#in the words of miss Taylor swift herself… | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ikeu05 · 8 days ago

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

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

pairing commoner! jake x secret princess! reader

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

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

word count 23.5k :O

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

jake sim didn’t ask for much.

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

“you’re a menace, sim!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

whoever she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“unemployed flirt.”

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

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

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

“i was in a hurry.”

“to rob another bakery?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“because i felt bad.”

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

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

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

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

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

she didn’t respond.

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

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

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

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

“stop.”

“can’t.”

“seriously—”

“it’s a condition.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…shit,” she whispered, eyes wide.

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

“no,” she said, scrambling to her feet. “no, i didn’t—i lost track of time—”

“what time is it?” he asked, confused, still on the ground.

“i—it’s nearly seven. i’m late. i have to go. i really have to—” she was already backing away, stumbling slightly as she turned on her heel.

“woah, hey, wait—late for what? did the fox schedule a dinner party?”

she didn’t even smirk this time. her face had gone pale, mouth drawn tight. it wasn't just urgency. it was fear. panic, almost.

jake stood quickly, taking a step forward. “at least tell me your name.”

that stopped her. barely. one step from vanishing into the trees, she hesitated—shoulders rising, then falling. she turned her head slightly, just enough for him to see the silhouette of her profile.

“i can’t.”

jake tilted his head. “can’t? or won’t?”

she didn’t answer.

he tried again, softer this time. “okay. then can i tell you mine?” silence.

“jake,” he said anyway. “jake sim.”

and for a moment, she stood completely still. as if memorising it. as if folding the syllables up and tucking them somewhere deep.

then, she ran. not a polite jog. a full sprint into the fading light.

jake stood there, wind catching the edges of his shirt, watching her disappear like the last streak of sunset. he scratched the back of his neck, feeling oddly… cold.

“jake sim,” he said again to himself. then huffed a laugh. “that’s me. just out here... falling for ghosts.”

he looked down at the skipping stones scattered by his boots. she hadn’t given him a name. but she’d left something else behind. something far more dangerous: curiosity. and yet, jake sim had never really been good at minding his own business.

the palace of decelis was beautiful in the kind of way that made your bones ache. all white stone and sprawling staircases, with archways carved into scenes of myth and gold-gilded ceilings that caught fire in the afternoon light. it was the kind of place made for silence and stillness. every footstep echoed too loudly. every whisper risked being overheard. and nothing, absolutely nothing, ever felt truly hers.

especially not the back kitchen corridor she now sprinted through, boots caked in mud, the hem of her dress wet with river water and flecked with grass stains. the air smelled faintly of rosemary and smoke—dinner being prepped somewhere below. her breath caught in her throat as she turned the narrow corner, heart pounding against her ribs like it wanted out. just as she reached for the brass handle of the servants’ pantry door, someone grabbed her by the wrist.

“you’re late.”

yn yelped and whirled around, only to find the familiar face she knew she'd see.

“ness,” she breathed, half a laugh, half a wince.

ness stood there with one eyebrow cocked, arms crossed, and her apron stained with flour. she was effortlessly pretty, even with her hair knotted into a bun and smudges of ash on her cheek. her soft, wheatish skin glowed under the candle sconces, and her big, doe-brown eyes were as expressive as ever—wide with worry and narrowed with judgement at the same time. and those dimples—those damned dimples—made it impossible to take her scolding seriously.

“you said you'd be back by six,” ness hissed, dragging yn inside and quietly shutting the door behind them. “do you have any idea what time it is?”

“just past seven?” yn guessed with a sheepish grin.

ness glared and grabbed a clean cloth, throwing it at her. “try almost half-past. your father asked where you were during the tea sitting. i lied. again.”

“i owe you,” yn muttered, peeling off her coat. “again.”

“you owe me your entire life at this point.”

the servants’ dressing quarters were narrow but hidden behind the massive kitchen halls, where the scent of firewood and cloves clung to every surface. here, everything was quiet. secret. safe.

ness pulled out a fresh dress from the linen shelves and shoved it into yn’s arms. “your sisters are already in the dining hall. you’ve got ten minutes before your absence becomes another point of gossip.”

yn quickly started changing behind the curtain partition. “cassie’s too busy talking about wedding colours to care. and jen will just say i was off with a headache again.”

“you're lucky they cover for you sometimes.”

“not really. no one actually cares where i go. they just don’t want me embarrassing them.”

ness’s gaze softened. she didn’t argue. instead, she helped yn out of her boots, brushing off flecks of grass. “you really shouldn’t run off so often,” she said gently.

“why not? it’s not like anyone notices when i’m here.”

“they do,” ness said softly. “your father does. your mother just… doesn’t like when things slip outside the script.”

yn rolled her eyes. “of course. because heaven forbid i step off the page cassie wrote for me.”

ness gave her a look. “you don’t have to become her. you just have to survive dinner without starting a scandal.”

yn snorted. “not promising anything.”

as ness fastened the buttons at the back of her dress, yn grinned over her shoulder. “speaking of scandal... jungwon’s coming tomorrow, isn’t he?”

ness froze, her fingers lingering on the last button. “he’s just bringing supplies.”

“oh, is that what we’re calling it now?”

“yn.”

“he flirts like a boy with a crush. you tuck your hair behind your ear when he talks. it’s almost cute.”

ness flushed, swatting her arm. “it’s nothing.”

“liar. i saw him give you his scarf last week when it got chilly.”

“he was just being polite!”

yn smirked. “if that’s what we’re calling flirting now, i’m in trouble.”

ness tried not to smile, but her dimples betrayed her. “hurry,” she said instead, pushing her toward the hall. “go pretend to be respectable.”

the dining room of the castle was a cathedral of etiquette—high-vaulted ceilings, tapestries of long-forgotten wars, and candles floating like stars above an endless mahogany table. the three sisters were seated across from one another, and her parents sat at the head—noble, polished, cold.

cassendra knight, eldest at twenty-three, sat with her back straight, posture perfect, and a diamond pin in her hair. she looked like she had stepped out of a royal portrait. her voice was calm as she discussed seating arrangements and florists with the queen.

genevieve—jen—sat across from her, twirling her fork with all the ease of a youngest child, laughing softly at something the steward had said before dinner.

and yn, slipping into her seat at last, slightly breathless, dress still wrinkled from the rush, felt exactly as she always did. extra. she wasn’t the first. not the bride. not the youngest. not the darling. she was the middle—the blurry one.

"where were you today?" her father's voice rang across the table like a verdict. there it was. the question she always heard. not how are you. not what did you do. just where. always where.

"garden," she lied quickly, unfolding her napkin. "by the orchard."

the queen nodded, eyes narrowing slightly. “your cheeks are flushed.”

“it's warm in the corridor.”

cassie said nothing, but she didn’t need to. she never did. her quiet glances said everything—that yn was unpredictable, that she would never be enough. jen kicked her under the table with a tiny grin. yn smiled back.

that night, dinner passed in silence on her end. she ate without tasting. spoke when spoken to. laughed at the appropriate moments. but her mind was somewhere else. somewhere by the lake. with a boy who knew her only as a girl with muddy boots and a pretty coat. with a name he didn’t know—and a smile he’d already memorised.

it had been an unusually warm morning, and yn was wandering the village again before she could even register her own feet moving. she told herself she needed to clear her head. that it was about getting air. that she was absolutely not looking for someone. someone with a crooked grin and eyes that made everything else around him blur. no, she wasn’t thinking about him at all. except she was. she had tried not to. but last night, as she lay in her canopy bed, drowning under silken sheets and royal silence, all she could hear was his voice.

"jake sim," he'd said. like it was the only name in the world. and of course, like a damn idiot, she hadn’t given him hers. the smarter choice. the safer one. so she had absolutely no business being this disappointed when she rounded the bakery corner and—

“—you.”

she walked straight into a warm chest. again.

“oh my god,” she muttered, stumbling back as familiar hands gently steadied her by the arms. “this is becoming a thing.”

jake looked far too pleased with himself. “you really need to stop bumping into me like this,” he said, eyes glittering in the sunlight. “people are starting to talk.”

she shoved him away. lightly. not convincingly. “are you following me?”

jake raised both hands. “i’ll have you know, i am a man of high moral standing. i was just heading to the well.”

“you live nowhere near the well.”

“…that’s true,” he admitted. “but you live nowhere near the bakery and you were here, so…”

yn narrowed her eyes. “so you were looking for me.”

jake grinned, like he was proud of himself. “i’ve got a mission.”

she crossed her arms. “let me guess. world peace?”

“close,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “figuring out your name.”

yn rolled her eyes and turned to walk again. “you’re wasting your time.”

jake followed with his hands shoved in his pockets. “i don’t think so. it’s like a puzzle. mysterious girl. stolen bread. muddy boots. lies for days. what’s not to obsess over?”

“you sound dangerously unwell.”

he laughed, catching up easily. “you know, last night i was trying to guess. thought maybe it was something sharp. like ravenna.”

she snorted.

“or something delicate. like lily.”

“do i look like a lily to you?”

jake tilted his head. “no. definitely not. you look like trouble.”

she didn’t look at him, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “that’s not a name.”

“it is now.”

they kept walking, their steps falling into rhythm without them realising. people passed by with baskets and chatter, but it all felt slightly removed—like they were orbiting something entirely their own.

“why does it matter so much?” she asked finally.

jake didn’t answer right away. he looked ahead, toward the river path, lips pursed in thought. “because…” he said eventually, “i don’t want to keep calling you girl who threw insults and skipped stones better than me.”

she huffed a small laugh.

“and because,” he continued more softly, “if i’m going to fall into this story, i’d at least like to know the name of the main character.”

that stopped her. just for a second. she stared at him, expression unreadable. and jake, to his own surprise, didn’t fill the silence with another joke. he just… waited. her voice, when it came, was quieter. but steady. “call me…” she paused. thought. “addy.”

jake raised an eyebrow. “that’s not your real name.”

she smirked. “it’s enough.”

jake grinned, like he’d just been handed a riddle and a key at the same time.

“alright then, addy,” he said, testing it on his tongue. “can i walk you home?”

she hesitated. just a blink. but then she shrugged, starting down the hill again. she wasn’t about to expose where she lived, jesus christ as if. she had a destination by the lake she always lied to say she was from. then when jake walked away she would run away to the palace.

“if you can keep up.”

jake let her walk ahead, then caught up easily, bumping shoulders just slightly. “oh,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “and you’re thinking about me now, aren’t you?”

she didn’t respond. but she was. god, she was.

jake had expected a few things when he ran into her again—mostly sarcasm, some vague insult about his hair, and maybe, if he was lucky, another sideways smile that made his chest ache in a way he didn’t want to examine. what he hadn’t expected was for her to say, after a shared moment of stubborn silence and narrowed eyes, “come on. i’ll show you around.”

just like that. like she hadn’t been dodging every real question he asked. like she wasn’t the most confusing girl he’d ever met. like he didn’t already want to follow her anywhere.

he said nothing at first—just fell into step beside her as they turned down the sun-warmed path leading deeper into riverfield’s winding streets. she walked ahead of him, hands in her coat pockets, chin lifted slightly like she was daring anyone to ask where she belonged. for the first time, jake wondered if maybe she didn’t belong anywhere at all. or maybe she belonged everywhere—depending on who was asking.

their first stop was the bakery, which smelled like honey and cinnamon and exactly the kind of thing jake needed after another night on a lumpy mattress in the tavern’s spare room.

“edric,” she called casually as they stepped inside, “be nice. i brought a friend.”

the man behind the counter—mid-fifties, large belly, ruddy cheeks—looked up from kneading dough and narrowed his eyes. “a friend, huh?”

jake straightened, smiling reflexively. “pleasure—”

“don’t bother charming him,” she muttered under her breath. “he’s immune.”

edric’s eyes raked over jake’s coat, hair, boots. judging. thorough. a dad-level inspection if jake had ever seen one. “is he the one you stole the rye loaf for two days back?” edric asked, voice low.

jake turned. “you stole bread for me?”

she scoffed. “i did not.”

“she did,” edric confirmed, deadpan.

“i was testing its crust,” she insisted.

jake looked very pleased. “you stole bread for me,” he said again, like it was proof of something.

she rolled her eyes, tossing a coin on the counter. “one honey twist, and nothing more for this idiot.”

as they left, jake tore into the bread, humming in delight. “that was the best crime ever committed in my honor.”

next was thalia, the old florist who sat outside her shop surrounded by baskets of wild blooms and herbs. she looked up from arranging violets and clucked her tongue when she saw yn.

“you’re late, darling,” she said, brushing petals from her apron. “i saved the purple ones.”

“i wasn’t coming for flowers today.”

“well, too bad. you’re getting some.” thalia handed her a small bunch of lavender and yn accepted it with mock reluctance, then handed one to jake without explanation.

jake stared at the single stalk in his palm. “are you proposing?”

“i’m keeping your hands busy so you don’t touch anything,” she muttered.

they moved from stall to stall. she introduced him to the apothecary twins, mira and mabel—tiny, quick-witted women who sold everything from cough syrups to potions that allegedly kept suitors away. mira asked jake what his star sign was. mabel offered to brew him something to “stop being annoying.” they passed the old shoemaker, who gifted yn a polished button from his days in the royal guard. the fishmonger who greeted her with, “back for gossip or haddock?” the boy who sold ink and paper, who turned pink when she smiled at him. and jake watched all of it with growing disbelief.

“you know everyone,” he said, finally, when they reached the river bridge and paused to catch their breath.

she shrugged. “i’ve been here a long time.”

“but no one knows your name.”

she didn’t answer that. just leaned over the bridge’s stone railing, watching the ripples below.

jake glanced at her profile—how the light softened the edges of her, how the breeze played with the strands of hair that had come loose. “i like this version of you,” he said quietly. “the one that smiles more.”

she shot him a look. “you say that like you know other versions.”

“i’ve met the one who dodges questions and threatens to drown me in a lake.”

she smirked. “that version has her uses.”

he watched her for a beat longer, then joined her at the railing. their shoulders brushed. neither moved away.

“so,” she said after a moment. “what about you? what’s jake sim doing in riverfield?”

he blew out a breath. “that’s a loaded question.”

“i’m not in a rush.”

he looked at her, the way her eyes stayed focused on the water, not him. like she wanted the truth but didn’t want to press too hard. “my mother’s family is from the coast,” he said finally. “korean sailors. she married into a merchant line. my father’s… well, a mess. still chasing fortunes in ports that don’t want him.”

“i’m sorry.”

jake shook his head. “don’t be. i’m not. just got tired of following his shadow. figured if i had to be broke and aimless, might as well do it somewhere quiet.”

“and here you are. aimless and in excellent company.”

he grinned. “exactly.”

she turned toward him. “and what do you want, jake sim?”

he opened his mouth. closed it. “i’m still figuring that out.”

they stood there for a while longer. then she said, “come on. one more place.”

he followed her to the hill just behind the village, where a hidden orchard bloomed quietly, tucked away from the world. they pushed through ivy and wild roses, and the sunlight poured through the branches like it was spilling secrets just for them.

she pulled herself up onto a low wall and looked out across the trees. jake climbed up beside her.

he watched her more than the view. “did you ever want more?” he asked. “than this?”

she was quiet. then: “i don’t know. i think i just wanted… to be seen. to matter.”

“you do.”

she met his eyes. and for a second, everything in her chest fell silent. he said it so easily. so sincerely. “you’re strange,” she whispered.

jake tilted his head. “and you’re hiding something.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

“you can’t prove it.”

“give me time.”

she smiled despite herself.

he grinned like a boy with a secret. “addy,” he said again, deliberately. “i like saying that.”

she lowered her eyes. “don’t get used to it.”

“i think i already have.”

and then they sat, quiet again. but not awkward. never awkward. just… full. charged. like the wind might carry them both off if they weren’t careful. by the time they headed back toward the village, the sun had already begun to tip westward, throwing amber light across the fields. jake didn’t want to say goodbye. she didn’t either. so they didn’t.

they lingered by the well. talking about nothing. laughing about the honey twist. jake told a story about nearly falling into a cargo hold. she told one about a goat that chased her through a market when she was fifteen. and all the while, the air between them softened. tightened. pulled.

“same time tomorrow?” jake asked, half-hopeful, half-sure she’d disappear again.

but she just nodded, already turning away. “if you can find me.” and just like that—she was gone. jake stood there, grinning like a fool, lavender stalk still in his hand.

the palace kitchens, though tucked away from the grandeur and polish of the rest of the castle, had their own kind of magic. it was warmer here—always smelling faintly of cinnamon, boiling broth, or fresh herbs drying by the stone window ledges. the hearth crackled even in late spring, and somewhere in the corner, a cat dozed in a basket of cloth scraps, twitching in her sleep. yn liked it here. always had.

the marble halls above were cold and sharp, too clean, too quiet. but here, everything was alive. the clatter of spoons, the thump of knives on chopping boards, the soft gossip passed between maids like sugar cubes—this was the beating heart of the castle. and tucked into the far wooden bench, arms folded on the table, yn sat with her chin in her hand, watching ness devour half a blueberry pie with all the grace of a girl who hadn't eaten in days.

“you’re going to regret that later,” yn muttered, smirking as she reached over for a bite.

“you could have just taken a piece yourself,” ness muttered without looking up.

“i like yours better,” yn replied sweetly, dropping another berry into her mouth. “it tastes like justice. forbidden, juicy justice.”

ness gave her a look but didn’t bother swatting her hand this time. she was too content — cheeks slightly pink from the warmth, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her hair tied in the loose bun she always wore when she wasn’t “on castle time.” a smudge of flour dusted one cheek, and the corners of her mouth were stained purple-blue from the filling.

“i think i like him,” yn said suddenly, eyes fixed on the window across the stone courtyard, watching the flutter of birds and not the way her heart started speeding.

ness paused mid-bite.

yn rushed to explain herself. “not in the way like ‘ohh i have to have him. i have to kiss him,’” she giggled at the thought. “but like, in the way, it’s nice to have someone my age to talk to. you know, apart from you.”

“oh?” ness cocked a brow at her.

yn bit her lip. “it’s stupid. i barely know him. and i haven’t even told him anything real about me.”

“does he know your name yet?”

she gave a small, guilty shrug. “...sort of. i gave him a fake one. i told him it was addy.”

ness raised a brow. “addy?”

“do not judge me, ness. it came out of nowhere.”

“i’m not judging,” ness said, grinning as she stabbed a piece of crust with her fork. “it’s very... you.”

“you’re not helping.”

“well, you’re also not giving me details.”

“that’s because if i do, it’ll feel real. and if it feels real, then it’ll get ruined.”

“or it won’t.”

yn hesitated. then plucked another berry and popped it into her mouth, mumbling, “he’s clever. too clever. he’s already suspicious.”

“oh no. someone caught onto the act?”

“no, not the act. me. the real me. i didn’t mean to say so much yesterday, but i… i think i wanted to. and that’s dangerous.”

ness leaned forward, dropping her fork into the empty plate with a soft clink. “or it’s honest. sometimes, it’s scarier being seen than hiding.”

yn glanced at her, heart tugging. “when did you get so wise?”

ness smirked, just as the outer kitchen door creaked open. they both turned toward it — but only one of them froze. jungwon stepped in, his boots soft against the old stone floor, sleeves rolled neatly up his forearms, a light sheen of sweat still on his brow from the walk in. he was carrying two large sacks — one on each shoulder — filled with rice, his blonde hair slightly tousled from the wind.

“ness?” he called out, not seeing yn just yet as she sat tucked against the prep table by the hearth.

ness stood too quickly. “you didn’t have to carry those both at once—”

“they’re not that heavy.”

“you’re sweating.”

“you’re glowing,” he corrected, smiling like an idiot.

yn blinked. her mouth slowly curled into the beginnings of a grin. ness looked like she wanted to fling herself into the oven. “put them near the grain bins,” she mumbled, stepping aside. “i’ll sort them later.”

he did as she said, flexing a little more than necessary. his movements were fluid, casual, but there was something inherently gentle in the way he handled everything, like he didn’t want to make a mess of the space she’d made her own. as he returned, he brushed his hands against his trousers and looked at her again, eyes scanning her face like he was checking for something.

“you look tired. did your back hurt again this morning?” he asked quietly.

ness blinked. “how did—?”

“you always stand with your hand pressed to your side when it does.”

yn’s jaw dropped — silently, dramatically — from her place by the table. ness was flushed now, an actual pink rising from her cheeks to her ears. “i—i’m fine,” she said a little too quickly. “and you don’t have to say things like that—”

“i just worry,” he replied, stepping a bit closer. “you don’t let anyone else worry about you.”

ness’s eyes flicked nervously toward the kitchen entrance. “jungwon—”

“just let me,” he said, soft and honest. “at least once.” and then, very casually, very quietly, like he asked a million times before, he added, “can i have a kiss, darling?”

ness went completely still. her breath caught in her throat. her hand froze halfway through brushing flour from her apron. her eyes darted to the far corner, where she now remembered her royal best friend was very much present.

yn cleared her throat. loudly.

jungwon turned, startled — then horrified. his face lit up in a blaze of red so fast it could’ve set the pie on fire. “princess,” he croaked, eyes wide.

yn raised a hand like she was greeting a bird in a tree. “hi.”

“i—i didn’t see you there, i wasn’t—this wasn’t—”

“oh, no, don’t mind me,” she said sweetly. “i was just over here, eating pie and listening to the single most romantic grain delivery i’ve ever witnessed.”

ness groaned, burying her face in her apron. “i’m going to throw myself into the oven.” jungwon looked like he wanted to follow her in.

“you two are so obvious,” yn teased, grinning now as she slid off the table. “do you know how many times i’ve seen you blush like that from the stables? i thought maybe ness had allergies.”

“your highness—” jungwon tried, face bright red.

“i’m not scolding you,” yn said, chuckling as she dusted her skirt. “if anything, i’m rooting for you. i just think if you're going to confess your undying devotion, maybe do it when i’m not three feet away.”

“i wasn’t confessing—!”

“you asked for a kiss,” ness muttered into her hands.

“bold,” yn commented.

“brave,” ness added.

“embarrassing,” jungwon mumbled, before finally groaning and rubbing the back of his neck. “i’ll just—go.”

“don’t forget your reward,” yn called, grinning.

and as if that hadn’t already flustered him enough, ness stepped up on her toes and gave him a quick kiss to the cheek. “next week,” she whispered. “don’t be late.”

jungwon looked stunned. like he’d won a duel, a bet, and his own heart back all in one. “i—i won’t.” he turned and left quickly, practically tripping over the doorway. the second the door closed, ness let out a wail and covered her face.

“please,” she muttered. “please drop me into the pie.”

yn walked over and wrapped her arms around her from behind, giggling into her shoulder. “you love him.”

“i don’t—shut up.”

“he loves you too. it’s cute.”

“you’re evil.”

“and you’re soft.”

they laughed together, the kind of laugh that only came from years of friendship and secrets shared in corners like this. and for a moment, the stress of royal life, hidden names, and forbidden affections slipped away. ness turned to look at her finally, her smile gentle now. “so,” she said, picking up her fork again, “tell me more about the boy who makes you lie through your teeth and glow like you're standing next to the oven.”

yn smirked. “only if you tell me what it feels like when he brings you sacks of rice like a love letter.”

they leaned in close, and for a while, they were just two girls again. dreaming, scheming, hearts pounding. in love — just quietly.

the sky had barely settled into its blue when yn made her way into the village. she hadn’t meant to take the longer route, past the bakeries and spice carts, but her feet wandered. they always did when her mind was restless. she hadn’t seen jake in three days. not for lack of thinking about him. every time she caught herself smiling for no reason, every time her fingers played with a loose string on her sleeve, she’d think of the way he said her fake name like it meant something real. addy. whoever she was when she was with him, it felt honest. more than any title, more than any silk dress or ballroom rehearsal her family forced her through.

she was halfway to the well, about to pass the old bookseller’s stall, when she heard something unexpected. laughter. not just any laugh—jake’s. full, loud, a little pitchy-like a giggle. it froze her in her tracks. the sound came from across the square, by the corner where the new grain store had just opened. fresh wood. a proud sign written in both common tongue and hangul. it was the newest addition to the village—a korean-run family business, traditional and practical. most villagers welcomed it with open arms, especially when rice prices dropped overnight.

jake was standing right outside the front doors, animatedly talking to the older man behind the stall—a man yn assumed to be the owner. they were speaking in korean, rapidly, fluently, with that ease people only had when their native tongue curled back into their mouths after weeks of swallowing it. jake’s entire posture had shifted. he wasn’t leaning with arrogance, or slouching with charm. he was alive. eyes lit. gesturing excitedly with his hands. the quiet grin she was used to seeing had been replaced with something bright and genuine. he looked… happy. and for some reason, it made something tight coil inside her chest.

she didn’t realise how long she’d been staring until she caught sight of someone new approaching from behind the store counter. a girl. roughly her age—maybe a bit younger, but not by much. she wore layered robes, embroidered at the collar, sleeves lined with delicate silver threading. her hair was twisted into an elaborate braid that fell down her back, pinned with a piece that sparkled in the sunlight. it was the kind of outfit not even yn, a princess, would dare wear openly in the village. which meant one thing: this girl wasn’t hiding. and she wasn’t shy, either.

the girl slid up beside jake like she’d done it a hundred times before, pressing close, her hand brushing his arm as she handed something to her father. her eyes barely flicked to the pouch of grain. they were focused on jake. she laughed at something he said. touched his shoulder. stood too close. and jake—jake—was laughing back. flirty smile and all. not pulling away. not even noticing her.

yn blinked. her feet didn’t move. why… why wasn’t she moving? she told herself it wasn’t jealousy. it couldn’t be. she didn’t even know what she was doing with jake. they hadn’t even—he didn’t know who she really was. but watching him now, eyes crinkling at the corners, fingers brushing the girl’s sleeve as he handed her a bag of rice—it made her feel small. tight. like someone had grabbed her by the ribs and squeezed. this wasn’t part of the plan. she wasn’t supposed to care.

the girl leaned in and said something in korean—something that made jake laugh again, softer this time, sheepish. like a boy caught red-handed. and that’s when yn’s boots finally started moving. straight toward them. she didn’t even bother schooling her face into pleasantness. she just walked up, head high, back straight, and inserted herself right between them.

jake’s eyes flicked toward her, startled. then lit up. “hey—”

“hi,” yn said, sickly sweet, planting herself beside him.

the girl blinked, taking in yn’s slightly wrinkled coat and messy braid. her eyes dragged down and up slowly, expression cooling by the second. a perfect, practiced scowl hid behind her sugary smile. “and who might you be?” the girl asked, her tone casual, but her eyes anything but.

yn smiled wider. “addy,” she said, voice light. “nice to meet you.”

the girl didn’t offer her name in return. instead, she tilted her head. “never seen you around. are you from here?” before yn could answer, another voice cut in. low. tired. familiar.

“…addy?”

she turned just in time to see jungwon walking up, a stack of burlap sacks on his shoulder, brows furrowed from the weight and the sight in front of him. he stopped short. froze. his tired eyes went wide. “oh no,” yn whispered.

the girl blinked. “you two know each other?”

jungwon opened his mouth, clearly seconds away from saying something he absolutely should not—

“walk with me!” yn blurted, grabbing jungwon by the sleeve and dragging him around the corner of the store before anyone could stop them.

“wait, what—”

“i’ll explain, i swear,” she hissed, breath coming fast. “just—two seconds, please.”

jungwon blinked at her, confused but compliant. they ducked behind the wooden beam of the shop, away from view. he dropped the sack with a thud. “okay,” he said, crossing his arms, all his honorifics for her dropping immediately. “you want to tell me why the hell the princess of decelis is parading around the village using a fake name?”

yn winced. “shhh!”

“you’re lucky i didn’t say anything back there!”

“i know! that’s why i dragged you back here.”

jungwon looked like he wanted to scream. “does ness know?”

“of course ness knows.”

he stared at her, incredulous. “unbelievable.”

“i’m not doing it to stir drama. i just—i needed space. i needed people to see me like me, not as some perfect royal mannequin everyone expects me to be.”

he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “so let me get this straight. you’ve been sneaking out for months, hiding your name, and now you’re… what? flirting with jake sim?”

she flushed. “i’m not flirting.”

“really? because i walked up and it looked like you were about to maul him.”

“okay, maybe i was a little jealous.”

jungwon stared again.

then groaned. “you’re unbelievable.”

she tugged on his sleeve, desperate. “please don’t say anything. especially not to him.”

jungwon studied her face for a moment. the plea in her eyes. the way she looked more like herself than she ever had inside the castle. then he sighed. “you owe me.”

“forever.”

they returned around the corner, rejoining the other two. the girl—still looking thoroughly annoyed—raised her brows. “oh,” she said. “you’re back. that was quick.”

jungwon clicked his tongue at her. “wonlin, be nice.”

yn smiled. “just a quick hello. jungwon and i go way back.”

jake looked between them. “you do?”

before yn could answer, the girl–wonlin–cut in again. “that’s odd. we just moved here.”

jake turned toward her. “wait, really?”

she nodded slowly, eyes never leaving yn. “just two weeks ago. father opened this branch. we used to live further inland. so unless you know him from somewhere else…” her tone was thick with suspicion now.

jungwon, to his credit, stepped in smoothly. “ah,” he said quickly. “she’s friends with one of our former vendors. we crossed paths a few times. isn’t that right, addy?”

yn nodded vigorously. “exactly. small world.”

wonlin didn’t look convinced. jake seemed puzzled, but shrugged. “well, you’re lucky. jungwon seems great.”

wonlin smiled at jake, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “yea right whatever, i guess he is.”

jungwon, thoroughly done with the whole situation, grabbed another sack and muttered something about deliveries. as he walked off, he whispered to yn, “you seriously owe me.” and she did. but the moment jake turned back to her, smile soft and eyes gentle, she didn’t care. she’d find a way to pay him back later.

the air was softer as they walked—less sunlight, more breeze. the afternoon had begun to dip lazily into early evening, throwing amber and honey-gold across the cobbled streets of riverfield. a few market stalls had closed, and the vendors that remained were half-heartedly waving flies away or watching children race through the alleyways.

yn and jake strolled without purpose now. they’d already seen most of the village, and yet somehow, their feet kept finding new paths. jake kicked a pebble ahead of them, hands stuffed into his pockets. his strides were even, casual. he walked beside her the way one did when they had nowhere else to be and no one else to walk with. it felt… natural. comfortable. but something was off.

it wasn’t his voice—he was still talking, teasing, tossing the occasional flirty remark her way when she made a face or threatened to push him into a well. but something about the energy had changed. just slightly. just enough for her to feel it. “why are you being weird?” she asked finally, after they passed the old lamplighter’s post and he hadn’t said anything in a full thirty seconds.

jake blinked. “weird?”

“you’re quieter than usual.”

he shrugged, then shot her a grin. “maybe i’m just enjoying the scenery.”

she narrowed her eyes. “nice save.”

he bumped her shoulder lightly with his. “maybe i just know better than to keep talking when you’re lost in thought.”

“i’m never lost in thought.”

“you were definitely staring at a squirrel like it had insulted your entire bloodline.”

“i was imagining how i’d kill someone with that pinecone beside it.”

he laughed, genuine, but it faded too quickly again. they turned past the bakery, past the alley behind the mill, into the lesser-traveled part of town where the trees bent a little lower and the ivy grew thicker against cracked stone. she was about to ask again—press just a little further—when he spoke. “so…”

uh-oh. that tone. nothing good ever started with “so…” like that.

“do you think jungwon’s… cool?” he asked, and his voice was way too casual to be actually casual.

yn blinked, caught off-guard. “what?”

jake cleared his throat. “just asking.”

she tilted her head. “cool how?”

jake looked off to the side, like he was studying a particularly fascinating chunk of moss on a wall. “you know. just… cool.”

“…you mean attractive?”

he didn’t answer. which was answer enough. a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. “are you jealous?”

jake scoffed, but she didn’t miss the way he rubbed the back of his neck, fingers twitching slightly. “no.”

“you’re totally jealous.”

“i’m not.”

“you are! oh my god.”

jake groaned, dramatic. “i just asked a question. why does that mean i’m jealous?”

“because you’ve been acting weird ever since we left the shop. and now you’re randomly bringing up jungwon like you’re on trial for something.”

he muttered something in korean under his breath that she didn’t quite catch but sounded very much like ‘stupid handsome stock boy.’ she burst out laughing. jake scowled, cheeks slightly pink. “it’s just—he’s nice. people like him. he’s always there. and you—you called out to him like he was your favorite cousin coming back from war.”

“my favorite cousin?!” she wheezed.

“i panicked!”

“jake,” she said, still laughing, “you’re ridiculous.”

he looked at her, face serious despite the blush creeping up his neck. “so? do you?”

yn paused. then softened. “no,” she said. “i don’t like jungwon. not like that.” he looked relieved, but she wasn’t finished. “he’s in love with my best friend.”

jake blinked. “what?”

“yep. been watching him fall harder every week.”

“but… he didn’t say anything.”

“he doesn’t need to.” she grinned. “it’s so obvious. he looks at her like she hung the moon. and she pretends not to notice, but she totally does.”

jake stared at her for a second, like he was trying to process the image. then he relaxed, finally, shoulders easing back into the posture she was used to. but now she saw it. now she knew. she couldn’t not say something. “you were jealous,” she said again, this time with a victorious glint in her eyes.

jake groaned and covered his face with one hand. “why did i even ask?”

“you blushed, jake.”

“i did not.”

“you did. like, full color change. red cheeks. heatwave.”

“i loathe you.”

“no, you don’t.”

he shot her a glare, but she only grinned wider, clearly enjoying this far too much. and then his cheeks flushed again.

“you’re cute when you’re flustered,” she added.

jake sim never blushed. not when he had his first kiss at eight years old with the girl who lived next door to his family’s old stone cottage. she’d pushed him into a patch of dandelions behind the baker’s shed, told him to close his eyes, and then kissed him square on the mouth before promptly running off, leaving him stunned and grass-stained. he’d gone home whistling. didn’t even tell his older brother because he didn’t want to share the victory.

not when he got caught sneaking into the pub cellar at fourteen, red-handed with a stolen bottle of plum wine and a bag of stolen sausages in his satchel. the innkeeper’s wife had laughed until she cried while jake stood there shrugging, entirely unbothered.

not even when, at seventeen, he’d taken a drunken dare to swim across the lake fully bare—and came up at the other end only to realize a group of visiting merchants (and their daughters) had arrived early for the midsummer fair and were all watching. he’d sauntered out of the water with nothing but damp pride and a wink. people still brought it up years later.

jake sim did not blush. it simply wasn’t in his nature. he flirted too easily, laughed too loudly, and recovered from embarrassment with the smoothness of a boy who learned young how to make people like him. how to make himself untouchable. he had a charm like armor—carefully worn, perfectly deflecting.

but now? now, standing on the edge of the village’s quieter road, the sun dappled through trees and birds half-singing their evening lullabies, he felt it. that tell-tale sting. a creeping warmth rising in his neck. the flush crawling up the back of his ears like an ambush. all because of her.

yn was looking at him with that impossibly smug, satisfied expression. the kind of look people wore when they found out a secret you didn’t even know you were keeping. and he was just standing there, like an idiot, caught red-cheeked in a moment he hadn’t prepared for. “you blushed,” she said again, voice a half-laugh, half-whisper of disbelief. “and now you're blushing again.”

jake swallowed, very aware of how warm his collar suddenly felt. “no, i didn’t.”

“yes, you did.” she stepped closer, eyes narrowing with faux curiosity. “oh my god. that was a real blush. that was actually pink on your face. i’ve never seen it before.”

“i’m sunburnt,” he tried weakly.

“you are not,” she said, too quickly, delighted now. “you’re flushed. oh my god. did i just witness history?”

“could you stop looking at me like i’m a fish that just learned to walk?”

“no. because jake sim—the most annoyingly smug, unfazed boy to ever exist—just blushed. over me.”

jake groaned and turned, walking a few steps ahead like it would help. it didn’t. the grin on her face was practically tattooed into his brain now.

“i’m never going to hear the end of this, am i?”

“oh, never,” she said, jogging to catch up beside him, eyes dancing with amusement.

and the worst part? he didn’t even mind. jake rubbed the back of his neck, willing the heat to dissipate. it didn’t. she kept walking, spinning a piece of thread around her finger absently, her steps light against the cobbled path. the light caught on her lashes, made her eyes seem brighter somehow, and the breeze tugged loose a few strands of hair that curled around her cheek. she wasn’t even doing anything special. and he still felt like gravity had tilted toward her.

when had that started? was it the first time she rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed but mouth twitching? or maybe when she shoved a honey twist into his hand and acted like it didn’t mean anything? or when she called his name across the river, barefoot and breathless, like she knew he’d look? jake didn’t know. all he knew was—he was falling. and fast. faster than he meant to. faster than he ever had.

he snuck a glance at her now, walking beside him like the village had always belonged to her. as if her bare feet knew every stone in the path, every branch that swayed, every wind that came through the orchard trees. she hummed something under her breath—probably one of those old tunes people sang in kitchens while shelling peas. jake had never liked quiet so much.

“you know…” he said slowly, casually, trying to ground himself in words, “if you keep bringing up the blush thing, i will find a way to make you pay.”

she raised a brow. “ooh. scary.”

he grinned. “i’m resourceful.”

“try me.”

jake tilted his head. “you ever been dumped in a haystack?”

she gasped. “you wouldn’t.”

he shrugged, stepping slightly behind her. “guess we’ll find out.” before she could retaliate, he grabbed her wrist gently and twirled her around once, just because he could. her laughter bubbled up mid-spin, bright and surprised, and when she landed in place again, their steps fell into rhythm without even thinking.

yn looked at him then—really looked—and for a split second, she thought: this is what it’s supposed to feel like. not staged, not planned, not royal duties or polite smiles at banquets. just… her. him. this road. this ridiculous moment. she didn’t say any of it aloud. but it sat in her chest like a second heartbeat.

“i didn’t think you were the jealous type,” he said, breaking the silence after a while, her voice quieter now.

yn raised a shoulder. “i’m not.” he looked at her knowingly. “i’m not!” she said again, laughing despite herself. “just didn’t like the way she looked at you.”

“she looked at you.”

“well, maybe i didn’t like that either.”

he laughed again. “you’re impossible.”

“and yet, here you are.”

“i must be bored.” jake bumped his shoulder into hers gently. “admit it. you like me.”

she turned toward him. “maybe.” he blinked. that was… not the teasing tone he expected. “maybe?” he echoed.

“maybe,” she said again, and her smile was soft this time. not mischievous. just real.

jake felt his heart clench and swell all at once. yeah. he was falling. and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

yn would remember it for the rest of her life.

the smell of rain on warm stones. the sound of it crashing against the wooden awning above them, rhythmic and relentless. the way jake’s arm brushed hers as they huddled close beneath the shallow overhang of the cottage roof, the sky split open in angry grays and soaked gold.

one minute they were giggling by clearing, the next they were scurrying around in what started as a drizzle—light, playful, teasing as they made their way back from the orchard path, laughing about something ridiculous jake had said about a goose with a limp. but within minutes, the clouds had rolled in like an avalanche and the heavens cracked. and now they were soaked. drenched, more like—her flyaway hair sticking to her forehead, the hem of her skirt heavy with water, and jake’s shirt clinging to his frame like a second skin.

they had ducked under the nearest shelter without a word, their breaths coming hard with laughter and surprise. and then… then the silence began. not the awkward kind. not even the kind you feel the need to break. the kind that simmers. that makes the world hold its breath with you.

rain poured just inches away from their boots, puddles rippling under the flickering glow of a single lantern hanging beside the cottage door. they were standing too close. she knew it. she could feel the heat of him even in the cold.

her head rolled sideways, eyes shifting to his side profile. his eyes were closed, raindrops sliding down his long nose. his slightly tanned skin was glistening and wet. he was still panting, the ran over from the clearing having happened so suddenly. she gulped unintentionally. eyes raking his features shamelessly, satisfying her sight and heart.

jake turned toward her, one shoulder leaning lazily against the wall, his damp curls pressed to his forehead. a droplet trailed down the line of his neck, disappearing into the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt. he caught her staring and smirked. “what?” he said, voice soft, low—dangerously playful. “never seen a man get soaked before?”

“you look like a wet dog,” she managed to say, though her voice wavered.

“and yet,” he drawled, “you’re still looking.”

she scoffed, turning slightly away, but he leaned closer. there was a hum in the air now. like tension tightening a string, plucked just once and still vibrating.

“admit it,” he murmured. “you like the view.”

she dared a glance at him. his eyes were darker in this light, pupils blown, hair curling at his temples, lips parted just slightly as he looked at her—not with mischief now. with intent. “you’re impossible,” she whispered.

“and yet…” he echoed.

her breath hitched as his hand came up—not touching her, not quite. just brushing the damp strands of hair off her cheek, fingers grazing her skin like a question. his hand lingered. god, it lingered. she could feel her pulse thudding under her jaw. jake’s eyes dropped to her lips. the space between them collapsed. their shoulders brushed. his thumb swept lightly along her cheekbone, anchoring her there, pinning her to the moment.

she swore the world had gone completely still. except her. she was trembling. not with fear. with want. she felt it in her stomach, her chest, her knees. felt it in the way he leaned in just a bit more, his nose almost grazing hers, his breath fanning across her lips as his other hand settled against the beam behind her, caging her in. and for a second—just one second—she knew he was going to kiss her.

he wasn’t teasing anymore. this wasn’t a joke. this was the moment. the one she’d been dreading and craving all at once. she tilted her chin up. just a little. jake leaned in. closer. closer—

“did you hear?” a voice said from the road, muffled by rain and distance but still loud enough to cut like glass through the haze. a man’s voice. excited. “her highness is throwing a ball! for the princesses, they said. it’s next week!”

yn froze. every muscle in her body turned to stone. the air between her and jake shattered like ice.

“…a ball?” came a second voice, a woman’s this time, her tone hushed and awed. “for all three of them? they’ve never even shown their faces—”

she stepped back. jake’s brow furrowed, lips still parted. “what’s wrong?” but she wasn’t listening. a ball? what ball? this was the first she was hearing of it. and it was her palace throwing it. her father. her mother. her sisters. cassie. jen. how—how hadn’t she known? her throat tightened. “i—” she stammered. “i have to go.”

jake blinked. “wait, what?”

she was already moving, stepping out into the rain, the water hitting her skin like needles. she stumbled into it like a fever, her heart pounding with panic and confusion and something dangerously close to guilt.

“addy!” jake’s voice cut through the rain, sharp and full of confusion. rain smacked his face like a thousand icy needles.

she was already halfway across the muddy lane, her braid a dark streak against her back, skirt twisting around her knees as she pushed forward, feet stumbling slightly in the flood-soaked street. she didn’t stop. not the first time he called her. not the second. not even the third, when his voice cracked slightly—caught between disbelief and desperation. she just… ran. she didn’t even glance back.

“are you serious—?” he muttered, more to himself than anything. jake stood frozen for half a breath. his hand still hung where her wrist had been. the warmth of her skin had already vanished, leaving behind nothing but cold rain and a burn he couldn’t name. and then he took off after her, boots splashing hard through puddles, his shirt sticking to his back like glue, hair plastered to his forehead. he wasn’t even thinking now—just moving. because whatever had just happened, whatever had made her flee like that, he couldn’t let it end this way. “addy!” he tried again, voice sharp and desperate now. “what’s going on?!”

she reached the edge of the orchard path before he caught her. jake’s hand closed gently but firmly around her wrist, spinning her halfway around. she stumbled, startled, nearly falling into him from the force of the stop. they both stood there—soaked, breathing hard, staring at each other like strangers suddenly aware of how much they didn’t know. his lungs burned. his shirt was plastered to him, heavy and dripping, curls stuck to his forehead. water ran into his eyes, into his mouth. but he ran. because something was wrong. her breath came in harsh, panicked gasps, and she wouldn’t look at him.

“addy,” he said again, softer now, barely audible over the rain hammering down on the rooftops above them. “what the hell just happened?”

she didn’t speak. jake blinked, heart racing. “we were… we were fine. we were more than fine. you were about to— i was going to—” he stopped himself, jaw clenching. “and then you just—ran.”

her lips parted, and for a second, he thought she’d finally say something. but she didn’t.

“i mean—was it me? did i do something? say something wrong?”

“no—” she finally gasped, shaking her head. “it’s not you.” she turned away, and he stepped in front of her.

“then what?” he asked, stepping closer. “because five seconds ago i was about to kiss you and i swear to god, i thought you wanted that too.”

her lips parted, but no sound came out.

jake searched her face—her trembling mouth, the way her hands curled at her sides, the flicker of something in her eyes that looked too much like panic. “i wanted to,” he said, voice hoarse now, rainwater sliding down his temple. “hell, i still do.”

her breath caught. he took one more step. they were inches apart now. close enough to feel the heat of her, even through the cold. close enough for the air between them to thrum again with that unbearable, beautiful ache.

“i don’t care what your name is,” he said, softer now. “or what you’re hiding. you drive me insane half the time and i still… i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.”

her throat bobbed with a swallow. she looked up at him—so vulnerable, so present, like she was seconds away from falling into him again. but then— her face crumpled. “i can’t.”

jake froze.

“i just—can’t,” she whispered again, voice cracking like thunder behind her words.

he stood there, stunned, the weight of her rejection hitting heavier than the rain. “why?”

she shook her head, eyes glistening, her hand slowly slipping from his grip. “i’m sorry.”

“addy—” but she was already pulling away. and this time, he didn’t follow. he watched her vanish down the orchard path, a fading silhouette swallowed by mist and leaves and storm. his hand was still outstretched where hers had been. jake sim had been stood up before. he’d been kissed and forgotten, laughed off, passed over, turned down—none of it ever stuck. none of it had ever mattered. but this? this left a hollow behind his ribs so loud he couldn’t hear the rain anymore. he stood there in the silence she left behind, the storm still raging around him. and for the first time in his life, he wished he had never wanted anything as much as he wanted her.

the rain was still coming down hard when yn pushed open the back kitchen door, breath heaving, hair soaked, her chest a mess of panic and guilt and something dangerously close to heartbreak. she stumbled inside, boots squelching, water pooling beneath her step. the castle kitchen, warm and dimly lit, smelled of rosemary and yeast. the air was thick with steam and the faint scent of woodsmoke—comforting, familiar. but nothing about her felt comforted.

she stood there, soaked to the bone, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud. her lungs still fought for air, but it wasn’t from the sprint through the rain anymore. her heart thudded like a drum inside her ribs, uneven and panicked. her hands shook as she brushed wet hair from her face. “ness—” her voice cracked before she could finish.

there was a rustle, a startled shift, and two heads popped up from the corner behind the flour racks near the hearth. ness and jungwon. curled up together, arms tangled and hair damp. jungwon’s coat was wrapped partly around her shoulders, and ness’s face was flushed, mouth slightly parted, eyes wide with surprise. her hands were still resting gently on his chest. his were on her waist. they had clearly been in the middle of something intimate—a kiss, or maybe the seconds right after one. their closeness was obvious. the tender atmosphere still hung in the air, soft and golden, thick with the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the fire. on any other day, yn would have screamed. she would’ve laughed and thrown her arms around ness, shrieked something ridiculous like “finally!” and shoved jungwon teasingly for taking so damn long. she’d been waiting for this—for them—to admit what had been dancing between them for months.

but right now? she couldn’t even smile. because her heart was breaking.

ness blinked, pulling away from jungwon slightly as her eyes landed on yn’s soaked, trembling figure. “princess—? are you—?”

“did you know about the ball?” yn cut in, voice sharp with urgency, pain laced beneath it.

both of them froze. ness sat up straighter, glancing at jungwon briefly before rising to her feet. “i— i thought you knew,” she said cautiously, brushing her dress straight. “your father announced it this morning.”

yn stared at her, chest tightening. “you thought i knew?”

“i just assumed—”

“you assumed i would know about a ball thrown by my own family?”

ness stepped forward quickly, reaching for her. “yn—”

she pulled back, stumbling into a chair at the long wooden prep table and dropping into it like her legs had given up. her soaked dress made a sickening squish against the seat. she didn’t care. her hands rose to her face, fingers threading through her wet hair, elbows braced on the table’s edge. everything was spinning. her lungs refused to fill properly. her eyes burned. her head pounded with too many thoughts—of the rain, the roof, the closeness of jake’s mouth to hers. his voice. "i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.” and she’d left him. without an answer. without an explanation. without a damn thing.

ness crouched beside her, voice softening immediately. “yn… i didn’t mean for you to find out like that.”

“i ran,” she whispered. “i just… ran.”

“from who?”

yn didn’t answer. but ness knew. her hand found yn’s wrist gently, thumb rubbing comfort into her damp skin. “jake?” yn nodded once, then let her head drop forward, her soaked hair falling like a curtain around her face. jungwon stepped closer but stayed quiet, respectfully distant.

“i didn’t tell him, ness. i didn’t tell him anything. and he was about to kiss me, and i wanted it—i wanted it so badly and then…” her voice broke, the memory hitting her like a punch to the chest. “then i heard them talk about the ball. and i panicked. i just left.”

ness’s face twisted with sympathy. “oh, sweetheart…”

“he must think i’m insane,” yn said, choking on a laugh. “or cruel. or lying.”

“you’re not.”

“but i am, ness!” she hissed, sitting upright, voice raw. “i let him believe i was someone else. i let him flirt and fall and care—and now what? what happens when he finds out i’m not addy, i’m not some girl in the village? i’m a princess.” the word tasted bitter in her mouth.

jungwon finally spoke, quiet but firm. “jake’s not stupid.”

“no,” she agreed. “but he doesn’t deserve this. not the lies. not the mess. not me.”

“don’t say that,” ness said instantly, reaching for her again.

but yn shook her head. “i’m not like cassie. i don’t glide through rooms in silk with perfect words and a throne waiting for me. i’m not like jen—bright-eyed and brilliant and loved by everyone she meets. i’m the one who hides. who sneaks out. who disappears for hours because no one even notices she’s gone.” her voice cracked again, softer now. “and jake noticed me,” she whispered. “and i left him.”

ness was quiet for a moment, her hand still holding hers.

then slowly said. “you’re allowed to be scared. you’re allowed to not have all the answers right now.”

“but i hurt him.”

“then fix it.”

yn looked up. “tell him the truth,” ness said, eyes fierce now. “he deserves that. you both do.”

“i’m terrified,” she admitted.

“that’s how you know it’s real,” jungwon said from the corner. his voice was calm, sure. “the good things… they scare you before they save you.” yn stared at him for a long moment. then, finally—finally—she let herself cry. just a few tears. quiet ones. and ness held her hand through all of them. the ball was coming. the world she had carefully separated from jake was about to collide with him. with her. and whether she liked it or not… he would know. all of it. and she had no idea if he'd still want to kiss her once he did.

by the time yn reached her chambers, her dress was dry only in patches—along the edges where the fire-warmed halls had kissed away the rain—and her bones ached with exhaustion she didn’t know how to carry anymore.

she opened her door without thought, letting it creak softly into the silence. and paused. jen was there. her younger sister stood near the bed, arms crossed over the back of one of the velvet chairs, her chin resting atop them in a posture of almost-bored suspicion. the soft auburn curls she always wore half-up were slightly damp, as if she too had been out for a while. she was frowning. her eyes narrowed. “finally,” jen said slowly. “you took forever.”

yn blinked. “what are you doing here?”

jen didn’t answer right away. instead, she tilted her head with all the audacity only an eighteen-year-old princess could carry. “you look like someone shoved you into the lake.”

“i feel worse.”

“where were you?”

“not now, jen,” yn muttered, shutting the door behind her as gently as she could.

“i checked the west gardens,” jen continued. “the chapel, the music room, even that stupid little reading nook you think no one knows about. you weren’t in any of them.”

“i wasn’t hiding.”

“then where were you?”

yn sighed, stepping toward the fireplace to peel off her damp outer robe. her fingers fumbled at the ties. “i said i’m not in the mood.”

jen paused, sensing the fatigue. “yn…” yn looked at herself in the mirror—raindrops still dripping from the tips of her hair, her eyes rimmed in something close to grief. she took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “with jake,” she said, finally. quietly. honestly.

jen’s eyes lit up. “jake?!” yn could’ve laughed at her sister’s instant transformation—eyes wide, mouth parting with excitement, body bouncing upright in glee. “oh my god—the boy you’ve been sneaking off to see?!”

yn let her head drop back against the mirror. “jen—” turning slightly, she met her sister’s wide, delighted eyes.

“it was him, wasn’t it? oh my god, you’re in love with him!” jen was already halfway across the room, spinning like she’d just heard the best secret of the century. “who is he really? what does he do? how does he talk? does he kiss like the poetry books say? was there touching? are you going to run away with him?! tell me everything, right now.”

despite herself, a sliver of a smile tugged at yn’s lips—just a twitch. a flicker of the old warmth that used to exist between them, before everything royal and wretched got in the way. but the smile never quite made it. it fell too fast. jen saw it. her excitement faltered. “…what happened?” she asked quietly, stepping forward again, more gently this time. “did he do something?”

yn shook her head. “then what?” jen's voice was softer now. yn took a breath. “there’s going to be a ball,” she murmured. “for the princesses. the whole kingdom knows. apparently.” there was a beat of silence.

“you didn’t know?” jen asked, brows furrowing. “but i thought—father said he sent out word to all of us two days ago.”

“no one told me.” yn looked down, her voice barely audible. “not father. not cassie. not you. not a single soul thought to mention it to me.”

“i thought ness would’ve—”

“i only found out because i overheard villagers talking about it.” her hands trembled at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “right as jake was about to kiss me.”

jen’s lips parted in surprise. “oh…” yn turned toward the fireplace again, wrapping her arms around herself. the warmth from earlier—the memory of him, of that roof, of that moment—was tainted now. ashy and sick in her chest. jen shifted nervously, then whispered, “it’s not just a ball, you know…” yn stilled. “what?”

jen rushed to explain, “i only overheard a few things! i wasn’t told directly or anything—just… in the corridors, you know? something about alliances and signatures and a royal visit—”

“who?” yn whispered.

jen blinked. “what?”

“who am i supposed to be engaged to?”

jen’s lips pursed like she was trying not to say it, as if saying it aloud might make it worse. “…park sunghoon,” she finally muttered. “from the eastern territory. the coastal kingdom.”

the room went deathly still. jen looked alarmed now, sitting upright, her voice wobbling with guilt. “i thought you knew! i—i assumed you had been part of the planning. cassie said something earlier about—yn?” but yn wasn’t listening.

“when were they going to tell me?”

“i don’t know. i didn’t think—”

“of course you didn’t,” yn snapped, her voice sharp as glass. “because you’ve always known what’s going on. you’ve always been part of the circle. but me?” her laugh was bitter now. “i’m just the invisible one. the middle one. the one no one bothers to ask.”

jen flinched at her tone, guilt flashing across her features. “yn, i didn’t mean—”

“an engagement?” yn repeated, stunned. “they expect me to walk into that room next week and be given away like livestock? to someone i’ve never met?”

jen looked down. “i thought you knew…”

tears stung yn’s eyes, hot and angry. all those times she wandered the village. all the sunsets she spent laughing with jake. all those stolen moments. her secret world. her life. all of it had been a fragile, borrowed fantasy. and now it was cracking. “what about jake now?” she whispered. jen looked up, confused. but yn was already sinking onto her bed, her hands trembling in her lap. “what do i do?” she whispered. “what the hell do i do now?”

jen stood frozen, arms crossed, unsure of whether to leave or stay. the room, usually so calm and filled with candlelight and books and memories, now felt like a prison. a cage about to close.

yn felt the weight of everything: the lie, the almost-kiss, the unspoken feelings and her impending engagement to a stranger. she felt it all settle like a stone in her chest. and all she could think was: he’s never going to look at me the same way again. “engaged,” she whispered bitterly under her breath. “to someone i’ve never even met.” she wanted to scream. or throw something. or cry again—but she had done enough of that tonight.

across the room, jen sat cross-legged on her bed, still dressed in her sleep gown, brows furrowed as she watched her sister quietly unravel. yn didn’t even notice her stand. didn’t hear the whisper of silk as jen padded across the thick rug toward her. she was too deep in her thoughts—jake’s voice still haunting her like an echo: “i want to kiss you so badly it’s ridiculous.” god, why had he said that? why had he meant it? and why had she wanted to let him?

“let’s go,” jen said suddenly, sharp enough to cut through the storm in yn’s chest.

yn blinked, turning around. “what?”

“to see him,” jen replied, as if it were obvious. “jake.”

yn gawked at her. “are you insane?”

jen shrugged, casually. “probably. but i’ve seen you spiral before and i’ve never seen you like this.”

“i’m not spiraling,” yn lied.

“you’re pacing like a lunatic. you look like you’ve been struck by lightning. and honestly, if someone told me earlier today that my sister—the invisible one, the one who disappears to the village every other day—was actually out here catching feelings? i’d have laughed.”

yn scowled. “you’re not helping.”

jen stepped closer, her voice softer now. “but i am. you’re hurting. i can see it.” yn didn’t respond. “you like him,” jen added, smiling faintly. “even if you’re being stubborn about it.”

“it doesn’t matter now. i’m—” she stopped, voice faltering. “i’m being promised to someone else. someone i’ve never met. someone who probably sees me as some diplomatic pawn in his father’s kingdom strategy.”

jen frowned. “and you’re just going to… let that happen?” “do i have a choice?”

jen was quiet. and then: “maybe not. but you do have a chance to say goodbye.” yn’s eyes met hers. jen tilted her head, voice earnest. “you can’t change the ball. or what they’ve planned. but you can tell him the truth. or lie. whatever you need to do to breathe again.”

“i can’t tell him the truth. not now.”

“then lie,” jen said, simply. “but don’t let him go thinking he meant nothing.” that settled in yn’s chest like a stone. jake. his smile. the way he looked at her under the rain. the way he waited, the way he believed her—believed in her—even when he didn’t have to. no one had looked at her like that in a very long time.

she swallowed. jen nudged her. “come on. get dressed.” “i am dressed.” jen raised a brow. “not like that. you’re still too… princess-y. he’ll smell royalty on you.” yn let out a huff of air, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “you’re impossible.” “and you’re wasting time.”

they crept down the east staircase, past the quiet wing where the staff quarters rested. the rain had stopped sometime around midnight, leaving the castle grounds coated in a slick sheen of mist and petrichor. lanterns flickered weakly in the distance. the scent of wet earth clung to the air. they had cloaks on now, hoods pulled over their heads, boots tight to their ankles. lamps clutched in hand, the two sisters kept to the side paths, ducking through hedges and along the stone wall behind the garden where the old vines grew thick. the world felt like it was holding its breath.

yn’s chest ached. she kept her eyes ahead, her feet moving forward though her body screamed to stop. jen’s words echoed in her ears: “you don’t have to tell him the truth. but don’t leave without saying something.” she didn’t know what she’d say, not really. maybe: “i’m sorry i messed with your head. i never should’ve let it go this far.” or: “forget me. i’m moving away.” it was easier to be cruel. to lie. to be forgettable. it was safer. because the truth was ugly and messy and filled with too many what-ifs. and if he knew—if he knew who she was, what she was bound to—she didn’t know if he’d forgive her. so she’d lie. just once. let him think she was some girl who came and went. a blip. a beautiful mistake. her throat burned at the thought.

they reached the village by the time the moon had slipped out from behind the clouds. its light stretched long over the cobblestones and shingled roofs, casting faint glows against puddles and windowpanes. a quiet hush blanketed the street. most lamps were out. the baker’s shop was long closed. a dog barked somewhere far off. and there—just ahead—was the small cottage tucked behind the bar. the one he sometimes mentioned working near. the one ness had once described as “the crooked-roof one with the green vines out front.”

yn’s steps slowed. her fingers tightened around the handle of her lantern. her heart… thundered. this was it. she had practiced the speech at least twenty times in her head. “i’m sorry for wasting your time.” “i shouldn’t have let it go on this long.” “i’m leaving the village soon, so you won’t see me again.” simple. clean. like surgery. sharp, neat cuts that would bleed later but not in front of him. that was the plan. she would say her piece, maybe offer a hug if he looked particularly hurt, and walk away without looking back. easy. except—nothing about jake sim had ever been easy.

and when the door opened, and she saw his face again for the first time since she ran away from him in the rain, everything fell apart. his hair was still slightly damp, curling at the ends. he was wearing a plain linen shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loose—he looked like he hadn’t slept much. his eyes were tired and guarded, rimmed with something like confusion… or maybe disappointment. and beneath all that, his expression cracked with the faintest, most visible shock at seeing her. and god, he looked sad. not angry. not cold. not mad the way he should have been. just… sad. like she’d taken something from him when she left. her lungs seized. the speech was gone. all of it. vanished like breath in winter.

jen peeked out from behind her, wide-eyed and grinning, oblivious to the thick tension cutting through the doorway. “hi!” she said brightly, completely ignoring the tension in the air. “i’m... aria. her cousin. visiting.”

jake blinked, his eyes flicking to jen. his smile, if you could call it that, was brief and tight. “jake,” he said shortly, polite but distracted. his voice was hoarse. then he looked back at yn. right into her. and the sound of her own heartbeat was so loud she was sure he could hear it too.

yn’s chest hurt. “i—” she started, and then stopped, because what was the point of the speech now? her script had drowned in the puddle at her feet the moment she saw his face. the sadness there. the softness. the hope he tried to smother in case it hurt too much. “i love you.” the words tumbled out of her mouth like a secret that had waited too long to be free.

jake’s lips parted, his brows shooting up so fast she saw the flicker of panic and surprise in his eyes before they even registered in his body. behind her, jen audibly gasped. yn’s breath hitched. she had no idea what her face looked like at that moment—only that her entire body was humming with adrenaline, her heart thudding like it was trying to claw its way out of her ribs. jake just stared. so she did the only thing she could do now: she kept talking.

“i love you,” she repeated, softer this time. her hands were shaking. “and i wasn’t going to. i was going to come here and feed you some ridiculous story about leaving town and wanting to say goodbye but... it’s a lie. not the leaving part. i am leaving. but everything else… i couldn’t go without telling you. i love you.” she swallowed, hard. “i left because i was scared. because i’ve never felt this way before. because—because you make me feel like i can be seen.” jake still hadn’t moved. so she took a shaky step closer, her voice trembling now. “and i didn’t want to lie to you anymore. not even with goodbye.” more silence.

behind her, jen’s grin was splitting her face. she gave jake a very obvious thumbs up and then, as though finally catching the memo that this was not her moment, turned around and muttered, “i’ll just… be over there.” rainwater dripped slowly from the edge of the roof behind her. the lantern in her hand flickered faintly, her fingers tight around the handle. the breeze carried the scent of lilacs and rain-wet leaves. jake finally let out a breath. his eyes hadn’t left hers once.

“addy,” he said softly—addy, still, like he was trying to convince himself she was real. jake stared at her like he was seeing her for the first time. the candlelight flickered across his jaw, catching the hurt there, the cracks and the sharp edges she’d left behind. but there was something else too. something fierce and vulnerable and achingly tender. and slowly—so slowly—he exhaled. “say it again.”

her breath caught. “what?”

“say it again,” he repeated, stepping forward now, his own hands shaking. “like you mean it.”

her heart clenched. “i love you,” she whispered. “i think i’ve been in love with you from the second you called me an artful goose.”

jake let out a strangled sound—something like a laugh and a sob tangled together—and stepped forward until they were barely inches apart. and then—without saying a word—he pulled her into his arms. she nearly tripped over her own feet as he wrapped himself around her, arms tight, his face buried into her damp shoulder. “you’re an idiot,” he murmured into her cloak. her hands slid around his waist automatically, curling into his back, eyes squeezing shut. “i know,” she whispered back.

“you left me in the rain.”

“i know.”

“i couldn’t sleep.”

“i couldn’t breathe.”

jake pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes searching her face. “you love me?” he asked again, quieter this time. not teasing. not smug. just… hopeful. her fingers curled at his sides. “i really, really do.”

jake broke into the kind of grin that made her forget the name of the planet. “well,” he said, stepping impossibly closer. “i love you too.” her breath caught.

“i’ve been going insane, addy.”

“me too.”

“i thought i was too late.”

“you’re not.”

yn’s heart was a wild thing in her chest, thudding with a rhythm she couldn’t name. she could feel every point where their bodies touched—his hands cradling her waist, his chest brushing hers with each breath. there was a certain warmth radiating off him, like he carried the last remnants of summer in his skin. and she was burning in it. he hadn’t kissed her yet. not yet. but he was so close. so close. she didn’t move. couldn’t. she was afraid that if she did, the moment would pop like a soap bubble and she’d be back to the aching distance, the pretending, the constant weight of the truth pressing against her ribs.

jake’s eyes searched hers—gentle, unreadable, like he was trying to memorise the way she looked right then. like he knew something was different tonight, something quieter and more fragile than before. and then he whispered, “tell me to stop if you don’t want this.” his voice was low, but his hands never moved. he didn’t push. didn’t lean in. just… waited.

her chest rose sharply. “i don’t want you to stop,” she said, voice barely there. he exhaled, like the breath had been locked in his lungs for hours. “i’ve wanted to do this since the moment i saw you,” he said, tilting his head just slightly, his lips curling into a lazy grin as his eyes flickered attractively in a triangle with her eyes and lips. “when you marched up to me by the lake with mud on your skirt and sarcasm in your smile.”

she laughed nervously, breath hitching with nerves. “i was trying to be annoying.”

“you were,” he agreed. “it was adorable.”

she rolled her eyes, cheeks flushed, and he chuckled.

then—slowly, like he was afraid she’d vanish—jake brought one hand to her cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over her skin. her heart skipped. “have you ever been kissed before?” he asked softly, just barely a whisper, not mocking—just curious. careful. she shook her head. “no?”

“no.”

jake smiled, and something about it—soft, reverent—made her chest ache. “alright,” he said, stepping even closer. “then let me take my time.” and god, he did.

his lips brushed hers like a secret, gentle and warm and impossibly slow. he didn’t rush it, didn’t deepen it too quickly. just let it linger, like a promise whispered between two people who had all the time in the world—even if they didn’t. yn's eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching in her throat. it was like falling—smooth and sudden and terrifying in the best way. jake kissed her again, just a little more firmly this time, one hand cupping her face, the other sliding to the small of her back. she tilted her head instinctively, chasing the softness of his mouth, her fingers clutching the edge of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

it wasn’t perfect. their noses bumped slightly. her teeth grazed his bottom lip once when she got too eager. but he didn’t care. he was grinning now—kissing her again between laughs, murmuring her name against her lips like it was the only thing he knew how to say. and yn—god, yn was flying. it was sweet and slow and completely her. her first kiss. not some stiff castle-dictated moment in a cold ballroom. not a stranger’s hand on her glove.

jake. jake, whose voice always softened when he teased her. jake, who listened to her rant about nothing. jake, who called her addy like it was the most beautiful name in the world. jake, whose thumb was now brushing the edge of her jaw as he pulled back, just barely, to look at her.

“you okay?” he whispered, searching her face like he’d broken her. she nodded quickly, blinking up at him with flushed cheeks and dazed eyes. “didn’t expect you to be that good,” she mumbled.

jake smirked. “there’s more where that came from, sweetheart.”

she shoved his shoulder lightly, but she couldn’t stop smiling. her cheeks hurt from how hard she was smiling. “you’re such a flirt,” she said.

“you love it.”

unfortunately, she did. he kissed her again—just a quick press to the lips—and she melted into it like he was something safe. and for a few minutes, nothing else mattered. not the looming engagement. not the lies. not the ticking clock above her head. just him. his mouth on hers. his arms around her. the way her heart swore, for the first time, that it had found something worth holding onto.

the music from the ballroom poured through the open stone arches of the palace entrance, slow and regal, the waltz of a kingdom already celebrating a union not yet sealed. the evening air was scented with roses and polished wood, every corner glowing with torchlight and lanterns hung like stars in the garden beyond. and yet, in the shadows just beyond the grand ballroom, behind the towering palace gates where the guests couldn’t yet see her—princess yn stood completely still.

a picture of poise. a sculpture of stillness. dressed in a sweeping ivory ballgown embroidered with pearls and golden thread, she looked like the perfect painting of a royal bride-to-be. her corset pulled her waist taut; the skirts fell like a waterfall around her feet. her hair was pinned in glimmering loops, the tiara—modest, but unmistakable—balanced like a weight on her head. but beneath all of it, she was vibrating with tightly-wound panic.

beside her stood ness. no longer a maid tonight. but a guest. a woman of the court. and god, if yn hadn’t already known she was beautiful, tonight would’ve been proof. the deep blue of her gown glimmered in the moonlight, hugging her curves, the sheer sleeves glittering with the tiniest sewn-in gems. her hair was swept up into a delicate crown braid, neck long and elegant. her hand reached for yn’s. “you okay?” ness asked quietly.

yn’s fingers gripped hers. “nope.” they stood that way for a moment—hands clasped, eyes ahead—while the palace gates loomed before them, the ballroom inside filled with noise and expectation. behind them came the soft rustle of silk. jen and cassie. and then their parents. the king and queen.

cassie’s face was unreadable, elegant and blank as ever, but yn noticed the slight twitch in her brow, the barely-there furrow at her mouth. jen, by contrast, was fidgeting. she looked beautiful, yes, but she was clearly just as nervous as yn was. her soft lilac dress fluttered with every shift of her weight, and she cast quick glances at the gate like she might bolt. the queen glanced at the watch hanging from her gloved wrist. “he’s late.” of course he was.

the one man everyone had been waiting for—the one man yn was supposed to smile at and pretend to be in love with—was nowhere to be seen. until he was. jogging. from the far arch of the gardens, through the side entrance, breath misting lightly in the night air—park sunghoon.

she hadn’t known what to expect. she’d heard of him, yes—tales of his sharp swordsmanship, his noble lineage, how he was well-read and good with animals. but stories couldn’t quite prepare her for the quiet power in his steps or the way he didn’t seem fazed by the grandeur around him. he was, in a word, pretty. striking pale skin with a flawless jawline, his features so finely sculpted it made sense that half the noblewomen in the region had probably once pinned portraits of him to their diaries. his hair, raven-black and perfectly styled, caught the firelight. but what caught her eye most of all—was the constellation of moles across his face. a tiny galaxy on the slope of his cheek, near his eye. beautiful. unmistakable.

but still… he wasn’t jake. not with his sun-browned skin and soft tanned hands with thick veins and that nose she wanted to trace with her finger.. and then maybe sit—

yn swallowed the thought. because sunghoon was here now. and the kingdom was watching. he stopped a few feet away from her, straightening his coat, catching his breath. “your highness,” he said, voice cool, polite, practiced.

“you’re late,” she said softly, eyes unreadable.

he gave a faint smile. “i know.” she should’ve been furious. should’ve been insulted. but when his eyes flicked—not to her, but past her—yn followed his gaze instinctively. and found it locked on—cassie. cassie, whose usually stiff posture faltered for just a second. whose lips parted, ever so slightly. whose fingers dug into her own wrist. oh. yn turned back to him. “do you want this?” she asked suddenly. quiet enough that no one else could hear.

sunghoon blinked, startled. “what?”

“this.” she gestured to the looming ballroom. “the marriage. the show. all of it.”

he hesitated. then he leaned slightly forward, voice lower. “no,” he said honestly. “i don’t. i—” his eyes flicked toward cassie again, “—i wanted to marry her.” yn’s breath caught.

sunghoon’s voice was soft. “i tried. but she said she wasn’t going to marry anyone. said she wanted to study abroad. said it was her duty to put her brain before her heart.”

yn turned back toward her sister briefly. cassie was doing a phenomenal job of pretending she wasn’t listening. but yn knew. she knew now why cassie had been so sharp, so bitter lately. why her eyes had lingered too long whenever someone mentioned sunghoon’s name. “does she love you?” yn asked, just as soft.

“i think so,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “but she chose her duty. like we’re both supposed to do now.”

yn didn’t reply right away. but something in her chest shifted. because here they were. two people—being asked to pretend. to parade. to play parts they never auditioned for. and in that moment, looking into sunghoon’s quiet, pained eyes, she made her choice. “let’s fake it,” she said.

he blinked. “what?”

“we’ll play the part. be the picture of royalty tonight. but we don’t go through with it. not truly. let them see what they want to see. and then—when the time comes—we walk away.”

sunghoon stared at her. then slowly—slowly—a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. “you sure?” yn nodded. “because there’s someone else, right?” he guessed gently. her silence was enough. sunghoon offered her his arm. “then let’s put on a good show.”

and just like that—the gates opened. the music swelled. and they stepped forward. two hearts belonging elsewhere. two masks held perfectly in place. but behind them, cassie's hand trembled. and ness watched it all, knowing there was only so much longer they could pretend.

jake sim had never expected to attend a royal ball.

hell, he hadn’t even expected to stay in the village this long. everything had been temporary. his job. his room above the pub. the friendships he accidentally made while drinking ale and talking nonsense with edric and mabel. even his fondness for the cobbled roads, the smell of hearthfire and rain. temporary. just like her. or at least, she was supposed to be.

she said she was leaving. she told him—told him with sad eyes and quiet panic—that she was skipping town, running far away. she never explained why, and he hadn’t pressed. he figured… maybe he wasn’t meant to know. so when she left, he didn’t chase her. he stood there with her confession echoing in his chest—i love you—and he let her walk away. that had to count for something, didn’t it? letting someone go? even when they were everything?

the ball had been the last thing on his mind. nobles. princes. silks and scandals—it was none of his world. but the pub owner, an old woman with arthritic fingers and too much love for his half-grumbled charm, had shoved the invitation into his hand that afternoon. “don’t waste this,” she’d said. “dress nice. see something golden before your heart rusts shut.” so jake had stood in front of the mirror with a starched white shirt and a suit he hadn’t worn since his mother’s funeral. it didn’t quite fit—his shoulders had grown broader—but it was the best he had. and now here he was. at the gates of the grand palace of decelis. a place he never thought he’d step foot near, let alone enter.

the crowd around him buzzed with excitement. edric from the bakery, thalia with her silver-rimmed glasses and too-loud laugh, the twins mira and mabel—all faces he’d come to know and cherish. they all looked at him with teasing pride.

“look at you,” mira smirked, elbowing his side. “all cleaned up.”

“don’t get used to it,” he muttered, but he smiled anyway.

the gates loomed in front of them, golden and glittering. guards moved people forward in groups, checking names against the guest list. carriages lined the walkway. the whole sky shimmered with soft lantern light, casting a halo over the castle’s stone towers. jake should’ve felt lucky. he should’ve been impressed. but the whole time, his mind itched with thoughts of her. addy. that impossibly frustrating girl who made fun of his scowl and rammed her way into his life with blueberry pies and muddy skirts. who kissed like she meant it and ran like it terrified her. he missed her. and even though she had left, he still found himself scanning every face in the crowd. he didn’t expect to find her. not truly.

but then—he saw her. and his world stopped. she didn’t step through the crowd. she descended. through the arched marble corridor at the far end of the ballroom stairs, like a painting come to life, a vision in ivory. her hair pinned in golden loops. a delicate tiara atop her head. jewels glittering at her ears, her throat. her posture was perfect. her expression, practiced. and her hand—her hand was in someone else’s. jake didn’t move. couldn’t. because standing beside her was a man jake didn’t recognise, but could instinctively tell was royal. tall. sharp-featured. dressed in a perfectly tailored coat that screamed pedigree. the two of them glided down the staircase like they’d rehearsed it.

the room hushed. people bowed. and jake—jake could barely breathe. because her hand fit into the man’s arm too naturally. because they looked like they belonged in every storybook he’d never read. and because… her eyes had found his. right through the crowd. right through the noise. the very second they stepped into the ballroom, her gaze found his—and locked. everything paused. and he saw it. the moment her mask cracked. in the blink of an eye, jake watched a million things flicker across her face: panic, regret, pain, familiarity. and he knew. she hadn’t left the village. she was the palace. addy… was a princess. and she hadn’t told him.

a coldness spread through his chest like frostbite. he felt his throat tighten. something deep in his stomach turned painfully. she looked at him like she wanted to speak. like she had something to say. but what could she say now? what words could undo this? his name wasn’t called from the ballroom entrance. the guards didn’t bow for him. he didn’t belong here, not really. but he stood, somehow frozen in gold and silk and betrayal. he watched as her gaze flicked away, like it was too hard to keep looking at him. and jake sim—jake sim, who had held her in his arms like she was something precious, who memorised the curve of her smile and the sound of her laugh—then her name rang through the ballroom—princess yn of decelis—something inside him crumbled. but the moment the herald added, “—and her betrothed, prince park sunghoon,”—that’s when the ache started.

a tight, twisting, white-hot sting that burned from his throat down to the pit of his stomach. it wasn't even the fact that she was a princess. it was the fact that she'd lied. the fact that she stood there in pearls and gold beside another man, head held high, looking like she was born to rule while he stood in boots caked in village dirt, barely clinging to the inside of the royal walls. she was staring right at him when the announcement was made. he saw her flinch and so did sunghoon. just for a split second—a wince so quick and sharp that no one else noticed but him. and suddenly, the sharp stab of betrayal was pierced by confusion. they… didn’t want this?

jake’s brows furrowed, chest rising and falling unsteadily. the whole room clapped. laughed. toasted. every noble within earshot turned with wide smiles and lifted flutes of champagne, the celebration thundering through the walls. but jake couldn’t hear any of it. because right then, sunghoon dropped to one knee. there was a hush. silence. the music faded, the lights seemed to dim, and yn was left center stage. jake could barely breathe as he watched sunghoon hold up a small velvet box, a thin gold band glinting inside. her fingers trembled. and then—“yes,” she said, the smile so fake it looked painful on her lips.

his heart cracked. but she wasn’t done. because after the applause—after the hollow claps and echoing cheers—came the kiss. it was gentle. chaste. polite. but it still knocked the breath out of jake’s lungs. he turned. and this time, his feet moved. Fast. his legs carried him through the ballroom, past startled nobles and confused guards, out through the archway and into the garden until he hit the front lawn. and that’s when the tears came.

jake sim—who never cried. not when he was six and his home was taken in a flood. not when he watched his mother wither into bone and silence before the age of thirteen. not when he buried her under a willow tree behind their old town. but now. now he cried. he cried into his forearm as he felt the tears blur his vision. shoulders trembling, his breathing sharp and uneven. because she—she made him believe in something more. in softness. in magic. in evening strolls and stolen laughter and the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone like him could be loved by someone like her. and it was a lie. all of it.

“jake!” her voice sliced through the quiet night like a blade.

he didn’t turn. she ran to him—her skirts heavy, shoes kicking up grass and dew. the jewels in her hair were loose now, a few strands of hair escaping, cheeks flushed. “jake, please—”

he wiped his face with the back of his hand. “don’t.”

she froze at the sight of him—red-eyed, tear-streaked, lips trembling.

“i told you,” he whispered, voice thick. “i told you i don’t cry.”

yn’s heart broke clean in half. “i know,” she whispered. “i know you don’t.”

“not even for my mother,” he choked. “but for you—” his voice shattered.

“jake—”

“don’t lie again,” he said sharply, voice cracking. “not now.”

“i didn’t lie—”

“you told me you were leaving, addy.” he poked his cheek with his tongue, correcting himself immediately, voice bitter. “sorry princess, i meant yn.”

she winced at the tone of his voice and cried out. “because i didn’t know what else to do! what was i supposed to say? ‘hey jake, i’m secretly the princess of the kingdom you just moved into?’”

“you could’ve said something!” he said, voice loud now, but still hoarse. “god, you looked me in the eye and told me you loved me—and i believed it. i fucking believed it.”

tears welled in her eyes. “i did mean it,” she said, her voice shaking. “i do love you.”

he looked away, jaw clenched.

“i’ve never loved anyone like i love you, jake,” she continued, stepping closer. “you think i wanted any of this? you think i’d choose to live in that gilded cage, with rules and duty and arranged marriages?”

he didn’t answer.

“do you know how long i’ve been sneaking into that village just to breathe?” she whispered. “just to feel like me? like a person? not a pawn on someone else’s game board?”

he slowly turned his head, eyes swollen, red. “so you ran there.”

“i ran there every day i could. and that day i found you sitting by the lake—” her breath hitched. “—it was the first day someone saw me. really saw me.”

jake looked at her like she was made of both fire and water.

“i wasn’t going to marry him,” she said. “we… we talked about it. we’re pretending. that was all for show.”

his brow furrowed.

“we planned it,” she explained. “sunghoon—he’s in love with my sister, cassie. and i’m—” she looked at him, stepping forward again, “—i’m in love with you.”

he let out a sharp, wounded breath. “then why do i still feel like i lost you?”

her hands twitched at her sides. “because for a moment… i lost myself.” silence fell between them. she looked up at him, eyes shining. “but i’m still here. and if you’ll have me, i’ll run again. with you, this time.”

he exhaled shakily, like her words cracked something open in his chest again. “say it again,” he whispered.

“what?” “that you love me.”

she didn’t blink. “i love you,” she said, voice steady now. “i love you, jake sim.”

he let out a quiet, broken laugh. and then he stepped forward. not with the same raw fury or desperation from before, but with a stillness that came only from letting his guard fall completely. he cupped her face, wet lashes meeting hers. “i love you, too,” he whispered.

she melted into him, and for a moment they just held each other, shaking, messy, broken—but together. jake stood still, tears still damp on his face, her hands cupping his jaw, her gaze begging him to believe her. and something in him cracked open. softly. quietly. but undeniably. because god, it had always been her. not the fake name. not the secrets. not the tiara or the silks. but the girl who made him laugh when his chest ached. the girl who rolled her eyes when he flirted but never walked away. the girl who once offered him half a burnt pie and a warm shoulder at the lake.

addy. yn. whoever she wanted to be. he didn’t care anymore. because she was his. she looked at him like she still wasn’t sure he would forgive her. her fingers trembled slightly where they held his face. her eyes shimmered with tears she hadn’t wiped away, cheeks flushed from crying. and jake—jake leaned in. slow. so slow it hurt. but when his lips brushed hers, she sighed. a real kiss. a soft one. like an apology. like a question. his thumb lifted to trace her cheek, still wet with tears, and then he kissed her again—deeper this time, his hand slipping to the back of her neck, anchoring her to him like he’d never let her go again.

she kissed him back with everything she had. not like that stunt in the ballroom with sunghoon—scripted, mechanical, cold. no. this kiss was the kind you felt in your lungs. like a breath after drowning. jake pulled back first, only just. their foreheads touched, noses brushing. they were both still crying but it was different now. “i’m sorry,” she whispered again, voice cracking.

he shook his head. “don’t say it again. just… don’t lie anymore.”

“i won’t.”

“promise me.”

“i swear.”

she clutched his lapel like she might fall over. “i’m going to fix this.”

jake’s brows furrowed softly, like he didn’t dare believe it.

“i’m going to talk to them,” she went on, quiet but sure. “my parents. tonight. i’ll tell them everything. that i don’t want to marry sunghoon. that i’m in love with someone who makes me feel more like myself than i’ve ever felt in that palace.”

he blinked at her, almost dazed. “you’d do that?”

“i’d run away if i had to,” she whispered. “but i want to do this right first. for you. for me. for us.” his jaw clenched like he was trying not to cry again. “and after that,” she added, her voice barely audible, “i’ll come back. to you. i will. just… wait for me?” jake let out a shaky breath, eyes burning again, but this time not from anger. she was coming back. she chose him. even after everything. he nodded. “i’ll wait,” he whispered. “just don’t be long.” she smiled, broken but real. then kissed him again, softer this time. just a brush. a promise. a quiet goodbye for now. and when she pulled away and turned, skirts swishing against the grass, her hand brushing his one last time—jake watched her go. heart in his throat and hope in his chest.

jake waited. for a night. then a day. then three more. and then a week and still, no sign of her. no familiar figure in the village square. no laughter by the baker’s window. no flutter of skirts at the lake. no addy. no yn. nothing. he paced the same roads they’d walked together, eyes scanning the corners of town she used to take him through. the flower stall. the blacksmith. the bell tower. he hadn’t even realised he’d memorised the route until she was no longer there to follow beside him.

the first few days, he held hope tightly between his hands like a glass that couldn’t crack. she said she’d come back. she said she was going to fix it. she’d kissed him like she meant it. and jake sim—stupid, bleeding-hearted jake—believed her. but then came the silence. and silence had a way of becoming truth.

the villagers knew now. of course they did. the morning after the ball, the whole town had been buzzing. princess yn. the second-born royal. the one they never saw. the one who had been among them this whole time, walking with muddy hems and wind-tangled hair, disguised as a commoner. there were whispers in every alley and bakery. jake couldn’t even open the pub door without someone side-eyeing him. like he was foolish for thinking she would ever choose him. and maybe he was. he hadn’t realised just how hard it would be to breathe without her. and yet he tried. every morning, he opened his eyes and hoped today would be the day he saw her again.

until he saw ness. he had recognised her features from the way yn had described her best friend—a natural pout on her lips, dimples poking through her rosy cheeks and wavy hair tied up into a messy updo.

it was late afternoon, the sun warm and golden against the cobbled road. jake was walking toward the grocer’s when he spotted a familiar silhouette tucked just outside jungwon’s shop—the weekly supplier’s little storefront with sacks of grains stacked by the door and flowerpots lining the front window. ness stood there. or rather—beamed there. her cheeks glowed, her eyes big and soft as she laughed at something jungwon had said. he stood too close. she let him. her fingers brushed his sleeve and lingered a second too long. he bent forward to whisper something in her ear, not pulling back without a soft kiss to her eyebrow as she averted her gaze from him. they were wrapped in a bubble so intimate it almost hurt to watch. jake had to break it.

he approached slowly, hands in his pockets, trying not to startle them. jungwon looked up first, blinking. “oh—jake,” he said, smiling politely. “didn’t expect—”

“sorry,” jake said, forcing his voice to stay even. “didn’t mean to interrupt. i just…” he glanced at ness. her face paled the second she registered who he was.

“you’re jake,” she said quietly, as if his name was a knife she’d been holding in her throat.

he nodded once. “yeah. i was… wondering if either of you had seen her.” no name needed, everyone knew who he meant.

ness stepped away from jungwon slightly, hands wringing at her waist. “i… oh, jake.” something in jake’s chest twisted. her eyes were swimming now, guilt written across every inch of her face. “i didn’t know how to find you,” she whispered, reaching into the folds of her robe. “she asked me to give you this. in case…”

jake didn’t ask. just took the letter with slightly trembling fingers. it was folded neatly, tied together with a very familiar twine. he recognised it from when they found an old bookstore, stealing a bunch of twines from the far end of the dusty room. the parchment was soft. royal. and it had his name. Jake. nothing else. no title. no princess handwriting. just his name.

he looked up once more to see tears brimming ness’ eyes. “i’m sorry,” she said. “she didn’t want to go. i swear it. but they—” he nodded once, a silent thank-you, and turned. he didn’t want to cry here so he made it to the hill just past the village, by the little tree where she’d once shown him the view of the valley. then sat and opened the letter.

dear jake,

i don’t know how to write this. i’ve rewritten this letter ten times already. nothing feels right. but if you’re reading this… then you already know. they sent me away. the moment i told them about you, my parents made arrangements overnight. i wasn’t even allowed to say goodbye. i barely had time to write this. i’m in the eastern kingdom now. sunghoon’s home. they said it was for “my protection”—to avoid scandal, to save face. they locked me into a new agreement. the wedding is approaching. it’s being planned around me, not with me. i’ve never felt more like a pawn.

sunghoon knows. he’s as miserable as i am. he said something funny though—he said, “i think we’re the only people in this situation who both want to run away.” maybe one day we will. but right now, jake… i don’t have a choice. i want to believe i’ll find my way back to you. i still do. but things are starting to slip through my fingers.

i’m writing this with my heart in my throat. i keep thinking about our kiss. your hands on my waist. the way you said you’d wait. and i’m terrified because i don’t want to ask you to keep waiting, not when i don’t know how long i’ll be gone. or if i’ll even get the chance to leave. but if i don’t say it, i think i’ll break.

i love you. i love you so much it hurts to breathe. please don’t hate me. please understand.

i'm so, so sorry.

forever and ever yours only and truly, addy yn

jake stared at the letter for a long, long time. the wind rustled the grass around him. distantly, he could hear birds. he didn’t move. didn’t speak. didn’t cry this time. he just folded the letter carefully, pressed it to his lips like he might keep her there for one more second and closed his eyes.

america was loud. louder than the hush of decelis’s palace halls. louder than the quiet sighs of tea poured into porcelain cups. louder even than the thoughts yn carried like stitched threads behind her ribs, still knotted after all these years. the clamor of the docks, the honking carriages, the rapid buzz of a foreign tongue—it overwhelmed her senses. and yet she smiled. because smiling was expected. because she had perfected the art of looking content. because she had sunghoon beside her—tall, polite, quiet—and their daughter asleep in his arms, her tiny head tucked into his shoulder, curled like she always had since she was born.

they had arrived in new york that morning. a beautiful estate waited for them on the edge of the hudson river, one arranged in advance through letters and assistants and layers of royal planning. sunghoon had looked at her carefully when he brought up the location months ago. “it’s where cassie studies,” he’d said. yn had only smiled. she hadn’t asked if he wanted to see her. she didn’t need to. “go ahead,” she’d said. “if that would make you happy.” sunghoon didn’t answer, but the way his throat tightened told her everything.

they had never fallen in love. not the kind that changed the way your name felt in someone’s mouth. not the kind that made you want to set the world on fire just to keep someone warm. not like she did jake. their marriage was like a book with pages glued shut. all appearance. all ritual. nothing bled through anymore. after the wedding, they’d simply become… two people who understood each other. enough to exist together. enough to survive. but not enough to live. and that had been fine.

until their daughter was born. a tiny, impossibly loud girl with curls that bounced and a mind that never stopped. she was six now, just old enough to question everything. just enough to start pointing out things they had both kept hidden. “why do you call dada ‘sunghoon’?” she asked once, nose scrunched. “mama nessie calls dada won ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’.” yn had just smiled and said, “because dada, sunghoon’s name is very pretty.” it wasn’t a lie. it just wasn’t the truth either.

ness arrived a few hours after they docked. a flurry of hugs, royal bows, and squeals from the little one who adored her mama nessie. jungwon followed soon after, bags in both hands, the same boyish charm still lingering on his face—though now his eyes held more quiet, more strength. he had grown into a man in those years, but his love for ness hadn’t changed one bit. they were married now. and had followed yn to america out of loyalty—not to the crown, but to her. they worked under the park household as trusted aides, but their affection for yn was never professional. it was personal. they had been her family when her real one had fallen quiet. now, years later, they shared a soft home on the far side of the estate. ness helped with yn’s daughter often, and jungwon helped sunghoon manage the household’s business affairs in the new city. the arrangement worked. but it never filled the hollow. that particular hollow had been carved by jake.

it was colder at night, even in early summer. not in the way decelis had been, with its cool marble halls and formal silences. but a bite in the air that felt more honest. more alive.

yn sat in the backseat of a carriage, her head tilted slightly toward the window, watching the cobblestones pass like old memories she couldn’t stop replaying. her daughter had been dropped off with the caretaker earlier, her laughter echoing down the hallway even as yn walked away. sunghoon had been gone all afternoon—said he wanted to visit cassie now that they were in the same country again. she’d just smiled, nodded, waved him off with nothing more than a simple “go ahead.” because if anyone deserved happiness out of this broken marriage… it was sunghoon.

yn had done her duty. had smiled and bowed and made her parents proud, her kingdom proud. she’d raised their daughter with more love than she knew she had inside of her. but still… something had always been missing. and today, as the sun dipped behind the buildings of new york city, she felt that hollowness gnawing more than usual. ness noticed it too. which was why she and jungwon had insisted on dragging her out tonight. “we’re not doing this, yn,” ness had said while adjusting her earrings. “you’ve been moping for days.”

“i haven’t,” yn argued weakly, slipping on her gloves.

“yes, you have,” jungwon chimed in with a soft grin, his coat already buttoned up. “you miss being twenty-one and reckless.”

yn had sighed. “don’t we all?”

the bar was warm, polished, crowded enough to be lively but not stifling. laughter rose in pockets, a piano clinked near the corner. americans were loud, but their joy was infectious. “this,” ness declared, spinning once, “is what the queen would faint over.”

jungwon chuckled. “that’s why we didn’t bring her.”

they found a booth by the window. ness and jungwon slid in first, shoulder to shoulder, their whispered giggles already starting. yn sat across from them, unwinding her scarf. her daughter was at home, napping peacefully under the eyes of their most trusted caretaker. sunghoon had gone out for dinner with some associates—and maybe, possibly, cassie. yn didn’t ask. she just wanted a night where she didn’t have to be anyone. no titles. no rules. just herself.

and then—“alright,” a familiar voice said from above, clipped with casual sarcasm. “what’ll it be tonight? let me guess. something that tastes like regret?” her breath caught. her spine straightened. slowly, so slowly, she looked up. and the world stopped moving.

jake.

yn hadn’t said his name in years. not aloud. but god, did she think it. everywhere. when she passed the smell of fresh bread near the bakery. when she caught a glimpse of old cottage roofs hidden behind flowerbeds. when her daughter smiled with too much mischief in her eyes, her hands smudged with blueberry jam. jake had never left her. not really. and some part of her hated herself for it. sunghoon never brought it up. never asked. but the weight of unspoken things hung between them, as ever-present as breath. still, she had made peace with it all. or so she told herself.

and there he was. older. sharper. but him. his jaw was more defined now, cheekbones stronger. his hair was a bit shorter, still dark and messy, like he never quite bothered with brushing. he wore an apron that read “no, i won’t marry you,” and it made her lips twitch.

his eyes met hers. and for one suspended second, everything fell away. no palace. no husband. no years. just two people who had once been everything to each other. jake blinked. his hand dropped slightly from where it rested on the tray, like it had forgotten what to do. “...addy?”

her heart squeezed. “yn,” she corrected, gently.

jake’s lips parted. “right. of course.” his voice was a little rougher now, but the warmth hadn’t gone. it was there in the curve of his mouth. the faint disbelief in his laugh. “you’re here.”

“i am.”

jake stared at her for a second longer—like he was afraid if he blinked she might disappear again. then ness cleared her throat, trying very hard not to grin. “you going to take our order, or should i get behind the bar?”

jake startled. “right. uh. drinks?”

“your strongest,” jungwon said, slipping an arm around ness.

yn smiled faintly. “surprise me.” jake hesitated. then nodded. “i can do that.”

the drinks came quick—jake clearly knew his way around a bar now.

the evening moved. laughter grew louder, the night warmer. ness and jungwon whispered and giggled across the table like teenagers, legs tangled beneath the wood. yn sipped her drink slowly, letting the quiet burn settle into her chest. she watched them with soft eyes. jungwon brushing a strand of ness’s hair behind her ear. ness fixing his collar like it was second nature. their love didn’t ask for attention—it just was. a constant. and watching it made yn feel something she hadn’t in a long time. envy. not the bitter kind. the wistful kind. because once, she might’ve had that too.

“want some air?” came a voice beside her. she looked up. jake. his expression unreadable, but his gaze gentle. she nodded. they stepped out to the patio behind the bar, string lights twinkling overhead, casting amber glows across wooden beams. it smelled like old whiskey and fresh bread and wind.

jake leaned against the railing. “didn’t think i’d see you again.”

“didn’t think i’d ever get to explain.”

“you didn’t have to,” he said, eyes on the city lights. “i figured it out eventually. your life was never really yours to begin with.”

she sighed. “still. i’m sorry.” he glanced at her. “i forgave you a long time ago.”

she looked down. “i never stopped thinking about you.”

“i know.”

she smiled faintly. “i still remember that day at the lake.”

jake laughed under his breath. “the almost-kiss?”

“you were going to kiss me.” “i wanted to kiss you.” “you looked so proud of yourself.” “i was proud. i was charming.” “you were insufferable.” “you loved it.”

she laughed. and god, it felt like breathing. silence fell between them then. comfortable. real. jake turned to her fully, finally asking, “so what’s your life like now?”

yn hesitated. “not what i imagined,” she said honestly. “we’re… comfortable. sunghoon and i. we tried to make the best of it. and then our daughter came and she became everything.”

jake nodded. “does he make you laugh?”

she looked at him, slowly. “no. not like you.”

jake smiled, sad and soft. then: “you look good. happy.” “are you?”

he shrugged. “i’ve got a bar. a decent place. friends. a dog named lady layla.”

she blinked. “seriously?”

he smirked. “she’s royalty, obviously.”

she laughed again. jake watched her. really watched her. and when the wind picked up and her hair swept across her face, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear. her breath caught. the same hand brushed her cheek. “you still freeze up when i do that,” he murmured.

“you still know.” “i never forgot.”

she looked up at him. all those years. all that space. and still—it felt like them. and maybe it was selfish, maybe it was foolish, but she whispered anyway—“if we’d met now... do you think it could’ve worked?”

jake’s smile was heartbreak and home all at once. “i think it still could.”

a beat. then he leaned in—not for a kiss, but for something simpler. his forehead against hers. his breath against her lips. no promises. no claims. just the quiet knowing that sometimes, love doesn’t need a title.

it just is.

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dracosprettygirl · 1 month ago

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HERE ME OUTTT, theo and draco's little sister who's been sheltered and maybe a little too loved by her family for her whole life. like hello? them being promised to each other since birth, it took a while but theo starts calling her his little fiance around school 😭

ღ my fiancée

Pairing: fiance!theo x malfoy!reader Word Count: 919 WordsSummary: You’ve spent your life being Draco Malfoy’s baby sister — protected, pampered, and promised to Theodore Nott since childhood. It’s never felt real… until Theo starts calling you his fiancée around school, and you realize he’s not joking. Warnings: Light teasing, overprotective!draco, angst, emotional confusion, familial expectations, arranged marriage, not proofread, let me know if i missed anything! A/N: sincere apologies because it took me too long to post today—i fell off a motorcycle lmao.

♫ invisible string by taylor swift.

You'd been called a lot of things at Hogwarts — princess, Malfoy's little sister, too polite to be a Slytherin. None of it ever really bothered you.

Being Draco's younger sister came with its own gravitational pull. People either bowed to the family name or avoided you like you were dipped in dark magic. Either way, you were never given the chance to just be.

Except around Theo.

Theodore Nott had always been there. At family gatherings, at summer dinners, standing silently at Draco's side since you were both children. Where Draco was loud and proud, Theo was quiet, watchful — never cruel, never unkind.

He was just... always watching.

You didn't realize how closely until sixth year.

It started with a rumor.

Someone had whispered in the corridor outside Charms, not even subtle about it.

"Did you hear? Nott calls her his fiancée now."

You'd almost dropped your ink pot.

When you confronted him, red-faced and wide-eyed, he just looked at you with that maddening smirk and said, "What? It's true. Don't look so scandalized, little fiancée."

You choked on your own tongue.

He did it again at breakfast two days later.

You were pouring tea when he slid into the seat beside you and drawled, "Careful, princess. Can't have my future wife scalding herself before our wedding night."

Draco snapped his head around so fast you heard the crack. Theo just sipped his tea.

It became a thing.

Casual, flippant references — "My betrothed," "My darling girl," "Future Mrs. Nott, don't forget your quill" — all with the smoothness only Theo could pull off.

You didn't know how to react.

You'd known about the arrangement. Of course you had. Your parents had teased you both about it since you were ten, usually after dessert and a few too many goblets of wine.

But it had never felt real. Just a fancy future wrapped in pureblood politics and outdated customs.

Until Theo started walking you to class.

Until he brushed your hand with his fingers every time he passed you a scroll, every touch deliberate.

Until you caught him staring across the common room with something dark and fond in his eyes.

It was all too much.

And somehow not nearly enough.

Draco cornered him first.

You found out because Pansy, ever the gossip, whispered about it between pages of Witch Weekly.

"Your brother nearly hexed Theo in the corridor by the Astronomy Tower," she said, chewing her licorice wand. "He said something about knowing exactly what Theo's playing at."

You tried not to let it show, but it did. Theo noticed.

He always noticed.

That evening, you fled to the greenhouse, needing space to think.

You shouldn't have been surprised when he found you there.

You heard the door creak open but didn't turn around. You were seated on the edge of a stone bench, watching the enchanted vines ripple under moonlight.

"I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're thinking," Theo said, voice low and amused. "Draco would kill me."

You didn't look at him. "You shouldn't joke about it."

He walked around to face you anyway, hands in his pockets, dark hair slightly messy from the wind. His tie was loose. His gaze wasn't.

"I don't joke about you."

Your heart did something painful in your chest.

"Then what are you doing?" you asked, finally looking up at him. "All the teasing, the names—are you trying to embarrass me? Humiliate me in front of the entire school?"

He blinked. "Is that what you think?"

You stood, crossing your arms. "I think you've had your fun."

A long silence. Then, softer: "I think I've been in love with you for longer than I know how to say. And I think calling you my fiancée is the only way I know how to protect what I feel without ruining it."

You froze.

Theo took a step closer.

"I don't care about the arrangement. I would've chosen you anyway. Even if we'd met as strangers. Even if you weren't Draco's sister or the girl who always reads at breakfast or the only person who ever asked if I wanted seconds at Sunday dinner."

You swallowed, throat tight.

"I said those things because they were true," he said. "And I thought maybe—just maybe—you'd want them to be true too."

Your voice was barely a whisper. "I didn't think you wanted me."

His expression softened — all the teasing melted away. He reached out, fingers curling around yours.

"I don't just want you," he murmured. "I've been yours. Quietly. Always."

Your fingers tightened in his.

"You called me your fiancée in front of everyone," you said, blushing.

He smiled. "They should know."

"And what if I want to be something more than a name?"

"You already are."

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away.

You didn't.

His lips were warm and gentle against yours, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

When he pulled back, your forehead rested against his.

"You really mean it?" you whispered. "This isn't just a game?"

"No games," he said softly. "Just you. And me. And the fact that I plan to make you mine whether the contract says so or not."

The next morning, the Great Hall went quiet when Theo slid onto the bench beside you and dropped a soft kiss to your cheek.

Draco nearly spat his pumpkin juice across the table.

Theo just smirked.

"Morning, fiancée."

You didn't blush this time.

You kissed his cheek right back.

taglist !

@belovedenzo

#theodore nott x slytherin!reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott #lil's fics <3

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sweetcherriexs · 5 months ago

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jigsaw;b.e.

𝑗𝑖𝑔𝑠𝑎𝑤 – 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑦

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

billie felt a lump forming in her throat, her eyes strained on the stage as the host spoke into the microphone. she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder, but she missed your comforting touch. where were you? you said you'd be a few minutes in the bathroom. she was sweating, palms cold but sweaty as she continuously wiped them on her pants. she was so nervous, this was the last chance for her album to win an award.

she's worked so hard for the past year, writing, scrapping, recording over and over again. she put her soul, her trauma, her heart, her thoughts and body into this album and it blew up. and she was so so proud of herself and finneas. it had to win, right?

she was almost on her toes now, mouth running dry as she listened with wide eyes.

"next nomination is... album of the year" the voice rang through the arena, nervous and assuring whispers all around billie making her even more overwhelmed. "the nominees are...André 3000 - New Blue Sun...Beyoncé - Cowboy Carter...Billie Eilish - Hit Me Hard and Soft...Chappell Roan - The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess....Charli XCX - Brat....Jacob Collier - Djesse Vol. 4....Sabrina Carpenter - Short n’ Sweet...Taylor Swift - The Tortured Poets Department"

when he finished saying the last album's name, billie swallowed hardly. her heart was coming up her throat, suffocating her like blood hurling up her throat as if she was dying and has been stabbed one too many times. she was licking her lips constantly, the anxiety in her body at such high level that she was nearly shaking. those moments of dramatical pause were killing her – and, no doubt, the other nominees too –.

then, when taylor walked on stage, billie pursed her lips, her hand reaching up on her shoulder to grip her brother's hand. taylor stood by the microphone, looking out at the crowd of all her colleagues with a kind smile, she cleared her throat, glancing down at the cards in her hands.

"and the Grammy goes to..."

billie gripped finneas' hand tighter, starting to feel lightheaded from the overwhelming pressure on her chest.

"Cowboy Carter!"

the words hit billie like a truck and she stared at the stage for a moment. the last bit of hope disappears from her blue eyes which suddenly filled with tears. her hand dropped from her brother's and she put on a wry smile as she clapped, watching the singer walk on stage, accepting the award.

she was happy for her, of course, but... she thought everyone loved her album just as much as she did. that it was worth at least 1 Grammy... but, she thought wrong. she fought back tears, her body tense as her eyes never left the singer.

you sighed deeply, cursing yourself for taking so long in the bathroom as you hurried back to your girlfriend. though, kind of hoping you'd walk in to see her up on the stage already. but then you stepped in, seeing beyonce up there and your heart dropped lower the hell.

what?

this couldn't be...

your eyes looked for your girlfriend in the crowd, quickly making your way towards her and standing in her line of view to block her sight of the stage.

"baby.." you murmured despite the cheering crowd around you, eyes meeting her blood-shot ones and taking her clapping, shaky hands in yours. you looked at her a moment longer before glancing at finneas. "we're getting some fresh air"

he nodded and you let billie out of there, not caring for the cameras and other eyes following you two. soon you were out of there and you were stroking billie's back as she sniffled.

"baby..." you repeated, catching her attention and she looked at you. "I'm sorry... you deserved to win" you said to her, eyes softly and full of worry as you watched her swallow.

"she did too" she muttered and your heart melted and broke at the same time when you heard of sincere she was being still.

"I know" you sighed "I'm still proud of you" you smiled softly, pulling her into you and she wrapped her arms around your waist, burying her face into your shoulder.

"I kind of thought... this album was gonna be it" she mumbled into your shoulder, tears pressing to pour out. "I worked really hard..."

"yes, yes, you did, angel" you whispered, stroking her back softly. "you're the winner in my eyes, the only winner" you leaned your head against hers as you felt her grip tightening on your waist, pulling your body closer in need of comfort.

"am I being pathetic?" she asked, voice breaking at the end.

you shook your head immediately "no, no you're not" you breathed out and pressed your lips to her forehead. "you can let it out, bils" you assured her, heart breaking at her state.

the dam broke, salty, hot tears pouring from her beautiful eyes out in the back parking lot of the arena, holding her girlfriend tightly while her body shook with her sobs. you squeezed her against your body, one hand reaching up to pull her hat off for a more comfortable position. you rocked your bodies side to side, whispering sweet things into her ear.

after a while, her crying stopped and the two of you just stood there in each other's arms. hearing the crowd inside and the commotion of the paps outside and the traffic and you could tell it was overwhelming for both of you.

"home?"

billie breathed out a sigh of relief at your question and nodded. you pulled back, looking at her wet face with a frown and wiping her tears with your thumbs. "I love you, angel" you leaned in, pressing a kiss to her swollen lips before pulling back and taking her ring-clad hand in yours, beginning to walk further into the parking for billie's car. then she mumbled, voice hoarse but full of emotion.

"I love you too, pretty"

sorry if I didn't describe the grammys part right, I didn't watch!!

#ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)#billie eilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish x female reader #billie ellish lyrics #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fandom #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish x fem!reader #grammys #grammys 2025 #scammys

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lavenderspence · 1 year ago

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To Lean On You | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.

Word Count: 8.6K

Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other.

A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3

Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:

Hearts by Jessie Ware

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift

Lost Without You by Freya Ridings

In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles

masterlist

79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.

70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.

65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started.

Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.

March 4th, 2017

It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds.

Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost.

Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain.

Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go.

Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.

“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”

You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair.

You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.

“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true.

Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.

“I’m sorry, but your name isn��t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list.

“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.

“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone.

“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment.

You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”

For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?”

“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.

"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.

All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him.

“Emily-” she cut you off.

“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.

“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest.

As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.

“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home.

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico.

His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.

Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to.

“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”

You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other.

You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped.

You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking.

You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes.

You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been.

“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside.

You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore.

And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.

“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud.

“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did.

“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you.

“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.

“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him.

“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her.

“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.

You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.

“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough.

She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier.

“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking.

“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt.

“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.”

“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.

“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off

“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more.

“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again.

“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say.

“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight.

Spencer’s POV

The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight.

In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him.

Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.

He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive.

He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends.

In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in.

Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take?

His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared.

Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you.

He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.

He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.

Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote.

As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?

“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num.

In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same.

“Do what?”

She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card.

“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again.

Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused.

Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different.

For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit.

Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy.

He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.

And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years.

He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt.

Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown.

Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place.

How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.

Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly.

Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one.

Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth.

And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness.

Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.

Your POV

You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine.

You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both.

There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature.

Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt.

It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled.

Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him.

As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.

It’d either make or break you both.

You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.

You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed.

The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that.

Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time.

Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.

You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.

Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out.

Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.

You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure.

He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn.

70 days of slowly killing you both.

When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.

His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.

Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly.

Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over.

89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did.

When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see.

His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over.

One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out.

“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them.

His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms.

Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation.

“That’s not fair.”

You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.

“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now.

If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned.

You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth.

His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.

“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet.

He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face.

“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry.

He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined.

He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to.

He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him.

Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground.

“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.

Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment.

Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of.

The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes.

And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own.

If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much.

And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline.

You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head.

You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him.

He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you.

You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other.

After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand.

It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent.

“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in.

You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again.

“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice.

You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it.

“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto.

You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head.

“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.

“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.

“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to.

And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became.

To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace.

He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.

“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it.

“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real.

“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple.

“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?”

"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you.

Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss.

You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.

“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.

He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time.

“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy.

His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process.

If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices.

A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.

“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.

Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived.

“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours.

He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go.

He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching.

It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together.

Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.

When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.

And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered.

“I love you.”

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Likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#spencer reid angst #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid self insert #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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thebluediner · 27 days ago

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BILLIE EUROPE TOUR LEG VLOG 1 FT OPENER READER

pop star billie x pop star opener reader

a/n: this will be written in the point of view of a tiktok compilation edit made of billie and reader clips from the youtube vlog

clip # 1

a black shiny car leaning towards being a van comes to a stop before a crowd of tour busses on an empty parking lot and when the door slides open an excited squealing women is seen jumping out of the van not aware of the cameras filming her from a distance.

billie and some of her team's heads turn towards the noise in shock, confusion and curiosity making them all giggle when they notice the person.

the camera pans to billie looking at you with her eyes wide then a few laughs come right after.

'' new artists excitement is so fun to see'' billie comments before the camera pans back to you whos jumping around looking around at the stadium in-front of you.

clip # 2

billie waves goodbye to the crowd of fans as she elevates down the stage back into the hunched space underneath it all. a camera runs behind her as she makes her way backstage.

billie is seen talking to the camera but then stops when from a few feet away she can see you still dressed in your skimpy ruffled outfits filming tiktoks of you dancing or lip-syncing to some audio

instead of ignoring the sight and walking away billie runs towards you and inserts herself in the video by poking you then makes a silly face at the phone recording before she just as quickly runs away.

but you're just as fast when you scream upon seeing her. your excitement is so great you forget about the tiktok videos and find yourself giggling and hugging billie.

''oh my god, heyyy thank you so much for having me'' the words vomit out of your mouth while billies arms stay around your shoulders as you greet her.

'' don't sweat it you did amazing out there'' billie replies smiling as she looks at you. her eyes not only focus on your eyes but lingers to your lips back to your eyes in a second that is definitely not missed by the fandom .

clip #3

the camera shakes a bit before it catches billie flaunting her takeout to the camera at a stranded park at night time. the street lights hover above the rest of the tour team spread over the pavement waiting for their uber to go back to their hotel.

when the camera zooms in to a special someone there you are sat on a curb already eating the pickle from the jar you decided to buy at a convenience store.

billie sees the camera focused elsewhere and decides to turn her head in that directions to be met with your unbothered self eating a huge ass pickle.

billie starts cracking up at the sight catching everybody's attention as they ask what she's laughing at even ava asking if she's gone crazy until she points over to you. now your eyes peek over to catch everyone's eyes on you.

clips #4

this time ava was talking billie about something that was bothering her and she needed advice. the two where leaned onto the door both with serious faces on talking about this matter until billie sees walking towards them.

sure your assistant was next to with a tablet in hand looking really stressed as she showed you something on the screen but billie still called you over to them.

''c'mere babygirl'' billie calls out gesturing you close to her and ava. the camera shows you excusing yourself from your assistant before skipping over to billie's side whos arms automatically find themselves around your shoulders.

''would you say yes to a casual relationship'' billie asks you her eyes on your direction.

'' is it a man or woman'' you question with an arch on your brows

''it's a man'' ava answers suspiciously not knowing where the conversation was now going.

'' is he rich''

'' sort of ''

''handsome ?''

'' yeah definitely''

'' then yeah but use him for money''

billie is the first to burst out laughing at your logic but ava just rolls her eyes in defeat at the both of you.

clip #5

it's the middle of the day and a lot of people are sprawled on the carpeted floor with uno cards in the center.

billie is seen screaming for her life as she tosses multiple of reverse cards every time the game comes towards her. people groan as they draw two cards after two cards others laugh at the entertainment of the game and how it evokes dramatic screams and sighs

while you are sitting there confused at what's going with at-least ten cards on your hands looking around at people who have three and less.

''you have to say uno when you have one card'' your assistant screams out pointing at one of the band members

''I said one ''

''you have to say uno you dumbass it's a mexican game'' billie screams at the boy before she dishes out two more cards towards him for ''stupidity'' she claimed.

clip #6

billie is on stage after singing lunch as she tries to catch her breath. her sharp eyes look around the arena at the thousands of fans with cameras in-front of their faces.

on the near end of the crowd of the floor area billie sees you even if your striking coloured hair is hidden by the hat you have on.

''hope you guys are loving my opener because I'd pay so much money to see her sexy ass perform every damn day'' as soon as the words leave her lips the fans go crazy screaming but billie looks at you for your reaction.

your lips stretch into a smile that shows off your teeth before nodding your head in agreement clapping your hands along with the fans.

both of you did not know the camera for the vlog was a few feet away from you catching both of you on 4k

see comments below...

@lila2222- they are so cute oh my gosh

@bilslefttoee- look billie's mine but I'm definitely shipping them

@y/ntitty's- I need more of them right now !

@billiepregsbabymama- the way she said babygirl I would have fainted

@bilsstrangeaddict- what's the name of this ship ?

@y/lpopstarrrrr- billie called her sexy and she's still alive oh my god

@sevenshortyy- billie is giving such boyfriend vibes here

@y/y/nlovely - they must get a room gosh they are so cuteee

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hrtwayne · 5 months ago

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My Girl Only Breaks Her Favorite Toys || Alexia Putellas

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x Lionesses Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Where sometimes a breakup wasn't just about a lack of trust, but rather the constant breaking of promises.

Note: Chapter inspired by My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys by Taylor Swift! (English is not my first language!)

Warning: Mention of Neglect and Possible Angst!

Women's Football Masterlist | Masterlist

The silence in the apartment had never felt so deafening.

Y/n dropped her suitcase by the door, feeling the tension weigh down on her shoulders. The familiar scent of Alexia—a soft mix of lavender and something that always reminded her of home—was gone. No jackets carelessly thrown over the couch, no cleats resting by the entrance, no sign that this was still a home shared by two people.

Maybe, deep down, it wasn’t anymore.

She let out a long sigh, running her hands over her face. She had played for the English national team that night, crossed the continent to come home, only to be met with the same emptiness as always. Alexia wasn’t there. Again.

For the thousandth time, Y/n tried to convince herself that their schedules were demanding, that sometimes missing each other was inevitable. But the truth was, when something matters, you find a way. And she always had. Alexia, on the other hand, seemed less and less willing to do the same.

She opened the fridge, already knowing what she would find. Nothing fresh, nothing new. The coffee she had made before leaving was still untouched in the corner, and the water bottles Alexia always drank from were in the exact same spot. She hadn’t been home since Y/n had left.

The weight of that realization hit her all at once.

It was a story nearly two years in the making. A beautiful story of support, of genuine love. But it was also a story filled with broken promises, empty excuses, and absences that only grew more frequent.

And Y/n finally realized she didn’t want to live like this anymore.

The following days felt like a loop. Alexia came home late, left early. When they were together, silence spoke louder than words. Y/n had tried to talk, tried to make Alexia see what was happening between them, but every attempt ended in promises that never materialized.

So, on an ordinary morning, as she pulled on her training jersey, she picked up her phone and opened the email she had been avoiding for weeks.

The club that had shaped her career had made an offer. A good one. Going back home had never felt so right.

That night, when Alexia finally arrived, she found Y/n sitting on the couch, her suitcase packed beside her.

"We need to talk."

Alexia frowned, dropping her backpack to the floor before sitting down next to her.

"What’s wrong?"

Y/n took a deep breath.

"I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep waiting for you to keep promises you’ll never keep."

"Y/n…"

"I love you, Alexia. But love isn’t enough when only one of us is trying."

Alexia opened her mouth to argue but closed it just as quickly. She knew. She had always known.

"You’re leaving?"

"Yes. My old team wants me back. And I want to go back."

The silence that followed was the heaviest of all.

Alexia finally let out a long sigh, shaking her head.

"I never wanted us to end like this."

Y/n smiledtired, resigned.

"Neither did I."

And deep down, they both knew there was nothing left to say.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas x y/n #alexia putellas imagine #alexia x reader #woso fanfics #woso x reader #barcelona femeni #fem reader #gxg #imagine

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hardlyinteresting · 8 months ago

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love's never lost when perspective is earned

Jake Seresin x Reader

“The moment you doubt whether you can fly, you cease forever to be able to do it.” Peter Pan, J.M Barrie

Peter by Taylor Swift S P E Y S I D E by Bon Iver Big Black Car by Gregory Alan Isakov Smother by Daughter

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, Parentification of eldest siblings, bad first date experience, gets a little spicy towards the end (no smut), (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please)

This one shot was written for @arcane-vagabond Fairy Tale writing challenge with the inspiration of Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie, and the use of the word Scintilla.

Word Count: 6.7K Masterlist | talk to me about Jake and Tyler

She remembers that summer wrapped in a golden glow. Back when hot, humid days were spent bathed in the sun’s vivid orange. Their fingers were sticky with jammy pie fillings, stolen from his mama’s kitchen. Cold water from the garden hose always tasted better after a day of chasing themselves around the properties.

What do you want to be when you grow up?” Jake had asked her as they lay in the grass behind his house.

“I haven't decided yet,” she told him matter of factly, “But, I’m gonna have a nice house, and I’m going to go far away from here”.

“I'm gonna be a pilot,” Jake said, “And I’ll fly wherever I want”.

She knew he was entirely serious, even as a little boy he’d never failed to accomplish what he put his mind to. The gentle waiver is his voice as his statement teetered around the edges of his true feelings and fears. “I wish I could fly away,” She told him, watching the clouds shift across the bright blue sky above them.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me,” Jake promised. And back then, a promise had felt like enough.

They were seven; her shins were always bruised from climbing trees and tackling the Seresin boy during their daily football scrambles; his cheeks were always sunburnt, and he lied every time his mother asked if he had put sunscreen on. In many ways, she thinks those two months running after Jake Seresin had been both the peak and the plateau of her childhood wonder.

September meant returning to school; finishing supper and homework before being allowed out to play, and with the autumnal turn crept in early sunsets and earlier curfews. In November, her stepdad moved in, and her mother told her to expect a little brother in the spring. The days of scraped knees and make-believe slipped away before the winter frost set in.

When he thinks about her now, he pictures her laughing like she did when they were ten years old. He misses the days when she had the freedom to forget herself.

At ten years old Jake Seresin couldn’t understand why his friend wasn’t as fun as she used to be. He watched from his kitchen window as she sat on the front porch with her little brother, settling next to her and feeding him from tiny jars of baby food. At a distance, it'd be easy to mistake her for any other girl playing make-believe with one of her dolls. But Jackson wasn't a doll, he was fussy and gassy, and he needed to be fed and put down for his naps before she had a moment of spare time to spend with her pal Jake.

Her little brother had been followed by a new baby girl two years later. Tire marks on the dirt driveway highlighted where her stepfather’s truck should have been most days. Jackson had finally gone down for a nap but Olivia had been teething and her wailing could be heard from a mile away.

“What do you want to do today?” Jake asked her as he made his way up her porch steps to sit next to her on the stoop. “I want to fly away,” she told him.

Without a second thought, he grabbed her hand as he took off running, down the stairs, across the lawn and into the field behind the house. The long grass tickled at their ribs as they ran as fast as possible, their arms outstretched on either side of them.

Circling, and jumping, hooting and hollering they made their way across the flat land with boisterous laughter bubbling from their lips. By the time they stumbled to a stop at the fence line their breath came to them in quiet gasps, their cheeks warmed by the exertion of their activity.

The sound of his pulse fell in time with her carefree giggles as she twirled around mimicking some kind of bird. Had it not been for the physical boundary of the wire fence he thinks they could have kept running forever, the promise of freedom they didn’t yet understand beneath their wings. In that moment he knew he’d chase that feeling for the rest of his life.

At sixteen she felt more like a substitute parent than she did a teenage girl. Her mind and her soul had aged beyond her years and stayed wrapped in a youthful vessel. School had become an escape from the responsibility she felt at home. While Olivia and Jackson clambered onto the school bus excited for first and second grade, she climbed into the passenger seat of Jake Seresin’s restored F-150. Each morning he'd pass her a wrapped sandwich made in his kitchen with his mother's fresh-baked bread. A replacement for the meal he knew she sacrificed to divide the last of the breakfast cereal between her siblings. He filled her with servings of farm butter and homemade jam, or ham and cheese. Their silent dialogue in brushing their knuckles during the exchange, as he always chose to ignore how she saved half for her lunch later in the day.

Pulling into the parking lot at school she had been keenly aware of the way the other girls looked at her as she walked hand in hand with Jake; the glares shot her way when he kissed her cheek as they parted ways to head to their classes.

Their jealousy rolled off them in waves, and she heard how they spoke about her in the locker room after gym class. Whispers about his gorgeous green eyes and boyish charm. What could the hottest guy in school possibly want from the strange girl in her secondhand clothes and studious persona? Surely he'd have more fun with a girl who wanted to party.

It was true. In the span of one summer, he'd grown 6 inches, towering over her now. His shoulders broadened. The lanky awkward limbed boy she'd known in her childhood grew stronger and more defined as he learned better how to pull his weight on his family’s farm. His masculine stature and maturity softened only by his flushed cheeks, and childlike grin.

And yes, he snuck beers from his father’s garage fridge and did handstands for ovations at parties hosted by the school football team. An absolute joy to be around. To know Jake Seresin was to love Jake Seresin, but didn't know him the way she did.

They didn't know he was terrified of thunderstorms until he was 12. They weren't there when he split his pants open trying to climb over a fence when they were 9. They had never had the privilege of listening to him read aloud from all his books about aircraft; his 11-year-old fingers tracing the letters as he sounded out the big words, the fear of being held back in 5th grade hanging over his head.

They had never held him as he tore into himself. The golden boy, raised in the shadow of an older brother who hadn’t lived long enough for him to remember; so deeply loved, but not enough to fill the ache in his parent’s hearts.

No one in those school halls would ever be able to tell the difference between his happiest days, and the smirk he plastered on always aiming to be better than what he believed himself to be.

He was so stubborn and far more clever than he ever let himself sound; she scolded him almost daily as he tried to shrug off his homework. “You'll need math and science if you ever want to fly a jet,” she would remind him, accepting the glass of sweet tea he offered her. Their textbooks and notes would lay spread across his kitchen table while Jackson and Olivia occupied themselves with blank paper and wax crayons, offering Jake scribbled drawings of airplanes, “wow! That's amazing, thank you,” he'd say every time.

She hadn't asked Jake to worm his way into her soul, and yet even now she knows some part of her soul belongs deeply to him. Their games of tag had slowly become time spent talking about their parents and watching the clouds; their hands intertwined between them as they listened to each other's dreams and desires for the future.

And on the nights when his life just didn’t seem to fit quite right, he’d tap on her window, willing her to join him in the bed of his truck a couple of miles from their homes; and she’d remind him who he was. The bright boy with a heart of gold, and a laugh that reminded her of everything good in the world. She’d rest her head on his chest, his fingertips tracing aimless shapes across her back, as she convinced him he was more than a collection of hand-me-down dreams.

His eighteenth birthday crept up to him before passing in a blur of candlelight and buttercream icing. His mother cried in the kitchen when she excused herself to ‘take care of the dishes’. His father clapped him on the shoulder. Their two sets of hazel-green eyes met as the older man offered a nod. The action itself did not speak to a relationship of closeness or specific affection, but still, it managed to convey a message of approval, apology, and love too difficult to speak.

She had knocked on the door shortly after dinner had been cleared from the table, the remaining half of his birthday cake being ushered into the refrigerator under a cling wrap film. Shivering in the night air, her hands clutched a package of brown paper with a shiny blue ribbon, his name scribbled in her careful writing. Quickly, he’d pulled her into the house greeting her with a kiss as deeply passionate as she deserved. “Happy birthday,” she’d whispered, pressing the gift she’d brought into his hands. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he’d told her. “I wanted to,” she insisted. With steady hands, he unwrapped the box. His question was silent, but the shocked expression on his face must’ve conveyed enough for her to be able to answer him anyway. “It’s the one from the antique store,” she grinned, “Mister Abbot let me pay for it in instalments”. He tipped the brass nautical compass into the palm of his hand, staid in his evaluation of both the physical and emotional weight of the gift. “This is too much,” he spoke after a moment.

Her eyes went wide, her smile dropping. “I love it,” he was immediate in his attempt at reassurance, “but, you’re saving for school. I don’t want you spending your money on me, darlin’”. He tried to pass the compass back to her, a woebegone ponderosity settling in his stomach at the very idea of rejecting any part of her. Insistent, yet patient, she curled her finger over his. The digits were so much smaller than his own, cracked and raw from washing dishes and cleaning tables at the local diner. The painful reminder of how hard she’d been working to climb her way out of her own life. “I want you to keep it. Selfishly,” she said, “I want you to always be able to find your way back to me”. How could he have argued with that?

Politely, she’d popped into the kitchen to see his mama, accepting a Tupperware of cake slices to take home for the kids to enjoy. His father met them at the door as Jake shrugged on his denim jacket. “Where are you kids off to?” he asked out of curiosity more than any concern. “Just going for a drive,” Jake told him, slipping his keys into his pocket. “Don’t let him get you into any trouble, ya hear?” he warned her with a teasing grin, the humour evident in his voice. “Yes sir,” she had agreed easily, knowing Mr Seresin’s penchant for faux sternness in the moments between his genuine stoicism. Seemly satisfied to see her smile grow, he had turned to Jake with an immediate pivot back to his natural sternness, “You make sure you get her home at a reasonable time. It’s a school night”. Jake’s compliance echoed her own, with no room for jest, “Yes sir”.

Parked in their usual spot, at the edge of a cleared field he wrapped layers of blankets around her shoulders, before settling down next to her. Their biggest dreams breathed between them and the night stars. “I love you,” he said. The statement was resolute, and immovable in its honesty. “I love you too, Jake,” she told him. Her words were spoken like a promise she desperately wanted to keep.

“When we graduate, I'll drive us across the country,” he tells her, “I'll buy us a house. You can go to school and I'll fly”.

“It’s a nice dream, baby,” she says.

Their drive home is silent.

She spent her nineteenth birthday sleeping in his childhood bedroom. He hadn't been home in months but the sheet still smelt like him. She scraped her knees climbing up the trellis to his window, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. She’d laughed to herself examining the superficial wounds, enjoying the familiar bite of nostalgia. Memories of her childhood long since passed left tears at the corners of her eyes. Near manic laughter faded into a melancholy exhaustion.

Her eyes focused on the small book collection Jake had managed over the years. They had all been perfectly aligned in their homes on his bookshelf; set in alphabetical order by author. His need for structure despite his free spirit had been amusing until it became mildly concerning. Routine, crafted to satisfy the need to stay completely distracted from an overwhelm of feelings he had always been sure he didn’t have the capacity to express. The hope in her heart had always been that he might learn to hone his particular brand of presentiment. He’d always been so rough-and-tumble, so hard to worry after; determined to never let the mask slip as he raced through life with a smile.

1400 miles away she ached to be beside him; so lonely in her knowledge of him. She worked to comfort herself by tracing the titles on the spines of the books he’d left behind. Over and over. Over and over. With blurring vision and an unfocused mind, she slipped into a well-deserved sleep. The sun streamed so gently through the window of Jake’s room. A touch of light tugging her from her slummer had been a welcome change from the jarring wake-up call she had at home. Two siblings who had yet to figure out how to make themselves breakfast without bickering or clattering plates. The smell of fresh coffee and pancake batter wafted up from downstairs.

The bedroom door squeaked as she opened it, and underfoot the floorboards in the old farmhouse creaked, each step down the staircase punctuated with the sonance of more than a hundred years of life. In the Seresin house, the noises reminded her of the generations who had come and gone, it was easy to imagine the lives that had been lived within the walls. Across the yard, the similar shifts and groans of her childhood home echoed like ghostly calls; the whispers warning of a life liable to be wasted if she stuck around.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” Mrs Seresin smiled, setting an extra spot at the kitchen table. His mother had always been the kindest person she’d known. Despite the undisputable reality that her son’s girlfriend had all but broken into her home, she welcomed her with open arms, asking if she wanted blueberries in her pancakes.

The longer they went without mentioning the elephant in the room the easier it became for her to slouch a bit in her seat, appreciating each bite of the breakfast that had been offered to her. Nineteen years of being in rooms out of necessity rather than desire had made it difficult to trust other’s interest in her well-being.

Feeling her shoulders drop in relief left her feeling something like a stray cat brought in to shelter from the storm; glad to accept Mrs Seresin’s kindness, but uneasy all the same. She had grown used to being weary of tenderness and generosity; always waiting to hear the conditions of the beneficence.

Sipping her coffee, Mrs Seresin smiled over the lip of the mug. “If you want to stay a little longer, you could help me go through some of Jake’s old clothes. Some of them would probably fit Jackson now”. Her words reached like an olive branch across the table, and for a moment she understood that perhaps the older woman wasn’t just benevolent for the sake of it, not on this day at least. With her only living child out of the house she had been lonely in her need to mother someone, and glad just for the company as unorthodox as the circumstances may have been. She’d been glad to learn that some glint of selfishness lingered in everyone, and in a strange turn, it only made her trust the woman more.

She hadn't expected a pile of folded sweatshirts to make her cry, and yet in a blink of an eye, she found herself sobbing. A flicker of hurt rushed through her with the realization that some things will always matter more to her than they do to anyone else. Just another piece of clothing to Jake, another part of her task for the day to his mother. But she was holding the world in her hands.

She remembers that sweatshirt well, red and worn out by time, always just a bit too tight in the shoulders, the seams stretching at the sleeves. He was wearing it the night he picked her up from her first date.

Bobby Dunbar had been two years older than her, and had no idea of the meaning of the word ‘no'. She left him alone in the movie theatre after he'd tried to creep a hand up her skirt for the second time. With a quick call from the closest payphone, Jake was on his way to pick her up without questions.

Together, they drove out of town and past their homes the sun dipping down below the seemingly endless horizon. Overhead the stars had begun to make themselves appreciable against the backdrop of the darkening sky. Parked, they lay in the bed of the truck looking up at the sky ahead. He took care to trace the constellations for her, naming them as he went. In the meantime, her fingertips copied the shapes with invisible lines across his chest. The well-loved red sweatshirt was soft beneath her cheek.

He kissed her for the first time that night. Not her first kiss, but the first one that mattered. Jake always had this ability to make her world stop spinning, even if just for a moment. Sitting on the edge of his bed sobbing into the sweater she wanted nothing more than to be near him, to hear him tell her everything was going to work out for them in the end.

“I got my scholarship,” she told Mrs. Seresin, “I'll start in the fall, and I'll be able to live on campus”.

“That's amazing news sweetheart,” her affirmation, so much like her son’s.

“It's a lot farther for Jake to drive. I won't be here to check on Jackson and Olivia. My mo--”

“They'll be alright. It's high time you live your dream, honey”.

At nineteen years old, she struggled to understand that sometimes the beginning feels like the end. A pit growing in her stomach, she clutched the bags of hand-me-down clothes as she headed home. The sky above was dotted with the same stars Jake had taught her about years ago, she stood still for a moment trying to remember the feel of his lips, or the comfort of his hand in hers, but only felt the cool evening breeze.

Twenty-one felt like wearing a costume. Joining the Navy. Getting good grades. Helping on the farm whenever he had an ounce of free time. Being a good son, being a good boyfriend. He was playing dress-up in a life that wasn’t built for him, and yet he found himself so desperate to play the part.

The first few months away had been excruciating. Most nights he chugged Pepto-Bismol before going to bed, hoping that the tearing feeling in his chest was just heartburn, and not just his soul stretching across four states. It had been the longest they’d ever been separated; smashing the previous record of the one week he spent with his aunt and uncle when he was ten.

He won’t blame her for the divide that grew between them, but he knows that the ache in his chest cracked into a chasm sometime after she moved onto her college campus.

The commute to see her was longer, his back was stiff, and his eyes were tired after driving hours, and crisscrossing state lines. The time they spent together was almost exclusively spent sleeping or skipping around their desperate need to return to what they once were, all while refusing to give up their dreams.

Two years into her degree he was exhausted. On base, his bed was assembled for practicality, not for comfort. Hard, uneven mattress and nights spent cold beneath the covers without the warmth of her body tucked against him. His bunkmates all snored, and the hustle and bustle of those still working during his allotted sleeping hours kept his mind alert even as his body dosed. In her dorm room, her duvet was plush and cozy, her pillows smelt like her shampoo, and she snuggled as close to him as physically possible on the nights he managed to make it to her. But her roommate was nosy and made it almost impossible for him to love on his girlfriend. Unable to touch her as freely as he yearned to-- and even worse, unable to speak as freely as he needed to, his feelings threatened to choke him. Lost without the level of communication that had become their life preserver for years, he felt as though he was drowning.

At twenty one he asked his father for his grandmother’s engagement ring. A family heirloom he’d always known he’d propose with one day. He would make good on the promises he made. They would get married and he’d buy them a house-- he had already managed to save quite a bit. It was not a lack of love that broke them, but perhaps an excess of it. A shared desperation to do more, and be better; both of them hell-bent on clawing their way out of the ruts they’d found themselves stuck in. And with so much to prove it had been impossible to climb without letting go of each other.

He was down on one knee when his heart was ripped from his chest. For a moment he felt it was impossible to breathe. His mind was silent, too stunned to think and too confused to speak. She was still shaking her head when he finally found the strength to look up at her again. “No,” she said. “I thought--”

“I’m sorry-- I can’t. I won’t. It’s not fair,” she told him. Certainly not fair, he thought desperate to understand. But when had life ever been fair? “I can’t,” she repeated. He watched, hopeless, as she shrunk in on herself. The bright, brilliant girl he’d spent more than half his life loving shied away from him, hiding behind a shame he couldn’t find a source for.

As he slowly made his way back to his feet, with the ring box shoved back into his coat pocket, she spoke again. “I think it would be better if we spent some time apart”. That he had not been expecting, and the words nearly had him keeling over; a brutal blow that knocked the air from his lungs. He found himself helpless, unable to do anything but nod. All his fight sat on the tip of his tongue, pinched between his teeth, betrayed by his pain, and misunderstanding. I’m sorry, he wanted to say. For anything. For everything. But the words never came out. “I’m sorry,” she wept as she ushered him out of her dorm room.

With one hand, and no force he held the door frame for a moment, one last longing look at the girl he knew he’d love forever. “One day we’ll be enough for each other again”. He hoped that was true.

She carries a spark of regret in her chest, it grows when she thinks of him, and it shrinks when she remembers she freed him too. She thinks now that her denial of Jake Seresin may have been hasty. Fifteen years older, and with more perspective than she had at twenty-one, she thinks their lives could have been different if she had been brave enough to talk things out.

Her fear of stagnation had been her only motivation for so much of her life. His proposal had been on the surface a desperate attempt to cling to a bond they had begun to outgrow. And while his intentions at their core had been pure, getting married would not have saved their relationship. She had only begun to live for herself, and he still didn’t understand that his life was his own. Their marriage would have only served as a new way to masquerade and play pretend; years of running away from the fears that kept them both up at night. He would have grown to resent her inability to live without planning, and she would have hated his unintended absenteeism. Being married would not have kept his side of the bed warm, nor would it have given him any new ability to quell her anxieties.

She still thinks of him often. From her apartment on a clear day her view of the sky seems to span for miles and miles. She pictures him up there, carving through the clouds with the dedication and precision she’s always known he’d be capable of. She imagines him happy, living his dream. She hopes he’s proud of himself, and she prays that he knows that she’s proud of him too.

Sometimes, she lets herself wonder if he ever settled down; offered his grandmother’s ring and his heart on his sleeve to some other lucky girl. She’s tried to move on herself a few times, but never made it close to feeling like she was in love. The last guy had been a year ago now, he was nice enough, handsome, had a good job, and a good sense of humour. On paper he was flawless. He’d take her out for dinner, and walk her to her door. Sometimes he spent the night. He bought her flowers, and held her hand. But on one too many occasions she felt inexplicably lonely sitting next to him. He complained that she wasn’t any fun. She struggled to explain the sense of responsibility she’d never been able to shake. She asked him about his dreams. He never seemed to have any.

And so the hint of any spark that had been there fizzled away into nothing.

She tells herself she’s happier on her own and decides to keep moving forward, ignoring the cracking of her heart. She uncorks a bottle of wine, dancing alone in her kitchen, looking out at the vast evening sky and the setting sun. As much as she enjoys the view from her rental, she’s been in California long enough that it might be worth buying into the housing market. Nothing fancy, but something she can truly call her own. She’s been making good money for a while now, and her siblings have made it through college themselves. Jackson moved to New York with his sights set on being an architect. Olivia moved to Austin and became a nurse. Her mother hasn’t bothered to call in ages. Her shoulders relax without the added pressure of caring for others. For the first time in a very long time, her mind is quiet--it’s finally time to write the last chapters in her own story and stop running.

He keeps an old photograph of her in the inside of his flight suit, right over his heart. He’s living his dream, and he won’t allow himself to forget that she’s the reason why. Driving home from base at night he passes houses much larger than the bungalow he’s been renting. He wonders where she went after she graduated, and what kind of job she has now.

He chooses to picture her happy even at the expense of his feelings; a devoted husband coming to wrap his arms around her while she stirs a pot on the stove. A scintilla of guilt makes itself known as he grows somewhat jealous of this life he's envisioned for her. The truth is that he knows she was right for turning him down. They were too young, too naive, and too frightened. Breaking up with him may have been the first time he had seen her truly put herself first, and in hindsight, he’s glad she did. He knows he’d never have been able to live with himself if he had been what stood in the way of her making her dreams come true. It took him a while to understand the gift she had given him when she sent him away. The freedom to be the man he wanted to be, and not the man anyone else needed him to be.

He’d fucked it up more than once along the way. At work, he had become too brash, too cocky, too full of himself. He put his walls up and wore the self-assured mask he thought people wanted to see. Unwavering confidence, and determination. His return to Top Gun had been a wake-up call. He’d been forced to adapt, to let his guard down and learn how to let people in again. And for the first time since he was a teenager he appreciated the difference between being valued and being important. The realization had come with a sense of belonging and camaraderie that he hadn’t expected but couldn't afford to forget.

In his personal life, he had failed time and time again to form long-term bonds. One-night stands didn’t hurt, but the idea of waking up next to someone left him nauseous. But the truth is he yearns for that connection. He wants to be seen. He wants to be understood. He stopped going home to visit his parents two years ago, the weight of self-placed expectation chewed through him and left him hollow; guilt filled its place.

Last week he stood back straight, with his heart full of pride as he accepted his promotion. The new rank came with a new role, and a new more permanent position. He'd be stationed in San Diego for at least five more years. He called his mother. He booked a flight home for his next break. He started browsing real estate pages. It’s time to stop running.

She’s only made it to a couple of open houses so far but she hasn’t been able to find anything she likes yet. Most of the houses she’s seen are out of her price range. Others have been too modern, some too outdated.

She remembers the Seresin’s kitchen, the buttery yellow walls and linoleum tiles. Their house wasn’t flashy, nor had it been renovated anytime in 1980, but it was cozy. She can remember the smell of Mrs. Seresin’s baking. In her mind's eye, she recalls the feel of the cabinet doors that Mr. Seresin had built himself when they moved in, and his wife’s initials carved into the bottom corner of the cupboard over the sink. In every way possible they had made that ordinary farmhouse a home, and she wants the same for herself now. Like everything in her life, she decided her house has to be perfect. She’ll know it when she sees it.

The house is a two-story craftsman, built circa 1935. The siding is a garish kind of coral colour, faded by the sun, and the trims stand out in a soft vanilla colour, chipped at the edges. She’s driving home from work when she sees the sign for the open house standing proudly on the front lawn. Without a thought she pulls over, throwing the car into park. Inside, it smells like freshly baked cookies-- a real estate trick she’s learned over the last few weeks. It’s easy to imagine a house is your own when it smells so inviting. She's come to expect this, and won't let it blind her.

Her heels click across the hardwood floor, the sound echoing through the empty house. She moves past the stairs into the surprisingly spacious living room. A large window looks out onto the quiet cul-de-sac, and the room sits bathed in the soft glow of the street lights outside. She imagines the room furnished, with soft drapery, a plush sofa, tv hung above the fireplace, and she can imagine herself unwinding here. The dining room is a fair size, and the kitchen has a sliding door that opens up to the backyard. The cabinets are brand new, and the owners have spent time renovating while staying true to the charm of the house. On the countertop, she picks up the real estate agent’s pamphlets about the home, amenities and nearby schools are listed, and she wonders if she might have the chance to raise a family here.

Overhead the sound of steady footsteps, and a pair of heels make their way down the hall and then the stairs. “If you decide to put in an offer, do not hesitate to call, in this market the early bird gets the worm,” a woman speaks. “I appreciate it, thank you,” a man replies in a low southern drawl, “do you mind if I take a look at the backyard before I head out?” “Not at all! Take your time, I’ll be out front just getting my signs if you need anything else”.

He’s barely stepped into the kitchen when he hears his name. “Jake?” a familiar voice wonders, her arms coming immediately to wrap around him. She hits his chest with a thud, but it does move him an inch. Her name is sighed into her hairline as he holds her close. “You made it-- all the way to California,” He smiles, pulling back to get a good look at her. She’s as gorgeous as he remembers, if not more so. Her features have sharpened over time, and he thinks her hair might be darker now, but she’s glowing. Her grin is wide and her shoulders relaxed as she reaches to trace his name and rank on his uniform. “You’re flying, Jake,” she all but whispers. He nods, his eyes softening as his hand comes to rest over hers, his heart racing beneath her palm. “Turns out I’m pretty good at it,” he jokes, and is rewarded with his favourite laugh.

His free hand lowers to rest on her hip and she steps closer, familiarity allows them to skip out on formality. He’s missed this; a shared closeness loud enough for them to speak without saying anything. He knows her like he knows the back of his own hand, and even with years passed between them, he’s able to fill in the gaps. Her clothes are well made, and well fitted. Office wear. Her shoes leave her standing tall, reminding him of senior prom and the time they spent slow dancing. He knows what she’s overcome, and he’s never had any doubt about where she would end up. Clearly successful, and if the way her smile meets her eyes is any indicator, she’s happy too.

In all honesty, she’s not sure who leans in first, but she knows she’s kissing Jake Seresin for the first time in fifteen years. He kisses with hesitation at first but allows himself to give in to a passion grown with time. He’s more skilled than he was the first time they kissed, and she tries her best not to flush with jealousy. His cropped hair is soft where her hand reaches up to hold at the back of his head willing him closer.

One step at a time he backs her across the room until her back meets the wall. With fingers gripping the collar of his shirt she begs him to crowd her space. She swears he’s taller now. His shoulders are broader, his arms far more defined. He’s always been handsome but the boyish charm has been replaced by something far more deadly, and she’s convinced she’d die happy if it was him stealing her breath away.

She melts beneath him. His hand moves across her hip, down to feel the round of her ass, before his grip tightens at the flesh of her thigh, warm in her cute little dress slacks. Neither of them bothers to suppress the moans or sighs that leave them when begins to kiss down his neck. His knee slots between her legs, thudding when it makes contact with the wall, startling them both.

“Careful. You break it you buy it, Jake”.

“I think homeownership will be good for me,” he grins catching his breath.

“Not if I buy it first,” she quips, catching her bottom lip between her teeth as she blinks up at him. He groans, his knees weak as her smile grows. “Let’s talk it out over dinner,” He manages his counteroffer.

***

Their house smells like chocolate chip cookies, made from the recipe Jake’s mother passed down. The window in the master bedroom offers a gorgeous view of the San Diego sky. On weekends, she wakes up to the smell of coffee brewing, and Jake sliding back into bed, his hands greedy as he pulls her from her sleep with warm kisses and the promise of breakfast if they manage to make it down the stairs.

The floorboard creaks when he comes home at night, the weight of his day shed at the door. He greets her as if he's been gone for months even when it’s only been a few hours. And he holds as if he’ll never see her again when he returns from a deployment.

The gentle breeze that blows through the open windows of their little home carries away their lingering anxieties, and they allow themselves to soften in each other’s presence.

They lay in the grass in their backyard, paint smeared across their clothes, brows sweaty from a hard day's work. The siding is now a fresh, pale green, the trims glow in a soft white. Above them, the stars shine. The same stars they watched as children, and loved as teens. He watches her, enamoured, as she points to the North Star tracing her way around the night sky, recalling the stories he told her about each constellation. He wonders how many lifetimes are painted in the sky above them, how many lovers have admired the stars as they have.

She pulls him from his thoughts, rolling to settle with her knees at either side of his hips, her left hand resting on his heart. He looks at her as if he’s in awe of her, his wedding band cold on her back as his hand slides underneath her shirt. Leaning down to kiss him she’s certain this is the life she’s always been running towards.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #jake seresin #FTWC #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun hangman

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mwahcarpenter · 2 months ago

Text

packing it up | OB87

popstar!reader x oliver bearman

fans know you as a hopeless romantic but when you start soft launching they go insane, who is this mystery british boy!

yourusername

liked by, olivia rodrigo, alexandrasaintmleux, and 736,231 others

big things coming soon! 🤍

comments:

user: who are the flowers from miss y/l/n ???

youruser : no comment

user : HWAT??

alexandrasaintmleux : aaaaa girl i cant wait

youruser : you get special privileges angel 🩷😊

charlesleclerc : stop stealing my girlfriend

youruser : god forbid a girl hads hobbies 🙁

user : does our hopeless romantic have a romantic now???

user : low-key hope so she deserves it our queen is too lonely

replies

olliebearman oh they are definitely going to know now

youruser is that such a bad thing?

olliebearman not at all love

alexandrasaintmleux i’m taking credits for this

youruser ugh i love you you’re like my big sister

alexandrasaintmleux i love you more now FINISH YOUR ALBUM

olliebearman

liked by, youruser, charlesleclerc, kimiantonelli and 593,394 others

been a bit busy (she wanted me to say busy bear)

comments :

youruser : stocks!!

olliebearman : birks!!

youruser : next it’s a birkin! (hahaha i’m not joking)

charlesleclerc : i’m scared of this soft launch oliver

olliebearman : what soft launch? cant a man go shopping?

charlesleclerc : for g-strings?

olliebearman : ..yeah!

user : our baby bears been taken

user : feel like it’s y/n

user : the singer??? lol

user : imagine that she’s embarrass herself

user : you don’t even know if it’s true or not hop off it

estebanocon : double points today! ❤️

olliebearman: proud of us

alexandrasaintmleux

liked by, olliebearman, youruser, charlesleclerc and 984,284 others

ma petite sœur 🪽🐻

comments:

youruser : bestest day

alexandrasaintmleux: always 💞

olliebearman : woah

olliebearman : MINEMINEMINE

olliebearman : pretty

youruser : why thank you mr bear

charlesleclerc : she cancelled our date for this

youruser : damn right she did!!

alexandrasaintmleux : cant say no to her cute face

olliebearman: too right

user : ollies deleted comments i cant stop laufing

user : he’s down bad

user : bless him

messages :

olliebearman you wrote a song for me?!?!?

youruser i don’t know why you’re surprised

olliebearman i want to hear it love please

youruser what if you hate it and then hate me forever

olliebearman impossible and you know it

youruser it’s out next week, you can wait with everyone else

olliebearman WHAT? I RHOUGHT I GOT BF PRIVILEGES

youruser hehe you wish

yourusername

liked by, oliviarodrigo, olliebearman, charlesleclerc, and 1.3 million others

i did swear i wasn’t looking for much

my first love song for my first love <3

je t’aime @olliebearman

comments:

olliebearman : i sobbed like a baby i love you

youruser : meant every word

olliebearman : can i openly kiss you on camera now?

youruser : if you must

user : ‘i i’d love to complete you’ she’s so cute and in love and polite

user : ugh they make so much sense i love it

user : right????

alexandrasaintmleux : my girls in love 🥹🥹

youruser : can we ditch our boyfriends and run away together

olliebearman : woah! let’s not

charlesleclerc : let it happen

olliebearman : NO???

oliviarodrigo : cutest evaa!!

youruser : double dates with louis???

oliviarodrigo : absolutely

olliebearman

liked by, taylor swift, oliviarodrigo, youruser and 1.2 million others

my gf is better than yourssss hahaha

@youruser

my love forever and always 🩶🩶

comments:

youruser : i love you boyfriend

olliebearman : i love you girlfriend

youruser : AAAAAAAAAA

estebanocon: so this is why you’re late

olliebearman : oops

olliebearman : TAYLORSWIFTLIKEDMYPSOT

youruser : NO WAY.

a/n : yay first fic on here

#f1 x singer!reader #ollie bearman fluff #ollie bearman x reader #formula 1 #charles leclerc #olivia rodrigo #gracie abrams #ollie bearman #oliver bearman #f1 #f1 fanfic

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swmzq · 11 months ago

Text

𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊, 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐄!

pairing:taylor swift X fem!singer!reader

authors note:Based on good luck, babe! By chappell roan cause I’ve been absolutely obsessed with her lately! A little bit of Austin butler x reader

warnings:smut, mdni, fingering, rushed lol, reader getting jealous of Travis and taylor (no hate to Travis I love him)

dividers: @tattooedeverything

masterlist

I sighed tossing my phone to the other side of the bed. My gaze fixed on the ceiling, it’s clear that keeping things hidden with Taylor was probably for the best, but it wasn’t what I wanted. But how exactly do I label it now?

Friends with benefits? Just casually messing around? Fuck buddies?

I honestly couldn’t define it myself; it’s complicated, because I’m certain friends don’t sneak out of parties or fancy dinners to pleasure each other.

Taylor always said that we’re nothing but two really close friends in Interviews even though she knows the truth. It only made me feel like the fool here, thinking that it’d ever work between us.

My train of thoughts got abruptly interrupted by a soft knock on the door, prompting me to groan and get up from my cozy spot on the bed.

I sigh walking over to the door swinging the door open revealing Taylor standing there with a bright smile on her face

“Hello, Taylor. What brings you here?”

Taylor groans tilting her head back. “Long rehearsals for the upcoming tour, and I realized I’d be bored if I just came home to the cats even though i love them more than anything. Then i figured that I’d come over cause my dearest friend is sick and would probably like some tea and chai sugar cookies. So here i am!”

Gosh I fucking hated it every time she called me her friend, I love her as my friend but she knows deep inside as much as I do that we’re more than just friends. Friends don’t kiss each other or touch each other when nobody’s watching.

I quickly masked my thoughts with a bright grin. “God, what would I ever do without my best friend and her amazing chai sugar cookies,” I exclaimed dramatically.

Taylor playfully roll her eyes in response. "But seriously, are you feeling better today?" She asks, concern evident in her voice.

I give her a reassuring smile. "Yeah, I promise I'm feeling much better, especially with you here," I reply warmly.

I welcome Taylor inside, the warmth of her presence filling the room and easing the lingering discomfort of my illness. With a soft smile I gesture for her to make herself at home.

After some time I find myself sitting on the counter, idly swinging my legs as Taylor stands nearby, leaning against the opposite counter. The comfortable silence between us speaks volumes.

As our eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between us, unspoken words dancing in the air. In that moment, it feels like we share a secret language.

I feel a rush of heat as my gaze drops down to Taylor's soft, inviting lips, my heart quickening at the sudden surge of desire that courses through me. In that fleeting moment, the air between us crackles with a newfound tension, a palpable awareness of the unspoken desires that linger just beneath the surface.

As Taylor pushes herself off the counter, a sense of anticipation builds within me, my heart beating faster as she makes her way over to where I'm seated. The air seems charged with an unspoken energy, a magnetic pull drawing us closer together.

I feel a shiver run down my spine as Taylor's hand gently rests on my thigh, the closeness between us electrifying. Our noses almost touching, I can feel the warmth of her breath against my skin, her words sending a rush of emotions through me.

“I've missed you, more than I should” she whisper meeting my gaze with a mix of longing and affection.

“Taylor,” I whisper, the name falling from my lips like a reverent prayer, the urge to bridge the remaining distance between us almost overwhelming. Leaning my head forward, I inch closer, the magnetic pull between us drawing us into a moment fraught with unspoken desires and untapped longing.

I feel a surge of electricity shoot through me as Taylor's hand delicately tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before cupping my cheek, gently urging me closer.

As the gap between us closes, a surge of desire courses through me, and I press my lips against Taylor's soft ones in a tender yet passionate kiss. The world falls away, leaving only the sensation of her warmth against my skin and the intoxicating thrill of our forbidden embrace.

I let out a moan into the kiss my body responding to Taylor's touch as her hand grips my ass, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. The intensity of the moment heightens, the boundaries between us blurring as desire takes hold.

My breath hitches as Taylor pulls away, her fingers deftly unbuttoning my silky pajama shirt. “So pretty,” she whispers, her voice filled with admiration as she slides the shirt off my shoulders, revealing my bare breasts to her hungry gaze.

I gasp in pleasure as Taylor's lips close around one of my nipples, her tongue swirling deliciously around it, sending waves of ecstasy coursing through me. The sensation of her warm mouth on my sensitive flesh heightens my arousal, and I arch my back, offering myself to her touch. The intimate connection between us deepens as she lavishes attention on my breasts, each touch and kiss stoking the flames of desire within me.

Taylor's kisses trail down my stomach, each touch sending a shiver of anticipation through me as she stops right at the edge of my silky pajama shorts. The air is heavy with desire, the tension between us palpable as we teeter on the brink of a newfound intimacy.

“You want this, baby?” Taylor looks up at me, her gaze filled with a playful yet seductive glint, teasingly playing with the band of my silk pajama shorts.

I nod eagerly, my breath coming in short gasps as I meet Taylor's gaze with a mix of desire and longing. The question hangs in the air between us, charged with unspoken anticipation and need. With a silent plea in my eyes, I offer myself to her, my body aching for her touch as she plays with the band of my pajama shorts, each moment drawing us closer to the edge of forbidden pleasure.

I feel a rush of heat as Taylor slowly slides off my pajama shorts, revealing my light pink underwear. “So pretty,” she whispers, her voice filled with admiration and desire as she gazes at me.

I gasp as Taylor slowly pulls off my light pink panties, her touch sending a jolt of pleasure through me. With a gentle yet firm grip, she pulls my thighs further apart, increasing the intensity of our intimate moment. The air crackles with anticipation as we both succumb to the raw desire between us.

Taylor kisses sloppily down my stomach, each touch sending a wave of pleasure through me. The sensation of her lips on my skin ignites a fire within me, heightening the intimacy of the moment as we both surrender to the raw passion between us.

I moan out in a mix of pleasure and desire, unable to contain the raw intensity of the moment. “I need you” I breathe out, my voice laced with need and longing as the passion between us reaches a fever pitch.

Taylor’s kisses went down to my abdomen and closer to my heat I gasp in shock and pleasure as her tongue swirls around my clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. The exquisite sensation of her touch leaves me trembling with desire, lost in the intoxicating pleasure of the moment.

My hand grip onto the counter, crying out Taylor's name as she inserts a finger, the sensation sending me over the edge as pleasure washes over me in waves. Lost in the throes of ecstasy, I surrender to the intense intimacy between us, the connection deepening with each electrifying touch.

I let out a breathless moan as Taylor teases, her words sending a jolt of pleasure through me. “Yeah, feels good baby?” she teases, adding another finger and intensifying the sensation, pushing me closer to the edge of ecstasy. The raw desire between us fuels the intensity of the moment, drawing us deeper into the throes of passion.

“You like that ?” Taylor's voice is husky with desire, her words a seductive whisper that sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine. “I want to make you feel so good,” she murmurs, her fingers working their magic as she drives me to the brink of ecstasy.

Her fingers slipped in and out of me so fast I was scared she was gonna break her fingers.

Taylor locks eyes with me, a look of intense desire and passion reflected in her gaze. “Let go, baby,” she whispers, her voice laced with need. “I want to feel you come apart in my arms.” Her fingers continue their relentless rhythm, pushing me closer and closer to the edge of pleasure.

The familiar knot in my stomach tightens, a wave of pleasure building within me as I curl my toes, the sensations overwhelming my senses. Every touch, every movement from Taylor sends me spiraling closer to the edge, my body teetering on the brink of release. The tension in the room is palpable, the air heavy with desire as I surrender to the impending waves of ecstasy.

“I can feel you getting closer, baby,” Taylor's voice is a low, sultry whisper, her gaze locked with mine as she drives me towards the peak of pleasure. “Just let go and come for me,” she urges, her fingers working their magic to push me over the edge into a blissful release.

With a gasp of pleasure, I cry out, “oh fuck yes,” the words escaping in a breathless whisper as the intense waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me trembling in the aftermath of my release. Taylor's touch lingers, prolonging the pleasure as I ride the waves of my climax, lost in the raw intensity of our shared desire.

Taylor leans in and gives me a gentle peck on the lips, her touch soft and tender, a silent reassurance of the intimacy we shared. The gesture speaks volumes, conveying a sense of closeness and affection that lingers in the air between us. The moment is filled with a quiet understanding and a bond that transcends words, deepening the connection between Taylor and me.

“You are amazing,” Taylor says, her voice filled with a mix of tenderness and desire.

I smile, my heart still pounding with the intensity of our encounter. “You always know how to drive me wild,” I reply, my voice filled with gratitude and affection.

Taylor's gaze meets mine, a spark of connection passing between us. “I just want to make you feel good,” she whispers, her eyes full of warmth and sincerity.

My hand reached out, intertwining our fingers. “You always do,” I say softly, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me.

I hum along to the song playing in the background, the upbeat rhythm filling the bathroom as I apply the finishing touch of lip gloss. Taylor stands beside me, swaying her hips slightly to the beat as she applies mascara, a grin playing on her lips.

"So remind me again, what is this club we're going to?" I raise my eyebrows at Taylor, curious about our destination.

She shrugs, her grin widening. "All I know is that it's in Kansas City and has good drinks."

I chuckle and shake my head. "As long as I come out alive," I tease, the anticipation of the night ahead filling me with excitement.

We decide to take some pictures together in the hotel room, striking poses and capturing moments of laughter and camaraderie. Taylor and I playfully pose for the camera, our smiles genuine and our bond evident in each shot. We choose the best photos to post on our Instagram, sharing the memories of our night out in Kansas City with our friends.

yourusername

liked by taylorswift,blakelively and 973 816 others

yourusername do you guys feel …ready for it?

Taylorswift oh yes I do in fact feel ready for tonight ➥yourusername of course you do😉

swiftie4ever NO CAUSE I DONT CARE ANYMORE IM CLOWNING SO HARD NOW

User818181 excuse me miss Y/N Y/L/N what do you mean with …ready for it?

y/nlvrrrr okay so WHAT IF y/n and Taylor will have a collab on rep tv?

view other comments

As we step into the party, the energy is palpable, the room buzzing with excitement and chatter. The space is packed with celebrities, their presence adding an air of glamour and sophistication to the event. Taylor and I exchange glances, a mix of awe and thrill reflected in our eyes as we take in the scene before us.

I take a deep breath, feeling a surge of anticipation as I clutch onto Taylor's hand, drawing comfort and strength from her presence. Together, we step inside the party, the sounds of laughter and music enveloping us as we navigate through the crowd of celebrities. With Taylor by my side, I feel a sense of confidence and excitement, ready to immerse myself in the night's festivities.

Taylor drags me over to the bar and orders our drinks, the vibrant atmosphere of the party surrounds us. The pulsating music and lively conversations create an electric energy that fills the air.

“Hey, Taylor, I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick!” I shout over the loud music, the excitement of the night fueling my movements as I weave through the crowd towards the restroom. As I make my way through the bustling party, I catch glimpses of familiar faces and the glimmer of flashing cameras, adding to the allure of the glamorous event.

I step into the bathroom, the sounds of the party muffled by the closed door, I take a moment to touch up my makeup. I carefully apply my lip liner, ensuring my lips look just right, before adding a touch of lip gloss for a hint of shine. I glance at myself in the mirror, adjusting my hair and smoothing out my dress, taking a deep breath to steady myself before heading back out into the vibrant chaos of the party.

My mind couldn’t help but wander to what me and taylor was, cause one second we’re fucking each other but after that we act like lovers. But out in public we were only best friends, every time we went out to parties it always ended up with Taylor kissing her hundred boys in bars and brings them home. She always said that it was just the way she was, another stupid excuse.

It’s not fair, I’m the one who should be kissing her. I should be the one who’s on the news with her.

I sighed getting out of the bathroom walking over to were taylor sat. I stopped myself from rolling my eyes at the man sitting beside her, the one and only Travis kelce.

The way his hand rested on her knee made me wanna throw up. Of course the famous American-footballer decided to hit on her especially after all these news about him attending one of her shows with a bracelet with his number on. The thought of it made me wanna stab myself in my eyes.

Taylor locked eyes with me in the crowd waving me over with a smile plastered on her face. I pinched myself making my way over to them with a fake smile.

“Y/N! There you are,” Taylor exclaims. “This is Travis! Travis, this is Y/N, my dearest friend,” she introduces us with a warm smile.

I take a deep breath and compose myself, extending my hand to shake Travis's.

“Hi Travis, lovely to meet you,” I say with a bright smile, my tone warm and friendly despite the underlying tension I feel. Deep down, a pang of jealousy flickers within me as I notice Travis's hand resting on Taylor's knee, but I push the feeling aside, focusing on maintaining a pleasant demeanor in this social setting.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N,” Travis replies with a slight nod, his gaze meeting mine with a polite smile. Despite the subtle tension in the air, his response is cordial and respectful, easing the atmosphere slightly as we exchange pleasantries in the midst of the bustling party.

“Travis in fact actually came to one of my shows here, i can’t believe i never got the bracelet!” Taylor chimes in happily, I try my hardest not to roll my eyes.

“Oh yeah! I think I heard something about it!” I reply but I heard it everywhere I went. The crush Travis had on taylor was talked about over the whole internet, it made me wanna shoot myself over and over again.

”You and Y/N has been friends for a while now right?” Travis asks out of curiosity looking at us sipping from his drink.

“Oh um, we met during the music awards in 2018 i think” I reply with a nostalgic smile, the memories of the American Music Awards 2018 flooding back vividly. Taylor in her stunning mirror ball dress and matching heels, radiating confidence and grace, while I stood beside her in my light pink dress, feeling like a part of something magical.

Travis clears his throat, his gaze fixed on Taylor as he speaks. “So i thought that I’ll come next show to and maybe this time I can get backstage.“ he says, a hint of flirtation in his voice as he winks at Taylor, causing a faint blush to color her cheeks. I bite down on my tongue, stopping myself from saying something stupid.

With a forced smile on my face, I rise from my seat, a sense of unease settling in the pit of my stomach. “Well, I'll leave you two,” I say, my tone polite but tinged with a hint of underlying tension.

As I push past the crowded bodies with a drink in hand, the room swirling with music and laughter, I accidentally bump into someone, the cold liquid from my drink splashing onto my body.

“Watch where you're fucking going,” I snap, annoyed at the sudden collision, before looking up to see the one and only Austin Butler. “Oh, I'm so sorry, here, um, let me help you,” he immediately apologizes, his tone sincere and apologetic.

“No, no, I'm sorry for being rude,” I quickly respond, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over me at my initial outburst. I appreciate his understanding and kindness in the situation, grateful for his quick response to diffuse the tension between us.

He chuckles and asks, “Rough day?” I offer a soft smile and nod in response, a hint of weariness in my eyes. “If only you knew,” I reply.

"Well, I gotta go to the restroom to clean this off," I say, looking down at my half-soaked dress, feeling a mix of frustration and discomfort.

“Want me to come with you?” Austin asks, his offer of assistance genuine and kind. I pause for a moment, considering his offer before nodding in gratitude. “Yes, that would be great, thank you,” I reply, appreciating his thoughtfulness in the midst of the chaotic party scene.

As I lock the door behind us, the sounds of the party muffled by the closed door, Austin approaches me with tissues in hand. “Here, let me help you,” he offers, his voice calm and reassuring. I feel a sense of gratitude for his kindness and assistance, allowing myself to relax for a moment in his presence as he helps me clean up the spilled drink from my dress.

“Can't wait for your upcoming album, your latest one was amazing. My favorite is probably 'Casual',” Austin says, his eyes lighting up with genuine enthusiasm as he starts to hum the lyrics to the song, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His appreciation for my music brings a sense of joy and validation, and I can't help but laugh quietly at his lighthearted gesture, grateful for the unexpected moment of connection over our shared love of music.

“Are you planning to start touring again?” Austin asks, his expression curious and interested as he inquires about my future plans in the music industry. His question sparks a flicker of anticipation within me, reminding me of the excitement and energy that comes with performing live for my fans.

“Yeah, I'm planning to announce it sometime after the whole album has been released. There's just this one song left that I need to finish,” I explain, a sense of anticipation and determination evident in my voice.

“Well, what about you? Do you have any upcoming movies? 'Dune' was amazing,” I say, shifting the conversation towards Austin and his impressive work in the film industry.

Austin shrugs nonchalantly, a playful glint in his eyes. “Can't tell you my secrets, can I?” he teases, winking mischievously as he hints at upcoming projects that he's keeping under wraps.

I playfully roll my eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I tilt my head, savoring the comfortable silence that settles between us.

“Did you come here alone tonight?” Austin asked, his tone casual yet curious as he sought to learn more about my presence at the event.

I shake my head, a hint of disappointment flickering in my eyes. “No, I came with Taylor, like in Taylor Swift, but she's been occupied with this Travis guy,” I explain, a touch of wistfulness coloring my tone.

“You guys seem pretty close, right?” Austin inquired, his tone gentle and observant as he picked up on the dynamics between Taylor and me. But oh boy if he only knew, I thought to myself.

“Yeah, we really are,” I respond with a fond smile, reflecting on the strong connection and camaraderie that Taylor and I share.

Austin's voice is tinged with a hint of curiosity as he asks, “Are you planning on heading home alone?” His question hangs in the air, but not in a creepy way.

I grin and reply, “Well, I don't know. Taylor's probably taken off with that Travis guy, and my hotel is just a fifteen-minute drive away.” The uncertainty of the night's plans adds a sense of spontaneity and adventure to the situation, leaving room for unexpected twists and turns as the evening unfolds.

“Well, my hotel is just five minutes away, and I could honestly use some company,” Austin says, his tone warm and inviting.

Well the next morning I found myself waking up in Austin's bed, dressed only in a pair of panties. The faint morning light filtering through the curtains painted a soft glow over the room, casting a dream-like quality over the scene as I processed the implications of our intimate encounter.

As the weeks passed by, Austin and I maintained a close friendship, the memory of that unexpected night adding a layer of complexity and unspoken understanding to our dynamic.

I was currently sitting in the sofa with Taylor watching some tv show on a random channel.

I shift on the sofa, feeling Taylor's curious gaze on me as we watch a random movie together. Suddenly, she turns to me, her eyes filled with playful curiosity. “So, how's it going with Austin? He's the one you left with at the party, right?” Taylor's question hangs in the air, laced with a hint of mischief and genuine interest in my connection with Austin after that memorable night.

I shrug in response to Taylor's question, a casual smile playing on my lips. “Just friends,” I reply, keeping my tone light and nonchalant.

“What about you and Travis?” I counter, turning the question back to her with a teasing glint in my eyes.

Taylor blushed slightly “I really like him, he’s the sweetest.”

I offer Taylor a supportive smile, masking the pang of jealousy that tugs at my heart. "I'm glad to hear that. Travis does seem like a great guy," I reply, my words genuine despite the internal turmoil. Keeping up the facade of happiness for my friend's sake, I push aside my own feelings to focus on being there for Taylor in that moment.

As Taylor continues to gush about Travis, I listen attentively, nodding along and offering encouraging words as she shares her feelings knowing deep inside that I just wanted to stab myself over and over again.

As months passed by and my album was released, with a tour on the horizon, Taylor and Travis grew closer each day. Despite their budding relationship, the undeniable chemistry between Taylor and me continued to simmer beneath the surface, leading to moments of passion and intimacy shared in secret. The tangled web of emotions and desires added a layer of complexity to our friendship, creating a delicate balance between loyalty, love, and hidden desires.

Taylor and I stood in the bathroom of the vmas, touching up our makeup, the buzz of excitement and anticipation filled the air. The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminated our faces as we exchanged small talk, the hum of chatter and music from the event drifting in from outside. The camaraderie between us was palpable, a silent understanding woven into the shared moments of preparation before the glitz and glamour of the evening.

I take a deep breath, gathering my courage before turning to Taylor, the weight of my words heavy in the air between us. “Taylor, I think I'm gonna call it off. It feels... stupid, hiding what we have when you have Travis,” I confess, the honesty in my voice tinged with a mix of relief and apprehension. The realization of the need for honesty and authenticity in our relationships hangs between us, setting the stage for a moment of truth and vulnerability.

Taylor's voice carries a mix of confusion and concern as she looks at me, searching for answers in my eyes. “C'mon, Y/N, what's going on?” she prompts, her words pushing me to open up and share the thoughts and emotions that have been weighing on my mind.

I meet Taylor's gaze, my expression earnest and vulnerable as I lay bare my innermost thoughts. “I just want to love someone who can be seen with me and doesn't give a shit about their reputation,” I confess, the words carrying a mix of longing and determination.

Before either of us could respond, a voice calling our names interrupts our conversation, signaling the imminent start of the award show. We exchange a quick glance, a silent understanding passing between us as we set aside our personal revelations for the time being, focusing on the event at hand. With a shared nod, we gather our composure and make our way back to the main hall, ready to face the glitz and glamour of the evening ahead.

As the award show unfolded and the night came to a close, Taylor and I parted ways, our paths diverging in the whirlwind of the entertainment industry. The bittersweet realization that our time together had come to an end lingered in my heart, a mix of nostalgia and acceptance coloring my thoughts as I reflected on the moments we shared. Despite the uncertainty of the future, the memories of our friendship and the bond we once had remained etched in my mind, it was time to let go.

tags 🏷️:@cupidsvzq

#taylor swift x reader #taylor swift #taylor swift x fem!reader #taylor swift smut #taylor #swift #Austin butler x reader

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folkwhoreberry · 4 months ago

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Rock, Paper…

clarisse la rue x reader

or... the one where she’s freaky ahh

word count : 457

warning : smut!!, oral sex (r!receiving), scissoring, english is not my first language!!!

on the radio : guilty as sin? by taylor swift

♟️🎀

"are you sure that no one will walk in?" you asked her hesitantly, laying back against the pillows on clarisse’s bed. "positive, baby. they’re playing capture the flag. now one will dare stop playing.”

you were laying with your legs spread and your girlfriend sitting between them. for her, every game of capture the flag is critical, so she's for sure whipped for you if she’s missing one.

she put her hands on your knees, spreading your legs even further apart. "ready, pretty girl?" she asked, watching you nod with a smirk. she wasted no time before diving right in, pressing a kiss to your upper thigh and then moving up further. she licked through your pink folds teasingly, her tongue skilfully moving over your aching core and flicking your clit.

you whimpered at the feeling, your hips bucking into clarisse’s mouth, making her chuckle. "eager, are we?"

she continued to lick your cunt, her nose bumping against your sensetive nub with each move of her head.

your legs soon started shaking from the stimulation, clarisse’s hands having to pin down your hips to the mattress to make you stop moving.

you were just about to come, when clarisse pulled away, depriving you of any physical touch from her. you whined at the loss of her hands on you, making her chuckle while she moved to partially straddled you.

“don’t worry, baby. I promise I’ll let you finish soon.” she said, just before she placed herself above you, her knee over your hip and your thigh on her leg. she slowly lowered herself onto you, her cunt sitting directly on yours without putting on too much weight.

she began to move on top of you, her pussy sitting on yours and clits rubbing against each other’s, making the both of you moan out loud. “fuck, pretty girl…” clarisse moaned out, stabilising herself with a hand on your knee as she moved on top of you, cunt rubbing against cunt.

the sound of moans and wet pussies smacking against each other filling the room, your head thrown back and back arching off the mattress in pure bliss. “g-gonna come…” you said between moans, your hand gripping the sheets and the other holding onto clarisse’s thigh.

the two to you soon reached your high, legs shaking and eyes rolling to the back of your head as your back arched further, almost throwing clarisse off of you at the sudden movement.

she moved off of you, instead moving to lay beside you with a hand around your waist as you both panted.

“oh, that was so good… you fine, baby?” she said between gasps for breath, watching you nod as you tried to regulate your breathing.

“yeah… so, so good…”

————————————————————————————

a/n : for @mitmitvrsnxoxo ml<333

#folkwhoreberry #pjo #pjo x reader #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue smut #clarisse la rue #pjo smut #wlw smut #x reader

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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 1 year ago

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It's Bothering me so much that Taylor Swift is so fake smart-girl coded, I need to say this:

I have a degree in both Philosophy and English Literature....

She used the term Soliloquy wrong in her song by using it to refer to people espousing nonsense while complaining in an echo-chamber about her.

Instead, a soliloquy is the most honest and introspective a character will ever be. Often the character will stand to the front center of the stage and, as if in a dream, speak openly to themselves (and in respect to the audience) lay out the truth, or the agony of whichever conflict haunts the plot. So, anyway she's just plain wrong in her usage of the term.

I am not giving a sanctimonious soliloquy. Miss Taylor Swift, you are wrong, and I am speaking honestly.

She finishes the lyric "sanctimoniously performing soliloquies I'll never see" and I just want to mention that a soliloquy requires an audience... so she does not know what she is talking about by saying that there is no audience for a soliloquy.

Also, for the record, I don't think Taylor Swift knows anything of substance about Aristotle. I, on the other hand, took a three-hour long oral exam over Aristotle's life work while out-of-my-mind-high on Dayquil and pain meds after a surgery. I got an "A", and, somehow, I lived through that, I doubt the validity of Swift's claims to know anything at all about philosophy. Especially, considering how all her songs are about as deep as a puddle.

She's completely lost her credibility.

The woman did not even finish High School in a traditional, well-rounded way. I think she read a handful of Joe's books and now thinks real highly of herself.

Edit: I don't mean to make fun of her for being dumb. I'm frustrated that she's "stepping on my lawn" and making her legion of fans think that she totally knows what she's talking about when it comes to literary references in her work or philosophy. It's obvious that she does not actually understand the concepts she attempts to engage with.

Her only real literary skill is name dropping actually talented writers or philosophers in her songs.

Edit 2: Since some people want to come on this post and tell me that I am being needlessly pedantic about her use of words. Go away. A soliloquy is an ancient literary form, one which transcends cultures and centuries, and I, as a scholar of English Literature, am in the position to say that Swift is speaking about the form incorrectly. She obviously did not even google the form, it's clear she has very little real acquaintance with half the literature concept or authors she names drops.

Sure, soliloquies can be unreliable (Hamlet's "To Be, or not to be" is the most obvious example). However, the fact of the matter is that soliloquy hinges on the Honesty of the character. Swift writing that it's actually the opposite of honesty proves to me that she has no real idea about the literary form.

#anti taylor swift #taylor swift eras #taylornation #taylor swift #taylurking #english literature #english lit student #philosophy #joe alwyn #free joe alwyn #the tortured poets department #ttpd #ts ttpd #ts the tortured poets department #ts theories #I'm a professional Taylor Swift Critic

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gottencents · 5 months ago

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Superstar - Jennie Kim

pairing. idol!jennie x girlfriend!reader

synopsis. after her concert, jennie rushes backstage, still buzzing with adrenaline, and spots y/n waiting for her.

The deafening roar of the crowd still echoed in Jennie’s ears as she practically sprinted off stage, her heart pounding from the adrenaline of performing. Her lungs burned, her body was buzzing with exhaustion and exhilaration, but none of that mattered. Not when she knew exactly who was waiting for her just past the curtain.

Y/N.

Jennie barely registered the congratulatory pats on her back from the staff and her members’ laughter as she practically shoved past them. All she could think about was getting to her.

And then she saw her—leaning against a table in the backstage lounge, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her lips. Y/N had changed out of the all-black outfit she’d worn to blend into the crowd earlier, now dressed comfortably, but Jennie thought she still looked unfairly good. Her presence alone made Jennie’s already racing heart kick up a notch.

Without a second thought, Jennie rushed forward, closing the distance between them in seconds.

Y/N barely had time to react before Jennie practically launched herself into her arms, wrapping herself around her like a koala. “I did it,” Jennie breathed against her neck, her arms tightening around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N chuckled, steadying them both as she hugged her back. “Of course, you did, superstar,” she murmured, her hands smoothing over Jennie’s back. “You were incredible.”

Jennie pulled back just enough to look at her, her hands coming up to frame Y/N’s face. “You watched the whole time, right?”

Y/N smirked. “Front and center. Best view in the house.”

Jennie narrowed her eyes. “Liar. You were backstage.”

Y/N shrugged, pretending to think about it. “Still a great view.”

Jennie huffed, but before she could argue, Y/N ran a thumb over her cheek, wiping away the slight sheen of sweat from her performance. The gesture was so tender that Jennie felt her breath hitch.

And then, without another word, she leaned in, pressing her lips to Y/N’s in a kiss that was desperate, urgent—like she had been holding back all night.

Y/N immediately responded, one hand sliding down to rest on Jennie’s waist, the other tangling into the ends of her hair. Jennie melted into her touch, letting herself be held, letting herself feel grounded after the whirlwind of performing in front of thousands.

When they finally pulled away, Jennie let out a breathless laugh, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “God, I missed you.”

Y/N smiled, running a hand up and down her back. “You saw me before the show.”

Jennie pouted, her arms still wrapped around Y/N’s neck. “Not the same. I couldn’t do this before the show.”

Y/N chuckled. “Well, I’m here now. And I’m so, so proud of you.”

Jennie’s face softened, her eyes shining with something deeper than just post-performance exhaustion. She opened her mouth to say something, to tell Y/N just how much she meant to her, how having her here made every moment of the tour feel more bearable—but before she could, a loud cheer erupted from the other side of the room.

“Get a room!” Lisa’s teasing voice rang out, followed by Jisoo’s laughter and Rosé’s dramatic gagging noise.

Jennie groaned, burying her face in Y/N’s neck again. “They’re the worst,” she muttered, voice muffled against her skin.

Y/N only laughed, resting her chin on top of Jennie’s head as she held her close. “Yeah, but you love them.”

Jennie sighed dramatically, but there was no real annoyance in her tone. “Unfortunately.”

Lisa clapped her hands together. “Alright, lovebirds, as much as I love seeing Jennie act like a clingy puppy, we have a whole afterparty to get to.”

Rosé smirked. “More like Jennie has a girlfriend to get to.”

Jisoo grinned. “I give them five minutes before they sneak out.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she only held Y/N tighter, already dreading the moment she’d have to let go.

Y/N kissed the side of her head and whispered, “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jennie smiled, feeling something warm settle in her chest. She knew, no matter how chaotic her life got, Y/N would always be there waiting for her.

#cents works #blackpink x reader #jennie kim x reader #jennie x reader #jennie #jennie kim #kpop gg x reader #kpop wlw #kpop gg

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esouliie · 5 months ago

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AND I’LL STILL SEE IT UNTIL I DIE.

(natasha romanoff x reader) (wanda maximoff & reader)

summary | In a world that’s only ever been bleak, Natasha was your anchor, your light in the storm. But now she’s gone, her final act a selfless sacrifice to save a future you’re not sure you can face without her. The shadows are closing in, and so, you’re left with an impossible choice: to succumb to the weight of your loss or to find the strength to honour her sacrifice by living on — for yourself and for her.

warnings | angst, hurt/comfort, open ending, natasha is dead, reader is borderline suicidal, wanda is a good friend.

notes | i am sorry for this lol… but you guys must share my pain and im currently in a lot of it. i miss natasha too much. also, i wrote this as i listened to loml by taylor swift, do i wanna know? by hozier and for good by wicked on repeat so if it’s all over the place, that’s why lmao.

dedicated to @historyofstoriesendingsadly ⊹♡

It was quiet on the edge of the lake. Too quiet for someone who knew Natasha Romanoff. For someone like Natasha Romanoff. It’s odd how this was her favourite place. The stillness doesn’t suit her. She was never the type to bask in silence; she thrived in moments where chaos and calm intertwined, where danger and peace blurred. But here, now, there’s only the still, glassy surface of the water reflecting the overcast sky. It felt wrong, to be out here alone, but you knew there’s no other way this could be done.

No one could’ve done what she did.

You tightened your grip on the small bouquet of wildflowers in your hand, their stems damp against your palm.

It was better this way.

Natasha would have hated the theatrics of a big funeral.

She wouldn’t want everyone standing in line, shaking hands, and trading formal condolences. She saw how personally informal of a funeral Peggy had. She was pretty sure nobody there even knew of the woman. No, this—the quiet, intimate setting, the lake she would sit by as she watched the sunset during your visits—felt more like her. More honest.

You set the flowers down on the wooden dock and sit cross-legged beside them, staring out at the rippled water. “I miss you.” You murmured, your voice barely breaking the silence. “And this is stupid. I’ve never even been to a funeral so I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know that you’re not here and I couldn’t just …”

Your words faltered, and you glanced down at your hands, trying to find something, anything, that won’t make you fall apart.

But it’s impossible.

The flowers beneath your fingers begin to crumble under your strength.

You twirled the wedding ring on your left hand.

…

You remembered the first time you officially met her. Her sharp wit sliced cleanly through the tension in the room, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if she already knew she’d win you over. And she did, effortlessly. She had a way of making herself the most intriguing person in any space, her words both a challenge and an invitation. Even then, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her. She was fire wrapped in silk, a paradox that made her impossible to ignore.

And there was the first mission in Prague, where she saved your life in more ways than one. It was an extraction mission, deceptively simple on paper but riddled with complications the moment boots hit the ground. The target was heavily guarded, and you, fueled by adrenaline and an unshakable drive to prove yourself worthy, pushed ahead despite Natasha’s warnings to wait for backup.

You could still hear her voice in your earpiece, sharp and edged with frustration. "Don’t be stupid, Agent. Stick to protocol." But plans fell apart quickly in the chaos, and before you knew it, you were cornered in a crumbling alleyway, blood trickling from a fresh gash on your forehead, and your weapon lying just out of reach.

But like a ghost in the shadows, she was there. And she moved with a precision that was almost frightening, taking down your attackers in the blink of an eye. By the time the dust settled, you were still catching your breath, slumped against the cold brick wall, while she holstered her weapon and crouched beside you.

"Had enough of the reckless heroics?" She teased, her tone light but her gaze assessing the wound on your forehead. You were expecting a harsh reprimanding for your huge mess up.

Natasha gently brushed a curl away from your face stuck to your open wound. "You’re just as reckless as I was at your age, and trust me when I say, that’s not a compliment."

That night, after the mission was complete and the adrenaline had worn off, you found yourself perched on a sink as she dabbed a damp cloth against you, cleaning the hardened blood from your face.

"I thought I had it under control.” You admitted, wincing as she pressed the cloth a little too firmly against the cut.

"You thought wrong.” She replied without missing a beat.

“I wanted to prove to you that I could handle it.”

At first, she seemed at lost for words.

“In this world, you must think first. Act second.” She placed the cloth back into the sink, seemingly done with her aid.

“And most importantly, you must listen to me… you’re no good to anyone if you get yourself killed."

There was a pause, a heaviness in her voice that made you glance up at her. For all her sharp edges and cutting remarks, there was something unspoken in her expression—a flicker of concern she didn’t bother to hide with you.

She cared for you.

It was then you noticed how green her eyes were.

You remembered the way she let her walls down for you. It wasn’t immediate, that trust. Natasha Romanoff was a fortress, her defenses honed through years of abuse, loss, and survival. She didn’t let people in easily; you knew that from the start. Yet, for some reason, she chose you.

Or maybe you chose each other.

Either way, it was at a slow and tentative pace.

There was the night she told you about the Red Room. Not all of it—she never gave you all of it—but enough to make your chest tighten with insurmountable anger. She’d stared at her hands as she spoke. The first time you had ever seen her so frail as she spoke, and yet, her voice was so even it almost sounded detached. But you saw the way her fingers trembled and you reached over to take her hand.

She tried to pull away, but you didn’t let her.

“I’m so sorry life has been so cruel to you.” You had said softly.

She didn’t respond, just looked at you with those green eyes that embraced you tight with each glance.

She held your hand the entire night.

Dismantled piece by piece, you found the woman behind the spy: the one who only watched bad movies, liked to share coffee with you that was way too strong, and carried more guilt than anyone should.

Loving her was simple.

And you remember Vormir. The dreaded decision. And the way her choice was made before you even realised what was happening. Clambering for a grasp on her as she headed for the cliff’s edge, your heart pounded like war drums, drowning out everything except the sound of her voice. That trembling voice, steadier than you could ever be in that moment, told you it was okay. That this was her way of making things right.

But it wasn’t okay.

It would never be okay.

You begged her, pleaded with her, but the determination in her eyes was unshakable. You’d seen Natasha resolute before, but never like this. You needed her, but the world needed her more. Her gaze softened when she looked at you, her lips twitching into the faintest, bittersweet smile.

Natasha had never been scared of dying.

But now, she was scared of what this would do to you.

Tears blurred your vision as you fought for her hold, your fingers clawing desperately against hers. Her own wedding band cutting into your skin. “Don’t you dare, Romanoff.” You choked out, voice battling against the rush of wind. “It’s not your time!”

Despite her confidence, you could see the subtle fear. You saw the cracks in her armor, the little girl that was once trapped in the Red Room shining through. The one who had told you once that she never thought she’d make it out of this fight alive.

And now here she was, proving herself right.

Her lips parted to speak, but she didn’t say goodbye. She wouldn’t let herself say it for she knew she wouldn’t be able to follow through. To do what is needed. Instead, she just looked at you as if you were the last good thing she’d ever know, and her hand trembled in yours once more.

“I love you.”

And then, it slipped.

Too quick enough for you to readjust.

You screamed as she fell, the sound of it tearing through your throat, breaking you in ways unimaginable. Time slowed, and yet it wasn’t enough to catch her. You watched as the green in her eyes disappeared as her body struck the rocks below, your world cracked wide open.

You didn’t even notice the tiny red stone appear in your hand as you cried her name into the wind.

It was Natasha Romanoff who had sacrificed her life that day, for the hope of a better future, but in truth, both of you had died at the bottom of that cliff.

…

The tears came suddenly, hot and unwelcome, but you didn’t fight them. You’d learned to let them fall and embrace their sharp sting, as if it were the only way to keep her memory alive.

You heard the crunch of footsteps behind you, faint at first, growing louder with every measured step. Your breath hitched. You didn’t turn around immediately. You couldn’t. Part of you desperately hoped it was her—that this was all some cruel mistake, and when you turned, she’d be there. Natasha, with her arms crossed, a wry smile tugging at her lips, would tease you for sitting out here in the cold, lost in thought. She’d say something dry and sarcastic, like she always did to lighten the mood, and everything would be fine again.

But it’s not her.

It will never be her again.

“I thought I might find you here,” came a quiet voice behind you. Wanda’s Sokovian accent became a lot more prominent over the years.

You had found out she was also grieving the love of her life. Vision didn’t make it off the battlefield in Wakanda.

You didn’t look at her, not at first. Unable to tear your gaze away from the ripples of the lake, you wasn’t ready to face someone else’s pain, not when yours was already so unbearable.

But when she sat beside you, her presence a hushed comfort, you finally glanced her way. Her eyes were rimmed red, an exhaustion in her expression that mirrored your own. “I didn’t… know her as long as you did,” she said, staring out at the water. “But she meant so much to me. She was always so kind. Even when she didn’t have to be.”

You nod, swallowing hard. “That’s right. She didn’t let a lot of people in, but once she did…she’d do anything for you.”

Wanda let out a small chuckle before admitting, “She would’ve hated seeing you like this.”

The two of you sat in silence for a long moment, torn between speaking the truth and keeping it all inside. You wanted to tell her she should have thought about it before throwing herself off that cliff—before willingly abandoning you, knowing that even if the war was won, life would never be the same for you.

You let the anger wash over you.

“I should have been stronger.” You whispered, voice cracking before you could finish. “I should have stopped her.”

Wanda turned to you sharply. “You can’t blame yourself. She made her choice. She believed in what she was doing. You know that.”

It was the truth. You had always known that. Wanda didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand that. Natasha was always the one to make the hard choices, to carry the burden so others didn’t have to. But knowing didn’t make it hurt any less.

You closed your eyes, swallowing back the tears that threatened to spill. You had promised her, at the start of your relationship, that she wouldn’t have to carry that burden anymore. You had sworn to her that she deserved better than what the world had ever given her, and that you would be the one to show her.

For the rest of your life.

Until death do you part.

But in the end, she had still done what Natasha always did—she put everyone else before herself.

Wanda reached out, her hand brushing against yours. “She’s still here,” she said softly. “We carry her with us in everything we do until we meet again. She wouldn’t want us to let this break us.”

You wiped your eyes, taking a shaky breath. “She was my everything.”

“And she knew that.” Wanda replied, tightening her grip. “She felt that, and you gave her more than you’ll ever know.”

“I don’t know what to do without her. I don’t think I can survive like this.” You admitted outloud for the first time.

It had been eating at you. Your life had abruptly lost all meaning, the colours dulled, the vibrancy stripped. Deep down, you didn’t even want to try moving on, to find purpose in the chaos she left behind.

Nothing would work.

Nothing, and no one, could fix it.

Could fix you.

You needed Natasha to carry on living. Without her, you were only half a person, stumbling through a world that no longer made sense.

How cruel the world was to let you taste the sweetness of her love, only to rip it away from you so mercilessly.

Wanda stood by the edge. She reached out with a quiet patience, guiding you to your feet with a gentle touch. The dock creaked beneath your shifting weight, but neither of you spoke as she crouched to pick up what remained of the wildflower bouquet. Cradling the bouquet in both of your hands, she looked at you with an expression that was both solemn and soft. She had always been so kind to you. Her eyes glimmered and she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, motioning for you to toss the flowers into the water.

“You live. You live for her.” And the simplicity of her words felt like a balm, a truth you hadn’t realised you needed to hear.

You hesitated for a moment, fingers trembling slightly against the delicate stems. But then, with a deep breath, you let them go. The flowers tumbled from your hands, spinning in slow motion before they touched the surface of the lake.

“For her.”

The water rippled as the bouquet floated away, carried by the slow current, and swallowed by the horizon. Neither of you said anything after that. There wasn’t anything left to say. The silence was filled with the soft lapping of water against the wood and the distant hum of crickets waking for the night. The orange and pink hues of the sunset reflected on the lake, painting the scene with a warm glow. The air grew cold but Wanda’s hand in yours pressed warmth deep within.

The green of the flower stems caught the fading light, and for a fleeting moment, they reminded you of Natasha’s eyes once more.

#my fics! ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹#natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #avengers fic #black widow

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ivyasproperty · 7 months ago

Text

She just comes runnin' over to me.

billie.e x fem!reader

summary — billie doesn't seem to care about the award she'd just won, since she's too preoccupied with you.

warning(s) : none i think?

word count : 472

A/N : my first billie fic!!!!! inspired by 'The Alchemy' by Taylor Swift ><

Billie had brought you along to the oscars as her plus one, not wanting you to miss out on the buzz of the anticipated event. Billie had joked with you about her winning an oscar for her song, 'What Was I Made For', but she said it was all in good fun and said she'd never be able to win an award with her songs. You pouted at her, upset at the fact on how little she thinks of herself. You whined to her the entire car ride there that she needed to start thinking more of herself and to be a bit selfish for once in her life.

Time had flown by like an arrow and it was time to announce the winner for the best original song for a movie, the tension in the air was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Billie had your hand in a vice grip, nervousness evident in her body. Her brother was just the same and you couldn't help but adore the similarities between them.

And as your girlfriends song and name were announced alongside her brother, you couldn't help but jump and scream for excitement. Billie had sat there in shock and was broken out of her stupor because you shaking her shoulders with so much power she was swaying everywhere. Your excitement turned to confusion once she stood up and faced you, your seat was inside the row, why would she be facing you? Your questions were answered once she wrapped you in a tight hug and planted kisses all over your face. Your cheeks quickly grew a bright red at the affection. What you didn't expect was for her to bring you along with her up to the stage to give her speech.

"I just want to thank all the fans, and everyone here for appreciating the song my brother and I made. But I especially want to thank my girlfriend, for supporting me and inspiring me to make this song. Thank you, bunny, for being there for me" her smile was big enough to stretch across her whole face and she looked at you when she delivered the last sentence to her speech. Your heart warmed at the fact that the first thought that came to her mind was to rush up, but to hug you out of gratitude for supporting her the entire time she made this song.

And as you all stepped down the stage, you pulled her aside and planted a big fat ass kiss on her cheek, you chuckled after pulling away, laughing at the fact your lipstick had left a print on her cheek. She looked at you warmly, cheeks slowly growing pink at your actions as she held your hand back to your guys' seats. Never letting go along the way.

A/N : don't rlly like the way i ended it but whatever!!! still improving!!! hope you guys enjoyed this :D!!!!

#billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish

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dreamcubed · 1 year ago

Text

the archer | lorenzo berkshire x reader

song; the archer [taylor swift] pairing; lorenzo berkshire x fem!non-slytherin!reader genre; s2l, comedy, fluff word count; 5,8k timeline; half-blood prince warnings; swearing, alcohol, drunkenness, suggestive comments, blood and injury (bc of his cat) summary; lorenzo's cat hates everybody but you

masterlist

"who could ever leave me, darling? but who could stay?"

——————————————

Lorenzo Berkshire had no idea why his cat was such a hateful being, but she had always been that way, ever since she was a kitten. He would have understood if she had been a rescue from the streets or something, but, alas, she wasn't. She had always been feisty, and only docile with him, which was why his aunt (who owned the mother) had just sent her his way. Not that he minded, he often joked how his cat, who he had fondly named Midnight, was just like him: very selective with who he let close to him.

He had brought her with him to Hogwarts, naturally, and she had secluded herself exclusively within his dorm room— she hated being at the castle, but he knew that she would hate being at home without him even more. And, when he had graduated into sixth year, he had been blessed with his own dorm room, allowing her to finally settle down.

Only, the current problem was that she was missing. Lorenzo had returned from Saturday breakfast in hopes of a bit of downtime with his feline friend, but he instead found a frown forming on his face as he frantically searched his entire bedroom and then down the corridors and all the other Slytherin dormitories. She was definitely gone, he realised, beginning to feel an itching sense of worry as he loved that cat more than anything. Why would she have left? Did the privacy of a solitary bedroom meant she finally felt comfortable enough to explore the rest of the castle? He didn't know, and it didn't matter, he just knew that he had to find her.

"Have you seen Midnight?" he asked, hurrying up to Mattheo in the common room.

"No."

"She's missing."

"She's a cat, she's probably just wandering," his friend shrugged, "They do that, y'know."

"Not Midnight," he ran his hand through his hair, "Never Midnight."

Mattheo observed his friend carefully, "Relax, mate, she'll come back."

"I can't relax," he cursed under his breath, "I'm going to look for her."

What if she attacked someone who tried to pet her? Dumbledore might ban Midnight from the castle and send her home. Or, even worse, she would get put down. He couldn't bear that thought, but after searching all the rooms down in the dungeons, he quickly realised that he had no idea where to look from there.

***

Meanwhile, you had been enjoying a perfectly pleasant afternoon in the courtyard with a book, the last rays of Summer shining down on you before the chilliness of Autumn struck. You went to turn the page, when you noticed a commotion going on across the expanse of flagstones. With furrowed eyebrows, you let curiosity get the better of you and shut your book.

Upon arriving at the scene, you quickly realised that the centre of attention was a pitch-black cat who was hissing ferociously. Some second year boys were tormenting the poor thing who was clearly terrified— reaching their hands out to get a reaction, and then pulling away before it could swipe them with its claws.

"What are you doing?" you asked disapprovingly, normally willing to let younger years have their mischievous fun, but not at the expense of a poor innocent animal.

"It attacked Gareth out of nowhere," one of the boys gestured towards his friend, who was nursing a bleeding arm, "We're just getting our revenge."

You shook your head, "I can't allow that, I'm afraid, it's obviously terrified."

Crouching down, you placed your book on the floor and delicately held a hand out a safe distance from the cat. You made cooing noises to attract it over, hoping that it wouldn't see you as a threat.

"I wouldn't do that," the boy who had been scratched said, "A seventh year girl tried already, and now she's in the hospital wing."

"I'm not scared of a little blood," you replied, before saying to the cat, "I'm not gonna hurt you, baby, I'll get you away from these scary boys, yeah?"

Maybe it sensed your gentle nature, or maybe you simply seemed like the lesser evil next to the boys, but it ceased its hissing and started cautiously padding towards you. Eventually, its soft face rubbed against your palm, and you began soft pets until you could feel purring.

"There we are, you're safe," you murmured, delicately positioning yourself to pick it up, hoping it wouldn't freak out too much. Thankfully, it didn't, and settled into one of your arms as you picked up your book and stood up. "Your owner is probably looking for you."

A soft mewl came in response. You decided that it would be easier for the owner to find their cat if you stayed in the same place, so you returned to your reading spot and sat the cat down on your lap. It curled up instantly, closing its eyes as it entered a light slumber, while you reopened your book and continued where you left off.

***

Rumours spread like wildfire within the walls of Hogwarts, so it wasn't long before Lorenzo heard that a girl had been attacked so badly by a cat that she had ended up in the hospital wing. He immediately sprinted in that direction, ignoring scoldings from teachers and prefects, until he burst into the polished white room.

"Whatever do you think you're doing, young man?" Madam Pomfrey snapped.

"The girl. Cat attack," he panted out, "Where is she?"

The nurse pointed towards the end bed of the ward, "Just there— although I must ask you to-"

Lorenzo didn't listen to the rest of her words, running over to the girl's bed. She had a bandage on her cheek and right arm, and she didn't seem all that pleased.

"What colour was the cat?" he asked quickly.

The girl frowned, "I'm guessing that beast is yours then."

He nodded.

She rolled her eyes, "Black. You ought to get it put down."

Lorenzo let out a sound that bordered on a growl.

"It scratched me so deep it hit an important artery. There was blood everywhere— my favourite shirt is ruined."

"I don't care," he bit off, "Where did it happen?"

She scowled at him, "The courtyard. Go deal with it before someone else gets hurt."

He didn't even give her a response before he was running off again, praying to all the Hogwarts founders that Midnight was still in the courtyard and completely unharmed.

***

Approximately twenty minutes had passed by with the adorable feline curled up in your lap when the sound of a door bursting open echoed throughout the courtyard. You watched as an angry Lorenzo Berkshire, a Slytherin boy in your year, made a beeline towards the group of second year boys that were still gathered. He must have seen the blood on one of the boys' arms, because he went to him first. You observed curiously as Berkshire spoke angrily, and then the evidently now scared boy pointed in your direction.

Berkshire looked over, and then his eyes locked on to yours. He was storming over to you with a fury that could destroy nations.

You raised an eyebrow at him, "Can I help you?"

He didn't reply, the anger not leaving his face, but he seemed to be contemplating something.

"Hello? Berkshire?"

"That can't be her," you heard him mutter. At the sound of his voice, the cat perked up, and instantly meowed at him. "It is you," he said disbelievingly.

"Your cat, I presume?"

"Uh, yeah," he said, holding out his hand to beckon it over.

"What's its name?" you realised that this was the first conversation that you were having with the boy despite sharing classes for over five years.

"Midnight," he said, his voice sounding oddly strained, "She's called Midnight."

You smiled, scratching her neck in a way that made her mewl. "It's very fitting."

Lorenzo stared at you interacting with his cat, having never before seen Midnight so friendly with anyone except him. "She hates people," he said without thinking.

You hummed, "Yeah, I heard about the girl in the hospital wing."

He grimaced.

"She's quite sweet with me though."

"I've never seen her like that with anyone but me."

"Guess I'm special," you beamed, continuing to stroke Midnight.

"Uh, can I have her back now?" he asked, seeming almost unsure of himself. While Lorenzo was generally considered one of the nicer Slytherin boys, he still held himself with a terrifying confidence, and didn't have a completely scot-free track record either— refer to his behaviour when it comes to his cat going missing. However, now, stood before you as said cat had elected you as the second likeable person she had met, the confidence had been knocked out of him.

"Oh, of course," you said easily, picking Midnight up and handing her over. "Bye, cutie," you cooed, as the black cat reluctantly accepted her fate in Lorenzo's arms.

"Thanks," he said stiffly, turning on his heel and walking away. You couldn't help but watch his behaviour with an air of amusement.

***

"Fuckin' Azkaban," Lorenzo cursed, so loudly that Mattheo popped his head through the door.

"What are you shouting about?"

"Midnight's missing. Again."

Mattheo chuckled, "Maybe that girl who took a liking to your cat took her."

Lorenzo looked at him disbelievingly, "I highly doubt that. L/N isn't the type to sneak into another house."

With a shrug, his friend fully entered the room. "I'd say maybe don't freak out as much this time. We lost a lot of points for you being a dick to that girl in the hospital."

Lorenzo scowled, "You're one to talk. You've lost ten times as many points as me."

"Do you want to go look for her? It's almost curfew."

"I have to. Can't have another hospital case."

"Put a tracking charm on her when you find her."

Lorenzo agreed that it was a good idea.

***

Whenever there was a cacophony of meows coming from outside a common room door, it was customary to open it. Often times a cat would be returning to its owner, and it wouldn't do to leave it stranded out there. Today was no exception.

You were, as usual, curled up on a sofa doing some homework when you heard faint meows from the other side. Perking your head up, you watched as the boy nearest to the door went to open it, letting in a black cat. It didn't seem like anything strange: you knew a couple black cats who belonged to your house members. Only, they were sweet and friendly, and you watched as the cat tried to scratch the poor boy. Thankfully, he dodged it, and you quickly ran over as you suspected whose cat it might be.

Immediately, it meowed softly at you and went to rub against your legs— and that's when you knew that it was definitely Midnight.

"Get your cat under control," the boy said.

"Oh, she's not mi-" but he had already walked away.

With a sigh, you picked up the feline and moved back to the sofa, knowing that it was just past curfew so you couldn't return her right at that second. Unless she elected to leave herself, she would have to stay with you for the night. Not that you were complaining, but you could only imagine how worried Lorenzo must be. Those thoughts quickly slipped away, however, when she curled up in your lap and began purring.

***

Walking down the darkened corridor with nothing but his wand as light, Lorenzo found his feet leading in one particular direction. He had already checked the Great Hall, and the kitchens, and peeked out the window into the courtyard, but to no avail. Only one more idea of where she might have wandered off to lingered in his mind: he knew what house you were in, and that was where he was headed. He just hoped to Salazar that he wouldn't run into a professor.

"Mr Berkshire."

Fuck.

"Yes, professor?" he said slowly, turning around to face Professor Snape.

"It's past curfew."

"I know, professor."

"How disappointing to see one of my own Slytherins disregarding the rules of Hogwarts."

"It's my cat," he said, hoping Snape would show some amount of heart, "She's missing."

Snape quirked an eyebrow, "Cats are prone to wandering. This is hardly a cause for concern."

"Yes, but not Midnight."

"Regardless of the nature of your cat, do you really think you will find her considering the size of this castle?"

Lorenzo said nothing.

"I understand she was responsible for the attack the other day. However, that is hardly a risk as it is night time, when students should be in bed," he drawled the last part, his arms firmly crossed.

"Yes, professor."

"Five points from Slytherin." Lorenzo knew the punishment would have been harsher if he wasn't of the house he was.

"I know where she is, though."

"How is she considered missing, then?"

Lorenzo didn't have an answer for that.

"If you know where she is, you will have no trouble finding her in the morning. I will escort you back to the dungeons."

The boy let out a sigh.

***

Having not slept a wink that night, Lorenzo was up bright and early just after sunrise, ready to resume his journey to your house. He walked up to where he had heard that the door was— having never seen it in person— and thought about how he was going to enter. To his luck, it swung open, to reveal a prefect from your house. She immediately gave him a sceptical look.

"What do you want, Berkshire?"

"I need to see L/N."

"At this hour?" she sighed.

"She has my cat. I think."

"The black one?"

He nodded.

"Okay, fine— you can go in," she said, stepping out the way, "But don't tell anyone I let you in."

"Of course, thank you."

Mattheo had always told him that she was one of the softer prefects, having had a lot of experience with them on his late night antics.

He entered the common room to find that it was empty, and he didn't waste anytime heading up the girls' dormitory stairs. Thankfully, the layout was quite simple: each year had their own floor, and it went upwards chronologically. The first few floors had rooms that were shared, but when he reached the sixth floor, he found a number of doors that seemed to align with the number of sixth year girls in your house.

Only, which one was yours? He couldn't very well walk in on an unsuspecting sleeping girl: Salazar knows how she would react.

So, he decided to knock on the first door, waiting patiently as he heard a groggy, "What?" in response. He felt a little bad for waking someone up, but Midnight was more important to him than anything.

"Uh, which room is L/N's?"

"Berkshire?" the voice replied. He was surprised at how calm she seemed to be taking the news that a Slytherin boy had invaded the girls' dormitories.

"Uh, yes."

"Last room on the left. Your cat is fine."

He concluded that you must be friends with her, and informed her that the cat you were in possession of belonged to him.

"Thank you," he said, adding a, "Sorry for waking you," to which he heard no response.

Choosing to leave her be, he made his way to your room and once again knocked. Only, this time, he didn't get a response. He knocked again, and he still received no human response, but he did hear a familiar meow sound out. Praying that you would forgive him, he opened the door and peeked in carefully, to see that you were curled up within your pillows with Midnight lying down beside your head.

He entered the room fully and quietly closed the door behind him. His cat meowed again, louder this time, which caused you to stir in your sleep. When your eyes finally peeled open and caught sight of Lorenzo through your blurry vision, you jumped out of bed.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" you whisper-yelled.

"My cat," he said simply.

"Is perfectly safe and healthy as you can see— that's no reason to break into girls' dormitories!"

Once again, Lorenzo found himself speechless. All you were wearing was a skimpy pair of shorts and a cropped top which had your nipples peeking through. Not much was left to the imagination.

"Berkshire! What if I'd been naked?"

That's when a smirk crept on to his face, as he felt his usual level of confidence oozing through his veins. "What if, hm?"

"Keep it in your pants," you grumbled, grabbing a jumper from the floor and pulling it over your head. You tried to ignore the way his gaze made you feel.

He shrugged, changing the subject, "I had to make sure Midnight was safe."

"Well, you clearly knew where she was."

He couldn't argue that point, causing an awkward silence to fall upon the room. Awkward until he involuntarily let out a yawn.

"That's what you get for being up so early," you mumbled, climbing back into your bed and under the sheets. Midnight immediately began cosying up to you.

"I couldn't sleep."

You regarded him carefully: it was strange to see a Slytherin boy so evidently worried about another living being.

"Here she is, then," you said, gesturing towards the feline, "Take her and go sleep before people see you were here."

"Embarrassed of me?" he chuckled, moving to pick up Midnight.

"I'd rather not get called a slut," you snapped.

He didn't reply to that comment, wrapping his hands around his cat who did not take kindly to the action: not that she tried to scratch him or anything, but she immediately wriggled out of his arms to return to you.

"Midnight, you're my cat, you can't stay here," he grumbled, trying to pick her up again. You watched the scene play out through half-shut eyes, feeling quite amused by the whole ordeal.

Once again, she escaped his grasp.

"This is unbelievable."

"What? Unbelievable that she likes me so much?" you chuckled sleepily.

Lorenzo scowled, "I'm not leaving until she comes with me."

You sighed, realising that you may not be able to escape any slut rumours at this rate. "Fine. But I'm going back to sleep."

Lorenzo watched as your breathing became slower and more laboured, unable to process the absurdity of the situation that he was in. However, he could process how peaceful and adorable you looked while sleeping, all while his furry feline cuddled up next to you with deep purrs. Eventually, he felt his lack of sleep catch up to him, his body finally allowing itself to relax now that he knew Midnight was definitely safe and sound. He sat down on your bed, reaching his hand out to stroke his cat. She mewled at the action, making him feel relieved that she hadn't started to hate him all of a sudden.

"Am I not enough for you, hm?" he murmured softly, sitting up against the headboard. His head began to lull back as he felt sleep overcome him.

***

You woke up properly at around nine o'clock, safe in the knowledge that you didn't have a lesson until eleven that day. With a soft yawn and a stretch of your limbs, you only remembered the events of earlier when you rolled over to see a sleeping Lorenzo slouched against your headboard, and Midnight sprawled across his lap.

Merlin, your usually mundane and repetitive life had really taken a turn. Unfortunately, despite the insanity of everything he had done, you didn't have the heart to wake him. You couldn't help but think that you would have done the same if Midnight was your cat. Plus, Lorenzo was very physically attractive— you knew that, everyone knew that. Yet, it was your bed that he was asleep on.

Sighing, you sat up, reaching over to scratch Midnight's head affectionally, causing her to wake up and start stretching. The action made Lorenzo stir in his sleep, and once his cat let out a soft mewl, he finally woke up fully. Immediately, you quirked an eyebrow at him, and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

"Comfortable?"

He grumbled, "No."

You chuckled softly, "Your friends will be wondering where you are."

The proximity between the two of you was quite close: you were sat cross-legged with a mere inch between your limbs. It didn't feel strange, though, in fact it felt quite natural.

"Anyway," you tried to ignore the closeness, "As much as this has been fun, you can't come in here every time Midnight does."

"Why not?"

"I told you earlier. I don't need people making assumptions about me."

His eyes met yours, and you felt your stomach flip. "What if we made the assumptions true?"

You froze, then relaxed, "You don't mean that."

He shrugged.

***

Despite your hopes and dreams, people saw Lorenzo Berkshire leaving your dormitory, and the rumours spread throughout Hogwarts at a rapid speed. And, of course, as he was one of the Slytherin boys who were notorious for sleeping around— albeit less so than the others— you had been dubbed as his next conquest. It was a nuisance, but you weren't insecure, and knew that it would pass before long.

"If you didn't fuck, why was he in your dorm?" Iris, your friend from another house, asked. You were sat at a table in the library together, doing homework. Well, you were doing homework, Iris was borderline interrogating you instead.

"I had his cat," you replied simply.

"You stole his cat?"

You rolled your eyes, "No, Iris, his cat came to me."

"Isn't his cat the really vicious one who hates everyone?"

You hummed absent-mindedly, running your finger down the contents page of a book you were using for your essay.

"Why did it go to you then?"

"She likes me," you murmured, finding the page that you wanted and turning to it.

"That doesn't explain why he was in your dorm so long though."

"No, it doesn't."

Iris huffed, clearly irritated that you were giving her little to no information. You loved her dearly, but she was a bit of a gossip. Suddenly, she gasped. "Are you courting?"

"Who even uses that word anymore?" you scrunched up your nose, "And, no, we're not." Although, you couldn't help but think back to his suggestive comments.

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want to believe."

"You're no fun," she pouted.

"Meow."

You looked down to your side in surprise, to see that the familiar black feline was stood by your chair with her tail raised indignantly. "Speak of the devil," you muttered, leaning down to pick her up.

"Midnight!" you heard a yell as the library doors swung upon. You watched as Lorenzo was quickly shushed by the librarian. He apologised to her whilst scanning the room, soon spotting you with his cat sat on your lap. He hurried over.

"You need to stop freaking out whenever she goes wandering," you chastised when he was within a few feet of your table.

He scoffed, "You try not to freak out when you have an incredibly hostile cat who could be banned from Hogwarts."

"I think I do, in a way," you raised Midnight up into the air above you, examining her carefully.

"She's still my cat."

"Relax," you said, "I was just joking."

He glared at you, but there was no real threat in it.

"At least this means you get to see me so much," you grinned cheekily, making him shake his head with a sigh.

"How unfortunate for me."

"Wow, that hurts, Lorenzo." Since when did you feel like you could call him by his first name?"

"Well, Y/N, sorry for not enjoying running like a madman after my little terror."

"Then start thinking of it as running like a madman straight towards me."

He seemed surprised at that comment, and went silent for a few moments. These few moments were when Iris decided to cut in, having been observing silently until then.

"Seems like flirting to me."

You scowled at her.

"I'm just saying, would it not make sense to date the one other person who your cat likes?" she said this more towards Lorenzo than you.

He stared blankly at your friend, a finger on his right hand twitching ever so slightly. You didn't know what to make of that reaction, but decided that you wanted to learn more about what Lorenzo's body language said.

"Can I have my cat back?" he finally spoke.

"Can I please just keep her for a little bit?" you pleaded, "I can't have a cat because my mum's allergic."

Lorenzo surveyed you carefully: your half-hearted attempt at puppy dog eyes and the way Midnight nuzzled her head into your chest. He felt a pang of jealousy: strange and twisting. Weirdly, he didn't think he felt that envious of his cat's affections for you, so he didn't know why he felt jealous. A flashback of the skimpy pyjamas you had been wearing the other night crossed through his mind.

Shit.

"Yeah, uh, sure," he said all too quickly, "Only an hour though."

You hadn't expected him to agree so easily. Nonetheless, you beamed, and said, "Thank you, Enzo."

Enzo. He only let his friends use that nickname. Scratch that: he generally only tolerated when his friends used that nickname. But from you, it sounded sweet, and soft. He knew that he was a more civil and selfless person than the rest of the Slytherin boys, but he doubted many people would go as far as to say his name with such gentleness.

Gulping, he turned and walked away without another word.

***

A little over an hour later, you found Lorenzo in the Great Hall with his friends. They appeared to be enjoying a late lunch, as the tables were sparsely populated and only a few dishes remained. Just the sight of food made your stomach grumble, so you made your way over to him with Midnight curled up in your arms.

"Hello," you smiled, standing next to Lorenzo.

"Hi," he replied, before cooing at his cat who mewled happily.

Your stomach grumbled again, louder this time, and you shrugged sheepishly. "Haven't eaten yet."

"Then eat," Mattheo Riddle said from across the table, gesturing to the food.

You handed the cat over to her owner, and questioned, "Here?" You had never sat at the Slytherin table before.

Riddle shrugged, "Why not?"

You couldn't argue with that, and took a seat beside Lorenzo, dishing food on to your plate in a hurry.

"Where's Arachwood?" Enzo asked, referring to Iris.

"Got distracted by the boy she likes."

"Who does she like?" Riddle asked, clearly a lover of gossip and rumours— much like Iris.

You quirked an eyebrow, "Why should I divulge my friend's secrets?"

"She doesn't seem to have much regard for yours," Lorenzo piped in.

"Yeah, she does run her mouth a bit, but she's my friend," you scooped a large mouthful on to your fork, "I just take care not to tell her my most personal secrets." You then finally allowed yourself to taste the mouth-watering nourishment.

"So? Who does she like?" Riddle asked.

You stared at him incredulously as your mouth was full.

"I think the bigger question is who does L/N like," Theodore Nott added, smirking as he watched the eyes of you and Enzo widen.

Swallowing your food, you turned the topic back to Iris, "She likes Boot."

"Terry Boot?" Riddle clarified, and you nodded.

"I'm only saying that because she makes no effort to keep it private."

"But what about you?" Nott pushed again.

You paused, as in truth, you hadn't really fancied anyone for a while— that was, until, you remembered how gorgeous Lorenzo had looked sleeping on your bed. You felt your face burn.

"No one," you murmured, but your tone was anything but believable. You scooped more food into your mouth so you couldn't answer any further questions, but none were asked.

"We're having a party tonight," Riddle said, "You should come."

You were unable to reply as you chewed.

"It's really just Slytherins," he continued, "But we're all allowed a plus one. You can be Enzo's."

Cautiously, you looked at Lorenzo to gauge his reaction to that suggestion, but he didn't seem to have one as he mindlessly stroked Midnight.

"Yeah, if you want," he said, clearing his throat.

Finally, you swallowed, "That sounds fun. Should I bring alcohol?"

"I would recommend it," Riddle replied.

You were a mix of nervous and excited.

***

When you arrived at the Slytherin dungeons that evening, you were greeted by two fourth years at the door who seemed to be taking the job of security guard very seriously.

"Name?" one of them asked.

"Y/N L/N."

"And who are you here with?"

"Lorenzo Berkshire."

One of them wandered off into the party as the other turned to you, "We just have to validate this. Standard procedure."

You suppressed a giggle.

Not too long later, the other fourth year returned with Lorenzo by his side. With a nod to his friend, you were beckoned in and went over to Enzo.

"Very formal," you finally let out the giggle as the two of you began walking into the main party.

He shrugged, "Riddle insists on it. Salazar knows why."

You gazed around the Slytherin common room, taking in the green and black decor that you had never had the chance to lay eyes on before. There was music playing quite loudly, but you hadn't been able to hear it from outside— likely thanks to a sound-proofing charm.

"Have you started drinking yet?" he asked you.

"I had one while I was getting ready, you?"

"I've had a couple," he shrugged, stopping in his tracks for a few moments to properly look at you, "You look very pretty."

A blush crept on to your cheeks, "Thank you."

You could have sworn a small smirk graced his lips.

"L/N! You made it," the booming voice of Riddle thundered from nearby, and you turned to see him approaching with a bottle in his hand.

"Yeah," you chuckled, "Don't know how I'm gonna make it back without getting caught though."

"Just stay in Enzo's room," he said, clearly already too drunk to think over his words.

Before you could respond to his statement, he had spotted someone else and hurried over to them.

"You can if you want," Lorenzo said quietly, "I've crashed your room before."

You chuckled at the strangely fond memory, "Scared the shit out of me."

He grimaced, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, just give me a little more warning next time."

"Next time?" he repeated, a suggestive lilt to his tone.

"Where's Midnight?" you changed the subject.

"Up in my room, probably."

You hummed, "Right, I need to get more alcohol in me." And with that comment, you wandered off, not wanting Lorenzo to feel like you were following him around like a lost puppy— despite how much you had realised you wanted to be around him. It was a strange realisation: it was the first time a crush had snuck up on you rather than you more or less picking someone you found attractive to fancy.

And with that thought lingering, you poured yourself a shot, downed it, and then made a mixed drink to join the party with.

***

The increasing amount of alcohol danced through your bloodstream as the night went on and you found yourself dancing with some Slytherin girls, and having a full blown debate with a Ravenclaw guy who was there with his Slytherin girlfriend. You were having a lot of fun, but you found your drunken self wanting to go search for Lorenzo. So, you did just that, scanning the large room for any sight of him. Finally, your eyes locked on to the familiar tuft of brown hair sat on a sofa, with his friends all sat around him.

You walked over, somewhat clumsily, and immediately beamed widely, "Hi, Enzo," you said.

His gaze flicked to you and a small smile crept on to his face, "How are you doing?"

"I missed you," you said without thinking, sitting down next to him and bringing your legs up on to the sofa to curl into his side. His arm was spread out, resting behind you on the back of the settee.

"Did you?" he chuckled, taking a sip of his drink, which he held in his other hand.

You nodded, "Did you miss me? Wait, don't answer that."

His lips stretched into a full grin, "I might have missed you."

You narrowed your eyes at him, "Don't play with my feelings, Berkshire. I know you're not as much of a player as the others, but I'm still suspicious."

"Never," he said, leaning closer to you so he could say in a husky quiet voice, "Call me Berkshire."

You raised an eyebrow, "Don't think I won't leave if you show signs of leading me on." How had this turned into a full blown confession? Wasn't it a bit premature for that?

"Who could ever leave me, darling?" The alcohol had clearly inflated his already radiant confidence.

"But who could stay?" you whispered in his ear, before stumbling to your feet, only to feel his hand grasp around your wrist. You turned back, to see that he was looking at you with his mouth folded in a thin line.

"You could," he eventually muttered, "Midnight would miss you too much."

"Just Midnight?" you teased, finding that your drunkenness was filling you with reckless abandon.

He sighed, "I would, too."

You grinned, sitting back down next to him.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade next weekend?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask."

And, when you woke up the next morning cuddled up with Lorenzo and Midnight in his bed, you smiled despite your pounding headache— and slight urge to throw up. Scratch that: huge urge to throw up. But when you stumbled to the bathroom, waking up Lorenzo in the process, he followed you and held back your hair, talking you through it.

It was peculiar, really, how everything was still so new, but you didn't feel the least bit embarrassed about him seeing you in such an ugly state.

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masterlist

written; 26/04/2024 —> 09/05/2024 published; 12/05/2024 edited; —/—/——

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