#not saying I can’t appreciate simplicity

[hyukalyptus]

the willow tree — prince!yeonjun x servant!oc (mira)

cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, chubby!reader (rarely self conscious), exes to ???, unsupportive parents, dual POV, classism, mira is described as chubby and has long wavy hair, mira often wears dresses/thongs/etc, smut, sir kink, sneakin around, pet names (darling, babe, baby, love, my girl), lots of cunnilingus/bjs/handjobs, more specific content warnings before each chapter, NSFW/MDNI!!! notes. this has taken me forever!! i know i've been talking about this for so long and i really hope you love it. the poll said to post everything at once, but i put chapter headers so you wouldn't lose your place since its so goddamn long. anyway, enjoy!! wc. 26K im so sry

cw. yeonjun is a bit of a jerk in a flashback, classism, yj is an environmental activist and if u are a climate change denier, feel free to block <3, mira (oc) is described as chubby, yeonjun sneaks into mira's room (but not in a pervy way).

YEONJUN'S POV

Open your heart to the adventure ahead. I glare back at the cheesy quote slapped across the page-a-day calendar resting on my desk Mother gifted me last Christmas. The phrases usually amount to nothing more than fortune cookie wisdom or elementary classroom poster encouragements, and today's offering is no exception.

It’s plastered in meetings and to-dos I have today. One meeting is with a new landscape architect for the garden, another with Gemma about the upcoming quarterly dinner, and another with our ambassador about an upcoming international environmental meeting I’m attending later this year. 

Philanthropy has always been a forte of mine. No matter the cause, I can persuade the richest of the rich to contribute to the cause, I host grand fundraising events, and love speaking for what I care about. My pursuits have evolved over time, ranging from childhood health to advocating for mental wellness and combating food scarcity. 

It’s been difficult to choose what I cared about most, but I simply can’t commit all of my focus to every cause, no matter how hard I try. Within the last few years, my focus has been the environment—an urgent matter demanding action, even if I’m not a major contributor to the problem. Nonetheless, I certainly have influence over large corporations that do, not to mention my political influence. I've also cultivated a deep appreciation for the arts, advocating for universal access. Last year, I facilitated the donation of $125,000 worth of instruments to local public schools.

Outside of work, I like learning new instruments and artforms—right now, pottery and piano—and reading. And I love to travel. I always fly commercial—never private. 

“Honey, be in the common room in fifteen minutes,” Mother—the Queen—says at my door. She glows as her deep ruby chiffon dress flows with her movements, exuding royal, elegance, and authority. She finishes putting in her gold earring before adding, “We have a new hire.” 

Ah, the customary introduction of new staff. I finish watering the peace lily on my window bench before heading down the hallway.

Our castle is opulent yet sophisticated and contemporary. I genuinely love the peacock-green walls, the gold trim, the myriad of photos on the walls—memories of the Queen presenting awards, snapshots from my trips, simple portraits. Despite the grandeur of it all, it’s home.

The common room is large and well-lit thanks to the floor to ceiling windows. Lots of comfortable seating scatters the floor for when guests are over. A large Morisot painting hangs on the wall opposite the windows—brushstrokes full of energy and splashes of rich greens and blues. But it’s the simplicity I love about it. It’s why I bought it. 

“Good morning, Your Majesties,” Gemma states as she enters the room, fifteen staff people following behind her. Everyone does their obligatory bows and curtsies, something I never particularly liked. But I understand the purpose behind it. 

The staff stand in a straight line facing us, Gemma being the stiffest of all—she commands the room, adores perfection, and keeps everything in order. She isn’t my personal favorite staff person, but I don’t know what we’d do without her. 

They’re all wearing their boring uniforms—half are in drab grey frocks with white aprons and the other half are in drab grey suits. I’d rather they wear whatever they want.

Formal introductions like these aren’t to my taste. I like getting to know the staff on our own terms. Organically. But this is important to Gemma. It’s a sort of initiation, a welcome into the family. So I let her do what she needs to do, but I’m busy reminding myself of my to-do list.

Email Princess Everly about the upcoming benefitReschedule interview with Philanthropy DailyOutline Climate Week keynote speech

“As you know,” Gemma startles me out of my thoughts. “We’ve welcomed a new person to our team. I want everyone to give her a warm welcome.” Walking to the end of the line, she introduces her, “This is Mira.” 

Mira smiles softly with a curtsy that I’m assuming she learned to do in the kitchen moments earlier. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Ma’am,” she says, tilting her head toward Mother. “And you too, Sir.”

“Nice to—oh.” My mouth hangs open. What am I supposed to say again? Oh right, “Um…it’s nice to meet you too,” I finally murmur. That was embarrassing. 

Everything flashes across the movie screen in my mind—memories with her. The girl I fell in love with when I was a stupid teenager. The girl who stole my first kiss. The girl that was so sweet to me and treated me like any other kid because that’s all I was—a kid.

But she wasn’t just a girl to me. She was the first—only—person I was in love with. The girl I snuck out of the castle at night to go stargazing with. The girl I told all my secrets to. The girl I never thought I’d see again. How could I have forgotten her? 

Do you remember me?

Perhaps that’s all I was to her, though—a boy. Another insignificant teenage romance. Then again…how could she forget? We’d talk for hours about spending our lives together. She’d even picked out her favorite room in the castle that we’d move into together when the time came. It’s now the music room, complete with a piano among other instruments. 

We’d sit under her favorite willow tree in the garden eating red bean buns she’d brought back from the next town over when she’d visit her cousins. 

Have you forgotten? To be fair, It has been six…seven years. Wow. 

The room soon clears, except for Mira and myself. She paces around and smooths her skirt.

“Oh!” Mira gasps. “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone had left,” she says with an awkward curtsy. Simply shaking my head, I stay put. “...Is there anything I can do for you, Sir?”

“Nope…uh, no,” I start, fiddling with the edge of one of the couches before finally speaking up again. “Where are you from?” I’m testing the waters. Trying to see if she remembers me without coming straight out and asking. Honestly, I do this with all our staff: ask where they’re from, get to know them a bit. I don’t like having robots I know nothing about doing everything for me. 

“I’m originally from the next town over.”

Hm. Am I wrong? Maybe she simply looks a lot like my Mira. And has the same name. And the same gorgeous brown eyes. Perhaps I shouldn’t refer to her as my Mira anymore. 

“I’ve lived here since I was a kid though,” she adds. Ah, okay. That seems like something I should’ve known. Nodding, I open my mouth to say something else, but Mother calls me from a distance.

“Yep.” I stand up straight as a pin, turning to exit the room. “Be right there.” 

-

Rummaging through my drawers, I finally find it. The necklace I’d bought Mira all those years ago—a delicate circle pendant with an “M” stamped in the middle hanging from a delicate gold chain. She wore it everyday for six months. I can’t remember how I ended up with it, though. 

So, she’s real. At least that’s true. What should I do with it? I pace up and down the hallways clutching it, brainstorming about what to do with it. Perhaps I should simply walk up to her and ask her about it. Should I wrap it for her and give it to her as a present? Should I give it to Gemma to return to her?

“Oh, Gemma, I’m sorry,” I say, apologizing for almost bumping into her. 

“Not a problem, sir.” She curtsies and begins to walk away, but—

“Gemma?” She turns, holding her hands behind her back, awaiting my instruction. “Can you tell me where the new hire stays? I want to make sure I’ve got everyone’s rooms in order in my head.”

“Mira?” I nod. “She lives in room number six, sir.”

“Thank you.” I smile, but she simply waits. Ah— “Dismissed.” 

As I nonchalantly make my way to the staff wing, I keep an eye out for anyone who might be watching. Not that anyone would question me, but I don’t like people in my business. I eventually find her room in the same hallway as everyone else’s—a basic wooden door painted white with a brass “6” nailed to it—I hesitate before knocking softly. No response. I try again, slightly louder. Still nothing. On the third attempt, I test the door handle and find it unlocked. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’m just gonna get in, put the necklace somewhere, then get out. I won’t bother any of her stuff. 

But her room is so sweet. Plain and organized since she just moved in. A single photograph of her and her parents with who I’m assuming is her grandmother rests on the dresser. The bed’s made neatly. There’s a glass of water sitting on the bedside table. 

Ah, the bedside table drawer. That should be a good spot, but I find things that are way too personal in there and decide against it, respecting her privacy despite the fact that I’m breaking and entering. 

Hm…where to put it? Sock drawer? The windowsill catches my eye—a perfect blend of visibility and subtlety. I approach it, careful not to disturb anything, and hang the necklace on the window latch. It’s hiding in plain sight but still easy to find and doesn’t show that I rummaged through her drawers, which is a plus.

Now, we wait. 

-

A week passes. Radio silence. I haven’t gone back to her room to see if it's still hanging on her window, but I haven’t seen it around her neck either. Perhaps she threw it away and I should give up. 

Trudging through my bedroom door, I loosen my tie and toss my phone and wallet onto my bed. I attempt to rub the tiredness out of my eyes, but I’m exhausted. Thankfully, my dinner is already waiting for me on my dresser under a cloche. 

Next to my plate is a glass of ice water dripping in condensation along with a napkin and a set of cutlery. And resting right next to my fork is Mira’s necklace. The sight of it sends a jolt through my system. I knew she came into my room somewhat regularly—all the staff do—but thinking about her in my room makes me tingle. 

I sink onto the edge of my bed with a sigh as the chain slips through my fingers. When I first gave it to her seven years ago, her eyes lit up and her smile made everything feel right. I knew we were supposed to be together. That all seems so distant now.

Why didn’t she simply get rid of it? 

Maybe she hasn’t given up entirely and neither should I. 

It goes back and forth between us for a few weeks. After I found it on my dresser, I slipped it into her apron pocket. Then I found it between the pages of my notebook. The day after I wrapped it around the sugar bowl’s lid handle, it appeared wrapped around the handlebar of my bike. 

We never spoke a word of it. 

Every time I found it, it made me smile, but I knew this couldn't continue forever. I need to see her, to talk to her, to find out what was really going on. Does she want to talk to me? Does she hate me? Does she even remember me?

The next morning, I slip a note under her door. 

Meet me under the willow tree at 8. - Y

Every minute of the day feels like an eternity as I wait for evening to arrive. Doubt gnaws at me, but the thought of seeing and speaking to Mira keeps me sane. 

The evening air is cool and crisp. The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of deep blue. Waiting under the willow tree, I think about the many times Mira and I have sat under here and talked for hours, watching the stars as the branches swayed in the wind. We’d talk about our days, places we wanted to visit together, how I wanted to tell everyone about us but she was too hesitant. 

Minutes start to feel like hours as I wait, the silence around me amplifying my racing thoughts. What if she never comes? What if she didn’t get the note? What if she’s avoiding me? Does she hate me?

Finally, soft footsteps approach and I turn to see Mira, her silhouette framed by the dim garden lights. She walks slowly, like she’s dragging it out as long as possible. As she comes up to me, her eyes search mine. My heart races, there’s a lump in my throat. 

"Mira," I start, my voice barely above a whisper. She curtsies. “You don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my job, Sir,” she says flatly. Rocking back on my heels, I press my lips together. 

"I thought I’d return this straight to you,” I say, holding up the necklace. “It seems like it keeps getting lost.” I chuckle nervously, trying to break the tension.

“Thanks,” she replies flatly as she accepts the necklace. Oh my god, she’s gorgeous. I thought I’d memorized every detail about her, but seeing her now under the lamppost, it’s like I’m rediscovering her all over again. She’s beautifully chubby and always has been. Her long, dark brunette hair has a tint of red that makes it look like cinnamon. The wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants paired with an old pair of flip flops tells me she either forgot about our meeting and got dressed in a hurry or wants to get this over with. Or perhaps both. 

“What can I help you with, Sir?” Awkward silence. 

“Mira,” I whisper, her name a fragile plea on my lips. She stares at the ground, avoiding my eyes. What was she expecting? For me to never bring us up? Of course I’d talk to her about it. “Mira Ashenrose, right?” She hums quietly. “I realized I never asked your last name since you started working here.” 

The silence between us is thick with tension. Memories flood my mind and I hope the same is happening to her. The last time we were here, we laid with each other for hours, so long that the sun started rising. She fit so perfectly in my arms. 

“I can’t forget you, Mira,” I say, stepping closer. “Why are you avoiding…us?” The space between us is charged as electricity swirls around us. “Remember us? All those nights we went stargazing? Our picnics? Those daisy chains you made me? You can’t tell me you don’t—”

“Of course I remember,” she interrupts, tears glistening in her eyes. My heart aches at the sight. “I remember everything, Yeonjun.” She wipes a tear from her cheek. “I remember falling asleep under this willow tree with you. I remember dancing with you. I remember kissing you before sneaking back into my house. I remember everything, okay?” Her voice trembles. “But that doesn’t mean I want to.” 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?”

She looks utterly heartbroken. “Don’t do this to me, Yeonjun. Stop being cruel.”

Her words punch me in the gut and everything comes rushing back. The reason we ended. I’d asked her to our annual ball—our first public appearance together. The Queen would find out. My royal friends would find out. The whole country would find out. She was a wreck for weeks leading up to it, but I reassured her every chance I got that it would be okay. 

She was—and still is—smart, incredibly beautiful, but most of all, I loved her. Why should anyone care if she wasn’t a royal as long as I was in love with her? That should’ve been enough. 

"Yeonjun, darling," my mother's voice sliced through the delicate hum of the ballroom. "I'd like you to meet Princess Penelope. She's your esteemed companion for the evening." Always so professional. 

“Nice to meet you,” I said, offering a strained greeting to Penelope before turning to face my mother.  "May I have a word with you in private?"

Graciously excusing herself, she left me to confront my mother amidst the grandeur of the ballroom. "Why would you do this? I told you I didn’t want to be set up.”

"I understand, Yeonjun," my mother replied with a tight-lipped smile. "But it's time you started considering your future—"

"My future?" I scoffed. "I'm eighteen."

"Exactly," she countered, her tone firm. "You need to think about a suitable partner. Someone who embodies the qualities of a Queen—dignity, wisdom, influence. And most importantly: royal,” she pointed a finger at me. “I won’t be around forever, darling.”

“Do they really need to be royal?”

My mother's smile widened, a hint of mischief glinting in her eyes. "Of course. Why do you ask?"

I swallowed what I really needed to say. There’s no way I’d win an argument anyway. With a resigned nod, I returned to Princess Penelope, the weight of my mother's expectations—and I suppose my entire country’s—heavy on my shoulders. So heavy I’d forgotten—

“Mira,” I said under my breath. There she was, staring at me in disbelief as I danced with Princess Penelope. Ignoring the questioning from Penelope, I abandoned her mid-step and made a beeline for Mira, my heart pounding with a mixture of dread and urgency. "Mira, wait!" I called out, desperation lacing my voice as I chased after her out of the ballroom and into the moonlit courtyard.

"Why, Yeonjun?" Mira's voice cracked as she finally turned to face me, tears staining her cheeks. "Why would you do this?"

"I had no choice," I confessed, my mother’s expectations running circles in my mind. “My mother made me.” 

"You could've told me," Mira interjected, her voice trembling.

"When?" I demanded, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I only found out thirty minutes ago—"

"You could've texted me.”

"I can't risk—"

"What, people finding out about us?" Mira's voice rose with each word, her anguish palpable in the cool night air. “Are you ever going to tell The Queen about us?” Squeezing the bridge of my nose, my eyes twist shut. “Well?” 

Looking at her—possibly for the last time—she looked absolutely beautiful. Her gown was perfect. Soft lavender satin that caught the light as it cascaded down the skirt, a glimmer of fuschia reflecting in the light. I wanted nothing but to hug her, to feel the satin on my fingertips. The sweetheart neckline was gorgeous on her, accentuating her frame perfectly. The M necklace rested around her neck. Her hair was absolutely perfect—she’d been trying out styles for weeks and the final choice was supposed to be a surprise.

“Answer me, Yeonjun.”

I couldn’t do that anymore. Mother meant what she said to me earlier that night: they must be royal. “Just go home,” I said, turning to leave her there alone. Breaking her heart was the best thing to do in the moment. If I could never truly be with her, breaking it off right then and there was the easiest thing for both of us. 

“What? Why—”

“What do you expect, Mira? You’re not royalty. You’re nothing,” I said. “Now go home.”

Too stunned to speak, I stare at her in disbelief. How could I have been so evil to her? What was I thinking? Why did I forget that? Must’ve blocked it from my memory. And now that I’m older, I’d never let some stupid outdated rule like that stand in our way. 

“I’m so—”

“Save it,” she says flatly. “I should’ve thrown away the necklace the first time I found it.” Straightening her posture, she wipes the final tear rolling down her cheek, shaking her head to rid of the emotions. “Let’s pretend this whole thing never happened, yeah?” 

Fine. If someone did that to me, if someone told me I was nothing after telling them they were in love with me for six months, I’d probably feel the same way, if I’m honest. 

As I accept my fate, I turn to walk away, but halt in my footsteps. “No,” I start. “I don’t want to forget this—that we ever happened.” She stays standing there, arms crossed, trying to control her breathing. But I hover over her, waiting for a response. “Please. I miss—”

“Don’t.” She snaps, shaking her head. “Don’t even think about starting that bullshit with me…Sir.”

“I told you, Mother set me up with her.”

“I don’t care about that. You told me I was nothing.” Speechless again, I can’t move. “You never even tried to contact me again and you expect me to give you a second chance?”

“That was seven years ago.”

“So?”

“I’m…we’re both so different. I used to be a stupid teenager. I would never— Please—”

“Please, what? What do you want from me?”

“I don’t—” Honestly, I thought maybe we could pick up where we left off, but I don’t know if that’s possible at this point. I hadn’t felt lonely until she showed up, drowning in my endless to do lists, barely ever hanging out with anyone that wasn’t on my staff or another royal. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe think about that first.”

cw. eating food. 

MIRA'S POV

On my days off, I hide away in a gazebo in a quiet part of the garden and sketch. It’s a nice place to escape to, away from everyone while staying close to home. Home. It’s still hard to believe this castle is my home, even if I am just a servant. 

The gazebo sits against a stone wall on one side—one of those that looks so old you wonder how it's still standing, withered with moss growing between the stones, vines going up and around it. The bench theoretically offers lots of seating, but most of it is covered in pots, plants, and gardening supplies. It’s more storage than an intended place to rest. 

My spot was bare when I found it and it gives me a full view of the grounds. To the right, our village is on full display—colorful, quaint, and inviting. To the left, a thick forest stands tall, leaves rustling with the wind.

Someone’s foot crunches the gravel as they walk toward me and my little corner, but I don’t react. As long as I stay relatively still and quiet, no one bothers me. I continue my sketch of those cute squirrels running around together under the willow tree I’ve always loved. Although it’s left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth recently. 

But the presence of a person looms behind me. Can’t I have one quiet day to myself? Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. They’ll leave eventually. Maybe. Hopefully. 

“...Mira?” A familiar voice says, slow and undeniably warm. 

“Oh.” I stand up straight, giving my obligatory curtsy Gemma has ingrained in me since day one. 

“I told you not to do that,” Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun—says. He’s dressed casually today, cute even. But don’t you dare tell anyone I said that. A simple maroon cashmere sweater that fits perfectly with his dark wash jeans that barely gather at his ankles, exposing his black vans. A short necklace of black beads sits around his neck. One of those outfits you’d see him wearing in a magazine with a caption like, ‘Royals – they’re just like us!’ 

“And I told you, it’s my job,” I say, returning to my seat, continuing my drawing. 

“Not right now though,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back. “It’s your day off, right?”

“You have my schedule memorized?” 

“No,” he chuckles, running his fingers through his shiny, black hair that I can practically feel on my fingertips. “Why else would you be hiding in my corner?”

“I figured you followed me—your corner?” 

“I wasn’t following you,” he says, walking closer before rocking back on his heels as he stops. “I read here sometimes.” He holds up a book. “You thought this spot just happened to be clear on its own?” I hum, scooting over and patting the bench next me. “You’re really okay with me here? I don’t want to bother you,” he says, as genuine as one can sound. But I’m still surprised. Sure, he’s not the demanding type, but I don’t know if I’d act the same if I were royalty. 

“To be fair, I was here first,” I say smugly. Although, he is still my boss. It doesn’t matter that we know each other from that past. I add a quick, “...Sir.” for good measure. “Go ahead and sit.”

“Don’t you hate me?” He asks and I chuckle, but when I look up, I see he’s serious. 

“No, I don’t hate you,” I say. “I’ve moved on, Yeonjun.”

Shrugging, he sits near me, opening his book. I tried to get a peek at the title, but I never got the chance without being too obvious. As he sits next to me, I must admit his presence adds a peaceful comfort to what would typically be a relatively silent, if not boring, morning. There’s even a sort of completeness. Birds seem to be chirping more harmoniously. The clouds have disappeared. Oh, what am I saying? That’s ridiculous. That’s a coincidence, Mira. 

“You still draw?” He perks up, pulling me from my thoughts. 

“Of course,” I answer immediately. 

“What are you working on?” Straightening on the bench, I riffle through some papers quickly, trying to hide any potentially embarrassing sketches I don’t want him to see. 

“Just sketches.”

He nods, curiosity etched on his face. “Can I see?” 

“Uh,” I clear my throat. “Sure,” I say, sitting one of my feet on the ground, turning toward him. Our knees brush each other for a moment, but I quickly move it out of his way. Smiling, he examines my drawing of my favorite willow tree I finished yesterday before bed. My cheeks flush as I remember why it was on my mind while drawing, but I hope he doesn’t draw that conclusion. 

“Ah, you’ve gotten so much better.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I chuckle. 

“I just mean,” he looks at me, eyebrows raised in defense. “I can tell you’ve been working on it, I dunno. How else would I say that?”

“That’s fine,” I say. Awkwardness fills the air as I shift my weight around. 

“I’ve been doing pottery, you know.”

I do know. But I’m not supposed to be listening in on their conversations at dinner. I can’t help I’m nosy. I simply ask, “Really?” Humming, he pulls out his phone. 

“This one just came out of the kiln.” He hands me his phone—I wonder what world secrets are on Prince Yeonjun’s phone—to show me a beautifully hand thrown vase. The body is smooth and cylindrical with a slightly tapered neck that gracefully flares out at the top. White glaze covers the surface, contrasting with the thick organic strokes of black glaze. Small, oval handles are attached on both sides. “I just learned how to do handles.” 

“Oh my gosh, Yeonjun…” My breath is taken away. I had no idea he was such an incredible artist. It looks like it was plucked straight out of a museum. “It’s gorgeous.” He always was one to do things perfectly—an all-or-nothing kinda guy. 

“Thanks,” he smiles, pressing his lips together. 

“Show off,” I say, lightly nudging his arm with my elbow.  

An hour or so passes and I’ve switched sitting positions several times, eventually landing on a classic leaned-back-against-the-wall position with my feet up on the bench so I can use my knees and thighs as a desk. He’s barely moved an inch though, sitting happily with his back pressed against the wall, one leg crossed over the other, reading. 

I barely notice my toes absent-mindedly tucking themselves under his thigh like I used to do when we were—

“Oh!” A servant that I haven’t learned the name of yet stumbles in on us, carrying a tray full of food. “I’m sorry—”

“No, it’s okay,” Yeonjun says, but I’m doing everything I can to hide my face. This can’t get back to the other servants. They’re all such gossips, which I guiltily love, but that doesn’t mean I want them gossiping about me. “Come on over, Natalie.”

“I swear I didn’t tell her about your spot, Sir,” Natalie says nervously.

“I know you didn’t. It’s okay,” he offers a gentle smile, reaching out for the tray, dismissing her after she curtsies, scurrying off quickly. “Don’t worry,” Yeonjun says to me. “She keeps all my secrets—she’s the only one that knows I come out here. She won’t say anything about,” he trails off, gesturing his hand between us.

“There’s nothing to tell.” 

“Alright,” he sighs. “You hungry?”

“No.” My stomach growls at the worst possible moment. 

“I kinda feel like you are.” I ignore him, focusing on my drawing. “I asked her to bring another meal. You can have it if you want.” 

Peeking over my sketchbook, the tray is fully decked out in sandwiches that look absolutely delicious; sides of mac and cheese and fruits, complete with two glasses of water and a little flower.

“I suppose I’m pretty hungry.” My stomach growls again at the sight of it. “Oh, ignore that; she’s been fussy all day.” I scooch closer to him hesitantly accepting the offer. 

“Mira,” Yeonjun starts. I hum, reaching for a pineapple slice. “Why are all the staff afraid of me?”

“Huh?” I look up at him.

“You saw how nervous Natalie was just thinking I might be mad at her.”

“I think you forget you’re a literal prince,” I say matter-of-factly.

“Are you scared of me?”

Hm. That’s an interesting question. No, of course I’m not scared of you. Why would I be? But perhaps the real answer is Yes, but in the way that everyone makes fun of when people say it out loud. Honestly, I am afraid. Afraid of falling for him again. Getting my heart broken again. We’ve barely talked since I started working here, but I know how convincing he can be. If I’m not careful, he’ll have me wrapped around his finger by next week. 

And let’s not forget he told me I was nothing. That kind of thing doesn’t simply go away. 

I wonder if he’s ever said something like that to one of the servants. Does he think all non-royalty are nothing? No, he wouldn’t be like that anymore. But how would I really know?

Shrugging, I finally say, “No.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

I roll my eyes, “I don’t know, Jjun—” I catch myself as that dumb nickname comes out of my stupid fucking mouth. What’s wrong with me? He looks at me with wide eyes. “Uh, Yeonjun…Sir.” Let’s just pretend like nothing happened. “You said some hurtful stuff to me. Have you said anything like that to one of them?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You could ask a servant if they’re scared of you.”

“I just did,” he points out. Right. I’m…a servant. I keep forgetting that bit when we’re alone. When we’re alone, it's like we’re friends. It’s casual and comfortable. See? What did I tell you? A few hours of silence followed by a few minutes of talking and I’m right back to where I was seven years ago. Stop being so pathetic. 

“Ah.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” I chuckle. “You’re right. But maybe ask a servant that seems like they’re scared of you. They’re probably scared of Gemma more than anything.”

As we wrap up our lunch, his phone buzzes—a calendar reminder probably. 

"I have to get going," he announces, moving efficiently to gather the remnants of our meal onto the tray. But as he stands to leave, an inexplicable urge pulls at me, begging him to stay. Please don’t do this, Mira. Don’t be stupid. 

With a gentle smile, he suggests, "I'll talk to you later?" It's then that I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence for the past who knows how long. "Oh, you have a leaf in your hair." I attempt to remove it myself, but without a mirror, it’s proving to be difficult. "Here," he offers, leaning down. My mind screams at me to resist, but his closeness sends a rush of warmth through my body. With gentle precision, he plucks the leaf away, discarding it casually.

Yet, instead of stepping away, he stays close. I pretend not to notice the magnetic pull between us. Stop it. Admit it. You want him to stay. Straightening my posture, we’re almost leaning into each other, like we’re about to—no. Our gazes dart between each other's lips, ghosts of his touch haunting my senses. Does he still taste the same?

The cool breeze snaps me back to reality. What were you thinking? "Thanks," I mumble, retreating to reestablish a distinct boundary.

"No worries," he replies. The fading sound of his footsteps on gravel leaves me facepalming.

How can I be this close to him without seeing him? Without falling for him again? There’s only one thing to do. 

Avoid him at all costs.

cw. sexual tension, suggestive.  

MIRA'S POV

“Didn’t you finish Mother’s painting in two weeks?” Prince Yeonjun asks, leaning against the doorframe to the sunroom. It’s become my makeshift painting studio. Once the Queen found out I sometimes do art, she thought it’d be a good idea to commission me for new portraits to replace the old ones in the Great Hall. I like painting and I need the money so I of course said yes. 

“Mm-hmm,” I nod, finishing up the final touches on the pattern of his royal cloak. “I’ve been busier recently,” I lie. In the painting, he sits with an arm resting atop a piano against a backdrop of rich velvet curtains like the ones in the living room. The intricate details of his uniform are perfect if I do say so myself. His face, though, is a grey blob with a basic sketch. I work off photographs for the most part, but for faces, I like them sitting right in front of me to get every detail.

But him sitting a foot away from me while I carefully analyze every detail of his face for hours does not sound like a good idea right now. Even if it does sound appealing. 

“You almost ready for me?” 

I should get it over with, but my hands are tired and I have a lot of tasks for my actual job to do before the end of the day.

“Tomorrow,” I say, walking my paintbrushes to the sink. “Does that work for you?” He’s quiet, so I look over my shoulder to make sure he heard me. Pushing himself off the doorframe, he shoves his hands in his pockets. 

“Y-yeah,” he says. “That should work.”

“Okay.” I wipe my paintbrushes with a towel. “Meet here after lunch?” Smiling gently, he nods. “Well, I’ve gotta get back to my real job. See you tomorrow,” I say with a curtsy. 

Tomorrow comes way too fast. I brush my teeth, floss, use mouthwash, and chew some gum to get rid of any trace of my lunch. Dragging my feet down the hallway, I can’t get there slow enough. 

“Ah, Mira,” he says with a smile that warms me from the inside out. I respond with a simple hello, but I’m already burning up as I gather my brushes and paints while he watches me in silence. I realize I’d forgotten to curtsy, but I decide to omit it this time considering he hates it so much. 

“The Queen sat on this stool when I painted her,” I say, moving the stool into place. “You might need to adjust the height.” While he does that, I mix a base for his skin. Starting by mixing the primary colors to get a deep brown, I add a good amount of white to lighten it up then a good amount of yellow and a touch of red for warmth. “Sit still,” I giggle, holding my palette knife next to his cheek. His shoulders rise and fall with his breathing while I add more brown to darken it a bit. Clasping my hands together, I say, “Alright, I’ll be painting for at least two hours, so do anything else you need to do.” 

“I’m good.” 

Shrugging, I adjust my easel so he’s in my sightline but not too close.

Two minutes into painting, he asks, “So how’s your day been?”

“Good. You?” 

“Good,” he responds. I truly don’t mind silence between us two, but I must admit this silence is deafening. “Do you work in silence or can you talk?”

I giggle and say, “I can talk. Or you can play music if you want.” 

“How about both?” I nod. “Alexa, play classical music to focus,” he pauses, waiting for it to respond and start playing. “Tell me what you’re working on.”

“Well,” I start, swishing my brush into some clean water. “I’d already had a basic sketch of your face, but I made some skin tones first. A base, a highlight, and a shadow,” I say, showing him my palette. “Then I’ll go in and fine tune everything.” 

Time passes by—I’ve honestly always liked simply existing near him. We used to do this all the time back when we were dating. Sit near each other and just be. Quietly. Like the other day in the garden when I was drawing and he was reading. It’s peaceful. I can focus. 

It smells like that day in here—soil and paint. Whoever keeps up with these plants is great at their job. They’re gorgeous even in the winter.

“Now I’m working on your eyes,” I say matter-of-factly. Part of me starts with his eyes to get it over with and avoid them as soon as I can, but the other part counts myself lucky that I have reason to stare at them for the next thirty minutes or so. I mix a deep, cool brown and dip my pinkie into it to hold it up next to his eye. “I’m, um,” I glance down. “I’m gonna touch your face.” My pinkie rests on the apple of his cheek so I can get as close as I can to his eye without touching it. “Open your eyes.” 

Damn. Those eyes are like mirrors reflecting my deepest emotions. The world around us fades. I almost drop my palette. Glimpses of our history, our laughter, tears, and dreams we’ve shared together swirl around in them. They take my breath away. 

Realizing we’re staring at each other, I snap out of it, jerking my hand away from him and dive into painting them instead of gazing into them. 

“First try?” I hum in question. “You got the color of my eyes right on the first try?” My ears warm up.

“Well, you know…” I say, my head hanging low. “They’re the same as the Queen’s.” Lie. The Queen’s are much warmer. Hues of deep mahogany and amber; they’re vibrant with hints of gold and copper that catch the light. They glow in the sun. His, on the other hand, are intensely dark. Deep and rich like shadowy moonlight. You could get lost in them like a maze at night. They’re like reading a book by candlelight. They’re gorgeous. 

“Why do I need to be here again?” He asks and I look jokingly offended. “I mean, you worked off photos up until now.”

“So I can get the details of your face I might otherwise miss,” I say, closely examining his face. “Like this freckle,” I say, poking the freckle on his right cheek with the end of my paintbrush that I would never miss in a million years. It’s one of my favorites. “Or this little birthmark.” He’s got the slightest purple splotch on his cheek that again, I’d never miss. 

“You’re painting those?”

“Of course,” I say. “They’re part of you.” Out of the corner of my eye, I catch him grazing his fingertips over his cheek, smiling to himself. “Move closer.” Examining his features even closer, I’m a few inches from his face. I, again, realize I’m staring at his face and my heartbeat quickens. I snap back and say, “Um…sorry.”

“You’re okay.”

But this keeps happening. I keep getting close to him, our hearts beating together as our breath gets sharp. And fuck, I miss him. I can’t help but think about if I were doing this for fun, not as a staff person. I used to draw him all the time. 

And now, here he is, grown up, mature, tall, and utterly handsome as I’m forced to paint a larger-than-life portrait of the guy I used to love and thought I’d spend the rest of my life with. I was such a stupid eighteen-year-old. 

He doesn’t stop staring at me. Not when I add details to his nose. Not when I clean my brush. Not when I observe my painting from a distance. I catch his glare. 

“Can you stop staring at me like that?” I ask, a smile teasing my lips. 

“Like what?”

“Like…” I cock my head to the side. 

“Like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen?” Ah, fuck you. The warmth that rushes through my body is overwhelming and I swear my knees are ready to buckle. My hands tremble as I fight the urge to drop everything. “I don’t think I can stop that, Mira,” he adds softly. 

“You can’t say shit like that to me, Yeonjun,” I manage to say, my smile stubbornly betraying my attempt to stay cool. I keep my eyes on the brush, pretending I’m not seconds away from screaming. 

“Why not?” he murmurs, leaning in closer, his breath warm against my ear.

“Because…” I finally look over at him, incredibly close to me, eyes flitting all over my face, indiscreetly hovering on my lips. Admittedly, my eyes do the same: land on his lips and suddenly the only thing I’m thinking about is kissing him. “Because…” I repeat, trying to get me to do literally anything but kiss him in this moment, but we both know that’s the only thing either of us want. Each other. To be together. 

I try to remember what his lips feel like. Strong and passionate. At least they used to be. 

How have they changed now that he’s older and has most likely gone through a few serious partners and several hook-ups? Are they softer and more loving now that he’s not a dumb ego-ridden eighteen-year-old? Are they even stronger now that he’s found himself and has solidified his position as a Prince? I wonder. No. Don’t do this. Oh, but why not? 

In one ear, the wise and cautious version of me begs me to refrain from kissing him. Don’t do this, Mira. Remember how heartbroken you were. Mixing romance with your boss is a terrible idea. 

The more rebellious, lust-ridden version of me counters, Look how much hotter he’s gotten. Just make out with him. The Queen is your boss, not him. You could always make out with him, maybe even fuck him, and pretend like nothing happened. 

Wise Mira gasps, That’s mean! 

Right, Lustful Mira says. But he was mean to her. 

Listen to me, Wise Mira chirps up. Don’t kiss him at all. 

Lustful Mira chimes in again, But Mira…look how absolutely delicious his lips look. You want him. He clearly wants you. Don’t you wanna—

“Because I said so.”

He chuckles, “Fair enough.” 

cw. brief mentions of alcohol, cunnilingus, fingering, mira briefly feels self conscious about her body and pubic hair, mira lies to a stranger, begging, yj sneaks into a room she's in, sir kink. 

MIRA'S POV

"What are you wearing friday?" Hyomin casually asks, a knowing smirk on her lips as she effortlessly dusts the coffee table while I clean the windows—the newbie’s job. 

"Aren't we supposed to wear our uniforms?"

"Oh no, darling! The quarterly dinners are the sacred day we break free from the uniform chains—as long as it’s formal." Hyomin is one of few servants I genuinely like. Most of the others are constantly trying to play the game to move up the ladder—none of them really want to be friends. 

The ones that aren’t too busy playing the game are too on edge, following each rule to the letter. 

Yeonjun—Prince Yeonjun, I correct myself for the millionth time—unexpectedly knocks on the door. I, Hyomin, and Natalie perform our obligatory curtsies, even though I know he hates it. If we don’t though, Gemma fusses at us, which he also knows, so he plays along.

"Excuse me," he says, clearing his throat. "Could I trouble someone for a refill on my coffee?"

Natalie, always willing to volunteer, seizes the opportunity and responds quickly. "Certainly, Sir." She breezes by the coffee table to scoop up the metal coffee pot resting on it, returning to the Prince to pour him a fresh mug. 

Our eyes catch each other, a small yet obnoxiously noticeable smile appears on both our faces. Hyomin nudges my arm and mumbles, "And you've gotta wear something extra special for him, right?" What? My eyes widen, shock and annoyance evident in my expression. Shooting a piercing glare at her, I’m rendered momentarily speechless. Hyomin persists, her voice low, "Oh, don't act all innocent. I've seen how you two look at each other.”

I scoff and roll my eyes. "I don't know what you're talking about."

A mischievous smile plays on her lips, "It's adorable, really. The blushing, the hair-tucking when he says hello, the clumsy encounters,” she says, tilting her head toward him. “Look how red his ears are.” I must admit, they are pretty pink. “We all talk about it, you know.”

“Did Natalie say something?”

“No,” she says confused, but her look soon turns suspicious. “Why would she?” Damn it. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut? I avoid eye contact, hoping she’ll give up, but I doubt she ever will. “Mira, why would Natalie say something?”

“No idea.” 

She hums knowingly. "Yeah, right. You two are so obviously dating, it’s ridiculous,” she says, folding the decorative blanket that hangs on the back of the couch while he leaves the room. “We're all waiting for the announcement."

“We are not dating.”

Persistent as ever, Hyomin challenges again, "Look me in the eye right now and swear you haven’t at least kissed him."

I stand tall, smoothing the skirt of my uniform, then take a deep breath and lock eyes with her. “I swear I haven’t kissed him.”

Hyomin narrows her gaze, searching for any crack in my expression. My stomach churns, and before I can stop it, the words spill out in an unfiltered confession.

“…in seven years.”

Damn it. How did she get that out of me?

“What?”

“Shh—!”

“But wh-what do you mean?” She giggles, eager to hear what I’m assuming is the best gossip in years. Although, with royals, there has to have been something juicier than a teenage romance, right?

Motioning for secrecy, I say, “Promise you won’t say anything to the other servants. Please.” Hyomin nods, an expression that practically screams, Spill it. “We knew each other when we were teenagers. We dated then, okay? We broke up seven years ago. I’ve barely spoken to him since.” 

“Oh. My. God. Oh my god, ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!”

“Calm down.” I hold my hands up. “It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal? It’s a huge deal,” she exclaims. “Y’all are totally still into each other.” 

“I mean, he’s cute,” I say. “But that ship has sailed.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.” I nod. “We’re just too different.”

“I dunno, I think—”

“Nope.”

“I just mean—”

“Drop it, Hyomin. It will never happen.” My words carry a finality to the discussion.

“Fine,” she concedes, folding her dust rag to place on the table. “The question still stands—what are you wearing Friday?”

Shrugging, I shake my head, “I don’t have anything formal.”

“A perfect excuse for a shopping trip—let’s go into town tomorrow,” she suggests. “I’ll get someone to cover for us for the lunch service.” 

-

“Ah, look at you!” Hyomin cheers. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

“I can’t remember the last time I got this dressed up.” Actually, I do. That night. The night he broke my heart. But I’m not thinking about that right now. In fact, I won’t be thinking about Yeonjun at all tonight. 

Walking down the stairs into the royal hall, the silk of my dress rustles gently as it shimmers in the light. It’s a gorgeous deep viridian that cascades to the floor, creating an ethereal effect with every move I make. The bodice is fitted perfectly, with boning that snatches my waist and makes my tits look amazing. The off-the-shoulder straps elegantly drape across my arms. To complete the look, I’m wearing gold dangle earrings and my hair is styled in loose waves that cascade down one of my shoulders. Around my neck is a delicate circle pendant with a moon stamped into it. 

It’s simply beautiful in here. I’d helped set it up this morning, but seeing the guests dressed up, hearing the musicians playing, the grandeur of it all—it takes my breath away. The air is filled with the soft murmur of conversation with an occasional loud laugh. 

One couple glides along the dancefloor in each other’s arms, both of their dresses flowing gracefully across the dancefloor. A group of young people wearing crowns and tiaras clink their glasses near the champagne tower. Someone else checks their jacket at the front door. 

Deep emerald velvet curtains drape along the walls, adding even more drama. Every detail of the Hall has been meticulously curated to evoke a sense of luxury. 

“Excuse me,” someone says as they brush my shoulder. “Oh.” It’s Yeon—Prince Yeonjun. “Hello.” I nod to him before my obligatory curtsy. Not even trying to hide the fact that he looks me up and down, he makes my cheeks burn. “You look…” He clears his throat. “Um, really pretty.” Well, there goes me not thinking about him at all tonight. How could I put him out of my mind when he looks like this? Positively sexy as hell in his prince uniform. So regal, rich, and powerful. 

“Thank you, Sir,” I say. I catch Hyomin out of the corner of my eye looking stiff as a board with her mouth hanging open. 

Extending his arm out, he asks me, “Care to dance?”

God, I’d fucking love to. How did he do this to me so quickly? We have one nice conversation, maybe a few glances in the hallway and suddenly he’s making my heart race like he did when we were dating. “I don’t think it would look very good for either of us if you were dancing with one of your servants.” Is that even true? I don’t know. 

He nods, pressing his lips together. “I’ll see you later then?”

“When?” I ask as he raises an eyebrow. I hope I didn’t sound too desperate. “I just mean, I don’t know why we would see each other.”

“Right,” he says. “Well, have a good evening.” He nods gently at me and then to Hyomin before walking away. 

Turning to Hyomin, she looks at me with a wide smile and knowing glare. She’s such a smug bitch. “Oh my god,” she gasps under her breath, drawing the edge of her wine glass to her lips. “Look at Prince Sipho over there.” Tilting her head to the side, she adds, “He may be even dreamier than Yeonjun.”

I scoff in my head, but I’d never tell anyone that. Instead, I murmur, “Where?”

“Right over there,” she smirks, tipping her head toward a literal tall, dark, and handsome man. Commanding the room with his height, he undeniably catches my gaze—not an eye contact that stops time in its tracks, but one where we can’t take our eyes off each other. 

Prince Sipho pushes his way through the crowd toward me, but I can’t help but wonder where Yeonjun is. Actually, why do I care at all? Shaking the thought out of my mind, I welcome this new prince’s hand reaching for my own as he delicately touches my knuckles with the poutiest part of his lips. I suppose he’s too much of a gentleman to fully press them to my skin. 

“May I have this dance?” He asks, looking up at me through his eye lashes. So formal. Quickly glancing at Hyomin, she gives me an eager nod. I guess the servants will have something to gossip about later. At least that’ll replace the conversations about me and Yeonjun. 

“Yes, you may,” I say, returning the formality. We do all the obligatory dancing things—hand on my waist, mine around his neck, holding each other’s free hands. Slowly stepping with the classy romantic music of the string quintet, he admittedly looks stunning in his formal wear—baby blue with gold trim. The baby blue brings out the radiant sapphire undertones of his deep brown skin, the gold showcasing the warmth of his amber irises. 

“So,” he starts, his voice deep and rumbling. “Who am I dancing with?” 

Without any hesitation, I lie, “Charlotte.”

“Well, Charlotte,” he says. “You’re on Prince Yeonjun’s staff?” I blink up at him with confusion etched on my face. How did he— “The rose?” He asks, tilting his head toward my chest where a delicate ivory rose is pinned to my dress to differentiate us from the guests in case someone needs something from us. 

“Ah,” I giggle. “Yes. Yes, I am.” Where is he anyway? No. I’m not dancing with Prince Sipho to make Yeonjun jealous—I’m dancing with him because he’s hot, seems sweet, and seems to think I’m hot too. Why would he be watching anyway? This is his party. He’s probably busy schmoozing with some high-stakes donors or some other royals. 

Prince Sipho’s hand glides down to the spot right above my ass—he’s really testing the boundaries, huh? I love it. But guilt twinges my heart. Half of me hopes he isn’t watching this and the other half hopes he is. I don’t know which is worse. 

A loud crash brings the room to a halt and I try to locate where the accident is, but Hyomin waves me over. “Damn it,” I murmur. “I’ve gotta go…clean that up. Excuse me.”

After rushing to clean up the broken glass, I return the broom to the closet that’s three times the size of my bedroom. I take my time putting it back—a break from the hustle and bustle of the party is very much needed right now. The click of the deadbolt jolts my heart. 

A million things run through my mind. A creep is in here with me. Hyomin locked it from the outside and forgot about me and now I’m locked in until someone remembers to come get me. How long am I gonna be in here? Is someone in here with me?

“Hello.”

“Oh,” I say, relieved. “Hello, Sir.” I curtsy, tilting my head toward Prince Yeonjun as he steps into the light. Why is he in here anyway? I’ve been trying so hard to avoid him since the garden when we almost—nevermind. But he’s weaseled his way into my life. Telling the Queen I paint so I’d paint those portraits of them—yeah, I saw right through that bullshit. Bumping into me earlier tonight. But there’s nowhere to run now. We’re utterly alone. 

That’s terrifying. 

He’s never looked at me like this. Dark pupils dilated with lust and desire. It makes my heart race and I stumble back, tripping over some old cardboard boxes, but I catch myself on the countertop. 

Walking toward me, he keeps his hands in his pockets, but manages to box me in, cornering me and standing tall over me, intimidating and somehow…safe. I know he’d never hurt me. Physically at least. But I also can’t wait to see what he does next. 

“So it’s okay for you to dance with Prince Sipho but not me?” His voice grumbles with the low hum of the music right outside the door. 

“I’m not one of his servants,” I say matter-of-factly. “Why do you care anyway?” I ask cheekily as he creeps closer and closer. So close I’m fully backed into this counter now, almost sitting on top of it. “What are you—” 

“Can I kiss you?”

“No,” I answer quickly. 

“Mira…” he sighs. “How can you expect me not to kiss you when you look like that?” That makes me feel things all throughout my body that I definitely shouldn’t be feeling for ex-boyfriends, especially an ex-boyfriend that’s also my boss. And the prince of my country. 

My mouth parts and I swear I tried my best not to lick my lips. “Don’t kiss my mouth,” I say. I told Hyomin I haven’t kissed him in seven years. At least that’ll still be true after whatever happens next. 

Reaching for my hand with his white-glove-clad one, he places a gentle yet devastatingly sensual kiss to the back of it, looking up at me through his eyelashes like Prince Sipho did moments ago. But he had nowhere near the effect Yeonjun has on me. I bet he can smell the nail polish from when Hyomin painted it on my nails a few hours ago. As his perfect pouty lips kiss my hand, I can’t help but wonder how those lips would feel in other places. 

“You look—” he stops for another kiss on my palm. “Absolutely—” then the pulse-point of my wrist. “Stunning.” Then inside my elbow. Making his way up higher, my breath hitches in the back of my throat. “As usual,” he adds. 

That fucker. 

He’s always been like this. Silky smooth then sugary sweet. It gives me whiplash. 

Eventually, his lips explore my collarbone. “You’re so warm.” I don’t know how I got up here, but I’m fully sitting on the counter now. His hands are all over me—brushing my upper arms, grazing the smooth satin of the dress that covers my thighs, digging into the folds of my hips. 

How did this happen? How did I go from dancing with one Prince—a perfectly nice and gentlemanly prince—to sharing this romantic…something with Prince Yeonjun? Something because it’s not a kiss, it’s not more than a kiss, but it’s certainly not less than a kiss. It’s…something. 

His palm brushes the side of my breast and he stops himself from pushing any further before he whispers in my ear, “Can I touch you?”

“I think you already are.”

Firmly squeezing my tit over my dress, I groan as my back arches. Oh my fucking god. Is this real?

Something in his body language switches at the sound of my groaning and he drops everything to get to his knees. He pushes the skirt of my dress up and past my thighs, looking up at me for permission.

Is he…? 

My pussy clenches around nothing at the sheer thought of those gorgeous plump lips around my clit. I let him explore further with his lips without any hesitation whatsoever. Then they’re inside my thighs, slowly moving closer where I desperately need him. Nerves fill my stomach. Flashbacks of other guys going to taste me and not liking what they find enter my mind. Is that gonna happen with him? Is he gonna be turned off by my hair? My stretch marks? The way my fat thighs cover his ears?

As much as my inner feminist hates those thoughts, there’s always that twinge of embarrassment that I still haven’t managed to work through. 

“Yeonjun…” I sigh. “You don’t have to.”

“What if I want to?” He asks. “Do you want me to?” Obviously. I nod. Pressing his lips to the outside of my panties, he breathes me in and I realize he’s never been this close to me. Ever. 

Sure, we’ve kissed, but we were teenagers, we had no idea what we were doing. It never got this far. Never got past the occasional makeout session on my picnic blanket under the willow tree. “You smell so good.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

“I’m serious. You smell delicious.” 

Lips delicate and careful, he takes his time. I never thought this is how it would be with him. I always thought of him as the kind of guy to get straight to it. At least that’s how I imagined it—him embracing me because he couldn’t take it anymore, he needed me right then and there. Whisking me off to his bedroom to undress me, never careful, never delicate. 

But I love it. Love taking a deep breath, letting my head lull back onto the wall behind me, my entire body relaxing. The feeling of a tongue flicking my clit for the first time in months, and the first time it’s his tongue. I card my hand through his hair, gripping some strands between my fingers. Mouth dropping open, I sigh, looking down at him, eyes closed, fully entranced by my taste. Thank fuck he knows exactly what he’s doing now. 

The softness of his white cotton gloves feels like heaven against the heat of my thighs, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want his bare hands on me. 

Like a mind-reader, he plucks his gloves off, one finger at a time, putting me under a spell as he goes. I stare at him as he loosens the glove by pulling on the pointer finger, then the middle, the ring, his pinky, then tugging it all the way off. It’s so sexy. I think I caught a small smirk, but it's just dark enough for it to be hidden. 

The tip of his finger teases my entrance and I can tell— “Fuck,” he gasps. “You’re so wet, darling.”

Don’t call me that. But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud…I’m not even sure I’d mean it if I did. He finally pushes his finger all the way inside me, curling the tip of it to find just the right spot that makes me absolutely moan. He lets go of my skirt to grip my thighs, finally feeling him squeeze and touch me after all these years of wanting him. I beg myself not to stop him and make him touch me everywhere before continuing. 

My pointer fingers graces his and he intertwines his fingers with mine. Something this intimate only happens between lovers, right? Holding hands while fucking in the closet when there’s a party right outside the door? I can’t decide if this is the dirtiest thing I’ve ever done or if it’s the most romantic thing. 

Arguing with myself internally, a second finger breaches my entrance, filling me even more so than before. He’s incredible…almost skillful with his fingers. It’s sexy. And exciting. 

Expertly flicking his tongue, he finds the perfect spot with his fingertips, forcing me to buck my hips…fuck I’m so close already. How did he do this to me?

“Please…”

Everything comes to a halt. “Please what?”

“Fuck, Yeonjun, don’t do that to me.” 

“Don’t do what to you? Get you to talk to me?” I look down, defeated. How am I supposed to respond to that? Is that the only reason he’s doing this? Because I’ve been avoiding him and this was the only way he could think of to get me to talk to him? “Tell me what you want. What are you asking for?” Oh. It’s like that. Okay. 

“Please…” It’s already unbelievable that we’re doing this in a closet with a party going on outside. Prince Yeonjun is on his knees for me. And he’s making me beg? I can hardly take it. “Uh…” I stutter, trying to close my legs instinctively. He backs off, eyebrows furrowed. He’s worried about me. I didn’t mean it like that. “You’re not finished yet, are you?” I ask, pushing him back closer with my heel. 

“I’ll finish when you tell me what you want.”

Gracing my finger under his chin, I force him to look at me in the eye before saying, “Make me come. I need it so bad. Please.”  

Cocking his head to the side, he says, “I’ve always wanted to hear you beg for me.” 

My chest heaves as he dives back in for more, flicking his tongue the way I love, thrusting his fingers in and out of me. 

“Fuck, you feel good.” 

“You are delicious.” I’d love it if he could talk to me the way I—and hopefully he—likes. Dirty, up close and in my ear, but this’ll have to do for now. He can get to the real good stuff later. Will there be a later though? 

A white-hot feeling that someone hasn’t made me feel in quite some time quickly approaches. Deep in the pit of my stomach, it bubbles as my body tenses, breath shallow and quick. It builds and builds until all I want to hear him say is Come for me, darling. I know you’re so close. But I know he won’t. He has to stick to the matter at hand. 

With a sharp inhale, I moan and whimper, euphoria washing over me as my thighs tighten around his head. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this good. He’s incredibly talented—like I said, he’s an all or nothing kinda guy and I love that about him. 

“Fuck. Oh my god,” I gasp, my hips rolling needing more, more, more. Goddamn, I’m in trouble. “Holy shit.” I trail off, my breathing shallow. My eyes squeeze shut as my head drops back before my body starts flinching. “Thank you, Sir.”

My body goes slack as he slows down. Once I catch my breath, my eyes flutter open to see him looking at me with a cheeky smirk. He’s so fucking smug. 

“Sir?” 

Shit. That is just about the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been correcting myself for weeks, reminding myself to call him Prince Yeonjun, Your Majesty, Sir. I know he hates when I call him that, even in normal scenarios. I can’t imagine how mad he is now that I’ve called him that while giving me an orgasm. Not just any orgasm, though. One of the best I’ve had in months. All while wearing our formal wear too. Fuck, he looks so sexy in his uniform. Especially with it slightly disheveled, hair messy, gloves off. 

“It must’ve slipped.”

He simply stands, darkness and lust still in his eyes as his hands grip my hips, squeezing harshly before moving them up further to my waist. His right hand trails up even higher, cupping my face to force my ear to line up with his lips. “Call me that again next time.” Next time? There’s gonna be a next time? “Got it?”

Speechless, I compose myself before whispering, “Yes, Sir.”  

cw. cunnilingus, mentions of previous bjs and hand jobs, mira is described as chubby/fat/curvy in a good way, hickeys, biting, masturbation.

YEONJUN'S POV

“Mira,” I say simply as she walks by me looking gorgeous as always. Since our little rendezvous in the butler’s closet last month, we’ve “seen” each other several times since, each meeting ending with at least one of us coming. Nothing beyond oral and hand stuff—we still haven’t kissed or seen each other fully naked yet—but even so, it’s been amazing. She’s so good at it all. The teasing, the touching, the talking, all of it. I don’t think I can pick a favorite moment.

Maybe when she asked me to give her hickeys on the inside of her thighs. Her whispering, Give me hickeys, please…wanna look down and imagine you’re there after you’re gone. Oof. Chills. 

Or maybe when she laid her back against my chest and I rubbed her clit so perfectly, she dug her nails into my forearm for dear life, so hard it broke skin. I had to wear long sleeves for three days. 

Perhaps her seeing my cock for the first time, eyes wide as she said Oh my god, Sir. You have a beautiful cock. No one’s ever called me beautiful before, let alone my dick. That made me giddier than I even thought possible. 

“Yeon—Sir,” she quickly corrects herself in case anyone’s listening. Glancing around, we’re the only ones nearby. “You look nice. New uniform jacket?” I nod. 

Tonight’s occasion is much less grand than our first night together. A simple gathering with a few royals. It was the high-stakes donors I was hoping to get some money from tonight, but they’re all donationed-out it seems. 

“You look…” I look over her, never subtle about ogling her. “Absolutely stunning. New dress?” She subtly tilts her head. I stuff my hands in my pockets. What’s the point of delaying it any more? “I need to taste you again.”

“Already? You ate me out yesterday.”

“What can I say?” I chuckle. “I’ve got a craving.” She takes a deep breath before nodding at me, not changing her facial expression. “Closet, five minutes?” 

The closet isn’t the only place we’ve had our meetings but it is definitely our most frequented spot. Honorable mentions include the library, the sunroom, and under the willow tree where she laid back against me. That was only once but it was magical. 

As she turns away, I can’t help but wonder what the rest of her looks like. She’s got what feels like the most perfect ass, but I still haven’t gotten a good look at it. And her tits…good lord what I’d give to bury my face between her bare tits. 

“Prince Yeonjun?”

“Ah, Prince Sipho,” I say, returning his bow. “Nice to see you again.” He holds his hands behind him and maintains his intimidating eye contact. “I hope you’re enjoying dinner.”

“Can I ask for a favor?” He asks, almost urgently. 

“Sure.”

“I saw you were talking to Charlotte,” he says. “I danced with her last month and I never got her phone number.” His expression softens. “I realize how awkward and potentially inappropriate this is considering she’s on your staff. Would you mind providing me with her phone number?”

“I’m sorry,” I begin. “I don’t think I know a Charlotte.”

“You were just speaking with her,” he says matter-of-factly. “Right over there.” He tilts his head in the direction of…Mira? Happily prancing off in the direction of the closet. Our closet. Oh no. 

I suppose I should’ve seen this coming. Someone was bound to be interested in her at some point. I just didn’t think my competition would be another handsome prince. What am I saying? Competition? Stop being such an ass.

“You can ask her yourself, you know.” 

“Fair enough.”

“I don’t think now’s a good time though,” I rush to say, stopping him in his tracks before he turns around. “She’s busy. I just sent her to do a task.”

“Then I suppose you should give me her number now, then?”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I finally speak up to say, “I’ll talk to her first. You know, make sure she’s comfortable with me giving out her phone number.”

“Of course.” He tilts his head and walks away. My mind races with questions. Did he sweep her off her feet? Have they slept together? Or worse: have they kissed? Why does he think her name is Charlotte? But I’ve gotta get back to the matter at hand.

“You’re already ready for me, hm?” I ask, seeing her proudly sitting on the countertop, waiting for me. She nods cutely, wiggling her feet back and forth. Locking the door, I take my gloves off one finger at a time before stuffing them in my pocket for safe keeping. Then I loosen my collar a bit, something I know she thinks is hot, so I always make a show out of it just for her. 

As I step closer, she grips the edge of the counter so tightly the veins on the back of her hand pop out. She crosses her ankles and looks down briefly but puts on a brave face to stare me in the eye. Wrapping my arms around her, I bury my face in her neck and breathe her in. 

“You smell so good.” I’ve noticed she’s started wearing a specific perfume for special occasions—the gala last month, dinners like these, she even wore it once when she shyly asked me to eat her out again on a random Tuesday. 

“Thank you, Sir.” Never taking my lips off her neck, I feel all over her, albeit over her dress, but she feels lovely. Dropping to my knees, I lift her skirt up to access her thighs with my lips, placing kisses everywhere. And there they are—those gorgeous hickeys I gave her last week. Still there. I swipe my thumb across one before biting her skin gently.

“Can I ask you something?” She hums as I move closer and closer to her center. Glancing up at her, her eyelids have fluttered shut and her hands are in my hair. “Do you know Prince Sipho?” Her hands stop.

“I know of him,” she says plainly. “Why?”

“No reason,” I say, nudging her thigh with my nose to encourage her to open wider. I add, “Said he danced with you and I guess he likes you.” I place a kiss on the outside of her thong right between her pussy lips. “Asked me for your phone number.”

“Did you give it to him?”

“No.”

“...Oh.” She leans back, resting her hands behind her back for support. Is that a good oh or a bad oh?

“He thinks your name’s Charlotte though.” I chuckle. “What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” she says awkwardly while I dig my fingers into her thong, pulling it down her legs, still watching her body language carefully. “That’s weird.” 

“Mira.”

“Fine.” She rolls her eyes, but still welcomes my lips around her pussy. “I dunno—I wasn’t interested so I gave him a fake name. Doesn’t everyone do that?”

“Mm…I suppose,” I say, spreading her lips to flick my tongue against her clit. Fuck, she tastes amazing. Every fucking time. Her hand flies to my hair again, taking quick breaths. “Why wouldn’t you be interested in him?” 

“Can we not talk about Prince Sipho while you’re eating me out, please?”

“I was just curious.” 

Why wouldn’t she be interested, though? He’s definitely her type—tall, handsome, smart, royal. 

Images of them dancing together, arms wrapped around each other, his hand sliding further down her back make my vision red. 

Maybe she’s interested in someone else with those same qualities, perhaps even more devastatingly handsome than him. And hilarious, might I add. 

But thinking about her dancing with Sipho while thinking about me makes me giddy. When else does she think about me? When she’s eating breakfast? Doing her chores? Getting ready to go to bed? In the shower? When she touches herself? Oh. That sends shivers down my spine. 

“How often do you think about me, Mira?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, when do you think about me?”

She takes a deep breath, letting her head fall back against the wall, the slightest smile flashing over her lips before she says, “When I’m horny.”

“So you think about me when you touch yourself?” 

Her fingers stop again and she looks up, eyes wide like I caught her doing something she shouldn’t have been. I’d never let her see it, but I’m giggling on the inside. She’s so cute. 

“Um,” she clears her throat. “I guess, yeah.” There’s a looming awkward silence while I keep licking her. She’s trying not to react to how good it feels. Trying not to give in. 

“Well, go on.”

“What?” Mira asks. 

“Tell me,” I say. “Tell me exactly what you think about.” She takes a deep breath to collect herself, like she’s trying to hold back her noises and movements. I don’t like that she feels the need to do that with me. If anything, I crave hearing and feeling them. “It’s okay, you can tell me anything.”

Her breath hitches, eyes flitting away before locking back to mine. "I think about you touching me," she admits quietly, but I can tell she’s gaining confidence. "The way you did the first time.” She bites her lip, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink. "I think about your hands on my body," she continues. "The way you knew exactly where to touch me, how to make me feel..."

"How to make you feel what?" I prompt, my hands gently caressing her thighs, urging her to keep going while my mouth is nowhere near her pussy.

"How to make me feel good," she breathes out, her eyes closing as she loses herself in the memory and the feeling of my tongue on her clit. 

“Do you miss it? ” I ask, my breath hot against her skin. "Do you miss me when I’m gone and can’t make you feel good?”

She nods, her breath sharp and quick. "Yes," she murmurs, her voice trembling with desire. "I miss it so much." My hands continue to explore her body, relearning every curve and contour, desperate to rip this dress off her, but we haven’t crossed that boundary yet. 

"What else do you think about?" I ask, my voice a gentle command.

“The way you taste.”

"And how do I taste?" I ask, my lips ghosting over her skin, teasing her with the promise of more.

"Salty," she whispers, her voice hitching. I can’t tell if she means— “That’s a good thing.” I smile against her skin, relieved while my hands squeeze her thighs. “But I mostly think about your mouth. How good you are at this. Those hickeys you gave me have certainly come in handy.” 

“How so?” I slide two fingers inside her and her breath gets quicker. 

Groaning, she says, “Looking down at them turns me on so much.” She swipes her hand across them. “Thinking about us sneaking around like this. It makes me feel…dirty.” She giggles. “Is that cheesy?” I shake my head and start licking her clit again. “They need to stop assigning me tasks while you’re around.” I hum in question. “The other day they made me clean the studio while you were in your pottery lesson—why it couldn’t wait, I don’t know—but it was too much,” she says. “Watching you with your sleeves pushed up, your hands on the clay, oh my god, you were so hot. You had me hot and bothered all day long.”

I genuinely had no idea. She does a great job of hiding that. Little does she know, I was stealing glances of her that whole lesson—I don’t remember a single word my instructor said. The only thing I was looking at was her body, her curvy thighs, full breasts, squishy tummy, the greatest ass I’ve ever seen and I haven’t even seen it bare yet. “What did you do afterward?”

She hesitates, tensing up, holding back. “I don’t wanna say.”

I stop in my tracks. “Tell me.”

“No,” she whines. “Don’t make me.” Refusing to speak or look down at me, I pull away from her, looking at her like, I’m not gonna keep going until you tell me. With an insatiable eye roll, she finally speaks up, “I thought about you.” I look at her again like, That’s not enough and you know it. “Fine,” she says. Of course, if this truly bothered her, she knows our safe word. Tapping her fingers on the counter before bashfully looking away, she admits, “I thought about you while I touched myself.”

Satisfied, I give her a kitten lick on her clit, making her gasp. 

“I, uh…I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, at the hickeys you gave me.” I start licking more and more, rewarding her for talking. “I thought about what it would look like if someone walked in on us while you did this to me. Or what someone would think if they saw the hickeys you gave me.”

Her hips start to roll and I know I can’t speak anymore. Because that would mean taking my mouth off her pussy, which neither of us want. Instead, my grip on the fat of her thighs gets harsher and I stay steady with my mouth, knowing this is the exact speed and pressure she needs. 

“I thought about you ripping my dress off but then slowing down to take my thong and bra off,” she says. Well, that’s new. We’ve never mentioned anything further than this. Does she want something more than this? 

“About you pressing your bare chest against mine,” she adds breathlessly. “You licking my tits.” Her thoughts and words start speeding up, like she’s telling me not to stop no matter what. “You tapping my clit with your cock.” Oh my god. She wants to do things like that with me? Fuck. I can’t show how giddy that makes me, not right now at least. 

Her hands hold onto my hair for dear life. Her moans pitch up and increase speed, like a chant, getting louder and louder. “You fucking me from behind,” she says. “Fucking me so good I can hardly take it.” She’s so close. “Until—until…” She's panting, clearly right on the verge of reaching her orgasm. “I’m coming so good for you,” she whispers breathlessly. I can feel it when her thighs tremble, when her clit pulsates against my tongue, when her nails dig into my scalp. 

Catching her breath after she comes, she finishes off with a sweet, “Thank you, Sir.”

cw. more yeonjun environmental activist, suggestive, cheesy idk. 

MIRA'S POV

“I can’t believe you did this,” I spit at Yeonjun, messily packing my old beat up carry-on. He refolds one of my t-shirts and hands it to me. 

“I thought you’d be excited to go.” 

Scoffing, I put a fist on my hip and face him. “I’m going as your servant.” He rolls his eyes before shoving his hands in his pockets. “All the other servants already think there’s something going on between us. Requesting me for your dumb business trip is gonna look suspicious.”

“Dumb?” He’s visibly offended. “This is an important business trip for me.”

“Still. They won’t shut up about this for months and you know it.”

“I thought you said there was nothing to talk about,” he says smugly, but I ignore him. “Look, I knew you wouldn’t act all servant-y the whole time, okay? Mother insists I take someone, but I’m a grown-up. I can do things on my own,” he says. “I knew you would be…normal, I don’t know. You wouldn’t curtsy, be on edge, or call me Sir.”

I stop in my tracks to look him in the eye and ask, “Except for when you want me to, right?” I hadn’t thought about what we might do at the hotel while we’re gone. Would he invite me to his room so he could taste me? Would he surprise me with a knock on my door? Would he text me to meet him somewhere else? I don’t know but I admit I’m excited to find out. 

The next morning, I hoist my suitcase into the trunk of the town car while the chauffeur, Eston, opens the door for me. I’m greeted with a sleepy “Morning,” from Yeonjun as he hands me a travel mug full of coffee that I didn’t ask for, but I’m definitely grateful for. 

“We’re taking the same car?”

“Of course,” he says. “Less cars on the road.”

Oh my god, he looks so cute with his sleepy eyes and messy hair. Although he flies commercial everywhere he goes, he wears every disguise possible: hat, face mask, hoodie with the hood up, you name it. We get to go through security privately though, which is nice. 

After our long flight, I want nothing more than to crash into a nice, warm bed—actually, any bed will do. It’s still light, but it’s evening and I’m ready to go to bed early. While he handles check-in, I scroll through my phone—international data plan paid for by the Queen, thank you very much. 

On the elevator, I ask , “Which floor am I on?” 

“Seven.” I nod, reaching for the seven button on the elevator, but it only goes up to six. There’s only one above it, which is labeled ‘Penthouse.’

Wait. “Did you only get one room?”

“Well…”

“Yeonjun!” I scream-whisper. “What is wrong with you? What did you think—”

He holds his hands up to clarify, “It has two rooms, okay? I wasn’t trying to…I dunno, make anything happen. It seemed easier.” 

The room is truly magnificent. Luxurious gold silk drapes frame the windows to let light flood the room. Sofas and armchairs surround a marble fireplace—cozy yet regal, just how Yeonjun likes it. An intricately carved coffee table sits in the middle of the room holding a vase of fresh flowers. There’s even a piano sitting in the corner. 

The view from the terrace takes my breath away. The gorgeous blues of Lake Geneva and the snow-capped alps are gorgeous. The air is crisp and clean and refreshes my lungs from the inside out. I lean on the railing, letting the cool breeze brush against my face as calmness washes over me.

“Gorgeous, huh?” Yeonjun asks as he stands beside me, his eyes scanning the horizon. 

“This is fucking incredible,” I say, my gaze never waiving from the beauty of the landscape. 

“I knew you’d like it,” he says. I glance over at him and he gives me a warm smile. 

“You’ve been here?”

“I’ve never stayed in this hotel, but I’ve been to Geneva, yes.” 

There’s a silence. Like we both know we want to do something, but we’re unsure of exactly what. Go in for a hug? No. Let him wrap his arm around me? No. Kiss him? Absolutely not. We can’t fall into that relationship space. The tension presses down on us, unspoken but palpable.

“Well, I’m exhausted,” he says, breaking the silence. “Did you wanna take a shower first or…?” 

“You can go ahead,” I say as I walk through the room, planning to unpack a bit first. Extending my suitcase’s handle, I ask, “Where’s the other room?” He grimaces, avoiding my gaze. “What?”

“Don’t be mad,” he starts, but I’m already visibly mad. “I must’ve looked at the website wrong.” I brace for the inevitable while he braces for my reaction. “This is it.”

“Seriously, Yeonjun? One bed?.” This is not gonna turn into a cheesy only-one-bed-left story. Nope. I won’t let it. “You better get me another room.”

“I already called and they’re out.” I’m fuming. “I’ll sleep on the couch,” he says. My face softens. I didn’t necessarily want that. “Really, it’s okay.”

“Yeonjun,” I say, guilt in my voice. 

“Mira, it’s fine. Really. It was my mistake, so I’ll take the couch.” 

“Okay,” I say. “I guess you can’t do stuff on your own, then, huh?”

-

The next morning, I wake up in this giant bed. Alone. The smell of coffee is already wafting through the air. Stretching under the covers, I sit up to see Yeonjun on the terrace, reading a newspaper. Not on his phone—a literal printed newspaper. I don't even know where he got it. 

An adorable little prince sitting there with his luxurious silk PJs, fuzzy slippers, messy hair, and the cutest pair of glasses anyone’s ever seen. Before joining him, I pull a hoodie over my tank top.

“Aren’t I supposed to get you your coffee?” I ask, admiring the view of the lake. 

“When you wake up on time, yes,” he says, not looking up from his paper while he pushes up his glasses. 

“I…I’m sorry,” I say, forcing myself back into my professional persona. 

“No, it’s okay,” he chuckles, sitting his coffee on the coaster and looking at me. “I wasn’t trying to be bossy. You seemed like you needed sleep. And I can get my own coffee,” he says. “Besides, today is a day off. You can get me coffee tomorrow.” I nod. “Did you have plans today?”

“I dunno…maybe I’ll draw by the lake or something.” 

“I’m kayaking on the lake and having a picnic lunch if you want to join me,” he suggests. “You can bring your sketchbook.”

-

The lake shimmers like a bed of gems, crystal-clear waters reflecting the sunlight in brilliant shades of blue. As we paddle alongside each other, our rowing is rhythmic until we reach a small pebbled shore on the other side of the lake.

Yeonjun jumps out first, standing up in the water to pull his kayak to shore. He’s so charming with his crocs and shorts short enough to expose his muscular thighs. The t-shirt he’s got on is somehow the hottest thing I’ve ever seen him wear, perfectly accentuating his pecs and clinging to his biceps. And the cutest lake hat sits on his head, making me absolutely giddy. 

Without having to ask, he pulls my kayak in so I don’t need to step in the water or pull it up myself. He offers his hand to me with a smile, my fingers lingering a bit too long after I stand to my feet. 

While I set up the blanket on the pebbled shore, I ask, “What’s tomorrow’s meeting about?”

His eyes light up while he unpacks our picnic. "Tomorrow's meeting is with the Global Environment Facility," he begins, settling back against the kayak, pouring some juice into two glasses. "We're discussing several things, but we’ll be focusing on keeping our water clean.” He tilts his head toward the sparkling Lake Geneva in front of us, its pristine waters a reminder of the importance of this endeavor. "Access to clean water is a fundamental human right," he says passionately. “But there’s so much…crap in them. You know 26% of the world doesn’t have access to safe drinking water?” My eyes widen. “And so many beautiful oceans and rivers and lakes like this one keep getting trashed.” 

His dedication is contagious, and I find myself leaning in, captivated by his words. "It's more than policies and proposals," he continues. "It's about creating real, tangible changes that will protect our planet.” He smiles, a mix of determination and hope in his expression. "I mean, I dunno…it’s a big goal I guess,” he says, glancing down in embarrassment. 

“Seems like you’re actually doing something about it.”

“We’re at least trying to make change happen.”

Sitting on the blanket, I fest my legs out in front of me with my hands supporting me from behind. He hands me a glass while he sits criss-cross next to me. “You seem really passionate about it,” I say. 

“I am,” he nods.

A comfortable silence settles over us as we enjoy our meal. Afterward, he takes his book out of his backpack, reclining back to rest his head against the kayak. I take out my sketchbook and pencils, setting it up against my knees and thighs. 

I try to focus on capturing the serenity of the lake, but my eyes keep drifting to him. His presence is so comforting and I’m reminded of that every time we’re alone like this. Watching him, I can’t help but think about what it would feel like to rest my cheek against his chest. Warm. Strong. Safe. 

“Yeonjun?”

“Hm?” He looks up at me from under his hat, but I don’t know what to say. After a few seconds of silence, he sits up completely and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I stutter, returning to my drawing. 

An hour or so passes—I’ve made great progress on my drawing and it seems like he made a nice dent in his book, but the sun’s setting fast. 

“We should probably go soon,” he notes. “We shouldn’t kayak in the dark and it’ll probably take an hour to get back.”

-

“Everything okay?” Yeonjun asks, startling me on the terrace. I hum, avoiding looking at him. He looks too good after showers—hair damp and skin pink from the hot water—so I better not take a peek. I’ve clipped my wet hair up—it holds its waves better that way. 

“I’m finishing up this drawing I started at the lake. Adding some watercolor.” 

“Is that me?” He asks, pulling the other seat around to sit next to me. 

“Yeah,” I nod awkwardly. “I just drew what I saw.” I say, giving in and glancing at him while he smiles to himself as he examines the art. 

Seconds pass before he adds, “I had a lot of fun today.”

“Me too,” I say, my arms crossed. He’s so, so close to me. 

“Yeah?” I hum. “Since you showed me this,” he says, gesturing to the drawing. “I’ll show you this picture I took of you,” he says, reaching for his phone in his pocket. Leaning even closer to me, I feel his warmth. I must say I look pretty. My hair’s windswept, I have a nice pink in my cheeks, and I look genuinely happy looking out over the water. His fingers mindlessly touch mine while he looks at me. “Thank you for coming with me,” he says. “You know, on the picnic.”

“No worries,” I say. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” he says, not moving an inch. Oh my god, he looks so kissable right now. I can’t believe how long we’ve gone without kissing each other even once. I didn’t think we’d last one week after we started…whatever we’re doing. Hooking up? 

Regardless, I’m relieved. We should not be starting something right now. He’s my boss. My boss and my ex that broke my heart. 

But we’re leaning in closer and closer, like we’re about to—don’t you dare. I catch myself first. 

“You can, uh…you can sleep in the bed with me if you want,” I whisper. He shakes his head and starts to protest. “Really, it’s okay. Swear. It’s a huge bed.”

cw. brief mention of the death of a grandparent, yeonjun environmental activist, eating food.

YEONJUN'S POV

As I make my way toward the grand conference hall, the weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders like a heavy cloak. Today's meeting is a pivotal moment in my advocacy work and I need to be right on. I love this though. Speaking for what I believe in. Convincing people. And admittedly, sounding smart, which I am.

Glancing over my shoulder, Mira follows close behind me, which is what she’s meant to be doing. It still sends shivers down my spine. Our return to our professional roles after our idyllic kayaking excursion feels strange, but duty calls and we both have our parts to play. I square my shoulders and quicken my pace, the marble floors echoing under my feet. 

With a final glance back at Mira, she offers an encouraging smile and asks, “Ready?” I take a deep breath. “You’re gonna be great.” She opens the door and I step into the grandeur of the conference room. The air is charged with energy, a palpable sense of purpose radiating throughout the room. 

Taking my place at the head of the table, pride and excitement surges through me. This is it—the moment I’ve been preparing for, the chance to make a real difference.

-

Coming back home—hotel room—I’m exhausted but exhilarated. As I’m about to collapse onto the couch, a knock at the living room entryway wakes me up. 

“You hungry?” Mira asks, flipping through the room service menu. 

“Order whatever you like.”

“What would you like?”

“Anything’s fine. I’m not picky.”

After she places the order on the phone, we chat about the meeting a bit, but it isn’t long before the conversation gets lighter. We laugh about our kayaking adventure yesterday, recalling the near-disaster when I almost tripped into the water face first. The room service arrives promptly, and we dig into our meal. 

"So, tell me," she says between bites of her spaghetti, "what got you interested in environmental advocacy in the first place?"

I lean back, chewing the bite of pizza in thought. "I guess it started when I was a kid. You remember how much I loved nature even back then.” She nods. “Whenever I got stressed, I’d go outside—you know, for a walk, camping, whatever, and one day, I looked around and only saw wealthy people and it was one of those moments where I realized how lucky I am,” I say, not breaking eye contact. “Access to nature is a fundamental human right. It’s already inaccessible to many and it’s only getting worse.”

She nods. “It's easy to take it for granted.”

“It was something I’d never thought about,” I chuckle. “I was a fucking prick back then.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, a little too easily. She’s not wrong though.

“As I got older, I started to see the impact of pollution and climate change. I knew I had to do something, even if it was just a small part."

We continue talking late into the night, sharing stories and dreams, discovering new facets of each other's personalities. It’s in these quiet moments I cherish that I get to see some real parts of her, like in the garden, when she painted my portrait, when we went kayaking. 

“What’s something you’re passionate about?” I ask. She presses her lips together and shakes her head. “Nah, come on, you gotta be passionate about something.” Shrugging, she shakes her head. “How about your art?”

Smiling to herself, she asks, “What about it?”

“Why are you an artist?”

She leans back, tracing patterns of the fabric on the couch with her finger. "This is cheesy but when I look around, I see colors, shapes, emotions. When I draw or paint or whatever, it's like I'm putting pieces together, creating something whole. It’s not about making something beautiful, but capturing a moment or a feeling, things I can’t say out loud,” she says, glancing around the room bashfully. “Or whatever.”

“Not or whatever. You need to give yourself more credit.”

She nods shyly, looking down with a grin. "I remember this painting I did. It was of an old barn, you know, out of town a bit. Everyone thought it was just a pretty picture of decay. But it was about resilience, how even in decay, there’s a story that refuses to be forgotten, even if it can’t speak for itself or if no one’s listening but me.” I nod. “That’s what I really love. Finding those moments that only a few people notice. It’s like saying, ‘Hey, I see you and I feel this too.’” That’s amazing. She’s never spoken so candidly like this with me before. “Like when you asked if I was gonna paint your freckle and your birthmark, like, of course I am! That’s a part of you and I see you, you know?”

I chuckle with her. “Do you have a favorite piece?”

She thinks for a moment. “Probably a painting I did of my grandmother’s hands. She was a seamstress, and her hands were always so busy, always creating. When she wasn’t sewing, she was sketching, measuring, creating patterns. It was my way of honoring her, capturing her essence. Her hands have so many stories to tell.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah.” She nods. “She was the one person in my family I really wanted you to meet back then.”

“Invite her over for dinner some time,” I suggest. 

“She, uh,” She clears her throat. “She passed a couple years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” She waves her hand. “I would’ve loved to have met her.”

“It’s okay.” But her eyes are tearing up just a bit. She blinks them away and adds, “She meant so much to me, but I guess that’s…how things go.”

“Where’s that painting now?”

“It’s back home, like, my home home, not the castle.” 

“I’d love to see it.”

“I’ll find it the next time I go back home and bring it back with me.” As the conversation winds down, we sit in comfortable silence as the city lights cast a soft glow through the window. "I should probably let you get some rest," Mira says, breaking the silence.

I nod, feeling a pang of reluctance. "Yeah, we have another busy day tomorrow."

She stands up, but before she leaves, she turns to me, her expression gentle. "Goodnight, Yeonjun. And thank you for tonight. It was nice to just...talk."

"It was,” I reply. “Let's do it again sometime."

cw. cunnilingus, protected sex, mira’s body is described as squishy/chubby in a good way, mention of moles and vvv brief mention of armpits, toys, body worship, masturbation, pet names (darling, love, babe, baby).

YEONJUN'S POV

After another grueling meeting, I’ve ditched my tie and unbuttoned a few of my shirt buttons while Mira has completely changed into lounge clothes back at the hotel room. Out of the corner of my eye, I sense her watching me, leaning up against the wall. But I let it slide. I don’t think she realizes how often she does it. 

“How did today’s meeting go?” She asks. 

“You were there.”

“I know, but how did it go from your perspective?”

I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the day's events fresh in my mind. "It was intense," I start, a mix of relief and excitement in my voice. "We covered a lot of ground. Like I said, we talked about keeping waters clean.”

“Did you all come up with any new ideas?"

"Actually, yes," I say, a spark of enthusiasm igniting. "We talked about implementing advanced watershed management and enhancing wastewater treatment technologies. But what really stood out was the proposal for a global initiative to reduce industrial runoff. It's ambitious, but the potential impact is huge."

She nods, clearly intrigued. "Was everyone on board?"

"For the most part," I reply, recalling the lively debates. "There were a few moments of contention, especially when it came to funding, so I’ll be doing a lot of fundraising for awhile, but everyone agreed they seem like good ideas.”

Mira's smile is warm and encouraging. "I'm glad it went well.” Her words, simple yet heartfelt, warm me up. She finally pipes up again to add, “You looked hot up there.” 

I chuckle. “Yeah?” She nods. “What makes you say that?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she starts, walking closer to me. “How smart and passionate you are. That’s hot.” That is exactly what I was hoping she’d say. I kept catching myself stealing glances of her during the meetings. It was hard to tell if she was looking at me to look at me or because that’s technically her job. Even if it is her job, I can tell between her different looks—her checking in look, her secretly admiring me look, and her I need you and I need you now look, which might be my favorite.

The look she’s got on her face is starting to lean toward that last one, but she’s not quite there yet. I only observe, let her fall into that place if she wants to.

“Well, thank you,” I tilt my head in her direction before the piano behind her catches my attention. “You know, I’ve been taking piano lessons.” She hums. Sometimes I forget it's also her job to know everything about me—everything about my schedule and activities at least. “You still like classical music, right?” She nods gently, a slight smile constantly on her lips. 

I’m not the best at piano, so I start fumbling through Moonlight Sonata. Giggling through every wrong note, she brushes some hair away from my face. 

“Ah, I need the sheet music,” I say quietly. Wiping my sweaty palms on my thighs, I know she’s still staring at me with look number three: I need you and I need you now. All professionalism has gone out the window. The biker shorts she’s wearing outlines her stomach perfectly, her thighs barely bulge at the hem, and her tank top accentuates her breasts beautifully. She’s a stunner. 

I reach for her hand and drag my thumb across her knuckles. My hands rest against the backs of her thighs, pulling her closer so she steps between my legs, my hand moving to her backside, squeezing her so deliciously. Her hands rest on my shoulders as I bury my nose between her breasts, taking a deep breath. She always smells so goddamn amazing. 

“I need you,” she whispers as her fingertips drag across my scalp. 

“I know, darling.”

“No,” she chuckles. “I need more from you this time,” she says breathlessly. I stand up straight, looking down at her as she looks at me through her eyelashes. “I need you inside me. Please.” 

“Of course,” I say, diving straight for her lips, but she turns her head, so my lips crash into her cheek. 

“Did I say you could kiss me?” Picking her up, I let my face rest in her chest again as I carry her to the bed, praying I don’t trip over anything along the way. As I sit her down on the mattress, she says, “Kiss me everywhere but my mouth, okay? Everywhere.” 

I don’t wanna argue with the no kissing rule right now, so I simply nod, covering her neck with kisses while I tug her shorts off her legs. Holding her leg by her ankle, I press my lips to it, trailing it all the way up to her thigh while her hand slips under her thong. I’m looking over her body, closing my eyes for a few seconds at a time, but I can feel her eyes on me. 

“Everywhere, babe,” she reminds me. Babe? I decide not to mention it—don’t ruin the moment. I slowly lift her shirt, but she gets impatient and takes it off herself, throwing it somewhere before tugging at the hem of mine, hinting at me to ditch it. 

My lips land right above her bra, kissing and nipping the tops of her breasts. I literally can’t wait to see her completely, so I waste no time in snapping it off and taking a second to admire her. Then, I gently kiss her neck and feel her whole body with my hands. Warm, soft, welcoming, curvy, squishy, perfect. 

When I squeeze her tit for the first time, she moans, arching her back while I sloppily stamp her collarbone with my lips. I want nothing more than to lick her nipples—it’s all I’ve thought about for the last few days—but…I dunno. I’m nervous. 

“Jjun…please,” she starts. There’s that nickname. It made my heart sing when she accidentally called me that a couple months ago. It used to slip past her lips so easily when we were together all those years ago, but now she stays so formal. “Lick my nipples, please.” 

Tongue flicking her nipple, her eyes roll back as her body follows. As I kiss further down her body toward her tummy, she reaches for my hair and pulls, making both our breath quicken. She takes the liberty of taking off her own thong and I get rid of my pants. 

We’ve been desperate for this. Desperate to actually feel each other’s bodies. Not clothing-clad bodies, but bare, vulnerable, warm bodies that want each other. And I can’t get enough. I thought I could taste her forever, but now that I’ve gotten my hands on her, on her squishy, chubby body, I’ll never be able to keep my hands off her.

She starts to get impatient, but I’m not finished with her yet. Landing back on top of her, I say, “Lemme just…kiss on ya for a second, okay?”

“Not my—”

“Not your mouth, I know,” I say, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek, trailing down her jaw and sneaking in to nuzzle her neck. Whispering into her ear, I tell her, “I love making you gasp like that.” She chuckles, wrapping her arms around my shoulders, but I grab them and put them over her head to continue kissing her everywhere, tasting each bit of her with the tip of my tongue before pressing my lips to her. Her collarbone, her shoulders, her underarms. Everywhere.

She’s got the cutest mole on her side of her breast I kiss three times before moving on. 

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips when I gently kiss under her breasts. I lick a stripe up her chest between them, making eye contact with her, followed by a harsh bite of one of them. Reaching for her arm, I kiss her palm, then gently suck on the tip of her pointer finger. 

“Remember when you painted that portrait of me?”

“How could I forget?”

“When you put this pinky on my face,” I say, sucking on the tip of it. “I thought I was gonna explode. Feeling you so close to me like that. You looked so pretty that day too. With the sun shining in through the window and the plants around you.” Okay, shut up dork, too many feelings. I squeeze her tits harshly, burying my face in them. “Fuck, you’re so sexy.” 

Rubbing up and down her sides, she scrunches her shoulders, letting out a giggle. I kiss and bite her tummy—I’ve always loved her stomach, but especially so when she wears biker shorts. The way the fabric pulls, creating an outline of her tummy with rays of fabric going toward her hips. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And to finally see her bare tummy right here in front of me, there’s no way I’m not gonna cover it in kisses. 

“Why are you being all touchy?”

Why wouldn’t I be? Spreading her lips, she looks absolutely delicious. I lick her clit, earning one of the most gorgeous moans I’ve ever heard come out of her mouth. 

“I told you, Sir,” she says. “I want all of you this time.” 

“I know. I’m just tasting you, darling.” I glance up at her. “You thought I was gonna fuck you and not taste you first?” 

Grinding against my mouth, she can hardly take it before she starts begging. “Please, please, please, Yeonjun. I need your cock inside me. Please. I need it so bad.” 

“You’ve never had to beg like this before, hm?”

“Nope,” she says. “People usually do what I ask.” Standing, I leave her briefly for a condom that’s in my toiletries bag in the bathroom. When I come back, she asks, “Prepared, huh?” I nod awkwardly. “Wait, wait,” she stops me from rolling the condom down myself. “Let me see you.” I stand back, letting her look at me in awe before she reaches her hands out, rubbing all over my chest and stomach, kissing my hips, squeezing my balls and licking my nipple, making me gasp. 

Taking a deep breath, I admit, “I want to fuck you so bad, Mira.”

Sitting up on her knees, she reaches for my hand and places it on her breast before leaning into my ear to whisper, “Then fuck me, Sir.” Then, she takes the condom and rolls it down my cock, drawing out the process as long as she possibly can. “Your cock is so fucking beautiful,” she says. “I’m still not over it.”

She lays on her back and spreads her legs while I think of all the things I wanna do to her. I really wanna kiss her, but I can’t. She’s right. We shouldn’t. Resting between her legs, I rub my hands over her body again, taking my time contemplating, even if she protests, claiming I’m teasing her too much. But she teased me, so now I get to tease her. 

Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening. I thought we’d never get past oral in the closet. I line myself up with her entrance, bending to press my lips to her neck and whisper, “Are you sure?” 

“Yeonjun,” she says, placing a hand on my cheek to force me to look at her. “I’m sure. Are you sure?” 

“Absolutely.” 

As I push into her slowly, my whole world comes crumbling down around me. She is perfection. The way she wraps around me like a warm blanket, her eyes full of pleasure sparkling up at mine, the noises she’s making. Nothing else matters anymore but her. 

She breathes out like she’s relieved and says, “I’ve been waiting for this for seven years.” My head reels. Our arms wrap around each other as I find a slow and steady pace. Everything is her. She fits right in my arms as her nails claw at my back and her legs wrap around my waist to make sure I won't go anywhere, which I won’t. But I need to see the way her body moves. 

Sitting up, I stare down at her, pumping in and out, her tits bouncing with every move I make. Finding her clit with my thumb, the noise she makes in response is intoxicating. She arches her back, squeezing her own tit, which is one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

“That’s my girl.” Can I call her that? I don’t care. I’m going to. 

She giggles and scratches my thigh, whispering, “You feel so good. Faster?” And I can’t help but comply, speeding up my thrusts but maintaining control. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up though. I want…need to go faster and she’s asking me to, but I also want to take things slow, be with her forever. “Faster, please,” she almost sounds like she’s in tears. 

I don’t go much faster, though. This has to be perfect. I can’t be too much. But—

“Hey, stop for a second,” she says genuinely and I oblige, slipping out of her to sit back on my knees. She sits up and reaches for my hands. “Come here,” she says, pulling me closer so our chests are grazing each other’s. “Are you okay?” I nod enthusiastically. “It seems like you’re holding back.” 

“I just…you feel so good and I don’t wanna get carried away. And I don’t know your, like, limits.”

“You can fuck me so hard—no, I want you to fuck me so hard. You don’t have to hold back, okay?” She reaches down and squeezes my cock, waiting for a reaction from me. “I’ve been waiting for this cock and I need you to fuck me and don’t stop until I’m begging you to.” She smiles. “Unless you ever wanna stop, of course.” I nod. “Did you wanna take it slow?”

Without giving my brain time to process, I flip her onto her stomach, yanking her up by her hips so she’s on her knees, ass up. I gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail before thrusting into her so hard it takes her breath away. She feels indescribable—a radiating ache overcomes me and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let her go after this. 

My thrusts reach a speed finally fast enough for her as she’s whimpering on my cock, shuddering from the feeling of me buried deep inside her. The room fills with the sound of my thighs smacking her ass, making ripples roll down her cheeks. My hand tingles wanting to spank her, but that’s a bit much, no? But she said not to hold back.

I decide to indulge myself, spanking her harshly, my hand making a loud smack, earning an irresistible moan from her. She whispers, “Thank you.”

“Thank you, who?”

“Thank you, Sir,” she whimpers. I spank her again, rubbing it to soothe the sting. I’m fucking her so fast and hard that we’re both sweating, skin getting sticky and slick. Pushing on the small of her back to deepen her arch, I find an even deeper spot inside her. “Ohmygod—” Mira gasps. 

“You sound so sexy,” I groan. I don’t want her to hold back either. I want her to be as loud as she wants to be. No one else is on this floor anyway. Pulling her up by her shoulder, I reach in front of her to rub her clit, her head dropping back and onto my shoulder. 

Slipping out of her, she shudders and whines at the sudden loss but I turn her around so she’s on her back before I land on top of her again, pinning her hands above her head. Her knees fall open and I hook my hands under her thighs before thrusting back into her, earning an incredible eye roll from her. 

“Fuck, Yeonjun.”

“I know, darling,” I say lowly. I wonder if she actually likes it when I call her that. Should I call her something else? Baby? Babe? Love? 

The speed of my thrusts increases again, while I massage her tit. She grips her legs by the back of her knees, holding them wide open for me. “Look at you…being such a good girl for me, hm?” Using my body, I push her legs down gently, letting me in even deeper. Our faces are so close to each other, her lips are just begging to be kissed, but I resist. 

She takes a deep breath, her eyebrows stitch together and she looks up at me before saying with the most genuine sounding voice, “You’re so pretty.”

That makes me absolutely gush. My shoulders scrunch as I run my fingers through my hair before I bend to lick one of her nipples so slowly she can hardly stand it. Kissing up her chest, I whisper, “You’re fucking beautiful, Mira.” Her arms wrap around my neck to pull me closer. 

“Wait, Yeonjun,” she says. I stop in my tracks. “Can you, uh…” she asks, pushing me out of her before getting up off the bed. 

“Is everything okay?” I ask. “Did I hurt you?”

She’s rummaging through her bag and replies, “No, Sir.” Returning, she hands me a small clit vibrator. Oh. “Can you, um…can you use that on me?”

“Whatever you wish, darling,” I say, watching her lay on her back again, spreading her legs open for me. I switch her toy on to the lowest setting. “Do you think about me when you use this to make yourself feel good?” Before she can answer, I place it onto her clit. 

Gasping and nodding, she says, “Yes, Sir.” Her fingers grip the sheets before she admits, “I think about you every time.” She sighs. “Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

“Of course.”

“What do you think about doing to me?”

“I think about licking all over you. About making you feel good,” I say. “About you screaming my name.”

“You like making me feel good?” 

I nod and we’re both desperate as ever now. Desperate to feel each other. To come together. I thrust back into her, quickly reaching a speed we both like, increasing the intensity of the toy along the way. Her mouth drops open as she furrows her eyebrows, her moans getting higher pitched and quicker. 

“Mira, I wanna see you cum.”

Dropping one of her legs, she wraps it around my waist, grabbing my forearm, clearly close to losing it. “Don’t stop, babe,” she whimpers. I shake my head. “Please, Yeonjun, don’t stop.”

“I’m not gonna stop, darling.”

I reach the deepest part of her, and she finally lets go—eyes rolling back, thighs trembling, clit shuddering under the toy. She’s fucking stunning when she cums. Her other leg falls to the bed while she moans out loud, the corners of her mouth curving upward. “Babe, fuck,” she says breathlessly, “You’re making me cum so hard.”

My thrusts get sloppier and I bury my free hand in her soft waves, groaning and whimpering in her ear as I cum inside her, collapsing on her shoulder. That was truly the best I’ve ever felt. 

Forehead glistening with sweat under the moonlight barely shining through the bedroom window, she looks fucking gorgeous. Her post-sex glow would make anyone swoon. My stomach swirls with emotions. I need her. But I just had her. But I need more. No, I need something else. 

“I wanna kiss you,” she says. Fuck, don’t do this to me. “Please?”

I think about it for a second—I really do. That’s what I want, no, that’s exactly what I need, but— “You told me not to.” 

Shaking her head, she admits, “I don’t care.” She looks absolutely kissable right now. I need to feel her lips on mine again. Passing by each other in the hallway and pretending not to be fucking has been miserable. Every time I see her, I refrain from running up and wrapping my arms around her to give her the best kiss she’s ever had. Not being able to do that has been bad enough, but not even kissing her when I’m literally still inside her? Now that’s torture. 

The way she looks at me too—up through her eyelashes, eyes glistening from pure pleasure, cheeks flushed, lips red and swollen and utterly plump.

She hooks two fingers under my necklace to pull me closer, tilting her chin up toward me. Fuck, don’t do that. My heart races. “Please,” she says. “I need to kiss you.” 

No. Don’t. She’s the one that initiated the no kissing rule. And for good reason. We shouldn’t get involved right now. I let her tug me a few inches closer, but I dodge her lips and turn to my side to lean on the bed before clearing my throat.

“Let’s go take a shower, yeah?” I suggest. 

She sighs and says, “Okay.” Standing up silently, I watch her walk slowly to the bathroom, her body moving so beautifully, but I can tell she’s upset even from behind. I plop down on my back. Did I do the right thing? I want to kiss her more than anything but she’s told me over and over again not to. I didn’t want her to regret something because of the heat of the moment. I don’t want her to feel like I took advantage of her but I also don’t want her to feel like I don’t want her. 

The shower turns on, making me stand up. I catch her looking at herself in the mirror before she glances down. Without speaking, we both get in the huge shower that luckily has two shower heads. She wets her hair then smiles at me sweetly. 

“Can I at least have a hug?” She asks. I chuckle, opening my arms up to her. She wraps her arms around my waist. We wash the day off each other—stressful meetings, long walks to and from the conference center, the amazing sex we just had. The room is mostly silent with the occasional Can you hand me my soap? 

After drying off, we crawl back into the shared bed. I’m sitting up with my back against the headboard while I flick through the TV channels. Half laying down and half resting against the headboard, she keeps awkwardly moving closer to me, opening her mouth and breathing in like she wants to say something but never does.

I slouch a bit to get to her level before opening up my arm up to her and so she can lay her head on my chest. As she snuggles into me, I swear I could die happy right here. The air is calm and sweet and warm, her presence provides an overwhelming sense of comfort and I can’t help but graze my fingers up and down her arm until she falls asleep. 

As predicted, insomnia is my enemy tonight. Questions swirl around my mind. 

Should I have kissed her? What does she want after this? What’s she gonna be like tomorrow morning? How should I act tomorrow morning? After eating some almonds and a banana to try and induce sleep, I go for a walk around the hotel, trying to tire out my body and mind. Eventually, I lay back down thinking about what I really want between the two of us.

Normally, I’d squeeze my eyes shut to picture her lips and eyelashes, but the real Mira is lying right next to me. But I probably shouldn’t stare at her without her permission. With the warmth of thinking of her, there’s also a tug of uncertainty. What if she doesn’t feel the same way I do? What if she just wanted sex? I couldn’t really be mad at her for that, though. That’s what we both wanted at the beginning, even if there may have been some underlying feelings. That’s at least all we were expecting. 

Sighing, I turn away from her, thoughts tangling into each other, emotions pulling on the threads in every direction. I count my breaths, slow and steady, but each breath is full of her scent, making things worse, the adrenaline of unspoken feelings keeping me awake. 

Time stretches out and I look at my phone, the clock glaring back at me—4:37 AM. Another sigh escapes me, heavier this time. My meetings are done for the week, but I don’t like massive changes in my sleep schedule, even when I'm abroad. 

Pulling the covers over my head, I block out the world before quietly whispering her name, like it’s a confession I hope she may hear. I’m answered only by the faintest of snores that have been steady for hours. Finally, my thoughts blur, exhaustion pulling me into a restless sleep. But even in my dreams, she’s there, a shadow at the edge of consciousness.

-

“Hey,” I say groggily to Mira. “What happened to you?” Mira’s already dressed in her work clothes with her hair neatly tied back. The smell of the coffee she’s pouring wafts through the air and warms me up. I start to hug her from behind, but—

“I made coffee,” she replies, her tone professional and clipped. 

“Why’d you get out of bed?”

“To work. That’s why I’m here.” Her voice is detached and she finally turns to look at me. 

Searching her face for the warmth I’d seen last night, I say, “Yeah, but I thought after—”

“We shouldn’t have done that last night.”

“What?”

“Sex,” she says matter-of-factly. “We should not have had sex last night.”

“I know what you meant, but why not?” I ask, my heart pounding. “We’ve been practically having sex for months now.”

“Last night was different.” 

“So?”

Mira takes a deep breath before sitting the coffee pot back on the table. “Because, Yeonjun, I’m your servant and we used to date and now…”

“And now what? We pretend it didn’t happen?” Anger and frustration bubbles inside me. Whether I consciously knew it or not, I’d made my decision last night. I want to be with her for real and I’m willing to do whatever it takes, as long as she’ll have me. I was hoping she felt the same way, but she’s still not willing to admit the depth of our relationship out loud. “Mira, last night was…it was real. You can’t just ignore that.”

She looks away from me, wrapping her arms around herself. “I can’t do this anymore.”

My heart races faster with each step I take toward her. “It’s okay to have feelings.”

“No, it’s not,” she spits, twisting her head back to look at me. “I cannot do this again. We cannot do this again.” I start to interrupt. “I don’t wanna hear it, Yeonjun.”

“Mira, please—”

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice breaking. “We have to end this before it even starts.” Her words bring a finality to us before she walks out of the kitchenette and onto the balcony. I suppose that’s it then. 

The silence left in her wake is deafening. I slump into a chair, running my hands through my hair, the weight of every unspoken word heavy on my shoulders. The morning light filters through the window, casting long shadows across the room. It’s surreal. 

No. This is not how we end.

Following her out onto the balcony, she stands with her back to me, staring blankly at the lake. The same lake we kayaked on together a few days ago. I envy the serenity of the water. “Mira, you can’t just walk away,” I say softly, hoping to reach her through the wall she’s built around herself. 

She doesn’t turn, but her shoulders tense. “You said it yourself, Yeonjun. I’m nothing. We couldn’t even be together even if we wanted to.” 

“Is that what this is about? You’re still upset about something I said seven years ago?” She shakes her head. “Then what is it?” She keeps turning away from me. And ignoring me. “Talk to me. Please.” 

“There’s nothing left to say.”

cw. crying, kissing. 

MIRA'S POV

The rest of our trip to Switzerland was business as usual. I made sure of it. I woke up on time, got his coffee, did everything a servant does and in the manner a servant would do. No smiles. No anger. Just business. 

“What’s been up with you recently?” Hyomin shakes me out of my daydreaming—or daynightmaring, perhaps—replaying that morning with Yeonjun. How hurt he looked. How it felt to break my own heart. How it felt to break his heart. “You haven’t been acting like yourself. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I say, glancing over at Yeonjun sitting at the dining table without even realizing it at first. 

Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Did something happen between you two?”

“No,” I say harshly. 

“You can’t be serious.” I shrug. “You went to Switzerland together for a week and nothing happened? Not even a kiss or a not-so-platonic hug?”

“I have work to do, Hyomin.” Shaking my head, I stomp away in the direction of my room. Slamming my door shut, I press the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the tears from coming but it's no use. My phone buzzes but I already know who it is. 

Yeonjun 3:52 PM Are you ever gonna talk to me again?

It’s been four days since Switzerland but that’s the twelfth message since we got back. 

Can we talk? Can you meet me in our closet tonight? Just to talk, nothing else. I’d really like to talk to you. Please stop ignoring me. 

I have sent zero. I can’t bring myself to. Tossing my phone on my mattress, there’s a black dress bag and a note on my bed. 

For Saturday. –Y

Are you fucking kidding me? He’s buying me gifts now? What kind of relationship does he think we have? We make each other come a few times, have sex in Switzerland once and now he won’t stop texting me and buying me dresses? Fuck this. 

Me. 4:01 PM Closet. Now.

-

“Hello, darling,” Yeonjun says smugly as I slam the door shut. 

“What the fuck is this, Yeonjun?” I scream-whisper, shoving the dress bag into his chest as his face turns horrified. 

“A dress,” he says defensively, trying to not let the dress bag fall to the floor. 

“Don’t patronize me,” I spit. “You think you can buy me or something?” He shakes his head nervously. “Taking me to Switzerland, staying in a fancy hotel, buying me food, now you’re buying me an expensive dress?”

“I took you to Switzerland as a member of my staff,” he reminds me.

“If you think for one second that I’ll just come running back to you because of this—”

He grabs me by my forearm and gently yanks me close to him to stare down at me hungrily, like he wants to take me right then and there. I know this look very well by this point. 

“You’re cute when you’re mad at me.”

“Shut up.” I throw the dress down and attempt to turn away from him. “Leave me alone, Yeonjun.” His grip tightens, not painfully, but firmly enough to prevent me from going anywhere. 

“Why are you so angry, really? Is it the gifts, or is it because you’re scared of what this means?” I glare at him, feeling the anger bubble up again. 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I roll my eyes. He sighs, letting go of my arm but not stepping back. 

“I’m not trying to buy you, okay? I just...I like you. And I want to do things for you.”

I cross my arms, trying to maintain the obviousness of my anger but I can’t help I’m shocked. He likes me? Like that? I mean, I was hopeful but I never thought he’d ever say it out loud. Should I say it too? I almost think about it, but instead, I ask, “You think throwing money at me will make me like you more?”

“No,” he says softly, surprising me. “I just don’t know what to do, Mira,” he raises his voice. “You’re ignoring me and I want to show you I care about you.”

“I know you care about me, Yeonjun. I’m telling you to stop caring about me,” I say sternly. “It’s over.”

Over the next few days, he stops texting me, talking to me, I don’t even catch him glancing at me like I usually do several times a day. He must be avoiding me—or doing exactly what I asked him to do, I guess. Which pisses me off too. 

Saturday rolls around and we have yet another fancy dinner to host. The Queen pulled out all the stops for this one too—amazing food, open bar with fancy drinks, great music, even greater decorations. It’s gorgeous. I’d realized I should probably stop being such a bitch and make amends with him. As a gesture, I show up wearing the dress he gave me. 

“Prince Yeonjun?” I ask, watching his ears perk up as he turns around, a clear smile on his face at the sound of my voice. “Can I have a dance, please?” His face relaxes as he nods before he extends his hand to take me to the dancefloor. He performs his customary bow, followed by my curtsy. My tummy tingles a bit at the formality of it all. I feel like a princess. 

As my hand falls into his, nothing matters. Not our history. Not our future. Not his title. Not the lack of mine. I’m with him. We’re together. The soft music from the chamber orchestra is perfect accompaniment for us. 

I’d thought about the idea of us for so long. What we could be, what I want us to be, what I think he wants us to be. I don’t think it’ll ever work, but at least there’s tonight. There’s this dance. 

We sway together, hand in hand, my other hand on his shoulder while his rests around my waist. Eyes locked. His jacket catches the flicker of the chandelier while my gown flows down my waist and onto the floor gracefully. 

Expertly turning me, I can’t help but think back to the first night he broke my heart. Would he do that again? Pressing his hand firmer against my waist, I welcome it by pressing my body more securely against his.  The warmth between us grows stronger by the second. We’re falling in love again. Or maybe we already did. 

He towers over me, much like he did the night of our first kiss. Returning from a night where we’d once again snuck out to see each other, he walked me home. Standing on the front porch of my cottage, we refused to wish each other a good night. The moon was the only light source, but it was enough to see how handsome he was, even back then. 

“Yeonjun…” I whisper as he continues to lead us through a casual dance that lets us focus on a conversation. “I’m sorry.” He looks at me questioningly. “I shouldn’t have gotten upset about the dress. I felt…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I just felt so used, I dunno.” Horror crosses his face. 

“Mira…I didn’t mean—”

“No, I know,” I say. “But I felt like we could never be together, not really anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

I take a deep breath and say, “Keeping secrets, never being able to tell everyone…we should probably stop…you know, what we’ve been doing.” I look up at him through my shaky eyes and he frowns but forces himself to nod. 

“If that’s what you want.”

“I just can’t,” I sniffle. “I can’t do this again. I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t. I’m right here.” He presses his hands even firmer against my waist to prove it. 

“But where were you seven years ago? I’ve—” My eyes can’t hold my tears any longer, breaking free to run down my cheeks. “I’ve missed you so much.” 

“I know. I’m so sorry.” Brushing the apple of my cheek with his thumb, he lifts my face to meet his eyes. “I’ve missed you too.” Pressing my lips together, I blink a tear out of my eye and I shake my head in protest. “Mira…listen.” He never lets me go. “I am so sorry for what I said that night. If I could take it back, I would.” I smile. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. You mean so much to me,” he says genuinely. “That night in Switzerland meant so much to me.” Everything halts. Our eyes meet. “But if you want me to stop, I will. I’ll never bring us up again.” 

“Us?”

“You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.” The wind’s knocked out of me. My heart races as he inches closer and closer. So close I can see each individual eyelash. “Tell me to stop.” 

“No,” I say, welcoming his lips on top of mine. His lips meet mine softly, a whisper of a kiss that feels like a promise. It's gentle, tentative at first, like we’re both terrified to lose each other. But then, the years of longing we've kept hidden surge forward, and the kiss deepens.

The room around us fades away, the music, the murmurs of the crowd, the flickering candlelight—they all dissolve into a hazy backdrop. All that exists is us, bound together in this moment of rawness. His hands move from my waist to cradle my face, his touch tender yet insistent. My hands rest against his chest. 

His kiss is everything I've ever dreamed of—sweet yet passionate, comforting yet electrifying. It speaks of forgiveness and second chances. The saltiness of my tears mingle with the softness of his lips.

It's as if we're communicating without words. Each movement, each touch, each breath shared between us is a declaration of our feelings for each other. His arms encircle me, holding me close, and I feel safe, cherished, and utterly adored.

When we finally part, breathless and overwhelmed, our foreheads rest against each other, our eyes closed as we savor the moment. The world starts to come back into focus, but it's different now. Everyone’s eyes are on us. The room has come to a halt. Glancing around the room, there isn’t one person that hasn’t stopped what they’re doing to stare at us. Not us. Me. 

“Fuck,” I whisper. “Excuse me.” I scurry off quickly, leaving him there alone.

cw. unsupportive parents, classism, crying, love.

YEONJUN'S POV

Everyone watches as she runs off like it’s a movie. She’s picked up her skirt to avoid tripping, and her head hangs low as she searches for the nearest exit. I awkwardly look around the room, excusing myself with a few head bows.

Running through the castle hallway, I catch up to her right outside my bedroom door. Her forehead’s pressed against the doorframe, arms wrapped around her body while she waits for me. She’s waiting for me. That gives me hope. At least she’s not running from me anymore. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” I whisper, grazing my hand across her shoulder blade. “C’mere.” I pull her into my chest, wrapping one of my arms around her while I open the door with my free hand. I lead her to my bed where she sits awkwardly scrunched into a ball while I rush to flick on some lamps. Then, I sit next to her, my hand resting on her shoulder blade for comfort. 

“I can’t—” she can hardly speak through her tears. 

“It’s okay.”

“I can’t do this, Jjun, I can’t.” She’s shaking her head, tears running down her cheeks. “I really want to but I just…” She trails off. Before I can speak up, she adds, “Your mother—” 

My heart sinks. “My mother? Did she do something to you?” Pressing her lips together, she nods. “Take some deep breaths, love, and tell me what she did.” She does as I say, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth, attempting to compose herself. 

“After,” she starts hiccuping and I encourage her to take more deep breaths by modeling the breathing technique she was using earlier. “After that night in Switzerland,” she begins, but it’s too difficult for her to speak. Pulling out her phone, she silently thumbs through her phone to her voice mail box. My mother’s voice, cold and stern, plays from the speaker. 

Mira Ashenrose, the audacious servant who dares aspire beyond her station, it has come to my attention that your eyes linger far too long on my son. Your actions are not only bold but also insolent, as you seem to have forgotten your place within my castle walls.

Let me be clear: the Prince's future is one of sovereignty and grandeur, a path predetermined by bloodline and duty. Any attempts to disrupt or divert his focus with your insignificant presence will be met with severe consequences.

You are a servant, a role you should embrace with humility and gratitude. Your duties do not include entertaining fantasies of a life beyond your given position, especially one involving a royal whom you are unworthy to even address directly.

Cease your imprudent behavior immediately. Should I find even the slightest hint of your infatuation resurfacing, you will discover that my patience is not to be tested. Your continued employment—and indeed, your very well-being—hangs by a thread of my tolerance, a thread that I am fully prepared to cut.

Do not mistake this warning for mere words. You will find that I am a queen of action. Refrain from crossing boundaries that were never meant for you, and remember your place. It is only in your compliance that you will find any semblance of mercy from me.

Consider this your only warning.

By this point, her crying has subsided to sniffles but I’m speechless. How could she have done this? “I woke up that night after we…were together. You were still next to me. I was just checking the time and I had that message waiting for me.” 

“Mira, I don’t care what my mother thinks.”

“I care,” she says. “I can’t be with someone whose mother thinks of me like this,” she says, gesturing to her phone. “And you used to think of me that way. What if you start thinking like that again? Or do you already think of me this way?”

“Of course not,” I say, grabbing her hands. “Look at me.” She puts on a brave face before looking me straight in the eye. “Do you wanna know what I think of you?” She hums. “Perfect. Beautiful. Kind. Caring. Talented.” Smiling to herself, she looks down at our hands. “That’s what I think of you.” She nods gently and I brush some hair back. “You should have told me.” She shakes her head. 

“I decided to quit anyway,” she sniffles. “I already put in my two weeks. That’s why I asked you to dance. I wasn’t gonna leave without dancing with you at least once.” She glances down at my lips. “Or kissing you at least once,” she giggles. 

“Or twice?”

She chuckles again, glancing down at the floor, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand. “Sure.” I peck her lips gently. 

“Three times?” I ask, barely backing away from her. 

“How about you kiss me over and over until I tell you to stop?”

I don’t waste any more time playing silly games with her. I crash my lips into hers and we melt together, she groans against my lips and I deepen the kiss, my hand against her cheek. But she soon breaks it to ask, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Why didn’t you kiss me? You know, when I asked you to.”

“Because I thought if I did, you’d do exactly what you did the next morning,” I say. “I didn't wanna lose you.” 

Nodding, she runs her thumb across my knuckles. “What are we gonna do?” She asks. 

“About what?”

“Us.”

“There’s an us?”

“Ah, shut up,” she laughs, nudging my shoulder. “You know I’m yours whenever you’re ready.”

-

“Yeonjun, what is it? I’m very busy,” Mother says, not bothering to look up from the many papers that are shuffled across her desk. 

“Mother, we need to talk,” I say, my voice steady but firm.

Sliding her glasses off her nose, she drops them on the desk and turns in her chair to make eye contact. “You’re right,” she says and I look confused. “What are these policy proposals you wrote?” Why is she reading those? How did she even find them? “This Freshwater Sustainability Proposal,” she says matter-of-factly. 

“What’s wr—”

“This is some of your worst writing. Half of it doesn’t even make sense,” she says, my stomach dropping. Those were drafts. “I mean, what is this part about ‘aquatic ecosystem revitalization through bioremediation techniques’? You think the council will understand that jargon? And this section on ‘community-based water stewardship programs’? It’s laughably naive. Who’s going to manage these programs? Volunteers?”

“That is a well-researched proposal meant to—”

“Well-researched?” She scoffs, flipping through the pages with a dismissive hand. “It’s idealistic drivel, Yeonjun. We need practical solutions, not fanciful ideas that belong in a classroom.”

“These ideas could make a real difference.”

She waves a hand, brushing off my words. “Idealism is pointless. We can’t gamble on untested theories.”

“Untested theories?” I can’t help but let a note of disbelief slip into my voice. “They’re proven methods many other countries have successfully implemented.”

“Our priority is status and stability.”

“What good is status and stability if our environment collapses?” I challenge.

She glares at me, her eyes cold before she lets out an evil chuckle. “Sometimes I forget how young you are.”

“Is that why you feel the need to control every aspect of my life?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I take a deep breath, preparing for the moment of truth. “When did you find out about Mira?”

The question hangs in the air, catching her completely off guard. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, but she quickly masks her surprise. “Who? Oh, that servant that quit last week? I did see you two kiss at the party.”

“Don’t play games with me, Mother,” I say, my voice hard. “I know you knew about us before that. That voicemail you left her? Where you threatened her, told her she was nothing but a servant, and to stay away from me.”

She recovers quickly, her expression turning cold. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”

“How dare you do such a thing?” I shoot back. “Mira is someone I care about and you had no right to interfere with our relationship,” I say.

“Relationship?” She rolls her eyes. “Your relationship is a shallow, pleasant distraction at best. She’s simply a way to blow off steam, to indulge in sexual frustrations.”

Ew. But okay. “It’s more than that, Mother. Mira means something to me.”

She sighs, a mix of impatience and disappointment in her voice. “Yeonjun, you’re too young to understand the complexities involved here. You have a duty to this kingdom, to your people. Mira is not part of that equation.”

“If you can’t find a way to accept the woman I love, then…I don’t know if there’s anything else for us to say to each other.”

“You’ve known her for three months, Yeonjun. You’re not in love.”

I shake my head. “We’ve known each other for seven years.”

“What?” She asks, shocked. “You’ve been seeing her behind my back for seven years?”

“No,” I say. “We used to date a while ago and then we…I dunno, started back up after she started working here.” 

“You think you love her,” she counters sharply. “But what you feel is temporary. It’s not sustainable. And you’re all for sustainability, right?” I roll my eyes. “I will not allow you to jeopardize your future and duty for a fleeting infatuation,” I say. “Your choices affect everyone,” she says, her tone unyielding. “Including the stability of this kingdom.”

“You’re trying to control me,” I accuse, feeling the weight of her authority pressing down on me.

“I’m trying to protect you. You must think beyond your own desires.”

Eventually, I say, “Mother, mind your business.” I storm off, headed in the direction of the garden to get some air. I don’t stop walking until I find myself sitting under the willow tree that Mira and I love so much. She’s always loved it here. 

Maybe Mira’s right—I don't know if it's such a great idea to be with someone whose mother thinks of them like mine does about her. Fuck, this is so unfair. Regardless, Mother’s getting what she wants. Us not together. 

Quiet footsteps approach me. Not now, please. I can’t argue with Mother anymore. 

“The woman you love, huh?”

“Mira,” I say, happiness evident in my voice. “Hi.” She smiles, holding her hands behind her back before she walks closer to me. “Um…” She sticks her hand out for me to grab and helps me to my feet. 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I swear,” she says but I wouldn’t care if she were to be honest. “I was getting some water from the kitchen and overheard.” 

“Mira…” I say, an undeniable smile spreading across my face, my hands running down her arms, wrapping around her waist to bring her closer. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“Why’s that?” She asks with a sweet smile. 

“I’m always happy to see you,” I say. “I’m sorry you had to hear what she said about you.” She shakes her head. “I do by the way,” I say. “I love you.”

“Fucking finally,” she whispers before reaching her arms around my neck to pull me closer to her, crashing her lips into mine. They move over each other passionately. She tastes so fucking delicious. She feels so fucking warm. She smells so fucking good. “Oh, I love you too,” she giggles, breaking the kiss. “Sorry, I should’ve said it sooner.”

“I love you too too,” I say between kisses. “So much. You have no idea.” She looks so sweet. “I guess we should probably talk about—”

Shaking her head, she says, “Not yet. Let’s just—” She gives me another deep kiss. “We can think about that later, okay?” I nod and press my lips to hers again. 

Everything is so perfect. The way her laugh echoes in my ear like nothing could ever go wrong, the way her body slowly but sensually grinds against my own, the way we know we love each other and can finally say it out loud, even if we don’t know what the future holds for us. 

Breaking the kiss gently, she’s absolutely stunning. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as gorgeous as her. I brush my thumb across her eyebrow and say matter-of-factly, “You’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “So are you.”

The air shifts. We’re alone and we’re hyper aware of that fact. I doubt anyone could even hear us. Our eyelids get heavy as we lean into each other, our lips touching in a fiery kiss that leaves me needing more. Holding her cheek in my hand, it grows deeper and hotter until a tiny moan leaves her mouth. “Fuck,” she says under her breath. “You’re such a good kisser.”

“That’s all you, baby,” I say, sliding my hand down to squeeze her amazing ass. 

“Yeonjun,” she whines. “You can’t tell me you love me and then not immediately fuck me.” 

“I can’t even imagine doing such a thing,” I chuckle.

“You think…” she glances behind her. “Think we can sneak into your room together?”

“Absolutely.”

Walking back to the castle makes us all the more giddy. Hands touching each other playfully, giggling and flirting in hushed tones all the way back to my room where I lead her to my bed. 

Landing on top of her, she’s so pretty. Covering every inch of her bare skin with kisses, I can’t stop whispering compliments to her. Real compliments I’ve always wanted to say. 

You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I’m so lucky I get to love you. I love every inch of you and I’m gonna show how much I mean it. 

“Please, Jjun, I need you.”

“You know I need to taste you first, though, right?”

“Of course.” She lets me slip her sweatpants off her legs, the cool air making goosebumps prick her skin. Her maroon thong is so sexy. Desperately moving her thong to the side, I take a deep breath, wanting to take my time with her. Letting go of her thong, it snaps back into place, covering her back up. I press my lips to her tummy, peppering her with soft and slow kisses. 

“So perfect,” I whisper against her skin. And I mean it. Every time I say it. “I could worship your body for hours.” 

“We’ve got time, my love.” 

All I know is by the time I’m done covering her body in kisses, the sun has completely set and she’s illuminated only by the lamp on my bedside table. But I can absolutely still see how beautiful she is. I could see her beauty in the pitch black. 

“Yeonjun,” she starts, pulling me up to look her in the eyes. She brushes some of my hair back and says, “Whatever happens after this, I want you to know—” I start to protest. What does she mean? I know what’s gonna happen after this. We’re gonna find a way to be together. “I want you to know that I love you, okay?”

“Mira…I love you too.”

“Just know that…” she takes a deep breath. “I’m yours.”

I give her a long, lingering kiss and say, “And I’m yours.”  

@aduh0308 request a tag :)

[jenscx]

SAY MY NAME — yoon jiyoon x f!reader

your best friend is always there for you (even if she doesn’t admit it).

TAGS — fluff, zero angst, non-idol au, high school au, kinda tsundere!jiyoon, stuco!reader, best friends, izna members are all in a dance team, grumpy x sunshine (a little!)

WORDCOUNT — 5.1k

you like simplicity. normalcy. in a world where society is constantly changing, and you’re unable to predict what’s going to happen next, you find solace in a routine. if everything goes wrong in your life, at least you have that bit of hope it will return to normal. you follow a strict schedule; wake up, eat breakfast at exactly seven in the morning, go to school, reach home by five and go to bed by ten.

jiyoon’s well aware of this. she knows of your strange but understandable regime. your best friend fits into it seamlessly. she fetches you from your house (despite the fact she lives twenty metres away), and walks you home.

if you have student council meetings after school, she waits patiently outside, sometimes even joining the discussions. the dynamics of your friendship have changed throughout your life. it doesn’t remain as it is. jiyoon, from a brooding teenager, finally opens up and willingly interacts with your friends. you, from an extroverted middle schooler, finally learn to calm down and enjoy silence with jiyoon.

yet, the one thing that remains throughout the years without change is the chocolate milk in jiyoon’s hand.

she first bought it when you were twelve and she was thirteen. you were struggling with the new topics and lessons introduced in class and you had lost countless nights of sleep just trying to catch up. jiyoon had taken it upon herself to ensure you at least had something to fuel your energy. after hanging out at your house, the girl observed the cartons of chocolate milk stored in your cabinets. it was only sooner or later that jiyoon placed a box of chocolate milk on your desk.

(“for you,” a heavy blush painting her cheeks as she places the mystery item on your table gently.

you gasp, “jiyoonie! how’d you know i liked chocolate milk?”

jiyoon had merely shrugged, “just a guess.”)

it’s a form of affection that jiyoon rarely dishes out. you appreciate it nonetheless despite her frown in the morning and the nonchalant words she says.

she’s been your best friend for years. your rock. your saviour. if you were drowning, she would be the one who would pull your head out of water. sometimes you’re unsure if you even give back the same comfort to her, but jiyoon just brushes it off, saying she relishes the time spent together.

despite her quiet nature, jiyoon had a way with words. at your lowest, she always knew how to cheer you up. she’s like your personal cheerleader, you chuckle at the thought. somehow, jiyoon managed to be privy to all your innermost feelings without even asking you. sometimes, jiyoon would just sit next to you in solace. other times, she would bring you to go eat without a question.

yet, when you do profess your appreciation for your best friend, jiyoon just tenses up. it’s kind of funny watching her flounder around to deny the fact that she cares for you. at least, it’s a fact that you both are aware of. it’s more so that jiyoon can’t accept it.

(“unnie, i’m starting to think you like me with all the chocolate milk you buy.”

“wha— y/n! it’s just because i have extra change!”)

it’s comical, the way jiyoon’s eyes widen and she just starts gaping at you. but that’s only in front of other people. when it’s just you and her, she carries a heavy blush, flushing from her neck to her ears. it’s adorable.

“what are you looking at?” her gruff voice sounds out in your ears. you hide an amused smile at her frown.

“i have eyes for a reason, y’know. can i no longer look?”

jiyoon’s lips fall into a thin line. she’s in the midst of revising, with the year-end exams coming up, she needed all the time in the world. you were the one who suggested studying, but it seemed you were doing everything but that.

your eyes trail from her face to her upper chest, where her unbuttoned collar exposes a shiny, silvery necklace with a dainty bear charm. it reminded you of jiyoon, who was like a polar bear. despite her cold and expressionless aura, the girl was actually very warm (and she gave great hugs but jiyoon would always deny it). you remember the day you had presented the velvety box to jiyoon, professing your forever adoration and devotion to the girl, who had only huffed and scolded you for making a scene.

it rejuvenates you that jiyoon’s wearing it and the feeling totally makes up for the empty wallet you carried around that month.

“stop staring down my shirt, you perv.”

“wha— i’m not a perv!” you defend yourself passionately, “i was just looking at your necklace, it’s nice that you wear it.”

jiyoon’s pen falls down, a solemn look on her face.

“i never take it off.”

you can feel the way warmth blooms in your chest, like the first arrival of spring.

“really?” you whisper softly.

your best friend shrugs, indifferent, “i can’t reach the clasp behind. it’s hard to take off. don’t look at me like that.”

it’s really not difficult to remove. you would know. you’ve seen jiyoon take it off by herself countless times before. but the fact that she’s acting like she doesn’t have a choice, only makes her more endearing.

“what if i want it back?” you ask jokingly.

jiyoon sends you a withering glare, her eyes narrowing into slits as her hand rests right above the necklace, covering it, “it’s mine.”

“but i gave it to you. i bought it.”

“exactly, you gave it to me.”

“you like it so much that you don’t want to give it back?” you tease, “i knew you loved me.”

she only stares at you incredulously before scoffing loudly, “in your dreams.”

“you’re like a cat,” you say suddenly. jiyoon only frowns.

“both cold and brooding, but you’re just a fluffy ball of cuteness aren’t you?” you continue.

jiyoon swats your hand away from her hair.

“and this necklace… it’s like a collar?” you laugh, “does that mean you’re mine?”

“what— are you crazy?” no, the flush on her cheeks is crazy. you prod at her cheeks with your finger, admiring the way the red blooms throughout. “don’t be weird!”

you pout, “you’re making it weird.”

she only rolls her eyes.

you smile, using your bare foot to slowly caress her leg. jiyoon shoots up immediately, banging her knee into the underside of the table. a scowl rests on her face as you laugh heartily at her shocked expression.

“you’re so annoying!”

“ah… don’t be like that, unnie!” you whine, pulling at her sleeve while she shrieks for you to get away.

it’s a common sight to see you two like this— bickering and fighting. but anyone with eyes could see that behind every snarky remark, there’s an underlying tension. you’re not sure what to call it, but you feel it sometimes; like when you walk home with jiyoon and the sunlight hits her face, bringing all her features to life. maybe it was pure adoration for your best friend. you feel it too with every chocolate milk she buys. it makes you feel all warm despite the milk being cold.

it’s a little strange. but it’s jiyoon, so everything’s fine.

you don’t usually get like this. you understand that jiyoon’s older and she’s in the grade above you, but the age gap doesn’t seem to matter so much after being friends for so many years. yet, you don’t understand the feeling brewing in your stomach as you watch jiyoon talk to her friends during dance practice. you know that jiyoon’s a phenomenal singer and dancer, and her only reason for not exploring her talent in singing was because ‘theatre kids are weird’. however, you’re not sure you like how many pretty girls there are that jiyoon converses with.

and not to mention the number of guys who crowded the dance room just to look at the girls. it’s extremely weird how they’re all salivating over exposed shoulders, but you kind of understand why people would want to stare at these girls. they’re all gorgeous. still, it doesn’t give them a reason to come here and look! you huff angrily from your spot on the floor. jiyoon had forced you to come watch, because apparently they needed an outsider’s opinion.

you were probably the best option and the only one who wouldn’t pass out at a wink from the girls.

backed up against the mirror, you hold up jiyoon’s phone to record. you watch as they execute their choreography, and it’s a practised routine when they finish, and you give your own compliments.

most of the time, they’re unconstructive and it’s mainly to cheer the girls up. but you think jiyoon appreciates them nonetheless.

when they do finally finish (after rounds of gruelling practice that even you wince at), jiyoon drags you out of the practice room and pushes her bag into your hands. as she heads towards the washroom to change, you bid the rest of the girls goodbye. your best friend had promised to bring you out for ice cream after her practice, as an exchange for having you stay back. you hope she doesn’t realise that you would stay back regardless.

while jiyoon’s in the washroom, you take a good look at everyone else around. you recognise some guys from the basketball team, but the others are just a blurry haze of memory.

a particular comment catches your attention.

“—don’t you think jiyoon looks prettier than usual?” you agree, but you also disagree because jiyoon is always the prettiest.

“yeah? you think you can pull her?” this coerces a frown on your face. you glance at the guys talking. who the hell are they?

“i mean, c’mon, if i were in that practice room, i would—”

“bro,” the other guy smacks his shoulder, “i’m pretty sure you’re not her type.”

you kind of recognise him as some kid on the football team.

“i’m not just brains okay,” you would disagree, you’re sure you’ve seen his name at the bottom of the rank list, “this body is to die for too.”

you, personally, would like him to die.

honestly, thank god that at that moment, jiyoon comes out, in fresh new clothes.

“jiyoon unnie!” you yell loudly. the two guys flinch before turning around slowly to meet your eyes.

your best friend only raises an eyebrow and takes her bag back. you use the opportunity to sling your arm through hers, effectively interlocking your fingers together.

“unnie…” you drag out, “i was waiting long for you.”

no you weren’t, it’s a lie. jiyoon smiles softly, one that’s only reserved for you.

“ah really? sorry y/nnie.” it’s times like this that you’re grateful for jiyoon. behind her cold exterior is just your best friend. but if you ever brought this up to anyone else, you would be strangled. the two boys stare at you strangely, probably wondering who the hell were you.

you cling onto jiyoon tighter.

“are you paying for me?” you ask, beaming at the girl. jiyoon looks a little confused and rightfully so. you’re clingy, but not this affectionate. and the whiny tone laced into your voice isn’t normal either.

jiyoon nods hesitantly before murmuring, “are you okay?”

you eye the two boys who are still standing nearby.

“yup, just excited for our date!” you exclaim. one of them lets out a surprised gasp and the other groans, disgruntled. you tune out whatever they say next in favour of staring at jiyoon. the girl only shakes her head fondly before tugging at your arm.

maybe it was irrational for you to act this way. jiyoon was your best friend, she wasn’t your daughter or anything. you didn’t have the right to feel like this. but you were just looking out for her, right? you wanted the best for jiyoon. and the best was clearly not those kids. they were barely worthy of being in her vicinity.

“okay silly,” jiyoon flicks your forehead with her free hand. you groan, covering the reddening mark.

the two guys had scurried away by now. you smirked internally, proud that your tactic had worked. hand-in-hand, you follow jiyoon out of the school. her longer legs make it harder for you to catch up, but unbeknownst to you, her

“did you like the routine today?” jiyoon asks. you nod fervently, “it was really cool! did koko unnie choreograph it?”

jiyoon turns to you, affronted before she mumbles out, “i did…”

“ah really?! that’s amazing,” you hype her up immediately, not liking the way an upset jiyoon looks. the girl somewhat schools herself into a calmer expression, “yeah, we’re performing it for the festival.”

“what!” you yell, surprise evident. jiyoon winces at your loudness.

“you didn’t tell me that!” you started raining punches on jiyoon, who only winces and dodges your hands.

“why are you hitting me?!”

you groan loudly, allowing your head to fall against jiyoon’s shoulder in despair. “i’m on the festival committee!”

“so?”

“i can’t watch your performance! i’ll be running around everywhere,” you whine. jiyoon frowns, but she just pats your head, “it’s okay, y/n.”

no, it’s not okay! you want to retort. the routine that jiyoon worked so hard on— you wouldn’t be able to watch it fully! and everyone else would! including those two boys who clearly only liked jiyoon for her looks. you do think jiyoon’s the most gorgeous girl alive, especially the way her eyes crinkle. it’s rare, but that’s what makes it better. a rarity for most, but common for you. the mere thought of not being able to watch jiyoon’s choreography saddens you immensely.

seeing your downcasted eyes makes jiyoon procure an item from the pocket of her sweatpants. she hands it to you, wrapping your fingers around it gingerly.

you look up at her, a smile involuntarily making its way onto your face at the sight of the small packet of chocolate milk.

jiyoon smiles softly, “it’s okay if you can’t make it. i’m disappointed but i understand. don’t look so sad.”

her words of comfort only bring you more melancholy, knowing she wanted you to watch her performance. you’ve never regretted joining the student council more than right now. gently sipping on the chocolate milk, you relish in its sweetness.

“let’s go get ice cream now.”

the forlorn expression on your face slowly disappears as jiyoon drags you towards the ice cream parlour. distracted by her surprising conversation, you forget all about your sadness. she just has that effect on you; the ability to make you happy and content. even with simple words, she brightens up your day. usually, people would compare you and jiyoon to the sun and clouds. extroverted and bright, you were assumed to be the chatterbox, constantly talking jiyoon’s ears off. your best friend was like a raincloud, sometimes gloomy, sometimes indifferent, but as cheesy as it sounds, the presence of rain indicates the presence of a rainbow.

jiyoon was like a rainbow. multi-faced and blinding.

and so was her choice of ice cream. you watch, amused, as jiyoon holds a cone, wobbling with scoops of napoleon ice cream. her tongue darts out to stabilise the shaking tower. you lick your own chocolate ice cream.

“it’s good,” you mumble as jiyoon holds your hand.

“weather’s becoming hotter,” she remarks, “probably why it tastes so good.”

you nod at that.

“how’d you know the weather’s getting hotter? you learned that in geography?”

“common sense, y/n,” jiyoon deadpanned. you chuckle and dig into your dessert.

“did you hear about seoyeon getting a girlfriend? i knew she liked girls from the start!” you exclaim, mouth full of ice cream.

“yeah, look at her. she’s obviously into girls. who is she dating?”

“this girl from basketball. anyway, there’s a new girl who joined choir and everyone says she’s really pretty.”

jiyoon looks up from her ice cream, “is she pretty?”

you turn to jiyoon, pout on your face, “why would you want to know?!”

she flinches, and then grimaces awkwardly, “curiosity’s sake?”

“since when were you curious about pretty girls?” you retort. jiyoon only shrugs. it’s true though. throughout your friendship with the older girl, she hasn’t shown much interest in gossip or drama, only offering snide remarks and nods when you told her about the current rumours circulating the school. the thought of her showing interest in other girls forms an involuntary pout on your face. and okay, maybe you started it by stating that the new girl was pretty, but jiyoon has never asked for an elaboration before!

frowning at your ice cream cone, you let the silence drag on. has jiyoon shown any interest in any other girls? wasn’t she always hanging out with you? was it because she always hung out with you that she couldn’t hang out with anyone else? you wonder if she wants to spend time with other people. taking a final lick of your ice cream, you reach your doorstep. your hand falls slack in hers, and jiyoon waves goodbye.

it was a routine for her to always walk you home first, even if she had to walk back to her house again. she claimed that something might happen to you and she didn’t want to be blamed for it. you think it’s because she wants to spend extra time with you, but you don’t mind it either.

“bye, y/n, see you tomorrow.”

you nod, not bothering to hug jiyoon goodbye like usual. your best friend stares at you awkwardly before clearing her throat and turning away.

“see you tomorrow, unnie.”

the smile she sends you only heats your cheeks up.

and when you lay in bed that night, it doesn’t come as a striking realisation, only an uncertain acceptance, that you feel more affection for jiyoon than a best friend should.

it’s been two weeks since your ice cream outing (date!) with jiyoon, and you haven’t really seen her around. for someone who claims to be your best friend, she wasn’t really doing her job— other than the consistent chocolate milk that’s always on your desk. but that’s part of your routine! it’s undeniably embedded in your life and if it changes, you wouldn’t know what to do. there’s always a small note left under the packet as well, either words of encouragement for the day or jiyoon reminding you to text her later.

she doesn’t reply as quickly as before but that’s okay. you’re happy to just be able to talk to her, even if that meant through a screen.

y/nnie 🐣 [2.15pm]:

thx for the chocolate milk~~

i’m in a stuco meeting!

so boring :p

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.16pm]:

no problem.

we’re on break right now

y/nnie 🐣 [2.16pm]:

wna go get ice cream later?

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.17pm]:

sorry, we have practice until 5

mai’s running our practice like the military

tomorrow’s the festival

y/nnie 🐣 [2.18pm]:

aww okay

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.19pm]:

we’re starting again

you should focus on your meeting

y/nnie 🐣 [2.20pm]:

talking 2 u is more fun :((

i miss u unnie

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ is typing…

before you could see jiyoon’s reply, your phone was taken out of your hands. you gasp, immediately turning back to realise the student council president, kim minji was staring at your phone.

“why are you texting during our meeting?” she asks, pointing at your phone. you can only push out your bottom lip, begging with your eyes for minji to return what’s rightfully yours.

“i’ll pay attention! just give it back,” you reply. minji shakes her head and pockets your phone with a smile, “you can get it back after this.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you’re forced to listen to the boring presentation by the treasurer about the finances for the school’s festival. truthfully speaking, you had fallen asleep midway, and only woke up as the meeting was ending.

“good job everyone,” minji claps, “let’s hope tomorrow’s festival runs smoothly.” she fishes out your phone and places it in front of you.

as everyone leaves, you get ready to stand up as well, but minji holds a firm grip on your shoulder.

“minji,” you warn. she may be your president, but you don’t mind tackling her for your phone. and you don’t even know if jiyoon responded yet.

the girl sighs, “i know you’re in love or whatever, but you should really adhere to council meeting rules. no texting, remember?”

your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. in love?

minji adds, “are you in a honeymoon period right now? dating jiyoon must be nice, huh?”

“dating?” you repeat, dumbfounded. minji stares at you weirdly.

“did i say something wrong?”

you state very slowly, “i am not dating jiyoon.”

the president blinks. and then her lips morph into a frown. a confused look on her face, equally as aghast as you are.

“uhm.”

“she’s my best friend,” you say again. minji nods dumbly. her hold on you loosens as her ears redden in embarrassment.

“you’re not dating jiyoon?” she asks once more. you nod hastily, “we’re not dating, just very good best friends.”

minji nods slowly. you take this opportunity to grab your phone, an unread message from jiyoon.

“okay. see you tomorrow.”

you leave the meeting room, heart pounding. why would minji even think that you and jiyoon were dating? did anyone else think that way? it wasn’t as if you were! you were just close friends who enjoyed each other’s company. jiyoon is a good listener who cares deeply for you. of course you would want to talk to her and be with her. just not in a romantic way. you sigh deeply, unlocking your phone.

jiyoonie 🐻‍❄️ [2.21pm]:

i miss you too.

you might have to cancel that last thought.

the festival lights are super pretty, you think. jiyoon would look even prettier standing under them. they would illuminate her bright eyes and silly smile— no! you slap your own cheeks. you can’t be thinking about your best friend now. you had a job to do! groaning at the clipboard in your hand, you head towards the food stalls, manned by the enterprise club. after conversing with some of the members, you reported back to minji, saying everyone was fine and everything was going well.

you had been ticked off that the festival was happening in the evening, causing your routine to go slightly askew, but that was okay! it was only for a day anyway.

strolling around the festival was fun. you were impressed with the tents set up and the decor around the place. thank god you weren’t part of that sector, knowing it would be a pain to remove everything again. the student council really outdid themselves with this one. you walked around, pride simmering at the way students would gasp in awe at the set-up.

“y/n!” you swerve around, beaming at the sight of the dance team, all dressed up. their outfits were made of american football jerseys and baggy jeans, some with their shirts cropped and others tied up. you took a long appreciative look at jiyoon’s outfit before grinning at the rest of the girls.

“jiyoon unnie said you wouldn’t be able to watch our performance,” jungeun sighs, “it doesn’t feel right to not have you watching us.”

the girls all nod in agreement. of course, as someone who had been through all their practices and sessions, it feels strange that a lingering presence like yours would be absent.

“i’ll ask someone to record it for me!” you exclaim, in an attempt to cheer jungeun up. despite being the same age, you felt an overwhelming urge to comfort the girl, almost like how jiyoon does for you.

“you better come find us afterwards,” saebi says.

before you could even get another word in, you heard your name being called from afar. after promising to find the girls later, you cheer them all on. as you were about to leave, a warm hand encapsulates your own, pulling you back. you instantly recognise the sensation. an electric bolt trickling into your blood, shocking your nerves and eliciting goosebumps across the field of your skin.

“jiyoon unnie, i like your outfit.”

“thanks, but we have to change back into our uniforms later.” you should take the chance to admire her properly then.

“aw, okay.”

the older girl grimaces.

“y/nnie,” jiyoon frowns. worry builds in you at her unsettled and troubled expression. “when you come to find us afterwards, stay back a little. i want to talk to you.”

you widen your eyes before gulping. jiyoon relinquishes her grip and waves goodbye, just as you form a fist to cheer her on.

what could jiyoon possibly want to talk to you about? it was scary having her talk all serious, instead of the teasing girl you’ve grown to adore. did you do something wrong? maybe jiyoon was upset about the lack of attention from you these past weeks. ugh, but her tone boggled you the most.

“hey, snap out of it,” you blink at the fingers snapping in your face. what a rude gesture! rolling your eyes at the boy who had called you over, myung jaehyun, you elbow him in the ribs. he only scoffs and pushes you back.

“aren’t you meant to be a gentleman? why are you pushing girls?” you sneer at him. the boy had called you over for the stupidest reason, stating that he was bored walking around. as a student council member, technically you had to listen to the vice-president. but c’mon, even minji would laugh.

jaehyun snickers, “are you mad ‘cause i brought you away from your girlfriend?”

you frown, thinking about jiyoon performing. you don’t even bother to deny that jiyoon’s your girlfriend. no one even takes your words seriously. there’s a crowd of students already gathering near the stage. on the schedule, it stated that the dance team would be performing soon. your shoulders turn slack at your lost opportunity to watch jiyoon dance.

“man, shut up.”

the boy quietens down at your stern tone, before offering, “i can take over you if you wanted. and you can go watch her.”

you perk up instantly, “really?”

“yeah, but you owe me lunch.”

“deal, seriously.”

jaehyun chuckles, “anything for love right? call me cupid.”

you scrunch your nose in disgust before waving him off and heading towards the already crowded audience. the stage was fairly centred with a second platform protruding from its middle. you look around, searching for any kind of a vantage point.

there’s a secluded corner near the back, but a bunch of boxes and crates are propped up there. approaching the area, it gives you a relatively clear view of the stage. you would be able to see the girls from here. excitement brewing as the music heightens, you think of all the hard work jiyoon has put in. you’ve watched her practise endlessly, critiquing every detail of her moves. it all comes down to this performance.

the house music softens, and the chatter amongst the crowd dies down. suddenly, unexpectedly and forcefully, the music blasts through the speakers as the girls walk onto stage. there’s an uproar of cheers from the audience, including yourself. you yell jiyoon’s name as if she were a deity, and you were on your deathbed.

grinning brightly, you’re awestruck by the fluidity and smoothness of their moves. your mouth, agape for the whole performance, is unable to close by itself. the girls belonged on the stage, rightfully so. and even though you had heard this song and witnessed this dance countless amounts of times, it still refreshes you like the first.

“mai, you’re so pretty!”

“ryu sarang!”

“yoon jiyoon, i love you!” you scream, using your hands as a makeshift megaphone as jiyoon approaches the centre. her head snaps up, and a wide smile overtakes her.

as the crowd continues to shout, you’re unable to take your eyes off jiyoon. there was something magnetic about her. like two sides of a magnet pulling you towards her. she was almost like the centre of gravity (she’s the centre of your world).

the song reaches its last chorus and jeemin reclaims the stage. there’s an upheaval of yells and shrieks once more. as it arrives at the end, you bring your hands to applaud loudly. the girls stand at the centre, spotlight emphasising on them and heaving breathily.

the girls soon leave the stage and the crowd is left anticipating for the next performance. you don’t, however, and instead head towards the back of the stage. the girls are already there, changed back into their uniforms.

“y/n—” saebi is the first to spot you.

“you guys did great out there!” you engulf the group of girls into an embrace, as best as you could.

“i thought you couldn’t watch?!” sarang asks.

you shrug, “someone could cover for me, so of course i had to come watch you guys.”

“i heard you yell jiyoon’s name,” jeemin smiles.

“gotta support my best friend,” you bump jiyoon’s hip and she only groans miserably. as they start to leave, you grasp onto the short sleeve of jiyoon’s shirt, “didn’t you want to talk?”

jiyoon shakes her head and whispers lowly, “not here.”

you follow her out and into an empty tent, the tables and chairs cleared of any belongings. she has the same uncomfortable expression on her face, the one that makes your heart shrivel up. you deafen out the loud music and cheers outside, choosing to focus on the girl in front of you.

“what’s up? is something wrong?” is your first immediate question.

jiyoon sighs, pink overtaking her cheeks. you resist the urge to squeal at the adorable sight.

“no, nothing’s wrong, but…”

she takes a seat. you do the same and capture her hands in yours, providing comfort.

“you can tell me anything,” you insist. jiyoon turns away, her lips pursing.

“i know, but it’s just difficult to say,” she mumbles, “you’re usually the one who speaks for both of us.”

“but it’s just us now. you can say whatever you want.”

your best friend only turns redder.

“that’s the problem,” she whispers.

you stare at her, bewildered, “what do you mean?”

“you’re my best friend,” jiyoon states, “i don’t want to mess anything up.”

your brain has an inkling of what jiyoon is trying to convey. endorphins rush through your veins as a small smile creeps its way onto your face. you can’t help the happiness blooming in your chest.

“you won’t mess anything up, i promise.”

jiyoon bites her lower lip before saying, “you’re so silly at times. you and your routine. when we first met, i thought you were crazy. but somehow, it seems like i’ve become part of your routine.”

“you have,” you agree.

“and it makes me feel happy,” jiyoon confesses, “because i like spending time with you.”

“i like spending time with you too.”

“even if i’m quiet and moody sometimes. i just get in my head, but you understand me. that’s why i’m comfortable with you. and when we got closer, i thought i was dragging you down—”

you immediately protest, “no, you weren’t.”

the older girl grumbles, “don’t interrupt me.”

shrugging, you let go of jiyoon’s hands to play with the hem of her skirt. she only swats your hands away to intertwine your fingers gently.

“and i think you should just know that because of your kindness and personality…” she trails off before gulping, “i like you.”

you’ve never seen your best friend so sheepish and bashful. so shy. she may be unapproachable at times, but she’s never been this nervous and insecure. the jiyoon you know is bold and courageous. but you feel like you like this version of her more. vulnerable and open.

“you’re so cute,” you blurt out. jiyoon furrows her eyebrows and her lips form a pout.

an idea comes to your mind. carefully untangling your hands, you reach your blazer, meticulously unpinning the plastic name tag there. then, you slowly open jiyoon’s palm, placing your name tag there.

“don’t you understand, jiyoon unnie?” you ask, teasingly at her shocked expression. she swallows, and then nods.

“what does it mean then?” you giggle.

jiyoon blushes, from her neck to her ears, “means that you like me too.”

“mhm. i thought i confessed quite loudly just now though,” referring to your yell during her performance. jiyoon chuckles before nodding, “guess you beat me to it. but can i just hear it again?”

you grin, leaning into jiyoon’s space, right next to her ear. resisting the urge to blow wind into her sensitive red ears, you instead whisper, “i like you, yoon jiyoon.”

the smile she gives you is blinding.

“i like you more, y/n.” and from her pocket, she brings out a packet of chocolate milk.

you laugh at her absurdity.

“you can’t like me more than i do.”

“i disagree.”

“well, agree to disagree, right?” you prod jiyoon’s cheek.

the girl grins slyly, “anything my girlfriend says.”

[another-lost-mc]

Hii, first of all, i love your writing 💕 and I hope you're doing well.

How do you think the bros would react watching the movie Se7en?

I think it would be interesting to see their reactions since the theme surrounds the seven deadly sins.

a/n: I love this movie! I re-watched while I worked on this since it's been a while. I wrote the blurbs in order of the sins as they're portrayed in the film.

➤ watching the movie se7en | the demon brothers

1k words | x gn!reader | nsfw | violence and dark/disturbing themes, demons thinking about demon things, movie spoilers

BEELZEBUB | the gluttony scene

Any other time, he'd be joking that if he had to die, he wants to die eating. He understands that now's probably not the best time to tell you that.

He feels a bit sad for some reason. He's not sure if it's the poor bloke's death on screen or the movie's gritty atmosphere in general.

Ravenous hunger has its downsides, but most of the time he enjoys eating food. He can understand why being forced to eat would be emotional and literal torture for someone.

He knows he could eat that much pasta without breaking a sweat, but he doubts it would be comforting to you so he doesn't say it out loud.

He wonders how much he'd have to eat for his body to break down in protest of finally being too full, but he keeps that to himself too.

MAMMON | the greed scene

It's not a horror movie but the dark vibe still gives him the creeps.

He hasn't had to look away (yet) but he tucks you closer to his side so you can cuddle. You can hide your face in his chest for the gross parts if they bother you, he won’t tease you.

He sorta gets an inkling about the greed motif— something about a scummy lawyer and money trading hands is his first guess about why this guy was targeted.

Eh, close enough.

There are a lotta ways to kill someone with greed without actually killing them, y’know.

(He doesn’t wanna talk about ‘em though. He doesn’t want you to think badly of him.)

BELPHEGOR | the sloth scene

What the actual fuck.

He was feeling a bit sleepy watching the movie up to this point, but he's not anymore.

He understands the interpretation of his sin, but he's surprised to see such an ugly version of it in a human world movie like this.

If he senses that you're uncomfortable, he tries to distract you until the scene ends.

Now seems like a great time to pause the movie so you can both get up and get a drink, or stretch—or maybe go for a nap if you're tired and don't want to finish it right now.

(He's going to make sure you don't have bad dreams after this.)

ASMODEUS | the lust scene

He's had custom sex toys made before, but something like this? Yeesh.

Literally fucking someone to death seems so brutal, so unromantic. This isn't how he would do it, but he doesn't tell you that; he doesn't want to scare you.

(If he had to kill someone using his sin, he'd fuck them before ripping them open from stomach to sternum.)

(If he had to kill you with his sin, he’d make love to you until you eventually fall asleep. Your death will be instant and painless before he cuts out your heart and eats it.)

He notices that this part of the movie made you squirm in your seat more than the others so far.

Maybe a warm bath and cuddling in his bed will help you relax once the movie's over. He’s suddenly overcome with the urge to hold you.

LUCIFER | the pride scene

It feels anti-climactic compared to some of the other portrayals of sin so far, but he appreciates the simplicity. He was afraid it would be needlessly gruesome like the others.

Pride is insidious, the mother of all sins, the first deadly bloom that causes all others to fester and rot on the vine.

He can’t help the way his mind wanders after this. As an angel, he tried to resist sin. As a demon, he embraces it. Humans are weak and he knows for many, pride is their downfall.

You might not believe you could be pushed to make such a fatal choice, but Lucifer senses the way your own blend of pride lingers within you too.

He keeps silent about those thoughts and he wraps his arm around you for the rest of the film.

LEVIATHAN | the envy scene

He’s unusually quiet. He doesn’t complain or whine about how boring it is, and he doesn’t reach for his handheld either. Sometimes he looks puzzled by what’s on screen, and other times he seems contemplative.

He’s a little surprised by the ending. Speechless almost. He understands envy, but to do all this?

And the part with the wife, well...he thinks it's just a bit of an overreaction, don't you?

He can’t help but glance at you once the movie's over. He thinks about life before you and life with you now; he can't imagine life without you in it anymore.

Would he be capable of that type of jealousy if you didn't choose him? If he had to watch someone else live their own happily ever after with you while he suffered alone?

Huh.

When the movie ends, he distracts you with an impromptu game night in his room and he cuddles with you in his tub after.

His tail curls around your leg as you drift off to sleep, and he realizes he'd do so much worse just to keep you by his side.

SATAN | the wrath scene

For the most part, he's been less interested in the portrayal of sins. He's totally wrapped up in the mystery aspect of the movie instead.

Throughout the entire film, he's muttered under his breath about certain things he noticed or his guess about what might happen next.

(He’s read all the books mentioned in the library scene too.)

He figured that the cop with the short fuse was going to be involved somehow with wrath. He actually thought the character was a bit annoying.

He does sympathize with the cop's behaviour at the end—all he has to do is think of someone hurting you and it makes him seethe with rage.

The reveal about the wife caught him completely off-guard but thinking about it later, it seems so obvious.

[ro-written]

Me Gustas Tu - J.W

Tags/Warnings: Fluff; Nothing really, gn!reader, very little rereading cause that’s my brand now

Word Count: 1.1k

Song Inspo: “Me Gustas Tu” by Manu Chao

Jung Wooyoung likes a lot of things.

He likes the color black. He enjoys the simplicity of it. Appreciates the way he can dress it with anything and can find familiarity within it. It’s a quiet color. The color he comes back to at the end of the day in his bedroom. One that helps calm him and rest his mind after a flashy, long, overwhelming day. It’s the color that surrounds him and allows him to be himself. 

He likes seeing you sleep peacefully under his black comforter in his room. When he comes back at the end of the day and you’ve already made a home in his bed. Even in the darkness of the muted color, you brighten the place immediately with your presence. He wouldn’t consider himself a romantic, too realistic and practical in his thoughts to even entertain the idea. But when you give him that tired smile and dig yourself into him when he finally gets under the covers? When you murmur lowly, still half-asleep, about how much you missed him and how warm he feels? Well, he feels like he could write volumes of poetry.

He likes clothes. He adores the way he can express himself through what he wears. Clothes make him feel safe, make him feel like himself. He likes piecing things together that people may not have considered, and end up shocked when they see how well it matches. Clothes make him feel confident. Can completely shift his attitude one way or another. Make or break his entire mood. A good outfit can define his entire day. 

He likes seeing you in his clothes. Particularly this one black hoodie he has. It’s oversized, even on him, stretched out from years of use. But goddammit, he just can’t get over how comfortable it is, even after all this time. Can’t bring himself to get rid of it. And seeing you in it? When you leave your fragrance on it for him after having “borrowed” it for a few days? When you send pictures to him, wearing it while he’s away on tour? He thinks it has to be his favorite piece of clothing.

He likes gaming. It’s one of his favorite stress relievers. Being able to come home and hop on a game, not think about anything else besides beating this one goddamn level. Losing himself in the storyline of Assassin's Creed and mindlessly doing quests that he’s done at least five times before. Others may find it repetitive; He can’t begin to count how many times Yunho has given him a funny look for playing the same story again. But he enjoys it all the same.

He likes when you play with him. When you get excited playing FIFA against each other. He pretends to get huffy when you beat him (even though he couldn’t deny the flutter in his heart and the gentle smile playing at his lips while watching you celebrate.) He likes to teach you how to play a new game. He can sit even closer to you and help guide your fingers over the controls. You know exactly what he’s doing, and when you poke at his cheek to call him out, all he has to defend himself is an eye roll, and I just want to make sure it’s an even playing field, love. He didn’t even mind when you simply sat near him to watch him play. He enjoyed your presence, knowing that you simply wanted to just spend time with him. Maybe you were talking to him about the game, or maybe you were talking about your day. Maybe neither of you was talking about anything, the orchestral music of the game filling the air. He didn’t care. He had you.

He likes cooking. It allows him to learn new recipes, and explore different parts of the globe right in his kitchen. He can focus on a recipe, the rest of the world fading away from purview. Similar to his clothes, he likes making the food aesthetically pleasing too.  He enjoys the chaos right before the calm of being able to enjoy his creation. He likes how he can mix various items to create a tasteful dish. Being able to say that he created something of his own.

He likes cooking for you. He likes seeing the way your eyes gleam and the wide smile you offer as he sets your favorite food in front of you. And yes, he learned and mastered the perfect recipe for it. His heart pounds in his chest whenever he asks you to try a new dish, awaiting your honest answer. And you do answer honestly, something he appreciates every time. 

He likes dancing. It gives him a way to express himself, aside from his clothes. Where words fail, he communicates through movements. He can let his body move on its own accord, responding to the beats and melodies in the songs in its own way. Actions speak louder than words, and when he’s dancing he feels like he can recite his own Shakespearian play to the world.

He likes dancing with you. Being able to put on a record and taking your hand in his, grinning as you bashfully lean into him, allowing him to lead you around the room. He likes to press his face near your ear to hum along to the song, swaying you side to side and gently guiding your feet. He likes hearing you laugh a little at the corniness of it, but melting into his body nonetheless. He even likes dancing for you. When you stay with him at the studio and just watch as he shows you a new routine he’s putting together. And when he finishes he can see the starry look you have in your eyes.

There were times when his feelings felt conflicted. Moments where he had to debate if he actually liked something or if he simply wanted to like it. 

One thing was for certain though.

Jung Wooyoung likes you. He likes your patience with him. He likes your smile. He likes the way you make these small faces at something when you were focused on a task. He likes the way you bite at your nail when you get lost in thought. He likes the way your eyebrow quirks when you want to react to something. He likes when you poke his dimples when he smiles at you. He likes that you can effortlessly get him to laugh - really laugh. A laugh that reverberates in his chest. And god, does he like the feeling he gets just being around you. A feeling that warms his whole body, that leaves subtle tingles under his skin. 

One thing for certain?

He loves you.

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright Ro-Written 2023.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

Wanna help me keep writing? Consider tipping me on Ko-fi!

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Everlasting

pairing: midoriya izuku/gn reader summary: watching Izuku reach the end of his life for the ninety-ninth time doesn't stop you from going back to the day you met him for the hundredth time. word count: 1.2k chapters: 1/1 contains: angst, time loop, temporary character death, established relationship, reader has a quirk, no use of y/n • ao3 link

How many times have you stared at the green fading away?

For the ninety-ninth time, the yellowed hospital curtain swayed with the gentle breeze of spring, the season of new beginnings, of life. But not for you. Over the many, many repeats, it became your nemesis—the season of endings, of death.

Fingers intertwined with his, you grazed your thumb over his scarred knuckles. Tears burned your eyes and parched your throat, but his weakened state had you in a chokehold; you couldn’t cry—not yet. So, you swallowed painfully and forced the smile he loved so much onto your face.

“I wish you didn’t have to see me go,” he said, his voice a broken whisper. "I'm sorry for putting you through this, love."

You cupped his cheek tenderly and leaned forward, kissing his freckles that looked like the constellations you pointed to whenever the night sky was clear, as he held you in his arms on the small balcony of your apartment. It was one of the first things you noticed about him when he had walked into your flower shop and nervously asked for the prettiest flower bouquet you had.

Your response was far from professional, as you laughed lightly and told him, “Beauty is subjective, you know.”

His cheeks flushed a rosy color at your words, yet his lips curled into a boyish grin. “That's...uh—” Scratching the back of his neck, he averted his gaze. “I’m not really sure what to look for. I’ve never bought flowers for anyone except my mom before. Could you, maybe, help me choose?”

“Mm, sure, but there’s a price,” you said, tapping a finger to your chin. His eyes, vivid green like a meadow in summer, grew wide. “Tell me a bit about the lady or gentleman that’s about to receive them.”

A curly lock fell on his forehead as he sighed with relief, his broad shoulders relaxing in the formal shirt he wore. You eyed his tie briefly, suppressing another chuckle at how imperfectly cute the knot was, then stepped from behind the counter and nodded to him to follow you.

As promised, he told you a bit about the lady he was about to go on a date with. "She reminds me of the sun, always radiating warmth and energizing everyone around her," was his description of her; nothing sophisticated, yet you could feel the care he put into the simplicity of his words.

Your smile didn’t falter once as you listened to him talk and answered his questions. Every day, you dealt with all kinds of people, but not many of them radiated the sincerity he did. Needless to say, your heart skipped with appreciation for this handsome stranger.

A breath of fresh air, that was what he was—one that you had never regretted inhaling deep into your lungs.

A profound love, that was what he became—one that you couldn’t bring yourself to let go of.

Your best friend, your lover, your hero, your everything now lay in a pristine hospital bed, hooked to beeping machines, surrounded by air that smelled of antiseptic and something stale, and with death creeping in closer and closer.

“Would you choose me again?” he asked, his voice losing its color.

“Always.”

With the remnants of his strength, his fingers brushed your cheek, and he whispered. “I love you. If only we…had more…time.”

It was those final words that made your whole world collapse each time, that made you grip the front of your shirt and place one last kiss on his lips, that forced your head to settle on his chest and listen to his heartbeat growing fainter.

“I love you too,” you said, asphyxiated by your tears. “I c-can’t—I can’t let go. I…I don’t k-know how. Please.”

And you begged and begged for him to stay just a little bit longer, even as he drew his last breath and his heart came to a halt underneath your ear. Even as the beeping machines screamed and screamed until they lost their sound. Even as the room became stiflingly crowded with frantic people who tried to rip you away from him.

Death never cared, never granted your wish. So, neither did you care about it, always making sure to get in its way and disrupt the natural flow.

Throughout many lifetimes, you’d heard people vow to each other to meet in the afterlife or another life, believing they were each other’s forever. You’d seen them hold onto that belief as the love of their lives faded from existence. And they almost convinced you, but you weren’t them, and they didn’t have what you had—a nemesis of a quirk that became your greatest blessing after you met him.

Unwilling to surrender to their idea of forever and viciously stubborn, you chose to stare death down in defiance, laugh in its face, and pay the price.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Gripping his still-warm hand, you whispered “I’ll see you soon”, and closed your eyes for the ninety-ninth time.

As you opened them for the hundredth time, your dimly lit flower shop welcomed you again. It wasn't long until, drenched by the pouring rain battering the windows, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Water dripped from his clothes, his hair, and the flower bouquet you sent him off with earlier. He looked like he’d been to hell and just come back. His green eyes, once vibrant and sparkling with life, were muted and brimming with tears when they found yours.

“I realize this…this might seem odd to you, and I apologize for showing up like this, but I…I just…” He let the flower bouquet fall to the floor, allowing his hands to hide the tears that slid down his freckled cheeks. “Is it crazy to admit you were the one I thought of after she broke my heart?”

“A little, but I guess I made an impression,” you joked, and stepped away from the counter, opening your arms. “Need a hug? It’s free. I promise.”

He peeked through his fingers, giving you a long, uncertain look, before his hands lowered and he nodded hesitantly. “...If you don’t mind.”

His arms, strong and safe, wrapped around you, seeking comfort from a stranger. Your arms, weak and numb, wrapped around him, finding what he represented: home.

“Thank you,” he muttered in the crook of your neck as you patted his back softly. “Is there a way I can make it up to you?”

“You can start by giving me your name.”

Droplets of water gathered at the tips of his hair and fell on your cheeks once he raised his head. Green eyes searched yours, basking in the honeyed light of your shop. He looked at you with curiosity, while you looked at him with familiarity.

A meeting of two broken hearts—a first time and a repeat. Today, someone broke his heart, and he cried for a lost love. But today, unbeknownst to him, he stumbled upon another someone who loved him beyond reason, beyond death, beyond time.

Taking a step back, he extended his hand to you. “Midoriya Izuku.”

The smile that he would come to love once again curled on your lips as you took his hand and placed your name in the palm of it. Along with your heart and soul. For the hundredth time.

Because for Izuku, you would defy death and relive it all again.

The time loop would never be broken.

And your love would be everlasting.

[lore-o-hoe]

My All Time Favorite Outfits in LO (Part One):

(In no particular order)

———————————///——————————

1. Episode 88: Persephone Dream Space Outfit:

Since this outfit has lived rent-free in my head it’s going first. Like since I saw it in Episode 88 my life has known no peace.

Like I can’t begin to explain the chokehold this outfit has on me.

——————————————————————

2. Episode 100: Persephone Frilly White Outfit:

I promise this list won’t be all Persephone filled, it’s just my bias for her sense of style 🥺✨. But I love the look here, it’s simple but cute, especially the heels and frilly socks.

——————————————————————

3. Episode 1: Minthe’s Lace Trimmed Bodysuit and Sheer Shawl:

Now I know we’ve all got our feelings about Minthe…

But I can definitely say that I think about this get up every once in a while.

Like the lacy bodysuit, thigh highs, and sheer shawl???? I’ll take 20 💰

——————————————————————

4. Episode 64: Aphrodite Fluffy White Robe and Frilled Heels:

Now you KNOW the goddess of love and beauty is going to be constantly put together and this outfit is a reminder of that. Even being home with her adorable kids isn’t going to stop the drip.

I’ll admit I’ve always wanted a robe like this

This is the official ‘Killed my husband and now I’m a wealthy widow’ get up and I can’t do anything but love it and envy ✨✨✨.

——————————————————————

5. Episode 119: Hera’s White Double Breasted Blazer (?) Thigh High Black Boot Combo:

Now we already know Hera is always out her with the best royal fits imaginable. So of course she’s gonna be on this list. And while she has outfit after outfit I could list, this one is one I love and would probably wear.

——————————————————————

6. Episode 127: Thetis’ Blue Dress/Thigh High Boots combo:

So yeah I’m not the biggest fan of Thetis but still the woman can dress! So this simple dress/boot combo is a favorite of mine.

——————————————————————

7. Episode 66: Hera’s Scorned Wife Dynasty Adjacent Look

Even when she’s scorned and unhappy she’s slaying this rich angry wife look. The hat, the shoulder pads, the runny mascara 👏

——————————————————————

8. Episode 224: Brown Overcoat/ Tan Two Piece Set from Aphrodite:

Im not sure why I’m so drawn to this one, maybe it’s the simplicity? the browns? Who knows! But to me it’s a good casual look.

——————————————————————

9. Episode 1: Artemis’ Black(purple?) Party Dress:

Artemis seems to fluctuate between casual, sporty, and Greek god formal, so there’s not many outfits I personally vibe with. But this dress is an absolute exception. It’s cute, it’s sparkly, what’s not to love?

10. Episode 72: Hecate’s Full Length Black Nightgown:

A lot of Hecates attire is a high class business suits that I can always appreciate but THIS. Look I’m not sure why this works so well but it absolutely does it. The sleeves, the length. It’s just so dramatic, dark, and elegant and suits a character like Hecate.

——————————————————————

Well that’s the list for now! Stay tuned for pt. 2!

[shokosmokes]

﹒◌﹒hockey au﹒✧﹒

pt. 3!!

the last bit was megumi centric but yuji will get his moment in this bit (๑>◡<๑)

masterlist

———————————————————————

yuji x reader x megumi

fluff + angst

Megumi texted you earlier in the week, asking if you wanted to go to the aquarium with him. He’s always been a little reserved, but spending time together has become more common as you’ve grown closer. So, naturally, you jumped at the chance, excitement bubbling inside when you remembered the aquarium had a jellyfish tank—your absolute favorite.

You wander through the exhibits, and Megumi shares little bits of knowledge about the different sea creatures. You’re not surprised by how much he knows, but you’re impressed, smiling to yourself as he casually explains the behavior of stingrays or the migration habits of sea turtles. His calm voice is soothing, and you find yourself enjoying the simplicity of the moment, just the two of you walking side by side.

Finally, you reach the jellyfish tank room, and your heart speeds up as the glowing, ethereal creatures drift through the water. The room is dimly lit, the soft blue glow from the tank casting everything in an otherworldly light. But to your disappointment, the room is completely empty. You frown, a little crestfallen.

"Jellyfish are so underrated," you mutter, pressing your face closer to the glass. "They’re beautiful, and so many people just pass by without really appreciating them."

You feel a shift beside you and glance over at Megumi. He isn’t looking at the tank—he’s looking at you. His dark eyes are focused, and the soft glow from the jellyfish reflects in them as he stares. Your heart skips a beat when he quietly says, "Yeah… really pretty."

His tone is so casual, so subtle that you’re not sure if he means the jellyfish or something else. A warmth spreads through your chest, and a blush creeps up your cheeks as you quickly turn back to the tank, trying to shake the thought. Was he talking about you?

You swallow, your mind spinning for a moment, but you force yourself to focus on the jellyfish again. "Yeah… they are," you whisper, though you can’t help the smile tugging at your lips, the tension between you two thickening like a current in the water.

---

The bright lights of the theater marquee flicker in the evening sky as you and Yuji step into the lobby. The smell of buttery popcorn hits you instantly, and you can’t help but smile at how excited he seems, already bouncing from foot to foot as he scans the movie posters.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen this one!” Yuji exclaims, pointing to the poster for the movie you’re about to watch. His grin is wide and boyish, his excitement contagious.

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “Slipped under my radar.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat,” he says, practically pulling you toward the concession stand. “It’s one of my favorites. I’ve watched it like, a million times.”

It’s hard not to get swept up in Yuji’s energy. Everything with him feels light, fun, and easy. He doesn’t overthink things, doesn’t worry about small details. It’s refreshing—like a gust of fresh air that blows away any nerves you might’ve had. You wonder if he ever thinks about you the way you think about him, but you quickly push the thought aside. You’re just enjoying the moment, not looking for any answers right now.

You get your snacks, Yuji opting for a massive tub of popcorn while you stick to something smaller. He shoots you a playful grin as you head into the theater, the glow of the screen already illuminating the room.

As the movie starts, Yuji’s excitement is palpable. He nudges you a few times when his favorite parts come on, leaning in to whisper random facts about the actors or scenes, like it’s his mission to make sure you love the movie as much as he does. His voice is warm and close to your ear, and you find yourself smiling more than you expected—mostly because of him.

There’s a moment, though, halfway through the movie, when the playful mood shifts. Yuji’s hand brushes against yours, both of you reaching for the popcorn at the same time. Neither of you moves your hands, and for a second, everything seems to slow down. You glance at him from the corner of your eye and notice his eyes are already on you, his grin softening, just slightly.

“Sorry,” he whispers, pulling his hand away, but the smile on his face tells you he didn’t really mind the brief touch. Your heart flutters, and before you know it, you’re hyper-aware of his presence beside you. He’s so close, and even though you’re not touching, the space between you feels charged.

The movie plays on, but your attention keeps flickering back to him—his laughter, the way his eyes sparkle when he’s really into a scene, and how comfortable he seems. Being with Yuji is like a constant rush of energy, like he could light up the entire room just by being himself. And yet, there’s something beneath the surface, a sweetness that makes your heart race in ways you’re not ready to admit.

---

Later, as you leave the theater, the cool night air hits you. Yuji stretches his arms overhead, groaning slightly as he loosens up from sitting so long.

“So? What’d you think?” he asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a kid waiting for a compliment.

“It was great,” you say honestly, smiling up at him. “I can see why you like it so much.”

Yuji grins, clearly pleased with your response. “I knew you’d like it! I told you, I have great taste.”

You walk down the sidewalk together, and though your conversation flows as easily as ever, there’s a lingering feeling between you—something unspoken. Every now and then, your shoulders brush, and each time it feels like a spark of electricity shoots through you. Yuji doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe he does, but in typical Yuji fashion, he doesn’t dwell on it. He just keeps smiling, keeps being his usual playful self, while you try to ignore the growing warmth in your chest.

When you reach your place, you linger by the entrance, neither of you quite ready to say goodnight.

“I had fun tonight,” you say, and you mean it.

“Me too,” Yuji replies, his voice softening just a bit. He rubs the back of his neck, looking almost shy for a moment. “We should do this again sometime.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you nod. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

His grin returns, full and bright, and for a second, you think he might say something more. But instead, he gives you a playful salute before turning to walk away.

“See you soon!” he calls over his shoulder, his laughter echoing down the street as he disappears into the night.

You stand there for a moment, watching him go, your heart still racing. Yuji’s warmth stays with you, even after he’s gone, but as you turn to head inside, another thought creeps into your mind.

Megumi.

You haven’t seen him since the aquarium, and though Yuji’s presence is like a warm, comforting blanket, you can’t shake the feeling of longing that tugs at your heart whenever you think of Megumi. His quiet, thoughtful gaze, the way he seems to *notice* things about you without ever saying much... It’s a stark contrast to Yuji’s loud, playful energy, but it’s just as powerful, if not more.

You’re not sure what you’re going to do with these feelings—these complicated, confusing feelings for two boys who couldn’t be more different. All you know is that, for now, you’re stuck in the middle of it, your heart racing for both of them, and no clear path forward in sight.

And it’s only a matter of time before something—or someone—breaks.

[luwritesomething]

Billy Loomis x Reader: even the strong ones break.

Words: 1315

Warnings: bad parenting, swearing probably, not proofread, i can’t remember lol

Summary:    It was the first time ever you had seen Billy cry, and it was certainly shocking to see him fall apart so miserably, but that wasn’t stopping you from trying to make him feel better. He had been strong for a while now, and everyone needed a break from time to time, even Billy Loomis.

Author's note: OKAY SO MY SCREAM OBSESSION IS STILL STANDING, and i’ve been writing in ao3 instead of in here because i wanted to get away from my responsabilities and numerous dodge mason & wednesday show request. sorry, i got overwhelmed, but i’m back, and i’m bringing all of my pieces in ao3 with me. here you go. you can find the link to ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39896499

Criticism is appreciated and request are open! Hit that anon button and tell me your idea! The list for the characters I write is HERE.

Your head hurt from reading with a bad light for too long. The simplicity in the beauty of reading every night before going to sleep had taken you a bit too far, but what could you say? You weren’t giving up on reading just because of a light headache, you were strong enough to handle it.  

Still, you had enough for tonight and you decided to put your current read aside in order to already go to sleep. Your eyelids felt too heavy to continue and you could be stubborn, but not dumb enough to fall asleep while reading in an uncomfortable position that would have you complaining the next day. Your arm reached out for the switch next to your bed, turning the lights off after you had gotten in bed, ready to get some good quality sleep. It was perfect: the bed felt nice, your pillow was cold, the sheets were smooth against your skin, it wasn’t too hot nor too cold in your room and there were some nice, comforting sounds outside the window.

There were noises outside your window. You jumped out of the bed once your brain was able to process the fact, without needing to wonder who it could be. Stu had never snuck through your window, which didn’t sound that weird knowing he didn't have what it took to speak softly after sneaking into your room — Billy, however, was all about crawling through your bedroom’s window and being secretly soft. He had justified his passion for sneaking in with the adrenaline of maybe getting caught, but you also knew it kinda had to do with the quick of energy he got whenever he saw you. 

You unlocked your window as fast as you could and opened it, immediately stepping aside to let Billy sneak in, knowing he would need no help to do so. He had become a real expert with that, and that’s the reason why your alarms got set off when you saw how Billy almost tripped with his feet once he was in your room. 

“Well, it’s dark in here.” He said, and even his voice sounded off. More dry and less playful than usual. “Were you sleeping?”

“I was about to,” you shrugged before turning around to switch the lights on. Once there was light, you carefully glanced at him, noticing the exhaustion and anger on his face. “Everything alright, Billy?”

Billy nodded, looking away. “Yeah. Just got bored from the fighting, that’s all.”

Of course, that was the reason why he was acting so strangely. It had taken Billy an eternity to confess his parents had been fighting a lot lately, and he was a worse actor than he thought he was — since he had opened up, all the signs of him acting different instantly gave away how hurt he felt, even though neither you or Stu thought he would ever admit it. Billy was too proud for that, but you sometimes just wished he would let his pride aside.

“Can I—?” Billy’s voice broke before he could finish his question. You immediately looked at him, alarmed and shocked when you discovered tears in Billy’s cold eyes. He looked as vulnerable as he did annoyed with himself. “Fuck!”

“Hey…” You walked up to him and put your hand to his arm, not wanting to overwhelm him. The physical contact actually made him sob and break down in furious tears, but you knew it wasn’t your fault “Oh, Billy”

You pulled him in for a hug, comfortably wrapping your arms around him. Billy leaned into your touch, incapable of stopping his crying as you tried to comfort him and ground him. It was the first time ever you had seen Billy cry, and it was certainly shocking to see him fall apart so miserably, but that wasn’t stopping you from trying to make him feel better. He had been strong for a while now, and everyone needed a break from time to time, even Billy Loomis. 

“It’s so bad, Y/N,” sobbed Billy, pressing his head into your shoulder. “They’re filing for divorce”

You caressed his black hair, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “I’m so sorry, Billy.” Your hand traveled to his back, rubbing circles there.

Billy shook in your arms, and you guessed it was anger. If you had learned something about him during the last months was the amount of fury and anger he had inside him, a type of anger not even football allowed him to break out from. He snapped from time to time, snickering and saying things he regretted later, and he would bottle up his feelings and hide them in the darkest place — Stu had told you to get used to it. You just thought it was sad —. Being able to see him like that was kind of comforting, knowing he wasn’t holding back from his feelings anymore, but it was also terribly painful, because it showed how much he was hurting and that hurt you too.

“Talk to me, Billy.” You murmured, holding him tightly to make sure he knew you were there for him.

He shook with his head, and you mentally cursed his mentality of keeping everything to himself. As he kept shaking, you kept stroking his hair and drawing grounding circles on his back. You didn’t make him move until he had kept shaking, pulling him slightly away from you to check how he was, to see into his soul through his truthful eyes. 

Billy had stopped crying, no more tears were coming out of his dark eyes, but he kept sobbing like a kid who had fallen while riding his bike. Your hand came to his face to cup his cheek, lovingly caressing the clear skin with your thumb.

“Stay for the night.” The whisper came out of your lips without you having to think about it, and Billy instantly nodded, looking away. He hated that you were seeing him like that.

The hand that was cupping his face fell to his hand, so you could carefully grab it and guide him to your bed. Billy joined you in the bed once you had already laid down, and it surprised you when instead of laying down next to you, he crawled towards you and found a space for himself in between your thighs, finally laying down with his head pressing against your chest. Half Billy’s weight was on you, but thanks to the way he had laid down it was definitely manageable. Stu was the one who did that, claiming the space between your thighs, while Billy usually played the role of the big spoon by your side. 

“Hey, Billy,” you muttered through his infinite sobs, muffled by his head pressed against his chest. Still, you knew he was listening to you. “I love you. A lot, okay? You know that, right?”

In sync with a sob, Billy nodded his head. You didn’t need for him to say it back, not at that moment at least. But you guessed he really needed it to hear it from you, and you guessed right. 

Billy’s sobs grew quieter with the time passing, but you kept holding him and playing with his head in order to distract him. You could still, from time to time, hear a muffled sob that let you know he hadn’t still cried himself to sleep. It actually took you some moments to realize he had fallen asleep when he did, but the way he breathed calmly and heavily and the silence gave it away after some minutes. Only when you were completely sure Billy wouldn’t wake up, you reached your arm out to switch the lights off again, this time ready to sleep. Before closing your eyes, you leaned in to kiss Billy’s forehead, murmuring again the words i love you, wondering if he could hear it in his sleep.

[wikiangela]

🥩 🥩

🏠 🏠🏠🏠🏠

💔 💔💔

🥵 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

🦵 🦵🦵🦵

omg that's a lot of sentences lol thank you so much bc it was motivating and really moved some fics along haha 💝💝 so here's looots of words for you <3

+ tagging a few people who were also interested in some of those, you'll get sentences for your asks too, but give me time lol, it's a lot of sentences 🤣 (really appreciate it tho, I'm so motivated now, my fics are actually moving along haha <3), for now have these: @daffi-990 @diazsdimples @evansboyfriend @typicalopposite @eddiebabygirldiaz @jewishbuckley @monsterrae1 @steadfastsaturnsrings @hippolotamus

putting it all under the cut bc it got long, obviously haha

🥩 🥩 - 6 sentences of the bucktommy barbecue fic

When he walks back into the backyard, grabbing a bowl of salad and a basket of bread on his way, he’s greeted by a pretty great picture. His whole family is around the two tables they put together to fit everyone, getting acquainted with Tommy’s friends. The older children – Christopher, Denny and Mara – sit to the side, chatting between each other, the boys trying to include Mara in their conversation, while the two youngest are right next to Tommy. His boyfriend is at the grill, fire already started, as he tries to keep the girls a few steps away, while they’re excitedly chatting to him. It’s so adorable.  “Hey, girls,” Buck says as he approaches them, wanting to let his boyfriend grill in peace for a moment, “you wanna see something?” he asks, and it’s enough to get two toddlers’ attention.

🏠 🏠🏠🏠🏠 - 15 sentences of the moving in fic

“Something looks different here.” He frowns, looking around. Tommy’s confused, because he hasn’t really changed anything. He furnished his house a long time ago, from time to time changing stuff more out of necessity than anything else, but that’s it. He’s good at renovating, building, fixing, any interior design is not really his forte. He does have a few paintings and pictures, and some knick-knacks from the few places he traveled to, but not much else. He likes simplicity, and he never felt the need to add anything more. Clearly, something must’ve changed, though. “What do you mean?” he asks, seeing a few of the other guys nod in agreement, also looking around.  “It feels, like, cozier, doesn’t it?” Another co-worker, Sean, says with a small frown. “Unlike you, Kinard.” “Did you always have these cushions?” Another person asks, settling into the couch, picking one of said cushions up. It’s fluffy and yellow, and, according to Evan, brightens up the room. “They’re comfy.”

💔 💔💔 - 9 sentences of the buddie cheating fic (we're at the smut point of this fic rn and this is not going well but I'm persevering and istg I'll fix it once I have the basis all written haha)

The door is barely closed behind them before Eddie pushes Buck onto the bed and climbs on top of him, throwing his henley off in the process, so they’re both shirtless. He hovers over Buck for a second, shining brown eyes looking into blue ones, one of his hands reaching to intertwine their fingers. There’s desire mixed with disbelief on his face, but no doubt, no hesitation – that he kind of looks for, the thought that this is wrong, that it shouldn’t be happening, crossing his mind again. But then Eddie’s leaning in again, crushing his lips against Buck like he wants to devour him, his hips grinding against Buck’s, and any doubts, hell, any thoughts, just evaporate. It’s just him and Eddie, no one else exists.  His hands land on Eddie’s hips and slide down to his ass, and, god, he can’t wait to get him naked again. He can’t wait to see all of him, appreciate every detail of his gorgeous body, this time completely sober, and able to remember it fully.  “I need you.” Eddie moans into his lips, rolling his hips again, their clothed erections rubbing against each other. He swallows whatever Buck’s response was about to be in another hungry kiss, before going back to what he started in the living room – trailing his lips down Buck’s jaw, his throat, kisses alternating between soft and lingering, and biting and impatient, then down Buck’s chest, sliding down his body, until he’s face to face with Buck’s zipper.

🥵 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵 - 18 sentences of the bucktommy smut - again, this one is not going well bc apparently I forgot how to write smut lol but I'll fix it haha

“You good?” Tommy asks quietly, and Buck nods frantically, his own hand moving to his crotch because if he doesn’t get out of his pants right now – but Tommy grabs his wrist. “Let me?” “Yeah.” Buck keeps nodding. “Just- please, I need you to touch me. Please.” Tommy swiftly undoes the button and zipper of Buck’s jeans, and Buck raises his hips, his hands helping Tommy shove the pants off his ass, satisfied when they stop around mid-thigh, and then he frantically pulls his underwear down, too, his leaking cock springing up against his belly instantly. He sees Tommy look at it and lick his lips, his eyes dark, and, fuck, Buck can’t wait for everything he’s going to give him. But for now, Tommy takes his time sliding Buck’s pants and underwear completely off his legs, muttering something about wanting Buck to be comfortable. Buck couldn’t care less about fabric restricting his legs, or any discomfort, as long as Tommy gets his hands on him.  And then he does – a big, rough, calloused hand, but the gentlest, softest touch, wraps around his dick. Buck inhales sharply, the feeling familiar, his own hands just as rough, but also so totally different.  Tommy looks up at him with big, shining eyes, scanning his face, as he thumbs Buck’s slit and gathers the generous amount of pre-come leaking out. Buck inhales sharply, a moan breaking out of him, not able to look away from Tommy’s face as his hand uses the liquid for an easier slide of his hand, as he starts stroking. His pace is slow, almost tortuously so, his movements deliberate, precise, eyes not leaving Buck’s face.  “Tommy,” Buck groans pleadingly, hand tangling in his soft curls. “Yeah, I got you.” Tommy whispers, his movements steadily picking up pace, still so in control, Buck’s in awe – and even more turned on.

🦵 🦵🦵🦵 - 12 sentences of the leg pain fic

“Looks amazing.” Buck smiles genuinely, though a little weakly, as he reaches for one of the plates. Tommy takes the place on his side- that is, on the other side of the bed, the one he usually sleeps on, that apparently Buck already started referring to as Tommy’s side. It’s not the first time they eat breakfast in bed together, and Buck’s the last person to worry about making a mess, especially right now, but Tommy is, as he hunches over the tray instead of taking the plate into his lap, like Buck did. Buck can’t help an endeared smile. He adores his boyfriend, and all his quirks, as he’s still learning more about him. And the best thing is, it feels like Tommy doesn’t mind any of Buck’s quirks, either – he seems to enjoy getting to know more and more about him, as well. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this free to be himself, and this thought makes him wonder once again why the hell he was so hell-bent on hiding from Tommy that his bad leg hurts sometimes and once in a while it gets bad enough he has to take a day. Tommy gets it, gets him, and Buck feels so lucky to have found him. “The leg feel any better?” Tommy asks, shoving a forkful of the eggs into his mouth.  “A bit.” Buck shrugs. It’s not a lie, it feels like maybe the pain eased up a little bit, the painkillers kicking in, but it’s still very much there, and from experience he knows it’ll come back full force soon. 

[opultea]

Genshin Character Interactions I'd Love to See

(AKA some headcanons)

Kazuha & Razor:

Seems like a random combo but hear me out:

They both have a connection to nature and especially smells

Imagine Razor meeting Kazuha for the first time

"Smell like... cool breeze,"

"Thank you, my friend, you carry the scent of rock warmed in afternoon sunlight"

Instant besties

Razor's eyes light up, and whenever he's with Kazuha he likes to point out smells even more then usual because he feels like they're bonding

Although Kazuha uses a lot of words and phrases that Razor doesn’t understand, the poet is very patient, and is always willing to teach his fellow nature affiliate something new

Razor feels like he's gained a new teacher, and observes the way Kazuha seems so connected to nature but is still very much human, which helps the wolf-boy explore that balance in himself

Kazuha admires the simplicity and honesty with which Razor carries himself, never needing more than what the world provides him

Also Kazuha always understands what Razor's trying to say or do no matter how few words he uses

Kaveh & Bennett

Bad luck babies

They find out their mutual bad luck when Kaveh off-handedly complains about his debt, and Bennett immediately goes to comfort him, saying how he’s sure it’ll get better eventually, and hey! Everyone has avalanches chase them sometimes, and the occasional lightning strike to the skull!

Kaveh sighs: “Thanks, but I don’t think any metaphor will equate to my problems,”

“What do you mean metaphors?”

…

“You were using metaphors, right? Right, Bennett?”

He was not

But I imagine that once they get talking about their luck and especially their attitudes towards it, they really find a lot of interest in each other

Kaveh would hugely admire how Bennett always bounces back, always smiling and never afraid to keep going and keep feeling despite all the terrible occurrences he goes through each day

Bennett finds such solidarity in knowing an adult who’s plagued with bad luck, who is still incredibly successful. Bennett admires how Kaveh is renowned and famed throughout Sumeru for his work, and is a kind soul in his daily life, even with the troubles he has. Even though Bennett doesn’t think he needs to be famous, it’s nice to have real proof that even if he’s unlucky, he could still lead a great life

Klee & Xiao

Xiao would obviously be a bit standoffish at first

Klee views him as another one of those weird adults that doesn’t smile or talk, but she still trusts him innately

I like to think Klee is genuinely a good judge of character, and even if she finds someone weird, she feels that it doesn’t mean they can’t be a great person

Klee once asks Xiao to hold Dodoco for her while she tries to catch a frog in some mud, since Albedo’s always telling her to be careful with things she cares a lot about

Xiao is slightly stunted by the request and the bright smile that comes with it, but nods dutifully and carefully takes the little plush in his hands

Klee runs off to play, and when she gets back she’s more than pleased to see that Xiao is holding Dodoco to his chest, cupping him carefully and keeping him upright

Some adults just don’t respect Dodoco like Xiao does (Klee has had the terrible experience of people tucking Dodoco under their arm like a book! Not a good holder; one star review)

Upon returning to reclaim her friend, Klee gives Xiao as big a hug as her tiny arms can muster, and though Xiao’s eyes widen and his shoulder stiffen, he lets the small girl embrace him

Klee appreciates the respect Xiao shows her, even though she's small and young

Xiao is careful of how his karmic debt might affect this innocent child but lets himself relax at how Klee unabashedly loves the world. It inspires him to try loving more openly

Venti & Kaveh

So what if I’ve already put Kaveh on this list this is my post I do what I want

Sadge alcoholics with ✨dramatic tendencies ✨

You know they have the best stories tho

When these two come together, every room they enter is a party or every room they enter is a crying support room filled with regrets

Either way the room is filled with wine

Their energy is contagious and they can lead crowds of people to begin partying on a random Tuesday afternoon

But when they're in their feels, they look at each other with the understanding and empathy that they each wish they could gain from others in their lives

When Venti's soft voice carries out a melancholy ballad, Kaveh is the first to start crying

When Kaveh begins drunk rambling about his life, Venti's the one to pat his back, smiling softly despite the deep and old emotion his eyes hold

They hold a mutual and quiet understanding of the simultaneous pain and wonderment that living can bring that I think would be really interesting to see play out

Jean & Kokomi

I feel like if they met initially it would be all business

Discussions on foreign trade, sharing experiences from issues that have arisen in the past

All very professional

That is until either of them slips just a tiny bit about how freaking tired they are, and the other perks up and starts trying to subtly find out more

“Hm, it is a great honour to serve the people of Watatsumi Island, although I wish I had the energy to do more in a day,”

*cue Jean realising she may have just found an overworked buddy*

“Yes, I feel the same about the Knights of Favonius, there is always more to accomplish, though Lisa is always telling me to take more time to myself, although I don’t know how I could.”

“Exactly!” *cough* “I mean, yes, I understand how worrisome that must be.”

They silently sip their tea simultaneously, carefully fixing their posture

And then suddenly begin ranting and confiding in each other about how much they always have on their plate

🎶You’re just like me, I’m just like you~

Overall very cute relationship, they start off distanced by duty, and then become besties once they realise their common ground

Imagine them each making sure the other isn’t working too hard!

And they always listen to each other even if they don’t listen to others who tell them to take breaks because they know the other understands completely just how much they have to do

[gothamnewsnetwork-official]

But what did the specialist have to say about Bruce Wayne's fursona???

Opinion Hour - Bruce Wayne’s fursona

The opinions voiced in this article may not reflect the opinions of the journal

Hello Gothamites, I have returned once again to discuss another fursona of the Wayne’s. In my previous article (see post here) I had referenced the fact that Bruce Wayne (see related articles), Gotham’s resident billionaire, has a fursona (see related articles).

This is an undisputed fact, Mr. Wayne saying so himself, but I am back by popular demand to further analyze this case.

Bruce Wayne ( @officialbruciewayne ) has spoken of his opinions on fursona’s multiple times (see related posts), stating his connection to the concept and his enjoyment of furry culture (see related articles).

This comes as little surprise given his son, Dick Grayson’s ( @notnotnightwing ) (see related articles), connection to the furry community (see related posts), his general demeanour, and the fact that he may be dating the most famous (and infamous) furry of all time; Batman ( @darkknightofficial ) (see related articles).

Back to his fursona design and characterization, Mr. Wayne debuted his fursona on the 27th of July this year. He states that the character and him share many characteristics, such as his scars.

From a design standpoint, this reporter finds it to be rather simple. A wolf anthro (see related articles) is fairly common, and given its lack of clothing the only truly unique features are its scars.

That being said, Mr. Wayne’s reasoning for choosing a wolf as the base is rather sweet, as he stated that it was due to him and wolves both being predominantly focused on family.

In other words, it is very well drawn, and I would like to commend the artist on their work.

I was, once again, able to reach out to an expert on fursona design and psychology (see related articles) to take their opinion on the matter. Their statement reads as follows -

“ Simplistic, standard. Art’s good but design is basic, nothings wrong it’s just boring.

It’s giving twitter artists barely censored commissions but that can’t really be helped with a base design. Would appreciate if someone gave it clothes.

..nice ass though. 7/10 for the art and building ability. ”

This reporter is inclined to agree, given that the designs simplicity does give it a vast advantage in regard to clothing and accessories.

Given that this is a base model and was commissioned, it is relatively difficult to determine when Mr. Wayne became a furry, though we can suspect it was far earlier than his son did.

This does bring up further questions surrounding the possibility of a secret society of billionaire furries (see related articles) that run the world, but that is a topic for an investigative journalist and not myself.

As for Mr. Grayson and his newly updated fursona, we would still rate it a 5/10, just with slightly better clothing.

Once again I’d like to thank Gotham Reports for allowing me to publish this article, and urge anyone who has any more information on this topic to come forward.

Let us know your thoughts on the topic (here)

Gotham Reports is certified in unbiased, fair, and reliable journalism

[tiredofthehumanlife]

Marriage worthy (masc-ish flavor)

fem(ish) version

Barbie dolls: Regulus x reader

Word: 2.2k-ish

Summary: your parents force a wedding on you but at the alter you realize what you want

Warnings: You’re in a wedding tux and are forced to marry a woman via your parents but I only use gn prounouns for you, regulus is a hater, aged up a little, allusions to not amazing parents, ebay and facebook marketplace mentioned, possible homophobic taxi driver but that wasn’t the intent the driver is just sad they don’t get a drama scoop, you ride in a taxi, i think thats it dude

A/n: this wedding has the wedding traditions and set up that I grew up with ie Christian wedding I understand that other cultures have other traditions but that is not represented in this fic this is by no means a hateful “my culture is the only right culture” type thing I'm just writing what I know everybody’s culture is beautiful thanks for coming to my ted talk

You weren’t sure if you considered yourself the marrying type. Your parents felt differently apparently. You were enjoying the simplicity of your single life, and a few weeks later your parents were informing you of your fiancée. Your wedding was being planned in front of you and you didn’t even know the bride. When your parents were making the quest list, they added your best friend. You thought about this for barely a couple of minutes before scratching out his name. You appreciated Regulus but he was the type of person to speak his mind. Loudly at that.

Once you told him about a friend who wasn’t treating you in the best of ways, but you still loved them. Unfortunately, they ran into you and Regulus at the store. Regulus glared at them the entire time and then finally called them a couple of unfortunate names.

So you doubted he would stay silent at the wedding you didn’t even want. You imagined him sulking in the front row, leaning over to whisper to the person next to him about how much this girl sucked.

“Can’t even match her heels to her dress, embarrassing.”

“Oh god she can’t find her vows, I wonder if she wrote any at all. Have I told you, I’m a published poet? Yeah, four books under my belt.”

“Kind and caring? That’s all she’s got? They’re more than that. They’re the rising sun and setting moon, They’re the oxygen filling our lungs, They’re-“

“Oh thank Godric, they got to my favorite part- I object!”

You could see him jumping out of his seat, a hand in the air. Regulus would object the second he was given the moment of silence. He’d probably walk all the way to the alter, grab onto your arm, and escort you outside himself, insulting the bride on the way out.

It might’ve been a little selfish to remove Regulus from the guest list. It’ll probably hurt him when he finds out but that will give him material for his fifth book. You’ll explain yourself. You’ll probably write him a letter from your honeymoon destination, explaining everything and giving extra treats to your owl for a speedy delivery. That’ll be an odd conversation to have with your new wife.

“Sorry darling my pants are staying on, I have to write a letter to my best friend.” Well, scratch that, you’ll write him a letter as soon as you get a minute to yourself… on your honeymoon? Well, maybe you’ll send him a box of cookies as an extra apology for his explanation having such a long waiting period.

Time moved swiftly as the planning became more erratic. Your parents seemed to have decided waiting for the next season was stupid. They’d much rather have your wedding yesterday than wait. In two shakes of a lamb's tail, you were being buttoned into an elaborate tuxedo. You didn’t feel right. Maybe this was the classic cold feet feeling but every time you blinked you seemed to be nowhere near where you started. You would be in front of the mirror and seconds later you were staring at the double doors waiting on your bride to walk down the aisle. You didn’t remember saying half of your vowels though you felt secure in your assumption that they were monotone. With your hands in hers and the priest beside you talking, you looked at the rows and rows of family members.

Some of which you hadn’t seen in what felt like centuries. You scanned the seat looking for someone you recognized. You reached the end of the row without seeing anyone properly. You closed your eyes as you listened to your fiancée, soon-to-be wife, repeat the priest. You squeezed Regulus’ hands tighter. You felt the corners of your lips twitch for a second before you slowly opened your eyes. Your slight smile fell when you realized you weren’t holding onto your best friend’s hands at all.

You glanced around, remembering exactly where you were. You felt you had just been dunked in cold water waking you from your sleep.

“Do you take this woman to be your wife, to live together in matrimony, to love her, to honor her, to comfort her, and to keep her in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?" The priest seemed as bored as you, his tone hollow and flat. You stayed silent, your mind catching up with the lots of information you just caught. Why would you wish you were holding onto Regulus’ hands at the altar if you were just friends? How long have you felt like this? Does this priest even know your name? How much was he paid? Could you sell this tux on eBay? Facebook marketplace? You heard mutters pass over the crowd of spectators. Your fiancée squeezed your hands while muttering your name. She kept repeating it but it faded into the background like the ocean rocking your body.

“I don’t want this?” You whispered. As you talked mostly to yourself, you remembered you had free will. You laughed as you pulled your hands away from this nameless woman. You reached up to your chest and yanked the boutonniere from your lapel. You dropped it on the floor, turning towards the crowd.

“I don’t want this.” You said, though this time you were sturdy. You knew what you wanted and it had nothing to do with this chapel. You started off towards the front doors. You noticed people in the rows standing up and you were certain you heard someone sounding easily similar to your mother yelling at you. You weren’t entirely certain where you were but you had a feeling your heart would lead you in the right direction.

Your heart failed you. You actually had to hail a taxi, and you were quite happy you memorized Regulus’ address and had pockets with money inside. The taxi driver seemed amused that they had picked up a runaway groom.

“What happened to the bride, sleep with the groomsman?” They asked, glancing back at you through the reirveiw mirror. You laughed awkwardly.

“No. As it turns out I love a man. It appears I prefer obnoxious published poets with the fashion sense of a funeral director.” The taxi driver sighed deeply. You looked out the window, wondering what they were probably doing back at the alter. Did they disperse? Head towards the open bar? You imagined your one aunt who you were certain lived 9 lives herself, swinging her purse over her shoulder and leaving without a second thought. She seemed to root for nobody and everyone all at the same time. You paid the driver and sprinted up the stairs of Regulus’ house. You knocked on his front door rapidly, ringing the door as you stepped back.

You heard Regulus groan behind the door before it opened a crack the chain stopping it. Once he saw you the door slammed again. You heard the chain smack back against the wall before the door opened again. Regulus stared at you with wide eyes. He took you all in, looking you up and down. you felt your shoulders relax when you saw him, letting out a sigh.

“I see you’ve had a busy few weeks.” You glanced down at your outfit, raising your hands and slapping them against the material.

“Yeah, I uh, I was going to send you a letter. I was getting married but I realized something while I was holding that girl's hands-“ Regulus cut off your explanation. He made a disgusted face, flapping his hand in the air.

“Oh Godric, you do not need to tell me what you were doing with your- what fiancée? Wife?” Regulus said, smacking his lips like the word fiancée left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Regulus, Shut up. Let me talk. As I was at that altar, every time I closed my eyes I realized I was begging for it to be you standing in front of me in a tux, not that lady.” You probably looked a little crazy, drowning in expensive material waving your hands around erratically like it would make your declaration a little less out of pocket. Regulus grimaced.

“It took a wedding for you to realize I might be more desirable than some random woman? Ouch.” Regulus rested his hand over his heart like you struck him. You shook your head.

“No. It took me a wedding to realize I'm in love with you, Regulus.” You stared at Regulus, taking in every slight movement in his face to catch if there was any rejection there. Regulus seemed to stop breathing, his eyes glazing over. You pressed your lips together. Is this really the guy you wanted? You tried to calculate if his reaction was a severe case of rejection or stupidity.

“So please just tell me if you feel even an ounce of the same. If you don't say that, I'll run all the way back to that chapel. I'll marry that woman, we'll go on our honeymoon, in a couple of years we'll have 2.5 kids named Taylor, Brayden, and the one on the way will be Raighleighn and-“ Regulus brought himself back to life with a fast breath. He cut off your irrational speech.

“Is that what you want?” You stared at him, blinking away your confusion. Regulus kept his face stoic, giving you no clue if he was being serious or not. You furrowed your eyebrows. He sensed your confusion, adding details to his question. “Is what you want 2.5 kids named Taylor, Brandon, and Raylen?” You pulled back, shrugging one shoulder up to your ear.

“Brayden and Raighleighn.” You corrected, quietly. Regulus tsked, glaring at you. You tilted your head to the side, egging him on just a little.

“Sorry, I don't have a perfect memory for the names of your hypothetical kids,” Regulus said while dramatically rolling his eyes. You decided to ignore his retort, bouncing back to his last question.

“Why on earth would I ditch my wedding, leaving hundreds of guests to fend for themselves, if the person I wanted was at the altar? Regulus, I want you. Granted I realized this less than thirty minutes ago so I’m not entirely sure how much of our friendship I’ve been harboring these feelings, but I understand they’re strong. I want to cook dinner with you. I want my toothbrush next to yours. I want my closet to have your clothes too. I want to fold our laundry together.”

“I’d probably have Kreacher do that, with proper care of course. He'd be employed not enslaved if that-” Regulus started rambling, letting go of the door to gesture with his hands properly. You groaned. You loved listening to Regulus ramble whether it was about his violin music or some book that really seemed to push his buttons but now was not the time. You were standing on his front doorstep professing your love for him and he was telling you about his activism. You agreed with him, of course, but time and place.

“Godric, Regulus are you going to kiss me or not? Are we something that could happen or should I start running now?” You stared at him as he shook his head like his thoughts of Kreacher could fly out his ears.

“Right, yeah.” Regulus pushed himself off the door, stepping into your space. He gently pulled you forward. His breath warmed your face, you caught hints of his favorite tea. You leaned forward, meeting him in the middle. His kiss was gentle like he still wasn’t entirely sure if this wasn’t a dream. Regulus pulled back before you wish he did. You kept your eyes closed just a little extra second. If you opened your eyes and you were still at the chapel, you’d be married to a woman you just met. You felt Regulus’ thumb stroking your cheekbone, silently begging you to open your eyes. You grinned, your almost-wife wouldn’t touch you as gently as Regulus did. You met Regulus’ eyes. He was smiling back at you, granted it was small but that’s not the point. You fiddled with the buttons on his black shirt.

“I made extra dinner if you’d like to join me,” Regulus muttered, jumping over the kiss to talk about a mundane topic. You’ve shared dinner hundreds of times. You were glad after all the chaos of today you could easily return your dear Regulus and join him at his table like it was any other day.

“Mm you know I think my schedule might be a little packed, I do have a honeymoon to get to.” You muttered. Regulus groaned, stepping away from you. He pushed your shoulder towards his door, stepping out of the way. You stepped through the door.

“While we’re still on the topic, what was your fiancée’s name?” Regulus asked, moving behind you to pick a peice of fuzz off your jacket. You gave him a confused look over your shoulder.

“Why?”

“I want it to be the title of my next poem,” Regulus said, pulling out one his dark wooden chairs for you, before leaving toward the kitchen counter when his timer went off. You laughed at him as he returned to the oven. He made you both a plate, settling one in front of you.

While you sat next to Regulus at his table in your stupid wedding tuxedo, you thanked the stars for reminding you of free will seconds before you had to say I do.

[torgerandsuzanne]

“It's a privilege to take you on a personal journey and share my views on art, architecture, travel, business and philanthropy, alongside my partner in life and business, my wife Susie. She and I have been Bombardier enthusiasts for a while now, just like my great friend Niki Lauda before me. In any given year, we can spend more than 450 hours in an airplane. These hours can be quiet-some of my favorite moments are those spent reflecting, alone or with Susie, during a peaceful flight...” 

.....

Wolff, 51, is the definitive Übermensch: He travels the world, speaks five languages, appreciates contemporary art and Brutalist architecture, is a loving husband and father, and is involved in several organizations helping those in need (Save a Child's Heart, United Nations High Commission for Refugees, and the Mary Bendet Foundation among them).

Simplicity isn't a word one would typically associate with Wolff, though it's surprisingly apt when it comes to his personal life. In 2011 Wolff married Susie Wolff. Together they have a six-year-old son, Jack, and despite living a nomadic life, he calls home "the place where my wife and children are". These days, they are based in Monaco-a place where he can unwind with his family, perhaps grab a coffee from his favorite spot, Cova, or take in views of the Mediterranean.

Wolffs approach to downtime is equally as uncomplicated. He enjoys reading (anything on philosophy, finance, history), and insists that even the busiest people can find time to do the things they enjoy. "People say that they can't find time to read or they can't find time to reflect -they are not managing their time properly," he says. 

.....

"As women, we're always trying to juggle it all-which feels impossible. I've got my own dreams and ambitions that I want to follow and at the same time I want to be the best mother and wife I can be."

With such a demanding schedule. Wolff finds time to connect with her husband while flying. "Quite often, I get on board with Toto and if it's just the two of us. I don't want the flight to stop... It's a valuable time to just be together. It feels like our living room, we're so comfortable,” she says of their time on board their Bombardier jet. “It's a place where we are able to recharge our batteries, to find calm."

Toto (Editor-at-Large) and Susie for June 2023 issue of Bombardier Experience Magazine 

[v-i-r-i-d-i-a-n]

Sorry if this is weird but I FEEL THE NEED TO SAY TY because atm I can’t make any fun or interesting posts, and I’ve been meaning to say this sense like the first day I joined the Henry Cultists sooo

CW; a super sappy maybe cringe? Post

Joining the Henry Creel side of the ST fandom has genuinely been such a delightful experience, from the very start I’ve felt so welcomed, everyone has been kind and helpful and i don’t think I’ve felt this welcomed in a fandom sense- ever.

I wanna preface this by saying that I overthink things, it’s something I’m working on but it’s also something that’s just there and acknowledging it is part of the journey, ANYWAYS main point is I overthink a lot, every interaction, everything I do I put fifty million thoughts more into it then I need to

I say stupid things a lot of the time, I feel like things I say get misconstrued or misunderstood more often then not, I rewrite posts I make at least 5 times and then say it’s my first time writing it out cus I was in a rush so “I’m sorry if things don’t make sense”. I avoid being made fun of like the plague, I’m so entirely terrified of people misinterpreting what I say or do

I struggle to articulate my thoughts, like, really struggle, it’s insanely difficult for me, hell I’ve been thinking about what I would say in this post and am still not really sure what I’m saying. I don’t know why, I know I’m neurodivergent but- it feels hard and overwhelming to merely exist in fandom space a lot of the time, like everyone else is existing in a plain that’s untouchable

But the people in this fandom have made it so that I genuinely don’t feel scared to ask questions, from the very beginning they’ve told me I can and have made me feel welcomed- I know it probably feels like the bare minimum, but as someone who struggles it means a lot, the simplicity of existing within this space is a breath of fresh air, I, for once, don’t feel the need to overthink everything I do or say

I know this probably doesn’t make sense, and it’s like- really stupid now that I’m actually typing it out but I feel the need to just say thank you

Because I genuinely am thankful, it’s been so easy

The ST fandom has always been somewhat of a safe space for me, but this specific side is so nice?? And smart, and simple

I just appreciate it

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Part 21

A short one because my brain is a little toasted :( I have guests coming this weekend and will be traveling again for work next week so I will be cranking out as much as I can in the mean time or weird inbetween! I appreciate you all <3

I’m also going to stick with Gale’s POV - this story isn’t about Tav (it is, but you know what I mean lol) thanks @laserlope for helping in the brain room 🤝

EDITED TO GALE’s Perspective | Read on Ao3 | Master List

“Ah,” Gale said, leaning over Tav’s shoulder to point towards what appeared to be an alter. 

They were exploring the cellar of Last Light after fighting off a particularly difficult gaggle of meanlocks. During their explorations they found a journal, and decided to have a gander at finding the resistance at Last Light. 

“A hidden shrine…” he murmured, “Dedicated to the Moon Maiden herself. Even amidst the darkness, Selunites are stubborn enough to cling on.” It was a sentiment he understood. Despite everything that Mystra forced him to endure, he still cherished magic because it was what he adored and had known so long as he’d had memory.

“Pretty beautiful, isn’t it?” Karlach mused, brushing her fingers over the lacy cloth of the alter and cold, forgotten statues. Gale loved watching her experience the world around her - it helped him maintain perspective, to see the world through fresh eyes. To remember what wonder there was in simplicity.

To grapple with life’s end is no easy feat. There are many who avoid the task entirely, choosing instead to delay the inevitable. Gale felt the crushing weight of finite time and couldn’t bear to ignore his deepest desires. It had been so long since he felt these delicious emotions. What he felt for Mystra.. it was nothing like this.

“If you have a fondness for paperweights,” Shadowheart crossed her arms and inspected the arms of her armor, disinterest evident. Gale internally scoffed, mumbling about how deeply entrenched she was in Shar’s vile, false prophecy.

Karlach snorted and gave Shadowheart a salute. “You’re a funny frog, you know that?” 

“Excuse me what?” Shadowheart bristled and glared at Karlach, though a curl tugged at her lip. “If anyone here is a frog, it most certainly isn’t me. If anyone, it would be Lae’zel.” 

“Why, because she’s green?” Karlach poked, egging her on. 

As the two volleyed back and forth, Tav turned to Gale. She was shifting awkwardly, something he flagged to secure and unwrap later. “Sometimes I can’t tell whether or not those two like each other.” 

“Oh, I’m sure most of our companions could say the same about us.” Gale grinned and flashed his teeth, the corners of his eyes scrunching. His cells surged from their proximity. 

“Well,” Tav chewed on her bottom lip and pressed a finger to his chest. “Perhaps they wouldn’t have the wrong idea if you were better at admitting defeat once in a while. I know it’s hard for you, to be around someone so much more charismatic, intelligent, funny…” 

“Scratch undoubtably stakes his claim to the limelight and acclaim that I have no chance competing with.” Gale rose a brow as if in challenge. He knew she was talking about herself, but he needed to see if she’d indulge him. To test the waters.

Gale had been testing the water for weeks now, to the point where Karlach told him that if he didn’t get on with it soon she’d jump Tav’s bones before he got the chance.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said, half joking and mostly serious.

“I can,” Karlach shot him a look, pointing a finger cockily, “and I will.”

Although Gale thought she was kidding there was still a part of him that chewed on her seriousness.

She returned his look, a wildness spreading through him as he continued to neg her and at how wonderfully she responded. “Are you comparing me to our camp dog?” 

“Ah!” Gale’s hand flung to his forehead and he tapped his fingers against it before resting on his hip and then twisting to point at her. “You know what, you’re right, I should have known you were talking about yourself. An honest mistake. Scratch is quite popular amongst our merry crew of miscreants and scoundrels, you’ll have to forgive me. Had I known you were talking about yourself,” Gale’s fingers wrapped around her wrist to lower her finger from his chest. Tav’s breath caught and that little sound, an otherwise innocent, unremarkable noise gave Gale’s body everything it needed to know. “I would have said that is woefully untrue and I wonder if that tadpole has eaten through more than a fair share of that beautiful mind of yours.” He whispered haughtily. Tav exhaled sharply and rolled her eyes which made his cheeky grin somehow more smug. He loved watching her get more and more flustered by him, though if he felt her feelings were hurt he’d learned well enough to stop. Lately, though, she seemed to relish in it.

“This place is hard to bear. I hope we’re able to continue on our way soon..” Shadowheart interrupted their banter and Gale looked to Tav who seemed delighted by their delay, unbothered by the impatience of their most gothic comrade. 

“I know what you mean. Everything is so… dark, and musty.” Karlach’s nose wrinkled and she nodded towards the exit, shifting from foot to foot.  

“Oh, well I meant more the idols to a false goddess,” she gestured and then took off her glove, inspecting her hand. “but yes, the mildew and must leaves something to be desired.” 

“Hopefully I’m not contributing to the smell too much,” Karlach gave herself a quick sniff and rose her arm. “What do you think?” 

Shadowheart laughed and shook her head, “Hush you, stop fishing for compliments. I’m sure Dammon showers you with plenty already.” 

Karlach stuck out her tongue and grinned. “You know it, baby.” 

Gale admired how, despite learning of her almost guaranteed fate, Karlach was a formidable optimist. He was trying to mirror her attitude, though despondency chewed at his robes. “Alright, alright,” Tav said, gesturing. “lead the way.” 

“I love a nice secret hideaway, don’t you?” Shadowheart mused, glancing around the damp enclave. “Even if it’s dedicated to,” she shuddered as if eating bad fish, “Selune.” 

“I mean… I guess.” Tav and Karlach shrugged in unison. 

“You can just fill it with supplies, seal up the hidden entrance, and tuck yourself away from the world…” Shadowheart said this as if she were asking a djinn to grant her wish. 

“Whatever you say, squirrelheart.” Gale chuckled at his own joke and the two groaned at his joke and Tav surprised him with an earnest giggle. He grunted as he hoisted his pack. “Where are we headed, m’lady?” 

Tav blushed. Another clue. Gale knew when he spoke to her in that voice, although it was playful there was an undercurrent of words unspoken. He knew it was beginning to affect her concentration because she let more than a few errant spells slip anytime they locked eyes in combat. He’d give an extra flourish, put on a bit of a show, and then she’d get a little smile and forget to cast her ward. Gale felt guilty, of course, but it was a little endearing.

Still - What if she wasn’t receptive? What if it was all in his head relationships? He didn’t remember overthinking past relationships quite so much. Perhaps he did. Well, he nearly immediately admitted the fib to himself.

He also worried that if he acted impatiently, Tav would slip through his fingers like quicksand. There was a nagging in her gut, that he would somehow mess up.

Tav - apart from his mother, and Tara - was the person who knew him best - which wasn’t saying much. She had seen so much of him, though, had been invited into more intimate moments while he held everyone else at an arms length. It was easier than seeing them hold him at an arms length. He tried to find solace in the stars instead of substance on solid ground. Terrified of letting people past the well-crafted fortress to his heart. 

For the past few weeks as he tried, and failed, to teach her simple recipes he felt his resolve grow weaker and weaker. He thawed her, little by little the layers of herself peeling back to welcome him in. Jokes that once would make her gag in annoyance now evoked bubbles of laughter. They rarely spoke at first. Only a few snide comments here and there. 

As the days progressed, however, Gale started to ask her more questions, which he sensed annoyed her to an extent. Once that emotion passed due to his persistent verbosity and monologues about his own answers would she open up and reveal tidbits of herself - what foods she liked to eat, the flowers she noticed, how she liked to spend her time - the latter earning him a withering look, implying him to back away from the question, to which he smirked at and held up his hands.

“Hello?” Gale waved a hand in front of her face, realizing he’d been waiting for her response for quite some time. He noticed she laughed unintentionally and licked her lips before she pressed them together. It made his core simmer. 

“Sorry?” She said, tilting her head and scrunching her face a little. 

“Good! We were worried we lost you there - you just,” Gale pursed his lips and his eyes narrowed a little with excitement. He leaned forward and Tav’s lips parted as she inhaled. He tried to steady his wicked thoughts. He noted the soft red brushed across her cheeks, how her iris’s were swallowed whole. His voice slowed, his tone smooth and mellow, “Blushed a smidge, ah… just as you are now….and then froze, faster than you could conjure an ice storm.” 

The silence lingered, the hairs on his arms stood up and he felt magnified. And then she spoke. “No, regrettably you’re stuck with me for now. Don’t get too excited.” 

He did. She returned the retort exactly as he wanted. “Oh, if this adventure has taught me anything it’s that I’ve grown rather fond of you. I would be rather miffed for our paths to part so soon… there’s so much more to do.” 

Karlach and Shadowheart’s whoops of laughter drew a scowl from her and started walking. 

“Don’t be shy!” Karlach yelled to her and Gale laughed.

 Fine. He thought to himself. Tonight. Tonight.

[brakken]

it’s 3 am and I need to talk about critical role

spoilers for campaign 3, episode 65 below the cut

So I haven’t been keeping up with the latest campaign as much lately (and still have to watch the second half of this ep, even) - but, y’all, I can’t sleep and I gotta talk about that kiss.

I loved how... simple it was, compared to other moments in the show of this type of affection. There’s Imogen & Laudna, doing grocery shopping - just a homely good deed for someone else - such a domestic and safe moment despite the world in the state it’s in, and that’s where Imogen is able to properly reunite with Laudna. To acknowledge that she’s hurting, yes - and also, in this crowded place where Imogen’s now free of all the outside thoughts, to express an inner feeling in a simple, wordless way. 

That kiss was so filled with reassurance, commitment, and unshakeable love - but it was also as if for Imogen it was just the natural course of action. An emotion so impossible to express by just talking. A universal confirmation for the both of them - ‘we’re together again’.

And there was no ceremony, there was no... acknowledgment in that moment that what they’ve had uptil now had changed at all - they just kept communicating, and untangling. And Laudna follows up with another kiss, almost midway through a sentence - with that same reassuring truth that they were together.

This was so perfect for my experience with them - they’d made such an easy pairing from the get-go, but in the ‘pacing’ that the story had set out, I was beginning to think that it wasn’t going to unfold romantically. I’d made my peace with that, but was still so very appreciative of the bond they had - beyond any classification of friendship or family or whatever - they were so committed to each other. And then this kiss was almost like.... part of that? As if it was never really missing - like they’ve just skipped the ‘romance’, you know? Already on that soul-mate stuff that was so present from the start.

These are the kinds of pairings that really stay with me - the ones I aspire to write about myself. The undying, unquestioning truth of ‘I’ll never leave you’, expressed so purely.

And I say they skipped the romance, but I still want to acknowledge Marisha’s little jokey aside about her intention to create an unromanceable PC this campaign. A cold, creepy witch woman. And how despite that, everyone - the audience, the cast, and the characters - have all so readily and easily fallen in love with her in some way or another. It speaks to how well she performs Laudna, and also how much Laudna deserves that love. Because while it was an out-of-character comment, the idea of Laudna feeling the same - of having created this haunting idea of herself over the years, of having experienced such pain and exclusion, and still shining through despite herself, to inspire others to give back all the love she puts forward. For all the ways that she sees herself as broken, and undeserving, there’s Imogen, to show her that isn’t so.

Then on Imogen’s side, again, that desire to communicate what she’s feeling without words - without thoughts. Imogen doesn’t fully know, can’t know, can’t hear what Laudna has been through, and to have that be both frightening but also freeing - to be separate from everyone and everything, even someone you love, and then to actively and mutually reconnect - to remake that bond.

And there wasn’t need for flowery descriptions, or have it as the ending note of the episode - there wasn’t this intent to focus on ‘oh Laudna’s lips feel clammy at first but then warm to Imogen’s touch,’ or anything. Because it wasn’t what they were focusing on, either. It wasn’t about how it made them feel on that physical level - it was everything else. The kiss was simple, and with its simplicity it brought a million complex feelings into momentary order.

Anyway, it’s late, or early, but just had to write a bit - get some of my own thoughts out of my head.

As I’ve been typing this, I’m reminded of a song - ‘Signal Fire’ by Snow Patrol - it feels right for Imogen & Laudna, I think.