#But I came back to it recently and managed to identify and fix what it was I wasn't happy with

[eesomepictures]

My Whiterose offering 🌹🤍

[stitched-mouth-vs-the-world]

In The Dark Of The Night

Pairing: Valak  / The Nun x Fem! Nun! Reader.

Summary: After arriving and joining the Covent you so didn't wish to join, Valak takes a liking to you.

Warnings: Smut, Oral sex (fem receiving), Tongue fucking, Fingering, Intercourse (P in V), Masturbation, Voyeurism, Unprotected sex, Overstimulation. Mention of reader possibly catching an STI from Valak and his ashy lips. Reader smokes weed.

Writing Time: 3 hours.

Word Count: 2251.

Format: Kinktober Fic, Day 6.

A/N:

Had a ball figuring this shit out. Started writing this at 1am, it's now nearly 4am and I have to be up in 2 hours 😁🔫 Think about that when the reader is crying about not getting enough sleep. I love this fic but I think Valak is very OOC, this is my first time writing him so hopefully I'll get better at it. Valak is referred to as 'The Nun' and with they/them pronouns (until they whip out their dick 😁) since I was semi writing fron the reader's perspective and they have no idea what Valak's name is or what they identify as. But I do write Valak as male, so they are male here it's just doesn't know until near the end.I'm tired so I didn't research Nuns and Covents before writing this, which I probably should of done but who cares since the movies do a poor job of explaining them? I'm sure y'all only came for the smut. I'll fix it when if I feel like it. Valak has ashy lips cause I said so.

Here is the masterlist for all my Kinktober 2023 works.

---///---

Something felt off, to say the least. You felt more uneasy in this new unfamiliar place than any other place.

When your father announced you'd be attending this new place, you were furious. Well, furious and heartbroken. He had written you off to become a nun because it was the easiest way to send you away. And all for wait? Because you had recently been having issues with your mental health and he couldn't deal with it? Or did he need you needed Jesus?

Either way, you started hating him on the drive here. And once you stepped foot in this place and felt the almost sicken bad vibes.

The teachers had been just as you expected. Strict, never smiling and so obviously loved having power over others. Others being the new not yet devoted Nuns or freshly devoted Nuns.

You was gonna hate it here.

You had met your new sisters and to be honest, none of them mattered to you. You weren't in any kind of mood to make friends, but you hoped that would change. You didn't want to be alone here.

The only Sister that seemed like friend material was Sister Irene. She had that kind and friendly spirit that you thought all Nuns should have.

But seriously, something wasn't right around here. You couldn't place your finger on it and honestly, you hoped you never could.

—-///—-

You tried to get comfortable in your new bed, but it seemed impossible. Like the Devil was purposely making the springs press into your back and then laughing at your discomfort.

You huffed as you gave up and got out of bed. You grabbed your carefully stashed away blunts and lighter and headed for your window. Unlocking the old window proved to be a little bit of a challenge but you managed.

You started at the sky as you smoked, the affect of the weed slowly crawled into you and eased you. You leaned against the wall of the window and slowly looked around your room. The atmosphere suddenly changed back to uneasy and even more so.

Something...or maybe someone caught your eye. You had spotted a figure in your room, in front of your bedroom door. It was so dark, you couldn't make out any features. Just the outline of a body.

It freaked you out to say the least and you knew you wasn't that high so this was real. It had to one of your Sisters right? Here to snitch on you for smoking a joint...right?

"If you're here to catch me up to something, well, you caught me. So what are you waiting for now? Go ahead and snitch." You called out.

No response. You were quiet for a few seconds, just staring at the figure. You then sighed a bit before drawing another drag and offering it up to the mysterious figure.

"Or do you want some?"

The figure suddenly disappeared and you couldn't see where it went. You stood up properly in fear and looked around again, you saw nothing. The room looked completely normal even in the dark but certainly didn't feel normal.

You nervously put out the blunt and crawling back into bed. You told yourself it had to have been the pot, even if you didn't feel that high it must of been that. Maybe your dealer gave you something different this time, some pot laced with something. God you hope it was just that. It has to be just a bad trip.

Fortunately, you managed to fall asleep fairly quickly after that. Bud seemed to be just what you needed to fall asleep. You would get you was asleep for maybe a little over an hour before you stirred awake.

Wonderful, awake again, and it only just turned 1am and you were gonna be woken up at 6am. Delicious, this is gonna be a night full of broken up sleep. You looked up to face the ceiling and hopefully fall asleep again, just get those much needed extra hours.

But you couldn't. And you didn't feel like smoking again, so you did the next best thing. Placed both feet against the bed with your knees bent and pushed a hand past your underwear. You carefully fingered yourselves with two fingers. As your pleasure built up, you closed your eyes and focused simply on your own pleasure. A few moaned slipped out of your mouth and when you felt although you was ready, you added another finger.

You lost yourself in your pleasure and smiled as you neared yourself closer to the edge. It didn't take too long, considering how sleepy you already was. But right as you felt your orgasm building, you opened you eyes. And boy did you regret it.

When you opened your eyes, your attention quickly went to the foot of your bed where another figure appeared. And this time, you could see their features. It was Nun, with a terrifying face say the least. You knew it wasn't another Sister because of their lovely face which was smirking down at you, giving you a lovely view of their sharp fangs. Their eyes glowing a piercing yellow.

'Hell no, not today Satan. Please no.' Is what you thought as you, now fully wide awake, threw your covers off, ripped all fingers out of your pussy and made a beeline for the door. You were stopped by a force that only could of been supernatural and air yeeted back onto your bed. You screamed as loud as you could and the creepy looking Nun inched closer and closer to you.

"Oh Baby, don't scream. Don't cry." The Nun pouted down at you and touched your right cheek.

Obviously, you screamed even louder. The Nun's soft expression disappeared almost as soon as it came and they clamped a hand down across your mouth and squeezed.

"Shut up, now." It's tone now gruff and aggressive.

You looked up at them in fear whilst noticing some strange beauty in their face and soon started crying, "Please don't hurt me."

"Oh Dear," Their soft tone suddenly back, "I'm not here to hurt you... I just wanted to help."

"H-Help?" You whispered.

The Nun gave you a smile and headed down south. You thought the smile was supposed to be comforting but it felt so evil and unsettling, it had the opposite the affect. You felt your heart beat faster in fear, the way your heart starts beating when your about to have a panic attack. It definitely didn't help that you still couldn't move and was completely immobilised by this supernatural force.

The Nun pulled your panties down to your knees, not bothering pulling them down all the way and quickly got to work. Their tongue was... something you had experienced before.

It was wet, messy and far too big to be normal. It was driving you insane. If you had to guess from just the feeling, this monster's tongue was almost the same size as the average dick. It quickly turned you into a moaning mess. Your cries became cries of pleasure and you orgasmed almost immediately. Either you was still worked up from fingering yourself, which was unlikely considering the brief heart attack you just had, or this Nun was unstoppable with their tongue.

The Nun gave you two more orgasms with their tongue before coming up. They looked down at you and smirked again. You could see now, their black lips and tongue were black from ash. It was all over their mouth and chin and you was now consumed with worry, hopefully now of that ash got caught in your pussy. Which STI would you get from that?

You hadn't noticed but the Nun had started pulling up their skirt and pulling at something underneath it. Out sprang the biggest dick you had ever seen.

Nope, that wasn't normal, if you saw that monster on any human man you'd tell them to see a Doctor. Cause 12.5 inches (you're estimating based on looks) is not normal. The Nun grinned and stared down at your terrified face as he pumped himself.

You looked up at him, "That's not going inside me."

"Yes it is." He stated matter of factly still smiling at you.

"It will kill me." You responded with a glare.

Whilst you was still a little iffy about the penis size, your fear was starting to melt away and you was no longer afraid to talk to this creature. It could be the dizziness from the multiple orgasms you just had but this was starting to feel like a normal not scary sexual encounter.

"I'll make it work." The Nun shrugged.

"Ok, but I need to know your name first." You told him.

The demon was silent for a few seconds, "I don't usually give my name... but I suppose you will need something to scream so. It's Valak."

Valak thrusted into you immediately after that, not giving you much time to adjust. You screamed in pain but Valak placed a hand over your mouth again and tsked at your vocals, as if you was the problem. He then pulled off your panties completely and shoved them in your mouth without warning, you choked a little and Valak moaned at the sound.

Fortunately Valak hadn't pushed all of himself inside of you, only the first few inches (which is still a whole dick, Valak, but ok) and didn't go any further than that. He moved in and out at normal pace, not seeming to care at all about your cervix which he was currently beating up with his monster cock.

But despite all the complaints, you was starting to love it. Once you had adjusted, you was moaning and crying again. Tears ruining your vision and making Valak more aroused therefore making him move faster.

He groaned as he fucked up and glared down at you, completely focused on your face. Deciding this wasn't enough, he bent your legs back as far as they could go, up to your head and leaving you in a mating press. This gave him more opportunity to add a couple more inches without hurting you as much.

You cried, screamed and whined as the creature defiled you. You felt filthy, absolutely disgusting. But also alive. Something you hadn't felt before. You were squirming and whimpered from a dick too big for your little pussy to comprehend and you loved it. It was now you realised there was no chance you could married to God, you was enjoying such a lewd act, letting a demon fuck you dumb, way too much.

"Please! More!" You whined against your panties.

Valak heard you loud and clear and pressed a thumb on your clit. He would of preferred to sink his whole dick into you but knew it would be too much.

He then leaned down and spat on your mouth. Most of it was immediately soaked up by your panties, which irritated the shapeshifter. So he pulled your panties out of your mouth and spat again.

"Swallow whore." He hissed at you.

You eagerly did as you was told, hoping there would be a reward. And there was, the demon grinned down at you again when he saw you followed orders well, and then shoved his whole tongue in your mouth.

He tasted just as you expected, like ash and death.

As you noticed before when he was eating you out, his tongue was not normal either. It was way too big and long, just like his dick. It filled up your mouth and made you choke slightly. But soon like before, once you adjusted to the size, you was moaning like a slut again.

You came again, you didn't know which number this one but it was definitely better than the last. But you were feeling drained now, overstimulated. You had no idea when Valak would cum though and it made you nervous, surely he would stop once he came you thought. But then, when would he cum? A demon's limit must be far greater than a human's.

And you was right, Valak could fuck for hours without cumming. And that's what he planned to do. He wanted to know what you looked like, excessively overstimulated.

You really wished you hadn't found out what made this place so off.

[catboybiologist]

So. This has lived on my hard drive for over a year and a half now, and in my head for much longer than that. I have the entire plot mapped out in my mind, and it's not *too* long. But it's gonna require a lot of careful writing that I think is beyond my ability, and definitely beyond my current available free time level. Maybe when I advance to candidacy, or maybe this is the story I use a portable backpacking writing setup for.

Either way. It's very deliberately allegorical, and taps into a few sci fi cliche "twists" that you're supposed to kinda figure out early on, but are used for bigger themes later.

As I said. Probably beyond my ability.

But here's how I kicked it off a while back. It has a similar "flow" to the intro of biologics, where it cuts between expository introspection and the actual events happening. Idk if that's weird, but it's what made sense to me.

Also I hate the working title I gave it, but I can't think of it as anything else now.

Symphony of the Stars

The bar I found myself in wasn't much different than millions of others like it. A couple cheap liquors that could be found anywhere, maybe a halfway decent local beer or two, and some tacky tourist paraphernalia hang haphazardly on the walls. Absentmindedly, I swirled my drink. My eyes slowly drifted through the panel windows behind the bar, and onto the orange gas giant visible through it.

That was one thing that made me partial to this little backwater- that damn view. Sure, the closer moons might advertise themselves on their intimate little peeks at the red spot, or the faintest glimpse of Jupiter's barely visible rings, but the people there... Not that I minded the workers, I'm a mechanic of sorts myself- but the miners, water pumpers, and atmospheric skimmers of Jupiter's inner moons were a particular brand of insufferable. Thinking that a couple years managing equipment in the Hellas basin made them the most rugged people on the planet, and then shipped themselves out to the furthest flung inhabited spot in the damn solar system. Joke's on them- most of them don't survive 10 years out here. The ones that make it are a different story, I'll give you that. A certain breed of person actually has what it takes to make it out here, and those people have earned some respect.

But I digress.

Callisto was a remote place, damn far from the sprawling metropolises of Mars or the more cushy mining jobs in the belt. Up until recently, it had been my own little sleepy backwater that I had used to escape my extended hours fixing ships for the harvesters on the other moons.

That was before jumping.

Callisto boasted a small engineering and research center near the south pole, most famous for getting artificial gravity fields working nearly three centuries ago. That bit of notoriety let someone set up a particle accelerator that looped the whole damn moon on its equator. Forty eight years ago, a researcher hit the right island of stability when making ultra-heavy elements, and something just... came together. The exact right amount of mass was focused in the exact right amount of space to dent space time in a perfect little way. A few measurements later, they realized that they had created the smallest documented black hole.

My eyes again wandered to the space in between us and Jupiter. That was the other reason I came to this bar so often. It was also the only place around where you could watch the show.

After a few times generating and collapsing this infant of a black hole, some idiot of a scientist decided that they just had to throw something into it. It wasn't much of anything, just a probe that blasted a repeating live image from its camera in all directions. And hopefully, if it survived in any identifiable form, someone would pick up on it.

Well, someone did. A little over four years later, we got a picture of a star. Real helpful- there's only a couple septillion of those out there, right? But what mattered was the timing, and the direction. The star was eventually identified as Proxima Centauri. The moment the image from the probe had been received, the receiver was exactly 4.2465433 light years away from Proxima. And the image was received exactly 4.2465433 years after the probe was thrown into the hole. Meaning that the probe was at Proxima, exactly 4.2465433 years before the image was received. And it was thrown into the hole, on Callisto.... also exactly 4.2465433 years before the image was received. One moment, Callisto. One moment, Proxima Centauri. In some unit of time that was smaller than our ability to measure, it had traveled to the next star system. It was the textbook definition of a wormhole.

And with that discovery, well....

Jupiter's red spot quivered ever so slightly. They were right on schedule, it seemed. Just need to gain a bit of mass in the accelerator, get the magnetic railgun to throw it all into the space above it....

Like fluid down a drain, the image of Jupiter swirled as a dark spot appeared in front of it. Slowly, it grew, twisting the orange and red tones of the gas giant in mosaic patterns, until the black orb stopped, hovering in the emptiness.

After the initial wormhole generation all those years ago, it was found that by nudging the mass to be a little less, or a little more, or nudging to position of the superheavy object that created it, you could target distant parts of the universe. Soon, small spacecraft were being sent to distant stars. The scientists started it, of course. Shortly afterwards, the Callisto government began lobbying to make our little outpost the first official launch point for interstellar settlement.

That was forty years ago. And at this point, the five established settlements were fairly self sufficient- they just needed occasional contact and resupplies. Every week, a wormhole would be opened to one of the colonies. And every week, a freighter would be there to make the jump through, grab what supplies it needed, leave behind a new list of requests, and then disappear again until their specific colony was contacted again in another five weeks. And every week, I would be in this same bar to watch the fireworks.

My eyes narrowed as the perfect black circle reached its stable state. I watched these things every damn week. Part of me wants to say "blink and you'll miss it", but the truth is, at this point in the process, there's nothing to miss.

One moment, a featureless orb. The next moment, a deep space freighter. No flash. No gradual fade. No coming out of a tunnel. The hole was large enough for the entire mass of the ship to fit through at once, and the jump was seamless.

And to tell the truth... I didn't like it.

Humanity had reached and settled the furthest reaches of space, because of a magic substance that broke physics, stumbled upon by accident, in a random lab, by a some guy who was just trying to whip up a new element.

It was perfect. It was too perfect. And it bothered me.

And well, that's why I was here. I'd been visiting Callisto for years, and the pressure to make jumping more and more accessible to small spacecraft was insane. Pretty soon, everyone trying to engineer or maintain any kind of ship would need to have half of a quantum physics degree, and I wanted to be ahead of the curve. So when the launch point was made official, and they called for mechanics to service the ships that made the jumps to the colonies and back, I lept at the opportunity.

But the push was always for more applications, with little thought to the physics. More jumps, more colonies, more resupplies, more energy efficiency to increase the frequency at which it could be used. Some people were interested in the mechanics of the phenomena to exploit it further, sure, but most seemed to stonewall when you questioned too far. How the hell had this been missed? Why is everyone pushing for applications, and no one freaking out over how much this broke our understanding of the universe? Is it possible to measure the unit of time that the jump occurred in? Was it below detection limits? If it was, what did that mean?

And so, here I was. Sipping some herbal thing, staring at Jupiter, and thinking a little too hard about reality.

Eh, at least I could fix that last part.

"'scuse me bartender?" I asked. "Can I get another one of these, with an extra shot in it?"

He silently nodded, and poured me the synthetic gin mixed with... well, I didn't question it much. Anything to help keep these ideas in check.

The carbon fiber fingertips of my left hand gripped the glass with their usual calculated precision, while the skin of my right idly tapped the bar. I sighed.

[fairykukla]

Freddie's back!

I'm continuing my Halloween Movie Marathon, shifting to modern horror. I'm doing this mainly because I managed to pick up the entire Nightmare on Elm Street series in a two-package set from the thrift store!!

The first film, the iconic Wes Craven masterpiece, still holds up beautifully. I can see where he leans into the curves with some tropes, and veers right off the tracks with others. It's very clever, and beautifully metaphorical. The Mythology presented is internally consistent, and the characters are all very believable in their various roles.

Bitty Baby Johnny Depp sure is playing a "typical high school boy next door" as Nancy's across-the-street boyfriend. The rest of the cast are taking their roles seriously, including Robert England debuting a career defining role as the villain, Freddie Krueger.

But the core of the horror is about how this monster comes after you when you're at your most vulnerable; asleep in your dreams. What's more, the parents don't believe Nancy because they're guilty of their own sins. "Fred Krueger can't hurt you, baby, because mommy killed him." That's a hell of a reveal.

Robert England is the best thing in it, with his weirdly comedic take on the character, but it has recently occurred to me that Fred Kreuger was a successful serial killer of children; kids don't go along with creepy people. Successful predators are wolves in sheep's clothing. Oh, we *want* to believe that The Killer or The Perpetrator would be readily identifiable. We want him *obvious*. So, even more disturbingly, the original Fred Krueger wore cheerful colors and was kinda goofy/funny, maybe even charming. He apparently goes free due to a technicality, but I suspect that some of the reasons have to do with his being able to masquerade as a charming, non-threatening milquetoast.

Now that he's been revealed as a monster, he's a monstrous version of his former self. And his real sense of humor is dark and gruesome, but still (horribly) funny.

His reasons for tormenting, then killing these specific kids are because their parents were the ones who burned him to death.

The second best thing in it is our Final Girl, Nancy. I remember her as a mature-seeming "older teen" when I first saw the film. I was a young teen at the time, and she reminded me of my babysitters; a few years older and Very Cool. As an adult, I see how young she is, but still courageous and awesome.

(maybe one day Sigourney Weaver and Heather Langenkamp can be badasses together as bitter old biddies. I would watch THE SHIT out of that.)

And then, this happened. Oof. Wes Craven mostly just signed off on this one. He didn't write it or direct it.

And while it has some excellent moments, the overall story is neither written well, nor executed well. It's a mess.

Freddie wants revenge and uses the body of The New Kid to perform his bloody work. New Kid just moved into "That house on Elm Street," where "A girl went nuts after seeing her boyfriend killed across the street."

But apparently the house where the boyfriend was liquefied and sprayed all over the walls was... what? Sold to a different family right away?

It's "Five years later" but the film came out the following year?

The house is haunted but Dad is so pleased with his bargain that he won't fix anything?

Freddie possessed New Kid at completely random times, finally manifesting fully through him in the real world? Nancy's diary is found to provide necessary exposition?

And the pacing is ponderous, lots of close ups of sweaty, half-dressed teen boys.

So like, bonus points for making the guys into the eye candy, but they made it boring at the same time.

Central theme is... uh... Freddie is scary!

This one is Bad. Watch a couple of YouTube clips or the gif sets and move on.

In point of fact, the second film put me off the marathon for the night, so I'll pick back up and write some more later.

[ailtrahq]

In a resolution to one of the most talked-about blunders in recent history, F2Pool, a prominent Bitcoin mining pool, has opted to return the inadvertently overpaid network fee of 19.82108632 BTC to Paxos, the stablecoin issuer and crypto brokerage firm. The disclosure came a few ago from a tweet by Mempool, a Bitcoin explorer, stating, “F2Pool have sent the 19.82108632 BTC fee overpayment back to Paxos.” The Largest Bitcoin Fee Ever Paid On September 10, 2023, Paxos, a company well-known for issuing stablecoins like PayPal USD and Pax Dollar (USDP), conducted a Bitcoin transaction that became infamous overnight for its disproportionately large network fee. The transaction involved a mere 0.07 BTC, roughly valued under $2,000 at the time, yet had an astonishing fee of nearly 20 BTC—translating to over $515,000. Blockchain analytics first indicated that the sender had paid fees that were exponentially higher than what is generally required. Jameson Lopp, co-founder of Casa wallet, noted that the account in question “looks like an exchange or payment processor with buggy software,” considering it had processed over 60,000 transactions from the same address. Initially, speculative eyes turned towards PayPal, largely because of the identified behavior of the wallet involved. Blockchain enthusiasts observed that the sending account, designated as “bc1qr35….”, displayed transactional characteristics matching those of a previously inactive wallet labeled as belonging to PayPal. The speculation was further fueled by the fact that an intermediate account had transferred 18.5 BTC from the old PayPal-labeled account to the new sending address. However, Paxos cleared the air on September 13 with a statement: “Paxos overpaid the BTC network fee on Sept. 10, 2023. This only impacted Paxos corporate operations. Paxos clients and end users have not been affected and all customer funds are safe. This was due to a bug on a single transfer and it has been fixed. Paxos is in contact with the miner to recoup the funds.” F2Pool’s Decision And Community Backlash The Bitcoin block containing the transaction was mined and confirmed by F2Pool. The pool’s management had initially offered to return the mistakenly high fee if claimed within three days. The decision to actually return the funds has, however, sparked a barrage of criticisms within the Bitcoin community. Prominent voices like Richard “Dick” Whitman remarked, “Guess if you are on F2Pool it’s time to switch LOL”, while others expressed concerns saying, “Bad precedent” and “wow, if I was a miner in that pool I’d be pissed.” Pledditor, a well-known figure in the Bitcoin realm, humorously commented, “Imagine contributing hash to a pool that actively gives your rewards away LOLOLOLOLOL.” While the fee error from Paxos stands out for its sheer size, it’s not an isolated incident in the crypto space. Previous occurrences include an Ethereum user losing over $300,000 in 2019 due to a similar mistake, though 50% of the lost funds were returned by the mining pool involved. In 2020, another Ethereum user paid a staggering $9,500 for a $120 trade. F2Pool’s decision to return the exorbitant fee opens a conversation about the ethics and governance frameworks that mining pools should perhaps adhere to. It also serves as a stark reminder for all actors in the crypto space about the necessity for meticulous attention to detail, especially in a realm where one wrong click can result in monumental financial loss. At press time, BTC traded at $26,638. Bitcoin its continues uptrend, 4-hour chart | Source: BTCUSD on TradingView.com Source

[kpopfanfictrash]

Ember Burning (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight​ for this MOODBOARD WOO!

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Fantasy / Dragon / Enemies to Lovers

Synopsis:  The dragon riders of Duret Ghal are known across the continent; fierce warriors who take to the skies on their leashed, winged beasts. You are the last Dragon Queen of Ashya, ruler of a dying species who can transform from human to Dragon at will. When a new foe emerges which threatens both Dragon and rider alike, you find yourself forced to broker peace with your former enemy. The King of Duret Ghal, and a dragon rider himself: Jeon Jungkook.

NSFW Warnings: oral (male and female), nipple play, fingering, multiple orgasms, big cock, dirty talk, hair pulling (her to him).... tattooed, man-bun jungkook who has a big sword

Trigger Warnings: somewhat graphic depiction of a shoulder injury  

Word Count: 36,079

Soaring through azure-colored sky, golden wheat fields spread out below, you could almost convince yourself duty did not exist. It was easy to pretend while disconnected from the ground – flight broke the strings which bound you to all mortal beings. You ceased to be of flesh and bone and instead became one with the air, the wind, and the wildness of flame in your throat.

The Thadal mountain range loomed ahead, its jagged peaks piercing the sky. Idly, you wondered if they truly did. Legends said Natal, who had created the world and everything in it, formed the Thadal range last of all. Exhausted by the sheer effort of creation, her hand had slipped, causing the tallest of peaks to rise higher than planned. This ripped a hole in the veil which guarded this world from the next and before Natal could fix it, magic slipped through.

It had been the dragons who slumbered in the mountains’ highest peaks who received this blessing.

Dipping a wing, you wheeled about in the air. With the sun at your back, you surveyed the splendor of your realm laid beneath you.

Ashya, land of the Dragons – of which you were Queen.

Stifling the sigh which rose at the thought, you turned from the furthest rim of the world and began the flight home. A return to duty, to obligation and to your human form, as well as the conflict which loomed on the horizon. Not to mention the sleeping King within your castle walls.

Each of these weighed upon your shoulders, replacing the freedom you’d felt in the air. As you shifted to human, donned a gown, and entered the castle, the sun had barely risen above the lip of the world.

And your true day was only beginning.

From the thunderous expression on Park Jimin’s face, it was clear you needed to do something, and quickly.

Your choices were either to interject and stop a second war from breaking out at your table or sit back and watch while King Jungkook was pummeled into the ground by the esteemed commander of your armed forces.

Admittedly, the second option was tempting. You would so dearly love to watch the crown knocked from King Jungkook’s perfect tresses, but pettiness was unbecoming when far greater evil lurked on the horizon.

With a wave of your hand, you signaled Jimin to sit back.

The remark which had so enflamed your commander came from one of Jungkook’s advisors, a Lord Kim Seokjin you’d only met once prior. He had insinuated, in so many words, the power of your kind was nothing more than a parlor trick. Something to be taken out at parties, but incapable of truly defending your realm.

Jimin’s steely gaze remained fixed on the Lord, a thin line of steam rising from the seat where he sat. It was never wise to anger a Dragon, especially not a renowned fighter like Jimin. There was a reason he’d been named the youngest commander in over a century, and it was only partly because your people had dwindled in size since the last Dragon War.

The Dragon Wars were the reason it was truly remarkable for you to sit in the same room as King Jeon Jungkook at all. Only a hundred years had passed – barely a blink, in the grand scheme of things – since your nations had been labeled bitter enemies.

Duret Ghal, Jeon Jungkook’s nation, was home to the fierce dragon riders. Warriors who tamed the dull, vicious beasts of the mountains and rode them into battle. Their riders were human, although they fancied themselves important because they dared to treat dragons – albeit a less intelligent kind than your own – as glorified steeds.

You, on the other hand, were a Dragon.

Not one like what King Jungkook rode into battle. Duret Ghal bonded with dragons, mere animals ungifted by magic and unable to transform into humans. You were a Dragon, descended from the first magical beings blessed by the veil. Those who had shifted to the flesh of their enemy to defeat humans on their own terms.

At will, you could shift from human to Dragon with barely a thought. Beneath your smooth, human exterior lurked the scales of a dragon, and Lord Seokjin would do well to remember this while he sat at your table.

Tilting your head, you looked his way. “Would you care to repeat yourself, Lord Seokjin? The way you phrased your objection just now made it sound as though you were doubting my people.”

Although Lord Seokjin hesitated, he met your gaze. This surprised you. Few humans had the courage to look a grown Dragon in the eyes. You were well-aware of the rumors which plagued your people.

Some insisted Dragons held power beyond that of humans. This was untrue, of course. Aside from their shifting, Dragons could not use magic. It was only the offspring of a Dragon and human who could wield magic, often called gifts.

Then there was the rumor Dragons retained scales in places best left unmentioned when they transformed into humans – also untrue. Once you became human, you were nearly indistinguishable from your more stagnant counterparts. The main differences were your skin, which ran hotter, the occasional steam from your lips and hidden embers which flickered in the depths of your gaze.

Your unusual eyes were likely the source of the third rumor. Looking a grown Dragon in the eyes would result in paralysis, or worse. This was also untrue, although you liked to encourage it all the same.

It made meeting human dignitaries much more amusing.

“I am not saying Dragons are not fierce,” Seokjin said, backtracking a little. “Merely observing your numbers have diminished since the last Dragon War. Without Duret Ghal’s riders, you would be at a disadvantage against the Mor Empire.”

To this, you had no response because Lord Seokjin was right. He had easily identified your current problem – Mor continued to press upon your southern border, and there were not enough Dragons left in Ashya to defend it much longer.

To your right, Jimin scowled, knowing the truth to this as well.

It was the main reason you’d decided to meet with King Jungkook at all. The reason you considered entering an alliance with a country who’d once been considered your enemy. The Empire of Mor, a nation of humans, had recently decided to rid themselves of all dragons.

This declaration placed both your nation, Ashya, and Jungkook’s at risk.

Ashya, since you were Dragons and Duret Ghal because they rode them. The Mor Empire was led by Emperor Cyan, whose quest for dominance had consumed him since he was a child. His Empire had already gobbled up the quiet Kingdom of Mica to the west and Kindare, to the south. Now he’d set his eyes on the northern wilds.

His largest obstacle to this was the dragons. Few human soldiers could keep from shitting their pants when a great, winged beast breathing fire rose above their ranks. Ironically enough, the sole reason the Mor Empire stood a chance was because the number of Dragons had greatly diminished over the centuries.

There were two main reasons for this.

The first were the Dragon Wars – centuries of bloody conflict between Ashya and Duret Ghal. During this period, dragon riders had fought Dragons for control of the northern border. The wars had caused untold damage on both sides until a truce had been called to save you from destruction.

The second reason for your diminishing numbers were the humans themselves. In order for a true Dragon to be born, two Dragons needed to mate and continue to bloodline. When a Dragon mated with a human, the resulting child was human. Occasionally, this child was blessed with a magical gift, but not always – and they could not shift into Dragon form. Over the years, your kind had mingled with humans until there were few Dragons left.

Hence the need to align yourself with your greatest foe to protect both your people and his. You needed numbers, which Jungkook had. Emperor Cyan had declared war against all northern realms. Only the might of riders and Dragons together stood a chance against him.

It was a mission of fools though, made even more evident by the blatant ill-will around the table. Releasing a sigh, you glanced to where your most trusted advisor, Min Yoongi, was seated on your right.

Min Yoongi was not a Dragon, but a human born with a gift. He could read the emotions of those in the room and determine whether they told the truth. It was magic he’d inherited from his Dragon mother and had come in handy many times during the negotiations.

Subtle, Yoongi nodded.

You managed to stop a second sigh from escaping. It seemed Lord Seokjin was telling the truth. He truly did respect the Dragons, which made his second statement all the more troubling. It would have been easier had he hated you.

“We may be at a disadvantage without Duret Ghal,” you admitted. “But you are equally disadvantaged without Ashya. If our realm were to fall, Mor would come for you next.”

“We could have this same argument for hours, Your Majesty,” Jungkook drawled, speaking up for the first time. “And we have. I grow tired of this stalemate. What are the terms you require to sign the treaty?”

Jaw tight, your gaze shifted to the King seated opposite. Jungkook stared back at you, his gaze dark and lidded in the flickering light of the fire.

Jeon Jungkook was a young ruler, like yourself, but while your transition of power had been relatively peaceful, his had been anything but.

The former King and Queen of Duret Ghal had been slain by his Uncle, Lord Vonner, when Jungkook was only eighteen. Duret Ghal had been close to signing a treaty with Ashya at the time. In said treaty, your hand in marriage had been promised to Jungkook in exchange for unified lands.

Obviously, opposition had existed on both sides of the treaty, but things had not turned violent until Lord Vonner. He’d risen against his sister and brother-in-law, killing them both in their sleep and claiming the throne. At the same time, he had sent assassins to your land and attempted to kill your parents.

He’d only succeeded in killing your mother.

The blood of Lord Vonner’s actions had ended your betrothal, throwing your lands into chaos while your father roared his revenge. It was only once Jungkook had usurped and executed his Uncle that your land had tentatively agreed not to retaliate in force.

This had taken place nearly ten years ago, and still Jungkook was not yet thirty years of age. His youthfulness was apparent everywhere but his eyes. These had been hardened, darkened by all he had seen and done.

Looking at him now, it was difficult to place the boy you had once known.

“Use of your ports,” you answered. “Free travel for Ashyan merchants along the roads to said ports, and then usage without the current fees.”

Lord Seokjin chuckled. “You must be mad.”

A low growl left Jimin’s throat – a warning. “How ironic to hear you speak of sanity, Lord Seokjin,” he said. “When you dare to insult the Queen of Ashya within her castle walls.”

Holding up at hand, you bade Jimin to cease.

Jimin was even younger than you were, and twice as hot-headed. Admittedly, he had good reason to despise Duret Ghal. His father had been killed in a skirmish on the northern border when he was barely twelve. There was a subset of Ghalians who despised the humans who dared to love Dragons. When a Ghalian woman had fled, seeking the protection of Ashya at the northern border, a mob had fought your soldiers and Jimin’s father had died.

Still, Jimin needed to remember you had a job to do. As your commander, he was well-aware of the weakened state of your armed forces. The treaty between Ashya and Duret Ghal needed to happen in whatever way possible.

Ignoring the interaction, Jungkook merely raised a brow. “No fees?”

Although his voice remained calm, a hint of steel lay beneath the silken words. You could hear it plainly, as did Yoongi based on the way he stiffened.

“No fees,” you repeated.

Jungkook exchanged a glance with Seokjin.

“It is not possible,” he said at last. “Our nation’s ports remain the primary source of income for many Ghalians. Now that Mor has conquered Kindare, they have free access to their ports and fail to use ours. It is only the revenue from Ashya which keeps up afloat.”

“I do not ask you to forsake all payments. Merely those from Ashya.”

Jungkook’s teeth flashed in what might have been a smile but came off as a grimace.

“Ashya provides half the sales at my docks,” he informed you. “By granting your nation free trade, you cut my people’s livelihood in half.”

Somewhat chastised by this, you sat back in your seat. You had not realized Duret Ghal’s economic outlook was so dire.

When Ashya had been a land of only Dragons, the fact you were landlocked had not been a problem. You could simply fly where you wanted and take whatever with. Now though, Ashya had more humans than Dragons and you were forced to find more accommodating solutions.

Ashyan craftspeople were famed for their metalwork, in addition to textiles, but such trade would be useless without people to buy and places to sell. For years, Duret Ghal had steadily increased their tariffs, which in turn had steadily crippled your people.

Returning to Jungkook, you clenched your jaw. “And what would we need to give Duret Ghal in order for our demand to be met?”

The corner of his lip curled.

In this singular motion, you were reminded of Jungkook’s somewhat brutal reputation. After the coup of his Uncle, rumor had it Jungkook had been bloodthirsty in his quest for revenge. Lord Vonner had been put to death in the main square of their capital city, roasted alive by Jungkook’s dragon, Nemrys.

You had not faulted him for this at the time, having also lost people at the hands of Lord Vonner. It was hard to imagine the type of pain Jungkook had gone through, losing both his parents and his throne in a single blow. Despite your understanding, you knew some had disapproved. They’d whispered amongst themselves the King had lost a better part of himself on that day.

“Shares in your mines,” Jungkook said in answer to your question. “Given the current situation with Mor, we’ve had difficulty collecting on some of our foreign loans. A fifty percent share in Ashya’s mines would ease our cash flow problems.”

Your lips tightened in response.

Jungkook had managed to touch upon Ashya’s main source of riches, and a large reason for the previous century’s Dragon Wars. Much of the Thadal range fell within your borders, meaning you owned the majority of gemstones on the continent. It meant little without Duret Ghal’s port cities, however. Mor had ceased trading with Ashyan merchants long ago.

Still, it pained you to grant Jungkook access to your most coveted resource. Everything in your nature – Dragon and otherwise – went against it, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good. You’d entered these negotiations aware this might happen. Another advisor, Lord Kim Namjoon, had warned you of it beforehand and yet, you had hoped.

If you did not find a compromise soon though, Mor would overtake you and the point would be moot.

“Ten percent,” you said at last, lifting your chin.

Jungkook’s eyes gleamed. “Forty.”

“Fifteen.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty.”

Jungkook paused, then glanced at Seokjin for counsel. Bending close to the table, Seokjin scribbled something on a piece of paper and sighed. Looking at Jungkook, he nodded.

“Twenty,” Jungkook said, facing you.

You nodded, but before Jungkook could get too cocky, you held up a hand.

“In return,” you said. “All fees will be waived on Ashyan merchants.”

Jungkook stilled, a lone muscle ticking in his jaw. “I can lower the tariff to a flat rate of two and a half percent, but no more.”

The current tariffs on Ashyan merchants ranged from three to eight percent. Two and a half would benefit all Ashyan merchants, but you were uncertain if Jungkook had more to give. Possibly he was low-balling you, unwilling to show all his cards at once.

Glancing at Yoongi, you watched him slowly shake his head. No, the King was not lying.

Blinking, you returned to Jungkook. You had not expected him to show his hand so quickly. Perhaps he also tired of these negotiations. Gaze narrowed, you attempted to read the young King at the other end of the table.

His face remained blank, as inscrutable as your own. A shiver of something traveled down your spine, although you quickly pushed this away.

“We can accept this,” you said.

Jungkook nodded. “Then we are in agreement.”

Pushing your chair back, you stood from the table. “I think we have made enough progress for today. Lord Namjoon will draw up revisions for the treaty.”

Lord Namjoon nodded, near the center of the table. He was also a Dragon, although he rarely saw battle. Namjoon’s talents lay elsewhere, mainly in crafting legislation which aimed to avoid war in the first place. You could not afford to lose a mind like his to some border skirmish.

As you turned around, the skirts of your gown swept the floor. You’d nearly made it to the door when a firm hand caught your arm.

“A moment, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said, his voice low.

Going utterly still, your gaze shifted to his hand on your sleeve. Glancing up, you wished you truly had the power to turn humans to stone. It would have made these proceedings much easier.

Jungkook had dressed casually for the meeting. He seemed to have come straight from his dragon, since he wore riding leathers. He had no crown, unlike you. Amara, your lady in waiting, had insisted you add the thin, silver diadem before leaving. It lent you an air of authority, she’d said.

It seemed Jungkook could command his authority without such trinkets. The realization made you straighten, meeting his gaze several inches above yours.

“Yes?” you said, your voice frosty.

Jungkook released his grip.

A move you thought wise, all things considered. Behind him, you saw your advisors gathering their reams of paper. They chatted amongst themselves, purposefully ignoring the Ghalian retinue. All except for Lord Namjoon, who spoke politely to Lord Seokjin about a provision of the treaty.

To Lord Seokjin’s right sat Kim Taehyung, a dragon rider whose reputation preceded him. The general of Duret Ghal’s army, he had remained silent throughout the entirety of the negotiations. Based on how often he looked out the window, you got the feeling he preferred to spend his time in the sky and not amongst stuffy people.

Honestly, you could not blame him. Even if his kind of flying were a poor imitation of yours – seated astride a dragon, rather than becoming one himself.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook returned your attention to him.

“Is there something you want, Your Majesty?” you said, growing impatient. “I have a nation to run outside of these meetings, you know.”

A smile curled his lips. “I am aware.”

“So long as you are aware, then.”

You moved to walk past, but Jungkook stopped you again. Teeth gritted, you exhaled steam past your lips.

“What?” you snapped, turning to face him.

Something unreadable stole through his gaze. “We need not have these conversations at all,” he said, dropping his voice. “If you would agree to my original proposal.”

Immediately, your expression shuttered.

“Good day, Your Majesty,” you said and walked past.

This time he did not follow, falling silent as you swept from the room. Yoongi and Jimin joined your exit, the latter tossing a haughty look towards the Ghalians. Namjoon remained in the room, likely to continue his conversation with Seokjin.

As you walked away, you tried and failed to push Jungkook from mind. The offer he alluded to was completely ridiculous.

Marriage.

Seven months prior, Jungkook had sent a message to you after nearly a decade. He’d proposed several items, amongst which was a request to resume your failed betrothal. A list of reasons had been provided. Your nations were on the verge of war, the merger would benefit you both financially and would go a long way towards healing the realms.

Equally politely, you had declined.

It had been a long time since you’d sworn not to marry – or mate, as it were. The mating bond was a possibility for both Dragons and humans. Dragons only mated once in their lifetime, which tended to be longer than ordinary humans. Your parents had been mated to each other, meaning you’d witnessed firsthand the tragedy of their ending.

You would choose an heir when necessary, of course. You weren’t so selfish as to plunge Ashya into civil war when you died because you did not wish to mate. You’d even considered a marriage of practical alliance, one with no chance of mating, but the appropriate circumstances had yet to present themselves.

For this reason, amongst others, you had declined Jungkook’s offer.

Coming to a stop in the hall, you bade Jimin and Yoongi goodnight before continuing on your way. The sun had long since sunk below the horizon. Negotiations with Duret Ghal had taken up most of your time since their arrival in Valor, Ashya’s capital city, nearly ten days ago.

Outside your chambers, you nodded to the guards before entering. Once the door fell shut behind you, you released a sigh.

Straightening, you strode to your dresser and seated yourself at the mirror. As you removed your crown to set on its pedestal, you stared at the silver.

It was not as though you wished to be alone forever. Truthfully, you found yourself exhausted at the end of each day. It would have been nice to fall asleep beside someone and wake with them by your side. Each time you imagined the prospect though, you recalled your father’s death and thought better.

Both Yoongi and Namjoon knew the King had proposed.

Not Jimin, which was for the best. If you had accepted Jungkook’s offer, it would have taken a lot to convince Jimin to remain at his post. He had barely accepted the necessity of a treaty between Ashya and Duret Ghal.

Namjoon had been practical when he heard of the proposal, which you had expected. Lord Namjoon could be practical to a fault, known to ‘factor in’ emotional responses when making decisions. Privately, you thought him a nice foil to Jimin.

When you’d told Namjoon about the King’s offer, he had simply nodded and said it made sense. He acknowledged, of course, the difficulties such a match would present, but did not seem to think it would be a bad idea.

Yoongi had been the one who surprised you. As someone with decisive opinions, you’d imagined Yoongi wouldn’t approve of the match. Instead, he had merely suggested you consider the offer. When you had declined, Yoongi had seemed almost disappointed. It could be hard to tell though, since the Lord usually kept his emotions close to the chest.

Undoing the laces of your gown, you let it drop as you entered your bathing chambers. Amara had left heated water and oils, flickering candles set around the edge of your sunken tub. Lowering yourself to the water, you tipped your head back to rest on the edge.

Today ended only the first week of negotiations between you and Jungkook. Another week remained – you could survive this much, you reasoned. One week from now, you’d have much needed relief for your merchants, along with an ally against the looming threat of Mor to the south.

Only one more week, and Jungkook would be gone.

Ignoring the strange tingle which spread down your spine at the thought, you held your breath and lowered yourself underwater.

Lips pursed, you stared at yourself in the mirror.

Amara hovered, pins in her mouth while tightening your corset. Your dress for the evening was a mix of old and new – although you despised corsets, this one cinched your waist tight enough for the armor-like bodice. Skirts flowed like water to the ground, brushing the floor with emerald chiffon.

Tonight, you had decided to throw a feast honoring the upcoming treaty with Duret Ghal. The event had not been your idea, but Namjoon’s. He believed it would increase the goodwill between you.

You had protested this until Namjoon pointed out there’d been little to celebrate recently. Realizing the truth to this statement, you’d reluctantly acquiesced to two events. Tonight’s feast and a ball, to be hosted their final night before Duret Ghal left.

Inhaling, your eyes watered as Amara cinched the last hook.

“My apologies,” she said, casting a sympathetic glance in the mirror.

Mutely, you shook your head, not blaming her in the slightest. It was not her fault women's fashion tended to be barbaric, more often than not. It was why you preferred to wear looser gowns, ones you didn’t need your lady in waiting’s help to undo.

Amara had been your companion ever since you were little, although you could not exactly call her a friend. You were her Queen, first and foremost. There was no one else in Ashya for you to call an equal.

“Amara,” you said curiously, glancing up. “What do you think of the Ghalian King?”

Startled by your question, Amara nearly dropped the pins she held. Her wide brown eyes stared back at you in the mirror and briefly, you wondered if she thought this a trap. Possibly you needed to work on your resting facial expressions. Yoongi said you were too harsh, but then again, hearing this from Yoongi was the pot calling the kettle black.

“You can answer me honestly,” you said, a bit gentler. “It has been a long week of negotiations and I find myself wondering what people think of the treaty.”

“Well.” Amara looked thoughtful. “I rather think those are two different questions, Your Majesty. Do you wish to know what people think of the King, or the treaty?”

She was correct, you realized. The two were different, even if they were one and the same in your mind.

“Both,” you responded.

Turning towards the mirror, Amara began to fit the bodice over your bust. It was elaborate, with swirls of silver and emerald stitched into the hard lining.

“Well,” she said, hesitant. “Of course, people think the young King is handsome.”

“He is a rider,” you said sharply.

“It is not as important to humans,” Amara reminded gently. “It does not offend so much as it does the Dragons. And objectively speaking, the King is handsome. He could smile more,” she admitted. “But this does not seem to deter from his handsomeness.”

“I suppose not.”

Seeing your expression, she laughed. “You did ask me to speak honestly, Your Majesty. The people find the King handsome, but they do not trust outsiders. Especially Ghalians. Most have a family member who perished in the Dragon Wars.”

None of this was new information, although it did irk you to hear Jungkook’s looks were a topic of conversation in Valor. It was always like this with men versus women. The moment a male monarch had a somewhat pleasing expression, people were willing to forget all manner of atrocities committed in the past.

“And what of the treaty?” you pressed.

Amara bit down on her lip. “Well…”

“Yes?”

“It depends. Some oppose it, much as they did the treaty all those years ago. Others look forward to the potential trade gains. And still others,” Amara said, a knowing edge to her voice, “think you should accept the King’s proposal of marriage.”

Jerking upright, you prompted Amara to nearly stab you with a pin.

“Amara!” you gasped, looking down.

She blinked in surprise. “Yes, Your Majesty?”

“How… did you hear that?” you said, utterly flummoxed.

“It was only a guess.” Amara shrugged, a ghost of a smile at her lips. “Many villagers wondered if there were other reasons for His Majesty traveling all this way. They imagined you must have declined his offer, since nothing official has been announced.”

You stared at her in shock, a bit thrown by the assessment. Perhaps it had been naïve of you to assume no one would guess based on Jungkook’s elongated presence.

“I see,” you said at last. “The skirts, if you please, Amara?”

Sensing you were done with the conversation, Amara nodded and hastened to fasten the fabric. You stared at the dress in the mirror, willing your racing pulse to slow.

Your gown for the evening was emerald green; one of the colors of Ashya, along with the color of your scales as a Dragon. It had always been a source of pride for your parents, as though Natal herself had proclaimed your destiny.

As Amara arranged your train on the ground, you stared at your reflection. Most of what she said you had already known. Ashya had been divided for a long time now on how to proceed with Duret Ghal. You knew whatever choice you made, there would always be those who opposed you.

And yet, it was strange to hear some rooted for a union.

Glancing at Amara, you found yourself curious. “And what do you think?” you asked. “What is your opinion of the Ghalian King?”

Amara’s fingers hesitated on your hem.

“Me?” she said as she straightened. “I am sure I do not know, Your Majesty. I do not know the King personally, so it is hard to say.”

You nodded, having assumed as much.

“Although…” Amara hesitated, drawing your gaze back to her. “How a person treats their servants is usually indicative of their personality. Take Lord Larkin, for example,” she said, naming a wealthy noble at your court.

“What about him?”

Amara looked down. “His servants are skittish. They mostly keep to themselves at the request of their Lord. It is rumored he keeps a strict household, and his wife is inscrutable.”

Knowing what you did about Lord Larkin, these facts did not surprise you. He had an archaic mentality of most things – dutifully, you filed this information away for later use.

“What of His Majesty, then?” you said. “How do his servants treat him?”

“They seem to admire him.” Amara stood straighter. “From what I have seen, they seem to genuinely enjoy working for him and respect him. I know he has a fearsome reputation, but… perhaps it is only towards his enemies.”

“Whom we used to be,” you noted drily. “Until now.”

Her head bobbed in a nod. “This is also true.”

Despite this, Amara’s words lingered as you finished dressing. It was quite possible your feelings for Jungkook personally had clouded your judgement of him as a ruler.

There was not time to linger on this, since Yoongi arrived soon after to escort you to the great hall. You would be the last to arrive for tonight’s feast, which was customary.

Noise from the hall grew as you approached the doors. Tonight’s event would be more casual than the ball a week from now, but casual was relative since you’d been forced to wear a corset and the meal would feature no less than twelve courses.

As the doors swung open and you began to walk in, all noise within the hall ceased. Ashya’s great hall had seen centuries of celebration, along with conflict and conquest. At one point during the Dragon Wars, Valor had been briefly occupied by Duret Ghal. During this time, the banners hung on your walls had been blue and gold, instead of emerald and silver.

Entering the room with Yoongi at your side, you sensed the gaze of every inhabitant upon you. Focusing straight ahead, you did your best to ignore this. It had never felt natural to you, being the center of attention. You did so for the sake of appearances but had never enjoyed the sensation.

At least you had Yoongi, who looked handsome as usual in his formal attire. With his dark, sweeping hair and keen gaze, Yoongi would have made an excellent King consort. Unfortunately, your relationship had never progressed in this direction and frankly, Yoongi was not important enough to consider marriage without love.

Glancing your way, Yoongi caught your eye. “Is there something in my teeth?” he muttered.

Stifling a laugh, you faced forward.

“No,” you said. “I was only thinking about choices.”

Although Yoongi arched a brow, he said nothing in response. Now was not the time for an in-depth conversation. People bowed as you passed, a veritable rainbow of fabrics and colors. At the front of the hall, a table had been placed atop the raised dais. Behind it, the banners of Ashya and Duret Ghal had been strung.

High above, evergreen boughs entwined with the chandeliers, carefully spaced so they would not catch fire. Evergreens were considered sacred, symbols of Natal’s everlasting power. Although the winter solstice had not yet arrived, the air in Ashya was cold enough for them to thrive.

Your visiting guests had already arrived you saw as you approached the dais. To your surprise, you saw women traveled in Jungkook’s party. On the other side of Taehyung stood a lady with dark hair, right hand resting on the pommel of her sword.

Although both genders fought in the armed forces, it was still considered an unusual path for a woman. It was a pleasant surprise to see both men and women amongst the soldiers Jungkook had brought to greet you.

Seokjin wore robes of deep purple tonight, eschewing the colors of either nation. It was nearly as bold a statement as Taehyung, draped in the royal blue of Duret Ghal beside him. As you neared the table, both of them stood, and your gaze finally fell upon the man at the center.

Jungkook was already on his feet, a golden crown on his head in contrast to your silver.

Your gaze traveled lower, realizing he’d worn robes of midnight blue as well. His waist had been bound in a golden sash, robes flowing to accentuate his trim thighs. At his side, his sword remained hidden, a decorative golden tassel placed before the hilt. It was not the broadsword you’d seen him wear on his dragon, but a more formal rapier made for ceremonies and balls.

His gaze lingered on you as you approached, sweeping your body in similar fashion. Your skin burned each place he lingered, flames consuming you from the inside.

At the bottom of the steps you paused, and Jungkook inclined his head. His gaze remained fixed on yours the entire time.

After ascending the dais, you stood before your chair and surveyed the room. Long rows of tables and benches stared back, along with the faces of your many subjects. Taking a deep breath, you raised your chin.

“Citizens of Ashya and Duret Ghal,” you said, your voice ringing out. “We gather this evening in uncertain times. Much as Natal crafted the first light from darkness, so are better things forged in the fire of adversity. Although dark days lie ahead, I know they will only strengthen our bonds to each other.”

At your side, Jungkook listened with rapt attention. The rest of your speech was conciliatory, bland words about coming together for the betterment of both nations. Namjoon had written most of it and, in the corner of your eye, you saw him mouthing the words.

You only went off-book once, near the end.

“It is important now, more than ever, to remain united in the face of such a foe. Mor seeks to wipe us from the map – and why? It is because we are strong.” The entire great hall had gone silent, focused on your words. “We have what they will never obtain and so, they seek to destroy it. To destroy us, but I will not let them. We will not let them,” you corrected, glancing a Jungkook.

He looked at you and nodded.

“And when they do come to face us,” you said, turning forward. “We will show them exactly why they were right to fear our teeth and claws.”

A roar echoed through the hall, several shooting to their feet to vocalize approval. Turning around, you sat in your seat as gracefully as you could and arranged your gown.

Jungkook was next and once he began speaking, Yoongi leaned over.

“Nothing like a little bloodlust to get the party started,” he murmured.

You winced. “How bad was it?”

Yoongi chuckled. “They seemed to enjoy it. Lord Namjoon might not forgive you so easily.”

Glancing down the table, you saw Namjoon rubbing wearily at his temples. You nearly laughed at the sight, schooling your features to neutrality when you remembered Jungkook still spoke.

His speech was brief, which did not surprise you. During the time you’d spent in his presence, Jungkook struck you as a man with little bullshit, or patience.

Once he was finished and seated beside you, you waved a hand for the meal to start.

In the corner of the room, a string quartet began to play. Doors opened on both sides, allowing servers inside holding trays of food. As the first course was set before you – a medley of greens with spiced, mashed nuts – you reached instead for your cup of wine.

Even this strained your bodice, but you managed. One of the many perils of being a woman in power was navigating foreign dinners while wearing a corset.

“The ballroom is beautiful,” Jungkook said by your side.

Surprised, you turned. “Small talk, Your Majesty?”

He shrugged and took a bite of his greens. “You do not seem inclined to discuss important topics outside of our negotiations.”

“And what important topics would you care to discuss?”

Jungkook paused, setting down his fork to face you fully. Eyes gleaming, his lips parted, and you felt your heart start to race.

Yoongi cleared his throat at your side.

Both of you turned to stare at your advisor.

Eyebrows arched, Yoongi motioned towards the front. “The greeting line has begun,” he said.

Realizing he was correct, you sat back in your seat. Already, the line of subjects stretched down the main aisle. Lords and ladies, merchants and townsfolk, all attempting to curry favor with their monarchs. Reaching out, you gripped your wine glass to drink again. Yet another reason you disliked feasts, balls, and the like.

The politicking side of ruling had never come naturally to you, although you did practice. It meant endless hours of hobnobbing, spending time with people fawning for your favor. Still, it was important to meet with your citizens and hear their concerns. If only most of your court weren’t completely unbearable.

Inclining your head, you allowed the first two to come forward.

When they came into view, your expression softened. You had expected nobility, and instead found yourself faced with two tradespeople, by the looks of them. The man and woman had worn their best attire, immaculately neat under the scrutiny of court.

“Merchant Calum and his wife, Natalia,” said the announcer at the front.

You smiled in response to their curtsy and bow.

“Thank you for coming,” you said, and gestured for them to rise. “We are so glad you could join us tonight.”

“It is our honor, Your Majesty,” Natalia said, looking up.

“Is there something particular you came to discuss?”

Her gaze slid to Jungkook and you tried not to stiffen. Likely, they had come to see the King of Duret Ghal. It had been more than ten years since Jungkook had last entered Valor. 

“No, Your Majesty,” she said, her gaze sliding to you. “No favor to ask. We simply wished to see you in person. I apologize for my husband’s lack of speech in your presence,” she said, reaching for his hand. “He lost the ability during a fire in the mines years ago.”

“I see,” you said gently.

Looking at him, you signed your thanks for his attendance tonight. The man brightened, signing back gratitude for the invitation. His wife beamed, thanking you once more as the announcer stepped forward to hurry them on. It seemed their allotted time in your presence was up.

As they left, Jungkook glanced at you curiously. “Where did you learn how to sign?”

“Occasionally, one wishes to communicate without being overheard.”

Jungkook allowed the matter to drop but continued to look your way.

The true story was longer.

A year before your father had passed, you’d decided to join the Ashyan forces. You had called it a part of your training, but the reality had been the castle was empty and cold after your mother died.

No one had known who you were when you enlisted. You’d entered a regiment far enough away for few people to have ever walked the streets of Valor. It was where you’d met Jimin, whose parents had been Dragons of relative unknown. Under your parents’ regime, Jimin would never have been named commander.

This had been one of the first laws you overturned after your coronation – the blood laws, which had decreed only noble lines could serve in certain positions. Jimin was more Dragon than most of the realm. He fully deserved the title of commander.

While you served in the army, you’d also fallen in love for the first time. Leo had been human, from a western province so far away, it nearly fell off the edge of the map. An encounter with riders had left him without speech, so everyone in your regiment had learned to sign to communicate.

Unsurprisingly, your love had not lasted. As soon as Leo discovered who you were, things had come crashing down. When your father’s condition had worsened and you returned to the castle, your title and demands were placed on display.

Leo was ultimately forced to make a choice – a life of duty with you, or relative freedom in the western wastes. He chose the latter.

None of this was pertinent to your conversation with Jungkook though, and so you kept quiet and welcomed the next guest. A wealthier Ashyan merchant, to whom you made veiled references about lower tariffs which seemed to please him.

Once he had gone, you realized Jungkook continued to glance your way. Ignoring him, you motioned for the next group to be brought forward, but when they came into view, you stiffened. Following your gaze, Jungkook took in the two men who’d made you go still.

Lord Larkin and his son, Lord Declan – the very same nobility Amara had spoken of earlier. While you’d never liked the pair of them, your opinion had obstinately worsened based on what she’d said.

Lord Larkin bowed, silver hair shining in the candlelight above. His son, Declan, lowered his head as well. You waited a moment longer than necessary before asking them to rise.

“Lord Larkin,” you said flatly. “And Lord Declan. What a pleasure to have you both attend tonight.”

“The pleasure is ours, Your Majesty,” Larkin said with a nod. Casually, he glanced at Jungkook. “We wished to extend our welcome to the rider King, as well. It is certainly unusual to see a human seated beside an Ashyan Queen.”

Jungkook merely smiled.

Admittedly, the gesture didn’t do much to brighten his countenance. The warmth of his smile failed to reach his gaze. On the table, Jungkook tapped his long, agile fingers. You realized with some surprise they had been inked.

Tattoos were not uncommon amongst soldiers, but it was rare to see them amongst members of nobility. You found yourself curious what other marks the King bore.

“I imagine it would be unusual for any man to side beside your Queen,” Jungkook said calmly. “Dragon, rider, or any variation within.”

The implication to Lord Larkin was clear – you are not seated beside her, either. Seeming to understand, Larkin’s eyes flashed while he inclined his head.

You fought not to smile.

Lord Larkin owned two of the largest mines in the Thadal range and was integral to the Ashyan economy. It would be unwise to anger him or his family, a line you’d tiptoed around since your coronation. Especially once it became clear Lord Larkin wished to align his son, Lord Declan, to you in marriage.

For a while, you had considered the idea. Their family was powerful, in possession of both lands and titles which would enrich the crown. Lord Declan was also a Dragon, ensuring the royal Ashyan line would continue unhindered.

It had been Yoongi who advised caution. You were still young, new to the throne and with plenty of time to make an heir. Better to first gain control of your nation and consider the offers of a political marriage after. You had known even then Lord Declan was not your mate, no matter how much his father wished for him to be.

Mates were a mysterious thing in your world. They could be either Dragon or human and did not always present themselves in an obvious manner. A person could stand before their mate several times before realizing the bond.

People spoke of the signs, though. Some likened the beginnings of the bond to slow trickles of energy. Others described it as sparks caressing their skin. Still more mentioned an invisible thread which tied them to one another.

None of this you’d felt with Lord Declan, so you felt fairly comfortable saying he was not the one. And yet, you knew Lord Larkin would continue to bide his time.

“It is unusual for a male to sit by my side, you say?” you mused, sipping your wine. “Whatever do you imagine Lord Yoongi to be, Your Majesty?”

Lord Declan laughed, which prompted a glare from his father.

Jungkook tore his gaze away from the Lord. He glanced instead at Yoongi, who seemed determined to ignore your conversation while he finished his greens.

“A very pretty piece of décor,” Jungkook said at last.

At this, even Yoongi smiled. Stifling a laugh, you returned to the Lords who remained standing before you.

“He is most horrified to hear it, I am certain,” you said. “Although if His Majesty considers Yoongi’s looks to be his best asset, perhaps he is the foolish one at this table.”

Jungkook smiled at this, reaching out for a sip of his wine. He seemed more relaxed, less formal and you marveled at the change in his features.

“Is there anything else you wish to discuss?” you said, returning to the Lords.

Their time with you had been longer than the townspeople but then again, this was oftentimes the way of things. Lord Declan nodded, but Lord Larkin simply looked thoughtful, glancing between you and Jungkook. At last, he bowed his head.

“That is all,” he said. “Thank you both for your hospitality.”

Once they had left, you sagged in your seat.

“Pretty.” Yoongi snorted. “I shall have to write home and tell mother immediately.”

Jungkook laughed in response – a real, honest sound which made your heart flip in your chest. It was your first time hearing such a noise from his lips during this visit. It fractured your thoughts into a million pieces.

Rather than confront any of these pieces directly, you looked at Yoongi. “Now, there is food in your teeth,” you said.

Yoongi shrugged, lifting his spoon to fix his reflection. Returning to the waiting line, you gestured the next guests forward.

The rest of the evening passed smoothly. Most of your conversations were kept short, allowing only enough time to greet and move on. By the end of the line, your head was beginning to ache.

Collapsing into your chair, you released a sigh. The line, consumption of wine and lack of food had begun to create the perfect storm. At the next lull of music, your stomach growled in a most unbecoming fashion.

Closing your eyes, you prayed to Natal no one had heard.

“Have you eaten at all?” Jungkook asked from your side.

Opening your eyes, you wondered if perhaps the goddess was busy. Or maybe she simply didn’t care about mortal whims and petty Queens. Looking to your side, you found Jungkook frowning at your full plate.

“I have eaten some,” you said, and cut into the meat.

Before you could stop him, Jungkook had raised a palm to signal the server. “Was there a problem with your plate?” he asked, returning to you. “Or do you simply prefer to eat alone?”

Startled by how earnest Jungkook sounded, you were silent while waving the server away. The poor man fumbled a little, taking a few steps backwards before he turned around.

“Nothing of the sort,” you said, glancing at Jungkook. “The food is fine, and I do not care about eating before others.”

He seemed baffled. “Then, what is it?”

“It is my corset,” you hissed, lowering your voice. “Or have you never sat beside a woman at dinner before?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened, drifting below your neckline. Amara had done an exceedingly good job at making certain you filled out the bodice. A lone muscle ticked in Jungkook’s jaw before he looked up.

“I have sat beside women before,” he said.

“What a delight.” Reaching out, you plucked wine from the table. “I am glad to hear it is not my responsibility to teach you about the fairer sex.”

His gaze narrowed. “Corsets are not as fashionable in Duret Ghal as they are here, Your Majesty,” Jungkook said lowly. “I have never had the pleasure of removing one before.”

Gaze snapping to his, you met his darkened stare. A flicker of heat curled in your belly, making you feel even more light-headed.

Before you could respond, Seokjin asked a question and Jungkook was forced to turn away. Hastily, you sat back and faced forward again. Reaching again for your glass, you took a large sip of wine.

Amara was not wrong. Jungkook was handsome and you were no better than the many people who’d come here tonight to look at the attractive, young King. Inwardly, you cursed your weak morals.

“He is not wrong, you know.” Yoongi continued to chew on your other side. “You should eat before coming to these events, Your Majesty.”

You shot him a look. “And when I desire your opinion, I shall ask it, Lord Yoongi.”

“I thought you paid me to advise you?”

“Only under specific circumstances.”

“And what circumstances would those be?”

“When I ask.”

Yoongi laughed, setting down his fork to reach for his glass. “Will you at least send up food to eat afterwards?’

“Of course,” you said, pushing your meat aimlessly away. “This is not my first gathering, you know.”

Yoongi nodded and the two of you fell into comfortable silence. The conversation had lessened some of the tension between you and the King. And yet, you continued to be aware of his presence beside you.

On the table, his hand rested close enough for you to see. Tanned fingers entwined with black ink, his palms roughened by callouses, proof of the leather he gripped when he rode.

Jaw taut, you continued to drink from your glass of wine. Long before it was considered polite, you yearned to stand and retire for the evening. People danced after the final courses, but it was a paltry thing compared to a real ball.

Once most of your guests had begun to leave, Namjoon agreed it was acceptable for you to go. With great relief, you stood and said your goodbyes. Yoongi went with you, following you towards a separate hallway to avoid foot traffic in the castle. Halfway down the hall, you heard someone say your name from behind.

Turning around, you found King Jungkook striding towards you. His robes swished about his ankles, head held high despite the wine and the hour. As he came to a stop, you turned towards your advisor.

“You may go, Yoongi,” you said, dismissing him. “I will return to my rooms after speaking with His Majesty.”

Yoongi hesitated, then took his leave. You watched him disappear down the hall, waiting until he turned the corner before you spoke again.

“It will seem suspicious for us to leave at the same time, Your Majesty.”

Jungkook made a dismissive noise. “I am not concerned by the thoughts of people in there.”

“An odd way to think of your subjects.”

He considered you standing before him. “You have a very low opinion of who I am and how I run my Kingdom.”

“No,” you said. “Merely of the idea of you running mine.”

Jungkook blinked, taken aback by your statement, but his confusion did not last long. After a moment, he stepped forward to close the space between you.

“Is this what you think of me?” he asked, voice low. “You think I asked for your hand in marriage – why? To become King of Ashya without the difficulties of waging war?”

“It would be a practical way to go about it.”

Jungkook’s gaze scanned your features. “I do not desire to rule Ashya in your stead. Merely to provide the best solution for both our peoples.”

Standing this close, you could feel the heat from his body. His scent was a living thing, wrapping your limbs, coaxing you closer – teeth gritted, you fought the need to take a step backwards.

“That is what you say, Your Majesty.”

He stiffened. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“I believe there are things you do not tell me.”

“And what about you, Your Majesty?” Jungkook tilted his head. “You have declined my offer of marriage and have yet to give a reason.”

“Do I need to give you one?”

“I would like one.”

“I should think you used to disappointment by now,” you said. “Such is the lot of Kings and Queens.”

He stared at you for a moment, his features softened by candlelight. A feeling almost like regret stole through you, gone before you could fully embrace it.

“Do you remember the last time you visited Duret Ghal?” Jungkook asked, which surprised you.

You stared at him a moment. The suddenness of the question pushed all retorts from mind. Thus far, you had held firm to your vow not to marry by convincing yourself the man standing before you was your enemy.

Now though, he asked if you remembered.

In truth, you did.

It had been your seventeenth birthday when you last traveled to Duret Ghal. The occasion had been to finalize your parents’ treaty, as well as formally meet Jungkook as your betrothed. You had met a few times before then, as children, but it had been a long time since those days.

Duret Ghal was a land of icy wilderness, except during the summer, when harsh winter snows melted to expose greenery and cliffs. Rumors said the dragons kept their bays clear of ice, but you had gone at the wrong time of year to see this in person.

To the north of Duret Ghal lay the Irik Sea, a fathomless expanse of foamed troughs of water. Its only mountains to speak of were the famed Cliffs of Oria, which circled the capital city of Ebril. It was within these cliffs the famed dragons nested.

Ebril was situated along the coast, known equally for seamen as much as their riders. The people of Ebril were known to be craggy and sharp, much like the topography. Despite their reputation, Ebril was a city of learning. Built from the white limestone which lined its cliffs, it was occasionally referred to as the jewel by the sea.

Ebril had not been the only thing which fascinated you on that trip. You had found Jungkook equally intriguing.

He had been different then. Still quiet, but in a studious way. His hair had been shorter, as though he could not be bothered with the time it took to comb it.

Upon your arrival, you had thought Jungkook hated you. He could not seem to stand being in the same room as you for very long. Still, he had not seemed antagonistic and so, you had resigned yourself to a loveless marriage and spent time exploring the city.

One morning, you’d woke to find the day warm enough for a trip to the cliffs. Your parents had been busy from sunup to sundown, negotiating the treaty you now found yourself crafting. Back then though, you’d been blissfully free of obligation and duty.

Having never seen the Cliffs of Oria, you’d gone to the stables to secure a mount. Strictly speaking, you did not need one as a Dragon. Ideally, you preferred to fly by yourself, but your parents had warned you against shifting in Duret Ghal.

Although some things had changed since the Dragon Wars, many Ghalians still did not trust your kind. It was never a good idea to push boundaries, especially not when the treaty depended upon it.

You had even borrowed Amara’s clothes in an attempt to blend in. It had been a practical move on your part, since you’d been packed only dresses.

When you’d arrived and requested a horse from the palace stable hand, he had looked you up and down before sneering.

“You’re Ashyan,” he’d said upon hearing your accent. The word Ashyan sounded like a curse. “I heard some of your kind had come to the castle. Thought you could fly without horses, huh? What need do you have with a Ghalian mount?”

You’d been so taken aback, you blurted out the first thing which came to mind.

"If you know so much about Ashya,” you’d told him, gaze hard, “then surely you know more humans live within its borders than Dragons. Humans cannot sprout wings any more than a man like you can see reason.”

The man’s eyes had bugged, taking a threatening step forward – as a soft laugh echoed through the courtyard. Surprised, both of you had turned towards the sound.

In the archway of the stables, Jungkook had shut his book in one hand. “That was funny,” he said, looking at you.

Upon seeing the Prince, the stable hand had paled.

“Your Highness,” he said, hastening to bow.

Jungkook’s gaze slid towards him, any trace of humor disappearing. He stared at him coldly and for a moment, you’d seen a hint of the King he would become.

“I believe the lady asked for a horse.” Jungkook had spoken calmly. “Were you about to deny the request of a royal guest to the crown?”

He did not call you the princess and for a moment, you had wondered if he knew.

“Of course not, Prince Jungkook,” the stable hand had stammered and for a moment, you’d felt a modicum of pity for him.

Then the man had cast you a dark look entering the stables and you'd quickly forgotten your mercy. Instead, you’d found yourself wondering how loud he’d scream if you shifted.

Jungkook cleared his throat.

Looking at him, you’d found him lingering in the entrance to the courtyard. Curiosity washed through you, wondering if he intended for you to thank him. The idea was vaguely insulting. You could have handled one measly human.

“I did not need your help, you know,” you had said.

Jungkook had merely arched a brow. “Oh, I am aware.”

“Good.”

Turning around, you had considered the conversation to be over. While you stood and waited for your horse though, you realized Jungkook did not leave. After another moment, you’d turned towards him.

“Then, why did you interject?” you’d asked, suddenly curious.

Rather than answer immediately, Jungkook had crossed the courtyard. He came to a stop before you, forcing you to tilt your head back to see him. For a human, you remembered him being quite tall.

That close, you’d seen Jungkook’s eyes for the first time. They were not all brown, as you’d imagined. Instead, you saw many colors within – auburn, hazel, and a deep, burnished gold. 

Meeting his gaze frankly stole your breath away.

“You are my guest,” Jungkook had said. “And my betrothed. It is my duty to protect you.”

Looking away, you’d tried not to smile. Despite the fact you were trying not to laugh, it felt oddly wrong to be free of his gaze.

“Why are you smiling?” Jungkook had asked, confused.

“I am sorry,” you had said, biting back a smile. “It is only… well. Is that how women are raised in Duret Ghal?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Before you could answer, the stable hand had emerged with a horse in tow. Accepting the reins he gave, you’d placed a foot in the stirrup and swung into the saddle. Settling your weight, you’d leaned forward and pet the horse’s long mane.

Glancing up, you’d locked eyes with Jungkook. “You speak of women as though they need protection. I must say, it has never been something I needed or wanted,” you’d said quietly, then clicked your heels and steered the horse away.

You had not looked back as you rode from the castle, but felt the weight of his gaze between your shoulder blades the entire way. It had sent the strangest energy across your skin but once you reached the trail, you managed to push both this and Jungkook from mind.

The sea had always been a subject of endless fascination for you. Crossing the grassy plains which topped the Cliffs of Oria, you’d found satisfaction in the salty taste of the air.

After nearly an hour of riding, you’d slowed to a stop. Before you, the Irik Sea had stretched in an endless display of blue. It reminded you of the sky with its limitless potential. As soon as you thought this, you had the dearest wish to fly.

Glancing away, you realized you’d seen no other humans for miles. Quietly, you slipped from your horse and tied him to a tree.

Entering a nearby thicket, you’d changed from your clothes and placed them under a rock. When you transformed to a Dragon, it tended to shred whatever clothing you wore.

Naked as the day you’d been born, you stood under the sky and tipped your head back. Allowing the transformation to take hold, warmth had spread through your veins until – opening your eyes, you were a Dragon.

Humans referred to this as the change, but you’d never found it to be an accurate descriptor. It was not as though you changed from one thing to the other; merely shifted to a different part of yourself. You were always a dragon and always a human. To be a Dragon was to be both.

Wings unfurled, you’d bent and leapt into the sky. It always took you a moment to reorient after shifting. Your senses of sight, smell and hearing were sharper as a dragon, although some things were different.

Beating your wings against the sea breeze, you’d risen and fallen while surveying the cliffs. From this height, you’d been able to see the smaller cities which dotted the fields of the capital. Ebril shone like a star on the distant shore. Instead of flying towards this, you turned in the opposite direction. You had no desire to be seen and send their women into hysterics.

Remembering Jungkook’s words, a jet of flame left your nostrils in a wicked snort. The idea of protecting a Dragon was laughable. Wheeling sideways, you’d traveled further out over the ocean. It had been silver-green at the time, bright as the clearest Ashyan jewel.

Growing bolder, you’d flown lower and skimmed the waves with your toes. Swooping higher, you’d circled again before diving straight down. When you plunged beneath the surface, the coldness of the Irik snatched fire from your lungs. Sputtering, you’d breached the surface and shot into the air to hang there, gasping.

Then you grinned and dove again.

For the first time in months, you’d allowed yourself to have fun. Ever since you’d turned sixteen, you’d become infinitely aware of your title and duty. Your duty to marry, to someday become Queen and leave your childhood behind. You’d wondered why you needed to give up fun and freedom, all for someone else’s hand.

In truth, the idea of marriage had scared you. Riders enjoyed taming dragons, or so the legends had said. They’d taken your ancestral creatures and turned them into beasts who willingly did their bidding. You had no desire to do anyone’s bidding but your own.

After a long day of flying, you’d tucked in your wings and returned to the cliffside. Although you had told your parents where you were going, they would worry if you were not back in time for dinner. Approaching the spot where you’d left your things, you realized a second horse had been tethered beside yours.

Searching the plains, you’d immediately spotted Jungkook. He lazed in the sun at the edge of the cliff, book open on his stomach and one arm behind his head.

He did not so much as look up when you landed, although the noise from your wings must have been deafening. Dropping into the thicket, you’d quickly returned to human form. With trembling hands, you’d pulled back on Amara’s clothes.

As you exited, Jungkook remained in his same position. Upon seeing him there, you’d stopped and looked away. Perhaps he had not seen you after all.

“How was your swim?” Jungkook had asked, eyes still shut.

Your stomach had dropped.

“I can explain,” you’d said, stepping forward.

One eye opening, Jungkook had frowned. Pushing himself to his elbows, he’d surveyed you and it had struck you suddenly how beautiful he was. Brown curls and soft gaze, above a lean body.

“What do you have to explain?” he’d asked, sounding curious.

“I – well.” For the first time, you’d found yourself flummoxed. “I did not mean to take advantage of Duret Ghal’s hospitality.”

This seemed to amuse him. “Are you… apologizing for using the sky, Your Highness?”

“No. Well, yes.”

Something in your expression made Jungkook soften. Closing his book and setting it aside, he’d stood from the ground and began to walk closer. He came to a stop near enough to see the tiny mole beneath his lip.

“Some Ghalians fear Dragons, it is true,” he’d said quietly. “But you need not ever fear this from me, Your Highness. If someone asked you not to fly in my Kingdom, please consider this to be a formal revocation.”

You had stared at him a moment before arching a brow. “It could be dangerous to fly, though. I might be in need of protection.”

Jungkook had paused for a moment before laughing, his head thrown back and smile wide. It was the same laugh he’d made tonight at the banquet.

“Forgive me for earlier,” he’d said, lowering his head to meet your gaze. “It was foolish of me to imagine I might protect a mighty Dragon.”

Although he’d adopted a teasing tone, seriousness lit his gaze. You found you rather enjoyed it. Enjoyed him, against all better reason. The slightest of thrills went down your spine.

“Foolish, indeed,” you’d murmured.

In your mind though, you’d wondered if perhaps you were the foolish one.

Although the day had been nearly ten years ago, you had never forgotten it. Never forgotten the boy who’d wanted to protect a Dragon.

The answer to Jungkook’s question was a resounding yes.

Yes, you remembered. Perhaps too much.

“I remember some,” you said, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Not all.”

Jungkook paused. “I see.”

“If that is all, I shall –”

“We were to be married before,” he said, expression inscrutable. “Is the idea of marrying me now so repulsive?”

“I do not find you repulsive,” you said on instinct.

Too late, you realized you’d eliminated an answer. You did not find Jungkook repulsive, so your reason for declining was something else.

He considered this. “No?”

“I do not,” you admitted. “But I also don’t know you, Your Majesty. Our former betrothal ended nearly ten years ago. The intention was to mend a rift between two nations. The situation is different now. Now, we have a common enemy to unite us.”

“And once Mor is defeated?”

“The defeat of a mutual enemy will be enough.”

Jungkook gave you a look which plainly said, will it?

Growing increasingly frustrated, you stepped forward until you stood nose to nose. Tilting your chin higher, you fought the overwhelming tide of his cedar and sunshine.

“You asked if I remember our last meeting and I do,” you said hotly. “I also remember the carnage which followed. Do not ask from me more than I can give, Your Majesty.”

A shadow crossed Jungkook’s expression, quickly followed by anger.

“If you remember so well,” he said, eyes narrowed. “Then surely you remember it was my Kingdom, not yours which paid for the coup in blood. It took me many years to rebuild what my Uncle destroyed.”

“I did not mean –”

“I think you did,” he interrupted. Taking a step back, he allowed cool air to pass between you. Stiffly, he bowed. “Thank you for the evening, Your Majesty. Enjoy the remainder of your night.”

Turning around, Jungkook strode down the hall until he disappeared.

You remained still for a moment, staring after him and wondering what you had done. All you’d wanted to do was to steer the conversation away from your vow not to marry. Instead, you’d insulted a man who had done nothing to harm you – at one point, he’d even wanted to protect you.

Gathering your skirts, you turned and walked away. Yoongi had not waited for you, for which you were grateful. You had no doubt he’d side with King Jungkook regarding your display this evening. Anyone with half a brain would, you supposed.

Still, it was too much for Jungkook to expect you to marry him simply because you had once been engaged. You’d been right about one thing – the situation was different now. You were different now and could not afford to let Jungkook get any closer.

You’d witnessed firsthand the kind of disaster such unions wrought.

Climbing the steps to your chamber, the crown on your head felt heavier tonight than ever before.

The sun had not yet risen when you left your bed the next morning. Donning a gown, you hastily braided your hair and slipped outside. Nodding hello to your guards, you hurried down the corridors and out a side door.

As the land of Dragons, Ashya had developed unique features attuned to their needs. One such accommodation were the sheds – tiny, low buildings with large yards beyond them. They rested on the opposite side of the stables, since horses tended to be spooked by dragons and the main purpose of the sheds was for Dragons to shift.

Entering the one closest, you shut the door and began to undress. Hanging your clothes on the wall, you strolled into the enclosed yard. Its walls were high enough to ensure no passersby saw, yet large enough to encompass an adult Dragon.

Inhaling a breath, you tipped your head back and let the shift come. Wings unfurling, you opened your eyes and set your forelegs upon the ground. Bending low to the dirt, you pushed yourself upwards and into the sky.

Soaring over the castle, you began to fly southeast of the city. Valor sprawled out beneath you, a haphazard city of cobblestone and flint. Smoke curled from the chimneys, the earliest households waking for the day.

To the east, the foothills of the Thadal mountains were covered in pasture. Sheep and goats grazed there; their wool favored by Ashyan merchants. Circling overhead to ensure all was well, you found yourself satisfied and began to climb higher.

This was one of your favorite pastimes. Flying high enough that even your Dragon’s breath froze in your lungs, crystallizing in bursts until you could no longer bear it. Then you dove, tucking your wings in to hurtle towards the ground.

At the last moment, you snapped your wings open and rode the wind.

Snorting a thin stream of smoke, you slowed as you approached the mountains. The first rays of dawn broke over the horizon, spilling their light between the rocky crags. Inhaling fresh morning air, you flew further south.

The Thadal range was truly one of the wonders of the continent. Flying between towering peaks, you did not question why the Dragon Wars had been fought for its riches. The mountains went on for miles in the east, a flight you’d only made once. It had taken you nearly a week to cross the entire range and at its end you’d found a desert similar in size to the Irik Sea.

When you had returned, your father had berated you. Your mother had died only a year prior and he had only recently managed to pull himself together. If you had died, he’d shouted, the entire future of Ashya was lost.

It was a heavy burden to bear, but one you’d shouldered after his passing. Everything you did was for your nation and people. You would be enough for Ashya and would guard against the kind of attachments which might put this at risk.

As the sun slowly rose, the tightness in your stomach increased. With the rising sun came the responsibilities of being Queen. You had a schedule to keep, meetings to attend with Duret Ghal, your advisors and a large group of nobles.

Tucking in your wing, you began to turn – only for bright, searing pain to hit you in the shoulder.

Crying out, you fought to keep stable while twisting around. Wings beating the air, you frantically searched for your attacker. Vision blurred, you scanned the tree lines below and found nothing.

A second bolt shot towards you. With great effort, you managed to dodge the strike, rolling in midair. Mid-twist, you realized a large iron bolt remained lodged in your shoulder.

Stomach curdling, you realized what danger you were in. Only Mor had crossbows strong enough to kill a Dragon. Somewhere beneath you lay a Mor patrol.

Searching the woods, you felt hot drops of blood dripping from your scales. Before you could retaliate, before you could so much as inhale, an arrow of darkness shot into your vision.

Jungkook, astride his dragon, Nemrys, laid waste to the mountain.

A great wave of fire engulfed where the Mor patrol had been. Faint screams rose from below, a final shot fired but its aim was way off, as though whomever had done so, did so out of panic.

Wings flapping, you tried to stay aloft, but to no avail. It was hard to bring down a Dragon with a single bolt, but Mor had perfected their technology over the past century and you’d been caught unawares.

Nemrys continued to torch the forest even as you dropped, struggling to stay alight. Vision turning black, you thought you heard Jungkook yell – or maybe it was your own subconscious – before you spiraled down, wings cutting through branches before you hit the ground.

Everything went dark after that.

Groggily, you woke to the sound of your name being called.

Fabric had been draped over your torso, softer than the dirt beneath your back. As you opened an eye, you realized you’d shifted to human. This happened occasionally when you went through a great shock.

As soon as you thought this, you remembered the attack. When you attempted to sit upright, a gentle hand gripped your shoulder. Re-focusing through the haze, you realized it was Jungkook who knelt beside you.

His expression remained on your arm. A shudder of pain wracked your body, which had been covered by his cloak, you realized.

Except for your shoulder, that was.

Catching a glimpse of it on the ground, you winced and forced yourself to look away. The lower part of your arm remained unscathed, but the upper portion was in bad shape. All you could see was blood, shredded muscle, and bone peeking through.

“The arrow,” you breathed, head spinning. “Where is it?”

“Knocked loose when you landed,” Jungkook said, tight-lipped. “Which was lucky, given how large the bolt was. Had you shifted while it was still in your shoulder… I do not know what might have happened. Still…” He paused. “You have lost a lot of blood.”

Turning aside, Jungkook began rummaging through a pack on the ground. Dizzily, you glanced around the forest clearing.

“W-where is Nemrys?” you asked, your teeth chattering.

Jungkook looked back with alarm. “I left him in the clearing,” he said. “There was not enough room for him to land.”

“And this is… your cloak?”

Jungkook nodded but said nothing more. He was dressed in all leather, a broadsword strapped to his back in a pragmatic sheath. When he turned your wrist over, you let out a hiss and his gaze snapped to yours.

A war seemed to wage within him as Jungkook sat back on his heels. “You have lost a lot of blood,” he repeated.

“There are healers in Valor,” you said, struggling to sit up. “You must bring me to them.”

Jungkook gripped your good shoulder again. “You cannot shift in this state, and I fear moving you would aggravate the wound ever further.”

You glared at him from the ground. “What do you propose, then?”

Even as you spoke, it occurred to you the situation might be bad. Right now, shock and adrenaline kept the pain at bay, but it would soon wear off.

“I stopped the blood flow as best I could,” Jungkook said. “But it continues to bleed. I fear you may lose consciousness before we reach the capital.”

Panic rose, choking whatever retort you had to say. If you lost consciousness now, it would only be a matter of time before your organs began to fail. You could not die here. You would not; not on an unknown forest floor, miles away from your home.

You would not be brought down by a single Mor patrol before you even got the chance to face them on the battlefield.

“What are the options,” you said, returning to Jungkook. “Do you have a tourniquet with you? Can Nemrys cauterize my wound? I can survive the loss of a limb, Your Majesty, but I will not leave Ashya so poorly defended.”

Jungkook stared at you a moment before he slowly exhaled.

“There is another option,” he said at last.

“Whatever it is, you best do it quickly. Before I pass out and leave you to wrestle with your conscience alone.”

Suppressing a grimace, Jungkook finally nodded and rolled up his sleeves. It exposed sinuous forearms and ink which, in any other circumstance, you might have found appealing. As it was, you merely found them distracting.

Jungkook hesitated before laying his hands on your arm.

“You must…” He paused, then swallowed. “You must trust me, Y/N.”

The use of your first name was shocking enough for you to fall silent. Nodding, you stared at the sky and laid as still as you could. The pain had begun to set in; you could feel phantom tingles from your injured limb. Dull, shooting pain which throbbed in your shoulder.

At first, nothing happened.

Jungkook’s hands remained on your arm and for a moment, nothing changed. Then – a flurry of sparks skittered down his hands. They sank into your skin so quickly, you thought you’d imagined it.

In response to this, the pain flared, and you arched your back.

“Steady,” said Jungkook, calloused hands on your body. It could have been your imagination, but his dark eyes seemed to glow. “The pain will be gone soon.”

As he spoke, more and more sparks traveled down his forearms. They increased until a golden stream of light poured from his fingertips, fracturing into pieces and – healing you, you realized.

Each place the golden light touched, your muscles reknit. Blood flowed back to the wound as your skin stitched itself together. Shocked, you stared at the evidence of your wound being erased. A bead of sweat rolled down Jungkook’s brow, his color turning sallow while you stared in alarm.

“Jungkook,” you rasped, chest rising and falling. The steady stream of light continued to brighten. “Jungkook – enough.”

He inhaled and jerked back, severing the connection.

Still breathing heavily, you stared at him in shock. The forest around you seemed darker, as though it, too, missed the light. Missed the golden magic which had poured forth from his fingers.

Shakily, you pushed yourself to a seated position, one hand on his cloak to hold it in place. Glancing down, you saw your shoulder and went still. He had healed you. Somehow, Jungkook had healed you.

Experimentally, you flexed the muscles and watched the skin ripple, undeterred.

You’d heard of healing magic but never experienced it in person. Magic was rare enough for not all gifts to be born in the same lifetime. There was also the small matter of neither of Jungkook’s parents being Dragons. Only a human with a Dragon parent could inherit magical gifts.

“Explain,” you said, gaze lifting to him.

Jungkook blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Explain,” you repeated, not looking away. “How did you heal me?”

Finally understanding, Jungkook sat back on his heels. Twisting around, he rummaged in his pack for a canteen and unscrewed the cap. As he took a long sip, Jungkook stared at the forest.

His exhaustion was clear, and you felt a glimmer of regret at your words. Regret – and something else. Something warmer, which wrapped you in golden tendrils as easily as his magic.

Clutching the cloak, you stared and realized you were being unfair. First and foremost, he had saved your life. Everything else could wait.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Jungkook stilled.

“I do not know how, nor why you healed me,” you continued. “But… thank you for doing so.”

Setting down his canteen, Jungkook waited a moment before turning to face you. He seemed to wrestle with some inner emotion.

“You are welcome.” After another beat, he reached into his sack. “Here,” he said, pulling out a ball of clothes. “If you wish to change into my spare clothing, you may. I can wait over there.”

Once you accepted the bundle, Jungkook stood from the ground. Dusting his palms on his pants, he swayed a little before he steadied himself. Before you could comment on this he was gone, trekking across the clearing.

Silently, you unfolded the clothes in your lap.

They included a tunic and trousers, along with a leather belt to hold them in place. Scuffed boots made up the last item of the pile. Running a thumb up their side, you attempted to determine their make.

“Why do you have all this?” you asked, looking up.

Even from here, you could see Jungkook’s cheeks redden. “Nemrys and I were once trapped by a snowstorm. We were forced to camp for the night in the mountains. Ever since then, I’ve always carried supplies. Get dressed,” he said, turning around. “I promise not to look.”

Tough you bristled, you watched and true to his word, he did not turn around. Once you were certain of this, you stood from the ground and began to dress yourself. His tunic was much too large, as were the trousers, forcing you to tighten the belt to its final notch. The fabric was soft and warm though, smelling of him.

Again, you marveled at your ease of motion. You’d seen your shoulder before Jungkook had done his healing and knew the situation could have been worse. If you hadn’t bled out in the woods, you might have lost the limb. Even in older accounts of magical healing, you knew it could be dangerous work. Healing required knowledge of muscles, veins, ligaments, and nerve endings. It was simple to patch up skin – harder to make everything beneath it work again.

Whatever magic Jungkook had, it was powerful.

Once you were fully dressed, you approached him on the other side of the clearing. Jungkook continued to stare pointedly at the woods, only turning around when you tapped his shoulder. He swiftly took in your outfit, gaze darkening at the sight of his clothes on your frame.

Ignoring the possible meanings his look could contain, you cleared your throat.

Jungkook’s gaze jumped to yours. “Are you ready to go?” he said, a bit brusque. “Nemrys is willing to fly us both back.”

Your jaw fell a little. “You wish for me to ride a dragon?”

“I expect you not to undo the gift I gave. Although I fixed your shoulder the best I could, I’d prefer a healer examined you back in Valor. It would be bad,” Jungkook added, seeing your expression, “if the Queen of Ashya were to plummet from the sky after my attempted healing.”

Much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. Magic was tenuous – even you knew how complicated healing magic was.

“Fine,” you muttered. “I will ride back with you.”

When you moved to walk past him, Jungkook grabbed your arm. Bristling somewhat, you stared at his hand on your sleeve.

“What?” you huffed, looking upwards.

Jungkook met your gaze. “Before we go,” he said slowly. “There are things you should know. Things we need to discuss.”

“Such as?”

“Such as my magic,” he said, releasing your arm. “My magic, where it comes from, and what it means for Ashya.”

You stared at him, not understanding.

Jungkook exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. Dark strands fell around his face, partially concealing the worry in his gaze. Of what, or for whom, you did not know.

“Do you know the origin story of magic?”

His voice had deepened, softened a little. Something about this and his expression convinced you not to snap back. Every child on the continent knew the origin story.

“Of course,” you said curiously. “Natal ripped a hole in the veil and before she could close it, magic seeped through.”

“True.” Jungkook nodded. “In your version of the story though, only your kind were gifted with magic. This is not the case. All dragons have magic.”

The world around you seemed to tilt. What Jungkook said was impossible and yet, he seemed utterly serious. For a moment, you wondered if he’d also been hurt in the attack. Perhaps he’d hit his head in his haste to heal you.

“You are the only kind of dragon who can shapeshift,” he continued. “Other kinds of magic exist, though. There are other types of power the dragons can wield.”

“Impossible,” you whispered, finally finding your voice.

“It is true.” Jungkook’s gaze remained level. “Riders can use the magic of the dragon they’re bonded to. It is why I can heal. Nemrys comes from a long line of dragons with healing magic.”

“It cannot be,” you said, reeling from the implications. “Only the descendants of Dragons and humans are born with magic.”

“And riders, once they bond.”

You stared at him a moment, then shook your head. “We would have known. We would… we would have known if someone else could use magic. How could we not?” you demanded.

A shadow of something bitter crossed Jungkook’s expression. “I am sure you are aware there are parts of Duret Ghal which disapprove of magic.”

You did not know how this could relate to the dragons and their riders but allowed the detour to continue. It could not be worse than the sudden revelation magic was different from what you’d always imagined.

“I am aware,” you said flatly. “A ridiculous notion. Magic wins wars.”

“True.” Jungkook seemed to weigh his words. “But those born with gifts are viewed as a necessary evil by some within Duret Ghal. A tool for battle and nothing more. If these people had discovered their leaders had magic?” Jungkook shook his head. “A century ago, Ghalians would have revolted.”

Your eyes narrowed. “They would accept you ride dragons, but not that you have magic?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Jungkook’s lips.

“Humans are gifted magic when a Dragon and human mate,” he explained. “For many years, Duret Ghal considered Ashya and Dragons to be our enemy. You can understand why the idea of magic was an inherent threat.”

“…I suppose.”

“They only accepted the riders because Ghalians imagined the same thing you did – that the dragons we ride are a tame, subservient species compared to your own. It is not so.”

“No?”

“No.”

Unable to fathom this, you looked away at the forest. If everything Jungkook said was true, then the history of your nation – of your continent – was a lie. The Dragons of Ashya were only different in that they could shapeshift. The rhetoric you’d believed your whole life, that you were somehow more than the rest, was untrue.

The dragon riders had magic and, realizing this, you turned back.

“Why did you heal me, then?” you asked. “If the Ghalians feel so strongly about magic, surely you would wish to keep this a secret?”

Jungkook hesitated.

“We were… aware of the risk coming here. For many years, I have been trying to convince the other riders to reveal themselves,” he explained. “It was the coming war against Mor which convinced them, in the end.”

“What does Mor have to do with it?”

“Everything,” Jungkook said. “Mor has declared a war on all dragons, including those of Duret Ghal. Their technology is beyond ours. When they do come, it will be a bloody battle. If we do not fight with our full capabilities, we might fail. I will not allow this to happen.”

“And so,” you said slowly. “You healed me because… you had already decided to reveal your magic?”

An amused gleam entered his gaze. “Amongst other reasons,” Jungkook allowed. “Though you may not believe it, I rather enjoy having you around, Your Majesty. It would be a pity to waste a life such as yours.”

There seemed to be deeper meaning to his words, but you had no time to dissect it. Stepping closer, Jungkook looked down.

“We had planned to reveal our magic once the treaty was signed,” he explained. “Your injury simply moved up the timeline.”

“I see,” you said, somewhat dazed by his presence so close to your own.

Jungkook nodded, then turned to continue, but something within you kept you from moving. Staring at the back of his head, you realized the words you truly wanted to say.

“And the other dragons,” you said slowly, then stopped. “What about them?”

Paused at the edge of the clearing, Jungkook turned around. Wariness had entered his gaze.

“I do not know this is my story to tell,” he admitted. “But since you cannot speak directly to Nemrys, I can tell you what he told me.”

Jungkook glanced overhead and you wondered if he searched for the time. Or, you realized, he could be communicating with Nemrys.

You had known rider and dragon had a bond. This had been well-documented throughout history, but not much else was known beyond their ritualistic ceremony. Whether dragon and rider could converse was a controversial topic amongst historians, but based on what Jungkook said, it seemed they could.

Based on what he did now, it seemed they did.

“Thousands of years ago,” Jungkook finally said, looking down. “Natal broke the sky and magic flowed in. It entered all dragons who slept in the mountains below. The magic manifested in different forms. A line of dragons known for compassion became healers. Another line, known for passion and wildness, became stormmakers. And another, always curious, became the shapeshifters.

“Human beings were originally from the south, but as they moved north, they encountered the dragons. Wars were fought between them, bloodier than any of our recent conflicts. Many were killed on both sides, until the head of the shifter dragons decided to become human.

“There was dissent amongst the dragons as to whether this was wise. Many did not like the idea of stooping to the humans’ level, but the shifter line proceeded despite their caution. Your kind founded Ashya and lived in peace for a while.

“Over time, changes took place. Small, at first – and then larger. Some of the shifters chose not to shift, even though they could. Some decided they preferred human form over dragon. In an important conflict, the shifters sided with humans. Certain lines of dragons deemed this to be unacceptable.

“The most feared magic amongst dragons was – and still is – that of the memory dragons. These dragons, though rare, can manipulate thought, memory and perception. As punishment for siding with the humans, they took away your memory of all dragons. Stole your ability to communicate while in dragon form. Over time, your kind have forgotten what you once were.

“It was a terrible punishment. One which has not been given since. That is the whole truth,” he finished quietly. “That is the knowledge which has been kept from your kind.”

Falling silent, Jungkook allowed time for his story to sink in. The forest around you was silent as well, as though it, too, were holding its breath.

You could only stare while struggling to comprehend. If what Jungkook said was true, then you were not different from other dragons – or, you were, but not in the ways you’d once thought. They were as intelligent, as cohesive, and knowledgeable as you were. More, perhaps, if they had hidden this from you for so long.

“And so, rider magic,” you said, a bit hoarse. “How…?”

“Ah.” Jungkook gave a wry smile. “The riders did not come until later. Call it Natal’s judgement, if you will. As time went on, some of the dragon lines grew more curious about humans. One of them somehow bonded with a human. This continued to occur until finally, the King of Duret Ghal himself became a dragon rider.”

“And the riders,” you said, trying to piece it together. “They can use their dragon’s magic?”

Jungkook nodded.

“And you speak to them?” The barest hint of wonder entered your voice. “Can you speak to all dragons?”

“Only the one we are bonded to,” Jungkook said, a bit softer.

“I see.”

He gave you a look. “I know this is a lot to take in.”

“No. Well, yes,” you said as you shook your head. “You have given me much to think on, Your Majesty.”

Jungkook’s expression shuttered a bit at the formality, but he inclined his head. “Indeed, Your Majesty,” he responded.

You stared at him for a moment, taking in the dried sweat on his forehead from the energy spent healing you. Something had changed between you, and you did not know how you could turn back.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Jungkook glanced up. “For what?”

“For many things, I suppose. For healing me. For trusting me with the truth. I owe you a life debt, Your Majesty.”

An unreadable look passed over his face. “I imagine there will be many life debts between us before this war comes to pass.”

He was not wrong and for a moment, you allowed yourself the luxury of imagining you might face this war together.

“A fair point,” you allowed.

Glancing past him, you surveyed the clearing. Nemrys must be nearby, or Jungkook would not have gotten to you so quickly. Suddenly, the prospect of meeting another dragon held an entirely different meaning. All this time, you had assumed them to be less intelligent than your own and had treated them as such. You could only imagine how little they thought of you.

Nemrys would likely be less thrilled to have you riding him, than you would be in the saddle.

“There is another reason I healed you,” Jungkook admitted.

You glanced his way in surprise. “And what reason was that?”

Jungkook walked closer, step by step until he was barely a foot away. Reaching out a hand, he adjusted his tunic where it fell on your frame. His thumb brushed your bare collarbone and in response to this, you barely suppressed a shiver.

“You said you did not know me.” Jungkook swallowed. “It seemed a shame for our time to be cut short before I could remedy this fact.”

With that, he dropped his hand and walked away.

You stared as he left, feeling utterly thrown until he spoke again.

“Follow me,” Jungkook called. “Nemrys is impatient. Not unusual for a dragon, but he does make a good point. People will be looking for us – I was expected back nearly an hour ago.”

Glancing overhead, you realized Jungkook was right based on the sun's position. It had risen nearly above the treetops, meaning Jimin would have people looking for you soon.

Jungkook kept going as you followed, striding from the clearing you’d made when you fell. It took only a few minutes before the trees had thinned enough for you to come face to face with Nemrys on the ground.

His scales were ebony in color, dark as the night sky above during the witching hour. Only one golden eye could focus on you at a time, but the one which did remained steady as you entered.

Nemrys did not seem happy to see you, and you did not blame him. Dragons were a territorial bunch, whether shifter or otherwise. If Nemrys considered you a threat to Jungkook, he would stop at nothing to protect his rider.

As you exited the forest, Jungkook looked up. “No,” he said sharply, walking around Nemrys’ side.

Curious, you turned and realized he wasn’t speaking to you.

“What did Nemrys say?” 

A growl left Nemrys’ throat, clawing at the ground with a single, curved talon.

Jungkook sighed in response, looking skyward. He seemed thoroughly exasperated, and it was one of the most natural expressions you’d seen on him thus far.

“Nemrys asked if you wished to ride in the saddle, or have him carry you,” Jungkook said at last, looking down.

Gaze narrowed, you turned your head to Nemrys. If you did not know any better, you could have sworn his upper lip curled. To be carried by a dragon meant to dangle upside down from their claw while they flew through the air.

“No, thank you,” you said, walking closer. “Although, I do have something I wish to say to Nemrys.”

Coming to a stop before him, you looked Nemrys in the eye. Nemrys slowly blinked, as though he were extremely uninterested in whatever you had to say.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice softening. “Thank you… for telling me, through him.”

Nemrys stilled.

“And for healing me,” you added, bowing your head. It was a sign of great trust to expose your neck to a dragon. “I cannot find the words to express my gratitude.”

After a moment, Nemrys exhaled and lowered his head as well. Glancing up, you met his gaze and felt something unspoken pass between you.

“He thinks you might find the saddle more comfortable,” Jungkook said, sounding a bit amused at the side.

Lips twitching, you took a step backwards and looked now at Jungkook. Nemrys snorted again, steam exhaled past his lips. In response to whatever he’d said, Jungkook’s cheeks turned a bit pink.

“What was that?” you asked, curious.

“Nothing.” Jungkook glared at the dragon. “Nemrys said we should go.”

Nemrys snorted once more, steam rising as he hauled himself to his feet. It did not seem Jungkook was telling you the entire truth, but the importance of this faded when you saw the saddle. It had not seemed as high when you were also a dragon.

“You sit up… there?” you asked, coming to a stop.

Jungkook hid his smile. “It isn’t as dangerous as it seems,” he insisted, placing a hand on the ladder. “You just climb all the rungs until you reach the top.”

Nodding, you placed one foot in the stirrup and firmly gripped the ladder. As you began to climb, hand over foot, you found yourself holding your breath. Eventually, you reached the top and swung a leg over.

“Careful,” Jungkook called from the ground. “I still want my healer to take a look at your shoulder.”

“I have healers, too,” you grumbled, settling onto the leather.

Jungkook climbed after you, swinging his leg over to land firmly behind you. His right hand found your waist, tugging you back until your spine met his chest. None other would dare touch the Queen in such a manner but then again, Jungkook was also a King.

“I know,” he said, his breath warm on your ear. “But mine are accustomed to dealing with magical healing.”

Unable to argue, you gripped the front of the saddle. Unconvincingly, you tried to make yourself believe it would be like riding a horse. Jungkook’s hand gripped your hip, distracting enough that you nearly forgot what you were doing.

As Nemrys bent and spread his wings, you forced your eyes shut. It was a silly thing, but you’d never flown through the skies when you were not the one in control.

You felt, rather than saw, when the ground fell away beneath you. Wind whistled past your ears, the force of gravity pressing you against Jungkook’s chest. He said nothing in response, merely curled his fingers into the hem of your tunic.

One you felt comfortable, you opened your eyes against the rushing wind.

For a moment, vertigo overtook you and you felt a bit nauseous. It felt wrong to fly in your human body, with nothing protecting you if you were to fall. The feeling only lasted a moment though, before you began to marvel at the landscape beneath you.

It looked different with your human vision – as a dragon, you could see UV as well as blue, red and green. Vision as a human was softer, the mountains before you a muted grey-green. Even the air felt colder without your dragon skin.

Unbidden, you shivered, and Jungkook’s hand tightened.

“It is different,” you breathed, staring hard at the ground.

Jungkook chuckled, low in your ear. “Different for me, too,” he admitted. “I have never flown with another person before.”

Startled, you turned and found his face close to yours. You had not thought about this when you moved, but now found yourself inches away from his lips.

“Never?” you murmured, your words caught by the wind.

“Never.”

Again, the same shiver swept your spine, so you forced yourself to face forward. The wind continued to blow, ferocious and cold, but Jungkook managed to stay warm behind you. Eyes drifting shut, you allowed yourself a moment to bask in his presence.

Only a moment before you pulled yourself together.

All too soon, you arrived at the castle courtyard. Landing in the open space by the gates, you realized a search party had already gathered. Sliding down from Nemrys, you barely paused to give thanks before hurrying on.

Midway to the castle, you saw Jimin break ranks as he jogged to see you. Scanning your frame, his silver-blonde hair blew haphazardly in the wind. Coming to a sudden stop, Jimin glanced past you, his eyes widening when he realized you’d come from Nemrys.

Before he could speak, Namjoon skidded to a stop beside him.

“Y/N,” he gasped, lowering both hands to his knees. “By the veil, you scared us.”

Guiltily, you turned. “I am sorry,” you told him. “I am fine, though. I promise. I apologize for making you worry.”

Jimin continued to stare at Nemrys. “Your Majesty. What –”

“It was my fault,” Jungkook interrupted, striding into the circle. He came to a stop alongside you, as though he belonged there. “I saw Her Majesty injure herself while out flying and insisted on escorting her back to the castle.”

Namjoon looked at you in alarm. “Is this true? Are you hurt?”

“Only a dislocation,” you assured him. “Nothing to worry about.”

Although Namjoon nodded, Jimin continued to frown.

“A dislocation,” he said slowly, his gaze flicking to yours. “While flying?”

“Momentarily blinded by the sun,” you explained. “Hit a cliff and was forced to shift back to human.”

“And… Jungkook saw?”

Both Jimin and Namjoon glanced at Jungkook, who jumped into the story without missing a beat.

“Nemrys has excellent vision,” he said with a shrug. “Better than I, that is for certain.”

Jimin still seemed suspicious, but he eventually nodded. “We are glad to see you safe, Your Majesty,” he said. “I will go and tell the search party to stand down.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

Jimin began crossing the courtyard, leaving you alone with Namjoon and Jungkook. You fully intended to tell Namjoon and Jimin the truth, but now was not the right moment. Too many ears were listening.

“Is Yoongi furious?” you asked lowly. “How many meetings have I missed?”

Namjoon gave a rueful smile. “He will get over it. Your meetings for the morning have been postponed. The afternoon remains.”

“Good,” you said, stepping forward. “I will just –”

“Your Majesty,” Jungkook said, and you paused. “I did hope you would see the healer on my staff before returning to duty.”

He stood to your side, looking at you earnestly. Namjoon glanced between you; his surprise further increasing when you eventually nodded.

“His Majesty is correct,” you admitted. “I do feel fine, Namjoon, but it is better to be safe than sorry. I will have things to discuss with you after.”

Namjoon slowly nodded, seeming to understand. “Anything I need to know now?”

Glancing around, you ensured no one could hear. “A Mor patrol,” you said quietly. “Barely fifteen miles south. They were the true cause of my injury, but they are no longer a worry.”

Namjoon’s brow creased even further. “Are you certain you are alright? If it was a Mor patrol, you may have–”

“I am fine,” you cut in, quiet.

Namjoon hesitated before he nodded again. “Alright. I will have Jimin send soldiers to search the surrounding mountains.”

“Thank you. Tell Yoongi I will be up as soon as I can. And have Amara send me new clothes,” you added as you walked past. “I believe it sends the wrong message to wander around in His Majesty’s leathers.”

Namjoon nearly choked on his response while turning to leave.

“Well?” You glanced sideways, at Jungkook. “What are we waiting for?”

Turning his laugh into a cough, Jungkook began to walk forward. “Nothing,” he said.

Following his footsteps, you realized he went towards the guest entrance of the castle. Jungkook had not landed near the sheds, which made sense. Dragons and riders did not take kindly to one another. You supposed you and Nemrys now made the exception.

As you entered the halls of the castle, a draft brushed your exposed skin and you shivered. Pulling Jungkook’s clothes tighter, you considered the excuse he’d fed to Jimin.

“You said Nemrys saw me from the sky,” you said, breaking the silence.

Jungkook looked your way in surprise. “Should I have said something different? You did not seem inclined to discuss your injury out there.”

“No, you are correct. However, I now find myself wondering how did you see me this morning? Did you follow me from the castle, Your Majesty?”

Coming to a halt at the next corner, Jungkook turned sideways to face you.

His gaze flickered in torchlight. “Are you accusing me of following you?”

"Merely asking.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrowed. “If you must know, I was also out for my morning ride. I saw a Mor scout and had tracked them back to that mountain when I saw you get shot.”

“How very convenient,” you said, lifting your chin.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, stepping closer. “Is it?” he murmured. “I find it tiresome to have my honor continually called into question, Your Majesty.”

“Can you blame me?” you said. “You have kept many secrets from me, it would seem. Some are more substantial than others.”

“I also saved your life.”

“A debt I am well-aware of.”

A door creaked open down the hall.

“Oh – I am sorry,” a chestnut-haired man said, peeking out. “I heard arguing and wanted to make sure no one needed my help. Carry on!”

The man was about to duck back inside, when Jungkook held up a hand.

“Wait, Hoseok,” he said, not looking away from your gaze. “I need you to do something for me.”

The man – Hoseok, it seemed – paused halfway across the threshold. His gaze slid to yours, clearly recognizing you for who you were.

“Are you sure?” he asked slowly.

Jungkook nodded, turning on his heel as he strode down the hall. You were left with no choice but to follow, glaring daggers at his retreating backside. Something about the King made your blood boil, making you see red as you traveled in his footsteps.

“This is my healer, Jung Hoseok,” Jungkook said, coming to a stop. “Hoseok, this is the Queen of Ashya. I would appreciate it if you looked at her shoulder.”

Hoseok hesitated, glancing past Jungkook to you. After a moment, he nodded and stepped inside. 

“Of course,” he said with a bow. “Please, come in.”

Inclining your head, you walked past Jungkook to enter. The space past him was tidy, though there was not much light to see by, aside from the fireplace. Possibly the room had belonged to an Ashyan healer, although you could not be certain. You rarely traveled into the guest wing.

Once Jungkook had joined you, Hoseok crossed the room to pull open a cabinet. Rummaging around, he set several jars on the counter.

Jungkook lingered by the door, leaning a shoulder to the wall to stare at the healer.

Deciding the best thing to do was ignore him, you glanced away. One minute the King was tender, binding your wounds with the utmost of care and the next, he seemed ready to bite your head off. It was maddening.

Glancing around, you took in herbs, linen, and jars of salve. On the hearth was a fire, crackling merrily beneath a large, copper pot. The scents of witch hazel and thyme filled the room, a natural antiseptic.

“Hoseok is the best healer in Duret Ghal,” Jungkook said, by way of introduction.

Hoseok snorted. “I do not know about that,” he said as he turned around.

“Careful.” Jungkook arched a brow. “Her Majesty may take you at your word and see an Ashyan healer instead.”

Hoseok made an unbecoming sound before he looked up, stricken. “I did not mean insult, Your Majesty,” he said, a bit panicked. “It is only –”

“It is alright,” you interrupted. “None of my healers are accustomed to wounds healed by magic. I would prefer you look at my wound, regardless of what you have to say about Ashya.”

Hoseok shot Jungkook a surprised glance, who nodded.

“The Queen’s wounds were severe,” Jungkook said quietly. “An iron bolt to the shoulder while in dragon form. She crashed through the forest and shifted on impact. Had lost a lot of blood when I arrived.”

“I see.” Hoseok glanced your way, sympathetic. “I am so sorry to hear it, Your Majesty.”

With anyone else, you might have thought the words sounded patronizing, but not with Hoseok. He had an earnest way about him; you imagined he couldn’t tell a lie to save his soul.

“I would not care to repeat the experience,” you admitted.

Briskly, Hoseok scanned your body. “Left shoulder?”

Surprised, you said, “Yes.”

He nodded, rolling up his sleeves to walk around the table. An empty jar stayed behind on the counter, the flames from the hearth casting flickering light on the floor.

Hoseok stopped. “In order to evaluate your arm, I will need you to remove the tunic, Your Majesty. Is this alright?”

You nodded, then glanced at Jungkook.

Cheeks a bit pink, he seemed to take the hint. “I will take my leave,” Jungkook said, his hand fumbling for the door. “Should you have further need of me, Your Majesty, you may send Hoseok to find me.”

“Which might be rather difficult,” Hoseok observed. “Given Hoseok is currently tending to Her Majesty’s injury.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes but hid a smile as he left. The door fell shut behind him, leaving you and Hoseok in total silence. With a rueful smile, he glanced your way.

“Apologies,” he said with a shrug. “Jungkook and I grew up together, so we tend to forget our formalities when others are present.”

“We?” you said, arching a brow. “It seemed you were the only one forgetting your manners, healer Jung.”

Hoseok’s eyes widened, unsure how to respond until you laughed.

“I am sorry,” you said with a smile. “It is cruel to tease when you do not know my nature.”

Hoseok paused before throwing his head back to laugh. Eyes shining, he wagged a finger in your direction as he walked away. “You are funny,” he said, pulling out a bowl. “It is no wonder the King seems to enjoy your company.”

“Is that so?”

Hoseok seemed not to hear your question, selecting some linen to lay on the counter. “There is a partition in the corner,” he said, nodding towards it. “Fabric is laid on the stool, so you can wrap it around your midsection for modesty.”

The partition was barely more than a folding screen, but it did the trick. Stripping free from Jungkook’s tunic, you folded it neatly and placed it on the stool. Winding the fabric around your breasts, you covered them tightly and stepped outside.

Glancing up as you exited, Hoseok set down his work. “You may sit on the stool,” he instructed. “That will do for the examination.”

Taking a seat, you waited for Hoseok to come around the counter. Gently, he took your wrist and turned it this way and that. Raising your arm, he examined its mobility until he seemed satisfied. Deft fingers moved up your arm, applying gentle pressure to several key points. When you failed to react, he prodded deeper.

Aside from the occasional twinge, you felt nothing unusual. After a while, Hoseok took a step back and nodded approval.

“Jungkook did a good job,” he said as he turned away.

“Is that all?”

“Not quite.” Hoseok stepped behind his table. “I will make you a salve, Your Majesty. This will ease any stiffness you may feel from the magical healing. Magic requires a great deal of energy, some of it yours. You may feel more tired than usual.”

“Oh,” you said, a bit thrown.

You had never questioned the toll of magic before. Yoongi had never complained about using his gift to help your council.

Pulling things from his cabinets, Hoseok began to mix and measure in a bowl. He was quiet for a while, content to do his work while you watched. After a while, he cleared his throat.

“I imagine it was a shock,” he said. “To be healed in such a manner.”

You stared at him a moment, unsure how to respond.

“It was… unexpected.”

Hoseok laughed as he looked up. “That is one way to put it,” he agreed. “The first time Jungkook healed me, I screamed like the veil was being torn apart. Thought he was trying to hex me.”

“Is such a thing even possible?” you said, smiling despite yourself.

Hoseok shrugged. “It seemed as likely as a rider having magic. I am sure Jungkook told you, but most in Duret Ghal are unaware of that particular secret.”

Silent, you nodded. Jungkook had, indeed, explained to you the image of magic in his homeland.

After a moment, Hoseok sighed. “The perceptions of Ghalians have changed greatly since the end of the Dragon Wars, but some of the fear remains. There are some who, no matter what we say, will believe magic and all Dragons are evil.”

“Not those His Majesty rides, though?”

Hoseok gave you a wry smile. “They do not view those dragons as the intelligent creatures you and I know them to be. Jungkook wishes to change that,” he said. “But it will be a difficult path. One he is determined to set upon.”

“I see.” You paused. “Forgive me for being blunt, but why are you telling me this?”

Hoseok resumed making the salve. “When Jungkook first revealed his magic to me, I was upset. He had lied. Kept something important from me for such a long time. It took me a while to understand that he, himself, did not always view his magic to be a gift.”

You stared at Hoseok a moment. 

Jungkook had seemed so confident when he healed you, and had always seemed different from the Ghalians who despised magic and Dragons. It had not occurred to you his reasons for keeping his magic a secret may have also been personal.

Hoseok was right. Changing perception within Duret Ghal would be difficult. Jungkook had taken a great risk by revealing his magic to you. A risk you did not wish to examine too closely for the moment.

“Is the examination finished?” you asked, rising from the stool.

Hoseok looked up in surprise. “Oh, yes. Feel free to get dressed, Your Majesty. I will finish this salve and send you on your way.”

You nodded and retreated behind the partition. Once you were no longer visible, you allowed yourself to fully breathe. Hoseok’s words painted a different picture of the Ghalian King. Magic had always been viewed as a gift in Ashya; you should have recognized the stigma elsewhere.

Unwinding the fabric from your torso, you returned to Jungkook’s clothing. His scent was everywhere, enveloping you fully.

It made you remember the ride with him on Nemrys, his body warm and solid behind you. Closing your eyes, you pushed this memory from mind. More and more, you found yourself considering Jungkook as a man instead of your enemy, and such thoughts were dangerous.

Fastening the belt, you stepped outside and found Hoseok waiting.

“Here,” he said, handing over a jar of salve. “If you need more, please send word and I shall bring it immediately.”

“You are too kind,” you said, accepting the bottle. “I appreciate your help, healer Jung.”

“Hoseok.”

“Hoseok,” you agreed with a nod.

Not wishing to overstay the welcome, you gave him a last smile and walked towards the door. One hand on the knob, you paused.

Hoseok looked up at your silence. “Yes?”

A thousand questions sprang to mind – silly, inane ones of no use to anyone. What Jungkook had been like as a child, why he’d once needed to heal Hoseok and reveal his magic. You found yourself wanting to know more, wanting to know him and again, this was dangerous.

“Nothing,” you said, pulling open the door. “Thank you again for your services.”

Hoseok nodded and smiled as you left the room. Amara was waiting for you in the hall, a fresh bundle of clothes in her arms.

“Thank Natal,” you sighed, taking the dress. “It would have caused a lot of talk had I worn the King’s clothing upstairs.”

Hiding her grin, Amara followed you inside the empty room across the corridor. Once the door was shut, she began to help you dress.

“Did you fall in a pond?” she asked innocently, tugging on your laces.

You winced while lifted your arms. “Nothing so exciting. I was caught unawares during my flight and needed to shift. My morning dress is still in the sheds, unfortunately.”

Amara nodded, finishing the final button as you turned around. “I will get it,” she said, gathering Jungkook’s clothes and the salve to exit the room.

Left alone with your thoughts, you hesitated a moment before following suit.

Jungkook had not waited for you.

You were not sure why this mattered. It didn’t – it should not and yet, you couldn’t stop the sinking feeling it somehow did. Shoving the feeling aside, you managed to seem unruffled by the time you reached your first meeting.

The day only grew longer from there.

When people imagined the duties of the crown, they typically thought of the more extraordinary parts. Being coronated, going to war, grand marshalling parades and the like.

The reality of ruling was far less glamorous. It was one tedious decision after another, with the most minute turn of phrase sparking ire or admiration. It was sitting through meeting after meeting while you listened to weather reports, updates from mines and concerns about a two and a half percent tariff still being too high.

By the time your meetings ended, the sun had long since sunk below the horizon. Wearily, you returned to your rooms and tried to forget the day. It did not seem possible only this morning, you’d feared for your life while bleeding out in the forest.

The only thing which drove you on was the thought of shutting yourself in your chambers, sinking into a bath and closing your eyes. A wish which seemed destined to be thwarted, you saw when you entered.

Min Yoongi had seated himself in an armchair by the fire, his expression steeled like a weapon of war.

“We need to talk,” he said simply.

Coming to a stop at the table, you inspected the salve Hoseok had made. He had not given any instructions on how to apply it, and you wondered if you should have Amara find out.

“Do we?” you said, lifting your gaze to his. “Need I remind you who amongst us wears the crown, Lord Yoongi?”

“And need I remind you which of us pays the other for their counsel?”

Hiding a smile, you pulled out a chair. As much as Ashya’s stability depended on your authority, you were not above thinking yourself impervious to counsel. If Yoongi had something he wished to speak to you about, it was likely important.

“Shall I guess what this is about?” you asked. “Or, are you going to eventually tell me?”

Yoongi did not waste your time. “What happened this morning?”

“I was injured during a flight.”

He made a noise of dismissal. “Are you truly telling me the Queen of Ashya was injured on a routine flight? That you spotted a Mor patrol and became so distracted, you crashed into a mountainside and dislocated your shoulder? Again,” he said, gaze hardening. “What happened?”

Slowly, you exhaled. “The truth is far less believable.”

“Try me.”

And so, you explained. Everything. Your flight this morning, the Mor patrol which had shot you down from the sky. The way you shifted to human before Jungkook arrived to heal you. You told Yoongi about Jungkook having magic, as did all riders. You explained about the different dragon lines, how they all had magic and were not unintelligent, as you had previously assumed.

Once you had finished, Yoongi stared at you and blinked. “That…” He shook his head. “Is equally insane, but at least you are now telling me the truth.”

He had questions then – many of them, and you soon settled into a familiar rhythm. Planning for different eventualities, laying out who to tell and when. Yoongi, along with Namjoon, were your sounding boards for strategy. When you’d given all the answers you could possibly provide, Yoongi fell silent, staring into the fire.

At last, he stood and walked towards the window. Pouring whiskey from a crystal decanter, he swirled this in one hand before he returned.

“This will change things,” Yoongi said, taking a sip of his drink.

“It will.”

“If what you say is true,” he said slowly. “We have acquired an entire new arsenal against Mor. Who knows what kinds of magic lie within their rider ranks? There has not been a healer born for many decades in Ashya.”

“Some of them will be passive powers,” you warned.

Yoongi waved a hand. “It is still a gift. Still magic. In all Jimin’s plans, he has only accounted for the gifts of humans between us. That number will now double! Triple, even.”

“His Majesty only revealed his magic to me because he was forced,” you countered. “We cannot count on them in upcoming battles with Mor. He could still decide otherwise.”

Yoongi gave you a look. “He said he was planning to reveal it after the treaty was signed, yes?”

“Yes, but –”

“But what, Your Majesty?” Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “What reason do you have now not to trust the King? What lie could you possibly have prepared for me this evening?”

Freezing in place, you could only stare. Yoongi seldom spoke to you like this. For one, you were his Queen and for another, he usually understood you better than to yell.

After a moment, Yoongi sighed and shoved a hand through his hair. He looked tired, you realized. Hoseok’s words from earlier came to mind, about how magic required new energy. You wondered how much Yoongi had used his gift these past few weeks.

“I am sorry,” Yoongi said, and looked as though he meant it. “I did not mean to sound so harsh.”

Choosing not to respond, you waited instead for him to elaborate. Yoongi rarely said things without meaning them.

Closing his eyes, the dark of his lashes dusted paler cheekbones. The veins in his eyelids were prominent, stark against the rest of his skin.

“It can be exhausting to have a gift like mine,” Yoongi said quietly. “All day, I can sense other people’s emotions, yet cannot shut them out. It can be useful, but it is also tiresome. Oftentimes, I am not sure which emotions are mine. It is especially trying,” he said, eyes opening, “when someone continuously lies in my presence.”

“Me?” you said, taken aback. “When have I lied to you, Yoongi?”

Yoongi stared into his glass for a moment, seemingly weighing the consequences of whatever it was he had to say.

“Each time you say you do not wish to marry the King.”

You went still, staring at him from across the table. Within the confines of your chest, your heart began to beat faster.

“I do not mean you are lying on purpose,” Yoongi said, then paused. “Or maybe you are. It can be hard for me to tell. All I know is your emotions are murky each time you speak, as though you are battling something inside.”

“You think… I desire to marry His Majesty?”

Yoongi considered for a minute. “I do not know,” he admitted.

“And yet, you presume to know a great deal,” you said, drumming your fingers on the table. “Why would I turn the King down if I wished to marry him?”

“I am sure I could not say.”

“Hazard a guess.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed. “Fine.” He took a long sip of his drink. “When you are around Jungkook, your emotions get lighter. Happier. And yet, there is sorrow as well. I do not know if this is because of His Majesty, or the idea of marriage itself.”

Staring at Yoongi, you refused to move. He was dangerously close to hitting upon something important. Something you’d worked tirelessly to hide, even from yourself.

“Is it Leo?” Yoongi asked, a bit gentler. “Do you still love him?”

Yoongi had not served with you in the army, but he knew about your former love. Early on in your reign, you’d asked Yoongi to go about certain steps to protect Leo from harm.

“No,” you exhaled. “It has been a long time since I chose my path, and he chose his.”

“Pride, then. Perhaps you do not like the idea of ruling beside someone else.”

“It is not that,” you muttered.

“Hm.” Yoongi tilted his head. “That is the truth.”

“Stop doing that,” you said with a roll of your eyes.

“Perhaps it is the idea of losing your independence, then. Or possibly…” Yoongi paused as something seemed to occur to him. “Ah.”

“What? What is it?”

“It is the mating bond, is it not?”

Going utterly still, you stared at him from across the table.

“Y/N,” Yoongi said softly. “Not all marriages occur with a mating bond. Not all loves do, either. And it is still possible Jungkook could be your mate. Humans have mated with Dragons before. It is not impossible for him to–”

Realizing what he meant then, a laugh left your lips. It sounded bitter, even to you. Yoongi thought you didn’t want to marry Jungkook because he wasn’t your mate. He thought you wanted to marry for love, when the truth was the exact opposite.

“I know it is possible,” you gasped, interrupting. “I know it is possible because Jungkook is my mate, Yoongi. I have known this fact since I was seventeen and visited him for the treaty.”

Yoongi’s eyes widened as you pressed on.

“I felt it even then,” you whispered, the words pouring out. “It was hardly anything at that age, barely more than a brush of energy against my skin, but… I knew. I knew the mating bond lay between us.”

Silence fell between you, the weight of what you’d said settling over the table. Eventually, Yoongi managed to shake himself free from his stupor.

“Then what is the problem?” he demanded. “If you two are mates, surely this is even more reason for you to accept his proposal. It must be a sign from Natal.”

Jaw clenched, you looked away. The mere thought of accepting the bond brought a dull roar to your ears, twisting your insides into knots. You could never forget what occurred after your trip to Duret Ghal, nor the solemn vow you had made at your coronation.

“I cannot marry him,” you said stiffly.

Incredulity entered Yoongi’s gaze. “But Y/N –”

“I cannot,” you said, turning your head. “Yoongi, you know as well as I do how bonds like this end. How it looks, how it feels for someone to lose their mate. I vowed when I accepted the crown it would be the only constant in my life.”

Pity filled Yoongi’s gaze as realization dawned.

“Y/N,” he said after a long moment. “You are not your father.”

The silence in the room drew as taut as a bowstring.

“It killed him,” you whispered. “The loss of my mother killed my father. You know this to be true. It may have taken him five years, but from the moment she died, he began to die as well. I cannot – I will not – do that to myself, or to Ashya.”

Yoongi stared at you a moment before he looked away.

It was a silent truth acknowledged throughout the Kingdom. Dragons had a long lifespan, but the mating bond was something other and strange. It only occurred once in a lifetime and was a love so deep, so true that to lose one’s mate was to lose oneself.

Your father had tried, at least. He’d stayed alive for you, for his Kingdom, but it had not been enough in the end. After five years of trying, he’d finally given in.

It was why you’d enlisted after your mother’s death. You had seen how her loss was killing your father and could not bear to be around for the process.

When you finally returned to accept the crown, you’d made your vow. The same fate would not befall you. You would not become your father and leave Ashya at risk. You would not accept the mating bond – which meant you would not accept Jungkook.

Even if every fiber of your being wished to do so.

Jungkook was not yet fully your mate. He needed to be aware of the bond, for one and you needed to accept it, for another. Tendrils already existed, but it was not the same thing as the full bond in place. Once you accepted, there would be no return.

“Not everyone views their mate as a bad thing,” Yoongi said quietly.

Startled, you looked up. “They are fools, then.”

He frowned at his glass. “Are we not all fools in love, though?”

“Precisely the reason I do not care to accept it.”

Smiling sadly, Yoongi lifted his drink and drained the rest. His expression shifted from resignation to thoughtfulness while he set down his glass.

“They say the loss of a mate is akin to ripping one’s heart from their chest,” he mused. “They say it is an unbearable pain, one which cannot be endured.”

“Are you trying to help me?”

He paused. “I only wonder… for such unimaginable pain, there must be unimaginable beauty before it. What could be so wonderful that to be without it would be close to death?” Yoongi shook his head. “Maybe the loss of a mate has no parallel because its happiness has no parallel, either.”

Struck by this statement, you looked into the fire.

“It is not a bad thing to want happiness, Your Majesty.”

Brow furrowed, you continued to stare at the leaping flames. It was not a bad thing to want happiness, but the mating bond had never meant such a thing to you.

Not until Jungkook. When he had arrived a week prior, you’d kept him at arm’s length for two reasons. One had been his title and Duret Ghal’s legacy, but the other had been self-preservation.

You could not miss what you did not know. Unfortunately, each passing day brought you closer together and you feared when he left, it would tear your heart from your chest.

Still, it was better than accepting him as your mate.

Yoongi stood from the table and stretched his arms overhead. Looking up, you appreciated the silence he gave you. The truth of the bond was something you hadn’t told anyone. To share it with him felt like a weight lifted.

“There are more negotiations tomorrow,” Yoongi said, returning to business. “With the secret of the riders’ magic revealed, we will need to factor this into our military discussions.”

“Agreed,” you said quietly.

Yoongi considered you a moment longer before he turned around. As he reached the door, Yoongi paused on the threshold.

“I understand your hesitance, Your Majesty,” he said quietly. “I would not blame you if you decided not to accept him. It is only for your happiness I urge you to reconsider. Not all of us are gifted with a mate,” he said simply, and walked out the door.

As the door shut behind him, you stared at the wood.

You remained seated for some time, listening to your heartbeat, and imagining it entwined with someone else’s. This was the second secret of yours only Yoongi knew.

The other was you hadn’t wanted to accept the throne at all.

When your father had died, you’d been content to stay in the armed forces, living a life of anonymity while you served Ashya. You had planned on relinquishing the crown, but Yoongi had known and convinced you to return. He’d been the one to talk some sense into you, saying if you truly wished to serve Ashya, you’d do so best in the role you’d been born into – as its Queen.

Duty had been thrust upon you sooner than it should have; yet another reason why you resented the bond. You should not have become Queen when you did. You should not have had to accept the burden so soon and yet, you had. It had been the right course and you deeply loved this nation.

It was why you refused to put Ashya through such a thing again.

And yet, you could not help but think upon Yoongi’s words. It was not a bad thing to want happiness for yourself.

After a long time, you roused yourself from the table and went to bed.

The first time you’d felt the bond had been at the cliffs, although you had not realized what it was at the time.

It had only been later, in the middle of Duret Ghal’s gardens, you understood the gravity of what you felt for Jungkook. Or rather, what you one day might feel.

After the day you spent riding, you’d began to notice Jungkook’s presence more and more. He could usually be found in one of two places – in the palace library or out on his dragon, Nemrys. You had found yourself watching for him, somehow attuned to his presence.

Even with all this, the magnitude had not stricken you until the night of the ball. On the last night of your trip, Duret Ghal decided to celebrate both your betrothal and the anticipated treaty. No expense had been spared for the evening. Even now, you remembered the sounds of the orchestra playing, chandeliers bright above as the people laughed and danced.

At some point, you’d searched for the Prince and found him no longer inside. Curious, your search had led you out the northern doors, onto a patio which overlooked the gardens below.

Duret Ghal had been colder than Ashya, but during the summer the evening air had been pleasantly cool. Wandering away from the castle, you’d drifted amongst the flowers until you came upon him.

Jungkook had faced away from you, his hands clasped behind his back while he watched the tree above with its delicate, orange blossoms. His eyes had been closed; wayward, dark strands of hair blown over his face.

Realizing you’d intruded upon a personal moment, you turned to take your leave, and stepped on a twig. 

Jungkook’s eyes had flown open and when he saw you, he smiled.

The sight sent such simmering warmth through your chest, you’d nearly stopped breathing. White-hot energy blazed across your skin, brightening the world while you basked in his gaze.

That had been the moment you realized. Jungkook was your mate.

“I – I am sorry,” you’d stammered, turning to leave. “I am intruding–”

“Not at all.” Jungkook’s gaze sought yours in darkness. “Please. Stay.”

After a moment of consideration, you had acquiesced. The closer you moved, the more aware you’d become of his energy. Suddenly, all the wives’ tales and legends about mating made sense. The bond had been real, and you felt it for Jungkook.

Jungkook had smiled at you, then returned to the flowers. “Were you also tired of the people gathered inside?” 

“Yes,” you’d murmured.

None of the people inside had been him.

Forcing yourself to look up, you had focused on the tree. It was not a species native to Ashya; its delicate, floral scent was unfamiliar. Between its boughs, the night stars had peered down. Legends said stars were where Natal’s veil was thinnest and otherworldly magic seeped through the cracks. You liked to imagine stars held some kinship to dragons.

Jungkook had cleared his throat. “I must admit,” he’d said. “You are not at all what I imagined you to be.”

“No?”

You had turned sideways to face him in the moonlight.

“Not that it is a bad thing, mind you.”

Heart racing, you you’d smiled. Jungkook had looked your way, his expression gentle in the light from above.

“It is not?” you had whispered.

Turning fully to face you, Jungkook had stepped closer. His right hand flexed at his side, as though he had yearned to reach out and touch you.

“No,” he’d admitted.

His gaze had dropped to your lips.

Your throat had gone dry. “What were you expecting?”

“I do not know,” he’d said. “I thought I might resent you. For taking away my choice to marry. For forcing me to become King before I was ready. For reminding me duty will always be greater than our happiness.”

Each word he said had sunk your heart like a stone. It had been how you’d felt at the start of your journey, but perhaps not then.

“Now though,” he’d said, and you lifted your gaze.

“Now?”

Without quite meaning to, you’d drifted closer. The space between you had lessened to several inches, the heat from his body near-tangible.

“Now,” Jungkook had said, barely audible. “I find myself intrigued by what the future will hold.”

Before you could respond to this, before you could say you felt the same, a shout had echoed throughout the gardens.

“Prince Jungkook!” someone had called.

Springing apart, your heart had protested the movement. You had known then exactly who Jungkook was. He was your mate, your betrothed and for a fleeting moment, the world seemed a magical place.

One month following, his Uncle had staged his rebellion.

Soon after, you’d learned what the mating bond truly meant.

The world had not seemed quite so wondrous after that.

“So.” Jimin arched a brow. “I assume you have brought us out at this unseemly hour to do more than stare at one another through the mist, Your Majesty.”

Giving Jimin a withering look, you chose not to respond.

Yesterday had been full of meetings with little importance to the Ghalian treaty. After telling Yoongi of your vow and bond, you’d found yourself more aware of Jungkook’s presence than ever before.

Everything which had taken place over the past forty-eight hours resulted in three facts. The first being, you could not afford to spend more time in the King’s presence. Already, your façade of indifference was crumbling and would only worsen as time went on.

Second, Mor had become bolder in their travels north. It would only be a matter of time before war arrived on your borders. You needed to be prepared.

Which led you to your third point. Jungkook’s reveal of magic could turn the tide of the war; it needed to be factored into your discussions as soon as possible. Which was why you’d asked Jungkook to bring whomever he deemed appropriate to the field this morning.

Glancing around, you found Jungkook looking back. He was dressed in his flying leathers again, simple armor reinforced at the joints with lighter metal. No breastplate, his hair unadorned and a broadsword strapped firmly across his back.

He’d brought Taehyung with him, along with the woman rider you’d seen at the feast and Lord Seokjin. The last one had surprised you, since you hadn’t thought Seokjin a rider. From Ashya, you’d brought Jimin, Namjoon and Yoongi.

“We are not here to stare,” you explained to Jimin. “But to fly.”

Jimin hesitated. “With each other,” he clarified.

It was not a question but a statement, and the woman rider across the circle seemed to share in his sentiment. She stared distrustfully at the group gathered on your side.

Yoongi squinted up at the sky. “Why am I here, then?” he wondered aloud.

“To observe,” you informed.

“Scintillating,” he said, looking down.

Namjoon laughed as several other people attempted to hide their smiles. Ignoring all this, you focused instead on Jungkook’s delegation.

“I believe I have met everyone except you,” you said, looking at the woman.

“Maia,” she said, boldly meeting your gaze. “I am a rider in His Majesty’s forces.”

“One of our best,” Jungkook added, as Taehyung nodded.

Maia had large, dark eyes and short hair bound in a plait down her neck. Her features were pretty, delicate in contrast to her hardened exterior. You respected her for being in the delegation but found yourself appreciating her even more for her no-nonsense response.

Nodding once, you looked away. The pride in Jungkook’s voice when he spoke had not escaped you; nor had the way Maia glanced in his direction, as though pleased by the mention.

Jungkook was not yours to want, you reminded yourself. You’d made sure of this with the vow you continued to uphold. Still, you felt your jaw clench as you refocused on your surroundings.

“Is this a serious request?” Jimin asked in disbelief. “You truly wish for us to fly alongside the riders.”

Pointedly, Seokjin cleared his throat. “I believe it is not considered polite to question the Queen’s sanity in her presence?”

Jimin glanced at him, stunned as Yoongi started to laugh. His smile widened, eyes nearly disappearing when Jimin turned to face him, incensed.

“What?” Yoongi snorted. “That was funny.”

“Regardless,” you said, a bit louder. “There is much to discuss. His Majesty has shared information about the riders, their dragons and what they can do which may change the battle against Mor.”

Maia’s glanced at Jungkook in disbelief, and she was not the only one. Taehyung also turned his head sharply, which surprised you. You had thought Jungkook would tell his general he’d revealed his magic in the woods.

It appeared not. Seokjin was the only one who did not look surprised, examining the nails on the back of his hand.

“What the riders can do,” Namjoon said, picking up on the key phrase. “I assume you refer to something other than flying, Your Majesty?”

“I do, yes.”

When you looked at Jungkook, he nodded.

“She is referring to our ability to use magic,” he explained. “The bond which links rider to dragon allows us to do more than just ride them. It grants us access to their magic, similar to humans who are born with a gift.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened, as did Jimin’s.

Both listened as Jungkook went on to explain the history of dragons and magic on the continent. When Jungkook healed a paper cut Namjoon had on his thumb, your advisor gasped and looked on in wonder.

“A healer.” He shook his head. “Truly amazing. How large of an injury can you heal?” Namjoon asked, and you knew he was already thinking ahead to battle.

Someone like Jungkook behind the front lines, healing soldiers as they were injured, could provide an untold advantage.

“He healed me in the woods the other day,” you informed them. “A Mor patrol shot me down with a crossbow, and His Majesty saved my life.”

Jimin’s eyes widened. “It would seem we are in your debt then, Your Majesty,” he told Jungkook, seeming displeased by the thought.

Jungkook merely shook his head.

“Let us not speak of debt, Jimin,” you said before Jungkook could speak. “If we are to work together, we must stop thinking of our relationship as a ledger. Instead, we must learn to work as a unit.”

Yoongi arched a brow, clearly amused by your shifted stance.

“Hence our flying this morning,” Jungkook agreed.

Looking his way, you nodded.

This was what you’d decided after your conversation with Yoongi. Although you had not changed your mind about accepting Jungkook’s proposal, the least you could do was set aside your own differences. If you chose not to accept him as your mate, that was your decision – but first and foremost, you were Ashya’s Queen.

You had made a vow to do whatever you could for your country, and this meant working closely with the Ghalians.

“Is it only healing magic?” Namjoon asked, sounding curious. “Or are there other kinds?”

Rather than answer, Jungkook looked at Taehyung, who rolled up his sleeves. Walking out of the circle, he came to a stop several paces away.

“There are other kinds of magic,” Taehyung said, and it was one of the first times you’d ever heard him speak.

Taehyung’s voice had a deep, earthen quality. It was soothing, rhythmic and you stared at him with interest as he spread his hands.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then Taehyung closed his eyes and storm clouds began to gather. You stared at the sky as it darkened, russet-tipped thunderheads swirling overhead. As the wind whipped his hair, Taehyung opened his eyes and you saw they’d turned silver.

A bolt of lightning shot from his palms, lighting the sky above a deep purple. He let the tempest continue until his point had been made. Then, teeth gritted, Taehyung lowered his arms and allowed the clouds to disperse. As quickly as they’d come, the clouds disappeared, leaving only mist and the rising sun.

Everyone from Ashya stared.

“His dragon is a stormmaker,” Jungkook explained. “It is rare for one of their kind to bond with a human. It has not happened within living memory.”

Yoongi was the first to regain himself. “Do all riders have magic?”

“No,” answered Maia. “It is similar to when a Dragon and human have a child. The child does not always have a gift. It is the same with riders and dragons. I, for example, have no magic.”

“Yes, but you have a dragon,” Yoongi pointed out, which made her smile.

“I do have that,” she acknowledged.

Almost sheepish, Taehyung rejoined the circle with his hands in his pockets. His gaze had returned to dark brown, but you could not seem to shake the memory of silver. It was a tremendous power you could use on the battlefield.

Abruptly, you turned to Jungkook. “How were you planning to keep that a secret?” you demanded, waving a hand. “I should think it would have been obvious once your rider started throwing lightning around.”

“Hence why we planned on explaining after the treaty,” Jungkook said mildly.

“All this time.” Namjoon finally found his voice. “Magic in Duret Ghal has been passed down by the riders, not Dragons?”

“Both,” Seokjin corrected. “Riders cannot pass on their magic to their children. It is only the offspring of Dragon and human who can be born with gifts. Like your advisor,” he said, nodding to Yoongi.

Yoongi arched a brow. You had not spoken openly about his magical abilities, but you supposed word got around.

Namjoon continued to frown. “Most peculiar,” he said slowly. “When a shapeshifting Dragon mates with a human, their offspring can inherit one of many magical gifts. Not just shapeshifting.”

“Uzza, my dragon, has a theory about that,” Taehyung offered. “He believes dragons have a more fixed nature than humans. When magic is passed down through dragons, it remains the same, but with humans… we are more fluid.” He paused, then shrugged. “Magic becomes whatever form the human is closest to.”

“Fascinating,” Namjoon breathed.

“Which is why I asked the King and his riders to join us this morning,” you announced. “Once the treaty is finalized, we will fight together against Mor. It is time we learned how to use everything in our arsenal.”

Jimin, who had remained silent throughout the demonstration, finally nodded.

Despite his personal feelings towards Duret Ghal, he would always place Ashya above all else. If the magic of the riders was something you could use to your advantage, Jimin would be the one who figured out how to do it.

Still, you knew this must hurt. You were not the only one who noticed Jimin’s reticence. Taehyung had been watching your commander from across the circle, and he now cocked his head as he took a step forward.

“You are Park Jimin, are you not?” he asked.

Jimin met Taehyung’s gaze. “I am.”

Taehyung nodded. “I have heard stories of you, both on and off the battlefield. Neither of us led our respective armies when your father was killed,” he said, a bit quieter. “But all the same, I am sorry for your loss.”

Jimin’s eyes glinted. “Sorrow does not bring back the dead.”

“No, it does not.”

Jimin stared at him a moment, until some of the anger faded from his gaze. Finally, he looked at the castle and exhaled.

“Are we to fly this morning?” he asked, returning to you. “If we are, we should probably go before the sun gets too high.”

You nodded, uncertain what had just transpired.

“We should leave, then.” Jimin turned away. “I will need to know the full capabilities of your riders. General Kim,” he called out as he walked. “Can you control the lightning, or merely call it?”

Taehyung fell into step alongside him, discussing strategy as they left the field. You watched them go, amazed Jimin had released his past so easily.

Namjoon sighed. “Must I fly as well, Your Majesty?”

You hid a smile. “If you truly wish to stay on the ground…”

Grumbling beneath his breath, Namjoon turned to follow Jimin across the field. You knew you should go as well, but something within seemed to hold you back.

“And what about you?” you asked, glancing at Seokjin. “Are you a rider?”

Seokjin grimaced. “No, Your Majesty. My mother sent me to the bonding ceremony, but all I succeeded in was falling off several dragons.”

“It is where we met though,” Jungkook said, jumping in. “I admired his honesty and wit. Enough that, when I became King, I requested Lord Seokjin be appointed to my closest court.”

“His honesty has been well-noted,” Yoongi said drily.

Maia laughed, her features losing some of their earlier tension. Yoongi glanced her way in surprise, a pleased flush spreading across his cheeks.

In the background, the steady beat of wings filled the air. When you turned, you saw Jimin in Dragon form rising above the sheds. His scales were a dazzling gold, sparkling as he flew across the morning sun.

Taehyung had joined atop his dragon, Uzza. Uzza had scales of slate grey, faded to blue along his spine and his shoulders.

As you watched them both fly, a bout of longing swept through you. Seeing a rider and Dragon fly alongside one another had not been something deemed possible before.

Their wings were swiftly drowned out by Nemrys’ arrival, who circled once overhead before landing beside Jungkook. Bowing, you kept your gaze fixed on his. Nemrys inclined his head in turn, then released a snort.

Jungkook grinned. “He wishes to know if you plan on being shot again.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to walk away. Jungkook laughed at the sight, the sound of it echoing as you crossed the field.

Once inside a shed, you stripped quickly from your gown and laid this on the bench. Only a few days ago, you’d assumed dragons mostly unintelligent and now, one of them was insulting you. The realization made you smile.

It made the world seem wider, somehow. As though more things were possible than you’d previously thought.

Shifting quickly to Dragon form, you lifted from the ground and hovered above the sheds. In the distance, you could see Taehyung alongside Jimin on his dragon. Glancing west, you spotted Namjoon and Maia rising to join them.

Namjoon’s scales were a deep purple, a jewel-tone Ashyan miners would envy. Maia’s dragon, whom you did not know the name of, was a grey pale enough to be confused with blue. As you flew towards their group, Taehyung pointed from his dragon, Uzza.

Craning your neck, you saw Jungkook on the ground. He watched from below, wind whipping his hair as Nemrys beat his wings. Leaning down, he murmured something to Nemrys, who bent his legs and took off. Far below, you heard Seokjin whoop.

With a roar, Jimin dove towards the ground. Taehyung followed suit, along with Namjoon and Maia. Once Jungkook had reached you atop Nemrys, you joined in the show.

It was strange to fly as a group. Dragons were solitary creatures, only banding together when necessary for survival. When you did fly with others, you communicated through a combination of flame and roars, signaling what direction you were about to take.

Soaring higher, you turned your head and saw Jungkook beside you. From the back of Nemrys, he grinned and something warm bloomed in your chest. You recalled what it felt like to fly with him, against him. Something within you ached to feel this again.

This was not the time to reminisce though, so you attempted to focus on the moment at hand. That first flight didn’t last long – you were still monarchs, after all, and the day remained before you. Still, your heart felt lighter when you landed on the ground.

For a first foray between nations, things had gone relatively smoothly. Even Yoongi seemed pleased by the progress, speaking with Taehyung and Jimin as they returned to the castle. The success of today made the impossible seem possible.

Including some things you’d never let yourself imagine.

Jungkook’s face while he flew, his eyes bright and smile wide, played like a loop again and again in your mind.

After another full day of negotiations, the treaty between you and Duret Ghal began to come together. It was a good thing, since Jungkook and his delegation would leave in the next couple of days.

Preparing for sleep that night, you reached for the jar of salve Hoseok had given you and found it empty. You’d applied it every morning and night, whenever the muscle ached, or you found yourself tired. It had helped a great deal, so now you hesitated. Flying this morning had been strenuous on your muscles.

Amara had left, gone to visit her family in the city for the evening. In her absence, you strode across your room and opened the door to the hall. You instructed one of your guards to bring the empty jar to Hoseok and ask for a refill.

While you waited for them to return, you changed into a nightgown and robe. You had just finished washing your face when a knock came from the hall. Expecting the guard returned with your salve, you strode from your chambers and pulled open the door.

You found yourself face to face not with a guard, but with Jungkook.

“Your Majesty,” you said, freezing in place. “I – to what do I owe this pleasure?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, then pulled a jar from behind his back. “I brought the salve from Hoseok,” he said. “I heard you were in need of more.”

“I am.” You blinked. “But you did not need to do that.”

His gaze searched yours, lingering when he dropped to your parted robe. Although you wore a nightgown beneath, you were suddenly aware of the sheer material.

Hastily, you closed the robe tighter.

Cheeks reddening, Jungkook looked up. “It was no trouble,” he said, only to pause. “May I come in, Your Majesty? I do have something I wish to discuss.”

“Ah, so there is an ulterior motive.”

Despite the humor in your voice, you hesitated. Glancing past him, you saw your guards and decided whatever Jungkook had to say, it was best to hear it in private.

“Alright,” you said, stepping aside. “You may come in.”

Surprise crossed his face, though it quickly disappeared. Nodding his thanks, Jungkook entered the room as you shut the door. You stared at it for a moment, gathering your courage before you turned around.

You’d brought many men to your chambers over the years. Yoongi had been in here only the other night, but something about Jungkook’s presence felt different. He was too big, taking up a space no one else could.

Perhaps it was this bond you felt for him, this tingling down your spine at having him so near. Your very soul ached for him, even as you denied him.

Jungkook wandered inside, taking in the décor. A fireplace took up much of the north wall, light flickering over the rug at your feet.

Coming to a stop at the table, Jungkook set down the jar.

“Why did you come?” you asked quietly.

Turning around, Jungkook found your gaze.

You realized the very real danger you were in. Not because Jungkook was your mate. He was, yes, but it was so much more than that. You genuinely enjoyed his company. You found yourself listening for his remarks when you sat by his side, trying not to laugh whenever he made a joke.

It was hard to separate the supernatural from the natural when it came to Jungkook. In a world where mates did not exist and souls were cast adrift, you thought you might have loved him even then. 

Perhaps this was the true magic of the mating bond, after all. Rather than let you wonder, Natal brought you an equal, someone who’d uplift your spirit rather than drag you under.

“You asked for additional salve,” Jungkook said again.

“I did.” You cocked your head. “A servant could have brought that, though – or Hoseok, if he chose.”

“Indeed, he could have.”

A shadow crossed Jungkook’s expression at this, gone before it could be fully realized. He took a step closer, skirting the table to come to a stop. With his height what it was, you were forced to look upwards to see him.

“The soldiers Jimin sent to search the mountains returned this afternoon,” Jungkook informed you. “They found no other Mor patrols so close to Ashya.”

“That is good to know,” you said with a nod. “We will need all the time we can to formulate a plan of attack.”

Thus far, Mor had made no overt advances against you. There had been skirmishes on the southern border, a few miles gained or lost with occasional pushes, but nothing serious. Mor’s full army remained within their own land, biding their days until they chose to strike.

It was only a matter of time before things boiled over. It made sense for Jungkook to discuss Mor’s movements with you, but he’d never visited your chambers to do so before.

“Is there something else you came here to say?” 

Jungkook arched a brow. “Is it possible I might have come simply to enjoy your presence?”

“You could have.”

“Then, what is the problem?”

“The problem,” you said, narrowing your gaze, “is you seem to be the kind of person who says one thing and means another.”

His gaze darkened. “I suppose you would know, Your Majesty.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Rather than answer this, Jungkook turned away. Staring out the window, he seemed to consider his words before he turned back.

“You are a conundrum, Your Majesty,” he said at last.

You sniffed. “That sounds like something a man might say when he does not understand a woman.”

“You are right,” Jungkook said lowly. “For I do not understand you at all.”

This made you blink. It was your own words from the night of the feast, thrown back in your face.

“In what way?” you demanded.

“We knew each other before, and yet you pretend to be strangers. You fight so valiantly for your own kind and yet, keep them at arm’s length. You decline my proposal of marriage,” he said, taking a step closer, “and yet, you consider a political union with another.”

You stared at him for a moment, utterly thrown. “A union with whom?”

“Lord Declan.”

A laugh escaped before you could help it. “Lord Declan is not my betrothed.”

“He tells people he is.”

“Then he is a liar,” you ground out.

Jungkook paused. “Did you consider his offer?”

“I considered your offer, as well.”

“Which you declined.”

“I shall decline him as well, should he ever gather the courage to actually ask me.”

Jungkook hesitated at this, curiosity entering his gaze.

“Why, though?” he asked, a tad softer. “Why decline everyone who asks for your hand? Is there someone else? The man who taught you to sign in the army, perhaps.”

At this, your eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“Merely a guess,” Jungkook said quietly.

Looking abruptly away, he rubbed his thumb to his forefinger in an anxious gesture. You wished he would stop. The gesture made him seem far too human, far too genuine, and tempting and true.

Before you could consider the ramifications, you said, “I do not love someone else.”

You were not sure why you said it. Certainly, it would have been easier for Jungkook to think your heart belonged to another and yet, you could not bear to watch the light fade from his eyes.

Jungkook turned his head to see you. “So, it is me, then,” he said quietly.

“No. And also, yes.”

He frowned. “Clear as mud, Your Majesty.”

You laughed, although there was no humor to it. “What do you expect me to say? That you have convinced me after a week of interactions? That I am awed by your presence, Your Majesty? Is this what you seek in return for healing me in the forest? My hand in marriage?”

Jungkook looked stricken. “No,” he breathed. “Not that. Never that. I would never demand such a thing.”

Something in you softened at his sincerity.

“Then, what?” you asked quietly. “What is it?”

“I just… I wish you would tell me why.”

Unable to meet his gaze, you glanced away. It was a fair question. Jungkook had been nothing but good in the time he’d been here. It occurred to you suddenly that by choosing not to mate, you were taking away his one chance at the bond, as well.

Slowly, you turned back to face him. “I made a vow,” you said, so soft you could hardly hear. “When I became Queen, I vowed I would never marry. It is not something I can turn my back on.”

It was a half-truth, but enough for now.

Jungkook’s brow furrowed. “Why would you make such a vow?”

“Many reasons,” you said. “The main being I wish to belong only to myself and my country. Anything else, and I would do my people a disservice. When I accepted the crown, I said Ashya would always come first.”

The way Jungkook was staring at you made you feel on display, as though he saw through to your very soul and knew what you were made of.

“It is a tricky slope, is it not?” he said at last, stepping closer.

This step brought him within touching distance, the heat of his body seeming to reach out to yours. Something golden and strong brightened between you.

“What do you mean?” 

Jungkook did not look away. “Is the best version of yourself the one without help? Without support? You say you do not wish to do your people a disservice, but is it a disservice to lead while you are unhappy?”

“And you think... marrying you would make me happy?”

“Maybe not,” he admitted, his gaze soft. “All I know is the life you speak of does not sound like a life at all.”

Having no response to this, you could only stare when Jungkook took your hand in his. Lifting your hand, he kept his gaze on yours. As he lowered his gaze, his lips slowly brushed the back of your fingers.

When he released you, you found you could not move, could hardly breathe. It seemed impossible to hide your reaction when Jungkook looked up.

You wanted him. You wanted him so badly it hurt and yet, something continued to hold you back. All you could see when you looked at Jungkook was the pain in your father’s eyes when he learned your mother had died.

“I will take my leave,” Jungkook said when you did not respond. “It has been a long day, and you must be tired.”

You nodded, unable to do more than that when he turned to go.

Halfway to the door, you had the sudden urge to do something. To call out, to ask him to come back, to reveal the bond you felt strengthening between you.

In the end you did none of it. The fear of being broken was greater than your want to be whole.

Jungkook turned at the door. “My offer will stay until I go,” he said before he went.

The door shut behind him, leaving you in silence. Exhaling, you walked to the table and uncapped a decanter. Pouring yourself a glass of wine, you sat before the fire and drank every drop.

It was a long time before you managed to fall asleep that night.

During your flight the next morning, you went north instead of south. Although Jimin had not found additional Mor patrols, your run-in with them had increased your caution. Soaring above the tree line, the sun brightening the horizon, your heart felt heavier than it had in a while.

When you finally landed and hurried inside, you were entirely alone.

For the first time, this did not strike you as such a good thing.

Independence had always been one of your most prized possessions. Your crown had stripped you of so much – your youth, freedom, and the first man you’d loved. Now though, you wondered what you’d given up by clinging to your ideals so tightly.

You did not have much time to consider it. The ball for Duret Ghal was tonight, and the day after tomorrow, their delegation would leave. You would sign the treaty in the morning and then they would be off.

Jungkook’s offer of marriage would disappear with it.

Amara had outdone herself with your dress for the evening. It was crimson in color, falling in gauzy pleats from a golden, metal bodice. Amara had dusted gold powder across your shoulders, resulting in a shimmering aura.

Red was neither the color of Ashya, nor of Duret Ghal. It was the color of fire, of passion – and of love, you realized with a twisting stomach.

Again, Yoongi was your escort and even his eyes widened as you stepped out the door.

“You are going to give someone a heart attack,” he chuckled, extending his arm.

You merely shook your head as you walked down the hall. The crown you wore tonight was gold, as well. A relic from an ancient Queen of Ashya before the colors had changed to silver and green.

“I am sure they will be fine,” you responded. “It is not as though I plan on shifting in the middle of a waltz.”

“It would certainly liven things up if you did.”

Although you gave Yoongi a look, you quickly fell silent as you approached the ball. Beyond the shut doors, you could hear muffled noises of music and laughter.

“Did Namjoon tell you about the dancing?”

Sharply, you turned your head. “No, he did not. What dancing?”

“Apparently, it is the custom in Duret Ghal for their monarch to lead the first dance.”

“I wish His Majesty the best of luck, then.”

Yoongi hid a smile. “You will need to dance also, Your Majesty.”

“Why is that?”

“Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the concept of balls,” Yoongi mused. “Typically, there is food, dancing, general merriment…”

“I know what a ball is, Yoongi.”

“You seemed confused by the prospect of dancing, though.”

“By the prospect of dancing with His Majesty, yes.”

“Now I am the one who is confused, because –”

“Fine,” you ground out as the doors began to open. “I will dance the first song with His Majesty. Nothing more.”

Yoongi grinned, patting your arm as you entered the room.

The ballroom had been lavishly decorated for tonight’s event. Taking it in, you passed over iced draperies, flowers and foliage spilling from every surface. People were gathered throughout, leaving room in the center of the ballroom for you to dance. An orchestra sat poised in the corner, awaiting your entrance to start the first song.

As you and Yoongi descended the spiral staircase, you only had eyes for the opposite side, where the delegation from Duret Ghal already stood. To where Jungkook was standing, watching your entrance.

His robes were similar to those he’d worn at the feast, although the colors tonight were black and gold. Long robes cut to mid-calf, tied in the middle by a black sash. Sigils of gold had been stitched into the fabric, with a thin chain of gold curved across his chest.

Lifting your gaze, your breath caught in your throat. Jungkook’s hair had been bound in a half-bun, the dark tresses broken only by his golden crown.

Walking closer to him under the lights, everything else seemed to fade. Despite your best efforts, something between you had shifted and now that it had, you couldn’t turn back.

You started imagining what the future would look like beside him. Not a future where you were lesser, but rather where you had support. Strength, like he had offered. Oddly enough, the image did not scare you as it once did.

Stepping onto the dais to turn around, you looked at the crowd. In your peripheral, you could see Jungkook looking at you. Ignoring him, you focused instead on your racing heart. You could almost feel it beat in tandem to his, yearning to run at the same pace.

It was not necessary to greet your guests, nor give a speech of pretty words. Instead you simply turned to face him as the music began. Jungkook held out his hand, waiting until you placed your palm over his.

Jungkook’s fingers curled about yours, leading you on the dance floor. People parted as you walked, leaving a space at the center. Jungkook pulled you to face him, placing a hand on your waist as you settled yours on his shoulder.

You looked up. Meeting your gaze, Jungkook took a step backwards to lead you in the first move.

His grip on you tightened as he led you in a spin. Jungkook was a good dancer, although this did not surprise you. By this point he could have announced he was the goddess Natal, herself, and you would have taken it in stride.

This image made you smile, unable to stop it as he swept you around.

“Why are you smiling?” Jungkook asked, his voice low.

Startled, you glanced up and wished you had not. This close, you could see everything, and it made your heart ache.

“I was imagining something funny,” you murmured.

Jungkook’s hand slid to the small of your back. Heat scalded your spine, making your head spin.

“Not about me, I hope,” Jungkook said, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“And if it were?”

His grip on you tightened. “I would like to know the joke.”

Looking up, you met his gaze. “Does it ever tire you?”

Jungkook blinked.

Others had joined the dance at this point, entering the floor in a promenade. Multicolored skirts and robes swept circles around you, leaving you floating at the center of it all.

“Does what ever tire me?” Jungkook asked.

“This,” you said, glancing at your surroundings. “The pressure. The weight. The constant duties, expectations and never-ending loneliness of wearing our crowns.”

For a moment, Jungkook was silent, and you feared you’d overstepped. Then he exhaled, pulling you closer. His thumb brushed against the bare curve of your back.

“Every day,” he admitted.

Before you could respond, the song came to an end.

Couples stepped apart, talking, and laughing in the lull between songs. You and Jungkook stared at one another, the only two in the room as far as you were concerned. For so long, you had convinced yourself having a mate would be a bad thing.

Perhaps it was for some. For your parents, their bond had ended tragically, this was for certain. But for the first time, you wondered if keeping yourself from happiness because you didn’t want to be hurt might simply be a different kind of hurt itself.

When a hand tapped you on the shoulder, you nearly jumped.

Whirling around, you found Lord Declan before you. You stared at him for a few moments, wondering why he was here.

“Your Majesty.” Lord Declan bowed low at the waist. “Would you do me the honor of having the next dance?”

Of course – this was a ball. You would be expected to dance with others, not only Jungkook. Feet faltering, you glanced sideways but before you could decline, Jungkook took a step back.

“She is all yours,” he said, turning around.

Jungkook disappeared, his midnight-colored robes swishing about his ankles. Lord Declan closed in, forcing your attention away as the orchestra began the next song.

“Yes,” you said, trying to focus. “You may, Lord.”

Lord Declan entered where Jungkook had left off, his right hand slipping beneath yours as his other found your waist. His touch felt wrong, as though you’d put the opposite glove on your hand.

“How fortunate the first dance of the night was a short one,” Lord Declan said with a chuckle.

Startled, you glanced up. “I beg your pardon?”

“I envy your patience, Your Majesty,” he continued, oblivious to your tone. “Had I been forced to spend so long these past weeks in the presence of riders…” Breaking off, he shuddered. “Your control is exemplary.”

Had Lord Declan been a wise man, he might have noticed the heat simmering in your gaze. Or the way your spine stiffened, a lone muscle ticking in your jaw. As it were though, Lord Declan was not a smart man, and so he continued to throw caution to the wind.

You were not certain when you’d become so defensive of Jungkook, but the fact remained the Lord’s comments made you see red.

“I do not know that I would call my control exemplary,” you said, your tone deceptively light. “Indeed, my Lord, I find my courtiers often say things I find infuriating.”

Lord Declan paused, clued in by your choice of words.

“If I have said something to offend Your Majesty…”

His steps were not as graceful as Jungkook’s, nearly stepping on your toes as you turned around. Dodging the gesture, you glanced aside and realized Jungkook had not left the dance floor. Instead, he danced with Maia at the edge of the room. While you were watching, Jungkook threw his head back and laughed.

Unpleasantness curdled your stomach despite your insistence he was not yours to want.

“You have said something to offend me, Lord,” you said, returning to Declan. “Either you are ignorant or stupid, and I pray to Natal you are not both.”

Lord Declan stared, his jaw sagging a little.

“We face an enemy,” you said, voice lowering. “Our enemy is not Duret Ghal, nor is it their riders. I suggest you cease speaking such heresy before I wonder if the mines your family owns would do better in the hands of someone else.”

His eyes widened. “Your Majesty, I do not think –”

“Then we are in agreement,” you said, dropping your arms to take a step back.

Turning around, you stalked towards the edge of the dance floor, barely managing to keep your steam in check. When you glanced again at the offending corner, Jungkook and Maia had disappeared.

Driven by a mix of emotions you dared not name, you slipped beyond the courtiers and out a side door. Eyes closed, you allowed the night air to wash over you. Coming to a stop at the edge of the gardens, you opened your eyes to take in the Thadal mountains.

It was colder than it had been a few weeks ago. The winter solstice was coming, and your human skin could only protect you from so much. Still, you could not stomach returning to the party and so, you kept walking, entering the dark hedges.

You let yourself wander, following the twists and turns with nothing but your heart as its guide. When you turned a corner and found Jungkook before you, it almost was not a surprise.

The moment was overlaid with another memory, from ten years prior. The night you’d realized Jungkook was your mate and looked to the future with wonder.

He was alone again, facing away as he stared into an empty, cracked basin. The fountain had been turned off for the winter and before you could speak, Jungkook sighed.

“Were you not enjoying the party?” he asked.

Walking forward, you came to a stop beside him. “I might ask you the same thing,” you said, staring into the basin. “I saw you enjoying yourself during the last dance.”

Jungkook turned his head.

“Are you jealous, Your Majesty?” he murmured, his gaze flinty.

“Merely noting the obvious,” you said, refusing to face him. “You call me a conundrum and yet, you dance with another woman while proposing marriage to me.”

“One dance.”

“So, there has never been anything between you?”

Jungkook paused. “I will not pretend to have been celibate these past ten years. Neither should you, Your Majesty.”

Looking at him, you attempted to calm the roiling feelings within you. It was not right to feel like this. Not right to be jealous, to berate him when you continued to decline his offer.

“Am I correct,” he said, his voice low, “in thinking you do not want me for yourself, yet you do not want anyone else to have me either?”

“That… that is not fair.”

“Perhaps you know how I feel, then,” Jungkook said, his gaze hardening.

Startled, your eyes widened as he took a step closer. Coming to a stop right before you, Jungkook looked down.

“Watching you entertain other men,” he said hotly. “Watching you dance with other men, consider other men while you continue to deny what lies between us. What we are to one another. My former betrothed. And my mate,” he added, his gaze like dark fire.

Speechless, you could only stare in response.

Jungkook knew.

He knew and had said nothing this entire time. You wondered when he’d realized but lost your head entirely when he lifted a hand. Pressing his thumb beneath your chin, Jungkook tipped your head up.

Bending, he brushed your lips against his. The kiss was chaste, sweet – and wildfire erupted in response. Before you could stop yourself, your hand had fisted in his robes to drag him down. You kissed him back hungrily, fiercely as the heat consumed you.

Jungkook seemed to burn just as bright, crushing you close. His arms wrapped around you, tongue eagerly flicking against your lower lip. When you parted beneath him, he licked into your mouth. Inhaling his scent, you wanted him closer.

It was not at all how you’d imagined it to be.

You had thought once you gave in, it would feel like erasing yourself. Removing the old to make way for the new, but it was not like that at all. Letting him in only made you feel stronger.

Thumbs skimming your cheeks, Jungkook angled you upward and kissed you again. He drew a shuddering breath before he forced himself to stop.

Slowly, his eyes opened and he stared at you, his chest rising and falling.

“If you do not want this, though.” Hoarse, his thumbs caressed your skin. “I do not wish to force it upon you. You should not marry me because of a bond, Your Majesty. Nor should you because you think it’s what’s best for Ashya. I want you to marry me because you want to. Nothing more.”

When you did not respond, Jungkook’s expression began to shutter and he took a step backwards. His hands fell to his sides, the air between you turning cold.

All too late, you realized you’d waited too long. You should have said something immediately, should have done something other than kiss him like a maniac.

“Thank you,” Jungkook said. “For the hospitality you’ve shown Duret Ghal these past weeks. Whatever your feelings are for me, I look forward to signing the treaty tomorrow.”

Before you could say anything more, Jungkook walked past you and left the gardens. You were left alone beside an empty basin.

You stayed there for a while, staring at the looming Thadal mountains, and wondering how in the world you had gotten things so wrong.

When you returned to the proceedings of the ball, Yoongi was smart enough not to ask where you had been. He seemed to know anyways, based on the look on your face.

Stiffly you stood and surveyed the dancing couples. Whenever you cared to look, you caught glimpses of Jungkook on the opposite side.

You tried not to, but this proved to be difficult now that you knew. Jungkook knew you were his mate. You knew what his lips tasted like. All of this you knew and could not forget.

It was his last words which ran again and again through your mind. Jungkook knew you were his mate and yet, he’d said nothing because he wanted you to choose him for him. It was such a foolhardy, romantic notion it made your heart ache.

Even with Leo, you had not felt this way. If you had been honest, you had known your relationship would be doomed from the start. Leo had never challenged you in ways which made you grow. You’d kept him at arm’s length, never giving him the opportunity to know your true self. 

After the death of your parents, you’d been in a dark place. You had made the vow not to marry out of an attempt to protect yourself. Perhaps you’d grown beyond needing such things.

The next time you looked, Jungkook was looking back.

He glanced away quickly, but he’d looked. The realization made you take a step forward but before you could go to him, Yoongi leaned in.

“What did you say to him when you danced?”

Surprised, you glanced in his direction. You thought Yoongi meant Jungkook but then realized he looked at Lord Declan. Declan seemed flustered, pointedly looking anywhere but at you while Lord Larkin glared from across the room.

You stifled a snort. “Only the truth.”

“Which was?”

“That like it or not, Duret Ghal are our allies, so they better start acting like it.”

Quietly, Yoongi laughed as he straightened. “No wonder his father looks as though he swallowed something sour.”

Guiltily, you looked away. “I am sorry if I caused you trouble,” you said, knowing Yoongi would be the one to clean it up. “It is only –”

“You were right.” Yoongi nodded. “The world is changing, and they can either change with the times or be left behind. I am glad you said something.”

Shooting him a grateful look, you glanced again across the room and realized Jungkook had disappeared. Scanning the rest of the ball, you spotted some of his delegation but not their King. Maia was dancing with Namjoon and to your surprise, you realized Taehyung had asked Amara to dance.

Jungkook was nowhere to be seen. Despite his absence, you forced yourself to stay until Yoongi deemed it socially acceptable for you to leave. The last thing you wanted was to put the treaty in jeopardy because you’d overlooked proper etiquette.

As the evening went on, candles guttered low in the chandeliers and guests began to thin out the dance floor. People started disappearing, traveling home in groups of two and three. Sometime around midnight, you finally bade Yoongi goodnight.

Forgoing his offer of escort, you took a side hall and exited the ball. It was a quiet walk to your chambers, a silence which did not lessen once you were inside.

Removing your crown, you set this on your dresser and stared out the window. You wondered if this was your future. A cold, lonely existence where you always ended up in your room alone.

Jungkook was right.

You kept everyone at a distance because you were afraid of being hurt. You were afraid if you let them in, you’d grant them the power to tear your heart in two. The problem was you weren’t sure how much longer you’d have a heart to give.

It already felt like a feeble, weakened thing within your chest. You didn’t know how to make it work like it should. So accustomed to your own company, you were unable to respond to true acts of friendship. This struck you as a poor kind of ruler for any nation. 

It made you wonder if the vow you’d once made held no further weight.

Now was time to decide what kind of ruler you wanted to be, what kind of person you wanted to be moving forward. Your life could still be wondrous if you so wished.

Abruptly, you turned and strode for the door.

Your guards seemed surprised to see you leave, but let you pass by with a nod. Once in the hallways, your feet seemed to know the way. Down one hall, then the next, you found yourself entering the guest wing before your mind could catch up.

Depending on stature, guests of the crown stayed with varying proximity to your personal quarters. It was not far to the rooms Jungkook occupied, the most lavish guest suite in the castle.

Outside his room, your steps slowed before coming to a stop. Jungkook did not have guards posted outside his doors. Some might have seen this as a sign of naiveté, but you saw it for what it was. A symbol of trust.

Lifting a hand, you knocked on his door.

It took him a few seconds to answer, rustling noises telling you he was within. When he swung open the door, your mouth immediately went dry.

Jungkook had changed from his formal attire to a more casual tunic and trousers. It took a great deal of effort to keep your eyes on his face, and not wander towards the ink you saw peering out from his sleeves.

Surprise flickered in the depths of his gaze, although he quickly concealed it. Leaning a shoulder to the frame, Jungkook arched a brow.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Your Majesty?”

Any words you wished to say dried up like a stream in the desert. Finally, you managed to rouse yourself.

“May I come in?” you asked.

Jungkook paused. For a moment, you were afraid he might tell you to go. You had turned him down so many times; surely it was time for him to return the favor.

Then he dipped his head and stepped aside, allowing you entrance. Heart pounding, you slipped past him and stood at the center of the room.

His rooms were your guest chambers, so you had obviously seen them before. Occasionally you met with foreign dignitaries or visitors. Jungkook had stayed long enough though, that portions of the room had begun to seem like his own.

The black and gold robes he’d worn to the ball were draped over a partition. A trunk remained half-open beside a table, full of stacks of books. It reminded you of your visit to Duret Ghal so long ago, where he could often be found in the library.

“Would you like wine?” Jungkook interrupted your thoughts.

Mutely, you nodded and reached for the crystal decanter. Midway there, Jungkook’s hand caught your wrist.

“Allow me,” he said, moving past.

You stopped and watched him pour two glasses of wine. One after the other, Jungkook set them down on the table.

“You knew,” you said quietly. “You knew you were my mate.”

Jungkook hesitated, continuing to stare at the wine.

After a moment, he lifted a glass and took a long sip. “Yes,” he admitted. “I knew.”

“When?” you demanded.

His eyes narrowed, looking up. “When did you know, Your Majesty?”

“At the end of my last visit to Duret Ghal.”

“I knew the moment I saw you,” he said quietly.

“You – what?”

Jungkook set his wine down. “Your arrival was scheduled for shortly before sundown,” he said. “My parents had dressed me in my best clothes, and I remember being angry about it. I remember standing there fuming, waiting for you to arrive. And then you did.”

His eyes shone. “I had never seen someone so beautiful.”

Hearing him speak, your breath caught in your chest. Jungkook began to walk closer, his expression inscrutable.

“I avoided you for a few days,” he continued. “Mates are rarer in Duret Ghal and for a while, I didn’t know what I was feeling. Even once I realized, I resented the bond. It was difficult enough to accept my own magic back then.”

“What changed your mind?”

“You.” His lips curled in a smile. “You surprised me. I found myself liking you despite myself. I started to realize the bond might not be such a bad thing.”

“So… this entire time, you have known,” you said in disbelief.

“I have.” His expression darkened. “As have you, it would seem.”

Guilty, you looked away. You had and it had not occurred to you to tell him.

That was a lie. It had occurred to you and you’d decided against it, because you did not think you could stomach denying the bond to his face.

Reaching out, Jungkook took your hand. The gesture was so simple, it nearly broke you in two. Glancing down, you marveled when he brushed his thumb over your skin. Jungkook gave you space to think until you found the courage to speak.

“You know my mother was killed ten years ago,” you said quietly. “My father survived the attack, but they were mated and when she passed… he could not bear it.” After a pause, you looked up. “He died five years later, and those five years were as torturous for everyone else as they were for him.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Jungkook murmured.

“He tried,” you said, forcing yourself to remember.

To remember the days when your father had tried to go on. He’d tried for you and for Ashya, but it had not been enough. There had been no light in his gaze, no meaning behind his odd smiles. Although only your mother had died in the attack, you’d lost both your parents.

“I know he did,” you continued. “But the pain of losing his mate was too much. Everything which had been important simply faded away. I swore after he passed the same fate would not befall me. It is why I said no to you,” you said, your grip tightening. “It is not because I feel nothing. I said no to you because you are my mate.”

His thumb continued to soothe over your skin. “And now?” he asked, wondering. “Did you come here simply to say this?”

“No. Now I find myself wondering if in an attempt to spare myself pain, I created agony of a different kind.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened. “I meant what I said earlier, Y/N. I don’t wish for you to agree out of some sense of duty, or an unearthly bond.”

A shiver went down your spine at hearing your name on his lips.

“That is not why I am saying yes,” you said, lifting your chin.

Surprise flared in his gaze. “No?”

“No.”

Deciding you needed the wine after all, you tugged your hand from his and turned towards the table. Lifting the glass to your lips, you let the sweet burn fill your throat.

In the corner of your eyes, you could see Jungkook watching. Waiting.

“I am saying yes because I want this,” you breathed, turning around. “I want you. I have wanted you since the day you followed me to the cliffs. I’m scared,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. “I’m terrified of what you might do to me. Of what I might do to you. But I don’t want fear to hold me back anymore.”

Jungkook continued to stare at you, jaw working while he thought through what to say. His fingers began to tremble, fighting the rising tide of emotion.

“We face a difficult path,” he said at last.

You nodded. “I know.”

“The history between our people. Revealing the magic of the riders. War on the horizon,” he said, taking a step forward with each reason he listed.

“Do you not want me to say yes, Your Majesty?”

Jungkook came to a stop before you.

“I want you to say yes so badly it hurts,” he said hoarsely. “But I don’t want you to accept not knowing what it means.”

“The bond scared me for a long time,” you told him. “The idea of belonging to someone. Of no longer depending solely upon myself.”

“And why is that?”

“Loss of control.” Your smile was fleeting. “The idea has always terrified me more than any enemy. I feared the bond would mean losing myself… that it would mean…”

“Giving a part of yourself away.”

Quiet, you nodded.

“Did you not think, though,” he said, reaching out. “Giving a piece of yourself away might mean gaining something in return?”

Taking your hand in his, Jungkook laid them both on his heart.

You stared at your hand, splayed beneath his on his chest. The idea had not occurred to you, and yet – perhaps it should have.

“I have no doubt you will remain independent,” Jungkook insisted. “Accepting this bond would not change that. I would not want that to change.”

“But if I were to die –”

“Love is always a liability,” Jungkook quietly said. “It is. And yet, where would we be without it? My love for Nemrys, for Duret Ghal and the riders saved me when my parents died. A world without love is not one worth fighting for.”

Ever so gentle, you brushed the curve of his hand with your thumb.

Jungkook’s grip on yours tightened.

“Yes,” you breathed. Chest practically touching, you looked up to see him. “I know all this, and I’m saying yes.”

For the first time, you let yourself look at him fully.

You had known he was beautiful, but the truth was he was nearly unbearable. Strong jaw, soft lips and eyes which burned as fierce as any Dragon. You did not look at them though, wanting to take in the rest of him first. Lifting a hand, you cupped the side of his face.

Jungkook shivered at your touch. Startled, you glanced up and met his gaze. The need you found within nearly undid you.

For so long, this had been building inside. Suddenly the idea of you tolerating, let alone enjoying another man’s company seemed a strange concept. Jungkook was your mate, someone who had never once cowered from who and what you were.

Turning his head, Jungkook’s lips brushed your palm.

“What are you thinking?” he murmured.

“I am remembering earlier. Your kiss in the garden.”

His gaze darkened. “What do you want from me, my Queen?”

The addition of the word my sent a thrill down your spine.

“You,” you said, knowing how true it was.

You wanted every part of the man before you. Wanted to know him, breathe him in, drink from his cup and bask in his light. The man who’d known you were his mate and hadn’t claimed you, but rather waited. Waited you to come to him.

Rising on your tiptoes, your hands slid to his neck and you kissed him again.

You kept your pressure light, the opposite of the searing kiss you’d previously shared. Pulling away, you savored the press of his chest, the warmth of his body and the weight of his hands. When you opened your eyes, you found Jungkook smiling.

Pressing your lips to his again, you moved a bit closer. Jungkook seemed content just to kiss, trading gentle pressure – until you pulled back, teeth catching on his lower lip.

A growl loosened from his chest, low and primal.

Sliding a hand behind your neck, Jungkook tilted your head upward and waited for you to nod. When you did, he crushed your lips to his in a kiss equally fierce as it was possessive. Breath stolen, you gave him your desire and what was left of your heart.

Warmth flooded your veins, heating you from the inside out. With limbs of molten fire, you kissed him back until his tongue swiped at your lip, demanding entrance. You parted easily for him, a whimper leaving your throat as you melded together.

Jungkook groaned, pulling close to kiss you again. His fingers traced the skin at your nape, trailing your spine to firmly cup your ass. Nestled between his legs, Jungkook allowed you to feel every inch of his hardness.

Your skin was aflame, as though lightning had zipped across it. Reduced to only sensations, you shivered at each one you felt. His thumb, fondling the dip of your waist. Your nipples, turgid against the fabric of your gown. The sharp, aching pulse which steadily grew between your thighs.

“Oh,” you gasped, head tipping back.

Jungkook kissed each inch of exposed skin you gave him.

“Is this what you want?” he murmured.

“What I want, my King,” you panted, regaining some of yourself. “Is for you not to stop.”

Lips curved in a smile, he lifted his head. “I rather think your King is more appropriate, no?”

You arced a brow. “What is the difference?”

“One implies you are my subject and the other implies I belong to you.”

“And which do you prefer?���

His gaze glinted in firelight. “Allow me to show you, my Queen.”

Barely pausing, you breathed, “And which usage was that?”

With a soft sort of chuckle, Jungkook walked you both backwards until your spine hit the wall. Bending his head, he brushed his lips against yours until you were aching. Until your need for him became fire, racing through your veins in a silent demand.

Sliding his thigh between your legs, Jungkook paused when you gasped. Swiftly giving in, he covered your lips in a kiss which seared to your soul.

Slipping your hands higher, you marveled at the breadth of his torso. Years of riding had hardened his body, making you wonder what he looked like beneath the tunic.

One hand on the wall, Jungkook’s other fisted in your skirts as he tugged you closer. Sharply, you inhaled when he yanked up the fabric, exposing your knee to the gentle press of his thumb. A moan left your lips as your head hit the wall, eyes fluttering open.

Jungkook stopped. “Is it too much?” he asked, releasing your skirts.

“No.” You shook your head. “I want more. I want you”

His gaze darkened. “Then you shall have me,” he promised, covering your mouth with his.

His kiss was rough, lips bruising as your hands found his hair. Arching against him, you reveled in the hard panes of his body. It seemed wherever you had space, Jungkook had been made to fill it.

Hand in your skirts once again, Jungkook pulled them higher to press his thigh in between. You inhaled at the contact, his muscles rigid and hard in all the right places.

Before you could do anything else, Jungkook bent and grasped the back of your thighs. Wrapping you around his waist, he kept your body close as he walked towards the bed. Lowering you to the floor, his hands remained on your waist.

“Turn around,” Jungkook rasped, and you obeyed.

Facing the bed, you felt his fingers trace over the bodice of your gown.

“May I?” he asked, his voice shaky.

“Please,” you whispered.

Carefully, Jungkook began undoing the laces and hooks. As the fabric was loosened, exposing your skin to his gaze, you closed your eyes. His fingers skimmed your shoulders, sliding the fabric lower until it hit the floor.

Bared to his gaze, you felt your breath hitch. Cool air played over your skin, perking your breasts, and drifting between your thighs. The gown was sheer enough to necessitate you wore no undergarments beneath it, leaving you naked before him.

“Y/N.” Jungkook sounded hoarse. “Please… please face me.”

Slowly, you did so as you opened your eyes.

Jungkook stared, his eyes dark as night. Jaw tense, his gaze slowly dragged down your body. You felt the intimacy of it as he trailed your throat, lingered at your breasts, your ass, and between your thighs.

When he finally returned to your face, the heat between you was scorching. Throat parched, your body felt one with the fire.

“Now, you,” you murmured.

Without looking away, Jungkook lifted a hand to begin undoing his tunic. Once it was loose, he pulled this overhead in a single motion. As it hit the floor, his hands went to his trousers. With bated breath, you watched him remove the laces.

Swallowing once, you stared at his chest bathed in soft firelight. Swirling dark lines stretched across his shoulder, encircling his bicep, and traveling to his wrist. You saw words and symbols but had no time to peruse. Later, you promised yourself. Later, you’d worship the ink with your lips and tongue.

A dark smattering of hair trailed from his abs, disappearing into trousers he undid with deft fingers. Once these had been pushed to the floor, you found another reason to swallow.

You were not what anyone would call shy, but something about this felt more intimate than it ever had. Baring yourself to Jungkook meant more than just sex. You’d accepted the bond, accepted what lay between you and acknowledged him as your mate.

Seeming to understand, Jungkook took a step closer as he bent his head. His hands slid to your waist and he kissed you gently.

When he pulled away, you saw vulnerability in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he said.

You marveled at the sound of his name on your lips. “Jungkook,” you returned, and watched him smile.

Bending again, his lips found yours as his hands skimmed your body. You settled between his legs, feeling slightly light-headed from the press of so much skin. Jungkook’s hand slid lower, gripping one of your thighs to wrap around him. He gave the same treatment to the other, twisting you around to lay on the bed.

Pressing a knee to the mattress, Jungkook crawled forward and bent his head. Lips soft, he began to kiss down your body. Your hands gripped his back, trailing to find the twin dimples nestled at the base of his spine.

When Jungkook’s mouth brushed your breasts, he paused. Instead of giving in and devouring you whole, he slid a hand between your thighs and found how wet you were. Gaze lidded, he looked up as he cupped your sex. A single finger slid over your silken entrance.

Lifting the same finger to his lips, Jungkook leisurely tasted you. When he pulled his finger out, you saw it had been licked clean.

Growling in approval, Jungkook bent and closed his lips over your breast.

“Oh,” you gasped, arching beneath him.

Your nipple was already hard, peaked with desire. Jungkook sucked on it eagerly, pulling your breast taut before he raised his head. Moving on to the next, his thumb remained behind to skim over your nipple.

He continued with this sweet torture until you’d had enough.

“No more,” you gasped, curving a hand beneath his jaw.

Releasing your breast, he lifted his head. “I want to taste you,” Jungkook breathed. “I want to know what it’s like to have you fall apart on my tongue.”

Easing yourself onto your elbows, you slowly spread your legs.

“Do your worst, Your Majesty,” you said, gaze glinting.

Jungkook grinned, lowering himself to the sheets. His mouth was hot, open as he kissed your waist, your belly and lower. You did not know where to look – his entirely naked ass, or his dark head of hair before your dripping sex.

Dragging his nose up your thigh, Jungkook deeply inhaled as he centered himself. Lowering his head to your sex, he gave a tentative kiss. Even this sent a sweeping shudder through you. It took nearly everything you had not to moan like a maiden in heat.

Opening his mouth, his tongue swirled once and you nearly dissolved. Liquid heat pulsed through you, cumulating between your thighs in a sinful wave. Worshipping you with his tongue, Jungkook tore moans from your lips, one after the other.

Swiping his tongue in another slow circle, he coaxed your body to arc from the bed. With a throaty chuckle, Jungkook looked up. Hair mussed and lips wet, he looked like something divine.

“Do you want more, my Queen?” he asked lowly.

“Yes,” you exhaled, unable to look away.

A devious smile spread across his lips. Lowering his mouth, Jungkook resumed his ministrations until you were gasping his name.

“Oh,” you groaned, broken as he continued to eat you out.

Gripping your thighs, he pushed them further apart to better get at your sex. Legs splayed on the bed, you framed his broad shoulders as you reached for his hair. Another growl left him as you fisted your hand in the strands. Hips rising and falling with the motion of his mouth, your head fell limply back on the bed.

“Yes – yes,” you said, chasing the sweet pleasure with your hips.

You hardly knew what you were doing as you moved, never having felt this way before. Jungkook seemed equally entranced, his eyes snapping open to meet yours above. The bottom half of his face was wet with your juices and while you should have felt modest, instead you felt righteousness. Intoxication. Possession.

This was your body which made him look like this, half-feral with need as he ground into the mattress. “Yes,” you gasped, gripping harder as your legs started to shake. “Yes, Jungkook.”

Pleasure built from within, threatening to drown out everything but the man between your thighs. Slipping a finger to your entrance, Jungkook drew lazy circles over your sex. His tongue moved in quick, agile motions against your swollen clit.

“Come for me,” he panted, lifting his head.

Your lips parted when his finger slipped in. Gripping his hair, your hips bucked against him as he added another and curled. Crying out his name, you came hard and fast around his hand. You think you said Jungkook, amongst other things, as you went limp on the mattress, your hands falling to the sheets.

Jungkook slowly relented, gently kissing your hip, your chest and all the way up your throat. Smiling softly, he settled beside you to drape an arm over your waist. Chest rising and falling, you stared at him in wonder.

You’d often wondered what the mating bond felt like. If something would snap into place and all of a sudden, your mind would belong to someone else. Whatever you’d imagined, it had not been this. This felt as natural, as right as when you flew.

Tracing a circle on your inner thigh, Jungkook looked up. “Do you want more?”

His other hand parted your legs, cupping your heat to show you what he meant. Inhaling softly, you reached down and encircled his wrist with your hand. Jungkook went still.

“Yes,” you murmured. “But not like that.”

His eyes lightened. “How, then?”

“I want all of you. Inside me,” you said. “I take the potions monthly.”

The potions were a trio of liquids sold by most apothecaries throughout the continent. They did everything from preventing pregnancy to protecting against diseases and easing your monthly flow. Arching a brow, you glanced pointedly at the headboard.

Smiling softly, Jungkook retracted his hand. Pushing himself upwards, he shifted to seat himself against the same headboard.

You could not have imagined a more beautiful sight. With mussed hair, his skin dark with ink and flushed with arousal, Jungkook was artwork himself. Lifting yourself to your knees, you positioned yourself over his thighs and lowered your gaze.

His cock was impressive, although you had already known this. He would be the largest you’d ever taken, that was for certain.

Reaching down, you wrapped your hand gently around him. Gaze half-lidded, Jungkook stared as you dragged your hand upwards. A hiss left his lips, though he held himself back.

“Careful,” he warned, shifting his hips.

Brushing your thumb across his head, you spread already-leaking fluids down his hardened shaft. Lowering your body, your mouth slid over the reddening tip. With a flick of your tongue, you relished his soft moan of approval. Next, was a swirl, before you slid off with a pop and began to move your fist.

“This is not your first time,” Jungkook observed, breathing heavily.

“Neither is it yours, Your Majesty.”

Bending again, you took him all at once in your mouth. Gasping his chuckle, Jungkook’s hands skimmed your torso to land on your rear. For a while, the only sounds which filled the room were the sloppy sounds of you sucking.

“It is not,” he panted, fingers digging into your ass. “And yet, I cannot help but be envious of all who came before me. Of all who’ve known the sweet pleasure of your lips on their cock.”

Removing him from your mouth, you looked up.

“There is no need to be jealous,” you said, rising onto your knees. Not looking away, you swung a leg over his hips. “You are the one who has me now.”

Something proud, almost territorial entered his gaze.

Gripping you by the waist, Jungkook pulled you even closer. “Do I?” he murmured, lips brushing your throat. “My Queen. My betrothed. My mate,” he breathed, nipping the skin.

A not unpleasant shiver ran down your spine. Reaching beneath you, you gripped his cock to position at your dripping entrance. Still, you did not take him inside.

Realizing Jungkook awaited an answer, you nodded. He had you.

“Then tell me,” Jungkook demanded, looking into your eyes.

Lowering yourself, you felt his tip brush your entrance. “You have me,” you whispered. “My King. My betrothed. My mate.”

With each word, you took him in deeper. Jungkook sat upright, right hand cupping the back of your neck to bring you closer. Clasped to his warm, damp skin, you sank down on his cock.

“That’s it,” he murmured, hot in your ear. Other hand gripping your ass, he lowered you even further. “You can take more of me, can you not?”

You could and you did, not wanting to wait any longer. Hands digging into his back, you kept your chests pressed together as you sank even further. No matter how much you took, there always seemed to be more to give. Jungkook’s cock stretched you open, making you work to fit all of him inside.

“Oh,” you whimpered, gripping him tighter.

Jungkook grunted and stroked the side of your neck with his thumb. “There you go. Take all of it. All of me,” he exhaled.

A now-familiar shiver swept your spine as you moved. The last inch pushed you past your limits, but finally you felt him bottom out. For a moment, you could not breathe from the feeling of fullness. Of rightness. Of completeness.

Him sheathed inside you felt indescribable, only improved when Jungkook shifted his hips and finally moved.

“Oh,” you gasped, eyes flying wide.

“Y/N,” he groaned.

Lifting yourself higher, your nipples brushed his chest as you eased yourself down. Jungkook’s hand remained on your spine, rolling your hips as he thrust from below. Kissing him slowly, you bit down on his lip and took him in deeper.

Jungkook began to move, spearing you with his cock as you spread your legs. His kisses became harder, more desperate as a steady thrum of power built in between you. Soon it was your hips chasing his, not the other way around.

Lowering his head, Jungkook caught your breast with his mouth. Lips parting, you began to fuck him harder as you slammed your hips down. His tongue teased one rounded breast, switching to the other while his thumb flicked the first.

Dropping onto his length over and over, you marveled at the feel of him moving inside you.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, head thrown back in ecstasy.

His hands seemed to be everywhere. Clasping you to him, skimming your torso, flicking your pebbled nipples as the wave of pleasure built. Toes curling beneath you, you panted from the effort of trying not to come.

As though he could sense this, Jungkook began speeding up. Clasping you to him, he thrust into you harder, filling you with each languid roll of his hips. As your lips found each other, the strange tide of longing crested into a wave.

Winding your fingers into his hair, you tipped your head back and bared your neck to his teeth. Jungkook scraped them up your throat, whining his approval as you rode his cock. Hands gripping your ass hard enough to bruise, his hips moved even faster as he sought completion.

With his dampened skin pressed to yours, his scent began to envelop. Each moan he gave you was freely taken. Each sound you made, he swallowed whole. You were not sure how long you existed in this state, simply reveling in the pleasure from each other’s bodies.

On the edge of release, you felt the bond between you tighten. It was difficult to tell where one of you ended and the other began. Slamming your hips down to his, Jungkook was equally fierce, plunging inside you.

“I cannot hold on much longer,” he gasped.

You nodded, stroking his temple with a sweat-slicked thumb. “Together.”

Jungkook nodded, lips seeking yours in a question you answered. Hips quickening, limbs tightening, you let yourself fall into the release he offered. As you came undone, it was Jungkook you held onto. Somewhere within the bright haze of your pleasure, you felt Jungkook release as well. Thick, hot spurts of cum painted your insides white. 

You reveled in it, trembling at the idea of a future where he’d do this again. Where he’d whet you with his seed, stuffing you full in the hopes you might bear his child. The notion made you whimper, squeezing with your walls as you felt him begin to leak out. 

Although your breathing slowed, the haze of joy lingered. The mating bond became almost visible, shining crystal-clear in what had previously been darkness. It stayed with you; humming and golden, and fearfully strong.

Lifting your head, you met Jungkook’s gaze.

He had not become someone different. Neither had you and yet, something between you had changed. It was still Jungkook beneath you, inside you and with his arms wrapped around you. Now though, you knew what he was to you. Your mate. You had chosen him, and he had chosen you.

Based on his expression, you knew he felt something similar.

One of your hands slid down his chest and settled over his heart. Beneath your palm and warm skin, you felt his heart keeping pace with yours.

“Oh,” you murmured, eyes shining.

Leaning forward, Jungkook brushed your lips with his. Clasping your hand in between you, he rested his forehead to yours.

You knew obstacles lay ahead. You knew but somehow, they all seemed more possible with him by your side. With him as your partner, your mate, your betrothed.

Opening your eyes, you met his gaze and smiled.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2021. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone read this long! I hope you enjoyed :)

Character Ask Game found here

[shotorozu]

Hi! Before anything I wanted to lyk I've read through some of your work and you've easily become one of my favorite writers :) I was wondering if you could do a bit of a comfort post? If not that's totally okay! If so, could it be hcs for Bakugo, Shinso, and maybe Aizawa (but not in like a relationship kinda way for him, like a student opening up to their teacher) telling them about being gender fluid? What would be their reactions? How would they adjust to the name change and using different pronouns? I recently told my bf and he didn't seem too up for it, eventually I told him to use my given name and she/her, kinda bummed lmao. I totally understand if you don't want to write for this, tysm either way! Have a great night/day :) (I'm so sorry this is so lengthy lmaooo)

reader coming out as gender fluid

character(s) : bakugou katsuki, shinsou hitoshi, aizawa shouta (bnha)

legend : [Y/N = your name, D/N = deadname] gender neutral, quirk not specific

headcanon type : hurt-comfort, fluff (x reader; platonic)

note(s) : first of all, i’m sorry about what happened with your boyfriend, if he cares about you, then he should’ve been supportive. it’s disheartening knowing that you decided to have him address you by your birth name, and by she/her. it should never be that way, especially when you felt comfortable coming out to HIM as gender fluid.

anon, i really hope this post gives you comfort, and if you want to talk— my dms are open!

»»————-　♡　————-««

bakugou katsuki

he wasn’t so sure on why you were acting all skittish all of a sudden, and he just wished you told him what was up

as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, katsuki really hates seeing you this down— and if only he could ‘kill those pesky emotions!!’

after a long day at school, katsuki decided to demand an immediate answer, on WHY you were acting like this

you express your concern, and even though katsuki’s rough words say otherwise— he’s willing to help (as much as he could)

but he wasn’t expecting you to come out as genderfluid

the entire pronoun thing had him confused, and it wasn’t in the “huh?? why would you want that?” type of confusion

it was rather like the “i thought they/them were plural pronouns?” confusion, but don’t be misguided! a quick google search fixed it up, and now he gets it.

with the name thing,, it took him two tries for him to get it right— but he’ll treat you like royalty if he accidentally slips up. he doesn’t mean to disrespect you

out of everyone here— he would be the most confused at first, since he hasn’t had anyone come out to him in like,, ever

katsuki feels so honored to have you feel comfortable enough to come out to him.

everyone is so intimidated by his short-tempered demeanor, to the point that no one has shared such an important, and personal detail to him

he’ll pull you in for a hug, large warm hands rubbing your back— and he’s trying to be gentle, okay?

“you really thought i was gonna say some bullshit about this, huh?” was what he first said to break the silence “i could care less about what you fucking identify with, you’re still you.”

and he means it

if anyone disrespects you, he’s blowing them up into space— enraged that anyone would try to disrespect you.

katsuki’s also very quick to correct someone if they ever deadname you “IT’S Y/N, NOT D/N!”

rip to them

shinsou hitoshi

as soon as he notices that something’s wrong, his eyes will be on you— and only you.

he wishes he had some sort of mind reading quirk— he wants to know what’s on your mind, just so he could help you

hitoshi doesn’t want to be pushy, so he can only wait for you to come to him— but he will leave subtle hints that you could tell him anything that was on your mind.

so that’s when you decide to tell him your worries, and everything— feeling that you’re ready to come out to him as gender fluid

a small genuine smile will grace his face, pulling you into a loose embrace— “thank you for feeling comfortable enough to tell me.”

the next thing he does is ask you if you want to go by anything else— just in case you do want to be addressed differently.

you’ll still be his kitty anyway, so it’s not like this change would negatively affect him.

you’ll never catch him slipping up

i’m sure he’s probably familiar with different types of identities— so gender fluidity isn’t a stranger topic to him

so because of this, he adapts pretty easily— cooperating with the new revelations with ease

rip to anyone that has the audacity to deadname or misgender you, it’s not something he takes very lightly similar to bakugou and aizawa

he’ll understand if it’s a innocent mistake, but he still won’t be pleased with the offender— that’s strike one for him

i swear— his glare will make anyone shart their pants in a second. it’s ruthless

hitoshi won’t hesitate on using his quirk on anyone that purposely disrespects you— and for once, he doesn’t care about what others will say about him.

they shouldn’t have disrespected you 🤷‍♀️ just saying

if you wanted to buy clothes that were a lot more gender neutral, he’s perfectly fine with that too!

hitoshi doesn’t care if you strip him of every single penny and dime that was in his wallet for hoodies and sweatpants.

he just wants your happiness to be at it’s highest at all times— because a happy Y/N makes a happy hitoshi <3

aizawa shouta

even though he has to take care and supervise 23 growing teenagers, he still manages to notice if something’s wrong with one of them it’s impressive!

of course— aizawa’s a busy man, and he’s constantly tired. but, it would make him feel a lot better if all of his students were content with themselves

so seeing you down was something he noticed since the moment you came in

it’s not like he could FORCE you to tell him what was wrong, that’s not the approach he’s looking for

and besides, if you told him that everything was fine, then he couldn’t really push it. his concern didn’t really die down though

a few days later, aizawa decides to talk to you again— basically consenting you to come talk to him when the time’s right

but he didn’t see this coming

so that’s when you decide to come out to him first, spilling out your concerns, and the worries that plagued your mind— worried that people wouldn’t accept your new identity as a gender fluid person

now, aizawa has met a lot of people in his life. from different ages, people with different quirks, and of course— different identities

he asks you why you decided to tell him first, and you told him that it’s because you felt comfortable knowing he knew first

“thank you for telling me, Y/N” he thanks you calmly with a comforting hand on your shoulder “i’m proud of you.”

he asks you if you want to go by a different name, and he’ll make sure to start calling you by that name (even though he calls all of his students by their last name)

oh, and he immediately switches pronouns! i know that should be expected but,, it’s so natural wow

of course, he won’t out you to anyone if you’re not ready to come out to the rest

and because of how natural the pronouns switch is, no one notices it when aizawa started addressing you with they/them

but if you’re ready to come out, he’ll be there— silently making sure that everyone accepts you.

okay but he’ll get so defensive if anyone misgenders you or dead names you— his capture tape will start floating, and his eyes will shine red

which is weird because.. who has the guts to dead name/misgender AIZAWA SHOUTA’s student?? anyone that does that in front of him is INSANE

in short, he’s very supportive— he won’t blow it out of proportion, because he knows how uncomfortable that’d feel if he did

but he’s glad to know that you decided to share such a important detail to him— aizawa might be always tired, but he wouldn’t dare to forget such detail

you’re his student after all, he cares about you lots— if you’re content with yourself, then that’d bring him inner peace

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei, i only own the writing and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, or use my works for audio readings without permission

[butgilinsky]

there are answers in your silence // mb

warning; language, asshole (kinda toxic ngl) barzy, a sprinkle of asshole tito too, toxic relationship, mentions of cheating, angst- the whole thing is angst, carter hart 

summary; where you and mat are falling apart faster than you can try to fix it. 

word count; 8.3k+

a/n: hi guys! this is a rewrite/continuation of this blurb i wrote. the main pairing is mat x reader but there are a lot of carter x reader themes throughout. there won’t be a part two seeing as i don’t normally write for carter, and i like where it left off. if you have any questions i’d be happy to answer any(: enjoy!

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

You loved your job, truly. You loved photography, and you loved the opportunities you’d been given by joining the islanders organization, but you managed to make things messy for yourself. It wasn’t written into your contract that you couldn’t date the players, but it was assumed that you would distance yourself from them. 

Mathew Barzal, however, threw caution to the wind when it came to that unspoken rule. 

You were knee deep in it by the time you realized it was a bad idea. Most days were fine, the two of you were professional in the walls of the rink and you knew how to keep it under control. On any other day, you were capable of keeping it all under control just fine, but going to the rink and smiling at Mat from across the halls was not the same as coming to the rink when the two of you were neck deep in an argument. An argument that had been oncoming for a long time now. 

You couldn’t focus on anything when you were arguing with Mat. You had fallen behind on editing this entire week, and now you were tiptoeing around the rink that you worked at because Mat was everywhere you turned, it seemed. 

You kept your post at the glass throughout the entirety of the game against the Devils, trying to get yourself out of your head when Mat was in your camera’s line of sight. You took pictures of the whole team, you had to, it was your job, but it was hard to do that when Mat was smiling like an idiot after Tito scored, and you had to take a picture of their shared celly. 

Even when he turned towards you and you sent him a gentle smile, the sight of his falling from his lips was heartbreaking. You knew he was mad at you, but the ache in your chest wasn’t able to recognize the fact that the two of you weren’t on the best terms. 

Truth be told, this was anything but out of the blue. Mat had been on edge for a while now, and while you knew it had everything to do with hockey and how he was playing, it wasn’t easy to accept everything he had been continuously throwing at you. You had a lot going on, just like he did, and you didn’t have the time nor energy to exude on this week-long argument. A week long argument that had eventually shifted into radio silence from your boyfriend. 

The next few days proved to be harder than you initially expected, no conclusion being found between the two of you. It was getting out of hand, if you were being honest, and now you had to fly to Philadelphia with the team for two games. You didn’t think all that much about the ride over to Philly until you were faced with your boyfriend happily sitting beside his best friend, not a seat for you in sight. 

You sat at the front of the plane, shoulder bumping against Marty’s while you kept your head low and hopefully out of sight. 

“What’s up with you and Barzy?” you huffed, shrugging gently and telling Matt that he could tell you as soon as he figured it out because at this point, you weren’t entirely sure what the two of you were arguing about either. All you knew was that Mat was mad at you and had been ignoring your calls and texts for the past three days. 

It was confusing to most, given that when you and Mat were on good terms, it was impossible to not see the two of you together. You were both all smiles and giggles when you were around each other, but not recently. You were worried that your spark had died out, that whatever you had built over the last year was fading away with every passing moment, and you were out of solutions. 

You had been lost in the Wells Fargo Center for upwards of thirty minutes when you ran into a boy who seemed like he could be your saving grace. He had a granola bar hanging out of his mouth and his eyes were glued to his phone screen while he walked down the hall in your direction. You weren’t sure who he was, but the Flyers shirt on his torso paired with the backwards hat on led you to believe he was a player and would therefore know the layout of the rink quite well. 

“Hey!” you called out, just loud enough to have him looking up from his phone and over to you. “I’m really sorry to bother you, but I have no idea where i’m going.”

He laughed gently and slid his phone into his back pocket, not overlooking the Islanders logo on your shirt or your name tag that hung around your neck. His eyes were soft and his smile was endearing in a time where you barely had anyone else look at you over the last few days. 

“No worries, though i’m not sure i should be helping the enemy.” you laughed gently, about to make a remark about the Flyers not being your favorite team either, but he spoke again before you had the chance. “Where do you need to be?”

Some time later after you learned that the boy’s name was Carter and he was the Flyers’ goalie, he showed you everywhere you’d need to be over the next few hours. He pointed out different rooms and halls that would be of great use to you and now the two of you were sitting in the middle of the empty seats, looking down on the empty ice. 

“It’s weird, seeing it like this.” Carter whispered softly, more to himself than to you, but it caught your ear nonetheless. 

“Not used to seeing it completely empty?” he shook his head, telling you that there’s usually always someone down there. Whether they’re cleaning or moving things around, there’s almost always somebody down there. 

“Why are you here all alone, by the way?” you hummed softly, letting out a deep sigh with a smile that Carter was easily able to identify as forced. “Don’t you have a hot shot boyfriend that could show you around?”

“And how would you know that?” your voice was light, playful, and it showed in your smile that Carter easily matched. 

“I’m not sure there’s a single person that doesn’t know what Mathew Barzal’s girlfriend looks like.” he tore his eyes away from the rink, looking over at you with a look that had your stomach turning, a lump starting to form in the pit of your throat. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” your voice was soft but the silence across the rest of the rink was enough to lift your words up to his ears, the far corner of his mouth twitching up ever so slightly as he registered them. 

“Y/n!” you jumped, startled by the outburst from the top of the section, craning your neck around to lock eyes with your boyfriend. “Where have you been?” 

You groaned, one that resided in the back of your throat and was only heard by Carter due to his close proximity. He sensed the agitation in your body language and the way your eyes fluttered shut while you took a deep breath to compose yourself. 

“Y/n!”

“I’m coming!” you yelled back, muttering a small ‘jesus’ under your breath before pushing yourself onto your feet. “Well, Mr. Hart, thank you for showing me around. I’d be lost without you, literally.” 

He laughed at your joke, though corny he thought it was cute. He shook your hand playfully and watched you climb the stairs to your boyfriend who was glaring at Carter even from his place all the way at the top of the section. 

“What are you doing down here?” 

“So you’re talking to me now?” His jaw clenched, muscles tensing as he soaked in your question. He had almost forgotten the two of you were arguing currently, too focused on getting you away from Carter to assess the situation properly. 

“What am i supposed to do? Watch you cozy up beside the goalie I'm about to score a hatty on?” in any other scenario, you’d be laughing, chirping him for claiming that he was going to score a hatty tonight, but you couldn’t do that right now. All you could do was laugh bitterly, focused on the fact that the only reason he was speaking to you for the first time in three days was rooted in jealousy. 

“I wasn't cozying up next to anybody, Mat. I was lost and he had time to spare so he showed me around the rink. That’s all-”

"That’s not exactly how it looked to me just now.” you rolled your eyes and walked past him, ducking around his shoulder and walking in the direction of the room Carter pointed out for you a few minutes earlier. “Y/n! We’re talking!” 

“I’m busy! We’ll talk later!” 

It felt like you were running across the arena during the game, opting to tie your hair back halfway through the first period when you realized you wouldn’t have your own post like you normally would. You were doing your best to get the best shots you could possibly get, but that unfortunately had you breathing heavily and worn out by the time the second intermission rolled around. 

Mat hadn’t scored once yet, and you could tell he was getting aggravated. He was playing rougher than he normally would, and you could see chirps being thrown around the ice, almost always directed towards your boyfriend. He took them in stride most times, only opting for a clenched jaw or maybe a hard hit against the boards. 

When the second intermission began, you were given the okay to take a breather from your job while your boss flipped through the photos on your camera, laughing when you opted to lean back in one of the stadium seats with your limbs spread out around you haphazardly. 

When you were switching sides for the nth time of the night, you ran into Carter again, decked out in his gear void of his helmet, the same charming smile shining in your direction once he saw you. 

“To what do I owe the honor?” he joked, earning a few questioning glances from the few teammates gathered around him, all turning towards you with soft smirks and knowing eyes. They knew who you were, a lot of guys in the league knew who you were. 

Everyone knew who Mathew Barzal was, and his need to show you off to the entire world once the two of you began dating was loud and in everyone’s face. Everyone who followed Mat on instagram or opened up a gossip article every now and again knew your face, knew how you looked tucked under Mat’s arm. It also didn’t help that the boys surrounding Carter had heard about his adventure with you around the rink earlier today. 

“Well if it isn’t Mrs. Barzal.” You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back the insult tickling the tip of your tongue and deciding to focus on Carter nudging him in the ribs. 

“Ignore him, he’s not even sure what the word filter means.” One of the taller ones, hair down to his shoulders and bright blue eyes sending you a gentle look, tried to assure you that his friend was anything but thoughtful in moments like these. 

“I guess that’s why they call him the team rat, huh?” Travis, who had no idea you even knew who he was, narrowed his eyes at you just before a small smile stretched across his lips. 

“How’s the game?” Carter’s smile practically hung off of his lips, confidence bursting at the seams as he silently referred to the fact that Mat had threatened him with a hatty not too long ago, and the Islanders had only scored once all night long, and it wasn’t even Mat’s. 

Going into the third period, the Flyers were up 4-1. 

“I plead the fifth.” you said gently, hearing a few laughs erupt all around you. 

“Looks like your hubby’s not getting his hatty tonight.” One of the boys who you didn’t know the name of sent you a gentle elbow into your arm, offering up a smile with his chirp. 

“Looks like he’s not getting a lot of things tonight.” your eyes found Carter, who was already looking at you with a wide smile. You took a deep breath, prying your eyes away from the boy and looking around the small circle that formed in the hall. “Well, boys, if you’ll excuse me-”

“Y/n!” you sighed then, unable to suppress a physical reaction to having your name yelled across the hall for the second time today. You were annoyed, given that this was only the second time Mat was speaking to you today and it had all of the same intentions as his last attempt. 

“Yes?” you turned over your shoulder to see not only Mat but Tito as well, both looking at you as if you’d grown two extra heads. Tito looked to Mat, expecting him to answer your questioning eyes, but he never did. He just stared at you, lips parted but never speaking. 

Truth be told, you needed him to say something. You needed him to say something because he was the one that had left you in the dark this week. He was the one that was going through a time so tough he took it out on you. You did your part, but Mat had yet to do his part, and it was killing you on the inside. 

“I have to go.” you took off in the direction you were originally walking, searching for your next post in the stands. 

You tried to distract yourself, but it didn’t seem to be working. Your hands were shaky while you tried to snap shots as much as you could, and when Mat had a breakdown on the ice, it all went even further downhill. 

Carter didn’t take the brute of it, which surprised you in all honesty, but you weren’t all that surprised when your number 13 was going hit for hit with their 11. Gloves were dropped in the last three minutes of the game, both of them walking away with sore knuckles and five minute majors. 

You weren’t even sure what started it, seeing as you were trying to snap a picture of Tito taking a shot on goal, the other two dropping their gloves on a different part of the ice and out of your view. You couldn’t watch it, instead dug your chin into your chest and tugged on the roots of your hair in frustration. You knew that the Flyers were going to win, given their four goal lead and the Islanders’ inability to get their shit together it seemed. You knew Mat was going to hit a rough practice tomorrow, and it somehow made you more excited to have a hotel room to yourself and the morning off. 

You didn’t see Mat until you got back to your room, shoulders slumped and exhaustion raking through your body. You pushed the door to your room open and jumped a foot in the air at the sight of your boyfriend sitting at the foot of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and head hung low. He was anxious, you could tell by his posture and the fact that he wouldn’t meet your eyes. 

A sick feeling resided in your stomach when a minute passed and neither of you spoke up, both waiting for the other to take the leap. Mat tried to collect his thoughts, despite having plenty of time to do so while he waited for you. He wasn’t even sure how he made it back before you, if he was honest. 

“Where have you been?” it was a bad lead in retrospect, given that he showed no real care as to where you were at any other point in the week. That on top of the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place made for a bad start to a hard conversation. 

“Working, Mat. I do more than snap pictures of the team at games and run back home.” he knew that. He knew because he’d been the one that woke up in the middle of the night to you relentlessly editing things and piecing things together for a deadline. He was the one that woke up to an empty bed, finding you posted up at the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee beside you and your head burning from the strain on your eyes. 

You didn’t, however, tell him exactly what you were doing. You were working, yes, but you kept specifics to yourself. He didn’t deserve specifics when he was acting like this. You deserved an apology, an explanation, quite literally anything more than you currently had before you had to give out your whereabouts. 

“I’m sorry this week’s been the way it has. I just- there’s a lot going on right now and I can’t get it all under control.” you sighed, setting your camera bag down on the desk before standing in front of Mat

 “It’s fine if you don’t have things under control all the time.” you set your hands on his shoulders and waited for him to look up at you, eyes filled with an emotion you couldn’t quite map out. “It’s not fine that you take things out on me when I didn’t cause you this distress.” 

“I know.” he spoke softly, understanding that he was doing something wrong but not entirely providing a solution for it, nor figuring out a way to fix it. “I’m going to figure it out. I’m sorry.” 

You nodded, accepting the soft kiss he silently asked for. You let him stay the night, though you couldn’t fall asleep. You leaned back into his chest, held his arm that was wrapped around you close to your chest, but you couldn’t sleep. You didn’t sleep for more than an hour or two before Mat’s alarm went off and he left for practice. 

You were able to sleep after Mat left, only logging about three hours before your own alarm went off and you had to make it to the rink. The day seemed to be uneventful for a while, but when you finished all of the things you had to do for the day and found a seemingly decent restaurant to stop in on your way back to the hotel, you were met with four smiling faces that you recognized easily. 

“Y/n!” Carter’s voice caught your ear easily, making you spin around in line, seeing the smiling boy give you a gentle wave from the table he was sitting at with the others, all who offered you a similar expression. 

You held up one of your fingers, seeing four boys nod at you in response as they waited for you to order your food. By the time you ordered and paid, grabbing the number that the cashier slid across the counter to you and spinning around, there was a chair at the end of the table that Travis was sitting in, leaving the spot in the booth beside Carter vacant. All four of the boys were pointing at the seat, ushering you into it with wide smiles. 

“Well this is a pleasant surprise.” you smiled warmly at the boys as you approached their table, sliding into the seat they vacated for you. 

“You’re telling us.” Carter offered, his smile cutting through you just like it did every other time it was given to you. 

Carter was cute, that much you could admit to. You hadn’t spent much time with him other than the other day when showed you around the rink, but you’d talked to him more than your own boyfriend in the past week so that was saying something. You were grateful for his hospitality, and even if you knew there was something else brewing beneath the surface, it wasn’t anything you were going to acknowledge and you certainly weren’t going to act on it. 

The rest of the boys were nice. Travis was a bit of a pest, but Nolan was able to keep him under control most of the time. They balanced each other out and you were aware of that from the very beginning. Joel was a nice kid, not the loudest in the room but certainly not the quietest either. Overall you had a good time sitting with and talking to them, appreciating the good company in a time where you had felt pretty isolated. 

They showed you a few places around Philly, sticking things within walking distance of the restaurant the five of you came from. It was fun, being able to forget about the chaos going on in your life for once. They even walked you back to your hotel, leaving you with each of their phone numbers to assist you in the rest of your time in Philly, and warm smiles. 

Just as they were leaving, Carter hung back for a bit to offer you a softer smile than the one he was giving you throughout the day, his eyes telling you that there was something brewing in his mind, something he had been holding back about all day. 

“I just wanted to say that you’re doing great. I don’t know what’s going on in your life, that much is obvious, but you deserve better.” he gave you one last smile and told you to call him if you needed anything at all before turning to catch up with his teammates. 

Carter’s words hung in your mind longer than you would’ve expected. They made you rethink everything that had occurred in your life over the last few months, every up and down, every bridge you built both by yourself and with others. You wondered if you were where you were supposed to be, if this is where you were meant to be in life and how long you were meant to be there. 

You loved Mat. You loved him completely, but there were things missing. You weren’t sure what it was, and part of you wanted to believe that you were just in the middle of a rough patch, but a greater part of you knew better. You knew that Mat was going through the thick of it, and your mind couldn’t help but wander over the chance that the time for you and Mat had run its course. 

You went another night without sleep, the stress from overthinking yourself into oblivion making it impossible to get any consistent sleep throughout the night. It showed in the way that your bags were deeper, darker than normal and the way you yawned every few minutes. However, instead of dozing off in your seat or complaining about your lack of sleep, you grabbed a coffee with two extra shots of espresso on your way to the rink and threw yourself into your work. 

You were neck deep in assignments, legs tucked under you and headphones stuck in your ears when a flash of blue entered your sight, prying your eyes away from your laptop and casting them up to the blue eyed boy from Quebec. He was looking at you like you’d done something wrong, like the world was on fire around you and you were holding a match. 

You and Tito were good friends, especially after you started dating Mat. with the two of them being inseparable and Mat making a special place for you in his life, you and Tito naturally spent a lot of time together. You were good friends, honestly, but there was never a time when Tito took your side over Mat’s. Sometimes he passed judgment without hearing every side of every story, but you understood. You knew that Mat needed people to lean on when the two of you were in the thick of it, you just wished it didn’t morph Tito’s opinion on you. 

“What can I do for you, Beau?” he hummed, a noise of disapproval that you had heard from him too many times to count. He sat beside you, not surprised to see you shut your laptop and turn your attention towards him. 

“The two of you need to figure this out soon. You need to figure out what’s wrong and how to fix it, and by god you need to get him out of his head.” You could tell his intentions were genuine, that he just wanted his friends to be happy, but he wanted the two of you to be happy together, and you weren’t sure there was any more room for that. 

“I’ve tried, Beau-”

“No, you haven’t. You haven’t tried, because when the two of you try, things get resolved.”

“You’re right. When the two of us try, we fix things. When the two of us work through things together, we come out of it alive. But you’re missing the big picture, Tito. the two of us aren’t trying. I’m trying. I’ve been trying. I try so hard, and he gives me absolutely nothing. He ignores me for days, only speaks to me when we fly out to a different city and he sees me interacting with somebody who isn’t him. It’s not my fault, Tito, and I know that’s hard for you to see because you’re so far up his ass that you can’t see the bigger picture but here I am. I’m here telling you how to see things for once and I’m begging you that you just hear me out.”

He was speechless, but nodded. He didn’t know what to say to you, but he wanted to hear you out because the crack in your voice and the exhaustion that was bringing tears to our eyes was breaking his heart right in front of you. 

“I’m trying, whole heartedly. I ask what’s wrong and I offer solutions, and he takes none of it. He comes into my hotel room with a key, that I'm not even sure how he got, and he tells me he’s sorry but then nothing changes. He stopped coming over after practices, and gets annoyed when I have deadlines I can’t miss. I try and he doesn’t, and if that makes us fall apart then so be it, Tito, because I can’t fucking do it anymore.” your eyes burned, filled to the brim with tears you tried to suppress as Tito looked at you like you were fragile. He looked at you like you were the broken one, like if he even touched you on the shoulder you’d break into a million pieces. 

“Y/n-”

“I have to go.” you stood up, grabbing your things that sat around your seat and took off in any direction that looked safe enough for you to escape the headspace you were slipping into. 

You’d made it down one hall and around a few corners before you ran into somebody, the impact shaking you enough to have you distracted from the intrusive thoughts you were having. You looked up, met with soft eyes and a look of concern that had your heart sinking further into your stomach than it already had been. His hands reached out, brushing hair out of your face and holding your head back long enough for him to try to piece together what could be wrong. 

“What happened?” your lip wobbled then, enough for your chin to twitch and have you bite down roughly on your bottom lip. 

Carter grabbed your hand, the one that wasn’t gripping onto your laptop, and pulled you into a room not too far from your place in the hall. It was a small room, only met for equipment that had no other home, but it was enough to get you out of the wide open hallway where anyone would be able to see the breakdown you were about to endure. 

He pried the items out of your arms, set them on the shelf beside you so your mind would be at ease with their safety, and wrapped his arms around you. He didn’t know you very well, but he saw the way you reacted to physical touch. He saw the way you leaned into hugs or shook people’s hands for a second longer than most. He made a judgment call within seconds, but he knew he did the right things when you pressed your face into his chest and let out sobs that you’d been holding back for weeks. 

He didn’t pester you nor rush you, just held you in the room that could be classified as a closet and let you get everything out. You clung to him, and he held you softly, hands running up and down your back in a soothing manner while he waited for you to catch your breath. 

When you did, he pulled back, soft smile still as heavy as it always had been. He waited for your cue, something to tell him it was okay to pry. He didn’t want to overstep your boundaries, and he had no idea where the lines were drawn so it was a dangerous game. 

“It’s too much.” you whispered softly, closing your eyes gently while Carter hummed, not entirely understanding your words. 

“What’s too much?”

“Everything. Everyone’s expectations, everyone’s thoughts and opinions. The fact that i’m trying to fix a relationship all on my own and still getting the heat for it not working out. Having a full time job where I can’t run away from problems in my personal life. I wish I was still in college, wish I wasn’t surrounded by these people who are staring at me like I’ve burned down the entire planet when I’m the only one that’s trying to save it.” 

He listened the whole way through, not interrupting nor giving his unwarranted thoughts and while it was just a common courtesy, it was groundbreaking for you. To be able to pour out everything you’re feeling and thinking without someone trying to pick your brain on the subject was refreshing. You couldn’t remember the last time you put everything out on the table like that without seeing it knocked off right after. 

“Hey” you looked up at him, sniffling softly and watching his lips turn up in a smile at the sound. “You’re okay. It’ll all be okay. If you feel invalidated or uncomfortable in the situation you’re in, there’s always an out. Even if it feels like there’s not, even if it feels impossible to claw your way to the exit, there’s always a way out. And if you need help getting there, I know a guy or two who’d be willing to help.” 

Carter had a way of knocking you off of your feet with a simple sentence. His words cut through you like a song you’d never heard before, like lyrics that dig so deep you feel like it was written just for you. Carter was picking your brain in the gentlest way possible, and you were eating up every single second of it. 

You thanked him for his comfort, for his ear and his wisdom. You were sure that there were things you would have to do in the coming days that would be harder than you could’ve ever imagined, but you were sure that they were necessary in order to better your life for yourself. 

You were going to get through this.

All was said and one until the door swung open and you stepped out of the equipment room, locking eyes with the one person on the Flyers bench that didn’t know the meaning of the word silence. Travis meant well most of the time, truly, but that didn’t mean you’d spill all of your secrets to him. 

But he smiled at you softly, noticing your red rimmed eyes and tear tracks on your cheek. He saw the look that Carter gave him from behind you and so he simply put his fingers up to his lips as if locking them shut and tossed the key over his shoulder. It was simple, but effective, and he truly had every intention of keeping the knowledge to himself, until he was standing on the ice face to face with the centerman that dropped his gloves opposite him the other night and well, Tk found an opening. 

You weren’t sure what was said, nor who started it, but you were sure that in the middle of the second period with a tied game, tensions were not high enough for there to be multiple scrums on the ice. 

No other fight mattered until your eyes locked in on Mat saying something, neck vein popping out and spit flying. Whatever he said must have struck a chord with Travis because in an instant, you saw Travis’s lips moving and Mat’s fist flying. It was his second fight in two games and it was highly unlike him to fight this often, but it seemed that he was on edge. 

The tension didn’t boil down for the rest of the game, chirps only growing more intense and penalties being called more often than not. It was a head banger, a nail biter, and you were almost distracted from your work to watch it. 

Mat was enraged by the time you got to him. His body picked up a couple more cuts and bruises, one that landed on his right cheek bone from a high stick in the beginning of the third. His knuckles were bruised from punching Tk and his eyes were darker than the bright blue color you adored. 

You knew it had everything to do with you when the rest of the team sent you careful looks, both of disapproval and warning. You knew something was wrong, something had happened and you were unintentionally standing in the middle of it. When Tito passed you, a scoff dropping from his lips and his shoulder knocking yours gently, you knew it was bad. 

“Beau?”

“Oh I'm not helping you out of this one.” he said softly, a careful look thrown over his shoulder at Mat who was glaring at you from his place against the wall. “You have to go fix that one by yourself.” 

You wanted to shove him away from you, wanted to tell him that he was being ridiculous and unfair, but you didn’t. Instead, you let him grab his back and walk out towards the bus that would take you all to the airport. 

“Mat-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” his voice was low and dark, an animosity dripping from his tongue that you’d never heard him use before. He walked past you, leaving the rest of the guys to let out low whistles and shoot you apologetic looks because in retrospect, they witnessed what happened on the ice. You still had no idea. 

“It’s bad, y/n.” You looked over at Marty who stood a few feet away from you, throwing his bag over his shoulder and shooting you a careful look. “I’ve never seen him so mad.” 

You sighed and thanked him, giving him one more thanks when he said he’d save you a seat on the plane and took off after Mat. he wasn’t too far ahead, but his angry strides took him far enough to send you into a jog through the facility. 

“Mat, wait! Mat! Jesus, Mat just talk to me!” he paused in stride, turned on the balls of his feet and glared into you from his place across the hall. 

“Frankly, I don’t want to hear it, y/n. I don’t want to talk to you, and I don’t want to be round you. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.” he went to turn again, hoping that that was good enough to get you off of his back for now. 

“So we’re just going to ignore it until it blows over? That’s not going to fix anything Mathew!” he dropped his bag, loud and harsh against the tile beneath his feet. He spun around and strode up to, face to face with mere inches between you. 

“There’s nothing to fix. You made your point, you chose your side, and you chose to throw me out to the wolves like I never meant anything to you. So yes, we’re going to ignore it for now but no, it won’t blow over. If you wanted to fix things you shouldn’t be shacking up with goalies in closets.” 

“I wasn’t shacking up with anybody in a closet you douche. I was crying in that closet because you’re too stubborn to talk to me. I’m trying so hard, and you’re giving me absolutely nothing to work with. You send Beau to convince me to fix things but you’re not even trying, Mat! You’re the one ignoring me and I’m supposed to fix things?”

“You’re not supposed to cheat on me!” you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to suppress the emotions bubbling over currently. You were trying to get through this conversation but it was defeating, and having him yell at you in front of his entire team was not helping. 

“I didn’t ch-”

“That’s bullshit! You expect me to believe you were just hanging out in there for fun?”

“She was crying, dude.” Mat looked over your shoulder at the same time you let out a string of profanities under your breath. Why he was here right now, you had no idea, but you had a feeling it wasn’t going to help any. 

“You’ve got some nerve to be here right now.” Carter shrugged, showing no intimidation towards Mat at all. He wasn’t scared, wasn’t backing down, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand by and watch Mat scream at you for something you didn’t even do. 

“You’ve got some nerve to scream at her like that.” When Mat moved you pressed both of your hands into his chest, steady and hard enough to keep him in his place, not even taking a step towards Carter. 

A silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable like polluted air that clogged your lungs. Everyone could feel it but nobody made a move. Nobody stood up or down, not weighing in to the conversation with a viewpoint on either side. Everyone simply watched, waiting for you or Mat to say something to the other one, or maybe for you to say something to Carter. 

Mat looked down at you, eyes still dark as they were earlier, jaw clenched and breathing fairly regular. He looked angry, angrier than he ever was off the ice. You wanted him to know you didn’t do anything with Carter, nothing more than crying into his chest about problems like the one you were currently stuck in. But then he spoke, he spoke and you felt everything around you wither away. 

“Get on the bus right now, or we’re through.” he picked up his bag and gave both you and Carter one final glance before taking a few steps backwards. He was waiting for you to move, waiting for you to choose your side right here, right now. 

“Y/n.” Carter’s voice was much more gentle than Mat’s, giving you a break from the screaming and crying. It broke his heart when you glanced over your shoulder and showcased red rimmed eyes and wet cheks just like you had earlier. He knew you were hurting, knew you were in a sticky situation that you couldn’t find your way out of, and all he wanted to do was help. 

“Now, y/n.” you looked back at Mat, who had stopped walking by now and was raising his eyebrows in your direction. 

It was harder than it should’ve been. You’d known Carter for just over 48 hours and while you appreciated everything he had done for you in the short amount of time, Mat was your boyfriend. Mat was there in times you thought you’d never make it out of. He knew you, knew how you operated. He knew things about you that you didn’t even know about yourself, and he held a piece of your heart in his hands, even if he didn’t protect it the way he used to. 

You couldn’t walk away from Mat, but there was a hesitation in your movements. Your slow movements as you wiped your cheeks and walked towards him, head hung low and accepting the arm that was thrown around your shoulders. 

You didn’t turn to see Carter’s face, didn’t even look up to see Mat’s. You didn’t want to see either of them, didn’t want to talk to them or hear what they had to say. All you wanted right now was to crawl into your bed at home and cast out the world around you. 

“You made the right choice, baby.” The kiss that dug into the side of your head was anything but comforting, if anything it was degrading. It was his way of showing you that choosing him was the easier path, that he would’ve flipped the world completely upside down if you had turned on your heels moments ago. 

You and Mat didn’t come to a conclusion that night. You didn’t resolve anything nor did you truly talk about anything. Instead, you let him into your bed and you let him drive away the pain that he caused over the course of the last few weeks. You let him convince you he’d be better, that he loved you and he’d do anything to be there for you. You let him convince you that he was the one for you, that nobody could make you feel the things that he did and while you believe all of this at one point, you weren’t sure you still did. 

You added another night to the count of sleepless ones, basking in your thoughts and the ache in your chest after Mat dozed off. Having him just behind you was oddly comforting despite the fact that thoughts in your head were too loud for sleep. 

Another week went by before anyone said anything, despite the few Flyers that were blowing your phone up with messages to check if you were okay and ask why you went with Mat when he clearly didn’t deserve an ounce of your attention. You explained that you loved him, that he was your boyfriend and you owed him a clean break if that’s what ended up happening. You also worked with the Islanders, and you couldn’t just stay in Philly with no way to get back home and hours away from work. 

Carter had been receptive and understanding, though you weren’t sure you expected much else from him. He didn’t expect you to stay, didn’t even expect you to choose him over Mat, but he expected you to do better for yourself. He expected you to be strong for yourself, to offer yourself a better future than the one you were seemingly drawing up for yourself. 

It wasn’t until you got a peculiar phone call that you were even thrown out of the routine of clawing your way through the night and chasing it down with a large coffee and one too many espresso shots. 

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ms. Y/l/n?” 

“This is she.” 

“Hi Ms. Y/l/n, this is Chuck Fletcher with the Philadelphia Flyers. I was wondering if you had a minute to talk.” 

You did a 180 after that phone call, pressed with another decision to make and seemingly no time to make it. You didn’t have many people to turn to about the decision, seeing as most all of your friends were biased in their decision making. Your friends loved Mat. They loved Mat and they loved going to Islanders games. 

You called Carter after you hung up the phone, anger bubbling over to the point of tears by the time he answered the phone just to let you rip into him. You accused him of getting you the job as the Flyers’ photographer just to have you closer to him, just to pry you away from Mat and New York as a whole. You accused him of not even knowing your skill level, just using this as a ploy to ask you on a date if you showed up. 

He listened the whole time, waited for a break in your words to ask if you were serious, to tell you that he’d seen your portfolio because his GM brought it over when he noticed Carter had spoken to you. He told you that he had no say in you getting this job offer other than him telling his GM about the sincere interactions he’d had with you. He put in a good word for your personality, but he never made a comment about your skill level. 

Now, you had a decision to make. A decision that would lead to many other decisions, so you thought. You thought you’d have to make a yes or no decision that would snowball into so many decisions you’d be left to suffocate in unanswered questions. Little did you know that by making one decision, the rest were made for you. 

“You’re doing what?” you sighed, trying to find the point in this conversation where you’d be left with a new job and a happy relationship, but it seemed as though that wasn’t in the cards for you. 

“I’m moving to Philly-”

“It’s because of him isn’t it?” you shook your head gently, feeling the weight of the world trying to shove you beneath the surface. It was weighing you down, pushing you further and further until you reached the core of it all. 

“It’s because it’s a better job for me, Mat.”

“How in the hell is a better job for you?” he didn’t believe you. Not after everything that happened. He didn’t think there were possibly any other explanations for your move. 

“It pays more, the cost of living is cheaper in Philadelphia, I get more benefits with the Flyers and I get-”

“A new boyfriend.” you paused, took a deep breath. You tried to breathe through the panic coursing through your body, tried to assure yourself that you must have heard him wrong.

“A what?”

“If you move to Philly, you get a new boyfriend. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it? You don’t want me anymore, you want him. So he gets you a big new fancy job and you get to leave New York, right? Because you didn’t want to live in New York your whole life so this is the time to get out. This is the time for you to leave your life behind, to start fresh and meet new people. It’s time for you to start looking for studios, right? For you to start booking freelance shit.” 

He comes to the realization too late, when he’s already said enough things to hurt you for a lifetime. He realizes that you moving makes more sense than he wants it to. You never wanted to stay in New York for your whole life. Sure, if things with Mat ended up better than they did, you would’ve stayed for him in a heartbeat. You would’ve gone wherever his career took him because yours can truly be done anywhere, but he knew New York wasn’t your preferred state to live in. 

The Mat you fell in love with, the one that took you on dates to your favorite restaurants and brought you home flowers just because, was finally coming back to the surface. The one that offered you his heart on a platter without asking for it, and treated yours with the gentlest touch. You were seeing him again, for the first time in a long time. You wanted to hold onto him, to open up your heart and make room for him again but the truth was there was no more room. You’d vacated a space for him a long time ago and he threw it away. It was too late for that Mat to come back.

“It’s giving you room to grow right? But the growth is different this time. The growth is away from me, apart from me. The growth is individual now, all on your own, but that’s good. That’s good because you need to grow and I- I’m not right for you anymore.” he started shaking his head, letting the dam of tears that he had kept in for so long finally burst. 

You were there to catch him, to hold him tightly and kiss his damp cheeks. You were there to assure him that he deserves the world, that you tried to give that to him but truthfully, maybe you just weren’t trying the right things. You assured him that he wasn’t a bad person, that he wasn’t good for you but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be good for somebody else. 

You were there to catch Mat when he fell, and you helped him stand back up again. 

Now you were walking away, your head held high and a smile finally living on your lips as you assured him that this was good for both of you in more ways than one. You were going to be okay, and you were sure that Mat was going to be okay too. 

So you moved to Philly. You moved into an apartment not too far from the rink, one with a cheese steak place right around the corner. You started working with the Flyers and seemingly fell right into place with them. You made friends and found your footing, feeling like everything leading up to now was exactly for this. All of the pain and hardships you endured was for this, for you to feel like you had finally done the right thing for yourself rather than for everyone else. 

You made the right decision. 

-

italics mean it wouldn’t let me tag you!

barzy taglist; @extratragic @babytkachuks @heybarzy @teenagekook @stfukie @smit41 @kiedhara @sidscrosbyy @golfergirl810 @baby-cat-nol-pat @c-hartsy @storiesbymads @aasimarr​ @bucky-ish​

and the himbos, as always; @barzysthighs​ @damndunner​ @anxietyandtacos​ @dmonchld​ @sortagaysortahigh​ @bricksatlandyswindow​ 

[onlyherefortheshowmances]

So I saw someone else get an anon message that said: “I hate to admit this, but I really can't shake the feeling that Benji loves Victor more than Victor loves Benji at this point.” I wanted to respond as well, because I think this is something people are probably seeing a lot and I really want to explain how I’m looking at it (from personal experience and just from looking at and examining the characters).

CW/TW: Mental Health, suicidal ideation/action mention, Addiction, Emotional Trauma, sex mention, Predatory relationship mention, catholicism, homophobia, misunderstandings, lack of communication, spoilers for love victor seasons 1 & 2 [let me know if I missed anything please]

I want to be frank in saying that Benji is my favorite character and I project onto him a lot (along with seeing a lot of myself in him). I’m also white AF, so I’m sure some of you think that’s relevant, but I really don’t think it is in this particular case. I do also however identify with Victor in a number of ways and I am trying to see the characters both as complex individuals with deep personal histories. Both have suffered traumas and both are clearly dealing with a lot of their own shit on top of being sixteen/seventeen and dealing with junior year of high school and all the pressures and expectations that brings for everyone.

I think what people are interpreting at loving someone more/less is actually about prioritizing someone/a relationship more/less. In my mind, from what I see on screen and interpret, they both love each other beyond words. They are both very much in love with one another. It comes down to how they display that to each other and to the public as well as where on their list of priorities this relationship falls.

Let’s start with Victor, struggles and life:

He is dealing with internalized homophobia and associated thought-patterns stemming from his upbringing in the Catholic church as well from the vocalized homophobic remarks from his mother (toward himself and Benji as well as likely at other points in his life toward strangers), his father (stating that he hopes Adrian doesn’t turn out ‘like that’; the scene in S1 where they’re at the church in Texas and he calls the hairdresser ‘flojito’; etc.), and his grandparents (on his birthday and likely at other points in his life). As a result of this, Victor tried to make himself straight (or at least interested in a girl) by dating Mia because he did like her as a person and everyone was telling him that’s what he was supposed to do. He ended up hurting her and almost losing her friendship (temporarily, he did, but she does seem to have forgiven him now).

He is dealing with outside homophobia as well. That kid on the very first day he was Creekwood responding to Benji helping him up. Felix’s comment that same day of ‘you don’t want to give people the wrong idea.’ The basketball team/gym class guys roasting him about not hooking up with Mia on the ferris wheel. Felix saying he’d be crazy to not like Mia. Lake asking ‘are you gay or something’ when he brought Felix along to Mia’s house, etc., etc. Some of these things may seem innocent enough, but they weren’t. Not to Victor who was already struggling to accept even the possibility that he might be gay. Once he managed to come out to his parents, obviously his father got better fairly quickly, but Isabel continued to struggle for six months which put even more pressure on Victor to try to lead this double life. Once he came out at school, the whole fiasco with the basketball team also occurred and that was a lot for him, because Basketball as always his safe-space. It’s where he went to get away from all the other pressure. It was something he didn’t have to think about and now suddenly, he did. Those pressure are also affecting his ability to think about what he may want and it seems affecting his ability to think (at all sometimes) about how any of that is also affecting Benji. It’s affecting him so much that he’s basically blind to how it’s also affecting Benji to see him suffer. He doesn’t even consider that possibility until Felix brings up how hard it is for him the night Felix breaks up with Lake and Venji get caught having sex.

Victor also has struggles away from just his coming out and accepting himself journey. He has the struggles associated with his parents separation. Until fairly recently, Victor always thought his parents had a perfect relationship. He saw that as the ideal. Get together in High School, get married right away, stay together for ever, happily ever after. That’s what he was raised to expect. And now he’s seeing their relationship fall apart before his eyes. Hell, his devoutly Catholic mother had an affair, and he’s wondering if it’s really possible for your first love to be your only love especially after he and Benji start butting heads, so he’s already vulnerable to that viewpoint when Rahim brings up the possibility. He gets so lost in what’s happening to his parents and what Rahim is saying about it not usually working out that he forgets how in love he is and he sort of loses his will to fight for what he wants, because maybe it’s just doomed to fail anyway (until he sees Benji at the wedding and it sort of hits again - and then Felix’s speech thereafter, obviously). He kind of loses his way by getting caught up in the statistic improbability of your first love being the one and watching his parents’ marriage potentially fall apart and he wonders for a moment if it might be easier, if it might be better to just walk away and go toward Rahim who he seem to get along with and seems to understand the things Benji doesn’t about him, but what he fails to examine in that moment is that he’s only barely scratched the surface with Rahim and that Rahim doesn’t know him like Benji does and that every relationship has it’s ups and downs and what it always comes down to is how willing both parties are to work to make things right. How much you’re willing to step into the other person’s shoes and try to understand. In my opinion, even if he were to walk away from Benji and go to Rahim, that bubble of understanding isn’t going to last forever either. He’s failing to remember that when he got together with Benji (and for most of the summer it seems) that’s exactly what it was like and failing to remember that they have grown beyond that into a deep soul-altering love for one another that deserves his time, energy, and effort and NEEDS those things to keep it going.

Now let’s talk about Victor’s priorities in life:

Victor has always been close with his family, especially his mother. The strain on that relationship is very taxing on his mental well-being. He has a hard time ‘standing up to’ her or talking back to her, etc. because he loves her and he just wants their easy, close relationship back. He already overcame his own anger at her affair to get her back, but now she’s the one pulling away because of his sexuality and it’s hurting him because if he was able to forgive her for something that was actually wrong, why can’t she forgive him for something that he has no control over. So he loves his mother and his family and he hates disappointing them. He has spent most of his life fixing his family’s issues (as he explains to Simon in S1), but now he is the issue and he doesn’t know how to handle it. When in 2x1 he decides to just bring Benji over and try exposure therapy with his mom, it backfires in a big way. Even though they barely touch each other. Even though Benji just says the word boyfriend once, it’s too much for Isabel and Victor desperately wants to please. He desperately wants to not lose his mother (who has always been the person he is closest to), so that causes him to take a step back from going against her and the steps he still takes (telling her he wants her to call Benji his boyfriend not just his friend, the whole conversation outside the church, the conversation with Adrian, etc.) are things that Benji doesn’t get to see happening and it frustrated Victor that Benji won’t even listen to him when he tries to say that his mom is making progress at all, because she is so important to him and yet it seems like Benji just doesn’t even recognize or care about that. This leads him to say the thing he does at Brasstown before Benji runs out, because he assumes that it has to do with Benji being white and of course, that is part of it, but I think Victor in that moment is so overwhelmed by the rejection of his mother and now the refusal of his boyfriend to even try to understand that he snaps. He forgets all the struggles Benji has told him from his own past and he just lashes out which causes Benji to leave [more on Benji’s viewpoint of this whole thing later].

Victor also loves basketball. It’s true that in some case LGBTQIA+ individual participate in certain activities to make them seem more ‘normal’. Gay men participating in sports to seem more macho is a common one, so Benji thinking that’s why Victor plays basketball makes sense to an extend, but he never bothers to ask Victor about, only makes assumptions, and Victor feels like the fact that he actually likes sports makes him ‘not gay enough’ (see conversation with Andrew). What he’s forgetting entirely is his encounter with Bram and the gay basketball league in NYC from episode 1x8. There are many ways to be gay, and sports gays do exist and are perfectly valid. That’s not the type of gay Benji or his friends/bandmates are, but it is the type that Victor is and Benji failing to recognize that and failing to understand or even ask Victor about that drives one of many wrenches into their relationship. In episode 1x5 when Benji shows up to Victor’s first game back on the team and does the Go Grizzlies dance with the other basketball girlfriends, it definitely does a lot of help Victor realize this was just a miscommunication/misunderstanding rather than anything malicious. Basketball and his teammates continue to be a priority for him after this, but that seems to be something Benji is now capable of understanding.

Finally, Victor loves Benji. He wants to be with Benji; there is zero doubt about that. However, for Victor when he’s put on the spot (as in episode 2x8) and basically told he has to choose his mom (who has raised him and been his closest confidant and biggest supporter for his entire life) or his boyfriend (who he’s known for almost a year and been dating for six months and is helplessly in love with) it processes as an error message in his brain. He just wants everyone to get along. He’s not mad that Adrian knows that he’s gay (he’s wanted him to know for months), but he is upset that his mom is now even angrier. [see my section about Benji in this moment, for more about Isabel’s reactions as well] In his mind, telling Adrian could wait. In his mind, he was willing to go along with his mom’s requests for a while longer just to keep the peace so to speak. He didn’t want his whole life to fall apart and that’s what he thought was about to happen in that moment. That’s why he asked Benji to leave. He didn’t want to make his mom any angrier. Could he have chosen his words better? Yes. Could he have made Benji understand better? Yes. But he’s sixteen and his brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity because post-sex brain is definitely a thing and he was also looking at his mom who has already been horrible and barely able to look at him for six months, looking even angrier after he finally thought they’d made some progress after church the previous week.

So in conclusion, regarding Victor:

He loves his family (especially his mom). He loves Benji. He loves Basketball. Obviously, he’s not going to prioritize basketball over either of the human beings involved, but I think it’s important to at least note it’s importance in his life. As for Isabel vs. Benji. To Victor, these are the two most important people in his life. All he wants is to be able to love both of them and have both of them love him in return. When they are pit against each other, especially directly, it’s hard for him to make a choice. It’s hard for him to say ‘no’ to his mom and it’s hard for him to say ‘no’ to Benji, but in the moment (episode 2x8 specifically), he takes Isabel’s side, because he knows the ramifications of saying no to her and of making her even more angry that she already is are far worse than the ones for asking Benji to leave for the night. He failed to realize however, how close Benji already was to the edge and how upset he was going to be and how little he understood (or was willing to try to understand) about the situation. This is something he really needs to communicate with Benji (even though it’s not quite as important now that Isabel’s apparently come around). I think it’s important for Benji to understand that Victor values his relationship with his mother enough that it’s difficult for him to go against her without a lot of preparation and having a fully fledged reason, etc.

Now for Benji - Struggles and Life:

The obvious of course is that Benji is a sixteen/seventeen year old that’s barely a year sober and attending AA meetings regularly. Recovering from Alcoholism is difficult at any age let alone for a teenager. One of the most important factors in recovery is looking at the things that led you to drink in the first place. Looking at things that may be considered triggers and either learning to avoid those people/situations or learning healthy alternatives in those situations. I have multiple family members who are both actively drinking alcoholics as well as those in recovery. I also lost my best friend/ex-fiancé to alcoholism a few years ago, so to say I have some personal experience in this arena is putting it lightly. Benji admits to Victor in 1x7 that he used to drink a lot because he knew he was gay, but didn’t want to be. To me that whole story screamed, I’m an alcoholic and while a lot of others agreed with that opinion. I was not shocked that Victor didn’t understand that underlying truth. Those that don’t have intimate familiarity with alcoholism often do not recognize the signs (either as they happen when when they are not directly told). It is made clear in episodes 2x7 & 2x8 that Benji hates this part of himself, in fact he says as much to Victor when he arrives at his apartment late the night of his birthday. Benji has still not fully accepted that the alcoholic part of himself that attends AA meetings and drinks orange juice while his friends are drinking vodka is one and the same with the part of himself that loves Victor with all his heart. This is something I’d really like to see him reconcile and work on in season 3 and beyond. Understand that you can’t compartmentalize yourself. You are but one whole person and all facets of yourself are in fact part of the singular you. [Not accounting for those with dissociative identity disorder.] It’s not directly mentioned if he’s still struggling with urges to drink, but most if not all alcoholics do, especially when experiencing those aforementioned triggers. Seeing Benji meeting with his sponsor after the incident with Isabel/Victor is not shocking to me and if anything, that was the healthy and correct response on his part. The reason he was drinking in the first place was that he was gay and didn’t want to be (internalized and probably external homophobia) and he just experience some really intense homophobia at the hands of his boyfriend’s mom (and partially said boyfriend himself). Benji’s lack of understanding of where Isabel was coming from in episode 1x8 speaks volumes to just how traumatize Benji still is about his own experiences with homophobia. The only thing he can think about in that moment is that this woman hates me for being gay. She hates her son for being gay. Being gay isn’t okay, etc. What he doesn’t factor in is that Isabel is also devoutly Catholic. I honestly don’t think it’s the gay part of the sex that horrified her the most. The Catholic faith is also very clear on the practice of abstinence from sex (at all) prior to marriage. She would’ve responded the same way had she walked in on Victor having sex with a girl, in my opinion, but in the moment Benji’s own trauma is overriding his ability to understand that because all he can see is the homophobia. This is especially true after she calls him Victor’s friend rather than his boyfriend and that in my opinion, is why he snaps. Could he have phrased it better? Yes. Could he have said it without shouting? Yes. But he is a freshly seventeen-year-old whose brain is not functioning on all cylinders in that moment.

Sort of coupled with his alcoholism and recovery therefrom is the allusion his mother makes to ‘dark times’ following his accident. I do have suspicions that perhaps he was also struggling with mental illness, and likely continues to. Depression to the point of suicidal ideation or actions (possibly only in the form of drinking, but possibly in other forms as well). Anxiety is pretty obvious from his actions and reactions throughout the series as well. I also think he is dealing with some sort of trauma-based disorder stemming from the homophobia he experienced (especially the instance of his father taking him to strip-club). It may go as far as C-PTSD (which I myself am diagnosed with) or it maybe something less (or even more). I’m not in the habit of sticking mental health diagnoses of people (fictional or otherwise though). Dealing with these things on top of what in his eyes feels like rejection from not only Isabel, but in a way from Victor as well likely causes some very unpleasant thought patterns and the potential for thought spirals and the likely. I also see indications that he could suffer from co-dependency (whish I also have dealt with in the past), but I’m honestly not sure if that’s me projecting or if it’s actually there.

Then on top of all of that, his boyfriend who he loves more than anything in the world, tells his deepest darkest secret to someone he’s literally never met or spoken to and that said boyfriend has only known for maybe a week at best and thinks it’s no big deal. In that moment, I can 110% see why Benji requests to take a break and I feel that choice is 110% the right one to make. What is a relationship built on if not trust? Victor just destroyed most if not all of the trust Benji had in him. That doesn’t mean he stopped loving him, just that he doesn’t trust him. Love isn’t something you can turn off and on like a light switch especially not the kind these two share. I definitely think Victor has a lot of explaining to do and a lot of apologies to make. I do also think they both need to have a really long, really honest and open conversation. Benji needs to be willing to get a little vulnerable and explain why certain things are causing him so much distress, but he also needs to be willing to listen to Victor explain why he can’t simply go against his mother as Benji seems to think he should. They both really demonstrated a degree of selfishness this season along with an lack of communication and a lack of willingness to understand or even try to understand each other’s points of view and that is a recipe for disaster in any relationship.

There also exists the issue of Benji’s parents. His mother especially seems to overstep quite frequently and insert herself into his life where she was not invited or expected. I do wonder if this was always her personality or if this is something that started after Benji’s accident. I have a hunch it was likely the latter. I see indications that perhaps there was some neglect or just general indifference on his parents part as he was growing up. They clearly missed that he had started drinking heavily and that he stole his dad’s car that night. He was also evidently dating Derek for quite a while before the accident. (Derek is another section by himself though.) This not to mention the fact that his father took him to a strip club and paid for a lap dance when he was no more than sixteen if he was even that old, in an effort to turn him straight. Benji tells Victor in episode 1x7 that he and his dad used to be close and that they used to go to Dollywood on road trips and other such things, but that he’s been distant since he came out. We see from the scene where he walks in on Benji and Victor making out that he’s not vocally/outwardly homophobic, but I would not doubt that he still harbors some of those viewpoints in himself. It’s evident to me that Benji is not close to his parents (he may once have been, but at this point it’s pretty clear that he’s not anymore). Benji doesn’t have siblings to the best of our knowledge. It’s also mentioned that his nana (like a paternal grandmother) is deceased, so it’s really not clear how much contact he even has with his extended family or how much of one exists. For these reasons, in his mind, there is no circumstance where his family (especially not his parents) would take precedence of his own happiness or Victor’s. That is why it confuses/hurts/angers him that Victor doesn’t stand up to Isabel, because if the roles were reversed, he would have no problem at all telling his own mother (or father) off. He doesn’t seem to comprehend Victor’s need to keep his relationship with his mother intact. I’m very glad Isabel pointed out to him that Victor has stood up to her and risked their relationship for him, but the disconnect still lies in that Benji isn’t a fan of the fact that he didn't’ do that in his presence and that he didn’t do more.

Then there’s Derek. Derek is at least a sophomore in college in season 2 as he was clearly in college in season 1 as well. Meaning he is at least 19/20 when Benji is 16/17. They had been together for a year the previous spring (episode 1x6) which means they started dating when Benji was 15 and Derek was no younger than 18 (I think he is like at least a year older than the youngest possibility). Georgia’s age of consent is 16, and there are no ‘Romeo and Juliet’ laws in place in the state meaning it is categorically illegal for anyone 18 years of age or older to engage in sexual acts with anyone 15 years of age or younger unless they are legally wed, meaning until Benji’s 16th birthday, this relationship was illegal in general not to mention the predatory nature of someone in college dating a high school sophomore to begin with. They generally don’t prosecute if the people involved are within 4 years of each other though (which coincides with ‘Romeo and Juliet’ laws in other states) which they could’ve been within depending on Derek’s actual age and birthday. It doesn’t seem like charges were filed either way which is questionable on Benji’s parents part. Benji also tells Victor in 1x10 that Derek made him feel bad a lot of the time about the things he like and about being a romantic, we also see Derek crap all over Benji’s special anniversary date in 1x6. The toxicity of that relationship is sure to have left it’s mark on Benji and carried over into his new relationship with Victor. I also find it questionable that knowing that, Benji was shitting all over Victor’s love for basketball at one point (isn’t that exactly what he complained about Derek doing to him about his interests?), though as you see in my earlier comments, I do understand that perhaps Benji wasn't’ fully aware that Victor actually liked basketball and wasn’t just doing it to seem straight/make his dad happy/etc. I also think it’s quite confusing that Victor managed to come up with that date idea for Benji in 1x6 and then the best he could do for Benji’s birthday was champagne and sex? I’d be more than marginally hurt over that if I was Benji, to be completely fair. It is also worth it to note that Benji stayed with Derek for over a year despite all of their problems (which goes back to the possibility of co-dependency issues) and yet he was willing to break up with him just to chase after the possibility of Victor. They had already connected on so many levels even prior to that night that even the possibility of that relationship made Benji willing to leave someone he’d been with for more than a year (obviously Victor’s little speech in the hallway played a part in that).

Benji’s Priorities:

In Benji’s world, he has a few things that could be considered priorities.

Maintaining his sobriety is obviously one, but he keeps that separate from everything else. I don’t see it being held above or below anyone or anything. It’s just a completely separate thing to him (which again I feel he needs to reconcile). He was able to do that while also appeasing his friends and Victor (see episode 2x4 where he switches out his cups).

His music/band is obviously a priority, but again that’s something basic that everyone knows about and accepts. He doesn’t have choose between that and anything or anyone else that we’re shown.

Victor is his primary priority however. To him, that is the most important relationship/person in his life. He doesn’t know what he’d do without him. He says he loves that part of his life which I take to mean, he loves who he is when they’re together and not so much when they’re apart. To him, there is no question of who he would choose if there was a choice in front of him between Victor and literally anyone else (including his parents). That is why it confuses/hurts/angers him when the choice isn’t so simple for Victor when he actually has to make one between Benji and Isabel. Benji isn’t close with his parents and he doesn’t seem to understand what it is like for someone that is. Even if his parents didn’t come around right away. Even if they still may not be fully on board with everything, it didn't’ matter that much to him, because he could stand up to them because he didn’t care about destroying a relationship, because there already wasn’t much of one to begin with. This leads to him not understanding that Victor is seriously conflicted in the moments where he is made to choose between his boyfriend and his mother, because to Benji that choice is crystal clear. Again, they could really do with an honest conversation about this where Benji actually listens and tries to understand where Victor’s coming from, because right now, I think he just doesn’t quite get it. It’s clear that Isabel’s speech at Brasstown helped him to understand or at least start to, and obviously now that Isabel isn’t so much of an obstacle everything becomes a little easier, but it is still something that I really feel they need to discuss and understand about each other.

In conclusion:

Both of these boys need therapy (individual, family, and couples), and they would really benefit from a lot more open and honest communication where they both are able to speak honestly about their needs and desires as well as both being able to listen to and understand (or try to at least) one another.

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me lámh le do lámh - Part VIII

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They left the next day just after the sunrise broke watery through the clouds still lingering overhead, not wanting to overstay their welcome. The walk back to the nearby village was an easy one, the air still cool from the recent rain. The innkeeper hadn’t given their pre-paid room away to other guests despite the fact that they hadn’t used it for anything more than storage, which was a surprise. It was noon by the time they made it back, and they were easily able to secure the room for another evening so early in the day. Jaskier agreed to play at dinner, so they even managed to get a slightly reduced rate.

When they made it up to the room, Jaskier flopped immediately down on the bed, throwing an arm over his face. “Melitele, I could sleep for a week,” he groaned, slightly muffled. “I haven’t been this sore in years.”

“Good for you to finally get some exercise,” Geralt smirked as he checked on their belongings. Everything was where they’d left it, luckily. Geralt let out a breath of relief to see his potions all secure in their bag, the oathstone nestled amongst them.

Jaskier lifted his arm enough to glare at him. “As if walking day in and day out at your side isn’t work enough.”

“You’ve ridden Roach more than I have over the last week,” Geralt pointed out.

Jaskier put his arm down, head tilted to the side to look in Geralt’s direction. His hair spilled messily across the pale sheets. “I suppose I have,” he said, a small furrow appearing in his brow. The easy energy he’d had since they’d woken this morning was gone; now he seemed tense. His eyes lost their focus, his mind clearly going elsewhere.

Geralt didn’t know what to make of it. Clearing his throat, he said, “I’m going to go and see if they have any contracts for me. We won’t be stopping much over the next few weeks.”

At this Jaskier refocused, curious. “Where are we going next? We have all the pieces for the ritual, right?”

Geralt nodded. “The last piece is a location. We’re going back to Posada.”

*

The journey from the Brokilon to the Blue Mountains was one of weeks, rather than days. At this time of year the River Sodden and her many roads were wide open, and they were able to easily pass south under the Mohakams. This far south, spring was already giving way to summer, the warm vestiges of the Nilfgaardian desert winds finding their way to the pockets and hills of Angren and Rivia.

It should have been a pleasant journey. It was one they’d taken many times before, once Nilfgaard was no longer an issue, and they were both well familiar with the area. They kept the river to their south and traveled during the cooler parts of the day, stopping often. The wide river offered a constant source of beauty and convenience, and they were able to wash and fish regularly. Rivia, though not Geralt’s home by any stretch of the imagination, was friendly and offered plenty of places for them to stop and rest at the halfway point.

It should have been downright delightful, but instead it was… tense. Jaskier was quiet and contemplative much of the time, reserved in a way Geralt had rarely known him to be. He barely touched his lute, to the point where Geralt asked after it, only receiving a vague and unconvincing answer about saving the strings from the humidity. He spent the evening hours scribbling away in his journal, or simply lying and staring up at the stars. Sometimes, disconcertingly, he watched Geralt, especially when he seemed to think Geralt wasn’t paying attention. The furrow between his brow had grown to be near constant, and his shoulders had lost their easy swoop. When they spoke, something about Jaskier’s words felt needling, as if he was testing the waters for something. What, Geralt couldn’t even begin to guess.

He wanted to ask about it, but he found himself unable to find the words to do so. Jaskier didn’t seem mad at him—he knew what that looked like well enough, and this wasn’t it. He wanted to ask, but if he did it seemed possible, probably even likely, that Jaskier would admit that he’d figured out that Geralt was hiding something from him. He might even have realized the extent of Geralt’s feelings, or what the ritual really meant. Maybe Silvandrel had said too much, or Geralt had been too expressive, or too generous. Whatever it was, Jaskier was smart, maybe the smartest man Geralt had ever known; it wouldn’t take much for him to put two and two together. As he found Jaskier’s eyes lingering on him more and more frequently, it seemed also more and more likely that Jaskier was just trying to find a way to let him down easily.

Still, it wasn’t unbearable. Traveling with Jaskier in a mood was still better than traveling alone, and as always Geralt relished the chance to spend such uninterrupted time together. It was the best in the evenings, when their camp was already set up and the heat of the day had dispersed, and they had nothing better to do than sit and talk before both of them grew too tired to stay awake.

“What’s it like?” Jaskier asked one evening, lying on his bedroll with his ankle propped up on one raised knee. His lute was in his hands, a rare thing nowadays, but he wasn’t really playing it, just plucking a tune here or there. Testing the waters, it seemed.

Geralt was sitting with his back propped against a ragged tree stump, charred at the top where lightning had once struck. He looked up from where he was examining Roach’s tack, taking too long to reply as he was caught up in the image of Jaskier in the firelight. “What?”

Jaskier swiveled his head to look over at him, looking uncharacteristically pensive. “Being immortal. Or—not mortal. What do you even call a witcher, anyways. Semi-mortal? How long do you usually live? I’ve never gotten a straight answer about it.”

Geralt shrugged, the bridle dangling between his knees as he set his elbows to rest on them. “No one really knows,” he admitted. “Vesemir is… three hundred? We’re not sure, that’s based on references he makes, but Lambert swears sometimes he says things just to throw us off. Witchers don’t really… die of old age.”

“Surely some of you must retire,” Jaskier insisted. “Maybe not lately, but in years past…”

Geralt shook his head. “If they did, I haven’t heard of them. The Path is our life; we meet our end while on it. I know we can live for several human lifetimes, at least. I was older than you are now when we met.”

Jaskier’s mouth twisted in a smile that ached with bitter nostalgia. “I must have looked like a child to you.”

“You were a child,” Geralt laughed.

Jaskier threw something at him, and it bounced harmlessly off his knee. An acorn; the entire area was thick with oak trees. Clearing the ground beneath their bedrolls had been a pain. “Ass,” Jaskier chidded, but he was chuckling too. “I suppose we must all seem rather young to people like you though. Yennefer is the worst, she shouldn’t be allowed to poke fun at my very dignified salt and pepper and then turn around and call me an infant the next moment.”

Young man, Silvandrel had said, with that odd patronization that came only to those who would outlive most people they met. “It’s… not exactly like that,” Geralt allowed, studying Jaskier’s profile painted in orange and gold and dark dusky blue shadows. “Age isn’t the same as experience. There are eighty year olds who have done less in their lives than you had at twenty-three.” Jaskier looked over at him again, with a distinct expression of surprise and awe that Geralt was beginning to recognize as his reaction to Geralt giving him a compliment. He pushed on, turning his own gaze back to the tack in his hands. “I just mean, you don’t seem young, or inexperienced—at least not anymore,” he added, unable to resist throwing Jaskier a quick smirk.

“So Yennefer just calls me a toddler for her own enjoyment,” Jaskier said, squinting at him.

“Well, yes,” Geralt snorted. “But, it’s—you’ll understand. After. It’s not that you all seem young, necessarily, it’s just that you all seem sort of… I don’t know.” He shrugged. It was difficult to articulate the strange sense of fragility and youth that he associated with all humans, no matter their age.

“Temporary?” Jaskier offered, and Geralt grunted an affirmation. Of course Jaskier would be able to identify the feeling without ever experiencing it himself. Jaskier hummed in acknowledgement, and was quiet for a few moments, as if mulling that over. His fingers played over his lute strings, picking out a melancholy tune. After a while, he said, “It sounds a bit lonely. Knowing that almost everyone you meet will die a hundred years before you do. That they’ll never understand the way you view the world.” His eyebrows were knotted together as he contemplated the night sky.

Geralt bit his lip. “It… can be. Even amongst ourselves, we never know who’ll make it back after a year on the Path.”

Jaskier’s foot tapped the empty air where it hung over his knee. “Everyone I know, went to school with, taught with in Oxenfurt. They’ll all be gone before I will, if this works.”

Geralt felt dread unfurl within him, but this wasn’t something that he could deny Jaskier. This was the reality of Geralt’s offer, of what he was asking Jaskier to do. “Yes,” he said. But you’ll have me, he didn’t say, even though it burned at the tip of his tongue. You’ll have my brothers, and Ciri, and even Yennefer, and you’ll have me, always. That’s the point.

Jaskier looked over at him, eyes bright. He looked like he could hear Geralt’s thoughts, like maybe he was thinking the same thing. And then he grinned brightly and said, “I’ll outlast Valdo Marx by a century.”

Geralt couldn’t help the startled bark of laughter that left his throat. Jaskier launched into an excited diatribe against Valdo Marx, something about destroying his legacy after death, and Geralt allowed the babble to wash over him as he went back to fixing Roach’s tack.

After a while the conversation turned to other things, and they spent the rest of the evening in relative quiet. Eventually it was time to bed down for the night, and they banked the fire and crawled into their respective bedrolls. Just as Geralt was on the edge of sleep, Jaskier’s voice slipped through the quiet darkness around them.

“I don’t think I’m going to be.”

Geralt shook himself, turning to squint at Jaskier’s grey form, two aching feet away from him. His entire body itched to roll closer, but he focused instead on Jaskier’s words. “Hmm? You won’t be what?”

Jaskier let out a deep breath into the night air, soft like a secret. “Lonely.”

*

Posada was much the same.

Geralt didn’t know how long it had been since he’d been back. He knew he had been here post-Filavandrel incident, and he suspected Jaskier had as well, but they’d not returned together to the little valley at the edge of the world since the beginning. It had to have been at least ten years since he’d last been here on his own, but the small town was relatively familiar looking still. It had grown a bit since the war, likely as refugees from the south settled in the area, and there were new houses clustered around the outskirts. Still, the bones of it remained unchanged, and the inn was right where they’d left it.

They said nothing as they made their way into the town and headed in that direction. There was, so far as Geralt knew, no other place to find rooms for the night, so they didn’t have much of a choice. Stepping inside the small downstairs tavern should have been just like stepping into any other of the thousands like it that he’d been in, but it wasn’t. Things had been rearranged, of course; the furniture had been shuffled, and now a long table sat on the far side of the room before the fire. The small, cleared out space that Jaskier had stood in to sing was gone, filled with a cluster of tables and chairs. But the lone table in the back corner was, somehow, unmoved.

Geralt turned to Jaskier and found him staring at the spot as if entranced. He brushed his fingers against Jaskier’s forearm, and the bard blinked at him, startled back into the moment. “We should get a room,” Geralt said by way of explanation, and Jaskier nodded.

The man who arranged for their stay was not the one who had done so the first time, or the time after that, but his features were similar, so perhaps this was a son. He was amiable enough, and though Jaskier didn’t make any commitment to playing he offered them a fair rate.

Jaskier did end up playing, after they’d sat and eaten a quiet meal, avoiding the table in the corner in silent agreement. His fingers had worried at the edge of his lute case for a long moment, his eyes unfocused, and then something determined had steeled over his face and he’d stood.

There was a decent crowd this time around, bigger than the last time—the first time—that Jaskier had played here. Geralt remembered the stumbling notes, the ridiculous stories that spilled from the bard’s lips, unrefined. The way that the patrons of the bar had heckled him until he dipped sheepishly off the stage. He could understand why Jaskier might be nervous about playing here; even if no one remembered him, this had obviously been one of Jaskier’s first real performances for an honest audience.

It was like night and day. Jaskier had the entire room eating out of the palm of his hand in moments, as he always did, and his voice was clear and strong. Geralt recognized most of the songs, and almost all of them were about him, though he didn’t think any of the patrons put two and two together. Whereas Jaskier normally poked and prodded at Geralt throughout a performance to let everyone know that his muse was present, tonight he was subdued, letting Geralt watch quietly from a side table without dragging him into the proceedings. He might have thought that Jaskier had forgotten his presence entirely, if not for the occasional glance he caught Jaskier throwing his way, stealing his breath each time.

When he was finally done with his set and bowed his way out to the cheers of the audience, he made his way back to Geralt with his lute tucked under his arm. Jaskier leaned against the table in the space next to him, their knees just barely touching where Geralt’s was thrust out away from the chair. Jaskier looked down at him with almost a sheepish expression, giving him a quirked smile. “So. Three words or less?”

There were so many things he could say to that. So many things he wanted to say. You’re so beautiful, he thought, his eyes catching on the way Jaskier’s fingers wrapped around the neck of the lute, how his eyes shone in the low light of the inn. I loved it. Don’t leave me. I love you.

Instead, he said, a bit hoarsely, “Definitely more accurate.”

Jaskier laughed, some of that tension he’d been carrying for weeks breaking, and Geralt felt sweet relief at the sound. “Well I’d certainly hope so, after nearly thirty years of tailing you. At the very least I know my drowners from my nekkers.”

“At least there’s that,” Geralt chuckled, passing Jaskier a tankard of ale as he sat. “Glad to see you got something out of it.”

Jaskier took a sip of his drink, leaning his cheek on his fist. His eyes were bright when he looked at Geralt, and his expression was one Geralt recognized—he was bothered about something, but trying to keep his demeanor jovial. On anyone else, Geralt expected it would be an immaculate deception, but Geralt knew him. He wasn’t fooled by Jaskier’s court masks.

“Was it worth it?” Jaskier asked, taking another sip of his ale. His eyes left Geralt’s, flitting around the room.

Geralt frowned at him. “Was what worth it?”

Jaskier looked back at him, expression unreadable. “Letting an ambitious and no doubt obnoxious bard leave this tavern with you all those years ago.”

Geralt couldn’t help it; before he could think to stop himself, he had reached out to set his hand over Jaskier’s where it still held the handle of his cup. Jaskier jerked a bit at the touch, a drop of ale sliding down over their layered hands. “Of course it was,” Geralt said vehemently, not bothering to keep the earnestness out of his tone. Jaskier had to know. Even if he already suspected that something was afoot, even if this was some sort of test, Geralt couldn’t risk letting Jaskier think that he regretted a single moment of it. “You’re… Jask, you’re one of the best things that ever happened to me.”

Geralt could hear the sharp intake of breath at that, could see the way Jaskier looked down at their overlapped fingers and blinked rapidly. A small smile stole across his face, though there was a twist to it that seemed almost sad. “I’m glad, Geralt. Truly.”

Geralt wanted to ask, And for you? Was it worth it? But the tavern goers were quickly heading out now that Jaskier’s set was finished, and it was obvious that they would soon be the last ones remaining. And he found himself afraid, as he so often was nowadays, of the possibility that Jaskier would say no, that he should have spent the last thirty years playing in noble houses and courting beautiful women, rather than trekking endlessly after a surly witcher. He knew that it would make sense for Jaskier to have regrets, but he found that he didn’t think he was strong enough to hear them spoken aloud.

So instead he transferred his touch to Jaskier’s wrist, giving it a light tug. “We should head up,” he said, and Jaskier nodded. They pulled apart, and Jaskier finished his drink, and collected his lute. As they both turned to walk up the stairs, Geralt found his eyes catching once again on the little table in the corner. It had sat empty the entire night, as if waiting for something—or someone—to fill its seats once again.

~

Almost done folks! Just two more parts, and tomorrow’s includes the last piece of art for this story! 

tags: @whereismymonsterlover 

[obae-me]

Recently found your blog and I absolutely love your writing!! Could I request head cannons of the brothers reacting to an MC who suddenly cries in front of them but is over it in a minute and acts as if nothing happened?

Thank you for your request, and I’m so flattered you like my writing! 

So...I’ll admit got a little carried away with Lucifer’s part, and I always do my best to try to make each brother’s part of somewhat equal length, but if I did that...there would be about 21 pages of words in one post, so, to make it easier for me to post and everyone to read, I will be doing your request in parts. I hope that’s okay! 

Part 2 (Mammon)      Part 3 (Levi)

The Demons Inside- Part 1

Word Count: 2070

He had requested MC’s presence in his study while he finished up his work for the night. The day had been particularly tedious, and while he wouldn’t mention it offhand, their presence calmed him and motivated him to always be at the peak of his performance. 

MC happily came down to give him some support, a sweet smile on their face, dressed up in comfortable clothes, ready for bed. Their eyes were bright as they talked about their day and gave him praise as well as compliments to drive him towards his lofty goal. He took them gladly, although he wouldn’t say it. But despite the attention, these last few worksheets and reports were giving him a migraine. So, he kindly asked if MC could bring him one of his special bottles of Demonus. 

MC didn’t quite approve of him drinking to help his problems, but he tended to be aware of how much he was taking. As long as he was responsible--which he always was--MC didn’t mind. They got up from their chair, one of the luxurious red ones in the middle of the room. They chose the seat closest to where Lucifer’s desk was, but they didn’t dare move it any closer, he liked to have everything neatly in its place after all. Like his furniture, all his bottles and glasses were neatly organized, each one sleek and pristine, much like the demon himself. 

“Which one would you like?” They asked him, scouring the many labels, many of them written in a language MC couldn’t even begin to identify. 

Lucifer sat hunched over his desk, so focused on his report that he almost missed MC’s query. “Whatever catches your eye, I’m not going to be picky about it tonight.” He bit his lip and almost cursed as he made a small mistake on his report. He questioned why he always wrote in pen, fixing mistakes in ink was such a hassle. “But make it quick,” he grumbled. 

He wasn’t ready for the sound of shattering glass, almost jumping in his seat. He immediately straightened, his instinct ready to yell and scold whoever dared to be so careless. The name ‘Mammon’ almost formed on his lips, but then he affixed his gaze to his invited company. MC had accidentally lost their grip on the bottle, shards and alcohol scattered on the floor. One look at their face showed silent tears flowing down their cheeks, unable to peel their eyes away from the ground where the mess pooled around their feet. 

He had never really seen them cry before, they had always kept their guard up, refusing to show signs of vulnerability. He had thought it was an endearing trait, one he often had himself. So, having them cry before him now filled him with panic. He was worried their sudden emotion was due to the fact that they were hurt. After all, they weren’t wearing any shoes at this hour, what if they had been pierced with the glass? 

He rushed to his feet, sweeping them up into his arms, placing them in a chair away from the hazard. Tears still fell from their eyes, and now MC covered up their face with their hands to cover their small sobs. He got on one knee and quickly checked their feet and legs for any signs of cuts, not having the heart tonight to tell them how klutzy they were. 

There were no apparent signs of injury, and he allowed himself a moment to breathe in relief. When he looked back up at MC, ready to comfort and calm them, they now appeared fine. Their eyes were dry, albeit a bit red, and they gently shooed Lucifer away from their body. 

“I’m so so sorry, it was a complete accident.” MC refused to look into his eyes. 

He got back onto his own two feet, lips pursed together in a thin line of worry. He was aware it was an accident, but for the life of him, he didn’t know why MC would cry over something like that. Perhaps, they were scared of getting yelled by him? Or was there something deeper, the accident causing their emotional wall to crack poetically alongside the glass bottle. He opened his mouth to address the issue, but barely managed to let a syllable out before MC interrupted him. 

“I’ll go get something to clean it up,” they assured him, preparing to make a run for it. He hesitated for a moment too long, his mind running on fumes from being overworked. His reactions dulled, distracted by the lingering pain in his chest as the image of MC’s tears refused to leave his eyes. By the time he called out their name, they were already gone. 

He sighed, almost falling into the chair he had placed MC in, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “This human…” He sighed. He tilted his head back, his eyelids shutting. The heaviness of them refused to open back up till he heard the sound of glass pieces clinking together as they collided and scraped across his polished floor. 

He raised himself out of his seat, his body groaning, gravity working against him as his very being ached to continue resting. But he couldn’t just idly stand by as MC swept up the glass by themselves. He only needed to take a few long steps over to them, grabbing the broom handle with one hand. It wouldn’t budge in his tight grip. 

“MC, allow me, with all the glass around I fear for your safety. You forgot to bring proper footwear.” Both he and MC glanced down at their bare feet. MC worked on tugging the broom back to their possession. 

“No- I mean thank you, but, it’s my mess, I need to clean it up regardless.” 

“MC-” 

“Please!” Their loud tone stunned him. It was a plea of desperation, their voice cracking. His hold on the item loosened, and they tore the broom away from him without giving him the opportunity to fully let go. They immediately went back to work, brushing shards across the floor as they glinted, the light from the fireplace shining off of them. He was again reminded of their shimmering tears, but the expression of budding despair had left MC’s face a while ago. Now they just appeared as exhausted as he was. 

“Very well…” He couldn’t afford to spend the last of his energy pushing them any longer. Sitting back behind his desk, Lucifer forced himself to finish the last of his work. More often than not, he kept looking back up at MC. Their eyelids were low over their eyes as they focused on clearing away the mess. Never once did they look back at him. Their usual smiling mouth now waned. He watched them sweep away the big chunks of glass into a pan, pulling out a clean rag as they got to their hands and knees to wipe away the excess liquid. “MC?” The sound of his own voice almost sounded distant to him. 

“Hm?” They hummed, turning more in his direction but keeping their gaze from him. 

“Has anything been bothering you as of late?” He rested his chin in his hand as he leaned forward, his arm crooked on the surface of his desk. They turned their head away from him, resuming the cleaning. Their nose crinkled a little as the strong scent of his Demonus filled their nose. 

“No, I’ve been fine.” 

“And the crying earlier?” He found himself asking, unable to ease his own worries. “Are you sure you’re unharmed?” He found MC staring at the soaked rag, losing themselves in the sight of it. But it wasn’t the fabric they were paying attention to. 

“It was nothing.”  They had said it so quietly, he almost didn’t hear their answer. Lying always rubbed him the wrong way, it always insulted him. Yet, this lie didn’t quite seem to be directed towards him, he was getting the impression that they were mostly trying to lie to themselves. As if to further encourage this idea of his, MC repeated themselves. “It was nothing…” 

Lucifer examined the last of his work. There was still a bit left to finish, and he couldn’t remember the last time he brushed off his duties, no matter how minimal. Tonight, just for tonight, he thought. Maybe it would be alright. The papers on his desk he put aside, at the same time MC disposed of the trash, the floor as pristine as it had been a few moments before. 

“It is one of my duties as a member of the student council to make sure your needs are met.” He wasn’t wrong, this was true. It was a known job of everyone looking after MC to make sure their stay was as comfortable as possible. It would reflect positively towards the program. MC had heard the line before, and while he truly meant it, the words almost sounded empty to their ears. Lucifer had to swallow some of his pride, it tasted like his own personal poison. “So, you can talk to me about anything. I am...here for you.” 

For the first time since they descended down here, Lucifer finally got a glimpse of their protective walls falling completely. Their eyes threatened to start crying again, but Lucifer saw as their throat strained to push it back. 

“That’s part of the problem,” they croaked. 

He blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the answer. “P-pardon?” He was unaware his support and protection could be undesirable. 

“You and everyone else is always there for me, always strong, always helping me. And-” Their voice broke again as a single tear broke free from the struggle and rolled down their cheek. They only blinked once and he was right in front of them. The papers on his desk rustled and fluttered from the speed of his movement. His hand raised from his side for a second only to lower in disappointment as MC brushed their own tear away. “And I hate being a--being a burden. A weak and powerless human.” 

His mouth parted, open in mild shock as he processed slowly the words they were telling him. “MC…” 

“How...how am I supposed to make you proud when I can’t even hold a bottle correctly?” With the last words, the dam conjured of pure will that had been holding the river of tears at bay, broke, and once more they were crying in front of him. 

No more hesitation, no more prideful priorities, he held MC’s face with both hands, guiding them close to his body as he gave them a hug. They felt so small in his arms. He almost let out a laugh, but kept it to just a puff in his chest. He had no idea that the reason why they were so flustered was because their pride was wounded. He should’ve been one to know. He would’ve been upset too were he to be in their shoes. 

He found himself stroking their head, enveloping them in his embrace as he looked absentmindedly at the clean spot where all this had started in the first place. How much longer would MC have kept this from him had they not accidentally lost their grip? How much longer would he have unknowingly put pressure on their shoulders? 

“I am proud,” he told them, and MC’s shuddering shoulders started to halt. “Proud of your strength. Proud of your patience to deal with my...eccentric siblings. Proud of your stubbornness...even if it does sometimes drive me mad.” He swore he almost felt them laugh against his body, it brought a small smile to his face that he was thankful MC couldn't see. “You are not a burden,” he assured them sternly. “There are things that, even without magic, you’ve been able to accomplish where no other living being has.” He took them by the shoulders and moved them back so he could look at their face. “Be prideful of the things you’ve done, of the person you are. And if you cannot…” He lifted their chin with one hand, and then pressed his lips to their forehead. His lips were warm, almost even warmer than the words that spilled from them. It left MC’s mind fluttering. They couldn’t remember why they thought he was ever so cold. He parted from them, but the touch from his lips still felt like it lingered. “At least know I forever will be.”

[egoludes]

let me come home: two.

Summary: After years at a dead-end job shouldering everyone’s expectations for you but your own, you’re finally free to be whoever you want, go wherever you want. That is, until a series of unfortunate events strand you in Amber’s End, where the sheriff – and notoriously unmated pack alpha – decides to take you in.

Pairings: alpha!Steve Rogers x omega!Reader; side alpha!Bucky Barnes x beta!Sam Wilson

Notes: Wowowow - I don’t even want to count how many months it’s been, but we are finally back in business! I can’t thank you all enough for the love you showed on the first chapter of this and I am beyond excited to share this and hear what you think. Big reminder from the last chapter that parts one and two are all about setting the stage for Steve and our lovely reader. So,  this is more or less 5k of more background. But, I really loved introducing Bucky, Sam, and Nat (Bucky especially because he’s going to be huge here!) and hope you enjoy them too. Especially my Heat Wave readers - mechanic!Bucky returns! And I promise parts three and four will be extra juicy to make up for it. Divider credit goes to @writeyourmindaway​!

Chapter warnings: Werewolf AU, A/B/O dynamics, incredibly basic knowledge of cars that is probably incorrect

The drive to Steve’s home is short: five minutes from the diner to the base of a wooded hill, another ten to reach the peak. You follow him up a slanted stretch of road with eyes trained on his tail lights, but there are moments when your gaze strays. Sunset lingers on either side of you, framing the forest in a pretty glow. The blend of deep orange and soft pink is hard to look away from, even when you know you should be focused elsewhere, and you make your way to the top in that dizzying in-between. 

When you finally come to a stop, it’s on a patch of paved road - a welcome change to the gravel before it - in front of a large wooden cabin. Behind you, the town’s spread out in a panorama, spanning for what feels like an eternity. You can see everything from here: the humble spread of Main Street; the blues and greens of the Hummingbird; and finally, the mountains, majestic and steady beyond that.

It’s the perfect place for the pack’s alpha to be and, coincidentally, has been the home of Rogers alphas for three generations now.

That lived in feel is the first thing you notice when you make it inside. The structure is sturdy, hasn’t so much as gnarled over the years. The decor, on the other hand, is dated. Doilies on some surfaces and beer coasters on others, there are hints of Steve and the alphas who came before him throughout. Still, it’s cozy, and you say as much in an appreciative hum as you pull your bag off your shoulder. 

The first floor is all open space, and you can see most of it from your spot in the foyer. It doesn’t take long for Steve to situate you - sitting room, kitchen, bathroom, and master bedroom — before leading you towards the stairs. The walls along the staircase are full of memory; pictures of him and his loved ones that catch your eye as you ascend. You don’t have time to linger now, but make a point to look them over before you go. He’s piqued your interest too much not to be a little nosy.

The second floor, on the other hand, isn’t nearly as wide as the first. There are three doors in the whole hallway, two on either side with the third directly in front of you. He identifies each as the guest room, the storage room, and a study in that order, though he’s careful to call out that no one’s used the study in a long time. 

There’s a story there, you’re sure, but any interest in it leaves when Steve presses the guest bedroom door open. The bed inside is too big for the room, one side even touching the walls. And like the rest of the house, it’s decorated in a way that reminds you of your grandmother; a quaintness that’s endearing on a man like Steve. But, as out of place as things might be, there’s an undeniable comfort walking into that room. Steve smiles when he smells it on you -- that cinnamon-sweet rise of contentment as you sink down on the bed at his behest.

“It’s a short tour,” he admits, leaning against the doorjamb, “but this is about it. You’re welcome to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry again tonight or before you go tomorrow. I’m usually up early, so in case I don’t see you, enjoy the rest of your trip. Take care of yourself.” 

It’s new to you, how easily people can offer such genuine acts of care. He hardly knows you, yet there’s no doubt that he means what he says. The thought of it makes you return that thoughtful smile. “Thank you, Steve - you’re seriously a lifesaver.”

With a final smile, he leaves you to it, shutting the door behind him.

At the click, you settle further into the bed, toeing your shoes off and sifting through your bag for house clothes and a towel. Your travels so far have been an adventure, to say the least. Just a few months ago, you’d been working a stressful entry-level job on Wall Street. Pressed skirts, sharp teeth, the days were full of routine, but not the kind that’s pleasant. Everything was uncertainty and fleeting gratification as you competed, day after day, for a seat at the table. 

Add to that the constant nagging from your family to find a mate  — the endless string of blind dates, the passive-aggressive mentions of other friends’ announcements; it’s a wonder you’d endured it all as long as you had.

The decision to quit had been a long time coming. The decision to leave was a whim - the first you’d had in a long time. It was freeing to even be able to make the choice and the lack of commitment only grew more intoxicating from there. You feel freer, less suffocated, and so does your wolf  — it’s a change you’d desperately needed.

That feeling is what follows you into the shower as you wash away the day, and back to bed in your loose pjs. As you settle in, you have to stop yourself from sighing out loud. The mattress is as tender as a cloud, molding to your body at every point, and after weeks of motel beds (and the back of your Jeep), you fall headfirst into that comfort. Sleep comes fast and stays put.

                                                       ----

When you wake in the morning, the world is quiet. It’s a long way from New York’s chaos and you bask in it, eagerly at that. The sun filtering in through the window above you leaves kaleidoscope patterns on the sheets. Your hand moves to trace them for a bit, thumb to fractured color, until you’re awake enough to focus your ear to the house. 

Like outside, Steve’s cabin is tranquil, not even a hint of the alpha’s presence. Given his warning the night before, it isn’t surprising, but you’re still a little disappointed. You’d hoped to repay him for his kindness somehow — maybe with breakfast, or whatever change you could spare. But, you’ll settle for what you can get: you make a mental note to try and catch him at his office before you leave town.

Weeks on the road have made your morning routine as efficient as it gets. So once you’re completely up, you’re out the door not long after, a slice of buttered toast between your teeth to get your system going. You find your car where you left it at the end of Steve’s drive and you approach with a bounce in your step, all thanks to the night of comfortable sleep. 

Maybe you ought to grab Steve a fruit basket before you stop by.

You’re racking your memory of Main Street for bakeries or something close when you settle into the driver’s seat. But, gratitude towards Steve quickly becomes the last thing on your mind when you try to start your Jeep and get nothing but a grinding sound. It isn’t promising, but you try it again, only to get even less response before the car dies altogether. 

You groan out loud, head dropping to the steering wheel while your shoulders sink in defeat. It was inevitable, really - it’s been years since you inherited the car from your older sister and it was only through a slew of band-aid fixes that it made it this far. 

Still, the timing can’t be any worse; you don’t have a schedule to meet, but it isn’t much of a road trip if you can’t make it on the road. You fish your cell out of your jacket pocket, hoping that your service has somehow improved between last night and this morning. But, you only have a couple bars - finicky connection at best - so, you head back into Steve’s home where you’re certain you’d noticed a landline. 

When you find it, you also come across a phone book --- not the newest edition, but recent enough. The list of mechanics in the area isn’t long, so you thumb in the first number you see. The phone rings only twice before someone picks up. 

“Barnes Garage?”

“Hi,” you start, perking up at the quick answer, “I just tried to start my car and it’s not working. It made this weird sound at first, then when I tried again, it just died.”

The man on the other end hums and you can hear paper rustling in the background like he’s taking notes. “Alright, we can send someone out right now to tow you in and take a look - what’s your address?”

“I don’t...actually know,” you admit, face hot from embarrassment when he goes silent. You must sound ridiculous. “I’m not from around here, so I’m just staying with someone. I’m not sure about the address.” 

A chuckle rises from him that eases your shame just a bit. “Alrighty. Well, it’s a small town  — tell me who you’re stayin’ with and I’m sure between the three of us here, we’ll know where to find ‘em.”

There’s a part of you that’s skeptical of that; but for a town so small and a pack so close-knit, maybe it’s possible. “Uh, sure. I stayed with Steve Rogers  — the sheriff?”

The line goes silent again, this time so prolonged you think the call dropped. Then, the mechanic speaks up and you can almost swear he’s smiling. “No shit. I know exactly where that is, I can be there in fifteen? Maybe twenty? That work for you?”

“Well, I won’t be going anywhere, so that works perfectly.”

                                                        ----

The mechanic manages the trip in ten, when you glance out the window at the sound of an engine to see a dark blue tow truck stalking up Steve’s driveway. You come out to greet it just as the man driving climbs out and nearly gasp. He’s as handsome as Steve had been: piercing blue eyes, an angled, stubble-lined face, and deep brown hair gathered at his nape. There’s something familiar about him you can’t seem to place, but it’s out of sight and out of mind when he closes the distance with a wide smile. “Well, hi there -- ‘m Bucky. Spoke to you on the phone.” You give him your name, to which he nods. “So, I’ll get your car down to the shop and we’ll take a look, see if we can’t fix you up today. You wanna come with me, or you staying at Stevi -- uh, Steve’s for the day?”

You shake your head . “Nah, I can come with - I was planning to head out of town today anyway, so I’m hoping I can just head out from your garage.”

“Hop on in then.”

The ride with Bucky is surprisingly warm. He’s not exactly talkative, but he’s engaging; asking questions where he needs to, humming out his interest when he doesn’t. You get so settled into the flow of quiet radio and chatter that you don’t realize you’ve made it to his shop until the truck comes to a full stop. 

Barnes Garage sits at the corner of some of Amber’s End’s quieter streets. The large lot outside has a few cars parked with a path between them for new ones to be driven into the workshop. Bucky’s pulled your Jeep right into that path, though he’s stopped halfway between the curb and the garage building. “It’ll take me maybe a half hour to really dig in --- you can stick around or explore, it’s up to you, but I’ll let you out here.”

You climb out with a nod, thanking him before nodding towards the streets behind you. “I’ll probably head out - grab a few more things before I go. See you in thirty?” 

For the second time in as many days, you’re exploring Main Street, this time with an eye out for the stores you didn’t visit the day before. There aren’t many, to be frank, so after the first few, you take to stopping in on some of the people you’ve met already. They seem surprised to see you again, but take advantage of your presence to tell you more about themselves, the town, their wares. 

You realize quickly that none of the stories about Amber’s End really do it justice. It’s quainter than what you’re used to, sure, but there’s so much history there. It’s romantic almost - like the first turn of an old book or light filtering into a tea shop. 

You think you’ll miss it when you leave, even if just for a little while.

When you get back to the shop, you’re a few souvenirs richer and have something nice to give Steve on your way out of town as well. Bucky is sitting at a computer - the model recognizably old but reliable like the rest of the town. He perks up at the sight of you, already waving before you make it all the way in the door and pull your scarf from around your face. “So,” he starts, walking to your car with a hand under his chin. “I’ve got good news and I’ve got bad news.”

You grimace. “Ok --- good news first.”

“Well, I know what’s wrong with the car. The starter motor,” he taps a finger on the hood over the spot where the part lives, “is out. Completely done. But, we can get a part delivered here to get you back on the road.”

“Okay,” you eye him suspiciously. “Then, what’s the bad news?”

“Lookin’ at the places we get our parts from, they’re all outta stock for the model you’ve got. The soonest the part could be here is in a month, and even that might be generous with all the storms lately.” As if pre-empting your shock, he hands over an invoice to confirm it.

Seeing it written out, plain as day, makes you grimace. Staying anywhere for a whole month (or more) had never been in the cards; but, there’s no way you can afford a new car either - you were just barely making it through with the money you’ve budgeted as is. You take a long, hard look at the estimate Bucky’s handed you before taking a deep breath to gather your thoughts. “Okay,” you start slowly, “so how does this work? If I decide to wait for the part.”

He gestures to the door behind you that leads to the lot from earlier. “We have a reserve lot - it’s where we keep all the cars that are waiting on a part for service. I’d keep your car here - free of charge - until the part comes, then we fix ‘er up. You’d pay for the part now and the fix later, when we call you to make sure it all looks good.”

You nod, glancing up from the sheet briefly before looking back at the part expense. It isn’t bad in the grand scheme of things - certainly cheaper than a used car that’ll just give up on you in a few months anyway. But, it will be a good chunk of what you’d set aside for your trip and if you’re staying put for the month, there’s no way you can afford to do it without really settling in. Job and all. “Okay - let’s do it.”

“Sounds good.” Bucky’s eyes are full of sympathy as he watches you; from what little you’d told him in the ride over, being stuck in one place is the last thing you wanted right now. “You want me to get you to Steve? He’ll have some good ideas for what you can do next.”

The nervous knots that’ve been building since the conversation started uncoil some at the mention of the other Alpha, though you try your best to ignore it with another nod to Bucky. “That would be great.”

                                                       ----

The sheriff’s station is small but busy when you walk in. Bucky trails ahead of you, walking with purpose that surprises you. At first, you chalk it up to the town being so small  — maybe there’s an open door policy for the residents. But, then you notice the way deputies and junior deputies let him by without even batting an eye. The ones who do simply nod, offering a smile while Bucky walks right past them and reception into Steve’s open office door. 

“Buck?” You can hear ahead of him. “What are you doing here..?” It dawns on you then that they must know each other; intimately, judging by the nickname and the pure ease that Bucky has as he maneuvers the station.

You hesitate to interrupt their moment, but Bucky’s response to Steve’s question is to angle himself so you can be seen from behind him. That’s when Steve notices you and you wave with a sheepish smile. “He brought me, actually - my car’s broken down and I don’t think I’ll be able to leave for a bit. I wanted to make sure you knew before you came home and found me still there…”

Your presence brings Steve to his feet and you notice that he’s in his sheriff’s uniform for the first time. Somehow, he seems more comfortable in it than the casual wear you’ve seen him in so far, but there’s no denying that he looks just as good. “Hey -- you don’t have to worry about that, I wouldn’t just kick you out. I’m sorry to hear about the car, though - anything I can do to help?” 

“Unless there’s a way the local sheriff’s office can put a little muscle on an auto-parts dealer,” you tease, drawing a snort from Bucky beside you, “I think I’m okay. I’m hoping we can talk more about where I should stay when you get back, though?” 

“Sounds good to me.”

With your big news out in the open, you turn on your heel to leave, but pause as another thought strikes you. “Actually, one thing I could use some help with: know of anyone hiring?”

Steve’s face turns pensively and you can see his mind working for an answer. “Not that I can think of, no…,” he offers, a little remorse in his tone, “but you know what? Most places are willin’ if you know who to talk to. How about Bucky take you around? See what you find?”

After giving his instructions to a suspiciously enthusiastic Bucky, Steve turns his attention back to you. You expect to see pity, but there’s nothing there but genuine concern. You feel a little warmth from it, like you’re protected just by standing in front of him, and wonder if this is how everyone in his pack must feel. “I’ll be back late today, so you can feel free to eat without me. Bucky will take care of you until then and help you talk to some folks about a job. You call me if you need me.” He brandishes a business card from a holder on his desk and pencils his cell number on the back before handing it over. “If you’re still awake when I get in, we can talk about your living situation. Otherwise, settle in for one more night and we’ll talk in the morning.”

                                                       ----

Over the rest of the day, Bucky takes you to a few shops with vacancies: pharmacy, market, the doctor’s office. Nothing seems to strike a chord for you, though, and you start to grow dejected, anticipating yet another job you have to work  out of necessity.

Then, Bucky pulls into the gravel lot of a tavern.

Widow’s Den is the name carved in large wooden blocks over the front door, and despite the afternoon hour, there are a few cars parked in front of it. When you duck inside, a group of older men and women sit, talking over beers.

A tall, broad man is working the bar, his laughter booming over a pop song you haven’t heard in years. Beside you, Bucky beams, scent thickening at the sight, and you realize quickly that this must be the person behind the ring on his left hand and the soft pink mark on the right side of his neck. His mate. It’s adorable to see — this charismatic alpha unraveled at one glimpse of the man he loves. 

“Babe,” Bucky chimes for the bartender’s attention as you approach the bartop. Not that he needs to, though; it’s obvious in the way his scent spikes that he’s long since noticed Bucky’s presence and you nearly coo at that too. “Nat in the back?”

“Yeah,” he responds, not looking your way yet as he finishes pouring a drink. “Doing inventory, I think.” Once the drink’s delivered, he offers his full attention and that’s when he notices you. “Who’s this?”

Bucky grins, smile taking on a boyish quality as he slings an arm around your shoulders. “New girl, looking for a job. Her car’s in the shop with me now, so she’s staying with our lovely sheriff until it gets fixed up.” 

The bartender’s intrigue is immediate, eyes widening before he grins slyly — as if privy to a secret you’re not — and folds arms over his chest. The pose accentuates the corded muscle along his arms and chest and you have to stop yourself from sighing. Is there anyone in this town that isn’t woefully in shape? “You’re kiddin'. With Steve?” You have more questions than you know what to do with, but there’s no time to think about asking one when his hand is thrust your way. “Well, then, nice to meet you, girlie. I’m Sam.” 

The smile he offers you is welcoming, and you forget about the odd focus on your staying with Steve (it isn’t even official yet!) to accept his hand. When you share your name in return, the smile widens and he tips his head towards the stretch of hallway by the other end of the bar. “Head on back to talk to Nat -- Bucky can show you the way.”

The brunet rests a hand to your back, pausing only to give Sam a quick kiss over the bar before he takes you towards the back hallway. The vibe in this half of the building is noticeably different. Homey, like the staircase at Steve’s cabin. You recognize many of the same faces in these pictures as the ones back at Steve’s. Bucky’s against Sam’s shoulder, Steve head and shoulders over the rest. There are a few where he’s even bare faced, looking eons younger than he does now, but not a smidgen less intense, and you work out easily that they’ve all been friends for some time, maybe even since puphood.

It’s admirable to you, maybe even enviable too. You have friends from that age as well, but the unforgiving pace of city life had made it hard to stay close. The smiles in the bar’s pictures, in comparison, speak to nothing but growing bonds, year after year.

You can’t help but smile too.

“This way.” Bucky’s voice brings you out of your thoughts and into a half-cracked doorway. The room is cluttered, stacked with boxes and bottles. And in the center of the chaos is a woman with striking red hair, pulled up and out of her face. Her aura holds a candle to Steve’s; far-reaching, imposing, and immediate. There’s no mistaking her as anything but an Alpha, and when her eyes leave the clipboard she’s holding to focus on you instead, you struggle against the instinctive need to bow into yourself. But, years of Wall Street’s brutal pace (that cares very little for rank) steel you. You see something akin to amusement flash in her eyes when you meet her gaze head-on.

“What did I tell you about bringing in strays, James?” Her tone is level, but the words have no real bite. You look up at Bucky warily still, who reassures you with a little smile.

“This one’s not a stray --- not really, anyway.” He loops an arm around your shoulder again and you can tell the familiarity intrigues Nat. “She’s new in town - staying for a month or two until I can get her car squared up, so we’re hopin’ to find her a place to work.”

“Just a couple? That’s not a long time --- I mean, by the time you get settled in, you’re gonna be out of here.” A valid concern; one that the other shop owners had shared when Bucky told them your predicament. There isn’t much you can say to ease the worry, but it turns out you don’t have to. Nat turns the rest of the way to set her scrutinizing gaze on you properly and the look compels you to stay put; almost as if you’re presenting yourself to her. A stretch of silence sets in and the longer it goes, the more convinced you are that she’s about to reject you outright. Then, she clicks her tongue. “Hm. We don’t need much right now, but I could throw you a couple bucks if you want to help us bus tables or something. This is the only spot to really drink in town, so we could always use the help on busy nights.”

You’re so relieved you could kiss her, but you don’t need superhuman instinct to know that would not go well. You settle instead for a wide smile, the sort that’s contagious to the Alphas in the room who start beaming with you. “That would work for me!”

“Good,” she grins, setting her clipboard aside to cross her arms, “now to celebrate our new arrival.”

                                                       ----

You spend the rest of the day at Widow’s Den, getting to know Sam, Bucky, and Natasha over glasses of their best liquor. They confirm your suspicion that they’ve known each other for some time: Steve and Bucky are lifelong friends, brought together by a schoolyard fight started by a Steve who wasn’t even half the other boys’ heights. Meanwhile, Sam and Natasha came into the fray during high school years, transfers from their deep South and Russian hometowns respectively. But, they folded into the fabric of the boyhood duo easily and had been a foursome ever since.

You still don’t know where Sam and Bucky’s relationship turned romantic, but there’s an ease there that makes you guess it has been a while. Natasha, like you, is unmarked, but it’s rare for Alphas to do that anyway. You’re curious to learn more about her in particular. 

As time moves on, the bar fills more and more and you get a glimpse of what your life will be like for the next few weeks. The crowd is certainly diverse - people of all ages filing in with friends or on their own. In an odd way, there’s two bars existing in one - young and old, energetic chatter and introspective talk. 

By the time you leave, you’re a little tipsy and Bucky guides you out with a hand on your back. So far, you haven’t come across any other omega in their circle, and you wonder if his constant touch is a result of that instinct to protect you. The conversation on the ride back to Steve’s flows more freely now that you’ve spent so much time together and when he drops you off, he surprises you with an offer for a hug. When he glimpses that surprise, he laughs. “None of that now - you’ll be seeing a lot of me from now on, so we’re friends, sweetheart.” 

You laugh and step into his arms - you suppose he’s right.

                                                       ----

It’s near one in the morning when Steve finally comes home. His midnight patrol had been as uneventful as usual ---- a blessing, he thinks, considering how distracted he’d been during the run. His wolf is restless, agitated by the thought of this new omega being around longer than expected. He found his thoughts trailing to her during his time in the woods, particularly as he passed the quarry he’d found her in, and there was an eagerness to find out how the rest of the day with Bucky had gone.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little nervous. His friend, dear as he is, can be a handful, even for him. 

When he comes in, he’s shocked to find you still awake in the living room, a mug of what smells like herbal tea in your hand as you flip through a book from his shelf. You look up at him from the book, a dopey smile to your face, and that’s when the other, underlying smell on you hits. Alcohol --- something woody that’s familiar. He guesses Bucky must’ve taken you to Widow’s Den, which would explain why you’re still up at this time.

“Hey,” he speaks up, nodding at you, “couldn’t sleep?”

You shake your head, book forgotten as you cradle your tea with your other hand. “It’s been a busy night - still a bit wired!” 

Fair, he thinks. “Tell me about it - did it go well with Buck?”

You start to ramble about the day - the places you tried, the time at Widow’s Den, the offer from Nat you ultimately accepted. He tries not to tense too visibly, but he can’t hide the way his scent sharpens the way it often does when an Alpha is on edge. He can see the impact it has on you instantly; the way your excitement slows and your eyes dart to try and pick out what caused it.

He reassures you - or does his best to - with a smile, urging you on. He won’t explain this yet, but the crowd at Widow’s Den can be rowdy when they want to be, especially when they’re from out of town. Nat and Sam will show you the ropes --- and step in where they have to --- so you’ll be in good hands; but he wouldn’t be Steve if he didn’t worry. You’re the newest wolf in town now --- a part of his pack, even if just for a short while.

When you’re done recapping the day, his smile grows, the gesture deliberately wide to make up for his worry catching you off-guard. “Well, I’m glad to hear it went well - Nat and Sam are good people, they’ll take care of you.”

“I believe it.” You pause, running a finger along the rim of your mug. “Which reminds me, I… I don’t have to stay here. Once I start working, I think I’ll be able to check in at the Hummingbird, see if that room’s opened up.”

Steve gives you the same stern look from the diner and you almost giggle at the sight. It’s hard to see the same intimidating alpha now that you’ve heard a little about him from his friends.  “Come on - what kind of pack leader would I be if I kicked you out now?” He stands from the couch, eyes -- and stomach -- starting to turn towards the kitchen. “I won’t stop you if you prefer the motel, of course,  but the offer to stay here will be open until your car’s ready to go.” 

“Are you sure...?”

His stern face softens, giving way to another smile. “Positive - don’t worry about it, okay?” 

After the last twenty four hours, it’s hard to doubt his capacity for kindness, but reassurance is always appreciated. You thank him one last time as he stalks into the kitchen, wishing you a good night, and when your tea is finished, you pad up to the guest bedroom with your chest feeling as warm as your tummy. 

As you finally doze, it’s with a head full of excitement; like a kid the night before a field trip. You didn’t expect it, sure, but you’re ready, anticipant, for the start of your life for the next two months.

[fangirlings-things]

38 to 58%

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female reader

Word count: 1.6K

Summary: on your very first day on the Bureau that seemed to be going just fine, what was supposed to be just a mug of coffee turned out to be much more chaotic than that

anon said: hey could I please have something cute with Spencer Reid, like when a female reader and him first meet in the Bureau? I'm not being very specific but I love your ideas, so hope this is okay!!

A/N: hii lovely anon! I loved this request, it was so sweet and is the first time I'm writing a Spencer story so yayyy! I hope you like this, lots of love and thank you for requesting 💖

GIF IS NOT MINE || TAG LIST: @imaginesofyourfandom ; @locke-writes ; @regalbanshee

You couldn't believe it was finally happening.

After fours years in college studying criminology, two more in the Academy to prepare you in every way needed and a lot of stress in psychological analysis and interviews, you had finally been hired. The Federal Bureau of Investigation gave you a call two days before and congratulated you, because you were now an agent. And as yourself had chosen to be, a profiler in the BAU division.

You had got to the official building very early as instructed to get your credentials with Chief Strauss, a woman who you quickly realized wasn’t someone you would should ever disappoint. After that, she had said you could wait around freely while waiting for your direct superior, the leader of your team, to arrive.

You firstly had sat in silence in some available chairs on the same floor for more than thirty minutes. You waited and waited, and then waited some more. Nothing. No one came up to you like she had said they would. And so, you saw something that attracted your attention. A few other agents, carrying around mugs of something that from the smell, had to be coffee. Turned out, you loved coffee. And as the thought of just sitting around for more unpredictable time made you anxious, you decided after a few seconds of hesitation to get up and make your way to from where those agents had came from.

You decided that for sure, that would be your favorite spot at the Bureau. There was a long counter in one of the corners of the incredibly large division of the floor that you had just entered, over which there were various mugs and the smell of recently made coffee filled the air. Incredibly satisfied and feeling more calm for the first time since you had waken up on that day, five minutes later you had a mug filled with coffee with just the amount of sugar you liked.

Now, you could wait peacefully for as long as you had to.

You began to make your way back to where you had been waiting before, close to Chief Strauss' office. There, you thought, it would be easier for your superior to find you and if there was something you didn’t want, was to cause problems to the man on your very first day.

Your eyes were on the mug, watching the drink wave around a bit inside of it as you walked in a soft, careful pace. You were halfway there, when suddenly everything ceased to be fine and turned into chaos as a body collided hard against yours.

First, you felt it. The hot of the liquid you had intended to drink now burning your chest and hands, making instinctively jump backwards. Then, you felt the wetness of it on your previously dry, white shirt and finally, you smelled it. You were exhaling the smell of coffee as if you had just become a mug filled with it yourself. Oh, no. No coherent thoughts crossed your mind as all you could feel was a slight panic. No, that couldn’t be happening on first day. It couldn’t.

The other person, a guy, looked as bad as you. His brown coat was now filled with dark stains in multiple places and he too smelled like coffee. What was worse for him though, it that he was holding a book. Or had been, at least. Now the pages were wet and partially destroyed. You hated yourself right then and there.

“I am so sorry” you said firmly, imagining to be looking completely stupid, now holding an empty mug. For a brief second, you let yourself really look at the guy and you realized that he was quite beautiful, with short messy hair and curious eyes that had their gaze fixed on you. “I am really sorry, I wasn’t looking and…”

“It’s fine, I wasn’t looking either” he stated, in a tone that held nothing of the anger or frustration you had been expecting to hear. In fact, he didn’t seem bothered at all. “Did you know that statistically, of all burns requiring hospitalization in one year, 38 to 58% are due to hot liquids or steam?” he probably noticed the shocked expression on your face, because he quickly continued talking. “Not that I or you will need hospitalization. I was just telling you a curious fact”

“Oh, I didn’t think that…” you stopped talking, took a deep breath and actually managed to smile, even though you had just ruined both yours and his clothes for that day of work that was just beginning. “I was just shocked because that’s a very unusual cool thing to know”

“You really think so?” the guy with messy hair also smiled and did he have a nice smile. Before you even realized it, he had one of his hands out, offered in your direction. “I’m Doctor Spencer Reid”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you shock his hand with the less dirty of coffee of yours. When you pulled your hand back, your eyes went to his book again and you sighted heavily. “I’m sorry about your book” and then, you looked at his coat. “and your clothes”

“Oh, I've read this book five times already. I was just bored” he closed the dripping coffee pages and you were able to read the title. Fundamentals of Physics. That guy was definitely, not ordinary. “And as for my clothes, I have a travel bag in here. I’ll just change”

“Oh” you mumbled, feeling a great amount of relief fill your whole being. Also, a bit of envy. “Wish I had one of those” for the way he frowned at you, you assumed it was normal for agents to keep travel bags in the office. “It’s my first day” you then explained, shrugging.

“Oh, that’s great. BAU?” he asked and you nodded. “Welcome to the job” as you smiled back thankful, a thought seemed to cross his mind and seconds afterwards, his face lit up with something you assumed to be an idea. “Come with me”

You both stopped back at the counter for a moment. He threw the book in the trash can and you placed the empty mug inside the sink. Using napkins, you both dried the most wet places of both of your clothes and then you followed Doctor Reid as he walked through the agent’s desks, completely familiar with the place.

“Emily” he called when you both approached the desk of a brunette agent that standing up with her arms crossed over chest, talked with another agent, a man. They were both laughing at something and suddenly, you felt like an intruder. They both turned to look at Doctor Reid and consequently, at you. “Do you have a shirt to borrow to (Y/N)? It’ her first day and we… well” he looked down at his own coat, and the agent named Emily understood what he meant.

“Yeah, sure” she knelt down and pulled something from under her desk. A black travel bag. Looking inside of it for a few moments, she then got up again and offered you a blue shirt.

“Thank you so much” you couldn’t even believe your own luck and that stranger’s kindness. “I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N)” you grabbed the blue shirt with one hand and the other, you gave out for her.

“Emily Prentiss” she smiled warmly and sympathetically, shaking your hand. “And please, I’m happy to help. We’ve all had first days” when she pulled back her hand, she crossed her arms again. “Are you going to be in the BAU?” you nodded.

“Congratulations. Hi, I’m Derek Morgan” the other agent gave out his hand and you shook it with a smile on your face. “Who is your unit chief?”

“Aaron Hotchner?” Doctor Reid risked, with something in his voice that you couldn’t quite identify. The others two though, seemed to read right through him by the way they looked at him with small smiles before looking back at you.

“No, Sam Cooper” you answered, repeating the name Chief Strauss had told you before. At the mention of your now boss, you widened your eyes, thinking about the possibility of him having arrived and be looking for you like crazy. “I really have to go. Thank you, Emily. Can I have your phone number, to call you later and return this?” you raised the shirt a bit, smiling, a bit embarrassed.

“Absolutely” Emily turned around to grab a pen.

“Why don’t Reid keep your number?” Morgan suggested, shrugging with a big smile on his lips. From the corner of your eye, you saw that Doctor Reid was looking at him with eyes as widened as yours had been seconds before. “He can give you a call one of this days, we can all go out for drinks or whatever and you can return Prentiss' shirt”

“Yeah, sure” you replied, surprised by the suggestion. Emily gave you the pen she had caught along with a post-it and quickly, you wrote down your phone number. Then, you gave the post-it to Doctor Reid. “Again, I’m sorry Doctor Reid. It was a pleasure meeting you. You all, in fact” you smiled at Emily and Morgan too before rushing your way to the bathroom to change.

“My, my, Reid. Her first day and you already have her phone number. That’s my man” Morgan put a hand on Spencer’s shoulder, teasingly. “How did you manage that?” he then asked, although it had been him who suggested that you left Reid your phone number, just to provoque the other.

Eyes still on the door through where you had disappeared moments before, Spencer thought out loud. “I bumped into her and told her the statistics on required hospitalizations related to burns”

[honeysidesarchived]

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

pt. iii: tra i due litigante terzo gode ( read on ao3 ) ( masterlist )

words: 3.6k

warnings: mentions of animal death (canon-typical), clown on clown violence.

rating: m/t

notes: putting this little project of mine up on the internet for strangers to see was incredibly nerve-wracking, but i have been so lucky to be received so kindly by folks! thank you to everyone who reads, it really means the absolute most to me.

i don't know if i mentioned this before, but you can find translations for the (google-translated) italian at the bottom of each chapter on my ao3. i know it's a hassle, i'm sorry!! just can't find an easy place to put them here without spoiling what's going on in the chap ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ

thank you as always to my lovely beta @starcrier, my lover my life my shawty my wife; this could not be done at all without you. ♡ and to @belorage, who loves euphie enough to send me the cutest message that managed to kick my ass into gear to get this chapter edited!!

Two days after the engagement party, when Santino has finally made up for his delay and lateness, is when he ruins it all again.

Later, Euphemia will think that he can’t help it—he is destined to be a wrecker, a ruiner, even if it’s for himself. It’s not his fault, not really, she’ll say. Ignoring that he is a perfectly autonomous adult means that she can excuse his thoughtlessness and not call it selfishness.

One of Santi’s men tries to tell her that he’s busy as she strides through the museum, heels clipping the floor with a strict, stark cadence. The smell of the doctor’s office is still stuck in her palette. She feels a wad of anxiety, anticipation, coiling deep in the pit of her stomach, a black stone dropped there to torture her with its heaviness. Santino will be happy, she thinks absently, chewing the inside of her cheek as she moves. He’s always wanted this.

The man is keeping pace with her well enough, despite her long legs and the purpose with which she walks to one of the back rooms of the museum.

“Bella,” he says, reaching to stop her, “per favore, he is in a meeting.”

The words put a sour taste in her mouth. Busy, the man is trying to say, too busy for you, for this, right now.

“Trust me, Gianni,” she replies dryly, “he’ll want to make time for this.”

She takes two steps into the room past the other guards, who don’t bother trying to stop her. The room is marked primarily by a high ceiling, which allows all of the paintings to be hung in it in their varying degrees of size. Euphemia recognizes Santino sitting on the bench first, and then another man that he’s talking to. The man looks like he’s just come off of the streets, his hair dark and the scruff that she can see on the side of his face manicured enough to look like he just hasn’t bothered recently.

It takes Euphemia’s brain a few seconds to register the facial features of the man who turns to look at her over his shoulder. He would be nothing, mean nothing, to her if she didn’t see the way his expression flattened, his gaze sweeping over her—calculating. Measuring. Identifying.

He looks dirty, unshowered, covered in soot, and she thinks back to two nights ago when Santino showed up to their engagement party smelling like fire and gunpowder.

Santino stands abruptly. He might be angry, or perhaps worried; it’s hard to tell the difference with him. But she can’t look at him, anyway, her gaze fixed on the stranger who is not much of a stranger at all, who she knows because of the scary stories. The rest of the world may as well be melting down around her, some sick Van Gogh painting, and she can’t look away.

John Wick has dark eyes. Shark’s eyes, she thinks. Black, soulless. Like the glass eyes on a teddy bear. She feels her stomach lurch as fear washes over her in a slick, wet wave, reminding her that she’s already received one bout of stressful news this afternoon.

He watches her. She’s sure he’s sizing her up—that is what John Wick is made to do—but after a second, he glances to Santino, gauging his reaction. If he thinks she's any kind of a threat, he's not letting it show.

“I told you not to let anyone in,” Santi says angrily to Gianni, helpless behind her—because Gianni would have never dared to grab her arm to stop her, would have never thought it acceptable to handle her like street rabble.

“Santi,” Euphie says, feeling very small and very far away and somewhere that her body isn't, “who is that?”

She knows, but she wants to hear him say it.

He steps around the bench, excusing himself from his conversation with Wick and crossing the space between them to guide her out of the room with his hands on her arms. She lets him, not because she isn’t burning with rage but because if Santino doesn’t show her where to go, Euphemia will just stand there, fear driving icy-hot spears through her chest.

He takes her as far as around the corner of the room, maybe to put as much space between her and John Wick as he can afford, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. She starts to shrug his hands off of her, and oh, there it is—the shrieking, panging fear, and fury, boiling inside of her. Venomous, indignant. Her mind is a mess of color and noise and she’s vaguely aware that maybe she should be working hard to keep her voice down, but it no longer matters.

A lot of things shouldn’t have happened that did. What’s one more?

“You brought him here?” She can feel her voice bordering on hysteria. “Are you a fucking idiot, Santi? What part of I don’t want John Wick near my life—”

“Euphie, Euphie, Euphie,” Santi says, trying his sweet-talk; condescending, like he’s speaking to a child. “Lower your voice, tesora, and we’ll talk about it.”

Her hand moves of its own accord, a knee-jerk reaction to Santi sweetly telling her to shut up, and she slaps him. Hard. As hard as she can manage. The second her palm connects with the side of his face, and the needles start stinging in her palm, she thinks that she regrets it: but all she can really think about is the pure fear and rage coursing through her body, pummeling adrenaline through her bloodstream until she feels like she’s going to be sick.

And, a little, too, a warmth blooming in her chest: satisfaction.

Santino's head doesn't turn back to her right away. There is a heartbeat of a moment where only silence reigns, where his fingers reach and touch the place her palm had made contact with, like he can't believe she did it. Maybe he can't, but then he'd be a bigger idiot than Euphemia thought.

He turns to face her again and holds up a hand—perhaps to call for a moment of inaction, or to be prepared for a second blow, she’s not sure and she doesn’t care. Santi begins, his voice a low threat, “Do not do anything else you're going to regret, Euphemia.”

Anything else you’re going to regret, he says, as though she will regret having done this.

“Fuck you,” she snaps, her voice rising in volume further yet. The poison reverberates on the high, smooth glass ceiling, bouncing off of the marble walls until it’s all echoing around them. “He knows what I look like, what—what I sound like, he knows my name, Santi, you—”

She's pushing him, hitting his chest; an impatient and weak battering. She wants both to get him away from her as much as possible and keep him close. Santi catches her wrists with bruising force, trapping her and making her look at him.

“Euphemia, basta—if you had waited,” he bites out, “then—”

“I’m pregnant!” The words leave her in a visceral, furious shout, her heart thundering in her chest, her flight or fight demanding one or the other. She rips her wrists from his grip. It feels like her entire body is vibrating. “You fucking idiot—I was late, I just got back from the doctor, and—and you’re not supposed to have him here anyway! You promised me, Santino D’Antonio, you promised me!”

There is a heartbeat of time, of space, where her fiance stares at her like he doesn’t quite think that she’s real. Red blooms on his cheek where her hand made contact and the dark of his pupils has all but swallowed up the beautiful green of his irises. Finally, something seems to kick the gears back into motion, and he plunges on, catching his footing.

“Euphie,” Santi says, reaching for her again, “Euphie, listen to me. John came to me, I didn’t—”

“I don’t need a fucking history lesson, Santino!” Euphemia spits, brushing his hand away from her arm. Blood is rushing through her head, louder and louder, demanding she raise her own volume to be heard over it. “I told you to leave him alone. You insisted, and I thought that was the end of it—you came late to the party that night because of him, isn’t that right? So why is he here, Santi? Why is John Wick near me and my baby?”

Santino stares at her. She can see the flex of his jaw when his teeth clench, trying to maintain what shred of control he has. He swallows, lifting a finger, to indicate one minute, and it takes all of her self-control not to scream at him that he doesn’t get any more minutes. But there is some pleasure in seeing him a little ruffled; to see the way his eyes dart over her face, trying to keep everything collected neatly in his mind, filed away for premium use. She wants to shake him until he is really rattled.

“It may have taken more persuasion than I anticipated,” Santi says finally, at last.

Euphemia makes a sound something like wrecking, like grief, because she knew this was going to happen and he told her it wouldn’t but here they are anyway. It’s a death knell, ringing in her ribcage, in the cavity of her chest. Dead, dead, dead, we’re all fucking dead now, don’t you see it? You, and me, and now our baby, dead like stones.

He continues quickly, over the sound of her agony, “But that doesn’t matter—cara mia, listen to me, it doesn’t matter because now John will do what I ask him to, and we don’t have to worry about anything else. Euphie, Euphie—come here, we'll talk about this.”

She’s going to be sick. The doctor’s words are still rolling around in her head; avoid stress, make sure you sleep and eat well. Can’t be worrying that baby, can we, Miss Volpe? Make sure your fiance does all the work, hm?

“It does matter. It matters the most, Santi, I—I told you to leave him be, I told you, and you said that you would only ask and that would be it—”

She’s grieving, now, lamenting the loss of her happiness, the hysteria taking a melancholic edge in her voice as the sorrow sweeps over her. Santi keeps reaching for her, to try and ground her back to him, and for the first time since she met him she just can’t stand to feel him touching her, saying her name, trying to sweet-talk her. His hands sweep her shoulders, coming up for his thumb to brush the nape of her neck; instinctively, her shoulders scrunch up to disembark them, arms shoving his off of her.

He says, “Tesora, we can talk about this—”

“You did exactly what I asked you not to,” she manages out, taking a step back from him. “I ask you for two things, Santi. Helping my mother, and not putting yourself at war with John Wick. I do not—you should not have asked him at all!”

“Euphie—”

By the time Santino reaches for her again, she’s turning and walking away, her steps unsteady. She’s sure that she’s sweating, or crying, or maybe both or neither and her body is just kicking into overdrive with gut-wrenching sweeps of grief rocking through her body now that she’s got Baba Yaga fifteen feet from her. From her and her baby.

“Euphie!” Santino’s voice echoes down the main hall of the museum, lighter now. Almost like they never argued at all. “We’ll talk when I get home, si? Mi amore?”

Euphemia is certain she’s never heard a sentence more infuriating in her entire life. It sparks something violent in her. It had been dormant, had stepped aside for her mourning, but it catches fire the second Santino says, we’ll talk when I get home.

Incensed, she turns and slides the engagement ring off of her finger, throwing it as hard as she can at him. Gianni had been trailing her, certainly at Santino's behest, and he tries to stop her—but it's too late, the fury inside of her forcing her to move more quickly than Gianni anticipates.

He catches her around the waist and she considers, briefly, the logistics of wrenching Gianni's arm off of her to go and slap Santino again; instead, she watches the expensive engagement ring bounce off of the front of Santino's jacket and clatter on the floor.

The way he tilts his head, as though expecting her to lob it at his face, and the irritated expression that comes over him is almost as good as actually having hit her original target of that pretty face of his.

Then, it’s pure, sheer, furious indignation that crosses Santi’s face, but she has no time to think about what that means for her.

“Fuck you, Santi,” she bites out venomously. “Fuck. You. Don’t fucking bother coming home.”

“Bella,” Gianni says, “we should get you back.”

Euphemia debates slapping Gianni, too, but it would be unfair; in his defense, he did try to keep her out of the room. She turns and marches her way out, the doors slamming shut behind her and the cold air of New York in the fall washing over her. As Gianni speaks on the phone and calls the driver around, she glances up at the sky; gray and soft as wedding silk, it stretches, endless, cut in pieces by the skyscrapers parsing it out.

A fool, she thinks. Santino has always made a fool out of me, and this is no one’s fault but my own.

━━━━━━━━━━━━

Two hours later, Euphemia hears him enter the loft. He lets the door click shut softly behind him, not slamming it, not storming through. She expected no less; Santi so rarely lets the anger really take hold of him, so rarely lets himself scream or yell or throw something. I’m marrying a fucking sociopath, she thinks, but there’s no heat to the thought; only exhaustion, only a tiredness that goes bone-deep

Even now, she still thinks of it as present tense: she’s marrying a sociopath, as though she didn’t try to hit him in the face with the engagement ring he picked out for her just hours ago, as though in the end, she will still be his. She will.

“Are you calmed down?” Santino asks, in the way that only he could manage—condescending, and soft. Euphemia can’t withhold the vicious scoff that rolls out of her the second he talks.

“I told you not to come home,” she replies tartly, “but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. You are apparently as deaf as you are stupid.”

“So no, then.”

“What do you want me to say, Santi?” Euphemia demands, looking at him now. She’s got a suitcase out but there’s nothing in it; she can’t bring herself to pack, to think about going back home to Tuscany where her mother is waiting, barely sober because she can only stay sober for about a month at a time before she falls back to her old habits. “Why don’t you invite our friend John Wick up for dinner, hm? I’m sure he’d like that, after you did whatever you did to make him show up here. Perhaps you took a page out of that idiot Iosef’s book and killed his new dog?”

“He owes me,” Santino insists, glossing over her needling, “and I will get what I am owed.”

She has to resist the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you know how fucking stupid you sound?” she asks, incredulous. “If I die before telling you how incredibly, disgustingly stupid you sound when you say that, then I will—”

Santino kisses her. He does it because he knows that she’s not expecting it, and it has its desired effect; she stills, all of the furious energy like bottled lightning capped again. He kisses her softly, with no rage, but she can feel it woven into the sinew of his posture.

She thinks about slapping him again. But he probably knows that, because he grabs her hands, gripping them in his; the pressure is more relaxing than it is infuriating, which almost drives her mad, but it does what Santino always does. It pulls her apart until all that’s left is the hurt, the fear, welling up inside of her like a tidal wave crashing into the shore.

“He’s doing what I asked,” he murmurs. “And then we’ll be done with John Wick. Mia piccola volpe, look at me.”

“No,” she says, trying to sound angry but it comes out an agonized sound; she’s crying before she can stop herself, tears burning the edges of her eyes and a big, wet gasping breath necessary for her to keep going. “No, I don’t want to look at you anymore, Santi—”

“He’s doing what I ask, and then I promise, you and I will be done with John Wick forever.” His voice is urgent and insistent. “The three of us, tesora. Isn’t that right? You weren’t just saying that to get back at me?”

She nods, numbly. They had been careful, because she’d said she wasn’t ready—but mistakes happened. Pills got forgotten. She wishes that she could have lied about it and kept it secret. Maybe he’d be acting differently now if she wasn’t carrying his child; maybe his face would be something else.

“Euphie,” he whispers, taking her face in his hands. “My perfect, gorgeous Euphie—my greatest piece of art.” He kisses her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. “And the one with the most bite, too, even when you are so ungrateful for the things that I do. My face still hurts.”

“Good,” Euphemia manages out, her voice wobbling. “You deserve it. Idiota.”

“Maybe,” Santi replies. He tucks her against his chest and kisses her hair. “I never thought I would piss you off enough to get you to hit me—and you did cause quite a scene in front of Wick.”

“Stop.” Just the sound of that monster’s name makes her stomach churn. “Stress is bad for the baby.”

He laughs, the first real laugh in what feels like days since he’s decided on this path with John Wick. “Fine, I will not mention him again. But know that after this, it will be done. Permanently. Forever. Si? Tell me you understand, Euphie.”

She’s so tired. She’s so tired down into her core, the kind of tired that doesn’t go away with a nap or a cup of coffee. “Si,” she replies, closing her eyes. “Capisco, Santi.”

Somehow, Santi’s words that things will be done “permanently” with John Wick only manage to make her more uneasy.

She can’t remember what exactly carries her through the rest of the evening. She remembers calling her mother to check on her, to ask if she’s keeping up with her meetings. She can’t bring herself to come clean about the surprise pregnancy; it’s early, anyway, and her mother would only stress her out more.

“Sei la mia stella più preziosa,” her mother says. “Ti amo, Effie.”

“Yes, mama,” Euphie sighs, unable to say the words back. “Buona notte.”

She hits the red end call button on the phone screen, setting it face-down on the countertop and leaning her palms against the marble. God, she knows that she’d fucking kill a man for a drag of a cigarette—but she could never. Not now. Not when she has—

The sound of paper on the countertop stirs her from her half-bent position. Santino slides it across to her, setting a pen down next to her hand. It’s their marriage certificate. He’s already signed it, and while she stares at it numbly, he takes her left hand and puts the engagement ring back on her finger, but this time with the diamond wedding band he’d picked out as well.

“Santi,” she starts, but he tsks his tongue, quieting her. She’s too tired to be offended.

“Sign the certificate, amore,” he says. “Do not fuss. You’re going to stop throwing this ring at me, yes?”

There are a million reasons not to sign it: but the words that came out of her mouth are, “We don’t have the witnesses or the officiant.”

“Do we need a witness or officiant greater than God himself?” Santino replies. He leans against the counter from the other side, watching her. He is polished, pristine. Any remains of her earlier transgression against him are now completely gone, at least the physical marks. She’s sure that he won’t forget very soon that she raised a hand against him. “Sign it, Euphie, and be my wife.”

She stares at the paper. She feels like she’s melting; her life can’t be real anymore, not when John Wick was, just hours ago, feet away from her, and she’s pregnant, and now Santino is asking her to sign their marriage certificate right now.

The implications fill her with dread. What’s the rush? If nothing’s wrong, if they’ll be done with John Wick, what’s the rush?

“You said that you had nothing before me,” Santino says, breaking her out of her eerie, absent-minded disconnect. He brushes the hair from her face. “You will never have nothing again.”

Euphemia signs the certificate in a haze. It doesn’t feel any different after; she doesn’t feel different and neither does Santino in relation to her, and the realization that they had felt married for a few years now sinks down on her.

Santino rounds the counter to her, taking her face and kissing her; her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, the corner of her mouth and eventually just kissing her. His hand smooths over her stomach, admiring, and he brushes their noses together.

“Perfetto e tutto mio,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “Isn’t that right, Euphemia?”

She replies, without thinking, “Si, sono tuo.”

Always, she thinks, always yours, whether I like it or not.

[karama9]

Mini Fic time

Or "not so much a theory as something I find entertaining to think about, in prose". Follows Rocketear so spoilers ahead! Hurt Comfort fic, but before you get any idea, in a strictly emotional sense.

Long post, so story under the read more.

Despite Plagg's attempt at soothing him, Adrien could not shake off the day's events.

It was bad enough that he'd found out who Rena Rouge and Carapace were from someone else than Ladybug, even if it was from Carapace himself.

It was bad enough that he'd found out THEY were allowed to know each other's identities. Nino associated it with the fact they shared everything... was he right? Was it because they were close that Ladybug had been ok with that? Weren't he and Ladybug close enough for that too? Sure they weren't a couple, as much as he wished they were, but there are other kinds of closeness.

But when he paired it with Nino's assessment that Ladybug found Cat Noir annoying... when he thought about the fact Nino's assessment was from time Carapace spent with the two of them and probably also reflected his own feelings...

It hurt.

He was not new to pain... a lot of things that happened in his civilian life hurt, in fact heartache was pretty much the norm since his mother had gone, broken only by bright moments with friends, which were few and far between as Adrien but had been more recently mercifully combined with outright glee when he was Cat Noir. Cat Noir was freedom and fun, but he was also one of an indestrutible pair and sometimes, one of a fantastic team. And above all that, Cat Noir was Ladybug's partner, and being Cat Noir meant being with her. For as long as he could remember, that had been the best part of being Cat Noir.

Knowing she found him annoying, as apparently was obvious to anyone but himself, was heartbreaking. He knew she didn't always enjoy his jokes, but it was usually the timing she didn't like. She'd tell him to be serious because she needed him to be at that moment, not because she generally disliked him. Or so he had thought until today.

Even with Rena Rouge being called upon more often and sometimes appearing to know more than he did, sometimes DEFINITELY knowing more than he did to the point that the two girls would make action plans that didn't include him at all... he had been annoyed, angry even, but he had still convinced himself that Ladybug valued him and that times where he couldn't help were isolated incidents that couldn't be avoided. He still didn't like it, and he had intended to have a talk with Ladybug about it because it was starting to feel like back when Master Fu only communicated with her and he couldn't stand the thought of his Lady distancing herself from him that much. But that was what that issue had been in his head... something to talk over with Ladybug so it could be fixed.

After today, he saw it all in a new light. His relationship with Ladybug wasn't going to be fixed by complaining to her because what he saw now was simply the result of Ladybug having the luxury of relying on others more now. The annoying Cat Noir didn't have to always be the one by her side now, the team could be bigger and well, not everyone on a big team is needed all the time, right? So he could be sidelined and she could get a break now and again, she didn't have to put up with him all the time.

His throat tightened and he felt tears flooding his eyes at the thought. He had tried to move on from Ladybug. He had even loved Kagami, but it hadn't worked out because he had to lie to her all the time. Except maybe he hadn't HAD to? Alya and Nino had been excused from that. Either way, it hadn't worked out and to his surprise, what had upset him the most had been that Kagami was hurt, not the fact he was losing her. He'd quickly realized that he was still in love with Ladybug, regardless of any feeling he'd had for Kagami as well.

That love being unrequited at the moment was not great, but at least he'd had Ladybug's friendship. She still loved him, cared for him... and that was good enough. Romance would have been nice, but what was there was still wonderful.

And it hadn't been there at all. He'd been deluding himself. They were partners, yes. But Ladybug was just dealing with an annoying partner very professionally. He was just a nuisance that made being a super hero that much less fun for her, something she just had to put up with.

He started sobbing, staying as silent as possible not to be heard by anyone, and ignored all of Plagg's attempts at comforting him with cheese nonsense. He eventually fell into an uneasy sleep and when he woke up, he wanted nothing more than a friendly face.

Nino was out. Adrien realized that Nino had been speaking out of anger and was a genuine friend, but right now Adrien couldn't even look at him without hearing that Ladybug found him annoying again. He stayed outside of the class, avoiding his best friend and everyone else in there he didn't want to see, from Lila to Chloe and even Alya. Alya was Rena Rouge, she was the one allowing Ladybug to take breaks from having to deal with her nuisance of a partner Cat Noir... he supposed he should be grateful on his Lady's behalf but he couldn't quite manage it.

Marinette came running down the hall towards class, last one here as usual, and Adrien's eyes widened even as his mouth automatically lost its pout to form a smile. At this moment, Marinette was nothing short of a lifeline. He waved at her, trying to think of an excuse, when she tripped and fell flat on her face.

He rushed towards her but she was already jumping back to her feet, stammering that she was fine. Reassuring as it was, Adrien wasn't about to lose such a great opportunity to spend a few more minutes with her and away from class.

"I don't know, Marinette, that really looked like a bad fall. Let me walk you to the nurse's office. Please?"

Marinette turned bright red but mercifully nodded. Adrien grabbed her arm and 'accidentally' turned the wrong way. The building was a square, but the nurse's office was much closer if you went in the direction opposite the one he had taken.

"Er..." Marinette said.

"I actually really need to talk to you," Adrien admitted.

Marinette stopped walking. He turned and was faced with a worried expression on Marinette's face.

"You do? What's wrong? Are you ok?"

He automatically started to say yes but his voice caught and nothing came out but an undefined strangled sound.

Marinette's eyes widened. "You're not!" she said, a note of panic in her voice. She had a quick look around and her features morphed into a determined expression that was so much like Ladybug's it was downright eerie. "Forget the nurse's office, come with me!"

And suddenly, she was dragging him along. They ended up in the deserted art room. She closed the door and turned to him, her expression once more nothing but concern.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

For a second, he thought he wouldn't be able to say anything for not knowing where to start and how to not give away his secret identity, and then everything came flooding out in a blur. By the time he was fully aware again, his cheeks were wet, his chest was aching and he was in Marinette's arms.

His eyes widened and he tried to push himself away, embarassed and horrified at having dumped everything on her, along with hysterical crying by the feels of it, and had he told her he was Cat Noir? He wasn't even sure.

She tightened her grip and he noticed it had already been rather tight. He managed to pull his head away to look at her face and mentally kicked himself: he'd made her cry too.

"Marinette... I... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to... I don't even know what I said but..."

She swallowed and when she answered, her voice was far calmer than he would have expected.

"You said you were only ever happy when you're Cat Noir because even though you wish she was more, you're still happy to be with Ladybug as a friend and partner, but now you think she hates you because you keep being left out and you found out Rena Rouge and Carapace can share their identities with each other even though she won't share hers with you, and now you think she finds you annoying so you're heartbroken and you think it may be best for everyone for you to give up your miraculous."

Adrien's eyes widened. He'd broken the secret, he'd told her everything, even about Nino and her best friend Alya. He groaned. "At least now Ladybug has a good reason to hate me."

Marinette tensed again. She took a deep breath and then pulled away just enough to look him in the eyes.

"No," she said firmly. She finished pulling away and opened her purse. She nodded at the content and before Adrien could even begin to guess what that was about, Tikki peeked out, not looking either of them in the eye.

"This was MY fault," Marinette whispered, "not yours. I can't believe I hurt you t his much, and I never even would have known if..." she shook her head. "You said my name, Marinette that is, a few times, so it's best I don't transform. You should, though: nothing you said identified you as Adrien so your identity will still be safe if someone comes in or sees us leave. Thankfully you didn't blurt out anyone's civilian names, not even Rena or Carapace's, you were much more careful about talking in tongues whenever you were talking about them. You're a great friend even when you don't know what you're saying."

Adrien barely registered the words, staring at Tikki. He tore his eyes away from the kwami to look at Marinette. More than anything else, she looked sad. She started talking again as soon as she had his attention.

"We'll talk more later but this can't wait," she said, still whispering, "I do NOT find you annoying. Your friend was angry, and he was wrong. Adrien... Cat Noir... I love and appreciate you SO much. I'm sorry I so completely failed to show that lately, and I'm sorry I left you out. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry, I didn't even notice and it happened more than once. I'm sorry. You're my friend, not just my partner, and I never, EVER want to lose you. That's never changed and it never will."

Adrien was reeling. Ladybug. Marinette was Ladybug. He'd been crying in Ladybug's arms. And she didn't hate him at all, and she was sorry.

"Why did you let them know each other?" he said, clinging madly to something that hadn't dramatically changed in his head in the past two minutes. "Why was it okay for them but not for us?"

"I'm worried about being interrupted," she whispered, her tone business-like. "There's a really good chance some people heard you, they need to think it was Cat Noir talking to me. I'll deal with people wondering why he would, but you need to transform."

"Wait," he said, an important fact suddenly dawning on him. "You had a crush on me at one point!"

"Kitty..."

"Right. Plagg," he whispered, "claws out."

Marinette sighed in relief. The timing was spot on, they heard voices coming down the hall, with Alya's ringing over the others trying to steer them away by saying that Cat Noir deserved some privacy if he wanted it. It was to no avail, the door burst open to several students staring at Cat Noir and Marinette.

He hurriedly got up.

"Oops, looks like my rehearsal was overheard! Sorry about the disruption, everyone! What did you think, Miss Dupain-Cheng? Was I convincing?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

She giggled. "Not bad," she teased. "Kind of too hammy, as you might have guessed from how I was crying laughing, but I think you'll be alright if we practice tonight. "I will await you on my balcony, Sir Cat!"

Cat Noir chuckled and nodded, understanding the rendez-vous as real even if the reason was a lie. He bowed to the gaping students and jumped out the window, bounding away.

He still needed a long talk with Ladybug, but the pain of the last 24 hours felt like a dim memory. He knew for a fact that they'd work it out, because that's what friends and partners did, and above all else, he knew one thing beyond all doubt: Marinette was his friend.

[mikkaeus]

lessons from 1000 hours of tutoring high school kids - a letter to my past self

not all those hours were maths, but this is about maths

Not in order of importance; in the order they came to my head. 

1. Do not trust a kid when they say that they understand something. They understand jack shit. Make them explain it back to you. 

2. When teaching sth new try to prod them to reaching the conclusion themselves instead of just straight up explaining it, if time permits. 

3. Things I have assumed and have been sorely mistaken:

a) If an area is identified to be an issue in the lesson, the kid will go and do some questions and revise themselves to fix it.

b) Kids take notes. (I’m still kicking myself for only realising this more than 6 months in with this kid. I get paid too much to be making stupid mistakes like this.)

c) Kids know how to take notes. (Session 1: Take notes, here is a detailed outline that you can then expand on with examples and stuff. Session 2: The kid has copied my scaffold word for word and not expanded anything on it. Me: You need to actually EXPLAIN how to complete the square for example, not just write “completing the square”. Kid: Okay yeah I get it. Session 3: For each topic he’s googled an explanation and copied entire paragraphs word for word, because he “thought they’d phrase it better than him”. He’s using terminology that I 100% guarantee he does not understand at all. I now understand why high school teachers always said use your own words when making notes - something that I had always thought should be blindingly obvious to everyone.)

4. Not everyone is as obsessed with not making mistakes or not being able to solve problems are you are. (For these kids, being stumped at a difficult question isn’t the end of the world.) They think a question ends at figuring out the answer, whether that be from the help of a textbook, the solutions, their friend, or me. You need to impress upon them that it doesn’t matter what the answer is! It’s about what you learn from the question. How was the way they were thinking about the question incorrect? How can they avoid this in the future? What general advice can they give themselves? And then they need to actually commit to reducing incidences of the same mistake in the future. Some kids I’ve been giving the same damn advice to every problem they get stuck on, and magically they can solve it after I give them the advice. Just remember the general advice!! You’re spending all this time studying but you’re running into the same wall over and over again instead of remembering to take the rope out of your bag. I’m not magic! I’m just sitting here reminding you that there IS a rope in your bag!!  (Not that my method of angry scribbling in red pen across my working and writing that I’m a fucking idiot is something I’d actually recommend, but they could definitely afford to be less laissez-faire about learning from their mistakes.)

5. Actually make good notes during the session; otherwise, the kids probably retain nothing. It is kinda awkward to be sitting there writing away but it is a necessarily evil. Also, you can write while they’re chipping away at a question themselves, and that way you don’t need to be watching them like a hawk while they do algebra painfully slowly. (I feel like kids make more mistakes in sessions than they do normally.) 

6. The key to being able to solve a problem is believing that you CAN solve the problem. I’ve been saying this a lot recently - if you follow the rules for maths, there’s no reason it should be wrong - when I have Year 11s and 12s asking me every step of simple algebra if something is correct, or asking whether you’re allowed to do something, and I ask them, “what do you think?” and they reply, “I don’t know.” (Related: Another thing I’ve been saying a lot is that algebra is about doing the same thing to both sides. They just think it’s magic!) Anyway, I brought this up because of problem solving questions actually, not basic algebra. Of course, you can teach them how to break down the question, or general processes like “if you don’t have enough information, go back and check you’ve used everything in the question”, but all that’s useless if they don’t believe that they can solve it by themselves. That means

a) You need to actually encourage them. Even though you’re not a... fluffy or particularly inspiring person, just try. 

b) YOU need to believe that they can do it too. Think of the number of times you’ve been shocked that some kid managed to make a leap of logic you thought was beyond them. Kids are better than you think (and also worse than you think, but we’ve already talked at length about that). 

7. It’s most of the time more beneficial to force the kid to go through the expanded version of the working instead of the abbreviated version. They’re not you, trying to economise as much as possible on working to save precious seconds for rechecking at the end. Don’t push that obsession onto them when their goals and skill level is completely different. Especially if they’re:

a) making silly mistakes

b) not understanding why something works and just following the pattern for a specific context, and then being completely lost in another context. (eg. not being able to use the null factor law for when the factors weren’t linear with a gradient of 1, because they always skipped straight to x= instead of actually writing out each factor equalling zero, and then rearranging). 

8. Stop lecturing for too long. Make sure you’re writing stuff down, not only for the purpose of notes for them to look at later, but because not everyone’s good with auditory learning (you’re one of those people! and yet you subject others to the same shit you rant about out length about your professors!). Make them do work through a problem or part of a problem or ask them questions or something. 

9. A lot of kids do not know how to study properly. A few important things:

a) Do not automatically look back at past questions when solving a Q. You need to treat every question as completely new, and only look back if you’re stuck. That way you force active recall every question and thus making sure you’re actually remembering what the process is. You don’t get any worked examples in your exam. 

b) I do not know how this is every single fucking kid but knowing how to use your dang calculator saves lives!! It’s literally 50% of your grade and you’re sitting there two days before your exam struggling to graph a parabola??? After all the hours you poured into studying the content? Yes your calculators are gross and unfriendly but they’re your best friend. Not only should you know how to use them, you should be fast at using them, and you should know everything it can do that could be remotely helpful. 

c) Sit full exam papers under exam conditions. That shit is like gold and kids are piddling it away by just leisurely working through one question at a time with the help of their textbook (and me). 

d) Print out the formula sheet, and use it. Know what’s on there and what’s not. 

I don’t know if this is a pretty standard experience for people with a track record of excellent academic results* (by this I mean just assuming some things are obvious to everyone) or if I’m particularly bad because I’ve always only interacted with a very narrow range of people. anyway feels fucking bad for my kids but. im trying. god knows ive come a long way since i first started.

*or as I prefer to state it, a track record of being a huge fucking nerd