#possible angst and fluff HAHA | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

baeshijima · 11 days ago

Text

— be still, my beating heart

the world has a rather cruel way of playing its jokes. it paid you no heed amid your desperation, watching passively as your wings were clipped before you could even take flight. and yet, when you began to accept such a fate, you were given new ones to soar and see the world you once dreamed of. the world may be cruel, but it gave you a new meaning and opportunity all the same.

(despite your newfound content, you almost wish you weren't given so many headaches to deal with.)

INCLUDES : king!mydei ; knight commander!phainon ; scholar!anaxa + knight!reader

CONTAINS : gn!reader, 13.5k wc (sobbing pls give this a chance... it's just a number... haha...), royalty!au, fluff (kinda), angst (if you squint), brief mentions of blood, some lore and character exploration fitted into the au (kinda), underlying darker themes (bc royalty aus are scary at times,,,) but still very much sfw !! i think... slight spoilers for their past/backstories (mainly anaxa's if you haven't played 3.2/read his first character story + some details of phainon's alose mentioned in 3.2) with some deviations

A/N : guess who is pushing their knight!reader agenda again !! for the third time :D once again royalty aus my beloved u will always be famous to me o(TヘTo) (also can u tell who is my favourite haha...)

various!hsr ver.

Becoming a full-fledged knight was never your intention, much less the personal knight of the king himself. If life had gone the way you’d planned all those years ago, you are sure you would have laughed in the face of whoever told you this would be your fate.

After all, you? A knight? For the then-crown-prince-now-king?

You?

Ha! As if you would let yourself become something like… like that. A tool, a pawn, a weapon easily disposed of when the cracks start to become too noticeable and the once sharpened edge too blunt to be of any use.

Honour? Integrity? Justice?

What use is there for such lofty ideals in a world where deceit and poison-laced saccharines and empty promises for something greater, something far beyond the scope of your isolated bubble was the only familiarity you had.

You’ve witnessed it countless times — the noble rise and the disgraceful fall of your kin. Having watched your siblings and cousins be subjected to the almost manic control of your family elders, you swore you would do everything in your power to escape their clutches; even if you had to reject everything you knew and start with nothing once more.

And yet, when your desperate attempts to retain your autonomy began to slip through, when your efforts to diverge and leave your own traces in this world were all but thwarted without a moment’s hesitation, the doubt began to settle like morning mist.

Maybe you were never meant for something greater. Maybe you were destined to be overshadowed by your family’s bygone history, dispirited and made to be forgotten by the elders who loathed disharmony in their control. Maybe this path was always fated to be yours to follow, to trudge in the weathered footsteps moulded in the shape of your ancestry. Generation after generation, stuck in an endless cycle of ash and sweat and metal and the suffocating stench of iron. Never to be free.

In the end, you were just a puppet to be controlled, your prodigious talent for the sword an attribute for them to weaponise.

But then he came in like a raging storm, your once gloomy and hopeless world bursting into a vibrancy you never once thought possible. In a seemingly impossible feat your shackles were shattered, a fate which had never been yours to claim suddenly handed back to you by that outstretched calloused hand and kind gaze unfitting for such a battle-haggard boy. Even so, despite such outward expression being a noticeably stark contradiction to the boy’s sharp features, his smile did not waver, nor did his patience for your eventual acceptance of his hand.

Perhaps you are a hypocrite — perhaps you are a spineless fool who cannot break away from the destiny instilled by those elders. But if this decision allowed you to devote your all to something wholeheartedly, to step into a world where those so-called lofty ideals may not be so out of reach, then you would gladly be one; even if it meant walking down a path carved by the very same wretched footsteps you loathed, the imprint of your own the last to be seen from that bygone legacy.

Side step. Downward strike. Duck. Envision your opponent standing overhead, their sword raised with both hands and ready to strike down. Pivot. Parry with an undercut. When they’re off balance, lunge and strike them at their opening—

“What have I said about overworking yourself?”

At the sudden voice, you startle. Luckily, your sword did not drop, and you breathe a faint sigh of relief before turning to the source of the voice. You shouldn’t have been surprised considering you already knew who would have such a profound voice and presence, but seeing your king leaning against the wall of the training grounds still manages to catch you off guard.

With your independent training now interrupted, the adrenaline guiding you through the motions vanishes. Flexing your stiff fingers, you roll your neck while making your way to the sidelines while trying to ignore the weight behind his accusatory gaze. When reaching the benches, you come to a stop, pick up your water bottle, and give a fleeting glance towards the intruder.

“Your Majesty?” you ask, voice lighthearted in a way that tries to ignore the underlying meaning behind his presence. “What are you doing here?”

He huffs. “That’s what I should be asking you.” Mydei regards you with scrutiny, arms crossed and lips pursed as you guzzle your water. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

“Well, I asked you first!” Is what you would counter with if he wasn’t your king. Alas, he is. And so the very apparent status difference between you prompts a much tamer response to spill after having wiped off the excess water clinging to your lips.

“Training, Your Majesty.”

…Perhaps you should have gone with your initial response. Had you done that, maybe the ominous clinks of jewellery would not be steadily growing in volume, nor would the brooding aura of an upset king (your king, you must remind yourself, for you alone put yourself in this predicament) be slowly encroaching on your back amidst a suffocating silence. Eventually he comes to a stop behind you, his presence heavy and lying in wait like a predator watching its prey.

You gulp. Is it too late to run? Most definitely. Will you at least try? You’re not an idiot. (You learned from your first attempt that it was useless to try. It was also very embarrassing. Never again.)

With almost robotic-like stutters, your head turns towards your right — towards the shadow currently looming behind you. When your eyes meet, your mind draws a blank. What were you doing? Where are you? Who are you? Why must you suffer like this instead of some other knight?

But then he parts his lips, narrowed gaze and deep-set frown still etched into his features, and suddenly you’re reminded how tough love is your king’s speciality.

“Are you aware how late it is?” he asks, tone firm.

“Um, I wasn’t exactly keeping track.” Had his glare not darkened, you would have thought that answer to be sufficient enough. Clearly it was not, and you scramble to conjure a more sufficient answer. “If I were to guess, however… quite late?”

“Very. Past dinner, no less.”

Oh. You knew time flew while you were training (the gradual darkening of the sky said enough), but to think you missed dinner? Maybe you’ll be able to snag some leftovers if you’re lucky enough. If not, then you will simply pretend hunger is nonexistent and your problem is solved.

Even so, if your king is known for his horrendously stubborn and competitive whims, then two can play that game!

“That’s too bad,” you sigh. “And here I was hoping I could spar with you, Your Majesty.”

At that, he brings a clawed hand to his head before releasing an exasperated breath. “Don’t be foolish, [Name]. It is late. You should get some food, too.”

“What?” you drawl, a grin slowly appearing on your lips. Raising a gloved hand, you try your best to hide your smile from Mydei’s suspicious expression. “Don’t tell me you’re… scared to lose, are you?”

You don’t even get the chance to blink before he is standing before you, eyes closed and a strained, twitching smile stretching his lips.

"A spar, you say? Sure. Let’s spar."

Well, that was easy. Hurting a man’s ego sometimes really is the way to go.

Making your way to the centre of the training ground with your sword in hand, you begin to think maybe this wasn’t the best method. Sure, you got what you wanted and managed to train a little longer, but having a murderous king standing opposite you and cracking his clawed gauntlets isn’t the most pleasant of visuals.

Well, whatever! You asked for this, so you must see it through; even if you won’t hear the end of it from him afterwards.

Taking a slow breath, you adjust your feet’s positioning and shift to find your centre of balance. Raising your sword at eye-level, you exchange a single nod. With a precise step, you close the distance, and—

Clang!

Within a second, your training sword flies out of your grasp and out of sight. A dull thud is heard, but all you are focused on is the glint shining off the clawed, gold-plated gauntlet as it withdraws from the position your sword once occupied.

Silence.

“...Your Majesty,” you start, voice hesitant as you try to process what just transpired. “Is it just me, or do you seem more agitated than usual?”

Mydei is relatively expressionless as he stands upright and cracks his neck, as though it were just a regular Tuesday.

“Hmph. There is no such word in the Kremoan dictionary. It’s because you skipped dinner to train. Again,” he stresses with absolute certainty you’re almost inclined to believe his words. Almost.

Despite how long you have been Mydei’s personal guard, you are yet to see a single dictionary in Kremnos. With how often he uses that phrase, you would think there would be at least ten of them in the royal library, not the figment of his imagination and temperament of an agitated cat to be his source.

But you don’t tell your king that. Instead, you opt to stare at your sword lying pitifully in a cloud of dust on the opposite end of the training grounds. “I see.”

“Do you now?” he asks, an undertone of scepticism woven within his tone. “Because the last I recall you saying that, you continued to skip dinner for your personal training. It is fine to train, but over-doing it and neglecting your health will only harm you.”

“Yes, yes,” you sigh, peeling off your gloves as you bypass him, heading straight towards the outer ring where your water bottle was previously left. “My king’s natural instinct to take care of his subordinates has triumphed once more. I concede.”

“If you know, then start listening to me.” His head shakes at your theatrics, joining you at the sidelines with your once flying sword now securely in his hand. You retrieve it with gratitude before stowing it away securely and taking another sip from your bottle. He lingers behind you, quietly helping pack away the equipment. You’re not sure what exactly is going through his mind, but you are enlightened soon enough.

“Come drink with me.”

You pause, the hand towel pressing against your neck also pausing in its ministrations as you process your king’s words. “You mean your pomegranate juice with goat’s milk?”

He gives you a strange look — all scrunched brows, narrowed eyes, and a downward curled lip. You’re almost inclined to poke the midpoint of his brows and tell him to loosen up lest he wants to get wrinkles early, but, alas, you fancy not being on the receiving end of his unamused stare for a change.

“What else?”

“You’re right. I apologise for assuming there would be something different for once, O fearsome king of— ow, ow, ow!”

Your words are promptly cut off by the biting cold metal entrapping your left cheek. Despite knowing escape is futile, you still try to free your cheek from your king’s bullying. It, as expected, fails, and so you’re left to do what you do best — complain. “What was that for?!”

“For being so cheeky,” he retorts. For extra measure he gives your cheek another squeeze before letting go. You jump away at the presented opportunity and cradle your poor, abused skin, pointedly ignoring his deadpan gaze and huff at your antics. “Don’t worry. There will be an assortment of cheese and other accompaniments as always.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll meet you in your chambers, Your Majesty.”

As you are about to trudge towards your quarters, his figure steps in front of you and blocks the way. When meeting his gaze, you find him already looking at you in a mix of confusion and mild annoyance.

“Why?” he asks, and you’re left wondering how this man is the king of a nation.

“So I can have a shower and change into non-sweaty clothes…?”

“Just use my private bathroom.”

“But what about my clo—”

“I still have some of your spares from prior visits. All clean,” he quickly adds, possibly seeing your attempts for a rebuttal.

That fiend. Of course he would look so proud of himself knowing you have no arguments, nor the will to argue, left in you. At this point, all you want is a nice shower and some food, all of which he has offered and knows you won’t refuse.

With yet another defeat fresh in mind you release a long sigh, accepting your fate once more as you begrudgingly fall into step with your king who looks far too pleased with himself, if his satisfied smirk is anything to go by.

Seriously, with how often he calls you into his office and personal chambers for a drink or some food, one might think you’re his personal attendant; you may as well be at this rate!

Well, at least he seems to be in a good mood. In the end, that is all that matters to you.

---

A curse. A sin. A stain upon the royal family’s name. That is what Mydeimos, the once celebrated crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, became known as after the prophecy was foretold. Without a question for the prophecy’s legitimacy, his infantile body was cast aside and thrown into the endless abyss by the man known as his father, King Eurypon, while his mother, Queen Gorgo, died by the king’s treachery after challenging him to a duel shortly after his descent.

…Or so he was told by his teacher, Krateros, who followed after him with the Kremnoan detachment after he resurfaced from the endless depths of that river at the tender age of nine. As it stood, Mydei’s childhood evaded him. He knew he hadn’t led a typical life. He'd grown up fighting endless monsters in an attempt to evade death, learned to read, write, and speak both the common tongue and his mother tongue after nine-years-old, and was forced to adapt his newly undying body to the overworld while traversing the lands. The phantom pain of injuries sustained never faded despite its physical evidence stitched anew without a lasting mark. His senses took a while to completely adjust, the new sounds and sensations leaving lasting remnants for days at a time.

And then would come the nights; the nights where he would dream of the mother whose face escaped him. They came frequently — every night, even. Truth be told, the young prince learned most of his fighting through those dreams. Where his mother awaited him by the flickering firelight, a training session would soon follow. They would spar, him left huffing while she remained unperturbed, and the same conversation would flow without diversion. She would praise him; he would ask why they learn to fight; she would give her response; he would question the philosophy; she would eventually relent and agree with his view, explaining her reasons. And, as in every dream, his mother left with the same parting words,

“I no longer put my faith in any oath or doctrine. Now, I have just one role… That of your mother, Mydeimos. Your guardian…”

And then it would end. And every time, the crown prince would wake up, go about his day with the detachment, and futilely hope for a sequel to his dream. But as was the cycle of life and death, that dream repeated endlessly and without cease. There was no closure, no elaboration of wisdom or guidance she departed him with.

While he never fully understood her words, he continued to traverse the lands with his detachment. Life and death came frequently. Sometimes it would be expected, other times it would grab him by the collar and steal his breath. Regardless of the many partings Mydei witnessed, the pain always lingered. That much never changed even as he became older; he just learned to hide the pain better, to not show any weakness.

His travels eventually led him to the territory of an influential family — one renowned for producing highly capable knights, as well as the budding rumours of the elders’ tyrannical control over their domain. Wealth clearly was not an issue, but rather the skewed distribution between the rich and the poor. The detachment was commissioned to put a stop to their oppressive reign and, after having witnessed the effects first-hand, it did not take long for them to purge the land of its dictators.

And then he stumbled upon you, alone amongst the carnage and debris with a listless gaze directed to your former home and a broken sword discarded beside your kneeled form. Maybe it was the spur of the moment — of your untapped potential or even the budding guilt of wrecking everything you once knew — but he was crouched in front of you with an outstretched hand as the words, “Come. Join me to see the birth of a new king,” escaped him before he could dwell on his next destination.

In truth, Mydei was unsure why he felt compelled to see through the territory’s reconstruction and stability. It was none of his business, and his people were not the patient type when it came to aimless pursuits. And yet, upon witnessing your eyes regain some of its light at his proposal, he found himself uncaring of their protests. He would bring order to the land himself if it came down to it.

Luckily, his men agreed and the restoration was a smooth process over several weeks. Poverty was gradually overturned, a democratic system would be established after their leave, and the people finally experienced peace. They were even celebrated in honour of their feats for freeing the citizens from the suffocating ruling, departing the next morning with you as their newest addition under Mydei’s behest.

(You had nothing left, you’d claimed to him the night of the celebration after sharing a drink, having lost your purpose after being caged for so long. He merely gave you a reason to soar once more.)

From travelling with his group, fighting side by side and experiencing losses together, to usurping the throne under King Eurypon’s ruling, you eventually found your place beside him after his ascension to the throne as his handpicked personal knight. The years flew by — some longer, others shorter. But throughout it all, it hadn’t taken long for Mydei to grow fond of you.

Perhaps it was your lost, broken shell he saw fragments of himself in back then among the carnage and debris which caused the first crack in his heart.

Perhaps it was your innate talent for the sword he witnessed first-hand after sparring you for the first time in the open planes to test your abilities for himself.

Perhaps it was how you gazed at him with purpose and renewed devotion, watching from afar as you dedicated yourself to honing your abilities in an effort to be useful to him.

(You would never be a burden, Mydei found himself thinking once. The very notion itself left an uncomfortable stir in his heart.)

Perhaps it was your expression when you first tried his cooking, him growing bashful in the face of your starry eyes after forcing you to take a break during your self-imposed training.

(Mydei was grateful it was nighttime. God forbid he let you see him so flustered just from you enjoying his cooking.)

Perhaps it was when you stood by his side for the first time not as the comrade he travelled and faced numerous hardships with, but as his personal guard who would forever stand by his side.

(Oddly enough, Mydei anticipated your knighting ceremony more than he did his own coronation. For having been raised with the ideology that overthrowing his father and becoming king was everything, the newly crowned king found himself overwhelmed with something inexplicable when you swore that oath before everyone in attendance, touching your knelt-form’s shoulders with the tip of the ceremonial sword, and handing you the kingdom’s royal insignia to proudly boast on your person.)

Perhaps it was when he spotted you chatting with Phainon back when he was a rookie and not yet the knight commander, who would follow you around like a puppy trailing behind its owner and pester you for the smallest of things; joining you to the water fountain, asking to watch you train, helping you with whatever menial task you decided to pick up for the day, somehow convincing you to be his personal instructor — just whatever routine of yours he could slot himself into.

(It struck Mydei as odd whenever the scene of you both together would cause his heart to clench. It was a pain unlike what he was used to experiencing, more akin to the air knocked out of his lungs and pin pricks settling deep within the beating organ. The mere thought of Phainon having your attention alone was enough to agitate the king, but maybe it was your easy acceptance of the starry-eyed rookie’s presence in your life which hurt a little more.)

Perhaps it was that time you threw yourself in front of him to stop an assassination attempt in his room in the dead of night when all but you both and the assassin were asleep, quickly disposing of him before Mydei rushed to catch your wounded form from hitting the bloodied floor before turning to him asking if he’s alright as though he was the one injured. He’d given a withering stare in response, offering no response as he picked you up and placed you on his bed to patch your fresh wounds.

(He’d given you a stern lecturing, reprimanding you for being so reckless and getting injured as a result. You’d quietened down then and offered an apology but, rather than his unintended harsh words, he’s almost certain it was his trembling hands as he tried to bandage your torso, the subtle shake in his voice he desperately tried to mask as disapproval, and the distraught manner he held you in which made you back down.)

Perhaps it was when he’d caught the way that blasphemous scholar started to seek you out on his own, having always been known to keep to himself unless absolutely necessary, even refusing palace summons were you not the one to personally guide him upon his arrival.

(In the beginning Mydei chalked it up to nothing but a passing curiosity during the scholar’s first visit to the palace, his gaze lingering when you walked away. But when Anaxa started to only ask, or demand rather, for you to be his escort otherwise he wouldn’t come to the palace — despite his personality, his discoveries are still one the best — a strange discomfort welled up within him. Sometimes Mydei thought himself to be petty when intercepting you both during the garden strolls, but when reminded of how that scholar would glance at him over his shoulder with a smirk before resuming his bickering with you, he believed some petty acts can be justified.)

Perhaps it was the days he spent by your bedside, gripping your hand as he barked out for all those well-accomplished physicians to do something to rid you of the lethal poison flooding your system while he could only sit and wait and pray for you to survive this, that you wouldn’t leave him alone. Not when you promised to remain by his side eternally.

(Despite running himself haggard, clinging to the fraying hope you would survive the longer the days dragged on, his wellbeing was nothing in comparison to the choked call of his name, voice hoarse from lack of use and eyes misty as they adjusted to the light. Despite all the words and nags and repressed emotions he all but wanted to tell you — because why would you take such lethal poison meant for him when you knew of his high tolerance? How something like that would have affected him far less than it did you? — Mydei deflated with relief when your cold hand touched his cheek in assurance, clutching desperately to the warmth beginning to seep through your palms as proof of life.)

Perhaps… it was nothing in particular; perhaps it was just you. Unapologetically. Wholeheartedly.

But really, if Mydei were to truly pick a moment where this inevitable downfall of his started, then it would no doubt be the day you were both about to reach the main outskirts with his resistance in tow the night before the Kremnos Festival, his goal to overthrow that man within grasp. The day you pledged to be his entirely.

Mydei had no expectations. He merely followed the path he chose and the fate awaiting him at the end of his journey. He was the crown prince. He was soon to be the king who would govern the land and do everything in his power to bring peace and prosperity to his people. Even if it took unimaginable sacrifice, countless losses, and surrendering his own freedom; everything he desperately wished to avoid in this inevitable power struggle.

He had long since accepted what the rebellion would entail.

And yet there in the heavy downpour did you kneel, one fist clenched atop your soaked heart and the other wrapped around the hilt of your sword wedged in the soil. Mydei could not hear anything happening around him; nothing but your clear voice as you made a vow that changed his life from there on out.

“Allow me to be yours, Your Highness. Your sword, your shield, your confidant, your friend… Whatever it is you need, allow me to assume that role. You don’t need to selflessly sacrifice yourself any longer. I pledge to be yours to use however you see fit, so please allow me to remain by your side eternally and fight for you until death itself forces me away.”

(…How could someone look so sure of themself? How could you say those without an inkling of doubt seeping through? How could you put so much trust in him when he himself had many doubts about his own capabilities?)

It was then, through your clear words and blindingly resolute eyes, did Mydei allow himself to dream once more — to hold onto the hope that, at the very least, you would remain beside him. Selfishly, just this once, he wished to have something to call his own without spilling his entire being for the sake of fate.

And so when he knelt down to match your height and accepted your pledge, the then Crown Prince, soon to be King Mydeimos made a vow to himself; to protect you from those who wished harm on you or tried to get you out of the way in an effort to target him, no matter the route it took to do so. Because regardless of the many potential threats that were to come once he purged the castle, the one thing Mydei refused to give up was you.

“Have you found something deserving of your protection as well, Mydeimos?” He faintly recalled his mother’s voice, the familiar words settled deep within his memory. Despite how long he had travelled with the Kremnoan detachment, Mydei could never give an absolute answer to that question. The answer was always there — just out of reach.

But as Mydei stared at you, your warm smile having melted the frigid rain from his subconscious, he could finally answer his mother’s question with full certainty.

Yes, Mother. I have. When I return home tomorrow, you can rest easy.

(Even now, as he watches in amusement when your lips pucker from the sweetness born from his preferred version of pomegranate juice, he vows to keep you safe from the dangers posed from those beyond this room.)

A languid yawn escapes you. Resting in the shade of a large oak tree secluded from the palace, you allow yourself to relax. Dashes of honeyed marigold slip through the gaps of the leaves and paint your leisurely form in dappled warmth.

Barely anyone knows of this spot other than yourself and Mydei (given the fact he is, y’know, the king and all), so you don’t have to worry about being disturbed in your rare, blissful moment of peace and quiet.

Sighing contentedly, you slowly melt further into the lush grass. Now, if only it could be like this every day—

“Fancy seeing you out here!”

…Of course someone would ruin your rare, blissful moment of peace and quiet just when you thought about it. A knight never rests as they say, and whatever higher being is out there looking over you seems rather keen on keeping it that way.

Maybe if you just keep your eyes closed they will take the hint and—

“Uhm, [Name]? I know you’re awake.”

…Darn it.

A resigned sigh escapes you. With great reluctance, you peek your eyes open. Through blurred vision you see a figure hovering over you, clad mostly in white, black and gold. Blinking a few more times and gently rubbing your eyes, the hazy outline becomes clearer, the smudged outlines merging into defined lines.

“...Hello, Commander.”

A bright smile lights up Phainon’s expression after your attention focuses on him, the corners of his eyes crinkling in glee. Really, what need is there for the sun when you have someone who is the very epitome of it right above you?

“There’s no need to be so formal. You can call me by my name, you know…”

“I’m merely treating you with the respect you deserve, Commander.”

The young leader visibly deflates upon your insistence, the upright tufts of hair drooping in tandem. His lower lip further juts out in a pout as he mutters, “Sometimes I wish I were still a rookie. At least you called me by my name back then.”

When catching his sulking mumbles, you merely give him a deadpan stare before releasing a low sigh. Hoisting yourself up, you scoot backwards until you can rest comfortably against the base of the tree. Probably having sensed your nonverbal invitation, he wastes no time joining you under the shade, his prior down-trodden mood instantly wiped off and replaced with an unmatched radiance.

Now, you would never outright admit to having favourites among the knights; that would just bring on more troubles and questions than you would like, and you already have your hands full with some of the people you know. Yet — again, never would you admit this to anyone outright — you could never deny the inherent soft spot you have for the young man. Aside from you being the one to introduce him to this haven away from the main palace years ago, it was probably his stubborn charm and constant presence which inevitably made you grow fond of him. He also has rather amusing reactions to certain things, so much so he can be like an open book at times.

A soft rustle. A gentle jab. You’re snapped out of your reverie when strands of white and gleaming cyan appear from your peripherals.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, eyes slightly widened and head tilted in curiosity.

“It’s nothing,” you begin. “Just got caught up a little in my… thoughts…” Phainon blinks and tilts his head once more when your voice trails off. Yet you pay it no mind.

This time, you are solely focused on his looks; more specifically, how unusually dishevelled in contrast to his typically neat and tidy appearance.

While his hair being messy is nothing out of the ordinary, you spy more out-of-place strands than usual, all sticking out in sporadic directions. Despite the light colours taking up the majority of his uniform, it usually remains clean even during training sessions. Yet right now, prominent marks of dirt stain the once snow white of his apparel, his collar and cuffed sleeves slightly askew from their usual position. Despite this contrasting appearance, what holds your attention the most is the dark discolouration located on his wrist.

Perhaps noticing your intense gaze focused elsewhere, his eyes follow your stare.

“Oh. When did that happen?” he says, relatively unconcerned for the bruise blighting his skin.

You frown. “Commander, how did you not notice ”

“I suppose I might have gotten a little distracted, haha…” he trails off, sheepish. There is an awkward laugh as he lightly scratches his cheek, his eyes settling everywhere but on you.

Seriously, how is this guy the leading knight commander?

(…Well, actually, someone who can spar with your king for several days and nights in a row is more than qualified to be a knight commander.)

Without warning, you surge forward. Perhaps caught off-guard, Phainon stiffens, frozen in place as you gently hold his injured wrist and bring it closer, turning it over and lightly brushing your thumb over the amalgamation of deep purples and reds and blues.

“...They didn’t do anything to you, did they?”

Perhaps sensing your apprehension, he encloses his hand atop of yours and gives it a soft squeeze. “I am the knight commander, remember? Compared to before, things are different now. Besides,” he adds with a light smile, “it’s been a long time since then.”

His gaze holds yours in gentle assurance, leaning forward slightly. When remnants of his body heat brush against you, a sudden wave of awareness at your lack of distance has you hastily lean back.

“Really, you need to be more aware,” you reprimand, awkwardly coughing as your eyes resume scanning over him intently in search for other possible marrings on his person. “It’s not good to make others worry so much, you know.”

Okay, so maybe you might sound a little hypocritical — but it’s different when it concerns someone else! At least when you do it, it occurs away from lingering eyes, unlike him who practically prances around in his messy appearance.

When you hear no response, you pause. Typically, this would be when he had some playful quip or sly remark about how you’re not any better than he is to retort back with, often accompanied with that charming, boyish grin and teasing gaze of his. Usually, he would give a playful nudge to your shoulder as he recounts the times he found you dishevelled and roughed up with dramatic flair, often in pursuit of getting a reaction out of you before tending to your superficial wounds with a tender touch.

You find none of his usual antics this time. Instead, when you lift your eyes to meet his, there is an uncanny solemnity in his expression, his once spirited and mischievous gaze now shadowed with uncertainty. And when he opens his mouth after a beat longer than you would have liked, a flicker of doubt flashes briefly across his features before it settles into his shadowed contours, disappearing as though it were never there.

“Does seeing me like this make you worried?”

You blink, confused at his sudden switch in attitude. “Huh? Of course it does. Why wouldn’t I be worried about you?”

A beat of silence.

“I see…”

Something creeps into you then. Slow. Subtle. Discreet.

You’re not sure what it is about him. There has always been a subtle quiet nagging feeling in the back of your mind, whispering there is more to him than he lets on.

Is it that friendly demeanour he automatically has on display regardless of who or what he encounters? Or is it how his expression dims when he turns away, eyes dull and expression grave once he no longer has to put up such charades? Is he even aware how frequently his smile does not reach his eyes at times? How he looks as though something unfathomably burdensome weighs heavy on his shoulders as he plays the part of the hero people make him out to be?

…Does he even realise how worried it makes you when that sullen countenance of his has been increasing in frequency in recent times?

With a resigned sigh, you quickly discard such thoughts. Instead, you pat the space beside you before shuffling back down onto the grass in a comfortable position.

“Rest here,” you clarify, prompted by his furrowed expression spurred by confusion. “No one else other than His Majesty knows of this spot, so you can rest comfortably without worrying about onlookers.”

And when his downcast expression shifts into something far brighter as he readily scoots himself closer beside your seated form, you think it’s fine if he never tells you his story. If he can live the rest of his days free with his past behind him, then there is nothing more you would ask of him.

---

Phainon still dreams vividly of that day.

When he closed his eyes, the screams and the wails and the cries of sheer terror rang loud in his ears.

When he closed his eyes, he saw his father fighting to his last breath with a broken sword in hand.

When he closed his eyes, an all-too familiar heat licked his skin and ebbed away in a brief moment of reprieve in this hellish nightmare before returning with renewed fervour.

When he closed his eyes, his mother was in front of him once more screaming for him to run away all the while being ripped apart by those monsters.

When he closed his eyes, a pungent mix of ash and sulfur and iron burned him from within.

When he closed his eyes, his childhood friends were swallowed by the black tide and turned into the very monsters which destroyed his home.

When he closed his eyes, their voices asked, “Why, Phainon? Aren’t we the best of friends?”, their anguish and betrayal evident as he steeled his heart and drove his sword through them to grant eternal peace.

When he closed his eyes, her outstretched arm and final smile dissolved into smoke, billowing away with the ashy wind and distant cries.

When he closed his eyes, that harrowing embodiment of the reaper itself stood before him, a grim reminder for what had been done and what he strove to vanquish.

And then he wakes up. When he returns to slumber, the cycle repeats itself.

Phainon can still remember it. All too well.

Even as he journeyed across the lands to find a sense of belonging — to find a reason other than vengeance to pick up the remnants of his former self and piece them back together to feel whole once more — not for a single moment was he free from death’s shadow. It clung to him incessantly, its vice-like grip unforgiving in its grave reminder of his true purpose, of how the happiness he felt throughout his travels were fleeting remnants of his past hopes, of how the simmering anger and inevitable retribution for his people would come to overpower the temporary relief he’d been desperate to seek refuge in.

Regardless of how much he tried to dispel that nauseating voice, Phainon knew it would only be a matter of time until his psyche would give out.

In the end, his hatred would consume him. Entirely. Irreversibly. Unapologetically.

It continued like that for a while: wander from place to place; temporarily stay in a tavern or a makeshift camp; help the locals in whichever manner he could; build superficial bonds with those he encountered; move to the next destination; repeat.

It was a tiring routine, one which led to constant doubts about his own character and the purpose he had in the world when all was dark and silent, but it was a routine nonetheless.

And so he trudged on, roaming the land with but one clear goal in mind: to become stronger to kill that cloaked reaper.

Amid his wandering, he heard through word of mouth the rise of Castrum Kremnos’ new king. Former King Eurypon was slain in the winner’s duel of the Kremnos Festival, the challenger and recently coronated monarch having turned out to be the crown prince thought to be dead years ago. The tales Phainon heard kept piling up: some discussed the prosperity and improvements accomplished after he took the throne, while others spread exaggerated rumours of his feats on the battlefield.

But if there was one thing which stuck to the young wanderer, it was how strong this king supposedly was; the exact quality he strove to improve.

And that was how he found himself in a spar with said king until there was a victor. After much persistance and persuasion to be let in by the guards stationed at the gate, the king himself appeared at the site of the commotion closely followed by you, who Phainon assumed to be the personal knight he’d heard through various gossip.

King Mydeimos was curt in his speech, something Phainon thought went against royal etiquette. (Maybe Kremnos didn’t bother with trivialities such as etiquette?) But it mattered not, for his one and only purpose was to be part of the royal knights in order to get stronger.

“Stronger?” the king scoffed. There was an almost imperceptible mocking bite to his words, but it was soon forgotten when he tilted his head back with a cocky expression. “Then let us see if you are worthy. If you can best me in a duel, I will accept you as one of my knights.”

Contrary to Phainon’s thoughts, the duel lasted ten days and ten nights. They were both utterly stubborn, a feat he thought no one rivalled him in until that duel. Even so, the young man never realised how exhilarating it was to clash with someone of equal match, to be able to go all out without worry. Strength truly was unlike any other quality, both in the merits it brought and the weight it forced upon the wielder.

The duel came to a draw after the tenth night. It was you who stepped in, adamant in your decision even after Mydei’s bitter mutters. You’d approached them both with water and towels in hand. He never noticed how parched he was, nor the sheer amount of sweat and grime which clung to him until your deadpanned once-over.

(He had never rushed to bathe so quickly before in his life. He had also never expected a king of all people to look bashful at their subordinate’s scrutinising stare. The more you know, he supposed.)

The following morning marked his official instatement as a knight. Mydei, though with a rather begrudging acknowledgment, commended his prowess with a brief comment about his expectations before you stepped forward as his tour guide. The tour of the palace grounds was… efficient, to say the least. You showed him all there was to show, not forgetting to include some side quips about areas to stay away from and shortcuts within its grand structure. And just like that, his first day ended with a hearty meal.

The following days gave way to a few discoveries.

One, were all Kremnoans hard to get along with, or was it just those he encountered? Every time he tried to strike up a conversation with a fellow knight (or warrior, as they liked to call themselves), Phainon found himself on the receiving end of either a blank stare, a gruff response of some kind, or the cold shoulder, all of which left him awkwardly laughing on his own. But it was fine! Most of them were responsive in their own way, and there were some who even initiated the conversation before he did!

Two, they took their training very seriously — more so than he anticipated even after hearing about their battle-oriented traditions. In what he expected to be relatively light sparring sessions turned out to be full on tournaments, each opponent going all out in their matches. Considering who their king was, it really should not have been so surprising. (Then again, he himself wasn’t all that different when considering his competitive streak…)

And three, you were different compared to your first impression. While, yes, you came off as rather cold and stand-offish in the beginning, Phainon’s gaze somehow managed to trail toward you. He noticed you were always standing in the distance in some manner; always observing, always alert and at the ready. From what he managed to catch, you cared more than you let on to your peers whether they knew it or not, as shown through the subtle acts you did for them.

But he’d seen it in your eyes — in the way you sometimes spaced out with an all-too familiar shadowed expression as though the weight of the world was a burden too heavy to carry on your own. And, perhaps, you had noticed it in him as well when you allowed him into your space in quiet, reassuring company.

Maybe it was then when Phainon realised he wasn’t alone in this desolate world. That maybe, just maybe, you could both carry this weight together. (Two is better than one, as they say, so perhaps sharing such deep-rooted burdens could help you both as well.)

And for a while, he believed it.

He believed it when you allowed him to follow after you back during his rookie days. Unlike the king’s impressive brute strength, Phainon found himself drawn to the finesse of your swordsmanship. There was an undeniable artistry in the way you fought, your movements fluid and light as though you were dancing in the air itself. He never knew the way of the sword could be so beautiful, so utterly captivating; not until he fought you. Even when he lost there was no voice of self-loathing echoing within his mind, just pure admiration for you and your skills.

(It was then Phainon knew he wanted nothing more than to learn from you. Under your guidance, he was certain his eventual vengeance would turn successful. You were apprehensive at first. Perhaps you never thought to take on a student before him, hence your hesitance. But it was fine. He was nothing if not stubborn, and could be very persuasive when he wanted to be, which became evident when you eventually relented two weeks after his relentless pursuit with a weary sigh. He’d somehow found himself enjoying your company along the way, eventually making it a habit to tag along wherever you went. You never seemed to mind either.)

He believed it when he stumbled upon your anguished form all by your lonesome. It was in the dead of night. He was unable to sleep and decided a late night stroll and some fresh air would do him some good, only to have come across the scene where numerous training dummies laid in tatters while you were hunched pitifully in the centre.

(Phainon detested his inability to move, utterly frozen and helpless at your tormented cries of self-loathing. He wanted nothing more than to run to you, to kneel down to your crouched form and tend to your wounds, to provide you a comfort he himself wasn’t even sure he was capable of giving. And yet he could do none of what he desired. Instead he only gazed from the shadows in agony as you abruptly stilled, slowly stood back up, grabbed your previously discarded sword, and resumed what you were doing. He couldn’t remember how long he remained there watching you. By the time he regained his senses, dawn had risen.)

He believed it when you stood in front of him against your comrades without hesitation. Phainon knew it would take some time for him to be accepted by the pre-established knight order. They were all familiar with one another before the current king had taken his throne, having gone through unimaginable sacrifice and loss to get to where they stood. As such, he did not mind when they were particularly harsh during the spars against him. But when you appeared and defended him from their assaults, getting angry at the people you were more familiar with on his behalf, Phainon felt as though a new world had been opened up before his very eyes.

(They just wanted to make sure he was strong and capable enough to protect their land and king. He knew that. As such, he had no qualms with their harsh methods of training, even when his hands trembled and his knees buckled under their relentless attacks. If this would prove himself to them — prove his worth that he, too, had a right to stand and fight with them — then he would endure, and endure, and endure. Phainon never liked to rely on the help of others; if he could help it, he would be the one to help all those in need. And yet, in that moment when all said and done where only the two of you remained in the abandoned training grounds, your form crouched and gaze filled with unimaginable concern for him, Phainon found himself not minding being on the receiving end of your outstretched hand if it meant you would fuss over him like that.)

He believed it when you found him during a particularly rough night and let him find comfort in you. He’d been walking aimlessly in the gardens after one of his recurring nightmares in the hopes of cooling off. Phainon wasn’t sure what exactly he was expecting from his decision, but you finding him and offering your shoulder to lean on definitely were not on the list.

(Admittedly, it was a moment of weakness he never intended to show anyone — especially not to you. You were the last person he wanted to be seen as weak to. He wanted to show you the fruits of his labour under your teaching, to show you he was capable of handling whatever was thrown at him. And yet, when you looked at him with that warm, knowing gaze, his head was on your shoulder before he knew it. Maybe… maybe he could allow himself to want something for once. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish, even if it was just during those brief fleeting moments where only the two of you seemed to exist.)

He believed it when he chanced upon you resting in the garden, your back against the lush grass and head angled towards the sun. He remembered tilting his head at the thought. You always reprimanded him for doing so (“Do you want to go blind?” you would huff and shield his eyes with your hand, unknowing that was the reason he continued such a trivial action), so what spurred you to go against your nags? To find the answer to such a riddle, he took it upon himself to sneak up on you, a cheeky line or two ready on the tip of his tongue to tease you about being a hypocrite.

At least, until he saw what — or rather, who it was you were gazing up at.

Mydei.

Phainon froze, feeling nothing more than a complete outsider.

That was the first time Phainon had seen you so… relaxed? At ease? Happy?

He paused. The word sunk into his conscience, descending into the abyss of his raging thoughts. You never showed such an expression with him. Sure, you allowed yourself to relax in his presence more so than when in others — a feat Phainon held very dear to his heart. You laughed and joked around with him, shed your carefully structured armour the rest of the world was only allowed to see, let him be privy to your vulnerabilities…

And yet — and yet, and yet, and yet — he had never once seen such an expression from you before; you, who seemed so unequivocally content sunbathing with the feared king, who also had an adoring expression the young knight had never seen before.

Phainon would not necessarily call himself a jealous man, nor one who covets what others have. It was ungentlemanly, an ugly vice unbecoming of the chivalrous knight he wanted to be — of who he strived to become. Someone worthy, someone reliable, someone capable of protecting others.

Yet there he was, hidden in the shadows watching from afar with clenched fists, a spiralling mind, and a rotten heart. Amongst the few intelligible thoughts in his chaotic mind, a dark cloud hung above him. Suffocating. Maddening. Unbearable.

Everything he vowed to never become suddenly seemed to be the only voices he could hear. Those revolting voices he once shoved down without a moment’s hesitation lingered a second longer, the words akin to poison-laced honey having sunk into the depths of his psyche before he could snap himself out of the trance and walk away.

If he were to climb to a higher position, to become someone of a more influential status… would he become someone you could rely on like that?

(Even now, as he finds himself fixated on your peacefully dozing form under the oak tree with his hand shielding your eyes from the burning sun, Phainon can only hope that hideous green monster never sees the light of day; at least, not around you.)

Today is not your day.

First, you overslept. Usually that wouldn’t be so bad — after all, who doesn’t need a lie-in every now and then? However, you missed the usual breakfast time, today consisting of your favourites. How did you know that, exactly? Well, your king had ever so kindly enlightened you on such crucial information after instructing you to run twenty laps after showing up to the scheduled training session late. You were rarely late, typically even being an early riser when there was morning training scheduled. But of course on one of the few days you were late, he was there overseeing the session.

(And, of course, since everyone was in attendance he couldn’t let you off without a disciplinary punishment of some kind. Go figure.)

And as if that was not enough, your oh-so beloved king decided to rain on your parade once you finished the laps by reminding you of a certain scholar’s visit, and how you are to once again escort him to the audience room.

Now, you are no stranger to this eccentric man. With how long you’ve been stationed in the palace, it would be more surprising if you weren’t at least acquainted with him. Even more so when considering how familiar you have become with him across the years with his… anticipated visits. At least he always had some rather interesting stories to share each time; some about his students and how “challenged his school of thought” (which he would boast with a proud expression and a rather hearty laugh of sorts), others rambling about how the other scholars in the Grove would get on his nerves with “meaningless drivel” and “unoriginal opinions unbefitting of their scholarly title”, as he would so eloquently put it, as well as even some stories detailing his latest experiments and the progress of ones he had previously shared with you. (And how they blew up in his face. Quite literally.)

Yes, since you’re so familiar with him, surely you wouldn’t have such a hard time finding him, right?

Wrong, apparently. You have been searching for the past hour with no luck — yet another thing added to your amazing day.

“Seriously, where could he be? It’s not as if he has anywhere else to go,” you mutter to yourself, bottom lip caught between your teeth as your narrowed gaze sweeps across the palace gardens for the fifth time.

“Ahem.”

Jolting at the abrupt sound brushing against your ear, you whip around with a hand on the hilt of your sword. Upon seeing that familiar nonchalant face, however, your previously tensed and battle-ready form relaxed. A sigh escaped you as you turned to properly face him.

“Oh. There you are, Lord Anaxa. To—”

“Anaxagoras.”

“—what pleasure do we owe this visit of yours, Lord Anaxa?” you continue, smiling at the visibly unimpressed man.

“Pray tell, are you being sarcastic with me right now?” he asks, arms crossed and expression as monotonous as his voice. “I find it hard to believe you happened to conveniently forget the reasons for my visits.”

“I am in no position status-wise to be as such with you, my lord.”

“I see. So you were.”

“Respectfully, my lord, I was not.”

“Your words implied if status were not an issue, you would be sarcastic. Therefore, you were.”

As though sure in his deduction (which was very much accurate, but you choose to not confirm what he already knows), he crosses his arms with a raised chin, narrowed eye, and a haughty huff; you have all but half a mind to strike him with your sword’s handle. But you refrain with all the self-control you can possibly muster. You would never hear the end of it with how much he tails you during his sporadic visits, after all. He complains enough about Lady Aglaea, the most renowned seamstress across the lands as well as one of Mnestia’s most cherished priestesses, and adding what he nitpicks about you? Yeah. No. You don’t need your ears to be bleeding any time soon.

Sure. He’s always been a little… vain? Prideful? Egocentric? Really, Anaxa is a lot of things, his penchant for getting under people’s skin and uncaring demeanour in regards to that being the key dominating factor. Rumours about him spread like wildfire. Some surrounded his rather questionable methods, but most surrounded his blasphemy. After he arrived in Castrum Kremnos for his first official audience with Mydei, you didn’t find anything of what they said in the stoic young man. Even so, you maintained a cordial distance, unwilling to entangle yourself with someone who had the potential to ruin your king’s reputation.

Well, up until you chanced upon him practicing one of his proposals requesting more funding and magic-imbued equipment for the Grove of Epiphany to a stationed dromas, that is. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on him and some of his rather… outlandish propositions meant for his discussion with Mydei, which you would have heard later in the meeting room regardless, but the way he practically waxed poetic in his long-winded speech, paused, then muttered something along the lines of, “No, no. That fool won’t appreciate nor understand such flowery prose. I’ll need to simplify it for him to understand,” all the while feeding and stroking the dromas with an unexpected gentleness struck a chord in you.

After all, someone who treats the dromas kindly in the way he did couldn’t be a bad person, right?

As it turned out, he was just a well-accomplished scholar who could get pretty cynical at times; namely when it came to the matter of the gods. (You’ve heard rumours of one too many complaints officially written by the various temples in Amphoreus. Despite their differing beliefs, they all seem to agree on their mutual resentment for Anaxa, a feat you find oddly impressive considering the sheer number of temples there are in the empire.)

“What has your mind so occupied?” he asks, brow raised and face closer than you last recall it being.

You blink. Once, twice. Without missing a beat, you respond, “I was thinking about how grateful I am to be your escort, my lord.”

“How quick-witted of you,” he says, deadpan. Anaxa straightens up and appears by your side, and you take that as your cue to begin the walk to the audience room.

Contrary to your initial expectations, the walk is relatively silent; peaceful, even. While you find some of his stories to be entertaining (particularly the manner in which he tells them), you feel you deserve some peace and quiet after the morning you had. Ah, the breeze is so lovely—

“So, have you considered my proposal?”

Nevermind. You spoke too soon. The breeze is horrible.

You inwardly sigh, already knowing where this conversation is going from the sheer number of times you have gone through it. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, my lord.”

Once again, Anaxa regards you with an unimpressed stare. “Are you playing dumb again?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to jog your memory.” With a fist raised to his lips as he gives a — rather dramatic, if you might add — clearance of his throat, the scholar turns to you, a smug grin stretching his lips. “My proposal for you to be my most cherished assistant, of course.”

“Oh,” you begin with a sigh, “while I’m grateful you think so highly of me, my lord, I’m afraid I’ll have to kindly refuse your proposal. Anything outside of the sword is beyond my capabilities, I fear.”

“Hmph. That’s what you always say. So you do remember after all,” Anaxa accuses, a petulant frown tugging down the corners of his lips.

“Perhaps my answer is just unchanging, my lord. My—”

“—loyalty lies with my beloved king. Yes, yes, I have heard it all, so spare me the theatrics.”

You frown. “Don’t—”

“—speak so dismissively about His Majesty or tarnish his name, lest you want to add treasonous snake to your plethora of nicknames, as well. Yes, I have heard that, too. And here I was thinking you would come up with something new after all this time,” he tuts, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

Your eye twitches. It takes every fibre in your being to maintain the strained smile tugging your lips, desperately reminding yourself to maintain composure. “My lord, has anyone told you how insufferable you are?”

Unfortunately, this man has a rather remarkable ability wherein your usual composed demeanour seems like a figment of your imagination.

“Plenty, dear knight. Are you only just now realising that?”

“Regrettably, I am well-aware of your…” you pause, grimacing as you try to find the fitting words, “much-to-be-desired reputation.”

“I’m happy to know you’re so interested in me, enough to be a cause for concern over my wellbeing,” he says. Oh, how you long to wipe that smirk off his face. “Now escort me through the palace gardens. You wouldn’t let a frail scholar such as I wander alone only to become lost in such a vast space or, worse yet, collapse in the middle of it all with no nearby help, would you?”

(‘Frail scholar’ your ass. You’ve seen that man shoot one of those plague-stricken monsters creeping up from behind him with such pin-point precision it would put shame on the battalion — he’s half blind!)

“...You talk too much, my lord.”

“And you, dearest knight, dilly-dally too much. Chop chop, the garden isn’t going to be toured itself.”

Lord almighty above, if my king does not strike down this fiend then so help me.

“You just wished harm upon me, did you not?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lord Anaxa.”

“That’s Anaxagoras to you. And your expression says it all. See? When you wish for something to besmirch me, your lips tighten. Your fists also tremble as if you wish to punch me — to which I will give you the benefit of the doubt since I still want you to join me. And also…”

…If Castrum Kremnos doesn’t want to see another incident, it better pray this man does not push your buttons any further today.

---

Anaxagoras was no fool.

He knew what it meant when his parents never returned home, their faces having long since faded from memory while his sister was the only one to remain beside him.

He knew what it was like to live in poverty, barely having the means to scrape by and eat what could be afforded from his sister’s measly income as an animal tamer.

He knew what it was like to lead an isolated life, having watched from the shadows of the trees as his peers frolicked the grassy fields while he sat alone picking at the fallen leaves or found companionship in the dromas.

He knew what it felt like to be wronged, that one priest always seemingly furious with his childlike curiosity and doubts about the oh-so revered gods as he was thrown out of the temple time and time again.

Even when he barely reached the early stages of his childhood development where his cognitive skills became more prominent, he still perceived things well-beyond his years. Perhaps a little too much.

Anaxagoras was no fool, and yet, sometimes, he wished he were.

His sister never blamed him for the trouble he knew tended to follow him. The money she could have used for herself was instead split into basic needs and funds to buy the items he looked at for a second longer during market strolls. Books, screws, heavy pliers, delicate scales… These were some of the few items she bought him with the money she could have used on herself; the money she should have used to treat herself more often. Yet she would merely smile and stroke his head, the words, “Your happiness matters most to me, Anaxagoras. The money can always be earned again,” always uttered without fail.

Perhaps that was when his endless curiosity for life itself manifested, her support his sole pillar.

(Despite all the trinkets she bought which he held dearly, his most cherished item would be the dromas stuffed toy hand-sewn by her, it accompanying him to bed every night without fail.)

And when he had ever so boldly declared he would become the most knowledgeable person in the whole empire— no, the whole world, she took him seriously. Despite believing her encouragement at face value, he truly realised it during one of their market strolls when passing merchants talked about the Grove of Epiphany, a sanctuary devoted to the pursuit of wisdom, caught his sister’s interest.

(He’d memorised that name in secret — the Grove of Epiphany. If, somewhere in the future, both he and his sister could attend together… would their lives be a little easier?)

Then one day she’d sat him down and presented a stash of funds she had kept hidden; his travel funds to attend the Grove. When he’d asked if she would join him, she refused, instead insisting she would continue making ends meet and remain in their remote city-state as a home he could return to.

Anaxagoras believed her.

Of course he did. He believed she would always be there waiting for him, on the receiving end of his letters sent during his time in the academy, there to greet him when he returned during the breaks, appearing at his graduation where he could amass the funds to support her after everything she had done and sacrificed for him all those years.

Anaxagoras believed her.

And so despite the heavy heart of their parting — of being separated from each other for the first time — he clambered onto the carriage of her merchant friend and waved until he could no longer see her. Thoughts of what new things he would learn and experience filled his mind as the carriage trekked onward, the prospect of growing his boundless curiosity instilling hope for a better future in the young boy for the first time.

At least, until word of the black tide having struck his home reached him halfway through the journey.

Anaxagoras never knew true fear until he was rushing back. The bile which would not go down no matter how hard he swallowed; the thunderous beats of his heart having drowned out everything around him; the suffocating grip which clawed at his throat.

When he drew nearer to the place he called home, a sense of foreboding rushed through him all at once as he sprinted harder. It came in the form of a creeping darkness, spreading its tendrils far and wide with nowhere to run nor hide. The panic, the tangy metallic scent, the mayhem, the loss of breath, the smoke, the screams and cries and wails and—

And then the silence. When all was laid to rest, young Anaxagoras found himself fearing the silence more than he did the chaos.

He stumbled at the sight of the corroded ruins, his breath knocked out of his lungs when the dread became too unbearable and rendered him imobile. There was no one to answer his desperate cries. There was no one to console him as he weeped amid the debris. There was no one to wipe away his tears as he silently stared at the area his house once occupied. There was no one to reverse time back to when his sister sent him off to the academy and instead take her with him to avoid the tragedy. There was no one to soothe the rage simmering beneath the despair. There was no one — no god — who answered his desperate pleads for help.

He was alone amid the carnage, the destruction his to bear in its entirety.

When the realisation there would be no help struck, that the gods everyone had revered so deeply would never extend their hand to the likes of him, Anaxa knew he had to take matters into his own hands. It was he who controlled his own fate, not the voice of some unseen being. He had to gain power, and what better way was there than to see through to his enrollment in the Grove of Epiphany? It was every aspiring scholar’s dream to attend and receive education there and yet, for the boy who had lost everything with not even the gods on his side, his only motivation was his beloved sister’s wish for him to attend in hopes for a better life.

The enrollment was nothing special. Perhaps it was his family’s connections, or maybe they just saw the talent within him at a glance, but he got in without hassle. The school lived up to its reputation, knowledge found in every nook and cranny if searched for. His teacher, Empedocles, was understanding and kind, his wisdom far beyond anything Anaxa could have imagined before attending the school.

And yet it wasn’t enough. There had to be something more; something he could dedicate his entire being to.

Then, as though the puzzle pieces fell into place, he came to learn of Thalesus, the First Scholar’s, theory of souls, and how life, as well as the composition, movement, and transformation of matter, all stem from souls themselves. Alchemy, he came to realise, and how it could be the answer he had been searching for all along. After all, since all living things had the same origin, why would he be unable to sacrifice himself to resurrect his sister?

It was the rope he clung to without hesitation, throwing himself into alchemy without pause. His teacher voiced his concerns, but Anaxa took little heed. This was his path — this is what his purpose was for.

Then one day, he succeeded. His left eye was no more, but he managed to see his sister once more… Even if it was for a brief moment. A moment in which she did not say anything, but just the sight of her one last time was enough for him. That momentary exchange soothed his ailed heart in a way he nearly forgot about, and he was able to give a proper send-off with closure.

Despite the resurrection not happening the way he’d planned, Anaxa discovered a new path after his desire had been laid to rest. To continue the study of souls and prove the scholars of the Grove truly knew nothing about the First Scholar’s depth of study.

His achievements soon racked up. He soared academically, brought new ideologies and questioned the tried-and-true. The matter of the gods, however, was what sullied his name.

The Foolish. Demised Scholar. The Great Performer. “A dromas wrapped in finery.” (He never knew why people thought the latter title to be an insult. If anything, Anaxa took that one as a compliment.) He gained many aliases throughout his academic pursuit, but what did that matter? All it meant was people were acutely aware of him, and that was the greatest gift he could have when his whole purpose was to educate them on the real truth of the world.

And when he was soon to establish his own school, the Nousporists, Anaxa was sent as a representative of the Grove of Epiphany to Castrum Kremnos to establish communications. It was there he met you; the personal knight of the newly crowned king.

He hadn’t thought much of you at first. You were merely doing your job to guide him through the palace grounds, ensuring he wasn’t led astray. You hadn’t talked much either. Not that he minded; in fact, he was rather grateful you weren’t the overly chatty type to talk his ear off (there were enough of those back in the Grove as it was). The escort was quick with no detours. Simple and efficient.

He appreciated it, truly. And yet, when you walked away with a quick bow and respectful, “I wish you a pleasant audience, Lord Anaxagoras,” his gaze followed you even after you’d rounded off and disappeared behind a corner. It was an inexplicable feeling, that long-forgotten emptiness back when he lost everything having abruptly resurfaced with your departure.

But he shook it off and walked into the audience room where the recently ascended king awaited. It was merely a scholar’s curiosity. Nothing more, nothing less.

It didn’t take long to note your habits during the two week-long stay at the palace.

Through observation, Anaxa came to realise your tendency to linger in the gardens when you had no immediate duties. With how stoic and business-like you were, it never occurred to him how gentle your expression could become when cradling the flowers. Sometimes when he would take a stroll by himself, he would catch you dozing peacefully under a large tree, your armour shed for lighter and more comfortable clothing.

(Heh. For someone so rigid, you sure had a knack for finding ways to slack off. It was rather amusing when he frequented you more often, sometimes choosing to reveal himself while other times he remained hidden and observed from afar.)

He also observed your rather bad habit of overworking yourself late into the night. He never meant to snoop, but when the crisp sound of a sword slicing through air and haggard pants could be heard in the stagnant evenings, it was natural to let curiosity guide its course. Had it not been for curiosity, he would have never stumbled upon your moments of weakness, where frustration took you by the throat and reduced you to a crumpled heap in the training grounds and he could only watch from behind a pillar.

(Hmph. Really, you were already skilled enough as it was — more so than any knight he had ever seen. Seeing you tell yourself to be better, that you would never be able to protect anyone at this rate… a strange pang pierced in his chest at the thought of you doubting yourself.)

He also noticed how he was the only one you would call by name. Your lower status with the king forbade you from saying anything other than “Your Majesty” or “His Majesty” and, despite how familiar the overly friendly rookie knight seemed to be with you, you rarely addressed him by name. In fact, Anaxa heard his name uttered by your lips more times than that knight’s! Phainon, if he recalled correctly.

(Truthfully, Anaxagoras shouldn’t have been as elated as he was upon the discovery, but the self-assured smirk could not help but to slip out at times when either of the two happened to pass by and catch you saying his name.

…Even when you eventually turned to using a shortened version after he’d annoyed you on a particularly bad day. He would take the small wins, however, as you did use his original name for some time.)

And, eventually, he discovered your stalwart nature. Again, he hadn’t meant to snoop, but it wasn’t as though he expected to stumble across the gaggle of knights discussing his less-than savoury rumours. You were amongst the roster, polishing your sword amid the rowdiness when they turned the spotlight to you asking for your thoughts. Having upset you just two days prior, Anaxa was almost certain you would partake in such trivialities against him — you had been giving him the cold shoulder, after all. Only… you hadn’t. You ended up doing the very opposite. “Please refrain from such ridicule. He is a guest of His Majesty, and it is our duty to remain sharp against unforeseen dangers — not participate in blatant slander.” There was a slight pause, and Anaxa was almost grateful he allowed his curiosity to get the better of him once more upon hearing your next words. “Besides, those rumours seem far too exaggerated. Lord Anaxagoras isn’t as bad as the gossip makes him out to be. A stubborn and prideful man he may be, but he has much passion for his cause; something I find admirable compared to those who only know how to run their mouths with nothing to show for it.”

(He would have stifled a rambunctious laugh at your brazen words, if not for the obnoxious heartbeat that rang loud in his ears nor the rapid flush which rushed through his body. A hand was placed above the erratic palpitations in a futile attempt at calming the restless orgain while the other dragged pitifully slow down his face, only stopping to try — and fail — to cover the trembling grin which split his lips and let loose a few shaky chuckles. Really, he’d thought amid the last breathy laughter, fully slumped and slid down against the base of the looming pillar. You’re making me almost want to be a little more greedy, my dear knight.)

His departure after those two weeks was nothing special. King Mydeimos came to personally see him off, sharing a brief word or two regarding future relations between Castrum Kremnos and the Grove of Epiphany, while the main figures who worked in the palace were by his side. Despite saying his farewells and climbing into the carriage, Anaxa found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you even after the carriage began its trek back. It was reminiscent of when he first met you, and he could not help the quiet laugh which slipped out at the realisation.

It wasn’t until a fair few years later did Anaxa come to realise what that curiosity of his truly was — of what it had evolved into.

It happened during one of those utterly stifling banquets he loathed, all because he had to show face in at least one of them each year. As it so happened, he hadn’t publicly appeared in any for the year. So what did that old coot of a teacher do? Why, he gave Anaxa that familiar smile before kicking him out into a carriage conveniently on its way to the end of year banquet hosted at Castrum Kremnos, of course.

Really, if he had it his way, Anaxa would have spent this precious time cooped up in his office surrounded by all his alchemical experiments — not loitering in the back of the ballroom with a flimsy champagne flute and grimacing at all the gossipmongers surrounding him.

Utterly ridiculous. Did those people have nothing better to spend their time on? He pitied them, truly, to do nothing but waste away in a stuffy room and exchange faux pleasantries with one another.

Having had enough, Anaxa promptly stepped out. The cool evening air was sufficient, and he decided a stroll around the gardens was due. It had been a while since he wandered around on his own, becoming used to you escorting and indulging him with conversation.

Funnily enough, the moment he’d thought of you, you appeared in his peripheral vision. Stood in the distance, side profile visible to him. While he wondered what brought you out to the gardens, he supposed he really shouldn’t have been so surprised to see you in the place he knew you frequented most. And for such a stuffy occasion such as the banquet, he really didn’t blame you for being outside.

Just as Anaxa had smoothed down his suit and cleared his throat in preparation to walk over to you, he froze. The sight he witnessed had him rooted before he could even take one step.

Anaxa had met that brutish king more times than he would have liked. As with his usual outlook, he mostly regarded the monarch with nonchalance, sometimes a slight admiration if a good argument was brought up in their negotiations, and other times a subtle annoyance when his garden stroll-escort with you was interrupted. Yet, seeing you both together under the dim moonlight away from the suffocating crowd and caught in your own world made him feel as though he were imposing on something he should have not. An unfamiliar sensation stirred in his heart. And yet he could not look away, seemingly enraptured.

Such blind, unwavering loyalty... Though a fleeting thought, Anaxa could not help but wonder what it would take for you to direct such beguiling devotion to him instead.

(Even now, as he watches from the sidelines how your unshakeable devotion to your king’s sudden interruption during the garden escort blurs the rest of the surrounding world into an incomprehensible blend of colours, he cannot help the fleeting hope you would one day gaze at him like he was your entire world and more.)

TRIVIA TIME !!

well, more like WORLD BUILDING-SLASH-LORE TIME !!, but i digress. anywho i just wanted to add in this little segment to try and explain the au world a little more, mainly the composition of amphoreus !! this was mainly done for myself bc i kept having inner battles abt whether i wanted castrum kremnos to be the kingdom where everyone resided in with mydei as the sole ruler, or if i wanted amphoreus to be an empire made up of various nations (like how it is in game basically). i ended up going with the latter bc i ended going down an entire rabbit hole creating the world of a fic that most likely won't get a continuation of sorts, but it was fun to imagine and made it a little easier writing the backstories, hehe !!

anyway here are some key notes which hopefully explain it a little more for those interested ^^

Amphoreus = empire

All cities (e.g. kremnos, okhema, etc) are the kingdoms in amphoreus with their own ruler/democracy

Amphoreus has multiple leaders to discuss state affairs (basically hsr main chrysos heirs but not all - like castorice is aglaea’s right-hand in a way + the executioner bc adonia is no longer a nation, or phainon & anaxa who lost their homes) with aglaea as the main/overseeing leader (empress but not really. She just wants to create beautiful clothes ;w;)

if you enjoyed this, reblogs and/or comments are greatly appreciated <33

@milk-violet heres ur tag <33

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #mydei x reader #phainon x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x you #anaxa x you #mydei x you #phainon x you #honkai star rail imagines #hsr imagines

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sturniqlo · 8 months ago

Text

PRETTY GIRL- MATT STURN

summary: where matt slides into singer!y/ns dms not knowing she would respond back, and it leads into something more.

cw: cursing, FLUFF; sweet messages, first meeting, honeymoon stage, kissing, ANGST(very little); second thoughts on relationship(?), past relationship issues, insecurity of not being good enough, social media hate

an: i just love fics where reader is a famous singer :) | very fast paced timeline | as usual, not proofread

masterlist | join my taglist

-----------------------------------------------

"said you're not in my time zone, but you wanna be."- bed chem, s.c

matthew.sturniolo 12:47am

hi, you're like really pretty :)

Matt exits out of the dm and scrolls on tiktok for the remainder of the night. He shuts off his phone completely forgetting about the message he had sent to Y/n. There was no way she would respond. Y/n was a famous singer with millions of more followers than him. He had been following her for sometime now, as he had discovered a song- many songs- he really likes from her. Matt also saw his big of a fan Nick was, which introduced him to his favorite songs.

Y/n was currently in New York finding some inspiration from her upcoming album. Usually she resides in LA but she loves being in New York while she writes. It's more homey to her, it was fall after all, her favorite season, the leaves were turning orange and falling off of their branches, landing on sidewalks all over the city, the weather was chillier, she loved it. Back in LA it was many degrees hotter, she couldn't wear her cute cardigans without sweating.

The next morning, Matt woke up to a loud commotion coming from the kitchen which was very close to his room. Groggily he came out of his room and saw his brothers arguing. "I hid the last bagel for a reason because I was going to fucking eat it this morning." Nick angrily crumples up the empty bag the bagel was in. "How was I supposed to know?" Chris argues back, taking a bite of the bagel.

"Do you guys mind? I was sleeping peacefully and I got woken up to you two arguing over a fucking bagel." Matt scoffs. He goes back into his room and shuts the door. He rolls his eyes and walks over to his bed where his phone is laying. As it turns on, he sees a instagram notification. Unlocking it with his face id, he sees Y/n replied to his message. "Holy-" He cuts himself off.

y/n/y/l/n 2:47pm

thank you! you're cute yourself ;)

sorry for the late response it was 3 am when you dmed me haha!

Matt stared at the message opened message with his mouth slightly open. you're cute yourself? He was about to faint. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard thinking about what he was going to say next.

matthew.sturniolo 11:49am

holy shit you actually responded... also thank you :))

sounds like you're three hours ahead of me??

y/n/y/l/n 2:50pm

hahaha

i believe so. i'm currently in new york, i'm assuming you're in the west coast? la possibly?

She responded quickly and Matt's heartbeat only got quicker.

Y/n had spent her morning bright and early. She woke up at around seven am and did her morning which consisted of her morning shower, skincare routine. She ate a bowl of strawberries and blueberries while she answered some emails. About an hour after sending emails and responding to important messages she went out for breakfast.

At her favorite cafe, she ordered her usual bagel and iced coffee and sat down by the window. She ate her breakfast and stared out the window watching people walk by going about their morning. A few fans spotted her as she was leaving so she took some pictures with them. "Excuse me, Y/n?" A soft shy voice said as she exited the bagel shop. She looked back and saw two teenage girls nervously smiling.

"Hey, guys!" She gasped, letting her wired headphones hang. "Hi, we- we uh. Sorry I'm so nervous." Y/n smiled. "Don't be nervous. I promise you it's okay." She giggled and walked closed to them. "Okay, thank you." The one girl sighed in relief. The three of them made a ten minute long conversation. "We're so sorry for taking your time!" One of them gasps realizing how long they've been talking for. "Don't worry about it, it's okay."

Y/n returned to her apartment at around twelve and cleaned up a bit. She'd been in New York for about two weeks now. She took a quick shower and chilled on her phone for a bit. Here and there she liked to go through her instagram dms and respond to some fans. As she was scrolling through, she saw that Matt has dmed her. Y/n has known about the triplets for sometime now, she has watched a couple of their youtube video. And to be honest, Matt had caught her eye those couple of times.

She blushed, she opened the dm and read the message fully. It was sent about eleven hours ago. She responded anyways and she was bold enough to send a second message. Exiting out quickly and scrolled and responded back to some fans who just wanted to say hi or wanted some advice.

Two minutes later, a notification from Matt appeared at the top of her screen. She smiled and opened it right away responding quickly, Matt responded seconds later.

matthew.sturniolo

i am

also, new york? i bet it's beautiful out there now that it's fall time

y/n/y/l/n

it's really is! have you ever been out here?

matthew.sturniolo

yeah, a couple of times actually!

are you there permanently?

y/n/y/l/n

nope, just here to get some writing done :))

matthew.sturniolo

new music im assuming?

y/n/y/l/n

can't say tooo much but yess

Over the few weeks, the two messaged each other everyday and eventually exchanged numbers. As much as Matt wanted to tell his brothers. He wanted to keep his 'relationship' with her hidden for a while and be in this little bubble. Matt really enjoyed messaging her and talking with her on the phone that he asked her if she would be up to the idea of talking romantically and see where it would lead them to. Obviously she said yes.

Y/n had never felt like this, Matt was amazing to say the least and she hasn't even met him. Every morning when she would wake up, a good morning message from Matt would be waiting for her. He'd send her little messages throughout the day when he wasn't filming and he calls her when he knows she's about to go to bed. Yeah, she's had her boyfriends here and there but they were nothing like Matt.

Her past relationships were so public from the beginning to the end they almost felt forced. Anytime they would go out there was always a new article and new pictures about it. There were rumors, allegations, and opinions. And she never dated the best people.

matt

hi pretty girl :)

y/n

hi pretty boyyy

matt

are you busy?

y/n

for you? neverrr

matt

okay, i'm calling you now!

Before Y/n could even type out a response her phone rang in her hands with Matt's contact filling her screen. She immediately answered. "Hi Matt." She put him on speaker. "Hi, pretty lady. How's the writing going?" He asks her. "It's.. going. I can't really think of anything right now, so I'm taking a break." Y/n brings her knees up to her chest and scoots her writing book away from her.

"Anyways, what have you been up to?" She says, pressing the facetime button. He answers it right away. "Nothing much, me and my brothers just finished filming a video." He brings his face into view. "Sounds fun, what'd you guys film?" She smiles. "Just a car video talking about random things."

They talked more for some time until someone interrupted Matt's rant by barging into his room. "And then- do you not know how to knock?" He scolded whoever came in. "Who are you talking to?" She heard Nicks voice. "Don't worry about it, what do you want." Matt huffs. Y/n noticed how he tilts his phone away from Nicks view. "Can you take me to-" Matt cuts him off.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll take you. Shoo now." He motions his hand for Nick to leave so he can keep talking to Y/n. A small giggle leaves Y/n and Matt looks at her through the phone and she gasps. Nick must've heard her because he also gasps. "Matt! Are you talking to a girl?" His phone is suddenly snatched from his grip.

Nick looks at the screen and Y/n is with wide eyes and a slight open mouth due to her being shocked of what's happening. Y/n knew that Matt wanted to keep this to himself, as well as her. "Oh.. my god." Nick said and quickly gave the phone back to Matt when he saw who it was. Y/n heard Matt's door close and started laughing, so did Matt. "Holy fuck."

"I'm going to let you go, I need to deal with Nick. I'll call you later." He smiled and waved at her. "Okay, let me know how it goes." She waved back.

"Nick?" Matt walks out of his room. "You, as in Matthew Sturniolo, my triplet brother, are talking to the Y/n. As in the famous singer. Fucking Grammy award winning Y/n!" Nick yelled with his eyes wide open. Y/n was probably- no, is- Nicks favorite artist. He couldn't belive it. "Yes, Nick. Is that so hard to believe?" Matt giggles. "Motherfucker yes! How did you of all people bag her?!" "I'm offended?" Matt furrowed his eyebrows.

Matt goes to tell Nick how everything had happened. "Oh my god, I can't believe this!" Nick yelled into his hands. "What's going on?" Chris comes up his set of stairs. "You'll never believe it!" Nick says. Matt- actually Nick- catches Chris up with everything he missed. "Matt, I've never realized how much game you have."

After everyone - Nick- calmed down, they decided to sit and watch a show.

y/n

i'm assuming everything went well?

matt

yes, nick had a moment of starstruckness i guess, but it went well in general

y/n

omgg, he is so me

will he be okay with me following him?"

matt

pls do, i would kill to see his reaction

y/n

okok

Y/n giggled as she went to her instagram and searched up Nicks username and followed him. Across the country, Matt was secretly recording Nick who was unintentionally scrolling on instagram. "No fucking way! She- she just followed me." Nick flipped his phone to Matt. "She just followed me too!" Chris jumped up from his spot on the couch.

matt

*video attachment*

chris was a plus

y/n

hahaha

one month later

"Alright, we have this shirt with these jeans or," Y/n holds up a potential outfit and shows Matt over facetime. "Ok, I like that one." He nods. "There's also this dress." She holds up the material. "That's the one. I like that one." Matt points and she giggles. "Okay." She leaves the frame and comes back in once she's changed into her outfit.

"It's four over in LA right? I still get a bit confused over timezones." She says as she applies her eyeliner. "Yeah, and it's seven for you, correct?" Matt watches intently as she does he makeup. "Mhm, I have to leave in like forty minutes." Tonight she was going to an album release party for her friend, Conan.

"I would love to be in your timezone. Makes it easier to talk to you." Y/n smiles at an idea that popped up in her head. "Would you -I don't know- maybe want to fly out here? I- you don't have to, but it's just an idea." She rambles a bit. "I'd love to actually. But, I'd have to talk to my brothers first, not that I need their approval or anything, just I'm not sure if they'd want to come." He says.

"You could bring them too. It'd be fun either way." She says. As much as Matt loves traveling with his brothers, he'd appreciate it if this trip was just about the two of them. It's be their first meeting after all. "I hope this plans out well, I really want to meet you, officially."

"I'm tryin' to go to New York." Matt blurts out randomly. He had finished his call with Y/n about two hours ago and all he thought about was possibly getting to meet Y/n and spend sometime with her. "Matt flying across the country for a girl? Who would've thought." Chris says. "Shut up." Matt rolls his eyes. "Do you guys want to go? Or?" He says.

Both Nick and Chris looks at each other and shake their head. As much as Nick wanted to go and possibly meet Y/n, he wanted Matt to have his moment. "Nah, we'll let you enjoy your time with her." Nick says and Matt dramatically sighs in relief. "Thank god! I didn't want to take you guys anyways." Nick gasped. "You know what, i'm second thought." Matt shook his head. "Nope, you made up your mind."

matt

guess who's going to new york :D

y/n

no wayy?!? i'm so excited!!!

liked by sabrinacarpenter, clairo, matthew.sturniolo, jennaortega, nicolassturniolo and 825,733 others

y/n/y/l/n: i am new york, new york is me

view all 9,372 comments

jennaortega: y/n in new york>>>

| y/n/y/l/n: you get it 🙂‍↕️

y/nfan57: it's y/n's season

y/nfan19: matt liked...

| loser4: okay? so did nick?

sadiesink_: you're so cool

matthew.sturniolo: you

| y/n/y/l/n: me

two weeks later

"I'm by the taxi pickup." Y/n said on the phone to Matt who was somewhere inside the airport. "Is there a sign or something?" Matt was having a hard time looking for the right place. "Uhm... oh yeah, there's a bright green sign that says taxi only. It's pretty big so you can't really miss it." She let out a breathy laugh. "I see it, and I see you." Y/n turned, but still couldn't see him. "Other way, pretty girl." She turned the opposite way and saw him.

"Matt!" She squealed, and ran to him as he dragged his suitcase behind with a huge smile on his face. "Y/n!" He let go of his suitcase and she jumped in his arms. "Oh my god! I can't believe you're actually here!" She whispered into his neck. "I can't believe it either." He says and she pulls away from his neck at looks at him. "You're even prettier in person." She blushes. "Stop it! I could say the same thing about you." She places her feet back on the ground. "How was your flight?" She asks. "It was good, except for the guy snoring next to me."

They arrived at Matt's hotel, and he settled in before going out for lunch together. "Okay, my favorite spot to get lunch is here." She says and Matt opens the door for her. "Thank you, Matt." Matt smiles. For the three- almost four hours they've been together, it all felt natural, as if they've known each other for years.

"What do you usually get?" He puts his arm around her shoulders and she smiles at the action. "I usually get the chicken wrap and a mango lemonade." She looks up at him. "I'll get the same." He nods and kisses her forehead. See, natural.

"What do you think?" Y/n covers her mouth as she speaks through a mouthful of her wrap. "It's very good, you weren't lying." Matt says as he goes in for another bite.

For the rest of the day, they walked around the city hand in hand, Matt pointing out at certain billboards in time square.

Later that night, they returned to Matt's hotel where Y/n said goodnight and went home. But, not without a kiss. A first kiss. "I hope you had fun today." She says as she walks towards the door. "Trust me I did. Thank you for today." He says, following behind her. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Matt." Y/n smiles. "For sure." He unhesitatingly grabs her jaw and plants his lips on hers with a gentle kiss.

The room was soon filled with the soft smacking sounds of their lips intertwining with each others. Soon enough her arms ended up wrapped around his neck, with her back against the door and Matt's arms holding her hips. A couple of moments later, they both pulled back gasping for air. "Wow, I- mmph!" Matt was cut off by Y/n putting her lips back on his.

"Okay, I should- I should go now." Y/n pulls away and giggles. Both of them out of breath and their lips red and swollen. "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow."

The next day, the two of them went out for breakfast and were especially giddy the whole day, sharing kisses, holding hands and small touches. "So, this one is- Matt?" Y/n stops herself. "Yeah, yup. Mhm." He says. "You weren't paying attention were you?" He breaks out in a laugh and shakes his head. "Sorry, but you're just really fucking pretty." Her cheeks redden up by the compliment.

"Matt!" He grabs her chin and kisses her. "Okay, I'll listen this time, for real."

It was now eight pm and Matt's hand was wrapped around her shoulders as usual. As they walked in a comfortable silence, Y/n heard a series of whispers behind them. Her first reaction was to look back, and as she did she saw a flash of a phone.

"Oh my god." Y/n mutters under her breath. "C'mon Matt, let's go." She grabs onto his arm and leads him to the opposite way of the stranger. Matt had noticed the person taking the picture as he also turned his head a little bit after Y/n did and saw how her mood had changed.

"Hey, you okay? You've been pretty quiet." Y/n stands in front of Matt once they've entered her apartment, moving bits of his hair that covers his eyes. "Mhm." He hums. "Matt, you can talk to me. Is it what happened with the person who took the picture?" Matt looked away from her. She had gotten it right. "Matt," She sighs, pouting slightly. "I- are you having second thoughts about this? I just- I don't know." He says. "Hey, no, of course not! It's just- I really like this little bubble we're in right now, with no unwanted opinions." She pauses before continuing on.

"And I know I shouldn't care about what people say about us or anything, but it gets to me sometimes. With my past relationships I feel like the media got involved so much that it ruined them, and- and I don't want that to happen with us. I really like you" She interlocks their hands together. "I really like you too." He gives her a soft smile before pulling her in for a kiss. "Are you okay now? Did I clear something's up." He nods. "Yes, thank you for letting me know. I really appreciate it."

Y/n was right, the internet does have a lot of opinions. After Matt had left Y/n's apartment, even though she had told him to stay, Matt did it nightly call to his brothers before going to bed. When he had woken up in the morning, he went on social media and saw tiktok about the picture and another picture that they didn't know of and and there were many negative comments about his and Y/n's relationship. Specifically about him.

y/nsoulmate: broo... how is she going to go from dating a famous singer/actor to a youtuber💀

soulmatey/n: she should get someone better

ilivefory/n: dare i say it, but she downgraded

slutniolo: why is he dating her? isn't she on her tenth relationship?

y/nismygf: y/n, matt, if you're seeing this just know twitter is rooting and happy for you guys! tiktok police is annoying!!!!!

y/nismommy: he isn't it for her 🤷

prettyy/n: he could never treat her like danny did.. oop

ang3ly/n: y/n, baby, leave b4 u can, he's just going to use u🥴

everythingy/n: not a youtuber

y/nsgirl: why is everyone being so negative? this isn't your guys' relationship to judge or comment on. get a job, get a life!

Although the last comment made him chuckles a bit, the other comments hurt him. Were they right? Yeah, he wasn't on her level of famousness, but was it such a big deal? His phone suddenly rang in his hold as he was too deep in his thoughts. It was a call from Nick. He answered. "Good morning sunshine!" Nick said. "Why are you up so early? Isn't it six am over there?" Matt says. "I haven't slept actually. It's kind of worrying me." Nick laughed as he got comfy on his bed.

"I saw the pictures. How're you guys feeling about it?" Great, something he didn't want to think about right now. "I don't know? She wasn't the happiest when she caught that one person taking a picture, but she gave me her reasons and it was understandable. I didn't realize it at first, but she was totally right. The internet can be harsh, holy shit." Nick furrowed his eyebrows. "What do you mean?" Matt sighed and got up to sit against his headboard.

"I saw a video and the comments were a bunch of people saying that she shouldn't be with me because i'm not on her level of success, I guess, and that she also downgraded. I mean, what if they're right? What if I'm not good enough for her?" Nick felt bad, he hated that the internet was making Matt have second thoughts about his developing relationship. "Don't listen to them Matt, they're just a bunch of losers. And, you are more than enough for her. I was called her earlier today, yesterday I guess, and she was so excited to tell me what she had planned for you two. She's in deep and so are you, I can see it. There's no way you can back out now." Nick reassured him.

As Matt got ready, he thought of what Nick had said. She's in deep and so are you, I can see it. There's no way you can back out now. He was right, he is in deep. Matt knew Y/n was going back to LA a week after he was. They'd have all the time in the world to hang out. However, he wanted to be hers.

He was going to ask her today.

"Hi, pretty girl." He kissed forehead once she let him in. "Hi, how was your morning." She closed and locked the door behind him. "It was good, how about yours." They walked into her bedroom so she could continue getting ready for the day. "I had an early morning." She sighs. "I had a last minute meeting, luckily it was short and over zoom." She wraps her arms around Matt. "Hi." Y/n whispers. "Hi." He giggles and she leans up to kiss him.

"Okay- shit!" Matt stumbles a bit to the side with the bike. It was a couple of hours later and Y/n and Matt decided to rent bikes and bike around the city for a bit before heading to their planned picnic Y/n really liked to go to. "Why is it so heavy?" He says, trying to put the bike up straight. "They're so heavy for no reason, the amount of times I've fallen to the side with it is ridiculous." She starts to peddle slowly, waiting for Matt to catch up. A folded blanket is held by the basket that is on the bike.

"Are you sure you can ride the bike and carry the picnic basket at the same time?" She asks him. "I'm sure, just can't go too fast or I'll bust my shit." They rode around for thirty minutes sight seeing before heading to the park. "This looks like a nice spot." Matt pointed out an empty spot near a tree. "Okay, I'll lay out the blanket." Y/n unfolded the blanket and carefully placed it down on the grass.

"So, you're going to be in LA a week after I go back, right?" Matt says as he sips on his water bottle Y/n had packed. "Mhm, the twenty fifth. We'll finally be in the same place permanently. I'd love to hangout more with you." She smiles at him. "About that, I actually had a question for you." He caps his water and places it down next to him, moving his body to face her. "Oh, okay."

"Can I be yours, pretty girl? Officially yours." She gasps lightly and breaks into a huge smile. "You were always mine, pretty boy."

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solifloris · 3 months ago

Text

≡;-꒰ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒘𝒊𝒄𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ zayne x afab!reader | VALENTINE'S EVENT !

tags : established relationship, light kisses, hurt/comfort, angst with fluff, reader has a bad day, kinda slight references to 'hidden motive', it's like if the "youtiful" series had no smut LMAO, use of pet names "love" "sweetheart". ((also... unedited... i finished this at like 2:30am... AHFNNSNF))

wc : 3k (haha......)

an : so i have. been on a bit of writer's block since i recovered from my sick week, but i did somehow get the urge to write something a little angsty… so this was actually the perfect request to work on and i had sm fun with this!! TYTYYY FOR REQUESTING @deepspacenova ILY <333 (also i know canonically valentine's day is azure's echo day but… for consistency we'll stick with valentine's :D)

taglist : under the cut! (SIGN UP HERE)

ko-fi jar / commissions

Valentine's Day wasn't supposed to go like this.

When you woke up, the space beside you was empty.

The curtains were drawn, and the room had been left relatively dark despite the little rays of sunshine peeking through. Comforting, in a sense, but—your hand reached out to run through the sheets beside you, now cold and devoid of the warmth of his presence. He'd left it like this on purpose; you knew that.

And it was quiet without him.

The kind of quiet that was loud, the kind of quiet that was uncomfortable.

Your eyes drifted towards the clock on the nightstand, and your heart sank at the realization—you'd slept in, and completely missed seeing him off. On Valentine's Day.

You'd both known from the start that he wouldn't be getting a day off despite the occasion, and you'd accepted it, but you had promised yourself to be present for him in the morning. What kind of girlfriend would let him leave just like that, right?

There was a note on the stand.

You reached out to grab it, and something about the emptiness in the bedroom made you feel so small. Even though you'd always been fond of the neutral colors surrounding you, they looked drearier and gloomier than they'd ever been. Your arms twitched with the urge to reach out for a hug—

There was no one there.

Good morning, sweetheart. Did you sleep well? I noticed you've been very tired lately, so please get some rest. Don't feel too bad that you didn't see me this morning. I'll be home in time for dinner, let me know when you wake up.

It was so sweet. So Zayne. Yet the heaviness in your heart didn't seem to lighten in the least, because the circumstances didn't change:

It was Valentine's Day. And you were spending it all alone.

In retrospect, you could never place the blame on your boyfriend. It had been this way from the start; you'd talked about it, accepted it, that with all of this came his busy schedules and the ever-present possibility that he would miss days like this without having much of a choice himself. You, yourself, weren't exempt to the setup, anyway—normally, your own work hours would have you out of the house in a similar manner. It was only that, this time… the mere prospect of having to spend a majority of the day alone with your thoughts had your skin crawling.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

You could beg for a new work assignment to come in and save you from drowning, but you had been ordered to take a rest.

…Was this resting?

The air was stifling. You could breathe, but only barely.

You felt nailed to the bed, your head heavy, your body heavy, the tension in your shoulders nearly having you want to cry out if only you could muster a sound.

It had to be today.

It had to be now.

On Valentine's Day, the day of love. You would feel so pathetic, and needy, and so desperate to feel him next to you when you knew that it could not be so and you understood that this was simply the way things were. How they always have been. And it took every ounce of your energy to fight back the tears that were threatening to spill, because what kind of girlfriend would be like this, and why couldn't today be a day you felt normal?

You had to hastily wipe your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, and your hands reached for the phone next.

A simple good morning, a little how-are-you.

You would make yourself be normal today if you could help it.

So you did the only thing you could think of:

You redirected.

Pushing yourself out of bed was a task difficult enough to do, but you grit your teeth through it. Feet touched upon the soft carpet, footsteps padding across the room and towards the door. If you had the majority of the day to yourself, you could do something productive, couldn't you? You could still do that, couldn't you? You could still be the simplest, simplest form of a functioning human being… couldn't you?

A mantra repeated in your head as you made your way to the kitchen.

A list of things: you could clean, you could organize, you could read, you could play… You could cook something, maybe even bake, just so he could have some sort of surprise waiting when he got back.

It sounded like a good plan.

…

It was a difficult plan.

Deep breaths weren't enough to calm you down. Sure, every movement pulled you out of the rubble of your thoughts for a moment, allowed you to continue being for a moment. But a moment was merely a moment. And once that moment was over, then it was over. The wreckage dangling above your head would come crashing.

It was a terrifying, terrifying thing to be alone.

Every so often your eyes would drift towards your phone in hopes for a text; even a simple update, anything, anything—

You liked the quiet, but you liked it when he was around.

You liked the slowness of things, but you liked it when he was around.

On days like these, then only when all this empty space could be filled by the warmth of his presence… that was when everything else could be bearable.

And you stirred the cookie batter absentmindedly, only barely paying attention to what you were doing, when—

Ding!

Your heart jumped.

Immediately, you dropped the spatula back into bowl and turned towards your phone.

—heeeeyyyy, happy valentine's, bestieee!!! —hope you get to have a sweeeett, sweet time with your boyfie!

Ah.

Your racing heartbeat calmed down in slight disappointment; the last conversation you'd had with Zayne had been an hour ago, and you knew realistically enough not to expect another message so soon.

And, sure, you were disappointed, but… to Tara's defense, these texts still made you smile.

She sent a flurry more of messages; silly things, cute things, just a couple of somethings to leave in your chat log. You didn't know if she'd picked up on your own behavior being off at work, but you supposed that if Jenna had, then it was more likely that Tara hadn't overlooked it, either.

A thought rang suddenly in your mind, because you could spend the rest of your day with her. A glance at the time told you that it was only half past two in the afternoon, and you still had a couple of hours left before Zayne would be on his way home. If you were looking for a distraction, perhaps, a day out could have solved it, but—

Realization dawned.

You'd have to put on something pretty, spend a couple of minutes doing makeup. You'd have to speak with people, interact with them, seem normal to them… and then maybe, then, you'd be more conscious of the fact that you were blatantly masking in front of people you held close to your heart.

Vulnerability was a fickle thing.

Though you could desperately want to be so, it was difficult to know where to begin.

It was something to accept—you didn't have the energy to… be.

Not today.

Maybe Zayne was right; you did need to rest.

And the realization furthered in that really, truly, all that you wanted was to spend a moment curled up in his lap, maybe watch a movie, maybe sit in silence… Just enough to recharge, just enough to feel safe enough to be.

You wouldn't have had to think of anything else.

But, he wasn't… Here.

He wasn't here.

Hours passed by in a similar manner, then. A cycle of distracting yourself, and failing, and trying again, and failing… You had gotten a few things done, in your defense. The kitchen and the bedroom had both been cleaned spotless. Your newly-baked batch of chocolate-chip cookies sat to cool on the counter, a treat for your boyfriend, something to remind you of what day it was today. You were proud of yourself for it, of course; despite everything, you could still do a little something.

But the feeling in your chest, the heaviness of it, the burden you bore that you couldn't quite place, yourself… it was still there. Unmistakably, still there.

And then it was late.

Later than you knew his shift to be.

You glanced at your phone once, twice—thrice, and a few times more.

The message you'd sent had received no reply.

It must have been an emergency.

You understood; really, you understood. It was like this. He had no access to his phone when things were busy, and especially not when something had come up. You knew this. You knew.

And so you grabbed a blanket from the bedroom to drape over yourself, as you curled up on the couch.

You could wait.

You could.

…You could, right?

Surfing through channels proved easy enough.

Not that one.

No, not that one, either.

You huffed as each channel played a show that didn't particularly interest you, the sound of their dialogue merely causing you to be irritated rather than successfully distracted. You had little to no choice but to passively play on a show, lower the volume—and at this point, truly… it was difficult to take.

You curled up, drew your knees up to your chest.

The blanket smelled like him.

You could recall how often it had been like this; it had been busy at the hospital, as much as it had been busy at work… The two of you had barely any time to spend with each other these past few days, and undeniably it had started to take a toll on you.

Because it had to line up with the way that you'd been feeling.

Useless. Worthless. A little bit less like yourself.

Thoughts like these were easy to ignore when you had the capacity to, but you didn't anymore. Once again, the space around you was too big; too heavy; too much. It cemented on you all these feelings of helplessness, the way you were left in the middle of this cold, empty space with nothing to offer solace. It was pathetic to feel this way, you thought, but you no longer had the ability to rationalize it.

You didn't like it here without him.

You missed him—a feeling that had built up all these days spent away from each other.

And then the tears started to fall.

Silent tears, an occasional sniffle here and there… Your eyes glazed over as you continued to hug your knees to your chest, head resting upon them. You weren't focusing. The television remained what it was—white noise. You could barely remember what channel you had left it on in the first place.

Your phone lit up a couple of times.

You no longer noticed it.

—

A light shaking could be felt over your body.

It was a colder touch, you could feel it through even the blanket. Your eyes stirred open. Yet, truly, even before your gaze could focus enough on the figure next to you, you knew this touch.

Zayne.

He had his hand on your arm, having nudged you awake, and you could see the faint outline of a bouquet of flowers seated right next to him. Your favorites, no less.

In front of you, the television had been turned off, and a quick glance at your phone to the side showed several missed calls and texts from him. The time flashed as eight in the evening. You had fallen asleep. Your eyes were likely puffy, and you probably looked exhausted…

Yet, these things, despite how much you had noticed and despite how much you were still thinking—

They didn't matter anymore.

The moment of silence between you two, the way he didn't ask, the way he waited, the way he watched… A wave of understanding passed over the both of you before he pulled you into his arms, and that was it.

This was home.

It wasn't dark, and gloomy, and empty, and cold—

It was warm. Comforting. Full of his presence, just the way you had been longing it to be since you'd woken up. The smell of his cologne was one familiar enough to make you tighten your hold on him, make you snuggle deeper into his chest. It was secure. It was safe.

You'd missed him, truly.

And there was no need for words, not really. Instead, he stroked your hair, patiently, lovingly. A gentle kiss to the top of your head. A little reassuring squeeze of your hand.

"Zayne…"

"Mn. I'm here."

Another moment of stillness.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You could still hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, but this time, it didn't bother you. Not when you could just as well hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, not when his quiet words of reassurance could resound in your head like a lullaby.

And a stray tear fell.

Maybe, it was the relief of it. Maybe, it was how everything had bubbled up to crash into you like this.

But—

You lips trembled, and you cried.

You cried, and cried, and cried.

And it was such a stupid way to spend the day of love.

"You're… You're home, hic, I-I'm sorry, I didn't— hic— I fell asleep, a-and then—"

"Shh. It's okay, my love."

His voice was low. Soft.

"B-but I was… It's Valentine's Day, I should've…!"

"No, you do not owe me anything. On the contrary, I, too, have not been a satisfactory partner… I apologize, sweetheart. I wish I could have spent the day with you."

"It's… It's not your fault…"

"Then, it is not your fault, either."

He paused.

"You… feel unwell. You've been unwell. Haven't you? Aren't you?"

Slowly, gently, he coaxed your head up to look at him. His thumb raised, moving to wipe away your tears; to draw you closer by your chin and place a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose.

You sniffled slightly. "I… I didn't want to be needy… I know it's been busy at the hospital, and I thought I could manage, a-and I'm sorry, I know I should be more understanding! I-I should be better, be good, be someone who can give you the world like you deserve, be— something more worth of the comfort you give me, than this…"

The words flowed out before you could stop them, and, in the end, you appreciated that you could be vulnerable with him. But it still tore at your heart to have him listen. Because what if it was silly? What if it was stupid? In the back of your mind, even though you thought these things, you were hoping for him to tell you otherwise. And what would you do if he didn't? If he agreed with you? What if these words, these insecurities, would make him think less of you, or find it irritating, or…

You were spiraling.

You could see yourself drowning, reflected in the very window of his gaze.

But he gripped your shoulders—he wouldn't let you.

"I never asked for you to give me the world."

It was firm this time, and not necessarily gentle... Yet, the look in his eyes told you everything even before he spoke.

Slow, careful words, and his eyes never strayed from yours:

"All I've ever wanted was you."

Your breath hitched.

You waited, quiet, a little stunned; watched as he leaned in to give you a soft kiss. One to your forehead, one on your eyelids. Your cheek, the corner of your lips—

"I ask nothing of you, if only to know that you are okay. If only to know that you understand… that I will cherish you, and care for you, for as long as you are alive. Do you remember that?"

A memory stirred.

I should think about… how to live my life to the fullest. Because in this world, there's someone who'll like me for as long as I'm alive…

Those were your words.

A wave of warmth washed over you once more as he brought back memories from that day, one that, likely, was one that he thought of often himself.

"The moon…" he mumbled. Gently, he nudged your head sideways to allow you to glance out the window. He'd drawn the curtains back, and the night sky showed itself in full view to you. "Is beautiful tonight. Just as you are. Less than you are. Because you always shine brighter. And, to me… That is all of the world that I need."

"Zayne…"

"I bought you flowers, and I saw the cookies that you left on the table. However… how much you mean to me is not meant to be celebrated for simply one day of the year, and I don't plan to do that. I would celebrate it every day, every minute, every hour of my life. Besides… no matter how hectic things get, I will always want to see you."

This time, he pulled you back to him, gently easing his lips onto yours. A quick kiss, but a meaningful one. One that made the world disappear, your troubles disappear… at least, enough for you to focus on him, and all the love that he offered— to you.

"…Zayne?"

"Hm?"

"I love you."

You snuggled into his chest, curling into his warmth.

It felt lighter, now. Perhaps, not to be completely freed from the chains you had put on yourself, but… it felt lighter. More bearable. No longer suffocating.

No longer difficult.

"I love you," you repeated. You would whisper the words, quiet as you focused on his heartbeat. "I love you, twice… thrice… and more times… Because saying it once wouldn't be enough."

"And I love you, sweetheart." Once more, he pressed his lips to the crown of your head. "Twice, and thrice, and more. And, for tonight… We can do whatever you want. My time is all yours."

And perhaps, you thought, he was your world just as much as you were his.

taglist: @pixelcafe-network @hunters-association @darlingdummycassandra @daturasflower @thoupenguinman @valyvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @chemiru @ywnzn @pepprrmint @angel-jupiter @cordidy @raiyuxa @xai-mery @oharasmommymilkers00 @pikachuzhc @fackeraccount @rafayelsgf @iloveboysinred @rafslvr @spotted-salamander @venussakura @love-and-deepstrays @evilgojo @keioxo @Zaynes-jasmine @~Air_Heart~ @keymeadoww @rowazuhime15 @strwbrychffoncke

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

523 notes · View notes

5sospenguinqueen · 11 months ago

Text

Lullabies Pt 2 | Max Verstappen x Singer! Reader

Summary: Max left without letting you fully explain. Nearly a year later, he realises he made a mistake when he thinks you're moving on.

Warnings: Swearing. Angst but also fluff. Redemption arc.

Female reader with various faceclaims (pics found on pinterest). Takes place in 2021 with slightly altered timelines.

Main Masterlist

prev.

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Oct

YourUserName just posted

liked by pierregasly, kellypiquet and others

YourUserName a huge thank you to everyone who came to my album release concert! 🥀 a huge apology to anyone who missed out but after such a phenomenal crowd this evening, i'm pleased to announce the GUTS tour coming 2022!!

11,998 comments

User1 a tour!!! release the dates/countries now please and thank you

User2 mother treating us

User3 okay but when she SANG The Grudge with the tears rolling down her cheeks, poured her whole soul into that

→ User4 omg yes, you could legit feel the pain in your own chest

→ User5 no no no because what about the gasp through her sobbing at The Stranger

User6 nobody can tell me that Obsessed wasn't written as a kelly piquet pov

→ User7 haha literally because y/n has never said a bad word about this woman but she is all up in her business

→ User8 and all up in her likes too from what i saw

User8 not my delusional ass hoping it’s max and that the lighting just made his hair darker

User9 love how she’s still featured on the wags page despite her and max not being a couple for 10 months now

→ User10 legit. they post her more than kelly

User11 i bet max is kicking himself for letting her go now that someone else has realised how much she’s worth

FutureF1Wag i need to know where f1 wags got that pic from because it’s SOOO much clearer than the one i got

User12 okay but where can i get a man like that because that kiss looks hawt!

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Nov

YourUserName just posted a new story

lilymhe have the best time, babe. brunch debrief tomorrow?

→ YourUserName 11?

→ lilymhe absolutely

YourBestFriend oo look at you being treated right

→ YourUserName i know. how sweet

they're sooo pretty as well

→ YourBestFriend you’ve had bigger though

→ YourUserName don’t do this today

→ YourBestFriend sorry. be safe. text me when you’re home

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Dec

User1 max really said, just because i didn't want her doesn't mean anyone else can

→ User2 be serious, he clearly loves her. he just confused his priorities for a hot second

User3 the way these rumours have been floating since max and kelly went social media official though. like everyone has constantly said they're on the rocks since we found out about them

→ User4 literally. like i loved max and y/n but they've both moved on. people are just creating drama because they can't accept that max and y/n aren't together anymore

User5 no because y/n is literally max's forever after and nobody can convince me otherwise

User6 max and y/n are literally each other's one true love. kelly was just the poison apple that leads to their true love's kiss

User7 y/nstappen shippers rise!

User8 she's watching his races again!

User9 she watched him win!!

User10 @ YourBestFriend is just like us for real. you can tell she's been praying for them to get back together

→ User11 she's feeding us crumbs and we're lapping them up

User12 not red bull down here fighting with us in the trenches

maxverstappen1 just posted

liked by YourUserName, danielricciardo and others

maxverstappen1 FUCK YEAH! WORLD CHAMP! 🥇🇳🇱 a huge thank you to @ redbullracing for their support throughout the whole season. you made all of this possible.

7,330 comments

redbullracing what a season! here's to many more, champ

christianhorner so unbelievably proud of you! enjoy the celebrations

danielricciardo congrats, mate. couldn't be happier for you. looking forward to celebrating later 🍾

landonorris woohoo! my shirt is still wet from your tears

→ maxverstappen1 don't lie. you cried more than i did

→ landonorris true

mclaren well done, max! an amazing achievement

YourUserName congrats, world champ x

liked by maxverstappen1

→ User13 mama en papa

→ User14 not the best phrase to use when the reason they broke up is due to a miscommunication about having children

User15 omg omg omg, not a drill, guys. the queen has commented. and max liked!!

→ User16 user we may not get them back together but i’ll take the tiny trickles of friendship they give us

→ User17 same sis same

→ User18 may our delulus come trululu

YourUserName just posted

liked by maxverstappen1, carmenmmundt and others

YourUserName so i may have just won my first grammy? my ultimate gratitude to @ lovelessofficial for taking a chance on me when no one else would, the biggest love to those who supported me before i deserved it, and a final huge thank you to the inspiration behind the album 💕🦁

9,556 comments

User1 miss thing, looks like you got more than just your first grammy

→ YourUserName it's definitely a nice collection ;)

francisca.cgomes so proud of you, minha linda 🌼

→ YourUserName couldn't have done it without you pouring wine down my neck, kiks

lilymhe that's my girl!!

YourBestFriend wow, look at that dress. it would look better on my bedroom floor

liked by maxverstappen1

lewishamilton amazing achievement, y/n. well done

→ YourUserName thanks, lewis. you raced so well this season

danielricciardo did somebody say celebratory drinks later? 🥂

maxverstappen1 congrats, grammy winner x

liked by YourUserName

→ lovelessofficial thanks for joining us for the celebrations

→ User2 max was at her after party!!!!

→ User3 over a year after their breakup and we might be getting them back together??

User4 the trophies in their house must be overwhelming

→ User5 love that we’re talking like they’re already back together

User6 'the inspiration behind the album' is so shady and sweet haha, poor max. i love that he'll be forever reminded of how badly he fumbled

→ User7 what makes you think she's on about max

→ User6 um, she wrote the album after their breakup and used the lion emoji, which she always used in posts about him. read the room, babes

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

Jan

YourUserName just posted

liked by victoriaverstappen, charles_leclerc and others

YourUserName happy new year's from me and my loved ones to you and yours (yes, he got drunk after this and ruined the rest of my photos)

13,441 comments

User8 omg omg omg omg!!!

User9 they're back together! they're back together! we win!

charles_leclerc beautiful couple. glad to see you both happy again

danielricciardo yuck. i haven't missed the pda

→ YourUserName you're just jealous you can't be our third

→ danielricciardo every day baby

maxverstappen1 i didn’t ruin them! they just become less pg

→ User10 woah, mr verstappen, we were not familiar with you

redbullracing our favourite trophy winning couple. can't wait to have y/n back in the paddock next month

maxverstappen1 looking forward to all that the future brings us, mijn mooie vrouw 🥰

→ YourUserName mijn lieve echtgenoot 💕

→ User11 um, the pet names!!!

━━━━━━ ༻𖥸༺ ━━━━━━

I know some people said on Danny’s that they wanted it to be longer but this are only planned as a duo series. Sorry, guys! 💕

Baby Fever Angst Series

Tag list

@bibissparkles @barcelonaloverf1life @rlalliehayes @dullypully @softtina @callsignwidow @lav3nder-haze @minkyungseokie @luvrrish @fall-bambi @evans-dejong @sadsierra2 @justdreamersdream @spookystitchery @dark-night-sky-99 @majusialikesfastcars @luckyladycreator2 @bborra @mrosales16 @reguluscrystals @tvdtw4ever @alwaysclassyeagle @gigicisneros @spanishcorndogs @thecubanator2 @goldenharrysworld @awritingtree @jxnellat @sbrn0905 @hc-dutch @buckybarnessweetheart @ironmaiden1313 @dreamercrowd @yourbane @reguluscrystals @peachiicherries @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @itsjustmyopinionf1 @evesfile @openthenyoor01 @princessria127 @hrrorflm @the-untamed-soul @nataliambc @oliviarodrigostan13 @sweate-r-weathe-r

As always, so sorry if I missed anyone. Thanks for all your support x

2K notes · View notes

celestie0 · 1 year ago

Text

gojo satoru x reader | college au [18+]

kickoff ch.8 a little cottage on the countryside

ᰔ pairing. college au - soccer player! gojo x film major! reader

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is the most popular guy on your college campus. he's tall, funny, hot, not to mention he's the most talented soccer forward the school has seen in years. but he's also a frat dude, which puts him in a world very different from your own, as he spends most of his nights partying & drinking while you spend most of yours working on your annoying film major assignments. but when he reaches out to you for a favor, you realize that helping him out might have something in it for you too.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem reader, fluff, angst, smut, college au, fraternities, sororities, partying, drinking/alcohol, mentions of weed, romance, jealousy, pining, slow burn, opposites to lovers, friends to lovers, she falls first he falls harder, gojo being an idiot

ᰔ chapter. 8/x (probably 12)

ᰔ words. 13.5k (...i'm gonna go take a nap lol)

a/n. hello hellooo my dear kickoff readers, hope you're having a nice day so far! this is the longest chapter yet, so i hope you enjoy <3 it's also got one of my favorite tropes everrr hehehehe you could probs guess what it is halfway through. see you at the bottom and happy reading! sorry if there are typos i didn't proofread this one as much as the others haha

nav. masterlist

☾·̩͙꙳ moodboard no.1

♬.*ﾟplaylist

You don’t cry much these days, but when you do, it’s usually out of nowhere.

Like now, as you stand in the school’s photo lab, developing the shots that you took for UTokyo’s game against Osaka last week, and you have to swipe at the tears on your cheek threatening to fall all over the captured images of grass, benches, nets, banners, stands, and him.

One of the photographs catches your eye, and you pick it up from the table. It’s a candid moment you took of Gojo on the field right before you confessed to him. You had spotted him first while the team was doing their warm-up, and you thought he looked nice from the way he had that concentrated look on his face that you’ve learned to love. But right before you clicked the shutter, he had turned away, chasing after the ball, and so all you could capture was his back facing you as he looked off ahead into the distance. You wondered if that was how it’s always been this whole time–with you looking at him while he’s looking off at something else. It was a depressing thought, but your mind had a tendency for sadness since that day.

The sound of the photo lab door opening jolts you back to reality, and you quickly straighten your posture and wipe your cheek with your sleeve, trying to sniffle as discreetly as possible, then set the picture down. Your fellow film major greets you quietly, asking if you’re still using the developer liquid, to which you say no, then hand it over to them. You stuff your photographs into a folder and head out the door.

You make it across campus to the Film & Media Studies building, then up to the third floor where your professor's office is. His door was ajar, but you still knocked before entering.

He looks up from the photographs he was grading. “Oh, y/n, hello. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, yourself?” you ask, taking a seat on the chair that was fixed to face his desk. You pull your tote bag into your lap.

“Great, thanks. How can I help you?”

You slide the folder to him over the scraped, worn burgundy wood of his desk. “I still had to turn in my photos for the assignment due last week. I appreciate the extension.”

“Ah, right,” he says, taking the folder from you. “I’ll get around to grading them. I’m curious, what did you end up choosing for your subject matter?” He tucks the folder underneath the pile that was to his side.

“I took photos of the soccer team’s game against Osaka Uni on Thursday last week,” you tell him.

He frowns at you. “Film cameras don’t have that level of zoom, though. I do hope you followed the rubric guidelines for central object to frame ratio, otherwise I’ll have to take off points.”

“Oh– I did. I took the photos from the sidelines,” you tell him, panicking already.

His eyes widened. “From the sidelines? On the field?”

You nod at him, fidgeting with your bag in your lap.

“Wow, I can’t say I’ve ever had a student take photos like that before. That’s pretty challenging to pull off, though,” he says, sitting up straighter, “...you mind if I take a look at them right now?”

You shake your head. “Oh, no. Not at all.”

He pulls your folder out from the bottom of the pile, then gently slips the photos out of them, rearranging them all across his desk. He leans down closer to study some of them, tilting his head curiously at others, furrowing his brow in concentration to a select few. “These are incredible.”

You take in a deep breath. “Thank you, professor.”

He nods at you with acknowledgement, and you watch him as he studies the images quietly for another minute, then looks up at you. “Is there anything else I can help you with?” he asks when he notices you’re still seated.

“Ah…yes, there was something I wanted to ask you.”

“What is it?” He taps his pen on the desk.

“I was wondering if you could write me a letter of recommendation for the film graduate program.”

He nods, like he was expecting the question. “Yeah, of course. Just send me your resume and portfolio.” He taps eagerly on one of your images. “Please send me digitals for these, too.”

You let out a relieved exhale. “Yes, I will. Thank you so much, professor, I really appreciate it.”

You left the building feeling extremely relieved about your professor agreeing to write your recommendation, but also feeling sad because you couldn’t tell Gojo about it, since this was the full-circle moment for the little arrangement the two of you had. There’s a thought that considers texting him, and you take out your phone then go to his name, but your thumbs just can’t bring yourself to send him a message.

The days of the week go by in a blur, and between every single little moment in life, your mind always wanders to him. It’s hard to get over someone when you’re surrounded by them. Like late at night while you’re editing the digitals of the game last week to send to your professor, and you find yourself staring at the pictures you’ve taken of him. It’s hard to get over him when the school worships the soccer team and you’re forced to see promotional banners and posters all over campus with his stupidly beautiful face in them. You didn’t have the heart to block him on Instagram, because you remember that time he teased you about how you didn’t follow him back, and you wonder if it would make him sad if you blocked him, so you just resorted to deleting the app instead. And although you were the one that asked for space from him, you were growing increasingly annoyed at how good he seemed to be at keeping it.

The library wasn’t even much of a safe space either, since you overheard a group of girls the other day at a table arguing about which of the players on the team is the hottest, and so you find yourself doing your homework on a lovely Wednesday morning at your apartment instead.

You lean back in your chair and look up at the ceiling, and then jump when you hear your phone ring, quickly turning it over to read the caller ID. Nobara. You accept the call, placing her on speaker, then set your phone back down on your desk.

“Hey, Nobie, what’s up?”

“Hey, nothing much. Just wanted to ask if you wanted to hang out,” she says.

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m working on homework right now. It’s due in a couple of hours,” you sigh.

“Boo, you whore. For what class?”

“My stats 130 elective,” you say. “I’m a film major, why do I need to know statistics?” You tap your pen to your chin. “Actually, it might be valid.”

“Is that the class with the creepy professor?” she asks. “The one that got caught with a PornHub tab open while he was presenting his lecture slides.”

“Yeah.”

“I took his class last semester! I still have all my homework for it,” she exclaims on the other end, “do you want me to send it over?”

“Yes, omg, I could kiss you right now,” you groan, resting your head on your arm sprawled across your desk in exhaustion.

“So definite no to hang out?”

“Sorry, I’ll reach out later though,” you sigh, “also, my car is still in repair…apparently something came up with the engine. So we can’t go far unless we invite Mina.”

“That’s fine, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled to come if we invite her just to chauffeur,” she says sarcastically. “By the way, how’d the pictures come along? For the newsletter?”

You lift your head up off of the desk in a panic. Shit. You were so focused on turning in your digitals of the game to your professor that you totally forgot you were supposed to send them to Utahime as well. “Oh my god, I forgot. When do they finalize the release again?”

“Isn’t it today at noon? I sent over film club’s photos this morning,” she says.

You glance at the time. 11:56am.

“Nobara, I’ve gotta go. I need to call Utahime, sorry,” you say. She acknowledges you, telling you to hurry, and then you hang up.

You call Utahime and scribble down on a sticky note to paste on your wall as a reminder to buy her a loving gift basket one of these days because of course she extends the release deadline just for you. You finish touching up the digitals and then send them to her via email, and after you finish your statistics homework, she calls you again to meet up somewhere nearby.

“Thanks so much for coming here,” Utahime says as she sits across from you at one of the local cafes you frequent. “Also, this chai latte is so good, I’m honestly surprised.”

You nod at her. “This place has great drinks.” You slide a folder across the table to her and she sets her drink down to accept it.

“Sorry if it was a hassle, but I just had to ask for physicals of these photos,” she sighs as she pulls them out. “They’re amazing, seriously, I gasped when I saw them. I’m used to sifting through a lot of professional sports photos for the newsletter, for all of the teams on campus, but I’ve never seen photos as charming as these. It could be the film photography aspect, since most of the ones I see are digital, but I’m seriously shocked you could capture shots like this at a rowdy men’s soccer match.”

You’re shaking your head at her. “Please don’t compliment me so much, I’ll cry. And it’s no issue, I had a spare set of physicals from when I developed them. You can keep them.”

She smiles at you. “Okay, well then, I think it goes without saying that I’ll definitely be including them for the sports recap this week. I’ll send you the money soon, too.”

You clap your hands together and interlock your fingers. “I’m. So. Grateful. For. You.”

She laughs across from you and takes another sip of her latte before sitting back slightly, glancing at the photos spread across the table. “Hm…how busy are you for the rest of the semester?”

You tilt your head at her and bring your coffee to your lips, taking a sip before setting it back down. “Not terribly busy, I quit my job last month so I’m just taking my assignments as they come and go.”

Utahime nods at you, a thoughtful expression on her face, and she smooths down the fabric of her shirt. “Okay, well, I got an email from the school this morning that one of the newsletter photographers for the men’s soccer team is moving to a different city, so they’re looking to fill in the position as soon as possible and they asked if I knew anyone,” she mentions, resting her elbow on the table and then placing her hand on her cheek. “They usually only hire professionals, but if I put a word in for you, they’d probably offer it to you.”

Your eyes widen at her from across the table, heart beating a bit faster in your chest.

“They pay really well for a part-time job. It’s essentially full-time pay for part-time hours,” she continues, “but it’s probably because you’ll have to travel with the team to their away games, including unofficial matches and conferences. If you’re not that busy for the next two months, then I think it’d be a good opportunity for you to build experience.”

You purse your lips together, considering her words. Although it’s a bit different from your long-term career plans, it was still a great way to get experience before graduate school. And besides, you needed the money, considering you quit your job last month and your savings were starting to run thin–never mind the fact that your car repair bill went from a few thousand yen to somewhere in the tens-of-thousands. And you would prefer to still be able to afford rent. Oh, and eat. Possibly still pay for Netflix.

But then there was the fact that having that kind of job meant that you would be spending a lot of time with the soccer team, and therefore increases the chances of running into Gojo. And you’re supposed to be staying away from him to get over your feelings.

“It sounds like an amazing opportunity, really,” you start, “...but I can’t.”

Utahime frowns at you and sits up straight. “Really? I thought you’d be excited. Why not?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“y/n…” Utahime starts, “I don’t really know what’s going on in your head right now, but isn’t this your dream? For your work to reach people? I know it’s only a stepping stone, believe me I know very well the path to becoming any sort of artist is an uphill battle of hell, but I’ve known you for a while now. And I know how much your dreams mean to you, and how hard you’re willing to work for them.”

Your heart swells in our chest at Utahime’s words. She was right, and you were starting to get really sick of letting your fears hold you back from what you really wanted in life. “...you’re right, I’m sorry. I’d love to be considered for the position, if you could recommend me.”

She smiles and nods at you. “Will do.”

–

The email for the job offer comes surprisingly fast, and you quickly read through it before accepting. It wasn’t a horrible time commitment, given you’d only have to take pictures during active play during matches, give or take a couple hours before, and the photographers rotate between who takes up each of the conferences so the work was split up. You were able to meet a few of the newsletter photographers & journalists during the game last week, so you already knew some of them. The offer letter came attached with a full calendar of the soccer team’s practice schedule, official match schedule, unofficial match schedule, conference schedule, and other publicity schedule, and you’re shocked at how busy all the players must be. The fact that they still have time to be students–and for most of them, active participants in fraternities–was honestly beyond you.

It seemed like they only had four more official matches left, two being away matches, along with a couple of unofficial matches that they may or may not participate in depending on how the season goes for them.

Their next game was on Friday against Kyoto university, and you were scheduled to shoot for their sports conference the day following as well. So you find yourself on a train embarked for the countryside, and you peer out of the window with a nervous feeling in your stomach. The sparkling skyscrapers and bustling crowds of Tokyo gradually started to give way into sights of expansive lush greenery, picturesque and charming towns, and winding rivers surrounded by trees. The closer you got to Kyoto, the sky became more gray until a steady drizzle began to fall against the train window. When you reached the final station, the rain had dissipated, and the taxi ride to the hotel was only about fifteen minutes. The journey felt exhausting, and you were so incredibly ready to pass out in a comfy bed.

You stood underneath a small sidewalk roof near the vending machines lining the outside of the hotel, trying to keep your bag and suitcase with all your equipment in it dry from the remnant soft mist of rain still lingering in the air.

“Hey, Utahime, sorry to bother you so late,” you say, holding your phone between your shoulder and ear, “but is it the Hilton on 3rd street? Or on Main? Because if it’s the one on Main, then I may have messed up-”

You stop speaking when you hear a masculine voice down the road towards the left, echoing off of the lined up small shops along the sidewalk, and your heart could have recognized the sound anywhere. You’re swift to turn and face that direction, almost dropping your phone in the process, and you see him– the object of all your suffering lately.

Gojo stood there, wide-eyed and stopped completely in his tracks as the recognition of you under the dim street lighting flashes across his face. He’s in pajamas– a red long-sleeve cotton shirt that looks so stupidly soft and comfortable it almost makes you emotional, with some matching checkered red pants. It was the most casual clothing you’ve ever seen him in. His hair appears damp, slightly tousled, from what you could assume was an effort to dry it off fast. And he had crocs on. In sports mode. You make a mental note to ask him about his charms and if he’s willing to trade any of them with you. But maybe some other day. When it doesn’t hurt to think about him.

“y/n?” he calls your name out, astonished. He’s looking at you like he’s just seen a ghost but in the best way possible.

You blink at him, heart skipping a beat just from the mere sight of him, and when you hear Utahime’s voice on the line you’re shaken out of your trance. “Oh, sorry, I’m still here. I…I think I just had my question answered. Thank you, have a good night.” You pull your phone down, gaze lingering on your screen for way too long because you can’t brave yourself to look over at the man to your left, and you end the call.

There’s the sound of remnant puddles of water splashing as he takes a few steps closer to you, and you can see his reflection in the water of the one in front of you. The expression on his face matches the one that was there when you last saw him outside of the UTokyo stadium at the west side exit. It’s an expression you could still see every time you close your eyes.

Finally turning to face him, you purse your lips together. “Hi.”

“Hey, what are you doing here?” he asks, voice laced with confusion and you see him take in your appearance with eager flicks of his gaze all around, like he couldn’t believe you were standing in front of him right now.

“Satoru!” another familiar voice calls out. “Did you get the orange-flavored ones too? Choso’s a fucking idiot and got the grape ones instead. I hate those. They taste like medicine. And ass. Not that I would know what–” You see Geto emerge from the darkness to Gojo’s side, and now he’s looking at you with a surprised look too. “Oh, it’s y/n. What are you doing here?”

“Hey, you two,” you chirp, trying to act as if an entire world of awkwardness wasn’t being exchanged between you and Gojo right now, for the sake of hoping that Geto wasn’t a very good judge of energy. “I’m here to take pictures of the soccer team.”

Your eyes flicker to Gojo, who is still looking at you like he’s never seen a person before.

“Oh, is it for another one of your assignments?” Geto asks.

“No, it’s not. It’s for the newsletter,” you explain to him, “I guess it’s my job now.”

There are a few more distant footsteps that follow behind the two of them, with the crinkling noises of plastic bags hitting against thighs echoing through the streets, and eventually they catch up. You see Nanami and the UTokyo team’s goalie, you believe his name is Choso, arrive at this little gathering that was taking place outside of the hotel.

“That’s awesome!” Geto exclaims. “I’m sure the newsletter will lead to a lot of exposure.”

“Who reads the newsletter?” Choso asks.

Geto nudges him with his elbow. “Dude.”

“What?”

He then fills Choso in on the conversation, “Oh, my bad.”

“Don’t worry, y/n, I read the newsletter,” Geto says, “I read it like the morning paper.”

“It only comes out once a week, but nice try,” you respond, giving him a weary look.

Nanami crosses his arms. “I actually do happen to read it,” he says, “although I refrain from the soccer section. Feels rather egotistic to read it. I find the campus politics section to be enjoyable, though.”

The rest of you exchange annoyed glances at that.

“Satoru reads the soccer section,” Geto says, slinging an arm around him, “‘cause he’s full of himself.”

For a moment, Gojo remains silent, while his teammates, who had been observing him with amused expressions, gradually shift to awkward blinking, like they were expecting him to complain, or say something sarcastic, or joke around by now.

“I do read it,” he says, eyes locked on yours. “I saw the release from yesterday. Your pictures were stunning.”

You’re flustered from the way he’s looking at you. “Thanks.”

Choso opens the plastic bag he was holding, peering down into it. “Shit. Ice cream’s melting, guys.”

“Yeah, we should probably head back to the rooms,” Geto looks at you, “do you want any snacks?”

“Oh, no. I’m good. I was just about to go check-in,” you say to them.

The boys politely say bye to you, and Gojo mentions something about staying back for a bit and hands Nanami the plastic bag he was carrying before they head back into the hotel. And then the two of you are alone under this roof, drops of water falling from it in between the two of you. He takes a step towards you, and you instantly stiffen. He seems to notice because he sighs and then walks past you to the vending machine that was next to you, pulling out some spare change from his pocket and inputting it into the machine.

“Do you want anything to drink?” The machine feeds him something, and he crouches down to pick it up before standing up again.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, hand clutching the handle of your suitcase.

He cracks the can of his soda open. “So, you’re going to be traveling with us for the newsletter now?” he asks, so concisely, like he felt that every word comes with a tax.

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to act like we’re strangers.”

You turn to face him. “What should we act like then?”

There’s a hesitant look in his expression as he looks down at his feet and then back up at you. “Can’t we at least be friends?”

The question softens you at your core, the tone of his voice sounding genuine. Being friends with him sounds so nice, and you kind of wish that’s what you two always were. Just friends. Maybe it would have avoided all of this heartache. But deep inside you knew that just being friends with him wasn’t an option anymore, at least not for now. “No, sorry. That’s just a recipe for disaster. I have to go check-in now.”

You grab your tote bag from the bench, grip tight onto your suitcase handle and make your way splashing across the shallow puddles then through the hotel’s automatic doors into the warmth of the lobby.

The lighting inside was warm and there were moderately high ceilings adorned with vintage-looking chandeliers. Around the perimeter, there were amenities including a cozy lounge with a fireplace, a small bar serving cocktails, as well as a business lounge with booths and multiple TVs mounted to the walls playing the local news. It made you feel like you were on vacation, and getting to a hotel at this hour while on vacation always meant that you were about ready to pass out on some freshly washed and tucked white linen sheets after taking a nice warm shower with a lavender-scented mini soap bar.

Making your way through the maze of plush seating areas, you get to the concierge desk to check-in. There was a professionally-dressed woman with a slicked-back bun standing there behind the counter, her eyes scanning the computer screen in front of her, and a big, burly man that stood behind her wearing all black that appeared to be security.

“Hello, I’m here to check-in,” you say, placing your forearm on the cold black counter.

The lady doesn’t look up from the computer screen. You clear your throat.

“Oh, hello. Name on the reservation?” she asks you.

You take a look down at your phone screen. The reservation was still under the name of the person that had recently quit the job. “Yui Ishikawa.”

The lady behind the counter hums to herself, obnoxiously tapping at the keyboard with only one of her index fingers. She was chewing gum. “Hm. Don’t see that name here.”

“What?” You squint at your phone and refresh the page, then turn it to face her. “But it’s on your official booking site. There was email confirmation too.”

She glances at your phone screen then taps at the keyboard again, still obnoxiously loud, but she uses her other index finger this time. “Yeah, still nothing.”

“This has to be some kind of mistake,” you say to her.

She looks up at you with an annoyed expression. “Do you want to take a look at the screen? See for yourself.” She turns the monitor to face you.

You don’t even work here, but you could see clear as day on their interface software that there was a reservation for this Yui Ishikawa woman at this time tonight. You point at it. “It’s right there. The reservation is literally right there.”

She turns the screen back to herself and squints at it. “Oh. Well, unfortunately, we already gave that room to someone else. Since it wasn’t there on our system a half hour ago.”

“What? How is that fair?” You were starting to get seriously annoyed. That refreshing shower you were dreaming of was starting to sound more of a need than a want with every passing minute. “Can you give me another room?”

“No, sorry, we’re all booked for tonight,” she tells you, without offering any additional help.

You look at her baffled. The big burly man behind her has now taken an interest in the conversation as well. “Okay…can you tell me if there are any hotels nearby that I could stay at?”

“Look. This is the countryside, ma’am, there are only a handful of hotels in this area that aren’t tourist accommodations. It’s also the night before a men’s college soccer match, and there seems to be some business seminar taking place nearby too. You can call and check, but the closest hotel this large is about an hour away,” she tells you.

“What? An hour away? I can’t afford a cab ride like that,” you tell her.

“Unfortunately, that isn’t really my problem,” she says.

You blink at her. “Are you being serious? This is ridiculous.”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave if you can’t comply with our booking rules,” she declares.

“Leave?! You’re the ones that messed up the booking!” You’re yelling now, a few heads turning from the bar at the back. Exhaustion was pulsing through your veins and your filter was slipping. “Do you have any idea how to do your damn job?”

The woman guffaws at you. “Alright, that’s it.” She snaps her fingers, and you watch as the big, burly man walks around the counter of the concierge desk to make his way to you.

You take a step back, watching in horror as he towers over you and grabs onto your arm. “Let’s leave without any issues, miss,” he says in a deep voice.

“What?! But– hey, that’s my suitcase! Don’t– wait–”

“Woah, woah, woah,” you hear a familiar voice call out from the left. “What’s going on here?”

The three of you turn your heads in the direction of the voice, and you see Gojo, still clad in those ridiculously soft-looking pajamas, doing a light jog up to the counter.

The woman at the reception desk straightens herself up immediately, and she pets down on her dress and fixes her hair at the mere sight of him. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “Nothing to see here, sir! Just a crazy woman that can’t comprehend hotel establishment rules.”

“That crazy woman just so happens to be my wife,” he says, pulling the big burly man’s hand off of your arm.

All three of you look at him dumbfounded.

“Y-Your wife?” the woman asks, sounding equally surprised and disappointed. “But she’s complaining about the fact that she doesn’t have a room.”

“I know, she does that all the time,” he sighs, “she’s got–...early-onset…dementia. Sweetheart, what did I tell you about packing up all your things and leaving the room when I’m not watching you?”

You give him a what the fuck look. He scowls at you to just play along.

“So…she’s with you?” the woman asks.

Gojo nods. “She always forgets that we’ve already booked a room together. Just a silly little sickly lady. Isn’t that right, honey?” He’s holding your shoulders and making you face the concierge woman.

“Y-Yes…” you say awkwardly, trying to put on a smile.

“So, if you could forgive her behavior,” he says with a super pleading voice, pulling you into him so your back is flush against his front side. “I’ll keep her in check from now on.”

The woman lets out a scoff in disbelief. “Alright…just don’t let her out again.” You send her a nasty look. The big burly man lets out a hmph and steps away from you.

“Sure thing. Let’s go, honey,” Gojo says, grabbing the handle of your suitcase in one hand and your upper arm in his other, dragging you with him across the lobby to the elevators. It isn’t until he’s pressed the up button and you finally gain your footing again after stumbling a few steps that you yank away from his grip.

“What are you doing?” you hiss at him, feeling embarrassed.

He looks down at you with a raise of his eyebrow. “Saving you from getting kicked out of the only decent hotel within a thirty-mile radius?”

“I didn’t need your help, I had the situation under control,” you mumble, smoothing out the layers of your clothing.

“Yes. That’s exactly what that looked like,” he muses as the elevator door opens and he steps inside, taking your suitcase with him as hostage. You panic at the sight and step inside with him, the door closing behind you.

“Where are we going?” you ask.

“To my room,” he says, pressing a button on the control pad, “you couldn’t get one, right?”

Your eyes widen. “No…I couldn’t.”

Gojo’s room is on the fourth floor, eleven units down to the right, and you follow him with dragging feet all the way down. Once he makes it in front of the door and takes the keycard out of his pocket, he pauses and looks over at you. “Waiting for you to thank me.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “For what?”

He’s waving the card in the air tauntingly. “You look exhausted as hell right now. I’m the one with the access to a nice hotel vanity and a soft, warm bed,” he practically purrs the words.

You’re instantly folding. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, honey,” he chimes, pressing the card to the reader.

“Stop calling me that,” you grumble as he opens the door for you.

You step into the room, rolling your suitcase inside with you, and take a look around. There was a single bed with the headboard up against the left-side wall, a nightstand on both sides and a desk where you noticed Gojo had his laptop open and a few books out. The bathroom was to the right, and there was a long table that had a coffee machine as well as the TV on top of it.

You place your suitcase against the wall then turn around, standing only a few feet from the entrance of the room, to find Gojo still standing outside in the hallway.

“Do you have to go somewhere?” you ask him. “Why are you just standing there?”

“Oh, I don’t need any of my other stuff,” he says to you, tapping at his pocket where you can see the imprint of his wallet, “room’s all yours.”

Your eyes widen at him. “Wait…are you going to sleep somewhere else?”

He tilts his head at you, as if that was obvious. “Yeah, I was going to go crash on the couch in Suguru’s room or something.”

“But–” you start, stopping yourself.

He’s waiting for you to speak, but you can’t.

“Well…good night, then,” he says and he turns to the side, about to walk down the hall, when you reach out and grab the sleeve of his shirt, stopping him in his tracks.

This was a bad idea. You’re supposed to be putting distance between the two of you right now, so that you can get over him. This was a man that very clearly said he didn’t have feelings for you. But honestly, you missed him. You missed him so damn much this past week, and you can only be strong for so long.

“You have an important match tomorrow,” you say quietly, “you should be getting a good night’s rest. We’ll share the bed.”

He turns to face you, looking down at where you were pinching the fabric of his shirt, which was just as soft as you had imagined, and he glances up to meet your gaze once again. “I’m…really confused right now.”

“What if you guys lose and are booted from the competition, and I have to spend the rest of my life regretting the fact that the reason the school lost a 12-year championship streak is all because I made you sleep on a couch?” you ask him.

He takes a step towards you. “You really want me to stay?” His voice was low.

“Yes,” you say. “We’re mature adults. Despite everything, we can just…share a bed for one night, right?”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think you trust me a little too much.”

Your face felt hot. “Are you telling me that I shouldn’t?”

“I’m telling you that you should really think this through,” he says.

“Just stay. Please.” The tone to your voice came off much more desperate than you would’ve liked.

He looks at you like the last thing in the world he could say right now was no. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Satoru.”

“Okay,” he says, walking past you into the room, like he wasn’t really in the mood to argue about it anymore.

You sigh, sulking your shoulders a little bit, and watch as he takes a seat at the desk and continues to click through things on his laptop, occasionally sipping on the cup of coffee he had made for himself, as if your presence here was no unnatural thing.

This all felt so domestic for you. This feels like the most intimate the two of you have been with one another, despite the fact he’s literally made you cum with his tongue before.

“Who drinks coffee at this hour?” you ask, crouching down to unzip your suitcase, opening it up to find your cosmetics bag and a fresh pair of clothes to change into.

“Caffeine doesn’t really affect me anymore.” His eyes were still stuck on his laptop screen.

“You sound dead inside,” you comment, standing back up straight. You step over your suitcase that was on the floor and head into the bathroom, about to close the door but you open it enough to peer over at him from inside. “I’m going to take a shower,” you announce.

You see him poke his tongue to his cheek, leg bouncing up and down underneath the desk, and he squints at his laptop screen like there’s something so damn important that he must concentrate on or else the entire universe would collapse inside of a black hole. “Cool. Have fun.”

“I will.”

“I’m glad.”

“No peeping.”

“There’s a lock on the bathroom door. Feel free to use it.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.” And then you’re shutting the door.

It felt nice to freshen up, especially after that long journey, and then you’re doing your skincare in the mirror while you’re wrapped in a towel, trying to forget the fact that the man you quite seriously have immense feelings for is somewhere outside that door just a few feet away in this small hotel room. You spray a spritz of your perfume onto your skin, something there’s literally no point in doing before bedtime, but you still do it…for no particular reason at all, obviously.

When you step back out into the room, Gojo’s eyes are instantly on you from where he stood near the closet. He takes in your appearance and lets out a laugh, looking at you with amusement.

“What?” you ask.

“You look so cute,” he says, “with your little sloth pajamas.”

You’re fully blushing as you make your way over to the armchair in the room to set your cosmetics bag down on it to sort through the mess you’ve just made of it. “Don’t call me cute,” you scold, searching for your lip balm.

You could feel his frown from behind you. “You don’t like it?”

“No. I love it.”

“I’m not following.”

You turn around to face him. “Satoru. You promised me you wouldn’t lead me on anymore. That includes teasing me or complimenting me.”

He looks at you incredulously. “What? I can’t even call you cute? This fucking sucks.”

“Your problem,” you say.

“So you’re cool with sharing a bed, but you’re not cool with me complimenting you,” he lays it out.

“We’re sharing this bed out of the kindness of my own heart,” you say to him, “because I care oh-so-very-much about your soccer career, and understand how important good sleep is for an athlete’s performance. I’m just that considerate of a person.” You point a strict finger at him. “But for your information, if you touch me while we’re in bed, I’ll kill you.”

“Hm. Not sure if I feel threatened or turned on right now,” he says.

You roll your eyes and finally zip up your cosmetics bag, set it on the table then make your way to the left side of the bed. When you glance at the nightstand, you notice Gojo has his wallet, his phone and his charger all situated there.

“Why’s your stuff here?” you ask him.

“Huh? Oh, I was going to sleep on that side,” he says to you.

“I usually sleep on the left side,” you tell him.

“But I usually sleep on the left side.”

You blink at him.

“I–…I’ll sleep on the right side,” he suggests, shoulders tense and on edge.

“Okay,” you shrug, and move his stuff.

Gojo spends some time freshening up in the bathroom too, and when he comes out he looks like he’s actually tired, and you feel like it’s the first time you’ve seen him look as worn out as he probably should be for someone as busy as him. You’re already settled under the sheets, the duvet pulled all the way up to your chin as you lay on your back. He comes up to the right side of the bed, checking his phone for a few minutes while standing and rubbing at the back of his neck, then plugs his phone into the charger. He grabs the sheets, about to pull them back, when he pauses and looks at you.

“Are you su-”

“If you ask me if I’m sure about this one more time, I will no longer feel sorry for you, and will make you go sleep on the love-stained couch,” you threaten him.

He grimaces at your choice of words and pulls the sheets back, slipping himself into bed. “Why do you have to put it like that? You’re gross. Also, I’m pretty sure this bed has seen less-than-holy things too.”

The only lighting in the room came from the warm, dim bulb of the night lamp at Gojo’s nightstand. An incredibly awkward silence settles between the two of you. Or maybe it’s just awkward for you, because he seems fine. He’s on his back too, looking up at the ceiling, practically motionless but there’s the faintest sound of his breathing every once in a while and it’s a sound you’ve never heard in such detail before.

He turns his head to you, but you don’t meet his gaze just yet. You shuffle a little bit, hip bumping against his side, elbow hitting his arm. He’s masculine next to you, shoulders hard, muscles heavy, but when you finally turn your head to glance at him and see the expression on his face, you realize that everything about him was rigid—except for the way he was looking at you.

“When did you sneak it in?” he asks.

“Sneak what in?”

“The can of strawberry vanilla soda. Into my bag.”

You swear your heart stills a little in your chest.

“Before,” is all you say to him.

He sighs. “y/n…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to feel bad for me. I wanted you to have it, regardless of how I thought my confession would go,” you assure.

It’s hard to read his expression from the side while he’s looking up at the ceiling, but it’s softer than it was a second ago. The need to change the subject consumes you.

“Why do you have calluses on your fingertips?” you ask him. “You’re a soccer player, you don’t use your hands for anything.”

“I play the guitar,” he replies simply.

You perch yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him with interest. His eyes flicker to your face. “Really?”

“No. I was just kidding. Hate the way you got excited though. I might have to pick up a guitar now.”

“Can you just answer me?” you sigh, flopping down onto your back again.

He laughs a little, a sound you feel like you could get drunk on at this point. He lifts his head up off the pillow enough to tuck his right hand underneath it, then rests it back down. You wish there was a mirror on the ceiling so you could see the flex of his arm. “Coach has us do the rock climbing wall at the gym at least once a week for practice. He thinks it’s a good workout. Causes a hell of a lot of skin tear though.”

“That’s it? That’s the reason?”

“Mhm.”

You shake your head, “You should learn how to play the guitar, because that’s a lame reason to have calluses.”

He lifts his head up off the pillow again and brings the hand that was tucked under his nape to in front of his face and he just looks at it. You look at it too. “Why are you so obsessed with the state of my hands?"

“A girl can’t be curious?” you ask.

“They’re not that bad.” You wonder if you’ve made him self-conscious.

You watch the way he flexes his fingers open and then closed. He turns it around, and you can see the veins trailing down from the valleys of his knuckles, disappearing into the fabric of his long sleeve. You remember that party, the two of you in that bathroom, when his hands were all over you, and it’s suddenly a little hard to breathe. He turns his hand again so the palm faces him, but now it’s also slightly turned towards you too.

“They’re bad here,” you say, pointing to his ring finger where you see slight peeling at the tip. The padded skin of your finger touches his skin. “A little bad here, too.” You point to his index finger, careless enough to allow all of your fingers to brush against his this time.

He watches you. “Your hands are really small,” he comments, like it was a marvel to him.

You look over at him briefly, and there’s not a single sign of tension in his face as he observes the image of your hand next to his hand in the air above him. He looked like he was at peace.

“Yours are just big,” you tell him.

He knows he’s not supposed to, and you really shouldn’t have let him, but he interlocks his fingers with yours regardless, holding onto your hand. You feel the roughness of those calluses all across your soft skin. His thumb runs over the curve of your knuckle, almost in a soothing way, like he was trying to apologize to you for something. And this was the only way he knew how.

Something sobers him up, because he suddenly pulls his fingers from yours and drops his hand to the duvet. Your hand lingers in the air for a few seconds before you do the same. And now you’re both awkwardly staring up at the ceiling again.

“Sorry,” he says, barely above a whisper.

“It’s okay,” you whisper too.

The silence settles for longer.

He sighs. “It’s not you, it’s me,” he says out of nowhere.

“Huh?” you turned your body a little to face him, and he was looking up at the ceiling as if there was something across the texture that he was trying to decipher.

“I don’t want you thinking that the reason I can’t-,” he pauses, to think carefully about his words, “...that the reason I can’t return your feelings is because of you, or anything you’ve done. It’s been a while since I’ve liked anyone to be honest, and I’m just really not looking to date right now.”

You’re hurt by his words. Because even if he didn’t want to date anyone, you thought that he would’ve at least tried to for you. You thought that he had at least some feelings that the two of you could’ve worked off of. “Why don’t you want to date anyone?”

“Reasons.”

“Obviously. What reasons?” you prod. When he doesn’t respond, you sigh. “If it’s something traumatic, I get it. My hamster died in the fourth grade,” you say, “I’ve never known peace since.”

He turns onto his side to face you with a soft and amused smile on his face. “Sorry to hear that. What was your hamster’s name?”

You try not to feel hot from the burn of his gaze and you turn onto your back to look up at the ceiling again. “Mr. Guilmon,” you say.

“Like…guilmon from digimon?

“Mhm.”

“You like digimon?”

“Oh yeah, I used to watch it all the time when I was a kid. My mom wanted to name my hamster ‘Scout’ but I refused,” you tell him, blinking a few times as the memories from your childhood come back to you. A small smile makes its way onto your face.

“I love digimon,” he says, fast, like he couldn’t contain it.

“Really?” you give him a sidewards glance, a little surprised.

He hesitates slightly before sighing, turning over in the opposite direction to reach for his wallet on his nightstand. You feel the fabric of the duvet stretch across you from the movement, and you remember just how intimate this all felt. He’s laying on his back again, holding his wallet up in the air with both hands as he flips it open, then slides his credit card up out of the slot, and shows it to you. Digimon themed. You have to purse your lips together to hold back your laughter.

He turns his head to look at you when you can’t help but let a little noise escape your mouth, and you can see through the laughter-induced sheen of tears in your eyes that he’s frowning.

“Hey–”

“I’m sorry–” you're fully laughing at this point, hand over your mouth to try to contain yourself, “it’s just– oh my god— you’re the last person I would’ve expected to have been such a nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd–” he tries to argue but you snatch the card out of his hand to study it closer, and also to memorize the numbers on the back.

“Popular soccer boy Gojo Satoru,” you’re giggling, “has a custom Digimon credit card.”

When he tries to reach for it, you stretch your arm off to the left. His weight leans on you, chest pressing against the curve of your shoulder, arm extending across you as he tries to grab his card back. “Quit it,” he mutters.

“No,” you say, holding it further to your left, weakly trying to push him away from you.

“Quit it,” he repeats, face scowling now with what looks like embarrassment, and he holds his upper body up by the elbow, leaning over you even more to reclaim it, “or else.”

“Or else, what?” you say through wheezes, and it seems like something in him snaps because suddenly he grabs your wrist, hard, pinning it down onto the mattress, holding it there next to your head, and his entire upper body is towering over you. Shocked, you’re breathing fast, your eyes darting across his face, and he’s looking at you with a furrowed brow and a tense jaw.

“Or else I won’t keep my promise,” he says through a harsh breath, his voice low and rough.

You’re stunned underneath him. “What promise?” you ask, breathlessly.

He leans down closer, to the point where the fringe of his hair brushes against your forehead. “My promise to hold myself back from you.”

You swallow hard, chest heaving. You feel the heat of his hand on your wrist burning through to your veins. You try to squirm slightly in his grip, but he just presses your wrist down further into the mattress.

He glances at your lips, eyes dilated and stern, and leans down even closer to you. “Do you have any idea how bad I’ve been wanting to punish you for leaving me in that bathroom by myself?” he says in a voice so husky you feel the arousal build at your center the second your head registers it.

You can’t find your words. He keeps his eyes locked on yours, as if to make sure yours stay on his too, and you’re docile under him until he’s distracted you enough to pinch his credit card between two of his fingers and discretely pull it out from your grip. He then lets go of your wrist and disappears out of your line of sight when he flops back down onto the mattress next to you, tucking his card back into his wallet.

“But I won’t. Because I’m a nice person, and will respect your space. Or whatever.”

You don’t know what to say, your hand finding a place over your heart as you try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down.

“We should probably go to sleep,” he sighs after a minute, tossing his wallet back onto the nightstand and reaching over to turn off the light.

It’s dark now in the room, the only light coming from through the layered fabrics of the curtains. It's a cold light, possibly from the moon and maybe some dim neighboring white street lights, but it’s enough to where you could still see the slight texture of the ceiling, and maybe his face.

You both spend a few minutes trying to get comfortable. You try not to bump your butt against him, or brush your chest against his arm, but it happens a couple times anyway, and you mentally curse yourself for it. The rise of the duvet fabric from his chest becomes shallow with his breathing, and you think he’s fallen asleep, but then the two of you turn over at the exact same time, facing each other, eyes flying open and gazes meeting. It startles the both of you, but neither of you look away or say a word. The two of you just sit in the moment for what feels like hours, and very could’ve easily been.

You’re the first to break the silence. “You know, there was a time where I thought that you weren’t even real.” You’re speaking hushed, like you’re afraid someone will hear, even though there’s only two souls in this room right now.

“What?” he asks, a slight raise to his eyebrow. “...why.”

“I don’t know. You’re like this urban legend around campus. You probably don’t know it, since you’re in it, but the world you’re in is very different from the world the rest of us students are in.”

He’s silent for a moment, his face being briefly illuminated by the reflection of a car’s headlights on the windows of the surrounding building. “I think I know what you mean.”

You blink at him. “I thought you would have a few more follow-up questions to that, but I guess you’re surprisingly self-aware.”

He hums to himself. “I think I can just put it into perspective.”

“Perspective?” you ask. You’re hanging onto every single one of his words tonight. You don’t want a single one of them slipping through you, not understood.

“Yeah,” he says, “there are moments where I feel like I’m not in that world anymore. And it feels nice. To get out of it.”

You want to ask him when those moments are, but he’s quick to speak again.

“I guess that means I’m aware of the moments where I am in it, so I know that it exists, if that makes sense? I don’t know.” He looks down at your pajamas, at the dancing sloth at the front, and the crease to his brow relaxes slightly.

“Mhm, makes sense.”

His eyes are back on you, studying. There’s a strange look on his face that you can’t really comprehend. “I want to know about your world,” he says.

You breathe in deep, and exhale shallow. “My world is simple. I want to be a filmmaker and then live in a little cottage.”

He smiles at you. “A little cottage?”

“Yeah,” you say, “maybe in the countryside. The Italian countryside. With my own garden in the backyard so I can use fresh zucchini in my salads.”

“Any animals? Pets?” he asks, like he’s envisioning it all in his head too.

“Maybe some chickens,” you say, “I promised Mr. Guilmon I’d name another one of my pets after him someday. I have to keep my promise.”

He nods. “You do.”

There’s another silence, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time.

“Did you turn your photos in to your professor?” he asks.

“Yeah, I did,” you tell him. “Earlier this week.”

“Nice. What about your reference for grad school?”

“I asked him for it.”

“Oh?” His eyebrows raise. “How’d it go?”

“Mm…I was really nervous, but it went well. He said he’d do it.”

There’s such a tenderness to his expression that you feel so compelled to kiss him right now. “That’s awesome. I’m proud of you. That’s one step closer to your dream.”

You purse your lips together from his words, sitting with the warm feeling in your chest. You want to thank him again, but instead all you say is “we’re even now.”

He lets out a small chuckle. It comes from his throat. “You’ve said that so many times.”

“I know.” Because you can’t believe it’s all over. This little arrangement between the two of you. You don’t want it to be over. “I can’t remember when the first time I said it was.”

“That night,” he answers you fast and with certainty, like it was at the forefront of his mind, “when you drove over rocks. And we sat together on the curb. And I realized how badly you take care of your car. You don’t need thousands of chain restaurant napkins in your glovebox, by the way. No matter how much you might think you do.”

“Wow. I was almost romanced by you for a second, but you ruined it,” you mumble.

You’re instantly taken back to that night. You remember the gentle quality in his eyes as he stared up at the stars, and you can still see the reflection of that sky in his eyes right now with the way he’s looking at you.

“I really liked you that night,” you whisper, “I wish you were like that all the time.”

“Am I not like that all the time?” he asks, voice soft to match yours.

“No,” you say, “sometimes you’re mean.”

His eyes on you are gentle, somewhat careful. “I’m sorry for being mean.”

You wonder if you can change his mind. If you can will him to like you back, if you can will him into wanting a relationship with you. You want to be his exception, not his rule.

“It’s okay. I’m mean sometimes, too,” you say, “mean to myself for sharing a bed with a guy that doesn’t like me.” He’s looking at your lips as you speak. “I’m bad like that.”

“You’re not bad,” is all he says.

“I am,” you say, and you inch closer to him, until there’s hardly any space between the two of you. You look up at him, faces inches away. You feel so safe with him, and yet you also feel scared, because you like him so much that you would let him ruin you if he wanted to. You press a flat palm to his shirt, searching for his heart, and you find that it’s beating fast in his chest. “I’m a bad woman, Satoru.”

“y/n,” he says, like a warning.

“I mean it,” you whisper.

“You said you’d kill me if I touch you,” he reminds you, sounding a little breathless.

“I can’t kill you, you’re way stronger than me,” you whisper, “so touch me.” Your hand is gripping onto the fabric of his shirt now, tight, with desire. He’s looking at you with a whole lot of desire too, but there was something else there as well. “Please.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist–the heat of his touch that you so badly wanted, craved, finally on you–but it’s to pull you away from him. Your grasp on his shirt releases and he brings your hand to the front of your chest, laying it down gently before letting it go. Your wrist lays limp there, missing his touch. Limp in front of your beating heart.

“Let’s just go to sleep, okay?” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you look at him, and you couldn’t even hide the hurt that settled across your face if you tried. Gaze dropping to his chest, you see the way it was rising with every breath he took, and for the second time in this life, you’ve felt so utterly rejected by him. You give him a compliant nod, and scootch back away from him before turning away. He stays as he is, watching your back, and you can feel his gaze on the nape of your neck.

Counting the minutes to fall asleep felt exhausting, but the last thing you remember before you closed your eyes was the feeling of a tear trickling down onto your pillow, wet and cold against your cheek.

–

You wake up the next morning to an empty bed, and an even emptier feeling heart. There’s also this weird feeling of disappointment within you, and you don’t really know why.

Grabbing your phone on the nightstand, you quickly search for the email with the men’s soccer team practice schedule, and you see that they had a sharp 8am practice this morning before the game in the afternoon. The time reads 6:37am, and you’re wondering where Gojo went so early in the morning before heading off to the practice field.

You went back to sleep for a couple hours, and then woke up again. By the time you took a shower, got dressed, and went downstairs to the hotel lobby to eat breakfast, it was already 10:00am and it was time to make it to the field so you could set up and calibrate your camera prior to taking photos for the match. Following Utahime’s gameday instructions, you took a cab to the location with all of your gear.

The Kyoto soccer stadium was less of a stadium and more of an extremely large and open expanse of grass that had enormous silver metal stands stretching across the perimeter. It was something you would expect of an area in the countryside, but security was still somehow tight across the fenced off area.

It was still a couple hours before the game, so the field was bustling with pre-game set-ups and the stands were empty. There were a few sports canopies being put up, as well as a small truck with workers that were working to stock up the hydration stations. A few men in suits were seated at tables with notepads and clipboards, looking busy in conversation and on what sounded like business calls. As you walk down the sidelines, you notice a few other people checking the distances between the goals and the chalk markings across the field. The stands were extremely close to all of the action, and when you look to the right, you see a couple of familiar faces there.

“Ah, y/n! We’re over here.”

You approach the group of three people, all seated on the lowest metal bench of one of the spectator sections. There were a bunch of tripods, cameras, cases, and laptops sprawled across in front of them. You recognize Hana and Minato, but you don’t recognize the other man sitting with them. You had met Hana and Minato at the game against Osaka last week, they were both professional photographers for the newsletter.

Hana hops off the bench and comes up to you. “It’s seriously so cool you’re here with us and that Utahime got you this gig,” she says to you with a smile. “Make sure your schedule is free on nights after matches, all us photographers usually get dinner together afterwards. You’re the baby out of us, so we’ll pay for you.”

You return her smile with one of your own. “That’s sweet, and sure I’ll try to.”

You glance at the man whose name you didn’t know, your gaze meeting his, and soon enough he’s jumping up onto his feet too and making his way over to you.

“Ah, this is Kaito. Kai for short,” Hana says, gesturing to the man, and then to you.

Kai extends his hand out for you to shake. He’s tall and a bit lean. His style is really boyish—totally nailing the street photographer outfit with the white shirt underneath a flannel one, and some Carhartt pants paired with some Vans. You reach out to shake his hand, and he holds onto it for a second longer than you would’ve expected.

“Hi,” you greet him and tell him your name.

“That’s a nice name,” he says with a smile.

Hana claps her hands together. “Okay! We all know each other now, that’s great. We should get started prepping before the players get here, I believe they’re scheduled to be here in an hour.” She walks over to the benches and picks up her digital camera. Minato grabs his as well as his tripod, then walks over to Hana’s side. “The way we usually do it is to split the field into corners, and each of us works that perimeter. The videographers are here too, so just make sure you don’t accidentally knock over or stand in front of one of their cameras.”

All three of you nod at her and you unzip your case to take your film camera out. Kai is next to you, looking at the device in your hands curiously.

“Kai, you can work with y/n for today since it’s her first day. Split up those two corners over there,” Hana says, pointing to the other end of the field. You and Kai look in that direction. “Minato and I will take the other short end.”

With a few more discussions and detailed instructions, the four of you disperse to your assigned locations. You’re a step ahead of Kai, although he should really be the one leading your stride since you’re the new one here, but he soon enough catches up to you.

“Is that a Canon AE-1?” he asks you, pointing to your camera.

You look at him a little surprised. “Yeah, it is. As vintage as they get.”

“Sweet, I used to shoot on film too. Second-hand?”

“No, third. Still cost me an arm and a leg, though,” you sigh.

He laughs. “They’re not that expensive.”

“I’m a broke college student. I sometimes have to choose between paying rent and eating food,” you say to him.

He kicks at a random can on the grass, sending it flying forward, instead of picking it up. “Yeah, definitely don’t miss those days.”

“When did you graduate?” you ask.

“From UTokyo two years ago,” he says.

You bend over to pick up the can he kicked and jog a little to the trashcan nearby, tossing it in, then jog back to him. “That’s nice. You’ve been doing this for two years?”

“Yup,” he says to you as the two of you reach the corner of the field outlined by freshly drawn chalk. He kneels down on the grass, sets his camera case down, and opens it up. Your jaw drops.

“Is that a—Leica camera?” you ask him, shocked.

He smirks up at you. “Sure is.”

“Oh, so you’re just rich, then,” you sit down on the grass to look at it with interest, marveling at its condition.

“Nope. I’ll bet I got it for cheaper than your Canon there,” he points to the camera hung at your neck.

You meet his gaze. “No way.”

“Way,” he says, pulling out the attachable lens before wiping at it with a microfiber cloth, “I know a guy. He sells used cameras. The only issue is you’ve gotta refurbish them yourself.”

You sigh. “Wonderful. Because I would know how to do that.”

He lets out a half-laugh, and you glance up briefly to look at his expression. He was amused. “It’s pretty easy, just gotta do it once. And then you’ll have a used Leica that works brand-new, all for just under a hundred-thousand yen.”

You’re looking at him with surprise again. “That cheap?”

“Yup.”

“Wow…” Your finger plays with the lens cap on your camera.

“If you want, I can send you his info. But if you want to meet up with him, it’ll probably have to be facilitated through me,” Kai says, “He takes clients by recommendation. No use in selling a used camera to an idiot that doesn’t know how to refurbish it. He’s looking for niche photographers that have the interest.”

You press your lips together, considering it. “Sure.”

He hands his phone to you. “Alright, gimme your number.”

You hesitate for a second before typing your number into his contacts then hand it back and watch as he saves it in his phone. “Canon girl. Won’t forget ya.”

The two of you make work for a second, eyeing the field and mapping out angles of where to get the best shots during play. Kai gives you some pointers and you’re marveling at how good they are.

“Not really used to shooting on film anymore,” he mumbles, peering through the hole on your camera when you handed it over to him, “but usually a one over five-hundred shutter speed works well for sports. I’d switch between that and over two-fifty though, to avoid a blurry finish.”

“Thanks,” you say to him, wanting to write all this down to not forget it. “Wish I knew this last week.”

“Why shoot on film?” he asks out of nowhere, handing your camera back to you. “Why not digital?”

“Oh, it’s a personal interest,” you say to him, adjusting your shutter speed as he suggested, “I think there’s a charm to it. I want to be a movie maker, and shoot on film medium.”

He frowns at you. “How are you going to do that?”

You tilt your head at him, shuffling on the grass. “I’m going to apply to the film graduate program at UTokyo to start.”

He laughs at that from where he’s seated across from you. “Really? That’s a waste of your time.”

Your heart sinks a little in your chest from his tone. “Why would it be a waste of my time?”

He turns to face you more directly. “y/n, trust me, I know this career path. Been there, done that. Millions of film majors like yourself always have these big-ass dreams like ‘I want to become a director, I want to do screenplay’ etc., but only one or two of them actually succeed.”

Your shoulders sulk. It’s not the first time you’ve heard those words from someone—your own parents practically recited them word-for-word before you headed off to college—but you had been doing really well all of senior year to ignore that nagging little voice in your head. It was honestly quite triggering to hear it all again right now. “Well, I think I can do it.”

He lets out a short scoff. “You sound real convincing there.” When he catches sight of your upset expression, he straightens his back a little. “My bad. Just trying to look out for you. I’m your senior in this industry. I know my way around these things. Trust me.”

You nod slowly. “I know. Thanks.” Part of you wonders if he’s just projecting.

“Well anyway,” he shrugs, “I think you should just focus on photography for now. It’s the safest career option for you to do.”

“I guess you’re right,” you say, wanting to diffuse the conversation.

The two of you disperse to your assigned corners once the stands start to fill with spectators. Shortly after, the players make their introductions onto the field, and you can see Gojo across the field. He’s too far to read his expression, but for some reason when you look at him, that disappointed feeling from this morning comes back to you. You try to push it down and just focus on your task at hand.

UTokyo does well during the match, and Gojo seems to be playing much better than the Osaka game last week, scoring two goals within the first half. There were a couple of times where there were throw-ins near your corner, and you made eye contact with him as he’s breathing heavily, wiping the sweat off his face with his jersey, and every time you look at him, that melancholic feeling washes over you again. UTokyo wins 3-2, the crowd evidently disappointed as they were rooting for their home team, and by the time the disgruntled fans started to clear the stands, the sun was setting over the horizon and the sky was a golden color.

The referees on the field begin to oversee the post-match proceedings with the players. Kai comes around to meet you at your corner, and Hana and Minato arrive there too.

“Hey team! How’d it go?” Hana asks, a little out of breath from her journey over here.

“Went fine,” Kai responds.

“It was a little tricky,” you comment, “but I think my photos came out well.”

Hana nods. “Alright, sounds good. Are we still on for dinner tonight?”

Kai and Minato nod, and then all three sets of eyes are on you. You hesitate for a moment, and look off past them to where you see the group of soccer players in conversations with the coaches and referees. You see Gojo standing there, his hands on his hips as he peered across the field, tilting his neck to the side repeatedly, and you realize he had been doing that all match long. That unsettling feeling within you starts to brew once again. “Uh, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. I think I might just head back to the hotel.”

Hana and Minato nod at you with a concerned expression, while Kai just looks disappointed.

“Okay, well, I hope you feel better,” she says.

You end up taking an Uber back to the hotel in haste, not wanting to run into Gojo or any of the other soccer players after their match, and make it to the room, using the key card that Gojo gave you to get inside. You take a shower to freshen up, and by the time it’s 7pm, you’re starving. You put on a simple outfit and make it downstairs into the lobby of the hotel, about to go peruse the nearby dining options, but right when you step out of the elevator, you run into Gojo.

There’s a look of pleasant surprise on his face and you take in his appearance. He was still wearing his soccer jersey, covered in grass and dirt stains, and his face was slightly flushed from exertion. You figured he just came back from the field.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry, I was just about to head over there.” He jerks his head off towards the lobby, and you glance in that direction. There was a group of maybe thirty people gathered around the lounging areas and high-tables over at the business suite, and you recognize them as UTokyo’s soccer players, along with Coach Yaga and other team staff. The players were still all clad in their uniforms, carrying all their stuff, and there were plays of today’s game rerunning across the TV screens. You realize they’re probably prepping for interview questions for tomorrow’s conference.

“Oh, please, go ahead,” you say to him.

He tilts his head at you. “Are you doing alright?”

You were aware that things might feel awkward after last night, and that your cheeks would probably feel hot like they do now the next time you had to talk to him. Your mind takes you back to the memories, when you think about how badly you wanted him to stay with you in the room because of that hollow feeling in your chest from missing him, despite how you knew it was bad for you. Because this man standing in front of you doesn’t like you in the way that you like him.

And then it clicks. The reason for that feeling of disappointment you’ve had since the moment you woke up today.

When you glance up at Gojo this time, you see him differently than you had from a second ago. You finally notice the slight dark circles under his eyes, and figure out that the reason he’s been tilting his neck to the side all day was because he was trying to stretch out a kink. You vaguely recall that moment you woke up in the middle of the night, and your sleepy brain registered that there was no longer the dip of him in the mattress next to you.

“When did you leave the room?” you ask him. You know your voice is quiet when he has to lean down a bit to hear you.

He takes his time answering, indulging in a few breaths. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, starting to sound hostile, “you left during the night, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t deny it.

“You left once I fell asleep,” you say, eyes widening with realization.

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Where did you go to sleep?” you ask, trying to keep your tone level.

“Suguru’s room had an extra couch. I pushed them together.”

You felt sick and sad, feeling something worse than rejection right now. There was a part of you that still thought that all of this from him was just a joke. A prank. That he was finally going to say just kidding, I like you too. The reason you’ve been so disappointed since the minute you woke up today was because there was a part of you that thought you were going to wake up this morning with his arms wrapped around you, back pressed tight to his chest while he whispers sweet nothings in your ear of how much he likes you, of how much he wants you, of how much he wants to be with you.

“Why? Even after I said I didn’t want you to have bad sleep?” Your voice was laced with hurt. You didn’t even know how to explain to him why it upset you, because deep down you’re scared it isn’t even valid.

“It’s fine,” he says, “I played fine today. And we won.”

“You could’ve stayed. Do you really hate me that much?” Your words are shooting to kill now. “So I’m good enough to finger in a bathroom at a frat party, but not good enough to sleep next to?”

He furrows his brow. “I don’t understand why we’re arguing about this,” he says, tone starting to match yours, “you’re the one that wanted space. I was just trying to respect that.”

“If you really wanted to respect my space, you wouldn’t have agreed to share the bed with me in the first place.”

“y/n,” he says, “that’s not fair.”

“You should’ve known better.” You’re breathing fast, tone searingly accusive. “You know that I’m trying to get over you, and that I’m vulnerable, and that I’m probably confused about a lot of things right now.”

“I ask if we could at least be friends, you say no because it’d be some recipe for disaster, then you practically beg me to stay with you and tell me to touch you while we’re laying down together. You don’t think that’s confusing for me too?” he counters.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at the memory of your desperate actions last night, and he instantly looks apologetic. You feel like you’re being unfair, but you feel like he’s being unfair too.

“I’m the one with feelings,” is all you say in your defense.

He swipes at his chin roughly with the back of his hand, smudging the dirt up to his cheek, and then closes his eyes for a second, like the weight of today has finally hit him all at once. He looks exhausted. “Right,” he says, softly, “I’m sorry.”

“Yo, Satoru!” one of his teammates yells from the center of the lobby. “Coach needs you, man.”

He rubs a hand down his tired face then throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a sec,” he calls out and then looks back at you. You can’t make eye contact with him, and just stare at the print on his jersey instead. “I’ll sleep in Suguru’s again tonight. The room is yours.”

There’s a lump in your throat and you feel like you’re about to cry. “Okay.”

He reaches into his shorts pocket and gives you a room card. “Here’s the spare. I don’t need to come grab my stuff for the night, so don’t worry.”

“Okay.”

He sounds like he wants to say more, and you see him take a small step towards you, hand reaching out for you, but this time Coach Yaga’s stern voice is calling out to him too. He sighs. “Good night.”

“Mhm. Thanks.”

He hesitates before he turns on his heel and you watch his back, with that signature #10 stretched across the fabric of his uniforn, as he jogs through the hotel lobby to his teammates.

The walk back to the hotel room is depressing, and you find yourself dragging your feet all the way there. Once you make your way inside, you look around at the room and see some of Gojo’s belongings scattered around, but it didn’t seem like there were any of his essentials. You look down at the spare key card in your hand–a promise from him that he won’t try to upset you anymore tonight–and that lump in your throat from earlier comes back.

You hated fighting with him. You hated being away from him. Those feelings that you thought would go away just as fast as they came still sat so stubbornly within your heart, and it was becoming impossible to bear.

You wonder if meeting him was all just some horrible, twisted mistake.

Before you have time to dwell on that sad sentiment, your phone screen lights up with a message.

|| 7:52pm unknown number: kinda sucks you’re not here with us. was looking forward to showing you more of my camera

|| 7:53pm unknown number: this is kai by the way

The features of your face feel heavy as you look down at your phone screen. You don’t even notice your eyes are teary until you realize the blur of your vision makes it hard to see the letters as you type out a response.

You just wanted a distraction from all this pain.

|| 7:54pm you: can you send me the address? i wanna be there

a/n. grrrr i love a one-bed trope so much grrrrrrrrr it's gonna do it for me every damn time lol. thanks a bunch for reading!! there's still so much that i've got planned for the series haha i think the second half is gonna be a lot crazier than the first. super excited to write it though.

➸ take me to chapter nine!

taglist: @who-can-touch-my-boob @therealestpussyeater @lost-resonance @hojoslutoru @foulprincesscycle @luniunia @alekssashka7 @bsdicinindirdim @tsukikourito @getitsatoru @slut-4-gojo @cactisjuice @kissofife @tiredflame132 @cliosunshine @ethereally-lyann @btszn @prince-wyiilder @semra4 @gojosimp26 @drthymby @ninitoru @bbyxxm @fvsm4x @sadmonke @zoinks1010 @bakuhoethotski @horisdope @sykostyles @aquaberrydolphin @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @ri-sa20 @purplehallow11 @mwtsxri @ritsatoru @bxddiebloss @chwesuh-imnida @mo0nforme @viware @still-fking-single @megumisthirdog @gintokhi @karvokr @cierocanteat @imjustaweirdnerd (hope i didn't miss anyone thank u all sm!!)

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cheralith · 17 days ago

Text

— party for you.

yukimiya kenyu — it's your birthday and your best friend has yet to show up to your party, his promise to you hanging on a thin line. (wc : 3.6k)

contains : gn!reader, no pronouns used, best friend!yukimiya, aged-up characters (20s), implied mutual pining, angst with comfort, fluff (unedited as of 04/27) a/n : happy birthday to my beloved yukki <33 wrote this piece with a slight twist as my gift to him ahaha. also very much inspired by "party 4 u" by charli xcx after i kept seeing all those scenarios from tiktok, esp since i'll be seeing her in concert soon !!!

There’s a tightness in your throat that you swallow down when you hear the phone start to ring, the steady and monotonous rhythm of ringback tone calling out with an echo. The hums are paced, in no rush to get to their destination, unlike the seconds that tick by as you stare at the clock.

It’s 5:23 pm. Yukimiya was supposed to be here nearly an hour ago to help you set up your birthday party that’s starting in thirty-seven minutes.

Your nail goes between your teeth, an anxious gnawing starting to begin to try to raise your inhibition. Some of your friends that came early to also aid with setting up laugh and chatter about in the other room, ignorant to your apprehension that you thinly veil with a warbled smile.

You blame yourself—your birthday fell on a weekend this year and you wanted to take the most advantage of everyone’s day off and have all the people filled with love to give you surrounding you on the day that you often felt most anxious on. An approval of sorts, you think, this urge to seek out that you truly were valued in others’ lives if they were willing to come celebrate with you.

But quantity doesn’t always equal quality. A good plethora of your friends and relatives have gathered in your apartment to celebrate your birthday, and while you cherish them for being here, there’s still that little crevice of yearning waiting to be filled by his presence.

Something is wrong with the camera, they say.

“For some reason, there’s this weird glare that just won’t go away,” the photographer says despondently to Yukimiya, who fights the urge to contort his face in irritation.

He lets out a heavy sigh, something that bleeds urgency in a quieter manner to the photographer and pinches his forehead. On a normal day, he wouldn’t have minded this disposition at all—some of his payout for this shoot was by the hour anyway and he wouldn’t have minded spending a few extra hours considering all he had to do was stand there and look pretty.

But it’s your birthday today. And this is an event he can’t afford to miss.

Being a rising celebrity is difficult—both of you understood that when he signed with his entertainment agency. But Yukimiya had made a promise to you years ago that you’ll still be of utmost priority despite his job, never wanting to thin your relationship even in the slightest despite knowing the possible restraints it might falter against.

He has his fair share of last-minute rain checks, none of which he’s proud of, but none of the events that he had to bail out on were as heavy as your birthday—and Yukimiya wouldn’t forgive himself if he had to miss out on it today simply because the team was incompetent and unprepared.

“I had to leave an hour ago,” Yukimiya says, pointing to the clock that currently reads 5:40 pm. Twenty minutes until your party starts. Forty minutes of his absence so far. “I’m sorry, but can we please quicken up the pace? I have somewhere to be after this.”

The photographer sneers at him. “Well we can’t exactly have a photoshoot with a camera, now can we?”

Yukimiya frowns deeply, but says nothing so as to not irritate him any further and to lengthen the excessive time. He excuses himself haughtily, going into the corridor of the building and pulling out his phone.

—(Y/N)🧡 (4:36 pm) : lmk when u get here! be safe on ur way! —(Y/N)🧡 (4:55 pm) : meguru brought party poppers haha —(Y/N)🧡 (5:07 pm) : hi just wanted to check up rq? is the shoot taking long again :(? —(Y/N)🧡 (5:29 pm) : checking up again? everything ok? —(Y/N)🧡 (5:43 pm) : checking in again, call me back if u can plz!

Missed Calls (2) from (Y/N) 🧡

Yukimiya bites his lip at the notifications, guilt seeping into him. The message he had sent to you after your first check-up text glares a red text on his screen, an exclamation point almost taunting him.

kenyu ! 👓 (4:44 pm) : I think the shoot might take some time again! I’ll try and be there ASAP, ETA 5:30? ( ! ) Not Delivered

He attempts a call, but the line shortly fuses, indicating his cellular service wasn’t going to do him justice in this time of need. With a waning patience, the grip he tortures his phone nearly crushes it and all he can do is just stare at the ticking time on his phone, praying that this will be over soon.

It’s 6:45 pm and Yukimiya has yet to show up, let alone text or call you back about his whereabouts. The majority of the party guests have shown up, presenting you with smiles and presents and hugs, but none of them measure up to the familiar warmth of your best friend who’s absence fills in his place.

It should be a fun event. Your apartment is scattered with party decorations, two large balloons indicating your new age bouncing around in your living room with your gifts and cake on the kitchen counter. Everyone is chatting and laughing about, bubbly and ready to party.

Everyone but you.

You fix up a mask of gratitude, slapping it on whenever someone comes by and talks with you about life and all its other nonsenses. But the moment you’re left alone again, reality settles in you again.

Sneaking yourself into your bedroom, you reread Yukimiya’s long birthday text that he had sent you at exactly midnight to ground yourself, trying to affirm to yourself that there’s no way that he would do a no-call no-show on your birthday out of all days, but you can’t help but feel a prick of tears in your eyes when you reread the last line of his text, biting your lip.

—kenyu ! 👓 (12:00 am) : … As your best friend, I’ll be there for you, forever and always. I can’t wait to see you, happy birthday! 🧡🎉

Yukimiya is a good, honest man. You know that better than anyone. But you can’t help but feel doubt finding its way into your chest when you reread his final words of the text over and over again, it doing the exact opposite of what you wanted in the first place.

You close your eyes, resting your forehead against the closed door that blocks you from the liveliness of the party.

The camera is back up and running, but Yukimiya thinks his luck is thinning by the minute, considering that people are now scrambling to try and find a replacement bulb for one of the lights that fused out just when they were starting to restart.

Everyone is clearly irritated, but Yukimiya thinks that he’s on the leaderboard for who has it worst. He fists his hair in his hand again as he slumps over in his seat, the No Service in the upper right hand corner of his phone still lingering on his screen.

It’s 9:01 pm and he’s still at the photoshoot, three hours past the start of your party. Everyone has taken notice of his evident absence, since many of your party guests knew you two were practically glued at the hip. His eyes heavy with exhaustion go to read over the messages people have sent him in the past few hours, a worry embedded in each text.

—Isagi (6:02 pm) : Yukki, are u still coming to the party? —Reo (7:24 pm) : Hey, Yukimiya. Not to scare you, but I think you’re worrying (Y/N). Do you need me to send an Uber to come pick you up? —Karasu (8:12 pm) : yukki, (y/n) is getting kinda stressed rn since you’re still not here. let us know if you’re still coming or not. —Kurona (8:44 pm) : We r about to cut the cake. I’ll save you a slice. Slice 🦈 —Nagi (8:54 pm) : whre u at lol :x

All of his replies have refused to send to his frustration, that dastardly red text under each of them making him grind his jaw. He’s been at this set for much too long—a few hours more than normal. He’s tired, his eyes heave, and all he wants to do is just come back to you and celebrate your birthday.

“Yukki, start getting ready!” the photographer calls, making him lift his head up. “We’ve managed to find a bulb, retouch with makeup and meet me back here in five.”

He swallows dryly, stretching his aching limbs as he gets up from his chair.

“How much longer do you think this will take?” he asks again for the nth time, making sure that his fatigue is visible to gather up some sympathy. “I’m really sorry, but I have an important event to go to tonight and I’m already more than an hour late.”

The photographer sighs and puts his hand on his hip. “Is it a funeral?”

Yukimiya blinks. “No.”

“Is it a sick relative in the hospital?” the photographer asks again.

Yukimiya shakes his head.

“Do you have an appointment or somethin’’?”

Again, Yukimiya says no.

“Okay well, then I don’t understand what’s up with this sudden urgency,” the photographer mutters. “You know, most people would really do anything to be in your position for as long as possible. You’re not even doing anything and yet you’re still getting paid, so what’s the deal?”

“I have a life outside of my job,” Yukimiya argues, his composure starting to falter. “I was supposed to be here for only three hours and we agreed I’d leave at 4:30. It’s ten past nine at this point.”

“What exactly can you have that is more important than being the face of Versace’s new cologne?” the photographer presses as he adjusts the camera, pressing all of Yukimiya’s buttons unconsciously. “Your ad will be all over the world, you’ll be collecting cash left and right! Opening new doors to endless opportunities! Tell me, Yukimiya… is there genuinely somewhere you have to be that’s more important than this?”

Yukimiya stares at the photographer for a moment, his words echoing in his mind, as if to tease him to consider them. But his stubbornness pushes through, as it always does, and he shakes his head.

“My best friend’s birthday party is today,” he states lowly. “And I made a promise I’d be there.”

The photographer goes to glance at him from his peripheral vision before barking out a scornful laugh, one that makes some of the crew members and other models chuckle as well behind their hands.

The photographer ceases his laughter eventually, despite heaving every once in a while. “Yukki, we’re grown adults. I’m sure not missing one party every once in a while would be too bad.”

Yukimiya’s amber hues darken suddenly at the photographer’s statement, disliking his tone and mockery. Was it so wrong to every now and then celebrate a person’s life? Especially if that singular person had changed their own for the better?

The photographer takes notice of Yukimiya’s expression, scoffing. “Don’t start giving me attitude now.”

“I’m not,” he attempts to excuse, despite the vein in his temple throbbing.

The photographer stills for a moment, examining his model’s stiff form, hands fidgeting with his phone. He looks at the window for a moment, taking account of the inky blue black that takes over the sky, then to the clock, then back to Yukimiya, whose glower is still evident.

“Fine then. You’re a grown adult,” the photographer states with a sardonic tone. “I’ll let you decide. You can either stay here, do your job, and change your life for the better… or you can scurry off to your friend’s little birthday and we can choose another model who’ll actually appreciate the opportunity.”

Yukimiya tenses suddenly at the offering. The photographer had a point—this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that his agency had offered him. To be the face of a brand new cologne from a well-known fashion house meant that you had reached a height in his career, one that could possibly land him new brand deals or modelling chances.

He’s sure it’ll do well in sales too, considering that his most recent drama he starred in had gained a massive amount of viewers that now know him by not only his face, but his name, a flock of admiration following him wherever he went. Yukimiya Kenyu, model and now an amateur actor.

He reflects back to you, suddenly. Your kind face flashes in his mind, your even kinder words echoing in his ears. About how you’ll always support him from the sidelines, that you’ll be there for him as his career skyrockets. You’ve always been there to support him in whatever decision he made to advance himself in the entertainment industry, always congratulating him with a large smile as he’d show off his newest photoshoot or point out an ad he was in. He had a habit of doing this—reflecting back to you during times like these, something to keep him grounded.

Apprehension fills his nerves, another swallow running down his dry throat. Yukimiya glances at the prop cologne bottle nestled on a nearby table and picks it up. He lifts his phone up, staring at the date that announces itself on his lockscreen, with the little reminder of your birthday underneath.

Then he looks back to the photographer, who patiently awaits his response.

Yukimiya clutches the bottle in his hand a little tighter.

The last of the party guests had left some time ago, the remnants of the party still ghosting about your apartment that you decide will clean up tomorrow, your body exhausted from all the emotions you had felt today.

It’s 11:35 pm. Yukimiya hadn’t shown up to your birthday party.

You reread your messages that you had sent him over the course of the party, each one of them still rather mild, but always just a slight bit tenser than the previous to indicate your worry. None of them have received a response. You’ve given him an extra three calls that went amiss and even left a voicemail with a tight, shaky voice to make him aware that it was okay for him to stay back and do his job… but just at the very least, let you know.

And yet, you still received no response.

The one person that you wanted to be there for your party had completely left you in the dark. You want to cry, merely due out of confusion and frustration, but you’re so tired you’re not sure you even have the energy to do so. They’ll just be saved for tomorrow, you think.

You feel selfish for feeling like this—you were still surrounded by people that were equally as excited to celebrate with you, new memories being made for tonight, but the bitter aftertaste of Yukimiya’s absence has yet to dissolve on your tongue. He was your best friend after all, so for him to not show up without warning, especially considering he had promised to do so, made your chest ache.

But you’re tired. Your eyes are heavy with sleep. You figure that your questions will be answered tomorrow.

You shuffle yourself into the duvet of your bed, ready to completely knock out and recharge yourself from the happenings of today, when suddenly—your doorbell rings.

With nerves electrifying, and your body shoots up at the sudden sound singing in your apartment at the odd hour. You pause, just simply staying in bed for a bit, before the doorbell rings again—twice this time, almost desperate.

Caution prevails within you and you’re nothing less than suspicious as you creep outside your bedroom and into the main room of your apartment where the entrance is. It’s damn near midnight, and you’re not expecting anyone to arrive at this hour other than sinister things.

The doorbell rings again, the chime tolling almost hauntingly so. The person outside is stubborn, whoever they are, and they don’t seem to be leaving soon unless they get a response. You tiptoe towards the entrance as softly as possible, avoiding the creakier parts of the floorboard to make your presence known.

The rapid knock the outsider raps against your door makes you nearly shriek with fright when you’re just about to peer your eye into the peephole, the sudden sound making you paralyzed in your position, but a familiar voice suddenly melts away at your frozen limbs.

Yukimiya’s voice calls out your name from the other side.

“I-It’s Kenyu! Can you open up, please?”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you open the door, your desperation to see him overtaking your common sense. The door swings open and Yukimiya reveals himself in a rather disheveled manner. His hazelnut hair is messy, stressed strands straying over. There’s a light mist of sweat on his forehead, and his clothes are wrinkled. He’s even panting.

But in his arms are a large bouquet of neatly arranged flowers, two gift bags stuffed to the brim with wrapping paper of your favorite color, and a small cake in a clear plastic container that he somehow hasn't messed up in the slightest despite all the items he’s carrying.

All of them are a visible display of effort in his typical Yukimiya-esque fashion.

You take a step back a bit, still startled.

“Kenyu,” you start dryly, “w-what is—”

“I’m sorry,” he splutters, chest still heaving. “I’m… I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to bail on you. I swear to God, I didn’t—but the team was being inefficient, they were holding me kinda hostage, m-my messages weren’t sending—”

At his last words, your eyes widen, the heaviness in them dissipating.

“—then my train got delayed and I tried to take a cab, but there was traffic, and then I couldn’t find a bakery that was open this hour for the cake, and then—”

“Kenyu,” you say softly, cutting through his rambling with a gentle cease. Yukimiya blinks, pausing and looking at you wondrously.

You take a step back, welcoming him in. “Come inside, first.”

You find that there have been a plethora of obstacles that Yukimiya had to go through to get to you today as he sets down his many gifts, one of them being that the building the shoot was in had terrible service proven by the mass amount of texts he had tried to send you hours earlier. You find your gaze softening at his waterfall of unsent replies as you scroll, the ache in your heart fixing itself up as the reality of the situation settles in.

“They got so mad when I left,” he weakly chuckles when you return his phone back to him. “There goes that gig, I guess. My manager’s gonna be so pissed.”

Time stops for a bit.

“Wait, what?” you shake your head, looking up at him with widened eyes. “You didn’t finish the shoot?”

Yukimiya, still with a grin on his lips, shakes his head. Your jaw nearly unhinges itself at the shock, and you scramble to say something but he beats you to it, pressing a finger to your lips.

“I know what you’re going to say. Something about a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” he says. “But… I swore to you I’d be here for your birthday, and my promise to you goes deeper than the one with my agency.”

His words cease your own attempt to rise up in your throat, succumbing you to a stunned silence as he tenderly places the candles on the small cake. You can only watch as he strikes a match, gently lighting up the wicks of the candles that gleam brightly amidst the dim glow of your kitchen light.

Years ago, when he had gotten upgraded to a professional entertainment agency from his modelling one, you had nervously explained to him over one dinner that you were scared that he might drift away from you as he climbed the stairs of stardom. You and him were best friends after all, and had stuck by each others’ sides for years on end, and you figured that there would be no point in your life that you would imagine yourself without him—the very image of it frightened you.

But Yukimiya had sworn to you, your pinkies intertwined as he wiped away some tears, that there’d be no lifetime where he’d leave you behind. That regardless of what happens, he’ll make sure you’re still there with him. He’s still there with you.

He holds the cake up to you, admiring how the marigold from the candles glimmers on your face as you stare at the cake.

Yukimiya turns to the microwave’s clock, a soft smile on his lips as he reads the time.

It’s freshly 11:59 pm, and Yukimiya is now here with you on your birthday with less than a minute to spare.

“We’ve still got some time,” he murmurs tenderly, fondness in his eyes that illuminate from the candles. “Happy birthday. Make a wish.”

Your eyes close, veiling you from the way that Yukimiya looks at you so dearly from across, taking the time to admire all your best features. He mouths a specific eight-letter word silently to you just before your eyes open again, his hushed proclamation to you kept hidden for himself—just until he’s ready to announce it to you, full and true.

You take a deep breath… and blow the candles out. Just five seconds shy of midnight.

It’s a few years later; you’re both older and wiser. Your lives are still just as intertwined as they had been, unwilling to untangle themselves anytime soon, even with your differences. Your career has flourished kindly, and Yukimiya’s own has just started to peak after his hit drama.

And yet, despite all the ads you’ve passed by of him modelling, despite all the headlines that shine his name proudly, despite all the articles about him being a rising star… he’s still here for you, with you.

And he always will be.

a/n : thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are the best way to support creators you enjoy, and leaving one will always be noticed and appreciated ♡ !!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock angst #bllk x reader #blue lock smut #yukimiya kenyu #yukimiya kenyu x reader #yukimiya x reader #yukimiya x you #yukimiya kenyu fluff #❃ ; aliken #this is a part of my self ship and im not sorry lol #✍︎ ; alice in writingland

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noodle-is-unstable · 7 months ago

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I'm so sad you got nuked like wtf?? you did NOT deserve that 💯💯 but I did have a request, I was wondering if maybe you could do a smau where reader is/becomes a curse/curse user?? I don't know if that's possible but I've always been interested in that trope haha!

It's life, sometimes you need a reset even if you didn't want it lol. but I LOVE this idea so lets go!

The JJK Characters when you become a curse user (Ended Relationship)

Ft ~ Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Toji Fushiguro, Ryoumen Sukuna, Choso, Takuma Ino, Shiu Kong, Uraume, Shoko Ieiri, Mahito, Kenjaku Synopsis ~ You are becoming/are a curse user, the JJK Characters react. (General leaving their side for Toji, Sukuna, Shiu, Uraume, Mahito and Kenjaku) Content Warning ~ 18+, Crack is present, Suggestive, Language, there is a LOT of Angst, no real Fluff. I'm autistic IDK There will NOT be a part 2...suffer in the angst

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k-ast · 8 months ago

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how tartaglia reacts when you're drunk and don't recognize him

tartaglia x gn!reader

part 2 is now here

sfw, drunk reader, angst, some fluff, reader has been hurt in prev relationships

A/N: i don't usually post stuff like this hehe, idk what changed my mind to!! hope you enjoy🤭

You had told him if you didn't come home before 2, he should probably come pick you up.

"Hey, you're here!" Hu Tao beams at Tartaglia.

"Thanks for watching them," he grins and gestures to you sitting at the counter.

"Yeah, dude, of course."

Tartaglia stares at you for a little while. He still can't get over how pretty you are, the curve of your nose, the ways your eyes kiss in the corners. Your hair looks surprisingly neat for someone who's drunk. Your expression is distant, finger trailing along the edge of the glass. You seem to be drinking vodka? He thought you didn't like vodka.

Sliding an arm around your shoulders, he leans to whisper in your ear, "Hey, pretty, you ready to go?"

You leap back into the present.

Looking puzzled, you push his arm off of you, saying, "Please don't call me that."

He blinks, a ghost of a smile still on his face. "Haha... what?"

Their faces mirror each other in confusion.

"I'm not going home with you, I have a boyfriend," you say, turning back to the half filled glass.

It clicks in Tartgalia's head, and a teasing grin forms. "A boyfriend, huh? Can I fight him for you?"

"You'd lose," you reply flatly, deadpan.

Dropping himself into the seat next to you and propping up his cheek, he says, "Tell me about this boyfriend of yours."

He watches his lover's expression brighten, like you forgot the entire exchange that just happened.

"Oh, he's the sweetest," you gush immediately. "And he makes me laugh so much, and he's so lively and good with people, but he's so hardworking and stubborn and, ugh, he's so beautiful. How is it possible to be so beautiful?"

His heart is about to explode all over Hu Tao's kitchen counter. His mind can't believe it, he's the reason your face is a beautiful, dreamy, rambling mess.

And you're not done. "I don't deserve him," you say, "I wish I could do something for him, but he always says I don't have to."

Because you don't have to, my dove, Tartaglia thinks. You're doing more than enough already.

Your expression suddenly snaps. "Shit. I'm a terrible person. I need to go home."

Tartaglia snaps out of his own trance in alarm. "Why?"

"He's at home now, and I'm out here getting wasted." You rub your face and search for your bag and phone.

"Woah, hey, you're drunk," he holds you by the shoulders, "I'm taking you home."

"Just because you're literally gorgeous doesn't mean you get to touch and take home random people!" You smack his hands off of you, again. Tartaglia's not sure if he should cry or laugh.

You cover your mouth in surprise at your own words. "Holy fuck, I'm a terrible person," you whisper. "Am I allowed to call someone who isn't my boyfriend gorgeous?"

He's convinced alcohol makes your brain overthink twice as fast as it usually does.

He also thinks it's a dumb question. Have I given them the impression they can't speak their mind?

He thinks it's okay. "Of course you are," he tells you instead, frowning. "He's not a good boyfriend if you have to be allowed to do something."

"No, he's a great boyfriend!" you say instantly. "I just-" You cut yourself off with a sigh and chew on your fingernail. There's a loud thumping in his heart as he waits for you to continue.

"I never know about these things," you say finally. "I feel like he never really tells me how he truly feels. I don't know if there's something I do that actually bothers him. And I'm..." You rub your nose bridge. "I'm scared to ask."

Tartaglia is quiet for a long moment. What he has cleverly deduced from this is that his lover is scared of him. All pride he'd felt earlier from making you swoon is now replaced by a sick feeling of self hatred.

"Maybe there's just nothing you do that really bothers him," he suggests softly, trying to lighten the mood.

Your expression turns glum. Fuck, was that the wrong thing to say? He mentally kicks himself.

"That can't be right," you sigh. "When I have nightmares, he always wakes up to comfort me. I'm pretty sure that pisses him off. And he always says it's okay too, but-" you blink rapidly, like blinking away tears. Tag winces.

"But then he... he takes longer in the shower, adds more caffeine to his coffee. And- and he'll eat less of the breakfast I make him."

"Oh," he says smartly, running out of things to say. He should've paid more attention to the little things, knowing that of course you would.

You shake your head and squeeze your slightly glassy eyes shut. After mumbling to yourself, "stop oversharing to strangers" twice, you put the cork back in the vodka bottle and set your glass in Hu's sink after pouring it down the drain.

"Anyway," you turn to him when you're done, "goodnight, I guess. Thanks for listening?"

"I'll walk you home," he offers again, softly.

You hesitate. Of course you hesitate.

"You're drunk," he reminds you. "I'm sure your boyfriend won't mind as long as you get home safe."

You give in. You let him put his coat around your shoulders, but you don't put your hands through the sleeves.

Halfway home, you just stop walking.

"Love?" Tag tilts his head at you. "Darling, what's wrong?"

You blink a few times. "Tartaglia?"

He grins. "Yes, hi. You recognize me now?"

You blink again. Then a smile starts to spread, and you forget the reason for your daze. You put your arms into the sleeves of his coat. "Yes," you say sheepishly. "Hey, you."

A hand is held out for him to hold.

Their talk can wait for next morning.

sorry if tartaglia is a little ooc! thank you for reading 🫶 might post a part two where he comforts you about it?

#tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #childe x reader #childe x you #tartaglia #genshin angst #x reader

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mygnolia · 8 months ago

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LOVE ON A FRESH SLATE ༄ TEASER

༄ SYNOPSIS -› Sim Jaeyun might not have many critically acclaimed films in his IMBD, but if there’s something to change that, it’s his upcoming film, ‘diving in love,’ a fresh summer romance that’s caught the attention of everyone on the internet. The only problem is, no one believes the chemistry will be up to rom-com standards. Maybe he’ll save his career by fake dating his cold-hearted co-star, aka you, to sell it?

༄ PAIR -› actor!sim jaeyun x fem actress!reader

༄ GENRE -› fluff, banter, angst, comfort ༄ TROPES -› enemies to lovers, heavy on the fake dating (i LOVE fake dating) ༄ WC -› estimated 15-20k idk lolz

༄ INCLUDES -› will be added!

༄ RELEASE DATE -› november!

༄ REN SAYS... me when summer also haha get it slate cuz they're actors but also it's e2l so misunderstandings heheheh am i funny (im not) | LIBRARY

join the taglist for this fic!

“You’re going to tell me you signed me up for the cult of Scientology, I assume,” You introduce yourself, shaking hands with the man next to Sunoo.

Once again, there is just one empty seat before Jake Sim walks in, out of breath. “Jungwon, please don’t tell me–” He notices you after he barges in, taking in your poised manner as you wait for him to continue. But he doesn’t. The words die on his tongue when he sees you and the same manager from last week's meeting.

“Please don’t tell me what?” Jungwon asks, raising an eyebrow as Jake sinks into the only chair left. The latter shakes his head, not wanting to elaborate any further.

Sunoo sits up, putting his hands together after he finishes the last sip of his drink. “Open up the files, ____.” He motions to the manila folder on the table, and with much confusion, you peel back the cover to find a neat stack of black and white articles.

Jungwon, who you can only assume is Jake’s manager, gets Jake to lean in and read what’s on the pages. “This,” he starts, spreading out the rest of the articles, “is every article in the past week with a negative outlook on whether or not the film will be up to par with the standards of the 2000’s.”

You scoff, eyes trailing over an article with your face as the cover. “Really? People hate me that much?” Your dry humor really only resonates with Sunoo, who sends you a look before trying to organize the flurry of papers.

“I doubt they’ll keep going,” Jake tries, fidgeting with his ring. Maybe his second rich person problem was figuring out how to get the media to like him again if the movie turns into a failure and he has to scour for another source of income.

“Unless I solve world hunger, I doubt the media will turn away from the wine scandal any time soon.” Jake considers dropping out and cutting his losses early with the way you comment on your impending future.

Jake’s manager shakes his head, closing the manila folder and essentially blocking it out before coming up with the worst possible plan in existence.

“You two can fake date. Then, no one will question your chemistry, because they’ll think you’re in love.”

There were only so many things you refused to do in your lifetime, but fake dating your co-star made it to the top of your list in record time.

You shook your head. “Absolutely not.” At least Jake could agree with one thing you said.

The silence almost turns awkward before Sunoo speaks up in agreement, ignoring you. “I like it, it’ll give them a chance to pretend to bond more. Plus, they’re both young and attractive, and Jake is a change of pace from all of her shitty ex-boyfriends.” If Jake still wanted to jump off a building after hearing their proposition, you’d unknowingly want to join him.

You cough in your arm, hiding the embarrassment of his last comment before nodding to look at the actor. “You think just because I’m dating someone, it’ll make the movie more watchable?”

Sunoo rolls his eyes. “I’d much rather watch a rom-com if it was confirmed that the actors found love on set. It’s a good story.”

Jungwon interjects. “Good publicity.”

The actor beside you finally speaks up. “And you want to start this arrangement…when?”

“As soon as possible,” your manager answers, and his response might be some of the worst news you’ve heard in a while. “Hear me out, ‘____ ____ and Jake Sim falling in love the moment they’re casted. It’s fate. They’ve been in love since the beginning. I have to see it, their chemistry will be so good.’ ”

Before you nor Jake are able to come up with a rebuttal, Jungwon adds, “I know both of you can act, and even despite this fake relationship, the movie will be good. But if you can get away from the negative thoughts surrounding the film’s pre-release, it’ll generate so much more hype around it.”

“Better for your conscience, ____. You don’t need angry Sunghoon fans sending you anymore death threats.” If Sunoo kept airing out your problems like that, you’d drag him out by the ear without any fake boyfriend in tow.

You really think about it, questioning if one PR stunt could get you out of the nepo baby ditch you’ve been trying to fight for years; it wasn’t even that you were bad at your job, your mother just never had anything nice to say to anyone. If anything, she was Hollywood’s actual mean girl.

“Fine.” You agree begrudgingly.

Jake on the other hand has no idea what he’s getting out of this. How does fake-dating a girl he’s never liked help his reputation at all?

Maybe it’s because he couldn’t find an answer to it, or maybe Jake was comfortable enough asking something so brash in public. “What the hell do I get out of it?”

You lean back in surprise, not used to hearing him so flustered by something. It was all your fault, Jake thinks as he once again pulls at his hair.

The room is silent as everyone’s gears turn. Jake puts his hands on both sides of the armchair, about to get up and pretend this failure of a ruse ever existed. “If there’s nothing, I’m-”

“Wait,” you cut him off, eyes still fixed on something as you think. It’s good for you, and mainly you. Jake has a good reputation, people love natural chemistry and love a cute couple even more, and your name would be in summer-y titles for the next two months if your scheme worked out. But him?

What could Jake Sim possibly want?

“You want money? Connections? An interview with Justin Beiber?” You try, spewing what every boy would want when they were 13.

Somehow, his head perks up when he hears his favorite celebrity’s name from your lips.

“You could do that?” He asks, bewildered.

“I thought you hated me for having a famous mom.” He stays silent.

“Look, you’re up and coming. If this movie does well, I’ll send a letter to the top producers in the industry and tell them about how stunning of a performance you gave.”

It’s a deal that’s extremely hard to pass on–hell, he’s literally getting paid to act in the movie anyways, so it’s not like he loses much if he says yes. But you’re snarky, and although you’re not outright rude, you never seem to be excited for anything, and Jake has no idea why the mood is so sour when he’s with you.

Whatever, it’s not like it’s real, anyways.

Jake shrugs and pinches his nose bridge momentarily before sighing. “Where do I sign?”

You thought that Jake had been oblivious to the whole thing as much as you were, but it seems like he knew about a hidden contract. Jungwon fishes out a crisp white sheet of paper from his bag. “You know me so well, and I didn’t even tell you anything,” and his response has you thinking that maybe the actor just knows his manager well.

Suddenly, the next year of your love life is signed and tucked away into two identical copies for Jungwon and Sunoo, before the two shake hands and smile. “I’m excited for how things will go,” your manager comments before you two leave.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you let out a long exhale, suddenly finding interest in your manicure.

“You’re annoying, Sunoo. But I don’t doubt you.”

The boy smiles and links arms with you, walking to the entrance of the studio building before you both catch wind of the paparazzi.

A swarm of reporters and cameras catch your casual outfit and sunglasses when you emerge with your manager behind you. Questions bombard you, and you hear amongst the commotion a few reporters who are desperate for their next article to feature you. ‘Is it true that you’ve hated Sunghoon for years?’ ‘What do you have to say about your new film?’ ‘Do you have anything to say about Jake Sim?’

You pause momentarily on the way to your car, reconsidering if you should answer any question. “Me and Sunghoon have never had a disagreement, and I know he appreciated the Prada we sent him a few weeks ago.” Smiling at the memory, you choose to answer a few more questions before you have to go. “As for the new film? I’m fairly excited. Me and my boyfriend are more than ready to be filmed together."

The gasps from the crowd leave you content as you slip into your car with Sunoo. “But don’t tell anyone I’m dating!” You yell out for good measure, knowing that by morning, everything will have changed.

also join my permanent taglist for more fics/teasers!

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bomiten · 4 months ago

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best friend (I think?) ༉‧₊˚.

#%! social media au #%! maeda riku x female reader

featuring .ᐟ diana g. (@ dinkkrew) as yn, kim daniel (@ kyuded) as yn's brother, aespa, newjeans, nct dream

synopsis .ᐟ it's normal for friends to flirt with one another right? It's the heart of true friendship! And it's totally normal to feel outrageously jealous when your best friend flirts with other people. haha, totally. at least that's what riku tells himself. he can't possibly be in love with his bff. right?

when playful flirtations between two best friends start to blur the lines between affection and something deeper, one of them is forced to confront a truth they’ve long ignored: is it really just friendship, or is there something more? as jealousy creeps in and emotions spiral, they must navigate the complicated territory of love, loyalty, and the fear of losing what they’ve always had.

content warning .ᐟ crack, angst, fluff, mild smut, heavy profanities, kys/kms jokes, mature and nsfw themes, smoking and substance use, ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 means chapter includes written parts

author's note .ᐟ riku in denial and a slight narcissist made into an smau! please make sure to read over the content warnings bc they matter a lot in this au 😖 sporadic updates! feel free to comment your @ or send an ask on my inbox to be added on the taglist!

ᯓ ʚɞ started....ᐟ 250102 ᯓ ʚɞ updated....ᐟ 250318

ongoing .ᐟ taglist still open ⌗

i. PROFILES .ᐟ

ᯓ chapter 00 ! labour slaves ᯓ chapter 00 ! pookie wookies

ii. CHAPTERS .ᐟ

ᯓ chapter 01 ! ok sidehoe ᯓ chapter 02 ! i think ure a slut ᯓ chapter 03 ! ouh sion done fucked up ... ᯓ chapter 04 ! ryo im going to split you in half

taglists .ᐟ @cigsaftersuh @222brainrot @sngj08 @fae-renjun @saranghoeforanton @thirteentheangel @taroddori @i03jae @i-kai @snowyseungs @jaeyuuns @jvngw0nlvr @sunghoonsgfreal @nemonemoz @imsosoheee @secretvivii @ballsa402 @buns-inhiding @planetmarlowe

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ bomiten #best friend (I think?) ༉‧₊˚.#smau #nct wish #nct wish smau #nct wish x reader #female reader #nct wish imagines #nct wish riku #maeda riku #riku x reader #riku x female reader #maeda riku smau #maeda riku x reader

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pellucid-constellations · 9 months ago

Note

Hello, absolutely love your writing - Drabble

Something based on time traveler’s husband, but the reader is the time traveler and she can end up in bad places or beautiful places (you choose), Azriel all worried maybe, fluff and angst?

Sounds kinda long for a drabble, i don’t know haha 🤍

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: Angst, references to trauma

a/n: Hi! :) I made this sooooo angsty lol oopsie

Masterlist♡

____________________________________________

Never in Azriel’s life did he think it would come to this.

He held you against his chest as sobs wracked your body, your fingers gripping his leathers with so much force he was surprised the material didn’t rip.

It had been a long one this time.

Three weeks ago, you were sitting with him on a bench by the Sidra, a small bag of feed in your lap as you spread it out for the animals along the water. He had looked away, only for a moment, but when he turned back the feed was emptying on the ground and your body was gone—lost to a time and place he would not know of until you returned.

Only, you did not return as you usually did.

Most of the time, you were gone for a few hours, days at most. Azriel would spend the entire unspecified allotment with a pit in his chest and an inability to swallow, too inundated by preemptive grief and fear that eating and drinking and breathing felt impossible. But slowly, after being mated for some years, the time became more expected, more manageable. You would return exhausted but safe, and Azriel would give you a day before expecting a story.

But this time, this time, you appeared before him as you always did—your home base, you had called him—and you collapsed into a heap of tears and gasped sobs.

Azriel had tried to parse out what was wrong. He had started with words—simple, easy-to-understand questions, but when it became clear that you weren’t even aware that he was speaking, he moved to touch. He pressed his hands along your back and hair, trailed his lips across your cheeks and dried the dampness there with his fingers. He held you, gods did he hold you, because you were in front of him and alive and every day felt as if that truth would be ripped from him.

But you still cried.

You cried to the point that Azriel was sure your head ached.

“What about Rhysand?” Azirel stressed, eventually resorting to anything else that could help you. “Cassian? Mor? Who would help, angel?”

Your cries mellowed some, but they were still awful, painful hiccuping breaths that tore a hole in Azriel’s heart. He collected your face in his hands and held you there, a panic in his gaze as he stared at your swollen eyes—at the redness that he had missed when you first fell into his arms. It looked inflicted and unnatural on your face.

“Are you hurt?” he asked. “Where did you go, my love? Tell me.”

You turned in his grip, eyes brushing over his fingers as they rubbed soothing lines into your face, and then you cried harder.

It was all Azriel could do to hold you against him.

When another sound started to leave your lips, Azriel strained his ears to catch it. Over and over. A repetitive loop that he could not make sense of. He leaned you away from his chest and the words became clear.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Azriel. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

“My darling, what?” he begged, shaking his head along with his words. “My love, darling, please. What could you possibly be sorry for? Where did you go?”

You took in a harrowing, shaking breath. “It took me there. To that time.”

It, you always called it, because you never got to choose what point in time you went to. Something else dragged you along at its whim, and that was why the act always filled Azriel with so much dread. He had feared this—whatever you had seen to render you so inconsolable.

“To where?” he all but whispered, afraid that you would lose yourself again.

“Your hands, Azriel. For weeks I watched—” Azriel stared back in horror as you clutched at the material of your shirt as if it burned. “I watched and I—I couldn’t do anything. You were so small and I screamed and fought but there was nothing I could do.”

Something in Azriel fractured that he never thought would heal.

Before him, his mate grieved a past he hoped would never fully be revealed. You lived through it and were made to watch, whatever power that sent you away cruel and vicious and unrighteous. A lick of anger flamed through him, but something stopped him from feeling it fully.

“No,” you breathed out, staring down at your arms. “No, Azriel, I can’t go. I can’t—not right now.”

Your fingers and hands and arms slowly morphed into a hazy glare, and Azriel stared down at them with as much desperation as you did. He reached for you, but his touch went through your limbs and he had to catch himself on the floor beside you.

There was nothing he could do—absolutely nothing. He and Rhysand had enlisted the help of the Day Court not too long ago, and the entire curse-breaking legion hadn’t found a way to keep you from this fate.

So, Azriel knew what came next.

He knew that this broken rendition of his mate was fading and he didn’t have the time to pick up the pieces.

His breath came out in fast puffs as he gathered you into his arms and spoke low by your ear. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be right here when you get back. I’ll wait right here and you’ll be back so soon, okay?”

You nodded against his shoulder, but Azriel felt the tension in your body as you went to speak. “Okay, yes. You’ll be here.”

“I’ll be right here, my love. I’m safe here. You’re safe and you’ll come home. I love you. So much.

“I love you—”

Azriel’s arms dropped.

You were gone.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x female!reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel fanfiction #drabble

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captain-joongz · 2 months ago

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Prove your heart; Dragonheart ch.3

Pairing: OT7 dragon!BTS x knightess!reader

Genre: dragon rider AU, high fantasy, soulmate adjacent, slight enemies to lovers (if you squint), angst, fluff and humour, eventual smut

Chapter summary: The ceremony happens, and since then it just seems like one crisis after another. How much can one human possibly bear?

Word count: cca 26.7k words

Warnings: angsttttt, i'd say near death experience adjacent, drowning, violence, huge emotional turmoil, some hostility and mistrust, the emperor being a weirdo, forced proximity kinda??, i hope that's all

Series masterlist | Previous Part | Next part

Lore | Dictionary | Character studies

A/N: welcome!! it's been a while, i know, but i bring a whole new beast of a chapter! this just kept getting longer and longer haha, hope you enjoy <3 pace is about to pick up from here on out!

If Jungkook wasn’t nervously fidgeting right beside me, I’d feel a lot more embarrassed for the way my fingers endlessly toyed with the silk fabric of my uniform, stretching and smoothing it out, shifting the belt around or righting the jade beads as they swung about my hip. I felt the wild thrum of my heartbeat in my ribcage, the palms of my hands growing clammy as the distant buzz of a banquet roared in the background.

I looked to the young dragon again, and for all his nerves and shifting from foot to foot, the moment he sensed my eyes on him he smiled wide, warmness around him that calmed me a little.

The room behind the wall quietened before a loud chorus of “greetings to our empire” sounded through so fiercely I almost felt the ground shake with the echo. My heart slowed before jumping up into even a faster beat, and I locked my knees to keep me standing upright.

The emperor has arrived. The ritual would soon begin.

The murmurs of other first-years and their chosen bonds caught up to me and I was suddenly aware of Hwa-young’s cheery voice and the quiet rumble of her dragoness Yong, an answering giggle from Siwoo who came in with a tall muscled dragon that didn’t speak much, but had a gentle aura around him. The other three stood a little away from us, stone-faced and firm, their own chosen dragons standing next to them stiffly.

For all of them, life would change tonight, with the ceremony taking place.

The few days before went by almost a little too quickly, almost like it was merely hours since I left the dragons’ house after sitting through an awkward and chillingly quiet meal, the unfriendly gazes drilling into me every time I chose to speak or to stay silent, as if I could never make the right choice. Jungkook either felt oblivious to the tension or naively thought it would pass, because he never floundered by my side, channelling warm energy almost as if pretending everything was okay between the eight of us. As if I wasn’t sitting right next to him, wishing I was anywhere else. Or anyone else.

Maybe it wouldn’t make it a smooth ride, but it would definitely be easier.

The thunder has been quiet, keeping out of our way when I arrived to the banquet hall, but knowing they were present put even more stress onto my shoulders, and I tried to not dig too deeply into how they must be feeling and what they possibly thought of this. Actually, I might even take a page from their book and avoid looking to them all-together, lest I buckle under the strength of the dislike displayed there.

The rush of noise from the hall signalled that the emperor has most likely just finished whatever dreary nonsense he was going on about. From what I remembered from the ceremonies I witnessed before, now they would feast and wait for us to get ready for the ritual.

The bonding ceremony had to take place under the naked sky, on a full moon when there was a spike in the natural magickal energy in the air. Dragons, as beings of nature, drew their life-force and their magick from their connection to such phenomena – whether lunar or solar, whether sea or winds, those forces could be harnessed and turned to their own.

Bonding occurrences, whether platonic or romantic, often took place during such important spikes in the natural flow of energy and this one was no exception – even though now it happened under the imperial supervision and not as organically as it used to, with only the elders and Authorities around to bless the union.

There was a sanctuary for these occurrences, it was built as soon as the need for empire sanctioned bondings arose – it was a little roofless gazebo, all white stone and spindly spires covered in carved vines and blooms, as white and cold as the stone, with a little altar right at the centre. It stood right at the edge of the black cliff in one corner of the royal gardens, hanging over the wild sea beneath the castle and overlooking the dark horizon, almost as an omen more than a sacred place.

I wasn’t very well versed in the old dragon lore, and humans weren’t privy to information about such intimate rituals, therefore I didn’t have much of an idea about how the old ceremony used to look like, though I was pretty sure it wasn’t as pompous or procedural as it was today.

Mating bonds were a whole another thing, and those involved much more… intimate affairs, though by the logic we knew of old dragon rituals, even those took place out in the nature, where the moon or the sun could grace the union with its light.

A thunderous clap broke me out of my zoning out just as someone was tugging on my uniform, pulling me away from the little corner where I was having my little spiral.

Hwa-young’s smile appeared light, though I could see the slight strain on her face. Her own nerves must have been eating her from the inside, the weight of carrying a forbidden surname and yet participating in such a public display was no ordinary feat. Yet, she carried herself no less cheerful, and I had to admire the strength of her spirit for that. In my own little awkward gesture of support I patted her shoulder lightly. Her smile melted slightly, showing a tad more relief, and then she was off towards her dragoness friend.

Wordlessly I followed after her, feeling Jungkook trailing behind me just from the sheer aura he exuded. We had a very different path to follow – whereas the emperor and the attendees dined and drank wine before slowly making their way over to the ceremonial place, we had to cleanse ourselves before the bonding.

When I walked out the little side-room, a woman was standing there. I recognised her immediately upon seeing her face, and how could I not – when she was one of the most recognisable faces of this unit, and one of the most vocal supporters of the empire (though you really couldn’t be anything else, if you wanted to be of high standing). Or at least she appeared so – I highly doubted my father truly cared for the empire or the man running it either, but the violence served his own goals too well not to keep his cushy place at the top.

At the castle one never knew whether they spoke to someone opportunistic or just truly brain-washed – that’s why I hated it here so much. It all felt like one never-ending charade.

General Yan was truly no different. It was hard to see what she thought and what opinions she truly held, but everyone knew of the appetite for blood this woman held. And her dragoness was just as brutal.

Their cruelty was a tale that spread far and wide, and drew distaste even from other supporters of the emperor who found them needlessly barbaric. I myself was a witness to how other lords and madams reacted to their savagery and boundless support of any war.

As long as they could slaughter indiscriminately, they were in favour. The emperor loved her, in a way a cruel master does a particularly rabid dog.

Now standing face to face with her, with her attention drawn to us as her new disciples, I got the chance to take a proper look at her.

She was an older woman, maybe in her late fifties – I imagined she must have been around the same age as my father, maybe they could have even attended the Academy in the same year (it would certainly explain their strong dislike of each other). Her hair was very dark grey, as if the black pigment simply refused to give in to time. She was also quite small and a little stout, though her muscle and strength were visible.

Tonight she stood in front of us without her dragoness, but she was no doubt at the banquet drinking with others and waiting for the ceremony to happen.

The general didn’t speak for quite a while, only looked down on us, even with us all taller than her, her appraising gaze sharp and judging. I saw a spark of true joy as she took in Peacock, and I knew those two would simply love each other. They had the disposition for each other.

“Follow me,” were her first words, her voice brittle and cold, and then she was walking away without a single glance back.

I let the other five pairs go first, wanting to put distance between me and the woman, and not wanting to get myself into the way of some other more ambitious students eager to win her approval as soon out of the gates as possible. Though minutely I did wonder how exactly my father planned on pushing me through when the very woman who led this unit seemed to be affiliated with his opposition.

That would be amusing to watch yet.

Jungkook kept quiet by my side, which was somewhat unusual for him, but I couldn’t blame him, not with the oppressive aura that hung over us. He too must have been out of his element here, with his age, getting his first rider, and with his hyungs all away from him in another room, this was as unknown to him as it was to us. Though I imagined he probably got the rundown of the ritual from his other more experienced mates, unlike me.

All I knew was that my body and soul would come out different, connected to my dragon in a way that would make me a little more than simply human. Altered senses, heightened perception and the ability to speak telepathically with your dragon were some I was sure of, but the full extent, the full scope – that continued to escape me.

We walked in silence for a little while, climbing down staircases lower and lower until smooth bricks turned into hard black stone only roughly chiselled into shapes of walls. I’ve never been this deep into the castle, but seeing all that dark and damp, it wasn’t much to desire.

The room where we were led ended up being a high-ceilinged cave-like space with a single stone basin filled to the brim with water. The floor was smoothed over, carved into the resemblance of stone tiles, and the basin stood perfectly in the middle, a few steps above the room.

To my surprise, the general’s dragoness stood there next to it, expressionless but every bit regal and proud, as always.

Ha-rin was one of the dragons that found joy and purpose in serving the empire – after all, every race had their fair share of bloodthirsty and cruel beasts, and dragons were no exception. She was a born warrior, and her poisonous smoke and acidic vomit made her a formidable and nigh unbeatable force. She was one of those dragons that posed considerable risk even to her own kin, which made her just as power-hungry and conceited as humans could get, which in turn served to raise her higher and higher until she climbed to the very top of the dragon food chain.

I imagined that had she been free, she’d have most probably gone against her own brothers and sisters anyway. She’d have probably gone against anyone, to be perfectly honest. She just had that feel about her.

I wondered how such a prideful woman wasn’t torn up about being a slave to a lesser being like humans were (in some dragons’ eyes anyway). Those two must have been incredibly in sync for this to not have been a problem.

General Yan swiftly walked up those few marble stairs and stood next to her partner, both of them standing by the stone basin filled to the brim. We naturally lined up underneath it, all silent and holding our breaths, waiting for the woman to start addressing us, to give us instructions.

Her eyes once again slid across all of us, cold stare taking us in and calculating, wondering. Then she sighed, which didn’t seem very good.

“You are here to cleanse yourselves,” she spoke suddenly, gesturing towards the water, “these waters are blessed by the High Priest, and with his blessing comes the blessing of the Moon herself.”

The water sparkled as if littered with countless tiny stars, one moment deep blue, one moment black, one moment almost silver, ever changing and never the same – and my treacherous mind escaped to Jimin, to his slick hair and his face littered with silvery shimmering scales, the way his movements were as fluid and smooth as the surface of the blessed water when disturbed by the general’s hands. As the sight transfixed me, I could almost see the elegant swing of his arms and hands, the shimmer of his smooth golden skin- I wondered if I’d ever be able to see the graceful arch of his all-powerful wings.

“Once cleansed, you will don ceremonial robes and the time will come to go take the vows,” her sharp voice broke me out of the sudden forbidden turn I took, and with a bit of a start I banished the thoughts of the dragon that had no business floating around my head from my mind.

Emperor’s ominous words from when he summoned me that morning to ask whether I was looking forward to the ceremony also still floated around my mind, the “things will change now for you” spoken in an almost mischievously teasing voice, until I could taste the appetite for suffering in him and shuddered.

First pair begun climbing the stairs towards the General. I felt Jungkook’s hand nervously sneaking in to clutch onto my sleeve.

I watched breathless as the dark-haired young man whose name I haven’t learnt yet reached the stone tub, and for the first time I saw his face turn with the evident traces of uncertainty and unease. The older woman gestured for him to kneel down with a swift movement of her two fingers, and as soon as he was chest level with the water, her hand slowly made its way into his dark suede hair. I only had a split second to register the way she gripped before his head was yanked down, pushed into the little basin chest deep.

There were several gasps of shock between us, but none dared to move, so we all just stood there and watched as he started to struggle, body jerking and arms wildly pushing at the stone, attempting to force his head back up.

The woman standing over him remained expressionless, but I saw the little pleased curl to her lips as she chided him to stay still.

“The less you struggle, the sooner it will be over,” her cold words rang another distinct pang of pure horror through our hearts, the statement just ambiguous and ominous enough to have any kind of meaning.

To the struggling boy it made no difference, she could have just as been speaking in tongues. His body struggled, jerked around with mighty force, but the older woman held stead-fast, not even breaking sweat over his frenzied movements.

As it kept going, slowly his resistance begun losing its strength, and with creeping dread I watched as his hands helplessly slipped around on the polished stone, wet with all the water splashing around. His fingers flexed on the rim, then unflexed again, and then slowly started going slack.

I chanced a look around and saw Hwa-young’s and Siwoo’s face painted with something very similar to what I felt. Jungkook seemed just as disturbed as well, clammy fingers slipping on the silk of my black sleeve. The other dragons watched on with a solemn kind of resolution, and I realised they had likely gone through this before, most probably even several times.

Peacock and the blonde man stood to the side, and this was the most relaxed I’d seen them since we walked into that little back-room and waited for the banquet to start, even though they kept their faces carefully in check.

Finally the hold the general had on the black-haired boy’s head slackened and his chest swung upwards, head fighting to break the surface and take in a long shuddering breath. His weakened form leaned on the stone, open mouth gaping to get in as much air as possible.

He didn’t get much time to catch his bearings though, as the general already gestured for his chosen dragoness to kneel, and with cold eyes pierced the man until he got the hint and moved away, making space for the other person.

I caught a glimpse of the basin as they changed positions, and to my surprise the water was once more filled to the brim, as if a person hasn’t almost drowned there just moments ago, the surface once more calm and almost inviting. If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost call the waters expecting.

Once the dragoness was in position, this time Ha-rin took it upon herself to ‘cleanse’ her, roughly gripping her hair and pushing her down with almost reckless abandon. I dreaded the moment she’d get a go at Jungkook, and by the nervous inhale by my side, the dragon was most likely thinking much the same.

Unlike her knight, the dragoness stayed perfectly still, only her hands tensing up into fists and unfurling again, knuckles white as her shoulders twitched with suppressing the survival instinct begging her to fight for some air.

Ha-rin pushed her around a little, her face pinched tight into a displeased frown – clearly disappointed there wasn’t more struggle, but it seemed that this dragoness has gone through this before. Her rider stood by and watched on with barely concealed terror written onto his red and still wet face, the darkness in his eyes reflecting just how shaken he was after his sudden brush with death.

Once the dragoness stayed stubbornly still and Ha-rin released her not long after, a sour expression on her face, it became quite clear that the earlier line about not struggling too much wasn’t for any ceremonial reasons – quite simply, if you didn’t struggle, it wasn’t fun for them.

I felt disgust coil around the tightly woven fear in my stomach, the unpleasant concoction of emotions making my hands tremble and shaking me through with uneven breaths.

The first duo was quickly sent off their way, the once cocky man now staring off onto the floor, eyes wild and unseeing. I saw the shakiness of his own hands, and I couldn’t blame him, even through the visceral dislike I held towards him.

The next two pairs were over in a flash it seemed – the blonde held steadily, though even he couldn’t stop himself from gripping the rim of the tub, as if to remind himself to give over easily and go with the motion of the waters as they splashed around him.

When it came to be Peacock’s turn, to all of our surprise, his head got barely held down, and he emerged cool and smirking, like this whole thing was barely an inconvenience to him. I held back my expression of pure repulsion, but thankfully Hwa-young didn’t feel the need to grant him such politeness, and the glare he got from her was enough to turn his face back to steel, though a note of self-assuredness stayed.

I filed the information away for later – one never knew when it could become useful, after all.

As soon as Peacock and his dragon were out of the way, Siwoo dutifully stepped up. Though he looked back towards us with fearful eyes, he held better than anyone yet, not even twitching under the pressure of the general’s hand, fingers balled into a fist and no doubt biting into the skin of his palms. I saw as she momentarily pushed harder, swaying the boy and dunking him further in, but he never broke.

When he emerged, it was with a glint of pride, and I had to respect him for the twitch of General’s face when she gazed upon him to send him away.

But then Hwa-young was next and the queasy feeling returned – because if she’d feel entitled to torture someone, it would be her. And I really didn’t want to witness that.

She climbed the stairs confident enough, and didn’t dignify the older woman with much anything – walked by quickly and knelt before the general had the chance to gesture for her – and I could see already Yan didn’t like that one bit.

Seeing Hwa get ‘cleansed’ was an actual ordeal of will and self-control. She tried her best to not panic, but it was obvious the moment she got submerged that the force of the hand surprised her and sent her into frenzy. I watched on as she desperately tried to keep her cool, but the longer she stayed, the more it took of her until her hands were desperately pushing against cold stone. Her back was tense and her knees locked on the hard ground, but she held on.

Just when I thought I couldn’t handle watching anymore, she was let go and emerged quickly, taking in quick loud breaths in between wracking coughs that sent her entire body jerking. And then Yong was there, holding a warm supporting hand to her shoulder and letting her lean onto her hip.

I felt myself untense as well, as soon as I saw how Hwa leant into the touch, how her muscles immediately gave up the fight for life and recognised safety again, leaving the girl hanging on limply and balancing on shaky beat-up knees.

She didn’t stand again for Yong’s turn, instead kneeling by the basin as well and watching how her dragoness took the humiliation with grace, holding so perfectly still you’d think she wasn’t even constricted under the water. It was obvious Ha-rin lost interest in her rather quickly and released her, and Yong broke the surface of the water like she was simply taking a shower, not even breaking the metaphorical sweat, and I marvelled at her briefly. And wondered – what exactly were Yong’s powers? Was this by chance related to them?

But then time for pondering was over, because Hwa was giving me an encouraging smile tinged with a taste of fear as she left the platform, and I felt the resolute tug of Jungkook setting on his way up the marble stairs.

Woodenly I followed after him, barely paying attention to anything else in the room except for the thrumming beat of my own heart. The walk up was terrifyingly short – the three steps were over in a flash, and before I knew I was faced with General Yan and her cruel smirk. She hasn’t looked this pleased until now, and a bad feeling sat into the pit of my stomach.

I knelt almost on instinct, after seeing the others do it so many times it just felt like the natural progression once I got to the top of the platform. I felt the tug on my sleeve as Jungkook’s fingers slipped free with my movement and he shifted to the side, but I knew his gaze was still firmly planted onto me.

I wanted to look towards him as well, but the calm waters welcomed me, the translucence drawing me in and overwhelming me with that strange eagerness, as if they couldn’t wait to have me choking on them and drowning in them. It sent a shiver through me and I instinctively tried to pull away, yet found myself frozen to the spot.

When rough fingers tangled into my hair, I almost startled at the suddenness, losing sight of the woman and not keeping up with her movements. I took a deep breath in just as the pain of someone yanking my hair spread through me and the world tilted, and then there was nothing but wet all-consuming darkness and a distinct lack of air.

It was hard to keep track of time down here, but I thought quite well of myself in those first few moments. I felt the need to fight and run rush through my body, felt my limbs jerk as the moment of panic took over, but then I willed myself calm and focused on counting the seconds.

But even as I desperately tried to keep count, the time slipped away and melted all into one long string, and when air started running out, suddenly everything felt both too slow and too fast, taking too long and going by too quickly, and I wanted to scream – scream out how it’s already been just as long as the others, that I deserved to get pulled out – but nothing but more darkness greeted me and for the first time I opened my eyes.

There was nothing to see in that dark cold basin – no light penetrated there, as if I was at the bottom of the ocean – and the water did kind of feel endless. It certainly was quite all-encompassing, in a way that left my throat tight with panic as its needy little fingers tried to pry my lips apart to steal the last of the air I had in my lungs.

The realisation that I ran out of breath kicked me like a horse, and I jerked – fully jerked, with my whole body, even as I tried to rationalise that I’d be pulled out soon.

Just as the thought managed to calm my beating heart slightly, I felt the yank on my hair dragging my head up. Filling my heart with hope. Right before I got plunged even deeper, until I felt the edge of the stone tub cutting into my ribs painfully. That was when panic truly took over.

I pushed against the hand, but felt it flex as its grip hardened, and fighting against it was almost like trying to break a wall with your bare hands. Blindly and in panic I felt along the smooth stone, trying to find anything to hold on to so that I could get a bit of leverage.

My body revolted, moving in a one big wave and trying to jerk away from the emotionless appendage, but my heels slipped on the damp marble and I just ended up bashing against the side of the tub, hurting myself even more and gasping out the last of the dying breath I held.

Water rushed in immediately and everything in me was overridden with pure fear of death so strong I could physically feel the adrenaline pump through my veins, but every twitch, every hopeless attempt brought me closer to the edge of my consciousness.

I tried to cry out, but everything was drowned out in the darkness and I barely saw anything. Something in me shouted that I was about to lose my life, my lungs screaming in pain about to burst, the punishing migraine destroying any sane thought I had until nothing but fear was left and the pure unadulterated hopelessness of the endeavour, until it was burned into my aching bones and I knew there was no coming out of this tub and – and then, a caress.

Like flipping a switch, the hungry devouring beast the water was suddenly changed into soft hands and fingers, pushing around and against my skin and cooling the heat of panic down. The fight drained from me, and I suddenly understood – the very first rider that went through this, I understood the moment his fingers slackened, the moment he lost the grip on the tub and gave in – I understood.

‘Water isn’t your enemy, child. You have been blessed by a creature of the sea. Trust it. Trust it.’

The soft feminine murmurs floated around my head, simultaneously coming in from the outside and sounding out from the inside, meshing together, and for the second time that evening Jimin’s face surfaced in the mirror of my mind and calm washed over me.

I was just about to open my mouth to speak back when suddenly I was dragged back up and instead of water air suddenly choked me and sent me into a fit of wheezing coughs. The freezing cold liquid streamed out of my mouth, pushed out of my lungs when I took a first breath in what felt like forever. Everything was hazy and my head spun, staticky fuzz crackling at the edges of my vision while I tried to make sense of where I was.

Slowly everything came back to me, and I realised I was being held by a panicking Jungkook who was desperately trying to get my attention – I registered his and Hwa-young’s voices all the way in the back of my mind while everything was still consumed by hum of blood rushing through my ears. With my hands still weak and uncoordinated, all I managed to do was pat at his shoulder to signal that I was okay, and reluctantly he let me sink down to the floor as I still attempted to fully catch my breath.

I was soaked from head to toe, most probably from the way I thrashed around, and the platform was all wet too. I laid there in the puddle and watched Jungkook gaze at me with fear, all the while the general’s dragoness kept repeating something with an angry expression on her face. I couldn’t hear, I barely even saw, but I figured she probably wanted Jungkook to take the spot to go through the cleansing too.

With the last threads of strength I found in myself I heaved myself up to my knees and shuffled to the side, leaving a nice spot for Jungkook to situate himself in. He was already on his knees from when he dived down to catch me, so he only hesitantly moved a few steps, eyes flicking between my half-dead form and the cruel being about to drown him in sacred waters.

When his head got submerged, I saw the way he jerked, just like I did from the shock of the rough movement, and without thinking I reached for his hand. I squeezed, hard enough to hurt, until I felt him squeeze back and his form relaxed slightly. I leant down on the tub, half lying on it with my hair grazing the water, and waited for him to come up.

And just like the general attempted to do to me, I saw Ha-rin slightly pull him up before plunging him even harder and deeper, just when he’d be about to run out of breath – but Jungkook was different. His hand left mine and quickly grabbed onto the edge of the tub, and when he braced and pushed up – I saw how Ha-rin’s arm clearly buckled, the self-assured expression slipping to a moment of shock and alarm, before she let go and Jungkook emerged with a fiery glint in his eyes.

I almost didn’t recognise him like that – with his wet hair slicked back his face looked much sharper, and the glistening sheen gave him an ethereal glow. Instead of the easy-going smile or a mischievous grin I was used to, his face was tight in a stormy expression, thick eyebrows drawn close and mouth twitching into a scowl. His eyes were dark, and I couldn’t fight back a shiver at seeing the growing anger in them.

That wasn’t the almost adorable and a little clumsy Jungkook, a young man that joked around with me – that was a dragon, centuries old, proud and strong and ready to fight anyone that posed a threat to him.

Ha-rin watched him with an expression I haven’t seen on her face yet that entire evening – and even though she tried to hide it, the trickle of unease and fear was visible in the cracks of her confident mask, and neither she could conceal the way her instincts pushed her to take a step back from the kneeling man.

General Yan watched their exchange in worry before she finally gestured for us to leave and barked a few orders for everyone to change into the prepared robes, all before both her and her bonded stalked off to a corner of the room.

Jungkook helped me stand, and when I looked at him, his face was back to normal. The anger melted away and left behind a kind smile as he wrapped me into a gentle embrace – one arm coiled around my waist held tightly while he helped me down the three steps.

At first I wanted to protest, tell him that I could walk on my own well, but the moment I rose to my shaky legs I realised that my knees wouldn’t be able to support me on the way down, as they were already buckling under the strain of my weight.

Everyone watched us, even when they pretended they weren’t, and I felt their eyes on our forms, the knowledge of them witnessing such a tender moment and seeing my weakness sending unease crawling up my skin. Jungkook didn’t seem to care though, not with how he immediately sat me down the moment we reached the floor and started tugging at my robes to take them off.

I only had a few seconds to register what he was doing to get flustered beyond belief before Hwa-young ran over and knelt next to me.

“Gods, are you okay?” she whispered and frantically looked me over, as if I could be hiding any injuries from her, “For a moment you truly looked dead. You just slumped over and didn’t move at all. Even Yan freaked out before she pulled you up.” I barely listened to her, instead my attention was snatched by trying to fight Jungkook’s hands still stubbornly undoing my robes, but he wouldn’t budge and wouldn’t let me do it myself, so our hands just endlessly bumped into each other while I tried to push them off with burning cheeks.

“I didn’t even lose consciousness,” I told her absent-mindedly, “I think it just looked bad because I panicked right before she spoke to me.” Jungkook’s hands paused momentarily before he resumed, but even before I registered it Hwa-young already spoke again.

“Spoke to you?” she asked, completely confused. Just as she opened her mouth to speak again, a high whistle shot through the room, startling us into twirling around.

“Change! We don’t have the whole night!” Yan’s strong voice berated us, and everyone scurried off to get themselves into the ceremonial robes. I noticed the young knightess’ curious worried glances, but at that moment chose to channel my attention into pushing Jungkook’s hands away – until I finally succeeded and motioned for him to worry about his own clothes.

Everyone worked is silence, the room filled with sounds of rustling fabrics and clinking armour, only soft murmurs carrying through from where Siwoo was whispering about something with his dragon.

Jungkook was watching me like a hawk, like if he let me out of his sight for just a moment I might die, which greatly staggered his own changing speed – an action he seemed to do almost absent-mindedly as his gaze burned into me, and brought both embarrassment and confusion to the fore-front of my mind.

I attempted to ignore him and stripped down to my undergarments, now suddenly noticing others in similar state of undress messing with the robes all flustered and unsure – not one of them had donned them yet, and I woodenly turned to look towards the general.

She was watching us with disdain in her eyes, like we were all a bunch of bumbling idiots, before she gestured for us to strip – completely. A hush fell over the room as we eyed each other, some flustered and embarrassed, some mistrustful and disgusted. I fell somewhere in-between those two categories, depending on who my eye was on at the moment.

Peacock was also watching me quite closely after the cleansing incident, and my skin was crawling with the idea of him watching my naked body, no matter how his gaze reflected nothing but scorn and arrogance. I definitely wasn’t about to strip right in front of him, and especially not with how Jungkook suddenly seemed much more ruffled and started shuffling to situate himself between me and the rest of the room.

Pointedly I didn’t look at him, willing my wildly beating heart to calm down at the dark look in his eyes – telling myself this is nothing more than instincts – instincts that were triggered by him panicking about my safety that now pushed him into a much more protective stance over his chosen rider. Dragons were like that, and that was all that was happening, nothing more.

“Go on, strip,” the general’s grating voice once again rose in the silence, a sound which I already hated with burning passion, “you’re one unit, soldiers need to learn to share everything – nudity shouldn’t be an issue for you. You’ll have bigger problems to tackle.” Her statement was vaguely ominous, but it was right – when it came to life or death, nudity truly was the least of our problems. Changing, shitting, fucking – once on the battlefield, all illusion of privacy was gone and you’d quickly learn to ignore and accept it.

With that in mind, I decided that getting it over with was the only option here and ripped off the band-aid – almost literally, with how forcefully I tore the undergarments off my body, shocking a little noise out of Jungkook’s throat.

With burning cheeks I quickly put the white robe on, and only turned around once it was safely fastened into place. The dragon was watching me with wide eyes, cheeks similarly red. His hair glistened with the wetness, and it really brought out the purple metallic sheen to it, throwing off little pinkish reflections that danced across the grey marble floor. He was shirtless, hands frozen on the knot fastening his trousers, naked feet standing on the freezing floor without a single sign of feeling the biting cold.

As if woken up from trance, Jungkook suddenly turned back into motion, resuming the action of undressing. He didn’t turn away from me, in fact his eyes didn’t even leave mine, as I saw the split second the garment gave way and started slipping before I shot my gaze up, settling on watching the rough stone ceiling right above his shoulder. I couldn’t see into the room around him, but by the sound it was safe to assume everyone was getting on with the task as well.

After that it didn’t take long before we were all standing around in our white robes, some more cocky and some more unsure, but all stepping around like a bunch of lost children.

Yan let us be for a little bit, let the tension and the unease build in the atmosphere. The only ones who were calm were the older dragons – out of the six of them, I could see another one that must have been young enough to not know what was coming, while the other four stood comfortably by their bonded’s sides.

Jungkook was slipping back into his more jittery self, a little smile playing on his face out of nervousness, though I was sure he knew more about what was to come than me – after all, his thunder would surely tell him what to expect. I wished I had the courage to turn to him and ask, wished I had the chance to speak to him before this all happened so he could share his knowledge.

Wished I could have asked his thunder and have them prepare me too. I wanted to know how it felt – I was scared, foolishly so.

Yan finally had enough, or maybe the time just became right for us to move, but she suddenly launched into a march, motioning us into following her with a single gesture thrown over her shoulder. Somehow we’d ended up at the front, with Hwa and Yong right behind us, as we trudged back up those stairs and down winding hallways in this behemoth of a castle.

As we passed by the banquet hall, it was empty – only scattered chairs and tables full of food and drinks left there, as if everyone disappeared within a blink of an eye and this was all that was left of their presence – and for a split second I found myself wishing that was true.

The truth was that they were already waiting outside, gathered around the sanctuary in silence as we walked barefoot on the cold ground, dirt staining our soles and stones digging into them painfully.

I felt myself shiver, the cold wind whipping around us as we walked around the top of the rocks, and the deafening hum of waves crashing against the cliffs under us almost drowned out everything else. Mixed together with the low murmurs of the townsfolk gathered, it was hard to hear anything else.

The way towards the ceremonial sanctuary was lined with flowers, and had I more time and was in the correct headspace, I’d probably name them all. Currently I was too nervous to even pay too much attention to them.

I never thought I’d say that, but I was so grateful for getting the opportunity to meet the emperor before this, because I couldn’t imagine this being my introduction to him. He stood proudly in the little gazebo, dressed in golden ceremonial robes, face tight and regal and eyes almost burning. If I didn’t know any better, with the backdrop of the stormy darkened skies and the wind whipping around his face, I’d almost say he was magick.

Against my better judgement, a shudder ran through me at the image, a semblance of fear gripping me lightly before I shook it off.

He spoke, but his words didn’t quite reach me – lost to the endless whirlwind of noise around us, though I could hear his voice carrying above the elements. His arm rose, beckoning, fiery gaze locking straight onto me before an ugly grin split his face.

There was a push to my back, and suddenly I realised we still stood at the very front of the procession and therefore were the first in line.

Jungkook was already moving, proudly holding his chin high as he set out towards our fate, and I scrambled to follow after him and to keep up. As the distance shortened, my nerves mounted – not in any particularly bad way, but the anticipation of what this meant coursed through me and made my heart beat out of my chest.

I struggled to read the dragon’s face – I wouldn’t say he was expressionless, but the kind smile he wore every time he looked to me was still plastered to his face as he turned to check I was with him. Jungkook looked no different than he always did. Unbothered, unburdened. I let that anchor me as I jogged to catch up to him.

The emperor’s figure was steadily approaching us, the intricate details of his golden embroidered robe became more visible, much as the expression on his face. It was hard to say what it looked like to others, how much attention they were even paying to him, but something deeply unsettled me about the fire burning in his eyes.

Hungry and expectant. Excited, even.

He watched us with the craze of a proud artist looking at his greatest piece. Like an arsonist gazes at a fire.

I didn’t like it.

My gaze shifted and instead I caught the eye of my father who stood near the front, turned so he could watch me walk. His glare was full of warning, disapprovingly jumping between me and the tenderly smiling Jungkook, and I knew exactly what he’d tell me. It was better to not imagine it.

Thus I pulled my focus back and poured it all into Jungkook. There was an innate pull inside of me to reach for his hand again, yearning for that brief but intense contact, but I hesitated to do so in front of so many people.

It wasn’t unusual to fuck your dragons, but affection? That was deemed beneath us.

As I was going through my internal crisis, I didn’t even notice when we crossed the entire distance until I felt the cold ground under my feet transform into the freezing stone. A shudder ran through me, shocking a little gasp out of my mouth, and immediately Jungkook reeled in on the sound. I could see that his instincts were going into overdrive again, eyes darkening like I could be deathly threatened by stone. The wind was whipping his curly hair around and as usual it was all tangled up into his little horns.

Not wanting a repeat of the cave, I ignored him and instead reluctantly looked to the emperor hoping he’d give us instructions on how to proceed.

The gazebo inside felt a lot smaller than it looked from the outside. There really wasn’t much space to move around, especially not with Jungkook’s mass at my side and the emperor’s wide shoulders at the other, but I guess there wasn’t really much reason to have a lot of space. Exactly in the centre of the circular space stood another basin with water, this one tall and thin with a single leg and a small bowl at the top. The altar.

At least no one could drown me in this one, small victories.

I could tell Jungkook was having the same thoughts, his hard stare boring into the side of it like it was a weapon of mass destruction.

But then my attention was once again snatched by the ruler, who slowly walked around us, to stand in the middle and look out into the yard. Me and Jungkook ended up on either side of the little bowl, looking to each other and hoping for any kind of solace offered with soft smiles on unsure lips.

Suddenly Jungkook was holding his hands above the water, fingers twitching and beckoning me to take them. I hesitated a little, the same thought from before shortly surfacing in my mind, but then I realised this was a part of the ritual. The several bonding ceremonies I witnessed before shuffled through my memory, but I could barely remember anything with how my nerves ate me from inside.

I grasped the dragon’s hands quickly, not wanting to be seen stalling to touch him, especially not when I couldn’t explain myself properly, and he gripped me tightly. There was a lot of reassurance in it, but there wasn’t any time to dwell on it.

The emperor draped a thin long strip of embroidered fabric over our joined hands, reminding me of old marriage ceremonies – and though that was a type of bonding too, it still brought a blush to my face. I kept my gaze pointed down, taking in the practiced graceful movements on the man’s golden hands, getting so lost in the showman gestures I jerked when suddenly his voice boomed right by our side.

“Under the vigilant eyes of the Moon Goddess,” the man spoke with a performative lilt to his voice, letting his head fall back as his arms rose up to the sky dramatically, “we humbly ask for a blessing of this sacred bond.”

A shiver wracked through me, strong enough to have me almost stumbling where I stood, and I felt Jungkook do the same. A string of silver moonlight fell through the roof to right where our hands touched, hidden beneath the ceremonial cloth, and it seemed to heat up – almost like we gave off energy just by being touched by it. The fire spread through my veins, and it was just as pleasant as concerning, always on the edge of pain and pouring through my body so quick it didn’t give me time to catch up.

I gasped for a breath, saw Jungkook’s wild eyes jump to me at the sound, and the moment our eyes met everything went fuzzy. Light was dancing over his skin, running in mesmerising patterns and bringing out the honey tone. His hand twitched, almost crushing my own fingers – and then a wave suddenly rose in me – and I realised the light was manifestation of magick.

“Mind to mind, soul to soul,” the emperor’s voice rose with every word, and I wanted to flinch away from him – because it felt like everything was suddenly amplified, grating at my nerves every time his voice boomed in my already sensitive ringing ears.

“Dagger to fang, sword to claw!” the man was screaming now, the winds beating around us and the crashes of the waves below us creating a cacophony that made me want scream too, and I found myself unable to even open my mouth under the strain of the strange energy flowing through me to Jungkook and back.

I felt him under my skin, felt him flowing through my veins. The scent of a smoky wood, maybe sandalwood or cedar, with a metallic iron-like undertone flooded my senses – I could almost taste gunpowder on my tongue with its fiery heaviness. I didn’t know it yet, but it was the scent I would come to know as Jungkook from then on – as my perception heightened.

“Unite them! Unite them under your divine light!” shouted the man, and light burst in front of my eyes.

For a few moments after that I couldn’t feel anything else than the thrum of Jungkook’s blood while his hands crushed mine in a steel grip as the frantic magickal frenzy circulating through our bodies reached its crescendo. Static hummed in my ears, a high whistling sound cutting through and biting painfully into my already hurting head. Then as soon as it started it was over, like an aftermath of a tornado tearing through your house – when the winds started to settle and all that was left was the wreckage. My sight slowly started coming back – and my breath got caught in my throat.

Jungkook was looking at me with wide eager eyes, the magick still crackling around him with little fizzles of light that made his skin glow golden and his hair look like a black lit halo. I felt myself zero in on the young dragon, a pull so strong I felt it jerk me closer to him and I made a little confused sound. That made him jerk closer in return, and we both barrelled into the stone basin.

Later, when my mind was clear, I’d be embarrassed of that little display we put on, but at the moment I couldn’t comprehend or care about anything beyond the way emotions spilled into me – emotions that weren’t mine, but that screamed excitement and hope and pure bottomless love for everything so strong I stumbled under the force of that.

Then Jungkook was side-stepping the altar and gathering me into his arms, effortlessly pulling me off my feet and marching confidently into the castle leaving a shocked silence behind us.

My mind hurt under the extension of the second soul, and every Jungkook’s thought that jumped into my mind just muddled my brain further. I felt the beat of his heart underlining mine, the pattern of his breaths in my own lungs, everywhere we touched was lit on fire and I burned.

I was dizzy. And the dragon was an excited ball of endless chatter – I’ll help you, I’ll care for you, my bonded, I feel you, I see you, my human, mine, mine, mine – all spilling over into me, and I groaned.

An undetermined amount of time later I was set down on a comfortable sofa, and I immediately lied down. Seconds and minutes spilt into each other, and I wasn’t capable of saying how much time passed, or even how fast it was currently passing. The nausea pulled me to the ground and all my limbs jerked and twitched under the current of energy and magick. I’ve never been subjected to raw power like that before, and I had no idea about the kind of effect bonding souls could have on you. Shouldn’t it have been a happy occasion? Why did I feel like a drunk after a particularly wild all-night bender?

Someone was speaking, but all I could hear was Jungkook’s stuttered breathing, his heartbeat quickening in worry and the sick feeling of his fear poured over onto me. I jerked once, then heaved, then jerked again.

Warm glove-clad hands clasped firmly at my shoulders and I was pulled on my back. Someone ran their hand over my forehead, gathering the wet hair (whether from the cleansing or sweat, I had no idea, and I didn’t particularly care) and giving my cheek a soft caress. The tender gesture was unfamiliar to me, but I found myself sinking into that gentle hand, too instinct driven to worry about propriety.

“Jungkook, calm down,” a deep stable voice said, my attention immediately pulled at the mention of my bonded’s name, “You need to keep your emotions stable, you’re making her sick.” A pained whine was an answer, and I jerked in that tender embrace with the instinct to go and help him put the hurt away. Whoever was holding me though didn’t let me move an inch and firmly pushed me back into the furnishing.

My stomach started rolling again and I was suddenly very aware that a steady current of tears was leaking out of my closed eyes. A soft hush, a hum, and then those tears were being wiped away with a warm cloth, and I untensed.

I could still feel Jungkook’s tumultuous emotions warring in him, I could almost see his tense figure standing over me and watching me with those dark intense eyes, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually look with how everything spun the last time I tried.

Shuffling was heard, more soft whispers that I couldn’t discern and then a burningly hot hand clasped around my naked ankle, sending a wave of electricity through my nervous system. The moment I felt Jungkook’s touch it was like everything bad in me quietened.

“…the strength of the connection… the bond is… they will be very heightened… very, very strong it seems…” words floated in and out of my mind, Namjoon’s deep calming drawl working like magick on me and putting me more at ease, though I could barely comprehend what he was saying. Jungkook was responding with little eager chirps and hums, and that was all I cared about in that moment.

Just as I was about to completely wind down, the doors flew open so hard they hit the wall. Chillingly familiar footsteps marched in, and I didn’t even have to open my eyes to see who it was – I’d recognise that fury anywhere. My father’s booming voice sounded through the room, but I couldn’t discern the words through the new over-powering wave of fear and nausea that hit me, this time fully my own.

Not even those firm hands could hold me down as I jerked to the side and threw up all over the floor. Instead they kept me steady and patted my back, and for the first time in long painful years I felt cared for.

Funny what a little benign touch can do to you, really.

The general’s footsteps walked closer again and then a loud hostile growl sounded through the room, making everyone freeze. Jungkook.

“Keep the mutt in his place, dragon,” the human man said, with such disdain in his voice I felt embarrassed on his behalf.

With considerable effort I pulled my eyes open, and though I was still a little dizzy and looked through a haze of pained tears, at least the world stood still over me. Those firm warm hands turned out to be Hoseok’s, and really I should have known with the ease that came to them when handling a sick person, though the dragon himself was watching me with a deeply troubled expression – a huge contrast to the gentle touch.

Seokjin’s face floated above mine, worry etched into it quite openly to my great surprise, as his gloved hands held a little handkerchief clutched in them. Taehyung was also in my field of vision, the second youngest dragon bending over the backrest of the sofa to look closer at me with deep soulful eyes. I shuddered at the look of boundless empathy in them, and turned quickly to locate my bonded.

Jungkook sat crumpled on the floor by my feet, one hand still firmly clasped over my ankle and looking very unapologetic even as Namjoon’s huge hand gripped the back of his neck and kept him immobile. The thunder leader was kneeling right by him, and he must have previously been trying to comfort him so he wouldn’t make me sicker, but now his attention was fully on my father, and he was not happy.

For some reason my instincts called me to locate the last two dragons of the thunder, and I strained my eyes to search for them before I addressed the elephant in the room. It didn’t take me long, thankfully, since both of them stood just a little away from the scene, closer to the corner of the room (which, I didn’t even recognise where we were in the castle, and I really hoped Jungkook didn’t just blindly run into the first lounge he saw). Jimin stood there with fear written in his eyes, and worry too, but they were trained on Jungkook – as if he was completely oblivious to anything else that was happening in the room. His hands were trembling where he held them, and he was a picture of pure despair. Yoongi looked deceptively calm, but I could see the storm brewing under his skin like little shadows dancing – and for once I wasn’t the one his ire was directed at.

My father stood there in the middle of it all, angry and full of hate, gaze burning into me. I knew he had a lot to say, and I knew he wouldn’t wait to let me hear it. And I knew the dragons wouldn’t leave now, not when Jungkook seemed to be in some sort of instinct driven haze, so I just resigned myself to this happening right now in front of everyone.

“What was that about!?” the general hissed out, shaking with barely contained rage and pointing towards Jungkook who already had a beginning of a scowl on his face before Namjoon grabbed his mouth and covered it with his second hand so that nothing else slipped out. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

I just blinked at the man and wordlessly tried to push myself into a sitting position even though everything in me protested the notion – especially when it dislodged Jungkook’s hold on me and the dragon jerked and chased any kind of contact. Hoseok didn’t lessen his hold on me, and even pulled my feet closer to him to prevent me from stepping into my own vomit, for which I was endlessly grateful cause I almost managed to hit square into the middle of the puddle.

“Nobody else fucking even blinked! And you make a whole scene?!” the general continued, completely lost in his own world and with face so red he’d blend in perfectly into that awful sitting room the emperor loved so much. “Running out hand in hand like a pair of giggling lovers?! Do you truly wish so hard to embarrass me?! I thought we were over this!”

I pursed my lips and sat there with my head hung low, biding my time knowing well he wasn’t done yet. The dragons seemed to be frozen, casting curious worried glances between me and everyone else in the room, but none of them moved a single inch like they were trying to escape the man’s attention and trick him into forgetting they were there.

From someone who grew up with him – it was a pretty decent strategy when it came to the general’s tantrums.

“I sat there through all other five ceremonies, and everyone walked away on their own two feet! You should have seen the way people snickered and whispered at you! How am I supposed to show my face in the council tomorrow!?”

Then the man started agitatedly walking around the room, hand pressed into his red heated forehead, eyes wild and unseeing. In the moment of silence that followed everyone’s eyes turned to me, curious for my turn.

“How did I wind up with a child like you?” the man muttered suddenly, so vicious I saw Jungkook tremble, and I hoped he wasn’t reacting to the war of emotions currently boiling in my chest.

“Father,” I cut through the tense atmosphere, sensing my opportunity there. I quickly rose to my feet, fighting to stay upright and not lean on Hoseok’s shoulder when a wave of dizziness hit me. The white robe I put on before did nothing to hide me from cold now that all adrenaline drained out of my body, and I started shivering. My father’s eyes speared me right through, and under their careful watch I walked into the middle of the room, still looking only at him.

“Don’t you understand?” I asked softly, not wishing to antagonise him, but trying to play genuineness as long as I could get away with it. I desperately wracked my brain for anything to offer him when the words spoken by Namjoon earlier slammed into me in a quick and sudden revelation, now putting two and two together with my mind clearer and survival instincts pushing to the front. I hated the way my stomach rolled when I realised what I had to do.

“The way me and Jungkook reacted to each other means our bond is exceptionally strong.”

Nervously my eyes shifted to the thunder sitting and standing around the room. All of them cautiously monitored the situation, eyes flitting between me and the volatile angry man still pacing back and forth, looking like a caged tiger about to attack. I saw as Namjoon’s eyes slowly darkened as he caught on what I was saying, and I looked away before it could tear my heart apart.

I swallowed my pride, swallowed my feelings, swallowed the rising bile that my revolting stomach pushed out once more, swallowed my expectations, swallowed my hope, and stood closer to the man to tempt him with the only thing he couldn’t refuse. Power.

“Imagine the potential, father,” I whispered to him, like a siren calling onto his desires, “Imagine the power I will wield with him. I can soar to such heights, father. Gain the emperor’s favour, maybe I could even marry him.” That had the man stopping dead in his tracks.

I knew those words would work on him, because I knew the outlook he held on marriages. I protested against mentions of any arrangements every chance I got, but thankfully with focusing on my military career it wasn’t a topic that was pressing or brought up too often. Insinuating that I would want to marry the emperor though, on my own without him pushing me, those were promises that sounded so sweet to the greedy man. He’d fall for them every time.

In a few steps he was in front of me, firm hand grabbing onto my cheek as he grinned savagely. His touch was meant to serve the same purpose as Hoseok’s earlier, and yet it didn’t hold any of the warmth or tenderness the dragon granted me. His hand was rough with years of labour and fighting, hardened by wielding a sword for most of his life, and it scratched along my face in a way that was deeply unpleasant.

The general’s eyes looked right through me. I could almost see the cogs turning in his head, calculating, planning, counting his gains, and for a moment I felt a biting pang of hurt shoot through my chest knowing that even now, even when I offered him what he wanted from me the most – for our descendants to be of royal blood – he wasn’t really proud of me, not in the way that a parent should. Instead, he thought of himself, always and till the end. I’d always be an afterthought.

Maybe it was because the situation was so volatile, maybe it was because my emotions and my heart felt especially vulnerable after the ceremony and were already running wild, but more than ever I saw how he never thought of us with an ounce of affection, always wielding us like weapons in his chase for power and riches. I always knew, I swore I did. I thought I’d long since passed the days when I hoped for a smile or kind words, that I’ve long given up on caring about his opinions of me – and yet I always found new ways to surprise myself and break my own heart.

Tears sprung up in my eyes as I smiled back at him. I did desperately try to blink them away but my lips still curled in a way so savage and hurt – and he didn’t see me at all.

“I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me, Y/N,” the man said finally, completely turning the page from his earlier outburst, “I expected nothing less of you than utter greatness.” It’s like he never remembered his earlier words, or maybe cared so little he didn’t understand why they’d sting – always just walking away and leaving you standing there with your heart burnt to crisp. And today was no exception. Without any further words he turned on his heel and without sparing anyone a single glance marched out, so pleased with himself it was hard to watch.

I stood there, in the utter silence he left behind, head hung low in shame as I broke apart for the countless time. I couldn’t bear to see what was written on the dragon’s faces, couldn’t bear to see to lose even the last threads of worry they might have shown me. I couldn’t bear the disappointment, and I couldn’t bear the weight of Jungkook’s wide-eye stare.

My chest burned, but I could barely feel any emotion from his side. I wondered what he felt from me. I hoped nothing.

The fresh, sour adrenaline fizzled out of my system and before I knew it, it was like strings on a marionette were cut and I was stumbling, my knees buckling as if my body abruptly realised it couldn’t operate right now. Just as suddenly the whole world dimmed before my eyes and everything caught up to me, the weight of the emotional toll pulling me to the ground. A sharp zap of pain travelled through me, turning everything to static, and then I was falling as my consciousness slowly slipped away at the edges.

I still hoped, but there was no one to break my fall.

I woke up in the infirmary. The place was mostly unfamiliar to me, but it was unmistakable – if not by the surroundings, then by the heavily herbal scent that clung onto the air and permeated everywhere.

It took a moment for reality to catch up to me as I laid there with cotton-filled head and bleary eyes still glued together by the remnants of sleep. My ears seemingly caught up first because all I could focus on were two nurses whispering gossip to each other in the corner of the room, and I was maybe two minutes into listening about her sister’s cheating husband when I realised I shouldn’t even be able to hear them talk.

That had waking me up pretty quickly, my body freezing over in shock – and the realisation that I heard things no human should be able to hear – like the chatter of four knights under the closed windows, or the slow methodical clinking of someone stirring something in a ceramic cup at the other side of the room. Or the steady breathing of someone sitting right by my side.

When I turned my head to the side to look at the visitor, Jungkook’s eyes were already trained on me – and yes, of course, he would have felt me wake up. He must have been waiting for me to become more aware.

The young dragon sat awkwardly straight in his little wooden chair, looking like there was whole books worth of what he wanted to say, but something prevented him from opening his mouth and talking.

My eyes zeroed in on him, and it was like I was seeing him properly for the first time. I could discern the individual lovably messy strands of his purplish black hair, I could see the little imperfections on his skin, I could see that his eyes actually had little specks of silver in them. He was wringing his hands in his lap, and as soon as my gaze dropped down to his tattooed forearms, I was blown away by the detail and the vivid colouring that I’ve never quite seen like that.

Trying to centre myself and pull my attention back, I closed my eyes without saying anything and instead focused on the warm little ball in my chest that I came to recognise as Jungkook’s side of the bond. Briefly I wondered whether he felt the bond the same way I did. How did it manifest for him?

In my mind I gently caressed that fuzzy happy bundle, and in return I was flooded with the young dragon’s careful enthusiasm and worry. He was keeping himself in check, most probably because he didn’t want to overwhelm me with his emotions again, but there was no trace of the anger, betrayal or mistrust I was fearing.

Opening my eyes again I took one long look at his face and then said: “I hear everything, like… absolutely everything. And I see better too.” Jungkook smiled and eagerly shuffled the chair closer to me to lean in like we were trading secrets.

“After the bond takes hold, your senses sharpen slightly to match the dragon’s,” he explained in a cheery voice, winking quickly when he caught my eye, “at least that’s what Namjoon hyung said.”

I vaguely remembered knowing that and thinking about it earlier, but now the information struggled to come up when I reached for it. After waking up with the bond it felt like everything in my brain got scrambled and reshuffled into different places.

It was like I was someone completely new.

“Which reminds me,” Jungkook jumped back into his cheerful little monologue, tearing me out of my confused musings, “that the hyungs are waiting outside. I should let them know you’re up.” At those words icy cold fear poured through my whole body and I jerked with the panic taking a hold in my heart.

“Jungkook, wait-“ I only got a few words out before I heard the door quietly creak open, two pairs of strong footsteps confidently walking in. My bonded sat on the chair and watched me with increasingly more worry when he started clocking in my state of terror, and I cursed how easy it would be for him to read me now.

The man reached for my hand with an apologetic expression just as Hoseok and Namjoon walked into view and moved straight towards us. My frantic eyes flew over their postures and expressions, but I couldn’t read anything from them – they held themselves perfectly collected – perfectly detached just the right amount.

Hoseok only slightly inclined his head in a greeting and went immediately to the side unoccupied by Jungkook to check on my status. When his gloved hands made contact with my skin, I held my breath nervously. He wasn’t rough by any means, but any warmth those magickal hands held before was now all gone, and it hurt me enough to almost make me cry. Jungkook squeezed my wrist gently but didn’t say anything, and I stayed quiet too. Instead I told myself that this sudden emotional attachment simply came with the bond too and pushed it all away.

The nature dragon worked quickly, skilled fingers flying over my forehead, checking my pulse and hovering over my chest to make sure everything was in working order. After a few minutes of tense silence as we all watched him, he finally stepped back and wordlessly nodded at Namjoon before he turned to me with a strained smile.

“Young Miss Kang,” Namjoon then spoke, taking the first chance he could to draw my attention and say his piece, “there’s been some changes in arrangements.” That sentence alone was enough to scare the absolute shit out of me, and paired with the solemn firm expression on the dragon’s face I was fully expecting him to tell me I was no longer welcome to bond Jungkook.

Namjoon’s next words shocked me though.

“I’ve spoken to your father while you were unconscious. He’s met with the emperor and they decided it would be for the best for you to not move into the barracks like others, but instead stay closer to Jungkook,” he got all out in one breath, like he was trying to prevent me from jumping in. I had a lot of experience with staying silent while others were speaking though, so I just looked at him expectantly whether there was more.

The tall man watched me for a few moments, inquisitive eyes burning through me curiously, before he stepped a little closer to Jungkook to put a hand on his shoulder. The younger dragon immediately relaxed and leaned into his thunder leader, though his hand never left mine, even as I felt his heart stutter with love through my own chest.

God, this was starting to weird me out a little.

“We will be able to vacate you a spot in our house,” Namjoon continued after a moment, considerably slower now that he saw I was willing to just listen quietly, “It’s a bit further away from the castle than your house, but the emperor wishes for you to be as close to the thunder as possible.” Much displeasure flickered through his face, and I frowned.

Why would the emperor insist on something like that? I would understand it if it was just Jungkook, but the whole thunder? I couldn’t even make the case that he didn’t want to separate the youngling from his mated pack, because that would be too considerate of the man and he wasn’t capable of such silly things like empathy.

I watched the three dragons with a heavy heart and quickly realised why the two were being so polite and standoffish. They thought I was under full protection of the emperor and any unkindness that would happen to me would be reported and punished. I sighed deeply and looked towards the tall dragon.

“Autho- I mean, Namjoon-ssi,” I stumbled through the words, throat a little drier and sorer than before the men stepped inside the room, “I couldn’t possibly trespass into your thunder’s house, but I thank you for the invitation. I will personally speak with the emperor and petition for a different solution, so your pack can keep their space uninvaded.” I realised that my words definitely didn’t help my case, but when the relationship between me and the rest of the Bangtan thunder was already so rocky, I couldn’t imagine moving onto their property would make it any better.

The Authority gave me a weary look, suddenly looking way more tired and worn down than I’ve ever seen him, with how the power seemed to sap out of him and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“There’s no need to go through the trouble, Young Miss Kang,” he spoke quietly and gave me a resigned smile, though there was nothing friendly about it – quite the opposite it seemed, actually, “The emperor is set on this, and your father readily agrees. With the strength of the bond, they both want you two close so it can solidify.”

Shame and guilt hit me like a whole mountain fell on me, and I froze with my gaze glued to my lap. There it was, those words. The anger. And because I was a coward, I couldn’t bring myself to raise my eyes and look at the man. Instead I stayed curled in on myself, like the spineless rat they probably thought me to be.

I saw Hoseok’s form squirming to my left and Jungkook sitting still to my right, looking to his leader with a soft disapproving expression, and it was so foreign to his face I wanted to kick myself for putting it there. I shouldn’t be putting him into a position where stood against his thunder.

“Very well then,” I whispered finally, deciding it might be best to just go along and hope for the best, “I’ll need to go gather my things and pack up the essentials, but I could meet you by your house in a few hours.”

“There’s no need,” Namjoon’s rumbly voice spoke up the second I closed my mouth, “Your room at your house has already been packed up and moved by your servants. All of your things are waiting for you in our sitting room.”

My gaze flew up in surprise, and I barely clocked the displeased frown residing on the dragon’s face as he spoke to me. “How long have I slept?”

I turned to Jungkook with the question, but it was Hoseok who chimed in with “a little over two days”. It was the first time I heard his voice in what felt like weeks, so the moment I recognised it I was turning to him with surprise written all over my face. Something flickered in my chest, my mind very unhelpfully supplying the memory of his gentle caress, and I shut that down quickly before Jungkook sniffed it out. Then the words sunk in.

“What?!” I yelped out, jumping to sit upright and scaring the absolute shit out of the nature dragon standing by my side, “More than two days!? I thought it was maybe a few hours!” Namjoon was watching the red-headed dragon clutch his chest and calm down with a soft look, while Jungkook turned to me with his sparkling puppy eyes.

“Hobi-hyung said it’s normal,” he told me, and I could see he was now way prouder that he could go back to taking care of me, which brought a slight blush onto my face.

“No, I said it was understandable for the situation,” Hoseok corrected him when he turned back to the two of us, faced also a little flushed, “Usually when the bond is so heavy when settling down, it requires a lot of peace and care for the person to come out well. It was a really stressful situation, so her body shut down to recalibrate on its own.” He gave me an awkward half-smile and then mumbled something about medicine and high-tailed it out of there, leaving us to our uncomfortable little corner.

As he sped away, there was a clinking sound floating around him, and I realised that he had several charms and beads woven around his antler-like horns that created cheerful little sounds as he moved around, quite literally making music out of the tempo and rhythm of his walk. I found that it fit him very well.

“Peace and care,” I mumbled under my breath as my attention turned back to the conversation. My eyes fell on the silent Jungkook watching me something a little sad in his gaze, and it was so obvious he felt everything I did those two days ago in that cursed little lounge I had to avert my eyes in the face of it.

That at least explained why the dragons had suddenly shown me such gentleness. They were trying to make me well because they knew I needed to calm down.

Ignoring the fact that Jungkook now knew more than I was willing to admit to anyone, I looked towards Namjoon and nodded firmly.

“Okay, I’m ready to go.”

The walk from the castle grounds to the dragons’ townhouse was understandably an incredibly awkward affair. Hoseok silently joined us as we were walking down one of the many hallways, hand clutching a satchel containing something in glass bottles, based on how it rang with every movement. The man paid it no mind though, a faraway look in his eyes while he was clearly lost in thought.

Jungkook refused to let go of me, and because I couldn’t bear the weight of holding hands I let him loosely hold onto my wrist, which he did delicately with three of his fingers wrapped around the bony part (the better option, really, because he was capable of trying to persuade me to let him carry me). Namjoon walked in front, unapologetic and firm, not sparing us a single glance. He knew we would follow him.

Now having much more time to look around than the last time I visited, this time I truly took the house in. It was a fairly nice one, though definitely felt too small for seven adult men. There was a little courtyard beyond the gates that lead towards the main entrance inside, and another square courtyard sat inside as the heart of the house. There was a tiny one-room house a little ways away from the main building, sitting alone in a corner. Usually servants would inhabit it, but here it surely wasn’t more than a storage room, or a garden shed.

There were three bedrooms in the house – one bigger one, and two considerably smaller. Namjoon, now joined by Jin by his side, led me to the big room and waved me inside. Even as tidy as it was, it still felt completely stuffed with all kinds of things and trinkets and gadgets and columns of books, not even speaking of the clothes that were popping out of any closet space and any chest they had there. It was painfully small to hold everything in.

“This is my, Yoongi’s and Namjoon’s room,” the oldest dragon spoke, surprisingly gently considering his expression was very neutral, “it might take a few hours, but we’ll have it ready for you by the evening, so you can sleep here.” I was opening my mouth before I even fully processed what he just told me.

“Absolutely not,” it came out of my mouth a little harsher than intended in my haste to disagree, and I felt Namjoon’s disapproving gaze even without seeing him, “I mean- This is the biggest room in the house, and three of you live here. I can’t push you out. I’ll think of something, and I can sleep in the sitting room or even the dining area. I won’t force you out of your bedroom.” My words were met with a tense silence, but at least they weren’t protesting – clearly they were against it too, but felt strong-armed into coddling me out of fear I was a spoilt little brat.

Without waiting for them to speak, I turned and walked back down the stairs taking everything in carefully. The other dragons were home too and I could sense them watching me from every corner of the house, but I was too busy trying to find a little corner where I could hide myself away and not throw their whole household into a disarray. Just because my father felt the need to showcase his power and his standing. What a stupid fucking reason to break apart someone’s life for.

As I was walking towards the main entrance again, I passed by the little backyard – and saw the servant house again.

Footsteps shuffled across the floor and then there was a warm presence by my side, so assuming it was Jungkook I asked without turning: “Do you have anything in there?”

“Hobi-hyung has his gardening things there, but otherwise it’s pretty empty.” The deep honey-like voice shocked me to my core, and I swung around only to come face to face with Taehyung and his blueish grey curious eyes. His curly locks fell around his head in what I would call perfect manner, giving him a crown of dark dark crimson around his perfectly sculpted expressionless face.

The dragon’s aura pressed into me full force from all sides as he tilted his head to continue taking me in, and I blushed with having so much of his attention on me. There was something about him that just pulled you in, and no matter how hard you tried it was almost impossible to tear your gaze away from his eyes. Gentle floral scent pushed into my senses and as soon as I noticed it, it was like my muscles turned to soup and I barely stood on my own two feet.

I felt that if he asked, I’d do anything for him.

Then he was shifting away and the pull suddenly lessened, and I realised – it must have been something related to his magick. A cold current of fear ran through me, but I pushed down the need to shudder because I didn’t want to offend him.

Or anyone else, because by that time the whole thunder was gathered around and watching the interaction. I forced myself to ignore their gazes and turned straight to Hoseok.

“Hoseok-ssi, do you think you’d be able to clear it out for me?” The man watched me for a few more seconds before it seemingly caught up to him that I asked him a question, and then he was quickly nodding, already moving towards the garden before Jin’s hand stopped him.

“Absolutely not,” Jin repeated my earlier words, and I’d almost call the expression on his face cheeky if not for the fact that we were everything except people who teased each other fondly. He was about to speak more, but Namjoon jumped in with a very troubled expression.

“That is absolutely not possible, Young Mistress Kang,” he said seriously, voice firm and not inviting any kind of protests, “that would be incredibly inappropriate. We cannot house a young knight and a daughter from a prominent family in an old servant dwelling. The implications-“

“I know, Authority, but it is the least invasive option,” I jumped into his speech, not wanting to let him spiral unnecessarily, “I will explain it to the emperor if I have to. I will tell him it was my choice and that this is the most appropriate way for me to live here. After all, taking away all else, I am an unmarried woman in a house full of young men, those implications aren’t exactly flattering to the general public either.”

Not that I cared about that, but it definitely came in handy during situations like these.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jungkook and Jimin standing side by side blushing at my words, but my attention was quickly snatched by a very disgruntled Namjoon sporting a stormy expression on his face.

“I do not think you understand, Young Mistress,” he spoke with quiet fierceness, and it was the first time I was on the receiving end of such a tone from him, “I don’t think anything you say to the emperor will change much for us.”

Those words did have me stopping in my tracks as they sunk in. I looked to Namjoon again and this time properly took him in – the storm in his eyes, it spoke of experience. Experience of the sovereign’s unfavourable reactions. Experience that no matter what, they will still likely find a reason to punish the thunder.

For the first time I fully realised just what I was playing with here – and what ramifications my behaviour could have for the dragons, even when they didn’t know of my plans. No matter how much I hated my family name and despised my father, I still walked through life with a shield – a shield that would deflect all the shit from me, but splatter it at those around.

There in that moment I felt like such a child, way in over my head. Juggling with others’ lives without understanding how my game could mess them up.

I swiped my hand over my face, sighing deeply into it as it reached my mouth. I walked around the room a little, needing to push all the sudden adrenaline and nervousness somewhere – because I needed to come up with a way to do it as safely as possible for the dragons, and I needed to do it now. Because whether they liked it or not, this thunder’s well-being was now my concern. At least as long as they were unaware of my ulterior motives and couldn’t decide whether they’d like to take the risk or not.

All the seven dragons present watched me aimlessly float through the room, but I felt Namjoon’s gaze especially – my eyes being drawn to him the moment I thought of the Authority. His expression was still pinched, but he seemed to be waiting on me to speak again.

And pathetically the only thing that I could think of was beating the emperor to the punch. Doing what he’d expect and playing him anyway.

“What if I go there right now? Before I move anywhere,” I threw the suggestion into the room, carefully searching for any kind of negative reactions. When none came, I continued. “He’ll want me to come see him anyway. He always asks about everything. I’ll tell him I came straight from the hospital to thank him for his thoughtfulness.” I wasn’t sure if my voice betrayed anything deeper about what I thought of the man on the throne, but I hoped they at least didn’t think I was actually infatuated with him. Though, I’m sure it wouldn’t be that unusual for people to fake their way into the emperor’s favour.

The dragons stood around for a moment, sharing some glances – most probably communicating through their mind link, before Jin turned to me and simply nodded.

“It could work,” the thunder leader admitted quietly, “but you’ll have to mention it as an off-hand comment. That you moved in there because you think it more appropriate.” I didn’t let it show when I solemnly nodded to his words, but I was definitely surprised at the words of advice. Though he most likely did extend them to me only to make sure his loved ones caught the least amount of flack.

I moved towards the main door immediately, feeling Jungkook step right behind me like he was pulled by an invisible string to wherever I moved. On instinct I checked on the still tender and a little strange manifestation of his bond that dwelled deep in my chest, but all I could detect was worry with a pinch of careful joy.

It seemed that Jungkook was also way more nervous than he let on, so I let a pulse of gratefulness through and basked in the explosion of happiness coming from him.

Not paying attention to anything else than the playful feeling of Jungkook’s beating heart, I almost walked straight into a very unimpressed Namjoon who stood and waited by the main entrance already, looking at me in a manner that I’d definitely call disapproving. Realising I must have been just walking blindly smiling to myself like an idiot, I thought that was probably fair and let it go with slightly pink embarrassed cheeks.

Jungkook was suddenly acting like he turned into an adhesive, always plastered to me or standing just mere centimetres to me, so the moment we stepped out and begun our walk straight back to the castle for the second time that day, his warmth boring into my side was a constant reminder of his presence, together with the pulses of the never silent bond.

Namjoon didn’t look very happy, but even after I searched through my mind, I couldn’t recall a time I saw him calm or truly neutral – he was always tinged with something more, something not very positive, always on the edge of some sort of an abyss that only he knew of and understood. He worried me a lot – because how does one win the trust of a dragon like that? He probably knew all the reasons why he shouldn’t let a human near his thunder, after all that was definitely why Yoongi refused to spare a single glance in my direction too.

‘There’s no reason to worry, I’ll be there with you’. The voice burst in seemingly from inside me, echoing through my mind like a wayward thought, and I flinched in surprise. If I immediately didn’t recognise it as Jungkook’s sweet mellow voice, I’d have thought I had really gone crazy. Instead I outwardly stuttered a little, instinctively wanting to reply with words, which drew Namjoon’s attention. He didn’t turn to me, as he walked in front, but I saw his shoulders move in a slow roll signalling he was now listening to what was happening behind.

I sent a few thoughts out, hoping any of them would reach across the little string tying us together (like throwing mud at a stone wall and hoping that it sticks, more like), but when there continued to be no response, I realised none of them landed.

I turned as much of my attention to it as I could and focused hard, imagining the string as a rope instead – holding onto it as tight as possible and sending a sentence across like a little bird.

‘Stop spying on me’. I had meant to chastise him, but that definitely sounded a lot whinier than I anticipated, which was confirmed when little melodious giggles bounced around my mind in response. I felt my tense muscles ease at the sound, a smile unconsciously tugging at my lips too.

‘Stop being a walking cloud of doom, then’, came Jungkook’s words – and even though he meant them in joke, I still couldn’t help the painful tug at my heart that elicited. Immediately the bitter taste of guilt and regret flooded me, smelling like burnt wood and damp stone. I grew dizzy for a moment and stumbled gently, righting myself almost instantly. The constant up and down of someone else’s emotions was draining me – not to mention my own seemed to uncharacteristically volatile too, and suddenly I found myself dragging my feet more than before, feeling a heavy weight set into my shoulders.

This whole matter was turning more difficult with each day, and so far I’ve actually only been awake for a couple of hours.

Something must have given us away, because it finally caught Namjoon’s attention enough to intervene, and the golden eyed dragon slowed down to walk next to his youngest mate, grasping his shoulder so softly with such care it tanked my mood even further. The onslaught of negative emotions lessened, and only then I caught onto the fact that he was monitoring our interaction through Jungkook this whole time exactly to help out with situations like this.

I felt like a hormonal teenager, every minute going through a different emotion and trying to stabilise myself while everything constantly turned and danced around me, making me dizzy. The cloud of shame and sadness hung over me, and I desperately tried to reel it in as to not drag my bonded down with me, further making me feel like I was losing my mind.

In the split second a wild thought slipped through – that maybe this was all wrong, maybe trying to be closer to Jungkook was a bad idea, because in that moment I wanted nothing more than to turn around and run away from his tender open heart, nothing more than to shut it all out and not feel anything anymore, to tear that bond out of my chest and walk away.

I shunned it as quickly as it appeared, but the damage was done it seemed.

A pang of hurt shot through me hard enough to almost make me keel over – I grunted and fought to bring back my balance – and then there was nothing. Suddenly in the absence of the constant hum of another soul, I felt so terrifyingly empty I almost cried out.

When I realised what happened, I just pushed myself to continue walking and shut it out, ignoring everything in me that screamed to check on the dragon – even as I found myself strangely off kilter, like I suddenly lost a limb.

This was a damn mess, and all I really wanted in that moment was to pass out again and sleep for a whole month.

The rest of the walk was quiet and awkward, the two dragons keeping to themselves a few steps behind me while I trudged on feeling like an exposed nerve, a bleeding open wound, and the biggest piece of shit on this side of the continent.

Never thought I’d see the emperor’s lounge and let out a huge sigh of relief, but by the moment I realised we were almost by the ruby saloon I was so ready for it to be done I basically sprinted towards it. It was a bit of a gamble, just showing up here and hoping for the best, but the two times I saw the sovereign, it was always here so I figured it might be my best bet.

The stripes guarding the door took a single look at our group and one immediately slipped inside with a gentle knock. That was a good sign. The second guard didn’t really spare us any more attention, so we just stood there and waited to be let it, shuffling on our feet nervously.

Like it so often happened, my thoughts started racing around my head the instant I was left with no outward impulse to focus on, speeding around my brain and painfully bouncing off the walls. The whole scene during the bonding, especially my father screaming at me in front of the whole thunder, the feeling of embarrassment at being seen that way, the hurt and betrayal of his lack of care, the fact that the dragons now likely thought I was as much of an enemy as possible, the weight of the new bond and the wildness of my own emotions for the past few hours (days?), the emperor’s expectations and fearing the kind of game he wanted to play with me and the thunder, it all crashed into me in one moment of anxiety and despair. My heart quivered, and my knees and hands shook. All I could do was to force myself to stand there quietly instead of nervously pacing around like a madman.

I was terrified. I wanted to talk to someone, but I couldn’t – those who would understand still thought me an enemy, and those who were friendly didn’t have to understand.

Desperately I wanted to curl into a ball and hide away, I wanted to stand tall and I wanted to crumble, I wanted to fight and I wanted to run. I was closer to the hazy unpolished idea of rebellion I thought of when I was still a stubborn child, and yet I felt weaker and more incompetent than ever.

Everything that could go wrong weighted on me, all I still had to do and accomplish weighted on me, my own shortcomings and faults weighted on me. It was too much.

But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t give up, even if I died. I had to try.

The door opened very suddenly and tore me out of my troubled thoughts, the knight stepping out and wordlessly gesturing for me to come in. I took one last deep breath to stabilise myself and moved to enter when the guard abruptly shifted forward and threw out an arm.

“No dragons,” he said in a monotone, expression not changing an inch, and I turned around to see both their figures frozen mid step. The awkwardness that hung between us hit me full force again, and I only offered them a tight-lipped smile with a nod before I disappeared inside.

Perhaps not realising how late in the evening it was, I was shocked to see the emperor sitting alone in a completely empty room. Unlike the first time I was brought here with my father, the man was sitting leisurely on his golden red sofa and his eyes were already boring into me with a burning curiosity.

Kicking myself to remember all the proper pleasantries, I stepped to the edge of the carpet and went down to kneel, touching my head to the floor in the politest bow one could make. Squirming under his attention, I swallowed everything down and played my part.

“Greetings, our empire,” my voice was slightly muffled by being bent over like this and I spoke more into the ground than to the man, but I didn’t doubt he heard me – and even if he didn’t, he must have been greeted this way million times by now, “thank you for accepting my humble request for an audience.”

When I straightened again, there was that sleazy smile on the young man’s face I’ve seen a couple times before. I forced down the shudder of disgust that desperately wanted to run through me and took my time to curl my lips into a smile instead. To my boundless shock, instead of sending me to sit at one of the lower set sofas, the man gestured for me to join him on his little platform.

That… felt like a test. A test that could possibly have terrible consequences.

Standing up to my feet, I hesitated. I tried to guess what he wanted me to do from his face, but his expression was frozen in that same cunning grin. When maybe a minute of tense silence sped by, I finally took the step up towards him, and his smile melted into a satisfied smirk. I hated that so much.

Hesitantly and as slowly as I could I walked over to the other end of the sofa he currently occupied and sat down, watching his body language the whole time and trying to discern when I pushed a limit or crossed a line. Nothing happened though, and the young sovereign instead leant forward to offer me a cup of tea.

I took it wordlessly, almost on instinct, still too shocked to really comprehend what was happening here.

“Y/N, I am very pleased with your visit,” he started in a silken smooth voice. I imagined it worked quite well on people, especially women desperate to be noticed by the most powerful man in the empire, but I just felt my skin crawl with disgust. “I was hoping you’d come speak to me about how the situation is going forward.” I plastered a hopefully grateful smile on my face, pretended to be a little shy to avoid looking at him directly. He unsettled me, a lot. But if he wanted to do it this way, I’d match his energy word for word.

“I came to thank you, your majesty,” I spoke softly, just like a polite well-mannered noble daughter would, “I am very grateful for your special request to accommodate me.” I was thinking what more to say, but the man was already opening his mouth to speak more, so I let him. He clearly liked the sound of his own voice, so why ruin it for him?

“A bond like yours deserves special attention,” the honey in his voice was grating on my nerves, so I just played with my cup of tea and timidly sipped on it to stop myself from scowling, “It doesn’t happen very often. I admit, at first I found your behaviour during the ceremony very strange, but when General Kang and the fire dragon came to explain it I thought it was the most exciting news.”

The man fully turned to me and I was forced to look at him, since he clearly commanded my attention. The flickering light of the magick lamps brought out the shadows in his eyes, making him seem like an eager predator when he leant towards me with a sharp smile full of teeth.

“I’d like you to keep me updated on how your relationship with the thunder goes,” his voice turned almost too sweetly and tender, confirming he thought me to be an empty-headed young girl yearning for his approval, so I took it in stride. At least I didn’t really have to fear of going too far with him, he must have been used to people trying to sleaze their way into his favour.

Coyly I tucked some of my unruly hair behind my ear, trying my best to gaze at him with eyes full of stars. My stomach rolled, and my heart beat so fast I was worried I might throw up right into his lap, but I held myself together with the last pieces of sanity I had left.

“It would be my honour, your majesty,” it was all pointless pandering, but the emperor seemed to buy I was genuinely doing that – his expression stayed the same, it didn’t flicker with annoyance or disgust, it didn’t light up, he watched me with the same calculative eyes. I hoped he didn’t see the same mirrored in mine. Or if he did, I hoped he thought I was after a ring on my finger and nothing more.

What else could a woman want, after all.

His strange obsession over me getting closer to the whole thunder also wasn’t lost on me, and as unusual as that was, I had an inkling he’d soon start revealing more of his cards. He clearly had a goal in mind – I saw it all there in him, in the way he watched me. He wouldn’t wait forever for it to be realised, he’d hint at what he expected me to do sooner rather than later.

“As you granted me, I have already moved into the house,” I spoke again after a momentary lull in conversation, keeping my voice sweet and soft, “I took the old servant dwelling, as it of course isn’t appropriate for a young unmarried woman to live with a group of male dragons.” Making sure to put the emphasis on the words young and unmarried, I kept an eye on his reaction, almost holding my breath.

Come on, buy it, don’t ask questions please!!

A shadow passed over his eyes momentarily, but then he was politely chuckling along. “Well, of course, I didn’t even think of that,” he said smoothly, and something in his posture just didn’t seem quite right to me, “How very silly of me, of course a young noblewoman shouldn’t be sharing living quarters with such unruly characters. Dragons cannot be trusted in these matters, after all – they’re wild beasts.”

The smile I kept on my face with sheer force of will twitched at those words, but I immediately leant in to agree, thanking him of thinking of my virtue. For the first time since I walked in the man seemed a little off, and as I watched him he almost looked upset about me not living closer to them. Like he was fully expecting me to just move straight into Jungkook’s room.

Wait a minute.

Every thought in my head screeched to a halt. Could it be that people truly believed we were entangled as more than just a rider and his dragon? Did he think he was doing me a favour with this? We’ve known each other for barely a little over a week, and almost three of those days I lay unconscious in the infirmary!

This time when the sovereign smiled at me, I didn’t even have to fake being a blushing mess, because what the actual fuck. God, what a mess.

“The others have already reported to your superior at the Academy, so I suggest you do that first thing tomorrow morning,” he continued talking, not caring for my embarrassed silence at all, “This year’s novices are in the care of General Wang, so seek him out in the barracks. He’ll give you your uniform and show you around. Tell him they’re my orders, special for the youngest Kang.” A sly grin made itself home on his thin lips, and I felt the hair at the back of my neck rise. He wanted me to swoon, but I couldn’t force myself to sell that properly.

Bowing as much as I could while sitting, I told him in response: “Once again, I offer my humble thanks, your majesty.”

A hand suddenly grasped mine, making me flinch slightly. The emperor chuckled at my reaction, chalking it up to being shy around him, and his grip on me tightened as he leant forward, until all I saw was his beautiful cold face and fiery cruel eyes.

“No need for such formalities between the two of us, please do call me by my name when it’s just us,” the words were whispered almost coquettishly, and for few terrifying moments I feared he might actually be interested in fucking me to get something out of keeping me loyal, “Not many have the honour to do that.”

Keeping my eyes lowered, I felt the pressure behind them, lips almost twisting in a grimace as I simply whispered back “if your majesty insists…”. His hand was still tightly holding mine, and he was so close that when he chuckled this time I felt it hitting my skin.

“Not your majesty,” he playfully chided me, and his skin on mine felt both scalding hot and freezing cold, making me shudder. The instinct to tear out of his hold and put space between us almost made me jerk away. With deep breaths I grounded myself and went along. It was revolting, truly revolting – his touch felt like the worst kind of a brand.

“Yes, K-Kangdae-ssi…” it was hard to get the name through my lips, like every cell in my body knew it was forbidden, but the man let out a pleased hum and finally pulled away. The moment his oppressing aura shifted back, it was like a boulder fell off my shoulders and I straightened in relief.

Yi Kangdae. It was a name everyone in the country knew, but no one said out loud. It was etched into murals around the castle, written into history books and documents, carved into despair and calamities, branded onto his loyal followers. It was left behind in bloody wounds of fallen soldiers and cried out in prayers of grieving mothers and wives. Just like the names of his father, and his father before, and his father before.

It carried a weight with it that had nothing to do with his position of power, and it tasted like ash on my tongue.

The man himself sat unbothered on his half of the sofa we shared and watched me with a sort of lazy satisfaction, like someone that knew whatever they wanted they would get.

“Isn’t that much more comfortable, Y/N-ssi?” he taunts again, darkness spilling into his gaze as if he was subtly warning me, so I quickly bent to his will. Nodding and smiling, playing, acting, selling.

“We’ll see each other a lot anyway,” were his final words, an order hidden between them. Bow to me, worship me, obey me. So I did.

When his hand gestured that I was free to go, I stood up and bowed to him again, keeping myself at ninety degrees for a few moments before I rose again. An acidic lump sat at the bottom of my stomach, searing through the sensitive tissue.

In a daze I walked back, only to be stopped by his voice once I was by the door.

“Y/N. Call in the fire dragon, I want to speak with him.” I half turned with an unsure smile on my face, doing a quick bow once more before walking out.

My stomach was boiling with nervosity as I saw the two dragons leaning on a windowsill directly across the door. Both of them had sombre expressions on their faces and both of them jerked in my direction when they heard the door open and close. Jungkook’s youthful face wasn’t made for the frown that resided on it currently. It felt wrong for him to be anything but his usual happy self, and I couldn’t help myself and beat myself up once again for being so harsh earlier.

His bond was still dead and quiet in my chest, and now that I saw him again I was poignantly aware of the missing piece – of the black empty hole consuming me from the inside.

Before either of the dragons could say anything, I gestured to the door with a troubled look on my face.

“Namjoon-ssi, his majesty wishes to speak to you..” I surprised myself that the words weren’t spoken in a whisper, but they came out wobbly nonetheless – not that the dragon commented on that. He simply nodded and without a word walked to the door, disappearing inside instantly.

When I was left standing there alone with Jungkook, only the stripes guards tensely standing by the entrance into the lounge, I found myself squirming and shuffling from foot to foot. The young dragon’s gaze was trained on me, almost sheepish, as if he feared I wouldn’t take kindly to his attention. Unsure of where he stood now, after what he must have perceived as a sort of a rejection. Giving myself one last mental slap I walked towards him, slinking in like a misbehaving dog.

I felt the questions in his gaze when I leant on the cold stone closer to him than necessary, ignoring all that empty space left behind by the huge fire dragon. I came as close as I could without brushing our arms together, but it was enough to feel the warmth radiating off of him. I found myself enveloped in a heavy scent of burning wood and stone and metal, for the first time taking the time to realise that it was Jungkook’s natural smell – something I had no chance of catching onto before the bonding, but now so aware of it I felt singed with it. He smelt like smoky sandalwood, iron and gunpowder – powerful and heavy, but with a calming tone. It rushed through my lungs like opium smoke, pulling me into a haze like I’ve never felt before.

The gravity of the discovery instinctively pulled me closer until my nose almost bumped into the bewildered dragon’s shoulder so I could take a closer sniff, and with embarrassment colouring my cheeks red I jerked back.

Clearing my throat, I sat straight and kneaded my hands on my thighs to get rid of the sweaty clammy feel.

“Sorry,” I muttered quietly, taking the chance to send an apologetic smile to the dragon, and catching his shy but sparkling eyes. He still hesitated on whether to get close or not, lips pulled down at the corners with emotion only he felt, now that his side of the bond shut down.

“Don’t worry about it,” came his hushed response, though more eager than mine, “your scent is heightened too, now.”

“Oh,” well, that certainly caught my attention, and I turned to him fully, “and what do I smell like?”

He pursed his lips for a moment, the cogs in his head turning so obviously I almost laughed at him as he attempted to come up with a good analogy.

“I don’t really know, haven’t figured it out yet,” the dragon finally admitted, “it changes a lot, but it’s really earthy with a hint of flowers. Maybe like a freshly dug flower bed?”

That was… peculiar. Dirt and flowers? I guess it was quite fitting, but still – not very a ladylike scent, was it?

“Wait… what do you mean it changes? Do I smell differently each day?” I inquired more, trying to subtly take a whiff of my own body odour, but I didn’t really smell anything special. I smelled like the hospital I woke up in, and there was a residue of a sharp tang of magick on me that smelled vaguely like damp moss. That must have been Hoseok. My clothes smelled clean but slept in. Nothing more.

“You can’t really smell your own scent, not like this at least,” Jungkook chuckled as he watched me, “and technically yes, scent changes – but not drastically. It’s usually about the emotions. The heavier the emotion, the heavier the scent. Usually.” I blushed and stopped sniffing my own arms like a maniac, and instead leant in to Jungkook again.

And he was right – this time his scent was much more mellow, more like sandalwood incense with sharp metallic undertones. It was a fascinating mix, so much so that the red hue on my cheeks was now solely due to that.

“When can you smell your own scent?” I tried to distract both of us from my own flustered state, so I inquired more. Jungkook still giggled at me though, and mischief glinted in his eyes – and they were so alive, it robbed me of my breath.

“Uh… well- certain emotions are bigger and stronger than others,” the young dragon started talking, hand on his chin like he was a philosopher, eyebrows pinched together as he seemed to be deliberating on how to present this information to me, though everything about him felt a touch too whimsical to take seriously, “you know, like anger. You can smell your anger, because your scent starts like… soaking into the air around you, I guess? It becomes really heavy and tangible for everyone, basically.”

I hummed in answer, nodding along as what he told me slowly sunk in. We both leant back into the cold stone windowsill, now more comfortable than before – like the ice has been broken with this simple small talk. Jungkook was too forgiving, truly. With my heart squeezing painfully in my chest, I thought to myself that if I didn’t mention the earlier upset, he’d probably just let it go and act normally when I did too.

And that was absolutely unacceptable.

Namjoon was still inside with the emperor, though to us it no doubt felt much longer than it truly was, and the hallway was empty – safe for those two guards. I’d feel too uncomfortable trying to talk this out with him in front of others, not only because I didn’t like the idea of them hearing me discuss such a vulnerable thing with someone, but also because gossip spread like fire and I didn’t want people to start talking even more about the friendship I’d like to start building with him. It wasn’t really customary for humans to be so sweet with dragons, and it drew too much attention when someone broke that unspoken rule. There were already too many eyes on us due to my family’s name, the Bangtan name and the emperor’s involvement, and for now it’d be easier and safer to try and fly under the radar (no pun intended).

So with that in mind I squirmed on my spot to dispel the unpleasant feeling of cold stone seeping into my robes, and reached out to the link binding us together again. It was still too quiet inside me, and no matter how Jungkook’s constant chatter of emotions and thought overwhelmed me at times, in those few hours I’ve had the bond it already sunk its roots into the deepest parts of me.

Now that I knew what rhythm Jungkook’s heart beat to, the absence was even more obviously felt.

The string hummed and quivered under my careful attention, a bit of hopeful warmth spreading in. The dragon shuffled in surprise, but other than turning to me to give me a shy smile he didn’t acknowledge me reaching out to him.

‘Jungkook’. The thought was so loud and clear in my mind, that I’d never doubt it’s ability to cross over, but the slight blush on the man’s face was a nice sign too. ‘I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for before’.

I was given a beautiful blinding smile in return, so bright I felt like I was standing in that gazebo soaking in the moon’s blessed light again. In a swirl the full force of the bond swooped in, million thoughts going around our minds as we shared a conspiratory smile.

‘There’s nothing to apologise for’, came Jungkook’s response, the thought beating to the forefront with the tenacity of his strong heart. I was just about to shake my head when he continued. ‘The hyungs keep telling me I’m overwhelming you, I should be the one saying sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken to you in your mind without a warning’.

My heart squeezed at his earnestness, and I couldn’t quite stop myself from reaching out and grabbing onto his arm gently.

‘No, Jungkook. It’s just… It will take time for me to get used to someone else sensing all of my thoughts and emotions. I’ve never been this open to anyone. I was just… scared’. And Jungkook, as open and easy-going as always, accepted what I offered with no questions asked. It was almost scary how eager he was when it came to any kind of love and affection, and for the first time I fully understood the thunder’s desperate need to shelter him away from all of this. From me, and from the emperor.

‘I don’t even remember what it’s like to not hear and feel my mates, but I understand it’s new to you. Don’t worry Y/N, we’ll get through this together – us, with the thunder.’ I hoped I managed to hide away the note of sourness that tinged my emotions at his boundless optimism, but I had the inkling that he wouldn’t care either way.

Jungkook just seemed like a person that willed things into existence – he expected them to happen a certain way, so of course they would. In the time I’ve known him (and it felt like ages already), he hasn’t expressed a single doubt about any of his ideas not realising in the end.

He wanted me and the thunder to be friendly, a big family, so it would end up coming true – wouldn’t it?

It was quite charming, to tell the truth. He had a way of swaying you into believing it too, like his enthusiasm was irresistibly contagious.

When I failed to respond to him, the dragon took it as a sign to continue soothing my frayed nerves. ‘You’ll come to enjoy the feeling of having the bond with you. And I promise – I never want to pry into you, nor make you uncomfortable, but the bond is there so we can rely on each other. Rely on me. Trust our instincts.’

Our instincts. There was something so incredibly straightforward and simple about that. Us. For me, there’s never been an us. Maybe when I was younger, but that was long gone.

Jungkook had no reason to manipulate me or betray me, but his presence in the deepest parts of my psyche still unnerved me. I’ve never realised the bond would be quite so encompassing – not to the point where I almost felt his life force running through my veins and my chest ached when I couldn’t sense him. And it was just mere hours!

‘Okay. But you need to teach me how to keep my bond under control too. I must be wrecking you too.’

To that Jungkook gave me a toothy grin and bumped our shoulders together. The amicable contact sent a flurry of embers through my body, something heavy flickering in and out of existence in my chest before all at once a soothing calm settled over me.

“W-What is that?” I stuttered out in surprise, cheeks a soft pink colour. The shock of the pleasant sensation pushed me out of our telepathic communication and pushed the words straight out of my mouth.

At least Jungkook was looking similarly flushed, grin lopsided and cheeky but with a bit of shyness. “Hyungs mentioned…,” he started, squirming in his place a little bit, “physical contact helps settle the bond.”

Just like before my interest was piqued – after all, I didn’t know much about the inner workings of the bonds, but just as I was about to open my mouth and fire more questions out, the ruby saloon’s door opened and Namjoon walked out. He looked tired, holding himself straight but with a heavy weight on his shoulders, constantly pulling him down. He took one single look at the two of us sitting close, cheeks rosy, and a very brief flash of something pained crossed his eyes.

I jerked under the load of that, but even then I couldn’t find it in myself to unstick from the young dragon – like everything in me was protesting even the mere idea of being separated from my bonded.

The fire dragon only sighed and slowly trudged towards us before gesturing with his chin to leave. So we did.

Namjoon went first, as he always did, and me and Jungkook fell into a comfortable pace behind him, arms linked at our elbows. The little fuzzy warm ball of light was serenely floating around inside me, almost like a napping lounging cat lazing in the afternoon sun. When I reached in to lightly caress it, it responded with a burst of peaceful hum – the bond hasn’t been this calm in my chest since I woke up – even since it took hold in me.

I still felt Jungkook’s consciousness gently probing along the edges of mind, and even though I could sense my metaphorical hackles of discomfort rising in alarm, our cores buzzed in harmony and felt too tranquil for me to panic too much about it.

‘Jungkook.’ The dragon looked to me questioningly, but inclined his head to signal he was listening.

‘Please promise me, that whatever you feel or see inside me, you won’t ask questions.’

‘Why?’ His gaze was warm and curious, gently inquisitive – youthful. But then it melted away into understanding. ‘I’ll promise not to ask, if you promise you’ll tell me when it’s time to know.’

Namjoon’s tense form moved steadily forward in front of us, shoulders almost all the way up to his ears, and I wondered whether he was monitoring Jungkook’s emotions again. And if he did, I wondered how he felt about the amusement that flooded me when he heard my soft snickering.

‘Fine, that’s unfortunately fair.’

The moment I looked to the side my good spirits evaporated within a moment though. Jungkook immediately pulled me closer to himself, and I could imagine his vigilant gaze tracking across our surroundings, ready to pinpoint any kind of danger I could be reacting to.

That wasn’t what had me on pins and needles though.

We’ve walked over to the side of the castle that left behind dark towering halls and corridors, and opened up into more stone and flower decorated courtyards with roofed walkways. This part was closer to the barracks and the Academy grounds, and scholars and councilmen gave way to uniform-clad knights.

And there, as we were passing by towards the castle gates closer to the dragons’ house, a group of Academy students was walking through the courtyard on the opposite side to us. Their affiliation was very clear even without any other clues – their dark cheolliks embroidered with the likeness of a dragon beast and tied with greenish blue sashes – but I still wouldn’t be able to not recognise the ever so smug smirking man by one of the knights’ sides.

Fucking Peacock.

I didn’t recognise the rest of the students, but they sure did recognise me. The moment they saw me and Jungkook walking arm in arm with Namjoon leading the way, their faces scrunched up in a rich variable of emotions. I saw distaste and envy. I saw mockery. The usual mixture.

My classmate was speaking to a knightess I’ve never seen before, but based on their uniforms they must have been some of the upperclassmen. Those two were leaning close together, their shiny hostile eyes trained onto our moving forms, lips curled into snide smirks.

I’ve long since realised that the only way to get through situations like this was to ignore everything, so I just turned back to my companions ready to leave this behind us. What other people thought of me and what rumours they spread around about me was of no concern to me, and I didn’t care one bit about it.

The dragons seemed to have a different idea though. When I looked back towards them, I saw that even Namjoon’s gaze was locked on the now snickering students as they kept walking away from us. As I could have predicted, Jungkook’s face was coloured with anger and displeasure, but why Namjoon looked so disgruntled was beyond me.

The golden dragon’s ears were twitching, like he was used to them having a different shape, and I realised he most likely heard their conversation.

Which meant… there was a chance I could hear them too.

I wasn’t fully sure what to do – I did remember having heightened senses overwhelmed me slightly in the infirmary, but since then it was like everything went back to normal. Thankfully, our pace slowed down considerably due to the distraction, so I had the mental capacity to really lean into it and focus as hard as I could on trying to catch their venomous whispers.

“…riding too seriously…” A bout of giggles disrupted the sentence and I got lost again. With how quickly they were heading in the other direction, it was harder to listen in.

“…daddy gets his princess what she wants…” There was more laughter, and I rolled my eyes. As if I haven’t heard that one thousand times before. If they only fucking knew what my father was like.

“Didn’t expect her to spread her legs for the whole thunder-“ And with that they rounded the corner and disappeared deeper into the gardens, presumably in the direction of either the barracks or the training grounds.

I looked towards Namjoon with flaming cheeks, but the dragon just seemed very displeased. Even Jungkook looked more angry than embarrassed, which I wasn’t expecting.

For the rest of the journey back to the house no one said anything. I wondered whether Namjoon, now freshly discovering this very unpleasant side-effect of being associated with our family, regretted everything even more. I wondered what Jungkook thought of such rumours being spread around about his loved ones, but he himself gave me no more signs of anything being wrong – didn’t let go of my arm, didn’t shut off his bond again, and didn’t let through even a sliver of displeasure.

The second dinner I’ve had at the dragons’ house was no less uncomfortable and tense than the first one, but it did seem that some of them were a bit more positively minded towards me.

The moment we returned to the townhouse, me and Jungkook jumped into moving my things into the servant’s house with the help of Hoseok – and surprisingly Taehyung, who insisted on assisting us with anything we’d need.

Somewhere along the way Jungkook wormed his way back into my mind, speaking to me constantly in an eager chirp, chatting off about anything that came to mind. I felt a bit bad for the other two dragons who had to watch us as we silently talked about horses and vegetables and whatever else that came to Jungkook’s mind, but they were likely doing the same thing through their own bond. And, unexpectedly, both of them wore quite genuine smiles on their faces as they hauled boxes and chests filled with my essentials.

I don’t know how exactly it happened, but in the time it took us to settle me into that little room, Jungkook managed to persuade me into tagging along with him in some old forgotten tradition his hyungs told him about long time ago. Understandably, I was quite hesitant at first – the thunder leader still winced whenever ‘Authority’ fell out of my mouth, though he tried to hide it, so I wasn’t quite sure it would exactly be appreciated.

But Jungkook was nothing if not excited and impossible to reject, so I ended up caving in just in time for the dinner to start. Damn his beautiful, wet, sparkling eyes.

Just walk in by my side and kneel to Namjoon hyung, he said as he ran off to help Seokjin with dishes. He’ll welcome you into the thunder. Right.

Yeah, well, easier said than done, now that I was actually walking into the room with the jittery excited Jungkook basically vibrating next to me, seeing the whole thunder sitting around the dinner table on their pillows, in the same order as last time. Their gazes were on us, some confused and questioning, some calm and expecting.

When Jungkook kneeled, it was met with soft and fond looks. When I followed him down, the room suddenly felt colder.

Jin sat straight in his spot, a neutral expression on his face. He didn’t seem neither displeased not appeased. Yoongi on the other hand turned his head away from the display as soon as he realised what we were doing. That one stung. But not as much as Namjoon, who was desperately trying to look anywhere but us without making it immediately obvious to the excited Jungkook. When our eyes met, it almost seemed like it hurt him to even see me.

After that I didn’t gather enough courage to look at the others and instead hung my head down low in a proper bow. A few more moments of silence went by, and judging by Jungkook’s warm purring happiness spilling everywhere out of his core, he didn’t interpret the atmosphere to be quite as tense as I did.

“Thank you, sihe,” finally Namjoon’s voice cut through the room, putting everyone involved out of their misery, “Come take a seat at the table and eat.” The word was unfamiliar to me, though there was no doubt it was draconic. It rolled off the dragon’s tongue smoothly, in his deep voice it almost sounded like a purr, and I could see that Jungkook especially liked to hear his leader call me such; so assuming it wasn’t anything bad, I didn’t pry more.

The young dragon rose from his position to sit at the table, chest puffed out and cheeks rosy with some emotion I couldn’t fully discern. I followed after him, significantly more sluggish and ready to call it a day.

This time around when I sat down next to Taehyung, there was no trace of his previous apprehension. When I looked to him, he smiled and gestured towards the spread of food that smelled absolutely delicious. Seokjin also gave me a polite but warm smile and began eating.

When I reached back towards the memory of the first dinner I spent here, merely a week ago, I couldn’t even remember what it was we ate. Tonight a pot full of hearty stew sat in the middle of the table, and I didn’t even know how much I needed it until the first spoonful hit me and spread the pleasant kind of heavy warmth through my being. By the time I ate a whole bowl, I was ready to curl up and fall asleep right there on the floor by the table.

The dragons kept up a sparse but polite chatter, but unlike the last time I didn’t join in. No one spoke to me, and just for that evening I basked in their insistence on ignoring me. For once I found a bit of relief in not getting their attention – because then it meant I wasn’t actively pissing them off either, and I figured all of us needed a break after everything that’s been happening.

When it was all over, I was just about ready to slink off into my little house and sleep for a whole century. Trying to disappear as inconspicuously as possible, I was promptly stopped by Seokjin’s voice calling my name. He said it so softly I almost missed it, but when I whipped around in surprise the pink-haired man was already gesturing for me to follow after him.

Jungkook was running after Namjoon basically as soon as his spoon dropped from his hand, something proud and eager glinting in his eyes, so I rather left them to it and quietly jogged after the eldest dragon. Seokjin swiftly made his way over into the kitchen, which was still covered in mess from when he cooked – utensils and dishes were laid out everywhere, cutoffs from vegetables were sitting in a bowl on a table, the remaining stew sat in a pot in the middle of the room. A few magickal lanterns were fighting to keep the room alight, the shadows flickering around the room with the dying strands of their energy.

Seokjin danced into the room like a storm, immediately grabbing a basket and strutting right out, leaving me stood there in the middle of the room gaping. Just seconds later Taehyung leisurely walked in, taking slow deliberate steps and watching me with deep icy blue eyes.

I thought back to earlier that afternoon, how his gaze locked me into place and penetrated deep into my soul. How I felt drawn to him, and how I almost choked on his flowery scent. As my gaze slid across the man (much like he did to me), I couldn’t help but ponder what exactly his powers entailed.

Unlike the other dragons, I couldn’t outwardly see any draconic features – except for his blueish grey eyes and ethereal beauty. He didn’t have any scales anywhere like Jimin, didn’t have horns like Hoseok, Jungkook or Yoongi, his eyes didn’t even flash silver or glow like Namjoon’s golden ones did. His gaze was always inquisitive and he didn’t speak much, but somehow had an aura of someone who always knew what you were thinking deep down. Or like you’d want to tell him anyway, no matter what – as long as he wanted it.

It was unsettling. Taehyung was putting me kind of on edge, but he was also one of the two dragons who seemed to want to be friendly with me, so whatever it was I was grateful to him anyway.

Even if it seemed slightly sinister.

Taehyung’s stare felt just as weighted on me as the dragon circled around the room seemingly inconspicuously before his neutral cold exterior melted into a cheeky smile and he took a seat by one of the sliding doors leading out into the yard.

I didn’t really even have the chance to feel the thickness of the silence when the pink dragon waltzed back in, basket now full of dirty dishes. Jimin trailed in behind him, pot of uneaten stew in hands. The water dragon didn’t spare me much but an unsure glance, set the stew down on the floor and with a quick snap of his fingers a wooden basin that Seokjin suddenly pulled out of nowhere started filling with water.

For a split second I got pulled into that dark glistening surface – the darkness and calm I felt during that cleansing, the voice speaking to me, the water filling my lungs and constricting my throat, and Jimin there, looking back at me in the mirror of my mind – and then I pulled back again. I wasn’t insane enough to think the Moon Goddess was going to talk to me through the kitchen dish washing tub. Yet.

But I did discreetly shuffle further away from it with my shaking hands seeking support at one of the wooden tables – not that anyone cared. Taehyung has found himself a bag of potatoes and was peeling them all by himself in his corner, not paying attention to anything else. I heard Seokjin’s half-hearted grumbled complaints with which he was teasing the already walking away Jimin. The tub sat on the floor, the water looking at me with a hungry spark.

“Have you never washed the dishes?” Seokjin’s question came at me half serious, half teasing – I mean, even if he did want to play around, in his mind the chances I ever did anything with my own two hands must have been pretty low. I jerked, whipping my eyes into his warm greyish silver ones. His leathery wings were twitching behind his back, probably dying to spread out more, but the man kept them firmly pressed to himself. “You’re watching it like it’s about to eat you.”

Now I felt Taehyung’s curious eyes on me too, though I still heard him as he worked on the vegetables. In two strides I reached the older dragon’s side and grabbed the washing sponge and lavender smelling soap.

“I did,” I answered him simply, shooting him a quick smile, “Even if I missed it at home – which I didn’t – I went through military.” Seokjin pulled two low wooden stools towards us with a quick flick of his wrist, the furniture flying through air with an elegant arch and landing right under me.

“What, they let the general’s daughter dirty her hands?” the pink dragon teased more, a mischievous smile pulling at his lips. He sat down while I still processed the quick magick he showcased, before I slowly slid down and started on the ceramic bowls. Normally jabs like that were the quickest way to anger me, but for some reason I didn’t mind Seokjin’s light joking tone.

He didn’t seem malicious, just interested. And after the fiasco at the dinner, that was better than I was hoping for.

“Well, everybody has to help around the barracks, though you can buy your way around it,” I admitted freely, knowing there’s no reason to lie about such things (my father would never waste money on me like that anyway, so it’s not like I was ever exempt), “but it’s mostly just a popular way to punish someone for minor misdeeds, as were most of the cleaning duties. I spent a lot of time mopping the floors while on the mother base.” A wry smile made its way on my face, the tenseness in my shoulders melting away as we fell into a rhythm.

“A trouble-maker, huh? No wonder you bonded our Kookie,” Seokjin muttered softly in response, eyes locked on his hands. I honestly wasn’t sure if he expected me to respond – if those words were even aimed at me, but the dragon quickly shook the melancholic expression off and smirked again.

“Had my bouts of misbehaving,” I grumbled back, cheeks pink as the older dragon’s eyes glinted with humour. But then he suddenly turned serious, and all my peace was thrown right out the window Taehyung was sitting by.

“The bowing ceremony, tiichir,” the draconic word rolled off Seokjin’s tongue in a similar purr-like hiss like Namjoon did before, and once again I found myself quite enthralled at the language that was so rarely heard anymore. So enthralled in fact, that I almost forgot to shit bricks at the mention of the ceremony. “Did your teacher teach you that as well?”

“Uhh- no, actually,” the confused answer spilled out of me almost unconsciously. Seokjin’s demeanour was so tranquil, the tone of his voice so conversational, and I realised too late it was most likely on purpose so that I felt comfortable talking to him about things he truly wanted to know. I sighed in disappointment a little, but really – what was there to do?

At least he was nice about it.

“Actually, Jungkook told me about it. He said he knows it from your stories and always wanted to do it with his bonded too.” Seokjin’s eyebrow twitched, but otherwise he stayed perfectly inviting. From the corner the sounds of Taehyung peeling vegetables were the only reminders of his presence.

“I see, so he did.” The older dragon’s tone was almost too kindly, and I had a feeling Jungkook would get a huge dressing down later. Though, good luck trying to scold him when he’s looking at you with those begging eyes and talking about how much he loved it. I fell in the same trap and look where it got me.

“Y/N,” the sudden appearance of my name out of Seokjin’s mouth startled me enough to flinch in my spot, “I will come clean, as I dislike not being straightforward. I have to admit, I’m very curious about your teacher – because I’m very curious about the kind of dragon that spends his summers teaching a random human child olden dragon customs. Are you sure his name is Hwan?”

I just stared at him, hands frozen in my spot, clutching onto a half-washed fork. Based on his body language, he didn’t seem to be angry – he looked quite relaxed actually, and there was an open expression on his face. But something about the way he worded the sentence just rubbed me wrong. Maybe it was because I already got Hwan into trouble once by being a tattle-mouth, but I struggled to let go of my fear that there was still a way I could bring ire on his head, even though I didn’t even know where he currently was. Or if he even lived.

“Based on what he taught you, he could have been a zriha once upon a time, but that would make him quite old,” the pink-haired dragon continued, hands still diligently working in the sudd covered tub not caring at all that mine stopped.

“I-I have no idea what that word means,” I absent-mindedly stuttered out in response, clutching onto the first straw I could catch. A sharp grin that sent goosebumps down my back split the handsome man’s face, and it was the first time I saw him look a touch less polite and friendly.

“It’s not yours to know,” a clear warning laced his cheery voice, so I immediately left it alone.

I looked at him for a moment, at his expectant gaze. At the wings stretching and folding continuously behind his back as he tried to make himself comfortable on the little stool. He was a little too tall for it, I belatedly realised. His wide shoulders almost hid Taehyung from me at this angle, but I still saw the way his eyes turned to me every few seconds, waiting.

“He said his name was Hwan. That’s what he went by and that’s how he introduced himself to me,” I said finally, sighing and forcing my hands back into motion. There weren’t many dishes left and I reached for one of the last plates. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Taehyung frowning, gaze clouded with deep thought.

Seokjin sat still for a few seconds, watching me patiently, and I forced myself to look back until he stared his fill and felt satisfied with my answer. Then he nodded and smiled, his usual kindly way, and got up to start putting away the clean wet dishes.

Even though I squirmed in discomfort in my seat, the atmosphere didn’t change after our conversation. There was no heavy tense silence, no mistrustful or hostile glances. Just Seokjin humming to himself while he flitted around the room, wings fluttering with the movement, and Taehyung staring straight down into my soul with wide interested eyes.

Maybe they knew – that I was lying to them. At that point in time, it didn’t really matter.

Once I was let free of the cleaning duty, I ran away from the room as fast as I could get away without actually sprinting out. The ground floor and the courtyard seemed to be quiet and empty, and I aimlessly wandered around for a few moments, unseeing eyes staring off into space.

Seokjin didn’t seem to be the type to just let things go easily, and seeing as he already brought up Hwan twice, it was safe to assume he’d try it again – until he got an answer that satisfied him. The problem was, I didn’t even know what kind of thing was Hwan embroiled in. It was almost twenty years ago, but even my child eyes could see that he and his bonded were running away from Wuyun as fast as they could.

Seokjin was in the capital at the time. For him it probably felt a lot shorter than two decades, and whatever went down here to make a dragon and his knight run away, he’d probably remember it.

But on the other hand – I chose Bangtan for a reason. I chose them knowing I’d have to come to a point where I’d trust them with anything. And Seokjin did seem like a trustworthy choice. But he also could be hiding an anger at his kin – for indulging an enemy too much, teaching them things they had no business knowing. None of the dragons seemed especially thrilled about me having such knowledge, and I did have to wonder whether Hwan broke some unspoken rule by teaching me things dragons didn’t want humans to know.

Until I was sure of where Seokjin’s curiosity came from, I’d hold onto the information just for a little longer.

I looked back towards the kitchen somewhat wistfully. Maybe I was approaching this whole thing from the wrong angle – maybe Seokjin was the answer when it came to my teacher. He must know details of his exile, he might even know where he fled. He might tell me.

But then I thought back to their pained angry eyes when I kneeled with Jungkook, and the memory stopped me.

All in due time. I swore to rely on Jungkook – and I hoped that would be the first step towards stable ground.

Taehyung found many things interesting. He’s always been like that – for as long as he knew Seokjin hyung, he always called him his curious cub. The hyungs always fed his curiosities with books and trinkets, and stories too. He also knew people found him strange.

Taehyung never chose to speak too much in front of others. His mates knew what he thought and felt through their soulties, and no one else really mattered. No one else had to be privy to what he was doing, or what he was thinking. People tended to believe that an absence of words meant absence of thought, but in reality Taehyung was just tired of constantly explaining himself to people who didn’t really care.

And it’s been centuries since he last found something as interesting as Jungkook’s young bonded.

There used to be times when Taehyung hated his gifts. The hearts and souls of living beings rarely showed anything worth seeing, and more often than not pushed the dragon away. Greed, anger, spite, violence. Walking through the banquets and halls and streets, Taehyung sensed all different mixtures of all different unpleasant things. It made him nauseous. It was all too much.

Jinnie-hyung always told him that he had too much of a gentle heart for this world, but Tae wasn’t sure if that was true. Gentle creatures couldn’t toy with others’ minds the way he could.

Though there were uses for his magick, ones that he learnt to appreciate.

And the moment he saw Jungkook’s bonded, he sensed that there was something different about her soul. Brought up by one of the cruellest men Taehyung’s had the displeasure of meeting, moulded into a soldier since a young age, she should have been steeped in the bitter taste of evil.

And she was, in a way. There was an air of violence around her, but just as much suffering.

Taehyung sensed every lie she told, and yet every time he looked at her, she shined with genuineness. She was shifty and suspicious, and yet every fibre of his being told him he could trust her. He’s never before met such an interesting contradiction.

He understood, of course he did, why his hyungs were so worried about everything, but he knew this human woman was right for Jungkook the moment he sensed her bleeding weeping heart breaking after the ceremony with her father.

And when he looked to the young dragon, he knew that Kookie felt the same way. And Jinnie was beginning to grasp it too.

Taehyung spent several days in fear before he met her for the first time. Everyone around him was so shaken, and their turbulent emotions pressed in on him in a way that suffocated him until he choked on the thick rivulets of their dread. During that time he tried consulting the Moon several times, but no visions of her future came to him, and that only spiralled him further.

When She refused him guidance, that’s how Taehyung knew something serious was unfolding right before his eyes. His Wol had humour like that, always gently tugging him along a trail of breadcrumbs but never revealing too much. She liked to see him try.

Taehyung had come to see it as having to prove himself worthy of his gifts – after all, she did bless him with magick heavy and dangerous. It was of utmost importance that he kept his sight clear.

And the first time he did see her, it truly was like everything in his inner eye cleared up. The human that everyone feared – a scared girl with a shining heart. No, there wasn’t a reason for the way Hobi hyung’s chest burned with acidic worry, or the way nauseating disgust rolled off of Yoongi hyung.

Minnie came to him four nights in a row, asking whether he’d already seen something, but then he stopped.

Taehyung didn’t tell him that his first vision came in during the night Jungkook spent with his heart quivering sitting next to an unconscious Y/N in the infirmary, and he woke up with such clarity he saw Hobi hyung watching him with a suspicious gaze for the rest of the day.

She would do something glorious, and the Moon wanted him to trust her.

Namjoon sat down in the study with a heavy sigh, looking at the table buried under mountains of papers, scrolls and old books and wanting nothing more than to bash his head right into it. Yoongi-hyung slinked into the room behind him, but so far the older dragon kept his silence, eyes hazy and far-away.

They ended up sitting there in gloomy silence until Jin-hyung walked in, hands all wrinkly from water, but expression surprisingly relaxed.

“It was Kookie who told her about tiichir, the poor cub was so excited about it he talked her into it,” he said immediately as the door shut behind him and leant against one of the sturdy bookcases.

The two other occupants pursed their lips, but the budding storm died off in their bloodstreams. Namjoon smelled the way Yoongi’s scent evened out, the electric tang dissipating from the room and making it easier to breathe in.

Jungkook had spoken to him just an half hour ago, running after him straight off the dinner table with pride puffing up his chest. Namjoon knew how important it was for the dragon to have a bond with all the proper proceedings, he always hung off of their every word when they spoke of how things used to work before the empire, but he wasn’t sure this was the right person to realise his fantasies with. He just wished the young man was a bit more careful and a bit less trusting.

Namjoon’s protective instincts were flaring up almost constantly these past few days which always left him on edge, pushing him to collect his youngest and pull him away from his foolishness, but the fire dragon himself was quite flabbergasted with Kookie’s behaviour.

Yes, he was someone that approached world and people with the same indiscriminate way of thought. He was friendly, sometimes a little too much. He wanted to trust the best in people, and tended to get a little naïve with certain dragons and young knights. But he’s never been foolish.

Jungkook was the one dragon in the thunder that rivalled Yoongi-hyung’s protectiveness and possessiveness. Those two could get kind of intense when triggered, and they had troubles letting anyone closer to their mates. Jungkook was fiercely competitive, and protected his hoard with almost crazed devotion. He once even bit Taehyung’s leg until it was bleeding because the red dragon thought it would be funny to mess with his gems.

So Namjoon just couldn’t comprehend how he could be so blindly chasing after this bond, completely unquestioningly assimilating this person into their midst and being so happy and satisfied about it. It just didn’t make sense for him.

He caught him almost scenting her outside the emperor’s lounge. That was no light matter.

The dragon sighed again, and this time he did lay his head down forehead first on the hard surface of the dark wood. Yoongi was still eerily quiet, but his heart spoke for him where it wreaked havoc in Namjoon’s own chest.

“The emperor wants us to train her,” Namjoon ended up mumbling. The dark-haired dragon’s head suddenly snapped towards him, as if those were the magic words to bring him out of his stupor.

“What do you mean? Isn’t the Academy there to do that?” Jin-hyung’s remark cut through the stagnant air, “All those teachers and generals there.” The pink-haired man scoffed and leaned back into the furniture.

“She is to attend general classes, but he wants the brunt of her training to be our responsibility,” the thunder leader reiterated, repeating the words he heard earlier that evening from the sovereign himself.

“Why in the hell is he isolating her with us so much?” Yoongi’s question was a valid one, but unfortunately Namjoon didn’t have an answer for it – even though he had an inkling. He only knew that the man was invested in her Qing Long career, and he’d be monitoring their lives very closely.

“Control,” Seokjin ended up biting out bitterly, “It’s about control. We can’t do anything if there’s a human attached to our every step, telling him everything we do.” And yes, Namjoon has been going towards that conclusion too.

“It’s most likely,” the fire dragon admitted, “We have to be very careful about what we do and say from now on. At least where she can see or hear.” Yoongi sighed, but as resigned as the sound was, Namjoon still could see the way his fingers jerked and cramped with barely concealed fury.

“It’s been a long time coming,” Jin-hyung muttered, as if that was supposed to help them calm down, “you know Kangdae has been very snippy lately about us not being monitored enough with the lack of riders in our thunder.” Namjoon looked to his oldest hyung and felt his heart thaw a little. Contrary to what the maknaes believed, he wasn’t fearless – in actuality he was afraid of most of everything, but it always was the light dragon that stood by his side and supported him when he needed it the most. He was no one without his Jin-hyung, and he’d gladly spend the rest of eternity loving the dragon.

But now, here in this room, none of them looked too happy about the circumstances (though nothing could rival the fury in the black-haired dragon’s eyes).

Jin-hyung, on the other hand, seemed to be almost a little too serene. Namjoon knew that concentrated look on his face. There was something brewing in him, something he knew he’d have to wait for the older dragon to share on his own terms.

But he noticed how inclined he seemed to be towards the human now. Same as Taehyung, who seemed to just accept everything that was happening and took it in stride almost terrifyingly easily.

Their safety lay on Namjoon’s shoulders – and he’d tear himself apart to make sure they stayed out of harm's way.

“Well,” finally Yoongi spoke, voice level but strained, “Nothing left for us but to play along. For now. When the opportunity strikes, if it’s necessary – I’ll deal with her.”

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