#just had a sudden vivid memory of it i wish i could read it again so fucking bad but i can’t find a digital version anywhere 😞 i havent

[dr-george-ordell]

TITLE: Damn those blasted catgirls i just want a hug.

FEATURING THE CHARACTERS: Van, Aaron

WRITERS: mari, nat, mari. @nat-of-personifications

RATED ALL AGES.

If there was one memory Van found unsettling, it was that one dream-or fever induced nightmare-he had of Aaron. And catgirls.

Yes, fucking cat girls of all things. As ridiculous as it sounded, he had a valid reason, and NO he did not do anything weird beforehand to get that dream.

Basically, that cat movie with terrible cgi and taylor swift? He was pretty sure them creepy catgirls were in a cult to. He could barely remember that damnned movie from last night as he was pissed of his own head absolutely drunk.

Alohilani had dropped that DVD of the cursed movie in the barracks, as a result leading him to pick it up and read the premise of the play? musical? he didn't know.

The other thing he had no fucking clue on was whatever demonic urge pisessed him to watch the movie. Perhaps it was the alcohol. Perhaps it was sheer boredom. He. Did. Not. Know.

And that confusion and effects of alcohol fused together in his brain, making a morbidly terrifying amalgamation of Garfield (lord knows why garfield was even involved) the creepy cgi cat humans, and finally his granddad. Aaron. Aaron bloody Siegel.

The vivid dream was disturbingly detailed, follwong the plotline of that cat musical until he reached the mid point. And there. He met Aaron.

The elder man was speaking in a rather squeaky, distorted, honeyed voice that was vomit inducing (he had thrown up in his sleep), and the senior Siegel was prancing around like a showgirl at a club-rave, singing a horrible tune about faries of all blasted things. Faries.

He had woken up screaming and choking

--------------------

on the remains of the spit-vomit in his mouth, his mind lagging as it tried to process the insanity it had manufactured. He’d knock out Alohilani's teeth with that DVD the next time he saw him if he had any less self-control.

And he desperately hoped the memory of that dream would burn out in the dumpster fire that was that part of his brain before he needs to see Aaron again. Ira probably would've amnesticized this night away and he wouldn't blame her.

He almost wonders if Ira's dreams ever reached this level; at least she forgets them when she comes back to consciousness. His wondering is interrupted by delayed headrush and claws around his head pressing deep into his eyes, and he collapses back into bed, groaning.

He's not sure if this was from a hangover (which it shouldn't have, considering his kind of metabolism; it took six drinks last night for him to begin to feel tipsy) or sheer terror at the dream. If Alohilani tries to come in to check on him, he's seriously considering punching him in the face.

He also wishes he corrected dream-Aaron about the fae. Most of his raving was glaringly incorrect, and he knows he was smarter than that.

Then again. Van was the one who decided to watch the Cats movie, piss drunk or not.

--------------------

Groaning and falling back, Van gingerly wiped the now crusted vomit upon his mouth and chin, staring up with awfully glazed eyes at he had the sudden urge to cry.

What on earth was he thinking? What would Aaron and Ira think of him if they saw him in this sweat-shivering vomit-covered mess.

An unfamiliar voice let out a cut off sob that echoed in the room, until he recognised it as his own.

Heat flared up in his cheeks at the fact he was unable to recognise his own voice, and pondering over what Aaron's reaction would be in finding out he had such lucid dream.

Again quiet sniffles emerged from hjs as salty water fell down the sides of his face, light blurring as his last resolve snapped against his will.

Shakily he sat halfway up, letting out a pained shout as the pain continued to entice more noise out his mouth unwillingly, and much more loudly as he fell back on the dingy mattress.

He somehow hadn't registered someone opening the door and switching the harsh lights on, Van yelling at the suddden shock and covering his face with his hands upon instinct.

"-me! Sir, are .... lrightm?" A distant, disconnected voice above him spoke too loudly for his hungover self, Van merely curling up into a tighter ball as he whined in protests and covered his ears.

A firm, gloved hand came to grab him by the shoulder with no warning, Van letting out a blood-curdling scream of terror, the next movements of him passing too quickly to recount. After that, all he remembered was someone tracing their gloved fingers over his knuckles as they gently placed his face into their shouldor.

He wouldn't accept this. He shouldn't. But a combination of his inhibitions being completely worn, and physical contact after months of being blocked up in a metal box called his office, he completely lost it, much louder and much more violently before.

His damp hair pressed into his face as he bawled hysterically into the other person's shoulder, fists violently fighting to get away even though his whole body yeared to keep hugging the other person on and on forever.

He thrashed, he wailed, he even disgustingly smeared snot by accident on their shoulder, but what mattered was that they were warm, smelled familar and were being much, much kinder to him during such an embarrassing outburts.

A hand snaked through his white hair, something that'd usually had him biting, but the way those individual firm fingers carded through his hair seemed to but something smaller, and more vulnerable in him to peace.

He couldn't tell if he was being rocked either, but appearances and formalities be dammned, if this is the few time he gets being held by just someone.

--------------------

--------------------

--------------------

Fanfic created with #FranticFanfic.

#tw vomit #this is so unedited help #the prompt was CATGIRLS of all things #fantic fanfic #fanfiction #scp fanfiction #scp #writing #personifposting #vanguard #scp vanguard #writing prompt #wtf does this count as?? #crack-angst? #crack post #angst

[pepprs]

does anyone remember this 🥺

#just had a sudden vivid memory of it i wish i could read it again so fucking bad but i can’t find a digital version anywhere 😞 i havent #thought abt it in yrs but i rememebr getting lost in all the wonderful little details... wish i could do it again 🥺 #nostalgia #purrs

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (8)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au 

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 7.8k  we really can’t ever have a short chapter around here smh

Summary: Alacrity augments you in the aftermath of your alpha’s perfervid performance and in his subsequent summoning of you, neither of you can stave off sin from overwhelming you in the desire for each other that consumingly captures the wolf and his mate. 

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of blood, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, dirty talk (lbr I love that shit), praising, fingering (just a smidge), grinding, fellatio (cock sucking), cock worship (just a bit), breast/nipple play, nipping, sucking, begging, muscle kink, scratching, cum eating, manhandling, cursing, wet and messy sex (kind of), size kink, hair pulling, impreg kink, dual orgasms 

A/N: So, this chapter took a bit longer to get out due to graduate applications, schoolwork and inclement weather that took out my Wi-Fi, lol. It also went through a series of deletions because I felt self-conscious after the original posting of chapter seven, but eventually, it came along to what I had pictured in my mind despite the rework to the style of this chapter that I hoped to make easier for you guys to read with lessened uses of terminology/vocabulary. Also, I’m not the best at writing this type of smut, so please go easy on me! 

Oh, and the gif that you guys see at the top? That’s Jungkook’s outfit inspiration for what he wears at the end of the chapter. :)

As always, please share with me your thoughts about my work! There is no greater reward to writing than seeing what your readers think of what you spent so much time to create. I am eager to know what you guys make of my story, so please don’t hesitate to let me know what your thoughts are because I love to hear it!

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 7 Part 9

Meekness muddies you in the solid substratum of it that settles over your throat as you try to keep from liquifying under your alpha’s scorching gaze that leaves no part of you unscoured by its high heat.

 It muffles you to a mutter as you struggle to swallow what little spittle has not dried up in your mouth at the parching sight of him as you manage, “Alpha….what are you doing?”

 There had been something else you’d wanted to ask him, but in the roots that tangle thoughts around him, your perception is twisted by your peripheral field that extends only for the half nude man that looks fixedly at you.

 Jungkook smirks before cocking his head to the side in quick movement in a display of avid amusement before he utters, “Is it not obvious to you, pretty? I’m stripping and shedding myself of the clothing I wore to entice you. It has served its purpose,” He turns to pierce you with a dark glare as he leans back on the wooden table behind him, the burled brawn of his arms bearing his weight as he leans back on them while his supple skin shines with the sweat that sluices it as he taunts, “I no longer require them here. Others may look at me, but no one but you, my mate, shall ever be able to touch me.”

 You whine a that, your silver irises interspersed with golden streaks shimmering over him as they sliver down from perfectly plump lips that have spoken such sweet nothings to you and bedecked you in his brand as your hand absentmindedly rises to lay over the purpled petal he’d made ascend amidst the garden of you in his efforts to tend to his terrace.

 You trail your visage over to the Adam’s apple that juts proudly out from the column of his neck, an irrational urge sprouting to life within you in the need to nip it for daring to sweetly stick out like the ripest berry from the sturdiest stem you’ve ever laid your eyes upon.  

 You lick at your dried lips that are not slicked against the tongue that tries to wet them from the arid desert of your mouth that your alpha radiates away from you as your sight slides lower until it settles over the bodacious bough of his chest that branches brashly with muscles along every inch of him, your fingers twitching in remembrance of how strong and sinewy he’d been under your digits as you’d brushed them against him.

 When your sight drops along the thatched thighs that the fabric strains stiffly against in its stretch over them, a picturesque memory of what you’d done atop of one of them paints colorfully itself in your mind.

 Its vibrant vividity has you biting your tongue to keep from releasing another sound as your cheeks turn themselves red like the rose you are to him while your alpha grins at the vivacious view of you, wholly intrigued by the spectacle that is you as you struggle against the slump that soon has you falling back against the door as you whimper in the damning distance between you and your alpha that takes him away from you far too much.

 “Jungkook,” you imploringly plead.

 Your alpha chuckles at that to push off the vanity behind him with no effort at all before he strides over to the chaise lounge made from the leather of aged cattle against the timbered wall. He is slow in the languid lowering of himself over it, his back resting against the arm of the piece of furniture as he husks, “Bring yourself over to me, pretty,” his voice deepens before one hand rises, his fingers curling inward in a come-hither motion that has your heart stuttering in the excitement electrifying it as he orders, “Come and sit on your alpha’s lap, my omega, and tell to me all that you thought of my performance that was devoted solely to you.”

 In the scarlet moonlight crimson as blood that drips like wax from a never burning candle’s wick from the glass window behind him, the color sinfully stains him in a dangerous sheen of a garnet glow that emanates effervescently off him in everything that promises impurity as his eyes glint goadingly at you from around the blackened wisps of his locks that have fallen around them.

 As a creature that has only known chastity’s constraining shackles your whole life in your wait for your mate, you very much want them to be crushed under your alpha’s heel, for he has already caused them to crack amidst the sweet pleasure he’s delivered to you in the forest and in the sanctity of your own chambers.

 As if caught in his unyielding undercurrent, your body moves under his watery sway that sweeps you forth. Perhaps it is the omega in you that is utterly unable to resist temptation taking its form in Jungkook. Maybe it is the inescapably inexorable draw to him that paws at you to be near to him lest you incur its fangs if he is absent and away from you. 

Conceivably, it could be both that have you pad forward without pause as he watches you with interest while you move, his golden irises never drifting from your own as a wave of heat falls over them and, in your undertow he’s surrounded you in, it washes over you, too.

 Once you stand before him, he makes a sound of appreciation as he appraises you attentively.

 One hand sinks under the furs that hide you from him, each finger suggestively sidling up along your waist while the other palm joins it on the other side as you close your eyes while your arms wrap around his muscled shoulders, his calloused and strong digits dipping deliciously over your soft skin as he hums, “Mmm, that’s a good girl. I like it when you’re obedient like this. You’re so receptive to me already, pretty,” His hands sensuously slide downward, his fingers streaming outward like a consumingly surrounding sea that washes you over in his thrilling touch while he splays his legs out before, all in one fluid motion, he pulls you forward until you fall like the tide over his hips as each of your legs pools on either side of him only for him to smirk as he amusedly muses, “So responsive to me, too, my mate. You do not resist me at all. You’re so willing to submit, aren’t you, sweetling?”

 Not prepared for the sudden shift in position, you gasp in surprise, your eyes shooting open to be submerged by his golden irises beginning to seep with the licentious lust that dooms you in their dusky dimness. They beckon you to lose yourself in his deep depths, one hand diving under the thin terrain of your gown only for him to trickle the phalanges of his fingers along the soft skin of your leg. He’s unrushed and unhurried as his digits drip their warmth over you to flow over your ankle through his ascent upward, his digits oozing along aqueously while his fingers spread outward like a tributary that must get its fill as he drags them ceaselessly along.

 Your breath wells up in your lungs in the anticipation that swims there and when his hand torturously trails over your thigh only to brutishly, brutally halt his ministrations, that’s when you whine, your arms tightening around him as you lean forward to lay your forehead against his own as you whisper, “Please, alpha.”

 Your alpha croons, his index finger running in circles along the innermost part of your leg that borders along the sex that has not stopped crying for him since his performance as he says, “I know what you want, pretty. Do you want your alpha to take care of you again like I did in the forest? It would be so easy. I could make you fall apart so quickly with how readily you receive me, my mate,” His digit dribbles impossibly closer to where you want him most, a shaky breath falling from your lips as one of your own hands veers down over his chiseled chest, catching on all the defined muscles that ripple in its wake before it settles over his heart that beats briskly in the same time as your own that instantly stammers when his finger stops once more as you whimper out while your alpha’s eyes narrow, “Much as I wish to give to you what I know you desire, you’re going to answer to me before I do anything else, pretty. You have such a pretty voice. Use it for me, my mate.”

 Your irises slip below to his lips that move so very precariously with how close you are to them and an urge soaks you to feel them, your other hand dowsing him in your touch as you draggle it along the back of his nape and up along his neck until your fingers tentatively trace the outline of them. You etch his rounder and fuller lower lip into your memory as you draw your digit around the upper one, entirely entranced by the cupid’s bow that crowns the middle of his top lip and the way that a long, pink tongue is swift to poke out of the mouth he parts for you in your exploration of him.

 He laves it first along the bottom one to carefully coat it in saliva that gleams against the soft firelight that licks at your alpha from the corner of the chamber and when he dares to lap the muscle along the underside of your finger at the same time the palm on your thigh trails forbiddingly forth to cup your womanhood, you mewl.

 The lewd sight stirs within you a hunger for that which only your alpha can sate.

 It is as if his tongue are hands are the keys that unlocks the cage of words in your mind that he’d been the one to padlock there as you breathe, “I would very much like that, but you’ve been so good to me. You made me feel so wonderful in the forest and even dedicated that stunning performance to me that made me fall impossibly harder for you, my alpha,” you breathily profess while you pigment the column of his neck with the stain of your lips as you lightly graze your teeth along the notch you’d been staring at before to whisper, “You were so mesmerizing up on that stage while you danced for me. I’ve never seen a creature as enchanting as you were,” the hand that you’d left over his heart begins its journey anew as you veer toward the bulge in his pants that he unabashedly displays to you while you offer, “You’ve done so many other things that have exhibited your sentiments for me and I want to give you something in return. Please, let me show to you how special you make me feel, Jungkook.”

 Your hand has barely even lain itself over his member that hardens at your very words before there’s a growl, your alpha’s hand extricating itself from between your legs to encircle around your dainty wrist as he roughly pulls it up and between the two of you before he warns, “Do not toy with me, my omega. Once you start, you’re going to finish, yeah? I can only control myself so much with you looking so goddamn beautiful for me while you’re on my lap like this.”

 You lick your lips to whisper, “I have no intentions of playing with you, Jungkook. I only wish to please my alpha if he will allow me to indulge in him like I’ve wanted to for so very long,”  you fully seat yourself on him, your clothed sex rubbing against him as you grind atop him while the hand on your waist bunches the fabric around it to draw it up and away from you to ease your access as your head dips down so that you can imbibe yourself of his taste after being denied it in the woodland, “I’m so parched, alpha…please, help me. You’re the only one that can.”

 The moment your mouth ghosts over the sternocleidomastoid muscle along his neck and your breath warmly whisks itself over him, he releases you only for his hand to tangle in your hair as he rasps, “That’s right, my mate. No one but me can quench you like I can. You want to satisfy me, pretty?” His hips impetuously impulse upward against your own as he hisses, “Do it, then. I’ve been waiting long enough.”

 Needing no further coaxing, you press your lips against him in a chaste, short osculation that earns a rumble from his throat in a sound that has you smiling against him as you string a line of wet kisses over him, your hips rolling atop the tented bulge that hardens inconceivably more under you as you moan at the delicious friction that cascades through you with every eddy of your hips along his member that is all too fast to try to escape his trousers.

 Raptness for you floods his irises and it swells around you until you take one of his hands to delve under the furs that conceal you from him, his head falling back when you swirl your sex over him while you slide his fingers over the exposed sliver of skin between your breasts, his digits diving under the thin material of your bodice to palm at your tit as you sigh in satisfaction at the way his long, slender fingers sinfully swathe you in their hold.

 Your alpha husks, “Gods, these tits were fucking made for this. They were made for me.”

 “Yes, alpha…all for you,” you breathe as he kneads at your tit while you continue your expedition along the mountainous terrain of his chest and when he brings his lip between his teeth at the sight of your hooded gaze as you stare hungrily back at him, he watches the way that your irises flick toward the peaked summit of the same nipple that had taunted you from under the enclosure of the sheer shirt he’d worn to agonizingly afflict you earlier.

 When you glance back at his eyes for permission, they flash dangerously at you and with a swivel of your hips that has him momentarily shutting his eyes, you seize your opportunity and enclose your mouth around the dark nipple to suckle at him only to earn a guttural groan from him as his back bows inward while his fingers dig into your hip at the same time that the digits in your hair curl inward to pull tightly as he utters, “Fuck, pretty. That feels amazing. Keep going, my omega. You’re making your alpha feel so good.”

 Your wolf preens at the praise, your tongue daubing his tender areola in kittenish licks as you suction the sensitive skin between your lips, your other hand pawing at his pectoral while his thumb flitters over your own nipple only to have you quicken your pace as he strums you like an instrument atop of him.

 You soon shift your attention to the other neglected bud, your lips enveloping him as he grunts with the way that you scuff your nails down his swollen peak while you twirl your tongue along the abandoned areola.

 Distracted by your ministrations to his chest, your alpha does notice the way your hand seeps down his chest until it bears down over the fully hardened member to have him buck from underneath you. The movement jostles you atop him and, accidently, you nip at him only for him to pinch your own nipple between his fingers in punishment as you whimper.

 Through it all, your hips do not cease their undulations over him as they continue to rotate rapturously around him, the pleasure too sweetly succulent as it glazes over you the longer that you lather yourself on him.

 You are steadfast in your venturous voyage to discover more of your alpha as you frisk your tongue along the underside of his pec before continuing your descent toward the steep sierra that rises tall between his legs.

 You hadn’t realized you’d been staring at his now engorged, edematous buds, but the fingers in your hair constrict around you to condense your vision only to golden irises that flare fiercely at you when he rumbles out, “Up here, pretty. I want to see your eyes while you use your mouth on me.”  

 “Yes, alpha,” you obediently reply as you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss over each of the eight abdominal muscles that comprise an impressive slew of sinew over the skin of his belly.

 With the choker clasped around your neck, you can only go so far before it unforgivingly cuts into you and with one last sweep of your tongue along the ridges between his abs, you rise to plant your hands on his chest as he rolls your nipple expertly between two fingers, a moan tumbling from your lips as you grind with fervor over him.

 Wanting him to feel just as pleasured as you are, you lay your palm flat over him, your fingers furling around him to give him a small squeeze that earns a groan him that is drawn out when you lean forward to drag your lips along the underside of his jaw that he presents to you under the light, soft brush of your mouth over him.

 One of his hands finds itself under your chin, two fingers grasping your jaw as he pulls your chin up while he husks, “You really do want to please me, don’t you, pretty? If you want me that bad,” he sits up with you still sat on his lap, his eyes scintillating lethally as the pad of his thumb slides up to nudge along your lip, your saliva dripping and coating the digit that he uses to penetrate the warmth of your mouth that you close around him as he growls, “Get on your knees and take this cock into your mouth. Drink from me until you’re so full of me that you won’t wish for anything else to feed that thirsting desire within you.”

 Under his command that sidles swelteringly through golden irises from under his locks, you shakily exhale when he extracts his finger from your mouth, each of you watching the way your spittle clasps itself to him before breaking off and falling between you.

 You whine at the loss of him, but you know that you won’t leave you empty for long and the thought energetically bounds through you like a sylph springing through the air.

 He easily lifts you from his lap and sets you on the carpeted floor, your limbs far too weak to support your weight without him as he helps you to fold your legs under you so that you sit on your heels like he’d ordered you to do.

 A lagoon of fabric from your skirts profoundly puddles and spills outward around you as you stare at the bloated bulge in his trousers, your salivary glands secreting spit as your mouth waters at the prospect of what you’re about to do.

 Your fingers fiddle with the linen lining the end of your alpha’s trousers, however, as diffidence coils around your ribs.

 You have never pleasured a man with your mouth before, for it is a rule that such intimate practices are not to be engaged in unless a wolf has presented as either an alpha, omega or beta.

 At your hesitance that is made palpable in the way that you chew at your lip, your alpha softens if only for a moment as he hunches over you, both hands laying along the sides of your jaw as his tone lightens when he asks, “What is it, pretty? Are you having second thoughts? It’s alright if you are. I would never have you do anything you didn’t want to do.”

 His support only makes you want him more, for there is care that he’s imbued innately in each word that flowers within you under his reaching radiance.

 His irises search your own beseechingly and you place your own palm atop of his as your cheeks redden with embarrassment that shyly quiets you to a whisper as you tentatively confess, “It’s just…it’s just that I’ve, well…I’ve never done this before. I want to satisfy you, alpha, but I just don’t know if I’ll be good at it or if I’ll even make you feel half as fulfilled as you did for me in the forest.”

 Your alpha only smirks at that, his expression darkening damningly as understanding shadows him while he utters, “All the better for me, my omega,” He turns his hand to capture your fingers between his own as your digits intertwine with his own as he drifts your joined hands toward his weeping member, “The only cock you will learn to fuck with that little mouth of yours will be mine. You shall only know my knot on your tongue. I alone will gladly teach and instruct you on how to pleasure your mate, pretty.”

 Familiar fire ignites in you as his promises plunder your being with anticipation. He strews your hand just above where his tip leaks through the linen before, with a scalding glance, one of his palms is crossed over the other and without pause, he trails them seductively slow up his thigh in a path that will drive him right where he needs it.

 You watch, entirely engrossed, as fingers are rubbed against his member, a heaved breath forcing itself through ajar lips that follow with a clenched jaw as he rasps, “The first thing you would want to do is get me hard like this, pretty. I don’t have to be for you to take me in your mouth, but it’s better if you, ah-“ you spare no time in replacing his hands with one of your own, your fingers stroking him through the fabric as he groans, “-Yes, pretty, just like that. Shit. Take my cock out now. The pleasure is increased tenfold when there are no barriers that bar you from me.”

 You obey, your breath hitching at his considerably large size once again as your alpha makes quick work of his soiled trousers.

 Your ardent awaitment of him is not long when he sheds the last piece of clothing he’d had only for your eyes to widen as large as stars at the sight that greets you.

Your eyes widen in wonderment as you quietly gasp, “Alpha, it’s… it’s enormous. You’re magnificent, but,” you gulp as you stare, “do you think that will fit?”

Your alpha caresses your jaw as he coos, “It will fit if I wish it to. You were designed and created for me by the moon above,  pretty. I know you can take me.” 

 Nestled between thick thighs, his sizeable shaft arcs upward like a crescent moon with constellated veins spanning through the sky of his skin, the bulbous head framing it all where it hovers over his abdominals like a planet that you’d very much like to explore yet have never seen before.

 “Still, how are you even larger than before, Jungkook?” You blurt, your fingers dipping down to gingerly pad over him in your fascination of his behemoth dimensions as he bites down on his tongue to keep from bucking underneath you, for he does not want to startle you.

 Between his legs, you stare at him with the eyes of a doe rather than a wolf from your inexperience that tucks your tail between your legs and he is intent on ensuring that nothing will deter you from venturing out into the field where he waits anxiously for you.

 “This is what you do to me, pretty. You make me like this, for it is my need for you that makes me so much bigger to you than before. I have been denied of you for far too long, my omega,” his fingers enclose around your wrist as fervid fervor fills his irises before he orders, “Put your little hands around me, pretty. You can be as gentle, or as rough, as you wish.”

 You do as he says, instantly wrapping your hands around him and then blinking innocently at him as you tilt your head to the side in question.

 The moment your touch titillates him, his brows pull together in concentration, for your fingers are far smaller and more delicate than his own in their timidity that holds them back.

 Despite it all, you are a sight that is far too beautiful to behold as he encourages, “That’s it, my omega. Now, open wide and take me.”

 Tentatively, you part your lips as each of your hands bring his member down to your gaping maw. The closer it gets to your mouth, the more colossal it towers over you. All it takes for you to gulp and push down the lump of apprehension in your throat is one glance up at your alpha, whose irises simmer over your own with the heat of the sun as he draws his lip between his teeth while he devours the vivid visage of you between his legs.

 There’s so much you want to say to him, but right now, there’s only one thing that can possibly show to him what you feel for him.

 When he finally breaches you and his heavy girth falls over your tongue, it is warm like the rest of him and engorged with the blood that rushes to it as you try to nestle him between your lips the best that you can.

 He tastes of a musky tanginess that is mixed with a salty, briny tint. You find that it is not an unpleasant flavor.

 Your walls contract around nothing when you watch his face contort to one born of pleasure in an accidental brush of your tongue along the underside of his shaft in your attempts to gorge yourself of more of him. Like this, his base is still grasped by each hand as he sinks his fingers into your tresses to urge you forward impossibly more.

 Like this, he’s resplendently ravishing as he succumbs to the damned delirium that you are solely and wholly the bringer of.

 You’re not sure if the human body was created for this purpose, but you do know that your alpha’s pleasure is the only thing that matters to you now. There’s a feral rawness in him that has slept in him and you want to be the one to awaken it. You’ve always been a stubborn creature and you aren’t about to let unseeded unsurety stop you now when you can see the glimpses of the satisfaction you could grant him like he has for you.

 There’s something so gratifying in knowing that you could be the source of his pleasure and so, you experimentally swirl your tongue around his tip that sobs with precum as you allow him to plunge himself even deeper inside your mouth.

 Your alpha’s head is thrown back at that as he groans, “Yeah, fuck, pretty. Gods, I knew you could do this. So fucking perfect me, my omega… my mate.”

 Inch by impossible inch, your alpha penetrates you inconceivably as you lick at him like a cat starved of its water for days. The hand in your hair starts to push and pull you to and fro and you watch, captured by captivation, as your alpha’s breaths begin to become uneven and heave into pants as he stares heatedly at you.

 “Use your hands, pretty. Touch me.” Your alpha husks and you obey, each of your hands constringing around what you can’t fit inside your mouth as you stroke him up and down, your fingers catching along the veins that you take care to caress as you squeeze in a vice-like grip his member that throbs under you.

 Your alpha gives a grunt of approval, his back arching as his eyes screw shut under your ministrations as his lips part in pleasure.

 Your confidence grows the longer that you lave at him, unsure of what you are doing but nonetheless spurred into action as your alpha clutches your hair between his fingers to secure you to him as you fleetingly flick your wet muscle against his sensitive glans while your alpha laments.

 As you stare up at him, he is carnality’s manifestation in the way that the scarlet light erotically colors him in passion’s dangerous hue, his sculpted brows scrunched together under wild curls that curve voluptuously along his angular face.

 Lost in him, you make the mistake of scraping your teeth against him only to earn a sharp hiss from him as his fingers tighten in your locks.

 Breathless, your alpha’s eyes open while he grimaces, “Loosen your jaw, pretty girl. That hurts, yeah? Try not to graze me with those teeth of yours. I know you can do that, can’t you, sweetling?”

 You pull off him with an apology already on your lips, “I’m sorry, alpha. I didn’t mean to harm you. I’ll be better for you, I promise.”

 Your alpha coos, “You already are the best for me, pretty,” he brushes his knuckles under your mandible, “There is no one I would do this with beyond you. You’re mine and you will learn, my mate. I do not expect you to be perfect when this is your first time. You’ve been doing so well already, my omega. All you need to do is relax for me.”

 Your wolf bays at his praise, affection for him blooming inside you as his words water you.

 You heed your alpha’s command, your maw slackening as you guide him back between your lips. This time, you swallow him as far back as you can possibly guzzle him, your mouth flooded of all that is him as you whirl your tongue lasciviously around him.

 Your fingers compress around his base while one hand, with renewed spirit, seeps over his balls as you fondle them, your alpha’s eyes rolling to the back of his head as you claw away at the last of his control to cause him to buck into your mouth, his cock driving itself even deeper down your throat until it buries itself so far back that it blocks your airway, hot tears quick to burn at the edges of your eyes as he hits your pharynx and blocks your airway.

 “Fuck, don’t stop. Suck me, my mate.” Your alpha drawls out, the efforts of speaking laboriously difficult in the breaths that strain to dislodge themselves and leave him.

 It is a sensation you have never felt before to have your mouth so thoroughly filled and though it is not the most comfortable, the pleasure lies not in you, but rather within your mate and in what you are swiftly reducing him to. You would do this a thousand times if it meant wracking your alpha to this.

 Ever the dutiful omega, you follow his decree. You hollow your cheeks as you bob your head along his length while you suckle him enthusiastically, inhaling through your nose in spite of the breath that eludes you throat.

 “Gods, yeah, pretty. Right there, right there. Fuck me, you’re going to drive me crazy, ” Your alpha rasps as you unsuccessfully try to silence the gag that erupts in the back of your mouth while his fingers knead into your hair to tug at the roots as he thrusts into your mouth to plummet lecherously lower.

 Spit pools in every crevice of your mouth until you’re overflowing with it and, as he rams himself into you, all you can do is bear it as your slobber falls like a fountain from your lips in his jostling movements that shake your vision. His eyes have become hazed with craving craze for you and you relish in the way he struggles for breath just as you are in your damning decimation of him.

 Transfixed by the way your eyelids flutter as his dick disappears into the wet warmth of your mouth that he could spend forever in, he husks, “You’re so hot like this with my cock between your lips, pretty. You like this, don’t you? You like sucking your alpha’s dick?” He asks while he watches in interest the way that your saliva escapes the cushion of your lips that pillow him inside you, his thumb brushing it away and back over your lips.

 You moan to let him know that yes, you really do enjoy seeing the way you’re wrecking him through your own devices. Right now, this is about him and seeing his pleasure is far more satisfying than anything you could have imagined. Knowing that you are the one that is affecting him in this way is inexorably exhilarating. It makes you feel powerful. Now, it is you that holds the key to his raptured raptness.

  When your alpha drags his digit along your lower lip, you hum in agreement and the vibrations shoot straight into his member as he arches his back, his head falling even farther as you work him in your mouth while he utters, “Shit, of course you do. You really are perfect for me,” one hand grabs your own to pull you down to the neglected testicles that ache for you, your fingers closing around one delicately to give him a gentle squeeze as he bites at his lip while he growls, “I’m not going to last much longer, pretty. Gods, use that tongue of yours like you did out there when you told those bastards that you’re mine. Show me you meant it, my mate. Let me see how badly you want to please me.”

 His words send a wave of blazing heat through you, tenacious tenacity sweltering within you at the realization that he’d been watching from the shadows and had seen and heard everything that had occurred between you and the two wolves that so stupidly believed they would win you from your soulmate.

 You swallow fatally around him, your muscle swishing and swiveling around him as you unhinge your jaw to completely take him in his entirety when he tugs you down on him. His facial expression detorts to one of unadulterated, unbridled bliss as his own tongue lolls to either side of his parted lips, his eyes closing yet again while the sounds of slurping drip from your lips with the spittle that dribbles below them.

 Your alpha hums, “Mmm, fuck, you’re so good with that little mouth. You fuck my cock with it better than any bitch in this pack ever could.”

 Your cheeks running red at that, you fondle his balls with one hand, your other running your nails down his chest to leave reddened marks of your own over his skin all while you greedily ingurgitate him while he stuffs himself inside you with another dangerous undulation of his hips.

 When your fingers roll his balls like dice between them, that has him keening as he pants, “I’m close, pretty. I’m going to fucking fill you up so much that the taste of me will fucking linger in that hungry mouth of yours for days. You want that, yeah?”

 You nod instantly, your stomach grumbling your salivary glands producing more of their offspring at just the thought of it as you suction him with eager earnestness betwixt your lips.

By now, he’s swelling and throbbing between your lips, his end near by the way his testicles palpitate as you titillate him.

 Your alpha grunts before he rumbles out, “Gods, you are such a ravenous little girl for me. I bet that cunt of yours is just as starved to receive me, isn’t it, little one? Fuck, I could knot you, my mate. I could breed you so well. Do you want my pups, pretty? Do you want me to stuff you to the brim with my fucking seed so you have no choice but to get pregnant and bear my children?”

 You moan at the thought of it, the ostentatious oscillations strafing over his dick as your head bounces back and forth while you quaff him to have him grunt.

 There’s an urge to bask in his simmering gaze as you give him over to his end and, with another sinful swill of him within your mouth as you grope his gonads, you splutter amidst the very large cock currently nestled between your lips, “I want it a-all, Jungkook, but p-please…I w-wish,” you slabber him with your saliva as your tongue twists itself around him, “I wish for y-you to look upon me when you finish in my m-mouth.”

 Each word trickles from you under the labored breaths you inhale through your nose and you hope that they are not burned by the fire that blazes in the corner of the chamber before they can reach him.

 Your voice submerges and dives after him through the sea of exaltation that you have deluged him into and, in your final act to bring him back up for the air of his ecstasy, his eyelids flicker up to reveal golden irises that singe you in their voracious torridity.

 You whine at the way the smoke of desire has smoldered him, his long tongue poking against his cheek as his head tilts back while he consumes you in his sights that leave you squirming along the floor as he husks, “You want me to see who has made me feel so fucking good, yeah? Very well, pretty. Watch me cum just for you.”

 If the dangerous twirl of your tongue along his slit while your hand that had been attached to his testicles slides sinfully down to rub along his perineum isn’t enough to have him come undone, it’s the way that your eyes now gleam with the glazing of the yen of yearning that every blood vessel burns of yours is coated for him with as you fervently fix him inside your mouth.

 You’re the picture of innocence in the white of your dress that curtains you in its angelic wing, but the cock between your lips that you ardently take between them damns you in sin’s tendrils that Jungkook captures you with.

 It is his utter undoing when your cheeks fatally concave in their incurvation as you suck him with tightly compressed pressure inside your wet warmth while you run your tongue along his base at the same time he draws you forward so that your nose brushes the thicket of pubic hairs as you blink with innocent doe-eyes up at him as he howls, “Ah, fuck, I’m there, pretty. I’m cumming because of what you did to me.”

 Euphoria pours itself through him like a cascading waterfall that does douse every part of him that it washes over as his knot swells inside you, his irises never abandoning you through his climax as his seed bursts out of him and spurts across every corner of your mouth.

 You flatten your tongue to catch every bit of him as he feeds you his nectarous ambrosia. His thickened essence spreads and spills over your hot muscle and down your throat deliciously viscous as he makes good on his promise and nourishes your parched body with his sinful sustenance.

 He spouts and streams his taint into you as endlessly as a river and when you think you might just overflow with it, that’s when he extricates himself from you, one hand rising so that his thumb caresses your swollen and abused lips as he coos, “Such a good girl for me. You did so well for your first time, sweetling,” his digit swipes at the stray bead of cum that leaks from you only to sweep his finger over your tongue and you close your mouth around him, moaning out at his tasteful tinge as his eyes flash darkly at you, “That’s it, pretty. Drink every last drop. We wouldn’t want you to thirst for me again while you watch me fight the other alphas for you, now would we?”

 He pulls his digit from you with a ‘pop’ as you lick your lips as you breathe, “No, alpha. That would be a travesty, truly.”

 Your alpha chuckles at that as he gathers you from the floor and when your scent wafts wantonly under his nostrils, he smirks wolfishly, “My, my, my… you really can’t get enough of me, can you?”

 It takes you a second to realize, but when he settles you on his lap once more and your thighs skim each other in the movement, your eyes widen as you draw in a short, small breath.

 Your alpha only arches a sculpted brow, amusement coloring his tone as he teases, “What? Surprised that you got off by humping my leg like the animal that you are while you sucked my cock, pretty?”

 So focused on delivering your alpha over to his end, you’d hardly paid attention to the way your legs had clamped around one of his own as you rutted against him with fervor. You really couldn’t help it with the sight of sin that had commanded your capture under it.

 You whine, your irises dipping low as you trace circles along his bare chest as embarrassment tints your cheeks red, “Jungkook, I didn’t mean to. You just… you did this. It’s your fault.”

 Your alpha laughs at that, one hand settling along your jaw to coax your visage back up at him while your wolf hounds at you to obey as he rumbles, “I shall gladly take the blame then, beautiful. You know, the fact that you came from giving to me the best head that I’ve ever had,” the fingers of his other palm snake under the folds of your dress to drag through the deposit of wetness that now drapes your legs as he brings the digits to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick his finger clean of you as he groans at the flavor of you while his irises dilate, “That’s hot as fuck.”

 Your blush is as red as a ruby as you whimper at that and your alpha grins as his stray hand lands on your hip to trail up and down your back in soothing circular motions to reassure you. His mouth opens to say something else, but before he can, there’s a loud series of knocks against the wooden door interrupts the two of you amidst your illicit indecencies.

 “This is the last call for all alphas that might remain here. The Offering is about to begin,” says the muffled voice of an elder that likely had been sent to collect any lingering wolves that were still in the den.

 You whine loudly as your arms intertwine around your alpha’s neck, your baser being demanding you keep close to your alpha as he softens, the fingers on your cheek splaying out so that his digits caress you as utters, “Come, pretty. I must ready myself for what is to come and I require my mate’s aid to assist me in dressing, for you’ve temporarily robbed me of my faculties after what you’ve just done to me.”

 Your wolf preens at that as your hand lifts as you lay your palm over his own while you implore, “Must we go so soon? I do not wish to leave your side.”

 Your alpha stands and he’s careful to lift you up and off of him even while your arms tighten around his neck as he rumbles, “After this is all over, you will be free to be with me whenever, wherever and however you desire, my mate. You know the rules,” he moves back and you follow him in your embrace until his thighs hit the back of the vanity where his clothes sit on the abandoned chair, “I must duel anyone that tries to contest me for you, sweetling. It simply is the way of things and I will not hesitate to engage in battle with any wolf that attempts to take what is rightfully mine. You are everything to me and I will make certain that everyone knows it. Do you understand, pretty?”

  You nod as you nuzzle the sensitive gland along his neck as a purr trembles from your throat while you scent him, “I understand, Jungkook. I only fear the bloody destruction you’ll leave in your wake for any fools that think they can tear you away from me.”

 “That shall be their mistake, pretty,” he sighs in satisfaction as he tilts his head back to grant access as you paint him with the stroke of your lips over the tender skin along his clavicle, “I will not lose you.”

 Tenet blazes in his eyes and conviction radiates his words that emit with the sun’s might their fierceness as they fall over you to set your own affection alight within you as you lace your lips along his jaw in a stripe of kisses that you thread there as you manage between them, “There is not a shred of doubt in my mind that you will be the champion amongst them all. However it may be, you have already won me, alpha.”

 With that, you embellish him with the cloth he will wear in his battles for you. You help him delicately pull the garment over his head that shades him in the color of soot. It is akin to a sheet of thin charcoal that dyes him in its film of darkness that, like his earlier shirt, is grainy and dusts him lightly in its hue, his sun soaked skin shining brilliantly from beneath it. 

Your mouth waters at the sight of it as you tuck it into cotton trousers that are black as night and your alpha smirks when the smell of your arousal drips down to collect itself amidst the pool of your taint yet again as he watches with interest the way that you chew at your lip while you tug the white blazer across bulging arms that catch at the heavier material as you drag it over him.

 He makes certain to playfully provoke you by wrapping an arm around your waist only to schlep you forward, your hands planting themselves against his broad, strong chest as he asks, “Are you ready to watch me show everyone that I and I alone am the only wolf that is deserving of you as his mate?”

 You nudge at the edge of his collarbone to catchily collect as much of his riveting redolence as you can before you sow another row of kisses along his skin only to pull away and admit, “Always.”

#werewolf!jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts #jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts abo #alpha!jungkook #alpha jungkook x omega reader #werewolf jungkook #bts scenarios #dom!jungkook #alpha omega bts #jungkook hot #btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet

[blueprint-han]

desert rose — yang jeongin.

↪ “ Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid. ”

— “ You’d have never thought that one incident would’ve enlightened you of how much in love you were with your childhood best friend, but it turns out to be more of a problem when you’re threatened with a life-ending disease with no cure whatsoever. Or so you thought. ”

pairing: jeongin x reader

genre: hanahaki au; fluff, angst with a happy ending.

⇥ warnings: hanahaki disease, mentions of blood (not very graphic but enough that it’s tagged), lots of angst, also in this world the hanahaki surgery isn’t discovered yet, because it’s a fairly recent discovery, also y/n’s dad is nowhere mentioned in this fic idk take it as you like but i imagined him to pass away when y/n was 12 for some reason :((, please do not read if you triggered by topics of death or blood or disease! These themes will be prevalent though not in super explicit detail, they are still there. If I missed a warning, let me know. <3

word count: 11.09 K

type: long one-shot.

⇥ disclaimer: this fiction does not represent the activities of the real Yang Jeongin, nor is associated with JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

part of: the @bystay​ skznta event, written for @stayndays​ !!

song: inspired from Desert Rose by Lolo Zouaï <3 No relation to the fic but it did inspire the ~vibes~.

↯ note: I’m gonna be honest this tired me out so much that I’m glad I finished it, it took me longer than I expected and it got longer than I expected, but nonetheless, here you go shayna! Hi!! It’s me! Your secret santa! Sorry I couldn’t send you that many asks because my uni is a bitch™, and I wish I could’ve made this better, but I guess this will have to do for now. I hope you like it, and I loved being your santa! 🥺 I hope we can interact more in the future, and this isn’t edited so pls go easy on me （＞人＜；）eiury2y4er okay happy reading! <3 love you shayna! <3 I wish I could give this more editing time :( but... i hope u still like it!  ⇥ dawn.☀️

Jeongin’s eyes are really pretty.

The first time you'd made this miniscule observation was during your summer vacation road trip when the sun shined a tad bit overly bright, and Jeongin’s umbrella had a hole in it. The exact details of how it ended up torn don’t matter, but the way Jeongin’s eyes seemed to shimmer in the harsh noon sun almost made it seem worth it.

You remember it clearly — He’d smiled brightly when his eyes met yours, eyes crinkling into tiny little half-moons before his expression turned neutral. At that moment, you were lost into the abyss that was his midnight black orbs. They seemed to hold glimmering stars in them, ones that outshone the specks of white in the night sky.

Looking back, you didn’t think of it much, opting to shake your head off it’s daze before running to where Jeongin stood, throwing a bottle of water into his backpack and laughing at some corny jokes the rest of the group cracked.

Jeongin was a friend — a good friend. In fact, you could call him your best friend, though it had never been verbalized. You couldn’t remember exactly when or how you’d gotten closer to him — it just happened, like everything important in this world did. Like how Jeongin says “It was fate, Y/N, fate” in that old-man-philosopher voice to get you to laugh (Of course it would never work, but you’d still laugh, because anything to see him give you that bright, toothy grin and that little scrunch of his nose in acknowledgement).

The memory of how it all started  is as clear as the sky, as pure as the pigment of a rose.

“Don’t stray too far away, alright? Meet me back here in two hours.” The instructor screams, and all the students chime in with a collective “Yes, ma’am!”. 

 “Good, now go collect your flowers.”

A flower-picking expedition isn’t a common event in a school field trip, at least in your school. You’re more used to the normal visits to the ice cream factory, or the butterfly park (which, to be fair, had some pretty flowers, if only you could pick them) or another affiliated school. Nevertheless, you don’t complain, because the prospect of your school giving you a chance to collect all the pretty flowers you could spot here had you on top of the clouds.

You’re allowed to go alone or in groups of two, and of course, Jeongin has you by the arm the moment your teacher had screamed “Disperse!” at the top of her lungs (P.E teachers had a thing for screaming, apparently). Ignoring the teasing glances the other boys made towards the both of you, you set sail on your path, scanning all the bushes for any wild and unique flowers you could find.

“Oh look, there’s one!” You pointed out after a good four-minute-walk, almost stumbling in your one-inch-too-tight-shoes and ignoring Jeongin’s giggle at your antics. You beckoned him over to where you were standing and he obliged, tucking his sweater paws into his pockets before walking over to where you were staring at the pretty flower.

So, flowers. They’d always fascinated you. You’d developed said fascination ever since you were six. Something about the sheer way the petals were arranged, the various ranges of coloring — vivid, gradient, muted — the beauty of something so delicate and intricate always drew you in. You found yourself examining a flower for hours, and surprisingly, you never grew tired of it. They’d helped you through a lot when you felt particularly down, too. Perfect distraction — snuggling against Jeongin’s arm and playing with the flower he’d always pick out for every visit, surrounded by calming; almost numbing silence along with the sound of his steady breathing, maybe sometimes his heartbeat too when he’d get overly affectionate. Flowers in a way, in every way, were your escape. You loved them. 

“Hmmm.” Jeongin hummed over the sounds of the leaves susurrating and rustling on the ground, the wind enveloping you like a cold, yet oddly comfortable blanket. He fixed his round glasses over his nose, quickly flipping through his encyclopedia. No one really questioned him as to why he carried it wherever he went — but just like you, he had a vivid fascination for flowers too. It was something the both of you fit like a glove on, and you were beyond grateful to meet someone who could click with you so well.

“This is wolfsbane, we can’t pick it.” He said, shaking his head. “It’s poisonous, the whole plant is.”

“Oh…” You pouted, staring at the flower once more. You took in the sight of lush, violet petals, the way they wrapped around the centre and had almost no smell.

“Hey.” He touched your hand worriedly. “You didn’t touch them, right?”

“No, I didn’t. I know better than to touch plants without knowing what they are.”

“Good.” There you could see it again. That lovely, bright smile, one more of relief this time. When you looked into his eyes, you seemed lost — you could capture every flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, count every lustrous star that was laid in his eyes. “That’s good, the poison can be absorbed easily through your skin.”

“Yeah.” You let yourself smile at him, hands dropping down to fiddle with the hem of your frock. 

“Come on, I wanna get some shots for my book. Plus some flowers.” Pulling at your hand, he led you amidst the varying degrees of green and the damp smell of grass for a good distance, before halting in front of a bush. You knew what he’s referencing to by ‘shots’. The camera that hangs around his back, ready to immortalize the memory into his SD card, or rather make a polaroid (or a painting, if he’s being artistic) and tape it to his notebook along with the pressed flower.

“Look!”

Trip a step back, and you yelp at the sudden intrusion to your pace, pouting at Jeongin before looking in the direction he had his eyes fixated on. “Roses.” You giggle, kneeling in front of the bush and hissing when you feel the damp coldness of the grassy floor seep into your knees. “They’re pretty.” 

You can barely hear the sound of students walking past you — the moment seems almost captivating — nothing heard, nothing felt except the whirring of the wind, and the fresh smell of various plants mixed together, it carries.

This part of the garden seems particularly shady and cool, and some of the roses haven’t bloomed yet. A few rosebuds, a few half-bloomed roses, and two fully bloomed, deep red roses, sitting nicely against the green foliage.

Jeongin kneels before you, and you turn to smile at him, chortling at the way his glasses are about to fall over his nose again. You ruffle his black hair gently before fixing the glasses up his nose. 

“You might wanna get a chain attached to that thing. You know those strings that go around your neck and to your glasses to hold them in place?”

Jeongin chuckles. “It’s alright. I don’t like my glasses anyways.”

“Whyyy…?” You whine, poking his arm playfully before directing your focus back on the rose. “You look so adorable with them.”

Your friend feels a smile tug at his lips, leaning in to pinch your cheeks lightly. “You’re adorable.” He says, before focusing on the rose, (thankfully) oblivious to the way your cheeks feel warm after his action.

“Here, let me pick them out and then we can press them into our journals.” Yes. The both of you have matching journals, owing to your near obsession with flowers. You oft share them with each other and get fascinated by how the other views the flower, how they delicately craft words into how the little gift of nature meant to them. It’s a heartwarming tradition — one of the main reasons you follow it till date. 

Jeongin pulls out a pair of scissors from his satchel, and albeit with a lot of force (and the adorable nose scrunch™, manages to cut off a decent amount of stem with the fully bloomed flower, carefully bringing it to his nose to smell it before doing the same to the other one. And all the while, you silently watch.

“Here, this one is more fresh.” It’s so surprising how he can just say that by looking at the flower. Then again, you know him better than anyone, so it’s not surprising at all. He looks at you with dreamy, fluttering eyes and that precious smile on his face, his hair falling perfectly on his forehead. You want to reach out and fix the stray hairs back into position, but you hold back, swallowing the lump in your throat when you look into his pretty, pretty eyes. Trying your damnedest to not get mesmerized, lost in them once again.

It doesn’t seem like a very, very special moment. And to you at that time, it wasn’t special. You simply ignored the heat that crept up your face at his silent gesture, nodding sporadically and ignoring the way you tensed up more when your fingers touched, barely.

Your heart suddenly thumped against your chest with renewed vigour, and you could tell Jeongin was close to noticing it too. 

“T-thank you, that's very sweet.” Fixing the frills of your frock, you smooth them over before looking further and deeper into the garden.

“Lend me a hand, please.”

You once again, ignore the way your heart flutters at his statement, silently extending your hand and covering up your sudden emotion with a smile. His hand feels soft, warm in your hold, fingertips slightly rough from when he used to play the violin. You like it, though.

“Here.” He places the rose carefully in your palm, making sure no thorns prick the delicate skin of your palm, and you can’t help but smile at the tiny reassurance. A nod of approval and you tuck the flower away neatly into your satchel, almost like a valuable present he’d given you, oblivious to the way Jeongin’s eyes twinkled at your action, his smile beaming.

My god, who would’ve known this flower could’ve brought you so, so much trouble?

It had started simple, almost unnoticeable. Just little glances towards Jeongin when he’d come over to watch a movie, getting lost in the way his hair looked exceptionally soft to touch, silently drifting off into space as you admired him from the backseat during class — sure, you were supposed to be focusing on the lesson and taking notes, but something about the way the rim of Jeongin’s sunglasses caught the sunlight and created a lens flare effect was breathtaking to watch.

That, combined with his beauty, his personality. It was too much, too much to handle.

You found yourself waiting to get a glimpse of him, even a tiny glance of his smile would be enough to make your day — to make your heart flutter. 

He was pretty.

You suppose it’s because being Jeongin’s best friend meant you already knew about the kind and empathetic man he was — but for the love of god, you could not stop your heart from fluttering when you heard his name, let alone looked at him and his mind-numbingly pretty smile, his dazzling eyes that always seemed to keep you off the ground.

Oh my, was this love?

You didn’t believe it. You didn’t agree, couldn’t accept that this was love. Maybe it was just your way of showing appreciation for him, for everything he’d done for you? Yes. That was probably it. 

Love wasn’t something you’d experienced — how could you jump to the conclusion? 

But you couldn’t pin the feeling you were feeling to another word — though you were desperate. The way your heart beat faster around him, the way you started noticing all the tiny details that made you fall for him even more, and for what? Just because he happened to give you a fresher, more lusciously colored rose after choosing them on his own? 

Jeongin had noticed it too — it was hard not to when you’d start fiddling with your thumbs, twirling your hair, and the way heat would rush to your face when he did as little as smile at you — you’d fallen for him — and while he was ever-the-oblivious to realise the implications of your actions, he did know that something was wrong.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Jeongin asks rather dully, seeming kind of worried about your current state. You’re resting your head against his lap, but Jeongin can feel the warmth of your cheek through the thin material of his shorts — and not the regular kind. The kind of heat one would radiate when they’d either been overly flustered. Or possibly a fever.

He rests a single palm against your cheek and your eyes flutter shut, and there it is again. The butterflies in your stomach, the fuzzies in your head, and the tingling that shot up to your fingertips. “Are you sick? Is that why you’re oddly quiet today? You haven’t said or eaten anything.”

“Ah, no, I’m alright.” You try to hide the dizziness in your voice, snuggling in his hold before fluttering your eyes close. Thankfully, Jeongin doesn’t question it. 

“Alright, we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.” Even though you aren’t facing him right now, you can feel him smile in melancholy. 

“Hey Y/N?” 

“Yes?”

“You know I’m here for you, right?”

Oh, you knew.

Sometimes you wish you didn’t — maybe that would’ve prevented it from ending this way.

It’s such a common scenario — in movies, in books, in media. Two best friends falling in love with each other, confessing their love in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over gentle touches and lingering kisses. You’ve always had an attachment to those kinds of movies or books — because for you, that kind of love was special in it’s own way.

Those little ways the lead characters had of showing each other their undying love, those subtle acts were so special, so special in their own way. Those books had shown you how heartwarming, how vulnerable yet rigid, strong that relationship could be. It was such a pretty world to explore, to fantasize. You kind of felt that you and Jeongin were the protagonists of those books, those movies.

Except, you had no happy ending.

The books failed to show how painful it was to swallow, to digest the fact that you could be nothing more than friends. Sure, there had been some moments where the main leads would be sad, but it was nothing compared to this, this suffocation in your chest that slowly built up, day by day, minute by minute, second by second.

It was hard.

The first prick in your chest hadn’t been entirely painful. It was barely noticeable even. Simply a tiny jolt of pain when you bent forward to grab your books from your locker. It had only been a slight jab, like when you’d accidentally poke yourself in the rib with the edge of your hardcover diary while picking it up. Nothing too hard.

Then came the slight feeling of breathlessness. You found yourself unable to run a full round in P.E (when you could easily do so beforehand), having to stop in between to catch your breath. You figured it could’ve been your dust allergy because the P.E room wasn’t cleaned that often, so it made sense. Somewhat. Still sceptical, but nonetheless, you covered up your random outbursts of coughs with any and every excuse you could find when your parents questioned you about it.

It was hard, but you figured it was just a matter of winter passing by, and soon you’d be alright.

Would you, though? You couldn’t bring yourself to accept that there was in fact something wrong happening to you, pushing behind that feeling of paranoia every time with a smile on your face and a hold of your breath, wishing for the pain to ebb away.

Who would’ve thought that a sudden infatuation would have led to your demise?

Jeongin can hear the noises.

Those loud, dragged out wisps of air that you borderline struggle to take in and expel out, Jeongin can hear them.

He can feel your struggle. It’s not easy for him to look at you like this, curled up into a ball and ignoring the rampant burn in your chest. The movie isn’t even the main focus right now. Jeongin has something to say, and he’s had enough of watching you struggle. He’s rather here to persuade you to go to the fucking doctor, and get some sort of diagnosis instead of beating around the bush.

Strange. Jeongin feels oddly affectionate today, when usually you’re the one to initiate such gestures. All he wants to do is pull you into his arms and rock you back and forth until you fall asleep, because you seriously seem like you need it.

“Y/N,” he calls, watching you lift your head up from where it’s rested against your knees. You don’t reply, because right now, your throat seems like a barren desert and all you can seem to let out is a croak.

Jeongin sighs and rolls his eyes as if in deep thought, turning on the couch to face you before touching the tops of your cheeks with his hands — they seem overly feverous. 

“What’s going on?” He asks sternly.

“What d-do you mean?” You manage to get out, feeling your chest hurt more and more with each syllable that leaves past your lips in a croaked voice. It felt like someone was repeatedly stabbing your chest with the sharp edge of the knife, the burn in your throat and lungs getting too much to handle. You can’t even tear your focus from the fiery sensation to revel in the feeling of Jeongin’s soft palms cupping your cheeks.

“Y/N, you’ve been acting weird ever since the expedition.” Worry is laced throughout his tone, mixed in with a dash of sorrow to give rise to the most heartbreaking sound you’ve ever heard. Though you know otherwise, it almost seems as though Jeongin is disappointed in you.

“You’ve been getting more and more sick—” he raises a hand to stop you from contradicting his statement. You only look at him with mellow eyes, knowing that what he says is right. You’ve been ignoring your health for too long. 

You can’t help it, either. While you have an inkling of what might’ve happened, you’re too stubborn to accept it, let along your unrequited love for your best friend, who seems ever-the-oblivious.

“—and you can’t tell me it’s the winter allergy, love. I know you more than that to believe it.”

Shaking your head in dismay, you turn around to get up. You can’t be having this conversation right now, not with the faintest taste of blood lingering at the edge of your throat — you can’t be showing yourself like this in front of him — broken down, vulnerable, confused of your own feelings, having no idea of what you should be doing.

Your mother had pointed it out too, at this point. They suggested going to the doctor, and you outright refused. You didn’t want your suspicion to come to life. It couldn’t- it couldn’t be this way-

“Y/N!”

Jeongin grabs your hands to stop you in your position and turns you around.

And that’s a wrong move.

Your whole chest tightens, and the thorns that stab against your chest has never been more painful. You cry out loudly, only causing them to dig deeper into your skin and almost bleed. Jeongin’s eyes widen in shock at your sudden, unexpected reaction and only tightens his grasp on your hands.

Which again, is a very wrong move, because the following bouts of coughs that take over you shake you up from the core. Jeongin feels blanked out looking at how much you’re suffering right now, so much that he doesn’t feel the wet, yet light flutter on the back of his hand.

When Jeongin snaps back in from his momentary daze, he’s borderline horrified.

He’s convinced, completely certain that there’s nothing more terrifying, heartbreaking, scarring — he could go on and on — than what he just saw. He can almost feel his heart break into a million tiny shards, but he knows that it’s nowhere equivalent to the pain you’re going through.

Well, looks like your suspicion did come to life.

Because what Jeongin sees is, gah, he feels horrified. There’s blood dripping down your lip, staining the skin below garnet red. Your eyes are tinted pinkish-red too, most likely from the exertion that came along with the horrendous amount of coughs that took over you.

Red, red everywhere. Jeongin had previously thought of red as one of the most beautiful, and most interesting colors ever — a symbolism of love, nothing but the pure love he felt towards you.

But now, all he could think of was how much he was tormented by the mere sight of the color.

When his eyes, still blown wide in shock, trail down to his lap, the mere sight of what’s littered on it leaves him in tears.

Red petals, everywhere. All over the back of his hands, all over your lap, all over his lap.

Jeongin could probably spend ages, ages sobbing and whimpering about the sheer pain the sight in front of him brought. It tormented him beyond imagination. This should be a dream — Jeongin wants to wake up any second now, anywhere, in your lap, in his own bed, just anything to save his heart from seeing you this way.

Yet when you cough again, the pain in his heart tells otherwise.

“Y/N!” He chokes out a cry, and from there, he acts quick. He could cry about this later — he needs to find you some help, and now. 

You feel numb. As numb as you possibly can when you see the tears in Jeongin’s eyes, though your sight is clouded by your own tears. You’re numb to the blood dripping down your chin and pooling in your lap, you’re numb to the feeling of those bloody petals littered all over the couch. 

“We need to get you to the hospital, quick.” He gets up, wiping his eyes that are surprisingly, surprisingly overflowing with tears. You barely feel the handkerchief quickly wiping against your mouth, causing you to snap from your trance and look at him. The numbness doesn’t fade yet.

You doubt it ever will.

You’re not sure that the events after the incident go super quickly or as slow as a snail, and you’re not in any state to care about it either. Jeongin had called your mother when he drove you to the hospital — albeit over the sound of your repetitive and raucous coughs — and now your mom’s standing next to him outside, nervously prancing back and forth as he waits for the doctors to come out.

The hospital corridor is moderately lit — perfect setting for Jeongin’s mood right now. There’s no sound except for the occasional encounter when a nurse or doctor happens to walk past them. The hanahaki treatment section of the hospital isn’t the most crowded place — surprisingly enough, the doctors had immediately known what had happened to you.

Your mother can’t bring herself to thank Jeongin for dragging you to the hospital — she’s too paranoid. Your daughter coughing up blood and — Jeongin hadn’t mentioned it to her — flower petals over a movie night isn't the best news you’d want to receive when her friend calls you; so Jeongin understands why your mother is overly quiet.

He doesn’t try to reassure her either. It’s hard to do so when she’s gonna find out her daughter houses a wedding bouquet in her chest — and Jeongin isn’t that oblivious to not know what’s going on, especially standing in the hanahaki department of the clinic. His mother, not so much. All she can do is silently sob and mutter prayers repeatedly, hoping her daughter would be alright. Jeongin feels his heart break more when he sees your mom like this, and he knows he’s not gonna last at this rate, when he’s allowed to enter your room.

At this point, he can’t get past his own brain screaming a million different things at the same time, none of them coherent enough to make sense. He’s a mess right now — red eyes puffy and swollen, hair completely disheveled and half of his sweatshirt hanging out of where it was  neatly tucked in.

Two hands at his heart, and that’s when he notices the red rose petal stuck to the back of his hand, probably from when you’d coughed all over it. It’s fairly large in size — Jeongin examines it, in a slightly successful attempt at trying to distract from the feeling of anxiety that builds up inside bit by bit. It’s a deep, dark red color, exactly like the rose he’d given you that day, at the trip.

The boy sighs to himself before pulling the petal off his hand, eyes widening when the blood underneath it tints the skin it runs across. 

That’s when a lump forms in his throat, but he isn’t given time to cry, because soon enough, the sound of a door opening clicks through his ears, and Jeongin’s head snaps up.

He can see you from where he’s standing, and his whole world freezes in front of his eyes.

The flowers inside your chest had grown moderately large — that’s what the doctor said, at least. You’d been hiding your disease for two months, and it wasn’t until the end that Jeongin caught on — you’d been too stubborn to accept your fate. Maybe this was how it was supposed to end, after all. 

You couldn’t accept it then, but you did now. Did it seriously make a difference?

Jeongin had seen your scan, and what he saw would’ve truly been pretty, if not for the fact that these flowers could be the cause for your imminent death. The roses had almost fully bloomed — and the thorns were pricklier than ever. Jeongin could almost feel them stab against his skin, and he didn’t even have the disease. It was confusing — things were too confusing right now.

You couldn’t speak much, the painkillers you were on were making you drowsy and causing you to quickly fall asleep. Even if you weren’t asleep, it wouldn’t have made a difference.

Numbness ran through your veins. You couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything after what had happened.

Jeongin and your mother hadn’t spoken to you after the doctor had shown them your scan, and they preferred to not break the news to you either, figuring that you were pretty shaken up from the incident already.

The doctor said he could give you two weeks before the flowers filled your lungs completely and blocked your throat.

And Jeongin is devastated.

When the effect of your painkillers wear off and you open your eyes, you feel a soft sensation brushing against your thumb, slowly turning to look at your best friend — tears streaked all over his face, eyes ridden with dark circles and red and puffy, his voice sounded nasal as he silently cried, eyesight focused on the floor.

“J-Jeongin…?” You mumble past your oxygen mask, surprisingly not noticing it’s presence until right now,

He perks up at the painful call, lifting his head to gaze into your eyes. He looks worse than you look right now, if you’re to be honest. You doubt he’s even brushed his teeth or had breakfast. The hospital room is pretty dim just like the exterior, but the sunlight coming from the open window is enough to light up the whole room, enough to at least see your friend’s features clearly.

“You’re awake.” he says as a matter-of-fact and you nod, gently taking off the contraption placed against your nose. Jeongin flinches like he wants to stop you. But then freezes when you try to slowly get up.

Turns out that’s a wrong move, because you can soon feel the thorns of the garden you have in your lungs prick against your skin, making you gasp and shriek in agony. Jeongin jerks up and places a hand on your back, and the other across your stomach — and gently maneuvers you into an awkward but comfortable position, before lifting the top of the bed into a reclining position before laying you down onto it.

“Careful, love.”

Your chest tightens at the actions once again, yet you try not to cough like you did the last time. Surprisingly biting on your tongue works to rid the feeling of suffocation, or at least distracts from it.

“Where’s m-mom?”

“She went to pick up some of your essentials, plus a few clothes.”

“D-did she eat? Did you eat?”

Jeongin smiles at your concern. It’s something he’s found endearing about you — how you always seem to put others first, even though you’re in a worse situation. Though the habit isn’t healthy, Jeongin can’t seem to get over how thoughtful one would have to be to act that way all the time. You’re so innocent, so kind — you’re one of a kind, at least for him.

“What?” You chuckle, noticing Jeongin’s lingering stare on you.

Your friend only beams, taking your hand in his once again. “I forced her to eat something because of her medication, so you don’t have to worry. I ate along with her too, though the canteen’s food doesn’t taste that well.” 

A soft giggle leaves your lips and quickly morphs into a set of coughs, more petals fluttering all over your lap and hands. When Jeongin stands up to call a doctor, you lift a hand to stop him, gesturing for him to sit down.

It isn’t as intense as the first time, but there’s still a tiny bit of blood dripping from the corner of your mouth, which Jeongin quickly goes to wipe off with his thumb. You flinch at the warm touch, sighing to yourself before dropping your gaze to your lap.

“So…” You start. “What did the doctor say?”

“What?”

Jeongin seems visibly tense at your question, kind of like he was dreading it. Which he was. He knows enough about this to know that patients usually don’t like knowing, and in fact can be traumatised by knowing that their apparent death would be in two weeks.

Jeongin in fact has no idea how he’s so calm. He should be sobbing, trashing, looking for a way to hold you back. He shouldn’t be so calm.

He figures he’s just accepted fate. He’s relishing what could be his last moments with you.

You don’t reply, and Jeongin knows he’ll have to make something up.

“They said it’s just a regular allerg-”

“Jeongin.”

The boy freezes.

“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is laid with so much pain, Jeongin wants to reach out and crush every problem you have into his fist. He wants all your sorrow and worry to dissolve, and right now, he just feels helpless. He feels powerless.

“How many days do I have left?” You ask, sniffling before wiping your tears away. “Just tell me already, Jeongin-”

Jeongin’s grip tightens against your hand as he whispers — “Two weeks.” 

The words are only let out as a soft mumble, as though Jeongin himself is questioning the statement the doctors put forth. Really, in two weeks? Would you really be gone? Would he seriously never see more of your smiles, your loving gaze, those times when you’d get overly shy of his compliments, those times when you’d silently smile at him from afar?

Was this the end?

“Two weeks.” You repeat. Your voice honestly sounds like a croaking frog, but you can’t bring yourself to care. 

“Hey Y/N…?” Jeongin hesitantly calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?” He puts his other hand on yours. “Two questions, actually.”

“Mhm?”

“This disease you have… hana-”

“Hanahaki.”

“Yeah, that.” A hand runs against the back of his neck and he continues. “Be honest, did you know that- that you had this disease before I found out?”

“Jeongin…” You’re about to shake your head, but then you remember the deadline. The deadline by which, you’re no longer going to be here, no longer going to be able to cuddle Jeongin during movie dates, no longer be able to even look at him from afar, or close for that matter. In other words, you didn’t want to end your days with him based on a lie.

Therefore you sigh, breathing out a ‘yes’ as your shoulders droop down.

You can hear Jeongin’s shaky sigh too.

“W-why?” He clenches your hand tightly, sadness mixing in with what you can only call disappointment. “How could you be so selfish?”

It's too late to take back those words now.

“Wh-what?” You raise your eyebrows, feeling scared at his sudden question. “Jeongin, I wanted to be sure-”

Oh who are you kidding? Jeongin and you both know that you’d hidden it because you didn’t want to accept it. It’s too late to change that now.

And Jeongin seems to know that too.

“Don’t- Y/N.” His breath morphs into sharp inhales, as though he’s downright angry at your actions — you know he has every reason to be — still, it doesn’t ease the pain in your heart. Or maybe that’s just the flowers.

“Do you think this is a joke?” His sobs grow louder in fervour, and you feel yourself break at the sight. The room is so, so quiet that you can hear his faint mumbles. You can hear the cries his heart screams in agony, letting you go is painful for him. The thought, rather the sound, only makes the plant in your heart grow further.

“Y/N- did you not think of your mother? Of me? Did you not think of what would have happened if you left us? You think it’s gonna be easy on the both of us? On everyone?” His gaze stern and his voice stable, you don’t get affected by his words, but you do understand what he means — and maybe wish that you could’ve reversed your actions.

“How could you, Y/N?” He gets up from where he’s seated beside your hospital bed. “How could you think that this would be the most appropriate action?”

Jeongin knows he’s angry. Jeongin knows you’re going through a lot. But he’s too.

He’s not angry at you, not at himself, but fate. He’s mad that this is your fate, that you have to go away so soon. He’s mad that he can’t do anything to help you, in any manner.

You don’t say a word, which only causes Jeongin to sigh — disappointedly, again — and walk to where his coat is hung against the edge of his bed, picking it off and pulling it over him in a hurry. Every cell in you wants to scream at him, apologize for what you did, but your voice feels small, almost like you can’t force it out of your throat.

He goes towards the door that leads to the corridor, stopping for a second before turning to look at you.

“Are you gonna tell me, at least, who this person is?”

“W-what?” Things are too confusing right now.

“Hanahaki comes with unrequited love, Y/N. Are you gonna tell me who didn’t return your love?”

“You didn’t” You want to say. But then again, you stay quiet, not being able to handle the intensity of the moment.

Jeongin wants for two seconds, then sighs and shakes his head. “Whatever, I guess.”

And then he leaves.

In the next week, your health goes down drastically. More of petals expelled out of your lungs, more blood dripping from between your lips, more of your mother’s horrified expression as she runs away from the room while the doctors tend to your coughs. More sobs from your mother when she thinks you’re asleep, more melancholic smiles when you’re awake.

But you feel so empty.

Every piece of you feels like it’s being ripped apart. You can’t even sit up without someone’s help, of such intensity is the pain. The pain of knowing that your love would never be returned. 

The pain of knowing that you hurt the person you loved truly.

You were put on your oxygen mask 24/7, and instructed to not take it off whatsoever. Your medication stopped taking it’s usual effect, and if anyone saw you the way you were outside the current circumstances, they’d have assumed that you haven't slept for 8 days and were going to crumble into the earth any second.

“Honey?”

You gasp at the sudden intrusion to your thoughts, turning around to see your mother, sitting next to you and holding your hand with her own. You hum as a response, clearly unable to respond more than a mere mumble.

“Did you and Jeongin fight?”

A pang of guilt floods through your nerves at the mention of your friend’s name. He’d come to visit you only once in the past week. Perhaps even he couldn’t handle the fact that your death certificate was ready to be signed soon, and was trying to not be tormented by the fact. Or perhaps he was just angry.

“W-why?” You croak.

“I convinced him to come stay here while I go pick up a fresh change of clothes, but it took me quite a bit of arguing.”

You feel sad for her. She’s clearly paranoid — you can hear it in her voice, the shake lingers throughout. Yet she holds it in, trying not to let you worry about it.

You don’t answer her question. The last thing you need is for her to get mad at you too, though you doubt it. Your mom has never been the kind to yell at you for anything — provided, you’ve never given her a reason either.

“Do you think he’s mad because I didn’t tell him about the person who didn’t return m-my l-lo-ve…?” your throat goes dry towards the end and your mother quickly hands you a glass of water. You chug it down and sigh in relief, breath still short.

“Is that person him?” Your mother questions with her gentle, soothing voice one that can make you relax on the first listen. There’s no use lying to her, you figure. She knows you too well to do that, plus, like you said, you couldn’t bring yourself to end your days with her on a lie.

“Yeah…”

“Oh sweetheart,” She brushes some of your hair off your face, sitting down again before drumming her fingers against the back of your hand gently. “I don’t think he could be mad at you.”

“But he is. Didn’t y-you see? He didn’t bother to meet me as much after our argument. He’c c-clearly mad.”

“Hmmm,” Your mother ponders. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I have known him for a while, dear. He’s been with you for more than five years. Maybe he’s having trouble taking this in? Just like…” Your mother stops after that, but you know the completion.

Just like her.

“I’m sorry, mom.”

You simply don’t get it. You should be scared. You should be sad and devastated that your end was going to come soon.  You should be thrashing around and crying and wailing in despair — you just don’t have  the energy to even bother about your end. It’s depressing, but you know there’s no way you could avoid the inevitable, or get your lover to return your love.

Love wasn’t supposed to be something forced, it had to happen naturally. And if Jeongin didn’t develop it naturally, you just had to learn to live with it. Or not.

“Don’t be, darling. Everyone deserves to love, just like how they deserve it back. I wish it could’ve ended differently.”

“It’s alright mom. He loves me too… just not on the way I love him.”

You sniffle as a single tear runs down your chin, though you and your mom aren’t given enough time to speak more when you hear a familiar voice at the door. 

“Hey Mrs. L/N.” Jeongin says, shrugging off his half snow-covered coat before hanging it onto the bedside. Did he seriously walk in the snow? All the way here?

“Hello, Jeongin dear.” Your mother stands up, picking her coat before moving to fish the car keys from her purse. “Thank you for watching over Y/N while I’m gone, darling.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. L/N.”

“Oh, so formal.” Your mom chuckles, though in her despaired state. “Y/N, you get some sleep, it’s about midnight dear.” She leans over to kiss your forehead while Jeongin excuses himself to the washroom, and you nod. 

“Good night mom.”

“Good night, and don’t worry about him. He’ll talk to you eventually.”

Oh, how reassuring. “Mhm.” You smile, closing your eyes to drift into slumber before Jeongin returns, because the last thing you need right now is to feel sad and cry over how you’d hurt him.

By the time the sound of the door clicking resounds through the space, you’re already asleep.

 It’s way past midnight. Jeongin shouldn’t be up. 

Somehow, he still finds himself seated next to your bed, staring fondly at your calm features as you finally get the rest you’ve needed for the past few days. 

Oh, he wouldn’t be able to compare your sheer beauty to even that of the moon; even when you’re in such a fragile and vulnerable state. Your eyelashes are still and unmoving where they sit against your skin, your breath is calm and slightly wavering as you struggle to breathe slightly. 

His hand slips into your own gently, and his heart melts when you shift, tightening your grasp on his warm skin before falling into a slumber again.

Why was he mad in the first place? Jeongin feels dumb for acting so quickly on his emotions, especially when you’re in a bad place at the moment. He wants to wake you up and apologize, but he can’t, because you’re sound asleep — and that’s a good thing, since seep comes so scarcely to you these days.

Then, a single tear falls from his eyes. His thoughts traverse to the dream he had the previous night — you, cold, dead in his arms. Him, sobbing, trying to wake you up but you’re really gone. He can’t even hear your mother’s cries from behind him, because he’s devastated to know that you’ve left him. The dream had woken him up in a cold sweat — it was then he realised that he’d committed a mistake, and agreed to come visit you, because you had about 5 days left.

His thoughts then traverse to the conversation you had with your mother, while he was standing outside in the cold hospital corridor, curiously listening.

“Is that person him?” “Yeah…”

When he heard those words, countess, infinite thoughts crashed at his head; all at once. Nothing made any sense. The reality of the situation was dawning on him too quickly, and Jeongin was having a hard time processing it. 

You loved him? He was the person who didn’t return your love?

“Why didn’t you tell me, Y/N?” He mumbles in confusion — so much confusion, so much hurt — he wanted time to just stop for awhile and give him a fair chance to analyze the situation.

But, once all the initial thoughts were out of the way, only one question remained:

Was he the reason you were going to die?

Jeongin felt like a murderer — like he’d just stabbed you in cold blood. He knows it is’t like that — just like you’d said, love should come natural. So why did Jeongin feel so bad? WHy did he feel like he was the one at fault?

A fond smile crosses his lips when he remembers the book where you keep all your flowers safely. Who would have thought your fondness for flowers would morph into the reason for your demise?

Quiet, hushed in the midnight wind, Jeongin gently brings out the rose he’d picked from his satchel. It’s almost relieving to see a rose in it’s true glory, without scattered petals or blood covering the flower. A part of him grows sad that you won’t be able to gush over flowers together anymore, he won’t be able to see your smile anymore. It hurts him. It stabs his heart over and over again, and Jeongin is pained — almost like he’s being put to death slowly — he wants the pain to end, but only suffers and suffers.

The stem has already been cut and the thorns have been thrown out. Jeongin leans over to tuck the flower behind your ear, fingers brushing against the almost cold skin at the back of your ear before letting another tear slip from his eye, running down his cheek and falling on your palm.

A strange, oh-so-strange feeling creeps up on him. It’s like… a fluttering in his heart? Jeongin can’t quite place it — heck, he doesn’t try to make sense of it. There are more important things to look at, right now. He suddenly has the urge to pull you into his arms and gently murmur sweet words into your ear — seems odd for a situation like this, but oh well, feelings are feelings.

He pats your hand gently and smiles, before moving to sleep on the smaller bed in front of your own. Not allowed to go far, though, because your grip on his hands tighten almost immediately, and Jeongin tightens to look into your eyes, sparkly and slightly droopy from the intrusion of sleep.

“Y/N, go to-”

“Stay.” You mumble, feeling your voice choke as the petals threaten to spill out for what seems like the millionth time. Yet, you manage to spill out another, “Please?”

Jeongin feels like he’s about to cry. Your expression is so, so hopeful, he can’t bring himself to deny. He wouldn’t in the first place, because who was he to deny what could be his friend’s last wish?

A sob bubbles up his throat, but he swallows it down, smiling with melancholy before following your weak pull on his hand, genty climbing on your bed before slotting himself between you and the steel grill that prevented patients from falling down. He gently tucks his hand under you and pulls you close to himself, tensing up for a second when you wrap an arm around his own, gently rubbing on it before drifting off to sleep. You want to cherish this moment — this could be the last time before you could never see him again. Fuck your medication for making you so drowsy. Or not, because you were certain you would start crying, and that would certainly not end well.

The whole room falls silent for two seconds, and you fall asleep almost immediately. 

And then, Jeongin releases all his tears, and everything comes crashing down on him. He breaks apart.

The world was too cruel to you. He was cruel to you. He can’t believe that in less than a week, you’d be gone. Gone from earth. Flowers had lost all their beauty for him, the moment he saw you coughing them up on that couch during movie night.

He wanted to do anything. He wanted any small sign to show that you would stay with him. He was in so much pain, he couldn’t accept your fate. He wanted to grab your hand and pull you to himself, keep you close, he couldn’t let go, he couldn’t give you up, he couldn’t —

“I love you.” You mumble unconsciously in your sleep, and Jeongin loses it then and there. His throat feels dry as tears flow and flow and don’t cease no matter what. His body shakes like a sobbing child, but thankfully you’re knocked out from the effect of your medication. He hasn’t cried this hard in a while, guess there’s a first time for everything. The three words pierce his heart, and they suddenly hold more meaning than anything — Jeongin wants to hear those words on a loop; he feels strangely ecstatic when you say them.

And so, with a shaky voice and a sorrowful tone, Jeongin replies after pressing a kiss to your forehead — “I-I love you, t-too.”

His eyes flutter shut and he basks in your arms just one last time, holding you close to himself as he finally, finally finds himself at peace, next to you.

When your mother finds you both snuggled up and asleep together, a smile crosses her lips. A hopeful smile.

“Are you ready for your scan, Y/N?”

You feel oddly light today — one would say it’s because your body was close to shutting down completely, but your throat felt a bit, a tiny bit clearer and less barren than a fucking desert. Nevertheless, the scan does make you nervous. This would make clear how long the flowers would take to reach your throat — the doctor’s estimation was about three days, which seemed way too short for Jeongin.

Oh, how embarrassing it was when the nurses, all giggly and mushy-eyed, found you snuggled with Jeongin like a teddy bear at the early hours of the morning, waking you and Jeongin up and only cracking up more at your bewildered expressions when you find yourself tangled with each other.

Before the scan, Jeongin had held your hand softly, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. You’d shyly smiled, nodding before letting the nurse drag you to the scanning room.

The details of the scan itself aren’t important, it went pretty well — as decent as a scan could possibly go. You’re able to cooperate with your nurses pretty feasibly, you feel the sudden urge to get out of your wheelchair and try walking. Sure, you can still feel the choked feeling in your throat and the burn in your lungs, but somehow, it’s just a tiny bit lesser than usual. Maybe it’s because your painkillers are working more effectively. Maybe.

Jeongin’s waiting for you outside when you’re led out of the room, and he smiles when he sees you.

You don’t even remember what you’d said the previous night. All you remember was passing out while Jeongin was in the washroom, and then waking up to him cuddled up, warm and snug next to you. His features were clear and calm as the ocean on a sunny day, a small smile on his lips, as though he was dreaming about something happy. You hope he did, because that boy deserves the happiness.

“You seem energetic today.” Jeongin says, taking note of your perky demeanour, that only causes you to giggle slightly. 

Sure, you don’t remember the happenings of last night, but he does — and he’d promised himself to cherish every last second. Because in the end, it’s all he can do — for leading you to this state, for getting mad at you and wasting precious time in which he could’ve stayed with you. He’d promised to not let you live your last moment sad and desolated.

“I feel light, for some reason.” You mumble with a broken voice as Jeongin takes the wheelchair from the nurse, listening to what she has to say before bowing and nodding, leading you back to your room.

“What did she say?” You ask, fiddling with your thumbs.

“She said your scan results would come in an hour.” 

“Oh… alright.”

For some reason, you’re too joyous today, after the little surprise you got as soon as your eyes opened. You can’t seem to bother about the end— you want to live in this moment, right now.

When you come back to the room, Jeongin lifts you up bridal style, causing you to gasp before placing you down onto the bed. The nurse waiting there quickly fixes your IV and helps you sit into a comfortable position (though it’s hard when thorns keep pricking at your ribs) before bowing to the both of you, and leaving.

Your mother has once again left to go fix up the house, leaving you in the trust of your best friend. You aren’t complaining though, especially when Jeongin sits down beside your bed, taking your hand in his before playing with your nimble fingers — just like always.

He looks gorgeous today. After a lot of nagging from your mother, he’d used the hospital bathroom to wash his face and comb his hair neatly, and you’re happy about that because he looks fresher and happier than ever. You want him to be smiling and happy, even when you leave, because… did you need a reason? You just wanted him to be happy and content with his life.

The thought invokes an angsty feeling of melancholy, but you brush it away, trying to focus on Jeongin and the silence that drops on the both of you like a warm blanket. You smile softly at him, gently letting go of his hand before tucking a few strands of his hair behind his ear, almost melting when Jeongin’s eyes flutter close.

“Hey Jeongin?” You call, grabbing his hand once again and interlacing the fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“When I… leave,” You notice the twitch in his expression, but nonetheless, continue. “Will you bring me flowers every week?” 

You remember the red rose you’d found tucked behind your ear when you woke up — it had dried up a bit, but nonetheless, it was one of the prettiest objects you’d ever seen — even though there was a whole bouquet of them spewing out your mouth every two seconds.

“I will.” Jeongin sniffles. The thought of having to visit your grave every week to bring you flowers is immensely saddening, but Jeongin agrees anyways. He agrees, for you.

It’s the least he can do.

It’s funny how you say “leave”, like you’re going to your hometown for a month-long vacation and not actually like you’re going to be buried any time soon. Jeongin thinks it’s because you don’t want him to get too sad over his loss — a stupid thing to wish — Jeongin knows this loss is going to affect him in more ways than one.

“Jeongin, d-don’t cry…” You cup his cheek, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek and wiping away the tears that fall, one by one. Jeongin shakes his head, placing his palm on your hand and smiling at you.

“Can you do me another favor?”

“As many as you’d like Y/N.” He says. He’ll do anything you want — it’s your last wish after all.

“Bury me with my flower journal, please?” It may seem like a weird claim to bury oneself with a dusty old book, but Jeongin understands the significance — you want to hold onto those memories you made with him while writing it together, while picking flowers together and all those happy moments you exchanged.

Jeongin tries not to let his voice break again. “I will.”

You beam at his acceptance. Jeongin feels the slight thump of his heart against his chest, and a warm feeling envelopes him from inside. He’s suddenly overcome with an urge to press delicate kisses on your eyelids, though he tries to shoo it away, because it isn’t the main point of focus right now.

But soon your mother walks in, and it’s all small talk and deep conversations with her at the same time. You have breakfast, persuade (more like force) Jeongin to scarf down his meal and giggle about some random jokes thrown here and there, until the doctor comes in. Both Jeongin and your mother stand up, bowing and wishing good morning while you do too. Wish, not stand up. You’re basically tied to the bed at this point.

“Mrs L/N, I’d have had a word with you in private, but I think Miss Y/N needs to hear this too.” 

“What is it, doctor?”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and Jeongin’s grip on your hand tightens, thumb rubbing over your skin to soothe your obvious tension. The doctor slides the transparent, firm sheet off it’s envelope before letting the sunlight hit the back of it, in order to enable a clearer viewing.

“This is… the most unusual case I’ve ever seen, but —” He points to a junction on the scan. “The flowers have actually reduced in amount, and they've separated from the windpipe by a whole two inches. See?” He points at the edges of the lungs and at the windpipe, but you understand what he means. The flowers are there, no doubt, but it’s almost like — a whole stem of them just disappeared into thin air.

Of course this could’ve been because you coughed them up, but the coughed up flowers go instantly, or so you’ve heard. There’s confusion written on all of your faces right now.

“Is that why I was feeling lighter and easier to breathe today? Because the flowers withered off and gave more space for air?” You ask in your low voice, and your doctor nods.

“Seems like it. Do you have your previous scan?” Your mother hands it to him quickly after a great deal of fishing out of her purse.

He places the earlier scan behind the newer one, and suddenly, you can see what he means. It’s almost like they shrunk — you don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but nonetheless, you’re happy you can breathe a bit more.

“What does this mean, though?” Jeongin asks, bewildered at the strange news. The room is so quiet and the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife, and you can see both your mother and Jeongin waiting for the doctor’s words.

“It means that we’ll take another scan tomorrow, a deeper one. And check if the flowers are actually collecting somewhere else, or just disappearing. And if they are disappearing…” He trails off, and you giggle when Jeongin and your mother lean forward in anticipation, though curious yourself.

“She’ll be home by Christmas. Or even earlier, if the recovery speed is fast.”

“Y-You mean… I can be cured?” Your voice shakes with hope, and the doctor smiles sweetly at you, before nodding.

“Yes dear, you’ll be the first patient who’s walked out of this place cured from hanahaki.”

At that moment, it almost feels like every flower inside your chest wilts out — you feel so light, so ecstatic. You’re over the clouds at the news, and don’t even hear your mother’s cries of thankfulness before the doctor heads out.

“Y/N!” Jeongin exclaims, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his heart and the burn in his cheeks when he cups your own. “You’re gonna come home!”

You shake with soft sobs, and smile at Jeongin.

“I’m gonna come home.” Provided the scan tomorrow showed a positive result, but you don’t bother to mention that part.

And the next day, when your scan results come back, a huge smile adorns your face, and your mother is in tears. Happy tears.

The sunshine is overly bright today, leaving you squinting for sight, especially when you’re seated in a garden out in the open, book in one hand and the other one resting against the cool, moist grass. The air holds a musky forest scent, and you revel in the feeling of the shivers the cold air that cuts through skin brings.

The park is relatively empty for the morning — you’re glad it is, because it brings on a sense of calmness that you seem to like. The surroundings are just perfect — you don’t want anyone to disrupt your mood right now.

So yeah. The story ends that way. You recover, bit by bit, though it takes a whole bunch of time. There were times when you still had to cough out those petals, but you couldn’t be happier — it felt as though you were spitting out those vicious thorns that had tormented and threatened your life. The doctors had no idea how you’d managed to recover — but this was an interesting case to put into their portfolio, so they weren’t complaining.

And oh, you had Jeongin to help you through all of it, of course. 

It had taken you two weeks to be discharged from the hospital and be able to finally walk again, but when you did it — you felt like a whole new person, in a whole new world. Sure, you had to hold onto your mother or Jeongin wherever you went for the first week or so — it was almost like your legs had turned jelly.

When you returned home, Jeongin insisted that he take you to the garden every day, and when you complained that you couldn’t walk, he’d lifted you into his arms (bridal style, again) and carried you all the way there, and then given you a piggyback ride you all the way back home.

Eventually, you ended up telling him the truth — that the unrequited love that caused everything was because of how you’d fallen for him. You figured he deserved it, especially when he’d stuck with you the whole time without any hesitation and helped you whenever he could — he was truly one of the nicest, kindest people you’d ever met.

Of course, you were surprised when Jeongin only smiled and told you that he knew what you were talking about, and then proceeded to narrate how he’d overheard you in the hospital. Giggles left his lips when you gave him that meme-worthy look, making him shake his head before slinging and arm over his shoulder.

Surprisingly, that night ended just like the books — lovey-dovey confessions exchanged in the warm and intimate setting of the night sky, over shy smiles and lingering kisses. The both of you finally gave in to each other.

Huh, so maybe you were wrong about them — books — after all.

So when, your love was returned in the end, every flower in your chest had finally disappeared, and you couldn’t have been happier.

“You know when I brought you here I wanted you to help me pick flowers and not read a book?”

You laugh at the voice that comes from behind, closing the book shut before placing it on the side while Jeongin takes a seat beside you, hissing at the slight coldness of the grass. Ah, what a romantic scenario — green and colorful flowers as far as the eye could see, a book that you’ve been trying to finish but have never been able to because your boyfriend keeps interrupting you with his random outbursts of affection, and said person sitting right next to you.

“Well, you keep interrupting me all the time!” You chuckle, sliding a hand behind his shoulder before pulling him down to lie on your lap, and Jeongin complies. A sigh of content leaves his lips when he feels your fingers comb through his hair to rid them of any tangles — Jeongin feels stupid to not realise how much he loves you. It feels nice to call you his, feels nice to be able to say I love you, in all of it’s true meaning.

“What, I can’t cuddle my girlfriend now? Come on,” He takes your other hand in his, turning onto his back to look up at you before pressing his lips to the back of your hand. You feel the heat creep up your cheeks when he calls you his girlfriend, still not being able to take it in without growing immensely shy.

“You crybaby, fine. I’ll read the book later only because I love you and you give exceptionally nice cuddles.”

“Hmm, good.” He mumbles sleepily, eyes fluttering shut in calmness when he feels your fingers brush away any stray locks of hair that may get into his eyes. The reaction to your touch is so immediate these days, Jeongin thinks it’s a part of his routine now. Spend at least an hour admiring you in all of your happy, healthy glory.

Meanwhile, you’re sitting there, admiring his features in silence. His hair has grown longer now — Jeongin refuses to cut it no matter your endless verbalizations of how his original haircut looked better — and a small part of you has grown fond of this look too. His warm skin, and his sparkly eyes when he looks up at you, the bright, loving smile that he displays before getting out of your lap, kissing you on your lips to break you out of your focus.

The action only makes you more shy, and Jeongin laughs, cooing at your behavior before standing up, dusting his clothes off the dirt and extending his hand for you.

“Lend me a hand, will you?”

The line seems vaguely familiar and you’re overcome with a sense of deja vu, but nonetheless, you give him your hand, standing up before picking up your satchel and handing him his own.

“Now are you gonna pick a rose for me or do I have to do it myself again?” Jeongin raises an eyebrow and smirks, and you frown, slapping his arm before walking off to check all the flowers in their bushes.

“Hey, wait for me! Y/N!”

When he reaches you, he slides a hand into your own, interlacing the fingers before looking at you lovingly.

“I love you.” You both say at the same time, giggling at each other soon after — perhaps at how well you knew each other to time the confession so well.

So, this is how it ends. While you do think that things could’ve been handled differently, you’re glad that everything went the way it went, because in the end, you’d found him, he’d found you, you’d discovered your feelings together. You loved each other.

Because love and a red rose could never be truly hid.

but what if she had never recovered?

taglist: @inkidz​ @stayverse​ @districtninewriters​ @kpopscape​ @skzwritersclub​ + @sunoo-luvs​ @sleepylixie​ @rae-blogging​ @happiestgirlontheeastcoast @guerillrah​ @p2q3r4​ @baby-innie​ (Please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my taglist!) *oh holy lord pls let this show up in the tags*

#vracha #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz x reader #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz jeongin fluff #jeongin fluff #jeongin angst #skz jeongin angst #skz hanahki au #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids scenarios #yang jeongin imagines #yang jeongin scenarios #blood tw #disease tw

[thefreakishmuffin]

The Owl House season 2 analysis: Eda and the Owlbeast

(May not have as many screenshots in this one, so I apologize in advance for the long walls of text. I’m getting the pics I can from google).

Alright everybody, strap in, because this is gonna be a pretty long read, as this is the part of the episode that hit me the hardest. And I mean that in the absolute best way possible. But son of a gun, just when I think The Owl House can’t depict the struggles of mental illness and trauma any better, they top that bar and go above and beyond. Dana Terrace and the rest of the crew, you’re doing amazing!

So let’s start off with Eda. After losing Raine and getting an inside view from them about the Emperor’s plan for the Day of Unity, Eda has started to work herself to the brink of exhaustion, feeling like she has to protect those around her. In an attempt to help Eda relax and get some sleep, Hooty makes her cookies spiked with sleeping nettles, which apparently gives you heightened and eerily vivid dreams. And here is where we get to what I feel is the most intense part of the entire episode.

Part of the reason Eda’s been avoiding sleep is so that she won’t have to come face to face with the Owlbeast again. But now, she decides to confront the Owlbeast herself. She states that the Owlbeast is the reason she ran away from home, and the reason she never got close to anyone. She decides that now’s the time that she’s gonna be the one to haunt the beast that has always haunted her. She seems very vengeful here, with a kind of rage in her eyes.

However, when she’s about to head down the hall, the dream transitions Eda back to her old room from when she was young, and finds herself transformed into her teenage self as well. We see here that she’s at home with her family, and it’s here that we see her father for the first time. It’s here that she runs up and hugs her father. This shows that she does indeed love her father very much, and has been missing him all this time. Her father even calls her by the cute nickname of ‘pumpkin’. This shows that the two of them have - or at least have had - a loving father-daughter relationship.

Unfortunately, things start to go south when Eda’s father, who we learn is named Dell, pulls out a little party favor for his kids before heading out to the Mandible. The sudden loud noise appears to scare the Owlbeast inside of Eda, triggering her to go into her Owlbeast form. This causes the Owlbeast - which I interpret as Eda herself, as she is reliving traumatic flashbacks - to attack her father causing severe damage to his right eye.

Now this could be very well be why Eda was so uncomfortable when Lilith spoke of reconnecting with their father. Eda feels terrible about what happened, and is nervous about seeing their father again after the incident. She is burdened with guilt for what happened. However, she tries to tell herself that it wasn’t her fault, but rather the fault of the Owlbeast inside of her. 

The dream transitions to another scene later in her life, about her mid-twenties, where she was dating Raine. But this isn’t a happy memory, as here Raine accuses Eda of lying to them about her curse, and how they feel as if they don’t know her anymore. It’s here that Raine admits to Eda that they are joining the Bard Coven, and that they are breaking up. The emotional devastation of this moment activates Eda’s curse. Raine asks Eda if she’s okay, to which Eda pushes Raine away and states that she’s okay. Raine, unable to help despite still loving Eda, takes their leave, knowing that Eda will never let them really help her. Present day Eda pleads with her past self to let Raine help them, to which her past self insists that everything is fine and that she’s okay.

This, to me at least, is a very big metaphor for mental illness, and how it can push those you love away simply by refusing their help. Eda, not wanting to hurt or burden anyone with her problems, constantly tells everyone she’s fine. By not letting others help her, she’s hurting herself in the process. And in turn is pushing away those who genuinely want to help her, but they don’t know what to do if she won't tell the what’s going on. The Owlbeast is making it a point for force Eda to relive some of the moments of her life where the Owlbeast curse affected her relationships with others the most. 

Eda then attacks the Owlbeast when it shows up again, repeatedly blaming the creature for ruining her life and making her miserable. But then Eda turns into her Owlbeast form herself, and is ensnared by a mysterious figure in a cloak decorated with celestial patterns, and where its face should be is dark with a crescent moon - or perhaps an eclipse. The figure then states, “Don’t bother beast, you can’t run away anymore. It’s over.” With a menacing laugh.

I’ll be honest, I don’t know totally what to make of this being. But I assume it has something to do with the Day of Unity, given all the celestial bodies and eclipse symbolism that the two have in common. Is this perhaps the being that created the spell that cursed Eda? Does this mean that this curse will play a vital role in the Day of Unity? I honestly don’t know. I’m kinda stuck on this one. This scene felt very ambiguous to me.

Eda takes off in flight, only to fall into the sea with her figure becoming the scroll that possessed the spell that cursed her in the first place. the scroll gets picked up by a passerby, and is presumably taken to the night market. We then have a sad Eda sitting on the banks of an ocean, with the smaller version of the Owlbeast trying to get away from her. But there is a red string connecting them. This could be the ‘red string of fate’. It originates in Chinese folklore, but the idea is that the string connects two destined soulmates. Now, I don’t think the Owlbeast is a soulmate to Eda, but this does sow that the two of them are definitely tied together. 

And it’s here that it finally hits Eda; just as she is haunted by the Owlbeast, the Owlbeast is haunted by her as well. She now tries to show kindness to the shrunken Owlbeast as it climbs up onto the shore, exhausted from trying to be free from her. And then one of Eda’s potions washes up on shore. And Eda does something amazing here. She accepts the reality that the two of them are stuck together, regardless of whether they like or not. And that the potion is the only reason the two of them can see each other and communicate face to face. Eda then says, “If we can’t learn to accept each other, this nightmare will never end.”

Eda asks for a temporary truce, to which the Owlbeast agrees by drinking some of the potion from Eda’s hand and resting on her lap, seemingly in a moment of peace. the sky changes color to a beautiful, rainbow-like scene, to which Eda states, “I’ve never had a dream this pretty.” And then she finally wakes up.

This whole scene was symbolic of someone accepting a mental illness. A piece of themselves that they resent and wish they could live without. As someone who suffers from a few mental illnesses myself, this part of the episode really spoke to me. Eda is accepting the reality of her curse, but is doing her best to try and not to resent it, now accepting that it’s a part of her. And I think she’s even coming to the understanding here that, even though the Owlbeast has blame for pushing Eda’s loved ones away, she shares just as much blame as well for never allowing those she loved to help her.

This particular part of the episode highlights just how important it is to allow others to help you when you are suffering. You are not a burden to someone who unconditionally loves you and is willing to do everything in their power to help you, no matter what. Just earlier she was saying that she needs to protect those she loves the most from the Emperor’s plans. Now that Eda is once again surrounded by people who love her, she is no longer going to try and push them away. But instead, she’s decided she’s going to protect them no matter what.

Eda wakes up from her dream to find that she can now transform into a new form she has complete control over. One that we’ll call her Harpy form from now on. This, I believe, is now a version of her Owlbeast form that she can control. This can even be a metaphor for someone fully accepting themselves with their mental illness and, in a way, “transforming” themselves into their best self.

#toh #the owl house #toh analysis #the owl house analysis #toh speculation #the owl house speculation #toh eda #eda the owl lady #the owl house eda #toh theory #the owl house theory #toh edalyn #the owl house edalyn #toh season 2 #toh season 2 spoilers #toh spoilers #the owl house season 2 #the owl house season 2 spoilers #the owl house spoilers

[wincore]

act iii, incomplete | ten

pairing: ten x reader

summary: it’s the same vivid dream every time — you, a feline constellation that keeps smiling at you and a boy who won’t ever forgive you. autumn, spring and everything in between come to save part of that but the truth is this: no amount of time spent at your small town theatre with your once best friend is going to speak the words for you.

alternatively, 

best friends aren’t meant to be lovers and ten, despite the millions of roles he’s played, keeps trying for the one role he won’t ever get.

genre: childhood best friends to lovers, slight theatre au, reincarnation themes, fluff, angst

warnings: alcohol consumption, mentions of injuries, mentions of death

words: 23.9k

a/n: hello i’m so glad i actually completed this !!!!! i’ve never written something like this before !!! also longest fic let’s gooo ahaha special thank you to miss cat for reading this and making it at least infinity times better i am in indebted to u <3. playlist here.

part of the almost collab by @hyucksie !! (thank you for hosting this, it was lovely to be a part!!)

ACT I: HOMESICK

act i scene i. 

For the first time in years, you hold your breath at the local theatre, the walls more and more debilitated each year. It’s the only place, perhaps, that is so vibrant in its dull shades. The key is memories. Memories keep you alive in a way death and life and sickness cannot interfere. 

A single drum beat resounds through the theatre. A second one follows before a tune from a flute sets the mood. A voice speaks out, that of a woman, and it strikes you as somewhat sad. In that moment, you believe Ten would have pointed out to you that she is meant to do that, she is meant to play the part of someone sad. The curtains stare at you as undulating as a calm sea of red and you hold your breath. 

This is a modern play and you’ve only kept up with them for the sake of watching Ten play a part in them. As for other plays, high school Shakespeare was the most formidable text you’ve ever read and you’d rather not fight for your life again.

“Has the world ever seen a woman’s love unrivalled?”

A projector displays a flower, peonies, on the curtains.

“She once fell sick, dreaming of a lover; and once sick, she grew worse. Love is not love at its fullest if one is not willing to die for it.”

You don’t think that’s quite right. The curtains are drawn right then, their velvet sheen accentuated under the bright theatre lights and two characters appear on stage. 

Your first thought is that he’s grown far too much. The second is that he hasn’t changed much. Ten stands in the character of a play you haven’t finished reading yet, in clothes that accentuate his dancer’s figure and with the look of someone that isn’t him. You had tried to read  the play earlier but you might have gotten a little too excited to complete it. 

You bounce your legs in anticipation, the music and his voice fading out—it’s not like you can focus much with the high school kids giggling and making out in the seats right behind yours. You could always make a scene but it’s not like you to steal the spotlight away from your dearest friend. Besides, you need to reiterate through the list of things you have to help him catch up on since he’s been gone. Ten wouldn’t want to miss out on some spicy gossip. You chuckle to yourself, pressing your palms to your cheeks to cool yourself. 

Ten likes overwhelming responses. You like to be overwhelming. You’re the perfect pair. 

The play ends in a way you can’t tell if it was a tragedy or a comedy. You could have if you paid more attention but this isn’t literature class. You can do whatever you want now and you’re a little preoccupied with your own thoughts. Ten. Your best friend is back from Broadway after a year of barely talking. You can’t wait to hear the stories.

You get up as soon as the lights are on but when no one else does, you sit back down. The curtains part now and the cast comes on for their final bow. You shift around to see if Ten is looking at you, the older people beside you grunting in annoyance and muttering something about the youth. He’s not but Sicheng is and when you send a wink his way, he shakes his head.

You pout at the lack of attention but it’s time to make your way backstage now. The crowd is exiting and you need to get there before Ten leaves. 

Once outside, you make a beeline to the back of the theatre building and mess up Sicheng’s hair as he leaves for home. 

“He’s inside,” he informs curtly and makes as much distance possible between the two of you.

“Oh, don’t be shy, Sicheng,” you coo to annoy him. “You performed so well. Not as good as Ten though.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “Were you even paying attention?”

You cross your arms and push him onto his track. He shrugs and you watch his figure disappear behind the corner before taking a deep breath. With anticipation, comes a little unrestrained droplet of anxiety. You shouldn’t be worried, you tell yourself. This is Ten, after all.

The crows sing a song to themselves under the purple evening sun and you feel annoyed at the sound. It’s a song for ghosts. You hate the sound of it. 

You rub your temples, trying to hush away the headache. You can’t wait to see Ten.

You swing the door open in an attempt to sneak up on him. However, you take a few moments to see him barefaced, the stage makeup washed off and a red undertone running through his nose and cheeks. That dark mop of hair sticks out every which way, and no attempt has been made to rectify it. It was once your job, actually. He rubs at his sleepy eyes, a yawn escaping his lips as he stuff his belongings into a worn-out satchel bag. You gave it to him when you skipped prom night. You smile. 

“Ten!” you yell at the top of your lungs. You’ve missed him so much—an old greeting should warm him up. This town started feeling more like home once you heard the news Ten’s back.

He looks at you so cold that you stop dead in your tracks. You freeze up, the words suddenly collapsing into themselves like wilting flowers. You don’t recognize Ten all of a sudden. He wears a deep frown and empty eyes, something you cannot understand no matter what angle you look from. Everything’s changed now, hasn’t it? You truly understand what that means when you meet his eyes.

“Ten,” you repeat at a more respectable volume. “Hey. I… I missed—”

“Hey,” he responds a little too quickly. Eyes less sharp than usual, he averts his gaze. “I- I need to get home early.”

Ten grabs his bag and leaves the room, his shoulder brushing against yours. You stand there for a few extra moments, breaths shallow and quiet. When you regain the sound of your heartbeat, you leave the practice room, throat dry and a frustrated sigh on your lips. Consequences, every time it’s the consequences biting back.

The crows’ song goes unheard.

act i scene ii.

“So… you want me to get Ten to talk to you?” 

Sicheng looks at you in disbelief, the ice cream in his hand starting to melt. You’ve never met anyone who enjoys ice cream in mid-autumn as much as he does. Sore throats are foreign to him.

You nod, crossing your arms. “I don’t know why he’s avoiding me.”

Sicheng scoffs, choking on the ice cream and taking a few moments to regain his composure. 

“Thanks,” he says when you rub his back in pity. “But… you really don’t know why he’s avoiding you?”

You shake your head. It’s a lie. But the only thing you can think of is the summer he left, when he confessed his feelings and you rejected him after a few seconds of contemplation. You had good reason. You just can’t tell him that. You’re still young and there’s so much to look forward to.

"You obviously have feelings for him!"

"Yeah, anger! Why would he just ignore me like that? We've been friends for, uh…"

"Stop counting, you suck at math."

You punch his shoulder and his ice cream almost falls off. He looks at you with a glare so strong, you have to take a step back.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I thought we were like any other pair of best friends.”

Sicheng snorts. “Yeah, best friends in love with each other. Didn't you suggest getting married once?”

“As a joke,” you interject, feeling heat on your cheeks. “Actually, do you know how useful a marriage of convenience is? It's got convenience in the name. Think of all the tax benefits.”

Sicheng rolls his eyes. “The way you looked at each other wasn’t a joke—you know what? I’m not going to be the supporting act to your whole romance charade. You figure this out.”

You pout. “So you’re saying you won’t help?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. You won’t know if I did.”

You furrow your eyebrows, groaning in exasperation. This was supposed to be a happy reunion and yet, you’re here moping to a theatre kid, hoping he helps you. You expected Ten to not take it well but right now, you wish you weren’t so blunt. You could have said it nicer.

You’re joking, right? Haha, nice one. Best friends don't fall in love.

Oh, this is all your fault. You knew him better than anyone else. You should’ve known the consequences too—you could scream right now. In your defense, you thought college made him lose a few brain cells. You still have to make it right. 

“Fine. Whatever you might do, better do it soon.”

Sicheng shrugs, turning back to his ice cream and browsing lazily through one of the magazines. He’s supposed to be watching the store—he gets paid for it but he couldn’t care less about this place. Sicheng is something of a theatrical actor too, traveling around and performing with his theatre group. He never cared for Broadway as much as Ten did.

However, you’re all here now. This autumn is going to be spent with your best friends no matter the cost. You smile as you think of the time you and Ten surprised Sicheng with a whole bag of ice cream and he cried although most of it ended up melting. Sicheng raises an eyebrow at your expression but doesn't question.

“There’s a reunion party by the woods,” he announces. “Next week. Saturday. You have to make up before that. You know they’re going to be brutal.”

You shudder. Your classmates certainly won’t let go of the idea of your relationship with Ten. Teasing aside, they’re going to be making either one of you uncomfortable. All your excitement drains itself. Your shoulders slump and you think that perhaps, asking for forgiveness would be a better out. You recover quickly though. This has to work out, Ten has to be your best friend again—what choice do you have? You missed him and you’re going to let him know.

//

The first attempt begins right in the evening. Sicheng texts Ten after his shift, asking him to get some snacks. Lucky for you, you work at the local snack store, also called the convenience store. There’s nowhere better to get snacks. There’s also nowhere else to get snacks.

You stand behind the counter, fiddling with the drawstrings of your hoodie while your eyes trail to the hands of the clock on the wall. Sicheng texted him half an hour ago. Ten might not be the most punctual but you know he listens to Sicheng, even if it’s reluctantly.

Your impatience gets the better of you and you leave the counter to peer out the glass door. Unfortunately, someone pushes open the door right then and you clutch your nose, eyes watering at the painful impact. 

Ten looks petrified for a moment before turning around and leaving. You furrow your eyebrows, tears brimming from the pain in your nose and mixing into the exasperation from getting so bluntly ignored. Come on, Ten. You curse on your way back to the lonely counter. There goes the only thing you were looking forward to this evening. Sicheng walks in a while later, a sour look on his face.

“He actually gave me a mouthful,” he mutters angrily. “Can you believe that? Me. Who’s listened to all his lovesick ramblings about y—theatre.” 

You slump onto the counter further, the bright orange background of the store more headache-inducing than optimistic. 

“God, this is so much more difficult than I expected.”

“What happened between the two of you anyway? I thought you promised to call him every day.”

“I tried, okay? He wouldn’t pick up.”

Sicheng raises an eyebrow. “Woah. Haven’t heard about that one.”

He places the single pack of Lays onto the counter. You get up to pull the chocolate ice cream from the cooler.

“Don’t bother. It’s so depressing getting shut out like this.”

Sicheng mutters something under his breath you don’t quite catch. It’s his complaining voice though, so you don’t question him. 

“He’s going to be at the Bridge tomorrow,” Sicheng notifies. “Something about getting fresh early morning air. Now, there’s no way you can run into him and call it coincidence. So don’t do that.”

You cross your arms. “So what do you suggest I do?”

“I mean, if you’re accompanying Mr. Yang to the dahlia fields for flower shop business… that’s a different story.”

Your eyes brighten and you sit up. “You’re a genius!”

“I’ve been telling you guys since—”

You hug him and he chokes, almost dropping the Lays pack. The door opens and you hurriedly wave at Yangyang, who’s here for the next shift before running out the door in a hurricane of bad decisions and good intentions.

“I hate being the middleman,” Sicheng mutters to Yangyang who offers him a pitiful look. The evening returns to its pink skies and you race your feelings to your destination.

//

“Mr. Yang,” you whine. “You don’t need a single dahlia? I’m offering to help.”

The older man scratches his spotless white beard and looks at you in confusion. “I gathered a whole cartload just three days ago. There’s no way I need more. You know this place—no one buys flowers anymore.”

“I’ll buy them! A whole cartload.”

“And where will you get the money, child?”

“Uh.”

Mr. Yang shakes his head at your immaturity. “If you’re so eager, get me some chrysanthemums from Mrs. Leong’s sh—”

“No. It has to be from the other side of the Bridge,” you interject. 

Mr. Yang is further perplexed but you’re glad he doesn’t ask further. Having to explain your love and friendship troubles to a senior citizen has never been an ideal situation. You make a face at the thought.

“Alright,” he says and takes a few moments to ponder. “You want an errand to run, right? Could you get me some sunflower seeds from Goodwin Park?”

“That far?”

He sighs. “Do you want to go or not?”

You nod reluctantly, checking your phone to see the time. It’s early as fuck and the only person you’d wake up this early for doesn’t even know you’re doing all this.

“It’s to feed the birds, isn’t it?” You raise an eyebrow. 

Mr Yang nods.

“You know, you don’t have to do all that to get Mrs. Leong to notice you.” You offer him a cheeky grin.

“I’m assuming it’s also a person you’re doing all of this for,” he hums in reply.  

You drop your grin and take the errand money, heat rising in your cheeks. Exiting quickly, you check the time again. Ten better not have left early.

Shortcuts are better when there’s someone with you, you decide. You have gained around five long scratches at five different places on your body trying to best the hill beside Maple Street in order to get to the Bridge faster. If Ten were here, he'd laugh at you for being so graceless. 

The Bridge is empty when you arrive and you sigh deeply. You’re not sure if you’re early or he’s late or you’re astronomically late. The grass is still a golden green in colour, for autumn never truly comes in when you’re expecting it. The little stream below the Bridge is almost dried up but the wooden structure stays. You remember Sicheng broke his leg once, trying to catch Ten’s family cat pawing at fish in the stream when it used to be fuller.

You greet Mr. Santello at his garden and buy the sunflower seeds. Your errand is complete but the rising agitation in your chest makes you kick a rock on the way back to the Bridge. This side of the town is bleak except for the garden and the only fun you’ve had here is when a beehive dropped on Yukhei’s head (he poked at it himself with no provocation from your side whatsoever). The scenery is much prettier with someone to appreciate it. You, on the other hand, cannot wait to leave this town. You walk back with certain memories playing in your head, the smell of nostalgia rising with the sun. You’ve always hated early mornings; but you did have fun in them when you had to wake up for school trips. You hold your breath, stopping right before the beginning of the Bridge.

Ten leans against the wooden rails of the Bridge, Starmill Bridge, with eyes gently closed and white earphones plugged in. You smile to yourself. When the sunlight draws across his cheeks, he seems brighter than golden skies and softer than late afternoon clouds. You see the boy from your childhood, messy unbrushed hair and his favourite grey sweater. He’s so full of colour. You wouldn’t mind staring at him for as long as you can.

You take a step and your hoodie catches onto a stray nail, making you stumble onto the wooden floor of the Bridge. You look at your scattered boxes of sunflower seeds with horror but not before finding Ten plucking out his earphone to look at you. He’s so pretty even in a daze.

“Hi?” you offer. “I was on an errand, promise. Not stalking you and trying to get you to talk to me or anything. Hah.”

Ten shakes his head at you and quietly stares for a few more moments.

“I don’t want to talk to you right now,” he answers finally. “Stop trying.”

You look at him with a flickering guilt though you’re not sure why. He sighs and walks toward you, frowning. He takes out the cloth of your hoodie stuck in the nail with tentative care. Gathering the boxes of sunflower seeds scattered on the floor, he glances at you once before getting up.

You grab his hand before he can walk away again. 

“Ten,” you say, your voice coming off more pitiful than you would like. 

He turns back at you with lips pursed and a sorrowful look in his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. “I need to work some things out.”

Ten leaves you hanging for a third time in your life and you pull yourself together enough to stand up. You can’t imagine—you don’t want to imagine how much longer this’ll go on. Ten used to be an amenable boy; it shouldn’t be taking this long.

Somewhere the wind comes tumbling in, whispering the words that everything has changed and everything is still changing.

//

The third and last attempt is outside his house. Ten’s mother is bound to notice you at some point, right? Considering you’re camping out like a homeless man from the nearby gas station, that is. You hope she’s out for grocery shopping and you can just pretend you were on your way home and ‘accidentally’ bumped into her. Being the kind soul she is, she’s going to invite you to dinner since it’s late already. And where else can you spend your time while she cooks but in Ten’s room? It’s perfect and there’s no way he can avoid this.

“(name)!” Ten’s sister yells in glee. 

“Tern!” You smile at her.

“Mom’s sending me for grocery shopping. Do you wanna come help?”

You want to go inside the house but patience is quite possibly a virtue. You haven’t tried it out yet. 

“Sure.” You grin. “I’ve got time to kill.”

So, you are aware that Ten’s sister tends to shoot off at the mouth with the right person but you somehow cannot get her to talk about Ten. Apart from his life in New York, that is, which you had hoped to hear from him. 

“So… how come you’re not in our house already? No offense, it’s just you and Ten… you know.” She looks at you with an inquisitive quirk of her eyebrow. 

Ten must be a really good actor. Not like you ever doubted him but for his sister to be so blissfully unaware, he must have put on quite the show. Either that, or he really has forgotten you. You try not to feed fire to that thought.

“Uh, you know, been busy with the snack shack. We’re redecorating. Mr. Kim is going to boil me alive if I slack off.”

She giggles at your expression. “I heard it from Yangyang. He said the redecorations are ugly though.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Ten let you talk to Yangyang? A boy?”

She crosses her arms with a disbelieving laugh. “He can’t tell me how to live. Besides, he doesn’t care.”

You laugh. “Right. You have no idea how overprotective he can actually be. Older brother instincts or whatever.”

She suppresses a laugh. “And you must be facing the boyfriend instincts.”

You stammer out a response but it doesn’t make any sense. It’s alright to get laughed at, you suppose, if Tern is in fits beside you.

The rest of the conversation is about things less important. It would be rude to not engage though so you talk with enthusiasm all the way back. Part of you sees Ten in his sister. How terrible of you to see someone else in a person right beside you.

“(name)!” 

Ten’s mother looks pleasantly surprised. 

“Good evening, ma’am!” You curtsy in an exaggerated manner, and she laughs, patting your arm. 

“How come it took you so long to visit? You hardly ever came over these few years, and I’m a little upset about that by the way, but I thought for sure, you’d be in the house the day Ten came back.”

You scratch the back of your head sheepishly. “You know. Work and stuff. Mr Kim is redecorating the store.”

She exhales in annoyance. “Is that man exploiting you children again?”

“I’m—uh… I’m an adult—”

“Hush,” she instructs, voice strict and you zip your mouth immediately. Never question a mother’s statement.

“Ten’s in his room, by the way. Should I call him?” she asks, after a minute of complaining about Mr. Kim, which you would have loved to join but there are other matters at hand. She has all the gossip in town and yet, she’s somehow blissfully unaware of the silence between her son and his best friend. Are you not as important? It makes you pout but you quickly neutralize your expression.

“Ten!” she shouts when you don’t respond, a little lost in your own thoughts.

“Uh—oh no, you don’t have to do that!” you say quickly. “I’ll just go to his room.”

You hurry up the stairs, just in time for Ten to open his bedroom door and jump back in fright.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters, like the soul has been kicked straight out of his body. In any other situation, you would’ve loved to give him a scare.

You walk into the bedroom and lock the door behind you. 

“Ten. We need to talk.”

“I don’t wanna talk,” he says, furrowing his eyebrows. You notice the change in his features—his hair has grown out, his face is more chiseled and he has an angry quirk to his brows. “I told you I need some space. You never know how to listen, fuck.”

His voice is a low whisper, in the short space between you. You don’t move from your spot, with your back against the wall and feet nervous. You shift from foot to foot and look him in the eye before looking away. You’ve never felt this way around him. You’ve never actually pissed him off this bad. You don’t know what to do.

“Just leave. God. I can’t believe you think you can just walk in!”

You frown at his words. “Ten. I just wanted to talk to you again. We’re friends—”

“How does it matter if we are? Everything’s changed. This whole place has changed. I’ve changed.” 

“But… that doesn’t mean we have to pretend we’re strangers—”

“Leave. Please.”

His voice is so low and odd that you don’t recognize it anymore. You sigh. You can’t convince him when he’s so defensive. You open the door to his bedroom to find Ten’s mom and sister in the hallway trying very hard to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping. You offer them a sad smile and thank his mother for the dinner before taking your leave. You feel too ridiculous to cry.

How do people put in all that effort in romantic comedies? You don't even know where to start. Maybe you should follow the King's advice from Alice in Wonderland. 

Begin at the beginning and go on until you come to the end; then stop.

No. No, you can't be thinking of ending scenes right now. There's a much bigger problem at hand. Saturday. You better brace yourself for the unpredictability of former prom queens and class presidents, and the predictability of this small town that never changes. 

act i scene iii.

High school reunion parties here aren’t exactly mawkish affairs. There’s alcohol, people who are meant to be adults but haven’t quite grown into it yet, the looming woods, and more alcohol. There's no room for sentimentalism when your former classmates, seniors and juniors—those who could be here, at least—are back together and it feels like nothing has changed at all. However, college-age boys always pose problems. 

“Look, if Johnny can do it, so can I,” Yukhei tells you. 

Johnny smacks his shoulder encouragingly, and a few of your friends giggle at the two lanky men, looking like they’ve discovered something priceless beside the campfire light.

“This beer tastes like crap,” you mutter before returning to a regular volume. “But go ahead and try chugging two bottles in under a minute if you want.”

Your backhanded statement backfires almost immediately because he does exactly as you said. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you try not to peek at Ten, sitting beside Johnny and looking rather sleepy. It’s the bedhead, you think to yourself. It’s cute.

“Alright, who’s next?” Yukhei asks, voice booming enthusiastically. 

Yeri sighs beside you, tired from the late night and not so much from the alcohol. Speaking of which, the alcohol table is somehow still stocked and Sicheng stands beside it, looking sour from being forced into guard duty. 

“Tell him to pipe down,” Yeri mutters, pressing her forehead against your shoulder and you look at her apologetically. 

“(name) hasn’t answered anything yet!” Sooyoung pipes up and you shoot her a look she ignores. “Neither has Ten, by the way.”

A bunch of “ooh”s pass through the crowd of roughly twenty people, and you would bury your face in your hands were it not for that stubborn pride of yours. 

Truth or dare is quite possibly the worst game in the history of mankind. Ten looks somewhat flustered under the attention but he just sighs. 

“Get it over with.” He looks at Yukhei expectantly.

“Kiss (name)!”

Your heart drops and you glare at Yukhei. You should have expected it. There is no one more unimaginative than drunk boys. His cheeks are flushed when he grins at you, encouraging you with a thumbs up gesture. 

“He doesn’t have to do that.” You cross your arms. “Consent is important even in fun and games.”

The sentence is so didactic of you but you hope the seriousness in your voice makes him back off.

“But you guys are, like, in love with each other,” Yangyang blurts before covering mouth as if he said something scandalous.

A bunch of chuckles follow, though Johnny shows some concern towards Ten. You remember why you hate high school reunions now. Apart from the fact that almost everyone gets to tell their stories of big cities and big dreams they get to live in, everyone turns into a child again when at a reunion. Perhaps it’s the burst of memories or the vivid glow of old connections returning but you can’t stand childishness. Even if you’re the one to act like a child sometimes.

“I’m gonna go drink,” you say. “That’s the punishment, right? I’m not playing anymore.”

Yukhei groans. “Come on, (name). You wouldn’t be such a bore.”

“I would,” you snap and get up from your seat, Yeri muttering in annoyance before leaning onto Sooyoung’s shoulder.

Ten is glowing in the cheeks, you find when you look at him. He meets your eyes once and looks away, playing with his fingers. 

You pour yourself some beer into a cup and lift it up to show to Yukhei before striding off to a place farther than the warmth of people and the campfire. The giant log is a nice enough seat by the edge of the woods. It is cold and mossy though, and you hug yourself, sticking your hands into the pockets of your cardigan.

The sound of footsteps over dried leaves catch your attention and you look up. Ten takes a seat beside you in silence. You move the cup of beer so that it doesn’t spill from any sudden movement. It’s quiet for even longer, your pulse the only rhythm to follow.

"Ten." You smile, looking away from him and into the ceaseless stretch of woods. He hums in response, as though a habit yet to get rid of. It makes you bite down your lip to prevent the smile from turning into something sadder.

You miss him. You miss the years you spent with him. You're drawn into him, into something old, familiar and safe. 

No one can save you when you’re homesick. 

However, you do not give up easily. What is broken can be mended with enough love and care.

Ten sighs, taking the cup from you right before it touches your lips. "Don't drink that. You hate the taste and it makes you go crazy."

You pout, but can't really find something snarky enough to say. Not when he looks like that—with dry, still-red lips and tired, apologetic eyes.

“Your forehead is so oily,” you mutter.

Ten looks at you, furrowing his eyebrows. He proceeds to hesitantly wipe at his forehead with the sleeve of his sweatshirt before shaking himself out of it. Instead he just glares at you.

“It’s not oilier than your nose,” he shoots, annoyed. 

“At least my nose isn’t titan-sized.”

“My nose is perfect. Do you- do you know how many people fall in love with my perfect nose every day?”

You laugh, covering your face. His features soften and he returns his gaze to the comfort of the endless forest. It does have an end, at the fences by the railway tracks but in believing that something can be infinite, you find comfort. 

"New York treated you well. Too well. But then again, you were always a narcissist."

You smile smugly at him and he gives you an unamused look.

"I'm… I'm glad we're talking," you offer after a few moments of unacknowledged silence.

He tenses ever so slightly, running a hand through his already messy hair and looks at you. He looks away again as if in an internal debate.

“You rejected me, (name),” he says, exasperated. “How do I recover from that? Don’t answer. It was so embarrassing.”

You close your mouth. If only you could tell him the truth. You had to reject him or your sentimental boy would never leave for acting opportunities. He doesn’t have to know that. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly.

But the truth is, it’s too scary to think about. You’ve been refusing to look at your feelings for a long time now. It’s only a cliche; it doesn't happen in real life. You’re too good of friends to be in love. Isn’t that right? It certainly couldn't have been you to fall in love with Ten. There were a million other people to do that in your stead. You feel shy all of a sudden.

“That was pretty embarrassing,” you mumble, pressing down your smile and he rolls his eyes.

After a few moments in silence, a sigh escapes his lips. “I’ve had enough time for closure though. I can’t believe I actually said that. Oh, the over-sentimentalism. Yikes.”

He makes a disgusted face.

You giggle. “I can’t believe it either. You do look cute blushing, by the way. You find any lover in the big, scary city? Any rebound?” 

Ten rolls his eyes. “Too busy. And are you going to tease me forever about this thing?”

You laugh. “That’s the Ten I know. You’re always working. Sometimes you should have fun.” 

“I have plenty of fun. You’re the one that used to cry at birthday parties.”

“I was six years old and it was one time, holy shit.”

The two of you break into laughter. The cold makes you draw nearer to him.

“Hey, wanna go to the mall this weekend?” you suggest.

“Wait, it’s still there? Wasn’t it supposed to get knocked down?”

“Yeah but the townsfolk didn’t want that so they delayed it. There’s, like, barely any employees though. It’s like a ghost mansion at night.”

Ten makes a face. “The afternoons there were so bright, like, there was so much sunlight, remember? I remember you always drinking my banana milk at the food plaza.”

You laugh. “I miss skipping class to go there. Now there aren’t any classes to skip.”

“Oh my god, remember when Mr. Wilson actually caught us?”

You laugh louder. “We had to pretend we weren’t his students. Which was futile acting because he knows every student.” 

Ten sighs. 

“I missed you. God, I’m so fucking sorry—I was in over my head. I thought I ruined everything.”

“Hey.” You scoot closer, wrapping your arms around him. “I missed you too. Besides, it’s not you if you’re not being a bit of a drama queen.”

Ten elbows you in the side at the comment and you yelp, moving away and glaring at him in response. 

“Just because I’m in theatre doesn’t mean I’m a drama queen.” He mocks the tone of your voice and you giggle.

“So any special Broadway stories you have in mind? I wanna hear something funny.” You rest your head on his shoulder comfortably.

"Well, one time this actress' dress caught on fire—"

"That's not funny, that's horrifying."

Ten purses his lips. “Okay. Uh… I got told to fuck off by an eighty year old man in drag after I threw raw steak at his window?”

You snort, eyes widening and Ten throws up his hands in exasperation. "How is that remotely funny?"

"I'm pretty sure that's as funny as it gets with you."

"I can't believe you're pretending I didn't carry our sense of humour on my back for all of middle school and high school."

“I missed you," you say quietly, and he flusters, scratching the back of his head awkwardly.

"Really? You're not just saying that?"

You sigh, inching closer. "Yes. I did miss you, you know? I called."

"And I didn't pick up. I know. I'm sorry."

"I think you've apologized to me more times now than you have in our first twenty years of friendship."

Ten rolls his eyes. "And I mean it. It's not the 'sorry I ate your cookies' apology."

"I fucking knew you were the one eating stuff from my bag back in high school."

Ten presses his lips, making a zipping motion and you push him in exasperation. The two of you laugh, loud and clear, before Johnny's voice comes in, telling the two of you to "stop fooling around near the woods" and that it's "unhygienic".

Seasons change but people don't. You walk home with Ten for the first time in a year and suddenly, you’re in love with the idea that things can just lie in complete peace once they fall back into what was always meant to be. Perhaps it’s the writer’s utopia, but you think it’s much more meaningful this way. Ten's hoodie smells just like home.

prologue.

It was a sunlit morning when you first met Ten, but it was only a sunlit morning. There were no birds chirping or faceless adults on that sidewalk or even your friends because you don’t recall them. You recall a child with two very important teeth missing and your sudden urge to run to his side. You’d pulled his cheek with a huge grin on your face because, and you still stand by this, they were too cute and plump and red to resist.

You were three and a half years old when you met Ten and you parted when you were twenty. One year later, you're back to linking arms, joking about each other and talking about life as though it's a passing stream. 

You were six years old when you cried at Ten's birthday party because no one was talking to him. It gave you an evening's worth of attention and a huge smile on Ten's face. You still think kids are mean as hell but they care for things like they have never cared before. 

You were eleven years old when you started to lose a little bit of touch with yourself. You talked less, you looked at people more. Ten's face was still the most comforting out of all. He said he liked to listen no matter how annoying you sound. Somehow, by the time sixth grade was over, when you were almost twelve—you talked at least twice as much. 

You were fourteen years old when you dated a boy out of curiosity and left on an awkward note when he moved away. You weren't sad for some reason. The idea of life passing meaninglessly by was engraved into you, like the waves that carve the beach. Ten was distant the whole time, with a scowl and more sarcastic remarks than usual, only warming up when you showed up at his door with a homemade cake. It tasted horrible and had the texture of a mossy pebble but you laughed over it anyway. Suddenly, life wasn't meandering but a river full of vigor in spring, beside a garden of fresh crested irises. 

You were sixteen when you were pushed to audition in a play by your best friend. The play was about life and death and love, and it didn’t make sense to you the way it did to him. You had good fun backstage with the costumes and the makeup, and it was all that mattered to you. However, some part of you didn't like it, hated it even when he kissed the female lead of the play with eyes full of adoration. You looked on as Villager B and you hated every part of it.

When you were eighteen turning nineteen, you decided to save up for college. It would take time—years perhaps but you would get there. You would get an apartment with Ten in New York City or any city full of bustling, busy life and you would tend to your rooftop garden. Small town dreams, however, die and they die and they’re buried in unloved, unplanted soil. 

You finally understood what your tenth grade English teacher meant when she said everything is theatre. 

The night he left, you had a nightmare. It was a play and you were the protagonist. You couldn’t make it in time for the night of the performance, anxious and afraid as you arrived. You’d been replaced. You hated to see him on stage with someone else. You hated it. You hated it. You hated it so much. 

Of course, you knew it would be a showstopper the moment that fight broke out between you and your replacement. You were cruel in that dream—almost as if you were someone else. But you felt comfortable in that skin, like you were meant to play that part after all. As if you were the villain all along and not the sweetheart of the show. You felt comfortable and it scared you so much that you woke in cold sweat and cried for an hour straight.

It hurt how lonely you felt. It hurt without Ten and you hate that you let him go. Something took shape inside the cavity of your chest, the shape of a weed sprouting in the pulsing garden of life—you won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to hold on with all your might, till your hands ache and till your heart has had enough. 

ACT II: YOUTH 

 act ii scene i.

“Have you ever actually shoplifted in your life?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Ten tries to suppress his smile and fails, moving so that his back covers you from view instead. A conversation about New York subways led to a conversation about anarchy which led to… this. You’ve been trying to swipe the butterfly pin from the display for the past half an hour. You weren’t actually going to steal it—you just need to prove you can.

The mall is always eerily empty. It shouldn’t be this big of a hassle. Ah yes, apart from the fact that the souvenir shop has stationed the most number of employees for some goddamn reason. You’re not even sure why it’s there; a souvenir shop for your town might as well be a forgotten relic.

“What? No,” he says quickly. “I’m not doing that. Causing trouble is your thing.”

You snort. “Right. Because everything we got into trouble for was done completely by me.”

“That’s actually true.”

You elbow him, giving him your most offended look.

“You can’t be serious about never causing trouble. You broke Mrs. Leung’s famous ruler, remember? And you always stole your mom’s Halloween cupcakes. Those were for all of the theatre crew, by the way.”

“That doesn’t sound right, darling.”

When you look up at him with eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, you find him smiling in somewhat tranquil thought. It has been rather long. 

“Yeah, I helped you way too much,” you respond, distastefully. 

The two of you straighten at the cashier’s call. Responding that everything’s fine, Ten turns to you with a pointed look.

“If you’re going to do it, better do it before she gets suspicious.”

The hint in his eyes reminds you that he is indeed the devil you know, and you quickly pocket the little butterfly hairpin. This is not ethical in any way and even so, you feel the childish exhilaration. This is to prove a point to your dear friend.

“See?” you whisper to him, exiting the shop. “I could totally pull this off.”

“Not if I start screaming ‘thief!’”

“Did you ever get to play a villain at Broadway? It’s closest to your personality,” you jab.

He sends you a sardonic smile before sticking his tongue out. You should always beware a childish man and his childish smile. You never know if he’ll take you seriously. Ten is the absolute worst and you love him all the more for it.

“Are you actually not gonna pay for it?” he asks, tilting his head. 

“And let all those proceeds go to our corrupt overlord mayor? Nuh-uh.”

Ten laughs. “We should go vandalize his campaign posters again.”

The mayor has had, you don’t know how many, little scandals accusing him of embezzlement and every time, he’s escaped easy as pie. All the things you can do with money and you decide to hoard more money; you will never understand people like him. Besides, you won’t have to worry about that any time soon.

“See? You’re the troublemaker. I can’t even vandalize good enough.”

“It’s not my fault you have zero artistic talent.”

You place your hands on your hips. “I’m sorry? I’m pretty sure I taught you how to paint.”

Ten rolls his eyes, a sneaky smile on his lips. “Yeah. You taught the whole class how to paint when you smacked Mr. Cheng with that paintbrush.”

You can’t help the laugh that comes to you, despite trying your best to hold a serious expression.

“You’re a disaster,” he adds, staring incredulously at your fit of laughter. 

You look at him and start laughing again.

“Oh my god, what’s so funny? I wasn’t even trying to be funny.”

“Okay, emo boy,” you say, finally straightening and messing his hair.

“I was going to get a haircut.”

“Don’t. You look pretty.”

Ten hums, raising an eyebrow. “But I wanna look hot.”

“That’s going to take a lot of effort.”

Ten grabs you in a chokehold, messing your hair with his hands in the most obnoxious way possible. Finally able to loosen his grip on you, you look at him with your most fearsome glare. He has to stop treating you so gracelessly.

It’s not unusual for him to behave this way; in fact, you welcome it when he’s warm and much lovelier than the usual. But something feels amiss, something dangerous like the passage of time. 

“Ten?”

“Yes?”

“I thought you’d be talking much more about New York instead of our boring old town.”

He hums, eyes scanning the vicinity of the mall’s first floor. There’s an ice cream shop opposite to the souvenir shop, unvisited due its lack of variety in flavours, and a spacious marble floor with most of the shops closed for renovation. The other two floors are closed off completely but you’re sure that with enough effort, you could sneak in. The glass ceiling at the centre allows for sunlight to wash in as gentle waves, settling on your heads like golden crowns. There are little potted plants lining the walls to make the mall space look less dilapidated but it gives off the same effect as that of something abandoned, left alone and waiting. 

“You want me to brag about it?” He addresses you with a slightly cocky grin.

You roll your eyes. “Never mind.”

The mayor wanted to turn this place into some sort of religious campus but you detest the idea of that man getting his way. He’s the very same man to reprimand little girls for their outfits and to say “dancing is not manly” so you do owe his nauseating sexism for your distaste for him. That, and he has absolutely no sense of aesthetics. You would die before you let him remove the gardens or the livelier buildings blessed with the only colours you can bear to look at. 

“Hey, (name)?”

“Yeah?”

“I think Angry Cashier is making her way towards you.”

You snap your head to the souvenir shop and the cashier is indeed eyeing you suspiciously. You reach to pat your pocket but you’re stopped by Ten.

“You are, by far, the stupidest thief I’ve ever known.”

You puff your cheeks in annoyance, crossing your arms instead. Just when you think the cashier is going to call you out, the two of you sprint over to the mall exit with a plausible enough speed.

“We didn’t have to run, you know?” Ten complains as soon as you’re out and a street or two away. 

“What’s the fun in committing a crime if we don’t get to run?”

“I don’t know, it could be a brain exercise—oh wait. You don’t have one.”

You stick your tongue out at him, walking faster to get away from him.

“Hey!”

He jogs up to you, eyebrows furrowed and ready to spit some sass at you, no doubt.

“I thought you’d be more athletic. Dancing and all.”

“Yeah, no.”

You fix the hair in front of his eyes as he leans over on his knees, a look in his eyes as though caught off guard. They’re a lovely shade of honey, his eyes. They look at you with emotions you can't quite fathom and with the innocence of a love borne between friends who have been forced to endure the mediocrity of this town together. It’s a good reason, you believe, to be friends. Friends are meant to help each other, to save each other and to be there at the lowest. You can check all the boxes. It might have been a while but you’re friends and friends that grow up together stay together. The idea is naive but you cannot possibly look into a future without Ten. There must be a reason behind everything that is given to you. Even right now, as the silence starts to nip at you, you believe you were meant to make full circle. Fate is a funny thing and you wouldn’t believe in it ever, even for a surprise twenty dollar bill vending machine miracle, but it’s comforting enough to let settle on the two of you. 

The lead actors go hand in hand.

“Are you going to keep staring at me? I know I’m tragically beautiful—”

“No, you’re beautifully tragic. Your face, that is.”

“I stopped listening after beautiful, so I believe you agreed with me there.”

You roll your eyes. 

“You and your unyielding confidence can go fuck itself. I’ve seen you cry over a cat movie.”

Ten sputters out a response. “But- but Garfield saved that dog despite every fiber of his being telling him not to. He could’ve lived a happy, peaceful life but he saved him. How is that not incredibly touching?”

“You’re weird. Garfield’s cute though.”

“Like me.”

You wrinkle your nose. “What are we, twelve?”

“I was having my rebellious punk phase then, so no. I would never have said that when I was twelve.”

You laugh. “God, you looked so funny back then.”

“I thought we agreed to not bring up stuff from our teenage years.”

You press your lips together in an attempt to stop the laugh but a tiny giggle comes out anyway. The sun is going to set in an hour. You better make use of your time.

“Ready to go vandalize some posters?” you ask, grinning.

“You know what? I have a better idea. We should go pick some flowers.”

You blink at him. “That’s not remotely punk or rebellious.”

“Shh. You like picking flowers. Remember how we used to joke you should be hired at weddings instead of the flower girls?”

You make a face. “Why on earth would I fling flowers in the air at weddings? That’s not even a respectable job.”

“It suits you.”

“We should be kinder to our arboreal friends.” You cross your arms. “I’d rather tend to a garden than pick flowers for stupid occasions.”

“Tree-hugger.”

You pull up your middle finger and he laughs, fixing his hair right back into the messy waves.

“Why do you hate weddings?” he asks all of a sudden.

“Oh, you know. Icky stuff.”

“No one’s having sex at the wedding.”

“That’s not what I meant by icky stuff. It’s that gross feeling in the air. What’s it called?”

“Love?”

“Please, there’s hardly any love at weddings. It’s all pretend.”

Ten rolls his eyes, chuckling. “You think all the brides and bridegrooms in the world are pretending at their own weddings?”

“If you say it like that…” You grumble. “I don’t believe you need to celebrate love, that’s all. It’s always there, you know?”

You look up to see Ten pressing his fist to his mouth to keep himself from laughing and scoff in disbelief.

“What’s so funny? Seriously, stop laughing—oh for fuck’s sake.”

Soon enough, Ten is crouching by the sidewalk in a fit of laughter which causes a hot flush rising over your neck. You weren’t trying to be cheesy. Now, your best friend is hellbent on making you feel embarrassed. 

“It wasn’t that cringe. Come on. Get up, asshole.”

“You were- you were just so—” He takes a moment to catch his breath, a few short laughs erupting from him nonetheless. “You looked so serious when you said that.”

Your face is hot enough for you to look away now. “Whatever,” you mumble.

“It was cute. You looked really cute,” he continues, somewhat sobered up. “And brave. You always say things with so much confidence that it’s brave. I’m glad you are the way you are.”

You look at him, slightly dazed before your cheeks puff up to prevent yourself from laughing.

“I regret saying that. You are the big, hideous regret of my life.”

“I thought I was cute?” Your snickers turn into laughter again.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, Ten. You’re really good to me.”

Ten shakes his head before walking away, leaving you to call after him in phrases of ‘wait up!’ and ‘when did you get so fast?’ as you try to catch up. You sometimes wonder if he likes being chased. You reach the busiest crossing in this town, with about four cars waiting at the stop sign. You’re not sure why anyone follows the traffic rules if there isn’t even any traffic.

Looking up, you gasp at the moon peeking over a still young sky. You're suddenly reminded of those afternoon naps you had in Ten’s room, the both of you fascinated by the idea of waking up and seeing the sky a whole different colour. The idea that time changes everything was still fresh in your minds then, the impact gentle if not loving. It’s quite late you found that time can steal just as much as it gives.

“Remember when we dyed your hair red?”

“I will, and I shit you not, physically assault you for saying anything about that.”

You laugh at the memory of his awkward hairdo. “No, the other time. When we were seventeen.”

“Oh yeah, I received like eight love letters for that.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He did look pretty, and just in time for Valentine’s day’s theme of red roses and nauseating pink hearts.

“I have proof.” Ten leans his elbow against the street lamp, missing it completely and stumbling backwards till he regains his balance. He gives you an impish smile, running a hand through his hair and breathing out. 

You roll your eyes, ignoring his words. “I think we never took pictures of that.”

“So… what are you suggesting?”

“One good picture,” you answer, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of him off guard. Looking at it, you pout. It’s so unfair that he gets to look nice even in a hazy evening picture. 

Ten rolls his eyes, snatching your phone. “Let me show you how to take good pictures. Not whatever crap you have going on.”

You cross your arms, huffing but agree nonetheless when he forces you to pose by the street light. He blabbers on something about composition and colours that goes straight over your head but you can’t deny that the picture came out ridiculously well. You might have to change all your socials with a new profile picture.

“See? You can thank me with a kiss,” he says, a cheeky smile across his face.

You press your lips to his cheek in a swift motion, a smack sound resounding from it. It was uncalled for, you think, because Ten freezes for a few seconds in an uncharacteristic manner. He shakes his head, a scream dying in his throat before turning to you with the most scandalized look.

“Oh my god, what did you do that for?” he says, rubbing at his cheek in a teasing manner.

You wrap your arms around him, furthering his protests although he ends up smiling wide. “You asked for it, honey.”

“Nicknames are my thing. Stop trying to copy me, it’s embarrassing.”

"Okay, now let's take a picture together," you suggest pulling him closer.

He clicks his tongue and takes the phone from you, and when his hand rests upon the small of your back, you try to freeze up. His face is near yours, not unlike the usual but you feel your heartbeat hike up. It's a strange feeling.

"Now, can we go home?" Ten asks, handing you your phone. "I can't believe your background is rilakkuma."

"I'll change it," you respond, voice strangely quiet. You're only half smiling but Ten's smile is full and bright, eyes honey-pure. "To us."

Ten hums in satisfaction and offers his hand like a gentleman from another century, something you tend to exaggerate and you take it with a laugh. The two of you walk with entangled arms and playful skips over the pavement, getting the same old looks from passersby as you did as children and teenagers. The traffic lights glow a gentle hue below the mature blue evening sky, fading easily. You realize as gently as waves lapping at the shore that you missed Ten so bad it still hurts in the hole he left. 

act ii scene ii.

Any weekend in a boring little town of flowers starts with the news of parties. It used to be Johnny sending invites but now it’s mostly just Yukhei calling people for impromptu college parties. Now, you are aware that college parties are horrendous in every shape and form; you are also aware that the two hour car ride to the city college isn’t safe. But it’s easy to ignore hackneyed advice to stay away from parties and alcohol and weed when you’re young and have a ridiculously large group of friends.

The drive isn’t the worst part. At least the drive to the party isn’t; the drive back is usually too hazed to be memorable. Sicheng’s driving this time and with a lot of grumbling but he gets enough pitiful pats to the back and cheek to stop it. Ten has his feet up on the dashboard, having called shotgun before you by one fucking second. You’re stuck with Sooyoung and Johnny in the backseat, sandwiched uncomfortably at that, but you lean forward enough to nag Ten the whole time.

“(name),” Sooyoung calls in a sing-song voice. “Your overly affectionate looks for Ten are showing and it’s not even eleven yet.”

You furrow your eyebrows, stammering out a response and regretting it immediately. “You’re- You’ve been teasing me about this forever.”

“No, she’s right,” Johnny joins in. “Come on, there isn’t even alcohol involved. Yet.”

You roll your eyes, shrinking into yourself as the two of them laugh on either side of you. Sicheng says something along the lines of ‘nauseating’ and ‘idiotic’ but he gets an elbow jab from Ten.

“I’m driving,” he hisses.

“Into every sidewalk we come across?” Ten shoots back.

Another bout of laughter rings through, and this time you can smile too. It’s not that you’re particularly bothered by the teasing; it’s just uncharted territories you have no desire to chart. You always thought you’d meet Prince Charming on a balcony in a summer evening, and this is optional, but it should happen with ‘Love Story’ by Taylor Swift playing in the background. It’s quite inane to assume it would be your best friend, whom you have spent countless summer evenings listening to old Taylor Swift songs with.

Before you were aware of college house parties, you thought things like these would be more of a less-people-more-booze sort of situation. Turns out, the alcohol to people ratio is nearly the same. Stumbling out of the entrance to the frat house, Yukhei greets the lot of you with a dazed smile before promptly throwing up into the bushes. Rolling your eyes, you pat his back while Sooyoung gets some water from her purse.

“How many drinks was it this time, Yukhei?” Ten teases. “Half? Three-quarters? No wait, that’s a stretch.”

“Very funny,” Yukhei mutters, somehow still upbeat despite his continuous retching. “I bet you’d be drunk after a shot of whatever the hell I had too.”

Adjusting his jacket, Ten narrows his eyes at Yukhei with an incredulous look. “Okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Sicheng raises his hands alarmed, but Ten has disappeared into the swarms of people before any sound can leave him.

“He was supposed to drive on the way back,” Sicheng complains. He opens his mouth in sudden realization and then turns to you. You look from him to Johnny and Sooyoung who share a look and walk briskly into the party with a thumbs-up gesture.

“Oh. Oh no,” you say.

“No, yes,” Sicheng responds.

You shake your head and laugh before sprinting inside, Sicheng’s yells of protest fading out.

Yukhei wasn’t kidding when he said his frat hosts the craziest parties. There’s far too many people here, at least far too many for Ten to have fun. You like the energy of the crowd though, all in their own zones and dancing to old party pop songs. The smell of alcohol hits you so strong at first that you have to take a breather in the little garden space they have. It’s more of an overgrown shrubbery instead of a garden but any green will do. Walking back in, you feel much more comfortable when you take a shot of vodka from a girl passed out on the couch. Laughing, you look around for familiar faces. Parties, however, are not the place to look for faces at all. You think you just spotted a fur neck warmer tied around a dude’s waist while he performs some Neanderthal variant of belly dancing.

You bump into a guy of fairly tall stature, a polite apology tumbling from his lips.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you chuckle in amusement. “You’re not a party kind of guy, are you?”

He stares at you with a placid expression, intrigued. “And how would you know?”

“First, you’re not drunk. Two, you look grossed out by those dudes on the bar table. Three, you’re making conversation with me instead of dancing.”

“So you’re saying I can’t make conversation and dance at the same time.”

“I’m sorry, Mister, but you look like you’d rather not dance at all.”

He laughs. “That’s your way of saying I have a stick up my ass, isn’t it?”

You shrug, giving him your friendliest smile. “I prefer talking to drinking too. What’s your name? I need to know the name of the only sober guy in here.”

“Doyoung,” he answers. “Something tells me you’re not going to give me the same pleasure of knowing your name.”

You smile, pressing your index finger to your lips. “Names at parties are better left unknown.”

Something about him is inherently attractive, and you find yourself drawing nearer. Perhaps you could have a more fun night this way. “It’s much more fun to guess. Now, I’m guessing your party-loving best friend dragged you in here so you could get laid.”

He sighs, smiling at you. “I’m actually part of the frat.”

You gasp, hand covering your mouth. “No way.”

“Someone sober has to oversee whatever the hell’s going on here.” He shrugs. “Now, and this isn’t a guess, but you’re not from our college.”

“Nope. I’m from that little flower town nearby.” 

“Ah, I heard there’s a lovely dahlia field there.”

You nod. “And me. Just as lovely.”

You bite your tongue. That was certainly not sexy enough flirting. Ten has been rubbing off on you with his lame comebacks. Doyoung, however, laughs really loud at that. He must have a worse sense of humour than you thought.

You turn sharply at the sound of your name. Ten seems to be waving at you from a table of beer pong, looking rather distressed. You wave back with a bothered look on your face, aggressively signaling for him to handle his shit alone. He pouts and signals more desperately for you to come. Sighing, you turn to Doyoung.

“Sorry,” you say. “My friend seems to be in a pinch. Either that or he’s attention starved again in a record time of eight minutes.”

Doyoung laughs. “I liked talking to you.”

“I liked talking to you too, plot twist.”

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Doyoung smiles at you. "Ah, I tend to forget but someone always comes along and shows me how friendships are made."

With one last smile, you leave him and walk halfway through to Ten before realizing you forgot to ask for Doyoung’s number. It’s too late to turn back now for the crowd blocks your version and you begrudgingly make your way to Ten. So much for your fun night.

“What was so important that you had to pull me away from the only attractive dude in this party?” you say, crossing your arms.

“Who, Doyoung?” he asks. “I’m at least six times hotter. And anyway, help me win this.”

You roll your eyes. If Ten knows Doyoung, you can somehow finagle your way into getting his number.

“I suck at this game,” Ten mutters. “How the hell is it supposed to hit its mark when the cup is so far away?”

“You have shitty aim,” you say, taking the ping pong ball and throwing it right into the cup. Smirking at the dude who’s already wasted on the other side, you turn back to Ten.

“That’s how you play.”

“Maybe you just have magic hands. Kiss my balls for good luck—wait, fuck, I didn’t mean that.”

You throw your head back and laugh at the disgusted look on his face. Sometimes Ten forgets to think before he opens his mouth and it might be surprising, but he does think before most things he says. He’s always been careful in the subtlest ways.

“I hate this game,” Ten says after missing the cup again. 

“Let me teach you,” you say, moving behind him and taking his hand holding the ball. He stiffens before letting you guide the angle of projection as you throw. It lands right in despite the wobbly beginning and you grin at him.

“I’m so done with this party,” he whispers, hands on his hips and stretching much like a cat after a nap.

You giggle. “I didn’t drink enough to forget everything that’s ever hurt me though.”

“You’re hurt?” he asks, before clearing his throat. “If you wanna stay, I’ll stay too.”

“I’m not a child, you know?” you say, smiling incredulously. “I don’t need you babysitting me.”

“I don’t need you talking to any more Doyoungs. You know his body count?”

“That guy?” you ask, jaw dropping.

“It’s not that much actually,” Ten continues, smiling deviously. “More than what you expect from a guy in law though. You can shut your jaw.”

You huff. “How do you know though? Did you sleep with him?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “I would rather eat your baking than sleep with him.”

“Hey.”

Right then, the two of you are approached by a now-sober Yukhei. He must have vomited enough alcohol out of his system by now. Johnny stays beside him with mild worry across his features. Sicheng on the other hand looks like his social battery has drained out already.

“It’s time for a drinking game!” Yukhei tells the two of you. “With the… uh… not so drunk people.”

“So just the five of us? Where’s Sooyoung?”

“Doting over Yeri,” Johnny answers.

“Ah.”

“Let’s play something if you guys actually want me to stay and not die of boredom,” Sicheng mumbles in annoyance.

"Truth or drink?" Yukhei suggests. 

"Hell no," you mutter. "I've had enough of that."

"What, no dare this time," he insists with a wide smile and arms outstretched.

You hum. "What are you curious about anyway? I know you wanna know something."

Yukhei scratches the back of his head before glancing at Ten. "Well… have you two ever… I don't know, experimented with each other? Like you're best friends, right, so no hard feelings."

Ten furrows his brows, a gaze that's somewhere between a glare and a confused look.

"Experiment…?" He asks, almost afraid to.

"In bed," says Yukhei bluntly.

Ten turns a few shades darker in the face, noticeable even under the multi-colored party lights. You, on the other hand, pray your stunned expression isn't mistaken for the embarrassment you feel. You're not sure why the feeling arises.

"(Name) wishes," Ten jokes, playing it off.

You roll your eyes. "You wish, asshole."

Yukhei pulls a face and raises a hand to interrupt. "Please don't start another lover's quarrel."

Sicheng snickers at the side, although you thought he wasn't listening. How on earth does this joke not get old to them?

"Anyway, my question is answered," Yukhei says. "Best friends who are in love with each other cannot sleep together but friends who are not… they can right?"

Sicheng hums in response, a teasing smile already on his lips. Ten groans and places his hand to the back of Sicheng's neck, almost threatening.

"What would you know about sex, Sicheng?" He bickers. "You're like virgin supreme."

You narrow your eyes. "And what would you know?"

Ten opens his mouth then closes it promptly. Sicheng and Yukhei on the other hand break into laughter, mentioning something about digging graves before taking their leave from the two of you. You really don't think either of them should be drinking—considering Yukhei's a lightweight and Sicheng is supposed to drive.

Ten smacks the back of your head and you yelp, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can.

"I was trying to help us there," he complains. "You're so unfun."

You mimic his statement and he tries to pinch you in the cheeks, which you expertly avoid.

"So tell me," you say. "Have you or have you not had sex?"

Ten sighs. "Okay, yeah fine. Guilty. Whatever."

"What happened to no flings in New York?"

"Didn't feel like telling you."

"Oh, I'm so hurt."

The two of you look at each other and burst into laughter, easy to forget the scores of people around you in the moment. 

“So you definitely had a few flings in New York,” you say, crossing your arms with a smug smile.

“Like three, yeah,” he answers, shaking his head. “What does it matter?”

Some part of you is satisfied with the way he doesn’t look too interested. It’s the ridiculous part of you. The clementine light over his features make them seem even gentler than usual and you smile, pressing the back of your hand to his cheek.

“Wha—”

“Mhm. Your cheeks are so warm.”

“Oh, so now I’m your personal heater.”

Ten places his hand over yours and your heartbeat hikes, and so easily too when he looks at you with his honey eyes.

“You know what, you’re right. This party’s getting boring.” You look around, as though pretending will help you any better. But then again if Shakespeare was onto something and all the world's a stage, then you never stop pretending, right?

Ten looks at you for a suggestion and the moment pauses, contemplation on both of your faces. 

“Let’s just get Sicheng to drive us back,” you say finally. It’s not like you can stray too far for fear of Sicheng leaving behind the two of you (he’s done that before).

Sicheng jumps at the idea of going back and all of you have to participate in dragging drunk Sooyoung into the car and away from a slightly worn out Yeri. Thanking you and fixing her disheveled hair, she walks back into her own corner to what seems to be aggressively coding on her laptop and flipping the finger to any dude who approaches her. When work calls, you simply cannot hang up.

You and Ten are forced to sit together in the backseat now for Johnny sits shotgun, massaging his forehead from whatever hellsent concoction he made for himself and his friends. The drive is mostly quiet and you lay your head on Ten’s shoulder while Sooyoung snores beside you. It’s quiet like the laps of water between ripples. It feels so secure to stay like this, like the world cannot interrupt. You’ve missed your best friend. You’ve missed him so much.

You and Ten part ways with the others at the crossing and you don’t skip over the path as you used to, with the jovial youth you contained then. No, your steps are slower and perhaps more mature but still in pace with Ten’s just as ever. A cat waits by the entrance to your door, the same calico that has won over your mother’s heart and now waits patiently for treats. In a way, you kept feeding it because you thought of Ten whenever you did.

It seems these days, the only way to get kisses from Ten is to be a cat. He pets the cat with tender strokes and presses his face to its forehead with no fear of cat-borne diseases. 

“Hey, Ten. What about me?” You pucker your lips at him and he presses his palm to your lips instead, snickering.

In these short moments, moments that barely last, do you feel the three years he’s been gone. It’s funny how people change and never realize they do. It’s funny how you’re in awe of every person he becomes.

“I missed your rooftop the most in New York,” Ten says. 

You chuckle. “You hid there when your mom was mad at you.”

“Do you know how many slippers your rooftop has saved me from? I think your rooftop is more of a best friend to me than you are.”

You place your hand over your heart in mock hurt and he shakes his head, grinning.

“Well, let’s prove I’m more worthy of the best friend title then,” you say, grabbing his hand, the skin so soft to you, and dragging him into your house in quiet tiptoes. You remember coming up here back when you pretended to be pirates, when you acted out Shakespeare and when you wanted to forget the world, the terrible, cruel world you found yourself hating often. This is your hiding spot, a safe place. Ten makes it more so. 

Lying down against the rooftop, you trace the sky from star to star. The good thing about small, dimly lit towns is the clear view of the stars. So far from troubles, it must be easy to play the audience. 

“That looks a little like Felis,” Ten says, taking your hand and tracing a particular arrangement of the stars.

“Is that a… cat?”

“Yeah. It’s not a constellation anymore,” he tells you. “But I like to think it is.”

“I wish things never end too,” you mumble. “Like Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Or that new Taylor Swift song. I wish some things went on forever.”

Ten laughs airily. “I wish too.”

You turn to look at him. The curve of his nose is pretty as ever, eyelashes hanging close to the skin of his cheeks as he breathes with eyes closed. There’s a significant number of words you haven’t exchanged yet. There’s so many words you’re holding back.

“You seem tired,” you note.

He hums in response.

“Was New York that hard?”

He opens his eyes to look at you. “A little… tiring, yes.”

“Well, I’m glad you can rest now.” You smile and he returns it. 

“I’ve been running for so long and telling myself I’m still dancing,” he says, a sigh escaping afterwards. “I don’t even know where I am anymore.”

“You’re with me,” you respond. “Right here. On my rooftop.”

“Watching the stars again,” he completes, laughing aloud. “God, I wish we were kids again. All I cared about were the flavour of my cereal and how many constellations I could memorize.”

“The stars don’t give a shit about you, Ten,” you tease, repeating the line you used to tell him.

“The stars might not give a shit about us,” he agrees, “But that’s why I’d like to watch them a little longer.” 

“Me too,” you say softly.

You take a deep breath and let it out. These are the moments between the bloom of a flower and when it is picked. These moments are serene and warm and gentle, however ephemeral they may be. These are the moments between the flapping of a butterfly's wings—times when you and Ten fell asleep in detention in fifth grade for something that was very much your fault, or when he pets your head with the biggest grin after pissing you off on purpose or the proximity of the baby blue sky after your latest shopping mall mischief. But the flower will be picked someday. To live is to live in fear, and no matter how you try to buzz out the idea of it, it will come and it will prove itself.

“Sometimes I wish I were an angrier person,” you say quietly.

“What for?”

“They just seem so much more driven.”

“You’re driven enough. I think you do everything right already.”

“Working at plant nurseries, maybe. I’m not even a good enough cashier.”

“Flowers suit you.”

“You know, I could spend my life picking flowers and arranging them if I could,” you say, sitting up. “Everything moves so fast that the garden’s gone by the time I get to smell the flowers. You get me?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “I wish time could stop. Sometimes it does. When I’m on stage.”

“What’s that like?”

“It’s very beautiful,” he whispers, eyes fixed on you.

It's quiet, the sounds of the night filling the space between you and him.

"You know, in dance," he starts, "the most powerful thing you can be is still. It's also the most difficult."

You hum in response. "I find it easy to be still with you though. It's like I don't have to perform anymore, you know?"

Ten laughs. "I know. I wish I could say that about my ambitions."

You place your palms against his cheeks, holding his face gently. You're not sure if it's because you're a little tipsy or Ten's lips that are driving you crazy, but you smile wide.

"You are like a flower," you begin rather wisely. "And spring hasn't arrived yet."

Ten blinks before snorting and then laughing like you just said the stupidest thing ever. 

The downside to getting along like a house on fire is that the house is still on fire and you don’t know what to do about it. Your heart is burning and you want to tell him the words you’re holding back. But if they escape your mouth, the wind might carry it away and leave you with a heavy response. You can’t say anything yet. Not until you’ve mustered enough courage to leave this town behind with him. Not until you have enough financial confidence to fall in love.

“Hey, Ten.”

“Hm? Don’t ask me something stupid and ruin the night.”

You giggle. “Will you stay with me wherever I am?”

“A little overdue but yes, until death do us part.” 

The two of you laugh, shoulders shaking and eyes brimming with an unsaid emotion. This is how you fall in love. You fall in love like flowers blossoming and withering, like you have only each other to withstand the test of time. 

“Should we dance?” Ten offers. “This time, maybe you’ll finally learn to not step on my feet.”

“That just makes me want to step on your feet more.”

It's so easy to fall in love that you fall asleep to the feeling—like the nights after you watched cartoons well past bedtime and thought that Ten was the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, after reading illicit internet horror stories in seventh grade that only made you huddle closer, after creating a pillow fort in the name of memories the night of your graduation when you couldn't say out loud that Ten really is the prettiest boy you know. The feeling slips in like you slip on your night clothes and you forget they were ever off at all. Comfort is a fleeting thing but in that moment, it felt forever.

act ii scene iii.

Halloween is undoubtedly the greatest time to spend with friends. There’s spooky stories shared, an abundance of favourite candies and if you happen to be friends with theatre kids, there’s most certainly a fun play going on. The crisp autumn air is vaguely nostalgic, brimming with memories in this town. 

Evening creeps in and once you’re done with the day’s chores, you get dressed with such speed that your mother has to convince you to slow down. It’s like you’re a kid again, and you'd like to enjoy this morsel of your childhood before you're forced to grow up.

Greeting Ten’s mother as you rush into the house, you run up the stairs and into Ten’s room, opening the door with a loud bang. Somehow, Ten’s scream is louder than that. He’s wearing a towel around his waist (only a towel), hands covering his chest with a horrified look on his face.

"Stop screaming," you say, hands on your hips. "We've seen each other naked, what's the big deal? Actually, do that pitch again, you sound like Meryl Streep from Mamma Mia."

Ten chokes, covering his mouth with his knuckles while he coughs.

"We were like four and a half! How does that count?"

You giggle, turning around. "Change. Quick."

"I mean, you can see if you like, darling," he calls, liltingly. "I know you can't resist me. Ugh. Can't stand all this pining from a friend."

You make a gagging sound and he laughs. It seems like he’s gotten over the initial shock of you barging in. The sound of the wardrobe opening and Ten shuffling through clothes follows. You are glad, however, that he can't see the look on your face. You must be looking ridiculous. You wonder if he can see how tense your shoulders and torso are. This is not the way you wanted to start the evening. Can he tell apart the distinct nervousness in your voice? It's suddenly difficult to play it cool. And isn't playing it cool something you do in front of a crush?

You catch a glimpse of his naked back and it makes you shake your head violently to get rid of the thought. How ridiculous. You can’t be lovers yet.

“Alright, you can turn around. What the fuck are you even supposed to be?”

"Say hello to the wicked witch of the West!" You exclaim, grinning ear to ear when you jump around.

"Oh, you don't have to dress up for that."

Your smile turns into a pout and you pull hard at his still-soft cheeks. He lets out a pained whine, grabbing your wrists and gently tugging them off. His skin turns red easily, however, and you're left with an image of rosy-cheeked Ten just like when you first met.

“You’re a demon spawn,” he hisses, rubbing his sore cheek. 

“No, that’s definitely your thing. Can’t borrow that,” you say, crossing your arms and smiling smugly. “Why aren’t you dressed as one? Actually, why aren’t you dressed as anything?”

Ten shrugs. “I have to wear some ridiculous ghost outfit for the play so I decided I’d rather play the part of a sexy pirate ghost.”

You snort, looking at the half-buttoned white shirt tucked neatly into black trousers. “You? A ghost? A poltergeist is the word you’re looking for.”

Ten rolls his eyes. “If I were a ghost, I’d definitely haunt you for the rest of your life.”

“Okay, ghost boy, let’s get going.” You loop your arms through his and pull him out, leaving in just as much a whirlwind as you walked in. You do walk back in though—to stuff a few of the cookies Ten’s mom baked in your mouth and walk right out with a muffled ‘thank you’ and your hand still around Ten’s wrist.

Arriving at the theatre, Ten catches his breath though he tries to not look worn out before squinting and making a show of searching for something.

“What are you looking for?” You ask, furrowing your eyebrows.

“The train you thought we were going to miss.”

You stick your tongue out and finally let go of his hand. He pulls it to himself, rubbing at his wrist with an exaggerated look of pain. 

“Oh, it’s still intact. Thought I’d have to bid farewell to my dreams of being a professional calligrapher.”

“Eat ink, Ten.”

“Ooh, it’s the rare PG-13 (name). Nice.”

A loud bang emanates from the back entrance, Sicheng looking like a rather mortified Count Dracula (which is strange because Dracula is immortal, right?) with fake blood splattered across his jaw and two little fangs poking out. Ten no wastes no time in complimenting them, making Sicheng rather flustered.

“It was bad enough having to listen to your flirting through the door,” Sicheng mutters. “Get in. Quick. Sooyoung pulled out and we need someone to fill in.”

Your eyes light up and Sicheng is about to deny your wishes when Ten intervenes.

“(name). You get to play a slightly deranged witch with a most definitely existing bloodlust. You in?”

“You bet I am! I was born ready. Except in sixth grade when I had that meh phase and I wasn’t born ready. Then I was born ready again!”

Sicheng makes a face. “Yeah sure, just get in.”

“Aren’t you glad I’m dressed for the occasion?”

“Not really, no.”

Ten whistles when he walks in. “How much fake blood did you guys get?”

“Enough to re-enact Red Wedding from Game of Thrones,” Johnny answers from a corner, in a costume which you can’t tell if it’s a werewolf or just a fursuit. You can never seem to guess when it comes to Johnny.

Ten laughs before turning to you, the sound tuning out. “I have never watched Game of Thrones.”

You pat his shoulder, laughing. In the next moment, Sicheng pushes a script towards you, expecting you to actually read.

“Sicheng, you know I’m going to improvise.”

Sicheng groans. “Shakespeare was right. Hell is empty and all the demons are here.”

Throwing a pointed glare at you when he says the word ‘demons’, he crosses his arms. It’s easy to convince him though—he’s quite amenable when he’s stressed out about details and both you and Ten know he just needs some reassurance and good, gentle shove.

You and Ten sit on either side of him on a really, really worn out couch that you’re not sure can hold the weight of the three of you.

Sicheng holds up his hands in both of your faces before you can open your mouth.

“I feel like the child of a really immature couple who is forced to grow up at a tender age because his parents are so immature.”

“Uh,” Ten starts. “That’s very specific.”

“The character I’m playing has daddy issues,” Sicheng responds casually, and a little out of it. “Actually he’s got mommy issues too. Why am I playing an eight year old?”

“Because children are crap at acting,” Ten answers and you reach your arm to smack the back of his head.

“What? Ow, that hurt.”

“Sicheng, it’s our stupid Halloween play. We do it to have fun,” you say, placing your hand 

“You going all motherly is freaking me out,” Sicheng says, wide eyes staring at you.

“You’re right,” you say, dramatically sighing. “Motherhood changed me. I can’t do evil black magic anymore. Aha! That’s a good dialogue, isn’t it?”

“Harrowing, actually, but I guess that’s what you’re going for.”

You and Ten share a fond smile, laughing to yourselves till Joohyun calls you and gives you basic stage direction. She’s almost never home except for Halloween and it makes the holiday even more exceptional.

“Ready, Wicked Witch of the West?” Ten nudges you before he has to go on stage. 

“Wait, is that actually my character?”

“No. No, it isn’t. For the love of cats—the animal, not the musical—please just keep speaking and make it worse on stage. I need a recording to laugh at.”

You roll your eyes and push him on. He looks so at peace there, the conversation from that night coursing in remembrance. It’s like everything is still, the lack of motion driving him to move. 

You never understand it yourself, however, when you’re on stage. You blabber like an idiot, as Ten says, and the audience laughs and that is it. You don’t experience what he does and it sometimes drives you a little crazy. Of course, you adding a pregnancy narrative to your witch does throw the rest of the cast for a loop but they handle it well. You just have to make sure you run as fast as you can from Joohyun after the play is done.

“Good job there,” Ten snickers after you duck behind a curtain as Joohyun passes by with furrowed brows and a frown. 

“I know right? I’m literally Oscar-worthy,” you whisper-yell and Ten shakes his head.

“Come on.” This time his hand grips your wrist. “I know the best way to sneak out of this theatre.”

Taking a flight of stairs that you were previously unaware of, you plunge into the darkness of what seems to be an attic. Ten turns on the flashlight of his phone and you yelp, the lighting not helping his already spooky makeup. He laughs before navigating through a bunch of boxes. 

“I heard they used to use this room as an execution chamber,” Ten whispers.

“They did not. Get the fuck out of here.”

“Okay fine. I did cry here though after reading an internet article about ill-fated lovers in ancient Asia.”

“Ugh. Truly horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah. Emotions terrify you.”

“They do not.”

Ten stops walking.

“Oh yeah? Got any proof?”

You stop yourself before you can do something embarrassing. The first thought that came to you was to kiss the smug look off his face and it does terrify you. The bastard is right. 

“I… cried at your birthday party.”

“You were six. Everyone cries when they’re six.”

“Alright, fine. I cried after you left.”

The silence makes you look up and for once, you don’t really want Ten to be so speechless. You punch his shoulder lightly.

“I missed you a lot,” you say quietly. “Is that so surprising?”

He opens his mouth but no sound comes out. 

“Hello? Anyone inside?” You knock at his forehead before holding his face between your face. “You’re shivering. It’s pretty cold here.”

“I’m not cold,” he says quickly, the red rising in his face.

“Of course, you’re cold. Your cheeks are aflame, that’s how cold it is.”

Ten shuts off the flashlight and you scream at the abrupt darkness.

“It’s not from the cold,” he mumbles.

Now left with only Ten’s warm hand around your wrist, you let him guide through wherever the hell it is you are before emerging onto the second floor of 1075 Building. 

“What the hell?” You gasp. “Why wasn’t I aware there was a secret passage here? Is this what archaeologists feel like? ”

Ten smiles, in some sort of victory. “You don’t know a lot of things.”

You walk into the empty room, or rather wiggle in through the window—this building used to be some sort of housing apartment before being torn down halfway for renovation. Some ghost stories spooked the workers too much to continue. However, having been here long enough, you know that the only thing haunting this place is the abundance of cats. In fact, you can see a few eyeing the two of you from the other windowsills. The room is fairly well-lit and maintained so you guess the renovation will start again soon.

“You got us pizza?” you exclaim at the pizza boxes and cans of cola resting over a little picnic blanket.

“Yes, I did. Wait, crap, I forgot the candy.”

“Nah, that’s okay.” You show him the Reese’s peanut butter cups and Snickers you had pocketed from some unsuspecting children. They get way too many anyway. This is completely morally justified—you’re doing this to save them from cavities and poor health.

“I can’t believe you’d ever want to escape a theatre,” you say before humming at how good the pizza tastes. Pizza is always better when you’re having it someplace you’re not supposed to be in.

��Sometimes, it’s suffocating.” He finally bites into his pizza, an unreadable look over him. You don’t like it. Shifting closer so that your knees touch, you lean in a little.

“Oh, really? After all that talk about how beautiful it is.”

“It is. It just wears me out sometimes. Like you.”

Ten flushes red immediately. “I didn’t mean it—I, I… uh.”

“Aw, you think I’m beautiful.”

“Gah, I knew you’d say that.”

There’s a pause. 

“I got kicked out, actually,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“I had some disagreements with the writers and… and here I am.”

You look at him in stunned silence. “They did fucking what? I’m going to kill them.”

“No, (name). I was at fault. I overstepped. I guess city air made me a little greedy.”

“You were always greedy though.”

“If that’s your example of sympathy, you are horrible at it. Never try again.”

“Well.” You smile reassuringly. “You’re quite beautiful on stage. Too. Like me, as you said.”

“I’m a performer,” he says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice when he leans in. “You can’t beat me at that.” 

“Then put on a show for me, darling.” You raise an eyebrow, a cocky smile over your lips.

Ten’s cheeks colour. It’s silent for a few moments and you take notice of the lack of distance between your noses, your lips. He seems to lose touch with reality when he gently cups your cheeks and presses his lips to yours. A soft gasp escapes you, not quite ready for the contact.

Ten pulls apart immediately, a look of horror in his eyes.

“I- I’m sorry… I got caught in the—I’m sorry.”

He gets up abruptly and you still sit there in shock. When your senses are back, the room is empty and you hug yourself, feeling colder. God, you’re an idiot. For the first time in your life, you’ve come to your senses and you decide to let the only person you’ve loved walk out the door.

Your texts to him that night aren’t even left on read but you know he’s read the notifications. He always does when he’s avoiding someone. You feel the weight slithering in, pinning you down and making it hard to sleep that night. You have so many things you want to say to him and this time, you’re ready. Even if fate doesn’t let you, you will speak the lines you should have chosen much earlier.

act ii scene iv.

You don’t have anyone to show it to but the news broke you.

The idea of him keeping it all to himself, bearing burdens that are better shared makes your heart collapse its walls into itself. You’re supposed to be there. You were supposed to be there from every pitfall to the top of the world. You were supposed to be at every stage, at every afterparty and for every bout of performance high. You didn’t mean to leave the seat empty.

You were supposed to be there at every rejection and every failure, making fun of all the troubles. 

You get a text from Ten two mornings later to meet up at the new cafe everyone’s been talking about. It takes you the rest of the morning to practise what you’ll say, what you won’t and how you’ll say it. You’ve never done this much for actual plays. But you’re not acting—you just need the words to come out right.

The wall of the cafe is covered in ivy, but you cannot waste time admiring it. Your nerves have the best of you. You stop at the entrance, backtracking to say your entire speech in your head once again. The most important friendship of your life depends on this stupid monologue you came up with a night before in front of the mirror.

“(name).” 

You jump, finding Ten behind you. His nose is a little red from the cold but he looks fine apart from that. You can’t believe you’re early. This might be the first time in your life and you breathe out, slightly more confident.

“Can you… uh, not block the door?”

“Right. Sorry.”

The two of you walk in, a nervous tremble over your fingers but you clasp your hands together tight. He still remembers your favourite drink and you take a moment to try and understand why it’s surprising at all. You wish he never left.

“Ten,” you begin. “If you want to talk about that kiss—”

“Stop. I’m sorry. That was so out of line.” He lets out a distressed sigh, leaning back in the chair. 

“It’s not as bad as you’re making it out to be,” you say quickly. That was not in the speech.

He sits up. “I… Am I taking things too seriously? You’ve been my longest friend, (name). You should tell me.”

You frown. “I didn’t mean it in a harsh way. You just think it’s bad because you kissed your best friend and—”

“No. What do you think?”

You gulp.

“See, (name)? I lied because it fucking hurts right now. I don’t want to play this part.”

“No, Ten. I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so many things but there’s the city, your job—oh. I- I don’t mean to bring it up if the wound is still fresh. Ten—”

“You don’t understand,” he cuts. “You’ve always been happy here. You’re happy wherever.  I’m not… like… that.”

There’s a pause. You pull your jacket closer, the temperature dropping despite the smell of warm baked goods and hit coffee.

“I thought you knew me,” you whisper coldly. 

Ten looks away. “I don’t. I don’t know. I don’t know anything about you. I don’t know anything about anything.” 

You breathe sharply. “Ten, I know the city was tough but it’s all you ever wanted.”

“I don’t know what I want,” he whispers. “I don’t know where I belong and- and it just keeps getting harder.”

Your eyes soften. “At least, you were there at Broadway. You took the first step and maybe… maybe you can make a priority list, you know? Work things out.”

“(name), stop. You keep trying to cheer me up in the wrong way.” He dips his face into his palms, rubbing at it and sighing.

You purse your lips. This conversation is going nowhere and you’re holding onto the last shred of your empathy. You just want him back with you.

“You got to go out there, Ten. You went to college, you went to New York. You got to go out there and live your dreams, for whatever it was worth, while I’m stuck in this nothing town. Forever.”

“That’s… that’s not true,” he says, voice breaking. “You were saving up for college. We would live in the same city, in the same apartment with the cats and the hot pink curtains and a coffee maker—oh god, I’ve ruined it.”

It’s painful. You don’t know what to say. If this were a movie, the beautiful, romantic kind, you’d be confessing your long-kept feelings. But you don’t know. You don’t know anything about anything. It’s been a year and he’s changed in a way you don’t know and you can’t throw it onto him like this. This isn’t a movie, and you don’t have a script. Your practised words are forgotten as soon as they reach the tip of your tongue. 

People change, and you’re holding onto someone he’s already buried. He’s not in love with you; teenage love is shaky, wobbly at the foundation. He misses the years, not you. You’ve known him your whole life and yet a year’s difference makes you see things differently. You were lonely without him. You were lonely when you had to keep yourself from calling him, when you finally decided to stop sending daily texts, when you couldn’t find the same comfort in any of your other friends. You hurt him and now, you have to face it.

You pick wilting flowers at an overgrown garden. 

No, even if it isn’t you, you want him. You want him and him only, the years be damned. The past pales in comparison to what is now.

“I’m in love with you,” you blurt. “I was just shocked last night because I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

“You’re not in love with me,” he counters. “You’ve been in love with so many people but none of them were me.”

“You. It’s you—oh my god, it was always you.”

Ten glances at his untouched cup, yet undecided on what to do with his fingers when they stop tapping against the bright red plastic table abruptly.

“So what? So what if it was me? I don’t know what it’s like to play that part.”

You breathe out. There’s a silence between the two of you, one which you remember hanging stars upon. Now it's quiet in a way that has nothing to do with astronomy, or art, or music or anything, really. It’s empty. Like every other silence.

“I loved you,” you whisper in an attempt that is more delirious than for closure. “Do you really not know what that’s like?”

Ten shakes his head. “I… I don’t.”

The memories of him smiling under the sun, only memories keep your tears from brimming up. There was meant to be closure. There was meant to be an explanation. You were supposed to be closing that door you opened into each other. Ten looks at your shaking hands and for a moment, you think he might even reach out and warm them up with his sunlit ones. You press them to your face and breathe into them.

“You brought me all the way here to lie to me?”

Ten furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m not lying—I can’t care about you. You know that, right? I’ll ruin your life. Like I’ve ruined mine.”

You laugh, partly in exasperation and partly as an attempt to alleviate the pain in your chest. 

“You’re my boy. I know you better than anything else I know.”

“Don’t- Don’t do that. Don’t make me want something more.”

"Why would you kiss me?" You bite down your lip to stop yourself from crying.

Ten seems at a loss for words, looking at you with parted lips and guilty eyes. 

"I love you. I'm sorry."

With your eyes downcast, you take a shaky breath. It's now or never. Never, never, never. The word chimes like wedding bells and you think for a moment, to lie. If you pretend, if you act, you'll live it out. He cannot stay and you cannot leave. What a ridiculous pair you are.

You squeeze your eyes shut, get up and lean over the table to place a kiss against Ten's mouth. You pull away with reluctance, looking at the quiet surprise in his eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whisper. "I got… I got caught in the moment."

Ten stares at you soundlessly, mouth moving and yet no words come out. Instead, he runs his fingers through your hair before placing his hand on your cheek and leans in again. There's a red flush over his cheeks and it makes you feel at ease.

"I didn't want to hold you back," you say after parting. "Or at least, that's what I told myself. But this year without you has been so painful."

Ten doesn't say anything.

"I… I didn't know what I felt and- and I was so scared… I didn't mean to hurt you. I hate that I did."

“I was afraid,” he says, breathing out like he was holding it in. “I was so afraid you wouldn’t care if I came back.” 

Time treats everything poorly. This time, you’ll try your best to win against it. Ten breaks into a wide, relieved smile and you laugh, rubbing at the tears that collected. God, you were so afraid you wouldn't ever be able to talk to each other anymore. Every room you’ve been in without Ten has been so empty that you had stopped opening doors at all. The coffee is hot and tastes better than ever.

//

You dream of something as ridiculous as the love you feel for Ten. 

There's a cat in the sky, made of stars and with a booming, deep voice—and you, you are little and insignificant on a forgotten rooftop. It is serene, in quiet contemplation, and you are looking at it like a neglected child at its mother. You ask something without words and it responds without words. 

All of sudden, the image disappears and you find yourself in a garden, picking flowers. The clothes you wear are not yours, the face you wear is not yours. But Ten, you'd recognise him anywhere, any time, in another lifetime.

You could see the clear distinction between the two of you however. You wore robes of royalty, the auspicious gold embroidery glistening, and he, that of a performing artist in quiet sage green. The blue irises that grew around you paid no heed to your colours and you had the thought that you should be like them. Vivid, smiling and never alone.

Ten greets you with a smile first and then stretches out his arms. You run to him, with enough force to knock the two of you onto the soft, grassy ground. No one will find the two of you here, in this flower bed. You remember thinking that royalty puts on just as much a show as theatre actors.

You didn't have to remember all of it to know that the story was a tragedy, carefully crafted by divine writers and painters. It was cruel, as is every writer's hand. You see him last under a beautiful sunset before an execution, the words ‘please’ on his lips and no hint of resentment in his smile. It was unlike him. It was so unlike him. 

You hug yourself. He shouldn’t have forgiven you so easily. It takes you a few moments to come back to your senses; this is not you. That person in your dreams wasn’t you—why did you have to feel all that pain? That person in your dream watched their lover die—no, let their lover die as though discarding a messed up sketch. Cruel. It was so cruel. 

The burning idea sprouts in your mind that it was the original script. That perhaps you were cruel and he was not and it’s been that way since forever. That if you don’t do something about it, you’ll be the villain once more. It's as scary to be young as it is lively—and not for once, did you ever think that villains were children too.

ACT III: HAPPINESS 

 act iii scene i.

If the world were to end tomorrow, Ten would spend tonight dancing with you. He says it so easily that you forget to tease him about it.

“Not like that,” he instructs, eyebrows furrowed. “Do this.”

“I am doing this.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“No, you’re not—holy shit, your arms are made of lead.”

You punch him in the shoulder and he stumbles, losing his balance. He sits down on his bed, leaning back on his arms and laughs. You join him and sit down on the fuzzy rug. He gets off immediately to sit beside you.

“I mean, you’re not that bad,” he says with a shrug.

You mimic his statement, rolling your eyes and he attacks your side with an unannounced bout of tickling. The last time you did this, you were a foot shorter and no high school dating rumours were flying around. The last time you did this, you didn’t end up kissing, limbs entangled with each other. December feels like June.

Ten pulls away from you, hovering over to kiss you once again before kissing turns into giggling which turns into laughter.

“I like this," you say quietly.

"Kissing me?" He asks with a sly grin.

"It's actually a little disappointing. Thought you'd be a ten at kissing."

"Atrocious. Disgusting. Vile. Never say that to me again."

You stick your tongue out at him and he does the same, the afternoon torpor settling in heavy as you cuddle into each other. It’s nostalgic almost but at the same time, so very new. You want to talk to him for hours and hours but when the hours end, it never feels enough. An ending is what you despise. Your thoughts meander.

“I had a nightmare,” you confess suddenly.

There’s a very brief pause. Before Ten even says anything, his arms reach out, pulling you into him. It’s warm and you smile.

“Was it your own face you saw?”

“Fuck you. You ruined the moment.”

“We were having a moment?”

You elbow him in the gut and he lets out a grunt of pain, the two of you moving away from each other just to glare. Ten caves first, sliding closer to you and placing his palm against your cheek.

“Can we resume our moment?” he asks, eyes crinkling when he smiles.

You press your forehead to his, your breathing in perfect coordination. This feels easy. This feels right. You pull away and look at him, the silence encasing your moment with him.

“I saw you in it. I… I lost you in it.” You bite your lower lip, avoiding his gaze.

“Hey. It was just a bad dream. I’m right here.” Ten draws closer, his breath mingling with yours and the warmth seeps into you just enough to forget the cold night. 

“You know what would cheer me up from a nightmare?” You nudge him.

“If you say visiting the graveyard—god, fuck, you’re gonna say visiting the graveyard. My suggestion is that you see a therapist.”

“I would if I had the money,” you retort.

Ten shrugs before furrowing his eyebrows. “Are we actually going to the graveyard? You know there are like graves there.”

“That’s… why it’s called a graveyard.”

“Don’t get smart with me, you failed seventh grade English.”

“You failed sixth grade math, Ten. Sixth grade. They teach you like fractions and shit then.”

“Do I look like I need to add three-fourths and one-eighths ever in my life?”

You shake your head before getting up with a burst of energy, and pick up your jacket from his bed. 

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” You start to chant at Ten until he reluctantly gets up. The sun is quite far from setting down yet and everyone knows the perfect time to visit a grave is twilight. Maybe the stone will give your life enough perspective to ease your anxious thoughts.

//

The town cemetery is located by the bed of dahlias which have withered in the seasonal cycle of life and death. There’s a light breeze and your jacket is just enough to withstand it. The sky is orange and pink and the graveyard doesn’t seem as looming as it does in the dead of night (which you know because you’ve visited at two in the morning on a stupid bet with Johnny and somehow Ten was the one scared shitless). You’ve heard stories of the soldiers who were buried here, the women who led the first revolution and everyone else who never got to grace history books. You’ve never enjoyed history much but you can’t gainsay that it puts everything into perspective.

Nothing else matters at the wedding altar and at the grave. 

Ten makes a face at the iron gates of the cemetery. “Okay. We’ve had our adventure. Can we please go get our evening snacks?”

“I love it when you’re antsy, Ten.”

He gives you a sardonic smile. “And I like it better when we’re in my bedroom.”

You gasp dramatically, placing your hand in front of your mouth lightly. “That’s quite scandalous of you, good sir.”

He smiles, eyes crinkling. “I consider myself something of a modern man, you see?”

You skip over the steps to the gates and do a curtsy before gesturing to the entrance. He complies with a sigh of reluctance and lets you take his hand as you pull him in. 

A loud voice startles the two of you and Ten smacks his mouth before he can scream and embarrass himself.

“What business do you have here, trespassers?” The voice echoes through the graveyard.

You look around at the trees and squint at what seems to be some children wearing masks and giggling to themselves. You roll your eyes. Johnny told you some of the town kids were mucking about near the graveyard to spook passersby. 

“You really should get back home for dinner, kids,” you say, crossing your arms.

“Silence, trespasser! You will answer our questions to pass.”

Ten bites back a laugh. “Alright, kids. Shoot.”

“Are the two of you criminals married?”

Ten wrinkles his nose. “Do we look that old?”

“Okay! Next question. Did the two of you ever… do it?”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head. 

Ten groans. “You can say sex, you know? Don’t be pussies.”

You elbow him in the side and he yelps. 

“Those are kids,” you whisper.

“I think they’re old enough if they’re asking,” he whispers back.

“No,” you answer the same time he answers “Yes”.

“What?” You look at him in surprise. 

He shrugs, somewhat guilty. “New York,” he responds in a meek voice. “You know?”

You snicker before it turns to laughter. “Why do you look like that? It’s not a crime to have sex—how the fuck did you even get some though?”

“It’s called having sex appeal. Ever heard of it?”

You roll your eyes, opening your mouth to say something when one of the kids clears his throat.

“Okay! You may pass.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “You really just the wanted to ask us about sex, didn’t you?”

“Let’s go, boys!” The kid declares before stopping abruptly. “And girl.”

A group of kids emerges from behind the trees and flock to a hole in the stone wall, laughing amongst themselves as they run out.

“Wow. Kids these days, huh?” Ten says.

“When we were their age, we convinced Yukhei to poke a beehive.”

“Okay, we were asshole kids but no one ever really told us bees were deadly.”

You walk further into the graveyard, beelining towards the same graves you visit often. They’re unnamed but they died sometime in the nineteenth century. Time passes in a way that is hard to comprehend—all these people and stories are never remembered and time is the only witness. Perspective is a luxury to those who have the time to look.

“Why do you like coming here?” Ten asks quietly, eyeing the gravestones with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“For perspective,” you answer truthfully.

He hums, a somewhat understanding note in his voice.

“They only lived for twenty-four years,” you note.

“The world ends too soon sometimes.”

“Kind of sucks.”

“Really sucks.”

The wind is cold when it passes the two of you by. Ten shivers and zips his jacket before checking up on you, fixing your jacket to cover you better.

“When I leave this place, I hope I have a nice farewell,” you whisper.

Ten raises his eyebrow. “Don’t you want it to be an awful, everyone’s-crying sort of affair?”

“No,” you respond, giving him a confused look.

“I want at least one person to be crying,” he replies, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“That’s kind of—wait a minute.” You glare at him. “You don’t have to use that against me. I wasn’t crying crying.”

“I’m not! I mean it. Like, I want to mean something to someone.”

You draw near enough to link your arms, sighing at the warmth emanating.

“And you’re lying. I know you sobbed right into the pillow like a dramatic ass Disney princess.”

“You’re the one with a flair for drama.” You chuckle.

Ten makes a reluctant sound of agreement, crossing his arms. As he looks at the graves, there’s an expression on his face you can’t quite fathom. It could be mourning—but the graves are nameless, or it could be pity—but he believes that pity is not a positive emotion to feel. You want to ask but something keeps you from it. Something tells you that the answer won’t be pleasant for either of you.

“I hope I cry too,” he whispers. “When I leave and the curtain falls and the world ends.”

You look at him, pondering.

“When I leave,” he begins again, “I want it to hurt. When everything changes, I want it to hurt bad. Then I know it meant something.”

You slip your hand into his and squeeze. “If it means anything, you know I’ll cry if you leave.”

Ten laughs. “Yeah. So when you cried, was it the ugly snot cry or the silently sobbing kind of cry?”

“Fuck off.”

He opens his mouth to retort but gets a full kiss on the mouth instead, good enough to make him forget it. It’s a nice thing to get used to. If time permits, you could do everything together forever.

You return at twilight, grabbing some snacks and arguing whose Netflix account to use and the sun sets before you come to an agreement but it’s not winter anymore inside his room. In fact, it doesn’t feel like winter at all till you look outside and see the naked trees and darker skies, and you remember when you decided last year that you don’t like winter. 

Before you can have a change of heart, you turn to him with sparkling eyes.

He smiles before you even say anything, reading your face as easily as the back of his hand. “You have good news? Or, like, a gift?” Chuckling in breaks, he runs his fingers through your hair.

“I just wanted to talk about our future.”

“Hm?” He seems a little surprised.

“I’m sure we’ll work something out for the both of us. I have faith in you. And in us.”

Ten’s smile falters but he doesn’t let it fall. “I’m glad you do.”

His ringtone startles the two of you just as you lean in, Ten muttering curses at the device. Pausing for a bit when he takes out his phone, he signals you that he needs a minute and leaves you alone in his room. 

Nothing much has changed. There's his cluttered ash wood desk with sketchbooks of varying sizes and colours, shelves with small plushies and, you notice carefully, the butterfly pin you stole. Beside it is the panda soft toy you had found at the side of the road walking back from school and felt so bad, you had "adopted" it. You let out a chuckle.

“Ten?” you call, holding the little panda soft toy.

Ten paces outside his room, speaking in a hush. His features are tense, shoulders stiff and eyes focused when he talks to the caller. Noticing you, his eyes soften for a bit and he makes his way towards you.

“I’ll- I’ll talk to you later,” he speaks sharply into the phone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, walking up to him.

“Sicheng,” he replies briskly.

“Oh.” You remember the doll in your hand and pick it up to show him. “Remember how we got this?”

He smiles but something is amiss in his eyes. “Of course I remember.”

Whatever it is, it must not be important. After all, he’s your best friend and best friends tell each other everything. Morning will come and everything will be alright.

//

The night is cold and the moon is missing. The clothes you wear are not your own once again. This dream begins when the sun has just set and you can taste bitter defeat, but of what battle you don’t know yet. 

All you know is that there is a war and you are caught in the crossfire. It hurts; you can’t feel your limbs anymore and another injury won’t matter anymore. Maybe this is the only life you won in.

No one dies in a way that matters. No one dies for anything at all. It just happens and that is a truth lying within the reach of the universe. Yet then again, when you find your last breath escaping you as you hold hands with the love of your life, you think there must be some meaning to it. You’re only twenty-four and you will be buried in a nameless grave for a war that was the fault of neither of you. 

It dawns on you the moment you wake up, brushing away the tears on your cheeks. The universe is forgetting you, and the universe is being forgotten, until there is nothing left to be remembered.

All you can think then is that you will miss Ten in the next life, and in the next and the next. 

act iii scene ii.

Ten has to tell you. He knows. He knows how the story ends. 

But he’s afraid. He didn’t know how long he’d been walking facing forward till he’d turned around just to find you gone. New York was fun and he made new friends but it’s difficult to be anywhere without you. You’ve been attached at the hip for so long, it’s become strange to be apart.

Ten thinks about the call. The director was very particular about his role and chances come by as rare as diamonds. Ten breathes out heavy in annoyance, covering his eyes with his forearm. He loves sunny winter mornings and this is the worst one he’s ever experienced. He can hear his mom cooking downstairs, the sound soothing and he groans, running his fingers through his hair. 

He should tell you. He knows he should tell you. But fear never walks in on stage with full gusto, it creeps in, slithers in till he feels a shadow behind him on stage and suddenly, he can’t see the lights anymore. Ten is afraid. He is afraid of losing his sense of self to the millions of people he’s played, and to your vibrant world of flowers and colours. You are always front stage centre. You are at the bottom of everything and he can’t let himself fall deep enough. He’s not enough.

Ten turns to face the collection of DVDs on his shelf, untouched since he'd left. What did he start performing for again? Was it the time you and him pretended to be pirates in his room, his bed your gallant ship, or the time he watched his first movie on a sweltering hot summer day, or the time he sang to you the first time (it was a birthday song remix, made by Ten himself). Surely, it was for something beautiful and not for something like greed. At that time, he thought that maybe if he stole enough lives and stuffed it into the gaping hole, it would sate his envy of the people around him. The bright vibrant colours, he made his own and yet still, he feels like a thief with his nimble feet and a stash of paint bottles in his arms. He's not satisfied at all.

It was a sunlit morning and Ten thought to himself, wouldn’t it be nice if he could paint with all the colours of the rainbow? You, who are so full of vibrance, couldn’t understand this epiphany of his.

"You keep getting on my nerves," he mutters in this empty room of his. "Everything you do gets on my nerves."

Ten decides that he’ll tell you this evening. After all, best friends tell each other everything. The theatre means the world to him but the whole world is out there, ready to be his stage. Eventually, this loneliness will turn into a performance and he’ll be grasping at identities trying to find familiarity. He will take his masks off over and over again, and he knows he’ll still be wearing one. He wants to greet you with his real face.

The world spins at the rate of a thousand miles an hour. It never stops, and that must mean everyone on it can’t stop either. 

//

The crows are singing a song, or talking amongst themselves. You can never know. The song is dyed red as the evening, and with a splash of purple. It’s the season to miss flowers and warm hands and the sweet taste of ice cream. You don't know why but the "let's go to the gardens" text from Ten gave you the most awful feeling, much like the morning after your nightmares.

“I have to go back to New York.”

You look up at Ten from the park bench beside the dahlia fields. The flowers are asleep, not in bloom until next autumn. 

“What?”

“I got a call… from someone I know.”

Your first reaction is to smile wide and jump up. “That’s great! You’re not jobless anymore.” You laugh.

But then the corner of your lips twitch and your smile drops. The word ‘goodbye’ hangs at the tip of your tongue and you look at him, slightly perplexed. Ten, who looks at you with so much kindness, will never understand this envy of yours.

“When… when do you come back?”

“I don’t- I don’t know. It depends on how well I do.”

You laugh despite the heavy feeling settling in your chest. “That- Let’s hope your acting is shitty then, hm?”

Ten frowns. “This isn't a joke. For once in your life, can you look at me with sincerity?”

You grit your teeth at his words. 

“I’m trying to lighten the mood, god dammit,” you murmur bitterly.

“And I’m saying you don’t have to.”

There’s something looming over the top of your heads, something eerie like a clock that never stops ticking or a clock that never ticks.

“Can I kiss you?” you ask, surrender in your voice already. 

If you kiss him where you hurt him, will everything be alright? Can you grow the flowers he likes over his scars? Flowers… flowers—which were his favourite again? Irises or daisies? It must have been the prior; you’ve glanced over a hundred times at the endless fields of sleeping blue irises in his sketchbook. And yet, you doubt. Were those flowers chrysanthemums? You’re grasping onto memories and your knuckles are starting to hurt.

Ten looks at you with a gaze that is of the past. He looks at you like he’s mourning, like he’s keeping something grave from you. So you lean in, your lips brushing against his before you can kiss him fully. You want to feel him and for him to feel you, the idea of a relationship foreign and close to you as ever. Even so, you feel like a ghost as you run your fingertips over his skin and through his hair. He knows how to kiss you, how to hold you—and he’s known you for years.

Ten pulls apart for a few moments, breaths weaving into each other. It’s only five centimeters between your lips but it’s still five centimetres. You don’t know if you were meant to be apart or if you were not. The show must go on.

You brush the hair from his face, a lingering smile on your face from the kiss and the way his features align so perfectly. It’s easier to avoid his gaze that way. 

“I’m tired,” he whispers. “I’m so tired. I feel like my skin is losing its grip on my bones. Everything’s falling apart.”

You hum, choking up at the sound of his voice. Soft and yet, so heavy.

He takes a sharp, shaky breath. “I don’t want to go.” 

Forever is the sweetest lie you’ve told each other. 

“You’re going to go,” you pronounce the words into realization. “You’re going to go away again. And I’m going to be right here.”

Your broken heart is making it much more difficult than it should be.

“Don’t go,” you whisper hoarsely. Maybe if this time you didn’t lie. Maybe you’ll be his number one, his lead finally. 

His breathing gets erratic, and he takes a step back to cover his face with his flushed hands. It’s painful to watch him this way and you want to take your words back. But you knew. You knew what the words would result in, what the words would grow into. You feel cruel.

“I… I can’t give up,” he says finally, “I can’t- I can’t. I’m sorry, oh god. Why can’t you come with me? Why do I have to go back alone?”

You swallow, your eyes downcast. 

“I’m not going to wait,” you say finally. “We should… we should stop now. It’s been long enough for us to go our own ways.”

Ten doesn’t move, at a loss for words.

“You… I'm sorry,” he says, choking on his own words. 

Your lips tremble and you wipe at your eyes. He cups your face, thumbs swiping away the tears before you can muster enough strength to push him away. You’re a complete mess, in a way you haven’t been before. Even now, he’s the only one you can face.

“We’re not,” you say, regaining some control over your tongue, “We’re not supposed to be like this. Do you think we would even be friends if we didn’t grow up here together?”

“What- What does that matter?” He furrows his eyebrows, drawing nearer.

“I’m saying that everything could just be a coincidence and maybe… maybe things should just end sometimes.”

You just want to kiss him, in the way a romantic story ends in a sweet kiss and it’s a happy ending.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers. “But if you want distance, I’m giving you thousands of miles of it.”

You clench your jaw. “Don’t blame me for pushing you away.”

Ten throws up his arms in exasperation. “I’m not blaming—why are you so defensive all of a sudden?”

“You made me that way,” you answer, pitch low. Your throat hurts. 

Ten looks at you with disappointment in his eyes, baby pink lips in a frown you hate. "I'm sorry. I have to leave."

You nod and let the words 'see you tomorrow' slip the same time 'goodbye' slips his. He turns his back and walks forwards as he always has, and you look in from the same place as you always have. 

Eventually, you get the energy to go home. You greet your colourful room with the same look you always have before something catches your eye. The colour of your room mostly comes from the polaroids stuck to your wall—you and Ten at your high school graduation dancing to Nicki Minaj, Yukhei and you looking done holding the caricatures Ten painted of you, Sicheng and Ten and you after your first theatre performance together. There are so many smiles that you end laughing, a little crazy with the sound. Perhaps spring isn't as far as you think it is. Perhaps you will be okay.

Everything has an end. You know that. It hurts so fucking bad.

Ten was right. Because it hurts this bad, you know it meant something now. It meant the whole world to you. Winter tumbles upon you at full force even as you hold autumn dearly in your arms.

//

This time, you close your eyes to find yourself in a field of dahlias. The dream is meandering with colours and sounds so quiet that you feel like you’re stuck in time. Then a loud vibration resounds throughout the field; it is not a field at all. 

You are sitting atop a bed of stars, in the belly of something much larger than you are. There is a place in the universe for everyone but you cannot find yourself in it. 

So you sit at the places you’ve always known, at gardens and children’s parks, waiting till your hair turns grey and your skin starts to wrinkle. Time flows around you, faster with each second but you sit so still that you're not breathing anymore. You're so jealous of those who move, dance and play. Does it have to be this painful? You don't want to be all these people in your dreams. You want to paint your own mask.

The world is so busy and you are completely still. You think of sunshine in New York and how he must be loving it and for a moment, your plastered lips quirk upward. 

When you wake up, Ten is on a flight to New York with a text that reads: "I'll come back. I promise." The sunset after a farewell—even you understand the beauty of it and so, you watch him chase his dreams into the sunset.

act iii scene iii.

You know an ending scene when you see one. It’s the only scene you didn’t end up sleeping through. But this doesn’t feel like one, no matter how deep the despair runs through you. This third act love was never supposed to work out and yet, something is amiss.

Ten doesn’t come back even when the billboards proudly show his face and he’s the star of the show. In your opinion, he always has been. But people get comfortable in the present, sink their feet into it, and when they do, they forget the past. 

The world spins at a thousand miles per hour but nothing seems to move for you. Everything stops and life goes on.

epilogue.

Your youth starts to run out.

Sorrow grows into anger, then into resentment. You’re not sure what you hate so desperately but you hate it nonetheless. You’re pissed and you don’t know what to do with yourself except wake up shaking and wanting to shout and cry at the world. You were supposed to have Ten by your side even then. Even when you’re against the world, he was supposed to be there. Now you’re all alone in a world that’s crashing and burning, in a world of your own making and in a world that is no longer in the palm of your hand.

You wish you were an angrier person, you wish you could curse and scream and fight as easily as they do in movies. At least he didn't make a villain out of you when he left first. 

You don’t really have nightmares anymore though. When you have nothing to lose, you start to fear less. You tend to a little garden of your own making after Mr. Yang passes away. There’s a quiet funeral and a will written with your name on it. You did spend most of your time there after Ten left. It’s your flower shop now and you can tend to whichever flowers you want to keep alive.

Sometime in your late twenties, you get a call from an old friend. You meet Doyoung at a coffee shop near the college he went to, and he tells you he got your number from Yukhei that night you met. He says he’s glad your number hasn’t changed in all these years—he found it going through his contacts. You find it cute the way he becomes flustered when trying to explain himself. He’s a lawyer now, finished all those tough years to complete his dreams.

It makes you smile. You think that dreams shouldn’t be kept in a bottle but your shelves are full.

You go on dates at the cutest new cafes and the most ambient restaurants, sometimes to amusement parks so you can laugh at his fear of scary rides. It feels like having a friend once again and you cheer up for the better. 

But Doyoung doesn’t understand history the way you do. He doesn’t understand a lot of things—but it’s not something you expect anyway. He’s rich and he doesn’t know what small towns are like. You think you can be in love again. He proposes to you on a yacht and you nod, paralyzed from your fear of the ocean. Your parents are so happy for you that for a brief time, you feel happy too in the shadow of their joy.

You don’t visit your hometown anymore after the wedding. You don’t visit theatres at all.

Sometimes you remember the night at the rooftop after the party with Ten and smile. But it was one night, one thing you did in a lifetime of nights and things you did. It dawns on you just then that loneliness makes you fragile, fragile enough to push people away instead.

Every time you close your eyes, you’re still dancing with him on the rooftop below the stars that are yet to fade from your memory. You now pick wilting flowers at a wilted garden.

“A play?” you ask, confounded. Doyoung has never been one for theatre.

"Your mom said you liked theatre," Doyoung answers, eyes inquisitive.

"Did she now?"

He smiles. "If you've grown out of it—"

"No. No, I've always wanted to watch a show on Broadway."

"That's settled then."

You start to understand the meaning of this place to Ten. You haven't called him in years and you didn't keep in touch after the first year. Life was as busy for him as it was still for you and you understand some of it now. After all, who would ever want to leave this place?

Being a part of the audience runs a chill up your back, with certain memories drawing to the surface of your thoughts as you sink into the seat. It's a popular musical but you can't say you've ever heard of it. Time runs differently in your little bubble. 

It hurts just about as much as you expect it to. Watching Ten on stage hurts so bad you almost look away. The nostalgia scratches at your throat, filling your head with memories you shouldn't be entertaining anymore. You should've kept in touch. You should've done something. You were friends before everything else.

All you want from him now is forgiveness. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with loving him quietly. You’re fine with—

You start to cry before you can do anything about it. Doyoung doesn’t notice beside you, dozed off already to the soft orchestral music.

You must seem delirious, mourning as though you’ve buried a loved one. With a shaky breath, you force yourself to look. It is the tombstone of your childhood love that stands on stage. You were rash. You were so, so young and rash. Your lips tremble again and you cry, chest rising and falling as you remember something so forgotten that it seems a dream, something so warm that’s now six feet under in the cold ground. You mourn.

But he seems happy—and that's all you ever really cared about. That's all you should have cared about.

The play ends on a wonderful musical note and you find yourself in better composure. Shaking Doyoung awake by the shoulder, you look at him expectantly. He seems partly embarrassed to have dozed off and partly apologetic.

"You want to meet Ten?" Doyoung asks quietly.

You blink in surprise.

"You grew up in the same town, right?"

"Yeah… Yeah, we did."

Doyoung smiles. "We went to college at the same place."

"Oh, I know. Most everyone from my town goes to college there actually."

Doyoung hums. 

"He invited me, actually," he says after a while.

"Oh."

It hurts only a little that he didn't invite you first. Did all those years mean nothing beyond a little romance? If you were years younger, you could be chiding him for it. If he were years younger, he would greet you with a Cheshire cat smile.

Backstage smells of sweat. A little perfume and powder but mostly sweat. You know that already. It's just that even the backstage here is grand. 

Ten looks as pretty as ever, even with half the makeup off his face. He looks as pretty as billboard posters, where he was meant to be, and in smiling Instagram posts and articles about how perfect his smile is. He's pretty but in a different sort of way.

Ten doesn't seem surprised. In fact, he greets the two of you with a poster smile. 

"Doyoung," he says first. "(Name). I hope, no wait. You guys better have liked that."

Doyoung laughs. "You'll bully me into liking it even if I didn't."

Ten rolls his eyes. "Law makes you so boring. Or maybe you were always boring."

Doyoung sighs, shaking his head. "Not everyone wants to be the life of the party. There's quite a bunch of wild stories about you on the internet."

Ten snorts. "I don't know why but you saying 'the internet' makes you sound thirty years older."

"There's no arguing with you, is there?"

"Learnt from the best."

You clear your throat. "If the two of you are done with your homoerotic banter…"

Doyoung chokes the same time Ten makes a gagging sound. What the two of them have in common is that they easily become flustered around you.

"I'm going to go wash my face." Doyoung excuses himself, exiting the backstage. 

In any other time or place, it would be fine being just the two of you.

"Ten," you acknowledge. "You look good."

"I always do."

You roll your eyes. "You don't have to mask everything with humour."

"Like you did?"

You fall silent.

“Does it hurt?” you ask.

“It does,” he whispers before raising his voice something more audible. “When I look at your—our old pictures, it does.”

"You've kept them?"

"Of course."

You look at your feet. The reality settles. You’re not going back to the way things were. You’re married to another man. Ten’s not in love with you anymore. If you had taken the step forward back then, if you had kissed him before he took that step back—would things have turned out differently? 

The stars will now gaze at lonely rooftops and empty flower gardens—an audience you never wished to entertain. But now, you're glad to have been part of his play, part of the play you made together.

“Are you happy these days?” he asks. There is no malice, no resentment in his voice.

“Almost,” you answer. “There’s just one thing missing.”

To ask for forgiveness does not mean erasure. You can't move on by letting it go and pretending it was never in the palm of your hand.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t me,” you say quietly, rubbing your forearm.

Ten smiles. “We were a little confused, I think. We wanted to be loved, appreciated and found the easiest way.”

You smile back. “Yeah. It was always easiest with you.”

Ten pauses, looking around with a familiar feline look in his eyes before whispering, “So, Doyoung? Really?”

You straighten, crossing your arms. “He’s really nice. And he’s always asking me how I am, what I ate, and he buys me all the soft toys I want. And he’s a better kisser, by the way.”

Ten places a hand over his heart in mock indignation. “Now, we both know that’s not true.”

You roll your eyes before a short giggle turns into chuckling into laughter, and the two of you find yourself with smiling eyes, the look of childhood on your faces and memories unkempt. 

It is better to grieve than to never have loved anyone enough to. 

It doesn’t hurt anymore but maybe it stopped hurting a long time ago. But it meant something to you, meant so much to you and that's all that makes sense now.

notes.

the words to the play at the beginning of act i scene i is taken from tang xianzu’s preface to his own play, the peony pavilion, however they are not exact quotations. the graveyard scene and the “when everything is gone, i want it to hurt” dialogue are inspired by indie game night in the woods by infinite fall studio and i love that game pls check it out if you have the time and money!!

#wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #nct x reader #nct scenarios #cznnet #neowritingsnet #nct ten x reader #wayv ten x reader #nct ten scenarios #wayv ten scenarios #nct fanfic #wayv fanfic #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct ten imagines #wayv ten imagines #wayv fluff #wayv angst #nct fluff #nct angst #moonwrites #ok 20k+ never again gn <3 #it's so painful to write small towns bc even if im from one (almost) my brain is permanently in a busy bustling city

[hellandholywater]

A Midnight Clear

It's Christmas Eve, 1896, and all Aziraphale wants is to read his book in peace. His plans are thwarted when he receives a special assignment, but a long-missed demonic visitor appears and sidesteps the Arrangement to grant Aziraphale's wish. In the end, the angel finds that all he wants is his demon back at his side, but where is Crowley?

Aziraphale/Crowley Rated: Teen & up 4k words

Read on ao3

Many thanks to my beta readers, @chiaroscuroverse​ and @wordsintimeandspace​, for making this story so much better than it would have been. I’ve made a number of changes since they’ve seen it, and any errors of style or substance are my own.

Part of the @go-july-celebration​

London, Soho, 1896

A knock came at the door of A.Z. Fell & Co. for the thirteenth time that evening. It was Christmas Eve — a night for peace and goodwill towards men — but after his reading had been interrupted by twelve groups of carolers, each increasingly intoxicated and off-key, even an angel might lose his temper, and this one had. The sign on the door clearly indicated that the bookshop was closed for the night.

Aziraphale leapt to his feet and stormed to the door, unlocked it and yanked it open, seething, intending to give this latest batch of warbling merry-makers a large and vivid piece of his mind. 

"Now, see here!" he began, but his next words came to a sudden, guttural stop. 

"Gabriel!" he choked as his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "And Sandalphon … what a lovely surprise!" Aziraphale stepped back abruptly and flung an arm out to invite them inside. He tried to wring the venom from his planned anti-caroling tirade and inject a bit of enthusiasm in his greeting to the Archangel and his underling, rather than the unmitigated panic he was feeling. He hadn't seen either of them for decades, and his mind raced trying to puzzle out why they were here in his bookshop now. 

Gabriel smirked at him as he unwrapped the scarf from around his neck and handed it to Sandalphon, whose metallic teeth glinted as he smiled insincerely at the Principality. 

"Calm down, Aziraphale!" boomed Gabriel, as if speaking to an audience in a large hall rather than the bookshop. "It's Christmas Eve! You should be celebrating the occasion, not shouting at people. What kind of angel are you?" he said, throwing up his arms in scornful emphasis. 

At this, Sandalphon let out a chortle that spoke more of schadenfreude than good cheer. Gabriel smiled at him indulgently, making Aziraphale feel slightly ill. 

"I do apologize," Aziraphale said, trying to resist the sarcastic tone he felt like interjecting. "It won't happen again. But, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" 

At this, Gabriel sobered, and he clasped his shoulder firmly. "Aziraphale, I have a special assignment for you."

"Oh?" The angel raised his brow and pasted on a smile, doing his best to look intrigued rather than indisposed. 

Gabriel continued as if he hadn't noticed Aziraphale at all, which he probably hadn't. (Sandalphon had noticed, however, and shot his fellow angel a rather nasty grimace.) "You're aware, of course, that Frederick Temple was recently nominated Archbishop of Canterbury?" 

"Ye-es, I thought I'd heard something to that effect."

"Well? Temple's participation in Essays and Reviews was nothing short of heresy! And here he is being rewarded for it with the highest religious office in England!" 

"Yes, yes. Terrible," said Aziraphale, furrowing his brow. He’d thought the essays rather funny, but he didn’t want to appear to disagree with the Archangel.

"Aziraphale…." Gabriel intoned deliberately and with more than a hint of condescension. "Did you even read the essays? Denying that true prophecies exist — refusing the very possibility of miracles — even questioning the eternal nature of damnation!" he scoffed, shaking his head. 

Sandalphon glared at Aziraphale as if he were personally responsible for writing and publishing the heretical texts, and nodded slowly. 

Aziraphale winced. "Yes, of course I've read them," he said, hoping fervently his irritation with Gabriel didn't show. "I can't say I find much to agree with in them."

"Duh!" said Gabriel. "And Temple's little writer friends hold too much sway with him. He's starting to have doubts of his own. That's why I want you to prepare a visitation for him, before he's officially installed as Archbishop. Remind the old boy of the divine power of Heaven."

"You mean…."

"Yes. The halo, the wings, the heavenly vestments — the whole nine yards."

"But…on Christmas Eve?" Aziraphale asked, thinking longingly of his abandoned reading. 

"What better time?" said Gabriel. 

"I suppose you're right," Aziraphale said as agreeably as he could manage, under the circumstances. 

"Of course I am! Now, hop to it, Aziraphale," Gabriel smiled, exchanging a toothy grin with Sandalphon. "I look forward to reading your report."

"Er, yes, quite," Aziraphale said as he showed the two angels to the door, and bolted it shut behind them as soon as he dared. 

His shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to a ruined evening. He went to his section on religion in England to locate the book with Temple's essay, in order to refresh his memory before he confronted the man.

* * *

A few minutes later, there came another knock. Beyond frustrated with the way his evening was going, and frazzled by the Archangel's visit, Aziraphale stomped to the door, unbarred it, and flung it open. 

"I'm not interested!" he started to shout at the fourteenth interruption of the night. The words died in his throat as he recognized the interloper. 

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said with a swirling mix of shock, relief, and something he couldn't quite identify. Something that hollowed out his chest and filled his stomach with butterflies. 

"Aziraphale," said Crowley quietly. "I know it's been a while," he started, but stopped abruptly as he found himself being hauled bodily into the bookshop.

Aziraphale poked his head out of the door and quickly looked from side to side. Satisfied, he withdrew and closed the door, the bell at the top ringing with finality as he locked and bolted the door. He turned around. 

"It's been 34 years, you great pillock! Not one word in all that time," Aziraphale accused. 

"I've been asleep. I'm sorry," Crowley apologized, sounding genuinely contrite.

“Asleep! For 34 years?”

Crowley took a deep breath. “Yeah. Well, after our last meeting, I was feeling sort of … melancholy. And I sleep a lot when I get like that.”

“Oh, Crowley….”

“It’s not a big deal. I just…I woke up today and thought I’d stop by, all right?”

Aziraphale just stared at him for a moment, drinking in the sight of him. Crowley was attired in a Homburg and black top coat over a black suit with dark red lapels. He was nearly clean shaven, with just neatly trimmed sideburns remaining. He was as dashing and handsome as ever. 

Crowley doffed his hat and set it on the counter. Aziraphale began to pace the floorboards. 

"What is it? What's the matter, Angel?" Crowley said in concern. "I really am sorry," he said emphatically. 

"Oh no, it's not you, dear boy. I just had a visit from Gabriel."

"Gabriel! What did he want?" 

"He wants me to appear to the new Archbishop — Temple — in full regalia, wings, halo and all. Tonight!"

"Ha!" Crowley started to laugh, then thought better of it. "An Angel of the Lord visiting, well … anyone these days, is hard to come by. What brought this on, then?" 

"There was a book he contributed an essay to, years ago, that had some rather … heretical content."

"Ahhh … the Essays and Reviews."

"You know it?" Aziraphale said in surprise. He narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you don't read?" 

"I don't! I … skim," Crowley admitted. "Besides, that book is well known down in Hell. Top ten humor book since it was published. But Temple's piece isn't so bad. Why did Gabriel order a visitation for it?" 

"Gabriel is concerned that Temple's friends may hold undue influence over him. Seeding heresy."

Crowley shook his head. "Guilt by association. And the church on the verge of a schism. It's no wonder the humans are leaving it these days." 

"I'm sure that's just a temporary anomaly," said Aziraphale, sounding not very sure at all. 

"Right. Well, I suppose I'd better go and leave you to it," said Crowley. But he didn't move, and Aziraphale was heartened. 

"I was so looking forward to reading Dickens tonight…." He glanced coyly at Crowley for a moment, then quickly looked away. 

Crowley smirked at Aziraphale, then sighed quietly. "I suppose I could do the angel visitation bit for you," he proposed. 

"Oh, would you?" 

"'Course I would.”

"Thank you, Crowley!" Aziraphale smiled, reaching out to grasp the demon's shoulder in gratitude. He lingered for a few seconds, holding Crowley's gaze, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and withdrew. 

Crowley gave a barely visible shiver when the angel removed his hand, and Aziraphale wondered if he'd caught a draft. He was so sensitive to the cold. 

"Oh, I nearly forgot," he said, pulling a suspiciously book-shaped, festively wrapped package from inside his coat. He held it out towards Aziraphale. 

"Little Christmas present for you, Angel."

Aziraphale reached out and took it, grinning in delight. 

"Crowley! But I don't have anything for you," he said regretfully. 

"'S' alright, Aziraphale. It was my pleasure." Crowley gave it to him with a wistful smile. 

"May I open it?" 

"Please."

Aziraphale tugged on the end of the ribbon and set it loose, then carefully unwrapped the paper. It was indeed a book, housed in a red Morocco-backed slipcase, its spine lettered in gilt, with red cloth sides and chemise. Aziraphale tilted the slipcase and removed the white book, the stamped red and black design of the cover proclaiming it one of Oscar Wilde's most beloved works. 

"The Happy Prince and Other Tales?" 

Crowley nodded. "First edition, of course."

"Well! This is a lovely gift. The Selfish Giant has always been one of my favorite stories of his. Poor Oscar…. I do already have a first edition, but of course, another copy is always welcome!"

"This one's inscribed," said Crowley with an inscrutable smile. 

Aziraphale opened the book to the title page and read:

Aziraphale, my dear friend. May this book bring you as much joy as you have brought me. You're an absolute angel. ~Oscar Wilde, 1896

Aziraphale looked up and stared at Crowley open-mouthed, turned back the book in wonder, then set it down next to Crowley's Homburg. "You didn't!" Aziraphale said in disbelief. "He's in Reading Gaol, isn't he? How did you …?" 

Crowley smiled genuinely for the first time that night. "Richard B. Haldane, liberal MP and reformer, has been visiting Oscar from time to time, appealing for improved conditions for him. I simply impersonated Haldane and they let me in to see him."

"But… he can't have been in a mood to sign autographs — how did you get him to sign this for me?" Aziraphale said in amazement. 

"Oh, I took him some books and writing materials he hasn't been allowed. Convinced the warden it would be in his best interests to let him have them."

Aziraphale shook his head, then looked at Crowley as if he'd never seen him before. "You went to all that trouble for me?" 

Crowley just smiled crookedly. "It was no trouble," he said, and then, softly, "I'd do anything for …," he choked back the final word, biting his lip, but it didn't matter. He might have been confessing his every sin, the way the unspoken end of that sentence rang in the silence. 

Aziraphale was stunned. He needed to say something, to tell Crowley that he felt the same way, but he hadn't expected this revelation, and he just wasn't good at change. What did Crowley expect? What was he hoping for from Aziraphale? 

Crowley cleared his throat, stepped forward to reach for his hat, and suddenly he was in Aziraphale's arms. He froze for a moment, then he hugged the angel back quite desperately. They had rarely touched over the centuries, and never before had there been… whatever this was, with Aziraphale's hands fisted in the back of his coat and their heartbeats separated only by a few layers of cloth and thin corporations. They stayed like that for a long time, the seconds ticking by into minutes, and gradually relaxed into each other. 

"Thank you, my dear," Aziraphale said breathily into Crowley's neck. 

Crowley let a stifled moan escape him. 

Aziraphale responded with a sharp intake of breath. But he didn't let go. 

Slowly, Crowley straightened and withdrew. 

"I should go — get started on that visitation before it gets too late," he said reluctantly. 

Aziraphale was sure he was looking at Crowley with darkened eyes, and he was dangerously close to telling him to stay, to forget about the incoming Archbishop. 

Instead, the moment passed, and Crowley put his hat on and turned to go. His hand was on the doorknob when he was stopped in his tracks by Aziraphale's hand covering his.

"Wait," said Aziraphale softly. 

Crowley waited, holding his breath. 

"When you're done with Temple, will you come back here?"

Crowley nodded. "Yeah, 'course I will… if you want," he murmured. 

Aziraphale's hand squeezed his gently and then let go. 

"It's been far too long, dear boy. I… I'll see you when you return," Aziraphale said as firmly as he could manage.

"I'll be back before you know it," Crowley said. And he disappeared into the night and the fog. 

* * *

Aziraphale returned to his desk and tried to resume his reading of A Christmas Carol, but he was distracted, thinking about Crowley. He thought about his utterly perfect gift, and the visitation tonight that was so far outside of the Arrangement, Aziraphale couldn't see it as anything but another gift. 

He knew, on some level, how Crowley felt about him, but it had been more of a vague sense of love that radiated off of him. He'd never heard him use words the way he'd done tonight. "It was no trouble. I'd do anything for…," and, "'course I will… if you want," swirled in his mind, and warmed him from the inside out. 

He flushed as he thought about how beautiful Crowley was, his crooked almost-smile, his kindness, and how right it felt to hold him. And he thought about the way his stomach swooped just from touching his hand.

By 10 o' clock he'd abandoned Dickens in favor of Wilde, and at a quarter past 10, he began pacing the floorboards in front of the door, stopping every so often to peer out the window and watch for Crowley's return. 

He needed something to do to stop him from flying out the door in search of his demon. 

He got out two bottles of claret, and set them on his desk, then summoned a stockpot with a snap of his fingers. Another snap brought a bowl of oranges, a cup of sugar, a small cutting board and grater, and an assortment of mulling spices to the counter. 

Aziraphale studded the oranges with whole cloves and set four of them in a shallow pan. He opened the door of the cast iron stove, stoked the fire with a few pieces of split wood, and balanced the pan of oranges on top. After grating a quarter of the nutmeg, and peeling the ginger and slicing it thinly, he set the spices aside. He peeked inside the oven, sighed and snapped his fingers again, removed the pan of fully roasted oranges and set them on top of the stove. 

Aziraphale uncorked both bottles, poured the wine into the pot, and set it on the wood stove to start heating while he carefully cut the hot oranges and squeezed the juice into a tall mug. He added the sugar and spices to the claret and cleaned up the mess as he waited for the mixture to simmer. 

The angel sat down with Wilde and tried to read, but was unable to concentrate, glancing at the door every few seconds. Sighing, he got up and put a record on the gramophone, and started to tidy his piles of books, adding his resonant baritone to the choir of St. Paul's Cathedral as they sang:

It came upon a midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth, To touch their harps of gold:

"Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, From heaven's all-gracious King." The world in solemn stillness lay, To hear the angels sing.

Aziraphale strained out the spices, added the orange juice and stirred, sniffing the fragrant steam appreciatively. He closed his eyes as the song came to a close. 

For lo!, the days are hastening on, By prophet bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years Comes round the age of gold

When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And the whole world give back the song Which now the angels sing.

When he opened his eyes again he noticed an ornament that was askew on the bookshop’s small Christmas tree. He straightened the ornament, and checked the rest of them while he was at it. The gold-sequined star on top of the tree gleamed.

The angel moved the steaming pot of mulled wine to a large trivet. He ladled two cups of the concoction into mugs and snapped a light miracle on them to keep them piping hot. 

As cozy as it was in the bookshop, Aziraphale felt uneasy. He checked the clock again, sighed and shook his head. It was nearly midnight. It wasn't like Crowley to take so long on a job. What if something had happened to him? It would be all Aziraphale's fault! 

The angel puttered around the shop, reshelving books and dusting everything in sight, though nothing needed it. He had worked himself into quite a state by the time the door opened, ringing the bell. He startled, and turned around to see Crowley slipping inside the bookshop. The fog had dissipated for once, and the clear night let in a crisp draft of air with a hint of snow. 

"Crowley!" he exclaimed, hurrying forward. 

"Hello Aziraphale!" Crowley grinned. His grin faded, replaced by a blissful expression, as Aziraphale hugged him tightly. 

"I'm so relieved you're back! It went well, then?" He drew back to look at Crowley. With one hand, he locked and then bolted the door. 

"Yeah, it went… surprisingly well," he started, but was struck silent when Aziraphale took his cold hand in his warm, soft ones, and led him to the sofa next to his desk. Crowley sat down, and Aziraphale, instead of sitting at the desk as he'd done every other time in the last century, sat next to him. He didn't let go of Crowley's hand, but rested it on his thigh. 

"Ngk," said Crowley, flushing beautifully. 

Aziraphale pressed a glass of the mulled wine into Crowley's hands, then picked up his own. "Tell me what happened, my dear. Why were you gone so long?"

Crowley nodded, taking a sip of the sweet, hot liquid gratefully. 

"Well, I took a cab to the residence of the Archbishop, and waited for the horses to trot off, and for quiet to settle there. I miracled myself into angelic robes and unfurled my wings, and cast a glamour on them to make them appear white. And then I popped into Temple's chamber with a burst of light."

Aziraphale hung on his every word as he described Temple's shock. 

"I thought he was going to have a heart attack, at first," Crowley continued. "He'd been reading in bed. He grabbed at his chest with one hand — very dramatic, it was. If he'd been wearing pearls, he'd have clutched them," he laughed. 

Aziraphale laughed, too, and squeezed Crowley's hand. He didn't let go. 

Crowley paused, taking a deep breath. "We wound up having an interesting chat about science and religion, actually," he said. "I sort of forgot why I was there. Sorry about that, Angel," Crowley apologized. He took a swig of the mulled wine. 

"I'll think of something to tell Gabriel," Aziraphale assured him.

"This isn't Smoking Bishop, but it's close," Crowley said curiously. "What is it?" 

"Oh — it's made with claret instead of port. Little creation of mine. I'm calling it, 'Smoking Archbishop,'" Aziraphale said proudly. 

Crowley cheerfully toasted the angel's ingenuity, taking another swallow of his invention and gazing at him fondly, his glowing golden eyes just visible through his dark lenses. 

Aziraphale preened under Crowley's attention, fluttering his eyes at him, and took a large sip of punch. "I'm just glad you're all right," he said insistently. "I shouldn't have sent you. It was an indulgence, so I could read, and I was too distracted worrying about you to enjoy it for long," he fussed, too caught up in his self-flagellation to notice his confession. 

Crowley brought their joined hands to his lips and brushed a kiss over Aziraphale's knuckles. 

Aziraphale blew out a sharp breath. 

"Angel, I'm fine. It's all right. It was a lark, to be honest. I had fun."

"But…you shouldn't spoil me so," Aziraphale fretted. 

"I don't mind," Crowley said roughly. 

"Well… Anyway, thank you," Aziraphale said, his voice like warm honey.

Crowley visibly melted. "Nggyeah," he babbled. "I…," he stopped speaking as Aziraphale brought his hand to his chest. Crowley gasped. Aziraphale was sure that, even through multiple layers of cloth, Crowley must be able to feel his heartbeat tripping under his fingers. 

"My dear…," Aziraphale started breathily, but the rest of his words got stuck in his throat as Crowley removed his hat, set it aside, and ran his free hand through his hair. His sunglasses followed, set down next to the Homburg. 

He looked straight at Aziraphale, and cupped his cheek in his hand, all of his defenses down. 

Aziraphale was thunderstruck. He felt so much love radiating from the demon, it was a miracle he'd ever been able to keep it cloaked from him all this time. Aziraphale felt as if he was going to discorporate on the spot. When he didn't, he turned his head to the left, and kissed Crowley's palm. 

Crowley managed a small, "Hnnggh," and dared to stroke Aziraphale's cheekbones with his thumb.

Aziraphale closed his eyes in bliss for a moment, then, unconsciously parting his lips, he leaned forward. Crowley's mouth met his with a softness and tenderness that would have shocked the demons of Hell. 

Crowley brought his other hand up, framing Aziraphale's face with his fingers. He deepened the kiss until the angel moaned. 

Aziraphale brought his hands up to Crowley's head, sliding his fingers through soft red hair. He ran his fingers around to the back of his head, pulling him closer, a frisson of excitement sparking through his body like fireworks. 

Crowley slid his hands down to the angel's shoulders and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer still. Aziraphale matched him breath for breath, kiss for kiss. From a church nearby, there came a chime, followed by twelve bells.

Aziraphale opened his eyes and drew back to see a dazed expression on Crowley’s face. 

"It's Christmas. Merry Christmas, Aziraphale," Crowley breathed. 

"Merry Christmas, darling." Aziraphale grinned. 

"I love you," Crowley whispered fiercely. 

Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath, then let it whoosh out again as he drew the demon's unresisting body close. 

"Oh Crowley … I love you, too," Aziraphale said shakily.

They settled back onto the sofa in each other's arms, and Aziraphale reached for his mug. Crowley picked up his own and held it aloft. 

"To… to Gabriel for being an utter bastard, for giving you the assignment that finally brought us together."

Aziraphale pursed his lips and raised his eyebrow, and Crowley looked uncomfortable. The angel relented with a giggle. 

"To new beginnings," he suggested with a smile. 

"To new beginnings," Crowley echoed, and raised his mug.

Outside the bookshop, snow began to fall. Aziraphale noticed the fluffy flakes out of the corner of his eye, and he turned his head to watch them fall. He turned back to Crowley, eyes shining brightly. 

"Snow, in London! It's a Christmas miracle!" he exclaimed. 

"Nonsense. It's going to inconvenience tons of people. They won't be able to see their families for Christmas dinner. Got to be one of ours.”

"Oh really?" Aziraphale smirked. "It wouldn't do for me to let you go home in this dreadful weather. You'll have to stay the night."

"I take it back, it's a miracle," Crowley intoned. 

Aziraphale beamed at his demon.

#good omens #good omens fic #christmas fic #ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale/crowley #christmas fluff #go-july-celebration #gojulycelebration #good omens july celebration #good omens july #mutual pining #romantic fluff #good omens fanfic #I wrote this

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

i'm so TIRED of people with vivid imaginations trying to convince every1 the things their brains came up with happened in MDZS, just saw some1 say about lan mom "SOMETHING went down between a creepy teacher and their mother. She gets forced into marriage with a man she doesn’t love and IMPRISONED before eventually committing suicide/ falling sick and dying" like WHERE? the only piece of information was LXC saying "i have no idea WTF happened" so he doesn't know, MXTX doesn't know but you do???

Some of this is a shock for my system so early in the morning... alright... I guess we're gonna go step by step with this just cause people are awful at reading, along with my stance on this particular bit of prevalent discourse.

Since this is greatly misinterpreted for whatever reasons, here is the relevant passage and only one in the text we get concerning the Lan parents. I'm going to add that this is alllll relaid by Lan Xichen and to keep that in mind with what is highlighted.

He spoke slowly, “The reason that my father often practiced secluded meditation was my mother. This place, compared to a place of living… was more like a place of detention.”

Wei WuXian was surprised.

The father of ZeWu-Jun and HanGuang-Jun, QingHeng-Jun, used to be a famous cultivator. He made his name at a young age and had many things waiting for him in the future. However, at the age of twenty, he suddenly backed away and announced his marriage. He had also ceased to care for much of the world. Although it was called secluded meditation, it was much more like retirement. People had come up with many possible reasons, but none of them had been verified.

Lan XiChen bent down amid the clusters of gentians. He gently stroked those thin, tender petals, “When my father was young, when he returned from a night-hunt once, he saw my mother outside of Gusu city.” He smiled, “I heard that it was love at first sight.”

Wei WuXian grinned as well, “The young are often sentimental.”

Lan XiChen continued, “But, the woman did not care for him the same way. In addition, she killed one of my father’s teachers.”

This was beyond imagination. Although Wei WuXian knew that asking too many questions would be very rude, however when he remembered that they had been Lan WangJi’s parents, he felt that he just had to ask. “Why?!”

Lan XiChen, “I do not know. But, I assume that it was something along the lines of ‘grievances’.”

Wei WuXian didn’t ask anymore into this and forced down his curiosity, “And… what happened later?”

“And then,” Lan XiChen explained, “When my father heard of this, of course he was in much pain. But, no matter how he struggled, he still took the woman to his sect in secrecy. Ignoring the objections from his clan, he knelt with her for the Heavens and the Earth without making a sound and told everyone in the clan that she would be his wife for the rest of his life, that whoever wanted to harm her would have to pass through him first.”

Wei WuXian widened his eyes.

Lan XiChen continued, “After the ceremony was completed, my father found a house and locked my mother inside. He found another house and locked himself inside. It was called secluded meditation, but it was in truth to repent.”

He paused before speaking again, “Young Master Wei, can you understand why he did such a thing?”

Wei WuXian answered after a moment of silence, “He could neither forgive the one who killed his teacher nor watch the death of the woman who he loved. He could only marry her to protect her life and force himself not to see her.”

Lan XiChen, “Do you think that this was right?”

Wei WuXian, “I don’t know.”

Lan XiChen looked somewhat lost, “Then, what do you think would be right?”

Wei WuXian, “I don’t know.”

A while later, Lan XiChen whispered, “It could be said that my father did this without a care for anything else. All of the seniors of the clan were enraged, but they had all watched him grow up. They could not do anything except guard this secret, hint to the outside world that the wife of the GusuLan Sect’s sect leader had an unspeakable disease and could not see others. After WangJi and I were born, we were immediately taken away to be cared for by other people. When we grew older, we were brought to Uncle to be taught."

“My shufu… has always had a frank personality to begin with. Because of how my mother caused my father to destroy his own life, he began to hate those who behaved improperly even more. Thus, he poured his heart into teaching WangJi and me. He was especially harsh as well. Every month, we could only see Mother once, inside of this cottage.”

They were two young children, who faced everyday only their harsh uncle, strict teachings, and mountains of books. No matter how tired, they had to straighten their soft backs to be the most outstanding disciples of the clan, the model students in others’ eyes. They could rarely see their closest relatives. They couldn’t fool around in their father’s arms, they couldn’t act spoiled in front of their mother.

But they had clearly done nothing wrong.

Lan XiChen, “Everytime WangJi and I went to see her, she would never complain about how tedious it was being locked inside of here, unable to step out once. She had never asked about our studies, either. She especially liked to tease WangJi, but WangJi, the more you tease him the less willing he is to talk, and the worse of an expression he puts on. He has been like this ever since he was young. However,” he chuckled, “even though WangJi never said it, I knew that every month he was looking forward to the day he could see Mother. He was like this, and I was the same.”

Wei WuXian imagined a young Lan WangJi hugged inside of his mother’s arms, his snowy little cheeks flushed pink. He laughed as well. But before his smile had even melted, Lan XiChen continued, “But one day, Uncle suddenly told us that we would have no need to go any longer."

“Mother was gone.”

Wei WuXian’s voice was soft, “How old was Lan Zhan back then?”

Lan XiChen, “Six.”

He continued, “He was still too young to understand what ‘gone’ means. No matter how much others comforted him, or how much Uncle scolded him, he would continue to come back here every single month, sit down in the hallway, and wait for someone to open the door for him. When he grew older, he understood that Mother would not be coming back, that no one would open the door for him, but he kept on coming here.”

Lan XiChen stood up. His dark eyes looked into Wei WuXian’s, “WangJi has been so stubborn ever since he was young.”

The leaves rustled and the gentian flowers swished alongside the wind, their scent lingering. Wei WuXian’s eyes landed on the wooden hallway of the cottage. He could almost see a small child wearing a forehead ribbon sitting with proper posture in front of the house, waiting quietly for the door to open.

He spoke, “Madam Lan must’ve been a very gentle woman.”

Lan XiChen, “In my memories, Mother had indeed been so. I do not know why she did such a thing back then. And, in truth, I…”

He took a deep breath before confessing, “I do not want to know either.”

After a few moments of silence, Lan XiChen closed his eyes. He took out Liebing. A gust of night wind suddenly sent forth a sobbing note of the xiao. The sound was deep, like a sigh.

Wei WuXian had heard Lan XiChen play Liebing before. Its timbre was just like Lan XiChen himself, as warm and graceful as a breeze and the rain of spring. Yet, now, although his technique was as excellent as ever, the tone evoked a strange mixture of feelings.

The night wind swept by. Lan XiChen’s hair and forehead ribbon were already somewhat disheveled. However, the GusuLan Sect’s sect leader, who had always regarded appearance highly, didn’t pay any attention to them. He only put down Liebing after the song had finished, “Music is forbidden at night in the Cloud Recesses. Today I have overstepped far too many times. Excuse me, Wei gongzi.”

Wei WuXian, “How so? ZeWu-Jun, have you forgotten that the person standing in front of you is the person who has broken the most rules…”

Lan XiChen smiled, “The GusuLan Sect has never revealed these facts about Lan Wangji and myself outside of itself. I should not have told you. Tonight was my sudden urge to unburden myself, a spur of the moment.”

Wei WuXian, “I’m not the kind of person who talks too much. Don’t worry, ZeWu-Jun.”

Lan XiChen, “Regardless, I would assume that WangJi would not hide anything from you anyways.”

Wei WuXian, “If he doesn’t wish to talk about something then I won’t ask.”

Lan XiChen, “But, with WangJi’s personality, how could he say anything if you do not ask? There are some things that even if you ask him he would not say.”

Now that we have the context of the Lan parents laid out the only definitive answer for anything concerning their personal motivations for anything is "I DON'T KNOW". Their secrets and thoughts literally died with them.

And this entire story Lan Xichen told in the end, had nothing to do with his parents. He did not tell Wei Wuxian about them, he was speaking everything unsaid about Lan Wangji's motivations and his love of Wei Wuxian. He does not care why his parents did what they did, but he does for the one that is alive. His brother who he had just had a bit of a veiled conversation about Lan Wangji's pure trust in Wei Wuxian. Who, in Lan Xichen's eyes, had already rejected his brother's love and did not feel the same, mirroring the past of their father's apparent unrequited love. He is saying Lan Wangji is sacrificing his all, unvoiced.

His pressing of if his parent "are right" is him asking Wei Wuxian what he feels about those sacrifices, if he can see the sacrifices Lan Wangji had gone through. At this point he along with Lan Wangji have assumed Wei Wuxian knows and remembers what he had said within the cave. He is telling Wei Wuxian his brother has alway been this way for those he loves regardless of what they may be perceived as by outsiders.

"Today I have overstepped far too many times. Excuse me, Wei gongzi.”"

"I should not have told you. Tonight was my sudden urge to unburden myself, a spur of the moment.”

Meaning, it was not his place to tell this about his brother, but there is no one else that would, and Lan Wangji would never say anything about his feelings again. Lan Xichen is first and foremost worried about where his brother has placed his love, as he knows, regardless of what rumors surround those he loves, his brother will still be forever loyal to them without question if he believes them to be in the right.

Lan Xichen is warning Wei Wuxian he needs to take care in his actions as he approaches Lan Wangji as Xichen is well aware already of how Lan Wangji will go through hell for others he adores. From the start it was never about his parents, as Lan Xichen says, "I do not want to know either,". But what he does want to know is where Wei Wuxian stands with his own feelings towards Lan Wangji or if he is still using his brother as he has thought for years. Leaving Lan Xichen to protect him as best as he can while Lan Wangji stays hurt for others with no happiness for himself.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #the Lan parents #It literally does not matter what was between them as they are dead and gone #Lan Wangji is the one left seemingly continuing their tragedy and rumors #the lan parents are a damn metaphore for Lan Wangji's feelings

[chrstbll]

miracles and lucky days| ben hargreeves

(gif not mine) 

+tags: @lalisbitch @spaceclone-mom , @meowmeowrex23 @strangeyouthcrusade

plot: after coming back from the 60’s, instead of finding the sparrow academy, the group come face to face with a much more positive outcome of their actions.

                                                           -

The words of Klaus were diluted, inaudible and ringing loudly in your head. Your limbs could barely hold the weight of your body, and the nausea from jumping between timelines hitting your stomach didn’t quite put you at ease. All was blurry at first, not hearing nor seeing properly caused you to feel light-headed as well, but before your legs or your mind gave in, somebody strong arms held you up protectively.

- Are you good? – Diego’s gentle call for you brought you back to reality. He was always a little bit concerned about you. He didn’t show it in great actions, it was in the seemingly unimportant things he did for you. There wasn’t anything romantic involved between you two, instead of that it was a deep understanding of each another that made you appreciate the other significantly. You nodded to confirm that you were in fact all right, shrugging it off with a smile.

Klaus was right. After you successfully registered what he was saying, a wave of relief washed over your heart, mind, and soul. Your whole being. For once, all seven of you managed to successfully jump back to 2019 without any harm or mistake being done. It was quite unbelievable. A dreamlike scenario which proved itself to be nearly impossible to believe. Looking around the hall, everything seemed to be all right. It felt okay. The aura was intimately comforting, yet something was amiss. Different. Changed. It certainly was not a malicious ambiance that you discovered, but one new, something yet unexperienced thing. The others noticed it too, as all six of them were looking around suspiciously. Memories, feelings, and people rapidly invaded your mind, those you haven’t thought about a lot. Pogo? Grace? Are they okay now?

Luther suggested to enter the living room ahead of you, so that’s what you all mutually agreed to. Five was the one who went further on before you heroically and begged all of you to proceed with caution, because we don’t know what’s waiting for us there. The walk from the hall to the living room happened painfully slowly given that the feeling of uncertainty was sitting in one and all’s eyes and was at fault for your lack of speed. Upon realizing the academy was unnervingly noiseless, the anxiety birthed a huge lump in your throat, which you couldn’t swallow. Your heart was terrified from the possible negative outcome of this time jump. What if that moment of clarity and amenity was only a façade and was only felt because none of you faced reality in the short but drunk moment of arrival? Sometimes you thought about how nice it would be to just live without worry. To live in pure bliss, without a care in the world. Without a problem in the universe to solve. How astonishing it would be not to recall what loss, trauma, or sadness feels like. But then again, we would live in ignorance that way.

Turning towards the divans and sculptures in the living room, your attention automatically focused on the small moving figure, who was absentmindedly cleaning the shelves with dusting feathers. Recognition hit you like a truck, as the character of an ape appeared before you. Your breath hitched in your throat. Mercifully, it was a positive reaction, a sentiment you haven’t undergone in a long time.

- Pogo?! – Allison was the first one to call out their siblings’ friends’ name. Barely letting his name roll from her tongue, the sea of emotions instantly overthrew her, and tears stormed down her face. Their beloved guardian turned around in shock, he looked so puzzled, it was as he didn’t recognize the people in front of him. You feared that was the case. What if we screwed it up even more?

- Oh, children. I was waiting for you all to return – he’s spoken politely and gifted us with a kind smile, just like he always did. You almost forgot what a courteous and caring figure Pogo was. His scarce although deep voice reminded you of simpler times. A type of nostalgia which you subconsciously yearned for god knows how long. Everyone gathered around him in a matter of seconds, engulfing him in a suffocating hug. Pogo was still bewildered from the sudden act of affection, as you all were from seeing him alive and breathing, but in this instant of happiness, the questions why and how didn’t matter. What mattered was the present minute, what you currently knew as is.

And next, a voice broke the silence.

Who would dare to turn around first? Who wanted to confirm that the voice that was just heard from behind them, came from a legit source? On a serious note, was it even real? Your minds are only playing tricks on you. You were ecstatic for having Pogo back, but it would be too good to be true to turn around and see the possessor of the voice. We can’t have all the wonderful things. It never went that well for you. Your bodies turned stiff, and your feet were frozen on spot. But what made you fear to turn around? The horror of hearing something that’s not truly there or facing it bravely. Something…someone you haven’t faced in roughly two decades.

- What the hell took you guys so long? – the annoyance sounded so raw, hence genuine. You could hear and understand the words crystal clear; then why didn’t you believe your ears?

The group hug disassembled at a snail's pace and turned to face what they never expected to see ever again in their lifetime. You, on the other hand, had secretly wished for a moment like this. Your heart was aching for the chance, not caring about being rational nor delusional. It kept the faith in your soul steady.

- Please, tell me I’m not the only one who can see him – Klaus muttered.

- Ben – Diego confirmed in a hushed tone without letting out any more words as he didn’t need to. He was the bravest out of all of you to speak up.

So, there he stood in his monochrome outfit, with his black leather jacket hugging his form and a coy smile painted all over his face. The faint rosy cheeks, lively eyes and vivid emotions displayed told you everything. The Ben standing in front of you was very much real, and more importantly, alive, and well.

- All of you look like you’ve seen a ghost – he grinned from ear to ear, and his light-hearted joke legitimately freed your body from the tension which held you in your place so aggressively. Number Four didn’t hesitate one second longer, and slammed himself against his brother, who sweetly returned the embrace. Registering it, savouring it, then finally loving the physical contact, Klaus broke up in a hysterical laughter. The group succeeded to pull the strings in a way his death was luckily prevented. How the hell did we manage this? But he didn’t care. All that mattered was the present minute, what he currently knew as is.

- You’re telling me, man – his laugh slowly started to die down, but his joy only rose. Of course, a group hug was crucially needed and initiated effective immediately. Everyone surrounded him, and you held onto each other tightly, so he never slips away from your grasp again. You admitted it to yourself, that it felt heavenly, but more precisely, it felt so damn terrific. The others eventually backed away, but you stayed right in front of him.

- Hey, you – were all he needed to say for you to go flying into his arms – Where have you been? I missed you – his confession was a simple, warm, and loving anecdote, and it broke your heart in the best way possible.

You missed me?

Your loud sobbing, and ocean of tears was baffling and a mystery to him, and he looked at the others with a perplexed expression. They asked him to just let you be because they understood everything perfectly. Each tear was valid and every one of them had a reason. His arms were wrapped around your body, as he was shielding you from all the cruelty in this world. His embrace wasn’t tight, but fond and sensitive enough. You weren’t greedy at all; it was just all too marvellous. Hearing his stable beating heart as he held you close to his chest completely fulfilled you. A featherlight kiss was tenderly placed on your forehead by him, in an attempt to calm you down. It failed, as more droplets of salty water coated your apple-like cheeks. Even so, the kiss was given so compassionately, it must have come from heaven itself.

Maybe you were in Heaven. Maybe your life ended when you arrived in the hall. This isn’t real and I’m probably dead in Diego’s arms by now. But what if you accepted it as your reality now? You couldn’t believe it, even after feeling his touch and his kiss on your body. It might be because you thought you didn’t think your wish to see the person closest to your heart again would ever come true. After the horrific months you went through, it was certainly an impossibility to be gifted with something this enormous, significant, and joyous.

Maybe miracles and lucky days exist. Maybe they existed both on the same day in favour of you. I’ll accept this, I deserve this. You absolutely deserve to be happy and to drop the burden that’s been weighing on your soul for years. Nobody deserves to live their lives in inescapable guilt and grief. Having Ben back in all your lives meant the world to you. You were thinking about how you might have to fill him in on the details of the previous events, but that was a case for a later part of the day. For now, it was nice to bask in his love and warmth. You’ll care about every other issue later. This was the only feeling that mattered in that moment. Peace finally taking its rightful place back in your heart, which has been waiting for it for a long time now. He radiated pureness, an energy which was incomparable to anything else. Clutching his jacket was your anxiety making sure he doesn’t leave again. Maybe he was reading your thoughts, but at the same time he was realizing he’d never leave you even if it meant his life.

- I missed you too.

#ben hargreeves #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #netflix tua #ben hargreeves x reader #ben hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves fluff #ben hargreeves fanfiction #tua x reader #the umbrella academy imagine

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 9

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER NINE

For the first time in your life, you awoke in your own pool of sweat and with the fresh thoughts of Bucky as he managed to scoop you up with his strong lean arms and take you right then and there at the kitchen counter in your wild, vivid memory of dreams.

You blamed Nat for this. If it wasn't for her, you wouldn't even have inappropriate thoughts towards Bucky. Yes, you did notice his strong masculine exterior, jaw sharp as a killer's knife, body as strong as a boulder, and legs that could easily kill but did you have any thoughts on advancing towards him? No, absolutely not. He was Peter's stepbrother for crying out loud. But last night, something changed in the laws of physics. It was as if two resting bodies silently reacted to one another without a sudden force acting upon the two.

That morning, you didn't dare find out if Bucky was still in your apartment. You skipped your morning run and headed up towards the rooftop using the ladder right outside your window with a hot cup of coffee in your hand (which spilled a bit on the way up, by the way) and enjoyed the scent and sight of the dirtier part of New York City -- all its damp, cigarette covered pavements.

For the next few days, you saw no sign of Bucky. He hadn't been in the bar or in your apartment, as much as you wished he would stop by once in a while. But then, you would hear Peter talk to him on the phone every single night.

You never thought Bucky's lack of presence would start to bother you. It wasn't just the feelings of sudden desire you had for him but also the weird time you shared together -- as if you were just old friends catching up. You found it absolutely crazy how a lot of things just happened in the course of a day.

You wanted to ask Peter about Bucky's whereabouts, just a casual slip of "Hey, where's Bucky?" but you never dared to ask. So when Peter blabbed during a movie night that Bucky had been way too busy managing some business meetings, gatherings, and whatnots ever since he got back in the city, you were more than glad.

Nat had been coming to the bar every night ever since Tuesday, picking up extra shifts. She kept badgering you about Bucky this and Bucky that. She was one of the reasons why you couldn't keep Bucky out of your head. Her sudden long shifts at the bar wasn't only because she was so invested with your nonexistent dating life or, to her, a possibility of one with Bucky, but because she and Steve were secretly hooking up. Of course, she didn't tell you that. It's not like she needed to, anyway. It only took one sniff of Steve's strong scent on hers for you to find out.

Every passing day at the bar felt so slow and the same. The only thing that changed was Peter rejecting a drink on one Thursday night.

"Woah, what got your knickers on a twist?" You asked as soon as he approached the counter.

"I'm just not in the mood, y/n." He sighed. "Can I just have a glass of water, please?"

"Of course. Coming right up." You slid the glass of water on the counter towards him, your fingers drumming against the thick wood. "So, what's bothering you?"

He looked up at you with sulky eyes. "Oh god, you really are a bartender."

"And your best friend. So, what's up?"

He shook his head nothing, sipping the glass of water like a scotch.

His little act was unconvincing. Especially that he didn't try hard enough to conceal whatever he was feeling.

"Parker." You insisted. "Come on, what's up?"

"You see right through me, y/n."

"Don't flatter me too much," you rolled your eyes, "you're just easy to read."

But Peter was also stubborn as a bull. He wouldn't budge or give you any clue on what was bothering him. You thought that leaving him as you tended to other bargoers would eventually give him time to change his mind but you were proven wrong. It itched your brain that he wouldn't tell you whatever it was. You usually told each other everything. But then again, you haven't really been open with him with your growing desire for his stepbrother -- which, you hoped you never would, as you hoped all those feelings would eventually go away and keep it in a state of latency.

Peter stood by his ground, consuming no ounce of alcohol and keeping his mouth shut the rest of the night. You knew when to keep away from other people's business, even if it was your best friend's. You did try to make his evening lighter though, checking up on him and telling some old, classic bartender stories, seeing as he was clearly in an uncomfortable state but all he kept telling you was: "You're killing me, y/n. You're absolutely killing me."

You felt a heavy feeling on your chest with his surprisingly fierce tone. You urged him to go home after that, so he did.

"Dick." You mumbled after he left.

Nick walked towards the counter. "What's wrong with your roommate?"

"Wish I could tell you."

You and Nick have been getting along well despite you rejecting him. Nat kept telling you it was a way of manipulating you or some sort, to get you close to him but nothing has really happened ever since he asked you out. There wasn't a change in mood in the atmosphere, or even the way he treated you. Just some good colleagues working together.

The next night, Peter was more in the mood and even apologized to you for the way he behaved last night. "Now, for some great news."

"Does this mean you're having a drink?" You asked.

He nodded eagerly and patiently waited for his beer. Once he got his cold sip, he continued talking: "So, I've been really in a slump lately because I'm kind of lovesick. But then -- "

"Wait, what did you say?" You knitted your brows together, catching the last word he said. "Did you say lovesick? You son of a bitch, are you in love?"

"Language!" Out of nowhere, Steve yelled over the buzzing noises inside the bar. You snickered and he just gave you a look before he disappeared back into his office.

He is such a grandpa.

Peter chuckled. "To be honest, I have been for a very long time."

Your jaw dropped on the floor, ears all perked up, wanting to hear every detail of this. "And you never thought to tell me? Parker, I've been your best friend since forever. Why the hell wouldn't you tell me?"

"Because..." He trailed off, avoiding your stare. "It's not that big a deal."

"Okay, was this after that bitch Denise?"

"Actually, waaaay before that."

"Oh wow, that long, huh?" You replied. "Oh my god, is it someone we know from college? Shit, is it MJ?"

"No, it's not!" He replied. "And I'm not telling you who because I don't have actual plans on pursuing her." He sighed through his nose while taking a big sip of his beer. He brought down the bottle on the counter with a loud thud.

"So, it's a girl."

He grunted in reply.

You laughed. "So, why not pursue her?" You asked while multitasking. You handed a bowl of peanuts to the man beside Peter who was asking for it. "Is she taken? Does she have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?"

"No, she doesn't."

"So, why the hell not, Parker?"

You impatiently waited for an answer from Peter as it took him a couple of minutes to do so.

"Because I don't think it's a good idea. I don't think it will ever work." He answered, scratching the label on his beer bottle with much frustration. "I've thought about all the probabilities, but every single one of them ends the same."

"And what is that?"

"That it won't work out."

The thing about Peter was he never dive into things headfirst. Even though he was a dumbass, he was always a man of intellect who calculated everything in his head before committing to something.

"Why is it always statistics and probabilities and all that crap with you?" You let out an exasperated sigh. "What if for once in your life, follow your goddamn heart? You keep treating everything with a business mind. Go with what your gut tells you to do. Don't think too much about it because the heart wants what it wants, Parker."

Peter gazed at you for a few moments, perhaps finding the right words to say but he just shook his head and fought against his feelings. "I can't do it, y/n. I badly want to, like, it's already at the tip of my tongue. I badly want to tell her but I can't. I don't want to know what's gonna happen next. I'm just scared of what's gonna happen. I don't think I can take it."

As much as you wanted to convince him to go for the girl, you let it go. You've said what you had to say but it was always up to him whether he takes your advice or not. "So, what now?"

"Well now, I'm going to tell you the good news, the one you robbed me off when you batted in."

You rolled your eyes. "What's the good news, Parker?"

"Me and my colleagues will go on a corporate retreat for at least a week!"

You raised an eyebrow, writing a confused expression on your face. "How is this good news?"

"I'll be gone for a week, away from the city, away from my love problems and all that. I think it'll be good for me." Then, a smile started to form on his lips. "There, I'll leave all my worries behind."

"Parker, it's just a one-week corporate retreat, not a sabbatical." You grimaced, unimpressed with the whole thing. "You're not gonna get over this thing in just seven days."

"You don't know that." He scoffed. "I'll be a new man once I get back. You'll see."

"Sure." You replied, a hint of sarcasm laced in your tone.

"Oh, one more thing!"

"What, another corporate retreat?" You snickered, amused with all the clever remarks you were throwing at him. Peter, on the other hand, wasn't.

"No!" He gave you a look. "Bucky will look after you while I'm gone!"

Shock crossed your face. "Bucky?"

"Yes, me."

And on cue, a figure emerged behind Peter.

You were so bewildered with Peter's troubles that you hadn't noticed Bucky creeping up towards the counter. He was wearing what seemed like a navy blue tailored Hugo Boss suit, paired with a nice, sleek tie. His whole fit, illuminated by the iridescent lights made his blue eyes pop even more. Like last time, he opened up a button on his waist, tossed the end flaps in the air and sat down beside Peter on a high stool.

Watching him, you could feel the air around you tighten, paired with a clump of saliva caught in your throat. He placed his elbow on top of the counter and tucked his chin on his palm.

"B-bucky," you finally breathed, silently choking up on your own saliva, "hey, it's been quite some time."

"Hello, doll." The vowels on his words seemed to drop, accompanied by that rhythmic sound he usually does when he speaks. Oh god, one day with Bucky and I've already picked up on that, you thought. "Missed me?"

You felt some blood quickly rushing to your cheeks but you played it cool. "Don't flatter yourself, James." You pretended to get quite busy, wiping some clean glass off the counter then faced Peter. "So, what's this thing about Bucky looking after me?"

"Well, I'll be gone. You'll be alone. Bucky will look after you." Peter tried to "expound." "What's not adding up, y/n?"

You rolled your eyes at the two and scoffed, placing the glass on the counter. "No, thanks. It's just one week. I can take care of myself."

It was true. You once spent a two-week vacation all by yourself to California after high school and you came home in New Jersey without a scratch -- like a brand-new car. You walked around the place as if it was your turf, and blended in with the locals while basked in the glorious heat of the California sun.

"Bucky insisted." Peter chimed in defensively.

"Oh. Bucky insisted." You said, your gaze averting to Bucky's eyes. "Again, I appreciate the offer but I can handle myself. I'm not a baby."

Bucky, clearly amused with the whole situation, leaned back with careful eyes fixed on yours. "Come on, y/n, don't you want some company?"

"Aren't you busy with your company?" You retorted.

"Yes, I have been but not anymore." He replied. "Unless something comes up. A week without Peter must be somewhat lonely. Come on," he insisted once again, "it's also for me. It'll give me something to do for a week."

"Wait, what?"

"You guys could get to know each other better and get along!" Peter blurted. "And without me around, Bucky won't have someone to hangout with. Please, y/n? I'd feel so much better."

"Hang out? What are you guys, like sixteen?"

Your mind was still set on Bucky's last choice of words but you saved it for later.

"Pleaaaaseee?"

You sighed, knowing you could never refuse your best friend's pleas. "Fine."

"Great!"

"Just for the record," you said, holding up a finger, "I'm just agreeing because of Peter, not because I can't take care of myself."

Peter rolled his eyes while pulling out his phone from his pocket. "Yeah, yeah, you're an independent woman. Okay, I gotta take this call. I'll be right back."

And all then there were two: you and Bucky. While making two grasshoppers for a couple of girls who just entered, you could feel Bucky's intense stare towards you. Your mind, clouded with thoughts, wished it could tap into his and take a sly look at what was going on inside.

You locked eyes as soon as you handed the girls their drinks. Bucky wearing such a neat, tailored suit made you forget about all his child-like ways in Peter's countless stories. All you saw was a man favored by all the gods and at the same time sent by the devil to test you in so many ways imaginable. You wondered if he felt the same. Of course, you weren't like him or any other people carved perfectly by the gods, but his vehement stare said otherwise.

"Are you gonna order a drink?" You asked, breaking the silence, and also your train of thoughts.

"No." He replied. "I'm good."

"Okay."

Peter, where the hell are you?

"Hey, y/n?"

"Yes?"

"You look beautiful tonight."

A plain black tank top, paired with some old jeans, minimal makeup and this man just told you that you looked beautiful. "Well not just tonight. You've always been beautiful. I just hope you know that."

"Okay what has gotten into you? You're being... weird."

He shrugged. "I'm just stating facts."

You hummed, a look of confusion spread across your face. "Thank you, I guess. Y-you look good yourself. Very different from when I first met you." You chuckled.

"Well, I was naked the first time we met so yeah."

Peter got back from his phone call and for the whole night, you spent your time working your shift while Bucky and Peter moved on to play some billiards and darts as well. Nat kept shifting her eyes between you and Bucky and you just shrugged her off, flipping your middle finger on her in which she reciprocated.

The next day, Peter was all set for his corporate retreat, surprised he didn't need any help from me at all. You helped him with some of his bags towards the sidewalk ("Jesus, Parker, are you going out of the country?"). While you waited for his Uber to arrive.

"You better take care of yourself, Parker." You said, standing beside him on the side of the street. "I'm gonna miss you."

"Really? I'm gonna miss you too."

"Well, yeah, of course. You're like a little brother to me." You smiled, ruffling his brown locks even though he was taller than you.

He looked down on the pavement with a tight-lipped smile. "Right, right."

Smiling, you grabbed his hand and leaned your head on his surprisingly broad shoulders. "Come on, cheer up. You needed this, right?"

"Yes, I definitely do." He whispered. "More than you know."

A few seconds later, the Uber arrived. Before climbing in the black vehicle, you were pulled into Peter's embrace with a soft, fluttery kiss landing on your forehead. Taken aback, you just smiled at him and watched the car get tinier and tinier as it drove further.

You got back in the apartment and five minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Behind it was a smiling Bucky wearing some casual clothes. "Good morning, doll. Missed me?"

You rolled your eyes letting him inside the apartment. Closing the door behind me, you replied: "You've already used that line last night. Pick another one."

"Aw, you haven't heard the rest of it."

You went to the kitchen, grabbed some water from the fridge, and took a drink. "Which is?"

"Miss me, miss me, now you gotta kiss me."

With unsteady hands, you choked on your water and felt the liquid on your skin as soon as those words left Bucky's mouth. Great now I spilled the drink on my chest.

You turned around only to be faced by Bucky. "Now I gotta what?"

His laughter echoed in the kitchen as he backed away from you. "I'm just messing with you. So, what's for breakfast?"

He left you there standing flabbergasted, with some water dripping down your top and shorts, down to the floor. You bore your eyes into the back of his head as he turned on the television.

Bucky tilted his head towards you, eyed you up and down and finished it with a swipe of his tongue on his lower lip.

Oh, this was going to be a long week.

A long, agonizing week.

#bucky barnes story #bucky story #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky fan fiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fic #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james barnes #au #marvel

[jamaisjoons]

the dragon’s princess ⤑ jhs | m.

⟶ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:  with your mother’s death, and your father remarrying, came your abandonment in a tower - under the pretence that you’d be saved by a prince when you were older. now, it’s been over a decade and the princes come in droves to save you from the dragon that guards you. but you don’t want a charming prince. no. you prefer sweet ferocious dragons. one sweet, ferocious dragon in particular. fantasy au. royalty au. fairytale au. childhood friends to lovers au.

⟶ 𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: dragon shifter!hoseok x princess!reader

⟶ 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: angst • fluff • smut

⟶ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 23.5k

⟶ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: child abandonment, fairytale cliches: evil stepmother, abandoned princess, protective dragons and saviour princes, mentions of violence/action, mentions of death, brief descriptions of drowning (v v brief), alcohol consumption, soft dom!hoseok, sub!reader, slight body worship, hoseok, of course, has a dragon cock, hoseok is a tease, fingering,  unprotected sex,  first time sex + virgin sex, marking/mating, creampie, kidnapping,  reader makes reckless decisions (DON’T randomly jump out a window in a spur of a moment decision)

⟶ 𝑎/𝑛: LOOK IT’S A SEXY COMEBACK!! hello ladeez n gentlenutz, I have missed you all! It’s been SO long since i’ve written (only 3 months really but it feELS LONGER) so anyway, here we are!! I hope you enjoy!! dedicated to miss bette aka peanut aka @ddaenggtan​, i love and appreciate u so much okay thank you xxx

❥ thank you to @honeymoonjin​, @hobisbeautifulass​, @shadowsremedy​ and @jungtaeyoongles​ and of course miss bette, but you’ve already been tagged uwu, for being sweet babies and reading this and giving me the much needed validation to keep me inspired and writing this fic, i love u sexy losers

❥ happy birthday to my love, my sunflower, my king jung hoseok. i love u to the end of the worlds and further

⏤ part of the @ficswithluv​ ‘The Luv Library’ project

Your footsteps crunch along the ground as you make your way back to the tower you’ve called your home for the past decade. Leaves crackle under the soles of your sandals, the sound entwining with the gentle rustle of the trees as the soothing cacophony of sounds eases your soul. A soft wind flitters past, the light gale wisping through your hair, causing a few strands to dance in the squall. It shouldn’t take you long to reach home - you’d only been out foraging and hunting for supper. A victorious smile creeping onto your face, your eyes glance down at the wicker basket nestled next to your hip, the handle resting in the crook of your elbow.

An array of mixed berries, fruits and vegetables sit in the basket, nestled next to the cloth-covered slab of boar meat - and a few different herbs stalks taking up the rest of the space. Your grin widens as you silently praise yourself over your success. The boar meat especially gets you excited - it’s Hoseok’s favourite. Once again, you internally cheer, as you imagine the inevitable look of excitement on your dragon’s face when you tell him about your catch. Boar meat was rare to come by - well, somewhat rare - considering it was a fool’s folly to hunt for one without someone to accompany you. However, today, you’d managed to stumble across an injured one and tried your luck - and as it turned out, your luck had won out. Though, you do chalk most of it down to Seokjin’s archery training. The elf had tried his hardest to impart onto you some of his skill; and apparently, he’d been successful, since you’d managed to skewer the boar with one, well placed shot to the head, consequently putting it out of its misery.

You continue your way back home, practically moving on muscle memory alone - you’d walked this same path more times than you could count - the trek ingrained into the soles of your feet. The dense thicket of trees, while almost identical to each other, doesn’t confuse you as they used to and you find yourself easily navigating through the forest. It doesn’t take you long to reach home, and moments later, you approach the giant tower nestled within the dense canopy of the enchanted forest.

Taking a deep breath, you bite your lip before quickening your steps, more than excited to get dinner started. One small glance at the sky lets you know that dusk will soon approach, the sun low in the sky, casting its darkened luminescence across the forest floor. Nearing the heavy wooden door, you take in its appearance. The dark wood has faded over time, greyed from its rich cherrywood colour to a duskier oak colour. Thick clusters of moss have settled into the grooves of the bark, blanketing the hardwood in a layer of soft fuzz. Large grey slabs of stone surround the door, making up the walls of the tower and vines of ivy and honeysuckle creep along the sides, brightening up the dull grey with its vivid emerald foliage and vibrant chromatic petals.

Once, long ago, the tower seemed daunting to you. Of course it had, with its towering stature and imposing appearance. You could remember it somewhat fuzzily, despite it being so long ago. When the knights had first dropped you off, you’d only been seven years old, and you’d no idea what had been going on. Back then, the tower had seemed daunting - of course, it had, you were just a child. Vaguely, you remember the knight who had escorted you into the forest - his sweeping blonde hair and wary green eyes burned into the back of your mind - and still, you can hear his voice, almost hesitant as he thrust the small basket of food into your hands before telling you this would be your new home, and that he was sorry. Then, you didn’t really know what he’d been apologising for - now you do - he was apologising for being the one to have abandoned you.

From the hazy images in your memory, you have a vague recollection of why you’d been left here: your stepmother had convinced your father to abandon you, after your mother’s death, under the impression that you would be saved by a prince - your knight in shining armour. You had expected your father to fight for you, but distraught by the death of your mother, and your face only a cruel reminder of her, he’d agreed to his wife’s wishes, and thus, you’d been whisked away into the enchanted forest that bordered your kingdom.

The moment the knight had left, jumping onto his white stallion before riding back out, you’d called out to him - begged him to take you back with him - but your pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Scared, you’d retreated into the dark tower, its tall walls looming over your small frame as you desperately cried out for your father. In the blackened room, with the sun setting, you had feared for your life, curling into a ball and crying into your hands as you wished for someone to come help you.

And someone had.

In the most unlikely of forms.

Twelve years ago

You watch in panic and despair as the knight rides off on his horse; the stallion’s mane fluttering in the wind beside him. The clip-clop of the horse’s gallop soon fades, leaving you in the quiet forest. Terror immediately floods through your being as you look around the forest for any signs of life. There isn’t any. You’re completely alone. Looking at the wicker basket of food next to you, your bottom lip juts out, trembling as tears well in your eyes. You’re all alone.

Picking up the basket, you waddle into the tower, the dimness of the room only illuminated by thick beams of waning sunlight that filtered in through the sparse and sporadically carved out arched windows in the walls. Walking over to one of the corners, you slowly sit down, looking at the tower fearfully. The knight had said this was your new home - but you don’t want it to be your new home. You wanted your old home. Nothing about this tower feels like home; it’s dark, dreary and crushingly isolated.

Though, loneliness is something you’re used to.

Ever since your mother died, you’ve been lonely. Distraught by the death of his first wife, your father had sequestered himself from you and thrown himself into his kingly duties, leaving you completely alone. Then, mere months after your mother’s untimely departure, your father had remarried and your loneliness had only increased as you watched your father and stepmother rule the kingdom.

Curling up into a ball, you pull your knees up to your chest, your chin resting between the kneecaps. Sobs fill the air, your quiet whimpers floating through the atmosphere; the broken cries juxtaposed against the eerie quiet of the forest and the solitude of the tower. The sun slowly sets over the horizon, the dusky colours of twilight blackening the sky in darkened shades of gold, mauve, and lavender. With each second that passes by, the tower grows darker, the chill of the evening wind slowly setting into your bones as you start to shiver.

All of a sudden, you hear the crunching of twigs and the crackling of dried out leaves. The hair on the back of your neck stands on their ends, your skin prickling with goosebumps - and not from the cold. Instantly, you stifle your sobs, low whimpers escaping your mouth, even as you try to muffle them. Footsteps shuffle closer, a heavy presence lingering in the air as you try to curl tighter into a ball, attempting to make yourself as small as possible.

The footsteps move closer and soon you hear the door to the tower creak open. Palpitating heavily in your chest, all you can hear is your heartbeat thundering - so loud it feels like it's right beside your eardrums. A high pitch whimper escapes your lips, wondering if it's an animal or one of the forest creatures who’ve come for you.

“Are you okay?” a voice calls out, shock evident in the voice. You let out a small whine, curling tighter into yourself. The newcomer grows quiet, a tense silence thickening the atmosphere. You try to stay as quiet as possible, hoping whoever it is will leave you alone.

“Are you all alone?” the voice asks this time. You freeze, your heart still beating rapidly in your chest, even as confusion seeps into your skin. The voice is timid and slightly wary, but it’s sweet and high-pitched - almost comforting. With great trepidation, you slowly lift your head, only to come face to face with a young boy standing in the doorway of the tower. Blinking owlishly, you stare at him blankly.

Quietly, and warily, you take him in - your eyes trailing over his features. He looks fairly human - with lithe limbs, and soft features: rounded, ample cheeks and a gently sloping jaw - both juxtaposed by a sharp, pointed nose. His hair is dark in colour, and though he’s silhouetted by the sunset, you note the russet tinge to his hair, his locks falling gently to frame his forehead. If you didn’t know better, you’d consider him human - if it weren’t for his eyes. They’re a light yellow-hued hazel, almost glowing in the darkroom of the tower, and the pupils are slit vertically. A ripple of fear shoots through you, and you shuffle further back against the wall, keeping your wary eyes steady on him.

“Why are you here? Do you need some help?” the boy asks again. He moves to step closer to you, one hand reaching towards you. However, his actions cause you to immediately stiffen. Noticing your muscles tense, the boy immediately stills before retreating - but not before throwing his hands up in surrender.

“I just want to help. I heard you crying. Are you here alone?” he repeats once again. Hesitantly, you nod, answering him this time. The boy bites his lip, his eyes drooping slightly in sadness.

“I can help you if you want? I live here - in this tower I mean. I’m Hoseok,” he introduces, pushing the door wider open before fully entering the room. Once again, you stiffen slightly but Hoseok does his best to stay away from you, giving you space as he flits about his tower. You watch his every movement, keeping your distrustful eyes on him. He turns to a small window carved out into one of the walls, his nose crinkling in distaste as he takes in the darkening sky.

“It’s gonna be very dark soon. But don’t worry! I have some candles!” Hoseok says cheerily, sending a smile your way. You watch as he walks to the wall, staring up at the rusted iron candle fittings several feet above his head. Tilting your head to the side curiously, you wonder how he’s going to light the candles - they’re far too high for him to reach. Noticing your curiosity and slight skepticism, he sends you a cheeky smile, and then all of a sudden, his cheeks puff out.

Your eyes widen as he releases a strong puff of breath, fire shooting out of his mouth in a strong stream - almost like a flamethrower. The jet of flames bursts through the air, dowsing the candle in its fire before lighting the wick. It’s a miracle the candle wax doesn’t melt into a puddle. You stare at him in awe, watching as he repeatedly blows puffs of fire, lighting up the entire tower in a bright amber glow, the residual heat of his fiery breath tingling over your chilled skin. Hoseok turns back to you, a look of absolute victory on his face, his eyes slitted into little half-moons and cheeks pulled under them as the eyelids crinkle in the corner. You don’t notice any of it - instead completely in awe of the suddenly bright room.

“Did you like that?” Hoseok asks, causing you to nod, still completely starstruck over his display of power. Sensing that you’re slightly less wary, Hoseok quietens down before levelling his curious gaze at you. You watch him quietly, still curled up into a ball as you wonder what he’s thinking. Then - he slowly approaches. Your eyes widen, fear once again gripping at you - but he moves slowly, one step at a time, so as not to scare you.

“Are you feeling better now?” Hoseok asks timidly; his gaze briefly flicks to your tear-stained cheeks before returning it to your own gaze. Pulling your lip between your teeth, you nod hesitantly. You do feel slightly better - though, fear, confusion, and sadness still linger around you. You’re alone now - abandoned by your family and left in this isolated tower to fend for yourself. Well, not so alone - you think, momentarily glancing at Hoseok.

Then, almost as if reading your mind, “Are you alone here?” Hoseok asks, echoing your thoughts. Muscles locking, you shrink into yourself before once again nodding. “Why?”

Shrugging, “My parents don’t want me anymore,” you reply quietly, tears brimming in your eyes. The rustle of fabric fills the air as Hoseok squats down to your level, looking at you with wide, bewitching hazel eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok replies gently - nothing but truth evident in his eyes. Eyebrows furrowing, you cock your head to the side, but before you can ask why he’s sorry, he continues, “but it’s okay - because you’re not alone. I’m here now!” The words fall out of his mouth easily, a bright grin on his face, his lips pulled into the shape of a heart. Instantly, your heart soars, hope blooming inside your chest. You should know better than to trust strangers, your father had taught you that much - but your father had also been the one to abandon you - and you were desperate for someone, anyone, to relieve the ache of loneliness that you’d gotten so used to.

“I’m ____,” you finally introduce yourself, “I’m… I was a princess,” you continue, before your voice trails off. Hoseok only grins in response. Then, he stands back up before holding out his hand for you. His palms are small, chubby little fingers sticking out. You look at it intently, as if it held all the secrets to the world.

“Well, ____, I’m a dragon! And from now on, I’m gonna be your dragon! I’ll protect you!” Hoseok promises, his voice full of conviction and promise.

Then, he grabs your smaller hand in his and pulls you up to your feet.

The memory fades from your mind, a fond smile on your face. That night, Hoseok had cooked you some herbal broth, made from the different plants he’d foraged in the forest. You remember it being extremely bitter, borderline inedible, and nothing like the food you’d gotten in the castle - but you hadn’t minded. No, because the entire time you’d watched the nine-year-old painstakingly bend over a pot, with a fire he kept going himself, just to cook you a meal - despite being a mere two years older than you, having no culinary experience and only needing to feed himself before. Back then, and even now, you appreciated the gesture. It had meant the world to you.

Not to mention, that for the first time since your mother died, you hadn’t felt so lonely. Hoseok had been a blessing - one you had desperately wished for every night since your mother’s death and your father’s abandonment. In every way, shape, and form, he’d crushed your loneliness, giving you much-needed company, friendship - and not to mention, a family; because the next day, he’d introduced you to his friends, the different creatures of the forest.

“____? Wake up! I want you to meet some people!” Hoseok’s high-pitched voices calls out. With a soft groan, you awaken from your slumber. Opening your eyes, you come face to face with the boy you’d only just met yesterday. His kind eyes smile at you, his lips pulled into a cheery grin.

“What?” you groggily ask.

“Come meet my friends!” Hoseok says cheerily. Your eyes widen, nervousness colouring your veins. Hoseok’s friends? It shouldn’t sound as daunting as it is - but it does - because you’ve never met them before. What if they don’t like you? What if they get Hoseok to leave you? What if you’re left alone again? The thought terrifies you - you’ve only known Hoseok for a short while, but you were already coming to rely on him - he was your first friend after all.

“Oh! Here! There was food in your basket - have some breakfast,” Hoseok says, thrusting out a little loaf of bread and some cheese towards you. Blinking owlishly, your sleep fogged mind reels slightly. Nevertheless, the smell of the food has your stomach rumbling, and graciously you accept Hoseok’s offering - but not before breaking the loaf and handing him some. Hoseok looks at you in surprise, but takes the food from you nonetheless.

“Come on then! They’re waiting to meet you,” Hoseok says before holding out his hand for you. With trepidation, you place your smaller hand in his; and despite your fear, you decide to trust Hoseok - because he’s all you have now.

The two of you wander through the tower, down the spiral steps until you’re back at the entrance. With each step, your nervousness grows, your palms turning clammy as you grip Hoseok’s hand tighter. “Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, his slightly pointed ears twitching as he hears your heartbeat quicken. Taking a deep breath, you swallow thickly before nodding.

“I’m okay,” you manage to squeak out. Hoseok’s head cocks slightly, looking at you in uncertainty, however, you squeeze his hand to reassure him, causing him to squeeze back.

“Let’s go then. I promise they’re nice,” Hoseok whispers quietly before opening the door and guiding you out.

Instantly, sunlight floods through the door, your eyes squinting immediately as you try to adjust to the bright light. Once your eyes have adjusted, Hoseok leads you past a dense brush of bushes and down a covertly hidden, narrow path. You both walk for a couple of minutes before you find yourselves at a little clearing nestled in the middle of the woods. From just past the clearing, you can hear raucous laughter and happy chattering, a particularly thick bush acting as a barrier between you and Hoseok’s friends.

It only takes a couple of moments for Hoseok to peel apart the bush, creating a narrow path for you to walk through - and then, you’re greeted by six young boys. Two boys are running around the riverbank that cuts through the glade, another boy floating in the river as he happily splashes the two boys chasing each other. Another one is happily resting on a tree branch, his eyes closed and little snores escaping his nose as he naps. The last two boys are sat on a boulder, simply watching over the rest of the boys: observing them. Welcomed by the sight of the six unknown boys, you can’t help but cower behind Hoseok, hiding most of your body behind his slightly taller one as you peer in curiosity over his shoulder.

The first person to notice the two of you is one of the boys on the boulder. As soon as he stands up, your eyes grow wide - he looks to be a couple of years older than even Hoseok, but still pretty young, yet he stands tall - much taller than you and Hoseok - and straight. He’s dressed in brown leather, with a bow and quiver full of arrows strapped to his back. Stalking over to the two of you, he draws the attention of all the other boys, except the sleeping one.

“Hi! Welcome to the enchanted forest,” the tall boy greets, a friendly smile on his face. His hair is dark, framing his face and his bright amber eyes are kind. “I’m Seokjin, it’s nice to meet you,” he introduces. Ducking your head, you shyly curtsey to him, not knowing how else to greet him. Your gesture causes Seokjin to chuckle, Hoseok frowning before stepping further in front of you, levelling a glare on the older boy. Noticing his protectiveness, Seokjin simply laughs at the dragon.

“She’s here!” the boy in the river cries. Instantly, the two on the riverbank stop chasing each other. You watch from over Hoseok’s shoulder as the two boys start running towards you - but they’re not what has most of your attention. No, it’s the boy from the river. You watch as he pulls himself onto land, your eyes widening it awe at the tail attached to his torso. However, it doesn’t last long - because the moment it touches land, they transform into legs. Eyes glued to him, you’re completely intrigued by how he stands up before approaching you slowly with shaky legs and you can’t help but giggle over how adorable he is. Suddenly, one of the boys turns around and quickly walks over to him, letting the merman lean on him as the two of them approach you.

“Hi! I’m Jimin, it’s nice to meet you,” Jimin introduces, reaching you first, the other two still walking slowly, the merman’s wobbly legs strengthening slightly with each step they take. You turn your attention to Jimin. He’s around your height, with adorable puffy cheeks, warm rose-pink eyes, pale blonde hair, and pointed ears. Noticing your gaze, currently glued to his ears, Jimin smiles brightly. “Have you never seen a nymph before?” he asks. Blushing at being caught staring, you shake your head but mumble out an apology. “It’s alright! We haven’t seen a human this close either!” Jimin replies easily, nonchalance laced in his voice.

“That’s Namjoon - he’s a griffin,” Jimin says, pointing towards the boy still sitting on the boulder. He watches you intently, his honey, eagle eyes trained on you as his white-feathered, pointed ears stand erect, perched on the top of his head, between his platinum-white hair. His gaze slightly unnerves you, causing you to shrink further behind Hoseok.

“Joon! Stop that,” Hoseok growls out, snapping at the other boy. Namjoon blinks owlishly before blushing sheepishly.

You watch as he rubs the back of his head before cocking his head to the side. “Sorry,” Namjoon mumbles under his breath.

“You’ll get used to him. He’s really nice, he’s just wary of new people,” Seokjin whispers conspiratorially in your ear.

“Yeah, don’t worry, we’re all nice I promise,” Jimin says, popping up on your either side. Both their actions cause you to jump suddenly. When did they sneak up beside you? Noticing you jerk, they both apologise before stepping back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Seokjin and Jimin call out at once, before backing off.

“Ignore them, they’re all just excited to meet you. I’m Yoongi by the way,” comes out a new, unfamiliar voice. Your gaze moves to the boy on the tree - except now, he’s fully awake. Perched on the tree, he simply looks at you through his pale pink locks; his emerald-green eyes glowing so vibrantly that you can see them even with the distance between the two of you.

“Guys! Stop it, you’re scaring her!” Hoseok whines, stomping his little foot.

“It’s okay Hoseok! They’re just being nice,” you quickly call out, shaking your head at him - not wanting to offend his friends. As overwhelming as it is meeting them, they seem friendly enough - not to mention that none of them seem to dislike you, putting you more at ease. Finally, the last two boys appear. One of them, the smaller of the two, has bright red, almost orange toned hair, glowing in the sunlight: almost as if he’s on fire. The second, slightly taller one - the merman - has dark blue hair paired with icy blue eyes.

“I’m Taehyung! This is Jungkook!” the blue-haired merman greets you, smiling brightly, even as he leans heavily on the smaller boy - who you now know to be Jungkook. “I’m a merman,” Taehyung says proudly, a bright smile on his face.

Teal eyes flashing in annoyance, “And I’m a phoenix!” Jungkook butts in, pouting slightly when the older boy doesn’t introduce him before elbowing him in the rib playfully. Taehyung, however, only laughs him off.

Heart gripping, you can’t help but be jealous of the interaction. You’ve never had friends you could play with like that. Suddenly, Taehyung jerks slightly, his knees buckling under his weight. Before he can fall, Seokjin and Jimin’s hands instantly reach out for him, steadying the merman. The brief action only causes your chest to tighten. Is that what having friends was like? “Are you okay?” you blurt out, looking at Taehyung’s wobbly legs worriedly. The merman blinks at you before letting out a sheepish, boxy smile.

“Uh… Yeah... it’s just a little weird - I’m not used to having legs. But Hoseok couldn’t stop talking about you this morning and we all wanted to meet you!” Taehyung replies. You look up at Hoseok curiously, the younger boy’s cheeks tinging pink as he looks away, rubbing the back of his head shyly.

“Don’t tell her that… it’s embarrassing,” Hoseok mumbles under his breath. You stare at him for a couple of moments before letting out a little giggle. The boys look at you in surprise as you laugh, before turning to each other in confusion. You can’t help yourself, however, because as strange as the experience is, you find yourself happier than you’ve been in a long time. You’ve never been surrounded by this many children before. Back when you were a princess, you didn’t have any friends - only the children of dukes and duchesses to play with; and even they would only visit every so often, when their parents had business with yours.

“____?” Hoseok asks, poking your cheek as he tries to get your attention. Biting your lip, you greet them all with a bright smile - a real one. You smile so wide, it hurts your cheeks, but you can’t help yourself.

“It’s nice to meet you all! I’m ____, I hope we can be friends,” you blurt out without thinking. Silence fills the air for a couple of moments causing you to bite your lips. Had you made a mistake? Deflating slightly, you shrink under their blank stares, their curious gaze focused intently on you. Had you done something wrong in your excitement? Was asking to be their friend too much? Would Hoseok leave you now?

The silence stretches on for what seems like an eternity - but in reality, it is only a couple of moments. Then, all of a sudden, it’s broken by a chorus of laughter. Your eyes widen as all the boys begin chuckling. Fearing the worst, your fists clench into the skirt of your dress, balling the material as you hold it tightly.

“Yeah! Let’s be friends. For a long time,” the boys all chime in, bright smiles on their faces. Even Namjoon chimes in, his once wary gaze softening as he looks at your small, frightened frame. The moment those words fall from their lips, your heart soars, your chest lifting as happiness blooms within you.

Friends. You have friends.

Drawn out of your musings, you blink in surprise at your surroundings. Somehow, you’d moved on muscle memory alone - and now, were by the firepit in the room that served as both your kitchen and dining room in the tower. Except, you hadn’t just moved to this room on muscle memory, you’d also somehow managed to begin cooking dinner. Blinking in confusion at the cut-up vegetables and meat, you simply shake your head. Turning to the pot hanging over the firepit, the vessel already filled with the water, you add in the vegetables and meat before haphazardly throwing in the herbs for the stew. However, without Hoseok, you’re unable to light the fire under the pot, which means you have to go find him.

You turn to one of the windows, your eyes narrowing when you realise it’s going to be dark soon. Yet, Hoseok still isn’t home. Eyebrows furrowing, you decide that perhaps it may be worth looking for him. You have a while for the stew to cook anyway - and there are only a few places Hoseok could be - that is - if he’s nearby. Grabbing your cloak to shield you from the evening chill, you wrap it around your shoulders before making your way up the tower. Briefly, you stop in your room, wondering if Hoseok was in there. He isn’t - and travelling a little further up, you know he’s not in his own room either.

With a sigh of frustration, you descend back down the stairs, checking each room of the tower for any signs of your best friend. He’s not in any of them, which means he’s either in his den or in the Goblin’s Glade - the little clearing where you and your friends hang out. You decide to try the den, considering it’s a little closer than the meadow. Exiting the tower, you head off in the direction you know Hoseok’s den to be in.

You remember the first time you’d found out Hoseok had a secret den - you’d heard the stories of course, about dragons and their dens - and how they would steal treasures from people to horde in their nests. You hadn’t believed any of them, especially since Hoseok had never shown any tendency for hoarding - nor had you ever seen a den. Until he’d disappeared one day - when you were twelve years old.

Seven years ago

“Hobi?” you call out, wandering through the tower as you scour the area for your draconic best friend. Small pout marring your face, your eyebrows scrunch as he’s nowhere to be found. Leaving the confines of the tower, you look around the clearing for any signs of the copper-haired dragon.

“Hobi?!” you shout once again, your voice carrying through the forest.

“____, what’s up?” a voice suddenly asks. Jumping, you let out a shriek before turning to the newcomer. Namjoon hovers over you, his large eagle wings spanning around him as he glides on the air.

“Namjoon! Don’t do that!” you cry out, sending him a scowl. The older boy simply laughs at you before gracefully landing on the ground. Or at least, it would have been a graceful landing - if he hadn’t been Namjoon, because in classic Namjoon fashion, the moment his feet land, he almost trips. “Will you ever stop being so clumsy?” you tease, cocking your hip to the side and placing your hands on them.

Namjoon sneers at that, dusting himself off, “One day! I’m still getting used to them you know,” he mutters under your breath. You let out a little giggle at his words. It had surprised you that the forest creatures weren’t born with every one of their attributes - no instead, they slowly came into them over time - kind of like their own version of adulthood. Sure, they were born with some fantastical features - like their eyes, or ears - but the rest usually came with age. Seokjin had fully come into his elven self, and thus his magic, when he’d turned fourteen - three years after you had met him, and Yoongi had fully transitioned into a dryad the year after Seokjin’s.

Namjoon, however, had only come into his wings a month ago, when he’d turned fourteen. Briefly, you wonder when Hoseok would change. So far, he still looked mostly human - if it weren’t for his draconic eyes. “Thinking about Hoseok?” Namjoon asks, a cheeky grin on his face as his dimple indent. Instantly, your face heats before you playfully smack him. Or at least, you attempt to - but Namjoon sees it coming, his eagle eyes catching the movement instantaneously and allowing him to dodge.

“Does the wittle pwincess still have a wittle cwush on Hobi Hobi?” Namjoon teases as he reaches out to pinch your cheeks. Batting his hands away, his words cause your cheeks to heat further.

“Sh-shut up! It’s not like that!” you screech in indignation. Namjoon lets out a little tut before looking at you impishly.

“If you say so, Princess,” he sing songs.

“Stop calling me that!” you scowl, stomping your foot while letting out a huff.

“Okay, okay! Anyway, why were you calling out for Hoseok?” Namjoon asks, looking at you curiously. Cheeks still flushed, your nose scrunches as you remember why you left the tower.

“I can’t find him, do you know where he is?” you ask, cocking your head to the side, your previous ire completely forgotten. Namjoon’s eyebrows furrow in worry.

“Was he not in the tower? He’s not with any of us. Jimin, Tae and Kook are playing in the Merfolk Mangroves and Seokjin and Yoongi went to the forest edge for a walk. I was reading in my nest when I heard you calling out for Hoseok,” Namjoon replies. Hearing that, your eyebrows only furrow further in confusion.

“But- he told me he was staying with you last night? He was supposed to be back this morning, but he hadn’t shown up. It’s afternoon now, so he should have been back,” you inform. The look of shock and slight unease on Namjoon’s face worries you. “What’s wrong?” you ask.

“He wasn’t with me last night,” Namjoon replies. Your eyes widen slightly, heart thundering in your chest. Had Hoseok lied to you? Seeing the worry evident on your face, Namjoon reaches out and places a hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay, I can track him,” Namjoon says. Biting your lip, you nod your head, watching as Namjoon begins sniffing the air for Hoseok’s scent.

“He’s… he’s close?” Namjoon says, confusion laced in his voice. Namjoon gestures towards you to follow him as he begins walking behind the tower. You follow him through the thicket of trees, Namjoon sniffing the air every now and then as he tracks his friend.

Eventually, you reach a small hollowed-out cave. Your head cocks to the side as you take it in. Trees grow out of the rocks, the roots entwining around the boulders that form the entrance to the cave. Vines of ivy hang down around the entrance as iridescent mushrooms and flowers bloom around the bark that surrounds the cave. Moss blankets almost every other inch of the cave, the plush, vibrant foliage cushioning the rough terrain of the rock.

“He’s in there - and I think I hear snoring,” Namjoon says. His words confuse you - why would Hoseok be sleeping in there? Especially when he has his own room in the tower you both live in. Sure, the tower isn’t the epitome of comfort, but surely it would be better than a cave. “You wanna go in?” Namjoon asks. Taking a deep breath, you nod. Hoseok had never hidden from you before, you’ve lived together for five, almost six years now - you didn’t keep secrets from each other.

Slowly, the two of you approach the cave, dread settling deeper and deeper into your bones with every step you take. Once you pass the threshold of the cave, you expect it to be dark, and dimly lit by the light from the entrance - however, just like the tower, the inside is lit up by Hoseok’s dragon flames.

Illuminated by brilliant, amber flames of Hoseok’s dragon fire, the interior flashes in almost blinding light. Scores and scores of treasure litter the cave, different trinkets of gold and silver strewn across haphazardly. The cave is larger than you expected, Hoseok laying in the middle of it all, curled up on a little mound of gold coins. However, he doesn’t look completely like Hoseok.

No - instead, there’s a large tail springing out from his back, the leather looking appendage curling around the treasure and flicking absentmindedly as your best friend sleeps. The tail isn’t the only difference, however: two large, leather wings curl around his body, the limbs dwarfing his smaller frame, and two curled horns twist out of his head. The scales that make up his draconic features are a copper tinted red, glowing an iridescent scarlet in the bright lighting of his flames.

Suddenly, his nose twitches and then with a whine, and a huff - a puff of smoke escaping his nose - Hoseok blinks awake. The moment his eyes open, you’re met with his familiar hazel eyes, his gaze instantly finding and locking with yours. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like millennia, Namjoon quietly sneaking out and leaving the two of you by yourself.

All of a sudden, Hoseok springs to his feet, his draconic features retreating into his body as he looks at you in fear. “____- I can explain,” Hoseok quickly calls out, taking a few steps towards you. But immediately tears pool in your eyes, and before he can reach you, you run out of the cave. Blindly, you race through the forest, your chest aching with each step you take - though, you don’t know whether it’s from running or from the heartache of seeing Hoseok’s draconian attributes.

Out of the blue, you hear the heavy beating of wings before arms wind around your small form, bringing you to a stop. The telltale scent of burnt amber and pine fills your senses and despite yourself, you find yourself calming down. Sinking into Hoseok’s scent, tears heavily pool into your eyes. “Why?” you croak out, not understanding why Hoseok would hide such a huge part of himself from you. When had he changed? You know it doesn’t happen overnight - and with the amount he’s changed, it has to have been a while. How long had he kept something this big from you?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see me like that, I’m sorry. Please don’t be scared of me. ____, please,” Hoseok begins crying, little whimpers escaping his lips as he holds you tighter. Over and over again, he keeps muttering out little apologies, his tears falling onto your shoulder and wetting the cotton of your shirt. His words ricochet through your ears, ringing loudly throughout your being. Why was he apologising?

Placing your hands onto his arm, you slowly unwind them from your body before turning to him. When you see him again, he looks like he’s always done - human - other than his eyes. The bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks mirror yours, you know they do - but unlike yours - his are filled with fear, trepidation and dread. “Hoseok? Hobi- what are you talking about? I’m not afraid of you. Why would I be?” you ask him, pushing away your hurt at having him hide his draconian form from you.

“You ran away from me- after seeing me… like that,” Hoseok whispers, his voice carrying heavy through the quiet forest. Your eyes widen as you realise what he’s talking about - he thinks you’re afraid of him.

“Idiot. I ran because I was hurt, not because I was scared,” you reply quietly, your head lowering to look at the ground. He thought you were scared? How could you be? He’s Hoseok. He’s your best friend - the one who had saved you from your loneliness all those years ago.

“Hurt?” Hoseok repeats, looking at you in confusion. Nodding, you kick your feet slightly.

“You went through your change... but you didn’t tell me. Why?” you ask. Had you done something to betray his trust? Had you done something that made him feel like he couldn’t be completely honest with you?

“I was scared… I don’t- I don’t look human anymore. What if you didn’t want to be my friend anymore? What if you start to hate me?” Hoseok asks, his voice hoarse as he lays his insecurities at your feet. Tears brim in your eyes and you let out a little cry before running and hugging him tightly.

“I could never hate you- or be scared of you. Hoseok, you are my best friend. My dragonbest friend. I ran away because you kept this big secret from me. Not because I was scared of you. I’m sorry,” you apologise, feeling somewhat responsible for his pain.

“I’m sorry too. I should have trusted you…” Hoseok mumbles, returning your hug. You smile into his hug. “Are you sure… you won’t hate me? Or be scared of me? Now that I look like a monster?” Hoseok asks. You tut and shake your head.

“You’re not a monster - you’re a dragon. My dragon, remember? You promised. And yes, I’m sure,” you reply earnestly. Nothing but sincerity in your voice, Hoseok frowns.

“How?”

“Because you were there for me... when no one else was.”

Entering Hoseok’s den, you note that the torches are lit up and as usual, the dazzling amber-gold flames illuminate the cave. Hoseok’s treasure trove had grown over the years - your dragon unable to help himself whenever he’d see something shiny. Sometimes, he’d even travel to the villages that bordered the forest, looking for any shiny trinkets he could find. Gold coins, precious jewels and various different ornate articles are strewn all over the place. You know Hoseok has no use for them nor does he have any concept of monetary value - he only collects them because he likes them - but you can’t help but liken them to the gold coffers of the palace. Not that you remember much of them - just that they were filled with excessive wealth.

Eyes scouring over the cave, you find no sign of your dragon and with a sigh, you exit the den. That left only one more place he could be: the Goblin’s Glade - if he was around here. Though, looking at the sky, you know there’s no real reason for him to be anywhere else. If by some chance he’d ventured further into the forest, you had no idea where he could be - but the chances of that are slim; Hoseok very rarely went somewhere without telling you, especially now.

Turning on your heel, you trek back the way you came. Your feet move automatically as you trudge through the grass and towards the Goblin’s Glade. You’d been there so many times, the meadow being where you would frequently meet up with the rest of your friends, that the path towards it was ingrained in the soles of your feet. Some of your fondest memories took place in the meadow - including the first time you had really realised the extent of your feelings for Hoseok. Sure, you’d always had a crush on him - who wouldn’t, he was the most enamouring dragon shifter you’d ever met. Well - really the only one, but you had met other creatures - and you’d never been attracted to them like you had Hoseok.

Three years ago

“Get her!” Jimin calls out, the nymph running after you, even as you agilely escape his clutches. Your eyes widen in surprise when Jimin pops up in front of you all of a sudden.

Looking at him from the corner of your eyes, the first thing that you notice is the mahogany vines that ensnare his thick neck, pale pink blossoms and vibrant jade leaves adorning the vines. The next thing you notice is his eyes flashing magenta before he swipes you with his arm. Moving on instinct honed into you by Seokjin, you instantly duck, narrowly evading his hand. Jimin cries out in surprise and a cackle of triumph escapes your lips as you watch the nymph trip over a tree root - clearly, Yoongi had caused it to grow rapidly from the ground. Momentarily, you turn to the dryad, perched on a tree branch above you and smile at him in gratefulness.

“Thanks, Yoongi!” you call out. Suddenly, a flash of dark hair catches your eyes from the corner of your eyes - Seokjin. You let out a tut of annoyance before ducking under the elf’s arm as he attempts to wrap his arms around you. Turning around, you grin at Seokjin, sticking your tongue out before continuing your sprint.

The eight of you were currently playing a game Jungkook had coined ‘Capture the Princess’ - in which, the lot of you were split into two teams of four, one holding the princess and her knights - and the other team making up the evil villains. Really, it was just an overcomplicated game of tag. Usually, you’d draw lots for who got to be the princess, and much to your chagrin, today you’d drawn the shortest stick. Of course, it gave your friends a wonderful reason to tease you about your royal heritage - even though you’d long since abandoned it.

Your current team consisted of Yoongi, Namjoon and Taehyung - the three making up the ‘knights’ while Seokjin, Hoseok, Jimin and Jungkook made up the villains. With Jimin’s ankle still entangled in the roots thanks to Yoongi, and Namjoon having tackled Seokjin out of the blue, you’re left with Hoseok and Jungkook chasing you. The two-winged shifters fly above you, causing you to yelp in surprise as you make a break for the riverbank.

“____ watch out!” Taehyung calls out from the river - usually, he’d be on the ground running with the rest of you - however, after the third game he’d grown tired of his legs and retreated back to the water- feeling much more comfortable with his tail. Your eyes widen as  Taehyung ricochets a jet of water just past your left shoulder, where Jungkook had attempted to swoop down to capture you. The stream of water collides directly with Jungkook’s wings, drowning the feathers in water and grounding him.

“Damn it, Taehyung! You know I can’t fly properly with wet wings,” Jungkook scowls, the competitiveness in him flaring as he pouts over missing his opportunity to capture you. A sudden flare of heat emanates from behind you, and despite yourself, you turn to look back. Jungkook’s wings are ablaze, dazzling with golden flames, the vermillion and crimson feathers scintillating under the amber-hued flashes of fire. However, the momentary distraction is all you need for Hoseok to catch up to you.

“I’ve got you!” Hoseok calls in triumph, his clawed hand gently reaching out for you. In a last-ditch effort to evade him, you skid to a halt and lower yourself, attempting to duck. However, the minute you do, your foot slides against the slippery riverbank and you feel yourself falling backwards. Hoseok instantly calls out your name, reaching for you - but it’s too late - because you’ve already fallen into the river.

The ice-cold water rushes around you, drenching your entire body in its frigid embrace. Rapidly rushing currents surround you as you submerge further into the river, your heart racing as you desperately try to hold your breath, even as you claw for the surface - but it’s n use, because the current is far too strong for you to fight - or even attempt to swim to the surface. Heart hammering in your chest, you try to keep yourself as calm as possible - knowing Taehyung would come to your rescue soon.

You don’t have to wait long, because moments after being submerged, you notice Taehyung’s strong, ice-blue scaled tail. Even deep in the river, his tail iridescences with a pearlescent hue, drawing attention to it. Desperately, you reach out for him, Taehyung’s tail beating in an almost entrancing motion as he swims towards you. It only takes him a couple of moments to fight the current and reach you, even as you’re carried further down the river. Within moments, Taehyung reaches out to you, grasping your outstretched hand tightly before turning and swimming back upwards.

Breaching the surface, you gasp for air, Taehyung quickly dragging you towards the edge of the riverbank. Instantly, you begin coughing and sputtering, trying to get the water out of your lungs before gasping for air. Strong arms wrap around you, pulling you into an incredibly warm chest, the scent of burnt amber and pine filling your senses. Though, this time, you don’t need his scent to tell you it’s Hoseok - you can feel it just from the intensity of the heat he’s radiating.

“Fuck. ____, are you okay?” Hoseok asks, his hands rapidly moving over your arms, whimpers escaping his lips as he feels how utterly cold your skin is.

“F-Fine. J-J-Just cold,” you stutter out, your body shivering in an attempt to warm you up.

“You need to get her home, Hoseok,” Seokjin calls out. Hoseok nods swiftly before picking you up in his arms easily. However, you don’t hear much else, because soon, you’re blacking out.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in your bed. Your eyebrows furrow as the memories come rushing back and you let out a small groan. By the Old Elders, you had to be more careful - the riverbank was dangerous, the surface of the river deceptively calm; hiding not only the depth but the strong currents underneath as well. The boys had warned you - hell, Taehyung himself had warned you, knowing better than anyone how harsh the currents were. Really, having experienced it, you have to wonder just howstrong Taehyung’s tail is for him to so easily navigate through those harsh conditions.

Sighing, you snuggle further into the mattress, more than happy to relish in the warmth after the freezing depths of the river. With a relaxed sigh, you snuggle further into the hard warmth that surrounds you. Wait. Hard warmth? Your bed isn’t hard. Instantly, your eyes shoot open and you come face-to-chest with none other than Hoseok. Involuntarily, a squeak of surprise escapes your lips - why was he in your bed?

Of course, this isn’t the first time you’d shared a bed - Hoseok would frequently crawl into your bed when you were younger, both as a medium of heat during the cold nights the sparse tower would experience, as well as a deterrent to your nightmares. Of course, you’d outgrown the nightmares ultimately, and eventually, you and Hoseok had created better furniture and bedding to protect yourselves - well, more you - from the cold winter nights.

Now, however, it feels different. He’s pressed tightly against you, blazing heat emanating from his chest - most likely in an attempt to warm you up, a gesture you were incredibly grateful for. Shifting back slightly, you use the opportunity to study him a little. It’s dark outside, the large window letting in thick streams of moonlight to light up your room. Had you slept the entire evening away?

Bright beams of moonlight settle over Hoseok, causing his deep, tanned skin to gleam under the pristine light. You’ve always known Hoseok is beautiful - but under the moonlight, he looks completely and utterly ethereal. His russet hair glistens, the long locks falling into his eyes. Your eyes trace his features, the elegant slant of his nose, his defined, sharp jaw, the soft swells of his cheeks - not to mention his heart-shaped, soft and utterly kissable lips.

Wait.

Kissable lips?

Instantly, heat floods your cheeks. Kissable?! Why the hell had that crossed your mind. Did you want to kiss Hoseok? I mean, of course you’ve thought about it - he was far too attractive for his own good. Not to mention how kind he is; or how his smile lights up the room, and how really, he’s the only person who can make you feel safe. Fuck - the boys had always teased you about your childhood crush, but had it somehow morphed into something more over the years?

“Boar meat… ____,” Hoseok mumbles under his breath, his eyes moving under his eyelids as he dreams about whatever it is he’s dreaming off. His mutters cause you to giggle slightly, even as you attempt to stifle them so as not to wake him up. Your gaze flicking over his features, and a smile involuntarily curling over your face, you can’t help but roll your eyes playfully as he continues mumbling. Suddenly, you stop - because if you’re smiling over the fact that he muttered your name after boar meat, you’ve got to have it bad.

“____… that’s my gold,” Hoseok mutters almost incoherently, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, a pout forming on his face. Shaking your head, you snuggle closer to him, your head resting in the crook of his nest. The moment you shuffle closer to him, Hoseok places his nose against your head before he takes in a deep breath, his arm tightening around your waist. By the Old Elders, he’s such a dork. But at least, he’s your dork.

Drawn out of your reverie, you arrive at the open field, a smile on your face as you remember the day fondly. There was nothing that soothed you or brought you as much happiness as Hoseok’s embrace. Something about being in his arms just felt right, felt like safety - like home, in a way nothing else did. Which is why, you have to find him soon - because with every moment that passes without you knowing where he is, or if he’s okay, your heart grips with worry and fear. You have no idea what you would do if you lost Hoseok.

Entering the clearing, you scan the area for any signs of life, your friends, or even Hoseok. However, as usual, no one is to be seen. You pull your lower lip between your teeth, chewing on it as worry clouds your head. It’s dark now: the sun has long since set. The moon is out in full force, illuminating the forest in its dewy, pristine light. That was something you were eternally grateful for - the magic of the forest amplified the moonlight, allowing all the creatures that made the forest their home to see clearly at night. Nonetheless, bioluminescent mushrooms light the ground, prismatic flowers incandesce around the trees: their vines clinging to the bark, while opalescent fireflies flitter about; their gleaming light only lighting up the forest further. It’s as if, under the light of the moon, the forest came to life.

Hoping beyond hope, and sending a silent prayer to any of the Old Elders of the Forest that would listen to you, you pray that you had somehow missed Hoseok and that by some miracle he was back at the tower. A sliver of dread passes through you, what if something had happened to him? It was no longer safe for him to be out for long times - not since you’d turned eighteen. The day after your eighteenth birthday, princes and their guards had begun turning up at the forest, looking for you, ready to slay the dragon and rescue you. Of course, it was all ridiculous - because you didn’t needrescuing - you’re happy where you are - with Hoseok. Sure, you’d tried explaining that to the princes, but they hadn’t listened to you, instead, trying their best to fight Hoseok.

All of a sudden, you hear a commotion coming from near where your tower is located. It seems like people are yelling and your chest immediately tightens, your eyes widening as your hands begin trembling with fear. Then, a roar. A dragon roar. Turning on your heel instantly, you sprint back towards the tower, your feet thundering across the grass-cushioned ground as you run as fast as you can. Racing back, your heart hammers in your chest, your lungs burning for oxygen while the muscles in your leg smart at being pushed so hard so suddenly - but you implore them to move faster - you have to get to Hoseok.

Skidding to a halt when you reach the tower, your heart leaps to the back of your throat, your knees almost buckling at the sight. Hoseok is heavily leaning on Yoongi, the dryad’s support the only thing keeping him up. Seokjin, Taehyung, and Namjoon driving off the last of the vanguard, the knights retreating under the merciless barrage of arrows, rapid jets of water and unrelenting gusts of wind from your friends. Bright flashes light up the night as magic spells fly around, the guards trying their best to retreat from the commotion. However, you ignore your friends, instead, running towards Hoseok.

“W-what happened?” you cry out as you help Yoongi support Hoseok. Your dragon whines reassuringly, though it comes out more pained than anything, trying to let you know he’s okay. Now that you’re closer to him, you notice the sheen of perspiration that coats his forehead, his clothing ripped in various places, belying the various cuts and scrapes that litter his skin.

“Those knights invaded the forest. They were looking for you and found Hoseok instead. When we heard the commotion, Hoseok was already fighting them - he’s badly hurt. One of them shot him in the stomach as he tried to flee,” Yoongi replies through gritted teeth. Involuntarily, a sob escapes your lips, though you stifle it. This is no time for you to be crying, Hoseok needs your help.

Carrying Hoseok into the tower, you and Yoongi begin lifting him up the stairs. “We need to get him to my room. His room is too far up the tower, we won’t be able to get him up there,” you quickly say, even as you try to blink away the tears. This is all your fault. If you weren’t with Hoseok, if Hoseok hadn’t promised to protect you, none of this would be happening to him.

“Stop worrying - he’ll be fine. Jimin went to get Jungkook,” Yoongi snaps, his green eyes flashing. You bite your lip - you’d spent so much time with the boys, that you could read each other clearly. “Also stop blaming yourself. You belong here, and Hoseok would fight anyone and anything that would try taking you away,” Yoongi reprimands and you know he means well, but it only has you feeling guiltier.

“That’s the problem,” you whisper. You don’t want Hoseok to fight, you want him safe, with you, for as long as you can have him. Before Yoongi can reply, the door to the tower bursts open, Namjoon and Seokjin quickly scaling the tower stairs and reaching you in no time. Seokjin swiftly takes your position, helping Hoseok up the stairs and towards your room, something you’re utterly thankful for. Hoseok was a lot heavier than he looked.

“How are you doing?” Namjoon asks, looking at you in worry. His eyes trail from your tear-filled eyes to your slightly swollen face.

“I’m not the one hurt, Namjoon,” you reply, almost bitterly.

It’s all your fault.

As if reading your thoughts, Namjoon pulls you in for a hug. His strong arms wrap around your body, enveloping it in his embrace, but your hands stay limply against your sides. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to have those princes come to save you. None of us blame you, and Hoseok definitely doesn’t either,” Namjoon says quietly. A sob escaping your mouth, you muffle them, and instead, causing you to hiccup.

“But I blame myself,” you reply quietly. Namjoon tuts slightly but tightens his embrace.

“Come on, let’s go. Jungkook’s probably already up there,” Namjoon says before taking your hand in his and leading you up towards your room. You get there just in time to see Jungkook fly in through your window, his body shifted into his complete phoenix form as Jimin clings to his back.

You watch as Jungkook perches beside your bed, leaning over Hoseok, his glowing teal eyes roving over each and every inch of Hoseok’s body as he examines all his injuries. His gaze stops directly over his stomach, where an open wound lies - most likely where the arrow punctured Hoseok. Closing his eyes, Jungkook lets little teardrops fall over Hoseok’s body, starting from his stomach and making his way around any cuts and scrapes your dragon has. Instantly, the phoenix tears begin working their magic, Hoseok’s skin knitting back together until it seems he hasn’t been hurt at all. Seeing his wounds clear up, you let out a deep sigh of relief. Once he’s all patched up, Jungkook shifts back into his human form.

“He’s fine now, his wounds are all healed. But he’ll need to rest for a couple of hours. He’ll also need some food to get up his strength, he’s pretty much exhausted of any energy,” Jungkook informs, his gaze levelled on you.

“I have dinner prepared, but I can’t get the fire started without Hoseok,” you mutter.

Nodding, “Alright, let’s go. I’ll light it up for you,” Jungkook says before gesturing you out of the room.

“We’ll also leave. We’ll see you tomorrow to check up on him,” Seokjin says before guiding the rest of the members out. However, before leaving, he places his hand on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. You relish in his comfort, sending him a grateful smile. Then he leaves.

Guiding Jungkook towards the kitchen, you gesture him towards the filled pot. Gently, Jungkook sucks in a deep breath before blowing gently, a stream of golden flames emanating from his mouth. It’s not as ferocious as Hoseok’s fire, nor does it burn at hot, but there’s a certain warmth through it. You watch as Jungkook leans over the pot, a grin on his face. “Boar meat? He’ll love that when he wakes up,” he comments, stirring the pot. Then, you watch in confusion as Jungkook drops another tear into the pot. “That’ll help him gain his strength quicker. Don’t worry so much, when he wakes up he’ll be fully healed and as energised as he always is,” Jungkook says. You nod quietly, muttering your thanks.

Jungkook looks at you intently, your eyes downcast and refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s not-” Jungkook begins, but before he can finish, you let out a bitter scoff.

“It’s not my fault I know. Everyone keeps saying that, but it feels like my fault. If I wasn’t here, Hoseok wouldn’t be hurt. If I wasn’t here, those princes and knights wouldn’t come to the forest. If I wasn’t here, you’d all be better off. I’m a danger to all of you,” you suddenly burst out, your fists clenched as you breathe heavily.

“Do you really believe that?” Jungkook asks, his head cocking to the side. Jaw flexing as you grit your teeth, you nod while clenching your fist tighter, your fingernails digging into your skin.

“Yeah okay. Sure, if you weren’t here Hoseok wouldn’t be hurt. And sure, if you weren’t here those princes and knights wouldn’t keep coming. But you’re wrong in thinking that we’d be better without you. Hoseok would be heartbroken - he’d be crushed if you were to go. And so would the rest of us. We’re not just friends anymore, ____. We’re family. And every single one of us loves you and we’d fight to keep you here. In the forest. Where you belong. With us. Because that’s what family do,” Jungkook says, nothing but conviction in his eyes.

His words cause your eyes to tear up, your chest swelling with all the emotions you feel. Guilt. Worry. Happiness. Love. The conflicting feelings well up in your chest, causing your throat to tighten. It’s like you’re tongue-tied, unable to even form the words to express what Jungkook’s words mean to you. So instead, you simply smile at him, Jungkook responding with his own reassuring smile.

“I’ve got to go, but take care of him alright? And stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” Jungkook jokes.

Then, with a wink, you watch as his back lights up with blazing gold flames, and then, he flies out the window. You turn to the pot, watching the water boil as the meat and vegetables soften into a thick stew. Grabbing a ladle, you begin stirring the pot absentmindedly, wondering how long it’d be till Hoseok woke up.

Once the stew is ready, you grab a bowl and begin serving Hoseok a portion. Carefully, you carry it up to your room before placing it on the rickety table beside your bed. The sight of the table brings a sad smile on your face. It’s uneven, and wobbles but Hoseok had built it for you with his own hands when you were both younger. With a deep breath, you pull up a ramshackle chair and sit besides Hoseok, simply watching over him. You sit for a while, tending to Hoseok - wiping the sweat off of his forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes and ensuring he’s comfortable.

Once again, the moonlight streams through your window, highlighting his elegant features. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he were the prince sent to rescue you. But you do know better - and he’s no prince. He’s a dragon. Your dragon. Soft sigh escaping your lips, you think back to your eighteenth birthday. It had been so easy back then, before the princes had started coming.

10 months ago

Feet shuffling, “Are you sure we can do this?” you ask, looking at Hoseok uneasily. Even as you utter your words, your dragon best friend ignores you, instead, pulling a boat out of a small alcove. You’re currently in the Merfolk Mangroves, the river that runs through it being the only way to sneak out of the enchanted forest. Sure, you could always walk to the border, but then you risked being stopped by the elves that patrolled the border - and Hoseok didn’t want any questions.

“It’s alright - don’t worry. It’s a special day, we’re gonna do something exciting!” Hoseok says cheerily as he tethers the dingy boat to the docks.

Looking around nervously, you do as Hoseok says: keeping a lookout. You’ve been to the Merfolk Mangroves a fair amount in your time in the forest, yet it never fails to amaze you each and every time. Gigantuous roots from the even more colossal mangroves twist and wind around the area, providing the environment with plenty of cover. The roots are a deep oak in colour, the bark obscured by thick blankets of olivine moss and supple viridian leaves. Streams of water drip from the roots of the mangroves, cascading downwards and into the river the runs along the forest floor.

The musky scent of the earth and the dewy scent of freshwater is thick in the air, clouding your scenes and bathing your nose in its enticing smell. An array of different creatures make their home in the Merfolk Mangroves - merfolk, of course, live in the different shallows of water - surface merfolk closer to to the riverbank and deep-river merfolk further down towards the riverbed. Nymphs, fae and elves made their homes on the branches and canopies of the trees; and of course, dryads of all kinds carved intricate burrows into the trunks. In fact, the Merfolk Mangroves is where most of the population of the forest lived - only very few lived outside the safety and magic of its comfort.

Suddenly, a voice calls out “Whatcha doing?” Instantaneously, you jump, almost slipping on the slippery bank. However, before you can fall, two hands steady you. Once comes from behind you: Hoseok, and the other, from in front. Fuck. It’s Seokjin. Looking behind him, you let out a moan of lamentation - because the rest of the boys - except for Taehyung - are also behind him, the lot of them looking at you cheekily. Though, you have no doubt that Taehyung is somewhere in the river.

“Going somewhere?” comes Taehyung’s deep, gravelly voice, causing you to sigh - and there he is.

“How did you find us?” Hoseok yells in indignation, throwing the rope that tethers the boat to the pier down. The boys only chuckle, before looking around.

“Some elves noticed you and ____ sneaking around and informed me - and well, some mermaids spotted you here and told Taehyung. So, where ya going?” Seokjin says. Hoseok curses under his breath, more than miffed that his plan had been ruined.

Hand running through his hair, “It’s ____’s eighteenth birthday - I’m taking her to the village on the edge of the forest to celebrate,” Hoseok mumbles under his breath, knowing you’ve been caught. Though, you do count your blessings that Seokjin is the elven prince - meaning that you’re not really in trouble for trying to sneak out. It had come as a surprise to you when you’d found out your friend, and the boy who’d been like your older brother while growing up, was next in line for the throne - but it had made sense. Seokjin is a powerful elf, and probably the best marksman in the entire elven vanguard.

“Hoseokie, you know it’s dangerous for the forest creatures to leave. Humans don’t like us - they hunt us for fun. Just last week a unicorn was found dead at our borders,” Seokjin says warily. Your eyes widen, a gasp falling from your lips. Unicorns were wholly innocent - who would want to kill one? Just the thought of it has you feeling sick.

“I know… I just… I wanted to do something different for her,” Hoseok mutters before looking away, his eyes downcast. Eyes softening, you look at him tenderly.

“Hobi… you don’t have to do that for me,” you reply, Hoseok shrugging.

“I know I don’t- but I want to,” comes his reply.

Seokjin lets out a little sigh before running his hand through his hair. You look at him curiously - he stands tall, his dark hair falling to his shoulders, some strands swept out of his face. Bright gold eyes glitter in the sparse beams of light that fall through the mangrove canopy, his pointed ears twitching slightly.

“There’s a tavern - just on the outskirts of the forest. It’s run by a fae I knew when I was younger. Humans and magical creatures are both allowed, but because of that, you can imagine it’s not the nicest of places. I’ll grant you permission to go for today,” Seokjin begins. As soon as he begins speaking, Hoseok’s ears twitch, his head snapping up and excitement brimming in his deep hazel eyes. “However,” Seokjin continues, a teasing smirk crawling on his face, “we have to come with you,” he finishes.

Spluttering in outrage, “What?! Why?” Hoseok bursts.

“It’s ____’s eighteenth birthday, do you really think we’d forget? Or not want to celebrate with her?” Yoongi asks, his eyes rolling as he looks pointedly at Hoseok.

“Yeah, I can’t believe you didn’t invite us,” Jimin pouts, looking at Hoseok in playful ire.

“It’s not fair Hoseokie, you can’t keep the princess to yourself,” Namjoon teases, a knowing look evident on his face. Hearing his words, both you and Hoseok blush brightly, your heads turning from each other, even as you sneakily steal side glances towards the other.

“Come on! Let’s go! I’m excited, I’ve never been out the forest,” Jungkook says, already jumping into the boat. Knowing there’s no way to get his friends to leave, Hoseok lets out a sigh of defeat, his shoulders drooping. Really, he was hoping it would be just you and him, but with the arrival of his stubborn friends, he knew it wouldn’t be possible. Really, this was the real reason he had tried to sneak out.

The seven of you cautiously enter the boat, Taehyung choosing to swim beside you until you reached the outskirts of the forest. Though, you think he did it more considering how cramped the small boat already was. You’re currently pressed between Hoseok and Yoongi’s laps, Jimin sitting on Seokjin’s lap as Namjoon and Jungkook squeeze themselves in the back.

The eight of you float down the river, carried by the gentle current Taehyung generates with his powerful tail, making sure that the boat doesn’t catch the more powerful currents underneath. You watch in awe as the forest passes you by - different creatures milling about. Fairies flitter around the high tree branches, showers of magic and fairy dust falling gently from their wings. Little pods of merfolk swim around, some sitting on the boulders on the shore waving to Taehyung before giggling between themselves.

“Woah look at that,” Jungkook says, pointing to the other side of the river. You all turn your gaze, your eyes widening when you spot the pegasus at the edge, gently sipping water.

“By the Elders, it’s rare to see pegasi, even in the forest. They’re male celestial beings, - borne only under certain conditions - when a drop of moonlight falls from the sky and onto a morning glory. Being solitary beasts, they shy away from the rest of the forest’s creatures. Today must be a lucky day, huh ____?” Seokjin asks, smiling happily at you. You nod slowly, unable to take your eyes off the creature.

Its coat is as white as white could be - so pure that it glows softly with every movement - as if made of moonlight - though, from what Seokjin says, they are moonlight themselves. His mane idly drifts around him, dancing with each gentle wisp of wind that combs through his hair. Large, white-feathered wings spring out from his back, the wingspan almost dwarfing his equine body. Each further is iridescent, gleaming in a kaleidoscope of pure pastel colours. You’ve never seen anything like it - and you’ll never see anything like it again. You can feel it - this is a once in a lifetime experience.

“There it is! The edge of the forest!” Jimin calls out, abruptly standing up in the boat and pointing towards a clearing. His sudden movement causes the boat to rock dangerously, everyone yelling out in surprise.

“Jimin! Be careful,” Namjoon admonishes. The nymph lets out a sheepish smile before taking his seat on Seokjin’s lap again.

As soon as you float through the clearing, Taehyung twists the water currents, helping the boat move to shore. Hoping out, Seokjin and hoseok drag the boat the rest of the way onto the shore, docking it until you’re ready to return home. The alcove you find yourselves is attached by a small stream to the river that runs through the enchanted forest, and really, it doesn’t look all that different. Trees line the alcove, providing ample shade with its supple foliage. The sand is soft, your sandals sinking into the ground as soon as you step onto it - but something is different.

There’s no magic in the air. No potent crackling of life or enchanting tingles or energy wafting through the atmosphere. It feels slightly strange - empty - especially since you’ve been used to the forest’s magic for over a decade of your life. Suddenly, you feel a little uneasy. Was it okay for you to leave? Would your friends be okay? Almost as if sensing your worry, Hoseok walks up beside you, his hand entwining in yours before he squeezes it reassuringly. You look up at him, smiling at him in thanks before returning his squeeze.

“Are we ready?” Seokjin asks, taking charge of navigation - which makes sense, considering he’s the only one who knows where the tavern is. You turn to the rest of your friends, noticing Taehyung’s already pulled himself out of the river and is now dressed in simple brown trousers, leather boots and a white shirt. It always surprised you that he could simply magic up some clothes for himself whenever he stepped out the water.

Guiding the group out of the alcove and out of the sparse underbrush of shrubbery, Seokjin brings you to a little hut just on the outskirts of the forest. You spot little lights a little further down - a small village just a few kilometres further down from the forest edge. You follow Seokjin closely, the group practically glued to him as you look around in wonder.

The moment you enter the tavern, your senses are overwhelmed. The atmosphere is warm, borderline stuffy from all the patrons crowding it - really, you’d be lucky to get a table for all of you together. The scent of alcohol is thick in the air, the pungent smell burning your nostrils, causing you to wrinkle your nose. Abruptly, someone bumps into you, pushing you out of the way and spilling some ale on your shoes. With a little frustrated sigh, you push further against Hoseok. Why had you chosen to come here when you could be doing something else? However, remember how excited Hoseok had been to take you out of the forest, you can’t help but smile. He had meant well, and really, this is all Seokjin’s fault anyway - he’s the one who suggested the tavern.

“Jaebum!” Seokjin calls out, the bartender looking up. His eyes flash mulberry for a moment, his dark hair framing his face in that typical, dark, bad boy style. His pointed ears are pierced in multiple locations, a silver ring sitting on his bottom lip. Even his nose and cheek are pierced - how many piercings did one guy need?

“Seokjin, what brings you to my neck of the woods? The forest too boring for you?” Jaebum asks snarkily. Seokjin simply rolls his eyes before gesturing to the group.

“It’s my friend’s birthday. We need a table,” Seokjin says simply. Jaebum rolls his own eyes before shrugging.

“Nowhere’s available,” comes Jaebum’s simple answer.

With a tut, “You know that’s not true. You couldn’t best me in illusions when we were younger, and you definitely can’t best me now,” Seokjin replies, a victorious smirk crawling onto his face. Illusions? You watch as Jaebum scowls, and then suddenly, the atmosphere ripples before changing. You watch in awe as the once crowded bar dies down right before your eyes. It’s still full, just not nearly as much as it was before. You even easily spot a table large enough to hold you and your friends.

“Thanks, Bummie,” Seokjin sing songs, causing the bartender to scowl further. Seokjin leads you to the table, gesturing to Jaebum to bring each of you a pint of ale. Appearing out of thin air, you expect a tankard of ale or something similar - but you’re pleasantly surprised by the jug of a sweet-smelling beverage in front of you.

“It’s Sugar Venom - a fae spirit. Some of the best there is. Jaebum may be a shitty spellcast, but no one can ferment spirits quite like him,” Seokjin says, a large grin on his face as he sips his drink. You watch as each of the boys looks at it curiously, before taking a sip. The sweetness tingles on your lips, the drink easily going down from how enticingly saccharine it is.

Almost an hour after drinking, all of you find yourself pleasantly tipsy, your tongue loosened by the flowing alcohol. Only Seokjin, Hoseok and Jungkook find themselves unaffected by the effects of the fae spirit. Seokjin because he was more than used to his fair share of alcohol, while Hoseok and Jungkook were unable to become intoxicated in any way - their high body temperature burning off alcohol quicker than it could affect them.

“Y-You know, hic-” Namjoon slurs, being interrupted by a hiccup, “you and ____ would make such a cute couple, Hobi,” Namjoon continues, a sleepy smile on his face. Seokjin lets out a chuckle, clapping Namjoon on the back while Jungkook snickers, Hoseok looking away in embarrassment. He steals a glance towards you; you’re smiling gently, your cheeks flushed as you look at him coyly. Though, he’s unsure if the warmth to your cheeks is because of the alcohol or embarrassment.

“I agree! How long are you gonna make us wait, Hobi? We’re tired of watching you and ____, you know,” Jimin scowls, his voice coming out louder than he’d intended. Yoongi hushes him, the two falling into a fit of giggles over seemingly nothing.

“Come on Hobi-Hobi, we’re all waiting,” Taehyung joins in, waggling his eyebrows suggestively at the dragon. Well, attempting to waggle them - in his inebriated state of mind he only manages to move them slightly.

“Yeah Hobi, ____ has been waiting a very long time for you to tell her you love her. Do you not love ____, Hobi?” you ask, your words surprising everyone. Hoseok looks at you in alarm as you begin addressing yourself in the third person, ranting and raving about how it’s not fair that he’s made you wait this long for a confession.

“____, are you okay?” Seokjin asks, looking at you in worry, even as a hint of amusement shines in his eyes.

“No!” you pout, your arms crossing around your chest as you look at Hoseok, “____ has been waiting very long for Hobi to say he loves ____. It’s not fair. ____ loves Hobi very much…” you trail off, “but he doesn’t love ____,” you mumble under your breath. The effects of the alcohol are clear and you know usually, you wouldn’t dare say any of this, but the alcohol has made you loosen your inhibitions slightly, your tongue freed under its influence. Hoseok’s heart begins beating roughly as he hears your unintended confession. Do you mean you love him as a friend… or something more?

“____ just wants Hobi kisses,” you pout, pathetically lamenting to yourself in your tipsy state. Hoseok takes in a deep breath, his heart fluttering in his chest. You love him? Like he loves you? Unable to suppress it, a wide grin crawls onto Hoseok’s face. He reaches out towards you, slipping your hand between his, your fingers entwining as he squeezes it reassuringly. Feeling his touch, you perk up, your demeanour doing a completely one-eighty as you begin smiling brightly.

“Hey pretty lady, can I buy you a drink?” comes a voice from behind you. You don’t notice, too busy gazing at Hoseok with starstruck eyes. However, immediately, Hoseok, Seokjin and Jungkook are alert, eyeing the large man in steel armour behind you warily.

“Oi, lady,” the man repeats, trying to get you to notice him, only to get annoyed when he realises your undivided attention is on the dragon next to you. Noticing the man lift his hand, Hoseok’s eyes flash dangerously, immense heat radiating around him. The boys at the table suddenly jump, blinking wearily, alcohol still clouding their heads, as they look at Hoseok’s, the tavern’s temperature rising rapidly.

“Hoseok,” Seokjin warns, looking around warily. The man’s friends have obviously noticed the commotion, all of them placing their hands on their weapons, ready to defend their friend.

“Just move along,” Hoseok growls, the sound low and threatening.

The man, realising the danger of the situation, puts his hands up in surrender before retreating. Before he leaves, however, “Why would a human want to be with a monster of all things,” he drunkenly mutters under his breath. Instantly, the heat surrounding Hoseok is doused, his spine-shivering as if Taehyung had dumped ice-cold water down his back. Hoseok’s hand turns limp in your hand, his previous happiness forgotten. The guard had a point - why would you ever want to be with him? He was a dragon, he lived in a forest - and sure you did too - but he could never give you the life you deserved.

“You could have hurt her, you know,” Seokjin sighs, shaking his head at Hoseok. The dragon simply sends an annoyed glance towards the older boy, a huff escaping his nose.

“I’d never hurt her. My flames can’t hurt her,” Hoseok says, Seokjin’s eyes widening at the admission, realising the gravity of Seokjin’s words. A fire dragon’s flames burned hotter than hellfire - and Hoseok wasn’t just an ordinary fire dragon - he was a sun dragon: their flames burning at hot and bright as the sun itself. For Hoseok’s flames to not be able to hurt you, there was only one explanation. Hoseok had chosen you to be his mate.

“Hoseok, are you serious? Does she know?” Seokjin asks, looking at you. The dragon simply shakes his head before standing up. He holds his hand out for you, and eagerly, you place yours in his. Pulling you to your feet, you stumble slightly, Hoseok easily catching you before steadying you against his side. Grinning brightly at him, you muster your alcohol-given courage, and stepping on your tip-toes, place a kiss on his cheek.

“We should go home. It’s getting late,” Hoseok says, ignoring the way his skin tingles from where your soft lips brushed oh so innocently against his flesh.

Seokjin looks at him pointedly before nodding. Waving his hands at the boys, he urges them to get up. One hand wrapped around your waist, he guides you out of the tavern, but not before throwing a leather-bound bag of gold to Jaebum in payment for the alcohol. Hoseok crinkles his nose in distaste, not really wanting to hand over his precious gold to the barkeep, but knowing it was worth it if you had a good birthday.

The next thing you know, you’re waking up in your bedroom, Hoseok gently placing you down on your bed. When had you fallen asleep? You remember Hoseok carrying you out of the bar and towards the boat. He’d been incredibly warm, his body heat a creature comfort against the chill of the night. Clearly, you’d fallen asleep on the journey home. “Hoseok?” you croak. The haziness of the alcohol had mostly ebbed away by now, your cheeks tinging pink as you remember how you’d acted earlier in the night. You’re just lucky it’s dark in your bedroom, preventing Hoseok from noticing your embarrassment.

“Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep,” Hoseok mumbles, as he tucks you into bed.

Swallowing thickly, you gather up your courage. You had to say in now, “I meant what I said earlier. I like you… more than a friend,” you rasp, swallowing once again as the words escape your lips. Hoseok smiles gently at you, brushing your hair out of your face. Your eyelids flutter, your forehead nuzzling into the warmth of his hand.

“I know you did, but… can you give me some time?” Hoseok asks, his voice quiet, as if afraid to utter out the words. Smiling tenderly at him, you sluggishly lift your hand and entwine your fingers into his.

Then, bringing his hand to your lips, you press a soft kiss against the back of his hand. “Time? I’ll give you all the time you need, Hoseok. I’d wait for you forever. I love you,” you whisper, voice laced with nothing but love. Hoseok’s chest tightens, his heart fluttering between his ribcage.

“I love you too,” Hoseok whispers back, however, you’re already fast asleep, his confession falling on deaf ears. He sits for another few moments, simply watching you sleep. He does love you - there’s no truer truth in the world than his love for you. It was only reinforced by his dragon choosing you as his mate. But his mind flashes back to the tavern, ‘Why would a human want to be with a monster of all things’. The man’s words ring loudly in his head, and Hoseok has to wonder if his love was enough for you - if he was enough for you.

Looking at Hoseok, you smile sadly at him. You had meant what you said that night, you would wait forever for him - but looking at him now, you wonder if you even should. After that night, the knights and princes had started invading the forest - looking out for you. They would come randomly, giving Hoseok no time to prepare for them, but your dragon is strong, and fierce and ferocious - with the power of the sun burning inside his chest, and time after time, he’d manage to drive away the princes or knights, or whoever came for you.

Except for today.

Today is the first time Hoseok’s been so badly injured - if it were anywhere else, the arrows would have deflected off of his dragonhide, his scales harder than the strongest metals. But he’d been hit in his stomach, the only weak point in his leather armour. It has been almost a year since they started coming for you - though, you have no idea why. You know your stepmother had said to leave you here till a prince could come to save you, but you hadn’t believed her. You knew she wanted to be rid of you - so whywere they coming? It doesn’t make sense.

You avert your gaze from Hoseok’s face, instead, staring intently at his hand. Hesitantly, you reach out for it, mindless playing with his fingers as you ponder your thoughts. Was it worth going back? You didn’t want Hoseok to be hurt - you never want to see him like this again. But in order to never see him hurt again, you have to never see him again and you don’t think your heart could take it. For the last decade, Hoseok is all you’ve known, all you’ve needed. Could you so easily leave him? Definitely not - at least, not easily. But you could leave him - it would hurt, more than you could even imagine - but you could do it, if it meant he’d be safe.

“Should- should I leave?” you mutter quietly to yourself, your eyebrows furrowing.

“Please don’t,” comes a hoarse reply.

Head snapping towards Hoseok, your eyes widen as you realise he’s awake. “Hoseok!” you cry out. Immediately, you begin fussing over him, making sure he’s okay. Hoseok lets out a little chuckle before grabbing your hands and stilling you.

“I’m okay. I’m a dragon remember? Also, nothing will heal you faster than Jungkook’s tears,” Hoseok says, smiling brightly at you. Your heart grips in your chest seeing his smile, the little dimples indenting above his lips.

“Oh! That reminds me, here, you should eat,” you say, picking up the bowl of the now cold stew and handing it to Hoseok. “Sorry it’s cold, I made it a while ago,” you apologise. Hoseok simply stares at the bowl, however, blinking in disbelief.

Taking a deep breath, “Is that boar meat?” Hoseok asks, his body perking up. Despite yourself, you smile at him, nodding happily. Hoseok swiftly grabs the bowl from you, then lightly breathing fire under the bowl, he heats it up again before tucking in. You simply watch him quietly, relishing in how happy he looks with a simple bowl of boar stew. Even doing the most mundane of things, he’s enticing.

As he eats, your earlier question still plays in your mind. Over and over again, like a broken record, your mind questions whether you should just leave - go back to the Kingdom with the next prince that comes for you. Finishing off his meal, Hoseok lets out a moan of gratitude before placing the bowl down. You get up to take it, however, Hoseok reaches out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist and halting you. You freeze, looking at him in surprise. His gaze is firm, yet melancholy, bright hazel eyes boring straight into yours.

“Would you really leave me?” Hoseok asks, his voice barely audible - just above a whisper. Goosebumps pricking at your skin, your face crumples with emotion.

“I don’t want to leave you Hoseok, but I- I can’t stand seeing you hurt. I can’t help but feel guilty because I’m the reason they’re coming, and I’m the reason for you being hurt. Seeing you today- I don’t- I don’t want to lose you,” you sniffle, your words coming out broken as you breathe deeply, trying to hold the tears back.

“If you don’t want to lose me, why would you leave?” Hoseok asks, not understanding your logic. Well, he does - somewhat - but it still doesn’t make sense. It’s not like any of the princes could best him in battle anyway - the only reason he was hurt today was because he was caught off guard.

“To protect you! It’s my fault you were hurt today,” you reply with a sniffle. Hoseok looks at you pointedly, shaking his head.

“It’s not your fault-” Hoseok begins and you open your mouth to argue, but Hoseok stops you. Abruptly, he tugs at your wrist, pulling you into his chest. Arms wrapping around you, he holds you close, “It’s not your fault because I choose to fight for you, ____. I promised you I’d protect you. I’ll never stop protecting you, ____ and I’ll never stop fighting for you - because you belong here. In this forest. In this tower. With me,” Hoseok says. Conviction is strong in his voice, his eyes staring at you earnestly.

“What if you get tired of protecting me? What if I lose you?” you mumble, burying your head in the crook of his neck. Burnt amber and pine fill your senses, your eyes fluttering shut as you breathe him in. Nothing felt like safety - nothing felt like home - the same way Hoseok did.

“I would never tire of protecting you and you would never lose me. I’m here for as long as you want me,” Hoseok says, his lithe arm tightening around your waist.

“How are you so sure?” you question, your heartbeat thundering in your chest. Hoseok is always attentive - but this time, his touch is different - more intimate. His head drops to your shoulder, his nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck - and if you didn’t know any better, you’d swear he just took in a deep breath.

Goosebumps prickle at your skin as Hoseok’s hand wanders down your arm, your skin tingling under his touch. When he gets to your hand, he wraps your palm in his much large one while lacing his fingers between yours. Gently lifting your hand, his head shifts as he presses a soft kiss to the inside of your wrist, “Because I love you. Because you’re who I chose to be my mate. Because I would protect you until the end of the world,” he confesses, his voice soft and heavily laden with emotion.

“W-what?” you ask. Pushing him back slightly, you shift over him, absentmindedly making yourself more comfortable on his lap as you stare at him in disbelief. Hoseok smiles gently at you from underneath, one hand reaching up and cupping your face.

“You’re my mate, ____. You’re who I choose to spend the rest of my life with. But- only if you want to,” Hoseok replies, pulling your chin down and leaning his forehead against yours. You stare intently into his eyes, your heart beating so rapidly you worry it’s going to burst right out of your chest. Searching, you stare into his eyes, looking for any sign of deceit, any sign of a lie - Hoseok has never lied to you before, but you have to make sure.

“A-Are you sure? You want to spend the rest of your life with me?” you ask, suddenly feeling nervous. You were just a human - someone who hadn’t even been wanted by your own parents, abandoned in the tower at a young age - did he really want to mate with you?

“Yes. You’re the only person I want to be with… but do you want to be with me?” Hoseok asks, his eyes imploring yours. Eyebrows furrowing, you look at him in confusion.

“Why would I not want to be with you? You’re the only person I want to be with too, Hoseok,” you ask, rubbing your nose against his. Hoseok lets out a dejected sigh, his eyes slightly downcast as his warm breath fans your lips.

“Because I’m a monster,” Hoseok whispers, his heart-gripping. He knows that’s what humans see him as - just like that man in the tavern that day. He’ll only ever be a monster to humans and you deserve someone better than a monster.

Placing your hands under his chin, you lift his face up. Hoseok’s eyes meet yours, his widening as he notices the mix of melancholy, understand and love in your eyes. “I meant what I said all those years ago, my love,” you say gently, Hoseok’s eyes widening in the slightest at the term of endearment. Lips curling into a tender smile, you place your head against his again and close your eyes, “You’re not a monster - you’re a dragon. My dragon,” you continue. Your words echo through his memory, and he remembers that day - when you were twelve and he was fourteen - months after he’d gone through his change. He’d hidden from you back then too, scared of how you’d seen him, but just like today, you’d alleviated all his fears with those same, simple words.

“I love you, Hoseok. Every. Single. Inch. Of you. And I want to be with you and only you - forever,” you whisper against his lips. Hoseok’s eyes flicker to your lips, your own eyes still closed as you hold him close. With every one of your words, your lips brush against him - enticing him further into you. He’s the one who’s made of magic, made of sunlight and fire, yet it’s you that has him completely bewitched and enthralled.

He wonders what your lips would feel like against yours - what you’d taste like - but, he doesn’t have to wait long - because the next thing he knows, your lips are softly pressed against his.

Soft lips against yours, Hoseok’s eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before slipping shut. He’d spent nights imagining what your lips would feel like, but his imagination could never do you any justice. Instinctively, his hand moves to loosely grip your neck, your own hands moving of their own accord to twist around his shoulders, pulling him flush against you. Deepening the kiss, Hoseok swipes at your lips, begging for entrance - and easily, you concede to him. Tongue slipping between your teeth, the silky appendage sensuously moves against yours, bathings your tastebuds in his saccharine taste.

Your kiss is slow - and sensual - your lips gently moving in tandem with each other as you slowly take in each other. Completely lost in each other, the entirety of the world gently ebbs away - until all you can taste, sense and smell are each other - as if you’re the only two people in the universe. Shifting on his lap, you press yourself further against Hoseok, the dragon letting out a small whine as you brush against his hardened length.

Breaking apart from your lips, Hoseok pants heavily, looking at you heavily, “W-we should stop now if you don’t want to go any further,” Hoseok breathes out. Shaking your head, you place another tender kiss to his lips before hiking your dress further up your thighs, the material pooling around Hoseok’s lap. With your movement, he takes in a sharp breath, the scent of your arousal permeating the air. It’s incredibly faint - but his enhanced senses pick it up.

“I want to- I want you, please,” you rasp out, your own heavy breaths intermingling with his. A guttural, almost animalistic sound emanates from Hoseok’s throat - the sound vibrating through the air and straight to your loins. Hoseok’s hands move to your waist before languidly resting on your hips - his thumbs gently rubbing them with his thumbs. Manoeuvring you closer to him, he lightly begins peppering kisses down the outline of your jaw and towards your shapely neck. Stopping by your jugular, Hoseok hums before nipping the skin there. Hands moving from his shoulders to entangle into his hair, a shallow gasp departs your lips as you feel him almost imperceptibly suckle at your flesh.

“Will you let me mark you?” Hoseok asks, nuzzling the same spot with his nose before taking a deep breath. Your naturally sweet fragrance mingles with the deeper tinges of arousal seeping from you, the intoxication scent slowly driving him while.

Feeling him purr against you, you nod above him, “Mate with me, Hoseok. Mark me as yours,” you reply breathlessly. His eyes roll into the back of his skull, his shaft twitching with excitement as you whisper the words - not a single moment of hesitation. He’d never thought words could sound so enticing.

Humming in appreciation, Hoseok diverts his attention away from your neck and down your sternum. Littering his descent with soft kisses, Hoseok’s lips flit across your skin, lavishing you with their soft attention. Writhing over his lap, you slowly begin grinding into his hips - your own moving instinctively. A groan of pleasure emanates from both your lips at the added friction, and tiring of the slow pace, you move your hands off of his shoulders. Pulling away from Hoseok, your dragon watches you intently, his glowing hazel eyes never leaving yours. Shy smile on your lips, you move your hands to the thick straps that hold your dress up, and then with a deep breath, mustering up all the courage you have, you slip them off of your shoulders.

Hoseok’s eyes widen, his gaze immediately following the dress as he watches your body slowly reveal itself to you. It only takes moments for the dress to pool at your hips loosely, exposing the entirety of your naked torso to Hoseok, yet somehow, time feels like it moves slowly, Hoseok’s gaze trailing after the motion of the dress. Hazel eyes drink you in, drinking each and every inch of your skin. With each passing minute, Hoseok commits every detail of your body to memory: every swell, every curve, every scar.

“By the Elders, you’re beautiful,” Hoseok murmurs before leaning forward and placing a kiss to the top of your right breast. Placing your hand under his chin, you angle his face upwards before dropping a kiss onto his.

Lips mashing into yours, your mouths move fervently - the ardent desire for each other burning deep within your cores. Your kiss turning urgent, Hoseok’s tongue invades your mouth, the silky appendage curling and wrapping around yours as you taste each other. With shaky fingers - whether from anticipation or lust, you have no idea - you begin tugging at Hoseok’s shirt, the material easily ripping, already damaged from his earlier fight. Warm skin bare under your touch, your hands rove over his body, tracing each contour and hardened, sinewy muscle.

Need for oxygen flaring in your lungs, the both of you do your best to ignore it - choosing instead of sink into each other. Times moves slowly, both your hands roaming over each other - as if you can’t get enough of the other’s touch. Eventually, however, the earlier need for oxygen ignited your chests with molten fire, burning your lungs with the urgent need for air. Breaking away, you breathlessly pant against each other, the mix of your warm breaths circulating the air.

Pulling up onto your knees, you gather the dress into your hands, the material bunching in your fists, before you lift it over your head, leaving you completely naked. The complete naked sight of you has Hoseok’s jaw-dropping, his mouth running dry as he takes in the beautiful sight of you. Bathed in the moonlight streaming from your window, your body glows almost ethereally under its light. Hesitantly, Hoseok reaches out for you, his palm gently cupping your breast as his thumb lazily flicks your nipple.

Under his light ministrations, a throat mewl escapes your lips, your eyes fluttering shut as he continues brushing his thumb over the nipple, teasing the peak to hardness. A shiver of pleasure runs down your spin, heat pooling in your loins as you begin squirming over him. Hands falling into his lap, you play with the buckle of his trousers, undoing them with just a little delay - your hands trembling harder with every passing second. Tugging his trousers, Hoseok lifts his hips before aiding you in shimmying them off of his body.

Once he’s completely naked, you’re unable to resist trailing your eyes down his body. Swallowing thickly, your throat runs dry at the sheer sight of him. Caramel skin is pulled taught over his muscles, each limb toned from the years he’s spent hunting in the forest, or playing with the rest of the creatures. Each muscle is tantalisingly defined and you find yourself unable to look away. You continue trailing your gaze down his chest, before stopping at his lap, your eyes widening as you spot his cock.

He’s long, and girthy - and god are they all that big? Or was it just because he’s a dragon? The base of his shaft is the thickest, his girth slowly tapering off towards the tip. His entire length is covered in little ridges, more prominent ones situated at the base of his cock. That has to be a dragon thing - though, you wouldn’t really know - especially as this is the first cock you’ve ever seen. You can’t help but wonder if he’ll even fit - though, the way it pulses under your gaze, his length throbbing with need, has you growing wetter with wanton desire - your thighs turning sticky with your own arousal.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hoseok asks, his tone light and teasing. Blush dusting your cheeks, you let out a squeak of embarrassment before ducking your head. Hoseok lets out an airy chuckle, his hands moving to cup your cheeks before lifting them up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” Hoseok begins, placing a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, “it’s just, I could smell how wet you got staring at me,” he continues.

A gasp of shock escaping your lips, your face heats up further - until you can feel your ears burning, “Hoseok!” you squeal, before curling into him, ducking your head into the crook of his neck as you attempt to hide from him. This time, Hoseok lets out a louder laugh, his arms automatically wrapping around your waist while he peppers kisses along your shoulder. “Sorry. Sorry, I’ll stop,” Hoseok chuckles.

Pulling away from his body, you pout above him, your cheeks still flushed with heat. Hoseok leans up, repetitively placing soft kisses against your lips as he tries to placate you. Somehow, he manages to win you over, his chaste kisses turning into deeper ones. Your hands move to trail over his lean shoulders, your fingers raking over the skin as you begin gyrating over him. Every now and then, the ridged muscle of his cock brushes against your clit, drawing out breathy moans from you.

Breaking away from his kisses, though with much reluctance, “I want you,” you whisper against his lips. Groaning at your words, Hoseok’s hand slips between your bodies and into the space amidst your thighs. Gently cupping your sex, Hoseok’s middle finger runs along the soft, dewy folds. The sudden touch has you letting out a deep groan, your head falling back as he slowly strokes your folds. Spreading your wetness along your mound, Hoseok inhales deeply, relishing in the pungent scent of your sex. He’s never smelled anything as intoxicating as you.

Fingers dipping further between your folds, Hoseok slowly slides a finger into your tightness, a strained groan leaving his lips. If you were this tight around his finger, how tight would you be around his cock? Languidly thrusting his finger into you, Hoseok relishes in the feel of your velvety, pulsing folds. Reflexively, your hips begin swirling over his as you begin riding his hand, your inner walls pulsating in a bid to pull his finger in deep.

Fingers curling into his shoulders, your nails dig into his skin, your hips moving further as you feel your stomach tighten with a foreign pleasure. “H-Hoseok,” you groan, your eyes fluttering in pleasure. Your dragon hums under you before sliding a second finger into you. You let out a squeak at his ministrations, your eyes scrunching slightly at the stretch. Leaning up, Hoseok places tender kisses against your eyelids, hushing you soothingly.

The stinging only lasts a couple of moments, giving way to more pleasure as Hoseok continues pumping his digits into you. With a particularly low grind, you unwittingly push Hoseok’s fingers deeper into you, your dragon crooking his fingers into you. The action causes his fingertips to brush against the velvety sweet-spot inside you, a cry of pleasure departing your lips. “H-Hoseok, please,” you groan - the burning need to feel him inside you coursing through your veins.

Desperation evident in your words, Hoseok pulls his fingers out. You let out a cry of protest, your hips chasing his fingers. Hoseok lets out a small chuckle, lifting his head and placing a tender kiss to your jaw. “Patience, sweetheart. Don’t you want to be good for me?” Hoseok asks. His words have you moaning, your pussy clamping at the dominating tone in his voice. Nodding, you still your hips, “Good girl,” Hoseok murmurs, placing a praising kiss against your cheek.

Hoseok shifts, his hand moving to grip the base of his shaft. You feel him pump it twice, your eyes fluttering open to watch him use his thumb to spread the transparent beads of precum over the tapered head of his cock. Once he’s done, he angles the head towards your entrance, the tip brushing against your engorged clit, causing you to gasp in pleasure. Placing his cock at your entrance, Hoseok moves his hands to your hips before slowly sliding them down.

You feel a build of pressure against your entrance, Hoseok’s cock slowly sliding into you. Crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure, you cling to Hoseok tightly, your eyes scrunching shut as you feel the searing heat of his cockhead slowly stretch you open. Hoseok stills under you, looking at you in fear as he hears your squeak of pain. “Are you okay?” he quickly asks.

Nodding shakily, you take in a deep breath, “J-just go slow, please,” you whimper. Hoseok’s nods, slowing his pace down. With every inch that he slides into you, he opens your walls out further. The two of you move slowly, Hoseok sluggishly feeding inch by inch of his cock into your hot, velvety depths, and soon, you find yourself pressing against the thick base of his shaft. Hoseok stills once again, simply holding you to him as he allows you to adjust to his length. Purring against you, Hoseok nuzzles the flesh just above your jugular, relishing in how euphoric you feel around his cock. Frequently, he’d imagined what you’d feel like wrapped around him - but he’d never known it would feel this good.

After long moments of stillness, you finally shift over Hoseok, the discomfort ebbing away and melting into pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Swivelling your hips, “M-move,” you urge.

Fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, “Are you sure,” Hoseok asks. Your only answer is it swivel your hips again, wanting to feel more of him. Languidly, Hoseok uses his strength to lift you off of him before bringing you back down. Now that the discomfort is gone, you can feel nothing but the euphoria of Hoseok’s cock thrusting into you - amplified by the ridges of his cock rubbing against every pleasurable spot inside you.

The two of you begin moving faster against each other, Hoseok thrusting his hip upwards as you bring yourself downwards. With each thrust, you match his rhythm, gasps of pleasure escaping both your lips as you lose yourself into each other. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, heat stirring in your lungs as you feel pleasure burn in your veins. You’re close - you can feel it. Moaning out his name, you move faster, Hoseok’s hand twisting between your bodies, his thumb moving to rub your clit.

The additional pleasure has you shrieking out his name, your walls clamping in an almost vice-like grip. Repetitively, Hoseok ghosts his thumb over your throbbing clit, rolling the bundle of nerves over and over again as he draws out your pleasure. With every single ministration, the heat in your loin grows - from dull warmth into searing heat. White-hot pleasure prickles at your skin as you feel yourself come undone.

Thighs shaking around him, you cry out in ecstasy as you cum, Hoseok’s name falling from your lips - almost like a prayer - over and over again. You writhe almost uncontrollably over him, losing yourself into the lust-filled euphoria of your orgasm as you shatter over him. Hoseok soon finds himself lost in his own pleasure, the impossible tightness of your walls, paired with the gushing wetness of your orgasm, proving to be too much for him. With an animalistic roar, Hoseok buries his head into your neck before biting down on your jugular.

Your eyes widen as you feel Hoseok’s heat sear into you, his blazing fire searing through your veins and heightening your pleasure. Magic floods into your very being, causing you to shake even more as you wail out his name. Finally having marked you as his, Hoseok pulls his teeth away from you before closing his eyes and succumbing to his own orgasm. Just as the searing heat of his magic fades away from your veins, you feel Hoseok’s cum spurt deep into you, rope after rope of warm semen flooding you. A low moan escapes your lips, your head dropping onto his shoulder as you relish in the feel of his cum deep inside you.

The two of you simply stay there, Hoseok’s cock still buried inside of you, as you breathlessly paint. Sweat coats your skin, your naked chests sticking together - the flesh turning tacky as your perspiration begins drying. Not that you care, no, you’re more than happy to feel Hoseok’s heated, gummy skin against you. Erratically, the two of you twitch, your muscles still reeling from your orgasm.

Coming down from your elated highs, you feel Hoseok pull you close against him, his chest flush against yours. Panting heavily, you gasp for air, even as Hoseok shifts you so that you’re lying next to him. He manoeuvres your body so that you’re curled into his chest, your ear pressed to just over his heart. Swimming in post-orgasmic bliss, Hoseok simply holds you close, his fingers absent-mindedly trailing over your hip, tracing intricate shapes over your skin.

Completely satiated, you simply relish in his tough, more than happy to bask in the feel of Hoseok. Your hand runs over his stomach before you freeze. Titling your head, you stare at where your hand is rested - just over where he’d been hurt a mere few hours ago. Your eyebrows furrow as you trace over the smooth skin - phoenix tears were a powerful thing, but for them to heal to the point of not even leave a scar was something to awe at. Nevertheless, just the memory of Hoseok being hurt causes you to frown.

“Let’s leave this tower,” you finally say as you mindlessly draw circles over where he’d been wounded before. The moment the words drip out of your mouth, Hoseok’s hand freezes.

“What?” he asks, his gaze shifting to look at the top of your head in curiosity. Turning, you shift so you can look up at him.

“Let’s leave this tower. Let’s find a new home,” you repeat, staring at him resolutely.

“Why?” Hoseok questions causing you to giggle slightly at his dumbfoundedness despite the seriousness of your suggestion. Had you reduced him to one syllable questions?

“Because everyone in the kingdom knows I’m in this tower - but if we move, they won’t be able to find us… hopefully,” you suggest, muttering the last words under your breath. You don’t want to leave Hoseok - but then you realise, there’s no reason the two of you couldn’t just move.

“You’ve never wanted to leave before,” Hoseok points out, wondering where the sudden suggestion came from. You shrug nonchalantly, though your eyes flicker momentarily to his stomach. Hoseok’s eyes catch the movement, his hand moving to grip your hip in comfort. “____?” he coaxes, nudging your head with his nose. Dejected sigh slipping from your lips, you relax further into him, your muscles sinking into his and moulding you together - almost as if you’re becoming one.

“You’ve never been this hurt before,” you reply quietly, your voice barely audible. Hoseok’s face softens, your earlier words suddenly making sense. You’re still worried about him.

“The tower is our home - has been for years now. Do you really want to move?” Hoseok asks. Personally, he doesn’t really care - he’d go anywhere as long as it’s with you - but there were so many memories the two of you had in this tower, your entire lives ingrained into its grey stone walls.

Shaking your head, your hair tickles his chest and the bottom of his chin, Hoseok’s nose wrinkling as he tries to push it out of the way, “No, you’re my home. Home is where you are. If you won’t stop fighting for me, at least run away with me. Please? Let’s go somewhere they won’t find us,” you implore, your voice laced in a pleading tone.

Hoseok hums carefully, his arm snaking around your waist. “Where do you want to go?” he asks, causing you to perk up.

“The Merfolk Mangroves. We can build a new home there. It’s deeper in the forest, the area guarded by the elves. Not to mention we’ll be closer to our friends. Please, let’s just go. I don’t want to see you hurt anymore,” you plead. Hoseok hums for another moment before nodding, easily acquiescing to you.

“Alright. We’ll move. How does tomorrow sound?” Hoseok asks, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Tomorrow?” you repeat in mild surprise, not expecting him to be ready to move so soon.

This time, Hoseok shrugs. “It’s not like we have a lot of things. We only really need our clothes. We can always build more stuff - thought building a house may take a while. But it’s okay, we can ask Yoongi and Jimin to help us,” Hoseok says. You gaze at him in shock, murmurs and mumbles escaping his lips as he lists things the two of you would need. “Yeah, tomorrow works. So, how about it?” Hoseok asks, turning towards you. Happiness blooming in your chest, you nod eagerly before nuzzling further into him.

“Tomorrow sounds perfect,”

Five years later, you find yourself near the edge of the forest, in the midst of Salamander Swamps - though you don’t think it’s really a swamp by conventional methods. Tall trees and brushes litter the area, their leaves emblazoned in glittering hues of amber-gold and scarlet-ruby. Rivers and lakes of aurous copper swirl around the area - though, you know it’s not actually water. No, the streams of seemingly liquid-gold are actually made of the fiery salamanders that make their home in the swamp. Sunlight drips through the saffron canopy, the plush foliage gleaming as if made of blazing topazes.

Trusty wicker basket dangling in the crook of your elbow, you happily hum to yourself as you pick off the golden Soleil berries from the low-growing brush. You’d heard about the berries long ago - there were stories, passed down with each generation of the forest’s magical folk - that the berries would harness sunlight and store the sun’s energy, the magic of the sun amplified by the salamanders’ mystical fire. Hence, you’d decided to ask Seokjin, knowing the elf prince had an almost encyclopaediac knowledge of the forest’s fauna and flora, whether he knew where you could find some; and the older elf had not disappointed in the slightest.

Though, really, you should have guessed - with the myths surrounding the Soleil berries, there really was only one place they would grow.

“Hurry up, ____. It’s not safe for us to be out here,” Jimin calls out. Turning your head, you glance at him from over your shoulder. Both him and Taehyung are sat perched on a boulder, mindlessly drawing shapes into the ground as they wait for you to finish. From the corner of your eye, you spot Jungkook, the phoenix happily picking berries and snacking on them.

“I need more berries! I’m making-” you reply, only to be cut off by Jimin.

“A special meal for Hoseok for your five year anniversary and Soleil berries are rumoured to energise Sun Dragons like Hoseok. Yes, yes we know. But I don’t think Hoseok would appreciate us bringing you all the way here - the Salamander Swamp borders human territory. It’s not safe, especially for you, Princess,” Jimin reminds you. His words cause you to scowl as your ire rises.

“I’m not a Princess. Don’t call me that. And I’m sure we’ll be fine. They haven’t found me for five years - ever since Hobi and I moved to the Merfolk Mangroves - they probably think I’m dead or something - or that Hoseok ate me,” you shrug nonchalantly, sarcasm dripping from your words. Really, that was one of the stupidest rumours you knew humans believed - dragons didn’t even like human meat - they prefered animals - and Hoseok preferred boar.

“It’s still not safe for us to be here,” Jimin replies.

“Yeah, I don’t think we should be here any longer,” Taehyung pipes in as he looks around warily.

“Ugh! Fine! Just give me a few more moments,” you bite back before turning back to the bushes.

“We need to go - now,” Jungkook says all of a sudden before grabbing you by the wrist.

“You too, Kook? You’re the one who wanted an adventure!” you hiss in indignation. However, seeing the alertness in Jungkook’s eyes, his teal orbs warily looking around, you find yourself stopping. Blooding rushing through your veins, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. All three boys are on their feet, their senses on high-alert as they look around.

“Guys? What’s going on?” you whisper, knowing that their enhances senses could pick up things you wouldn’t be able to.

Then - you hear it. A snap of twigs, followed by a faint whistling.

All of a sudden, an arrow flies through the air, Taehyung only narrowly managing to duck from under it. “Humans! We need to go! Now,” Jimin roars, already turning out and running towards the boat that you’d used to travel to the Salamander Swamps. Taehyung had already jumped into the river, ready to swim back home. You feel Jungkook grab you, his body twisting as he runs towards his friends. However, before you can follow him, you feel someone else grab you.

“By the Gods! The Princess is alive! We’ve found her,” a knight yells, alerting the rest of the vanguard. A cry of panic escapes your throat, Jungkook hissing as the knight tugs on your arm.

“____!” Jimin and Taehyung yell, their eyes wide with fright, Jimin already stepping back out of the boat to help you.

But he moves to slow - because all of a sudden, out of nowhere, another guard appears, swiping his broadsword towards the hand Jungkook is using to hold onto you. Before the knight can hit him, however, Jungkook removes his arm, subsequently letting go of you.

You feel arms circle around your waist, dragging you backwards and away from Jungkook, even as you desperately struggle against their hold, trying your hardest to escape the knight. You see Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung caught in a fray - the sound of swords clinking and arrows whistling through the air entwine with the raging crackle of fire, torrential splashes of water and echoing snapping of vines - the amalgamation of sounds almost deafening - even as you screech for your friends.

“Let me go! Let me go!” you scream, clawing at the arms that hold on to you - but its no use - your fingernails are useless against the steel of the knight’s armour.

“Don’t worry, Princess. You don’t have to be scared of us, we’ve come to rescue you. We’re taking you back to your father,” the knight says placatingly.

Hissing at him, “I don’t need to be rescued, you idiot! Let me go,” you cry, increasing your struggle against him. But the knight doesn’t heed any of your words, and instead, he throws you onto the back of the horse, jumping on after you before sprinting off.

Moments after the horse begins galloping, you hear a loud screeching sound, “____! We’ll come for you! Hoseok will come for you,” Jungkook roars, the words slightly strained and instantly, you know he’s shifted into his half-phoenix form.

Before you can respond to him, however, you already find yourself further away from the forest. Your heart sinks in your chest, tears filling your eyes as you watch the trees begin to grow sparse as the magic in the air died - you’re no longer in the enchanted forest - and more than that, you can no longer hear Jungkook, Jimin or Taehyung.

The knight gallops away, the ride slightly bumpy as you continue staring behind you, yearning for home. You know you’re to blame for being kidnapped - well, partially, because really, you hadn’t asked for this. Still, you should have listened to Jimin when he said it wasn’t safe - but you’d only wanted to do something nice for your anniversary with Hoseok.

The landscape rushes past you, slowly shifting from the natural terrain of to more human-made, little houses and buildings coming into view. Your back in the kingdom. Unbothered, the guard continues riding, not even acknowledging that you had stopped struggling. Turning your head, your chest tightens as the large, almost opposing, castle comes into view. Vaguely, you can remember it from your memories - the place you had once called home. But it’s not home any longer, home is in the enchanted forest, with your friends, with Hoseok.

Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook’s faces flash in the back of your mind, your chest aching with worry. Closing your eyes, you send a silent prayer to the Old Elders of the Forest, praying that your friends had retreated and are safe.

The next day, groggy and disoriented from sleep, you awake in a large bed. Spine imperceptibly shivering from the morning chill, you instinctively reach out for Hoseok, craving the warmth radiated by your mate. However, instead of coming into contact with Hoseok’s sinewy and heated body, all you feel is the cold of the mattress. Abruptly, the memories crash over you like a bucket of ice-cold water, your body springing up in bed.

You’d been kidnapped from your home and brought to the forest. When you’d finally arrived in the palace, it had been late at night and your father and step-mother hadn’t even bothered greeting you. Instead, you’d been sent straight to your old room. You considered escaping, but knights had stood guard outside your door all night - you’d periodically checked, wondering if you could make a getaway. Momentarily, you’d considered climbing out the window, but your bedroom was several feet off the ground and facing a cliff edge. Eventually, the futility of your escape had dawned on you, and exhausted, you’d fallen into a fretful sleep, your only hope knowing that Hoseok would stop at nothing to come rescue you.

Looking around the room, you hazily recognise the bedroom from your childhood and vaguely, you realise that nothing has changed. The curtains are still a pastel pink, white furniture embellished with intricate gold designs is still perfectly placed around the bedroom, and while slightly faded, the carpet is still a plush grey. The perfect room for a princess - however, not for you. The room makes you feel nauseous: the pastel pink almost overwhelming and the white only washing out the rest of the colours.

Momentarily, you hear a light knock, your head automatically turning towards the sound. The creaking of the door resounds through the air, before, “Princess, you’re awake,” comes a dulcet voice. The voice sounds familiar, ringing through your memory, and when the woman comes into view, you recognise her as the nanny who used to look after you. She’s much older now, with sunken but kind eyes, and greyed hair.

“Mrs Cheon,” you greet quietly. The lady stops in surprise, looking at you in disbelief before a gentle smile graces her face.

“I’m surprised you recognise me,” she replies before walking towards you. Pulling the sheets off you, she urges you out of the bed and towards your large bedroom. The bath has already been drawn, different soaps and shampoos littering the bath’s edge. Mrs Cheon fusses over you, helping out of your clothing before washing away the grime and dirt you’d collected from foraging in the forest yesterday. Every now and then she tuts, scrubbing extra hard to get you clean.

You don’t know what compels you to allow her to fuss over you, because really, you wantto fight, you want to kick and scream and find a way out. But you know you have no choice but to go through the motion of the days. The reality of the situation isn’t lost on you, you’re completely outnumbered, guards posted in every nook and cranny of the palace as a security measure. It would be hard to make it out by yourself, so instead, you choose to wait - because you know Hoseok will come for you. More than any of that, however, you allow Mrs Cheon to lead you because you know there is something you have to do before you can escape this place once and for all.

Once your bath is done, Mrs Cheon leads you back to your room, where several ladies in waiting greet you. Fake smiles plastered on their face, they curtsey towards you before they begin dressing you. You’re not stupid, you can see the disdain clear as day in their eyes because here you are: a princess of royal blood, of higher status than them and theoretically more power and wealth than they could ever have, yet you’d willingly - though, not at first - chosen to live in the enchanted forest. A part of you wants to make a snide remark, but instead, you simply bite your tongue. It wouldn’t do you any good if you caused a commotion now. You had to wait, for help to arrive, for Hoseok to come, and then you could leave this place.

Hands spread out, the ladies dress you up. First, they string a corset around you, two women pulling the straps tight until you find it hard to breathe. Different layers of silk and chiffon follow, before finally, the last layer is draped over you. Unfocused gaze set on yourself, you watch as the women cover you with expensive fabrics, intricate designs embroidered in gold thread. Once done, they lead you to your vanity before sitting you down and beginning on your hair. A woman you don’t recognise begins brushing your hair, your face crinkling as she roughly detangles the knots before styling it.

You sigh and decide to retreat into your own mind, knowing that they still had to do your makeup. When you were younger, you’d seen your mother go through this routine, every day, until she was too sick to go through it anymore. You had once wished to be just like her, your every whim being catered to as women fussed and fawned over you. Now that you’ve had a taste of freedom, of independence, the entire experience feels jarring and exhausting.

By the time the ladies are finally done with you, dusting you in an overpowering perfume that has your nose crinkling in distaste, it’s already been hours. Really, howdid people of noble blood go through this exhausting routine every day? It’s ming boggling to you. Breaking you out of your thoughts, “You’re ready Princess,” Mrs Cheon finally says, and once again you have to bite your tongue to stop from snapping that you’re not a Princess. Not anymore at least. You’d given up that claim a long time ago.

“Come along. I am to take you to the throne room where the King, Queen, and Royal Court await you,” Mrs Cheon informs, and with that, Mrs Cheon leads you out of the room. With each step, the dress and heels weigh you down, the material scratching against your skin and leaving you feeling uncomfortable. You wanted your clothes - the leather boots, trousers and cotton shirts you were used to. Or even the lighter, much more freeing dresses that you’d wear occasionally.

Stepping out of the bedroom, the first thing that comes to your attention is the significant lack of guards. Unlike yesterday, when the corridor was heavily guarded, the knights are nowhere to be found. If she’s noticed anything amiss, Mrs Cheon doesn’t say anything. Expertly, she navigates through the maze-like corridors of the castle and once again, you recede into your own thoughts. The throne room is on the other end of the castle, far away from your wing of the palace and you know it’ll be a while before you reach there.

The two of you walk in silence as you wonder how long it’ll be till Hoseok and your friends come for you. Just as you get to the wing of the castle where your father conducts his official business, the sound of a commotion catches your ears. Head snapping to the window, your eyes widen as hope flutters in your chest. This wing of the castle is closer towards the towns and village, not to mention the entrance to the castle. Gazing out the window, you spot the large castle walls, knights running around while yelling at each other. But that’s not what’s got you so hopefully, it’s the bright kaleidoscopic flashes of colour just outside the walls that have your attention - flashes you know to be magic.

They’re here. They’ve come for you.

Again, Mrs Cheon continues walking, not saying anything even if she notices your attention on the window looking out. Just as you reach the large arched doors to the throne room, a deafening dragon roar resounds, the sound so loud it even penetrates the castle walls, ricocheting straight through your being. Your knees buckle, your heart fluttering as you hear the telltale sound of your dragon. Then, all of a sudden, the drawbridge that leads to the outside is broken into, thick clouds of black smoke filling the air as dragon fire spirals uncontrollably, burning the wood to ashes.

He’s here.

Hoseok’s here - which mean there’s only one thing for you to do. Taking a deep breath, you gather all your courage before stepping in front of Mrs Cheon. The older lady looks at you in surprise, watching as you fearlessly push open the wood doors before taking daring steps forward. As soon as you burst in, every single noble that makes your father’s court turns to you. Your father’s eyes widen, your stepmother’s own narrowing as she looks at you with distaste. As you begin walking towards the back of the room, where your father and stepmother sit upon their thrones, hushed whispers begin filling the air, the noblemen unable to contain themselves.

Ignoring them, you keep your head held high, your unwavering and hardened gaze focused directly on your father. You don’t even bother deigning your stepmother with your gaze, ignoring her completely. When you get to just before them, your father opens his mouth to speak, but before he can speak, you interrupt him by holding up a hand. His eyes widen, another wave of whispers running rampant around you.

“No right. You had no right to kidnap me from my home,” you seethe, your voice hissing through the air. The king sits up slightly, his eyes widening at the venom in your voice.

“We did not kidnap you. The knight rescued you from the dragon that guarded you and as such, he will be the one to marry you,” you stepmother buts in. Though, from her tone, you can tell she’s more irritated by the situation than anything. Clearly, she hadn’t wanted you back - which begs the question, why are you back. It must have been your father’s doing. You internally wonder if hell had frozen over, because you found yourself mirroring her ire.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes, “Yeah, well, funnily enough, I didn’t need rescuing from the dragon. And I definitely will not be marrying some random prince I don’t even know. I don’t love him - I love Hoseok - the dragon that protected me. The dragon that was there for me when my own family abandoned me. I don’t need you - nor do I want anything to do with you. I was happy in the forest, my home is in the forest now. Not here,” you seethe. From the corner of your eye, you notice flashes of magic pass the window that overlooked the front of the castle. Excitement courses through your veins, your hands trembling with eagerness. He’s so close.

“In love?! With a dragon? That’s preposterous. He’s a monster,” A nobleman calls out, cause you to snarl in his direction. The wild anger in your eyes clearly terrifies him, because instantly, he takes a step back.

“____, you’ve clearly been in the forest too long. But this is where you belong. Come home, this is where you belong. You are human, not a creature of the forest. You are next in line for the throne, this Kingdom’s Princess. It needs you,” your father says.

His words cause you to see red, and you level your hardest, most spiteful, glare at your father. “I am not a Princess and I owe this kingdom nothing. You abandoned me in a forest when I was seven years old - and nothing you do or say can ever make up for that. This is no longer my home,” you hiss, gesturing towards the room, “and this,” you say, gesturing to your outfit, “is not who I am. My home is in the forest. With my mate. I belong there with him,” you continue. Then, in the spur of the moment and with more strength than you knew you had, you tug at the dress - hard - causing it to rip into tatters. Shocked gasps flood the air, men whispering at the scene of disgrace. Shreds of the outer dress cling to your body, the material of your inner dress and corset on display. Your hard tug had even pulled loose some of the corset strings, and the moment you hear the tearing of fabric, you feel like you can breathe again

“I gave up on being a Princess long ago - the daughter you knew, the daughter you left in a tower all by herself - I’m no longer her. Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you or this Kingdom. I have a family - a family who is out there fighting for me - to bring me home. They are all I need. So please, if you have any love for me, or if you have any care for my happiness - let me live my life,” you finally finish. With the last of your words, you feel your anger rush out of you, leaving you feeling freer than you had in years.

Lifting your hand, you touch the crown that sits perched atop your head before tugging it. As soon as it comes off, your hair comes loose, falling wilding around your head. Without care, you drop the crown on the floor, the last of the weight lifting off of your shoulder. Then, with the last of your adrenaline rush, the feeling of freedom coursing through your veins, you run towards the window that outlooks the courtyard - where you know Hoseok to be.

Refusing to even think for a moment, and putting all your faith in Hoseok, you leap onto the window ledge before throwing yourself out the window. The members of the court jerk in alarm, gasps of alarm resounding through the air, your father jumping to his feet as he watches you plummet out the window.

The air rushes around you, the sound of the wind passing you by almost defeaning. Instantly, you shut your eyes, your heart racing a mile a minute as you feel yourself freefalling towards the ground. A scream rips through your mouth - and then suddenly, you come to a halt. You feel strong arms wrap around you, the familiar sound of heavily beating leather wings vibrating through your eardrums. Opening your eyes, you grin as you come face to face with Hoseok’s terrified looking face.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just randomly jump out of a window - you could have died,” Hoseok reprimands, his voice carrying out in a hiss.

An impish smile crawling onto your face, you let out a raucous laugh before throwing your arms around his neck, “I can when I know you’ll be there to catch me,” comes your reply. Hoseok wants to reprimand you, tell you that you were entirely too reckless and that watching you fall out the window had almost given him a heart attack - but seeing your laughter, the lightness to your eyes and the easiness in your muscles, he finds himself lost for words.

Eyes softening, he presses his forehead against yours before nuzzling your nose, “I’m sorry I took so long. I should have come sooner,” Hoseok apologises.

Hearing his words, you shake your head, looking at him with nothing but love, happiness and resolute trust, “It’s okay. I knew you’d come for me. You promised,” you reply. Hoseok’s arms tighten around you, pulling you closer to his chest. Pressing your forehead harder against his, you grace him with a chaste kiss, relishing in the soft feel of his lips. “Let’s go home, Hoseok,” you whisper against his lips. Eyes softening, Hoseok nods before easily turning, flying off in the direction of the forest.

You don’t even bother turning around to look at your father or the castle. Instead, you simply relish in the feel of Hoseok’s arms around you, the calming rhythm of his heart against your ear, and the steady beating of his wings, because you know, that now, you’re finally free.

The End.

a/n: happy sunflower hobi day!! I hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing it!! come tell me what you thought!!

Kofi | Masterlist

#bts smut #ficswithluv #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #jhope.network #btswriterscollective #smutcentralnet #ksmutclub #btsguild #btsbookclub #btswritingcafe #magicshopnet #bangtanhq #hoseok x reader #jung hoseok x reader #hoseok smut #hoseok angst #hoseok fluff #bts fic #hoseok fic

[queerbrujas]

then it vanished away from my hands (part three)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro rating: T word count: 4k (10.1k total so far) warnings: angst (with no happy ending, though there’s a lot of comfort in this chapter). discussions about mortality and loss of agency. murphy trauma and flashbacks.

After discovering the reason why she can't turn, Eva tries (and fails) to come to terms with it.

part one | part two | read on ao3

this fic was originally meant to have three parts, but uh, that didn’t happen. current plan is to have it be four or five, depending on how the writing goes.

—

part three: my sense of self I lost somewhere

Eva’s eyes squeeze shut.

She’s all out of tears.

How long has she been sitting here?

This is—this is not working.

She can't be alone right now.

She can't be here right now, in this place that was once home to her and where there is nothing left that is familiar or comforting. Nothing but void, a shell filled with what’s left of the covered furniture she couldn’t get rid of.

The only thing here is—

is—

fuck.

The only thing here that seems alive and vivid is the image playing behind her eyelids of the apartment flooded with bright red smoke, the sounds of crashing and breaking, of Rebecca telling her to run, of Nate—

And a cold, cold voice that rings in her head, louder than every other sound.

She’s back outside in the rain. It soaks her to the bone, makes her shiver.

You are rather special, after all, Detective Navarro.

Why, why the hell did she think of coming here, of all places?

I do so prefer the quiet ones.

There isn’t enough air, she’s not getting enough air. She tries to gasp for it, to take deep breaths, but it’s not enough. When she opens her eyes the white walls of the apartment are closing in and her vision is blurred, hazy (not smoke, it’s not smoke, it’s not). A trapped scream tries to fight its way up her throat.

She wants to let it out. Scream. Thrash.

Tear her skin apart and climb out of her body.

This is not working.

This is not working—this won’t work.

She’s not going to be able to make it out of here on her own. Not out of the apartment, not off of the goddamn floor.

The sudden moment of clarity, tenuous and brittle as it is, spurs her into action.

Her phone. She pulls her phone out of the pocket of her jacket: her hands are still shaking, and it takes her at least three attempts to get hold of it. Once she has it, it slips between her fingers and clatters to the floor.

She flinches at the noise. She’s going to start sobbing again.

She flexes her fingers. Breathe. Breathe.

Eventually, she manages it.

For just a split second, she considers calling, then decides against it. That won’t do. She doesn’t trust herself to speak without bursting into tears again.

I'm at my old apartment. Can you come over?, she writes, hits send. Then a second text: Please.

The reply comes before she’s had time to lock her phone again: there in 2 seconds.

She loses track of time again after that, closes her eyes and would not be able to say, later, how long she spent like this. What is left of her rational brain tells her not more than a few minutes can have passed before Farah is already there in a whirlwind.

Alarm is evident in the way her eyes shoot wide open as soon as she sees her, in the way she's kneeling down by Eva's side faster than her (human, human) eyes can register.

“Hey, hey.” The words tumble out of her quickly, blurring together. “Eva, what happened?”

Farah has seen her cry before, she’s seen her desperate and distressed and upset, but she’s never seen her like this.

She examines her, the way she’s sitting on the floor with her knees held to her chest, the sorry state of her—clearly looking for signs of physical injury. When she seems satisfied she’s found none, she takes a breath: the alarm fades, but the concern deepens.

“What’s wrong? Did something—” Farah interrupts herself, purses her lips and waits for Eva to answer.

Eva’s throat feels raw; her thoughts scrambled, paper-thin. Connecting them, stringing them into something so complicated as language seems a monumental, almost impossible task. Just the thought of it makes her throat start to close up again.

She shakes her head. “Don't want to talk about it.” Speaking hurts, physically—even more than she thought it would.

Farah nods, as though having been expecting it.

She knows her well, after all.

They all do.

Farah reaches out, slowly, and lets her hand hover just over Eva’s knee. She doesn't touch her, knows better than to touch her, but it's close enough that Eva feels the warmth through her clothes.

“Do you want me to just sit here with you for a while? We don't have to go back home yet.”

Eva barely manages to choke back a dry sob at the mention of home, but unexpected relief washes over her all the same. Relief and gratefulness to Farah for putting into words what she certainly wouldn't have been able to think of. Not now.

She gives a quick nod. “Please,” she croaks.

Farah attempts a smile that manages to be warm despite the evident strain in it. She moves then, with a grace that Eva has envied before and which makes something in her chest constrict now, to settle more comfortably on the floor, legs crossed under her, facing Eva.

“Then we’re not going anywhere until you say so,” she says.

Soothing. Calming. Farah always knows how to be comforting.

“Thank you,” Eva sighs. Farah hums her assent.

With her here, real and solid in front of Eva, the red smoke and the crashing sounds and the voices seem to fade little by little into what they are: a distant memory, years old by now. Not real. Not something that can hurt her now.

(Except it lives under her skin, the consequence of it, the result of it, she’ll never be free of it—

Stop.

Stop, stop, stop.

Stop that thought dead in its tracks.)

A while later, Eva’s breathing still hasn’t gone back to normal. It’s still quick and ragged, shallow.

“Hey,” Farah speaks quietly, a low whisper that barely breaks the silence.

She waits for Eva to open her eyes—when had she closed them? How long has it been?—before speaking again.

“Give me your hands?” She says it as one would a question, extending her own, palms facing up.

Eva hesitates for a second—but only for a second.

The hesitation is instinctive, but the action is conscious. She places her hands in Farah’s, and Farah smiles at her.

With the warmth of the touch she’s reminded of the few times she’s done this before, in other circumstances.

Farah taking her hands and teaching her to dance, despite her initial, half-hearted protests.

Farah dragging her to celebrate her birthday because it was on the same day as hers and of course they needed a celebration; no, sneaking away with Nate to the library did not count, what part of it’s our birthday and we should have a party did she not understand?

Farah helping her stand up after a bad injury she’d sustained during a mission, the fear in her eyes eclipsed by the quick resolve to get her away.

She’s reminded of this, of all this. Of Farah’s liveliness and warmth but also of the way she always seems to understand how she feels, long before words are spoken.

Eva doesn’t quite manage to return Farah’s smile, but her lips twitch a little.

“Good,” Farah says. Her thumbs rub circles on the palms of Eva’s hands, and something soft in her eyes seems to make them glow golden, brighter than their usual amber. Something soft and sad and old, because as young as Farah seems, Eva is all too acutely aware (especially now, especially here, with a sting that doesn’t seem to go away) that she is still close to three times her age.

“Breathe with me?” Farah asks, before Eva’s thoughts can spiral too far in that direction.

Eva nods.

Farah breathes. Eva breathes.

It’s a deeper breath than any she’s taken since she got here.

They spend a while like this, until exhaustion finally settles in, weary and bone-deep. Until she’s staying here out of pure stubbornness, and when Farah quietly asks “home?” Eva does nothing but squeeze her hand and nod.

—

She tries then, she tries to adjust to the new information.

To move forward.

It’s what she’s always done. It’s the only thing that can be done.

She lets the rest of Unit Bravo know about the results (thinks for half a second about not saying anything, but she could never hide anything like this from them) and then refuses to discuss them at all.

It is what it is. If there is nothing that can be done to change it—and it has been made very clear to her that there is nothing that can be done, not about this—then there is no point in wasting time and energy thinking about it.

Because if she starts thinking about it, she’s not sure what she will do.

If she starts thinking about it, it’ll be back to the apartment, back to the rain, back to that other warehouse.

And if she starts thinking about it, she’s going to have to think about how all the reasons she had for wanting to turn in the first place are still there. They have not gone anywhere, except that now she has no way to deal with them.

She’s not sure if she feels numb or if she only wishes she did.

She thinks about it, anyway, whenever her gaze falls on the faint, jagged marks on her wrist, paler than the light brown of her skin.

For years she’d almost forget the scar was there, the memories associated with it pushed back to the deep corners of her mind. Now it seems to exert a gravitational pull of its own, drawing her sight to it without her permission.

She thinks about it whenever she remembers—and she remembers it often these days, can’t seem to pull the thought from her mind—that the blood in her veins is not her own. The whole of her body has been made into a foreign object; unrecognizable, enactor of violence upon itself.

The nightmares are worse than they’ve ever been.

—

It takes three days for Nate to bring it up: he’d been waiting for her to do it first.

He does it as gently as ever, as softly as ever. With a kiss to her forehead and hands seeking her skin, brushing down her arms. Perhaps hoping his touch would soothe the sting.

He seems almost apologetic, as though she could break at any moment.

Who’s to say she won’t?

“Joonam,” he whispers. “Will you tell me what’s on your mind?”

(Joonam, he calls her.

He calls her many things in many different languages, but this is the one he always, always comes back to.

Mi vida, she calls him.

Not as often as he does—she was never one for pet names—but often enough.

The thought forms before she can crush it: it seems almost cruel, now, that they’ve dug so deep to call each other my life when he will outlive her by an infinite amount.)

And the look in his eyes makes her want to cry all over again. He’s pleading with her, keeping the emotion from his voice but it’s clear in the way he looks at her.

Fuck, this won’t work.

She can’t keep doing this. She can’t do what she always does, not with this.

Because being with Nate has never been easy.

It has been many things—it has been love and passion and comfort and truth, but it has never been easy or painless. It has never been natural or effortless or uncomplicated.

They don’t fit together like that.

What it has been is a choice, constant and conscious. A choice to go against her instincts—her instincts that tell her to hide, to never stop moving, to raze what’s left and never look back—and open herself up in ways that leave her raw and exposed but so vibrantly, painfully alive.

(A choice that she’d been willing to make for the rest of eternity, even if it never got easier.

A choice that he makes for her, too.)

Poke around in the wound to dig the bullet out.

Her instincts tell her to pull back, and there are words on the tip of her tongue that she swallows down.

Slowly, she takes one of his hands in hers, brings it to her mouth to brush a delicate kiss against his knuckles.

“I will,” she says, eyes closed. If she opens them the words might not come out. “We’ll talk about it, I promise. Just—give me a little time, please. Just a little time.”

Nate breathes out a sigh that sounds like relief drowned in concern.

“Of course,” he says. “Anything you need.”

—

The water in the bathtub has cooled around them; the steam dissipated long ago.

Even in the cooling air, they have not moved in a while: Eva leans back against Nate’s chest with her eyes closed, his arms wrapped loosely around her as he presses sweet, barely-there kisses to the birthmarks on her shoulders. He follows paths he has mapped and memorized countless times before, ones that feel familiar on her skin.

Ones that should be soothing.

As slowly as ever, Nate lets his kisses trail up the side of her neck. They are soft, featherlight; his lips ghost over the multiple marks that have accumulated there before lavishing her with an attention that makes her shiver.

For the longest time, this was something he would not allow himself.

For the longest time, he would shy away from Eva’s neck as though burnt, and the first time he let her see the fear in his eyes as his fingertips traced the line of her throat is a moment that remains imprinted on her mind.

(She took his hand and pressed it more firmly against the side of her neck, against the beating pulse there. Gentle, almost as gentle as he always was with her—and always offering him the choice to draw back. He almost stopped breathing, but his eyes never left hers, and that single instant stretched out into moments, into something she still struggles to name.)

A lifetime seems to have passed since then.

He does not shy away from it now. Not now.

“I wish we could stay like this,” Eva murmurs.

Just this, right here.

A single moment, endless. One where nothing else matters or even exists. One where the thoughts that have been plaguing her have no power or importance.

“We can,” Nate whispers in return. His breath is warm, still close to her skin, and he follows it with another kiss directly over her pulse. “As long as you want to.”

She lets out a sigh. It would be so easy.

God, so easy.

So easy it’s terrifying.

The temptation to never talk about it again hasn’t gone away.

But thoughts become corrosive. They seep into every last piece of her sanity that she’s tried to keep safe. Into every dream and every waking moment until nothing, nothing remains untainted.

The way she flinches when she sees the scar, when she barely paid attention to it before. The way she looks at herself in the mirror and finds flaws she hadn’t noticed, the way she sometimes wants nothing more than to open her skin and drain out the blood to get it all out. Maybe that would help.

No, it would not be that easy.

“Not that long,” she forces herself to say. The words are always stuck in her throat, and they will not come out on their own. “Not forever.”

Nate’s kisses stop, and the briefest moment of tension tightens his embrace—something Eva might not have noticed if she didn’t know him like she does. But he speaks into the crook of her neck, tenderness the only thing in the softness of his voice. “Do you want to talk about it now?”

It has only been a few days since he’d mentioned it.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want to talk about it,” Eva admits. “But I have to stop acting like it’s something we don’t have to talk about.”

She sighs again, sinking further against him. Her own hands come to rest on his arms, wrapping them more tightly around her. “I just don’t know what to do. Where do we go from here?”

Nate hums, a soft sound she’s come to recognize as a contradictory mix of subtle exasperation and patience, tempered by love and concern. She’s been on the receiving end of it more than a few times. “We’ll get to that part. Let’s take it one thing at a time.”

Unspoken: For now, just tell me how you feel.

Also unspoken (because it has been spoken too many times): You don’t have to solve everything by yourself. You don’t have to solve everything right away.

He knows her too well.

It makes her want to cry, that he knows her this well.

“I just never thought about this.” Didn’t think it wouldn’t work. “I didn’t even consider it.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Small. So fucking defeated.

Because if she can’t do anything—

“None of us did,” Nate says, and that cuts deep, too.

He does not have defeat in his voice like she does, but the barely concealed pain is enough to make her eyes sting.

The fact that he’s trying to conceal it at all.

For her sake.

Dammit, Nate.

Because if she can’t do anything, then what’s left?

(“Nate, I don't get to have a normal life.” She’d been trying not to raise her voice, to rein in the tremor in her words. Trying, and failing. “Not with this blood, not with these scars. Not with everything that's happened to me already. Do you think anyone can be normal after that?”

One of the many times they’d argued about this. He had tried, wanted to show her value in humanity that she could never see.

He’d turn back, he’d choose to be human, to be mortal, if only he could.

“Even if I could have that,” she’d added, more quietly. “I don’t want it. If this all went away, what do you think would be left of me?”)

She shifts in his arms, turns around until she can face him.

“I wanted this, Nate.” She lifts a hand to close her fingers around the pendant that hangs from her neck, the one she never takes off, the one he gave her. She closes them so tightly her nails dig into her palm. “I wanted us, like this, forever. I wanted it so much I don’t know how to be anything else anymore. Nothing else makes sense even if I try.”

Nate covers her hand with his own, both closed around the pendant. He hesitates before speaking, examining her with eyes that betray the depth of feeling in them, but eventually, he does. “I know nothing can dull the pain of having the choice taken from you,” he says, careful, too careful. He’s been through this. “I know that. I would give everything I have to spare you that hurt.”

“But I’m—” A soft breath escapes his lips, something that is not intentional, something that is far less controlled. “I’m not going anywhere. I will make that promise a thousand times over. It will still be… it can still be forever, for you. You still have us. You still have me.”

“And you’ll just watch? You’ll watch me get older, weaker, god knows what else? You’ll be okay with that? With watching me die?”

The questions leave her mouth like bullets, one after the other.

Harsh. Too raw. The things neither of them wants to hear.

She’s the one panicking, now.

She’s said this before.

And Nate flinches, flinches at the bluntness of it—she wants to take it back at that, even when she knows it has to be said—but it does not make his voice waver when he speaks. “I love you,” he says, as though that answers all her questions. “Nothing can change that. Every second you’ve chosen to give me has been something precious, something I have treasured, and it will continue to be, no matter what.”

One of his hands moves to tangle in the wet locks of her hair. To hold her in place, staring into the depth of his brown eyes, eyes that reflect back the same hurt she feels even if he will not say it.

“Before we talked about this, before you decided to turn, I—I knew I might not have you forever. I didn’t dare to hope I would, didn’t dare to think of it. But loving you is worth any pain that might come from it.”

Her throat constricts, and the emotion in Nate’s voice dulls the edge she’d imparted to her words. Of course Nate would say this. Of course he would think this, would feel this.

He would break himself to keep her.

He would break himself for her, without even a hint of hesitation.

(I won’t do that to you. She’d said that.)

She looks away, blinking to get rid of the tears that prickle at her eyes. She fixes her stare on the edge of the bathtub: gleaming, burnished copper misted over with condensation.

Instead of following that line of thought—she doesn’t trust herself to—she grasps at something else. Something that stabs with equal force at her chest.

It sounds like someone else speaking when she says, “I don’t want to be less than you.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the way he frowns.

“Being human doesn't make you less, Eva.” Nate is resolute, his voice firm even in its warmth, echoes of a recurring argument neither of them had ever won.

“But it does,” she counters, voice cracking and desperate, turning her face back to meet his eyes. “Don’t you see it? It does, and it will always feel that way. I already have to try so hard just to keep up. What happens when I can’t anymore? What happens when my body gives up, when I'm too slow, too weak to go on missions?”

Why won’t he see it?

She has tried. Tried to make up for her lack of abilities, for her humanity. She has tried to attenuate it, to make sure it does not become a burden.

She has learned combat from Morgan and Adam, spent hours upon hours in the training room with them until she can barely stand, until Adam smiles at her after a well-placed hit, until Morgan throws a towel for her to catch and there’s nothing but pride in the look she gives her.

She has studied the supernatural world in every way she can; submerged herself in it, let it coat every cell of her body and every neuron in her brain.

It is what she breathes.

And she’s been forced out of it.

“That still wouldn’t make you less, nothing could.” The affection, the love in his voice burns. “There is so much more to you than what you can do.”

She shakes her head.

“I swore I wouldn’t be a burden to this team. And you know how I am, Nate, I couldn’t bear—I don’t want to get left behind. And I will. You’ll keep on being who you are and I… won’t.”

The tears aren’t pricking at her eyes anymore. They are falling.

The words aren’t stuck in her throat anymore.

“Everything I told you I didn’t want, all of it, that’s going to happen and there’s nothing I can do about it. And I have this thing inside me that’s making it all happen and my body isn’t mine anymore. I don’t get a say in any of it.”

She leans forward to rest her head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his touch even when it won’t, it can’t be enough. Not for this.

She is instantly enveloped in his arms, drawing her closer against him.

“I’m sorry, mi vida,” she whispers against his skin. “I just don’t know what to do.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he answers, quiet, almost too quiet, into her hair.

And there is a thought.

Because if there is nothing she can do—

But this is one she refuses to even entertain. To acknowledge.

I won’t do that to you.

She’d said that.

#the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #oc: eva #qbwrites #qbwritestwc

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy travels back in time and tries to prevent a nightmare from happening to everyone he knows. Everyone else, meanwhile, is highly concerned.

(fic masterpost w/ ao3 links)

(first part) (previous part) (next part)

(word count: 4,152)

--------------------

Part Seven: Ranboo

Page 1

I’m not really sure how to start this.

One of the most important things to know is probably that this is a different journal from the other one. So just in case you forget: this isn’t your memory book. This is for something different. But it’s still really important that you keep track of this one. Maybe not as important as the memory book? But I’m not really sure.

So don’t lose it.

Now’s the part where I’d say exactly what it’s for, except I don’t really know yet. I don’t know anything. You’d think that wasn’t anything new for me, but this is… different. I keep putting that it’s different without explaining why. Words are just not my friends.

I think I’m wasting ink.

This is a dream journal, I guess? I don’t know how else to put it. Because I’ve been having some really, really weird dreams for the past few weeks, and it’s gotten to the point where I just. Feel like I need to be keeping track of them? Because it’s kind of weird that I’m having so many dreams at all considering what usually happens when I fall asleep (check the memory book? for that? if you need to?), so I just don’t know. I don’t know anything. Which is nothing new, but still. I feel kind of bad that I bought a whole book and a whole new pen just to write down how much I don’t know stuff, but it’s okay. I’ve been winning more recently so I had enough money.

The thing about the dreams is that they’re really vivid. Almost like they feel real. The details always go fuzzy after a while, so I don’t actually have anything specific to write down here yet, but I know they’re weird. There’s just something about them.

So, new book. Dream journal.

Next time you have one of them, remember to write it down here.

---

Page 2

Okay so I forgot I bought this for like a week but I remember now. And I just woke up and I had one of those really weird dreams, so here’s what it was about:

There were some people with me. I don’t remember what their faces looked like. I think they were all shorter than me, but that doesn’t really narrow it down. There were… three? Maybe? I think there were three of them. And I felt like I knew them. Dream-me knew them, I mean. I have no idea who they were.

They were talking about something, and I was talking too, like I knew what they were talking about, even though I definitely didn’t. That’s something weird about all these dreams—I’m pretty sure that while I’m in them, it always feels? Right, I guess? Even though I definitely don’t know what’s going on literally ever?? But anyway they were talking about something, and I don’t really remember what but they seemed upset. I think I was upset too. I felt kind of upset.

They had swords. Really fancy ones.

It was cold??? But like really, really cold. Colder than I think I’ve ever been? Or at least colder than I remember ever being, so it’s kind of weird that my brain could make up something that cold.

There’s not much else to write because I don’t remember what the conversation was about. It just felt like there was something bad happening. But I don’t feel like the people were bad. The people felt good, actually. Safe?

Oh, and one of them hugged me at the end. Which was weird because I don’t usually like to be hugged or touched by people, especially people who I don’t know, but in the dream I was fine with it. I even liked it. It felt… safe’s a good word to use. It felt warm and safe and I didn’t feel so scared anymore. It was a really good hug actually. I kind of wish it weren’t a dream because if someone hugged me like that I think I wouldn’t mind hugging so much.

I think that guy had wings. Or maybe it was a really big, weird blanket. I don’t really know. Felt good though.

---

Page 3

I had another one. All I remember is a name.

Who’s Michael?

---

Page 4

I think tonight was a normal night. I don’t remember anything in particular but I woke up feeling really unsettled for some reason. So it was probably just a regular dream, or maybe a nightmare. I was in the same place though, so not sleepwalking I hope.

I can’t stop thinking about the name Michael. It feels really important. I wish I knew why.

---

Page 7

It’s been a week of weird little fragments and strange feelings and things I can’t remember, but I remembered more when I woke up this morning.

I was running with someone. Two someones? I think there were two. But they were different from the people from before. Or at least I think they were. I still don’t remember what they looked like. I think I didn’t know what they looked like in the dream either. I don’t know if that’s because I was dreaming or maybe all of this really is just my brain making up stuff and it just can’t invent whole people for me to look at.

I wouldn’t be surprised, actually. This whole thing is probably pointless.

But anyway, we were running, and that was pretty much the whole thing. There was a really loud noise too, and it was making my ears hurt. And I remember I felt really scared. Not just for myself, but also for the people I was with. That’s one of the things that makes me not so sure that these are normal dreams, because even if my brain was making up hazy not-real people for me to do stuff with, would it be able to make up the feelings that I have for them? Whenever there’s someone with me in a dream, they always feel really important to me. I’m usually worried about them.

I still can’t remember what they were saying or the sound of their voices. I feel bad about it. Probably worse than I should.

They’re just dreams, right?

---

Page 10

Dream.

---

Page 11

Not sure what that was? Note to self, do a better job at including context.

---

Page 13

A crack in the earth and a break in the code and something old something waiting something watching something that calls in the dark and in the shadows and in the corners and in the mirror and it is waiting it is waiting it is waiting it is waiting it wants it wants it wants blood and it will have blood it wants blood and it will drink and the skies will break apart and the ground will shatter and it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have blood it will have

---

Page 14

I had another pretty clear one. It was really hot. I think there was a lot of smoke. I was scared again, because there was… someone coming? Maybe?? Or something coming. I’m not sure. But whatever it was, it was bad, and we didn’t want it to get there.

There were three people again. I think I didn’t like one of them. When I looked at them I felt really, really angry. But that one, the one I didn’t like, they were kneeling on the ground, and there was a book in their hands? I know it was a book but I couldn’t see what it said. Isn’t that supposed to be a thing, not being able to read in dreams? I don’t know.

I think that person was reading from the book. I couldn’t understand the words, but the air felt weird. Heavy. And then I think there was a fourth person too, and then I think there were people trying to stop the person reading because they were doing something bad? They were going to hurt someone? It got muddled here and I don’t know why we were trying to stop them all of a sudden when I think we were fine with it at first, but I guess dreams don’t have to make sense.

None of this makes any sense.

But anyway, something happened, I think. Something really, really bad and I don’t remember what, because that’s when I woke up. But something went wrong. I think the bad thing got there.

I think there might also have been blood. But I’m not sure.

I’m not sure of anything.

---

Page 16

Wait, what happened on page 13?

I can’t read what it says. Did I cross that out?

---

Page 17

I can’t help but wonder if these are dreams at all. I’ve already got memory problems so who’s to say this isn’t just some more of that, just in a different form?

But the thing about that is, if these are memories of some kind I’ve got no idea when they could’ve happened. And I know my memory’s not great, but could I really forget being on a completely different server?

No, I could definitely forget being on a different server. I definitely could. I don’t even know where I came from originally. But I know I’ve been on Hypixel for years. I know I’ve been here, even if I don’t really remember a whole lot of particulars, so when did any of this happen?

I don’t know if I want these dreams to be memories. Some of them feel really scary.

---

Page 18

I woke up crying.

I think someone was dead in my dream. Someone I really really cared about.

I’m still crying a little bit. It hurts. I don’t want these to be memories. I don’t want to have lost someone like that.

---

Page 21

I defintiely dont want these to be memories I’m still shaking and I dont I cant

---

Page 22

Okay. I’ve calmed down. I need to write this. I need to remember later.

I think I hurt someone. Really, really hurt someone.

I’m going to describe this as best I can.

The whole thing felt dim and kind of hazy, but not in the normal dream sort of way. Like there was an actual haze in the air. And everywhere I looked it was all red, like I was wearing tinted glasses or something. I was with other people. Different people from any of the ones before, I think, and I felt different about them too. I wrote down how usually I’m worried about the people I’m with, but it wasn’t like that this time.

I think I hated them. I’m not sure. I don’t really know what that feels like.

But anyway, we were going somewhere together. There was something like an island, only it was in the sky. Like a big chunk of floating rock. And we were trying to get up there, and then we did and there was someone waiting for us. I can’t picture what they looked like except I think they were weirdly blurry? But everyone in these dreams is weirdly blurry. I don’t know, this felt like a different kind of blurriness. I think this person was trying to talk to us or stop us or something, but it was really easy to get past them. Almost like we could go straight through them.

And then we were inside. There was a building of some kind. Big and kind of pretty? Maybe? It was hard to see details, because of the haze and blurriness and everything, and it still all looked really red. There was someone else waiting for us inside. I remember this part because it was really weird, because at first this person was like, normal sized. And then they got super big. So many feet tall. Taller than me, and that’s weird. That doesn’t happen very often.

And then we were all fighting this person. I don’t remember this part super well. Somebody got hurt I think, and maybe there was also lightning?? I think I remember lightning. And the fight went on for a while, and then I went somewhere else so I don’t know how it ended, whether the big guy won or the people I was with or what.

But so I went down this hallway. And then a bunch of hallways and then I was in a bigger room. This is the important part. There were three people in this room. One of them was sitting with their back facing me, one of them was kind of in the middle, looking my way, and the other one was really little and sitting in the corner.

I don’t

I don’t know why I did what I did next. I’m not even sure that I wanted to. It was like I was watching myself do it, almost. Like there was something else moving me and I didn’t like that at all and I really don’t want to think about it more but there it is.

And then I

I don’t want to write this

The whole room lit up. There was some kind of glowing design on the ground. The person with their back to me was on the edge of it, and the person in the middle was. In the middle. Of it. And they saw me. They looked at me and I felt

I don’t even know what I felt.

And then it was like the whole world just. Stopped. I don’t know how to describe it. And the other person shouted something and then I just

And then I stepped forward, and I grabbed the first person by the hair, and there was a sword in my hand, and I think I

I slit their throat.

The other person was screaming. I don’t know what happened to the little one.

And then it all went dark, and I woke up.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t even want to remember this, even though I guess I should. If it’s more than just a dream, but I don’t want it to be more than just a dream.

And if this is a memory or something, I don’t know what to do.

Should I turn myself in? What would I even say? Hi, I think I murdered someone. No, I’m not sure, but I had this weird dream you see, and it’s actually possible that I might have done this because sometimes I do things in my sleep that I don’t remember later and my memory is just, incredibly bad in general so it’s actually super possible that I killed someone and then forgot about it.

Would anyone even believe that? Should I try?

I don’t want to hurt someone.

---

Page 24

The dreams keep coming, but none of them have been as detailed as that last one.

I still don’t know what to do.

I wish someone would tell me what to do.

But I don’t think I can tell anyone about this. Who would I even tell?

Can I put myself in prison? Can someone do that? At least I would know for certain that I’m not hurting anyone.

Sometimes I think I have blood on my hands and I just want to scrub it off so bad but that’s not a good idea for obvious reasons but I just

I really need a solution.

---

He’s wandering around one of Hypixel’s hubs when he sees the news. Hypixel’s pretty good for that: news from other servers. Probably because so many players from so many places converge here. But he’s never bothered very much with that kind of stuff. There’s not much to bother with, considering that he has no idea where he was before he was here, and he has no idea where he’d go if he ever left. It’s not like he knows anybody. Literally. Anywhere. It’s kind of sad, if he’s being honest.

But for some reason, Ranboo hears the name ‘Dream SMP’ and stops dead in his tracks.

Which, not his best idea ever, considering that this is a crowded hub, so someone bumps into him pretty much right away, and then they glare at him right in his eyes, and he has to duck his head and apologize because oops, he’s inconvenienced someone so now he’d like the earth to swallow him whole, please, and also eye contact. Hm. Not good. He doesn’t like that. It makes his chest buzz and his head ache and every bone in his body go all stiff and tense.

So he makes himself start walking again before he can cause any more trouble. He just makes sure he heads in the direction of the news cast. For no particular reason, it’s just—that name. It strikes a chord in him, and he’d like to know a little more, that’s all.

There’s a few people hanging around, obviously with the same idea. They don’t pay him any attention, which is nice, because that means he can just stand there and listen without worrying about having to talk to anyone.

The newscaster is talking about an election. Being held on this server, the Dream SMP. He’s not sure why something like that would matter here, especially after the newscaster goes on to say that there’s only a few dozen players on this server in total. Except then it turns out that people don’t have to be on this server to vote in this election, which doesn’t make any sense to him at all. Something about how influential the server is? So other people get a say in stuff?

He’s not going to bother writing that part down, because he wouldn’t understand it even if he did.

And then the newscaster starts talking about the people who are running for office in this country on this server. And there’s. Pictures. And he’s pretty sure that his heart is trying to crawl up his throat and literally outside of his body. Because. Okay. Most of these people, he has no idea who they are. Which is absolutely what he expected.

But then, the news shows the current president. Who is also running. And the current president’s vice president. And—he doesn’t recognize this Wilbur person.

Somehow, though, he sees TommyInnit, and he almost bursts into tears, which, wow. Strong reaction much? And he tries really hard not to cry if he can help it, which makes this even more weird. It’s not even that he recognizes him, because he’s pretty sure that he doesn’t. Or if he does, he can’t place where he knows him from. But he looks at this guy—and he doesn’t look like anything special, really, just a guy, a teenager, blond hair and kind of lanky, red and white t-shirt—and feels a whirlwind of emotions in him, rising up, threatening to bubble over, and it’s strange and confusing because he doesn’t know why.

Just to be sure, he pulls out his memory book and leafs through it. No mention of anyone named TommyInnit, or even just Tommy. He pulls out the dream journal, too, but it’s the same. The only name in there is Michael. No Tommy.

There’s plenty of other things written in there. Things he doesn’t want to think about. Even though trying not to think about them kind of just makes him think about them more, and then he feels terrible, and then—

“Huh,” the guys standing nearest to him says, very suddenly. “How about that.”

He’s scared for a second, because he thinks the guy might be talking to him, about him, that he’s read some of his writing over his shoulder or something. But no, the guy is looking at the screen, still. His eyebrows are raised. Ranboo focuses on them, because he’s found that if he looks at people’s eyebrows, it’s close enough to eye contact that people won’t ask why he’s not looking at them, and it’s far enough that he’s not bothered. Best of both worlds. And it’s also probably better to stare there than at the guy’s big, curling horns, or the way he’s dressed. In a fancy suit—and that’s odd. Not the suit part, because Ranboo likes to wear suits himself, when he can get them. Because they’re cool and snazzy. Mostly, it’s just the fact that it’s so well-fitting. Obviously expensive, even to his eyes.

He doubts that this is the sort of person who competes in the tournaments.

And then, the guy turns toward him, and he regrets. So very much, so very intensely. He shouldn’t have stared at all.

“The hell are you looking at?” the guy says, and. Um. This is not very good, actually.

“Sorry,” he says, and averts his eyes really, really far away. Back to the screen. “You just. I mean. You talked, and no one else here really is, so I just. Yeah. Sorry.”

The guy laughs, so maybe he’s not mad. “Don’t sweat it, kid,” he says, but then, instead of leaving him alone, he keeps talking to him. Oh boy. What has he started. “You interested in shit like this?”

What does he say to that? He’s not even sure what this is, exactly.

“Kind of?” he ventures. “I guess I just wanted to know what was going on.” That’s good. Nice and vague.

The guy shakes his head. “You and me both. Never woulda thought Wilbur had something like this in him. Politics was never his shtick. But hey, best of luck to him, right? I’m rooting for him.”

Oh! So this guy knows one of the people on the server. The president. Wilbur Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was, He Forgot.

“Do you,” he starts, and breaks off after the guy turns back to him. But no, he wants to know. This is a reasonable question to ask, he thinks. “I mean, do you know how somebody might, um. Go about trying to get on this server? If they thought there was someone there they knew?”

The guy laughs again, louder, and he cringes back. “Trying to get on that server?” he says. “Good luck with that. They say Dream’s exclusive as hell with who he invites. If you’ve got someone’s private comm code, you might have some luck there, be able to plead your case, but you’re shit out of luck otherwise. Unless you wanna try hacking, but I wouldn’t recommend that. Shit’s too much of a risk, not enough payoff, especially when it’s Dream you’re dealing with.”

“Oh,” he says. “Um. Dream. That’s the admin?”

“Bastard,” the guy says, nodding. “Banned me, the asshole. Not that I care about being on his shitty server, but it’s the principle of the thing. You get it, don’t you?”

“Sure?” He doesn’t. Or, well, maybe.

His brain has gotten a bit stuck on the idea of hacking. Which is not a good idea, of course. Not a good idea at all. Even if he managed to get on, somehow, he’d be kicked off before he could do anything, surely. And if he failed—he’s heard stories. Rumors, more than anything. Players who get stuck in the void, locked out of any server at all. Players who mess with their own code by mistake, causing glitches, mutations, splices. Players who are never seen again.

Hacking’s a dangerous kind of magic. Not something to be messed with lightly.

“What’s your name, kid?” the guy asks, and he jolts.

“Um. Ranboo,” he says. “I’m Ranboo.”

“Ranboo,” the guy repeats. He doesn’t pronounce it quite right. “Weird fucking name. Well, good luck with whatever the hell you’re doing, I guess. If you do anything illegal, it’s nothing that I told you about.”

“Of course?” he says, but the guy’s already walking away. He’s got a confident kind of walk. Ranboo feels uneasy, watching his retreating back vanish into the crowds of the hub.

He looks back at the screen. The news has moved on. He wishes it hadn’t; he would’ve liked to hear it all again so the details were fresher.

Because this—this should go in the memory book. He’s not entirely sure why. But it’s important, and he doesn’t want to forget important things. What he’ll do with the information, he’ll figure out later.

Hacking. He shouldn’t. He definitely shouldn’t.

But something about this Tommy—

He brings out his memory book and his pen, and he starts to write.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #dsmp fic #ranboo #jschlatt #/rp #cw memory loss #cw mild unreality #cw blood mention #cw implied death #that last one's regarding the original timeline #cat writes fic #long post #time travel au #it's been nearly a month but surprise got an update for y'all

[stilemawillow]

Ten Times in Total [Erwin Smith | Noble! Reader]

[I]

The first time, she was certain, came when her husband tugged at her hand at the ball. It was an official event that gathered together many sponsors and clients of noble heritage. Then there were the soldiers.

Whatever they did, however they dressed, however silent they stayed, they popped out. They were an attraction. They were something abnormal, like a wild animal let loose at a social gathering. Of course, soldiers hardly scared her as much as she would've wished for them to. She was, in actual fact, rather fascinated with them. They were always stoic and when they weren't - they were pretending. It was a funny thing, how every single one of them put on a different mask and underneath hid the same grief-stricken face lined with years of experience they would've preferred to die before rather than live through. And their eyes, oh, how pitiful that sight was.

Pools of silver, blue and brown and green, sad and desperate and sometimes searching for hope that wasn't there. It made her chest swell with fascination and pity at the very same time. How could a group of people so broken keep themselves together? How could somebody so desperate to die keep living on and on? Didn't their stamina, emotional and physical, ever come to an end? Would it one day? Would that be the happiest day for them or the most pathetic one? Or maybe both? Did they ever cry?

For her, they were all the same. Then he showed up.

Blond and tall and cold yet confident. His eyes were the first red flag that should've appeared in her mind, but they met hers and the red flags all turned white and ever so helplessly hung in the air.

His eyes were blue, like the ocean she'd once read about, and clear like its surface. It was like he saw right through her, into her head where the thoughts hid and intertwined and sought the connection between the dots. His eyes were something she remembered well even after that, a vivid memory borne of a hazy dream during a boring night.

Her husband was at once at her side, tugging at her gloved hand and silently requesting her immediate attention. But she was on the other side of the hall, standing in front of the tall blond man as he introduced himself to her and all the thoughts in her little head jumped out of her mouth and introduced themselves to him. His face was a mask, she told herself, but how exactly was she able to reach that conclusion when her gaze hadn't even left his eyes yet?

Her attention was at once averted when her husband became a tad bit more persistent. She faced him, put on her best smile and brought the glass of wine to her peach lips with an innocent excuse he ate up like a starving tramp. Her smile broadened the more she drank, keeping her thoughts at bay and the oddity of her stares at minimum. She allowed herself some more glances left and right when her husband wasn't closely supervising her actions, figuring out that the blond-haired soldier was hard to miss.

He was talking to the Commander of the Military Police, Nile Dok if she remembered correctly and the latter didn't seem the happiest. On the blond's left side stood another even taller male whose mouth opened once or twice, very shortly. Next to him, almost like a bird perched on his shoulder, was a brown-haired woman with glasses wearing a plain dress, entertaining herself with how fast she could talk his ear off. On the blond's right side stood a short frowning raven. Her head nearly tilted at the sight because she recognised him - Humanity's Strongest Soldier, Levi Ackerman.

To her utmost amusement, the shorty's mask was hard as steel but she could clearly see how he was probably the most broken out of the group. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips before his grey hues shot her a look, having pinpointed the presence of her orbs on his face. Her shoulders almost jumped, her eyes narrowed at his glare and then he just faced the front with a snort. He opened his mouth. And then his blond companion looked in her direction.

He was handsome, that was something rather undeniable. She raised the glass of wine to her lips again, not waiting for the blond to react to her curiosity regarding the people accompanying him. His expression seemed calm and his features soothing, almost like he was telling her everything was okay and she needn't hide her fascination with them, not when he could see it either way.

The ball ended about an hour after that. The only thing (Y/N) left with was the knowledge of the blond's name - Erwin Smith, Commander of the Survey Corps.

[II]

Second surely came that one time they bumped shoulders. (Y/N) was tired and bored, a very bad combination. She'd stated to the servants she wanted some air before sprinting away from the house like the wind. She felt, to put it mildly, caged in that house. It was almost like a nightmare - everything she hadn't wished for in one place, becoming truth the more she waited for it to turn back into an ordinary bad dream.

She hadn't been forced into marriage, rather consulted into it, and the fact she didn't love her husband certainly didn't stop her parents from adoring him in her stead. Rich, generally handsome and polite enough as to hide his displeasure at social gatherings - what more could a pair of reputation-concerned parents want for their daughter? Nothing, came the obvious answer, and in less than a month she was married and shipped off to that cage of hers. She came to loathe her days of not being able to go out and just walk around the town, now she had to treat everybody like peasants and communicate only with her husband and all the ladies of the high-class with their powdered noses and fancy gossip.

Frankly, she got away every chance she got and the servants rarely did anything to stop her. Her husband would never understand, she kept telling herself as she skipped down the street with awe in her eyes and joy in her heart. Just feeling the cobblestone street under her feet was enough to make her happy at times. Looking at the shops and admiring the blue of the sky above her head.

Almost like his eyes, she thought whilst staring into a bucket full of clear water. Then her shoulders went rigid. She was thinking of a soldier when there wasn't a soldier anywhere near her. Goodness, this surely meant trouble for her. As long as she didn't see him again it would all be good, she assured herself. But the point she was missing was that the trouble came from her internal wish to see him again.

Into a troubled daze and staring at the sky, she bumped into somebody and retraced her last few steps in a clumsy waddle, seeking balance along the distance. Once having regained it, (Y/N) looked up and what a very pleasant coincidence it was that Erwin Smith was the one looking down at her. That was when it happened, she believed. His blue gaze, the one she'd thought ever so recently of, made her stiffen. He offered a polite smile but she beat him to the apology.

"I apologise for bumping into you, I wasn't paying attention." Her words were an utterance of discomfort though courteous.

"It's not a problem." He worded curtly, with a nod of appreciation for the apology. She didn't manage a smile in spite of her own wish to do it, mostly because he had put on his stoic mask and was clearly uninterested in what facial expression she, in turn, had to offer. (Y/N)'s hands, maybe for the first time in her life, started fidgeting as she observed the blond in front of her. His gaze was calm and beautiful, but it prodded at her thoughts with disturbing persistence.

"If you'll excuse me, I have something to attend to." She attempted a lame excuse as to shine a light for herself on a possible exit out of this situation that wouldn't burden her with additional humiliation or discomfort. She walked past the male, now wearing his uniform in contrast with the formal attire he had on at the ball, but then his voice boomed behind her back.

"Mrs. (Y/N) Stevenson?" Just hearing her husband's surname, which had automatically become hers as well, made her lips purse ever so briefly. Luckily, the Commander wasn't a witness to the action, but she was curious as to how he'd gotten ahold of her name without an official introduction.

"Yes, Mr Smith?" She turned back to face him with the kindest smile she could muster, deliberately using his name as well as to show he wasn't the only one who could acquire information about her. His eyes seemed to darken just a tad bit before his lips parted. And maybe she stared at his lips a bit too long.

"Please, tell your husband how happy we were to receive his support at the ball. He is a very generous man." The compliment made the woman's brow twitch.

"As it would seem." Her voice was sweet as honey and her smile was so practised it didn't even seem fake anymore. (Y/N) spun on her heel and resumed her walk down the street, trying to calm her nerves and figure out the reason behind her husband's sudden generosity, moreover directed at a social group he'd dissed mere days prior to the ball with a wine glass in hand by the fireplace in the house and a condescending sneer on his face.

Like all other things, it took her some time, but she came to the conclusion her husband was never generous if somebody wasn't going to be generous to him in return. The case here, as it seemed, was no different. And suddenly, she found herself contemplating the urge to warn Erwin Smith about that.

[III]

The third time had to be the one at his office, at the very door as she exited it. She'd made an appointment but she hadn't expected for it to go through so very fast. She thought a commander was supposed to have a lot of paperwork to do and very little time to spare for personal meetings, but there she was, four days after sending a letter seeking an appointment with Erwin Smith, being handed the note with the exact hour by one of her servants in the house.

She took her time preparing the following day, making sure her husband knew what her excuse for leaving the house was and putting additional effort into making her hair and face look better than usual. It was a strange act coming from a married woman, but she felt herself doing it merely when it was already all too late. She spared herself the internal reprimand and exited the house. Thirty minutes later she was in front of the Survey Corps Headquarters, wondering if she should knock or just make her way inside.

As the lady she needn't be at the moment, she opened the door herself and noted she was supposed to take the staircase to the third floor, where Erwin Smith's office was supposed to be. The hallways were empty and cold, but she soon found her way around. She knocked on the first door in line on the third floor and heard a very cold voice questioning her motives.

"I'm looking for Erwin Smith." She announced steadily, trying to keep her cool. The door was sharply thrown open by Levi Ackerman and she had to look down to meet his gaze. He was truly, as the rumours suspected, abnormally short for a man that could kill titans five times his own size.

"What do you have to do with Erwin?" The raven-haired male questioned with a frown, grey hues glaring menacingly.

"I'm not obliged to answer and you're surely not authorised to ask." Her return was curt and cold, similar to his own. She had the right to get defensive since she was being questioned by somebody who she figured wasn't a personal secretary or lawyer to Erwin Smith and would very soon be also late for her appointment with him.

"I have every right to ask what a self-indulgent noble has to do with the person that's keeping her shitty self alive." He snapped even though the only proof of that happening was the harshness in his voice and the big crease between his brows. She let out a huff through her mouth as her eyes blinked his way in offence. The voice slipping past her lips was condescending.

"Fascinating, you truly are the most broken one, just hear yourself speak." It was like she'd just acquired proof of the true extent of his trauma as a soldier. Maybe it wasn't only because he was a soldier, maybe it came from his childhood as well. Whichever, he seemed furious because she called him out on it and because she was looking down at him while doing it. It was like it degraded his personality, to be talked to as if he was an inanimate object of no true value. Maybe it did.

"Pardon?" He spat - not spoke, features contorting in fury. "Listen here, you---"

"Thank you, Levi. I'll take it from here." A hand landed atop (Y/N)'s shoulder as she frowned challengingly in the midget's direction. Erwin's touch startled her, but the blond's attention was on his short right-hand man. After providing the latter with an expression the (h/c)-haired woman couldn't see, Erwin pulled her along the length of the hallway. The slam of the door to Levi's office reverberated off the stone walls loud enough to make her shoulders jump. "I apologise, please don't feel bothered by his demeanour." The blue-eyed male suggested kindly as they stood in front of his office.

"I'm guessing he's like that with everyone." She snorted as he opened the door for her and let her walk inside first. The only thing she noticed was that his desk was truly stacked with paperwork like she'd expected. The rest of the office was tidy and cosy, devoid of anything that might let her think it was really Erwin's - no pictures, no colourful additions or even a coat hanging from the back of the chair behind his desk.

"Every person who either insults or doubts him, yes." The blond closed the door behind their backs and rounded his desk, gesturing for her to sit across him. "Now, please take a seat and let's discuss what you've come here to state." Her lips pursed as she pondered the reason behind her visit again - it was rather impulsive of her to just show up.

"I'd rather not sit, I am truly here just to make a statement away from my husband's ears." Her attempt at making her voice seem confident failed rather miserably, but the man behind the desk paid that little attention at the moment. His fingers laced together, elbows propped on the wooden surface.

"Your husband? So he has something to do with this? Or is it something to do with him?" One of his thick eyebrows was raised and to deny it affected her determination would be a lie.

"I must say the latter. I told him what you requested, but I'm here to warn you his investment isn't that genuine." (Y/N)'s head was held high but her fingers itched to play around with the belt on her dress. "He's getting paid to support your army by somebody anonymous and he's receiving more money than he is giving. I'm afraid once those money stop, the ones given to you also will. I don't know if this deal of yours includes a contract or just somebody's word, but do be aware my husband's generosity might turn out less than expected at any time."

Erwin Smith, frankly said, seemed rather unfazed by her proclamation. More so, he gave off the impression of being interested in something that didn't concern any of the words that exited her mouth. His expression turned unreadable the moment it relaxed, like he'd put a wall between her and himself. She was unable to see past it. The only thing that told her anything were his eyes, and all they spoke of was infinite equanimity.

"I see the goal, in this case, is to make us seem even worse than we already do, by being lied to and eased into a frail financial state, but I don't seem to understand why the wife of the middleman has come here to give out warnings about it." His statement shocked her, but she'd anticipated this question and had come prepared to answer it.

"In this case, I'm not the middleman's wife, I'm just somebody who wanted to be honest. Good afternoon, Mr Smith. Or should I say Commander?" Her hand settled on the door handle as she looked back at the blond commander. His face had returned to its stoic features but his eyes were just as mesmerizing as the first time she'd seen them. He nodded his head very lightly and she pushed the handle, which resulted in both of them hearing a small click.

"Just Erwin is fine, Mrs Stevenson." There was a restrained smile on his face. A gesture born of politeness. She wondered why it seemed so obviously fake now when the one he offered to all those nobles at the ball the previous month was just as fake yet came to his aid way easier.

"Then you shall call me (Y/N) in return. I quite dislike my current surname." She stated stiffly, not enjoying the sound of her husband's surname. Before she stepped out of the room, her eyed fled back to his. So blue, they were so blue.

"Very well."

There was another smile on his face. It wasn't the one formed by his lips but the one in his eyes. The beautiful glimmer that loved to talk to her was now only smiling, softly so. It happened right then and there and she felt herself take a sharp breath before bowing lightly and stepping out. Once in the hallway, she breathed until she felt she was once again able to walk without having her knees wobble.

[IV]

Fourth was the time she watched him smile at her, genuinely.

With a kiss to her husband's lips and a small smile, (Y/N) closed the door and waited exactly thirty seconds before stepping back from it. Somehow, she did it every time Allan went out, just to test if he was truly gone. A sigh left her lips as she met the gaze of one of the servants. The elderly woman's mouth stretched in a sad smile and just as (Y/N) was about to retreat into the living room another knock sounded at the door. Her first thought was that her husband had forgotten something, but if he truly had he wouldn't knock at all since he was late as it was.

"I'll get it, Laura, don't worry." (Y/N) graced the woman with a smile before approaching the door. The servant headed in the direction of the kitchen as her master opened the front door and showed only her face outside. Her eyes widened. On the other side stood the tall muscular frame of Erwin Smith, blue eyes gazing down at her gently. "My husband's not here at the moment." Was the first thing she blurted out ever so stoically as the blond waved his hand dismissively at her.

"That is quite fortunate because I haven't come here to talk to him." He announced with a small smile, making her eyebrows furrow because it wasn't fake. Or at least it didn't seem that way. Not forgetting her manners, she opened the door fully and gestured to the insides of the house with a polite smile on her lips.

"Come in." The courteous invitation resulted in Erwin Smith attempting to make himself comfortable in the living room in an armchair across from her less than a minute later. Again, he laced his fingers together which just kept bringing her attention back to his hands. They were big and calloused, but his fingers were slender. She wondered if his palm could envelop both her hands in its hold - highly possible. And then his voice snapped her out of her inappropriate thoughts.

"I wanted to thank you, Mrs Ste--- (Y/N)." Her momentary glare softened as he corrected himself. She kept listening silently, finding out that his voice was rather attractive when not giving booming speeches about bravery and sacrifice. "I spent the last two weeks contacting other sponsors that would be able to support our budget. We'll be ready for when your husband's anonymous endorser deters his generosity. Quite the disaster has been avoided due to your warning, so I need to express my gratitude." (Y/N) was quick to raise an eyebrow at him. He provided her with a confused look with a small smile. Again, it didn't seem fake. "Seeing as you are quite endowed when it comes to anything material I've come to request your company instead."

The statement shocked her enough to render her speechless for the overall of the following half a minute. Erwin gave her time to think it through. She did, three times in the least, but stayed just as clueless.

"My... company?" She stared at the blond's face wondrously, searching for anything that might hint what the reason behind his invitation was. She was quite sure that if a man as busy as himself wanted to thank somebody he'd send a letter and get it over with. He wouldn't march to their doorstep and tell them he wanted--- what exactly did he want from her? As if having read her thoughts, he spoke up.

"Will you please accompany me on a ride into town, next week? Maybe you could even spend the evening at our headquarters." Erwin's voice was smooth and deep and she found herself already agreeing at least a thousand times in her head. The look on her face however was obviously not expressive enough on the matter. "You don't need to give me an answer immediately of course." He cleared out, a mild tone of concern finding its way into his voice. She hastily waved her hands around in a dismissive manner.

"No, I--- I accept, it's just that I was thinking what I would say to my husband." She explained despondently, making his eyebrows raise questioningly.

"You need an excuse?" She, once again, eyed his fingers. Her head gave a slight nod despite the fact her thoughts and mouth didn't agree on one and the same topic.

"I always do, never the leave the house without one. If he learned I'd gone out with somebody, not to buy something he'd go mad." Her statement didn't seem to surprise the male. She felt like that was an impossible task. And her thoughts drifted back to his hands, his face, his eyes.

"It seems as if it truly is fortunate I've come here when he's not present." Erwin Smith's thoughtful hum sounded like a rumbling purr at the back of his throat. (Y/N) briefly wondered what his laugh sounded like. What his mere chuckle sounded like. Her eyes trailed over his lips curiously but then she snapped out of her daze and her gaze fled to his own, hoping that he hadn't noticed her eyeing his mouth. He had, judging by the amused sparkle in his blue orbs. She could feel herself redden in the slightest.

"It is, very much so. I appreciate the offer, and I accept. Just give me the details and I'll be there." She announced, a small smile crawling over her lips. She didn't know if it was because of the tension she'd created in her mind or the fact she was overwhelmed by this 'date' she'd have in near future with a man she obviously considered attractive. And then it happened.

"Of course." Erwin Smith's mouth curled in her direction kindly, eyes glimmering soothingly. No teeth were showing but she felt herself redden again. The sight of his genuine smile was something, as she found out later that night, that had imprinted itself in her mind.

[V]

The fifth time hit her fast and out of nowhere, right about the time she realised what he was about to do. Everything had been well. Her excuse was perfect. Her husband was oblivious. Erwin Smith was waiting for her when she walked out of the house in a pair of white pants and a (f/c) blouse. Her hair was tied and her eyes held an abnormally bright sheen. She was smiling, almost from ear to ear.

Erwin had escorted her to the town, where, she believed, her first-ever date took place. It lasted four hours and she'd never been happier. Ever since she'd gotten married - three years marked by the first day of the upcoming autumn, she'd never smiled this much. Erwin Smith seemed to surprise her, over and over again. She completely forgot he was a soldier, she forgot he was broken and hurt and the destiny of many lay on his shoulders. She forgot she was married and a noble. She forgot how she hated her life - this was her life now.

The walking, the looking, the blond's blue eyes, the smiles and the carelessness - they were her life now. And when the day made way for the chilly evening, the Commander mounted his horse as white as snow and they rode towards the horizon, soon arriving at the HQ. He helped her off the horse as she laughed, making him smile in return. It was late and Erwin Smith seemed more human than usual. His tone, his eyes, his face and his clothes were all casual and unbothered. Just for this one day, the busy Commander had made time for her. It made her smile every time she remembered it.

When he brought her up to his office and asked her opinion she just laughed.

"I loved it, I've never laughed this much in my life." Came the contented answer out of her lips. The blond was leaning on his desk, letting her observe the muscles that rippled under the white button-up shirt he'd put on. She couldn't stop her thoughts from taking off in a different direction. "Thank you for everything, Erwin." Using his name seemed odd yet satisfying. She figured she'd get used to it quickly, more so if he kept looking at her like he did at the moment.

"I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Another hum at the back of his throat, another indecent thought in her head.

"Now tell me, really, why you wasted a whole day on me." She crossed her legs and stared up at him from the chair in which she sat.

"Well, first and foremost, it wasn't wasted. Second, I thought I was showing gratitude." He pretended to be casual and clueless, but in truth, she was sure he knew exactly what she was talking about when she addressed the entirety of today and the reasoning behind it. The blond folded his arms across his chest just as she started speaking, distracting her momentarily.

"Yes, but you could've done that on paper too. Instead, you came to the house and knocked on the door, and then asked me out on something that really reminds of a date. Why?" She put most emphasis on the last word mostly because it was the one that bugged her most. Why had he done all that? What had he gotten from it? Not money or more time surely. Erwin's face seemed to fall for a second before he just snorted and looked into her eyes.

"It seems I've been compromised. You are very interesting, (Y/N), you're not a noble. Not a normal one. Not only did you agree to a date with a soldier, but you helped one - a whole division that is much hated by the public in fact. I wanted to see you for a bit." His last sentence, although smooth and soft, confused her. It didn't make sense with everything else he'd said. Like a part of a different puzzle. She cocked an eyebrow and pursed her lips in doubt.

"You've seen me already." Came the pointed reply that made the blond huff. There was something pulling at the corners of his mouth, but she couldn't figure out what exactly. Amusement? Entertainment? Confidence?

"I wanted to see the you that laughed without restraint, without thinking of her husband and worrying about her appearance at all times." He explained, making her eyebrows furrow. He had seen it alright, he'd seen her laugh and not worry and not think of her boring husband. So what had it given him? The satisfaction of charming yet another noblewoman and having her wrapped around his little finger?

"Has it satisfied you?" She asked with a narrow of her eyes, defiantly tipping her chin upwards.

"You're saying it like you're being used." Erwin was looking down at her harmlessly, but she knew if he was the Commander of the Survey Corps, then he was also a great manipulator. And a liar. She wondered which he'd use in this conversation with her.

"It sounds like it. Am I not an experiment of yours? Just the next on the list of women you've managed to charm?" She questioned with a frown that made him smile kindly at her. Maybe in his eyes, she was a stubborn child who wasn't used to being treated well by somebody who lacked an ulterior motive. And maybe that was true.

"I'm afraid that list is rather short because I'm too busy to charm women. You're not a conquest, you're... unique." The word slipped out innocently but she was momentarily stunned by its presence. She'd never been called unique. Pretty - yes, smart - not so much, calm - a lot. Unique - this right now was a first.

"Unique? It's such a strange word coming from you." She snorted condescendingly, fluttering her eyelashes at his handsome face. His arms uncrossed and instead grasped the edge of the desk he was leaning on either side of his body. It provided her eyes with a glimpse at the hands she liked to observe so much.

"Why so?" He inquired harmlessly, making her face the ground instead of his gentle expression. She pouted like a child and stubbornly refused to answer for the next few seconds. With a snort, she came to the conclusion he wouldn't speak before she answered him.

"You're the busy commander that has made time for a date that gives him nothing. You're the one that made me laugh like that." Her voice might've been reluctant, but her heart and head weren't. She was telling the truth. And she was afraid because she was very attracted to him, in every single way there was. He had her wrapped around his little finger the moment he looked into her eyes.

"I'm flattered." He couldn't help but chuckle. It was a magical sound. Then he reached out a hand in her direction as if asking her to dance with him. She didn't take it immediately. "I have a question for you." She hummed curiously as his eyes pinned her down. "Are you married today? Tonight?" A sly smile pulled at her lips before she took his hand, immediately understanding where things were about to head.

"For you, I never seem to be married." Her voice was a hush and his eyes were just so blue. The moment she got up from the chair, he pulled her closer to his body with a smile of his own. He was handsome and clever, and he could lie. She wondered if he was lying when his next words were voiced, but the glimmer in his blue eyes immediately denied everything and assured her of how truthful he was being.

"That is very fortunate because what I'm about to do will make you an unfaithful woman."

He was eyeing her lips and she could feel it deep in her chest, something was stirring. A smile sprung out on her face as she relaxed against his muscular body and let herself be kissed. One thing led to another and if she was to say the night that followed wasn't the best night of her life she would be lying. Very much so. Because amongst all other things, Erwin Smith was also a tender lover. It was her first time getting worshipped during sex and she loved every second of it. To the point she woke up the next morning grinning.

[VI]

The sixth time was a gradual process, yet abrupt in all of its miserable beauty. It came months after the fifth. Her hand was handling a suitcase and her cheek had been gifted a very colourful bruise minutes prior. She stood in front of the door to his office, fumbling with the thoughts in her head and the words at the tip of her tongue. She couldn't ask the things she wanted to ask. Maybe she had to go elsewhere. Maybe her parents wouldn't disown her. Maybe there would be a single person she knew that didn't hate her. Before she could turn around and leave, the door to the office was opened.

"I didn't make an appointment." She blurted out suddenly, letting him overcome the initial surprise caused by her unexpected appearance. Then he saw the condition of her face and clothes.

"(Y/N), what happened?" His eyebrows knitted together as his mouth pursed. His gaze seemed to linger over the bruise on her cheek before settling on her eyes. He didn't enjoy the sight of it. Seeing as she wouldn't answer, he figured the topic was not to be discussed in the hallway. He ushered her inside and let her rest on the small couch by the wall. The door of the office was locked. He crouched in front of her and held her hands. His eyes - she couldn't get enough of how beautiful they were even in such a situation, prompted her to talk.

"Allan figured it out, I guess. He wasn't happy. But the divorce papers should go through the court by the end of the week." She was looking down because looking into his eyes was scary and she wasn't ready to do it yet. She figured he'd be disappointed. Maybe even angry. She didn't even know how Allan had found out about them but it wasn't bad enough she was now to live on the streets, shamed and ridiculed by everybody, Allan would also make sure nobody ever sponsored the Survey Corps. She basically ruined everything for Erwin.

"I'm sorry, darling." His voice was a soft hush as he placed a palm to her unhurt cheek and rolled his thumb over the skin. Her lips pursed. He shouldn't have been so calm about this - he was way smarter than her and the conclusion she'd reached had to had appeared in his mind as well. So why was he still so gentle?

"It's nothing, Erwin. Really." Her gaze traced the floor and the tips of the blond's boots, but she didn't dare look up, no matter how he was looking at her. His hand prompted her to do so as he spoke up.

"You're free to stay here for as long as you wish. You can sleep in my room or I can assign you a new one where nobody will be allowed to enter without your permission." The length he'd go to for her made her guiltier. She met his gaze and kept herself from drowning in it, for this was a serious conversation. Her heart wasn't erratic but it wasn't calm either.

"I'm fine with staying in your room. I feel comfortable there." She truly did. She wouldn't handle living all alone with herself. She needed Erwin as to not let the nightmares and paranoia win. She needed him so she could sleep properly, she even needed him so she could breathe. Doing that in a room alone with her thoughts seemed like an impossible task, but she just hoped she wouldn't create too much trouble for him.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" The kind smile made its way back to his features, but his eyes stayed somewhat stoic. He was thinking. He was thinking about how he'd handle everything. Maybe there was a way to avoid all trouble. If there was he'd find it.

"I just want you to hold my hand." She murmured longingly, making him stop in his tracks as he was about to stand up. Instead, he took a seat next to her on the couch and grasped her hand. The warmth of his palm enveloped her and for a second she felt way calmer. Safe and secure. And loved. She looked up at Erwin and it happened, a gradual yet abrupt process that broke her out of her misery for just a second.

"That I can do." At that moment, she could hardly find the words to describe anything about him. Not his voice, not his eyes, not his expression. 'Loving' was close to perfect, but not there yet. So she settled for describing the warm tranquillity and unconditional affection that overcame her as she stared up at his eyes. And she liked to believe he saw that as clearly as she felt it.

[VII]

The seventh visited her that one time when she woke up in his bed and realised how much he meant to her. She'd been sleeping calmly. She'd been sleeping calmly for the past month. She was now officially, once again, (Y/N) (L/N) and she and Erwin had celebrated it not once or twice, but numerous times when he managed to spare a few hours for her. After that things had calmed down. The Survey Corps wasn't broke yet and (Y/N) wasn't living on the streets. And then everyone had gone on a mission.

It wasn't like she'd ever seen an actual titan in her life, but after hearing Erwin's stories about them it became her number one wish not to have to see one either. He'd always chuckle when she said that, but deep down they both knew it was true. Everybody would wish to avoid the titans if they had the choice. Most nobles had that choice. People whose duty wouldn't let them choose themselves over others, however, were a whole other story. People in the Survey Corps were like that.

Undoubtedly, the months she spent in the headquarters made her understand soldiers better. They were still fascinating but now it wasn't in the 'pet' kind of way, it was in the 'person' kind of way. She felt a strong sense of admiration for those people who just felt like sacrificing their lives in order for others to live. She got to meet quite some cadets and she felt like the only person out of place. Most of them had had terrible experiences and the only tragedy in her life was that she was newly divorced and forced out of her comfort zone.

Besides cadets, (Y/N) was also introduced to most superiors Erwin trusted, including Hanji Zoe - the madwoman with a titan fetish and admirable bravery, Mike Zacharius - the silent sniffer who turned out to be a close friend of Erwin's, and last but not least, Levi Ackerman - the short right-hand man with a freakish thing for cleanliness and the strongest character ever. Erwin told (Y/N) one night as she helped him with his non-confidential paperwork about Levi's past and how much he had to go through. Like the average person she was, she felt the need to voice how she'd noticed from the start how broken he'd been. Erwin had let out a heartfelt chuckle to that.

In truth, her radar stayed just as sharp after she started living amongst soldiers. She could still see the masks and the grief-stricken features at times, even on Erwin, but now she saw them on people with pasts who longed for a better future than the one they saw in their heads. Erwin Smith was an exceptional dreamer on that topic - he could stay up late and tell her stories about the world outside the walls he'd read about and what he planned to do once he reached it. As of late, his plans also started including her, which made her smile every time he'd dreamily slip it into the story without ever realising he had.

She loved listening to him. But she hadn't even heard his voice in a week. She hoped everyone was safe.

This morning was strangely slow for her. She opened her eyes and stared out through the window, letting her thoughts flow free. The blue sky was calming but it was also a reminder of Erwin. She felt like he had a thousand blues in his eyes. The water, the sky, the ocean he loved to talk about, the flowers in the field just past the training grounds. She wanted to see his eyes. So much.

She rose from the mattress when the clatter of hooves made its way into the room through the open window. She stumbled out of bed and showed herself, seeing the carts and the horses and the people. Some were wounded. Some were missing. And some she knew. She waved when Hanji noticed her. The brunette nudged Levi, who also spared her a glance. Mike threw her a small smile. But she couldn't see Erwin.

Sudden panic gripped her heart, making the smile on her face freeze. Levi's eyes narrowed at the stiffness in her figure but then he looked back ahead and pretended not to have noticed it as Hanji started talking to him. (Y/N)'s hand lowered and she eyed the rest of the soldiers frantically, searching for the tall Commander. He was supposed to be the leader, the first in line upon their return, but maybe he'd decided to ride back for once. Or he was wounded and was in one of the carts. Her eyes couldn't find him there. She tried not to let the third possible option get to her.

Erwin was coming back. He always came back.

She heard the door to the room open, which made her swivel and eye the intruder. When her eyes met his blue ones she felt her shoulders sag in relief. Her face clearly showed that as well because his expression was rather amused. There was blood on his shirt. It wasn't his. The seventh time was barely recognisable but the room was so silent they both might've been able to pinpoint it.

She snorted and then she was sprinting towards him. He had just enough time to open his arms before she jumped, making his back hit the door with a thud. A small snort escaped his nose as his arms wrapped around her. She was laughing, relief was coursing through her body, and when he met her gaze she felt like the happiest girl.

"I see you've missed me." Amusement and fondness both laced that sentence. She couldn't discern which was more and which - less.

"You scared me." She stated, small hands cupping Erwin's cheeks gingerly as her legs locked around his waist at the ankles. She didn't intend on letting him go anytime soon. He chuckled sweetly and she felt her heart melt.

"I apologise for that." He hummed as she pecked his lips and stared into his eyes with adoration. She didn't want to lose him, ever.

"Important thing is you're back." She smiled and he, although tired, smiled right back. She loved that smile.

[VIII]

Eighth was the time she caught him pulling a fourth all-nighter in a row. He was in his office and he'd ever so confidently lied to her, saying that he'd come to bed. That had been about three hours ago. (Y/N) rouse from the bed in the dark and saw a thin line of dim light sneak into the room from under the door that parted Erwin's office from his quarters. She stood and stretched, and her spine popped gratefully in response before she went to the door and opened it.

Erwin's eyes didn't stray from the papers he was reading. She also stayed silent, making her way through the office and out of the door. Maybe after the door closed behind her back he looked up. She made her way down the cold hallways with bare feet before arriving at the kitchen. She made herself a cup of tea and for Erwin, she prepared some coffee. On her way out she saw Levi go in. Once he saw the cups in her hands and she saw the tired expression on his face they nodded at each other knowingly and didn't spare the other another glance.

(Y/N) went back to Erwin's office and presented him with the cup.

"You could've asked for my assistance." She stated casually as he wrote. He shook his head lightly.

"This is confidential."

"Is there nobody else you could ask?"

"Everybody has something to do. This is what I have to handle." He stated seriously before glancing up at her briefly. "You should go to bed."

"I'm afraid I'm so angry I'll have to refuse." She settled on the couch with her tea in hand as he snorted and kept writing. She observed his big hands and the blue in his eyes. She watched his eyelashes create a half-moon shadow on his cheekbones. She admired the way his hair was always in place. Her eyes traced his nose and trailed over the lines of his lips. It would've been very nice if she could just distract him somehow but she knew he wouldn't let it happen unless he had little to no work left or he was too tired to handle any more of it.

She knew she couldn't help so she just sat there silently, pondering her feelings as her eyes slid over every part of him. At one point his fingers stopped in their tracks and let the pen drop from them. He picked up another paper and started reading it from the top, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. She could see he was tired, judging by the yawn he let out a few seconds later. She knew there was no way she could force him into going to sleep - his thoughts would torture him either way.

Then his eyes were on hers. First, it was just a flicker that she barely noticed in her daze, but then Erwin looked at her and left the paper back on the desk. He weakly gestured for her to approach him. She didn't know how long she'd sat there but judging by the way her legs had gotten numb when she got up she understood it had to have been more than half an hour.

"Sleep?" She questioned hopefully, making him shake his head with a weak smile. He took her hand in his and tugged her closer. She understood what he wanted, so she sat in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "You need sleep, Erwin." She reminded softly when his head dipped forward and his lips pressed against her bare shoulder. She smiled at the contact while running her fingers through his hair. Even with all that pomade he used it was still soft and pleasant to the touch.

"Just let me rest for a bit like this." He mumbled, lips still pressed against her shoulder. She sighed before a small 'sure' slipped out of her mouth and she made herself comfortable in his lap. Erwin left lazy kisses along the length of her neck before snuggling his face into the crook of it and breathing in. At the beginning, she thought it was so he could make sure she was there, but with time she came to realise it was because he wanted to remember. Etch her scent into his brain so he never got to forget.

(Y/N) kissed the top of his head and felt his hands squeeze her waist. Big and warm, that was what Erwin was. He also deserved a lot better than her. But, she thought, for now, she wouldn't complain. At one point Erwin faced her - messy hair, soft blue eyes and a kind smile, and she swore she could melt. The bit of paperwork the blond commander did before she sat in his lap was the last of paperwork he got to complete that night and the next morning when they both woke up in the chair behind his desk (Y/N) could only chuckle as Erwin scolded himself and groaned in alleged exasperation.

[IX]

The ninth time, no doubt, came when he told her that. It was a calm afternoon, no arguments, no incidents, no nothing. Most cadets had left because it was their day off and they wanted to visit their families. The little who stayed were in the mess hall. Most superiors stayed. Levi, Hanji, Mike and Erwin all did, along with (Y/N) herself. Lunch had passed and Erwin had decided to go into town with (Y/N). Maybe on another date, she secretly hoped, but she knew he'd probably shop and she'd just enjoy being in town for the most part.

Everything was great until her ex-husband showed up, along with her parents. She could only snort at the sight because he was the perfect son they'd always wanted. More than they wanted her for sure. Erwin had entered a shop he obviously needed something from and she'd been left outside. She hadn't minded it, but now it was different. She pursed her lips and attempted to turn away but her mother had already seen her.

There was glaring and frowning and the usual amount of condescension, but before things could get ugly Erwin exited the shop and put a warm hand to her shoulder. (Y/N) could see Allan's whole face twitch in annoyance.

"What a Prince Charming you've found for yourself, (Y/N). I didn't expect a slut like you would be anywhere but a ditch after I threw you out." Her ex-husband sneered, making Erwin glare as she bit her tongue spitefully, in an attempt to keep the words in. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?" He taunted, making her snort. Erwin must've known what was coming because he was already smirking.

"I'm sorry, Allan, but I don't feel the need to humour your pathetic way of trying to make me feel bad. I'm tolerating you only because of the fact that if I don't you're going to be the one ending up in a ditch and I don't really want human blood on Erwin's hands. As my Prince Charming, he feels really obligated to slay the dragon if I deem it needed." The blond by her side smiled affirmatively, making Allan's face twitch again. She knew it was a bluff that wouldn't get called while also doubting it was an actual bluff. She hadn't seen Erwin in action but she could bet he could knock out somebody with no experience in combat with a simple punch and that would be more than enough to teach Stevenson a lesson.

"We have to go, (Y/N). We're late." Erwin tugged her along as she frowned up at him, confused. Her ex-husband and parents were left behind, fuming and ever so slightly embarrassed.

"Late?" She echoed, making Erwin sigh in disappointment. She wondrously eyed the genuinely sad expression on his face with growing worry. They stood in front of the stables and Erwin pulled out a small velvet box from the pocket of his uniform jacket, showing her the ring inside. Her mouth gaped.

"Yes, I was supposed to propose to you five minutes ago. I'm afraid we've already arrived at the part where you say 'yes' and kiss me." The explanation ended with a charming smile for Erwin and a slack jaw for (Y/N).

"You're not serious." She stated in disbelief.

"Only if you don't want me to be. Then the ring is a present and I stay the Prince Charming who loves you." The blond's confidence was astounding, but so was the gesture he was performing. She could start crying in the middle of the street and she wouldn't care. The meaning of his last words reached her subsequently just as she was about to open her mouth. All of a sudden there was no oxygen and Erwin's eyes had managed to hypnotise her.

"I say it plays the role of an engagement ring." She said in the end after being able to take a breath. He smiled and slipped the ring on her finger.

"That's technically a 'yes', you know." Erwin seemed smug and she couldn't stop staring at his face. He was so handsome. So important. So special and unique. Hers.

"I know." She was grinning.

[X]

The tenth time was a constant struggle where the opposition just couldn't win. She had to say it, she told herself continuously after the 'engagement'. A week later she still hadn't. And then she caught Erwin sitting by himself, not in his office like Hanji or in the mess hall like Levi, but on the steps of the HQ in the middle of the night. She'd tapped his shoulder and when he'd turned around to face her, she'd been mesmerized by the lines of his face in the moonlight.

"Don't stay too long. It's cold out here." She warned, making him nod. She stood at his side for two minutes before taking a seat next to him and following his gaze to the stars in the sky. Some were vivid, some were little and plain and some had just the right amount of sheen to be noticed fast yet not immediately. She felt like she was observing the night sky for the first time in her life.

The ring on her finger was heavy but not in an unpleasant way. It reminded her of the way she now belonged somewhere. With somebody. She stared up at the sky and wished she could stay this calm forever. That she could stay with Erwin forever. She knew that would also come to an end, but the optimist in her told her it wouldn't be in a tragic way. Erwin was a good man, a capable soldier and a person who deserved all the best. The universe would do a lot not to refuse him that at least. A little bit of the happiness he deserved.

A few minutes later she noticed the blond was looking at her, not the stars. She faced him and smiled. He was silent. Maybe this was the right moment, she told herself. She could do it now, she was brave enough.

"Erwin," she started hesitantly, immediately drawing in his focus, "I..." She found herself incapable of proceeding as planned. "I want to be with you." His gaze softened as she grasped his hand. "You keep telling me you'll disappoint me but you could never ever do that. You tell me you'll probably leave me early, but I say damn that. You'll keep coming back and I'll wait. I'll wait as long as needed."

"You said all that but still can't force out that last bit, can you?" He chuckled and she pouted, knowing he knew what she'd been meaning to say in the beginning.

"I can. Because I love you."

The sound of his chuckle halted and he stared into her eyes wondrously, not believing her words. The opposition had won. Then his face relaxed and he was smiling again.

"I know you can. You can do everything you want to." They'd had this type of moment so many times she couldn't keep track anymore, but this one was especially important because it was the first time in her life when she said 'I love you' to somebody and meant it. Erwin's eyes were beautiful and the flags in her head were still white and hopelessly waiting to be raised. His eyes saw right through her, all the way to the intertwined thoughts and the line connecting all the dots. They had from the very first moment.

"I adore your eyes." She shared bluntly, not minding the way in which he would react. He huffed and gave her a knowing smile.

"I've known that for quite some time." He shared in return, making her redden as he leaned down and kissed her forehead. When she looked into his eyes again the tenth time came - her heart skipped another beat. Her smile broadened the more Erwin kept looking at her. She counted mentally and the number ten sounded in her mind before her focus strayed to the stars in the sky again. She stared up at them, relishing in the feeling of Erwin's warm hold on her hand and the sensation of his beautiful eyes on her visage, figuring out the thoughts in her head.

Ten times in total did Erwin Smith make her heart skip a beat. But she'd keep counting in hopes that they grew; in hopes that he'd keep doing it until they grew old and grey together; in hopes that he'd do it every day as to prove he was there, and to make her remember him and every moment they'd spent in each other's presence. (Y/N) would keep counting, even when they became a hundred or a thousand or a million, or a number she no longer knew how to pronounce.

#erwin smith #erwin smith x reader #reader insert #snk fanfic #erwin smith fanfic #babessssss this is 10k words and one of the only two erwin fanfics i've ever written #i love our commander but i just cannot for the life of me write him properly #soooo #yeah #get this (probs) ooc stuff and enjoy? #it kind of has plot you know

[januarywren]

Hello I hope you don’t mind but can you please write a snamione domestic fluff where they have triplets? Love your stories a lot. ❤️❤️

Done!

I expanded the Severus/Hermione story that I posted last week, ‘Without Her,’ that focused on them falling in love after the war. 

I’ll post the second chapter down below, I hope that you enjoy it! ‘Without Her’ is more hurt/comfort than fluff, but I thought your request fit well with the story. Thank you for trusting me with your idea!

He blinked once.

Twice.

And again, as he realized what his witch meant.

Children...

He’d never imagined they were a possibility, let alone something he wished for. “Truly?” Severus asked, tautly swallowing. He could never imagine her being so cruel, yet he felt uncertainty creep beneath his skin still.

Memories of the Marauders haunted him still, with childish jeers ringing in his ears. There were the bitter remnants of his father too, every cruel word and look one that Severus couldn’t forget. His cheek ticked, a gesture that he had never learned to control.

“Would I lie to you, Severus?” Hermione asked, her lips curling upward into a knowing smile. She'd suspected her pregnant state for weeks before visiting a muggle doctor in London and had waited for just the right moment to tell her lover...they would not have one child but three.

Three!

It was more than Hermione had ever considered, given how she was an only child. Severus was the same raised without any siblings and neither of them had ever wished for one. Was it natural then, that she’d only imagined them having one? Or none, given how their nights were spent enamored with one another.

Hermione had tucked the sonogram into her battered copy of Hogwarts: A History, one of the few surviving mementos from her childhood. She had wondered at surprising Severus, perhaps with a balloon or stuffed teddy bear, but decided against the idea. She knew that he valued her words more than her actions, for she was one of the few who meant them. So she whispered the news to him, as she lay reading and he rested his head in her lap, as the world outside their door was bathed in thunder and bitter downpour.

“You’re the only one who never would,” he admitted, swallowing tautly. He was on his knees before her, his head resting in her lap, yet he felt as if he were her equal.

Perhaps he was.

“Never,” she echoed, before threading her fingers through his dark hair. He hummed in pleasure as she wound locks around her fingers, before letting them free, once more.

Time had no meaning then, the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of their room not making a sound. Even Crookshanks was quiet as he curled in his woven basket, with his tail covering his nose.

The rest of their home was a buzz of quiet activity, as they’d found themselves welcoming a handful of House-Elves that had lost their families during the War. They tended to the small flat, the same as they would a sprawling manor, though they never disturbed the couple’s bedroom.

(Only Crookshanks held that honor, to the House-Elves displeasure.)

A flat full of books and abandoned House-Elves and a stubborn familiar was nothing like the future that Severus had imagined. As a child, he'd dreamed of little more than escaping his father, soon pinning his dreams on Lily Evans. He was blinded by obsession as he spent years at Hogwarts, everything he did meant to hold Lily's attention.

The obsession had followed him as he became an embittered man, one that hadn’t lived until he found his way to the woman he served then. Hermione held his very heart in her small hands, an arrangement that he had no wish to deviate from.

He found his belonging with Hermione, the only woman whose shadow he would remain in. His relationship with her was nothing like he’d expected, instead, being everything, he needed. He found it was natural for him to obey, as it was far from her way to force him to give a piece of himself away. She wanted him, and only him, without forcing him to perfect a game of charades.

It was a lesson that Riddle had never learned, nor Dumbledore, for all of his sugar-coated words and knowing gaze. There was no falsity with Hermione, only praise.

And when they did row, it was followed with scenes of passionate devotion, as Severus worshipped between her legs. His greed for her was unrestrained, as he delved his tongue into her dripping cunt, and he made her scream his name. It made him feel alive in a thousand different ways, and he made a strangled sound of amusement, as he realized their last session had led to his witch’s current state.

They had argued for days about her interest in visiting a certain dragon sanctuary in Romania, with Severus dead set against her going. The security risks kept him awake at night, as he knew the goblins had never forgotten the release of their former dragon and their desire for another one. Who was to say they wouldn't try to take another one?

Hermione had only so much influence with them, and Severus doubted she could keep them from coveting another dragon. Greed was as natural as breathing to the goblins, perhaps, even more so. There was little right or wrong to the goblins, their views far from black and white.

Hermione had adamantly refused to listen until she refused the invite at the last possible moment, after which they ignored each other for days – until Severus had awoken his witch with slow, lingering kisses and touches that swept her hurt feelings away. He took no delight in hurting her, content with how she clung to him, his touch leaving love marks behind.

Neither had given thought to cast a preventative spell then, their preferred method of birth control in place of the potion, or muggle birth control. They had never discussed having children, though Severus knew his witch wasn't averse to the idea. Hermione's sudden friendship with the goblins wasn't entirely a secret, as Luna and Neville maintained a relationship with them as well. They were friends of Hermione's more than Harry or Ron were, and she was delighted when they announced their pregnancy.

He’d never forgotten her soft, joyful expression when she was named godmother to Luna and Neville’s daughter, Aurora; the sight taking his breath away, for reasons that he never imagined he would voice, let alone consider.

The horror of his childhood kept him from imagining a family with anyone, even Lily. His family line would die with him, as he had no wish to see a child with his father’s features, nor his hooked nose. Yet, he’d found himself enjoying the time they spent with Aurora, as he often listened to Hermione read aloud to her, and Crookshanks. It was a warm, childish scene, the likes of which had never existed in his childhood.

If he were a lesser man, he would deny his envy, one that had long ago rooted into his soul. His childhood was filled with nothing he wished to look back at, nor repeat with his children. There was only coldness there, one that stung his cheeks and tore at his soul; making him recoil from thoughts about turning into his father, or allowing abuse to occur, as his mother had. His children would never know the mistakes of his parents, grandparents they would never meet, nor know of.

Severus was silent as his hand found Hermione’s, his fingers gently squeezing hers. He said nothing about her parents, away in Australia with no memory of their only child. They all had to make sacrifices during the war, yet Severus loathed that he couldn’t make the matter right for her.

All he could do – all they could do – was ensure that her parents had a plentiful bank account and a small condo that was thoroughly warded against any magical visitor. Her parents remembered nothing of their old lives, and the world they had known. Hermione kept two things from them: a suit jacket that belonged to her father, with a missing button and a tear in the collar and her mother’s china tea set.

There was nothing more that she needed, his witch said, and that was the end of the matter.

“We’re going to be parents,” Hermione whispered, her voice cracking at the end. It seemed utterly real then, though she had yet to physically show. It was only when she missed her course that she thought to see the doctor, along with how sensitive she’d become, “Can you imagine, love?”

“I’m afraid so,” Severus replied, a hint of dry humor tangled around each and every word.

He could easily imagine her with a child on her hip, the picture too vivid and bright. It was one that men like him were never supposed to grasp – he was meant to be alone, and embittered with redemption held away from his hands.

Yet still, he wanted it, more so than anything before. He wanted her.

He wanted a future with his witch and their children, with books and half-kneazles forever underfoot.  

#harry potter #hp #sevmione #severus snape #hermione granger #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #postwar au #hurt/comfort #tw: pregnancy #snamione #sevmione fic #snamione fic #snape #severus snape x hermione #thank you for the request! #ss/hg #archive of our own #ao3

[lightsinthedistancee]

Till the End : Poe Dameron x Reader

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Words: 887

Summary: “He imagines that his limbs turn to hydrogen and that his body melts into plasma, and that he has become a star in the night sky. Perhaps it’s cruelly fitting in a way, for it is always the stars that are destined to die in the most violent explosions. His sole wish is that you aren’t here to perish along with him.”

“‘Till the end, baby.’”

Final moments together in the face of death.

Warnings: None

A/N: ok so I just wrote this short little ficlet after being inspired by this one random @woakiees post i saw a bit back (hi, hadley if you’re seeing this lol). Definitely not a thought I’ve never had before, but i suppose it happened to show up at the right time and right place and caused…this, I guess. Enjoy!

There is nothing poetic to be said about the end of the world.

The thought surges through the pilot’s mind as he stares at the wall, unblinking.

There are no heroes jumping from bridges. No ships crashing into waves. No gorgeous rains of fire.

There is only the feel of your body against his, shaking and trembling with him.

Only the sound of the world crumbling to ashes outside.

Only the feeling of imminent death in the air, slowly invading everyone’s bones in an agonizingly slow crawl.

The underground shelter is dim, lit by a single bulb that flickers with each crash, seemingly the last bit of light in a world that is slowly being rid of it.

I’m supposed to be out there.

The thought is merciless. He’s supposed to be in control. He’s supposed to have a say in his outcome. He’s supposed to be behind the controls of a ship in a ruthless fight for victory.

But it is undeniable that there’s nothing he can be in control of now.

All he can do is wait for the arrival of that final moment.

He can’t run, he can’t fight, he can’t protect himself from a threat he can’t reach. He can’t protect you.

You with your legs swung over his lap. You with your head buried in his chest. You with your hand clutching his.

You slowly curl into him further and further. He slowly pulls you tighter and tighter. It’s an effort to feel the other—and nothing else—amongst the wave of despair crawling over the place.

The flame of resistance in him is flickering, dying. He can feel it. There’s a weak fire being passed back and forth between the two of you in an attempt to sustain some semblance of hope, slowly failing.

The earth around them trembles violently, and Poe, in his unsteady state of mind, retreats into his imaginative youth in some ways. He imagines some higher power grasping the planet, shaking it as if it’s a toy, preparing to fling everyone on it into the abyss.

He imagines he’s no longer here. He imagines that his limbs turn to hydrogen and that his body melts into plasma, and that he has become a star in the night sky. Perhaps it’s cruelly fitting in a way, for it is always the stars that are destined to die in the most violent explosions. His sole wish is that you aren’t here to perish along with him.

Hairline cracks appear in the ceiling, shrieks and murmurs spreading through the shelter. Perhaps confessions, regrets, last proclamations of love.

You finally lift your gaze, revealing your tear-stained cheeks. He watches as your eyes stick on the ceiling, hanging onto the sight you so badly want to tear your gaze from.

Poe can’t look. It’s horrible. The way the fissures threaten to open up and crush everyone. The way he imagines your final scream, hoarse and ragged. The manner in which the both of you could die, in a situation no more stoppable than a ship barreling through wild space.

He pulls your head back to his chest, obscuring your view. “Don’t look,” he whispers, taking his own advice. He buries his head in your hair, blocking his own view. “Don’t look, sweetheart.”

When pieces of the ceiling begin to fall, he hunches over, keeping you beneath him. He feels your hand snake out to rest protectively on the back of his head. Both of you are so tightly wrapped around the other, so desperate in your holds that it is as if there’s a hope that the two of you are simply curled up in bed, simply in a dream that can be woken up from.

A vivid memory of the first life-threatening situation you’d been in together arises in his mind. The helplessness, the fear, the guilt of the life already lived—it’s all identical.

“Till the end,” he had said quietly to you.

You had stared back at him, shuddering out deep breaths. “Till the end.”

He feels you shifting in his hold all of a sudden, struggling against his strong grasp. You’re saying his name.

He releases you, flinching as the room shakes again.

You stare at him a moment, eyes steady, unblinking, holding strong in the situation. And suddenly, your lips are pressed to his, desperate and firm, as if struggling to find one last bit of pleasure in a time when there is none.

He allows you to meld back to him, allows your arms to wrap around him. Your lips are soft, as they always are, a sensation to hold on to, a contrast to the hardness all around him. “I love you,” he gasps, pulling away.

You eyes land directly land on his, and he wishes he can sink into them, into the comforting pools of color that reflect the dying light. “I love you, too.”

His gaze briefly flicks up to the ceiling, awaiting the blast that could split his molecules at the seams, yet your touch on his cheek brings his eyes back down.

“Till the end, baby,” you whisper.

The sound of ship weaponry going off outside sounds, the final determinant of both your fates. He lets his eyes slowly shut, lets you back into your previous position, surrounded by his embrace. “Till the end.”

..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::.. ..::::..

Taglist (for everything): @theultimateslashgirl @dark-academics-and-florals @princessxkenobi

Taglist (for Poe): @synical-paradox @spider-starry @paper-n-ashes

If you wish to be tagged on any of my future works, lmk in the replies or do the form on my Masterlist (which has specific preferences) if that’s easier.

Thanks for reading!

#poe dameron #poe dameron x reader #star wars #star wars fanfiction #poe dameron fanfiction #tfa #tlj #tros