#at will i could see through the steep hillside i was walking along and see the sillhouttes of what were clearly some kind of enemy

[amygdalae]

dreamt i was in a surreal unsettling low poly indie game that does not exist

[bunatee]

OC Kiss Week: Dare

I wrote a scene to go along with this one 💖

[Pardon any mistakes this only got a quick proof read before posting it at like 12 am.]

Serenity was always grateful for the days her father allowed her to join him at the palace. While he spent his workday locked in his office or attending meetings she lounged around the library reading whatever she could get her hands on. But the hours of reading had taken their toll and Serenity found herself unable to keep her eyes focused on the words. It would be a late night for her father, and the thought of going home was far less inviting than the warm evening air.

The gardens were no longer in full bloom, petals laid trampled on the walkways and their fragrance turned to something earthier that blended with the sea's salty winds as they climbed the steep hillsides of the palace grounds. It no longer mattered that twilight cast its shadows over the winding hedges, Serenity could find the cliff-side refuge blind. Not that she went there every time she took a walk through the gardens, nor did she ever hope for company when checking the spot. No, she never hoped to find Matisse there, she prayed for it.

That night her prayer was answered. Giddy excitement at seeing his silhouette was fleeting as she realized he was not alone. He and Set were both perched on the stone memorial overlooking the city below.

She had nearly turned back when Set must have caught her from the corner of his eye. He nudged Matisse who turned to wave her over. The two seemed to have halted whatever conversation was happening as she approached. The sweet scent of the aerellia they were smoking hung in the air around them.

She had to practically crawl up the the side of the stone to join them, it was so tall even their feet did not touch the ground below. Matisse had graciously offered a hand to help pull her up, "If I'd known you were here today I would have paid a visit."

"You mean you would have used her as an excuse to get out of working." Set scoffed. He was still in uniform with his normally shaggy red hair slicked back.

"Goodness, I don't think I've ever seen you in a sour mood. I hope I'm not intruding." She spoke softly, hoping she would not be sent away so quickly.

"You think he's sour now you should have seen him earlier." Matisse teased and elbowed Set in the arm as he lifted the aerellia cigarette to his lips. "He's just mad because he thinks all of his superiors are idiots."

"Because they are all idiots and you're at the top of the list." The cigarette passed between them. Set took a long inhale and held the breath before letting the smoke gently roll with the exhale. "D'you want a hit, Ren?" He held the cigarette out to her but Matisse took it before she had the chance to even contemplate an answer.

"Ren's too much of a good girl, she would never. I'm sure you've never so much as smoked tobacco have you?"

As much as she wanted to be offended, it was nearly the truth, "Only once, and it burned like hellsfire. I'm not particularly keen to try it again."

Set snickered, "What did you suck on it a little too enthusiastically?" Matisse shoved him but it only served to illicit a laugh.

"I'm sure you'd love to know just how enthusiastic I can be."

"Kairos." The god's name left Matisse like a desperate prayer and Serenity would have given anything to know what images crossed his mind. His tone was quick to change and he was back to being very serious, "Can the two of you behave?"

Set and Serenity exchanged a look and gave their answer in unison, "No."

The cigarette was back in Set's hand and this time he went to pass it behind Matisse as he asked, "Why don't you give us a demonstration?"

"Drop it, she already said no." Gods, he was jealous. Matisse really was clear as glass with all of his emotions.

"I never said no. And I detest that you called me a good girl." She reached out for that exchange only for Matisse to turn quick enough to intercept it.

"Absolutely not, this shit is going to be too strong, and you'll just burn yourself anyways."

Serenity hesitated, what did 'too strong' even mean? He'd said before that aerellia wasn't like opium nor alcohol and she had no other context to go by. By the time Matisse had taken his hit and begrudgingly passed back to Set she was sure she didn't want to find out.

"Mati, you sure you don't know a way around both of those issues?" A look passed between them, something she couldn't read but Set seemed pleased with whatever idea this was, while the crease of Matisse's brow gave away his apprehension. "I dare you."

"You dare me? Like we're fucking kids? I dare you to jump." Matisse gestured at the cliffs edge.

Serenity interjected before they could have the chance to change the subject, "Do I get to know what you two are going on about?"

Set was the one to answer, wearing a devilish grin, "I think it would be easier to demonstrate than to explain. . . It might be too intimate for you though."

"Oh, now I positively need to know."

Matisse cursed under his breath and cast a fleeting glance to Serenity before leaning back and relenting to Set, "Fine. Better make it a good show for her at least."

Set took a hit and leaned in toward Matisse, so close their lips nearly brushed, mouths parted just enough for Set to exhale the smoke and Matisse to take it in.

Serenity wasn't sure she remembered how to breathe.

Matisse pushed Set back, his cheeks flushed. It was out of character for him to seem so unsure of himself, and oh she wanted to see him unraveled.

"I think this is a perfect solution." Her voice came out breathier than she had intended.

But Matisse still looked unsure, "Only if you're certain."

"You're the one that's so apprehensive about it, so you're going to be the one helping, right?" She bit the inside of her lip, trying to suppress a smile.

"You're sure?"

"Are you nervous?"

"I-" it was like a switch had flipped and suddenly he was back to the same arrogance she had become familiar with, "I am not nervous. I just want you to be sure." He held out a hand for Set to pass the aerellia, still holding her gaze.

Serenity moved closer and laid her hand on his. Try as she might to seem unfazed her heart raced. The way Matisse looked down at her, he knew exactly how nervous she was too. He leaned in and whispered, too low for Set to hear, "Let me know right away if anything feels off, alright?"

The concern in the request finally gave it away. He didn't want her to smoke with them because he was worried about the effects on her magic.

She hummed her understanding and he seemed placated by it.

With bated breath she watched him lift the cigarette to his lips and the glow of the ashen tip as he inhaled. He didn't close the distance so thoroughly as with Set. With the exchange of breath her eyes fluttered closed. The smoke was heavy with the sweetness of the burning flowers. In that short moment it was too easy to image what it might have been like to exchange breathes in a different context. Set had been right to call the act intimate.

Set, who she had nearly forgotten was there as she was so entranced by the exchange and Matisse's sea glass eyes that held her own, broke the silence that settled over them, "That counts."

Matisse straightened and pulled a metal case out of his pocket. Set thanked him as he took his prize.

"Did the two of you bet on this?" Serenity could barely find it in herself to be offended. No wonder Set was so insistent.

"Sorry Ren, the crown doesn't pay its soldiers enough to afford the good stuff." Set chuckled.

"I should have them send you up to Krescht." Matisse grumbled.

"Send me up there and I'll be able to pick the damn flowers myself. Kairos, maybe I'll take up snow-gardening."

The two went on with continued threats and Set disarming them at every step, eventually easing their bickering into silence as Set lit another cigarette.

The city lights below began to blur. The ocean was too far off to see the ebb and flow of the tides, but Serenity could feel it. It moved through her veins as slow and steady as the beating of her heart. It was the first time in so long that she didn't have a hundred worries pressing at the edges of every thought. The tension that plagued her body was gone. She'd even forgotten that her hand still rested atop Matisse's until he moved just enough to brush his thumb over hers.

"How are you feeling?" His voice so soft that the question felt like a caress.

"Wonderful." She reached up and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

"Anything for you, sweet girl."

Serenity settled back into place for only a moment before releasing his hand and moving close enough to lean her head against his shoulder. She almost missed the way Set was purposely ignoring them, almost missed the sly smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth.

She would need to go back to the palace soon, and she would have to remember to thank him for placing that bet and making that dare.

[eaturheartout2021]

Daydreaming (Simon ‘ Ghost’ Riley x Reader)

Genre: smut

Warnings: fem!reader, descriptions of sexual activity, praise (probably missed some, just lmk)

Summary: After reader meets ghost at a safe house she must use his body heat for warmth, her mind wonders, and she gets caught.

The cold bit through you like a razor. The snow falling heavily from the sky covering your thick coat as you trudged through the dense trees, shivering into yourself. You cursed audibly and shoved your numb, tingling hands further into your pockets trying to salvage any remaining body heat you had left to warm your brittle appendages.

You had been walking through the bitter cold and ice for what seemed like a millennia. High stepping over fallen trees and logs that had succumbed to the harshness of the winter and achingly jumped over wide frozen streams that would set hypothermia within mer seconds if they consumed you, but you pressed on. Pulling up the balaclava that covered the lower half of your face to completely conceal you from the onslaught of the raging winter winds, you sped up your pace.

Then, you noticed the markers donning and old fence line weaving within the trees. The rifle and medic bag fit snuggly to your back became much more heavier when you realized how much closer to the safe house you were. How much more closer to getting out the the elements, to warmth. You shook the distractions from your mind and pressed harder, the heavy numbness in your limbs weighing you down noticeably but you pushed on without cause. No doubt to be cussed out by the Lieutenant once inside but you’d deal with that later.

Slowly, ever so damn slowly you climbed a steep embankment that followed the fence line that held the markers that Soap had told you lead to the safe house where he and Ghost would be waiting. There lie warmth and shelter from this onslaught of cold and snow. At least for a moment.

Peaking the ridge, your breath was coming in short pants and gasps. The cold shocking your lungs and making them burn with each sharp intake of air. Your mouth was dry, tacky and in desperate need of water. You hastily pulled your mask down and grabbed a fist full of the soft, powdery snow and shoved it into your mouth. It slowly melted away easing, your thirst for the time being until you could reach the men waiting for you to arrive.

You covered your face once again and squinted against the flurry of white and grey in your vision and struggled to see anything solid. But then out in the distance, a solid black mass. A cabin, to the north of you. A haven. You almost cried with relief and you held onto the rifle strap and slid down the ridge and onto the plateau at the bottom of the hillside. You were borderline running, as much as you could with near frozen limbs to the dilapidated shack.

When opening the door, a gun barrel meet you along with a muted gaze. Immediately your frozen hands went up and looked down the barrel to meet Ghost’s gaze, his eyes unwavering as he took in your white, snow and ice covered form. He signed heavily and dropped the gun from you.

“One of these days, you’ll be at the wrong end of someone’s gun for barging in like that.” His tone uninterested and bored as he cleared his gun, put on the safety and walked back towards the small fire in the stone fireplace on the far side of the room. You closed the door quickly to not let anymore heat out than you already have. You stomped your heavy boots on the floor to knocking away the ice and snow and shook, spraying snow in your wake. Ghost groaned at your movements and continued to stoke the small flames with a branch.

“Then, I can say I’ll have learned my lesson.” Your voice was nothing but chatter as the cold was set in your bones, your soul, freezing your very core. Ghost looked to meet your shivering frame, eyes glinting in question. The skull mask hiding any form of facial expression to be read from you. You kicked your boots away to reveal how far you pushed yourself out in the snow and you new it was close. The skin around your damp socks was cherry red, hard and cold to the touch. The beginning signs of frostbite.

You didn’t let on to Ghost and you continued to undress the heavy layers of winter clothes. Keeping him unsuspecting was beneficial to not getting your ass chewed out and tonight wouldn’t be the night.

“Where’s Soap? He said it would be the two of you RV-ing with me here.” You asked as you hung up your thick coat on the wooden pegs sticking from the wall beside the door. He didn’t meet your gaze as he spoke.

“He stayed behind to help Price. He needed the extra hands and Soap was the unlucky bastard that was caught up in it.” His voice was sneering almost as if he enjoyed Soap’s small torment of whatever price had him cleaning up. You shuttered at the thought. Being a medic, you helped heal the wounded, not be the cause of them. The idea rattled you. The rifle and medic bag now sat on the small table in the even smaller kitchenette covered in ice crystals and snow. You moved to swiped them away and you let out an audible hiss and Ghost’s head whipped around to you in a matter of milliseconds.

“Where?” Is all he said. You looked over to him and gave him a look that said ‘please, as if.’ You turned away and stifled yourself for another step and held in that gasp of pain your legs begged you to cry out. The cold had done its job and cut deep within your flesh. Ghost’s heavy steps were behind you moments later. The medics bag taken from your grasp.

“Where.” He spoke more firmly. More assertive. You looked up at him. Your small 5”5 frame against his 6”4 was obvious and he just peered down at you waiting for an answer. You removed your balaclava and shook out your hair, taking in a deep breath of the warm cabin air. Relishing in the earthy scent.

“I’m fine. I’m not hurt anywhere.” But a rack of uncontrollable shivers went through you. No amount of will power stopped them. Ghost merely gazed down at you and clicked his tongue and hummed in reply.

“Hypothermia is extremely dangerous, Phoenix. You, if anyone should know that.” You turned away from his gaze. You grew to despise your call sign after all these years and he still marveled at letting it roll from his tongue like honey.

“Yes, I’m well aware and I’m telling you I’m fine.” You snap walking towards the fireplace with a very obvious limp and sitting heavily on the dusty and molded couch. He followed you and sat opposite, mirroring your crossed arms. Your body is racked with violent shaking that even your chattering teeth cause Ghost to groan with annoyance.

He lifts his shirt over his head and reaches for you. You can’t help but stare as his toned, defined chest and stomach stare back at you. The tattoo on his left arm stark and bright in the soft warm fire light. You put an arm out in front of you to stop him and it’s quivering form does nothing as he grabs you and forces your thick shirt over your head, leaving you in nothing but your bra and cargo pants.

Shock fills you and you push against him.

“What in the hell are you doing!” Your words are stuttering out of your mouth as you try to form sentences and push the mountain of a man away from you but the warmth he’s admitting is addictive.

“Do you want to die out here? Where’s your head at? I’ll slowly warm your core temperature so your body doesn’t go into shock more than it already is.” His voice was nothing but control and assertiveness. He wasn’t taking no for an answer, and you let him. You settled into his chest and folded your hands to your chest and let out a breathy sigh. Ghost swore violently and rubbed his calloused hands along your arms and shoulders.

“You’re absolutely freezing. Any longer out there and you would’ve died.” He hugged you closer and rested the hard mask of his cheek to the top of your head. Survival. This was purely survival. You kept chanting it like a mantra in your mind and Ghost kept rubbing your arms, slowly warming you. He was your Lieutenant, your superior. Any relationship between the two of you would be disastrous and it’d be a one way ticket to an early retirement.

The thought racked you. But, there was the thought. The slinking, inkling thought of Ghost. Laying beneath you Ghost is breathlessly gasping your name, your actual name. Maskless with pupils blow wide as he took in your naked sweat beaded form atop him. His large hands grasping your hips, thighs, waist, anywhere he could just to feel you; touch you. You rocking back and forth on him, gasping as he reached depths within you that you dreamed you could alone, causing him to whimper at the motion.

“So good for me love.” His gravely voice drifted to you and covered you like a shroud. Warming you skin with praise. His hands guided you faster, lifting you and slamming you down onto himself sending groans and whines from you both.

“Please. Please Simon, I need, I need more.” You begged him, grinding desperately as silent tears fell from your eyes. He smiled wickedly up at you, eyes glinted mischievously.

“Anything for you.” He lifts you away and throws you below him. He hovers above you and aligns himself and plows deep with one swift thrust. A sharp gasp steals your breath and a deep satisfied moan replaces it. Ghost is relentless in giving you what you asked for, pounding you into the sheets, shaking the bed frame, rattling the picture frames that hung on the wall beside it. His throaty grunts melted in your ear as your soft whimpers caressed his.

“So close dove, you gonna take it? Gonna take it like a good girl ya’ are?” The words he ground out was like liquid bliss to your core, molten heaven in every sense of the word. You felt your walls clamp down on him and felt his hips stutter as he let out a primal groan as he let the hot ropes of come paint your walls. Your own orgasm sent your head flying back and stars flecked your eyes. Your gasping breaths was the only thing that could be heard.

“Phoenix.” Ghost cooed. You smiled into the crook of his neck and kissed it fondly and gave a content sigh. Happy.

“Phoenix!” Ghost yelled, fulling snapping you from the daydream you had let yourself unknowably slip into. You quickly looked up at him. Shirtless, the same from the daydream. But donning that ever so infamous mask of his with a slight hint of curiosity in his hazel eyes.

Your face felt as if it was fueled by a thousand suns. You pushed away from him and shot to your feet.

“I feel much warmer thank you please put your shirt back on.” You gushed out. You hastily grabbed yours and slipped it on and walked to the oak chair by the kitchenette and faced away from him, legs bouncing like you had just drank 10 cups of coffee.

“You thought about touching me didn’t you.” His sneer was evident even without you looking at him. You face grew warmer at his words.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice quivering. His heaving boots echoed through the small cabin as they trailed to where you sat. He grabbed the heavy oak chair, spun you around to met his hardened gaze. His hand cupped you chin, forcing you to meet his hazel eyes and spoke clearly and gently.

“All you had to do was ask, dove.”

[haveanotherkpopblog]

The Nutcracker Suite

Part V: The Mouse King's Castle

Pairing: Ju-ne/Koo Junhoe x You

Genre: Angst, Ballet!AU, Fluff, Regency!AU

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: N/A

Masterlist || <<Previous | Next>>

The Mouse King’s castle stood tall and proud. Towers made of polished, white marble stretched towards the sky. The walls were long and made of stone. There wasn’t much else to see from the south side of the castle. That must be why they never showed the back of castles in fairy tales. Mouse soldiers walked around the perimeter, spears clutched in their paws.

The group had ducked into the woods, making sure to stay out of the mice soldier's line of sight. They tied the horses to a tree, making sure they didn’t run off again. General Hanbin pulled out the map that the Sugar Plum Fairy had given them. He placed it down on the ground, securing it with some nearby rocks.

“Okay, the Sugar Plum Fairy said that there was a secret entrance a few yards away from the south wall. There, we’ll enter into a secret passageway hidden within the castle walls. She marked the path to take that will lead us to the north side of the castle. Somewhere there is his royal treasury. We should find the egg somewhere there.”

“Should? Are we not certain that’s where the egg is?” Y/N said.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy hasn’t ever seen the egg or inside the castle,” Lieutenant Donghyuk explained. “She did her best to try and remember what the Mouse King’s said before. She helped us the best she could.”

General Hanbin rolled the map up before returning it to his sack. He slung it over his shoulder, making sure it was secured before leading the group away from the woods. They had to back-track slightly before the general led them down a steep hillside. The Uncrossable Seas were next to the hill, its waters sloshing along the grass. Next to the hill was a curtain of vines and leaves.

The General pushed the curtain aside to reveal a dark and damp tunnel. Ju-ne took Y/N’s hand as they entered the tunnel. It was dark--dark and quiet. The only sound was the ocean outside, and their footsteps as they stepped on the soaked, moss covered ground. The air around them was thick as they continued through the tunnel.

“Be careful,” General Hanbin called back. “We should be coming up to the secret passageway soon.”

And they were. Soon the soft moss ground changed to hard stone. The air was no longer thick with moisture, but thick with dust. The ocean sounds faded into a deafening nothingness. Their footsteps echoed off the stone walls--the only source of sound outside their breathing. Torches lined the walls, lighting the group’s way. Ju-ne kept a firm grip on Y/N’s hand, looking back once in a while to make sure she was still there with them.

Up ahead of them was a dead end. Lieutenant Donghyuk went to the front of the group, placing his ear against the wall. He knocked on the stones in a few different places before stepping back. Ever so carefully he pushed on one side of the wall. With a loud groan, the wall began to slowly spin, revealing the inside of the castle.

The group rushed through the entrance before the wall fell back into place, as if it had never been touched. The inside of the castle was exactly as you’d expect a castle to look. Soft carpets covered the floor under them. Priceless nicknacks were strategically placed on tables along the hallway. Paintings of kings and queens of old covered the walls. Gas lanterns gave the hallway a dim glow. The only thing missing was the servants and courtiers, but Y/N supposed the Mouse King had gotten rid of them.

“Okay, there’s two main corridors on the north side,” General Hanbin said, pulling the map from his sack. “We’ll divide into teams of two, then search for the egg. We’ll meet back here once we’ve finished searching. If none of us have found it, then we’ll have to search the entire castle. Understood?” Everyone nodded. “Excellent. Lady Y/N and the Nutcracker will take this corridor, Lieutenant Donghyuk and I will take this one.” General Hanbin put the map back in his sack before turning to the Lieutenant.

The four split up and went their separate ways. Ju-ne and Y/N went down their corridor, poking their heads into the different rooms. Most were empty bedrooms, cabinets, and bathrooms. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever, turning this way and that. The doors became fewer and fewer the further they went along.

At one point there was a split in the corridor. One could either continue to go straight, or venture off towards the left. Ju-ne and Y/N stopped, looking down both hallways. They both appeared identical from a first glance. They needed to check every room they could, but going together would take too much time. The longer they remained in the castle, the more likely they were to be caught.

“You take the corridor on the left. I’ll continue straight,” Y/N said, glancing at Ju-ne briefly before she started walking. He barely caught her wrist and pulled her back to him. He stared down at her, eyes focused on her, reading her. Y/N felt her heartbeat pick up the longer he stared at her. He seemed to have that effect on her, making her sweat and heat up. In fact, it actually infuriated her how good he was at leaving her head in a blissfully fuzzy state of being.

“Absolutely not,” he finally said. He was also very good at telling her “no”. She pulled her hand away from his, crossing her arms over her chest. “If something happens to you and I’m not there I--” He struggled to finish his sentence, staring at her hopelessly. “We need to stay together.” Y/N’s gaze softened slightly. She could never find it in her to be in a sour mood when those big, brown eyes were staring at her.

“I understand your concern, but if we don’t split up, we’ll be here forever. Then we shall most definitely be caught. No, we must split up. Once we’ve checked all the rooms, we’ll meet right back here. Okay?” Ju-ne looked like he wanted to argue, but one look from Y/N had him nodding his head in agreement. She smiled triumphantly before continuing, alone, down the corridor.

The longer she traveled alone, the more paranoid she began to feel. She tried not to look at the paintings that lined the walls. Every time she glanced up, it was like those black, unmoving, abysses were staring down at her. She swallowed thickly, wrapping her arms around herself. She took deep breaths, letting her mind focus on everything else.

Domestic thoughts began to take over her head. Thoughts of Sunday morning brunches, picnics in an amazing and lucious garden, reading as it poured outside, and even thoughts of children. These were thoughts she rarely had, unless she was reading a rather romantic book, but they floated around in her head nonetheless. And they all circled around one individual.

Up ahead, at the very end of the corridor, was a singular door. The corridor ended with the room. There were no other hallways to turn down or rooms to explore. Y/N’s steps seemed to slow down the closer she got to the door. Her breathing became shallow as every part of her being became hyper aware of everything around her. Only when she was right outside the door did she finally stop.

The door seemed to loom over her like a shadow. It both beckoned and cast her away. She turned around briefly, pondering if she should walk away. She shook the thought from her head. Everyone was counting on her: the Sugar Plum Fairy, Jiwon, Jinhwan, Lieutenant Donghyuk, General Hanbin, Ju-ne… Pushing her own selfish thoughts aside, she slowly turned the door knob.

The door swung open with a surprising amount of ease. It was completely dark inside--dark and quiet. Ever so slowly, Y/N stepped in, leaving the door ajar to cast some light in the room. It looked like an office of sorts. There was a long table with a chair at the end, closest to Y/N. In fact, that’s all there seemed to be in the mysterious room. She frowned, her body slumping slightly. Something felt wrong. There was something in Y/N’s mind telling her this was wrong, but she couldn’t figure out why.

Slam!

Turning around, Y/N found herself in complete darkness. She rushed back to where the door had been, but she couldn’t seem to find a door handle. Panic filled her as she tried to look around the room, yet no matter how long she stared, her eyes couldn’t seem to adjust. She began to bang on the door, calling out for help.

“They aren’t going to hear you.” Each word was drawn out unnecessarily as, ever so slowly, light began to fill the room.

She kept her face towards the wall, her spine straightening. Her hands rested flat, as her eyes remained downcast. She knew that voice. Slowly she turned around.

The Mouse King sat at the other end of the table, his small crown atop his head. His elbow rested on the arm of the chair as the magic sceptor laid on the table in front of him. He was staring at her, but his gaze almost seemed bored. As if her being here was nothing more than a dip in his day.

“Have a seat.” He gestured to the chair in front of her. She sat down, keeping her eyes trained on him. Her breathing was steady, but her heart pounded in her chest. She wondered faintly if he could hear it. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. “Remarkable.”

“Excuse me?” Her voice was clear and sharp.

“Remarkable. Don’t think I forgot our last encounter. The bump on the back of my head is a constant reminder of who you are.” He winced slightly. She smirked, watching as he stood from his chair, swiping the scepter off the table. “You and I have quite a few things to discuss, Lady Y/N.”

“How do you know my name?” she inquired, standing up. They slowly began pacing around the table, eyes locked. He chuckled slightly, shaking his long head. “Do I amuse you, your Majesty?”

“Not particularly. But she does.” He waved the scepter, and an image of the Sugar Plum Fairy appeared. She was pacing the length of her room, clearly frustrated. “She still thinks that I can’t see her, as if her magic can hide her from me.” He waved and the image disappeared. He turned back towards Y/N. “As I said, you and I have quite a few things to discuss.”

“That we do,” she conceded. “For starters, that doesn’t belong to you.” She watched as he went to the nearby fireplace, using it to start a roaring fire. The flames danced across his face as a stoic look took over.

“No, it does not,” he agreed. “It belonged to the Emperor, and in his absence, it belongs to his son. Your precious nutcracker.” The Mouse King shook his head and let out a deep sigh. “You must understand, I am not the bad guy.”

“You think so? From where I’m standing, you seem to fit the role quite well,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yes. I suppose she has painted the image perfectly. Evil and power-hungry. Nothing is more convincing than taking your own traits and projecting them onto someone else. Especially when that other person is innocent and doesn’t see what’s going on.” He turned to her, paw clenched around the scepter. “I would like to tell you a story, Lady Y/N.”

“Why should I listen to a word you say?”

“Because if you ever wish to see your nutcracker again, you’ll sit and listen.” His voice was calm, but his black eyes flashed red, causing her to take a couple steps back. Surprised, she sat down, but her eyes stayed on him and her body was rigid.

“Not too long ago, the Emperor announced that he would no longer be ruling over us, that his time as the emperor had passed. His power would be passed down to his heir, and everyone was apprehensive. The Prince was aloof and politically inept, but we couldn’t disobey the Emperor. Until the Prince was of proper age, the reigning Sugar Plum and I were to keep order amongst the empire.

“The Sugar Plum Fairy grew impatient. I tried to talk with her, to get her to see reason, but she refused. I could tell she was growing too fond of her temporary power. Maybe if I had voiced my concerns, things wouldn’t have progressed the way they did.

“I happened to be wandering the palace late one night, unable to sleep, when I noticed the Prince’s door ajar. I stepped inside to find the Sugar Plum Fairy standing over him as he laid fast asleep. I shall spare you any more details.

“I had forced her out of the palace and seized the scepter from her. What I hadn’t realized was that while I was busy holding in my concerns, she had convinced the courtiers and servants that I craved the crown myself. That being a reigning Lord hadn’t been enough for me. I, unfortunately, only cemented her words when I threw her from the palace.

“I knew that, given the chance, she’d go after the Prince. To keep him safe, I did the only thing I could think of. I turned him into a nutcracker and sent him far away, claiming he had perished. What I hadn’t expected was for him to fall into the lap of a girl. I hadn’t expected him to find you, but maybe now things can be righted.”

“What makes you think I’d believe a word you said?” Her heart was pounding in her chest as she listened to him.

“Why did you take the key from her room?”

A small gasp left her mouth as she fought the urge to reach for it. They watched each other for several minutes. There was conflict inside her. After all, what he said was completely plausible. On the other hand, as he had said himself, nothing is more convincing than taking your own traits and projecting them onto someone else.

He lifted the scepter above him, and the one thing she’d been looking for appeared on the table before her. It was a small, ornate egg, covered in gold and precious gems. Her mouth fell open as she stared at it. There it was, the one thing she needed to defeat him and return home, just within reach, and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to grab it. She glanced over to him.

“Take it,” he said, waving the scepter again so the door reappeared. “Take it to Ju-ne.”

She snatched the egg off the table and ran out the door, nearly collapsing in the hallway. When she turned around, the door was gone. Her hand went to her pocket, where she could feel the outline of the key. She let out a breath, placing the egg into the pocket of her dress skirt.

She made her way through the castle, back to where she and Ju-ne agreed to meet. She waited for a few minutes, but after a while, it seemed like he wasn’t coming. Curiously she went in search of General Hanbin and Lieutenant Donghyuk, yet where everyone agreed to meet, they couldn’t be found. She nearly smacked herself in the face. Of course the Mouse King had been distracting her.

She blew out a puff of air and began her search of the castle. She went through many corridors, yet they all seemed to lead back to where she started, but even after a while she couldn’t remember where she started. Everything seemed the same and yet nothing was familiar. Paintings seemed to move and doors disappeared as soon as you turned.

She sat on the floor, bringing her knees to her chest. She had to think of something before it was too late. She scooted over to the nearby wall and pressed her ear against it. She slowly lifted her hand and began knocking various places.

Further down than where she’d been sitting, where she knocked sounded hollow. Summoning all her might, she shoved her shoulder into the wall. It swung with surprising ease and she tumbled into another area of the castle.

No more endless halls, she came to a second floor with a railing that peered down. Looking down she saw two mouse guards in front of a door. She nibbled on her bottom lip, looking around. She walked along the railing until the room was below her and she could no longer see the soldiers.

What she did see was a solution. Taking a pin from her hair, she crouched down to undo the lace of her boot. She tied each end of the lace to a pole along the railing. She placed the pin in the center and aimed for a vase in the opposite room. She exhaled softly, letting the pin go. It flew, knocking the vase off the shelf and drawing the soldiers away. She ran to a nearby velvet drape and slid down it. She shook her rug burned hands and quickly stepped into the room, being sure to shut the door quietly.

Her face fell as she discovered the room was empty. Her shoulders slumped as she backed herself against the door. Fooled, once again. She wanted to shout. What was the point of placing guards in an empty room? To trick her of course. Now that she was in the room, she either had to stay or risk being caught by the guards.

She pushed herself away from the door. There had to be a way out, like in the hallways. After all, that was his game: rats in a maze. She went to walk to the other side of the room and fell backwards. She rubbed her forehead, reaching a tentative hand out.

There was an invisible wall before her, cutting the room in half. It felt like glass.She let out a mirthless laugh. She went over to grab a nearby torch and went to smash it against the wall. The wall shattered and revealed the second half of the room. Still empty, there was at least another door. Dropping the torch, she opened the door.

It revealed a set of stone stairs leading up. Picking up her skirts, she began her climb. There were no windows and the only lights came from the torches that appeared just as the light from the last one nearly disappeared. She continued to climb until she came to a second door.

She pushed it open and found General Hanbin, Lieutenant Donghyuk, and Ju-ne in the room looking miserable and angry.

“Ju-ne!” She ran to him and threw her arms around his wooden neck, nearly laughing.

“Y/N? How did you find us?” He pulled away from her slightly, mouth open. She waved his question away.

“Lady Y/N, are we glad to see you!” Lieutenant Donghyuk bowed his head, a genuine smile on his face. General Hanbin nearly nodded.

“I’m so happy to have found you all, but we can’t stay here. Any longer and I fear the Mouse King shall try something else to prolong our visit,” she said. She turned towards the door. There was no guarantee that they wouldn’t be caught. Inside the room was rope, probably used to tie them up and a window overlooking the woods at the edge of a cliff that dropped into the Uncrossable Seas. Even on a clear day, the waters looked violent.

“I can see the gears in your head turning. What is it, Y/N?” Ju-ne asked.

“How well can you swim?” she inquired, stepping away from the window.

“Irrelevant. I’m made of wood. Why do you ask?”

“I have an idea, but it’s mad.” She told them her idea, and seeing no alternative, they all reluctantly agreed.

Lieutenant Donghyuk took his elbow and smashed the window out, pushing out any spare shards as best he could. General Hanbin was the first to exit, holding fast onto the rope as Lieutenant Donghyuk followed. Both men were arguing with each other as Ju-ne pulled Y/N to the side.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I know staying here is dangerous, but at least you know you’d be… okay.” The word he wanted to say refused to leave his mouth. She smiled sweetly, placing a hand on his arm.

“If you think this has been the most terrifying part of my day, I envy you.”

“I am a nutcracker.” They smiled at one another before he stepped away to climb out the window. She followed suit and once they were all outside, they jumped.

The waters were harsh, cold, and relentless in their assault against the group. As they plunged into the black depths of the Uncrossable Seas, an unseeable force kept them down. Y/N struggled as she fought her way back to the surface. Slowly she made her way back to the surface as her lungs screamed for air.

Once she broke the surface she gasped, only to be thrown back down into the water. She resisted the urge to shout and shut her eyes. She pushed herself back to the surface and fought to keep her head above the thrashing water.

Ju-ne was nearby, on his back, as the water failed to drag him underneath. She swam towards him, throwing herself over his torso as he bobbed. He brought his hand to her back, rubbing it gently. She turned slightly, catching sight of the green military jacket. Using him as a board, she pushed them to the jacket where General Hanbin was struggling to stay afloat.

She pulled him over Ju-ne’s torso and began her search for Lieutenant Donghyuk. She couldn’t seem to find him anywhere. The longer they stayed floating, the more she worried. Unable to wait any longer, she pushed off of Ju-ne. He went to grab her, but she slipped through his grasp.

She dove into the waters, allowing the waves to push her further down. She swam out several yards, ignoring her need for oxygen, when she spotted the bright red pants. She swam towards him, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him up towards the surface. The water fought against her, but she fought back twice as hard.

Soon the pair broke the surface, gasping for air. General Hanbin maneuvered Ju-ne’s body towards them and helped her drape the Lieutenant across him. They pushed his body towards the nearby shore, where the horses were waiting for them.

“Lieutenant Donghyuk?” Y/N shook him gently, before pressing harshly onto his stomach. He began coughing up water, turning to his side as he choked. She gave his back several firm pats as he slowly regained his ability to breath. “Welcome back, Lieutenant.”

“That’s twice now you’ve saved my life.” He gave her a weak smile. His voice was hoarse from all the salt he swallowed. “Please, call me DK.”

“As you wish.”

“It’s almost nightfall,” General Hanbin called. “We’ll go a little further into the woods and make camp.” He grabbed his horse and wasted no time in marching into the woods. Ju-ne and Y/N helped DK onto his horse, then grabbed Cinnamon and Cocoa to follow the General into the woods.

As General Hanbin set up a fire for DK to rest by, Y/N took a seat on a nearby log next to Ju-ne. He was staring down at the ground. Their backs were to the others.

“It was a waste to come here. We almost died, and we didn’t get the egg.” Ju-ne let out a sigh, resting his head in his hand. She bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the others were still occupied. She reached into the pocket of her dress and produced the golden egg. His mouth fell open as he looked at it. “How did you--”

“The Mouse King gave it to me. He knew we were coming to get it, and he knows where the Sugar Plum Fairy is. He told me a lot of things, but before we do anything else, we need to know what’s in this egg.” She pulled out the small key and placed it in his hand. “This is your birthright. Not hers.”

Ever so slowly, he put the key into the small hole and turned it until a series of clicks echoed. He opened the egg and revealed a mirror. It was simple, yet deeply profound as he stared into it.

“But, I don’t understand.”

“Can’t you see?” she said, moving to crouch in front of him. “It’s you who’s going to save us. You are your kingdom’s greatest strength. You don’t need anyone but yourself.”

“How can you be so sure? You’ve heard what everyone’s said about the prince. They believe they’re better off without me.”

“And look how well you being gone has turned out for them.” She stood up, placing her hands on her hips. She garnered the attention of General Hanbin and DK, both of whom were watching with confusion. “You are Prince Koo Junhoe. The pity party is over. We’re returning to the Safe Haven and we’re ending this war. Once and for all.”

[jacks-tracks]

aguas termales

Hot springs at manialtepec, a day hike.

The manialtepec river flows out of a very long steep sided valley, a smooth series of oxbows. The trail is a dirt(dust) cow path through native scrub and barb wired dry pastures. 5 miles up is a hot spring which the town has piped into cement tanks. Probable rise in elevation is 200 feet, so an easy walk.

I went with my friend Gordon Smith, who at 85 is in much better shape than me.He's an ardent cyclist, retired ski instructor, life long batchelor, native of West Vancouver, now a summer resident of SunValley Idaho who winters in Mexico with his Mexican girlfriend Maru. She's in Mexico city for biz, so this was a good opportunity for we two to go hiking.

From Puerto Escondido there are collectivo taxis direct to Manialtepec, but seeing none at the crucero we hopped in a van going up the highway whose driver promised we could get from the highway to the town easily. For 35 pesos we rolled through the farmland at the base of the foothills, the road being raised above the lowlands along the lagunas. Dry season, the hills are crispy grey, trees are leafless, pastures bone dry. The crucero turnoff was deserted and I fretted that any collectivo from Puerto would already be full, but a tuk tuk came south and squeezed us in with the fat mexican guy in the back. 15 pesos and 20 minutes later we were in Manialtepec, and after some confusion(surely we w anted to rent horses!?) and a bit of texting while driving the nice woman dropped us off right at the trailhead/river bank. There a town employee charged us 50 pesos each, which i thought included the hot springs. A pictuaresque Burro loaded with firewood came across the shallow river showing us the ford.

It's a long walk upstream with 6 crossings ranging from knee to crotch deep, on a sand or gravel bottom, slow current, cool water. We shuffled along, yapping all the way, seeing Mexican jays and a huge multi trunked tree river side. Also saw brush tossed 10 feet high up into the trees by the seasonal floods. The papaya plantation of 10 years ago is totally gone, but 4 miles up some enterprising locals have built a set of A frame thatched cabanas for overnight renters(1000 pesos night with cheap local food) . Everything comes in on horse back, and a campesino stopped to chat with bucket of groceries slung on the saddle horn, a pinata tied on the off side and his daughter riding behind. Gordon and I made OK time for a couple of old frts, shuffling carefully across the stream. While the brush is dry, the trees were fooled by the rain last week and were blooming, so at times we were walking on a carpet of purple trumpet shaped flowers. The further we went, the steeper the valley sides and narrower. A cowboy passed us, friendly greetings. This is the real backwoods Mexico. Even the town is still one story buildings, dirt streets, sleeping dogs and horses parked like cars at the gates. up in the roadless valley, it's timeless.

We crossed the last oxbow, and a tiny hot creek outflowing from the springs. Up the hillside to the site, where another campesino informed us that we had to pay an additional 100 pesos each to use the pools. Ha,We objected, had a receipt from ticket master #1, but no, that is just the trail fee! Finally bargained to 50 each for 20 minutes.(He could see we were maybe not going to pay, and the money goes unrecorded into his pocket.) Happy hikers, we slipped into the tanks, sort of cement hot tubs, some 10 foot by 10 or the bigger new ones 10 by 20, all only 3 feet deep. i went into the first one closest to the sulpher smelling hot spring outlet. Hot, almost too hot! I poached for a few moments and moved to the lower tank, a bit cooler. Gordon made it to the biggest pool, and we waved and grinned back and forth. 20 minutes! We were in a half hour, glad to be in the shade and off the trail. Gringoes came in, having ridden up on horses at 1000 pesos each!, We sat on a bench and shared the sandwhich i'd brought and one of Gordons' oranges.

somehow the trail home always seems shorter, and we made better time, stopping at the cabanas for a coffee and coconut. It's a good idea to have a place to stay close to the springs, but there was no signage, and in the rainy season, no access. Friendly people. The only event on the walk out was a herd of bhrama cows being pushed up the path by 3 cowboys. We huddled against the barb wire, but the cows were more scared of us than we them and they sidled and skittered by, eyeing us nervously, finally breaking into a ponderous gallop away. Dusty cowboys wore paper face masks.

Back to Manialtepec, tired but happy, we wandered the sleepy town, seeing yards full of flowers, new construction, a road crew preparing to lay cement, a bakery(polvorones cookies), and finally a collectivo taxi. (3 front and back )which got us back to Puerto by 2:30, tired but satisfied.30 pesos each. a collectivo rocket ride and home to shower and siesta. Fine day, good company, and most important of all, a get out of the city into the country day. It's easy to just beach walk, market and pool swim here, but it is a busy suburb, noisy and populated. Good to get away to where the real locals live.

[crwrassignment3alonetogether]

Frozen memory

I was hiking the Appalachian Trail with a companion I met on this trip. She told me that she had heard about a woman who unfortunately died while hiking the AT, and she was afraid I would die too. I laughed at her, but the truth was that I'd been scared all day long. As I spoke with her from inside the tent, which was pitched in a dark forest at dusk, I felt safer than ever before in my life. I had never hiked before. But hiking is a great way to get in shape. The trail is very long as it takes around six months or so to complete. The air temperature dropped and the forest grew darker. The weather began to get worse as heavy snowfall started to fall and it was bitterly cold. I could see my breath in front of me. The tent was not going to keep us safe so we quickly left to find a safer location. At that moment I knew we were running out of time, we were going to freeze. I followed her as she looked like she knew her ways around the forest. We walked along a narrow path between two steep hillsides covered in snow drifts taller than me. As we went down into a valley, we continued walking through what seemed like endless darkness until finally coming upon an old house just over distant peaks covered in snow-capped pines. The house was built of stone and had a thatched roof. There were no windows, but it did have a chimney. I knocked on the door and waited for someone to answer, but there was no response. I knocked again and the door creak opened. My companion entered with no second thought as the weather worsened. I was very tired and cold after the long journey and decided that we would stay the night inside the house. When I woke up, the sky was clear and the sun was bright. As I was about to wake my companion, she was gone. I went outside to look for her but she was nowhere to be found. An old man who looked very surprised to see me standing outside the house. He didn't say anything at first; instead he just stared at me with wide eyes through thick glasses that made them seem even larger than they were. I asked if he saw a woman. Finally, he took off the glasses and put them in his pocket and said,” If you are looking for the owner of the home, she passed away 3 years ago.”

[my-camino]

Day 9: Pontevedra to Armenteira

Date: August 27, 2022

Starting Point: Pontevedra

Ending Point: Armenteira (Meis)

Distance: 21 km / 13 mi

Time: 6 hr 0 min

Difficulty Level: 5/10

Our plan was to wake up at 6:45, but as any pilgrim knows, the albergue often decides your wake up time for you. That was the case today. The youth group was up and rustling in their packs by 6:15—so we got up, too. Leaving a large town early on a Saturday morning, we (of course) encountered packs of locals leaving the bars. It was still dark, which made for a cool experience crossing the Ponte Burgo and seeing the twinkling lights all around us. Only a few km later we made it to the turn off point for the Variante Espiritual. I can’t overestimate how beautiful this route is, and I’m so glad we decided to follow it. Especially the VIEWS!! First, we walked through vineyards and watched the sun rise over Pontevedra and small villages dotting the ría. After a particularly delicious breakfast (café con leche and a tostada) at the Hotel Rural Campaniola, the path took us to the gorgeous Monastery of San Xoán de Poio. Then we continued along the coast (through a seaside park full of tents and drunk people who, ostensibly, had some kind of rave the night before?) to the village of Combarro. Combarro is particularly known for its horreos, which can be found along the beach and on almost every street. Once a fishing village, it now depends mostly on tourism. The Camino wasted no time, though, and immediately took us out of the town and onto very steep country lanes. Soon enough, we were high on the hillside. The high point on Monte Castrove is the same altitude as the Alto da Portela Grande, but it’s far more gradual. That meant it took us hours to get to the top—which was fine, because we had absolutely breathtaking views at every turn. We could even see the Cíes Islands and the Atlantic Ocean in the distance. Winding our way around the mountain, we finally made it to the Monasterio de Armenteira. There was a wedding going on, but luckily we got to peak in the church and see the cloister before having lunch (two big ensaladas mixta!). Our B&B is about 2 km off the Camino, and our hosts graciously offered to pick us up and bring us back in the morning. So here we are—content, relaxed, and happy to be in such a beautiful place. Our host took us back to the Monastery for Vespers and a pilgrim blessing at 7 PM, and cooked us an amazing (huge) dinner—finished off with a shot of orujo! To end the evening, I took a nice walk around the village and even met the neighbors. Just an overall good day. And if we thought today was a great walk, tomorrow’s stage follows the “Ruta de la Piedra y del Agua” which some say is the most beautiful Camino stage of them all. I can’t wait to find out!

From Meis, Spain on August 27, 2022

[suitcasetales]

Hiking a Roller Coaster Track

Thursday was the final hiking day of this trip package and boy was it a doozy! The painful memory of the steep climb up to the obelisk Wednesday was easily usurped by a beautiful but challenging section along the coast.

The weather was gorgeous from the get-go so we took extra care with applying suntan lotion and carrying plenty of water. Nine of us opted for  the 9-mile hike guided by Rachel. A few folks had left the trip already, others had decided to do their own thing and those left were hiking with Phil and we would meet them along the trail later. The best thing is we didn’t have to ride a bus to the start; we simply had to walk out of the hotel and start hiking.

Ever since arriving to Lulworth Cove, and with a view of it from our bedroom window, I had watched people up and down the wide path on the hill behind us. I knew it would have a fantastic view of the village and figured I was going to have to find a time to hike up it. Consulting Rachel, she said I needn’t do it (“unless you just want to”) because we would finish Thursday’s hike by coming down it. Great, I thought, I don’t have to climb it!

Our hike started in the direction of the hill but we skirted around the back of it. We had a gentle climb, passing a few holiday camps and other holiday rentals, and then just had a long, almost flat walk across the top of pastures and farmland sloping off to our left toward the sea or as far as the eye could see to the right. It was quiet and peaceful walking, chatting among ourselves or walking alone with our thoughts. No close encounters with any cows today — we could see them down in the valley at Scratchy Bottom (quite possibly the best name encountered on this trip) but we did pass through several gates.

Eventually we turned down a paved country lane, picking blackberries as we descended to St. Catherine’s By-the-Sea. I was surprised that it was a wooden church instead of the typical stone churches here. There was a small cemetery out back with wooden benches and a nice view of the sea. I spoke to an elderly couple who said it was their daily routine to walk there. We took a break here, enjoying our “elevenses.” [traditionally, around 11am, a break for a snack and tea or coffee] as it was too early for lunch.

Back on the South West Coast Path, we were “only” three-and-a-half miles away from Lulworth. Now we were walking along the cliff tops, looking back at the Isle of Portland and town of Weymouth, or forward to just beautiful scenery. 

We arrived at a viewpoint with our future laid out before us: the three humps we would climb after lunch!

We met up with Phil and his small band of hiking women at another obelisk and enjoyed lunch together….and posed for the obligatory group photo. Energized for the task ahead, the smaller group headed up the hill to walk a higher contour trail while we continued on the coastal path.

It is interesting to see the various parallel tracks that have developed over the years of people hiking this trail. You can just imagine if it were muddy — oh, I don’t want to walk here, I’ll just move over on to this grassy bit, etc. 

Then, a big hill comes in to my view and I notice the stripes running all up the hillside and it takes me a second and then it hits me: those are the hiking trails! Duh.

So we are looking over to that hill and it occurs to Janet and me that we have to hike down the hill we are on in order to start up the other side and it is a very steep descent. I take a look down and look back at Janet and she says, “I don’t think I can do this.” And I knew she was right; there was no way she was going to go down that hill. We turned around to inform Rachel. She assured Janet she did not have to do it, that there was another way to get down so off they went, inland and upland a bit, to come around the valley at a higher contour while the rest of us made the great descent. Actually, by this time, Sue and Norman were long since down, Mark and Monica were well on their way. Peter hung back with Ruth and I and descended just in front of us. Once we were down and looking back, we realized there was an easier track to take but we couldn’t see it from the top. “Easier” being a relative term though, because it was also closest to the edge of the cliff!

I slowly climbed up the next hill, realizing at the top that we were facing another steep descent. I could see the trajectory of the path Janet and Rachel were walking and I was worried that the same thing was going to happen so I walked up the fence line and met them. Rachel said they were already planning a go-around but she needed to relay a message for everyone to wait for her at the bottom of that hill, which was the aforementioned Scratchy Bottom! So around they went and down I went, via my feet, not my bottom, I am happy to report! There, we all met up again — first Phil and the other women, then Janet and Rachel.

From Scratchy Bottom, we had a great view of the famous Durdle Door. Look closely and you will see the steps down to the very popular sandy beach. I was amazed and impressed that so many people would go all the way down there, schlepping all the usual beach gear. I was even more amazed and impressed when we got around to the top of those steps and started up the long, hot, gravel “road” leading to the parking lot, passing several three generation groups!!

A few feet from the parking lot, we turned off on to the coastal path for the final time and shortly took in the breathtaking view of Lulworth Cove. We were home! Well, not really, because we still had to go down that big hill. And that was not a difficult descent at all, being a well-groomed, stair-cased path. Now I understood why the rocky beach at Lulworth was never as busy as you would guess from the number of cars in the parking lot — people parked at Lulworth and walked to Durdle Door!

We bottomed out around 3:00, the earliest we had been back all week. Some went straight to the pub at The Lulworth Cove Inn; others of us went directly to buy ice-cream….which we then took to the pub! Janet enjoyed another local cider and then we went up to our room to change in to our bathing suits and head to the beach.

Most of the beach at Lulworth Cove was in the shade and there was a big difference in temperature between the late day sun and the shade. The beach is rocky, not sandy, and so it is hard and slippery to walk in to the cove. Probably not surprisingly, Janet made it all the way in and I only made it in to mid-thigh. That water was cold! Nonetheless, it seemed the appropriate end to a great three days of hiking along Britain’s southern coast. We had seen so much of the coastline this week; it was about time we actually tested the waters!

[demonsandmischief]

Our Moment Pt 1

Marvel - A Captain America Fairytale AU

King! Steve Rogers x Female Reader

1.2K Words

-Our Moment-

In which you and the king share a moment together that changes your lives forever.

----

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, there lived a king.

Steve Rogers had lost his mother to a band of criminals that threatened to kill him, too. He was left in a coma for well over a decade before a magical sorcerer was able to wake him up. As the rightful heir to the throne, it was his duty to restore the kingdom to its former glory.

Although feeling fulfilled by his role and the idea that he was living the life his mother would have wanted, there was still something missing.

"Your highness, your horse is ready."

"Thank you," Steve said to the man, walking over to his horse, one of his few friends. "How are you doing?" he asked the animal, running his hand along his snout. The horse nudged him, forcing him to step back. "I know what you're expecting, and unfortunately, we were all out of carrots."

The horse huffed and Steve grinned, pulling the treat out of his back pocket and offering it to him.

"I'd say you were crazy if I didn't see you talking to that horse every day," a voice chuckled, startling Steve.

"Sam, I didn't even know you were back in town. How was the journey?"

"It was a long one," his friend sighed, a smile still tugging at his lips. "Happy to be home. Are you going on a ride?"

"I am. Care to join me?"

"Another time, my king. My lady is at home waiting for me. I wanted to check in with you first," he said, offering his hand for a shake.

"You should come up for dinner one night."

Steve climbed into the saddle, bidding Sam a good day before taking off on the well worn trail through the woods. It was the only part of his day where he truly got to relax.

It wasn't until he reached the pond where he let his horse take a drink did things take a turn.

He led his horse back up to the trail, stepping out in front of another horse and startling the thing half to death. The rider was flung off with an audible thud.

Steve quickly tied his reins to a tree, rushing over to help the stunned girl.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked, helping her stand.

"I'm okay," you whispered, feeling a fire spread across your tailbone. You were certainly going to be bruised, but luckily nothing worse than that. Your senses slowly focuses, and you realized your horse was no where to be found.

"My horse is gone," you said, mostly to yourself, the event slowly registering. "What if she's hurt?"

Steve frowned, feeling responsible for your panic. "I can take a look around for her. What's her name?"

You frown yourself, taking in the man's attire and fancy gear. He was incredible handsome with rugged blonde hair and haunted blue eyes, but also familiar. Your eyes narrowed in on the royalty symbol pinned to his jacket pocket.

"Forgive me, your highness," you said, staggering to your feet so you could curtsey. "I didn't recognize you."

"Nonsense, I should have been paying more attention. I'm sorry about you and your horse. I'm just glad you are okay."

"Her name is Peaches. She was my father's horse."

Steve nodded, reaching to untie the reins. "I'll go look for her. She couldn't have gotten far."

He didn't give you a chance to protest before he took off.

It felt like forever before he came back. You knew you were going to be in trouble when you got home. Yet, you were so relieved to see the king guiding your horse back to you.

"There you go. Not a scratch on her."

You smiled, so happy that one of the last treasures of your father was okay.

"Thank you. How will I ever repay you?"

"How about your name?" he asked. You were happy to oblige.

He gave a glimmering smile, one that showed his teeth and made your heart flutter.

"I'll see you around," he told you, his voice soft as he soaked you in, before circling his horse and going back down the trail.

--

You couldn't get the king out of your head, which was ridiculous. You were in big trouble for abandoning your chores, and your stepmother piled on the to-do list for the next few days. You didn't know how she would react if she knew you were with the king. That trail was your secret, and supposedly Steve's as well.

Luckily, by the end of the week, exercising Peaches was one of the things that had to be done, and you eagerly retraced your steps.

Disappointingly, the path was quiet.

You were on your way back when the sound of approaching hooves caused you to slow your pace.

"On your left," the handsome King smiled back at you, his horse racing past yours.

You bit your lip to contain your smile, a giddy feeling filling your belly.

---

The next time you were able to ride, you were at the pond letting Peaches drink. You were wasting time, wanting as much of a chance to see Steve as possible.

Footsteps behind you startled you. Thinking it was him, you spun around, except it wasn't him.

"What do we have here," the man smiled, sending chills down your spine. He wore a dark cloak, a jagged scar covering half of his face. His teeth were jagged. Everything about him was eerie.

The hillside back to the trail was too steep for you to climb onto your horse. You didn't want to risk injuring her or yourself.

You ignored the man and your racing heart.

"Don't you know it's not polite to ignore a man? Maybe I should teach you some manners," he sneered, jerking you by the arm.

"Let go of me," you cried, pulling desperately at his tight grip.

He pulled you closer, and you flailed, using all of your strength to kick between his legs. It didn't even seem to faze him.

"Hey!"

The man looked up and you used the distraction to climb up to safety with Peaches.

Steve was brewing. He took towering, intimidating steps towards the terrified man.

"My king," he whimpered, falling to his knees.

"I would knock the teeth right out of your mouth if she weren't standing right there, " he growled, lifting him by his shirt.

"It won't happen-happen again," he stuttered.

"Not to her, or to anyone," he said, dropping him roughly onto the ground. "If I run into you again, you better wish that you are dead."

Steve found you with Peaches.

"Thank you," you whispered when you noticed him. You dried the lone tear on your cheek. "I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here."

He stepped closer. "Are you hurt?" he asked, feeling a sense of deja-vu at the question.

"I'm okay," you said. "That's twice you've saved me."

"Two too many," he muttered, picking up your arm, and tracing the angry red handprint.

You pull your arm back until your hands were touching.

His expression softened and he gently ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek.

"I'm glad you are okay," he whispered.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

---

HERE IS PART 2

here's my Masterlist

Comment if you want tagged for part 2 :))

Tags: @oceaniamaddness @patzammit @drayshadow @leyannrae @alexabarnes17 @christowhore @bklynxbaby @johnazazel @nyx2021

The next part is the good stuff. This was only the beginning. Here's a little snip.

---

Preview of Part 2:

"I knew it was too good to be true. It was a set up all along," he said, his back still facing you.

"What are you talking about?" you asked.

[sumsebien]

by design pt. 3// Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: friedrich and y/n’s arrival in prussia! ft. frederica ;))

word count: 4.7k

warnings: none

a/n: apologies for the long wait darlings. here she is though. and she is a long one. also a side note for those who love symbolism as much as i do 💐 ;) also, my banabaer @milkbaer this one is for u baby. thank you for all of your help!!!

a german lesson: Gänschen means goose🦆 (that’s a duck but we can pretend) and schloss means palace/chateau/mansion

The massive railway station stood proudly as the gateway to Potsdam, located right where the forest met the city. Three archways made of worn bricks welcomed old friends and strangers alike. There was something in the slightly tinted mossy green that offered you an odd sense of home. Like you had been here before.

Friedrich stood next to you near the exit. You had had breakfast together, then got ready separately before meeting each other again here.

“I had a lot of memories with this train station,” Friedrich said as the train finally passed the great archway.

You didn’t realize that you had been holding your breath the entire time, waiting for the wheels to come to full stop. You had been storing information from Lea and Ilse about Friedrich’s mother all morning. Anything that might help you strike up a decent conversation with her from her favorite flowers (gardenias) to her pets (a schnauzer named Fifi). Since then, you had been a little preoccupied by your own imaginations of her as a mother.

From the way Friedrich talked about her, your first guess was that they were extremely like-minded. Aside from that, there was the fact that she was a Queen to consider. She obviously must be extremely elegant and poised. Even her dog sounded posh-Fifi the Schnauzer...

You were still listening to Friedrich though, just not closely. “Really?” you asked, your eyes following the platform numbers as they passed by.

He nodded proudly. “I ran here from the Palace and caught the train to Berlin for a boxing match.”

You laughed, now entirely engaged in imagining little Friedrich fleeing from his guards. “And how old were you?”

“Thirteen. I skipped a dancing lesson.”

“Shame. You could have become a ballerina and outdone my stunts at your Christmas party.”

“Who’s to say that I did not? There are still many shocking things that you don’t know.” His plan to distract you from your own nerves had worked wonderfully well. You two continued to discuss his boxing match up until you were escorted out of the station.

There, you were greeted by a great spectacle of carriages and a horse parade. Everywhere you looked there were men in uniforms. They were on horses, in open top carriages, on the streets, all waiting for you and Friedrich.

Back in London, your family frequently had two to three carriages to accompany you to social functions. It was already considered excessive for the ton. You would have laughed at the idea of this. Or to be honest, wouldn’t have even been able to imagine having an entire parade to accompany you a couple of blocks down the street.

And of course, you could not forget the icing on the cake-the largest carriage you had ever seen. The one you saw in France could not compare and certainly not the one in England. This one was completely enveloped in gold from top to toe-or rather from roof to wheels. On the top of the roof, there were golden cherubs holding up an olive branch and flowers.

It was a harsh reminder that Friedrich, someone who you had grown to identify as your friend over the last several hours, was also the firstborn son of the King, heir apparent to the throne. And you were his wife. Whatever agreement you had made with each other in private was not valid in the public eye. Here, you were a Princess. The Princess.

As Friedrich watched you marvel in the magnificence of the royal parade, he turned to Heinrich with a last minute decision. Well last minute for his father and valet but not for him. Friedrich had wanted to visit his mother for ages.

“I’m heading to my mother’s. We’ll catch up with the staff afterwards and meet you at the Berlin Palace.”

All of this was not on the schedule his father had drawn out and Friedrich was well-aware. He had even cancelled the state train that Friedrich specifically ordered to Potsdam just to make sure he would not take you here first. But Friedrich was not one to lose.

At the same time, however, he knew that his valet was absolutely terrified of his father, as did most people. Soon enough, when his father found out that his son was not on the train to Berlin and was nowhere near the Royal Palace, he would definitely not be happy.

“But your Highness, we really must get going now or we won’t reach Berlin by noon.”

“If he asks, just blame it on me. I’ll be in and out in one hour.”

Heinrich didn’t say anything after that, just nodded. For that, Friedrich was thankful, he did not want to ruin this magical moment for you. It was not going to be this magical for long.

As Heinrich left with your staff, Friedrich turned back to you. “Y/N?”

“I-Is this for us?”

The look on your face made him laugh. Your jaws were grazing the floors, your eyes slowly sweeping across the scene then glanced at him and back to the carriages again.

“I believe it is,” he smiled, offering you his arm.

…

The entire ride back to the Palace was essentially just for you to fathom the welcome wagon.

You could barely string a sentence together, nodding along as Friedrich picked out places that he mentioned in his stories last night, especially enthusiastic about the candy shop he was never allowed to go in.

Potsdam was charming. You could certainly imagine a very fulfilling and peaceful existence here where it wasn't hectic like London but not entirely placid like the countryside.

Just when you thought you could not be more impressed, you arrived at Sanssouci Park.

When Ilse briefly mentioned it, you had expected a park. Like Hyde Park or Regent’s Park or the little garden behind your house that your parents insisted was a park. Whatever you had imagined, however, could not hold a candle to what it was in reality.

“Welcome to Sanssouci Park,” Friedrich said casually, casting a brief look out the windows while your eyes were completely glued to the towering gates opening up for your parade to pass through.

The name was not meant to refer to a park. It was definitely not a park. It was a bloody forest. As you entered the road lined with dense trees, the temperature dropped slightly with the shade, effectively cooling you both from the outside in.

“This is what you call a park? Whatever do you two think of Hyde Park then? A child’s sandbox?”

Before he could answer, your attention was quickly captured by a glimpse of something magnificent as the carriage passed a gap between the tree trunks. You pointed towards the dash of yellow you’d seen. “Is that where your mother lives?”

Friedrich followed your gaze and promptly nodded. “That’s Sanssouci Schloss. Here is the back of it.” Just on cue, the carriage rounded the corner and headed towards the back of the Palace.

Your jaws were officially off now as your eyes feasted on the very picture of splendor.

From personal observations, people usually spent a great deal of time and fortune on making the fronts of their homes as extravagant as possible. It was all in the face, as they said. But not here. Here, even the rear side was grand.

There was a huge water fountain in the middle of the yard, the blue sky printed on the surface. Naturally, your eyes followed straight ahead, past the window behind Friedrich’s head towards the most elaborate set of marble stairs you’d ever seen. On either side were tall walls of hedges and rose bushes that covered the hillside.

“Can we walk up those steps?”

Friedrich turned to look at the steps and then back at you again.

It was not a steep hill. More of a gentle slope but exactly because of that, the steps were long and the landings were wide. Anyone in breeches would find it challenging enough as it was. But you were in a gown, in the sweltering July heat and you were volunteering to walk. “You can. People usually go straight to the entrance though. Are you certain you’d want to walk? It is a long way.”

You nodded, brushing off his concerns. All you cared about was the sight.

Per your request, the carriage stopped right before the grand stairs to Sanssouci Palace. You and Friedrich got out of the carriage.

From where you stood, you had to crane your neck up slightly to be able to see the Palace up the top. The strip of yellow you’d seen from afar turned out to be much more intricate than you’d expected. Beautiful white windows lined the yellow walls, right in the center was an oval shaped room with a cyan dome on top, perfectly aligned with the stairs. Even though it only had one story, its width certainly made up for its height, stretching across the hill.

As you walked ahead, Friedrich decided to stall a little bit. Memories of endless summer days spent on these lawns came flooding back.

He had missed this.

The last time he was here was the summer before he left for England. It was actually here that his aunt Charlotte came to visit with an invitation to Cambridge-the day that changed his life.

And now he was here with you. Someone he had dreaded to marry a mere few days before. Now a dear friend to him.

Straight in front of him, you were marching up the steps with admirable determination, your hands holding onto your skirt, lifting it off the ground. With sun on your skin and wind in your hair, you laughed and told him to hurry up. For that split second, he wished he was not just your friend. Though he discarded that thought as quickly as it came, it stayed stuck in the back of his mind as he matched your pace.

“These are a lot of steps,” you remarked after the first flight of stairs was behind you. There were at least five more ahead. The excessively wide spaces between each step did not help with the general morale either.

“I did warn you,” he chuckled. “It was too exhausting a trip that Marie Antoinette rode a horse up these steps after her stroll in the garden.”

You paused for a moment.

Friedrich thought you were imagining the French queen trotting up the steps with her stallion. But as it turned out, he was wrong.

“Did he invite her over during one of the military clashes between Prussia and France?”

To say that Friedrich did not expect that was an understatement. You had told him you read but he never asked for the specifics on what exactly you were interested in. At that moment, he simply thought you’d be interested in a made-up tale to forget about the stairs. He did not think for a moment you’d be interested in foreign conflicts enough to know the feud between Prussia and France. He knew he certainly wasn’t as a student.

“You can’t fool me. I know,” you said, laughing at the shock on his face.

Pleasantly impressed, he remarked, “Full of surprises I see.”

“You’ll see that in this friendship,” you motioned between yourselves, “you’re not the only one who can shock.”

He gave you a nod, lowering his eyes and watched his steps before he murmured to himself. “Friendship, yes.” He reminded himself of how grateful he was to be your friend. And that maybe pining over you for the rest of his life was better than having you hate him.

If there was one thing for certain, it was that you two would not repeat his parents’ mistakes.

“Darling!”

The voice caused Friedrich’s eyes to snap upwards, slightly alarmed as they weren’t expected on this side of the Palace. Everyone was supposed to be at the front.

The first thing he saw was that you had stopped as well, only standing two steps above him. And then, on the top flight, he saw his mother, waving at him. She wasn’t supposed to greet them outside. At the same time though, he wouldn’t expect her to wait that long for anything anyways.

He waved back with a laugh. She hadn’t changed one bit since the last time he saw her nearly a year ago. A straw sunhat on top of her head, a basket of flower and gardening tools in her hand.

“I-is that-“

Friedrich nodded. “Yes, that’s her. That’s my Mama.”

The nervous jitters came back to you. You knew how much his mother meant to him. She was the true hero of his childhood and you were just excited to meet her. However, you also knew that in no way was this arrangement made by her. And no matter how friendly you were with Friedrich, as his mother, she would not easily trust you.

You quickly masked your nervousness with a gentle smile. It was the safest route after all. Better look like a smiley fool than a grumpy idiot. You thought.

The Queen began to walk down the steps briskly, meeting you halfway up the last flight of stairs. Immediately, she threw her arms around Friedrich, pulling him into a bear hug. “There you are, you Gänschen! You’ve kept your mother waiting long enough!” She said, messing up his hair and only letting go of him once he was shaking with laughter.

When he and your maids said she was very carefree in private, you did not expect her to be this carefree. A lady was not supposed to be out in the sun like this, no less a queen. She was also much more beautiful than you could ever imagine, with her honey blonde curls tumbling down her back in waves and her big blue eyes which were now on you.

“Apologies, Mama,” he stepped back, allowing you to take a step forward. “This is Y/N, my wife. And Y/N, this is my Mama.”

“It is such an honor to meet you, your Majesty,” you said, bending your knees into a curtsy, praying you wouldn’t stumble backwards and ruin the first impression.

You had an overwhelming want for her to like you. And you felt like this first meeting was of paramount importance in deciding that. If it did not go well, she would never see you as anything more than a girl her son was forced to marry. And that was terrifying even in the case where Friedrich remained a good friend.

You were not wrong. Frederica did not expect much from a match made by Louis, a man who clearly did not know his own son or even cared to try. Assuming he did know his son, it would not even be of any matter at all. The only thing he had ever cared about was grooming an heir. This arrangement, no doubt, served that.

But Frederica could not ignore the large smile on her son’s face as he ascended the steps with this young lady.

That? That was not by design.

Frederica shook her head and offered you her hand to help you stand up straight. “I prefer Frederica. At least when we are not in court.”

She gave you a cheeky wink and plucked a gardenia from her basket, tucking it by your ear. “Come on now! I am sure it has been a long trip for the both of you. Let us have some tea before you go.”

...

Frederica led the both of you into the Palace through the doors into the oval room. Inside it was just as spectacular as its exterior. Tall columns held up the painted dome where a chandelier was hung. The three arched windows looking out to the gardens were pushed open by three footmen, allowing sunlight and fresh air to gush into the space, lightening up the entire room.

“Please have a seat, dears,” Frederica said, gesturing to the rounded table in the middle of the room.

You were still too in awe to be able to settle down calmly in your seat but obeyed her anyways. Beside you, Friedrich was glancing around the room, like he was in search of something.

“Is Fifi not here?” he asked as a butler approached the table with a cake stand.

Just on cue, Fifi-his mother’s Schnauzer, shot through the doors. You nearly gasped out of sheer excitement when you saw the ball of salt and pepper fur fly into the room like an arrow. You had always shared a fondness for dogs. Yet you never had one. The only dogs you had were your father’s hunting hounds and he made sure you remained far away from them.

“Speak of the devil...” Friedrich turned to you, “this is Fifi, hated by most but very loved by my mother. Mostly because she smells like fish.”

He kept his eyes on the dog as she strolled around, heading in your direction and getting alarmingly close. “Fifi!” he said, shooing her off. The dog didn’t care, just kept on going forward.

“Oh, it’s quite alright! I love dogs,” you said, fighting the urge to pet Fifi who was quietly sniffing at the hem of your skirt.

Frederica was absolutely surprised when she saw her Schnauzer so quiet. Her dog was not friendly with strangers. By this time there should have been an accident.

The delayed accident happened right after that. Fifi bit down on your dress, tugging at it playfully.

More surprising, however, you didn’t seem scared of the feisty little old thing either. You just laughed.

“Fifi! Leave the poor girl alone!” Frederica said, tapping her shoes against the floor.

Friedrich quickly leaned forward and picked her up. Being lifted off the ground, she released your skirt and focused on wiggling out of Friedrich’s grasps instead. When she eventually succeeded, Fifi headed back to you, circling your feet, her tail wagging.

Friedrich clicked his tongue, about to bend over again to shoo Fifi off. Not that she would care. But the dog plopped down between your chair and his mother’s, out of Friedrich’s reach.

She looked up at you with big eyes, begging for a pet, which you were happy to provide. You reached down and scratched her ears. It was all rather brave, if he must admit.

“I know it is hard to believe but she seems fond of you,” Frederica mused, seeing Fifi transform into a whole other dog under your touch. She was not usually this sweet.

Friedrich scoffed. “The devil almost ripped her skirt off,” he gestured to the hem of your dress, and glared at Fifi.

“It’s fine, honestly. I think it was a compliment if anything,” you said with a smile.

He sighed. “Don’t defend the perpetrator! She has a terrible temperament. And you know it,” he turned to his mother.

“Fifi does. as much as I love her,” Frederica nodded. Fifi’s ears perked up at the mention of her name, blinking at her owner. “But you seem like a very experienced animal whisperer.”

“No, actually. I never had one.”

“Well, that’s a shame. You’re great with Fifi. And if you can handle her, you can handle any dog.”

“Any dog is better than Fifi,” Friedrich said under his breath. Nevertheless, he was glad to see the two of you bond. Even if it was over Fifi the Ferocious.

On the bright side, at least she wasn’t coming back with them to Berlin. It was the only thing Friedrich and his father had ever had in common-a dislike for the Schnauzer.

...

Heinrich was being escorted into the Palace towards the audience room. A place he would much prefer not to go to on his own. He had arrived for over an hour and still you two were nowhere to be found and it was only for so long he could hide the train of carriages. Eventually, one of the butlers alerted the King of his presence and he was immediately requested inside.

Heinrich had suspected that you would arrive slightly late. He just didn’t think it could be this late. He had no idea what he was supposed to say. One misstep and off with his head.

When the doors to the room were swung open, the King was throwing a fit. His deafening yell rang across the room and bounced against the tall walls. It certainly did not help with the nerves.

“WHERE IS MY HORSE?” he demanded, rising up from the throne. From where he stood, he towered over the poor footman. “I am late for hunting!”

“Your Majesty, you cancelled today’s hunt.”

“And why on earth would I do that?”

Heinrich kept quiet, remaining invisible as he approached the throne behind the butler. He was not about to be caught in the middle of a crossfire during one of the King’s fits.

The footman blinked. Heinrich could see the man debating whether or not to answer, lest it was a rhetorical question.

“B-because the Prince is back from England, sir?”

“Oh,” the King said. His voice quieter than before and sat back down again. The crease between his Majesty’s eyebrows disappeared, his expressions softening slightly. Then he turned to the footman with a quizzical look. “And where is the Prince?”

The footman turned around and met Heinrich’s eyes. And then the King followed his gaze. So much for not wanting to be caught in the crossfire.

“I-“ Heinrich began, his mind drawing a blank.

If he were to tell the truth, Friedrich and you would no doubt be in trouble. However, if he didn’t tell the truth, he’d be in trouble and so would you two. And if he just said he didn’t know, he’d be on the first ship to an island far far away.

“Well?” The King barked.

“I’ll go get them, your Majesty!”

“Don’t just stand there. Hurry along then! Before I chop all of your heads off.”

Heinrich had never walked so fast out of a room his entire life. His heart was pounding as it began to dawn on him that he had just lied to the King. Well, it was not exactly a lie. He was going to get them. They just weren’t here yet. Unfortunately, none of that mattered. There was no reasoning with such a powerful man. All he could do was hope that he would still be alive to see another day.

Just when all of his luck appeared to have run out, he heard the distinct sound of hooves against cobble and rushed outside.

Friedrich helped you out of the carriage, still engaged in the never-ending tales of Fifi the Ferocious. You were laughing when you caught sight of the magnificent Royal Palace-Berliner Schloss. It was much boxier than Sanssouci Schloss with towering walls that casted a great shadow over the front lawn.

Household staff lined the steps on either side, straightening up as Heinrich dashed past them. Some had their heads turned, the younger ones especially, their curious eyes on you, trying to catch a glimpse of the new Princess. The more seasoned staff near the top stayed perfectly still, resisting the urge to look anywhere other than straight ahead.

“Your Highnesses!” He said, bowing so quickly you were worried his head might snap off. “Your presences are requested. Immediately!”

...

Through the doors you could faintly hear your titles being announced. Your palms were clammy so you hid it behind you, focusing on what you might say in a couple of moments.

Friedrich was not nervous, of course.

He was the one who planned the detour in the first place. And while you had enjoyed the time with Frederica very much, perhaps a little too much, it had delayed your schedule by well over a couple of hours. It meant that you made the King of Prussia, your father-in-law wait.

The only person more nervous than you was probably Heinrich. Every time you caught a glimpse of his face, he seemed more haggard than the last. You were not certain whether he was really sick or just worried.

"My father will say things. Things that are aimed to test you. Do not mind any of it," Friedrich said quietly.

"Something tells me I should take that as a suggestion. One look at Heinrich and I know what I am in for."

Friedrich sneaked a glance at his valet and gave you a small smile. "Heinrich has always been that way. Worries a little too much."

"Maybe that is for good reason-"

The trumpets sounded, prompting you to straighten up, smooth your dress and put on a smile. In the corner of your eyes, you could see Friedrich cracking up. Had it not been for the fact that you were being presented right then, you would have given him a slipper to the chest. He was still smiling up until you had to walk through the doors.

Then, his demeanor shifted completely. You did not dare to make eye contact with the King. All you saw was brief glimpses of a man, wearing a red cloak on the throne. But Friedrich, he was looking straight down the room, challenging his father.

From the stories he had told you, you knew that Friedrich had a rough relationship with his father. Once he got a chance to break away, he vowed he would allow his father to have full control of his life again. And from the suffocating tension in the air, you knew his father would not make it easy.

“The Prince and Princess of Prussia, your Majesty,” a footman announced.

"Your Majesty," you said, giving the King a curtsy.

"Welcome, welcome. I hope the journey was not too rough for you.”

You smiled and nodded. Not a bad start.

However, it was a completely different story when you saw Friedrich’s face. He raised his eyebrows, clearly unconvinced by his father’s concern. "You do, father? Wasn’t it on your orders that the state train never arrived?”

“Now, now, Friedrich. That was none of my doing.” The King turned to you with a small smile. “I must say, you are much prettier than I expected, my lady.”

He had made such an effort to emphasize the last two words that even if you weren’t listening, you still would have caught them. The King was smirking on his throne, his icy eyes sending chills down your back.

“I believe it’s your Highness, father.”

This row was your fault. You could tell.

“No, I don’t think it is. You didn’t get married.”

“We did.”

“That did not count.”

“How? Because you weren’t invited?”

“I see all of your manners have gone out the door since you stepped foot out of this country.”

Friedrich wanted to scoff. It was always going to be about England. If they were going to have this conversation, he was going to do it properly. But not in front of you.

He turned to Heinrich. “Take the Princess to see the chambers.”

You didn’t want to leave. You were responsible for this in one way or another. You should be here to take the blame. But Friedrich shook his head like he knew what you were about to say. “Come with Heinrich. I’ll meet you later.”

“No need for that. Lady Brandt, your chief lady-in-waiting, will take you for a tour. Bernadine?”

You remembered Lea and Ilse mentioning her as well. However, at that time, she didn’t have a name or a face for you to attach her to just yet. You just knew that she was going to be in charge of all of your affairs like Heinrich was doing for Friedrich. Now she had a name and a face.

At the mention of her name, she nodded and stepped forward from the line of staff on your right. She was dressed in a blood red dress, a strand of pearls wrapped around her long neck. She came towards you, giving you an impressive curtsy, tipping her head forward slowly yet keeping her hat perfectly still on her dark raven hair.

When she looked up, you were finally able to see her striking hollow eyes, tall cheekbones and an ever so slightly upturned corner of her lips. She looked awfully familiar. Like a much younger version of your mother actually. And she was just as terrifying.

“Come with me, your Highness.”

taglist: @awesomebooklover17 @oopsiedoopsie23 @milkbaer @vampirestookmydoubts @5hundreddaysofsummer @km-98 @mikeys-thighs @lunas1x1 @albeeox @darkestbeforethedawn16 @defffcc @sarcasm-n-insomnia @urie-bowie-mercury @babydidoy @cvpidsletters @mmmh-i-cant-help-myself @fanaticalfantasist @xoxomandoo @littlered00 @heartofrosecoloredglasses @truly-insatiable @thingfromlove @tearsrichochets

let me know if you’d like to be tagged

[accioxreparo]

memorias | g.w.

synopsis: You finally work up the courage to go back home for día de muertos after nearly twelve years for a trip you find that both you and George needed.

pairing: George Weasley x hispanic!reader

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of the wizarding war(s), a bit of grieving

a/n: I know, I’m bad at time management but I loved this idea too much to not post it. I know it says hispanic reader but please don’t feel like you need to be one to give this a read! 

Also I’m a native spanish speaker so if you google translate the spanish it might not make too much sense so I’ve put the spanish phrases in italics and the translations will be right after [bolded and in brackets like this] just to make it a little easier to read.

I’m curious to know what you guys think about this one so feel free to hit me up with your thoughts/questions if you’d like! 

The soft golds and warm reds that met every single place your eyes landed on brought back an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. Sugar and smoke mixed together in the air like nothing else did and it was like you were seeing yourself as a child all over again. Memories floated around in your brain. Ones that were happy. Ones you knew didn’t deserve the treatment you’d been giving them recently.

“Can you tell me about these?”

The sound of George’s voice interrupted your thoughts. He was drifting towards one side of the uneven cobblestone street crowded with people and lined with booths. You couldn’t help but stare at the soft, excited smile on his face as he looked all around him. He was curious and it was a look on him you’d never get enough of.

With a smile on your face you held his hand tighter and pulled him in the direction of a booth covered in little wooden animals painted in every bright color you could imagine. You picked one up and set it in the palm of your hand, grinning in amusement when George touched the top of its head just to see it bob up and down again.

“It’s an alebrije,” You told him, setting down the little figure. Almost immediately he picked up another to examine it more closely. “It’s mostly just art. Tomorrow especially, though, they decorate almost every ofrenda since kids tend to love them.”

George nodded, hanging on every word you told him just as he had been for the last two days. It had been that long since the two of you had arrived at your mother’s house. It was only that long that you stayed and now you were headed off to the place you really wanted to visit.

“Tomorrow’s the first day, right?” George had to resist the urge to pick up every single little creature he saw and hand over a pile of colored bills. Instead he let you pull him away again, his attention being caught by all the buildings surrounding him.

“Yeah. Everything has to be prepared by nightfall to greet the spirits of children on the first of November.” You nodded and stared down at the stones underneath your feet, kicking a few across the street as you walked. George immediately noticed your silence but before he could say anything you spoke again, looking up at him with a newfound smile on your face. “Have I ever told you about my Tia Valeria?”

“Once or twice,” He laughed a bit, recalling the countless stories you’d told him before already. He dropped your hand just long enough to be able to throw an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him as you walked. “Tell me more.”

“We’re going to see her now actually,” When he looked at you shocked you only grinned. “She’s the one who took me in after I started at Ilvermorny. My mom wasn’t too into the whole magic thing after -”

You stopped again and George knew exactly why. It was the same reason you’d avoided being home for years now. It had been twelve years now since you’d been back and it had taken a lot of convincing along with an argument or two to get you here. He didn’t fail to notice the way you plastered another smile onto your face, pushing the topic to the back of your mind.

“Anyway places like these are called pueblos mágicos [magical towns] by the muggle government. See how every place here is a different color?” You watched as George looked around again, waiting until his attention drifted back to continue. “It’s to symbolize the town’s culture. For some places it’s the history it has, others it's the traditions that have been in place for as long as anyone can remember, and for some it's just the natural beauty they have. They’re called magic because of those reasons. There’s 121 right now all over Mexico but there’s something muggles don’t know about them.”

“What’s that?” George asked before you could say another word. When he caught you holding back a laugh he rolled his eyes playfully before leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Come see for yourself,” You turned down a seemingly normal street until you came to a steep grey staircase that looked like it was built right into the rising hillside.

But you didn’t go up the staircase. Instead you moved to the right side and placed a hand on a statue that sat on the very bottom step. Once again George focused only on your movements as you dropped his hand and traced a swirling pattern on the back of the statue, mumbling a quiet revelio.

There wasn’t a single thing you did that didn’t amaze him and this wasn’t any different. He watched as the stone stairs shifted, morphing into an archway before his own eyes revealing a whole separate part of the town that looked even more alive than the one they’d just snuck to the outskirts of.

“Almost all of them are hiding actual magical communities.” You smiled as you stepped into the shimmering archway, turning around to find George more astonished than ever before. “Well c’mon.”

George had been in awe of everything you’d shown him so far. The view of the sun setting from the peak of the little town your mother lived in. The carefully crafted decorations that hung all over. The sea of colors that blended perfectly together everywhere he looked. The way you lit up with excitement every time he asked you to tell him more about the things and places you grew up around.

This place was different though. It was so much like the places he’d visited as a kid but at the same time it was in a league of its own. There were kids running around and potions shops and small evidence of magic everywhere. But there were also items he didn’t recognize in shop windows and spells being said he hadn’t heard before. He wasn’t too sure he’d ever seen anything like it at all.

“She’s waiting for us,” You said after glancing at the pocket watch that hung on a chain on your own bag. “Trust me, we don’t want to be late.”

George didn’t move though. Instead he bit his lip momentarily before fidgeting a bit and holding on tighter to you. “I’m nervous.” 

“You’re nervous? Really?” You couldn’t help but smile as you moved back in his direction.

“Don’t laugh,” As he said the words, though, he let out a laugh of his own. “Fred and I must’ve read practically all her books when we were trying to work out some of the products for the shop. It’s a little intimidating meeting somebody who has their own chocolate frog card.”

“But your own brother has one?”

“He doesn’t count,” George shook his head and gave in and started walking beside you again. He didn’t take in everything just yet, though. “Honestly, do you think she’ll like me?”

You nodded without hesitation. “I know she will.”

It took an extra hour but finally you and George had managed to weave your way through the countless streets until you reached the main square, only stopping to buy little trinkets twice.

The door you walked up to led to a shop that had papel picado decorating the outside of the windows. It wasn’t like the ones you’d seen earlier though. These had little figures dancing across the colored paper, almost looking like they were laughing.

You smiled at the sight of them, memories of helping your aunt make and enchant them flashing through your mind. George’s eyes followed the little figures across the paper and he laughed at the sight of them, “You said she makes them herself right?”

“More than just a world renowned alchemist,” You smirked a bit as you walked into the shop with ease despite the closed sign on the door. “Though I guarantee she’s still going to yell at us for being late so get ready for that.”

It was like it was planned. The moment the words left your mouth was the moment your tias voice rang from the back of the shop. George chuckled at the way you winced and started trudging towards the source.

“Que hora es esta de llegar? Ya pasan de las seis, te dije que llegaras antes de las tres!” 

[”What time do you think it is? It’s passed six and I told you to get here before three!”]

“I know, I know,” You sighed as you stepped into the backyard the shop led into. It was covered in plants of all sorts, both magical and non magical. No less than three crups ran back and forth all over the place, the biggest of which barked loudly and ran for you. “Es que este quería ver las ofrendas que pusieron en el pueblo alla afuera. Como le puedia dicer no, iralo, que lindo.”

[“Well this one wanted to see the ofrendas they put up all around the town. How was I supposed to say no, look how cute he is!”]

“Quien -” [“Who -”] She looked up suddenly, forgetting for a moment that you were bringing somebody with you. Almost immediately she sighed and she put down the large steel cauldron she’d been burning some leaves in. “Of course!”

“Tia this is -”

“Don’t bother, mija, I know exactly who he is already,” She walked over and stood beside you, staring at George as if sizing him up despite the fact that she was at least a foot shorter. He couldn’t help but feel as if she was looking into the very depths of his mind and honestly given what he knew about her he wouldn’t be surprised if she was. “Es el marido.” [“He’s the husband.”]

“Novio, tia,” [“Boyfriend, tia,”] You tried to fight the blush that crept up your face as you shook your head quickly. “We’re not quite there yet.”

“Y porque no?” [“And why not?”]

You changed the subject quickly, shooting around to face George again. He could tell you wanted to change the topic but frankly he was curious about the bits and pieces of the conversation he was able to pick up. “George meet -”

“Call me Valeria,” Your aunt immediately waved you off, shooting a momentary glare in your direction, silently telling you the conversation was one you’d be forced to continue later. “Believe me, I’ve heard so much about you, mijo, we hardly need an introduction.”

“Thanks for letting me come visit,” The quickness with which he went from feeling a little nervous to completely at ease surprised him. It felt shockingly similar to being at his own home and he loved it immediately.

“Por supuesto,” [“Of course,”] She shook her head with a smile that faltered for only a second, so fast that he almost didn’t notice it. “I think we all needed this after the year we’ve had.”

“So um,” You gulped a bit at the overwhelming sound of silence that felt much too loud. More memories flashed through your head. This time it was everything you had dealt with during the war. Things you shouldn’t have had to face but ones you did anyway without hesitation. The fights and the training and the dueling and the teaching.

It was all the reason you had gone to England in the first place. What had started off as an assignment turned into something you couldn’t have possibly imagined. Funny enough you didn’t regret parts of it at all.

“Where do we start?”

*

George had rarely been anxious before in his life. He didn’t like the feeling. Not at all. But as he stared down at all the things he’d brought with him with your assurance that they would do, he found himself slowly pushing the feeling away.

It was especially comforting to feel your presence right next to him despite the fact that you were as anxious as he was. It was your first time celebrating dia de muertos in twelve years. He knew all about your own struggles with accepting what had happened during the first wizarding war all those years ago.

It was then that your father had died in a duel not a couple days before the first defeat. When you were old enough to understand you’d decided immediately you would follow in his footsteps. It was the cause of the rift that had grown between you and your mother, the same one that pushed you and your aunt closer than ever before.

She was the one to support you when you decided to attend Ilvermorny over Castelobruxo. She was the one who had told you stories of your father. She was the one who had seen you off when you left for England and never once judged you for not being able to handle the overwhelming emotions and memories that flooded your mind at the beginning of every November.

And she was the one who stood with you now, helping to prepare the ofrenda that would soon hold pieces of memories you'd been ignoring for twelve years.

“Three levels,” Your voice was soft and a little hoarse as you took George’s hand in yours, each of you feeding off of the feeling of each other. “They represent the underworld, the earth, and the sky.”

You moved to hand George various pieces of papel picado before picking up the purple tablecloth and the white lace for yourself. “Hang these along the edges and above.”

He could easily recall the explanations you’d given him as the two of you had bought the rest of your necessary items earlier. George looked between you and your aunt for a moment before gently touching the tip of his wand to each piece, watching as the little figures came to life right before his eyes. “The wind right?”

“When they blow in the wind it means our difuntos [deceased] have arrived,” Valeria offered him a smile that didn’t quite look completely there before handing him the orange marigolds he’d seen everywhere the last few days. “The charm to get the petals off the cempazúchitl is simple. Scatter the petals up all the way from the front doorway to the foot of the ofrenda.”

George stared at the marigolds in his hands for a few moments, frozen in place. The color was bold and loud and reminded him too much of his brother. There was a bouquet of them sitting on the kitchen table at the Burrow and they were the exact same kind of flower he had left in front of Fred’s grave just a few days before alongside you.

You had told him the meaning of them then and your words echoed through his head now. They’ll help guide him home.

When he came back you’d finished setting up the bottom level with your Tia Valeria finished the highest level. You walked over to him the second he entered the room, wiping the ashes off of your hands before reaching up and setting a hand on his cheek.

George hadn’t realized there were a few tears in his eyes until you gently wiped them away. It was silently that you reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips and almost immediately he sighed.

“Are you ready?” You nodded behind you and when he looked he could see your aunt digging out several pictures from a cabinet on the other side of the room. “This is the most important part.”

It took George a few moments before he nodded, eying the bag he’d left in the living room carefully. “I’m ready.”

First came several mismatched cups and two large pitchers of water. Each cup was poured to the top and the pitchers were refilled before they too were set on the middle level. Next was the bread you’d picked up from a bakery, pan de muerto, along with the sugar skulls.

Valeria put down a variety of sweets, ones she said your grandfather, uncles, and various other family members loved. You placed a few bars of a bittersweet chocolate you’d picked up at a store in the muggle part of the plaza earlier on the table. The same ones you could vaguely remember your dad always having stocked in his pockets. George put down a couple chocolate frogs and a box of Every Flavor Beans, the bad ones already picked out.

The three of you laughed together as you put a couple different bottles of alcohol, both magical and non magical, down next. A bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey brought back more than a few bittersweet memories of Order meetings at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Then it was time for the pictures. One by one photos of family members who had passed were set on the ofrenda. Your grandfather and one of his brothers who had both fought against Grindelwald years ago. Several aunts, uncles, and cousins alike. Your father who’d been a casualty of the first wizarding war.

George held on to the picture of Fred for a second, not daring to look at it just yet. You couldn’t bring yourself to either, you’d been close to both of them after all.

“Let me tell you something my brother, your father, told me when our papa died,” Valeria walked over and took the picture out of George’s hands. It was clear where you got your personality from because she placed one hand on top of your intertwined ones.

The two of you watched as she looked at the picture, smiled, then moved towards the ofrenda.

“Hay que vivir sonriendo para morir contentos,” She set the picture in the very middle right next to the chocolate frogs, a handful of ton-tongue toffees, and a faux wand. “You have to live smiling to die happy. What do you think your brother would say if he was here now?”

George suddenly let out a loud laugh and looked at you, both of you thinking the same thing. “Reckon he’d tell us to snap out of it.”

“Then snap out of it,” Valeria took out her wand and placed it at George’s temple first. “Think of your happiest memory of him.” 

George closed his eyes and thought his hardest for the perfect one. When he found it he let out a shaky exhale and nodded. His eyes opened just in time to see a blue whisp at the end of the wand being placed into a vial.

Valeria repeated the same process with you, telling you to think of your dad. Then she took the vials and set them down on the ofrenda. “Memorias, memories, to remind them of how much we love them.” She then motioned towards the single bottle of firewhiskey that was left on the counter and grinned at the two of you. 

“Vengan, [Come on,] that bottle isn’t going to drink itself.”

*

Three days later both you and George felt more at ease than you had in awhile. The celebrations had come and gone and you’d cried a bit, sure, but also laughed and took part in every celebration going on both in the magical part of town and the muggle part.

You’d even gone to visit your father’s grave for the first time since you were just five years old. The strange feeling of being at peace was one you weren’t expecting. One you weren’t sure you’d ever feel again.

But there you were sitting in the middle of your Tia Valeria’s backyard in the dark watching the fireworks dance across the sky for the third night in a row.

“Did I ever say thank you?” George asked from where his head was laying in your lap as your hands ran through his hair. He was focused only on you and chuckled a little when you grew genuinely surprised.

You shook your head, hair falling in front of your face as you looked at him. “For what, mi amor?”

He couldn’t help but grin at the name, now knowing fully well what it meant, and reached for you. “For making it easier. For being there for me when I really didn’t think I could get through it.”

A soft look of complete understanding and affection spread across your face as you took his hand. “You did the same for me, you know.”

“Guess we really did need this then, didn’t we?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, kissing the palm of his hand before letting your head fall onto it. “We did.”

“Any chance we can come back soon?” George laughed again and looked up at the sky, his view a combination of you, the fireworks, and the dozens of the little wooden alebrijes he’d finally given in and bought flying all around. “I quite like it here.”

“Any time you want, mi amor.”

[honeymoonjin]

𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 yoongi x reader || 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 24k || 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆 smut, fluff, angst

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 it may be misfortune that brings you to min yoongi’s door looking for a place to stay, but luckily holly lodge has a vacancy.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 explicit sexual content, cursing, unintentional voyeurism, non-explicit mxm (taejin side pairing), protected sex, kinda-sub!yoongi, oral (m receiving), fingering, yoongi lowkey being a pillow princess, smut with a whole lot of feelings, body worship (m receiving), praise (m receiving), this was more vanilla than expected, cowgirl/riding, hand-holding during sex, this isn’t jerk-off material it’s slow burn softness so be warned

many thanks to @jamaisjoons for the gorgeous banner

--

A distant crunch of gravel is the only warning you get. You look around absentmindedly, down the steep slope of the hilly fields, and see a bus pulling away down the windy path that had brought you here several hours ago.

"Oh, fuck-!" You make it less than a third of the way down, half-stumbling, half-running, before you give up, realising it's no use. "Oh, fuck," you repeat with a sullen sigh, sinking down to the dirt path.

What was meant to be a day-trip to the renowned Boseong Green Tea fields was apparently going to be longer than a day.

The sky was steadily growing darker, and through the vibrant hedgerows of green tea plants that lined the hillside, a fog was starting to collect. Consulting your phone tells you it's later than you thought.

You stand up again, brushing the dust off the back of your jeans, and slowly plod your way back up to the peak of the hill, where a flat area with some benches provides a decent lookout. The several small cafes and restaurants at the base of the fields have no lights on, and a metal grille has been slid down over the windows of the ticket booth. It's deserted.

Your roaming data works up here, although it's a little more patchy than you'd grown used to around the rest of the country, and you use the last of your dying battery to google some places to stay. With any luck, you'd be able to phone in to a hostel or motel and book in a place. You just hoped the walk wasn't too far in the dark. But as the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, and you call a seventeenth number, you begin to lose hope.

"Even just for one night?" you barter nervously, biting on your nail as the older lady on the other end sighs.

"I'm sorry, dear, we're all booked out. You should've called in advance. Spring is a busy time of year."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I wasn't even meant to stay. I missed the bus back."

"Are you at the Boseong-gun bus terminal? I'm sure there are other busses coming in no time."

"I'm still at the tea fields," you admit, "it was a bus from out of town. Please, I'll walk down to the main street myself, I just don't want to stay outside all ni-"

"Wait- At the plantation? Have you tried Holly Lodge yet?"

You frown. "No. I didn't see that name come up when I searched online for accommodation."

A laugh rings out, though you sense it's not directed at you. "No, dear, Min wouldn't have put it online. But it's far closer to the fields, and I would venture a guess that it's the one place in Boseong that won't have been flooded with guests."

You feel yourself inflate with hope. "Do you have the phone number? Thank you so much!"

"I don't think the owner even has a phone. If he does, I certainly don't know the number. But- Where on the plantation are you right now? Can you get to the top?"

"I'm at the top," you answer reflexively, "but are you sure there's room there? I'd hate to show up unannounced."

The lady on the phone laughs again, slightly condescending. You get the vibe she's not the biggest fan of 'Min'. "He won't have any customers. It's just a small bed-and-breakfast, but he's so far away from the town centre, and he makes no effort to advertise. It's a wonder he's still open, to be quite frank. Anyways, if you're at the top, turn around away from the entrance."

You bite your lip uncertainly but do as she says. You haven’t looked back this way, but you see now that there’s a winding path down the other side, a skinny trail of flattened grass leading into the distance. “Do I go down the other side of the hill?”

“Away from the main fields, yes,” the motel owner replies in a slightly impatient voice. You imagine she can’t appreciate the late-night call for such a busy time of year. “Down at the bottom, there’s a patch of trees.”

Feeling your toes beginning to go numb in your shoes from the cool, damp fog rising, you begin to pick your way down. “I see them.”

“Just beyond them is Holly Lodge. It’s not far. Why he chose to open a bed-and-breakfast behind Boseong Fields is beyond me. I imagine he couldn’t afford anywhere else. I’m sorry dear, the place is probably poor quality, but I’m sure it’ll do for a night.”

Stumbling down the hill in the dark, picking up momentum as you go, you squint into the small thicket of trees in the valley. Perhaps it’s desperation making you see things, but you swear there’s the slightest glow coming from between them. “Thank you so much for your help!”

“It’s fine,” the older lady assures you, “and if you happen to stay longer, I’d be more than happy to reserve you a room for tomorrow night so that you don’t have to stay at that place any longer than necessary.”

You scrunch up your eyebrows. How bad was this place? “I appreciate the offer, but is it okay if I call you back in the morning? I might be able to get tomorrow’s bus back.”

“Alrighty, dear. Best of luck to you. Bye now.”

You pull your phone back and swear lowly when you see your battery life on its last legs. You have a charger in your backpack (along with some water and snacks, something you’re relieved you packed last-minute before coming) but it’s no use unless the Holly Lodge has a place to plug it in, and at this point, as you make it to the foot of the hill and start winding your way through the trees, you’re not expecting anything.

What you do know is that you were right; the light you saw peeking through the trees is growing steadily closer, warm and flickering. It’s unsteady underfoot, but you doggedly push ahead, the glow being the only thing lighting up the landscape. The sky is a deep black, slightly murky with cloud, and you very nearly crash into a few trunks on your way, but after a little over ten minutes, you break into a grassy clearing and sigh in relief.

In front of you lies a modest house, barely more than a cottage, attached to civilisation by a gravel road that pulls away at a 90-degree angle from where you came from, running adjacent to the side of the hill. At its foot, a little wooden sign with white paint reads, ‘HOLLY LODGE, visitors welcome.’ It seems that you’ve entered through the backyard - if that’s what you could even call it. The side of the house is covered in an expansive trellis, lined with vibrant pink azaleas. They’re lit up from below by a tiny campfire, casting a tall shadow on them of a person sitting-

Your eyes fly wide and a stranged sound comes out of your throat. There’s a man crouched over the fire, frozen, a wooden skewer still hovering over the flames that lick at it. He’s wrapped a tartan blanket around himself, bunched up under his chin, and the light of the flames cast an orange glow over his clear skin and brown hair, which hangs low over his brow in soft curls.

You blink. He doesn’t move. “Your meat’s burning,” you point out.

That shocks him back into action, and he whips it back out of the fire, but the damage is done. The entire underside of what looks like lamb is completely charred. “Fuck,” he growls bitterly, “thanks a lot.”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise. Perhaps the lady on the phone was right, and this place really wasn’t ideal. “Excuse me, I just… Do you have any rooms available?”

His mouth dangles open, lips just plump enough for it to be a pout, and you wait as his catlike eyes look over you, glancing back through the trees where you came. “...you want to stay?” he asks finally, the sour edge gone from his voice.

You point at the sign out front awkwardly. “This is a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

He stares for a few moments more, then jumps up off the ground suddenly, letting go of the blanket. It tumbles to the grass around him, revealing a matching set of white-and-grey striped pyjamas. He bounds over to you, hopping barefoot in the grass, and comes to a stop in front of you, eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why didn’t you go to any of the other motels? You- you came from the fields instead of from the road.”

You bite your lip nervously. If he turns you away, you’re fucked. The moon is high in the sky, a waxy blot lighting up a patch of clouds, and you know that sky will be your roof tonight if he doesn’t let you in. “Yeah, I missed my bus back home and since it’s spring, there’s no space. Do you have a room?”

He twitches his nose and lifts a hand up, fiddling with his ear. “The power went out,” he admits, “so you can’t have a hot shower or anything.”

Your chest inflates with hope. “That’s okay,” you reassure quickly, waving your hands at him, “I just want a bed for the night, I’ll pay anything.”

He scrunches up his face at this. “I can’t charge you; it’s past midnight. You’re barely getting a proper night, and like I said, the facilities aren’t really working. Come on, let me show you to your room.”

He leaves the tiny bonfire burning away on its bed of rocks, and grabs a flashlight that was lying on the grass beside his blanket, before scurrying around to the front of the house, gesturing with a blanket-covered paw for you to follow.

You do with a quirk of your lips. This man, who couldn’t be older than his mid-twenties, was stomping about like he was grumpy, yet he looked sweeter than anyone you had met so far. Was this really the same Min that the lady had spoken so lowly of on the phone?

You can’t see much detail inside when the two of you enter. He guides the torch straight down a hallway, not bothering to show you the bathroom or kitchen or anything except a small bedroom with a single bed and a bedside table.

“Here it is,” he states awkwardly, pressing his lips flat into a half-smile. “It’s not much, I’m sorry. If you get into pyjamas, I could handwash your clothes for you.”

Your eyebrows raise. “Oh, wow, you don’t have to do that! Besides, I don’t have any other clothes with me. I’ll just have to sleep in this.”

His eyes go round with concern. “That won’t be very comfortable.” He scratches behind his ear. “You could, uh, I mean, I could give you some comfier clothes to wear?” You can’t bring yourself to say anything, only staring at him dumbfounded. The man loses his composure and laughs awkwardly, shaking his head and staring at the floor. “Sorry, that’s crossing the line, I shouldn’t-”

“I would really appreciate that,” you cut in, “sorry, I just… That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”

A shy smile tugs at his lips, and if the torch was facing him more, perhaps you could recognise his cheeks pinkening slightly. “Oh, I-” he falters and laughs breathily again, gathering himself. “No, I’m not- I-” he tamps down his grin by biting down on his bottom lip, fixing you with a flustered look of gratitude. “I’ll go grab something now. Just wait here. You can have the torch.”

He disappears into shadows, then returns immediately, passing over the blanket. “And this. Just a minute.”

And then Min is gone again. You listen in bemusement at the pitter-patter of his bare feet on the wooden floorboards, fading into nothingness, a few thuds of drawers opening and closing, and then him returning with a bundle of clothes. You school your expression when he gently reaches out to hand over the clothes.

“It’s just a t-shirt and some basketball shorts,” he apologises, “but they’re clean and they’re comfy. I assume you’ll be needing the torch when you get changed? I can shut the door behind you.”

You give him your most grateful smile. “If it’s not too much bother. Thank you so much.” Once he makes it to the door, he begins to swing it shut, but a thought strikes you. “Wait!” He pauses, head sticking out in the crack, the wooden door pushing his cheeks out. You force yourself not to smile at the cute image he provides, but instead clear your throat. “Oh, uh, what’s your name? Min, right?”

His eyebrows lift below his curls in surprise. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I called a lady on the phone when I was looking for a place to stay; the Boseong’s Best Motel? She said you were in the area.”

His gaze lowers to the floor, and his voice flattens. “Mrs. Na? What else did she say?”

You sense it’s a sore topic. “Just that… that you might have a free room.”

He smiles sadly, like he knows that’s not all, but nods. “Well, Min is my surname.” His face disappears further into the shadows. “My name’s Yoongi.”

--

You sleep well that night.

Better than you have in years, in fact, and with heavy curtains drawn across the one window in the room, the break of dawn doesn’t rouse you like it normally would. Instead, you drift in and out of consciousness all morning, happy to kick off the blankets as it warms up and stretch out.

It’s not until you hear a loud clatter that you’re snapped out of it, and you jump up, eyes flying open and wandering around the room.

The pyjama-clad man from last night, Yoongi, is hunched over the bedside table just beside you, eyes and mouth wide open as he watches you wake up and stretch. You raise your arms high over your head and let out a groan as your muscles ease.

“Goo’morning,” you murmur, hands dropping by your sides again. It’s not until he stays silent, swallowing hard, that you look down at yourself and swear, grasping at the sheets.

The basketball shorts he gave you were so old that the elastic was spent, and they wouldn’t stay on, so you had opted for the simple option of your underwear from earlier, and the baggy off-white t-shirt he gave you. However, that meant that your legs were fully exposed, and two points peaked the fabric on your chest.

“S-sorry,” he stutters, and ducks his head to pick up the cutlery he dropped on the floor. You clutch at the heavy cotton sheets, tucking them under your chin, and wait as he delicately places the cutlery on a fabric napkin that sits beside a plate of steaming eggs on toast, sunny side up, and a small mug of what smells like black tea. “I can get you a new set of cutlery if you want.”

“It’s okay.” You try and send him a grateful smile, but his gaze is fixed on the floor, cheeks bright red.

“I didn’t mean to look,” he confesses in a voice so hushed you almost miss it.

“It’s okay,” you repeat. “Thank you for bringing me breakfast.”

He shrugs. “It’s nothing much. I, uh, I’ll be outside if you need me.” When he leaves, it’s like he’s in a rush, shuffling his feet on the floorboards, knocking his leg on the foot of the bed and his shoulder on the doorjamb in his haste to leave.

After he stumbles out, your stomach growls, and you take that as a sign to enjoy the breakfast he’s so generously prepared you. After quickly opening the curtains and the window, you return to your bed. The eggs are perfectly salted, with a sprinkle of paprika, and you place the plate on your lap, munching away slowly as you look out the window.

The sun’s streaming in, and with the added light you can make out the details on the plate as you clear it. The edges aren’t perfectly round, and by the way the egg yolk pools in one corner, it’s not level either. On the brim, faded teal lettering spells out H O L L Y  L O G D E, with a little cartoon drawing of what looked like a dog’s face. You finish your final mouthful and replace the place with the cup of tea, noting the uneven thickness of the handle and the same careful painting on the side. Did he make these himself? With the state of the property, and it’s apparent lack of success, you can’t imagine he had the means for official branding.

You blow onto the surface of the liquid gently, and take a tentative sip. It’s the perfect temperature to warm you up inside, and while you’re not usually a fan of tea, this one seems to have a unique taste; not quite black tea, not quite green tea, with a sweet tang to it. It’s delicious, and it’s gone quicker than you would’ve liked.

When you emerge into the back garden, still wearing his shirt, but with your jeans back on, you spot him squatting over a brown planter box against the exterior wall. The trellis of climbing azaleas provides a gorgeous backdrop; the vibrant shades of pink petal and green leaf bask in the sun’s warm rays.

He hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the time to quietly hover just behind the corner, out of sight. With golden heat on your face, lush grass under your feet and birds singing in the trees, you could almost convince yourself you’re in paradise. Min Yoongi, the one person in town who would give you a place to stay, certainly fits within that ideal. You had assumed he’d be in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, if the clothes he gave you were anything to go by, but you’re pleasantly surprised to see him in a thin pastel purple sweater, poking out from a worn pair of overalls.

In the silence of the morning, you can hear what sounds like muttering, and you strain to listen in to his pouty voice as he squats over the planter box, brown curls ruffling slightly in the breeze.

“...probably thinks you’re rude,” you think you hear him say, “or a pervert. The one customer since opening and you scare her away. Silly Min Yoongi. What if she shuts us do-”

You duck back and cough noisily, before rounding the corner, pretending like you weren’t just eavesdropping. “Good morning,” you say to him again brightly, and the young man does a double-take at your attire. You probably should’ve put on a bra underneath the shirt.

“Good morning,” he responds reflexively, “are you, uh, heading off now? Did you enjoy breakfast?” His voice trails off cutely at the end, like he’s unsure he should even ask.

“It was great, you’re so generous. I’m curious, though, what’s the brand of that tea? It’s really good.”

Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his pink lips rounding into a surprised ‘o’. He swallows, and stands up, brushing some stray soil off on the front of his overalls. “You liked the tea?”

You nod hesitatingly. “Uh- yeah. I couldn’t recognise the flavour, though. Is it green tea?”

“Oolong,” he clarifies, mouth quirking in a disbelieving smile. “You really liked it?” You nod again, and his eyes sparkle, a shy smile lifting to reveal his gums. “I made it myself,” he reveals, “here! I’ll show you my tea plants!” The sudden burst of joy dissolves away, and he deflates. “Oh, but you probably need to head off, huh?”

A strange yearning stirs inside you. The feeling that you’d do anything to keep that smile on his face a little longer. “There are actually no busses on a Sunday, so I’m stuck here for another night anyway.” You immediately regret your word choice. He flinches when you say ‘stuck here’ and loses your gaze, frowning at the grass.

Before you can revoke your statement, he’s shrugging gloomily. “I, uh, I know this place isn’t as well run as the others. I’m really sorry, you know, about the electricity. I used the hot coals from the fire last night to make your breakfast, I hope it was warm enough. Like I said yesterday, it’s not fair to charge you for subpar service, so...”

“No, no! That’s not what I meant at all, honestly! It was just a bad choice of words.” He’s not convinced, kicking his foot against the ground and tugging at his earlobe uncertainly. “The whole missing-the-bus thing was a real nightmare, and I’m just glad I found you and Holly Lodge, because it’s been the only thing keeping me from going nuts.”

“Huh?”

Your heart breaks at his sullen face, the way his cheeks puff up slightly when he presses his lips together in a pout. “Really, Yoongi. I’m so grateful to you for even letting me stay here, let alone being as kind as you are. I’m happy to pay for the room, fuck, I’ll pay double. And if you don’t mind, I’d really appreciate being able to stay another night.”

His gaze searches yours, and eventually a soft smile pulls across his lips. “Thank you…” His eyes fly wide open. “I’m so sorry, I never got your name! Oh wow, that’s poor of me, I’m sorry, I-”

“Yoongi,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine. My name’s Y/n. It’s my fault, I should’ve introduced myself, but I was pretty tired.”

He scratches behind his ear again. “Well, then. I think it makes us about even. Truce?”

You laugh softly. “Truce. And if you’re not too busy, I think I’d like to check out that tea plant of yours.”

He smothers a proud grin, opting for a simple nod, before he’s making his way around the back of the house, where there’s a bit of humid shade. “My grandma was the best at making tea,” he explains, “she knew all about harvesting times and growing conditions, and her secret trick was to add strawberries.”

“So that was that sweet aftertaste.”

He nods eagerly. “Exactly.” The soil here is damp under your bare feet, slightly springy, but Yoongi pays it no mind, waving a hand towards a large hedge that lines the back of his garden. You pause in your tracks. The edges of the leaves are browning, curling up in a way you’re certain isn’t healthy. “This is it?” You hope your voice doesn’t sound disappointed, but you are a little confused.

He pouts. “I know. It’s not very impressive, is it?” He gnaws at his bottom lip for a few moments, running his hand over the dry leaves. “I don’t know what I’ve done wrong. It’s never been like this before, but after my… Now that I’m here by myself, it’s just been getting worse and worse.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But the tea I had this morning-”

“-was the last cup of my grandma’s final batch, the one we made together. None of the tea I’ve tried to make is any good. I try cutting off the dead parts, but it still tastes funny.”

All this talk of ‘last’ and ‘final’ makes you worry about the wellbeing of his grandmother, but you don’t dare ask, having upset him enough this morning already. “It just looks like it’s not getting enough nutrients. You might need to buy something to improve the soil quality.”

He blinks at you. “You know how to grow tea?”

“No idea,” you admit, “but I do know how to grow a lot of other plants, and I’m sure I could learn.” An idea strikes you, and you flash him a smile. “How about this? In lieu of paying you for the room tonight, I can help you get the tea back to health again. With how good that cup was, it’s practically a public service.”

A tentative smile plays at his lips, but he’s still confused. “What do you mean? Surely you can’t save it by tomorrow?”

Now it’s your turn to fidget nervously, clutching your hands together. “I, uh, I don’t really have anything waiting for me back home. I was planning on staying in Busan or Seoul for a while, but I think maybe I’d… maybe I’d rather stay here. Only if you don’t mind! And of course, I’ll pay for the room-”

A hopeful grin breaks out across his face, unabashed. “No charge! If you really think you could bring back the tea plants, that more than covers the room fee.” At your stupefied look, he clarifies, “this was my grandma’s pride and joy. It really means a lot to me. More than money. Thank you, Y/n.”

—

You discover many things about Min Yoongi on that first day.

That he has a dog, for instance, which he needs to pick up from the vet later that morning.

You also discover that Min Yoongi does not own a car.

“How much longer?” you venture, hoping your tone isn’t too whiny.

“Not long.”

You pout at his back, watching the dogged way he walks the uneven gravel path, slowly descending as it twists through the trees, around the back of the fields and towards the Main Street. “You said that last time.”

He turns his head back quickly, a cheeky grin on his face, and you try to ignore the way your chest leaps at it. “You were the one that wanted to come.”

“I wanna check out the town. If you want to save that tea plant, you’re gonna need some decent fertilizer. Is there a garden center here?”

With his legs slightly bent in those baggy overalls, and his arms swinging by his side with every step, he radiates enthusiasm, but your question causes him to pause. “I...assume so?”

You skip a little to catch up to him. “I mean, we could always just ask one of the other residents. Someone’s bound to know.”

His smile falters. “We could.”

You bite your lip, regretting the weird change in tone. In an attempt to bring his cheery disposition back, you bump his shoulder lightly with his. “So, you have a dog, huh? Your place isn’t exactly fenced. She must be well trained.”

“He,” Yoongi hastily corrects, though the corners of his mouth lift. “Holly’s an old boy, he’s not the type to wander away. He doesn’t even need a leash to take him back home, he’ll just walk along beside me.”

“What’s he at the vet for? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The gravel merges with smooth paver stones as you emerge onto the Main Street. You spot a sign with a cat and a dog silhouette. Yoongi straightens up and begins rushing along faster. “Check-up,” he explains absentmindedly. “He was my grandma’s dog, so you can imagine he’s got some years on him. Prevention is the best medicine and all that.”

The door to the veterinarian jingles overhead, and the young man at the counter glances up from the small grey kitten in his arms with a heart-shaped beam. “Oh! Hi, Yoonie-hyung! Here for Holly?”

Yoongi’s cheeks puff up at the nickname. “He’s all good to go? No issues?”

You eye up the little name badge pinned to his polo shirt. Hoseok. “Same old. The doctor will send the tests off like usual. Just a sec; I’ll go get him from out back.” The boy carefully sets down the kitten into a small plastic kennel on the desk with four others. You can’t help but smile as you watch the baby animals squeak and snuggle up to each other. After washing his hands with some hand sanitizer, the receptionist gets out from behind the desk and disappears through a side door.

You wait for a moment, then decide to fill the silence. “When did you open Holly Lo-”

You’re cut off by the gentle tinkling of the bell above the door. Yoongi glances back quickly, and his whole demeanor changes, shoulders hunching and head ducking down. You frown, and turn around to see an unfamiliar lady approaching.

She’s old enough to be a grandparent, flabby skin on a skinny arm trembling as she carries a cat kennel with a yowling tabby inside. “Oh, Hoseok!” she calls out in a ringing tone, glancing past the two of you. “Chestnut needs his check-up, where are you? Is the doctor free?”

You would raise your brows at her impatience when there are clearly other people in line, but instead you’re just concerned at Yoongi’s reaction. His elbows are up on the higher ledge of the desk, and he’s practically hiding his face behind his forearms.

Subtly, you step out a little bit from the desk, concealing him. Unfortunately, the lady notices the movement and fixes her sour stare on you.

“You aren’t from here,” she states. “And no houses have been sold, so you’re obviously not moving in. What’s a tourist doing in a vet?”

“Um.” You give her a confused stare, a little taken aback by how forward she is. “Pet check-up,” you finish lamely.

Hoping she would leave you alone from there is clearly naive. “Day trip? If you’re staying overnight, I can recommend a good place to park up. I own a hotel and it’s the best wa-”

“I’m good,” you interrupt, “I’ve got a place to stay. But it’s very kind of you to offer.”

She narrows her eyebrows, drawn-on and smudging slightly into her wan foundation. “Wait a minute. Something’s fishy. You were the one calling at an ungodly hour in the evening looking for accommodation, weren’t you?”

You glance at the door that the receptionist disappeared behind, willing him to return. “Yeah.”

“Mrs. Na told me she said you could-” She freezes and stands up straight. Her eyes slide behind you suspiciously. “Min.”

Though you don’t turn around - some instinct in you thinks you shouldn’t turn your back on her - you can imagine what the B&B owner must look like. His voice is so small. “Hi, Mrs. Soh.”

“Finally got a customer, huh?” The room feels to shrink with every word that drips with the seasoned condescension only an elderly person can give.

Yoongi shuffles forward a little on the plastic linoleum floor. “That’s right, Mrs. Soh. Next time you speak to Mrs. Na, please thank her for sending Y/n my way.”

The lady openly rolls her eyes at this, and you have to bite hard on the tip of your tongue to stop from lunging at her. “Mrs. Na wasn’t giving you a hand-out, boy. We aren’t about to help the business that took everything from us.”

Your eyes wide, you stare at the poster on canines and felines pinned to the far wall. “Should we ring the bell? I don’t know what’s taking so long.”

You regret bringing the attention back on you as Mrs. Soh scans your face with an entitled curl of her lip. “And you. I’m surprised you’re actually choosing to stay with Min. His place is a pigsty, isn’t it? Maybe you feel bad for him, girl, but let me tell you: the only good thing about that bed-and-breakfast is how it’s a perfect example of karma. His grandmother monopolises and terrorises the tea markets while she’s alive, and now that she’s kicked it her spawn can’t do anything right.”

You forget all about respecting elders and let out a shocked scoff. “What the fuck is your problem?”

As she splutters, Yoongi’s hand wraps lightly around your elbow, tugging you backwards, but you only spare a quick glance at his sullen face before turning back to the woman across from you.

“First of all, you’re delusional if you think I’m going to stay with any of you after the way I see you treat others. Secondly, how dare you insult someone like that, let alone a dead person? You must be the meanest person in this fucking town. At least, I hope so, because I certainly don’t want to meet anyone nastier than you.”

Like magic, the very moment she opens her mouth, the door bursts open, and out comes Hoseok, a curly tan dog at his feet.

“Holly!” Yoongi cheers with more than a hint of relief, and the dog darts forward, claws scrabbling on the floor as he spins in excited circles. After reuniting with his pet, Yoongi busies himself with the payment, while you try determinately to avoid Mrs. Soh’s gaze. You wouldn’t be surprised if by nightfall everyone in town knew you as the bitchy tourist, but you didn’t even care, too occupied with steaming in your own rage.

The moment Yoongi takes a receipt from Hoseok’s hands, you wrap yours around his and tug him away from the desk, huffing at the cheery jingle of the door that accompanies you upon leaving.

“Woah, Y/n, slow down, Holly can’t run!”

You force yourself to take a steadying breath and return to a normal pace, the older dog happily trotting along on Yoongi’s other side.

He lets the two of you walk in silence for a while, until the sounds of the Main Street fade away, and all that you can hear is the crunch of gravel underfoot, paired with the metallic tinkling of Holly’s collar. You’re still holding onto Yoongi’s hand, but you swear you feel him squeeze slightly every time you loosen to let go, so you let them swing between you.

The ambient noises calm you down enough to feel like talking again. “I didn’t mean to snap,” you apologise. “But I haven’t felt that angry in a long time. What’s her deal?”

Another squeeze, or is that his fingers trembling slightly. “Ah, you get used to it,” he jokes with a smile, though it fades when you throw him a sad look. “No, seriously, I try not to let it bother me anymore. I just… don’t go into town much anymore.”

You nod slowly, watching your feet to make sure you don’t trip over the odd protruding rock or root. You don’t know if it’s wise to broach the topic, but it keeps seeming to come up. “...Your grandma’s tea was really popular, huh?”

He laughs lightly. When you flick him a confused look, he shrugs, jerking your hand with it. “I was wondering how long it would take you. The elephant in the room and all. My grandma lived here, at Holly Lodge, though it was just a house until I inherited it. She made tea, her own strain. It got popular among the locals and, soon enough, tourists were catching on too. They stopped going to the markets. Most of the ladies that own accommodation branch out into selling food and produce. Tea is a popular option, as you could probably guess. They lost their business to her.”

“That’s just life. And besides, that’s a problem they have with her. Why are they being so rude to you? You don’t even sell tea anymore.”

“Because they can? I don’t know. Listen, I’ve explained it, if you want to leave and avoid all this drama that’s fine but I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He drops your hand, and a strange but unpleasant feeling cuts into you.

The slight incline back isn’t so bad, but his breathing is shallow and his gaze is trained on the ground. Your lips droop down in guilt. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” you say softly. “I’m sorry, I probably made the situation worse for you by yelling at her. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’s silent for a moment. The air darkens slightly, a wash of cloud moving over the sun. “Please don’t say that.” His fingers stretch out towards your hand, then fall back.

You don’t speak the rest of the way back.

--

You try not to stare. You try your best to occupy yourself with the dog at your feet, who gently paws at your hand if you halt your stroking of his thick curls. But as you sit on the floor and listen to the satisfied grunts of Holly, lying on his back in the sun, you can’t help but glance up every few seconds to the man in the kitchen.

It’s strangely domestic, the way he potters around the room, fully focussed on his task. Every measurement of flour, sugar, butter, is perfectly precise and done with care. It’s warm in the kitchen - he told you earlier it’s so the dough will rise when he rests it - and in the sun his skin seems to glow. He’s humming to himself as he kneads; a song you’ve never heard before but one you hope to hear many times again. Although he tied his hair up in a little bean sprout on the top of his head, a few stray wisps have broken free, and his pout deepens every time he has to blow them out of his eyes. The little white apron hooked around his neck and fastened at his slender waist is dusty with stray powder and smeared with runaway globs of dough.

You don’t want to break his concentration, but you feel strange sitting and silently watching him. “Jack of all trades, huh?”

He jumps and turns quickly to you, knocking over a thick paper bag of flour with his elbow, sending white grains flying into the air. His eyes fly wide open and he futilely cups his hands over where the flour is spilling out of the bag, which lays on its side on the bench. With hands full, he pushes it back up to standing, but everything in his hands is dumped onto the benchtop, including the perfectly kneaded round of dough. His shoulders droop.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” you hastily apologise the moment your voice returns to you. Ignoring the dog that whines and paws at you, you stand up and rush over to him, grabbing a tea towel on a hook and dousing it in tap water to begin cleaning up. “I didn’t mean to give you a fright, I’m sorry.”

“It- It’s okay,” he assures haltingly, still awkwardly waving his white-covered hands in the air like he’s not sure what to do with them. You move quickly, cleaning up the majority of the spill for him, the towel coated in a flour-water goop by the time you’re done. When you straighten up, the man in front of you crinkles his nose, like it’s itchy, and sighs, though at his situation rather than you. He wiggles his white-covered fingers. “Thank you,” he says, “trying to grab the flour probably wasn’t the best…”

He trails off as you grab his wrists gently, leading him to the sink where you turn on the tap and run his hands under the steady stream. He waits, obediently turns his palms up for you to squirt a pump of hand soap onto them, and lathers up as you return to the other side of the bench to clean up the rest of the spilt flour.

You hear the water stop, and moments later he’s at your side, picking up the puffy ball of dough with a care that most people would reserve for a small child. Cradling it to his chest so as not to drop it, he uses one hand to delicately brush away the pile of flour on the surface. “It’s alright,” he mumbles softly, and you’re unsure whether he’s speaking to you or the dough, “it’ll be fine. Maybe a little dry, but still good.”

You fold over the top of the bag of flour and let your hands sit heavy on it, still clutching at the paper. “Yoongi.” He swallows hard and looks up when you say his name, absentmindedly patting the dough. “You’re a really kind person, you know that?”

He blinks, setting the dough on a clear patch of the wetly glistening bench. “What do you mean? I’m doing what any host would do. Welcoming my guest.”

You bite your lip, unsatisfied with the response. “Clearly not any host would be kind. I know that after this morning. Besides; it’s more than that. You made me eggs this morning on hot coals-”

“This is a bed-and-breakfast,” he replies weakly, “and that’s just because the power’s out. I’m not sure when it’ll be fixed actually, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise. I…” You sigh, scanning his face. He really doesn’t get it, you realise. How special he is. “I’m so happy to be here, Yoongi. I’ve never met someone as kind as you. And I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you’re doing for me. It’s clear this means a lot to you.”

He ducks his head, moving past you to open a drawer, fiddling around tubes of parchment paper and foil to pull out some plastic wrap. “Thank you, but it’s really nothing. I’m just happy for the company.”

As you lean against the bench and watch him gingerly knead the dough into a rough log shape, before rolling it up in the plastic wrap, you realise just how true that must be. A thought strikes you, shatters that solemn line of thought. “Wait… If the power’s out, how are you gonna bake the bread?”

“Oh!” He glances up, seemingly relieved at the change in topic. “Well, I thought I’d make some and save it until I can get the repair guy out here. I have an icebox around the back of the house that I’m using as a temporary freezer. Then, when we get power again…” He lifts up the dough with an odd quirk to his lips, like he’s cracking a secret joke only the two of you know. “Celebratory bread.”

Uncontrollably, a beam breaks across your face. “Sure, Min Yoongi. Celebratory bread.”

--

The two of you share a bonfire that night. You suspect it’s the first time, at least for a while, that he’s had company. Human company, at least.

“Come on, boy, not too close,” he warns Holly, whose nose continues to dip out towards the flames even as his owner gently pats his rump. The light casts Yoongi’s face in a deep orange warmth; you didn’t pick up on it last night, but his eyes practically glitter with the reflection of it. His hair is no longer up in a hair tie so the thick mop of curls - only somewhat looser than Holly’s, though a rich brown instead of the caramel of the dog - hang low on his brow, lopsided and dishevelled from changing into pyjamas.

The two of you had stuck to yourselves, for the most part, that afternoon. You’d taken advantage of an old bicycle he had dug out of his tool shed to go back down to the main town, spending hours at a cafe, shamelessly torrenting their wifi to research more about tea plants and how to grow (or, more importantly, revive) them. After the waitresses got a little too antsy with your continued presence, and once you felt confident in your task, you got directions to a hardware store and bought some decent soil. An employee there - a respectable albeit slightly clumsy young man who seemed like the epitome of customer service - offered to deliver the heavy plastic sacks for you, and so you returned home satisfied with a day well-spent.

It was another rustic barbecue for dinner. After disappearing into his room to change into a matching pair of baby pink cotton pyjamas, the bed-and-breakfast owner quickly set up a fire on the bed of blackened rocks and charcoal in his backyard. With a practised ease he raised the flame into a blaze, and every time he leant forward to cook some more meat, you watched with a strange fixation as beads of sweat collected at his temples, sticking down strands of hair and warming his cheeks to a rosy glow.

“Do they fit a bit better?”

His sudden question reaches your ears with a delay, and by the time your eyes focus again, he’s watching you curiously. “Fit a bit…? Oh! The clothes. Yes, thank you so much.”

With the clothes you came in currently drying on a rack in your spare room, Yoongi had lent you another raggedy shirt and a pair of plain blue boxer shorts. With how little fabric there was, you suspected they were underwear rather than proper pants, but as long as they stayed up you were happy.

His eyes dart to the side and his lip quirks. “I feel a little overdressed,” he admits, “giving you old clothes while I have proper pyjamas.”

“No, you look cute,” you protest automatically, before sputtering in embarrassment. “I- I meant, it’s fine, I don’t mind you wearing…” You trail off, coughing awkwardly.

With his cheeks so red from the fire, the only way you can tell he’s flustered is the flash of his gums as he smiles, ducking his head. “Ah,” he deflects softly, “you’re just messing with me, I’m not cute.” He doesn’t make eye contact with you for a moment, quietly cutting off strips of beef onto two plates. When he speaks again, you almost miss it over the crackle of flame, and you get the feeling he never intends for you to hear. “Not as cute as you,” he murmurs, and your heart short circuits.

In an effort to pretend like you didn’t overhear, you reach for one of the plates, scooting closer on the grass in order to reach it. The two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the warming effect of the beef settling in your stomachs. He clearly has more of an appetite than you, and keeps munching away long after you’ve pushed your plate away. The grass is warm and dry from the heat of the fire, and so you lie back on it, letting your gaze reach the heavens.

“It’s so peaceful out here,” you muse, “at first I thought it was silly to have accommodation so far from the rest of the town, but I get it now. I don’t ever want to leave.” You attempt to lilt your voice, as if it’s a joke, but it falls flat. You don’t think you’ve ever been so genuine about something in a long time, and that scares you. You’ve only been here a day.

You hear wet noises, and lift your head off the grass to look over at your companion, who’s hurriedly chewing on an over-full mouthful of meat, blowing out his cheeks. You grin at the sight, propping yourself up on your elbows as you wait, and he does his best to flick you a chastising glare as he finally swallows. “Well,” he makes out with an empty mouth, “you know Holly Lodge is always happy to have you as long as you wish to stay. If you really do want to stay.”

Having said his piece, he promptly fills his mouth again with a thick slab that probably should’ve been cut in half first. You grin at the way his eyes widen unconsciously as he chows down, reflecting the hypnotic orange flicker in front of him. “Yeah,” you say gently, “I really do.”

--

It’s odd how days become weeks without you noticing. The days get so hot and humid that an evening fire, which had begun to feel routine, is no longer possible. After tilling the soil around the tea plant and doing some serious work on it, the leaves fatten up and return to their former glory. Yoongi’s face softens every time he walks past you working in the garden. You don’t know which thing he’s more happy to see between you and the thriving shrubbery.

Time passes as if in a dream, the bed-and-breakfast feeling like a slice of paradise separate from reality. The electrician comes, an eager yet very methodical apprentice by his side, and with the return of the electricity comes the celebratory bread, enjoyed with a strawberry jam of Yoongi’s own making. You spend your days in the garden and your evenings with Yoongi, sharing solace in each other’s company as you watch old movies or play convoluted card games. For someone that’s normally always on the go, you feel yourself settling in to this world.

Yoongi’s curls slacken as his hair grows, becoming shaggy over time, and one late Friday night he sets up a wooden stool in the bathroom and asks you to trim it. One lopsided cut later, things like these become normal for the two of you. He acclimatizes quickly to your presence, and you feel yourself changing too, melding your lifestyle into his. Even though you purchase some well-fitting shorts (as well as more underwear and feminine supplies), on the third day a pile of shirts was left on your bed and you’d been wearing them ever since. Eventually they begin to feel less like his shirts you’re just borrowing and more like your own, and you’re not sure how to feel about the niggling bud of disappointment in your chest when each one of them comes back from the wash smelling like your perfume instead of the sweetly floral scent you had begun to associate with him.

The domesticity of your situation doesn’t hit you until a Wednesday afternoon, when the sun melts the air around you into a wobbly haze, and you finally make it back home from a trip into town to grab some emergency groceries. Yoongi got weekly deliveries for the most part, but he had tried (and failed) to make some homemade ice cream the day before and the two of you were in urgent need of some milk. With a relatively mild morning, you felt safe to go on foot rather than bike, but the heat set in quickly and your feet are burning by the time you slam open the front door and step into the cool of the house.

“Yoongi,” you call out automatically, “I’m home.” The word slips out so naturally, that you think it can’t have been the first time you’d referred to the small cottage as home.

A happy gasp echoes down the hallway. “Y/n,” Yoongi cheers from a distance, “we have butterflies and bees out here, come see!”

A contented smile spreads across your face at the sound of his voice, and you slip your shoes and socks off, going through the lounge and out the back door of the house. Your heart billows in your chest every time you see him, but the delighted beam on his face makes you feel lighter than air.

Too hot for even the lightest of sweaters, Yoongi has taken to various short-sleeved shirts and button-downs. Today he’s in cream fabric shorts and a peachy satin shirt, feet bare like yours as he stares up the side of the exterior wall in wonder. Though you hate to look away from him, the way the sun casts his normally dark curls into a bronze halo, you make your way out into the garden, grass cushioning your sore feet as you turn to see what’s brought out this wonder in him.

Amongst a background of vibrant pink azaleas, you can spot fluttering movement where several monarch butterflies bask in the warm rays. Throughout the garden, honeybees aimlessly zip around, a gentle buzzing in your ears. “They’re beautiful,” you muse, “I guess the hot weather brought them out.”

The man across from you stays silent. You ponder the wildlife one more time before returning your gaze to him. Gone is the awe-filled gleam in his eyes. They’re turned down at the edges now, staring lower than your face. “You’re sunburnt,” he remarks with a frown, before raising his eyebrows in a more urgent expression of worry. “Quick; get inside!”

You apparently don’t move fast enough. The young man shoots forward, fingers slipping between yours and tugging you by the hand. You let him drag you inside, back into the slightly dim and blessedly cool house. “It’s okay, Yoongi,” you protest half-heartedly, but he doesn’t pay you any mind, squeezing tightly on your hand as he winds his way down the short hallway and into his bedroom.

Letting go of you to press at your shoulders and urge you to sit on the edge of his bed, Yoongi disappears back out into the hallway, only to return moments later with a bottle of green-ish clear gel. You eye it suspiciously, but he remains serious. “Aloe vera,” he explains, “it’ll help with the pain.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that bad,” you protest weakly, though even as you shrug, the drag of the fabric against the raw skin causes you to wince. Yoongi rushes forward, sitting on the bed beside you. You hiss when he gently pushes up the short sleeves of the baggy shirt, exposing the line where your usual skin tone becomes harshly reddened.

“This’ll help,” he repeats softly, and begins to rub the cool gel onto your skin. You sit in silence, watching him out of the corner of his eye as the bridge of his nose crinkles in concentration. “You should really be more careful,” he scolds, though there’s no bite to his tone. “Please don’t ever leave the house without sunscreen on days like this.”

“Okay, mom,” you joke gently, though he doesn’t laugh. “Really, Yoongi, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make a fuss.”

His hands leave you. You look up after a moment, wondering why he’s gone so silent. His face is downtrodden, staring haplessly at the gel still smeared across his fingers. “I’m just trying to take care of you,” he mutters.

Your heart breaks at the hurt in his tone, but quickly a laugh jumps out. He glances up at you reproachfully, but you just grin and point to his head. “There’s a petal in your hair, at the back,” you explain, “it must’ve been there since you were outside.”

“Oh.” He begins patting down the back of his head, but somehow he misses the bright pink petal entirely.

You reach forward, and he goes stock still as you tentatively card a few fingers through his hair, lifting the azalea out of his messy curls. “Here,” you announce, handing it over to him, “you should keep it.” He curls his fingers around it, staring at it with an unreadable expression. “It could be good luck.”

When you leave his room, after thanking him for the aloe vera (refreshingly cool on your tender skin, you have to admit it helped), he stays on the bed, eyes glued to the petal in his palm. He doesn’t come back out until dinnertime.

--

The first day Min Yoongi gets real customers is a few weeks later, late on a Saturday morning. The two young men are a strange echo of you two months ago; turned away from every other hostel and motel in the town center, they find themselves at the doorstep of Holly Lodge, desperate for a place to stay.

However this time instead of lack of vacancy, the problem for them was a lack of tolerance. With hands firmly intertwined, they proudly announce they’re ‘pre-honeymooning’; a concept you had never heard before but it seems to be an excuse to take a vacation more than anything.

While the two of them fuss over the cuteness of the little cottage, Yoongi pulls you aside. “I can turn them away if you need,” he offers. “I only have one spare room and you’re using it.”

You furrow your brow in shock. “What? Yoongi, I’m not even paying for that room! You need to put your business before me. Besides, I could always sleep on the couch.”

He’s not happy with your answer, flicking a worried gaze over to the couple, who have made themselves at home on the old couch, heads ducked together as they whisper back and forth. “I mean… I suppose,” he gives in, tugging at his earlobe nervously. “But you don’t need to sleep on the couch. You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

You open your mouth to protest, but he seems antsy to get back to the visitors, so you let it drop. As Yoongi sits down in an armchair across from them, you slip into the kitchen to begin brewing some tea, the first from the revived tea plant.

“So, the two of you are happy to stay?” Yoongi questions shyly. As the three of them begin to discuss prices and facilities, you quietly observe them. You watch the couple, the way the younger, with hair dyed a vibrant blue, leans in to the side of the older, who wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds him close. The brunette, introduced to you earlier as Seokjin, mindlessly plays with the fringing on his fiance’s jacket, as the fiance, Taehyung, looks up at him with adoration in his eyes. It twists something deep inside you, to see them so...intimate, and soon enough you can’t bear to look at them, instead flicking your gaze over to Yoongi.

Yoongi. It is an odd feeling, seeing him return to his shy, easily-flustered self. In recent weeks he seemed to have grown comfortable with you, but this brings back memories of your first few days at Holly Lodge. As the kettle bubbles away, you watch Yoongi’s cheeks lift in a flattered smile as Seokjin points out a framed photograph on the wall, one Yoongi had mentioned some time ago he took. Back then, back when you stumbled in on his garden desperate for shelter, you were too hung up on your own misfortune to really notice him, but now it’s clear to you just how much this place means to him.

There’s a blur of movement out of the corner of your eye, Taehyung waving a hand towards the garden. Instead of following the gesture, Yoongi’s eyes dart over and are met by yours. His eyebrows lift when he catches you staring, but he looks back at the couple, mouthing something you can’t hear over the whistle of the kettle.

You clear your throat, shaking away the weird lingering emotion in your chest, and quickly pour four cups of tea. Upon your return, you notice there’s nowhere for you to sit. The young couple are taking up the couch, and Yoongi occupies the only armchair. You pass out the three cups and hover for a moment. Do you even need to be here? You’re technically just another guest, and this conversation doesn’t really involve you. But then again, the spare room isn’t your room anymore, and you’d feel weird going into Yoongi’s bedroom without him.

Yoongi, sensing your hesitance, pats the arm of the chair and squishes himself into the opposite corner. You suppress a grin; an easier solution would’ve just been sitting on the floor, but it’s too late to say no to him now. You perch awkwardly on the cushioned arm, having to lean into Yoongi’s shoulder slightly to keep your balance.

He takes a sip from the steaming mug, and gasps softly, glancing up at you. “Boseong Breakfast?” he questions in wonder, and you give him a short nod. “This tastes just like... “ The space between his brows crinkles slightly, but he forces himself to brighten his expression again, turning back to the men on the couch. “Y/n grew the tea herself in our garden outside. I hope you like it!”

Your eyes prickle, and you bite down hard on your tongue, staring into the murky depths of the tea in your hands. Our garden.

Taehyung’s eyes flick back and forth between the two of you curiously, pausing for a moment. “You guys make a cute couple,” he states finally.

Your eyes fly wide open, automatically turning to Yoongi, expecting him to speak up and explain, but it seems Yoongi was waiting for you to be the one protesting too. The two of you stare at each other for a moment. “Uh, we’re not a couple,” you remark, addressing Taehyung directly. Out of the corner of your eye, Yoongi nods in affirmation. “I’m actually just a guest, I’m just helping out around the garden while I’m here.”

Taehyung doesn’t reply, simply raising an eyebrow. Seokjin, still with an arm around his partner, swallows a sip of tea and drums his fingers against the homemade ceramic mug. “We’re looking to stay for a while; a few weeks, possibly a month. Would you be able to house us for that long? We understand if you’ve got prior bookings to fulfil.”

Yoongi leans in to you slightly, his elbow nudging your thigh. “I better check my calendar first,” he quips with a gummy grin. You let out a laugh at the joke, but the other two don’t join in, just staring at you and Yoongi in slight confusion like they’re trying to work something out.

You realise how it must look, you practically perching on Yoongi’s lap, and quickly stand up, taking a seat on the carpet in front of the coffee table instead. “Anyways,” you begin, “I usually do a load of washing every day, so if you want I’m happy to do it for you. Now that it’s ready, I have more tea than I know what to do with, so help yourself to that, too. If you need anything, just let Yoongi or me know.”

“Breakfast is at 9,” Yoongi helpfully supplies from the armchair. “I usually make lunch and dinner if you’re around. Thank you for choosing to stay at Holly Lodge. I hope you have an enjoyable time here.”

The two share a meaningful look, noses almost brushing at their proximity.  The elder breaks away to take another slow sip from his mug of tea. “I’m absolutely positive we will,” Seokjin replies with a beam.

--

It doesn’t feel right. His bed is comfortable, sure, but you’re all too aware of the man over the edge, curled up in blankets on the floor. “Are you sure you don’t wanna come up?” you offer unsurely. “I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.”

“It’s fine.” His voice comes to you slightly muted by distance. “Holly is keeping me company down here.”

You frown, unsatisfied. You roll over so that you’re facing him. “The sheets are super itchy, maybe I should’ve washed them first.”

He lets out a tired chuckle, resonating in his throat. “That’s just the sheets. They’re cheap.”

“I don’t know,” you murmur, “the sheets on the other bed seemed fine.”

He shuffles a bit, sitting up. “The other sheets are Egyptian cotton, that’s why.”

You raise your eyes. “Why are you suffering in these then?”

He’s silent for a moment, mouth flat. “Sheets are expensive.”

Your heart breaks for him. Spending all his money into the perfect guest experience, when he hadn’t even had any guests until you showed up. “I’ll buy you fancy sheets for your birthday, then.”

He scoffs softly, fisting his hands in Holly’s tan curls absentmindedly. “My birthday isn’t until next year. March.”

You shrug. “And?”

He fixes you with a baleful expression. “You’ll be long gone by then.”

In the dim lighting of the evening, you can barely make out a gleam in his eyes. A sudden exhaustion takes over you, and you can’t bear to look at his dejected form anymore. You close your eyes, making yourself as comfortable as you can under the covers. The pillowcase smells like him. “Will I?”

He doesn’t respond.

“Yoongi?” you ask into the night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

“Mhm?”

“I don’t want you to sleep on the floor,” you admit. “Can you come up here?”

A pause. “With you?”

You can’t analyse his emotion with the careful way he speaks. You crack your eyes open again, staring down at him, at the way he hunches over uncertainly, cradling the sleeping dog in his lap. “I’ll stay on my side, I promise.”

His nose twitches. He tugs nervously at his earlobe. “You’re on my side,” he remarks. Your eyes widen and you begin to shuffle back. “No, no! You can stay. You can have that side.”

You scoot back over, continuing to face over the edge as he stands up, gently setting Holly down on the blankets, and comes around to hop in beside you. Though it’s summer, the cottage is always cool, and you shiver at the rush of air when he lifts the blankets. “Cold?” he questions in a murmur.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

“Here.” A weight falls over you, and you open your eyes to a dishevelled and tired Min Yoongi, folding the duvet in half so that it lays over you twofold. You go to protest, knowing he’ll be even colder than you now, but you can’t ruin the satisfied smile that plays at his lips as he pats it down, tucking the sides so that you’re snug.

Once he’s done, he disappears from your sight as he shuffles down under the bare sheets on the other side, humming happily. You let your eyes fall closed again, and breath in deeply. “Night, Yoongi.”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

You snuggle your face further into the pillow. “Sweet dreams.”

--

“How did you two meet?” You glance up from the bed of herbs you’re tending to, squinting in the sun.

Taehyung, who’s taken to lounging in the sun outside as you work, sprawls his legs out on the warm grass. With his head tipped back to receive the rays, he sighs out happily. “Senior year,” he divulges, “we were both auditioning for Romeo in the school play, but Jin got the part instead of me. We were kinda rivals at that time, I guess. But one of my friends convinced me to audition for Juliet as revenge, and somehow I got in. We started spending more time together, and…” He shrugs. “The rest is history.”

“That’s cute.” A bird chirps in the trees, like it’s sounding out its agreement. You return to gently pressing seeds into the lush soil. “I wish I could have a meet-cute like that.”

He laughs, rich and warm. “Looks to me like you’re already in one.”

You avoid the temptation to look over to the cottage, where you know Yoongi is, inside making lunch with Seokjin (who turns out to be a brilliant cook). “No,” you deflect weakly. You can’t seem to find anything else to say, and so you clear the thought from your head entirely. “Anyway. When are you guys getting married?”

He huffs at the way you change the topic, but is only too happy to indulge. “Next year sometime. We’re in no rush. Love isn’t on a schedule, you know?”

You hate the way your mind slips to how you and Yoongi have been quietly enjoying each other’s company for the past two months or so. That’s not the same, you reason. Yoongi is just a kind person, that’s all. Anyone would grow fond of him. “I bet it’ll be a beautiful wedding,” you offer, “you two seem so in love. Besides, you’re both the hottest dudes I’ve seen in my life so I’m sure the wedding photos will be fantastic.”

He laughs boisterously, mouth widening and eyes crinkling, and it draws the attention of the two men in the kitchen, the taller of which gives a jaunty wave to his fiancé. Through the open window, you can see as Seokjin then turns around, makes a comment that causes Yoongi to flush, and claps him on the shoulder. Yoongi looks up towards the two of you, but his eyes narrow and he puts his back to you, returning to the food.

Your cheery disposition vanishes, and the air darkens as the sun dips below cloud. “I’m gonna head into town later, there’s a twilight market I want to check out. The two of you are welcome to come with.” 

Frowning at the sudden shade interrupting his tanning, Taehyung gets up, wiping the grass stands off his shorts. “Yeah, why not?”

—

“Honestly, you don’t have to, I don’t mind cooking!”

Yoongi’s protests go unheard. The engaged couple, who had earlier gone off on their own tangent at the street market, were determined to use some of the fresh produce they picked up to prepare a meal.

“Come on,” Seokjin pushes, “let us treat you! You’ve been so hospitable to us. Y/n said she worked in the garden as a thank you, so we can cook you a nice meal.”

The owner ducks his hand, delicately resting it in his hands, splayed fingers barely covering the happy grin. “You’re too sweet, really,” he gushes. “That would be really lovely.” Upon Seokjin’s insistence, the four of you had cracked open some soju, and it seemed the half-bottle Yoongi had consumed already was getting to him, cheeks shiny and pink. You can’t help but smile fondly at the sight of him getting all shy at the slightest display of kindness.

“What do you say, Y/n?” Taehyung questions. “Wanna come make him a meal?”

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi. “Huh? Oh, you’d be better off without me. I’m a terrible cook.”

Taehyung’s eyes glimmer in the glare of the low evening sun. “My Seokjinnie can teach you. Come on, it’s guests serving the host tonight.”

You agree reluctantly, and the two men grab one hand each, dragging you into the kitchen. You giggle at their enthusiasm, feeling a little past tipsy yourself. “What’s on the menu, head-chef?”

The brunette purses his lips in a wry smile and reaches into one of the bags, starting to empty out the various ingredients on the bench. “Don’t worry, young grasshopper, it’s very easy. We’ll make some fresh pasta sauce and have spaghetti bolognese.”

In the end, ‘very easy’ seems to be an overstatement. After finishing off another bottle of grapefruit soju you find yourself, clumsy with the warmth of the alcohol in your belly, furiously attempting to dice some onions on a chopping board.

As Taehyung manages the tomatoes reducing in a pan, Seokjin latches onto your flailing limbs, arms wrapping around you to gently clasp your wrists. “Careful, careful,” he chastises, “you’ll chop off a finger. Tuck your fingers under, and here, cut like this.”

You pout as he guides your hands, the knife cleanly slicing through the onion half you had previously been hacking at. “Okay, Mariah Carey. No, wait; what was that old lady chef’s name? Martha Stewart. Okay, Martha Stewart. Not everybody can be an incredible cook, you know?”

Taehyung chuckles under his breath at the other end of the kitchen. “We should not have given her alcohol,” he remarks to his fiance.

With a dawning realisation and a slightly running nose, you realise the cut onion is beginning to sting your eyes. You squeeze them shut, letting Seokjin continue to chop on behalf of your hands, but that only forces the tears out. “Ouch,” you whine hopelessly, leaning your weight back onto Seokjin’s broad chest.

“Oh-!” Seokjin stops chopping, simply holding your wrists in the air as the knife dangles pathetically from your dominant hand. “Tae-bear, can you come help?”

You let out another whine as Seokjin slowly walks backwards, you half-following half-stumbling back. Once there’s enough room between you and the bench, Taehyung slips in. “Oh, darling,” he coos, “that onion was being mean to you, hm? Open your eyes.”

You do so, but keep them in a pained squint. All you can see between a blurred layer of tears is his blue hair, and the patch of colour swirls in your vision. “So mean to me,” you repeat dumbly as warm hands gently wipe under your eyes, clearing away the tears that run down your cheeks.

“Goodness, she’s definitely had too much, how many bottles did you give her?”

You feel Seokjin’s chest rumble against your back as he replies. “Like, two? It’s not even strong stuff.”

You hum happily. “You’re strong stuff,” you say, though you don’t even know who you’re talking to. The sting is finally fading from your eyes, and once Taehyung gently pats the last of the tears away, you let out a tired sigh, going even more limp against Seokjin. “I’m not hungry anymore,” you complain, “don’t want bisghetti.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Okay, I think I’m gonna take you to your bedroom now, missy, you better have a lie-down.” The knife is pried from your fingers and strong arms lift you off of Seokjin, keeping you upright as you potter out of the kitchen with Taehyung.

Behind you, you hear Seokjin sigh. “Sorry, Yoongi,” he apologises, “we wouldn’t have given her so much if we knew she was a lightweight. She’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep. I can finish off the dinn-”

“Yoogi,” you cry, wriggling in Taehyung’s grasp. You hadn’t spoken to him since you started making dinner and that’s been far too long. Taehyung tries to shush you, but you twist around to face the dining table, where Yoongi sits. You go limp when you see him. Staring blankly into the middle distance, he has a strange look on his face, lips and brows frowning in disapproval or annoyance, but eyes soft with concern. Your nose tingles viciously and tears well in your eyes. “‘re you mad a’ me, Yogi bear?”

He looks up at you suddenly, face smoothing out as his eyes widen. “Of course I’m not, Y/n.” He trails off unconvingly at the end. “Just get some sleep, okay?”

You frown, somehow unsatisfied, but nod, letting your cumbersome feet carry you to his bedroom. He sleeps on the couch that night.

--

When you wake up, your memory is fuzzy but it’s clear by the way Yoongi treats you that you must’ve done something wrong.

You don’t understand it, but he seems cold to you, sulking. Over the space of a week, you spend so little time in his company that it feels like he must be actively avoiding you. To compensate the niggling sensation in your heart, you spend more time with the boys.

They cheer you up a lot, never questioning what’s got you so gloomy. Maybe they can already tell. But you waste away your days building up a modest garden in Yoongi’s backyard in the mornings when it’s cooler, and finding stuff to do with Taehyung and Seokjin in the afternoons.

Though you still share a room with Yoongi, the night after you got drunk he chose to sleep on the floor again, and you didn’t have the heart to ask him back up. You’ve been sleeping on his side for so long that his pillow no longer smells like him anymore. You don’t sleep well these days.

You find yourself waking naturally long before he does so that you can tiptoe out of his room and get ready alone. At night, you press your ear to the door and wait to hear his little snuffles and grunts of a deep sleep before you creep in. It seems odd to have any negative feelings towards him, but he just doesn’t seem the same as the man you had grown so used to sharing a house with.

Tonight, he woke up as you were sneaking inside his room, and so the two of you lie in dim silence, both all too aware of the other. Holly is curled up beside him, you can hear the gentle snoring, but Yoongi is completely quiet. You can’t even hear him breathe.

The total lack of sound in Yoongi’s room means that another noise is amplified. You wrinkle your brow at the odd, low pitched rumble, barely audible. You know it’s coming from outside the bedroom, though where exactly you couldn’t say.

Just as you’re about to pass it off as nothing, it sounds out again, louder this time. A moan.

Realisation dawns on you when you hear it again, drawn-out and dripping with pleasure. Taehyung and Seokjin are having sex in the next room over.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you whisper into the dark. “Have they no shame?”

It’s loud enough this time that you can hear the words themselves.

“Ah, Jinnie-hyung.” You screw up your face and huff.

“...they did say ‘pre-honeymooning,’” Yoongi reasons reluctantly.

You sit up, bunching the blankets in your lap as you glare down at the bed and breakfast owner. “So you’re on-” you break off as the undeniable high pitch of a whimper echoes throughout the house. “So you’re on their side? They’re fucking in my bed!”

He frowns at you, though it’s far from intimidating with his ruffled brown curls and sunshine yellow pyjamas. “It’s not your bed, it’s the guest bed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’re fucking on your Egyptian cotton sheets.”

A fury you’ve never before seen lights up in his eyes. “My sheets!” The begrudging way he crosses his arms over his chest makes him look like a petulant child, and you snort out a laugh. “Hey,” he cries out in a stage whisper, barely louder than the pleasured moans that seem to be rising to a fevered pitch, “don’t laugh at me! Those sheets were expensive!”

You pause for a moment, trying to stay composed, but then you hear it through the thin walls.

“Fuck, cum in me, hyung!”

You clap a hand over your mouth, barely in time to muffle your desperate laughter.

Through tears, you see Yoongi try to fight the grin that tugs at the corner of his mouth, but soon enough he succumbs, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut as he laughs silently. The two of you endure a minute or so of loud cries of climax, before all goes still.

You lower your hand. You stare at each other for a moment, but after nothing happens, you sigh out in relief. Yoongi goes to plump up his pillow as you fuss with the duvet. “Thank god that’s over,” you proclaim, “now we can finally-”

“Does my Tae-bear still want more, hm? Greedy boy.”

Yoongi’s face drops. He stands up suddenly, thrusting out a hand in front of your face. As quiet whines and sighs reach your ears from the other room, you stare at it blankly. He waves it impatiently. “Come on,” he instructs, “I can’t take this anymore. Let’s get out of here.”

Though you’re uncertain what he means, you reach out and take his hand. It’s warm, and his fingers slip between yours naturally, clasping tightly. Before leading you carefully to the door, Yoongi grabs a blanket off the floor and hands it to you. He opens the door so gingerly that you can hear nothing more than the brush of the wood against the carpet.

The two of you tip-toe down the hallway. Directly outside the guest bedroom, you’re close enough to hear not only Taehyung’s desperate moans, but the pants of exertion from his fiance. Whatever Seokjin was doing to him in there, it was nothing short of athletic.

Holly, having been woken when Yoongi got up, pads down the hallway behind you happily. You wince at the jangle of his collar, but the two loud men don’t seem to notice, or at least don’t care enough to pause.

When the two of you reach the living room, Yoongi drops your hand to fiddle with the key to the back door. He slides it open and you step out in confusion, waiting for him and Holly to come through, Yoongi sliding it shut behind him, locking it and pocketing the key in a tiny breast pocket on his pyjama shirt.

Once the door shuts behind you, you no longer have to remain quiet. “What are we doing?” you question.

Holly follows faithfully as Yoongi makes his way down the backyard barefooted; determined not to be left behind and burning with curiosity, you jog to catch up. You leave the even footing of the grass and begin picking your way through the trees, going in a slight incline up the hill.

“We weren’t gonna get any sleep listening to them going at it like rabbits anyway,” he explains, “so I figured we could chill out here for a few hours and come back inside before it gets too cold. Hopefully they’ll have tired themselves out by then.”

You frown, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Fine then,” you allow, “where are you- oh!” You’re cut off as Yoongi stumbles on a tree root, falling forward onto his hands and knees. He gets up quickly, brushing off the dirt and twigs from his palms. Even in the dim lighting, you can see his cheeks are red with embarrassment, so instead of poking fun, you just move on. “Tomorrow I can go down to the convenience store and buy some earplugs. Unless you want to talk to them about lowering the volume of their nightly activities?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Get the brand that comes with three sizes, I’ve got small ear canals.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I’m sure you do, Min Yoongi.” You let the jingle of Holly’s collar fill the air for a few moments, and your companion seems happy enough with the comfortable silence. He seems to be picking out an intentional path, though there is no evidence of a well-tread route he’s taking. It’s not until Yoongi comes to a stop in a small clearing, about a third of the way up the hillside, that you open your mouth again. “What’s this?”

Yoongi sits down in front of you, patting the grass. He waits for you to sit until he begins to explain. You shake out the blanket, laying over your two laps as he speaks. “I would sneak out of the house in the middle of the night all the time when I visited my grandma, pretending to be Indiana Jones or something. I found this glade one day and it became my nightly routine to come here at eleven or twelve pm and watch the stars.” He trails off in a wistful tone, craning his neck to look up.

Naturally, you follow his gaze. Blurred in the edges of your vision are the trees that surround you on the hill, but directly above is an open expanse of blackish navy, pricked with stars. The air is fresh, and you breathe it in deeply, feeling the cool air open your chest. You let your body tip back, lying down on the grass.

Yoongi’s voice comes from above, still sitting up. “One day I came back around two or three in the morning. Instead of being in bed, my grandma was waiting at the door for me. I thought she was mad - she wouldn’t speak to me all day - but that night when I went to leave she came out of her room and handed me a torch.” You can’t help but smile at the way Yoongi speaks, deeply entrenched in his own memories, voice hushed in nostalgic wonder. “Ever since that point, we did this together. She once told me that at night, the sun puts a big blanket over the earth to say it’s time to go to bed, but since it’s so old, it has holes in it. That’s what stars are. Ah, it sounds silly now, but at the time…” His voice changes, flattens. “I haven’t been here since she passed away. I couldn’t go alone.”

Your heart breaks for him. “I’m so sorry, Yoongi.” You don’t know what else to say.

He sighs out heavily, the burden of loss. “Yeah.”

At some point over the next few hours, he lies down beside you, the two of you quietly contemplating the abyss above. Now that you’re looking at it different, it does look like a blanket. Thick blackness with pinpricks of light. You wonder what’s on the other side.

The air cools down. It’s still humid, but instead of warming you, it condenses on your neck in a cloying sweat, and beads on the grass. The tip of your nose is chilled pink, and you keep having to rubbing your hands together to warm them. You don’t want to interrupt this strange solemnity in the air, but once you begin to shiver slightly, you have no choice. “Can we head back now, Yoongi? I’m sure they’ve finished by now.”

“Hm? Yeah, okay.” He sits up and stretches with a groan, sticking out his arms and rolling his wrists. When he goes lax again, he sticks his fingers into the little pocket on his pyjama shirt. “Oh. Oh no.”

You frown, sitting up yourself. “What?”

“Must’ve fallen out when I tripped over,” he mumbles, “shit.”

“What?”

He tugs at his earlobe nervously. “I lost the key.”

“Y- what? So we’re locked out?”

“Well, just until tomorrow. When Taehyung and Seokjin get up, they can let us in. I’ll go down to the locksmith, get a new key made in no time.”

Now that you know you’re stuck here, the cold seems more insidious. You shiver again. “That doesn’t help us now, Yoongi! We’re stuck out here for the night because you wanted to go fucking stargazing.” His hurt look cuts through you like a knife, and you rush out the breath you’re holding, anger dissipating in a moment. “No, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault. I just… we’re gonna freeze out here, Yoongi.”

Guilt worries at his brow, and he tucks his knees up to his chest. “We can do our best to stay warm. The grass is still mostly dry, and there’s no wind or anything. If we huddle together under the blanket we can conserve body heat. It’s just one night.”

You stare at him for a moment, then nod begrudgingly. “Fine then,” you acquiesce. “We cuddle in order to survive tonight, and then never speak of it again.” With a flourish, you lie back down, tugging the blanket over you and turning your back to him.

Instead of a warm body, you’re met with silence. “Um,” Yoongi says finally, “I- Never mind.”

You twist your head around. “You what?”

He rubs at his cheek in embarrassment, though the dark pink blush firmly stays. “I like to be the little spoon.”

After a moment’s pause, you swivel around, holding the blanket up for him. “Come on then, little spoon,” you say softly, “get comfy.”

He offers you the smallest smile of gratitude, a flash of teeth peeking out, and turns, shuffling back until he’s pressed up against your chest. As you lower the blanket over the both of you, your arm naturally slips over his torso, curling over his tummy. The warmth of his body in your arms certainly is a respite from the cold, and clearly he agrees, because he lets out an unconscious grunt of happiness. You remember grinning into the darkness, ready to make a teasing remark, but sleep takes you before you can even open your mouth.

--

You had expected that night would bring Yoongi back to normal. That whatever strange mood had affected him in that week would be dissolved with the night you spent together under the stars. However, the next morning Taehyung and Seokjin convince you to stay at the lodge playing board games with them while Yoongi goes alone to the locksmith for a new key, and when he returns home to you curled up between the two of them, watching some dumb early-2000s rom-com on the TV, it seems his earlier grudge has returned with a vengeance.

There’s a strangely hostile tension in the air that afternoon, and when you and the boys finish up watching movies you pretend to accidentally fall asleep, just so you don’t have to go back to the room.

You begin to favor spending time with the other guests rather than Yoongi. It almost feels like you’re outstaying your welcome, but Taehyung and Seokjin seem enamoured with your company, and so day-in day-out you’re hanging out with them. After a couple weeks, you begin to view them as genuine friends. You get the impression that they hadn’t planned on staying as long as they are. Taehyung’s blue locks are beginning to grow out, hints of natural black peeking out at the roots. Seokjin has the (probably ill-founded) idea of buying bleach and dye at the supermarket, which is why you find yourself in a pair of gloves, lathering bright red hair dye on his scalp after dinner one night.

When Yoongi finished doing the dishes and saw Taehyung mixing the dye, he simply huffed and told him not to get any on the floor, then disappeared into his room. He was going to bed earlier and earlier, you noted, as well as getting up later in the mornings. You couldn’t remember the last time you held a conversation with him.

Now the three of you remaining in the kitchen sit cross legged on the floor, chatting away as the dye sets. Taehyung, with a plastic shower cap covering his hair, bangs his head back against the cabinets. “I wonder what colour I should have for the wedding,” he muses.

Seokjin’s eyes crinkle at the thought. “At the rate you’re dying it, it’ll be straw by the time you walk down that aisle.”

The younger grins, boxy. “You’ll still love me, even with scarecrow hair?”

“Of course,” Seokjin answers without hesitation. “Besides, it would grow back healthy in no time.”

“Would you love me even if I was bald?”

“Let’s not get hasty here,” he jibes, lifting his eyebrows in mock concern. “Don’t worry, Tae-bear. You’re the only man for me.”

The two laugh fondly, then fall into a silence. You know it’s a personal question, but you’ve known them for a while, so you ask anyway. “Have you guys always known? That you were attracted to men, I mean.”

Taehyung smiles, nodding languidly. “Well, both of us are bi so it’s not just men. But for me, yeah. I always knew, and then when I was in college I was a complete Casanova. Boys, girls, everyone in between. Life was a buffet.”

“Oh,” you exclaim curiously, “so you’ve been with men and women then?” He nods again. A thought strikes you. “That’s something I’ve always wondered, actually. Who are better to kiss; guys or girls?”

Taehyung scratches lazily at his scalp through the plastic cap. “Most guys are great kissers, but there’s nothing nicer than women’s lips. Luckily my Seokjinnie has the prettiest lips in the world.”

You look over as Seokjin, sitting across from Taehyung, purses his lips playfully, before shrugging. “I wouldn’t know,” he admits, “Taehyung is my one and only.”

The aforementioned pushes off the cabinet, leaning forward with an unreadable look in his eyes. “Do you want to try?”

Seokjin tilts his head in confusion. “Hm?”

“If I gave you permission and Y/n agreed to it, would you want to kiss her right now?”

“What?” You gape incredulously at Taehyung, but he’s dead serious. Looking back over, Seokjin is silent, nibbling at his lip. He’s considering it. A wave of heat rushes through you, akin to excitement. He’s one of the most attractive men you’d ever seen in your life, and you can’t deny that physical connection is something you’ve been missing in your past few months. “Are you sure, Taehyung?”

He sends you a salacious wink, turning back to Seokjin. “Think of it as a wedding gift,” he bargains, “I don’t want you to marry me feeling like you’re unfulfilled, or that you’re missing out. As long as I’m the one that gets to be beside you every night, I’m happy.”

Seokjin’s eyes soften, then dart over to you. “Y/n…”

That’s invitation enough. You lick your lips, wetting them before crawling over to the older man. He pats his thighs, and you swing a leg over, steadying yourself on his lap. His hands are light on your hips.

“Just like it’s me, Seokjinnie,” Taehyung instructs. “Well, maybe a bit gentler than if it was me. You can kiss her, hyung.”

Though the statement was directed at Taehyung’s fiance, you take the initiative to duck your head down, eyes slipping closed the moment you feel his lips brush yours. He lets out an unsure sigh, muffled against you, and you feel his fingers curl, digging into your flesh slightly.

“That’s it,” Taehyung soothes. You hear the rustling of fabric, and you crack an eye open to see him sidling up beside Seokjin, watching the two of you. “How is she, hyung?”

You work your lips against Seokjin’s for a few more moments before pulling back. The man below you has flushed skin and dilated pupils. He swallows, throat bobbing. “Soft,” he makes out.

You run a finger over his lower lip, watching it bounce back. “For someone who’s never kissed more than one person before, you’re definitely the best kisser I’ve ever had.”

He grins under your touch. “I bet Taehyungie is better.”

There must be something in the air. The hair dye fumes getting to you, perhaps. Or maybe you’re just deprived. Either way, you feel your inhibitions falling away, and an arousal-fueled confidence takes over. You send Taehyung a lustful look. “Only one way to find out.”

The tiniest nod reveals his consent. Seokjin keeps you steady on his lap by gripping your hips with strong hands, and you lean over, placing one hand on Seokjin’s shoulder and the other on Taehyung’s, ducking your head to capture his lips with yours.

They’re somewhat thinner than Seokjin’s, and you find yourself missing those plump lips against you, but the younger man more than makes up for it with his prowess. His hands wind into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you in deeper. You let out a whimper into his mouth. Unlike Seokjin, whose kiss was pure and curious, this embrace is dripping with passion, and you find yourself drowning in it, mindlessly grinding your hips into the budding hardness below. Seokjin grunts, but you barely hear, lost in Taehyung’s grip, the tip of his tongue swiping teasingly against the flat of yours.

Suddenly, Seokjin goes stock-still and the hands wrapped around your hips go iron-tight. The sudden pressure breaks you out of your haze, and you pull away from Taehyung in confusion, the latter making a confused hum, eyes fluttering open.

You freeze as you hear a cabinet open and close behind you. Unable to look, you stare at the faces of the two men you’re currently sprawled on top of, as they lower their gazes in embarrassment at being caught out. You wait, listening to Yoongi hastily grabbing himself a glass of water, before he leaves quicker than he appeared.

Once the kitchen goes silent again, you slide off Seokjin’s lap, dejectedly staring at the floor. Shame burns in your chest, mixed with regret, and all you want is for the ground to swallow you whole. You swallow down the dryness in your throat. “C-can I sleep in your guys’ room tonight?” you ask with a small voice.

The two of them look ashamed, pitying. You hate it. You hate your lack of self-control. Seokjin nods silently, and the three of you make a solemn pilgrimage into the guest bedroom. Though the two of them fall into slumber soon enough, you lie awake on the floor in a bundle of pillows and blankets, imagining what his face must’ve looked like when he walked in on you messing around with two taken men. You don’t know which one would’ve been worse: seeing a look of anger, disgust, or disappointment on his face, or you never turning around at all.

--

When you wake up the next morning you’ve made up your mind. If you hadn’t already, you’ve definitely overstayed your welcome by this point. The boys don’t stir at all when you quietly tiptoe around their room, tugging on your jeans that you had kicked off the night before, too emotionally drained to bother with pyjamas. They look peaceful and content; there’s a lump in the middle of the bed where Taehyung has swung his leg over Seokjin’s hip, and his face is tucked into the crook of Seokjin’s neck. Their hands have found each other in the night, fingers lazily intertwined as they rest over the covers. Your eyes prickle at the sight.

In the kitchen, you eat alone. On the bench, the one that gets the most sun, is a tea towel with a pile of half-dried tea leaves. You wonder if Yoongi will continue making tea once you’re gone. Part of you wants to sneak out to the plant and take some of the leaves with you; that tea is the best you’ve ever had. But you force yourself to remember that you have no right to that plant. It was easy to see this as more than what it was, especially when Yoongi had been so generous and hospitable, but you’re a guest. At the end of the day, you’re nothing more than a traveler passing through. He’ll forget about you when new guests arrive. That’s how these things were meant to be, you reason. For fear of making too much noise, you forgo the ritualistic cup of Boseong Breakfast. Your stomach roils in yearning of a hot cup to soothe you, or perhaps that’s just the dread at knowing you’re about to leave.

Your stuff is still in Yoongi’s room. Shoes, backpack, wallet. You don’t fancy leaving here with nothing but a cellphone, so you turn the knob painstakingly slowly, leaving it open and using the light of your phone screen to find your way. Though you internally scream at yourself not to, you find yourself guiding the light onto his sleeping form, casting him in the weak cold glow.

He’s curled up in a tiny ball, barely occupying a third of the bed. Instead of on the floor, Holly is right beside him, stretched out languidly in the middle, head resting on the pillow right beside Yoongi’s face. His face reflects strangely, and you frown, risking a few steps closer.

Once you’re beside the edge of the bed, you lower the light to face the floor so you don’t wake him. He’s back on his side of the bed, the one you had temporarily occupied in a time that already felt so long ago to you, and every few seconds he lets out a small grunt or sniffle. Turned in towards the center of the bed, towards Holly, his hands are folded under his face, pressing his cheek up, revealing the dried tracks of tears that glimmer on the skin. You bite your lip harshly and force yourself to turn away and keep searching for your stuff.

But as you swivel around to check this end of the room, a sudden bright reflection hits you right in your eyes. You hiss loudly, squeezing them shut. Upon a second, more cautious glance, you see the culprit is a framed pane of glass sitting atop his nightstand. Careful not to suffer the glare again, you hold your phone up to inspect it.

It takes you a moment, but when you recognise that sliver of vibrant pink, your breath rushes out of you in an overwhelmed sigh. Pressed between two panes of glass so that it lies perfectly flat and preserved, the azalea petal you had picked out of his hair that distant spring day. He really kept it.

Tears threatening to well up, you quickly stand up straight again, caring less about making noise and more about finding your stuff and leaving quickly. You find your backpack in the bottom of his closet. Remembering at the last moment that you’re still in one of his baggy t-shirts rather than the one you came in - when had you started seeing them as your own clothes? - you tug it up over your head, quickly shimmying into the cold fabric of your shirt.

“What are you doing?”

You freeze at the familiar voice, croaky with sleep. “I… I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He’s sitting up; you can see his form out of the corner of your eye, but you keep your head down, not wanting to look at him for fear of what expression would be plastered on his face. “Are you going somewhere?”

You tense your lips, nodding tightly. Now that he’s awake, there’s no need to be quiet, so you rush out his room, leaving the door ajar behind you. It’s lighter out in the living room, the first few inches of the sun as it creeps over the hills above, sending a thin streak of orange light across the carpet.

It takes a few moments, probably since he’s still groggy from just waking up, but Yoongi rushes frantically down the hallway, bursting into the living room. He halts, watching you going through your stuff to make sure it’s all there. “Where are you going?” He stands there, shoulders slumped in dejection as you just shake your head mutely. “Are you leaving me?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to apologise for my behavior last night,” you say instead. “I wrote down your bank account earlier, the one you gave Seokjin and Taehyung. When I get back home I’ll reimburse you for however many nights I stayed here.”

“Home?”

“I can’t keep staying here like some freeloader,” you explain, “I’ll get out of your hair so that you can run your business.”

“You don’t have to go,” he protests, though his voice is small, barely reaching your ears.

You let out a frustrated groan when the zipper on your backpack jams, tugging roughly at it. “It’s for the best,” you insist, though you can’t tell who it is you’re trying to convince, “I’ve clearly overstayed my welcome.”

“What does that even mean?” he questions in a wobbly voice.

You huff, chucking the half-open backpack on the couch and facing Yoongi. “I can read the signs, Yoongi. For the past few weeks you’ve been avoiding me like the plague and glaring whenever I’m around. I get it, okay? I’ll get out of your hair.”

“It’s not like that,” he defends. He pushes his curls back off his forehead, sighing out shakily. “I didn’t realise that’s how you were… It’s not you.”

You scoff bitterly, crossing your arms over your head. Both of you have given up being quiet for the sake of the other guests, and at this point you couldn’t care less if they woke up. “Oh, well then by all means, tell me what your problem is. I guess I’m too stupid to understand your fucking smoke signals.”

He furrows his brow in annoyance. “Are you serious? It’s not like you’re the poster child for mature communication.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yoongi shrugs with a petulant frown. “Fuck, I save your tea plant, harvest and prepare the leaves, do the laundry, help with Holly, entertain the guests, and-”

The muscles in Yoongi’s jaw pop when he tenses it. “You are a fucking guest! I didn’t ask for you to act like a housewife! I didn’t ask for you to do the laundry, or plant the herb garden. I didn’t fucking ask for you to suck face with the other guests in my kitchen! So don’t act like such a goddamn saint.”

You hear a door open and shut in the distance, but nothing can distract you from the pent-up rage that’s rolling off you in waves. As the sun steadily rises, the house is lit up in it’s rays, and you curse the daylight for showing you Yoongi more clearly, the way his eyes glitter with unshed tears of frustration. “Why does it matter to you what I do with them? I wasn’t aware there were rules against guests kissing at Holly Lodge. But then again, you’ve never had guests before so I guess you never got around to writing any.”

His face crumples. “That’s not my fault,” he mutters. “I wanted guests to come. I always wanted guests to come.”

You curse yourself for getting so heated, knowing this is turning ugly, but you can’t help yourself. Picking up your backpack, you storm across to the front door, calling out over your shoulder. “Don’t worry, Min Yoongi,” you snap, “you’ll get plenty of guests after I leave you a five-star review on Yelp. ‘Beautiful sights, expensive sheets, emotional turmoil. The best accommodation in Boseong.’ Have a nice life, Yoongi.”

Your hand is on the doorknob when his phone rings, a cheery ringtone of birds chirping. You don’t know what it is that makes you hesitate, but you hover at the front door long enough to hear him mumble, “oh, it’s the vets.”

Your hand falls. As much as Yoongi has hurt you, Min Holly is the sweetest old dog you’ve ever met, and curiosity keeps your feet planted.

“Hello? No, no, it’s okay, I was already awake… Ah, okay, thanks for the- He what?” With a growing feeling of dread, you swivel around in your spot, watching the emotions on Yoongi’s face play out like a movie; confusion, concern, fear. “Will he be okay?” He lets out a shuddering breath, looking around frantically. Looking for Holly. “And how quickly can I get him the operation?”

You let the backpack slide off your shoulder, gently hitting the carpet. His hand is over his nose and mouth, but you can see the wet glistening of his eyes and the way his shoulders shake. You know you’re probably the last person he wants to see, but you can’t bring yourself to leave him. Not now. Not when all you can think of is the pressed petal on his nightstand, framed like something precious. Not when you’re beginning to think that maybe you read his cold shoulder wrong after all.

“I… Can I call you back? I don’t think I can afford that, I need to contact someone who can. Okay. Yes, okay. Thank you for the call. Bye.” His voice cracks on the last syllable, and he barely manages to end the call before a broken sob is torn from his throat. “Oh, god.” His knees give out, and before you can process a response, you’re rushing forward, crouching on the floor in front of him.

“Yoongi, I’m so sorry,” you say in a hush, feeling your nose prickle with the warning of tears. He heaves another sob, crying some words you can’t make out. “Yoongi, I- You said there was someone you can call, take a deep breath, you can give them a call and get it sorted, okay?”

He wipes his face with shaking hands and blinks up at you. There’s no sign of animosity or lingering anger; when he stares at you, all you can see is a raw vulnerability. “My brother,” he manages to say in a thick voice, “but I can’t do it, I can’t speak to him.” He lets out another wail, and you sense there’s something deeper there, but you don’t have time to question it.

“Okay, I’ll call then. Unlock your phone for me, Yoongi, I’ll call.” He does so, typing in the string of numbers, 46559, three times before he gets it right with how violently his fingers tremble. “What’s your brother’s name, Yoongi?”

In the corner of your eye, you see two half-asleep young men padding down the hallway. You wave them away behind Yoongi’s back, mouthing get Holly at them. After they disappear, you bring your attention back to the bed-and-breakfast owner, who’s tucked his knees under his chin, looking more childlike than ever in his white pyjamas with daisies on them. “Joonie,” he hiccups, “call Joonie.”

Though there’s no Joonie listed as a contact, you assume Namjoon is the same person, and so you call it, reaching out to tentatively rub Yoongi’s back as it rings.

The call clicks through after only a few seconds. The voice is deeper than you were expecting, and authoritative. “Yoongi-hyung?”

With wide eyes filled with tears, Yoongi’s head picks up and he stares at you balefully, listening to the call. You put it on speakerphone. “I’m calling on behalf of Yoongi,” you explain, “I’m a friend.”

“The first call in years and it’s not even him,” he mutters, “go figure. What’s up?”

You bite your lip awkwardly. “Uh, it’s Holly. I don’t really know the details, Yoongi only just got the call, but he’s very sick. He needs an operation, urgently, it seems like. Yoongi would call, but he’s really upset at the moment.” You lock eyes with Yoongi as you speak, unable to tear your gaze away from the deep well of pain in them.

“Shit,” his brother curses, “is he there now?”

Yoongi gives the tiniest shake of his head. “He’s gone to grab some tissues, I think,” you lie, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. “But Yoongi can’t afford the treatment. I think he’s hoping you could pay for it.”

Namjoon pauses on the other end of the line for a moment. “Your voice sounds distant, so I’m assuming you’re on speakerphone. Hi, Yoongi-hyung.” You bite your lip, but the crying boy just clasps his hand over his mouth again, a fresh wave of tears. “But anyway, of course I’ll pay. There’s just one thing… If I do this, hyung, Holly is staying with me. He needs proper care and treatment, especially if he’s having surgery. The veterinarians are better in Seoul, anyway. I can make sure he’s getting the best help. Understand, Yoongi?”

Clammy fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling the cellphone a little closer. “Okay, Joonie. I understand.”

You hear some typing in the background coming from Namjoon’s end, but Yoongi’s attention is caught by the familiar jingling from down the hallway. As Holly enters in a speedy jog, Yoongi reaches out to the dog with grabby-hands, letting out a shaky sigh of relief when the dog jumps into his arms, immediately lying across Yoongi’s lap. The young man cradles his companion, tears wetting the fur on his head.

“I’ve shuffled around a few appointments,” the voice from the phone announces, and you jump at the sudden noise. “I’ll be there by this afternoon. Thanks for the call…”

“Y/n,” you supply.

“Thanks for the call, Y/n. And I’ll see you soon, Yoongi-hyung.”

--

Seokjin and Taehyung decide to make their goodbyes. They sense, rightly so, that it wouldn’t do them well to stay, and as it is they had lives to get back to. The house seems quieter with them gone, but you suppose had they been here that cheery energy would’ve disappeared.

Yoongi and you spend the day in silence, quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the turned-off television screen emptily, as Holly sleeps soundly, snoring away in Yoongi’s arms. It feels more like a funeral, this weird, drawn-out goodbye, and once Yoongi receives a text saying Namjoon has landed, he solemnly wanders around the house, collecting all of Holly’s food, dog bed (that you’d never seen him actually use) and all of his favorite toys.

For the first time, you hear the crunch of gravel as someone arrives in a car. Namjoon looks nothing like Yoongi in the bigger picture - taller, bulkier, straighter hair - but they have the same glimmer in their eyes, the same round faces. For all that Namjoon seems to be the more adult one of the two, it’s clear by the way he pulls Yoongi into a tight hug, his whole body curling into it, that Namjoon is the younger brother. As the two of them catch up over some tea, you keep your distance, sensing there were some things they needed to discuss that didn’t concern you.

You decide to take Holly on one last wander through the forest. Now that Yoongi seems to have calmed down, eyes dry, you figure you’ve done your part. Especially with Seokjin and Taehyung leaving, you find it harder and harder to ignore the pull of your life back home, your responsibilities. Your old friends and loved ones don’t text you much anymore, but when they do they ask when you’re coming back to the ‘real world’. University, a career, a house. Things that they seem to care about more than you do. Your stuff is already packed up. When you get back, you can call up the Boseong-gun terminal and see when the next bus home leaves. It’s for the best, you tell yourself.

Namjoon is gone quickly after you return. The house feels hopelessly empty without Holly. If you can feel it, you have no idea how much it must tear Yoongi up inside, and so you put on the television, hoping any noise will fill even the smallest amount of that void.

You make the two of you some ramen for dinner, but both bowls sit untouched. They’ve long gone cold before Yoongi suddenly sits up, muting the ads on the TV. You stare at him uncertainly.

“I… wanted to thank you,” he says slowly, “for staying with me. You didn’t have to, but I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.” He picks at some stray dog hairs that are embedded in the fabric of the couch. “I’m scared to be alone again.”

Your face falls. All thoughts of returning home are rendered void. You can’t leave him. “Of course I’ll stay,” you promise in a whisper.

He swallows, shuffling around so that he faces you on the couch. “You’ll stay,” he repeats in a chant. His gaze dips, then flickers back up to yours again. With brows furrowed like he’s unsure of what he’s doing, he leans forward and presses a tentative kiss across your lips.

You freeze. His hand rests on your knee, the lightest pressure, and he kisses you again, insistent this time like he’s begging for a response. Your heart breaks as you reach up and push his chest, separating him from you.

His eyes flutter open and his bottom lip trembles. “I don’t understand…” He retracts his hands into his lap, leaving your knee cold with his absence.

“You’re not in the right frame of mind, Yoongi,” you explain, “you’ve had a long day, and- Yoongi…” He stands up abruptly, and you reach out to him, but he waves your hand away.

“Goodnight,” he says shortly, leaving the room.

You sigh out and tip your head back, banging it against the couch headrest. Why did it feel like no matter what you did, it hurt?

--

You stay. Just like you promised, you stay for him.

You don’t see him anymore, but you drop off three meals a day at his door, and in the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep, sometimes you hear him showering, or grabbing a snack. Sometimes you hear him leave the house, only to return hours later. It feels strangely intimate that you know exactly where he goes on those nights.

You find out through eavesdropping on Yoongi’s calls to Namjoon that Holly got the operation. Though you still don’t know what exactly happened, there’s talk of a cast, and physical therapy. You hope he’s doing okay.

Although you understand Yoongi is upset about his companion being taken from him, you expect eventually he’ll come around. You wait day-in, day-out for him to open the door and come back to reality. You struggle away in the kitchen learning to cook, hoping to entice him with wafts of spice. You start loudly making calls to friends and family, highly recommending Holly Lodge. You even knock on his door in excitement when a little hedgehog trundles into the backyard one day, thinking maybe his pure love of nature will draw him out, but nothing works.

And then, after the leaves begin to burnish in autumn shades, you know you’ve been here too long. You sit down outside his doorway, head leaning against the closed door. “Yoongi,” you call out.

He doesn’t answer. You don’t even know if it’s awake or not. The thought that he might not even be listening gives you a strange confidence.

“Yoongi,” you repeat, “I don’t know what to do anymore. You can’t stay in there forever. I know I said I would stay. And I’ve done my best to keep that promise. But this isn’t healthy, for either of us. Please, just come out and have a meal with me. Come for a walk; we could go stargazing tonight. Anything, Yoongi.”

Silence.

“It’s time for me to leave,” you reveal lowly. “There’s nothing else I can do to help you. I… The bus back home leaves tomorrow, but it leaves early, so I’m going to stay in town overnight. I’ve already called Mrs. Na. She’s got a room for me at the motel.” You sigh out at the continued lack of response. “I’m telling you this, Yoongi, because once I go you need to start doing things for yourself. I’ve thought long and hard about this because I’m-” you break off, blinking quickly to fight the tears that spring to your ears. “Because I’m scared that you’ll forget to eat, and get sick. I’m scared of leaving you alone like this, but I don’t know what else to do.” You sniffle, clearing your throat and standing. “Goodbye, Yoongi.”

--

It takes you longer than normal to follow the gravel road back into town. Mostly because of the way your eyes will fill with tears, and you’ll stumble on the uneven footing here and there. Or maybe it’s your body’s last cry of protest, not wanting to leave at all.

Either way, when you reach it, the motel is nice enough. Check-in isn’t until 3 in the afternoon, apparently, so you mope in the lobby for a few hours, curled up on the armchair. Mrs. Na peeks over her magazine every couple of minutes, but you refuse to look back until she’s waving you over with a manicured hand.

“Single room for one night?”

You nod in confirmation, already fishing around your backpack for your wallet to pay. Having paid for the groceries yourself over the past few weeks, your account is running concerningly low. “Thanks for-”

“Finally got tired of the love shack, huh?”

You blink at the interruption, freezing. “Excuse me?”

The bitter wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepen as she frowns at you. “Don’t play coy, dear. You two little lovebirds have been the talk of the town. You stay here for months, and then out of nowhere, you don’t leave the lodge for weeks. I guess there must be trouble in paradise.”

You fight the urge to snap at her, knowing she’ll only kick you out. “It isn’t like that. There were some personal issues that needed sorting out, that’s all.”

She raises her eyebrows patronisingly, turning to reach for one of the keys hung up behind the desk. “The only personal issue I can see is how inappropriate it is for a young woman like yourself to be living with three young men.”

You bite your tongue. Just one night. Instead of replying, you simply hold out the last of your cash, a flat palm ready to accept the key in return.

She takes the cash delicately, making sure not to touch your hand itself at all, and then holds out the key. “I just want you to know that my motel does not tolerate any untoward behavior. You better not be trying to whore yourself out to my custom-”

You jump as a hand cuts into your line of vision and bats the hand away. Mrs. Na recoils in shock, still gripping the cash tightly, and widens her eyes at the newcomer.

Turning around in disbelief, you watch as Min Yoongi reaches over and tugs the notes forcefully from her hand. “I’ve had it,” he spits out.

“Yoongi,” you breathe in awe, but he ignores you.

Wearing a dusty pink sweater and grey skinny jeans, he somehow still manages to strike an intimidating image. His shoulder gently nudges you, pushing you behind him. “No, I’ve had it,” he repeats more forcefully. “You can insult me, you can insult my business, my house, even my family. But I will not stand here and let you insult the woman I love.”

Both you and Mrs. Na gape at him, and this sudden burst of confidence.

Yoongi slips his hand into yours, squeezing tightly. He glares at Mrs. Nah one last time. “And your tea always tasted like shit, that’s why you went out of business. Come on, Y/n, we’re going home.”

He doesn’t let your hand go the entire way back to the lodge. You don’t want him to, either, because your chest feels so light it seems like he’s the only thing anchoring you with this strange swirling inside you. He doesn’t speak, only rushing you back up the slight slope to the lodge, to home, and when you finally arrive you see the door swinging on its hinge in the breeze, wide open.

Yoongi doesn’t address it. It seems like he’s desperate, feverish, to get you inside. In an odd mirroring of your first night together, he leads you directly to the guest room, hand firmly clasping your own.

“Yoongi, what’s going on?”

He tips his chin forward suddenly, then shakes his head and falls back. “Talk first,” he mumbles to himself. Then, back at you: “Y/n. I know I’m not good with words, or silent yearning looks, or smoke signals. So I’m going to be really clear now, just in case you didn’t hear it back at the motel.”

You can’t help but crack a grin at the earnest statement, giggling quietly. Yoongi pouts at you, but returns your smile reluctantly. Your heart leaps. He hasn’t smiled since that night under the stars. “I did hear it,” you admit, “but I sure would love to hear it again.”

“I love you, Y/n,” he confesses, “I’m so hopelessly in love with you that I didn’t even realise it at first. I’m so in love with you that I didn’t know what to do with myself, how to act. I felt like I couldn’t be around you for too long because my heart would ache. But then avoiding you just felt even worse. And when I saw you with the boys…”

“It didn’t mean anything,” you defend quickly, but Yoongi just furrows his brows.

“That’s not what I mean… It made me realize that I had no right to be angry or jealous, because I didn’t even have the courage to kiss you like they did. Even if it meant nothing for you or for them, I hated that I was too scared to do the same.”

You release all the air you didn’t realise you’d been holding. “That day Namjoon came. When you kissed me…”

Yoongi nods, slowly sitting down onto the edge of the bed, looking at your hands, still intertwined. “I wanted to tell you in words,” he admits. “I really was so scared you were gonna leave me, and I didn’t think I could take it. But I just couldn’t say it. So, I did the only thing I could think of.” He lets out a noisy breath, flicking you a sad smile. “But I guess I misread the situation. Even after I saw you with Taehyung and Seokjin I still thought maybe you liked me too. Sorry for making things weird.”

You shake your head, but he’s not looking at you anymore, so you sit down beside him, clasping your other hand over the two of yours. “You didn’t misread the situation. I didn’t want things to go further that night because I thought you might regret it in the morning. But you didn’t misread the situation. I… I’ve liked you for a long time. And I’ve never felt this way before, but I think it might be love.”

His eyes are on you, bright with hope and realisation. Having forgone a haircut for a little too long, droopy curls hang low over his brows, and he scrunches his nose unconsciously at the tickle. You look over his button nose, the roundness of his cheeks. His delicate pink lips slightly parted as he gives you his full attention.

A smile stretches across your face. “Actually, I’m sure. I love you, Min Yoongi. So much.”

His mouth turns up in pure happiness, flashing his gums for the first time in months. He searches your face for a moment, like he can’t quite believe it, then does something you’re not expecting.

He pulls you into a tight hug.

You immediately feel all tension leave your body at the feeling of his arms wrapping around you, chin resting on your shoulder. You bury your face into his neck and sink into his embrace. You think for the both of you, it’s been a very long time since you’ve had one.

“I don’t deserve you,” he praises quietly.

You squeeze him tighter, breathing in his natural scent, slightly floral, like the smell of his garden in spring. “You deserve the world.”

Instead of letting go, after a few moments he turns his head slightly, so that his nose brushes against your neck. You shiver when you feel his lips pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin of your throat. “Yoongi,” you murmur,  your body already responding to him, head tipping outwards to give him more room.

He works slowly, reverentially, sucking enough to make you tremble, but not so harshly to leave anything more than gentle pink marks. You sigh, eyes slipping closed in pleasure. You can feel his lips moving, like he’s whispering against your skin, making his way lower, but when his teeth scrape your collarbone lightly, you grow impatient.

You press your fingers insistently under his jaw and lift him, immediately capturing his mouth in a kiss that’s simultaneously exciting and reassuring, his lips molding against you as his back arches up, seeking every bit of contact he can get. You slide an arm around him, running it up and down his back soothingly. With the way his fingers curl desperately onto your shoulders, it seems like it’s been a while for him, just like it has for you. “Lie down,” you instruct softly, breaking from the kiss to help lower him to the bed.

You shuffle over for him to put his legs on the bed too, fully on his back, and then you straddle his hips, brushing his face fondly as you join your mouths together again. He seems all too happy to let you take control, eyes closed in bliss and jaw slack as you move lower, pressing countless small kisses down his cheek, jaw, and neck, until you’re propping yourself up on your forearms, laving at the skin. You can feel his pulse jumping under your tongue, and his throat bob every time he swallows. Sometimes, the skin vibrates gently, and you hear him letting out soft whimpers.

It’s not until his neck sports a spray of blossoming purple and dark pink that you sit up, a thought striking you. “Wait; why aren’t we in your bedroom?”

He blinks up at you, pupils blown wide, but eyes wider. “I wanted the Egyptian cotton sheets.”

You laugh breathily, clasping his face gently in your hands. “God, I love you.” His cheeks grow warm beneath your hands as his eyes soften in happiness. With his lips slightly pursed in your grasp, you bend down again and join your lips together.

He tastes sweet, and he has a patient yet passionate way of reciprocating the kiss, straining his face up to deepen it if he feels you pulling away too much. You could stay like this forever. As you feel his tongue shyly begin to slip out of his mouth, darting against your lip in tiny strokes, you feel a familiar sensation billow in your chest. The same feeling you had in those first few weeks, when everything felt magical and separate, like a little slice of heaven. Now, it’s far stronger, because at the center of your paradise is him.

You break off from his lips, nudging his head to the side with your nose and pressing a chaste kiss just below his ear. “Do you want to go further?” you question in a hushed whisper. “We can take this slow if you want.”

Looking up at you, he shakes his head hastily. “Please,” he sighs, “I want you.”

“Okay.” You sit up again, hovering over him. “Have you done this before?” He nods easily. “Let’s take this shirt off, then, hm?” He swallows when you play at the hem of his pink sweater, but nods after a moment.

Although it’s autumn, and he probably should’ve been layering up, it seems like he left the house in a hurry since he’s not wearing an undershirt. As you lift up the fabric inch by inch, more bare skin is revealed, unblemished other than a few moles. You trail your fingertips over them, feeling him shiver beneath you. The thought occurs to you that a time will come when you know the location of every one by heart, could map them out on the planes of his body with your eyes closed. Your heart aches at the thought, overwhelmed by it.

Having been in his room, sedentary for weeks, he’s developed a small paunch just above his waistband, filling out his hips a bit. He blushes, turning his head to the side shyly when you look over him.

“You’re beautiful, Yoongi,” you assure him wholeheartedly. “Absolutely perfect. Arms up for me?”

He obediently raises his limbs, wiggling out of the sweater. Once you toss it on the ground, you quickly remove and discard your own shirt, not wanting him to feel too self-conscious. His eyes light up at the sight of your bra, and you see his fingers twitch.

“Want me to take it off?” you question rhetorically, chucking lightly when he nods. Instead of doing as he wishes, you instead grab his hands and guide them around your back, leaning over so he can reach the clasp. “They’re hooks,” you explain, “so push the two sides towards each other, and then out.”

“I know how to take off a bra,” he mutters petulantly, though he fumbles with the hooks for a few moments, before finally getting them free and slipping the fabric off your body. You pull your arms out, and laugh when he flings it dramatically across the room, so that it smacks the wall and lands in a pitiful heap. “I hate those,” he mutters, half to himself. “They just get in the way.”

"I know something else that's getting in the way," you counter, and stand up off the bed, unbuttoning your jeans and shimmying out of them. "Do you want yours off too?"

He hesitates for a moment. "Can we... Can we turn the light off, or something?"

"Of course, if it makes you feel more comfortable." You quickly pad over to the other side of the room, flicking the light switch by the door.

It's clear that some time has passed since the two of you returned home by the way the room is plunged into a dim evening gloom when you turn the light off. "Too dark," Yoongi mumbles unhappily, and crawls over the mattress to reach the lamp on the bedside table, flicking it on and pushing the head of the lamp down so that it's just enough to see by. His face looks softer in this glow, and more relaxed. He gets out of his jeans quietly and without fanfare, settling back onto the bed.

In nothing but your underwear, when you lie down beside him and pull him into a languid kiss, you can feel the stiff peaks of your nipples pressing against his chest. He shivers in the cool air, mouth slack as you take control of the kiss. You’re all too happy to take things slow, not wanting to rush him, and so you lose track of time, simply kissing him until Yoongi is the only thing filling your thoughts.

After a time, your kisses become more frantic; sucking, nibbling, licking until your lips are swollen and slick. You let your hands roam the planes of his body, flat palms running up his chest and slipping over the curve in his lower spine. You swing a leg over his hips and gently press your heel, urging him closer until there’s nothing but the two layers of thin fabric keeping you apart. 

You sigh into his mouth when you feel a thumb swipe over one of your pebbled nipples, sending a bolt of pleasure straight down to your core. 

“Is this okay?” he questions as he begins to gently roll it between his fingers. You arch your back, pressing yourself into his hand, your kisses growing sloppy. “Feels good?” You groan out your confirmation, clenching your thighs tighter as he keeps the same delicate pressure, tugging lightly at it to see how stiff it can get between the pads of his fingers. 

“Yoongi,” you breathe, “so good.” You bask in the sensation for a while longer, before you can no longer maintain your mouth on his. You clasp your hand over the one of his that cups your breast, gently pulling it away. “I want you, Yoongi.”

He stares at you, eyes wide with anticipation as you lower yourself, getting comfortable between his legs, face just above his clothed crotch. “You don’t have to-” he protests weakly, but you cut him off, patting the top of his thigh reassuringly.

“I want to,” you counter. “You took care of me when I had nowhere to stay, you took care of me when I got sunburnt. You even took care of me with Mrs. Na. So let me take care of you, baby.” 

You slip the fabric of his underwear down over the swells of his ass, watching as his cock springs up and rests on his stomach. It seems silly to say, but he’s got the most beautiful dick you’ve ever seen. Leaving his underwear half-on around his thighs, you take him gently in your hand, mouth watering. 

With a delicate pink head and a graceful curve, he’s smaller than you would’ve expected, but somehow this dainty cock fits him perfectly. It looks beautiful in your hand, and when you pump him, beads of precum pool in his slit, threatening to spill over. 

You take him in your mouth, flicking your tongue against the underside of his tip as you create some suction. He lets out a satisfied sigh, muscles tensing. After taking him deep in order to get him lubricated enough, you slip off him with a pop and begin jerking your wrist, working him to pull more moans from his swollen lips. 

“Feels so nice,” he praises, though he can’t stop from wiggling under your ministrations, the elastic around his thighs keeping him from moving much. 

When you suck him down again, you keep your eyes up, wanting to drink in his reactions. Eyes bunched shut in pleasure, he’s fully unaware of your gaze. 

He looks beautiful, even from this angle, and you’re struck by the fact that this will be the first time of many, that you’ll see him from below like this many times in the future, and that soon you’ll be able to decipher every twitch of his eyebrows and every gasped cry. 

Suddenly his eyes are opening, staring down at you in awe, and you feel your heart swell. You can’t take it anymore. You give him one last flick of your tongue, and crawl up his body to join your mouth to his, reveling in the way his two tastes mingle in your mouth. 

“I need you,” you chant against his lips, “are you still okay to take this all the way?” 

He nods quickly, but rubs behind his ear. “Could we get under the covers? I tend to, uh, fall asleep pretty quickly afterwards so I don’t want to freeze overnight.”

You laugh softly, sitting up to slip your panties off before you tuck yourself under the sheets. When you turn to wait for him, he’s frozen with his mouth hanging half-open. You give him a confused smile. “What?”

He blinks, shakes his head a bit to clear his thoughts, and cracks a wonky grin. “I’m somehow the luckiest and most stupid man in the world.” 

“How do you figure that?”

He kicks his underwear off the rest of the way and scoots under the blankets to join you, propping his head up with his hand as he lies on his side. “I’m the luckiest because I’m in love with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, and she for some reason loves me back.” 

You smile softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek, feeling his eyelashes flutter against your skin. “And why are you the stupidest?” 

“It took me this fucking long to do anything about it.”

You let out a loud laugh, reaching out for his hand to entwine your fingers again. The movement feels natural and the warmth of his palm in yours is already familiar and reassuring. “Let’s make up on lost time, then.” 

He grins, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, then gasps. “Wait,” he pouts, “I have to go grab a condom!” 

You push yourself up and reach over his body to the nightstand on the other side of the bed. “Don’t worry,” you assure, “the lovebirds have us covered.” 

In the drawer are three boxes of condoms. You rest on top of Yoongi’s bare chest as you reach into the open one, fiddling around for a square packet in the almost-empty carton. 

Yoongi leans over and widens his eyes. “God, how many times did they fuck in here?” When he cranes his neck, he sees the two full boxes beside the one you took. “How many times were they planning to fuck in here?”

You giggle, sitting up again, but it’s cut off by a drawn-out moan. You look down to see Yoongi latched on to your nipple, looking up at you innocently through his brown curls. You groan again, feeling his tongue swipe against it and his teeth nibble on it teasingly.

He pulls off you with a wet pop, hand coming up to massage at it, soothing away the slight pain from the bite. “Sorry,” he mutters off-handedly, though it’s clear he doesn’t really mean it, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

You grin and swing a leg over his hips, straddling him with his cock resting just in front of your bare pussy. He swears lowly and tips his head back onto the pillows. “Don’t apologise,” you assure, “I liked it. In fact, feel free to do that again anytime.” 

He blushes hotly, and as you bring your hand down to palm at his stiff cock, you marvel at the fact that he’s still so flustered around you. You wonder how long he’ll take to build his confidence, or if he’ll always be your sweet, shy boy in the bedroom. As you let go of his hand to rip open the packet and slide on the condom, you’re not sure which outcome you’d want more. He does look so beautiful splayed out in below you, neck blooming in colour from your markings. 

“Ready?” you check in one last time. Yoongi breathes out deeply and nods, but clutches his right hand out in front of you. You interlock your fingers with him once more and sit up on your knees, using your free hand to line him up. 

His whole body trembles when you sheath yourself on him in one swift movement. His eyes are furrowed shut, lips parted in pleasure. You can see his knuckles whiten as they grip the sheets and your hand. “Y/n,” he breathes out in a tight voice, “go slow. Please.” 

You bite your lip at the feeling of him inside you, clenching your folds to increase the friction as you lift up off him slowly. Creating a slow but deep pace, you let the sounds of his delicate cries fill your ears. He’s not noisy, but just very vocal, every breath coming out as a whine or moan of pleasure. “You’re so good for me, baby,” you praise breathlessly. “My good boy.” 

His hips buck up and you hiss as he inadvertently thrusts into you deeper than before. “God,” he whines hopelessly. 

“I thought you said slow,” you tease, resting your interlocked hands on the bed and trailing the fingertips of your other hand over his chest lightly, feeling the way his dick twitches inside you when you pass over his nipple.

He makes a noise of disagreement, tossing his head side to side when you begin to slowly swirl your hips, grinding on him rather than riding him. “Wan’more,” he pleads. 

You grab his other hand, keeping them both pinned to the pillow on either side of his head as an anchoring point for you to keep yourself steady as you begin to pick up your pace. 

He writhes beneath you so beautifully, and that paired with the grind of his cock inside you brings you to the edge after only a few more minutes. Yoongi is clearly suffering the same lack of longevity by the way his moans are short and high pitched, thighs trembling in desperation. 

Rather than words, you indicate you’re close by bending down and joining your lips together again, wanting to be as connected with him as possible when you reach your edge. The moment he moans your name into your mouth, you feel a powerful orgasm spread through you, coming from within and igniting pleasure in all your nerves. Your toes curl and your pace stutters, but you force yourself to continue as long as you can, grinding on him when you don’t have the strength to bounce up and down. He comes with a cry, clutching your hands so close they hurt, mindlessly babbling confessions of love. 

True to form, he indeed becomes very sleepy very fast, and you have to take the condom off for him as the moment you get up off him, he lets out a tired mumble, nuzzling his face into any skin of yours close enough in his sleep. 

You laugh silently, fondly, and join him under the heated covers, wrapping an arm around his middle, just like that night under the stars. 

—

You wake up before him that next morning. 

Although it’s late autumn, the sun streams in lazily through the crack in the curtains, casting a warm glow over his delicate body. He grunts unhappily when you separate yourself from him, and in his sleep he turns around, seeking your warmth. 

When you dress quietly, opting for his oversized sweater and some panties rather than your own clothes, you listen to the regular sound of his breathing, feeling it calm you. His hair is sticking up in all directions and he’s drooling out the corner of his mouth, but still, you’ve never seen a more beautiful sight than Min Yoongi. 

The soft pink of his sweater brings to mind a different shade, a vibrant one. The azalea petal that presumably still resides on his nightstand, the one he kept all those months ago. Did he really love you that whole time? 

You smile softly at the thought, and tip-toe out the guest room, towards the kitchen. With the only sound being the chirping of the birds outside, you grab the jar of Boseong Breakfast tea, and pull out two mugs. 

[dindjarinbae]

Safe and Sound (Kylo Ren x Reader)

request from @thefandomnetworkingchannel-32 : Can I have a request for Kylo Ren where the reader is dating him and is being trained by him? One day as they are training in the snowy forest, disaster strikes as an avalanche occurs. Kylo was able to escape it while the reader got trapped under the snow. When he goes looking for her, he digs her out just in time as she was running out of oxygen. He than takes her back to base and takes care of her, making sure she was okay.

okay hi, first of all, it took me nearly twenty minutes to decide on this dumb title, and second: i loved this so much. protective and soft kylo>>>>> thank you so much for the request, i hope i didn’t run too far with it. <3 also just a reminder that requests are open and i would adore to get some more! i’ll literally write whatever you want.

 TW: none really

 WC: 2240

“Again.”

You let out an indignant breath and looked at Kylo, sweat beading along your hairline, “What do you mean ‘again’?” You asked and ran the back of your arm over your forehead.

Even though it was freezing and snowing outside, Kylo had insisted that you allow him to take you out to the forest to train. You loved him, you really did, but he was a beast when it came to your training. A few years ago, he had found you on Tatooine on one of his missions, and it almost seemed like fate drew him to you. Life wasn’t easy for you by any means before he had found you. You had made a living on your own working on ship repairs after your parents had died and you had led a fairly lonely life until you met Kylo. He had sensed The Force within you and was quick to pluck you right off of your home planet, offering to teach you how to use the power you hadn’t even known you had. After that, falling in love was inevitable for both of you.

The two of you were practically inseparable, walking the halls of the Starkiller Base hand in hand, and it was learned by each and every man, woman, and stormtrooper that you were not to be touched or disrespected in any way whatsoever. Kylo made that very clear and was sure to exemplify his acts of violence against anyone that even looked at you wrong to everyone as a warning. Though you were capable of taking care of yourself, Kylo seemed to take pride in being your protector, and this certainly reflected in his training with you. He seldom took it easy on you, insisting that you needed to be able to defend yourself if there was ever a situation where you needed to. Thus why he always had you out in the cold of the ice planet that the First Order called their base, training until your legs wanted to give out and your arms wanted to fall off.

“I mean exactly what I said. That wasn’t right, your footing is off. Plus, you almost slipped on the snow. I told you that your balance needs to be better. So do better,” he explained and watched you, motioning for you to lunge at him again as he raised his crackling lightsaber.

You groaned and activated your small training saber and rolled your head a few times before finding your footing to lunge at him. You clenched your jaw and pounced, striking your saber downwards onto his. Expecting him to swing back or even fight you off, you quickly jumped to the side. But instead, all he did was laugh, his snow-dampened hair falling around his face, sticking to his cheeks.

You furrowed your brows together and shook your head, stepping back, “What are you laughing at, Kylo?” You asked, not amused.

He clicked his saber off and hooked it securely on his belt before he shook his head, his laugh fading into a soft chuckle, “You just look unbelievably cute when you’re so determined. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit,” he admitted and placed his gloved hands down on your waist.

Moments like this were rare with Kylo, and you made sure to cherish them, because he wasn’t really a laughing type. Or an emotion-showing type in general. You shivered a bit and took note that you were very underdressed in your simple long sleeved tunic and tight black pants compared to Kylo in his full black outfit and cape. You absentmindedly holstered the saber hilt on your belt and leaned against Kylo, your head resting against his chest, trying to warm your nose and cheeks. He hummed and wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in closer.

You slid your arms behind him and shivered just a bit, trying to warm them in his cape. He shifted just enough so that the thick, dark fabric of his cape draped over your shoulders just slightly and he clicked his tongue, “What have I told you about dressing warmly?” He asked and looked down at you.

You smiled sheepishly and shrugged, “Only that it was important that I did.”

“Mhm. Do you want me to go get your coat for you?” He asked and looked down at you, his pale face showing no signs of the cold. You really wondered if he was human sometimes.

You nodded and he slowly pulled away from you, “Stay put. Work on your balance while I’m gone. I’ll be right back,” he pointed towards the tall metal structure of the base, “Five minutes.” He promised, and you nodded. Kylo was very punctual, so you didn’t fret about him not being back a second later than five minutes.

He kissed your cheek, and you sighed in relief at the feeling of his warm lips against your cold skin. He nodded towards you and began to briskly walk back towards the base, black fabric billowing in his wake.

You looked around yourself at the snowy forest. Snow fell from the sky and there were dead trees which the snow stacked on, weighing the branches down. The fading sunset made the snow up on the large mountain which you stood at the base of glow a soft shade of orange, and all you could do was stare in awe. You turned away from the mountain and reached down to cup some snow in your hand and pack it into a round ball, with the intention of maybe starting a good natured fight with Kylo when he came back.

A loud rumbling from behind you was enough to make you jump a bit and you dropped the half made snowball onto the ground beneath you while you snapped your head over your shoulder just in time to see a wave of snow cascading dangerously fast down the mountain side.

You gasped and began to run away from the impossibly quick river of snow behind you, trying to make your way to the base as fast as you could. You remembered in your panicked state about Kylo telling you of the avalanches that often occurred upon ice planets such as this one and how deadly they were, and the memory alone was enough to make you run faster, your chest burning for a proper breath of air. At this point, the cold was the least of your worries as you trampled your way through the deep snow. And just as you had gotten nearly to the base of the hill that would’ve saved you from the raging avalanche behind you, your boot found no traction on a thick patch of ice beneath your feet, and you fell backwards, your head smacking the ice with a sickening crack, and the last thing you saw was a blanket of white settling down upon you heavily.

—

Kylo carried your coat over his arm as he walked down the main hallway to the airtight metal door outside when he heard yelling behind him. He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes as a handful of men in uniforms ran towards him, followed by Hux walking haughtily behind them. Once they were a respective seven feet away from Kylo, he raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the door.

“Hux, have your men open this door immediately. y/n is outside waiting for me,” he commanded and Hux’s face flushed itself of all color, and this did not go unnoticed by Kylo, “What? Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost? Open the door immediately,” He spat snappily and Hux shook his head speechlessly.

“Ren, The eastern peak just had the largest avalanche we’ve seen since landing, there’s- there’s no possible way she is still... out there,” he explained, his tone thick with nervousness.

Kylo’s eyes widened and he dropped the thick black coat that was draped over his arm, “Open the door. Now! And assemble a search team!” He commanded, his hands balling into fists. Fear crackled through his stomach like lightning, the fear that you were hurt, the fear of losing you. Hux complied reluctantly and the door opened, and no sooner as it was it possible to exit, Kylo was out the door, marching through the cold. He walked up over the steep hill prefacing the deep valley at the base of the mountain and he looked down at the deep ocean of snow. You could’ve been absolutely anywhere.

He closed his eyes and tried to reach out to you. He knew you weren’t dead... yet at least. Time wasn’t a luxury he could afford he found out, as he could feel your energy lessen more and more by the second. In a frenzy, he dashed down the hillside and waded out into the deep snow up to his waist, calling your name as if it would help.

He grew more and more desperate to find you as he could feel you barely there in the back of his mind, and he tried to reach out to you with the Force. But this turned out to be useless, because you couldn’t respond. Hux’s men filled the hillside behind him and were making their way through the deep snow as well, searching for you. Kylo walked along the edge of the hillside, and his boot hit something hard.  Anxiously, he reached down and grabbed it, pulling your saber up out of the snow. His heart raced in his chest and he began to dig around himself in every direction that he could. He snarled angrily as the snow seemed to be only regenerating where he dug it away, and he could sense that you had mere seconds left to live. Those seconds seemed to tick down painfully slowly until he saw the bare skin of your hand. He quickly grabbed it and yanked your unconscious body up, gathering you into his arms.

He looked down at you and leaned down to press his ear against your chest, and was relieved when he heard your weak heartbeat. As quickly as Kylo had come down the hillside, he was trudging his way back up. He reached behind himself and yanked his cape away from his tunic and he draped it over your body as he walked inside of the base, paying no mind to the bewildered General Hux calling for his men to get back inside of the base.

Kylo practically ran with you through the winding halls to the infirmary, clutching your body close to his chest, his hair a soaking mess on his head. He walked into the medbay and he angrily grunted, “Get her help! Now! She’s dying!” He yelled and a few medics scuttled toward him as he laid you down on a table. He didn’t move once as they worked to get you hooked up to oxygen and cut your cold, wet clothes away from your body. He slapped their hands away from you as they tried to redress you, and insisted that he could do it himself, muttering something about no one else laying their hands on you when you were unclothed.

He was uncharacteristically gentle as he slid the warm, dry, loose fitting clothes on your body, and once you were clothed, he sat down by your bedside and held your hand gently with one of his hands, using the other to carefully push your wet hair away from your forehead, sighing, “My sweet girl, I’m sorry,” he mumbled and leaned over your bed to place a small kiss to your temple. He got up and located a blanket before returning to you and laying it out across your body. He stayed by your bedside through the night, and it wasn’t until morning that you were able to find yourself slowly entering consciousness.

Kylo had stayed awake all night watching you, keeping you warm, keeping your hair away from your face, and when your eyelids fluttered open, he let out a long sigh of relief.

“Kylo? Where are we?” You asked hoarsely and he frowned, shaking his head.

“Don’t speak. Just rest please. You’re at the medbay because you got caught up in an avalanche,” he explained and squeezed your hand gently, “I should’ve stayed out there with you. I’m so sorry,” he breathed and frowned, regret painting his pale face.

You shook your head weakly and chuckled, “No, it was my fault. You said it yourself, my balance needs to be better,” you said playfully, trying to get him to crack at least a small smile.

He scoffed and shook his head, “Oh, shut up,” he dismissed and turned his head away, but he certainly wasn’t angry.

“I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter though, because as long as I’ve got you, I’m as good as immortal,” you teased and squeezed his hand a few times.

He looked back at you and rolled his eyes, leaning down to peck your lips, “Something like that,” he muttered and rested his forehead against yours, “why don’t we train inside next time, yeah?” He asked and pulled away to look down at you.

You nodded and smiled up at him, “And it only took an avalanche for you to finally let me train somewhere other than a snowy forest,” you laughed.

And as Kylo turned his head, you swore you saw the smallest smile begin to form on his lips.

[solacryptid]

Unexpected Fate

Inheritance Cycle (Eragon) & Lord of the Rings Crossover Summary: Vilansia and her dragon, Svellevarina, have spent many years training the young dragon riders alongside Eragon and Saphira. But their time of adventure has come. The people of Middle Earth have called for aid and Alagaesia will answer.

Chapter 5: The Pass of Caradhras.

To say that we were a complex group would be an understatement. During our travels thus far I had done my best to become more acquainted with everyone, though Svellevarina was content to let the others come to her. The exception to this was the four Hobbits, as she continued to grow a soft spot for them. I did not think we were the only ones to think so fondly of them, as their cheerful attitudes easily lifted everyone's spirits.

Gandalf was the most welcoming to Svell and me. He patiently answered my questions about Middle Earth and indulged Svell's inquiries as well. We had learned about the history of Smaug and the involvement that Frodo's uncle had in the matter. The tale explained the distance that Gimli kept between himself and Svellevarina and myself. I only hoped that he would come to learn that we were no threat to him or his people, let alone the rest of Middle Earth.

We decided to take up a spot on a rocky hillside for rest after Gandalf informed us that we would be traversing west of the Misty Mountains for forty days. It had only been a few weeks of travel at this point, though the Hobbit's bright attitudes never wavered.

"Tell me," Boromir said as he leaned forward on from his seat on a rock. He regarded me carefully. "where is it that you are from, Lady Elf?"

"We are from a country across the sea, Alagaesia, a week's worth of travel from Middle Earth," I replied. Svell paused in her cleaning of the scales on her shoulder.

"Are there more like you?"

I paused. "More dragon riders, you mean?"

"Aye,"

"There are many more, though most of them are still young yet, and have not completed their training,"

"My rider and I were chosen to act on behalf of the dragon riders to assist Middle Earth," Svellevarina added.

He ran a hand down his beard in thought. "I admit, I am curious to witness your power,"

"Let us hope it does not come to that for some time," I replied. He held my gaze for a moment before dropping his hand and standing. With a nod, he made his way over to the Hobbits. My eyes fell on the other elf in the company, who I had come to learn was named Legolas. He acknowledged me with his gaze before gracefully making his way from rock to rock and peering into the distance.

"I'd say we're taking the long way 'round," Gimli said then. "Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin Balin would give us a royal welcome,"

Gandalf furrowed his grey brows. "No, Gimli, I would not take the road to Moria unless I had no other choice,"

Sam took notice of Legolas peering into the distance. "What is that?"

I looked, as did the rest of the company. A dark cloud with flowing movement was drawing closer.

"Nothing, just a whisk of cloud," Gimli disregarded.

"I have never seen a cloud move so quickly," I commented.

Svell sniffed the air. "Something is wrong,"

"Crebain from Dunland!" Legolas exclaimed before turning and running back to the rest of us.

"Hide! Take cover!" Aragorn ordered, gathering the Hobbits together and ushering them under a bush. The rest of us were quick to move, crouching behind rocks and under bushes.

Svellevarina and I, however, did not have such options. She curled around me, and I rested my palms on the side of her neck. With a deep breath, I focused in on myself, drawing up energy for a spell.

"What are you doing? You must hide!" Boromir shouted.

As I uttered my spell, I felt my energy drain, but I remained as still as possible. As long as my dragon and I did not move, we would remain invisible to the eye.

The shrill croaks of crows surrounded us as their wingbeats filled the air. They invaded the area for a moment before receding into the distance. I released the magic that held Svell and I before she shifted to stand on all fours.

"Spies of Sauroman. Our path at South is being watched," Gandalf said gravely, watching the dark mass of crows in the distance. "We must take the Pass of Caradhras,"

While Svellevarina and I had no knowledge of who this Sauroman was, I understood from Gandalf's tone and energy that his watching of us was no light matter.

As the company gathered their belongings and followed Gandalf as he led us across the rocky terrain, I approached Legolas. "What can we expect from this Sauroman in the future?"

He watched me for a moment as I walked beside him, glancing back at Svell as she glided in the air above us all. "It is too early to tell just yet, Lady Vilansia. Though I am certain that his role will be a major one,"

I pursed my lips in thought. Legolas' answer was not a reassuring one in the least. How did he know to send spies to this location? Was that demonstrative of his range in power?

As if sensing my thoughts, he continued. "We will be ready for him when he strikes, do not fill your head with worry now,"

"Elrun ono, thank you," I replied as I glanced at him. "There is a considerable amount of uncertainty, I only wish to be prepared,"

He fell behind me as we followed the group ahead of us up a steep incline in the path.

"We shall be ready for anything, shur'tugal," Svellevarina said to me. Then to both Legolas and I, she added: "If we hold together the fellowship will see success,"

"Your dragon is quite wise," Legolas said to me.

I glanced back at him with a small smile. "Don't let her hear you, the compliment will only add to her ego,"

I caught him smiling at the jest before I returned my gaze ahead of me.

"Very funny, Vi," Svellevarina said to me, her tone light. I looked up to her as her wings pushed a gust of air my way, ruffling my hair. I knew she would be sure to tease me in return at some point in the near future.

The snowy mountain side allowed a new form of enjoyment for Svell, as she dove into the snow until she blended in with the sparkling substance. The snow would explode around her as she jumped out again, spreading her wings with a playful growl. Her playing in the snow allowed entertainment for the rest of us, as well, despite the biting chill of the wind.

I heard someone stumble behind me, and turned to see Frodo roll back in the snow. Aragorn helped the Halfling up when he slid to a stop. Frodo clutched at his chest desperately, his eyes wide as the settled on a golden object resting in the snow. Boromir picked up the Ring by the chain, letting it dangle in front of him.

"It is a strange thing," he said. "which suffers so much fear and doubt, and so small a thing. Such a little thing,"

Before he was able to grasp the Ring in his hands, Aragorn called his name, his voice a warning. "Give the ring to Frodo," Boromir glanced between the two of them and the ring before walking towards them. Aragorn let his hand fall to the hilt of his weapon.

"As you wish," the man said. Frodo snatched the Ring out of Boromir's hand, quickly placing it around his neck. "I care not," he added as he ruffled the Hobbit's hair. Boromir stalked forward and the rest of us continued on our way.

"The hearts of men are easily swayed," Legolas said quietly to me. The snow swirled around us as Svellevarina flew above us. There was no doubt that the Ring had a hold on those that were near it, and Boromir's actions reflected that.

"How is someone so small able to stand against the dark magic of this ring?" Svellevarina commented.

"There is often much more to someone than meets the eye," I replied.

The snow grew increasingly deeper, and as we reached a pathway along the side of the steep mountain, Svell ceased her dives into the snow for fear of starting an avalanche. At this height, the wind blew snow against us at great speeds, slowing us down considerably. Not to mention the deep snow that the company was forced to wade through, reaching well past the height of the Hobbits. My light-footed nature allowed me to walk atop the snowbank, Legolas beside me. I held my arm in front of my face to better shield me from the sting of the oncoming snow.

I felt a shift, foreign energy surrounding us as if someone were observing us through magic. As I channeled my own energy I focused in on it until I heard a voice chanting. Whoever this individual was, they were most certainly casting a spell.

"There is a fell voice on the air," Legolas commented.

Gandalf, who was leading the company through the snow, stopped, looking up to the sky. "It's Sauroman!"

The cracking of rocks echoed above us, pieces of the mountain tumbling down. Our pathway shook as the rocks fell.

"Svell, stay away!" I yelled with both my voice and my mind. I heard her snarl over the sound of the sharp wind and tumbling rocks.

"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" Aragorn shouted. "Gandalf, we must turn back!"

I shut my eyes tight as I tried to force challenge this Sauroman with my own magic and protect the rest of us.

"No!" I heard Gandalf exclaim before he began to cast his own spell.

I drew further within myself to obtain better focus. My mind made contact with an unpleasant force that sent a shock through me. It was something more powerful than I thought. Determined, I pushed against it, attempting to cut off the energy that this individual was using to work its evil magic. There was a surge of anger before a loud crack resounded above us.

My eyes shot open as I felt someone grab hold of my arm, pulling me into them. Heavy snow was falling from above, smothering us completely.

"Vilansia!" my dragon exclaimed in my mind. "Vilansia, are you all right?"

I held on tightly to whoever it was that had grabbed me and felt them moving, attempting to dig upwards and out of the snow. I gulped in air as we breached the surface, blinking the snow out of my eyes.

Legolas' blue eyes met my gaze. "Are you all right?"

I tried to slow my breathing, without success, my heart racing from the fear of suffocation. "Yes...yes, I am all right," I shifted in the snow. "Thank you, Legolas, I am not sure I would be if you hadn't grabbed me in time,"

I heard the others pushing their way through the top of the snow.

"I am all right, Svell," I responded to my dragon. "Tell me, can you see the others?"

Her relief washed through me. "Yes, everyone is accounted for,"

Legolas stood atop the snow and offered his hand, lifting me out of the snowbank. I kept close to the stone wall of the mountain for fear that the snow might shift once more and send me tumbling over the edge.

"We must get off the mountain!" Boromir shouted. "Make for the Gap of Rohan, or take the West Road to my city!"

"We can't, the Gap of Rohan takes us too close to Isengard!" Aragorn responded.

"If we cannot pass over the mountain, let us go under it," Gimli offered. "Let us go through the Mines of Moria,"

After a moment, Gandalf answered. "Let the Ring Bearer decide,"

Everyone looked to Frodo, who certainly appeared just as uncertain as the rest of us.

"We cannot stay here, this will be the death of the Hobbits!" Boromir urged.

"Frodo," Gandalf encouraged.

The Hobbit shivered, looking to his friends before making eye contact with Gandalf. "We will go through the Mines,"

"So be it,"

Svellevarina hovered beside the edge of the mountain. "Let the Hobbits take place upon my back. They will be safe with me in the air until we reach solid ground,"

Before Gandalf could speak, Pippin shuffled through the snow towards her. She flew as close as possible to the edge, the wind from her wings blowing the snow even stronger around us. Pippin clambered on, using the pointed scales on her shoulders as grips to get to the saddle. Merry followed him, and Sam urged Frodo forward as well. Svell did not hesitate to fly back down the mountain once they were secured, leaving the rest of us to climb down the mountainside. I let out a sigh of relief in knowing that the Hobbits would be safe with my dragon.

The day had well passed once we reached the foot of the mountain, the moon illuminating our way. A dark and withered tree grew next to the rocky path, no leaves or vines grew on its branches. Svellevarina had laid around the four Hobbits, watching them intently as they conversed amongst themselves. As we approached, she lifted her head, causing the Hobbits to look our way. They were sitting next to a lake, the dark waters eerily still.

Across from the lake was a flat stone wall. There was no sign of a doorway or any form of an entrance that we might have access to.

"Dwarf doors are invisible to guard what lays behind them," Gimli informed us as we peered at the blank wall curiously.

"Rightly, even masters cannot find them, if their secrets are forgotten," Gandalf remarked.

Legolas stepped past the dwarf. "Why doesn't that surprise me?"

This led Gimli to grumble to himself under his breath as he turned to watch Gandalf approach the wall. The clouds that had covered the moon shifted, allowing the moonlight to reach us. A blue glow came from the wall now, revealing the form of a doorway. Blue trees made up the edges with glowing stars in between them. Words were etched at the top of it, the writing curved to follow the rounded top of the door. It was as if the very entrance itself was made of light.

"It reads," Gandalf began, pointing his staff to the letters. "the Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter,"

"What do you s'pose that means?" Merry asked.

"Oh, it's quite simple. If you are a friend, you speak the password and the doors will open," He lowered his staff so that the point of it rested on the most centre star. In a strong voice, he spoke in a foreign language, the sound of which felt ancient to my ears.

When nothing happened, Svellevarina snorted. "Surely, I could knock this door down,"

Gandalf huffed, seeming to ignore her comment. He tried again, stringing together a different series of words in the same language, though less determined this time. When the doors remained closed he grumbled to himself, then pressed his body weight against the blue doorway as if he could pry them open.

"What are you going to do, then?" Pippin asked.

"Knock your head against these doors, Peregrin Took, and if that does not work then I am allowed peace from foolish questions!" He sighed heavily. "I'm trying to find the correct words,"

Svell curled her tail around the Hobbit in a protective manner as his shoulders fell. Gandalf's frustration was understandable, though Svell disagreed with the manner in which he spoke to the Hobbit. Gandalf sat on a large boulder, muttering to himself as he stared at the glowing doorway. The rest of us began to take this opportunity to sit and rest as well under the assumption that we would be here for some time.

Smoke billowed from Svellevarina's nostrils as she rested, her closed eyes giving the appearance that she was asleep, though her active mind told me otherwise.

I sat on the ground beside her, my knees tucked up to my chest. The lake water gave me an uncertain feeling, and my intuition told me that there was likely something lurking within. I did not attempt to explore it, however, as the last thing I wanted was to disturb whatever it was further and draw it out to the rest of us.

Merry and Pippen stood from their place against Svell's tail, walking to the edge of the water. Merry scooped up a handful of rocks and began throwing them into the water, trying to throw each one farther than the last.

Aragorn grabbed hold of Merry's arm as he started to throw another. "Do not disturb the water,"

Merry stepped back, dropping the rest of the rocks back onto the ground. Pippin peered curiously at the water before shrugging and following his fellow Hobbit back to where they sat. The lake rippled, the largest ring fading into the smoothness of the water. While all seemed calm on the surface now that rocks were not splashing into it, I could feel something stirring within its depths. Whatever it was grew increasingly agitated, a strong emotion, as I did not even need to extend my mind to feel it. Our surroundings, however, were deceptively quite.

"It's a riddle," Frodo said, causing everyone to turn to him. "Speak friend and enter...what's the elvish word for friend?"

Gandalf answered curiously. A loud crack filled the air, bringing me to my feet. The doorway opened in half, the crack breaking it open down the centre. Gimli was the first to enter the Mines as he bore a wide smile. The rest of the Fellowship followed him in.

"Soon, Master and Lady Elf you will enjoy the hospitality of the dwarves," Gimli said excitedly. "Roaring fires, malt beer, red meat off the bone! For this is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine. A mine!"

Gandalf lit his staff, providing light, as the moonbeams could not reach us here.

"This is no mine," said Boromir gravely, "it's a tomb,"

I gasped at the sight before me. Decaying corpses littered the ground, arrows protruding from many of them. Weapons and armour were scattered, the metal now frail from the passage of time. Svellevarina snorted in distaste. Gimli cried out, falling to his knees at the sight of his deceased kin.

Legolas plucked an arrow from one of the bodies, examining the make of it. "Goblins!" he spat, tossing it to the ground.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan. We should never have come here," Boromir said as he frantically glanced around himself. "Now get out of here, get out!"

I spun around as I heard the Hobbits crying out and saw Frodo being dragged out of the Mine, a slithering appendage holding on tight to his ankle. Sam was the first to act, using his blade to hack at it until it released Frodo. Svellevarina crawled towards the Hobbits, the ceiling of the Mine inhibiting her from moving freely. The creature withdrew back into the water for a split second before it jumped out, extending it's slithering tentacles towards us. I withdrew my sword as I stood beside Aragorn, slicing at the beast as it reached towards me. Svellevarina snarled and snapped her jaws, biting off the arms that dared go near her. Frodo's screams filled the entrance of the Mine as the beast grabbed hold of the Hobbit, lifting him in the air above its spiked head. I followed the two men out of the Mine into the water in an attempt to reach Frodo. With a roar, Svellevarina burst out of the Mine, unfurling her wings as she jumped in the air. She dove at the tentacles that were wrapped around Frodo's leg, biting down hard. The creature screeched in anguish and dropped the Hobbit.

I shot out my hand, prepared to use my magic to stop him from falling into the mouth of the creature. But Svellevarina was there, catching the hobbit on her back. Frodo clutched at the spike closest to him as she turned in the air, bringing him back to shore. Frodo slid off her back when she landed, running towards the rest of the Hobbits inside the Mine. Arrows whizzed past me as Legolas did his part to keep the beast in the water. But it's anger was stronger. It used it's unharmed appendages to crawl out of the water, rapidly making its way towards us. We rushed back into the Mine, Svellevarina the last to enter. She slammed her body weight against the entrance, cracking the rocks. She threw herself against the stone once more, bringing the pieces down upon the water beast and sealing us inside.

We were thrown into darkness, the moonlight unable to reach us through the wall of fallen stone.

A soft light grew from Gandalf's staff. "We have but one choice. We must face the long dark of Moria," he led us forward, the Fellowship doing their best to pick their way around the fallen dwarves.

"Are you all right?" I asked my dragon.

Her talons clicked on the stone floor. "I am fine. How is the Hobbit?"

I looked ahead of me to the four of them. They were huddled close together. "Shaken up, no doubt, but it appears that he is all right,"

"Good,"

"Be on your guard," Gandalf warned. "There are darker and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the Mines. Quietly now. It is a four-day journey to the other side of the mountain. Let us hope that our presence go unnoticed,"

"Hm. There's certainly nothing unusual with a dragon stalking through the halls," Svell said to me. I glanced back at her with a grin. Only she would find humor in a situation such as this.

_____

Translations from the Ancient Language:

Elrun ono - Thank you

Shur'tugal - Dragon rider

_____

next chapter

[myradness]

Narcos Fic: i will follow you into the dark [chapter 5]

Pairing: Steve Murphy/Javier Peña

Rating: M

Word count: 8.9k

Tags: canon-typical violence, fluff and angst, slow burn

Chapter Summary: Tensions come to a head as Steve and Javier race against the clock to get to Escobar before extradition goes to vote. Steve struggles to stay afloat managing his marriage and work. 

link for full fic: 

Javi was back in Bogotá within the next few days, and nearly immediately they were sent off to Medellín to assist Carrillo in interviewing the girlfriend of the man who had been identified as the one who, seemingly unwittingly, had carried the bomb onto the doomed Avianca plane. They were making the grueling trek between the two cities more and more frequently these days, and Steve wondered when the higher-ups back in Washington might take a look through budget reports, see the massive inefficiency, and make their field office in Bogotá a field office in Medellín. He wasn’t holding his breath.

Since his return, Javi still hadn’t brought up the night they spent together waiting for Navegante. Steve wasn’t sure if that was out of embarrassment or if his partner was simply fine to let things lie, but he decided to follow Javi’s lead on this one. Although, he wasn’t quite sure if he was relieved or irritated when the subject was never broached. Like an itch needing to be scratched but is just barely out of reach— it’ll go away eventually, but it’s anguish up until that point.

Steve leaned up against the entrance of the home where the presumed bomber’s girlfriend had been staying with her young daughter and mother ever since the man had gone “missing”. The low ceilings of the houses in the comunas, built small to meet the needs of a dense and growing population, were much too cramped for his lanky frame to fit comfortably inside of. Instead, he took on a more observational role, listening in as Javi and Carrillo spoke in soft tones with the girl— a girl, really, she looked so young and so scared sitting there swallowed up by the chair she was sitting on— and picking up about every fifth word or so. “Sicarios de Pablo...podemos protegerte.” In the corner of the room, a small altar hung on the wall, complete with lit candles, rosary beads, pictures of family and small prayer cards. Above it, hung a painting of Pablo likened as a Saint. The irony of the image might’ve been funny if it weren’t so goddamn infuriating to see the grip Escobar still held over so many of the people here. To know that they were so forgotten by the rest of society that the man’s fleeting acts of monetary goodwill could overshadow his evil— even in the eyes of this family whose lives had been completely uprooted, destroyed, by Escobar. A week ago, this girl said goodbye to her boyfriend, the father of her child, forever, and today she sat, hunted down by sicarios, and still that painting hung on the wall with reverence. Despite it all, she held her tongue with Javi and Carrillo.

Steve huffed out a deep breath and watched as Javi turned on his heel and walked frustratedly out of the home back onto the street where the Jeep was parked. He followed along and came to a stop in front of his partner, waiting while he pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, fished one out and lit it, taking a long drag. Steve could feel his own irritation thrumming just below the surface of his skin, and he shifted back and forth on his feet to try and dissipate it as Javi stood there leaning on his hip, quietly composing himself. He wasn’t sure if it was the difference in experience, or maybe it was just Javi, but Steve was constantly in awe of his ability to keep calm in the moment and remain unaffected by the shit they dealt with. He wondered when, if ever, his own blood might stop being so quick to boil.

“She’s lying,” Javi finally breathed out between inhales of smoke.

Steve stopped his pacing, stepping in near his partner. “He’s got this poor sucker to carry a bomb without him even knowing it.”

Javi shifted, looking around at their surroundings— the tightly-packed houses and steep hillside behind them. “Well, maybe he knew,” he offered casually, as if it mattered at this point.

“I don’t care if he knew or not,” Steve spat, breathing out forcefully through his nostrils. “It’s time we put a bullet in Escobar.”

Javi’s face shifted, eyes widening and eyebrows lifting in surprise and gentle amusement. “I like the intensity, Murphy,” he chuckled. “Very Hollywood.”

Steve sighed, letting out the tension that had been building up, and smiled despite himself. “You’re an ass, you know that?” He looked up at Javi, who flashed him a wink before stamping out the butt of his cigarette and walking past him toward the car. They would reconvene with Carrillo at the Carlos Holguín School later that afternoon.

“I agree though,” he called out over his shoulder as Steve turned to follow. “I’m getting real sick of this cat-and-mouse shit.”

 *    *    *

For all of their plans though, things were still slow-moving. After the Avianca bombing, the public rallied around Gaviria and he took the presidency by a landslide. He was understandably keen to respond swiftly to the public outcry over the increase in violence and so one of the first things he did after taking office was to call a meeting with all of the top American officials that were stationed in Bogotá— Javier and Steve included.

Javier sat alongside Murphy, once again both squeezed into their formal suits— ill-fitting in the way they stood as such a stark difference to their normal attire— and listened, powerless, as the President put a stop to nearly all of the work they were doing. He didn’t want American help, especially American funding, in his fight against the narcotraficantes. From that point, he and Steve’s involvement was to be observational and advisory only.

The thing was, Javier understood the President’s wariness. Growing up in Texas, of all places, to Mexican parents, made it hard as hell to not have at least some level of awareness of the dangers of US involvement. But he also knew that the CNP and Carrillo’s Search Bloc didn’t stand a chance against Escobar without their help. The money just wasn’t there.

There had always been a give-and-take of information between himself and Carrillo, even back when Pablo was just a name in a warning that fell on deaf ears. Leaving the man high and dry— even if ordered to— would just feel like betrayal after having worked so closely for so long. He and Steve would find a way to still help out, even if that way had to be much less conspicuous.

And so they did.

Javier couldn’t stand the Mil group and CIA guys, but he was more than willing to bury the hatchet if that meant access to their surveillance assets. Using aerial photographs and intel provided by the Search Bloc, he and Steve were able to work out that sicarios could be easily identified by the cars they drove— all of them expensive foreign imports that the rest of the people in the comunas they were driving through could never dream of affording. While the other American agencies were doing their fly-overs, which somehow escaped Gaviria’s cuts, if they spotted any of these cars they could contact the DEA agents, who would pass the information onto Carrillo, who seemed incredibly thankful to have it. Ever since the successful elimination of Gacha, there had been increased demand on the man to carry out more and more raids. But, their finite resources put up against Escobar’s billions of dollars and intricate web of informants would always be a losing battle. Not to mention that, in response to the increase of government raids and the President’s anti-narco stance, Pablo had begun a streak of public bombings and targeted kidnappings of the adult children of both wealthy and politically important individuals.

It was starting to seem like just a matter of time before Gaviria was forced to bend to some, if not all, of Escobar’s demands. Namely, the abolition of extradition, a reduction of the long list of crimes he had been charged with, and lastly— and probably the most infuriating— the ability to build himself his own jail. The absurdity of it all would be laughable if it wasn’t so angering, if it wasn’t the reality they were facing, if it weren't obvious that Escobar saw this as his gift to the country. That he was somehow acting nobly by putting forth these conditions. It was fucking reprehensible.

Since they knew the clock was ticking, Javier and Steve, along with Carrillo, were working double time to follow up with every tip they got, spending the majority of their days driving through the comunas in Medellín so they could quickly respond whenever a call from the CIA intercepts came through. It was a long shot, but if they could nail one of the cartel’s high-level sicarios then maybe they could catch Escobar before it was too late to do anything.

This was how Javier found himself once again sprawled out in the passenger seat of their Jeep, chain-smoking as Steve drove them around the city while waiting for a call from their eyes in the sky. When he first moved to Colombia, driving through the comunas had evoked almost a sense of claustrophobia the streets were so dense with people and cars. But now, as he looked out the rolled-down window while they meandered their way down main roads and through back alleys, these streets felt cosy. Familiar. It was good to see the mundane— the small moments of happiness carved out of everyday life. It was good to see the people grasping tight onto normalcy despite the war being waged around them.

Javier leaned his weight against the metal frame of the door, taking in Steve as he maneuvered his way through the narrow streets. The man appeared tense today, small lines creasing from the corners of his eyes where they were hidden behind his dark sunglasses, his shoulders tight. They were both stressed, wary from the increasing intensity of it all— Escobar’s attacks, their near-daily raids— it was like a wave that never crested. Swelling. He could feel their desperation starting to fray nerves.

They had already been out driving for several hours with nothing but radio silence, so Javier decided to play nice and motioned for Steve to pull the SUV to the side of the road near where a small grouping of food stalls had set up shop for the day, spilling out of a larger market.

As the car slowly rolled to a stop, Steve glanced over, eyebrow raised and annoyed by the change in pace. “Why are we stopping,” he grumbled.

Javier pulled on the door handle, sliding out of the seat and onto the street. He turned back, leaning in through the open window, and felt the hot metal sting against his forearm. “Gotta piss,” he announced, pushing off of the side of the SUV and walking off, not waiting to see the likely answering roll of eyes from his partner.

He meandered through the stalls, quietly reveling in the swell of life around him— the smell of several different foods competing for dominance, the distant sound of children laughing as they ran through the chaos, the low rumble of weathered voices of the old men sat sipping tintos on fold-out plastic chairs— before settling on a stall where a woman was selling almojábanas . Javier knew that there wasn't a simple fix for the worries furrowing Steve’s brow, but he also knew big American boys, and just how far food could go in soothing the soul. Cheese bread should do the trick.

Leaning over the short counter, Javier motioned for two of the small bags of bread, and laid the pesos near the till. As the woman prepared his order, he glanced around the small enclosure, eyes landing on a young child seated in a low high chair in the corner. The child squealed under his attention, legs kicking and hands grabbing in his direction. He smiled, cooing. “Hola, niñita.”

The woman turned back, holding out the food with a smile, and Javier reached back into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and added a small stack of money to the pile. “Para su ayudante,” he said with a wink in response to her questioning look, nodding his head toward the still-babbling child.

He turned on his heel, throwing one last wave of his fingers over his shoulder toward the girl, and began maneuvering his way back to the Jeep. Steve had his arm up on the windowsill, other hand tapping on the wheel, and he sat up, restarting the car when he noticed Javier approaching. “What took you so damn long? Gettin’ pretty for me, Javi?”

Javi opened up the door, slid into the passenger seat and threw one of the bags of almojábanas into Steve’s lap. “Here. Eat. You’re an ass when you’re hungry, man.”

Steve fixed Javier with an unimpressed look, but opened the bag and began quietly chewing on one of the small round breads. Javier followed suit, relishing the warmth and the smooth taste of cuajada on his tongue, keeping an eye on his partner all the while.

“Y’know, Connie has said the same thing,” Steve mumbled between bites.

“Your wife is a smart woman.” Javier paused, noting that Steve’s eyes had already begun to brighten. He chuckled to himself. Predictable. “How is she? Settled in finally?”

Steve sighed, abandoning his final, half-eaten pastry. “She’s been on edge ever since Poison left us that warning. She’s strong, but I think she worries about me a lot.” He shifted, turning his head to look in the rear view mirror. Always on guard. “I have a hard time separating work from life, too, which doesn’t help,” he murmured. He looked at Javier. “We’re just so close to catching him. And if Gaviria gives in before we do ...it’s difficult to not bring my frustrations home.”

Javier stayed silent, unsure of what to say. He also felt a rising sense of urgency. But at the end of the day he could meet his aggravation with a bottle of whiskey and hours of silence.

“How’d she like the dancing I taught you?”

He watched the tips of his partner’s ears blush pink. “Didn’t quite nail the ambiance, but she had fun at least.”

“You just need more practice then.”

Steve rolled his eyes, barking out a laugh, and moved to shift the gear into reverse. He placed his hand on the seat near the spot where Javier’s head was resting, and turned around to look out of the rear window as he backed up. “Yeah, well,” his voice faded off as he pulled the Jeep back onto the street. “Somehow I don’t think that would do much good.”

Javier didn’t bother responding, opting instead to look out the window. Christ knew he was far from the authority on wives.

From where it was sitting upright in one of the cupholders in the console between them, the radio began to crackle to life. Javier leaned to pick it up, holding the receiver loosely against his chin. “Hammer. Go ahead.”

The tinny voice of the field station lead rang out. “Hammer, we have calls originating in Manrique , from known sicario satellite phones.”

Javier sat forward and pressed down the transmit button. “Do you have a location?”

There was a beat while the man on the other end listened to the conversation they were picking up. A conversation that was happening at that moment, somewhere in the city, between the few men who could lead them to Escobar. Who could make this whole illegal operation worthwhile. “Campo Valdés. That's in the central-eastern area, bordered by the Comuna Popular.”

Campo Valdés. They were close. Javier felt the adrenaline rising in his chest. “Roger that,” he confirmed, the danger of what they were about to undertake only distantly present in his mind. He turned back toward Steve and locked eyes with his partner. “Campo Valdés.”

Steve nodded and turned off on the next side road, picking up speed.

Here went nothing.  

*    *    *

Steve pulled up to the small neighborhood and almost instantly spotted a known sicario car parked alongside the road near an entrance to a group of houses. He brought the Jeep to a stop a few yards up the road and engaged the emergency brake, letting out the deep breath he had been holding in.

The drive to this location had been just long enough that the initial rush of adrenaline from the positive-ID radio call had worn off and a clarity had set in. This was stupid bordering on suicidal. They had no backup, they had no tac vests. They had no fucking clue how many men they were about to engage. Steve felt immediately out of his depth. An uncertainty rising to meet his desperation to catch Escobar. His mind flashed briefly to Connie, and the shock she might feel at his idiocy. Or, maybe she had come to expect this type of bull-headedness from him by now.

His mind then flashed to Javi. He turned and found that his partner was already meeting his eye from across the console. Javi nodded once, and because the man was somehow all-knowing, added: “Just keep your head on straight, Murphy. Let’s catch these assholes.” Then he shifted to grab at the door handle and slid out onto the cracked blacktop. Steve steeled himself and followed suit.

He took point, and together they made their way toward the entrance of the building, taking small steps, their pistols loaded and ready to return fire. In between the sounds of his own breath, an argument echoed from inside of the house closest to the street. Steve looked back at Javi, who nodded, confirming the sound as their target, and continued inching their way toward the source.

For a brief moment, there was silence, before a cacophony of shots firing and glass shattering rang out as bullets started to spray from inside the house.

The men inside the building began to flee and without thinking, Steve gave chase, rounding the building just in time to see them exit and take off down the winding alleyway. Suddenly, the two split off, and he followed the one that broke to the right, trusting that Javi was right behind and would take care of the other.

They were moving too quickly for Steve to get an ID on the man he was following, but knowing that they were within reach of catching someone who was likely one of Pablo’s top sicarios was enough to keep him running. It was enough to stave off the exhaustion threatening to set in from running in the Colombian heat.

The man ducked into an apartment building, weaving his way through the corridors and staircases, and taking brief cover behind walls to fire pot-shots in Steve’s direction. He returned the fire as best he could, but there was little luck of getting a clean shot at the target until they made it back out into the open.

At that moment, Steve pushed through a flimsy metal door that opened up to an equally flimsy metal rooftop and continued scrambling after the man. He ducked his way under hanging laundry, avoiding patches of aluminum that had corroded, giving way to the unforgiving earth an untold number of stories below.

Finally, blessedly, they reached the uppermost level of the patchwork roofs, his feet touching down on concrete. The stretch was long and flat, and Steve knew that if he could work up enough of a sprint he’d be able to get close enough to incapacitate the man.

Typically a hassle in the low-ceilinged homes of the comunas, Steve gave silent thanks to his long legs as they pumped in double time, quickly bringing him within range of the target. They were rapidly approaching the edge of the building, reaching an end, and Steve fumbled as he sprinted to ready his gun for the shot that would soon open up.

Instead of slowing, however, the sicario seemed to increase pace as he neared the end of the roof, and then suddenly, impossibly, he was jumping.

Steve snorted bullishly, the sweat that had been near-pouring down his face spraying out, half in anger and half at the absurdity of what he had just witnessed. Moving too quickly to slow in time, he resigned himself to his fate and attempted to lengthen his stride the best he could. Then he jumped.

There was an ever-brief moment of weightlessness, the thrill of which Steve knew he could all too easily fall victim to. It was the same sort of rush of blood most people might get from a roller coaster, from a fast car. Which Steve got from the chase.

And then there was concrete. He hit the rough surface of the roof hard, his knees buckling underneath, limbs spilling out, and pistol coming loose from his hold. He tried to scramble to his feet, but the man had already rounded on him, gun drawn. Steve squinted to look up at the face of the man he had been pursuing, blinking against the sun.

Poison.

He reached out his hand, placating, and dragged himself to his knees. There wasn’t a way out of this one that he could see, but he wanted to die standing. He looked Poison in the eye, took in the smirk painted across the man’s face. Taking out a DEA agent. He’d be paid handsomely for this kill.

Steve thought briefly of Connie. She would get his pension, wouldn’t have to worry about money for the rest of her life. He wondered if, beneath her sadness, she might feel relief. Relief that it was finally over— the shoe she’d been expecting to drop finally had.

He thought of Javi again, and even though he hadn’t been to church in years, said a silent prayer that he wasn’t enduring the same fate. He felt sorry that his partner would have to find his body up on this fucking rooftop, would have to file that awful report. That he’d have to do it alone again. He felt a fleeting sense of sympathy for whatever new idiot they sent down here in his place, for the short leash Javi would undoubtedly keep.

He hoped that Javi would miss him terribly.

What a selfish final thought. Connie really did deserve better.

Steve held his breath, meeting Poison’s eye, and waited for the wash of nothing that was sure to come. There was a dull click as the sicario pulled on the trigger, but found the gun empty. Instinctually, Steve reached for his own discarded gun and fired off a shot in the man’s direction, but he had already thrown himself over the low wall on the roof into a pile of debris below. Rushing to look over the side, Steve watched in disbelief as Poison emerged from the scrap and ran out onto the crowded street before pulling a man off of his motorcycle and riding off. Desperate, Steve raised his pistol and took aim, but the street below was too crowded and his gun was too unwieldy to take the shot with any confidence.

“Fuck!” he screamed in frustration, disengaging his weapon and scrubbing a hand down his face. Fuck. He leaned over the half-wall and slammed the heel of his palm against the brick, feeling the defeat wash over him. Suddenly, there was the sound of shuffling boots behind him, and Steve shot up, drawing his gun and aiming toward the sound.

“Murphy,” came a rushed breath.

Javi.

Steve let his body slump, the anticipatory tension of a fight draining from his limbs.

Javi took a step closer, placing one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other just under his jaw, at the point where his pulse beat strongest. Steve could feel the tremble in his fingertips. “Are you alright? I heard you yelling.”

“I’m alright,” he lied. He looked up, taking in his partner’s face— the curls plastered to his forehead with sweat, his furrowed brow, his heaving chest. Javi didn’t need to carry the burden of knowing how close Steve had come to tasting death. “I’m alright. Poison got away”

Javi dropped his hand, stepping back, but still eyed Steve with an unreadable expression. Evidently, he hadn’t passed whatever internal checkup the man was running. “Sureshot also got away, with help. Apparently, Escobar is recruiting children from the comuna now.”

Steve tilted his head, waiting for more, but Javi turned around with an air of finality. “Let’s go see what the hell they were doing here,” he called out over his shoulder.

Looks like they were both keeping secrets. Steve followed him closely back through the maze of apartments and narrow corridors to the home they had found the men in, still feeling dazed by the events that had taken place. He had the urge to reach out and grab onto Javi’s wrist— anything that might help ground himself. He kept his hand at his side.

Somehow they made their way back to the little house— Javi quiet, and Steve thankful that his partner had paid well enough attention to the path they had taken during the chase to remember a way back. Javi pushed the flimsy door open, barely hanging on its hinges, and stepped aside to let him through. Ducking, Steve stepped inside of the doorway and was instantly overwhelmed by the smell of blood in the air. Thick, sharp. Fresh.

Moving through the entryway, the source became clear— the body of a young woman strewn across the ground, a bullet hole in her temple. Next to her, just inside the living room, was a second body. The girlfriend of the Avianca bomber. Steve’s stomach roiled— they had tried to warn her of exactly this. And they had shown up mere seconds too late. He moved into the small room, taking care to maneuver around the sprawl of limbs. His heavy boots made the thin wooden floor groan under his feet, and at the sound of his footsteps came a cooing from the corner. Steve’s head shot up. In a low chair sat the daughter of the bomber and his girlfriend, quietly babbling and smiling up at himself and Javi, completely oblivious to the destruction around her.

Steve wandered over in a daze and sunk to his knees in front of the girl, the hard ground sending shocks up his already aching frame. He looked back at Javi, who had perched himself on the corner of a chair and was scrubbing his palm over his face. Steve turned back to the child, reaching out cautiously to grab her tiny hand in his own. She stared up at him, curious, her brown eyes open wide.

“I can take her home,” he murmured, hating the way his voice wavered. “Yeah. Connie would know what to do. She’s a nurse.”

He heard Javi sigh from behind him. “A baby isn’t a cat, Steve.”

Javi stood, brushing against Steve as he shifted past and bent to pick up the child. He watched as Javi lifted her gingerly to his chest, quietly shushing her cries of protest as he tucked her under his chin. “Tranquilo, nena,” he whispered into the soft tufts of hair on her head. He looked at Steve, gesturing with a small movement of his hand. “Come here.”

Steve stood and stepped in close to Javi. He took in the slight sway of his partner’s hips, the protective swell of his arm around her body. “You’re good with her.”

Javi met his eye over her head, keeping his voice low. “I’ve got lots of little cousins,” he smiled, small and private. “You end up learning quickly. Hold your arms out.”

He stood for a moment, blinking. “What?”

“If I’m letting you take her home to Connie, I’m making sure you can at least hold her. Now hold your arms out.”

Dumbfounded, Steve watched as Javi maneuvered her small body around and held her out, tiny wriggling limbs and all. He grabbed her under the arms, unsure how to proceed.

“There you go, now hold her against your chest,” came Javi’s voice, encouraging. “You don't have to be so careful. She’s a fighter.”

Steve did as told, tucking her in close, and felt her calm near instantly. He could feel the heat of her body through the fabric of his shirt, balmy from sitting in the stagnant heat of the room for so long. He watched as she snuggled against his shoulder and began to blink heavily to fight off sleep; instantly overwhelmed by the trust she showed him. A trust that he had not earned— certainly not after the events of the day. He looked back at Javi, who had stepped in close and was rubbing slow circles into the girl’s back, and the surge of emotions he had been holding back rose up under his partner’s careful gaze. Panic and despair made for a potent cocktail; he choked out a singular sob that surfaced unbidden.

Javi stopped his petting, reaching out reflexively to grip his arm. “Steve?”

“I dropped my gun, Javi.”

Javi’s eyes flitted down to where his holster sat on his belt. “It’s right—”

“On the rooftop. I dropped my gun and Poison had me pinned, Javi,” he forced out, trying to stem the flood. Javi’s fingers dug into his skin, and he was thankful for the pain. “He pulled the trigger. But he was out of bullets.”

Javi didn’t say anything, and Steve didn’t need him to. They both knew he had been lucky, stupidly so— they both knew this time right now was borrowed. Instead, he gathered Steve in his arms as best he could, and Steve let himself be maneuvered to sit on the small couch, tucked in against his partner’s side until slowly, aided by the girl’s steady breathing and Javi’s hands grounding, he finally calmed.

“Y’alright there, Murphy,” Javi asked quietly, the low rumble of his voice soothing against Steve’s skin.

He sat up, mindful of the girl now asleep on his shoulder, and wiped a hand across his face, suddenly embarrassed by his reaction. He was a goddamn DEA agent— he’d watched his last partner die and didn’t have this bad of a reaction for fucks sake. “Yeah. Sorry, I—”

“Don’t. I get it, man.” He reached over and ran his hand through the short hairs on the back of the child’s head, and despite himself, Steve mourned the loss of contact. “I’ll call Carrillo to have his men come take care of all this,” he said, glancing around the room. He looked back at Steve and it was like a balm for the fray. “Let’s get you two home.”

Steve smiled, grateful as he met Javi’s eye. He felt a surge of emotion rise up in his throat, his limbs. It was the same rush he had felt the night with Javi waiting for Navegante. It made him want to move, to act, to do... something. He opted for a breathy, rushed, “thank you.” It didn’t satisfy the urge, but the moment was over all the same.

*    *    *

Tensions finally reached a head mere days later, when one of the hostages that had been taken by Escobar, a popular newscaster who was also the daughter of the former president, was killed by crossfire in a raid ordered by Gaviria and led by the CNP. Javier heard the news on the radio on his drive into work, and when he arrived at the embassy, found that the Ambassador had called an immediate meeting with himself, Steve, and the new Vice Minister of Justice.

He quickly walked to the small DEA office, throwing his wallet and keys onto his desk. Steve was hunched over his own desk, fingers tapping wildly as he thumbed through CIA maps and reports.

“You heard we’ve got a meeting with Sandoval, right?”

Steve scoffed and tossed the papers down. “Yeah, I heard alright.”

Sandoval, the new Vice Minister, had been Gaviria’s head of security prior to his election. He and Steve had apparently butted heads over several aspects of security plans, especially when it came to protecting the candidate against Escobar. Javier remembered listening to his partner bitch about the man— Steve found him arrogant. There is no way this meeting would go well.

“Glad I wore my suit today at least. Come on, they’re probably waiting.”

Steve sighed, heaving himself up, and followed Javier out of the room. “I’m tempted to put my jeans back on,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Javier smirked despite himself. “Be nice.”

They pushed their way through the heavy wooden doors to the Ambassador’s office to find Sandoval and Noonan already chatting quietly on opposite sides of her stately desk.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Sandoval said from his seat.

Javier nodded, trying to get a read on the man. “Buenas.” Steve stalked quietly to the other side of the room to lean against the bookcase.

Not wasting any time, Sandoval launched into his delivery. “Thank you for meeting on short notice. This is to inform you that our government has approved Escobar’s proposal to build a prison where he will serve a minimum of three years. As a part of the agreement, no police will be allowed within two miles of the jail. Search Bloc will be disbanded, and extradition will be put up for a vote in Congress again.”

Javier instantly bristled, feeling a protest rise up in his chest. This had to be a joke— there was no way on earth this would be the end of all the work they had done. In the corner of his eye, Steve had begun pacing, reaching up to pull at his tie. Javier stepped closer to Sandoval, taking a steadying breath. It didn’t help. “If your Congress abolishes extradition we lose our teeth. We’re a paper fucking tiger!”

“Everything we have done is lost,” Steve added, punctuating his words with a pointed finger against the desk.

“We have no choice,” Sandoval interjected, the calm politician exterior quickly fading away as his voice rose. “The people, the public— it’s tired of all these bombs and bloodshed!”

“Right,” Javier said, gripping the side of the desk. “And business goes on as usual, just runs it from that jail.”

“Exactly,” Steve shouted, still pacing.

Sandoval looked exhausted, frustrated. He ran his hand over his face. “Yes,” he conceded.

Ambassador Noonan sat forward, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “All things considered, it’s a victory to put Escobar in jail.”

At that, Steve stopped his pacing, a sneer on his face. “For public relations?” he nearly spat.

“It’s capitulation,” Javier agreed, eyeing Sandoval.

“You want Escobar. Why?” Sandoval stood, his heavy leather chair loudly scraping along the floor as he did. “Why?” He raised his arms, in question, in accusation. “Because you want to parade him in your DEA jackets?”

Javier’s face fell, those words a stab to the gut.

“You think this is a game, right,” Sandoval whispered angrily, his eyes dark as they bored into each of them. Javier fleetingly wondered if he, like Escobar, was not a man of always. If he too had fought for his place in the world. “This is Colombia, and our people want peace. This is not a fucking game!”

Thoroughly chastised, the Americans kept quiet as Sandoval turned and left.

Javier sighed, trying to reign in his frustration to a simmer. Sure, for the Ambassador all of this probably amounted to a matter of appearances. Protecting American interests. But he and Steve saw the true cost of the war. They too wanted peace for the people of Colombia, for the people on the streets of Miami. True relief wouldn’t come from this solution— the terror would just move to the shadows.

They needed to find Escobar before his surrender was scheduled to take place. Before he won.

*    *    *

Connie had invited Javier for dinner that night, and despite the news from earlier in the day that was still rattling around in his head, he kept the date. After all, they were likely just as upset as he was. The company would be nice, even if company from the Murphys brought along with it a certain kind of heartbreak.

Armed with a bottle of wine— pink, sweet and light, something that suited Connie— he climbed the stairs and found his way to their front door. He knocked, but there was no answer despite the audible activity, and so he let himself in. He opened the door to what had obviously been the last dregs of an argument. Steve sat in the corner of the living room, frustration painted on his face, and Connie stood over the stove in the kitchen, face flushed equally from exertion and steam from the pot she was stirring. On her hip was the girl from the comuna , crying loudly. They both looked up at the sound of him entering the apartment, and Javier nodded in greeting, immediately making his way to the kitchen.

Connie turned to face him, frantic. “Javi, I’m so sorry, things aren’t quite ready yet—”

“Don’t be,” he said, reaching for the child and settling her on his hip. “Here, let me take over. What are you making?”

“It’s just pasta,” she sighed apologetically. ”I got held up at work.”

Javier shushed the girl, whose cries had faded into whimpers, rubbing her back as he tucked her head under his chin. “That’s alright. Go, I’ll finish up.” He angled his head toward the living room where Steve was still sitting and took the spatula that was in Connie’s hand.

He watched as she flashed him a look of appreciation and walked off. Slowly rocking his body, he looked down at the child. “Hi, baby girl,” he whispered soothingly. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” He continued trying to calm her, occasionally stirring the food while trying to tune out the low voices echoing from the other room.

A few minutes later, Steve ambled into the kitchen sheepishly. “Hey.”

Javier reached to set the burner to low. “You alright?”

Steve sighed loudly, running his fingers over his lip to smooth his mustache. “Yeah. Escobar’s deal started another argument about going back to Miami.” He stepped close, shifting to take the girl from Javier. “Thanks for getting Olivia to calm down. Connie says she thinks she has colic.”

“Olivia?”

Steve adjusted her in his arms, smiling softly. “We’re adopting her. Connie liked the name.”

Javier leaned back against the counter, floored for the second time that day. Somehow this hit harder. “Jesus, Steve.”

“She’d been wanting to start tryin’ for a kid for a while now, so this worked out,” he explained, that goofy slow smile that’s so sweet, so earnestly Steve spreading across his face. “I’ve got a little family now.”

Javier met Steve’s eye, the happiest look he could manage plastered atop his face. There had been a hope, perhaps a foolish and destructive one, that he might be able to carve out a small something with Steve. Never so foolish to wish for more than this strange and intimate camaraderie they had built, but a life beside him all the same. Dinners with him and Connie, late nights at the embassy, stolen moments on the mountaintops. He had made do in the past with less.

But this was the Murphys, was Steve, looking ahead and planning for a future beyond Escobar, beyond Colombia.

Beyond Javier.

He turned back around, reaching to the cabinet where he knew they kept their bowls. “You’ll have to let me babysit sometime. Don’t want her picking up on your abysmal Spanish.”

There was a smack on his shoulder. “Hey,” Steve laughed, indignant all the same. “It’s getting better!” He shuffled close, tilting Olivia so her big brown eyes could meet Javier’s. “This is Javi, sweetheart,” he said softly to her. “Es tu tío.”

Steve looked up, searching for praise for his display of language. Like a damn dog. Javier couldn’t help the small smile that slipped out in response. “Yeah. Abysmal.”

*    *    *

A number of tense days, weeks— it was hard to say when they all started to blend together— passed following the announcement of Gaviria’s acceptance of Escobar’s demands and before the deal was to take effect. Javier found himself leaned over the expansive military planning desks in the joint CIA/Mil Group offices until the early hours of the morning most nights, listening to the crackle of Carrillo and his men through the radio while they trudged through the jungle hunting the narcotraficantes .

It was a last-ditch effort. Born out of a panicked sense of logic that reasoned that if they used all the resources available to them and caught Escobar before the deal went through, it would all have been worth it. It was foolhardy. They followed any and all tips they received, blatantly used military equipment, and wasted funds. The nights were a blur of whiskey, smoke, and ties thrown over shoulders— the only indication of time passing the scratchy drawl that would slowly overtake Steve’s voice.

It was ultimately fruitless.

The day that Escobar was scheduled to turn himself in, Javier and Steve piled into the Jeep and made the haul to the outskirts of Medellín to the finca the man had been calling home for the past months. A set of coordinates that, had they known a mere days earlier, they might be making this trip en route to a victory. Instead, they rode in near-silence, Steve white-knuckled in the driver’s seat, and Javier chain-smoking out the window from the passenger’s side. They were approaching uncharted territory. Once Pablo was whisked away, the head of the beast would be hidden away, and no matter how many limbs they severed, it would live on.

They pulled up to the edge of the massive compound just as the military helicopter set to escort Escobar to his luxury prison was touching down. Javier wasn’t a praying man, but he gave silent thanks to the Jeep’s four-wheel drive as Steve pulled off the gravel track into the steep grassy embankment to get as close to the fenceline as possible. He slipped out of the seat, and trudged over to where Steve had rushed to stand. From several hundred yards away, he watched dazedly as Sandoval emerged from the chopper, and in parallel, Escobar filed out of his home. They met in the middle, signed the treaty, and just as quickly, they made their way back to the helicopter and took off.

Javier stood still, unbelieving, as the huge hulking machine was soon out of sight. His limbs felt shocky, staticky with the need to move, to do something. Beside him, his partner glanced around wildly, seemingly looking for a fix to this problem. “Shit,” Steve yelled, looking up at the sky. He set to pacing, kicking at the long grasses that threatened to tangle his steps. “Fucker.”

“Come on,” Javier called out over his shoulder, turning back to the vehicle. There was nothing left for them here; jail or not, this was still Escobar’s territory. And they were still DEA agents. “Let’s get the hell home.”

It was dark by the time they got back to their apartment building in Bogotá. Cool and balmy, the air still as it is before the sky opens up. Steve pulled the Jeep along the curb, not bothering to use the underground parking, and threw the gear into park with a heavy hand and an equally heavy sigh. “Connie and Olivia are probably already asleep,” he murmured, glancing at Javier. “Do you have any alcohol?”

“Just guaro,” Javier replied, laughing at the grimace that graced his partner’s face.

“That shit tastes like licorice, how the hell d’you drink it?”

“Quickly.” He peeled himself from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car. “Take it or leave it,” he called out, starting up the stairs to the front door. He smiled to himself at the metallic thunk of the driver’s side door closing, and Steve’s audible grumbling as he hurried to follow.  

They ambled down the short flight of stairs to Javier’s apartment, unlocking and pushing through the flimsy wooden door. Javier made his way to the kitchen and fished his wallet and pistol from his jeans to place on the counter alongside his keys. Steve had booked it to the lounge and was methodically pulling one of Javier’s records from its sleeve and setting the pin to play. Javier anticipated the first chords of One of These Nights before he heard them but still rolled his eyes, exhaling a laugh. Predictable.

“The Eagles again, Murphy?”

Steve sat down heavily on the leather couch, kicking his feet up onto the low table like he owned the place. “It’s good music. This one’s got Take it to the Limit on it.”

“Who do you think bought the record,” Javier mumbled to himself with a smile, grabbing the bottle of aguardiente from the cabinet. Antioqueño. Carrillo had given it to him as a Christmas gift the year before as a joke— a reference to the inter-state regulations on aguardiente . Their own small-scale smuggling ring; the irony of opening the bottle for the first time that particular night was not lost on him.

He didn’t bother with shot glasses, breaking the seal on the lid and bringing the mouth of the bottle to his lips. He swallowed roughly. They made this shit strong in Medellín.

Moving to join Steve, Javier handed his partner the bottle over the back of the couch and rounded the corner to take a seat at the other end. He watched as Steve drank deeply, throat working desperately to keep up with the man’s desire for inebriation. He handed the guaro back with a cough, several inches of liquor missing from the container.

“Jesus, Steve.”

“I'm callin’ in sick tomorrow,” Steve choked out, his accent already starting to thicken.

“And stick me with all the paperwork there is to send back to Washington because of this prison stunt? I don’t think so, Murphy.”

“We’ll both play hooky then,” he said with a wink.

They sat there for a while, trading the bottle back and forth, Javier taking sips in between Steve’s gulps, and listening to the music filtering warmly through the small stack of speakers.

Finally, Steve broke the quiet. “What the hell are we going to do now, Javi?”

Javier took in his partner’s form. His head was tipped back over the edge of the cushions, eyes tired but sharp with a renewed anger. His fist was closed tight around the neck of the bottle. “About what?”

Steve sat up, accusation on his face. “About the prison. About Escobar. We fuckin’ lost extradition too,” he listed, tongue sounding heavy in his mouth.

“We’ll figure something out,” Javier consoled, only half believing himself. “Pablo is bound to slip up somewhere.”

“I jus’ don’t get it.” Steve shifted, looking restless, uncomfortable in his skin suddenly. He took another drink of the guaro. “We did everything right. We played by the rules. It was s’posed to work.”

“He hit them where it hurt.” Javier leaned forward, gently easing the bottle from Steve’s grip. Hooky or not, Antioqueño was too strong to be drinking like water.

“Don’t the good guys win? Aren’t we the good guys, Javi?”

No, we’re not. But that wasn’t what Steve needed to hear, so Javier held his tongue. The silence might have been enough of an answer.

He looked at Javier, the anger in his eyes turned frantic. “Am I a bad guy? Am I a bad person? Are you?”

“Steve, I—”

“Have’ya ever cheated on someone, Javi?”

That gave Javier pause. He studied his partner, trying to find some indication of what the hell was going on, but found nothing. He sighed, thinking back. Technically, no, but he certainly wasn't the standard of morality in relationships. “I never claimed to be a saint.”

At that, Steve went quiet, leaning on his knees to place his head in his open palms. The faint hum and clicking that signaled the end of the record filled the room, and Javier stood to flip sides. He shuffled across the wooden floor, before pressing the button to stop the turntable’s motor, lifting the arm, and flipping the wax. He restarted the motor, and just as soon as the needle was reset, hands were grabbing at his shoulders and he was shoved up against the wall.

The back of his head hit the hard surface, setting his vision to spin. “What the hell—” he managed to grind out, and then Steve’s lips were crashing against his own, craving, biting, set to bruise. He froze in shock before responding blindly, knotting his fingers in the wrinkled fabric of his polo, and taking simple pleasure in the heat of Steve’s mouth, the rasp of stubble against his skin.

Steve shifted, slotting one of his long legs between Javier’s and drawing a punched-out groan from the man. He pressed the whole length of his body against Javier, seemingly trying to crawl inside his skin. His lips moved to mouth at the junction where neck and jaw met, moaning against the pulse.

“Please Javi, please,” he whined, desperate.

The sound of his name shocked Javier from his daze. “Steve,” he said, pulling at the short hairs on the back of his neck, trying to gently extract himself. “Steve, stop.”

Steve didn't let up though, grasping at his chest and pressing impossibly closer.

Grunting, he grabbed Steve’s shoulders and forcibly spun them, pinning his back against the wall and wrists above his head. “I said stop,” he gritted out. “It can’t be like this.” He looked up, meeting Steve’s shifting gaze. His eyes were rimmed red and glassy, breath heaving. Despite it all, Javier still found him beautiful. “You don’t get to use me for whatever this is— as some sort of fucking morality test.”

To his credit, Steve straightened some, and Javier let his wrists fall. “What do I do, Javi,” he asked, sounding so young. So lost.

“You’re going to go upstairs,” Javier whispered, already feeling the loss. He reached to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Steve’s ear, trailing his knuckles along his cheek as he pulled away. Savoring this final moment. “To your wife. To your child. You’ll wake up in the morning and you won’t remember this. And you’ll still be a good man.”

Steve’s eyes were glassy and he blinked rapidly, looking everywhere but at his partner. He slumped against the wall, the adrenaline of the moment leaving his body and inebriation taking over.

Javier bent to sling Steve’s arm over his shoulders as support. “I’ll help you home.”

Slowly, staggeringly, Javier managed to maneuver Steve up the flight of stairs, coming to a stumbling stop in front of the second-floor apartment. He fished the keys out of Steve’s pocket and attempted to shove the key into the lock, but it proved difficult while supporting the full weight of his partner.

“Work with me, cabrón,” he gritted out.

The door began to cautiously open from the other end, and then Connie was in the doorway in her pajamas, eyes squinted against the bright light of the hallway.

“Javi?” she murmured questioningly, looking at the scene before her. “God, Steve.”

Javier steeled himself. “He had a few too many. Didn’t want to wake you and the baby.”

“Hi, Con,” Steve drawled, giving a feeble wave.

Together, they managed to get Steve into bed, and after, Connie escorted Javier back out. He shifted to stand on his hip, keeping his voice low. “Don’t bother waking him up tomorrow. I’ll call him in sick,” he instructed, unable to meet her eye.

Connie leaned up against the arch of the doorway. “Thank you,” she said softly, earnest. “We’re really lu—”

“Don’t,” he interjected, shame and guilt hot in his stomach. Fire on the back of his neck. He took a breath, recovering quickly. “No thanks needed. He’s my partner.”

She smiled, warm and appreciative. “Goodnight, Javier.”

The door closed softly behind her with a metallic clink, and he immediately rushed back down the stairs to his own apartment and the countertop where his lighter and pack of cigarettes lay. He fumbled with the container, finally fishing one out and struggling to light it. He took a deep drag when it finally caught, never more grateful for the nicotine.

He grabbed the carton and moved back to the lounge, settling heavily on the couch once again. Leaning forward, he grabbed the bottle of guaro left abandoned on the coffee table and finished off the last few mouthfuls. The alcohol was warm against the numbness that had begun to settle in his limbs.

The record had long since finished, and once again spun idly, but he didn’t move to turn off the machine. Instead, he sunk lower into the leather, fixing his gaze on the wall beside it while he smoked. Resigning himself to a sleepless night, he mourned.

*    *    *

Steve awoke the next day, heavy-limbed, head pounding, and with a crystal-clear recollection of the night before. Total sensory recall of the way Javi’s mouth had felt against his own, the grip of those rough hands in his hair, the heat and weight of his body.

Javi had lied.

Steve did not forget. And Steve certainly did not feel like a good man— personally or professionally.

So that night, when the CIA field unit called him at home with reports of an intercepted call detailing a party at a club in downtown Medellín where several tip sicarios would be meeting, he passed the information on to Carrillo and the Search Bloc, despite the cease and desist in place. And the next morning, when he was called to photograph the scene, bodies of narcos and civilians alike strewn across the concrete, he realized this was just a part of the war. That wars were won in shades of gray.

[hockeylvr59]

Secret Love Part 10 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note: This is an important and super fluffy chapter. It’s taking me a bit longer to write now that school is back so updates will be slower but I am obsessed with sharing this story with you guys and all of the feedback means the world to me. A photoset of all of the sightseeing locations will be posted immediately following this update and as always will be tagged ‘038′

Warnings: cursing

Word Count: 3,695

~~~~

You started your day - for the second time - when Cale’s thumb brushed over your cheek and his lips ghosted over yours. As your eyes cracked open, you realized he was standing beside the bed already fully dressed. 

“Time to get up sunshine...we have a busy day of exploring ahead of us.” He chuckled as you groaned, stretching lazily as your brain struggled to wake up. A glance at your phone revealed that it was 5:45 in the morning, not even two hours since you fell back asleep. “Get up and get dressed and we can go get coffee and breakfast.” Cale lured, smiling so brightly that you wanted to smack it right off of his face. 

Fifteen minutes later, you were pulling on socks and a pair of hiking sneakers while Cale finished throwing things into the backpack he’d brought as a carry-on. You had already pulled on the pair of leggings, t-shirt, and fleece that Cale had laid out for you and had quickly fixed your hair adding a combo foundation/sunscreen to your face so that you didn’t look entirely dead. 

Sliding out of the hotel room, you stopped down at the continental breakfast for sustenance and coffee. Not long after that, you were sliding back into the rental vehicle as Cale tossed the bag in the backseat and loaded up an address into his phone’s GPS. 

“So can I ask where we’re going?” You inquired, yawning as you looked over at your boyfriend. 

“We’re doing the Golden Circle today...but starting with a little bit of a detour first.” Despite your look to continue, Cale didn’t add anything else to that. Instead, he handed you his phone with Spotify open so that you could pick the music for the trip. 

For the next 45 minutes, you jammed out while looking out the window as the views of Iceland passed by. It was too early to have any form of intelligent conversation but as always the silence was comfortable. Eventually, Cale pulled into a parking lot and climbed out of the car, grabbing the backpack from the backseat. 

“You ready for a hike?” He questioned, lacing his fingers through yours. 

“Let’s do it.” You agreed, hoping your body was prepared for what you were about to put it through. It was a brisk, 14 degrees Celsius/57 degrees Fahrenheit outside but with your layered clothing it was comfortable. 

The start of the hike was relatively flat and continued a good distance before you descended down the hillside and through a stone archway. Continuing your descent you reached a river, one you evidently had to cross to continue. Slipping off your shoes and socks, you rolled your pants up. With Cale behind you, you grabbed onto the guidewire and started making your way across the rocks until you reached a log halfway across. Reaching the other side of the swiftly flowing river, you threw your shoe laden hands up in the air in triumph. 

“That was...an experience.” You mused, taking a towel Cale offered to dry off your feet before sliding back into more proper footwear. 

“Now comes the hard part....up.” Cale declared, taking the towel from you to dry off his own feet. 

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” You joked, stretching to peck his lips. “Just...don’t let me fall.” You pleaded lightly. 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Cale promised. “And the view will be worth it.” 

Sharing sips from the bottle of water Cale had brought, you started the long ascent. Holding the ropes as you climbed, you made slow but steady progress. Without you saying a word about it, Cale slowed down his pace when you needed him to and he reached out a hand to help when the next step was just a little too far or too high. Climbing over some particularly high rocks, Cale had one hand in yours while his other guided you up by your waist, and you stumbled half a step, your chest pressing against his as a anxious giggle spilled from your throat. 

By the time you reached the first marker point you were in desperate need of more water and eagerly took the bottle as Cale pulled it out of the backpack. It was only after you had taken a handful of sips that you actually looked at where you were. Off in the distance was a magnificent waterfall, steep cliffs surrounding it on either side. In the other direction, you could see all the way out to the ocean, just miles and miles of the most stunning terrain. It was absolutely breathtaking and already so worth the burn in your quads you were going to be feeling for days. 

As you turned back to stare at the waterfall again, Cale’s arms slipped around your waist and he stood pressed against your back, his chin resting on top of your head. 

“What do you think?” He murmured. 

“It’s incredible.” You whispered, relaxing back against him. 

“I knew you’d like it.” Cale added, his breaths long and deep, just taking it all in. 

As you stood wrapped in Cale’s arms, in wonder of how a place like this could exist, you felt a wave of emotion crash over you, hitting you as hard as the water flowing over the falls hit the rocks below. 

You were in love with him. 

A life with him, one full of adventure and wonder. Knowing he was the one person who knew you better than yourself, knowing he would always be there to support you physically and emotionally. This was all you could ever ask for, could ever want.

You’d loved him from the moment you first held him 21 years ago. That love had changed in substance as you went from playing house with Cale as your partner in crime and Taylor as your baby to biting your nails trying to quell your nerves as you watched him skate in his first collegiate hockey game. Now, that love was different still: deeper, stronger, all-consuming, intimate. You were learning every little piece of him and he was learning the same about you. 

It was too soon to say the words aloud, but you could no longer deny it in your own mind. You didn’t just love your best friend, you were head over heels in love with him. 

Twisting in his arms, you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down into a soft kiss. Just because you weren’t ready to say it didn’t mean you couldn’t express it through your actions. 

You didn’t even realize that Cale had messed around with his phone to take a picture until you had pulled away, cheeks warm from both the exertion and the kiss. It was a stunning photo, one you were itching to make your home screen, but one that certainly was going in the file not to be seen by your parents. Cale took a few more pictures before the two of you continued to climb. 

When you reached the top of the falls, you took even more pictures, sitting down by the side of the river to munch on one of the protein bars Cale had packed. After a few more minutes rest, Cale pulled you back to your feet and the two of you turned around to retrace your steps all the way back down, across the river once more, and then up to the car. 

Your hike had taken you the entire morning, but had been so worth it. Your epiphany aside, spending time with Cale like this was something you had always treasured but that had been in short supply as the two of you got older. So between the bonding time and getting to take in all of the incredible views you’d just witnessed, you were certainly feeling blessed even if you were already sore.

 Climbing back in the car, you insisted Cale find somewhere with a bathroom before your next stop of the day. It hadn’t bothered you while you were moving but with draining an entire bottle of water while hiking and the constant sound of water in your ears all day...you really needed to pee. Cale had laughed at you, but complied willingly, pulling up his phone to find someplace for the two of you to stop. 

After emptying your bladder and downing another protein bar, you settled in for the short drive to Þingvellir National Park. Having pulled out Cale’s map with the Golden Circle route, you now had some idea of at least the general locations you were going to see. 

As Cale pulled the car into a parking lot, you got a glimpse of what made this place so special. But it wasn’t until you had gotten out and actually started walking around that you realized how truly impressive it was. This was one of the few locations globally where you could actually see the tectonic plates. Jagged rocks thrust out of the landscape appearing on either side of you as you tugged Cale along the path. It was sights like this that made you realize how big and powerful nature was and just how small you were as humans in comparison. 

Having already seen one incredible waterfall today, you decided to forgo the walk to see the one here in the park and instead just took a couple of photos before heading back to the car to continue on to the next stop of your journey. 

Back in the car, you once again took over Cale’s phone for music, his spotify blasting as you drove through Iceland with the windows down, enjoying the beautiful afternoon. Singing along to the music, you kicked your feet up and leaned against your door, partly watching your surroundings and partly watching your boyfriend. He’d relaxed considerably behind the wheel since yesterday and you’d never noticed how sexy he looked while driving before. It wasn’t something you could explain, it was just something that hit you straight in the gut. 

Your next stop was to see Geysir, the Icelandic version of Old Faithful. The strong smell of sulfur filled the air and steam rose from the vents and pools of bubbling water in the ground. 

“We don’t have to stick around here long.” Cale insisted, his hand rubbing over your lower back as you headed toward the largest geyser in the park. Like clockwork, the geyser erupts every six minutes, so it wasn’t too much of a wait to see it before heading back to the car. 

Reaching for the passenger door, you were stopped when Cale grabbed your wrist and tugged your body closer to his. 

“Are you okay?” He questioned, palm cupping your cheek. 

“Yeah Cale I’m good.” You assured him. “It’s just not the most pleasant scent.” Kissing him softly, you brushed your nose against his for a moment before settling back onto your heels. “Now let’s get out of here.” It didn’t escape your notice, that once again Cale was checking on you, making sure that you were always okay. The way he cared for those around him was one of the things you loved most about him. 

It was a really short, ten-minute car ride to the next stop of the day. Though you had skipped the small waterfall at Þingvellir National Park, Gullfoss Falls had made Cale’s list of things to see. Unlike Glymur falls which had been tall and narrow, Gullfoss was a fairly shallow set of falls, that stretched over a much wider area. With the sun shining the way it was, rainbows appeared wherever there was mist from the falls. Everything in Iceland was absolutely beautiful; just being here made you feel more grounded, centered. It was absolutely the perfect trip so far to really spend time with Cale as a couple rather than just friends. This time, the photos you took were silly ones to show your families. But like your last few stops, you didn’t linger long before climbing into the car to head to the final stop of the Circle. 

You must have dozed off during that leg of the drive because when you opened your eyes, you were once again parked in a new location. Cale was looking at his phone, but when he realized you were awake, his eyes turned soft as he glanced over at you. 

“What?” You inquired, your back popping as you stretched. Cale didn’t respond, simply shaking his head as he turned the car off and moved to climb out of the car. 

“You coming?” He eventually called, turning back to face you about ten feet in front of the car. Rolling your eyes, you quickly moved to catch up with him and after paying a small conservation fee, you stepped off the paved lot onto a path. In front of you was a crater lake, its deep blue water surrounded by red rock and green vegetation. 

“Okay...don’t get me wrong...everything we’ve seen today has been gorgeous...but I think this is my favorite.” You breathed. 

“Yeah?” Cale murmured. You nodded in response, tucking yourself into his side as the two of you just admired the sight in front of you. Waterfalls were great, geysers and faults were cool, but this...this was on another level. 

Eventually you’d made your way back to Reykjavik after lingering for awhile at the Crater.

It had been a long day, and you were ready to get some dinner and just relax before maybe going to bed early. Sinking into one of the chairs in your hotel room, you sighed in relief and toed off your shoes. Cale had disappeared into the bathroom and when you looked up he was leaning against the wall, a pensive look on his face. 

“So...are you gonna hate me if I tell you we have one more thing on the agenda for today?” He asked. When your shoulders sunk, he chuckled and moved across the room to kiss you. “I promise it’s something relaxing.” He murmured against your lips. 

“What is it?” You groaned. 

“Dinner followed by a little dip…” You had to admit you were intrigued and you were dying to show off the new suits you’d bought for the trip. 

“You kill me Cale.” You sighed, though the smile pulling at the corners of your mouth gave away your compliance. Cale pulled you to your feet and his hands landed on your hips as he looked down at you, content smile traveling all the way up to his eyes. “You’re lucky I really really like you.” You teased. 

“Hmm is that right?” Cale murmured back as his mouth dropped to yours for a kiss that lingered, his tongue exploring your mouth. Sighing into the kiss, for a moment you let yourself get lost in the feeling of it all. When the kiss broke, you stood in Cale’s arms, your fingers playing with the hairs at the back of his neck. The way he was looking at you made you shiver and knowing you’d never leave this hotel room if you didn’t start moving, you pulled away. 

“Do I need to stay dressed like this or can I change into something a little nicer?” You questioned.

“You can change if you want.” Cale declared, fingers running through his hair. Digging through your suitcase, you grabbed your swimsuit and one of the nice but still fairly casual dresses you’d packed before slipping into the bathroom. Sliding the suit on, you pulled the dress on over it before stepping back into the main room. 

“Will this work?” You asked as you slid your dirty clothes into a laundry bag. Cale still hadn’t responded by the time you’d found your sandals and slipped them on and when you looked over at him, his cheeks were flushed and his jaw was halfway to the ground. “Cale…” You prompted, eyebrows raised. 

“Shit...fuck...holy crap you’re beautiful.” Cale declared after snapping out of the daze he’d been in. If this simple dress had that much of an effect on him, you couldn’t wait to see how he responded to some of the other things you’d brought, suit included. 

“So it’ll work?” You repeated your question, giggling softly. 

“Yeah...I think that’ll work.” He agreed, shaking his head before moving to change as well. 

You’d lost count of how many times you’d been in and out of your rental car today, but as you climbed into the passenger seat again, you acknowledged that this time felt different. Once Cale had reached the open highway, his hand reached down to lace with yours. Anxious butterflies filled your stomach and it took some time before you realized why. 

This was your first real date. 

Sure you’d had lunch together, done dinner at your place, watched movies, this whole trip was kind of an extended date...but this was the first time you’d gone out together that truly felt like a date. 

It was silly to feel nervous, you’d been together for a month already and things were really good. Still, you couldnt’t shake that little bit of nervous energy. 

A few nerves were good though, and you decided to just make the most of them. About an hour after you’d left your hotel, Cale pulled into a parking lot again and the two of you made your way through a winding path surrounded by volcanic rock until you reached the doors for the Blue Lagoon. 

Dinner was the first part of this date which you were thankful for because you were starving. With views of the lagoon, high ceilings and a wall made of the same volcanic rock as outside, you settled into a table at the Lava Restaurant. 

Once glasses of wine were poured and main dishes were ordered, you smiled across the table at Cale. 

“I don’t know if I’ve…”

“You really are…” You both started speaking at the same time, and laughter spread between you as you each stopped to let the other speak. 

“Go ahead.” Cale insisted, his thumb brushing against your joined hands. 

“Thank you for all of this.” You breathed. “This trip is really special and I know you put a lot of thought and effort into planning it.” 

“You’re worth it.” Cale said blushing slightly. “This trip wouldn’t be nearly as fun with anyone else.” Reaching for your wine glass you held it up in a toast, waiting for Cale to mirror your action. 

“To us.” You murmured. “To adventures, laughter, and a little romance.” 

“To my beautiful girlfriend. My best friend. I’m so lucky you’re mine even though it took us awhile to figure it out.” Your heart pounded at Cale’s words but thankfully your food arrived before he had the chance to make you cry. 

Sharing your lamb fillet and Cale’s beef tenderloin, you both got to taste multiple examples of the rich Icelandic cuisine. Your main dishes were followed by a shared dessert of icelandic berries and chocolate. As Cale fed you a bite, you felt some of the caramel sauce hit the corner of your mouth. Before you could reach up to wipe it away, Cale had done it for you and your stomach twisted pleasantly at the feeling of his thumb against your skin. 

When your food was finished, you relaxed finishing off your glasses of wine while Cale told you a story from his time at UMass that you hadn’t heard before. Eventually though, you got up from the table and moved to head out to the lagoon itself. 

Since you both had suits on under your clothes already, it didn’t take long to put your things into a locker in the women’s changing area before meeting up with Cale. The moment he saw you, you watched him swallow hard, his eyes visibly darkening. 

“This. is. not. fair.” Cale choked out. Dragging him outside, your eyes went wide as you took in the sight in front of you. Pale blue water, dark rocks, it was absolutely stunning and you couldn’t wait to get in. 

Stepping down into the warm water you waited for Cale to join you, laughing to yourself as he stood on the cement looking completely awestruck. The water was perfect, it felt like you had stepped into a massive jacuzzi and the heat felt wonderful on your sore muscles. 

“You’re trying to give me a heart attack aren’t you?” Cale whispered, his voice dangerously low as he appeared behind you. 

“And just how would I do that?” You smirked, enjoying the ego stroking you were getting from Cale’s reactions. 

“You know how.” Cale mumbled. “You’re absolutely killing me right now.” 

You’d hoped to get some reaction out of Cale when you picked out this suit, but you hadn’t expected for him to lose his mind like this. Admittedly, the blue and white of the suit was even more fitting for this location than you had expected and you felt sexy and confident as Cale’s eyes lingered on you. 

Trailing your nails down Cale’s chest you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you smiled up at him. 

“If you like this...wait until you see what else I packed…” You suggested, slipping away from Cale to head over to the in-water bar for a drink, his growl resounding in your ears. 

Cale seemed to recover from his shock a little but not fully and the two of you spent close to two hours enjoying yourselves. You even convinced Cale to not only let you give him a silica mask, but to take a couple pictures with it on even though he was sure to be chirped if his teammates or even his brother ever saw them. 

Relaxed and happy, you left the lagoon to drive back to the hotel. That had been by far your favorite first date ever. And it was the best way to cap off a day that had been even better than yesterday. As you crawled into bed, your head resting on Cale’s chest, the exhaustion of such an eventful day caught up with you and it wasn’t long until you had fallen fast asleep. 

End of Chapter Outfit: