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wuahae · 3 days ago

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hiii hehe :3 first off i'm SOO sorry it took me this long to get around to it omg i really wanted to go into this with a #Fresh mindset and also school Just started and already is pummeling me into the ground but . it's saturday Monday. and i am Here now and i just cracked open a cold one (ginger ale) and i am Ready to get into it!!!!

Here, in the dark, there is just you.

banger first line btw its so telling... also i remember workshopping this first scene with you and i'm so glad this is what you decided on! it sets the mood perfectlyyyy it fits the perfect amount of humor (SHAKIRA WAITS FOR NO ONE!!!) and ambiance and the ENERGYYY of it is so good like Yeah this is an opening scene of a 2010s romcom! its likeee yeah even though you're in this club at fuckass o'clock the ghost of your mother and all your expectations still digs into you... you can never run away you can only face the things you must!!!! also another thing i wanna say is that its kinda crazy how short this scene is but there's so many things that it establishes like Man... That's good writing... yn who is forced to be everything she isn't and as a result she cannonballs herself into everything she Shouldn't be... just so she can have the feeling of being nothing at all.... yeah!!! oh to be young and wild and free . But what does it all mean for the future...

They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters.

picture perfect palace hosting a picture perfect family but if you look close enough you see signs of the suffocation.. the overbearing preening.... WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN!! also the part about y/n noticing the little details about the number of terracotta stones... its like Yeah it's probably bc she's been in this palace all her life but also its like. no one would pay attention to those things if some ounce of her didn't care. used to. etc.

Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose.

only the real ones know who jeonghan used to be... YOU WILL BE MISSED 😭😭😭😭😭

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden.

the pacing is sooo good here like yeah... top 10 announcements you won't believe! also the detail of the larks is so good it places you back into the palace setting and also it makes the palace seem so like. big. empty. just a bunch of air and space.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?" / She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume.

this makes me sooo like. MY BABYYYYY.... the emphasis on like. you might be an adult but whenever you're dealing with your parents or anything royal it just feels like you're a Child all over again (childlike waver / cheap halloween costume)... i have nothing else to say that doesn't involve my own convoluted parental trauma but just know i #GetHer

You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little.

OWIE.....

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

i loooove this relationship with jeonghan btw idk if i ever said this to you but its like. vulnerabilities in yn that show she isn't just being disobedient to Be disobedient and like. she cares!!!! she just copes bad and has no one around to help her... not anymore :( also this scene in general is just really good backstory without being too monologue-y which is something i am Always impressed by... Good worldbuilding. good dynamic.

Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—"

also i think its so interesting how like. before you know it's jihoon at the door you default to your more proper princess "I apologize" smth that like. Fits your position more even though on the surface level you've long given up on being proper or whatever impossible thing your mother expects you to be.... yeah. Trying is still somehow ingrained in your being

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies.

unfortunately for both of us i endlessly need him. also reliable best friend jihoon meeowwww I NEEED YOOUUUUU. also yn's imposter syndrome and guilt complex is making me soooo sad....

You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history.

THIS IS SOOOFDMLDFK me searching up Joshua Hong boyfriend on pinterest to the same effect

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

#foreshadowing

You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore.

nooo..... fuck. also me reading this knowing full well What happened that day.... rocking back and forth chanting My Shaylaa....

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride.

astrid who represents the last bit of your childhood and yourself and your Brother, all of which you wonder if you can even bring with you to acros, pressing your heart to her and all that she encompasses... Yeah

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass.

#smallblessings

"Didn't know you had a choice."

ooohhhh he's soo.... ITS SO ARC WORDS!!! of course he would say that....

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know."

this is actually the worst im clawing at my neck rn MDSFJSDFML is there any greater humiliation than someone not laughing at your jokes...... LAUGH WITH MEEEEE oh my god.... josh being hot and boring. the 10th circle of hell.

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

heol........... the first crack in his mask. hah... tfw you're so annoying u make resident stick-in-ass regret his princely duties

He's out of words, so he bends down to awkwardly pat you on the head, which, in all your years of knowing him, is the most affection he can muster. This is why you prefer horses to Jihoon for therapy, although you appreciate the effort.

he is SOOOOO..... I NEED HIM 😭😭😭😭😭

You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert).

i tried thinking of a horse pun with robert pattinson for a joke and the best i could come up with was cobert pattinson... robert trottinson... me when rob is destined to have bat puns no matter what . but anyway i love that yn is consistently a horse girl its so cute HSDFJLSFDKM

He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable.

THIS IS SOOOODSFMSDFLKJ aaron taylor johnson Where are you!!!

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare.

Oh that's not...... 😬 well Yes actually!

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling.

imagery that fucks immensely..

The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

prince joshua hong caught reading ICEBREAKER?!

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off." / Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one.

also one thing to mention is that i love how after the truce is settled they're quick to act like. civilly/almost kind to each other like. they're both not Bad or intentionally hard-to-stand people it's just they're both put in impossible situations . a thin line between hate and kinship and love... etc etc etc. speaking of hate u are an expert at writing e2l banter the tension is palpable

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door.

HE IS SOOOSDFMDSFLK my favorite animal is jihoon being forced to do anything for the royal family. also you calling yourself a HARLOT is so funny. next up the list is calling yourself a reddit-approved hussy

Outside, there is a lone photographer. The sun, morning-ripe, reflects off his camera lens like a third eye. The lawn, freakishly green, sprawls out around you, and the blue spruce frames the scene, perfect by design.

your descriptions are SOOOO good like theyre so Telling without being too wordy or needlessly purple-y like just a few sentences from you and i am #In it

You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him.

the thought of being fake-married to him is making me rock back and forth like actually Oh my god.... i unhinge my jaw and swallow him whole with my 8 rows of teeth.

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada.

CASCADA MENTION HELL YEAHHHH 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?” ”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.”

u are actually the funniest person alive. also i think its soooo like. even though you came back home to have semblance of your Old life back your thoughts inevitably drift to joshua again... trying to fit him into the familiar memory of your old life even though you know it's a little funny to imagine him with anything less than 100 year old wine in his hand... and when somi asks if she should invite him you say No even though you were clearly thinking about it . What does it all mean. the dichotomy of having a hot boring HOT fake husband... oh the terrors....

but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.)

GWHMASFDLFSDK the parentheses format is so funny i'm stealing that /hj. also im soooo glad you added in this scene about seeing him half naked its so romcom-y... so shenanigans-filled.... pornhub title: HOT PRINCE WITH HUGE TITS CAUGHT NAKED!

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again.

like she's so funnyydfmdflk she's sooo me.

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?"

this entire exchange is so funny JSDFMLASDFK like i love when they're bickering and being annoying to each other i feel like they match each other so well also the little digs to each other to ruin each other's reputation... yn raccoon era. joshua stalker era.

Joshua doesn’t reply. Out of the corner of your eye, you see his gaze has shifted. You feel it land somewhere near you, but you’re too engrossed in the race to investigate further. Perhaps he’s admitted defeat preemptively, wisely so. “You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him.

oh man...... an ounce of sincerity is all it takes.... me when josh sees the girl underneath the Act.... starts howling.

You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive.

OOOUUUUUUUUUGGGHHHH WOLF TEARING OFF HIS SHIRT JPEG.

also next scene with josh and his damn HORSE PUNS HES SOOOO ANNOYINGJFDMLDF but also this is the first time we're really seeing him not be prickly and testy and being Lame so its like. you show me your cards ill show you mine... etc. he's just trying to make you comfortable cause you really are a Team rn... oh man. OH MAN.

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong.

rubs hands together like a little fly... all according to plan. also theyre just soooo cute oh my god...

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.”

NOOOOOOO

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back.

i have a lot of things to say about this scene and All of them are good... i remember the first time you brought up Piano as a scene and i was like. Wrinkles nose. at it because of my own personal experiences with piano being used as a cheesy plot device But i told you this then and im telling you this again Now i think its so well done... the dynamic between josh and yn is so well done like. they're just starting to blindly feel around how to interact with one another now that they're not Enemies but theyre still forced-to-marry but also like. they're also starting to be friends, even if josh was being a tad insufferable After the derby. like i love that they're both fumbling around at the piano and for Once in this palace yn is leading josh on how to do something right... yn teasing him all in good nature ("buddy, left hand goes here.") and josh giving himself the leniency to be a bit of casual when no one is watching ("aw, what?" he whines. "see, i told you i was no good. give me a second.") like its all just so cute. like watching two puzzle pieces spin themselves around trying to click. Pajama joshua is better than prince joshua... but even pajama joshua is thinking of duty... duty the knife and the wound... and Of Course josh brings it up when they're having a cute moment like OF COURSE!!! rubs my temples. yn trying to change the topic again. josh opening up again about wanting to play guitar because this is Pajama Joshua who doesn't know how to read the ledger lines and makes silly puns and not Prince Joshua who looks at you with a firm press in his brow... like everyone else with a crown... Man.

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.” “It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.” [...] “Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?” You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

FUCK!!! like this whole exchange is such masterful character building . joshua who doesn't know How to give himself leeway and does whatever mommy and daddy tell him because if he disobeys one thing then its like a slippery slope and all of a sudden he'll let himself think he can be someone other than a prince. vs yn who doesn't see the big deal because what's one misstep when her entire life is just one purposeful fuck-up.... but it doesn't even matter!! because even if josh was rebellious and learned how to play guitar and not piano and if yn was the good little princess her parents wanted her to be they would still be here!!! both at opposite ends of the spectrum. DUTY THE KNIFE AND THE WOUND!

like the whole scene is just so push-pull... conflicting coping mechanisms... they see each other but do they really. they see but do they understand... things to consider....... anyway this is my favorite scene. i love character building.

“You ready to get stuffed?”

GHWMAFSMLSDKVSLDFKSDVMLSDFK

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.”

Just like me...

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.” “I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.” “As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.”

THEY ARE SOOO FUNNY like somi really is the star of the show... if this was in the 2000s she'd be played by judy greer

“Don’t give me any ideas,” he replies. Under the bluebird sky of late morning, lips upturned and eyes bright, Joshua may be a sight you could get used to. Someday. “Brought you a coffee. I can’t have you sucking off a bean—the reporters would go crazy.”

i love how his humor slowly gets more crude as the fic goes on HSDFJLSDFK like him laughing at you being the #top in the piano scene... JOSHUA HONG I KNWO WHAT YOU ARE. I KNOW THE PERSONALITY YOU'RE HIDING. also it's actually a skill to casually describe joshua in a way that is injected with so much Need but what else would i expect from husbandjoshi...

Instead, you circle each other in an unsure, clumsy dance. You can’t quite get it right. It's all the same now. The bite of a horse saddle not made for your body, the glow of your heirloom ring, now cheapened by your graceless hand, Joshua’s lonely, reaching palm as he disappears in the rearview mirror.

aw man... i always feel so bad for her like she's always trying... all she does is try 😭😭😭 like that thing about the jeonghan play too... she tries and its not good enough and so it gets discarded anyway because what good is trying when its not good enough... better to pretend to be perfect than to try and be yourself. and whatnot. my shayla........ what a sad notion... to be perfect and lonely...

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him.

oh meow.............. MEEEEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.............. you don't need me to tell you how good you are at writing intimate scenes you already know.... i also don't have much to say btw you look in my brain and its like tv static and the rainbow bars bzzzzzt bzzzztttt bzzzzzzzzzt

ok. obviously i have more to say. I will see you on the next part.

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

wc: 30.8k in total; part 1: 15.4k, part 2: 15.4k summary: between remembering last night’s party and pleasing your unrelenting family, you think being a princess is hard enough. then you’re thrust into an arranged marriage to royal darling joshua hong—straight-laced, infuriatingly obedient, and everything you’re not. pretending to be the perfect couple? impossible. notes: romcom + smut (part 2), modern royalty!au in which yn is the princess of cotria/joshua the prince of acros (both fictional), enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, quarterlife crisis/coming of age, very very slow burn. lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of feelings. very special thanks to @meiozis for all their help with worldbuilding and @wuahae for bearing with me through the endless drafts, scene changes, second guessing, horrible word choices, etc. you are the only reason this got done, and i love you to the moon and back <3 [read part 2 here!]

Here, in the dark, there is just you.

The strobe lights press into your skin with all the brilliance of the sun, there's half a Modelo running down your leg, and you think you kissed the stranger behind you last week, but if you close your eyes, it's just you. No rules, no five second curtseys, no talk about the throne or whoever's ass happens to be keeping it warm at the moment.

Here, you're nobody, and it's perfect.

"I'm getting more champagne," Somi says, her voice careening over the music. "You sure Jihoon doesn't want any?"

You glance back at him. He's flattened up against the back wall, holding your purse, like a raccoon caught going through the trash. This is one of the many trials he's forced to endure for your entertainment, but it's his job–not as your closest friend, but as your legally employed bodyguard.

"No, he's on duty."

"Right," she slurs. "Sometimes I forget you're a literal princess."

If only it were that easy. Five drinks in and you think you can still feel your mother's vice grip on your arm and all the little white crescents of her french manicure.

You love this song–at least, you think you do. You're too drunk to tell, but it doesn't matter. The dance floor is muggy, sardine-packed with one warm body after another, and it's heaven. The crowd moves, and you move with them. Shakira waits for no one.

Somi must have secured another bottle of Cristal already. Soonyoung, your other partner-in-crime, hands you a flute and you take it, the glittery foam already bubbling over the lip.

"Cheers." Out of his too-drunk mouth, it sounds like a new word altogether, but you bring your glass to his anyway.

Tomorrow, you have a meeting with your parents. This, unlike all of your other involvements, is actually important, they said, and their voices had wound around you like a snare.

When it gets late, Jihoon will sling your arm over his shoulders and haul you back to the palace, still tipsy and holding your stilettos to your chest like a shield. Tomorrow will come, and it's then when you'll have to try to be good. It's a useless, stupid affair, but you'll go through the motions anyway.

But tonight, there is you and the music and the wonderful laughter of your friends, and you don't have to be anything at all.

"Cheers," you tell Soonyoung, and you drink.

There are four large topiaries in the palace garden: all lions. They stand tall in their planters, majestic and hairy with French lavender. Today you notice that the rightmost one's nose has been pruned off by accident, and he stands, snoutless, staring at his green brothers and sisters.

You know this because this is the view from the study, and it has never changed. There is only one study in the east wing, and it is small and useless and the perfect room for your parents to sit you down and remind you that you do not, in fact, own a single thing about your own life.

There is nothing new about this ritual. Even as a child, when you were more desperate to please, you could never be the right kind of daughter to your parents or princess to your country. Again and again, you landed yourself here, in trouble once more.

So you stopped trying–you would find these four walls anyway, no matter what you did. Why not enjoy your Fridays instead?

By now, you’ve memorized the carvings on the armrest of the chair you’re in (a knobby column, then underneath, the whorl of a seashell). There are thirty-four terracotta stones on the way to the fountain, all spaced perfectly apart, sanded down to the millimeter.

The scene remains unchanged. Your mother now stares down at you over the bridge of her nose, with that tight-lipped frown you've gotten so used to. Your father paces near the window, either wondering why you can't be softer, more pliable, like your older brother Jeonghan, or, alternatively, why one of the lions is missing a nose. Maybe both.

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks.

"Yes," you reply, out of other answers.

"Wonderful. Then our early morning briefing with PR was good for something. You should be grateful last night's pictures won't make it out of the darkroom."

Her voice, bitter and incisive, makes the hangover bubble up in your stomach. You and the tabloids weren't exactly on good terms, but it wasn't your fault so many people seemed to care about what you were wearing or who you were out with.

"What did you want to meet about?" you ask, hoping to change the subject.

You can't put your finger on it, but there's a cloying, heavy energy hanging on you. You feel as though you're on the precipice of something, although that could just be the consequences of all that Cristal ready to reintroduce themselves to your digestive system.

Your mother clears her throat.

"We have arranged for you to marry someone."

And all at once, it seems as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. There's a sharp pain lodged somewhere between your chest, your stomach, and your unhappy liver. The larks sing emptily in the garden.

"What?" Your voice sounds like it's unraveling somewhere in your throat. Quickly, frantically, you grasp at the faraway possibility that it can't possibly mean what you think it does. Marry? You can’t even remember the last time you thought of going on a second date with someone. Now you might actually throw up.

"Prince Joshua, of the Hong family. The crown prince of–"

"Acros. I know," you interrupt, the words jumping out of you in shock and anger.

Of course you know who Joshua Hong is–Acros is a tiny, unremarkable country nestled into the border of your much bigger one, and Joshua their crown jewel. If you were the nation's problem, he was their darling. A bland thing to coo at when life got boring, the walking embodiment of a media training session. Smile and nod, smile and nod. He might as well be AI generated.

You wouldn't last a day with him. Not with your impatience, your opinions, or that loud mouth your parents always scold you for. Your mind swims with the mental image of the two of you on a gaudy parade float, doing that stupidly slow wave everyone seemed to insist on.

"Wonderful. So you'll pack a bag? The Hong family will be thrilled to meet you tomorrow," says your father.

"Why?" you ask. Your voice wobbles, treading over that childlike waver you never learned to control. "Is this to punish me?"

"My dear, your brother will be ascending to the throne soon," your mother answers, looking you dead in the eyes. "It’s his face that needs to be on the front page, not you in another abomination of a swimsuit. The Hongs will keep enough of an eye on you.”

She's right. She's always been right. Maybe not about the swimsuit, but you haven’t exactly been the PR princess your family needed you to be. If anything, you would think it made Jeonghan look better by comparison, but you know that your parents would prefer you to make appearances in something other than Deuxmoi’s Sunday Spotted. But the royal charade never fit you well either; it clings and sticks and bunches up at the seams like a cheap Halloween costume.

"The Hongs thought their country would benefit from our money. It was an easy decision, really," your mother finishes, as if that makes you feel any less like a silly, bikini-clad pawn in a game of chess you never asked to play.

"Does Jeonghan know?"

"He sees its purpose,” your father says simply, like that was all that mattered. “You will too, in due time.”

He nods solemnly, which is how he closes every conversation–just another turn of the silent knife. As your parents turn to leave, their silken garbs trail behind them like ink in still water. Business as always, especially with you.

"Your brother will be coming home from his press tour this week," your mother says on her way out. "You mustn't ruin this for him. The car leaves for Acros in the morning."

There's a mean, barbed feeling in your heart. You don't know whether to scream or to cry, so you do what your mother taught you to do. You sit, stilled by a feeling of hopelessness, and let yourself be emptied.

When you were thirteen, you learned how to ride a horse.

Not the impractical, side-saddle way drilled into you when you were a little girl, with your skirt billowing over the fender and catching in the stirrups, but how to really ride a horse.

It was on a night much like tonight–indigo and starless. Your brother had climbed up the marble trellis, his teenage, noodle body a perfect fit for scaling the lattice, and threw a stone at your window, just like you had seen in the movies. Jeonghan was still young, then, rebellious and unchanged by the throne.

It was him who laced up your riding boots, hoisted you on your first horse, and pressed the reins into your palms. You remember the unforgiving hold of the leather saddle, not yet broken in. You were so sore the next day, you were bed-bound–truly a punishment worse than death, if not for another reminder that everything you do ends up hurting you a little.

"It's great," Jeonghan had told you, breathless and haloed by the moonlight. "You can just ride. nowhere to go and no one to answer to."

You had spent the summer this way. Every night, you learned the sound of the forest at twilight, chasing Jeonghan's mud-splattered palomino. In the mornings, breakfast consisted of rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and whispering about whatever misadventure you had found yourselves tangled in the night before.

That was before he had come of age. Before your father gave him the Throne Talk, and before he was whisked away into endless meetings and etiquette lessons and parliaments. Your inside jokes became foul, overripe in his newly coached mouth. He even learned to play golf, and he hated golf.

Past August, you don't think you ever got your brother back.

You slide the oaken doors of the stables open, feeling your arms squeeze underneath your riding shirt. Here, it’s always quiet after sundown.

It hasn't changed since the day you first snuck in with Jeonghan. You let the green scent of the hay fill your lungs, the sleep-stir of the horses like music to your ears. Dokyeom has left the tack room open by "accident" once more, likely to avoid catching you picking the lock with a bobby pin like he had a few months ago.

"Hey, you," you whisper, coming to the stall of your own horse. Astrid, a bay thoroughbred, was Jeonghan's gift to you on your 18th birthday, a wistful reminder of a summer now past its prime. "No surprise here, but I had a really, really bad day."

Astrid, oblivious, noses at your palm in search of a nonexistent sugar cube. Somehow, this brings the anxious chatter of your mind to a crescendo—would Astrid come with you to Acros? When would that happen? More importantly, when were you moving? You think of a too-warm summer morning, the ridiculous, oversized brim of one of your mother's sunhats, and a moving truck. That, and a country ready to delete you from its ranks.

It's now, with the bridle in your fists, that you hear the wheedling groan of the stable door as it slides open. Without thinking, you quickly push out the first excuse you have. "I apologize, I was—"

"It's me."

Jihoon.

You would tease him about his fear of ponies—perhaps it's because he is quite literally the same size as them—but you think hearing another person tell you off would officially push you over the edge. You don't want to be dramatic, but you don't even know if Acros even had horses.

That, and somehow he's both the first and the last person you want to see. The guilt feels a bit heavier when you know his life is about to change too, in no small part due to your own failings.

"Jihoon, I…" you start. There’s an apology that’s been sitting on your tongue, one you haven’t quite learned to spit up yet. You don’t know who it’s for—yourself, or everyone else—but Jihoon interrupts you before you can finish your thought.

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies.

For once, you can't read him. You wonder if he's thinking about if he'd get along with the other bodyguards, but, more likely, he's probably pitying you. You're the last person in the world that should be in an arranged marriage, and even someone who kills people for a living could tell.

"I'll be in the foyer."

You don't exchange any more words. Jihoon knows that there is nothing he can say that will erase what's about to happen, and like always, he is right.

After you saddle up, Astrid takes you to the forest like usual. Honestly, you've lost count of the times you've come out here to cry, usually about a boy you don’t even like, or, worse, Jeonghan declining your weekly Facetime session again. But now, you think you both know this time is very different.

"Astrid," you groan. "Joshua looks like a Ken doll from hell. He probably pronounces tomato like tomahto and has a closet dedicated to his tweed collection. I can't marry him."

Astrid is none the wiser. You wish she was human for a moment so you could show her the crater-sized hole that "prince joshua google images" left in your browser history.

"Do you think he only listens to classical music? I think a Kim Petras song would kill him instantaneously."

The mental image of Joshua Hong being struck down by the first ten seconds of Throat Goat makes you laugh, but you still don't feel far away enough from the truth.

You remember your 21st birthday, a balmy spring Friday. Jeonghan had been helping out at the local youth theater, and the opening night of their production was coincidentally the same day. Jeonghan had never been one for theater (last time, he had fallen asleep during Mamma Mia, of all musicals). You knew the press turnout was expected to be huge, but the whole thing felt like one big charade to you.

So you had planned your big birthday bash—you only get one 21st, after all—that day. The paparazzi fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. Unsurprisingly, drunk, hot girls made for a better story than Greek theater.

You remember the raw, stinging look Jeonghan had in his eyes the next morning. He didn't even have to say anything, but you knew. The memory carves out an abyss in your chest. You knew you should have done better for your brother, but he didn’t even feel like your brother anymore.

Still, actions have consequences, and this was a hell of a consequence. Even out here, the inconvenient reality of it seems closer than ever. but you're out of time. The night fades fast, especially ones like these.

So you press your heart to Astrid's mane, the pale moon high over the both of you, and you ride.

Late spring is kind to Acros.

The tulips push their bright heads out of the dirt, winking and blazing in the daylight, and the green fields stretch so far they look like water.

You had spent the car ride with your nose pressed to the window, watching all the sun-bleached buildings zip by. You mustn't ruin this for Jeonghan. It spins around in your head like an old pair of shoes in a washing machine.

Now you stand in the grand foyer, your parents on either side of you. Jihoon hovers behind, holding the overstuffed duffel bag you had rushed to pack this morning.

A hushed arrival such as this was unbecoming of your family, but it was necessary. your parents had stressed that the arranged part of the deal was not meant to be public knowledge because it was bad for optics. To you, the arrangement was actually the entire deal. That, and you and optics never exactly got along.

Waiting for Joshua and his parents gives you a moment to observe what could be your new home, although you’re still waiting for the miraculous plot twist that will save you from your fate.

That being said: you’ve set foot in plenty of nice places, but if HGTV ran segments for castles, this would certainly be the blueprint. It’s smaller than the palace in Cotria, but you like that—it’s cozier, less cold-seeming.

The filigreed ceilings vault dizzyingly high, and the chandelier above the muraled walls is set afire with the noontime sun. the blushing azaleas cascade from their pots, and they line the hallways with joyous pops of white and pink. breaking the spell is the distant staccato of several sets of footsteps on marble, and you straighten your back, as if by divine command.

Three figures approach you: Joshua and his parents. Even from a distance, you can see the trained walk of royalty, their shoulders straight enough to hold water. You’ll give credit where credit is due—they look even less thrilled to meet you than you are to meet them.

Unfortunately, up close, Joshua is more handsome than the cameras would betray. He's taller than you had imagined, too. without trying, it looks like he jumped out of a shitty Disney movie, one where the prince says two words and still gets the girl. More than that, you notice how his face is like glass—unwavering, cruelly still. One wrong move, and you'd break him.

"Your highnesses," you say, lowering your head in a pronounced curtesy.

Joshua bows in response, like clockwork. He reaches for your hand, then brings it to his lips to kiss the back of it.

At once, you feel your hackles jump up, even though many a man has done far nastier to you. You can’t tell what pisses you off more: a, the fact that he smells like a hotel lobby, or b, that he managed to get his mouth on you in less than five seconds.

"I'm elated we have the privilege of welcoming your daughter into our home," Joshua's mother says. Like him, she is staggeringly elegant and even harder to read. "She's beautiful."

Fortunately, she has picked the one compliment that your parents can agree on without lying through their teeth. You watch them laugh and titter amongst themselves, and it's now that you notice Joshua has been looking at you this whole time.

You think look is too kind of a word, though. It's something colder than that, more clinical, and you really don't like it. Your stylist had spent upwards of two hours today in front of your vanity this morning, mostly in a losing battle with a pair of fake lashes, and you wonder if one of them is crooked. That, or Joshua is similarly wondering just how he will endure a life wedded to you.

"Joshua, please," his mother chides, and you watch him almost immediately pivot towards her, like he’s on wheels. "Where are your manners? You should show the princess around. Get to know each other a bit before press tomorrow."

Press. Of course. Your least favorite word. You vaguely remember your parents mentioning it in the car this morning, but it must have gotten lost among all the other terrible things they'd told you.

Your head starts to hurt. Joshua keeps smiling at you, empty, doll-like.

"Yes, I'd love that," you say, feeling like a deflating balloon. You were hoping his company will be better than watching four grown adults fall all over each other, but you're starting to doubt that.

Joshua offers you his arm, and you take it anyway.

"We'll be off then," he chirps before bowing once more. His freakishly shiny shoe nudges yours to remind you to do the same. Begrudgingly, you listen, watching your shellacked, angry expression in the patina of his loafers.

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

You tamp down your irritation and let him lead you into the Great Hall. It's a shiny, golden tunnel, studded with glossy oil paintings of his parents, his grandparents, then the next set of old people before them. Their eyes stare at you, pools of hazy paint in their moon faces. You briefly imagine your painting up there, with Joshua's hand hovering meekly over your waist, unused to being more than two feet away from a woman his age.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Joshua says. "I think I've only seen you in pictures."

He's referencing the one of many “encounters” you've had with the paparazzi, a la yesterday night. They take trashy photos, overexposed and grainy from the camera flash, with your ass most likely in the frame.

You choose to let it slide—you have no choice, really. At least you have an ass.

"The pleasure is mine," you reply. "I believe you were at the cricket championships a few months ago, right?"

"Correct. Do you watch? I don't believe I saw you."

"No, but my brother was there." Your footsteps echo against the marbled walls. "Just trying to think of your last public appearance," you offer unhelpfully, since you and he both know those are few and far between.

"That's right. He mentioned you were busy," Joshua replies. "Glastonbury was that weekend, was it not?"

He's right. It was, but you don't like the insinuation he's making. You weren't at Glastonbury anyway—your parents wouldn't let you attend, and Jihoon was unwilling to come up with a cover story for you. Because you would rather watch paint dry than attend another cricket game, you instead spent it with takeout and reruns of Rupaul's Drag Race.

"Can't recall," you answer. "Doesn't matter. I'm not one for cricket, anyway."

"Didn't know you had a choice."

You watch Joshua halfheartedly gesture to the Great Hall. The seemingly mile-long dinner table is empty now, save for a gratuitously piled fruit bowl.

Your country frequently hosts guests, but the Hongs are notoriously insular. You imagine the four of you, crammed together at one end of the table, making horrendous small talk every morning over wilted danishes and raspberry preserves. Somehow, your mood worsens even more than you thought possible.

"Can I see the library?" you ask in an attempt to pivot.

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?"

"A normal amount." You pass by another set of windows and take note of the rose garden outside, verdant with the May sunshine. Astrid has a bit of a penchant for eating roses, which would definitely complicate your plan to smuggle her in. No matter—you’ve done worse. "I studied political science at university, so I got a healthy dose of it."

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

He pushes the door open to the library, which is just as lavish as the rest of the palace. You wonder how well-worn it is, how many spines have creases in them, how many dedications were speckled with a funny annotation or two. But judging by first impressions, you wouldn't be surprised if all the books still had their dust jacket on.

"I mean, I read an insane amount of Dan Brown," you reply. "Not many of us can say we've solved the Davinci code, you know."

You hoped this would crack a laugh out of him, but his grin is thinner than an eyebrow from the 2000s. Truthfully, you would compare this conversation to a death by a thousand papercuts, but somehow that feels preferable to the guillotine of discussing the terms and conditions of your rapidly impending marriage. You feel as though that would be violating some rule you aren't yet aware of, and you're unwilling to endure the patent leather consequences of another faux pas.

"I've heard of it," says Joshua after much thought. "My parents were shuttling me between meetings and private lessons, so, unlike some, I was quite busy during university."

You're not about to explain that you were equally as busy as him. Something tells you that he'd be too prideful to believe you anyway.

"How difficult. Surely you were able to have some fun," you say, your voice betraying your distaste. "Or were you too good for that?"

Too far.

"I did what my position allowed," is Joshua's terse reply, and you know you've crossed a line. Still, it dazes you that the man standing next to you may have never done anything for himself in his life. Even Jeonghan did, before your parents really tightened the reins.

The air buzzes with a silence sharp enough to make you bleed. You wish literally anyone else was standing next to you, but you realize there are no more horses or emergency cabs or Jihoons to rescue you from this one.

"How about I take you to our room? I hope you'll find it comfortable."

You glance to your right to catch a glimpse of Joshua. He smiles, a dutiful press of the lips, and you watch it ripple.

"Jihoon, it is so much worse than I thought."

You sit on the plush carpeting of your bedroom floor, amongst your small disaster of things. Jihoon examines you, one eyebrow raised, as he leans against the bedroom door.

"He's not around, right?"

Jihoon shakes his head.

"I don't get it," you sigh. "I go out. I get drunk. I have a little fun on the weekends. I don't see how any of this makes me a bad person."

"You know how traditional your families are." Jihoon bends down to pick up a hair bow that jumped ship from the vanity. "It's just how it is."

"He treats me like some high school delinquent. I tried, but he has no sense of humor. No joi de vivre. I think he would actually explode if he knew I went out two days ago."

"Give it time," Jihoon supplies unhelpfully. "I don't know French, but he can't be that bad. You just met him."

“Yeah. Usually that’s a good thing. I’ve fucked people i know less about.”

Jihoon shakes his head and laughs, one of those little cackly ones he reserves for your company.

"Well, you have been with worse," he tuts. "Definitely worse."

"Jihoon, be serious. This is the rest of my life we're talking about."

“I know." He draws his lips into a line, likely searching for the right thing to say. "This sucks. I wouldn't be good at this either."

"You're talking to me. I don't think there's a single royal thing I can do right."

"I'd stay, but they want me to go to some meeting," he says, jerking his thumb towards the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

So he leaves you, desolate and linen-covered. Back to square one.

The room seems to echo with how empty it feels. The bare walls are painted champagne, a rich, indifferent color. They soar to an arched ceiling lined with baroque crown moulding. There's a large window facing the garden, framed by deep green velvet. Atop the vanity cradled to the wall, the ivy of the wrought mirror curls at the edges, as if escaping. The chandelier hangs low, fat and pear-shaped, and its crystals douse the room in gauzy lamplight.

At least the canopy bed looks comfortable. It's the one thing keeping you from calling this place a veritable jail cell, which still seems like an understatement. For once, you miss your own bedroom. Granted, it didn’t look much different on the surface. but despite all the paneling and the heavy velvet, you still like to think it had some personality. You still keep your pillow pet on your bed (a horse named Robert). The back wall is chipped from a Gossip Girl poster your mom made you take down.

Before you’re able to get too sentimental, the unwelcome sight of your future husband steals you from your thoughts.

"Evening," Joshua says, stepping into the room. He's so quiet, it takes you aback. "Still unpacking?"

"Sorry." You gesture around you. "I underestimated my ability to overpack."

"You should have told the staff," he says, surveying the damage. "Do you need help?"

"No," you insist. Somehow the prospect of him getting on the ground to sort out all of your things upsets you, even more than him touching all of your unmentionables. "No. Please. Just ignore me."

"Alright."

Joshua seems to take no issue with that, gratefully. He takes a seat on the chaise at the foot of the bed. He's got a copy of Anna Karenina under his arm, probably to weigh the pros and cons of cheating on you. You don't blame him—in fact, maybe it would make your doomed marriage exciting enough to be tolerable.

"PR event tomorrow," you start, folding up a nightdress. "Bet you're excited for that."

“As excited as one can be before announcing their arranged marriage," he replies dryly. "But surely you have enough experience with the press for the both of us."

So that’s how he wanted to play. Fine. You wouldn’t let him walk all over you a second time.

"Well, I'd hope all those classes you took would be good for something."

"That's rich, coming from the case study on bad media training."

"Oh, please," you snap. "At least I know how to have a good time."

"I was having a great time before I was informed this was happening."

"Forgive me. I had no idea you were so invested in my personal life." You huff as you heave an oversized armful of clothes to the closet. “Think TMZ has any job openings?”

"Very funny," he retorts. Joshua holds up a skimpy black dress that's fallen from your pile, one well acquainted with the midnight grease of one too many nightclubs. "You dropped this, by the way. I don't really think the nightlife here will be quite to your taste, though."

"Oh right, because this is where happiness goes to die, huh?" You snatch it back from him, feeling the knot of anger in your gut flare.

The room seems to pulse with an uncomfortable silence, red-hot with unsaid words. You recognize the all too familiar way Joshua sets his jaw back, and you're transported all the way to the study in the east wing, snoutless lion, terracotta steps, and all. He’s not any different from anyone else, so you’re not sure why you expected anything else.

You do the only thing you can do—bite your tongue.

"Look," you finally say, gathering the wherewithal to call for a truce. "I know that we didn't ask for this."

Joshua laughs. Actually, it's the first time you've heard it since you've met, and it would be an otherwise tolerable, even nice, sound if it wasn't directed right at you.

"Right, because who doesn't want to have to babysit someone for the rest of their life?"

You take a hard swallow. You've both done enough damage for tonight, although you'd love to see his expression when you call him the live-action version of Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Maybe another time.

Instead you think of Jeonghan, stuck in his meetings and sunk into this new, starched form of himself that you find difficult to recognize. Still, he's your brother, and you'd hate to see him suffer for it.

"Stop. I'll be good," you say. "I promise. I know there's a lot at stake for the both of us."

You can hear Joshua's long, drawn exhale. The furrow dug between his brows flattens out, and he seems to be reminded of everything they taught you both in Conflict Resolution 101.

"I apologize. I got out of line," he says. You watch the cogs turn on that unfortunately pretty face of his. You hope he finally reveals that he has a much better, kinder personality that he was waiting to debut, but he doesn't. Instead he picks up yet another fallen item from your stash and hands it to you (this time, a much more presentable blouse).

"I know we don't like each other—" You hold up a hand to interrupt him from lying to you. “—but we can do our best for the cameras. Because that matters. Hate me all you want in private."

"Okay." He gives you a defeated look, which is all you suppose you'll get out of him today. "Deal."

That night, there are no more backhanded compliments, quips, or mean-spirited attempts at sarcasm.

You sink into your side of the bed, a damask-woven vat of quicksand, and watch the spears of light dance on the ceiling. If you had known your last outing was the one a few days ago, maybe you would have drank a little more, stayed out later. Maybe you wouldn't have even gone home.

Joshua has been reading on the other side of the bed, which seems like oceans apart. The metronomic turn of his pages would have put you to sleep if it wasn't for this new fear, a black, trembling one, that's now taken residence in your chest. It feels like you are further from yourself than you've ever been, and you don't know how to get back.

"Is it too bright for you?" Joshua's voice, now tempered by the stillness of the evening, pulls you out of your thoughts. "I can turn the lamp off."

"It's ok," you groan. "Can't really sleep. Don't worry about it."

He doesn't say anything. Instead you hear the oiled pull of the bedside nightstand before he places something on the bed beside you.

It's a book. Specifically, one of those trashy romances that they only sell at the airport because no one would be brave enough to read them anywhere else.

"It's no Dan Brown," he says. "Hopefully still to your liking."

You sit up against the headboard and flip through the pages. The prince of Acros owning a book with the words "juicy", "mewling", and "best friend's brother" in the first fifty pages are enough to tide you over for the night. Probably the next week, to be honest.

"Yes, indeed, your highness. Of the raunchy summer fling."

Joshua smiles, and this time, you think it's a real one.

You hate mornings.

You thought this one would be different, probably due to the fact that you would soon be standing in front of a few too many cameras to announce your tragic fate to the entire world. Unfortunately, it's like all your other mornings—rushed, nauseous, and now with all the added anxiety of a semi-non consensual public appearance.

"Five minutes!" you holler as best you can, a hair pin wiggling in the corner of your mouth. Rule number one of a hard launch: don't be caught looking complacent. Even if the other half of the launch would rather be with anyone other than you.

Joshua's in the attached bathroom doing his hair. Like everything else he does, it is painfully calculated. He might be the only person in the world who takes "pea-sized" seriously as a measurement tool.

But even as he so carefully measures his pomade, pump by pump, you don't miss the way his eyes skim over your figure as you lean over the vanity chair to apply your lipstick. Maybe it's because your ass is practically vacuum sealed into your sundress, or maybe he's just looking for another fight to pick. Either way, there's a small part of you that takes pride in this, even if just a little.

"Ready?" Joshua asks, switching off the bathroom light. You hate to admit it, but he looks good in a sports jacket. You remind yourself that you had to literally rock-paper-scissors this morning to use the vanity mirror because you fogged the bathroom up after your shower. "It's not a pageant."

"Shush. You are so rude. Never interrupt a girl when she's getting ready."

In the mirror, you watch Joshua huff behind you. Then he procures a little black box from his pocket, and a crazy sort of feeling washes over you before you remind yourself to be normal. Ten-year-old you would have cried and threatened arson if she knew this is how you would eventually be proposed to, but you have no choice.

You're sure Joshua feels the same. He was probably hoping for something classic with all the works, and instead he's got a pissed-off Jihoon and you, internationally renowned harlot. Funny how things turn out.

"Any minute now," bitches Jihoon from the other side of the door.

You close your compact and turn around to face Joshua, who's still fumbling with the box.

"I'm sure this is not what you anticipated," he says, finally cracking it open. “But—"

"No speech. Just put it on." You stick your left hand out, still glittery from last week’s manicure. "Not like it means much anyway."

"Yeah."

And just like that, it is done. You feel the shock of Joshua's huge hands over yours, then the unceremonious bite of the cold band. He doesn't linger.

You hold your newly engaged hand in front of you. The ring must have looked better in the box—on you, it seems out of place, gaudy, yet another thing you can't quite fit into. It squeezes your finger a bit, but it'll do.

"Ready?" he asks.

"Let's get this over with."

If romance wasn’t already dead, then it died here, today, in your prison cell bedroom.

You have no time to lament this, as Joshua’s already half out the door. Quickly, he seems to shed his foul, argumentative inside personality and slip into a second-skin, one that is more poised, gracious, and luminous.

Today's objective is supposed to be simple: friendly, premarital pictures to accompany a written statement to the public announcing your engagement. No paparazzi, no journalists. Still, you're starting to see why your parents decided it was a good idea to stick you with this guy.

In the foyer, your families await you. It's as if their gaze can slow time—at least four people approved your outfit, and still, the weight of their eyes on you, ever appraising, is crushing. Immediately, your mother starts rearranging the strands of hair on the top of your head and fiddling with the sleeves of your dress, like you're some sort of doll.

"Come, come," a member of the PR team urges. "Everything is set up. We'll be quick."

There's a frenetic, tense energy over the palace. It's clear that this marriage is a gambit no one is happy with, and today would make it very, very real.

"I just need you to stand next to each other and smile," he says. "That's all, right?" he directs this towards your PR team, about seven too many for a task like this. One of them whispers something in his ear. Your parents watch from the shaded doorstep like wax figures in a museum.

You and Joshua stand shoulder to shoulder, yearbook photo style.

"Bit closer," the photographer calls out, and you smush yourself against his arm, close enough that you can appreciate he's got some muscle on him. "Alright. Hold still."

Click. You've always hated the flash, but you root yourself obediently to the concrete. Your cheeks hurt from smiling. Click.

Your mother interrupts her conversation with a staff member—likely haggling over the minutia of the statement—and says, "Look happier," as if you're in some dystopian advertisement for a new car.

"She's talking to you," Joshua says through the grit of his fake, pink smile.

"Right, because you're such a peach."

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast.

You place a tentative hand on Joshua's bicep and turn to him, beaming like you would at a hot bartender when there are five other people waiting for a drink.

There's a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he matches you. You can see why people dote on him so much—his cheeks get round, and his eyes magically gain the sparkles that people pay for on Facetune. God really seems to have wasted a perfect face on him.

"Move your hand up so we can see the ring." You obey, feeling the firm cord of his arm underneath you, and you wonder where the gym is in the palace. Joshua was certainly gatekeeping it from you. "Perfect."

You stand there, living your America's Next Top Model nightmare, before the photographer hits you with, "A kiss for the camera, yeah?"

All the blood drains from your face. You think you actually say Huh? aloud. Joshua opts to turn to his parents to intervene, which would be funny in literally any other scenario except this one.

"You heard him," his father replies. "Act like you're actually engaged."

Honestly, it was a fair request. No one wanted to take any chances. Plausible rumors of an arranged marriage would backfire spectacularly. Jeonghan wouldn't see the front cover of anything ever again, and the entirety of Acros would wonder just how deep in the shitter they were that Joshua was forced to marry you.

Your parents were already so far into the conspiracy, you overheard them talking about using unpublished paparazzi pictures and rebranding them as times you snuck off to see your unfortunate lover. Point taken.

"Okay, okay," you laugh nervously. "Of course."

You face Joshua, steeling yourself, and lean in. The world seems to fall away, but not how you like—it feels as though you've been sucked out of your own body and dropped into a new one that doesn't know what a kiss is or how to do it.

He's just like anyone else, you tell yourself. You're at the club. They're playing Everytime We Touch by Cascada.

Soon all you know is the heat of your cheeks, the shaking flat of your palm over Joshua's shoulder, and the wet pressure of what feels like a pair of lips, soft but also very unwilling.

Click. Click. Then it's over. Everyone huddles around the camera, like animals to a watering hole. Shame, hot and heavy, seems to drape itself over you.

"Can we get one more?" the photographer asks.

Fuck. Your stomach drops. You can't even glare at Joshua.

"Sure thing," Joshua says easily, unaware he was the reason it went so badly in the first place.

You take a deep breath. You imagine a good Kylie Minogue song and a tall stranger with pecs that could fit into a bra, and your eyes flutter shut.

You decide to go for it this time. Unfortunately, you and your inept partner are on entirely opposite pages again, and you almost miss each other by a mile. When you do get it right, it's messy, two teenagers fumbling in a closet with the lights off.

Once everyone sees this massacre, it seems they resign themselves to the same conclusion you had long ago. Someone throws a thumbs up above their head, and everyone clears out so fast, it's like nothing ever happened.

Soon, it's just you, Joshua, and your mother with a red pen and the manuscript. Your heart is still buzzing in your chest, even though you and Joshua are now standing at a distance that makes you believe in the cheese touch again.

"Now that wasn’t so bad," she says, before escorting the two of you back inside. Perhaps lying cushions the blow of a bad decision, but you're already in too deep. The script, the cameras, even your mother's glossy words—your life is starting to feel like a permanent movie set, and you don't know how to clock out.

The first thing you do is take off the ring. It's starting to look more and more like costume jewelry on your untrained, bumbling hand. Even still, you can still feel its ghost on your finger, see the glare of the camera flash in the laser-cut facets.

Worse, you watch Joshua shrug off his sport jacket, likely wondering how exactly that went so wrong, and you can feel that same sensation, still warm, right over your lips.

"Save me, red wine, save me."

Home, sweet home. You're back in Cotria for the rest of the week. This morning's stint was the only thing you had on the schedule, and you told Joshua you had some business to attend to at home.

Said business was a Niçoise salad and half a bottle of wine, but no one had to know that part. Your struggle meals were your own business, and you think you will actually disintegrate on the spot if you have to sit through another conversation about World War II with Joshua's dad. The one you had at dinner last night was plenty.

The restaurant you’re at is a familiar haunt, but not too familiar. The ass-kissers and the groupies have gotten good at keeping their heads on a swivel, and you’re not exactly planning on another encounter with a camera. But here, the crowd is quiet enough, the food good enough, the service fast enough. It’s enough, which you’ve come to prefer.

That's the other thing about Cotria—there’s an overabundance of everything. Department stores, parlors, dog cafes, polished bars with overpriced cocktails. It’s almost a rarity to find a place like this, quiet enough to actually talk.

"You must be in the fucking trenches," Somi says, shaking her head. "When's the press release getting published?"

"Next week," you groan. "The good news is that they want us to go to the derby afterward."

"Okay, miss horse girl," Somi says, clinking her wine glass against yours. "You betting this year?"

"No, I shouldn't." You shovel another forkful of leaves into your mouth. "But I really hope I get to watch it instead of pretending to like a guy the whole time."

"I didn't see you pretending in uni," Somi says, cocking an eyebrow up at you. "And those guys are ugly. This guy isn't."

"Okay, wait," you protest. "Ugly cute. Don't get it twisted. And they don't act like sentient wet paint. This guy sucks."

You're reminded of the moment before you left the palace this morning. Joshua saw that same black dress that he used against you make its way into your bag, and he gave you the dirtiest stink eye you'd ever seen.

I'm not above tattling. They were the first words he'd said to you after The Incident.

Good thing you won't have to, you replied. He didn't even see you out because no one was standing around to clap him on the back for being a good fake fiancé.

"Whatever." Somi picks a tomato off your plate in exchange for some of her fries. "I wouldn't mind it, is what I'm saying."

"You slept with the bouncer to get into Annabel’s."

"Fuck off. He was actually really good. Club entry was just a bonus," she laughs. "That reminds me—you're coming to my birthday, right? Or do you have wifely duties now?"

"Of course I'm coming!" you insist, feeling the word duty hit like an actual bullet to your chest. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Just making sure! You know I gotta have my people around."

You had known Somi since you were in diapers. She's the cousin twice removed of a baron, or a count, or maybe even a viscount–you never were good at keeping track of those kinds of things. Even though you had seen her at countless brunches, coronations, and garden parties, you don't think you actually became friends until you ran into her at a college party in Mykonos. She sidled up to you, smelling like strawberries and the bleachy sting of hair dye, and handed you a cucumber margarita.

The beer here sucks, she had whisper-shouted to you, right over the shell of your ear. Wanna dance? You were inseparable ever since.

"It's going to be huge. There are, like, 200 people on the guest list right now. Soonyoung rented a villa, There's gonna be a champagne tower, and the music won't suck. Guaranteed."

"That sounds perfect," you sigh. "Please tell me there's gonna be a pool. I need to show off my new swimsuit."

"Duh." Somi rolls her eyes, glittery under her extensions. "The perfect opportunity to show the world that their hottest bachelorette is a bachelorette no longer. Also, we invited Pitbull.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wait, is he actually coming?”

”Dunno. Wouldn’t be very Mr. Worldwide of him to flake, though.”

Pitbull or not, you think of the heat of the strobe lights, the electric trill of the too-loud speakers. You're dancing in a dress that looks like a chunk of the moon, with the little neon ties of your bikini top peeking out the sides. There's a peach highball in your hands and no one is telling you what to do, how to do it, or that you're doing it wrong.

Then you think of Joshua. Maybe he'd loosen up after a few drinks. Maybe he'd dance with you, put those hands to use on your hips and kiss you like he should have earlier today. Maybe he'd even be good at it. The thought makes your cheeks sting.

“Should I invite Joshua?” Somi says, wrinkling her nose at how you immediately grimace. “What if he’s actually a blast?”

"No! No. Absolutely not."

“What if he’s—” Then she drops her singsong voice to a whisper. “Hung? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen those pictures of him in the Galapagos.”

Unfortunately, you have. A lurid, glassy image of your soon-to-be-husband in a sleazy pair of swim trunks comes into vision. You push past the smile, the unfair pecs, and remind yourself of that horrible, self-righteous twist of the lips that he always has.

Yes, that’s right. That’s the Joshua you know.

You grab the wine from her and drink it right from the bottle.

–

Of course it had to be the one time you’re not late to an event that you forget you had swapped everything in all your purses around. You double check your bag—empty.

You’re already down by half of your worldly possessions (still at home, your real home), and you probably left the other half on Joshua’s bathroom counter. Yesterday, you got derailed mid-task by Joshua lighting the grossest candle ever. You never thought you’d ever fight over candles of all things, but you couldn’t let him walk away from that conversation thinking wet dirt was a normal, socially acceptable, scent for a bedroom. (—It said moss on the label! —So, dirt. —Moss is not dirt. Maybe you need to go back to school.)

You fling open the bathroom door, still checking the pockets of your handbag, before you collide into a big, sopping wet wall.

“What the—?” You look up. The wall is not a wall. No, in fact, it is your fiancé, bare fucking naked.

Your heart jumps up to your throat. It feels like you walked right into a porno, and you can hear Somi’s self-satisfied, witch cackle right in your ear. His dark hair seems to fall into his eyes just right, a nice change from how he normally gels it up, and you watch the beads of water from the shower, torturously glittery, run down his jaw, the hollow of his neck, right onto his chest.

Men should not be allowed to have bigger boobs than you, at least, not dowdy Joshua Hong, who normally has the sex appeal of an eraser. And God forbid your eyes travel downward and confirm Somi’s sick and twisted hypothesis, past the washboard abs, the v-line, the trail down his—

“Sorry, did you need something?” You blink again and Joshua suddenly has a towel wrapped around his waist. And he’s eyeing you like you ate a million cloves of garlic and then proceeded to spit on him. “Or are you just going to stand here and ogle me?”

“I wasn't—no!” You start snatching things off the counter, anything really, and throwing them into your bag. “I just needed to grab stuff for my… my thing. You’re in the way.”

“Right, because you need four q-tips and my razor to read a children’s book,” Joshua replies, plucking the offending items out of your purse. “It's almost 12:30, by the way.”

“Shit. Fuck,” you stammer. You can’t glare at him anymore because you know where your eyes will end up and it is not on his face. “Stop distracting me. Whatever.”

“Have fun,” is the last thing Joshua tells you before you close the bathroom door, that portal to hell, right back up.

What you can’t do is return the image of what you saw back to where it came from, the wicked, glistening form of Joshua and his B cup tits. He looked so good, it makes you angry.

Later, on the walk to the library, you reach for your lip gloss. Instead, you pull out q-tip number five and get mad all over again.

–

The car ride to the derby feels like your own personal Saw trap, if Jigsaw wore a ridiculous hat and was actually your mother.

Your engagement was announced to the public just a few days ago. It came with no fanfare, no warning. You were sitting on your bed, making your way through the smut Joshua called a novel, when the news app on your phone kindly notified you that you were now a taken woman.

To some degree, the media uproar fascinated you. The idea that people with actual journalism degrees were writing headcanons about your honeymoon when you hadn’t even seen Joshua since The Bathroom Incident was surely entertaining, to say the least. But, like everything, the unsaid pressure of being a perfect princess, now part of an even more perfect couple, hangs heavy over you.

You remind yourself this is supposed to be fun. A real couple would be pawing at each other in the backseat, perhaps pregaming with champagne or fan-casting their pick for Spirit the horse. Instead, you’re stuck rehearsing your pitch to the reporters when they inevitably ask you about how the hell this happened. You wish you could tell them you’re not quite sure either.

Silently, you look at Joshua. Joshua looks out the window. The world rumbles under you.

[10:15 am, race 1]

The air seizes, swirls with clay-colored dust in the morning sun. The clubhouse is already heady with the low buzz of conversation—you watch the freckled sunhats and oily toupees bob up and down in the swell of the crowd, deep in the morning’s small talk. You wonder how many of them are talking about you, given how recently the news hit. You’re used to people ignoring your media appearances, not celebrating them.

Someone, tipping their head down to greet you, hands you a program. Joshua elects to tuck his in his back pocket. People don’t come to the derby to watch the races. Instead, it’s an excuse to gossip, day drink, and gamble, which would ordinarily be a good time for you if you weren’t overly invested in the racing circuit.

All the way from the entrance to your seats, you were met with a tidal wave of camera flashes, all hungry for a glimpse of your first public appearance as a couple. Alongside this, a decidedly worse flurry of congratulations paired with an overly familiar touch to the shoulder or a limp handshake. Joshua is quick to respond with either a smile or some trite platitude. Your least favorite: We couldn’t be happier. Now he’s just lying for sport.

“We should find the reporters doing interviews,” Joshua says the second his ass touches the chair, unfazed by the onslaught of perhaps a million different people. “The Sun probably wants to talk to us.”

You’re not listening—you can’t let on that this whole ordeal is mildly terrifying for you. He has enough reasons to dislike you, and stage fright wouldn’t exactly be a good addition to the list.

The racehorses have lined up at the track, their manes catching the daylight like holy fire. You like the one on the end. He looks like Peanut, Jeonghan’s stubborn palomino.

Joshua says your name insistently, curdled with the annoyance that you’ve now become acquainted with, and you catch a stray camera flash from the stands. You have an audience, and the audience demands a show, even if they’re second-rate journalists like the scum from The Sun.

“Darling,” you reply flatly. “Relax. Let's enjoy the races.”

The horses stretch their long legs, anxious for the thunderclap of the starter’s pistol. Joshua raises a tired eyebrow before the same realization dawns on him.

“Absolutely.” He clears his throat. “Darling.”

You wrap a hand around his arm—somehow he makes hand-holding seem like third base—and watch his shoulders sink with a sigh, like you just popped him.

Likewise, your highness. Likewise.

A shot crackles through the air, and you’re off to the races.

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

"I just have to know—how did you guys meet?"

You know the duchess of Pemarlia to be beautiful and unashamedly nosy, and she has yet to prove you wrong on either account.

The last time you saw her was on the beach at Lake Como last year, where she spent the entirety of your conversation asking if Jeonghan was single (and peeking into your bag to see what brand of lipstick you were wearing). Like everyone, she always seems to have a look of appraisal on her face. What makes her different is that she never really bothers to hide it; instead, she wears it like an en-vogue accessory.

She eyes you with an intensity, sizing up your dress, your tawdry sunhat, your ring. You wonder if she’d agree that marriage didn’t look good on you, but any shorter of a dress, your mother would call you a stripper. And God forbid you leave the house hat-less.

Now she’s no minotaur. This shouldn’t be much of a problem, save for one very small issue: you actually hadn’t planned your answer to this. You had quibbled over it briefly in the car, but you were too focused on your interview pitch to worry about minor gossip.

"Well," Joshua starts. Through his smile, you can hear the warning edge of his voice. “It was quite ordinary.”

"Actually," you cut him off. Not only would his version of this story be boring, it would also be horribly out-of-character for you. You did not come this far for your cover to be blown by Joshua’s lack of imagination. "Josh's parents hosted a—"

"Brunch," Joshua finishes. Whether his teeth are gritted because he's grinning or frustrated is none of your business. “It was Easter brunch, wasn’t it, sweet pea? Four years ago?”

The pet name makes you want to puke. Now he’s just trying to piss you off, but you know this is his attempt to play along. He's annoying, not dumb.

"Yes, we sat across from each other.” You playfully dig your elbow into Joshua’s rock-hard side. “He was giving me the eyes the whole time.”

You watch your hapless victim giggle, her spidery lashes wide with intrigue. Joshua is a little less pleased.

“If you could call it that,” he replies. “I think you had chocolate on your nose.”

“Which you so kindly wiped off for me, dear.” You try to peek around the flaxen billows of the duchess’s blowout to watch the horses behind her, but to no avail. “After a morning of staring, we had to do an Easter egg hunt, planned by Joshie himself. I had no idea he loved silly little games like that.”

“It's because people like the princess get so competitive,” Joshua says, with his laser beam grin boring into your eye sockets. “I believe I found you rummaging through the trash for eggs, like some kind of animal.”

“Oh my goodness,” the duchess laughs. “How...charming.”

You feel your eyebrow twitch. Only you’re allowed to ruin your own reputation, but you suppose that’s just another thing your horrible fake fiance gets to take from you.

“Not as embarrassing as seeing Joshua leer at me from behind the corner,” you retort. “He was so enamored that when I invited him to join me, he got right down on his knees to look through the trash together.”

“Well, did you find anything?”

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

Fuck. Luckily, the duchess is either stupid or wildly entertained by the clown show playing out before her. Maybe both.

“Cute,” she coos. “You must have been too smitten to notice.”

“Absolutely,” Joshua says, as if there is a gun held to his pretty head. “Among all the garbage and the girl next to me, I suppose nothing else really mattered.”

“If that isn’t love, what is?” she asks blithely.

If only she knew.

[3:45 pm, race 3]

The sun descends on the stadium, swollen and yellow with the afternoon.

Last year, you and your friends had a betting ring set up during the racing circuit. Obviously, you had won—not too hard when your competition included Soonyoung, who only bet on horses named after food (sadly, it was not Tater Tot’s year). Somi was no better, and your brother thought every horse deserved a participation award.

This time around, things aren’t so simple. But you’d hate to say that you spent a whole day at the track and didn’t bet on a single race. Life could afford you at least one win for today.

Again, the horses take their positions at the starting line, wound up like a line of rubber bands. The air heaves with bated breath.

“Joshua,” you say, folding your hands in your lap as you find your target. “I'd like to propose a bet.”

“You must be a glutton for punishment.”

You bite back a laugh as you watch your favorite horse, the palomino, ripple in place. Fans would call her a charity case, but you know better.

“Pick a horse. Mine is number Three, in the blue.”

“And if mine wins? What’s in it for me?” he asks. Still, he leans forward, corded forearms on his thighs. You watch him squint as he surveys the field with renewed interest.

“You pick,” you reply. “Choose wisely. I personally cannot wait to call in a favor from you.”

“The chestnut one. Number Nine.” So he is competitive. “And likewise. Perhaps I'll hold it over your head until the wedding.”

Before you can reply, you hear the starting pistol rip clean into the air. The racehorses surge forward, as if a silken ribbon through air.

“Nine makes sense for you,” you say, eyes fixed before you. “He's flashy, the crowd favorite. Spotless pedigree.”

“I'm picking your punishment already.”

“I didn't say he would win.” You feel the lilt of your voice rocking upward, the tremulous beat of your heart against your ribs. “You see, Three’s had a rough season. There she is, passing Four right now.”

“Nine is still first, though.”

“It’s not about that,” you reply. “She does this, she starts all the way out back and then flies up. No one suspects anything—it’s like she likes proving people wrong. The first couple races of the season, she was just stretching her legs; they were small, small fry. It’s this one that matters.”

The saddles are just blurs on the track now. To the march of the hoofbeats, Three lunges past Five, Six. The crowd roars.

“This will be her first win. I'm counting on it. She’s come really close before.”

“You know your stuff,” he murmurs, the clamor of the audience almost burying him.

“How can I not?” Three coasts past One and Ten like she’s flying, until it’s just her and unlucky number Nine. “Oh my god. Go, go, go!”

You and Joshua rise to your feet, as if drawn by a string, now wholly invested in the race.

“Still beating you, you know.”

“Not for long! Come on!”

You watch your darling number Three, against all odds, pull past Joshua’s number Nine, burning a trail past the inevitable finish line.

From somewhere inside you emerges a joy that you hadn’t felt since this whole ordeal started. You turn to Joshua and clasp his hands between yours, somehow less wooden now, and so, so human. The crowd cheers; they come alive.

[4:50 pm, races 4 and 5. mainly, the reporter from the sun.]

The smaller races take place shortly after the headliner, for better or for worse. This forces you to finally face the music—the music being a dull-eyed, greasy journalist ready to sink his teeth into the public’s new favorite topic.

Joshua is a good sport about it, or at least, he’s good at pretending to be one.

“It was great,” is his answer to a question you didn’t hear. You’re busy going over the parts of the script that you remember. Your media team spent the better part of the morning repeating it back to you, which was helpful until it wasn’t. You weren’t sure how to tell them you’ve actually never been good at speaking to the press, since you had spent the better half of your life doing the exact opposite.

“And what did the princess think? It’s not often we catch you for an interview, you know.”

The eye of the camera seems to pierce through you. You can see your shellacked figure, long and distorted, in the reflection.

“I—um,” you swallow hard. God. Pull it together. You can already hear the lecture you’re going to get on the way home today. “Yeah, big day today.”

“She’s had to really rein in her excitement, you know,” Joshua adds, chuckling.

Briefly, you feel his hand brush against yours. Ordinarily, you’d pass it off as a fluke, but you feel the steady, insistent warmth of his palm again, first, to the inside of your wrist, then lower still. Before you’re able to really process what’s happening, he then takes your hand in his all at once, as if to say, I’ve got this. I’ve got you.

You figure he’s cashing in his favor early–he’d much rather leave you out to dry, let you flounder a bit so you learn to read the PR memorandums the night before. I told you so, he’d say. That’s what everyone else would say, anyway.

“The races are sure exciting, but I'm sure you’re even more excited about your upcoming wedding.” The reporter grins at you, as if he smells your fear. His hair looks like it’s glued to the top of his shiny head. “If I'm going to be honest, you were one of the last people we’d expect to tie the knot this year. We are all dying to hear more.”

What? You force yourself to breathe, feel the air fill your lungs, to avoid making an expression you’ll regret.

“Well, yeah, I'm sure it looks like it all happened quickly,” you answer, feeling your tongue trip over the words. Mostly because it did, in fact, happen quickly, but you can’t let them know that. “But Josh and I feel strongly about, uh, this whole thing, and—”

“Please, don’t spare us the details.”

Telepathically, Joshua squeezes your hand. This, you understand. He’s telling you to lean on him, and you trust that.

“Hold your horses,” he cuts in, almost too quickly, which makes the corners of your mouth twitch upward. He was definitely looking for an opening, but you, bizarrely, don’t mind at all. He turns to you and smiles. “What's the fun without a little mystery? It's been a wild ride, but I'm loving every second of it.”

It’s this one, the lamest and most embarrassing dad joke of them all, that gets you.

You laugh: a real one, big, loud, and unafraid. It's here, caught in the glare of the camera flash, where you find yourself hoping, even just a little, that this wasn’t just a favor, that this was a sign you could actually survive this arrangement.

You’re not asking for love—just a little bit of like. and, right now, you think you like Joshua Hong.

—

In the evening, you find yourself in the oaken parlor nestled away in the back halls of the Acrosian palace.

There's a piano there, gathering dust. It's a Steinway, spindly and chestnut, almost identical to the one you have at the palace in Cotria.

You and Jihoon had been unpacking your hodgepodge of things (unsorted, since the act of sorting would have forced you to stomach the fact that you were actually moving), when he had found your old lesson books.

You should break in that piano, he had said. Either that, or wait for your fiance to find you. He seemed ok at the derby today.

I guess.

What Jihoon hadn’t seen was all the photographs you had to take after your interview with The Sun, where Joshua decided to remind you that you were supposed to hate him. By that, you mean that he managed to make every single one unbearable. (A tap of the foot: Stand up straight. A careful brush of the elbow: Let’s link arms. A discerning, tactful glance at your chest: Pull up your dress. That, or he was no better than the average man.)

You and he hadn’t talked much after that. Hopefully, he’s fled to your cold, dark dungeon of a room to read, so he can finally leave you alone.

“Remember when your parents invited all their friends over and asked you to play?” Jihoon says, perched on the loveseat while he sorts through an old jewelry box.

“Yeah, and I literally forgot everything?” you laugh. “Freaking Jeonghan had to check on me because I locked myself in my room for 24 hours straight. And then he had the nerve to laugh at me.”

You thumb through the fattest book of the pile. The binding is soft; the pages now yellow and fuzzed over by time.

On page 5, Chopin's Waltz in A-flat major. three four time or whatever, you had scrawled in defiant red ink. Page 37, a thick black line through Debussy's name on Arabesque No. 1. This is because you would always laugh at it during lessons, and you wanted to save yourself the trouble.

“Do you want to keep this?” Jihoon holds up a choker that resembles a jock strap. “When did you even wear this? It looks like a cat toy.”

You ignore him and start to play. You were never excellent—competent would be a better word. Still, it was enough for you. Soonyoung would ask you to play during drunk karaoke, and you could still keep up with Jeonghan when he played one of his overcomplicated duets.

Your hands remember the velvet thud of the keys, the glide of the pedal. When you turn the page, there’s a scrawled in BITCH! next to a heavily circled allegro. Piano was one of the only things that your parents forced you to do that you actually liked. The kicker was that it didn’t even do you any good. You weren’t as talented as your parents would like you to be, meaning that, to them, you weren’t talented at all.

It’s then that your fingers slip, and you miss a chord. In your defense, you have a fresh manicure. Always blame the nails. Your mom hated when you kept them long, even more than your hardass tutor.

“The prince is helping with the theater production this year, right?” Jihoon holds a single earring up to the light. You think you lost the other one in Ibiza last year. “You gonna help out again?”

“Maybe.” Another wrong note. You’re losing steam trying to read all the ledger lines and your smeared, illegible writing next to them. “I don't know. He probably won’t even want me to. I'm choosing a different piece, by the way. Bored of this one.”

The truth about your 21st birthday was that you did actually intend to spend it at the youth theater. It was your idea before it was Jeonghan’s idea, but, at the time, you both still were a package deal.

You were on piano; Jeonghan was on whatever else he pleased. He'd always been indecisive like that. At the bench, you’d hoist the little ones on your knee and regale them with the classical version of the opening song from paw patrol. Jeonghan stole prop masks from the back, mostly to hide behind the curtains and scare people, you included. You’d both stay up late, paint spackled on your palms, trying to Michelangelo a backdrop with the combined artistic talent of a TI-84.

The production became your thing, just you and him, no cameras, no press releases, no parents. But like everything else, neither you, Jeonghan, nor anyone else was able to keep those inevitable truths apart. The set pieces were repainted in Italy, the finger-painted fields turned luminescent with varnish; the pins and needles in the costumes swapped with mother-of-pearl; and, finally, you, replaced by a classically trained pianist from Juilliard. At least he was hot.

Everyone knows the rest of the story—the red carpet, the empty seats, and the puffy pink balloons outside the mansion in Saint Tropez.

“Oh please,” Jihoon wheedles. “You and I both know he wanted you there.”

“Then maybe he should have fought harder.” You flip to a random page, this one marked up in pink gel pen. You remember it bled through all the pages behind it, making it a pain to read but awfully funny during lessons. “It doesn't matter. There’s probably wedding stuff i gotta deal with.”

Jihoon lets you play this next piece uninterrupted. It’s not that it’s a sensitive subject for you—there were plenty of other things that filled the wedge between you and your brother—but it certainly didn’t help.

You let your fingers wander over the stubborn keys. It feels good to play, even if you’re almost unforgivably rusty. You reach for the page, when you hear Jihoon again: “You know, you’re allowed to come in, your highness.”

Immediately, your hands freeze. Like a scolded child, you become aware of how your fingers teeter over the keys, the stumbling, awkward clacking of your nails, the one or two missed quarter notes from the last measure.

You turn to face the door, where Joshua stands, leaning against the frame like a sleazy model from an Abercrombie catalog. He probably came from the gym. Seeing him dressed down is still very weird, mostly because you can’t decide if it’s because he looks good or if it’s because it reminds of seeing your teacher at the grocery store.

“Anyone teach you manners?” you ask, unsure if your hackles should be raised.

“No, I was raised in a barn, just like those horses you like so much,” he laughs. “I didn’t want to interrupt. You’re not bad, you know.”

“Thanks.” You eye him skeptically. “Thought you were gonna comment on the nails.”

“Do you want me to?”

“Preferably not, but it’s not like you‘d listen to me anyway.” You look for Jihoon’s reaction, but he seems to have conveniently disappeared. “Let’s play a duet. I’m cashing in my favor.”

“Sure,” Joshua replies. “I'm no good, though. Might be more of a punishment for you.”

You slide over on the bench, and he sidles up next to you. He smells like Le Labo and sweat, the sting citrusy and bright, close enough to linger.

“No good?” You pick up another fat book from the stack atop the lid: The Joy of Duets. “Me neither.”

“You have no idea,” he chuckles. “And trust me, I tried.”

“I’ll do top?” you announce.

Joshua snickers, and you kick him under the bench (really, just a tap of your foot).

You spend the next two minutes tripping over a Schubert piece. Terribly, this is endearing to you. You make somewhat of a couple—you, with your horrible form, and Joshua, now squinting at the key signature like it’ll make it easier to read.

“Buddy,” you exclaim. “Left hand goes here.” Laughing, you reposition his hand mid-chord to an octave below. You feel it tense beneath you before yielding to proper technique.

“Aw, what?” he whines. “See, I told you I was no good. Give me a second.”

You watch him puzzle over the next few lines, pretty brow furrowed. You conclude that Pajama Joshua is decidedly better than Prince Joshua. He’s funnier, kinder, warmer. Even his hands feel softer.

“Also, about earlier today,” you start. The words are starting to dry up on your tongue, but you figure Pajama Joshua is an easier target than usual. “I didn't know they trained you in stand-up comedy.”

“We laugh in this country too, you know.” When Joshua says this, he grins, bumping into your shoulder like you’d been friends for a long time. For once, it feels easy, natural.

“Well, thanks anyway.”

“I couldn't leave my fiancée out to dry.” The word must sound ridiculous even to him, because he laughs just the same as he did when he unloaded his ridiculous puns onto the unassuming world. “No really. We’re in this together, unfortunately. It’s my duty.”

Duty, both the knife and the wound. You can’t say you’re surprised he’s only nice to you out of obligation. So is everyone else, and you don’t know why you thought it’d be any different, especially coming from him. It’s not like you’re wearing your ring now either; you suppose you’re just as guilty.

“You cross over here,” you tell him, changing the topic. You slide your hand over his, and it bends to you. “Thumb under. Sorry, I couldn't help but notice.”

“It's ok,” Joshua replies. “I only learned piano because I had to. When I stopped going to lessons, I forgot everything. Now I feel like I put this piano to shame.”

“Really? Not to stroke your ego, but you strike me as the type to be good at everything.”

“No,” he chuckles. “Only when I have to be. I actually wanted to learn how to play guitar.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. I wanted to have one of those woven guitar straps, get a little pick collection going, be able to play any song from the Beatles discography. All the cliche stuff.”

“Well, why can’t you?” you ask. “Minus the Beatles thing. Pick better music.”

“Back then, it never occurred to me. We all learn piano.”

“That's silly,” you blurt out. “Who cares?”

“That's a little rich coming from you.”

You frown, feeling all the usual unpleasantries bubble up through your skin.

“That's not really fair.” You absentmindedly play a few keys, all disjointed. “Taking guitar lessons doesn’t make you a problem child.”

“It's not about that, though,” Joshua says. He's avoiding your eyes. “It's everything, together. I couldn't just pick up a guitar and be someone else.”

“Someone else? You mean you? The real you?”

“Yes,” Joshua presses. “That's the point. I can't just do whatever I want. Sometimes the real you is more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Someone’s dramatic. If you do everything the same, nothing will change. Maybe getting into a little trouble isn’t such a bad thing.”

“Forgive me,” he says, mid-chuckle. “You wouldn’t call this trouble?”

He’s got you there. Childishly, all your pride hardens to a lump in your throat, one you’ve never learned to swallow.

“Your family needed our help too, remember?”

“Yeah, and you think I don’t think about that every day? How, maybe, if I had done something different, then we wouldn’t be here?”

You feel stung. You don’t know how to tell him that you’ve been trying to figure out the same thing your whole life. If you were a better daughter, you’d have spared everyone the trouble. Unfortunately, you’d gotten it wrong so many times, you stopped trying.

What's worse is that he doesn’t even sound mad—you watch his fingertips ghost over the keys of a C-scale, rhythmically, methodically. Piano scales, this marriage, everything: just things to do on his never-ending list.

A hesitant knock at the door interrupts any possibility of you coming up with anywhere close to the right thing to say.

“Prince Joshua, the king and queen need to speak to you.” It’s an aide, probably sweating bullets deciding when and how they should intrude on this wonderful conversation of yours.

“Right,” says Joshua, and when he gets up from the bench, he doesn’t look back.

—

“You ready to get stuffed?”

Good fucking morning to you—Somi’s voice, fluorescent through your phone speakers, seems to be enough of an alarm clock for you. Joshua, in the doorway dual wielding a coffee cup and the morning paper, raises a tired eyebrow.

After the events of last night, you’d wondered if he would somehow disappear at nighttime in an effort to avoid his eventual fate (you). Instead, you found him on his usual side of the bed, drinking his usual mug of chamomile tea, in his usual silence.

You've heard that couples shouldn’t go to bed angry, but no one said anything about indifferent. Then again, you and Joshua are hardly a couple.

“Ew,” you laugh. “No. Maybe? Should I be scared?”

“Absolutely. You’re eating your weight in food today because I need your opinion on catering.”

Smushing your phone between your cheek and your shoulder, you watch the mirror as your wavering reflection puts on a layer of mascara.

“For your party?”

“Yeah, although on second thought, maybe it’s a bad idea to bring the girl who’s gonna puke everything up anyway.”

“My IBS is none of your business. Besides, the real food critic is Jihoon,” you reply. “Sometimes I feel like that’s the only reason he still works here.”

“You’re coming in an hour, right?”

You check the clock. No, you are not. You’re only halfway through a full beat and if you don’t get any caffeine inside you within the hour, you will commit a crime.

“Nope.” You pop open your compact. “I have to change, and I desperately need to locate a coffee. I will suck a fucking bean off if i need to.”

“I'm hanging up on you,” Somi whines. “It's too early for you to be gross and late.”

“As if you weren’t talking about getting stuffed.”

“Whatever.” Click.

At this point, you feel like Somi’s party is both the proverbial and literal light at the end of the tunnel. No expectations, no rules, and no semi-arguments between you and your doomed fiance.

Then you notice that Joshua’s disappeared from the room—he probably couldn’t stand listening to your end of the conversation. Briefly, you wonder where he is. Off running an errand for his dear parents, perhaps, or maybe at the gym you still haven’t discovered yet. Even from the hefty distance he keeps you at, you can still appreciate a man who looks like he’s touched a dumbbell.

It's only when you’re halfway out the door, almost an hour later, juggling your purse and your phone and the distinct absence of a caffeinated beverage, that you find him.

“Come to ruin my day?” you ask, maybe three-fourths joking.

Jihoon, hovering by the car, chokes on his water.

“Oh!” The surprise knocks the sound out of you. “Thank you. Really.”

“Gladly,” he says, and he sounds like he means it.

He holds all your stuff as you clamber into the car, before handing it back to close the door for you. You’ll admit it’s nice, but as Jihoon starts to drive, you feel a familiar twist in your chest.

“Interesting,” he remarks. “Didn’t know you were on a coffee order basis.”

“We’re not,” you answer. You pop the lid open. It's a cappuccino, made the classic way, milk foam bubbling out the top. Not your favorite, but it’ll do.

More than that, it’s an olive branch. Yesterday did get weird, but you’re getting the impression that it’ll always get weird. Undoubtedly, there is someone out there who’ll get Joshua. His schedules, his straight-backed obligation, the polished photo ops and the cappuccinos made to a perfect one to one to one ratio. You know this because this is the world you came from, one that should be home to you.

—

On your arrival home in the evening, you return with two things: a few extra kilos and an absolutely horrendous copy of the Daily Mail, courtesy of Somi, who saw it at the grocery.

"Great showing from the couple of the year," you say, shucking your copy at Joshua. "It looks like we're in Shark Tale."

Even from a distance, the cheap ink-spackled cover shows more than enough. LIP LOCK FLOP!, it reads, although you wouldn’t really call it a lip lock.

It was at the derby—Quick, they’re looking at us, you had said. Then what you would call a nun’s version of a kiss: you, already halfway out the door, and him, lips hesitant and pursed, as if he was asked to smooch his withering, dusty great-grandmother.

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that," Joshua answers, voice level. "It's not that bad."

He puts his book down to pick the magazine up, holding it at a distance like the image will jump out of the page and bite him. You see his expression flicker, and that's all you need to confirm your suspicions.

"Ok, it's a little bad." He places it on the nightstand next to him face-down. "It'll be alright. It's not like the wedding will be called off over one bad picture."

"You know that's not the issue." You sit on your side of the bed, about a full meter away from him. You kind of want to look again just to see how bad it is, but you're sure it'll be inescapable by the morning.

"Since when did you care what the press thought of you?"

"Since it mattered." You stare at your lap, eyes fixed on the too-new, wiggly hem of your pajamas instead of him. You can tell he's still looking at you, though–you think those big, watery eyes have some sort of flashlights in them, and you don't like it. "It seems wrong if our mistakes take up space."

You hear him make a small noise of agreement. Joshua still won't admit that you're right, but you suppose you like that a little. At least he'll be stubborn about something, even if it's about clearly not liking you.

"What do you suggest?" he asks, putting his book down. “We didn't choose each other, so I'm not surprised there's no attraction."

"Ouch." He's right, but you'd rather be the one saying it. "I'm a good kisser. You aren't."

"I'm just not good at kissing you," he retorts.

"Evidently." You shimmy towards his side of the bed, where the sheets are cooler under your thighs, the pillows still neatly arranged on the headboard. "What I'm saying is that we should at least try to look more realistic. Like–"

"Are you saying we should practice?" Joshua looks at you over the frames of his glasses, incredulous.

"Yeah," you say, now too far in it to back out. "Like exposure therapy. For unwilling couples."

The room gets quiet, as if it wasn't unbearably so before. You watch Joshua pick up his book again. He puts the bookmark in, two-thirds from the spine of the book so as to not ruin the binding, and places it over the doomed tabloid.

"Okay." To your surprise, he turns to face you. The lamplight catches the lens of his glasses and makes his eyes look warmer than they truly are. "How should we do this?"

The way Joshua's gaze settles on you makes you feel like you're being evaluated. An exam in Kissing 101, except the test would rather not have anything to do with you at all. For the first time in your life, you let your eyes wander to his lips, rosy and full, and you feel the pit of anxiety in your belly grow wider. Somehow he's managed to take all the fun out of one of your favorite activities, but you'll be damned if he walks away from this thinking it's you who's the problem.

"Just...let me lead," you say quietly, now leaning closer to him. You have to ease yourself into it. You let your body respond, feel the skip of your heart, a heady flush wash over your cheeks. He smells like spearmint and clover.

You've kissed a lot of people. None of this should feel new to you. His eyelashes skim against your cheek, and you can hear the breath he takes, quivering, gentle.

Despite all this, the first kiss is no better than any of the other ones. his lips meet yours, hesitant before they start moving. He's shy, and it would almost endear him to you if he wasn't so annoying. But then the charade is over. His nose clocks yours and it startles you both enough to draw away, ever so slightly.

"Not my fault," you murmur. You're so close, you can see your reflection in his pupils, glassy and dark.

"Thought this was practice," responds Joshua, unfazed.

So you lean in again, giving it another go. Two is better—sweet and succinct. a first date type of kiss. You can taste the berry of your lip balm on him.

Then again, except this time it's him who goes in, chases your lips.

The scary thing is that you thought this would be much harder. You had stood in the bathroom, looked yourself in the mirror, and psyched yourself up to do the impossible.

But the moment you meet him, now so close there's no room to breathe, you feel an impenetrable, unshakable desire crawling up your bones. Your palm finds the flat of his chest. Even under the silk of his ridiculous pajama top, you feel the heat of his skin, the restless quick of his heartbeat, and your stomach flips.

Four, five. You're losing count. Joshua's hand trails up your arm to cup your cheek, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel your breath catch in your chest.

He's warm, so warm. When your other hand finds the back of his neck, he makes a small sound in his throat and you like it.

It's at this point you realize there is no point in pretending. Maybe you don't want to kiss Joshua at any other moment during any other day, but you do now. You really do.

When your tongue meets the seam of his lips, it feels all too natural. At first, predictably, he buffers a bit. For a split second, you envision him pulling away and saying you've gotten more than a lifetime's worth of practice in.

But he doesn't. Instead, an arm winds around your waist and that's all it takes for your body to stop listening to you altogether. Lips still connected, you lift yourself to straddle his lap, right over the folded up covers, and his hands, devastatingly strong, find your hips to keep you rooted there.

You're starting to think he isn't such a bad kisser after all—maybe he really was holding out on you, but there's something weirdly rewarding about him waiting until he liked you just a little more. Whatever that means.

You learn that his hair is soft, really soft, at the base of his neck. You learn that he likes when you bite his lips and you learn that his spearmint mouthwash does, in fact, taste as good as it smells.

You also learn that you, paradoxically, might not know how to love Joshua Hong, but you sure do know how to kiss him.

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

#recs #other more miniscule commentary for certain scences were put in the doc when i read them the first time HAHAH so you've seen them already

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cod-indulgences · 9 hours ago

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König x female!reader, oral, female genital piercings, sweet

You honestly forgot it was there. You'd not had even a coffee date in ages, much less a hulking Austrian shouldering between your thighs, so when König gets your panties off and halts, staring down at your pussy, your first thought was your period had started, or he'd decided yours was too ugly for sex or-

Then he delicately rubbed the tip of his finger across the little silver hoop pierced just below your clit, and you shiver. "Oh, uh, be gentle with that?" You babble, "sorry, I got it ages ago and sort of forgot about it? I don't feel it normally, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you-"

You cut off with a squeak as König leans in and kisses your clit, his tongue darting out to lick at the piercing, and when he looks up at you his eyes are as dark as his sniper hood. "Schön...Don't worry, liebchen," he says, "I'll be careful with your jewelry."

Oh, he is, he's soft and gentle with his lips, sucking your clit and labia, swipes of his tongue around and in your hole, and teasing that little hoop back and forth through your flesh. It had been an impulse buy, one that gave you a few days of soreness and not much else. The one guy you'd slept with after getting it had tried to pull it with his teeth and you'd kicked him in the face.

König though, oh, he's so sweetly considerate, wet little kisses and sucks around your clit, licking your piercing with the careful point of his tongue, bumping your clit with his nose while he drinks up your slick, and when he slides a finger into you and curls it up you grab his hair and yank hard. He groans into your pussy and sucks on your clit again, a second finger joining the first, and he's a bit fiercer now, slurping at you messily, and when he slips down and sucks around your piercing you shout and feel a sharp little clench around his fingers, hear a sloppier sound when he keeps pumping them into you. He's shaking, you realize dimly, still hauling on his hair to keep his mouth right there, there, so good don't stop, König, König fuck I'm cumming, please-

Your whole pussy is throbbing under his mouth, hot and wet, two bright points of sensation in your clit and piercing when he opens his jaw and gets his mouth around both, sucking hard, and you come in a sobbing rush, slick dripping out of your hole, clenching so hard onto his fingers that it hurts.

You manage to release his hair and look down over your heaving breasts and belly to see him staring up at you, beard dark with your come, and when he shoves himself up and gets his cock inside you with a desperate groan you wonder how soon you can get another appointment set up with the piercer. König might like a vertical hood one too.

#cod #cod smut #konig #könig #konig x reader #könig x reader #call of duty #triangle piercing #an indulgence

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redeemingvillains · 14 hours ago

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of magic & mayhem - mattheo riddle

summary: the strongest wizard of your age also happens to be hogwarts' playboy, and when he sets his sights on you, you realize neither of you have a choice in the matter.

word count: 3k

a/n: this is like nine of my concepts all mashed into one! heavily influenced by my re-read of fourth wing in preparation for onyx storm coming out, anyone who wants to scream about that in my inbox, please do <3

The Great Hall echoed with the excited chatter of friends and classmates and the general cacophony of breakfast; the sounds of scraping cutlery and the clink of dishes and goblets. You and Pansy sat in genial silence as you read your book and she eyed the gossip column of the Daily Prophet.

You were so totally transfixed on your book that you didn't see the looming figure in front of you until he placed his hands on the oak table and leaned casually across it into your airspace.

"Good morning" he drawled smoothly in a deep voice that caused you to glace up only to see Mattheo Riddle's large amber eyes twinkling at you, matched with a smirk that made you feel like you had pixies in your stomach.

You could smell his cologne from this distance, an undeniable mix of woodsmoke, evergreen and cinnamon that made you feel heady.

"Pansy" he acknowledged, nodding at her as she glanced up at him with a surprise that matched your own.

"Mrs. Riddle" he said, acknowledging you as his electric gaze found yours. You felt a deep blush on your cheeks, even as your face scrunched in confusion and your eyes searched his face for a hint of a joke, finding none.

"What did you just call me?" you asked, cocking your head. As much as you tried to supress it, a small smile graced your lips, which didn't go unnoticed.

"What?" he said in mock surprise. "You don't like it? I think it's perfect."

A pause.

"It suits you" he said confidently. He winked at you as your eyebrows shot up and he turned and walked away without another word.

You turned to look at Pansy who was open-mouthed gaping after him before turning to look at you.

"What was that!?" she exclaimed, excited, like you knew something she didn't.

You shook your head and rolled your eyes despite the hammering of your heart in your chest.

"He's a complete flirt, Pans, I'm not putting a lot of weight in whatever he's woken up and decided to say today."

But even as the words came out of your mouth, you couldn't help but feel excited that you'd caught his attention, even if you knew how delicately dangerous it could be.

"But Mrs. Riddle?! Please. I am dying oh my gods!" she said.

"No, we're not even thinking about this. Not unless you want to listen to me cry myself to sleep in three weeks when I've completely fallen for him and he's moved on to someone else. We all know how this goes and I'm not stupid enough to fall for it."

Pansy pursed her lips as she bounced in her seat with excitement, like she was going to explode.

"Okay, but maybe, just hear me out—" she started.

"—No" you said emphatically, as much to her as to yourself.

She stuck her tongue out at you and you returned the gesture.

It was no secret you were sought after; you had your fair share of dates and suitors. And it was no secret that Mattheo Riddle took the concept of incredibly hot fuckboy to another level, which is why, despite his comment and increasingly insistent stares you kept your distance.

Try as you might to forget what he said, or the way his dark eyes had twinkled mischievously as they drank you in, you found your thoughts drifting to him more times than you'd care to admit, and he had no intention of making it any easier for you, because now every time he saw you, he made a point of using your new nickname.

"Good morning, Mrs. Riddle" he said as he passed you in the Great Hall the next day.

"Have a good day, Mrs. Riddle!" he shouted from the opposite side of the common room, which garnered a significant amount of attention and whispers.

"Let me get the door for you, Mrs. Riddle" he said, pushing your classmates out of the way to do so.

"Mmm, gorgeous as ever, Mrs. Riddle" he whispered walking by you in the library in a way that felt like the words themselves danced over every inch of your body.

Pansy was nearly inconsolable over the situation, egging it on eagerly and even picking it up herself.

"Good night, Mrs. Riddle" she said to you as you crawled into bed in your shared dormitory.

"Lay off it, Pansy! Gods" you replied, even as you grinned like an idiot to yourself.

But then she wasn't the only one.

After less than a week of it, the rumor spread like fiendfyre and now Mattheo's friends were smirking at you in the corridor, waving teasingly to you in the common room and offering you every ounce of preferential treatment befitting of the name: knocking Potter off his chair when he took your seat in Potions, forcing a first-year to stand outside your dormitory holding your favorite latte every morning, and ensuring you had a coveted first row seat at their quidditch matches, including the House Cup, which you were excitedly getting ready for when Pansy burst into your room.

"You will never guess what I just heard" she said, grabbing you by the shoulders.

"What's that?" you asked, humoring her frenetic energy.

"Astoria Greengrass having a sob in the girls lav. You know how she and Mattheo have hooked up a few times?—"

You didn't, in fact, know that and couldn't help the pang of jealousy that gripped your chest.

"—Well I heard her telling Penelope Clearwater that he says he doesn't want to anymore and he told Harmony Norman and Maria Warner the same thing!"

Your face tangled in disgust.

"How many girls is he hooking up with? And why do you look so happy about it? What a mess…" you said, sighing as you turned to resume your makeup.

"Why, all of a sudden is he breaking all of them off, hmm?" she said, cocking an eyebrow at you in your mirror.

"I don't know" you said shiftily. "Maybe he's trying to be a better person?!—"

"—Or maybe he has his eyes set on someone else?!" she said insistently. "You know, someone he's given a special nickname to, his name to?"

You opened your mouth to argue with her but you couldn't deny the logic of her statement.

The boys pulled it off, sweeping Gryffindor in the House Cup for the first time in years and the ensuing celebration was electric.

The music in the common room was loud enough to sway the chandeliers in the ceiling, to feel the bass vibrating in your body.

Every Slytherin you knew and quite a few friends from other houses were there, the normally cavernous room filled in a way that made it feel like some sort of night club, bodies covering every inch of space, melding and weaving between each other and raising the temperature of the normally dank dungeon air.

You couldn't help but search the flashing lights and otherwise utter chaos for Mattheo and you didn't have to look for long the way he stood a head taller than almost everyone in the room, even surrounded by his large teammates; not to mention the way they were walking around like kings, taking turns chugging champagne out of their trophy, raucous, rowdy and loud as people cheered around them.

Mattheo himself was in rare form, his handsome curls were slightly askew and his cheeks were rosy from the alcohol and general liveliness of the night. He was dressed in a fitted black tshirt and dark pants and was exuding an energy that was magnetic, even from where you were standing; undeniably, your heart thumped in your chest at the sight of him.

Had you gotten a little dressed up? Of course. It was a celebration, an occasion, why wouldn't you? But as you wound through the sea of bodies, fingers twined in Pansy's, you garnered enough stares and double-takes that had you thinking you may have slightly overdone it.

"Oh, okay queen!" Pansy had said the minute she'd seen your outfit, the way you'd done your makeup and styled your hair, knowing, perhaps, exactly what or who had been on your mind.

You stopped to grab a drink and your cup had barely touched your lips before two guys came up to you that you recognized vaguely from the year below you. They were admittedly cute and you smiled as they compliment you and chatted with you. You leaned in closer to hear them over the music and the crowd and the one closest to you ducked his head toward you when you felt a tingle run from the base of your neck down your spine and a large, warm hand wound its way around your waist, pulling you firmly backwards into what felt like a pliable brick wall. You were startled for only a moment until you caught the undeniable scent of evergreen, of cinnamon.

"Brian is it? Blake? Blaire? Why don't you go get a drink, buddy?" his voice rumbled near your ear, more of a command than a suggestion as Bradley's eyes shot up over your shoulder to the shadow looming there and nodded quickly, retreating.

"Aww" you pouted sarcastically as you turned around. "He was nice, we were having fun!"

You met Mattheo's eyes which were so dark they looked nearly jet black as they glared at you. Had he been jealous?

And like he could read your mind his lip twitched and he rolled his eyes.

"Even if he had a chance with you, which, let's be very clear, he doesn't, he wouldn't know what to do with it."

"And, let me guess, you would?" you asked teasingly.

"Care to find out?" he asked matter-of-factly.

You felt a wave wash over you from your head to your toes, your body tingling with his proximity, with the way his eyes met yours directly, unfaltering despite the myriad distractions around him.

Gods yes you thought, even as you bit your bottom lip, teetering on the edge of a decision you knew you couldn't come back from.

His eyes shamelessly fell to your lips and you suddenly realized that his hands had never left you as they flexed at your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin like he was holding onto you for purchase.

"C'mon" he said, not waiting for a coherent reply from you, which you may never have been able to form had he kept looking at you that way.

His hands left your body only long enough to tangle his fingers in yours and hold them tightly, pulling you behind him as he headed into the sea of bodies on the dance floor, weaving between some as others offered him a wide berth and a congratulations when they realized who he was.

Then, like he was moving in slow motion, he turned to face you, twining your fingers further in his as he pulled you into him, guiding your hand over his shoulder so you were flush to his chest, and his other hand found your waist again, his grip firm and unyielding as he held you to him as if you would argue or try to be anywhere but right here.

You could feel every dip and curve of his body against yours as you moved against each other in a way that felt perfect and also not nearly enough, even though you couldn't get any closer.

You let the hand on his shoulder wander to the back of his neck, your fingers tangling into the curls there and even though the music was loud enough that you could barely hear yourself think, you could feel as much as hear the growl that released in his chest as his hands tightened on you in a way you were certain would leave a bruise.

The lights flickered for just a second, and a few people stopped dancing and shouted but his eyes never left yours, the only acknowledgement he offered, a small grimace on his face, which made you want to kiss his lips back into his irritatingly perfect smirk.

He leaned in, pressing his cheek to yours as his lips hovered to your ear.

"You look stunning, Mrs. Riddle."

He leaned back and you could see his signature smirk gracing his lips again. You opened your mouth to reply as your eyes met his, but your head was swimming at this point. Everything was him all at once, his body against yours, taught and warm to your touch, his breath on you that smelled like cinnamon gum, his cologne, you felt yourself melting into him at his words, closing the only remaining inches between your hips as your hands came to his face and your noses brushed — and then the lights went out in earnest, drowning you in complete darkness.

"Fuck" you heard him mutter strongly before grasping your hand in his as he started to pull you through the imperceptible forms of people who were yelling and shouting, blazing a path through them, pushing people aside brusquely where necessary. He was on a war path and your feet moved quicky to follow him as he cleared most of the crowd and headed directly for the boys dormitory.

He pulled you into a maze of adjoining corridors before swiping his hand causing an approaching door to fly open as he pulled you in behind him. You were barely through it before he swiped his hand again and it slammed closed behind you, forcefully, the energy pouring off of him in a way that reminded you just how strong of a wizard he was, and exactly why absolutely nobody fucked with him.

He turned to you finally, his chest rising and falling as he gripped your waist and pushed you gently against the closed door with a thud. He let his other hand rest beside your head, caging you in. The look of lust on his face was still there, tangled with the same grimace from before, like he was angry, like he was holding something in.

"Mattheo...?" you whispered and he ducked his head away from you, his eyes squeezing shut as the hand at your waist squeezed again, the touch sending an electric tingle up your side that made you gasp.

His gaze came back to you and then he was leaning in, his nose brushing yours again and your hands came to wind around his neck. You caught a glimpse of a smile on his lips as they hovered over yours, barely grazing them, and you could feel static electricity there between you, the air itself alight with energy, vibrating. The temptation was driving you mad, your chest visibly rising and falling against his own and then his lips fell to yours, warm, soft and urgent.

He took your face in his hands and pressed you into the door and you hummed against him. The lights in the room flickered once, then twice, and then rapidly like you were in a horror film before they went out completely, drenching you both in a velvet darkness that was somehow welcoming, like you could feel the shadows themselves dancing over your body, caressing you, enveloping you.

You felt his tongue against your bottom lip and you opened up to him. Your tongued flicked against his and a freezing gust of wind blew papers, books and quills off his desk, hurling them to the ground with a clatter and bang. Mattheo never stopped, his tongue continued to glide over yours and he kissed you like it was the last godsdamn thing he'd ever do.

He hoisted you up so your legs wrapped around his waist and he pressed you back into the door before releasing your lips just long enough to trail kisses down your jaw to your neck that he lavished in a way you were certain there would be a violet bruise in the morning.

Your eyes fluttered in pleasure, lost in him for a moment until you caught sight of the room around you and you froze.

It was midnight black but for the moonlight coming through the window which cast everything in a ghostly shade of white, but what caught your eye was that every object in the room was floating, adrift in the air, the bed, the desk, the bookshelf, all hovering feet off the ground. Lightweight objects like clothing, quills and his books floated higher and higher and then you realized that it was cold enough to see your breath in front of you.

"Mattheo" you breathed, trying to get his attention. Your hand carded through his curls and the chair in the corner took flight.

Wait. Was this him?

"Mrs. Riddle?" he murmured in your neck.

"Mattheo" you said again, a stronger urgency in your voice causing him to relent and look up at you with a puff of air of his own.

"Fuck" he said. "It's – yeah. That's me. Well, that's you actually."

"What?"

"S'no secret that my magic is ... strong. And I'm well practiced at controlling it. With... one exception."

He took your hand and placed it over his chest where you could feel his heart hammering.

You searched his eyes and his eyebrow quirked until he gestured to his room. As if to say 'see?'

This boy had quite literally lost his control at your touch.

"Wait, the lights? The music?" you asked, a small smile on your lips at the realization.

"When you touched me, I just—" he shook his head, exhaling another puff of cold air. "—See what you do to me, Mrs. Riddle?" he said.

"Gods, when are you going to stop calling me that?" you laughed, even as you looked at him and traced a finger over his lips.

"When it's true" he said simply.

You looked confused for a moment until he leaned into you again, his magic radiating off of him.

"What?" you breathed.

"When you're mine, and it's official and I won't have to spend all of my free time reminding everyone you're mine, they'll know. Until then, I'll hedge my bets."

He kissed you.

"Mmpf, but what if I didn't want you to stop?" you murmured against him.

He pulled back to look at you, scanning your face for any sign of a joke, and finding none as your eyes connected with his and his lip quirked in a smile.

"Well, princess,” he whispered against your lips, ghosting them with his, teasing you before biting your bottom lip gently in a way that sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the freezing air.

“Whatever Mrs. Riddle wants—” he murmured, kissing you fully, luxuriously, “—Mrs. Riddle gets.”

ˋ°•*⁀➷ I have the tiniest little epilogue that I'll post soon, let me know if you want to be tagged!

taglist: @kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle fanfic

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dronebiscuitbat · 3 days ago

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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 107)

That night… neither parent got any sleep. Between Bishop needing fed every two hours and Tera getting sick nearly in that same time frame. It was a busy night.

Exhaustion was the word of the day. And they were living it.

Khan was grinning the entire time he made the morning gasoline for everyone. Humming under his breath as Nori sat at the kitchen table, giving N a half-wave as he walked out of Uzi's old bedroom.

“How'd you sleep?” Khan asked, setting Nori's cup in front of her and turning to N.

“Well Tera's come down with something… she can't keep any oil down, and she's shivering…” N explained, voice laced with tiredness. “So she's been up all night. And so have we…”

“Aw. Wonder where she picked it up from?” Nori chimed in. Taking a sip of the gasoline before her eyelights hollowed and she stuck her tongue out. “ugh… bitter”

Khan blinked. Confused. “What do you mean? You always hated sugar in your gas.”

Nori blinked back. “Yeah. Your right. Guess when I rebuilt my body my pallette changed. Whoops.” She shrugged, leaning over to dump sugar in her cup.

“Hm. I suppose that would make sense.” Khan utters, his thumb and his finger under his chin.

N was too tired to pay it any mind.

…

Uzi wrapped Bishop in the baby sling around her, using the same purple one she'd used for Tera all those months ago. B was a quiet baby, observing and curious, all seven eyes bouncing around at everything.

Tera was curled up in a tight ball on the bed. Trembling with every fiber of her being, soft whines escaping her in the uneasy sleep she was experiencing.

Uzi sighed. Stroking her daughter's back to try and comfort her. She was much too warm to the touch, but she hadn't been able to keep any oil down for longer then an hour… so that made sense.

Plus, with how little sleep she'd gotten. Uzi wouldn't dare wake her up unless absolutely necessary.

…

Tera was running. Scampering across the floor on all fours, moving as fast as her little legs could carry her, she felt… so tired, so warm, so hungry.

Why… why was she running?

She stopped. Catching her breath. She could see it coming out in foggy pants. She sat on her haunches, looking around for why she'd been running.

The room, if you could even call it that. Was pitch black, unless you counted Tera herself. She could see her hands, her clothes, but everything else around her was blank, like it hadn't decided what it itself was yet.

She looked up. The “ceiling" is a dense collection of clouds, like the oppressive sky of Copper-9.

There's a storm brewing inside, streaks of purple lighting dancing on the inside of the clouds, it was pretty… in it's own way.

There was darkness all around. But it felt less like shadows and more like spaces to be filled with other things, like an empty apartment, full of potential.

It least. Until there was the sound slithering across the floor. Wet and sticky and made the sensors on the back of the little dronelings neck go crazy.

She turned in it's direction, back arching up like a cat trying to make itself bigger, and she hissed threatingly, slowing backing up as she stared into the darkness.

The thunder of the clouds above and the sound of her own breathing was the only thing she could hear, but she didn't stop going backwards.

Her core beat like a drum in her chest.

She growled-

And was cut off when her back touched something solid.

She yelped. Darting forward in a dead four limbed sprint but it wasn't enough, she was grabbed by the leg and was suddenly being dragged into the floor like it was made of inky black quicksand, she screamed, scrambling to try and claw herself out.

The storm above raged. Yellow lightning joining the purple arc's like a pair of fighting gods.

She sinks underneath the floor… and falls.

And falls

And falls…

And then lands with a disgusting sounding wet slap, though it didn't hurt.

He eyelights slowly come open.

The floor is now writhing, slimy tendrils, moving underneath her feet and throwing her slightly off balance. Her breath speeds up- she tries to move but her arms and legs are stuck.

“Mama! Papa! Help!” She yelps and pleads, trying desperately to free herself from the cords holding her in place. There's movement all around her, giant shapes looming in the dark, stalking her like prey.

She whimpers when she gets no response. She's alone…

She looks behind her, eyes trying to parce what's moving, what's there.

When she turns back. There's something in front of her. Her eyelights hollow in fear.

A shadow creature. Is the best way to describe it. Her exact proportions, just whispy… like a flickering candle. It's entirely black. The only difference is the eyes… a sickly, faded, yellow

It cocks it's head.

Tera cocks hers.

It circles her, walking on all fours, like it's observing her soul, her being, everything she is and will be.

By the time it's finished. It's no longer a vague form. It has black hair, a purple onesie, tiny fangs and tiny claws.

She stares back at a copy of herself. Only now.

It has yellow eyes.

A too wide grin nearly splits the copies face, oil dripping from it's maw…

Tera wakes up with a scream. Almost falling off the bed if Uzi hadn't caught her. “Woah, careful.”

Tera's inconsolable, trembling and sobbing into her mothers shoulder, Uzi holding her close, stroking her back.

“Shh… it's alright. It's just a dream…”

“Just a dream…”

#murder drones #oil is thicker then blood #uzi doorman #serial designation n #nuzi #biscuitbites #tera doorman #n and uzi

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practicalgauntlet · 18 hours ago

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~You're still my person. Even if I'm not yours.~

"To love in silence is to ache with the hope of being seen, yet fearing the pain of remaining unseen."

Synopsis- You attend J.J.'s wedding. The reception is beautiful except for one thing: watching the love of your life pine for another.

Category- Angst (unhappy ending)

Notes - This is meant to be one part, but I can add a happy ending if you need it, unrequited love, one-sided pining, angst without a happy ending, this one is going to hurt, this was all I could think of when watching the episode, self-loathing, self-hating language.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

You were happy for J.J., you really were. She had almost lost Will and Henery in the span of a day. It was unsurprising that she bit the bullet and decided to marry the father of her son.

The reception was just as beautiful as the bride herself as she walked down the aisle in her mother's wedding gown. It was a surprise, the wedding, thrown together by both Will and Rossi.

But it was bittersweet. Despite the thrumming, electric air of the night, you felt empty.

You had known for quite a while that Spencer was in love with J.J. It was apparent and frankly quite obvious, from the prolonged, yearning glances he tossed her way. The frantic worry he would give her if she was hurt or in danger. He didn't show that type of worry to anyone else, not even you.

Yes, he cared deeply for his team - it would take a bullet for them - but not to the point of almost wild, feral paranoia.

You weren't sure if anyone else noticed the way he acted around J.J. or the way he would look at her when she wasn't looking. Maybe it was because you were in love with him as much as he was in love with her.

You focused on the minute details of his behavior, hoping to gleam a fraction of the affection that was directed at her. Most of the time, you saw things you knew you didn't, making quick glances and friendly smiles into something they weren't just to save yourself the heartache.

But now she was getting married. And you could see he was miserable.

He hid it well, timing his smiles and laughter with everyone else's, patting Will on the back in congratulations while keeping that deep-set look of anguish off his face.

But when no one was paying attention, no one but you, his face fell, and that tight-lipped smile faded into misery.

He watched her every second, admiring her from afar as she walked down the aisle. As she kissed Henery before looking up at Will on the altar. He winced and closed his eyes when the couple leaned in to seal their marriage with a kiss.

Penelope had asked if you were okay, wondering why you were so quiet on such a momentous occasion. But if Spencer could hide his feelings for J.J. from the team, then you could remain undetected as well.

When the afternoon bled into a beautiful moon lit night, the glittering lanterns lighting up the yard in which Rossi hosted, you felt hopeless.

Both because you desperately wanted to wipe that sad look off of Spencer's face and because your bubble of delusion was popped.

For years, you secretly hoped he felt the same for you. From the brief glances of adoration, he would throw at you to the blinding smiles he would greet you with. There was not a moment you hoped you weren't overthinking every little reaction, every little touch or laugh.

Turns out you were just as delusional as the monsters you hunted. To think you were good enough to possibly become the object of Spencer's affection. To think you were brilliant enough to even gain his attention, to interest him beyond friendship.

You sat at the table, sandwiched between Penelope and Derek and across the table from Spencer, knee deep in self-loathing. It felt like you were wading through sludge, the world around you moving slow like dripping honey.

You caught Spencer's eye, and he offered you that same tight-lipped, polite, 'I'm definitely not okay if you look past my quickly crumbling mask of normalcy!' smile. You offered one back.

It was safe to assume he was feeling just as broken as you were at that moment, watching the love of his life look at someone else with such adoration and love.

And it broke your heart. Made you feel like a self-absorbed pile of human shit because here you were, wallowing in your own internal battle while Spencer was shattering before you.

You look at him, trying to subtly ask him if he is okay with your eyes. You hoped he wasn't so out of it with sorrow that his profiling skills were rendered useless.

He simply looked away as Rossi stood and tapped his fork against his glass. David gave a heartwarming speech about timing and happiness, pointing a loving hand towards the grinning couple at the head of the table.

Everyone was clapping and smiling, congratulating the newlyweds and their wishing their future the best. Even Spencer was participating, his manurisms and expression genuine for the first time that night.

When they kissed again, Spencer stood and excused himself. No one was really paying attention to him, more focused on each other and the joy that filled the air. No one even thought of sadness being present at a time like this.

You cought Spencer's expression as he walked into the house and you were standing before you could even think.

"Where's the fire, sugar?"

Penelope asked, your studden movement gaining the attention of the technical analyst.

"Bathroom."

You murmured, more focused on reaching Spencer than drawing the curious eye of the infamous meddler.

You were in the house and wandering the halls before she could say anything else, your eyes peeled for any indication as to where Spencer went.

He wasn't on the first floor, nor the second, not in the garage or in the kitchen. You couldn't find him, no matter where you looked. Hell, you even looked in the linen closet.

When you pass the mud room, you see a tall, lanky silhouette in the stained glass of the front door.

You were twisting the knob not a moment later, heart racing a mile a minute. Spencer was standing on the porch, still as a statue. You could see the tension in his body, in the way he held his hands at his sides, the way his shoulders never seemed to relax.

You know he heard you open the door, knew his moment of peace was interrupted.

"Are you okay?"

You ask, testing the waters by gently closing the door and standing next to him. You didn't look at him, no matter how bad you wanted to.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

His voice was carefully crafted, even, and steady. If you didn't know him, you would have thought everything was fine and dandy. But you did know him. You knew him like the back of your hand.

There was a strained layer to the way he spoke. It was the same tone he used on you and the team while he was addicted to Dilaudid, the same tone he used after Gideon left. Carefully hidden turmoil so he didn't have to burden anyone with his 'pathetic' emotions.

You knew him too well.

"You can talk to me, Spence."

"I'm fine, really. I just needed some air."

The lie was blatant on his face. He was begging you to drop it to leave him be so he could keep his composure until he was alone in his apartment. You didn't want to leave it alone, his pain bleeding into yours, amplifying all the hurt and hopelessness you'd felt all night.

"Spence-"

"Drop it."

That sadness, that misery that swirled beneath the surface, was replaced with ire. You knew he didn't mean to take it out on you but in your already fragile mental state the glare he pinned you with cut so deep you feared you'd never stop bleeding.

He left, shouldering past you and back into the house to most likely join the party with his fake fucking smile and his painfully obvious suffering.

You couldn't move, couldn't get your legs to take you back no matter how hard you tried. You were stuck, both emotionally and physically.

The next breath you took left you staggering. You had to sit, had to prevent the inevitable collapse you were destined to have. The cold, hard wood of the porch bit into your knees as you dropped, a broken sob wrenching its way out of your throat.

Another one clawed past that lump, building, and building until you couldn't hold back any longer. You bit your lip, tasting the blood that spilled into your mouth as you tried and failed to keep your sobs a bay.

The wails of agony had you hunched in on yourself, the power of them shaking your body and scratching your throat. Briefly, you thought of gaining the attention of any of the partygoers, your shattering drawing them to the porch so they could bear witness to your destruction.

You'd rather die than succumb someone to that, so you bit down on your knuckle. You were still so loud, your lip and knuckle aching from your teeth.

The door opened, and you froze, body still shaking with emotion as you lay there in a heap of pity.

"Oh my god, sugar plumb!" Penelope gasps, rushing to your side and leaving the door wide open. "What happened?"

You continued to sob uncontrollably, hands absently reaching for Penelope’s hand and drawing yourself into her comforting embrace.

Your words were broken by hiccuping wails, face wet with snot and tears.

"I love him, Pen."

"Will?"

She pulls back and looks at your broken face, holding you by the shoulders as she levels you with a confused face.

"No, Spencer."

You'd never said it out loud before, and now that it was out in the open, it felt as if your entire world was just tilted on its axis.

"Oh, honey pot,"

She draws you into her embrace again, smoothing your hair with gentle pets, cooing sweet nothings until you are numb. Quiet and calm, but numb. Void of the emotion that so fiercely burned within you just moments ago.

"He loves someone else."

You say pathetically, your voice monotone and as empty as you feel.

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

"I can't stand it anymore, Pen. Watching him yearn for her."

"Shhh." She coos, wrapping her arms tightly around you. "Everything will be okay."

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Three months have passed since the wedding. Everything wasn't okay.

You walked the earth with that same, cold, unending nothingness that overtook you that night in Penelope’s arms.

She made it her mission to make you feel better. Making jokes, setting you up, hosting girls' night out, and slumber parties. Everything she could think of, she dragged you along with her. But it felt like your world ended that night.

Spencer wasn't the same either. He didn't ask you to go to the library with him, didn't try and pull you along with him and Penelope to their various conventions, and didn't smile at you when you greeted him.

He was numb too.

There was a loss of two loves that evening, a great love story missed. The paths of fate are so close yet they never converge, never collide.

You went on a blind date once.

Never again.

He was fine. He was smart, handsome, and funny. But not as smart, as handsome, as funny. He wasn't Spencer.

It felt like you missed your chance, that if you did something better, something right, he would have chosen you. You could have made him happy.

"The heart wants what it wants. There is no logic to these things. You meet someone, and you fall in love, and that's that." - Woody Allen.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #no use of y/n #angst #unhappy ending #angst no comfort #Spotify

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blue-howlite · 3 days ago

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Hello Castlevania: Nocturne S2 ramble coming through! I just finished it half an hour ago and I'm going to make it everyone else's problem.

(Spoilers ahead! Both about Castlevania: Nocturne and the previous Castlevania sequence)

Specifically, I'm focusing on the shadowy entity we see in this season that Olrox calls "Old man coyote" and "Mephistopheles".

Because these two names are associated with tricksters kinda entities. So one would think "Oh, the Devil right?", like Mizrak did.

EXCEPT

Both Olrox and Juste didn't seem to believe it was the Devil. And when two of the oldest/with more life experience characters both seem dubious on something that otherwise looks pretty clear, usually it means there's more to it. Right? (Pretend I'm not going insane thankyou)

(Also, pay attention, saying "the Devil" and "a devil" isn't the same. The Devil, capital D, is the big bad of the Christian faith.)

Some people speculate this entity might be "Death" from the previous Castlevania continuity, the same that Trevor had killed.

Here's what bugs me. People call it Death, even though Trevor states clearly that the entity isn't Death itself. Which might sound weird if one isn't familiar with mythology! Unfortunately for all of you, I really like mythology and especially the death aspects of mythology.

So, why is "Death" not actually death? And if it isn't actual death, what is it?

Ever since I saw in Castlevania the scene where Trevor and Sypha come across the shrine dedicated to death, I thought the writers had decided to include the aspect of "keres".

"Howlite, what the fuck does keres mean?" GREAT QUESTION

"Keres" (singular, ker) is the name of the collective deities/personifications of violent and cruel death in Greek mythology. Sisters of Thanatos (god of death, though he's more precisely associated with non-violent death) and daughters of Nyx, they are described as women (usually depicted with dark wings) who would be present wherever blood was spilled.

HOWEVER: they did not hold the power to kill.

Which is why I thought it would be confirmed that the "Death" we see in S4 was a ker, since it didn't hold the power to kill on its own (it wanted to summon Dracula to do it), nor did it have any control on the afterlife (a ker isn't a ruler of the afterlife or its inhabitants), yet it demanded bloodshed.

And here is where ethymology comes in play!

Keres are more specifically considered "daemones", which in greek mythology loosely meant spirits who were not inherently good nor evil.

However, with the spreading of Christianism and the intervention of the Church to eradicate older religions, the term "daemon" was transformed into the modern "demon", which today means an evil entity whose purpose is to cause harm.

Now. Why is this important to us?

Because in Nocturne S2, Mizrak specifically seems to associate the dark entity to "the Devil". Orlox says it wasn't... however, what's close to the Devil, while also not being it? Demons, who are simply entities that the Church branded as evil because belonging to pagan religions. Sometimes, those demons were gods in their original setting, which would grant them a status on par with the (Christian) Devil. Anyway.

Demons.

Daemones.

Death daemones.

Death daemones that enjoy bloodshed.

Keres.

The train thought needs some oiling but it's not all conjecture.

Of course, Olrox specifically recognising our boogyeman as a malevolent trickster could be either to the sly nature of this ker (or possibly this collective of keres, since the shadow had a fluid, always changing shape, as if multiple entities were present at the same time), the way one would call an annoying, entitled woman "Karen", so to speak, OR due to his own biases, being unaware of what a ker is.

There's also a chance that in the Castlevania universe, the keres took many forms over the ages in order to survive. But this is already dipping into fanfiction world building/AU area.

Regardless, I am convinced that "Death" in the first Castlevania sequence was a ker. It makes sense, given the context clues and its objective.

For the entity in Castlevania: Nocturne jury is still out, it could be a ker but it could also be some other entity fucking around (and possibly finding out if we get a third season). Maybe they made up a general trickster guy that conforms both to North American native pantheon and Christian demonology and probably many other mythologies/religions.

However, given Olrox' life experience it could be his bias speaking, since he's likely unfamiliar with indo-european religions and belief systems; he knows of his own deities and those of other native american populations because he was born and raised there, living there until he came to Europe to kill Julia Belmont; he knows of Christianity because of the colonisers and it being the dominating religion in Europe at the time (and likely in America too by then). We don't see him talk much about Sekhmet or Egyptian culture either despite it being central to the story, which could further confirm this idea.

Adding to that, in CN it was clearly stated that "a god shouldn't cross into another's domain" (paraphrasing), so it would be a little contradictory to have Old man coyote and Mephistopheles being the same deity, despite belonging to completely different beliefs and separated populations. Also, small parenthesis, Mephistopheles wasn't even in the bible nor any of the Christian holy texts, he only appeared later in the legend of Faust and was from then used in following works of fiction and art as an archetype. Which... adds onto the "Olrox isn't an all knowing vampire and actually is affected by his own biases" theory.

Unless of course the CN writers have decided to disregard infernal entities' background entirely and just use them as "big bad evil guys"... which would be disappointing, but not surprising.

Anyway thank you for reading this, comment your thoughts (if you still have any and this word freight train didn't run your brains over, in which case I apologise; I struggle to words things clearly when I'm excited about them).

#Castlevania #castlevania netflix #castlevania: nocturne #Olrox #castlevania olrox #olrox castlevania #greek mythology #rambles #castlevania spoilers #nocturne spoilers #I'm going to be obsessing over this season for a while #Might rewatch the whole of Castlevania actually

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tellmegoodbye · 3 days ago

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Happy Lone Star Day!!!

Today, in the spirit of our beloveds coming back for the last time, I wanted to do a "Journey of Tarlos" via music monday. I have three songs for different points in their relationship, so let's get into it.

Brighter Than Sunshine - Aqualung

I never understood before. I never knew what love was for. My heart was broke, my head was sore - What a feeling. Tied up in ancient history, I didn't believe in destiny. I look up, you're standing next to me - What a feeling.

I never saw it happening. I'd given up and given in. I just couldn't take the hurt again - What a feeling. I didn't have the strength to fight. Suddenly, you seemed so right. Me and you - What a feeling.

What a feeling in my soul Love burns brighter than sunshine. It's brighter than sunshine. Let the rain fall, I don't care. I'm yours, and suddenly you're mine. Suddenly, you're mine.

This is TK and Carlos when they first met!

If You're Meant To Come Back - Justin Jesso

Maybe I'm lookin' for a bit of suffering Leave a little time to feel the cracks Maybe it'll hit when we're all alone again Thinking about what we used to have

I know what I say to get you to stay the night Sleeping by your side like the old times But it's better for me If I set you free to decide Either way, we're gonna be alright, alright, yeah

Even if you go and fall in love with someone else As much as it'll hurt me, I'll survive But if you're lyin' with him, feelin' by yourself I'll still be yours to come and find

No one knows about tomorrow But I know that I'll be waitin' for you still So I'll let you go to fill the void you're tryna fill If you're meant to come back to me, you will If you're meant to come back to me, you will

This is the perfect Tarlos breakup song!

I'm Yours - The Script

You touched these tired eyes of mine And mapped my face out line by line And somehow growing old feels fine

You healed these scars over time Embraced my soul, you loved my mind You're the only angel in my life

The day news came my best friend died My knees went weak and you saw me cry Say I'm still the soldier in your eyes

I may not have the softest touch I may not say the words as such And though I may not look like much I'm yours

And though my edges may be rough I never feel I'm quite enough It may not seem like very much But I'm yours

This is Tarlos facing all of the things life has thrown at them, being vulnerable with each other, and protecting each other's hearts. I was specifically reminded of 4x16 with Carlos comforting TK and promising he won't go anywhere, 3x08 with TK grieving and Carlos being there for him, and 4x18 where TK did the same for Carlos.

Tagging: @strandnreyes @paperstorm @bonheur-cafe @lemonlyman-dotcom @heartstringsduet @ironheartwriter @emsprovisions @herefortarlos @literateowl @eclectic-sassycoweyes @alrightbuckaroo @theghostofashton @reyesstrand @carlos-tk @rangersoup @carlossreaders @reeeallygood @goldenskykaysani @toomanycupsoftea @kiwichaeng @goodways @firstprince-history-huh @certifiedflower @freneticfloetry @guardian-angle22 @annoyingcloudearthquake + open tag

#har rambles #music monday #911ls music mondays #911 lone star

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oozeandgoo-art · 2 months ago

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#borrowed some imagery from a weird dream i had. can't tell what this makes most obvious #that i liked FNAF. that i thought the character designs in Hazbin were kind of fun but lacked a certain contrast against everyone else #(no one else in this setting looks like this. they didn't even decide to look like this) (thats the 'certain contrast') (not visible here)#that i REALLY liked Gamzee from Homestuck but never quite got into the actual clown aesthetic #that i think the Night of the Nocturne apparel in Flight Rising rules #or that I REALLY REALLY REALLY liked Kit Fisto Star Wars's design and wish everyone had headtails like he does #Green can smell your thoughts. Blue is another of the set so Green can't read *their* thoughts. Blue is also committing treason ^-^#both of them are cats. who signed lopsided as fuck magic contracts to be bound into these strong as fuck undying robot bodies and carry out #the express will of the Undying Emprex ad infinitum until they're released from service because they cannot die #oc

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ephemii · 3 months ago

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𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚! 📸✨

Grace finally has a Magicam account, and what better use for it than immortalizing their friendships?

.𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ.

🦐 yuur_grace

❤️ 630 🗨️ 43 🔄 22

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 I finally made an account!! First pic, tea party preparations with housewarden of Heartslabyul! 🌹🫖

❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 LMAO? HE'S SUCH A PRUDE LOLL

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬♠️ 𝘀𝗽𝗮𝗱𝗲_𝗱𝗲𝘂𝗰𝗲 @ace_ofhearts dude you're aware that housewarden Rosehearts owns a magicam account right?

♦️ 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱_𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 totes adorbs!! but kinda bummed u didn't pick me for such a cute pic idea... (ㅠ‸ㅠ)

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @diamond_mind Oh I'm so sorry!! I got so busy with preparations that it slipped my mind u_u; I'll save you a spot next time, promise!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎.𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆★⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ. ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎

🦐 yuur_grace

❤️ 450.2k 🗨️ 130.1k 🔄 130k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 ....okay so this MIGHT turn into a series. I pray to the Seven that Leona isn't active on magicam or else I'm migrating (he looks so peaceful tho, doesn't he?!)

🐺 𝗷𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗵𝗼𝘄𝗹__ Grace.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @jackhowl__ Jack...... 5 replies

🐆 𝗿𝘂𝗴𝗴_𝗯𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗵𝗶𝟯𝟵𝟳 you owe me a deluxe cutlet sandwich now btw 😇

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 I don't recall that being on our TOA?? 1 replies

🐰 𝘀𝗮𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗮_𝗻𝗽𝗰 ????? LEONA KINGSCHOLAR???? ISN'T THAT THE PREFECT WHAT. 1435 replies

🦁 𝗺𝗮𝗴𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗺_𝘂𝘀𝗲𝗿𝟮𝟱𝟲𝟯𝟴𝟮𝟵𝟮𝟱𝟮 Sevens you narrow minded idiot.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 is that literally fucking leona kingscholar 34572 replies

➻oh, except.... maybe they forgot one little detail...

🦐 yuur_grace

❤️ 23.2k 🗨️ 2.3k 🔄 442

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Decided to pay our octobuddy a little visit at the @mostrolounge this afternoon 🐙🍹What a face! (also, wow where did all of you come from?? Was Leona's sleeping visage that baffling of a prospect? ùᴗu,, actually, I'm now realizing that I hadn't even set this account to private...oops.)

🐬 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁𝘀.𝗮.𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗮𝘆 ahahah!! oh man look at his face! little shrimpy's got guts~

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 thanks for being the cameraman buddy ùᴗu ͙͘͡★ 7 replies

❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 I'm surprised you didn't get ptsd just from walking into that room LMAO

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @ace_ofhearts hm okay how about you join me next time

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 @yuur_grace no thank you <3

🐬 𝗷𝗮𝗱𝗲.𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗰𝗵. hahah. how swift. perhaps i may join you one day to capture such riveting images. 3 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 ok no I'm actually so invested we can't just move on from the fact that this guy showed up all of a sudden and just KNOWS Leona kingscholar personally?!?? 200 replies

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 530.5k 🗨️ 221k 🔄 138k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Another face cradled! And a dear friend hugged! Had a blast at this wonderful get-together in Scarabia dorm ☀️🏮🎇 I think I'm ready to sleep for a week though hahaha ^^;

☀️ 𝗸𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗺✪ I'm so glad you came! I don't think I've had that much fun with friends in a while! You're always welcome whenever you feel like visiting 😊✨

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @kalimalasim always!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME 1240 replies

🐍 𝗷𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹_𝘃 There's still some leftovers if you'd like to take some for Grim. Or yourself, really. 2 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 oh okay so there's even MORE. why not. SURE. 212 replies

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 970.6k 🗨️ 596.3k 🔄 502k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Nothing better than a long evening spent with the beauty queen himself @vilshoenheit. And look, he reciprocated! How sweet~ 💜✨ A wonderful idol, an even better friend.

👑 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗲𝗻𝗵𝗲𝗶𝘁✪ How precious. Do take good care of that manicure.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬👑 𝘃𝗶𝗹𝘀𝗰𝗵𝗼𝗲𝗻𝗵𝗲𝗶𝘁 Wait, Grace, is this a private post?

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 will do! 🤍 2304 replies

🍎 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗹_𝗳𝗲𝗹𝗺𝗶𝗲𝗿 man you're better than me, i can't stand a second doin any a this balderdash

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 your loss,, it's sooo relaxing 🙂‍↕️

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 YOU GUYS I CANT COPE ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEE 784 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 is this guy some sorta undercover cop or sum?? how's he got all these crazy ass ties??

🏹 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗸 oh, là là... quelle beauté, the calm before the storm~

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 60.3k 🗨️ 43.4k 🔄 22.5k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 Seems like I've been graced with this nice little picture from @0r1h0_shr0ud2 during a visit to Idia's dorm! No face hold unfortunately, but it's quite cute!🩵🤍 Very rare, it seems Idia has yet to realize the photo being taken ^o^. Peep the adorable little PreMo gacha figure I got for him...? 👀

🩵 𝟬𝗿𝟭𝗵𝟬_𝘀𝗵𝗿𝟬𝘂𝗱𝟮 I was so happy that you decided to stay and keep my brother company, Grace Alexander-san. Idia doesn't show it, but you really made his day!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @0r1h0_shr0ud2 awww! I'm always happy to spend time with you both! 🤍 3 replies

💙 𝗴𝗹𝟬𝟬𝗺𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗶 woah when was this?! you can't just spring such a rare event out of nowhere! delete, delete!!! 5 replies

♦️ 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱_𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 oh my Seven!! you both look so dope! truly inspiring— and can we talk about how *adorbs* you look with that biscuit hanging from ur mouth?? (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @diamond_mind brothaaaa keep this up and you'll be fighting off rumors for days LOL ùᴗu ahuahu

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬❤️ 𝗮𝗰𝗲_𝗼𝗳𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀 @yuur_grace OH U WANNA HEAR ABOUT RUMORS??? HAHAH

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 Am I tweaking or is that like. *The* Idia Shroud from the family Shroud part of the largest technological pioneers in Twisted Wonderland. Or am I insane.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 this HAS to be a social experiment atp?? What in the world is this guy's power??? 467 replies

🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲

❤️ 2.1m 🗨️ 740.3k 🔄 680k

𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 it felt almost special, leaving my vest off. Maybe it was the winter breeze. Tsunotaro helped me with his cape, though, despite my insistence. What a sweet personality! 💚🐉 We took a long walk through an abandoned woods, found some gorgeous gargoyles. To end my little series, I asked to hold him as well. He doesn't own a magicam account so I can't tag him... But at least he can keep the pictures :) Hurray! It ends! 🤍✨

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 THERE IS NOOOOO FUCKING WAY I REFUSE NO NO ABSOLUTELY NO WAY THIS IS AN EVIL PRANK WHAT WHAT WHATTTTATSYSYTHJDHJ WHO IS THIS GUYYYYYY 1204 replies

🌐 𝘁𝘄𝘀𝘁𝗻𝗽𝗰 OH YES DROP THE BOMB ON US WHY NOT. OKAY. THREE OTHER CELEBS WEREN'T ENOUGH I GUESS. 762 replies

🦇 𝘃𝗮𝗻𝗿𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗲𝗲 Grace, you must know I have never been so entertained in my long life. Why, Malleus himself sits beside me and stares down at the screen in bafflement!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 @vanrougee ???? Explain?? ToT

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬♦️ 𝗱𝗶𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗱_𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗱 @yuur_grace you sweet summer child 😭✋

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎¬ 🐊 𝗹𝗶𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗴.𝘇𝗶𝗴𝗯𝗼𝗹𝘁 @yuur_grace YOU ARE ENTIRELY UNCONNIVING. YOU PLACE MALLEUS UNDER INTENSE SCRUTINY FROM THE MASSES AS WELL AS LADY MALEFICIA! YOU SHOULD BE MORE MINDFUL, HUMAN!!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ¬🦐 𝘆𝘂𝘂𝗿_𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗰𝗲 OH my god.

HEHEHE I HOPE YOU LIKED THIS AS MUCH AS I DID THIS WAS SO EXHAUSTING BUT SO FUN TO MAKE !!! 🩷🤍🩷✨✨ Also pls don't look too hard at the numbers ik a lot of them are wrong I'm sleep deprived and high on 3 monster cans 🤍

11K notes · View notes

norikuna · 2 months ago

Text

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: [email protected] from: [email protected] subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

#toji fushiguro #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fluff #toji x you #jjk toji #works #daphworks

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babycharmander · 6 months ago

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(BOOK OF BILL SPOILERS)

I just finished reading The Book of Bill and I am kindof losing my mind over some of this stuff.

I had wondered if Alex Hirsch might make Bill sympathetic in some way and oh boy I was not expecting him to do it so successfully (and without cheapening Bill's character).

So, we learn that Bill was born into a 2D world... as a mutant who can see into the third dimension. He claims he was absolutely loved by all, but when talking about his powers, he mentions under Pyrokinesis:

"Cipher, Cipher, he's insane / Starting fires with his brain." The kids in grade school could be so cruel. But where are they now, huh? WHERE ARE THEY NOW?

So probably not quite as liked as he was letting on. To add to that, there's the silly straw page, which looks like silly nonsense until you decipher some of the codes:

"EYE DOCTOR OF A DIFFERENT KIND / WHO WANTS TO MAKE HIS PATIENTS BLIND" "THE DOCTOR SAYS / THREE SIPS A DAY / WILL MAKE THE VISIONS / GO AWAY"

I wasn't sure what this meant until I saw someone point out... he was seeing a third dimension that no one else could see. His parents probably took him to the eye doctor to try to "fix" him. Which, speaking of his eye doctor, the coded message in the section about human eyeballs says something interesting:

"MY OPTOMETRIST NEVER SAW IT COMING"

It could be a joke given beforehand he's talking about dissecting a human eye, but given the previous hints of medical abuse, I wouldn't put it past him that he tried to get revenge on his eye doctor.

Oh yeah and the whole thing about him setting his entire dimension on fire? Yeah it turns out it was entirely a mistake (he just wanted everyone to understand the third dimension he was seeing so they could be free of only two dimensions), he was so traumatized by it he blacks out when trying to recall it. He deeply, deeply regrets it, and...

"What? Your ENTIRE home dimension? destroyed? How? By what?" Bill looked distant, more distant than I'd ever seen him. "By a monster."

He sees himself as a monster.

And yet, he's not some innocent, misunderstood being. He still revels in causing pain and chaos. He's terrible in general, but becomes incredibly abusive toward Ford.

"YOU'RE MY PROPERTY. DON'T FORGET IT. The hillbilly abandoned you, your father won't want you returning without millions, you have no friends, and if you died out here in the snow, who would even miss you?"

Which... speaking of him and Ford...

Yes, yes, I know people ship them. But like, whether you see their relationship as romantic or platonic (I see it as the latter), there's some interesting parallels to be made here.

Both Bill and Ford are mutants who were mocked for their being different. (Bill was not physically a mutant, as far as we know, but more in the sense of him having vision stronger than that of everyone else in his dimension, and also having special powers. And he does describe himself as a mutant.) Both became social outcasts, separated from their families but still haunted by them (Ford seeing commercials of Stan on TV and running across old photos of him and his brother, Bill being haunted by his family in some form). Neither could return home for one reason or another. Both more powerful than their peers (Ford intellectually, Bill in terms of actual powers). Both of them isolated and alone. (Yes, Bill does have the Henchmaniacs, but they seem like shallow friends, and only really seem to follow him out of a desire to have a place to party.)

Ford was not aware of most of this, aside from knowing that Bill could not go home because his dimension was destroyed. But Bill absolutely saw himself in Ford. There was no other person he tried to use whom he felt a stronger connection to.

And he actually seems to care about Ford--he actually gave him a birthday present, and when Ford didn't like it, he decided to get drunk and party with him instead to make up for it.

And then when Ford realizes what Bill's plan actually is and refuses to go along with it, and fights back no matter what Bill does, Bill completely breaks down.

After living for trillions of years, he met someone who was like him, and that person rejected him.

He goes berserk, wreaking havoc, being caught by the dimensional authority that he's been taunting for most of his life.

And then after dying and being cast out of hell for being too annoying, he winds up faced with the Axolotl, who sends him to therapy, where he continues to break down further, sending out the book in a desperate attempt to find someone, anyone who will help him break loose and wreak havoc once again.

"You have no friends, and if you died ... who would even miss you?"

I don't know, Bill. Who would even miss you?

In short,

[ID: The front and back of one of Bill's Valentines cards. On the front is a black void with Bill Cipher lying down without his hat, gazing blankly upwards, with the text "I DON'T WANT TO DIE ALONE" above him. On the back is a simple white "TO/FROM" in red, with a red outline illustration of Bill spontaneously growing a mouth and eating a realistic, bloody heart. /end ID]

#bill cipher #stanford pines #gravity falls #gravity falls spoilers #the book of bill #the book of bill spoilers #oh gosh I haven't thought this hard about gravity falls in so long

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buckyalpine · 6 months ago

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18+ Minors dni. I'm currently obsessed with the thought of Bucky making his pretty girl take it. I'm talking him keeping you caged under him with your legs wrapped around his waist while his arm are wrapped tightly around your body. This type of energy comes out when he's pissed. Stressed. Jealous. He's going to remind you exactly who you belong to and my favourite thing about this is imagine you didn't even know what happened. Maybe he overheard some agents talking about how irresistible you are. So cute and pretty and they'd give anything to-

Nope. The thought alone of anytone touching what's his has him storming off, hauling you over to mark you in the most primal way possible. Remind everyone who you belong to. He plucks you up from whatever you're doing and carries you over his shoulder like a beast; you're naked on his bed seconds later. He plows into you, hips slamming his cock into your very soaked cunt, unapologetically fucking you with the deepest moans. He sounds so feral. He is feral.

"Feels-so-good, such a good girl, letting me put my big dick in you"

Those grunts and groans he lets out show just how selfish he's being because he's focused on how fucking good you're making his dick feel. You're so soft but you make his cock so hard. You're such an angel for him, spreading your legs for him the second he set you down. He'd been torn between wanting to ravish you immediately or taking a second to throw his clothes off. He decides he needs you to fucking smell like him when this is all over, have every bit of his scent covering your skin. He wants to feel every bit of you all over him.

No one else would ever get to have you like this. Feel your naked breasts on their chest. Feel your soft tummy press against theirs. Feel the plushness of your thighs squeezing their waist. Feel your silky walls squeeze and milk their cocks till they're all soft and sensitive.

They'd hear you though.

They'd hear every moan and Bucky would make sure of that.

"Whose cock is making you scream baby, tell me" He growls, your combined arousal making a mess on the bed.

"Y-OURS-" You hiccup, choking back a sob as he snakes his had to wrap around your throat. Damn right. His fucking cock. His dick in your pussy. Not the stupid little boys who think they have a chance to even breathe the same air. His pretty, pink, fat fucking cock destroying you to his heart's content, stretching you open as much as he wants. "J-JAMES"

"That's right, say my name baby, say the name of your man who fucks you this good, let everyone hear" He's already turned off all the sound proofing and maybe he left his door a crack open. Maybe.

"Jaamesss" You sound so gone, cockdrunk over the way the spongy head of his dick kisses that sensitive spot that makes you squirt cream with each of his thrusts. "Don't st-stop, please-fuck-me-Jamie" Your voices slurs and turns into a whine as your eyes roll back. For such a sweet princess, you sound like an absolute slut when he's inside you and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"Mhphhm, sound so pretty, gonna make me blow, let me empty my balls in you" He starts to fuck you faster causing the headboard to shake, the whole bed creaking with his movements. "M'gonna cum angel-oh shittt-"

He nearly whimpers when he feels your doe eyes looking up at him with your ankles locked around his waist; he knows exactly what that means.

"You want it inside you huh, want my cum in you baby, s'that it?"

"Want-it-please, can't hold it" you cling onto him tighter and Bucky can't last any longer.

"Cum with me, together, c'mon angel, cum with me, yes, fuck yes, can feel you-fuck-" He begs, needing those little boys who spoke about you to hear exactly what they're missing out on, "OH GOD, FUCKKK" He doesn't hold back as he gives into his orgasm, your name dripping of his lips while you sob and squeal.

I want him to give you the softest aftercare. Tell you what a good girl you were for him. How much he loves and adores you, how special you are to him.

I want him to have the most smug expression on his face when he goes back down. He's such a little shit. He passes by a cackling Tony and a wheezing Sam. Not one agent dares look him in the eye. Steve may be blushing but he'll give credit where credit is due. His best friend sent a very clear message. Bucky is a possessive, loving, horny little shit and I need it.

Need it now.

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primofate · 11 months ago

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Confessions Series - Part 2: Description [Genshin Impact Male Characters]

In a nutshell: He asks if you have your eyes set on someone. You start describing HIS features and watch for his reaction. (Hint: He likes you too)

Other works in this series: (Part 1 - Overheard)

Warnings: The usual, haven't written in a while, please forgive mistakes, bit of angst in Diluc (couldn't help it), I am a sleep deprived mother, some profanity, for some reason did not feel like writing Zhongli though he's one of my faves.

Characters: Aether, Albedo, Alhaitham, Ayato, Baizhu, Bennett, Chongyun, Cyno, Dainsleif, Diluc, Gaming, Heizou, Itto, Kaeya, Lyney, Neuvillette, Scaramouche, Tartaglia, Wriothesley, Xiao, gn!reader

Personal Favourites: Diluc, Wriothesley

Aether

"Yeah, I do," you start. "He's very selfless...He's always running around helping other people,"

Aether nods, intense gaze in his eyes while listening.

"Hmm...He has...a partner. Like a companion he always travels with..."

Aether's brows start to furrow and his head tilts the slightest bit. Paimon flying next to him has no clue who it is whatsoever.

"He's not originally from Teyvat...He's on a journey, you see..." this is where you start getting nervous

You see it click in Aether's head slowly, and his eyes start to widen the slightest bit

"Hey, that sounds an awful lot like you, traveller! Why have we never met this person before, Y/N?" Paimon asks and you only smile.

"P-Paimon," Aether glances at her and then back to you. It's silent for a moment. Paimon is super confused.

But Aether being Aether didn't want to get the wrong idea and racks up the courage to ask you one last question. "He's on a journey...to look for his twin sister?"

You smile the brightest smile you've ever given him. "Correct!"

"Ah...Well..." Aether starts to feel the heat on his cheeks. "That's..." he doesn't say anything else for a few seconds. "Don't get me wrong, I'm just...I'm happy!"

Is basically flustered when he realizes you've technically just confessed to him.

Albedo

"Simply put, I think he's dedicated to his craft," You shrug and smile

"...An admirable trait," he responds.

"He's frequently in Dragonspine. He spends a bit of time in his lab there," you decide to just go straight for the obvious.

Albedo pauses. "I...see..." Turns to you with a small smile "I wasn't aware that you were that fond of me,"

"Now you know," you simply say and try to play it off with a wave of your hand.

He chuckles under his breath and strides over to you while saying. "Well then, I suppose it's my turn to talk about the person I've set my eyes on,"

Proceeds to describe you accurately, down to your likes and dislikes. In his eyes, you seem like something so precious and you can't help but feel a bit embarrassed.

Alhaitham

"Hmm... Sort of," you explain. "He's a little...hard to reach,"

Alhaitham "...and you still pursue him?"

You laugh a bit "I'm hardly pursuing him, I'm just...observing. I like watching him, even though he has the most unreadable face I've seen,"

Alhaitham goes quiet for a moment. He catches on fast, he already has an idea but is cautious about what he says. "...I see," he doesn't ask anything else, but you continue to offer information.

"He likes reading. Really smart guy...but kind of no nonsense type. Very straight to the point," You begin to feel a little nervous so you pretend to read your own book with a small shrug.

The silence is deafening.

"I suspect that type of person will be hard to put up with," he suddenly says aloud and you chuckle in response.

"Possibly, but he seems to be putting up with me too...I guess?"

He suddenly closes his book and leans forward to pry the one in your hands away. He locks his gaze with you. "...'Putting up' is hardly the word I would use." his lips twitch the slightest bit before continuing. "He has little to no patience for other people...so if he keeps you around...perhaps it signals something else,"

"Something else...As in, I'm special?"

Again he quiets for a moment, before he stands up, chair scraping the floor. "...Precisely," he turns to start walking out of the library, waving a hand behind him. "I'll pick you up in the morning tomorrow,"

Ayato

"I do, but he's a very busy sort of man,"

Ayato "Is that so?" he pours tea for you.

"Quite. He's also a very important person,"

He hums and watches the billowing steam from the tea. "It sounds as if I might know this person," but he genuinely doesn't know it's him, he just thinks its another noble.

"...You most definitely know him. He has a sister. Lovely girl." This is where you avert your gaze from him in fear of him instantly connecting the dots.

He talks in pauses "A...sister..." His mind is starting to make connections but he can't be quite sure yet. So he prods further. "...Does she happen to have a vision?"

"A cryo vision holder, yes," you're biting the inside of your lip at this point. There's a moment of silence before you hear Ayato laughing rather gleefully, like he was amused by a story.

"I see." he ends with a chuckle. "I apologize for being so busy, Y/N," he smiles at you "I promise I'll do my best to arrange my priorities in order to spend more time with you,"

Baizhu

"He takes his job too seriously and can be quite reckless...Sometimes he even puts himself in danger,"

Changsheng catches on immediately. The snake had already known for a while. Baizhu was just being dense. "Oh here we go," the snake half whines.

Baizhu gives it a weird look before turning his attention back to you. "That does sound reckless,"

"I've told him a couple of times to think about himself too...but I guess he's just really passionate about his job,"

Baizhu sort of shrugs, "What IS his job?"

"...Well for starters he owns a pharmacy around town,"

To Baizhu the realization hits all too slowly. It's not that he was slow or dense, but he was having a hard time believing that it was him you were talking about, specially when you hadn't said it outfront.

"...You do realize I'm the only one who owns a pharmacy around town?" he asks, eyes piercing through you and awaiting your answer.

Changsheng is the one who answers for you. "Yes you ridiculous doctor, Y/N's pertaining to you!"

It's the first time you've seen him blush and he turns his head away when he does so. "I-I see, well...that's rather, unexpected...but not unwelcome,"

Clears his throat "Just give me a moment"

Changsheng would roll its eyes if it could.

Bennett

"Has a lot of energy...Sometimes I wonder where he gets all of it. I really like him for that though."

Deflates as soon as you start talking about your "crush". What kind of answer was he expecting anyway? That you had eyes for him?

"He has a bit of a...problem when it comes to luck," you continue

Bennett stops, you look at him and you can practically see the gears in his head starting to turn a little faster.

"Y-Y/N? Are you talking about..." then the gears suddenly stop. "Oh what am I saying, it can't be. Ahahaha! Let's go!" starts walking again as if nothing happened

Your jaw drops and you're forced to just DIRECTLY tell him you're talking about him.

"...Oh...Oh! F-For real?! Oh...Sorry... I just thought... there's no way! B-But, I'm really glad! Really!"

Chongyun

"Hmm...He's a little shy...but he's very responsible,"

Chongyun stares at you intently and nods as if taking notes.

"He doesn't like spicy stuff,"

Chongyun nods twice, eagerly.

"He's very dedicated in learning about thaumaturgy,"

Chongyun blanks out, brows furrow but still nods. Slowly.

"He's really good with a claymore too!"

Chongyun stops and stares at you, you see a hint of red gracing his cheeks "Y/N...You can't possibly be...talking about... m-m-m-"

Can't seem to say it, so you outright say that it is, in fact, him.

Combusts into a tomato red

Cyno

"How do I say this...He's a pretty strict guy." The two of you are playing Invokation TCG during this convo.

"Mmhmm..." Cyno is focused on his cards, frankly he doesn't give a craps ass who you're into. He didn't even know why he asked, he just dug himself a hole.

"...but he really only takes his work seriously. It's his job to be serious, I guess. I think that's what Matras need to do," he finished his turn and its yours now, though he's still studying his cards intently. Until you get to the Matra part.

"He's a Matra?" You rarely see a surprised face on Cyno so you focus your gaze on him. "Which one?" He further asks. Honestly he looks about to murder someone.

You blank out a bit at how intense his stare was, "Well...You know. That one, the one who's really into Invokation TCG,"

He immediately follows up without missing a beat "I don't know anyone else who's into--" then it clicks.

It was so damn silent for a good 10 seconds. You clear your throat, tear your eyes off him "Um, it's your turn,"

STILL doesn't budge until he finally goes back to his cards with a whisper, you can't really tell but he looks slightly bashful and you can barely, BARELY hear him "...If I win then we go on a date,"

"Okay, and if you lose?"

Cyno "...I'm not gunna lose,"

"See, I told you he's a really serious guy,"

Dainsleif

"I think he's a very dedicated person," you get lost in thought a little, thinking about him. "Whenever I look at him...Sometimes I feel as if there's a certain sadness in him... Perhaps he blames himself for not being able to protect his nation,"

He IMMEDIATELY knows. And he knows that you hurt for him too. How could he not?

"He searches for answers... I don't know for how long, I suppose a long, long time," you close your eyes, imagining how long he must have been wandering Teyvat.

You only open your eyes when you feel a hand brush against yours. He's looking straight at you, neither happy nor sad. "...You don't have to feel that way, for my circumstances,"

The brush against your hand disappears and reappears next to your cheek, his fingers gently resting on it "...Knowing that you feel that way, has taken away some of the burden that I shoulder,"

His gaze suddenly hardens and his voice drops to a whisper, "But please, just don't end up in the same way as everyone else,"

Diluc (I don't know why I end up writing a whole novel for this guy. I guess he's my OG favourite)

You pause for a moment, wondering how to describe Diluc. "...Sometimes... I feel as if I know a lot about him and yet... he's still far off in the distance,"

Diluc, rifling through paperwork, doesn't even look at you. "...That tells me nothing about him," there's a bit of bite in his statement.

You sigh a little, "I mean, simply said he's a hardworking man. He always has Mondstadt's best interests in mind...but he prefers to work alone,"

He's silent, but you can still hear the paper shuffling.

"....but people love him. They care for him. I suppose I understand why he keeps a distance but..." at this point you don't even realize that you're just rambling and staring into space. Sort of in a daze of thinking out loud. "...isn't it lonely? ...I suppose I shouldn't assume how he feels. Maybe he's fine with it...I just wonder how long till he sees us..." there's silence, no ruffle of papers, you're still just staring at the bookshelf and you continue in a monotone voice. "...or sees me,"

You blink, and all of a sudden its as if a magic spell is cast on you and you wake up to the reality that you've been rambling about him. You sit up straight "Oh," then turn to him with a careful smile. You don't think he knows what or who you're talking about anyway. "I better get going," you stand, "Jean must be waiting for me."

You leave, and he doesn't stop you.

You don't really think anything of it, feeling as if your whole monologue was very vague...but to your surprise he knocks at your door in the evening, there's a bit of rain falling.

"Diluc? You're drenche--"

"I see you,"

The determination in his voice lulls you to keep quiet and only stare up at him, wondering if he had more to say, but instead of saying something, he leans in, wrapping his arms around you and resting his forehead on your shoulder, as if he had been defeated.

You only welcome his embrace, and, for the first time in a long time. Diluc finally feels like he's home.

Gaming

"Passion!" You nod your head as you say it. "He knows what he wants to do and is incredibly dedicated to it!"

Gaming looks surprised, has no idea you're talking about him. "Huh! That's really cool!" He thinks he's the total opposite. "Wish I could be as dedicated as him."

You kind of laugh out loud and he raises his eyebrows and tilts his head. "What?"

"Gosh you really sell yourself short," you shake your head "Anyway, this guy, right, he kinda works two jobs," you put out your hand to count one and two "One, for the Secure Transport Agency and two, he's in a Wushou Troupe,"

Gaming instantly straightens his back and looks at you wide-eyed. You figure you had to be direct when it came to him otherwise he'd never get it with how modest he was.

"...You're...talking about...me?" You smile at him sympathetically.

"You know, Gaming, I wish you saw yourself the way others saw you. You're a great person,"

Big smile, but legit looks like he's about to cry. "Between the two of us? I think you're greater Y/N,"

Heizou

"...Honestly he's kind of a flirt," you raise your eyebrows at the fact and kind of question yourself why you like this kind of person. "Makes me wonder if he does that to everyone, you know?"

Heizou hums and puts his hand under his chin in a "thinking position"

"That's not enough evidence to go by. Perhaps we can investigate this guy together to see if he's worthy,"

You look at him, pursing your lips while musing and giving him a suspicious look. You're not sure if he's figured it out.

He's got no idea. I mean, it was a pretty general description. "Any distinguishing features?" he asks.

You look at him in a deadpan manner. "Red hair, I guess. And moles under his eyes,"

He looks back at you with a matching blank face.

Then breaks into a wide, close eyed grin. "I see! From experience, that person is truly trustworthy,"

You sigh a little, "Is he though?"

He chuckles heartily. "I promise you he is," offers you his hand with a genuine smile. "Let me show you,"

Itto

"Ummm... big, tall, strong looking guy. Intimidating at first look but he's actually a dork," you explain.

Itto crosses his arms above his chest with an unamused face. "Tch! No way! Ain't no one taller than me in Inazuma!" Then he looks smug again. "Anyway, keep goin'. What else?" Only asked you because he wants to see what your "type" is.

"...Popular? Nah... Infamous is the word, I think. He kinda gets into a lot of trouble,"

Itto raises a brow "You serious? Whaddyou want with someone like that?" as if he wasn't a troublemaker himself.

"I mean... He also loves life and somehow always sees the good side of things."

Itto "Eh... guess that's a good thing..." folds his arms behind his head and huffs.

This guy is never gunna get it so you drop more obvious hints. "He's an oni who has his own gang."

For a split second he looked like he was going to get it, and then... "WHAT?! There's another oni who wants to challenge the Arataki Gang?"

"That's not what I--"

punches his fist onto his palm "Lead the way Y/N, let me at 'em!"

"I'm talking about you!"

"Huh?"

"Itto, there's no other oni around town!" leave it to him to make you exasperated.

He quiets for a few seconds. "...But Y/N..."

You expectantly stare at him, curious what he was going to say about your confession.

"...Did you just call me a dork?"

Of course that's what he picks up on.

When he finally processes it though, he's stoked and on an all time high.

Kaeya

"...good at talking to people, and he knows it... Exudes charisma like he breathes air," You're saying this with a glare.

He chuckles and rests his head on his fist. "Why, pray tell, do you look angry when saying that?"

"Not angry..." you mumble under your breath, eyes trailing away from him. "Just... probably a lot of people like him,"

"And you don't like that?" He smirks. He totally knows.

"...No...Well...I'm okay with it... It's just... I think he's so much more than what he shows to others,"

That, he wasn't expecting. He actually feels genuinely touched.

"Sure he jokes around a lot...Is good at making people feel comfortable...but he's also kind...and you can always count on him," there's a faraway gaze in your eyes now, a small smile on your face. "To me, he's...a safe space."

Kaeya's smile drops. It looks like he's unhappy and you think that maybe you've made a mistake. Still...there's no way he knows that it's him, right? It was kinda vague...

You're about to stand and excuse yourself but he catches your wrist easily. "...You know..." he starts, meeting you eye to eye. He looks at you as if he's looking into your soul, his eyes the gentlest you've seen them.

"You make it so hard, not to fall deeper in love with you,"

Lyney (I have no idea how this ended up so dramatic)

"He isn't exactly a trickster...but he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve,"

Lyney "Oh?" Raises an eyebrow. Something kind of clicks in him, but he shakes it off. "The good kind or the bad kind?"

You stall a little, thinking of the answer, knowing that he's Fatui. "The...good...kind,"

"You don't sound very sure," he gives you a lopsided smile.

"It's complicated," you admit. "Regardless of the circumstances though, I think he's a great magician,"

You watch his face turn into surprise quite quickly, but he still looks and feels unsure of himself. "Oh, perhaps...I can learn a thing or two from him?"

Your smile turns forced and hard. He can't be serious? He STILL doesn't know, or...what?

"I...Well..." You don't know what to say next, but he seems to get the idea.

"Sorry, have I put you in a hard place? Ahaha..." Scratches the back of his head. "My apologies, I was just curious,"

This, for some reason, really puts you off and you feel as if you've been rejected, even though you technically had not outright told him that you're talking about him.

It seems silly for you to get upset, but you are. So you stand, and make a request of him. "Can we... just pretend this conversation didn't happen?" and you give him some sort of excuse that you need to run an errand or something, and you're off, leaving him feeling...guilty. But he doesn't know why. Or does he?

Lyney would look like the type of person who would be confident about himself. But, really, as a magician, he had to be 1000% sure about something before he went ahead with it, and so...that's where his doubt stemmed from.

Lynnette is really the one who knocks some sense into him. "...and you...let Y/N leave?" after hearing the story from him.

"Oh, Lyney... Regardless of what Y/N feels... For you, next to Freminet and I, is there someone else that you love dearly?"

That's how he ends up at your doorstep. Though you've seen his disappearing rose trick hundreds of times, he was the most sincere at that moment, when he says sorry that he didn't get the hint and to give him a chance.

Neuvillette

"Serious person. He seems to put his work first, above all else," you say. "I respect him a lot for that,"

Neuvillette is interested in what you say, but doesn't know at all that it's him. "He does sound quite respectable," he says while looking through some files.

"A long time ago he said that he feels like he's an outsider...but really I feel like there isn't anyone who knows Fontaine the way that he does,"

Neuvillette, moves the file he was reading downwards, just to look at you questioningly. "He's from Fontaine?" this was surprising to him.

"Well...he currently resides in Fontaine, yes," you nod.

"Ah," he answered curtly. "And I have never met him?" he asks.

"...He's very busy." you bite your lip, about to say something and you know that the next sentence is the point of no return. "He's the Iudex...so it's hard to catch him,"

You swear you can hear your heart hammering in your chest.

You see him put his files down and just stare at you with a sort of...unsure look.

His shoulders relax, he wasn't even aware he had been tense that whole time. "That... must have taken a lot of consideration and courage to say," he clears his throat.

You only nod your head slowly, moving your gaze away from him with an awkward smile. Hand absentmindedly grabbing a book and flipping through the pages...you had no idea what you were doing out of nervousness.

"I apologize...I'm unfamiliar with what to do in these kinds of situations... However," he pauses and seems to think carefully about what he was going to say next. "Please don't take it as a rejection. I'd be honored to navigate this with you, if you would so graciously have me,"

Scaramouche

"He's an asshole," you bite back a laugh.

He instantly knows.

"Actually he acts all tough only to give in to his inner-kind-of-agreeable-personality,"

He snorts

"What? Am I wrong?" you challenge him. You KNOW that he knows. The two of you have been hovering around each other for a while, and there's a certain closeness between the two of you. Though that line was never crossed.

He doesn't answer you back but prods you more. "Is that all? You like that he's an asshole? Are you some type of masochist?"

You almost laugh. "No, you moron. I'm saying he has a weird way of showing he cares. He's always biting my head about not being careful enough. But if he really didn't care he wouldn't be screaming at me, you know what I mean?"

Scaramouche grumbles something under his breath and crosses his arms, turning away from you.

"Say that again?" You ask, not hearing what he said.

"...I said, you're not as stupid as I thought you were," shrugs his concealed embarrassment off and turns back to you all nonchalant again. "Anyway, stop yapping and get going, we got things to do,"

Snatches your hand and starts pulling you to walk with him.

Tartaglia (I feel like this is ridiculously short but I also feel like Tartaglia would have known a LONG time ago if the two of you had the feels for each other)

"Oh man...Probably the most reckless man I know,"

Also knows. Instantly. But shuts his mouth just so he can listen to you talk about him, but it gets deep real quick.

"In my opinion he's a handsome guy. Real charming," you smirk the tiniest bit. "but I don't know if I can keep up with him, honestly. It's a little hard not knowing when he's going to come back...or if he's even gunna come back at all,"

You weren't going to hide the fact that you were scared shitless he didn't return from Fontaine for ages. You legitimately thought he had died.

Tartaglia stops you there, by suddenly cradling your cheek. "Y/N," he's wearing a pained expression. "I'm sorry,"

"Don't be, it's your job, right?" You reassure him, and shrug.

He sighs "Yes, but I'll promise this to you as I've promised my family," he smiles, the most confident smile you've seen on him. Even more confident than when he wields his blades. "I'll come back to you, I always will,"

Wriothesley

"Er... How do I say this... He kind of has some... big boss energy?"

"Oh?" he sips at his tea, glancing at you while he looks at today's paper. "So he's a bigshot?" he asks curiously.

"Somewhat, yes. Intimidating at first look, but...he just has a great sense of responsibility," you pick at the selection of cakes and cookies he has.

"Huh," he lets out in a quick huff. In the deepest, DEEPEST parts of his mind there is a NANOSECOND that he thinks its him but it gets erased so quickly he's not even sure that he had thought about it.

"Sounds like a good person... Any interesting, weird quirks?" he grins as he says this, yet again glancing at your expression.

Your lips tremble a bit at what you're about to say, because you're SURE he was going to get it once you say it. You gulp and feel the hairs at the back of your neck stand before you say out loud "He likes tea. I kind of wonder if it's an addiction," you can't meet his eyes.

He's looking at the paper he's reading but nothing.registers.in.his.brain.its.like.it.stopped.working.

You shift in the uncomfortable silence but he calmly folds up the newspaper and places it on his table. "...I'm inclined to ask, because it would be embarrassing if I got the wrong idea,"

"Mmhmm," you pop a cookie in your mouth to distract yourself.

"By any chance, are you...talking about me?"

"Mm," you nod your head, still not looking at him and glue your eyes on the cookies instead, out of embarrassment.

Suddenly chuckles. You brave a peek at him, now covering his eyes with a single hand, head tipped back to rest on his chair.

You're not sure if that's a good or bad thing.

"Sorry, no, it's just... I didn't think it would happen this way." Visibly takes in a big breath and sighs it out slowly. Seems to have regained his composure and is back to his confident self, smiling at you. "Thanks Y/N, I... don't think it's much of a secret that I enjoy your company too. I'm just a little embarrassed that you beat me to it...some big boss energy huh?"

Xiao

"...He takes on everything by himself. I worry about him," You look at the stars as you say this. Xiao doesn't say anything.

"But I'm glad that he's opening up a lot more now. It's great to see him among friends,"

Xiao has a feeling at this point, that its him you're talking about, but he still doesn't say anything and keeps his gaze in front of him rather than on you.

"Yes, the road in front of him is long but...he's also already come a long way," you sigh a little "The time of Rex Lapis has long gone, but he still sticks to his principles. I think his dedication is part of what I like about him,"

This is when he turns to you, blank look on his face, contemplating on what to do. When you turn to meet his gaze, its then that he decides to bridge the gap between the two of you, shoulder to shoulder, leaning in sideways to catch your lips in a chaste and rather shy kiss.

"You should give a bit of credit to yourself, for putting up with me all these years, Y/N,"

End!

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Here’s the Masterlist

#genshin impact #genshin fluff #neuvillette x reader #wriothesley x reader #diluc x reader #alhaitham x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #gaming x reader #scaramouche x reader #itto x reader #aether x reader #cyno x reader #albedo x reader #ayato x reader

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