#I hope they remember the feel of the gallop beneath them

[triflesandparsnips]

"izzy hits on jim" you cultists are so delusional it's disgusting.

Hello, my darling, faceless wonder! Did you mean to stumble here? The woods are dangerous, dark and deep. I come here often, though; let me pull you up so that you may ride pillion behind me on this rather nice pale horse I suddenly seem to have in my possession.

Have you ever ridden, dear one? No? Me neither! It's certain to be an adventure.

(Feel the hoofbeats beneath us? There are bells ringing. Hide your face if you must, my sweet-- I don't need it to know the beat of your heart, too fast, too raging, your hands clasped unwilling around my breast as we both try not to fall from a beast that moves too fast.)

And here's something they don't tell you about riding: It is said that light turns red the slower time goes-- which must explain the blood lapping now against the horse's knees; that must explain the unending ride with no sun, no stars, just a forest stretching out before us. It gives us too much time to think on how we came to be on this path, locked together despite our best intentions: I pulled you up, yes, but it was you who traveled to my woods, who picked the double-rose-- wait, no. That's a different story.

(In that one, the two characters were lovers, but I doubt that's where our story leads. This one leads to Scottish balladeers with a penchant for truthtelling, though, so perhaps we might consider whether fiction doesn't really have much by way of significance within the real world.)

I should mention too that at this point, narratively speaking, we should also be hearing the roaring of the sea. And maybe there is an ocean somewhere beyond the treeline, full of ships that sail in circles and songless shantymen and storylines we have no say in. It's a nice thought. Perhaps it exists for people not currently stuck on horseback, though, so--

--and suddenly, the forest clears.

Not to the sea. Not yet. Instead the trees part, the red washes back, and three paths grow before us. The horse's gallop does not break. The paths get no closer but rather, somehow, longer.

I know a plot device when I see one; I can guess at the dialogue that comes next.

I raise my hand and point. "Dear one, do you see that narrow road, all beset with thorns and briars? That, love, is the road to righteousness, though after it but few enquire."

(It's not in the script here, but I'd be remiss if I didn't add: "Righteousness seems like it rather lacks reward for you; but meanwhile, it's given me a nice excuse to write up an adventure wherein a mysterious anon stranger is now hopelessly enamored with me and my taste in balladry. Granted, this bit of flimflam has approximately as much meaning as literally any other story or shipwar -- which is to say, none -- but I'm still having a nice time. Which begs the question: What has it given you?")

The play's not done-- I point again. "Sweetheart, do you see that wide, clear road that lies across the lily leaven? That is the road to wickedness, though some call it the road to Heaven."

("I mean, are you actually having fun with this? Searching out ways to be unhappy? Because this one certainly is a search-- you picked one bingo square that happened to turn up in a randomized image file to declare your outrage. Dear one, there are over 900 different options in that generator. This one isn't even that positive! The overall index contains significantly more Izzy-positive -- and significantly more Izzy-negative, for that matter -- options for you to be horrified by, and with the wonder of Writing Fiction, any one of them can be turned positive or negative with the flick of a word. But, getting back to the point of the ballad: Anger for the sake of anger, at paths you perceive other people taking... isn't it exhausting? How glad you must be to have a moment's rest on horseback here with me; how glad I am you tripped!")

And then there's the last, at last, last and waiting for us:

"Don't you see our best and brightest road? It lies across the grass-green waves." (And that's not a mistake-- the road is curling out into water, and there, there in the distance, the promise of a ship full of idiots we want to see dash about for our entertainment.) "That," I whisper, and hold your hand tighter, "is the road to reasonable engagement with narrative devices in fiction; where you and I tonight must go."

The horse's gallop doesn't pause, and the roads don't seem to come any closer, but-- come, love, come along with me. We're on this horse together. We might as well enjoy the ride.

#our flag means death #and the typical self-implosion of a fandom #right on time #but bless their boots #I'm guessing 17 years old in their bio maybe #or 25 and lying about it #and this is the first fandom they've ever cared about #the first time they've felt that rush of so much so hard so bright and burning #(it's hard to be young and in love on the internet) #and when the fall comes and they feel like they'll never love again #I hope they remember the feel of the gallop beneath them #and someone who held their hand for a moment even when they were desperate to claw and bite #('enemies to lovers' future biopic applicant)

[scribbling-dragon]

the very lonely giraffe

summary:

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands. So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains.

(ao3 link)

(3,750 words)

uh! yeah! that finale sure was something, and here's something that i decided to write after seeing this post by @stiffyck (hope you like it hdjsshjk <3)

(also hint hint nudge nudge reblogs are pretty funky <;3)

The grass swishes beneath his feet, the susurrus of his legs against the grass as he moves through it becoming familiar to his ears. He cuts through the tall grass easily, long legs eating up ground with each stride he makes. Legs that feel oddly shaky right now, trembling with each pulsing beat of his heart.

He can’t tell if it’s reluctance – some kind of fear that’s only just beginning to rear its head as his heart continues to thump louder and louder, beating in his ears as a mockery of war drums; something warning that every step brings him closer to the inevitability of winning, or dying trying.

It’s stupid to begin to feel this kind of reluctance now. Stupid to feel the shaking of his hands, the trembling of his fingers as they line up along the string of his bow. Stupid, to begin to feel a swirl of regret deep in his gut, despite the layers of blood already lathering his hands – blood that he put on his own hands as he seized the lives of his friends in those very same hands.

So maybe – maybe maybe maybe –that’s why he can’t resist the pull forwards. The urge to follow the bloody trail of who he and Pearl hunt over the grassy plains. He’s drawn forwards, pulled into the orbit of this roaring flame, like a moth that can’t quite resist the alluring light promising warmth and safety. But in this case, he is the moth and the flame is an assurance of violence.

He stumbles, drawing to an unsteady halt; slowing from a gallop to a gentle jog as Pearl pulls up beside him.

“Scar,” she huffs out, sounding far more strained than he expected her too. He looks over as she groans, doubling over and leaning against her knees. He’s worried, for a moment, that she’s been mortally wounded, somehow and he’s about to lose her to bleeding out, of all things. “Just- remember that your legs are longer than mine. Please.”

And oh. That makes so much more sense. He lets out a relieved breath that almost turns into a laugh, but he manages to staunch it at just a giggle. Of course she was struggling to keep up with him, he’s so much faster than her!

“I also have double the number of legs that you do,” he adds. He’s forced to lean over to the side, a little awkwardly, in order to close the distance between them. Being forced to shout up at him is probably not helping Pearl’s efforts to catch her breath. He still feels awkward, despite being forced to lean over like this the whole time in order to put himself a little more on their level – an awkwardness that he’s managed, so far, to blame most of his allyship (or lack of) issues on.

He still feels awkwardly far away from his friend – is friend even the right word for someone that could end up dying at his hands later? Is it the right word for someone that is his friend, but only outside of this game? Is it the right word for someone that is only friends with him right now because they are all the other has left? – widening the space between his legs in order to lower himself that tiny bit more.

He would consider sitting down at any other time, folding the four gangly legs beneath himself in order to better speak with Pearl. But that is not a weakness he’s looking to invite; standing up again would take far too long, leaving him vulnerable to a surprise attack before he manages to regain both his feet and his balance.

Gem and Scott are long gone by now, escaping like the slippery snakes that they are. Slithering away into the tall grass to lick their wounds and prepare their next attack.

“They're long gone,” he echoes his thoughts aloud, watching as Pearl straightens back up, apparently having managed to regain her breath. Or at least enough of it that she no longer feels the need to hunch over and just breathe. “We should regather ourselves, get whatever else we need.”

He turns around, hooves clopping against the baked earth, ready to do just that. Maybe slightly anxious to get moving, to do something. He only has a few supplies, but he’s sure that they can be spread between the two of them, albeit a little thinly…

“Scar,” he feels Pearl’s hand on his flank, the sensation almost making him jolt at its unfamiliarity. He manages to reign the reaction in and pauses his steps instead, thoughts halting too as he looks back down at her. Pearl’s hand rests lightly over one of the larger blotches on his side. The brown of the fur is too dark to actually be brown, closer to black than the typical markings you would find on a giraffe.

He makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat when she doesn’t continue, but doesn’t pull her hand away either. She seems lost in thought, eyes searching his face, as though in consideration. Then, as though she’s been shocked, her eyes dart away, fastening onto a patch of bare ground just in front of her feet. “Look,” she breathes out slowly, raising her head to meet his eyes as he hunches down again, worried at her uncharacteristic solemnity, “Scar. At the end of the day, when we’ve finished off Scott, when all is said and done, I want you to kill me.”

He rears back, mouth moving before his brain can catch up- can even begin to comprehend what it is that Pearl is suggesting to him. For him to do. Her hand, a warm presence on his side, falls away as he backs up, leaving him feeling cold all over. Like someone’s just dumped a bucket of ice over his head.

“I'm not gonna kill you Pearl!” His voice may come out a bit more panicky than he intended, but he doesn’t care much – can’t find it in himself to care when his brain is struggling to process what it is that Pearl is wanting him to do – the decision she’s making on his behalf. His legs feel shakier than before, and he’s momentarily worried they won’t support him at all. “I’ve wronged you too many times recently,” he follows up with, a little quieter than before. A little sadder.

“I- Scar,” Pearl emphasises his name, as though that’s meant to mean something to him. Like it’s going to sway him to agree with her. He shakes his head stubbornly, gritting his jaw and preparing himself to argue further. She must realise this, as she stares up at him a moment longer before sighing, shoulders drooping. “Whatever you say.”

“You can’t just say something like that to me,” he laughs, even though it feels strained, as though it might crack his chest apart from the sorrow behind it, barely contained within his ribcage. “My poor heart just can’t cope!” he sings, aware that he’s being over the top, that he’s overdoing it all. Pearl still cracks a grin, though.

Maybe she can sense what he’s doing with his words, with the way he gestures too widely and smiles even wider, steering her back towards the remnants of his base, to root through the half-exploded chests and hope that the items inside aren’t burnt to a crisp.

They don’t even make it past the Secret Keeper.

Pearl’s the one that stops him, throwing an arm out in front of him. He doesn’t notice it, only registering the blockade when his front legs bump up against her arm, halting and looking down at her. Maybe he should work on being more aware of his surroundings, maybe he should have been paying a little more attention in order to keep an eye out for the people actively hunting them down.

Gem’s eyes gleam as she stares over at them, stood on higher ground than Scott. His head is bowed before her. Gem’s lips move quickly, but they're too far away to hear what they're talking about. Gem doesn’t look at them for longer than a few seconds, but it’s enough to pin him in place, keep him rooted to the spot despite how easy it would be line up a shot and take Scott’s life right that moment.

There’s a flash of blue – a sword drawn, are they turning on each other? – and then the unmistakable sound of flesh being parted forcefully. He feels a little sick as he watches the sword poke out Scott’s back, a little to the left of his spine.

His jacket quickly soaks through with blood, darkening as it continues to pour. Scott, brave man, doesn’t make a single sound, simple collapses where he stands. It leaves Gem scrambling to pull him into her arms, dragging the sword back out of his chest.

He feels like he’s intruding on a quiet, private moment – both of them are, really.

Gem doesn’t look at them once. He feels his fingers twitch over the string of his both, an arrow balanced loosely against it. He could line it up, take Gem out while she grieves over her friend, her ally, the one she’s put to death herself.

He doesn’t, finger continuing to twitch as he goes back and forth between drawing his bow at all.

An explosion echoes overhead, reaching every corner of the server. As though there is anyone left beside the three of them, gathered in this small corner of the world. The explosion echoes far and wide, as though there are more people to hear it than just them.

“Oh,” Pearl says beside him, the sound of the explosion still ringing in his ears, the blood on Gem’s front not fading. “He…gave her the kill. Gave her that small reprieve.”

He feels his mouth go dry at the discovery, watching as Gem looks up at them, away from where Scott had lain previously, face splattered with gore that might belong to her enemies, but could also belong to her allies – to Scott. He can’t see her expression properly from this distance, as she disappears too quickly for him to try and see it any better.

He doesn’t look at Pearl, ignores the way he can feel her looking up at him, imploring him to take that kill too. To go into that final fight with his wounds stinging a little less, his energy slightly replenished.

His legs continue to shake, and he can’t lie to himself – he’s long past lying to himself, except about the little things, not big things like this – and say that the idea isn’t tempting. Cannot say the thought wouldn’t sway him slightly if he were anywhere else. If it were anyone other than a friend beside him; if it were an ally of convenience rather than someone he cares for.

Call him selfish, maybe, but he wants someone beside him in these last moments. Doesn’t want to be the one to cut down his one friend – one remaining friend, he had a few in the hours before this, only had friends as everything went to hell around them – when they could charge against Gem together. She’s scraped and beaten, the same as both of them despite the small boon Scott granted her. But there is two of them and only one of them. Two of them, when she is used to having two others at her back, ready to support her when she needs to fall back.

He steps forward, attempting to appear confident. He can only hope Pearl doesn’t notice his shaking, the way his legs tremble like leaves in a breeze and the discomforted swish of his tail.

He gives a small laugh, hoping that it might bolster his confidence. Make him feel a little less sick to his stomach. The feeling only worsens, bile rising in the back of his throat as he speaks, “Let’s go put her out of her misery, yeah? Maybe she wants to join her friends!”

Pearl makes a small noise, one that could either be an agreement or a hesitance. Scar ignores it, continuing to step forward, before he's lightly jogging, covering the distance quickly. He’s worried his legs will get tangled up amongst themselves, feeling as shaky and ungainly as a newborn calf.

He barely notices Pearl beside him, feeling so tall, so far away from the ground and the rest of the world that goes on around him. Oddly separate, even as Gem perks up, readying herself and her sword when they approach, when they corner her beside the Secret Keeper.

He draws his bow first, dancing out the way carefully as Gem goes for the legs first. Smart move, one he’d probably use in her place – take out his legs and he won’t be able to run anymore, won’t be able to go anywhere.

Pearl crashes against her with a scraping of steel and apologies, the two of them apologising for each clash of blades they have with each other. Apologising for every scrape of steel and every nick of skin. Pearl shoves Gem back, away from the tangling twist of limbs and swords, enough for Scar to line up his shot and take it.

Gem hisses, staggering back as the arrow pierces her shoulder, going straight to the bone.

She turns her eyes back to him, something furious flashing in the depths of her red eyes. Something born of desperation and fear, something that only rolls about once someone believes they are cornered. A frightened animal lashing out despite being on its last legs.

She may be going down, her eyes seem to promise, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t take at least one of them with her.

He has to properly leap back when Gem lunges at him, batting Pearl aside easily as she chases him. His hooves make deep grooves in the dirt as he attempts to escape the blow, taking it on his side rather than straight through him.

He still winces at the sting, kicking at her and shoving her further backwards. He can’t draw his sword – there’s no point in drawing that weapon when he won’t even be able to reach her. He shoots off another arrow, one easily dodged at such close range.

He startles as Pearl barrels into Gem with a shout, the two tumbling over the ground, more like a pair of wildcats fighting as they claw at each other. He watches Pearl rip through half of Gem’s face, fingers curled into claws.

It makes Gem cry out furiously, throwing her head upwards and goring Pearl across the face with her antlers. Pearl falls back, grasping at her face as something – Scar doesn’t even know what, stood on the sidelines like a fool – begins to bleed profusely.

Gem spins on him, and charges with a cry.

He doesn’t expect the arrow to be what does her in. Doesn’t expect her to die to his hands at all. He’d been stood there, aware that he was probably about to watch two of his friends rip each other apart in the name of a game.

He shoots it with shaking hands, a last-ditch effort to not die at this moment, at this crucial point in time. Still grasping for that final win, despite how firmly out of reach it really is.

It sinks into Gem’s chest with an awful, solid sounding thunk.

The sound alone makes him sick, tears already beginning to bead in his eyes, shaking his head as he backs up, raising his hands in defence. He doesn’t even notice the bow slipping from his fingers, doesn’t notice the way his hoof crushes it beneath him, grinds it into the ground.

Gem glances down, as though surprised at the arrow sticking out of her chest too, looking back up as the explosion sounds and she’s struck down. The lightning wipes her away, as though she was never there in the first place.

“Pearl!” he calls, turning in a circle as he looks for her. She’s nowhere nearby, explosion continuing to ring longer in his ears than it probably should – still echoing through the air around him, crackling with electricity.

Maybe she’s down in the ravine nearby, he tells himself. He leans over the edge exaggeratedly, looking for her. She’s not there, he knows that. She’s probably somewhere behind him, lining up a shot at the back of his head.

He’ll let her take it – she deserves it far more than he does. She’s done far more in this than he has, been far nicer to him than he really deserves.

He lowers himself to the ground properly when the shot fails to come, settling himself at the edge. He won’t be moving anywhere quickly now, and Pearl will know that. Will shoot him now, now that her arrows will find their target; there’s no risk of her missing and startling him anymore.

And yet, the arrow fails to come, still.

The air seems to sigh around him, breeze stirring the grass he sits in. It brushes over his face gently, like the cradling, careful touch of a loved one.

“Pearl, I'm coming for you!” He heaves himself to his feet, wobbling precariously on the edge of that ravine. And, oh, Gem cut him a little deeper than he realised, blood sluicing off his fur and down to the ground. It patters like a morbid rainfall over the grass there. He turns, a little unsteadily, and prays he doesn’t topple into the ravine like a fool. “Where’d you go?” he calls out again, “I'm gonna getcha!”

She’s dead, Scar, the heavens sigh. You’ve won.

The heavens seem to have a suspiciously Grian-like voice, echoing down at him as though the man is speaking a thousand times over, each repetition layering itself over the previous until it reaches the echoing crescendo that has him cringing slightly.

“What?” he laughs. “C’mon, don't mess with me like that!” No response comes, even when he looks around, waiting for Pearl to emerge from whatever hiding spot she’s found herself and to declare the final showdown between the two of them.

“Oh, c’mon,” he murmurs, more to himself than anything else. Maybe it’s a last, desperate plea for Pearl to jump out at him. Maybe it’s a struggle to accept what’s being shoved in his face. Pearl doesn’t hesitate, not even over hard decisions. “How’d that happen, huh? How’d the guy with no friends win?”

The air kicks up around him a little, pushing him in the direction of the Secret Keeper.

“I don't even have my book anymore,” he calls out to no-one. The silence responds as silence often does: not at all. He sighs, and begins the short yet long trek towards the Secret Keeper. “How am I even meant to hand in a task without a book,” he grumbles.

He can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes, can feel the way they threaten to spill over as the silence presses in around him.

His hooves echo awkwardly against the stone as he walks up to the Secret Keeper, looming over him ominously. “Uh, hey there,” he greets, as though the stone might respond if he tries hard enough. “I don't actually have my book!” He laughs again, shaking with both residual adrenaline and the knowledge of what’s to come. He’s watched all the previous winners, bar one, be struck down by the powers that be. He’s sure his own death will be no different. “Never really thought I’d get this far,” he adds, a small, quiet afterthought.

He leans down, the distance between him and the button nigh insurmountable. It clicks beneath his fingers gently, bouncing back up as he pulls his hand away.

He takes a step back, watching as the Secret Keeper draws power towards itself, coalescing into a bright white symbol over the hooded face. He glances back as the tension builds, half expecting to see all his friends gathered there, watching with anticipation to see what rewards he’ll gain.

There’s nothing there.

Empty space where someone once stood. Empty air where laughter once echoed. He’d even rather a chant of fail fail fail to the silence, pressing in around him.

There’s a small thump, and he turns back around. A book lies at his feet, even further from him than the button. It looks tiny, that far below him. The leather-bound book stares up at him, insignificant in the face of the last few hours.

He picks it up anyway, blood smearing over its front cover.

Curiosity drives him to flick it open, blood staining the white paper a deep crimson, blooming across the pages. Like he’s pressed for too long with a quill and the ink has begun to bleed.

Win Secret Life

It stares back at him. Mocking in its simplicity.

“Thank you!” He responds, “I didn’t have a book to complete it with, did I? Well, I have one now!”

He presses the button, book in hand, feeling the weight evaporate alongside it. He turns his face upwards, ready and waiting for the lightning to strike him down too, to claim its last victim. He closes his eyes, not exactly willing to see his death plummeting towards him.

There’s a small thump as something small lands on the ground, just in front of his hooves.

No, he thinks, and looks back down anyway.

This, it seems, is what does his shaking legs in. they give beneath him, folding as he crumples like wet paper. The book continues to sit there, taunting in its smugness. It has no face to grin with, but Scar can feel the disgustingly pleased aura radiating off of it anyway.

“So this is my reward,” he tells the book. “Thanks, I guess.”

His words are empty, devoid of any humour of actual thankfulness. As dead as the server around him.

Only bloodstained grass and the dried blood clumping beneath his nails remains of his friends. And yet he stays, he remains.

The air remains still, not even that gentle touch returning to promise him everything will be alright. They would be empty words, empty promises, but he’d prefer them to this.

“Aren’t you going to kill me?” he asks.

The Secret Keeper stares down at him, silent.

He’s not sure why he expected a response from it, really. It’s lifeless stone, as dead as the server around him.

#juno.writes #goodtimeswithscar #secret life smp #secret life spoilers #slsmp #secret life #secret life scar #gtws #gtwscar #slsmp fic #secret life fic #slsmp spoilers #trafficfic

[cinnaminyoons]

!!   taehyung

[ event masterlist ]

prince/guard

“give me your hands. i don’t care. give them to me.”

“love, for you, is terrifying. it’s like a religion. no one will want to sleep with you.”

the black stallion gallops in with a billowing cloud of dust. a white blaze streaks down its nose. it tosses its head and stamps impatiently against its bridle, whinnying regally, and its rider dismounts with effortless ease.

"fetch the stableboy," taehyung orders, dropping his leather riding gloves in your hand. you use the other to pick up the horse's reins, hushing it gently to ease it to walk behind his rider.

"the stableboy is otherwise occupied, my lord."

he scoffs, spinning on his heel to stare defiantly up at you. "not much of a knight, are you, then? handling the animals is below your station. remember that you represent my family – to see a member of the kingsguard stoop so low as to take his prince's horse would be an embarrassment to all of us."

"would you have preferred that i refuse to take your gloves, my lord?"

"that's not what i—" he purses his lips. his eyes flicker down to your lips, the slightest smidge of a smirk gracing them, and he leans in.

he brushes a speck of dust off your white cloak. his fingers linger a little too long on the intricate golden clasp, shaped like a rose, fastening the cloak to your armour.

a pretty sneer curls his lip. "still your tongue, guard, or i'll do it myself." he turns and strides away.

you watch him go with an unreadable expression. the horse tosses its head and snorts, as contemptuous as his rider, and you stroke the softness of the white blaze down his nose.

"you still don't get along all that well, do you?" you murmur, leading the stallion towards the castle stables. "two stubborn individuals with egos bigger than a dragon. i'm surprised you haven't yet thrown him. perhaps it's a feeling of kinship?"

the servants scurry around you, wide eyes following your figure as you sweep an easy path through them – they part like flesh beneath your sword. fear and awe lower their stares to their feet.

the stable-hands and their master surround a chestnut mare, aiding her through a difficult birth. a young boy's dark head shoots up at your entrance and his eyes widen, rushing over to take the prince's horse. he apologises rapidly and fervently, and offers to take the gloves.

you glance down at them. "no, thank you," you decide, giving the horse one last pat. "between you and i, i believe the prince can take care of his own gloves, for once."

you bow your head in farewell just as the foal slips out. it breathes. the mother lifts her head with universal relief.

the stableboy peers around the horse to admire the way the white cloak burns bright like a star against the drab browns and greys. his grip tightens on the reins – one day, he'll be a part of the kingsguard, too.

taehyung is snappish when you arrive in his chambers, arms crossed. his long dark curls bounce with each movement as if to expel his annoyance. he is dressed in his evening white-and-gold finery, which is a complete diversion from his preferred blues and blacks. "you certainly took your time."

"apologies, my lord. i see you managed to get dressed by yourself," you quip.

he uncrosses his arms and his calf-length longvest falls open over his bare chest and stomach. he lifts his hands with an inviting smirk, long-lashed dark eyes roguishly flirtatious. "well, not entirely, sir..."

you step closer, the clink of steel plates softer than others. where they flaunt their knighthood and status as part of the elite kingsguard, clanking around noisily to herald in their entrance, you understand what it means to protect the only heir to the throne. taehyung picked you out himself from the handful of hopefuls – you had seen war and knew how to fight like a soldier, rather than as a nobleman.

if you were to be the last line of defence between him and a killer, he would prefer it be done without the ridiculous sword-spinning.

he hums softly as your callused fingers skim over his unblemished skin, pushing the luxurious cloth down his bare shoulders. you pick up his white shirt, which boasts delicate sewn designs in the hem and stiff collar.

"you are far too old to require my help with your buttons," you tease, fixing his collar, "and you are already late. the princess must feel terrible."

"and yet, you do not hurry," he whispers, his gaze trained on the side of your face as you smooth his longvest over his chest and cinch the waist with his belt. the stiffened leather shoulders emphasise his angular jawline and soft pink cupid's bow. "alright. i can do the rest myself."

he reaches for his jewellery box. you place your hand atop his, keeping the carved wooden lid shut. his mouth opens, but your words come out first.

"allow me, my lord," you request, and he doesn't lean away when your lips near his. the sweetness of his breath warms your cheek and you smile as your trace the outline of his chin with a knuckle. "have you been stealing honeycakes from the kitchen, again?"

he huffs. "i'll be barely able to eat once we get there. it isn't much of a marriage feast if there's no feasting involved – though i suspect our guests will enjoy a plentiful supper."

you reach for his hand, his heavy gold signet ring grasped between three fingers. he recoils from it, and you sigh.

"prince, this is not up for discussion. your blood was fated to rule – show them what a kind and just king does for his people. history books will call you 'the peaceful' and you will wear it with pride. you must marry the girl and secure your claim to the throne. it is for all our sakes." you take his hand in your own. its softness never fails to inspire awe in you – you must take care of him. his touch must never become like yours. "this is the way of things, my darling. i understand this. you must, as well."

his face crumples. the mask of arrogance cracks, and beneath, all that remains is a boy who loves too hard and too much. you were never meant for him, no matter how hard he tries to will it so.

"but i don't love her." his voice falters. "i love you. after tomorrow, i will no longer be yours alone."

you stroke his soft hands, his thin artist's fingers. rarely have they held a sword, and you will keep it that way. "once you are king, you can do whatever you wish – and lay with whoever catches your eye. if that includes me, i promise that i won't disappoint."

he presses his cheek to your shoulder, closing his eyes. he wishes the cold steel breastplate, decorated with his family's insignia, was not in the way.

he pulls away, placing a hand on your chest to stop you from closing the gap. his gaze drops, though he lifts his head. "stop making a joke out of this," he mutters, and his eyes flicker up to yours. "it's not so simple. my hands are tied to this crown – my life is chained to it. soon enough, my father will drop a war on me, and these hands will be stained in innocent blood spilt because i am too much of a coward to give my own."

"are you telling me that because you believe your reign is destined for war and ruin, you're not allowed to love?"

he takes his hands and pulls them to his chest, rubbing his knuckles as he turns and approaches an arched window. the last dregs of daylight are fading quickly into blue. "i'm saying that you shouldn't dirty your white cloak with the blood i will draw, and that keeping a king alive during war is rather difficult, especially when feelings are involved. it's better if we stopped this – all of this. from dawn, you will be my guard, and nothing more."

"give me your hands."

taehyung tries to slip out of your grasp, but he does not try very hard, and easily accepts your embrace. he leans back against your chest, watching silently as you slip your fingers between his. he sighs, tugging them away. "darling..."

"i don't care. give me your hands."

at last, he allows you to take them and settle his gold signet ring over his knuckle. you bring it to your lips.

"you really love me so much?" he wonders, clasping your hand to his heart. he bumps his lips against it with wistful regret. "you'd die for love, wouldn't you?"

"would you have me any other way?" you reply gently. he smells like roses, and his boots are smeared with tiny streaks of golden pollen and dusted with red dirt. "if you believe that your hands are tainted, mine are filthy. when i took my oaths, i vowed before the gods that i would serve the king faithfully until my last breath; i intend to keep that promise, my lord. if you believe i will serve you best without another word spoken between us, then i shall cut out my tongue. if you would rather see me dead than laying with another, then i will carve my heart from my chest."

he gazes at you with something akin to admiration, and a smudge of curiosity passes over his features. he does not pull away. he does not fear you, but that little part of you – that which would slaughter armies to return to him – sends rows of tiny spikes up his spine. "and that is how you love?"

"forever and always, my darling."

"then love, for you, is terrifying." the wealthy gilded edges of his words flake like rust, and the commoner's tongue has never come from such sweet lips. "it's like a religion. no one will ever want to sleep with you."

"no one else, perhaps," you admit. "but as long as you, prince, are the one to warm my bed... then i find little harm in loving so fully."

taehyung turns his head, and his dark hair tickles your jaw. "swear to me. swear to me that you'd rather die than love another."

"i swear it." you rest your forehead against his, and his fluttering breath is warm against your cheek. "i will be yours for the rest of time, and the throes of death will take me before another lover's. my last breath, darling prince, will be against your lips."

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung x male reader #kim taehyung x male reader #taehyung x reader #bts x male reader #bts x reader #kpop x male reader #x male reader #male reader #m!reader #1k event

[crazydreamingmembrane]

Dream 17.01.2024

I stand on the docks waiting for the woman to return, and pull my cardigan a little tighter around my chest, it’s cold in here, and I am very glad for the mostly enclosed porting area that keeps out some of the icy air. The water around the platforms is choppy and an arctic pale blue-green colour that you can’t see through at all. A few people walk around looking purposeful, and I faintly register a few other couples and families standing around looking out of place or talking to employees.

The woman comes back with someone else; a tall, attractive young Japanese woman with dark, glittering eyes and an intimidating business-like appearance who smiles and offers us her hand.

“So, you’re here to buy one of our ocean trees?”

“Yeah, I’m hoping so” I say with a smile I hope is not as shy and girlish as it feels.

“Great! There are a few things you’ll need to know, and a lot of specific care information we’ll go through together before you can take one home, just to make sure you have the best chance of keeping a healthy, beautiful tree and to ensure you have a suitable environment, of course.”

“Ok, that sounds great.” I try to think of anything else to add in the pause as she leads us down another walk of the pier, but come up empty.

“So, do you have a private beach area, or a man-made salt-water pool?”

“Oh, we live by an ocean with a private pier and section of the beach.”

“Alright, great, what sort of conditions do you have?”

I stumble through an explanation of the beach, trying to remember all of the details I recorded without looking at the note book in my bag, and trying to read her face to see if I’m mentioning anything she doesn’t need, or if she’s about to ask me an obvious question about something I’ve missed, but her face is inscrutable and professional as ever, and she just nods while I talk, and doesn’t say anything other than ‘very good’ when I’m finished to indicate if I’ve babbled on for way too long or not, which of course makes me think that I have.

In a little office like room at the end of a pier she pulls up some information on a screen with a few swift touches of her perfectly manicured, long fingers, and explains in a way that sounds like she’s done it a hundred times before with a hundred different people the care information of the ocean tree. Seeing the pictures of various stages of growth of the ocean tree I can’t help the little bubbles of excitement in my stomach, and the small smile that makes its way to my face, I figure for all the woman’s professional appearance, any unprofessionalism on my part won’t matter to her at all, if she even notices.

“Now, I’ll show you the tree in its seedling stage, so you can see how vulnerable they are at this stage even in the best of conditions we have them in here, and how much attention is required.” She walks us out of the office and to another section of the pier, where there are two young girls – maybe early teens – standing and actively training two seedlings.

                The seedlings of these trees present in an unusual way, in that they are in fact full-sized horses, that float above the surface of the water and possess all of the regular qualities of a boisterous half-trained horse, excepting their being tethered to the ocean floor by white slimy roots protruding from their abdomen, which look unnervingly like tentacles bursting from a wound, and their coats shimmering in an unearthly star colour, like what I would imagine a unicorn’s coat to look like.

                The girls are calming the horses from the edge of the pier, trying to ensure they don’t become too excited and stay on their spot. The horses are intermittently rearing on their hind legs and pawing at the – well, at the air beneath their hoofs. As the lady explains to us what the girls are doing, one of the horses lets out a loud neigh of frustration and seems to have enough of being confined to the spot, and after rearing again high in the air, takes off into a gallop towards the open ocean. I see the roots become taut for a brief moment, before suddenly slackening as they rip or snap away from the sand somewhere beneath the choppy water’s surface. The girl falls to her knees, looking in the direction of the horse, mouth open and face slack, completely desolate. I feel tremendously sorry for her, and wonder why they use such young girls for such a high-pressure task. I can’t say anything though, as the woman starts talking after just a moment, as I watch the horse slowing, not having gotten very far, moving less surely and sinking slightly towards the waves.

                “Well, there we have an excellent example of what happens all the time in the hands of inexperienced owners. The seedling doesn’t make it very far without its roots, and the delicate nature of its attachment to the ocean floor and method of growing makes it impossible to be replanted once the first seedling tap roots have been severed.” She doesn’t spare a glance towards the girl and asks if we have any other questions. We don’t.

                While the woman leads us to the next room, inside the facility and off the water, where we will look through seeds and select one, I talk quietly to my companion about where the tree would look best back home. Once full grown, the tree has a beautiful shimmery white trunk and branches, similar to the glimmering coat of the seedling-horse, and branches out like a trained bonsai tree with many branches that end in tufts of pink-purplish leaves (if you can call them that), which are reminiscent of Princess Bubblegum’s candy tree in the series Adventure Time, if you have ever watched it. Their roots branch out over the ocean floor and can be as extensive or more so than the large branches, becoming thick and solid unlike the tentacle-like roots of the seedling.

We pick out our seed and hope we’ve picked the best. The success rate is slim, and of course the trees are very exclusive and expensive, and only sold in this one location on the coast of Japan, where I find myself now. I look forward to the beautiful big tree anyway, and to escaping the company of this too-professional woman. It will be huge before long if it does survive to become a tree, it’s branches and the roots that protrude above water creating a lovely small shady refuge to sit and let the waves lap at my legs, and its roots becoming a huge network that houses every variety of sea life, from sea-sponge to fish to reef shark, turning into a mini reef. A smile spreads across my face and I let it, not letting myself care anymore if it makes me look too young.

#dream #dream story #writing #short story #creative writing

[weirwoodking]

I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #sansa stark #twow #the winds of winter #twow speculation #asoiaf speculation #long post #ask #jeynearrynofthevale

[fruitcoops]

YES TO THE SNIPPETS YES PLEASE

Thanks to everyone who asked for this! You're amazing! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

You can find the inspiration/ sequel here! Thanks to AJ and Lev for their hcs about the smutty situations, and to the discord for the last snippet!

Combined with a prompt for some relaxed Coops smut

I

Remus fell on the bed and immediately yelped as if he’d been hit. “What?” Sirius asked, concerned. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Just bruised,” he said with a grimace, rubbing one thigh.

Sirius frowned and knelt at the edge of the bed. “Why are you bruised?”

“I got checked yesterday, remember?” He winced as Sirius gently prodded the base of the bruise and pulled his shorts off; he made a soft, sad noise, pressing a kiss to the blue-black skin. “Really, I’m fine.”

“Still. I don’t like it.” Sirius’ lower lip stuck out slightly in a pout, and he guided his face back down for a kiss.

“Everything else is a-okay,” he murmured, trailing a path of light bites down the column of his neck as he laid back. “C’mere, I’ll prove it.”

II

The world was starting to go black at the edges, popping with fireworks as Remus scrambled for purchase on the strong forearms by his ribs. Sirius’ hold on him was firm, and had been for the past—oh, god, how long had he been like this? Ten minutes? An hour? Eternity? Another shudder rocked through him and he moaned around the fabric clenched tight between his teeth.

“Good boy,” Sirius panted as he hiked Remus’ shaking leg up around his hip. “There you go, you’re doing so well.”

An unsteady whine broke through as well; the mattress creaked beneath him, and through his delirious happiness he wondered if this would be the day they finally broke it. Sirius was so painfully close to where Remus needed him most, just a little bit more—

“Fucking hell,” Sirius muttered, wrapping his palms around Remus’ hips and hauling him into the right spot. His thighs clenched around Sirius’ waist as he babbled his approval, no longer registering the damp in his mouth or anything that came out of it. “Come on, just a little—oh my fucking god.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. Remus slammed his hand down on the bed with an embarrassing noise of half-confusion, half-protest. Sirius’ voice had gone up about eight octaves; his gaze was no longer dark with lust, but instead laser-focused on something to Remus’ left. “The fuck are you doing?” he managed to snap when his jaw finally released, though his tongue was mostly blocked by fabric.

“Don’t. Move.”

Fear crept in alongside his frustration as Sirius pulled his arms to his chest and scooted toward the other edge. Something is very wrong. The thought sent a wash of cold through him and he carefully sat up, pulling the gag from his mouth. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Why is it getting closer?” Sirius all but whimpered. Remus steeled his nerves and slowly turned to follow his sightline.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he complained. There was no relief, just building crankiness. “Really?”

“Kill it. Please.” Remus ground his teeth and dug a tissue out of the nightstand, then squished the microscopic spider and immediately chucked the tissue at Sirius. “Remus, oh my god!”

“Please tell me there was something more than that,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What do you mean?”

Keep your tone even and calm, no matter how much you want to scream. “Sirius. If you stopped fucking the soul out of my body for a spider the size of a dust mote, you can say goodbye to pre-game blowjobs.”

A moment of silence fell between them. “For how long?”

Remus glared at him and hoped his pink cheeks and shaking legs wouldn’t diminish the threat. “For as long as I see fit.”

“…I love you?”

“Have fun throwing that tissue away. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go shower by myself.”

“Non, mon loup, wait—"

III

The edge was so close he could taste it. Remus arched his back with a low sound as Sirius’ tongue did something truly fantastic—he might not give blowjobs often, but goddamn was he good at it. “Yeah,” he sighed, combing his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “Yeah, that.”

Sirius’ hum sent shocks all the way up his thighs; it took every iota of self-control not to clamp his thighs around his ears. Remus pushed the side of his face into the pillow, riding the waves of a lazy morning and a warm mouth, when suddenly it disappeared entirely.

“Somethin’ wrong?”

“Did you let the dog out?”

Remus blinked at him for a long moment, then leaned back and threw an arm over his eyes. “Baby, that’s the third time in an hour you’ve asked.”

“Sorry. Is that a yes?”

“Are you kidding right now?”

“It’s a genuine—”

“Nope,” he groaned, sitting up. “Not doing this today.”

Sirius’ eyebrows pitched. “But you were almost there!”

“You don’t say!” he gasped sarcastically as he hoisted himself to his feet and shook off the last bits of thrilled dizziness. “I’ll be in the shower.”

“Wait, no, I can do it!” Sirius’ arms wrapped around his waist and soft lips pressed against his mid-back. “I’m sorry, I was overthinking. Please don’t leave me here.”

“It’s like ten feet, love.”

“And you could stay here instead and get a really nice apology blowjob.” Teeth scraped his wingbone; Remus closed his eyes at the pleasant fizz down his spine as Sirius worked a small lovebite into his skin. “Please?”

“Do you promise not to ask about the dog again? Because she’s fine, and very happy with her new chew toy.”

“Cross my heart.” Sirius turned him around and kissed his nose, tugging him back down.

IV

Sirius was a mess, and Remus was beyond smug about it. A helpless moan was music to his ears as he pulled on Sirius’ mussed hair and attached his mouth to the smooth skin that was exposed. “Please,” he whined, shifting his hips harder onto Remus’ fingers. “Please, please, mon coeur, please.”

“How much time do you have left?” Remus asked, channeling as much patience as he could muster. Sometimes, he wondered who the edging was supposed to punish.

Sirius’ whimper was the only answer he needed. “Fuck, fuck—two. Two minutes.”

“Good job.” He pushed his fingers up and Sirius shivered, knees jerking.

“Je veux—” His plea was suddenly and horribly cut off by what could only be described as a screech.

Remus pulled back in an instant, keeping one hand on Sirius’ hip. “Did I hurt you?”

“Jesus Christ, was that a rat?” he sputtered.

Ice water drenched Remus’ insides. “A what.”

Sirius scrambled to sit up on his elbows and rubbed his eyes as he stared at the corner of their bedroom, squinting slightly in the darkness. “I thought…”

“Baby.” Remus could feel the tremor in his voice. “Is there a rat in our room right now?”

They waited in silence for a few more pounding heartbeats before Sirius sighed in relief. “Nope, sorry, that was my shoe. The lace looked like a tail. Woah, are you okay? You look pale.”

“Uh-uh,” Remus managed, sitting back with a slow exhale. His heart receded from his ears to his throat. “Quick question.”

“Go for it.”

“Do you need glasses?”

“No, I have 20/20 vision.” He had the nerve to look confused. “Why?”

Remus stared at him, then shook his head. “No reason.”

V

Remus could feel Sirius’ heart hammering under his palm, growing steadily slower with each deep breath. He stroked his hair out of his eyes, feeling joy bubble up when a foggy silver gaze met his own. “Hey, you,” he said quietly as he rubbed slow circles on Sirius’ chest. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

Sirius’ smile was lopsided and sappy and oh-so-perfect; he bent down for a soft kiss and felt him melt under his mouth. When Remus pulled away, Sirius let out a sigh and snuggled up against his side. “Tu es si beau,” he mumbled, still a little clumsy with his words. “Si beau. Et mignon. Je ne sais pas.”

“D’accord,” Remus said, kissing his forehead, then each of his cheeks.

Sirius suddenly lit up and he touched Remus’ knee. “Pretty! C’est le mot. Je n’aime pas l’anglais.”

“I’m pretty?”

“Mhmm. Like—mmm, starts with a b. Du beurre, but candy.”

Remus bit his kiss-swollen lip in thought. “Butterscotch?”

“Oui.” Sirius nodded decisively and closed his eyes, apparently uncaring of Remus’ vibrant blush or galloping pulse. “Butterscotch. Je t’aime.”

“I love you, too, you muppet.”

VI

As much as Remus loved being railed within an inch of his life, there was something to be said for slow, easy afternoons when the sun was high and they had absolutely nothing to do. Sirius’ hands ran from his hips to his ribs in smooth lines; Remus basked in the feeling and tilted his head when Sirius rocked upward to meet his rhythm.

“This is perfect,” he said, stretching one arm up to brace against the headboard. It was far easier to support himself—and last longer—since he had started working out like the rest of the team. White sparked at the corner of his vision. “Oh, that’s nice.”

“There?” Sirius rolled his hips again and Remus felt his dick throb. “Alright, I’ve got you.”

“We don’t have to go anywhere today.”

“Non, not even—hang on.” Sirius paused and frowned slightly. “Are your arms bigger than mine?”

“What?” Remus laughed.

“Gimme.” Sirius pulled his arm down and he nearly fell over with it, but caught himself at the last second. “Flex.”

“Why?”

“Because your arms are bigger than mine! That’s so not fair.”

Remus snorted, but obliged. Sirius scrutinized him for a solid ten seconds. “I can assure you that your arms are bigger, baby.”

“Hmm.” Sirius nodded and settled onto his back again. “Yeah, I think so. That was close.”

“Would it be such a bad thing if my arms were bigger than yours?” he asked as he began to move again, feeling Sirius’ harden in him. “I thought you liked that I’m stronger now.”

“I do like it, but you already have better back muscles. I can’t let you win that easy.”

VII

Does it count as enemies-to-lovers sex if you’re already engaged? Remus thought as he grabbed a handful of Sirius’ ass and squeezed, pulling a moan from his perfect lips. Because this feels firmly in the enemies territory.

“Are you going to stop saying it?” he asked, struck breathless as Sirius dropped to his elbows and put his face in the pillows.

“Alright, alright, fine,” he groaned, jolting as Remus pressed a hand against his lower belly.

“Where am I from?”

“Wis—Wisconsin.”

“And not…?”

“Fuck me—Minnesota.”

“Thank you.” He slowed his pace by a degree and littered the backs of Sirius’ shoulders and neck with kisses, allowing him to set the rhythm for a moment. “Your accent sounds so pretty right now.”

“So does yours.”

Remus paused in surprise. “It does?”

He sensed his mistake an instant before he saw the grin curling at Sirius’ mouth. “Oh, you betcha.”

And we’re back to enemies. “Where am I from?”

Sirius fell silent as he picked up speed and gripped his hips.

“Where, Sirius?”

“Wisconsin, fucking hell!” He flipped his hair over his shoulder for a second to glare, though the effect was ruined by the clear arousal on his face. “For someone who’s so—merde—laid-back, you’re awfully riled up about this.”

“Look, not all of us can sound like we’re dirty-talking while reciting a grocery list. I can’t let you roast me for that without repercussions.”

“Oh.” Sirius’ voice wobbled. “Oh, oh, oh—”

“Apologize for making fun of me, and I’ll touch you.”

“I’m s—oh.” Sirius’ fingers clenched in the sheets. “Oh, jeez!”

Remus’ mouth fell open. He sat back on his heels in utter shock as his addled brain tried to catch up to the rest of his body. Sirius’ shoulders weren’t shaking from how close he was to tipping over the edge, but from laughter. “Did you just…?”

Sirius flopped onto his back with a smug little smile on his face, still clearly mussed from a roll in the sack but far too aware for it to have been a slip of the tongue. “Oops.”

“You…”

“Oh, no, not the puppy eyes,” he laughed, dragging Remus down to lay on his chest. “I really do think your accent is cute.”

“You’re such an asshole!”

“It was kind of funny, though,” he snickered.

Remus socked him lightly on the arm. “We’ll see if you ever get in my pants again.”

“I will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you love me.” He planted a kiss to his lips, nibbling at the bottom one until the frown disappeared. “Even when I make fun of you.”

“You’re mean,” Remus informed him as he kissed the muscle of his shoulder. “And cruel, and completely unappreciative of the Midwest. You don’t even love me.”

“I’m only in it for the accent,” Sirius agreed.

It was another twenty minutes until they finally got off. Remus spent the vast, vast majority of that time drowning in kisses from his deeply apologetic fiancé, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #smut #18+

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Five: Just A Man

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Fluff! (It's getting cute y'all!), death of a parent, grief, smoking, food, Silas🤢, a little sad Ezra in this one

W/C: 4k (made it a little longer to make up for the wait! 🥺)

A/N: We are back! I'm so so so sorry this took so long to get out! What can I say, life happened & kept knocking me down & I couldn't find the strength to write for this fic. I'm still not even completely happy with this chapter, but after reading it so many times, I think it's okay lol a huge thanks to everyone for being so patient & lovely to me ♥️ okay, I'll shut up, hope you enjoy!

Series || Main || Taglist || AO3

Chapter Four || Chapter Six

~MAY EIGHTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

As the days and weeks passed, Ezra finally felt comfortable enough to join you and Pa for meals at your family table, sitting and eating quietly until responding to a thought or question of Pa’s. It felt nice. It felt…warm and natural. As opposed to the slight coldness you’ve felt sitting with Pa, without your mother. Though it was still as quiet as your meals alone with your father, the silence now was more comforting.

You realized shortly after that last evening under the tree with Ezra what exactly ails you when near him, why exactly your pulse quickens and you feel heat flush your neck and cheeks. It was a startling conclusion, given that you have been inexperienced when it comes to the term ‘love’, outside of the love you felt for Ma and Pa. This, with Ezra, contrasts immensely.

It had caught you off guard, a small infatuation with the man that you realized must have taken hold of your heart from the first moment you met him, when you simply could not remove your eyes from his face. You now find your eyes lingering on his features longer, learning the curve of his smile, the fine wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, memorizing the tone of his voice and his laugh to be replayed in moments of silence.

It’s strange; a simple emotion that you had witnessed your whole childhood into adulthood from your Ma and Pa, an emotion you carry in your heart for each of them, though the way you experience it now, the strength in which it has grasped onto your very being – and so suddenly – has been enough to make the room spin whenever you lay your eyes on him. The idea of taking a husband has never been one of priority. Up until now, at least.

“Many thanks for the delicious meal, miss. I am grateful you have welcomed me into your home as such,” Ezra says as he stands, helping you take the soiled dishes to the wash basin.

“You have always been welcome, Mr. Prospect. I am glad you now feel comfortable joining us,” you say with a gentle smile, looking up at him as he approaches you with the dishes. You catch a faint hue of pink spreading across his sun kissed cheeks.

“Would you care for a pipe, Mr. Prospect?” Pa calls out as he sits in his chair by the fireplace, beginning to pack away tobacco in his own pipe.

“I very much appreciate the offer, sir, however I do not smoke,” Ezra replies kindly as he turns away from you to face Pa and you begin washing.

“Good man; do not start the nasty habit until you become old and worn as I am now,” Pa jests.

“I only see a wise man, years of strength and kindness the only evidence that you have lived a wonderful life thus far,” Ezra compliments and Pa releases a hearty laugh.

“As I said: ‘old’,” Pa replies and both Ezra and you laugh along.

The genuine and natural lightheartedness of the conversations Pa and Ezra shared tonight warms your heart and you realize tonight has been one of the few nights you’ve smiled so freely, so frequently, since Ma’s passing and you strongly sense her spirit surrounding the three of you. Almost as if you could hear her laughing along with you all.

Although a feeling of sadness lingers in your heart that she cannot be here physically, you remember Ezra’s kind words and let them ease you. The comfort you feel wash over you leaves you pondering if it’s a sign of acceptance from above, from Ma, that she welcomes Ezra’s presence amongst you and Pa.

“Can I be of any assistance, Sunflower?” Ezra turns and asks quietly, out of earshot of Pa and addressing you by his personal endearment he has bestowed upon you.

“Thank you for offering, Ezra,” you reply just as softly. His given name had nearly slipped from your lips on more than one occasion tonight, but you felt it best to remain coy in front of your father. “I’m nearly finished now.”

“Perhaps tomorrow night. I will not miss my chance then to be of service,” he smiles and the inside of your cheek stings from the bite you dealt to keep from grinning widely. “I will take my leave for the night. The lovely beasts I room with will be missing my presence, I fear,” he says, loud enough for Pa to hear as well and Pa chuckles at his statement.

“Always a pleasure to have you for dinner, Mr. Prospect,” Pa says and stands to shake Ezra’s hand. “Daughter, would you be so kind as to walk Mr. Prospect to the door?”

“Yes Pa,” you nod, abandoning the soapy dishes for the time being and you wipe your hands to dry on your apron as you head towards the door with Ezra.

Pa smiles again in Ezra’s direction as he walks past and takes his seat once again, watching the flames dance and flicker. Ezra opens the door, allowing you to walk through and step on the porch and he follows suit, shutting the door behind him.

“Shall I walk you to the barn?” You offer.

“No, Sunflower, I would prefer you to stay. The dark of night may carry with it many dangers lurking around the corner.”

“All the more reason I should walk with you,” you grin, wrapping your arms around the wooden support post as you watch him step down into the dirt.

“Then I would intend on escorting you back here and we will only find ourselves repeating the action for one another until daybreak,” he chuckles. “Until tomorrow, dear Sunflower.”

“Tomorrow,” you smile and nod. “Good night, Ezra.”

“Good night,” he bows his head in farewell and turns on his heels to head toward the barn. You linger a moment longer to assure he is well on his way, waving when he turns back to steal another glance at you.

You take a deep breath to calm your galloping heart and turn to walk back inside, Pa sitting quietly as he continues smoking. You head back to the wash basin to finish the chore, rinsing, drying, and putting away the dishes before heading over to sit next to Pa, grabbing a new book from your small collection.

You decided to leave Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland to read with Ezra under the tree and the image of the two of you lying in the grass as you read to him brings a contented smile to your face. After quite a bit of comfortable silence, you feel the curiosity inching through your brain like an insect and decide to give in to the itch.

“H-how are the crops faring, Pa?” You ask while picking at the corner of your book.

“They grow fine,” Pa replies simply. “Each and every week another inch to their lives added.”

“And… Mr. Prospect has been much help?” You continue carefully.

“Oh yes, he has taken on the majority of the labor. We are blessed that he sought to help us.”

“Yes,” you smile softly as you lower your head slightly, gathering the courage to continue the conversation. “And… How do you feel about… Mr. Prospect?”

“What do you mean, child?”

“The townspeople think him...odd.”

“They must reflect on themselves before passing that judgement onto an innocent man. Especially the four hens, as you like to call them,” you giggle and look up at Pa, a slight smirk hidden beneath his thick, grey beard as he lets out a deep chuckle.

“Yes, but… What do you think of Mr. Prospect?”

“Why the curiosity, daughter?” He asks, though no irritation is found in his voice; instead, a light-hearted tone, one of knowing. Knowing why you insist on finding out his opinion.

“Merely curious, Pa,” you say quietly, just loud enough for him to hear over the crackle of the fire.

“Hm,” he hums as he inhales smoke through his pipe, taking his time to retrieve an forthright answer from his mind while you gaze at him in anticipation.

“He is an honest man. Good and kind. A hard worker. I believe he is fit to be a lawful husband to any girl who seeks his affection,” he finally says, looking deep into your eyes and his words go straight to your fast beating heart.

You catch the smile on your face growing, evident in the strain you feel across your cheeks and you put your head down to face the book in your lap.

“That's nice,” you reply once you've cleared your throat and regained control of the muscles on your face.

“Yes. Yes it is,” Pa smirks as he inhales another puff from his pipe.

~MAY TENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Today is as exhilarating as the rest; you attempt to sort through the inventory of the shop, taking note of which supplies are dwindling while also marking down new items the townspeople have requested, such as candles and playing cards for the children. As you walk toward the back of the shop, beginning your count of products there, the shop bell dings and you hear boots stomping from whoever has stepped through the door.

“Just a moment, please,” you call out to the customer from over your shoulder, hoping not to lose track of the count in your head.

“Please, do not rush, Sunflower,” a gentle, familiar voice replies and you feel your heart thumping faster in your chest now as you turn quickly, inventory be damned.

“Ezra,” you greet the man standing meekly at the front of the shop. He takes a few steps forward to meet you beside the counter. “What brings you to town? Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Oh, no thank you, Sunflower. I needed to send a letter off at the post and thought that my day would be much brighter were I able to visit you as well,” he says with a soft grin and you lower your head to hide the bashful expression on your face.

“Well, my day has brightened now, too,” you reply, gaining the courage to look up at him again, the apples of his cheeks reddening. “I trust you were promptly taken care of then?”

“Yes, Mr. Williams is a kind man,” he nods. “The elderly woman who works there as well – she is quite the conversationalist,” he releases a soft laugh.

“Ah, yes. Mrs. Williams,” you shake your head. “She actually does not work there, just adores to be in the center of it all,” you jest and Ezra chuckles. “I do hope she was not too overbearing.”

“Only slightly,” he shrugs. “After you and your Pa, her and Mr. Williams have treated me the kindest since my arrival.”

“Oh Ezra,” you share a perturbed look. “I am truly sorry for the way the town has behaved.”

“Sunflower, you have no reason whatsoever to apologize for the actions of others. Unfortunately, this town has not been the most unpleasant I’ve come across. I was very lucky to have found you. And your Pa,” he rushes the last phrase and you smile knowingly, his mouth curving slightly as well.

You open your mouth to continue the conversation, the innocent coquetry between you, yet no sounds are released from your mouth before the shop bell dings again and you sigh at the interruption. You turn your head and your racing heart, caused by Ezra’s presence, races faster, only in anger now.

“And what do we have here?” Silas’s booming, uninvited voice resonates through the shop. “What business could a queer like you have to conduct in town?” He looks at Ezra and you step in front of him.

“I told you not to call him that, Silas.”

“It does not seem he’s made any purchase,” he says, making a show of looking in Ezra’s hands for any paper bag. “Yet he is allowed to stay and converse while you toss me in the dirt.”

“Go away, Silas.”

“Sunflower-” Ezra calls gently from behind you, unable to finish his thought.

“‘Sunflower’?!” Silas laughs. “She does not need a freak to endear her, not when she has a real man. Like me.”

“Silas, he is more of a man than you could ever hope to be,” you spit out.

Of all the times you had the opportunity to speak your mind to Silas, you held back. Though, now that it is directed to Ezra, you feel that innate protectiveness for him wash over you again, no matter the cost or consequence.

“You dare say such a thing to me, girl?” Silas takes a menacing step forward.

“She is not a girl and you will not speak to her as one,” Ezra moves to stand in front of you now. “And I do believe she has requested for you to take your leave.”

“And exactly who will force me out? You?” Silas puffs out his chest, as if he were attempting to assert his role as an alpha, and frustration grows on his face at Ezra’s lack of response to the tactic.

“If I must.” Ezra replies simply and calmly, the tone of his voice even, though underneath lies a hidden message that he would not back down from a brawl, if it were to come to that.

“Ezra, please, he isn’t worth it,” you say softly, reaching out to hold his forearm.

“Oh, aren’t I?” Silas scoffs.

“I will summon Sheriff Wilson here to collect you himself if you do not leave my shop right this instant,” you hold your unyielding gaze to Silas’s, raising your chin slightly so as to challenge him to defy your wishes.

Silas hmph’s, his thick brows arching menacingly as he glances down at where your hand rests firmly on Ezra’s arm, clearly displeased at the contact. You feel Ezra’s form tense next to you, and you use your free hand to lightly press against his back in an effort to calm him.

“Fine,” Silas finally says harshly as he turns his back to you and Ezra and stomps to the door.

He looks over his shoulder one more time at the two of you and something about his animalistic eyes sends a nasty shiver down your spine. Before he can see you falter, he rips the door open, walks through, and slams it shut, rattling the frame as he leaves. You exhale shakily and Ezra turns his body to face yours, his hands gripping onto your upper arms as his eyes rake over your face in concern.

“Are you alright, Sunflower?”

“Oh Ezra,” you gaze at him thoughtfully. “It should be me asking you that same question.”

“Please, don’t worry about me. My only concern is you,” he continues, his eyes trying to follow yours as you look away from him. “Does he come here unannounced often? Has he bothered you before?”

“Ezra, he has always been a thorn in my side, but it is nothing for you to concern yourself with. I promise,” you look in his eyes, hoping to convince him, but you suspect it does not work and his hands fall from your arms.

“Sunflower… I did not appreciate the way he looked at you and spoke to you.”

“It’s alright Ezra, it is not anything I can’t handle,” you smile and grasp one of his hands in both of yours, squeezing it gently as reassurance.

You’re unsure of what to say. What could you say? That up until now you have been cowardly when it came to Silas Taylor? That it was not until Ezra’s arrival to town that you have come to know a stronger side of yourself, willing to risk your already frail reputation to defend this man’s name?

Ezra sighs heavily, staring into your eyes a moment longer before looking away. You watch his eyebrows crinkle together, the worry wrinkles along his forehead becoming more prominent as he reflects on the situation that just passed.

“Are you alright? Please… Do not take anything he says to heart,” you say softly and your kind voice pulls him back from his thoughts and to this moment with you. He smirks and huffs a chuckle through his nose.

“No fear, Sunflower. It is not a trial I cannot handle,” he cocoons your hands in both of his and squeezes lightly, as if to reassure you he is alright. “I will go now, Sunflower.”

“I understand,” you nod. “Then… I will see you back at the farm for supper.”

He smiles to acknowledge your words, releasing your hands and heading to the door. He turns once more to nod his goodbye, places his hat back on his head, and walks out the door. You walk to the front of the shop to watch him through the window, his hands in his pockets and his shoulders slumped forward as he walks swiftly to leave the area.

Your head feels on fire, ready to blow steam at any moment as you watch the townspeople around staring at him. They turn to each other, presumably whispering gossip amongst themselves about him. Unfortunately, as you have come to know Silas, you know he will be spreading word of the ‘threat’ he felt from Ezra, which you surmise will only result in the townspeople turning their backs on Ezra even further.

~MAY TWELFTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Ezra had not shown up for supper that night or the night that followed. You had wanted to take supper to him, but Pa advised against it. He had heard on his last trip to town what transpired between you, Ezra, and Silas. You prepared yourself to, once again, defend Ezra, however, Pa’s unabated rancor of Silas all but guaranteed Pa would not believe a word from his mouth.

Pa informed you that when he returned and asked Ezra about the situation, he assured the man that he was not at risk of losing the job at the farm, and while he was grateful, he did not wish to speak on it further. Pa told you to leave him to gather his bearings and you complied.

On your way to the oak tree, you pick two apples as you had done the Sunday prior, and to your earnest disappointment, you do not see Ezra as the tree comes into view. You look left, then right, hoping it was possible he had just walked along the riverbank, but you were alone.

Heaving a sigh, you turn to face the way you came as you debate on heading back. Your weekly tradition almost seemed silly to continue alone, after having been in Ezra’s company the past few weeks. It almost felt...incorrect to spend time here without Ezra now. You take a few steps forward, now under the shade of the tree, sparing another moment in case you missed him.

“Sunflower,” his elated voice from above frightens you and you quickly turn your head to follow the sound, seeing his bright smile from where he sits on a thick branch.

“Ezra! You startled me!” You chuckle as you take a few breaths, covering your racing heart with your hand.

“My apologies,” he chuckles. “I did not hear you walk up otherwise I would have made my presence known sooner.”

“I did not expect to see you in the tree today,” you smile up at him.

“Come, join me,” he smiles, patting the bark to the side of him.

“I have not climbed a tree since I was a child, Ezra. I will fall,” you shake your head.

“I will never let you fall, Sunflower,” he smiles and your now settled heart begins to race again. “It’s simple, really. Nothing to it. I will guide your steps.”

You take a deep breath, pondering for a moment if the risk was truly worth it, but there’s an excitement in this small adventure that you feel your soul reaching for. You smile at Ezra and nod, removing your bag and placing it at the base of the tree.

You follow Ezra’s voice commands as he tells you where to step up and you use more muscles in your body than you have in so long. You heave yourself upwards, careful that your boots do not miss any section of the tree that will have you flying all the way back down.

Finally, you make it far enough for Ezra to take hold of your arm, using his strength now to help pull you up until you’re close enough to attempt to sit. He scoots over, keeping his hand tightly grasped on your arm to make sure you don’t fall. Though, at this point, if you were to fall, Ezra would certainly fall with you.

You plant your bottom firmly onto the branch, breathing heavily and smiling widely at the accomplishment and Ezra chuckles along with you. You try to settle yourself further and suddenly get the sense of falling, reaching out instinctively to hold onto Ezra’s arm and you practically glue yourself to his side for support.

“You will not fall, Sunflower,” he reassures and you feel him lean closer into you to comfort you.

“Pardon me,” you giggle, feeling steady enough now to remove yourself from him. You take a deep breath and look out ahead at the river and the grassland, spotting the other farms in the distance. “Wow,” you say breathlessly. “It’s a beautiful sight.”

“Yes, it is,” Ezra responds softly. You turn your head to him where you already meet his gaze and turn away again as you smile.

“Oh no,” you gasp as your eyes meet your bag down below. “I left the book… And the apples,” you turn to frown at Ezra.

“Do not fret, Sunflower,” he smiles. “I enjoy your company regardless.”

“Maybe...you could read me more of your prose?” You prod gently, hoping he will be willing.

“Yes,” he says wistfully as he glances down at his journal. “I do like when you read to me, however.”

You smile as he passes his journal to you and you cradle it with care in your hands. You move to open it and the binding opens automatically to one page, clearly still stiff from where he had it open, this addition to the pages only written just recently. You clear your throat and let your eyes dance as they pick up the words in his neat handwriting.

“‘A being from a different universe desires to live amongst the men in peace on Earth, for his purpose to be written in the stars. A nomad, an outcast on the run, desperate for a residence more suitable than his dreams. Soon, he will find home, and soon, he will find life’,” your voice trails towards the end of the passage, your heart wrenching at the meaning behind it.

“Ezra…” You call softly once you notice his head has lowered.

The silence stretches and you can almost visualize it expanding across the lands in front of your view, any helpful or comforting words escaping from your reach. The only conclusion your mind seems to come to is just to place a hand softly on his thigh. You feel his muscle twitch at the contact and he glances over at you, a light tint of pink beginning to spread across his cheeks.

You suddenly feel embarrassed to have placed your hand there and you immediately think to yourself that perhaps it was not welcomed, though before you can remove your hand, Ezra places his own, large and warm, over yours. Your mind settles while your heart beats rapidly. You still do not know what to say, but it does not seem Ezra is expecting for you to say anything at all.

“I’ve missed you at supper, Ezra,” you whisper and grin softly.

“Forgive me for my absence, I was not… I did not feel…” You sense him struggling as he lowers his head again and you place your other hand on top of your intertwined ones.

“I understand; you have no need to apologize.”

He looks at you again and you give him a reassuring smile and he returns the gesture. You two say nothing and let the comfortable silence blanket the air around you while you gaze out to your surroundings again, your hands not leaving each other’s grasp.

“Sunflower?” He calls and you turn to face him again.

“Yes, Ezra?”

“I’ve missed you as well.”

Chapter Four || Chapter Six

Series || Main || Taglist || AO3

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @amandalovess @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @pedro4ever @mishasminion360 @wardenparker @librariantothejedi @fan-of-encouragement @javierpinme @writeforfandoms @ew-erin @you-got-me-starry-eyed @beskarboobs @andiesturgss @maryfanson @princessxkenobi @castleamc @magpie-to-the-morning @pbeatriz @radiowallet @stevie75 @honestly-shite @bison-writes @amneris21 @disgruntledspacedad

Ezra Prospect Tags: @quietpainter @grogusmum @tenderwhat

#ezra x f!reader #ezra x reader #ezra x you #ezra prospect x f!reader #ezra prospect x reader #ezra prospect x you #ezra au #ezra prospect au #ezra prospect fanfiction #ezra prospect fanfic #pedro pascal character fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #prospect #prospect fanfiction

[chanluster]

two types of fireworks | {f} ; mild {c}

oneshot | tangled! au | historical! au | 21.2k words

“ who could be better adventurers than a wanted thief and a girl with magical hair? ”

s u m m a r y > > when you find a notorious thief wounded within the woods you wondered, you heal him, not realising that the same man will lead you to your destination, and the few feelings you’ll develop along the way.

c o n t e n t s > > long haired flynn rider! hyunjin, rapunzel! reader, irritated companions to lovers, a lot of fluff, kkami is a horse, hyunjin gets SOOOO angry with you all the time, teasing, hyunjin gets flustered easily, everyone in skz included cause i miss them everyday, jisung is the villain iMSOSORRY, a few swear words sprinkled throughout, perhaps? sexual tension? never r e a l l y addressed, and of course, some familiar disney scenes

a u t h o r ‘ s  n o t e > > once again, i cannot control myself and wrote double the intended word count!! i hope you like and reblog if enjoy this homies, and remember, long-haired hyunjin domination!!!

back to masterlist

YOU WONDERED WHEN YOU WOULD FINALLY GET OUT OF THE FOREST.

Bag slung over your shoulder, your naked feet skimmed through the soft grass as you trudged on, waiting for an opening within the infinite trees to your destination beyond. 

It was days like this that you wished Mother had a horse at the foot of the tower. Even though it was a creature you had never seen, you had studied its striking figure within the illustrated books your mother gifted on countless birthdays, their natural-coloured coats, long, beautiful faces and poses of them galloping across green fields.

Green fields you wished had greeted you sooner.

The only sound of the entire forest was the rustling of leaves upon branches, woodland creatures here and there scrambling for food, or for shelter within the thousands of trees surrounding you. Even the sun could not break through the dense masses of nature, only slivers of light shooting through the leaves, providing light for your journey. 

Hard. The paths were hard, your feet getting slightly muddied, and even your water was slowly running thin, leather skin holding about a day’s worth of water left. Your food was stocked, collecting apples from the nature above, but you knew you needed a proper meal if you had not a clue of when you were to arrive at your hidden destination.

You knew what you were searching for. You just did not know where to search.

Sighing, you felt your spirits dampen the further you lumbered on, the mass rings of hair wound around your other arm a heavy weight. The locks were endless, making a trail behind you. You tried to gather up as much hair as you could manage, but the damned mess refused to listen. Irritancy furrowed your brows, and you let out a shallow sigh, cursing fate for being so cruel.

Within the trees, you spotted an opening - a sliver of light beyond the tunnel of nature. You gasped, picking up the pace of your feet, running out and breaking free of the leafy barrier.

Before you were not the opening fields you expected, but rather a small pond, cocooned within the trees you ploughed through. The water looked pure, glimmering from the sunlight which now freely fell upon the opening. It was a peaceful sight, but still could not stop the disappointment reaching your face as you slumped your shoulders.

Brilliant.Yet another dead end.

You were about to head for the pond when you heard distant shouting. 

Fear froze over you, expecting your mother breaking through the bushes.

Your instincts had you dashing for the trees again, gathering your hair and hiding behind the bushes. The aggravated voice grew louder, but the closer it came, you realised with confusion that it was not laced with anger. It was laced with pain.

Suddenly, something broke out of the bushes. You nearly let out a childish yelp.

It was the most beautiful man you had ever seen. 

Hell, it was the only man you had ever seen - you would have kept staring in awe were not your features distorted with worry. This man stumbled to a nearby tree looking over the pond, one hand clinging onto the trunk as the other hugged his abdomen, fingers stained with the blood caked upon his turquoise vest. Dear God, there was so much blood.

He whirled, back to the trunk, and slumped down, legs spread before him as his mouth parted, letting out shallow breaths as he tried to stop the bleeding. His head frantically darted, looking everywhere, and then tilted his head back against the wood as he closed his eyes. Sweat matted his locks, beaded down his cheeks, and he hissed as his hand held his bloodied side tighter. His satchel had been discarded before the pond, a few papers and food spilling from the opening.

You watched him whither slowly, fingers threading through your hair. You wanted to help; of course you did, but you held back. Perhaps fear still crept at the back of your neck, but you hid behind the bushes, waiting for what might happen.

Minutes later, you wished you ran to his help instead. The man, after heaving rapidly, left his hand upon the wound, thumping down on the ground, slumping fully against the tree.

Your eyes widened at the realisation. 

In that space of a few seconds, you knew. 

Whoever he was, you had to save him.

Feet nearly stumbling upon huge tree roots, you rushed around the pond. Hair getting caught in a few twigs, you did not glance back as you tugged at the meters of locks, the man’s face now closer in your vision.

You dropped down to where he sagged against the trunk, unrolling your locks from your arm, eyes darting frantically to his figure. Instantly finding the horrific wound, cutting through the fabric and his skin, you slide your hand through curtains of your hair, taking out a long trail and tugging the ends to you. 

With hesitation, but then determined certainty, your hands unbuttoned the man’s vest, taking every single nerve in your body not to glance at his face. The white shirt underneath was stained with blood as well, which you raised up to his top part of his chest, exposing his granite-hard abdomen. You would have even blushed were it not such a grave situation you found yourself in, blood oozing out of the injury.

With a final, long draw of breath, you grabbed the locks of your hair, carefully tying them around the man’s waist. You made sure the strands covered every single ribboned area of his stomach, praying to fate for this miracle. The only injuries you had treated were cuts from paper and burns from hot trays of cupcakes. A slash this deep and serious was going to be another matter entirely.

Once you were done securing the hair, you put your hand upon the locks guarding the injury, and closed your eyes.

The words that left your mouth nearly silenced the forest.

“Flower, gleam and glow.”

A spark.

“Let your power shine.”

You felt the glow hum beneath your fingers.

“Make the clock reverse.

“Bring back what once, was mine.”

You dared not open your eyes as you sang, sensing the miracle of your hair threading itself around the unconscious man, assessing the wound, driving inside and repairing the damage done upon his skin. You dared not stop singing, fearing for his life.

“Heal what has been hurt.”

The magic obliged to your call, slowly knitting the wound, working on the scarring, the loss of blood. 

“Change the Fate’s design.”

The lost flesh formed miraculously underneath your fingertips, tendrils of muscle knitting within itself, saving the abdomen from complete ruination. You carried on, squeezing your eyes further shut.

“Save what has been lost.”

You felt the damp blood dry in the moments, the newly created muscle now raising your hand slightly as warmth radiated around you, courtesy of the otherworldly glow of your hair. It comforted your nerves, still there despite knowing you had brought the man out of grave danger.

“Bring back what once was mine…”

You took a deep breath, both hands upon his wound.

“What once was mine.”

You paused.

Opened your eyes.

There he still was, leaned back before you, dreaming away with a restored peace, lost when he got slashed in his gut. His top half was splayed out before you, abdomen all healed save for a dried blood scattered here and there. You turned to the pond, straining as you cupped some water and splashed it upon the crust, hitching your dress and using the ends to wipe the mess away. 

As you wiped you looked up at his face — it was then you noticed the little details; his closed eyes, the groomed brows — the straight nose, gosh, the full lips, slightly parted mouth. You could not help but stare at the man, sleeping in tranquility with the nature around him. It was almost like he did not possess a grave wound moments before.

You realised when you glanced down that he was still bare waist up, and with heated cheeks raised your hands to the hem gathered at the top of his chest. Your eyes darted, and locked with his open ones, and reverted back to the shirt to yank it down—

You stopped completely in your tracks. 

Widened your eyes.

Tilted your head up to see the man’s opened eyes, just as wide as yours, the lips you shamelessly stared at not so long ago parted more. 

It was a few seconds before the heavy silence was shattered.

With the man’s rather shrill scream.

“OH MY GOD—!”

Suddenly he wasn’t slumped against the tree, but shooting straight up, backing away from you. Stunned, you retreated a few steps too, watching his slender eyes nearly shoot out of his sockets.

“Who are you?! What did you do to me?! How am I not dead—?!” his questions kept coming, head darting to where his satchel lay. He jumped towards it, frantically searching for some kind of weapon only to find a few posters and salted meat. He then perked his head towards you, immediately positioning himself in a fighting stance, fists out.

“Don’t make me fight you, girl!” he exclaimed, warning written in his face. “If I have no sword I can fight with my fists!”

That was a convenient time to whip out a weapon of your own, but you only argued with words.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I promise!” you reasoned, hands raised. 

“Then why were you so close?! Bombarded in my face and fiddling with my shirt?!” he showed off his chest, now covered by the white material, turquoise vest still open. “Oh, dear God, what did you do?!”

“Nothing!” you proclaimed, pointing towards your chest. “I only healed your wounds!” You took a step closer. “You were going to die!”

Hesitantly, the man followed your finger, lifting his shirt up to see his side, completely free of scarring, of the slash that haunted his skin. He then looked to you once more, anger being replaced with pure fear.

He let out another unnecessary scream.

“WITCH!” 

The tree stopped him backing up any further, and he watched you with pure horror, expecting you to grow fangs, form claws and gut you mercilessly. You only regarded the beautiful, yet rather silly man with incredulity.

“I’m not a witch,” you grumbled, crossing your arms, “I just have hair that glows when I sing.”

That did not help your situation at all.

“Because that’s normal, is it not?!” he yelped, and dashed behind the tree, taking notice of your hair. “And having a kingdom's worth of hair on your head isn’t something out of a grim fairytale?!”

“Well that ‘grim fairytale’-like hair is what saved you from death,” you snapped, hand slipping into your satchel, feeling the handle of your frying pan. “Ungrateful man!”

“Witch!” he growled right back.

“Ungrateful man!”

“Witch!”

“Ungrateful man!”

The man soured up, his raven locks caressing his cheeks as the wind rustled the forest. Both of you stared each other down, pan-handle jutting out of the satchel, and the other’s fists raised once more, half of his figure behind the tree still. None of you backed down. None of you dared lose to the other.

Minutes past, the only sound being the water softly lapping in the pond. The man let out a sigh, breaking the stare.

“I’m leaving.”

He picked up his satchel, a stray poster falling to the ground. You watched it descend, asking, “What, where?”

“None of your business.” He dusted himself off, buttoning up his vest. “I can’t waste my time here.”

You ignored his cold answer, and picked up the poster. It advertised the day of the Fireworks, a couple of weeks away, and boasted of the activities happening in the Kingdom of Corona. 

An excited gasp escaped you.

“You!” 

The man turned, frowning. “What now?”

You ran to where he stood, blocking his vision with the poster. “You know of Corona? Do you know where it is?”

Grunting, he waved the paper away from his face. “Of course I do.” He slung his bag over his head. “I was going to go there before I got rudely stabbed.”

A thrilling wave washed over you, barely containing your smile. “You’re still going then, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but—” the man stopped talking.

Began glaring at you.

“You’re not coming with me.”

The smile fell instantly.

“But wait!” You hurried over to him, but he reflexively dodged your advances. “We’re journeying to the same destination!”

“So?” He straightened his vest once more, and turned his icy stare towards you. “That, if I can remember correctly, is not my problem.” 

“But I do not know where the Kingdom is!” You tried to break his shell, the constant rejections of teaming up. 

“Refer to my previous point, witch.”

“I’m not a witch!” you sniped, getting more and more irritated with his discouraging demeanour. “I save you from the claws of oblivion, and this is how you repay me!”

He gritted his teeth. “I never asked you to save me.”

You scoffed, shocked by his total lack of gratitude. “Oh, really?” You finally brought out your own weapon. “Then I can gladly bring you back to your original state!”

The man stared at the black frying pan before bursting into laughter.

His shameless laughter made you even angrier, and you swung the pan back, another bad remark and it’ll hit home.

“A frying pan!” He gasped out, clutching his stomach. “What are you going to do? Fry my food to hurt me?”

You let out a roar as you swung the pan right onto his head.

With a sharp PANG! It banged against his head and the man let out a hideous yelp, gripping his head.

“What are you doing?!” he cried out, doubling over before the pond. 

You only positioned yourself once more, the weapon hovering above your head. “Don’t insult my frying pan ever again. Nor my hair, you bastard.”

He groaned painfully in response, massaging his head to soothe the pain of the metal. “How do you think,” he guttered, looking over his shoulder at you, “I’m ever going to let you come with me after you nearly knocked me out?”

You did not break his stare. “Because I can easily do it again.

“Take me to the Kingdom of Corona. I saved your life, and it’s the least you can do in return.”

Again, the battle of eyes, refusing to surrender. You did not even know the man’s name, but you wished to swing the frying pan upon him, really make sure to wreck that awfully beautiful face.

That made you scowl further. Why was he so ravishing?

Whether it was your stubbornness, or the promise of another beating, the man stood straighter, a heavy exhale leaving his lips.

“Fine. You win.”

He turned fully to you, not leaving your eyes. 

“You may accompany me to the Kingdom.”

The minute the words left his mouth, you flung your arms back, letting out a howl of victory.

“I’m going to see the fireworks!”

You ran around the tree, hair looping around the trunk as you hooted in pleasure. “I’m going to see the fireworks, I’m going to see the fireworks, I’m going to see the fireworks!

The man, still caressing his head, hissed at the commotion you made. “Oh, be quiet!”

Ignoring him completely, you continued your unpredictable running, until the former trudged up and stopped you in his tracks, gripping you by your arms.

“Stop!”

You returned his sour expression with a brilliant smile. “I can’t help it! I’ve been wanting to see the fireworks for a very long time.”

“Whatever.” He let you go, looking around the forest. “But before we go anywhere…”

He settled his eyes upon you. For once, there wasn’t any scorn alight in them. 

“At least you can tell me your name.”

You pondered a bit. “Tell me yours first.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He held out his hand.

“Hyunjin. Hwang Hyunjin, at your service, even though I don’t wish to be.”

You stared at his hand. 

“Why did you raise your hand at me?” You asked in confusion, pan still in yours.

The man — Hyunjin — regarded you in disbelief. “You...you don’t…?” He cocked his head, retracting his hand. “Where did you come from, witch?”

“Again with the witch!” You exclaimed, cutting distance to his face, hovering the pan under his chin in warning. 

“How about,” he started, lowering your weapon with his hand, “You pause the constant threats, and tell me your name?”

With a cautious eye still upon him, you obliged. “____.”

“____,” he repeated. “____,” he continued, as if tasting the very name that identified you. “Well, then, ____, the first thing we’re to do is search for Kkami.”

“Kkami?” Your eyes followed his every move, as he brought out his own leather skin, filling it with the water from the pond. You reflected his move, replenishing your own water.

“My horse,” he clarified, placing the skin within his satchel, closing the straps. “He must not be far.”

That snippet of information nearly had you screaming. “You have a horse?!” You asked eagerly, earning a hiss from the man.

“What are you so excited for? It’s just a horse.” He then sighed, tying locks of his hair in a half-up ponytail. “Yes, I do have a horse. So does half the kingdom.”

“I’ve never seen a horse before my eyes,” you explained, wonder misting your eyes, yet clearing your mind. You knew you had to find this ‘Kkami’ soon.

Hyunjin glanced at you, curiosity knitted onto his features. “You really do surprise me. It’s as if you’ve never left your home in your life.”

You could only offer him a smile. “You can say that again.”

“Come.” He started up a rather fast walk, separating the bushes with his hands. “He must not be far.”

You followed his trail, sparing one last look over your shoulder at the pond, then turning towards this Hwang Hyunjin, the man who would lead you to your destination. 

The Fireworks of Corona.

For the next hours calls for Kkami were being pursued by the two of you, with little to no result, for a horse could not possibly call back on his searchers. Hyunjin showed no mercy in his marching, and you refused to let him show you mercy, despite your legs on the brink of collapsing.

After another hour the both of you broke away from the forests, and found a cobblestone road, leading to an unknown destination. Signs decorated the pole standing on the opposite side of the road, and the man stepped onto the path, assessing the places mentioned.

“Ah!” He spoke out after. “The Wolf’s Den.” 

“What is that? Your home?”

“An inn, not far from here.” He looked to his left, the continuing pathway. “I stop there often in between journeys, so perhaps Kkami went there to wait for me.”

“Well, what are you standing around here for?” You sprung up in front of him, a tired grin etched into your features, a beacon of hope now beyond the road. That inn better be within the next ten steps.

Sure enough, there were only mere minutes of walking before you set your eyes upon a wooden cottage, it’s sign, displaying The Wolf’s Den, swaying within the cool woodland breeze. Distant noise was heard while you both walked towards the inn, howling and boisterous laughter ringing through the forest.

Hyunjin let out a sigh of relief, picking up the pace of his stride. 

Confused, you followed his line of sight, and let out an excited gasp at what he ran towards. 

Horses. Real horses, right before your eyes.

There were different colours of the animal, slick brown and black and white coats, but the one the man strolled towards, almost a skip in his step, possessed the opposite colours, black and white scattered upon its body, an unusual yet beautiful combination. The horse softly neighed when its owner laid a nurturing hand upon him, whispering greetings to him. 

It was so...ethereal. Even if horses were common animals, seeing one for the first time from your own eyes rather than the pages of a children’s book made all the difference. 

Hyunjin, feeling your blatant staring, glanced back, a groomed brow raised. “What is the unnerving staring for?”

You snapped out of the bubble of your thoughts, instantly souring over his comment. “I was just looking at your horse,” you mumbled. 

“Oh my. You really were not kidding, then.” The other brow then joined its partner. “Are you going to faint if we come across a donkey?”

You gave him a scowl. “Shut up!”

He huffed out a laugh, patting his horse once more before walking around to the entrance, tilting his head up to assess the whole inn. He then looked past at you, still admiring Kkami. “I’m going to go inside for a bit. You stay out here.”

Again, you perked up, furrowing your brows. “Why can’t I come in?”

Gritting his teeth, he said, “Don’t argue! The inn’s full of madmen, and you’ll get scared.”

“You don’t know that!” you cross your arms, shooting him a mean glare. “I can take care of myself!”

“Just stay outside!” he exclaimed, wrenching open the door and storming inside, a loud bell indicating his presence as the door closed behind him.

You scream in anger at the door as if Hyunjin was still there in front of you. Dear God, he didn’t have to be such a pain in the rear!

Stubbornly, you stepped right to the door, opening it just a little bit, sticking your head inside. 

Your eyes widened at the sight of the inn.

About a few dozen men were creating disorder, drinking away in big glasses, shouting and hollering, even threatening to throw punches at one another in a rather strange state of mind. Sweet singing was heard over the melody of the piano, a man’s rich voice adding softness to the anarchy. You noticed men stumbling around tables and slurring their words, your curiosity being stained with a little fear. 

Why were these men acting like fools?

You opened the door a little wider, hand on it still as you stepped inside, the other hand holding onto your bundles of hair.

Your eyes settled on Hyunjin squeezing past the crowd, walking up to the counter, where a line of men were already settled, different coloured drinks in their hands. A handsome man, of similar age to your companion, greeted him with a dazzling smile. “Hyunjin!” he welcomed warmly, raising his hands.

You saw your grumpy companion sit down on the high chairs, not particularly returning the smile.. “Chan,” he started, putting his elbows on the counter top. “Any news?”

“The news is that you should rest,” this Chan countered, pouring a dark-red liquid in a glass, sliding it to his friend. “When was the last time you slept properly?”

His concern was waved off, as Hyunjin sipped on his drink, completely unaware of your presence. “When Jisung didn’t run off with my treasures.”

Chan’s smile faded, as he looked frantically around, lowering his voice. “What? Jisung betrayed you?”

Hyunjin kept darting his eyes back to you. “Let’s not dwell too much on it. My main objective is to find him.” 

The bartender parted his mouth, worry in his features. “And...and what will you do when you find him?”

You saw the man’s face darken. “I will make him regret fucking with me.”

A small gasp escaped you, hands coming to your sides. This fury was of another scale entirely, and it made you almost shudder at his need for vengeance.

You were about to take a step further when the door shut completely. 

The bell rang, a lot louder than you had imagined. 

The chaos quietened at the sound, all eyes turning to the door.

Then at you, with all your seventy feet locks, trailing out the shut door.

And if that didn’t ennerve you entirely, then the look on Hyunjin’s face as he slowly got up from his seat, that same cold fury now focused on you, definitely did. 

You nearly yelped out a cry of help.

The melody of the piano continued, and before all the men could come pounce on you, your hands dropped the tumbles of hair, falling at your feet as you grabbed your pan and raised it in warning.

Hyunjin thundered past the others, though, hair bobbing with each step as he stopped right behind the pan you raised in defence.

“I told you to stay outside,” he guttered.

You only craned your neck back, matching his stare. “You do not tell me what to do.”

“I swear to God—”

He was cut off when Chan eased past his customers, stopping beside Hyunjin as he widened his eyes at your arrival.

“Oh my,” he started, a small glance at the pan. “Miss, none of us intend to hurt you, do put the...your weapon down.”

Your eyes did not stray from Hyunjin’s. “One of you does.”

The owner of the tavern raised a brow at his friend. “Well, he won’t hurt you as long as he’s under this roof.”

He then blessed your eyes with a smile. “The name’s Bang Chan,” he said, hand stretched out. You took it, just how the ladies in your books did, and felt the expected kiss on the back. “What may I call you?”

“____,” you offered. 

“Don’t let Hyunjin’s usually foul demeanour dampen your spirits,___,” Chan continued, leading you further into the tavern, the men unable to keep their eyes from you.

“Oh, so he’s always like this?” you mused, the already sour glare grilling into you. 

The man leading you to a seat laughed, a single cheek dimpling. “Don’t you worry about him,___.” he snapped his fingers, the man playing the piano stopping, being replaced with another as he came down the stairs. “Worry about what drink you would like.”

“No!” Hyunjin cut in immediately, daggering the men around him with his gaze. “Do not even think about giving her anything.”

You scoffed louder than usual so the long-haired man would hear. “I would very much like a drink, thank you, Mr. Bang.” 

The manager chuckled at the game of cat and mouse, pulling a seat for you to settle down into. “Chan is perfectly fine, ____.” He then turned to his friend. “Don’t fret too much, I’m only offering some ale.”

As if on cue, another fine, slender man, who was just playing the piano, presented you with a huge mug of the diluted alcohol, a soft smile etched onto his lips. You melted at his demeanour, accepting the object with a thank you. He then glanced at your companion, smile slightly fading.

“I assume you have heard about Jisung?”

Hyunjin cocked his head, a watchful eye still on you as you took a careful sip, eyes widening at the slight, sweet tang to the drink. “Of course. The bastard tried to stab me.”

“Dear God,” was his answer. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” The feline gaze was more prominent, and you did not know why you began to drink the ale a little faster. “I escaped death...perhaps by witchcraft.”

You held in the urge to roll your eyes. 

Hyunjin then fully focused his attention upon the musician. “Wait, Seungmin, how did you know of this?”

“Jisung came to the inn.” 

Chan looked to his coworker. “I did not see him arrive.”

Seungmin shook his head, you right in the middle of these men as you finished your first mug. Another sweet customer poured you some more from his serving, and you clinked your drink with his, continuing to watch. “You were tending to Kkami. It was very quick, he came and went.”

“What did he tell you?” Hyunjin demanded. 

“Well, firstly he told me you and him had gone your separate ways.” Seungmin propped a finger of his chin, thinking some more. “Which made me a little sceptical, since both of you are joined at the hip. Anyway, he said you gave him whatever you both had picked up on your adventures, and that he was going to Corona and sell them off.”

A curse was emitted over this information. You wanted to know why that was such a problem, but in reality all you wanted was more ale. “Chan?” You called, holding out the mug. The owner of the inn immediately took care of your request, filling the mug to the brim and setting it upon the wooden table. 

“That is quite enough,” Hyunjin declared, trying to pry the drink from you when you slapped his hand away, shooting him with what you thought was a terrifying glare. 

In reality, the men around him began to laugh at your attempt of intimidation, which looked more like a child pouting over a scolding. Your companion tried again to take the mug away but this time you hugged the drink as tightly as you could, some of the contents spilling lightly onto your top. 

“I swear—” he muttered, but then angrily shook his head, dismissing you entirely.  “Seungmin, do you know when he plans to go to Corona?”

The said-man furrowed his brows in thought. “He did seem in a bit of a rush. I reckon he has already found buyers and is riding to the city as we speak.”

Hyunjin poked his tongue out under his cheek, clearly not content with this new information. Chan, sensing his discomfort, put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry too much,” he reassured him. 

“I must leave for the capital now,” the younger said, and the other knitted his brows in irritancy.

“But you just arrived!”

“I can’t let Jisung get away with this,” Hyunjin muttered, and suddenly the words of his departure truly hit you.

“NO!”

All the men flinched at you shrill call, the one you knew the most sending you his typical bitter glare. “You, firstly,” he drawled, pointing an accusatory finger at you, “Need to stop drinking!”

“But I’ve only had two mugs!” you exclaimed. “And it only tastes like water!”

“It’s three, actually,” he corrected, propping both hands on his hips. “And I do not want some whiny, drunk witch while I travel.”

“Hyunjin!” Chan scolded, instantly at your side. “Why are you calling the poor girl a witch?”

“Mr. Chan,” you recited, as if you were a bard about to sing poetry, “This insufferable man has been abusing me with this term all day!”

A gasp escaped the owner of the bar, who then frowned at the man accused. “You monster!”

“Dear God,” he mumbled, ready to leave the inn then and there. It was a shame that he owed you a favour, or else he would have abandoned you in the forest.

Hwang Hyunjin did not like doing favours for others. Even if they derived from pretty young ladies with magical hair. 

A scowl marred his full lips at the strange thought. 

“I am not leaving,” you declared, dragging him down to reality as you took a hefty gulp of your ale. You smacked the cup down, eyes never leaving his. “And you are going to stay with me till I am done.”

That’ll show him. You were extremely confident that he would listen, now that you told him off. Your brain, now a little fuzzy, praised you for standing your ground, along with a smiling Chan and Seungmin. Wait, did Chan have a twin? He did not before, so why was there two of him before you?

“Oh, hurry up, then!” The man roared, and you flinched from his tone before the words settled in. That then caused you to harbour a complacent smile upon your face, and when he caught sight of it he let out a groan. “And for God’s sake, get me something to drink!”

Seungmin obliged, chuckling at his friend’s tantrum, and Chan only ruffled his half-ponytail, messing it up slightly. “That’s the spirit, Hyunjin,” he said. “Learn to relax.” 

“How can I relax when my ex-partner is about to sell off everything we made together?”

“Even Jisung would need his rest,” the elder countered, sitting the younger down onto the seat opposite yours, which looked a little less sharp even with your blinking. Were these the consequences of drinking? Were there consequences for drinking?

Well, you did not seem to care. Not when it tasted so divine. 

“If I do not catch the bastard because of this wit-ow!” he was interrupted by a pinch of his gut, done by Chan over his lack of manners. “I mean girl!

“If this girl—” he knifed you with a look, which you returned with a feline grin, as you drank some more. “—is the reason I do not catch Jisung, I will willingly kill her in his place.”

“Whatever you say!” you hollered much too loud, earning a deep snarl from the man as Seungmin curved through the customers and brought more drinks, propping his friend’s drink before him. 

Hyunjin wrapped his fingers around the black handle, and on cue, you raised your own mug. 

“To catching whoever annoyed pony boy this time!” you declared in a mighty roar.

Laughter rang from all around the tavern, yet the man you targeted only grumbled, awkwardly clutching tufts of his locks before taking a swig of his drink. 

Alcohol was shared throughout the evening, an airy and boisterous atmosphere lingering in the candle-lit room, orchestrated by you as you told your dream of seeing the famous fireworks of Corona. You informed them through ale-tainted words of their importance for you, as they happened on your birthday without fail every year, and when the men around you heard they all hooted an early happy birthday to you, all toasting to you and your contentment. 

At one point, at what you thought was your fifth glass, you scrambled on top of the table, to Hyunjin’s absolute horror, and you requested another toast.

“To people like me and you!” you exclaimed to the tavern, and everyone cheered so loudly that you thought your ears would lose its purpose. 

You then had the brilliant idea to try and jump down from the table - why, you were ready to take the leap when you heard a frightened yelp. Looking down, blinking hard to differentiate one man from another, you saw Hyunjin shooting up from his seat, arms reaching out.

With your mouth parted you felt his long, slender hands grip each side of your waist, and a small gasp escaped you as you as he lifted you in his arms, setting you down upon the tavern stone as quickly as he picked you up. His hands nearly left their place on you when you looked into his eyes, yours so wide at what he did he reflected your action.

Even in the chaos of the tavern around you, you found slight peace within his stone-cold eyes.

The tranquility was short-lived, when he shook his head, hands straying as they gripped the empty mug, turning to Chan, who was downing his own third beer of the night. “I’m going to take my leave now,” he said. 

“But it is past dusk!” The owner stood his ground, gathering all the empty mugs. “I cannot have you trotting about in this forest.

“And look—” he pointed to you, who was asking around for yet another mug-full of ale, being guiltily refused by the men surrounding you. “—she is in no state to travel. You both need rest.”

“We are fine,” Hyunjin insisted. “I will take care of the damned witch.”

“Stop it,” Chan warned, setting the objects upon the counter. “Just because she has hair which could wrap around our inn ten times, doesn’t mean she’s a witch.”

“Pony boyyy!”

Grimacing, Hyunjin turned to catch you, offering him a lop-sided smile as you stumbled up to him. “Ponyboy, serve me some ale!”

“Oh my God,” he muttered, looking you over, assessing your rather ridiculous state. “____, we are leaving.”

“Leaving?!” You repeated one horror. “But we cannot leave now!”

“That is what I am saying too!” Chan chimed in. 

Hyunjin did not acknowledge his friend’s comment, though. Only your refusal, as he propped his hands on his hips, leaning into you with brows furrowed. 

“___,” he whispered, and, oh, why was your breath abandoning you? “You come with me, or I can easily leave you here. You carry on drinking, hmm?”

Well, there it was. Of course, all you wanted to do at the time was drink till only the Den’s ale ran through your veins, but in reality, you knew your situation. The fireworks were mere days away, and although you would have gladly asked any of the others to accompany you to spare the agitation of this long-haired man, you could not dump yourself onto his friends. At least the former owed you a favour.

You had to see the fireworks. And only Hwang Hyunjin could show you in time.

“Fine,” you mumbled, but Hyunjin raised a hand to his ear, mocking a confused expression. 

“Wait, I’m sorry, what were you saying?” 

“Damn you, I said fine!” you exclaimed right into his ear, making him flinch. “I’m coming with you!” 

His amusement had not faded entirely, though, as a ghost of a smile still lingered on his lips. He turned to Bang Chan, who already had his arms held out. “You better not die,” he mused, and the long-haired man only scoffed before hugging his dear friend. 

Seungmin, then playing on the piano, waved his hand in goodbye, sending a flying kiss Hyunjin’s way, smiling adorably when the latter rolled his eyes. 

Chan also kissed your hand in respect, holding onto to it as you tried to steady yourself. “Farewell, ____,” he said with a radiant smile. “We will try and find you both in the capital if we can find the time.”

“Thank you for the drinks, Mr. Chan!” you yelled with too much enthusiasm, earning a chuckle from the man. “I wish I could repay you, but-”

“There is no need,” he countered kindly, waving off your concern. “Any friend of Hyunjin’s is a friend of mine.”

Scrunching your nose at the thought, you found the said-man already at the door, calling for you to hurry up or else he’ll dump you here and go alone. Sticking your tongue out, you bid your remaining farewells, waving to Seungmin before whirling, the whole tavern chanting goodbye to you as you followed, rather clumsily, Hyunjin out of The Wolf’s Den.

The cool, night air kissed your face as you stepped out into the forest, blinking excessively to familiarise yourself with your surroundings. Soft neighing was heard beside you, and you turned to the sound, finding Hyunjin going through his satchel, now strapped upon Kkami. The boy spared a glance towards you before saying, “Let’s get going.”

You looked at the horse, and suddenly you realised how big the animal really was. You feared even trying to slide your foot in the stirrup, knowing you would fall flat on your rear. 

Hyunjin, noticing your uncertainty, huffed out a malicious chuckle. “Oh, so now the bold little witch is scared, now? Of riding a horse?”

“The pan is right beside me,” you warned, wishing your glare would have intimidated the man who teased you. In reality, it only made him laugh some more. “And you already know I’ve never seen a horse in real life, let alone ride one.”

The man watched you rather pityingly, stroking Kkami’s mane before sighing. “Come here, then,” he started, patting the saddle. 

You tilted your head, confused. “For what?” You scowled at him, lower lip jutting out. “I am not going anywhere near you.”

“Well then, I hope you enjoy walking in forests at midnight,” he said, holding onto the reins as he propped one foot atop the stirrup. “All alone.”

He was about to hoist himself upon his horse when you groaned out, running to him, hair trailing after you. “Fine! Help me get up the bloody animal!”

Shaking his head, he descended upon the grass before you walked right up to Kkami, a little too big for your liking. He inhaled, a little too loudly, and then his hands gripped your waist, hoisting you up. 

You nearly yelped at the contact but remembered to grip onto the reins, propping one leg over the other. Your dress hitched a little higher with the distance, and you felt the eyes of your companion upon the exposed skin for barely a second before he grasped the pommel of his saddle, and climbed atop the horse. 

It was then you noticed the sheer closeness of him, right behind you, even more so when he leaned forward, taking the reins from you, his head hovering near yours. If you were not influenced by alcohol, you would have screamed at him for daring to approach you, but you were influenced, enough for a strange, sensational feeling to hit your gut. You tried your best to ignore it as you swiped the air with your raised pan, holding onto your bundles of hair.

“To the Kingdom, Pony boy!”

“Oh, be quiet!” Was his answer before snapping the reins, Kkami instantly obliging.

You instantly lurched back at the sheer force of the horse’s galloping, a shuddering breath whooshing out of you as you collided with Hyunjin’s chest. The animal picked up the pace immediately and swept through the vast expanse of the forest, the light of the moon guiding your way. You held onto the pommel of the saddle, occasionally letting yourself lean against the man behind you. If he noticed you closing the distance, he did not say anything of it.

Soon, the ball of light which accompanied you on your journey was halfway through its own, indicating that midnight had long passed. Fatigue crept up your mind, but with every bounce of the horse had you perking up, irritation marring your features.

“Hyunjiiin,” you whined, watching trees upon trees sweeping past you. “Can we rest already?”

You rather felt more than heard his sigh. “We need to get to the capital.” He snapped the reins, urging Kkami to gallop faster. “It’s already a two-day journey, we need to be as fast as possible.”

This was not acceptable in your mind. Holding onto your hair, you looked over your shoulder, catching your guide watching his path ahead. “But Hyunjin, I am tired!”

“That sounds more like a personal problem to me, ____,” he only said, raising a brow at you. The pathways became thinner, branches barely missing your heads. 

“Hyunjiiiiin!”

“What?!” he demanded, turning a right, past the signs. “Stop vexing me, already!”

“Pony boy, I will jump off Kkami if you don’t listen to me!” You warned, already sliding slightly off the saddle. With slight concern you realised that the horse was riding a little too fast for your drunken liking.

“Oh, I dare you to,” the man growled in your ear, already so irritated with your constant rambling. You, on the other hand, found no fear from his threat, only wishing he had not dared you to do something so risky.

Because now, you were going to do just that.

A thunderous shout escaped Hyunjin as you swiped your left leg over, sitting sideways upon the horse and ready to jump off and to your very possible death. With one hand guiding the reins his other immediately stopped you, wrapping around your stomach and pulling you straight against his chests.

“What in fine heavens are you doing?!” The man screamed in anger, causing you to wince. Kkami slowed with the pull of the reins. 

You looked up at him, wide eyes with confusion. “Why, what you dared me to!” You answered, as if it was a reasonable action to commit.

Hyunjin did not seem to agree with you on this. “You...you—”

“If you do not stop over, Pony Boy, I will jump once again!” you warned him, already wanting to squirm out of his grip if the damned man was not so strong.

You then flinched when an enraged cry escaped Hyunjin, pulling harshly on KKami’s reins. On command, the horse began to slow its galloping, and when your companion searched for a place to stay he spotted a little opening within the trees, a plain, grassy area among the oaks and bushes. Hyunjin, leading the group into this space, sighed in relief when he saw a little pond among the greenery, and stopped his horse before the calm waters.

The man, swinging his leg carefully behind you, got off the horse, and you waited for him to bring you down, only for him to create distance between you two as he propped his satchel before a large oak tree.

“Ponyboyyy,” you called, but he only looked back, knifing you with a glare. 

“Oh, so now you’re afraid to get off the horse?” he taunted, fisted hands upon his hips. “What about ten bloody minutes ago when you were ready to jump to your death?”

“I was a different person then.”

“No!” he countered right away, practically ripping out an apple from his bag. “No, you are still the same, drunk, witch who keeps putting a giant dump on my plans!”

You had the audacity to giggle. “I did not take any dumps on your plan, silly! In fact, was it not me who saved you?”

“Oh, be quiet!” he only demanded, making you laugh a little uncontrollably. 

“Will you help me down, already?” you sang out, only to irritate your companion some more. “Or will I have to risk breaking my legs?”

The prolonged silence had you nearly sliding off the horse when you heard his heavy footsteps, harsh grumbling sounding from the trees until Hyunjin advanced to where you sat, dropping your locks of hair upon the ground. Strong hands held onto your waist, and you grabbed onto his shoulders quicker than you thought, clinging onto him as he descended you from Kkami, neighing from the lack of passengers.

His hands left your sides instantly, and you did not know why you missed their presence. Perhaps the alcohol messed with your mind a little too much.

You watched as Hyunjin began to collect some wood, a few thick branches from the trees and bushes scattered around the grasslands. Hair trailing behind, you walked to where he dumped the wood beside the pond, settling yourself with your satchel strapped to you.

Your eyes lingered on him still when he sat down beside you, maintaining a distance as he brought out his flint and steel. Creating fiction, he swiped against the materials until a spark was ignited, and quickly he brought it near the wood until the spark caught on. The man began to blow softly as the fire expanded, catching onto every twig and branch until it spread to the very ends of the wood, illuminating the empty expanse. 

Hyunjin brought out a few edibles, while you hugged yourself a little tighter, the past-midnight air powering over the fire. He looked over the strips of meat, and slid his eyes to your satchel.

“Pass me your pan.”

You squint your eyes at him. “And why do you want my pan?”

The man cocked his head, locks of raven hair spilling over his shoulder. “Why would I want a frying pan, ____?” 

“Don’t be smart with me!” You chanted, opening up your satchel, the black utensil in display. 

“Just give me the damned thing,” he ordered, holding out a hand. You, on the other hand, curled a smile upon your lips as you brought it out, refusing to give him the pan.

“What is the magic word?” You asked, all sweet and sugary.

Hyunjin’s brows dipped in annoyance. “Now!”

“Wrong!” You sang out, swinging the pan in your hand. The gesture seemed to tick the man off even more. “Guess again.”

“____!” He snapped, and you let out a cackle at his reaction. “I am extremely tired and hungry, so stop toying with me and hand me the bloody frying pan.”

“Fine!” You responded, and did not realise the full intensity of you whacking the pan to him till it hit Hyunjin right in the face.

A pained groan escaped him as he dropped his meat, hand instantly rushing to his face to cover the scratch marring his cheek. You let out a shocked gasp, eyes instantly looking at his covered face.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” you began, hands reaching to his wrists, but he turned away from you, hissing. 

“Damn it,” he cursed, pulling away slightly, and with slight distress saw an angry cut across his cheek. “Are you crazy?”

“Hyunjin, I’m so, so, so sorry, please—” you were about to beg for forgiveness when you had an idea. 

“Oh yes!” you exclaimed, which was not received well with the injured beside you. You ignored his grumbling, and grabbed his wrist. “Wait, Ponyboy! Stop covering your face!”

“Stop calling me Ponyboy!” he retorted, but that was not important when you knew how to fix your little mistake. 

You brought his hands from his face, and you blinked several times to notice the slash of the rusty pan. “Wait, stay still—”

“What are you trying to do?” he demanded, trying to pry your hands off but then you impaled him with your stare. 

“Ponyboy, let me help.”

He matched your glower. “What are you going to do, huh? Save me again?”

You did not answer him, separating a small section of your hair as you wrapped it lightly around your finger. You then reached that hand out, bracing yourself for the touch.

The first caress of your fingers against Hyunjin’s cheek had him completely freezing his complaints. 

Noticing, you were careful — so, so careful, when you relished the softness of his skin. It was incredibly unfair; had this man not travelled places, gotten himself in filthy situations, only for his skin to be flawless? You knitted your brows at this detail.

“I’m going to sing, now, okay?” you murmured to him. “Do not be scared over what happens.”

“Oh, because something magical is going to happen, no?” he taunted, eyes darting between you and you hair-engulfed fingers. 

You only smiled at his ignorance before you closed your eyes. 

Wait, how did the song go again? 

Oh yes. I remember. Stupid ale. I’m never drinking again.

You parted your mouth and began to sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow.”

Hyunjin stopped breathing.

“Let your power shine.

Make the clock reverse.

Bring back what once, was mine.”

Hwang Hyunjin stopped breathing, ceased completely because the moment the words fluttered from your mouth, the moment your hair began to glow all over, like molten lava slowly spreading over a volcano, he did not know how to function.  

You continued to sing, distinctly aware of his eerie stillness as the hair, brushing against his cheek, performed its healing on the cut, forming more flesh from the damaged skin and repairing itself.

“Heal what has been hurt.

Change the Fate’s design.”

The verses rolled off your tongue, never opening your eyes as your fingers caressed his skin, wonderfully warm underneath you as additional warmth from your hair radiated all around the opening. The fire seemed so insignificant now, when you possessed all the light in the world, threaded within the locks of your hair.

And Hyunjin only watched, eyes starstruck over your transformation.

“Save what has been lost.

Bring back what once was mine…”

At last, you opened your eyes, meeting with the sole man in the forest. His awe-filed gaze beheld you, in all your celestial glory, and more warmth radiated from you, specifically from your cheeks. 

You nearly forgot to end the healing poem.

“What once was...mine.”

The glow lingered when you closed your mouth. Your fingers lingered along his cheek.

His eyes, too, lingered upon yours. Almost unable to stray. 

Even when his hesitant hand raised to your fingers, feeling the cut on his skin - now gone, courtesy of your witchcraft.

No. Not witchcraft. Magic.

“I…” he tried to say, but his words were paused, crippled under your fantastical abilities. “It...it is healed.”

You felt your hair’s light begin to dim. “I do not lie, Ponyboy.”

His gaze darted all over your face, one glance at your parted lips and felt another sense of warmth heating his face. “Hmm. I guess not.”

Something within you wished he would lean a little closer, share some of the heat which you were losing the longer you stayed silent. You dared not take the step, despite your entire mind begging you to stop being a coward. 

Come on, Ponyboy. Do not fear like I do.

Perhaps it was only wishful thinking. 

For the man clasped your fingers, and brought them down from his face, the hair curled around loosening. His hand, letting yours go, strayed to his side, where the damned frying pan lay discarded. 

Hyunjin did not feel much like cooking anymore. 

“We should sleep,” he said, leaning against the tree trunk. “There is still a day’s journey left for Corona.”

You only nodded, rounding up your locks and attempted to create a make-shift bed from the volume. He watched you work, shivering slightly from the icy night air, despite the fire still burning.

When finished, you dusted your dress, laying down upon the hair-bed, facing Hyunjin’s left, the side of his face darkened by the direction of the moonlight. He spread his leg before him, sighing out, and crossed his arms, closing his eyes. 

Even then, he heard your teeth chattering.

Of course, he could always ignore it. It was not like him to care for the wellbeing of others, especially those who managed to piss him off every time they opened their mouth.

He glanced at you.

There you were, knees raised to your chest, curled up in a little ball with your masses of hair, engulfing you almost completely. Even with your magical advantages you trembled under the midnight chill, cursing nature for being too, literally, cold. 

Hyunjin cursed too, but himself, when he took off his turquoise vest, sliding it off his arms, and stretched towards you. 

It was your turn to still under another’s presence, as the leather attire settled on you like a blanket, instantly warming you under the shade of the oak trees. You let out a soft hum at the heat, and the man widened his eyes at the reaction. He found it annoyingly endearing.

“Thank you, Ponyboy,” you murmured to him, a lazy gaze on him. 

He did not say anything in return. Only went back to his original position, fingers pinching his hair grip, sliding it out as his locks escaped from the tie, cascading his shoulders as he smoothed them down. He then sat down, leaning against the tree, spreading a leg before him.

A comfortable silence settled upon the both of you, save for the leaves rustling from the breeze and the sound of crickets scattered around the forest. You closed your eyes, fatigue creeping over you, but you held on to your conscious, a few unanswered questions in mind. 

“Hey, Ponyboy?”

You heard, rather than see, the man sigh.

“Hmm?”

Keeping an eye closed, you observed his lack of movement, a hand upon his raised knee. “Why did you agree to letting me come with you?”

A soft scoff emitted from him. “Because you would have knocked me out with that damned frying pan if I said no.”

“No I would not!” you argued, but when he shifted his eyes to you in disbelief, you found yourself doubting your own words. “Well, well...you would have defended yourself just fine!”

“Whatever you say,” he said, facing ahead once more. 

The quiet was blanketed upon the both of you once more, yet you still looked at him. Dear God, nature was truly unjust for making him so ethereal. 

“Is there something else you wish to ask me, witch?”

You pouted at the name. “Do not call me that.”

“And you can keep calling me Ponyboy?”

The mention of the endearment had you giggling once again. “And what about it,” you mused, smirking,”Ponyboy?”

You smiled harder when Hyunjin tutted. “You are truly...impossible!”

A laugh escaped you, you shifting in your bed of hair. You could not help biting your cheek, as you wished to say one more thing to your companion, the man who had closed his eyes, ready to sleep.

“I can feel you looking at me,” he said, making you blink away the slight daze you were in. 

You bit your lip before parting your mouth. “I…” you brought his vest closer to yourself. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.”

Hyunjin opened his eyes.

“For what?”

“You know…” you ran a hand over his turquoise vest. “This. The inn...letting me come with you in general.” He was about to open his mouth to object, but you stopped him. “No, shush! You did not have to.”

He rested his stare upon you, locking his hands over his knee. “You saved me from death, ____. It is the least I can do.”

“Well,” you murmured. “Thank you anyway. For putting up with me.” you let out a huff. “Drunk and sober.”

A small chuckle emitted from him, raking his locks back. “I am never letting you drink again.”

“I bet.” you could not help the slight burning of your cheeks. “I must have been such a bane to your existence this entire time. I would not have been surprised if you left me at that inn.”

There was a pause after, and you figured he was tired of talking so you closed your eyes, ready to lose yourself to temporary oblivion. 

Then you heard his whisper. 

“I would never do that, ____.”

You dared not look at him. God, you could feel him looking at you, but you did not dare, for you feared what would happen if you matched your stare. 

So you kept your eyes close, the image of a certain long-haired man lingering in your mind as you slept.

And the certain long-haired man you thought of, slumped against his tree, only watched you drift away to another world, wondering whether you truly were the bane of his existence.

The answer he received, as he closed his own eyes, scared him.

For no matter how drunk, how tenacious you might be, he would still not have abandoned you at the inn.

He could not have abandoned you at the inn. Anywhere, for that matter.

It was that rather strange thought, and his even stranger heart rate, which finally had him joining you in slumber.

THE TWO OF YOU TRAVELLED FOR ANOTHER TWO DAYS BEFORE YOU REACHED YOUR DESTINATION.

By that time you had fully recovered from your drunken state, and went through with the dire consequences that brought with it. Of course, Hyunjin made sure to mock you as your head hurt throughout the journey, and only ceased when you whipped out the frying pan, promising to hit him properly this time. 

You both were actually arguing over the last slice of cheese when you looked towards the path, and spotted the giant, cream-coloured turrets, shooting up in the sky, peeking out from the trees. You let out a scream then, making Hyunjin nearly drop the cheese, and you took the reins from the boy as Kkami galloped faster towards the kingdom. 

“Slow down, ____!”

But you did not listen to him, your hair about to fall from the horse had your companion not held onto the masses, and your blood began to thrum under your skin when the lining of the trees broke.

An excited scream lurched out of you.

A baby pink bridge stretched beyond your vision, guiding you to the entrance of the kingdom. It was plated in solid gold, and several people walked up and down, smiling politely at you as you stopped Kkami before the start. The entire castle was in full view, despite the length of the bridge, and you could barely contain the thrill which drummed in your veins.

“Hyunjin, do you see this?” 

He did not share your raging enthusiasm. “Just carry on riding, witch!”

You stuck your tongue out to him before you snapped the reins, Kkami starting off on the bridge. You heard the waves lap against the stone, the clear blue water twinkling in the sun, and the citizens watched you rush past in mild surprise, not expecting someone to be this excited for entering the capital.

But of course you were excited. Especially when you arrived at the place you’ve been dreaming to see on your birthday.

“____, you heathen, slow down or you’ll get us killed!” Hyunjin shouted over the rapid clicking of the horseshoes over the stone. 

You only obliged when you passed the entrance, guards nodding, and slowed Kkami’s gallop to a mild trotting around the streets. There was buzzing all around, thatched houses displaying colourful banners, depicting the fireworks which were to occur that evening, and many people seemed to have dressed up, enjoying each other’s company, children running around with kites and ribbons, playing and simply having fun.

It made you smile a little, seeing everyone in such harmony. You hoped you would be able to join in.

Hyunjin jumped off the horse, to your surprise, dusting himself off. “Off,” he ordered, hands out, and you complied, wrapping your arms around his neck as he brought you down, bare feet touching the cobblestone. Your hair tumbled down from the saddle, and a few people nearby watched in awe at your neverending locks. 

“Why are we getting off?” you asked, picking up as much of your hair as you could. 

Hyunjin grabbed onto the ends which you could not carry, one hand guiding Kkami along with him. “The fireworks are still hours away.” He began to walk, leading you deeper into the streets of Corona. “So I’m going to use this time to search for the whereabouts of someone.”

“Oh, is this the whole Jisung business?” your eyes darted everywhere, each flash of colour, of each depiction, drawing, painting of the fireworks. 

You saw the man visibly stiffen. “Yes,” he muttered, fingers tightening on the reins. “I know a few friends in the city who might know where he went.” 

“Show me the way, then!” you declared, returning each awe-filled smile one sent you. “If you have more friends like Mr. Chan and Seungmin then I want to meet them!”

Clicking his tongue, he said, “If you’re going to end up drunk with them I’d rather you didn’t.”

“You’re just jealous that your friends like me more than you,” you mused.

“You keep thinking that,” he only said dryly, though he feared that might be true. You had a habit of creating an unforgettable impression of yourself to others. 

You certainly left that impression on the poor man who walked oh so carefully beside you.

Another turn of a street and you were met with various shops, the scent of various savories and sugary desserts tempting your nose, and your eyes being bombarded with all the goods from around the country. You demanded Hyunjin to provide you with some pastries, but he only glared in rejection, moving on from the stalls. 

The man then stopped before a flower shop, dozens of different forms scattered around the opening. Stepping aside what nature has to offer, Hyunjin went inside, only to be met with more flowers.

“Felix?!” 

“Who is that?” you asked, but your question was answered when a small, blond haired man stepped out from the back door, holding a bouquet of roses in his little hands. He adorned a peach-coloured shirt and black trousers, leather shoes thudding as he walked inside the shop.

This man smiled brightly at seeing your companion. “Oh, afternoon, Hyunjin!” he greeted. “I’m surprised to see you here..”

“I was not going to come to Corona so early, as well, but something has come up.” He looked around, tying Kkami’s reins onto the wooden column, holding up the shop sign. “Say, has Jisung met you in the past two days?”

Felix furrowed his brows in thought, sliding the roses in an intricately decorated vase. “No, actually,” he admitted. “I haven’t seen him in about two months.”

“Damn it,” Hyunjin seethed, playing with a stray lock. “Is Jeongin here?”

“He’s outside, but he’ll be back any moment.” Felix then looked past you and your companion, and parted his mouth. “Ah, here we go!”

You turned around, and instantly softened at the beautiful boy which skipped into the flower shop, black curls bouncing along his step as he held bags, stained slightly with grease. “Felix, look!” He proclaimed, holding his possessions out and catching a glimpse of all the sugary goodness Hyunjin refused to buy you. “Lunch!”

The said-man rolled his eyes, dusting his hands. “You are crazy if you think I’m going to let you eat all of those pastries for lunch.”

“Oh, don’t be such a stick-in-the-mud!” Jeongin whined, propping the bags on the counter. He widened his grin at seeing the long-haired man. “Hyunjin!” 

“Hey, buddy,” you heard him say, while he brought out a hand to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Tell me you’re still as troublesome for Felix as before.”

“I could never let you down,” Jeongin drawled, earning a laugh from his elder.

He then turned to you, and his mischievous demeanour dissolved into amazement. “Oh my, miss, your hair!” His eyes skimmed over the locks, astonishment growing. “I’ve never seen anything like this before!”

“It can be a nightmare,” you confessed, dropping the masses of hair from your arms. “Carrying it, at least.”

Jeongin studied your phenomenon a little longer. “Miss, may I offer you assistance, then?”

You raised a curious brow. “And what would that be?”

“Well, if it can be bothersome,” he started, locking his hands behind his back, a little shy. “How about I braid it for you?”

“You…” your eyes widened, your fingers threading through your hair. “Can you do it?”

The young boy looked to Hyunjin, who very much doubted him. “I mean, you can go about your business, and until then I can take some trouble away from the lady.���

“Jeongin,” Felix warned. “Don’t go asking things like that!” He turned his eyes towards you, apologetic.  “I’m deeply sorry, my lady, but this boy is still learning to hold his tongue.”

“No, no, it’s alright, Mr. Felix,” you reassured him, facing Hyunjin as he, too, pondered over this offer. 

The long-haired man eyed the youngest a little warily. “I will be nearby, so I guess ____ can stay.” he then knitted his brows. “If I hear that you caused any inconvenience to her—”

“Oh, don’t you worry, Hyunjin, we’ll be fine!” Jeongin sent you a dazzling grin, bowing. “I will be on my best behaviour.”

Felix propped a little hand to his hip. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Hyunjin slid his eyes to you, parting his mouth. “You’ll be okay, right?”

You shook your head. “I’ll be fine!” Raising your hands, you turned the man around, pushing him out of the flower shop. “Go and find that Jisung man of yours and let me enjoy my birthday!”

“Alright, alright!” he looked over his shoulders. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Don’t miss me too much, Ponyboy!” you simpered, to which the man only rolled his eyes, leaving your sight as he turned to another corner.

You then turned to the two boys, smiling kindly. “In advance, I apologise if I annoy you with my rambling.”

Laughing, Felix gathered up a pot of orange tulips, turning towards the back door. “Ah, don’t be sorry, Miss ____, consider us good friends! I’ll be going in and out to check up on lunch but Jeongin will be here.”

“I won’t bore you, promise!” the younger exclaimed. “I have many good stories of Hyunjin!”

“Now that,” you get out as you laugh, “Is something I wish to hear.”

“Only for you, Miss ____,” Jeongin mused, gesturing towards a stool sat beside the counter. “You can sit here while I braid your hair. I don’t want you getting tired.”

You thanked him, walking over and settling yourself upon the cushioned seat. “If you can tie up all this mess, then I owe you a huge favour.”

The boy stepped towards your back, assessing how he was going to start this difficult process. Making an approving noise, he then grabbed the bags he first held when he came inside, bringing out a sugared doughnut and holding it out. “Snack?”

Seeing the treat had you yelling in joy. “Of course!” you took the doughnut from him, immediately digging in. “Thank you, Mr. Jeongin!”

“Please, Miss ____, just call me Jeongin,” he offered, separating your locks into three sections, splitting them downwards and creating distance between them on the floor. “I feel much too old when you call me that.”

“As long as you call me only ____,” you said as you ate, watching the busy street. You then felt a faint tightness on your scalp, and sensed the boy’s fingers commencing their task.

As Jeongin worked on braiding your hair, you slowly depleted his sweets, striking up conversations of the Kingdom, the shop and the people who dwelled here. You learned a great deal from his words, describing you the constant merriment within the walls throughout the year, yet today was the most important day for Corona - the fireworks celebrating the ascension of the King and Queen who lived in the castle. 

The young boy also explained his relation to your grumpy companion, explaining that their acquaintance originated from childhood, when Hyunjin would fight off any bullies which tried to pick on him, yet would be the first to tease him whenever he had the chance. They, along with Felix and others, all grew up together, but Hyunjin had been the first to adventure out of Corona along with Jisung, who, too, was a childhood friend.

It was welcoming, hearing the humble beginnings of Hwang Hyunjin. A true shame he turned out to be a grouchy and annoying bastard. 

You cocked your head, reassessing that statement. Well, he was not a bastard. That was a much too harsh a word to describe him. In truth, you wished you still harboured the feelings you first inhibited when you met him. 

In truth, you found yourself warming up to him. 

I would never do that, ____.

That night, beside the moonlit pond, when he declared in a quiet murmur that he would never abandon you, despite your irritable demeanour. It was terrifying, because it was all you could think about. Although it had not even been a week since you healed him in the woods, here you were, pondering over him as if you had been all your life. 

This only added to your fear. 

“Isn’t that so, ____?”

You perked up at Jeongin’s question, looking over your shoulder to see him already so far ahead in his task. The plait, each third huge and reducing the original length of your hair. You observed with further fascination that the boy had created another network of braiding, woven into the bigger thirds, and you let out a sigh of wonder, thankful for your miracle for the first time. “I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t listen.”

“Oh, I was just saying how Hyunjin should have stayed in the Kingdom, but he left to do whatever he did with Jisung.”

You brought your feet upon the railings of your stool. “Jeongin, what does Hyunjin actually do?” You asked, curiosity fresh on your tongue. 

“Apart from being a pain in the rear?” A laugh escaped you, and Jeongin continued braiding, nearly finished. “Well, all I know is that he’s involved in a lot of trading circles. Every week I used to see him bringing something new from foreign lands.”

“So a true adventurer, then?” 

Jeongin propped a third into another. “In a sense.”

After a half-hour Felix joined the two of you, mitten-covered hands holding a tray of hot bread as he set it on the countertop. He admired his friend’s artistry as well, taking off the gloves and watching for a little while as Jeongin was on the last parts of your hair. 

He then spoke. “I have an idea.”

The younger kept working as he said, “Go on.”

Stepping past you so he faced you, Felix propped a finger over his chin. “Hmm...yes…”

You gave him a confused look. “What do you mean, ‘yes’?”

But he hurried out of the shop, grabbing different variations of small flowers, all ranging from soft, pastelled colours, and walked over to you again.

“May I?” He asked, and you nodded, understanding what he was about to do. 

As you thought, the man picked out a blue forget-me-not, and planted it within the folds of your hair.

“Hmm,” he only got out, continuing this as he scattered more flowers in your locks, adding colour as he then moved past you, going behind as the flowers now littered the back of your head, lining against the plaits. 

“Felix, this will take you forever!” You said, worried that you may waste their time.

“No it won’t, Miss ____,” he waved off your concern, carrying on the task as if it would not take him a whole day to complete. “We want your hair looking immaculate for tonight. Especially if it’s your birthday today!”

You smiled at the kindness, initiating further conversation with Hyunjin’s friends as they kept you entertained throughout the afternoon. It was the first time meeting them, and already you wished to see them often. Secretly, you envied your companion for having such sincere friends.

You, on the other hand, were never given the chance to create such special bonds.

It was another hour before you heard a satisfied noise escape the youngest, and you turned, catching a victorious grin on his face. 

“It’s done, ____!”

On cue, you looked down, and gasped.

The finished braid was a masterpiece: all the networks of plaits were worked intricately into the original big three, and at the end were tied by a band of daisies, knotted so tightly there was hardly room for the locks to be set free. Felix tucked in the last of the flowers, and this added feature enhanced your hair even more, like a little garden of your own growing in your locks. The whole result had you returning their smiles. 

“Oh my God, Felix, Jeongin!” you started, swivelling on your stool, braid following. “It's exquisite!”

The two mocked a bow at you, receiving your applause with grace. “It was our pleasure, ____,” the elder said, a toothy grin on display. “I know I like having flowers in my hair.”

“Now you’ll be the talk of the town,” Jeongin drawled, which had you hesitantly laughing. The younger’s eyes then perked up past you. “Oh, look, just in time!”

You turned in your seat.

Stilled at seeing Hwang Hyunjin catching sight of you. Your new hairstyle.

His eyes lit up at the change. 

He saw the huge plait, and the flowers which littered in your hair, and thought he saw paradise inhabiting earth. He then saw your face accompanying this hair, and knew paradise will be staying for a while. Taking in the decoration, the intricate consideration of detail within your locks, had you elevated in every single way. 

By God, he found you so beautiful.

Jeongin raised a brow over Hyunjin’s dumbfounded reaction. “Are you not going to say anything?”

But the man was silent, hands on his satchel tightening. He then saw an empty expanse in your hair, just above your ear, and had a little idea.

Spotting his favourite flower, he picked it up from the stash outside the shop, and slowly walked towards you, your eyes never leaving his.

When he stopped before you, he raised the white rose, sliding the small stem within your locks. It found home above your ear, and the man nearly swooned at how perfectly it suited you.

He curled his lips at the sight of you. “You look...ethereal.”

You cursed at the hairs at the back of your neck, which stood erect at the soft praise. “Thank you, Ponyboy.”

Jeongin let out a snort, in result receiving a glare from Felix. “Ponyboy?”

Hyunjin’s smile faltered. “Do not even ask,” he only snapped, and returned his focus to you. “Let’s go.”

You stood up from your stool. “Where are we going?”

He began to walk out of the shop. “Our next stop,” he said, smiling at your scowl over his vague answer.

As he glanced at his friends, he saluted, a gesture of friendly mockery. “Thank you, you two.”

“Anytime, Hyunjin,” Felix said, and he took your hand, pressing a chaste kiss upon your skin. “And thank you for letting us decorate your hair.”

“No, please,” you countered, “Thank you for such an extraordinary present. I won’t forget the gesture.”

“Do see us again, ____!” Jeongin exclaimed, which, after you chuckled, you promised you would.

After waving the two goodbye, you followed Hyunjin out of the flower shop, a confident stride in your step as your flower-kissed braid trailed after you. 

The streets were fuller, the crowds more loud and excited as you two squeezed through people, with Kkami trotting behind on Hyunjin’s leash. The silly horse tried to pluck a few flowers from your braid but you made sure your hair stayed intact, having no intention of it being ruined in any circumstances. 

“Hyunjin, where are you taking me?” You demanded, trudging through the streets. Your feet, still bare, began to hurt. “If we don’t stop soon I’ll collapse!” 

He spared a glance at your step, wincing as a pained groan escaped you. “It’s not far,” he said, looking ahead once more.

“Ponyboy, can’t you carry me?” you whined, and when he turned back to see you, you braced yourself for a verbal lashing with the frown he adorned. 

Instead, you were hit with something quite different. 

After a hard, ragged sigh, he paused his walking, widening his arms from behind. “You better not be heavy,” he warned.

You watched him hunchbacked, dumbfounded at his acceptance. Since when was he complacent on giving you comfort?

Your cheeks then burned when you were reminded of that night again. Of the turquoise vest, which, although was hugging his lean figure now, was hugging you. 

“Are you going to just keep staring at me,” Hyunjin jeered, bringing you back to reality, “Or are you actually going to jump on?”

“Oh!” you got out, and stepped towards him.

You slid your arms around his shoulders, locking your hands upon his chest. You then felt his hands wrap around your thighs, and a small breath went free from your throat as he hitched you upwards, grip tightening on you. 

“You are very lucky to have me, witch,” the man gritted out. 

He then yelped as you pinched his shoulder. “You are very lucky to have me, Ponyboy,” you only mused, and raised your fist in the air, despite the growing nerves. “Come on now, let’s get going!”

Hyunjin obliged you, starting up a heavy, yet steady pace towards their destination. Each time he took a step, it radiated off you, and you hoped to all the heavens above that your body would not give up on you. Every time the man hitched you higher, though, had the possibility becoming much less likely.

You had not realised just how much his hands on your thighs affected your very senses. 

A few specifics from the crowd watched the two of you in adoration, murmuring how sweet it was for your lover to hold you when you were tired. When Hyunjin heard these whispers he nearly dumped you on the cobblestone, but you did not miss the scarlet blush which developed on his face. The rather charming image had you smiling as you rested your cheek against his neck. 

The man kept his hands secure, never letting you go till you arrived at wherever he wished to take you. You only knew you arrived when his grip on you loosened, straightening his back so you had no choice but to feel the street beneath you. So bizarre that you missed his touch — his warm, welcoming fingers.

You followed to where he looked, and saw the front of the shop littered with shoes. Different types of footwear, all neatly stacked on wooden racks, their sizes carved into the wood. You did not have the time to carefully admire each design before Hyunjin tied Kkami to another column, feeding him an apple before taking your hand and leading you inside the store.

The minute you entered you were welcomed with a homely extravagance, more and more shoes being displayed all around you, different colours and patterns luring you into getting all the pairs. It was a little odd, that your companion wished to show you this place so eagerly, but when he rang a bell atop the counter, and another man with fire-kissed hair entered from another door, furiously sewing on the back of a child’s shoe, you assumed that he must be acquainted.

“Minho!” Hyunjin exclaimed, following the said-man to where he paused his stride, setting the shoe down and breaking the thread, finished. 

“And what do you want?” was the heartfelt response, as the seller put the object under the counter. Hyunjin mockingly pouted, to which his friend scoffed. “Oh, you’re not getting any free clothes this time! Pay or go away!”

You let out a small chuckle at his tagline, and the man’s eyes darted to you, brow raised. “And who is this lady?” he inquired, fingers drumming on the countertop. “Who is much too beautiful to be accompanying this swindler?”

“Hey!” the man beside you objected, but you could not help the laughter which spluttered from your lips. 

“My name is ____,” you said, locking your hands behind your back. You then roamed your eyes about the room, turning to him once again, awed. “Did you make all these yourself?”

“Why, of course!” Minho opened up the countertop, joining you as he admired his work. “I take pride in my work, and am glad you appreciate them.” He then glanced at Hyunjin, squinting his eyes. “It’s honest money, after all.”

Confused, you looked to your companion but he only rolled his eyes, waving off the comments. “Save the sarcasm for later, buddy,” he drawled, and propped a hand upon his friend’s shoulder. “Now show me your best shoes for women.”

You widened your eyes. “Hyunjin?”

Minho curved his lips. “Oh, trying to delve into a new world, now?” 

“Shut up,” was his answer, as the long-haired man strolled further into the shop, right where all the elegant, more colourful shoes were inhabited. “Ah, here we go.”

You followed him hurriedly, not quite understanding. “Hyunjin, what are you doing?”

He only trailed a finger across the racks, humming to a few shoes which caught his eye. “Getting you a present.”

This only added to your shock. “What?” You breathed out, but he was too busy picking out a pair of boots, dark with silver lining around the edges. “Hyunjin!”

“How do you feel about these?” He held them out to you, who still did not comprehend why he was giving you a birthday present. 

Well, it was your birthday. So why did you expect him to give you nothing at all?

“____!”

You blinked. “What?”

He holds the black boots. “What are your thoughts?” 

Before you could answer, Minho clicked his tongue, walking to where you both stood. “Hyunjin, do you not know anything of styling?”

“What do you mean by that?” The long-haired man furrowed his brows. 

“Whatever you think I did.” The shoe-seller turned to you, mock pity in his gaze. “My lady, let me help you out. This buffoon does not know the art of attire.”

“Ugh!” Your companion grumbled, and you could not help but melt a little at his pouted irritation.

Minho watched his friend cross his arms, looking away in annoyance. “Let him sulk,” he said, and smiled at you. “Until then, I’ll find you something worth your beauty.”

You return his enthusiasm, letting him whisk you further into the women’s section, all the shoes in fashion at the time displayed before you, begging to be worn by you. Minho’s designing eye had to be commended — the man knew how to create.

“Let me see what you’re wearing,” the orange-haired man ordered, and you gave him a little twirl of your violet dress, your flower-littered braid following. 

“The flowers are adorable, might I add,” he said, and you thanked him excitedly, watching him choose more softer colours to pick your perfect pair of shoes from. 

At last, his hands settled upon soft, ballerina-like shoes, lilac in colour and ribbons flaring out from the back. With a satisfied hum he brought out the pair, holding them out to you. “What do you think?”

You brought out your hands, holding the shoes, and felt your smile grow. “They’re so pretty,” you gushed, feeling the silky ribbon between your fingers. “May I try them on?”

“Go right ahead, my lady.” He gestured to a leather seat, and you sat yourself down, just as Hyunjin walked up to Minho, scowl still there. “Are you done moping around now?”

“Quiet, you,” your companion snapped, but his agitation faded when he saw you dust away at your feet, and slide them inside the shoes. Your other foot pursued the first, and you stood the ribbons scattered to the floor.

“You’re supposed to tie them,” Minho explained, about to show you when a hand stopped him. 

He was met with Hyunjin’s determined features. “I’ll do it.”

You watched as the long-haired boy stopped before you, hands landing on your shoulders as he pushed you back on the seat. He then knelt before you, taking the attached ribbon in his hands. “May I?”

Your heart skipped happily a little beat. “Of course.”

Raising your leg slightly, you offered him easier access as he began looping the two strips of ribbon, one overlapping the toner and continuing this cycle till the material wrapped all the way up to your shin. You slid your dress higher, and only stopped when Hyunjin tied a little bow at the top of your entangled ribbon. He then did the same to your other leg, effortlessly wrapping the strips all around your leg till it hit the shin once more. After another bow, his fingers lingered on your leg, barely skimming over your ribbon-adorned skin.

He looked up at you, and an unrecognisable haze lifted in his eyes. “Happy birthday, ____.”

You certainly could recognise the butterflies in your stomach, fluttering much too uncontrollably. “Thank you, Hyunjin.”

Perhaps you both could have relished in this position forever were someone’s voice not dragged you both down to reality. 

“Are you both going to keep eye-rutting each other or am I going to get my fare?”

You immediately stood up, feeling yourself heat up over the comment. Hyunjin, too, snarled at his amused friend, buttoning and unbuttoning the top of his vest. “I’ve got it, you greedy prick.”

“Good,” Minho only said, smirking at the two of you as he retreated to his counter, where all his gold was stored. You and Hyunjin followed him there, the slight distance having too much weight for it to be comfortable.

Your companion brought out a little bag, jingling as he set it upon the countertop. “This alright?”

Taking the bag, his friend weighed it with his hand, and nodded in satisfaction. “Better than that.”

“Thank you so much for this, Minho,” you began, putting a hand to your chest in respect. “I will cherish these shoes.”

“You better, my lady,” he teased, but returned your gesture. 

You turned to leave with Hyunjin, beginning to head out when he stopped. “Oh, I nearly forgot!” 

He rushed back to the seller, who sighed. “You just can’t leave me alone, can you?”

His question was ignored, and was instead presented with another. “Minho, have you seen Jisung recently?”

This had the fire-kissed man cocking his head. “I did,” he answered, shocking Hyunjin. “Yesterday, actually.”

“By God—” The long-haired man could barely contain himself. He whirled to you, pointing to the entrance. “You go outside and untie Kkami. I’ll be right out.”

“Hyunjin,” you tried to object, but the look on his face, the silent pleading, had you giving in, nodding grimly as you exited the shop, waving to the owner.

Kkami welcomed you with a hearty neigh, and you stroked his mane, slowly untying his reins. “Why does he not tell me things?”

Your answer was another noise from the horse, and you patted the creature, leading it out on the streets. The sun was descending, light still clear yet the first glimpses of oranges had arrived. The fireworks were mere hours away.

The man had not come out after a while, you looking back every now and then, catching concern in his dazzling features. The people’s excitement did little to have you join in, and you began to worry that something may be wrong. 

You were about to go inside the shoe shop once more when you caught sight of Hyunjin exiting, hands fisted at his sides, expression grim. 

Stopping before you, you worked up the courage to ask first. “What’s going on?”

Surprised, you noticed he could not even look at you. His eyes drifted away, a tick in his jaw, teeth grazing over another. Oh, the man was enraged. 

When let in a deep breath, he faced you, catching guilt in his slender eyes. “I cannot be with you when the fireworks occur.”

Silence.

Despite the merriment around the two of you, the pure joy radiating in the kingdom, you felt your heart stop. “What?”

The man tightened his little ponytail, locks still caressing his neck as he tried to avert your gaze. “I have to be elsewhere when nightfalls, but I can show you where you can see them best, so you’ll be okay-”

“Hyunjin-”

He continued, closing his eyes. “I don’t want you missing the fireworks, so let me show you the best spot before I have to leave.”

You could not believe your ears. “Hyunjin, I-”

“And I know how important they are to you, so I suggest we start going right now, so I can be on my way-”

He would have gone forever, rambling excuses if you had not looked down, at his clenching, unclenching hands. If you had not reached your own hands out, clasping them with his. The man ceased his digression at the sudden contact, and finally whipped his head to you. His frantic eyes met yours, and something within you cracked. 

You did not let go as you breathed out, “What’s the matter, Ponyboy?”

No irritation responded to you from the nickname. Only his commencing of his thumbs, stroking the back of your hands. “I have learned of Jisung’s location.”

Parting your mouth in surprise, you asked, “Where is he, then?”

“I do not know where he is now, but I know where he will go tonight.” his gaze scrutinised you. “And do not think I will tell you of that place.”

“What?” Bewildered, you took a step closer, and noticed the lack of distance between the two of you. At the time, you took no note of it. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because for the past few days I’ve been with you, the one thing I’ve learned about you is that you’re incredibly foolish.” You scoffed at this strange declaration, but he carried on. “I know that if you learned where I was going you’re going to follow, especially if I tell you not to go.”

You were about to object, but you shut your mouth, glancing sheepishly back at him. “Well, maybe you should let me come with you!”

“Damn it, ____, I probably would have any other time.” He let out a harsh sigh. “It is much too dangerous tonight.”

“Damn you, Hyunjin, what is it that’s so troubling that you even can’t tell me?” you demanded, your grip on his hands tightening. “What did this Jisung do to you?”

The mere mention of his name had the man hissing. “The bastard crossed me,” he guttered, and you felt his rage pour off of him. “And I’m not going to let him get away with it.”

You watched him helplessly, clinging onto his hands. “Hyunjin, please,” you pleaded. “Please, let me help you.”

As you watched his stare peer into you, you witnessed the chaos behind his eyes, a civil war raging within him whether to trust you or not. You prayed to the heavens that this man, this reckless, insufferable, heartwarming man, would let you in.

He opened his mouth. 

“I’m sorry, ____.”

Letting go of your hands, he took the reins of his horse. “It’s too dangerous.” he then murmured to himself, and although it was quiet, you heard the words well enough.

“God forbid if I let you get hurt.”

He then stepped passed you, already walking ahead, leaving you to catch up to his agitated stride. 

Of course you were angry. How could you not be? you asked yourself as you followed him, refusing to stroll beside him. You two have been travelling together for nearly a week, yet he still does not trust you enough to tell you of his troubles. Disappointment washed over you more, for ever thinking he would give you a chance. 

You knew that if you were in his position, you would tell him everything.

After a few twists and turns of the street, you were met with a network of ports, a whole civilisation mingling upon wooden stilts. Boats of all shoes and sizes docked along the wooden lines, and you saw with mild surprise that barrels of fireworks were filled to brim on each deck. 

“Around the evening, this place will clear away, and all the little boats will enter, offering places to see the fireworks.” Hyunjin glanced at you, but you refused to meet his eyes. “Find yourself a boat, and have him row you beyond the kingdom.”

Nodding, you began to descend on the steps, until your wrist was caught by his hand. “____.”

Still, you looked ahead.“What?”

“I’m sorry.” A pause. “You know I’d let you come if circumstances were different.”

Silence was his answer, to his immense dismay. He let go of your hand, and instead had you gripping your horse’s reins. “Take care of Kkami while I’m gone.”

Holding on, you looked back, and made sure he drank in the solemnity of your gaze. “Don’t you dare die on me.”

A little laugh huffed out of him; it was all he could offer, when he turned, and strode into the crowds of Corona. 

God. It physically hurt seeing him leave.

Kkami neighed softly. “I know,” you only said, already wishing dusk would arrive. 

At least the fireworks were still happening. Something you’ve been wanting to see for years is right before you now.

So with that small consolation, you sat down on the stone steps, watching the port’s business as you stretched your feet, now adorned in a Hyunjin’s birthday present, and waited for time to pass. Sometimes, when your mind drifted to that certain man, you would run a shaking finger over the white rose embedded in your hair. 

This was harder than you thought.

The sun began to descend some more, the blue sky morphing into more oranges, reds and pinks. The atmosphere was hushed now, chatter still here and there, but almost awaiting for something. The larger ships had set sail long before, and, just as Hyunjin had said, smaller boats populated the docks, devoid of the fireworks. 

Curiosity peaking at your mind, you heaved up to your feet, dusting the back of your dress, and, tugging Kkami, decided to go upon the wooden wharf, taking the longer route without the stairs. 

The horse, seeing the water, began to stomp its hooves, but you reassured him, stroking its long face as you led him along the dock, careful of the sailors. 

You reached near the end of the dock, and noticed a small boat anchored at the very edge, fireworks stored all around it. There was a small man settled inside the boat, tying up stray objects with rope, whistling sweetly away. You tried to take a step forward, but Kkami neighed loudly, frightened to get closer to the bed of water. 

“Kkami!” you seethed, trying to calm the creature down, but it only made more noise, stirring the people around you. Sending them apologetic looks, you took out a carrot, seducing the animal with it until it settled, munching on the vegetable.

“Careful with that fine horse of yours, Miss!” 

Startled, you turned around, and saw the same man you were looking at now staring back at you. He had a friendly, curious smile upon his face. His dark locks were swiped back with a dirtied cloth, tying at the back of his neck. His loose shirt followed the sea breeze, and as you took a step closer, his hands came into view, roughened with labour. 

Catching your expression, he chuckled to himself, a sweet little sound despite his appearance. “You should know horses don’t like the water much,” he explained, continuing with his work. 

“Ah, sorry,” you said, slightly embarrassed. “It’s my first time taking care of a horse. It’s my friend’s, you see.” You could not help the irritation slip.

The sailor sure sensed it. “Oh, no,” he mused, a sympathetic smile on his lips. “Has this friend let you down in any way?”

Careful to tie Kkami along the railings, you walked towards him, fisting your hands. “I was going to watch the fireworks with him,” you confided. “But he just abandoned me! To go heaven knows where!”

The man scoffed, tying the fireworks. “A man, I presume?” you nodded, and he sighed, setting the bunch in his boat. “Just tell me the name, my lady, and I’ll take care of him for you.”

You huffed out a laugh at his offer, waving it off. “Oh, it’s alright. I just wish I knew where he was.”

“I’m sure he’ll come back,” the man reassured you. “As long as he has not gone anywhere near the castle walls.”

You paused as the words left his mouth. “Why?”

He turned to you, leaning back in his boat. “A lot of suspicious dealings happen there, my lady. Almost every thief in Corona sells their faux possessions along the abandoned walls of the palace. Especially today, with everyone distracted by the fireworks.”

The moment you heard this information, you felt your interest spike to the clouds. “Oh?” you sat yourself upon the docks. 

“My lady, please.” He gestures to a free seat upon his boat. “I cannot have you sitting on this dirty wood.”

He held out a hand, and you took it, taking a mindful step onto the boat, and, making sure you weren’t going to fall into the waters, stepped inside, hull shaking as you settled down before the man. He let go, and put that hand on his chest. “I’m Changbin, by the way,” he introduced. “I need to prepare for the fireworks but I’m only just behind.” He then regarded your hair, wonderment in his gaze. “How long is your hair?”

“The name’s ____, and longer than you think,” you replied, bringing the massive braid in front of you, stroking the flowers. “You said there were thieves in the Kingdom?”

Changbin looked at you incredulously. “____, there are crooks everywhere around here.” his incredulity then turned a little timid. “I must confess, I was one myself.” he then sat up. “Not anymore, though! I swore never to degrade myself like that ever again.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” you consoled him. “I assume it would have been entertaining.”

“I guess so.” He relaxed once more, watching the lazy waves lap over each other. “Though I had never done anything too fantastical.” He pondered some more. “Actually, there was one adventure I partook in. Hellish, but incredibly delightful.”

The sailor then exhaled deeply. “Maybe that’s because I was on a job with Hyunjin.”

You were about to ask more when you stilled.

Hyunjin.

“Did…” you knitted your brows, not sure you heard him properly. “Did you say Hyunjin?” You leaned in, now fully focused. “You know him?”

Changbin stared at you for a few seconds before he burst into laughter. “Who doesn’t know of Hwang Hyunjin?

“The most famous thief of the Kingdom.”

Your mouth dropped. 

“Hyunjin? A thief?”

“Why, the greatest one out there!” He chuckled some more. “I was very lucky to go on an exploit with him, but he usually stole treasure alone.”

He then corrected himself. “No, in fact, there was someone else he always committed his plundering with. Damn it, I can’t remember the name…”

Your assistance was barely a whisper. “Jisung?”

“Ah, yes!” he exclaimed. “Those two were joined at the hip. Though, mind you, ____, I spied the man wandering around the streets alone.”

“You did?” 

A nod was your answer. “He had this big bag with him, and from my previous adventures with them I knew it was Hyunjin’s.” Changbin drummed a finger upon his chin, lower lip sliding over the top. “Something suspicious is amiss.”

With the way your eyes widened, everything coming to you in an instant, you knew. 

Something horrific will go down. 

Jisung’s apparent betrayal, from the conversation at the tavern. Hyunjin saying it was too dangerous to disclose wherever he was going to go. Changbin revealing a huge trade off occurring around the castle walls, including the big thieves of Corona. 

It all made sense. 

You suddenly shot up, yelping as you nearly fell off the boat. “Careful!” the man warned, but acting with caution was the least of your concerns when you now knew where that long-haired bastard was.

“Changbin, I have to go to the palace walls,” you said, hopping quickly off the shaking boat. 

The sailor, steadying it, stepped onto the docks, too, puzzled over your sudden change. “Good God, why do you want to go tonight?”

He then looked into your eyes. Saw the desperation, the realisation that hit you not moments before.

“Oh dear God!”

Walking to you, he planted a hand upon his forehead.”Hwang Hyunjin’s the friend?” 

“Changbin,” you began, looking back on the streets. “He’s in deep trouble. He’s gone near the castle walls to confront Jisung and I’m so scared something’s going to happen.”

Looking ahead, the sailor bit the inside of his cheek, weighing in his options. He glanced at his boat, and the fireworks, needing to be transported near the palace. “We need to be quick, _____.” 

Bringing out a dagger, glinting in the new moonlight, he asked, “Do you have a weapon with you?”

You searched through the bags strapped upon Kkami, and whipped out your frying pan. “Got it.”

Changbin raised his brows, but decided against commenting on your choice. “Keep the horse here, then. We need to be as quiet as possible when we arrive at the wall.”

He then stepped past you, leading you up the steps and back into the crowd, making sure you’re close behind. The two of you made little noise as you left the populated streets, diving into private neighbourhoods, avoiding questionable groups who stared at you, and only averted their gaze when Changbin flashed his dagger in the moonlight.

As the palace came closer in view, you felt your nerves return. Not even for yourself, you realised, as you turned another corner, walking silently along the muddied footpaths. More for the long-haired thief who may or not be in extreme danger. 

You prayed to the heavens he was okay. Because if something happened to him, you really did not know what you would do. Did not even want to comprehend the turnout of events if things turned sour.

“____.” 

You perked up at the mention, realising that you had reached the start of the palace barricade. The walls towered over the two of you, fencing you from the inside of the royal lands. Changbin looked at your right, and sure enough, at the far end, from the houses clustered together in a close, a group of men were gathered. The sailor beside you crept closer, back against the house walls, and you journeyed nearer, the former quickly switching to another residence, taking you with him. Beyond the building, you both studied the group closer. Before you, with his back to you, was a slender figured man, his black longcoat blowing in the night breeze. Although you could not see his face, you heard his uncontrollable cackling, taking a step closer to the group, holding onto a certain fugitive.

You nearly let out a scream. There he was, your esteemed Ponyboy, struggling to free from the thieves’ hold as he raged against the man before you. His semi-ponytail was left down, stray locks tumbling over his face, and his boots dug into the cobblestone.

“Look at you,” this man cooed, leaning into your companion. “All angry and ready to slit my throat.” 

“You took what was mine!” Hyunjin roared. He was met with another round of heartless laughter, and you realised that this man was no doubt the notorious Jisung. 

“We need a distraction,” Changbin said, looking around the dimmed area. “Otherwise…”

He did not need to say more. 

“I took what was needed to send a signal,” Jisung clarified, studying something in his hands. However, you could not see. “That I have no desire to share my treasures with you.”

“You bastard!” the captive growled, but was shoved down by Jisung’s men once more. “I did all the work! I put my life on the line and you know that!”

“A shame that life wasn’t taken,” was his cool answer. “Now I’m going to have to take it myself.”

You and Changbin exchanged fearful glances. You needed to act. Now.

Just as the sailor was about to step into the scene, loud music began to play.

Sounding from nearby, it not only stopped you, but the thieves in front of you. It was a sweet harmonising with a flute and a fiddle, and, puzzled, you saw the same expression on Hyunjin’s capturers. 

Then, you heard the voice which led the music.

“Who has the right mind to be singing in a neighbourhood like this?” Changbin whispered furiously, but you only answered his question with a knowing smile.

It was the same, mellow call which you drank to at the tavern. And when another voice joined in, you nearly laughed, already remembering the fond memories.

Mr. Chan and Seungmin arrived just in time.

Jisung turned his head to the direction of the music, and you saw the side of his face, doe eyes marred in irritation, thin lips pursed. “Who the fuck is belting out a song at this hour?” He looked to the four men, pointing to two. “You both! Go check the drunkards and shut them up.”

Obeying the command, the rest still kept an iron grip on Hyunjin, who, you could tell with a broken heart, was losing his strength. The fury, however, was still there, daggering his former partner in crime. 

“Now, tell me, Hyunjin,” Jisung mused, wrenching the man’s face forward with a hand, clasping his cheeks. “How did you manage to heal yourself so quickly?” His gaze dipped, to the dried blood stains on his turquoise vest. “I was sure you’d die off from the stab wound.”

“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?”

Jisung, scoffing, dug his nails in his cheeks, causing Hyunjin to release a pained exhale. “I can see that, you little prick. Now I know it was deep enough to take weeks to heal.”

He leaned in, tilting his head in curiosity. “How did you manage to fix yourself up like that? Where did you find such a miracle?”

Your companion was about to snarl out a retort when his eyes darted beyond Jisung, into the dark. He caught the sight of a white rose.

His eyes, then, caught sight of you. 

Of you, hiding in the shade.

His mouth stayed parted. 

You pressed a finger to your lips, taking a careful step out of the dark.

“Oi! Hyunjin!” Jisung forced him to look at him again, anger simmering. “What was the miracle?!”

Your long-haired thief watched his once best friend, a still peace harbouring his face. With one last glance towards you, he smirked, sliding his gaze back.

“It was no miracle, Jisung,” he rasped out.

“It was witchcraft.” 

Just then, when you were about to swing your frying pan down on Hyunjin’s nemesis, a deafening sound erupted from the earth.

Blinding lights shot into the sky. Exploded into millions more, blazing into different directions. More coloured brilliance followed, illuminating the night.

You felt your soul at a standstill.

“The fireworks!”

Hyunjin, watching everyone distracted, took the golden opportunity and raised his fists to the men’s chins, causing them to yelp in pain. They released his hold on him, and the man wrenched free, already on one of Jisung’s lackey’s. 

The leader took note of the commotion, widening his eyes. “For God’s sake, it’s two against one!”

Soon, it was two against two as Changbin raised his knife, charging towards the other man. He landed a damaging hit on his shoulder, and the chase began in taking them down. 

His back still to you, you raised the pan, watching him about to charge towards Hyunjin.

You were ready to swing it on his head when the second round of fireworks started.

Looking back, completely off guard, this time they were more victorious, like beacons bursting in the cloudless sky. It was a shame the castle blocked the main view of their ascent, only seeing wisps of the blaze.

However, remembering you have a man to knock out, you turned to see the very nemesis.

Jisung, although not very large in build, had a calculating, cunning face which chilled you to the bone. Even your arms felt numb holding the pan, when his stare penetrated through your every layer. 

“Oh my,” he murmured, taking a slow step towards you. Reflexively, you took one back, weapon still out. “And who might you be?”

“Hyunjin’s miracle,” you spat, and you dared to take a full swing of the pan.

To your absolute horror, Jisung instantly dodged, ducking and then grabbing the handle from you. He waved it in the air, grinning like a demon in your scary stories. 

“Look at you,” he purred, continuing his tempered pace towards you. Fear curled in your stomach, hands slack at your sides, feet backing away. “Trying to fight me with a kitchen utensil.”

He chuckled darkly. “It’s almost adorable.”

You did not realise how long you were retreating for till your back hit the murky, palace walls. When you caught the predatory gleam in Jisung’s eyes, your breathing nearly ceased to work. 

“You really thought you’d save your little thief,” he crowed, daring another step, creeping closer, too close for your liking. He threw the pan behind him, skidding along the cobblestone. “With what? A sailor and a frying pan?”

When he was only a mere few inches from you, he regarded your braided hair, the flowers which littered among each strand. You froze up completely when his fingers reached out, tucking in a stray curl behind the beloved rose. 

“Or perhaps it was your infinite locks that healed him.”

You could not suppress the shiver that escaped you, and he, noticing, snickered, planting the hand beside your head. “Where is your salvaged thief now?” he whispered. 

The fireworks erupted behind you still, and you closed your eyes, not able to take in what was to happen next. Hyunjin was right. You should never have come here. 

But you would have done it again without hesitation. Ponyboy was in trouble, and hopefully he took this opportunity and ran away from this scene. 

You would fight a thousand Jisungs to save him, over and over again. 

Jisung was about to take the next step, do something unnamable.

Till you heard the loudest PANG!

Instantly, you opened your eyes, and found the wicked man being thrown to the side, thudding on the dirty cobblestone. From the sound of the pang! You knew that this man was unconscious. He ceased to even move.

You whipped your head to whoever knocked Jisung out straight.

And let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding in.

Hwang Hyunjin stood before you, heaving as he held up your frying pan. His eyes, dilated, were rooted to you, and his mouth was parted, mist escaping his lips and joining the cool night air.

Silence fell upon the close, with Changbin finished dealing with the last of men, and the two of you just stared and stared at each other till you let out a ragged sigh.

“You can never insult my frying pan again.”

You waited for him to laugh, or even scoff at your ridiculous statement after experiencing a life-threatening situation.

The man did not even smile.

Only dumped the pan upon the ground before he was on you in seconds.

His hand clasped onto your wrist, and pulled you towards him. You stumbled into his chest, and when he wrapped his arms around you, you found yourself being nearly crushed with his hug.

He nestled his head into your neck, his locks falling to your shoulder, free of the ribbon which tied them. “This is why,” he muttered upon your skin, “I did not want you following me.”

You rested your cheek against his chest, returning his embrace. “If you get to save me, I get to save you too.”

There was a heavy pause. “You missed the fireworks because of me,” he whispered, and hearing the guilt in his voice nearly undid you. “I don’t even know how to compensate for something you’ve waited so long to see.”

Although there was that downside, something within you wasn’t as devastated at the thought as you’d expected to be. “There’s always next year, Ponyboy,” you reassured him. You then smiled deviously. “Or should I say thief?”

Hyunjin pulled away slightly, holding you still as he blushed scarlet with embarrassment. “I suppose you know I’m no adventurer.”

You caught the slight fear in his eyes, and your heart broke. He really thought you’d be wary of him now that you knew of his true identity.

Squeezing his shoulders, you offered him mischief through your smile. “Being a witch isn’t so far off from being a thief.”

A little laugh spluttered from him, but he quickly reigned in his amusement, looking at you once again. “You know, I never really wanted to do this,” he confessed. “As a child, I always had to look out for myself, and stealing was the only way to escape poverty.”

His hands tightened on you. “I really want to get out of this mess. In fact, I was going to let Jisung get away with everything, but he took something very precious of mine.”

He turned to his satchel, the one his nemesis was said to have pinched, and went through the inside until he brought out the most stunning necklace, the diamonds glistening as gold swirls curled along its edges, the golden chain studded with more of that jewel all around. 

“Hyunjin,” you breathed out, observing the jewellery. “It’s beautiful.”

The man hummed in agreement. “It was my mother’s,” he said, admiring the necklace. “It is the one of the few things which is truly mine.”

His soft voice hardened. “Jisung stealing it was the last straw for me.”

You upheld his gaze. “I would have done the same.”

He did not say anything for a bit, just regarding you under the moonlight. Well, in his eyes, it was more admiration, awe-stricken marvelling. 

You, in his eyes, were a little too stunning under this night. 

The thief was to say offer something when he heard more voices. 

Freezing, he turned around, only to find more men joining Changbin. The men who contributed in saving him.

After staring at you a moment longer, he let go of you. “Let’s join the others.”

You nodded, not missing his hand on the small of your back as he led you to his friends. Chan, Seungmin and Minho were all talking amongst themselves, despite the unconscious bodies around them. They all noticed you both walking towards them, and instantly they all smiled at your arrival.

“____!” Chan exclaimed, raising his wooden fiddle in excitement. 

“We missed you so much at the inn!” Seungmin added, holding his silver flute.

“I nearly died ten minutes ago, prick,” Hyunjin guttered, but was only responded with more laughter. 

Minho, raking a hand through his fire-kissed hair, clicked his tongue at you, dipping his eyes. “Not even a day and you’ve muddied the shoes,” he drawled, earning a stuck out tongue from you.

“When did you arrive?” you asked him. “I only heard Chan and Seungmin’s singing.”

“I was handling more men further ahead.” he then rolled his eyes. “Felix and Jeongin were supposed to help me but the little one’s stomach started to hurt. Apparently he ate too many doughnuts in the afternoon.”

Hyunjin glanced at you, eyebrows raised, and you scoffed. “Excuse me! You were taking your time! Not my fault Jeongin and I got hungry.”

“You did not get to see the fireworks, then,” Seungmin stated. You shook your head, hugging yourself a little tighter. 

“What a shame,” Chan said, sadness in his usual cheerful tone. “I remember you talking about the event so fondly.”

Changbin, who was quiet throughout, then spoke up. “Actually,” he started, looking at you. “I think I can fix that.”

You and all the men turned to him, baffled. He only said, “Minho, bring Felix and Jeongin to the docks in fifteen minutes. Bring some good snacks with you.”

“What have you got in mind, Bin?” Hyunjin asked, furrowing his brows, but Changbin only stepped past the group, whistling.

“Follow me, friends!” he declared, sheathing his dagger. Everyone, still confused, decided to follow, save for Minho, who turned to another avenue to fetch the absent two.

You and Hyunjin walked side by side, hands skimming against each other as the men in front of you led you out of the network of residences, until you were away from the palace walls, and any more danger.

Soon, you found yourself descending the same steps where the thief had left you to face Jisung. The people had dispersed, as the fireworks had ended, yet when Changbin turned the corner, to the far end of the harbour, his little, firework-filled boat still floating upon the sea. Kkami was present too, waiting patiently for his owner to return, and when Hyunjin saw him he sighed in relief, hurrying towards him.

The horse neighed eagerly as the man stroked his mane. Changbin stepped past him, carefully getting on the boat, searching for some flint and steel.

It was then you realised. 

“We’re getting our very own fireworks show!”

The sailor grinned at your enthusiasm. “We can’t let a lady be disappointed.”

Chan tapped on his fiddle. “Seungmin and I can play the music!” he declared, wrapping an arm around his friend.

You clasped your hands together. “Oh, I’d love to dance!”

“Let me join in!”

Stunned, you whirled around, and found Jeongin running up to you, beaming from ear to ear as Felix and Minho followed behind, holding food. You returned his smile, calling, “Jeongin! Feeling better now?”

Blushing, he scratched the back of his neck, raven waves curling under his ears. “Ah, I really wished I could have helped at the palace walls, but my stomach chickened out on me.”

Felix tutted as he set the food along the benches. “I told you to stop eating, but you do not listen!”

“He goes after all of us here, then,” Minho commented.

“Can someone help me with the lighting?” Changbin asked, and the men flocked to assist him.

Only Hyunjin stood rooted as he tied his messy locks back, staring at you with an indecipherable emotion.

It did not go unnoticed. “What’s wrong?” 

You could tell he was thinking. Pondering hard over what he wanted to do next. 

He then brought his hands upon your shoulders, turning your back to him. “Hyunjin?” you got out, surprised, but he said nothing as you heard him fishing something out of his satchel.

You were about to turn around and scold him when you felt cold metal upon your neck. 

Looking down, a small gasp escaped you when you found his mother’s necklace settled on your skin, tinkling as the man clipped the lock under your head of hair. When he was done, he spun you around, assessing the added accessory upon you. 

He smiled lovingly at the sight.

“Hyunjin, I-” you started, trying to untie the necklace. “I-I can’t take this from you.”

Pausing your efforts, he held onto your hands. “Yes you can. I want you to have this.” you tried to argue some more, but he raised his brows. “No! I don’t want to hear more.”

Your eyes swirled with something akin to affection. “Hyunjin.”

His lips curved upwards. “You know, ____, I always call you a witch but…” he let out a shuddered breath, fingers playing with a stray curl. “But you certainly never looked like one.”

Your heart, damn the thing, fluttered at the statement. You only held onto the lapels of his vest, wishing that all these people would fade away, if only for a moment. 

The long-haired thief leaned in a little, tugging you closer, and perhaps he would have closed the distance were it not for Changbin letting out a victorious screech. 

“It’s happening, everyone!” 

He quickly jumped off the boat, others following as the spark was lightened. Everyone took a few steps back, watching the spark fuse closer to the fireworks, Hyunjin holding onto you still.

Chan bumped his elbow against Seungmin, firing up his instrument. “Let us liven up, everyone!”

Seungmin brought the mouth of the flute to his lips, and instantly, music began to fill the docks. 

“When will the fireworks start?” Minho demanded, tapping his foot, but when Felix shushed everyone, they all watched as the fuse hit the heart of the firecrackers.

The first thing that welcomed you all was a very loud BANG!

Everyone jumped at the sheer light which flashed before your eyes, shooting for the stars as it burst into the sky, scattering bright brilliance upon the sea. More and more fireworks joined in on this fire-like race, exploding everywhere in the air, igniting gasps of wonder from the crowd.

You were the most awed in the entire group. Ever since you were young, you had admired this show from miles away, but now, when it was a few metres from you, it filled with you with the same light that it spluttered down on you. Although it was not the official fireworks which you wished to see originally, this alternative was just as extraordinary - more so, as it was done just for you.

The fireworks were then accompanied with music, being fired up once more by the innkeepers, and instantly everyone began to dance along the merry beat, singing along to Seungmin’s and Jeongin’s honey voice. 

You joined in on this fun, making sure to swing along to the music with everyone, joining arms with Jeongin and then moving to Minho, changing to Changbin and then frolicking with Felix, you even sang with Seungmin, chuckling with Chan as you try to steal his fiddle, and you twirled and twirled in the middle, dress and plait trailing after you.

Hyunjin, sat upon the benches, clapped to the merriment, his smile lingering whenever a breathless laugh escaped you as you danced with all his friends. When you caught sight of him settled alone, you ran to him, ushering him to join in. he refused at first, hurryingly saying he hated to dance, but you grabbed onto his hands and wrenched him off the bench, a yelp fleeing his lips as he was dragged into the center.

Hands still clasped, you led them about your waist, not missing the blush staining his cheeks as you planted your hands on his shoulders, moving him along to the music.

“Oh, my, Ponyboy,” you drawled as you felt yourself being led by hands. “You are a good dancer.”

“I never said I was bad at it,” he mused, twirling you around. You tried to fight your smirk, both pairs of eyes joining in their twinkling.

Yours began to glisten even more when you dared to say, “You know, Ponyboy,” you started, voice dripped with mischief. 

He watched you, lips twitching. “Yes?”

“When the fireworks occur…” you lock your hands behind his neck. “You’re supposed to kiss the person you’re dancing with.”

The way Hyunjin's eyes widened at the implication had your stomach in disarray. The surprise quickly darkened when he leaned in, cocking his head. “Oh, really?” his little chuckle was felt on your lips. “It is too bad you’re a witch, then.”

Returning his laughter, you dared raise your fingers to his ribbon, untying the strip and letting his luscious curls fall at his shoulders. “What a blessing for you,” you said, “That this witch does not follow the rules.”

The man’s smile was unforgettable. “Neither does this thief.”

That was all he said, before closing the distance between you two.

The moment his lips touched yours, it was like another round of fireworks had erupted. This time, these fireworks were within you and the man before you, moving plush lips against you and bringing you the finest form of sweetness you had ever tasted. You melted under him, he pulling you right against his chest, unable to accept any distance between the both of you. 

A soft noise left you as he pulled away from you, mouth parted, glistening like the diamonds adorning you. Around you, cheers broke out from the boys, whooping at the kiss you and Hyunjin shared. Although your cheeks burned, you giggled at their reaction, staying close with the thief.

The dancing only continued, as the fireworks still illuminated the docks. You turned to Hyunjin once again, whose hands encircled your waist still. 

As you moved slowly along to the music, the man dipped his face, settling his forehead against yours. His erratic breathing mixed with yours. “I am...so happy to have met you, witch,” he whispered to you. 

Your heart, if it was not already in the clouds, now elevated to seventh heaven. “You’re not so terrible yourself, thief.”

It was his answering smile which had him pulling you closer again, finding paradise in your arms as you and your friends danced the night away under the fireworks.

#stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #skz imagines #stray kids fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #hwang hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin oneshot #stray kids oneshot

[linskywords]

75 & 91 for Pat/Jon ❤️

Ooh, bed sharing, and PWP, excellent combo. 😈 NSFW text under the cut!

"Jonny. Pst, Jonny."

Jonny wakes up to Pat shaking his arm. "Ugh. What."

"You gotta let me sleep here. Sharpy fucked up my bed."

"What?" Jonny cracks his eyes open and looks at the other bed. It looks fine.

"Water." Pat makes a face. "At least, I hope it was water."

"Ugh," Jonny says again. "Go yell at Sharpy."

"He'll just pretend he doesn't know what I'm talking about. Come on, it's really late, just let me sleep here."

"Yeah. Whatever. Fine." Jonny moves over so that Pat can climb under the covers.

"Thanks, man," Pat says, way too chipper for this hour of the night, and Jonny turns away pointedly to go back to sleep.

When he wakes up again, he's not sure what time it is, and he's facing towards Pat again.

It's dark, that much he knows. Dark and warm. Jonny's breathing kind of fast, and he feels--he's not sure what he was dreaming about, but it was definitely a dream. All he remembers is the feel of it, close and slick and hot. He takes in a deep breath, trying to clear his head, and gets a whiff of Patrick, nestled against his neck. Pat's shampoo, piney and familiar, and something else that's just sleep-warm skin.

Pat makes a breathy sound through his mouth, and he hitches his hips against Jonny's.

Jonny gasps silently. Pat's hip pressed just right against Jonny's cock, which is fully hard and throbbing inside his underwear. Jonny's still catching his breath when Pat rolls his hips again, sending another bolt of sensation crackling up Jonny's spine, and this time Jonny can feel that Pat is hard, too, his cock rolling right alongside Jonny's.

Jonny closes his eyes. This can't go on, no matter how good it feels to have Pat's hard-on pressed against his like that. "Pat," he whispers. "Hey, Pat, wake up."

Pat makes a sleepy noise, and his hips roll again, making colors sparkle behind Jonny's eyelids. Then he gives a twitch, eyes blinking open. "Jonny?" he says.

Jonny looks down at his face, blue eyes looking bewildered under blond lashes. Then he bends to kiss Patrick's sleep-soft mouth.

Patrick makes a startled noise. His mouth is sweet and wet and warm, and Jonny presses kisses to it -- and then Patrick seems to catch on, and he kisses back, his tongue slipping into Jonny's mouth and feeling just as good as Jonny always thought it would, all those times Patrick's licked his lips and Jonny's stared just a little too long.

Jonny groans and rolls to press his hips into Patrick's. It's all moving pretty fast now, Jonny's blood galloping hot through him, Patrick's cock sliding against his sweet-perfect-right. Patrick's making these little noises into his mouth, and Jonny swallows them down, hands gripping asses and hips rolling, and then Patrick gasps and goes rigid.

It feels half like a dream when Jonny comes. He has Patrick sweaty and panting beneath him, and he feels like he's floating: like he's held in some perfect warm dark space, nothing in the world but the pleasure rushing through him, the glorious perfect pressure of Patrick's body against his. It seems to go on and on and on.

It's Patrick's laugh that makes him realize he's done coming. It's a gentle laugh, but still -- what. "What," Jonny says, his voice sleep-rough.

"It's just." Patrick laughs again and squeezes Jonny's ass. "I always wondered if it felt as good as it looks."

"Well?" Jonny says. "Does it?"

Patrick gives him a sly look. "If I say yes, will you let me touch it again?"

Jonny kisses the smirk off his face. Then he kisses him some more. It's always good to be clear about things.

#yes i am finally responding to these trope mashups #1988 #bed sharing #pwp #patrick kane #jonathan toews #hockey rpf #trope mashup

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Glass Swords

Summary:  Tovar knew he had bad luck–it came with the curse the witch gave him on his thirteenth birthday. Trapped in a contract by a band of bloodthirsty noblemen who use Tovar for his skill with a sword, he has all but resigned himself to a life of servitude. But then a job shoves him into the path of a princess who almost makes him smile. (Cinderella!AU)

Pairing: Pero Tovar/F!Reader

Warnings: None really. I make an allusion to the events of the movie but you don’t have to have seen it to understand this. 

Word Count: 4.8k

(Banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites​)

Or you can read on Ao3!

Once upon a time, there was a boy who seemed to have remarkably good luck. He was born to a wealthy, aristocratic family, and being the firstborn and a son guaranteed him a title of his own. His horse always came first in races, his opponents were always making simple mistakes in duels. He always had the keen eye to find a forgotten bit of coin on the ground. His first shot always hit its make when he was hunting.

Yes, Pero Tovar was lucky.

Until his luck soured at the hands of a woods witch.

On his thirteenth birthday, on a hunt with his band of friends and loyal servants, he darted into the forest to call for the hunting dog that had gone after gods-knows-what instead of the fowl they’d been hoping for when they set out. Again and again he called for the hound with no luck.

“Your dog has ruined my garden,” came a sudden voice behind him.

Pero turned to see a woman, old and shrouded in tattered grey robes, emerging from the forest shadows. An answering howl soon followed and a muddied hound bounded up to him, remnants of flowers and trampled vegetables hanging from his panting mouth.

And Pero laughed. What else was he supposed to do?

“For too long I have been held at the whim of your family. They have forgotten the treaty they signed when they came here, building your castle on my land and promising that you would provide. That you would never forget. But you have. And then you laugh when my little source of happiness was trampled by a hound.” Words tumbled from her chapped lips in a language he did not recognize and soon felt as if a bucket of icy river water had been dropped over his head.

“What did you do?” He hissed, feeling himself shake like a scared deer.

“I have made sure the world treats you as it treats me.” Her weathered mouth stretched into a smile he could see beneath the cowl. “But I am not cruel. I only want you to learn a lesson. But your lot seem stubborn so I would not be surprised if it took you the rest of your life.” She stepped forward and pulled a blade from the folds of her robes and Pero took an instinctive step back.

Almost instantly, his heel caught on a root and he tumbled to the moss-covered ground, pain zig-zagging up his spine as he landed.

The witch only laughed and continued forward. She twisted the blade in her hand and she held it out to him. And it was not as if he could say no. Not now. The short sword was clear—like glass. As soon as his hand wrapped around the handle, he felt the cold stone form to his grip, imprinting itself to his touch.

“When you’ve pierced the heart of a princess with your glass sword, then and only then will the curse lift.”

“A-a-a princess?” Pero parroted, feeling his stomach drop.

But the witch was gone and all he had was the glass sword.

His bad luck made itself known when he collided with his sister as they both rounded corners and she tumbled down the stone stairs of their home. Sancha was fine, thankfully but Pero would never forget how the blood pooled around her head or the scream she let out as she fell.

That was his fault. He knew it would only get worse as time progressed. He would not endanger his family. And so, Pero left a short note for his mother and father, telling them that he would return once he’d earned his honor on his own. The note he left for his sister told the truth, apologize for her injuring asking for her forgiveness even though he knew he already had it. Sancha was too pure of heart to ever hold any anger.

He set out. At first, trying to find another witch to counteract the curse. Then, to healers who promised anything and everything for the right price. And then, little by little, his hope faded. For a moment, he did consider driving the short blade through the heart of a princess—any princess—to just be rid of the curse. So he could see his family again. So he could live without worrying about bridges, loose bricks, or roots—or the millions of other things that the witch had made unlucky.

But he couldn’t. And in desperation to stay fed, he took up work as a mercenary. Another unlucky decision. It had led him to far flung lands that would have been an adventure to rival any explorer—he had fought creatures from another world!—but he did not enjoy any of it (aside from a few fleeting moments). And he could kill people who were trying to kill him all the time. Pero was good at it, he found. But it did not necessarily give him much opportunity to even know any princesses or be able to pick them out of a crowd so he could…stab them.

His bad luck continued.

When he failed to return to his employers, a group of nefarious noblemen from some country he didn’t care to remember, with the Black Powder they had requested, there were consequences. And now he was stuck in a contract, unable to leave his ‘employment’ because a bottle of ink had spilled across the contract and blotted out a very telling bit of information. He could not leave unless they were all dead. And if he broke that contract, his life would be forfeit.

He never would have signed—obviously—if he had been able to read that line.

But it was done. He was trapped. His bad luck mostly did not endanger his life—and he was sure the witch made sure of that. It would be no fun if it killed him and he was able to rest in death. The closest he had come to death because of his luck was when an ornamental sword fell from its hold on the wall and nearly took his eye.

One of the noblemen who benefitted from his terrible contract said the scar made him look fearsome. But he said it with a curdled milk smirk that rolled Pero’s stomach. It wasn’t a compliment, he knew.

And now he was called in by his ‘employers’ to settle another job. He vaguely listened—something about needing the little kingdom’s valuable port for some trivial reason and the easiest way to acquire the port was for Pero to kill at least the king and his eldest son so the second-born son could become king. Apparently, the noblemen who were employing him had an agreement with the power hungry prince. Pero was sure there were more details but he did not care to commit them to memory. He knew how to kill and his timeline.

That was all that really mattered.

But first, he needed to scout through the dense forest surrounding the castle to find a way in.

He weaved between trees as he started toward the castle. The outer perimeter walls had been easily climbed without drawing attention and while the surrounding grounds were vast, they were not heavily patrolled. As he continued to close the distance to the dark stone of the castle, Pero started to believe that this might the easiest job his contract had ever permitted him. The one solace he had was still being able to learn languages easily so he was able to learn of this mostly-unattended part of the perimeter wall by listening at the nearest market.

The sound of a horse’s hooves on the drying leaves drew his attention, his head whipping to the side, to one of the few bits of sunlight that slipped through the thick trees overhead.

It was a woman—one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, if he was being truthful—sitting atop a horse. She was smiling up at the birds as they sang in the branches. She was dressed in a simple smock and her horse was unsaddled. She was probably a maid from the castle.

But that did not detract from how his throat tightened as he looked at her. She was, after all, beautiful. It was almost embarrassing how he didn’t even realize she had spotted him until it was too late.

“Hello, sir.” Her voice was kind on his ears and he was instantly wondering if she would speak again.

“Hello, my lady.”

“Are you lost? It is not often I see strangers in the kingswood.” She nudged her horse toward him, uncaring of the danger strangers often present. Or maybe she was unknowing. There was a certain sweetness to her that Pero knew could not be feigned.

“I am hunting, my lady. I hope I did not disturb you.”

She shook her head. “I was not aware the king was having a hunting party today. I hope I did not scare away your prey.”

“No, my lady. I have just lost the rest of our party. Do you work at the castle?”

“Yes.” Her smile seemed to be hiding something but Pero thought little of it, instead focusing on how the light made her eyes sparkle.

“Do they treat you well? I am sure I could put in a good word for you,” he said, knowing his roguish smile was starting to cut across his face. He might have the worst luck but he still knew how to make a pretty woman smile.

And it worked because she demurely averted her eyes before biting her lip for a moment. “They treat me much better than they should,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I thank you for the offer.” She cleared her throat before looking at him again. “I can fetch you a bit of water or ale from the kitchens, if you would like? You must be parched.”

“No, no, my lady. But you are kind to offer.”

The sound of someone calling out in the distance had her turning her head with a frown. “I’ve lost track of the hour. I must go.”

And then her dark horse was setting off, galloping between the black-barked trees, and disappearing from sight before he could even ask for her name.

Pero did not find a way into the castle that day. He could have, but he didn’t. His employers allowed him another day of scouting in the woods and he happily took advantage of it and hoped his curse would subside just for a day, or even a few hours, so he might happen upon the maid again.

And his silent plea was heard as he found her at the base of a large tree, a well-worn book settled on her lap.

“Hello again,” she said as she spotted him.

“Hello, my lady.”

She patted the bit of grass beside her and Pero wavered for a moment before taking the offered seat. “Hunting again today?”

“No. I must confess that I was hoping to see you.”

Her answering giggle had something squeezing in the deep recesses of his chest. “Well, you have found me.” She closed the book carefully and turned to face him a little more. “What is your name? I have tried to guess it but I do not think any name I might have conjured would suit you.”

He could have told her his true name. It was not as if she would be able to stop him in his quest. But he knew to never think he could outsmart his curse. “I am Tovar.” And then he quickly added his title that he had not used in decades: “Marquess Tovar.” As if that would somehow make his lie about hunting with the royals more believable.

She gave him her name in return and then started to gently, simply pull him into conversation about anything and everything—from the animals he was unfamiliar with in the forest, to learning how the she grew up inside the castle and still got lost in its twisting, turning halls and rooms.

He knew he should be committing the hints she was giving to him about the castle’s layout to memory but didn’t want to. He only want to continue to hear her speak. She would ask him questions too, about how he was finding her homeland and if he still “did not require a bit of drink to slake his thirst from the kitchens.”

She was…sunlight. And such a sharp contrast to the darkness of the kingdom she resided in with its masses of dark stone, fog, and black wood trees. She did not deserve such darkness. Sunlight. She should have been bathed in sunlight, in warmth, in all things light and lovely. Not here. Not in the dark and cold. Even if it was her home—even if she called it home with a tilt of her beautiful lips.

“Tell me, Tovar. Are you coming to the Masque tomorrow night? I would like to see you again.”

“There is a Masque tomorrow?”

She nodded with another smile and stood, brushing the moss and dirt from her little dress and apron. “The King is celebrating his birthday and his daughter has finally returned from her time abroad.”

“A princess?”

She laughed and held out a hand toward him, helping him to his feet. “Yes. I thought the king would have told you about her when you were hunting.”

“I’ve only heard of his sons,” he said, not entirely lying.

“Either way, will you come to the Masque tomorrow?” She looked so hopeful, so happy. He could not tell her no. And it was with a soft kiss to his cheek that she bid him goodbye and he was left in the dark of the forest, watching her disappear again.

A Royal Masque. And a princess. Perhaps his luck was turning on its own.

This would provide the perfect opportunity for him—kill the princess and be able to dance with the woman whose lips pleasantly burned his skin.

**

It had been easy to procure an invitation to the Masque. It had been harder to find an outfit that would not gain him unwanted attention. The shops were nearly all too busy or too empty but he did eventually find a decent enough ensemble and matching mask without emptying his coffers too much. His employers had been pleased to know he had found a way into the castle without too much fanfare and seemed to approve of his plan to carry out their plot at the masque. (And if another royal died that night, who would think that it was not part of a larger plan instead of a desperate man trying to break a curse?)

Pero handed over his invitation to the major-domo standing in front of the black and gold doors and was finally ushered inside—even after a few of the knights eyed the short sword sheathed at his hip. The halls were filled with more shining dark stone and gilded suits of armor from centuries past. Paintings and tapestries were hung along the walls, depicting the kingdom’s fabled rise to power. Blooms of white flowers were littered about, a sharp contrast to the darkness that seemed to permeate each corner of this little kingdom.

No couples had already to the floor to dance yet but he did spot a few practicing an almost-familiar set of measured steps away from onlookers. The raised dais filled with a few ornately carved chairs—thrones, he supposed—was empty. His targets were not here yet.

But perhaps she was.

He scanned the crowd but did not spot her—even with everyone wearing masks, he was sure he would recognize her from leagues away.

Music suddenly blared, announcing the arrival of someone important. He turned with the rest of the crowd and listened as the royals were announced. There was the youngest son, the next, and then the eldest. The king was escorted by his daughter, but the answering applause and cheer drowned out her name and Pero could only crane his neck too much to try and get a look before he started to look suspicious.

The first official song was called and the heir apparent took the dance with his betrothed before other couples were allowed to join them on the gleaming wooden floor.

Pero continued to scan the crowd, briefly touching the small vials he’d hidden within his doublet, and found the servant in charge of bringing goblets of wine to the king without much trouble.

It was easy.

But then a woman dressed in fine clothes of the kingdom’s sigil was striding toward him, uncaring of the masses of people bowing and curtseying in her wake and she only slowed to a stop when she was right in front of him. This must be the princess. A mask of gold covered most of her features but her eyes sparkled in such a way that Pero could have sworn he had seen them before. They were alight with recognition and mischief.

“Dance with me,” she whispered.

“Your highness, I-”

The princess tilted her mask up and…

And that was when he realized, the girl from the forest and the princess…were the same person.

His fleeting moment of happiness had actually been another stroke of bad luck. How cruel.

She looked just as beautiful in her finery and jewels as she did in the smock she had donned in the forest. Her grip was gentle as she carefully started to lead him in the dance and didn’t laugh when he stumbled over her gilded shoes. Eventually, thankfully, he righted himself and was able to properly dance with her, letting the music guide his steps with her gentle corrections whenever he missed one or two.

“You’re a princess,” he said, hating the moment they left his lips.

“I am. Very astute of you, Tovar.” She laughed and stepped back from him as the song ended with a flourish and clapped for the minstrels. But then she turned back to him “Come with me,” she murmured, just low enough for him to hear. The princess didn’t wait for his answer and grasped his hands, quickly leading him through the crowd, some of whom tried to stop them, asking for his name, for a moment of the princess’ time, on and on it went. But she did not falter. Her grip did not loosen.

Not until they were out of the humid air of the ballroom and in the beautiful, cooled night air did she finally stop. Her smile was still wide and his face hurt as he felt himself trying to, unconsciously, mirror her expression. His face was not used to the movement. “What are you up to, princess?”

“I have something to show you.” She squeezed his hands once. “Do you have somewhere else you’d rather be? I don’t mean to steal you away if you have someone else waiting for you.”

Pero shook his head. “No. No, princess. I am happy to know you want my time as much as I desire yours.”

She bit her lip with a soft giggle. “Well, I do hope you like it.” She stepped back to link her arm through his, and continued to guide him down the shining palace steps and into the lush, green gardens. It was as easy for her to pull little bits of information from him as she tossed her golden mask into a bush without a care.

“Tell me of your homeland.”

“It is beautiful, your highness. Filled with sunlight and…” he drifted off, finally allowing himself to think of his home and family for the first time in years. “I miss it very much.”

She was quiet as he thought and did not seem to mind as he came back to himself—a familiar, gentle smile on her lips as she looked at him. “You do not strike me as a man who would leave someone or someplace you love so fiercely without cause. What pushed you to do so, if I may be so bold?”

“Bad luck,” he answered simply. “But tell me, why were you in the forest? Not once, but twice and without an escort or lady’s maid.”

Her face twisted into a pout for a moment. “I must admit that I do not care for every bit of royal life. It can all be so…tedious.”

“So, you snuck away?”

She nodded. “Donned my maid’s dress and took my horse from the stables while the hand was busy tending to my brother’s mare. It took hours for them to even notice I’d missed luncheon.”

“Did you not just return from abroad? I would have assumed that they would scarcely let you out of their sights.”

She shook her head with a laugh as they slowed to a stop in front of rusted gate she opened and waved him through. A secret garden greeted them, filled with all the color that the rest of the kingdom seemed to lack. Even in the moonlight, he could see the vibrant yellow, pink, red, and orange hues of the flowers that were growing haphazardly and unkempt by practiced hands. It reminded him, achingly, of the gardens his mother and Sancha would tend to on their own at home. They had always liked the free-roaming blooms over the careful structure of the manicured grounds.

“They like having me close, true. But underfoot is nothing but annoyance for everyone involved.”

“What is this place?” He asked, letting her pull him onto a simply carved bench in the center of the garden.

She turned to him with another smile—she seemed so fond of smiling. “This was my mother’s secret place. Free from the confines of my father’s kingdom and his advisor’s disapproving eyes. She would bring me here when I was little and teach me the names of all the flowers and how to care for them.”

It did not take long for Tovar to recognize the hurt in her tone.

He wondered if she heard it in his voice when he spoke of home. Of his beautiful family in Spain. Perhaps that was why he rarely spoke of them. But he wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her everything. So, he tried. He told her of the gardens his mother grew and refused to let their servants touch. Told her of how the fields around his home smelled sweet in the spring. Told her of all the colors he had seen on his adventures—even if he had to omit some bits of information to not reveal his true profession. And she listened keenly, asking questions and always seeming to think whatever he had said was interesting. In turn, she told him of her brief time in her mother’s ancestral kingdom, learning all she could and feeling torn when she knew she had to return to her home kingdom.

He was hardly aware of time passing, or how close they had grown on the bench until he heard a crier announcing the time—it was nearing midnight. He turned at the sudden noise and his hand slid across the bench—and quickly earned himself a handful of thorns to the webbing between his fingers. He hissed but hurriedly stopped himself as her gentle, soft hands cradled his and started to remove the thorns one by one. “Bad luck indeed,” she said, teasing. “I had trimmed those blooms back.”

Bad luck.

Bad luck.

Bad luck.

The sword at his hip grew heavier.

He could do it. He could run the blade through her chest and pierce her heart and be done with this wretched curse. But her eyes were shining in the moonlight and she smiled at him and he…couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Seeming to sense his distress, her smile faded. “Tovar? What ails you?” She reached out toward him and the moment her soft hand touched his cheek…he fled.

Decades of running toward dangers left him in an instant and he ran like a coward. Out of the garden, through the crowded ballroom where people shouted for him to stop, and out into the courtyard.

He fled. He ran until his legs gave out.

And it was only then that he noticed his sword was missing.

**

Hiding in the woods was not the most comfortable of living quarters but it was not the worst he had used since he had run from home.

He would not face his employers’ wrath. Another job left unfinished would cost him his head, he knew it. To survive, he hunted and forged, only moving into the outskirts of the market when he truly needed to buy something—like healing herbs for when he cut open his arm on a low hanging branch, or new boots after his toe caught on a sharp stone and tore the sole clean off.

Perhaps it was his need to survive and not be noticed, but it took Pero weeks to realize that the kingdom was in a tizzy.

The King had nearly been murdered as the masque and his second son was implicated in the plot. A band of foreign nobles had been arrested and their heads now sat on spikes outside the castle.

But that was not all.

Apparently, the princess had been scouring the kingdom looking for the man she had danced with at the masque—who had left behind a very peculiar short sword; its handle seeming to fit only one man’s hand.

It felt silly to let himself hope.

Could he? Should he let her find him? The curse still loomed. He would not subject her to the danger that seemed to follow him. He could not-

“There you are.”

Apparently he had been ruminating too long and had not noticed the small band of people approaching him at the edge of the market. The princess—and he was loathed to admit that he had momentarily let himself refer to her as His Princess—was standing in front of him with her familiar, beautiful smile on her lips and his sword in her hand. She turned it over, holding the hilt toward him as he hastily bowed.

“This is yours, yes?”

He nodded and reached out for it, feeling the familiar hand fit into his hand like it had for decades. But soon a gentle warmth bloomed up his hand until he could feel it burrowing in his chest. Something had changed.

**

When the king learned of Tovar’s true identity, he was able to grant his daughter’s wish of allowing their betrothal. A son of duke of a wealthy kingdom was a worthy match—and the king liked to make his daughter smile, too, even if it was at the side of a foreign duke who came into palace looking slovenly.

But Pero was still nervous. Even if he no longer tripped on stairs, bricks did not fall and nearly crush his skull, animals did not dart in front of his feet. He wanted to be sure—after all, he had not delivered a heart to the woods witch.

But, on the eve of their wedding, as Pero paced in his ornate and comfortable bedchamber, a sudden blast of cold air had him turning. In front of him stood a familiar woman. Her robes were still tattered but she was…glowing. Near ethereal. The woods witch had come again.

“I could feel your worries from leagues away, little duke.” Her smile was all teeth and he knew to keep quiet. “While I would have preferred the actual heart of that beautiful princess, the curse has been lifted. That little glass sword led her heart to you. You are free. I promise you that.”

“I am sorry,” Pero said, feeling the words rush out as he looked at her. “I am so sorry, my lady.”

“I know,” she hummed before she glanced around the room. “She will like Spain more, little duke. I promise you that.”

Before Pero could ask for specifics, the witch was gone in another gust of cold wind.

**

Pero watched his wife’s smile grow broader and broader as their carriage drew closer to his castle.

The sun was shining. The air was sweet with the scent of springtime flowers and green grasses. It was filled with the colors he had promised her that night in the garden.

His family greeted them warmly and his sweet mother and sister cried in joy at finally having him back home while his father did look quiet near tears, too. Pero just watched it all with a smile on his face, so large and persistent it hurt his face.

“It is beautiful here,” she whispered to him that night in their bedchamber. “But, of course, I would expect nothing more from the land who gave me you.”

Pero kissed her, smiling against her mouth.

His glass sword was forgotten on their bedside table.

He had all he needed, all the good luck in the world, right here in his arms.

And they lived happily ever after.

The end.

A/N: please let me know what you think! 

#pero tovar x reader #pero tovar imagine #the great wall #pero tovar

[inkandpen22]

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (8/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader/ Prince Caspian x Female!Reader 

Warning: none

Word Count: 1.4k

Part Summary: Y/N travels deep into the woods to find Aslan 

Masterlist

I race through the forest as I'm chased by three Talmarines. The trees around me are blurs of color, yet it still isn't fast enough. I start to think of what I'll do if I'm captured. It'll likely be the end. My mind travels to Caspian, the way he looked at me before I left. Then, my thoughts flicker to Peter. I can't leave him behind.

Suddenly, I'm jolted forward as my horse trips over a fallen tree log. I fall to the forest floor with a thud. The wind is knocked out of me and I roll onto my side in pain. Struggling through the pain, I pull out my katana, ready to fight to the end. Then, shouting ensues amongst the rushed galloping. As a Telmarine soldier races past me and falls off his horse, already dead. I study the body in confusion, how did that happen? I grip my sword anxiously, ready for another to come in my direction. Out of nowhere, another black horse flies directly at me. Instead of a soldier aiming a crossbow at me, my eyes are met with Caspian. He hops off his horse and rushes over to me.

"Y/N, are you-"

Before he can finish, a Talmarine arrow lands in the ground between us. Caspian falls to the forest floor and crawls to hover over me. He covers me from the soldiers. He shoots an arrow in the direction behind me. I whip my head around and the arrow knocks out another Telmarine. The body falls to the ground as the jet black horse runs off in the direction we came.

"Does this count as returning the favor?" Caspian teases as he catches his breath and lays beside me in the leaves.

"I'd say so," I pant.

As the two of us take a moment after nearly dying, I thank the heavens that I'm alive. I lay back down on the ground and tilt my head to the side to look at Caspian.

"How'd you know?" I ask quietly.

"I didn't," he admits, turning his head to the side to meet my gaze. "Five minutes passed before my worry drove me mad and I rode after you."

I stare into Caspian's jet black eyes and I'm drawn in. Everything about him is constantly pulling me toward him. The moment we met I had this overwhelming feeling that consumed me, body and soul. I can't ignore it anymore. Acting on impulse, I lean forward and press my lips to his. My hand cups his cheek and combs through his hand. Instantly, Caspian inhales sharply and glides his hand over my neck hungrily, bringing me in deeper. It's electrifying. Chills course over my skin and everything in the world becomes bright. I could stay here forever. Yet, we can't. I have to find Aslan. The war must end.

As hard as it is to do, I break apart from Caspian. The two of us pant for air, lingering mere inches from each other.

"I have to go," I whisper disappointedly.

"I'm coming with you!" He shifts to go, but I stop him.

"I have to do this alone," I tell him solemnly.

He shakes his head repeatedly in refusal. "No, I'm coming with you!"

"No, but you can't!" I sit up, growing worried with each passing second. "I know this is something I must find on my own. In the dream... it felt more like a vision, perhaps this what Aslan meant when he said I'm supposed to be here!"

Caspian cups my face and I lean into his touch. His thumb brushes against my cheekbone gently as he stares into my eyes filled with worry. "Make it back to me. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you."

I lean in and plant a kiss on his cheek. "You too," I whisper in his ear as I pull him into a pleading hug.

After a moment, Caspian leans back to bring his lips to mine for a much calmer kiss. The world would be so peaceful if we could escape this war. Caspian and I could stay in the sun forever, just like this. ________________________________________

I ride deeper into the wood, tears threaten to fall from my eyes and my vision blurs. Parting with Caspian into the unknown was one of the hardest things I've ever done. I'm sending him back to the battlefield and he's sending me into the darkest parts of the forest. Please, to anyone who will listen, keep him alive.

Suddenly, my horse is startled and I scream as it stands on its hind legs. When it comes back down with a thud, a massive lion stands majestically on raised ground. The cat turns his head toward me and smiles. The warm sun glows on his golden fur and immediately I recognize him.

"Aslan!" I gleam, hopping off my horse.

He chuckles, greeting me with a bright grin. No longer afraid of the lion, I rush over and embrace him. We fall to the forest floor with laughter as if old friends. His arm wraps around my back and pulls me in close.

"I knew I'd find you!" I announce proudly.

"You followed your heart well," he compliments warmly.

I pause, starting to think of the millions of questions I have for him.

"What's troubling you child?" He inquires knowingly.

"The dream I had... when we talked... was it real?" I nervously ask.

"As real as us speaking here now," he smiles.

"So when we were at the river, that was real too?" I frown in confusion.

"Yes, Dear one," he nods.

"Why didn't you show yourself to the others?"

"I do show myself to them. I just come to them in different ways," Aslan explains vaguely, yet I understand somehow.

"I'm sorry I doubted my belief in you," I mutter guiltily, avoiding his gaze.

He tucks his paw under my chin so I'll look him in the eye. He smiles ear to ear. "You found your way to me, that's all that matters now."

"We need your help. I... I don't what to do," I grip his mane pleadingly.

"There is always a way," he assures. "Have faith."

"Always," I nod repeatedly with raised brows.

"You must remember that everything happens for a reason," he instructs. "Come," he rises from the ground. "I believe it's time to awake the forest, don't you?"

Suddenly, Aslan releases a deep roar and the leaves on the trees shake. It's as though the entire world has awakened. The ground begins to shake beneath me and I watch in awe as everything comes to alive. It's as though everything was frozen in time until Aslan returned. Everything is brighter somehow. 

"Here, we must go tend to the others," he lowers himself again.

I assume he wishes for me to climb onto his back, so I do hesitantly. It's not every day I get to ride a massive lion! He prepares to leap off the high ground and I take fist fulls of his mane.

"Best hold tight," he chuckles and darts off the platform with a leap.

I squeal as we land on the forest floor and he darts off like a canon. I thought my horse was fast, but nothing is faster than Aslan. My mind wonders to Caspian, I hope he's alright. If anything happened to him... I don't know what I'd do.

"Aslan..." I hesitate to ask, but the thought is troubling me.

"What is it, Y/N?" He pants as he sprints.

"I had a question I was going to ask you in the dream, about Caspian and Peter-"

He already predicts what I'm going to say. "Trust your heart, Y/N. After all, it led you to me, didn't it? It's wise. Trust."

If only it were that simple, with each passing moment my emotions change. I'm facing two paths and I'm not sure where to turn. Aslan must feel my uncertainty as he starts to elaborate.

"Choosing isn't excluding. Both will remain with you in your heart and memories. You already know where your heart is leading you. You've known as soon as the path revealed itself to you. You must remove the distractions of others and listen to it," he advises.

"Choosing isn't excluding," I repeat to myself in a whisper.

My eyes fall shut and I zone in on my mind. I tune out the noise and focus on what I've experienced the last few days. As I start to remove the distractions, I begin to understand. The memories flash before me like flickers of light. I relive everything and comprehend the magnitude of it all. I suppose Aslan was right, I have known all along. I was just too afraid to see it. 

“Now trust it,” Aslan instructs warmly. 

_________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @blackbirddaredevil23 @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw​ @whiskeywinter89 @i-hav-no-life​

#prince capsian x reader #caspian x reader #prince caspian #susan pevensie #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #lucy pevensie #narnia imagine #narnia

[aries-rising-on-an-aquarius-tide]

Spoilers: Smoked, The Outlaw Eddie Wagner

Architecture

From the first moment that he realizes that he is drugged, every cell in his body resonates in Liv's direction. Not that it takes drugs to do that, of course, he just can't drown it out when his defenses are not in control. Every blink, every breath is heavy and the room is everywhere, yet also a place Elliot knows he will never belong.

When he stumbles out into the cool night, forcing his feet to work despite his vision's refusal to focus, El lets that low vibrating hum inside him push him toward Olivia. He trusts that it will get him there - it always has, when nothing else made sense.

She is in there, he knows it as he slams his palm on her door - knows it as certain as he knows what he came here to tell her. It goes around in his head like a prayer he can't stop: Tell her. Tell her Tell her.

"Olivia Benson, open up!" he yells, he can feel the drugs in his system crackling like live electricity just under the surface of his skin. He needs her to hurry before they take him out completely.

"Elliot? What the hell happened?"

Her voice saying his name - his real name, not an alias - sends a shiver through him. "Drugs. Someone .... someone dosed me," he gets out slowly.

No hospitals. All he wants is her, and this conversation that has been coming since before most of his kids were born. "I need you to let me in," he confesses. "Let me in."

She does, thank God, and he finds himself in an appropriately sophisticated wingback chair that is just the kind of chair Olivia Benson would have earned in his long absence. Liv is rationality, Liv is a lifetime worth of a job well done - and he is a buffoon, overheated and slurring his words in her fancy fucking chair.

But he can't live any longer with the knowledge of the words on that page. No matter what happens, there is only one truth left that he needs her to know; after that, damn whatever else comes.

Liv has the phone in her hand and Elliot knows he is running out of time, just as he knew it when Jenna Fox lay dying on the precinct floor. He gathers every ounce of control of his own speech he has left and forces the words out of his mouth.

"I didn't write the letter." Just those first five words feel better than as many confessions as he can remember.

"What?" her response is a word exhaled in disbelief, making him repeat himself. He does, the words coming a little faster the second time.

Dry eyes rolling in his sockets, he has never wanted so badly to feel the world stay still beneath his feet. El can feel his heart pounding, not just from the drugs.

"Kathy."

This word, at last, stills her urgency to use the phone. Olivia sits, her weight dropping out from under her as he watches her interpretation of six months' time - maybe even the last 23 years of their lives - shift, in an instant.

"Kathy, your wife ... wrote the letter that you told me that you wrote?" The disbelief on her face, in her gaze is complete and brutal.

Elliot's speech is still coming slowly, fuzzily, but each sentence he speaks feels like a chain being snapped. He is no longer tethered to the mother of his children, or the words she intended for him to hide behind on their return to Rome.

"That what we were to each other was ... never real ... and that we got in the way of each other being who and where we needed to be?"

"That was Kathy."

"And if there was a man in my life you hope he's the kind, faithful man that I deserved?"

"Kathy." His dead wife's name is like a recitation of penitence. This is his confession. The only one that matters.

Olivia, who has the letter memorized, speaks into existence the only part that matters to either of them: " 'But in a parallel universe - "

The last seven words come out plainly, as if he is as sober as a judge on his first day in robes: " - it will always be you and I.' I wrote that. I slipped it in before I sealed the envelope."

Her eyes shift one more time and Elliot can't tell if the gaze is one of relief or confusion or of utter renunciation of him. It takes monumental effort to push himself forward out of the chair, and still he almost shatters the glass in his hand against her coffee table.

"Liv ... " He's not sure how he can be so sleepy and yet on fire at the same time. "I love - " he tries, fails, tries again as his hands wrap around her. The touch of her hands on his shoulders is so desperate it's impossible to know who is holding who up.

El brings one hand up, fingers threading through the waves of her hair. When the pad of his thumb brushes her parted lips, the shiver that courses through him has the power of a freight train. Never, he's never touched her this intimately.

"I love - "

--------------------------

Somehow, she is holding onto him, despite the fact everything feels like freefall. Elliot smells of liquor, of stale cigarettes and expensive cigars, of wherever the drugs were given to him. Beneath that, though, he still smelled like Elliot: his aftershave, the clean sweat when he is abuzz with emotion and anxiety.

Months ago he had said I love you, and she couldn't respond because there were five other Stablers in the room. Hadn't responded since because of the letter that she had memorized like a note passed by a crush in high school:

What we meant to each other was never real.

Kathy.

The name now brings sorrow, anger, confusion, a whit-hot knot of pain in her gut. Everything Kathy'd had ... all the time that Liv and Elliot had lost.

What Kathy had known all along.

Olivia's fingertips dig into the corded muscle of Elliot's warm shoulders as he is knelt before her and she wants to tell him no, to stop - stop giving her his I love yous when he is broken, when he is intoxicated, when he is about to walk away. She can't do this again; can't be so close but still have empty palms in the morning where his hands should be, an empty bed where Elliot should be lying next to her.

For twelve years, they'd had that parallel universe. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. Better than his becoming a ghost that she had to convince herself was really memory.

But in a parallel universe ... it will always be you and I.

He's still struggling to speak, she with the mix of her anger, sympathy, sadness, want. Beneath her hands he is real, he is solid, and there's nobody - no Kathy, no wife, no other partner or boundary waiting to fill them with guilt. Olivia Benson is desperate for an end to empty nights full of cheeks wet with tears and thighs wet with desire that she had secretly promised to him years ago.

Elliot's thumb brushes the intimate, unclaimed territory of the corner of her mouth and she lets herself give in to his touch. Turning her head, Liv kisses the thumb pad lightly, then meets his mouth the rest of the way down, pressing into him hard.

The groan in his throat is smothered between them as Liv feels the last moment of his battling the drugs dwindle away. He crumples in her embrace, causing her to grunt with the dead weight as she hefts him onto the rug.

Her heart is galloping as she dials Ayanna's number, her gaze flickering to Elliot's still form.

I wrote that. I slipped it in before I sealed the envelope.

/fin

#law and order svu #svu #olivia benson #hearteyes4mariska #bensler #eo #eoisendgame #elliot stabler #olivia x elliot #law and order oc #organized crime #what's in the letter? #witl #tw: spoilers #spoilers #angst #my fanfiction

[ahgaseda]

aura | one

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

The sun was too bright. Rays pierced the gossamer curtains and shone into your eyes. You vaguely recollected your mother bursting in and throwing the windows open, ordering you to get up. Now, the sun had risen and you were cutting it close.

With a grumble, you threw the blanket over your head and rolled over, eager to sleep the day away. And maybe tomorrow, too.

Being in a constant state of denial and dread was exhausting.

Slowly, you drifted back into a dream. Well, maybe less a dream and more a memory. Perhaps it was all a fantasy at this point, the way you recounted it, lingering on only the good parts.

You remembered every insignificant detail of that night - the night you reached your greatest high and deepest low in the span of an hour. The moon had been full and the crickets were singing. The air had cooled from its typical summer heat, but the dirt was warm beneath your bare toes.

Sneaking off in the middle of the night with a boy. You would have never in your wildest dreams done something so reckless.

But he said he wanted to watch the stars and kiss you beneath the moonlight. Endlessly. You escaped with him down the beaten path, his hand wrapped tightly around yours. Then, he backed you against a tree and kissed you like he had completely run out of patience.

You remembered smiling against his mouth, giggling when his tongue teased your bottom lip. Your hands were on his shoulders while he cradled your face. At some point, you broke away and he stared at the sparkles in your eyes.

“I love you,” was all he said. The first of many lies.

You followed him. It didn’t matter where he went, you were ready to follow him off the edge of the earth if he asked. Jaebeom held you so tenderly, yet tight and secure. You had no hesitations and certainly no regrets when he laid you on your back, kissing you restlessly.

But it was a lie.

You moaned his name when Jaebeom pressed his lips to your neck. You could still remember how your heart thundered uncontrollably whilst he tongued his way between your breasts. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted Jaebeom. The boy who made you fall in love with him.

But it was all a lie.

Even the way you whimpered when he took you was a persistent echo in your mind. The noises he had drawn from you were carnal, to say the least. His skin was hot beneath your fingertips, his hair damp when you tangled your hand through his strands, and his naked body heavy on top of yours. He kissed you with such gentle affection when he buried himself inside you.

But it was still a lie.

You truly believed he was making love to you, every last inch of you. He was all you knew in that moment. With Jaebeom, you lived like there was no tomorrow. And you would never forget the way his face tensed with ecstasy, how he groaned your name when he filled you. All you cared about in that moment was his pleasure - his love. It was all you ever wanted.

But it was his biggest lie.

You opened your eyes, tears escaping down your cheeks, and forced away the bitter memories. Every beautiful moment spent with Jaebeom kept coming back and you wanted to set them all aflame until you forgot every single fucking detail.

You remembered how he smelled, how he felt. How his arms flexed around you when he hugged you close. How he smiled when he made you laugh. How he kissed your hand at the most random of times. How he whispered his love into the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

Your heart couldn’t take it anymore. What was once sugar on your tongue turned to ash and dust in your mouth. You didn’t think you were capable of this much pain.

Jaebeom had taught you a very hard lesson. And yet, though you would never admit it to anyone, you still loved him.

Suddenly, the door to your bedroom burst open and a familiar voice announced, “Rise and shine, dear!”

It belonged to your best friend, your childhood rival, and most inconveniently, your next door neighbor.

“Jackson,” you groaned, muffled against your pillow. “Not now. Go away.”

“Baby, you know we on a schedule,” he chirped with the speed of a man who had already ingested too much coffee, grabbing your comforter and ripping it off the bed without mercy.

You cried out at the unexpected cold on your bare legs, curling into the fetal position to try and trap some warmth to your body. You then bounced lightly on the mattress as Jackson leapt into the air and landed on your bed in the most spectacular fashion.

His face moved predictably before yours, inches away, and he was sporting a grin that could be filed under Jackson’s trademarked twisted delight. “It’s camp day,” he said excitedly.

You blinked. “I know.”

Jackson sat up and reached over to smack your butt. “Get up,” he yelled, sidling off your bed. “Breakfast will get cold.”

You huffed profanities under your breath and clambered after him.

Downstairs, your mother and stepfather sat at the kitchen table. Maids attended to them, waiting on their every move. Such was commonplace in the penthouses of preternaturally wealthy people.

“Ah, I knew you could handle it, Jackson,” your mother crooned.

Jackson plopped down at one end of the table, opposite your stepfather with his nose buried in a newspaper. You finished tying the knot of your fluffy bathrobe and took the empty seat across from your mother.

“Everything is packed and loaded in the car,” she informed, her tone a little harsher where you were concerned.

“I promise, Mom,” you began, eyes cast downward. “I won’t go back there again.”

It was true. You were so caught up in negative ways of coping that by the time you realized you were going to get yourself sent back to the one place you would be forced to see Jaebeom again, it was too late.

“Well, if only you had found that resolve last year,” she chided, stabbing a piece of melon with her fork.

You clocked a glance at your friend. Jackson happily stuffed his face, eating everything in sight. Despite living in the penthouse next to yours, with his equally wealthy parents, Jackson opted to eat at your table more often than not.

Preferably so he wouldn’t have to listen to his parents fighting.

“Can we expect the same promise from you, Jackson?” your mother asked, as if she were speaking to her favorite puppy.

She always did love Jackson. He was like the son she never had. Although, in her defense, it wasn’t hard to love Jackson. He was the golden child that every mother’s wet dream was made of.

“Absolutely not,” he retorted politely, grinning from ear to ear. “Some of my closest friends are at that camp.”

Your mother chuckled, having expected as much.

Your stepfather finally lowered the corner of his paper and called your name sternly, as if oblivious - or uncaring - to the conversation taking place.

You glanced up.

“Eat your food. It’s a long drive and I’ll hear nothing of you getting faint on your first day.”

Jackson and your mother both looked to you expectantly.

You flashed him a soft smile and said, “Yes, sir.”

Stepfather number three, despite having more money than God, was surprisingly kind and considered you one of his own. There was a time you overheard him say you were the daughter he always wanted. His three sons had far surpassed mischief and landed in deviance, always on the hunt for his money.

The maid offered sweetly to make you some breakfast, whatever you would like, and you accepted. Jackson swiftly reached over and pinched your cheek in approval.

Most respectable parents would never be so lenient toward a friendship between a girl and a boy, but you knew your mother was hoping you and Jackson would get together. It would be a fine match in high society, given the status of your fathers.

Matter of fact, when she walked in on the two of you eating chocolate and watching movies while cuddled in bed, she was thoroughly disappointed you weren’t having sex.

When you finished eating, you dragged your feet upstairs to your room to get dressed for the trip. Jackson took a few extra minutes to clear his plate and then joined you.

Standing in front of three full panel mirrors in your bra and underwear, you alternated holding skirts up to yourself in the reflection. Jackson folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe.

“What does one wear for total humiliation?” you asked dryly, meeting his eyes in the mirror.

“Plaid probably,” he quipped, uncrossing his arms and slipping into your closet.

You turned, brow furrowed, and waited for him to come back.

When Jackson finally emerged, he tossed you a t-shirt and jeans. Casual at its finest.

You caught the clothes and surveyed them in surprise. “Really?”

“Put ‘em on,” he said, clapping his hands. “Let’s blow this town.”

You pulled the extra tight jeans on, fastening them with a huff, and pestered, “Do you have to be this excited?”

Jackson came close, taking your face between his hands and pushing your cheeks together. “The sooner we get there, the faster we can get drunk.”

You snickered, rolling your eyes.

The two of you came thundering down the stairs, reminiscent of times you and Jackson slid down the banisters as noisy kids. Your mother waited stiffly at the door, almost cracking a smile when you galloped into the kitchen and pressed a kiss in farewell to your stepfather’s cheek.

She may have been after his money like a cat on a mouse, but she inadvertently found a decent father for her only daughter.

Jackson said his hurried, loud goodbyes and slipped through the open door. You slowed down long enough to take your jacket from your mother’s waiting hand and endure one last scrutinizing gaze.

“Is he seeing someone?” she asked softly.

“Nope,” you chuckled, having expected some backhanded remark about your outfit.

Your mother spoke like she read a whimsical poem, “The two of you would make the most perfect couple this side of the Hudson.”

“Love you, too, Mom,” you teased, pecking a kiss on her cheek and trotting out the door.

The limousine rolled out onto the busy streets of New York City and you peered through the tinted windows. You watched as the looming skyscrapers turned to towering green trees.

As the drive went on, your nerves only grew.

With misplaced optimism, you turned to Jackson and said, “Maybe he won’t be there this year.”

Jackson didn’t even look up from his magazine and droned, “He’s been there every year since he was seven.”

You slumped in your seat, defeated. Clapping a hand on your forehead in self-chastisement, you groaned, “I should have been better, not worse.”

Jackson shifted, leaning back against you and resting his head on your chest. “I’ve never seen you so out of control,” he exclaimed, turning a page in the magazine. “And that says a lot.”

It said plenty. Jackson had warned you about Jaebeom many, many times. Though you held his opinion in high regard, you didn’t listen. You were blinded by love and had no one to blame but yourself.

You grabbed a handful of his brown hair and tugged playfully, earning a tiny whine. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, acerbic. “He stole all of the goodness out of me.”

Jackson scoffed and his tone became stern, “Don’t give him so much credit. And don’t put all of your goodness on your virginity, for fuck’s sake.”

You sighed loudly, thinking about Jaebeom and how he made your pulse race, how he sent fire racing down your spine. The thought of him made you want to cry and you quickly clenched your jaws.

“It’s true though, isn’t it? I’m a bad girl now,” you countered, draping your arm over his chest. “I surrendered my virtuous flower to a boy who added another notch to his bed post.”

Of your memories with Jaebeom, and they were countless, among the stolen kisses and soft touches and sweet words, one stood out above all the rest. The last time you saw him - when he told you it was all a lie, just a game.

That he never loved you.

Jackson sat up, setting down his magazine and facing you. He could feel where your thoughts had wandered, screaming at him to ease the pain despite no words leaving your mouth. Meeting your eyes, Jackson wanted you to hear him even though the two of you had been over it many times already.

“You loved him,” he said, sympathetic but firm. “And he made it a good experience for you. Take that away from it.”

“You’re right,” you replied with a nod, holding back the tears and the quivering of your lip. “I need to let it go.”

Jackson cocked his head and pressed, “But?”

He knew you too well.

“But I can’t,” you whispered, lowering your head to hide your face in shame. “I can’t get over being in love with someone who never - not even for a moment - loved me back.”

Jackson balled his hands into fists. It had taken every inch of his goddamn restraint not to hop a plane, show up at Lim Jaebeom’s house, and beat the living shit out of him. You and his mother were the only people he was willing to go to jail for.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you wiped away the one tear that had escaped. You hated Jackson having to see you like this, staring at you like his precious wounded puppy. With a shrug, you gave a scoff and said, “I wonder who he will have his eyes on this year.”

Jackson frowned and settled back into his seat, shaking his head where the likes of Jaebeom was concerned. He knew three months of unadulterated fun for him were going to be total misery for you. For days he racked his brain over what he could do to help you get over Jaebeom.

Then, the metaphorical light bulb clicked over his head. Who would Jaebeom be pursuing this year? With you crossed off his list, there were simply no more challenges to be had.

Jackson smirked. The solution to this problem was clear as day. He would have to make Jaebeom chase you again.

“I have an idea,” Jackson muttered under his breath, eyes gleaming with devilish intent.

“Oh, boy,” you laughed, recognizing his telltale mischief.

Jackson faced you, propping himself on hands positioned at either side of your legs. “You help me bag Yeona and I will help you make Jaebeom jealous,” he said, letting his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth.

Your expression registered nothing but surprise. Yeona was the bane of Jackson’s romantic skills and the eye of his conquests for years. She was the only girl at camp not the least bit impressed with him and that drove him crazy.

At that thought you realized the similar dynamic. “Do you think that would work?” you asked curiously, piqued.

Relieved to see your approval, Jackson nodded. “He’s like me. He wants what he can’t have.”

To some degree, Jackson added in his head. He and Jaebeom had totally different motivations for stealing hearts.

You questioned in disbelief, “So… what? We just walk around making out all the time?”

Jackson snorted. “Within moderation, obviously. Don’t want to completely turn off either of our targets.”

One of the main reasons you never hooked up with Jackson (on more than one occasion you had been tempted) was to spite your insufferable mother after what she had put you through. That being said, you had kissed him more than once. Usually when dared to do so at parties or during sleepovers when you bared your deepest, darkest secrets to each other. It was always innocent, but this felt forbidden and impure.

You loved the idea.

“Hm, okay,” you said, noncommittal. “At this point, I’ll do anything to make him as miserable as I am.”

Jackson grinned and chuckled. “Take my word for it. There is nothing more miserable than blue balls.”

You pursed your lips, mulling, “He’s already had me. He won’t want me again.”

“I’ll convince him you’re worth having,” Jackson replied, his voice a deep rumble in his throat. “And you’ll do the same to Yeona about me.”

“What makes you think Yeona will be that hard to get? You’ve never really pursued her before.”

Jackson slid to the edge of the seat and reached for a bottle of alcohol currently sitting on ice. “She doesn’t believe in sex before marriage.”

That explained why he threw in the towel so quickly. You cocked a brow and chuckled, “Really?”

Jackson nodded, popping open the bottle of champagne and grabbing two glasses. ���Yeah, even wears a promise ring.”

“Wow, that’s commitment,” you smarted, taking the flute of bubbly he extended to you.

Jackson glanced up briefly before pouring his own glass, hair falling in his eyes, and said, “Don’t wallow in self-pity again.”

You rolled your eyes and quickly defended, “No, I’m not. It’s just… I wasn’t saving myself for marriage, but I was saving myself for someone that loved me.”

Jackson exhaled loudly.

You hated hearing his disappointment and ranted irritably, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. It wasn’t even good. There was no leg shaking orgasm. It was messy and uncomfortable and whatever.”

“That’s because it was your first time,” Jackson said, putting the glass to his lips.

You took a sip. “Yeah, I guess.”

Jackson leaned on his side, sizing you up. His eyes drifted up and down your body. He hated seeing you bent out of shape over a boy, least of all hot garbage like Lim Jaebeom.

After a pause, the following words dripped like honey off his tongue, “We could fool around, you know.”

You almost choked on your champagne, wondering if you heard him clearly or if it was a figment of your imagination. You exclaimed, “What?”

“You and me,” Jackson continued, sidling closer. “I could show you what all the fuss is about.”

He sounded so smug when he said that, his voice even deeper. You swallowed at the offer and asked, “Would that be awkward?”

“No, it would just be sex. No strings attached.”

The knife in your heart twisted and you peered at him. “Could you make me forget about Jaebeom?”

Jackson leaned in. “Baby, I could make you see stars.”

Heat flushed behind your cheeks and you glanced away, faltering under the sudden tension in the limousine. “I’ll think about it,” you finally told him.

Satisfied, Jackson grinned and made himself comfortable, opening the magazine again and proceeding to read.

You surveyed Jackson out of the corner of your eye, lingering on his thick thighs. Years of fencing had built him strong, sturdy. When Jackson said he could make you see stars, you were inclined to believe him.

Especially since the vast majority of his exes tended to brag about how good he was in bed.

You thought about Jaebeom. You wanted him to go crazy at the sight of you in Jackson’s arms. You craved revenge, to serve him a taste of his own medicine, no matter what it cost.

The car eventually came to a stop on the gravel road. Attendants were ready to unload your luggage and transport it to your respective rooms. It may have been a camp for unruly brats, but said brats came from very affluent parents.

An older woman stood by the gate, black hair glistening a little too fiercely in the sunlight. Clearly she had sprayed dye on her graying roots.

“Ah, you two again,” she grimaced at yours and Jackson’s approach.

You took the keys from her outstretched hand and continued on your way without a word. Jackson on the other hand, leaned in with puckered lips and jeered, “Always a pleasure, Miss Hamm.”

“Hmph.”

You continued on the path with your best friend in tow. Your cabin was in sight, on the bluff beside the lake. Jackson’s was adjacent, slightly lower down. Your parents made sure you had the same spots each year, always furnished and equipped with everything you needed.

Some of the campers lived in bunkhouses with other roommates, but not you. Your first year, you swore to your mother if you were forced to bunk with other girls you would not stop until you got yourself sent home. It was an easy compromise to make. She loved traveling during the summer with stepfather number two.

You stopped and pivoted to Jackson, saying, “I’m gonna go freshen up.”

“Alright,” he replied. “Meet at the mess hall?”

Naturally his mind was on food, you mused. “Of course.”

Jackson looped an arm around your waist and pulled you in for a hug, whispering in your ear, “Don’t hide in there from him. Remember - I got your back.”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek in gratitude.

The two of you broke away at the fork in the road, taking opposite paths to your cabins.

Dropping your purse, you plopped down on the brand new mattress, gripping the sides and looking down at your shoes. The air conditioning had been turned on, the cabin had already cooled off. You would never know how hot it was outside whilst inside your pink-themed prison.

The camp was meant to reform. It didn’t matter that you were a legal adult, you still belonged to a rich and influential family in high society. It was like the parents knew their spoiled, entitled children would indulge in bad behaviors, therefore it was best they did so in controlled environments.

You already imagined the endless nights of booze and debauchery awaiting you for the next three months. Maybe it was time you embraced the darker side of life like you used to, rather than wasting away and pining over a boy.

Rising from the bed, you approached the nearby bathroom and braced your hands on the sink. Studying your reflection, you wanted to curse. You looked like a shadow of your former self.

The girl you knew was confident, vivacious, and a rebel to the core. You were quieter now, tempered. An experience like last summer had opened your eyes to how cruel the world really was.

Still, you were ready to buck up. Jackson had a plan and you were willing to execute if it meant you would have some kind of absolution. Splashing water on your face, you dabbed your cheeks with a cloth and headed outside.

The largest of the buildings, the mess hall was loud and chaotic. The majority of kids went straight to the line for food, hungry after a long trip. The place was alive with a hundred different conversations, varying levels of chatter. Friends reunited dramatically in the aisleways.

You searched for a friendly face, desperate to avoid Jaebeom for now, and spotted a head of platinum hair. Approaching the scrawny boy, you grabbed a handful of blond locks and teased, “Bam, I thought you were gonna let your poor scalp breathe?”

Bambam didn’t flinch at the brief tug on his head and turned to meet your grin with one of his own. “Hey, beautiful,” he exclaimed, leaping up to envelope you in a warm hug. “Thought you were gonna try and avoid this place for once?”

“Yeah, well,” you said coolly with a shrug. “Bad behaviors are hard to break.”

“You’re telling me,” huffed Bambam as he lowered back onto the row with you at his side. “I landed myself back here in the first week of the semester.”

You laughed, smoothing down where you had disrupted his hair. “I expect nothing less.” Looking across the table, you met eyes with Bambam’s best friend and partner in crime, Yugyeom, and greeted, “Hey, Yugy.”

“Hi. I’m glad you came back! Well, not glad, obviously, but…,” Yugyeom rambled, cheeks reddening. “Happy you’re here. You know, it wouldn’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks,” you replied shyly.

“Any sign of Jackson?” Bambam asked, glancing around. “Don’t you always come together?”

Yugyeom kindly pushed his plate of fruit in your direction and you thanked him. “Yeah, we did. He was supposed to meet me here,” you answered, popping a grape in your mouth.

“Probably sneaking a smoke with Mark,” Bambam grumbled quietly under his breath.

Yugyeom cleared his throat loudly, looking at something behind you.

Just as you turned around, brows stitched, someone sat at your side.

It was Jaebeom.

He didn’t face the table like the rest of you, he straddled the seat, squarely in your direction.

“Hi, baby girl. Imagine my surprise when I heard about all the trouble you got yourself into,” Jaebeom taunted, clicking his tongue in feigned reproach. His fingertips came to your temple, slipping through your loose hair and tucking it behind your ear.

You couldn’t breathe and you certainly couldn’t think. Your heart was pounding in your chest. He smelled so good. The mere touch of his fingers made you freeze in place. You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“I…,” you trailed, hesitating, lost for words. What the hell were you supposed to say?

I love you, but I hate you.

“What’s the matter, baby?” Jaebeom cooed, stroking a finger over your cheek. “Cat got your tongue?”

You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes. Even Yugyeom seethed at how Jaebeom was toying with you.

This was the humiliation you had been anticipating and dreading. You knew Jaebeom wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to remind you that he stole your heart and your virginity and left you with nothing.

The whole camp knew that you had given it up. That you had been such a fool to believe for a second that Jaebeom loved you.

Blind. Blind. Blind, you chanted in your head.

Jackson appeared out of thin air, grabbing Jaebeom’s wrist and pulling him from you. “Can I help you find something?” your best friend snapped.

Jaebeom rose, agitated at being challenged. “The fuck are you doing, Wang?”

Jackson drifted closer to Jaebeom, aggressive. “Keep your hands off my girl.”

Jaebeom’s eyes widened. “Your girl?”

“You heard me,” Jackson hissed, turning to you.

You remembered the game. Jackson’s eyes were expectant.

Finding your voice, you took a breath. “I’m so sorry to break the news to you, Jaebeom,” you began softly, rising from your seat and backing into Jackson, who didn’t miss a beat in wrapping his arms possessively around you. “I’ve moved onto bigger and better things. And I mean much, much bigger.”

Bambam beat his fist on the table, cackling wildly.

Jaebeom scowled, but there was skepticism bold in his eyes. Jackson promptly wiggled his brows and stroked his hands on your waist, intentionally making your shirt ride up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us,” you sang, interlacing your fingers with Jackson’s underneath the hem of your shirt. “We’re gonna go make out in the hallway. Seeing Daddy get territorial really does it for me.”

Jackson wagged his tongue at Jaebeom, gladly laughing at his expense, as you squeezed his hand and proceeded to drag your best friend behind you into the hallway.

Jaebeom watched you go, eyes narrowed. Something didn’t sit right with him. He had known you for years, Jackson too. He couldn’t imagine driving you into Jackson’s arms. Not with how fierce and loyal your friendship was.

He didn’t believe it for a second.

Once in the clear, you backed against the wall and giggled. “Oh my god, did you see his face?” you exclaimed, covering your mouth as you chuckled.

Jackson tickled your sides and joked, “Look at your little sick and twisted self. I’m so proud.”

The door next to you opened and like clockwork, Jaebeom stepped out.

The grin vanished from your face in an instant and you quickly grabbed Jackson by the collar, yanking him forward. Jackson collided into you none too gently and grunted, silenced only by your lips suddenly on his.

Jaebeom could hardly believe his eyes. There you were, swept up in Jackson’s arms with your tongue down his throat. He was green with fucking envy. It had taken him a whole summer to open you up and now you were throwing yourself at Jackson of all people.

Jackson slipped his hands beneath your shirt and roamed his hands up your sides, giving Jaebeom a glimpse of your soft skin. You overlapped your arms around his head, making little noises in the heat of his kisses.

Jaebeom felt a twitch in his pants at the sounds you made. That was supposed to be him. You were supposed to be in his arms, kissing him like he was all you had thought about every day since he ripped your heart out and crushed it in his hand for all to see.

“Pfft,” Jaebeom snorted, hiding his jealousy. “Glad I could break her in for you, Jacks.”

Neither of you heard him, which was lucky for Jaebeom because Jackson would not have hesitated to beat him to a bloody pulp.

Jaebeom cleared out. He couldn’t stand to watch anymore. Not when he had spent every day wondering if you would forgive him. Jaebeom shook his head as he continued down the hall, reminded what a stupid fucking mistake he had made.

Kissing Jackson made you forget what you were doing, where you were, and basically any and all information you were meant to be processing at the moment. Finally a sense of clarity hit you, though you had no earthly clue where it had come from.

Breaking away, you panted, “Okay, if we’re gonna do this, we have to lay down some ground rules.”

Jackson kneaded your waist and nipped at your lips, ever flirtatious. His voice came out a rasp when he said, “Give ‘em to me.”

“No sleeping around,” you told him sternly. “I’ve never had a sexually transmitted disease and I’m not starting now.”

Jackson bobbed his head, eager to kiss you again. “Deal.”

“When you get Yeona or I get Jaebeom, what’s between us is done.”

“Agreed.”

You softened, pulling him close for a brief, innocent peck on the lips. It wasn’t the first time you had kissed Jackson and it wouldn’t be the last.

But you realized when you were kissing Jackson, you forgot about Jaebeom and your feelings.

And that was dangerous.

“You’re my best friend,” you whispered delicately, tracing hair from his brow lightly with your fingers. “If either of us starts getting feelings, we shut this down.”

Jackson studied you a moment. He knew he loved you. He had loved you a long time. But it was an innocent love, not a complicated one. You were the only person he trusted with his heart. The only person he knew would never hurt him.

He wouldn’t catch feelings for you, would he? It wasn’t in his nature. He didn’t allow himself to get attached romantically. He hated the idea of commitment or monogamy, after seeing what his parents’ marriage had devolved into.

“Got it,” Jackson finally said, offering a gentle smile.

You swallowed, putting a hand on his chest and pushing him back. Jaebeom was gone. There was no one to convince anymore.

Jackson let his hands slip from your body. “We should go back.”

You nodded. “Yeah, just give me a second.”

Jackson noted the heat on your face, the glistening of your lips and the twinkles in your eyes. Forget making you see stars, Jackson knew in that moment he could absolutely ruin you.

He gathered you back in his arms, pulling you flush against him, and as you peered up at him confusedly, Jackson growled, “Let’s go to my cabin.”

A long, heavy silence wrapped around you and him. The weight of what you were doing landed squarely on your shoulders. And despite that, you found yourself not giving a damn.

Lips tugging in a smile, you purred, “Show me what I’ve been missing.”

But even as Jackson led you by the hand out of the mess hall, you glanced over your shoulder, looking for Jaebeom.

Wanting him to see. Wanting it to hurt him. Wanting to make him crazy.

But mostly, just wanting him to love you.

next chapter →

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

#got7 fanfiction #got7 smut #jackson smut #jaebum smut #jackson wang smut #im jaebum smut #got7 fanfic #got7 fic #got7 au #jackson wang fanfic #jackson wang fic #jackson wang au #im jaebum fanfic #im jaebum fic #im jaebum au #got7 scenario #got7 reaction #got7 imagine

[flowercrown-bard]

A new us will begin (interlude)

the loveliest @thingr2 asked for Dandy’s pov of what happens between chapter eight and nine (thanks for letting me procrastinate a little longer by writing things like this instead ;) )

I’m not sure if there are spoilers for the rest of the fic in this and this is unedited

word count: 4k

Tw: mention of past major character death, blood

„We have to turn back!“ Dandy shouted. One cry in a row of a hundred others. The whole ride through he had pleaded, cried, begged for Mika to just turn around. “Geralt is still back there. Mika, please!”

His pleas fell on death ears. Or perhaps Mika did answer. At first, they had tried to sooth Dandy, reassuring them with soft words like a mother would a child when the child was scared of a monster. But Dandy wasn’t a child anymore. And not all monsters were figments of children’s imagination. Some children died fleeing monsters. Some mothers did too.

And yet Mika kept fleeing. They all did. Whether they were still trying to calm Dandy or if they had given up by now, Dandy wouldn’t be able to tell. His blood rushed too loudly in his ears and the hoof drums sounded like thunder; the merciless rhythm of a battle song, getting louder with each beat that carried him further from Geralt, the horse’s panting creating the skincrawling harmonies.

And above all was Dandy’s own voice, a terrible solo in dissonance with the rest of the music.

“Geralt!” There were no more words left. Dandy had written a play. In his most private moments, he had even tried his hand at poetry. His words had brought audience members to tears and made his friends laugh. Now, though there was nothing. No poetry, no artful prose. Just the name of the man who might never say Dandy’s name again.

Dandy wished he could do more than scream that name. He wished he could jump off the horse, run back and safe Geralt from whatever he was facing, all alone and not knowing if the troupe would come back for him. They needed to come back for him!

But Dandy might as well have been chained to the horse. Even if he somehow got down to feel solid ground beneath his feet, he would have no way of telling where he was or where he should be going. All he could do was cling onto Mika’s arms around him and pray he didn’t fall off.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity – even a couple of minutes could have been too long, could have been enough to let Geralt die all alone – he felt the horse slow beneath him. He was jostled worse than before when Roach went from a gallop to a trod, until eventually, her movements got smoother and halted completely.

There was clanging and muttered words of relief as the others dismounted. Dandy was forced to remain on top of Roach until someone tapped his leg and told him to slowly dismount.

Strong arms caught him, guiding him down until his feet reached the ground. It wasn’t the arms he had secretly hoped he would feel. Dandy knew it was impossible, but a foolish part of him had hoped that Geralt had somehow seen reason, that he had followed them and was safe with them now.

But the arms holding them felt different. The voice reassuring him that he was fine wasn’t deep or raspy enough. It was loving, but it lacked that special undertone that always tinged Geralt’s voice and made Dandy’s heart beat faster.

Now, his heart only raced with fear.

“Geralt.” His voice was but a breath. “Where is he?”

The silence that followed was answer enough. No one knew. No one had dared slow down their flight enough to see if Geralt needed help.

“He’s a witcher,” the person holding him finally said. “He’ll be fine. He came with us to protect us and that’s what he’s doing.”

“No he didn’t!” Dandy was taken aback himself by the unexpected sharpness of his voice. “He didn’t. He is with us, because I asked him to come. I am the reason why he’s in danger, because I was too selfish to leave without at least trying to keep him close. And now he might die-“ His voice cracked and his eyes began to burn. “And he will be all alone. I can’t let him be alone! I have to go back, I have to be with him-“

“Dandy!” The hands holding his upper arms tightened and the sharp tone brought his spiralling thoughts to a grinding halt. “You have to calm down. We won’t just abandon Geralt. He’s one of us. You know we don’t just abandon family.”

Dumbly Dandy nodded. The gesture felt empty, like a mask he was putting on, but there was a familiarity to it. Remembering how to react with his expressions and gestures was just enough of a distraction to stop him from going back to crashing into the abyss of terror and anger.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I know. But he’s – “

“Nadine is getting help,” the person reassured him. “We’re outside a town. Nadine is talking to the alderman as we speak. All we can do is wait now for help to arrive.”

Waiting. Again. It seemed that was all Dandy could do. In his mind, he spun an impossible future, in which he swung himself onto Roach, kidnapped her and rode off to find Geralt. He found himself mentally going through all kinds of stiches and potions that might help a wounded witcher. He already dreamed about dragging Geralt back to an inn room and taking care of him until he could be sure Geralt would survive.

Rationally, he knew that those fantasies were nothing more than that: Cruel dreams that taunted him with how unachievable they were. Dandy couldn’t climb on top of a horse again. All he could do now was pull away from the person holding him - just enough to take a few steps, but still touching them for orientation- and clinging to Roach’s neck instead, her warm breath huffing against his neck and her hooves stomping nervously. It probably wasn’t the best idea to be so close to an unsettled horse, but for some reason, being near Roach was a bigger comfort than listening to his troupe’s words as they tried to comfort him. Geralt always smelled of Roach. Being so close to her, he could nearly imagine what it would smell like, if Roach’s scent was mixed with the smoke of a campfire and the heavy scent of pines.

Imaginings. That was all Dandy had now, wasn’t it? Imagining Geralt was alight. Imagining Dandy could somehow help him.

No one in their right mind would let Dandy sew up a wound and he didn’t even know if witchers truly took potions. Geralt had never talked about any such thing and neither had Dandy’s tutor ever mentioned potions – and she had made sure that he knew plenty of witchers, Geralt of Rivia especially. She would have told him if Geralt needed potions, wouldn’t she?

But Dandy could do nothing. His whole being was filled with one single thought, one unbending need: To get back to Geralt. To be with him. To make sure he wasn’t alone.

Geralt didn’t deserve to live alone. He didn’t deserve to die alone either.

By the time voices drew nearer and people were shouting about getting gallons of water onto a wagon, Dandy almost felt numb, his fantasies about how life could be no longer sustaining him.

It was only when he heard the squeaking of too slow wagons rolling away, when he snapped back to full alertness.

“Nadine!” he shouted without thinking. He had no way of knowing if she was anywhere close enough to be able to hear him, but she was probably leading the helpful townsfolk. And she would never ignore one of her family if they needed her. She hadn’t ignored him when he had still been a boy, barely deserving to be called a young man, insecure and uncertain if he’d ever be able to find his own footing. Back then, she hadn’t hesitated to give him a place in her family and not once had she let him down when he had needed her. “Nadine, take me with you! I need to go back to him!”

Painfully tense seconds passed in which no one responded. The shuffling, squeaking, shouting continued and Dandy was left as he was, feeling like he was alone standing on a rock in the sea while a storm raged around him. He couldn’t tell when the first wave was going to crash into him and drag him under.

Heavy steps came closer and a hand tugged at his sleeves. “It’s me, Kara.”

Dandy tensed. “Kara, please –“

She didn’t let him finish. “Mika’s helping getting the water on the wagons and Nadine is making sure the rest are unharmed.”

“I can help. I swear I’m not useless. I can help with Geralt –“

“Doesn’t matter,” Kara said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re useless or the most useful person in the world. Geralt is important to you and you’re important to all of us, so I’ll be damned if I don’t take you with me.”

The pressure that had steadily been building behind Dandy’s eyes finally became too much. Tears welled over, rolling down his cheeks as his shoulders shook with sobs. There had been no wave crashing into him. Dandy had been the one to crash. Now, he would drag himself back on land and he would make sure Geralt would emerge from the sea-tossed storm with him.

He let Kara hoist him on top of Roach again and felt her saddle up behind him. She called out to someone else – Jasof, Iva, Marin. The stagehands; the strongest of the troupe.

Dandy assumed they were riding with them, as Kara clucked her tongue and spurned Roach on once more.

Impossibly, the way back felt even longer than it had taken them to get to the town. But this time, Dandy could tell they were getting close, even before the horses slowed.

There was crackling in the air, roaring, hissing. A wave of heat hit him in the face. Immediately, his eyes teared up again and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep out the burning sensation. It didn’t work. The overpowering stench of smoke filled his lungs, choking him, drowning him.

“Geralt,” he wheezed.

Kara’s let out a noise that probably was supposed to sound soothing, but the tremble in her body that was pressed against Dandy’s proved her act a lie.

“Stay here,” Kara commanded once she had dismounted and helped Dandy down again.

Dandy did as he was bid, fisting his hand into Roach’s mane. It was all he could do.

He felt painfully naked without his cane and when Kara stepped away from him, he had no way of orienting himself, no hope of knowing if he’d be any help or put them all in even more danger if he were to move.

A new wave of smoke rattled his lungs and his whole body shook with his coughs. Roach grew more and more agitated by the second, neighing and stomping her hooves.

“Where is he?”

The shout startled Dandy out of his frozen panic.

“I can’t find him. I – there’s blood.”

No. No!

Before Dandy could think twice about what he was doing, he pushed himself away from Roach and took an uncertain step. His heart was racing in his chest, all instincts telling him to turn back, to cling to Roach, to stay where he was! He didn’t know where he was going. He might be walking straight into danger and he’d be nonethewiser.

Snow crunched beneath his feet. The fire roared to his right. Roach huffed to his left. And his friends shouted helplessly for Geralt all around him.

The cacophony of noise made him even more disoriented. Where was he? Was he even anywhere close to Geralt?

He didn’t know. And yet his feel carried him forwards, shuffling, slow and careful. One miniscule step at the time, his hands stretched out before him. He wished he had his cane with him. He wished he knew where anything was. He wished Geralt was here to gently guide him.

But he was alone.

And yet…

There was something compelling him to move. I need to find him. I need to get back to him. I can’t leave him alone!

The words repeated over and over in his mind like a mantra, like they were the essence of that his soul was made up of. Just the need to get back to find Geralt. In this moment, his entire life was directed towards that one goal and for some reason he couldn’t explain, he knew with an unnatural certainty that he could fulfil his wish. He could find Geralt. He always would.

His foot caught on something. He staggered and fell forward, catching the fall with his hands. They met something solid. Wood. It splintered and dug into his hand, but it was unmistakable nonetheless.

It wasn’t enough to orient himself or give him any clue about why a wagon seemed to be so close to the ground, but it was a start. He trailed his hands over the wood, following the edge, crawling along the line of the destroyed wagon.

Until finally, his hands found something other than wood. It was soft, warm, and moving shallowly with weak breaths.

“Geralt,” he whispered, his voice breaking with hope he didn’t dare to latch onto. His throat went tight. It was him. It had to be him!

Dandy’s hands roamed over every inch of him he could find. His fingers found cold metal and closed around it instinctively. Round, with bumps in the middle. Geralt’s medallion. It was vibrating, pulsing in time with Dandy’s heartbeat.

His hands wandered lower and met something wet and sticky.

His stomach twisted and his blood felt cold as the snow that was soaking him where he kneeled on the ground.

“Kara!” he shouted over the roaring of the fire. “He’s here! I found him! He needs help!”

His voice was raw, shrill with fear.

He heard people running towards him, felt a pair of hands pulling him away, holding him tight. He couldn’t tell if the person holding him wanted to make sure he knew where he was or if they wanted to make sure that he stayed where he was. Holding him or holding him back.

It felt like the latter.

Dandy focussed all his senses on Geralt. He heard groans, pants and splintering. The others must be lifting the wood off of Geralt. They were the strongest of the troupe. They had to be strong enough for this…right?

After another helpless eternity, the world around Dandy grew louder. More shouts. The squealing of a wooden wagon. Splashing and hissing as water met fire.

The townsfolk must have arrived and they must be extinguishing the fire. And yet no one was hastening to Geralt.

“A healer!” He heard someone cry. “We have an injured person!”

“He’s dead,” came the reply that made Dandy’s hands clench on his thighs and made him strain against the hold. “No one can survive being crushed under a wagon.”

“He can!” Dandy shouted. The arms around him tightened. “He’s a witcher! He can survive more than that. He got swallowed by a selkimore and survived. He made it through the war with Nilfgaard. He is the only witcher who survived extra trials!”

He didn’t know how much of that was even true. Maybe it was something his tutor had told him about or maybe it was just something his panicked mind was making up, trying to convince him that he wasn’t about to lose Geralt.

The shouting stopped.

“A witcher?” There was something in that unfamiliar voice. Something terrible. Cold fury. Hot, burning hatred.  “You didn’t tell us we were helping a witcher.”

“I didn’t think it necessary,” Nadine said in that tone she used when the actors messed around too much during rehearsals. “He needs help and we are –“

“We’re not helping mutants,” the stranger spat.

The sound of movement fluttered around Dandy.

“What are you talking about?” Dandy tried to pull himself free. Maybe it was better that Kara was stronger than him. It wouldn’t have ended well for him if he had freed himself. “He is a good man! He saved us and he has been saving people for a century!”

“Let him save himself then.” Dandy could practically hear the sneer in the stranger’s voice. “Or better yet, let him die.”

“How dare you, you worthless son of a –“

Quick steps approaching, Kara and Nadine shouting in tandem and then a smack in his face that flung his head to the side.

He let out a sharp cry, more out of shock than pain. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could feel Kara shift their positions, bringing herself between Dandy and the man who had hit him.

The stranger didn’t let that deter him.

“Listen here, you bastard,” the man hissed in a low voice that sent shivers down Dandy’s spine. “My town won’t help mutants like him. We are leaving. You’re lucky we don’t burn down the rest of your wagons for tricking us.” Snow crunched, as he got even closer. Dandy could feel Kara tense. “You can be lucky you’re still alive. Someone like you…breakable, gullible, expendable. Of course you’d feel kinship with someone else who’s just as unwanted as you. But you should let him die. Or else you’ll be the one to die. Maybe not today, but sooner or later, he’ll be the cause of your death and when that day comes remember that I warned you.”

“That’s enough-“ Nadine’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “Leave him alone. I appreciate that you helped with the fire, but I won’t let you talk to Dandy like-“

“I don’t care.” Dandy said, a fire coming to life in his chest, growing stronger with each word the man had spoken. “I don’t care what you say, Sir. If I had to, I would stand between Geralt and the likes of you any time. I will defend him as long as there is breath in my lungs to speak and tell people like you that you are wrong.”

For a tense moment, there was only silence. Then finally, the man huffed and retreated, the other people that had followed him here to fight the fire, following him once again.

Dandy should have felt triumph at having had the last word, but all he had was a coldness and heaviness spreading through his limbs.

He hadn’t known – Geralt had told him that not all people liked witchers. He had warned him. But Dandy hadn’t realised that this dislike, this unreasonable hatred went so deep that people would leave Geralt to die.

When Geralt had told Dandy that he was hated, he had meant for it to warn Dandy to stay away from him. All it did now, was solidify what Dandy had already known: That he would stand by Geralt, stand between him and the world if he had to and stay there until no one doubted that Geralt was worth defending – even if Geralt himself was one of the people Dandy had to convince of that.

He stood to the side, leaning against Kara, until someone pressed his cane into his hand. The familiar weight made him let out a dry sob. It was too much. It was all too much. And he was doing too little.

He could do nothing but listen as the others carried Geralt into one of the wagons, only moving to say that they could put him in Dandy’s wagon. He heard Clarisse say that stitching up wounds was nothing like sewing costumes, but she would still try everything in her power to treat Geralt’s wounds.

As Dandy waited, something nudged his shoulder from behind. Warm breath ghosted over his neck.

“Roach,” he said without thinking about it twice or asking anyone if he assumed correctly. A weak smile stretched his lips as he caressed her nose. “He’s going to be fine. I promise, he will be alright.”

He wished he could believe it himself.

Later, when he was finally allowed to go into his wagon and see to Geralt himself, he sat down on the bed heavily. His hands twitched at his sides, before finally, he reached out, finding Geralt’s hair and running through it in a soothing motion. He didn’t know if he was trying to calm Geralt or himself.

Once he started touching him, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t be apart from him again. Not now, not after being left unknowing for so long whether Geralt would live or die.

“Geralt,” he whispered, leaning closer until he could feel Geralt’s breath ghosting across his face. “Geralt, can you hear me?”

No reply. Dandy pressed his free hand against Geralt’s chest, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest, tracing the medallion that hummed at his touch. His fingers tapped a rhythm onto it. A melody was at the tip of his tongue, but couldn’t fully form. He wished he could sing for Geralt now. He wished he could do anything to make sure Geralt would stay with him forever.

“Don’t leave me, Geralt,” he whispered and meant more than such simple words could say. “Don’t ever go. I can’t lose you. Don’t make me lose you.” His words came from deep inside his soul and yet, they somehow felt like someone else’s words, like an echo of something he had heard before.

Geralt was still out. But he would survive. He had to. But in case he didn’t…

“I love you, Geralt.” He tilted his head forward, his lips meeting a scarred cheek. His fingers came up caressing the scar as if it could take away the pain that had caused it.

He wished Geralt could somehow feel his touch and know that he wasn’t alone.

“J’skr.”

Dandy’s whole body tensed when Geralt let out the garbed sound.

“Geralt?” he urged him.

Geralt let out a long sigh and beneath his fingers, Dandy could feel Geralt’s face stretch into a faint smile.

“Jaskier…” Even in his sleep and with the pain that must still be racing through Geralt’s body, his voice sounded unbearably warm and fond.

“I’m here,” Dandy said, caressing his cheek. “I’m-“

He froze. It hadn’t been his name. Jaskier. For a brief, beautiful moment he had been so sure Geralt had spoken his own name.

Bitterness welled up in Dandy. Of course he had been foolish enough to think such a thing. How could he not imagine Geralt saying his name in that tone? It had been what he had dreamed about for months. Sometimes he had even let himself think he could have this, could have Geralt.

But now…

He gave a weak smile. A mask. An act.

“It’s alright,” he whispered. “You’re not alone.”

But Jaskier wasn’t here. Geralt was calling out for someone who didn’t sit by his bedside, who couldn’t stroke Geralt’s hair, who couldn’t coax him back to wakefulness. All Geralt had was Dandy.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wish I could be more.”

He swallowed, starting to pull his hand away, when Geralt started mumbling again. Dandy had to strain his ear to understand what he was saying.

“Love you…Jaskier.”

Dandy squeezed his eyes shut. He had known. Long before now. The way Geralt sometimes spoke about his friend, never even mentioning his name out of the pain it would bring. Of course Dandy had known that Geralt loved his friend, his Jaskier.

It was different hearing him say it like this.

What was even worse, was what followed the next hours. Dandy didn’t leave Geralt’s side for a single moment. He spoke to him softly, caressed his hair in comfort and held his hand. Above all, he let his own heart break, listening to Geralt cry out for Jaskier, begging his long lost love not to leave him, to come back to him, to live again.

He listened to Geralt live through Jaskier’s death again.

“I wish you didn’t have to go through that,” Dandy said softly, his voice thick with all the tears that had already dried up. “I wish you never have to go through that again.”

Maybe if he wished hard enough, it would come true. But even a dreamer like him knew that wishes spoken aloud were nothing but wasted breath. For now, Dandy could do nothing but listen to Geralt relive a nightmare and know that no amount of wishing would bring Jaskier back or undo what had already happened.

#reincarnation au #geraskier #blind!Jaskier #it was so hard to describe things without describing what can be seen #nice little challenge :D #fic #my writing #witcher fic

[sailtoafarawayland]

Entwined: Family Outtakes Ch. 1

Summary: A collection of family-centered outtakes from the Entwined series. Enjoy some touching moments as we get a peek into the lives of Emma, Killian, Hook, and their three children as they grow and find their stride as a family in the peaceful town of Storybrooke. 

Rating: G - T (to be safe)

AO3 - FF

Some SwanRook fluff and happiness inspired by and dedicated to @teamhook 

Chapter One: All The Small Moments

“Hey, hey!” Emma called, coffee mug sloshing to the counter as she darted across the kitchen after the two kids barreling through the front door, snatching the two brown bags waiting on the tabletop. “Don't forget your lunches!”

“Oh – ” Henry spun around first, a distracted look on his face as hopped back up the stairs, his gaze lingering on the screen of his phone as he took the bag she waved back and forth in front of him. “Thanks, mom.”

“Sure thing, kid,” Emma smiled, wanting to reach out and ruffle his hair as she'd done so many times before, but at  fourteen, it was gesture he didn't find nearly as endearing as he used to.

Alice strolled back to the house at a more sedate pace – for being a year younger than Henry, she was always a bit more restrained, and Emma couldn't help but wonder if it was still her uncertainty in this new realm, or just all the space that she wasn't quite used to having. Both thoughts made her chest tighten. Emma offered the paper bag with a smile, relieved when Alice returned it with one of her own.

It was more reserved then the beaming, open grins that she gave her Papa, and not quite as free as the ones she shared with Killian –  especially when he did something silly to make her laugh – but it was a smile all the same, and Emma counted each one as another victory against the witch who'd left her daughter to be imprisoned in a tower.  

“Thanks, Emma,” Alice murmured, her smile widening just enough that it finally reached her eyes before she turned and hurried after Henry, her son already holding out his phone to show her whatever was catching his attention as they shared the walk to school.

Emma tugged her cardigan more snugly around her waist and headed back into the house, her own smile lingering as she mopped coffee from the counter and thought about picking up bear claws to bring into the station – Killian's sweet tooth wasn't as bad as hers, but even he'd picked up her habit of enjoying pastries in the morning, though Hook still mostly turned up his nose at the sugary confections.  

/

The house was quiet, Hook and Killian down at the docks helping Leroy get his boat into the dry dock and prepared for winter storage, and Emma could only just hear the sound of Henry's video games filtering through his closed door from upstairs. Alice was probably reading or painting in her own room, and for the first time in what had been a hectic week at the station, she found herself able to take a long breath and relax.

The chill outside was just bitter enough that it made its way into the house through the old windows, and she found herself boiling water for hot cocoa, humming something softly to herself as she found her favorite mug – most likely a tune she'd picked up from one of her boys – and got out the whipped cream and cinnamon.

“What are you doing?”

Emma jumped, grateful it was only the whipped cream that fell to the floor and not a mug of hot cocoa, a smile pulling at her cheeks as she tucked her hair behind her ears and bent to pick it up.

“Sorry,” Alice muttered, shifting from the balls of her feet to her toes as she took in the whipped cream and cup. “Are you making hot cocoa?”

“Yup,” Emma grinned, “it's the perfect day for it – you know what else it's the perfect day for?”

“What?” Alice took a few more steps into the kitchen, casting her gaze around the room to see if she'd missed anything else.

“Cookies!” Emma sang triumphantly, reaching back into the fridge and pulling out a canister of the ready-to-bake chocolate chip version.

She'd noticed a while ago that on days like this, the ones where the house was empty – Henry wrapped up in whatever game or book he was stuck on, the fishing season keeping Hook busy at the harbor, and Killian and Emma working separate shifts – that the quiet seemed to get to Alice a little more, to creep up the stairs to the third floor and ruin the happiness she'd found in painting or reading.

It was something Emma remembered from her time in the system as a kid – Am I alone? Is anyone coming back? Can I trust the quiet – and she'd wanted to find one way she could remind Alice that here at least, in this house, the quiet was just that, and that she was never alone – not anymore.

Cookies had seemed like a good option. Emma definitely wasn't a baker, but even she could manage a canister of prepackaged dough, and the thought of the kitchen smelling like baking cookies seemed like just the homey type of thing they could both appreciate. No one bakes cookies when they're the only one to enjoy them.

“Those are cookies?” Alice questioned as she eyed the tube suspiciously, an eyebrow cocked in such a way that Emma's heart skipped a beat, the gesture mimicking her father so closely.

“Well, this world's version of them, at least...or maybe my version.” Emma rolled the canister in her hands, perusing the very simple instructions she was sure she couldn't mess up. “So, how about it, want to make some cookies with me? They'll go perfect with hot cocoa...”

“Yes!” Alice enthused, nodding her head vigorously and giving Emma one of those smiles that were coming a little easier each day. “Cookies sound great, Emma.”

“Alright, kid, let's find a baking sheet and...”

The afternoon drifted away, the noise spreading from the kitchen as Emma and Alice wrangled cookie sheets and mugs to the second floor as Henry won his game with a whoop and nearly galloped down the stairs to see what they were up to.

By the time both Hook and Killian strolled in from work, everything was far less quiet than it had been that morning. They stopped in the doorway to soak up the cozy view of their family gathered around the coffee table – mugs of hot cocoa and a plate of half eaten cookies spread among the deck of cards that neither of them recognized.

“Uno!” screeched Alice, slapping her card down on the table hard enough to make the mugs skitter, her knees bouncing with excitement against the floors.

“How did you get all the wilds?” Henry moped, eyeing the piles of cards as if he was going to spot some form of trickery. “Is this deck stacked?”

“It's just Uno, kid,” Emma consoled, her hand darting out to muss his hair as he leaned dramatically away, swatting her off. “I'm pretty sure you can't stack the deck.”

“Oh, I don't know, darling,” Hook mused as he shed his boots and both he and Killian joined everyone in the family room, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips as she smiled up at him, “a pirate always finds a way.”

/

Emma waited nervously outside the school, Henry barely pausing to give her a lopsided hug before taking off with his friend Jake for a weekend of video games, junk food, and boy jokes that Emma was perfectly happy to miss out on for once.

She kicked the light blanket of snow aimlessly beneath her boots, watching as the kids filtered out, joining other waiting parents or heading down the streets toward home by themselves. It didn't take long before she spied a familiar head of long blonde hair, her blue beanie pulled low over her ears, hands tucked inside the grey pea jacket she'd picked out herself.

“Alice!” Emma called, waving her over, her stomach only churning a little as Alice paused in confusion before jogging to her side – Emma wincing as she nearly slipped and fell on an icy patch before finally arriving in one piece.  

This was the first time she was walking Alice back to the house instead of Hook, but he hadn't been feeling well, and Emma had insisted he stay home in bed while she went, reminding him that the break from the station would be nice. Alice was probably old enough to find her own way back, but neither Hook nor Alice seemed ready for that, and after everything they'd gone through, Emma wasn't about to judge him for still needing the assurance that his daughter was safe and sound – and though Alice was almost a teenager, she'd spent enough of her life alone.  

“Emma!” Alice trilled, her words a puff of smoke in the cold air, “I didn't know you'd be walking me home today.”

“Your Papa isn't feeling so hot, so I told him to stay home while I came to get you. I hope that was okay,” she explained, biting back the sinking disappointment that maybe for Alice it wasn't, instead focusing on staying in step with her...step-daughter, she supposed...as they headed back toward home.

“I'm actually really glad you came today,” Alice confided, looking up at her shyly before turning her gaze back to the sidewalk stretching out before them. “I wanted to ask...well, is it okay if I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Emma stammered, brow furrowing as she wondered what Alice could possibly want to know – hoping it was something she could answer without needing to run it by Hook first. “Shoot, kid.”

“Shoot?”

“Sorry, that just means go ahead, ask away – you can talk to me about anything, Alice. I hope you know that...”

It was more of an offering than she would normally give someone, but Alice wasn't just someone. She was family – and Emma had stopped bringing up her walls for family a long time ago. If there was anything she wanted Alice to understand, it was that she wasn't just a part of Hook's family, and by extension, herself and Henry and Killian's, but that they were all in this together – all five of them.  

She wanted her to know she was cared for, that she was loved.  

“Yeah, I know that,” Alice murmured, her cheeks reddened by the cold beneath her hat, “and, well, I really don't want to ask Papa about this...what if you like someone, Emma. How do you get them to like you back?”

“Oh, well that's...” Emma faltered, suddenly less cheerful about the fact that Alice was opening up to her. She'd never had these kind of conversations with Henry – other than the one time in Camelot – but it hadn't been like this, not really. This was...this was something else entirely, and Emma didn't even have any memories of someone else having them with her to fall back on. “That's kind of a complicated one, but what's most important is understanding that someone should like you for who you already are. Does that make sense?”

“Kind of,” Alice hedged, her lips drawing into a thin line as her jaw clenched, another reminder of her father and Killian, “but what if, what if they wouldn't normally like someone like you?”  

“Alice, Emma spoke, her voice soft but serious as she stopped and waited for the young girl next to her to look up. “You are brave, and smart, and fierce – and I've never met someone who's been through so much and still has the kindest, most trusting heart. Don't think you ever need to change, or pretend to be someone else just to get a boy to like you. Because if they don't see how great you are, they're crazy.”

Unwanted memories of Neal flickered through her head, memories of being scared and terrified and so desperate to not be alone that she overlooked every red flag that had popped up in that relationship.

“It's not...” Alice whispered, nibbling on the edge of her lip as she looked up at Emma with a furrowed brow. “What if it's not a boy? What if I like a girl, and I wished she liked me back?”

“Oh, well, the same rules apply,” Emma shrugged, “you just remember to always be yourself, and one day someone will come along who loves you for exactly who you are – boy, girl, it doesn't matter.”

“Did you ever like someone who didn't like you back?”

“Oh, for sure. Devon Sawa, for starters – I had it bad for him.”

“And he didn't like you back?”

“Didn't even know I existed,” Emma deadpanned, remembering flipping through the pages of a teen magazine at the bodega before the owner had yelled at her and run her out, “but you'll probably meet a lot of people that you like, kid, and sometimes, there will be people who like you, but you don't feel the same way about them.”

“That sounds complicated.”

“When it's right, you'll know it, because you'll look at each other and just know that there's something special there, something different – something worth fighting for.”

“You think?” Alice whispered, her lips pulling into a grin that Emma was slowly getting used to seeing more of.

“I sure do,” Emma nodded, ruffling Alice's beanie before offering her a gloved hand. “Come on, this section of the sidewalk is solid ice up ahead – let's try to get home in one piece.”

“No one cleaned it? You'll have to give them a ticket,” Alice advised, the rest of their conversation veering into territories Emma felt she had a better grip on – homework, and the day's lessons, and what was happening for dinner – it was lasagna, Granny's doing.

And as Alice chattered on about plans to invent a recipe that had at least one thing everyone in the family liked in it, it hit Emma that there was a time topics like homework and what was for dinner had felt pretty daunting too, and she thought that just maybe she was better suited to this parenting thing than she'd ever thought possible.    

/

“Henry! Alice! Come on, guys!” Emma yelled, doubling back into the kitchen and snatching the brown paper bags from the table before hollering up the stairs at Killian and Hook to hurry up – everyone seemed distracted by something this morning.

The door slammed behind her as she jogged down the stairs and whistled sharply, Henry's head whipping around before he realized what they'd forgotten and headed back, tugging on Alice's sleeve to get her attention.

Alice pulled the headphones from her ears and looked back towards the house, watching as Emma strode toward them with the two bag lunches swinging in her hand.

“Thanks, mom,” Henry smiled, putting some extra twinkle into it since he knew everyone in the house was already running late for their day – and Emma had already mentioned more than once she had new office staff in to train that morning.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emma huffed, unable to keep her frown up as Henry flashed her a grin and one of the bags disappeared from her hand, Alice's fingers reaching and tugging the second free.

“Yup, thanks, mum!” Alice echoed, already moving to plug her headphones back into her ears before her hand paused in midair, an uncertain set to her lips as she turned and met Emma's eyes. “Is that...is it okay if I call you...”

“Hey,” Emma reassured, reaching her arms around the young girl and giving her a tight squeeze, her own eyes tearing up as she pressed a firm kiss to the top of her head. “I would love if you called me mom.”

“I've never had a mum,” she whispered, eyebrows lifting as she tried to stifle the wide smile that was threatening to break over her face, “but I've always wanted one.”

“Well, you've got me now, kid. You know, I didn't have a mom either – or a family at all when I was your age – but then I found them.”

“Henry and Killian.”

“And your Papa, and you, Alice.”

“I like that a lot,” she nodded, “that we'll always be together – all of us.”

Emma nodded in agreement, stepping back as Alice tucked the headphones back into her ears, waving a shy goodbye as she hurried to catch up with Henry, who over the past year and half had become more and more of a brother to her.

“Is everything alright, love?” Killian asked, his hand settling onto the small of her back as she watched the kids round the corner ahead.

“Yeah,” she rasped, the word falling a little harshly from her lips as she cleared her throat and swallowed heavily, her eyes burning. “Everything's great.”

She turned at the sound of familiar footsteps, Hook stopping to join them. Both men were sharing identical looks of concern as they took in the glistening at the corner of her eyes, the way her smile was a little less steady than normal.

“What is it?” Hook worried, his gaze flickering to Killian to confirm that he was just as in the dark. “Is everything well with Alice and Henry?”

“Alice just asked if she could call me mom,” Emma beamed, swiping halfheartedly at the tears threatening to spill onto her cheeks. “I just thought – ”

Her breath flew from her in a rush as Hook swooped her into his arms, nearly crushing her against his chest as Killian leaned against them to press a kiss to her cheek.

“I had a feeling she'd get there soon,” he murmured into her hair as Hook wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “I've seen the way she adores you, looks up to you.”

“It's just been so long since you became Dad to both of them,” she stammered, turning in Hook's arms so she could rest against his chest, her fingers wrapping with Killian's as he beamed at the memory. “I just kind of figured she was more comfortable having me just be...Emma.”

“Oh, love,” Hook murmured against her, his lips pressing soft kisses into her skin, “You've never been just anything. She only needed to get there in her own time – to realize it wasn't biology that makes a mother, but being there for all of the small moments.”

“Aye,” Killian agreed, sweeping Emma into his arms the moment Hook let her go, the three of them overjoyed at the family moment that felt like such a huge step. “She's lucky to have a mother like you, Emma, as is Henry.”

Emma couldn't help the happy tears that started every now and then throughout the day, those memories that belonged to a little girl sitting alone on a bed – alone in a house that didn't want her – washed away by how full and meaningful her life had become.

END

Tagging: @justanother-unluckysoul @kmom0f4 @the-darkdragonfly @teamhook @zaharadessert @xarandomdreamx @jrob64 @wefoundloveunderthelight @tiganasummertree @pirateprincessofpizza @lfh1226-linda @alexa-fangirl-forever @alifeofdreams @superchocovian @donteattheappleshook @hollyethecurious @caught-in-the-filter @snowbellewells @itsfabianadocarmo @stahlop

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#Captain Swan #CS fic #cs fanfic #sailtoafarawayland #entwined #love4teamhook #swanrook #emma swan #killian jones #wish hook #with appearances by henry mills

[letsperaltiago]

when the morning comes

Summary: The lazy, soft morning after Jake and Amy's first date and "Lets not have sex right away"-kinda night aka. me making up for my craving for more Peraltiago in the ‘New Captain’-episode. Pure fluff and goodness.

Rating: G

Words: 4.8k

Read on AO3 here

It feels like waking up from one of those amazing dreams that make you want to fall back asleep, pursue whatever fairytale world your brain had created for you. Waking up that morning feels peculiar, hits differently than otherwise always early and routinely embossed rises. Rather than her alarm clock pounding into her ears, prompting her to rise and kick off yet another productive day, this morning she wakes up to the bright sun begging for her eyes to open.

This morning is the exact opposite of everything she knows. 

One thing that does seem to be the same though is that she has slept on her right side, something she can safely do within the four walls of her own home without being bothered. But this morning this seems to be the reason why she’s been awakened by sunlight rather than her many planned alarms.  

Amy squints her eyes open just enough to see the sunlight peeking through poorly drawn window blinds - window blinds that definitely aren’t her flowery curtains and a sun that rises in the east and usually doesn’t affect her through her west-bound bedroom window. 

Every sensation is brand new. Especially the subtle presence of warmth before her: a pile of blanket and duvet, which could’ve potentially hidden her from the sun but alas is just too flat to do so. Even though they’re mid-May the air around her feels cool, and what she discovers is an open window seems very unnecessary. It’s chilly enough as it is in this estranged bedroom. Plus, she can very clearly hear every sound Brooklyn has to offer - everything from people yelling and honking cars to dogs barking and children laughing. All at once very life-affirming yet bothersome. She tries to form a reality of these new surroundings that she’s seen before but never like this - not from the bed’s point of view. 

A tired, miffed feeling creeps over her and the only solution seems to be shutting her eyes in hopes of hiding, sleeping just a bit longer. But the sun rays are much stronger and stubborn, and half-awake she flips over, fleeing, to her opposite shoulder and a position that hides her from the day breaking outside. For a second she almost slips back asleep, into oblivion where she can forget the sudden, uncomfortable waking up. 

It’s not as though the presence of another body’s presence has been consigned to oblivion. Flashes of the night’s event still bubble in the back of her consciousness. The mattress shifts beneath her, the duvet shifts against her bare skin, and arms wrapping themselves around the curve of her waist arouse goosebumps and tiny hairs, thousands of them, all at once. When a surprise, an unfamiliar rush of warmth, collides with her skin and floods her veins, she’s drawn out of her before fleeting consciousness and back into a wide awaken state of alert and attentiveness. 

As if on purpose, a quiet sigh, one of content, prompts the arms to tighten just a bit more around her and pull her in closer to the warmth of the body behind her. It’s not clear whether it’s caused by the colliding of the skin or her finally being fully awake, but Amy suddenly remembers the evening and night before in its entirety. 

Everything. Bouche Manger, brown eyes lighting up when he first saw her walking towards him, strong hands pulling out her chair for her, awkwardness, Kamikaze-shots, talking and laughing for hours with curious eyes raking over each other, him following her home, her offering him to come up… Then the door being kicked shut behind them as their hands were too busy touching the other and then, lastly, naked bodies colliding in a climax that’s been accumulating for so long - months, maybe even years. 

Every single detail seems to come rushing back, every sense, almost as if she’s reliving every touch, word and sound exchanged between the two of them - everything from hisses of pleasure and moans of surrender to sweet sighs and happy giggles. 

The duvet that was once a wall between the two vessels, wrapping them in each their own little cocoon, has vanished and Amy quickly, though slightly overwhelmed, feels at home against the skin she’s dreamed of touching for so long. She allows herself to enjoy this, for once not overthinking every aspect of it, and melts into the arms she can feel herself fit into so perfectly that it has her silently regretting they didn’t give in to their stubborn pining sooner. Here… She could definitely get used to sleeping here. 

Immediately after finally closing her eyes and chasing another round of sleep in this newfound position, the young detective feels the soft pressure of warm lips against the back of her head. The pressure relocates multiple times, each time lower than the previous, and by the time it reaches her neck Amy is back to being more awake than ever before. Fingers and soft palms, ones that aren’t her own, make their lazy way across her exposed ribs, almost as if they’re trying to count them, and even though she doesn’t mind that kind of touch either, at all, Amy appreciates the fact that said touch stays beneath her chest. A chest that holds a galloping heart. 

See, it’s not because Amy feels insecure about last night’s events. She knows her partner. He might be cocky and somewhat annoying, but not that deep down he’s selfless and would never use her, especially not for his own randy benefits. Then again, she’s been with the wrong people before, people who didn’t have the right intentions, and so she needs to remind herself that Jake likes her. 

Jake. The name alone is enough to make her smile and knowing that the caresses and pecks are from him only makes it even more impossible to not smile. The soft momentum of strokes across her midsection diminishes to a point where only the very tips of his fingers can be felt tiptoeing across her skin and Amy, even though she hates to admit it, has already grown stupidly addicted to the touch. There’s an urge to chase it, seek it out, which she can’t deny but here, even though Amy Santiago will usually just go for whatever she wants but right here and now under the warm covers with her partner of many years, she feels herself hesitate. Not because she’s unsure of him. On the contrary, after so much back and forth, pining and wrong timing, she couldn’t be happier to be where she is. Right now. In bed. With Jake Peralta. But allowing herself to feel like this, about him, will take some courage and kicking down doors. 

She reaches for the hand that’s come to a halt on her stomach, placing hers on his. For a second Amy feels like she’s imagining things when Jake’s hand seems to automatically, prompted by her simple touch, entangle his fingers with hers. How can they respond to each other so naturally, so mean to be, when all they’ve known is dodging each other’s romantic advances? Peacefully, and as though it were something they’d done forever when in reality it’s been a couple of hours at most, his fingers fiddle around with hers. It’s light, it’s easy but it somehow means so much. Amy feels the butterflies in her belly break free, as if letting go and giving in to him equals letting in the faith and happiness she’s been longing for but at the same time also been scared of. 

Her emotions are all over the place, back and forth, up and down, although she does have one thing she holds on to. Something clear as day even in the fogginess of new emotions and confusion...

I really like you. 

The scene plays over and over in her head, brings a smile into existence and Amy feels like she’s back in the copy room or, even better, the evidence locker. The bare arms around her now do feel a lot softer than Jake’s blue flannel, although nothing will be able to beat the feeling of kissing Jake, running her hands up said flannel, in the dim lights of their precinct’s evidence locker. The most inappropriate yet best thing she’s ever done in a professional setting and if she ever gets the chance to do it again, she will. 

She wants this. Him. Them. 

When making up her mind, deciding that staying reluctant will get her nowhere and there’s a very good reason as to why they’re here, in bed in the AM, Amy manages to switch back to lying on her other shoulder. It brings her face to face with none less than Jake Peralta himself. Obviously, she already knew it was him the soft hands, strong arms and warm chest belonged to. Although there’s something special about facing him, seeing him like this for the first time with tussled hair and skin glowing in the early morning gleam, resting in such a peaceful state, that takes her breath away all over again. Not for long but just for the tiny period of time it takes to fully wrap her usually very sharp, cut to the chase mind around his presence. She persuades herself of the fact that she’s where she’s supposed to be, tries her best, kicks down her barricades, and succumbs to the ever-growing urge to cuddle into his chest. Hopefully to be held just a bit tighter, and tell him just how much she likes him by painting his neck with kisses. 

So she does it. 

Surrounded by the coziness of their shared duvet, a warmth that somehow still isn’t enough when the window is open, Amy scoots in as close as physically possible. Her arms are pressed to her chest, sandwiched between their chests, but luckily not to a point where she can’t have her hands explore and caress the delicate skin of her partner’s collarbone and chest. Partner - feels weird to call him that now that they’re here. 

On his left shoulder is a beauty mark, prominent but not enough for her to have noticed before - then again, before last night, what would’ve been the occasion for her to see it? Said discovery immediately sparks a stronger connection to the young detective before her. She pecks the mark, an act of affection and familiarizing herself with his body, something they’ll get to do now, and the fluttering eyelids she receives in return are enough to keep her going. With a few seconds in-between, enough time to take in the feeling and taste of his skin, musky, a bit salty from last night, she switches between pecks with lips and strokes with her nose. Just about anything that will keep them in touch. At some point, after having showered him with affection for some time, it provokes a muffled grunt, a clearing of his throat, and even though it has no literal meaning Amy feels as if he’s been the first to break the silence. His eyes are still closed though and she doesn’t want to risk waking him up so she waits; she waits even though all she wants to do is talk to him, look into his eyes, make him smile. Everything. Him, him, him. 

“Why’d’ya stop?” He mumbles, voice laced with fatigue and hoarseness to it, not quite comparable to anything she’s experienced before and it’s… nice. This raspy voice is not just another simple detail, a sound he murmurs into the top of her head, sending vibration throughout her entire vessel. No, to Amy, it’s the fact that that he’s been asleep for hours, next to her; he’s just woken up and she just so happens to be the lucky one who gets to be a part of his first moments of rising from his sleep - something oddly intimate and heartwarming.

“Didn’t wanna wake you up, ” she whispers as if he was still asleep, maybe, in a twisted, self-contradictory way, wishing he was so that she could live on in the hazy, daydream-like bubble of a reality that had seemed to surround them when he was still asleep and she didn’t have to worry about being weird, too much, too little, or whatever. Can’t they just in bed like this - limbs all tangled up, lips melting onto each other’s skin at random intervals - and pretend the world outside doesn’t exist? A stupid world where Holt is gone, Captain Dozermann is watching them like a hawk, and everyone they know wants to meddle. 

“Don’t mind waking up…” He huffs, lazy as ever, before dragging his lips from her hairline down to peck her lips in a way that’s so careful and soft that has Amy surrender on the spot. The attentive touch of his lips is imitated by his fingers which initiate a delicate tracing of small nonsense patterns on her bare back that somewhat makes up for the loss of his lips seconds later “... when you’re here.” 

Amy is at a loss for words. Obviously, hidden behind competitive and childish behavior, she knows her partner is the most genuine kind of person with a heart of gold and good intentions. Although, experiencing this whole other side of him - toned down, calm,  affectionate, romantic even - has Amy questioning all past decisions she’s ever made. How come he hasn’t been one of them sooner? How come she’s kept this, the subject of them, off-limits for so long when right now it feels like everything she could ever ask for?

A breeze travels in through the window, automatically resummoning her goosebumps and a small shiver, but Jake is quick to catch on, there’s a problem he needs to fix, so he pulls her in even closer in hopes of keeping her warm and shielded. “Hey, you feeling okay?”

Her silence, lack of words, perhaps, must’ve worried him and even though her silence is nothing but a good sign, meaning that she feels at home with him, appreciates, she realizes that she can’t allow that his worry lasts. She’s happy, more than, to be here with him and he needs to hear that. 

“Yeah, I’m… good.”

After tilting her head back just enough for him to be able to see her face she draws her lips into a smile, tired but of the most genuine and charming kind, and allows her frigid-feeling fingers to palpate his chest. Now it’s his turn to feel goosebumps diffuse across his skin, not quite sure if it’s her cold fingers’ work or simply the fact that Amy Santiago is blessing him with chaste touches of affection that he’s been dreaming about for so long. He wonders if the pattern of her strokes is meant to follow the rhythm of her soft breathing or if he’s just imagining things. Analyzing how her hands dance back and forth across him to the lulling sway of her lungs. 

“Is this okay?” He asks again and Amy never thought she’d get to see Jake Peralta careful and lowkey vulnerable like this. 

He’s well aware of the fact that it perhaps is a bit late to ask so, after many hours of kisses and touching, but better late than never, especially if it concerns her comfort. Even though he’ll, of course, accept her retraction, with no hesitation, he hopes this won’t be the last time she’ll be the first thing he sees when he wakes up. 

“Yeah. I thought the kissing and touching would communicate that?” she says with just enough confidence in her whisper and glint in her eyes to persuade him. 

“Of course, I just-” he halts, the sounds and words in his throat somehow not making sense, even before they’re out of his mouth. How does he know? He just does… That’s how it works, in his brain, when she’s looking at him like the whole world revolves around him. Though, at least to him, the truth is that it revolves around her. “I just wanted to make sure that you didn’t regret anything?”

She curls her eyebrows into a confused frown, nose wrinkling along, instantly making Jake feel bad. Did he say something wrong?

“I mean, do you regret anything?” The confusion on her face quickly melts away, transitioning into a new nervous character that lets Jake know that the only reason why she’s been so silent and careful all morning is probably that she’s just as nervous as he is. No need to make her feel like she should regret anything when he certainly isn’t. 

“No, Ames, no!” He hopes the sentimental squeeze from his hand on her back can pull her confidence back in from the sea of doubt flooding her mind. “I- I’m just rambling because you’re here, with me, and I can’t believe it because it’s so... good.” 

With minimal stuttering he makes it through the closest thing he can come to a grand emotional confession, one that won’t chase her away this early on, and watching her expression loosen up, lips lightly parted in surprise, he prays to God he hasn’t overstepped. 

Open window, crisp air, and the stubborn sun are immediately forgotten, replaced by the warmth Jake’s confession contained. He likes her and she him, the last puzzle piece falling into place, and in there is no, not here or in any other parallel universe, a good reason to hold back anymore. A new wave of emotions, clear and virtuous, comes crashing over her, pushing her to an extent where she can’t help herself. Just like the wave of emotions washing over her, she pushes, knocks him onto his back, and washes over him with her body, duvets and sheets quickly becoming disarranged around them. God knows they’ve kissed already. Both a couple of first kisses during their undercover mission and during the long night of discovering this new side of each other, but right then when she kisses him, not just a peck this time, there’s no more worry, no more hesitation nor overanalyzing. 

She’s got herself hovered over his chest, hands tangled in his messy curls and starving lips working overtime to let him know that she loves being here and if he’ll have her then she’ll gladly stay. Even through the motion of being pushed over by her he never lets go of her, hands firm on her lower back and holding her as close to him as physics will allow. The kiss deepens, small smiles and whimpers of simple and sincere joy are exchanged between their lips’ rhythmic reunions, and, fully neglecting prior hesitation, Amy ascends, almost drags herself onto his body. She’s got him straddled but this time the agenda isn’t sexual. Sure, their sex was mindblowing but right now all she wants to do is pepper him with kisses that tell the story of how she’s missed him even though he’s never been hers to miss - at least not until now. 

Jake probably has a similar calling, an urge to show her how much he cares about this emotional fusion, this brand new intertwining of their lives that’ll create a story they’ve yet to fully experience because he pays her back by pushing back - back to lying on her back. 

Even though Amy’s eager to pick up where they left off, hands still in his hair and on his neck, Jake halts in his now hovered position which leaves him as the only thing within her point of view. 

“I really like you, Amy.” The words are undoubtedly earnest, even laced with the heavy breathing caused by the kisses, and Amy could happy cry if her eyes weren’t too busy taking in the sight above her. Little did she know that she herself - dark messy hair tousled all around her head on the pillow, pink plump lips agape in awe and deep, sweet chocolate eyes  - was the world’s eighth wonder, lying right there between his arms. 

“And I know I’m, like, kinda a mess,” he chuckles nervously, his secretly fragile heart on his sleeve because Amy Santiago will do that to a poor guy like him. “But I swear I-I’m not here to mess things up or, like, dumb stuff like that.”

“I know, Jake.” There’s comfort for him to find in her eyes. He can tell she believes him which is more important than anything else. Her smile gives him the confidence he needs to go on, and the sudden calm that comes washing up on the shore of their little, intimate metaphorical island comes as a strong contrast to their little makeout session just seconds ago. “That’s why I’m here.” 

“Cool…” He trails off, drowning in her presence and as if she wasn’t perfect enough already, she picks up where he’s left off. 

“... cool cool cool.” It’s exactly what he needed to hear - it’s simple, silly but so them. Her grin is wide and proud as she says it, she knows he’ll love it, and if it means she can earn a smile then she’ll gladly do it. 

“Wow, you learn so fast.” 

“Oh, I’ve been caught up for longer than you think, Peralta.”

Their grins meet but Jake is weak, has to give in, and bend his arms just enough to kiss her, brushing off that perfect grin of hers with a peck before returning to his hovering position. 

“Is that so?” He cocks an eyebrow. If he let her off the hook, passed up the opportunity to challenge his always know-all partner - even post-boinking - they wouldn’t be Jake and Amy, Peralta and Santiago, 

The way the dynamic has changed, so effortlessly, from being caught up in a whirlwind of new emotions and confession to their stupid banter has them both persuaded: this feels right. They almost, the key-word being almost, drown in this first page of their new chapter when suddenly reality does catch up to them - or her, at least. 

“Shoot, what time is it?” She exclaims ducking out of this box he’s created around her with his arms and torso, knocking him over in the process, before reaching for her phone which she believes (last night is still a bit blurry) is in her handbag on the floor. 

“Uhm- I don’t know? Too early? Santiago-stylez.” He’s already back to cuddling the duvet, hiding his face in the pillow, and ignoring the very sudden frantic inclination their moment has taken. Just like how their dynamic hasn’t changed, Amy hasn’t changed either and it would be a lie if Jake said this sudden outburst of hers worried him. After so many years of being colleagues, then friends, he’s seen worse and knows when he can intervene with a joke and when he has to intervene with genuine emotional support - this moment seems to be the former. 

Meanwhile, on a mission to see what time it is and how horribly late and busted they will be, Amy has got herself leaned over the edge of the bed to grab her handbag. Her hand has just made it into her bag, hand wrapped around her phone when two, by now pretty well-acquainted, arms wrap themselves around her waist and pull her back into the oh so welcoming comfort of Jake’s bed and embrace.“Ooh- Jake!”

“Stay here,” he whines playfully, attacking her neck and shoulders with short pecks that, if they were perceptible on her skin, paint her skin like a starry sky, and he recognizes her scent as being his new favorite: a pleasant mix of her perfume and his own cologne. Even though the way he’s acting reminds her of the comportment of a silly kid, Amy, after recovering from the small shock, has to laugh. She can’t be mad at him, not when all she feels like doing, in all honesty, is to stay in bed all day. In bed where she can kiss and touch him, perhaps repeat the night’s racy activities, without interruption or worries from the outside world. 

“We can’t.”

Oh, how she wants to. Especially when she wiggles around in his arms to face his goofy grin and messy hair, feeling like there is nowhere else in the world that’s more important to attend - even work. She’s home. 

“We have work.” 

From the way a disappointed pout upon realization replaces his before carefree grin, two expressions as different as night and day, Amy can tell he’d already happily given in to their new rose colored reality: a place where time and duties aren’t genuine in existence. A place where there were no eight to four shifts. Four to eight shifts under the command of Captain Dozermann and his awful Dozerpads. 

“I have an idea…” 

“Uhuh?” she cocks an eyebrow prompting him to go on. 

“Okay, so, we quit our jobs-”

“Jake…” 

For every word he adds to his farfetched story of a plan he keeps peppering her face, everywhere but her lips - to her dismay - but once again she can’t help but laugh with him. After all, it is what he does the best: he makes her laugh. 

“-forget the precinct, no, the entire world, exists-” 

“Jake…”

“-and instead we just stay here, all day, all night, forever, and hang out, make out, instead.”

“Jake,” she shuts him up, her index finger firmly placed against his finally hushed lips, and Jake can’t tell if it’s the cutest or hottest thing she’s ever blessed him with - probably both. On her part, Amy is wondering if she’s ever seen anything more adorable than the surprise on his face, bright, childish, and playful eyes when he is shut up and waits for her to talk. 

“We have to go, Jake.”

He seizes the situation and pecks her commanding index finger which very quickly drops, slides down his lips before she lets the entire hand fall to his chest. 

“But I wanna stay here and… kiss.” The whining tone is back though this time much less dramatic and, more than anything else, pleading. “We never just stay in and kiss.”

She rolls her eyes, still smiling, and it might just be his favorite combination. 

“Kissing has never been an option before, dummy.” For good measures, and a million other things and reasons she can’t begin to list because she’ll never finish, she grabs his chin in-between her thumb and the same index finger that moments ago silenced him, pulling his face down for a long, delicate kiss that has his toes curl and fingers dig into the curve of her waist. One, two, three, four, five… he loses track of how long the kiss lasts, rather focusing on running his hands up and down the arch of her back as if it were the last time he ever gets to when in reality, a reality he still needs to learn to fully believe, it’s not. It’s far from the last time. A tiny bump on her lower back, a beauty mark, lets its presence be known under the stroke of his palm, and Jake, already devoted to getting to know every inch of her, makes a mental note of it, promising himself he will come back to kiss it whenever the occasion arises. 

“What a mistake that is…” he whispers once she’s pulled back, not farther than the tips of their noses still touching as a constant touch of affection. 

“A mistake we can make up for...” Her lips, grinning, peck the tip of his nose. They’re on the verge of falling back in, drowning in their craving for something they’ve been missing for so long and now finally have, like a kid getting something from their wishlist, when Amy decides, for the both of them, that she has to be the bigger person and get them out of bed. “... after work. Okay?” 

“Okay…” he nods and it’s impossible not to grin like an idiot. 

Eventually, after a few more pecks and loving touches that just can’t be fought off, they get out of bed. As new and unusual as it seems when she slips on a flannel of his that hung on a nearby chair, it very simply also seems equally amazing, incredible, and normal. Even when she catches him gazing at her with admiring eyes, causing blush rises to the apples of her cheeks before she tries to justify her actions with an “I’ll just take it home with me and wash it for you. Then you can have it back when I come over again.” 

But she doesn’t have to justify a thing. She can wear any flannel of his she desires, give it back to him whenever or if she pleases, clean or dirty. He doesn’t care. All he cares about is the fact that there will be an again. He’s been promised more - later, tomorrow, next week, after work, before work, again and again, all the time, the next morning -  with Amy Santiago. 

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