#its been a struggle trying to figure out what can move the story along without mc feeling like a pushover

[maasmodeus]

I want you to rape me and then throw me in the dumpster

Consensual non-Consent (CnC) is the PLAY I will do or condone. The following is only a made up story of two (or more pending where this goes) consent adults playing out a fantasy. At no time is sexual assault or r$p ok to do to anyone anytime for any reason. Anonymous, I have no idea who/what you are. So I will play along vaguely enough to keep all inculuded, thanks for the inspiration. So let your use begin, enjoy

I see you walking by the hotel bar during your vacation, heading to your room from the indoor pool. You were the last one there, kicked out late at night, your skin still wet, with the hotel towel wrapped around you. You don't notice my eyes following the movements of your body from my dark little corner in the hotel bar.

As you continue down the carpeted hall, the wet flip-flops on your feet echo off the walls. You’re cold, walking stiffly, each squeak and flop of your steps masking the sound of my movements as I quickly close the distance between us. The brightly lit hallway feels safe to you, but you remain unaware of the threat closing in.

Your head is down, watching your feet as you slightly shiver from the water dripping from your hair onto your shoulders. The cold blast of air conditioning down the hallway adds to your chill. Suddenly, you hear a hotel room door creak open, making you look up. The door is just ahead of you, several steps away. A different kind of chill washes over you as you see nothing but darkness inside the room, no one standing there. You instinctively step away, tightening your grip on your towel, unaware that your move toward safety has just placed you in the path of the predator stalking you down the hall.

You're hit from behind, the impact so hard that it feels as if you’ve been slammed flat onto the ground. An arm wraps around your waist with such force that it feels like your bellybutton is being pressed against your spine, pushing the air out of your lungs. As you gasp for breath, a hand clamps down over your mouth and nose, sealing tightly against your skin. Unable to breathe, you’re lifted off the ground, your feet dangling, as you’re rushed into the darkness of the open hotel room door. A deep, low voice hisses in your ear, the warm, hot breath against your skin, "You're mine now."

Panic surges through your body like a hot flash, your heart rate skyrocketing, blood pressure spiking until you feel your pulse in your eyes. Your vision, wide with terror, takes in the encroaching darkness of the room as you’re pulled inside. Every sound is amplified, the footfalls of the person... this thing that holds you, loud in your ears. Moving quickly through the small room, time seems to slow. The door closes with an ominous finality, snuffing out the last sliver of light from the hallway. Now, there is nothing but darkness, no light, no escape, no sense of where you are.

Is it really this dark, or are you starting to pass out from lack of oxygen? The arm crushing your belly and chest feels like a tree trunk, and the hand over your mouth is so tight that it feels as if your face is disappearing. Your eyes are wide, the next throb of your rapid heartbeat threatening to burst them from their sockets. You try to scream, but nothing happens—not even the air pressure shifts in your nonexistent mouth. You struggle, trying to wiggle free, but your body is so tightly bound to this massive figure that your limbs flop helplessly, like a fish out of water, dying in the sun, inches away from its source of life.

Now you know... you're losing consciousness. It's not just the room that’s dark; your entire world is fading to black.

Just then, you feel your body gasp for air, your survival instincts taking over without your consent. Automatically, your body fights to keep you alive. The arm is gone from your belly, the hand no longer blocking your breath. But there’s nothing beneath you—you’re weightless, as if you’re flying. Before you can grasp what’s happening, you slam into a bed, bouncing slightly before flopping onto your back.

You were thrown onto the bed by this unknown entity, the same one that nearly crushed the life out of you. As soon as you hit the mattress and gasp for air, a hand slaps back over your mouth, while another clamps down on your throat, pinning you hard to the bed. You thrash, your body flailing from side to side in a desperate attempt to escape, but your head remains immobilized by the iron grip. You try to scream, but no sound escapes—not even with your heightened senses can you hear yourself. The deep, low voice returns, hot breath on your ear from the dark silhouette leaning over you. With a whispering hiss, it says, "You can fight all you want, but you’re ours now." Your body goes limp, the fight drained from you, replaced by paralyzing fear.

You feel your right hand being grabbed and a rope slipping over your wrist, cinching tightly before being pulled away, extending your arm painfully. Then, your right foot is similarly bound, the rope snapping around your ankle and pulling it to the far corner of the bed. Your left arm, your left leg—all are soon pulled in four different directions, straining your joints and ligaments to their limits.

The hand lifts from your mouth only to be replaced by something large and round—too big for your mouth—a ball gag with ropes on the sides. As you try to scream, it’s shoved in, your head lifted as the straps tighten painfully against your cheeks and the back of your head.

You recognize the voice of the one who grabbed you. "See what I tell you? Look at this fresh little thing."

A female voice responds, shocking you. You hadn't even realized there was another person in the room, much less a woman. It all happens so quickly—you’re in shock, your limbs tied and pulled apart with an ease that couldn’t possibly come from just one person. Fear overtakes you, your panic intensifying as you're forced to breathe hard through your nose, the oversized ball gag crammed into your mouth.

"Yes, Sir. They’ll do nicely—could be fun," the unseen woman purrs, her tone dripping with a dark seriousness that sends a chill down your spine.

"Cut them open. Let’s get a good look at what we get to play with," the man orders, his silhouette turning away. You hear the clink of ice dropping into a glass, the soft pop of a stopper, followed by the glug-glug of liquid being poured. The ice cracks as it meets the cold drink, the sound adding to your growing dread.

"Yes, Sir," the woman coos with sinister delight.

The bed shifts as someone climbs onto it, the movement drawing your body towards them. You try to fight—desperately attempting to move, to run, to do anything other than lie there helplessly, spread wide open and bound to the bed. But your struggles are futile. All you can manage is a pathetic wriggle, a weak protest against the person advancing toward you.

You are utterly helpless, completely at the mercy of these shadowy figures.

A hand suddenly slaps you across the face, the force of it snapping your head to the side. The sharp sting doesn’t register immediately, but when it does, the pain sears into your brain, shutting down your useless attempts to escape. Another hand grips your cheeks, squeezing them tightly against your teeth, forcing your mouth wider around the gag.

"None of that now," the female voice says in a calm, almost soothing tone, as if speaking to a child.

"We don’t want you getting hurt—at least, not yet," she continues, her voice purring with twisted pleasure.

You go still, every muscle tense as the ropes dig into your wrists and ankles. Numbness begins to creep into your hands and feet, while the burn on your cheek serves as a cruel reminder of your captor’s control. The woman moves around you on the bed, and you feel the chilling touch of steel against your skin as it slides slowly between you and your wet bathing suit.

She cuts it away, then yanks the fabric out from under you with a hard pull, flinging it across the room where it lands with a wet splat against the wall. "Oh, Sir," she exclaims with sick delight, as if unwrapping a long-awaited gift on Christmas morning.

"This one’s going to be so much fun," she says, practically dancing with glee, clapping her hands together—one of which still holds the knife, blade gleaming in the dim light.

"Have I ever disappointed you?" the man asks, turning back around with a glass in hand, taking a slow sip.

"No, Sir. Never, Sir," she replies in a tone that is both deferential and eager, her shadowy form standing still, head lowered.

"We only have six hours, and we can’t break this one—understand?" His voice is clear, commanding, as he looks down at her, towering over her by at least a foot and a half.

"Yes, Sir. I understand, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir. I won’t get carried away again, Sir," she responds, her voice sheepish, like a child caught sneaking sweets.

"Now, let’s see what this one can do," the man says, draining his glass in a single gulp before setting it down with a hard clink, the ice rattling.

The woman giggles with sinister glee, clapping her hands in anticipation of the twisted fun they are about to have.

Your eyes remain wide open, panic driving your every breath through your nose. You watch in terror as the two shadowy figures move towards you, realizing you haven’t blinked once since the hallway. That hallway, which now feels so distant, so long ago, though it was less than two minutes ago that you were safely walking down it. Now, here you are—strapped down, gagged, naked, and completely at the mercy of these two unknown figures.

Six hours. The realization crashes down on you like a wave. Your night of terror hasn’t even begun.

For the next six hours you get used a sex mattress, a fuckdoll, a fucktoy for both of them in very sick twisted way. You had toys, objects, fingers, toes, tongues, the man's cock, the womans strap on put into every hole you have in every position they could tie you up in. You are full of cum, dripping of cum and sweat. Your have no idea the amount of bodily fluids are covering you and whos.

You are ashamed of the amount of orgasm you had, so many.... so so SO SO many! Too many to even come close of counting. You are so tired and you stopped fighting them hours and hours ago. They did not stop using you from their sexual use. If one would get a drink or sit down the other was still pushing something into you or both would be going at you hard and ruff with no care of you other than 100% as an inanimate object for their sick fun.

The man would now and them give you water from a glass with a straw. Because every time you are tied into a new position, free movement on your own was never possible. Took you to the bathroom too but used your face as you relived yourself saying "hurry up this is boring". Or other holes not needing to be evacuated.

They took out the ball gag about the first hour, you could scream anyway, they had something in there fucking that hole too all the time. By then your throat was so badly used bruised you couldn't even squeak.

For hours you just Is laid limp to use you as the pleased. You tried twice to move or get loos that was met with a hard handed hit. Each one harder than the last with a finger in the face telling you "NO!!! BAD!!!"" Then right back at your holes of body as a playground.

The lights came on a long time ago but every moving, pushing, fucking, and siting no your face fucking your mouth... you couldn't identify them right now if you looked right at them.

The man’s voice cuts through the room, hard and tired, as he sits back in his chair, watching you as the your limp body get pounded by the female wearing her strap on. "Okay, my dear, it’s time to get ready to go."

The woman lets out a disappointed, tired whine. "But Sirrrr..." she protests, her voice dripping with disapproval.

"It’s time," he says firmly, standing up from his chair and finishing yet another glass of liquor. "We can't break this one, remember." He walks past you, heading toward the bathroom.

With a very sad voice, she responds, "Yes, Sir," reluctantly getting up and following him. The sound of the shower turning on fills the room, and you can hear them washing up.

You lay there, your body aching, your mind too exhausted to process anything. As you drift off into unconsciousness, the pain and terror slowly fade into a numb void of darkness that takes you.

[omeletcat]

i made a new design for a type of spirit in my game, i think it kinda looks like a nymph, but they're sort of shadowy spirits, my idea is they can jump into shadows and move freely in there. however i've been rly struggling with putting the spirits in a system of how they work, if they have a soul, where they go when they die and stuff like that, but i feel that the more rules i make for the spirits the less it feels like a magical world, and the more it feels like a boring ass isekai.

i want the spirits to vary their appearance depending on the environment, like the mushroom spirits in a cute lil mushroom town. and the nymphs shown above in their own city's. but then it starts feeling like different fantasy races, instead of 1 group. altho if i want the spirits to be "the spirits" and be one race/species it is hard to give some of them their own unique powers like i wanna do with the nymphs. what if a nymph would fuck a mushroom spirit?? then what??? wouldn't there be random out of context spirits just walking in big towns across the world???

the basic idea of a spirit is a magical creature born in the spirit world, usually humanoid figure with weird features like: abnormal skin tones and body proportions, animal features, just straight up being half of an animal, or being a fully unique idea/concept. spirits themselves are more in tune with magic in the world but the strengh and if they can use magic isn't a standart, most spirits won't have magic like humans in the story do, but they can do stuff that they just can do, like how the nymphs spirits (here i'm doing it again, i'm turning the nymphs into a different race instead of a design for a spirit.) can jump into shadows. that isn't the same as magic from a human and their soul, but something natural to their body's.

essentially what i'm trying to say is im struggling real hard. i have so many idea's and i've lost my vibe i want for the spirits along the way and need to define what they are without breaking the magic of the unique world. the best way to fix these problems: the fact some types of spirits feel like different races, the fact that the spirits would fit their own environment and look and fit the part (like the sea star spirit would be close or in the ocean), but also have unique powers that can vary between different types of spirits.

tbh i think the best reason is not to make any rules and just wing this shit. i can keep breaking my head to find a way to fix these issues and keep it unique and magic, or just make it feel magic. and not put some weird drive for reality into it. its a magical spirit world with talking cats and nymphs. i will try and give some things rules and stuff caus i have to, its what i do. but i'l try and make it as unique and varied as i can. i'l make a post very soon talking more on what the spirits will be and how i will define their presence across the game.

[shonenkun309]

A/N : Hi, As you can see, the update is going randomly without a specific date, because since I entered the fandom I've been working on this story so expect sudden updates and sudden progress in events soon.

𝑯𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝑭𝒖𝒏 ~𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒏~

Chapter 1 : Here

Chapter 2 : Here

ᑕᕼᗩᑭTᗴᖇ 3

Futaba's ears tingle with an unsettling sound that makes her skin crawl. She grips Fukajiro's hand tightly, her face contorting in concern.

"UGRAAAAAAAAAAAH!" a shrill voice echoes around them, echoing with a sense of foreboding. Futaba's mind reels as she struggles to comprehend what she's heard.

"A wraith? Here?!" she mutters to herself, wondering how such a creature could have made its way to them. Fukajiro seems unaware of the danger looming closer, as she asks, "What's wrong, Futaba?" Futaba's heart pounds with each passing moment, and her grip on Fukajiro's hand grows even tighter.

Futaba's eyes widen as she hears the faint sound of someone screaming for help. She quickly turns in its direction, still holding Fukajiro's hand tightly. When she spots the source of the disturbance, her heart races with fear. "Don't worry, it's just-" she begins to say before being cut off by more screams. This time, it's a group of students running for their lives, shouting warnings about a 'Red-Eyed Demon' on the loose. Futaba's gaze swings from the direction of the screaming students to the teacher crawling along the walls with blood-red eyes and a wild growl. She and Fukajiro stand frozen for a moment, too scared to move.

"It's the red-eyed demon!" a student cries out. "Everyone run!" In the chaos that ensues, Futaba and Fukajiro are pushed and shoved as the students scramble to get away from the demonic creature, still holding tightly to her friend's hand, Futaba tries to stay calm and figure out a way to escape.

"So the Red eye demon thingy is real?!" Fukajiro said with a wide eyes, Futaba stares at her, concern etched onto her face. "Yes, it's real! And we have to MOVE!" she tells her friend urgently. She grabs Fukajiro's arm and pulls her toward the school exit, dodging fleeing students along the way. "GO! Get out of here as fast as you can!" Futaba yells as she pushes her friend toward the exit. Fukajiro looks stunned, but she quickly snaps out of it and runs for the exit, following the flow of students evacuating the building. As she runs, she glances over her shoulder at Futaba, who's standing in the middle of the hallway, staring down the red-eyed demon.

Futaba's heart raced as the teacher's body was taken over by the wraith, transforming it into a bloodlust-fueled monster. She tried to keep a level head, knowing that she had to distract it to give the others time to escape. "Hey you!" Futaba called out to the creature, waving her hand as she did. The monster turned its head to look at her, its eyes glowing a fierce red. "Grrrrr..." it roared, its voice a mixture of anger and hunger. "You're looking for a prey, right? How about me?" Futaba shouted, making a run for it. The monster let out a piercing howl as it gave chase. Futaba's steps echoed on the tile floor as she sprinted across the hallways, but the monster was closing in fast. She couldn't get to the roof soon enough, and finally reached the door leading outside. In one swift move, Futaba slammed the door shut and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.

Futaba's heart raced as she stood alone in the empty area staring at the wraith. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, focusing her energy. "Good thing no one is here," she whispered to herself. "I can take care of the wraith alone, even though I didn't bring the bell wand with me." She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a small talisman. With a sense of determination, Futaba raised the talisman to her lips and began speaking the incantation under her breath.

She chanted, her voice growing louder with each passing moment. "Kyo Kyo Nyo Ristu Ry-!"

But suddenly, her vision blurred, and her breath caught in her throat. Her heart started racing, and she couldn't catch her breath. She dropped the talisman, her legs giving out from under her. The last thing she saw before everything went dark was the wraith's glowing eyes, mere inches away from her face. As she lost consciousness, the sound of the possessed teacher's growl rang out, sounding like a distant echo. "Grrrr..." it roared, its voice echoing through the roof. The last sound Futaba heard before everything went black.

.

.

.

Futaba's eyes flickered open, revealing a blurry and dark world around her. She felt a sharp pain in her back and a weight pinning her to the floor. Her ears rang from the deafening silence of her surroundings. Suddenly, she heard a faint voice nearby. It sounded like someone was talking to her, but she couldn't make out the words. Her mind was foggy as she struggled to comprehend what was happening.

"Soon enough, you'll well perish, like those who already perished before you,"

A deep, ominous voice echoed in the room. Futaba tried to move, but the weight on her back remained steady. She couldn't see anything around her, but she could sense the presence of someone standing over her. Another voice joined in, sounding sad and apologetic.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't want to do this, but they forced me. If doing what I'm doing right now will save him, I'll do whatever it takes."

Suddenly, light started to shine in front of her. She squinted hard, trying to focus on the blurry image. She saw a figure standing over her, holding a spear.

"I'm sorry,"

The figure said, sounding remorseful. But before Futaba could respond, everything went black again. She felt her consciousness slipping away, wondering what was happening to her and why she was in this predicament.

.

..

...

Futaba opens her eyes slowly, her vision still hazy from whatever just occurred. Someone was sitting beside her, a look of concern etched on their face.

"Ginnojo?" Futaba said with a bit tired voice "What are you doing here?" She asks, taking in the sight of her room. Ginnojo shakes his head, gently easing her back down onto the bed.

"Don't try to move, Futaba. You're not in any shape to do so right now." Futaba's heart pounds in her chest as the realization sets in. She's back in her room, but the last thing she remembers was standing at the roof, preparing to banish the wraith.

"What happened? How did I get back here?" she asks, her voice shaking. Ginnojo's expression hardens, his eyes meeting hers with a serious gaze. "You fainted..." Futaba sinks back into her pillows, a thousand questions racing through her mind, her heart racing as she recounted her ordeal to Ginnojo.

"I was at school, and then there was this wraith," she explained, her voice shaking. "And then one of the teachers was possessed. I don't know what I was thinking, but I tried to banish the wraith myself."

Ginnojo sat down beside her, his voice soft and calming. "It's okay, Futaba. The situation has been taken care of." Futaba looked up at him, her eyes wide with alarm. "What do you mean, Ginnojo? I didn't banish the wraith."

~~𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊~~

Ginnojo stood in the doorway of the school, taking in the chaos that ensued around him. He could see students and teachers running around in a panic, frantically trying to escape the red-eyed demon that seemed to have taken over the building. A small hand suddenly grasped his own, and he looked down to see an anxious-looking Fukajiro, a small girl with tears in her eyes.

"My friend is still inside!" Fukajiro cried out. "She said she would distract the demon until we were all safe, but I'm so worried about her!"

Ginnojo's heart skipped a beat as he realized the danger the girl's friend was in. He knew he had to act fast to save her. With a sense of determination, Ginnojo pushed his way through the crowds and into the school.

~~𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒~~

"That's when I found you and the possessed teacher unconscious."

As Ginnojo concluded the series with these sentences, Futaba sighed as she looked up at Ginnojo, feeling drained after the intense incident. She knew she had to take responsibility for her actions, but it was tough to put herself first when there were other people who relied on her.

"I'm sorry, Ginnojo. I didn't realise how serious the situation was until it was too late. I should have sent a familiar or at least given you guys a warning," she apologised, her eyes falling to the ground.

Ginnojo's face softened at her words, but he still felt a need to reprimand her. "Futaba, we're here to help you, but we can't do that if you don't communicate with us. You're lucky I brought you home, otherwise things could have ended badly."

Futaba's brow furrowed as she listened, feeling the weight of her actions. "I know, I know. It's just a lot of pressure sometimes. I feel like I'm always the one responsible for dealing with these wraiths, and it's hard to admit when I'm overwhelmed." Ginnojo smiled a bit, comforting her, feeling a sense of responsibility himself.

"I understand that. But that's why we're here, to help you when you need it. Just promise me you'll let us know next time something like this happens, okay?"

Futaba looked up at him with a small smile, grateful for his understanding.

After a beat of silence, Futaba spoke up again. "Hey, Ginnojo...when I was unconscious at the school..." Before she could finish, they heard footsteps approach and the door of her room swung open.

Nachi rushed in, panicked and breathless. "Futaba! are you okay?! I heard your school got attacked by a red-eyed demon and I rushed over--" Ginnojo cut Nachi off by placing a calming hand on his shoulder. "Nachi, take a breath. We've got the situation under control now."

Nachi breathed deeply, taking Ginnojo's advice, but still, his voice was tense with worry. "Like I said, I've been looking for you everywhere. You're lucky I heard about the red-eyed demon attack at your school. I came here as soon as I found out." Futaba sighed with relief. "I'm okay, Nachi. Really. Ginnojo saved me."

Ginnojo's eyebrows raised in puzzlement as he regarded Futaba. "You collapsed after banishing the wraith, but after searching the area, I didn't find any trace of it." Futaba frowned, staring blankly as if she were reliving the moment.

"I'm not certain if I performed the banishing incantation correctly. And besides...I don't think that I actually banished the wraith." Nachi shook his head, his eyes wide in disbelief. "Then the wraith just disappeared on its own?"

Futaba's mind was suddenly consumed by the haunting echoes of the whispers she had heard while unconscious. The voices were a maddening mystery, their origin and intent shrouded in fog. Was she their target, or were they merely background noise, a conversation meant for someone else?

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by Nachi's gruff yet reassuring voice. "The important thing is that you came out of this alive," he stated, his expression a mix of concern and relief. Ginnojo, his face etched with worry, added, "Make sure to rest well. Nachi, take good care of her." He then rose to his feet, giving Nachi a comforting pat on the shoulder as he prepared to leave. Nachi, with a chuckle, responded, "There's no need to tell me, of course I will." Ginnojo nodded, offering another reassuring smile before finally departing.

.....

A few days had passed since the terrifying attack on Futaba's school, leaving her confined to her home with a lingering fever. Nachi diligently cared for her, though even he needed a helping hand. Aoi, deeply troubled by the news of the incident, eagerly joined Nachi in tending to Futaba. With their combined efforts, she slowly began to recover.

Feeling restless from her days indoors, Futaba yearned for some fresh air and a glimpse of the world outside. After a heartfelt conversation with Nachi, she decided to take a short walk through the city. It was time to reconnect with the outside world and get a sense of what she had missed during her confinement.

As she strolled through the bustling streets, a familiar voice pierced through the din, sending a wave of warmth and relief through Futaba. She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. A smile bloomed on her face as she recognized the voice that meant so much to her.

"Koga!!" she replied, her voice tinged with happiness. Koga and Kuya, were approaching her, and Futaba hastened to meet them. Koga, his large hands engulfing her small ones, rushed towards her with worry etched on his face. "You're okay, aren't you? Did you get better?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Futaba, surprised to find that he knew about the attack, couldn't help but question, "Wait, you also knew...?" She had secretly hoped that Koga, of all people, would remain oblivious to the horrors she had faced. Suddenly, Koga's lips grazed her forehead, a gesture of reassurance and comfort. However, Kuya's sigh interrupted the moment, bringing them back to reality.

"Everybody's been talking about it," Kuya said, his voice heavy with his usual laziness.

Koga, his eyes filled with guilt, confessed, "I didn't know what happened until today. I heard some townspeople talking about the red-eyed demon coming back and attacking a girls' school. And...I'm sorry I wasn't there to help you..." He had been away when the attack occurred, leaving Futaba vulnerable. Futaba, with a gentle smile, tried to reassure him, "It's okay, Koga. The problem is solved and over. I'm here, fine, in front of you." Her words were meant to comfort him, but deep down, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness knowing he wasn't there when she needed him most.

Kuya continued, letting out a sigh. "Man, and here I thought that whole wraith thing was done and dusted."

"Not quite, Kuya," Koga said, his voice low and serious.

Futaba, ever curious, tilted her head. "What do you mean?"

"There's something else brewing," Koga said, his gaze distant as he muttered the name of the new phenomenon.

"Mysterious collapse?" Futaba echoed, her brows furrowing.

Kuya nodded grimly. "Yeah, rumor has it people are just dropping dead for no reason."

"It started recently," Koga explained, his tone grave. "One minute they're fine, the next they're…gone."

Futaba's blood ran cold. "So, that day…" She shuddered, recalling the scene she had tried to forget. The panicked whispers, the lifeless figure being carried away. It had been unsettling, even without knowing the context.

Koga's eyes narrowed slightly. "Seems like you might have seen something, huh?"

"Yeah," Futaba admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "At first, I thought it was just a normal thing, you know? But then I saw the military guys poking around, and that's when I knew something was up."

"Futaba!!"

A sharp voice sliced through the tense atmosphere. A girl with stormy eyes and a scowl etched on her face came barreling towards them.

"Fukajiro?" Futaba blinked, surprised.

"What are you doing here?" Fukajiro demanded, "You're supposed to be resting!"

"It was driving me crazy being cooped up at home all day," Futaba protested weakly.

Fukajiro crossed her arms. "I asked one of your classmates to bring your homework here so you wouldn't fall behind. I could even tutor you…" Her voice trailed off as she finally noticed the two figures flanking Futaba. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Oh, right," Futaba said sheepishly. "Fukajiro, these are my friends, Kuya and Koga. Guys, this is Fukajiro, she's my classmate."

"Hi," Kuya offered with a lazy nod.

"Hi there, young lady," Koga said, flashing a charming smile.

Fukajiro returned Kuya's greeting politely, but when her eyes met Koga's, her face hardened.

"I don't like you," she stated bluntly.

Koga's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Huh...? Okay?" He certainly hadn't expected that kind of welcome from the little firecracker. Fukajiro simply continued to glare, her distrust for him evident in her sharp gaze.

The tension hung in the air, thick and awkward, broken only by Kuya's impossibly loud yawn. "Man, my feet are killing me," he drawled, completely ignoring the charged atmosphere. "Standing around ain't exactly my idea of a good time, Koga."

Futaba bristled, about to launch back into her explanation, "So about what I was saying-"

But Fukajiro, a tiny whirlwind of determination, latched onto her arm, tugging her away from the two men. "He's right, Futaba! We've been on our feet all day. You're probably exhausted after that whole thing at school."

"Fukajiro, what are you–" Futaba started, bewildered by her friend's sudden intervention.

Completely ignoring Koga, Fukajiro offered Kuya a polite nod. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Kuya." Her tone was syrupy sweet, but her grip on Futaba's arm was ironclad.

"But Fukajiro–" Futaba tried again, but Fukajiro was already dragging her away. "C'mon, let's go!"

Futaba, caught off guard and unable to resist Fukajiro's insistent tug, called over her shoulder, "I'll catch you later, Koga, okay?"

Koga, ever gracious, simply chuckled and waved. "Don't worry about me, Futaba. Wouldn't want to keep your little friend waiting."

Futaba, torn between her desire to catch up with Koga and her inability to deny Fukajiro, sighed inwardly. She'd been looking forward to seeing him again, but it seemed their reunion would have to wait.

As they walked, Futaba heard Fukajiro mutter something under her breath. "...Never thought… after all this time…"

"What was that?" Futaba asked, but Fukajiro quickly brushed it off.

"Nothing! Just thinking about how we should get to your place so I can tutor you. Unless..." She eyed Futaba with a mischievous glint. "You had other plans?"

𝑇𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑑...➡➡➡

"Well," Futaba admitted, "since I finally managed to escape the house, I was thinking about..." She trailed off, leaving her plans hanging in the air, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.

[cherrymoonxx]

Hi cherry❣ I would love to participate in ur muse part 2 game. That idea for the game sounds rlly creative and caught my eyes ngl. A hobby of mine is that I like to play games in my free time. U could say I am a gamer since I've been playing games ever since my childhood. Also, I love to listen to music. It's def a part of me tbh. I grew up with music and sing occasionally when I feel like it. I don't think I can live without listening to music esp kpop😂 I've been into kpop ever since I was a kid and till now😆 I used to write stories and read a lot and also draw a lot. But sadly due to my depression, it has affected my passion for those so my passion for them have died out. Its like my flames have been extinguished lol. Now my hobbies are just listening to music, singing and playing games. How abt u? What are ur hobbies?😊

My initial: A, fav emoji: 😂

Hey there! I actually have some similar hobbies as you! I like cozy games, so like animal crossing and stardew valley. What kinda of games do you play? I also like kpop as well! What groups are you into? Im sorry to hear you’ve lost your passion for writing and drawing. Maybe one day you’ll pick them back up.

Alrighty, let’s get to your reading:

So, first off, when I was connecting to your energy, I got the image of a small boat/rowboat in the middle of the ocean. Only I was on this boat and I felt that it was really unstable. The waves were moving fast and rocking the boat. I tried to hold on to the sides, but that didn’t help much. One particular strong current knocked the boat, sending me straight into the water. It all happened so quickly. One minute I was holding on for dear life and the next, I was completely submerged in the water. I wasn’t scared tho. It was like I just accepted it, accepted that I was drowning. I didn’t try to move or swim up. It was a state of acceptance and exhaustion.

So that was what popped into my mind while connecting to your energy. For the reading tho, I’m thinking your artist will be a painter.

Ok so let me paint a picture for you (pun intended 😉). In this scenario, I see you going for a swim in the ocean to clear your mind. It’s not an ideal day, it’s kinda windy and the clouds were slowly covering the sun. The waves are a little rough too but it’s ok you don’t mind, you just needed an escape. So you’re doing your little thing, swimming and just letting your body move along with the ocean. You spend some time like this, completely lost in thought that you don’t even notice how far the water has carried you. You look and see that you’re a little too far away from the shore, so you start to swim back. But by this time, the waves are coming in strong and you’re kinda struggling. You’re getting tired from being thrown around in the waves, so at this point you start panicking. At this point you’re getting desperate because you’ve lost control and your arms are getting tired, so you start yelling for help. Not too far off on the shore, there’s this person with a canvas and some paint silently painting the ocean. They look up for a moment and notice a figure they hadn’t noticed before. So they just stare for a bit trynna figure out what that is until they hear your cry for help. They look around to see if there was anyone else but since there was not many people around, they start running to help. Looong story short, they end up rescuing you and bringing you back to shore. Not you having a little mermaid moment👀

Your artist will find you very charming and intriguing. They find you to be very fun and they just love hearing you talk. Your voice is quite literally enchanting. They think you’re absolutely hilarious. You don’t even have to say much, but you’ll always have them smiling from ear to ear. Your energy is inviting and magnetic. People can’t help but be drawn to you because you radiate such a positive energy. Your artist will be enamored with you. Completely smitten. They’d typically paint only landscape and elements of nature, but after meeting you, they’d find themselves incorporating you into their paintings. They’d still paint nature, but you’d make an appearance in these pictures. Maybe they’d paint you lying down on the beach or they’d paint you in a field of beautiful flowers. Either way, they’d find a way to incorporate you into these paintings. And it’s just a testament to how you have the ability to brighten someone’s life with your presence.

Okay that’s all I’m seeing for you! I promise I tried to keep it short but I always get carried away 😓 but thank you for participation and thank you for your patience!

Take care 💖

[swordduels]

Headcanon: Clarimonde as a witch

When thinking about Clarimonde being a witch I started to think of Loki in norse mythology but also Wanda Maximoff aka Scarlet Witch from the Marvel comics. Clarimonde’s role as a witch

Clarimonde will be a witch connected to nature, changes and growth while they learn to walk their own path in life. While figuring themself out they might or might not want to help others and show kindness despite their violent past. I believe their role will look different depending on the starting point. If Clarimonde is still heavily influenced by the cult’s teachings their role as a witch can be destructive and based on a selfish belief system. But if Clarimonde for one reason or another wants to change it will affect how they view and use magic as well. The core issue with Clarimonde is that they struggle to make personal connections and are starving for love, mainly platonic but can also be romantic love. They also struggle with their own identity since the cult has brainwashed its members to mainly serve the chosen deity Blood Father while working for a collective identity.  Redeeming arc The theme of redemption is rebirth. In a redeeming arc they will carry a lot of guilt mixed with doubts about themself and their place in the world as a witch. A part of Clarimonde feels like they cannot be redeemed because of the horrific acts they had done. How can someone who has slaughtered people with glee live normally in a society? Do they have any right to still live and help others with their new abilities? It’s a big responsibility and something they have never been taught. What fuels Clarimonde’s desire to walk the narrow path is their childhood dream of becoming a preacher but instead of using it to spread violence they want to do good deeds.

At the start they will make many mistakes as well as selfish deeds. Clarimonde will learn the hard way that magic has its own set of rules that need to be followed or else there will be heavy consequences. 

Inspirations

Here I want to point at Loki who per say is not entirely connected to nature as far as we know, though the scholars have different opinions about his place in norse mythology. From what I’ve heard Loki can very well be connected to chaos but also changes since he is a deity who always creates and solves problems. It’s thanks to him Thor has his hammer, Odin got his horse Sleipnir, Frey has the ship Skidbladnir among other things. He has great value among the Gods and is often mentioned in stories but at the same time they have distrust for him. Loki kickstarts a series of events that lead to the beloved Balder’s death, the sun is swallowed which lead to twelve years of winter and then the ship Nagelfar steered by the death Goddess Hel arrives as well as hordes of soldiers. Ragnarok is known as “The twilight of the Gods” where many of the known deities are killed in battle before the world is ending and a new era of men and Gods starts. I’ve heard one theory that the story about Ragnarok, if it’s not entirely made up my christian monks, could be a story about seasons changing and rebirth as the sun returns again. It would fit very well as the nordic winters at the time were dangerous periods of cold, darkness and death. 

Using magic Magic is not entirely good or evil, magic is magic and as I mentioned before each spell or curse has its own rules. There can be grave consequences if one breaks rules or makes mistakes but a spell in itself can be dangerous towards the spell caster or the ones getting hit by the spell. Since Clarimonde never studied magic before they are first obvious to the things happening. They can’t understand or control it which creates dangerous situations. Trying out spells without grasping the basics would be like handing out chemicals to toddlers. Clarimonde wasn’t born with magic but was for one reason or another hit with it by accident from a magical storm cloud. There is some magical electricity which moves along their skin and has taken place in them. At the start of the journey they are like a massive magnet to all forms of magic as their gate is wide open. Knowledge is seeping into their mind without any form of filter, some things come in fragments, half a spell or half a story. They can sense things in the air. Suddenly they know that there is war on a continent they have never heard of, the wind brings them memories from places or there are instructions on how to enter someone's mind. Other times Clarimonde accidentally walks outside their own body while sleeping and is fully aware of doing so or they can transform people into animals. 

As the gate is open constantly I imagine it would attract magical beings from other realms with less than friendly intentions. It could open up for experiences they don’t want to deal with, like spirits of dead people whispering in their ear at night or some ghoul trying to grab their foot. The gate will be open until they learn how to close it off. 

Since there is a strong connection to nature and magic their own emotions or silent wishes come through with magic. If they are scared there is a turbulence in nature itself with large cracks, shakings or buildings being destroyed. When Clarimonde has a strong wish to become a preacher with a community built with their own hands they suddenly have a filled church but it’s up to them if people decide to stay or leave.  

When I write about characters with powers I always want to make sure it’s not too easy for them. My characters either make horrible mistakes or are burdened with something which makes it hard for them to use powers. When it comes to Clarimonde I want to make it clear they have no idea how to properly use magic or guard themself from attacks in the beginning. In one moment Clarimonde manages to turn someone into a donkey but if someone tosses a fireball they have no idea how to counter it. A lot of it comes from insecurities, mental trauma and inexperience. 

I’ll make another post about what would be Clarimonde’s magical abilities, limits and more details about how it works for them once I’ve developed my thoughts. 

Inspirations Wanda Maximoff is a character who has done horrible things and tries to redeem each action with good deeds while also suffering from mental issues. 

I’ve only read a few comics about Wanda but I really enjoy the chapters where she tries to help people with magical problems. It feels more occult rather than the classical super power fantasy. Every spell she casts affects her body and there are rules to follow that more resemble folklore’s view on magic. Certain rituals that need to be done at a specific time or place. Things that can protect people from being cursed. Someone having a poltergeist, another who has been taken over by a demon and so on.  

She can affect reality by creating sentient beings as stand in sons, she can walk through different realms or take away the powers of every mutant on earth with one sentence. Her skills are gigantic but the lore of magic usage and actions creates a very flawed character which makes her feel more human which I find interesting. 

Hopefully I can develop Clarimonde into something interesting and nuanced when exploring their identity as a witch.

[11-eyed-rook]

Project Gamma Sigma will be moving... again. A "small" announcement.

I know not that many people know of my project, Project Gamma Sigma, to begin with, but for those that do have some interest in it, it'll be moving from Blogspot/Blogger (whatever the damn thing is called). How soon, I'm not sure. Where? That's almost a secret for now. Shh.

To elaborate...

THE "WHERE DO WE BEGIN" OF IT ALL...

This project had originally started, technically, on Facebook as part of some short stories I'd write in the notes (a feature that doesn't even exist anymore). For a very short time, bits of Gamma Sigma existed on a separate Tumblr blog. That didn't seem to offer me enough flexibility with text formatting (which is an important aspect of how I write the story, due to how I can emphasize certain things, and it's just my style so shh), so I moved everything (pretty much re-making it entirely) on Blogger/Blogspot (I'll just call it Blogspot). So Gamma Sigma has had many locations, but none that are, at this particular moment, a proper "home".

THE "I THOUGHT IT'S GOOD ENOUGH" PART...

For a while, I'd believed Blogspot to be a decent-enough home for the project, and a few years had passed without much to worry about. Blogspot seemed easy enough to deal with, even with its flaws that I desperately tried to find workarounds for... whenever I could. And for a while, those workarounds sorta worked. I was even surprised that they worked for as long as they did, thinking about it now...

However...

OOPS! ALL BROKEN!

(AKA, THE BORING "I'M ANGRY" PART).

Yesterday, I found out that some of my modifications to the theme's code refused to function in any capacity (as in, the less-convenient default options force-replaced whatever was in the code previously, for what reason I don't know). Even the button that would allow me to undo any "recent changes" to the code, only showed the preview having the intended features, but the saved version wouldn't reflect any of the changes (I even checked on different browsers and that includes my phone's web browsers - the intended feature wasn't there, it just got disintegrated along with my patience for this shit).

At that point I'd come to a conclusion... I've had enough. I feel like I lack control over the very shell of what holds YEARS worth of my creative work, and I'm not putting up with it anymore. My project deserves a better home.

I'd already considered moving the project elsewhere, many times, but this brought my frustration to a boil. Numbered page navigation was no longer an option, as massively convenient as it had been during the time when it worked. Now it's just a "MORE POSTS" button. Click it, it takes you to the next page, at the top of the page, scroll down, click it, and the cycle repeats a few more times; if I find it frustrating, I can't imagine that many people would want to go looking for my oldest posts that way either (and the best part, obviously, is the part where Blogspot doesn't offer an option to change that in any way by default, which is why I had to modify the code itself to begin with; if I can't modify the code to my liking, why even give me the option to do so?!).

To make it even more annoying: The pre-existing "Archive" function barely helps the convenience of this, and, frankly, I'm tired of trying to negotiate my way around the lack of options for something like this.

A VAGABOND PROJECT; VISION, STRUGGLES, GOALS AND OTHER STUFF...

I know very little about building things right in the code (especially with very little or even nothing to start with), but if I can figure out the basics and make a skeleton of something work to my advantage, I'll make it work sooner than I'll realize. I've surprised myself in the past, and I'm sure I can create something that'll serve as a home to my project, permanently.

Moving Gamma Sigma would allow me to add features that, I'm sure, wouldn't work (or would quickly break) on Blogspot. One feature would allow me to make some of my entries more "immersive" - being able to play a specific audio track when opening specific entries, for example. Other things would, of course, include improved page navigation, secret pages, and potentially other fun little (maybe interactive) things, that would be relevant to the Gamma Sigma story in some way.

I know it sounds ambitious, especially for somebody who's never done something of this scope before, but I won't know if I don't try, and I'm passionate enough about my project to put in the effort to give it a home it'll thrive in.

A LITTLE OFF-TOPIC, BUT IT KIND OF HAS A REASON TO BE HERE...

On top of the frustrations regarding Blogger, I'd wanted to move away from using Google products/services/etc. for a while, and Blogspot, as it is, being owned by Google, would have to be one of the things I'd have to deal with at some point, inevitably. So that, too, helped me make my decision to move the project - the option to keep the project alive long-term.

I've also been planning to move away from using Google stuff in general, due to how unreliable their product lifespans can be... But that, alone, isn't my only goal; I don't exactly trust Google... And on that matter...

I plan on moving away from using Microsoft's products as well, and that eventually will include the operating system, Windows, itself. I've already been experimenting with using Linux, and the only reason I hadn't moved entirely, is because I still need to work out some issues regarding some windows-only programs and whether they'll work properly in Linux, through whatever means are available to me. If I can make them work, then it's bye-bye Microsoft.

I just value privacy and having a choice in how the system behaves. I value having control over what I do on my own computer. When using an OS is a matter of "letting 3rd parties have some of my personal data", on a PAID operating system no less, I'd think it's too fucking far.

But back to what's at hand...

CONCLUSION OR WHATEVER. OH YEAH ALSO A GAMMA SIGMA HIATUS, THAT TOO...

This was a long "announcement" (with some extra yelling), but I'll update it if something comes up (like, if I finish the migration process or if I decide on something else to add, Idk). I have no clue as to how long it'll take, but this basically forces me to put off posting any newer entries until further notice. Or unless I feel like it, I guess? Still, a hiatus is a hiatus, and I know it already took like a year for me to write the newest entry, but don't worry about that, shhHh,,,

OH AND ONE MORE THING...

It's possible I'll be changing the name of the project itself. As to what it'll be, I'm still not sure, but again, I'll make an update about it once I figure it out I guess.

Thanks for reading.

Sorry for stealing your time for this.

[defiledtomb]

will we be able to show some fighting skills in new path? Like i know that mc will eventually be dragged back, bcs story must progress, but if we play as blood kell for example would we be able to do some dmg? I like to imagine that when my mc would finally be dragged back bloody cursing and with missing limbs lol there would be at least 2 or 3 mercs would have to be dragged unconscious behind them :D

[You approach the furthest blade with your breath caught in your lungs, their back still turned against you. Stabbing in the neck is out of the question, but you spot their hood loose around their neck and decide to pull it, bending them backwards. You help them along with a kick to the back of their knees. Your knife sinks in between armor and clothes. A squelching sound, blood seeping onto the grass now.]

This is one variation in a larger body of text, race and choice of trap will influence the route a lot!

[taleasnewastime]

Potions

Summary: Magic is banned, to perform it is an act punishable by death, a law brought in by the queen. And yet, here you are, living in the same palace as her, defying that law by performing the magic she so hates. You don’t feel at risk of being found out, you are only a lowly healer, a nobody. But when the prince discovers you and can’t seem to leave you alone, you may not be as safe as you thought.

Pairing: Jimin x reader

Genre: Prince Jimin, Healer reader, royal au, fluff, angst.

Word count: 23.6k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, anxious thoughts, worry and panic, a bit of angst, mentions of human trafficking, problem parents (it gets a tad nasty), medical things, cuts.

Authors Note: This story really took on a mind of its own. I love it, but I started it thinking it would be around 10k and then it just grew and grew into the monster you see today. I hope you enjoy this royal au!

The door bangs open and you scatter your work without a second thought. The piece of paper you were reading gets tucked into the pages of a book, the small glass jar you were working on is pushed aside as if it had nothing to do with anything, trying to blend it in with the other jars just like it along the wall. You weren’t exactly inconspicuous about it. The speed at which you moved, the way you shut the book and shoved everything away, it was obvious you were doing something you shouldn’t, you just hoped it was obvious what you were doing that was so wrong.

But while you take the few seconds to scatter you work the person behind you doesn’t say anything. Normally one of the girls would have been half way through their request while barging through the door. But while the door banged open, it had also banged shut, deep breaths sounding out in the quiet room as if the person had just run a marathon to get here.

Spinning, you turn to look at the new occupant of the room, and immediately freeze.

Even from the back, you can tell it’s the crown prince. Park Jimin. Even without all the almost literal flashing signs telling you it was him; without the navy, gold embroidered clothing, without the tall, slim, well-cut figure, without the regal grace that literally flows off him, you’d be able to tell it was him.

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” you say breathily as if it’s you that’s just run here and not him.

You’d seen the prince around the halls of palace, had even spoken to him once when you healed a cut on his arm, but you still don’t really expect him to recognise you. You’re just a lowly healer, not even one of the head nurses, probably not even classed as one of the better healers below them. No one’s first choice. So you don’t expect him to remember you, but as he spins to look at you, it still makes your heart drop when you see no recognition in his eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he repeats your words, his tone even, even though he is clearly surprised to see you. “I didn’t realise anyone was in here.”

He glances around as if to check if there aren’t any other people he should know about hidden away. Then his eyes fall back on you. You struggle to hold his gaze, but remind yourself that he’s the one that walked in on you, not the other way around. Still, he is the prince.

“I’ll leave you,” you say, but don’t move as he still stands blocking the door.

“I interrupted you, it should be me that leaves.” While you stiffen with time, he seems to relax. “I just ask that you let me encroach on your space for a few more moments.”

It wasn’t even phrased as a question. A statement, something he wasn’t letting you say no to. Not that you could say no to him anyway, he was the prince after all.

“Stay as long as you need,” you say meekly, hoping that it wasn’t long.

You stand awkwardly as silence falls over the room. Should you carry on doing work around him? Should you just stand here in silence until he’s ready to leave? Or should you try and talk to him? What was acceptable to ask a prince? You couldn’t exactly have small talk with him, but then you can’t really get into the nitty gritty of life either.

“Carry on with whatever it was you were doing before I interrupted,” Jimin waves a hand as if reading your mind. “Pretend I’m not even here.”

Impossible. He’s set you an impossible task for two reasons. 1. you couldn’t go back to doing what you were doing before he came here, least of all because of who he is, but even if he was another healer or a guard or just a scullery maid, you still wouldn’t be able to go back to your work. And 2. you couldn’t possibly pretend he wasn’t stood in this room with you. His presence looms over you, even as you nod and turn your back to him you can sense his every movement.

You attempt to at least pretend to be busy. Opening the book to a sleeping potion your eyes scan the page, but you are fully focused on Jimins steps indicating his approach. You stiffen as you feel him stop behind you, feel him gazing over your shoulder.

“And what is it you’re doing?” You hear the smirk in his voice.

“Making a sleeping potion for one of the maid’s children, it has to be made weaker because of her age,” the lie falls easily from your lips.

Jimin hums, moving again, stepping around you so the he can lean his back against the bench you’re working at. Pretend I’m not even here. Yep, totally easy, totally doable with you stood less than a foot from me, not distracting at all.

“So you’re a healer?” He asks, hands reaching out for one of the potion bottles lining the back wall, rolling it in his fingers and watching the liquid splash around inside.

You could be sarcastic, and the reply nearly falls from your lips, but you manage to stop it just in time. “Yes,” you say instead.

There’s a pause. A slight awkwardness coming off Jimin even as he continues to fiddle with the bottles.

“And have you treated me before?” You feel his eyes raking over you, trying to place you in his mind, again your heart drops slightly, though you know it shouldn’t.

“Once when you had the flu, and once when you fell off your horse when hunting.” You turn your head so you can see his reaction as the words hit. As you hoped pink blossoms on his cheeks, it is light, but you can see it.

“Ah yes,” his hand scratches the back of his neck. “Neither my finest moment.”

You bite the smile as you look back down at your book, busy yourself with collecting the list of ingredients you’ll need for the potion you don’t need. It was a good distraction if nothing else, stopped the questions you wanted to ask, the questions that you’re unsure you can even ask him. Are you even allowed to initiate conversation with a prince? Aren’t they supposed to be the one to always talk first? Things you should definitely know, but due to your low position, have never been taught, you’re never supposed to be in positions like this.

“And do you enjoy being a healer?” Curiosity is clear in his voice, but also a need to fill the silence.

“Very much,” you say, which for once isn’t a lie.

“And here?” He asks. “Do you like working here I mean?”

“Yes,” you answer quickly, again what else could you really say. “The royal family have been very generous to take me in. I will always be thankful to you for allowing me to work and live here.”

You turn and bow lightly at him as if to drive the message home. You catch the small crease between his brows when you dip down and it’s still there when you lift your head back to look at him, his eyes studying you.

“You live here too?”

Yep, he definitely does not recognise you. You try not to take offence. It’s not common for you to see him around the palace, but it’s also not uncommon. Glimpses of him at the end of the hallway, passing him in the gardens, the occasional sighting when you are given the task of delivering medicines around the palace. Nothing you would expect him to remember, but times that you remember in great detail.

But again, the question doesn’t surprise you. Plenty of the staff live in the palace, but the numbers are far fewer than those that live within the city and commute in each day. The accommodation is nice, if not basic, and living in it means that your wages are less, but you have nowhere else to go so living at the palace is a blessing to you.

“In the staff accommodation.” Short, simple answers, as you start to weigh out the materials for the potion.

“And do you like it?” He is truly digging, trying to keep this conversation alive.

“It is very nice,” the answer gets a laugh out of the prince and the noise both surprises and delights you, so much that you turn to him wide eyed.

“God, it’s one of the things I hate about being a prince, everyone feels like they have to lie to me,” his tone is still light, showing he’s not that affected by the thought of you lying.

“I – I’m telling the truth. It truly is nice. I like living here,” you stutter, making it sound like a lie even though it’s the truth.

He hums, a smile curving on his lips as he looks down at you. And the fact that he doesn’t reply to your comment only makes you blanch, makes you panic a little that you have somehow offended him.

“The palace took me in when I had nowhere else to go, and for that alone I will always be grateful. But beyond that; I like living here, enjoy my work, the rooms may be basic but it is enough for me. I genuinely like it.”

As each word comes out of your mouth the smile drops a little on Jimins mouth so that when you finish his lips are flat, an emotion swimming in his eyes that you can’t read as he continues to look at you. Maybe you’ve made it worse by carrying on. You should have stuck to the short and simple answers, they were less likely to get you into trouble.

“I –”  

Whatever words Jimin was going to say get cut off as the door to the room opens.

“Can you do some deliveries this afternoon? I need to get –”

As always, the words of whoever’s just entered the room are spoken loud and fast as soon as they enter. But as you and Jimin turn to look at the intruder, they notice who occupies the room.

“Your Majesty,” Helen drops into a wide-eyed bow, dropping so low her back is almost horizontal. You see Jimin school his face as she drops her gaze from him, all the emotion falling from his face so that when she looks back up, he looks every inch the prince he should be.

Her eyes flick between the two of you, the small glances she gives you telling you all the unspoken words you need to know. Why the fuck is he in here?

“I can get you the potion this afternoon,” you say in an almost robotic tone, the first thought that comes to your mind. “If that is ok, Your Majesty?”

Jimin looks at you, the furrow back between his eyes before he cottons on and then his face lights up, his eyes sparkle.

“Yes,” he replies. “Yes, that would be great.”

You nod your head, unsure why you have just given him an alibi to being here. He hadn’t even acted like he needed one, but the way that he barged into the room told you enough to know that he is hiding from something or someone. And the alibi was as much for you as it was for him. The questions Helen was bound to ask as soon as Jimin left this room would be bad enough, if you had no reason for him being here then they would be ten times worse.

When it is clear that you weren’t going to speak again, and that both you and Helen were waiting for Jimin to either speak or leave, he pushes off the bench.

“Right,” he looks between the two of you, before settling his gaze firmly on you. “Well thank you,” he pauses, realising he doesn’t know your name, and though you should fill in the gap for him, you don’t. “Um – thank you for all your help,” he says less sure.

“Anytime, Your Majesty,” you dip your head again.

His eyes linger on you a second longer and then he’s twisting and stepping towards the door. Not another word is spoken as he leaves you. There’s a beat or two of silence, as if Jimins absence from the room has caused a hole to form. And then Helen is turning on you.

“Why was the Crown Prince in here?”

You turn your back on her, glad again that you can busy yourself with the potion that no one needs.

“He’s been struggling to sleep. Wondered if there was anything I could give him to help.”

“And why the hell would he come to you for that?” She steps into the space Jimin left vacant and must read some emotion on your face as she adds, “no offence.”

You shrug your shoulders. That was a harder lie. Why was the Crown Prince in here? Why would he ask you for a sleeping potion?

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “Must have just stumbled in here looking for anyone.”

“Well, you can add his potion to your rounds.” She still seems unsure, not seeming to fully buy the answer, but also not willing to push it further. “But that means you’ll have to finish the potion first and then add it on. More work for you I’m afraid.”

You work your jaw, but your hands keep moving as you now grind all the ingredients together. A few hours ago, you would have done a lot of things to have such a simple conversation with the prince, but now, you feel less sure that it was something to want.

It was a dream of a stupid girl, something you’d never have dreamed would come true, a dream born from desire. But now it’s happened, you realise how stupid it was. It is better to be hidden, to be a nobody, to be safe in the knowledge nobody knows you. Nobody of importance anyway.

“I’ll leave you to it then,” are Helen's parting words.

You finish the potion, even though Jimin doesn’t really need it, it would be safer to give him the real thing then to risk giving him a fake. Once done, you collect the bottles needed to do the rounds and set off. When you reach the prince’s door you debate going in, your hand hovers over the wood, but you never bring your hand down. Instead, you leave the potion outside the door, he would find it eventually, and when he did he’d know it was from you.

Magic is banned. More than that, it’s punishable by death, which is why what you’re currently doing is incredibly, incredibly dangerous. Especially in the grounds of the palace, under the roof of the woman that created the law.

But the thing about magic is, if it’s not regularly used, then it can disappear. It’s probably why everyone thinks it has fully gone now.

You were only young when the law came in, can barely remember when magic was allowed anywhere and everywhere, when it wasn’t feared like it is now. And the memories you do have are probably more stories told to you than your own memories. But you remember flames and ice, small sparks coming out of hands. You remember blood flowing back into wounds, skin stitching itself back together. You remember rains summoned when there were droughts, rocks lifted with the power of just a mind clearing blocked roads, fires lit to lighten dark nights. Small, now hazy memories, but proof it hasn’t always just been you.

You have to practice to make sure you don’t lose the skill. And though it would be so much easier, so much safer, to not practice, to blend in and become a nobody, you are determined to never do that. Not simply because you know how much good magic could do, how stupid and pointless and futile the law is. But because it is your silent protest. You against the queen you have never met and hope to never meet. The woman who caused it all, the woman who ruined your life. If she is that scared of magic, then you would continue to keep it.

You’re being stupid though. Despite it all, it was utterly stupid to be stood in this room doing what you’re currently doing. Stood in a room that anyone could access, conjuring fire in your hands, not even a candle around to light as cover if someone walked in.

You needed to practice it though. Out of all your powers, fire was your weakest. If you could use your powers at your fullest, you’d be able to conjure fires big enough to please the queen on burns night, you’d be able to conjure a wind strong enough to carry a ship full of a hundred men across the sea, and you’d be able to heal even the sickest of patients. Without free reign you can barely muster a wind strong enough to blow some paper across a room, and now can’t hold fire in your hand for longer than a couple of seconds.

Healing though, that you could do with more assurance. A few simple words muttered when adding specific ingredients to water and the poison in a patient will effectively be flushed out. With the right patient (normally a distracted child) you could use your magic when sewing up a wound and speed the healing process. You can stem and slow blood flow, not quite able to reverse the flow yet, but maybe one day.

Magic has been gone for so long it feels like it is just you left. But you dream about the day it will return. Dream about the day when others like you can come out into the open and use your powers freely. Dream about talking to someone about it, dream about learning more than you know now.

Because as you stand, small light flickering, you feel pathetic. You should be able to do more than this, it should be easy, shouldn’t require the effort you are currently producing. And though it’s an improvement, a fire bigger than you could produce last time you tried, you only feel sadness as you look at the flame.

So you will keep on practicing, you will keep on using your magic, you will keep it flowing in you and you won’t let it die. You will keep defying the Queen.

You’re too busy looking at the paper in your hand to realise the person that stops in front of you. Too busy working out where you need to go to deliver the next potion to realise that you are about to crash head first into said person. So much so, that when hands come to your shoulders and stop you in your tracks, you visibly jump, nearly dropping the glass bottles of potions in the process.

“I didn’t mean to make you jump,” the voice attached to the hands laughs the words out.

You flush before you even look up, realising who the hands belong to before you even see his face. But you still look up to confirm your worst suspicions.

“Your Majesty,” you jump back out of his reach and dip into a bow, the wide toothy smile is still on Jimins face when you look back up, amused. “I’m sorry. I should have been looking where I was going. I didn’t mean to crash into you, I will make sure to take more care -”

“It’s fine,” he waves a dismissive hand, cutting you off. “No harm done.”

You dip into a small bow again, unsure why, you just feel the need somehow. “I’m sorry,” again you apologise, and again, you are unsure why.

A small laugh sounds out of Jimins mouth as he takes in your flustered state. He must be used to people acting like this around him, yet his laugh isn’t unkind, he isn’t mocking you, instead his eyes dance with something you don’t try to read into.

Your insides heat, and you have to look away from him, unable to hold his gaze. The two guards who flank him that your eyes land on, isn’t a much better sight, their faces just as amused as the princes. You were making a damn fool of yourself and you had an audience while doing it.

“I’m actually glad I bumped into you,” Jimin’s lips tweak at the small joke he makes, clearly pleased with himself. “I wanted to thank you for the sleeping potion. It helped tremendously, is there any chance making it a repeat prescription?”

It suddenly hits you how stupid you have been. You gave him the sleeping potion that you said you were making for a small child, a lie you told him and then probably confirmed by giving him the potion. But he wasn’t implying that now, no annoyance had seeped into his tone, nothing to suggest that you giving him that potion had made him realise who and what you are.

No. His tone is still light and playful. He is carrying on the lie you had created. He didn’t need a sleeping potion, at least as far as you knew, and yet here he is asking for a repeat prescription. Either he had taken the potion and found that it did actually help him sleep, so much so that he wanted to keep it up. Or, he wanted to continue to see you, to keep up the lie for whatever reason, fun presumably.

The last guess was so absurd, something so unlikely to happen, that it must be because he does struggle to sleep.

“Of course,” you try to keep your voice level as you reply. “I will let the Matron know and she will add it to our rounds.”

His smile seems to deepen somehow. “Great,” he says.

“If that is all..?” You flick your eyes down to the remaining potions you have left to deliver, a not-so-subtle hint that you needed to carry on your work.

Jimin dips his head, stepping out of your path. “Have a nice day.”

You don’t move, eyes instead watch Jimin stepping out of your path, twisting as you watch him moving, his two guards following. You manage to dip your head and say a small your majesty as he walks away from you.

Before he reaches the end of the hall, before he disappears fully from view, he turns back to look at you. That same wide, frustratingly handsome smile on his face. Cheeky, you realise, the sparkle in his eyes, the toothy smile, he’s toying with you, he knows how he’s affecting you and he’s enjoying every second.

“Oh, and Y/N,” you remain rooted to the spot looking at him, eyes widening as he speaks your name. “Next time you deliver my potions, deliver them to me, in my room, not by leaving it outside the door.”

He gives you one last wicked smile before twisting and walking away. You stay looking at the spot he once occupied.

He’d learnt your name. You hadn’t given it to him, and yet he had obviously asked someone to find out what it was. You aren’t sure what to make of that information, but your insides heat none the less.

It was a bad idea, such a bad idea to become known to the prince, to be a name he wants to find out let alone someone he stops to talk to in the halls. Though the thought brings a smile to your lips, you know that you shouldn’t want it, that you should want to remain invisible.

It won’t last, you try to convince yourself. Jimin was well known to welcome many beautiful women to his bed, and though you wouldn’t put yourself in that category, you know that as soon as the next woman walks into his life you’ll be long forgotten.

You have nothing to worry about. You try again to convince yourself, though your heart continues to pound in your chest as you finally turn and continue your rounds.

It takes a week for you to see him again, and this time he doesn’t barge into the room. Instead, there’s a knock on the door, something that so rarely happens, most of the time the door is thrown open by another healer or by a patient in dire need of medical attention. So it’s shocking when you calmly peal back the door only to see Jimin smiling back at you, arm lifted to his chest, blood soaking into his loose white tunic.

“I had an accident,” he says in way of greeting.

Your eyes dart between the blood on his shirt, the arm, wound turned so you can’t see it, and his still smiling face. At least he’s not in too much pain if he can still smile like that.

“You should go to the infirmary,” you say and then remember who stands in front of you. “Your Majesty.”

His smile falters for half a second, barely enough for you to notice. “But I’m here now.”

You don’t know what to do. Don’t know what protocol is when the crown prince turns up at your door asking to be treated. Should you let him in and treat him? Go and find someone with higher authority to come and help? Or take him to the infirmary yourself?

“There’s a chair you can sit on in the corner,” you say, opening to door wider so he can walk in.

While he goes to the chair you indicated you scurry around the room in search of possible supplies. A potion for helping with the pain, some bandages, some towels, a bowl of water; all of it you bring to the table by the chair Jimin occupies.

Even when everything is laid out, you hesitate in turning to look at the prince. You really shouldn’t be the one treating him. You should insist that he is seen by someone else, that you at least go and fetch someone else.

“Ah, are you sure that you don’t want me to fetch you someone more... experienced to deal with you. I mean to treat you,” you flush, even though you haven’t looked at him yet, hands busy moving around the equipment that doesn’t need anything doing to it.

“I’m sure you will be just fine,” he says lightly, and even before you look at him, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m not –”

“Are you trained to heal wounds?” He cuts you off.

“Yes,” you answer meekly.

“So you know what you’re doing, you won’t do me any more damage?” He continues, voice level.

“Yes,” you say in much the same way. “I’m trained to treat wounds.”

“Then I ask you to please treat me,” he lifts his arm an inch as if to emphasis his point. “There, I’ve requested it now. You wouldn’t go against your prince’s orders now, would you?”

“A request or an order?” The words come out automatically and you have to scramble to save yourself. “I’m sorry. I just mean, that I think you’d be better suited with someone else treating you. I am trained to treat you, there are just better, more skilled people.” Jimin gives you a look, opening his mouth to talk, but foolishly you cut him off. “But, of course, I don’t want to go against your wishes, Your Majesty. I just wanted to give you the proper information so you can make an informed decision.”

Amusement spreads back across his face, and if it wasn’t for that you would continue to worry you had insulted him. Worry that he might heed your word and actually leave here and seek a better healer, and then probably tell them all about how insolent you are.

“I am happy with your treatment,” he says.

You nod your head. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to treat him, wasn’t that you aren’t capable, you are capable of doing a lot more than the palace allows. It is that you worry about the fact that the prince wants you to treat him, it is the words the others would say if they found out you are currently treating the prince. You are supposed to be flying under the radar, not putting a red marker on your back.

Still, to deny the prince would be worse, to cause a scene would be worse. You would treat his wound quickly and effectively, and then you would hope that he leaves.

You swallow, take a breath, before slipping into your best bedside manner. You try to look at Jimin as a patient and not the handsome prince he is.

“Please can I see the wound.”

You place a hand palm up in front of him and he doesn’t hesitate in placing his arm wound up in it. It isn’t a deep cut, deep enough to produce all the blood currently staining his white tunic, but shallow enough to have not done much substantial damage, or to leave a permanent mark.

“How did it happen?” You ask as your one hand continues to hold his arm and the other reaches for the towel and bowl of water. He doesn’t even flinch as you gently clean the cut.

“Training accident,” he says simply.

You hum as you continue to clean the cut. He obviously isn’t feeling very talkative on the matter, either that or how he got this in some secret way he cannot talk about. Or maybe he was just embarrassed. Either way, you couldn’t question him further about it. Questions are restricted to a patient-healer capacity only.

When fully cleaned, you dump the towel into the bowl and pick up the potions and salves you’d brought over.

“And what about you, how did you become a healer?”

“I fell into it really,” you say. “I can actually thank you and the palace for taking me in and training me.” You dip your head into a small bow as if in thanks.

“Oh,” he sounds genuinely shocked by your thanks.

“I’m just going to apply some Aloe and Althaea salve to help with the healing and inflammatory,” you explain.

Dipping your finger into the cream, you apply a generous amount across the cut. His skin is smooth even with the gash, and you might linger a bit, spend a little longer than necessary rubbing the salve in.

“I will give you some of this to take away with you,” you explain as you place the pot to the side, and pick up some clean bandages. You try to focus on your words as your fingers dance across Jimins skin, try to think of him as any normal patient as you feel the heat coming off him. “I will also give you some Turmeric and Hydrastis tea to take once a day, to help fight off infection. It’s luckily not too deep so you shouldn’t worry too much, but I would still recommend you take it for a week at least.”

You secure the bandage with a pin and then move to clean the mess created, dumping the now bloody water in the sink. You leave the bowl in the sink to get the tea you promised, you could finish up when the prince was gone.

“And will the bandages need changing?” Jimins voice comes from behind you.

“They should be fine, a precaution if anything. If the wound continues to bleed though, then you will have to go and see one of the healers,” you say as you weigh out the tea leaves and then pour it into a small glass pot.

“A healer? Like you?”

You have to supress the eye roll that threatens to show itself, even though your back is to him. You school your face back into neutral, emotionless, as you turn to look back at him. The same lazy smile graces his features, letting you know he knows exactly what he’s doing. Cheeky, cocky, dangerous. He needs to leave; you should never have even let him in here.

“If the wound continues to bleed then I really would have to insist you see someone with more experience,” you take the few steps towards him and hold out the small pot of tea.

He ignores you, or at least doesn’t take the tea from you. Instead, he lifts the bandaged arm and twists it at eye level. He looks like he’s never seen a wound bandaged before, something you would find very unlikely.

“You’ve done a good job,” he remarks.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” you say, still holding the tea out for him, silently begging him to take it and leave.

He seems to get the message. Jumping up off the chair you have to take a step back so that you don’t touch him. He just continues to smile.

“So, a spoonful of tea into a strainer with hot water once a day,” you say, trying to recover.

Finally, he takes the jar from your hand, his fingers brush yours in a gentle sweep and you’re glad when you can finally step away from him.

“Thank you for the help, Y/N,” he smiles while you swoon, your name sounding like honey coming from his lips. “I will be sure to take the tea.”

You bow your head as he walks to the door, suddenly unsure what to say. Which definitely explains the next words that leave your lips.

“I hope I don’t see you any time soon.”

The prince pauses in the doorway, twisting to look at you, his smile still there but smaller, his eyes slightly narrowed as if trying to work out what you said.

“I mean. You know. I just mean, I hope you don’t hurt yourself again,” you scramble the words out. “I hope I don’t see you soon, because that will mean you’re injured, and I hope that doesn’t happen,” you finish lamely.

Amusement gleams in Jimins eyes as he continues to look at you, as if hoping you carry on. For your own sanity, you seal your lips shut, not wanting to dig your hole any bigger.

“Then I hope to see you another time, for another reason, Y/N,” he smiles at you.

Your name again, attached to the end of that sentence; your heart flip flops in your chest as if unsure how to beat properly any more. Your lips remain sealed as you revert to just bowing your head at him, scared you’ll mess up again.

A small chuckle leaves the princes lips as he nods his head at you and then turns and heads out the door.

You almost collapse into a heap when the door closes. Was that the best experience of your life or the worst?

You’ve only seen Jimin a few times now, had spoken to him so little it wouldn’t be worth telling anyone if he wasn’t a prince. But seeing him in a public setting, with more than his personal guards as a witness, felt extremely weird. It wasn’t like he was even talking to you, no, you were stood in a crowd of people staring at him sat on a podium where he probably couldn’t pick your face out of the crowd even if he wanted to.

You doubt he is even aware you’re here, not that he’ll even be trying to seek you out. One of the healers on duty for a public event, it’s a part of your job that you are glad only occurs when it’s your turn on the rotation; aka, infrequently. It feels like something that you should enjoy, one of the perks to your job, getting tickets to coveted events. But the reality was standing around watching people have fun on the off chance that something goes wrong and medical help is needed. In the six years you’ve lived in the palace, and at the nine events you’ve attended, you’ve had to give assistance to precisely one person. A man that had had too much to drink and tripped on the edge of a rug, falling and hitting his head. Your prescription, lots of water, his bed, and a potion to help with his sore head in the morning.

Beautiful gowns flow around the room, attached to just as beautiful women. While you stand in just your basic canvas tunic in the corner, watching the room as if you’re security not there for any medical needs. Servers carry trays full of glasses around, not being able to make a clean walk around the room before all the glasses are gone. You wish you could have just one glass to take off the edge of the evening. But of course, that wouldn’t be professional. It would have been nice for someone to provide a chair for you at least. At this rate, you’d be the one that needed medical attention.

You’ve set up a nice little spot for yourself though. Hidden away in one of the back corners, you can lean against the wall while being able to see the majority of the room. And of course, you have a clear view of Jimin.

It’s probably one of the only good things about coming to events like this, even before you’d spoken to the man, you enjoyed ogling Jimin from across the room. Who can blame you? Certainly not half the women and men in the room currently doing exactly the same as you. You imagine that’s why 90% of people are here, just to be close to the man.

While people talk and dance around the ball room, Jimin sits next to the Queen high above their subjects. It’s been a couple of hours and Jimin still hasn’t gotten up to dance, it’s not an uncommon occurrence, but you wonder if he’ll dance at all tonight. A few ladies have approached him, presumably to ask for a dance, but he hasn’t gone to the dance floor with any of them.

Your mind wonders as you look around the room. You should probably walk around a bit, check everything is going ok. But you honestly can’t be bothered, people know you are here. It’s a formality you even have to be here, one healer is expected at these events purely so they don’t have to wait in an emergency, they don’t expect you to mingle, just to stand and be on hand if needed.  

You could head over to the table of food. You can’t drink on duty, but there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing some of the food. It’s probably better than what’s served when you go to the staff kitchens. But again, you don’t move. You don’t want to risk losing your spot, but more than that, you don’t particularly want to bump into someone overly chatty. People watching and the background music of the band was a lot better than a drunk man trying to chat you up.

As your eyes trail back across the room, you stand up straighter when you realise the chair next to the Queen is empty. Your eyes flick across the room before you see his distinct figure on the dance floor. He looks the whole package stood in the middle of the floor. Blond hair swept to the side, his navy jacket embroidered with gold, his trousers obviously custom-made judging by the way they perfectly hug his legs. It’s not just you either, you can feel the way the whole room seems to be drawn to him, all eyes on him. And on the woman in his arms.

You don’t know if you would describe the emotion that runs through you as envy as you look at the way the two of them sway around the room. But there is definitely something aligned to jealousy.

It’s not even that you’re jealous of her dancing with Jimin (but you are), but more that you would never be her. Never get to wear a dress as beautiful as the pink satin that seems to trail her body. Never get to be invited to an event like this as a guest, not as a part of your job. Never get to have fun and not care or worry. To have all the eyes in the room on you and not worry that the reason is because they know about the powers you hide.

But as the pair of them spin around the room you realise you will never have that. Never get the fairy tale that you’re sure most girls dream of having. This, stood here in this room, on the edge, an outsider, is the closest you’ll ever get to that dream.

And just as that thought passes through your head, your heart stops.

Because spinning around that dance floor, you swear Jimin’s eyes meet your gaze. You try to convince yourself that they didn’t, that his eyes just happened to sweep the spot, that he may have looked at you, but he wasn’t actually looking, it just happened to be a spot his eyes flicked across on while he turns.

And then he turns so that his face is facing you again. And there is no mistaking that he is looking at you. No mistaking the way his eyes seek you out. The way that when his eyes finally find you, they linger as long as possible. The way that even as he continues to spin, he looks at you for as long as his face is to you. That, just before he turns to look away, a small smile flicks on his lips, as if happy to see you here.

But no. None of that could be true.

Standing up straighter, you try to snap yourself out of it. You’d spent too long day dreaming about being a guest here that you were starting to hallucinate.

Before Jimin can do another full turn to face you again, you’re already moving from your spot.

Giving up your spot without much thought, you walk along the back wall. You don’t look to see if Jimin tries to seek you out, to see if he reacts when he realises you’ve gone. You just focus on walking behind the crowd that’s gathered to watch the dancing.

It still seems stupid. To think that the crown prince had smiled at you while dancing with one of the most beautiful women you’ve seen. Utterly ridiculous. Yet, you carry on walking, no idea where you are heading or when you will stop, but you couldn’t stay where you were. It’s not like you expected Jimin to approach you, not here, not with so many people around you, but you’d panicked, and if it was truly real, if he was truly looking at you, you couldn’t just stand and watch that.

But now half walking, half running, down the back of the room, the panic in your starts to grow. Blossoming with Jimin, but becoming more irrational as you speed away, the effect making you feel like someone was chasing you. And though you know no one is, you can’t get the thought out of your head.

An open door is all you need to see to change course. You pause briefly to tell the guard manning the door that you need some air and where to find you if someone needs medical help. But he doesn’t even blink twice at you, giving you a look to show that he couldn’t care any less.

The cold air engulfs you, making you realise how hot you are, half from the hot room you’ve just left, half from your panic-stricken state. But the cold air at least helps. So does your slower steps. Looking less like you’re running from the scene of a crime and more like you’re enjoying walking around the dark garden you’re currently stood in.

You wonder aimlessly, looking at the flowers you can barely see in the dark, trying not to think back to Jimin's eyes landing on you. Trying not to think of the small smile that graced his lips as his eyes took you in. Trying, and definitely failing.

No matter how you think about it, you can’t explain it. Though you can think of many times that you’ve seen him, you can only think of three occasions when he actually spoke to you, only three occasions that he would remember seeing you. Hardly enough to explain the smile that came to his lips. Though, you had wrapped up his wound, had covered his back and given him that sleeping potion. Still, it didn’t seem to explain it.

Whatever, it doesn’t matter, it wasn’t worth contemplating. It wasn’t anything.

The door you exited comes back into view. You’ve done a full, slow loop of the garden. You heave out a sigh, closing your eyes, trying to compose yourself as you realise you should head back in. If before was hard, now the ball would feel torturous. You just hope you can keep your panic down.

You give the guard a small smile as you re-enter the ball room, again he doesn’t seem to care, looking as bored about having to work here as you are. After a bit of hesitation, you head back in the direction of the spot you’d left. Even if Jimin had truly looked at you, he wouldn’t come to you, and you felt safe in that spot.

Leaning against the now familiar room, you look back to the dance floor. The familiar figure of Jimin is nowhere to be seen. But when you look up at the throne, the spot next to the Queen is empty too. Your heart rate increases, though not as drastically as before.

But through the remaining time you have to stand in the room, nothing happens. Jimin doesn’t reappear. He doesn’t appear at your side. No one comes to tell you the prince has requested your presence elsewhere. And though this was what you had expected, what you had been trying to convince yourself would be the case, you can’t help that your heart drops lower and lower into your stomach the longer you stand there.

There are no last-minute calls into your room from Jimin. No bumping into him in the halls of the palace. And though you should be happy, again you can’t help but feel a tad disappointed. And again, you can’t help but feel like you should be feeling happy that you haven’t seen him.

But your feelings must be clear for everyone to see, as when Helen comes into your room a week after the ball and tells you you’re on the medicine rounds.

“You know, you should be careful,” she must see the question dancing in your eyes. “The way your face lit up gives you away. The fact that I’ve seen him come in here to see you specifically. I just want you to be careful.”

“Don’t tell me, he’s a ladies man, he’ll string you along until he has what he wants, it will only end up breaking your heart,” you do a poor impression of her voice.

“No. I was more going for the fact that he’s a prince and you’re a healer.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It just means, do you really think Jimin is looking for anything long term here?”

“Am I looking for anything long term?” You challenge and Helen lets out a small frustrated sigh.  

“I don’t know what he wants, I don’t know what you want, I just – I just want you to be careful ok.”

You look at her, see the real concern swimming in her eyes.

“Have you heard something about him? Has he done something I should know about?”

“No,” she’s quick to shut it down, and you can’t tell whether it’s because there honestly is nothing, or because she’s worries about someone hearing. “No, it’s nothing.”

You’re not convinced. But if it was honestly something bad then she’d tell you. She’d probably stop you seeing him if it was really bad.

You nod. “It’s fine Helen. I’m just a healer that happens to work in a palace and the prince happens to ask me to tend his wounds.”

The concern still swims in her eyes, but she doesn’t give any more protests. Doesn’t say anything as she leaves you to your work.

You work all day, putting off Helens words as an elder looking out for her younger. She probably just thinks you’re naive and need guidance. By the times you start to do your rounds, you’ve almost completely forgotten her words, or at least put them completely out of your mind.

You leave the sleeping potion until the end. Approaching the prince's door your nerves grow. Even though he had told you himself to not leave the potion outside his door, you can’t help but feel like that’s what you should do.

Pausing, you stand staring at the closed door, but don’t give yourself too much time to think about who is behind the door, knocking before you over think it and chicken out. But there was no need to worry, because there is no answer. A second and third louder knock also don’t get any results.

So even though he had told you to give it to him and not leave it outside his door, even though you had been excited to see him even if for a second, here you are putting the small glass bottle on the floor. What had you really expected? Even if he had been here, what would have happened? He would have opened the door, maybe said thank you, and you’d be on your way.

Deflated, and wishing you hadn’t felt so upbeat coming here, you turn away from the prince’s room. You take the stairs down from his private quarters, mind trying to think of all the things you have left to finish up before you can finish for the day, that you don’t even realise someone is coming up the stairs.

“Oh,” strong hands embrace you once again, stopping you from slipping down the steps. “We need to stop meeting like this.”

Even though you are a step above Jimin, he is still taller than you. But at his words, at the feeling of his hands on you, you step back a step or two and now it’s you looking down on him.  

The first thing you notice is how tired he looks. His eyes bloodshot, dark circles under his eyes. There’s a small smile on his lips, but it doesn’t reach his eyes the way it normally does, and as you look down at the clothes he’s wearing, you notice his shirt is rumpled and his boots muddy. Maybe he really does need the sleeping potion you make up for him.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” you say when you’re far enough away from him. “That was my fault. Again. I should have been paying more attention.”

“I believe you said that last time too,” the smile on his lips flicks at the corners.

You heat at the words, but before you can stutter out a reply, Jimin is moving. The stairs are narrow, wide enough for two people to squeeze past each other, but even as you twist to let him walk past you, you still feel his body brush against yours. He doesn’t say anything as he continues up the stairs, and all you can do is stand and watch him, wondering why he didn’t even give you a goodbye.

Your question is answered though when you take a step down the stairs away from him. As if hearing you, Jimin speaks from above you.

“Are you not coming?”

You twist so quickly you have to place a hand on the wall to make sure you don’t fall. Jimin has climbed to the top of the stairs now.

“I – I didn’t realise I was supposed to follow you,” you say, and then as if an afterthought add, “sorry.”

“Well, now you know,” is all Jimin says before he turns and carries along the hall.

You remain where you are as he disappears from view, Helens words ringing in your head. But you can’t really walk away, you can’t not follow Jimin. And even if you had a good excuse, even if you could tell him that you have work to do and can’t follow him; he’s walked away from you. As if he knows you’ll attempt to not follow, he’s not given you an opportunity to tell him.

Begrudgingly, you walk up the stairs, retracing your steps. But this time when you approach his door, it is left open, no potion bottle on the floor.

His room isn’t what you expect, it’s large, but that’s about the only thing your imagination got right. You had expected regal, gold, large four poster bed, with fancy furniture littering the room. What you hadn’t expected is the room you see, littered with papers, a few items of clothing hanging off the back of chairs and even a few just dumped on the floor, bed unmade; basically, the opposite of the put together look the prince represents in public.

You don’t make it further than the single step through the door. Partly because you don’t want to step on any of the mess, and partly because you’re not really sure why you’re here. You linger, weight shifting between your feet, eyes darting around the room, unsure where to settle.

“Sorry about the mess,” Jimin speaks from across the room, not sounding sorry at all.

“Do you not have people clean your room?” A common occurrence, you not thinking before speaking to the prince.

Even from across the room you can see the small smile on his lips as he looks at you. You open your mouth to take back every word, to try and fix the mess you’re creating, but Jimin speaks first.

“I prefer to know where everything is. When the room has been cleaned in the past, I seem to always struggle to find things after. I just find it better this way,” he shrugs, eyes look around the room before resting back on you. “Though, as you can probably tell, I don’t get too many visitors.”

You wouldn’t have guessed it, you would have said he had a long line of visitors trying to stand in the spot you’re stood on now. Isn’t that what Helen had implied. A different woman every night, friends visiting all the time; you thought he would he be drowning in the amount of people that came into this room. But evidentially not.

“I’d probably start with a better organising system, then people might not be so put off coming in here,” you don’t look at him, eyes still taking in the mess of the room.

“Duly noted,” he replies and before you look at him, you can hear the smile on his mouth. “If you have any tips or suggestions, I would gladly hear them.”

You hum, heating at the fact that he would happily accept your help to clean his room, but wouldn’t accept the help of someone whose job it is to clean.

“How is the wound on your arm?” You change course, to safer, more professional matters.

He lifts his arm, looking at it as if he’s trying to remember the wound that surly still marks his skin. From here you can see the bandages are gone, but can’t see the wound and how well it’s healing. At least the bandages not being present is a good sign.

“I believe it was the tea that really helped,” he says cheekily.

“And the sleeping potions?” You ignore his jest, trying to remain focused on your job.

“You know, when you first dropped them at my door, I was just going to leave it somewhere in this mess,” he waves a hand, gesturing to the room. “But I thought there was no harm in trying it. I wouldn’t have said I was a bad sleeper, but since taking the potion I feel so much better.”

“I’m glad to hear,” you say simply.

“I guess you could say I’ve been overly stressed recently, so thanks for unknowingly helping me.”

You cock your head to your side, is that why he looked so dishevelled, because he was stressed? Was there something causing it? Your curiosity gets the better of you, but also, you reason, it is your job to ask.

“You know, healers jobs are to treat people. Physical wounds are a large part of it, but there are invisible wounds too. Your mental health is just as important as your physical,” not a clear invitation, but an invitation none the less to talk to you.

“Ah, yeah, thanks.” He scratches the back of his neck, shy, unsure, bashful; not the reaction you had expected from the cocky prince.

“It doesn’t have to be me, any of the healers would gladly listen to you,” you carry on, because even if he looks unsure on the matter, you want to make sure that he knows there is no shame in the matter. “And it’s all confidential. No one would talk about what you tell them. It would just be between you and them.” You say, and when he still looks unsure, when you can feel his slight awkwardness on the matter you add, “unless you plan on killing someone of course.”

The comment gains a laugh, and a small smile spreads across your face at the sight.

“Yeah, no need to worry, I’m not planning on killing anyone,” he smiles at you, back to the happy self you’ve become so used to.

“I’m glad to hear,” you give him a small smile.

When he doesn’t respond, you look around the room, wondering why you’re still stood here, wondering why he even called you back here. You should probably turn and leave him to it now that he seems done talking to you. But obviously picking up on your sudden discomfort, Jimin starts talking again.

“Oh, right, yeah,” he says, dragging a hand over his face, making it more obvious just how tired he is. “I didn’t just ask you back here to show you how messy my room is. I actually have something for you.”

You still, not that you were moving much in the first place, but the slight sway you had, the nervous twitching of your fingers, even your heart beat, all stop. He had something for you? Probably just some of the old potion bottles he wanted to return. Not that he couldn’t do that literally any other time, but you guess that him seeing you on the stairs was probably a reminder that he had to return them.

A smile comes to your face as you watch him. Tired, he was definitely tired, eyes puffy as they look around the room for whatever it is he wants to give you. It’s almost comical that he can’t find whatever it is, even after his whole speech about knowing where everything is.

“The potion bottles are there,” you finally decide to be helpful, and point at the handful of empty bottles on his bedside table.

He looks over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised in question, “what?”

“The – uh – are you not looking for the potion bottles to give back to me?”

He looks from you to where you point, and then back to you, confusion on his face the whole time.

“Right. Well, you can take those back if you want, but that wasn’t what I was looking for,” he says and then continues to look on the table in front of him.

Ok, well that’s your original theory out the window.

You stay stood in the same spot at the door as you watch Jimin shuffle through different bits, mumbling about not remembering where he left it. You wait longer than you would have thought possible, having more restraint with the prince present in the room. But everyone has a breaking point, and watching Jimin sleepily mumbling to himself and shuffling through the same damn piles of paper gets too much.

Jimin doesn’t even look your way as you start to pick your way across the room. He is seemingly unbothered by your presence in his room, though you reason that he was the one who had invited you in here in the first place. You head for the empty potion bottles, having no idea what this item is that he is looking for, you can’t help with that.

But when you get to the bottles and put them in your now empty satchel from your early rounds, you once again feel useless, just now deeper in the prince’s room then before. Your hands start to twitch again, and your eyes roam the room from the different spot.  

You can’t help yourself. The room isn’t necessarily dirty, just messy, and as you stand still, feeling useless you can’t help yourself. You start on the bedside table, just moving the books there so that they are in a neat pile rather than a small mess, picking up the two dirty glasses and placing them in a pile you note will be need to be taken away.

It’s when you move to the dresser that Jimin takes note of what you’re doing.

“Uh, didn’t I just do a whole rant about how I don’t like people cleaning my room?”

“Yeah, you also went on about how you know where everything in here lives, and that’s obviously not true, so...”

You don’t know why you’re suddenly being so brash. But you suppose that you’d said enough stupid things around him and he’d not seemed to care so far. Plus, something was obviously bothering him, something was causing him stress, and this mess was definitely not helping the situation. So, you weren’t going to back down easily in this fight.

“Y/N,” Jimin warns.

“Are you going to give me another order or request or whatever princely thing it is you do that binds me to your will?”

You hear a huff of a laugh, back still to the man as you continue to clean. “You’ve not complained before.”

“Yeah, well I’ve decided that this room is affecting your health, and therefore it’s my duty to clean it,” you say.

“It’s really not that bad in here,” another small laugh.

“It’s a surprise you manage to get any woman to come up here,” you say, as always, not thinking before you speak.

“Yeah,” you hear the unease in his voice, and without looking at him you can imagine the hand that’s awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Like I said, I don’t get many visitors.”

You don’t know how to respond to that, so instead just keep cleaning. It’s not really the deep clean you’d hope, instead more a tidy as you straighten items and pick up some of the discarded clothes. As you go, you can’t help but think about the words he’s just spoken. He doesn’t get many visitors, no females staying the night. Probably because he goes to their room instead, because surely the prince has a different woman every night. It’s what you have always assumed, and talking to the prince, getting to know him however small, only solidifies the fact. He is not only handsome, but kind and happy and easy to talk to.

“Y/N,” Jimin says from behind you, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Please stop cleaning.”

“I really don’t mind,” you say, attempting to brush him off.

“Yeah, but I do,” his words grow louder indicating he is picking his way across the room to you, still you don’t turn to look at him.

“Is that because you’re embarrassed, because I’m doing a bad job, or because you genuinely like your room looking like this?”

“It’s because,” he says, his voice now right behind you. And though the noise makes you tense up, you continue to move, continue to clean. That is until a hand comes out, grasping one of your wrists to stop you moving. “It is not your job to clean, and it is not the reason I invited you here.”

He tugs gently on your arm, not forcing you to turn to him, but a small request. Even though your whole body is being heated from the spot where his skin touches yours, you twist to look at him.  

He’s closer than you thought he’d be. His hand remains on your arm as he looks down his nose at you. For seconds that feel like hours he just silently stares at you, an emotion you can’t read swimming in his eyes. But as if sensing your unease, he drops your arm and takes a small step away from you, his eyes never leaving you.

“I found your gift,” he says, voice slightly croaky, lifting something in his hands.

Your eyes dart to it, a book. Flowers drawn over the cover, you can’t quite read the words on the cover as he waves it around.

“It feels kind of stupid now I’m giving it to you,” Jimin turns sheepish as you eye the gift, and when you look back at his face, you can see the uncertainty written there. But he still holds out the book in front of him so you can properly read the cover. “I mean, now I’m giving it to you I suddenly realise that you probably already own this book, or have access to a hundred others like it. But, when I saw it, I thought that you’d enjoy it.”

The art of herbal healing, the words on the cover read. He’s right, you do have a hundred books exactly like this, with probably the exact same information inside. But none of them were given to you by the prince, none of them were bought specifically with you in mind.

Slowly, you lift your hands and wrap your fingers around the book, taking it out of Jimin’s hands. It’s not big, not like some of the tome’s you have down in the healing rooms. But the cover is beautiful, a pink canvas covering the book with some of the illustrations of plants in the book. But the thing that takes your breath away is the thought that Jimin saw this and thought of you, and then bought the book, for you.

“It’s beautiful,” you almost whisper the words.

“I was at a market and saw it and thought that it might be of use. I guess it’s as a thank you for healing me and getting me out of some sticky situations too. But if you don’t need it, if it’s no use, then I don’t mind if you give it away or -”

“Jimin,” you’re not sure if you’ve ever called him by his name before, and you can’t tell if his small flinch is because of that fact or because you cut him off. Both things are bad, both are things you should definitely not be doing to a prince, and both are things you mentally take note to never do again.

“Your Majesty,” you start again, and this time Jimins lips threaten a smile, maybe he’s not as annoyed as you thought. “I love it. Thank you for thinking of me, thank you for buying it for me. You really didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to,” Jimin fully beams now.

You look back down at the book, flicking through the pages as a form of distraction, as something to do while words evade you. You can feel Jimin's eyes still on you, the smile probably still on his face as he looks at you, and it makes your mind go blank.  

You have no idea why he looks at you like that, no idea why he learnt your name all those weeks ago, why he keeps coming back to you, why he called you in here today, why he bought you this book. None of it adds up in your head. Because he surely doesn’t know about your powers, the only thing you can think that makes you significant enough to remember. Because, if he did, he would not be looking at you like that, you would not be stood here alive, let alone with the prince smiling at you.

It feels wrong. It feels like you’ve somehow deceived him. Tricked him into thinking you are something that you’re not.

“I saw you at the ball,” Jimin finally breaks the silence, his words getting your eyes to look back up at him. “I thought you saw me too,” a small pause as he searches your face. “But then you left. Almost seemed to run away.”

You knew he had seen you, but spending all that time since trying to convince yourself that it was a trick your mind made up has obviously worked. Him confirming he saw you makes you question again why he would have kept glancing back at you. Even when he was dancing with that beautiful woman, he still noticed you running away.

“Part of the joys of my job,” you try to say it coolly even as your heart beats erratically in your chest. “And I was running because there was a medical emergency. Someone chocking on some food.”

A lie. Not a very good one at that. And one that would easily fall apart should he ask literally anyone that was in the room.

“Ah,” Jimin’s eyes glints as he says the word like it explains everything, a cheeky smile on his face showing he knows every word you just said was a lie.

“The woman you were dancing with was beautiful,” you divert to anything that gets the lie out the air.

“Yes, Selena, she is beautiful,” he says easily, the smile still on his face, and even though you will it not to, your heart still drops in your chest.

“A very pretty dress,” you carry on, for god only knows what reason.

Jimin cocks his head to the side slightly. “Yes, I suppose it was.”

“Yes,” is the only word that comes out your mouth.

You suddenly feel hot, too hot in this now cramped feeling room. You look down at the book, then around at the still messy room, to the ajar door and then back to Jimin whose eyes are still on you. Your fingers twitch on the cover of the book at the look in his eyes. He looks like he’s calculating something, like you’re a puzzle he’s trying to work out. And it’s only now that you realise how stupid you’re being. Living out a fantasy you could never have, talking to a prince that would kill you if he found out about your hidden powers. It wasn’t worth it.

You glance back to the door, your escape route, as if to check that the way there is still clear. You should have left five minutes ago when you were questioning why he was being kind to you, when you thought about how he must not know about your powers. You shouldn’t have even come into this room, you should have made up an excuse about work and been on your way. So many things you should have done, but didn’t. Well, now they will be added to your ever-growing list of things not to do around the prince.

“I should go,” you say eyes still on the open door.

“Oh?”

“I have work to do,” you draw your eyes back to Jimin and are surprised to see sadness there.

“Of course,” he recovers quickly. “Well thanks for stopping for as long as you did. And sorry for keeping you so long.”

An apology from a prince, you would never have thought you’d see the day.

“It’s no bother,” you reply, already starting to pick your way across his room. At the door you turn back to look at him stood in the spot you left him. “And thank you for the book, Your Majesty,” you give a small bow and don’t wait for a response as you turn and leave his room.

You rush back to the healing rooms. And try and fail to not think about the prince and the encounter you just had. When safely back in your room you hide the book he gave you so that no one would be able to find it even if they tried.  

It’s easier said than done, avoiding the prince. For all the years you have lived here, all the time you have never seen him, let alone spoken to him, all it seemed to take was for him to barge into your room that one day and now you can’t seem to not see him.

Small cuts, bruises, even a fractured bone at one point; over the next month, Jimin comes to your room with everything. Every time you tell him that the infirmary is the place that he should go, that or ask for someone to treat him in his room. And every time he dismisses you and sits on the chair that now basically belongs to him.

You try to keep a barrier up, try to treat him as if he is any other patient. But he is so charming, so cheeky, so nice, that the task becomes more impossible with every meeting.

“You must not be very good at sparring if you get injuries like this all the time.”

You find it easier to joke with him now too. Find yourself letting your guard down enough to tease him. Find joy in having someone close enough to you that you can tease them. You’re still wary of the man, still conscious of his position and that you shouldn’t get close to him, but, nothing bad has happened yet. And what was the harm in light hearted banter?

“You should come and train with me if you think you can do any better,” Jimin huffs out a laugh as he watches your fingers wrap bandages around his hands.

This time small cuts on his palms. Not something you would necessarily associate as a sparring accident. But then, you knew nothing about the sport and couldn’t exactly question the prince after he had told you that’s how it had happened.

“Train with you, or train you?” You say, a smirk rising to your lips.

You’re rewarded with another laugh. “At this rate, definitely train me.” A small pause and then, “have you ever trained?”

You shake your head, no. Finishing tying the bandages around his hands, stepping back to look at your work before turning to start cleaning everything up.

“Would you like to learn?” His question sounds out from behind you.

“I’ve never thought about it,” you say honestly. “Why would a healer need to know how to use a sword?”

“You never know,” he replies. “Better safe than sorry.”

You focus on cleaning. Was this his way of telling you to take up sword fighting? That you needed to learn to protect yourself.

“I could teach you if you wanted,” your heart swoons at the unsure tone he uses, and when you turn to look at him, his demeanour reflects the tone.

You smile at him, moved by the fact he would offer, though wholly unsure as to why he would offer.

“Is a prince allowed to teach a commoner like me how to fight?”

He shrugs. “I guess it’s the perk of being in charge; I get to make the rules.”

Your smile widens. You have no idea why he is suggesting it. Is it because he honestly thinks you should learn self-defence, or because he wants to spend more time with you? You’re not sure which option is better, you know which you hope it is, but you were trying to put distance between the two of you not get closer.

Which is why you are unsure why the next words come out of your mouth.

“I’ll do a deal with you,” he lifts his eyebrow, curious. “If you let me help you clean your room, then I will let you teach me.”

Maybe you think it will be enough to get him to turn you down. You had asked about it every time you saw him. Has he cleaned his room? Mentioned how much better he’d feel if his room was clean. Every time he waved you off. But it wasn’t wise, offering to spend more and more time in his presence. It was like you were signing your own death warrant.

“Ok, you have yourself a deal, Y/N,” Jimin stands up from the chair, wide smile on his face. “I will send a schedule to your rooms.”

You can only nod. A bloody schedule? You will have a schedule as to when you will see the prince? Jimin must misread the look in your eyes.

“I will have someone clear it all with your supervisor too. You know, so it won’t affect your work here.”

You nod again. You hadn’t even considered that. Helen and the girls are going to give you a tough time for this. But you guess it is too late to back out of it now. And some small part of you is secretly excited about it.

“Then I will see you in the training room,” Jimin smiles at you, making his way to the door.

“Just make sure the time spent training and cleaning are equal,” are the last words you shout at him as he heads through the door. You only see the smile on his lips before he disappears completely.

Sure enough, a schedule is delivered to your bedroom. And sure enough, the time between cleaning and training is divided evenly. Training every other morning and cleaning every other evening. Seeing it written down so formally makes you feel a bit queasy as to what you’ve signed yourself up to.

And the feeling is not helped when you turn up to work and Helen immediately tracks you down.

“So you need self-defence classes now?” She waves a piece of paper around, no doubt your new ‘schedule’. “And when have you ever cleaned anything in your life?”

“Hey,” you frown at her. “I keep my room clean.”

“Oh right, yeah, like the rest of us. I didn’t realise that meant you wanted to become an actual cleaner. But don’t worry, I’ll go tell Patricia now, I’m sure she would love to add you to the rota.”

“And you never know when you might need to defend yourself,” you ignore her, repeating Jimins words, albeit with less assurance.

“Again, you act as if you don’t live in a palace with a literal army protecting it.”

“Jimin asked me to,” you say as a final retort, but watching her face contort makes you think it was the worst possible way you could have defended yourself.

“Jimin? It’s Jimin now, is it?” Her voice is high and squeaky and you worry that the top of her head might explode off.

“I – uh – I meant the prince. I don’t call him Jimin to his face.”

“You better not,” she shouts, before pausing, seeming to need a second to calm down. “Y/N, I just – I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You’ve said that before,” it’s your turn to be annoyed.

“Well it’s true.”

“Because the prince has a reputation? Because the prince is going to break my heart? Because I’m so weak you don’t think I can protect myself, don’t think I can see when someone might be using me and get out of the situation?”

“Y/N,” she says, half warning, half apologetic.

“No, Helen, I know what I’m doing. Thanks for the concern and all, but the prince asked me to do this and I couldn’t exactly turn him down. It’s nothing more than me doing my job.”

She doesn’t seem to buy the words the same way you don’t fully buy them. But you stand by them, don’t try to take them back. Helen doesn’t say the words that are clearly running through her mind either.

“I don’t want to fall out with you,” she finally says, her voice the softest it’s been. “I’ll authorise this,” she flaps the paper. “But know that I am here for you Y/N. I’m not trying to be your enemy. If you want out, I can get you out.”

“Thank you,” you say, nodding your head, genuinely meaning the words.

Helen flicks her eyes around the room, before settling back on you. An awkwardness you have never felt with her has settled and it unnerves you.  

“I’ll let you get back to work,” is all she says before she is marching out of your room.

The cleaning and training are definitely not good ideas. In fact, you are pretty certain that it is the stupidest idea you have ever had. You deem this within five seconds of turning up to your first training session.

Jimin, stood in leathers so tight that it literally leaves nothing to the imagination. A white billowing shirt unbuttoned so low that again, you wonder if there is any need for the item. He flips a small knife as he perches against a table, the throw so precise you can’t believe that any of the injuries he’s received in the last month he’s been turning up to your room were because of training accidents. But those thoughts disappear as soon as his gaze lands on you and a smile lights up his face.

You are made even more certain of your shitty decisions when you turn up to help clean his room. This activity is at least a lot more fun for you then training is. Here it’s Jimin that suffers the most. Though when you find discarded underwear and items of clothing you can’t imagine him wearing, you do become a bit flustered. Still, it’s fun to watch Jimin dart across the room and snatch the items from him, cheeks flushed pink.

But as stupid as it was for you to say yes to the deal, you can’t help but grow close to Jimin.

For a commoner and a prince, you have a surprising amount in common. But even if you didn’t, you imagine Jimin would be easy to talk to, so laid back and happy, that you imagine a conversation with him would be easy even if you had no similar interests. You can see how he makes a good prince, how he will make a good king one day.

A month passes, and though you don’t feel like your sword fighting has improved, you feel stronger. And it surprisingly seems to help with your magic. Whether because you feel happier, less alone, your mind stronger, or whether it’s because your body is stronger, you don’t know, but you can summon flames easier now, can make them last longer.

It’s when you’re in his room late one night, doing the final bits to clean his room that you realise that the deal will be ending soon. You could continue to train with him, but you know enough basic skills to defend yourself, and now his room is clean, all he needed to do was keep it that way, and wasn’t that the deal from the start? You had no reason to keep coming back to him after this. Even a month has felt too long. You’ll admit you dragged it out, but if Jimin noticed, he didn’t say anything. Maybe he enjoyed your company as much as you enjoy his.

You’re sat on the floor in front of his book shelf, putting the last few books on the shelf in a system he made up. Jimin is sat on the bed watching you, much as he always does. As even though the deal was that you would help him clean, it turned out that you basically did it all yourself, him bossing you from his seat on the bed.

The room is dark, the night having fully set in, the room only lit by a few candles. You spin on your bum when the last book is on the shelf, eyes scanning the room that is unrecognisable from when you first walked in all those weeks ago. The décor still isn’t what you would imagine from a royal, but the cleanliness is at least now what you’d expect.

“So now it’s all how you want it will you let the maids in to clean?” You look across the room to Jimin.

“I was hoping you’d keep coming back.”

“We’ve discussed this,” you say flatly, now completely comfortable with being blunt with the man. “I have another job I need to do. Plus, now you can just tell the maids to clean and put everything back where it is now and you’ll know where it is.”

“I’d still rather you,” he says lightly, and your heart gives a flutter, but you just roll your eyes at him.

You don’t answer him, you’ve been through it enough times for him to know your opinion. And as easy as it would be, as much as you want to stay here and keep coming back, you know you need to take a step back from him.

You put your hands flat on the ground, meaning to push yourself up from the ground, but before you can move Jimin is jumping from his spot on the bed. It’s not uncommon for him you offer you a hand from your spot on the ground, but the few times you’ve accepted, it’s never made it easier. His warm, calloused hand wrapping around yours. The strength you feel as he easily tugs you from your spot. The way when you stand up, your bodies are so close they’re nearly touching, and his hands lingers in yours, his eyes so close you can see all the strands of colour. It’s all a lot. And this time is no easier than any of the other times.

He pulls you up, and this time when you’re chest to chest with him he doesn’t step away as quickly as he normally does. He doesn’t step away at all, doesn’t drop your hand from his, doesn’t let you step away from him. He stares down at you, his breath mingling with yours at the closeness.

The atmosphere in the room has shifted in an instant. There were always a few times when you felt like you could sense that Jimin might like you a bit more than a friend, a bit more than the servant you are. But none as much as now.

“I’ll miss you,” he whispers out into the room, and again your heart flutters.

“I’ll still be in the palace,” you say as coolly as you can, feeling none of the emotions you’re trying to portray.

“But you won’t be here. You won’t be in the training ring.”

You’d told him a few days ago that when the cleaning was finished you also wanted to finish your training, and he hadn’t taken it well. Had moped around as if you had told him you were leaving to go to another city. He had tried to persuade you to carry on seeing him, and when you had turned that down, had made no secret of how upset he was.

It would have been sweet had you not known that you could never be friends with him. Not because of the differing statuses you held, because that alone would be hard, but because of who you are, the magic that runs in your blood and the fact of who his mother is.

“I’ll be in the healing rooms when you injure yourself,” you say simply.

He gives a small nod, no smile on his lips.

“I’ll still miss you,” he says again.

You don’t reply. It will be easier if you don’t. Easier if you don’t show how much this is all affecting you.

His eyes flick around your face, as if trying to take in every detail, as if trying to memorise it all while he can.

“Will you miss me?” He asks.

You swallow. His hand still holds yours. His chest is still inches from yours. His breath almost fanning your face.

You can only nod. You know if you speak now your voice will come out husky with desire and will give away your feelings completely. But the fact you nod, the fact you don’t speak seems to give you away just as much.

Jimin hums, a small smile toying with his lips for the first time, and when you see his eyes flick down and linger on your lips your heart stutters.

He lifts the hand not holding yours to brush some hair from your face and you freeze. Unable to move as he leans towards you. Don’t do anything as his brush lightly against yours. Not quite a kiss, but definitely something. And when you don’t move, he must decide that it’s ok, because he’s diving in deeper, kissing you, moving his lips against yours as his hands pull you flush against his toned body.

Your mind takes longer than it should to realise what’s happening, to realise who you’re kissing. You try to reason that you don’t kiss him back, but if you’re being honest your lips definitely move against his. But it doesn’t last long, not as long as you’d like at least, because when you realise what’s happening you step away from him. Jimins hands tighten for a second, not realising what’s happening, but they go slack when he sees your face.

He lets you step away from him. And as he attempts to calm you down you can only imagine the look on your face. Eyes wide, swimming with the shock you’re feeling. Skin drained of colour at the thought of how stupid you’ve been.

“Y/N,” Jimin says soothingly, as if trying to calm a scared animal.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” you blurt out, eyes looking for the nearest exit.

“It wasn’t you, it was me,” he holds up his hands, his feet poised, as if ready to leap and catch you when you dart.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I shouldn’t be here,” you finally locate the door, ready to bolt.

“Y/N,” Jimin tries again, seeing that his time is limited, but you don’t look at him. “We should at least talk about this.”

“I have nothing to say,” you glance at him and think you see hurt flick across his face. “I’m sorry. It was a mistake. I should never have come here. I need to go.”

The words flow out of you. Any words that you can think of that might help the matter come out your mouth. You start to move to the door, having to pass Jimin on the way, his hand comes up as if to grab your arm and stop you, but when you jump, he lets it fall back to his side.

“Y/N,” he walks behind you to the door.

“Your room’s all clean now,” you stop at his door, turning to look at him. You attempt to get back on the earlier tracks, go back to before the kiss. It feels an impossible task, a fork in the road taking you too far away to easily go back. “If you need anything, please feel free to call for me, I will gladly be of assistance.”

Jimin just looks at you, sadness, shock, regret, and possibly something else swims in his eyes. His body has sagged as if by an unseen weight as he looks at you. Your heart breaks a little at the thought that you caused all of that. It breaks even more at the thought that you wanted to kiss him back, would gladly have gone to his bed, if it weren’t for who he is, if it weren’t for the fact it was so utterly dangerous for you.

“Your Majesty,” your final parting words as you dip into a bow before him. And when you rise to look at him again, it feels like you have dealt him the final blow. His face now is void of emotion, he is stiff and tense, he is the man that you see whenever he is around an audience, the man that doesn’t let people in, this is the man that he shows people he is not close to.

Even as your heart gives another crack, threatening to split down the middle, you turn and leave the room.

You race to your bedroom. Shut the door behind you, but still try not to let yourself feel as you ready for bed. Don’t let yourself think about what happened.

You don’t go to training the next day. Don’t go to Jimin’s bedroom to clean his room. Your deal is off, and in the days you missed your schedule you never receive any letter from the prince requesting your presence. You see him around the halls of the palace, see him from a distance. He always smiles at you, you exchange small hellos, but never more than that.

Every time you see him the cracks in your heart show themselves again. You want to tell him how much you want him, how much you enjoyed kissing him, how much you wish you didn’t run that night, but you don’t. If he were anyone else, if you were anyone else, maybe things would be different. But you are you, and he is him. You can’t do anything to change that.

You go back to the girl the prince doesn’t know nor care about. And though it’s what you wanted, though it’s what’s best, you can’t help but feel sadder and lonelier than ever.

Your bedroom door flies open. You’re glad you aren’t getting dressed as the person seems to have a lack of regard for the fact. You turn to tell them as much, but the words die in your throat when you see Jimin panting at your door. It’s been nearly a month since that night you kissed.

His arms are braced on the door frame, chest heaving up and down, eyes wild as they struggle to focus on anything. Your eyes dart up and down his body, looking for blood, for any indication that the man is hurt.

“Y/N,” Jimin pants out your name. “You need to come. Now.”

He’s already starting to back away, slowly, watching to check that you are following. You are obviously moving too slow for him as he barks out that you need to hurry up. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

“Jimin,” you say when you step out the door.

He doesn’t wait, turning to lead you to whatever it is that has put him in this state. He ignores you as you call his name a second time, but when you jog lightly so that you can put a hand on his shoulder, he at least looks at you.

“Jimin, what’s going on?”

He’s still walking, fast, you have to maintain a light job to keep stride with him. His eyes are still wild, wide and full of shock and your heart rate remains high. Still, he doesn’t answer you.

“Do I need anything? Bandages? Medicine? Supplies?” Your voice comes out stronger, realising that it might be the only way to get through to him.

“I – uh – I,” Jimin looks into the distance, looks to where you imagine the thing that is causing this lies. “Supplies. You'll need supplies. Though I am unsure what.”

You give him a firm nod. All the information you need, or all the information you deem you will get from him. You take the lead from him, leading him through the halls to your healing room. You bang open the door and don’t waste any time in gathering up the few bits you decide you might need. From the way Jimin is reacting, you can tell you can’t waste any time.

“Where to?” Is your only prompt that you’re ready to leave and that he should lead the way.

He doesn’t need any more words. Again, you have to do a small jog to keep up with the man. He leads you round bends and hallways you have never seen before. Up small staircases that are barely wide enough for you. And before you know it, you’re popping out into a room. Not just any room, Jimin’s room.

Secret hallways and secret staircases leading right to the prince's room. What the hell is going on?

Jimin doesn’t wait for you anymore. Now he has reached his destination he flies across the room, almost skids across the ground as he comes to his knees, and then you see what has caused Jimin to be in such a state.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin whispers as he puts the girls head in his lap. “I’m back now. I’m so sorry. I’ve brought help.”

His words are gentle, the same way that his hands are as he pushes hair out of her face. The same girl you watched Jimin dance with all those nights ago at the ball. Selena, you think Jimin called her.

You keep walking as you take in the scene, albeit slower now. A puddle of blood is forming under the girl. Her skin leached of its colour indicating just how much blood she has lost. But her eyes are still open, her chest still rising up and down. Not dead yet.

You kneel next to her, not caring if you are getting her blood on you or not. Your eyes try and assess her body, try to find what is causing all the blood to pour out of her. And then you see it. Her hand is at least attempting to apply pressure to the wound in her side, but in her state, you doubt it will be enough.

You lift her hand, look at the deep, dark cut underneath, and then apply firmer pressure of your own. You are well out of your depth here. You should have called for some more experienced healers the second you saw what state Jimin was in. You contemplate running back for help now, but you’ve already wasted so much time, and one look at Jimins face tells you that he asked you and only you here for a reason.

“What happened?” You ask.

“An accident,” is the only answer Jimin provides.

You nod, now is not the time to start probing for more detail. You lift your hand again, get another look at the wound, and then look down at the supplies you have brought.

You could stitch her up; clean the wound and then sew the cut shut. But that wouldn’t necessarily stop the bleeding. No, this wound was deep. Even if you sew the external wound there may still be internal bleeding. There wasn’t much you could do for that.

“Can you do anything?” Jimin asks softly as if he doesn’t want Selena to hear him.

Can you do anything? Not with your limited experience. You doubt any of the more experienced healers would be able to do much either. But they would at least try, so you would too.

And there was something you could do. You’ve never tried it on a human before, but you knew what to do in theory. But you couldn’t do it with the prince here, couldn’t use your healing powers to help the girl. You weren’t sure if that was selfish. Saving your own life at the loss of another's. But you weren’t even sure if it would work, you reason, it could not work and then you have damned both of you.

“Anything,” Jimin says, as if reading the thoughts in your head. “Anything. Do anything. Please.”

Anything. Did he really mean in? He surely couldn’t realise what he was begging you to do. If he did, he would surely not be asking it of you.

You look from Jimins face back down to the wound that is still producing blood. If you were going to do something then you were running out of time.

“Please,” Jimin whispers. “Please just save her.”

One last look at his face has you deciding. The look you find is almost enough to shatter your heart. The prince looks utterly broken as he continues to hold Selena’s head in his lap.

You give a small nod at him and can almost see the breath he was holding release itself from his body. But then you are moving before you can see much more. You sit on the other side of her, the side with the wound. You clear the area of any fabric, lifting her top far enough up her body so that the wound is in clear sight, and then you place your hands over the spot.

Are you actually doing this? Are you actually going to use your magic in front of people, something you’ve been avoiding since before you can remember? In front of the prince?

You give Jimin one last look. His face still full of worry, but something else has creeped in, confusion. Uncertainty to what you’re doing. You look away as quickly as you looked to him. You don’t need to see that, probably the last time he will look at you without hatred in his eyes.

You focus on the wound instead. Hands now pressed to the area, you focus your mind there too. It’s like you can see the blood pumping, flowing out of the wound, can see past that, see the severed veins, see how deep the cut goes into her.

You feel like you disappear from the room, your mind taking you into the girl's body. You focus as you knit everything back together, stem the flow of blood, try as best as you can to heal Selena. It takes what feels like hours but must only be minutes if not seconds. Your body drains of energy as you pour everything you have into what you’re doing.

And even when you reach the skin, even when you get to the final layer of the wound and knit all that back together, you still worry that you haven’t done it right, that there might have been a spot you missed. But you’ve done the best you can.

You feel like you return to your body, opening your eyes you look down at the wound. Not exactly invisible, not as good as it could be if it were done perfectly, but good enough considering.

You trail a finger across the spot where the blood poured out a minute ago. Then you look up to her chest, still rising and falling in shallow breaths, still alive. Your eyes keep going. Her eyes are closed, no doubt passed out from you stitching her up with your magic. And then you reach the man that is still holding her.

You only look as high as his chest, unwilling and unable to see the look on his face.

“We should move her to the bed,” you say softly, the words sounding loud in the quiet room.

You stand, before bending at the waist so that you can lift the girl up. You don’t stand a chance of supporting her weight on your own, but you also don’t want to wait around for Jimin to help you.

"Ok,” Jimin says, getting the hint and standing up on the other side so that he can help you get Selena onto his bed.

She’s not overly heavy, but she’s still a dead weight in your arms. Her feet drag along the floor as you pull her the few feet across the floor, a trail of blood left in her wake. You get her onto the bed and position her on her back. Check her wound one last time before you have to face the inevitable.

Jimin stands next to you and you can still barely look him in the eye, instead you focus on his chest, causing your head to be bowed to him. You swallow, clearing your throat.

“She should be ok, but she’s lost a lot of blood. I will get someone to bring some medicine up that should help, but she needs to take it easy for a few days. If the wound re-opens or anything seems out of the ordinary, please take her to the infirmary.”

There’s a small pause and you assume that he isn’t going to say anything, but then he speaks. “And how will I explain what happened?”

You risk a look at his face. Emotionless, he has schooled his features in a way that you can’t read what he is feeling. But you see some betrayal there, his eyes looking at you as if he has never seen you before.

“The same way you explained how she got the cut to me,” you reply flatly. Pissed off that he called you here, didn’t tell you anything and then refused to explain what had happened. Begged you to do anything, and now looks at you with disgust in his eyes.

You don’t really blame him, it was shock after shock for him tonight. But you had just saved that girls life, his friend, his girlfriend, his lover, you didn’t really care anymore, you’d done what he had asked. And you hadn’t even received a thanks.

Yeah, pissed off didn’t really cover all the emotions currently swimming around in you.

He knew you, you thought you’d grown close over the last few months, and yet you do one thing and it can flip the tide so quickly. You should have seen it coming, the day that Jimin would find out the truth about you and never look at you the same, but you had pushed it away so now it feels like your heart is cracking open.

Jimin looks away from you, looks to the spot where the girl once lay, looks at the puddle of blood that is seeping into his floor. Just when he had managed to maintain a clean room, this happens.

“I can get someone to come up and clean that,” you say softer this time, and when Jimin looks at you, you carry on. “They won’t say anything. Just come and clean the area and leave.”

He shakes he head, no. And when he looks back at you, you realise you have outstayed your welcome.

You give a small bow before twisting and leaving his room, this time leaving through the main door, not trusting yourself to retrace the way Jimin led you. You give one glance back at the door. Jimin still stands looking at you, his mouth opens slightly as if he is about to say something, but you don’t give him a chance to get the words out, simply turn and leave the room.

You worry all night that guards will appear at the door to whisk you away. But they don’t, and your little to no sleep means that when you turn up to breakfast you feel like you could sleep in your porridge.

Still adrenaline courses through you at the thought that guards could come for you at any point. The door opening with anyone’s arrival makes you jump every time, makes you believe that someone is coming for you.

You make it through minute by minute, feeling like each one is borrowed time, that each one will be your last. But you don’t come up with much of a plan. You know you need to get out of here and as soon as possible, but it won’t be as easy to just get up and go. No, it will need a few days if not weeks of planning, far more time than you feel like you have.

You try to carry on with your day as normally as you can. Add the potions you said you would get for Selena to Jimins room, request some of the jobs that would get you far from the castle; picking herbs, scouting for flowers in the forest, all undesirable jobs, but for you, all seemingly safer jobs.

You’re so shattered by the end of the day that you fall into a deep sleep.

It’s unnerving when no one comes for you after a few days. You don’t see Jimin, you don’t see any guards, you hardly see anyone. Probably because you easily get the jobs you requested, going out into the forests that surround the city to look for ingredients for potions.

Alone in the world, you plan out your escape.  

You would go back to your home village. It wouldn’t make your parents happy. They had sent you here years ago hoping you’d be safe, but you know when they hear why you’re back, you know they won’t be angry for long. There wouldn’t be work at home, at least nothing quite like the work you do at the palace, but that would be something you could work out later.

Plans made in the woods start to become a reality in the evenings when you go back to the palace. First, you try and find some way to get passage home. Or at least safely out of the city. When that is done, you try to work out what you will have to leave behind, what won’t be able to fit on the journey. You work through your room, trying to squeeze as much as you can into as small a space as you can manage. While a lot of things don’t make the cut, you can’t help but keep the book Jimin gave you, a little piece of him you can take with you.

As soon as your transport has been found and booked, everything seems to fly. You have four days before you have to leave, and though that’s not much time to give notice of your leave, you don’t tell Helen you’re leaving straight away. Probably bad, probably not what you’re supposed to do, but you don’t tell her that you’re leaving until you have two days left.

She is unsurprisingly upset. Confused as to why you are leaving so suddenly. Concerned that something bad might have happened to scare you away. But you try your best to reassure her. Leaving coupled with your strange behaviour of requesting jobs far from the palace, jobs everyone hates due to the long days, makes it hard to reassure her. There are tears and hugs and promises that if something is really wrong you can speak to her and she can help.

Unfortunately, and even though you protest against it a lot, Helen doesn’t let you do work away from the palace for your remaining days. You sulk, but understand that she needs you to finish off some bits in your work room before you leave.

In the palace you become more nervous again, worried that any noise in the hallways is someone coming to your door, someone who would whisk you away to stand trial for what you’ve done. But much like every other day since healing Selena, no one comes for you. You don’t know if that affects you more than not hearing anything.

It’s late when you head back to your room. The hallways dark and quiet. It makes you feel sad that you have limited walks back left. Now you’ve told Helen it all feels real. You’re leaving the palace, leaving the job that you have grown to love, leaving the place you call home and the people you have grown to love and feel like family. Sad doesn’t even begin to describe the emotion that swims through you as you head back to your room.

You want to stay, and the fact that no one has come for you gives you a false sense of security. Just because no one had come for you yet doesn’t mean they won’t. You’ve been stupid up until now, you needed to be smarter from now, start thinking with your head not your heart.

You go the long way back to your room, feeling nostalgic, wanting to take in as much as you can before you go, wanting to remember this place.

You hardly notice your door is cracked open when you approach, so lost in your own little bubble. Don’t notice that the light is already on until you’re already opening the door. Don’t think anyone is already in your room until you see them sat on your bed.

You go stiff as Jimin leaps up from the bed. You don’t move, but your hand remains on the door, keeping it open, ready to turn and bolt at the smallest of signs. Jimin must sense this, or at least have guessed this would be your reaction. His hands are flat as if to show you he isn’t holding anything, acting the way you would around a scared animal you don’t want to run. But when you take in his face you can’t help when your heart pangs. His eyes are puffy and red, his skin pale making the blue circles under his eyes stand out more. His hair is a mess, not the usual groomed look. He doesn’t look good, he looks ill, worried, harrowing.

“You’re leaving?” His first words, and his voice echo's the look on his face.

“I – uh – I just got here,” you say weakly, annoyed you sound so weak.

Jimin shakes his head, not what he meant. “You’re leaving the palace. You’ve quit your job.”

Not what you had expected. He came here to talk to you about this? You had expected him to corner you and confront you about the magic he had seen you perform and yet he was asking you about the fact you are leaving? Moreover, he is surprised you are leaving?

“I didn’t think you’d find out,” you say, unable to think of anything else to say.

“I’m the prince. I’m in charge of the palace, can fire and hire anyone as I chose. I’m basically your boss. Of course, I know you’re leaving.”

Ok, fair point. You heat at the blatant facts he throws at you, but try not to let it affect you, try to picture him as the boy you had learnt he is and not the prince who could ruin your life.

“I more meant, I didn’t think you would care,” you instantly regret the words. Of course he would care, he wouldn’t want you leaving the palace with what he knows about you, wouldn’t want you escaping.

But, again, Jimin doesn’t react the way you expect to the words. His hands drop, he relaxes, his eyes soften, his head tilting to the side slightly as he regards you.

“Why wouldn’t I care?”

It feels like a trick, something you shouldn’t answer. And when it becomes clear you won’t say anything Jimin collapses again. This time he takes a seat on your bed, eyes still looking at you, but now looking even less threatening. He couldn’t as easily grab you now, and the thought makes you relax a little in your spot at the door.

“I should have come to you sooner,” he says. “I should have thanked you for saving Selena. I should have made it clear that the magic doesn’t scare me, that I’m thankful for what you did, that although I was a bit shocked, I still see you as you, that I don’t want you to leave.”

You feel yourself sagging with every unexpected word, so much so that you have to sit down in the chair in the corner of your room. All this time you had worried he was going to send you to the Queen, and yet here he is telling you the complete opposite. It seemed impossible that the woman that had created the law banning magic was this man's mother.

“What?” You whisper out, the word nearly getting caught in your throat.

“I didn’t think you wanted to see me,” the words are almost laughable, sure, you didn’t want to see him, but not because it was him, because of what trouble he could bring. “After I kissed you, you bolted. You were so scared. And you avoided me after it. I didn’t want to push you, so I let you be. But when the accident happened. I didn’t think twice before I came here, you are one of the only people I trust, I couldn’t ask anyone else. But I still didn’t expect you to do what you did.”

It’s funny to hear something you’ve lived through from someone else's perspective. Funny to hear that he was over thinking everything just as much as you.

“I thought you’d report me,” you admit.

He shakes his head as if offended by the words. “No,” he says as if to affirm the fact. A deep sigh comes out of him and he runs a hand down his face. Stressed, he is so unbelievably stressed, and you have no idea why.

“Jimin,” the soft way you say his name is enough to catch his attention, his wide eyes look back up at you. “What’s going on? What happened to Selena? Why wouldn’t you report me?”

Too many questions. Too many things that don’t add up. And the more you think about it, the more you realise that not much has made sense since you met Jimin. Not just because he was a prince, but everything else, him barging into your room that first day, all those cuts that surely didn’t come from training, and Selena and that accident that had nearly caused her death. You’d thought it was weird but hadn’t read too much into it until now, seeing Jimin looking like a man falling apart at the seams.

“I – uh – I’m in real trouble Y/N.”

Your heart stops at the words and then quickly speeds up.

“What trouble?” You say cautiously.

He runs his hand down his face again. His leg nervously bounces. You can see he’s struggling to get out the words, even though he’s said you’re one of the only people he can trust, he still doesn’t know if he can say the words.

You don’t think as you stand up and go and sit next to him on the bed. You place a hand on his leg, stopping the bouncing, and hoping it grounds him, provides a calming presence for him. It at least gets him to remove the hand from his face. His eyes search your face, now so close you can see all the coloured strands in his eyes, can almost feel his breath as he looks at you.

“Jimin,” you say, his name almost a whisper, heart still pounding. “What’s going on?”

“I heard, about a year ago now, that my mother was doing some questionable things in the kingdom,” Jimin starts. “Trading with kingdoms that don’t have good morals, that many people would class as our enemy not our friends. I decided to find out how true the rumours were. But the more I found out, the closer to the truth I got, the more obvious it was what I was doing. I was hiding that first day I barged into your room. I just found paper work showing my mother had been paid to house some humans being trafficked on the boarder.”

He pauses. Clearly feeling as sick by the information as you do. You don’t speak, unable to form words, but more letting Jimin have the room to breathe, to think through what he had to say.

“Someone saw me in that room and followed me. So I jumped into the nearest empty room; or at least I thought it was empty, but you were in there,” his eyes search your face as if remembering that day, remembering that first day he saw you. “Even though I’d come close to being discovered, I had to keep searching for more evidence, for some solid proof of what my mother is doing. That’s where the cuts and Selena come in. The cuts didn’t come from training, they came from my late nights in the forest tracking people, trying to find secret meetings. The dark didn’t help, hence all the cuts from falling over,” he lets out a small humourless huff of a laugh. “Selena is a lady from a different court. I’ve known her since I was young, and she came to me with evidence she had found about my mother. She didn’t even know I was looking into it myself, but as soon as I saw it, I knew I needed her help. So I invited her here for the ball, and she’s been helping me the last few weeks.”

Another pause, another moment for him to think through what comes next, to push down the emotions you can see bubbling to the surface. You want to tell him it’s ok, that if it’s too hard he doesn’t need to tell you. But you don’t say anything, you want to hear what he has to say.

“And then,” his voice has gone a bit hoarse, his emotions showing more and more as he goes on. “They must have worked out she was helping me. She just turned up at my door with that wound. There was blood everywhere and she collapsed and I didn’t know what to do and I could see she was in so much pain and it was all because of me.”

His words start to come out in a rush, panic rising in his voice as if he’s back in his room with Selena bleeding out on him.

“But then I thought of you,” his eyes widen as they take you in. “I didn’t even think about how selfish I was being dragging you into the mess I’d created. But you – you saved her.”

“She’s ok?” You had assumed she was given you’d heard no news of a woman passing away, but still you wanted to hear him confirm it.

“Of course. You saved her. If it wasn’t for you – for your magic, she’d be dead.”

You let of a sigh. You know the rest. Don’t need to be told anymore, and the silence that follows is evidence of that. It’s so much information, so much to unpack, that you don’t know where to start. Your magic now feels like the least important piece of the puzzle.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a minute. “I’m so sorry for dragging you into this. I don’t blame you for leaving. I would too if I –”

“I thought you hated me,” you cut him off.

“What?” He seems genuinely shocked by the statement.

“You begged me to save her, you asked me to do anything, but I didn’t think you meant magic, and yet I still used it. I thought you hated me because I broke the law. I thought you would be disgusted by the fact I have powers that are outlawed, punishable by death.”

He places his hand on top of yours before flipping it over, lacing your fingers together. A sign of trust, a sign that he isn’t afraid to hold you, touch you, be near you even with everything he knows. You swallow the emotions that build in your throat.

“I’m not my mother,” he says firmly, the only answer you really need.

“I never thought you were, but so many people agree with her, I thought that –”

“Well I don’t” he squeezes your hand firmly in his. “I’m actually a tad jealous. Who doesn’t dream of producing fire, creating rain, sewing up wounds?”

Your heart flutters, a seemingly natural occurrence whenever Jimin’s attention is on you. Especially when he talks like that. You’ve never really had anyone say anything positive about your magic. The law was put in place when you were young so you can’t remember a time when people weren’t afraid of it. Your parents tried to protect you, scolded you if you used it in public, hid you away to teach you any basics they knew, they never praised you. Since moving away it’s been like a dirty little secret, no one knew what you could do, and you had no doubt that if they did, they wouldn’t look at you the way Jimin is currently looking at you.

“But you’re a prince,” is your lame response. “Doesn’t everyone want to be a prince?”

A smile flickers on Jimins lips and your heart soars. That was the Jimin you knew, happy, smiling, not this sad, worried man that sits in front of you.

“Being a prince isn’t all it’s made out to be,” he shrugs his shoulders, you hand still in his.

“I don’t know. All those dances, getting to live in a palace, all those women lining up to have you,” you look down at your intwined hands, unable to look him in the eyes any more.

“You get to go to the dances last I saw.”

“As a healer, as part of my job, not to dance and have fun,” you cut in quickly.

“You live in the palace too,” he carries on as if not hearing you.

“Not quite the same is it,” you look around your room, probably the same size as his wardrobe.

“And I thought I already told you I don’t get many visitors to my room, that includes females you know?”

You’d fiddle with your nails if your hand wasn’t intwined with Jimins. Nerves bubble in you at the tone he used and you know if you look up his eyes would be on you. But you keep your head down, eyes on your hands.

“Don’t have visitors to your room, doesn’t rule out you going to others,” you say, unsure why you’re even pushing the matter. “Plus, Selena’s been in your room.”

A small chuckle is enough for you to look up at Jimin. His face is transformed. The redness is still in his eyes, the blue bags under his eye still give away how tired he must be, but there’s now also a lightness, a happiness that wasn’t there when you entered your room.

“You’ve been in my room too,” he says.

“Yeah, again, not the same,” you flush.

“Yeah, true,” a large, cheeky smile spreads across his face and you dread the words you can tell are coming. “I never kissed Selena in my room. Not the same at all.”

“I – we hardly – I didn’t mean,” you stumble over your words in a rush to get them out, but Jimin’s hand squeezing yours is enough to shut you up.

“It was a joke,” he says. “Though, I wouldn’t complain if we did it again. This time maybe without you running away after?”

“You honestly don’t care that I have magic?” You do a 180, attempting to change course in conversation and get back on track.

“I honestly don’t care,” he says. “If anything, it’s nice to know I’m not the only one harbouring some massive secret.”

“What are you going to do about your mum?”

“I don’t know,” Jimin sags, and you’re sat so close that when he leans forward he can rest his forehead on your shoulder. You don’t move, don’t push him off, let him stay there and try to enjoy the contact. “She had guards follow me,” he admits, and you remember seeing him in the hall with those two guards, you assumed they were for his own safety but maybe not. “I didn’t let anyone clean my room in case one of them was feeding information back about the documents I kept there. She’s my mum, yet I was terrified when I had to sit next to her at that ball.”

It feels natural to bring your hand up to the back of Jimins head. Your nails lightly scratch through his hair and you can almost feel the tension draining out of him.

“I can’t believe I dragged you into all of this,” he whispers into your shoulder.

You peel your hand from his, bringing it to one side of his face while your other hand goes to the other side. Gently, you lift his head off your shoulder. You search his face, this man that had scared you, but had also made you feel so loved, had filled that lonely hole in you, had made you feel happy. A prince, a future king, but still just a man. Someone who’s just as scared as you.

“I can help,” you say, and then a bit more firmly, “let me help.”

“I can’t let you do that Y/N, you’ve already –”

“I’m helping you,” you cut him off.

“But,” he’s gone back to looking tired, soft almost. “I thought you were leaving.”

An echo of the first words he said when you came in, and they break your heart now just as much as they did a few minutes ago.

“I can stay a bit longer,” you give him a small smile.

“I don’t have a plan,” he carries on in the same broken tone.

“We’ll figure it out.”

“If she finds out about your magic,” he doesn’t need to finish the sentence, you both know what will happen.

“She’s not found out so far,” you carry on, sounding more certain than you feel.

Jimin doesn’t reply to that and you wonder if he’s run out of reasons for you to not help him. Part of you wants him to convince you to run, while another part wants him to keep telling you to stay. But in the end you have to decide. And this time you know you won’t run, this time you know you’ll take the time to enjoy it.

Hands still holding his face, you lean in and press your lips against Jimin’s. It starts off as soft as your previous kiss, lips just brushing up against one another. But then Jimin deepens it, his hand comes to your waist, dragging you closer across the bed so that your bodies are flush against each other. His lips move against yours, pulling your bottom lip between his, tilting his head so he can get the perfect angle. He tastes like honey and sweets and happiness.

“You really should not be here when this all blows up.”

Two months later and it feels like a common phrase that Jimin keeps saying to you. You don’t even reply, firmly holding your ground at his side, you’d told him no verbally enough times that he didn’t need to hear it another time now.

His sigh tells you everything you need to know; he’s not happy about you being here, but he won’t ask you to leave again.

He’ll have to suck up his distaste, because of all the things you’ve done over the past two months, you are not missing out on this. The end, the moment you reveal all the evidence you have gathered, the moment you bring down the queen. You wouldn’t miss it for the world.

After Jimin came to your room two months ago, after you both spoke about your feelings rather than ran away from them, you decided you needed to stay, couldn’t go home. You re-started your schedule, but this time, instead of cleaning the prince’s room in the evenings, you planned.  

It turned out Jimin had far more evidence on what the queen was doing than you would have anticipated. Paperwork on deals made, figures listing how many humans the queen had harboured in her lands before shipping them off to be slaves or worse elsewhere. Everything made you feel sick, everything only deepened your hatred for the woman, but also, everything made your heart bleed for Jimin; you don’t know what you would do if you found out your mother was doing this.

Even though Jimin had a hoard of evidence, you took your time to work out the details of your plan. You couldn’t just barrel in with what you had, you’d risk not having enough and giving yourself away only to lose. No, if you were going to do this, it needed to be a solid plan, something the queen couldn’t wriggle out of.

And while you work out your plan, you feel yourself fall deeper in love with Jimin. You’re still unbelievably scared, but with everything now out in the open and him not running in the opposite direction, you let yourself open up to him. He knows you at your best and at your worst, knows all your secrets and still he stays by your side. You never thought anyone would accept you for who you really are, least of all the prince, but you guess stranger things have happened.

Now, stood outside the council meeting room, everything set up, you feel hope, excitement, pride, but no nerves. Jimin by your side, you know things could go south, but you feel none of that worry stood by the man you love.

As Jimin knocks on the large wooden door, he slips his hand into yours and you let him, give his warm calloused hand a small, comforting squeeze. You’re rewarded with a smile before the door opens.

Everyone in the room expects you, that is, except the queen. Sat at the opposite end of the table to where you stand, you watch as her eyes widen at the sight of you, her eyes flicking down to where your hands are joined. She tries to school her features into neutral, but isn’t quick enough.

“Jimin,” her voice is flat, again trying not to give away her surprise, but failing. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Gentlemen. Mother,” Jimin says, nodding at people around the table as you both step up to the end.  

Everyone looks nervous. The men shuffle papers around as if to look busy, while Jimin and the queen seem to just stare each other down.

“I’ve come because I have some interesting documents I thought might be of use,” Jimin easily slips into the royal prince you hardly ever see when you’re around him. But still, he holds your hand firmly in his, a little life line to the man you know him to be.

“You can show them to me later Jimin, we are busy here,” the queen finally breaks eye contact, looking down at the papers in front of her as if they are more interesting.

“Well, we’re here now. And I have gone to all of the effort of making copies for everyone,” Jimin says sweetly as he beckons in a page boy to distribute the documents. To your surprise the queen doesn’t stop any of it.

“What is this Jimin? Tired of playing the lowly prince?���  

You still. She hasn’t even looked at the documents being handed out. Next to you, Jimin doesn’t seem to waiver the same way you do, and it’s a blessing the queen doesn’t even spare you a glance.

“You think I don’t know what goes on inside my own palace?”

“In your own palace, yes, but not outside these walls,” you can almost see the colour drain from her face as Jimin talks, maybe not so unbothered by everything. “You see, Selena is currently heading off with all these documents to all of our neighbouring Kingdoms. It is one thing to deceive your own court, but quite another to mock our friends in other courts.”

“Why would you do that? So you wish to doom us. Not just me, but you, our people. No one will touch us if you have really done that. I did it for a reason, it wasn’t an easy decision, but I had to do it. You have no idea,” her face starts to turn red the more she talks, you expect steam to start billowing out of her ears any second.

The men around the room seem to still be avoiding looking at the queen. The papers have now all been handed out, but they don’t even look at those. Just look like they wish to be anywhere but here.

“No. I have not doomed us mother, just you.”

“You think they will just blame me? You think they will, what, accept you to be the new King, be fine with you taking over and running the kingdom?”

“Not necessarily,” Jimin says coolly, and you squeeze his hand in reassurance, letting him know you’re still here. “I have sent a letter along with the information. I have offered to take over from you, but I have also said that I will stand down if they deem that appropriate. I will allow someone to take my place.”

“You will do no such thing.”

A guard behind the queen looks unsure whether he should step forward to hold back the queen should she decide to leap on the prince. But next to you, Jimin doesn’t seem as phased as the queen does. While she seems to boil with anger, Jimin stands cool and collected, his hand still in yours.

“It’s not your decision any more, mother.”

“I won’t allow it. I am still queen. No one has stripped me of that title yet. And while I still stand here none of this nonsense will take place.”

You can almost feel the smile that Jimin refuses to show. The smug satisfaction leaking off him.

“But you see mother, you aren’t queen,” there’s a blink of shock on her face, so small you wonder if it crosses her face at all. “You haven’t been since last night in fact. Not since I held a meeting with the council and we voted to dethrone you.”

The shock is clearer on her face now. And now the men around the table seem ready for the floor to swallow them up and the queen gives a few of them looks like she’s about ready to kill. A calculation she misread, something she couldn’t equate happening. Since Jimin announced his reason for being here, it seemed like the queen had a comeback for everything, a way around everything you had come up with. But now, this seems like a hill too big to climb.

You knew it was a good idea to wait, and this now proved your theory. The idea hadn’t come until late in the months. It actually came from Selena, and when Jimin started to gather the council for a meeting you were all happily shocked that the plan paid off. The final nail in the coffin.  

Now, more guards enter the room. The queen goes from looking shocked, to looking livid.

“Please take my son and his – this girl, down into the dungeons,” she says to the guards, the first time she has acknowledged your existence.

When they don’t move, she doesn’t look surprised. You admire her willingness to not got down without a fight it nothing else.

“They’re here for you mother, not me.”

She works her jaw. You can almost see the clogs turning in her mind, trying and failing to think of a way out of this.

“You’ve always been a shame on me,” she almost spits the words at Jimin. “I should never have allowed you to stay here and pretend to be the heir to the throne. I should have shipped you off to some other kingdom where you wouldn’t have caused me all the pain you have caused me over the years. I hope you don’t become king. You don’t deserve it. You won’t be good at it. You’ll fail more than I have.”

Nasty words. Words meant to hurt. Her only weapon now she knows she can’t get out of this. And as the men around the table look horror struck by what they’ve witnessed, you turn more lovingly to Jimin.

His face shows no emotion as he looks at his mother, but you think you know him well enough now to see that the words hurt.

“Jimin,” you say softly, squeezing his hand gently so that he turns to look at you. “Let’s go.”

It takes him a second, almost as if he’s snapping out of a trance, but then it’s as if he’s really looking at you, a small smile playing on his lips. He squeezes your hand in return, and doesn’t need to say anything as he turns to walk out the room.

You go to follow him, but before you can get too far you stop. There’s one last thing you want to do before you leave.

Letting go of Jimin’s hand you turn back to the table. All eyes are on you as you grab a random piece of paper and scrunch it up, you only have eyes for the queen. It only takes half a thought now to set the paper on fire, not much more to blow it gently across the table to her. But the look that goes across her face, the horror, the panic, the fear, is enough for a smile to come to your lips.

You don’t say anything as you turn back to Jimin and take the few steps so you are back at his side. He chuckles as he loops an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side.

“So dramatic,” he chuckles into the skin at your hair line before planting a kiss there.

You both walk out the room the same way you walked in, together.

[rosesdrabbleblog]

I’m Having Sex With A Ghost

Pairing: Ghostbur x fem!reader

Warnings: smut, cursing, 18+ content, wholesomeness?

Notes: Ghostbur my beloved, how is this the first time I write for you? Sex With a Ghost fits his vibes a lot and I just had to use it.

You were sitting in your armchair reading one of your various novels when you heard a rapping at your door. You set the book down on your table gently before walking to the door, opening it. You were a little shocked when you were greeted by Ghostbur, the sweet ghost man who wandered the streets of L’Manburg. While you hadn’t known him when he was alive, you were almost glad from stories you had heard.

You had moved to L’Manburg shortly after the country had been nearly blown up. “It was Wilbur” various residents had told you, “he went mad and blew it up.” You never heard of him before this, which is why you were confused when people regarded Ghostbur as a friend and sort of ally. When you asked why they did if he was the same person, they would either shrug it off or state that they were different people. The whole thing confused you greatly.

You first introduction to Ghostbur was when you saw him struggling to lead a blue sheep around. You went over to offer your help before realizing you could see through the man. Startled, you had backed away and tripped on something, falling onto the ground with a pained cry. The man whipped around at the sound, looking at you with worry. “Oh dear, are you alright?” he asked, his eyes wide. Still in a bit of shock, you nodded and got up slowly, regarding the site in front of you.

From his transparency, you assumed he had to be a ghost. Despite this, you could see his features clearly. His hair was on the shirt side and curly, a soft brown color. His eyes were white, which was something that would catch anyone off guard. He wore a light yellow sweater with a white buttoned shirt. Despite behind afraid of him at first, you now began to realize he was actually rather cute.

Sensing you were a bit startled, he smiled widely and offered a hand. “Hello! I’m Ghostbur! I don’t know if I knew you when I was alive, so apologies if that’s an issue. I seem to have some memory problems since my passing,” he said almost sadly. Before you could get a word in, he continued, “oh! Here, take some of this!” The ghost offered a small blue material, which was a bit confusing. You raised an eyebrow at him. “Have some blue! How it works is it pulls the sadness out of you!” he explained cheerily. You looked at the dyed material in your hands, wondering why it was already blue. The blue staining his hands explained why that was the case.

Since that moment, he regarded you as a friend. He introduced you to his blue sheep whom he had named Friend, and you even offered to put up a small area for him. Ghostbur acted like that was the kindest thing someone had done for him, and he cheerily showed Friend the area. When he had to travel and hand out blue, he left Friend with you. You had taken a liking to the blue sheep, feeding it and keeping it company whenever Ghostbur was away. Your life felt a lot less lonely with the two around.

You smiled at the ghost on your doorstep, “hello Ghostbur! What brings you here today?” You took in his sight, noticing he was holding something behind his back. After a moment, the man moved his hands and showed that he was holding an array of flowers. Not the kind you would purchase from a store or vendor, but the ones that were picked just for you. You noticed that the array had many of your favorite flowers in it. You couldn’t remember if you even told him what your favorites were or not.

“I wanted to bring my friend some flowers! Friend is not with me today, but he misses you greatly,” he said with a smile. You took the flowers from him gently, returning the smile. “Aw, that’s awfully sweet of you Ghostbur. Would you like to come in and have some tea?” you offered. The man nodded, and you stepped aside to let him in. The young man floated slowly into your house, looking at all the intricate things you had in your various bookcases. His hands running softly over volumes of novels, whispering the names to himself. Ghostbur loved books, and you often found you were missing books when he came by. How he got away with it without you nothing, you never knew.

He turned to you, a shy expression on his face. Realizing why he looked confused, you gestured to the couch, which he sat down on. You stared a bit too long, trying to figure out how a ghost could sit on the couch like that. Nevertheless, you went to your kitchen and began making tea.

As you made the two of you a cup of tea, you could hear the clap of excitement followed by the strum of a guitar. It seemed he found your guitar by the closet. Soon the random string plucking turned into a tune that seemed almost nostalgic. You had never heard it before, but it was quite lovely. You took the two cups of newly made tea and walked back into your living room. Ghostbur sat on your couch, fingers gliding over the strings of your guitar. His face scrunched as he concentrated on getting the notes right, letting out a small “fuck” every time he messed up.

He glanced up at you after a moment, blinking at you as he continued playing. Soon, he he began to sing along to the tune he was playing. You couldn’t really hear what the lyrics were, as he was singing them so softly, but you didn’t mind one bit. He suddenly stopped, staring at the guitar for a moment before starting again. Ghostbur began playing a differ song, his voice now loud enough for you to catch a few of the lyrics.

“I'm gettin' hickeys from my bed bugs

I'm gettin' busy with a bad perfume

I'm stickin' kisses to a pen drug

I'm makin' friction with a sad vacuum.”

You set down his cup of tea in front of him, and he stopped playing it again to grab at it. As he drank the tea, you really began questioning how ghosts worked. You sipped yours as well, finishing it quickly and setting it onto the coffee table in front of the couch. Ghostbur set his down as well, looking into his lap as he held onto the guitar.

“Wil-Ghostbur, why are you here?” you asked. The flowers he had given you now sat in a large vase on the dining room table, right by a window for light. The man looked up, a slight blush on his cheeks. You didn’t expect him to answer. “I- I feel that the two of us have gotten awfully close. Now, I can’t remember if I had any affairs when I was alive...wait no, there was Sally,” he said, his words trailing off after he remembered he had a fish mistress at one point. You weren’t sure if that story was even true, but hell, you had met Fundy. That made the fish story even more confusing. “I can’t remember anything about kissing from when I was alive, but I do think I would like to do it with you,” he continued as he took one of your hands into his.

I'm getting jiggy with a rifle I'll pull the trigger with my eyes closed Hoping to hit you somewhere vital And when I miss, you come and kiss me with a smile

You were a bit shocked at that. Ghostbur didn’t seem the type to want physical affection like that, but then again, he was an ever changing man due to memory loss. You paused before responding, “I think...I think I would like that too.” And with that, Ghostbur leaned over and kissed you. His lips were cold, not like ice, but more like the air of a crisp October morning. One of his hands made its way to your check, clutching it lovingly. You practically melted into him. You pulled away to take a deep breath, and you laughed quietly at how flustered he looked. Well, as flustered as a pale ghost would look. You could swear you could see his cheeks reddening, but you hadn’t the time to double check because he pushed you into the couch, latching his mouth onto yours again hungrily.

You felt his hands rest at the side of your shirt, and he pulled away panting to ask “can I? Please?” You nodded, grimacing as he almost tore your shirt right off. Ghostbur did nearly the same to your pants, his fingers shaky as he unzipped your pants and threw them off the couch onto the floor.

Ghostbur began to tease you through your underwear, “look at you...so beautiful...” he whispered to himself as he tore them off after just a few moments. He sunk a finger into you gently, watching you intently to make sure you were still okay with everything. “Let me know if I need to slow down, love,” he said softly, his finger pulling out before being pushed back in. You nodded, letting out a small moan. He kept at this for a moment before sticking a second one in, expertly thrusting them into you and hitting all the spots that made you whine.

I'm havin' sex with a ghost

'Cause she knows I'm alone

She's a freak in the sheets, play it cool

I'm sleepin' with a

Sex with a ghost

'Cause she knows I'm alone

She's a freak in the sheets, play it cool

I'm sleepin' with a ghoul

Ghostbur began thrusting them into you at a faster pace, desperate to see you cum. His own pants were tight as he watched you come apart on his fingers. They finally reached the spot that made you cry out, and his eyes lit up as he realized. He kept thrusting them there until you nearly sobbed out “Ghostbur, I’m gonna-“ you couldn’t even finish your sentence before you came on his fingers, hiding your face in the couch. You panted out as he slowly removed his fingers, and looked up to find him licking at them with a face of pure lust and bliss. He removed his own pants and boxers at once, desperate to be inside you. You could see how desperate he was, watching his hard cock spring out. You reached out and stroked it slowly as he unbuttoned his white shirt, smiling as he let out the neediest whimper. He threw the last of his clothes onto the floor, moving your hand off of his cock gently. “Please, need to be inside you, I need you..” he whimpered out, positioning himself at your entrance. You moaned as he thrust against you a couple of times before his cock sunk into you. You gasped at the intrusion while he let out a whine, clutching at you desperately as he stilled, letting you get adjusted. Not even a minute later, you rolled your hips against him, “please, please move Ghostbur.”

The man pulled out of you before thrusting in again, whimpering out, “god, you’re so tight, love. I just- fuck you feel so good around me.” Ghostbur began to thrust into you harder, leaning down and biting at your neck. You moaned into his ear, not caring about the bruises you’d wear tomorrow. Why would you when he was fucking you so good? One hand gripped at your hip, pulling you into his thrusts while the other grasped at your hand. When you took his hand into yours, he let out a groan and his thrusts became erratic. Ghostbur eventually found that spot he knew made you cry for him, and he pounded into it without a care in the world.

He could feel himself get close, your whimpers and cries for him sending him spiraling down. But he was a gentlemen. He didn’t want to cum until you did. And he knew you were close from the moans you let out. So the hand that was gripping your hip moved down to circle your clit roughly. The pads of his fingers surprised you, and you came before you could warn him. You tightened around him, making the man cry out, “so good for me love, so good. That’s it, that’s it. Milk my cock love... oh fuck.” And with a few more sharp thrusts, he came inside you, moaning into your ear. He continued thrusting as he did, overstimulating the two of you. He nearly collapsed onto the couch, slowly pulling out of you before settling beside you. He stroked your hair, whispering how much he adored you, about how good you did. You fell asleep soon after with a smile.

Ghostbur watched you with interest as you slept. He continued to stroke your hair and whisper to you. Ghosts didn’t need to sleep, after all.

You would never know how much the man truly adored you.

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[bloodycassian]

COLD NIGHTS - Cassian x Azriel x Reader - Prompt: 

hi i love your work so much!!! I was thinking a cassian x azriel x reader (i just love them sm, why have one when you can have two ) where the reader is sister of a high lord maybe day or winter court, and reader goes missing (kinda angsty) and her brother (a high lord) panics and goes to the night court for help (bc if her two bat boys can’t find her who will)  and az and cassian go full on panic mode and search for the reader, i was also thinking a fluffy cute ending where reader is just cuddling with azriel and cassian while her wounds heal take as much time as you need to write this, don’t pressure yourself. Take care lovely

Kallis would never forget the screams. The terror and panic that rushed through him when he realised that you were gone.  He sent half the city to search for you. He called upon Helion to inspect the magic. He was frantic in finding you. But it was like you had just disappeared out of nowhere. No sign of struggle, not a drop of blood spilled. The offender was sloppy in their ways, but their magic was strong. Helion could sense it.  They had a deathwish from Kallis himself if he ever found them. +  The first thing you saw were your cracked and bloody hands. They were split open from the dry cold wind. Sea air drifted into the cave. The cold brutal howling outside mixed with the roar of waves breaking confirmed your nightmares. Cape Tragedy. 

The islands off the coast of winter were known for their unforgiving nature to ships. Hence their name, Cape Tragedy. Also known as the Tragic coast, no stories were ever heard of any survivors of those crashes. If they had managed to survive the churning water, then the false salvation of the islands would kill them. It happened often enough that there were lighthouses set atop many of the bigger islands for ships to avoid on stormy days.

You coughed from the dry air, earning a pair of yellow eyes to dart to you. One of the three lesser fae males noticed you were awake and clapped. "She wakes! We've been waiting for you, sweetheart." His green skin was pale in the overcast light streaming in from the mouth of the cave. Snow Bear pelts lay all around. A disgrace in your culture. No citizen of Winter court would do such a thing. You looked to the walls to find weapons, and strange markings along the stone. Sailors from far away lands. 

Not even sailors. Pirates. A chill ran through you.  

"We're going to get your weight in gold, pretty one." The scaled male curled a piece of your hair behind you ear. Your stomach turned, and you tried to scoot away. "My brother will kill you first. And he'll take a long time doing it." You promised, trying to make your voice sound strong. Terror had you by it's grip though, and it was hard to do anything other than panic

. "Your brother? The pretty one that shears the Elk?" The green one asked. You laughed, and then were hissing in pain when the scaled male yanked on your hair. "What's so funny?" 

"You think my brother is an elk herder?" You spat "You must be dumber than you look." The males glanced between each other, then to the one who hadn't said anything yet.

"Who ye think you are then?" The male holding your hair stammered, trying to keep his panic under wraps. 

"Kallis' sister." You said with deadly calm. "And the high lord does not negotiate." 

"If you're so noble why you got such a mouth on ye?" The third male finally spoke.

They laughed.

"Maybe we will see just how much of a mouth-" He started again. He didnt have a chance to finish his disgusting words. You kicked, bending an ice spear straight up from the rocky ice floor and through the third male's body. Then the beating from the other two came. 

They bound your wrists and ankles in rope and tar. Their hands shook when they did it. It gave you a small bit of satisfaction. The potion they gave you to knock you out was just barely strong enough. You fought it as best you could, but it won. You could only hear the faint sounds of arguing then a crash of glass, then the cold winds whipping around you. And when you woke, your body ached.  The cold bit into your limbs. Your fingers were pale. Far too pale to be healthy. You knew frostbite when you saw it. Your body refused to move under your own power. Your blood was frozen to the icy ground. They had used a potion and transported you to a peninsula, and you could only faintly hear the ocean below. You could feel the potion wearing off, but you knew you weren't healing. Not yet. You reached down into your own mind, picking up the fading tendrils of power. Of your bond to the two you knew could save you. And you pulled as hard as you could manage.  --- "Fuck." The roaring thought shook Cassian awake. Bleary eyed, he glanced about the room as if there was someone actually shouting at him.  Then he felt it. The weak tug that had been silent for so long. And he knew it was nothing good. Frenzied, he met Azriel at the dining area. Where they spent the rest of the night planning, deducing a probable reason for you to be calling so weakly. They sent their worries to Rhys, but they were shooed away. "I'm researching. Meet me in the library at dawn." The two males tried to comfort each other. But the worry pulsating through the bond was too much to focus on. So they waited. Kallis appeared that morning. He spat his story and begged for help, practically in tears as he spoke to the three Illyrians. Cassian and Az knew something was wrong the moment you were attacked. Court laws forbade them interfering on Winter Court territory though.  As soon as the approval was given, the brothers winnowed to the border of Winter and started flying. + You were coming to terms that you would die in the cold. You had imagined death differently. Battle was the primary way you thought you'd die. Or at the end of a High Lord's magic for being too much of an advisor. Smiling at the memory of putting Tamlin in his place, you gave another tug down the bonds to your mates. And like a snap, they both tugged back. Almost in unison. It was hard to tell. You closed your eyes, listening to the soft waves below. They lulled you into a cold sleep yet again.  + Despite the cold, the Illyrians flew as fast as they could. They could sense your light fading, and chased it for mile after mile. Their wings cut through the harsh winter winds, fueled by rage and desperation. Then they spotted the dark figure frozen to the snow below. Cassian landed first, a few feet away. The ice cracked beneath him. "Get us out of here." He growled to Azriel.  "We need to make sure she's okay before we move."  Cassian growled, but didn't protest. Azriel understood. He felt the anguish and frustration through the shared bond. Az's hands pressed gently to your neck, checking your pulse. He swore. "Baby, we need you to wake up for us. We're here. We got you." Cassian put a hand to your cheek and fought back the tears that threatened.  You groaned in response. They both sighed in relief, their breath making clouds in front of them. "I'm stuck..." You managed through your stiff jaw.  Cassian stroked a thumb over your cheek. "Stuck? Honey you're-"  "Cas..." Azriel nodded to your side, to the ice that crept its way up your damp clothes. Azriel could have taken a very very long time torturing the beasts that did this to his mate. The rage coiled in his gut at the sight of your injuries. The only reason you hadn't bled out was the blood and water mix turning your wounds to ice.  Cassian pulled at the ice web that encapsulated you. Under the heat of his rage it broke, and broke and broke. Azriel placed small patches of his shield over your frostbitten fingers. "We're gonna get you out of here. Just stay still." Azriel smoothed back your hair, and darkness swirled over you. The change from the harsh overcast light of Winter court to the soft sun of Night court was jarring.  Madja put her hands on you and you were asleep in an instant. Her warm hands were a blessing from the Mother.  +  "She's lucky she has that Winter blood in her or she'd be dead." Madja wiped her hands off and handed both the Illyrians a small vial. "That is the scrap from a poisoned sword that broke off in her shoulder. I got all the pieces out, but the poison lingers. It may heal slowly, but it should get better."  Anguish burned both of their stomachs. Azriel's throat tightened and he looked away, but gripped the vial tightly. Cassian stared at it, his eyes murderous. Madja left without another word. "She was almost killed. And we couldn't do anything." Cassians' voice was low, with violence dripping from it. "We need her here. In Velaris where we can... watch her." He didn't know what he was saying, but the instinct to protect was overriding every other logical thought he had. Anger burned and burned in his stomach, swallowing him with rage. He could feel Az mirroring the same feeling, but with a cold deadliness that begged to simmer out of him.  "You know she wont go for that. She loves her home too much. Her brother." Azriel whispered back. "We're her mates. She should be with us." Cassian was looking for a fight. All the tension and anger of the day had to be worked out. Azriel felt it too. His shadows ran anxiously through the room.

The wind outside howled. It shifted the dark clouds that covered the moon. It seemed to be a cold day in all of Prythian. A cold day in your mates hearts to the pirates that had taken you. They spoke their rage mind to mind, imagining the ways to torture the bastards. 

How to find them would be the first priority. Azriel kept circling back to that part. + The healer cleared his throat at the door. "She's asking for you." He nodded to Rhys' brothers. They left Rhys behind in unison, walking in perfect step with each other. Their minds hummed together over that bond they shared with you. "Protect protect protect." They both seemed to demand.  Azriel knocked softly, his heart flipping when he heard your voice again. "Get in here." You demanded, giving them a broad smile when they practically shoved each other out of the way. 

"Come keep me warm." You weakly folded the blanket back, exposing some of the bruising on your skin. 

They complied with enthusiasm. Azriel's hands were cold at first, but they got better when he reached around you to hold Cassian closer. They worked in tandem to keep you covered, making sure that you weren't too crowded or too warm. Azriel summoned his cool shadows when you got too warm and had to kick the blankets off. Cassian's warm breath would keep you warm when they became too much. You traced Azriel's cheekbones, the sharp edge of his jaw while falling alseep. Cassian's muscled forearms hugging you from behind were like a heavy pillow. 

"Rest now, we can have more fun later." Az winked, making your stomach flutter. Cassian groaned and pulled you further to his lap. You tried not to think of the hardness that pressed to you now.  "Goodnight." The shadowsinger kissed your forehead and like a light, you were out. Finally resting peacefully wrapped between your two mates and their warm bond you all shared. 

[mzshko]

Galladrabbles Master Post

Hey, for an easier read, I've decided to create a master post of my ongoing plane wreck Galladrabble story, an AU written 100 words at a time. Prompt words are highlighted. Thanks and enjoy! 🛩🔥

FLIGHT RISK

_________________________

Ian finds himself flat on his back with a dark-haired madman straddling his rib cage, forearm pressed threateningly to his throat. “I said, who the fuck are you?” he growls, voice low and demanding, and Ian breathes in the strong scent of burning fruit trees caught in wildfire smoke, fragrant and acrid all at once.

He blinks up at his assailant and then in one swift move, flips him over while yanking on his arm until it’s pulled sharply behind his back. “I already told you, asshole, I survived a plane crash. Better question is, who the fuck are you?”

_________________________

Ian sleeps in the fuselage. He rations snacks salvaged from the aircraft’s wreckage and collects driftwood and flinty stones so he can try building an S.O.S. fire.

The solitude lasts a week, then two. He stares at a random paperback without really reading it and there were only so many times he could browse the SkyMall brochures. Seeking out the dark-haired stranger seemed inevitable. That or risk death, whether from starvation or exposure, or hell at this rate, even boredom. The question is, what’s harder to cultivate—a tenuous alliance with a madman or a harsh and unforgiving new world?

_________________________

While cutting through the overgrown brush one afternoon, Ian stumbles over a beehive. In short order, his hand swells to about twice its size.

Left with no choice but to return to his modest shelter, he’s astonished to find a care package of foraged foods and essential supplies waiting for him there. Fresh water and bits of fish like dry salt cod and gauze soaked with the pulp of leaves and shoots that, it turns out, have a pain-relieving effect when applied as a poultice. It makes him think he can survive out here—at least for a while.

_________________________

It’s been days, but Ian’s hunt for the mystery man comes up empty. The supply drops keep coming though. Randomly, when he’s asleep or out scavenging, which unnerves and excites him to no end.

Finally, he spots it. A small wooden shack shingled with fronds, and out front, the dying embers of an open fire. The dark-haired man can’t be far and so Ian crouches closer, twigs breaking underfoot, and then, suddenly, he’s on the ground. “Sonovabitch,” he mutters aloud to nobody, realizing he’d been taken down by a snare trap that some fucker must’ve hidden in the tall grass.

_________________________

Ian lies on the ground until sunrise. Eventually, the grass rustles and a figure looms above him, casting him in shadow.

The stranger looks down tauntingly at Ian, who despite struggling to free himself, remains on his back, immobile.

“So… ya gonna tell me who sent you?” He sits, opens a can of tomato juice along with a minibar vodka, and sips from each. 

Staring into his eyes with fresh anger, Ian hisses. “Those from my fuckin’ beverage cart?”

“Think you mean my beverage cart, Red. Ain’t a thing on this land, native or otherwise, that don’t belong to me.”

_________________________

“You gonna lemme go?” Ian sighs and thumps his head against the ground, while the other man glares at him.

“I would, but see, your story doesn’t check out,” he responds calmly, clutching a crumpled paper in his hand. “Nobody named Gallagher was aboard that flight. Nobody with your birthdate either.”  

Realizing the man’s gotten hold of the plane’s manifest, Ian shuts his eyes awhile. “That’s ’cause I stowed away,” he finally relents. “Was in a world of shit back home and just… needed to disappear.” 

The man scratches his eyebrow and grins lopsidedly at him, debating his next move.

_________________________

Other than his name, Ian’s unable to get much outta him. That, and that he’s been surviving the remote wilderness alone for a while.

He’s learned numerous skills, he says, the forced isolation leaving him with nothing but time. How to start fires, hunt and forage. Navigate by reading stars. Whatever it takes. Whatever’s been essential. One afternoon, he guides Ian to a wooded creek, the view something out of a nature magazine.   

“Mickey?”

Ian watches, wide-eyed, as he jumps in, gentle waves creating a frothy trail around his nude body.

Mickey looks back at him. “Sup, Gallagher? Ya comin’?”

__________________________

“And if I say no?”

“Then you stay dry,” Mickey answers him matter-of-factly.

He rises from the water to grab the campfire soap it’d taken him weeks to mill from clay and seed oils. Ian averts his eyes while Mickey scrubs himself down.

“Tell me about yourself,” Ian says, but the request is met with little more than a snicker.

Soon enough, Mickey ends the impromptu soak and reaches for his clothing. Drapes it right on so that everything clings damply to his pink-flushed skin.

“C’mon,” he tips his head in the direction they’d come from. “It’ll be dark soon.”

________________________

A cold snap hits. For days, winds gust continuously—the hammering against the plane’s cabin windows so loud, it keeps Ian up at night.

Not that he can sleep anyway. Not with Mickey, alone in the dense woodlands, sheltered in a hut that couldn’t possibly withstand this much punishment. Finally, too restless to do much else, Ian bags every inflight blanket he can find and heads out, only the moon and hazy starlight illuminating his path.

He doesn’t get far, though. “Oh, hey,” Ian shouts to the approaching silhouette struggling against the forceful winds. 

Mickey climbs inside, breathless. “Hey, yourself.”

__________________________

“You wanna tell me about your prison ink?” Ian asks, watching as Mickey plops down into one of the plane’s remaining first-class cabin seats.

“Not particularly.”

“How ’bout the D.O.C boxers I know you’re wearing under your clothes.”

Mickey sighs. “Two for two, Gallagher.”

Ian continues to just stand there, all pent-up energy, hands braced on his hips. “I don’t fuck strangers, Mickey. Just sayin’.”

“Ever?”

“Anymore,” he shrugs and catches Mickey’s eye as he almost offers him a smile. “Well, starting now.”

Mickey hums at that and reclines further into the cushions. “Sucks to be me, then. I suppose.”

________________________

“K724423,” Mickey concedes, but doesn’t care to elaborate.

That’s when Ian pries him upright by the collar. “That your prisoner number?”

A shudder runs through him when Mickey reaches beneath his sweater to trace callused fingers over his heated skin. But to Ian, the touch feels like silk.

“I ain’t good people, Gallagher.”

“Everyone’s done shit they’re not proud of,” Ian breathes, adjusting to the sensation. 

“Oh. Lemme be clear, then. Got no regrets over what landed me in the clink. Or anything it took to break out, either.” Mickey’s hands are now roaming. “So… we still strangers or what?”

_________________________

Finally, Ian sighs and scratches at his beard. He mumbles, “gonna fuck you,” and the next thing Mickey knows, he’s naked on his back amid broken tray tables and debris brought in by the rainstorm, with Ian, hot and hard, pinning his wrists down.

Growing flushed and sweaty, he eventually feels the slide of spit-slick fingers give way to a burning stretch that steals his breath away. And then Ian’s eyes flutter shut as his mouth falls open in a soundless whimper.

“You’re insane,” Ian grunts afterward and Mickey nods, swallowing dryly. 

“Okay, but… what’s a little crazy between friends?”

_________________________

Summer turns to fall and Mickey slowly makes the plane cabin his permanent residence. They live off the season’s bounty: roots, bulbs and fresh wintergreens for brewing tea. After trapping a wild boar, they dry the meat and cure its gray-haired pelt for protection against the rapidly cooling temperatures.

Ending each exhausting day together is like nothing Ian’s ever known. They share a bed, platonically, sexually, every potential meaning of the phrase. It’s idyllic and he wants to bottle up the feeling. Wants to lull himself into believing it can last… but, of course, good things like this seldom do.

_________________________

There’s a ring on Mickey’s finger. Salvaging scraps he’d called it, a euphemism for the grim reality of where it’d come from. Its companion glints in the pale sunlight falling on Ian’s hand.

“You’re sick,” he accuses, rattling prescription pills Ian’d stashed in the plane’s lavatory. “I ain’t blind. You’ve been rationing this shit. Skipping days.”

Ian rolls his eyes and draws a ratty blanket over himself. He hates this. Hates wallowing in the melodramatic self-pity that inevitably follows.

“Just tell me,” Mickey folds his arms and Ian’s overcome by the weight of what he says next. “Are you suffering?”

__________________________

“After my arrest, I faked an injury. Serious enough for a medivac to airlift me out,” Mickey states bluntly. “That shit right there’s what’s left of it.”

Ian looks down from the summit they’d hiked to find mangled remains of a helicopter, sheared branches and overgrown weeds in a tangle. It’s still dark out, the faint morning sounds of the forest drifting up from below.

“That why you brought me here? To show me?” Exhausted from the effort of climbing, he takes an unsteady, tipsy lurch on his feet, but Mickey supports him. Keeps him upright.

“Among other things… yeah.”

___________________________

Mickey directs Ian’s gaze to the horizon where something flickers along the water’s edge.

Ian’s eyes narrow, confusion suddenly setting his mind racing. “That an oil rig?”

“Supply ships come through every four months,” Mickey explains quietly. “Last one docked right before your crash.”

It takes Ian seconds to run the math in his head. Even less for him to realize Mickey’s clutching a flare gun in his hand.

“M’sorry, Gallagher.” Guilt washes over Mickey at seeing the terror in Ian’s face as he begs him to reconsider. He takes aim, resting a finger on the trigger of the gun.

_________________________

A door clicks open and shut. Shadows pass behind a privacy curtain followed by flashes of green scrubs and rubber gloves. Mickey’s breathless, fairly certain he’s imagining things. Though it’s hard to decipher much past the fever dreams making his head spin. His skin burns hot one minute, cold the next. When he jerks a wrist to rub at his temples, it nearly dislocates—given it’s been cuffed to his bed’s handrail.

This shit’s a nightmare. Anywhere without knowledge of Ian’s condition or whereabouts is a fucking nightmare. Mickey realizes that now, seconds before medically induced sleep claims him again.

________________________

“Reintegration sickness,” they keep saying in the infirmary. For months, Mickey’s detained until his release into the general population.    That’s when the hazing begins. Dead insects served to him at mealtimes. Robinson Crusoe left in his cell, its pages smeared with excrement. Little do these cocksuckers know Mickey’d once single-handedly taken down a stag, dragged it over a mile, butchered and repurposed every part, including its skull, which he’d used as a makeshift bong. Should he be fucked with anymore, they’d learn eventually. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy. For now, he continues folding sheets in the quiet recesses of the laundry.

________________________

Maker of improvised weapons, overseer of contraband, wielder of loyalties and merch smuggled in from outside—Mickey establishes his dominance, practically with lightning speed. His stronghold on the trade of illicit goods extends to the payment-for-protection racket and much like dominoes, the other inmates fall easily into line. It’s an unspoken rule that most COs will look the other way, as long as no one flaunts what they’re doing. 

Which is why a hand on Mickey’s shoulder—while he’s alone, in the dark, fetching more detergent from the laundry’s storeroom—makes him wonder how much its owner values his life.

________________________

A shiv suddenly appears in Mickey’s hand, its sharpened tip smeared with crushed red clover leaves to maximize damage. There’s a panicked frenzy of limbs, each man snarling viciously while defending his circle of reach. The tussle ends in the weapon’s knifepoint shoved against the throat of the other man, who’s now backed into a corner, hands up in surrender. Slowly, Mickey moves toward the lightswitch and flicks it on.

“Never told you why I stowed away on that plane, Mick.” It’s the first thing either of them says in what feels like minutes but could easily be an hour.

________________________

“There was this… facility. A camp where they ‘cure’ our kind, ya know? Anyway, I was outta my mind. Did something I shouldn’t’ve. Been on the run ever since.”

At war with himself, Mickey feels his knees start to buckle. He presses a hand to the wall as a lightbulb flickers overhead, exacerbating what he suspects is the beginnings of a panic attack.

“Didn’t act alone, though,” he continues. “Turned myself in, gave up some names. In exchange…” he gestures vaguely at their surroundings, and Mickey gets the implication. He’d chosen this. Chosen confinement with Mickey over his own freedom.

________________________

“Why?” is all Mickey manages to get out, a brittle sound that reverberates in the storeroom’s dilapidated interior. He swallows hard, doing his best to maintain an outward calm that doesn’t at all match his inner turmoil.

Ian cracks a faint smile and slowly shakes his head. Hands still raised, he waits patiently until Mickey’s pride breaks a little. Until he’s gazing back at him with a look that’s caught somewhere between riotous disbelief and pure affection—gut-wrenching and personal and real.

“Got nowhere to be that isn’t with you, Mick,” he says, to which Mickey finally drops his weapon.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 4)

i hope yall enjoyed the last part, we took a sudden and quite dirty turn ther,e but we are heading down romantic street and its all sweet and cute with a little hotness. let me know what you thought about the part!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 4.7k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Harry Styles managed to leave quite the impression in you following his late night visit after the Emmys. He surely surprised you with not only the unbelievable orgasm he gave you with his talented fingers, but also with how big of a gentleman he really was, so keen on taking you out on a date first before he would kiss you. The timeline got a little messed up and he did apologize before he left at two in the morning for getting too carried away, but you assured him he didn’t do anything you didn’t want him to. To be honest, you wouldn’t have had a word against him kissing you right away, but you liked the respect he had for you, not something you’ve had plenty of lately. The men you dealt with in the past year were eager to get into your pants without the respect part, only hungry to earn fame through you, trying to blind you with sex so you wouldn’t realize their ugly motives.

This was not a threat when it came to Harry, he was just as famous as you, maybe even more. He had his own career, his own money, his own life apart from yours and he clearly wasn’t trying to use you and it was quite a refreshing change for you.

He stayed and the two of you talked so much, just sharing crazy stories from your life before and after fame, enjoying that you had someone who shared more or less the same background as you. Apart from Florence, you pretty much kept your old friends when your career took off, afraid to make new ones, always feeling a little paranoid that new people would have unholy motives when they try to befriend you.

Though you truly love your friends, they don’t really see behind the life you are living, while Harry completely does. His company is the best you’ve had in a long time, he is able to make you completely forget about everything outside the room you two are in.

You tried your best to hide your disappointment when he left that night. After offering him to stay in one of your guest bedrooms, he politely turned it down, and even though you could tell he wanted to stay, the urge to be a gentleman was greater in him, something you admire him for.

He left with the promise to see you soon on a real date and he got you as excited as a little school girl on the day of a fieldtrip.

However, given the lifestyles you two were living, finding a suitable evening for the both of you turns out to be a bigger struggle than you expected. Harry reaches out right the next day after his little visit. A good morning text waits for you by the time you open your eyes in the noon and by the evening he asks you out, however you have to realize the date has to wait a little.

You have two trip outside the city upcoming in the next two weeks and he is also planning to fly back to London for a while, the trips totally crashing in the timeline, not even having just the smallest window that would fit the both of you.

Accepting the fact that it would have to wait a little longer, you keep in close touch, eager to find the date that would finally be suitable for you and him as well. Endless texts, sweet calls and sneaky FaceTimes scatter through the days you spend apart and you find it hard to think of a time when he wasn’t hitting you up all the time.

On a Thursday evening, after a long day of fittings for upcoming events, you find yourself sitting on your couch with a sweet glass of wine, scrolling through your social media feeds when something catches your eyes.

Harry has been away in Los Angeles in the past few days and he mentioned having an interview the other day, but you didn’t think it would be out so soon, but here it was, a short video clip cut out by some random page that had a rather interesting title.

“Harry Styles talks about next album and mystery girl in his life.”

Your curiosity is way too strong not to click on it and have a look at it, so taking a sip from your wine you tap on the link and let the video load.

“It’s been some time since your last album came out, have you been working on new music lately?” the interviewer asked from behind the camera as Harry sat on a lilac sofa, wearing black high-waisted pants with a pink and white floral printed shirt tugged into it, his suspenders topping the look perfectly. His green eyes are fixed on the person asking him as he nods.

“Yeah, I think I never really stop making new music. I do have sessions when I’m trying to put a new album together, but I also write in the meantime as well, whenever I have an idea or inspiration. I don’t hold back,” he adds with a cheeky smile.

“Have you found any inspiration lately?” the question is heard and Harry nods once again.

“I have, actually,” he answers shortly, but his smirk gives it away that there’s a lot more behind his words and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. Is he talking about you?

“Has it been a person?” the reporter inquires, making Harry’s smile grow wider.

“A lot of things and people inspire me.”

“Alright, and is your latest inspiration something or someone new in your life?” the guy tries again, even though it’s well known that Harry likes to give vague answers instead of straight yeses and nos.

“Kind of new,” he simply answers and the reporter realizes he won’t be sharing more about the topic so he moves on with the next question and the video cuts out right there.

Though it wasn’t mentioned that he was talking about someone in particular, his fans drew the assumption that he is definitely seeing someone who has been his inspiration behind his new music. Feeling bold and a little flirty, you open up your messages and send him a quick text.

“A kind of new inspiration, huh?”

His reply comes almost right away, as always.

“Have you been stalking fanpages about me?”

“Would it be weird?”

“From you? It’s flattering. Little scary, but in a good way.”

You can’t help but chuckle reading his words. He never fails to make you laugh, you find his humor your favorite kind, never hurtful, but a little spicy, if you could say that, a lot of irony laced into it.

“Back to the topic: what’s your inspiration? Or should I ask… who is your inspiration?”

“Not gonna beat around the bush and just admit it…”

You wait and wait… and wait, but nothing comes afterwards and you are dying to have him admit that it’s been you, but not even the three dots appear at the bottom, so you take the lead again.

“Well, do it. Admit it, Styles!”

The fucker likes your message right away, meaning he has been in the thread all along, waiting for you to write something.

“Alright, but don’t tell anyone, because she is kinda famous and I don’t want the media to find out about it.”

“You have my silence.”

You watch the three dots dance at the bottom, holding your breath while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to contain your wide grin that’s been plastered across your face this whole time.

When the text finally arrives you snort loudly, almost spilling your wine, laughing so hard you are happy you don’t like in a tiny apartment anymore with paper walls, because your neighbor would have definitely heard your laughter all the way down the hallway.

“It’s Betty White. Fuck, she is all I can think about.”

You need a minute to stop the laughter and type your reply.

“She is hot, gotta give you that.”

“Right?? I hope she is not afraid to date younger guys though.”

“I’m sure she would make an exception for you.”

“I hope so too.”

There’s a short pause, where you just read back his lines, chuckling to yourself some more. He always has a witty comment or comeback, no matter what you’re talking about and not once has he made you laugh madly on a set, at a meeting or just lying in bed before going to sleep.

“Joke aside, would it scare you away if I said I have definitely written about you?”

“Is this another theoretical question? Like the one you asked me on Ellen?”

You smile to yourself thinking back at the conversation the two of you had on the show when he was trying to figure out if you’d be up to give him your number.

“Maybe. So theoretically, would that be weird to you?”

“No,” you write, but quickly send another text. “But you know, it’s just theory. You’d have to tell me for real to find out.”

“Should have saw that coming…”

“Yeah, you really should have,” you muse to yourself, finishing up your glass and you carefully put it to your coffee table before sliding further down on the couch to get back to the conversation with Harry. You see that he hasn’t sent anything after his last one, so you decide to actually answer his question.

“Joke aside from my part, I wouldn’t find it weird. I think it’s flattering.”

“Okay, because I was ready to burn all my notes if you said it would be too much.”

“What if you’d be burning a Grammy worthy song though?”

“Would be a shame. But I would still burn it for you.”

“You are such a flirt…”

“Can’t help it! Or should I not be?”

“I like it. So don’t change.”

“Noted.”

Your little conversation has to come to an end since he is about to go into a meeting, but when you say your goodbyes and decide it’s time to head to bed, you already know a text will be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning.

Days and even weeks go by and you start to have a little too much on your plate. No matter how much you love your job and that it has always been your dream, sometimes you just need a breather. In the past week you’ve been in and out of auditions for a movie they keep top secret, you didn’t even get a script, just a few pages you had to memorize and they’ve been asking for more and more tapes from you with kind of absurd requests, but your agent told you it’s something major, that’s why they are so secretive. However, when they ask you to come in for another reading for the fifth time in seven days and you still don’t know what you are really auditioning for, you are kind of starting to have enough with all your other projects running at the same time. Your days start at six in the morning and rarely end before eleven in the night.

An entire month after the night Harry came over to your place, you kind of lose patience. The frustration that’s been building up inside you just simply bursts when your agent texts you on your way home that you’d have to go in for another casting in the morning for the same mystery movie.

“Have they not seen my face enough?” you snap, hands meeting the wheel as you keep your eyes on the road ahead of you.

“I’m sorry, Hun. I know it’s annoying, but they requested you, that means you are still an option for them.” Mona’s voice comes through the speakers of the car since your phone is connected to it.

“Do they need me to read the whole fucking Bible in front of a camera or what?” you growl.

“I have a good feeling about this last one, alright? And if they still can’t decide after that, we can always just say that we want out.”

“Then I would be labelled as the problematic little princess,” you sigh, knowing well how this industry works. Just one mistake and you can easily end up in a theoretical ditch.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay? I’ll send you the details in email and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Bye, girl.”

Mona is an angel. She’s been your agent for about five years now, she is the one who gets you into castings, well, at least that’s what she was doing before you managed to reach your breakthrough. She got your name on lists you couldn’t even dare to dream of and she is the reason why you are here today. Now she mostly handles requests for you to go in for castings, creators started to reach out to you a while ago, though Mona still works her magic sometimes to get you into castings that are still out of your league.

By the time you get home, you are desperate to do something. Anything. You’ve been nonstop working these past weeks and you just need to get out of this loop that sucked you in. Before you could even think through what you’re doing, you dial Harry’s number.

He is back in the city, that you know of because he texted even before he got home. You both ditched the idea of having your date today, because you just knew it would be a long day for you, and it’s the truth, it’s past ten, so not quite ideal for a date, but you ran out of fucks to give.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” he asks, noticing that you called, which is not what you usually do, or at least not without checking in if he is free to talk.

“Yeah, sorry I called so randomly. Are you busy?” you ask, feeling a little out of breath, even though you definitely didn’t do anything physically hard. You just can’t help but feel anxious since you are about to ask him out on a spontaneous date.

“No, just… packing and all that. What’s up?”

“So you don’t have anything to do right now?” you clear up.

“No,” he chuckles.

“Alright, so then… what do you say we have that date now?”

Even with him always being so blunt and open about how interested he is in you, it still makes you perfect to ask him out. The silence that comes from his side doesn’t necessarily help either and you are already preparing yourself to get rejected.

“You know it’s ten pm, right?” he then asks, a little unsure if you really thought it through.

“I am aware, yes.”

“Don’t you have work in the morning? I know you always start your days so early, I don’t want to be the reason why yo—“

“Harry,” you stop him midsentence. “I do not give a fuck about what I’m doing in the morning,” you bluntly tell him and you can tell he is smiling on the other end of the call. “So the question is still the same. Do you want to have that date now?”

He doesn’t ask anything else, just simply say the following: “I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

“Make it twenty,” you tell him and end the call before he could protest.

Ignoring the adrenaline rush you that just washed over your body you quickly make your way to the bathroom to take the quickest cold shower before putting on some clean clothes. You really don’t want to overdo it, knowing well since it’s so abrupt he wouldn’t be taking you anywhere that would require you look spotless. You choose not to put on any makeup, not just because you don’t have the time, but also because you feel a weird urge to just be bare, be yourself around him. The same goes for your outfit. You put aside all designer clothes and opt for a simple pair of jeans, a black tank top and a bright yellow knitted jumper over it, looking awfully casual, but feeling rather comfortable.

It takes Harry 22 minutes to get to your place, but you choose not to comment on those two extra minutes when you get into his car. Luckily, he isn’t dressed to impress either, wearing a simple pair of jeans with some kind of washed out, vintage printed tee shirt with his Bode Jacket he has worn in his famous SNL episode. His hair looks a little mess and even wet, making you wonder if your call caught him in the middle of a shower or he showered after you agreed to meet up.

“Long time no see,” he smiles at you, his boyish smirk making your heart flutter so easily as he eyes you while you buckle yourself up.

“You had plenty of paparazzi photos to look at in the meantime, Mr. Styles,” you smirk at him teasingly as he starts the car and leaves from in front of your complex.

“My favorite was the ones of you where you were walking out of a restaurant wearing that silk dress and the coat.”

“So you did see pap pictures?” you ask chuckling, you didn’t mean it entirely, but you find it funny that he actually saw pictures of you.

“You know, it’s been hard to avoid you online, especially because I keep liking all your posts so my phone thinks I’m interested in you. Which is true, and I’m not complaining about the content I’ve been seeing about you lately,” he admits chuckling and your eyes wander down to his ring clad fingers on the wheel. Your thoughts take you back to when they were touching you at places you haven’t been touched in a while. How they felt inside you and how desperate he could make you with just his hands.

You force yourself to look away from his hands and focus on the present time before your arousal becomes way too evident.

“Sorry I’m everywhere,” you smirk at him, enjoying the situation maybe a little too much.

“Don’t be,” he chuckles, glancing in your way for a moment, his green eyes meeting your gaze. “I don’t mind it,” he adds and those damn butterflies as quick to act up again in your stomach.

You don’t try to get him to tell where you are headed, wanting it to be a surprise yourself, so you just stare out at the night city as it runs past you, still quite a lot of people walking on the streets even though it’s now nearing eleven.

What you know is that you’re still in Manhattan and it seems like you won’t leave it either. Harry navigates his way through the city easily, he is not even using GPS, something you could never do. No matter how long you’ve been living here, you’ll always get lost in this jungle some call New York City. About fifteen minutes after leaving your complex, Harry parks the car down in a spot he found along the road, and looking out the window you’re trying to figure out where you are, but it doesn’t ring a bell. Seems just like a usual part of the Upper West Side, so now he has you curious about his plans.

“Where did you bring me, Mr. Styles?” you ask him as the two of you meet on the sidewalk and he glances at your with a sly smirk.

“Since you gave me such a short notice about our date, I thought I would show you one of my favorite places in the city and I hope you haven’t it.” “Well, I can assure you I don’t know it, because I have no idea what could be here,” you admit.

Harry nods at you to follow him and you walk side by side until the next corner.

“I think you already know that I’m English,” he starts off, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s pretty evident,” you nod.

“So, in the past decade I haven’t spent as much time in the UK as I wanted, and a few years ago I discovered a little piece of my home in the city.”

Trying to figure out what he meant by that you don’t even realize where you just took a turn to. Harry stops and you snap out of your thoughts, looking up and seeing a charming little street ahead you, looking totally out of place in the city’s fashion. The townhouses all the way down look like they’ve been placed here straight from England, the Tudor style complex is a refreshing change in the fast paced, busy streets of Manhattan.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight in front of you, taking in every tiny detail with your eager eyes as the feeling of being in a fairytale takes over your mind. If only it weren’t for the busy noises of the streets around the micro-neighborhood, you would completely believe that you’ve been magically teleported to England.

“It’s called the Pomander Walk. Always makes me feel like I’m home away from home whenever I miss my family and my hometown.”

Harry starts walking down the narrow pavement that runs between the houses, lined with quite some greenery, something you noticed right away. There are just so many plants and flowers down the street, it’s pretty clear the residents keep them in good care.

You catch up with Harry, eyes still taking in the pleasant contrast Pomander Walk has to offer for any visitors.

“I feel like we are invaders,” you tell him. It looks so secluded, makes you feel like you weren’t even supposed to be here.

“Don’t worry, it’s totally public. The people who live here are pretty nice too. Love it when someone comes around.”

“How did you find this place?”

“A friend told me about it and just came to see it for myself one day,” he tells you as the two of you slowly make your way down the street, slow enough so you could see everything. “There are 61 units and they were built in 1921 by Thomas J. Healy. He originally wanted to build a hotel here, but didn’t have the money to just yet, so he built these instead to make some cash for the hotel. He never got to do that though, died a few years later, so Pomander Walk stayed.” You listen to him, soaking in every word that leaves his lips, finding his oddly specific knowledge about this place quite exciting and… kinda hot. You could listen to him talk about historical facts for days without getting bored.

“The whole complex was renovated in 2009, they restored a bunch of architectural details that lost through the years.”

“Looks fantastic. I wonder what they look like on the inside,” you muse, your eyes wandering over the colorfully painted old school window blinds on most of the townhouses.

Walking down the pavement you realize there’s not a single soul around here, something you don’t get to experience too often in the city.

“It’s not too well-known, right? I don’t see any tourists and all that.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes ahead of him as he hides his hands in his pockets.

“No, ‘s quite hidden, not often listed in sights to be seen in the city. That’s why I like to come here so much.”

“Easy to stay unnoticed,” you add with a smile as your eyes meet his gaze and he nods, returning the smile.

You walk back and forth on the street at least five times, just talking and sharing and laughing, finally falling out of the misery of your everydays. He still amazes you with how good of a company he is, with his broad view of life and many experiences, you can truly connect with him on a level you haven’t been able to reach with anyone in a long time.

It’s way over midnight when you head back to his car, holding hands that happened at a point earlier, but you can’t tell who reached for who. It was kind of mutual, but now you didn’t want to let go of him… ever. You let your fingers play with his S ring on his pinky while he keeps running his thumb over the back of your hand whenever he has the chance. It’s a little disappointing when you have to let go of each other when you climb back into his car and head back home.

“I know this date wasn’t much, but I hope you liked it,” he smiles at you shyly before his eyes snap back at the road ahead of him.

“Shut up, this was literally the best date I’ve had,” you tell him making him chuckle. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

“Now it’s your secret place too. Maybe we’ll run into each other here one day.”

“I’ll definitely come back,” you admit smirking.

The city lights pass by you faster than you want them to, and you arrive to your complex way too early. Well, not according to the time, because it’s way past half past midnight now, but you just don’t want the night to end. However, you know Harry would not come up if you asked. He is way too big of a gentleman and he wouldn’t want to make you miss your appointment in the morning, but you are definitely collecting that kiss he promised a month or so ago.

“Walk me up, will you?” you ask him softly when he parks down in front of your building. He nods and follows you inside without a second thought.

You both know it’s about to happen, the air thickens between you two in the elevator and neither of you can hold back the small smiles on your lips. Harry walks next to you until you reach your front door and you turn to face him, his green eyes already examining your every move.

“I’m happy we finally got to do this,” you tell him, feeling a blush warming your cheeks from the way he looks at you now.

“I’m glad you called. Was starting to think we would never meet again,” he chuckles making you laugh as well. It really did feel like the universe was plotting against you, but you bet it didn’t expect your sudden move tonight.

There’s a longer pause where neither of you knows what to say or do next and your patience is running low, especially when you see him run his tongue over his pink lips. You just can’t wait any longer to taste them.

“Harry,” you breathe out, the frustration and desire at an all-time high now in your system. Never in your life did it take this long for you to get to a kiss with a guy you were clearly interested in and who returned the feeling as well.

“Yeah?”

“Swear to my lost Emmy Award if you don’t kiss me right now I’ll—“

You don’t get to finish, you don’t even know what you’d have said, but it’s all forgotten when Harry kisses you hard, hands cupping your jaw on both sides, angling your head to grant him the best access to your lips. You return the kiss without a second thought, hungrily tugging and pulling on his lips, your tongues meeting in the middle and fuck! He really knows how to make your toes curl with just a kiss. You grab a fistful of his t-shirt at his stomach, pulling him close and the cold touch of his rings on your skin makes you shudder. Everything about him makes your legs turn into jelly and you are willingly offering yourself to him without a doubt.

He pushes you against your front door, one of his hands wanders down to your waist and he gives it a gentle squeeze that makes you open your mouth more for him. You are a mess and so is he. You have no idea how long you make out, but when you eventually pull back, your chest is heaving and your lips feel swollen. Harry pecks your lips two more times before forcing himself to let go of you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmurs in a low voice as he starts to back towards the elevator.

“Good night, Harry,” you say a little out of breath. He smirks at you one last time before walking into the elevator and the doors close, officially ending your first date.

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[the-bau-quinjet]

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life). 

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now. 

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door. 

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd. 

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue. 

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him. 

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him.  Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain. 

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you. 

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened. 

“Are you okay?” 

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child. 

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought. 

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.”  Again, a small laugh left his lips. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him. 

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression. 

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him. 

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him.  You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you. 

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks. 

“You’re staring.” 

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.” 

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you. 

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files. 

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back. 

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.” 

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness. 

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files. 

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night. 

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed. 

--

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see. 

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you. 

“You’re staring again.” 

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.  

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau. 

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago. 

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed. 

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance. 

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.” 

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel. 

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom. 

--

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero. 

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous. 

--

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him. 

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek. 

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs. 

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual. 

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork. 

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away. 

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time. 

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk. 

You watched, noticing everything you could. 

--

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work. 

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories. 

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home. 

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working. 

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now? 

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap. 

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie.  Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows. 

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face. 

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him. 

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes. 

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing. 

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.” 

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply. 

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life. 

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him. 

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs. 

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you. 

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

[archived-kin]

caught in a twin courtship

note from kin: i’m going to be honest i only really wrote this because the title is fun to say, so it isn’t as cohesive as i normally would have wanted to make it

(this is an au where the twins aren’t separated by the unknown god! instead, just their world-hopping powers were stolen, and that’s why they’re journeying to find said god - to get their powers back so that they can go home. i’ve also excluded paimon since i kind of forgot about her while writing this haha)

(this doesn’t follow canon at all since reader and the twins just kind of start wandering about after the dvalin incident rather than heading straight for liyue oops)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, lumine, aether, diluc, venti, jean

pairing(s): aether/reader/lumine

warning(s): i don’t think so??

genre: fluff with a little bit sprinkling of angst

you first meet the twins in the aftermath of the stormterror battle. it isn’t a glamorous introduction by any means - it’s pretty unflattering, actually - but it definitely makes a powerful first impression.

the group - aether, lumine, venti, diluc, and jean - are on their way back to mondstadt city, making small talk here and there, but mostly just walking in silence.

then they hear a yell in the distance.

jean and lumine both drop into a battle stances, venti leaps to hide behind aether with a very unmanly squeak of fear… but diluc, who arguably should have been the most alerted by this occurrence, just gives a resigned sigh and pauses.

a split second later, a figure comes speeding up to the group. you barrel up to diluc and immediately punch him square in the stomach, yelling “why didn’t you tell me you were going after stormterror?!”

aether and venti both give matching gasps of horror at the blatant disrespect, but diluc only shakes his head and catches your fist as it goes for another blow, this one aimed at his chest, and chastises, “calm down, i left a note.”

“i left a note,” you mimic, an absolutely awful impression that has you sounding more like a mosquito than the darknight hero, “fat lot of use that is when you aren’t even telling me where you’re going!”

diluc evades another jab at his arm and firmly sets his hands on both your shoulders, effectively anchoring you to the ground. you contemplate swinging your feet at his knees and knocking him over, or maybe shocking him with your electro vision, but ultimately decide that you might as well try to preserve what little dignity you have left in front of those three people you’ve never met before

so you stop with a defeated sigh and turn to face said three people to introduce yourself

it turns out that you’re diluc’s cousin and he’s been having to baby-sit you for the last few years after your own parents left on a ‘business trip’ to snezhnaya that they’re still not back from

you’re pretty sure they’re dead, killed by the fatui, and you say as much during your introduction without even the slightest sign of distress, which is a little unsettling

lumine’s first thought is that you’re quite the interesting character, what with the casual way you treat diluc, and how you don’t seem to question whatever situation lead you to meet in the first place

aether’s first thought is holy shit, they’re cute

one twin greets you in return with a lot more enthusiasm than the other, and venti the bard wastes no time in asking whether you have access to good master diluc’s wine storage

(you’d be shocked by the audacity if you weren’t just as bad as him when it came to shamelessness)

strangely enough, the fact that aether likes you so much actually makes lumine more wary of you than she was initially

aether trusts too easily, and from experience, that usually leads to disaster - and your flippancy regarding your parents’ apparent probable deaths rather inclines her to think that you might be a very dangerous person indeed

the three of you don’t see each other for a couple of days after that - you and diluc leave for dawn winery together, while the twins depart with venti to wrap their whole situation up, and jean returns to her duties in mondstadt city

all this time, apparently unbeknownst to even himself, aether keeps finding ways to bring you up in the middle of conversation

you’d only spoken to him for a few minutes and somehow that as enough to get him absolutely fascinated

lumine would be lying if she said she wasn’t still curious about you as well, but it gets annoying after aether somehow manages to mention how ‘mysterious’ your black cloak is in the middle of a conversation about why mitachurls are able to randomly set their axes on fire

luckily for these two, they happen to run into you the very next day!

you’re in the middle of taking out a ruin guard stomping around the thousand winds temple -  a ruin guard that the twins had been meaning to take down themselves, which is why they’re here in the first place

at first they move to help you, only to stop short and watch in awe as you plunge down at the ruin guard from atop one of the enormous pillars, your polearm held steady in your grasp as your entire body seems to spark and glow with a deep purple electro energy

the sharp blade of your polearm goes clean through the top of the ruin guard’s head and shatters its core, and it sinks to the ground with a massive thud that echoes around the temple ruins, massive wooden limbs twitching and jerking as the last of your vision’s energy disperses from it

aether and lumine are basically star-struck

from there you spot them and call them over for a conversation, show them how to take apart a ruin guard’s circuits to get at the good parts, and somehow end up agreeing to journey with them across teyvat in their search for an unknown god who stole their abilities to hop from world to world as well as their apparent true power that allows them to wield all seven elements at once

the details are a little lost on you, but what you’re hearing is that you get to go on a cool adventure with a cool gal and a cool lad, so you’re pretty much all for it

diluc isn’t too happy about you up and leaving without so much as two week’s notice (partially because he has literally no friends apart from you and he’d get lonely without his little cousin bothering him all the time) but you simply tell him to deal with it and go anyway

(you do give him a big hug and promise to visit, you’re not heartless)

from then on you, aether and lumine become a dynamic trio like no other

it’s actually pretty damn spooky how well the three of you end of working together

aether and lumine had long since formed a style of fighting that meant they made up for each other’s weak spots and could attack in perfect sync, but then you come along and somehow manage to make their already pretty flawless formation even better

is it witchcraft? they honestly don’t know

considering you fit so well into their battle strategies, it follows that you’d also slot perfectly into their every day life

lumine is cautious at first, wondering if your presence would disrupt her and her brother’s long since pre-established routines, but you fit in so naturally that it’s as if you were there all long

maybe it it’s this that makes both twins slowly start falling for you - the comfort of being beside you and the familiarity that you bring are things that they struggled to find, being trapped in a world far from their own with no way to get out, and they unknowingly latch onto you like drowning men clutching lifebuoys

aether is the most obvious about his feelings - he starts waking up earlier just because he knows you do, sitting beside you as you stoke a campfire and keep watch for any approaching monsters, making quiet conversation as lumine continues sleeping. he tells you stories about his adventures in other worlds, including an encounter with a rather bigoted individual who is the reason that he keeps his hair so long while lumine’s has been cut short

he even starts taking his hair out of its braid before he goes to sleep so that he can ask you to braid it for him when he wakes up

lumine is a lot more subtle

she finds excuses to stand closer to you when, deliberately brushing her fingers against yours when handing you something. she listens far more attentively to you when you speak than anyone else, and she smiles far more in your presence, hanging onto your every word and gazing at you so intensely that it’s almost unsettling

of course, the twins notice each other’s feelings pretty easily

at first neither acknowledges it - it’d be far too messy for both to accept that they’d both fallen in love with the same person, let alone actually admit this to each other

but it gets to the point where it just isn’t ignorable anymore, and finally the twins decide to talk

it’s about as civil and sensible as they could hope for with the subject at hand, and they eventually decide to talk to you about it

and so, we come to an ultimatum. what will your choice be?

if you reject both, it’ll be hard to continue adventuring with twins who can’t look in your direction. neither resent you, of course, but the atmosphere has become so stifling that they can’t even make eye contact

it’s as if an enormous gap has opened up between the three of you. the twins are avoiding each other as well, unsure of how to handle the fact that they’re both in love with the same person and have now both been rejected by that same person. if anything, they should be becoming closer out of solidarity, but it seems that they can’t stand to be in each other’s presence as much as they can’t stand to be in yours.

the three of you still work together as seamlessly in battle as you did before, but once the final monster has been cut down and your weapons are sheathed, that connection seems to disappear again.

it’s aether who finally breaks the stalemate. he starts trying to start conversations as the three of you sit awkwardly apart from each other around a fire, and while the first few attempts end in stony silence and an awkward cough on his part, eventually you begin replying with some semblance of the humour you used to

from there things only improve - the three of you come to a silent mutual agreement to leave this behind you, and soon you’re all laughing and joking as you used to

lumine and aether both know that they cannot force you to love either of them, and they respect your choice. if anything, they’re the ones in the wrong for springing something like this on you so suddenly, and they start to feel a little guilty that they were essentially pressuring you into making a choice that you were never obligated to make

so they return to treating you as a dear friend, just as before. things are different now, of course, but they can only be grateful that you continue to travel with them and stay by their side; this situation doesn’t make them love you any less, even if you don’t love them in the same way.

if you choose lumine, aether will be understanding. the twins have been each other’s only support for longer than they can remember, and as the older brother, he’s well used to giving things up for his sister.

he’ll still be friendly and amicable, but he won’t seek you out as much as he did before. he starts braiding his hair by himself again, and stays in bed as late as he can every morning so that he doesn’t have to be face to face with you. just because he’s accepted this doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.

sometimes, when the sky grows dark and you and lumine have long since fallen asleep beside each other, he wonders to himself - why is it that he has to give everything to his sister? he’s given away so much, so why couldn’t the universe let him have this one thing?

but he knows, deep down, that this is nothing to do with the universe - you simply fell in love with someone that wasn’t him, his sister at that, and he’s struggling to come to terms with it.

he wants to hate you, hate lumine, hate the relationship that the two of you have formed, but he just can’t. he loves the both of you in different ways that are just as important as each other, and he can’t stand to lose either of you. he’d rather throw himself off of starsnatch cliff.

so he’ll smile and bear it, even if it’s a battle to keep himself from breaking down every time he sees the two of you lace your hands together, off in your own little word, so near and yet so far from him.

if you choose aether, lumine will become cold. at first, that is. she’s never been as empathetic as her brother, always holding grudges and developing dislike much more easily. it had taken a lot for her to open up to you in the first place, and now that you’ve rejected her, it’s going to take a while for her to return to the same camaderie with you that she had before.

lumine does not begrudge aether for being the one you chose. if anything, she’s glad - aether is always putting her first and himself second, and she’s happy that he has someone like you, who lights his eyes up in a way that she’s never seen before.

but our hearts often betray our mind, after all, and lumine can’t help but scowl and turn away every time she sees her brother wrap his arms around your waist or press a kiss to your cheek. despite her best efforts, all she can think is why? why did you have to choose him?

she can’t bring herself to hate you, though. as much as it feels like her heart is threatening to split down the middle when she sees you smile and is reminded of something that she cannot have, there is an equal joy in the fact that her brother can be with the person that he loves so dearly. if anything, the two of you deserve to be happy together.

lumine would never do anything that could take that away, and so she forces herself to accept it. it takes several days of tentative conversation and barely held back tears, but eventually the two of you seem to return to the way you were before - all friendly jabs and light-hearted banter and little jokes exchanged over crossed blades.

but lumine knows that your friendship can never be quite the same as it was before. she’ll forever be holding you at arm’s length, terrified to let you get too close lest you see how much your presence affects her. she can’t let you know how much she loves you because she will never be the one who links hands with you as you walk down a long, winding path, or the one who holds you close under a darkening sky filled with stars - because that person is aether, and she would sooner die before she takes her brother’s happiness away.

if you refuse to choose, the twins will be at a loss at what to do. they hadn’t considered this scenario - that you had somehow come to love both of them.

the confusion becomes joy soon enough, though. they realise what this means - they both love you, and you love both of them! isn’t this perfect?

neither are particularly thrilled at the concept of ‘sharing’ you with the other, so to speak, but in the end they both equally want each other to be happy as they want you to be, so the logical conclusion is that they both become your partners.

they’re not too sure how this should work, nor what sort of label to put on it, but they come to you tentatively with the idea anyway

to their joyous surprise, you agree!

and from then marks the point of no return…

aether is definitely the clingier of the two. once he realises that he’s allowed to show affection and be close to you for no particular reason, he won’t stop - it’s as if he absolutely has to be holding your hand or be standing or sitting  as close to you as physically possible. he’s always buying you souvenirs at every place you stop by, scaling trees to pick apples for you when you mention a craving for fruit, presenting you little treasures that he’s found with all the pride of a golden retriever.

lumine is a more subdued kind of partner, preferring to demonstrate her feelings with little things like making your favourite food for dinner or bringing you sprigs of flowers that she’s secretly been collecting in order to present you with them. of course, that doesn’t mean she isn’t physically affectionate at all - she presses perhaps even closer to you than aether when you sleep beside her, and somehow her hand finds yours at every opportunity she has.

the twins clash every now and then, as siblings often do, except that you’re usually caught in the middle. their arguments are little more than playful squabbles, though - things like play-fighting over who gets to hug you first after a well-fought battle, or who gets to hold your hand on the way to the next village (you have to step in and remind them that you do, in fact, have two hands)

in conclusion: why choose one when you can have both and prevent the unchosen from having endless amounts of angst?

[robininthelabyrinth]

The Quiet Room

- Chapter 6 - ao3 - (previous tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5)

The Lan sect’s rules said Learning comes first, and that was because learning was the root of all things.

Humans were changeable and ever-changing, molded by their heritage and their environment; it was through careful education that they learned to comprehend goodness – it was only through constant learning that they could keep themselves walking on the path of righteousness.

Learning from books, learning from others, learning from one’s own mistakes; it didn’t matter.

What was important was that you couldn’t stop learning.

You had to keep moving forward.

Lan Wangji had for some time entertained the thought that his life had stopped when Wei Wuxian’s had. It had felt as though it had: it felt as if his heart had been irrevocably shattered, like a priceless vase that had once contained all his tender feelings – all those feelings that, lacking their container, would now slip through his fingers forever, leaving him as empty as a soulless puppet. He’d thought he was doomed never to love again, never to learn again, all his mind consumed with nothing by memories.

He’d been wrong, of course.

Even with Wei Wuxian gone, he was still learning.

There were his recent meditations on the subject of silence and noise, for one.

There were his wards, for another.

Lan Sizhui was a polite and thoughtful child, inquisitive but a little shy and hesitant, a little fearful to assert himself – a little too quiet, in a way that Lan Wangji was starting to be able to recognize as being not good, a silence and reticence born of concern and anxiety rather than genuine introversion. Luckily, there was also Lan Jingyi, who was and had always been the liveliest and most spirited of children, and yet he, too, was just a little bit too loud in a way that reflected his own method of displaying anxiety, another startling realization that was brand new.

Lan Wangji had always associated quiet with reserve and self-control, noise with carelessness and recklessness, but being in the controlled chaos of Qinghe and really sincerely listening to it, accepting it, came with its own set of revelations. He found that there were people who were naturally loud and those that made themselves be loud, just as there were those who were quiet and those who were forced into quietude. Lan Jingyi worried just as much as the next person, but he displaced those feelings through distraction rather than through the force of his willpower, taking on the role of clown or hero as suited each moment, unafraid to cast himself in the role of aggressor if it would allow Lan Sizhui the chance to play the mediator. The subconscious division of roles allowed Lan Sizhui to feel useful and in control, reducing his anxiety, while Lan Jingyi got to feel taken care of, which reduced his own – it was good, in a way, but after some consideration Lan Wangji carefully took them both in hand and told them that they would need to be more thoughtful about it.

Lan Sizhui could not, should not, always have to be the peacemaker, always yielding and kind and gentle and quiet: he deserved to be loud, too. He deserved to be assertive, to be heard, to feel entitled to take up space regardless of his utility to those around him. He should never feel like he had to pay in service for the right to exist.

And by the same token, Lan Jingyi shouldn’t feel burdened to always have to be the one to take the first step, always acting as the driving force, the loud and opinionated one. He should have the opportunity, and the obligation, to think through what he was doing or saying, to be thoughtful and careful, to sometimes yield if he wished; he should be granted space of his own to make sure that his actions were what he wished them to be rather than some impulse.

Lan Wangji only wished he’d had the wisdom to tell Wei Wuxian the same thing while he’d been alive.

He’d been so short-sighted when he was younger, at first unable to recognize how he felt about the man and then unable to figure out how to speak with him – he’d been unable to break his own habitual silence, and equally unable to see the depths concealed in Wei Wuxian’s brash arrogance, especially towards the end. Like Lan Jingyi, Wei Wuxian’s reckless courage was genuine, especially in the happy days of their youth; like Lan Jingyi, when things got bad, Wei Wuxian had taken refuge in more of the same, building himself walls made of noise that were designed to keep everyone out.

Wei Wuxian might have been noisy and loud, right to the very end, but in his own way he’d been just as alone as Lan Wangji in his excess of quiet.  

The next generation, Lan Wangji thought fiercely, would do better.

He felt comforted by that thought.

The children were chewing over Lan Wangji’s words as they walked along the outmost ramparts of the Unclean Realm, already inured to the glittering barrier that hung in their sky, full of arrays and inscriptions – they were accompanying Lan Wangji on his daily walk.

The Nie sect’s doctors had a very different regimen for curing illnesses than the Lan sect’s, he’d found. Thirty-three strikes of the discipline whip: in both places he’d gotten stitched back up, but while the Lan sect doctors had allowed him to retreat into seclusion, prescribing medicine and rest and self-reflection, the Nie sect doctors insisted on coupling medicine and meditation with exercise. Intermittent and gradual exercise, meant to increase flexibility and reduce muscle atrophy – it wasn’t really that different from what Lan Wangji had been left to do on his own back at home, but he found that it was easier to struggle against his stubborn body when he had company to encourage him to take that extra step beyond his limits, their voices pushing him when his own willpower was insufficient. Even the silent presence of the two children, walking beside him, helped him find the reason to keep going.

Truly, there was much to consider on the subject of quiet and noise, of loud and soft, of loneliness and isolation and how no amount of either introversion nor extroversion could alone save you from them.

Lan Wangji was still thinking it over when he heard a new noise.

It was also an old noise, painfully familiar from all those days of war – before he even consciously identified what the sound was, his back had straightened, his legs sinking into a prepared pose, his mind already summoning his spiritual energy to the forefront in case he needed to defend himself.

Cultivators, flying on swords at speed.

Lan Wangji looked up and saw them: men and women both, a small group – a forward scouting troop, small enough to be subtle and sneak ahead to see what was happening but large enough to ensure someone would be able to return to the main force and warn them if they did find something.

They were dressed in the colors of Yunmeng Jiang, and it was Jiang Cheng leading them.

Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

He had not seen Jiang Cheng since the massacre at the Nightless City, although he’d heard the stories of how he had turned against his own shixiong and led the greatest of the forces that besieged the Burial Mounds. He’d decided then that he’d never wanted to see Jiang Cheng ever again – he hadn’t been able to comprehend how Jiang Cheng could do a thing like that to Wei Wuxian, who he’d loved.

He still didn’t understand, but he thought, perhaps, that he ought to be a little less hasty in judging others by his own standards.

He’d done enough of that.

“Hanguang-jun!” Jiang Cheng called, seeing him, and pulled ahead of all the other Jiang sect cultivators, leaving them hanging back warily. Lan Wangji turned to face him, conscious of the two young children still clinging to his hands and now half-hiding behind his robes – conscious, too, of the shimmering but translucent barrier that divided them from Jiang Cheng, the barrier that had been raised to protect the Unclean Realm from Lan Wangji’s own brother and all the mistakes he had made, well-meaning as they were. “Hanguang-jun, good, you can tell me, what is the meaning of…”

Jiang Cheng trailed off, his eyes suddenly wide and almost bulging from the force of how hard he was staring at Lan Wangji.

“Jiang Wanyin,” Lan Wangji said politely in greeting – or, well, politely enough.

“Lan Wangji,” Jiang Cheng said in return, his voice sounding strangled. “What…happened?”

Far too much to explain, so Lan Wangji didn’t, just waited for Jiang Cheng to continue with a more specific question.

“I mean, uh. The beacon went off,” Jiang Cheng said. He was still gawking, looking as though he were about to fall off his sword any second. “The – you know the one, the one that shows when a sect’s barrier defenses have been activated. I thought...”

He’d assumed there was an invasion, Lan Wangji realized, and had rushed over at once to try to help forestall it. It was a reasonable assumption, and a noble response: having once lost everything without being able to rely on the help of others, Jiang Cheng now sought to be the help that he had not had.

It was the sort of thing a righteous person would do, and in line with what Lan Wangji thought he’d known of Jiang Cheng’s character.

And yet…Jiang Cheng had still turned his back on Wei Wuxian.

Time and time again, he’d turned away fro him.

“I came to find out what happened, why they put up the shield,” Jiang Cheng continued. “I brought people with me to help, though I left them back a ways so it wouldn’t be an insult. And now I’m here and – and you’re here – and you’re…just…it’s…Lan Wangji, what happened to your forehead ribbon?”

Lan Wangji arched his eyebrows. “Is that your primary concern?”

Jiang Cheng waved his hands around, almost flailing, and Lan Wangji couldn’t quite help but feel a sudden stab of amusement – and then of sorrow, because the flailing was almost painfully familiar. He had seen Wei Wuxian do much the same when he encountered something unexpected, whether some threat or some new maneuver by the Wen sect or, in one notable instance, the unanticipated appearance of a fish in a place where one would not normally expect fish to be.

“I have taken a leave of absence from the Lan sect,” Lan Wangji finally explained, deciding to be magnanimous and take pity on his former comrade in arms. “The Nie sect has permitted me to remain with them while I determine my next course of action. As for the shield, there is no imminent invasion. The situation is – complicated.”

Jiang Cheng huffed. “You don’t say!”

Still, the explanation seemed to help steady him, somewhat, and Lan Wangji observed that Jiang Cheng did not look his best: tired, with circles under his eyes and an unhealthy skin tone. Too much work, too little rest, and probably nightmares…because of what had happened to Wei Wuxian, perhaps? But if so, why had he done it in the first place?

“I cannot let you in,” Lan Wangji added, even though technically he had one of the only remaining guest tokens that still functioned. Jiang Cheng nodded, seemingly having expected that. “I can escort you to the sect leader’s quarters to have your request for admission approved.”

That the person approving the request would probably be Nie Huaisang, Lan Wangji did not say – not so much out of caution, which would probably be justified, but rather out of a completely inexplicable urge to see Jiang Cheng start flailing once again upon finding out.

Was this how Wei Wuxian felt all the time?

Interesting.

He began to walk again, the children at his sides slowly coming out, and Jiang Cheng did him the courtesy of not mentioning how slow and stiff he was, although Lan Wangji thought he remembered enough of Jiang Cheng’s mannerisms to interpret the twisted grimace on his face as he glanced over time and time again as a look of concern.

After a little while in which Lan Wangji walked and Jiang Cheng floated alongside him on his sword, the Jiang sect cultivators lagging behind by a respectable distance, the children getting over their fear to start looking around again, Jiang Cheng finally cleared his throat.

“There’s a medicinal blend of herbs that can counteract the anti-clotting effects of the discipline whip,” he said. Lan Wangji glanced at him: Jiang Cheng was staring forward, not looking at him at all any more. “It makes it heal faster. I can pass the prescription along to the Nie sect’s pharmacists, if you like.”

Jiang Cheng had also been struck by the discipline whip, Lan Wangji suddenly remembered. It had been a matter of deep embarrassment for him during the war, making him reluctant to remove clothing even when they were rancid with blood and poisonous fumes.

“Thank you,” he said, and for some reason the children took that as their cue that Jiang Cheng was actually all right and burst out in a flood of questions.

Lan Jingyi wanted to know how Jiang Cheng’s clothing had gotten to be such a vivid shade of purple, while Lan Sizhui was more curious about his sword and how shiny it was – the concerns of children, unburdened by the memories or concerns of adults. Their questions made Jiang Cheng smile, and Lan Wangji thought briefly of the orphaned Jin Ling, who had been temporarily given to Jiang Cheng’s custody to pick up some of the traditions of his maternal sect. A fancy way of saying that the Jin sect wanted him out of the way for a few years until he was worth teaching their own ways to, but Lan Wangji suspected Jiang Cheng would have taken any excuse at all to remain close to his kin.

“What, now children aren’t too noisy for you?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Wangji, and for the first time it occurred to Lan Wangji that the tossed out words, broken off and abrupt, might be meant as a friendly tease.

“I am reevaluating my relationship with silence,” he said, and Jiang Cheng smirked, amused.

“I bet you are,” he said. “Nie Huaisang alone would drive a man to distraction…”

Lan Jingyi laughed and clapped and that, and, inspired, Lan Sizhui followed suit.

And then, suddenly, Jiang Cheng frowned.

“A-Yuan,” he said, and Lan Wangji was suddenly cold from head to toe, the chattering of the children suddenly too loud in his ears: he had forgotten that Jiang Cheng had also visited the Burial Mounds. “That’s – that’s A-Yuan, isn’t it?”

“Jiang Wanyin…” Lan Wangji started, his voice sticking in his throat, then trailed off. He did not know what he could say that would work to convince Jiang Cheng that he was wrong when he was right, but neither could he admit to the truth. Even if Nie Mingjue had been kind enough to allow Lan Wangji to come to the Nie sect to stay, and to bring the two children with him, that had been under the premise that they were Lan sect children. If he ever found out that Lan Sizhui had been born surnamed Wen…

Nie Mingjue would not hurt a child, he was too righteous for that. But he might not be inclined to let that child grow up in his sect, either.

Jiang Cheng’s face was twisted in a strange sort of way, as if he couldn’t decide to be angry or relieved. “I thought he’d died,” he murmured, more to himself. “I thought…what is that?”

Lan Wangji was momentarily confused by the question, focused as he was by the terrifying implications of Jiang Cheng’s discovery, but then he saw that Jiang Cheng’s gaze went further into the distance.

He turned to look, then felt twist of unpleasantness deep in his belly: there was his brother in the sky, flying to the main gate on Shuoyue, and beside him was Jin Guangyao.

Why did you have to bring him? Lan Wangji thought, unhappy, but he already knew the answer to that. His brother trusted Jin Guangyao. Why wouldn’t he bring him?

If only he would trust the rest of them as much as he trusted that liar.

“We can discuss Lan Sizhui later,” Lan Wangji said, careful to emphasize both the surname and the courtesy name he’d given him – painfully obvious now that he thought about it, though at the time it had seemed only appropriate, the only name he could bestow that fit – and quickened his steps. “Now that my brother has arrived, things will become difficult.”

He wondered, a little bitterly, if his brother had even noticed that he was gone, or if he had been so thoroughly forgotten in his enforced ‘seclusion’ that it hadn’t even been thought of as a possibility.

“Lan Wangji!”

Lan Wangji came to a stop at Jiang Cheng’s shout. Suddenly full of anger, he turned his head back – surely Jiang Cheng didn’t hate Wei Wuxian so much that he wouldn’t let the matter of a small child go, even in the midst of a crisis?

Jiang Cheng was pointing into the distance. Strangely enough, it was not in the direction of the main gate, where Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were even now landing, but somewhere even further beyond.

“Do you see it?” Jiang Cheng demanded, and his eyes were suddenly wild, his breathing disordered; he seemed far more disturbed than he had when he’d recognized A-Yuan. “Lan Wangji, tell me that you see it!”

Utterly lost, Lan Wangji focused his gaze on the far horizon. It was the same scenery as he’d seen there the past few days, the interspersed richness of the low valleys that quickly arced up into the mountains that surrounded the Unclean Realm. There was nothing there that was unusual…

Lan Wangji spotted a very faint glimmer.

Sun, he thought, the reflection of sun – sun off steel.

All of a sudden, he wasn’t on the ramparts of the Unclean Realm but standing beside Jiang Cheng on a rough-hewn fortress barely worthy of the name, watching the horizon grimly as the damned Wen scout’s flare did its work and the amassed forces of Wen Chao’s troops began to move inexorably in their direction. They would come, he had known, and they would kill them all if they could; it would take everything they had to stop them, and to survive long enough just to retreat once again.

For some of them to survive.

“Invasion,” he heard someone say, their voice hoarse, and only a moment later realized it was himself who had spoken. “Invasion…it’s an army!”

“It’s the Jin sect,” Jiang Cheng said, staring blankly as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him. For once, Lan Wangji understood him completely; he was similarly shocked. “They’re wearing gold, you can see it from here…the Jin sect has sent their armies here? How could they even think to dare? Chifeng-zun will annihilate them!”

Lan Wangji’s throat worked, and for a moment he felt drowned in the quiet once more, his voice not wanting to cooperate with him, his entire being willing or even wanting to return to the solace of seclusion if it would only mean that he wouldn’t have to hear the horrible din of war once more. But he was not a coward, and would do what he must – even speak of things that felt impossible to be spoken.

“That complicated situation I mentioned,” he said, and Jiang Cheng turned to look at him. “My brother has either conspired with or was duped into assisting Lianfang-zun in an attempt on Chifeng-zun’s life through destabilizing his qi and inducing a qi deviation.”

Jiang Cheng’s jaw dropped. “They did what?!”

“Chifeng-zuns remains alive, but is confined to his bed,” Lan Wangji continued, ignoring the interjection. “Nie Huaisang was the one who ordered the shield raised, saying that there might be an attack – I thought he was overreacting, but apparently not.”

“If Jin Guangshan can take over the Unclean Realm while Nie Mingjue is incapacitated, he can say that the incapacitation is worse than it really is,” Jiang Cheng said, abruptly getting it. Lan Wangji had forgotten how much he enjoyed working alongside those from Yunmeng Jiang, Wei Wuxian most of all but also in his absence Jiang Cheng, who was smart and did not require too many words to understand. “Everyone knows Nie Huaisang’s a good-for-nothing – it wouldn’t be too much of a stretch for the Jin sect to claim that they came here at the invitation of the Nie sect to ‘rescue’ them, and remained in order to manage the sect on their behalf. Better that than have Chifeng-zun recover and come after you in vengeance!”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“But surely they didn’t think they’d be able to get away with it? Even if they could manage it for a while, as soon as the confusion cleared up, all the other sects would throw a fit…”

“Jin Ling,” Lan Wangji said, and Jiang Cheng blanched, seeming to realize the problem at once. His beloved nephew legally belonged to the Jin sect; if he dared to protest their actions, wouldn’t they be sure to take him away? As for the Lan sect, Lan Xichen would have been implicated through his actions – they could hold his participation over his head, forcing him to pick between supporting them and losing face for the whole sect, which would in turn weaken it. And that was assuming that Jin Guangyao didn’t somehow manage to talk Lan Xichen into thinking it was all for the best regardless…

There were only four Great Sects left, now. If the Lan and Jiang did nothing, who would be left to stand up for the Nie?

“I have to get inside. Nie Huaisang will need my support,” Lan Wangji said, but instead looked down at the children beside him.

“Go,” Lan Sizhui said, releasing his hand and stepping back away from him. “I’ll take Jingyi and hide in the room we’re staying in. You won’t need to worry about us – go, do what you need to!”

Jiang Cheng flinched as if he’d been struck.

Lan Wangji glanced at him. “The Jin sect army,” he said. “However unlikely, there’s still a chance that we are misinterpreting their motives.”

“I’ll go find out what I can,” Jiang Cheng agreed at once. “How many there are, what can be done…I’ll find out and report back.”

Lan Wangji tossed him the guest token he’d been given. “Be cautious,” he said. He still hadn’t forgiven Jiang Cheng for what he’d done in the Burial Mounds, but he was willing to wait until a better time to talk it over with him – now was not the time to try to gain understanding.

Jiang Cheng nodded and left at once, and Lan Wangji saw the children off, then hurried to do the same.

By the time he made it to the main hall, his brother and Jin Guangyao were already there, and Nie Huaisang was confronting them with nothing more than a fan gripped in white-knuckled hands and a glare.

“– dare you talk as if he’s gone mad, as if he can’t be trusted?” Nie Huaisang was shouting. “You should know how seriously we take such words here!”

“It is because of that that we are worried,” Lan Xichen said, and now it was Lan Wangji’s turn to flinch. His brother’s voice sounded just the way it always did, comforting in its familiarity: he sounded calm and patient, thoughtful and wise, sure of himself. He sounded as if he knew better than anyone else what was right and what was wrong. “Huaisang, you don’t know how much your brother has been worried about suffering the way your father did. He knows that qi deviations can be subtle as well as harsh – he understands that his reason might be the first to go –”

“And so you took it upon yourself to decide that for him?” Nie Huaisang sneered. “You keep saying that he understands, that he would understand, all that. But that’s a lie, isn’t it?”

“Huaisang, please,” Jin Guangyao said, his voice just as gentle as always. “You know we only want what’s best for your brother.”

“Do you?” Nie Huaisang said, but he was still looking at Lan Xichen. “You knew he hated the quiet room, er-ge. You knew that he’d never wanted anything to do with it – it’s not like that was anything new! That was something he’d said repeatedly, year after year, month after month, for his entire life. You knew how he felt about it, and you decided to ignore what he wanted in favor of what you wanted. How is that wanting what’s best for him?”

“I was only concerned for his health,” Lan Xichen said, sounding injured by the accusation. “I had nothing but good intentions…”

“Your intentions are immaterial compared to your actions,” Lan Wangji said, and they turned to look at him, both of them surprised – maybe they really hadn’t noticed he’d left the Cloud Recesses.

Well, he thought bitterly: they’d notice now.

He took a step into the room, then another.

“Your actions are this,” he said, ignoring the way his brother stared at his forehead, unadorned by the ribbon that had been there ever since he’d been a small child, receiving it for the first time from his uncle as a precious gift. “You did not trust or respect your elder brother’s word. You disregarded his decision, treating him like a child who can’t be trusted to make up his own mind – you put your own desires ahead of his, and in doing so, betrayed him. Did you really think he’d thank you for it?”

Did you think I’d thank you one day for authorizing our sect’s attack on the Burial Mounds without ever having to explain yourself? Even our uncle respected me enough to tell me at once what he had done and let me decide how I felt about it, accepting the consequences of his actions!

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen murmured. “You’re still healing, you shouldn’t be wandering around…where is your self-restraint?”

Where is your forehead ribbon, he meant, and Lan Wangji shook his head.

“Wangji, you don’t understand,” Jin Guangyao said, and Lan Wangji stiffened at the unasked-for intimacy of the address. “Whatever da-ge said to you, whatever he did, you cannot allow others to guide you by filling your heart with incomplete echoes of what you have lost. You will never forgive yourself.”

Lan Wangji was so furious that he could not speak. Was Jin Guangyao implying that Nie Mingjue had, what, seduced him? That Lan Wangji held his love for Wei Wuxian so cheap that he would have his head turned by the first person willing to make up to him in such a fashion?

“I should hope you know my da-ge better than that, er-ge,” Nie Huaisang said coldly, still speaking only to Lan Xichen. “Or is this something else where you will believe the words of that lying dog over everyone else and the evidence of your own reason to boot?”

“Huaisang, that is unwontedly cruel, and uncalled for,” Lan Xichen said, tearing his eyes away from Lan Wangji. “Whatever Wangji has decided, I do not blame Mingjue-xiong for it.”

Implying, Lan Wangji supposed, that it was Lan Wangji that was to blame for it.

“Put the blame where it belongs,” he said stiffly, staring at his brother as if looking at a stranger. “Was I to leave Chifeng-zun where I found him, half-dead and dying in our jingshi where you left him at Lianfang-zun’s incitement?”

“You think I don’t recognize that I’ve done wrong?” Lan Xichen demanded. “I will speak to Mingjue-xiong and apologize – I will explain my reasoning and let him decide how I can make it up to him. But please, there is no call for you to be cruel to A-Yao. Do not blame him for my mistakes.”

“What about for his lies?” Lan Wangji asked. He took a breath, sharp and unhappy, and suddenly it was desperately, urgently necessary to know the truth. “Brother, tell me you didn’t know. Tell me you weren’t in on it – that you didn’t try to kill Mingjue-xiong in order to cover up your affair.”

“What, kill, you think I would try to…Wangji! Affair?” Lan Xichen exclaimed, and he seemed genuinely shocked. “No, Wangji, you’ve misunderstood entirely! It’s not like that at all. Mingjue-xiong and A-Yao, they were once lovers –”

“No, we weren’t,” Nie Mingjue said.

They all turned at once. He was standing at the door, all but clinging to the doorframe to keep himself standing; he was swathed in bandages and still stuck with needles. None of them had heard him or seen him approach – he must have heard them shouting and dragged himself over.

He sounded tired. He sounded quiet.

He looked at Lan Xichen.

“I was never Meng Yao’s lover,” he said. “Not now, not before, not ever. And Xichen…you knew that, didn’t you?”