baby and perhaps another on the way. But the world is not always kind. Instead you are empty and alone.

So you find yourself sobbing on a gorgeous beach in Hawaii in the middle of the night, finally allowing yourself to sit in the grief of your misfortune.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been out here before his tall, lanky frame towers over you, interrupting your grief so suddenly that you find yourself livid.

You furiously swipe the tears from your cheeks, knowing your makeup is smearing but not having the energy or wherewithal to care. “Do you mind? I came here to get away from other people,” you snap.

Even in the darkness, you see how taken aback he is by your anger, his pretty face shifting from surprise to annoyance.

“Is that any way to talk to the guy who brought you to this beautiful place?” Elvis says lightly, but you can hear the edge in his tone. He’s not used to people speaking like that to him, least of all you.

Honestly, you’re not really sure when you last spoke to him at all. Since your strange little embrace on Christmas, he’d taken to avoiding you most of the time, yet again. Coupled with how empty you felt from your miscarriages, the fact that your friend had been so obviously (and seemingly purposefully) absent from your life in the past year was heartbreaking in its own right. It was like a slap in the face on top of your other failures, so far from the unbridled excitement he’d shown when he’d discovered your first pregnancy before anyone else had. So far from the love and care and attention he’d given you before.

You’re not sure you really understood how much it bothered you until this very moment. His sudden entitlement for attention and gratefulness makes your blood boil.

You pop up off the sand, pushing your windblown hair out of your face. “Oh, yes, how sorry I am that not every one of my thoughts is about your stunning generosity, your majesty,” you say sarcastically, viciously, before turning to stomp down the beach away from him. You’ve never, ever spoken to him this way, to anyone this way, but the darkness of your sorrow has flared into something else entirely, this blistering anger threatening to swallow you whole and take Elvis with you.

“Excuse me?” he says indignantly, grasping your arm and whipping you back to face him. His eyes flash in the darkness, both in confusion and with warning.

“Don’t touch me!” you spit, ripping your arm out of his grasp.

“What has gotten into you? What the hell did I do?” he shouts, his voice raising over the surf.

“Not everything is about you, Elvis!” you scream back at him.

For a second, it looks as if you’ve slapped him across the face, with the way his eyes widen in surprise.

You pause for a moment, breath heaving, before continuing. “And since when do you even care what’s going on with me?”

 “W-What are ya talkin’ about? O-Of course I care! I-I-I brought ya on this trip, d-d-didn’t I?” The emotions fly over his features so quickly it makes it too hard to discern what he’s thinking, but his stutter belies his frustration.

“You’ve barely talked to me in a year, Elvis. Can’t imagine why I’d think you care,” you scoff.

His eyes go dark, then blank, that Hollywood mask of his sliding over his features. “You’re nuts! You’re just bein’ crazy…” he starts, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I must be. I must be crazy thinkin’ my friend might give me the time of day after…everything that’s happened,” you hiss back.

Elvis blinks, his long lashes fanning over his cheekbones. You don’t know if he’s finally done the math in his head, figuring out that you nearly died and lost your baby almost exactly a year ago. Or maybe, like he’d somehow known you were pregnant the first time, he gleans some supernatural understanding of what might be happening with you now. Either way, his gaze softens dramatically.

“Oh, honey,” he says, “I didn’t—”

Yeah, you didn’t, you think bitterly. He didn’t do a lot of things. He wasn’t even there after you almost died. But you suppose being a star of his caliber didn’t leave him much time to slum it with you, not anymore. And why would he want to? Not when you’ve been depressed and have already failed at the one thing you felt you were created to do as a woman.

“Just leave me alone, E. You’ve gotten good at that,” you mutter, angry tears filling your eyes, turning away from him to stare out into the churning waves.

You can’t look at him. But you feel the heat of his eyes, nonetheless.

“Don’t do that, y/n,” he says quietly.

“Don’t do what? Speak the truth?”

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about,” he growls.

He doesn’t get to be angry. Not about this.

“No, you don’t know, Elvis. You have no idea what it’s been like, you couldn’t. And you haven’t even tried…” you trail off, shaking your head.

You know that’s a lie. Whatever had happened between you on Christmas had been something, as much as you’d tried to deny it and forget his strange behavior. Perhaps that had been him trying.

Suddenly, more than anything, you want him to pull you into his arms like he did that night three months ago. You want him to comfort you and let you sob against his chest, to inhale the distinct scent of him as the heat of his lean body presses into yours. You want the desperate tension that is climbing between you to shatter you and make you forget that the past year had ever happened.

But instead of drawing you close, you watch him put distance between you. You feel as he fortifies that invisible wall he’s built between you this past year. It’s only in the depths of his churning cobalt eyes that you see something akin to apology, along with something deeper that neither of you truly wants to unpack.

Then, Elvis shutters that churning away, his fist clenching and unclenching in time with his jaw. “Yeah, I guess not. I’ll leave ya alone, then.” And he turns and walks away.

Oh god. You feel as though you’ve been hit in the chest, pain radiating inexplicably through your torso, the claws of his dismissal ripping through your insides. You don’t know why. You wanted him to go, and he went.

You sink down into the sand, fresh tears pooling in your eyes, and you wish more than anything that the ocean would just swallow you whole.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211  @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy  @amiets2  @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals  

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch  @tattywood 

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva 

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06 @xhannahbananax03 @artlover8992

@18lkpeters @frozenhuntress67 @girlblogger2002 @kendralavon7 @elvisgf @misspresley @ohjustpeachyachy1 @whositmcwhatsit @be-my-ally @precious-little-scoundrellittle-scoundrel @vintageshannygeshanny @from-memphis-with-lovephis-with-love @prompted-wordsmithmith @ellie-2424 @thatbanditqueennditqueen @stylespresleyhearted  @elv1s-is-pretty @crash-and-cure

#prompt game #pink scarf #Moonlight: A Pink Scarf Universe Story #💗🧣💗 #A Pink Scarf Universe Story #Moonlight #elvis presley #elvis #if you’re looking for trouble #you came to the right place #elvis x reader #elvis presley x reader #austin butler elvis #elvis 2022 #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis imagine #elvis imagine #elvis smut #elvis x you #missmaywemeetagain #madisyn may #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #bad girls club #tw: miscarriage

[pavo-ocxllus]

❝ 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞! ❞

𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡… you're on the kiss cam with some of the genshin boys! 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠…  tighnari x gn!reader (ft. collei!), shikonin heizou x reader, gn!cyno x reader 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠… no established relationship, modern!au where anthropomorphic people exist because for some reason i refuse to believe in a reality where tighnari doesn’t have his ears, 2.5k words (seperately, tighnari: 0.8k; heizou: 0.7k, cyno: 1k) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬… typed in lowercase as a stylistic choice, idk a kiss-cam, heizou is a piece of dook-dook, probably messy writing on cyno’s, also he might be ooc whoops- 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐭… let's hope this actually shows up in the tags this time take two lol (also i’m super sorry abt neglecting event asks!! i can’t promise i’ll get to them asap, but i’ll try to get them done!!) ALSO, incredibly off topic—y’all don’t know how happy i am for cyno’s va (alejandro saab)!! i’ve been following him ever since his mystreet and yandere simulator days so it's great to see him get such a role!

𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢. ･ﾟ: *. — 𝐯𝐮𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐳𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐚.

TIGHNARI definitely expected collei to be so excited during a sports event.

"wow... it's so crowded here!" she exclaimed, excitedly shaking her head in one direction after another. simply hearing her voice was enough to sense the golden sparkles hovering inside of her amethyst-colored eyes. truth be told, she wasn't used to being in the same vicinity as so many people. though eleazar was not contagious, it was always a concern for tighnari that collei wouldn't be getting proper rest or enough medicine to last for the duration of a game.

however, the archons sent an angel from above for collei in the form of you, who somehow managed to guilt trip the forest watcher into bringing her to the sports stadium nearby so she could be a quote-unquote "normal teenager," even going as far as to invite him along with you two.

he certainly did his best to refrain from acting too overbearing, and he succeeded—at least verbally.

spotting him checking collei's bag yet again after five minutes to see if she still has enough of her prescription, you quickly swatted his hand away, causing a small yelp of pain to escape from tighnari's mouth. if collei wasn't so busy 'oohing' and 'ahhing' she'd probably attempt to stifle a laugh.

"you really have to relax, 'nari," he scoffs at the nickname, but it secretly makes his heart skip a beat. "see, collei here as every reason to be anxious, however..."

you jabbed a finger at his chest, smirking. "you don't."

slightly confused to see you settle back into your seat after your gesture, he sighed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms and legs. "what, is it illegal to care about collei now?"

you frowned a bit at his retort. "no... but now that you're here, you'll might as well enjoy yourself, right? she definitely is."

tighnari looked to his left, where collei was animatedly joining the cheering spectators. it was obvious she had no clue what was going on much less know what team to root for, but seeing her being completely fine made him physically relax. 

it seems as though he made himself so comfortable that he didn't even clock the sudden placement of a gentle, warm weight on top of his hand. 

"c'mon~ please? for me?"

tighnari liked to think he was better than this petty form of persuasion. when it came to you though, it seems to be a different case. shaking his head, he nodded before you lifted your hand from his (an unexpected chill ran through his arm after that), clasping your hands together in glee. 

it would've been a sweet moment, him staring into your eyes while you did the same in return for a few seconds, if it weren't for the blaring buzzing sound filling the stadium, ruining it all.

"oh, that must be half-time!" you exclaimed, shooting upwards from your spot, being sure to take your belongings with you so they would slip off from those foldable chairs. "i'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick-"

"[name], master, look!!" collei was quick to interrupt your sentence. usually, tighnari would scold the girl for cutting into people's sentences, but seeing as she was pointing rather aggressively, he believed it was worth looking into. or in this case, up.

and there were him and you—front and center of the jumbo screen attached to the vaulted, steel ceiling above with a plethora of digital hearts and kiss stains floating everywhere. he didn't even need to read the bold letters spelling out 'KISS-CAM" to figure out what was going on.

just his luck, right? he got what he wanted—to stare into those big, colored eyes of yours—but unfortunately not in the way he would've preferred. glancing back at you, he was met with unabashed shock not towards him, but to the screen above.

tighnari knew how these little games they played during intermissions work. try to ignore it, and they'll move on with someone else only to come right back at the two of you, similar to the physics of collei's boomerang. it's best that they get this over with before further public humiliation ensues, after all. 

slowly, he leaned in to press his lips against your cheek for a second or two before pulling back. takes the least amount of time and best of all, is the least awkward. a win-win, right?

well, as fate would have it, you seemed to notice just in time, jolting your head towards tighnari so fast he didn't have time to register something soft grazing over his lips.

wait... what?

he was quick to pull away, completely aghast at the sudden feeling, you mirroring the exact same emotions. he was too focused at everything going inside of him that it took him a while to snap out of his shocked state, darting his multi-colored eyes away from you and looking into the peripheral of his vision to find that the kiss cam has moved on to some other unsuspecting people that were actually romantically involved with each other.

tighnari glanced upon you once more, only to find you still stubbornly standing there—looking like you just wanted to sink in the floor right now. for some reason, he could only muster up a slight smile tugging upon his lips.

“the bathroom...?”

“oh, right!”

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐳𝐨𝐮. ･ﾟ: *. — 𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫.

as much as you enjoyed HEIZOU’S company, you really, really hate sitting next to him right now.

“pfft- hey [name], look-” he barely managed to carry out his sentence before combusting into laughter, shoving his phone into your face to show off the latest unappealing, oddly good-quality photo he took of one of the players tens of feet below them zoomed in, most likely a face they made during a collision or accident of some sort. it was quite strange, yet fascinating, how he managed to take some of these pictures spot on but somehow always makes them blurry when you convince him to take a cute one of you.

“not now, heizou!!” you groaned, trying your best to the device away from your view (much to your dismay, he has a stubbornly, sturdy arm strength), eventually settling on attempting to peek away from the screen (unfortunately, he was just as swift as he was strong. isn’t there anything he isn’t good at?!)

though it was barely 30 minutes into the game, the atmosphere was quite tense as the crowd of viewers (with the exception of heizou) excitedly watched in bated breath as players perform at their best, or at least near it. really, even if you weren’t a fan of the sport, you can see why everybody was so invested in it, both emotionally and financially. as they zoomed pass, in the midst of the cheers and the heat of sweaty athletes hard at work, it couldn’t help but add further on to the atmosphere. 

at the sight of your intrigued facial expression, he couldn’t help but soften his face, letting a brief moment of... honestly, he didn’t even know what wash over him. weakness? relaxation? who cares? he certainly didn’t. 

his outstretched arm bended at his elbow, while the grip on his phone loosened. the young maroon-haired man didn’t even clock the fact that he repositioned his arm so he could rest his cheek at the palm of his hand—well, the cool glass screen from his cell phone. 

almost immediately, he remembered to keep his guard up, quickly shifting into his usual menace of an attitude. 

your focus on the game almost managed to let the snap of heizou’s camera go unnoticed. keyword: almost. 

“ha, talk about a total nerd,” heizou commented teasingly as he took a picture that you’re absolutely going to complain about later, despite the fact that if anything, he was definitely the ‘nerd’ out of the two of you.

“wha- don’t do that!” you exclaimed, completely disregarding the fact you were going to start a scene and plunging into the detective’s obvious trap.

he only smirked, reaching out his arm to violate some poor person’s personal space just out of your hands, resulting in you placing a hand on his chest to keep yourself up an attempt to retrieve his phone, delving further and further into embarrassing yourself later: which at this point, it doesn’t seem you even care.

lost in his thinly veiled bullying, the two of you didn’t even notice the loud ‘BUZZ’ filling the stadium, and the subsequent camera operators aiming the infamous kiss-cam at the two of you. of course, his renowned intuition already led him to believe this going happen, going as far as to expect you two were going to be the first ones on the gigantic screen above.

“fine, you want my phone so bad, but i want you do to do a little favor for me, yeah?” you quirked your eyebrow in brief confusion, only to be quickly cut off by the detective propping himself up and closed in on your lips. really, to him, it was like everything was setting off at once through the kiss, only to end so abruptly as he pulled away, his green eyes meeting your almost stupefied appearance.

heizou wasn’t the one to overly focus on a single moment in time—it was a habit that a detective had to develop in order to watch the big picture. however, he couldn’t help but try to justify it in his mind; making a whole other picture. it felt like the burst of fireworks illuminating in the dark sky, shining brighter than the stars. in reality, the “fireworks” were just the people around them erupting in whistles and screams, yet it didn’t make it feel any less magical. 

eventually, he pulled away, viridescent eyes gazing upon your reaction, only smirking as he tossed his phone at you like it was nothing, completely disregarding the red pinching his cheeks. he was a man of his word, after all.

𝐜𝐲𝐧𝐨. ･ﾟ: *. — 𝐥𝐮𝐩𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐮𝐬.

this was one of the most idiotic activities CYNO had the pleasure of participating in, not that it was reflected in his rather crossed expression and his current thoughts at the moment.

“one more! one more!” you repeated as the silver-haired man rolled his vermillion eyes, shaking his head. for a few seconds, he glanced down upon the arena below looking at the players dashing all over the place. it was as if you’d blink, they’ll be doing something completely different all of a sudden. really, he wasn’t the one for sports, but even he can acknowledge the event was significantly more interesting than whatever the hell you wanted to do.

not even bothering to do anything else to display his annoyance, he fetched a piece of crackerjack in your direction. apparently, his attention wasn’t so detached from your frivolous games that he watched as it successfully made it into your mouth with a bit of shifting around on your part. nevertheless, even after exerting so much effort in a rather easy toss (at least, in his point of view), you still cheered in victory, even though the section the two of you were seated in wasn’t particularly rowdy.

somewhat surprised that you didn’t show any embarrassment as any usual person would after the sudden outburst, he observed as you sat down back in your seat, finally not obstructing the view from the poor spectators behind the both of you (well, with cyno’s hat, it wasn’t like he was better).

“are you done?” he inquired. though this was simply an innocent question, some of the people encompassing the two of you looked as though a chill ran down their spines just how vexed he seemed through his voice. cyno passed the nearly-empty bucket of crackerjack to you—it was barely the end of the first half, yet with the incriminating food all over the floor, it didn’t exactly take a detective to solve the case of the missing game snacks.

“mhmm!”

“that’s good,” the mahamatra sighs, hoisting up his elbow to rest on his knee, his chin perching on the palm of his hand as he decided to gaze upon the match below. “why are you so invested in me flinging food at you instead of the game? it is what we’re here for, isn’t it?”

the joy in your face slowly faded away, being replaced by a slight frown as you sighed, mirroring his actions not too long after. 

“well, yeah... but i want to hang out with you.”

unbeknownst to you, cyno widened his eyes a bit, not knowing how to process such a small bit of information. of course, questions aside, (such as, if you really wanted to hang out with him, why take him to a place where his attention should most definitely be directed somewhere else?) it wasn’t very often that he was invited out to places unless it was from particularly plucky students attempting to kiss up to him when they were attempting to cover up academic misconduct. 

sure, the two of you could be considered close, depending on your definition of the word. regardless, he wasn’t under the impression that you and he were close enough that you’d go out of your way to spend time with him. 

he wasn’t sure as to why, but the thought was enough to make his heart flutter.

deeply exhaling, as if suddenly contemplating if he really wanted to go through with this, it managed to catch your attention enough to shake your head towards his direction.

“fork some over, yeah?”

“huh?”

“toss some,” he answered, simply gesturing to the bucket of snacks in your grasp. though, it didn’t stop you from looking at him in shocked glee.

apparently, the silver-haired young man registered it as confusion, so, without prior warning, he latched on to your wrist, then proceeded to direct you into grabbing a piece of crackerjack and throwing it across a short distance so it would pop into his mouth with ease.

“like that.”

unfortunately, the short distance also represented the space between the two of you; given your current seating arrangements, being so close to cyno as you are right now seemed impossible mere seconds before. satisfied with his small fill and leaving you with an empty paper bucket, he set his eyes on the field below once more, slightly perplexed when there wasn’t anything going on. 

meanwhile, slightly upset at the fact that the mahamatra had stolen your last pieces of food, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit flustered after glancing up towards the ceiling for a change of scenery.

distracted over trying to figure out the whereabouts of the players from earlier, the kiss-cam from above was fixed squarely on you two, and you swore you could hear cries from the distant crowd trying to grab cyno’s attention (in addition to the not-so-subtle neighboring onlookers practically yelling at him.)

paying no mind to his incredible willpower to resist the masses (or complete social unawareness), you started to feel frustrated with the pressure around the two of you. it wasn’t exactly the end of the world, of course—but a little bit of you doesn’t want to admit that you really, really needed an excuse to act on your feelings.

much like cyno’s nonexistent attempt to alert you of what he was planning on doing, you grabbed the collar of his button-up shirt and smashed your lips on top of his. as quick as it came, you let go almost instantly, the slight taste of crackerjack still fresh in your mouth.

letting out a quick breath in relief that the kiss cam decided to go away from the two of you, you subconsciously turned away from the young man, placing your hands on top of your face. you went to overlook the floor below you, cringing at your actions. what the hell was wrong with you?! sure, in some aspects, maybe you weren’t exactly the god of wisdom herself, but surely you have enough intelligence to know that you can’t just kiss people out of the blue!

yet that just raises a question... what if he wanted that?

it was a stupid idea. idiotic, even. however, there was a burning, aching desire to discover if that was the case, to the point you decided to ignore the personal repercussions to your emotional well-being.

so, peaking out from in between your fingers to gauge cyno’s reaction, you’re surprised to find a small smile creeping up his lips as he continued to watch the empty field.

𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 <𝟑

#tighnari x reader #cyno x reader #shikanoin heizou x reader #heizou x reader #cyno x y/n #tighnari x you #tighnari x y/n #heizou x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x gender neutral reader #shikanoin heizou #heizou #cyno #tighnari #𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞.! #𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞.! #pls show up in the tags #i'm begging you pls pls pls

[moriiartist]

‧₊ 001 | GO FOR IT

SERIES SUMMARY: The warmth of June has swept over North America, and with it, summer break. Fresh out of college and armed with a blinding lack of direction for the future, you decide there’s no better place to be than Camp Hermity, a remote summer camp in the shadow of Mount. Noxite. Can you find your life’s goal here, with your campers and fellow staff? Can you even handle your campers? And… why are the rest of the counselors so attractive?

Masterlist

Taglist

SUMMARY: A long drive, a first meeting, and a dawning realization that this will be your life for the next three weeks.

WARNINGS: Nudity mention (as in nudist camp), Mild language, there’s a wasp in there for like 5 seconds

A/N: Since I’ve been kinda having to get back into the groove of writing, the process of making this was rough. But, now I’m actually pretty happy with it! I hope y’all enjoy, and don’t remember to check out the Google form below if you want to influence the story ;)

Ever since you had gotten it for your seventeenth birthday you had always likened your old Jeep to some sleepy great cat. It never seemed to start just right, sometimes taking you several tries to get it coughing to life. If you didn’t know it was an inanimate object, you would’ve thought that it was put upon by having to actually fulfill its purpose, preferring to be left to collect dust, sitting in a random parking structure. It certainly seemed like a cat now, the purr of its engine vibrating through the hood and into your legs as you wound your way through the meandering mountain roads. 

The tinny sound of the radio was your only company within the car, but you certainly weren’t complaining as you hummed along to the classic rock spewing out of your speakers. Or- speaker, singular. The Jeep was supposed to have two, but after a certain unfortunate incident featuring some poor decision-making and a pack of Redbull, the one built into the console was the only thing that was left working.

Something about long drives had always been therapeutic to you. Perhaps it was memories of spontaneous road trips with your friends, echoes of laughter as they talked or fought amongst themselves for snacks whispering against the shell of your ear. Maybe it was the meditative calm that settled over you as you allowed yourself to slip into the familiar motions of the vehicle around you.

Sighing, you took a hand off the wheel to roll down the window an inch or two, allowing the wind to caress your face and play gently with your hair. Privately, you grinned, feeling an odd mix of anticipation and excitement stir in your gut.

Summer had come, and with it, new life.

Flowers burst and bloomed into glory, turning their delicate faces to the light.  A laughing breeze swept through the valley, rousing cardinals and goldfinches from their nests and sending bright wings racing through the treetops. 

The air was filled with the gentle sounds of wildlife as they called out to one another, the chirping of the birds, the singing of the insects, the gentle pull and sway of the conifers. Every breath was filled with the sharp sticky-ness of pine sap and the spicy smell of decaying leaf litter, a myriad of scents both familiar and foreign.

Overhead, the sun perched high in the sky over the mountain range, chasing the clouds in an endless race towards the horizon line. It had long since burned through the fog that blanketed the mountain foot in early morning, casting away the gloom and imbuing everything it touched with decadent irreverence.

If you were being honest, applying for a job at a summer camp was probably the last thing you would ever think to do. You had thought your babysitting days and time volunteering to chaperone kids at whatever school event were far behind you, what with finally enrolling in college and being focused on your degree.

Of course, that wasn’t to say you hated children. No- sometimes they could be really, really fun. You were just never able to imagine yourself in a profession like that, having to corral some twenty-or-so miniature bundles of chaos while simultaneously being subjected to little grubby hands and seemingly endless reservoirs of questions. It wasn’t you, but it seems that it’s true what they say: desperate times, desperate measures.

You weren’t proud of it, but the first time you had overheard your dormmates talking about Camp Hermity, you thought it was some kind of weird nudist art commune. Which was weird, because why would college students be concerned with those kinds of things?

Never mind. Don’t answer that.

The burn of embarrassment when you finally learned that it was a summer camp of all things was nearly enough to consume you whole; that is, if you hadn’t been immediately curious about it. Since you had moved nearly halfway across the country to attend college, you had been fascinated with the local culture. Everything from student life to the dynamics of the sprawling town that had popped up around it was so, so different from home, and you found yourself craving the sense of home that the locals had.

You remember how one of your friends had laughed when you brought it up, their face setting alight with a wistful sort of fondness. They had grinned at you, patting your shoulder and expressing their sympathies that you had never had the opportunity to go.

“That place had to have at least a little bit of magic in it,” they had mused, eyes glossy and glazed over. It was like they were looking through you, at something time had tinted rose. 

“Nobody I ever knew came back the same after they had spent a summer at camp. It was the good kind of different, y’know? The kind that makes you remember to smile.”

It might’ve been the way that they had spoken about it, or the nostalgia that dripped from every word, but it had found a permanent place in your memory- more permanent than anything you had actually learned in college. Maybe that was why you were here, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, driving on cracked asphalt that had seen better days, going to a place where getting abducted by aliens was more plausible than getting a cell signal.

Still, despite your uncertainty, despite whatever reservations you might’ve had, you were calm as you finally pulled into a weedy gravel lane- more of a cut through than any established roadway. Your car lurched forwards as your front tires sunk onto loose rock, and you clutched your steering wheel until your knuckles ached, cursing softly under your breath.

Logically, you knew that it was fine. Your father didn’t buy you a Jeep for nothing. You were his little adventurer, a child who would disappear the moment anyone took their eyes off you, only for you to be halfway to Antarctica by the time they turned back, no matter if they’d been distracted for a minute or only a second. He had always told you that somehow, some way, you were going to stray into rough terrain at some point in your life. That didn’t mean it made you any less nervous as the car protested beneath where your feet rested on the pedals, and you winced apologetically.

“Sorry baby,” you murmured to yourself, drumming anxious fingers against the wheel. “We’re almost there. Don’t stall on me.”

Thick bluffs of spruce and pine trees almost seemed to arch towards you, ushering you deeper into the valley. This was deep, very deep forest, and the sound of your Jeep crunching through gravel echoed through the hushed glen. Stray branches blotted out the sun, dappling light and shadow across the windshield and forced you to squint. 

It wasn’t long before you broke through the trees, left blinking and dazed as the harsh gleam of the sun returned to assault your eyes. The woods parted around you to reveal a large clearing filled with buildings of all shapes and sizes, clustered several yards from where the underbrush began.

For what you thought was a plain, straight-up-the-middle summer camp, the place was genuinely nice.

Rolling fields of strawberry-scented grass blanketed the rolling hills of the campsite, interspersed with clumps of young pine trees and barely-tamed shrubbery. Wildflowers dotted the landscape with minuscule points of buttery yellow, violet, and pristine white. It was hard to see them from your path of travel, and if you squinted just right, you kind of thought they looked like the brushstrokes in a Seurat painting.

The air was tinged with the scent of fresh soil and something more pungent, wet but musky. A quick glance ahead and you soon found the source: the gleam of water through a thin treeline.

Passing under a simple wooden archway, you glanced up to read the sign swaying gently in the breeze. It was simple, but effective: the words ‘Camp Hermity’ stamped across its face in bold font. The letters were visibly worn, chipped with age, but you didn’t have time to truly inspect them before the whole thing was gone and behind you.

Well, if there was any doubt that you had gotten lost, that would’ve put your worries to rest.

Buildings rose up from the earth all around you, growing more and more frequent as you approached a hill that rose above everything else; a hill that you, coincidentally, were headed directly towards.

A log cabin that looked like it had come directly off the pages of The Call of The Wild crowned its peak- the largest of the structures you had seen. It was probably somewhere around three stories tall, standing sentry on top of a hill that overlooked the entire campsite. The afternoon light bathed it in warm orangey-red hues, bringing out the brightness and the wood, and offsetting the slate gray tiles that covered its gabled roof.

A circular driveway carved through the space in front of it, and that was where you decided to park, feeling the rumble of the engine cut out as you pulled the keys from the ignition. You scooted over on your seat, leaning up against the door to open it, but cursed under your breath when you realized you had forgotten to roll the window back up. 

For a moment you hesitated. Did you really need to restart the car and fix it? You were far from any towns, and you weren’t dumb enough to pack any valuables that wouldn’t be on your person throughout this entire venture. 

Glancing up for a moment, your eyes caught on a massive wasp that was currently making itself at home on your mounted side mirror, crawling up and over the casing like it owned the place. After a moment, it seemed to lose interest, and it flitted back off into whatever hellhole it had crawled out from, buzzing lazily through the air without a worry.

Actually, you know what? Screw that.

You didn’t notice the heavy crunch of footsteps outside as you hastily went through the motions of switching the car back on, nor the shadow that passed around your back window as someone carefully looped around the Jeep. It was only when you were already halfway out the door that you noticed anybody was there at all, and you couldn’t help the strangled gasp that tore itself out of your throat, flinching hard at the unexpected sight of the person leaning against your passenger door.

“God-” you started, stumbling a step back as you waited for your heart rate to return to a normal speed. “Dude! You scared the shit out of me!”

He chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re lucky that the kids weren’t around to hear that. What would their parents say if they picked up naughty words like that?”

Mortified, you felt your cheeks heat up, and you unconsciously fanned a hand across the bridge of your nose. “Oh. Uh, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright! None of them will be here until later,” he waved your apology off with ease, pushing himself up into a stand. “Besides, I should be saying sorry to you for the scare. I didn’t mean to.”

He extended a hand. “I’m Xisuma, the unit head.”

The first thing you noticed about Xisuma were the thick callouses that covered his palms and fingers, obviously hardened from years of wear, and how his hand almost engulfed yours as you shook it.

The man himself wasn’t extremely muscular, nowhere near as monstrous as those bodybuilders you’d seen before in magazines and television. No- he much more reminded you of a runner, or a gymnast, with broad shoulders and a slimmer build. Wiry muscles rippled under pale skin as he let go of your hand and stepped back, easily crossing his arms over his chest.

The next thing that caught your attention was his eyes. They were dark blue, almost black, teetering between being engulfed in shadow or sucking up the light around them in an approximation of an event horizon. The longer you looked, the more you thought that you might be ensnared as well.

His face was as rugged as his hands, with dark stubble covering his jawline and cheeks, and heavy eyebrows. His nose was crooked, almost as though it had been broken once or twice, and coated with a light dusting of freckles. If you l squinted, you could see the remnants of old scars littered about his features, faded until they were barely distinguishable from his regular skin tone.

After a moment you managed to tear your gaze away, feeling the air catch in your throat as you let out a sound somewhere between an awkward laugh and a choke.

You hadn’t thought much about what your colleagues would be like, in terms of their looks, but suddenly being faced with the reality… well, damn. Xisuma was surprisingly, unequivocally, objectively hot.

“Ah, well, it’s- it’s nice to meet you,” you tried, grinning a little awkwardly. “I’m one of the counselors?”

Xisuma quirked an eyebrow. “Are you telling me, or are you asking me?”

He laughed at your spluttering, unhooking a clipboard from his side and twirling a pen into his fingers in one smooth, practiced motion. “Alright, I was just messin’ with you. I know who you are, you’re the last person to arrive.”

“Oh.”

You weren’t quite sure how to approach that. On one hand, it was good that he knew that you were actually working there and not, like, a lot tourist or something. On the other, though- he said you were late. Was that a subtle dig? Was he just being blunt? You had never been the best at reading people’s tone, and it was only exacerbated by the fact that you had met him literally less than five minutes ago.

Oblivious to your internal turmoil, Xisuma scribbled something down on his clipboard, glancing up at you every few seconds. His face was unreadable, but there was a noticeable gleam in his eyes- something akin to intrigue.

“Alright,” he said, seemingly finished with whatever he was doing. He slid the clipboard back onto his side, giving you a slight grin. “Let’s get you to the big house. We can check you in, get you your stuff, and tell you all the basics. After that I can help you get your car to one of the designated parking spots for staff.”

“Right. Can’t have random cars blocking the drop-off, I guess.”

He blinked, and for a moment, that inscrutable look crossed his face again. “I knew you were a clever one.”

O-kay. We are just going to ignore whatever that was.

You let Xisuma lead you into the big house. He held the door for you, the wooden steps groaning under your feet as you stepped through and into what you assumed was the lobby. A thick knitted rug took up the majority of the paneled floor, spanning nearly the entire room save for where the front desk.

The counters were covered with papers, pens- all sorts of clutter. A forgotten coffee mug with a chicken on it stood to the side of a computer, which had little origami cranes lined up on top of the monitor. Neon sticky notes screamed for your attention, the handwriting of many different people stark against their surfaces.

Everything screamed that this was a workplace that was lived-in, cherished, and you couldn’t help but relax as you took everything in with a wondering gaze.

“Alright!” Xisuma said, bringing your attention back to him as he rounded the desk and plopped into one of the many office chairs behind it. “Let’s get you set up, shall we?”

Casting one more glance about the room, you wandered closer, propping your arms up on the counter and leaning over so you could peer at the computer screen. Watching his cursor swing around to the sign-in box, a thought suddenly occurred to you.

“Didn’t you say that I was the last one to arrive? Where are the others?”

His gaze darted over to you. “I set them loose, so they’re probably wandering around camp. Hopefully they haven’t destroyed anything, but that’s more of a foolish prayer than anything else. Joe doesn’t get paid enough for all the stuff they break.”

Snorting, you propped your cheek in one hand. “‘Sounds like you know them well.”

“A little too well,” Xisuma sighed, although there was a wry twist to the corner of his mouth. You had to forcibly remind yourself not to stare. “But anyways, I’ve just had a look at your employee file here and it’s all good. You just need to sign these and I can give you the whole spiel.”

He smirked, then. “You’ll meet them soon enough, don’t you worry.”

You took the pen he offered you with a slight smile, your eyes flickering towards the dense pages text that had been printed out for you. Sighing through your nose, you skimmed the paragraphs as carefully as you could. You had been given a digital copy to review as soon as your application had been accepted, just so you had more time to look through it, but you could never be too careful with these kinds of things.

“You’ve worked at a camp before, right?”

Startling slightly at the sudden comment, you blinked up at Xisuma. “Uh, yeah? I was a junior counselor in high school for a couple years.”

He ducked under the table, fumbling with something for a few moments before emerging, his brown hair noticeably messier than it had been before. “Good, that’s- that’s good. Ah… how do you feel like managing an entire cabin by yourself?”

“What.”

Xisuma chuckled awkwardly, pushing a big mass of what you now recognized as a lanyard, clipboard, and binder towards you across the counter. “There were some issues with staffing, so you’re going to have to manage one of the cabin by yourself. I personally don’t think you’d have any trouble with it, based on your track record and the stellar opinion your previous employers had of you…”

He winced at your expression. “But the other counselors would be glad to help out here and there if you needed it!”

You gave him a deadpan stare before signing the papers with a flourish. “Xisuma. X. Ex-eye-sooma. You only thought to tell me that now? Like, right now? On the day of camp starting?”

A snort escaped him, and he pressed a hand to his mouth to hide his smile. The professional facade cracked and melted, giving way to amusement. He softened, though, as he watched how you fidgeted with the corners of the paper in your hands.

“You’re certified in both AED usage and CPR, correct?”

Reluctantly, you nodded.

“You’ve worked with children before, in environments similar to this camp?”

Again, a nod.

“You’re comfortable with handling around twenty children?”

“I mean, I guess?”

Xisuma nodded. “Then I don’t see a problem with this. Besides, I’m fairly certain that most camps have group sizes that are usually larger than sixteen children per cabin. You’ll do fine.”

Grabbing the supplies he had slid forward, you huffed, ignoring the urge to roll your eyes. However, a small spark of relief ignited in your chest, soothing the worries that had been agitated by his admission. This was… fine. This was manageable.

He tilted his head, dark hair shifting over his face. A smile still played on his lips, and his dark gaze gleamed as you slung the lanyard over your neck. There was a softness to his eyes, though- that same curiosity you had glimpsed earlier.

Well, it would be manageable if you would stop having heart palpitations because your unit head literally just looked at you. Seriously- it was kind of getting embarrassing at this point.

“Well, I look forward to working with you,” you tried for a grin, hoping that everything your friend had said about was true, and that you weren’t going to have a life-altering experience of a bad kind.

The heavy weight of Xisuma’s stare seemed to burn right through you. “Likewise. I have the feeling that the next two weeks are going to be very interesting with you around.”

https://forms.gle/v2GvzHcc57DR5KC86 (Response collection ends at 8:00 AM on 6/13!)

@bookmark-anon @shifted-dreams @peanut-is-freed @sina-the-idiot @itsonlydana @redactedsouls @shjdriyy​ @demi-writes-fics​ @massivewaffle

#mori's archive #tw: nudity mention #tw: wasps #tw: bugs

[beingforcedtolivebadwriting]

Okay so listen. This fic wasn’t meant to turn out this deep. It was supposed to be as deep as a puddle on the sidewalk, then all of a sudden I poured my literal soul into this and then BOOM bottom of the Marianas Trench. Anyways I think you guys will like this- PR manager Dean x CW exec Cas who are also dming each other on Tumblr. Lemme know what you think <3333

Don’t Blame Me (E, 19k)

Of course, just as soon as Dean begins plotting the downfall of whoever decided to butcher what should have been the most beautiful and powerful scene of the whole goddamn show, he gets a text message interrupting his contemplation of arson or blackmail.

Castiel Hardass Novak, 9:06 p.m.

→ What is the social media response like?

Oh. Right. He is supposed to be monitoring social media for the response to the confession. Ignoring the fact that the rudest CW exec he’s ever known had to remind him to do his job, he logs onto his primary, and also favourite, social media site to monitor: Tumblr.

#legitimately tho this has gotta be my fav fic so far #makes me happy just thinking about this Jesus Christ #anyways #I hope y’all enjoy this it’s certainly been a trip to write #my writing #seffersonjtarship #chapeldean #donestiel #plantdadcas #tearsofgrace #rambleoncas #casjpg #cowboykait #userstarry #chocolatecakecas #useralison #supernatural #spn #destiel #fanfic #destiel fic #fic rec

[suga-kookiemonster]

this christmas | myg

part of the happy ho-lidays collab with @floralseokjin​ @sugaurora​ @underthejoon​ @winetae​ @btssavedmylifeblr​ and @kpopfanfictrash​!

summary⇢ it's been a while since you've been home for the holidays, but this year, you finally plan on rectifying that. things are going well for you—great job, great friends, and a new boyfriend who you have a pretty great feeling about—and it seems everything in your life is finally slotting into place. but, of course, the past is a relentless specter and the universe always has a way of humbling you. in a ridiculous twist of fate, you soon find yourself stuck in a car with the very reason you have avoided coming back in the first place. pairing⇢ yoongi/reader word count⇢ 30.1k 🥴😭   rating⇢ 18+ genre⇢ smut | exes!au | road trip!au warnings⇢ angst, sexual content, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, fingering, men being assholes, an instance of underage drinking, lots of passive aggressiveness, jimin meaning well, yoongi having absurd amounts of patience and thus being very on brand, phewww does oc really go through it 😭 a/n⇢ *casually strolls in months late, sipping on eggnog* HELLO, FRIENDS 🥴 yeah, so. in true ashley fashion, this fic exploded and sprinted wayyyy past what i thought the word count would be, so now here we are 😭 😭 decking the halls in black history month LMAO! this was truly a labor of love because y’all know i don’t have the patience to write things like this in one go. but here we are!! we made it!!! 😮‍💨 🎶AND THIS CHRISTMASSSSS...WILL BEEEEEE 🎶 🎄❄️✨ of course, the title of this fic is from this holiday classic, but i would say the mood is more this. thank you for being so patient and i hope you enjoy! 😊

The restaurant Jimin chose for lunch somehow manages to straddle the line between upscale and super trendy, every seat surprisingly occupied despite the menu prices being a bit much for the way your bank account is set up.

You frown a bit in thought, curious how they get so much foot traffic during the lunch rush when most people just want something fast and cheap. The restaurant is in a prime downtown location, but you suspect the true reason is the same one that had Jimin so excited to bring you here—the food is reportedly amazing.

Leah’s eyes are kind of round too as she browses the menu. “All I can say is that I’m glad you’re treating,” she tells Jimin lightly. “I’ve been meaning to come here for forever, but I could never get a table.”

“I know a guy,” Jimin dismisses easily with a shake of his head, “and when I heard you guys have never tried their sweet potato fries, I had to take matters into my own hands. That is unacceptable.”

Twelve bucks for a single order of fries seems excessive to you, but not to your friend, apparently. You can tell from the look on his face that he’s completely serious, and you can’t help but smile at his dramatics. It’s one of the things you love about Jimin—he’s friendly and silly and fun, but when it comes to things he’s passionate about, there is no room for games. When you first met him years ago, you noticed right away how sweet and welcoming he was, and while him chatting you up had certainly been a bit off-putting at a 9am meeting before your coffee had even had a chance to hit your bloodstream, you got used to it pretty quickly. Jimin is a definite mood setter, and you have always appreciated that quality in people, especially when in rooms full of pessimists and grumps. It didn’t take very long for him to declare himself your work husband, and the two of you became fast friends.

“Sweet potato fries,” you hum, scanning the menu. “What else is good here?”

Leah clicks her tongue thoughtfully. “I’ve heard the pork belly sandwich is literally orgasmic, so that is what I will be ordering. I need something to spice up my Wednesday.” She doesn’t even attempt to lower her voice, but that’s the reason why the two of you became friends—aside from being smart as a whip, Leah says what she means and means what she says. You really respect that about her, although at this current moment, you wonder if you should worry about her actually getting off in front of everybody in this nice restaurant. “_____, you should get one too.”

“I have no issues in that department, thank you,” you scoff.

“You don’t want a little variety?” Leah teases with a taunting brow. “Give a delicious sandwich a go instead of your hand?”

“Now Lee, that’s not fair,” Jimin smirks, not even bothering to look up from his menu. “You know she has a new plaything.”

“For the last time, his name is Alex,” you huff. “And he’s not a plaything.”

That gets Jimin’s attention—he perks up, excitedly leaning over the table towards you. Hell, even Leah’s looking at you now. Fortunately for you, your waitress chooses this exact moment to come over and take your orders, so you have a few more seconds to prepare yourself for the third degree you know is coming.

The conversation has distracted you from properly scoping out your choices, so, not wanting to waste the waitress’s time, you simply order the pork belly sandwich with sweet potato fries. Your friends quickly order the same.

“Not a plaything?” Jimin demands, focus whipping back to you the moment your waitress’s back is turned. “What does that mean? Is this one getting serious?”

You’re not offended by your friends’ surprise. A little sheepish that it has come to this, but not offended. You don’t blame them, really—in the years you’ve known them, you’ve never really kept the same guy around for very long. Leah in particular has always encouraged your rather nomadic dating style, seeing nothing wrong with you having fun and playing the field.

But shuffling through men like playing cards has never been your intention. From the outside in, it certainly may look like you’ve been happily flitting about, carefree. But the truth?

Nothing in these past few years has ever felt quite right.

So you just kept trying. Hell, you’re not proud to admit it, but you had even scoped out Jimin when you first met him, strategically just happening to be printing something or getting more coffee at the same times he was. (The universe shut that down for you real quick. One casual mention of his long-term boyfriend and you realized you were barking up the wrong tree. And honestly? It was all for the best.)

But are things getting serious with Alex? “…Maybe,” you carefully answer Jimin. Because you don’t want to jinx it, but if nothing else, things with Alex have seemed different than your other fleeting dalliances. You’ve actually been consistently seeing each other for three whole months now, and that’s the longest you’ve been with someone since—

Since.

“Wait,” Leah gasps. “You guys have talked about being exclusive?”

“Not exactly,” you admit. “But if we’re not at work, we’re with each other, so I don’t think he’s seeing anyone else. And I took a chance and invited him to come home with me for Christmas, and he seems excited to go.”

You don’t miss the look your friends shoot each other, and you steel yourself for your bubble to be burst. But to your surprise, they’re both uncharacteristically silent for a moment before Jimin simply lets out a low whistle. “Damn, meeting the parents.”

“He would have met my family already if we lived in the same city,” you reason, trying not to sound defensive. Trying not to be defensive.

“The holidays are a big step though.” There is a slight furrow to his brow. Is he judging? You can’t tell if he’s judging.

Even though your hackles are threatening to rise, you truly do appreciate your friends’ skepticism. It’s not like you don’t have the same concerns. You’re not proud of some of the choices you’ve made in the past few years, and you’re rightfully wary about the fact that things with Alex have been going so well.

But at the end of the day, life is a journey that sometimes has you lost in the weeds. Still, this time, you really think you may finally be navigating back to the right path. And so you’d rather not overthink it.

More quickly than you expect, your food arrives. “Three pork belly sandwiches,” your waitress chirps, easily distributing plates from her expertly balanced tray. “Let me know if I can get you guys anything else!”

The three of you dig in immediately, hungry and cognizant of the time restraints of your lunch break. Unsurprisingly, you find everything lives up to the hype.

“Oh my god,” Leah moans, mouth full of meat. You really hope she was joking about the orgasm thing, because that might make for a pretty awkward meal.

Jimin smiles from ear to ear, looking between the two of you so he doesn’t miss any of your reactions. “Right? Isn’t that the best pork belly you’ve ever had?”

It’s not. It’s amazing, for sure, but you can’t help but remember you’ve had better.

Leah moans again in agreement. You hum noncommittally, refusing to acknowledge the memory dangerously whispering from the corner of your mind.  

“So.” Jimin smirks, leaning conspiratorially towards you again. “Tell us more about Not-a-plaything-Alex.”

Your eyes narrow, unamused. “I’m not really sure what you want me to say—I’ve literally been telling you about him for months.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, but I wasn’t really listening. But now that I know he’s important, that changes everything.”

“…Really, Jimin?” you deadpan, turning to Leah in your indignation, but only find her sheepishly avoiding eye contact and stuffing a fry in her mouth. “Are you guys being serious right now?”

Leah holds up her hands placatingly. “Okay, but in my defense, I didn’t know if this one would stick!” A twinge of hurt goes through you at her laugh, but you push it down. “We haven’t even met him yet. But if you think this one’s a keeper, I’d love to. Gotta see if the lucky bastard who’s won my girl’s heart is good enough.”

Your lips quirk. “Maybe after the holidays. Remember, I’m going to be working from home through most of January.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. That’s a long time,” Jimin mused.

“I haven’t been back home in a while,” you admit. Your friends share another knowing look, but you pretend not to see. “I’ve had short visits, but it’s been a few years since I’ve actually been back for the holidays. Christmas is such a big deal in my town that I figured I’d just stay a little longer.” Plus, you were extremely guilty when you saw just how excited your mother got when you told her you were thinking of coming home this year. You didn’t have it in you to make excuses again when you know how much it means to her. It’s time.

“Aw, that’s really nice,” Leah smiles. “I’m glad you and your family will be able to spend some time together.”

“Yeah, hopefully we don’t end up driving each other crazy.” You take a sip of your water. “I love my family, but when we all get together for long periods of time, sometimes we get on each other’s nerves.”

“That’s why me and Joon are just gonna drop by both of our families this year,” Jimin says with a knowing nod. “It’s harder for them to trap you if you have multiple houses to get to. We did the same thing on Thanksgiving and it worked like a charm.”

“Well, I’m driving in, so if it gets too bad, I can just leave,” you laugh. Because that’s definitely a joke. The drama that would result from you dipping out early wouldn’t be worth the couple hours of short-lived peace. “Besides, since Alex is coming, I’m sure my family will keep their dramatics to a minimum.”

“That’s exciting,” Jimin says, and you can tell he means it. You can tell both of your friends are being sincere, despite their caution.

“Yeah. We’re happy for you, _____,” Leah says softly. “Because you seem happy.”

And she’s right. You are, and you haven’t truly been in a while.  

“Thanks, babe.” You give her knee a squeeze, clearing your throat. “Anyway, I would just like to point out for the record that, while delicious, there has been zero stirring in my nether regions, and I was promised a much different experience.”

“She’s just been spoiled by the not-a-plaything plaything,” Jimin says dismissively.

“Yup.” Leah pops the p, takes another bite. “Because I’m having a great time.”

You pull a face. “Please don’t.”

After lunch, the three of you head back to the office. Leah technically works for a different company, so she leaves the elevator a few floors before you and Jimin do, waving a lax hand at you as she departs. (It’s not really a goodbye, though. The holidays being so near means that everyone is pretty much coasting until their supervisor overlords deem it time to free them, so you know she’s probably going to use her precious procrastination time to send something weird and or scandalous to your groupchat later this afternoon.) You and Jimin exit on your floor and separate to return to your respective desks in your respective departments.

You’re full, almost uncomfortably so, so you can barely focus on your emails, too busy digesting to really act on anything pressing. You decide instead to use the professional breathing room the holidays provide to work on an ongoing project that always gets pushed to the bottom of your to-do list.

It’s when you’re a couple hours into this task that you finally get interrupted.  

“Hey.”

You hum in acknowledgement at the familiar voice, but you don’t look up right away, in the final leg of balancing a spreadsheet and not wanting to get distracted in the middle of typing a formula. It’s only when you confirm that everything looks as it should that you turn around. Jimin is leaning comfortably against the wall of your cubicle, seemingly in no hurry to get back to his own area.

“What’s up?” you ask, curious why he didn’t just email or chat you.

“You’re from Northdale, right?” he asks thoughtfully.

You pause a bit in confusion, wondering where he’s going with this. “Yeah.”

His face lights up. “That’s what I thought! Wow, crazy small world. Listen, I have another friend from Northdale who decided last minute to go home for the holidays, but because he waited so long, the flight prices are ridiculous now. Would you and Alex be willing to let him ride with you?”

“Alex is actually going to meet me down there,” you say, biting your lip in thought. “He still has to work for a couple more days later than I wanted to wait.”

“Oh.” Jimin blinks a bit at this news. “Well, even better, because you shouldn’t have to make that drive alone. He said he’d be more than happy to pay you.”

“Have I met him before?” you ask curiously. You’ve been out clubbing with some of Jimin’s friends before, and they’re all delightful. If anything, it would be a nice switch up to the hours of mindless driving you have planned.

Jimin looks to the ceiling in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

Hmm. You’re a little more wary about being stuck in the car with a stranger for six hours, let alone a strange man. But Jimin is a good guy, and you know he would never associate with any psychopath murderers, much less put them in a car with you. Unless he’s still mad about you eating his donut last week, that is.

Jimin holds up his hands reassuringly, as if reading your mind. “He’s cool, I promise! He’s a generally quiet guy who I am 99% sure will just sleep the whole way.”

Well, that detail certainly sweetens the pot. Get paid to go where you’re going anyway, and not even have to entertain anyone in exchange? Sounds like a no-brainer to you. Still, you want to be sure to confirm the logistics before you promise anything. “He’d probably have to find a way back here,” you point out. “You know I’m gonna be there well after New Year’s.”

“He only mentioned needing a ride there, so he must already have a way back,” Jimin continues. “But hey, seriously. Don’t worry about it if this is something you’re not interested in. Just thought I’d ask because it seemed like a win-win situation for both of you!”

“Yeah,” you agree slowly, still considering the situation from all angles.

“Besides,” Jimin continues, “you know I would never suggest it if I thought he was dangerous or obnoxious or liable to snore or anything like that.” His head tilts in thought. “I think the two of you would get along really well, actually. Same humor.”

Oh, what the hell. Might as well make some easy money—you did go a little overboard with buying presents this year. “Well in that case,” you shrug, “send me his address—tell him I can pick him up tomorrow at 9am. I’m trying to beat traffic out of the city.”

“Perfect! I’ll have Joon send you his number,” Jimin winks.

“Thanks.” You eye him warily, suddenly suspicious that this might be a setup. Jimin has always enjoyed dropping eligible bachelors in your lap, but it’s been a while since he’s done so. Plus, now that you’ve told him your situation with Alex is moving in a more serious direction, it’s probably more likely that he’s winking simply because he’s Jimin and an incorrigible flirt. (It’s been years, but Jimin still loves to tease you about your previous, doomed crush on him. Even though you’ve long since mentally cemented him in the friend category, you still have eyes. Jimin is handsome and he knows it and he loves to use all of this knowledge to periodically fluster you because he loves the attention.)

But if your friend clocks your suspicion, he doesn’t say anything. He simply waggles his fingers at you and meanders back to his desk.

Even though it was ultimately your decision to leave so early, it doesn’t make it any easier when your alarm drags you, kicking and screaming, back into consciousness. Your hatred for packing means that, as per usual, you put it off until you had absolutely no choice but to do so. (Which, of course, translates to the night before, after you had eaten dinner and watched some tv and taken a shower and were good and ready to go to bed.) As a result, you were up until well after 1am, cranky about your procrastinating ways and how you were now forced to sort through your belongings and choose a month’s worth of necessities at ass o’ clock at night.

Never a morning person in general and your current sleep-deprived state now making you even less so, you know the only way you’re going to survive your upcoming journey is good old fashioned caffeine. (Preferably injected straight into your veins, but since you doubt you can find someone willing and able to do so on such short notice, you guess coffee will have to do.) You scroll your phone as you start your morning routine, searching for the number Namjoon provided you with the day before.

You reached out last night, simply asking for his address so you can swing by to get him, but now you have other plans, awkwardly typing out a text with one hand as you brush your teeth.  

[8:04] Hey, it’s _____, your ride for today! I feel like literal death rn, so I’m going to need some coffee. Do you mind meeting me at that cafe on 2nd?

[8:05] We can leave from there!

To your surprise, you see the little text bubble pop up right away, the hovering gray dots clueing you in that he’s typing. Looks like he is much more of an early bird than you. God, you hope Jimin’s prediction that he’ll be quiet the whole drive comes true, cause you are nowhere near being in the mood to be fake friendly right now.

[8:05] 🚘 Sounds like a plan. I was up late working last night, so I’m probably worse off than you

[8:05] 🚘 Was actually just about to run out and get us some, so that works out. I’ll meet you there!

Us? Wow, that’s super thoughtful of him. Maybe you’re being a little too judgmental of this stranger you know absolutely nothing about. Well, nothing except the fact that you have the same humor as him, apparently. You’ve always been a rather wary person, but sleep deprivation is definitely loosening the reins on your inner bitch.

“Let me hurry up and get this coffee so I can turn into more of a decent person,” you mutter to yourself, rinsing your mouth of foam.

[8:06] Great. See you soon!

Saying you wanted to meet at the café on 2nd made perfect sense when you suggested it, but that is easier in theory than practice. Turns out, your sluggish brain completely forgot that, unlike other times you have dropped by to satisfy your caffeine fix, you would now have a car that you needed to deal with. And finding parking near one of the busiest intersections in the city is no easy feat.

It takes you an extra fifteen minutes of circling the area before a spot around the corner opens up, and you basically have to block the flow of traffic to ease your car into it. You’re usually pretty decent at parallel parking, but your skill gets put to the test when there is a line of impatient cars watching you try to quickly maneuver out of their way. It’s stressful, but you make it into the spot on your second try, agitated, but markedly more awake.

The coffee will still be nice for when your nerves finally calm, though, so you don’t hesitate to make your way to the café, curious if your new road buddy is already here. You purposely padded in some time when you left your house this morning, so as long as he meets you in the next ten minutes or so, the two of you can still leave on time.

The café is bustling when you enter, the holiday season undoubtedly luring more people than the typical morning rush out of their homes. You hover a bit by the entrance, mulling over whether you should go for a festive holiday drink or simply just get what you always do. But just when you’ve decided and are about to join the line, someone further up catches your eye.

Your breath halts, whole body locking up as you stare in disbelief at the man waiting to order.

No way.

There’s no fucking way.

From this angle, you can only see a bit of his profile, his face partially obscured by the way he has tucked his chin to better focus on scrolling his phone. But the set of his shoulders under his beige coat is hauntingly familiar, as is the lax stride he has when the line moves forward a bit. It’s when he happens to shift just enough, head reflexively turning when someone accidentally bumps into his suitcase, that your suspicions are proven correct.

You rush back outside, hands shaking as you scramble through your coat pockets for your phone.

“Hello?” He answers on the second ring, his quiet greeting still colored with sleep. He’s usually not out of bed this early and you have likely woken him up, but you don’t give a single shit about that right now.

“Jimin,” you hiss into the phone, heart thundering in your ears. You’re leaning on the side of the building, mostly to be sure you can’t be seen through the windows, but you’d be lying if you said the cold brick wasn’t also helping to support you. Wasn’t helping to ground you.  

You don’t wait for your friend’s reply. The words leave you, rushed and desperate. “Please tell me that the friend you have arranged for me to be stuck in the car with is not Min Yoongi. Please.”

There’s a long pause, one long enough for the panic coursing though you to rapidly be joined by dread.

“Jimin?” you press, bulldozing over his obvious confusion. “Is Yoongi your friend?”

“Um, well he’s mostly Namjoon’s,” he answers cautiously, your urgency clearly freaking him out a little. And as soon as he says the words, you feel like you’ve been socked in the gut. “Why, what’s going on? Do you know him?”

“Do I know him,” you repeat. Hands still trembling a bit from the adrenaline. “Do I know my ex-boyfriend? Yes. Yes, I think so.”

“Shit,” Jimin breathes, immediately recognizing the source of your distress. “That ex?”

“Yes, that one.” Your mouth is too dry, and it’s making it hard to swallow down the sudden lump in your throat. “Jimin, is this some kind of joke? Because I’m not laughing.”  

“What? Of course not!” He sounds properly alarmed, and that smooths your frayed edges just a little. “I thought you’d be cute together, but—”

“Yeah, well so did I,” you snap. “And look where that got me.”

You can’t believe this is happening to you. This is a nightmare. “Are you seriously trying to set me up with someone a single day after I told you I’m in a relationship?” You know Jimin loves playing matchmaker, but you really thought he’d stop his meddling once you told him things were getting serious with someone.

“I just wanted you to keep your options open,” he says, voice small. “But _____, I promise I didn’t know, I swear to god! He works with Namjoon. We’ve had him over for dinner a handful of times, but I’ve never realized—you’ve never even told me his name—”

Jimin continues to nervously babble his defense, sounding appropriately guilty, but you only partially listen. Because you know this isn’t entirely his fault. No, because that’s not how your life works. This is obviously another case of the universe amusing itself at your expense, throwing you a sudden curveball just when you thought you were starting to get the hang of the game.

Merry Christmas to you.

“And Yoongi has never mentioned anything that would make me realize—I swear, I had no idea—”

“Okay,” you interrupt with a long exhale, closing your eyes. Trying to center yourself, to think things through.

There’s another extended silence, one empty of speech but screaming with your jumbled thoughts. Because your mind is nothing short of racing trying to work through this sudden problem.

Jimin’s thinking too—you can practically hear the rapidly spinning wheels over the phone—and it’s him who finally interrupts the quiet. “What are you going to do?” he murmurs worriedly.

One beat, two. Then you open your eyes, resolute. “I’m going to do exactly as I planned.”

“You’re going to drive down with him?” he asks, surprised and incredulous.

“It would be shitty of me to strand him here for the holidays. So I’ll just suck it up.” You exhale slowly. “Besides, once I reveal who exactly his ride is supposed to be, he might not come anyway.” He was the one who broke up with you, after all. That very fact implies that he no longer wants anything to do with you, including—but not limited to—being stuck in small spaces with you for hours on end.

“Yeah,” Jimin says, though he doesn’t exactly sound convinced.

“It’ll be okay,” you promise, trying to reassure you both. Trying to speak it into existence.

“I wasn’t lying when I said he’ll probably sleep the whole way! It’ll be really awkward at first, but maybe after that it’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure it will be.” You swallow, a little bit more calm now that you’ve had time to talk through the situation and let it marinate. “Okay, I gotta go, or I’ll be late.”

“Let me know when you make it home,” he stresses. “And call me if you need anything.”

You agree, hanging up before he can start to fall into another string of apologies. While appreciated, at the end of the day, his groveling isn’t going to change anything.

You might as well get on with it.

Mentally steeling yourself, you pull open the café door, warm air from inside rushing out to meet you. The length of your phone call means that Yoongi is now almost at the front of the line, and you determinedly put one foot in front of the other, making your way to him before you can change your mind.

The direction he’s facing means he doesn’t see you right away, and if you hadn’t seen his face earlier, you might not have noticed him either. Yoongi has always loved to experiment with hair dye—growing up, you remember him having a different hair color every time you happened to see him around town, so much so that he has been every color of the rainbow and you often worried whether it was straight up going to start falling out. It was light brown when he walked out of your life, but now, the strands he idly ruffles as he waits to order are black. The rare occurrence of him wearing his natural shade somehow just adds another layer to the surreal experience of seeing him, in the flesh, after all this time.

Yoongi reflexively looks in your direction as you approach him, his eyes widening after a few seconds when he realizes who he’s looking at. His lips part then quickly close, seeming to think the better of it. But ultimately, at this point, it would be too awkward for both of you if he pretended he didn’t see you when it’s clear he has. “Hi,” he offers reservedly.    

It’s been a long time since you’ve heard his voice, and the familiar timbre of it strikes something deep inside you. You clear your throat, refusing to acknowledge how you’re being needled from the inside out. “You’re waiting for your ride, right?”

You see the exact moment when Yoongi’s surprise at running into you morphs into realization of what exactly is going on here. His eyes close for a second too long, letting out a slow exhale before opening them again. “And that’s you,” he acknowledges, expression carefully smoothed out. Nonthreatening.

But that does nothing to pacify your rising hostility, despite your best efforts. Rage starts to creep through you, ice cold at first, then quickly morphing to searing. “That’s me,” you parrot, tone clipped. “So. You live here now?”

You must be making some sort of face, because Yoongi says with a huff, “I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Wow, how can a person be this obtuse? Of fucking course he’s not stalking you. But out of all the justified reasons you have to be pissed at him, why would that be his first thought?

Don’t let him get to you, you remind yourself, biting your tongue hard enough to taste metal. You force yourself to push your rising feelings down. It doesn’t matter. Clearly it hadn’t mattered to him then, so it shouldn’t matter to you now.

The two of you just look at each other, the silence between you charged and smothering. There is only one other person in front of him in line now, moving up to speak to the cashier. Finally, Yoongi lets out a long breath, shaking his head. “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’ll find another way home.”

You thought time would have softened the blow of his rejection, but his easy dismissal only makes embarrassingly familiar emotions flare through you. Don’t let him get to you. “Yoongi, how else do you expect to get home? Christmas is in a few days.”

“I don’t know,” he says shortly, “but that’s not your problem. I’ll figure it out.”

Does the idea of being near you repulse him that much? This is ridiculous. It’s been three years. Three fucking years, so it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. You’re over it.

You rub your temples, trying to will down the indignant embers threatening to spark into a raging wildfire. “We’re both adults,” you say evenly. “That was years ago, and whether or not you come with me, I will still be headed to the place you need to be. So unless you have a backup plan for last-minute transportation so close to Christmas, you might as well come with me.”

He stares at you, face unreadable. The person in front of him moves to wait for their drink at the other end of the counter, and you take that as your cue.

You’ve been as civil and reasonable as you can, considering the circumstances, but you’re not going to beg this man to come with you—you didn’t do it then, and you sure as hell aren’t going to do it now. Resolute, you turn on your heel and start walking out of the café, gracing him one last look over your shoulder. “Up to you, though. I’m parked around the corner and will be driving away in ten minutes.”

With that, you leave him there, satisfied that you’ve done your part in being a decent human being. The ball is completely in his court, and either way, there will be no skin off your back.

It’s not until you’re back in your car, blasting the heat in attempt to dispel the chill that it had taken on while you were gone, that you realize your mistake. In your flustered state, you’ve somehow managed to forget the single thing you had come here for in the first place—your coffee. Goddamnit.

Now even more irritated by the situation, you distractedly drum your fingers against the steering wheel, watching the clock. When you said ten minutes, you meant it. You refuse to give this man any more of your time or energy than explicitly necessary.  

The simultaneous feelings of hurt and relief that come over you as his time limit dwindles is bizarre. But just as you’re about to pull off, there he is, suitcase and coffee in tow. He clearly recognizes your car, heading directly towards it, and with a shuddered breath, you unlock the doors.

Yoongi opens the passenger side, leaning over to hand you the cardboard coffee carrier he’s holding. You silently take it, side-eying the two large cups balanced inside. He’s always been a rather avid coffee drinker, but this amount of caffeine feels a bit excessive to you.

Oh well. None of your business, unless he’s going to make you stop for a bathroom every five minutes.

“Can you pop the trunk?” he asks quietly, looking in your direction, but not quite at you. You push the button in answer, eyes unwittingly trailing him in your side and rearview mirrors as he moves to the back of your car. You know from experience that he’s expertly rearranging everything you heedlessly threw in there so that his will fit as well.

After a bit, he slams the trunk closed, and your heart startles against your ribcage at the noise and its implications. Then he’s back, sliding into the seat next to yours and buckling his seatbelt.

“Here,” you say, handing him back his coffee.

He takes the carrier, but then removes one of the cups and holds it out to you. “This one is actually yours.”

“What?” you croak. A flurry of emotions rush through you, too many to name and too quickly to grasp.

Yoongi just shrugs and waggles the cup until you take it from him. He looks away, something more interesting apparently outside his window. “You forgot to get yours, so. I wasn’t sure if you wanted one of the holiday drinks, but figured this was a safe bet.”

“Thanks,” you murmur after a beat, blinking at the cup in your hands. It’s appropriately festive, with bursts of red and green and snow. You shake your head in an effort to dispel the thoughts swirling there, deciding to busy yourself with setting your phone in its designated holder so you’ll be better able to see the directions as you drive. A few taps as you enter your mom’s address and you’re finally ready to go, signaling and pulling from the curb.

It’s quiet for a while as you navigate your way out of the city, headed to the highway. Quiet, just as Jimin predicted. But this isn’t the same type of quiet you’re used to experiencing with Yoongi. It used to be comfortable, but now it feels anything but—you simply don’t know how to act around him anymore. Don’t know how to make this any less awkward. Even though just this morning you hoped for a silent driving companion, the current reality of that is starting to look a lot more like slow torture.

Distractedly, you take a sip of your coffee, and your gut immediately clenches when you recognize it to be your favorite.

He remembered.

Flustered at this realization, you chance a look at him from the corner of your eye. He’s idly tapping his fingertips against his knee, still staring unseeingly out his window.

You can’t help but think about how different this is from the last time the two of you were in this car. Similar, too, looking back.

You can’t help but wonder how you got here.

The car was quiet. Quiet, save the annoying, autotuned warbling of a Top 40 pop song that you knew he hated, yet for some reason was allowing to accompany your drive. Usually, Yoongi would immediately switch from the radio to one of his carefully curated playlists. (“You can literally pay to get radio play,” he had told you once. “Do you know what that means? It means that industry politics are constantly forcing you to listen to nothing but a steaming pile of vapid, overproduced garbage.”)

After the two of you got back in the car from the last rest stop, though, Yoongi never bothered to switch over to bluetooth. And so, vapid, overproduced garbage was what the two of you were listening to on your last leg of the trip, and you couldn’t help the growing sense of unease that settled in your stomach the longer you did.

“Babe,” you finally hedged. “What’s the matter?”

Yoongi blinked at the sound of your voice, awareness returning to his eyes as he was pulled from deep in his thoughts. He ruffled his light brown locks absently, gaze sliding from the road to you, in the passenger seat. “Hmm?”

“You just seem distracted.” Even now, even as he idly laced his fingers through yours, your joined hands resting on your thigh, it felt like he was simply going through the motions.

He squeezed your hand, looked away. “Just thinking of logistics.”

This was a fair response—this was an enormous leap for you, packing up all your things and moving to a new city hours away. You had mailed some of your stuff, and any boxes that you didn’t manage to squeeze into your car were due to arrive over the next few days. Yoongi was coming with you to make sure you got settled in okay, and that everything was set up the way it should be.

But alongside unease, hope cautiously bloomed. Because maybe, just maybe, your new apartment, your new city, would help Yoongi see. It had been hypotheticals ever since you told him about your job offer. But maybe seeing how real this was about to be would finally help him see just how easy it would be for him to be your constant amongst your growing list of new.

Maybe he would finally take the leap you were too scared to ask him to take.

You were a coward. Yes, you may have easily made the decision to move six hours away from your family and friends and everything else you’d ever known. But whenever you thought about putting all your cards on the table and pleading with the one who you quickly realized mattered most to come with—

You shook your head of the negative thoughts, ignoring the anxiety crawling up your throat. You hadn’t asked, but still, he was here. With you. And that had to mean something.

It didn’t, you came to realize days later. Days later, when, after he made sure you were all settled, Yoongi kissed you on the lips, wished you luck, and hopped on a plane back home. (You hadn’t even known he had bought a ticket.) And it definitely didn’t when a week after that, after your new job kept you busy and your conversations with him became sparse and dry, he finally sent you the text that shifted your world completely on its axis.

I think we should see other people.

The silence back then had been off-putting, but the silence that envelops the two of you now is just this side of excruciating. You don’t think can take this level of awkwardness for five hours.

There’s no reason to linger on the past. He hurt you, but it’s been three years and you’re over it. You’ve moved on, and as you know from your totally random, totally casual happenings across his social media, so has he! So there’s no need for this to be awkward.

Nodding to yourself, you decide to prove just how over it you are. “So how’s it going?” you hedge, the words settling lamely on your tongue, despite your best efforts.

Yoongi lifts an incredulous eyebrow at your poor attempt at conversation. He doesn’t answer, and for a few moments, you think he’s going to ignore you completely. But then, turning his attention back out his window, he says, rather mildly, “I should have known this was a set up.”

Your hackles raise, gaze snapping to his form. “I didn’t know it was you,” you say shortly.

“Obviously,” he snorts. “Or you would have never said yes.” There’s no bitterness in his tone, no malice. He just sounds a little amused and matter-of-fact, though you don’t find any of this funny. “And I didn’t know it was you either. Namjoon has mentioned you once or twice, but there are plenty of people with your name in a city that big.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, pushing down that petty part of you that wanted to ask him why, knowing he had left you in that exact city, his first instinct wasn’t to just assume it was you. As much as your ego hates to hear it, he’s right. It was much more likely for it not to be you than the alternative.

“How do you know him, by the way?” he asks. “I never would have pictured you running in the same circles.”

That’s a fair question. The common link that brought you back together, despite your best efforts. “I’m actually really good friends with his boyfriend,” you answer honestly. “We work together.”

“Huh. Small world.” He shakes his head, the corner of his lips dipping a bit in thought. “Actually, that’s probably why we’re here. My fault for letting it slip to Jimin the other day that I’m single. Cause now that I’m thinking about it, he seemed way too excited about helping me find a way home.”

You’re not really sure how to process this new information—not really sure what you’re supposed to do with it. Nothing, you remind yourself. Absolutely nothing. His relationship status has nothing to do with you. “…He means well,” you say instead, taking a sip of your coffee. “And if it makes you feel any better, this was definitely much more about trying to set me up than you. You just got caught in the crossfire.”

He’s quiet for a bit, that last tidbit left to marinate. But then he suddenly asks, “Did you change your number?”

“What?” is your immediate response, not prepared for the seemingly random subject change.

“I didn’t realize that you were the one I was texting, because I didn’t recognize your number. Did you change it?”

You restlessly drum your fingers against the steering wheel, willing the stoplight to turn green. It does, so you’re free to keep looking straight ahead as you reply, “I did. I changed carriers and they fucked up the transfer and I had to get a new number.”

“Oh. I thought you had just blocked me.”

That comment catches your curiosity enough that you do look at him now, eyes sliding over to his form. You can’t help but quirk your lips wryly at the way that now it’s him who’s now clearly avoiding eye contact. You look back at the road. “I did that too.”

What little rapport you were starting to gain fizzles out at that. The mood between you is quickly awkward again, heavy.

“So.” You clear your throat, not quite ready to return to silence, especially since he seems to be willing to answer your questions. “If you’re not stalking me, how did you end up back in the city?”

From the defensive lock of his body, Yoongi doesn’t seem to be amused by you throwing his words back into his face. Interesting, because he used to be one who could take a ribbing—teasing had been one of the cornerstones of your relationship, after all. Guess he doesn’t find this funny. “Work,” he replies tersely. “I got offered a position as an in-house producer about a year ago.”

And there it is.

For months afterwards you obsessed over it, night after sleepless night spent staring unseeingly at your tv with nothing but a bottle of wine keeping you company. For years you tried to justify it—to justify why, when things seemed to be going so ridiculously well, he would dump you out of the blue. Why, when his field of work could be done from literally anywhere, he wouldn’t want to come with you. Maybe he didn’t like the city, you desperately reasoned. And maybe he didn’t want a long-distance relationship.

But clearly you had been foolish in more ways than one. Hearing him so easily admit to moving for a job, it clearly wasn’t the city itself that was the issue.

It was you he didn’t want.

“Oh,” you croak, breath stuck in your throat. You see Yoongi glance at you in your peripheral, but you refuse to look in his direction, too busy trying to control the dejection creeping through your veins, threatening to settle deep in your marrow.

“Freelancing gave me more freedom, but benefits are hard to beat.” He pauses, clearly sensing your change in mood, but still continues, “I wasn’t looking for something here, you know. It just worked out that way.”

“Mmmm.” You take another sip of coffee, cup tight in your grip. And that’s all you can give him right now, because if you look at him, if you open your mouth, all of your repressed feelings will burst out. And you refuse to give him that satisfaction.

Yoongi takes the hint from your non-answer and doesn’t say anything else. You finally turn onto the highway ramp, immediately regretting it because now that you don’t have aggressive city drivers to look out for, there will be nothing else for you to focus on. You have to take another exit to get on the correct highway, but once you do, it’ll be nothing but you and Yoongi and an endless road for hours.

After a few more minutes, the uneasy silence is broken by your phone ringing through the car’s speakers. You glance down at the screen, and sigh when you realize just who’s calling. Your mother.

In her defense, you told her you would let her know when you were headed out, but Yoongi’s appearance threw you for such a loop that you completely forgot. You really don’t think talking to her now, with Yoongi in the car, is a good idea, but you also don’t have much choice—she’s only going to keep calling.

Resigning yourself to the awkwardness you know is about to occur, you click the answer button on your steering wheel. “Hello?”

“Hi sweetie.” Her voice is a bit loud through the speakers, but you can hear her blasting her Christmas playlist in the background, so that’s likely the culprit. Anyone who thinks she’s ever going to turn the volume down on The Temptations is in for a rude awakening. “I just wanted to check on you! Have you guys headed out yet?”

“Just turned onto 55,” you confirm. “So we should be there in five hours or so.”

“Perfect. Your sister wants to have pizza, so I’ll try to have it delivered around then.” She pauses, then asks slyly, “Is Alex driving?”

Yoongi had been busy quietly scrolling his phone, but now he shifts a little in his seat, suddenly more interested than he was moments ago.

“No,” you say, irritated. “I am.”

“Well then, why did you pick up the phone?” your mother asks sassily. “If you’re driving, then you need to focus.”

“I picked up because you called me,” you sass back. “And if I hadn’t, you would have panicked and assumed I was dead on the side of the road or something. So I just saved us both the trouble.”

“Well.” She huffs, and you laugh at that, because you both know you’re right. “Well, tell Alex I said hi and I can’t wait to meet him.”

“I'll be sure to tell him later,” you say, a bit uncomfortable at having this discussion in front of Yoongi.

“What, is he sleeping or something?”

“He’s not with me.”

Your mother pauses. “_____, what do you mean he’s not with you?”

“I mean, he’s not with me. He’s gonna come in separately in a few days.”

“So you’re making the drive alone?” There’s worry in her tone, clear as day. “You didn’t tell me that before.”

You let out a long exhale, wishing you were anywhere but here, having this conversation. “Because it’s not a big deal,” you say levelly. “And I can make the drive perfectly fine alone.” You hear her revving up to protest, to lecture you, but you are truly not in the mood to hear it. So before she can even start, you say, “But don’t worry. I’m not alone.”

That clearly throws her, because she’s quiet again as her brain processes that. “What?”

“I’m driving in with Yoongi,” you reluctantly admit.

“Yoongi?” Her shock is palpable, and honestly? You don’t blame her.

Me too, Mom. Me too.

But you know your mother. The second her shock wears off, she’s liable—and likely—to say something crazy and embarrassing. So before she regains her bearings, you quickly tack on, “So watch what you say! You’re on speaker.”

Your mom is a chatterbox, and she has also always loved Yoongi. That is a recipe for disaster, and you really hope you’ve nipped it in the bud.

“On speaker?” she repeats. Her surprise lasts a grand total of one second before she’s saying, “Yoongi, sweetie! How have you been doing?”

Your mother is truly a force, but for all his mellow personality, Yoongi has always enjoyed her. His lips quirk. “I’ve been doing really well, Mom. How about you?”

The word zaps through your body you like you stuck a fork in an electric socket, your heart clenching in your chest. When you were still dating, your mother insisted he call her that. It appears old habits die hard.

Neither of them notice your mounting distress, continuing to chat as if you aren’t there. “Oh, you know,” your mom laughs. “Can’t complain! You know, I was just talking to your mother the other day and she said you’ve been working a lot. You need to be sure you take care of yourself and get enough rest.”

“I will, Mom.”

You roll your eyes, irritated. How did she call you, and then immediately forget about you in favor of Yoongi? “Mom,” you interrupt. “We should go. I need to focus, remember?”

It is very obvious to everyone that you’re trying to rush her off the phone, but, though she’s privy to your shenanigans, your mother agrees to let you go. “Yeah, you’re right. Call me when you’re close, okay? And Yoongi, you take care of her, okay?”

The two of you lock eyes. You let out a long-suffering sigh.

“I always do,” he finally replies, and a tempest starts brewing within you at how sincere he sounds.

Living in a town that was relatively on the small side, it was pretty impossible for you to grow up without being aware of Min Yoongi’s existence. He lived a couple blocks away from you, after all, even though the arbitrary school district mapping meant that you ended up at different high schools. Still, being aware of him and knowing him were two different things. Your memory of him was erratic and infrequent—he was the quiet kid who moved to town in third grade and once let you borrow a pencil in class, and he was the mysterious guy you’d spot around town with hair that would be different shades every time—red, orange, green, blue.

You had never really given him much thought—never really had a reason to—and hadn’t realized that you had forgotten about him completely until one day, at a house party your junior year of college, you walked into the kitchen to refill your cup and oh. There he was. That guy.

You might not have noticed him at all if it wasn’t for his hair. He was standing alone, distractedly lifting his snapback and carding his fingers through his locks. The soft pink of the strands piqued your interest and unlocked memories that your brain had long ago deemed unimportant. Clearly intending to refill his cup as well, he just so happened to be standing right in front of the counter that had handles and mixers and everything else you needed to get properly tanked, and as he watched you approach, you could see a spark of recognition in his eyes.

Casually, he stepped out of your way, but his eyes still scanned your form in an effort to place you. After a moment, he nodded to himself, the slant of his mouth morphing his expression from uninterested to suddenly much more so.  “_____,” he said, head tilting to the side a bit in thought. “Right?”

“Yeah.” You were surprised he even remembered you—never thought he had paid you much attention. But, you supposed, if you remembered him in passing, it wasn’t a stretch to think the same may have been true about him. That you weren’t as invisible as you always thought.

Yoongi nodded again, slowly. “Small world.” You hadn’t seen or thought about him in years, but it was strangely as if no time had passed at all. Just like back then, he was dressed head to toe in black—hat, shirt, skinny jeans, his favorite leather jacket—and this only made the cotton candy of his hair stand out even more in the poor lighting. Still, it was his lips that had your attention, your gaze drawn to the cocky curl of them as he leaned toward you. “What are you drinking?”

Those lips were what pressed into yours twenty minutes later on the couch, eager, yet unhurried. And in your bed an hour after that, they were all you could think about when he fervently licked a stripe up your slit, tongue hot and wet, long fingers digging into the meat of your thighs to keep you spread for him.

You thought that would be it. Yoongi was gone by the time you woke up, and that was perfectly fine with you, because you weren’t deluded into thinking what had happened was anything more than a romp of convenience. Some liquored up fun. But when you stumbled out of bed and found his phone number, scrawled on an old receipt, stuck to the front of your fridge with a magnet your roommate had gotten at a thrift store—

You realized it could be more than that.

Weeks went by, your attention easily stolen by your classes. Your long list of assignments kept you busy—much too busy for you to consider venturing out to any more weekend parties. But it also kept you stressed, anxiety bubbling beneath your skin at the looming deadlines, and you knew that wouldn’t do. That wasn’t productive.

One Friday night, after struggling for hours to focus on some assigned reading, you finally just gave up and decided to go to bed. Ideally, a good night’s rest would be the reset you needed, would calm your neurotic brain down enough for you to try again tomorrow. But awake you stayed, unable to stop the flurry of thoughts even for a moment.  

You groaned in frustration. There was one option you could try, but to your chagrin, it hadn’t been very helpful lately. Usually, some quality time with your hand would mellow you out enough to fall right asleep, but you discovered over the past few days that your stress was at the point that not even pulling out your vibrator would do much more than leave you frustrated, unsatisfied, and still awake.

Fuck being responsible! Look where that had gotten you. You should have just gone with your friend to the party she had been trying to convince you to ditch your reading for. You hadn’t been to a proper party since—

You paused at the thought, considering. That was the last time you had gotten such a great night’s sleep, too. You had been fucked so properly, your body hadn’t had much of a choice.

It was an interesting idea, at least in concept. He had left you the number because he wanted you to use it, right? So why not contact him? Worst that happened was that he didn’t answer, and you were no worse for wear.

Curious now that you had the thought in your head, you texted Yoongi, even though a glance at the time told you he was probably well into his Friday plans.

[10:47] Hey, it’s _____. We met a few weeks ago

[10:47] what are you up to tonight?

It surprised you when his answer came a mere ten minutes later.

[10:58] Unknown we met a long time before that, babe

You blinked at his response, lips quirking at his easy flirtation. Huh.

[10:59] Unknown not doing much. But what do you have in mind? 😉

In fifteen minutes, Yoongi was toeing his shoes off by your front door. He calmly greeted you, body language completely lax, and it was as if he was merely coming over to help you study.

But the look in his eyes when he finally caught your gaze…your skin prickled in excitement at the promise in them.

And he more than held up to his end of the bargain. Yoongi fucked you just as thoroughly as the last time, though he was a bit more rough. Almost impatient. His hands, large and calloused, roamed every inch of you—fingers digging into the meat of your ass, sinking into your hips, resting on the column of your throat—all so he could properly maneuver you over his unrelenting cock. He licked a path up your jaw and into your mouth, swallowing your moans like a starving man. And it was only after your pussy had clamped down on him twice that his biology finally responded to yours, whole body shuddering as he came into the condom.

For a few minutes, the two of you laid there in silence, sweaty and satisfied. And that’s when the endorphins did exactly what you needed them to do—you started to feel the blissful fatigue that often preceded a good night’s rest. Before you drifted off to dreamland, though, you rolled out of bed and made your way to the bathroom for your post-sex pee.

To your surprise, Yoongi was still there when you returned to your room. Honestly, it looked like he hadn’t even moved a muscle, though the used condom in your trash can told you otherwise. He just looked so comfortable in your bed, the pink of his hair a stark contrast against your gray sheets.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, voice a content rumble.

And so the two of you ordered a pizza from that one place in Collegetown that wasn’t really that great, but was fast and open late. You ate it together in your bed, naked, and chatted about back home. And when you finally fell asleep that night, it was to the sound of his heartbeat, lulling you under with its soothing rhythm.

It was never explicitly stated that the two of you were exclusive. The dick appointments kept occurring more regularly, sometimes initiated by you, sometimes him. But whatever was happening between you quickly grew to be something more than just sex, and it hit you one day when you realized Yoongi had allocated a whole drawer of his dresser to your things for those nights you stayed over. If that wasn’t enough, it became obvious in the way your texts, originally only sent around the weekends, morphed into weekdays, and then every day, multiple times a day. Morphed into calls, too, because even though you weren’t one who enjoyed talking on the phone, Yoongi apparently was, calling you when he knew you were home from classes just to ask how your day was. And then that changed to him not calling you as much, because he was with you, your time after classes spent in each other’s company, either in his apartment or yours.  

It finally occurred to you just how serious it all had become when you showed up to Yoongi’s apartment one night and found him fussing over pork belly that he had been slow roasting for you for hours. When it was you who called him, at the store trying to choose the perfect gift for his niece’s birthday party.

It felt like you blinked, and what had started off as a few nights of no strings attached fun became almost two years full of nothing but strings, your lives so intricately entwined at that point that it was hard to spot where you stopped and he began.

And it was wonderful. So fucking wonderful to wake up in his arms everyday, to be regularly blessed by the brush of his lips and the slant of his crooked smile. You had never felt a connection like that before, and haven’t felt it since. Something that powerful and all-consuming. Something that absolute.

You were so happy that you had been terrified to rock the boat, afraid to ask questions that might rip it all away from you. Yes, the two of you were content and comfortable, but that was to be expected in your cushy little college cocoon, where nothing too serious could test your relationship. There was the looming threat of graduation that both of you tiptoed around, but you convinced yourself that the idea of After wasn’t really a big deal. Because at the end of the day, you knew you would be together, just like you had been.

The lesson you learned was hard and swift—all it took was for you to get a pre-graduation job offer that would require you moving to a city hours away. Yoongi seemed so proud of you, so happy for you. He made sure to tell you so, made sure to take you out to dinner to celebrate.

But he was unusually quiet that night. Unusually subdued. That night, instead of slipping his hand below your waistband like he usually did, he just held you. Just rested his lips against your collarbone and breathed you in.  

Thinking back on it, you were definitely naive. Even as you planned your big move over that last month, Yoongi never inserted himself. Even though you wanted him to. Even though he could. He could have worked from anywhere in his field of work, but it would have been particularly easy for him to find a job in your new city. Still, he stayed passive. Still, he didn’t show any interest.

Still, you hoped.

Nothing is ever a sure thing. Clearly, the two of you had been feeling wildly different things. Clearly, you had been on two different wavelengths. Because even though he could have easily just come with you—

In the end, Yoongi left your life just as casually as both times he had entered it.

“Hey,” Yoongi says, his sudden baritone startling you from your thoughts. “Do you mind if I connect my phone?”

Your brain scrambles to put meaning to his words, but luckily, Yoongi clarifies, “I would just rather we not sit in silence for five more hours.”

Oh. You haven’t even noticed, but in your initial shock at reuniting with him, you completely forgot to turn any music on. He’s right. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead.”

He pushes some buttons on your dashboard from memory, and you’re kind of annoyed to find your traitorous car still has his phone programmed to work with the bluetooth. Soon, mellow lo-fi hiphop filters through the speakers. You raise an eyebrow in surprise, knowing Yoongi’s penchant for battle rap and expecting something a lot more uptempo and aggressive. You’re both too tired for that, you suppose.

The next few hours somehow pass by both quickly and slowly. Despite Yoongi previously telling you just how little sleep he got the night before, he doesn’t nod off, instead choosing to lean back his seat a little and idly watch the landscape rush by as he drains his coffee. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, necessarily. Now that Yoongi has added the buffer of background music to fill the empty space between you, it actually feels pretty neutral. Inwardly, you wish the rest of the trip can go exactly like this—the two of you quietly tolerating each other’s presence until you can make it home. But, of course, the spell gets broken before your dream can be fulfilled.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” Yoongi says suddenly. “Can we stop?”

“Sure,” you reply agreeably. You will have to go soon too, and you should probably stretch your legs after three hours of driving. “Are you hungry?”

“Not particularly.” Yoongi has never been much of an eater, so distracted by everything he needed to do that day that it was often you who had to remind him to sit down and eat. Old habits die hard, and at the disapproving look you shoot his way, he sighs and amends his previous statement. “We can get some snacks, though.”

You can also go for some snacks. You get off at the next exit and pull into the gas station, not seeing any harm in topping off your gas tank even though it’s still a little over half full. Kill two birds with one stone. Yoongi shuffles into the building as you pump gas, amazed as always that the price is so much cheaper than it is in the city. Fucking capitalism with its fucking taxes.

“I got you these,” you hear just as you’re putting the nozzle back and printing your receipt. A look over your shoulder procures Yoongi, on the passenger side of the car and holding up a plastic bag for you to see. You raise an eyebrow in question, and he clarifies, “Doritos and gummy worms.”

Exactly what you like eating on long trips. You bite your lip, ignoring the emotion that flashes through you before you can will it down, down. “Thanks.”

He gives you a nod, but you quickly look away and mumble something about the bathroom before hustling into the building.

You take longer than you need to in the bathroom, trying to give yourself time to regain your bearings as you thoroughly wash your hands. When you finally think the tightness in your chest is subsiding, you go back out, stopping to buy a couple water bottles before returning to the car at last.

Your phone, unthinkingly tossed into your coat pocket, vibrates repeatedly on your way back to the car, and you absently fish it out, not surprised when you see the name lighting up its screen.

The texts had started pretty much as soon as you two left the city and continued until about five minutes ago. And, of course, you hadn’t noticed because…you were driving. Like Jimin knew you were.

Chimothy 🥰 [9:11] How’s everything going?

Chimothy 🥰 [9:30] Yoongi’s not being mean to you, is he?

Chimothy 🥰 [9:30] I wouldn’t think he would, but I would also never peg him to be a bastard ex-boyfriend so

Chimothy 🥰 [9:31] wtf do I know

Chimothy 🥰[11:43] Why are you so quiet?

Chimothy 🥰 [12:12] Oh god, he murdered you, didn’t he 😭

Dear god, is this man dramatic.

[12:17] Not murdered 🙄

[12:17] Just driving

The response is immediate, as if he’s been glued to his phone all day and was waiting for your reply with bated breath. The three little dots dance as he types.

Chimothy 🥰 [12:17] Thank god

Chimothy 🥰 [12:17] I was trying to plan out my outfit for your funeral, but was having a hard time because your favorite color is yellow

Chimothy 🥰 [12:18] and you know that washes me out

[12:18] Jimin, people usually wear *black* at funerals

[12:18] but it doesn’t matter anyway because I’M NOT DEAD

Chimothy 🥰 [12:18] Well, now that I know you’re not dead, you can dish

Chimothy 🥰 [12:19] What are you guys talking about? on a scale of 1-10, how awkward is it? Do you need me to call you with a sudden emergency?? 🥺😤

[12:19] nothing, currently about a 6, and no!!! I’m totally fine, Jimin. I appreciate the concern

Chimothy 🥰 [12:19]  Yeah ok, send me the old lady emoji at any point if you need me to call you and tell you your granny broke her hip

[12:20] hey!!! Don’t speak that mess on Grandma like that

[12:20] besides, I’m literally en route to her, so I don’t see how that would at all help

Chimothy 🥰 [12:20] send me 🔥 and I’ll tell you your apartment is on fire

Chimothy 🥰 [12:20] Hell, send me 🥯 and I’ll tell you the deli down the street from the office is out of your favorite bagel

Chimothy🥰 [12:20] That’s an emergency if I ever heard one!

[12:21] omg, I’m FINE, jiminie. I promise! We’re already halfway there

[12:21]  but I’m also losing time talking to you. Gotta get back on the road

Chimothy 🥰 [12:21] Okay 😩 Let me know when you make it home!

Chimothy 🥰 [12:21] And call me if you need anything 🥺💕

[12:22] Will do 🙌

Yoongi, lounging in the passenger seat and waiting for you to come back, immediately notices your distraction when you reenter the car’s cabin. He probably also noticed how slowly you walked to the car from the building, and the way you hovered by the gas pump as you went back and forth with your best friend. “Is everything okay?” he asks, brows furrowed.

“Yeah,” you say, rolling your eyes in amusement as you put your phone back in its designated holder. You hand Yoongi one of the water bottles and pretend you don’t notice his surprise. “It’s just Jimin.”

“Oh.”

Yoongi is quiet as you finally put the car in drive. You think that’s the end of it, but once you’re back on the highway, he speaks up again. “How exactly did you meet Jimin again?”

“We work together,” you say matter-of-factly.

“Oh wow,” he says, his interest clear in his tone. He’s not looking at you, too busy ripping open the Doritos bag and propping it against the center console. You know that’s for you. “You both work for Sigma Limited?”

Against your will, your body locks up at the name. The name of the company that uprooted you, that changed your life forever. “…No,” you say quietly. “I only stayed there a year. I met him at the company I’m at now.”

Yoongi’s not dumb—far from it—and you know he can probably glean from what you’ve said and everything that you haven’t that Sigma Limited was nowhere near what you thought it would be. You see him frown in your peripheral, but you merely reach into the Doritos bag and stuff some chips in our mouth, hoping to dissuade him from any further probing.

That had been a really hard year, filled with not much more than self-doubt and self-loathing. With Yoongi leaving you and your insufferable boss always pushing you past your limits and demanding the impossible, your mental health took a sharp nosedive. Alone in an new city with no support system, you were beyond lucky that you received another job offer when you did. Beyond blessed that Jimin and his soft smiles and softer heart became your anchor, chased away the elephant that had made itself at home right on your chest and had you struggling to breathe.

Yoongi nods slowly, and after a beat, simply says, “He’s a nice guy.”

That’s an understatement. Jimin may be dramatic and constantly meddling in other people’s lives, but he’s your dramatic meddler. He’s seen you at your lowest and loved you anyway. Simply coaxed you back to the surface.

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “And you say you work with Namjoon?”

“Yeah—he’s one of the songwriters there. We’re often either working on the same tracks or staying late in the studio at the same time, so I got to know him. He’s a really cool dude.”

“He is,” you agree. “A little bit of a hot mess, but honestly, that’s probably why he and Jimin work so well. Jimin has always enjoyed a little chaos.”

“Hot mess?” You hear the amusement in his voice, and when you glance over, he’s definitely smirking at you.

You hold up a hand defensively. “Hey, don’t be taking things out of context—that was said fondly! Who isn’t a hot mess nowadays? Present company included.”

Yoongi breezes right past you trying to soften the blow. “And what makes him a hot mess?”

“Don’t get me wrong! He’s extremely intelligent and hilarious and fun to be around.”

“But?”

“But he’s also super clumsy and liable to destroy anything in his path,” you sigh. “They’ve had you over for dinner, right?”

Yoongi nods, not at all perturbed that you seem to know this tidbit.

“Guarantee you neither of them cooked jack shit. Jimin can’t do much more than eggs and Namjoon has been banned from picking up anything sharper than a fork. Listen, I’ve seen that man attempt to chop an onion. It was extremely stressful.”

“For him?”

“For me,” you correct.

He laughs, and something inside you flutters. You ignore it, focusing instead on merging into the passing lane to speed past an ambling truck.

“We always ate takeout,” Yoongi admits with a tilt of his head. “I guess that makes sense now. Not that I give a shit. That’s mostly what I eat anyway.”

“Takeout?” you repeat disbelievingly. “You?”

Yoongi is a great cook. While you definitely used to order in, it was mostly him who prepared dinner for the two of you (because he claimed it was unhealthy for your to eat so much cup ramen, but also because he really enjoyed it). It blows your mind that he now eats out so much.

Your surprise must be evident, because Yoongi rubs the back of his neck. “It’s a little weird cooking for one,” he says sheepishly. “And plus I’ve been so busy lately that I’m hardly at home anyway, so. It’s just easier to have something delivered to the studio.”

You want to point out that it’s his own fault that he’d have to cook for one, but you bite your tongue, reaching for more chips instead. You’ve been having such a pleasant drive that you’d rather not sour it when you still have a ways to go before you make it home.

The two of you chat for a while, carefully keeping to safe topics. You gossip a little more about Namjoon and Jimin, both of you trying to one up the other with a ridiculous story about them. Belatedly, you realize you probably shouldn’t be talking about your best friend with a man who essentially is the enemy, but that’s the problem, you suppose.

Even after everything, Yoongi has never felt like the enemy.  

Jimin wouldn’t care that you’re talking about him—would probably preen at being the topic of conversation, honestly. And the fact that it’s his fault that you have to talk to Yoongi in the first place adds to the likelihood that he would let this slide. That’s not really what the issue is.

It’s just so easy talking to him—has always been so easy—that the words keep slipping past your lips before you can give them much thought. You hadn’t meant to revert to this, revert to those days when it was just you and him, talking about anything and everything, comfortable and safe in the knowledge that whatever you said to each other would never be repeated.

Yoongi’s a quiet guy, but that also means he’s pretty observant. He also tended to be rather chatty once he got going, and since the two of you often liked to wind down by telling each other about your days, having long talks with him—both about nonsense things and much deeper ones—became second-nature to you.

Clearly, even after all this time, it still is.

It’s unnerving, how easily you fell into old patterns. It must be the proximity, you reason with yourself. It’s been years since you’ve been this close to him, but your brain has been conditioned. It still remembers.

You are well aware that things are nowhere near the same though, and that it’d be for the best for you to stop acting like they are. So, with that in mind, you casually shift the conversation to something else that you’ve been mulling over. Clear proof of things being different.

“Your hair’s black,” you observe neutrally.

If Yoongi’s thrown by the sudden shift in conversation, he doesn’t show it. But he doesn’t answer you right away either, instead choosing to sit in silence until you casually glance his way. He’s looking at his hands in his lap, but from the way his lips twist slightly into a frown, you’re not sure if he actually sees them.

“That’s new,” you prompt again. “What happened? Got tired of all the upkeep?”

“Something like that,” he finally says. “I just didn’t feel like doing it anymore.”

It’s a simple answer to a simple question, but you still feel like there’s more. Ultimately, you just nod in response. It’s none of your business, you suppose. You were just trying to make small talk.  

Without warning, the song playing through the speakers immediately steals your attention. You visibly perk up, eyes scanning your console’s screen in an effort to figure out what the song is. Yoongi notices your distraction and stops talking so you can better listen, a smile touching his lips.

You didn’t recognize the melody, but you damn sure recognize the velvety voice that croons through the car. Your eyes widen, turning to Yoongi in surprise. “Taehyung?”

“Yup.” He must have remembered how you stumbled upon the artist’s Soundcloud when you were dating, how you used to have him on repeat. You were a bit obsessed, if you’re being honest, but that was to be expected for something you liked, your personality dictating that you fixate on new things you love to the point of exhaustion. You even remember repeatedly teasing Yoongi that you would dump him immediately should Taehyung ever give you the light of day. (“Shit, me too,” he would answer, straight-faced and wholly unconcerned. He would still tease you about “your boyfriend” whenever he popped up on your playlists, though.)

You frown a bit in thought. “Hmm…I don’t remember this song.” And you’ve listened to all of them.

(Listen, when you said fixate, you meant it.)

“That’s because it’s not out yet,” Yoongi replies matter-of-factly. At the confused scrunch of your brow, he continues, “I’m actually producing this for him right now.”

“You’re working with Taehyung?!” you practically screech.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he laughs. “I’m actually pretty good, remember?”

“I know you’re good it’s just—” It’s just that Taehyung has actually blown up over the past few years, what used to be only song covers buried on Soundcloud now two professionally made EPs, with singles constantly on rotation on national radio stations. He’s become the superstar you knew he would be, and Yoongi has apparently risen in the ranks as well if he’s making music for him. This is batshit insane.

Your mouth flaps open and closed uselessly as you attempt to process the fact that Yoongi apparently works for Big Hit, the same company Taehyung signed to last year, and is actively making music with him. What the fuck?! What. The. Fuck.

“Wanna meet him?” Yoongi smirks.

Your eyes bug out of your head and you have to actively pay attention to the road so you don’t accidentally crash into something in your shock. Because there’s no way he’s being serious. Did you want to meet!!!! him?

“I can probably arrange for it after the holidays,” Yoongi continues casually, completely oblivious to the catatonic meltdown you’re currently having in response. Either that or ignoring it for his own amusement. Probably the latter. “He’s been trying to finish his first album, so we have a good amount of studio sessions scheduled over the next couple months.”

“I…” You have no idea what to say, so flabbergasted at this turn of events that you can do nothing but gape at him like a fish.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughs, chuckling harder at the stupefied look on your face. “I’ll keep in touch. Just make sure you don’t block me this time.”

You don’t even have a good response to that, still partially convinced that you’re actually asleep and your subconscious is going HAM and this whole day has been nothing more than a very bizarre, very detailed dream. “…Restart it,” you say instead. “I wasn’t paying enough attention the first time.”

Yoongi grins, and he does. Immediately, you get lost in the jazzy notes and the sweet voice, not saying anything else until the music swells and fades back away.

“Can you tell him I think it’s amazing?” you ask dreamily.

“You can tell him yourself,” he reminds you.

This is weird. You haven’t seen him in literal years, but he’s talking about meeting up with you so casually that it’s like he does it all the time. Doing you favors like that’s something that’s normal now. “What’s the catch?” you ask suspiciously. 

Yoongi scoffs. “Why does there have to be a catch?”

“Because nothing is ever truly free.”

A long pause. “You really think that?” He looks at you, expression neutral, and you hold his gaze for a few moments before looking back at the road. Then, he lets out a laugh that sounds suspiciously like a sigh. “I guess you’re right.”

“So?” you prod. “What’s your price?”

“Hmm.” He ruffles his hair with a hand as he thinks. “Who’s Alex?”

The sound of the name on his lips startles you a bit, immediately putting you on guard. “Why?”

“Your mom was expecting him to be in the car with you,” he shrugs. “Just curious.”

None of your business, you want to snap. Because he lost the right to ask you that a long time ago. But you were the one who pressed him to name his price, and he did.

You reach around the center console for the bag of gummy worms, and Yoongi easily grabs it and holds it open for you so you can grab a few. “…He’s this guy I’m seeing,” you finally admit.

“You’re seeing someone?” he repeats incredulously.

Annoyance starts to bubble under your skin. “Why do you sound so surprised? Yes, I am seeing someone.”

What did he expect? For you to be lonely and miserable the rest of your life simply because he didn’t want you?

Yoongi clocks your rising animosity and holds his hands out placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Really? Well then, how did you mean it?”

“I’m just surprised you’re seeing someone and he let you take a six hour drive all by yourself.”

Your anger flares. “He doesn’t let me do anything,” you retort. “I do what I please. And clearly I’m not alone. Against my better judgment.”

His eyes narrow at the dig, but he doesn’t rise at the bait. “If I wasn’t here,” he points out instead, “you would be. And this isn’t a matter of you physically being able to do it. Anything can happen in six hours, and it’s dangerous for anyone to drive it alone.”

He didn’t say it, but you heard the especially because you’re a woman loud and clear, and though you logically know he’s right, that only ruffles your feathers even more. “What do you care?” you seethe.

He hadn’t really been looking at you, but at that, Yoongi’s head snaps in your direction. His body angles that way, too. “Are you serious right now?”

You bristle at the underlying offense in his tone. Because you’re the one who’s allowed to be offended right now, not him. “So that’s why? That’s the reason you got in the car? Some misplaced sense of chivalry?”

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but the way his gaze shifts away from you is damning enough. Your gut clenches, and you’re pissed that it does.

Because of course that’s why he came with you. What other reason would there be? He didn’t want to be around you then, so he damn sure wouldn’t want to be around you now. And you don’t want him to! So whatever. You don’t need his pity.

You don’t say anything else, preferring instead to silently stew in your indignation. And Yoongi backs off, but you can tell from the twist of his mouth that he is not happy.

Well woopdeedoo. He can just join the fucking club.

It’s quiet again after that. Whatever lighthearted mood that was cautiously starting to build is completely gone now, immediately soured by your mutual irritation. You don’t know what Yoongi has to be mad about, though. He’s the one who insinuated that you’re incompetent. He’s the one who thinks he can come and go from your life as he pleases with no consequences.

Your aggravation simmers the longer you two sit in silence, the more time you have to hype yourself up in your head. You only make it another half hour before you’re pulling off at the next exit. You need a breather.

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything when you pull into the rest stop, though he does look at you. You ignore him, putting the car in park and grabbing your phone before shrugging back into your coat and opening your door.

The temperature has dropped a lot since the last time you stopped, and you can actually see your breath as you continue your mission into the building. You hear the beep of a car door locking, and a reflexive glance over your shoulder reveals that Yoongi has taken the key out of the ignition and is following you inside.

You scowl, throwing open the door and immediately being blessed by the heat rushing out.

Whatever. He can do what he wants. Just like he always has.

You don’t know where he goes, but you’re purposely not keeping tabs on him anyway. You just need some time to breathe and regroup. To remind yourself of the progress you’ve made, of all the good in your life, so you won’t allow yourself to be dragged back under with all the bad. With that in mind, you walk past the restrooms and food court and over to a little seating area where you can have a little privacy.

Sighing, you sit down on one of the benches and pull out your phone. The screen is full of notifications—some more texts from Jimin, asking how things are going, asking if he needs to beat Yoongi up (or better yet, enlist Namjoon to do it, because he’s been in the gym lately), apologizing again for putting you in this mess. You can’t help but smile, endeared by his persistence to make his goof right. And also his offering up Namjoon for the job, knowing damn well his boyfriend was the most uncoordinated motherfucker on planet earth and everyone knew Yoongi would stomp his ass the fuck out. The gesture is sweet, regardless.

There are also a flurry of texts from Leah, and you know before you open them that she’s already talked to Jimin.

Leah 👯‍♀️✨ [1:15] Omg, i TOLD jimin that trying to set you up was a bad idea

Leah 👯‍♀️✨ [1:15] And his dumb ass ended up setting you up with your EX??!?

Leah 👯‍♀️✨ [1:15] Girl, are you okay??

You don’t really have the energy to talk to her about it right now, so you simply heart her last message and type out a quick note that you’ll reach back out to her when you get home.

It doesn’t surprise you that your friends are looking to get the tea—hell, you know you would too. This is a ridiculous situation. Absolutely crazy, so much so that it’s the kind of thing you only see in bad romcoms. Yet here you are, stuck in the crazy in real fucking life. If this were happening to either one of your friends instead of you, you absolutely would be on the edge of your seat trying to get updates, cause what the fuck.

What does surprise you, though, is that though your phone is full of your friends’ tittering, there are zero notifications from Alex. You would have thought he’d check on you by now, especially since you sent him a text this morning letting him know you were headed out. One look at your message history shows he never even responded to you, though he read it.

You frown, trying to shake off your irritation. Because yes, his silence is annoying, but you know the reason you’re actually so riled up is Yoongi, and there’s no reason to take it out on Alex.

The phone rings and rings, and you actually think you’re going to be sent to voicemail, but right as you’re mentally preparing the message you’re going to leave, he picks up.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” you breathe, smiling for the first time in what feels like forever. “Just wanted to check in—haven’t heard from you all day.”

A slight pause. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m a little swamped over here.”

He does sound a bit distracted. “Don’t worry, I get it,” you reassure him. You’re just happy to hear his voice, to have something ground you in the here and now when the current chain of events has forced you to revisit the past, and your brain is threatening to keep you there. Happy to have a reminder of how far you’ve come, and a promise of how much farther you can go.

It’s loud in the background, indistinct voices causing buzzing noise behind him. You wonder where he is, with that many people, especially since he told you he’d have to work today.

“I’m almost home,” you continue. “Finally. It’s been a really long and taxing trip, and it would have been so much better if you could have come with me.”

“_____,” Alex sighs, tone edging on disapproval.

“I know, I know, I totally understand why you couldn’t! Not trying to make you feel guilty, just letting you know that I miss you,” you reassure him. “And you honestly have no idea how much I can’t wait to see you.”

If you were paying attention, you would have started to pick up on just how quiet Alex is being while you tell him about your family plans for the night, as well as what he should expect on Christmas Eve, when your entire town traditionally gets together for its holiday festival and Christmas tree lighting. But as it is, you just keep talking, letting the compounding stress you’ve been harboring all day start to ebb away at the reminder that someone is still in your corner. “When does your flight come in again? I can pick you up from the airport.”

He doesn’t say anything for so long that you would have thought the call dropped if you didn’t hear the muffled sound of a woman loudly laughing coming through the receiver. Unease starts to tickle your consciousness, starts to creep across your skin.

“I’ve been thinking,” Alex finally says. “And I’m not sure me coming with you for the holidays is such a good idea.”

“What?” you ask hollowly. Sure you heard him wrong. “What do you mean?”

“I’m just not sure it would be appropriate.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You laugh, the sound taking on a bit of a manic edge, even to your own ears. “My family knows you’re coming and they’re excited to meet you and have promised me they’ll be on their best behavior. So you don’t worry about it.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“So then what is it?” you press, trying to curb your exasperation. You really do not need this today. You just need one thing to go the way it was supposed to. One thing to not fight you. “It’s Christmas. It’s kind of expected for people to spend time with their partner’s family during Christmas. How is that not appropriate?”

Alex lets out a sigh, and you don’t appreciate the condescension you sense in the action. “See? I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Spit it out.” Your tone has hardened, none of the previous warm fondness leftover from mere moments ago. “What are you talking about?”

But while your survival instincts are rapidly walling up your defenses, are resharpening your smoothed edges, Alex is attempting to do the opposite. “Babe,” he says gently, and you want to strangle him. You don’t want his gentleness. You want him to explain what the fuck is going on.

“What?” Subconsciously, you already know where this is going. But you want him to say it. Your exhausted brain must be playing tricks on you, so you want him to say it.

“We’ve been having fun.” He sounds distinctly uncomfortable. Good. “But I think you think this is more than it really is.”

And there it is. Your blood slowly turns to ice, your stupid heart continuing to pump the jagged crystals though your veins anyway. Scraping you raw from the inside out.

“Really. I wonder what gave me that impression,” you retort, humiliation seeping into every atom of you and threatening to swallow you whole. He doesn’t say anything, just audibly sighs again like you’re the one being difficult. “Alex, I asked you if you wanted to come, and you said yes! Why the fuck would you do that if you didn’t want to?”

“Because I wanted to try. For you!” This is rich. This is so fucking rich, and you refuse to let him pin all of this on you. Because if you were picking up on signs when there weren’t any, he damn sure has been letting you do it.

“You didn’t think that you should tell me you felt this way before, I don’t know, I told my entire fucking family that you were coming?”

“I was gonna come, even though I didn’t think it was a good idea,” he says defensively. What the fuck did he want, a medal? “But I’m sorry, the longer I sat with it, the more it just didn’t feel right. And I just don’t feel good about meeting your family if I don’t see this going anywhere.”

“Oh wow, thanks for your consideration, then,” you scoff snidely.

“_____,” he says, and the pity you hear in the way he says your name makes your blood boil. You refuse to be patronized.

“I get it.” The volume of your voice is brought back down to something that feigns indifference, the words clipped. “I hear you. Fine, whatever. Merry Christmas.”

You hang up before he can try to talk his way out of the dick move he just pulled. Because you don’t want to hear it. He doesn’t want you, so that’s that. No need to waste any more of your energy on it.

He’s not a plaything, you insisted to Jimin, but now, you can only laugh at your own stupidity. Clearly Alex never got that memo.

Clearly, the two of you have never been on the same page.

How could you have read the situation so wrong? How do you always read the situation so wrong?

Why do you always ignore clear signs of disinterest? Why do you always offer yourself to men who just want to fuck you and be on their merry way?

Well, you think as you stand, woodenly heading back to the car. At least I’m consistent.

Distantly, you recognize the familiar crooning of Mariah Carey, audible through the speakers despite the din of travelers hustling their kids into the restrooms or chatting in the food court. All I want for Christmas is you, she sings, and you can’t help but scoff at her timing. You both may be alone at Christmas, but unlike you, she at least has those song residuals to keep her warm at night.  

The temperature has noticeably dropped even more in the short amount of time you were inside, and you reflexively huddle deeper beneath your coat, dipping your head against the wind and stuffing your hands into your pockets. Of course, it isn’t until you make it back to the car that you remember that you left your keys with Yoongi. Your responding exhale is visible in the air, and you close your eyes, desperately trying to control the firestorm of emotion that has been swelling within you all day and is now threatening to erupt. Your hands clench into fists, tears of frustration starting to build behind your eyelids as you stand out in the cold, unable to open your own goddamn car. “God fucking dammit!”

You just…you just want to make it home so this day can be over. You’re so, so tired.

“Are you ready to go?” a voice asks from behind you.

Of course. Of course he’s here when you’re about to fucking lose it. You’re not sure whether it’s relief you feel or rage, so, with another long measured breath, you simply hold your hand out, not bothering to turn and face him.

If Yoongi notices the stiffness in your posture he certainly doesn’t comment on it, obediently dropping the keys in your hand and moving to the passenger side.

Silently, you unlock the doors, dropping into your seat and shoving the key in the ignition. The heat turns back on once the engine comes back to life, but you dial it up even more in an effort to chase off the chill that crept in your car since you left. You turn out of the parking spot before Yoongi can even put his seatbelt on properly.

Yoongi is concerned. He doesn’t say anything, but over the years, you’ve become an expert at deciphering his body language, and his concern is clear as day in the glances he keeps shooting your way, in the way he’s sitting up straight, his perpetual piss poor posture suddenly cured. In the restless fingers he drums without pattern against his knee. In the parted lips that hesitate for a wary tongue.

What you want to tell him, since he so obviously wants to know, is that you’re pissed. Pissed that he has the audacity to stroll back into your life just as casually as he left it. Pissed that he’s stirring up all these feelings that you thought you had finally moved past.

You were doing better, and here he comes, deadset on ensuring you stay fucked up in the head.

You grit your teeth as you turn back onto the interstate, in complete disbelief of your situation. There was a time in your life where you actually thought about what it would be like to marry this man, and yet here you are, the constant butt of all cosmic jokes.

This was a mistake. You should have never agreed to let him back in your car. Back in your life. Should have never reopened old wounds that had never properly closed.

How hilariously absurd to think you could be the bigger person when you knew damn well that he left you so small.

Yoongi’s eyebrows pinch as he continues to study the look you must have on your face. “Is everything okay?” he finally hedges.

“Yeah.” You breeze right past the question, the word sounding like a blatant lie even to you. There are so many things you want to say, but you can’t deal with this right now. You need to get home. You just need to get home. “Just peachy.”

“If you say so,” Yoongi murmurs. “Here. You should eat.”

A glance at the bag he’s holding out you shows that he apparently spent his time at the rest stop in the food court. The insignia on side declares it to be from Wendy’s, and you already know that your favorite burger awaits you inside.

What the fuck is he trying to do? Trying to confuse you? Because if that’s the case, he’s certainly succeeding. But you truly aren’t in the mood for his games right now.

You look away from his offering, refusing to touch it. “Why do you keep buying me things?” you snarl.

Yoongi blinks, hesitating at your sudden hostility. “Because you’re driving. It’s the least I can do.”

“Well, don’t! I’m not hungry.” And you’re telling the truth—though you haven’t eaten anything other than junk food all day, your stomach is currently twisting in on itself too much for you to even think about food.

“_____,” he says evenly, nonplussed at your increasing fury. “You’re cranky right now because you’re hungry. You have to eat.”

You don’t answer him, your rage only further brewing at thought that he thinks that’s the problem. Your life is falling apart again, but that’s the problem? You haven’t seen him in three years because he decided he wanted nothing to do with you, but that’s the problem?!

It’s while you’re pointedly ignoring him, internally stewing, that you notice the first snowflake. It appears out of nowhere, drifting from the sky and melting easily against your windshield. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening slightly in alarm when you realize that single snowflake is quickly being joined by others, visibility rapidly decreasing as you apparently drive straight into the storm.

“Shit,” you breathe. “Was it supposed to snow today? I don’t remember anyone saying it was supposed to snow today.” You also can’t recall checking the weather reports over the past few days, though, too preoccupied throughout the week with making sure you got enough of your work done that you wouldn’t be overwhelmed after the holidays. And then, today, too busy trying to convince yourself not to have a meltdown by the sudden reappearance of your ex-boyfriend.

Your ex-boyfriend who apparently still knows you well enough to recognize your building distress. “Pull over,” Yoongi says simply.

Anxiety thrums through you as the snow continues to fall, showing no sign of letting up. Your hands tighten on the wheel. “I can do it,” you snap.

“I know you can,” he says easily. Gently. “But you don’t have to.”

“I don’t need you!”

A pause. One long enough that you dare to take your eyes off the road to look at him. There is a strange expression on his face, one that immediately shutters away once he realizes you’re looking. “I know you don’t,” he agrees quietly.

Your eyesight blurs. Your bottom lip trembles.

“_____, can you please pull over?”

You pull over.

One night, when you were a teenager, you were driving home from your part-time job when you slid right through an intersection. The conditions had aligned perfectly for this to happen: it had just started snowing an hour before, the powdery stuff that looked benign and pretty as it fell, but also made the roads slick. It was dark, winter dictating that the sun had set well before you were allowed to go home, despite it still being early. You were well overdue for new tires, but also completely unaware of this fact.

You were driving well under the speed limit, creeping home, but that didn’t matter much when you were faced with a red light and brakes that suddenly started to pump in their valiant attempt to slow the car. Terrifyingly, you just kept sliding into oncoming traffic.

Luckily for you, the people going the other way had seen you coming and noticed your inability to stop, so no one was hurt. You didn’t even hit anything, pulling over only so you could attempt to calm the heart that had migrated into your throat and clear the whooshing in your ears.

But ever since, you’ve always been more of a nervous driver. Totally fine under normal conditions—in the day to day. But the moment it gets too dark or it rains too hard or there’s too much snow, driving to you becomes less of a common task and more of an exercise in curbing your anxiety.

Yoongi has never had this issue. He’s a good driver, one who enjoys doing it and has no qualms about doing so, no matter the conditions. When he learned this about you early in your relationship, he easily took the reins, happily relieved you of that burden. Years later, despite no longer wanting you, this has apparently not changed.

It’s Yoongi who slowly navigates through the worsening storm for the final stretch of your trip. You say nothing from the passenger seat, just tighten your hands in your lap. When he glances over at you one too many times, you lean your head against the window and close your eyes.

That night had been foreshadowing, you suppose. A warning from the cosmos of what the rest of your life was going to be like. A reminder that ultimately, just because you’re behind the wheel, it doesn’t mean you’re in control.

You close your eyes, but you don’t sleep.

“We’re here.”

His voice startles you, loud and a little raspy from an hour and a half of disuse. You hadn’t expected him to say anything at all, because it’s obvious you’re home—you watched Yoongi get off at the familiar exit, turn down a familiar street. Park in a familiar driveway. Up until relatively recently, you’ve lived here your whole life. You know exactly where you are.

But he knows that. Yoongi’s words are less of a statement and more of a placeholder—something to fill the space your extended silence has left. Something to tide over until he can muster up the resolve to say what it is he actually wants to say. Unfortunately for him, you don’t want to hear it.

“Thanks,” you mutter, not meeting his eyes and unbuckling your seatbelt. “Can you pop the trunk?”

He hesitates, clearly not wanting to let you go so easily, but ultimately, he sighs and does what you ask. The trunk is popped, and you open your door, easily slipping away from him.

You take a few moments to gather some of the trash that has accumulated over the day and stuff it into a plastic bag before climbing out of the car. Yoongi follows your lead, taking the keys out of the ignition and moving to the rear.

You watch him silently, biting the inside of your cheek thoughtfully as he carefully takes the bags—yours and his—out of the trunk. It’s almost over, you remind yourself. Still, you can’t help but think about how while you’re finally home, he’s not.

“Do you…” You swallow, unsure, even if the weather makes you feel obligated to ask. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he replies, not looking up from his task. “It’s just a few blocks.”

You know that. He knows you know that. “Okay,” you say anyway.

Yoongi unloads the last bag, slamming the trunk closed. He turns to you then, cheeks dusted pink by the bite in the air. Eyes dark and unexpectedly intense when he holds your gaze, waiting for something you’re not sure how to give. Finally, he looks away, and you’re set free from his spell. Your car keys are held out, then a wad of cash, and you reflexively take them both. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you repeat hollowly.

With one final nod, Yoongi grabs the handle of his suitcase and walks away. You watch him until he turns the corner of the block, then dazedly look at the money in your hand, almost surprised that it’s there.

Oh yeah. The reason you agreed to this nightmare in the first place.

Woodenly stuffing the bills into your coat pocket, you trudge your way to the front door and open it with your old house key. Warmth immediately washes over you, but you still feel so cold.

Your sister Sierra, having heard the door open, curiously pops her head out of the living room, a smile overtaking her face at the sight of you. “Mom!” she yells. “_____ made it!”

And then you’re wrapped in your family’s embrace, the familiar motions of your sister squeezing you tight and your mother kissing your forehead making a smile inch across your face. You can’t help but be amused by their excited chattering, the thing inside you that has been wound tight all day slowly relaxing at the comfort of being where you’re safe and loved.

“Where’s Yoongi?”

And just like that, your mother’s curious inquiry locks you back up. It’s not her fault, you know. You’re sure you would ask the if your daughter was suddenly driving home with her ex-boyfriend who she refused to speak about for years.

“He went home.” You let out a grounding sigh, using the action of taking off your coat as an excuse to not have to meet her eye. “We’re not back together, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s a long story, but he needed a ride.”

“Hmm,” is all she says, but you know from her tone that the subject won’t be forgotten, just dropped for the moment. The way Sierra smirks when you glance at her confirms that at the very least, she’s gonna want you to tell her the tea.

But you’re exhausted and they know that. So they allow you to slip your boots off and hustle you further inside, where the previously promised pizza is waiting for you.

You end up going to bed not too long after eating dinner, good and truly wiped. And when you finally awaken the next morning, you’re surprised to find you slept a full twelve hours. Getting dumped while being stuck in the company of someone else who also dumped you really takes a lot out of a person, you suppose.

And speaking of…you’re really, really not looking forward to admitting to everyone that Alex isn’t coming. The wound is still fresh, your own mind still spinning in disbelief that it happened at all, so how can you possibly explain it to someone else?

You don’t really have a choice, though. Luckily, you know your friends are good and distracted with their own holiday activities, so a quick text letting them both know you made it will give you a few more days before they start asking questions. But your family? There’s no fucking way for you to simply avoid the subject when your entire family is expecting to meet him.

There’s no way around it, so you might as well rip off the bandaid and get it over with.

As you make your way downstairs, you can hear that your family is already up, chatting over coffee in the living room. With an internal sigh, you dip into the kitchen to pour yourself a cup as well before joining them, curling up in the corner of the couch next to Sierra. She distractedly greets you when you do, still in her pajamas and in the middle of a rant about how the children who live in the apartment above hers are so unbelievably loud that there’s no way they’re anything but demons.  

You sip your coffee and listen, lips quirking in amusement at how animated your sister is getting the more riled up she gets. An idle glance out the window surprisingly reveals that the driveway and sidewalk in front of your house have already been cleared, which you’re relieved to see, because you’ve been dreading having to shovel ever since you arrived last night. Your mother must have hired someone to do it, and you’re glad—she’s getting older, and now that you and your sister aren’t always around to help, you really don’t want her to do all that shoveling by herself.

“_____?”

The tone in which your mother says your name in indicates that this is not the first time she’s tried to get your attention. You turn away from the window, blinking out of your thoughts. “Hmm?”

Your mother smiles, clearly aware that your attention lays elsewhere. “I was just asking when we should expect your little friend to be here. I’ve already changed the sheets in the guest room, but if he’s coming this evening, I want to make sure dinner is ready. And you know the festival is tomorrow—is he gonna make it?”

Your next gulp of coffee has nothing to do with you needing more caffeine and everything to do with you attempting to prolong the inevitable. But, like it always does, time ultimately runs out. “He’s not coming,” you admit hesitantly.

There’s a beat of silence where your family attempts to make sense of your words. But then, your mother tilts her head in confusion. “What do you mean he’s not coming?”

“I mean,” you say slowly, struggling to get the words out. They’re reluctant to leave you, thick and sticky on your tongue like molasses. “I mean he’s not coming. Told me he would and then broke up with me on my drive here.”

No one says anything again, the shock throwing them both off, and the face Sierra pulls moments later would have had you cracking up if you weren’t already discomfited by the situation.

“You’ve been together for months and he dumps you via phone?” she asks incredulously.

“Don’t even worry about it, Si. It’s not like this is the first time this has happened to me,” you joke weakly, but it falls flat, only stirring up the growing tension.

“Yeah, but…” She’s thrown off. The reminder of how depressing your love life is has thrown her off. God, are you pathetic. “During the holidays, though? What an asshole!”

“Watch your mouth,” your mother reminds her, but it’s clear her heart isn’t in it. She’s too busy turning her concerned gaze in your direction to continue scolding her adult daughter.

“Sorry Mom, but he is! Who breaks up with their partner during the holidays?”

“People who don’t want to buy presents,” you muse unhelpfully. “People who want to dip out before Valentine’s Day.”

“So. Assholes,” Sierra insists.

“Men,” you correct, and your sister nods in agreement.

Your mother, however, has been frowning throughout your entire sisterly exchange, and doesn’t seem as gung-ho about the conclusion as the two of you. “Sweetheart, I promise you,” she murmurs, eyes sad. “Not all men are like that.”

Her clear pity triggers your defenses to shoot way up. “Really? Because that hasn’t been my experience,” you scoff. “And that hasn’t been your experience either.”

Your sister sucks her lips in her mouth, eyes wide in surprise at your utterance. “_____,” she belatedly chastises, though it’s obvious her heart isn’t in it.

“What? Dad’s an asshole. You want me to pretend that he isn’t?”

But unlike you, your mother doesn’t get defensive when she’s faced with her failures. Instead, she just looks at you, eyes sad, and moves from where she’d been lounging on an armchair to sit between you and Sierra on the couch. “I chose wrong,” she admits quietly. “But I would do it again in a heartbeat, because I got you two out of it.”

You allow yourself to be pulled into her embrace—you tucked under one arm, Sierra under the other. You reflexively melt into your mother’s familiar warmth, tucking your face in the hollow of her neck, just like you used to do when you were little.

“I chose wrong, but that doesn’t mean that you always will. So don’t give up, okay? The right one will come exactly when he’s supposed to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter dismissively, ashamed that you’re ashamed.

“I’m serious, baby. You need to not be so quick to shut down. You’re missing out on opportunities.”

“Yeah! Like Yoongi.” You can hear the mischievous grin in your sister’s voice, though you refuse to lift your head and entertain her. “Him suddenly popping back into your life? That can’t be a coincidence.”

“Considering the fact that we’re both home for the holidays and he lives around the corner, I beg to differ,” you scoff. “Besides, there’s no opportunity there. Just disappointment.”

“Yeesh, when did you become so bitter?” Sierra moans, pulling out of the hug so she can lean over your mother and look you in the eye.

You pull out of the hug too. “When men decided to ruin literally everything and make me bitter.”

“_____,” your mother sighs, already weary of so much of your negativity so early in the morning.

“Don’t even worry about it, Mom. I’ll just attempt to be a lesbian or get a bunch of cats or something.”

Sierra laughs, but your mother isn’t amused by your joke that you’re still not sure is actually a joke. Still, she ultimately decides to let it go when you hurriedly ask, “But anyway. What’s for breakfast?”

Her eyebrow lifts in challenge. “Who said I’d be making breakfast?”

“I haven’t been home in forever,” you pout, “and I just got dumped. Don’t you want to make me pancakes?”

“You’re grown—you can make your own pancakes,” she snorts. But even though she’s rolling her eyes, she’s also still vacating the couch and headed straight to the kitchen, a smile touching her lips.

A warm hand on your arm has you turning back to Sierra, who still has a concerned slant to her brow. “You sure you’re okay?”

“No,” you answer honestly, and go to get more coffee before she forces you to elaborate.

That day you go see more family, and as much as you try to downplay it, it’s a bit of a big deal. Over the years, you’ve sporadically been back home for short visits, but you’ve never come back for Christmas, even though it’s such a big holiday in your family. Everyone congregates at your grandma’s house, and she cooks a big meal full of your favorites and smiles contentedly while watching you eat it. Some of your younger cousins, still in high school and thinking about college applications, pepper you with questions about the city you live in now, and whether you regret going to school so close to home.

(“No,” you answer honestly. “I had a lot of fun, and being closer to home means you can come back whenever you want. Besides, locations aren’t what make great memories.” Memories that are threatening to creep up at this very moment, but you refuse to acknowledge. You swallow. “It’s the people.”)

Here, in your grandmother’s home, surrounded by so much love and laughter and support, something in you slots back into place. Something you hadn’t realized was knocked loose to begin with.

Here, the persistent chill in your bones warms, just a little.

You actually almost get through the day completely scot-free, but, of course your nosy but well-meaning uncle can’t help but ask about the date you said you were bringing. Your mother saves you from answering by cutting in with a curt and final “There is no date”, but experience, along with all the pointed looks being exchanged across the room, tells you that there is most definitely going to be a flurry of phone calls over the next few days. Oh well. Your mother gossiping with her siblings about your nonexistent love life is something to be expected. At least you don’t have to be the one to say anything. Small mercies.

You have such a nice time with your family that you find yourself not protesting very much when, the next day, your mother insists you come with her to the annual Holiday Festival. Wheedling you with a put-upon pout and a “You’re never back home”, and you don’t have it in you to deny her.

(You said the same words at breakfast yesterday, but it sits differently on her tongue. Sits differently on your chest. You suppose you owe her at least one of those.)

Just as the holidays are a big deal in your family, the same is true of your town. Every year—well before November has the chance to make its exit—streets begin being lined with lampposts decorated with wreaths, begin being filled with houses touting lights and festive signs and inflatable snowmen and santa statues. Your childhood is filled with memories of all of the fun activities held in Town Square the week leading to Christmas—the ice skating and ice sculptures; the pleasant bite in the air and the hot chocolate to combat it.

And, of course, in the center of it all, the forty-foot artificial Christmas tree whose lights are only turned on during the final day of the festival, right on Christmas Eve.

Today is Christmas Eve, and now that you’re in town and your family is on vacation from work, they intend to honor your yearly tradition and bring you with. It’s better this way, you know. Better that you’re not left with too much time to think about what has happened over the past few days, the past few years. Better to distract yourself so that the dark cloud you thought you had long chased away doesn’t creep back.

So you willingly join your mother and sister at the festival, meeting up with your aunt and some cousins as well. As it’s the last day, Town Square is teeming with people—people visiting all of the little booths and perusing the merchandise being sold by town businesses, buying hot drinks and fair snacks, renting out ice skates, watching little kids happily sled down stretches of grass that are sloped just enough to be considered hills.

You, Sierra, and your cousin Jasmine break away from the rest of the group and meander through the vendor stalls, sipping on hot toddies. (Jasmine is technically only nineteen, but she also enrolled at a university in the fall, and from what you’ve seen on her social media, she has already been thoroughly tainted by things much stronger than a simple hot toddy. So, as a good older cousins, you and Sierra simply shrug and order an extra when she asks for one.) The drink is surprisingly delightful, though you’ve never had it before—the combination of the liquor, cinnamon, and temperature warms you from the inside out, which really comes in handy as it gets later into the night and the temperature continues to drop.

It’s so delightful, in fact, that you decide you want to get another one while the three of you are browsing through a collection of handmade ornaments. Your cup is almost empty—and definitely will be by the time you make your way back to the other side of the ice skating rink, where all the food stalls are located. So you preemptively start heading in that direction, a small, contented smile touching your lips as you maneuver your way through excited children racing to the sledding hill and onto the ice.

One such child crashes into your legs, and when you reflexively look down, a hand reaching out to steady them, you can’t help but be surprised by the familiar eyes that meet yours.

“Sua!” someone calls, and you freeze at the voice, realizing immediately why this seemingly random child looks familiar.

It’s too late. There’s nothing you can do but hope this encounter passes quickly.

“Sua,” the voice calls again. “Slow down! You need to be careful!”

Just as you expected, it’s Min Junki who emerges from the crowd, a bit winded from chasing down a speedy toddler. Surprise colors his features when he realizes it’s you who has halted the enthusiastic whirlwind that is his daughter. “Oh wow, _____. I heard that you were back in town! How have you been?”

Your smile is a bit more forced now. A bit more on edge. “Just for the holidays,” you reply, trying not to make this awkward. But how can you not be awkward when you’ve just run into Yoongi’s older brother, who you haven’t spoken to since the breakup?

Shit. If Junki’s here, Yoongi probably is too. You don’t know why you’re surprised—the whole goddamn town is here, just like they are every year.

“But I’ve been doing okay. How about you?” you offer politely, though really, you’re praying to whoever is listening that he gives you the Sparknotes version so you can dip before you cross paths with anyone else.

Sua, abashed that she ran into you, utilizes the distraction of the grownup conversation to scuttle back to her father, hiding behind his legs instead. Wow, you can’t help but think, mind struggling to match the baby of your memories to the walking, talking, mini person in front of you. What is she, four now?

Junki chuckles at her antics, but unfortunately isn’t diverted from his task of chatting with you. “Pretty good. Minji and I were hoping the festival would wear Sua out a little.” He gestures over to the food area, and there is his sweet, soft-spoken wife Minji, chatting with Yoongi’s parents with what looks to be a sizable baby bump shielded by her winter coat.

Wow. Wow, wow.

You take a drink from your cup, not sure how to react. Would it be rude of you not to go over and speak? Would it be weirder if you did?

But the older man keeps talking, momentarily saving you from overthinking. “We need to be sure she gets some sleep, but she’s really excited about Santa coming. Aren’t you, Sua?”

The toddler nods timidly. Her hesitance is definitely a change from when you last saw her—of course, she was just a baby then, but you still used to be one of her favorite people. Time has a habit of creating distance, you suppose.

Her father must be on the same wavelength as you. Must notice how out of place you’re now feeling in a space that used to be carved out, just for you. “Sua,” he says, gently nudging her. “Do you remember Auntie _____?”

“No,” she says, body twisting timidly. She’s curious though, that much is sure. She looks like she’s itching to get closer to you, but her shyness is overriding her own instinct.

“Well, I remember you. You got so big!” you gasp dramatically, kneeling down until you’re eye-level with her. “Last time I saw you, you were thiiiiiiis small.”

The space between the tips of your thumb and forefinger shrinks, no bigger than a pea. Your ridiculous declaration works to break the ice—she giggles, daring to inch out from behind her father. “Nuh-uh!”

You pretend to think. “Really? Hmm, I guess you’re right. Maybe it was this small?” A little bigger.

“Auntie,” she says smartly, “I was never that small.”

“Sure you were,” you say matter-of-factly. “We all were. But you’re right. I think you were actually about this small.” This time, you actually hold your hands out to a rough estimation of how tall she was when you she was a year old. Sua takes that as an invitation to dash into your arms, taking you by surprise and throwing you off-balance. With a startled oof, your ass hits the snow, your arms reflexively circling the child to ensure you took the brunt of the minor tumble.

Sua just giggles at the whole ordeal, her grip around your neck locking you in the chokehold-type hug of little kids who don’t realize their own strength. But then suddenly, she’s shouting “Uncle!” and you immediately freeze, dread seeping through your veins.

Please let Yoongi have another brother that you never knew about. Please let this just be a Christmas miracle where the long lost Min is finally reunited with his family. But no, a turn of your head produces exactly who you expect it to be—Yoongi, holding two cups. There’s a strange expression on his face as he looks at you, but it quickly disappears into careful neutrality.

“Uncle Yoongi, do you remember Auntie _____?” Sua practically yells in her excitement. You flinch, her mouth too close to your ear, but to be honest, the words would have been loud regardless. They’re too pointed, aimed straight for your heart.

You hear Yoongi huff out an amused breath as he gets closer. “Yes, I remember her.”

Suddenly awkward, you detach yourself from the little girl’s death grip while your ex-boyfriend approaches. Yoongi just gives you a polite nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to his obvious target—Sua.

“Your order is ready, Miss,” he says with the formality of a waiter, eyes softening. He’s always been soft for Sua. “One cup of hot chocolate, extra marshmallows.”

She giggles, reaching for the cup excitedly.

“Be careful,” Yoongi warns as he gently hands it to her. “It’s hot.”

“Sua, what do you say?” Junki prompts.

“Thank you,” she dutifully responds, looking up at Yoongi like he gave her the world.

Oh, to be young again, and see everything through such pure eyes. To go back to when everything was so simple.

Yoongi fondly pats the top of his niece’s head, giving the pompom on her hat a playful tug, and you look away, suddenly realizing just how out of place you are right now. It’s time to make your exit.

But before you can make any excuse, Junki is reaching for his daughter. “Come on, Sua,” he urges, holding a hand out. The little girl obediently takes it. “Let’s go before they run out of sleds to rent.”

He’s not slick. The way his eyes pointedly shift between you and Yoongi makes his intentions obvious, but all you really want to do is desperately cling onto his kid so you won’t be left alone.

That would be a new low, you think. Using oblivious toddlers that aren’t even yours as a shield against uncomfortable social situations.

You don’t even have the opportunity to feel guilty about it, though. Sua happily lets herself be led away, waving ferociously at you and yelling “Bye!” at the two of you in her wake.

“That was subtle,” Yoongi snorts sarcastically. You don’t reply, and that results in a few moments of awkward quiet between you before he ultimately clears his throat. “So…”

“I’m gonna go look for Sierra,” you interrupt, turning on your heel. “I let her hold all of my drink tickets, but I haven’t seen her in a while, so she probably spent them all.”

He grabs your arm before you can get too far, and you immediately freeze, immobilized by his touch. Slowly, you look back at him, at the hand that tethers him to you.

Yoongi follows your line of sight, eyes widening when he realizes what you’re looking at. As if he didn’t realize he put it there. He retracts his appendage, but still says, “Wait.”

You sigh, already exhausted, the breath visible in the frosty air. “What do you want, Yoongi?”

“I just wanted to check on you. The last time I saw you, you seemed pretty upset.”

“Just having a bad day.”

You can tell by the slight tilt of his head that he doesn’t fully believe you, but you don’t really care what he believes right now. You just want him to leave you alone.

No such luck, though. Yoongi scans your face for a little longer and then says, “Where’s Alex? I don’t think I’ve seen him all night.”

You stiffen, shaking your head in disbelief. He’s never met Alex—has no idea what he looks like. So what does that mean? That he’s been watching you all night, trying to catch a glimpse of him? And, now that he’s fully aware that he’s not here, he has to make a point to bring it up to you?

Of course he does. Rub salt into your open wound. Be smug at your humiliation.

But you’re truly not in the mood to play his games right now. Your tone is clipped when, after a moment, you reply, “Not here, obviously.”

Yoongi just blinks at the news, but you can see the cogs turning in his head as he mentally puts together the pieces of the puzzle.

“Starting to to realize I’m the problem,” you continue with a self-depreciating laugh. Might as well guide him to the obvious conclusion, try to end this interaction as quickly as possible. “They always leave.”

Yoongi’s brows furrow, clearly dismayed. “What?”

You shake your cup, the absence of any movement inside confirming that you’re officially out of alcohol. And that certainly won’t do, if you’re going to make it through the rest of the night. “I’m gonna need another one of these,” you mutter to yourself, already turning again to continue to the beverage stands.

“The problem definitely isn’t you.”

The conviction in his voice is what stops you in your tracks. Is what makes you slowly turn your head, what makes you lock eyes with him over your shoulder.

“…It’s not me,” you repeat incredulously.

He’s frowning a little, having the gall to actually look irritated. “No. Of course not.”

You stare at him, a rage so visceral toiling in your belly that you can practically taste the fumes of it. All of this time you’ve been searching, desperate to find a connection that is a fraction as satisfying as what you had with Yoongi. And he really has the audacity to act like he hadn’t snatched that from you, hadn’t built you up solely to have the pleasure of blasting you to smithereens?

Your next words are quiet, so quiet you can barely hear them over the roaring in your own ears. “Fuck you, Yoongi.”

He seems visibly thrown by your response, and that only pisses you off more. Now he wants to play dumb?

The world around you erupts in applause and cheering, and distantly, you realize that while the two of you were having this exchange, you’ve apparently missed the Christmas tree lighting ceremony. But you don’t give a shit. Any and all holiday cheer you previously harbored has been ripped from you, and honestly? This is probably your cue to go home.

“Get out of my face,” you hiss. “Just…just leave me alone.”

And when you turn to leave this time, Yoongi doesn’t stop you.

You do decide to go home after that. You consider merely thugging it out, drinking hot toddy after hot toddy until your family decides they’re ready to call it a night, but your mood is now so soured that all of the warmth that has been slowly building within you since you’ve been home has been effectively snuffed out. There’s no reason to ruin anyone else’s night.

Your house is a couple miles from Town Square and the temperature continues to drop the later it gets, so you send Sierra a quick text and then call an Uber. She finds you already in bed when she and your mom get home, and though the clear reason she pokes her head into your old childhood bedroom is to try to figure out what’s wrong with you, you simply pretend to be asleep so you don’t have to deal with it.

Because ultimately, it’s not a big deal. It’s nothing new. You’ve long since gotten used to the sting of Yoongi’s rejection, are well-practiced in ignoring the way it constantly simmers beneath your skin. You know that if you leave it alone, if you don’t give it any attention, eventually, you will no longer feel singed from the inside out. What you’re feeling now? With time, it eventually will pass.

But in your reasoning, you forget one important detail.

Time is a luxury that is very rarely granted to you.

The next morning, you awaken to the sound of a revving motor, and a curious glance out your window reveals to you that it’s snowed again, and your neighbor across the street is dutifully clearing his driveway. While snow and everything that comes with it—cold temperatures, shoveling, a harder time traveling—usually irritate you, this is admittedly the one day a year you’ll allow it. Everyone loves a white Christmas, and you’re no different. Trudging to brush your teeth, you idly wonder if the snowblower you know is sitting in your mother’s garage has enough gas, or if you’re just going to do it by hand. Maybe your mother’s snow service will take care of it before you even step outside—you should ask her if they’re coming today, even though it’s the holiday.    

Sierra pops her head into the bathroom when she notices that you’re in there, smiling big. “Mom!” she yells, much too loudly for your still awakening brain. You flinch, but she ignores you, her childhood excitement for Christmas morning having followed her well into adulthood. “_____ is up!”

And so the morning starts off just as Christmas morning has for years and years—as soon as you’re all awake, you, Sierra, and your mother gather around the tree and eagerly exchange gifts. There aren’t many surprises, as the three of you provided each other a list of options and you all faithfully stuck to it. What does surprise you, however, is when Sierra disappears from the room for a few moments, only to return with a bottle of tequila and three shot glasses.

You snort, amused. “Are you serious, Si?”

“It’s tradition,” she says pointedly. And she’s not wrong—one year, she jokingly suggested taking a birthday shot for Jesus, and, amused, you easily agreed. But the silly ritual somehow returned year after year, and at some point stopped being a joke and started simply being what your family did after opening gifts and before eating breakfast. “A tradition that we’ve had to skip the past few years because somebody refused to come home.”

You wince a little. “I did come home,” you attempt to counter, but the words sound guilty even to your ears.

Rightfully so, Sierra doesn’t buy it. She narrows her eyes at you. “Yeah, but not for Christmas, which is when this is carried out! So we have to do it now.”

You look at your mother, and though she shakes her head good-naturedly at you, she clearly doesn’t oppose the proposition either. “It is tradition,” she points out.

“It is,” you agree.

So tequila shots it is.

The liquor burns the whole way down, your eyes threatening to water as you try not to gag. Sierra grimaces, a guttural noise coming from the back of her throat as she mutters to herself about getting old and not being able to hang anymore.

“This was your idea,” you helpfully point out, still pulling your own face.

But while the two of you gripe over the alcohol, your mother barely reacts. She merely swallows it down like it’s water and starts gathering stray wrapping paper off the floor and stuffing it into a garbage bag. A little tequila has nothing on her old sorority days, you suppose.

You and Sierra share an amused look, watching your mother pause in her tidying up when something outside the window catches her eye. She waves, her lips lifting into a soft smile.

“Who are you smiling at?” you tease, snickering. “Mr. Wilson about to be our new daddy?” But your mother doesn’t react to your good-natured jesting the way you assume she will, her delayed response immediately piquing your interest. You walk over, curiously peering out the window yourself and predictably spotting Mr. Wilson pushing his snowblower back into his garage.

But to your surprise, there is also someone else, bundled under a winter coat and scraping a shovel against the end of your driveway. Your eyebrows furrow. “Who’s—”

Your unspoken question immediately gets answered when the person finishes their row and turns to start the  next. Yoongi. Your breath sticks in your throat, rage reigniting at the pure audacity.

“_____,��� your mother says cautiously, but you ignore her, already stepping around her to grab your boots. You’re so mad, you can practically feel steam coming out of your ears.

Is this a joke? Does he think this is some kind of game?

Just a few days ago, Alex pressed down on an old wound you had assumed was long healed, but it’s only in this moment, as you stare at the person who had stabbed you in the first place, that you realize how naive you’ve been. All this time, you have been actively ignoring the knife Yoongi had indifferently slid between your ribs, hoping that if you pretended it wasn’t there, everything would eventually be okay.

But things were never okay. They’re not okay. You’re hemorrhaging, and Yoongi apparently thinks it’s funny to waltz back into your life just so he can slowly twist the handle.

This time, you’re tired of pretending. This time, you refuse to let him toy with you while you quietly bleed out.

“_____,” your mother pleads as you bound for the closet and rip your coat off its hanger. “He’s just trying to be nice. Please. Just let it go.”

You whirl on her, breathing fire. “I’m your daughter,” you snarl furiously. “Me. Your allegiance is with me.”

She at least has the good sense to look contrite, but you don’t care to hear anything else from her right now, yanking your front door open and stomping down the porch stairs. You’ve turned entirely reactionary, a tempest just barely restrained by your prison of a body.

Yoongi reflexively looks over his shoulder at the sound of the your screen door slamming open against the side of the house, watching you blankly as you march your way to him, still in your pajamas. A runaway train whose path he doesn’t realize he needs to get out of.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss.

He doesn’t answer right away, blinking owlishly at your hostility. But then you see the guard shutter in his eyes, and he pointedly turns back to his work. “Shoveling.”

“Stop being such a smartass. You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Let me rephrase then. Why are you oh-so-conveniently shoveling here, at my house, right after I very clearly told you to fuck off?” You swallow, struggling to keep the tremor out of your voice. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

He stares at you for a few moments, almost as if he can’t believe what you’re saying. Then he scoffs, shaking his head disbelievingly as he mutters under his breath, “Typical.”

“Excuse me?”

“Typical,” he mockingly repeats louder, eyes narrowing. “Only thinking about yourself.”

“EXCUSE me?!”

“Not everything is about you, _____,” he bites out. His cheeks are rosy with color, and you don’t know if it’s from the cold or his clear irritation. “I didn’t shovel your driveway to make you mad, or to get your attention, or any other ridiculous fucking reason you insist on making up in your head. I did it because I always have, even after you left. Because I know your mom has a bad back, and despite what you may believe, I’m not a dick.”

He’s mad. Yoongi doesn’t often get truly mad—it takes a lot to even make him raise his voice—but you clearly have gotten him there.

Well, fine. You’re mad too. He can join the fucking party.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” you snarl. Across the street, Mr. Wilson has paused in closing his garage door to nosily watch the scene you’re making, but you don’t even see him right now. Don’t see anything but Yoongi and his stupid haughty face. Don’t see anything but red.

Instead of responding, Yoongi takes the time to push the last bit of snow out of the way and into the grass. Then, to your absolute fury, he breezes past you like you’re not there and starts walking home.

Seething, you don’t think twice before following him down the sidewalk, steps quick to catch up with his slightly longer stride. “And now you’re just gonna run? That’s fucking typical!”

His jaw clenches. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Not doing what?” you taunt. “Not communicating? Oh, wow, just like old times!”

If looks could kill, you probably would have been struck dead a few houses ago, on Mrs. Henderson’s front lawn. But as it is, you’re too stubborn to let this go. Have been letting this go for so fucking long that it’s been eating you up for years. And you refuse to let it consume the scraps of you that are left.

Yoongi shakes his head, scoffs. Refuses engage with you the last couple blocks, even though you do your very best to provoke him, to force him to feel even a fraction of what you are. He’s clearly over it, but when he opens his garage door and you follow him in, he doesn’t try very hard to stop you.

But in his defense, you are a force to be reckoned with. Nothing but pure rage and sorrow and humiliation, a cyclone of self-loathing that will not be impeded by any half-hearted efforts.

Yoongi puts his shovel in its designated corner and then opens the door to the house and stomps inside. There’s a mudroom, you know, that separates the attached garage from the rest of the house, and Yoongi takes minimal time to rip off his hat, slip off his shoes, unwind his scarf, throw his coat aside. Still not looking at you, but not shutting the door in your face, either.

When he moves further into the house and leaves you standing there—not looking back, and not even bothering to press the button to close the garage door—you reflexively take your shoes and coat off too. But it’s like you have blinders on, hyper-focused on the sight of him turning his back on you and walking away. Always walking away. Heart drumming a staccatoed beat in your ears like it’s revving you up for war.

And you are, you suppose. You’re tired of avoiding him—fucking exhausted of spending years ignoring the extremely obvious elephant in the room.

It’s time to call a spade a spade.

The house is quiet when you pad in, the carpet in the living room completely swallowing the sound of your footsteps. Yoongi knows you’re behind him anyway, if the visible stiffness of his spine beneath his sweater is any indication. He ignores you for a bit more, focusing instead on making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water, but that facade is forced to drop when you’re suddenly close enough to touch him and blocking his path to the room’s only exit.

“Go home, _____,” he growls, eyes narrowing.

“No,” you snap. “Not until you tell me why you refuse to leave me alone.”

He pauses, a storm visibly rolling over his expression. “You don’t have to worry,” he says, voice quiet. Eyes steely. “It won’t happen again.”

“Not good enough! That doesn’t answer my question and I’m not leaving until you finally learn to use your words like a grownup.”

“I’m sorry, but can you please just spit out whatever you keep alluding to that’s upsetting you?” Yoongi scoffs. Your vexation flares at his obvious contempt. “Because I really don’t have the patience to play one your little guessing games right now. And we both know that if anyone should be pissed, it’s me.”

The audacity. The audacity. “What could you possibly be pissed over?” you fume. “Oh no, I wanted you to get off my property, poor you!”

His jaw ticks. “You really want to go there?”

“Go where, somewhere where you’re finally honest with me?! Yeah. Yeah, I want to go there!”

You’re owed that, at least. After all these years, you know you’re owed at least that.

Without breaking eye contact, Yoongi drains the rest of his glass and sets it in the sink. Carefully, he angles his body towards you, and instantly, the oh-so slight-change in his stance results in a massive change in intention. Defense to offense. “I just don’t understand why you’ve been so hostile,” he says slowly, “when you were the one who left me.”

Of all the things you could have expected him to say, this never, ever was anywhere near your radar. Your jaw drops, brain scrambling to make sense of it. Because clearly you heard him wrong. “I left you,” you repeat flatly, eyebrows furrowing. “I left you?”

You wait for Yoongi to correct you, to repeat what he actually said, and not the absurd thing you heard. But he does nothing of the sort—simply continues to stare at you as you struggle to digest his ludicrous accusation.

“…Are you smoking something?” you ask incredulously. “Did I miss it when we entered an alternate dimension? Yoongi, YOU left ME!”

“Excuse me?” He’s clearly baffled, but from the way his jaw ticks again, you can tell he’s pissed too. “I left? Or you wanted me to leave?”

“What the fuck are you even talking about?” This is ridiculous. So unbelievably absurd that you would laugh if you weren’t already fighting off tears of frustration. “What did I ever do to give you the impression that I wanted you to leave?”

Your gut twists when Yoongi actually does laugh, though the sound rings hollow. He shakes his head at you in disbelief. “Are you serious? _____, you literally built a whole new life and didn’t bother to leave a space for me in it. Didn’t even give me the courtesy of going through the motions of pretending to consider how I would fit in it. Because obviously, I was never meant to.”

The shock that runs through you at his words is ice-cold, quickly dousing the fires of your fury into embers. “What?” you whisper.

“What, did you expect me to stay where I’m clearly not wanted?” Yoongi scoffs, glaring at you. “You know, I almost did. Because I’m weak. You make me weak.”

Not wanted. He actually thought–thinks–that you didn’t want him. Your mind races at this new development, so many thoughts rushing past that you struggle to properly grasp any of them.

Your disoriented silence does nothing to dissuade Yoongi, who has apparently opened the floodgates and now can’t stop his onslaught of resentment. “Not one time did you ask me to come with you,” he continues, tone perfectly level. Perfectly level, but the words slash you anyway, the implications sharp and barbed. “Didn’t say a single thing that alluded to wanting me there. To wanting me. So I took the hint.”

You don’t know what to say. The truth of why he left has been something you’ve lingered on for years, sometimes in passing before you could whisk the thought away, but always coming haunt you in your darkest of moments. You’ve just assumed it was one of those things—that the universe worked in mysterious ways and you won’t always get all the answers.

But now that you know, you wonder if ignorance had been better. Because now, you feel like you’ve been punched in the gut. Now, your mind is shuffling through all the moments between when he left you and two seconds ago and coming to the dawning horror that everything could have been different.

But no. He can’t put this all on you. You’ve now been called out for your part in it, but he was there too. He made choices too. “Yoongi,” you finally say, forcing the words out, “you never, ever told me you wanted to come with me. I can’t read minds. How do you expect me to know that’s how you felt if you didn’t tell me?”

Yoongi looks completely mystified, as if it’s unfathomable to him that such a thing would ever need to be said. “Because I love you.” His stare burns. “And you know that.”

Your eyes widen, hardly believing your ears.

Present tense.

Your heart pounds as you wait for him to correct himself, but Yoongi does not waver, simply keeps looking at you as if what he just said was obvious.

“Don’t do that,” you whisper. “You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?” he retorts, pushing forward. Flustered, you scramble backwards in turn, trying to restore the space that he seems set on negating. Trying to restore your sanity. “Communicate? Tell you exactly how I’m feeling? I thought that was what you wanted.”

You shake your head, disbelieving. No. No, no no. “You don’t get to do that,” you repeat, a tremor in your voice.

Yoongi ignores you, advances even closer so that your back hits the pantry door and you have nowhere to go. So that you’re forced to look him straight in the eye when he says, voice cracking, “I may have been the one not to come back, but you were the one who left.”

Back then, you had been terrified to push too hard, fully aware that the house of cards you spent years pretending was made of brick could easily crash down with one misstep. But apparently, you had not been alone in that. Apparently, the same had been true for him.

Tense seconds stretch between you as you stare each other down. Weeks, years. You’re trembling, body buzzing with too much of everything at once. And within the span of a breath, your lips are molded to his.

You’re not sure who technically closed the scant inches between you, but from the way your hand now curls around the back of his neck, winds into his hair and pulls his mouth down to your level, you can safely deduce it was you. Yoongi doesn’t seem to protest though, melting into you immediately. Easily slotting into place like a puzzle piece cut from the beginning to fit you.

But it’s not enough.

You’ve been slowly suffocating, and it’s only now that you’re finally breathing him in that you realize it. You’re not close enough–can never be close enough–and it turns you desperate, quickly devolving things into a collision of lips and teeth and tongue, your body arching into the comforting weight of his.

And it’s as if no time has passed between you at all, Yoongi easily matching your urgency with his own. His pull effortlessly meeting your push in an encore performance of your well-practiced dance. His hands wisp over the flare of your hips, meander over the curve of your ass and squeeze, pulling your pelvis solidly into his. And oh. This is familiar. Years later, but oh-so-familiar, and you groan appreciatively into his mouth, one of your legs eagerly wrapping around his hip.

Everything is heated now, primal. Things happening too fast and not fast enough, the two of you reduced to nothing but your baser instincts, the pantry door rattling behind you as he roughly grinds himself into your core. You pant, sparks of pleasure racing across your skin, the hold you have on his hair reflexively tightening. A noise rumbles from his throat at the action, low and guttural, and that only deepens your lust. Only makes you want more. More, more, more.

And Yoongi knows. He must know, can probably tell from your haggard breaths, from the little desperate whines that escape you before you can stop them. He knows, and he’s eager to give you exactly what you’re asking him for.

Yoongi swallows your whine of protest when his hips slightly cant away from yours. But it doesn’t take you long to realize he’s simply giving himself room to slip his hand past the elastic waistband of your pajama bottoms, simply giving himself room to touch you right where you need him most. And when you gasp, skilled fingers stroking you exactly how you like, Yoongi swallows that too.

He’s deliberate in how he circles around your clit, pace meandering, but pressure sure. It sends electricity running down your legs and need pooling at your core. The careful press of the first finger inside you makes you dizzy; the second makes your knees tremble. You almost lose your balance entirely, but he simply leans his body against yours again, the pressure between him and the wooden door successfully holding you up enough for you to regain your bearings.

And regaining your bearings is not an easy feat. Not with his fingers inside you, long and lithe and knuckle deep. Not with his palm being forced against your clit by the insistent press of his cock. You whimper again, rocking against him and forcing him impossibly deeper.

Yoongi just watches you fuck yourself on him. Watches the tease of movement beneath  fabric, the twist of frustration on your face. Watches leisurely, like he has all the time in the world.

But you don’t. Hurriedly, you push against his chest. Yoongi goes easily, stepping back at the insistent pressure and removing his hand from your pants. He eyes you, pupils blown with lust despite his confusion. Head tilted slightly in question.

And you answer him by reaching for his waistband, hands trembling a bit in your haste to unbutton his pants. He starts to help you, but you’re in a haze. On a mission. And so you scramble to move his pants out of the way just enough to pull him out, spurred by the feel of him in your hand, just like you remember. Hot, thick. Heavy with promise.

His dick twitches excitedly in your hold when you give him a few cursory strokes, muscle memory gliding your hand over the velvety skin, your grip just as firm as he used to like. And apparently still likes, his breath stuttering in his throat as you quickly work him to full mast.

Yoongi’s eyes flutter, and then he regains enough sense to return his attention to you, hands swiftly returning and yanking your pajama pants over your hips and down your legs. You eagerly step out of them, easily spread your thighs when a wandering hand slips between them.

Suddenly, one of your legs is lifted and tucked into the crook of his elbow. The move surprises you, his cock momentarily forgotten as you scramble for his shoulders and lean a bit more heavily against the pantry in an attempt to regain stability. And that’s the only warning you get before, after he gives himself a few more pumps, he settles at your entrance and breaches you.

It burns. You’re wet, but not enough—was too impatient to allow him enough time to work you up properly. So now, as a result, his entry burns, breath catching in your throat, nails digging into his shoulders. Yoongi notices your discomfort immediately and tries to retreat, but you won’t let him, one of your hands scrabbling down his back so you can grab his ass and push.

Want. You want and you need, groaning at the satisfying pressure of his thick length separating your walls, inch by inch. You’ve been hollow, but now you’re not, Yoongi your long-missing piece. Slotting right where he’s always belonged. Where he’s always meant to be.  

Yoongi leans down and kisses you, trying to help you adjust. Trying to distract you from any discomfort with his wicked tongue. And you let him, easily meeting and matching his languid movements.

But there’s only so long you can try to restrain your hunger. And when he’s finally fully-seated, it becomes blatantly clear that you’re ravenous.

“More,” you whisper. Body trembling and dusted with goosebumps. You’re whole again, but you need.

And, never one to deny you, Yoongi gives you what you beg him for.

Slowly, he pulls out enough to thrust back in, the upward angle making his cockhead easily tap your g-spot.

“Ahhhhh,” you moan, sparks dancing across your vision. Arms circling his neck in an attempt to bring him impossibly closer. “M-More—”

Yoongi groans too, spurred by your reaction. Immediately pulls back out and slamming back in, harder this time.

You keen, everything about you encouraging his increasingly frantic pace. It still kind of burns at first, sparks igniting your lower-half every time he thrusts and scrapes against your insides, but you revel in that burn. Revel in the way the breath is knocked out of your lungs, revel in the way the pain rapidly gets swallowed by pleasure as he sucks color down the column of your throat, coaxing you soft and open. The angle assures your clit drags across his pelvic bone with every stroke, and you just whine and bask in it all. Bask in his reverent touch, in his feverish worship.

Ultimately, you can only cling to him as he pistons within you, your pussy the willing victim of his long pent up frustration. His hands greedily slide up your shirt, and you whimper at the additional stimulation, toes curling.

Yoongi shushes you. “Tell me what you need from me, baby,” he murmurs against your jaw. “Anything you want. You just have to tell me.”

“You,” you groan.

“You have me.”

No, he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand. “You,” you repeat, the word cracking a little.

Yoongi stops kissing you, pulls back so you can see the sincerity in his eyes. Stops the roll of his hips so you can hear the sincerity in his words. Takes a moment to rest his forehead against yours. “You have me,” he throatily says again. Sharing your breath. “You always have.”

You close your eyes, relishing in the heat of him. The weight of him. Instinctively, your hips cant down, body chasing its high, and he obediently reaches for them. His fingers digging into the meat of your ass only gives him more leverage to properly yank you down. To frantically and repeatedly spear you onto his cock. A particularly deep thrust has you letting out another desperate whine, but Yoongi merely shushes you again.

“I know, baby. I know.” He’s breathing hard with his efforts, pressing soothing pecks across your damp skin.

And then finally, you come undone, eyes rolling back, cunt locking around him. You convulse, only held up by Yoongi’s bodyweight and the door behind you. He curses, loudly, the hot grip of you triggering him into his own frenzy and as he continues to pound into you, deep deep. With a final, shuddering groan, he cums too, hips circling as he rides it out, pantry door rattling with each movement.

And you’re blissfully taking it, your pussy eagerly sucking him in like a vacuum. Milking him for everything he’s willing to give you.

A lot. What he’s willing to give you is a lot, because you feel him, shooting hot and sticky inside you, but even after he’s done he doesn’t stop fucking you. Just breathes hot against your neck and continues to fuck his cum deeper inside you, swiveling his hips like he’s in a trance. Like if he tries hard enough, he can make it stay.

Eventually, he calms, softened cock slowing its fevered roll, and he starts to regain sense of himself. Insecurity settles as soon as he pulls out and pulls away, both of you unsure of where you stand with these recent developments. You awkwardly grab paper towels to wipe at his mess while he tucks himself pack into his pants.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and you pause, thrown off guard at hearing him say the words. But then he continues, “I should have asked before I did that.”

Of course. Of course that’s what he’s sorry for. 

Whatever warmth you’d been starting to feel only moments before is doused right out. Sex means nothing, your mind whispers. When will you finally fucking grasp that? 

“It’s fine.” Your reply is frosty, even to you. “I’m on birth control.”

Yoongi’s lips thin, no doubt recognizing that he is no longer the one you are on birth control for. That annoys you, and it annoys you that it annoys you.

You’ve finally said your peace, and thought that you would feel better about it. Hell, you’ve even fucked the guy. So why is your chest still tight? Why does this feel so wrong?

You can finish cleaning up when you get home—you need to get out of here. Need some time and space to regroup. “I meant everything I said,” you murmur, pulling your pants back up.

His expression is guarded. “So did I.”

So that’s it, then. For how long are you going to allow yourself to be made a fool of? For how long are you going to offer pieces of yourself, chipping way until there’s nothing left? You can’t do this again. You don’t think you can survive doing this again.

With a slow nod, you move to turn away. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Yoongi immediately steps in your path. “What do you mean, a mistake?” he demands.

“I mean just that.”

“Oh, no no no. We’re not doing that. You had no problem saying what was on your mind two seconds ago. Why can’t you do the same now?”

“There’s nothing to say,” you reply defensively.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing to say?”

“Nothing has changed, Yoongi.”

He shakes his head, bewildered. “What are you talking about? Everything has changed. It was clearly all just a miscommunication.”

“So what,” you scoff. “You think we can just say oopsie and move on like it never happened?”

“I didn’t say that.” He’s frustrated. So are you. “I just—”

Something starts insistently vibrating, stealing both of your attention. It’s closest to you, and you quickly recognize the culprit to be the phone Yoongi tossed onto a counter, what feels like eons ago. Silently, you hand it to him.

He reflexively takes it, but gives you a look that tells you he’s not done with you before shifting his gaze to the screen. “Shit,” he mutters, immediately answering. “Hey, sorry. Yeah, I’m coming, I just lost track of time. Yeah, I know. But I’m on my way now.” He listens silently for a bit more, the way he shifts from foot to foot betraying his impatience. “Okay. Okay. I’m on my way right now. Okay. See you in a little bit.”

You raise a brow at the long breath he lets out when he hangs up, an agitated hand ruffling his inky strands.

He answers your unspoken question. “I’m supposed to be at my brother’s right now. My parents went ahead because they wanted to watch Sua open all her presents, but I told them I’d catch up with them after I finished shoveling.”

It is Christmas, isn’t it? And you were so mad when you entered the house that you forgot to even take into account that his parents might be inside, and also failed to notice when they weren’t. Hell, your own family is likely waiting for you too, and you didn’t even bother to bring your phone when you stormed out of the house.

“Oh,” you say, suddenly very embarrassed. You duck your head, turning to leave. “Of course. Don’t let me hold you up—”

Yoongi grabs your wrist before you can get too far, his touch halting your quick escape. “I just think we need to talk this out some more,” he says hesitantly. “Or, at least, I’d like to.”

Your deeply-honed defenses have your lips reflexively parting to tell him to fuck off. But there’s something new whispering in the back of your mind that makes your tongue hesitate. Something new and hopeful and very likely naive.

He’s right. While both of you just aired out some your grievances, you’re not deluded enough to think that wasn’t the tip of the iceberg. Besides, you were both so mad, you doubt either of you did much listening. At the very least, you can admit, his request sounds genuine.

“...I’d like that too,” you reply honestly after a few beats, strangely shy. Like you haven’t known him for years and just got done letting him fuck your brains out.

He shifts, an agitated hand running through his hair. “And I’d really love to do that now but—”

“Yoongi.” You hold up pacifying hands to his visible frustration. “It can wait. It’s waited this long.”

An amused puff of air escapes his lips. “I guess you’re right,” he agrees after a moment, something fluttering in your ribcage at the soft way he looks at you. “Then we can talk later?”

“Talk later,” you confirm. And this time when you try to leave, he lets you.

Your walk from Yoongi’s feels much different from your walk there. There was a tension in your body before that had you wound tight, tight. That’s gone now, your relaxed limbs now making you feel almost boneless. You’re dazed, and with the newly-fallen snow making everything glow, it’s like you’re in a dream. Like none of this is real.

But you know as soon as you enter your house and are met with your mother’s worried face that that’s not the case. That what just happened with Yoongi did, in fact, happen. She and Sierra have been waiting for you to come back, as the three of you are supposed to meet at your aunt’s house to open the rest of your gifts.

“I’m okay,” you assure her quietly, staring your boots. “And I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I shouldn’t have yelled at all.”

She doesn’t agree with you, though she should. She doesn’t tell you that it’s okay, because it’s not. Instead, your mother just gathers you in her arms and holds you there. “You’re human,” she murmurs. And that’s enough.

That night—after you’ve showered and gotten dressed and spent the whole day with your family and lugged all your presents back home—your phone rings. You pick it up, curious, only to freeze at the 🚘 on the screen.

Yoongi.

You never bothered to correct his contact info from when Namjoon had given it to you, what felt like forever ago. Now, the seemingly innocuous emoji sends your blood pressure skyrocketing, your body teeming with nerves.

Swallowing, you watch the phone ring and ring, and right before he gets sent to voicemail, you take the leap and answer the call. “Hello?”

“Hi,” he breathes. “It’s Yoongi.”

You find yourself smiling despite your sudden jitters. “I know.”

“Oh. I just—” He’s flustered. It’s reassuring to know you’re not the only one. “Sorry. I forgot you had my number.”

“Haven’t had enough time to block it yet,” you tease, but then immediately want to smack yourself. It’s much too soon in whatever…this is to start say something like that. Yoongi pauses, and you rush to rectify your mistake. “Um, that was a joke.”

This time, it’s him who’s amused, a puff of laughter escaping him. “I know.”

“Oh. Um, good.”

“Mmmm.”

“Did you need…” You hesitate, not wanting to accidentally dissuade him from reaching out to you when your newfound truce is so fresh. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Oh, no. No. Well, kinda, yeah.” He lets out a long breath. “I know we agreed that we have a lot of things to talk about, and I still want to do that. But my job just called me and I need to fly back tomorrow.”

“They called you on Christmas?” you ask, annoyed for him. “Why are they contacting you at all during the holidays? Weren’t you supposed to be on vacation until New Year’s?”

“Yeah. But Taehyung’s release date is moving. Apparently, some popular popstar has decided to release her album at the same time, and now A&R is worried his buzz will be buried by hers, so our schedule now has to jump ahead a few weeks. I would just mix things from here, but he still has some songs to record, so it’s just better if I go back.”

“Jeez, that sucks. I’m sorry.”

“Eh, it’s fine. They paid for the ticket back, and I’ve already told them we’re going to renegotiate my royalty amount. So it is what it is.”

“It still sucks. Do you…” you hesitate, inwardly debating on your next words. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

“I—yeah,” he says, your offer clearly surprising him. “Yeah, that would be great. My flight is early though. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s no problem.”

“Cool. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll send you my flight info.”

“Sounds good.”

There is a long, long pause after that, one that neither of you is sure how to fill. This is uncharted territory, and you don’t know how to navigate it.

Yoongi finally clears his throat, mercifully setting you free from limbo. “Okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “See you tomorrow.”

Another pause. Then, softly, he says, “Merry Christmas, _____,” and hangs up.

The sun is just starting to breach the horizon, soft rays filtering teasingly through your blinds and dusting your room with speckles of light. It’s pretty, you muse as you watch the gentle glow spread, chasing away the darkness. Crazy to think that something so beautiful is an absolute. That one merely has to have the patience to wait for it.  

You’re never up this early on your days off—and certainly not during the holidays—but it’s not like you got much sleep last night anyway. So you get ready quickly, merely throwing on some jeans and the first sweater you touch. You don’t plan on getting out of the car, in any case.    

Sierra, trudging down the hallway on her way to the bathroom, pauses in your doorway when she sees you’re fully dressed already. She rubs her eyes, raises an eyebrow. “What are you doing up so early?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping you give off an air of nonchalance when you reply, “I have to take Yoongi to the airport.”

That wakes her right up, both eyebrows now seemingly attempting to shoot past her hairline. “Your ex-boyfriend who you just cussed out in front of everybody and then fucked in his kitchen, Yoongi? That Yoongi?!”

You facepalm, groaning in embarrassment. “Say that a little louder, why don’t you.” God, you’re really starting to regret telling her the whole story when she cornered you in one of your aunt’s bathrooms yesterday.

Your sister waves a hand, unconcerned. “Mom’s still knocked out and she fell asleep with the tv blasting. She can’t hear shit.”

“That doesn’t make what you said any less embarrassing.”

“Wasn’t embarrassing when you did it,” she quips, and you’re mad because you can’t even be mad. Because she’s right.

“…Yes,” you finally admit, trying not to pout. “That Yoongi.”  

Sierra grins, looking entirely too happy this early in the morning. “You know, I always knew you two would get back together.”

You scoff at her assumption, face warm. “First of all, rude, considering he literally dumped me via text. And nobody said anything about getting back together—I’m just driving him to the airport.”

“But you’re thinking about it?” she pushes, watching you expectantly. And you don’t know what to say. Are you? It’s way too early to even think about that, literally and figuratively.

…But would it be the worst thing?

Sierra just smiles like you gave her the answer she was fishing for and promptly turns away, continuing her trek to bathroom. “You’re going to be late,” she throws smugly over her shoulder.

The ride to the airport is quiet.

Normally, this wouldn’t be surprising—Yoongi is even less of a morning person than you are, and if he’s ever seen up and about this early, it’s probably because he never went to bed. But the quiet that settles between you now is different from expected lethargy. Is more jittery, antsy. Just on the edge of breaking itself.

You’ve already made small talk about Christmas, of course. Got that out of the way early, chatting about how generous Santa was to Sua this year, how your aunt got tipsy on moscato and sang loudly and off key. Safe topics. But now that those are all out of the way, the only thing left, aside from what you’re both dancing around, is silence. So silence is what you sit in for the rest of the ride, you ultimately turning on the radio halfway through just to have something to cut through the unspoken tension.

It isn’t until you’ve navigated to departures and pulled up to curb drop off that you finally break it.

“Well,” you say awkwardly. “Looks like this is you.”

God, this is weird. It’s weird, and you hate that it’s weird. Hate that this is what the two of you have come to, when things used to be so easy and effortless.

“Thanks,” Yoongi says, but he doesn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he stares at the dashboard for a bit and then finally turns to you, startling you with his sudden intensity. “I want you to know that I’m sorry I didn’t communicate better back then.”

You stare back at him, wide-eyed at this turn of events. Dazed at finally hearing the words you’ve been waiting an eternity to hear.

But Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response, just continues to tell his truth. “Our lives were at a turning point when we graduated, and it terrified me that everything was changing. It really hurt that you didn’t seem to care if I was with you or not. It really hurt that I needed you more than you needed me.”

His confession shocks you into action, protest immediately tumbling out of your mouth before you can even process it. “Yoongi, of course I needed you, are you crazy? You have no idea how much you leaving fucked me up.” You let out a disbelieving laugh, gesturing at nothing. “But for you to feel that way, I clearly am not very good at communicating either. So I’m sorry too.”

His expression softens, lips parting to respond, but you’re not done. You need him to know.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unloved or unwanted,” you profess sincerely. “Because that honestly couldn’t be further than the truth.”

Yoongi holds your stare, something akin to hope swimming in his irises.

You let out a long exhale, nervous to say what needs to be said. “But it’s not the same. We’re not the same. And we can’t just pretend that we are.”

Your words hover between you, their truth heavy in the resulting silence. A Top 40 song uses the opportunity to warble vapidly in the background. But then, after a few harrowing moments, Yoongi gives you a slow nod.

“You’re right. We’re not,” he agrees, expression adamant. “But I’d still love the opportunity to get to know you again, if you’ll let me.”

Something warm flutters in your chest, and you duck your head, once again shy. Why are you shy? It’s just Yoongi. Just your Yoongi. “I’d like that,” you admit.

He smiles then, first small and hesitant, but quickly widening into too much gum when you smile back. Unwavering, he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens his door, one leg already out before he pauses and backtracks. Before you realize what he’s doing, he’s leaning over the console, his face getting closer and closer and making you crosseyed.

Your eyes reflexively flutter shut when his hand reaches up to cradle your cheek, when the distance between you rapidly disappears. You feel his thumb rub a few gentle circles into your jawline, and then, after a beat, his lips press rather tenderly against your forehead.

Stunned, you can only watch him, wide-eyed, when he pulls back, unabashedly meeting your astonished stare. Then, with one final, resolute nod, Yoongi climbs out of the vehicle and shuts the door. You watch him as he grabs his suitcase from the trunk, rolling it the short way to the automatic doors. You watch him as he disappears inside without looking back.

And that’s how, for the second time in your life, Min Yoongi walks away and leaves you behind.

But it’s going to be okay, you know. As you pull away from the curb, merging into oncoming traffic, you can tell that it’s different this time. That this time, his departure settles your heart much less like a goodbye and much more like a see you later.

That this time, it feels like a promise.

⇢ collab masterlist | my masterlist

#yoongi smut #yoongi angst #yoongi fic #bts smut #bts angst #bts fic #min yoongi #fic: this christmas #gimme some suga #collab #mine

[tripthelight-fanfic]

Active pt II (Josh Kiszka Fluff)

Taglist:@flowervanfleet @weightofdreams-gvf @sierraahhhh @stardustschords @amourleger @ageofsewingmachine@theweightofstardust​ @samkiszkabreakmyback @prettyintopeerpressure​ @greta-flanveet​ @fosterkidwiththebrokenjaw​

(A/N): Ask and you shall receive. I’m still absolutely RIDING off the high of managing to secure tickets to BOTH Atlantic City shows after having not been to a concert since the summer of 2017 (seriously thank GOD for Hannah or else I would’ve been shit outta luck bc Ticketmaster hates me). Anyway, I was absolutely floored by the reception of my first Active fic, as it is now by far the most popular I’ve written. So, I’ve decided to write a bit of a follow up, in which Josh and Y/N are sharing a bed again under completely different terms and Josh has the tables turned on him when he gets woken up by Y/N’s activity during a nightmare. Y’all know I had to sneak some hurt/comfort in there…

If you haven’t read Active pt I, here’s a link to go check it out. It’s not necessarily imperative to understanding this story, but it’ll offer some nice background context. Enjoy lovelies! I hope it lives up to the first one!

OH also I hit 400 followers today which is insane you guys are amazing and I love each and every one of you reading this right now **********************************************************************

Active pt II

You hadn’t had a nightmare in years, and you certainly weren’t anticipating one tonight of all nights.

Ever since that one fateful night on your road trip a few months back, you and your friend Josh had been designated cuddle buddies whenever an option. On long car rides, drunken house crashes, certainly for the remaining nights of that road trip. Some nights between tours when both of you were home and he was especially restless he would text you at ungodly hours asking if you could come over or vice versa, just so that he could get some sleep. Of course, you almost always obliged. It was like you were his own personal brand of melatonin. Or like an emotional support animal.

Regardless, you just couldn’t bring yourself to be uncomfortable with it. It’s not like you could admit that you didn’t also sleep better when curled up against him, his arms wrapped protectively around you. And that was the problem.

Josh had always been a very touchy-feely person by nature since you’d known him, often using small touches to express gratitude or affection nonverbally. But now, his touches were different with you. What used to be casual brushes of the arm and head resting on shoulder had turned into soft embraces from behind and tucking away loose strands of hair, gentle brushes of the fingers and nuzzles of the nose. Subtle, but absolutely more tender and intimate touches. 

And it was slowly driving you crazy.

You never thought you had a crush on Josh before. If you were being honest, of all the guys Danny was probably closer to what you’d consider your type. And yet, there was something about the way you had started to catch Josh staring at you like you were the only thing in the world worth looking at, only to snap his head away or pull a face when he realized he’d caught your attention.

It happened slowly, and then all at once. You were developing feelings for one of your closest friends. Who you basically already had a platonic friends-with-benefits relationship with. 

That brings us to tonight. The boys were back home for a month and had invited you and a few others over to their place for a bonfire. You had drank and laughed and socialized for hours before resigning to bed. The boys all still had plenty of fire left in them so they bid you goodnight, correctly assuming that you were crashing with Josh, and continued jamming away around the fire with the remaining guests. 

Your back turned, you missed Josh’s lingering gaze as you trudged through the grass of the backyard toward the house, watching a few minutes after you disappeared through the doors to watch the light flick on through his bedroom window. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight before turning back to the fire, where he could see Sam and Danny smirking at him from directly across the pit. Josh rolled his eyes and flipped them off, hoping the reddening of his cheeks were masked by the light of the flame.

That was how you ended up already fast asleep when Josh finally came into the room about an hour and a half later. Again, he grinned down at your sleeping frame as he shed his smoke-stained clothes for some pajama pants and slid in next to you. He turned toward your back and wrapped an arm around you, smile only growing when he felt your unconscious body nestle closer to him and your hand reach up to interlock with his around your waist. Pretty soon, Josh was knocked out as well.

But not for long.

It had only been an hour or so before Josh was woken up again. He knit his brows in confusion, he was rarely one to randomly wake back up after falling asleep for the night. Especially when he had you in his bed. However, it didn’t take long to figure out what had woken him up.

You were all but vibrating against his chest, hands shaking violently in his as you whimpered in your sleep. Your frame was completely tensed and your knees had been brought up toward your chest, right up against where Josh’s arm remained around you. 

Josh’s heart sank when he realized what was happening. You were having a nightmare. He froze for a moment as he considered how to proceed. Obviously he needed to wake you up and calm you down, but he didn’t want to go about it the wrong way and get punched in the face or something. 

He settled for nestling his head against your cheek, hands squeezing your trembling ones firmly, and whispering, “Y/N, wake up, darling. It’s just a dream.” 

With a jolt that sent Josh inching away for a moment, you woke up and gasped deeply. Instinctively, you rolled onto your back and reached onto either side of you; one hand gripped Josh’s sheets tightly, and the other landed on Josh’s bicep. 

“Hey, it’s okay you’re alright. I’m here with you.” He gently murmured, placing a delicate hand on your arm. His heart broke as he watched tears fill your eyes as you processed what you had just seen, and his arms reached around you to pull you up against his chest as you continued to shake. “You’re safe with me, Y/N.” He mumbled into your hair.

You reached your trembling hands up to cover Josh’s as his arms remained around you, feeling the adrenaline from your nightmare siphon out of you by the second through his touch. You both stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes while you caught your breath, body slowly starting to settle against him.

For whatever reason, the first words to leave your mouth are a quivering, “I’m sorry.”

This takes Josh by surprise, he even scoffs a bit at it. “Sorry? For what?”

You rest your chin against his forearm and mumble, “I woke you up, didn’t I?” 

The vulnerability in your voice was something Josh recognized in his own experience. Notably, his own experience with you that first night. His arms tightened against you and he nuzzled his face into your neck and responded, “Oh hush. You’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you?”

You nodded against him and felt him roll over slightly to place you both on your side again, in the loose spooning position he had begun with hours before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He watched as you shook your head profusely, the loose bun you had thrown your hair into bobbing back and forth in front of his face, and then as you tucked your chin into your shirt like you always did when you were embarrassed. 

“Would you just hold me?” You asked in a small voice.

Josh’s heart swelled and he pulled you flush against his chest, wrapping both his arms under and around you and bending his legs against the bend of yours, feet shuffled in with yours as well. This was usually how you two ended up in the morning, but you had never started the night consciously like this before.

You could feel Josh’s breath fanning across your neck and it sent a shiver down your spine that you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

The tension from your dream was soon replaced by the tension of being wide awake and wrapped up against Josh. You found yourself absentmindedly running your fingers over the back of Josh’s hand in effort to lose some of this nervous energy and get some sleep. Unbeknownst to you, that tiny action was inhibiting Josh’s sleep as well, as his mind ran a mile a minute mere inches behind yours. 

“Can I tell you something?” He found himself mumbling. You hummed in response, stilling your movements against his hand to provide him your full attention. 

He hesitated for a moment before whispering, “You show up in my dreams when I’m away on tour.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, mind racing through the possible implications. You turned around in his arms to face him, blinking a few times at the proximity of your faces as you peered up into his eyes. “Really?”

He smiles down at you and nods, “Yeah. I usually don’t remember much of my dreams, but I always remember when I see you in them.” You couldn’t help but smile back up at him.

“Well, you know what they say about when someone shows up in your dreams…” You veered off with a raised eyebrow.

Josh chuckled and turned away from you for a moment, before his gaze was pulled right back to you like a magnet. He reached a hand up to your cheek, much like you had that first night all those months ago, and he mumbled, “You’re so beautiful, you know? Breathtaking, but especially at night.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words, and his widened back and he gently pulled his hand away, “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say right now.” He muttered, turning away from you again.

You shook your head at him, reaching over with both of your hands to pull Josh’s chin back over toward you. “That wasn’t a weird thing to say, Josh.” You said softly, eyes full of affection for the boy in front of you.

Josh let out a shaky breath as he took you in, before murmuring, “Can I say something else that could come off as weird, then?” You were nodding before he even finished talking and he bit his lip, eyes flitting down to your lips for the briefest moment before returning to your eyes. If you had blinked you would’ve missed it, but by the grace of God you didn’t. He wanted to kiss you.

You reached your hands up to snake around Josh’s neck as you waited for him to build the courage. His arms tightened around your waist pulling the two of you nose to nose. You could feel each other’s hot breath on your faces as he locked eyes with you and breathed out, “Can I kiss you?” 

Your lips curved up into a small smile and you closed the minuscule gap between your mouths in a gentle kiss. His lips moved slowly against yours, hands moving to pull you more closely to him, as if that were possible. The kiss wasn’t heated by any means, but full of cautious intention. Both of you had fear of this ruining the relationship you had fostered so far. But his lips felt right against yours, they made sense as they massaged and moved with your lips. Your stomach erupted into butterflies and your heart was about to burst out of your chest. And you immediately knew this would be a feeling you would never get enough of.

And then he gently pulled away, just barely so that you were still nose to nose. 

He moved a hand up to stroke your hair gently as he stared at you with awe-struck eyes. “I think you might’ve stolen my heart, cuddle buddy.” He murmured.

You shimmied down a few inches onto the bed so that you could wrap your arm around Josh’s midsection and press your face into his neck, along with a few soft kisses that made his breathing falter. “That’s okay, I’ll just give you mine.” You mumbled against him.

You felt the vibration from his chuckle against his neck as he continued stroking your hair and ghosting his fingertips along your spine. You listened to his heart ramming against his pulse point and smiled to yourself at the physical indication that your feelings were mutual.

“Promise?” He blurted out after a few moments, making you chuckle against him this time.

You leaned your head back to meet his eyes one last time.

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere, Josh. I promise.”

He grinned down at you and pressed a long kiss to your forehead before you nuzzled back into him.

And of course, within minutes you were both out like a light.

#bro im gonna get a damn cavity from writing josh I swear #josh kiszka #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka x y/n #josh kiszka fanfic #josh kiszka imagine #gvf fluff #gvf imagine

[loopy-froots]

Childhood Friends

Brahms Heelshire x afab!Reader

Author: @loopy-froots

Word Count: 3261 (WOW wtf…)

Slight request by @leahromanof : small age gap (Brahms is 26-28 and the reader is 20)

Summary: The Reader grew up very close to the Heelshire family, as their parents were business partners with them. However, after the fire incident, Brahms and the Reader took some space from each other. While the Reader knew Brahms was still alive, they didn’t know under the circumstances he was. When a sudden tragedy strikes their family, the Reader is left with no home. The Heelshire family offer their home with welcoming arms, but much has changed between all of them since they have last seen each other.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, swearing, slasher x reader, smut, virgin/unprotected sex (masc and fem), abusive parents (fem), insecurities (on both parts), slight age gap (6ish years?), a slight size kink (if you squint?), etc.

Author’s Note: I wasn’t too sure what to write for the age gap so I hope this is good enough!!! I also threw in a lot of personal needs I’ve been having, so I hope y’all don’t mind! Feel free to let me know your thoughts!!!

~~~

*2nd Person POV*

You couldn’t believe this was happening. You were finally going to see your beloved childhood friend, Brahms Heelshire, again after close to ten years of separation. You wished this was not under these circumstances, as you never intended to cause your family such turmoil.

“Y/n! Come in, why don’t you?” Mr. Heelshire exclaims as he opens his front door. He must have seen you walk up their driveway. You can see Mrs. Heelshire inside, but she shares a concerning expression. Trying to brush it off, you step inside and am greeted by the warmth of the house. It was a terribly chilly winter day, and the walk there exhausted you.

“Come, dear! Let me get you a cup of tea to warm you up! You look rather frozen!” Mrs. Heelshire snaps out of her funk and laughs al0ng with her husband. Their jovial attitude makes you feel rather welcomed and loved.

“I cannot thank you enough, Mr. and Mrs. Heelshire… I… I’m terribly sorry that this all happened… especially so suddenly…” You look down with embarrassment.

“Nonsense! We’re always happy to have you, Y/n! Our home is yours!” Mr. Heelshire smiles at you, but you get a somewhat urgent vibe from him. You’re not sure how to feel about it, but you figure since they’re being ever so kind you were in no position to question.

“Now, dear… why don’t you tell us exactly what happened… Perhaps we may help with your parents’ situation?” Mrs. Heelshire gently suggests, but you shake your head in disagreement.

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure that’s possible… you see, I recently came out to my parents as non-binary… they’ve never been overly supportive of that kind of stuff, but I knew I couldn’t hide myself any longer…” You explain shamefully.

“Oh my… that is a rather difficult predicament, hm? However, we want you to know that we fully support you… in fact, our own Brahms considers himself genderfluid,” Mrs. Heelshire shares, which honestly makes you feel less alone.

“Really? I… I had no idea… Thank you, but speaking of which… where is Brahms…? Does he still live with you?” You wonder.

“Oh, um… yes… he does, but he’s grown to be rather… timid… so he doesn’t always come out when people are visiting…” Mr. Heelshire explains swiftly, and you try to understand. You don’t fully know what he’s been through, so who are you to judge his social anxieties?

“That’s alright. Well, I just hope he knows how excited I am to see him again…” You confess, causing a surprised reaction from the Heelshire couple.

“Really? Well, that’s certainly wonderful! I’m sure he'll become more open to meeting you after he gets used to you being in the house…” Mrs. Heelshire states with a gentle smile, and you nod your head in agreement.

With that, you are then taken on a tour of the house. You’re shown areas you can and cannot wander to, and you mentally note each location that’s off limits. You’d never want to make the Heelshires uncomfortable, despite how curious you were. They show you to your room, which you immediately recognize as Brahms’ childhood room.

“Oh wow! This looks exactly how I remembered it!” You giggle.

“I’m glad you’re fond of it still, as Brahms insisted you take his room for your own… comfort…” Mr. Heelshire shares, but something tells you he’s not entirely being honest. However, you ignore the feeling bubbling up in your stomach.

“Well, feel free to unpack your things dear. As we mentioned before, we are planning on going on a trip within the next few days. So it will be just you and Brahms for a while…” Mrs. Heelshire reminds you, and you shiver slightly for some reason.

“Oh, yes… Well, I hope the two of you enjoy it!” You politely respond.

~~~

“Goodbye, dear! And remember, follow the rules and you’ll get no trouble from our dear Brahms!” The Heelshires bid you farewell and leave in their cab. Closing the door, you sigh in relief.

“Alright, follow the rules… I can do that… it’s the least I can do since they were so kind as to let me stay for a while…” You motivate yourself.

“Y/n…” A sudden familiar, childlike voice echoes through the house. You looked around to see who it came from, but you saw no one. It had to be Brahms, right? Who else could it have been, but where was he?

“B-Brahms?” You sheepishly call out. You hear no answer and suddenly feel quite stupid. Maybe you just heard the shifting of the house or imagined someone was calling your name?

“Alright, focus… first things first, making some lunch… hopefully he’ll come down to eat with me…?” You hope. You could’ve sworn you heard another childish giggle somewhere, but you try to shake the skittish feeling building up. You quickly make whatever you feel like for lunch, desperate to finish so that you can call Brahms down to eat.

“Um, Brahms? I… lunch is done… if you want some?” You yell throughout the house, but you hear no answer. Finally feeling defeat, you turn back to the kitchen and notice that one of the plates of food has disappeared.

“How did he get to it without me noticing?” You ask out loud. Every instinct within you tells you that something was wrong, but you tried your best to give the man some time to adjust to the new living situation.

“Y/n…?” In the middle of eating, you hear a now more adult version of the voice you heard earlier. You drop your fork in surprise and frantically look around for the source. You then see a tall and scruffy looking man standing at the end of the dining room. He was holding the plate that is now empty, and you figure that must be Brahms. He was very odd looking, in all honesty. He wore a porcelain mask that resembles the type of little dollies you used to keep as a kid.

“Oh, um… h-hello, Brahms…?” You try to be friendly towards him, despite the creepy feeling you got from him already. However, him not answering causes the suspicion to form again.

“Um… did you enjoy the meal I made for you?” You try to spark a conversation, but Brahms nonverbally nods in response.

“That’s good! I’m… glad…” You smile awkwardly at him, but his masked face remains expressionless. You shift uncomfortably in your seat, and Brahms notices the tense state you’re in. He begins to step closer to you, and sets his plate on the table. Sweating profusely, you wonder what he’s doing. He steps closer and closer to you until he’s directly in front of you. While you sit, he towers over you. You’d never admit it, but he’s very intimidating. However, you try your best to be polite.

“Is… everything alright, Brahms?” You ask innocently. He just stares at you, though, never saying a word. When you were about to get up and try to walk away, he grabs your arm and pulls you into him.

“B-Brahms…?!” You exclaim as he squeezes you in his broad arms. He’s rather warm, but trembling. Your heart relaxes when you realize he only wanted a hug.

“Y/n… nice to see you again…” He finally peeps out. Your cheeks heat up, but you lean into the embrace. The two of you just hold onto each other for a few moments, enjoying each other’s presence.

“Good to see you, too! I was worried you were upset with me for coming back after such a long time…” You try to pull away and look him in the eyes, but his grip keeps you there.

“Mm, no… not upset… lonely…” He breathes into your ear, sending a chill down your back. He was… lonely? That makes you feel bad… really bad… how could you leave him like you did after the incident?! It wasn’t completely your fault, as you parents were the main reason you stayed away. They told you what a dangerous person Brahms was, and they forbid you from being influenced by him in any way.

Additionally, your parents never liked how fond the two of you seemed towards each other, despite the slight age difference you had. Brahms was only six years older, and to you it didn’t matter for terms of friendship. However, your parents saw the attraction Brahms had towards you right away. As children, it only developed into a little crush, but the older the two of you got the more obvious it became, to the adults at least. You seemed quite oblivious to his attempts to woo you, as you had just thought he was being friendly.

“I…I’m sorry, Brahms… I should’ve… I wish I’d have… I’m sorry…” Tear well in your eyes as you look down from his gaze. Your focus then shifts to the ever growing bulge in his pants that you hadn’t noticed before.

“It’s alright… happy you’re here now…” Brahms strokes your hair with his free hand, and he leans into you. You feel him stroke your neck with his nose, seemingly trying to get a reaction out of you. Completely frozen, you felt unsure of what to do. All of the sudden, your head’s ideas clicked and made you realize the years of yearning he’d been doing for you.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t still have feelings for the boy you grew up with. You always admired how protective he was of you. You never admitted your affection towards him, though, as you thought he might react negatively. To you, the age difference acted as a barrier, but to him, it seemed he didn’t mind in the slightest. All he’s ever known was his love for you, despite the age gap. However, is this still the same boy as before? You probably barely knew him anymore. Then why were you getting so flustered over this simple interaction?

“Brahms?” You look back into his eyes with a curious glint. What was he planning with you?

“Hm?” He nonchalantly answers.

“Are you…?” You start, but then feel too embarrassed to finish.

“Yes,” He agrees without needing you to explain. You feel him jerk his hips into your stomach softly, desperate to get some friction between the two of you. As intoxicating as he was being, you still felt unsure of your stance with him.

“I’m not sure I want to… I mean, this is so soon… don’t you think?” You try to reason mainly with yourself to try and stop this from happening. With that, Brahms stops and pulls away from you with a pout.

“No?” He questions with sweet eyes.

“I… yes…?” You try to stand your ground with yourself again, but it’s no use. Brahms’ heartfelt pleading turns you to putty in his hands.

“Please?” He begs. With that, you finally agree, and he’s onto you. Groping all up and down your sides, front, and back, he feels every inch of your body as if he’s desperate to find something in you.

“Brahms… wait…?” You stop him again, realizing you hadn’t seen his actual face yet. You politely ask him to remove his mask, but he visibly slumps.

“Why…? You… don’t want to see me…” Brahms insecurely explains, but you shake your head.

“I do! Please…?” You whine as he continues to feel up your back. Brahms hesitates slightly, then agrees. With that, he slowly removes the porcelain from himself. This leaves his bare, burnt, and uncertain face into your view. You’re unsure of what to say at first, as your feelings are conflicted. However, you quickly decide to go with what your heart felt.

“You’re so handsome, Brahms…” You confess with a sheepish smile. He doesn’t respond, though, almost as if he’s debating what to say as well.

“Mm!” You moan through a sudden kiss he placed on your lips, making Brahms smile to himself in the kiss. He loved the way you reacted to his touch. He quickly realized you were feeling the same towards him, and that gave him the confidence to continue. You rapidly grew a certain heat in your pelvic area, but the feeling was still unfamiliar to you. Only on the rare occasion did you allow yourself the pleasure, but you felt guilty for it every time.

“Slut… whore… useless daughter…” Your parents’ past words radiate in your head, and a panic washes over your body. Brahms senses your inner conflict again, and stops once more.

“Y/n…?” He gently asks to see if you’re alright. Tears well up in your eyes as the guilt of disappointing your parents consumes you.

“I’m sorry, I just… my mom and dad would be so upset… I just feel so… lost…” You admit, and Brahms wipes your cheeks with his calloused hands.

“Mm, screw them…” He chuckles darkly.

“But…” You try to argue, but he shushes you instead.

“They’ve never been good to you, Y/n…” Brahms shares, and it confuses you at first. They’ve always given you food, shelter, and anything else a child would need.

“But they… they mean well…” You try to reason it out, but he still disagrees.

“I’ve been watching, listening to how they treat you your whole life, Y/n… the way they scream at you, gaslight you, disappoint you… that’s not love… that’s abuse…” Brahms whispers with a broken heart for you. The pain of realization hits you, but you try to muffle your cries with your hands over your mouth.

“I’m so sorry… I know how hard it is… but I… I want to love you… really love you…” He kisses the top of your head sweetly. His words fill your heart with hope that you might not be miserable the rest of your life.

“Really…? I mean, I would love that… but I don’t want to force you into anything…” You self doubt yourself.

“Absolutely. I mean, hell… why do you think I was doing all of this?” Brahms wonders, and you suppose he’s right.

“Yeah, true… I’m sorry, I just feel bad… but thank you, I’d love to… y’know…?” You admit with a shy grin, which he immediately returns.

“Good,” He smirks and kisses you again. This time, the kiss was much more desperate for the sweet result. Brahms shows no mercy for you this time as he begins biting your lips. Your little gasps invoke a strong sense of pride within him. He was making you feel this way, and he alone would make you feel good.

“Hm,” His deep voice rumbles in his chest. Your eyes flutter open and shut, unsure of how to go about this situation. Squirming around awkwardly, you then feel Brahms grab your waist as he lifts you up and onto the table.

“Ah! Brahms...?!” You yelp in surprise.

“Take off your shirt, Y/n.” He demands, already sliding his hands underneath. You timidly follow his instructions, removing your shirt and bra from your body. Brahms looks down from your face and onto your breasts. He adored them, so he ran his hands over them as he gave each nipple a cheeky pinch.

“Oh, Brahms…” Your eyes close in bliss, but he snaps your attention back to his eyes.

“Look at me,” He suggests sternly.

“O-okay…” You do as he wishes and stare deep into his icy eyes. He’s tender and gentle, but he still makes you feel so small next to him.

“You’re so pretty, Y/n… I’ve always loved you…” Brahms brushes a stray lock of hair out of your face, giving him a better view at your beauty.

“I have loved you for the longest time, too, Brahms… I just never knew how to tell you…” You try your best to express your feelings, but your past experience with doing so has never been easy for you. Each emotion you shared ended in an argument with your parents.

“I’m so glad… please…” Brahms pleads, leaning his forehead against yours. He didn’t have to finish for you to understand what he wanted.

“C’mere…” Your sudden burst of trust hits the two of you like a train. Brahms roughly attacks your neck with his lips and teeth, nipping at all your sensitive areas. Exploring each and every inch, he scopes out which areas you like best.

“Mm, Y/n…” He whimpers, rubbing his needy cock against your body. You had neglected it for far too long, and you wanted to give it some love too.

Lowering your hand down to his member, you stroke him through his pants. Pre-cum leaks from his tip and soaks through his underwear slightly. His moans fill your ears with sweet misery. The lack of being inside of you was killing him, but he wanted to take things slow for you.

“Ah, Y/n…! Please! I’ll be a good boy!” He begs you to allow him entrance, and you agree. Instantaneously, he pulls his clothes off and prepares his painfully hard cock to slide into you.

“Oh! You feel… so tight…!” He didn’t tell you, but this was his first time as well. The first feeling of being inside of someone, especially when that someone is you, was the best feeling he’s ever felt. He couldn’t help himself but pump in and out of you. He tried his best to go slow, but his selfish excitement got the better of him. However, you were far from upset by this.

“Ah! D-don’t… stop…!” You plead with him, and he obliges. Slapping his body into yours in a rhythmic motion causes you to quickly feel that coil in your stomach tighten around him.

“F-fuck…! You’re gonna make me…!” As quickly as it started, your love making ended. The two of you came together simultaneously, and everything felt perfect to you. However, Brahms felt a wave of guilt.

“I… I’m sorry… I wish I had lasted longer… and I shouldn’t have pressured you into this…” He goes on and on about all the things he could’ve done better, but you then stop him with a chaste peck on his lips.

“You were perfect. Thank you,” You lovingly look into his eyes. He searches for any sort of regret, but when he finds none he settles into your arms.

~~~

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[the-widow-sisters]

hey there! can you write a fic where kate gets sick of all yelena’s teasing and closes herself off, avoiding yelena (and maybe natasha too) at all costs? thank you!

A/N: Hey! Thank you so much for this amazing request! 🥰💖 It was so, so much fun to write and I really appreciate you sending it to me!

This one certainly ended up terribly angsty, but I feel like it came out mostly well 💗 I’ve been on a kick of wanting to write angst lately, lol 😂 Idk why 🤣💖

I hope y’all enjoy! 💕

Word Count: 4708

  If there was one thing that Kate knew, it was that she was the luckiest person in the world to have Natasha Romanoff in her life.

  But the other thing that Kate knew was that she did not deserve Natasha, which was becoming increasingly clear with every phone call she had with her mother and every time that she was reminded of how bad of a person she was for locking her own mother up at Christmas. Kate knew that she would never truly fit in with Natasha and Yelena. And she also knew that Yelena would always come before her.

  In some part of her, that fact stung a little, but that was the selfish part. She tried her best to focus on the brighter, happier side of herself that swept the pain under the rug and tried to forget it all. After all, she knew that Natasha cared for her as much as she cared for Clint, and that was an honor that almost no one was able to achieve. She tried her best to shove away that slight selfish bit within her, knowing that Yelena and Natasha had a special bond.

  Of course, she would never want to come between it. She just sometimes longed for an important, sacred, special relationship with Natasha similar to what Yelena had. Not to replace what Yelena had with her.

  That part of Kate largely came from how she had no one in her family left to care for her. And how her mother was always calling and guilt-tripping her for having her locked up. Kate honestly did not know why her mother continued to call. Especially when Kate had no ability to get her out. She supposed her mother was just getting revenge as she always tried to do when Kate made a choice that she did not approve of.

  It still made things really hard for Kate, though…

  The main inspiration for all of those thoughts was the fact that it was one of those days when Kate had just gotten off the phone from her mother. As per usual, her mother had been reminding her of precisely what a horrible person she was for putting her in prison. Her mother was also giving her a good tongue-lashing for associating herself with Natasha, Clint, and the Avengers, and Kate honestly was not in the mood to hear her mother speak ill of the best group of people she had ever met.

  And when her mother started poking and prodding about the rumors of an Avenger-in-training being shot two times recently, Kate had been forced to answer those questions honestly. Which had earned her another lecture, more yelling, and more beratement.

  She had finally managed to get off of the phone, and when she had tried to tell her mother that she loved her, her mother had hung up on her. And that honestly hurt more than any of the verbal beatings that she had to take that day.

  So here she was now, headed into the main room of the compound in hopes of being able to watch one of her favorite television shows in peace while stuffing her face with macaroni and cheese or ice cream. Or both.

  However, when she got in there with the ice cream that she had decided to settle for since they were out of macaroni and cheese, she quickly realized that Yelena was sitting there watching something on television. Kate took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare herself for the tormenting and teasing she was no doubt about to get just for being there. She honestly did not want to even come in to face Yelena right now, but she had already committed to walking in the room. She knew that Yelena had likely heard her come in already and it was too late to turn back.

  So Kate headed in and sat down in the armchair not too far from where Yelena was seated on the couch. Yelena looked away from the television, taking in the sight of the girl as she looked her over.

  “Oh, wow… You look like death warmed up,” Yelena declared bluntly, and Kate did not bother correcting Yelena’s use of phrases. Despite the fact that it was normally Natasha’s job to take care of that sort of thing, Kate nevertheless just did not feel like the fight.

  Kate shrugged in reply to her, taking a bite of the ice cream in her bowl.

  “Cat got your tongue? Or did that nasty Bahahaha Blast ice cream numb it? You know that normal people eat chocolate, right?” Yelena declared, using her terrible King of the Hill impression that she had cultivated as a result of listening to TikTok audios for too long. Kate almost felt like laughing at it, but she could not help but focus on the insulting parts of the statement.

  It felt like things were getting to be too much. Even though Yelena was largely attempting to be cordial and humorous in her insulting way, Kate still felt the pressure of her day weighing on her.

  “It’s Neapolitan,” Kate corrected her softly, using her spoon to point to her bowl of ice cream as she continued to stuff her face with it. Yelena raised an eyebrow as she tilted her head, examining Kate carefully. Kate immediately felt herself tensing up under the scrutinization of the blonde.

  “Why the long face, Kate Bishop? If you keep a frown on for that long, it’ll be stuck on your face. Which… I mean, probably would be an improvement to that usual innocent, goofy look you carry around all the time,” Yelena laughed as she grinned widely, a strange fondness shining in her eyes. However, Kate could hardly focus on the fondness in it as she heard Yelena’s relentless teasing.

  Kate sighed deeply, shaking her head as she felt some defensiveness rising within her. Yelena never cut her a break on anything, and now that she had been suffering with the aftermath of one of her mother’s wonderful calls, she felt her tolerance running out far too quickly.

  “Look, lay off, okay? I just got off the phone from my mom, and it didn’t go well,” Kate told her, trying to be as nice as she could possibly muster despite the fact that she did not have the patience that she normally had with Yelena. Yelena’s eyes were just a little gentler than usual but there was still quite a bit of teasing in her gaze as she regarded Kate.

  “Oh… Did she find out you getting shot? Or was it that she figured out about the part that she raised a self-sacrificing goofball?” Yelena questioned, and although her tone was softer than usual and the words might have even been hiddenly complimentary in that typical Yelena manner, Kate still felt the knife twist deeply within her chest.

  Kate clenched her teeth, unable to hold back her next words as hurt welled up in her.

  “Okay, stop! Just stop!” Kate barked, and Yelena looked taken off-guard as she looked at Kate with somewhat widened eyes.

  “Wow, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bread… Look, Katie, don’t get excited—”

  “Enough!!! No more Katie! Nobody calls me Katie except my dad, and he’s gone!” Kate raised her voice, moving her ice cream out of her hands and onto the table nearby the armchair she was currently seated in.

  “Calm down, Kate Bishop…”

  “Calm down? You want me to calm down?” Kate demanded, standing up quickly from her seat. Yelena eased up to her feet, looking as if she were almost being physically defensive of herself. Kate felt a hotness coming to her eyes and she immediately realized how close she was to crying.

  However, she was not about to stop now that the momentum had been built up.

  “Do you know how hard it is?! Every single day having to keep my mouth shut and put up with you prodding and poking and aggravating and teasing and constantly hurting my feelings all the time?!!!” Kate practically screamed, her voice almost giving out with how her throat was wanting to close up with the tears.

  Yelena simply remained still, looking at her in pure shock as she just gaped at the younger girl. Kate took a deep breath, swallowing hard as she felt herself trembling from the anger, the pain, and all of the bottled-up feelings that had been closed up for so, so long.

  It looked like now was their time to come spilling out in an ugly waterfall of emotion.

  “I try so hard to be kind to you. To be understanding. To be goofy and happy and take all that you dish out to me. To be all of the things that you need because I know you’ve been through so much. I try so hard to be all of the things that you expect me to be. All the things that Natasha expects me to be,” Kate explained, trying diligently to keep her voice from cracking as it was already threatening to do.

  “And you hate me. No matter what I do, you hate me. I can’t please you. I can’t make you happy with me, and I can’t make you like me, what I do, or anything about me,” Kate expressed, feeling the telltale swell of frustration rising within her.

  “If I’m with Natasha too much, I’m taking your place. If I’m not with Natasha, you act like I don’t exist unless you want to prank me or irritate me,” Kate told her, aggravation seeping into her tone despite her best wishes. She swallowed painfully, trying to shove away the lump in her throat so that she could talk properly and sensibly.

  “And, Yelena… I know you’re Natasha’s number one. I’ve never tried to step in the way of that and I’d never want to. I just,” Kate paused as her voice shook, taking a deep breath through her nose as she tried to maintain focus despite the terrifying pressure of Yelena watching her so closely.

  “When she started to see me as something important… Someone who isn’t just meant to be shoved away or used as a puppet on a string to do her bidding or meant to be her next heiress or someone who’s a nuisance. I latched onto it,” Kate admitted, her voice cracking a little in the final parts of her statement as she thought of Natasha and all that she meant to her. Natasha was the only person she had ever met that had accepted her warmly and openly and had offered nothing but love and kindness with no expectations of anything in return.

  “She’s the best thing I’ve had in a long time, and I’d never take her from you… But,” Kate paused, licking her lips just barely as she sniffed and tried to hold the tears back. However, she quickly realized that this effort was futile considering the fact that her face was already drenched.

  “Can you really blame me for wanting just a small fraction of what you have? A little taste of something that I haven’t had since my dad was killed?” Kate questioned, tears streaming down her cheeks as she swallowed hard, trying to contain herself. Yelena simply remained stock still, watching her and remaining perfectly silent as her expression remained unreadable.

  “If you want me out of her and your life that badly, I can be gone. I can be invisible. I can never be a part of things with you two ever again. Just please,” Kate choked on her words, closing her eyes tightly as she tried her best not to look a horrible mess in front of one of the people that hated her the most.

  “Don’t make me suffer anymore,” Kate told her, reopening her eyes as more tears spilled hotly and streamed down her face miserably.

  As she fully realized all that she had said and just how surprised Yelena seemed to be at the entire thing, Kate quickly felt a pit of dread forming in her stomach.

  She had not truly meant to let all of that show. She had meant to keep it all bottled away. Nobody wanted to see her emotions. She was not the important one. She never was. And now she had burdened someone with her thoughts and feelings, which was the last thing she had intended for.

  Yelena finally took a small step forward, a strange emotion in her eyes as she looked at Kate.

  “Kate, look…”

  “No,” Kate stepped back, putting more distance between the two of them, and Yelena stopped, keeping her eyes focused on her. Kate swallowed hard and shook her head, feeling fear creeping upon her as she started to feel crushed by the weight of her words from a few moments ago.

  “Just leave me be. I’ll be fine. Just… Don’t say anything to Natasha. I’ll be back to myself in a few days. Like always… It’s fine,” Kate tried to muster a slight smile, pain radiating through her as she did her best to reel herself in and contain the tears at least for now.

  Yelena started to shake her head and speak to her, but Kate forced a watery smile on her face as she walked out quickly. Yelena immediately yelled after her, but Kate kept walking as quickly as she could.

  She would be fine. She always was.

  She just kept that goofy, happy-go-lucky, innocent mask on her face too much, and she needed a moment to recollect it and put it back on straight.

    ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

      Natasha was walking down the hall, heading out to go and find Yelena so that they could make their way home and spend some time together. She was honestly terribly tired from work, and she was very much looking forward to some quality time with her favorite person in the world.

  However, to her surprise, she suddenly spotted Kate walking through the halls. Natasha felt love swelling in her chest as she grinned widely and started toward her.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Natasha greeted, and Kate’s eyes widened as she actually looked at her. Natasha’s smile quickly faded away as she noticed Kate’s eyes and how tearful they looked. Natasha deflated considerably, concern filling every fiber of her being as she took a step closer to her.

  “Hey, Natasha,” Kate smiled far too widely with a far too broken look in her eyes as she did not even stop walking and kept going down the hallway. Natasha honestly was terribly surprised at the fact that Kate had not called her by her usual nickname that she always used with her. However, she shook it off quickly in favor of centering her efforts on figuring out what was up with Kate.

  “What’s wrong, shchenok?” Natasha questioned softly, keeping pace with her as she followed along at her side and tried to catch her gaze. Kate just shook her head, that same smile on her face as she glanced at Natasha just barely.

  “Nothing, I’m fine! I have to get a shower, so I’ll see you around,” Kate told her quickly, picking up the pace swiftly. Natasha paused a little, slowing down just barely as she allowed Kate to get away. She finally came to a stop, watching as Kate rounded the corner and disappeared.

  Natasha furrowed her brow, wondering what was going on.

  She suddenly heard quick footsteps behind her, and she turned swiftly. She felt her heart clench a little more as she realized that Yelena was the one running and that she looked awfully concerned.

  “Sweet girl, hey, I just saw Kate. What’s going on?” Natasha asked, and Yelena slowed down before Natasha, looking over Natasha’s shoulder as she presumably tried to see if there were any signs of Kate. Natasha finally locked eyes with Yelena, and Yelena stepped toward her more closely. Natasha, sensing Yelena’s need for some sort of support and comfort, raised her hand and touched the side of her neck softly, rubbing the skin there gently.

  “I accidentally pushed her over the edge,” Yelena finally told her, those honey-greens shining with an odd agitation that she normally did not have in regard to Kate. There was guilt in her gaze as well, and Natasha felt her stomach twist as she realized that yet again, Yelena and Kate were at odds.

  “What happened?” Natasha asked, feeling a bit of disappointment rising within her as she worried about what Yelena had done to hurt Kate. She normally would not automatically assume that Yelena had done something but given what Yelena had just said and the state that Kate was in, she felt that she had already connected some dots.

  “She came in the main room eating ice cream, and I started messing with her like usual. When I realized how sad she was because apparently her mom must have called, I tried to change it up a little and joke a little less hard. I was actually trying to cheer her up a little and make her laugh, but then she blew up,” Yelena explained, and Natasha felt her heart aching as she realized that the whole thing must have just escalated because of Kate’s struggles with her mother.

  “She said that I hate her and that I constantly hurt her feelings all the time… I didn’t,” Yelena trailed off, looking down as she swallowed, and Natasha brought her other hand up so that she was cupping Yelena’s neck on either side, her thumbs swirling gentle patterns along Yelena’s skin.

  “I didn’t know it was hurting her that much. I know that I’m not always nice to her, but I thought that she knew that most of the time I’m joking with her,” Yelena admitted softly, her pained and horrendously guilty gaze piercing Natasha’s as she looked utterly despaired.

  Natasha felt sadness radiating within her as she realized the extent of the problem.

  Yelena joked with Kate because she cared but it was sometimes so relentless and so hard that Kate did not always know she was joking. As a result, Kate must have had some sort of bottled up, hidden pain within her about Yelena relentlessly picking on her. And from that and from her call with her mother that morning, she must have reached her breaking point finally.

  “I mean… I don’t like her that much, but I don’t hate her,” Yelena expressed, and Natasha just leaned forward, kissing Yelena’s forehead. Yelena closed her eyes, moving into the affection.

  “I think you care about her more than you let on. Maybe you just need to tell her that, though,” Natasha replied as she moved her head so that they were touching foreheads. Yelena shook her head.

  “She’s an okay kid, but we can’t be friends,” Yelena informed her, and without Yelena saying anything, Natasha knew exactly what she was leaving unspoken. Natasha gently ran her fingers along the sides of Yelena’s face, stroking her cheeks. Yelena looked into her eyes softly, adoration glowing in her eyes.

  “You are my special, number one Yelena, and you can be friends with Kate. She’s not ever taking your place,” Natasha informed her quietly, and Yelena swallowed hard, looking down before glancing back up at Natasha.

  “It’s hard to remember that.”

  “I know. And that’s okay. But just know that I will always drop everything and anything to be with you. Kate can’t take me from you,” Natasha assured her, and Yelena remained quiet, looking into Natasha’s eyes. Natasha just held her gaze calmly. Yelena let out a breath.

  “I’ll try. But don’t expect me to be her best friend or to stop messing with her,” Yelena told her, and Natasha laughed just a little before leaning in and kissing Yelena’s cheek.

  “Of course not. I’d never expect you to stop messing with her,” Natasha expressed, and Yelena chuckled, a little happier and a little less guilty than she had been before.

  “Just make sure that she knows the teasing comes from a place of love.”

  “Let’s not go that far,” Yelena argued, raising an eyebrow, and Natasha smiled a little.

  “Okay, a place of fondness, then,” Natasha chuckled, squeezing the side of Yelena’s neck gently before pulling back from her.

  “Now let’s go see what’s going on with Kate,” Natasha told her, and Yelena shook her head, furrowing her brow, and Natasha

  “Wait, she told me not to tell you about what happened,” Yelena stopped her, and Natasha shook her head.

  “Well, we won’t come to her right now, then. But we need to try to catch her again,” Natasha told her softly, and Yelena nodded before a sudden smirk came across her face. Natasha raised an eyebrow with a slight grin.

  “Oh, boy… What’s brewing in that twisted little mind of yours?” Natasha questioned, and Yelena narrowed her eyes just a little before smirking at the redhead even more widely.

  “Just a genius idea on how to catch her,” Yelena pointed out, and Natasha sighed deeply, shaking her head slowly.

  Well… At least Yelena’s heart was in the right place.

     ………………………………………………………………………………………………………

       Kate let out a small breath, trying to look through the hall and check before actually walking out into it. She knew that there was a pretty good chance that Natasha and Yelena were still somewhere around.

  However, when she was satisfied with their obvious absence, she headed out into the hall.

  She had finally decided that she would try working out a little since she had gotten her shower. She knew that exercise almost always made her feel better, and even though she was feeling the polar opposite of happy at the moment, she wanted to try to rebuild her mask the best that she could.

  Very carefully making sure that Natasha and Yelena were nowhere nearby, Kate sneaked through the compound, desperately trying to keep anyone from seeing her. She had the strangest feeling that she was being watched and she honestly had no idea what was going on. It was one of the oddest sensations that she had ever experienced, but she found that it left her feeling horribly uneasy and on-guard.

  Once she finally reached the gym, she let out a deep breath of relief, pleased that there did not appear to be anyone inside. She stepped through the doors, walking into the room.

  However, to her unadulterated shock, she heard someone speak not too far behind her.

  “FRIDAY, lock down the gym,” a familiar Russian voice resounded, and Kate spun around quickly to face the person. It was Yelena, and she was just staring at Kate. Kate immediately felt a pit of dread and even slight fear forming within her. She was now locked in the gym with Yelena, and she had absolutely no idea what Yelena was going to do. She no doubt was there to address something about earlier, but the fact that she locked her in made her nervous.

  Yelena started to walk toward her slowly. Kate backed away at the same pace that Yelena was moving toward her.

  “Yelena, look, if this is about earlier, just please, leave me alone. I’m sorry I yelled, okay? I was having a hard day and I took it out on you, and I didn’t mean to. I’ll be back to normal if you just give me a few days or a little bit of time or something—”

  Kate suddenly found herself in someone’s arms and she almost jumped out of her skin. However, as that familiar scent of vanilla washed over her, she froze.

  “What if we don’t want you back to ‘normal?’ What if we want you to be okay for real?” Natasha’s voice softly questioned, and Kate remained still for a long moment. However, after just a moment, sorrow spread through her and she sobbed with unexpected force.

  Natasha took her into her arms carefully, guiding her head so that her forehead was pressed into Natasha’s neck. Kate wrapped her arms around her, sobs miserably falling from her, and Natasha rubbed her back comfortingly.

  “I’m sorry, Tasha, I’m so stupid—”

  “My sweet shchenok, you aren’t stupid. It’s okay,” Natasha whispered to her, and Kate pressed her face harder against the soft skin of Natasha’s neck. Natasha gently scratched at the back of her head, swaying them in place, and Kate desperately clung to her.

  “You’re not stupid, Kate Bishop,” Yelena spoke up, and Kate suddenly felt a hand on her back near her shoulder. She hiccupped hard, realizing that Yelena was actually touching her in an affectionate manner that was not intended to be anything but comforting.

  “I pick on you too much and sometimes too hard,” Yelena admitted, and Kate remained still for a long moment, trying to collect herself enough to reply to the blonde.

  “It’s okay… I was being too dramatic,” Kate tried to dismiss, attempting to pull away from Natasha just a little. However, to her surprise, Natasha took hold of her more firmly, forcing her to remain in her arms. Kate truly treasured the contact and she had not really wanted to break the embrace anyway, and she just leaned harder into Natasha.

  “You weren’t dramatic, okay? Don’t make me take back the comment about you not being stupid,” Yelena told her quickly, a slight playfulness and fondness in her voice as she addressed her.

  “But I know that you tease people and don’t mean anything by it,” Kate protested, her voice wavering in spite of herself. Natasha kissed the side of her head, and Kate pressed herself into her harder. Yelena’s hand tightened a little on her back.

  “I do… But,” Yelena grew quiet for a long moment, and Kate remained silent outside of the few small sobs threatening to break through. Yelena’s then shifted her hand a little so that it was more on Kate’s shoulder, and she squeezed Kate softly.

  “Maybe I just never told you that I tease people because I care about them,” Yelena confessed finally, and Kate’s eyes widened a little as she furrowed her brow. She pulled away from Natasha very hesitantly but still kept an arm wrapped around her tightly.

  Yelena gazed at her with a strange softness, and Kate just looked at her in awe. She knew that Yelena cared about her a little, but to hear Yelena actually say it was utterly shocking to her.

  “Really?” Kate could not help but question. Yelena rolled her eyes, letting her hand drop from Kate’s shoulder just after she squeezed her once more.

  “Yeah, don’t make me say it again,” Yelena griped halfheartedly, her tone light as she addressed her with the barest of smirks. Kate swallowed hard, nodding before looking at Natasha somewhat tearfully. Natasha’s eyes were so painfully soft as she averted her gaze from Yelena to meet Kate’s eyes in turn.

  “Sweetheart, I love you. You’re so special, and so wonderful, and so perfectly you. And we need you as you are, and we don’t need you to pretend to be okay. We just need you to be yourself,” Natasha expressed gently, and Kate nodded, tears shining in her eyes as she tried to contain the love and adoration filling every fiber of her being.

  Natasha extended her arm for Yelena and the blonde came to the opposite side of Natasha from Kate. Natasha then wrapped her arms around both of them, pressing kisses to their heads.

  “I love you both so much. You’re my girls,” Natasha expressed, and Kate pressed her head against Natasha’s softly as she readjusted her hand.

  To her shock, her hand accidentally bumped into Yelena’s. She awkwardly moved her hand down a little. However, to her shock, Yelena placed her hand so that her pinkie was just barely overlapping Kate’s index finger. Kate smiled gently in spite of herself, moving her thumb over to touch Yelena’s pinkie softly.

  This was the most whole that Kate had felt since she had to put her mother in prison, and she was so utterly thankful.

  It was true. Kate was very lucky to have Natasha and with this conversation, she realized that she really did have Natasha no matter what.

  And maybe she had Yelena, too.

#natasha romanoff #yelena belova #natasha romanov #kate bishop #widow sisters #black widow #black widow 2021 #black widow movie #hawkeye #hawkeye 2021 #hawkeye series #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #avengers #avengers family #sisters #family #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #platonic #platonic relationships #platonic relationship

[retrievablememories]

somewhere only we know | doyoung (m)

title: somewhere only we know pairing: elf!doyoung x dryad!reader genre: fantasy, major angst, fluff, smut, royal!au, 1800s!au summary: as the Crown Prince faces increasing pressure to select a wife, he finally falls in love over the course of a summer—charmed by the sounds of nature and a mysterious tree nymph. word count: 32,000+ warnings: major character death, descriptions of death, familial conflict, discrimination/prejudice (both regarding familial lineage and species), classism, physical violence, descriptions of fire, voyeurism (but not in a kink context), strict gender roles/gender stereotypes, sexism/sexist language, some sexual jokes/vulgar language, outdoor sex, fingering, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex (don’t try at home) a/n: this felt like writing a movie, especially towards the end, and i am TIYADDD. i usually actively avoid writing this many characters/plot points because it gets hard to keep things organized, so this fic was a serious test of my abilities lol... there may or may not be an epilogue after this, but that depends on the audience’s (y’all) interest in one

as always, let’s keep in mind this is just fiction and not a judgment of or truly accurate representation of the personalities of any of the idols depicted in this story. 

@constipation08​ thank you for the request and fic idea, this has been a wild ass ride lmao 😭

“Why do we have to leave the kingdom?! I was doing just fine right here!”

“Because our parents say we have to,” Mark replies nonchalantly, already growing weary of hearing Donghyuck’s griping about the King and Queen’s decision. The younger male throws himself onto his bed beside Mark, sighing loudly the entire time.

Donghyuck turns over on his back to give Mark a look. “But why do we need to leave to take gentlemen’s lessons? None of us here need to learn how to be gentlemen, we already are. At least, I am.”

“Your behavior is saying otherwise,” Doyoung counters, watching the two younger men from the bedroom’s doorway. “Perhaps it won’t be that bad. You’ll get to get away from the kingdom for a few months. It’s almost like a vacation.”

Donghyuck rolls his eyes. “No vacation I’ve ever heard of involves work.”

“I don’t know, I’m a bit interested,” Mark says. “Everyone says Eupheme has the best gentlemen’s tutors in the country, so maybe it’ll be—”

“Ugh, don’t say fun.” Donghyuck grabs a pillow from the head of the bed and smacks Mark across the face with it, causing the other man to yelp in surprise and topple over. They soon become embroiled in a battle of who can land the most hits with their respective pillows, which eventually evolves into them wrestling each other.

“See, this is why mother and father say you all need etiquette lessons. It’s like everything you learned as kids evaporated as soon as you hit puberty.” Doyoung shakes his head, but he also can’t help but laugh a little at their continual bickering. “You’ll spend a few months in the company of the other princes, too, so it’s not all bad. I really don’t know why you’re complaining.”

“Maybe because he won’t get to see Nayeon while he’s gone,” Mark says this while Donghyuck has him in a headlock, and the younger boy’s grip tightens around his neck.

“Shut up, Mark!”

Doyoung snorts. “Oh, how could I forget?” Nayeon was the daughter of a local lawmaker and someone who Donghyuck had obviously fancied for a while. Nayeon seemed to enjoy his company well enough, and she was undoubtedly within a proper social standing that everyone approved of, should marriage ever come into question. And, perhaps most importantly, she was also of elven blood. Nevertheless, there was talk that her heart had already been captured by another. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe she’ll realize she really is in love with you while you’re gone.”

“Or she’ll enjoy the sweet silence she gets without hearing Donghyuck chatting her ear off at every available moment.” This comment from Mark sends them into another bout of rolling around on the bed, trying to land hits on each other.

“I pity your future wife,” Donghyuck huffs as Mark tries to overtake him. “She’ll get the title of princess in exchange for what? A husband who will be too frightened to peel the sheets back on her first night!”

Doyoung rolls his eyes when he sees the fighting clearly isn’t coming to an end any time soon. Despite that, he certainly isn’t inclined to try to break them up; the last time he got in the middle of one of their scuffles, he ended up with an accidental black eye. The thought of trying to explain to the public what had happened was too embarrassing for words, and he was resigned to stay confined to the castle as it healed.

It would not surprise him if that incident were a part of the equation that finally convinced their parents to send them away for additional royal training. He, for one, isn’t complaining about it.

Doyoung waves his hand and decides to take his leave, quickly tiring of their theatrics. “You two have fun, then. Try not to kill each other; we’re expected to arrive in Eupheme all in one piece.”

They spend the next few days making the necessary preparations to leave for Eupheme—picking out luggage, selecting which outfits to bring, and deciding which guards will accompany them. Their parents have already arranged for them to stay with the King and Queen of Eupheme, who they are long-time friends of, and their three sons, Jeno, Jaemin, and Jisung. Once there, Jungwoo, Mark, Donghyuck, and Sicheng will receive gentlemen’s tutoring alongside the younger three men.

Though they have been to Eupheme and the King and Queen’s home in the past as adolescents, their destination this time is a little different, with a new royal castle only just coming to completion a few years back. The King of Eupheme, always one to pull out all the stops with luxury and extravagance, had seen it fit to build a bigger and more attractive castle in the very center of the kingdom. Their old mansion would go to the oldest son and Crown Prince, Jeno, whenever he married.

The King and Queen of Ceres decide to appoint Doyoung as a chaperone for the boys because of his seniority as Crown Prince—and also because he’s the only older brother they’ll even attempt to listen to. Yuta and Jaehyun stay behind to handle other royal affairs and ambassadorial duties in Doyoung’s place. Some members of the Royal Court are far from thrilled by Doyoung’s departure and Yuta’s taking over a portion of his responsibilities in his absence, but they also know better than to air their grievances out in the open where any of the family could hear.

Yuta is initially not too pleased about being left out of the trip, but he knows there are obligations to attend to in Ceres. He also won’t deny that he relishes being given this role to play, feeling like he has obtained some heightened level of importance within the family for the first time in a long time. He tries not to be so conspicuous about how often he thinks about the position of Crown Prince, and what it might be like if he were only a year older and born of the same mother as his brothers. Yuta tends to think of himself as a master actor in maintaining his unfazed façade concerning his lowered station within the family, with no one the wiser. Well, except for the one he can trust.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, is not nearly so chagrined by having to stay as Yuta is. But of course, leaving would mean having to pause his budding romance with the daughter of the Marquess, so he’s more than willing to stay if tasked to do so.

The day of their departure comes fast. Soon, they’re all standing outside the castle as the servants load the men’s things into several of their stagecoaches. The five of them bid their farewells to their parents and two brothers, if a bit over-exaggeratedly.

“I hope you won’t miss me too much when I’m gone,” Donghyuck says, crowding up to Jaehyun and annoying him with kissy faces.

Jaehyun smiles and rolls his eyes. “I don’t think that will be a problem. Try not to torment our cousins too much.” Even with his joking, he gives the younger boy a hug and pets his hair before letting him go off to bother Yuta.

Doyoung is already there talking with Yuta, placing his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Take care of things while I’m gone, yeah? If there’s anyone around here who can do it, it’s you.”

“Of course, brother. I always honor my duties.” Then Yuta smirks. “Don’t let Jaehyun hear you saying that, though.”

Sicheng isn’t happy about being separated from Yuta for a span of months, but he doesn’t complain in front of the others about it. He simply gives his brother a long hug, sighing into his shoulder. “It’ll be fine,” Yuta insists, trying to get Sicheng to wipe the pout off his face. “Look at the bright side of it. When you come back, you’ll finally have some proper manners.” Yuta gently pinches his ear and Sicheng makes a face at that, though his lips quirk up in a small smile.

“Maybe. For their sake, perhaps these lessons won’t go to complete waste.” Sicheng glances at his other brothers as he says this, and he gives Yuta another nod before walking to one of the stagecoaches.

“Do take care of your brothers,” the Queen says to Doyoung, fixing his collar and patting his shoulders like she often did when he was smaller. Then she sighs. “We have not been parted for such a long time in years. Hurry back, my son…and please remember to be patient with them…you know how they can be.”

Doyoung smiles as she pats his cheek, though he feels a little embarrassed at his mother’s fussing over him. “I promise everything will go well, mother. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Sicheng and Mark take one stagecoach while Doyoung, Donghyuck, and Jungwoo take the other; their guards and servants have another two to themselves. After everyone is loaded in, they wave goodbye to the King and Queen as they ride away from the castle and towards a summer ahead in Eupheme.

In the stagecoaches, it takes a journey of nearly three days to reach Eupheme. By then, everyone is more than ready to get some space away from each other. Their stagecoaches are more finely outfitted than the ones used for public travel by the common folk, but that still doesn’t make them pleasant to keep an extended stay in. There’s nothing quite like being stowed up in one small space with your siblings for days to realize the value of alone time.

 The castle, they find out as they ride along the path leading to it, sits not too far from a nearby village. Beyond that village, an expansive forest stretches out along the land. As to be expected, new property comes with new people and sights.

 The princes had not last visited Eupheme since before the new castle was completed; now, all this newness comes as a welcome surprise. Donghyuck and Jungwoo press their faces up against the stagecoach window to catch glimpses of the village through the trees as they drive past. It’s raining lightly outside, and the waterdrops slide against the windowpanes as they peer out, obscuring their vision slightly.

Doyoung can already see the rapt excitement in their eyes. “Remember we didn’t come here to play in the village all day,” Doyoung tells the others, sighing deeply as he already knows what their plans will be

“Doesn’t mean we won’t, brother,” Jungwoo chuckles, and Donghyuck voices his agreement.

In Sicheng and Mark’s stagecoach, they also look at the scenery with fascination.

“It’s quite different from their old home,” Sicheng remarks. “But prettier.”

Mark presses his palm against the stagecoach’s interior wall, beside the windowpane, and focuses his energy to create a small portal to the outside. He sticks his hand through it to feel the raindrops pattering against his fingers; the air outside is humid and sticky.

“Showboat. You could’ve just opened the window,” Sicheng points out, though he smirks in amusement.

Their cousins’ castle is a grand thing. It’s similar to their own in many ways, but one thing the Euphemian royals have always prided themselves on is their outstanding landscaping. Their front lawn, backyard, and the surrounding fields create a vast world of their own, filled with intricately-shaped hedges, rare flowers, unique stone statues, and even a winding maze of greenery leading to the castle’s front entrance. It was more than enough land for anyone to get lost in for days. One could spend a week just traversing their entire property alone—forget the village and forest.

As their entourage of stagecoaches makes its way through the path to the mansion, the men talk more excitedly with each other, planning the things they hope to do once they get settled in. The King and Queen of Eupheme and their three sons are already standing in front of the castle steps ready to greet them once they arrive.

“Doyoung!” Jeno calls out the prince’s name as soon as he sees his head pop out of the window, and Doyoung waves excitedly to the younger man as he and the others get out.

Once all five men exit the carriage, they bow to the King and Queen.

“It is so good to see you all again after such a long time,” the Queen says, clasping her hands together with a warm smile.

“Surely, you’ve all grown into fine young men.” The King is a big, intimidating man, even for someone of his rank, and the current smile he wears does little to take away from that fact, but the five men return the gesture all the same.

The men get reacquainted with their cousins as the servants unload their things from the stagecoaches.

“You’ve grown up so much. Let me look at you,” Doyoung says, fawning over Jeno as the other men look on and laugh.

“You act worse than a parent,” Jungwoo says, giggling at Jeno’s blushing face.

Sicheng nods his agreement, looking at the two with an embarrassed expression. “Quite obviously—why do you think they picked him to be our chaperone?”

“Come on, we’ll give you a tour around the castle,” Jisung says, excitedly pulling Mark and Donghyuck along with him as he heads for the castle steps.

“I think we’ll be walking around for an entire day.” Donghyuck snickers. “It’s huge.”

Jisung grins, a knowing glance in his eyes. “An entire day? Oh, cousin, that’s just the east wing.”

Unsurprisingly, the group of brothers aren’t immediately unleashed to go exploring in the village.

Their tutors have them settle into a couple weeks of lessons before adding unsupervised free time to their schedules for them to do whatever they please with. It’s not a lot at first—only 30 minutes at a time—but Doyoung knows that’s more than enough time for them to get into trouble, if they so wish.

The men were hardly impressed with being treated like reckless children and would take whatever chance they could to escape the tutors’ watchful eyes, which meant staying on their best behavior and trying to adhere to all their professors’ instructions until they were granted more leniency.

By that point, their instructors were almost being driven crazy by the men’s frequent and not-so-subtle side conversations about what they’d see in the village once they finally got there.

“Alright, here is your first free break of the day. Go on, make use of it. I say, I’ve never seen a bunch of royals so infatuated with what the commoners are doing,” their music tutor exclaims, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t you much rather stay in here where things are clean and predictable and safe—and most importantly, clean?”

“Hmm, no. Clean’s boring!” Donghyuck counters, and he’s the first one to take off and leave the room once he’s gathered all his things. The rest of the men soon trail out of the room after him, with Doyoung heading up the rear. By their parents’ request, he usually sits in on their lessons to make sure they follow their tutors’ orders, or to help them out with whatever questions they have if the teacher is preoccupied with someone else.

“Are you all going to accompany us?” Donghyuck asks Jeno after the older man catches up to him in the hallway.

Jeno gives him a suspicious look. “Accompany you where?”

Donghyuck lowers his voice to prevent Doyoung from overhearing their conversation. “We’re going to visit the village today, see the lay of the land. There’s no time to waste, so if you want to come…”

Jeno shakes his head, a slightly unimpressed look coloring his features. “You go on ahead. If you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times before.”

Donghyuck looks at him skeptically, then claps a hand on his back. “Suit yourself!”

It doesn’t take long for Donghyuck to convince Sicheng, Jungwoo, and Mark to use their free time to go to the village with him, and they decide to take the horses to shorten the time it’ll take to get there. They bypass their rooms and head straight outside for the stable, leaving their books and writing utensils sitting in a heap in a corner to avoid wasting any precious time with putting their things away.

While they’re out in the stable, Donghyuck fawns endlessly over the horses. He’s particularly drawn to an all-black one with a shiny coat and an impossibly long mane. Her expressions are almost elven-like, her eyes showing a certain eerie understanding of the words he speaks to her. A large golden label on her stall reads Lily in black curly lettering.

“She’s amazing,” Donghyuck says, gently stroking her muzzle as she peers at him with her huge black eyes. Mark and Jungwoo come over to take a look at the mare, and Mark agrees to Donghyuck’s observation, grinning softly as he brushes his fingers along Lily’s soft coat. Their moment is suddenly disturbed, however, by a voice coming from the stable entrance. The three of them jump a little in surprise.

“Where are you all going?” It’s Doyoung, of course. Donghyuck scoffs and rolls his eyes, trying to ignore his older brother as he keeps petting the horse.

“We’re going out,” Sicheng says, laughing from the other side of the stable as he leads one of the horses out of its stall.

“Obviously, but where?” Doyoung walks further into the stable with the other boys, though he screws up his face at the strong smell of horse and hay. Much like the others, riding horses is an activity he quite fancies, but he doesn’t enjoy the smell of it.

“Leave us for once, brother, please! If you come with us, it’s just going to spoil the mood. Between the tutors and the King and Queen, we have enough overbearing people breathing down our necks.” Mark shushes Donghyuck at that, as if he half expects the King and Queen themselves to come out from the shadows and reprimand them.

Doyoung crosses his arms. “I have no intentions of stopping you, but I’m also not going to let you return here with a herd of angry townspeople on your tail if you do something to set them off.”

“Yes, which means you’ll stop us from doing anything fun,” Sicheng retorts, nearly pouting. He’s used his sad eyes and natural charm on his older brothers to get his way in many situations in the past, but Doyoung isn’t budging this time.

“Doyoung is going to come regardless, can the rest of you just bear with it so we can leave?” Jungwoo says impatiently, leading one of the other horses out and fixing its saddle on. “We don’t have all day to argue.”

“Fine.” Sicheng and Donghyuck aren’t thrilled about the prospect of having their older brother tag along to thwart any mischievous plans they might’ve had. They don’t truly hate it, though; they rarely miss an opportunity to try to get on his nerves if they can, and now is no exception.

After they’ve all picked a steed, they mount their horses and take off to leave the castle.

On the horses, it takes only 5 or 6 minutes to reach the village rather than the 20 minutes they’d spend walking there. When they get there, they are greeted by a sign that reads Arthenia Village. It shows obvious signs of wear, but it looks to have been recently covered with a fresh coat of green paint.

From the first glance, it’s easy to tell that the small town mostly consists of supernatural beings—though they could figure that from the atmosphere alone. The air is thick with magic, and it dances across their skin like static. Fairies and orcs and the occasional elf like themselves walk, ride, or fly through the streets, plus many more beings beyond those. Even a small portion of humans live there, though they blend in almost seamlessly with the others—except for their lack of a magical aura.

Some townspeople stop to watch the men enter the village as they trot down the cobbled streets on their horses, all dressed up in their fineries. In the men’s own eyes, their outfits are quite average for a day of schooling, but the villagers rarely see such luxury in their daily lives.

The townspeople are not really used to interacting with royalty, due to the castle’s inhabitants mostly keeping to their own circles of nobility—and seeing everyone else as beneath them, even if they don’t immediately concede to it. Some villagers are in awe of their entrance, while others look on with expressions of contempt. Donghyuck doesn’t mind the glares, though, and waves excitedly to anyone who’ll wave back.

“I wonder about you sometimes,” Mark says to the younger man, and he narrowly avoids Donghyuck trying to reach out and swipe him off his horse.

They eventually dismount the horses and tie them up at a nearby stall so they can walk around the Market Square. There’s little danger of anyone trying to make off with one of the animals; their saddles decorated with the royal colors and insignia would immediately incriminate any person who’d attempt it. And in any case, a punishment of being sent to the guillotine is more than enough to keep potential thieves away.

Arthenia may be small, but it’s still filled with a distinct culture and a sense of hominess, with people selling their homemade wares and groups of little kids playing and weaving through the streets. A group of girls gathered at a small jewelry shop whisper animatedly among themselves as they watch the men walk by, and they freeze when Doyoung meets their eyes. He waves to them with a warm smile on his face, just as he was taught to do, and they wave back enthusiastically, their free hands covering their mouths to disguise their giggles.

Jungwoo quickly becomes entangled in a game of Horseshoes with a group of adolescents who bet he can’t beat them at their own game. And, despite Sicheng’s earlier complaints, he ends up trailing behind Doyoung for most of their trip, unsure how to interact with the villagers except for following his etiquette training and simply smiling politely at them. If he were in an “I told you so” kind of mood, Doyoung might’ve pointed out the irony of the situation, but he decides to let it be, knowing Sicheng is still trying to adjust.

At the very edge of the village, a small dirt pathway gives way to the same forest they saw on their way to the castle. The expanse of the forest is easier to see when outside of Arthenia itself; it spreads like a thick patch of dark green against the lighter green fields and hills. Up close and personal, though, the forest entrance is thick with foliage, making it hard to see through. The unknown nature of it beckons. Donghyuck catches Mark’s eyes lingering in that direction, and he comes up next to the older man, throwing his arm across his shoulders.

“Is that our next conquest?” he proposes, mischief written across his face. “Want to see what lies there?”

Mark looks back at him, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. “I’m willing if you are.”

A seller at a nearby stall—an elderly orc—overhears their conversation and shakes his head, chuckling as if he’s just heard something utterly ridiculous. “Young men...don’t go in there with bad intentions. The women will drive you out.”

Donghyuck and Mark turn to him with confusion written on their faces. “Women?”

“There are women who live in the trees,” the seller continues. “They protect the trees, protect the forest. Everything there is under their dominion. Before you step foot in there, make sure you’re thinking with your head up top,” he taps a finger against the side of his head, “and not the one between your legs.”

“U-um, that wasn’t—alright.” Mark is openly flustered at being called out, and Donghyuck only laughs, steering Mark away from the stall and back towards the heart of the village.

“Don’t get so discomfited about it, brother. Desires of the flesh are natural for men.” Donghyuck slaps Mark on the chest, and the other coughs a bit at the sudden hit.

“But do you think he said that just to deter us? Or is it true?”

“I’d say there’s only one way to find out.”

Sicheng turns a corner and nearly runs into them, and they both startle at his sudden appearance. “Whatever you’re so eager to find out, it’s not happening today. It’s time to go back already.” He’s no more happy about it than they are, though, rolling his eyes at the prospect of heading back to the mansion when there’s still much to see.

“Already?” Donghyuck questions Sicheng as he starts heading back to the Market Square where their horses are stationed. Sicheng unfolds his pocketwatch and shows him the time, nodding without a word before continuing on. “Ah, shit. We’ll see the forest next time, then. Don’t forget! We’ve got to make haste.”

“Remember what that old man said, though,” Mark says, calling back to Donghyuck as he follows Sicheng. “We aren’t using up all our break time to find lovers or concubines.”

Donghyuck scoffs. “Who do you take me for? No one can find a lover in just 30 minutes, Mark, unless it’s you. Then you’d only need 5 minutes at most.” Then he takes off through the streets as Mark chases after him, threatening to kick his ass once he lays his hands on him.

It’s another week before they can make it out to the village—and therefore, the forest—again, but once the time rolls around, Donghyuck is once again the first out of the castle with Mark on his tail. Jungwoo and Sicheng decide to tag along too, along with Doyoung, which none of them are particularly surprised about.

The villagers’ responses are less awe-struck this time, though some of them still express some surprise at seeing the men come to their little town two weeks in a row. Many of them give friendly waves, though others look on with skepticism as they see the men heading for the woods. They pass by the same elderly orc from last week, who gives them a knowing look; Mark shoots him a nervous smile in return.

Entering the woods on horses requires them to duck their heads a bit to avoid the overhanging foliage threatening to poke them in the eyes or get tangled in their hair. A few of them gripe about this, but they quickly grow captivated with interest as they journey deeper into the terrain and survey the woods.

“This place is nice,” Jungwoo comments. His eyes dart to and fro, though, as if he expects one of the aforementioned women to come out of nowhere and sternly rebuke them for entering their forest abode.

“I can’t wait to see what kind of beautiful women live in this forest,” Donghyuck announces.

“Don’t be so eager, I’m positive none of them would be interested in a kid,” Sicheng scoffs. No sooner do the words leave Sicheng’s lips do a pair of pinecones come falling out of a tall pine tree just a ways above their heads. One only narrowly misses Sicheng, but the other catches Donghyuck on the shoulder.

“Ow! Did you see that?” He grabs his shoulder as if it’s injured and whips his head to look up at the pine’s towering trunk, but there’s no sign of anything other than a few unsuspecting birds.

Doyoung shakes his head. “I wouldn’t say anything else foolish if I were you, brother. Seems like the forest already has something against you.” He laughs to himself, steering his horse away from the others to explore more of the woods.

“It’s not the forest, it’s the women that stall vendor was talking about,” Donghyuck insists, looking over his shoulder for any more falling objects.

“Sure. Next, you will tell us you’re no longer an elf.” Sicheng is less convinced by the presence of the dryads than the other men, but he’s along for the ride anyway. He will at least get to see what all the fuss is about, and even if it’s not true, he’ll have some time away from the castle. Although the King and Queen are as dutifully welcoming as they should be, he can’t shake the feeling of the King’s judgment brewing just underneath the surface. It’s like his aura intentionally closes itself off to the younger man, too haughty and refined to be in the presence of a concubine’s son.

“Let’s just keep on and see what we come across,” Mark says, steering his horse around a fallen log as he traverses further ahead.

Doyoung catches sight of a large oak tree just a little ways off. It doesn’t look much different from the other trees around, save for a hollow hole in its front, but he’s intrigued by it and decides to look more closely. Once he gets over to it, he climbs off his horse and walks up to its large trunk, carefully maneuvering around the thick roots beneath his feet.

Cautiously peeking into the hollow, he sees a nest, but there are no current occupants. He presses one hand against the trunk and feels the grooves and ridges of its texture underneath his palm. It feels old and powerful, and he guesses it must’ve been here for a long time already.

Doyoung hears rustling a few feet above him from the branches, and a few leaves drift down, brushing his face. He expects to see some bird or squirrel when he looks up, maybe the owner of the nest come back to object to his snooping around, but he’s shocked at the sight of a woman.

Doyoung only catches a glimpse of you, for when you notice him looking at you, you gasp and dart further up into the tree’s branches, causing more leaves to fall on the way. Doyoung shields his eyes from them as they come cascading around him, but he fails to get another look. It’s like the tree has enveloped you entirely, hiding you from view.

“That was odd,” he says aloud. So the seller’s words were true after all. He lingers for a while longer, hoping to maybe stay long enough to see you again, but you’ve disappeared. He’s a bit reluctant to leave, but it’s apparent you’re not going to reappear while he’s still around, so he leads his horse away by its reins and looks for the others.

“I saw something,” he says as soon as he spots Donghyuck. “Or someone.”

“Seriously?” Donghyuck’s eyes light up. “What did she look like? Was she pretty? Did you get her name?”

“‘Was she pretty?’ Is that all you can think about?” Doyoung sighs. “I didn’t get anything. I barely saw her. She was among the tree branches one minute and gone the next.” Donghyuck slumps a bit at that, but he’s still determined to see one of the forest’s female inhabitants for himself.

“Hmmm…no matter. There’s many more chances where that came from. We can always return later and see who shows up.”

Their conversation is cut short by a nearby shout from Mark, who’s loudly complaining about his head. Apparently he’s been struck by something much messier than a pinecone—a robin’s egg. “Ugh. What have you fools gotten into?!” Donghyuck calls out, spurring on his horse.

Doyoung mounts his own horse and follows the younger man in search of their brothers. Just before they get out of sight of the oak tree, Doyoung throws a glance backwards, still burning with curiosity. He’s startled to see the same face from earlier staring back at him from the uppermost reaches of the tree, your eyes wide with an inquisitiveness he thinks must mirror his own.

When he blinks, you are gone again.

Even though the other men look at him a bit oddly for it, Doyoung decides to bring a gift the next time they go to the forest.

He doesn’t know much about tree nymphs. He does know, however, that there is a library full of books in the castle; many being history and reference books, no doubt. After visiting the library one day after his brothers’ lessons, he manages to scrape up a little information on tree nymphs—or dryads, as they’re also called—even though he isn’t entirely sure what he’s looking for.

His research tells him the tree nymphs are friends of the gods and goddesses, and history shows that the higher beings have always liked—even demanded for—gifts. So why wouldn’t the women of the forest be the same way? Maybe if he brings a gift, the women will warm up to their presence and realize they aren’t just a bunch of horny travelers. At the very least, maybe they wouldn’t have any more pinecones and eggs thrown at them.

When the brothers get a chance to go to the forest again, Doyoung carries a couple cinnamon scones and a small, bright clementine from their earlier breakfast in his saddlebag. The chef’s scones are the best he’s ever tasted, and he doesn’t think he could ever go back to eating the ones from their cook back home—not that he’d ever say that out loud, though.

Everyone likes food, right? He figures there’s no way to go wrong with this idea, and even if the girl in the oak tree doesn’t like it, maybe one of the other tree nymphs or woodland creatures can eat it.

You aren’t in sight when he stops by the oak tree again. Donghyuck, who’s accompanying Doyoung on his personal quest, watches as he leaves the food in the small tree hollow, keeping it carefully wrapped in its blue and white handkerchief.

“You think she’ll take it?” Donghyuck asks, keeping his voice low. He doesn’t really want you to hear him talking about you if you’re still around somewhere, which could possibly alert you to their presence and scare you off again. But unbeknownst to him, that’s unlikely to happen; dryads always know when someone enters their forest.

“I wouldn’t reject free food,” Doyoung says, laughing quietly. He steps back once he’s finished with his job and looks towards the branches, as if he expects you to appear right then and accept his offering. That won’t likely happen, but he wouldn’t mind seeing what you look like more closely.

“Well, come on then.” Donghyuck waves his hand. “There’s still more to see. We can double back and see if it worked later.”

They hear rustling among the trees as they guide their horses through one of the forest’s many paths, but they don’t see any signs of the dryads. There’s only the occasional forest creature, such as a racoon or squirrel. Mark, Sicheng, and Jungwoo are farther away in another part of the woods, though the two men can hear them talking faintly, their voices carrying on the wind. Sunlight from the midday sun filters through the leaves, turning the landscape into a speckled show of light and shadow.

When Donghyuck and Doyoung get far enough away from the oak tree, they eventually come across a lake that splits the forest in half. It’s not very wide, but if you tried to jump across it you’d almost certainly land in the water instead of on dry land.

There are signs that sprites have recently been near the lake, or quite possibly live within the forest. The ground is littered with half-eaten berries and chewed-on leaves, but that’s not the only clue; that could be the work of any forest animal. Sprites, however, leave a very distinct tinge of magic in places they’ve visited. It’s akin to walking through a spiderweb, or feeling the air change when you go from the hot outdoors to a cold room. Doyoung almost swears he can hear tiny tinkling laughter next to his ear, though it fades away as soon as he turns around.

Donghyuck is more interested in the lake, though, and guides his horse to walk along the edge of the grass where the water begins. “Do you figure we could go swimming in it?” he calls back to Doyoung.

Doyoung scoffs. “Now?”

“Of course not now! Maybe some other day, when we don’t have 20 other things to do.”

“Maybe. The water seems safe enough…” Doyoung peers into the running waters himself, watching a few twigs and stray leaves float past. There aren’t any apparent dangers or concerns, and the water’s shallow enough where you can see the bottom of the lake, but appearances aren’t always as they seem. It’s always essential to be wary in magically-charged places like this forest.

They ride through the woods for a while longer, listening to birds cry out from the trees and sing softer chirps that serve as background music. Despite the forest’s inherent mystery, it’s almost calming at this moment, with the steady hum of wildlife around. It’s like time has been suspended and they’ve been enveloped in a dimension separate from their own, even though they can see familiar signs of life prospering all around them. The contradiction of the forest’s calm and unsettling quality is both strange and wonderful to experience.

By the time their half-hour of exploration starts running out, they circle back to the grand oak tree to see what’s become of Doyoung’s offering. He’s actually a bit surprised to see it gone, handkerchief and all, and he gets off his horse to inspect the tree hollow.

“It worked!” Donghyuck exclaims this a little too loudly and a nearby bird takes off. He flinches reflexively, expecting another pinecone to come hurtling at him from the trees, though none do.

“It did,” Doyoung agrees, pressing his fingers against the wood as he looks into the tree hollow. He’s even more pleased than he expected to be, a small grin playing on his lips. “It did.”

Doyoung leaves more gifts over the next few weeks, which ends up in him actually buying things for your merriment. Many of them are cute and inexpensive little trinkets from the Market Square, like smooth blue moonstones and jagged sharp crystals that the vendors swear have been blessed with witches’ magic, though he often still leaves food.

Even with these regular visits, he’s still yet to catch more than a few glimpses at a time of you. Unbeknownst to him and Donghyuck, these sightings, no matter how sparse they are, are largely due to you throwing them a bone and allowing them to perceive you. At any other time, it would be all too easy to just disappear completely and wait for them to leave after depositing their offerings.

They don’t always see you when they come to the tree, but it happens enough to be worth noting.

Despite this inability to get you to stay, Donghyuck still tries his luck with calling out greetings to your retreating form. These words, no matter how friendly they are, are often swallowed up in the rustling of the leaves.

The same thing happens today. Donghyuck spots your feet peeking out from an uppermost branch, not quite concealed by the leaves, and he rushes out the first thing he can think of to say. “Hey, there—” At the sound of his voice, though, you quickly retreat. “Uh, nice tree-climbing skills? Oh, alright, okay…”

“I don’t think she wants to talk right now,” Doyoung remarks, a smirk on his face as he goes to leave his token for today. This time, it’s another food gift; a pair of peaches and a biscuit with jam.

“That’s fine!” Donghyuck tries not to seem embarrassed about his fruitless greetings. “I’ll just keep greeting her until she does feel like answering. It would be rude not to say hello otherwise! Unlike someone else here. Not very princely of you, huh, brother?”

Donghyuck sticks his tongue out at his brother and spurs his horse to gallop off into the trees, feeling the air whip past his cheeks. In the back of his mind, he himself knows why he keeps calling out to you even if he won’t get an answer, though he doesn’t intend on letting Doyoung know why. Some things are better kept to oneself; he’s had to learn that lesson over time.

He eventually ends up on a small hill in the forest, which is surrounded by tall trees and covered in sparse patches of moss. He hears giggling above him from one of the trees, though when he turns his head to look, there’s nothing there.

Still chagrined from the time he got hit with a pinecone, he keeps his head turned skyward, trying to see if he can spot anything among the tree canopy. However, all he sees is green and more green. He’s about to give up and go about his way when an acorn comes zooming down and hits him square in the forehead.

“Hey!” he shouts, rubbing the sore spot on his head. His exclamation reverberates off the tree trunks and bounces back to him. The echo of it almost overtakes the small set of giggles from just in front of him, but his ear catches them. “Whoever you are, come out!”

Donghyuck’s horse whinnies softly but does nothing else to alert him to where the possible culprit might be hiding, and he sighs heavily. He decides to get off the horse to walk around the area, inspecting it more closely as the wind stirs his hair and tickles his ears. The forest is almost eerily silent the entire time; all Donghyuck can hear is the sound of his own breaths and his boots in the grass.

Suddenly, he yells when a mop of black hair falls on top of his head. The shock of it sends him falling to the ground, dirtying his pants. When he gets enough distance between himself and the strange black hair, he realizes it’s one of the tree nymphs. Not you from the oak tree, though, to his slight disappointment. This one hangs upside down from a thick branch as she looks at him, her eyes playful and bright.

“You’re a cute one, aren’t you?” Her voice sounds like windchimes tinkling in the breeze, light and airy. Donghyuck tries to respond, but he finds himself lost for words after finally facing one of the women who have been an enigma this entire time. When she sees he isn’t responding, she says, “Cat got your tongue?”

“Who...where…?” Donghyuck scrambles to his feet, and the girl rights herself on her tree branch, skittering along the length of it to hide partway behind the tree trunk. She doesn’t appear to actually be shy or apprehensive, though. Her grin tells him that this is all part of her game.

“Hmm. Well, when you figure out what you’d like to say, call for me.” The girl disappears completely behind the tree trunk, and Donghyuck darts behind it, expecting to see her still hiding there. However, there’s nothing but air.

“But I don’t know your name?” Donghyuck calls after her, but there’s only his own voice reflected back to him.

“Don’t know whose name?” Mark’s voice makes Donghyuck turn around in surprise, a blush coloring his cheeks. He hadn’t even heard the older man’s horse come trotting up.

“No one,” he mumbles, shaking his head as he walks back to his horse. “You must be hearing things.”

You and three other dryads sit in a circle in a small clearing one night, talking amongst yourselves, eating berries, and gazing at the moon as it shines directly upon your little spot. Cassia lays her head in your lap, her long black hair splaying across your legs. The other two, Peony and Daphne, cuddle close to each other, their legs entangling as they feed each other berries.

You all only come out like this when you’re sure the forest is free of any unwelcome visitors or sudden drop-ins, so you can enjoy each other’s company in peace and talk without prying ears or eyes. And speak of the devil—the subject soon turns to the men who’ve been gallivanting through the forest as of late.

“We can never have any peace,” Cassia says, though her tone is laced with laughter. “If it isn’t one group of thirsty and untouched men, it’s another.”

“That one man always comes around this area, the one with the long hair. Along with the rest of them…all on their horses, making so much noise and chaos,” Peony complains.

“It’s impossible not to notice their presence. I wish they’d just stay wherever they come from; they make far too much noise out here,” Daphne says, shaking her head. “They must scare away every woodland creature within a 20-foot radius.”

You’re quiet and thoughtful as you listen to the other girls’ complaints. Finally, you decide to chime in. “I don’t know. They do seem a bit mannerless at times, but they’re kind of interesting.”

Peony shrugs. “Not surprised you’d say that. The one with the long hair is always looking up your tree and leaving you gifts.”

“She just doesn’t want the stream of admiration to stop,” Cassia giggles.

You sigh. “I don’t think it’s quite that simple, but whatever you say.”

“Everyone in the world likes attention, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Cassia admits, “especially when it’s coming from someone who isn’t half-bad. This batch of men is by far the most attractive we’ve seen in a while.”

“Hmm, if you say so,” Peony says, and her and Daphne giggle to themselves like they’re in on a joke only the two of them know.

“He must think he’ll get in your good graces if he gives you enough presents,” Daphne adds in. “What say you?”

You tilt your head and think. “Get in my good graces? That depends on what he wants.”

“What he wants?” Peony separates herself from Daphne and crawls over to you, mischief shining in her eyes. “And what do you think he wants?” Her grin doesn’t diminish as she waits for your answer. Daphne smiles and laughs and licks berry juice off her hands as she observes you both.

You stare at the other girl for a long moment, not wanting to laugh but cracking a grin anyway. “I couldn’t possibly know! Maybe you should ask him—or ask the younger one you all have been obsessed with.”

Cassia stretches her arms upwards toward the night sky, crossing her fingers over each other. “Nope. He’s just fun to tease.”

“Fun enough for you to reveal yourself to him,” you point out.

“Say what you will,” she responds. “But at some point, you will probably have to talk to the man. Think carefully. You want to make a good impression on your not-so-secret admirer, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” you say nonchalantly, though you are already thinking of what you might say to him the next time he comes around.

Daphne looks to Cassia, then at you. “Well, just remember this. I wouldn’t waste too much of my good time with him if I were you. We all know elves don’t like us.” The mood shifts a bit at this, with the three of you giving each other unsettled looks as a familiar thought drifts in the back of your minds. It is not uncommon for elves to demean other species, nor is it rare for them to use this perceived superiority to take what they want from others.

Cassia pulls up a handful of grass and throws it at the other girl. “Must you spoil the mood? We’re just having a bit of fun. Besides, these elves obviously don’t object to us if they keep hanging around here unprovoked.”

“I’m trying to look out for the best interest of a fellow dryad,” Daphne protests. “Elven men are very seductive…everything you want them to be until they’re not. But, by all means, do as you please.”

“Like Cassia said, it’s just fun.” You keep your voice nonchalant, though you are already rising to your feet to walk back to your tree. “And thank you for the concern…although I’m not certain it’s warranted.”

The other girls let you walk back alone, knowing you need a bit of time to yourself to think. You wonder what the man’s motive could truly be, and what it means for you. The elves of Arthenia have historically been easy to get along with as they don’t share the views of many others in their race. The same can’t always be said for elven people outside of this small area, though.

You suppose there’s only one way to find out.

One day, Doyoung manages to go out to the forest by himself while his brothers are still busy with their studies.

He plans to leave you something again, maybe hoping to see you fully this time, though he’s also content to just be out in nature and enjoy the scenery if that’s not possible. At least that’s what he tells himself. Fortunately for him, Lady Luck takes his side today.

After getting off his horse, he heads straight for your oak tree with his gift in hand. It’s a small piece of dyed glass that he got from the Market Square, shaped like a maple leaf. It appears to change colors when held up to the light, as if it were a real leaf with the sun shining through its cells.

You’re already sitting on one of the upper branches when he comes to the tree. He stops in his tracks, thinking you might run off again if he comes any closer, but you simply sit and look at him, your knees close to your chest. He thinks about what a precarious position that is to take on a tree branch, but you’re obviously used to keeping your balance up there.

There’s a tense silence. Doyoung’s afraid you might leave, but he’s surprised when you stay put as the seconds tick past, wrapping your arms around your knees and watching him. When he becomes a little more confident that you won’t try to escape, he steps closer, albeit slowly. “Hello,” he says, keeping his voice even and quiet. Like he’s speaking to something vulnerable and scared.

After a few beats of silence, you say, “Hi.”

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m...Doyoung.”

“Doyoung.” You cock your head, weighing whether you should tell him your name or not, but you eventually do.

“It’s a pretty name,” he says, and he actually means it rather than saying it just to be polite. “Um…” He looks to the glass leaf in his hand, which is cradled in another handkerchief. “I was wondering if I’d ever get to see you in person.”

“I’m always here,” you say.

Doyoung nods and chuckles. “Well...I can’t argue with that.”

“You’re always here, too. With your group of men. Making so much noise that you scare all the creatures in the forest away.”

Doyoung winces. He already knew that they weren’t the quietest mice in the bunch whenever they came to the forest. “I’m...sorry about that. I’ll tell the others to keep it down from now on.”

You nod. “That would be nice. The other girls don’t like the noise.”

“What about you?”

You shrug. “They’re not wrong for being irritated about it.”

“Could this make up for it? At least, for you?” Doyoung pulls away the handkerchief and holds the glass leaf up for you to see. You climb down from your high post to look at it more closely, though you don’t leave the tree entirely; you just balance on one of the lower branches.

“It’s pretty,” you whisper, and Doyoung notices your eyes seem to sparkle a bit more at the sight of the ornament even though your outer demeanor is calm.

“Then I’ll leave it here.” Doyoung tucks it into the small tree hollow where he’s always put the rest of his presents.

“Thank you,” you tell him quietly, and he is surprised to see a slight smile on your face; the first one he’s ever seen from you. He realizes he’s staring at you a little longer than he should and catches himself.

“Ah, y-you’re welcome.”

You nod but don’t say anything more, and Doyoung knows he ought to speak again soon if he doesn’t want to surrender this small opportunity he’s had to talk to you.

“Are there...many of you here?”

“Dryads?”

“Ah, yes...dryads.”

“There are many, yes,” you answer. “Not every tree has a keeper; some are just empty. But many do. We live in our trees.”

“In?” Doyoung realizes this may be referring to something other than just literally living among the branches, which he didn’t think of until now. You nod.

“Maybe it’s a little different from your elven magic.” You glance at his ears and momentarily think of the conversation you had with the other dryads. “But it’s a type of magic all the same.”

“I see…” Doyoung remembers to file that bit of information away so he can tell Donghyuck, who’s been burning to know. The books in the library only provided so many answers, much to their disappointment, with them not having much recorded information on the tree nymph race. Dryads seemed to be a thing of mystery to many, though he could easily guess why.

“You’re not Eupheme-born,” you say abruptly. “Where do you hail from?”

“The kingdom of Ceres,” Doyoung answers. You nod, and he takes this as recognition. “Have you been there before?

You shake your head. “I can’t leave the forest.”

“You can’t? Why?”

“We’re connected to the trees. They keep us alive, and vice versa. If we’re separated over too far of a distance, both will die.”

“That’s grim,” Doyoung says, his eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t you ever want to leave? Go somewhere else? It can’t be happy to be chained to one place forever.”

You raise your eyebrows and laugh, incredulous at his statement. “Chained? The forest is my home. There’s nowhere else I’d ever want to be.”

Doyoung shrugs. “You have a much stronger constitution than me, then. I don’t know that I’d want to be tied to any one place for my entire life.”

You squint your eyes, staring at him carefully. “You’re royalty, aren’t you?” He nods in response. “Enjoy your freedom while it lasts. You can come to this forest however you please and have fun, but you’ll have to have a family sooner or later...something more permanent to tie you to this world.” You slip down from your branch, letting your feet touch the ground, and Doyoung steps back a little to give you space. “Men like to roam and be free and sow their wild oats. They’re more than welcome to do that, but I’ll stay here among the trees.”

He stares at you in wonder, your words repeating in his head as you gingerly take his gift out of the hollow. You turn back to him momentarily, giving him a quick parting smile and a nod before skipping off into the trees.

“A letter came!” Jungwoo holds up a cream-colored envelope that sports their family’s familiar crest on a wax seal on the back. It’s a letter from their parents—their first correspondence since the men have left the castle.

“What does it say?” Mark and Donghyuck crowd around him to persuade him into opening the envelope faster. Before Jungwoo can read it, Sicheng plucks it out of his hand and holds it up to the light, making a show of squinting at the inky black handwriting. “Well? Go on!” Donghyuck prods him.

“Hmm...” Sicheng purses his lips and crinkles his brows as if concentrating hard, then gives them all a sly smile. “It says you’re all kicked off the inheritance and I’m becoming the next Crown Prince.”

Doyoung shakes his head and takes the letter from Sicheng as the younger man laughs. The other three boys balk at his attempt at a joke, and Doyoung knows the atmosphere could easily turn awkward if he doesn’t step in now. “Anyway. Let’s see what it really says, I’m sure they must be missing our presence…”

They all stand around Doyoung as he reads the letter out to them, trying to look over his shoulder as if he can’t read fast enough to satisfy their curiosity.

“Dear boys, we hope Eupheme has been finding you well.

Affairs in Ceres have been running as normal in your absence, thankfully, and Yuta and Jaehyun have been handling their new duties well. They also send their regards and hope to see you back soon.

“There is also important news for our Doyoungie. We are considering a potential match for you—the Duke of Ceres’ daughter, with whom you should already be familiar—and plan to set a meeting as soon as you return at summer’s end. We think you will find her very agreeable...” Doyoung’s voice falters a bit.

“Aw, is our indecisive brother finally going to become a married man this year?” Jungwoo slings his arm around Doyoung’s shoulders, and the older man lets out a puff of air.

“By the beginning of next year, who wants to bet?” Donghyuck snickers. “Girls naturally love you, it won’t take long for you to charm her. Either way, it’s not like you have very much longer to wait.” Mark elbows him in the side and he complains in turn, but not before cuffing Mark over the head.

“...I suppose.” That comment about being a “ladies’ man” might have drawn a laugh or two or even a boast if it were said months ago, but now Doyoung just feels strangely unsettled about it all—the impending courtship and his inevitable marriage. He continues reading the rest of the letter, though if someone were to ask him later, he wouldn’t be able to remember the rest of the words.

“We think you will find her very agreeable and are thrilled for you to get to know each other better. It is nothing to worry yourself over now, but do keep this in mind.

“Boys—remember to keep following all of your tutors’ instructions, and please refrain from making yourselves bothersome. You all are guests, and the King and Queen of Eupheme are being very honorable by hosting you this summer.

“We all send our best regards.”

That night, Doyoung tries his best to fall asleep but is kept awake by the contents of the letter. It’s hard to tear his mind away from what will happen once he returns to Ceres. Though he’d thought he’d be prepared for this, he feels unexpectedly nervous and averse to the idea of yet again courting someone he barely knows for months—and quite possibly marrying them this time around. He doesn’t know how much longer their parents’ patience in allowing him to take his time with finding a partner will last.

It’s proper. It’s tradition. It’s what’s expected of him and his brothers, and he’s been primed for this duty his entire life. Yet, that knowledge does nothing to quell the uncomfortable sensation—dare he call it dread?—creeping upon him.

He watches the clock on the mantle across his bedroom, just above the fireplace. Its little black hands tick by endlessly, counting down the seconds, minutes, hours. When another hour passes and he’s still staring at the clock, Doyoung peels the covers back and decides to leave the castle for a bit. He already knows of a few tucked-away passages he can slip out of that lead to the outside in some way or another, having bribed Jaemin into telling him where they are in case any of his brothers tries to sneak out. How ironic that he’s now using that knowledge for his own gains.

Although he’s not sure if he’ll need it, Doyoung throws on a cloak for good measure before escaping to the outside. He spends a while walking through the castle’s extensive gardens and making sure he’s staying out of sight of the guards, though he feels no sleepier than he did when he first got there. Exasperated, he’s about to turn around and head back for the indoors when the woods beyond Arthenia pop into his mind.

Should he? He’s already outside; what’s the harm in it? Admittedly, the answer is a lot if he’s caught, but he pushes those thoughts away, as his feet are already turning to lead him away from the castle grounds. Doyoung decides he’ll use his glamor for a bit to disguise his face and elven ears once he gets to Arthenia, though there probably won’t be many people awake at this time of night.

Without a horse, the walk to the forest is long. Doyoung doesn’t create any of his light orbs until he’s sure he’s far enough away from the castle to not be spotted by any of the night watch guards. When he thinks it’s safe, he conjures a small ball of burning blue light in his palm, which is enough to illuminate his footsteps.

Doyoung’s boots are wet from the damp grass by the time he reaches the Market Square, and he passes by the rows of houses and outbuildings without a sound. Some lights are still on in some homes, glowing a warm yellow in the dim light of the half moon, while others are pitch black and fade into the surrounding darkness.

The forest looks even more intimidating at night, even with the limited light. He hesitates at the forest entrance for a minute, wondering if it’s safe to go inside. He’s yet to see anything truly dangerous during the daylight hours, but things can be different at night. He didn’t think to possibly bring his bow and arrow from their archery lessons, and there will be no easy escape on horse if something menacing crosses his path. Shaking his head and sighing, he enters anyway and prays to whatever goddess will listen for the best. He’s already walked this far.

Doyoung convinces himself that he’s just going to walk around for a bit, maybe sit at the lake for a while, but after turning in a wide, looping circle, his feet eventually end up leading him to the oak tree. You are already sitting on a low branch when he arrives, as if waiting for his appearance. He notices you’re wearing the moonstone he once left in the tree hollow; somehow it’s been fashioned into a necklace, and he wonders where you got the tools to do that. One of your legs trails off the tree branch you’re perched on, swinging leisurely in the cool night air, and he tries not to stare.

“Y/N,” slips from his lips. “You’re awake at this hour?”

You smirk. “So are you.” Doyoung moves the cloak’s hood away from his face with this free hand, and you study the glowing orb in his other hand. “You’re a Light User...that’s interesting.”

“I guess it could make for a fun trick at a ball,” he says, and tosses the glowing orb up into the air. He does this a few times until he throws it up one last time and it hovers in the air, as if stuck by an invisible force. Doyoung manipulates the orb with his fingers in a way that causes it to split up into a dozen more bright glowing spheres, all suspended in the air. By now, the entire area around the oak tree is lit up from the light emanating from these numerous orbs.

You laugh softly at this display, reaching out to touch the orb nearest to you and discovering that, despite your hand passing through it, the air still feels oddly warm in the spot where the light glows. “Very pretty. It’s peculiar to see you at this hour, though. Are you even allowed to be out this late?” you ask, your eyes still lingering on the orb.

“No, but…” Doyoung trails off, unsure if he wants to revive that concern. “I couldn’t sleep.”

You finally look back at him, and your face creases slightly. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Doyoung says, and he doesn’t know, really. Getting married was always a part of the plan, as royalty. So why is he doubting it now? Maybe he knows more about why he’s feeling this way than he’ll admit to, but there are things he’s still not even sure of himself at the moment.

You decide not to press the matter for now, especially after seeing his conflicted face. “You don’t have your horse. Was it a long walk?”

He nods and laughs a little, thinking maybe it was a bit ridiculous to walk all the way here in the middle of the night. He still has to walk all the way back, which isn’t an appealing thought. “Nothing like a bit of exercise to tire you out, I guess. Hopefully I’ll sleep better after.”

“You sound like a troubled sleeper. I eat jasmine petals if I have trouble sleeping. You know, there’s a bush of them around here.” It’s an offer for him to partake, if he wants to.

“My mom likes jasmine tea,” Doyoung says, grinning slightly. “Do you often have trouble falling asleep? I would think it would be easier being surrounded by nature like this.”

You slide off the lower branch and land on the grass with a soft thump. “Not always…but I’d rather have an easy remedy than be left without one when I needed it.” Then you move to follow a dirt path leading away from the tree, but not before turning back to look at Doyoung. “Come on, then. I’ll show you the bush.”

Once again, he hesitates like he did just before entering the forest. “Is...it safe?”

You squint at him. “Safe?”

“I mean…there must be other creatures in this forest besides the agreeable woodland variety.”

“Yes…but they mostly live on the far outskirts. And either way, none of the other inhabitants will hurt a dryad. We’re the forest’s keepers. So you’ll be safe if you’re with me.”

Doyoung decides to take your word for it and follows you along the path, his blue orbs trailing after him. He sends some further ahead to light the narrow path so you both can see better, though you already know where the bush is by heart.

Soon, you’re both standing in front of the aforementioned bush, which is laden with white jasmine blooms. They seem to shine unnaturally brightly under the illumination of the blue orbs.

“Take some,” you say, carefully plucking one of the flowers from the bush. You hold it up to his nose so he can smell it, and he does so. The scent envelops him like a warm hug, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d say it’s already making him feel better. When you hold the flower out to him, he takes it gingerly. He doesn’t fail to notice the soft blossom’s texture, or the equal softness of your hand.

“Will your friends be okay with this?” Doyoung asks tentatively, holding the flower in his hand with a certain fragility.

“They will. And if they aren't, it can be our secret.” There are no secrets in this forest, really, but you humor him anyway, wanting to do something nice in return for the gifts he’s given you.

Doyoung nods and takes a couple more of the flowers, their leaves included, for the tea. He tucks them safely in the pocket of his pants.

You smile at him once he’s taken what he wants. “You’re quite gentle,” you remark. Doyoung doesn’t expect to hear that from you, and he looks at you quizzically.

“What do you mean?”

“You just appear to be very...cognizant. Many people who’ve come to the forest before don’t give any thought to disturbing the natural balance of things and taking what they want. Not the villagers, but others.”

“I see,” Doyoung nods, feeling his face grow warm. He’s never had that particular attribute associated with him before. Gentle. Men are meant to be strong and brave and fearless; gentleness is for the fairer sex. He doesn’t dislike it, though. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You nod in return. “Well, it’s getting a bit late...later than it already is, anyway. I don’t know how things at your castle work, but you may want to be getting back before someone notices you’re gone. The sun will be rising soon enough.”

Doyoung smiles slightly. “You’re quite right.”

“Would you like me to walk back with you? To keep you safe, you know.” You giggle at this. “I will only go as far as the edge of the forest. But you should be alright beyond that point.”

“That’s fine with me.” Doyoung can’t help but feel a little embarrassed about being on the receiving end of such niceties, thinking that this is the kind of thing he’d be doing for you in any other context. He’s not going to pass up the offer of safety, though—and the opportunity to spend a few more minutes in your company.

You talk in low voices on the way back towards the forest’s opening. Mostly about things in the forest, though Doyoung does mention his brothers once or twice. Secretly, you think it’s a bit endearing how much he cares about them even if they get on his nerves.

“We’re here,” you say once you’re in view of the village again.

“Thank you for walking with me. And thank you for the jasmine.” Doyoung pats his pocket.

You grin and wave. “You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

Doyoung starts walking off but suddenly turns back to you as if there’s something more he wants to say. You raise your eyebrows in question, waiting for him to speak, but after a second, he only smiles—if a bit nervously—and returns your wave.

You shuffle back into the underbrush a bit, though you stay there and watch him walk away until he’s just a speck amongst the backdrop of the village.

Doyoung makes it back home undetected and climbs back into bed feeling tired enough to sleep now, though he also attributes some of his sleepiness to the pleasant smell of jasmine still clinging to him.

When he slumbers, he dreams of a soft hand touching his, ripe with the scent of jasmine flowers.

The days get progressively hotter as the summer months settle in. With their tutors’ increasing lenience thanks to them taking well to their educational and etiquette lessons, the men get more time to themselves to do whatever they wish. The heat encourages them to spend more time outdoors, whether it’s running through the castle’s expansive yards, shooting arrows at targets or some poor stuffed mannequins, or heading to the village—and subsequently, the forest.

One hot day when they have little responsibilities to tend to, Jungwoo comes up with the brilliant idea to head to the lake for a couple hours, perhaps to cool down from the heat by wading in the water for a while. Sicheng, who has grown a bit disenchanted with the forest, decides to spend the day with their three cousins instead.

However, when the men get within shouting distance of the lake, they realize it’s already occupied.

“Wait!” Mark hisses, pulling on the reins of his horse to make it stop. He holds a finger to his lips, and before any of the men can question him, the sound of shouting, laughter, and water splashing drifts to them on the wind. It appears they aren’t the only ones who’ve had the idea of visiting the lake today.

“Oh?” Donghyuck’s eyes widen, and he and Jungwoo waste no time with getting off their own steeds to head for the riverbank.

“Wait, where the hell are you leaving off to?” Doyoung whisper-shouts, but the two pay him no mind as they creep over to a cluster of bushes near the edge of the lake. The shrubs are big enough to conceal them while still providing a few gaps to peek through, and from their new post they spot the dryads farther down the length of the lake, standing in a shallow portion. The women aren’t near enough to spot the men hiding in the bush, but they are still close enough to see clearly from this distance.

“W-what do you see?” Mark asks, his body poised as if he wants to get off his horse and join them too, but he’s still unsure.

“You’ve got to see it for yourself,” Donghyuck snickers, waving the older man over.

Mark looks to Doyoung. Doyoung gives him an incredulous look, and Mark shoots an apologetic one back before dismounting his horse and going over to join his brothers, squeezing in-between them as they crouch on the ground. He sees a group of six dryads playing in the lake, splashing each other with the water. Two more sit on the bank observing the festivities and talking about something they’re holding in their hands, though Mark can’t quite make out what the small objects are.

Donghyuck has only barely seen you during the times he’s gone with Doyoung to deliver your gifts, though he instantly recognizes you as one of the girls standing in the lake. His breath catches a bit as he watches you with water glistening off your skin and your dress clinging to your body.

“Isn’t this a little distasteful?” Mark mutters, his big eyes darting nervously between his brothers. He shifts uncomfortably, looking like he’s ready to make a run for it if need be. “I mean, watching them through the bushes like this…”

“Probably,” Jungwoo replies. “But as long as they don’t notice us…”

Mark almost shouts at feeling a hand come down on his shoulder, and Donghyuck whips his head around when the same happens to him; however, it’s only Doyoung. “You all need to get up right now,” he hisses lowly. “Haven’t you learned anything over the past few months? This is inappropriate—”

“Why are you standing?! Get down before they—”

Before any of them can realize what’s happening, what must be a gallon of lake water splashes down on all four of their heads. Screams of shock ring through the forest, along with a loud round of laughter—coming from both above them and further down the lake.

Mark, Jungwoo, and Donghyuck get to their feet in a rush, looking and feeling very much embarrassed. They look up toward the treetops and see two dryads sitting in the cleft of some of the sturdier branches, openly giggling at them. Jungwoo notices they aren’t holding buckets or any other objects that could’ve explained how they got the water up there in the first place—just a net woven with leaves, which he is certain they couldn’t have been transporting the water in. And yet… “How did you...?”

The women aren’t interested in answering his question, though, and instead disappear into the branches, leaving nothing but a few stray leaves fallen to the ground.

“I think we probably deserved that,” Mark says, sighing and trying to shake some of the water out of his clothes. The rest of the dryads who are still in the water follow the lead of the other two girls, running out of the lake and scattering through the forest, the echoes of their laughter the only evidence that they were ever there. The only ones who stay are you and the two other tree nymphs sitting on the riverbank. Now that everyone is in full view of each other, Mark belatedly realizes that the “objects” the two girls were holding and cooing over are not objects at all, but small sprites.

You step a little closer to the group of men, and the other two girls watch them intently. “If you wanted to play with us, you could just say so. It would benefit you not to be a bunch of cads about it.” You roll your eyes, though you are somewhat amused by seeing them standing there looking soaked and embarrassed.

“O-of course! I tried to tell them, but you know how it is with these kids...we were just leaving, actually.” Doyoung grips Donghyuck and Jungwoo’s collars like he’s about to drag them off like two misbehaving children, and Donghyuck’s face flushes at being treated like a kid in front of you.

“Are you sure about that?” you ask, and Doyoung raises his eyebrows at your question. You lower your hand into the lake water as if you’re only checking its temperature or letting it flow through your fingers—which is why they’re taken off guard when you draw your hand back and send a big splash of water flying in their direction.

Donghyuck is the first to react, pulling away from Doyoung’s grasp and rushing into the water to splash you back. It’s not long before things quickly evolve into another splash battle, with the other boys wading into the lake to join. The other two girls give skeptical glances at first, but they eventually bid goodbye to their sprite friends and jump into the lake, too.

You all spend what feels like hours running through the water and splashing each other, and your two friends take more quickly to the men than you expected. When the hour for them to leave comes rolling around, you are all soaked but smiling.

“We’re never going to hear the end of it,” Mark says, looking down at their wet clothes. Still, there’s no concealing the bright and amused smile coloring his features.

Your two friends wave to the men and quickly slip off back to their trees, though you linger for a while longer as you watch them climb out of the lake and try to wring out their clothes. Doyoung’s the last one left standing in the water with you, and you turn to him.

“Did the flowers help?” you ask.

“The flow—? Oh, the flowers! They worked just as intended, thank you…” Doyoung blushes a little at the memory. As the others head for their horses, Donghyuck hangs back a little to hear the conversation, wanting to be nosy and wondering what flowers you’re referring to.

“I’m glad to hear that,” you reply, smiling and feeling a little proud that your remedy worked—even though you knew it would. “You know, if you ever need anything else, you can just ask…there are a lot of resourceful things here. It’s like living in an apothecary.”

“Well, I’m interested if he isn’t!” Haechan interjects.

You smirk lightly at him while Doyoung shoots him an irritated look. “Sure. I suppose you’ve taken interest in the forest itself and are no longer just looking for a pretty woman to mess around with?”

Donghyuck flushes at your words, and his smile falters a little at being called out on his earlier intentions. Beside him, Doyoung gloats internally, and he bites his lip to stop himself from laughing out loud. “Um…sorry about that.”

“It’s nothing new,” you say matter-of-factly. Then you turn to Doyoung. “Anyways…don’t forget what I said. I’ve gotten used to seeing you around here, so...don’t be a stranger.” You go to leave then, but not before turning back around once more. “And don’t go snooping around. You’re not as stealthy as you think.”

Donghyuck only nods, too embarrassed to respond and unable to justify himself. Both men watch as you walk away, likely back towards your tree. Doyoung turns to the younger man. “Come on, then. Let’s be heading back; maybe our clothes will dry out on the way there.”

After the lake incident, Donghyuck insists on using all his lesson breaks for the next couple of weeks to go with Doyoung whenever he travels to the forest to see you. Donghyuck becomes even more invested in this after knowing that Doyoung had already met you face-to-face after going to the forest by himself. The older man acquiesces, though deep down he’d like to spend more time with you alone—especially with managing to make these visits only once or twice a week. Still, seeing you with his little brother clinging to his side is better than not seeing you at all.

Donghyuck is talkative and lively and inquisitive in your presence, much more willing to learn new things from you than from even the highest-rated tutors in Eupheme. Doyoung finds that particularly ironic, though he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he listens intently along with Donghyuck as you tell him about the many different kinds of plants within the forest, including what purposes they serve. Doyoung is always reminded of the night you gave him those jasmine flowers, and even now, he stares at your hands as you point out different leaves and subtly wishes he could have any excuse to touch them again.

“These berries are safe to eat, though they look very similar to poisonous Pokeweed berries. That’s why you want to be sure you can tell the difference between them…” You place a few in your palm and hold them out for Donghyuck to see.

Donghyuck—who looks at you like you know everything in the world. You know many things, but not everything; but you’ll continue to let him look at you so admirably, because you find it endearing. He somewhat makes you think of what it might be like to have a younger brother or an amiable male friend. Someone to offer you a different perspective of the world external from the community of women you’ve always lived in.

Could Doyoung be that male friend or curious brother, too? Maybe, but maybe not.

Whenever you turn and speak to Doyoung to keep him included in the conversation, you don’t get that companionable feeling. There’s something much warmer there, something that makes you smile a little wider and causes more interesting facts to pop into your head. You enjoy telling him more about the forest, your home, and you somehow feel like you’d tell him anything he wants to know whenever he looks at you.

You like to see his smile, and the way his eyes grow smaller as he laughs or grins at something you’ve said. You haven’t felt this in a very long time, but if there’s anything to compare it to, it’d be eating warm honey straight from the honeycomb, or breathing in a lungful of jasmine scent before drifting off to sleep.

You don’t dwell on it for too long, simply wanting to experience the emotions as they are rather than spend too much time worrying over what they mean. Nevertheless…your idea of Doyoung is quite different from a friend or brother, indeed.

Although it is a Saturday when Doyoung comes to visit you, the sky is a dark and restless contrast to the day’s liveliness, the clouds looking heavy enough to drag down to Earth. He knows it’ll likely rain soon, which means he should probably stay in the castle and keep dry, but he ventures out to see you anyway. Today is the first time in a while he’s been able to see you without Donghyuck by his side, so he’s taking the opportunity.

You’re not in your tree when he comes. He thinks maybe he might go and look for you, but you’ll know where he is faster than he could find you. It takes a few minutes, but as expected, you appear from the further reaches of the woodland, laughing to yourself and holding a ring of flowers. There’s a similar one on your head made up of purple and white blooms. Doyoung thinks you look something like an angel against the sky’s gloom, with a halo made of blossoms instead of light.

“You’re here now? It’s about to rain,” you say, though your tone shows you’re clearly happy to see him.

He shrugs. “I felt like getting some air...I’m not concerned with a little water, as you probably already know.” I wanted to see you, is what he’d really like to say, but he doesn’t want to jump the gun. You nod in understanding, then hold up the ring of flowers in your hand; it has a few blue ones reminiscent of Doyoung’s light orbs. You offer the flower crown up to him, and he bends so you can place it on his head.

“Now you look like a true prince,” you say, smiling in satisfaction at your masterpiece. “I’ve never seen you with a crown until now. That’s a shame.”

“It is a shame.” Doyoung brings a hand up to feel the petals of one of the flowers between his fingers, and he grins. “I’m quite handsome in one.”

“Oh, my prince!” You start prancing around Doyoung and his horse like a fairy, or maybe like a young maiden at a fancy ball, brushing your hand along the animal’s shiny coat as you do. “It’s such an honor for you to grace our forest with your elegant visage.” You finally stop in front of him with a curtsy, though you have to take a moment to readjust your flower crown when it almost flies off at the sudden stop. “What can I have the pleasure of doing for you today?”

Though he laughs at your acting, he’s also a little awestruck for a moment, taken away by your cuteness and humor. Doyoung realizes there’s an awkward silence settling between you as he’s yet to say anything, and he finally stutters out, “There was something I...w-wanted to tell you.”

“What is it?” You come out of your curtsy and stand straight in front of him, all ears open for whatever he’s about to say.

“Well, it’s…” It’s a lot scarier to say what you want when you’re standing in front of someone and not just practicing in front of the vanity mirror. Doyoung is still piecing the words together when a few drops of rain hit his cheek. He doesn’t think much of it at first, but the droplets become impossible to ignore when they suddenly come hammering down without pretense, as if the gods have given word for the heavens’ floodgates to open.

“Come on!” You start running and Doyoung has no choice but to follow, tugging his horse along with him. It doesn’t take long for you to lead him to a small cave he’s never seen before. To his defense, that’s likely because the opening of it is partially obscured by hanging vines and other vegetation. It’s tall enough for someone of Doyoung’s height to stand in comfortably, which he’s relieved by. He doesn’t consider himself to be one of the more uptight royals like many others he knows, but he also wouldn’t be thrilled by the idea of sitting down in a cold, dirty cave in the rain. Even with your haste, though, you’re both quite wet by now.

Though the cave is spacious enough for you two, it becomes apparent that both of you and the horse won’t fit. Instead, Doyoung guides the animal to take shelter nearby under a willow tree with overhanging branches.

The cave is not very deep at all, only extending a few feet backwards. Perhaps that’s reassuring, at least for Doyoung, because there won’t be any disgruntled animals popping out to protest against their space being invaded.

“Well, that was interesting.” You chuckle as you squeeze water out of the hem of your dress.

“Suppose I can’t say I didn’t see it coming.” Doyoung does the same for the ends of his hair, though he knows it will be a while before it gets acceptably dry.

You laugh and nod. “You said you wanted to tell me something. What was it?” you ask.

Doyoung pauses and looks at you carefully, with rainwater dripping off his chin and darkening his clothes. He looks very serious, which is something you haven’t really seen before. It makes concern rise in your stomach, thinking maybe he has some bad news to deliver.

However, you’ve mistaken the intensity in his eyes for somberness when it’s something else entirely.

“I...love you.”

You regard him with wide eyes, feeling a little taken aback. The rain pours noisily in the background, but you’ve heard him loud and clear.

“I know we have only known each other for a few months,” he continues, “but I love you. I want to be with you.”

You’re surprised that he feels this strongly about you already, but it’s also true that you’ve felt yourself falling for him in the past few months, with his thoughtful gifts and kind smile and soft voice. You release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, lips parting minutely. He catches the small movement of your mouth, like he notices everything about you—whether you acknowledged it before or not.

Doyoung takes your hand. Though his palm is wet from the rain, you don’t care about that. “I think about you when I’m not here in the forest…and when I’m overseeing my brothers’ lessons. I dream about you when I sleep at night. Every time I get another gift for you, it’s because I want to see you smile so brightly like that again, because of me. I never want to know a day without you.”

You know Eupheme isn’t his home, that he has to leave someday. You know elves don't generally think kindly of dryads, viewing you all as frivolous and foolish and loose; and even if him and his brothers don’t, there’s no telling what the rest of his family thinks. You also know that even without those two things standing in the way, he’s still a prince who’ll need to be married to a suitable bride at some point. All of those things make you nervous. There are many obstacles before you, but you allow yourself to forget them momentarily as you stand in this cave with him.

You bring Doyoung’s hand up to your lips and kiss his knuckles softly, taking what warmth you can despite his cool skin. You hold his hand tightly, like it might be taken away from you otherwise. “Doyoung…you have charmed me unlike anyone else.”

You bring that hand closer and place it over your racing heart, and he seems a bit hesitant at first because of the proximity to your breast, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he readily responds to the kiss you give him afterwards, drinking in your warmth as a balm for the sudden cool air. For a while, there’s only the sound of rain coming down and your lips connecting with each other’s.

You don’t know how long you kiss each other, but there’s nothing else you can do in this small cave, so you continue without thought to the outside circumstances. Even after your lips part, you huddle close together. You close your eyes in Doyoung’s embrace, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and breathing underneath your ears and basking in the fullness of your own heart.

When the rain finally stops, Doyoung has to leave. The sun will be setting soon; the downpour went on longer than either of you anticipated.

“I promise I’ll come back soon,” he says, clinging to your hand with both of his.

“You always do.” You already trust him more than you can say.

Doyoung nods to your words, smiling somewhat bashfully. He steps out of the cave and lets your hand slip from his. But before he can get more than a few feet away, he turns around and comes back to kiss you once more on the lips, his fingertips on your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

You laugh once you separate from each other. “The sun’s getting low, and the others will question you. Go on now.”

Doyoung keeps to his word and makes his way out after fetching his horse, but he keeps glancing back to you until he’s completely disappeared among the brush.

You feel like your mind has been filled with soft moss, all airy and soft and tangled together with unending thoughts. You walk back to your tree feeling as if you could float there instead, enjoying the damp grass under your feet.

The time slips by blissfully.

Doyoung keeps coming out to see you during his free time each week, as he has done since he’s been in Eupheme, though sometimes he’s able to manage more than just one or two visits. On those weeks when he comes out more often, whether it be at night or during the day, you hold him especially tightly, enjoying the extra time with him and wanting to live inside of it—to freeze a moment in time and keep it close to your chest for as long as possible.

“I wish you could see the castle,” Doyoung says this low and close to your ear like he’s telling you a secret. He lies on his side beside you in the grass, playing with your fingers. A gap in the treetops lets a lopsided circle of sunlight shine down on your faces, warming you both from the inside out. “Walk through the maze of land...or see the stable.”

You hum softly. “Hmm...I’m sure it’s nice.” Doyoung laughs, knowing you’re not interested in any place else other than your forest; you can’t hide the neutral note in your tone, though he knows it isn’t towards him.

“Or I could live out here with you.” He strokes the pad of his thumb along the length of your ring finger, and you don’t fail to notice this.

You turn to him, full on grinning now. “I thought you said you’d never want to be tied to one place. Remember?”

Doyoung grins sheepishly along with you. “Maybe I changed my mind.”

“Mmm, how indecisive you are…if you stay with me here, you can’t ever leave.” You pluck a tiny blue flower from the ground and brush it against his lips, tracing the shape of his cupid’s bow with it. “Make your choice wisely.”

Doyoung purses his lips against the small flower, as if giving it a kiss, and does the same with your fingers as they ghost across his mouth. “I’ve chosen already, princess.”

You lean in to kiss him, and he meets you halfway. The little blue flower slips from your hand. You don’t know if there could ever be a more perfect moment, kissing him like this with the warmth of the sun on your back and your ears full of the sounds of birds chirping and insects purring—and, in the very distance, the lake water running.

You don’t get to bask in the moment for too long, though, before something is interrupting you; and it’s not one of the other women like you might’ve expected.

There’s a rustling and a crash in the bushes, and you whip your head towards the noise, but it’s only a deer—or maybe some other creature—running off. You catch a few glimpses of its brown coat before it becomes obscured by the leaves. You still keep your gaze turned towards the bushes. Though there is nothing else there, you still get the odd sensation of being watched, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

“What’s wrong?” Doyoung whispers, his index finger touching your cheek. He glances at the source of the noise, but his eyes stay mostly focused on you.

“I know it’s odd, but…have you ever felt like you were being watched? Even though nothing’s there?” you ask slowly.  “I’ve…sort of felt like this a few other times when we were together.”

Doyoung looks suspicious for a moment, though he eventually shakes his head. “No, I...not really.” He sits up to look at the same space you’re staring at, but he doesn’t see anything more than you do. “If someone else were out here besides the other dryads and the animals, wouldn’t you already know?”

“I suppose that is true,” you say, though you still look towards the bush, trying to see if there’s something you’re somehow not spotting. The sense that you have a pair of eyes at your back still doesn’t go away, even when Doyoung finally pulls you away from the spot to walk further into the woods.

In the middle of August, the Archduke of Eupheme holds a ball. He has been renown for his exorbitant parties for many years, and although he couches this party in the excuse of making the Crown Prince and his brothers feel a bit more at home in the kingdom, everyone knows it’s really just a reason to get drunk and have some fun. No one would dare complain, though; after all, who’d pass up the chance to attend? To rub elbows with handsome men and women and forget more pressing worries for a while?

The King and Queen of Eupheme see it as a good way for the young men to show off their newly acquired social etiquette they’ve been sharpening during their lessons—and possibly mingle with noble women. Similarly, none of the brothers will object to the latter idea. Except for maybe Doyoung.

“Cheer up! I’ve never seen you look so unsettled when going to a party,” Jungwoo says, pinching Doyoung’s cheek. They’re all loaded into their separate stagecoaches, with Jungwoo, Doyoung, Jaemin, and Mark in one and the other boys inside another behind them.

“I’m fine,” Doyoung insists, waving away the concern and plastering a hesitant smile on his face. He can already guess what’s in store for tonight.

The ride to the Archduke’s place is shorter than Doyoung expected. It’s been a long time since they last visited the Archduke’s mansion, and he swears he remembers the journey being longer than this. He sucks in a deep breath as he steps out of the stagecoach. The mansion looms large up ahead, obviously not quite as big as the King and Queen’s castle, but extravagant enough to be of note. Its stone interior glows with rows of brightly burning torches decorating either side of its grand entryway.

The Archduke’s large ballroom is filled to the brim with high-ranking officials and other nobility, with everyone mingling together in a big glittering clump of bodies and puffy dresses and long hair. There’s no other race but elves there, which is usually expected at royal balls like these; other species are often relegated to roles of servant, cleaner, waiter, and so on.

There’s a notable stir when the King and Queen and the eight men enter, and the room parts down the middle to make room for them.

The men wave and smile and mingle like they’ve been taught to, though some revel in it a bit more than others. They’re quickly embraced by the crowd, and the Archduke and Archduchess come to greet them. A young woman walks slightly behind them, her brown hair pinned up in an elaborate updo, wisps of hair clinging around her elven ears. Doyoung remembers her as their daughter and only child, who was never allowed to play in the yard with them as children because “such rowdy behavior wasn’t fitting for a lady of her sensibilities,” as her mother used to say.

“I’m sure you all remember Eunomia,” the Archduke says, encouraging the young woman to come to the front. The brothers all nod in acknowledgement, answering her curtsy with their own bows.

“You’ve grown even prettier since we were young,” Jungwoo says, smiling politely. The girl smiles timidly back to him.

“Thank you. You’ve become quite handsome yourself.”

“We’re so glad that we could be graced with the presence of the Crown Prince of Ceres tonight,” the Archduke continues. “We’ve all been looking forward to your appearance since we got word of your family visiting Eupheme. The timing, especially, is quite extraordinary, as we’ve been vetting possible suitors for our Eunomia.” It’s everything just short of an actual proposition to marry his daughter, and Doyoung’s lips twitch as a thousand different thoughts flit through his mind.

Doyoung bows his head slightly in acknowledgement of their statement and schools his expression into something neutral and amiable. “Extraordinary timing, indeed.”

It’s not long before the music is rising to a grand swell again. The other boys part ways to search for dance partners in the crowd, and Doyoung already knows what’s expected of him. He holds his hand out to Eunomia. “Would you like to dance?”

She nods and takes his hand. Doyoung leads her onto the main dancefloor beside a few other individuals who have already coupled up. A relatively fast tune carries their feet across the floor like the wind.

Eunomia is pretty, nice, and quiet. She’s too shy to meet Doyoung’s eyes directly—no doubt as a result of her parents’ training—and she lets him lead the conversation the same way he leads their dance. She would make the perfect wife to any other man but him.

Doyoung might have been more willing to pursue something with her if this gathering had happened a year before or even a few months ago, before their visit to Eupheme. Now, he only feels uninterested at best—and burdened at worst—about it all. He’s uncomfortable with the way her hand sweats in his palm, and with how fragile she feels in his hold. His mind keeps drifting back to the forest, though he tries to be present in the here and now.

The next few dances go similarly. Though his brothers and cousins seem to be enjoying themselves with the number of pretty women they have at their behest, Doyoung doesn’t feel the same. He ends up approached by various noblemen throughout the night, all holding some prestigious rank or another and seeking to introduce him to their daughters and insinuate a dance. And of course, being the gentleman and prince he is, how can he say no?

Each of the women is unique in their own way, but still not quite enough to hold his attention for long. He’s already made his mind up about who he wants, though you can’t be with him here now—or anywhere but the forest, really. This knowledge is equal parts comforting and disagreeable. He finally has an answer to the question about whether he’d ever find someone to love, though it turns out he cannot even be with you in an easy, convenient way.

By the time the night ends and the royals are on their way back to the castle, Doyoung is rather tightly wound. His mind swarms with thoughts of everything that occurred earlier in the evening and how annoyed and restless it all made him. Increasingly, he’s beginning to feel like he’s up against a wall that he just can’t surmount. He almost yearns for the days when he unquestioningly accepted his duty and actually received some enjoyment from his courtships, but he’d never truly want to go back. Not if it meant not knowing you.

“Are you okay? You seem upset,” Mark says hesitantly, noticing Doyoung’s tensed jaw as he keeps his face turned towards the window, looking out at the nightscape. Doyoung only gives his brother a quick glance before nodding curtly.

“I’m quite alright.” It’s a lie, but Doyoung doesn’t feel like trying to explain his mood at the moment. Though it’s easy enough for them to guess why Doyoung’s visits to the forest have been so much more frequent over the past month or so—and subsequently, why his mood is so sour now—it remains an open secret.

Jaemin settles back in his cushioned seat, grinning slightly to himself before looking up at Doyoung. “Your name must be on many a lady’s dance card tonight, Doyoung. I suspect every woman at the party had a turn, if not the Archduchess herself.” Mark elbows him in the side, but the younger man doesn’t think anything of it.

“I suppose so.” Doyoung rubs his finger over his lower lip. “But maybe you should be more concerned that the competition is diminishing your chances.” Mark and Jungwoo chuckle at that.

“Not to worry. When the time comes, the only choice they’ll have is me.” The younger two laugh even more enthusiastically, and Doyoung only shakes his head, grinning slightly despite himself.

 Once everyone is settled in for the night, Doyoung waits in his bed for an hour to be safe and then decides to sneak out to see you. Once again, he doesn’t bother with visiting the stable to take the horse, nor does he try to make himself look “presentable,” tired of being princely for the night. The only thing he does is pull on his pants and shoes and button up his shirt halfway before losing his patience and yanking his cloak on.

He uses his glamor to momentarily disguise himself as he passes through Arthenia, though the few stragglers outside don’t pay him much mind.

“Y/N?” Doyoung calls out your name, slipping his cloak to the ground once he gets to your familiar oak tree. He soon hears and sees the fluttering of tree leaves as you descend from the canopy and touch the ground, alighting from the branches as gracefully as if you’ve been doing it your entire life—which you have.

“My, sir. Here at this hour again? What could b—” You don’t get to finish your sentence before Doyoung is gathering you up in his arms and kissing you hard, his forearms wrapped tight around your waist. He picks you up off the ground and you let yourself be lifted, toes barely grazing the grass.

It’s a long moment before you can regain your breath. You look at him incredulously as he sets you back on the grass, pressing his forehead to yours.

“What...what’s got you in such a state?”

“Love,” he mumbles, pressing another kiss to your lips. You laugh at that, holding his flushed face in your hands.

“It’s a pleasant thing, isn’t it? But really, what is it? You seem tense.”

“I am tense,” Doyoung says, though he keeps his lips close to yours. He’s not really in the mood to go into detail about the evening and disturb what’s currently unfolding between you. “It’s just...royal niceties. They can become quite tiring.”

“That’s a pity,” you reply, though you pause in your next thought when his lips find your jawline and press against it firmly. This is the most intimate contact you’ve had since you met, or since he confessed to you, and it ignites a burning flame in your chest. “Maybe there is something that can help you with that.”

Doyoung pulls back to look you in the eyes, wondering if you’re insinuating exactly what he thinks. You step away from him and tug on his hand, pulling him away from the tree. “I’ll show you.”

You both walk along a section of the forest that Doyoung isn’t familiar with, and he conjures some light orbs to illuminate the pathway. You spend a long time walking—so long that he’s almost afraid he won’t be able to find his way back out. Or maybe he’ll encounter one of those unfriendly creatures that you previously mentioned lives on the outskirts. Wherever you’re taking him is farther than he’s ventured before.

You finally stop when you get near the west edge of the forest. The trees are slightly sparser here, and there’s a path through the middle that trails off onto the bottom of a steep hill. The hill marks the end of the forest and flattens out onto a field of tall grass. He catches glimpses of the grass swaying in the breeze under the moonlight and the light of his own orbs.

That’s far from the most eye-catching thing here, though. Another lake sits before you two, though it’s much smaller than the other one—more like a pond—and forms a nearly perfect circle.

You walk along the grassy bank and pull Doyoung along with you, and he’s surprised to feel heat coming from the water as he gets nearer to it. It’s not a burning hotness, but a comfortable warmth.

“Shall we swim?” You look at Doyoung over your shoulder, letting go of his hand to tug at one strap of your dress. He nods, watching wordlessly as you peel your dress off in front of him. His throat tightens to see you’re wearing nothing underneath. Standing nude underneath the combined glow of the moon and his own blue light makes you look positively ethereal, and Doyoung mentally imprints this image in his mind, filing it away as a permanent memory.

He watches as you step off the grassy bank and get into the pond, the black water lapping at your legs as you wade further into it. He’s still standing and simply observing you as you turn around to look at him and lift your arms out of the water, like you’re asking for a hug. “Are you going to leave me all alone in here?” You give him your best pleading eyes, and it doesn’t take long for him to strip his clothes off and come in after you.

He dips underneath the water’s surface and swims around you, and you giggle as you can just barely make out his form under the water. You can only spot the ripples he leaves behind.

Doyoung’s head pops above the water on the farther side of the pond, with his long black hair sticking to his face and covering his shoulders. It makes his ears stand out more, and you laugh. You swim over to him and he pulls you into him when you’re close enough, your naked bodies molding themselves to each other. You’re about to say something, but his lips quickly envelop yours and you forget any words you formerly had. You kiss for a while in the lake’s warm water, with the full moon and Doyoung’s lights serving as your only illumination.

You haven’t done much else but kiss so far, but you can still feel something hard and warm pressing into your stomach. Doyoung’s lips separate from yours to travel to your neck, pressing against your pulse point and softly sucking the skin there.

You pull away to look at him, your body feeling strangely light and hot all at the same time. “Maybe we should get out of the water,” you say, smiling coyly.

Doyoung nods and scoops you up, carrying you out of the lake and setting you down on the unnaturally soft grass surrounding the waters. It feels almost like a cotton blanket underneath you.

You’re both fully exposed in front of each other now, though you don’t really feel embarrassed about it. Doyoung’s hands are warm as he cups the sides of your face and nudges his nose against yours, teasing you momentarily with the promise of his lips before actually kissing you again.

You like feeling his hair underneath your palm, all wet and slick beneath your fingertips, and you run your fingers through the strands. They coil around his neck and shoulders like little snakes, or maybe vines on a climbing plant.

His member stands against his stomach, already leaking precum from the press of your lips and the warmth of your body against his. You reach out to touch him, tracing your fingertip against a vein and feeling the stickiness of the precum, and Doyoung sighs against your lips. His hands come to your inner thighs, pushing them a bit further apart so he can dip his fingers between them and feel you wet and warm for him.

You gasp sharply when he slides a finger into you. He reaches deeply inside you, his palm rubbing against your clit as he fingers you, and it makes you spread your legs wider and push your hips closer into his touch. You wrap your fingers around him, and you enjoy the pulse of his cock in your hand as you stroke him.

Doyoung soon slips another finger into you, stretching you out more for him, and you moan as he does. You press your mouth against the base of this throat and his collarbones, feeling the firmness of them as you lightly drag your teeth over them. As if by luck, he shifts his fingers a certain way and brushes against that sweet spot that has you leaning further into his body and moaning hotly against his neck.

“Doyoung…” you sigh. He gives you an answering moan as your fingertips slide over his tip, purposely lingering at the slit. Your lips brush against each other’s, not quite kissing but making some semblance of the motion. Despite how good you’re feeling now, with his hand working you up to an inescapable high, you decide you need to have more of him; you need to get as close as possible. “Doyoung, please.”

“What do you need?” he asks, his voice unbearably gentle and breathy in your ear.

“You.” You take your hand away from him to guide his body on top of yours, parting your legs to invite him in-between. You are less preoccupied with foreplay at the moment and just want him inside you, which he has no complaints about.

The firm press of him inside you is unlike anything you’ve felt in the recent past. It’s not like dryads go their entire lives without sexual pleasure—of course, there’s always self-pleasure and the company of other women, and even the occasional agreeable male visitor who comes into the forest—but it’s been a long time since you’ve experienced it delivered by another person’s body. It’s almost strange, but also good and familiar, if only a little painful at first.

You try to breathe evenly as Doyoung seats himself inside you, his hands stroking you so adoringly that it makes you lose your bearings. Him leaning forward to kiss you only takes more of your breath.

“Is this good for you?” he asks quietly. You’re not quite sure what part of it he’s referring to—him inside you or his hands strumming along your breasts and clit—but you nod enthusiastically. Everything he’s doing feels undeniably good. Just when you think it could not get any better, he pulls out a bit and starts thrusting into you. His pace is slow, allowing you to adjust, but it’s enough to make you cry out loud, gripping his slick shoulders for support.

Doyoung brings himself close to kiss your lips again, grinning against your mouth. “Shhh, my princess. If you’re too loud, you’ll wake all the others.”

You nod against his wet forehead, breathing heavily, though it’s a bit hard to keep yourself quiet as he fills your body over and over again. You press your thighs tight against his hips, feeling the muscles in his body flex as he thrusts into you. His movements create a slick sound between you, and the lewd quality of it entices you more.

While one of his hands slides slick and slow across your clit, you grasp the other and bring it up to your lips, kissing his fingers like you did the day he told you he loved you, and then nibbling on them, sucking them into your mouth. Doyoung twitches inside you when your mouth tightens around his fingers, and he groans into the night air. You’re reluctant to let his hand go, but you do it so he can leverage himself enough to dip his head lower and give more attention to your breasts, drawing his tongue across the round firmness of them and catching your nipples in his mouth.

He angles himself a bit differently so he can find your spot again and concentrates on repeatedly pushing into that sensitive part of you. His attentions bring you to your climax soon, and you can barely quiet yourself as you come around him. The pleasure seems never-ending, like it’s pouring into you from a bottomless well, and small tears bead at the corners of your eyes. Doyoung cups your face and kisses your tears away, and you hold the back of his head as he does.

When Doyoung gets close, he slips himself from inside you and thrusts in between the tight space of your thighs, his tip rubbing across your stomach. He comes soon after doing this, his seed pooling on your skin, some of it running into the grass.

You both lie in the grass after the aftermath, with Doyoung pulling you so you can lay your body on top of his. His heartbeat is still fast; you hear it hammering in his chest as you rest your head against his breast. You close your eyes and let the sound of it calm your own restless body.

After a few long moments of listening to the insects and night creatures making their midnight songs, you stir from your position on his chest and draw yourself up. “Doyoung…” you murmur, straddling either side of his waist so you’re hovering over him. You press your lips against his and he responds with a slow kiss. You can practically feel how satisfied he is as his lips push against yours, like a drunken sprite who’s gotten into a cup of ale.

You depart from his lips and trail your mouth over the rest of his body until you’re level with his softened cock. It jumps a bit when you grasp it, and Doyoung groans softly; his voice increases slightly when you press your lips to it, still tasting the remnants of his salty release and your own pleasure. His hand comes to hold the back of your head as you take him into your mouth, licking the shaft and feeling his balls in your other hand.

Though he was the one who’d hushed you earlier, now he has to choke back his own moans as you suck him and stroke your tongue around his tip.

You draw your mouth away from him, and a trail of spit follows your lips. “Does this feel good, my prince?” you ask, still stroking him languidly to keep his pleasure stoked. You know it does, but you want to hear it from his mouth anyway.

“So good.” He makes a noise between a whimper and a groan, and it travels straight to the apex of your thighs. His stomach tenses with his strained breaths as you take him back into your mouth, focusing your attention on the leaking slit.

His thighs tremble when he gets closer, and as much as you’d like to have him come in your mouth and drip over your chin, you decide to pull away and straddle your legs around his waist again. Doyoung whines needily, though his complaints are quickly forgotten when your sex slides over his slick shaft. He waits with bated breath as you grab the base of his member and line him up with your entrance, pushing him into you as you sink down on him. Feeling him part your walls makes your legs shake a little, and you readjust your posture so you can maintain your stability.

You seat yourself fully on top of Doyoung and let him press himself up into you as you push back down on him, your hands scraping for purchase on his chest. In this position, you can control the pace and ride him just so that his tip is pressing into your most sensitive spot.

Eventually, you lean forward with your mouth covering his. Another orgasm approaches you fast, and you pant against his lips as you search for that release again. “I love you,” you moan softly, trying to muffle your sounds with the touch of his lips.

Doyoung’s hands roam your body, coming up to palm your breasts and thumb at your nipples. “I adore you,” he whispers.

This time you both come within moments of each other, moaning into each other’s mouths. Doyoung pushes himself into you until you’re leaking over him once more, and then he hurriedly pulls out and comes across your thigh, leaving trails of white dripping down your skin.

Doyoung knows he’ll need to get up and get dressed at some point—and begin the long trek back to the castle—but he doesn’t think about that right now. He just pulls you closer and enjoys the warm stickiness of your bodies together, the lukewarm breeze stirring his hair, and the gentle grass tickling his skin.

“You don’t seem like yourself lately.”

Jungwoo brings this up to Donghyuck during one of their archery lessons as they sit beside each other underneath the sun. The younger man was noticeably not as concentrated or effortless as he’d usually be, and many of his arrows ended up being off-mark, if not missing their targets entirely.

Currently, they both sit in the grass after their instructor called for a break earlier, stating that they needed some time to cool off and pull it together—Donghyuck in particular.

“I’m fine,” Donghyuck grumbles, sighing deeply and closing his eyes. If he could close his ears, too, he would. Unfortunately for him, his brother doesn’t take that as a sign to stop talking.

“That’s doubtful. Really, what’s chafing you? I know all the lessons can be annoying, but there is nothing we can do about that for now.” The younger man doesn’t answer at all this time, but Jungwoo continues on. “I know Doyoung isn’t with us during our breaks as often as he was before, but isn’t that a good thing? He can’t tell us what to do all the time.”

Donghyuck groans, wiping his hands over his face at the mention of their older brother. Jungwoo perks up at this. “Oh? Is it something with Doyoung that’s bothering you? What is it?”

Donghyuck is quiet for a moment longer. When it’s clear Jungwoo won’t leave the matter alone, he turns to face his brother fully, looking at him more closely. He hesitates for a moment before finally saying, “What would you do if you wanted something you couldn’t have?”

Jungwoo thinks for a moment. “I don’t know. It depends on what it is. Maybe the logical answer would be to just give it up and stop indulging a fruitless case.”

Donghyuck sighs, hanging his head. “Of course. But what if...alright, what if it was a person? Someone you’re particularly fond of. And…they just make you feel as if…if they looked at you once, you wouldn’t hesitate to hand them anything they could ever want. Then would you give up on them so easily?”

Jungwoo’s eyes widen, and Donghyuck thinks he must’ve said too much. Before he can speak to try to defuse the situation, Jungwoo says, “Don’t tell me you’re still upset about Nayeon. I’m sorry Donghyuck, but—”

“Ugh,” Donghyuck pushes himself to his feet, taking up his bow and arrow again and walking off to one of the targets farther away from Jungwoo. “Nevermind.”

After Donghyuck gives a few more unsuccessful tries, the instructor decides to dismiss them early and encourages Donghyuck to keep his head clear for their next session. “I am well aware of what you’re capable of, Donghyuck, and I know you understand your own abilities. Just look at it as simply having an off day, but do try to keep your concentration next time.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies, already feeling drained even though they’re only halfway through the day. The walk back to the castle with Jungwoo is quiet, though crossing the ample landscape gives him plenty of time to think to himself. What you’re capable of...Yes. What is he capable of?

Maybe there was still a way to alter the course.

“You’re particularly quiet today,” you remark, studying Doyoung’s face. You’re both sitting in the small clearing where you and the other dryads often gather at night, only it’s daytime now and the other girls are off doing their own things. Deeper among the woods, you can hear their laughter from a distance.

Doyoung came to visit you with a solemn look, and though you can tell he is still glad to see you, there’s also a tinge of disquiet beneath it.

A strong gust blows some strands of hair into his face, and you brush them away before he can do it himself. He turns his head and stares at you as you do, his eyes big and imploring and brewing with a distress you can’t place. “Actually, you seem to be a bit different since...that night,” you continue. Your face warms at the thought of your first time together, and how Doyoung took you in the grass and whispered sweet adoration to you. “Is something wrong?”

Doyoung’s lips part like he wants to speak, though he remains silent for a few moments more. Then he says something that nearly makes your heart stop, the words coming slow off his tongue. “I want to give up my title.”

“Your title? As Crown Prince? How can you do that?”

“I could do it,” he says, his voice still low. “There’s no law against it. It might be...dishonorable. No, it would certainly not be…” He pauses, then abandons whatever he was about to say. “But there’s no law to stop me.”

“But why? I thought you liked being royalty, at least to some degree. Your station in life affords you many things others don’t have.”

“It doesn’t afford me you.” He grasps your hand where it lies in the grass. “We can’t be together if I’m still Crown Prince. If I walk away, though...”

You’re also quiet now, unsure how to respond to a declaration like this. For Doyoung to give up his royal title for you...it’s a much bigger implication than you think he’s really considering.

“But, the throne...you’re the heir, and it just…” You’re almost desperate to come up with at least 100 reasons why he can’t do it, though you aren’t sure why. Maybe you’re too afraid to hope it could be possible, even if it’s the slightest chance.

“I have six other brothers. Any one of them could...” Doyoung falters, remembering Yuta’s and Sicheng’s controversial parentage, and then sighs but tries to remain hopeful. You look at him with wrinkled brows, worry crowding your heart. You sigh and rest your head on his shoulder, looping his arm with yours.

“I don’t know if they’d ever agree to it,” you say it almost inaudibly.

“There’s no way to know if we don’t try…” Doyoung replies, hugging you tightly to him. “I don’t care about giving up my title.”

You shake your head. “There are so many other things to consider, Doyoung.”

Doyoung knows you’re worried and doubtful, but he holds you close to him and kisses your temple and tries not to think about those things. He only wants to think about all the good things the future could hold for you.

A small grin appears on his face as he wills his mind to drift elsewhere. “How many children would you like to have?” Doyoung asks suddenly. You give him an incredulous look, though there is a grin of your own slowly taking over your lips.

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want children.” You roll your eyes and laugh. “As long as I’ve been on this Earth, I’d have them by now if I wanted them.”

“Then it’d be just the two of us forever?” Doyoung pulls you so you’re both lying down and entangles himself with you, his head on your chest. He listens to your heart, a steady rhythm that lulls him into a sense of sleepiness. “That’s fine with me.”

You feel a tug at your heart, like the chambers are contracting in pain. “Yes, an eternity together.”

Despite your many doubts and questions, you have a warm dream that night. One of you and Doyoung living in the forest together, running through the hills, jumping across creeks, and enjoying each other’s company to your heart’s content.

Donghyuck knocks on the door of the King’s sitting room, his palms sweating as he waits for a response. Sicheng stands beside him, quiet and waiting to see if the man will respond. The King of Eupheme may be a long-term friend of their father’s, but Donghyuck can’t help the slight fear he feels whenever he’s in the man’s presence. Something about him has always been a little colder, more unforgiving, and more unyielding than their own father is.

“Who is it?” The man’s voice booms from behind the door.

“It...it’s Donghyuck and Sicheng, Your Highness.” Donghyuck’s voice wavers a bit as he speaks, and he tries to suppress the tremors in his speech. “We’re here for our...meeting.”

“Come in, then.”

Donghyuck turns the doorknob and enters the room, closing the heavy door behind him and his brother.

“Well, then. What is the pressing matter you have to inform me of?” The King raises one eyebrow, looking skeptical about whether Donghyuck has anything to report or not, though he waits patiently for the boy’s response.

The elven King’s presence seems impossibly heavier in this singular room, filling every corner of the space and physically weighing down the Earth’s gravity. Donghyuck almost doesn’t know what to do with himself in response to this force. Sicheng is less affected by it—or better at hiding it—though his face creases minutely. Donghyuck ends up speaking without thinking clearly about what he practiced prior.

“D…Doyoung is courting a dryad.”

“A...what, boy?” The King slowly leans forward, his sharp eyebrows drawing together, one hand coming up to stroke his long beard. They both know that he knows full well what a dryad is, but he seems unable to comprehend what Donghyuck has just blurted out. Or maybe he thinks the younger man is lying.

“A-a dryad, Your Highness. He’s been using his assigned free time—and sneaking out at night—every week to see her, in the forest beyond Arthenia. H…he’s even thinking of asking to be relieved from his title to be with her.” Donghyuck feels sweat gathering on the back of his neck, as if he’s the one about to be punished.

The King’s brows furrow even more, though this time his eyes hold a hint of rising anger. He leans back in his seat again, holding Donghyuck and Sicheng with a hard stare. “These are quite damning claims to make. Where is your proof?” Before either one can respond, the King continues on. “He will doubtless be questioned, but I would think that both of you have ample reason to try to sabotage the Crown Prince—especially you.” He directs his gaze to Sicheng at this, and Sicheng’s face falters. “A whore’s son will always believe he’s owed more than he’s worth.”

Disgust and hatred rises up in Sicheng’s chest at being regarded like this—always as less than his half-brothers—though he tries not to let his rage show. His jaw clenches as he speaks, keeping his tone measured, and it takes him a long moment to force out a proper response. “We indeed have proof…Your Highness.”

“If you’ll allow us, we need a mirror, Your Highness,” Donghyuck adds.

Still with a skeptical look on his face, the King waves his hand towards a small round mirror hanging on the east wall, sitting formerly unacknowledged despite all its ornate trappings. Sicheng walks over and takes it off the wall, coming back to stand in front of the King with it. Donghyuck comes up behind Sicheng and lays a hand on the back of the older man’s neck, pressing his index and middle finger where his brain stem would be. Donghyuck closes his eyes and concentrates, while Sicheng keeps his own eyes open, staring into the depths of the mirror and his own reflection.

In the mirror image, his eyes turn a foggy gray. Donghyuck’s memories flood into his mind as if they were his own, experienced with his own five senses; he can almost smell the forest grass and feel the sun burning his skin. Sicheng then takes his right hand and presses his fingertips against the mirror, forcing it to bend to his power and replicate what he’s seeing in his mind’s eye.

When the image becomes steady, Sicheng holds the mirror up to the King and lets him see what it displays; you and Doyoung lying in the grass together, with you dragging a tiny blue flower across his lips. Doyoung tilting his head up to accept your kiss. You looking straight ahead, trying to figure out why you sense a disturbance in the forest, only to see a deer—and missing the invisible form of Donghyuck staring at you and your lover from the bushes. Your conversation is hard to hear, consisting of mostly vague echoes, as if you were speaking underwater—channeling sounds is harder than conjuring up images—but there’s no need for words to understand what’s going on.

The King’s eyes are a windstorm of emotions at this point, a close rival to the actual stormy gray of Sicheng’s eyes as he reveals the memory. He is silent for an excruciatingly long moment. Still, he continually strokes his beard in a repetitive motion, though his gaze displays the true anger burning beneath the surface.

“And where is Doyoung right now?” he finally asks, after it seems like an eon has passed. Then he waves his hand sharply towards the mirror. “I’ve seen enough of that.”

“He has no duties to attend to as of right now, so he must’ve gone to the forest,” Sicheng responds. Donghyuck takes his hand away from his neck then, stepping back in a jerky motion as he tries to regain some of the energy spent from transferring the memory. Likewise, the mirror image fades once Sicheng takes his hand away from the glass, and the normal brown of his irises bleeds back into his eyes. “To see her again, no doubt.”

The King nods, pressing his fingers together into a steeple, his thick rings glinting in the light of the room. “Just as you say, the matter is quite grave. The King and Queen of Ceres will have to be notified immediately...and it will be handled accordingly.”

Donghyuck and Sicheng nod to the King’s statement, shooting each other looks out of the corners of their eyes. Donghyuck feels a small sense of triumph at knowing his brother will likely be sent back to Ceres soon—or at least, forbidden to see you anymore—even if he knows deep within that he shouldn’t be reveling in Doyoung’s impending heartbreak like this.

“Unfortunately, it also cannot be forgotten that you two, and all your other brothers, withheld this information for months.” The King blinks slowly. “I must also assume that my sons have been swept up in concealing this utter nonsense, to some degree. Those transgressions will be dealt with accordingly as well.” He draws the last sentence out to emphasize his claim, though the men have already heard him clearly. The tiny smirks they allowed themselves to show quickly fade.

Donghyuck feels as if he’s just had a bucket of cold water poured down his back, and Sicheng’s fists curl tightly around the mirror.

Donghyuck is the first to respond, bowing his head. “A-as necessary, Your Highness.” Sicheng lowers his own head after the younger does, though with noticeable reluctance.

The King waves his hand as a signal for the two men to leave, though he still looks thoughtful for reasons neither of them could guess. “You are both dismissed.”

Sicheng is fuming once they leave the sitting room, though Donghyuck’s anxiety manifests itself as tense silence, which is a true rarity for him.

“Look what your impulsiveness has gotten us into this time,” Sicheng gripes once they’re far enough away to not be heard. Donghyuck reawakens at that and shoots his brother daggers with his gaze.

“I didn’t think we’d get punished, too! And if you thought it was such a bad idea, you should’ve never agreed to it!”

Sicheng shakes his head, scoffing. “It’s neither here nor there anymore. Whatever comes of this had better be worth it.”

“You’d better hope,” Donghyuck continues. “Like we don’t know you’d sell us all out to have Yuta, your favorite brother, as the Crown Prince instead of Doyoung.”

Sicheng whips back around to Donghyuck. “I’d think he’d deserve it more than any of you ingrates who’ve had everything handed to you. You could never even imagine what it’s like to have to fight and scrape for an iota of respect among your own family.”

Donghyuck wants to scream something childish and hurtful back at him, but he’s lost on what to say. They all know Sicheng and Yuta have always been a bit separate from the rest of them despite their best efforts to make them feel included, but he hadn’t realized Sicheng felt quite this forsaken. The King’s earlier words certainly don’t help. Donghyuck has enough conscience left to feel guilty, though he refuses to acknowledge that aloud now.

When Sicheng sees that Donghyuck doesn’t have a response, he nods in vindication and stomps off.

After Doyoung returns to the castle that afternoon, the atmosphere in the castle is notably more tense. It’s as if storm clouds have gathered in the rafters, waiting for the perfect time to rain down hell. He senses this acutely, though he can’t quite understand the reasoning for it.

Donghyuck is uncharacteristically quiet today, and Sicheng is similarly reserved. Jeno, Jisung, and Jaemin conduct their business as usual, though there is a certain stiffness to their auras; the kind of careful and cautious demeanor you learn to adopt when living under the constant presence of a ticking timebomb. Mark and Jungwoo, who accompanied Doyoung on his visit to Arthenia and the forest, remain just as clueless as him about what’s wrong, though they also feel uncomfortable underneath the weight of the tension.

The air stays this way for hours, including during their nightly dinner. The Queen and King don’t do or say anything out of the ordinary, though Doyoung can feel the King’s eyes on him as he eats. The sensation of being watched makes his stomach curl into a ball, and his heart kicks up like a drum at the thought that pops into his mind. Maybe he’s been found out? But how? He’s been as careful as he knows how to be. He doesn’t truly believe any of his brothers would tell, and his cousins have been too disinterested in the affair to go stirring up trouble behind it.

Their three cousins eat quietly with their eyes glued to their plates, wondering what could be the cause of their father’s anger this time. They’ve known him long enough to pick up on the telltale signs of his rage, even when not openly expressed.

It’s nothing short of a relief when dinner is finally over, though Doyoung’s blood turns to lead when he hears the King’s deep voice booming from behind him. “Doyoung. Come with me.” The other men shoot him varying looks as they file out of the dining room, though none of them say a word. Donghyuck throws him a concerned glance in an attempt to remain unsuspecting, though there is a slight unsteadiness in his step.

By the time he gets to the King’s sitting room, Doyoung’s heart is beating overtime. He stands in front of the older man with his spine ramrod straight and his lips tucked into a thin line. The King doesn’t even acknowledge his presence for a few moments, simply stroking his beard and looking at some spot in the distance. Doyoung can’t decide if this is worse than being pinned under his gaze or not, though he quickly gets his answer when the King finally looks at him.

“Do you understand your position as Crown Prince?” This is not what he expected to hear first, though it fails to ease his anxiety.

“Of course, Your Highness. It’s a high honor, and one that requires a certain discipline.”

“Then why have you allowed yourself to become quite so undisciplined in your activities?”

Doyoung doesn’t know how to respond to this at first. He blinks rapidly and sweat breaks out over his skin. “Activities?” he stammers out, his mouth drying up.

“You’ve allowed yourself to be enamored by a woman who is so low she must live in the forest like an animal and forage for food. And you think this behavior is becoming of a man of your station?”

The room appears to spin. If his heart was hammering before, now it stops momentarily. Doyoung feels like he’s just smashed into a stone wall head-on. “Your Highness...I…”

“Have you lain with this creature?”

“Sh-she’s not...I…”

“Have you? Do not lie.”

Doyoung thinks of your hands on him and feels sick at such an intimate moment being forced out into the open like this, in such a cruel manner. “Y…yes.”

The King shakes his head, his frown deepening even more, if that’s possible. “And is there any chance that she could be with child now?”

Doyoung can’t remember ever feeling this humiliated, flayed open for all to see. “No. I was...careful.” The King pauses for a moment, like he doesn’t quite believe Doyoung’s claim. He doesn’t ask any further questions about it, though, and Doyoung doesn’t know whether to be concerned or relieved about that.

“Understand that you are infinitely lucky that you are not a woman, Doyoung, and can remain relatively unsullied by such acts. Nevertheless, I would’ve thought your father would’ve raised more diligent sons than this.” The King leans forward, and it seems like the Earth itself shifts with this movement.

“Then let one of the others have my title,” Doyoung blurts out, finally finding his voice again. “Yuta or Jaehyun. It doesn’t matter who it is.”

“Yuta isn’t getting anything,” the King spits. “Do you mean to make a complete mockery of your family? Your kingdom? To have a bastard sitting on the throne? Your father is a noble man, but laying with whores has resulted in the two biggest mistakes of his life.”

Doyoung’s head swims, and he has to bite back the first response that rises to his mind. “Your Highness, you’re correct in noting that I’ve made a grave error. Perhaps I’m truly not suited for the role. Don’t you think having my title transferred would be the best way to remedy that? Jaehyun is fit to be the Crown Prince. He can take my title, and I—”

“And you can do what? Live in the forest with the rest of the dregs?” The King draws himself up in his chair, and the action reminds Doyoung of a big brown bear attempting to intimidate a trespasser in its territory. His muscles turn rigid with fear. “It would behoove you to abandon this insane talk if you don’t wish to make the consequences worse for yourself. I’m not your father, boy, but as long as he’s left you under my care, I won’t entertain such dishonor on his behalf. ”

Doyoung wants to continue protesting but also knows that, just like you told him, this appears to be a fruitless case. He lowers his head as his stomach twists and his body tenses up further with the fear of what will come next.

“As you can expect, there will be no more visits to the village or the forest, if you can exercise no more self-control than this.”

Doyoung blinks rapidly, though there are no tears coming. “Will you send me away?”

“That would only draw more attention, which is the last thing we need to do. You are simply to remain in the castle until it’s time for you all to return to Ceres. Barring any more royal events, you will not be going anywhere further than the front lawn.”

Doyoung says nothing to this. To speak or nod would feel like sealing his own fate, though it’s already been chosen for him.

“You are lucky, Doyoung. Remember that. It is easier than you think for all of this to be forgotten, swept under the rug, so you can return to your homeland with your title and dignity intact. See—we do not even need to let your mother and father know. In a year from now, you will be wed, and this will be nothing but a regretful—if vague—memory.”

Still, Doyoung does not respond, his tongue heavy and immobile.

“You are your family’s honor. The consequences will not be as harsh for you...as long as you obey.” The King’s body relaxes now, as if all the day’s tension has suddenly unwound itself, though this is more of a false sense of security than any true calm. “Is that understood?”

Doyoung’s throat burns. It seems like he’s being pressed in on all sides. Not answering the King is not an option. Not seeing you again is not an option, either, if he wishes to preserve any iota of happiness on this Earth. Here it comes, now—the wetness gathering in his eyes and the tightening of his chest.

“I understand, Your Highness.”

It has only been a few days since Doyoung last saw you, but this alone feels like centuries to him, especially with the King’s order trailing him like a cement block tied to his leg.

He doesn’t intend on following it, regardless of the consequences. Maybe he’s not thinking straight anymore, but nothing else matters as much as you to him now.

There isn’t any way to easily get to you, though, considering the guards that have been stationed outside his room every night. And the other guards who follow him around the castle nearly 24/7 now. His glamors only grant him enough leeway to disguise his face, which is no use in making it out of his doorway undetected.

The stress of it all nearly makes him physically sick.

His brothers and cousins are not guarded quite so constantly as he, but they are similarly forbidden from leaving the castle—lest they try to report back to you with a message from Doyoung, or something similar.

Doyoung still does not know how the King found out and has had no free opportunity to question his brothers and cousins about it. In the back of his mind, though, the idea that he could’ve been betrayed lives constantly among his thoughts. Thinking on it for too long makes the back of his mouth taste sour, but he can’t help the festering sense of distrust he feels towards everyone around him.

Frayed and at his wit’s end, Doyoung finally thinks of an idea after an entire week of missing your presence. It’s a lot to ask for and may not work, but he needs to at least try it once before ruling it out. He has to be careful about it, of course, to avoid being found out by any of the watchful guards. Still, he manages to write a note during an etiquette lesson with his brothers, when the guards are standing outside the room. It’s easy enough to disguise his pen’s movements as him simply taking notes.

When the instructor looks down to read something from his book—squinting harshly even in his glasses, for his lack of sight—Doyoung slips the piece of paper to Mark. Mark gives him a questioning glance, though he says nothing. He only opens the note towards the end of the lesson, which is probably for the best because he makes a startled noise after reading it. Thankfully, it goes unnoticed by the instructor who is too busy listening to Sicheng answer a question he just asked him. Mark’s eyes burn into the side of Doyoung’s face, though the older man only gives him a sparing glance and returns his attention to his papers.

 Mark and Doyoung don’t get to talk formally until their next set of archery lessons. Only one of Doyoung’s guards is present that day, and he hangs back far enough outside of the archery range that it’d be difficult to hear their conversation, especially with them talking in low tones. Doyoung is the first one to initiate once their archery teacher becomes preoccupied with showing Jungwoo and Jaemin the technique for a trick shot.

He glances over at Mark after letting his arrow fly, then turns slightly toward him as he grabs another from his quiver. “Mark.”

The younger man’s eyes widen a bit at hearing his name called. “What?” he answers full-voiced, which causes Doyoung to give him a glare. Catching onto what’s going on, Mark throws an anxious glance behind them to the guard and to his left to the instructor, but no one pays him any mind.

“The note.”

Mark makes a face as if he’s been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, then quickly tries to relax his expression. “Doyoung, I don’t think…is this really a good idea?”

“I need to see her, Mark,” Doyoung hisses.

Mark’s eyebrows crease. He takes a moment to shoot his arrow at the target, not wanting to come off as suspicious to the others by just standing there. “I’ve never created a portal like…between Donghyuck’s room and mine, back at our castle? Yes, that’s perfectly fine. But from here all the way to the forest? That’s…” The younger man shakes his head, biting his lip.

“You have to try,” Doyoung begs. “Practice it or something. All you need to do is create one to get to my room, and then to the forest. I don’t care if it takes you a while, as long as I can see her again before we have to go back.” He does care, but at this point, he figures it’s better to have something than nothing.

Mark gives Doyoung a long look, shakes his head again, and then nods. “Okay. Okay. I’ll try. But I can’t guarantee anything.”

Doyoung presses his lips together and nods. His eyes are desperate, though he tries not to be. “It’s okay. Just try, Mark.”

Mark spends the next few days in the library in-between lessons. Though he hasn’t taken much interest in this part of the castle before now, he finds himself pouring through old, dusty books in search of something that can help him find a way to create a long-distance portal.

One of the books he finds describes simply just concentrating all your energy into your hands and putting it forth to open up a rip in space—which he is already capable of, but that doesn’t help him with projecting it out further. Another contains a weird chanting verse that he tries to pronounce, to no avail. Even if it did work, he wouldn’t know how to say it.

However, he eventually happens upon something that catches his eye.

“The Root Chakra serves as the foundation of your body and soul. Only when you are firmly grounded in your current body, space, and time can you begin to manipulate other spaces in time…whether it concerns generating long-range portals through space manipulation or even accessing different moments in history.”

“Opening the Root Chakra, huh?” Mark laughs to himself quietly and shakes his head. Despite being a magic user since birth, along with the rest of his brothers, this is the first time he’s heard anything of the sort. But it’s better later than never to learn.

Perhaps he’s more invested in this scheme than he should be, for both his and his brother’s sakes, but he also knows that he hasn’t seen Doyoung so fulfilled and joyful since discovering the forest. If his efforts can make a bit of difference in Doyoung’s current sunken mood, Mark is willing to try.

Therefore, he sets to work on “opening” this purported Chakra, keeping his practice to late-night hours to ensure he won’t be walked in on by anyone else. He feels a bit awkward at first, maybe even a little foolish, with “meditating” and trying to reach out to some strange energy inside himself. He’s never had to put much thought into creating portals before; it’s just something that happens as he wills it. He never considered that there might be more to the practice—that he’d need to tap into some kind of extra energy to improve his skills. He thinks back to the magic crystals in the marketplace and wonders if they’d be any help in this situation, though there’s no way of finding out.

Mark practices opening portals within the floor, knowing his room is above an empty guest room, as it’s too risky to try any of the walls; Jisung and Jungwoo sleep in the rooms on either side of him. He is soon able to make his portals wider than before—where they used to be the width of only his palms—which allows him to peer more clearly into the empty room below, though he still hasn’t tried to conjure anything farther away than that.

Once he feels he has more control over his energy, Mark soon begins experimenting with visualization, a technique the book cites for conjuring up long-distance locations. Allowing his energy to concentrate in his hands, he places his palms just above the floor of his room and pictures a place he’s fairly familiar with by now—the library. If it goes as planned, he’ll have created a portal to the library; if not…who knows what will be on the other side.

He feels the energy flow through his body, from his core, up his back, across his shoulders, and down his arms…it gathers in his palms and fingertips and triggers a small rip in time, which he gradually coaxes open wider, all the while visualizing the library as clearly as he can. Mark pushes the portal open a bit wider still and opens his eyes slightly to see if it’s worked. He’s dismayed, however, when he still sees the empty guest room sitting below him. A heavy sigh leaves his body, and it pushes the rest of his energy out with it; the portal closes with a silent snap.

Guess he’ll just have to try again.

The next few tries work similarly, and on those nights, he often ends up climbing into bed feeling discouraged and sapped of strength and wondering if he’ll ever get it, or if any of this is worth it. He keeps at it, though, for Doyoung’s benefit. And also partly because he’s curious to see what he’s capable of; now that he’s opened these floodgates, he needs to see how far he can push himself.

The first real hint of success takes him by surprise. It doesn’t happen quite as cleanly or perfectly as the book says, but something happens. When Mark opens his eyes that time, he’s still looking at the guest room—but now there appears to be a faint afterimage of the library merged with it, as if someone had tried to paint two different pictures at once. It’s not a complete location shift by any means, and he doesn’t try to go into the portal—afraid he might somehow get stuck between two realities—but it’s a start.

Improving on that start requires a little more time. More hours of meditating, reading, pushing his energy out and expanding it, visualizing. The afterimage begins growing clearer all the while.

On one blessed night, Mark opens his eyes, and the library itself is sitting below him. Not a faint representation of it, merged with some other room of the castle, but the actual library. He’s so surprised that he almost closes the portal by accident and has to steady his concentration to keep the energy flowing. Carefully, he sticks one hand through it. Then the other. It is still hard to keep the entrance open without physically guiding it with his hands, but he can manage it for a minute or two.

He looks at the long distance beneath him to the floor, with nothing but a lounge sofa to break his landing. Sweat breaks out on his skin, but he takes a moment to steel himself and take a deep breath. Then, he jumps through the portal feet-first, bouncing clumsily onto the sofa and tumbling onto the floor. Just as quick as he can right himself, he hurries behind the sofa to hide, afraid he might’ve alerted one of the guards with his rough landing. The portal has already closed above him with the loss of directed energy.

Mark waits for what feels like forever, his legs burning from holding the crouch, but no one comes. When he’s positive it’s safe, he places his hands on the floor and this time tries to create a portal back to his room. The spacetime-rip flickers briefly as if it won’t work, and a surge of panic rises in him, but soon it displays the sight of his bed and the nightstands on either side. A sigh of relief leaves him, and he jumps through the portal as smoothly as he can, landing on his bed this time.

Now, he is ready. He hopes.

The end of September—and the end of their stay in Eupheme—approaches. By that time, it has been weeks since you and Doyoung have seen each other. The one bright spot, though, lies with Mark.

Mark passes Doyoung a note during another of their etiquette lessons. The older man doesn’t wait to open it, though he keeps a watchful eye on the instructor as he does.

I think I’ve done it. Let’s try tonight.

Doyoung sucks in a breath and slowly lets it back out. Then, he crumbles the piece of paper up and shoves it into the pocket of his pants. He gives Mark a small nod, and Mark returns it before facing the teacher again as if nothing has happened.

Even though Doyoung had already given Mark instructions for how to create the portal, he is a bit unsure what to expect that night. He sits on the edge of his bed fully clothed, his hands clasped nervously together as his eyes dart all around the room, wondering where Mark will show up at.

He soon gets his answer when a teal ring of light manifests itself on the east wall of his room. It remains small only for a few moments before widening out enough to accommodate Mark’s form as he steps through it. Mark himself looks a bit shocked at what he’s just accomplished, even though he’s been doing it for a good amount of time now. Doyoung leaps up from the bed, about to speak, though he winces and remembers they still need to be mindful of the guards outside his door.

“You really did it,” Doyoung whispers, watching in awe as Mark closes the portal to his own room behind him.

“I did,” Mark affirms, and he can’t help but grin a little. However, his smile slips. “There is one thing, though.”

Doyoung’s stomach drops, and he can only imagine what this caveat will be. “What is it?”

“Well, once I’ve created the portal, I’ll have to keep it open,” Mark says. “Otherwise, I won’t know when you’re coming back…since we can’t communicate. But…I’ll only be able to keep energy flowing into it for about 15 minutes, maybe less, so…”

“…so make it quick. Right?” Doyoung replies. He is not surprised. Not because of any lack in Mark’s abilities, but more because this just seems to be the kind of luck that’s afflicted him as of late. Mark nods sheepishly.

“Just…be aware of the time,” Mark says, giving Doyoung an apologetic look. The older man only nods silently and steps back as he lets the younger do his work. Mark walks over to the wall he just came from and places his palms against it, taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and concentrating. He holds the image of the forest entrance in his mind’s eye and shifts the power out from his hands and to the wall, opening up a gap in space as the portal widens.

Doyoung’s heart rate picks up as he sees that familiar forest entrance forming in front of him, still crowded with overgrowth and greenery. He steps over to Mark to see it closer, and he can even feel the cool night air brushing past his skin as he peers in.

Mark opens his eyes and nods for Doyoung to go on, and the older gives him a nervous smile. “Thank you.”

Indeed, the forest on the other side is the exact same one he’s been visiting for the entire summer. The same dirt underneath his feet, the same trees crowding each other in. For that reason, he doesn’t waste any more time with rushing inside, heading straight for the oak tree.

There’s an indignant sentence waiting on your lips when you hear Doyoung crashing into your forest late that night, not having seen him in weeks. You’re hurt, but you also realize there must be something serious going on back at the castle if it’s taken him this long to get back to you. However, the words die when you see the pure anguish on his face as he bursts out of the vegetation.

You slip out of the oak tree to meet him on the ground, and he scoops you in his arms like he did all those weeks ago, though this passion is now charged with fear. “Doyoung, what’s happened? What’s the matter? What has kept you so long?” you ask worriedly, taking his face in your hands.

Doyoung holds you close and simply buries his face in the front of your dress for a long moment, breathing in your scent and absorbing the warmth of your skin. Though you are terrified and confused, you wait for him to calm himself enough to speak to you.

“I can’t anymore,” he says, his voice low and broken. Your heart drops at this.

“Can’t what?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“The King has forbidden me to come here—I shouldn’t be here now, but Mark...Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You hold Doyoung tighter against you, as if you could both become one being if you concentrated hard enough—wished hard enough. Your head throbs with the hurt of it, and your heart feels as if it’s being cleaved in two. You don’t say anything for a while, biting your lip so hard that it nearly bleeds.

“I tried.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Forgive me. I tried.”

“There’s no one to blame,” you argue, breathless from the vise pinching your heart and lungs. “I think we both knew how this would end…”

“I don’t want it to be this way. Y/N, forgive me. I should’ve never told you anything…perhaps if I’d kept my feelings to myself, we wouldn’t be in this mess now. You could live happily as you were, and I—”

“Don’t. Please don’t. I wouldn’t trade our time together for any living being…not even the gods.” You shake your head as tears begin to slip down your cheeks. Doyoung tries to wipe them away, though tears of his own escape without his permission. “It may be selfish, but…I-I just ask that…p-please don’t forget about me when you leave and start your own family.”

Doyoung takes a deep, shuddering breath and presses your head into his chest. “I could never,” he whispers.

He thinks he’s safe in your arms, and you safe in his. That’s what he’d like to believe, as you sit here together in the forest for the last time. Unbeknownst to him, something in the castle stirs and then bursts to life, violent and red-hot with rage.

Mark, on the other side of the portal, waits. He feels his energy weakening the longer he holds it open, but he does so anyway as nervous sweat gathers on his temples. He wants to call out to Doyoung to somehow warn him of the time limit, but remembers that the guards will hear it if he does. So he remains silent and waits impatiently as the end of the 15 minutes approaches.

However, he can’t wait any longer as the time ticks past. His magic flickers once, as does the portal, before disappearing completely. Mark nearly keels over at the loss of energy and has to catch himself as quietly as possible, bracing his shaking hands against the floor. He pushes himself up a bit and sits on his knees. He thinks desperately to himself, I should make another portal, but he doesn’t have enough energy for that at the moment.

The next move he makes is a costly one.

He reaches into his pants pocket for his pocketwatch, which he remembered to bring with him. He intends to see how far it is past the time they’d agreed Doyoung would come back, and how long it might take him to regain enough strength for another portal, but his shaky hands cause him to drop the small watch. He tries to grab the chain, but the movement is too sudden and clumsy and causes the watch to bounce even farther away from him, skittering clear off the rug and onto the hardwood floor.

Mark swears all his organs stop functioning at once when he hears a knock on the door. It’s quiet at first, and the silence is deafening. He thinks about scurrying up into the bed and lying there to pretend like he’s Doyoung, still asleep and not out in the forest, but his legs are locked with fear and lingering weakness. The second knock is more forceful, and the guard doesn’t wait for much longer before jamming his key in the lock and swinging the door open.

Mark whips his head around, and they both stare at each other dumbstruck for a moment. The guard’s gaze lingers at Mark in confusion, then quickly sweeps over to the empty bed. His eyebrows draw into a furious expression. “Where is the Crown Prince?”

Doyoung’s heart squeezes painfully at the thought of returning to Ceres without you, his brothers going on with their lives as normal despite his own secret heartache—and it’s only then that he realizes he’s lost track of the time. He jerks away from your arms, looking around frantically. “Wait—Mark.”

“Mark?” you repeat, confused.

“I…he made a portal so I could get here, but I was supposed to…shit. Come on.” Doyoung takes your hand and you both rush to the forest entrance. When you get there, though, there’s no portal and no Mark. Doyoung’s grip around your hand tightens. 

Though you aren’t totally sure what’s going on, a sudden dread overcomes you. “What happened to it?”

“He probably had to close it, but…I’m sure he’ll open it again once he gets his energy back.” Doyoung’s voice is uncertain, though, like he’s trying to convince you both. You look at the side of his face and try not to voice your fears, but as you both stand there waiting to see if the portal will reappear, it becomes apparent that something has went wrong with the plan.

“Explain yourself.”

“Your Highness…I…um…” Mark’s mouth is too dry for him to properly form words, and his legs shake where he stands. Not because of having his energy sapped—because of the King’s overbearing presence. The King stands in front of him, not even bothering to go to his desk this time, and Mark has to crane his neck a bit to look at him, though he can’t meet his eyes. “It was just…”

“I won’t ask again.”

Mark shakes his head and pulls at his hair, silently begging Doyoung for forgiveness in his mind. Still, he doesn’t say anything to give his brother up, keeping his eyes averted more out of fear than deference. “Please, Your Highness…I just…”

When the King sees that Mark won’t give a direct answer, he scoffs in disgust, sweeps the younger man out of the way, and heads for the door. Though Mark only moves a few inches, he feels like he might as well have been thrown clear across the room. The King speaks to one of Doyoung’s guards, who was standing just behind Mark. “Call the rest of the guards. I’ve exhausted my patience on the matter; these lecherous whores cannot be allowed to continue defiling my kingdom.”

“Wh-what does that mean?” Mark’s small voice is lost to the air as the King leaves the room without a glance backwards. The guard goes to enact his order, while the other one grips Mark tightly by the upper arm and drags him out of the sitting room. “N-no, wait, what’s about to happen?”

The guard yanks Mark’s arm in a gesture that calls for the questioning to come to an end. “Best keep quiet, boy. You and the Crown Prince have gotten yourself into enough shit tonight.” Then he chuckles. “One of these days, he was bound to find out that everyone won’t keep coddling him and wiping his ass. About to lose his title over some pussy. Quite sad, isn’t it?”

The guard’s words—and the realization that none of them have ever really cared about Doyoung’s wellbeing beyond being his hired watchdogs—sets Mark off. “Shut the fuck up!” Mark spits in his eye and stomps on the man’s foot at the same time, and the guard curses and lets him go for a split second. Mark doesn’t wait. He takes off down the hall, unsure where he’s going but knowing the castle is big enough to lose the guard—as long as he doesn’t run into anyone else.

He just needs to get somewhere where he can have enough time to create another portal.

“This can’t be good…” you finally say. You and Doyoung must have a death grip on each other’s hands right now, but neither of you are willing to pull away.

Doyoung shakes his head slowly. “No…it’s been too long. Maybe I-I should go back. Maybe if I go back willingly now…” He trails off, not knowing what could come at the end of that sentence.

“Doyoung, no. I…please don’t leave me.” You feel mentally torn between sending him away and knowing this is the last time you’ll see him versus having him stay here with you, if only for a few minutes more. At this point, you’re not sure what the right answer is anymore.

“They might come looking for me, Y/N, and I don’t want them coming here disturbing the forest—"

“Stay! You can hide somewhere, I…as the keepers of the forest, we’ve been handling ourselves against intruders for years. We can protect ourselves—and you. If they come, you can hide out here until they leave. Please, stay.”

Doyoung cannot say no to you or your pleading eyes. He nods. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen after all this—if he wants to go back to the castle, or if he’ll even be allowed to return. He doesn’t know what they’ll do to him in retaliation, and even the vague idea of it frightens him. Having his title removed is one thing, but the King of Eupheme is far more vindictive than that.

You and Doyoung only make it to the small cave you’d hidden in on that rainy day before you hear the distinct sound of another pair of feet crashing through the woods. You both whip your heads around, though you also grab Doyoung’s arm and pull him under the cover of the willow tree. Your mind is racing a mile a minute, and you are too frantic to be able to sense who this new person is; though the question is quickly answered by a sharp whisper.

“Doyoung! Doyoung?”

“It’s Mark,” Doyoung hisses, his eyes widening. He slips between the tree branches and softly calls Mark’s name. In another few moments, the younger man is standing under the tree with you both.

“What happened?!” Doyoung asks, holding onto the younger boy’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Doyoung.” This is all Mark can say, and the words roll off his tongue repeatedly. He hangs his head. “The King knows, and he’s sent the guards to come here—I don’t know what he’s going to do, but—please believe me. It doesn’t sound good. He’s done being reasoned with.”

You and Doyoung look at each other with trepidation gripping your chests, realizing the stakes are much higher than you anticipated. This does not sound like just another case of “unwelcome intruders,” but “unwelcome intruders with bloodlust on their minds.”

“But—I can create another portal. I’m sorry, the last time, I just—but I can make one now. Come with us, please.” The last sentence is directed at you, and you shake your head.

“And go where? They’ll still be waiting for me at the castle. Are you suggesting we run away from Eupheme?” Doyoung’s voice is not reprimanding, but more incredulous than anything else.

Mark’s hands shake at the idea of turning his back on his family, which is something he’s never had to consider before—not even in the slightest sense. Things have gotten much more out of hand than he could’ve predicted.

You shake your head again, your hand slipping from Doyoung’s. “Just…I’ll stay here and help the others. You should go.”

“Y/N, I...” Doyoung’s throat tightens as he tries to speak, but his thoughts are disrupted by a quickly mounting commotion. The sound of hooves beating in the distance, though getting increasingly closer. The shouts of men who are ready to wage a battle, with fire racing through their veins.

Though most of Arthenia is asleep at this time of night, the noise of the horses’ hooves and the soldiers’ shouts is enough to begin waking the townspeople up out of their beds. Faces press against windows and peep out of doorways to see what’s happening.

The villagers are terrified when they see a group of soldiers adorned in the royal insignia and riding on horses enter Arthenia with lit torches in their hands, thinking their homes are about to be destroyed. However, they become even more confused and frantic when they quickly realize this band of men is paying their properties no mind and heading straight in the direction of the forest instead.

Some of Arthenia’s magic-wielders rush from their homes to try to put a stop to the men once they understand the situation, and the orcs and ogres meet them with brute force alone. The guards are met with a fight fiercer than they expected, even with their torches and daggers, not realizing the villagers could be so battle-hardy.

The King watches the battle ensuing in Arthenia from a hilly vantage point above the small town. The guards have failed to make much more headway against the villagers, who are gradually inching them back towards the village entrance. Shaking his head in disgust, the King pulls on his horse’s reins. “If you want something done, do it yourself.”

Some of the townspeople notice the King’s appearance just before he rides into the village. A few of them falter and cower in fear, finding the nearest exit point and taking their leave. Some others, incensed at their town being threatened and generally filled with rage at the King’s lack of fair leadership, decide to charge him head-on. They’re quickly extinguished, though, when the King conjures a great sphere of fire in his hands and whips it across them without a second thought.

He does the same to any other Arthenians who attempt to challenge him as he cuts a path through the village, uncaring of the land and homes he sets on fire as he does. A couple of the guards hop back on their steeds and follow him to his ultimate destination.

The King drives forward into the foliage. The women of the forest are armed with their own heavy rocks and sharpened arrows and daggers dipped in poisonous berry juice, though their weapons can barely leave their hands before everything is suddenly being enveloped in a wide swath of fire, meted out by the King’s hand. He leaves a path clear for himself and the guards in the middle, but the trees on either side are sent up in a blaze.

The two guards remain in single file behind him to use his fire as a shield and avoid the sharp rocks and poison-dipped darts zooming past their heads. Perhaps they’ve underestimated these tree-dwellers; already, there have been a few scrapes that were too close for comfort with the jagged edge of a rock or two. The guards light up as much greenery as they can as they go, using their torches to ignite leaves and low-hanging branches.

All around them, there are the sounds of Arthenians and dryads screaming in tandem as their homes go up in flames. A few nymphs lie fallen among the grass, unmoving as their tree homes burn up in the night.

The King, who has had the foresight to bring his shield, keeps it steady in front of him as he blasts fireballs out from behind it, lighting up one group of trees after another. He doesn’t know which one belongs to you, but he is willing to burn down the entire forest to find out. His movements are wilder than they’d normally be, which says a lot even for him, who has previously had no trouble slashing down anyone who stood in his way during battle—even if they were innocents.

“Doyoung!” The King shouts, and he whips up a great blanket of fire. He sends it careening up towards the sky like a shooting star, and it lands high among the tree canopy, heavy and far-reaching enough to burn treetops several feet in every direction. The guards become a bit wary at this, as the flames blaze above their heads and send sparks and burning debris flying down. “Doyoung!” His voice shakes the leaves like thunder. “If you do not wish to burn alive with these forest dregs, show yourself now!”

Doyoung’s spine stiffens as he hears his name echoing through the woods. It comes from a distance behind you all but is still too close for reassurance. If you stay in this spot for another few minutes, the King or one of his guards could be right on top of your heads.

“Come on!” Doyoung pulls your hand tightly as he helps you up the edge of a steep grassy incline, Mark supporting you from below. Though you’d be able to make it up there any other time by yourself, you don’t dare deny the help now. Your whole body feels like a live wire of fear and panic; the forest burns around you, and the encroaching smoke threatens to choke all three of you to death. Most of all, you feel devastated to see what’s happening around you, being essentially powerless to stop it. Nothing of this degree has ever befallen your home before; even the rare small blaze could be easily enough snuffed out. But not when the flames are being stoked and encouraged like this—building upon each other to see which can reach the tallest tree or the farthest edge of the forest.

After you reach solid ground, Doyoung drags Mark up behind you. There’s no time to pause after all three of you are on the ground; Doyoung grips your hand again and Mark follows behind the two of you as you run.

“The tree, the tree, the tree…” These words spill from your lips in a frenzy. Though your tree hasn’t been touched by the flames yet, it’s only a matter of time with the forest rapidly catching on fire. You can still feel the deep anguish of every other tree in the forest as their trunks catch fire, their leaves shrivel up, and the water evaporates from their root systems. Their silent screams and the shouts of your fellow dryads ring in your head loud enough to make you fear that your skull will split.

“Where are we going?” Mark asks, covering his nose with his sleeve and coughing profusely at the smoke all around.

“Out of the forest!” Doyoung shouts back. He doesn’t really know where to go except for the edge of the woods, and you aren’t in a state to tell him where to head. Deep down, he knows you want to turn back and go to your tree. The oak tree lives innately in you and you inside of it, and it calls you to come back, but the path is too dangerous; returning to it would only speed up what appears to be progressively inevitable. The King and his guards are somewhere in the forest behind you all, and turning back would only land you right in their hands or in the tendrils of the fire.

One of the guards feels a tinge of nervousness grow as the fire rages on around them, and he decides to try to reach out to the King. “Your Highness! I will go in search of Doyoung. Perhaps we should fetch him now before some danger befalls him; the fire is spreading exponentially.” The King gives him a signal to depart, though his eyes still burn just as brightly as the flames do.

The guard separates from the King to cut a path diagonally through the woods, going off to find Doyoung. The Crown Prince may have disobeyed the King—which is as good as committing treason against the kingdom—but it would still not look favorable for him to have died in a fire started at the King’s hands. However, the King is too far engulfed in the whirlwind of his own rage to consider these things more deeply.

The other guard stays by the King’s side, though his horse nervously shifts in place at the flames all around. The two men come to a stop in a wide and messy half-circle of fire, their backs to the flames as they watch the woods ahead for any signs of approaching creatures—or Doyoung himself.

Unbeknownst to the King, your oak tree sits only a few feet away in a yet-untouched portion of greenery.

A few leaves suddenly fall off a tree up ahead—too sudden to merely be caused by the wind—and this makes the King whip his head around and raise his hand to unleash more fire. Nothing appears from that spot, however, and the leaves remain as still as they were before. That moment of hesitancy costs him.

A small poison-tipped dart shoots from the leaves, catapulted by the force of a sudden, expertly-timed breath through a wooden blowgun. It lands squarely in the King’s open palm, which still faces the tree. A shout bursts from his throat in response, and it is only then that the guard realizes what’s just happened.

“Your Highness—!”

The shock and pain of the sudden assault causes the King to strike out in delayed anger, sending a wave of fire at the row of trees ahead of him—and a little further beyond, your oak tree in its small, grassy clearing. The dart burns up in his palm as he does, but its sharp point has already broken his skin. His reaction, though hampered by a few seconds, doesn’t afford Cassia much time to do anything but watch as a wall of feverish red and orange overtakes her, but her last few thoughts linger with you—where you might be within the forest right now, and if she could see you again in some faraway afterlife.

You’ve always known you would die when your tree finally did, but you weren’t sure what you expected it to feel like.

Certainly, not this kind of great reckoning—a sensation of every living element simultaneously being drained from your body. It feels like the core essence of your being has been cracked like an egg and is now flowing out endlessly, laid to waste in the grass. The sudden weakness that eclipses you makes it so that you can barely move your legs to continue running, and you collapse to the ground.

Mark nearly trips over your fallen form, but he quickly finds his voice and screams for Doyoung. The older man is already turning around, however, at feeling your hand slip from his. He rushes to you immediately, his eyes growing wide as he tucks his hands under you and scoops you into his arms.

“Y/N, I’m sorry, please! Y/N, please, no!”

“Doyoung…”

“No. No! I’m begging...please, stay with me.”

Tears spill from his eyes in an endless torrent. You would like to touch his face at least once more, and you are infinitely glad—if not also heartbroken—when he grabs your hand and holds it to his cheek. His tears wet your skin, running down your palm.

“I…I already told you not to forget me, so please…”

“Y/N, I’ve got to get you out of here…” Doyoung says desperately, and he struggles to make it to his feet. His legs tremble too much to support him, though, and his shoes slide in the leaves and dirt underfoot. Mark stumbles backwards, his back hitting a tree trunk as his muscles tense in horror at the scene in front of him.

“D-don’t. Leave me here.” Even saying this much feels like a massive effort.

“What?”

“Th-the forest and I are one in the same. I live and die here. Please…do this one thing for me, Doyoung.” You look at him imploringly with as much strength as you can summon despite your eyes growing heavier. Beyond the smoke, the cloudiness of your own tears, and the pull of death, it’s becoming harder to see; his features blur amid your surroundings.

Doyoung is quiet for a moment, though he slowly nods, gripping your hand tightly. He lowers his forehead to yours, and through the smoke and fire, he swears he can still smell the scent of jasmine. “I love you, Y/N.”

“My prince…” The corners of your mouth rise in a tiny smile. “I love you.”

The Crown Prince keeps his forehead against yours, his tears raining down on your cheeks long after you’ve gone limp in his arms.

Mark slumps to the ground, feeling as if his stomach will turn itself inside out, his heart hammering in his chest. He tries to breathe evenly, though his chest tightens painfully from the attempt. Eventually, he buries his face in his hands, trying to physically shut out the ache. He’s not sure how much time passes like that, with him and his brother immobilized on the ground, but he does know they need to leave, soon, as the air around them grows more stifling.

“Doyoung…D-Doyoung, we need to…w-we should…” Mark’s voice cracks, coming out weak in the roar of the noise around them. He coughs again, then shuffles to his feet, leaning on the tree for support.

Doyoung looks up at him without a word, his face streaked with tears and dirt. Then, slowly, he unravels himself from you and lays your body gently on the ground. He shuns his cloak to cover you with it, though part of him desires to stay here and perish with you instead of leaving only a portion of himself behind.

Him and Mark travel a few more yards through the woods, and though he’s never seen this part of the landscape before, he can guess they might be nearing the edge of the forest. The trees have begun thinning out here like they did at the small circular lake.

“Wait—" Mark calls out. Doyoung doesn’t bother looking back at Mark, but he can hear it too. The sound of horse hooves increases in volume, and they soon see one of the guards riding towards them, torch still in hand.

“Crown Prince! Prince Mark!” he shouts. “Come with me immediately!”

Doyoung looks frantically towards the ground. A sizeable rock catches his eye, bigger than the palm of his hand, and he picks it up. Without a second thought, he launches it at the guard’s face. It catches the guard on the left side of his face with a sickening pop, causing him to yell out in pain and fall from his horse. His torch falls from his grasp, starting yet another small fire where it lands.

With its rider gone, the horse slows its pace, though it does not stop. Doyoung catches it by the reins and is able to bring it to a pause long enough for him and Mark to get on. Everything else falls away from him as he guides them towards the forest’s outskirts; he barely feels the wind whipping past them, the lingering smoke stinging his eyes, or even the sturdy animal racing underneath him. He has a brief thought about what happened to those dangerous animals you said live on the outskirts, as there are none here now, but he reasons that maybe they’ve already made their own escape.

The sky is turning lighter now from the approaching dawn. When they finally breach the last row of trees in the woods, they come out onto an expansive field, only broken up by stray trees here and there and other landforms. On the far horizon, another town looms against the sky, though it’s much bigger than Arthenia.

Doyoung signals for the horse to stop, and both he and Mark sit there for a few long moments. Mark sucks in a few deep breaths, as if he were the one running this entire time. 

“W-what…what now?”

Doyoung doesn’t answer at first. Then, quietly, he asks, “Are you coming?”

Mark doesn’t know where his brother intends to go, but he wordlessly understands that it isn’t back to the castle. Or even Ceres. He swallows against the lump in his throat.

“I…I have to see the others.” He means their brothers. He means their parents back in Ceres, if he is even allowed to live. He is not sure what the King will do to him once he returns—if he’ll be tried for treason. Still, his chest burns with the desire to see his siblings at least once more.

Maybe that’s how he justifies it.

He’s not entirely sure why he refuses Doyoung in this moment, even when he thinks back on it years from now. Maybe he is too ashamed of the guilt—of feeling like it was all his fault. (If he hadn’t dropped the stopwatch…) He doesn’t want to serve as that constant reminder for his brother.

“Can you get back, then?” Doyoung asks. Mark realizes he’s referring to creating another portal, and he nods, though somewhat hesitantly.

“Y…yeah. I can.” He swallows again and hesitates for another moment. Then, Mark dismounts from the horse and looks up at Doyoung. “Where…where will you go?”

If the older man has already planned his route, he doesn’t disclose it. He simply looks at Mark with an expression that can only be described as pitiable, broken. His eyes are red-rimmed and his skin is ashen. “Goodbye, Mark.”

Mark stares at his retreating back as he leads the horse away and across the field. The space between them stretches out into forever, with a million unsaid thoughts and emotions falling in the gap.

Behind him, the forest continues to burn, taking all life with it. In front of him, Doyoung’s form turns into a speck against the endless green. It is a long time before Mark leaves that spot in the grass.

In the castle, Donghyuck slumps against his window as he watches smoke rising in the far distance, already knowing where it’s coming from. Like a mirror image of his older brother, tear tracks make their way down his face as he buries his head in his arms.

“What have I done?”

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[ohheyitsokay]

storm clouds

Pairing: Agent Whiskey (Jack Daniels, Kingsman) x (f) reader 

Warnings: none, this is entirely practice in characterization? I guess. Novice writing and over-description of random things

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: You’re a mysteriously casual secret agent that Jack gets paired with for a mission. You’re kind, capable, and kissable and Jack is confused (and smitten).

Notes: y’all this is the first fic I’m posting, I’m just trying to find my voice again. I had fun though, so please enjoy and be patient with me! Thank you!

>>

Walking into the conference room, Agent Whiskey felt like he was entering the eye of a storm. Anticipation and danger felt one step away, but in front of him was a calm and overwhelmingly comfortable presence.

He had never met you before, never even seen you, but you had the air of a good friend, a cup of hot coffee, and a hoodie all rolled into one attractive person. Images of the two of you flashed in his mind: on his couch, in his truck, talking about life, laughing. The images alarmed him, and his guard was immediately up.

“What’s all this?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly, moving his gaze to the familiar agents in the room.

“Agent Whiskey, we’d like you to meet Special Agent Cloud, our new friend from...” Champ trailed off, looking at you. Whiskey watched in disbelief as you tilted your head and then gave it an almost imperceptible shake.

“From an international classified department that we’ve recently been chosen to work with.” Champ said the last part with enough force that Whiskey had no trouble reading in-between the lines.

An agency even the Stateman didn’t know? Clearly a legitimate one, seeing as you weren’t in handcuffs, but what kind of mess was this?

“Nice to meet you,” you said, and he appreciated that you stood up to shake his had. Your grip was firm, but he was further confused to feel how soft your hands were - not fully foreign to work, but certainly less calloused than a typical field agent. Your voice, he realized a moment later, was without distinguishable accent.

“The two of you will be working together to infiltrate a wealthy suspected smuggler in Vancouver,” Champ continued, explaining the details of the target and mission. It was all seeming very standard until something caught Whiskey’s attention.

“Wait, I’ll be point and she’s on logistics, right?” he said, clarifying but confident.

“No,” Champ replied, once again looking at you questioningly.

“I’ll be in the field with you, Agent Whiskey,” you said, and much to his annoyance, he found himself unable to read your tone.

“Are you serious?” he said incredulously, and your eyebrows rose just a hair, “No offense, Agent, but you don’t look the type, much less like your old enough to handle this advanced of a mission.”

Whiskey didn’t know why he was so annoyed at being wrong, and frankly, he surprised himself with how judgmental he was being. In all honesty, all his instincts weren’t even saying you were young, nor did you seem particularly unqualified. They were just saying he wanted to protect you. And he was afraid.

The other agents in the room began talking, all obviously trying to defuse a potentially tense situation., but you said nothing, a slow smile spreading across your face.

“Well you can’t be that old,” you said, causing everyone else to fall silent, “because you should know better than to assume a woman’s age.”

There was a beat of silence, and Whiskey was dumbfounded. Did you just sass him in front of everyone?! 

He sputtered, caught between his previous annoyance and spikes of embarrassment and attraction. 

You were laughing though, and it was contagious. It felt as though you had been friends for years and the banter was all part of the fun. The others in the room teased him, joining in, their laughter just a little bit giddy with relief. 

The meeting finished with no further interruptions, and you were dismissed, giving him a wave and what he couldn’t sworn was a wink before you slipped out the door. You took the casual air with you, as the energy dissipated, he was reminded of how baffling what whole interaction was. 

“Alright what in tarnation,” Whiskey said, turning to glare at his fellow Statesman agents, “was that?”

“Calm down, Jack,” Ginger shrugged, “she’s from a highly respectable agency. We need to play nice and get to know them for the future. You can’t actually be mad, you two already seem like a good fit.”

What was that supposed to mean? He felt his face heat up a little bit so he deflected the comment saying “I don’t even know what she does!” But Ginger just shrugged, tossing him a small camera made to look like a tie clip.

“Figure it out.”

- 

Early the next morning he climbed onto the Statesman plane, only to find you already going over the mission research papers.

You were wearing comfortable clothes but you looked... beautiful. Your hair was a bit messy and the sunrise light streaming through the windows gave the illusion that the runaway strands were glowing. Your eyes were downturned, scanning the papers, making your eyelashes veil your eyes just enough, and your lips looked soft as you silently mouthed the words you were reading.

When you noticed him, he felt like a deer in the headlights. 

You didn’t seem fazed, waving at him and gesturing to the seat across from you. 

“I hope we didn’t get off on the wrong food, Agent Whiskey,” you said, reintroducing yourself by name. “I’m sure this must all seem very strange.”

He shrugged, knowing he had reacted too strongly before, considering how weird his life was normally.

“This flight is a long one,” you continued, looking a bit hesitant, “I’d like to get to know you better, if you don’t mind?”

He found himself agreeing readily, saying, “Well first off, call me Jack,” and allowing himself to smile at you.

You smiled back, and before he could notice how it made his heart skip, the two of you launched into conversation. 

If jack wasn’t already enamored by you before the flight, he certainly was after. He found himself letting his guard down, telling you things about yourself and chatting with you like you’d known each other for years, the papers between you laying forgotten. You, in turn, were an open book concerning your domestic life, for all you weren’t allowed to share about your job. The end of the flight came far too soon, and Jack’s whole body felt warm and cozy.

When he helped you off the plane, your hand fit into his and for the first time, he noticed how something tugged inside him. 

Shocked by this revelation, he pulled away as soon as it was polite, and hurried to the awaiting ca, hoping his long stride served as an excuse for his quickened pace.

By the time the two of you arrived in your temporary apartment, you noticed he was avoiding you. You questioned him, and he felt like a lad in love: vulnerable and earnest. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I just... I need...” what did he need? You waited, not pressing him, “I think I need to call my therapist. His insides buzzed with anxiety at his confession but you surprised him yet again, because you were blushing and nodding. 

“Okay,” you said after a moment, pulling out your own phone, “knock when it’s okay for me to come out!” Your smile was kind as you ducked into one of the rooms.

When the doors closed, the bubble you two had created popped and separately you were both taking deep breaths.

Jack listened to his phone dial, and the tugging on his heart returned as he considered your beautiful, honest eyes, telling him silently that this was normal. He could hear your muffled noises through the door, and he moved towards his own room as his therapist answered. He didn’t exactly know what to say but he knew he needed to figure it out fast because for the first time in a long time, he felt like maybe he was more than just an agent.

Over the next few days, the feeling didn’t go away. The shared living space provided ample space for you two to prepare for the mission, but it was intimate. Even though much of your conversations were about analysis and tactics, all he felt like he was learning was how good you looked cooking breakfast. How adorably your expression changed when you were thinking hard. How his heart beat felt when you walked out of the bathroom, clouded by shower steam, beads of water sliding down your skin. 

“Jack?”

He snapped back into focus, and he almost tripped. The two of you were walking to the Big Bad’s place, your professional heels clicking along the sidewalk. He blushed like a schoolboy caught daydreaming.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he fidgeted, “ what was that?”

“Just saying that I think it’s going to be the best way,” you said, and if he didn’t know any better, you were apologizing to him. His eyes narrowed and his heart protested, not wanting to argue with you.

“I just don’t like you going there alone.”

You crossed your arms at him.

“I’m not sayin you’re not capable,” he backtracked, “but it doesn’t make sense if we need to figure out how our agencies can work together.” He made a fair point, but you were prepared, having had variations of this argument over the past few days. 

“Jack, the Statesmen already know what you do. Before we work together, before you put yourself and your agency on the line, don’t they need to see what I can do?” You had trapped him. Jack was already clenching his jaw. You were right, and the supervisors agreed with you. He should agree, too, since logically you two hadn’t known each other long enough to justify how badly he wanted to protect you.

“I just don’t know,” he said, trying not to sound too much like he was pleading with you. You stopped, turning to look at him. 

You looked conflicted for a moment before, much to his delight, you blushed and reached up to touch his cheek.

“Trust the plan,” you said, and his had involuntarily covered yours, squeezing it. 

 You placed the other one on his chest and stood tiptoe to kiss his other cheek, making him want to forgive you instantly, once he remembered how to function. Your face was so close to his, he ached to kiss you for real but you pulled back, squeezing his had back before you did something that baffled him for a moment.

You pulled your weight onto your right side, gently grinding the heel point into the ground.

And then you disappeared with a burst of smoke.

Agent Whiskey immediately panicked, rotating, his eyes searching for you, until he finally saw you at the entrance of the corporate building. 

A grin spread across his face.

“Well played, Special Agent Cloud,” he said into your communication piece. and he saw your wink before you were gone. 

-

An hour later, back in your apartment, Whiskey found himself unable to stop pacing. He still had awhile before he was supposed to follow you but he couldn’t help but feel anxious. He’d known you less than a week - he was only nervous because of the mission. Because he couldn’t be videoing what you were doing. Because he couldn’t be part of the action. That’s all. It had nothing to do with the fact that you were kind and fun and clever and so mysterious and lovely he could kiss you. Nothing to do with the fact that he’d like to be showing off for you. Nothing to do with any of that. 

Against all logic, suddenly the doorknob turned and Jack whipped around to see you sheepishly walking in. The two of you stared at each other for a moment before you turned as deep a red as your skin tone could manage. 

“I’m so sorry Jack!” you said, holding up your hands in a gesture of peace. “Please don’t be mad! I was following the plan I promise, but then the secretary was in a bad mood and she just started talking and everything happened so much faster than we thought it would and I was just rolling with it and,” you gulped air, your words having sped up considerably, “and so many people were standing by me and I wasn’t sure if I would be able to contact you subtly but then all this stuff happened, and I wanted to impress you and I knew I had more time before you came and it was so chaotic and - “ you stopped, looking equal parts embarrassed and proud before your voice emerged again, much quieter, “I may have accidentally completed the whole mission.”

Jack was staring at you like you were an alien. 

“Please don’t be mad,” you said, meekly, meeting his eyes for the first time since you started talking. “I really am sorry!”

Your eye in his pulled Jack out of his shock. He couldn’t believe you were apologizing. 

“Darlin’,” he could feel himself grinning. The words I wanted to impress you rang in his ears, filling him with the confidence to slowly, gently step into your space. His face hovered just inches from yours and his hands were soft as on the space where your neck met your shoulders. “Don’t be sorry, you wonderful, talented, capable little thing.”

Your eyes flickered to his lips before you looked back up to him, your head tilting just a touch. 

“I stole your camera to get footage for the Statesmen,”

Startled, Jack stepped back, his hand shooting to his tie,

“Wha- when- wait how-” he stuttered, completely baffled that he hadn’t noticed at all.

His eyes were wide and that helped you breathe again; you smiled at him. Did he have as much trouble focusing as you did when you kissed his cheek, your hand on his chest?

“Ah,” he found it in his memories, shaking his head in disbelief, “you really are something, aren’t you, darlin’?” 

And he felt it again: the eye of the storm. Perfect comfort with something brewing just below the surface. Anticipation and danger felt one step away, but this time, Jack Daniels wasn’t even a little bit afraid.

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels x you #jack daniels x reader #kingsman #maybe i don't know people

[bittydragon]

Blame the Cookies

Notes: Lemme tell y’all, this one was fun to write. This combination of humans and borrowers for the Sleepy Bois is probably one of my favorites (maybe that’s why it’s this combination for Minicraft-). These dumbasses have my heart. Fun fact: the title of the doc I wrote this on before I had a title was literally “Dumbass T!Tommy and T!Wilbur (But like lovingly)”. Just in case y’all find that entertaining. Cause I don’t remember titling it that. I wrote that at like midnight a couple days ago and when I went to finish writing the story that’s the title I came back to.

On most days, Wilbur would never have allowed Tommy to go borrowing. Tommy was rather reckless and put the two borrowers into enough close calls for comfort. Tommy had come to the point of accepting that Wilbur did the borrowing. Instead, Tommy was given the task of protecting their little home in the walls. He has actually gotten rather good and could make a mean trap and take down a small rat. The latter was a fact they found out by pure accident and one they did not want to repeat.

Today was not most days. Tommy found himself strapping his needle to his belt, along with a new borrowing hook that Wilbur gave to him that morning. Apparently, Wilbur was super proud of the progress they made together in establishing their new home and that he felt they deserved a small reward for themselves. It had taken them around three months to have everything in order and perfect, but it was worth the wait. Plus, Tommy isn’t going to pass up an opportunity to go borrowing.

“You all ready, Tommy?” Tommy glanced up to see his brother leaning against the entrance to their little hole. Wilbur had a fond smile on his face and Tommy couldn’t help but return the smile as he stood up with his stuff.

“Yep! All ready for our borrowing trip!” He bounded over to Wilbur. Wilbur chuckled and ruffled Tommy’s hair, earning himself a small whine.

“Let’s go then, you little gremlin child.” Tommy didn’t even complain about the nickname, too focused on the fact that he was actually going borrowing. It may not be borrowing alone, but Wilbur is bringing him along for a borrowing trip, and a special one at that. Tommy was still unsure on why it was going to be special but he decided he could wait a few more minutes to find out. He didn’t want to annoy Wilbur and make him regret bringing Tommy along.

Tommy followed Wilbur through the confusing twists and turns of the walls. He was glad Wilbur was with him, he doesn’t go this far out so he would have gotten lost very easily. It felt like a maze in there, but Wilbur seemed to know exactly where they were going.

A few more minutes of stumbling through the walls later, Wilbur stopped at what originally looked like a handhold in the wall. He grabbed it and pulled the wood, sliding it away to reveal a small entrance onto what seemed to be the kitchen counter.

Wilbur peeked out for a moment before gesturing for Tommy to follow him onto the countertop. Tommy did so gladly, taking in the fact that he was actually out and borrowing with his brother. 

The two borrowers stopped seemingly in the middle of the counter. Tommy was about to question his brother when Wilbur brought out his hook and threw it expertly upwards. It latched onto a silver handle above them. With a heavy tug, the cabinet door swung slightly open and Wilbur brought his hook back down. He turned to the confused Tommy and gave him a small grin.

“How about you try and land your hook up there for climbing?” Tommy’s expression lit up as he grabbed his hook. He looked at where he was aiming before tossing the hook upwards. It landed on the cabinet shelf but before he could celebrate Wilbur gave it an experimental tug and the hook came falling back down.

“That was a good throw for your first time in a while! You just need to be sure it won’t move. Go ahead and try again.” Tommy turned back to the cabinet and threw the hook once again, focusing more on the hook catching the shelf. This time, it landed on the shelf and hooked slightly into the soft wood. Wilbur smiled and ruffled Tommy’s hair.

“Much better! Think you can climb it now?” Wilbur challenged Tommy. Wilbur threw his own hook up and it hooked right onto the shelf.

“Of course I can climb! I’m not no baby!” With a laugh, the two raced up their strings. Wilbur made it up seconds before Tommy. They both laid down on the shelf for a moment to catch their breaths.

They both sent each other shit-eating grins, too out of breath to use words but getting the message across to one another. They both enjoyed the race. 

The borrowers stumbled to their feet a few seconds later and pulled their hooks back up in case someone decided to come into the kitchen. It was easier to hide in the cabinet than scramble to pull the string out of sight if needed.

Wilbur walked towards a strange package as Tommy followed, still thoroughly confused.

“Wilbur, can I please know what we’re doing now?” Tommy decided that if Wilbur wasn’t going to tell him that it was finally time to annoy his brother. They were most likely too close to their goal that Wilbur wouldn’t turn them around now. Wilbur shot Tommy a smug grin.

“Well Tommy, this cabinet has most of the sweeter foods, like those strange squishy fruit things that you liked that one time.” “Really? They have those in here?” Tommy was excited. The only ever time he got to have the strange fruit snack things was in a past house where there were two small children. The other houses they lived in didn’t have any.

The excitement was cut short when they heard voices coming from outside. The borrowers froze for a moment before scrambling to hide behind the nearest object. The strange blue package wasn’t very tall but it was enough for the two borrowers to lay down behind to hide.

“Phil, please. We’ve had popcorn the last three movie nights.” “C’mon, mate! Popcorn is a classic movie snack.” Tommy heard the deeper voiced human groan at the response, eliciting a laugh from the other human. “Alright fine. We still have a package of Oreos, right? We should probably get around to eating those before they get stale. We’ll eat those instead for tonight’s movie night.” A sigh of relief was heard at the statement.

“I can work with that. We can return to popcorn next time. I just need a break from popcorn.” Another laugh sounded from the second human. Tommy could only wonder what the humans were talking about. He didn’t know what popcorn or Oreos were, only that they must be a human snack of some sorts.

The borrowers tensed up when the cabinet door opened up. The door to the cabinet they were hiding in. Tommy watched in horror as a large hand reached in and grabbed the package they were hiding in. Wilbur went wide-eyed and grabbed Tommy’s arm in a tight grip. At this point they could only hope the human just closed the cabinet door and leave instead of looking back in the cabinet.

As it turned out though, they had horrible luck. Both borrowers ended up staring at a big pink haired human, whose gaze was just as shocked as theirs. A few seconds of tense silence followed before the human shifted uncomfortably.

“Uh, Phil. We got, um, tiny people? Uh yea, tiny people in our cabinet.” Wilbur began to frantically look around for somewhere they could escape to. Inside of the cabinet though, there was nowhere for them to escape too, the exit was on the counter. Tommy continued to stare at the human, frozen in place.

“Tiny what now? Do you need sleep, Techno? Are you seeing things mate- Oh.” The other human’s voice softened into a whisper at the sight of the two borrowers. Wilbur pulled Tommy slightly behind him in a protective stance with a small glare. Wilbur was not letting them get Tommy. Tommy only peered over Wilbur’s shoulder in fear and awe of the humans in front of them.

“Are you two alright? You seem very shaken.” Wilbur shifted farther in front of Tommy, only hardening his glare. Tommy knew how fake his confidence was due to how he was shaking, but opted not to say anything.

“Fuck off.”

The borrowers took a step back as the pink haired human let out a sudden bark of laughter. He looked towards the borrowers, specifically Wilbur, and grinned.

“Oh I like you.” A look of confusion spread across Wilbur’s face at that statement. He told the humans to fuck off and one of them ‘liked him?’ What was happening?

The blonde human sighed and nudged the pinkette to the side. He looked at the two in the cabinet with a small apologetic look.

“Apologies for my son. He’s a strange one for sure.” The bigger human let out a small, amused huff at that, but said nothing. “My name is Phil. What are you two doing in here?”

“Borrowing.” Wilbur kept his responses short and ignored the human giving them his name. He just wanted false trust from the borrowers before imprisoning them.

Phil tilted his head to the side, much like a bird, in confusion. “Borrowing? What do you mean by that?”

“I think they mean scavenging for food.” Phil and the borrowers turned to the other human in the room. He just gestured at the borrowers. “Phil, they are literally in the food cabinet. Why else would they be in here?” Phil glared at him.

“Techno please. Let them answer.” 

Wilbur only continued to keep a straight face and look for any opportunity to escape. He was beginning to realize an opportunity may not come though. They would have to get their hooks out for a safe descent. Jumping from here would certainly kill them.

Tommy watched on as Phil chastised the other human, now identified as Techno, about allowing him and Wilbur to talk. He was confused by these humans. He thought by now they would have been grabbed or thrown into a jar. But the humans were only talking about manners.

It was weird. So Tommy decided to do his own thing.

“Excuse me.” The humans stopped their talking and turned to Tommy. He felt unnerved by the eyes now trained on him. Even Wilbur turned his gaze towards Tommy, completely shocked. Tommy took a deep breath. He got their attention at least.

“I don’t want to drag this out. I’m scared and don’t want me or my brother to be hurt. But,” he took a deep breath, noting the sad look that crossed Phil’s face, “I would like to know what you’re going to do to us.” Even Techno seemed saddened by Tommy’s words. Wilbur just solemnly pulled Tommy into his arms and rubbed his shoulder in what little comfort he could offer.

“Kid, I- we don’t want to hurt you. We’re just confused. It’s not every day you see people who are only as big as your hand, you know?” Tommy was surprised that it was Techno that spoke first. Phil seemed to be in a sad shock still. Tommy just nodded mutely, not too sure how to respond. He could only hope these two weren’t faking.

“If it helps, my name is Techno. Though you may have already known that.” Tommy took a deep breath. If these humans wanted him to trust them, then he would give it a shot.

“My name’s Tommy.” 

Techno shot him a small smile and Wilbur squeezed his shoulder. Tommy watched as Phil finally seemed to snap out of whatever trance he was in. Phil gave the borrowers a soft smile.

“It’s wonderful to meet you Tommy. And you as well, Tommy’s brother.” Wilbur nodded as Phil spoke.

“Wilbur.” Phil smiled softly at that.

“Well then, it’s good to meet you too, Wilbur.” Tommy noticed that Wilbur finally let himself relax a bit more. Trusting the humans seemed to be coming easier and easier. Tommy was glad Wilbur seemed to feel the same way.

They watched as Techno shifted on his feet, moving the package into his left hand. Both borrowers froze as the human slowly reached a hand into the cabinet. He set his hand down in front of the borrowers with his palm facing upwards. 

Wilbur was about to pull Tommy deeper into the cabinet until he looked up at the human. Techno actually looked nervous and it seemed like he was trying to look anywhere but at the borrowers.

“I thought you guys would need a lift out of there? Sorry, dumb thought of mine I’ll just-” He cut himself off as Wilbur let go of Tommy and walked towards Techno’s hand. Techno froze and stared at Wilbur. Wilbur glanced up at Techno, aware that the human’s gaze was now trained on him. He took a deep breath before setting his hands onto Techno’s hand and pulling himself onto the hand.

Tommy watched as Wilbur settled down onto the hand before he was lifted closer to the human. He was scared, but seeing the way that Techno looked at his brother in nothing but amazement, he began to relax. He then moved his gaze towards Phil who was looking at Techno and Wilbur with an amazement of his own. 

Phil then glanced over to Tommy, who was now standing awkwardly on the cabinet shelf still. Tommy quickly noticed that Phil’s gaze was now on him and moved to stare Phil down. They had a small staring contest until Tommy suddenly lifted his arms in the air, much like a toddler would when they wanted to be picked up.

Phil was frozen for another moment before tentatively moving his hand towards Tommy. He was ready to pull away as soon as Tommy seemed uncomfortable. But Tommy kept a determined look on his face and allowed Phil’s hand to wrap around his body and lift him upwards. Phil settled Tommy onto his other hand and stared at Tommy in awe. Tommy couldn’t help but smile.

The four of them stayed in silence for another minute, just taking in the whole situation. Eventually, Techno broke the silence by clearing his throat. He was looking anywhere but at Wilbur. Tommy assumed Wilbur caught the human staring at him in awe based off of Wilbur’s amused smirk.

“I think movie night is off, but um, we can still sit on the couch and eat cookies?” Phil smiled and nodded.

“Yea, sounds like a good idea. You two alright with this?” Tommy nodded excitedly up at Phil while Wilbur just gave a short nod. Tommy seemed to trust these humans rather quickly.

The humans made their way to the living room and sat side by side on the couch, borrowers in hand. The rest of the night was filled with soft spoken conversations and laughter as the borrowers tried the Oreos that got them caught in the first place. For such an evil cookie they tasted very good. Tommy decided they weren’t so evil though because the humans seemed nice enough.

As it got later into the night, it also became apparent that everyone was getting tired. It was also becoming apparent that nobody wanted to move as well.

Techno had shifted so that he was laying with his head in Phil’s lap and Wilbur hugged close to his chest like a stuffed animal. Phil was leaning against the armrest with his hand over Tommy positioned on his chest, completely passed out. They all fell asleep on the couch without a word.

And when they all woke up on the couch in the morning, nobody said anything about it. They all acted as if it was a normal everyday situation. And if more cuddle sessions happened in the future, nobody said anything about those either.

#mcyt #mcyt gt #tiny!tommy #tiny!wilbur #giant!techno #giant!phil #human!techno #human!philza #tommyinnit #wilbur soot #technoblade #philza #sleepy bois inc #bitty writes #writing requests go brrrrrr #gonna get them done I promise #I should probably work on my two projects as well though #ahhhhhhh #help #I have no organization skills #but this was so cute to write #love me some good gt cuddles #and gt interactions #my boys gotta get some love #at least before I dump angst on them in my projects #for now we get cuddles

[sleepwellmyprince]

yeah so one of my friends just dumped me so i’m gonna write some of my faves comforting me about it, hope y’all can maybe relate to it or enjoy it! :’)

Josiah Trelawny, Micah Bell, Charles Smith, and Javier Escuella Comfort G/N Reader

Josiah Trelawny

Nobody really confides in him, so it’s a first for him, especially when it’s somethin something so hard for you to deal with

When you first come to him, he can sense something is wrong, and ushers you to someplace a bit more private.

You eventually say that your closest friend had practically left you for dead earlier that day in a stagecoach robbery gone wrong.

“I’m deeply sorry, my dear. I always had an off feeling about them.”

He’ll do his best to comfort you, mostly distracting you from it though.

He’ll soothe you first, gently playing with your hair and placing a small smooch on your forehead

After that he’ll show you some little magic tricks, even teaching you some, being extra endearing while he teaches them to you

Of course he’ll be there if you need a shoulder to cry on, and he’ll always treat you fabulously after

A fancy candlelit dinner and a show afterward in San Denis, with his utmost fanciest top hat to go along with it

Josiah doesn’t go after this person, he isn’t the type to do that. But if he ever sees them in person, he’ll certainly tell them off.

He likes to have a bit of class, especially if he’s going to go about threatening someone. He’ll pull out his fancily engraved pistol and point it to their chin.

“If you come near (Y/N) again, I can assure you there will be dire consequences. You best be on your way now, hm?”

Micah Bell

Micah can tell when you’re upset, mostly because you’re not cheeky with him as you usually are

He asks you what happened, and you explain that your friend abandoned you on a job gone wrong today.

Needless to say, his blood begins to boil. How dare somebody betray you?

He wants to go after them, kill them for nearly killing you, but you barely convince him that it isn’t worth his time.

He’s probably angrier than you are about it, until he realizes that it isn’t about him, and actually tries to comfort you

“Damn bastard.. Shit, darlin’ c’mon. Let’s go do somethin’ fun.”

He’s the kinda guy that feels better with either robberies, or hard alcohol. He lets you choose which, and you end up drinking the next couple nights away.

It actually makes you feel a lot better, as alcohol tends to do that to a person.

He’ll pat his lap and have you sit on him, holding you close, tickling the back of your neck with his mustache

He does that on purpose, just to hear you giggle. He’s not very good at comforting people but he’ll try his damndest.

Micah eases up on the teasing, however once you start (playfully) bickering with him again, he’s back to normal

He actually comes across your friend some time after you two hang out, and boy does he get mad.

His anger comes back to him since you are gone, and ends up shooting them straight between the eyes.

Everyone around him is shocked, and he threatens to kill anyone else that is brave enough to squeal to the cops.

“Y’all better scurry off now, this was very personal business.”

Charles Smith

Charles immediately senses something is wrong when you’re more quiet around him.

He’ll ask what’s wrong and you explain that you were left for dead on a bad job.

He apologizes first off, saying he knew how close you two were. He doesn’t seem angry though, but it does set off a fire inside of him,

He wonders why anyone would betray you. You’re the sweetest thing, practically an angel in his eyes

He decides to comfort you as best as he can, holding you close and giving gentle kisses to your face.

He asks what you wish to do, and you decide on spending time with him rather than take vengeance.

He takes you out for a ride on his horse, having you sit snuggly behind him. You’ll go on a little camping trip with him for a day or two in the Lavender Fields by Hanging Dog Ranch

You’ll go hunting together, maybe even fishing, and just enjoy nature together. He even makes you a little flower crown

He showers you in affection, little smooches, pet names, everything you could dream of.

He treats you well through the whole trip - of course, he treats you well all the time, but today he makes you feel extra special

“You deserve everything that is good in the world, my flower. I’ll do my best to give you a part of that.”

When you get back to camp, Charles makes sure you are well enough to go out on your own. Once you are he goes into town and ends up crossing paths with your friend

He gets a little angry when he spots them, but manages to hold his composure well.

He first wants to just ignore them, so he goes into the store in search for a present for you. He ends up choosing a little doll that reminds him of you.

Coming out of the store, he bumps into them, so he confronts them

“You better stay out of me and (Y/N)’s way, or else you’ll be the one left behind, friend.”

He doesn’t do much more than that, riding back to camp to give you your present. He doesn’t mention meeting your friend along the way, just wanting you to be happy.

Javier Escuella

You see Javier back at camp, he’s quite focused on sharpening his knife, playing around with it as well

He greets you cheerfully, but can sense something wrong, so he gestures for you to sit beside him, setting his knife down.

You explain that you’d been abandoned by your friend today, left to die.

Javier is infuriated by this - you both know that loyalty means everything to him.

He asks if you want to go after them, but you decline, just wanting to spend time with him.

You lean your weight onto his side, and he holds you close for a while. Just his warm embrace makes you feel so much better.

“I will always be there for you, mi rosa. Now come, let me spoil you rotten.”

After a moment he whips out his guitar and starts playing some romantic songs for you, a few you know so that you can sing along to them

Once he’s done playing for the time being, he cuddles with you for a while, just reassuring you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear

He plays with your hair, caressing your sides, holding your hands and smooching the backs of them. He really knows how to make you feel special, that’s for damn sure.

He makes sure you’re happy when it’s time for him to leave, and thankfully when he goes into town, he sees your friend there.

As much as he wants to listen to what you said, he can’t help but feel disgusted with your friend.

He doesn’t speak to your friend as he steps up to them, before swiftly shooting them in the foot.

“Next time I’ll shoot you in the head if you even dare to get close to (Y/N). You understand, pal?”

#i haven’t written much in a while so... i hope you guys like it 👉👈 #rdr2 #rdr #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #josiah trelawny #charles smith #micah bell #javier escuella #gender neutral reader #GN reader #rdr imagine #rdr2 imagine