#Anyways this happened a couple days ago and I just remembered it and got excited to share (even if no one really sees this fncjkx)

[lemony-and-zesty]

once again remembering that dream i had where Drawtectives season 3’s first episode came out and the plot started with the gang slightly updating Rosé, York, and Grandma’s designs. But then the story started and the three got abducted or stolen away by the main bad of the season.

So Julia had the three design new characters for the season, which the gang already knew was gonna happen ahead of time and all already had ideas they hadn’t shared with each other yet.

Anyways, cut to Julia growing more and more distressed as it turns out all three of them made just,, normal ass cats.

Like, I’m remembering Nathan going first and I can literally hear his nervous laughter growing more into just disbelief. Jacob’s just like, “I can’t believe this.” and Karina is all for it, gremlin that she is.

But yeah, that’s all I remember. I just find it so funny…

[husbandhoshi]

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. [read part 1 here!] (please)

You decide June looks good on Acros. Unlike in Cotria, now sure to be perspiring with tourists, the downtown here is comfortable, inviting, even. At home, you’d be shoulder-to-shoulder with three other people right now. 

This is one of the things you like about this country: it seems to be intentionally idyllic. It’s becoming more clear to you that Joshua’s parents weren’t actually in need of anything from you other than a status boost. You suppose they’re learning the hard way what exactly that comes with.

Jeonghan’s car, or rather, the car Jeonghan happens to be in (he couldn’t drive his way out of a paper bag, try as he might), pulls up to the curb. He’s fresh off a stint of good press, meaning months of speeches, ribbon cutting, and run-ins with parliament and journalists and business moguls all vying for a bite of a future king. You’d add yourself to that list, but you know you’re at the back of the line—you practically live there now, but you’re not sure if things could have happened any other way. 

You watch him step out of the van, never windblown even though he likely just got off a flight. Always with a smile, too, one tired but recognizable, so different from the plasticky ones he wears on TV. 

The first thing he does when he gets out is throw his arms open for a bear hug. “Hey, cricket,” he says, voice wrought with jet-lag. “Missed you.” 

“Glad you had time for one more stop,” you murmur, squeezed into the million-thread count of his shirt. 

“I always have time for you,” he replies, which is decidedly untrue, but you don’t have it in you to say that. All you do lately is get into arguments, and you’re not looking to add your brother to your hit list. 

(He hugs Jihoon, too, since you all practically grew up together. Is that your gun, or are you just happy to see me? Jeonghan jokes. Jihoon’s reply: It’s my gun. It’s always my gun.) 

The second thing he does is push the brim of your baseball cap down.

“The paps,” he warns, as if they were the boogeyman.  

“If they can’t recognize us, they need to get better at their job.” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “For God’s sake, Jeonghan, we’re all wearing matching hats.” 

No, you are not kidding. Jeonghan, blue, you, red, and Jihoon, green, a la The Powerpuff Girls, which was a joke you made about six years ago and could not let go of. 

“Whatever,” he laughs. “Aren’t you supposed to be showing me around? This is your domain now.” 

“Don’t get excited. I just got here.” 

“What do you need to go shopping for, anyway?” he asks, now walking side-by-side with you. 

“I ask that question every day,” Jihoon replies, glancing at Jeonghan as if to say Women, right?, save for the fact that the both of them have exactly zero game. 

“Somi’s birthday!” you exclaim, two ticks too loudly. “Stuff, I dunno. Just trying to get used to this place.” 

“This isn’t exactly Rodeo Drive, you know.” 

That, Jeonghan is right about. You’re sure there must be a shopping district somewhere in Acros, but definitely not here. Here, the streets are lined with dense cherry plum trees, wine-stained and fragrant. They frame driftwood-paneled shop windows housing kitschy art galleries, mom-and-pop bakeries, and patioed bistros with striped awnings. 

An elderly couple passes you. They smile and wave, visible even under the shade of their parasol, either blissfully unaware of your status or too wise to care. 

“I know,” you waver. “Whatever. I'll just get Yunjin to find me something for the party.” 

Your eye wanders to the jaunty facade of a music store. The sign flaunts handmade, cursive letters with a curly treble clef in the lacquer of old paint. In Cotria, the same sign would be neon, Hollywood-esque, vain. 

“Party?” 

“Let's go there,” you interrupt, hoping to run your big mouth over with some more talking. Of course Jeonghan wouldn’t be cool with any party, nonetheless the one Somi was planning on throwing, but, either by habit or wishful thinking, the news just tumbled right out of you. 

“Party?” Jeonghan repeats. He trails close after you, hoping to grab the door before you can. Such is what he had been taught, after all, which came more naturally than navigating big-brotherhood. “Jihoon?”

Jihoon shrugs, and opens the door before the both of you get there. You’ve trained him well. 

“It’s a small thing,” you tell him. “Close friends only.” It’s not technically a lie—small is relative, and it’s not your fault Somi has two hundred-some close friends.

Inside, you notice the shop is bigger than it looks from the outside. In the front, their nicest pianos: the glossy Yamahas, the baby grands. a lone drum set, on sale, the hi-hat sparkling under the LED lights. And finally, guitars hung from the wall like posters, some lime green and child-sized, others sanded down so the mahogany glows. 

“You already know what I’m going to say,” Jeonghan says, the lilt of his voice verging on not-so-casual. 

“Then don’t say it,” you reply flatly. “You went to those parties too, by the way.” 

“Used to, but—” Jeonghan sighs because he’s beat, and he knows it. 

You absentmindedly flip through a book of sheet music—Alfred's Essentials of Music Theory. behind it, 40 Taylor Swift Songs for Piano. 

“You’ve been good, I hope?” you cut in. “Not too tired?” 

“No,” Jeonghan says.  “I've been great. You?” 

You can’t read his expression. Old Jeonghan would tell you that he’s ready for a nap, that he hates sleeping on airplanes, that his hands still get sweaty when he gets in front of a crowd and the camera flash hurts his eyes. New Jeonghan never complains, either because of some drastic change in his character or because he feels like he can no longer complain to you. Both hurt your feelings in equal measures.

“I called, you know.” 

“I was busy, cricket.” He holds up a copy of Complete Advanced Piano Solos and wrinkles his nose. He's hoping you’d laugh with him about it, but you’ve already moved on, now fixated on the shining columns of electric guitars. “I wanted to ask about, you know, all the new stuff going on.” 

“You mean my arranged marriage?” The words feel stiff in your mouth. 

The arranged marriage I'm doing for you? I split my heart open for you, and that’s the thanks I get? 

You avoid Jihoon’s tentative glare to look at your noodled reflection in the polish of a red Fender. You think of Joshua, of a corny rendition of Here Comes The Sun and a pick between his teeth, cradling a guitar held by a linty, ten dollar strap. 

Then you think of what he said on that piano bench—that somehow he could have prevented this. Actually, this might have been all your fault. One too many shots, and you ended up setting feminism back five centuries. 

“Y-yeah.” You watch Jeonghan’s silhouette appear behind yours. “Has it been okay, at least?” 

Okay is a complicated word to use. It’s hard to say, even for you. 

It would certainly be TMI to tell Jeonghan that you’ve been kissing a lot more often. First it was under the flimsy guise of practice—We have to be ready for our dinner tomorrow, Joshua had said, to which you readily agreed. You couldn’t be the unwilling victim of another headline like KISS OR MISS! It would be terrible for your ego, even more so than your public image. 

Yesterday, though, as you were winding down for bed, Joshua had come out of the shower, damp white tee and all. A sorry, unspeakable part of you willed you to posit—Hey, maybe we need a refresher? You couldn’t even get halfway through your sentence. Hell, his glasses even came off.

You really only liked each other past 9 PM—you still couldn’t quite manage to get through a conversation like normal people. At this point, you had a 50/50 split in terms of who would cast the first terrible stone of petty disagreement. The only thing we have going for us is a dubious physical attraction, seemed like way more of a mouthful than okay, though. 

“Yeah, it’s been okay.” You look around. There's a decent amount of mediocre acoustic guitars on the back wall, more than enough to scratch the itch of someone too afraid to defile something more honorable. “Hey, don’t wait up for me. I think i might buy something.” 

—

[august 10, 2:57 pm; a dress fitting. 

In the ten-foot mirror of the boutique dressing room, you watch Yunjin yank the ties of your corset into a punishing knot. Your mother watches behind you, perched on the chaise. 

“Regal and radiant,” she reads aloud, the shiny cover of a magazine between her hands. “Finally, some good news.” 

“About you and Joshua?” Yunjin asks. 

“Ye–ow!” you wince. “Yeah. We went out to dinner yesterday.” 

The dinner: an exhausting, stuffy affair at an Italian restaurant with two Michelin stars. You came in a nice dress, Joshua in slacks and his best button-up. Smile, wave, a kiss on the cheek. You fed him a spoonful of dessert, a stiff, too-sweet panna cotta. It was either raspberry or strawberry—you were too distracted to really notice. Instead, you’d been practicing the steps, the motions of a true love. 

Should we hold hands over the table? Joshua had asked. 

I don't think we have to. Your hand had curled over the napkin on your lap, as if the thought of his touch physically stung. 

“This is a nice color,” your mother interrupts. She pinches the fabric of the skirt up at your waist, watching the way it bunches over your hips. “It's suitable.” 

Suitable. Right. The dress for your engagement ball, suitable. Just like you, newly suited for the engagement. 

You watch your image in the mirror. It’s taller, more regal, likely the product of Yunjin squeezing all the air out of you, Or worse, the penetrating gaze of your mother over the top of the tabloid.

You blink hard; you waver. ]

[august 20, 10:13 pm; a quiet return to acros after a day at the beach with somi and soonyoung. 

The castle sleeps, warm under the soft glow of candlelight on marble. You pad through the halls, carefully, as to avoid waking the entire country with the thwacks of your still-wet sandals. Hopefully Joshua is sleeping. He'd certainly ask questions, either about if bikini tops really need all that padding or what the SPF of your sunscreen was. 

You approach your room, where the lamplight from the cracked door oozes into the hallway. There's a determined rustling noise coming from the interior. Incriminating. Holding your breath, you cast a long glance into the thin slice of bedroom you can see from where you’re standing. 

There sits Joshua, cross-legged on the bed. Between his legs, the guitar you bought him. It must have finally shipped. He’s tied the gift ribbon it came with to the guitar strap, a woven linen with an offensively bright jacquard pattern. 

A hesitant A major chord, then G major, offkey. Hm, he hums aloud. Then you notice his phone propped on a pillow, a Youtube tutorial rumbling in the background. He tries the G major again. Better, he says, pumping a fist into the tired air. 

God, what a dork, you think. But you don’t walk away.] 

– 

From the garden, the Acrosian moon renders the city blue, like ink from a spilled well. 

It’s quiet out here, you notice. The forest spills into the sky, and the scent of roses lies heavy on your skin. You’re seated on the bench beneath the sculpted gazebo, a worthy centerpiece, and you revel in the coolness of the granite, the bated still of the air. You like this garden better than the one at home, although it’s entirely possible that you’ve been conditioned into hating all topiaries, no thanks to your parents. 

It's only when you hear the quiet click of footsteps behind you that you realize you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been outside. You’re now able to tell them apart–these, Joshua’s, steady and purposeful, sound like they have a heartbeat. 

You don’t turn around to greet him. “So you finally had enough, huh?” you ask instead, sliding to the left so he can sit beside you. 

“How'd you know?” he chuckles. 

“I'd like to think I know at least a little about you.” 

“I appreciate it,” is his reply, surprisingly warm.

Just a few hours earlier, your parents had come to visit. They cooed and giggled and connived alongside Joshua’s parents before launching into a very long, very serious discussion about your engagement ball. You’ve learned not to sweat the small stuff, the small stuff being the color of the napkins, the members of the string quartet, the hors d'oeuvres. But then it got weird: the symbolism of the color of your nail polish, which journalists were allowed to watch you make out, when and how Jeonghan was supposed to announce his presence during all of this. 

Then things got critical, which really sucked. No one was safe this time, not even Joshua. You lasted about an hour, Joshua about forty-five minutes more. You wonder what his breaking point was. Maybe it was his mother finally telling him off for having more than three buttons undone whenever he wore a dress shirt. 

In the silence, you feel an inexplicable peace. Maybe this is the only time you can get along; underneath the same moon, the same stars, the divide doesn’t feel quite as wide. You let your mind clear, first, past the fog of Somi’s birthday bash, glittery and blinding in your mind’s eye, past Jeonghan’s tired shoulders in the music store, past all the magazine covers and photo ops. The heavy reality feels heavier in your stomach, but you’re no longer as scared, although resignation looks like acceptance when you whittle it close enough to the bone. 

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

Joshua’s voice is so low, it takes you by surprise. You look to your side and see his eyes, shaded by the long curl of his lashes, trained on the sky, his expression unreadable. There’s a piercing sincerity to it, one you haven’t seen before. 

“No,” you reply, the answer coming to you faster than any regret ever could. “How could i?” 

“So all the boyfriends before, just…?” he trails off. He's referencing the magazines, all the covers with full size photos of you and the model of the month holding hands by the riviera, sharing a martini, kissing outside a nightclub. There are too many to remember, but you’re surprised he’s aware of any at all. 

“It was just stupid fun. I dunno. We hung out, had sex, whatever. It was never serious. I didn't tell them about anything at all; I was okay with them not really knowing me, at least, not as anything other than a party girl, the runaway princess, etcetera. We didn’t owe each other anything.” 

“Sounds lonely.” 

“Sometimes,” you answer. “But it was fun. I don't regret it. I just never saw room for them in all of this.” 

Joshua hums, low and deep. 

“And you?” you ask, incredulous. “In love?” 

“In university,” he says after a brief pause. “There was a girl. I think I loved her more than I had ever loved anything else before.” 

“What? Who?” you interrupt. “Do I know her?” 

“No.” Then, a quiet chuckle. “No one did. She was a civilian, a normal girl. She wanted to be a biologist, I think. it was either that, or a nurse. We snuck around a lot. Probably more than you did.” 

“Can I ask what happened?” 

“I told her I'd marry her. I thought if I wanted it enough, it would happen. I'd go to my parents, profess my love, and all our rules would fall away somehow. Just like that.” 

Suddenly, it feels like there is a gaping wound in your chest. Every new word seems to draw the bloody edges of your skin further apart. 

“Well, they didn’t,” Joshua continues. “I broke her heart. and I learned that all of this would never go away. Not for love, not for anything.” 

There is an impossible hollowness inside you. You imagine Joshua, twenty-one and bright-eyed at Cambridge, hiding beneath the arch of the cobblestone bridge, the long one behind the quad, to carve hearts into the limestone. There's a girl wrapped in his jacket, her laughter like bells. She draws him close, runs a delicate hand through his hair, a shorter cut, more sporty than it is now. The night is still just as kind, forgiving, as it is now, and the moon still round like a young pearl. 

“And that’s why you’re…you know.” You pause. The words all feel stuck to the roof of your mouth. “You like the rules.” 

“Because it would mean that it didn’t end in vain. That it wasn’t really my fault.” 

“You don’t want to mess up again. I get it.” 

“Yeah.” 

You notice your arms are touching, that they have been touching. Somehow, you don’t want to move away. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask.

“Not sure.” Joshua sighs, having fully abandoned the filter he normally speaks to you through. “I don't think we’re so different. I don't know. It feels good to tell someone.” 

“Do you still love her?” 

“No. I don't think I can.” 

“I'm sorry,” you swallow, feeling the familiar lump in your throat. 

“Don’t be. It wasn’t your fault.”

It’s getting cold, the twilight breeze now coming in from the sea. A silence, now sticky, caustic, settles between the two of you. The thought of Joshua, hopelessly in love, a line you hadn’t even dared to cross, seems to wind itself deep into your neurons. 

“No really,” you insist. “I'm sorry. I gave you a hard time—no, I've been giving you a hard time. I didn't know.” 

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“What?” 

“Be nice to me. No one’s watching.” 

“I know,” you say, a foolish conviction rising in your stomach. You almost feel silly, juvenile, for never really baring your heart like how he had. You’re not sure which was worse. 

You turn to look at him, really look at him. He's framed by the haze of the violets, the gentle curtain of the willows. 

“Says the real you?” Joshua asks.

“Yup,” you laugh. “Usually is. You probably get the worst of it, to be honest.” 

“She’s not so bad.” He returns your gaze; it’s honest, unsearching. “According to the real me, by the way.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

There are no words left. In fact, nothing quite says more than the way you now sit together, hands close enough to touch, without quarrel, complaint, or a yearning to prove yourself to some invisible standard. Instead, you enjoy the quiet calm, the way it drapes itself across the garden, the city, the quick of your heart. Now that you think about it, it’s the first time you’ve been able to do this without feeling like you were putting on a show.

This time, you think it’s real when you lean against his shoulder, and he leans back, chasing your warmth.

And it certainly seems to stay real when your hands find each other. You realize he does it the same way every time—the gentle skim of his fingertips down your hand before your palms meet, gently, forthright. 

And it’s here, in the uncertain glow of the summer moon, where you think you’re the closest to ever knowing just what Joshua had been talking about earlier. 

His hand curls around your cheek, holding you, wanting to see you clearer still, and he kisses you. It's not the practiced motion of an ill-conceived love, nor a hungry, blind stumble in your unlit bedroom. No, this time, it's as if you are being drawn back, wonderfully, slowly. Joshua kisses you as if it's the first time, as if to undo all the other times.

And somehow, almost by magic, the fountain song and the phantom photographers, the parents and the press, the world and everything in it, finally draw quiet. 

–

“So,” Jihoon says, reloading his pistol. “You ok? Don’t you hate the range?” 

You push your earmuffs aside to hear him better. “What?” 

“I said, don’t you hate the range?” 

“Well,” you balk. Jihoon puts the gun down and leans against the booth, looking at you from behind the glare of his safety glasses. Behind him is the paper target of a man with five bullet holes through his head. “I think I've gotten used to it.” 

This is all true—you did hate the range, but it’s where you can always count on finding Jihoon on a Sunday afternoon. Better people went to church, but Jihoon preferred to terrorize the poor center circle of a bullseye. 

“Hm.” He picks up the pistol again, stares down its iron sights. “Somi need anything for her birthday?” 

“She needs a new man,” you reply, and Jihoon laughs. 

Bang. Bang. 

“But, no, I'm getting her that vintage Cartier watch she’s been wanting forever. They were auctioning it off in Paris.” 

“Right, since it’s time for her to get a new boyfriend,” Jihoon deadpans, although he can’t quite get it out before he chuckles. “What about Soonyoung?” 

“They cannot get together. You’re just being messy.” 

“Sure, I'm the messy one. Didn’t they sleep together?” 

“That was, like, two years ago. Drunk.” 

Bang. Then a click–the clip’s empty. “By the way—you decided if you’re going to Cotria this weekend? Jeonghan will be back again, you know.” 

You pause, watching Jihoon reload the magazine, shiny bullet by bullet. You definitely know Jeonghan’s coming home—minus all the time you spend on Find My Friends, you were always acutely aware of when he was in town. The real question is if you wanted to see him again. Usually, you’d count down the days, make plans at all your favorite restaurants, buy a bottle of cheap wine to split over a shitty Godzilla movie. That was when you still talked. 

The last time you saw him was when he visited you in Acros. After the music store, you milled around a couple shops, walked through an art gallery. (Remember when you got lost at the Prado? he had asked. You were staring at that painting with all the butts. 

Kinda, you had replied noncommittally. All Jeonghan did lately was start his sentences with remember, like he wanted you to forget who he was now.) 

“I dunno,” is what you land on. “I'm busy.” 

“Well, Jeonghan asked me.” Jihoon takes down his old target and sets up a fresh one, another formless, black silhouette. 

“Asked you what?”

“If I could ask you to come.” 

“Does Josh know?” 

“He actually already helped with arrangements for you to go back,” Jihoon replies, palming the gun again. “He said only if you wanted to, though.” 

The tightness in your chest seems to coil over itself once more. Joshua had asked you about Jeonghan over breakfast one morning, before handing you a coffee and a croissant to soften the blow. You had been talking a lot more lately, which, somehow, you didn’t mind. If he wasn’t making fun of you, he was actually a decent listener. 

You watch Jihoon steady his arms. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

–

Like all of your great ideas, it began in the back of a car. 

Surprising, maybe. Accidental? Never. 

You’re getting ahead of yourself, though. It really started earlier tonight, at the charity event you attended with Joshua. 

Lesser beings would blame the wine, a cheap chardonnay only fit for sorority girls on a Friday night. Naturally, you and Joshua were responsible for downing about half the bottle—a fun amount, you’d like to say, although you admit you were surprised at your date’s ability to hold his alcohol. 

You, however, can peg the real culprit: a reasonably slutty dress, removed from the annals of Somi’s closet, back when she was less of a Paris Hilton and more of a Princess Diana. 

The evidence: damning. As you were getting ready—Can you zip me up? you had asked Joshua, fiddling with the rollers in your hair, already a generous ten minutes late. Then the slow, lingering skim of his touch, molasses up the hollow of your spine. At dinner, a warm hand on your knee. You didn’t hang around much longer after that, but walking to the car was a wondrous excuse for the flat of his palm to find the small of your back, fondly, comfortably, as if you had known each other for years. 

Since you had spoken in the garden, certainly you had acted like more of a couple. It came more naturally, likely due to the fact that you had no idea if you were actually a couple or not. You suppose it doesn’t matter at the end of the day. Well—sort of.

Now, you’re just being obtuse. What you’re really trying to do is explain how your hand found its way down Joshua’s pants in the back of your limousine. And still, found is too generous of a word. But you digress. 

The short version: you kissed Joshua. Jihoon parked the car out back, you had gotten tired of Joshua glancing at you through the side of his eyes, and you kissed him. Regrettably, this hasn’t gotten boring yet. You enjoy the way he searches for your touch, the part of his soft lips. 

Sometime between the third and the tenth time your tongue found its way into Joshua’s mouth, Jihoon removed himself from the situation—he was always good at that part. Two wandering hands later, your palm skimmed over the front of Joshua’s slacks. No big deal, except he was half-hard and he moaned in your mouth like he was doing the ad-libs in a Cupcakke song. 

“Whoops,” you had babbled. This whole night, you’d been searching for the brakes on the clown car winding through the horny fog of your horrible, vexed mind. 

“Fuck, sorry,” Joshua replied just as quickly, the words seeming to slip back down his throat. 

Then you had stared at each other and blinked, hard, as if that would erase the fact that, one, the prince of Acros had just cursed approximately half an centimeter from your face, and two, you’d now crossed a bridge that could not be uncrossed. 

You could no longer lie to yourself about the fact that you are hopelessly attracted to Joshua. You don’t even know if you want to lie anymore. You still thought of the time you ran into him, birthday suit and all, all those weeks ago in the bathroom. And, yes, you had wondered how big he was, although you blame Somi for planting that evil idea in you. 

Hence, with God as your witness (since Jihoon was no longer there), you had said, “I can help, you know. If you want.” 

You didn’t expect Joshua to nod so quickly. Then again, you now know yourself to be a poor judge of most things, especially ones relating to whatever this is. 

“Do you want to?” he had asked, eyes fogged over. 

“Yes. really.” Then you stopped. “Is this your first—”

“No. Does it really seem like it?” 

Okay. You’ll have to unpack that later. 

So, finally, here you are. Somewhere along the line, your shame had fallen to the wayside, and a new desire now rocks you. 

“Could’ve just asked earlier,” you tease, thumbing the buckle of Joshua’s belt. 

“Should’ve known you’re not one for subtlety,” he laughs softly, his eyes fixed on how you undo the clasp. It’s a silly comment, but all the blood still rushes to your cheeks at the idea of him wanting you not just now, but all night. “Next time.” 

“Really now.” The button at his waistband proves difficult with your new nails, so you instead sit your hand on the tent in his pants, palm him over the fabric. “You’d let me do this in the washroom of a charity ball?”

Delightfully, you watch him squirm. He doesn’t fight you, instead, uses his hands to bring you closer so you can feel his voice on your skin. “You’d be surprised,” he replies. 

“His highness,” you say before returning to the wretched button, “Fooling around at a formal event? Scandalous.” 

“Says the walking scandal,” Joshua laughs again, nipping at your earlobe. Then a sigh, breathy and tortured, as you finally peel back his slacks. 

“Isn’t this about the time where you be quiet and let me do my thing?”

“Is that an order?” 

“Yeah, since you seem to like them so much.” 

He opens his mouth to complain, but you’ve beaten him to the punch. Skin meets skin; you watch his eyes flutter shut, the slow fall of his shoulders as he exhales. 

Fuck, you think to yourself. If that’s all it takes for him to get hard— you force the thought back to where it came from. You’re getting ahead of yourself. Already, you’re reveling in the lewd image before you: the nation’s darling prince, legs spread and slack-jawed in the back of a limo, dizzy at the thought of a pretty girl playing with his cock. 

Your hand wraps around his length, pulls it out of his briefs. Feeling the weight, heavy and warm on your palm, makes your skin prickle. He is big, but even if he wasn’t, the way he gasps into your ear when you start pumping him is enough to satisfy. 

You start slow, just to be a little mean. He's longer than you expected, you realize. A turn of the wrist at the base, a little more pressure, and you hear him groan, loudly, shamelessly, as he tips his head back. 

“Feels good?” you ask, voice lower than a whisper. You know it does—you’re not inexperienced by any stretch of the imagination, but something about turning the prince into putty makes the months of horrible foreplay worth it. 

“Yeah,” he says, part sigh. “Really good.” 

“Good.” Then you hold out your palm in front of his mouth. You tell yourself it’s a litmus test for his freak-o-meter, but there’s a part of you that wants to make this the best handjob of his short, unexciting life. 

First, he looks at you, wide eyes unblinking. There's already a flush, pretty and pink, across his cheeks, the column of his neck. Then, it clicks. He spits into your hand, and you watch it trail down the plush curve of his lips, his chin, the ridge of his adam’s apple. The color spreads to his ears; his mouth twists shyly. Oh, he looks perfect, maybe even more than perfect like this. 

As if drawn by a magnet, you kiss him, and your hand finds his cock again. The friction alone draws out a low whine from Joshua’s chest, enough for you to feel the sound on your own tongue. Emboldened, you pump faster, harder, loving the way his hips kick up to meet your touch. 

Still, he gives no indication that he’s close. Something tells you he has more stamina than you think, which surprises you. Thirty minutes ago, you thought he was a virgin. 

“Josh?” you murmur, your lips brushing over his. “Wanna taste you.” 

He meets your gaze, expression unreadable. You think maybe you’re moving too fast, that you’ve crossed some sort of boundary, until you feel the shadow of his hand move, first on your waist, then up the back of your neck. He gathers your hair in one hand, easily, as if he’s done this many a time before, and you get the message. 

You wet your lips, swollen at this point, and bow your head. You’re running on something crazier than adrenaline at this point—even seeing the bead of precum at his tip is making your jaw feel heavy. 

The first taste, always thrilling, sends sparks to your cunt. You seal your lips around his cockhead, feeling its weight on your greedy tongue, and he pulls your hair just enough to make you moan. 

“Were you thinking about doing this all night?” Joshua asks, voice deceptively innocent. 

You can’t answer. You don’t want to. He tastes good, he even fucking smells good, and you want him bad. Instead, you take him to the base, feel him bump against your palate as you try not to gag. You can’t fit him all the way, so your hands make up the slack. He's even bigger fully hard, and already, you feel the ache in your cheeks, your temples. 

“Fuck, you must have been.” A groan, low and slutty. “Doing so good for me.”

You can’t tell if he’s being genuine or if this is his version of dirty talk, but it’s working. His hand is gentle, restrained behind you, letting you lead. The worse part of you wonders what it would take for him to break, but that’s a project for another time. 

Honestly, he doesn’t need to do much—again and again, you chase the feeling of his cock deep in your throat, enough to bruise. You don’t even care if you gag around him; when you do, he pulls your hair back, just enough to make your scalp prickle wonderfully, seemingly oblivious to the fact that you like it. 

You feel heady with arousal. You start to wonder how he is in bed, if he’d hold your hair like that, run his mouth like he is now. He's vocal, more than anyone else you’ve been with, and every little noise goes straight to your core, makes your thighs squeeze together pathetically. By now, you’re sure you’ve ruined this set of panties. 

“ ‘m close,” he says between breaths. “You don’t have to—” 

Stupid, stupid boy, you think. You don’t think you’ve wanted to do anything more. So instead of answering, you look up at him, eyes big and watery, and you suck hard. with your tongue nestled underneath his cockhead, right by the vein, it’s almost too easy. 

He groans, loud, satisfied, and you feel his release fill your mouth. Even after swallowing, it’s enough to run down your chin, get your makeup all smudged, and you like it. If you weren’t in trouble already, you are now. 

“Ah, I made you a mess,” Joshua says, gravelly and intimate. With one hand, he takes the handkerchief out of his suit jacket and cradles your jaw with the other. “Hold still.” 

“You,” you manage after clearing your throat. “You don’t have to sacrifice your pocket square.” 

“Yes, I do,” he chuckles. He wipes the corners of your mouth, your aching chin, and it almost makes you cry. “You literally gave me head in the back of a car. The pocket square can go.” 

He draws you up to his chest so you can rest your head on him. There’s a warm, melty feeling between your ribs, minus what you had just swallowed. Inexplicably, even as the horny fog clears from your brain, you still want to be close, closer than close and then closer still. 

“Head? I don’t like hearing you use normal people slang.” You pout, and you feel his laugh radiate from beneath his skin. “Good head, at least?” 

“Oh, please. Better than good,” he answers. “You’re perfect. perfect.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you start. Then he shuts you up with his mouth over yours, and you forget to think about liking him, loving him, or marrying him—this, you think you can do. 

—

“We’re in Barcelona!” 

You’re greeted by a pocket sized Somi and Soonyoung as they grin at you from your phone screen. They look to be on the balcony of a hotel suite, both wearing their matching silk robes. 

“Wow,” you reply. “And where was my invite?” 

“We did invite you, bitch,” Somi says, pulling down her sunglasses to look at you. “You said you were busy.” 

“Well, I mean…” you uncap a bottle of nail polish. “That's not untrue.”

“The ocean needs you,” Soonyoung whines, clutching his chest. “We need you.” 

“I'm sorry! Josh and I have been doing engagement stuff.” 

“Josh? Since when were you on a nickname basis?” 

“Whatever,” you interrupt. “What are you guys gonna do today?” 

“Beach,” Soonyoung responds brightly, with Somi’s Don’t let her change the subject! loud in the background. 

To be honest, you don’t even know the answer to her question. It just sort of happened, which seems to be the new normal for you. You’re also trying to pull apart last night–the freak-o-meter test came back inconclusive, and, for some reason, Joshua fell asleep with his arm over your middle. (Actually, you can think of a few reasons why he did that, but you’re not really sure how to feel about any of them.) 

“Ugh, I miss you guys.” You wipe at your pinkie toe, having smudged the polish beyond repair. “Drink a little extra sangria for me. And by little, I mean a lot.”  

“You’re still coming to Somi’s birthday, right?” Soonyoung asks.

“Yes, of course she is,” Somi replies. “Unless you can’t. Which I totally understand.”

“I still can,” you lie. “It just has to be more low-key than usual.” 

“No paparazzi,” Somi says. “And I'll tell everyone to keep you on the down low. Super duper down low.” 

“No way.” Damn, you curse to yourself—you keep screwing up painting your big toe. “Seriously?”

“Anything for my queen,” she giggles. “Pitbull is also confirmed, by the way. Secret Pitbull now.” 

“Good, because that’s the only reason I’m coming.” 

“Boo, you whore.” Somi wrinkles her nose at you playfully. (Is she being serious? Soonyoung asks in the background.) “Also, I'm still waiting for my update on the whole prince thing. I've been very patient.”

“No updates. Nothing to report,” you insist. Frustratingly, your cheeks are hot, like you’re in secondary school all over again. 

“You fucked him, huh?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek. 

“Halfway. Maybe.” 

The combined sound of Somi and Soonyoung’s gasps rips apart your phone speakers, and you draw in a big breath. I did it for the plot doesn’t quite seem like the right justification, not like it used to be. The plot never used to involve the M word, love, or any sort of feelings at all. Now things are more confusing than late-stage Grey’s Anatomy, but good luck explaining that over the phone.

“So you do like him,” Soonyoung says, saucer eyes sparkly on-screen.

“I don't know,” you answer. It’s true, you don’t. To you, like was flirting over text and french kissing. Paradoxically, you had told Joshua all of that, and he still decided to do whatever he did to you on the ledge of the fountain all those days ago. It felt like he ate the heart right out of your chest. Then you had to go and suck his dick, which never made anything less complicated. 

“Oh please. Look at you,” Somi laughs. “Yeah, you do.” 

Fuck. You’ve smudged all the polish off your big toe again. 

– 

Not much surprises you these days, but you can’t say you were expecting to see your riding boots to be the first thing you see when you arrive home in Cotria. 

The second thing you see is Jeonghan, smiling at you in his big, stupid riding helmet, camo-printed because he bought it when he was 15 and his head never grew much bigger since. 

“For old times sake?” He then holds your own helmet up by the straps, and whatever twinge of annoyance you had felt earlier makes way for something softer, more forgiving. “Everything's set up outside.” 

It doesn’t take you much time to take him up on the offer. If anything, a long ride usually solves all your problems, and you definitely have problems that need solving. 

You saddle up in the stables, wordlessly, moved by habit. It seems to be the same for Jeonghan, too. Even Peanut acts like it hasn’t been years since he’s seen him, and he noses at the box of sugar cubes like he always does. Then again, horses don’t hold grudges, at least, not like you do. Even Joshua seemed more optimistic about this encounter than you did. 

“So you're back back,” you say, hooking your feet in the stirrups. “Or do you have more jet-setting to do?” 

“Back back,” Jeonghan replies. “Missed home too much.” 

He cocks his head towards the old riding trail, the one that loops the long way through the woods. The gesture is but a formality—it’s the only path you ever take. Still, you follow behind his horse, watching the beige swoosh of Peanut’s tail the same way you did when you were a little girl and things were far simpler than they are now. 

Under the cornflower sky of a near-autumn, the forest seems endless. A flock of geese split the sky in two; a warm breeze haunts the canopy, scattering the afternoon light. The dirt under you is soft, peaty from the morning rain. The hoofbeats are silent today. 

Jeonghan’s horse slows so that you ride side-by-side. 

“Hey, cricket?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I…” Jeonghan clears his throat and pauses, quite unlike him. “I wanted to come out here to talk.” 

“Everything ok?” 

“Yeah, I…” Another pause. “I know things haven’t felt normal between us. For me, at least.” 

You almost drop the reins. A strange, floating feeling is set off in your body, like a flare. 

“Yeah,” you reply. “I was kinda hoping you would say that.” 

“I'm sorry.” A hard swallow. “I haven't really been the best brother, have I?” 

“Well, not…not really.” Quickly, frenetically, words bob up in the back of your mouth like you’re playing whack-a-mole. You had been waiting for this conversation to happen for so long, you realized you hadn’t planned much further than that. “It felt like you’d changed. A lot.” 

The wind feels like ribbons around you. You sway back and forth on Astrid, as if on a boat. 

“Was it the birthday party thing?” you ask. “I didn’t mean for it to…you know.” 

“Actually, that was my fault.” Jeonghan smiles bitterly. “I shouldn't have let Mom and Dad run me over like that. You should’ve been there. It was never really the same without you.” 

“Well, I should've come,” you admit. “So we both fucked up.” 

“Maybe,” he chuckles. “But the rest—definitely my fault. I made myself busy because I felt like I had to.” 

You’re growing to really hate that word. Jeonghan had to grow up, Joshua had to break up with his first love, you had to learn to pick up all the pieces of both of these things and try to fit them back into your life. 

“You didn’t even look back.” 

“I was scared, cricket. That if I kept looking back, I wouldn't be able to go forward. And I didn’t want to leave you behind, but I did. I think there was a happy middle somewhere, I just couldn’t find it.” 

“Jeonghan, you’re not really making sense right now,” you say, flattened, and he laughs. 

“I don't even know what I'm saying. I think I'm trying to say that I just want you to be happy. And that I'm sorry.” 

You bite your lip, as if to distract yourself from the strange pressure in your throat. You think you want to cry, but you’re not sure.

“But are you happy?” you ask. “With the coronation and everything? Did you even want this?” 

“I am, believe it or not. I know you don’t, but I'm not lying. Somewhere along the line, I started liking all of the talking, the traveling, the interviews. I like that I can help people. Some of it sucks, but not all of it.” He laughs, finally one that sounds like something you can remember. “Not everything you have to do is bad.” 

“Jeonghan, I'm getting married because of you. Because of this,” you say, trying to keep your voice from cracking. “I don't know how to do this. Any of this, not like you, not like Mom, or anyone.” 

This, in fact, does make Jeonghan stop. He stills and falls silent. At once, it seems the forest goes quiet too. 

“Don’t get married, then.” You don’t respond, so he says it again. “You don’t have to go through with it. Not for my sake, at least.” 

“What?” 

“I've been thinking about it ever since it happened. I can talk to everyone. You’d rather not be with the guy, right?”

Your tongue freezes in your mouth. You thought you had an answer, but it refuses to come out. 

“I have a duty to protect you, too. I’ll be fine with or without the press.” 

“Jeonghan,” you say quietly. Many moons ago, you would have laughed at the word duty, but instead, your stomach turns over and over and over. “You don’t have to.” 

“I want to,” is his simple answer. “I want to because I care about you. We can figure out the rest.” 

Something in your bones feels heavy. You’d also been waiting to hear those words, but it didn’t feel as freeing as you thought it would. You think about Joshua, his books and his perfectly placed bookmarks, his dumb dad jokes, the way he reaches for your hand, fingertips before palm. 

“Can I think about it?” 

“Of course. The engagement ball is probably happening either way, but it’s no big deal. Bigger engagements have been called off in far worse circumstances.” 

You’re having trouble believing him, but you have no other choice. Your life would certainly get a lot easier if everything were to just end. No more press releases, scripts, or awkward pictures. And no more worrying about if you could go out on the weekends or just how much of yourself to give up to make things work. 

“There's no rush.” He turns to look at you with the same wild shine in his eyes that you’d grown to miss so much. “Truce?”

That, somehow, you’re much happier to hear. You thought you’d be angrier than this, feel the usual metal-red of your gut, but all that’s left is a sobering feeling of relief, of home. At last, things feel close to normal. 

“Truce.” 

So you ride and ride, but a decision doesn’t come to you as easily as you thought. The sunset breaks; the word duty clings to you, unshakable, unrelenting. 

—

Somehow, you have gone full circle: at the end of a long day, you find yourself back at the piano, much like you did when you were seven, and the only thing you could do right was play Hot Cross Buns. 

Joshua had bought an unreasonable amount of music books, half guitar for him, half piano for you. You’d forgotten just how much you had liked playing until that night, many nights ago, when you and he had first muddled through that duet. 

Yesterday, you and your parents had tea at the waterfront before you had left the country. You were still undecided on the engagement; frustratingly, the needle hadn’t moved much in either direction since Jeonghan had raised his proposal to you. 

Congratulations, your mother had told you, right over her cup of oolong. 

For what? 

You’ve risen to the occasion. You’ve grown up. 

To you, this was not a compliment. You didn’t know what it was. You had twisted the ring on your finger, back and forth, a habit you picked up after all the time you spent wearing it. You wondered if somewhere, you had become exactly like Jeonghan, molded and spun into someone unrecognizable. Maybe that was why Joshua finally seemed to like you.

Have you practiced for your first dance? your father asked, and you no longer had time to worry about the state of your personality—you had other fires to put out. 

Really, that’s why you’re at the piano today. You thought you could play the damn tune and somehow remember all the ballroom dancing lessons you had taken when you were younger. Unsurprisingly, it hasn’t worked yet. 

There’s a knock at the doorframe. “Come in,” you say, already knowing that it’s Joshua. No one else does that; Jihoon barges in and just starts talking, and you can hear Joshua’s parents from a mile away because of all the jewelry they have on. 

“Just wanted to see what you were up to,” Joshua says. He leans against the frame of the piano, already dressed down for the night. 

“Nothing,” you reply. “Just magically hoping that I remember how to ballroom dance.” 

“Well, first things first, you can’t dance sitting down.” He chuckles, and you pull your lips tight. 

“I'm serious, Josh,” you whine. 

“You really don’t remember?” He gives you one of those looks, one that you’re quite used to now, with the judgmental wrinkle of the brow. “Didn’t you take lessons?” 

“Yeah, like…fifty million years ago.” 

“I couldn’t tell,” he says, grinning something foolish. “You don’t look a day over fifty.” Then he offers you his hand, which you take, and he easily pulls you from the bench. 

“Flattered,” you say, unable to push down the corners of your smile. “You gonna teach this senior citizen a few moves?” 

“Perhaps, as my good deed for the day.” He holds your hand, still firmly in his, and slides it up his arm to rest on his bicep. “Left hand here,” he tells you. 

“Are you flirting with me?” 

“Not yet,” Joshua laughs. “The ballroom hold ring a bell?” His other hand finds your free one, and you interlace fingers simply, easily. Then, the warmth of a hand between your shoulder blades, one that draws you to his chest. 

“I think the only dancing I know how to do is half drunk in the dark. Can’t exactly throw it back on you in front of God and country.” 

Joshua grins, a big one, and you, traitorously, feel your cheeks get prickly. 

“I wouldn't want God looking at you like that,” he teases. 

“And country’s already seen it all.” 

“They should consider themselves very lucky, then.” His eyes meet yours, lit by the scattered light of the chandelier. “It's my turn to ask you to let me lead.” 

“Fine,” you pout, noticing that familiar warmth in your stomach. 

Joshua begins to count your steps off (one, two, three—ow, that’s my foot! —sorry!). He’s patient with you, more patient than you think you deserve. His hand seems to slot perfectly into the curve of your back; his gaze settles onto you in a way that makes your chest feel heavy, molten. 

“For someone who goes out so much, you have a terrible sense of rhythm,” Joshua says, teasing. 

“Hey,” you object. “Maybe I just have a bad teacher.” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” 

“Well, I'm not about to blame Britney Spears.” 

Joshua laughs, and the sound is so close to you, you can feel it on your skin. 

“I still think it’s the student’s fault.” 

“Me?!” Perfectly timed, your sock-clad feet collide (yours, striped and fuzzy, his, plain white). “Impossible.” 

“Too distracting,” he murmurs, and you notice how unfairly pretty his eyes are. “You bump into me, criticize me, you look at me like that…”

You feel dizzy. You don’t know what Joshua’s doing to you, but it’s mean. Your face is warm, and normally you’d blame it all on the alcohol but you haven’t had any. Worst of all, the soft part of you, the lizard-brained, impulsive part, can’t stop thinking about his lips and how they would feel on yours.

It’s a thought you don’t let linger, much like all of the other half-thoughts you have, and you kiss him, as if it was a reprieve from the terrible, horrible way he’s making you feel. (It isn’t.) 

“You talk too much,” you tell Joshua, right against his lips. “Not enough teaching.” 

“I'm putting you in remediation.” 

“Devastating.” 

“And giving you homework.” 

“Whatever shall I do?” 

Joshua answers that question for you. He kisses you, once, twice, still not enough, and, somehow, things feel more simple than they ever had before. 

—

Jihoon’s eyes are dark, dagger-sharp in the rearview mirror. 

“We’re coming up,” he says. “A few minutes out.” 

“I know,” you answer. Yunjin was successful, almost too successful, in her task of finding you an appropriately revealing dress for a newly engaged twenty-something at the party of the year. The filmy silk stretches around your thighs; the cowl neck flirts with the neckline of the bikini top you have on underneath. 

You look good, probably better than how you’ve looked in months. And yet, for some reason, you don’t feel good, at least, not how you’d thought you’d feel on the way to the only event you’d been looking forward to this year.

Somi’s gift rattles in your lap. It’s covered in this loud, hot pink wrapping paper unbecoming of something you had spent years tracking down on the antiques circuit. Normally, you’d have a laugh with Jihoon about it, maybe take some selfies in the car, but instead, you find yourself spinning your ring around your finger like you always seem to do these days.

You think of Jeonghan, of Joshua. Of course, what you do or don’t do on your best friend’s birthday is none of their business (although, very inconveniently, Jeonghan did have some event this weekend, and Joshua was traveling). But still, you think of the boldface headlines, the whispering gossip forums, the washed-out image of you in your little dress on the cover of a cheap magazine. This wasn’t exactly a tame party, and things weren’t just about you anymore, not like they used to be. 

Marking your arrival isn’t the GPS nor Jihoon, rather, it’s the firefly buzz of the cameras outside your limo as it’s forced to come to a stop. You squint, trying to see past the tint of your windows, and see Somi, radiant in her birthday tiara, as she pushes through the crowd. Behind her is the villa she rented, illuminated by pink and gold strobe lights. 

You crack open the car door and are met with a stifling deluge of camera flashes. Music pulses through the air, enough to feel beneath your heels. 

“Who's my favorite princess?” Somi exclaims, throwing her arms open. “You made it! you look hot.” 

“Not as hot as the birthday girl,” you reply, and you let her squeeze the air out of you in a wonderful, bone-crushing hug. “What's with all the cameras?” 

“Professional photographers. Just wanted something to remember the night by, because we are blacking out.” She giggles, already tipsy. “Come, come, we’re doing shots inside.” 

“Without me?” 

“We’ll catch you up.” 

Somi drags you by the hand through the sea of people, and you watch the cameras follow as they always do. She leads you up the stairs, underneath the towering balloon display, and into the foyer, already darkened, lit only by a disco ball chandelier and the neon backlights. 

You spot Soonyoung by a champagne tower that seems twice his size, as promised. He's in a leather jacket, no shirt under, and you watch his eyes light up as they meet yours. 

“A shot for her highness,” he shouts over the music. 

“I thought this was champagne.” 

“Tequila's close enough.” He laughs, eyes upturned, bright like gemstones. 

The first shot goes down easy. it always does. So does the second, unsurprisingly. Around the third is when Somi tells you that the strippers are coming in an hour. (—Strippers?! —Not everyone has a fiancé, you know.) 

And, just like that, you’re back to the beginning. It’s hard to think over the ridiculously good Kesha mix the DJ is playing, but, terribly, you think you’re starting to understand what Jeonghan was talking about. You’re still not sure how you feel about duty, responsibility, sacrifice, those heavy words that feel impossibly heavier in your mouth, but all you know is that, as much fun as you’re having now, it comes at a fair price. 

Somi told you nothing, no compromising pictures, no drama, would reach the press, but, as hard as she may try, you feel like enough people have laid eyes on you already that someone was bound to hear something. If not now, then definitely in a few hours when everyone’s on at least two and a half substances, and all bets are off.

Briefly, you recall your appearance at the derby, the memory like a shard of glass. You had stood guileless next to Joshua, tripping over your words because you hadn’t cared enough to read the damn briefing, and he had covered it up with a dad joke or two. Coming up with those abominations must have been hard enough for someone whose first book was the Oxford Dictionary, but you don’t even think God and all his angels could cover up this. More than that, the thought of everyone having to try anyway makes your gut twist. 

Someone tells you to smile for a selfie. You recognize her, but you don’t remember her name (Amelia or Alicia, one of Somi’s friend of a friends. On second glance, there are definitely more than 200 people here). Let's dance! another voice shouts in your ear. 

Your head hurts. You hate the idea that Jeonghan might be a little right, but you hate even more that you’re starting to agree with him. Maybe you need another shot. 

“Your gift,” you say, fighting over the chorus of Your Love Is My Drug. “Somi!” 

“Oh my god, you did not!” she squeals. She clasps her hands over yours, wrapped around the box, and draws them to her. “Let me take it to the table. I’ll meet you by the pool—oh, oh, there’s a hot dog stand out there too!”

“Actually,” you start. You’re not that drunk, not yet, but now you think you can feel the ground start to sway under you. it wouldn’t be too far a stretch to say that in half an hour, after a little time at the bar, you’d probably be spending the night, no question. “I think I have to run.”

“Aw, really?” Somi tilts her head and squints, as if trying to read your mind. 

“I am so sorry,” you tell her, as sincerely as one can over a pop song from the 2000s. “Swear I'll make it up to you.” 

“Life stuff, right?” 

“Yeah.”  

“It's ok,” she says. “Really really. Go home, figure your shit out, and we can have our own party.” 

She holds your joined hands to her heart. Whatever look you gave her, she believed. That, or she knows you better than you think. 

So you leave. The car ride home is silent. Jihoon doesn’t ask questions, and you can still hear the sound of the music ringing in your ears, on and on and on. 

– 

You think the worst thing you’ve ever woken up to was the Crazy Frog ringtone of one of the guys you had slept with during university. 

The second worst has got to be five voice memos and three consecutive missed Facetime calls from Somi, which is the first thing you see upon opening your eyes. 

“Oh fuck,” you murmur, still coming to. Your bed is empty, but you see Joshua's suitcase in the corner of the room. He must have come home early this morning, while you were still sleeping. 

You crack open your text messages. 

–OH MY GOD.

–I AM SO SO SORRY. 

–someone must have gotten paid off for last night’s pictures…i had no idea i swear 

Then a voice memo. Then another voice memo. then a PopCrave Twitter screenshot: YOU CAN TAKE THE PRINCESS OUT OF THE PARTY–OR CAN YOU? followed by the worst, most incriminating photo of you and Soonyoung, arms linked, throwing back a shot. 

“No, no, no, no.” You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the stone-cold drop of your heart to your feet. “Fuck. Fuck.” 

Shit. You have to find Joshua and make it right. 

Somehow, you thought it wouldn’t matter, that you didn’t care what did or didn’t get out as long as you were able to have a good time—you desperately search for that same feeling, knowing that it’s long, long gone. You don’t even think you truly ever believed that. 

You race down the palace hallways, ones that feel far more familiar than the rigid bastions they were when you first got here, but it’s Joshua who finds you before you find him. Or rather, it’s his voice you hear, trickling out from behind the library door. 

Suddenly, you’re five again, and you’re spying on Jeonghan talking to your parents. You peek through the crack of the doorframe. As Somi would say, nightmare blunt rotation: there stands Joshua, surrounded by both sets of parents, and no one looks happy. 

“We knew it,” another voice says—your mother. “We’re sorry, but we said this would happen.” 

“It’s no matter. There’s nothing left to do but call the engagement off.” 

The room goes quiet. You notice your hands are shaking. Your face feels numb.  

“You’re right. I don't think anyone’s getting what they want out of this, anyway.” 

“We’ll cancel the ball. There’s no way around it. Likely a relief, right, Joshua?” 

The moment seems to squirm, suspended in time. This is what you were waiting for, right? Your parents were right—no one wanted this anyway. You certainly didn’t, and now you get your get out of jail free card. On top of that, you get to hear what you’d been expecting all along—that Joshua never liked you, that this was fun and all, but he’s ready to stop playing pretend. 

“I…I disagree.” You freeze. “She's my fiancée. I made a commitment to her, and I'm not going to walk away.” 

“Joshua, my dear, this arrangement was never going to work. You can be honest.” 

This is the part where Joshua nods, does his perfectly symmetric smile, and agrees. This is what he does, what he’s been doing since forever. The story always ends the same way. That was the point. 

Instead: “I am being honest. Since when was it illegal to go to your best friend’s birthday party? I don't care what the rest of the world has to say. She’s not who they, or you, think she is.” Through the door-gap, you watch the pursed, resolute draw of Joshua’s lips. “You didn’t even invite her here to talk about her own engagement. You never once gave her a chance.” 

A stunned silence falls over the room. 

 “I’m sorry, but this is how I feel. I won't let you take another girl I love from me. Not again.” 

Your hand flies over your mouth, and something twists deep in you, like you’re drowning from the inside out. You can’t, won’t, believe what you just heard. That somehow, beyond all the fighting, the quiet nights, the snide remarks and the fake smiles, that Joshua loved you? Loved? Enough to say all that to the people that ruled his life with an iron fist? None of this made sense, but nothing’s made sense since you got here. 

The room erupts into noise, peals of voices all colliding into each other, and you do what you do best—you leave. 

—

No one talks about that morning. You don’t even think anyone knows you were there—part of you wishes that you actually weren’t, so you didn’t have all this on your mind. (Joshua, later that day: I got you something from Seoul. From his suitcase, a bottle of soju. Just kidding. Then a jade bracelet, so vibrant it looked like the ocean.) No one talked about Somi, and no one talked about the party. 

In fact, everyone had just rolled on as usual, all the way to the end of the week, the day of your engagement ball. Even you did. The word love felt so big, so burdensome, when Joshua had said it to his parents, but you didn't mind it on you.

The lingering touches, late night talks, tea made the way you like—nothing really had changed much since shit hit the fan, but now you knew that was the label. You guess that when you told Joshua you had never been in love before, you were really telling the truth. Either that, or he was just saying whatever the hell he needed to stop your engagement from imploding. 

Still, you found yourself still reaching for him. There was an unfamiliar comfort about his nearness. You woke up this morning cradled to his side, and, for once, it wasn’t a scene you wanted to erase. 

Now, your hairstylist hoses your blowout down with hairspray. You’d spent the better part of this morning sitting in different chairs, hair, makeup, nails. A part of you waits for the other shoe to drop: Joshua’s mother would waltz in and tell you, Surprise! You’re a single woman again, just as you should be. 

It never happens. You’re wrapped in various mists and creams and powders, all the while fielding all the same questions about the ball (—Excited for tonight? Yeah, of course. —How does it feel being the surprise couple of the year? Surprising.)

It’s not until Yunjin comes in, wheeling in your giant, sparkly engagement gown, all Italian lace and satin brocade, that things feel real. 

The dress itself is beautiful, a pale champagne number, gathered at the waist with a smattering of crystals down the train. Earlier, when you’d first tried it on, it looked like a costume fit for the girl playing wife. It was another smothering thing that hung on you, just like everything else in your life. 

Today, you watch your form tall in the mirror. You meet her eyes, her uncertain mouth. It’s you, for sure, but there’s a stillness about you that you can’t quite put a finger on. Maybe Joshua’s demeanor was contagious. 

Yunjin laces your bodice up, careful eyelet by eyelet—��You’re nervous, huh?” 

“Is it really that obvious?” 

She laughs. “Breathe. You’re not getting married. Not yet, at least.”

“Yunjin, isn’t it weird that no one has talked to me about Somi’s birthday? Everyone on the planet saw the leaks.” 

“Maybe they finally learned to stop giving a shit. You looked hot, you had a good time, end of story. It’s not like anyone died.” 

True. She grabs your shoulders and looks at you through the reflection of the mirror. 

“Smile. Enjoy yourself. You look so, so beautiful.” You take a deep, soaking breath. You think about Joshua and all the sharp edges of his voice when he said he loved you. You had argued with him a lot, and you had never heard him like that. “You want this, right?” 

Well, when she puts it like that? Yeah, you do. You think you really do. 

—

The Great Hall is unrecognizable when you stand before it; the pink and white zinnias have been replaced by bouquets of calla lily and eucalyptus, the arched ceilings, once cold and imposing, now are bathed in the buttery, warm glow of candlelight. And the too-big space, usually empty, is now filled with partygoers, radiant in their best dress. 

You stand at the top of the grand staircase. A thrill, anxious and skittering, runs up your bones. You’re reminded of your last big public showing at the derby, of the sea of microphones and the eye of the camera and the crowd, all staring you down. 

You run through the cruel motions. First, a curtesy, so slow you think the audience can see you tremble. Then you take the first step down the stairs, and you watch them turn to you like the tanned halo-faces of sunflowers. 

There, in the center of the crowd stands Joshua, unwavering. He's wearing a deep blue tuxedo, unfairly flattering (though, the lone curl of hair falling into his eyes is strong competition). Meeting his gaze, you watch the corners of his mouth fold up in a way that reminds you to breathe. In, out. You’ve got this. 

Every step, you feel like you’re learning to walk for the first time, like you've lost your sea legs. Amongst the guests, you spot Jeonghan, next to him Jihoon. Then back to Joshua, like your eyes can’t stay away. He shoots you a covert thumbs up—you’d expect nothing less from the corniest man on Earth—but, nonetheless, it makes the long walk to the center of the room feel much shorter, despite the torture devices on your feet (Louboutins, not broken in).

One, two steps, and you’re face to face with your fiancé. Your heart is still racing, thrumming against the cage of your bodice like it's trying to escape. You’re sure the whole congregation could hear it if not for the quartet that’s come to life, now playing the opening notes of Blue Danube. 

Yes, that’s right, you tell yourself. You still have to dance in front of the whole fucking country. 

Before you crash out and make this a national emergency, you feel the warmth of Joshua’s touch. Fingertips before palm, always the same, he finds your hand, like he manages to do every single time. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, low enough for only you to hear. And for the first time, you believe him. 

—

Really, you could have gotten away with saying nothing. It would be much easier, to be honest. 

The ball had gone off without a hitch so far. The music was good, the food even better, and your parents were somehow silenced, instead opting to dance among the crowd like they were young again. Still, you can’t seem to put your mind at ease. With everything that had happened this week, Jeonghan’s offer only seemed to weigh heavier, more urgently upon you. And of course, there was the matter of Joshua choosing to opt into your engagement, against all odds. 

You realize you had gotten quite good at running away from things—your family, your responsibilities, the media, even Joshua—not knowing how to bear the weight of an impossible duty. Actually, you thought it was a royal failing until you had seen Joshua in the library that morning, jaw set, unbending. 

“Hey, Josh?” you ask, with a few bats of the eyelashes to soften the blow. 

He tilts his head in that way he does, and his gaze softens. Damn you, you think. Trying to distract me with those horrible, pretty eyes.  

“Can we talk about Sunday?” 

“What about Sunday?” He still looks confused, and you know the look well enough at this point to know he’s not faking it. 

“Um…Sunday morning. After the party,” you say slowly, as if giving yourself time to back out, just in case. “I heard you talking with our parents.” 

In an instant, his expression changes, and his eyebrows roll into their usual furrow. You feel his hand falter behind your shoulder blades. 

“Oh,” Joshua’s voice drops. “That.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, realizing all you do is apologize. “It was supposed to be a small thing, no cameras, I barely even stayed—.”

“Hey, it’s ok,” Joshua interrupts. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” 

“I-I know,” you fib. The thing about pretending is that you’ve both become so good at it that you have trouble believing him. “It’s just that I also heard what…what you said.” 

Somehow, the wrinkle between his brows grows deeper. 

“I said a lot of things that morning.” 

You press your lips thin, feeling what you’re about to say ball up on your tongue. Easily, you could change the subject; you didn’t have to know anything, really, you could stay silent and let the world work around you, just as you had been taught. But you watch the soft twist of Joshua’s gaze, how he studies your expression, and you know you can’t go back to how things used to be. 

“You said you…” You take a hard swallow. All the blood in your body only wants to exist in the apples of your cheeks, away from your brain where you need it most. “You loved me.” 

At once, the world spins off-axis. You feel the anxious flutter of Joshua’s heart under your palm, and your own stomach flips in its cage. The L word coming out of your mouth seems ten-thousand times more ridiculous than anything he could say, probably because you can’t remember the last time you actually said it and it came out all wrong. 

He must feel the same way. For once, he can’t meet your eyes. His mouth opens and then closes, as if hoping to delete what you had just said. Maybe you would just keep dancing, beat by beat, and this would all go away.

Silly girl, you think, traitorously. Pick a damn side. Either he likes you or he doesn’t. The problem is that, somehow, both options hurt your feelings. 

“I mean, I totally get it if you just said it to keep up the act,” you cut in. “There are a lot of reasons why this is a good idea.” 

“The act?” 

“Well, yeah,” you reply. “Isn’t that what this is? Haven’t we just been lying to everyone? To ourselves?” 

Joshua’s hand at your waist stiffens before he draws you closer to him. You expect him to roll his eyes, do one of those exaggerated sighs that he does when you’re being difficult. 

Instead he leans in, close enough for you to feel his voice against your skin. 

“Do you think I was lying back there? Or now?” 

Your heart lurches. 

“I—no, but.” You pause. Every single coherent thought you’ve ever had scatters to the wind. “Well.” 

“Because i’m not,” Joshua says, this time, more softly. “Not about this. Or us.” 

“But how? Why?” You bite the inside of your cheek, feeling your chest swell in a way it never has before. “You’re perfect, and I'm…I’m me.” 

“That’s why,” he answers, simply. “You’re smart, funny, honest—sometimes too honest, even. You reminded me there was a better version of me that I had left behind. One that wasn’t perfect, but was happy.” 

He holds you in his gaze the same way he did in the garden, carved by moonlight. An impossible warmth fills your skin; at once, it feels like, in your vision, there is only him, like you're in a cartoon. 

“At the same time, I understand if—” Joshua starts. 

“I feel the same,” you blurt out. “I…I don’t know what this is, and I don’t think I ever really did, but I want to try.” 

You watch the surprise write itself all over his doe eyes, his unfairly rounded cheeks. From by the hors d'oeuvres, nosy Jeonghan peeks over the shoulder of another guest, already familiar with your lack of volume control. You watch him grin something stupid, triumphant. 

“You’re uptight, judgmental, and you make the worst jokes. But I…I think I might be falling for you too.” 

Saying it is like getting peeled back, terrible layer by layer, like you wrapped a hand around your heart and ripped it out your chest. And yet you’re glowing, newly-bitten with something that feels like freedom.  

“I thought you said I was perfect,” Joshua says, the pink of his lips already unraveling into a smile. This one, you think, finally reaches his eyes. 

“Shush, you—” And amongst a chorus of Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! (which would be, quite frankly, humiliating in any other scenario), you finally give in to your adoring public, and kiss. 

—

The walk back to your bedroom is a blur. All you remember are hands—hands on the small of your back, hands riding up the length of your thigh, hands in your hair, pulling at your roots. You remember hands, and the taste of Joshua’s mouth. 

It’s a walk you are not proud of, one that you’re glad happened in the dark, with all the guests gone home. 

“Did I tell you how beautiful you are?” Joshua says, pressed to the hollow of your neck as you fumble with the handle of the door to your room. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you. No one could.” 

Then his lips on yours, before you finally remember how to open a door. 

“Fuck, Josh,” you breathe between kisses, stumbling backwards until your back hits the vanity. “Need you, need you so bad.” 

He bites your lip, lets you sigh into his mouth. 

“Dress, off,” you tell him, and you lean forward on the table. Obediently, Joshua gets to work. His touch feels fiery, electric on your skin. 

In the mirror, you’re able to see the damage: your lipstick, smudged beyond repair, your blown-out pupils under your heavy lashes. There’s a hickey on your collarbone. 

“Now you have me wishing you'd wear one of those party dresses,” Joshua murmurs, still working at the lacing at your waist. “Far easier to take off.” 

“Really. The same ones that got me in big trouble with you lot?"

"For what it's worth," he replies, before kissing the back of your neck, then the ticklish space under your ear to make you laugh. "I always liked you in those. Even before we met." 

"No way." He’s finished with the lacing; your dress falls to your feet in a glorious heap of silk and lace, leaving you in your slip. Another kiss to your jaw, your cheek. "You hated them." 

"I almost bought a copy of Insider, the one with the cover of you in the black dress with the long sleeves." 

"Shut up," you laugh again, somewhere in between kisses. He’s talking about Soonyoung's new year's eve party, a few years back. You were getting out the back of a cab, alcohol-flushed and on a phone call with God knows who. "I still have it, you know. I could wear it for you one of these days." 

"Don't tempt me." Joshua kneels, bending down to undo your heels. You feel him press his lips to the back of your knee, your thigh. “Friday. Dinner?” 

“Done.” 

Then he stands back to full height and leans into you, just so you can feel him. Like clockwork, your skin prickles wonderfully even just thinking about blowing him in the back of the limo, that night he had held you down on his cock. 

Joshua must see how you squeeze your legs together. He pushes your slip up over the curve of your ass; you feel the rough of his hands over your skin, over the flimsy lace you have on for underwear. Then, before you can say a word, he pulls the waistband back, meanly, enough to tug on the hood of your clit, and lets it snap back against your skin. 

“Oh, fuck,” you keen. You had no idea you were so sensitive, but Joshua’s foreplay game was way better than you thought. “Please, Shua.” 

“Oh? So you like when I'm a little mean?” 

You watch your face in the mirror flush pink, your bitten lips fall open in surprise. He pulls tight on your panties again, loving how your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Maybe.” You pause, humiliated. Fuck it, the cat’s already out of the bag. “Yeah.” 

Joshua’s hands are warm, so warm, when they peel the fabric down your trembling thighs. 

“Legs apart, darling,” he tells you, mouth pressed to your shoulder. “So you like to boss me around the castle, but now you want me to tell you what to do? Is that so?” 

Before you can answer, you feel a finger along the seam of your cunt. You can’t see Joshua’s face in the mirror, but you can sure see yours, and you hate how even the smallest of touches has you drooling. Then a touch to your swollen clit, just rough enough to draw a gasp from you. 

 “I-it’s different,” you protest. Two fingers now, both rolling your clit under them. A whimper tumbles out of your chest, and your hips seem to be moving on their own accord. “Didn’t know you had…experience.” 

“Still not sure what made you think otherwise.” A quiet chuckle, then the slow, agonizing push of one of his fingers inside you. “Fuck, you love that, huh? Soaking my hand.”

“Yeah…” The vanity table suddenly feels too crowded to support the weight of your body, especially like this, as Joshua continues to work your clit with his other digit. Feeling your body surge again with heat, you push aside your makeup bag, all your stupid little bottles, so you can prop yourself up on your arms.

Another finger, and your legs are shaking. Quickly, he seems to have figured out how to hit your g-spot every time, every pump of his hand knocking into you just the way you like.  

“I think it was how annoying you were that did you in,” you finally answer, trying your best to put up a fair fight. “Kinda detracts from your sex appeal.” 

“Annoying?” Joshua asks, right up against the shell of your ear. like this, you can see him in the mirror, and it almost sends you over. the dark hair in his face, the insatiable look in his eyes. Then a third finger, and your eyes roll back. “Am I annoying you? Doesn’t really seem like it.” 

Your body answers for you. You feel yourself tighten around his fingers, fuck, you’re so close, you feel your head start to spin. You watch your reflection shake her head, glassy-eyed and dumb. 

He laughs cruelly. His free hand reaches up to find your tits, and, over the slip, he grabs one, rough like he’s a meaner man, like he’s slutting you out. 

At once, you feel the lightning heat of your release. You cry out, airy and high-pitched, and feel your body rock against Joshua’s as he pins you between himself and the vanity. 

“There you go,” he murmurs. His hand slows, letting you ride out your high, before he pulls out. “Wanted to do this ever since I kissed you that night.” 

“Which night?” you ask, catching your breath. A kiss to your shoulder blade, the nape of your neck. 

“The night you taught me to kiss. Or rather, tried to.” 

Ah, yes. The night you told him what Shark Tale was, and the night you made out for so long, you felt it on your lips in the morning. Dumb fucking Joshua, stupid and in love. The affection that surges through your body makes you mad. 

“You needed lessons.” 

“Not really, don’t you think?” 

“Bed. You’re talking too much,” you insist, turning around to see him. “Also, you’re wearing too much.” 

“Back to arguing with me, I see. Can’t stay away.” Joshua’s shit-eating grin prompts you to yank his tie impatiently, shutting him up. It comes off easily, just as his belt and the waistband of his slacks. (You weren’t about to let them best you a second time).

“Maybe ‘cause you find a way to be difficult about everything.” You wrinkle your nose, and Joshua’s grin only grows wider. “Don’t make me give you another order,” you warn, fully aware that since you guys got here, it’d been him doing the orders. 

You pull your slip over your head, now only in your bra, and lay back in the bed. You think of all the sleepless nights, then the ones spent talking, the ones in his arms. To think they would all culminate to this, to you now watching Joshua undo button by button with a desire unlike any other you’ve felt—it would almost be unbelievable if you weren’t doing it right now.

Like a striptease, you watch his chest peek out between the linen of his shirt. He's wearing a necklace today, one that settles meanly between his pecs. As he moves lower, you can’t help but notice the outline of his cock in his briefs, the spot of precum on the fabric. 

Traitorously, you feel your mouth water. The shirt comes off, and your lungs fill with another shaky breath. 

You know you’re both letting your freak flag fly (one of you more surprising than the other) but it’s in this moment, caught in the lamplight, that you realize how much things have really changed. Still, you’re not able to tell Joshua that this is the first time you’re sleeping with someone you might be in the L word with, but you think he sees it too, or at least, reads the look on your face. 

You feel the dip of the bed underneath as he joins you.

“Are you ok? That wasn’t too much, right?” 

“No, it was…it was good. really good,” you admit, feeling your face heat up again. “I just…I dunno. I like you a lot, that’s all.” 

“Hm?” 

“I—” you stutter, and your mouth freezes up again. “I said I like you a lot.” 

“Sorry, I just wanted to hear you say it twice.” He sees the dismay on your face and smiles. “Hm…I like you an adequate amount. On a good day.” 

Against your will, you crack the fattest smile you think your body is capable of. “You are the worst. The absolute worst, and I still want you to fuck me.” 

Upon hearing this, Joshua does not waste time. That he does—it isn’t long before he has your knees hiked to your chest, cock between your pussy lips. 

“Say you want it,” he whispers. You feel the cold kiss of his chain on your chest, the slick rock of his length between your legs. He's so hard, so big, your cunt already aches at the thought of it. 

“Want it.” Your voice comes out small, breathy. You would fight back, but you’re realizing you quite like this side of him. “Please.” 

When the head of his cock presses into you, there is no hiding. Already, you moan, sweet and loud, feeling the familiar pressure in your gut. 

“K-keep going,” you babble. Fuck, he barely fit in your mouth and now he’s stuffing your cunt. You wrench your eyes shut, listening to him talk you through it (—Look at you taking me so well. Feels good, huh? You’re so beautiful. Honestly, it’s a miracle Joshua’s ex never had a royal baby with how much they must have fucked.) 

Your second orgasm comes quickly, not long after Joshua bottoms out. He groans right in the space where your neck meets your shoulder, and it’s the best noise you think you’ve heard in your life. 

The third comes slowly, more intensely. With your knees to your chest, you think you can feel Joshua all the way in your stomach. Every stroke fucks the sound out of you, his cockhead right up against your g-spot as he fills you again and again. Sometime between orgasm two and three, he’s pulled your tits out from your bra, left marks across your chest. 

“Want you to touch yourself,” he tells you, voice low.

Mindlessly, you listen. One hand finds your nipple, the other your clit, and you let yourself get lost in the feeling. 

“F-feels good, Shua.” He enters you again, all the way, and the pleasure is white-hot. “O-oh, fuck,” you warble. 

“You’re so good at listening to me, you should do it all the time,” he murmurs. “There you go. Take it, take it, just like that. This must be what I have to do to get you to be nice, hm?” 

All you can do is stare up at him, positively fucked dumb, and take it, just as he told you to. One, two strokes, and you feel yourself get impossibly tight; “Fill me, need it, need it,” you whine, delirious. Everything from the look in his eyes, the flushed sweat over his brow, his collarbones to the way his expression responds with every word you say, makes you wonder why you wasted time fucking anyone else.

When he comes, he bites your shoulder, hard, and it’s what you need to follow soon after. You feel so fucking full, so satisfied, you think you could die happy here. 

Joshua flops down on the bed next to you, boneless. You think he’s about to say something akin to that you should have put a towel down, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls your body to him, lets you feel the warmth of his skin play against yours. 

He’s murmuring wonderful things to you, which you would gladly reciprocate if words weren’t coming to you one letter a minute. It’s not your fault though—you need to recover physically, emotionally, spiritually after getting the soul fucked out of you.

Then, “Me or you shower first?”

You groan as a response. 

“I’m serious.” 

“Together?” you offer weakly. 

“Fair chance we won’t just be showering then.” 

“Oh nooo.” 

That’s all Joshua needs to whisk you to the bathroom, where, indeed, he seems to be right yet again. 

—

The spring morning washes over Acros like a second skin. The birdsong rouses you; through the curtains comes sunlight from the garden, spackled on the wall as if spots on a doe. 

It’s been almost a year since your parents had told you that you were marrying Joshua Hong, prince of Acros. Six months since he had told you he had loved you. Two months since you and Jeonghan had pulled off your first joint production at the youth theater (a roaring success). One month since you were fully, fully moved in, Astrid and Jihoon included. 

After your engagement ball, you and Joshua had agreed to take it slow, as slow as two people who had very publicly announced their wedding could. But still, somehow your parents, both sets, could tolerate the two of you wanting to do things the right way. Perhaps they were still shocked things worked out as well as they did. 

“Morning,” you call out. The bed beside you is cold. “Josh?” 

You’re surprised he’s up. Last night, he went out with you, Somi, and Soonyoung. Somehow, he had drunk enough to get up and solo karaoke a Whitney Houston song, although you’re suspecting the alcohol was just a cover for his true intentions. 

Then you look out the window. You spot Joshua, seated on the bench overlooking the garden. This time of year, the roses are in full bloom, their bright heads reaching for the sky in brilliant red and gold. 

When you go to join him outside, he’s no longer at the bench. You actually don’t know where the fuck he went, but it’s no matter. Here, you’re able to appreciate the beauty of the season, the rolling green of the country you’re now calling home. 

It was also here where you had your first real conversation with Joshua without fighting, funnily enough. Now, you’d say the both of you were more agreeable, but that’d be a lie—somehow, you think you actually enjoy bickering with him, but that’s a conversation for another day. 

Behind you, someone (Joshua) clears his throat. 

“Now, what are you—” you say, spinning around. It was too damn early for games, but Joshua had no shortage of bad ideas. 

It’s then that you see Joshua behind you, on one knee. His smile tells you everything you have to know, and every thought in your mind freezes in an instant. 

“When I first saw you, I knew I would marry you,” he starts. That's a joke he’s probably been saving for months now, but instead of rolling your eyes, you can’t help but laugh, like you’re a broken soundboard. “No, really.” 

You stand there, immovable. Of course you had to be in your pajamas (his shirt and boxers, really), no makeup, hair untouched. And yet, you can’t imagine anything more perfect. 

“You drive me crazy,” Joshua continues. “In every way possible. I can't imagine life without your laugh, or your thinking face, or how you always need to have an answer for everything.” 

He produces a small box. It’s different from the first one, the one he used all those months ago when nothing mattered. Inside it, a new ring, something far simpler and more beautiful.

Joshua says your name, wonderful and reverent in his mouth. “Darling princess of Cotria, I'm asking you to marry me. Again.” 

And you say yes, for the very first time.

[END]

[kaminocasey]

Hey! I'm gonna take advantage of your charity and incredible talent and ask me some Silco stuff, and I will make it very personal.

Im just a sucker for angsty fluff, so I was thinking something in the lines of reader works either in some restaurant where Silco goes or actually works in the last drop. And she's just having a rough couple of days and Silco finds out about it and just wants to help (maybe he gets frustrated because of it all, and goes all Silco, you know what I mean? Damn I'm gonna shut up now). But we all know Silco is not the most affectionate man, or at least shows it in weird (?) ways. I feel like it would be better (?) if they didn't have a relationship yet. But I'll leave it to your brilliance to do as you please, I have complete trust in your skills.

But remember, you don't have to do this if you don't feel like it of course.

Anyway, to much information already. So good luck, love your work, that brain of yours and you in general ❤️💙💛🤍

PS- do not allow me to make more requests, I will make them long, weird and I'll keep remembering more stuff to add and the next thing you know it's a full blown fic 🤣

Take All Your Sins

A/N: Thank you so much for your request, love!!! I was excited to do this one!!! This is going to be a two parter or MORE for SURE. <3 ilysm thank you again for your trust in me!!!

Summary: You work in the Last Drop and very close to Vander. What happens if Silco comes along and ruins that?

Pairing: Silco x Reader

WC: 1.4k

Warnings: Angst, sweet Silco, protective Vander, alcohol

Taglist Form | Arcane Masterlist

“If you have something else to do, I can finish those.” You come into the doorway of the kitchen, nodding toward the dishes that he’s doing. 

“I got ‘em. Almost done.” The older man smiles at you.

A few years ago, Vander gave you a place to stay when he found you out on the streets and ever since then, you were basically inseparable. His kids were like your own. 

“Rough night, huh?” Vander asks as you lean in the doorway, keeping an eye on the place in case more patrons came in. 

The Last Drop is usually busy this time of night, especially on this day of the week. But it’s like a ghost town right now and you can’t seem to figure out why.

“Rough week.” You sigh, crossing your arms. 

“Do you need a couple days off?” Vander asks, genuinely.

He always made sure you were taken care of, which you appreciate, but sometimes it feels like he does too much for others, and never lets anyone do anything for him. You’re bound to change that though. His birthday is coming up and you’ve been saving up for something special that will be from you and the kids. 

“Nah, I’m-” You start but hear the door open.

“You got it?” Vander asks and you nod with a grin and turn around to greet the customer, letting the kitchen door swing shut.

“What can I get ya?” You smile at the older man, who makes you do a subtle double take.

“Whiskey. Neat, please.” He smiles. 

He’s got dark hair, a partially scarred face, one blue eye and the other dark black with an orange iris that makes him look incredibly menacing. He’s wearing an open, fancy peacoat with a buttoned vest and tie. Who the hell is this guy?

His eyes rake over you as you approach the bar where he sits. 

“Haven’t seen you before.” You smile, politely. 

“I don’t get out much.” He takes his coat off and sits it down on the stool next to him. “I… work a lot.” 

His voice is silky and you can’t help but want to hear him say more. 

“What do you do?” You ask as you pour his drink. 

“I own my own business.” He tells you and takes the drink when you slide it to him. 

The way he says it, makes you think he doesn’t want to answer anymore questions about himself. 

“What’s your name?” He asks softly. 

You tell him and he takes a sip, keeping his blue eye on you. You smile softly, unsure of what to say.

“Pretty name.” He tells you, after he finishes off his drink. 

You go to pour him another but he puts his hand over his drink and shakes his head.

“Thanks.” You put the bottle back down and then take the empty glass from him, sitting it in the sink. “What’s yours?” 

“Silco. Do you like working here?” He asks, not missing a beat. 

You nod. “Yeah, I do.” 

“And you like Vander?” 

You nod. “Who doesn’t?” 

He chuckles, glancing around subtly. “Who doesn’t, indeed?”

“What are you doing after work?” He asks. 

Oh… of course. He thinks you’re going to put out- 

“I’m not trying to fuck you.” He tells you, as if he can read your mind while he stands up and puts his coat back on.

“You’re not?” You narrow your eyes at him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t say no if you wanted to, but that’s not why I asked.” He smirks.

You both stare at each other for a moment. His eyes fall to your lips before coming back up to your eyes.

“So… the real reason is?” You cross your arms.

“I think you’re beautiful and I’ve not been on a proper date in years.” Silco shrugs, placing a hand on the back of the barstool. 

You go warm in the face before looking down at his slender fingers and immediately can’t help but wonder what they’d feel like inside-

“I’ll be by at 11.” He tells you, snapping your thoughts back to the present as he places a few cogs onto the bar. 

“Um. Alright.” You nod, giving a kind smile. 

He stares at you for another short moment before giving you a smile back and then leaving. Just as the door closes, Vander walks out and sees you staring at the door, breaking you out of the trance that Silco seemed to have put you in.

“Everything okay?” He asks, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You look up at him, smiling a little dreamily. It’s not something you’re used to. Normally, when customers ask you out, you brush them off and pay them no mind. But Silco… he managed to get you to pay attention. 

“All good. Um… I have a date after work.” You go warm in the face at the word ‘date’. 

It’s not like you don’t date… you do… just not consistently. The last date you went on was a year ago. It didn’t go well so you decided to just focus on work.

“With the customer that just came in? Who is he?” Vander’s eyebrows raise in surprise, knowing that you haven’t gone out with someone in a long time.

“Just… some guy.” You shrug, starting to wipe down the bar. 

Vander chuckles. “Alright. Keep your secrets. I was young once, too.”

You laugh with him, your thoughts immediately going back to Silco’s unmatching eyes and the way they softened at the sight of you. 

“You can go get ready if you want. I can finish here.” Vander smirks. 

You roll your eyes. “Thanks. I owe you.” 

“Nah. Get outta here.” He nods toward the door that leads to the upstairs. 

You pat him on the shoulder as you walk past him, heading upstairs to go shower. You look at the clock and see that it reads 9:30. That should give you plenty of time to get ready. You don’t take particularly long showers. 

As you turn on the water, you climb into the shower, letting the water flow over your body as you stand there for a moment before starting to wash your body and hair. You still can’t stop thinking about the older man. He had to be about Vander’s age, right? You wonder if they know each other. Perhaps after you get to know Silco a little more, you’ll introduce them. 

After your shower, you dry your hair the best you can and then settle on a dress that you’d saved up forever to buy just because. What better excuse to wear it than on a date with an extremely attractive, slightly intimidating, man? 

At ten til 11, you make your way back down to the bar. Vander and Benzo both let out a whistle at the sight of you.

“Don’t you clean up nice?” Vander grins. 

You shrug, going warm in the face from the attention. “I guess.” 

You sit up on the bar stool next to Benzo. You glance over at the door and then back at Vander. 

“Do you want something to loosen your nerves?” Vander teases. 

“I’m alright, thanks.” You roll your eyes, amused.

“Who’s this hot date with?” Benzo nudges you with his elbow. 

You go warm in the face all over again, thinking about Silco. “Just some older guy… he’ll be here any minute.” 

They accept that answer and continue their conversation from before about business stuff that you don’t really mind yourself with. You pretty much just show up and do your job and do exactly what Vander tells you to do and then go back upstairs and sleep. And then repeat. 

The door opens moments later, and the three of you look up to find Silco walking in. You can’t help but give him a sweet smile. He smirks at you and pauses by the door.

“Are you ready-” He starts.

“Silco.” Vander growls. 

“Hello, Vander.” Silco’s eyes fall past you to the man behind you. “Lovely establishment you have here.”

You turn to Vander, confused. “You know each other?”

“Oh yes, we do.” Silco walks toward you, wrapping an arm around your lower back, looking you up and down. “You look beautiful, darling.” 

“She’s not going anywhere with you.” Vander comes around the bar and starts toward Silco but Benzo gets up quickly from the stool and stops him. 

You look between Silco and Vander, still confused.

“I think that’s for her to decide.” Silco smirks up at Vander who stands almost a foot above him.

You turn to Vander, with furrowed brows. This man is the one who gave you life again, the man who is like a father to you. The man you owe your life to. If he says you shouldn’t go… then shouldn’t you listen to him?

[avatar-anna]

Classic Fall Fun

my mind is empty. i bought a halloween squishmallow and decorative pillows for fall. so i wrote a blurb about it. enjoy!

"Baby...What...?"

"I can explain!" you blurted, rushing over to your fiance.

"I hope you can," Harry murmured as he picked up a throw pillow from the couch. "I can hardly see the sofa under all these."

"There was a sale," you began. "I was only going to the craft store for puzzle glue because I finished my puzzle this morning and I wanted to hang it up, but then I saw the Fall and Halloween section and..."

"And you turned our living room into Halloweentown," Harry said.

"You remembered!" you said, trying to shift the subject off all the Fall decor that now lived in your home.

You really didn't mean to buy all the decorations—the throw pillows, the blanket with pumpkins and candy corns and warm toned leaves on it, the welcome mat that said, Hocus Pocus!, and all the little decorations that were perfectly arranged on the kitchen counter. You'd been proud of how perfect your home looked, how everything tied together so nicely. Now that Harry was here, though, you worried you'd overdone it. Or worse, he'd make you take it all back.

"Course I remember," Harry said. "You've only made me watch it every year since we've been together."

"I—I know it's a lot," you said, trying to hide a stuffed vampire holding a little pumpkin spiced latte behind you and out of his eyesight. "But you know I love decorating, I mean I did the whole house when we moved in—very tastefully, I might add—and I love the holidays an—and themes, and—You're laughing at me."

Harry shook his head, chuckling softly. He took your face in his hands and kissed your forehead. That was definitely not the reaction you were expecting. Some light teasing? Sure. Insisting you take at least some of it back? Probably. But you mentally crossed your fingers that you could keep it all. Right down to the mummy mugs and ghost candle holders.

"I've been waiting for this day, if I'm honest. I'm surprised it didn't come sooner. Starbucks changed their menu two weeks ago."

Blushing, you held Harry's hand as it rested on your cheek. "Do you hate it? If you hate it, I can scale it back."

"I love it," he said. "And I love you."

He led you to the couch where he took the same stuffed vampire you tried to hide and held it against his stomach. You took the blanket that rested on top of the couch and draped it over yourself and Harry, snuggling up close to his side. You kissed his cheek a couple times, stomach flipping when you felt his grin beneath your lips.

"No Halloween movies yet, because it's not October, but..."

"Way ahead of you," Harry said, reaching for the remote and firing up Netflix on the TV.

"I knew you liked the show as much as I do," you said with a grin.

"You realize it's actually quite hot out, right?" he said, but pulled you closer anyway as he made himself more comfortable.

You shushed him as the theme song played. You'd thought of that already, and the air conditioning was already pumping through the vents to make it the perfect temperature for hiding under the fluffy blanket. And drink warm drinks. And cuddle in bed with the twinkly lights you put up earlier while listening to music.

"I know it's silly. I know it's...a little over the top, but—"

"Hey, I think it's cute how excited you get over the holidays," he said. "And, just because I know how much you love Autumn, so I got you something."

"Autumn," you repeated, imitating his accent. "What did you get?"

"An appropriately themed seasonal puzzle that we can complete together."

Your eyes lit up immediately. "You bought us a puzzle?"

Harry kissed you repeatedly, his fingers holding your chin lovingly. "I happen to like this season too, you know. Not as much as you, but I do. And puzzles. And you. Easy math."

You sighed and rested against his chest, kissing him over the soft material of his shirt a few times. Harry said it was fine, but you could admit that your love for this particular season was a little intense. But you loved putting a room together, making it feel warm and inviting and festive. And each item you put in your cart was part of a vision you had, and once you had said vision, you had to make it come to life. It was how you ended up putting all the rooms together in the house when you and Harry moved in. He had input of course, but he knew you had a knack for decorating and trusted your judgement.

And you couldn't help but think of the future too. Yours and Harry's. You wanted to do this for your kids, to raise them in a home that was cheery and fun. It was something neither you nor Harry had yourselves growing up, so you wanted something new. New traditions that you could start together.

You couldn't wait to share a lifetime of feeling cozy and cuddling festive pillows with Harry. You couldn't wait to watch movies and do puzzles and make pumpkin flavored baked goods with him for the rest of your life, or sew costumes for your kids because what they wanted couldn't be found at the party store. You wanted all of it, and you wanted it with him.

"I really do love this show, you know. I'd never heard of it, and now I can quote it," Harry mumbled. His eyes were trained on the show playing in front of him while his fingers traced patterns on your arm idly. Then, he looked down at you and smiled. "Our first real tradition, don't you think?"

Your heart squeezed with delight. You knew Harry loved you, that was never a doubt in your mind. But hearing him say that, knowing that he had lofty visions of the future too, made you hold him just a little bit tighter.

[auras-moonstone]

Ethan Landry x reader where her family forgot her birthday so she has to spend her birthday alone until he gives her a gift with a card that says happy birthday or something like that

forget about the heartbreaks — ethan landry

word count: 2,039

pairing: ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: when ethan comes home to a heartbroken y/n, he does his best to make her forget about the awful birthday fiasco.

warnings: lots of fluff and cheesiness, you’ve been warned.

Y/N HAD BEEN LOOKING FORWARD TO HER 20TH BIRTHDAY DINNER FOR WEEKS. She had invited her parents for dinner at her apartment, and she was beyond excited. They hadn’t seen each other for months, as Y/N moved to New York to study and they stayed in California.

Starting in a new city alone, at such a young age was very hard for Y/N. She had made an amazing group of friends, yes, but she couldn’t help but feel homesick. She missed her mother’s warm hugs and her father’s calming smile. Hence why she had been counting the days until the day came.

She felt her roommate’s gaze on her when she walked out of her room. “Hey, Eth.”

“Hi. I was just about to head to Chad’s. I wanted to see you before I go.”

“Sorry I’m kicking you out of the dorm.” she said guiltily.

“You didn’t kick me. I was the one who suggest you invite your parents for dinner. And it’s only for a couple of hours, Y/N/N. It’s no big deal.” he assured her. “You look beautiful, by the way. I told you red was your color.”

Y/N laughed, remembering Ethan’s look of relief when she got out of the dressing rom with a satisfying smile on her face, letting him know they had finally found the right dress—which was the one he had chosen. “I still can believe you picked up this one.”

“What does that mean?!” he asked offended.

“Eth, you have the same polo shirts in different colors. And you wear flannel jackets.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Ethan crossed his arms.

“You have no sense of style, Eth.” Y/N said, and he put his hands on his chest dramatically, as if she had just wounded him. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean you don’t pull off polo shirts. You look amazing in them.”

“That actually makes me feel better.” he said, trying not to let her know how much he liked being complimented by her. “Anyways, I better go. Your parents should be here at any moment.”

“Thank you so much, Ethan. Really. For helping me cook, for going shopping with me, for baking the cake with me.” she hugged him tightly, enjoying the way she could hear his heartbeats accelerating as he hugged her back.

“Anything for you” he mumbled against her hair. “Save me some cake, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Have fun.” he shouted right before the door shut close.

Once she finished setting the table, Y/N pulled out her phone to check on her parents. She noticed the texts she had sent that afternoon hadn’t been answered yet. She supposed it had been because they had been on the plane, but they should’ve landed hours ago. So she decided to call.

“Hi, mom. Finally. I sent you and dad lots of texts. What happened?” Y/N said as her mother picked up.

“Oh, I’m sorry, honey. We just landed.” the sweet voice of her mother said.

“Just now? I thought you were flying in the morning.” Y/N said confused.

“We did! It’s a long flight, honey. You know that.”

Y/N furrowed her brows. “Mom, what are you talking about?” she laughed confused. “It’s only five hours by plane.”

“What?“ she bursted out laughing. Y/N heard the sound of her father’s voice asking his wife what was wrong with her. “Your daughter is being funny.”

“You are being funny, mom. Where are you both?” Y/N asked, losing her patience.

“London, honey. Your father has a business trip, I thought we told you.” the woman said.

Y/N’s body went still. She must have misheard her, or her mother must have been joking. “Very funny, mom. Cut it.”

“Are you okay? You’re acting weird.” the sound of a car horn was heard. “Oh, the cab just arrived. Honey, I’m sorry but we have to get to the hotel.”

“Come on, mom. Stop it. It isn’t funny anymore.” Y/N said, her voice broke a bit. She held onto the hope that it was all just one twisted joke, that her parents were actually about to burst through the door, with a ‘Baby, we’re right here’ smile, and she would be so happy.

“Are you about to cry? What’s wrong?” the concern on her mother’s voice made Y/N angry.

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Just that my parents forgot they were supposed to be here with me, for my birthday.” she said bitterly.

A gasp of realization followed by heavy breathing was heard on the line. No words were muttered. “Y/N…”

“I told you how much I needed you both to be here. I don’t even care that it was my birthday. It was just an excuse to make you both come to New York, because I know that only a special occasion can make you two take a break from work. I clearly overestimated you.”

“I’m sorry… we’re sorry” her dad sighed. Y/N assumed she had been on speaker.

“I’m sorry too. Hope you have fun in London.” she ended the call and the tears fell down like a cascade. She looked around the room, seeing the plates perfectly arranged around the vase containing roses, and felt a pang in her heart.

Weeks of anticipation and hours of preparation went to waste. She never would’ve guessed she would end up on the floor of her living room, all alone, crying because the ones who meant the most to her didn’t show to her birthday.

Y/N didn’t know how long she had spent crying her heart out, but she guessed it had been too long because the tears stopped falling and she felt completely exhausted and weak, her head hurt and her eyes felt tired. And she also heard the front door open, meaning Ethan had arrived.

She hid her face in the pillow, not wanting him to see what a mess she was.

“Is the birthday girl tired from one dinner? I think my grandma has more energy than you” he joked. She still didn’t look up. “I know you’re not sleeping, dork. I saw you hiding your face.” after a few seconds of silence, Ethan pulled the pillow away and his teasing smile fell at the sight of her puffy red eyes, the dry tears on her cheeks and her saddened gaze. “Y/N/N…“

The tears were streaming down her face again before she could even open her mouth. Ethan instantly pulled her into his arms, and it wasn’t until that moment that she realized how much she needed that.

The feeling of his arms made her heart warm up a bit, the familiarity of his sweet cologne calmed her down, which allowed her to finally speak, “They forgot, Eth.”

Ethan’s body went still, and the only reason why he didn’t grab her phone and dial Y/N’s parents number to scream at them for having hurt her, was because that was the last thing Y/N needed right now.

“I know that no matter what I do, I won’t be able to make this the best birthday you ever had. But I want you to at least enjoy the last hours of your day, so I promise I’ll try my best to make you a little bit happier.” he said before running to his room. He came back a couple of seconds later, hands behind his back. “I know you have been wanting one of these for a long time.”

Ethan sat next to her again, handing her the wrapped box. She gave him a little smile, and took the card that was attached to the ribbon.

so you can capture the things you like :)

happy birthday to the best friend (and roommate) in the world!

love, eth x

The tidy handwriting and the three little hearts scribbled at the very corner of the note made her want to cry of cuteness. If she had any more tears in her system, she would have done it.

“You’re the sweetest, Eth.” she kissed his cheek and he became a whole blushing mess. She saw the mark she left on his skin and laughed. “Oops, I forgot I was wearing red lipstick.”

“It’s okay… now open it. You’re killing me!” Ethan said excitingly.

Laughing at his excitement, she opened the box and her wide-eyed gaze fell on him. “Holy shit, Ethan!”

“You like it?” Ethan asked with a huge grin. He was happy by her change of mood. Seeing her in such devastating state literally broke his heart into a million pieces.

“I love it. Thank you so much.” she placed the Instant Camera he gifted her on the box to pull him into a long and warm hug. “Not only for the camera, but for everything. You make me really happy, and I’m glad I got to spend my birthday with you.”

He smiled at her and then leaned in to whisper “Happy birthday, Y/N/N.”

“Thank you, Eth.” she answered softly.

“Now, let’s test your camera” his smile even bigger than before. Y/N couldn’t help but break into one too—it was impossible not to, Ethan had the most contagious and beautiful smile in the world. It was so breathtaking and heartwarming that it needed to be captured. So she did. “I didn’t mean test it on me!” he laughed.

Y/N looked at the polaroid on her hand. Her attention wasn’t caught by Ethan’s perfect white and straight teeth, or by his gorgeous brown eyes that reflected happiness, or by his adorable wrinkles in the corner of his eyes. It was caught by the scarlet mark on his cheek, with the shape of her lips. A swarm of butterflies invaded her stomach, she liked him so much it hurt.

“The note said I should capture the things I like… so I did.” he looked at Y/N in complete shock for a moment, and then his face lit up like a christmas tree, and Y/N could sense the lingering question. “I mean it. I like you, Eth. As more than a best friend.”

Ethan reached his arm out to take her hand and pulled her into him. “I like you too.” he said right before pressing his soft lips against her crimson ones. “Let me see the picture.” Ethan said when they got out of the dizzying state that the consuming kisses left them in.

“You’re so gorgeous, did I ever tell you that?” Y/N asked as she watched him observe the polaroid.

“No, you didn’t” Ethan’s blood rushed into his cheeks.

“Well, you are. And if you blush that prettily every time I compliment you, then I’m never stopping.” she whispered, pressing kisses all over his face, leaving red marks everywhere. She took another picture. “I’m also never going to stop taking pictures of you, just so you know.”

“You’re so cheesy.” Ethan rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips went up.

“It’s actually your fault, you know?”

“How?”

“First of all, you are so amazing that you leave me no choice but to fall for you. And then, you gift me a camera. You brought it on yourself.” she shrugged and his sweet laugh invaded her ears, making her heart go wild.

“Cheesy.” he repeated. “Come here and cuddle me.”

When Y/N settled her head on his chest, Ethan stretched the arm that wasn’t wrapped around her waist and grabbed the camera. He pressed his cheek against the top of her head and they both smiled.

“I bet that was awful, you have the worst pulse.” Y/N said, raising her head to see the picture he had just taken, but Ethan wouldn’t let her. “Eth!”

“Wait a second” he searched for the pen on his pocket and started writing something on the polaroid.

“Why do you have a pen on your pocket?” Y/N laughed.

“So I can write my number when girls ask for it.” Ethan replied, trying not to laugh when Y/N sent him a glare. “I’m kidding” he chuckled.

“You’re the worst.” she scoffed.

The curly-haired boy pressed a kiss on her shoulder before handing her the polaroid. On the white frame, the words in black ink read ‘Be my gf, Y/N/N?’

‘I’d love to, Eth’, she replied underneath.

She showed him the polaroid and they both smiled at each other “Cheesy” she repeated his words.

“We’re a match made in heaven.” Ethan said.

“We really are.”

[apomaro-mellow]

Hot for Teacher(s)

Part 1/? Read on AO3

Omegaverse modern au where steddie are both teachers. Eddie is teaching single omega Steve's son.

Eddie let out a satisfied sigh as the latest parent left his classroom. Parent/teacher conferences were always a tad stressful, even if there was no tangible reason to be. Most of his kids were doing well in all their subjects. There were only a couple behavioral outliers but Eddie knew that those parents rarely showed up but from professional and personal experience.

The main reason he didn't look forward to these was how selective kids could be with the information they shared. More than once in his years, a parent would arrive with a bone to pick about a problem that was apparently happening in the classroom that Eddie had no idea was occurring. These kids came up to him ten times a day to tell him what their little sister had for lunch two days ago but god forbid they admit when they have a problem with another student.

Today's appointments had mostly been smooth, though. It typically wasn't the quote unquote problem children whose parents showed up anyway. He just had one more person to go and then he could run out the clock fixing up his room until he was allowed to go.

He double checked the name. Shawn Harrington. Good kid. Bright, active, and it sounded like their parent had arrived.

"Mr. Munson? Hi, I'm Shawn's dad."

Eddie looked up to see a total smoke show.

"Hi", he cleared his throat when it squeaked out. "Nice to meet you, come in, have a seat." Eddie had Shawn's folder ready, like the other kids to show any work that should be highlighted, as well as his grades up on his laptop. "So did you have any concerns or worries about Shawn?"

Eddie quickly went in autopilot. It was the only way he was going to get through this. He was going to keep his eyes from drifting to that smooth sweep of this man's hair. He wasn't going to hyperfocus on his pretty lips. He wasn't going to gaze deeply into those chocolate brown eyes. He wasn't going to flare his nostrils to take in more of his scent. And he definitely wasn't going to check his fingers for any rings.

Bare hands.

Very nice hands.

They had a nice, brief conversation about the student's progress, and Eddie couldn't help but give him a glowing review. Even if Mr. Harrington wasn't totally hot, his kid was a wonder at times.

"He listens and pays attention well, always raising his hand to answer questions. If you don't mind me saying so, he just seems really prepared for school."

Which was saying something when many of the other first graders were still asking things like 'do we have to do math?' or 'are we going home today?' Eddie remembered being little and having pretty much no control over his life, so he could relate to the tiny ones still getting the hang of school. But kids like Shawn were a breath of fresh air.

"He did pretty well in kindergarten and I put him in daycare pretty early", Mr. Harrington said. "He gets really excited for school and I can tell he really likes you so far."

His smile could have blinded Eddie. He wanted to gush on just to keep seeing that smile.

"That means a lot, thank you." It wasn't a strong stigma but sometimes people got iffy over an alpha teaching children so young. It was thought they needed the 'gentler' hand of an omega. His eyes drifted back down to Mr. Harrington's hands. Yep, there was no ring there.

Now Eddie would never ask out or even flirt with a parent. That was off limits. But you know, if he got a little creative with his fantasies... well, you can't go to jail for thought crimes.

They said their parting words and Eddie was definitely not watching that ass in those khaki slacks. God, was there anything more cliche than him being a teacher and having the hots for a parent? He tried to keep his mind off it as he fixed up his classroom. He wouldn't even be seeing the guy that much. Not unless something came up with Shawn. And that kid was kind of an angel.

It was Friday, so once he was done, he went home to enjoy his weekend. Come Monday, there was a cacophony of voices. Half talking to each other and the other half trying to both greet him good morning and get right into another conversation. Eddie took it all with a smile.

"Mr. Munson, did you tell my mom about my butterfly!?", Theresa exclaimed, pointing to their bulletin board where their work hung.

"Mr. Munson, I got cheez-its in my lunch today", Victoria said, opening up said lunch box.

"Did you really talk to our parents?", Walker asked, arms crossed.

"Most of them", Eddie answered once they gave him a breath to speak.

"He talked to my dad", Shawn said. "And he said you said I was good."

"That I did", Eddie nodded, watching them as they put their coats and bookbags away. Theresa and Walker were known to fight over hooks.

"Mr. Munson, did you know my dad is a teacher too?", Shawn asked.

"I did not know that. Explains why you're so ready for school."

"Yeah, we practiced", Shawn said as he sat down to get started on the warm up.

Eddie raised a brow, wanting to ask what he meant by that, but his attention was grabbed when there was a shriek and a cry from Yasmin. He steeled his nerves for the day. He would need the fortitude.

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

When Steve walked into the classroom to meet Mr. Munson, he didn't know what to expect. He regretted missing Back to School Night, but his had been on the same evening and as a teacher, he couldn't miss it. But Shawn had nothing but good things. So he went in with optimism.

And was met with a gorgeous, gorgeous man sitting at the teacher's desk. For a second, Steve was sure he had the wrong room.

"Mr. Munson? Hi, I'm Shawn's dad."

His hair was pulled back in a bun and Steve's first thought was how it must look when it was down. Honestly, Steve couldn't tell you exactly what he had said. His tongue felt twisted the whole time as did his stomach. But Mr. Munson was smiling through it all and hadn't brought up anything bad about Shawn, so Steve must really be selling it.

He wanted to say that Mr. Munson's praise meant the world to him. That it wasn't always easy to bring up a kid as a single omega parent. But that felt too personal for a first meeting. And mentioning he was single would probably be too forward. When it ended, they shook hands, allowing Steve to get just a little close. He caught a whiff of his scent and instantly wanted more. At least enough to pinpoint what it reminded him off.

But he had to let go just as quickly and then leave without lingering. He was NOT going to be the type of parent that made goo-goo eyes at his child's teacher. It wasn't like Shawn needed the leg up and Steve was done with his slut era. So even thought Mr. Munson could definitely get it, he was absolutely off limits.

And if Steve went home and immediately put the rest of the school year's events in his own calendar, that was simply because he was an amazing dad and for no other reason.

Part 2

[melodygatesauthor]

2 Month Hiatus Announcement

Hey guys,

I know I kinda went MIA again and I also know I don’t have to explain myself but thought I should anyway.

TL;DR - my dog passed away and I’m going on hiatus from tumblr and possibly the zine for a couple of months.

Trigger Warning below the cut - talking about the loss of a pet and depression

About 3.5 weeks ago I lost my absolute best friend in the entire world. He was my four legged, fur covered baby boy. I don’t remember if I shared his name before or not but it’s pretty unique so I won’t be sharing it for anonymity.

Unfortunately, he had two types of cancer. One tumor on his liver, which apparently wasn’t what was doing the most damage. His spleen was so enlarged and causing his stomach to distend. Toward the end he hadn’t eaten in nearly 2-3 days.

He was a very special husky who loved to interrupt me when I would talk, who loved to cuddle next to me when it was cold, and who would always give me kisses no matter how ugly I looked crying.

I wish more than anything that he was here to give me kisses now because the crying just won’t stop. I can’t express with words really how much it hurts to lose a pet, especially when it’s that one life changing pet. You know the one…the one where you know you’ll never have another pet that feels quite the same, or fills your heart so full.

This boy was that pet, and now he’s just gone.

I kept asking myself as I was saying goodbye, and the first few days following: how am I supposed to come home and not see his little head in the window, looking at me and excited for me to come inside? How am I supposed to wake up in the morning without him cuddling me, giving me those soft kisses and then, very shortly after, shouting at me in his husky way to get the hell up and let him out to the bathroom? How the hell am I supposed to go about my day without worrying if he got into something he shouldn’t while I’m at work?

How am I supposed to go on without him?

Here I am, nearly a month into the grieving process and I’m still feeling the emptiness he left in my heart when I had to say goodbye. I still hear the tip tapping of his nails on the floor, and I can still remember exactly what he felt like, sounded like, and even what he smelled like. Everything hurts, and it’s hard to think about how I can possibly feel better one day.

I know I’ll come out of this eventually, and that I’ll feel better eventually, but for now it just hurts.

I lived by myself for years but am now moving in with family because I just can’t stand to be alone in my house. His absence is like torture. I can’t sit on the couch without “seeing” him sitting next to me as he always would. I can’t get food out of my fridge without “seeing” him begging for a little piece of whatever I was making. I haven’t been able to sleep in my bed because I just know I won’t be able to sleep without the little rough housing I would do with him just before we would cuddle and go to sleep.

I miss him more than I can even begin to say. I can’t even look at pictures of him without feeling like I’m being stabbed. Maybe I sound dramatic but I don’t really care. I feel like my body and my heart just weigh a thousand pounds and I can’t move.

There was no love in my life the way I loved that dog, and now I’m just supposed to keep going. And I will (please don’t worry I have lots of support) but my god it’s not always easy.

I miss you sweet boy, and I look forward to the day I get to hold you one more time.

——

I’m not sure when if ever I’ll get to the requests from kinktober. I’m not even gonna make some elaborate promise about it. It might happen it might not so…

As far as the zine goes, I’m working with the contributors and mods to decide what to do going forward. Obviously my heart isn’t in it right now, and I’m in the middle of moving, so it’s possible we will be extending the deadline out a little ways.

I need to prioritize my mental health over everything else and right now my mental health is shit if I’m being honest. I’m just trying to get through each minute at a time.

Thank you all for understanding 💖

[joekeeryswife]

ballet recital - m.m

a/n: hello honeys! how cute is this concept! loving the idea of Mason being a girl dad (sorry not sorry lol). i didn’t know how to end it lmfao. if you have any requests send them through!! anyways enjoy reading 🩰

taglist: @noturbabe22 @luvvtrent @peterparkerbae @masonreds

“are you excited for your ballet recital honey?” you heard Mason’s voice as he spoke to your 5 year old daughter Margot.

“yes daddy i am. are you still coming?” she had been excited for this recital for months and so had Mason.

this was a big deal for all of you and it just so happened that her recital landed on the day after Mason’s football game for England.

The squad had travelled to Portugal for the game and you both hadn’t even realised it at the time. “i’m sorry sweetheart, you know i’m in Portugal for a game but i promise i’ll make it next time”

she pouted and looked defeated but she understood that her dad had to work and nodded. but what she didn’t know was you and Mason had planned for him to fly home the day after early in the morning and surprise her.

“you know i would love to be there angel and i will be there next time. don’t get upset, it hurts my heart” she put on a brave face and showed him a tight lipped smile.

“i know daddy. love you” she handed the phone back to you and ran off to her room, you knew she was upset and that hurt you. “she looked heartbroken. that made me feel awful, you should go check on her” you nodded and smiled softly.

“we will be watching your game tonight. i’ll see you tomorrow yeah?” Mason nodded and smiled back at you “i love you” he said and brushed his hand through his hair.

“i love you too. be safe” with that you ended the phone and made your way to your daughters room. you knocked on her door carefully hoping to not frighten her.

you could hear the cutest voice on the other side say ‘come in’ so you did. she was on her bedroom floor playing with her barbie’s she’d gotten for christmas a couple months before. “are you okay sweetie?” you sat down next to her and ran your hand up and down her back.

she nodded and continued to play with her dolls. “would you like me to face-time daddy whilst you’re preforming?” she shrugged, you could tell she was upset and wanted her dad to be there.

“you’ve got so many people coming to see you remember? you’ve got not your nanny’s, grandads, uncle lewis and auntie jas and your cousins are coming” she looked up at you, her eyes filled with sadness. “it’s not the same” you nodded, agreeing.

“it’s not but daddy wouldn’t want you to be sad would he? he’d want you to be excited about this baby. he’s very proud of you” your hands went to her cheeks and stroked them softly. “do you think he’d want us to facetime him? he wouldn’t get annoyed?” you frowned.

“why would he be annoyed honey? he would love for you to facetime him” you were confused “but he has football and we would be interrupting him” even though Margot was only five she was so smart, one of the smartest in her class.

“absolutely not. your father would not be annoyed at all, i bet you he’d be crying on the phone whilst watching you” you lent in and kissed her forehead. “don’t you go worrying about it sweetheart, we can do whatever you want and if you want me to facetime him whilst you’re preforming then i will” she nodded.

“you are so beautiful Margot, do you know that?” you blushed and nodded again “i love you mama” your heart melted. “i love you more sweet girl”

-♡-

Mason had landed an hour ago and was now on his way to the dance hall, he was messaging you every so often to give you updates on where he was and how long he was going to be and it looked like he was getting there ten minutes before it was Margot’s classes turn to preform.

you met up with your parents, your siblings, Masons parents and his siblings at the front of the dance hall. Margot was dressed in her pink leotard, tutu and ballet shoes. “wow look at you pretty girl” Lewis said as Margot ran up to him.

he picked her up and showered her in kisses, careful to not mess up her bun. “thank you uncle lewis” you were lucky that both of your families were close, everyone got along. “you excited to preform honey? you’re gonna do so good” your mum kissed Margot’s cheek where a deep red blush spread on her cheeks.

“i’m super excited” she squealed “we should go in and find our seats, Margot do you want to go find your teacher?” you asked as Lewis put her down. she nodded. you knelt down in front of her and gave her a kiss on her forehead.

“you’re gonna do so well, you’re beautiful, the best ballerina i’ve ever seen. no nerves, no tears because you are gonna do amazing. and, i’m going to facetime your dad as soon as the show starts okay?” she smiled and nodded. Margot got nervous easily which sometimes made her cry but you knew today she wouldn’t, she was going to do great.

you all entered the dance hall and was greeted by Margot’s teacher who pointed you in the right direction to your seats and took Margot backstage. you were all practically front row and it was shocking as there was so many people here.

you saved a seat for Mason next to you and the hall quickly filled up. it was 5 minutes before the kids got on stage that Mason finally came through the doors to the hall and was searching around for you all. he spotted you and quickly walked to you all and kissed your cheek. “hi honey” he made you jump but nevertheless you knew who it was and quickly turned towards him.

you kissed him and he sat down next to you “i missed you” he said, placing his hand on your thigh. “you were gone for one day, you couldn’t of missed me that much” you rolled your eyes but blushed slightly. “one day too long, i wanted to come home as soon as the game finished. i’m never going away without you both again” you giggled at how precious he was.

the lights in the hall dimmed and the curtains opened to a stage which was decorated beautifully. your eyes focused for your little girl who stepped out with her classmates, they all stood in a line and looked around the room for their parents.

Margot locked eyes with Mason and blushed brightly and waved at him, seeing her on the stage made Mason tear up. his first born was growing up so quickly and this made him realise it. he waved back and blew her a kiss and the music started playing.

the class started preforming their ballet routine and your heart melted. seeing Margot dancing after practicing for months was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. she looked so comfortable as she danced.

you looked over at your mum who was recording the whole thing with the biggest smile on her face. you grabbed Masons hand which was on your leg and squeezed it tightly. you looked at him and he had a few tears rolling down his cheeks which you quickly wiped away and kissed his cheek.

“she looks so cute” he whispered, his eyes never leaving his little girl. “she’s doing amazing. she practiced so hard for this, it’s nice to see the final thing” he nodded as he squeezed your hand. you’d only ever seen Mason cry a handful of times since you’d been together.

nothing to do with the societal view of men crying makes them look weak, he just wasn’t a big crier. you’d only ever seen him cry when he’d watched the notebook with you, the birth or Margot, her first birthday and a couple other times.

the dance recital wasn’t very long, 30 minutes to be exact as there was two classes. after the recital had finished everyone was instructed to wait outside so they could collect their child and you stood waiting with Mason, hand in hand.

Margot was the first one out, running straight toward Mason who accepted her with open arms. “oh my girl you did so well” he picked her up and hugged her tightly. your daughter loved surprises and you knew this one would mean a lot to her.

he kissed her head and everyone awed at the two of them. “you said you weren’t coming” Margot said as she squeezed him tighter like he was going to disappear if she let go. “you really think i’d miss it? no way”

“you did so amazing poppet, you looked so beautiful” Debbie said making her look up from Masons neck. “thank you nanny” she was blushing. “do you think we should go out and celebrate? have some food together?” Mason said making Margot nod.

all of you decided on a food place and celebrated your little girls performance. Margot and Mason had sat next to each other and he had never felt love like this before. surrounded by the people he loved celebrating his daughter.

[caapsiizzereads]

I got your heart skippin' when I'm gone

Jamie Tartt x f!reader

Words: 2,3k

Warnings: language, author’s first attempt at writing🥴

A/n: yes, the title is, indeed, a Taylor reference.

A glass of champagne in your hand, you are standing in the company of Frank, your boss, and a few other of your colleagues, chatting about how good of a job they did at setting up today’s event. A bunch of compliments are also directed at you and Frank for all of the work you’ve done leading up to this. You know you’re great at your job, but moments like this really make you feel fucking good about yourself. At 26, you can proudly say that you are the Assistant Creative Director for one of the biggest jewelry brands in England. And today your company is celebrating the launch of their latest collection that you’ve been working really hard on. The past couple of months have been terribly busy, Frank and you practically living at work and surviving purely on caffeine. But now it’s finally over, and you can just relax, look pretty (“absolutely stunning,” actually, to quote Frank), and sip champagne, while people are singing you well-deserved praises.

The company’s event team really knew what they were doing too. Natalie, your friend from PR, had been very pumped for the night, rambling about all the famous people coming. You briefly went through the guest list, of course, but, honestly, you were more excited about the open bar. But if one of those guests just so happened to be lovely enough, you wouldn't mind indulging in some of that either.

An hour into the party, you were done with all the formalities, and you could switch from your neat glass of champagne to a drink more worthy of a Saturday night. You’re standing by the bar, looking at your phone, when you hear a question, seemingly directed at you.

“Can I get you a drink?” Looking at you, there’s a guy, around your age, dyed blonde hair, pretty face, really nice bone structure. His face looks familiar, but you just can’t remember why.

You give him an amused smile, “You know that they are free, right?”

“And how am I supposed to be chivalrous in these conditions?” he says theatrically.

“If buying a girl a drink is your definition of chivalrous, maybe you shouldn’t even try,” you say, your voice full of sarcasm, but still a smile on your face.

He chuckles lightly and smiles at you, “I’m Jamie.” Really pretty smile too.

“Y/n,” as a force of habit you offer him your hand to shake. The gesture seems to surprise him a little bit, but he goes with it anyway, shaking your hand lightly.

The two of you settle next to each other by the bar with an easygoing chatter. You’ve been talking for about 10 minutes, when Jamie says that he’s a football player, and it finally clicks for you.

“Oh my God.” You tilt your head down and cover your eyes with your hand in embarrassment. “You’re Jamie Tartt. You were in our campaign a few months ago. Fuck, I’m so sorry. My memory, like, resets once the campaign is done and it’s not my problem anymore.”

Jamie smiles almost shyly at your realization. “No, no, it’s fine! I’m sure you go through a lot of those, can’t remember everyone.” He definitely remembered you, though. Not that he’s gonna tell you that. And a part of him is even kinda relieved that you didn’t because–

“On second thought, I do remember you. You were, like, 40 fucking minutes late.” Yeah, that. You didn’t speak to him directly that day, but the look on your face was the most passive-aggressive thing he’d ever seen. Honestly, could give Roy a run for his money. Except that your version also looked kinda hot. But he still would rather not be at the receiving end of that glare ever again.

“I’m sorry! I underestimated the traffic,” he says awkwardly. And to think that this has been going well…

You take a sip of your drink, giving him an unimpressed look.

“I’m not getting invited again, am I?”

“Well, you are on my naughty list, but I wouldn't write you off that fast. You attract a nice audience of sports fans and sportsmen fans.” Jamie can swear you have just checked him out. “And you have a nice neck, you know, makes the necklaces look good. But that’s just my professional opinion.”

You said it in the most nonchalant way, but you might have just become the first person to make Jamie Tartt flustered. He decides to push his luck some more.

“And your personal opinion?”

“That you were 40 fucking minutes late,” you deadpan.

No luck, then.

“So,” Jamie perks up again at your attempt to keep the conversation going, “did you have a match earlier today? Or is it tomorrow?”

“Yeah, it was today.”

“How was it?”

A smug smile appears on his face, “We won, 3-1.”

“Well,” you raise your glass, “cheers to that.”

Jamie clinks his glass to yours, “Cheers.” You both take a sip of your drinks.

“So you’re not into football then?” Jamie asks, once you put down your glasses.

“Nope,” with a dramatic ‘p’. “Don’t take it personally. I’m not really into any sports,” you say blithely.

The conversation keeps flowing easily between you two. 30 minutes later, you are pretty sure that you are taking this man home with you tonight. Jamie seems genuine, in a cute kind of way, (mostly unintentionally) funny, attractive, obviously, and there’s something about him that you just know that he would be such a good time. 40 minutes later, you even consider letting him stay for breakfast. 45 minutes later, however, you start feeling a slight headache, but fuck if you will let it ruin your night, so you decide to just ignore it and hope it will take a hint and go away.

No such luck. The universe must truly hate you, because about an hour and a half into your conversation with Jamie you feel like someone is kicking your skull from the inside. You’ve tried to ignore it to the best of your ability, but this party suddenly isn’t any fun anymore. Fuck. Your. Life. You are aware that Jamie is saying something, his voice being a steady background noise, but you don’t have a clue what he just said because all you can focus on is a throbbing pain in your head. That’s when you know that you should just give up and go home.

Jamie notices your attention slipping away and your smile faltering as he speaks. Then you look away for a moment before looking back at him with a smile, saying that it was nice talking to him and wishing him a good night. You get up from your seat and start walking away before he can even process what has just happened.

You’re putting on your coat when you see Jamie quickly walking up to you with a concerned expression on his face. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

You don’t let him finish, “No, no, no! You’re good.” Jamie keeps looking at you with an obvious question on his face. “It’s just–,” you gesture at your head with a circling motion, “my head is fucking killing me. So I'm gonna go home, take some Ibuprofen and pray it goes away.”

Jamie’s face changes from concern to understanding. You think that this is it, so you turn to leave, but then he speaks up again. “I can give you a ride?” It was more of a question than a statement.

“No, it’s fine. Really. I’ll just get an uber.”

“It really is no problem. Come on,” he’s looking at you expectantly.

You think on it for a moment and give him an evaluating look. “I’m not inviting you in.”

“Oh. No! I didn’t mean it like that! I was really just–”

“Relax. I was just making sure you don’t have any false hopes.”

“Nope, no false hopes here.”

“Good,” you nod at him.

You walk to his car and Jamie opens the door for you. He sees you smiling at him approvingly.

“What?”

“See, now you’re being chivalrous,” you say playfully before getting in the car. Jamie closes the door after you and gives himself a moment to blush in privacy. After starting the car, he turns the volume on the radio all the way down and opens a window a little bit for you. You lean back in your seat and give him a small smile, “Thanks.”

Your talk on the way home consists mostly of you giving Jamie the directions and his attempts on small talk.

“Do you get them a lot?”

“No, not really. Only when it’s the least convenient apparently.”

“Maybe it’s because you–“

“If you’re about to say that it’s because I don't drink enough water, I'm jumping out of this car at full speed.”

Jamie’s mouth opens, closes, and opens again. “Actually, I was going to say…” he pauses again.

You raise your eyebrows at him, prompting him to go on.

“I was going to say… that it’s probably because of your hard work schedule, yeah. You know, having to deal with people being 40 minutes late and everything.” He throws a glance at you, checking if he’s managed to save the situation.

That makes you chuckle, despite the pain it causes. “You know what, I think you might be right.”

Soon, you’re parked by your building. “Thanks for the ride. It was really nice to meet you,” you say, before opening the car’s door.

“Yeah, you too,” he smiles at you.

Jamie spends another minute parked by your building. It’s only after you disappear from his view that he realizes that he hasn’t even gotten your number. He sighs and bumps his head against the steering wheel.

Meanwhile, you’re just glad to finally get your hands on some painkillers and flop on the couch, waiting for your head to stop throbbing. But an hour later, when you feel like a person again, your mind goes back to Jamie. You really liked him, huh. Hypothetically, you can look up the paperwork for the campaign he did, and his contact information should be there. Realistically, you should probably just let it go.

On Monday everything goes back to normal. After the workload that you had to deal with before the launch, the lack of a hundred points on your to-do list and constant burning deadlines almost feels like a vacation. And judging by the laid-back atmosphere at the office, you’re not the only one who feels this way.

You go out for lunch with Natalie, and after she’s done catching you up on all the fresh gossip, she can’t help but ask about your chat with Jamie Tartt. You tell her that’s exactly what it was, just a chat at the party.

She looks at you like she knows something you don’t. “That’s interesting. Because Keeley Jones, you know, from KBPR, called me earlier today to ask for your number.”

You give her a look that says “is this supposed to mean anything to me?”

Natalie dramatically rolls her eyes like it couldn’t be more obvious, “KBPR represents Jamie Tartt!”

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Excuse me, have you seen yourself in that dress? I totally would ask for your number too.”

You smirk at her, “You have my number.”

“And now so does Keeley Jones. All I’m saying is, if you’re not interested, let him down easily. ‘Cause I'm totally planning on using him for more campaigns. Have you seen those hands?! They were meant to put rings on them. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you–”

You start cackling before she can even finish.

It’s just after 6pm and you’re getting in your car when your phone rings, you don’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Hi! (Y/n) (Y/l/n)?”

“That’s me.”

“Hi! It’s Keeley Jones, from KBPR. Natalie gave me your number.”

“Right, she mentioned. How can I help you?”

“It’s more of a social call, actually. Jamie asked me to ask for your number. You know, Jamie Tartt, the footballer? He said you met at the brand party the other night.”

You smile to yourself, “Yeah, no, I remember him.”

“I was just gonna check if it’s okay with you?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Thanks for asking me first, though.”

“Of course!”

Keeley then congratulates you on your launch, and you tell her that she should totally come to the next one.

Not even an hour later, another call, another unknown number.

“Yes?”

“Hi. It’s Jamie. Tartt. We met–”

“I know. Did you ask Keeley to ask Natalie for my number?” you ask teasingly.

“Maybe…? The alternative was to wait for you outside your building, but that would be creepy.”

“Yeah, better not do that.“

“Right. Uh, how’s your head?”

You chuckle at the question, “It’s fine.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“Mhm,” an amused smile is growing on your face.

“So… I was gonna ask, do you want to, I mean, if you’re not busy, maybe we could go out for dinner?” You can easily tell that he’s nervous, it’s quite cute actually.

“Alright,” the easiest yes you have ever said.

“Yeah?” Jamie wants to smack himself in the face for how hopeful that came out.

You chuckle again, “Yeah.”

“Cool. Uh, are you free tomorrow?”

“I can do tomorrow.”

“Fucking mint. I will pick you up? At seven?” You can hear the excitmenet in his voice.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he grins.

“See you tomorrow then,” and if you’re smiling then there’s no witnesses and no one will prove anything.

“Yeah, see you,” and if he’s grinning like an idiot then it’s no one’s business.

“Oh, and Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be fucking late.”

[angstbyangeline]

Hatred Within The Masterpiece

Reiner Braun x gn!reader

genre: angst

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Renier woke up from another nightmare. He reaches out for… nothing. Just a nightmare. Porco was sitting in a chair next to Renier’s bed.

“Sounded like you were having an extra sweet dream. So I’d thought I’d like you enjoy it.”

“You saved my life back there, thanks Galliard. I owe you.”

“Don’t want your thanks. If I had inherited the armored titan nine years ago, none of this would’ve happened. My brother would still be alive because he wouldn’t have gotten eaten trying to protect you. And I saw Ymir's memories. I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself.. I also saw how close you got to a certain… devil.”

Renier’s eyes widened in realization. He jumps from the bed and quickly crawls over to Porco in the chair. He grabs the hem of Porco’s shirt.

Renier pleads, “Porco, please! I know you don’t owe me a thing. But please, I never would fall in love with a devil. It had been years- I- I was bored. I wanted comfort. Please don’t report me…”

Tears welled up in Renier’s eyes as he remembered you. He couldn’t let anyone on Marley know of you. It would be shameful for him to have fallen for an ‘island devil’.

“I don’t believe you. From the memories, you seemed pretty in love. So give me one hell of a reason why I shouldn’t report you?!” Porco’s word held so much hate for Renier and his devil.

“They were the only reason I didn’t go insane on that island. Yes, they’re a devil but not like the rest of them. They’re a good person but they mean little to me now…” First part was true, the last was a lie.

Porco scoffed, Reiner contradicted himself. He hated Reiner but decided to let him slide as he just came back to Marley.

Pieck then walked in on crunches. Reminding Porco to remain kind to Reiner. She’s too kind to him. The duo had a bit of small talk while Porco walked out of the room. Pieck left the room as well after some friendly chatter.

Reiner lays back down. He grips the pocket on his shirt tightly. Them he unbuttons it and pulls out a thick folded up paper. Unfolding it to reveal a beautiful portrait of you.

The portrait drawn by one of your best friends, Jean. Reiner had bribed Jean with extra food during their cadet training days. All Reiner wanted was a drawing of you. Jean found it cheesy, annoying but accepted anyway. There was also the condition that you shouldn’t know anything about the drawing and the situation.

To play this off, Jean pretended to have you, Sasha and Connie pose. You were pretty excited to be posing and to see the finished product. But you never saw it and neither did Connie or Sasha. You honestly forgot about it after a couple days but the pair whined to Jean unapologetically to see the drawing. Forcing Jean to pull them aside and explain the situation. Jean had to explain and emphasize that they are not to spill a word about this to you. They agreed but loosely joked about the situation to themselves no matter how nearby you were. Leaving you confused often as they wouldn’t explain what was so funny.

Reiner asked for the drawing a little after the two of you started seeing each other. He wanted something of you. Knowing it wrong to engage with ‘your kind’. Some days he would tell himself that you didn’t deserve the hate Marley had for you. Others he was distant and ignored you, remembering his mission and original ideologies of Eldians. Regardless of his switch ups, you love him endlessly.

He pulls the drawing out every time he misses you. Now that you knew his secret, his chest physically ached from the pain and betray he inflicted on you.

Reiner told Bertholdt that he wanted to bring you to Marley, by force if he had to. Berthold obviously told Reiner he was insane and Marley would never accept you into their nation. Reiner created every excuse he would use to have Marley let you in. He was very certain of going through with it.

That was until you refused. When Reiner and Bertholdt transformed on the wall, Reiner’s titan held you in its hand. You screamed for Reiner to let go of you. Yelling a string of profanities and how could he have lied and betrayed everyone, how he could betray you.

Reiner wasn’t going to let you go. Holding you so tightly, you swear he had broken your rib cage. No one would have saved you, if it weren’t for Mikasa who was on the side of the wall. With her gear, she swung up and sliced the armored titan’s hand.

You fell onto the top of the wall where you were blown away a second later due to the titan transformations happening around you. You used your ODM gear to stick to the wall. After the brutal wind of the transformations, you had a clear look at the armored titan. Who was looking right back at you. You gave it the most angry heartbroken expression.

“You make me sick!”

Those were the last words you ever told Renier. The same words still ring in his head every time he thinks of you. Words that will forever pierce his heart and mark the day he left you.

He looked at the drawing. It had been a couple years since he received it. It had many wrinkles, water droplets and small tears in the corners from how much it’s endured in his front pocket.

He knew the artist hated him but he was sure the artwork hated him so much more.

[maevstar]

MY FIRST SHIFT — or mini shift, whatever.

I don’t really like to call it mini shift cause I believe that no matter how long you spent on your dr, you shifted, it was a shift, you shifted your perspective, your consciousness.

I wanted to share this cause shifting is something so simple and natural that you can shift even if you don’t have intention to shift in the momment or don’t believe in it 100%, cause that was my case.

This happened to me a couple of months ago, I don’t remember the month exactly rn, but I remember that I came home this day and I was super tired, so I went to take a nap in the afternoon.

At the time, I was trying to shift to a specific reality, and all I could think about was that reality. Like, every time i was doing something I’d think: “this will help me to shift” or “I’m on my dr right now”, any kind of these affirmations, so that probably helped too.

So, when I took the nap, i had a lucid dream, and my first thought was to shift. I remember that I was dreaming of being in an elevator when I got conscious of the dream and I thought like “when these doors open, I’ll be on my dr”. And then the doors opened and all I could see was white, like a flash right on my face.

Then this flash faded and i was on my dr house. I didn’t opened my eyes but I knew that I was there, I just knew. I knew that I was laying on a pool lounger right next to my pool. I didn’t opened my eyes but the image of the pool came to my mind, and I didn’t made that up, I didn’t imagined, was my memory from that reality.

Idk how to explain but, imagine when you’re in your bed, and you close your eyes. Even with your eyes closed, you still know where you are, right? You know where all the things in your bedroom are. You know the surroundings.

It was exactly like that. I didn’t opened my eyes, but I knew the surroundings. I knew i was on my yard by the pool and i even listened to my dogs there.

But that was the first time that I ever got so close to shift, like, I actually shifted, so I got a little bit too much excited and nervous and I was like “I gotta tell someone wtf just happened omg”. And then I came back to my cr.

And that was it. I was just going to rest and then boom, i had a lucid dream and shifted. I got very close to shift again last week, I still don’t know if i shifted last week or was just a crazy dream, I think I’m gonna write about it too later so I can see someone else’s opinion.

Anyway, I hope you guys understand this cause english is not my first language so it’s very difficult to translate exactly what happened, and my writing might be bad because of that. :P

If you have a first shift experience too please share in the comments ;)

[spacelesbiandisasterii]

A small update on my WIP!

Aka "The war within me"

Ok, so for the people that happened to read "The War Within Me" first chapter two months ago (I can't fuckin believe it's been two months) I just wanted to say that I didn't abandoned the project.

Between staying with my grandpa in the hospital (he crashed his motorcycle on a car) and then having Dengue myself (bc I was in the hospital the house I lived was empty and the mosquitos procreate like crazy in the summer I ended up being exposed) I quickly learn that AO3 curse is real and didn't get much time to write.

On top of that Chapter two was already a bit difficult bc it was set to explore Barriss and Anakin relationship and I didn't get to see the two of them interacting on the Star Wars media I consumed. I know they do interact in the novels, but I didn't read any yet (Shame on me!) so it's being kinda tricky, y'know? Mostly of what I wrote I ended up deleting right after because it didn't feel right.

Luckily now I feel like I got the vibe I wanted to pass with them, and I also very proud of the situation that I put them into.

For those that don't remember, Luminara departed to arrest Nute Gunray with the mysterious new Padawan of Anakin Skywalker (I wonder who that could be) while Barriss it's tasked to meet Anakin on the Aargonar System/Planet so they can create a distraction to keep the Seps occupied while Master Unduly gets that sleemo safely to prison.

Great plan, right?

Still, Aargonar will be a little though for Barriss for obvious reasons, and Anakin... Well, he will be doing what he's thing while trying to learn how to be a teacher figure, since it's just been a couple of month since he got his Padawan and now he got to deal with Barriss too (at least for a day).

Anyways! Here's a sneak peek for chapter two, I hope I'll be posting the whole thing soon:

(ps: this is not edited and I'm bad at english)

The news that they would be serving under General Skywalker quickly brought the clones some questions about the man. Barriss was slightly surprised by how popular Anakin truly was among the troops, but the longer the clones talked the more it made sense to why they look up to him so much. "I heard the 501st destroyed a Seppie Super weapon." Klutz, one the skinnies that recently got into the 41st legion spoke up to his brothers. "A ship that destroyed entire fleets! Can you imagine that?" The Malevolence. Barriss heard some talks around the temple at the time. Not only Anakin had destroyed the ship that previously had killed Jedi and clones on multiple battles, but he also managed to save Master Plo Koon and a few clones on the process. People were impressed to say the least, and the 501st legion accumulated dozens of other impressive victories to further legitimize Anakin's leadership. "You know what people call him? The Hero with no fear!" Edger add causing a few gasps of surprise and admiration from his brothers. Barriss had to turn back so they couldn't see her scoff. Now that was just ridiculous. "Padawan Offee, you know him, right?" Klutz asked not bothering on hiding all his excitement. "Yes, I do." "Well, how's he like?" She took a deep breath. How to even begin explaining Anakin? He indeed was a very brave person, true to his values and loyal to his friends in a way that very few could be, but to call him "Hero with no fear", like it seems Republic Propaganda liked to do recently, was to ignore that fact that he was human, and a Jedi. There's no person without fear and, like Master Yoda like to say, there's no heros in war. She wished she could talk about her friend. The Anakin that used to visit her youngling clan with Master Kenobi to help instruct lightsabers lessions and always find excuses to make their classes end early. The one that always found something interesting for her and Aayla to do while their Masters engaged on heated conversation about their last mission. The one that was human before being a military hero. She wished Klutz and Edger knew that version of him, but they also needed to enter this mission trusting their General just as much they trusted Luminara. "He's one of the best Generals of the GAR." She said look at her soldiers. "It's not usual for a recently knighted Jedi get their own Legion to command right away, but Council found him worthy of it. I'm sure whatever we'll be facing on Aargonar Master Skywalker already have a plan so we can succeed in our mission." I hoped. Barriss knew Anakin could be quite unorthodox at times, but she didn't had a chance to serve by his side ever since he got knighted. Judging by the reports of his mission he probably had grown a lot as a Jedi on the time being, and she trusted that things would go smoothly under his command.

[melonthesprigatito]

Had an absolutely peak Build a Bear experience last weekend. I only ever get to go to Build a Bear once every couple of years because the nearest store is 70+ miles away and we just happened to be going to that city for a Christmas day trip :)

In summary:

Couldn't find a Riolu (AKA the entire reason I wanted to go to Build a Bear in the first place) Before you say "But Riolu is online exclusive?" Well, this particular Build a Bear shop is a big cheating cheater. They put their online stock on the shelves even if they're probably not supposed to. I got a Glaceon and a Pikachu from that store and they had plenty of OTHER Pokémon in store, just not Riolu

Made the incredible discovery that they sell BLUEY AND BINGO Build a Bears!!! I found out about that months ago but I completely forgot about it so it felt like discovering it all over again. Anyway I picked up Bingo

Showed the deflated/ unstuffed Bingo to my sibling and, they immediately responded with "Oh my god they killed her!" Other sibling walked into the store shortly after, and said almost the exact thing word for word, but for the Blueys instead. Just stopped and said "They killed Bluey. They killed him." which led to Sibling 1 and 3, and a random bystander child to correct him that Bluey is, in fact, a girl. I had the opportunity to crack a "Build a Bear is technically necromancy joke I learned from Tumblr

It was like, EXTREMELY BUSY. The kind of busy where there's barely any space to move around. Including the staff. There was this one employee standing there, handing out stickers as I was queueing to get Bingo stuffed and he was like "Do you want a sticker? :)" and I was like, yeah sure because why not, but the sticker ripped as he was pulling it off and that was the last sticker in the roll he was holding. This man, god love him, he was DETERMINED to get me a sticker. He just straight up said "I'll be right back" and abandoned me in the queue before I could say "Oh it's okay, I don't need a sticker" leaving me standing there, feeling SUPER guilty because holy shit it's really busy, I'm inconveniencing that guy over a sticker I only half heartedly agreed to😭. But he did get me a sticker. Remember that, because it had consequences later.

My dad started a conversation with the sticker guy, just making small talk like "Oh, you're really busy today." and the sticker guy responded with "Oh, we're usually busy on the weekends" and said something about how Christmas is just EXTRA busy. My dad said he was a brave man for coming into work that day.

Sibling 3 took an interest in the axolotl Build a Bear and my mother fell in love with this little brown fluffy bear but neither of them bought one

The lady at the stuffing machine was great! The stuffing machine was really long and there were maybe three or four people getting their bears stuffed at the same time I was. At first I was a little sheepish about being a grown ass woman getting a Bingo Build a Bear so I admitted as much to the stuffing lady but she was really supportive about it. Apparently she worked part time at a primary school at some point and they used to show kids episodes of Bluey first thing in the morning and eventually she got more excited to watch it than the kids were. I was so distracted by the conversation that my foot slipped off the pedal and I only noticed when the Stuffing Lady was looking around like 'where's the stuffing???' and I apologised about it. Apparently that kind of thing happens a lot.

Stuffing lady asked me if it was a special occasion (foreshadowing) and I was like, nah, I just felt like getting a Bingo because why not, Bingo is great and a different stuffing lady within earshot, who was also stuffing a Bingo agreed with me. The kid who was getting his Bingo stuffed looked so excited because the adults were talking about how cool Bingo was.

I kinda jumped the gun and picked a heart out of the basket before I was asked to and she commented on it like "Wow you've been here before/ you know what you're doing!" I didn't think much of it at the time and only realised a few hours later while browsing the Build a Bear Tumblr tag that I might have accidentally thrown her off her game a little because both of us forgot that you're supposed to make a wish and do a ceremony to fill the heart with love before you put it into the bear.

I asked if I could get a cotton candy scent and the Stuffing Lady went "Of course you can get a cotton candy scent!" She let me sniff the resealable bag to see if I liked the smell, then she rubbed it all over Bingo. I don't know if it's part of Build a Bear procedure or if she was just playing along, but she very noticeably rubbed the scent over Bingo's nose as if she wanted to let her smell it.

The next part is filling out a birth certificate. I typed Bingo's name into the tablet thing, then my first name. My mum suggested I leave age part blank but it pulled up a "Please fill in all fields before continuing." error message and my mum didn't like that. Honestly, I agree with her, why does Build a Bear need my age??

The lady at the checkout ALSO asked me if it was a special occasion (more foreshadowing) and I was like, nah. Paid for Bingo and a waterproof drawstring carry bag to put her in instead of the house box. I was planning on getting the bag because Storm Darragh was raging outside. It fuckn WIMDY. It was raining a lot too. I almost forgot the birth certificate and so did she. I asked for the birth certificate, and she turned around to the printer, picked up a certificate, read it and asked "Is it Bingo?" (As in, asking if I named my bear Bingo) I mention this because the second those words left her mouth she had a look on her face like she thought she had just asked a stupid question.

There was also a birthday party happening. I saw a group of kids wearing paper Build a Bear birthday crowns and all of them had their own Build a Bear.

I only found out once I took my coat off later, that the sticker I was wearing the entire time had a message along the top that I hadn't noticed. It said "Birthday Wishes at Build a Bear." It was one of those stickers that you had to fill in your name so I just thought I was wearing my name on my coat…. The ENTIRE TIME, those Build a Bear employees thought it was my birthday! And I was walking around with a dopey expression, completely oblivious to the fact I was a walking "It's Her Birthday!" sign. I thought it was just part of their script to ask if it was a special occasion, so I didn't catch on.

Anyway here is Bingo Supreme

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #324

The baking experiment went astoundingly well – even better than I thought it was gonna. This is quite possibly the best cake I've ever made. It is quite possibly the best cake I'll ever make.

...And I want really, really, really badly to tell you all about it. But I can't. I can't because it's a surprise. It's a surprise for the solstice. It's a surprise for the solstice because that's when I like to celebrate your birthday. Unless you can tell me when it actually is, and then I'll celebrate it on that day instead. But for now... this is the date I picked.

So we're both gonna hafta wait. And I really am sorry about it; I wanna tell you about it so badly that it's like the inside of my mind is straining against my skull and throwing a small, excited, joyful little fit, tryna get me to tell ya! But I'm not gonna. And I know it's difficult, quite possibly for both of us. Pouting will get you nowhere because I'm already pouting at myself.

But I promise you... you're gonna love it. I know you're gonna think it's the best thing ever. So please just wait for it, okay? I promise it'll be worth it. We can do difficult things. We can do them together.

...The cake was part of today's additional stress-cooking. I did a lot of stress-cooking yesterday. I didn't do quite as much today. Mostly, aside from the cake, I just made roasted pumpkin seeds and hotdogs.

I dunno if you remember, but not too long ago, I got a couple sugar pumpkins, roasted them, mashed them, and set the seeds aside. One of the seeds had already sprouted, and now it lives with us, and it seems to be doing well (it gets just a little bigger every day!!). The rest were put on a baking sheet covered in parchment paper:

...Ahahaha, I promise ya, I didn't leave 'em jumbled up like that! No, I set the oven to preheat to 300 degrees F (or 148.9 degrees C), and then I coated them in rendered bacon fat; I always save it every time I make bacon because it's EXCELLENT stuff to cook with:

...We, ah... we just gotta melt it in the microwave a little first, hahaha...

...That's better!!

Anyways, so then you stick it on the pumpkin seeds and you jumble them around so they're evenly coated:

After that, we arrange them on the baking sheet in a single layer:

...It definitely took some doing to get them to line up this neatly, holy cow.

We season them after that:

...On the left, there's garlic, paprika, and pepper. On the right, there's maple sugar, coriander, and mace. And over both, there's himalayan salt, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves!

We stuck them in the oven for a while; I didn't really keep track of the time. I just checked on them every 10 minutes or so until the spices were toasty and they stopped being wet-looking:

...In between, I made myself a couple hotdogs – natural casing, with Frito cheese, onions, ketchup, and mustard:

...It's some really yummy stuff. The roasted pumpkin seeds turned out splendidly, and the hotdogs were delicious, too. I wish I could have shared these things with you.

…

...I wish I could just... sit with you and talk with you for a while. Knowing that you're safe would go a long way towards putting my mind at ease, actually. Even if things are weird where I am, it'd be nice to know that you, at least, are okay.

…

Things are still... ya know. Still kinda scary over here. Power will change hands in January. Right now feels kinda like... kinda like the calm before the storm. I don't know what the future is going to bring. We'll find a way to weather whatever's coming next, but... I kinda wish you could pop by for just a minute and sit next to me.

...Ah. My eyes are leaking again. I gotta get it together...

This morning, I went with M so he could apply for a new passport; his original one expired years ago. And then when I got home, I got in touch with a Canadian immigration lawyer place, and scheduled a consultation. It'll happen tomorrow, after physical therapy.

...I don't wanna hafta leave my home. I don't wanna hafta leave behind all the places I like to go and all the people I like to be around. I think of Ea and Ch from Eggcellent. I think of all the awesome places we can go eat snacks. I think of the nature trails, and places to forage. I think of the grocery stores in my area. I think of the diversity of people, places, and things available to me here, and... I dunno if it'll be the same wherever we go next.

...But we can't stay here. If more than half the people here would like to see me and my family exterminated... if more than half of the people here are willing to sacrifice actual human lives for the sake of the price of eggs going down a few cents... we can't stay here.

…

...I'm worried for all my friends who might not be able to move...

...Well, nonetheless... I suppose one of the next things we should do is all get our English language skills evaluated. We all gotta take a test for that. We should probably get them scheduled soon. And then we gotta get our college degrees evaluated by WES Canada. I'm not really sure what to do after that, but... I guess that's what tomorrow's consult is for.

Well. It becomes late. Got stuff to do tomorrow. I had better get in the shower and then go to sleep.

...Sephiroth. Please stay safe out there, okay? I don't know that I'll be able to avoid crumbling if I don't have you to look towards as an example of what it means to remain steadfast, brave, and kind even when things get weird. You give me a reason to hope for good things, even when I feel lost.

I love you, and I'll write again tomorrow – I promise.

Your friend, Lumine

[thespiritssaidso]

Mistakes Happen (And That's Okay)

Summary: Shawn and Juliet are having a baby. Juliet thinks that a small gender reveal for just the two of them would be a cute idea. But of course, mistakes happen. 

Notes: okay I’m not sure if anyone has seen it (if not, pleaseeee do), but there’s a TikTok of a couple doing a gender reveal the wife made and she messed up with the cake. The whole thing is super sweet, the husband comforts her and comes up with a solution and yea 

Anyways, I basically just based this prompt off of something that happened irl. Because it was cute and sweet and fluffy. So. Yea. It feels kinda cheap to me to do this instead of making up something on my own, but currently my imagination is at net zero. 

And yes, I know that Shawn and Jules canonically don’t want kids. I just thought this was a cute idea. 

Flufftober day 12: “I’ve Got You” (extra prompt)

—————

“This way, come on! I’ve got everything all set up!”

“Hang on, wait wait wait! Geez, Jules, I didn’t know you could go so fast in heels.” 

It was an especially sunny day at the park, or it seemed that way at least. A crisp breeze blew fallen leaves around, yellow and orange and red swirling through the air. The sound of children running around the small playground a few hundred yards away fell into the background as Shawn and Juliet walked – more like speed-walked – in the opposite direction, off into a small field surrounded by trees spaced out a few feet from each other. 

Earlier, about an hour or so ago, Juliet had enlisted the help of Gus to set up a little something for her and Shawn. A checkered blanket she’d borrowed from Carlton, a basket filled with champagne and two champagne bottles, and a homemade blue cake that Juliet had baked from a box and covered in white frosting and topped with blueberries and strawberries. 

The whole time they’d been setting up, Gus had been mock-complaining and making quips about how a gender reveal was the whitest thing Juliet had decided to do. 

See, Juliet was about four and a half months pregnant, long enough to have gotten an ultrasound from the sonographer to tell her what the baby’s gender was.  When she got the news, she knew Shawn would be over the moon when he found out as well. 

So that was why she’d arranged all of this (with Gus’ help of course). It took a lot of effort to keep it a secret from Shawn, but all he had been to figure out was that she was planning a gender reveal party for the two of them. 

Right now, Juliet was leading Shawn over to the little setup. Of course, she’d had Gus stay behind to watch over it and make sure that no one messed it up or stole anything, and then texted him when they were on their way. 

Soon enough, they had reached the little setup Juliet had worked so hard on. It looked better than she remembered it had, somehow. Even though it looked exactly the same. Maybe it was because she was with Shawn this time. 

“Oh look at that! There’s a blanket and a basket and everything!” He pointed at everything. 

Juliet nervously wrung her hands. “Do you like it? I didn’t want to do too much, but I still wanted to make it special-”

“It’s perfect! Jules, this is great!” Shawn sat down on the blanket immediately and tried to scoop some icing off the cake with his finger. 

Luckily Juliet was fast enough and stopped him with a quick and gentle slap on the wrist. She didn’t want him to accidentally reveal the cake color too soon. “Shawn! Not yet!” 

He dramatically drew his hand back and held it. “Ow!”

Juliet only smiled at Shawn as she sat down beside him. “Okay, so I already told you this in the car, but I just want to go over it again. We’ll take this,” she leaned past him and reached into the basket, pulling out the champagne glass, “and then use it to get a piece of the cake out. And whatever color it is will be the baby’s gender.” 

“Sounds good to me, Jules. Do you want to do it now?” he asked, reaching for the glass. 

“Yes! Yes yes yes! I can’t wait any longer.” Juliet was so excited. She knew Shawn had said that their baby’s gender didn’t matter, that he’d love them all the same no matter what. But of course he’d always ‘slip up’ and call them a boy.  

Together, they pushed the champagne glass into the cake to reveal- 

“Green? Isn’t it supposed to be… not green?” 

Juliet stared at the cake, heart sinking in her chest. No. No no no. What- how- no, she had- but- she had been certain she’d used blue dye, the batter had been blue and so had the outside of it right before she’d cover it in frosting… 

Then she remembered that the batter had been from a yellow cake mix. The food dye must have changed it into green when it went in the oven, but the outside remained blue while the inside went green. 

A million emotions ran through her already hormonally imbalanced mind, most prominently confusion, distraughtness, and anger. She knew that she was making a big deal out of nothing, but she couldn’t even think of that at the moment. She’d messed up, that’s all that mattered to her right then. 

Juliet couldn’t help the laughs that quickly turned into sobs. How could she ruin something so simple? One color, that’s all she had to do. But apparently she couldn’t do that right, either. 

Shawn noticed the quick change in her emotions. “Hey, woah woah woah, it’s okay! It’s alright, come here, Jules.” 

Tears clouding her vision, she fell towards where she heard her husband’s voice and felt him catch her. “It’s- it’s not supposed to be green, it’s- it’s not-” she hiccuped out, burying her face in his shoulder. She could feel the minimal makeup she’d put on for this smear.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. I’ve got you. It’s just a cake.”

But it wasn’t just a cake, not to Juliet. It was the meaning of it, of the surprise it was supposed to hold. The surprise that Shawn still didn’t know. 

“Jules. Hey, look at me.” He said gently. 

Juliet sniffled, and did as he asked. Through tears, she saw her husband’s face, and it was so full of love. “Hm?” 

“It’s all going to be okay. Look, I still don’t know what the baby’s gender is. Nothing’s ruined, you’re okay.” He looked around, and Juliet could see he was thinking hard. “Uhh… oh! Here-”

Taking off an arm that was wrapped around her, Shawn leaned over to the cake and grabbed a strawberry and a blueberry. 

Juliet was confused now. “Shawn, what…?” 

“Okay, here, hold these.” He handed her the pieces of fruit, and she took them without a word, slowly understanding what he was trying to do. “You choose one of these, and I’ll close my eyes and you put one of them in my mouth. Strawberry if it’s a girl-”

“-and blueberry if it’s a boy?” Juliet finished. 

“Yes! Yes, exactly! Here, I’ll turn around.” 

And he did. It looked a little uncomfortable, having only his torso turned in the opposite direction while his lower half stayed seated where it originally was. 

She giggled at the overdramatic act. But it worked, it definitely made her feel better about the whole situation. 

Juliet already knew which one it was, so she popped the strawberry in her mouth. When she’d finished chewing, she said “Okay, I’m ready.” 

It was easy to see how hard Shawn was trying not to smile too big, and instead keep his mouth open for Juliet to put the chosen fruit in while one hand was clamped tight over his eyes. 

Juliet, carefully placed the blueberry in his awaiting mouth, anxiously anticipating his reaction. 

It wasn’t instantaneous. He had to sit for a moment. But when he realized what it meant, his hand fell from his face. Juliet had never seen his eyes so big before and full of joy. 

“We’re having a boy?!” He practically shouted in excitement. 

Juliet laughed again, and nodded her head emphatically. “Yes!” 

“Oh my god, Jules!” 

And they were both laughing so hard now, joy oozing from the couple as they hugged and fell into the grass behind them. 

“We’re having a boy!”

—————

Notes: sorry for posting kinda late, my energy’s been running low lately

ao3 link

[no6secretsanta]

From: @sci-fangirl

For: @skiesinlove

Happy holidays!

The sounds of supplies being scrambled into bags and students beginning to chit chat filled the room as the professor called out his last minute reminder.

“Remember, two full pages analyzing Aristotle’s ‘On Slavery’ due next class!”

Shion zipped his backpack closed and turned to Nezumi, a compulsive smile spreading across Shion’s face. Nezumi had packed up an hour ago. He’d popped ‘Macbeth’ open as soon as Aristotle entered the lecture.

“How’s the King of Scots?” Shion asked, rising to meet Nezumi.

“Murder crazy, as always.” Nezumi tucked the book away and the two walked out of the classroom. “Still not as bad as Titus Andromedus though.”

Shion wrinkled his nose a little and his smile turned to a smirk. “I know college is the time to be pretentious, but do you ever worry you’re going overboard?”

Nezumi scowled, taking a deep breath before letting it out in one ranting breath.

“At least I don’t force people to read Aristotle. Seriously, the man was a classist, racist, misogynist who never got anything right. He’s better forgotten if you ask me. Socrates, Plato, or Diogenes would be both more informative not to mention more fun to talk about.”

“Which one was Diogenes again?”

“He’s the one who heard a man defined as a featherless biped and responded by bringing a plucked chicken to the next discussion.”

“‘Behold a man.’” Shion remembered, adding a little drama to his voice.

“That’s the one.”

Shion hummed. “Wasn’t everyone in Athens a classist, racist, misogynist back then? According to this class, anyway.”

Nezumi rolled his eyes. “There have always been people who stood against the problematic status quo, this teacher just doesn’t seem interested in talking about them. And regardless, Aristotle was an idiot who happened to have been taught by a decent thinker and had no filter. He wasn’t even a fun menace!”

“He’s a philosophic nepo baby?” Shion suggested.

“He’s a philosophic nepo baby!” Nezumi grinned back at Shion, bringing a little pink to Shion’s cheeks.

“At least the term’s almost over.” Shion laughed. “After this class you can stay far away from ancient Greece for a while.”

He fished his bus pass out from his bag. Nezumi continued grumbling as he did the same. They found seats at the back of the bus, legs pressed together so they could keep talking.

“You’re closing tonight, right?” Nezumi asked.

Shion nodded.

“I’ll walk you there.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Of course I don’t. but if I have to write about Aristotle I’ll need the caffeine. Might as well use the employee discount.”

Shion leaned against him a little, smiling softly. Nezumi had a tendency to make excuses for spending time together. They lived, worked, and took the occasional class together because it was “more convenient”. “The restaurant had a discount for couples”, Shion would “make an interesting museum guide”, he’d “accidently bought a second ticket for a movie and didn’t want it to go to waste”. The fact that the restaurant was Shion’s favorite, or that the museum had a new exhibit Shion had been excited about was all pure coincidence.

He’d gotten better about it recently, but if Nezumi felt like he was being too clingy he’d slip back into making excuses. Walking Shion to work just because he wanted to when they’d already spent most of their day together was overbearing, another reason had to be logged. Shion didn’t really mind. Nezumi was an excellent liar, but his excuses for spending time with Shion had always been flimsy at best. They stopped by their apartment to drop their school things before heading to the coffee shop they worked at.

Shion waved at Inukashi as they entered. They started to wave back from their place behind the counter only to stop and glare when they spotted Nezumi. “What’re you doin’ here? Shion, you’re not stickin’ poor Safu with this bastard are you?”

“Goodness Inukashi, imagine if your manager heard you talking about a customer like that.” Nezumi smirked.

“Like you count!”

Shion slipped behind the counter, calling over his shoulder to Nezumi, “Just give me a minute to clock in and I can make you a drink, okay?”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t trust your dear coworker not to spit in it.”

“You–!” The door to the backroom swung shut, muffling Inukashi’s response.

~

Most other stores had had their Christmas decorations up as soon as Halloween was over, but the owner of this shop insisted on waiting until December first. Whoever closed the first night of the month had to stay late to decorate. This year Shion and Safu were scheduled for decoration duty.

Shion liked closing with Safu. She was the most efficient when closing out the registers and never found it weird that Shion actually enjoyed mopping. Deciding who would decorate what also came easily. Shion pulled out a step stool so he could tape the shiny, silver strands of garlands around the top of the room. Safu crouched to tape snowman cut outs and paper snowflakes to the front of the counter. There would be a tree by the window too, but that would be the morning crew’s problem when the owner brought that in tomorrow.

Shion was about halfway done with the garlands when Safu stood, stretching her legs and taking a last glance at her work. “I’ll go bring in the patio stuff.”

“Want help?”

She shook her head. “I’ve got it.”

Their routine for the night was pretty locked in at this point. Clean the floor and counters, bring in the patio furniture, lock the doors, put away dishes, lights out, go home. With Safu as his closing partner, Shion could tell you the exact minute to minute schedule. Tonight their routine was thrown off, but they were doing their best to help each other out and finish quickly. As Safu brought in the last of the chairs, Shion knocked his roll of tape to the floor. Safu spotted it, scooping it up and handing it off as a man came into the shop.

“Sorry, we’re closed.” Shion said, stepping off his stool, toward the man..

The man pulled a knife out of his pocket and pointed it at them. “Empty out the registers and leave the money on the counter. No one has to get hurt.”

Shion glanced towards Safu who had nervously shuffled back a few steps. “There’s nothing in the registers right now.”

“Where’s the money then? Get it and hand it over.” The man snapped.

Safu took another step towards the back.

“The fuck are you doing? Stay there!”

“Sir, all of the money is in the back.” Shion tried to keep his voice calm.

Safu nodded. “Please, there’s no need to escalate things, we’ll cooperate.”

The man looked skeptical, eyes shifting between them. “All three of us are going then. Stay where I can see you.”

He herded them through the door, knife out and ready to strike. When Safu started for the safe he snarled, “You stay put. Boyo’s gonna get it out.” She swallowed, stilling.

Shion opened the safe revealing the tills readied for the morning and the small deposit bags Shion hesitantly reached into the safe, grabbing the deposit bags and looking back, afraid of setting this man off. The robber suddenly lunged at Safu, knife first. Safu let out a small screech as she shrunk mostly out of the way. Shion dropped the money and jumped on the man.

A sharp, burning pain bounced along his rib before jumping to his forearm. Shion pushed hard, hoping to get more space to swing a punch. The man took advantage of the space first, landing a kick to the newly burning place on Shion’s side. The robber scrambled away and bolted for the door, money forgotten.

“Shion!” Safu knelt next to him. “You’re– I’m calling an ambulance.”

Shion pressed a hand to his side. A cut ran parallel to his ribs, shallow but about six or so inches long. Another, deeper cut sliced about an inch of his forearm. More a stab than a cut really he thought to himself as he attempted to put pressure on both wounds.

“I’m okay.” He scanned Safu for injury. Her sweater had a cut near the shoulder, blood staining the sleeve. “You’re bleeding too.”

She frowned. “He just nicked me.”

“I’ll go to the hospital if you do.”

Safu gave a little huff. “I’ll call the owner first.”

~ Safu and Shion ended up in the hospital thanks to the shop’s owner. He arrived quickly to the coffee shop, insisting that they both get checked out while he submitted a police report. Safu was fine, the nick on her arm probably could have been taken care of with the first aid kit they’d had in the shop. Shion, on the other hand, needed stitches.

Nezumi was relegated to the waiting room, fingers tapping on the arm of the plastic chairs. He leapt to his feet when he spotted Shion, lurching forward to meet him.

“I’m okay.” Shion said quickly. His fingers trembled as he gripped Nezumi’s sleeve. “Can we please just go home?”

Nezumi pulled Shion’s hand off and laced their fingers instead. “Okay.”

They didn’t talk on the way home, but Nezumi refused to let go just in case Shion was weak from blood loss, he explained. Shion leaned against him and focussed on not falling asleep. Nezumi finally released Shion when they were in their apartment with the door locked. Restless, Nezumi swept into the kitchen. “Hot cocoa?”

Shion gingerly perched on the couch. “Sounds good.”

“Laying down would be more comfortable.”

Shion slowly lowered himself onto the cushions. It was quiet again, save for the sounds of mugs clinking and the fridge door opening and closing. Shion’s eyes slid closed, the painkillers he’d been given at the hospital making his eyelids heavy. Shion tried to focus on the sounds from the kitchen, so he could make room for Nezumi when he came back. The noises faded to quiet, though Shion couldn’t get his eyes to open. A hand ran through his hair, gentle and slow, pulling him closer to sleep.

“Wake up, Your Majesty.” Nezumi crooned.

Shion whined softly, eyes still sealed shut.

“Just for a minute, then you can sleep again.” Nezumi reassured.

Shion managed to peel his eyes open.

Nezumi was leaning over him. “There you are. Come on, I’ll help you to bed.”

Shion nodded and shoved himself upright. A small flare of pain radiated from his arm and woke him up a bit more. “Weren’t you makin’ cocoa?” Shion mumbled.

Nezumi wrapped his arm around the sleepy boy’s waist, gently urging Shion to lean on him. “We can have cocoa tomorrow, it’s bedtime.”

Shion nodded as they stumbled to his bedroom. Nezumi helped Shion change into pajamas before tucking him in.

Shion grabbed Nezumi’s wrist. “You work tomorrow?”

“I’m supposed to.”

Shion tightened his hold, a stab of worry waking him further. “Call out?”

Nezumi gave a dramatic sigh and sank onto the bed next to him. “As it pleases, Your Highness.”

Shion smiled a little and shifted closer. “Stay with me?”

Nezumi pressed a kiss to Shion’s hair. Nezumi slipped into bed behind him, arms wrapping carefully around Shion.

“Go to sleep, Shion. It’s alright.”

Shion pressed his thumb against Nezmi’s wrist feeling his pulse as he finally, truly dropped into sleep.