#I'M TWENTY TWO NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[poguehearted77]

rafe with pogue!reader with a mouth. she’s so sweet unless you don’t deserve it. and we all know rafe has done some things to get him in the dog house. she’s not afraid to put anyone in their place. but he finds that bending her over id the best way to shut her up.

mmfff. I love this ask.

Pairing: Sweet Girl! Reader x Rafe Cameron

a/n: answering some requests bc i'm finally back lolll

Rafe considers himself a lucky man to have a girlfriend like you--the luckiest, some would say, and he wouldn't disagree. You're sweet, kind, empathetic and probably too good for him if he's being honest.

You're the girl who bakes fresh bread and brings it to the nursing home on the weekends and volunteers her time at the local food banks whenever you have the chance.

It's a stark contrast to your stone-cold boyfriend who was rarely caught smiling in the presence of others except for his closest friends, but even they had a hard time making plans with him.

He's hard to get a hold of, and no one understands that more than you do at this moment. You're currently sitting at the elegantly set table in a reserved section of the Italian restaurant Rafe had booked just for the two of you.

Your diamond-embroidered watch which was a valentines gift from your overbearing boyfriend receives another frustrated glance from your intense stare. With precision the minute hand strikes, signifying the top of the hour and the end of your patience.

You couldn't believe Rafe had stood you up, despite your efforts to call him and the few gentle reminders you sent to his number. They were all in vain.

"Would you like more bread, ma'am?" The waiter comes back for what you guess is the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. Your cheeks rose over at the repeated question, realizing you'd have to admit that there was no one joining you any time soon.

"No, I'm alright thank you. Just the check will be fine." Your words paint a perplexed expression on the waiter's face before he visibly understands what's happened.

The waiter is sweet when he returns with the bill, "He's an idiot."

You didn't quite catch what he whispered under his breath, "Pardon?" His shoulders relax as a small smile graces his lips, "The guy's an idiot for standing you up." It's said thoughtfully, not with any ulterior motives, and you agree, feeling what was just surface-level disappointment morph into a simmering bitterness.

Rafe was going to deal with a bitch at home.

-

You found yourself stirring your freshly blended smoothie behind the kitchen island as Rafe continued his desperate attempts to get back in your good graces. "I'm so sorry, baby. The meeting went long and I couldn't get out of it." His hand tries to wrap around your waist from behind and you smack him away.

"Don't even, Rafe." The words come out through clenched teeth. He's startled but not surprised. He's seen this side of you before, though only once when a rude cashier had been insulting to your mother at the store.

"How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? The meeting ran longer than-" You don't even give him a chance to finish when you interrupt, "Oh my god, Rafe. Leave me alone!" You scoff, trying to push past him with your drink in hand but he holds you at the waist, cautiously taking the cup from you and placing it on the counter behind him.

He holds a stern gaze as he talks down to you: "Listen, I get it. You're upset, but you're not even giving me a chance to expl-" He tries to reason with you, but you don't want to hear it from him.

"Shut Up." You make dead eye contact, his towering height not intimidating you in the slightest. You're pissed off and now Rafe is too. Within the blink of an eye Rafe had you pinned down to the cool marble of the island with an arm behind your back.

"Ow~ Rafe!" You whine and he chuckles. "M'sorry baby. Am I hurting you?" He tightens the hold he has on your pinned arm, pressing his hips into the fat of your ass giving you a vivid understanding of where your attitude was taking you.

"You're such a fucking-" With his other hand he forces your head back down against the counter roughly but making sure not to hurt you. "Don't you dare." He warns from behind and you bite your tongue at the harsh tone he was using. He was not in the mood to play around.

"I'm sick of you avoiding me. I'm tryna talk to you-- tell you I'm sorry and you're not fuckin' listening." He curses as he lets your arm go, now moving its way under your dress the caress your ass.

He leaned forward, ensuring the breath of his words would tickle the shell of your ear as he spoke. "Such a shame too, you're usually such a good listener. A good girl." An icy chill runs down your spine as you feel him flip up the fabric of your dress.

There's a laugh, one of amusement.

"No panties? Thought I was supposed to be going to dinner with my girlfriend, not a whore." Your lip is tucked between your teeth when you hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. "Huh? Where's all your backtalk now, dollface?" You whine, arching your back up against your boyfriend.

"Rafe please-" He doesn't let you beg before he's sliding himself between your soaked folds, letting himself be overcome by the wet, hot sensation of your contracting walls. "Tell me you forgive me," He all but purrs in your ear. His words paired with the way his cock stretched you so good, you almost said it.

Almost.

"Fuck you."

He made you eat those words. The way he pistoned his hips into yours over and over with no remorse filled the kitchen with the lewd sounds of flesh against flesh. Your acrylics scratched against the marble tops desperately searching for something to hold on to.

"Say it." He grits and you shake your head, pathetic moans slipping with each thrust he gives you. "N-no!" He angles his hips, the head of his cock perfectly hitting the sweet spot. "Oh fuck- Rafe! I'm-"

"I won't let you finish until you say it-"

"I forgive you, fuck! I forgive you. Let me cum, please please-"

He gives you everything you need to stumble over the edge of ecstasy and more, he finishes soon after you. His weight leaning on your back, feeling his chest heave as he catches his breath.

"The waiter called you an idiot, you know." You mumble, cheek still pressed against the counter. "I am an idiot. I'm sorry, baby. Let's put this gorgeous dress to good use and let me make it up to you."

[wuahae]

haaaiiii im back :3 Ready to get stuffed!

(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.) 

HE IS SOOOOSDFMSDFMSDFLDFK

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. 

unfortunately you know my struggle with descriptions intimately well so as per course i Will always give you your flowers when you just casually cook up imagery like this... your brain is so big.. imagination so wide.

“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.” 

this makes me sooo like. clutches throat. like the love is so clearly there but there is just so many things in the past and in between and in the future that neither of you know how to navigate the new relationship... jeonghan who just wants his little sister back and yn who just wants her big brother to be the way he Used to but neither of you are the same version of yourselves that you miss... ohhh......

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

ouu....... well its true .!

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.

B-B-B-B-BUSINESS PROPOSAL?!?!?!?!!

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. 

OHHHHHH MY GOD............. i need him bad........ also the subtle changing.. Yeah. also the fact that you bought the guitar for him is so fucking cute like. UGHHHH they're learning to love each other.

“Have you ever been in love before?” 

josh initiating the heart-to-heart...

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

FUCK.......... fuck...... joshua......... also just to talk about this scene Here i just. really like this scene. like ik i said the piano scene is my fav but This scene is honestly tied as my fav i think you perfected the quaintness and like. fond somberness. so well. the quiet speech, the long silences filled by narration, short sentences that almost seem like they're overstepping but theyre Not.. not when they're being said into the open quiet air like this. not when theyre being said to each other... FUCK!!! i Am a visual reader you know this and when i tell you i can picture this scene perfectly in my head. i think i said this before in my First review but you really have a way of forming sentences that make my brain chew on the cadence... very satisfying. i love this scene a lot. i love josh and yn a lot.

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. 

like this is so good... winds itself deep into your neurons...... dawg you are winding THIS into my neurons. also idk. i like how it paints a softer image of joshua that yn would never have imagined before,,, i love when onions peel back more layers!! also the kiss that undos all the other ones. like its the first time because it is.. the first time they mean it. 😭😭😭😭😭😭

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.

MAN. MAN!!!! they just make me soooo sad and tender i love sibling duos so bad...

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

PLAY THROAT GOAT BY KIM PETRAS HELL YEAH

Now things are more confusing than late-stage Grey’s Anatomy, but good luck explaining that over the phone.

HELPWMEMSFDLKDFSFD

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. 

leaning back in my rocking chair with a cup of tea in my hand and a throw blanket over my lap... how nice...

“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.” 

reading this section with a perpetual ☹️ look on my face... whyyy do i feel like crying MSDFMSDFLKS they make me so tender... siblings can just be so personal. i didn't want to leave you behind but i did... but he's staying for good now. he missed home (you) too much. FUCK! 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 also its like therapy for yn idk.. to not be cast aside, to not be forgotten, to be Seen again... man....

“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.” 

he is just SO charming... also things falling into place when you kiss him again. BABY YOU'RE IN LOOOVEEEE

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

SHOCKED PIKACHU..... the devastating L word....

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. 

HUUUUUUUU THEYRE SOOOOO CUTE.... YN FREEDOM!!!!!!!!!! i love to see my yns happy i really do... the smile finally reaching josh's eyes too oh my god... YOUR HONOR THEYRE IN LOVE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

“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.” 

GOD HES SO LAAAMEEEMDFSJLSDFKM

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.

a simpler ring this time.. one that suits you so much better than the glitz and glam of the last one.. something even more beautiful because its Him and its You, actually this time. FUCK!!!!! YOU SAY YES FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME............ OH MY GOD.

ok concluding thoughts. i'm trying to sort my thoughts out cause they're all in a jumble rn but What good writing. What splendid fic. i'm sure this has been said a million times over but i will keep saying it a billion times more but your writing is so Real to me! i feel like everything you put on (metaphorical) paper always adds Something to the fic, whether that be a hidden meaning or atmosphere or just being the Funniest person alive but its always such a treat to read your fic and i will always mean that !! onto thoughts about hte actual fic... i do love paralleling mcs you know this but i love how the entire fic is so centered around yn and like. how she learns to be #Herself, not just someone her parents want or someone her parents Don't want... the plotline with jeonghan is SO good like i think it adds so much to her character arc and personalizes her to the reader so much... like i feel like she's just perpetually hurt the majority of the fic and just hides it well and i don't think you could have gotten that across as well if you didn't have jeonghan in the fic! like genuinely his sections were some of my favorites to read just because of the history between them. tfw u haunt the narrative and ur not even dead...

also JOSHHHHH........ i love how you make him insufferable and lame at the same time HAHAHA the scene with him talking about his first love and how it ended.. how he doesn't want everything to be in vain... GUN to my mouth i started dry heaving... idk i think you made him so raw in the best ways and just so Relatable like he felt so real to me . but to be fair All the characters feel so real to me but i think that is just a testament to how wonderful and solid of a writer you are :]

side mention to jihoon. love him bad. the side characters added so much to the humor to the fic tbh like the worldbuilding was immaculate it felt like acros and cotria were real places. or at least as real as they can get as fake vaguely european nations in romcoms can get HAHAHA i love how they have their own distinct characteristics and how yn and joshua are clearly Products of that environment... Yeah!

also i really like the themes of this fic like maybe it hits home for me but like. the notion that growing up and Duty doesn't always have to be bad... duty is what you make of it! jeonghan who doesn't go sneaking out to trashy parties anymore and learns golf even though he hates it golf and doesn't complain about his sweaty hands or sleeping on airplanes but Also the jeonghan that likes meeting people and travelling and Helping people; josh who still lost his first love but still manages to find another in you, who chooses You again even after he doesn't need to anymore, who learns to play guitar over piano after all this time; and you, who doesn't really go out to parties and advertise yourself as the resident party princess anymore but you find yourself still in acros, in love, a ring on your finger that is simpler, cleaner, more suitable, more beautiful than the one that was chosen for you at first, and you find yourself Choosing josh too... duty and responsibility and even though it isn't what you would have wanted at first, finding the joy in the little things too... finding the things you can choose for yourself .

im genuinely soooo honored to have been here since the beginning and to see it through all the rough drafts and edits and silly text messages about you crashing out... a special thank you for you moving to gdocs for me HDSFJLFSDK and again i'm sorry i took so long and i told you this but im very scared this review is #Lackluster and unfunny and is me just. Repeating things you typed back at you HELP like i Swear i had very Real and Insightful things to say the first time i read this but then i think as the months went on my brain deteriorated and here i am... i wish i could articulate all the ways this fic is so good and scratches the itch in my brain but do NAWTTT take my smoothing brain as an indication that this fic was anything but extraordinary im so serious... you continue to blow yourself out of the water every time Thank you for trusting me to brainstorm and beta for you!!!! it is always my pleasure to get the #lilyexclusive I LOVE YOU 🫵 LILY HUSBANDHOSHI! (joshi? we'll see when april rolls around again...)

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]

[harryhighkey]

don't let go

hi! this is a part three to my Frontman series.

thanks for all the love on this series so far!!! I've been loving writing it so I'm super happy that people are loving reading it!

here is a link to part one and part two if you haven't read them yet!

"(Y/N)," Player 001 quietly called your name, he'd awoken twenty minutes ago and had been enjoying the serenity of having you sleeping in his arms.

At some point in the night, you'd rolled over and were now facing him, your face nuzzled into his neck. Your slow breaths tickling his skin in the best way. He hadn't felt such a profound sense of peace around him in such a long time. This was a bad idea, because now he couldn't stand the thought of losing it. Hope was something he'd let go of, but there you were, right beside him with the face of an angel, you'd quickly become his ray of light at the end of the dark tunnel he'd been stuck in for years.

Last night after he had helped you calm down and knew you were fast asleep, he'd fallen asleep in your little bed too. He hadn't intended to, he knew if people saw - whether it be the other contestants or his guards - the two of you would become a talking point. Luckily you'd managed to find a bunk that was pretty hidden away, but he didn't want to draw more attention to you. Over his time of being the Frontman he'd come to learn that attention in this place usually meant you were more of a target.

It was very early, most people were still asleep, he wanted to get up before everyone started to wake up. But he just had to talk to you first, today's game was going to be the most brutal yet. He knew that, because he planned it. He knew it was going to be tough to get through, physically and emotionally. He was terrified of what it would do to you.

He moved his head, his cheek grazing yours so he could whisper right into your ear. "(Y/N)," he repeated your name, you mumbled in response, still very much closer to still sleeping than waking up. "You need to wake up, angel." He moved his face back and brought a hand up to caress your cheek, he dared to rub his nose against yours, hoping to rouse you more from your slumber.

"Hmm.." You briefly opened your eyes, only to wince and shut them tight at the sudden onslaught of light. In-ho laughed, fighting the urge to lean in and kiss you at the sight of your bottom lip pouting. "I'm sleepy." Your voice came out whiney.

"I know, (Y/N), but I need you to listen to me."

"I can listen and sleep. I can multitask."

He sighed, rubbing his thumb over your cheek. How badly he wanted to give you whatever you wanted. Soon he would be able to let you rest for as long as you desired, he just had to get you to survive this hard part first.

"This is serious, come on pretty girl, open your eyes for me."

Butterflies. You felt them explode in your stomach. He had your attention. You listened and opened your eyes, it took you a few long blinks to be able to leave them open, and a stretch that had you arching your back more into him. He had to fight off the way that movement turned him on.

"There she is, good morning." Player 001 greeted you.

"Good morning." You smiled so sweetly at him, he was so warm beside you, so comforting. You could get used to being his little spoon. There was already minimal room in the bunks but with how close the two of you were right now, it seemed you didn't need much room, anyway.

"May I ask, why did you come here?" This question hadn't left the front of his mind. He had to get this answer before bringing up the game.

"Well, I was told I could play some games for money, I won Ddajki right away. I thought it would all be that easy." You paused and took a breath. "I have a big debt I need to pay."

"But you're so young, how could you owe so much money?"

Yours eyes danced back and forth between his. You hadn't told anyone why you were here, you hadn't really planned on doing so, either. But you trusted this man, he looked at you so sincerely, he held you so tenderly, he looked out for you. "My mother, she had been sick since I was 11. There were so many medical bills building up, she couldn't pay them because she was too sick to work. I worked odd jobs when I was old enough around school, but never earned no where near enough to pay them all back." Tears started to well in your eyes. "She died when I was 19."

"(Y/N), I'm sorry." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. You shut your eyes, enjoying the intimacy in his comfort. "What about your dad?"

You clenched your jaw and spoke with venom. "He left when I was 14. He met another woman. We never heard from him since."

In-ho was piecing you together. The twisted side of him had just discovered the reason you felt drawn to him - an older man. The dark side wanted to kill your father for abandoning you during such a tumultuous time, causing you to be here right now. The gentle side you'd brought forward was going to immediately pay off all those debts for you the second these games were over.

"You had to look after her?"

"Yeah."

"That's a lot for a young girl to go through. You didn't deserve that."

You shrugged. "I can't change it now. Death is a part of life." You said so simply. "Not in the way people are dying here, though."

That guilt he hadn't felt over any other player consumed him again.

"Anyway, I've been trying to pay the debts back since, I just can't. It's so hard. I've worked full time since graduating school and still, there's so much left to pay."

"You've been on your own since she passed?"

"For the most part." You answered honestly. He started to realise you had been living with the same loneliness he had.

He shouldn't have been surprised to find out you weren't here for greed. It wasn't even your own debt to pay back, just one that had unfortunately been left to you. Of course his good girl wouldn't be like the rest of the selfish people who compete in this contest. He wanted to scoop you up and get you out of these games now, but people would see.

Holding your eye contact, his gaze was serious. "I need you to stay by my side in the next game, okay?"

You frowned. "What if I can't?" You questioned, remembering how you got split up playing the six-legged game, luckily both your teams survived.

"You must," He paused, moving his hand that was on your face to grab one of your hands instead. "I won't drop your hand, don't drop mine."

You looked down to where his hand engulfed yours, squeezing your fingers around his, he mimicked the action. "It could be a solo game, right? What will we do then?"

How could he tell you he knew what was coming? How could he tell you he designed this next game to be so deadly? How could he tell you he knew that carnage would take place? How could he without ruining what amazing thing was forming between you both that he so desperately wanted to hold onto?

"We'll just have to see when we get in the arena."

You nodded and suddenly your mind was whirring. You were trying your hardest to think of what was to come today, your breathing got shallower. In-ho noticed your overthinking kick in, and he once again squeezed his fingers around yours.

"Hey, I will keep you safe."

"What if you can't even keep yourself safe?"

"I will be fine."

"How do you know?" Your eyes shot back to his, worry was written all over your face. You were worried for yourself, but now you were worried for him, for the people you'd grown closer to over the past few days here.

He didn't have an answer for you, at least one he couldn't admit to you. Not yet. So you spoke again. "I don't want to compete anymore, Young-il."

"I know. I don't either." That was honesty, he really didn't want to, especially not anymore now that he had you to think of.

"I wish we could escape." You sighed.

It was his turn for his mind to whir. He started having an internal battle then, over if he should confess who he was and get you out right now before too many people woke up.

"We just need to get through this next game and then surely we'll win the vote to leave." He decided against confessing. You still knew him as Young-il, not even his real name - In-ho - how could you handle everything else there was to learn about him?

"You really think we'll make it through?"

"Yes, I won't let anything happen to you."

---

The curtains opened to a colourful room, a big round platform stood in the middle of the room. As your eyes darted around the room, anxiety started to fill you.

That was when Player 001 grabbed your hand, giving it a squeeze.

"Remember?" He said, you turned to look at him, nodding quickly. Knowing he was talking about not dropping each others hands. He could already see the terror written across your face. Guilt started to fill him.

As you were all walking towards the platform, the announcement was made over what the game would be. Mingle.

255 was displayed. The amount of players currently. "If they're displaying the contestant count, that must mean a lot of us are going to die, right? They want us to see that number go down." You said out loud, the group of players you'd grown closer to who were all standing around you, turned towards you. They knew you were right, it was a dark truth.

"No matter what happens, we must stay calm." In-ho spoke up, directing it to the whole group but he gave your hand a slight tug.

The platform began spinning. Your chest went tight, so did your grip around In-ho's hand.

Ten.

Everyone started forming groups, the lights were flashing. You knew you needed four more in your team to make the count. "Player 120!" You found your voice, spotting that they were a group of four.

"Run! Green door!"

It all happened so fast, but it also felt so slow. Your heart was thundering. But you were inside and the door was locked, you'd made it, you were safe.

At the sound of gunshots you jumped and turned towards the direction the noise had come in, only to met with the horrifying sight of all the contestants who hadn't made it into a room being shot to death through the little gap in the door. The colour started to drain from your face.

"Don't look." In-ho's commanding voice sounded out as he pulled you into him, placing his hands over your ears to block out the noise of the gunshots for you as much as he could. You squeezed your eyes shut.

Time seemed to move extra slow being in that room, and you knew it was because they had to move all the dead bodies away. There was enough that it was taking so long.

That was when the announcer started listing off the players that had been eliminated, the door was unlocked and you all started to exit.

You froze as a squelch noise sounded out under your shoe as you took a step. You made an audible gasp at the giant pool of blood on the floor underneath you. It was enough that you could see your own reflection in it. "Young-il." You squeezed his hand, he still hadn't let go of you.

"Look at me." You lifted your head at the sound of his voice. "You made it through, you're safe. We'll make it through again." He was so calm for you, you were so grateful.

Four. Was the next round.

168 was the amount of players left. Almost 100 people had died only after two rounds.

Three. Was the next round. This was when people really started to turn on one another, pushing, kicking, punching each other to form groups to survive. Pulling people out of rooms so they could have it, leaving the others to die. Player 001 and Player 456 made sure you got into a room with them.

You weren't doing well by this point. You couldn't take in a full breath, you were so overwhelmed. You'd never heard so many gun shots, you'd never seen so much blood, so much death. You were trying your hardest to keep a clear mind but it was feeling nearly impossible.

"I can't do this anymore." You said out loud.

In-ho and Gi-hun turned to look at you.

"I know it's hard, but you have to, (Y/N)." Player 456 said as he placed his hand on your shoulder.

"There's only likely to be a couple more rounds." Player 001 spoke this time, he knew exactly how many more were coming. "We've made it this far, we'll get through the next rounds. Remember, just keep hold of my hand." He spoke very clearly wanting to make sure you heard him, it was visible on your face that you were struggling to remain present.

Six.

There was seven of you. Everyone frantically looked around the circle.

"Should we split up?" Player 390 suggested.

"Is there enough players left to do that?" You questioned.

"I'll go." Player 001, spoke, you turned to look at him so fast your neck made a crack.

"No."

"I'll be okay." He assured you, placing your hand into Dae-ho's despite the jealous monster inside him wanting to snatch it back right away. You didn't know it but he was putting you first, he would be okay sneaking off and hiding in a room on his own, the Frontman wouldn't get killed. You wouldn't make it trying to form a new group now. "Don't let go of her." In-ho commanded him.

"Of course, sir." Dae-ho responded, quickly grabbing your hand tight.

Before you had a chance to protest, he was gone. He'd left you.

"Young-il!" You called out, but you'd already lost him.

"We have to hurry!" Player 456 yelled out, all of you moving quick towards a free room.

You turned your head over your shoulder to see if you could spot Player 001. That was when you were lifted up, your hand being ripped from Dae-ho's as you got dragged away.

"Sorry, we need her more!" Thanos held you tight in his arms, pulling you to a different room.

"No!" Dae-ho yelled out, but he was already being pulled by Jung-bae.

"Let me go!" You tried to fight against Thanos, but he was stronger.

You were pulled into a room at the last second and the door was locked behind you. As the men you were in the room with cheered, you cowered into the back corner.

You didn't know if any of your friends had made it, what if the five you were supposed to be with didn't find their sixth?

What if Player 001 hadn't found a group to go with?

What if you were truly on your own here.

You slid down the wall, you felt like you wanted to pass out. Your body trembled, your face went white, your head felt heavy and your body felt light. You were having a panic attack.

---

"Gi-hun!" In-ho called out upon seeing him exit a room. He had a smile on his face.

Gi-hun didn't return it.

Player 001 watched as everyone else left the room. When the sixth person wasn't you, he panicked, but his panic showed with rage.

"Where is she?!" Instantly he lunged at Dae-ho, grabbing him by the collar.

"I don't know! I'm sorry! I had her hand but someone just grabbed her and took her so fast. Time was running out, I'm sorry Young-il!"

"I told you not to let go of her!" He shook Player 388. What he really wanted to do was snap his neck.

“Looking for your girl?" Thanos interrupted, bouncing over to the group like he was having the time of his life. "She's in that room over there. She’s having a full mental breakdown. Baby girl can’t handle it!”

Just as In-ho began to make a move towards the room, an announcement was made.

“All remaining players must return to the platform, immediately.”

Guards moved to usher the players towards the platform, one stepped into the room that you were in, In-ho surged forward. A guard stepped directly in front of him.

“Let me help her! I’ll get her out here with the rest of us!” He yelled, his calm demeanour completely shattered at the thought of losing you.

“Just kill her! She won’t make it through the next round anyway.” Someone from the platform yelled out. In-ho turned to see who it was, knowing he'd want to remember that face. He was going to pay.

“It’ll be more money for all of us.” Player 100. The eldest man here joined in. If In-ho didn't have you as his top priority, he would have grabbed the guards gun and shot them both dead. These were the disgusting, evil, selfish displays of humans that made him keep the games running.

"Let me get her, she doesn't deserve to die for being scared." He commanded, his voice strong, still angry but more balanced. Finally the guard stepped to the side.

As In-ho approached the room he heard you begging the guard, “Just kill me, please kill me.” His heart broke.

Instantly he dropped to his knees before you. "(Y/N)," He cradled your face in his hands, angling your head up to look at him. It pained him to see the state you were in. So much horror showed on your face, he knew today was going to leave with permanent emotional scars. He'd spend his lifetime trying to heal them.

"Young-il," Your eyes went wide, you looked at him in disbelief for a few moments before you leapt forward, swinging your arms around his neck. "I thought you died."

He wrapped his arms around you so tightly, holding you against him. "I'm here, I'm sorry for not staying with you."

"Don't leave me again. You let go of my hand. Don't let me go again."

"I won't, baby. I promise I won't." He could feel your body shake, he could feel your quick and uneven breaths. He'd never second guessed being the Frontman until this moment. How could he have put you through this? "You're okay, you're alive. We're almost done, then I'm getting you out of here."

You nodded against him, your face buried in his neck.

"Put your legs around me, okay?" His hands landed on your thighs and he aided in wrapping them around his hips. "I'm going to hold you through the next round. Keep your limbs gripped strong, can you do that?" You nodded. "I need to hear you, (Y/N), I need to know you understand."

"Yes."

"Good girl. Alright, one, two, three-" He grunted as he stood up, taking you with him, his arms were wrapped tight around you, holding you in place. Your had your arms locked his neck and your legs locked around his hips, clinging to him out of pure terror.

Running to a room was going to be hard like this. He turned his head away from you, whispering directly to the guard.

“I’m going to run towards the yellow door, make sure it is locked until I'm right by it, then unlock it." His voice was very quiet, but the coldness in his tone was unmissable.

“But-“ The guard began to respond.

“Do it. Nothing happens to her.” The Frontman cut off his guard. This was a demand that was non-negotiable. Once he was walking back towards the platform, he could feel the eyes of the other contestants locked onto the two of you. A few gasps sounded out, a few muttered comments. He blocked them all out. You were his top priority in this current moment.

“Young-il, are you alright holding her? I can take her from you if you need.” Dae-ho asked once you were back on the platform, in Player 001's arms. You dared to peek your eyes open, spotting Dae-ho and everyone else, relieved they were alive.

“I’ve got her. I’m not letting her go.” In-ho kept his gaze forward, fighting the urge to call him an idiot for suggesting such a thing when he couldn't even keep ahold of your hand last round.

Two.

Chaos started, this was the worst people had acted yet. As In-ho immediately took off in a sprint, you watched over his shoulder in horror as people turned on one another. You tightened your grip around him, and he did on you in response.

Player 001 managed to dodge most of the frenzy taking place, it was almost a clean run right to the yellow room. He reached out his arm towards the door handle, his hand was almost touching it when someone slammed into the two of you. You flung out of his arms and crashed into the floor with a thud.

In-ho watched in rage as the same player then tripped over you, kicking you in your side as he fell over. If he didn't have to get you in the room so quickly, he would have killed him.

"Come here." Adrenaline surged through him as he swooped down to pick you up again. You groaned, your ribs in so much pain from the fall and kick. Tears filled his eyes, a range of emotions swirled through him. Rage for what you were going through, guilt that he was the reason this was happening to you, frustration that he couldn't just free you from it right now.

Finally, he carried you into the room, he placed you down on your feet, and turned to shut and lock the door.

"Young-il," Immediately he snapped his head around to see what had caught your attention. It was him, the man who first said to kill you. He must have snuck in when you fell to the floor.

Rage. Rage. Rage. It was all the Frontman felt as he neared the man.

"(Y/N), close your eyes and cover your ears."

You did as he said, part of you knew what he was going to do already, but part of you wanted to act like it wasn't real. With your eyes squeezed shut and your hands clasped over your ears, your tried your hardest to ignore the snapping sound, but it still made you flinch.

You flinched again at the feeling of bigger hands being placed over yours that were still pressing down on your ears. "It's me." Player 001 assured you. "Keep your eyes closed for a little longer, I'll tell you when to open them, but you made it, you're okay. The game is over now."

"Young-il, did you..." You let your voice trail off, afraid of an answer you already knew anyway.

"I did what I had to do to keep you alive."

[itstheghostofmypast]

Corporate Couple

Corporate AU Kim Hongjoong x (F)Reader

Summary: Marriages have their ups and downs, but what if your boss as the hots for you?

Genre: fluff

Warnings: slight language

Word Count: 1.1K

Est. Read Time: 5 min

Rating: PG-13

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

You walked into your apartment ready to find it empty as usual; even though your husband and you would leave together in the morning, it was often that he would stay later than usual handling reports and whatnot- of course, that's what you get for marrying a workaholic.

To be fair, you were in no mood to talk to him right now anyway, so you were glad he was definitely not going to be home. Why did you two fight?

Simple, in your 3 bedroom, state of the art penthouse, you had a wonderful open kitchen, one with the facilities that would have the world’s best chefs wanting to use this equipment- this included a dishwasher. One that her husband, a respectable corporate slave, one earning enough for them to have twenty kids and provide them with a top-tier lifestyle, never used.

Yes, Kim Hongjoong, a man with a variety of wonderful qualities, brains, personality and good looks, had a persisting, irritating habit of not placing his used dishes in the dishwasher.

Hence, a merger, “I'm sorry love, I’ll be careful next time.” He could have diffused the situation, but how could Kim Hongjoong prove to be a stubborn bastard if he had diffused the situation? And chose to use the words, “Really because one dirty dish is going to bring the end of the world.”

Well it had not brought the end of the world, but she had managed to show him a glimpse of what that would look like. In the end, the two had slept in different rooms, had breakfast at opposite ends of the counter and had gone to work on different cars.

That's why when you locked the door, you sighed in defeat but also relief, glad he wasn't there- or so she thought, for when she entered the living space, she found a familiar hunched over back at the dining table, typing away.

Great.

With a slight “Hmph”, you marched into the open kitchen, placing your briefcase on the marble top counter and glaring at him, noticing him visibly flinch. Good, he should know she's still upset.

You turned to grab a glass from the cabinet, only for your phone to right, your sour expressions fading at the name of your work bestie, the only person who understood you- other than the stupid gremlin of a man sitting 3 feet away from you- Mrs.Song.

Swiping to accept the call, you put it on speaker as you began to take out the ingredients for dinner, “Hello, my love, how are you!?”

Her voice echoed in the silence, and you heard the chair screech, yes, leave you, bastard- of course, he was afraid of Mrs Song, hell, Mingi was as well- and Hongjoong knew you had not told her about your little fight because she’d been on maternity leave, but would you now? Was he ready to hear you talk about how bad of a husband he was?

No, he wasn't, honestly he had regretted it as soon as the words had left his mouth, he had noticed your eyes go blank, maybe you were having a bad day, or maybe you wanted him to not act like any other idiot from work, maybe you were tired and stressed- and he may have added to it.

“Missing you, stupid work and stupid men- how's the maternity leave going?”

“It's good…as good as it can be.”

“Mingi taking care of you?”

“Of course!” Her cheerful voice filled the silence in their home, one that had Hongjoong wincing. Oh, he knew what you were doing, “What about you? I heard the new board member was eying Joong.”

“Oh my god!” Slamming the knife down, you took a deep breath; images of that hag staring shamelessly at your man appeared before your eyes, “She was- I was leaving okay- and then she stops me and is just ‘your husband is a very good looking man’, and initially I was like okay? I know my Joongie is good-looking. Why are you staring him up like a creep?!”

Mrs.Song's laughter rang across the kitchen followed by a static, “Oh? So you're not mad at him anymore?”

Hongjoong, who was just around the corner, who had come to take a file he had left on the table, who had heard the conversation flow to another topic and who he had very much heard the ‘my Joongie’, decided to stay hidden, especially when he felt something brew within him at the sound of the way you were being so possessive.

“Of course, I'm mad at that idiot!”

He flinched at your tone, umm…okay so you were bipolar, and he fell in love with a mentally ill person-

“Hongjoong is very annoying, very stupid, very noisy sometimes too- he's squeaky too.” His face deadpanned at your remarks, “He can't cook, he can barely clean, he's a damn workaholic but he is also,” extremely handsome…”

His heart fluttered at your comment, and he heard you sigh, finally coming out of the corner to find her facing the stove, as he sat on a bar stool near the counter, watching her stir the pot.

“Well, that's true…don't let Mingi know I said that.”

You cackled at your friend's response, before mumbling, “Don't tell stupid Joong I said that…he'd be over the moon…his big head is inflated enough-”

A sneeze stopped you mid way, turning around to glare at the eavesdropped, “My queen, I will call you back.”

“Sure, play nice you two~”

Hongjoong watched you hang up before he scurried over to you and hugged you before you could react.

“Excuse me.” you mumbled, trying to push him off you before you grabbed his face, squished his cheeks, and frowned at him, “I was complimenting my husband because I'm possessive.”

“You're complementing your husband because you love him...and he loved you very much too” He mumbled back, holding onto your waist like his life depended on it, only for you to sigh and let go of his face, “I'm sorry, the dishes weren't a big deal-”

“N-no, they were…I should clean up after myself…you work too…and I need you to be active at work.” He hummed, gently swaying you side to side, earning a giggle from you, “Oh yeah? And why is that?”

“So you can keep me safe from the hag~” He sang back only for you to shove him away, “Good lord. Lord forbid someone finds a man with no rizz like me”. You walked back to the stove only for him to cling onto you from the back- a clingy Joongie was a rare Joongie, one that you loved the most- as he kissed the side of your head, “Let me set the table, love…we got a whole budget to make.” With that, he pulled away, his signature chuckle echoing in the kitchen that followed your whining about how much you hate work.

It didn't matter, though; you still had to go to work because your Joongie needed you to be there - a true corporate couple.

[suugarbabe]

remus lupin x reader

(not proofread, sozz)

Where he came from you weren’t exactly sure. But you were never going to be able to thank him enough for coming when he did.

You’d been stuck against the wall at the club for at least twenty minutes, feeling caged in by some guy who clearly could not take a hint. You had an arm crossed over your body the other holding your drink close to your face; essentially blocking your lips from any possibility.

The unwanted man leaned in towards you once more. A moist and heated whisper brushed against the shell of your ear of what he thought of you and it sent chills down your spine that he clearly mistook for a shiver of anticipated attraction.

“Godric’s sake, there you are, Dovey,” the arm of a very tall, and quite fit if you did say so yourself, man wrapped itself around your shoulders while simultaneously pushing Mr. Creepball's face away from you. "Y'mind, mate? She's taken and clearly uninterested in the likes of you."

Mr. Creepball scowled, eyeing your new savior up and down. You tried to subtly do the same in which you hoped did not look like your first time observing. His sandy colored hair was tousled and messy. He had a few scars on his face; the one across his lip stretched thin as he smirked at the man.

Your previous problem was not impressed, "Who the fuck are you?" Your savior smiled at this, and you'd be lying if you tried to deny just how weak it made your knees, "Oh, I'm Remus. Don't bother with yours, though. Don't care. You ready to go back to our friends, Dove?"

You gave Remus a shy nod before he attempted to guide you away just for the creeper to grab hold of Remus's shoulder. "Don't buy it," the creep said. Remus gave him a confused look, giving you a side glance before rolling his eyes.

"We aren't selling you shit. Now leave us alone, you're starting to make me annoyed," Remus went to step away from the wall, only from the man to step in front of him. "She's no more yours than she was mine, I had first claims. So give her up," the man looked you up and down, his demeanor doing nothing to calm your nerves.

Remus barked out a laugh, only making the man scowl more intense. "Merlin, you're serious aren't you. For fucks sake," Remus kept his arm around your shoulders as he wrapped his free hand at the base of your jaw, "Y'mind, Dovey?" He gave you a wink and you instantly nodded.

With a firm but gentle grip Remus pulled your face to his, the fluttering feeling in your stomach only intensifying as the space between the two of you disappears. It's unhurried, growing achingly slow as Remus flattens his tongue against your bottom lip.

The slightest of pressure on your jaw has your lips parting and you let him lick into your mouth. A rumble in your throat akin to that of a moan embarrassingly escapes and you can't find it in your thoughts to care as you grip onto the collar of his flannel to pull him closer, deeper.

You feel him smiling against your lips at your eagerness, pushing you back against the wall you were previously not so fond of. But now, now your'd be damned if you were removed from it.

"Oi, Moons! Who the bloody fuck are you snogging?" There's a shouting behind Remus that has him detaching from you with a groan and a grin and, Merlin, if it wasn't the prettiest thing you've seen all night. "Okay, dove," Remus lets the pet name fall from his lips again before peppering your neck and jawline with a few kisses, "Wanna properly introduce yourself to me before you're forced to meet my friends?"

[gardenladysworld]

Starbound Hearts

Status: I'm working on it

Pairings: Neteyam x human!f!reader

Aged up characters!

Genre/Warnings: fluff, slow burn, oblivious characters, light angst, hurt/comfort, pining

Summary: In the breathtaking, untamed beauty of Pandora, two souls from different worlds find themselves drawn together against all odds. Neteyam, the dutiful future olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya clan, is bound by the expectations of his people and the traditions of his ancestors. She, a human scientist with a love for Pandora’s wonders, sees herself as an outsider, unworthy of the connection she craves.

Tags: @nerdylawyerbanditprofessor-blog, @ratchetprime211, @poppyseed1031, @redflashoftheleaf, @nikipuppeteer

Part 13

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

Part 14: To sneak

The lab was alive with the hum of machines, the glow of datapads, and the occasional chatter of the xenobotany team. But amidst the usual commotion, all eyes seemed to drift now and then toward the far corner of the room, where Neteyam crouched next to her. His large frame seemed out of place in the compact, human-scaled lab, but the way he leaned in close to her, his attention entirely focused, made it look as though he belonged there.

She looked up at him, her eyes bright with some explanation about the latest plant sample they were analyzing. He didn’t say much, but the slight tilt of his head, the way his tail lazily swayed behind him, and the soft smile tugging at his lips spoke volumes. It was as if they were having an entire conversation in their own language, one that didn’t require words.

Kate, seated a few feet away, nudged Norm with her elbow. “Look at them. I mean, seriously. You’d think they’d been mated for twenty years already.”

Norm chuckled, his gaze following hers. “And yet, somehow, it’s still kind of sweet.”

Kate smirked. “You’re just saying that because you saw their first kiss on the CCTV footage last week.”

“Okay, first of all,” Norm said, lowering his voice to a whisper, “I didn’t mean to see it. The cameras are for lab security, not spying.”

“Sure, Norm,” Kate teased, her grin widening. “And I didn’t hear you gush about how romantic it was. She’s a goner,” Kate remarked quietly, glancing at Max. “But who wouldn’t be? I mean, look at him.”

Max chuckled, his gaze softening as he watched the pair. “It’s not just her, though. He looks at her like she’s the only thing in the world that matters.”

Max leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You know Jake’s been piling work on him lately, right? Testing him like crazy. And yet, somehow, Neteyam still makes time to come here. Every day.”

Kate raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Norm nodded, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Without fail. Even if he’s exhausted, he shows up. I don’t know how he does it.”

Kate glanced over again, catching the moment when she stood on her tiptoes to press a kiss to Neteyam’s cheek. His tail flicked playfully in response, brushing against her legs and making her giggle. “Okay, I’ll admit it,” Kate said with a laugh. “They’re disgustingly cute.”

The others chuckled, though none of them looked away. There was something mesmerizing about the way they moved together. If she shifted, he shifted too, his body naturally adjusting to hers as though they were two parts of a single whole. And when she laughed—soft, unguarded, and full of joy—it was clear to everyone in the room that she wasn’t just happy. She was in love.

And Neteyam? The way his golden eyes softened every time he looked at her, the way his tail flicked lazily behind him, and the way his entire frame seemed to relax in her presence said everything that needed to be said.

Kate rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her grin. “It’s disgustingly sweet. But good for her. I mean, she got herself the literal Omaticaya prince. That’s like winning the intergalactic lottery.”

Brian leaned on his station, adding in a mock whisper, “But you can tell his title doesn’t mean anything to her. She’s so in love with him, it’s ridiculous.”

At that moment, she giggled, her laughter light and musical, as Neteyam’s tail playfully swiped against her side. She swatted at him halfheartedly, her cheeks dimpling with amusement. “Neteyam!” she scolded, her voice laced with affection.

Kate snickered. “Yup. Ridiculous.”

Norm, always the quieter observer, tilted his head as he watched Neteyam lean closer, speaking to her in a low, rumbling tone that none of them could hear. Neteyam turned slightly, crouched tightly beside her, his golden eyes never leaving her face. She tilted her head up, standing on her tiptoes again to press a quick kiss to his flat nose. He chuckled, low and deep, his hand brushing against her waist as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Kate sighed dramatically, waving a hand in the air. “All right, I’m officially done. Someone get me an insulin shot.”

Norm smirked. “Jealous, Kate?”

“Of her? Nah.” Kate’s grin widened. “But I’ll admit, it’s kind of awesome seeing them like this. She deserves it. They both do.”

Kate raised an eyebrow and turned to Max. “If this doesn’t make you believe in soulmates, I don’t know what will.”

Max grinned but stayed quiet, watching as Neteyam’s hand lingered at the side of her face. She leaned into his touch instinctively, her eyes sparkling as she gazed up at him. There was no denying it—they moved together as if tied by an invisible thread, perfectly attuned to each other in a way that felt almost otherworldly.

“She’s completely gone for him,” Norm observed quietly, his voice tinged with genuine happiness. “And you can see it’s mutual. She’s not even guarded around him anymore.”

“Yeah,” Kate agreed, her tone softer now as she watched them. “It’s nice to see her like this. I mean, we all knew she was head over heels for him, but now she’s just... glowing. She’s happy.”

“And he’s different, too,” Max added thoughtfully. “Not just the dutiful warrior anymore. He looks... at peace when he’s with her.”

As the group went back to their tasks, their teasing subsiding into fond smiles, the pair remained lost in their own little world. Neteyam reached for her hand, her much smaller fingers slotting between his effortlessly. For a moment, the noise and chaos of the lab faded, leaving only the quiet warmth they shared. And for everyone watching, it was impossible not to feel a little lighter, a little brighter, in the glow of their happiness.

*

The lab was hushed as the last of the team headed off to their bunks, leaving only the faint hum of machinery and the soft glow of the bioluminescent samples. Neteyam stayed close, his presence a steady warmth beside you as you focused on your datapad, scrolling through the day’s results. It was late—too late, really—but you were used to long nights.

“Come with me,” he said suddenly, his voice soft but insistent.

You blinked, looking up at him with a raised eyebrow. “What?”

Neteyam crouched beside your chair, his golden eyes gleaming in the faint light. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Neteyam, it’s the middle of the night. Do you know what Norm would do to me if I left the outpost? He’d lose his mind. Not to mention the forest is... well, you know, dangerous. Especially for me.”

His ears twitched, the faintest flick that betrayed his amusement. “Norm won’t know.”

“Because I’d be dead before I could tell him,” you shot back, your tone dry. You set the datapad aside and crossed your arms, giving him a pointed look.

He crouched beside you, his face level with yours, and the intensity of his expression made you falter. “You’ll be safe with me,” he assured you, his voice low but filled with conviction. “I promise.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “The golden child himself, encouraging reckless behavior? What would Jake say?”

His lips twitched into a faint smile, but he didn’t back down. “He doesn’t have to know.”

You gave him a pointed look, your tone light but tinged with concern. “Neteyam, you should be sleeping. You’ve been running yourself ragged, and I don’t care how much you try to hide it—I see it.”

Your words softened his smile, but he didn’t waver. Instead, he tilted his head, his ears flicking slightly downward, and his wide, pleading eyes met yours with a look that made your chest tighten. “Please,” he murmured. “It’s important.”

You groaned, running a hand through your hair. “You’re a monster,” you muttered, but the warmth in your voice betrayed your affection. “Fine. Let me grab my mask.”

His face lit up, and the flick of his tail behind him made you laugh despite yourself. You followed him out of the lab toward the airgate, muttering under your breath about how you must have lost your mind, but there was no real resistance in your steps. You grabbed your exo-mask from the wall and secure it on your head. The hissing of the compressed air relaed you slightly before you waited the airgate to open. You found yourself drawn to his excitement, even if you couldn’t fully understand what had him so eager.

“If I die, Norm is going to kill you. We are understaffed.”

“I’d like to see him try,” Neteyam teased, his tail swishing behind him as he led the way through the dimly lit outpost.

You reached the edge of the clearing where his ikran waited, its sleek, powerful form glowing faintly in the bioluminescent light of the forest. The sky above was thick with clouds, the faint rumble of distant thunder hinting at rain later. You paused, looking up at the looming sky with an uneasy expression.

“This feels like the setup to a bad horror movie,” you said, glancing at him. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Neteyam chuckled, his voice warm and reassuring. “You worry too much.”

He extended his hand to you, his smile softening as he added, “Trust me.”

You hesitated for a moment, looking at the outstretched hand, then at his ikran, and finally back at his face. His earnest expression, the way his golden eyes searched yours with quiet confidence, was impossible to resist. With a sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“I must be insane,” you muttered as he helped you onto his ikran, his steady hands guiding you with care.

“You’ll see,” he said as he climbed up behind you, his arms securing you safely in place pulling you closer to his chest. “It’ll be worth it.”

You paused, glancing up at the dark sky. “You’re aware it’s probably going to rain, right? This feels less like a romantic adventure and more like a guaranteed soaking.”

Neteyam laughed softly, his hand resting on Tawkami’s neck as he reached behind himself to grab his kuru. “A little rain won’t hurt,” he said, his voice light with amusement as he made the bond with his ikran. “Besides, you trust me, don’t you?”

You sighed dramatically, though your smile lingered. “Unfortunately for my better judgment, I do.”

As you took off into the night, the wind rushing past you and the forest stretching out below, you couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and unease. Whatever he wanted to show you, you hoped it was as important as he seemed to think it was.

*

The cool wind would whipped against your face harshly if you wouldn’t wear the mask as the ikran soared through the darkened sky, its wings slicing through the clouds with a quiet power that left you in awe. You clung to Neteyam, your arms wrapped tightly around his arm, your heart thundering as the dense forest below blurred into an endless expanse of glowing greens and blues. The faint rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, a reminder of the coming storm.

You had no idea where he was taking you, and despite the comfort of his warmth against your back, unease prickled at the edges of your thoughts. Why did I agree to this? The forest was dangerous enough during the day, let alone at night, and the storm on the horizon didn’t help ease your nerves. But then you’d think of the way his eyes had silently begged you to follow him, the quiet desperation in his voice when he’d asked you to trust him, and you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

His ikran let out a soft screech, tilting slightly as Neteyam adjusted its path. The wind grew colder, and you glanced overthe ikran’s shoulder, your breath catching as you spotted the faint glow of something ahead. As the ikran descended, the sight became clearer, and your unease melted into awe.

The Tree of Voice.

Even in your studies, you’d heard of this place—one of the most sacred site of the Omaticaya, the heart of Eywa’s connection to Pandora. Few humans had ever seen it, their stories now no more than whispered memories. But here it was, glowing softly against the darkness like a beacon, its long pink tendrils swaying gently in the breeze.

The ikran landed smoothly, its talons gripping the soft earth near the base of one of the smaller trees. Neteyam dismounted first, his movements fluid and precise as always, before turning to help you down. His hands were strong and steady as they guided you to the ground, your boots sinking slightly into the mossy soil. The air here was electric, charged not only by the approaching storm but by something deeper, something alive.

You turned in a slow circle, taking in the sight around you. The remains of the larger trees, destroyed long ago by the RDA, still stood as solemn reminders of that dark time, their trunks hollowed and charred. The war was 20 years ago. But nature had fought back. Around those lifeless husks, smaller trees had sprung up, their glowing tendrils dancing in the wind, pulsing softly with life. It was as if Eywa herself had ensured this sacred place was reborn, stronger than ever.

“It’s... incredible,” you murmured, unable to find words that did justice to what you were seeing. “Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the wind. “I shouldn’t—”

He cut you off with a gentle look and reached for one of the glowing tendrils, his fingers brushing it with reverence. The tendril responded to his touch, its movement graceful and alive. He glanced back at you, his golden eyes soft and thoughtful. “It is said to be a place for prayers to be heard,” he said, his voice quieter now, as if speaking louder would disturb the sacredness of the moment. “And sometimes... answered.”

You watched, transfixed, as he brought his neural queue forward. The strands of his kuru intertwined with the tendril, the connection seamless and natural. His eyes fluttered closed, his expression softening as if he were listening to a song only he could hear.

“They live within Eywa,” he murmured, the words carrying a depth of meaning that made your chest tighten.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The way the soft light of the tree illuminated his features, the serenity in his expression—it was like you were seeing a part of him you hadn’t fully known before. When he opened his eyes and looked at you again, a small smile tugged at your lips.

This is sacred to him. And he’s sharing it with me.

Without thinking, you reached out to one of the tendrils, your hand trembling slightly. Can I? Should I? The glowing pink strand seemed to move on its own, its gentle sway aligning with your hesitant motion. When your palm made contact, a jolt of warmth pulsed through you, startling but not unpleasant. The tendril pulsed faintly under your hand, alive and vibrant, and for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

“It’s alive,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe. You smiled, unable to help yourself, as you watched the tendril respond to your touch. No, you couldn’t connect with the ancestors like the Na’vi, but you could feel the vitality of this place, its sacredness. You glanced back at Neteyam, who was watching you now, his golden eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

Neteyam opened his eyes, his gaze immediately finding you. The warmth in his expression made your heart race, and you couldn’t help but feel that this moment was something rare, something you would never forget.

Neteyam’s heart swelled as he watched you standing beneath the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Voices. The bioluminescent light bathed you in soft pink hues, reflecting in your eyes as you gazed in awe at the sacred place. He’d dreamt of this moment, of sharing this part of himself with you, and now that it was happening, it felt more profound than he’d imagined.

Bringing you here wasn’t a decision he had made lightly. This place was the heart of his people, the connection to their ancestors and Eywa herself. It was sacred, almost untouchable, and to bring a human here was unthinkable to many—including his own mother. But to him, you weren’t just a human. You were his. His heart, his balance, his anchor in a life that sometimes felt overwhelming.

As he stood there, the wind tugging at his braids, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and gratitude that you were here with him.

“You’re beautiful in this light,” he said softly, breaking the silence between you. His voice carried easily in the stillness, and he saw the way your cheeks flushed faintly at his words.

You smiled, glancing at him. “I think you’re the one who fits here, Neteyam. Not me. This place feels... too sacred for someone like me.”

He looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in his mind.

“Neteyam,” you said softly, breaking the silence. The wind played with your hair, carrying your voice to him. “Why did you bring me here? Really?”

For a moment, he didn’t respond. His gaze shifted to the glowing tendrils swaying in the breeze, and his jaw tightened as if he were searching for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but steady, laced with something that sounded almost like reverence.

“I heard you,” he said, his gaze flicking back to you. “A few days ago. With Kate.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you tilted your head slightly. “You heard me?” you repeated, unsure of where this was going.

He nodded, his ears flicking slightly downward in a gesture of vulnerability. “You said... you said you would never truly be a part of Pandora. That you could never fully understand this place. That no matter how long you lived here, it wouldn’t matter.”

Oh. The memory rushed back to you, unbidden. You and Kate had been joking—lighthearted banter about how Pandora seemed to resist human understanding when someone doing their job, how even the most advanced research couldn’t capture the soul of the planet. But the weight in Neteyam’s voice told you he hadn’t taken it as a joke.

You opened your mouth to explain, but he held up a hand, stopping you. His expression was calm, but there was a fire in his eyes that made your heart race.

“You’re wrong,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Pandora isn’t about understanding. It’s about feeling. About connection. And you—” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he continued. “You are a part of this place. Whether you see it or not.”

Realization dawned on you, and your chest tightened with a mix of guilt and defensiveness. “Neteyam, that was just... I didn’t mean it seriously. We were joking.”

But his expression didn’t change. His ears twitched slightly, and his tail flicked once behind him—a sign, you’d learned, of quiet determination. “You may have been joking,” he said softly, “but I don’t think you believed it was entirely untrue.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words caught in your throat. He was right, in a way. There was a part of you that had always felt out of place here, like you were borrowing space in a world that didn’t belong to you. A world that, no matter how much you learned or loved it, might never fully accept you.

“I brought you here because I want you to see something,” he continued, his voice quiet but steady. “This place... it is the heart of my people. It is where we come to pray, to ask for guidance, to feel Eywa’s presence. And it is where I came before I met you. I prayed to Eywa to show me my path, to help me become the leader my father expects me to be.”

You tilted your head, your mask glinted in the light of the bioluminescent tendrils, curiosity replacing some of your unease. “Before you met me?”

Neteyam nodded, his gaze distant for a moment as if he were looking back on a memory. “It was a time when I was lost, unsure of the path ahead. I came here to ask Eywa for guidance—for a sign of what my life was meant to be. And then... I met you.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a warm blanket, and your breath hitched. “Neteyam...” you whispered, but he shook his head gently, urging you to let him finish.

“I didn’t understand it at first,” he admitted, his eyes locking onto yours. “Why Eywa would place someone like you—someone so different, so human—on my path. But the more I came to know you, the more I realized that it was not a mistake. It was her will.”

You blinked up at him, your heart racing as he continued. “From the moment I met you, you have been a part of this world. Not because of where you were born or what body you were given, but because of what’s here.” He crouched down before your, reached out and pressing a big hand gently over your heart. “Because of the way you see things. The way you care, the way you listen.”

His hand lingered, warm and steady, before he let it fall back to his side. “Eywa does not make mistakes,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a reverence that sent a shiver down your spine. “She brought you here. To me. That is all the proof I need.”

You stared at him, your breath caught in your throat. The weight of his words, the raw honesty in his gaze, left you speechless. He truly believed it—that Eywa, the great life force of Pandora, had guided you into his life. That you were meant to be here, with him. The thought was overwhelming, humbling, and impossibly beautiful.

The depth of his words, the raw vulnerability in his gaze, left you speechless. You searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but there was none. He truly believed every word he had said.

“I never thought...” you began, but your voice broke, and you shook your head, trying to find the right words. “I never thought someone like you—someone so deeply connected to this world—could see me as anything more than... an intruder.”

“You are not an intruder,” he said firmly, his hand tightening slightly on your cheek. “You are a gift. I didn’t bring you here just to show you this place,” he continued, his voice softening. “I brought you here because this is where everything began for me. This is where I asked for guidance, and this is where I realized that you... you are my answer.”

His movements slow and deliberate, as though he were afraid of breaking the moment. His large hands found your arms gently, his touch grounding you as he brought his forehead to your mask. Overwhelmed by the closeness, the intimacy of the gesture, you closed your eyes.

“You are my prayer answered,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You are the peace I didn’t know I was searching for.”

Your hands trembled as they rose to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as though to anchor yourself. Tears slipped down your cheeks, but you didn’t care. The wind whipped around you, the storm drawing closer, but in that moment, the world felt still, as though it were holding its breath for the two of you.

“Neteyam,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say nothing,” he murmured, his voice soothing. “Just stay here, with me.”

*

The wind stirred gently around you, carrying with it the faint hum of life emanating from the Tree of Voices. Your masked head remained pressed against Neteyam’s, his warmth grounding - even through the thin glass-  you as his words echoed in your mind, a profound declaration that left your heart aching in the best way. His hands rested lightly on your arms, his thumbs brushing soothing circles against your skin.

Your eyes remained closed, tears drying against your cheeks as you let yourself be present in the moment, his presence filling you with a sense of peace you’d never known.

When Neteyam opened his eyes, intending to take in your face, his breath caught. His golden gaze widened in shock, his entire frame stiffening as his focus shifted over your head.

“Eywa,” he whispered, the word reverent and filled with awe.

“What?” you murmured, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of his voice. You pulled back slightly, confused by the look of utter wonder on his face.

Neteyam didn’t respond immediately. Instead, his gaze remained fixed on the small, glowing spirit drifting gracefully through the air toward you. An atokirina—one of Eywa’s seeds, a sign of the Great Mother’s favor. The luminous tendrils of the seed pulsed faintly as it floated closer, glowing softly against the darkened backdrop of the sacred grove.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat as the atokirina descended. It hovered for a moment before settling lightly against your head, its tendrils brushing your hair with a gentle, otherworldly touch.

Neteyam’s lips parted, his ears twitching as his tail gave a subtle flick of astonishment. “I knew it,” he murmured, his voice a blend of awe and quiet conviction. His golden eyes burned with emotion as they met yours, his expression a mixture of pride, reverence, and love. “I knew Eywa brought you to me.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, overwhelmed by the weight of his words and the sight of the sacred seed resting against you. You lifted a trembling hand toward the atokirina, though you didn’t dare touch it, afraid to disturb the delicate moment. It lingered for a few heartbeats longer before floating upward, its tendrils swaying in the breeze as it rejoined the others dancing around the Tree of Voices.

“Neteyam,” you began, your voice trembling with disbelief. “What... what does this mean?”

He cupped your head gently, his touch firm yet tender as his thumbs brushed your temples just right behind the mask. “It means,” he said softly, his golden eyes boring into yours with an intensity that left you breathless, “that you are not just mine by chance. You are mine because Eywa willed it. She brought you to me for a reason.”

You couldn’t speak, the weight of his words and the sacredness of the moment rendering you silent.

“I’ve always believed it,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “But now I know, without a doubt, that you are meant to be with me. Eywa has seen your heart, your spirit... and she accepts you.”

Your hands clutched his arms, seeking stability as your knees threatened to give out. “Neteyam,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to... I’m just—”

“You are enough,” he interrupted gently, his tone firm yet soothing. “You have always been enough.”

The wind shifted again, stronger this time as the impending storm drew nearer, but neither of you moved. The sacred grove seemed to pulse with life around you, as though the forest itself was acknowledging the connection between you.

And in that moment, standing in the heart of Eywa’s blessing, you felt it too—you belonged here, with him.

*

The first drops of rain fell like tiny cold pinpricks, pattering against the leaves and the glowing tendrils of the Tree of Souls. You tilted your head upward, squinting at the darkened sky as the rain intensified into a steady downpour. Within moments, the world blurred around you, the heavy rain making everything seem like a hazy dream.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a soft, breathless sound that bubbled out despite the chill settling in. “I told you so,” you teased, brushing wet strands of hair out of your mask’s glass. The rain plastered your clothes to your body, the chill seeping into your skin, but the exhilaration of the moment kept you from caring too much.

Neteyam, soaked and unbothered, stood beside you, his hair clinging to his face, droplets catching on his bioluminescent freckles. He looked at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation before glancing at his restless ikran. The storm, with its rolling thunder and flashing lightning, made the creature uneasy, its wings flexing as it let out a low, nervous chirp.

“We can’t fly in this,” Neteyam said, his voice steady despite the weather. “It’s too dangerous.”

You nodded, glancing at the dark sky and the flashes of lightning in the distance. The wind whipped around you, pulling at your damp clothes and making you shiver. “So, what’s the plan?” you asked, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth.

Neteyam tilted his head, his golden eyes scanning the forest as the rain poured down harder. “There’s a hunter’s hut nearby,” he said after a moment. “We’ll wait out the storm there.”

Before you could protest, he was already helping you onto his ikran. The creature’s discomfort was evident as it shifted and chirped uneasily, but it took off smoothly under Neteyam’s guidance after the bond, its powerful wings cutting through the rain-soaked air.

The flight was short but tense, the storm intensifying around you. Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the forest below in sharp flashes. The rain stung your skin, and you clung to Neteyam’s arm, trusting him to guide you through the chaos. Finally, the ikran swooped down toward a sturdy tree where a small hut was built high above the ground. It was simple but well-constructed, designed to offer shelter for hunters caught in bad weather.

Once you were safely inside, you collapsed onto the woven floor, panting and dripping wet. The rain hammered against the roof, the sound a constant, soothing rhythm despite the storm raging outside. Neteyam secured the hut’s door and knelt by the small fire pit in the center, quickly lighting it to bring some warmth to the chilly air.

You turned to him, your clothes dripping water onto the wooden floor as you crossed your arms and gave him a pointed look but after a few moment you rached up just to wipe the glass of your mask. “I hope you’re happy,” you said, a teasing edge to your tone. “This is officially my last night alive, and I’m spending it with you.”

Neteyam arched a brow, clearly amused despite the storm raging outside. “Your last night alive?” he repeated, his voice warm and soft with mock offense.

“Yes,” you said with dramatic flair, stepping closer to him as you wrung water from your sleeves. “Because when I get back to the outpost, Norm is going to skin me alive for being out here in the middle of the night. He’ll probably hang my remains in the lab as a warning to others.”

Neteyam chuckled, his tail flicking slightly as he reached out to tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Then I’ll just have to make sure you don’t regret spending your last night with me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at your lips. The storm continued to howl outside, but in the quiet safety of the hut, his presence made it feel like nothing else mattered.

*

The fire crackled softly in the center of the small hunter’s hut, casting flickering shadows on the woven walls as rain lashed against the roof. You sat close to it, trembling slightly, your soaked clothes clinging uncomfortably to your skin. The chill had seeped into your bones, making it impossible to stop shivering.

Without much thought, you reached for the hem of your shirt and tugged it over your head, tossing the wet fabric aside. Your pants followed, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.

You didn’t realize what you’d done until you looked up and caught Neteyam’s gaze. He was staring at you, his golden eyes wide and unblinking, his expression unreadable. Heat rushed to your cheeks, and suddenly, you felt unbearably self-conscious. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you grabbed the crumpled woven blanket from the floor and quickly draped it over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around your body like a shield.

“How do you not freeze?” you asked, squinting at him through the dim firelight, your voice more accusatory than you intended. He was still soaking wet, his inky braids dripping onto his broad shoulders, and yet he didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Like most Na’vi, he only wore a loincloth, his blue skin slick with rainwater, but he looked completely unaffected by the chill.

Neteyam tilted his head, a small, amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Our bodies are different,” he said simply, his voice low and calm, though there was a flicker of warmth in his eyes that made your cheeks burn even more. “We’re used to this.”

You huffed, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself. “Well, I’m not,” you muttered, shivering despite the fire’s heat.

Neteyam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand, his long fingers curling slightly in a beckoning gesture. “Come here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable note of warmth and invitation.

You hesitated, your grip on the blanket tightening. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your chattering teeth betrayed you.

“Come here,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his golden eyes steady and patient as they held yours. There was no judgment in his gaze, no teasing—just quiet concern and an unspoken promise of warmth. “You’ll be warmer.”

Reluctantly, you shuffled closer to him, dragging the blanket with you. As you reached him, he uncrossed his legs slightly, creating space for you to sit between them. You settled hesitantly, tucking the blanket around yourself as you leaned against him.

The moment your back pressed against his chest, you felt his warmth envelop you like a cocoon. He was like a furnace, his body radiating heat that seeped into your chilled skin almost immediately. You let out a soft, involuntary sigh as the tension in your muscles began to melt away, your shivering subsiding. His arms came around you instinctively, his large hands resting lightly on your hips as he pulled you closer, and you felt his chin rest gently against the top of your still wet head.

“Better?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

You nodded, your eyes fluttering shut as you let yourself relax against him. “You’re not just warm,” you mumbled, your voice muffled against the blanket. “You’re unfairly warm. It’s not natural.”

Neteyam chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your back. “Unnatural?” he teased, his hands smoothing over the blanket covering you. “Or just lucky for you?”

You smiled despite yourself, nuzzling closer to him. “Lucky, I guess,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The storm continued to rage outside, the rain lashing against the hut and the wind howling through the trees, but it all felt distant now. All you could focus on was the steady rise and fall of Neteyam’s chest behind you, the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat against your back, and the way his arms held you so securely, as though he never wanted to let you go.

*

"Even when I won’t see the sunset anymore,” you said dramatically, your voice muffled as you nuzzled into his chest. “Because Norm will make me so dead.”

Neteyam tilted his head to look down at you, his golden eyes shimmering with amusement. “Norm wouldn’t dare,” he said, a playful edge to his tone. “I’d stop him.”

You laughed, the sound light and sweet, filling the small space of the hunter’s hut. “Oh, sure. But I bet Jake will lecture you into the next week. So, even just for a tiny bit, we’ll be even. Perfectly balanced,” you added with a smirk, “as all things should be.”

His smile widened, and he shook his head slightly, his braids shifting with the movement. “I’d take a thousand lectures from my father if it means spending a night like this with you.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, your teasing expression softened. You reached up, your fingers brushing lightly against his jaw, tracing the strong line of it before letting your hand rest on his shoulder.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” you said with a small, shy smile. But your tone was soft now, lacking its usual teasing bite, and your gaze lingered on his face for a moment longer than usual.

Neteyam’s eyes flicked to yours, his expression tender, and he leaned down to press his forehead gently against your mask. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “Every moment with you is worth it.”

You felt your cheeks heat under his gaze, and you broke eye contact, nuzzling into his chest to hide your flustered expression. Absentmindedly, you reached for the blanket draped over you and pulled it up higher, tucking it around his broad shoulders as well as your own.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, your voice wavering. “Completely unfair.”

Neteyam’s arms tightened around you, his tail giving a lazy flick behind him. “Unfair?” he echoed, a smile tugging at his lips. “And yet, you’re the one making my heart race like this.”

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Stop being so smooth,” you said lightly, though the warmth in your voice betrayed the affection behind the words. You tilted your head up slightly, your mask brushing against his collarbone as you glanced up at him with a soft, playful smile.

He chuckled, his breath warm against your hair, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Never,” he whispered, holding you close as the storm raged on outside, the world beyond the hut feeling far, far away.

As you rested your head against his chest once more, your fingers tracing lazy patterns over the blanket, you couldn’t help but think that, no matter how angry Norm might be—or how long Jake’s inevitable lecture might last—this moment was worth it. Every second of it.

Part 15: (Soon)

[yup-thats-me]

slipping through my fingers • Lee Byung-hun

pairing: husband!Lee Byung-Hun x wife!reader

summary: funny tricks of time; growing old with your husband

warning: growing old, age gap. please, please i beg of you don't think too hard about byung-hun and the reader's ages, please. when I tell you me and my friend had to storm our brains for an hour to calculate their ages. please. also, i suggest you listen to the song while reading this<3

"bye bye, momma!" waved goodbye your little girl. she was in high school now, and you and your husband were grateful that your prized girl was not like most teenagers. she was understanding, gentle.

byung-hun stood beside his wife, eyes on the yellow school bus. "seems like yesterday that she came into this world, doesn't it darling?'' he said as he laid his head on her shoulder.

"Mmm", she nodded. "time is cruel."

it really was. how can it be that your daughter is almost at the age where she'll be leaving home when it barely feels that you've been with your husband for barely two years? oh, at it had been eighteen years when you had met Byung-hun.

Byung-hun was a regular at the cafe y/n worked at. he would go there as soon as he wrapped up filming for the day. from the early days of his acting career, he frequented the cafe but it had only been a few months since the waitress. y/n had joined.

she was so sweet, smiling at everyone, not an ounce of anger or tiredness in her eyes. he knew he was at least twenty years older than the girl but it didn't matter, right?

"can i get your name, sweetheart?"

it'd be a lie if y/n said she didn't feel like melting onto the earth. his voice dripping with honey, his eyes smiling.

"y/n."

that had been their first date. Byung-hun had asked her manager if she could leave early. she of course, agreed. how could anyone would deny Lee Byung-hun anything?

that day was eighteen years ago. how time flies.

Byung-hun kissed his wife goodbye. "when I come back let's go out for a movie? with d/n?" she nodded.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"you ready, sweetheart?"

y/n asked fixing her daughter's veil. her little girl was getting married, she's truly going into the world, with someone she loves, adores.

no words could explain how y/n felt. this is the same girl she had given birth to, her little fingers had wrapped around her thumb so adoringly. so naturally.

it's time for her little girl to hold someone else.

y/n wiped the corners of her eyes, not wanting to let her daughter see her cry. "your father is waiting outside. let's go?" her voice trembling slightly.

Byung-hun stood outside the doors, his mind replaying the old times. it feels like yesterday that he held his daughter for the first time, only yesterday had he heard his little girl call him 'appa' for the first time. oh how he had felt the world around him stop at that moment. he really missed the old times.

when his wife came outside holding his daughter, he couldn't stop the tears from falling.

"you look so beautiful, princess." he said hugging his girl.

d/n wiped her tears as well. it felt surreal having her father cry while holding her. "appa, I'm still your little girl. I promise."

y/n patted her husband. the rays of sun falling onto the family, making them look ethereal. after they had composed themselves, y/n softly pushed through the doors of the altar.

she held her daughter's hand, her husband linking his arm with d/n. the music wafted through the venue. some of byung-hun and y/n's friends had tears in their eyes too. to them, d/n was also their beloved girl. time really flies.

when the priest pronounced officially d/n and her lover, y/n had intertwined her arms with her husband. it was much very hard for Byung-hun than her. the man saw his girl as the world, ready to bring the world at her feet. he would become so proud at all of d/n's achievement, no matter small or big. he really was d/n's greatest fanboy.

y/n rested her head against Byung-hun's shoulder, comforting him as d/n and her lover kissed.

beautiful.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"you look so beautiful, my love," came Byung-hun's voice as he handed his wife a cup of coffee as the sat on their porch.

y/n laughed. time had certainly left its marks. "you've been telling me that for the last 35 years, my love."

"and," byung-hun leaned down to kiss y/n's hand. "i would continue to do so till my last breath, sweetheart."

"I love you."

[the-inkwell-variable]

author ask tag

thank you so much for the tag, @the-golden-comet! ooh this is gonna be fun!

i'm going to focus on my current wip, Why Should I Be Careful? I'm Going To Die Anyway! because it's still very much in the planning stages (despite how much I'm writing for it) and I have Thoughts

What is the main lesson of your story? Why did you choose it?

I'll be honest, I haven't really thought that far ahead. I suppose, if there is a lesson to take from WSIBC?IGTDA!, it might be that you should always chase your goals and desires, and screw what other people think. Maybe put a little more thought and planning into yours than Aura does hers, though. I mean, she almost dies due to her recklessness. Don't be like Aura.

What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding?

Well, it's a zombie book - I love zombies, in case you can't tell - so the world is an amalgamation of zombie stuff I love. The zombies are based off of the Train to Busan zombies. This is a self-insert mess, so I'm using the town and people I know in the town as location and characters. Little tropes here and there that I love in movies and books alike. It's just a big chimera of stuff that I grab from stuff I remember and shove into it. It definitely needs polish when it's done, but I'm having a blast so far, so I'm'a keep doing it :3

What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, or help the reader grow as a person?

Uhhhhhh this is a tough question. Right now, Aura is trying to make it to Roger's Grocery Mart to save her girlfriend, but most of the time, she's just trying to have a good time in the zombie apocalypse and hopefully not die. She does eventually grow into a character that (mostly) thinks things through and takes other people's situations into account, so I suppose the lesson is "the world doesn't revolve around you - be kind and helpful to others"?

As for what I'm trying to achieve... mostly, to be honest, I just want people to pick up my book and have a good time reading it. I want to write a zombie book because it's my passion and because there aren't enough zombie books out there. I guess I'm trying to inspire others? To show them that you can survive an impossible situation if you work hard and think things through?

How many chapters is your story going to have?

The only time I've written a full-length book (sorry, the only two times, forgot about Zero: ALPHA), it had about twenty-odd chapters. Z:A had...uh...thirty? That was a long time ago and I sadly no longer have that draft. This one is going to go until it's done. Hopefully more than thirty though!

Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?

Original content! I have no idea where I'm going to post it. I'm torn between Draft2Digital (originally Smashwords) or Substack. Thing is, I'm really bad at marketing and keywords and all that technical stuff that goes into publicizing, so I'm really hesitant to share it at all. I'm the type of person that gets absolutely morally devastated if my own self-inflicted goals aren't met, and I'm not sure if I can handle that kind of crushing heartbreak with this one lol

So yeah. Might publish, might not. Unsure right now.

When did you start writing?

My dad set up a Windows 95 computer for me in his office, his old one, and taught me the basics of using it. I was five, about to turn six. I immediately sat down and wrote a story about unicorns. I've been writing ever since.

I didn't start writing fanfiction until I was thirteen and had just binge-watched Lord of the Rings for the first time. We don't talk about those works. They were awful.

Do you have any words of encouragement for fellow writers of writeblr? What other writers do you follow?

Write it. Oh it's cringe? Who cares? Write it. Oh, it's a rare pair? Write it. You're worried people will hate it? Fuck the haters. Write it. Writing is about having fun. Writing is about pouring your soul onto the page. Writing is about getting those ideas out of your head so they don't drive you insane. It's about reaching that one person that finds your work and loves it. Even if no one reads it - you still accomplished something. You still wrote it. And no one can take that from you.

I have so many writers in my follow list. Uhh. I have no idea how many are still active, so I'm just going to tag who I know and hope for the best lol

@idyllicocean, @keeping-writing-frosty, @bloodtiesnovel, @asher-writes, @kitswrite, @theink-stainedfolk, @karkkidoeswriting, @lavender-gloom, @orphanheirs, @aquixoticwrites, @alinacapellabooks, @marlowethelibrarian, @flock-from-the-void, @dyrewrites, @storycraftcafe, @writer-imagination, @toragay-writing, @inseasofgreen, @stephtuckerauthor, @thatndginger, @finickyfelix, @eternalwritingstudent, @drchenquill, @paeliae-occasionally, @the-golden-comet, @talesofsorrowandofruin, @watermeezer, @goldfinchwrites, @winterandwords, @badscientist, @clairelsonao3, @i-can-even-burn-salad, @leahpardo-pa-potato, @mjparkerwriting, @rowanwriting, @oliolioxenfreewrites, @emelkae, @rita-rae-siller, @rebelxwriter, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @stesierra, @francineiswriting, @sunset-a-story, @chauceryfairytales, @hollyannewrites, @jaydenswaywrites, @captain-kraken, @violets-in-her-arms-writes, @romy-thewriter, @pure-solomon, @writingmaidenwarrior, @koiwrites

go, go follow them. they're all so good and make my timeline glow.

[reveryfics]

Lost In Doubt

Marc Spector x male reader

Summary: Marc was struggling to keep being Moon Knight separate from his relationship. His constant disappearances and lack of communication were leaving you in doubt.

A/N: I'm back from hiatus with a long soft smut one-shot. 2.3k words

The anxiety was starting to kick in. You could feel it-the nerves kicking in again. Anticipation-a overwhelming feeling of doubt that crept through your entire being-it made your hands clay. You rubbed the sweat from your hands onto your pants, the harsh jean fabric not so comforting in the moment.

Acceptance-when it was evident Marc was most likely not showing up, again.

Extravagant dates had never been a big deal to you nor Marc. Sure, it was a nice privilege every now and again to sit down at a fancy restaurant with your boyfriend. To laugh together, to share stories of your days, to enjoy one another's company. But even then, you'd rather sit in the loft wrapped in Marc, or even Stevens arms as the two of you watched a movie.

If only Marc wasn't so admit and made a big deal about a date, then never show up.

“Sir?” The familiar timbre of a voice brought you back from your thoughts; deep and tunneling as you transfixed on the possibilities of what Marc could be doing. You know even if it was Steven, he wouldn't have forgotten such an event.

Your eyes widened with feigned curiosity, an uneasy smile plastered alongside to hopefully negate any annoyance you'd caused the waiter.

“I'm sorry sir,” he shifted awkwardly. You look around, surprised by the amount of patrons and couples that had flooded in within the past forty five minutes. Laughter and smiles completely lit up the room, and yet your sollum look pierced the happiness. The lights positioned around the restaurant had seemingly become spot lights, detailing your ‘dinner for one’. “We have more tables to fill, and if you aren't going to order anything, then we'll have to give your table to the next party.”

“Oh, right.” You pulled your phone out to check your messages again. Nothing. Even swiping down to refresh your texts with Marc yielded no new messages.

“I'll head out.” It was embarrassing. Even if the waiter had given sympathetic glances your way, you hated knowing that you waisted his and your own time.

You hated that you hoped things would be different.

The night was dreary. Rain had greeted you the moment you stepped out. Soft and fluttering against your skin, but harsh enough to make you put your coat on. Luckily, your flat wasn't to far from the restaurant, a twenty minute walk at most if you sped-walked there. Shoving your hands in your pockets, you ambled along the sidewalk, wallowing in your feelings as the sound of London night life belted in your ears.

You didn't have the energy left to hurry home.

Once you'd crossed the last intersection, you felt a little more at ease. Seeing the familiar apartment building at the end of the block your pace picked up.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out your wallet and keys you'd haphazardly shoved in there. In the midst you caught a glimpse of a photo print of Marc, his body turned slightly towards you as he peered up towards a statue of the Egyptian Goddess Hathor. Honeymoon phase, they called it. Where you were beginning to discover more about one another, likes, dislikes, hobbies, memories, even how Marc had DID. It felt like yesterday that you two were spending the day at the museum.

Now, it was a miracle if Marc returned a call or text.

With the keys in your hand, you turned the corner, and towards the entrance, the vivid echo of Marc begging you to delete the picture because ‘he wasn't looking’ echoing in your head.

If only you had been focused on where you were going instead of the photo, maybe you could have avoided the collision with the door. You stumbled back, hand holding your face as the sting slowly faded away yet the throbbing in your forehead remained.

“Oh god-” If the beating your face had taken from the door hadn't snapped you out of reverie, the familiar face before you certainly brought you back. Your vision began to clear of haze, as if his simple presence was helping.

“Baby?” Marc cut himself off, his eyes widening. You could see the wheels turning when the dim light of a nearby street lamp illuminated your features: eyes, nose, lips; all that he was well acquainted with.

“Marc-” you took a moment to scan him. It was like all the other times he's been late. His curls; stuck to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and rain droplets. His knuckles; bruised and torn with miniscule cuts. His button up; clumsily buttoned up and crooked.

“W-what are you doing here? Are you okay? Oh god your nose.” Breathless, panting, not only because he was panicking from running late, but also because you were hurt.

“I'm fine-” You whispered, wiping your nose against the back of your hand, only to see a smear of blood blotted against your skin. “Damn-”

“Marc, it's just a nosebleed.” You applied pressure to the bridge of your nose, pinching it tightly to stop the blood. All while your head was tilted over the sink.

Marc mumbled something under his breath, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back as he wet a cloth in the sink.

Marc's touch was delicate. Tender, like the forming bruise on your forehead. He was adamant on cleaning your face-though you would've done it much faster had he let you.

“All done. Not so bad huh?” He was trying to lighten the mood, if the small smile across his face was any indication.

“Thanks, Marc.” For a brief moment, you forgot why you were so upset about earlier. All because it was nice to actually have Marc there with you.

“So, about our date…”

“Oh,” Embarrassment etched onto Marc's face. You could see it, even if he tried to hide it. “Listen, I- Steven got caught up at work and-”

“Marc,” You sighed, pushing off the sink and walking into the bedroom. “You said that last time, and before that.”

“Figured you'd fall for it again?” He was clearly joking, but even he wasn't laughing at it because he'd been called out. Embarrassed that he believed it would work. Again.

“Marc.” You called out, tossing aside your shoes and wet overcoat before straightening yourself against the headboard.

Marc sat at the edge of the mattress. “I…..I don't know how to..” The veins in his hands popped, the light illuminating new scraps, and bruises on his knuckles. Clear as day now. “I just….”

He rubbed his hands against his pants, staring anywhere but you, anything to alleviate the anxiety.

You were hopeful to finally get an answer from him. A proper explanation. But it pained you, knowing what could be said-what might be true about his actions.

“If you want to break up, just say it.”

It sounded softer in your head, then when you spoke, but the tears that were welling in your eyes that finally spilled told a different story.

Something had made it slip.

Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, or perhaps the months of frustration that had accumulated where you'd been so lost in doubt, snowballed because of your own selfishness and want to be with Marc.

“What? No, that's not-” He jolted up at the mere mention of those words. He joined you. “I would never-”

Marc was panicking, he'd never seen you like this before. And to think he was the root of this-of the pain you were feeling.

“Marc, there's always something going on with you. Y-you don't text me for days. You ignore calls. You suddenly disappear for days without a word. And….and Steven won't even tell me anything, plus you're always hurt in some way.” You took a breath, a gulp because you were rambling now. Your cheeks felt hot, from the sudden outburst of emotions.

“Please Marc, what is it?”

Marc bit his lip, as if he was debating something. A decision that could either ruin this relationship, him, or you.

You waited, watched as he fiddled with his fingers as the screws kept turning in his head. Your heart jumped every time he opened his mouth, anticipating whatever he was about to tell you.

Nothing. Silence.

“I'm worried Marc.” Your gaze dropped to his hands again. Veiny, trembling, and full of life yet they've been worn down. Torn.

“You can't tell anyone.” His voice softened.

“I won't.” You muttered, watching as Marc stood from the bed and wandered towards the window. He pulled back the curtains letting the moonlight seep into the bedroom.

His body slowly became enveloped by wraps similar to those used on mummies, his eyes glowed a bright white until his entire body was enveloped by a suit.

“Just to clarify.” You mumbled, eyes wide as your fingers traced over each and every inch of Marc's suit and body, the fabric a pleasant texture under your fingers. “You're an avatar to the Egyptian god Konshu?”

Marc nodded, his eyes following your fingers as they touched his body. “You aren't mad?” Your hands suddenly came to a halt when Marc took them and led the two of you to the bed and laid against it.

“Mad? No, I just wish you said something sooner.” You admitted in a quiet tone, as you noticed just how battered Marc's skin was under the light.

It felt nice when you pressed your body against his, the way your hands felt against his bare skin. “I'm sorry, I was worried something could happen to you, or that Konshu would see you as a possible contract when mine is up.”

Marc exhaled, the air between you thick with unspoken desire. His body descended, a slow, deliberate descent that mirrored the pounding of your heart. You found yourself beneath him, a canvas for his touch, his gaze. His hands, strong and sure, captured your wrists, pinning them above your head, your arms outstretched like wings. Your legs parted instinctively, an invitation, only to be met with his own. He entwined them around his waist, a possessive claim, his body a warm, heavy weight settling upon yours.

His kiss was a storm, a whirlwind of passion that stole your breath away. You tasted him, the metallic tang of arousal, the sweet surrender of your senses.

"Is this your way of making amends?" you murmured against his lips, your voice a breathless whisper.

He broke away, his eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Is that a problem?" The question hung heavy in the air, a challenge. His hips began to grind against yours, a slow, deliberate dance that ignited a fire within you. You were clothed, frustratingly so, yet the pressure between you, the undeniable evidence of your erection pressing against his, was a torment, a delicious agony.

He began to shed his suit, a slow, deliberate stripping that revealed the taut lines of his muscles beneath. The fabric, once a barrier, now fading away, revealing the man beneath, lean and powerful, a masterpiece sculpted by desire. It was as if the suit itself was an aphrodisiac, or perhaps it was simply the way he looked in it, every movement a sinuous dance of power and grace.

Your own arousal intensified, your pants straining against the insistent swell of your erection. The grinding continued, a primal rhythm that threatened to consume you both.

He shifted, lifting you onto his lap, your thighs encircling him. His hands found their way to your hips, a possessive grip that both thrilled and terrified you. His eyes devoured your body, taking in every curve, every line. You began to shed your own clothes, the moonlight catching the gleam of your skin, the way your cock rested against your stomach as pre-cum leaked from the tip, transforming you into a creature of the night.

A low groan escaped his lips as his eyes fell upon you, naked and beautiful in the pale moonlight. "You are exquisite," he whispered, his voice husky with desire. "Absolutely intoxicating.”

His lips found your neck, tracing a path of fire across your skin. You arched into him, desperate for more, your body a symphony of need. He nipped at your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine. "You taste as good as you look," he murmured, his breath hot against your skin.

His hands moved with a practiced grace, exploring the contours of your body, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You gasped as his fingers found the sensitive skin beneath your ribs, eliciting a moan that echoed through the room. He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a jolt of excitement through you.

He pulled back, his eyes holding yours. "Ready to lose yourself in me?" he asked, his voice a husky whisper.

You could only nod, your body trembling with anticipation. He leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a searing kiss that consumed all your senses. The world around you faded away, replaced by the intoxicating sensation of his touch, the taste of his skin, the rhythmic pounding of your hearts.

He moved slowly, deliberately, savoring each moment, each touch. His hands guided you, urging you deeper, higher, until you were lost in a whirlwind of sensation. You cried out his name, your voice a raw, animalistic sound, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

He moved within you, a relentless rhythm that mirrored the pounding of your heart. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his back, your nails leaving tiny crescendos of pleasure. The world dissolved into a symphony of sensations – the heat of his skin against yours, the rhythmic pounding of your hearts, the sweet release that washed over you in a wave of pure bliss.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath mingling with yours as you both lay spent, a tangle of limbs and satisfied sighs. He held you close, his arms a comforting embrace, his heart still racing. "Never doubt that you are mine," he whispered against your hair, his voice a low, contented rumble. You smiled, your heart overflowing with a happiness you hadn't known existed.

[ball33rina]

THIS TYPE OF LOVE ISN'T RATIONAL.

─── kai anderson x f! reader. smut.

warnings: mention of p in v, fingering and curses.

Minors, do not interact or read this, I am not responsible for what you read either.

The only thing separating you was the strong glass in front of you and Kai, who held the phone to his ear and his cold gaze was fixed on you. You knew he was manipulating you and somehow there you were, talking to a man you met thanks to him dialing the wrong phone line when he wanted to call Ally Mayfair and ended up calling you. He took it as an opportunity, if he manipulated the right people outside and the right people inside the prison he would be free before the elections start.

"You look hotter than the pictures you send me." he told you, a slight smirk painted on his perfect face that posed with some dark circles under his eyes. His voice was subtle and husky in your ear through that phone that was the only savior of their conversation.

"Thank you" you whispered looking down while also holding the phone to your ear.

"Hey look at me" he insisted making you raise your face looking at him. "When I get out of this dump...I'll make sure to give you the best fucking of your life." He nodded, as if that was all you were there for. Sex. Though most of it was.

"Kai, let's make sure you get out of here first" you whispered into the phone, he let out a laugh lowering the phone a little and then returning it to his ear.

"Don't say anything," he said into the phone, looking at you through the glass and mouthing the words, "I'll be out before you know it."

You felt your skin crawl and looked up at the guards who seemed completely unaware of what was happening.

"I have a guard on my side. She's in my cult too." He said, the simple fact that a "she" was near him made you feel jealous, let's see, it's kai, We know that Kai fucks anything that walks. Noticing your face he let out a low laugh and reached out his hand, resting it on the glass. "Don't worry babe. No one can match those boobs you have."

And you rolled your eyes again, clenching your teeth, damn... is everything sexual?

"Kai just stop it okay? You're making me feel uncomfortable with...literally two 60 year old ladies next to me." you said annoyed, yes, two women sitting on either side of you talking to their children.

"fuck 'em" He frowned into a grimace looking at the ladies whose sons turned to look at Kai.

"i said, stop it" You said firmly, he looked back at you and bit his lip, bringing his face closer to the glass with his ear resting on the phone.

"I love feisty girls" he purred and you were about to hang up the phone but he immediately interrupted you. "Okay, okay... I'm sorry babe, I didn't mean to make our romance so public."

He said making you roll your eyes, he just smiled looking at you, knowing he had you right where he wanted you.

"Tell me, what will you do the first time you see me there...with you" He said, tilting his head, and he was so sexy doing whatever he was.

"Scream in horror and call the police of course—" you said and his laughter interrupted you.

"As if you haven't done your research on Mr. Kai Anderson, the Michigan cult leader, who of course is a city councilman." He chuckled teasing you. "You'll do everything except scream in horror and call the police."

"As if you really knew me." You said bitterly even though you knew he knew perfectly well about you, he had people everywhere. "You're not a councilman anymore...get a grip."

"No, you only told me everything about yourself the twenty times we called each other," he said, raising an eyebrow. "And you offend me y/n, don't you know that a councilor doesn't stop being a councilor even if he dies? Sometimes I doubt your intelligence, princess. But it's okay, I can deal with that."

You rolled your eyes just to make him laugh again.

"now, now. Don't you roll your eyes at your boyfriend" He waved his pointing finger in your direction. "We're running out of time, So, be alert to calls, any strange number that calls your house...you answer. When you hear my voice you will listen carefully to where I will wait for you to pick me up in your grandmother's car. I will be dressed as a guard."

He whisper on the phone looking around hoping no one would hear him. And of course, ordering you to do things like... the crime of taking your grandmother's car without asking to borrow it.

"She'll be mad if she finds out I took it without asking to borrow it," you said worriedly, obviously caring a lot about your family in a situation like this.

"Honestly y/n, I don't give a shit about your dying grandmother. Do as I say, and you will be well rewarded." He said firmly and hung up the phone, getting up from his seat and looking at you one last time through that glass before being taken back to his cell. You couldn't help but stare at how good his ass looked in that prison uniform.

You were waiting parked in an alley that was a few blocks away from the maximum security prison, nervously waiting for Kai while you checked the time on your phone's clock, the car radio playing a cringe song.

It was that, your nerves and your lost vision were interrupted when someone knocked on your car door waiting for you to open it, when you looked up there was Kai dressed as a guard, and god he looked so damn hot like that. You quickly unlocked the car and he got into the passenger seat.

"Drive" he said giving you the order while he adjusted himself in the seat, you just looked at him, it was the first time you saw him... that wasn't through a glass. When he noticed that you weren't moving he looked at you. "I said fucking drive do i have to spell it out for you or what?"

"sorry—" You said, swallowing hard, and began to drive your grandmother's car, doing the most normal thing so that no one would notice that you had a criminal by your side.

Your morale started to hit you as you drove down the road, Kai constantly checking the rearview mirrors as your hands trembled and grasped the steering wheel.

A few minutes later Kai sighed and rested his hand on your thigh. "Good job."

You glanced at him and continued driving. "Then I'll take you home...with me."

He looked at you and let out a mocking laugh. "There's no way I'm letting your old grandmother hear us having sex."

You groaned and sighed, looking ahead, your fingers tightening on the steering wheel.

"drop the whole fucking "old" or "dying grandmother! I remind you that you are sitting on HER CAR." You yelled at him and that alone was enough to turn him on, he laughed looking at you and raised the hand that was resting on your thigh to your cheek, poking it with his finger.

You shook your head away from him, this bastard. If he wasn't so hot and you didn't have a mental hospital complex you'd dump him in the middle of the road.

It was around 2 pm when you and Kai arrived at your grandmother's house, the old lady didn't notice when you smuggled him into the house, and now both of you had locked yourselves in your room.

He looked around with a raised eyebrow and threw the guard cap he wore to the ground revealing his...attractive buzzcut that he told you before used to have long, electric blue dyed hair.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from a room in your name." He said, pointing at the One Direction posters around him.

"Leave that alone, they've been there for years," you said, overwhelmed and worried that your grandmother would come in. At which, Kai came after you, hugging you from behind, his long, veiny hands touching your stomach.

"Shhh, she's not going to notice. Plus, she seems to have a hearing problem," he whispered in your ear in a low, husky voice, making your stomach fill with butterflies and your panties feel wet. The tip of his nose began to slide over your ear down to your neck, inhaling your scent as you closed your eyes and lowered your hands over his.

His lips began to plant soft kisses on your neck, slowly opening his mouth to mark you with his hickeys...and his hips, beginning to grind against your ass through the pants you both wore.

"fuck, you made me so hard." he whispered, moving his hands down to your pants as he slowly ground the bulge in his pants into your ass, his hands agilely unbuttoning your pants. "I told you I would reward you for being a good girl." he whispered teasing you.

His fingers slowly opened the button of your pants and slowly lowered the zipper, his left hand entering your pants and then sliding under your panties, feeling how you were getting wet from the way he touched you.

"I know you were touching yourself thinking of me," he smiled, as if he had actually been watching you before. Yes, you had done it so many times that you lost count.

His middle finger began to slide up and down your pussy slit, collecting your wetness as he continued to grind behind you. His lips moving back up to your ear to bite your lobe.

"What about you?" you whispered back, wishing he had at least touched himself with you in mind. Just then, his finger collecting your wetness pressed against the tiny nub of nerves on your clit, making you gasp and push your hips back bumping against his pelvis in those pants..

"So many times. I slid my hand up and down my length with the same hand I'm using to touch you," he whispered to you, his voice ragged as his finger moved nimbly in circles over your clit making you gasp. "And then I came so much that I moaned your name...imagining you riding me in many positions."

You swallowed hard as the very finger that was playing with your clit slid down pushing itself inside your entrance, soon joined by another finger to begin moving his fingers inside of you followed by a sound of skin rubbing together.

You started to moan quietly, afraid that your grandmother would hear you. Kai slid his free hand, which he wasn't using, inside your shirt to feel your breasts, the ones he talked to you about so much, the ones he even masturbated thinking about.

He rested his forehead on your shoulder as you threw your head back, his fingers pushing back and forth inside you making you open your mouth and release small moans, as he hit that good spot, his hand that was resting on your breasts, began to squeeze them hard as if they were going to run away from him, feeling your erect nipple between his fingers.

"My cock is going to explode if I don't fuck you" he whispered with a slight husky laugh, and quickly pushed you onto your bed. Realizing what you were going to do... you were about to have sex with a criminal who escaped from prison to get revenge on a woman but now you had him in front of you, unbuttoning his pants so he could fuck you.

You, while he was undressing, took the opportunity to finish taking off your pants and your underwear, revealing your body, in his eyes you were perfect. He didn't even make sure to take off all his clothes, just his shirt revealing his well-formed chest and back...his perfect abdomen and V zone.

Moving closer to you and pushing your legs open as he pulled his pants down enough to pull his cock out of his boxers, which sprang free from its confiness the tip leaking precum. You swallowed hard as you noticed the incredible size he had between his legs, not exactly the biggest but not the smallest either... in fact, a good size... just enough to make you drip.

Spitting on his fingers to rub them over your pussy making sure you were completely soaked while his other hand worked on stroking himself sliding the precum into the base of it, bucking his hips forward to rub the tip of his cock up and down your pussy slit making you gasp, wanting to just impale yourself on his erection.

"fuck..." he whispered, and simply pushed himself inside you, having a little difficulty. But once inside you he adjusted both forearms to the sides of your head and began to move, kissing your neck. "So tight" he whispered as he moved, both of you panting and releasing breaths at the same time, your hands squeezing his back as his movements began to get a little hard.

The bed cracking with each hard thrust he gave, his lips moving down to your exposed erect nipples and sucking on each one, his pelvis slamming hard against your pussy as his balls slammed into your ass. The tip of his cock kissing your cervix.

You closed your eyes tightly, starting to moan louder and as if he was aware, he brought his hand to your mouth to silence you by squeezing it there tightly. "Shut up, we don't want to draw the old lady's attention."

You began to moan more and more, your sounds muffled by his hand as the bed cracked more and the headboard slammed against the wall, if he tried to be quiet, no shit you could still hear the bed.

But you both were about to cum and he just made sure you did, he slid his free hand between your legs again and started rubbing your clit rapidly while you tried to close your legs but the pressure of his thrusts didn't let you. So you responded by moaning loudly and scratching his back, arching your back.

Soon, he began to cum, painting your insides white as your hips shook, taking him all in...slowly cumming as well, milking his cock.

He pulled his hand away from your mouth as you gasped for air, your face red as he took the opportunity to lightly bite your nipple.

"I could fuck you again and again," he assured, looking up and staring into your eyes.

"Make sure you do it after you claim that position tomorrow." You whispered about what he would do to stop Ally from winning the election.

"Calm down princess. That position has always been mine" he brought his face closer to yours biting your lower lip lightly. "and you are my first lady."

[randomly--accessed--memories]

@storm-ismyusername

I think I'm leaning toward "The Lost Signal Ending" if we're gonna be fancy about it.

Definitely. Alastor can't stand not being able to communicate, and writing takes too long given how much he likes to talk, so sign language would be his best option. It's infuriating for him when someone doesn't know it and they're stuck at an impasse though.

Oh, he loathes them. This is one incident that Vox is never going to forget. He wants revenge, but right now his priority is helping Alastor recover. He struggles to retain details about the Vees themselves due to the directive that bans him from remembering them, but the fact that they hurt Alastor is burned into his mind. They aren't really individuals in his mind, just two halves of the same entity: the enemy.

The Vees definitely aren't satisfied (maybe if they finish the job and kill him, they'll feel better! Right? Right??), but they don't really have time to grapple with the morality of their actions. A full-on war has broken out amongst all the different overlords due to this development, and that's taking up most of their brain space. Their "plan" for this scenario has also gone screwy because whenever they pictured themselves successfully capturing Alastor, they assumed Vox would be safely in their care. They might've taken him too when they snatched Alastor (Vox would not react well to waking up in his old "prison" and hearing the sound of Alastor in pain over their shared frequency), but Charlie sure as hell wasn't going to leave him behind when she came to rescue Al. Knowing that Vox is out there, tending to Alastor's wounds, with his loyalty to him increased ten-fold... it's worrying, to say the least.

Husk doesn't know what to do. He isn't 100% sure whether Alastor still has the power to keep him here, but his gut's telling him to run while he can. He doesn't want to end up dying for Alastor of all people, but he can't abandon the rest of the hotel crew in good conscience. Husk knows he's not going to be able to convince Charlie to just throw Alastor to the wolves, so it feels "abandon your friends" and "possibly die for the person who's kept you enslaved for the past twenty years" are his only options. In terms of how he feels about Alastor as an individual though... I'm can't decide if Husk is mature enough to pity him or bitter enough to think Al got what was coming to him. Maybe both.

Vaggie's just disoriented at first. The truth about Vox and Niffty hadn't come out yet, so she had no idea why Angel's boss and his business partner abducted Alastor to torture him live on the air (or how they'd even accomplished such a thing since Alastor had been hiding the injury from his fight with Adam for the past several weeks/months). She was actually scared for him and felt real empathy when she saw the state he was in, as well as the effect it had on Vox and Niffty. And then she found out why this all happened. Vaggie feels like a fool for ever letting herself care about Alastor's wellbeing and is grappling with all the same stuff she has to deal with under normal circumstances when the truth is revealed. There might be a conflict between her and Charlie where the shock of the situation makes Charlie double-down and refuse to believe that this was all in retaliation for something Alastor did to Vox, while Vaggie struggles to make her accept reality. Could probably do something interesting with Vaggie and the whole "eye for an eye" thing, given how this is all taking place after she chose not to take revenge on Lute...

Um... this whole situation is... a lot, to say the least. They're relieved to have their dad back, but that relief doesn't last long. No matter what they do, they can't get Vox to calm down– he's beside himself with panic and grief and fury– and he flees back to the hotel with Alastor at the first opportunity. He might not even recognize them when he sees them, they've been apart for so long.

Fineas was 100% on board with the Vees revenge plan from the start. He didn't take part in it, but there's no doubt in his mind that it was deserved. Ondine went in when the Vees first captured Alastor and tried to get him to explain why he did all this. He may or may not have given her a truthful answer. Either way, she was so disgusted that she walked off and left him to his fate. She genuinely thought the Vees were going to kill him and might start having second thoughts when he escapes, though. The kid versions are basically the same, just slightly less involved.

The Vees don’t truly believe they’ll ever be able to accomplish this, but they’ve agreed that if they ever manage to capture Alastor (and are confident they can keep him from escaping), they want to put him through exactly what he did to Vox, and more. Days of torture, broadcasted live on television+livestream for all of Hell to see, until he completely snaps. They don’t know what he did to Vox to rewire his brain, but if they can, they’ll do their best to use their own methods of mental manipulation to humiliate him in the same way before finally killing him.

They’ve also promised each other that if they’re ever able to do this, no matter what Vox says or does, they won’t relent until the job is done. He can hate them all he wants; they’re taking revenge on his behalf whether he wants them to or not.

[teddybeartoji]

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh i just get so upset sometimes bc i don't know how to express my love and adoration in a way that isn't just "omg i love that" or "omg that's so cool" THAT'S NOT ENOUGHH IT ISN'TTTTTTTTT THIS GOES FOR ALL OF MY BELOVED WRITES AND ARTISTS AND FILMS AND DIRECTORS AND COMPOSERS AND CINEMATOGRAPHERS AND SOUND DESIGNERS AND FICTIONAL CHARACTERS AND POEMS AND STUNTMEN AND JUST ABOUT EVERYBODY AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[front-facing-pokemon]

[piko-rose]

My Personal Headcanon On Why Amy's Love For Sonic Died Down Lately (and their dynamic)

When they were younger, Amy's love for Sonic was pretty extreme, and Sonic was, understandable, uncomfortable for the most part. He knows she means well, but that girl needs to calm down.

She can fight, but sometimes her hammer could only stun her enemies for a while. (It took her a long time to get rid of that robot that has been chasing her around Station Square.) She wasn't fully independent yet, even if she fought on her own a couple of times.

She often follows Sonic and his friends around. She is part of the team, but she was not a strong as she is now at the time yet.

She admires Sonic. A LOT. And Sonic knows that. Obviously, he could only run away from something like that, since he is NOT ready for that kind of thing, and whether Amy takes the hint or stop, she still loves him.

...BUT, I think things were slightly starting to change between her and Sonic after Lost World.

Remember this line?

You remember that? Okay, okay. Here's another totally unrelated question:

Before the events of Lost World, when was the last time Amy said "I love you" to Sonic out loud?

...YEP. 😈 (Unless I'm missing something, let me know lmao)

As more games and adventures come out, the characters get slightly older, and Amy is 12 to 13 now, and she is most certainly at that age where her body starts to change, but especially on how she views Sonic.

She knows she loves Sonic, but it was this moment during her change where she actually wanted to admit that she loves him.

I believe that Amy was all about sharing her affection to him not through confessions, but through obvious hints. Sonic totally got it, and there was no need to confess. Sonic knows she loves her.

...But she never said it. And she almost did, but she never did again for a while.

I think this was the moment in her life where, oh, God, she actually loves Sonic. SHE LOVES HIM, WHAT.

And she was looking back at all the times she had with Sonic that she can now see were unpleasant to Sonic (At least that's what she thinks) and that's probably why she isn't so expressive about her love to him than how she used to back then.

She wasn't sure what to do with this realization, and sets aside it for a while, and nearly stayed as her casual, peppy self... until the Eggman War happened.

During the 6 months of being with the Resistance, fighting Eggman's army all day and all night, all she can think of was Sonic.

She dreams that he still with not just her, but with her friends. She just wanted to see Sonic again, she just wants to be with her hero again.

But I'd like to think that she was also thinking about how she used to treat Sonic back when they were younger, how Sonic would almost always run away from her whenever she asks him out, or always look so uncomfortable whenever she gets so close to him.

Cringing at those memories big time, she wanted to change and hopefully when Sonic is okay and comes back, she can be better for him.

...Or will he still find her uncomfortable regardless? Would he even be happy to see her at all if he did survive?

But, hold on! She can't just give up her love for Sonic! He made her who she is today! A peppy, nature-loving, hammer-swinging, confident, brave... loud-mouth... annoying... Sonic obsessed... weak... pathetic... lonely little girl.

If she gives up on Sonic, it'll be like she gave up on the one hedgehog who saved her life. If she didn't she'll still be the same ol' Amy.

I also like to think she had parents a long while before she met Sonic, and was even expecting a little sister, but a robot invasion happened from where she was and attacked her parents and instead of trying to save them, after getting hurt, she ran away, hoping that they'll come back okay. But they never did.

She was all alone, and needed someone, a friend, a new family, someone who will hold her hand, anyone, to be there for her. But she was ignored by lots, and at that point, she's better off by herself, but still longed for company.

Eventually though, her tarot cards told her her future hero, and there might be hope after all. She encountered Sonic, held onto the belief of the cards tight, and the rest is history.

So, with that headcanon in mind, not only did Amy loose her parents that she didn't save because of her cowardliness (she was only so little at the time that happened) and also Sonic, who she thought will be her only hope, but now gone.

She doesn't even care if he did come back, he'd probably hate her now after everything she did to him, always talking about their "future wedding" or forcing him to go to Twinkle Park.

For the last few months of the war, it was nothing but Amy mentally beating herself up for either refusing to change or moving on, and they are both not fine choices.

She loves Sonic, but he does not love her, and she finally, finally realized it. And it's probably for the best if no body loved her at all.

But of course Sonic did survive and all of her worries wash away in an instant, she's just not expressive about her love for Sonic AT ALL now, since she's still worried about it but rather not mention it to Sonic because it doesn't matter.

If Sonic doesn't love her, then her feelings don't matter to him, and according to Amy herself, that is okay.

But also, I'd like to think that Sonic was thinking about his friends a lot up in the Death Egg for the past months, sometimes it's Tails (worried for his safety), sometimes it's Shadow (because he's wondering why he would join Eggman.) At some point, for a few days, Amy was in his mind the longest, and he felt bad about how he thought he was rude and pushy to her.

He wondered if she's not thinking about it too much, and if she is, will she give up on him? Yeah, he doesn't feel the same and still not looking for a relationship, but it's so strange but interesting how anyone could ever like someone like Sonic the Hedgehog. Amy was never afraid to show that, and she probably might be now.

He couldn't help but feel guilty. They were kids when she was like this, but he was so... arrogant at the time too. Not a lot happened at the time yet. He'd always have trouble expressing how much he value his friends, until he shattered the Paradox Prism. (I'd like to think Prime took place before Forces. It makes sense.)

She is such a sweet girl, and he probably made her believe that he didn't care for her. Just because he doesn't feel the same, that doesn't mean he hates her at all.

He wished he never ran away from Amy... Worrying for his little bro and wishing to be a good person for Amy was when Sonic cried in the Death Egg for the first and only time.

Frontiers, in my opinion, is kind of confirming their dynamic now. Sonic is a lot more sincere and kinder to Amy and she is not all hyperactive and lovey to Sonic. There is probably a real reason for this now.

They are both hiding their feelings from them, and they are both unaware of this. Amy, hiding her mental issues from Sonic, and Sonic, hiding his guilt away from Amy.

None of those things are important now. Sonic is with Amy and Amy is with Sonic. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

They don't care if they'll ever be something more when they get older. None of that matters anymore. They are here with each other. They can be finally be better for each other now.

Maybe someday they'll both talk about it, but for now, the present is important. They care about each other too much to think about it right now.

It's the kind of love that is unbreakable. It doesn't even have to be romantic. It's just love. Love is important for everyone, in any form. It's something Sonic and his friends need. And especially Sonic and Amy.

Amy Rose is the living embodiment of love, and without her, a lot would go downhill for Sonic and co. Heck, if it weren't for her, Shadow wouldn't have never remembered Maria's promise, which lead him to save the world with Sonic, before he temporarily disappeared from their lives for a while.

She is always there to lend a helping hand for anybody, even bad guys like Metal Sonic, and despite what she had been through, both in Forces and headcanon wise, she still fights back, even without her hammer.

She will pick you back up on your feet, reminding you that you are important and that you are loved, and that you should never give up. It's pretty much the words of encouragement she herself needed also...

She is still the happy, hyper, butt-kicking hedgehog we all know and love, but she still need someone to pick her back up on her feet after so long. Thankfully, she has her friends and her blue hero. The hero who made her who she is today.

I think Amy has no idea how important she thought she is, but Sonic does. Sonic knows fully well how important she is to a lot of people. It's about time he returns the favor to her. It's his turn to remind her how much a lot of people love her.

How much he loves her.

And I feel like The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog was the moment where their dynamic really shined, but also the starting point of their relationship not only healing, but also the next chapter of what's to come for them.

Everyone, friends old and new, gathered around for a special birthday. A birthday for the confident, unshakable, and radiant Amy Rose.

It was such a special moment in Amy's life. After years of chasing and following the people she look up to, she is part of the team, but most importantly, she is part of the family.

She is fully realized as someone more than just a fangirl, but someone strong, courageous, creative, kind and a big inspiration for others.

I feel like this moment here...

-is where Amy is eternally grateful to call her friends her family. A family she thought she'll never have again. She's not alone anymore, and as long as they're by her side, she'll never will be again.

Her chasing days are over. She's finally caught up to them. She's finally home.

And it's all thanks to Sonic.

If it weren't for him, she'd probably be alone forever. Her past moments with Sonic might be embarrassing to look back on for a while, but they are good memories regardless, because they involve him.

Sonic saved her life in more ways than one, and despite everything, he's grateful to have her too.

He cares about her. He really does... And in her eyes, that all she needed to know. As long as Sonic loves her in his own way, she'll be happy.

Amy hasn't given up on Sonic. As long as Amy always supports him, he'll be happy.

Maybe sometime in the future, they can talk about their problems, but that's a story for another time. At this point, they need to. Right now, they are happy. They are okay.

They are here for each other. They are finally better for each other now.

"You guys won't ever leave me, right?"

"Wouldn't dream of it."

[bedlamsbard]

for love of god I wish I hadn't trained my brain into generating sequel ideas.

[tswwwit]

do you have a rough timeline of everything? like how long after a story does another one take place and the passage of time within stories?

Man, if I started keeping track of dates I'd pretty much instantly lose track of what I was doing! There's the implication that years have passed over the course of various smuts and snippets, but that's about it.

A good idea, though, is to assume that each Familiar AU snippet/shorts/smuts are semi-kinda-sometimes chronological because they tend to reference and build on previously written ones.