#Moon's just trying to get another brother

[ruruumin]

take a bite.

synopsis; in a cold, unforgiving world, there is a semblance of warmth between a meister and weapon.

genres/warnings; soul eater au inspired by @kaiser1ns, fem! reader, implied relationships, blood/violence (multiple fight scenes), angst & comfort, 9.5k words.

⤷ part two.

covered in a thick layer of snow, rin lies on the ground, unmoving as his eyes follow the curvature of the overheard moon. its crooked grin looks down on him, cheeks wide and puffy as if it had just laughed. raising his arm, he drapes it over his face. tonight was colder than usual. fragments of ice litter the surface of his skin, melting alongside the small shimmer of tears that float down the side of his temple. 

for the longest time, he thought he knew his brother. the kind-hearted, blue-colored soul that would buy him popsicles on hot, sunny days came back with a bruised heart. like two sides of the same coin, they were connected. weapon and meister. oldest and youngest. drawn together by blood and the ego to become the best. they were meant to be inseparable.

sae had always been his shield against the cold, unyielding world. someone he could always rely on when he needed it. to rin, he was the only person worthy enough to wield him. and for a weapon, that was all he ever needed. he didn’t want anyone else by his side. no one could hold him like sae did. no one else could understand him like his big brother. everyone and everything was obsolete. 

after sae’s disappearance, it left a large hole in the center of his heart. the pain that came from his absence was indescribable. it was a mixture of something hot and cold, a whirlwind of confusion that left a dull ache to settle at the bottom of his chest. like a migraine, it pounds and knocks upon his skull, beating him down until he was nothing but a crumpled ball. 

his older brother left to complete a special task given to him by death. the reason he had was shallow and dumb, he should have figured it out sooner that he was going to be replaced. sae said it was because the mission was dangerous, and death himself would be giving him a weapon appropriate for the situation. this was just another way of him telling rin: i don’t need you anymore. and while he didn’t understand it at the time, he still held up his head, thinking that his older brother didn’t have a choice, it was death’s decision after all.

when sae came back, he was a hollow shell of what he was before. alongside his sunken cheeks and thinner frame, his tolerance for rin had diminished, with this recent match being his breaking point. sae had realized the world of witches, weapons, and meisters was much bigger than him, and chose to pursue a different path than the one he originally promised. there was something new to be discovered further ahead, and to sae, rin’s stagnant personality was the chain holding them back.

the dream the two brothers shared shattered in an instant. 

left to rot on a coffin made of snow, he exhaled slowly, watching his breath drift across the open sky. his body ached, as if he was getting pricked by thousands of sharp needles. after trying to connect with sae’s wavelength, it left him in a paralyzed state, unable to stand properly. it was as if sae’s soul had ripped him apart, shredded the threads that bonded them, and burned it all to the ground. 

the tips of his fingers were freezing even with his thick, black gloves. additionally, there was a bright throb at the back of his head, the spot below him growing damp as the ice slowly melted. the longer he stayed in this position, the longer he’d stay hypnotized by the moon’s charlatan grin and die helplessly of frostbite. 

“did you get abandoned by your old meister?” a voice called out to him. 

the crunch of freshly fallen snow echoes in his ear. a mysterious figure makes their way closer to them, time ticking down with every step taken. the ground flattens underneath their heels as the world grows quiet. like a conductor and its orchestra, they plunge the stage in absolute silence. and as the audience, rin is left wondering if he should applaud. 

a young woman, not much older than him, stood over his body. dressed in a simple black uniform, she wears a plain skull pendant on the collar of her neck, reminiscent of the man working in the great order. the bottom of her coat was split into two snake-like tails which drag along the ground, creating a smooth trail behind her. despite the frigid winds, she stood comfortably by his side, carving her presence in this storm. 

like death, she is swift and calming. 

she hums, tilting her head carefully. craning to look down on him like a crow, she picks away at his facial expressions, seeing the way his brows furrow in a blend of confusion and awe. only now does he note the subtle scent of almonds whiffing in the air.

“your soul has a beautiful voice,” she said, tucking her left hand into the deep pocket of her overcoat. she crouches to meet his level, “and it’s telling me something.” 

reaching out with her other hand, she holds it against his bangs, slowly brushing it aside as she smiles. the shape creeps between the line of wicked and honest. the kind that will tempt you with a sickening sweet apple, coated in a thick layer of poison. it entices him to take a bite of what shes saying. 

“do you want revenge?”

the question sticks to him like a wadded up gum. 

revenge. that was the right word to describe his fiendish anger: revenge, revenge, revenge. unlike other words, this one was on the tip of his tongue. an idea brought to him not in shining neon lights, but hidden beneath the darkness that lurks in his soul. it scratches against his check. thumping twice before knocking against his ribcage. like an animal, it struggles in the confines of what he could only describe as a weak, pathetic body. 

i have to kill his dreams, it says.

“if you become my weapon, i will grant you any wish in the world.” 

an electric jolt of life pierces through his nerves. 

a truly generous offer. so much so that he found himself nearly drooling at the opportunity to see what her world looks like. would he be there? standing above thousands of bodies, shouting his name as he announces his identity as a death weapon, would he be the one to beat sae? 

he shivers, hardening his gaze as the silver winds blow past his cheek, “what do you want from me?” 

his voice has a slight raspiness to it. his lips felt dry as he continued to watch her slow, deliberate movements. her hand dragged itself down his collarbone to the center of his chest, right where his heart lies. the thump remains, beating hard against his eardrums. it pulsates once, twice, three times, before it presses itself against his skin, threatening to break through the surface like a hand waiting to be held.

in his brother’s four year absence, he wasted his time looking for a replacement meister. in this dog-eat-dog world, he refuses to stay trapped underneath this snow-covered grave. he wants to rise amongst an army of men. he wants to raise his fist up and claim the sun’s life. he wants nothing more than to taste the sweetness of a soul, dipped and coated in a thick layer of revenge and satisfaction.

a beat passes before she answers him.

“i just like souls like you.” 

with that answer in mind, he closes his eyes, letting a turquoise light engulf him.

✦

an aspiring meister stands in front of two large double doors. written above the border was a set of numbers for classrooms. because of his luck, his room was the first one in the hallway. sucking in a deep breath, he tilts his head slightly. behind these barriers lie a new, uncertain future from him. 

at just the thought alone, his palms were starting to grow sweaty and clammy. he slowly looks up, basking in what could be his final moments of childhood. nestled between his fingers was a thin sheet of paper.

in cursive, it reads: welcome to the dwma, isagi yoichi.

isagi puffs up his chest, ready to announce his name to the rest of the world as he pushes the door open. this revealed a large classroom of eight other students, a small group whos heads quickly turned in his direction like chicken. they loiter around the near empty room, shifting their eyes and heads to scan their surroundings. from what he can remember in his acceptance letter, he and a few other talented students were scouted to join a very small class of weapon and meisters for reasons unknown to him.

everyone was dressed differently today. from a man with long, peach-colored hair to a pair wearing checkerboard uniforms, aside from one tall individual with ivy-black hair, isagi stood out like a sore thumb. he awkwardly makes his way to the center, standing stiffly while the doors swing open again. 

a blue-ish green, zombie professor enters. he picks up a chalk stick and begins to carefully write his name on the board, rotating his head like an owl. he introduces himself as ego, a former meister at the dwma academy. although relatively unknown and forgotten by the public, he has deep-rooted ties within the school. as isagi fidgets with the letter between his fingers, he could feel ego’s heavy stare linger on him.

“welcome to the dwma, you lumps of talent.” he says, “this is a place where meisters and weapons become full-fledged hunters and death weapons.” 

continuing, “in this world, there are two sets of people: meisters and weapons. those born as weapons have a unique fighting ability which you’ll channel using a meister.” 

drawing a crude guitar and amp, ego hovers his finger in the air as his dead-fish eye stare scans the classroom, “meisters have very faint soul wavelengths. combined with a weapon, you’ll be able to draw out incredible power from each other. only with the right partner and technique can soul resonance can be achieved.”

“the first course of action is to choose a partner for the year. a few of you might already be partners, but for those newly enrolled, this is your only time to pick.” he taps on the board with the chalk in his hands. from there, he only stands in front of the class, unmoving like a statute as he awaits for the clammer.

immediately, isagi looks around the room once again. the people in his class were starting to chat with each other, determining quickly between weapon and meister. because of the structure and the new year, there wasn’t much to go off of when choosing a partner. the only pair he knew for sure were the two checkerboard students who lazied around in the back. 

he scratches the back of his neck, trying to scout someone he could possibly team up with. 

and while everyone else in the class spoke loudly, two people stood out in the front. it was the tall ivy-haired man from before. he blinks owlishly, completely aloof to the instructor’s directions. lifting his hand, he presses it against the nape of his neck, shifting slightly to produce a soft popping noise from his joint. from isagi’s view, he could make out a silver bracelet on his wrist. 

before he could make his way towards him, isagi found himself stopping in his tracks. beside him was a girl dressed head to toe in black, almost blending into the room. like a crow, her expressions were cold and muted, almost calculative with the way it flickers across the classroom. she floats just slightly off the floor by rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. her smile soft like cotton, the edges curving perfectly upwards in a gentle arc. 

he already had a partner, isagi thought, i didn’t see her at all. it felt almost unnerving the way he couldn’t feel or sense her soul wavelength in the room. 

when she meets his gaze, he quickly averts it, pretending he never saw her. while shaking his head, he instead starts talking to another man with black and yellow hair. he quickly learns his name: bachira meguru, a twin-scythe weapon with a unique style of fighting and a passion for hunting souls. he was amongst a tiny percentage of new attendees that was accepted into the dwma without a partner, making him the perfect candidate for isagi. 

they started to get along quickly, with the latter wrapping his arms around isagi’s neck as he pulls him in his direction. the way bachira treats isagi reminds him of a friend who’s known him for years, despite only meeting now. his happiness is almost infectious, with the sun seemingly shining brighter when he’s in view. 

during their chipper conversation, another student approaches the pair in the front of the classroom. he reaches over, draping his arms around the woman’s shoulder, patting it with the palm of his hand. he has a devilish grin that perfectly matches the moon. he is hunched over slightly, blond hair with pink dyed tips making him too distinguishable from the less explosive crowd. 

“who would have thought i’d see you again, (name),” he says with a voice borderline seductive and sultry. it sends a shiver down her partner’s spine. the base of his skeleton growing a bit heated as he stares him down. 

with a melodic hum, she replies with the same aloof expression, “good morning, shidou. you’re here as well?” 

“got here all on my own, baby,” he looks over her shoulder, raising his eyebrow at her partner. 

the man finally stands up straight, meeting his gaze. because the two stood at relatively equal heights, it made it easier for him to project a more confident, easy-going suave that kept people on their toes at the academy. this would only irk (name)’s partner as he narrows his eyes. time ticks down like a bomb waiting to explode as they continue glaring at each other.

“is this your new weapon?” shidou pouts, “(name), you sly dog, you move on so quickly.” 

“i have no idea what you’re talking about,” she gives him a closed-eye smile, masking the twitching of her eyelid, “do you like him? his name is rin.” (name) artfully intertwined their fingers together, “he’s been quite the help.” 

“he looks to be mad dogging me right now, do something about it,” shidou tugs her back and forth, shaking her as she stares off into space, subtly dismissing the nuisance. “i haven’t even said anything to him either. your partner needs to be put on a leash if he keeps up with this attitude. are you teaching him any manners?” 

“hmph, piss off, roach.” rin shoves him away from his meister, crinkling his nose at shidou with an icy cold stare.

“sure thing, bottom-lid freak.” 

“antenna-head.”

“spoiled brat.” 

locked in a stalemate, rin seethes. while one takes pleasure in the thick, heavy tension, the other despises it. shidou began scratching the back of his neck, rolling his eyes. it looks like he is holding back an excited chill with the way he presses his lips together.

before rin can say anything else to end the conversation, shidou shuffles to the other side, getting closer to his ear. the hot air on his skin sends an electrifying shiver down rin’s nerves, quickly fueling an unprofound rage within him.

“she was my meister before she was ever yours.” 

✦

running through the tight corridors, isagi narrowly avoids a deadly spread shot to the nape of his neck. he clammers out of the dark halls, the grip on his weapon growing more slippery by the second. as tensions grow thicker, he almost hits his head against one of the brick corners from turning too early. his partner, bachira, warns him about the incoming attack to his left. to which he dodges at the last moment. 

“this job might be a lot harder than we thought,” bachira comments, scanning the surrounding area while isagi continues his sprint, “we bit off more than we can chew, isagi. how are we going to get close to those guys if she has a gun?” 

“i have no idea, but we’re going to find out soon.” 

out of all the jobs they could have taken, they impulsively chose one of the more difficult ones on the board. the kind that was plastered high above the rest of the menial academic tasks. despite being newly admitted dwma students and first time partners, they were too eager to rise up the ranks. 

the original job was for two. bachira ignorantly thought it meant one weapon and meister. however, once they dispatched and saw the size of their opponents, they quickly realized the job meant two pairs: two weapons and two meisters. 

bonnie and clyde, two kishin souls they were sent to capture were slicker than eels. they constantly separated themselves to cover more ground, making it difficult for isagi and bachira to pin one of them down. with bonnie hunting them down with a thick, semi-auto shotgun, clyde used a metal pipe to corner them. 

together, they were swift and keen, careful as to not get caught by amateur meisters. the last thirty minutes have been a cat and mouse game, with isagi being the latter. it was not looking well for his ego but he has no choice but to continue forth with the mission. hoping to any sort of god, they would get through it all. 

the pair were hot on isagi’s trails, blazing through every obstacle with ease. the debris from the shotgun blast causes the surrounding area to become a landslide. isagi’s temple is dripping with sweat as he struggles to catch his breath, trying to come up with a cohesive plan to eliminate the kishins. puzzle pieces are falling in his mind and he can only find the corners.

“we need to kill bonnie first and foremost,” he suggests, jumping back to avoid clyde’s downwards swing. the concrete shatters from the impact. while the kishin looks up, he is surprised to see isagi no where in sight. away from his field of vision, the meister quickly moves off to the side, looking left and right for any signs of the duo before he finally catches a break.

bachira whispers, “good thinking, partner! with her out of the way, we can focus on close-ranged combat.”

from the corner of isagi’s eye, he can see bonnie reeling up from behind. her hand was raised, one finger tight on the trigger. right before she was about to shoot, isagi reels the chain from his weapon, using his and bachira’s combined wavelength to manipulate the silver link to wrap around her gun. they rip the shotgun away, successfully disarming her. using the same tactic, they surround her body in chains, immobilizing her. 

taking in a lowered stance, he rushes forward, squeezing the handle of his twin scythe before taking a quick, confident slash against her neck. isagi smiles sweetly, eyes glistening with momentary victory before realizing a fatal mistake: instead of hearing the melodic hum of a soul, they heard the crashing of metal. at the very last moment, clyde had caught up to him, holding out his bat to take the brunt of isagi’s attack. 

he twists the pipe in his hands, slamming it into isagi’s stomach with a harsh gruff.  in an instant, he is thrown through the window of a store, ramming into several shelves. from the impact he chokes on a thick clot of saliva. having the wind knocked out of him, a loud bom blankets the quiet city. alongside the burning humiliation on his cheeks, there was a hammering pain in the back of his head that was screaming out to him.

blood drips down the side of his temple. a bitter, metallic taste fills his mouth. bachira calls out his name in worry, face reflecting off the scythe, eyes wide with fear. meanwhile, isagi is struggling to keep his head up. his heart was beating right out of his ears. fear and exhaustion rise up on him like a furnace about to burst into flames. underneath his fingers, he felt the cold shiver of bachira, his partner left vulnerable and exposed underneath the gaze of a kishin.

squeezing his eyes shut, he tucks bachira behind him, away from danger. footsteps come tauntingly slow, savoring the seconds to come. this is where our journey ends, he thought to himself, all because of his naivety and ego. he world grows deafeningly quiet when he shivers.

taking in what might be his last breath, he keeps his eyes closed.

however, instead of a sharp, piercing pain, a shot rings out and the voices scatter. 

a minute passes before isagi heard the melodic chime of a soul. opening his eyes, he sees a black, circular smoke ring floating slowly into the air, hovering above a shadowy figure like a halo. alongside the echo of a bullet, a pair of footsteps emerge from beyond the corridor.

“sorry for being late,” a familiar face steps out from the darkness. appearing beneath the luminous moonlight, she slowly smiles. a bright turquoise light erupts from behind, a man materializing beside her. 

blinking slowly, isagi notices its the same person he saw in class earlier that week. when she sways side to side, curiously peering down at his wounds, he would have never expected her to be the meister in the relationship. it wasn’t very common, at least in the area he grew up in. but he’s unable to focus on this thought as she reaches out to his cheek, examining the goosebumps on the surface of his skin.

“you look shaken up.” 

(name) and rin manifested in front of him with the same convenience as an answered prayer. with the pulsating pain in his side, he vaguely remembers them from the shinigami list. out of his small class, they were the closest to achieving death weapon status, having collected the most kishin souls in a year. 

“it must have been scary, being alone like that.”

the ivy-haired weapon cracks his finger before approaching the glittering soul. his smooth, pale hand wraps around the crimson-colored orb, mouth opening wide as swallows the spirit whole. an audible gulp comes from when rin finishes his short meal. his meister, with the same alluding smile, turns to face him.

“that makes this soul number fifty-three.”

rin huffs in response, “we only need forty-seven more to beat sae.”

“you’re getting greedy rin rin, there’s still another soul to collect here.”

his eyebrow twitches at the nickname. disregarding his reaction, (name) raises her finger, tapping the bottom of her chin. she averts her attention back to isagi, “we saw your name on the board the other day. this job is meant for two pairs, you knew that didn’t you?”

with a sigh, isagi wipes the bottom of his lip with his thumb, licking away at the dried blood. his cheeks were still red. whether or not it was out of embarrassment or exhaustion was up for debate. 

“we didn’t realize it until we came here,” he confesses, “but we’re glad to see you here.” 

swallowing, he admits with a sharpened voice, “thank you, (name).” 

she blinks, taken aback by his words. nevertheless, the smile on her face grows a little wider, “you did good, isagi.” 

snapping her fingers, rin dematerializes. his figure envelopes itself in the same radiant blue light as before, twisting twice before returning to her outstretched hand. anticipation starts to rise in isagi’s throat, watching intensely as she raises her arm.

she swiftly rolls a large rifle along her fingers, spinning it a few times before resting him on the edge of her shoulder. he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but isagi found it strangely mesmerizing the way his weapon form took the appearance of a long barrel rifle. equipped with a bayonet, the blade is daunting as it looms over him, similar to a large fang. the base of the gun was a deep, ebony color with white spine-like spikes wrapping around itself, acting as a sort of thorny shield. 

when he spins around (name)’s open hand, its smooth and calculated, as if its been practiced a thousand times. the weapon is fitting, he thought to himself. for someone bold, blunt, and jagged, its all too fitting for rin. 

“let’s catch clyde before he runs away again.” 

as she is leaning forward with a hand, intent on helping isagi up, a flicker of silver appears behind her. sparing him the surprise, (name) brings up her rifle to deflect a heavy swing towards her skull. an ear-piercing ring shatters the air. blocking the masked kishin from hitting her, the ground crumbles beneath the weight of his attack, awkwardly offsetting her hand from isagi’s. 

“ah,” she remarks, “sorry.” pushing her gun upwards to shove clyde away. this reaction causes him to lose his balance. 

circling around, she slices the front of his torso with the tip of her bayonet. her eyes glisten with excitement as the kishin reels himself back like a fishing line. he is grumbling under his breath, heaving and sighing as his body groans with pain. using a spared second, isagi takes (name)’s hand, pulling himself from the crumbling debris.

clyde, winded and bloodied, swings his bat at isagi, targeting the weakest link. without bonnie, clyde acted out like a rabid animal, dangling his loose arm around as he attempts to catch anyone within reach. he’s forced to retreat when a black bullet whizzes past his ear, slicing the tip off. 

(name) glances around the city, eyes trailing a shadowy figure in the dark. the trigger of her gun twitches and she wastes no time to fire upwards, using her instinct to predict clyde above her, she blows off his left arm. this causes him to redirect his body midair. his detached limb falls helplessly beside her foot, and the sight is enough to make isagi swallow the bile in his throat.

squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he focuses on steadying his wavelength with bachira’s, syncing up with him for their next attack. when clyde lands on the ground, isagi uses his chain to wrap around his leg, pulling on it with all his might. 

meanwhile, (name) approaches him from the other side, shooting the back of his knee to tear through the ligament. this has clyde slumping forward, paralyzed and unable to move his leg.

with the same thought, isagi and (name) rushes forward. nearly colliding blades, she successfully beheads clyde while isagi slices his stomach. the kishin, now in three separate pieces, floats slowly in the air. exhaling once, he turns into a gust of smoke that engulfs both the meisters. 

bachira is the first one to transform back, quickly wrapping his arm around his neck as he ruffles his partner’s hair, “we survived! way to go partner!” 

isagi smiles, breathing a sigh of relief, “for now at least, we still got a long way to go.” 

at this remark, bachira’s eyes glimmer, face brightening up with the same gleeful smirk. he pats his stomach, ready to enjoy his meal. excitedly reaching out to the soul, hes stopped by rin. he takes the soul into his hands, biting into it greedily while his meister watches from the sidelines. 

“hey! you already had one earlier,” bachira calls out, hand left floating in the air as he looks at rin with a look of surprise. “this job was meant for two pairs!” 

“so what?” rin rolls his eyes, dismissing him, “if i recall, we were the ones who killed him first. the two of you were just fodder for us to get close.” 

“you!” 

isagi chokes out a response, waving his hands up and down to mediate the situation, “we hit him at the same time, surely that counts for something.” 

the rifle-weapon sends him a nasty glare in response, disgust laced within his teal eyes, “is that what trash like say to make yourself feel better?” he shakes his head, “it was clear from the beginning you never had a chance. if it wasn’t for us, you would have been dead in an instant. be grateful we even came.” 

“you’re both lukewarm NPCs. next time, don’t choose a job you can’t do.” 

this reaction sparks anger within isagi. his fist is shaking from how hard hes pressing his fingers into the palm of his hand. all while this is happening, (name) smiles, seemingly oblivious to the conflict in front of her. 

“don’t worry about it, isagi. you will get a lot more souls later. this is just one of many jobs here at the academy.” 

“(name)...”

isagi smiles in relief, glad that someone other than bachira agrees with him. this was only one mission. there will be more in the future, and by that time, he was going to rise up the ranks. the thought comforts him a little. but just as he was beginning to feel the warm sensation of hope, rin came crashing down on him like shards of glass.

“you’re happy by just a few words?” he grumbles, “your ego must be rotted.” 

unable to say anything else but scrambled gibberish, isagi watches as rin leaves with (name) tucked into his side. the woman skips along the brick road as rin walks in front of her. right before they could disappear into the dark alleyway, (name) spins around to deliver a short, playful wave, mouthing what isagi can only imagine is an apology for her sharp-tongued partner.

once they were out of earshot, bachira finally lets out a groan he’s been holding back. rubbing his face together, he eases the tension in his muscles. with a hand on his hip, he pouts, “what is his problem?” 

isagi only shakes his head. while he looked up to rin earlier for saving his life, his attitude was oozing with arrogance. worst of all, he had ego. the kind of mentality that his professor had previously lectured him about. it frustrates him to think that rin is the kind of guy who thought he was better than everyone else, and the unfortunate part was that it was all true. 

after this mission, he and (name) have successfully captured fifty-four souls. it was a lot better than him who only had around five to his name. he hates to think that rin will become a death weapon before bachira does. isagi couldn’t chalk it up to dumb luck either. he won the lottery with (name) as his partner.

everything about (name)’s fight was seamless. like he was controlled by a puppeteer, he fell into her formula of success. he could sense her wavelength fluctuating to accommodate for rin’s movements, making their options on the battlefield near limitless. 

she was the perfect channel to his flow. the kind of meister most weapons could only dream of having. biting the bottom of his lip, isagi stares off into the hall (name) left in, letting bachira guide him back to the school dorms as he is lost in thought.

from the perfect timing of her arrival to the smooth transition in her movements, it was clear you and rin have been fighting for a long time. possibly a lot longer before he joined the dwma academy. he has to push down the green monster manifesting at the pits of his throat. squeezing his hand into a tight fist, he narrows his gaze. 

he can only hope to achieve what you have today in a few weeks.

on the other side of the city, rin continues his walk with (name), with him glancing back and forth at her figure. he is fidgeting with the bracelet on his wrist, feeling the metal grow heavy on his skin. they don’t talk to each other for a while. instead, opting for a quiet walk through the city.

it wasn’t until rin sees a crow flutter in the distance that he finally says something.

“you didn’t need to be nice to him,” he comments, footsteps echoing alongside his words, “he was just looking for some kind of praise from you. giving it to him is only going to make him hopeful and naive.” 

“theres no harm to it,” (name) replies, reaching out to hold his hand, a subtle act he doesn’t object to despite how poisonous her touch feels to him, “do you think me being nice to him will affect us in any way?”

his answer is curt and simple: “no.” 

“are you jealous, rin rin?”

“what is there to be jealous of?” 

he doesn’t see isagi as a threat. someone as small as him would never make it into the real world. he would have been the first person to be devoured by a witch. cruel or not, the thought holds true in rin’s mind.

“then nothing will change. i will still be your meister and you’re my weapon,” a laugh escapes her throat, “so don’t worry about anyone else.” 

peeling away from his grip, he almost has half a heart to chase after her. walking ahead, (name) stops just a few feet in front of him. rin pauses instantly. eyes peering down at her with a flicker of a spark, she gives him a familiar smile he knows all too well. 

she opens her arms out to him, like a bird ready to soar. 

“because i will be the only one to turn you into a death weapon.” 

her sentimental words settle in his chest. like a blanket, it drapes over his beating organ. blood soaking the cloth, it helplessly merges together. for a moment, he wonders if this is what he’s been searching for all along, or if it was just another trap used to lure him into her arms.

he presses his lips together. walking three steps forward, rin carefully wraps his arms around her tightly. he wants to ignore the beating of his heart in his ears. he wants to forget that when he presses himself close to her, everything feels safe. 

he inhales with his entire chest, sinking into her warmth as if she’d disappear any second.

✦

the first thing rin hears in the morning is humming. the alarm clock next to him says its eight o’clock in the morning and that its time to get up. rubbing the sleep off his eyes, he creeps downstairs to the smell of pancakes. his meister stands in the center of controlled chaos. pancake batter mixed in one bowl, a blender full of fruits and what he assumes to be his protein powder. the kitchen looks like a battleground with a lone soldier in the center, chiming a tune while pouring batter into a pan.

“good morning, rin rin.” you announce, looking over your shoulder, “can you set the table?” 

he wordlessly obeys, too early in the morning to give a proper response. he reaches over to the tall cabinet and takes a few plates from the top. placing two on the counter next to you before leaving to gather forks and knives. 

he briefly turns in your direction, watching as you’re stacking pancakes on his plate. the scene is awfully domestic as it is comfortable. and the more he thinks about this homely arrangement, the more uneasy the feeling in his stomach gets. the first thing that comes to mind is whether or not you’ve had similar experiences with your previous partners. 

he knows he is not your first and he might not even be your last. while he isn’t the kind of person to mull over someone else’s words, specially if that person is shidou, what he said still rings clear in his head. there was some kind of history between you and the antenna-head that he wanted to know. perhaps out of curiosity. maybe out of a sickly emotion he is forced to call worry. 

setting down two plates and a cup in front of him, you both sit down in silence. while you drowned your pancakes in syrup, rin likes his with a small cube of butter and a light drizzling of honey. not too sweet but not plain either. 

he comes up with a list of things you do that are totally opposite to him. from the smile on your face to the permanent scowl on his, or the way you start your mornings with a sugary breakfast, it all reminds him of how different you are to him. and although he may be cold and honest, you were a mixture of three things: warm, inviting, and worst of all, incredibly enigmatic. 

he wishes he could go into your mind and understand the world through your eyes.

“you’re thinking hard about something,” alongside your sticky, syrupy pancakes, you cut through his thoughts, “care to tell your partner?”

using his knife, he flicks the butter around his plate. it slides across the warm, pillowy pancake, leaving behind a golden layer. he presses his lips together, unsure of what to say. he would rather die than say anything related to his feeble emotions. but he just can’t help it. not when you’re looking at him with eyes that could melt him like ice cream on a hot summer day.

“what is your relationship to shidou?”

he hears the same hum once more, the sound trailing upwards as if you caught a funny joke, “there wasn’t anything between us. he was my partner before i met you.”

“so i’ve heard.”

he stabs through his stack of pancakes, carefully picking apart any small movements in your face. unlike his relationship with sae, you treated your partnership so casually, as if saying you’ll be together for life was just fishing bait. he thinks you were just nothing but a partner to shidou. someone he could use to channel his explosive attitude. but the more he considers it, the more it feels like it was the other way around. 

he only knows a few things about you. 

one, you are a special case amongst other meisters at the dwma academy. on your first trial mission with him, supervised by ego and a nurse named anri, he noted the way your wavelength constantly fluctuated to accommodate for his movements. while some people might describe their wavelength relationship to be like walking on three legs, being with you made it feel closer to two, and that he was the one in control. fighting with you was completely different from sae. although you were both calm and collected meisters with an unprecedented amount of talent, being with you made him feel lighter than air.

it was easy for you to wield any weapon in the school with this kind of skill. and while powerful in itself, it still needed a weapon to be channeled. this led to you having a multitude of partners throughout the years, with shidou being one of many, and rin being your most recent addition. 

two, you like food sweet enough to rot your teeth. this was picked up after living with you. from afternoon teas to late night drinks underneath the moon, you preferred your life to be sweeter than candy. after every mission, you made it a habit to take a piece of candy from your pocket, handing it off to him like a child who didn’t cry at the dentist. 

he typically found cabinets full of store bought candy you used your hard earnings on. he thought it was a waste of money until one fateful night. after a hard day of fighting kishin after kishin, you gave him the same strawberry candy you carried in your pocket. although it should have been nothing out of the ordinary, laying on the ground, heaving because of exhaustion. with your hand grazing his, the sweet taste of strawberries was the greatest distraction from his hammering heart. 

three, you have a strange fascination with him. this fact was more puzzling than the last two mentioned. your love for him was unexplainable. oddly palpable, even. it overflowed into everything you touched. from the ways you held his hand, to the charms you forced, but never fought against, on his wrist. you were loving in ways he couldn’t understand. it was nothing like the love he felt from sae. 

where his older brother was obligated in one way or another to take care of him, you did so without a second thought. when he is in your arms, you’re kind and gentle. you don’t whip him around, expecting him to follow up your perfect movements. you don’t chide him for not being fast enough. you don’t scorn him for not being good enough. and most importantly of all, you love him despite all the flaws that litter him.

it keeps rin from sinking into the black pool that plagues the depths of his mind. the same one that has him questioning when everything will come crashing down. just counting the seconds before it all gets taken away from him. 

“what happened between you and him?” 

you turn to him, “things didn’t work out.” your answer was simple, like he expected. he doesn’t know whether or not to be annoyed with himself for being right, or you for being too easy to read. “decided on a whim i wanted a new partner.”

“thats it?”

raising your eyebrow, you chuckle, “is there something you want to know, rin?” 

your voice trickles down on him like honey. it coats his throat, silencing any words he prepared on a silver platter for you. he feels he’s drowning in your saccharine sweetness. the smell of almonds tethering the line between candy goodness and poisonous danger. it doesn’t help that your laugh is just as sugary as the rest of you.

he bites down on his fork, keeping his eyes averted.

“not really.”

“you’re a bad liar, you know that?”

“there’s nothing to lie about.”

you lean back into your chair, “you want to know more about me and shidou,” balancing a fork on your plate you let it dance around. similarly to a ballerina, the silver utensil slowly spins in place. the individual tongs act as legs as it falls into a hypnotic rhythm. 

“you want to know what it was like, how long we’ve been working together, what jobs we went on,” the clock’s ticking sound seems to have grown louder because its counting down as if it were a bomb in his ears, “and if we lived together, like you and i do.”

wordlessly, he drops his fork, picking up his cup to drink the smoothie you made for him. he wishes you didn’t buy him matching cups from the market because every time he sees it, every thought becomes harder to keep. he wipes away at the corner of his lips, sighing. he hates that you know the exact way he likes his protein shakes. 

from the other side of the table, you revel in what you can only describe as complicated feelings. although nothing has been said, the look of dismissal and embarrassment on his face gave you more than enough information to understand the turmoil in his head. he thinks you’re too good at this. too good at picking apart his expressions, fighting for answers beneath his skin. 

“and?”

“nothing,” your hand waves itself around, “i just thought it was cute of you to ask.”

with your slumped figure, you drag your foot across the wooden floor, coming dangerously close to his own leg. he can feel some of the thin hairs on his skin stand up from your sly actions.

“do you want to know?”

“about?”

“me and shidou.”

“are you going to tell me?”

there is a foxy look in your eyes that he can only chalk up to mere amusement.

“i guess there really isn’t much to it. we just became a pair because there wasn’t anyone that liked him enough to be his partner. he marched to the beat of his own drum.” you hum, chewing on your food slow and tentatively, “we did a lot of private jobs given to us by the headmaster. something similar to the ones your brother went on.”

like a moth to a flame, he’s hooked onto the last part of your sentence. with just the slightest mention, only for a second, his entire body flamed up like a fever waiting to burst. 

“what were they?”

“can’t say. it’s been a while.” your plain response causes him to kick your shin from underneath the table. your left eye winces but you continue eating, nonetheless, “it was odd kishin jobs that were harder than the ones you see in the academy. nothing too remarkable or memorable.”

you pause for a second, mulling over your words, “it’s a blurry mess. i don’t remember that much from it, other than the fact that i saw sae once or twice.” blinking once, your eyes trail upwards in rin’s direction, “did your brother change because of these jobs?” 

“how do you know about that?”

“...sometimes you mumble in your sleep.” 

suddenly the frustrated expression on his face fades to humiliation. rin quickly turns his head away, finishing his food quickly and swallowing the last of his drink, all the while you carried a cheeky grin. whatever comes out of your mouth afterwards has his anger fizzing away entirely.

“you drool too.”

“stop talking already.” he has the urge to slap a hand over your mouth, praying that you’d stop talking about useless topics.

“you don’t think its cute?”

“you expect me to think drooling is cute? its gross.” 

“don’t be like that rin rin.” getting up from your seat, you skip your way towards him.

wrapping your arms around his neck, you squeeze him tightly to your chest. his heart immediately flat lines at your touch. your hug is warm and all encapsulating. infectious and sickly, just like those pancakes. he hates being in your arms because everything from the dull pain in his wrist to the soreness in his lower back eases away. washed away like sand on his feet. 

“i think its cute when you do it.”

having weaseled your way into his life, you’re like a constant stream of water. while difficult to read at times, he wants to say he knows you better than anyone else. correction, he wants to know more about you. he wants to know why you’re here, digging your claws into him underneath this shared roof. from the way you carry yourself to what exactly brought you to dwma in the first place. he wants to unravel the strings that weave you into the person you are today.

even though he wants to push you away from the thorns that adorn his heart, he wants to pull you even closer, and say that you’ll be his forever. not only as his meister but a partner he could use to become better. 

because thats the kind of relationship he always yearned for but could never say out loud. 

in his weapon form, you’re the only thing pulling him back from the black blood of madness that tempts him every night. he pushes and you pull. swaying one way as you follow. a perfect balance between partners of similar wavelengths.

he is scared something will tip the scales. its a quiet fear that bubbles in the pits of his stomach. tucked away underneath hundreds of layers of bandages around his heart. he wants to say he hates you just so you don’t hurt yourself on the way out. he wants to tell you to stop making his protein shakes in the morning because he doesn’t want you to stay any longer than you should. he wants to push you away when you hold him at night because it makes him want to puke his guts out to you.

yet all of those words don’t mean anything in the end. not in the universe that you’ve nested him in. 

so despite these minutes feeling too intimate and almost gum-like in the way it sticks to him, he can’t find the right muscles to run away. he doesn’t know if he wants to. he’s drawn to your presence just like everyone else in your life, stuck within your orbit within arms reach. this relationship he shares with you is so incredibly complicated that its far from lukewarm.

he swallows before asking, lacing uncertainty through his words, “what color is my soul?” 

tightening the hold around him, you lean in closer, drawing your hand down his chest. he sees the silver pendant on your wrist as it dangles and clammers with a light ‘clink’ noise. he believes his heart and soul might be opposite colors, the latter being an ugly shade of red.

“it’s blue.” 

resting his head against yours, he breathes in your scent as your heart rate steadies alongside his. if things get too comfortable, he might end up transforming back into his weapon form to keep you from seeing the redness in his ears.

“really?”

“mhm,” his ears perk up at your mumbling voice, “you have a very pure-hearted soul.” 

“even after everything?” 

“despite everything.” 

reaching out with your hand, you turn his head towards you. he instinctively leans into your touch. his teal eyes finally make contact with yours after what seemed to be a long, drawn out breakfast. the expression on your face makes him feel like he’s going to melt into the lovesick slobs he’s seen on numerous television shows. it makes the syrup on his plate all the more sticky and gross.

“its the prettiest i’ve ever seen.” 

you drop your arm, gliding it across his body. it drags from his shoulders to his biceps, to the lower part of his elbow, and ending at the silver jewelry adorning both your wrists. a skull pendant, gifted to him the first day you became partners. a rather simple accessory that weighs heavy on him.

turning his palm over, he lets you intertwine your fingers with his. a soft mutter of your name dancing on the tip of his tongue. 

“we’ll be partners, forever.”

✦

after breakfast, rin doesn’t think too much about your relationship with shidou. perhaps to some extent, he drowned it in the back of his mind, focusing on finishing his daily yoga and meditation before the day officially starts. 

while he was fixed at the center of the living room, having pushed the coffee table off to the side, you sat on the couch with a book in your hands. it was normal for the two of you to stay indoors during your day off. unless there needed to be some kind of shopping done to refill the fridge, you’d laze around in the bedroom or living room. you’d oftentimes kick your feet up when you’re laying on your stomach, something he had found terribly bad for his heart, finally getting to the books you’ve been putting off reading.

before the coffee gets cold, he remembers buying you the rest of the series from your local bookstore after you expressed interest in it. the concept of the story was relatively simple: you can go back in time as long as the coffee stays warm. you’ve asked him before what he would do if he could go back in time, but the only thing that comes to mind is wanting to fight sae.

he exhales slowly. work is tiring and never ending. the shinigami’s list was always growing and there will always be time to do them later, is what you always say.

out of the corner of his eye, the mirror in your living room space warps as your professor connects with you on the other line, tapping on the reflective surface. ego peers into the room, eyes dry like fish. alongside rin, the two of you sit up straight. rin is leaning his back against the seat of the couch with your right knee lightly touching his right shoulder.

“good morning,” he claps his hands together, “do you have time to talk about your recent progress?”

rin rolls his eyes, “you’ve already called us on our day off. what is it that you need?”

ego narrows his eyes but continues talking, “congratulations on reaching the halfway point. you only need forty-three more souls until you’re getting closer to becoming a death weapon, itoshi rin.” this sparks another huff from the man, “i assume based on the look on your face, you think you’re ready to become death’s weapon. is that correct?”

“of course i am, did you come here to lecture me about something i already know? or will you tell me something useful,” rin says with upmost confidence, “whatever comes our way, i’ll kill it.”

“i assumed you’d say that. and you’d be right. out of everyone in your class, the two of you might be the first ones to get a witch’s soul. i’m not here to tell you what to do,” ego leans forward in his chair. 

“only that with this new milestone comes challenges that will have you considering taking risks and sacrifices.” 

“what are you getting at?”

“you both already know about the influx of kishin souls roaming the city.these are much harder than  than the ones you’ve been running into recently. if you lose to any one of them, it means certain death for you both. but that is not the only thing you need to worry about,” using a projection, he opens his hand to show you a small diagram of a woman. she floats right above his open palm, broomstick and all. “witches are beginning to notice you, making you a prime target for pickings.”

“and although you might not be ready to face one yet, the possibility of encountering one is high.” 

before rin can say anything, possibly to rebut ego’s assumptions, you squeeze his shoulder with one hand. he looks up at you, eyes widening a millimeter when he sees an unfamiliar, dark shadow over your eyes. 

witches were another kind of monster. there were a lot of them, possibly a lot more than the dwma can ever consider. and while some of them may be weak, it still leaves out a large group of highly capable magic users out of the picture. they’re immensely powerful, so much so that consuming only one witch soul is enough to fully transform a weapon into a tool of mass destruction.

ego looks over to you, “have you made any progress on your soul resonance?”

when you shake your head, his frown deepens. “i see,” scratching the back of his neck he drones, “so you’ve yet to unlock each others full potential despite being partners for two years. that is an awfully long time,” he narrows his eyes, flickering from you and rin, “i hope to see something.”

“before i sign off, i need to tell you one more thing.”

“what else is there?” rin barks.

“madness,” ego says, “there will be madness coming your way.”

rin blinks. madness. he’s heard it in passing. every living thing, meisters and weapons alike, have a special force living inside of them. not only does it control your emotions, but it could influence personal strength as well, making it an important playing card to any fight. 

a small percentage of people have the power to control their madness using wavelength. this in turn, could also awaken someone else’s madness within them.

“if you were to possibly tap into this, understand that there will be sacrifices made. whether it be your life or someone elses,” he grimaces, “it is a double-edged sword. so consider the life of your meister, itoshi rin.” 

“whatever you say.”

ego doesn’t look surprised, knowing to some intent this was the kind of personality he was setting up from the beginning. regardless, your professor sends you one last look, one that has you tensing up in your seat, fingers grasping onto the cushion of the couch.

he mouths a few words: a witch is coming for you.

a shiver runs down your spine. like a spike it drives itself deep into your heart and out from the other side of your chest, letting you to bleed out helplessly like a doe. 

ego officially signs off for the day. your living room mirror goes back to its usual dull appearance. unlike you, rin wasn’t bothered at all by ego’s words. if anything, he felt more determined than ever to continue fighting. if this newfound power could be weaponized, perhaps it will give him the edge he needed to surpass sae. when he glances back at you, the veins in his fingers tensed.

that night, you sleep with your back turned, leaving his arms bare and cold. its relatively quiet if not for the crow pecking at the window, looking into the bedroom as you held your head, a tremble raking down your bones.

[chevxyn]

CONFLICT = CHEMISTRY!

in which, you and sae got into a lil conflict outside a football stadium & the paparazzi’s made a false statement that the two of you are dating.

an itoshi sae smau series

written.

act v, ep 044 : disaster | next part

wc : 1k

the drive to the restaurant was not as it used to be, the sensation felt a little more warmer. that time he picked you up, you swore your heart raced a little faster.

he looked good, black trousers with a white buttoned up shirt accompanied with a black tie, as he opened the door for you and closed it.

when you saw the restaurant, it is no doubt, a fancy one. definitely looks like one that would need a reservation to attend.

he opened your door for you, as you were about to. and the moment you did, snaps of pictures could be heard from people around the sidewalk.

he took you to the inside of the restaurant, and the waiter immediately took you guys to a private lounge upstairs, it gave one the most beautiful city view that you could see.

it was set with a dim light, and a table for two was beside the giant window. as the waiter guided the two of you there, sae looked at you.

“you don’t mind if it was a little.. flashy right?” he asked, and you glanced at him, “yeah, of course.” you gave a light chuckle. he nodded, and sat down on the seat across of yours.

the dinner was really something, the things that you ordered had a rich flavor in it. and somewhat, a conversation with sae really made your night.

even tho it was just a simple get to know each other, and turns out, he gave you a lot of interesting information about himself. like how he started football just at the age of one, or how he dislikes french fries cause he thinks it’s unhealthy for him.

you also shared a fair share of laugh especially when he revealed that his weakness was that he really don’t know anything except for football, but what really makes it interesting is that how he never thought about his and rin’s fight as fights, but as his brother’s rebellion stage.

after dinner was over, you just thought oh, it’s just another date for the media again. you really didn’t expect when he took you to a hill. “where are we going?” you questioned, and he glanced at you for a second.

“somewhere to see the city lights better.” he said, you really didn’t expect he’d do this. but you kept quiet, “well, you don’t have any plans, right?” he asked and you nodded, “i don’t.”

“good.” he said, you can feel the wind getting colder as he took you farther to the top, and the two of you arrived to a scenic overlook.

when you got out of the car, you could see the scene from above was breathtaking, as the moon accompanied the night sky that was full with stars. “so, why are we here?” you questioned again, and he leaned into the rails, “i thought we needed some alone time, from the camera clicks.”

but, isn’t that the whole point that we go on these dates? is what you wondered, but you didn’t question it due to the fear of him getting annoyed at you.

the silent spoke so much of this moment, you looked at his face, as again, his face really do look handsome in this lights, as you admired him.

his eyes turned from the scenery to you. and your eyes widened before looking away, it was awkward. “is there something in my face?”

“no, no. nothing.” you said, “you were awfully looking at it weird.” whoops. it feels like you’re playing a game of choices. make the right words or you’re gonna die.

“i was just..” you couldn’t get your words out and he just letted out a small huff, “admiring me?” he said, a hint of sarcasm was heard, but your heart betrayed your mind that was trying to convince you it wasn’t like that.

“i don’t mind.” he said, switching his glance from you to the city once more. yet he could see your hands trembling a bit, and by some reasons, he took your hand and held it.

and the trembling faded, the two of you were stuck like that for a while him by your side, holding his hand just focused on the city, yet your mind raced with thoughts, as his was not so different.

he did not know why he would do this, to somebody, or more specifically to you, someone that he was so sure that could be just acquaintances.

he hated the way his heart would increase the speed near you, like how it would when he plays in the field. he really never knew of what the feeling of liking someone. but he is so sure this is not how it feels.

so why is he so obsessed with how you are right now? why does he want to hold your hand, and stay close for just a little longer?

this time, he was the one who unconsciously admiring you, as you noticed it, you spoke, “what?”

“[name].” he muttered your name, “why is rin so protective of you?” he asked, and you let out a small hum, “i don’t know.”

“maybe he’s just a good friend.” you said the obvious, and sae looked at you. “do you like him?”

“no!” you answered almost immediately, after that deeptalk you had with rin last time, you never imagined you being more than close-friends with rin.

“i see him as, my younger brother. that’s all.” you gave him a subtle smile, as he heard that, he looked at you, to your lips, back to the eyes, “so, you don’t mind.. if i,”

your stomach felt like it was flying with butterflies, you raised your eyebrow, his position changed as he leaned in. and before you knew it, he kissed you.

you froze, this isn’t what you expected at all. wasn’t this supposed to be just.. a fake date for the media? your eyes was still opened, before your mind got ahead of you.

and you kissed him back, it took you 5 seconds before you felt your emotions of regret came, and you pulled away first.

“hm?” he looked at you, your face looks conflicted. and he didn’t like that reaction, “what’s wrong—“

“can you take me home? please.” you just said, and he realized what he just did. oh.

why did he do that? even he wondered it, he just wanted you and couldn’t hold back anymore, but he went quiet before nodding, “i see, of course [name].”

taglist (open) : @vaelils, @levihanmyotp, @kaz-0e, @jaeyuuns, @narcjsistx, @sxftiebee, @tojirin, @nensi, @banzaitaka, @whisperofae, @orphicarchive, @bubybubsters, @sellomaybe, @s4-mmy, @nomyimi, @rwbie, @chuuyalvover, @suksatoru, @x3nafix, @misscandygirl122, @imas1mpp, @literallyushiwaka, @y-sabell-a, @pctterheadd, @swagkittybear, @luvvmae, @luvynii, @syarc0re, @saiongfs, @lovessen

©chevxyn

[oofouchstovehot]

Pounces into your kitchen.

Oi! Hello!

Are you a writer? If so, do you have any ideas or AUs you want to scream about? I'd be very interested in listening to a good old-fashioned info dump.

Hoooooooo boy.Yes I am :']

So-like- ik I haven't worked on the fae dca much because of Undertale focus but.... man. I can make it so fucked up.

Open on Smithy Y/N. They just got rammed into a marriage they don't want. Doesn't even know their spouse. Can't yell at their parents cause they're old, frail, and rank higher in the court than they do. Spends all day either in the woods or in the forge, doesn't really have any friends to vent to, and the few smiths that work under them don't need to know their family business and don't deserve the weight of their problems. Gets into an argument with a parent (in public, no less) over "welcoming the future and all it holds with hope and enthusiasm" and decides to go an a night-time ride against their better judgement.

They find themself dosing off, however, and what should have been a short trail just on the edge of the thicket blurred into an un-worn path deep in the forest. They lightly chastise their horse for venturing deeper instead of going home when they slipped away, but can't be mad at the thing. They still recognize these trees, after all.... SURPRISE! Something as small as the crack of a branch breaking in the distance sets the horse into full spook, running straight off the beaten path farther than anything y/n recognizes before they're finally bucked off and left in the dust.... weird... mauve dust.

Laying in the dirt with what is luckily only a minor sprain, y/n finds their mind unusually clouded as a person unlike any they'd ever seen stands above them.

It's a fae. It has strangle splotchy blue skin, wings of a moth, legs of a deer, 4 ears, and strange petals like a blue-bell flow down it's scalp like hair or a hat, similar petals on it's neck remind you of a ruff. It's face covered by a thin veil, held by golden ornaments. Golden bracelets like shackles wrap around it's wrists and ankles, but something tell you they're not the manacles of a prisoner.

It introduces itself as "Moon." Claims to know of your plights. Says it's worried for your health and demands that-hey! why are you getting up? Stay down! Come back!

You know to be polite but can't bring yourself to be careful, half-sure this is some fever dream perhaps brought on by head injury. You introduce yourself as "Smith," tell it you appreciate it's concern, but this is no place for a nap and you really must find your horse and go home.

It yells, it begs, it whines, it reminds you of the young princess before she'd gotten the hang of manners, insistent thing it was yet either unable or unwilling to inflict you with any faerie curses like you might've expected. It trailed after you as you walked, growing frustrated all the while, moving to grab you yet pulling away every time. A lovely reminder of your own jewelry. Cold iron. Wrapper around every finger and ear, your neck, your wrists, the toes of your boots and the clasps of your gloves.

The thing blocks your path. It stomps the ground and clenches its fists. It rants and raves about manners, listening, and sleeping at night, before suddenly stopping like it'd just receive the ultimate paternal glare. Perhaps it had. A growing dread assures you that a bit more care would've serve you well tonight.

The little guy whips around and you peer over it's wings to see a towering thing.

It's horribly out of place in the moonlight. Red and Oranges and Greens. It's sported the same veil, and ornaments of it's own, now in silver, with the addition of studs and loops in it's many ears. The many layered petals of it's scalp remind you of poinsettias. You saw no wings, but the "cloak" along it's shoulder physically grew from it's neck, like the little one's ruff.

It stares down at you like the scum of the Earth, before ignoring you to chastise the little guy about straying too far, playing too loudly, and waking him up at a ridiculous hour.

The little one asks if it remembers the "unfortunate metal worker" it's been watching recently??? When it nods, it simply points at you and says "their horse tried to kill them but they refuse to lay down"

The feeling of hidden eyes narrowing on you keeps your mouth shut. And the ensuing lecture is much more convincing than Moon could ever dream to achieve. Something about self preservation, and healing, and rest, and complying for the sake of those who care for you that gives you some major ick but keeps you nodding your head in an intimidated daze, like a child caught roughhousing with their younger peers.

It wasn't enough to get you to lay down on the spot. however, a clawed hand with too many joints and not enough fingers gripping your wrist, completely ignorant of what was most definitely it's hand lightly crackling like a log on fire, said other things about how tired you were.

You wake up a week later in your bed, father worrying at your side, horse in the stable, all the jewelry you had on your person found in a little silk bag tucked away in your nightstand, every free surface on your room adorned with a bouqet of lillies, blue bells, poinsettias, foxgloves, or strangely coloured roses.

Delivered by "worried servants" he would say.

________

Y/N continues to see Moon on their late night strolls and rides, struck with a newfound confidence after their "rough yet successful" introduction. As time goes on and you continue to grow lax with the brothers (thought not with your iron) It and Fae and Boy turns into Them and He and Moon. Moon loses his veil somewhere along the way, revealing milky pink eyes but an otherwise featureless face. You start growing closer to Sun(whose name you found out later though it was already obvious) when he starts to appear during your daylight strolls and rides. They're much more common than your late night ones, and your scared this unfairness might trigger Moon's short temper, but he claims it would be fine because Sun took such a long time to warm up to you anyways.

They bring you flowers, they bring you trinkets. You see moths and lizards in the corners of your eyes throughout the day. They sing strange songs in a tongue you can't understand. They offer you food that you always decline, distrustful of the oddly perfect bread and strange looking fruits. Sometimes you take your rings off. All except your engagement ring, of course.

Moon gets unreasonably upset over this, wanting to hold both your hands. He says he has to make such a fuss because he's being angry for Sun, too. But whenever you bring up your engagement to the eldest, he changes the subject, ignores you all together, or shows no sign of being upset at all.

Strange creatures.

They make you laugh, though.

______________

You're getting married Saturday.

You met your fiancé today.

It was awful.

They were about as thoughtful as your parents and twice as haughty. They refused to look at you. They refused to talk to you. They interrupted you when you tried to talk to them. You had to listen to whatever they wanted because you were in public, they were a higher status than you, and you didn't want to make a scene.

They made you take off your iron. They called it "unbeffiting." They insulted everything from your clothing to your profession to the way you wore your hair and the length you kept it cut at. A servant brought you a new outfit for the evening. When you hesitated to remove your rings, they ripped them off your fingers. Left them uncovered and nicked.

You were supposed to walk back to your quarters with them to bond until you went your separate ways for bed.

You took off into the dusk ironless, horseless, in dress shoes bare and hands.

The hour is unusual, both brothers appear to you, the youngest stay back and watches the Sun provide you comfort you didn't know he could give.

Nothing crackles when you grab his hands, your own in nothing but useless stone and gold.

"I want to make a deal." A thumb with too many joints rubs over your last ring

Shackles for Shackles, Strings for Chains.

Black across your ankles, silver and gold around your wrists, loose chains bound to a necklace that chokes with precious jewels. Pale white eyes and blood red freckles more beautiful than the sunset you were too busy crying to watch.

"Moon and Eclipse agree they'd be just fine with you as an in-law"

You were getting married today.

_________

THIS ISN'T ALL.

I HAVE MORE.

THEY'RE GONNA BE ON A SEPERATE REBLOG CUS THIS IS HUGE

[puppppppppy]

i think the reason why im so drawn to spirit tracks and pkmn scarvi is that having the legendary/princess as a companion rather than a goal that marks the games completion makes me feel satisfied the way i would after helping a friend

my brother always teases me about how I still havent finished botw after almost 7 years bc "id rather be out picking flowers" which i wont say is untrue. and yes i know Zeldas been holding off ganon for 100 years, yes i can get some sort of idea what her relationship with link was like by recalling memories and going through her diary. ive always loved botw for its unique storytelling and setting which makes it stand out, because it lets you get to know who you're saving.

but because theyre memories, it only works if theres something for the player to investigate that already happened. its retroactive (but effective nonetheless)

on the other hand, spirit tracks does something similar but instead of having the player try to piece together memories and interpret them as a spectator, you actually have an opportunity to get to know zelda yourself by talking to her and working together. besides making it a gameplay mechanic, giving the player control over how they interact with zelda makes it so much more personable.

and I find that making the goal feel personal instead of an obligation gives me more of a reason to work towards it. I know what kind of person botw zelda was but as the player, shes still very much a stranger to me. but spirit tracks zelda? thats my friend!!!! she invited me to go to the beach after we get her body back!!! i dont want to whip her to make her move faster thats mean :(

you know how hostage negotiators are trained to introduce themselves and get to know the person theyre negotiating with because its harder to hurt someone when you know what their favorite food is? its kinda like that, because it feels like im helping a friend than being told or led to do smth

and although i havent played scarvi myself, i feel an attachment to koraidon and miraidon even just watching playthrough clips because its like!! thats my weird scaly dog!! it loves sandwiches and we're friends!!! you know!!!!!!

[billymayslesbian]

Before Lionblaze could argue, another shape burst through the billowing smoke to stand beside Squirrelflight. His eyes glared; his gray fur was matted together and stuck with bits of burnt leaf and twig. Confused by the smoke and flames, Hollyleaf almost thought she was seeing one of her warrior ancestors, until she recognized Ashfur.

Squirrelflight dropped the branch. “Help me push it into the fire!” she yowled.

Grabbing the branch in strong jaws, Ashfur thrust it past the wall of flame and into the ever-narrowing patch of ground where Hollyleaf and her brothers huddled. But Hollyleaf didn’t feel any sense of relief. There was a look in Ashfur’s eyes that she didn’t understand: the look of a cat who had just spotted an unexpected juicy bit of prey.

The branch made a bridge through the flames, but Ashfur stood at the other end of it, blocking the way to safety. Lionblaze nudged Jayfeather to his paws; Hollyleaf took a step toward the branch, then paused. She felt a cold weight in herbelly when she looked into Ashfur’s glittering blue eyes.

“Ashfur, get out of the way.” Squirrelflight’s voice was puzzled. “Let them get out!”

“Brambleclaw isn’t here to look after them now,” Ashfur sneered.

Hollyleaf felt her fur beginning to rise. What did Ashfur mean?

Lionblaze’s golden pelt was bristling, too. “What have you done with my father?” he howled through the flame.

Ashfur looked at him pityingly; his eyes were twin points of fire amid the burning forest. “Why would I waste my time with Brambleclaw?”

The main branch was too solid to catch fire easily, but the leaves on it had shriveled and the twigs were beginning to smoke. Hollyleaf realized that they didn’t have much time before their bridge to safety would be ablaze.

Squirrelflight staggered up to Ashfur. Hollyleaf had never seen her mother so angry. Her fur bristled with fury; she looked like a warrior of TigerClan. Yet it was obvious that the climb to the top of the cliff, followed by her struggle with the branch, had weakened her, and she was exhausted.

“Your quarrel with Brambleclaw has to stop,” she hissed. “Too many moons have passed. You have to accept that I’m Brambleclaw’s mate, not yours. You can’t keep trying to punish Brambleclaw for something that was always meant to be.”

Ashfur’s ears flicked up in surprise. “I have no quarrel with Brambleclaw.”

Hollyleaf exchanged a shocked glance with Lionblaze. “That’s not how it looks to me,” he muttered.

“I couldn’t care less about Brambleclaw,” Ashfur continued. “It’s not his fault he fell for a faithless she-cat.”

Faithless? A growl began to build in Hollyleaf ’s throat, but then she stopped and watched the cats on the other side of the blazing branches. Something ominous was taking place in front of her, and even with flame roaring around them she felt a sudden chill. She shrank closer to Lionblaze and Jayfeather, whose head was up, his sightless eyes intent, as if he could see the confrontation between his mother and Ashfur.

“I know you think I’ve never forgiven Brambleclaw for stealing you from me, but you’re wrong, and so is every cat that thinks so. My quarrel is with you, Squirrelflight.” Ashfur’s voice shook with rage. “It always has been.”

Horrified, Hollyleaf took a step back and felt her hind paws begin to slip on the edge of the cliff. Her head spun as lightning stabbed out and thunder drowned all other sounds, even the roaring fire. For a heartbeat she dangled over empty air, and she let out a strangled yowl.

Then she felt firm teeth meet in her scruff; blinking against the smoke, she realized that Lionblaze was hauling her back to safety. But there was no safety: only the hungry flames, and Ashfur blocking the end of the branch with fury in his eyes. Fiery sparks floated down on all three young cats, scorching their fur, and flames licked the underside of the branch; fear flooded afresh through Hollyleaf when she saw that it was already beginning to smolder.

Ashfur has to let us get out! But Hollyleaf couldn’t find any words to plead with him. What was happening here didn’t have anything to do with them, even if they died because of it.

“All this was moons ago.” Squirrelflight sounded puzzled. “Ashfur, I had no idea you were still upset.”

“Upset?” Ashfur echoed. “I’m not upset. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. It’s like being cut open every day, bleeding onto the stones. I can’t understand how any of you failed to see the blood. . . .”

His eyes clouded and his voice took on a wild, distant tone, as if he could see the blood spilling out of him now, sizzling on the burning ground. Terror burst through Hollyleaf and she pressed closer to her brothers. This cat was more dangerous than the storm or the fire, or the fall lurking perilously close to her hind paws.

Desperately she tried to step onto the end of the branch. At once Ashfur rounded on her, fully conscious again, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“Stay there!” Turning to face Squirrelflight but keeping one paw on the branch, he hissed, “I can’t believe you didn’t know how much you hurt me. You are the blind one, not Jayfeather. Who do you think sent Firestar the message to go down to the lake, where the fox trap was? I wanted him to die, to take your father away so you’d know the real meaning of pain.”

Hollyleaf ’s shocked gaze met Lionblaze’s. “He tried to kill Firestar?” she gasped. “He’s mad!”

Determination glittered in Lionblaze’s eyes, and he bunched his muscles for a giant leap. “I’m going to fight him.”

“No!” Hollyleaf fastened her teeth in his shoulder fur. “You can’t!” Her words were muffled now. “He’ll just push you into the fire.”

“Brambleclaw saved Firestar then,” Ashfur went on to Squirrelflight. “But he’s not here now. He’s not here—but your kits are.”

Squirrelflight’s eyes blazed. For a heartbeat Hollyleaf thought she was going to pounce on the gray warrior, but she knew that exhausted and in pain, her mother would have no chance. Squirrelflight seemed to realize it, too. She drew herself up, head high; she was trembling, but her voice was clear and brave.

“Enough, Ashfur. Your quarrel is with me. These young cats have done nothing to hurt you. Do what you like with me, but let them out of the fire.”

“You don’t understand.” Ashfur looked at her as if he was seeing her for the first time; his voice was puzzled and petulant. “This is the only way to make you feel the same pain that you caused me. You tore my heart out when you chose Brambleclaw over me. Anything I did to you would never hurt as much. But your kits . . .” He looked through the flames at Hollyleaf and her brothers, his eyes narrowing to dark blue slits. “If you watch them die, then you’ll know the pain I felt.”

The flames crackled threateningly closer; Hollyleaf felt as if the heat was about to sear her pelt into ashes. She edged backward, only to feel the edge of the hollow give way under her hind paws. The three of them were pressed tightly together, so close that if one of them lost their balance, all three would be dragged off the cliff. Hollyleaf couldn’t control the trembling that shook her whole body as her glance flickered between the cliff and the fire.

Jayfeather was crouched close to the ground, looking tinier than ever with his pelt slicked flat by the rain. Lionblaze’s claws were unsheathed, glinting as the lightning flashed out again, but the tension in his haunches didn’t come from preparing to leap at Ashfur; it came from the effort of keeping himself on the top of the cliff.

Squirrelflight raised her head, her gaze locked on Ashfur’s crazed eyes. “Kill them, then,” she meowed. “You won’t hurt me that way.”

Ashfur opened his jaws to reply, but said nothing. Hollyleaf and her brothers stared at their mother. What was Squirrelflight saying?

Squirrelflight took a step away from them, and glanced carelessly over her shoulder. Her green eyes were fiercer than Hollyleaf had ever seen them, with an expression she couldn’t read.

“If you really want to hurt me, you’ll have to find a better way than that,” Squirrelflight snarled. “They are not my kits.”

[sunderwight]

Scum Villain AU where Shen Yuan and Shen Jiu transmigrate by swapping lives (i.e. Shen Yuan wakes up in Shen Qingqiu's body on Qing Jing Peak, post-fever, while Shen Jiu wakes up in Shen Yuan's body in a hospital in modern China) but it doesn't quite work right.

The system glitches or something and they end up having to jointly time share their lives. Every time a certain moon phase or something (cyclical) comes around they abruptly switch back.

So they spend the entire time trying to undo everything the other one has been up to while everyone around them is just desperately attempting to figure out wtf is going on. Shen Yuan does the skinner quest and stops Luo Binghe's abuse, and Shen Jiu gets a job with a rival company and starts showing up Shen Yuan's brothers. Then they switch back and Shen Jiu is like "it's woodshed o'clock for the beast" and Shen Yuan resigns. Then they switch back again and Shen Yuan saves Liu Qingge's life and gets poisoned defending Luo Binghe, and Shen Jiu creates his own start-up and blackmails his eldest brother about the mistress he's just uncovered. Then they switch back and Shen Yuan gets his brother and his sister-in-law into couples counseling and Shen Jiu embarks on a quest to either cure himself without Liu Qingge's help or die trying.

Eventually they just start leaving bitchy messages for one another to find and doing things that won't cause lasting damage but are incredibly petty. Shen Yuan keeps trying to tell Shen Jiu to read PIDW but Shen Jiu takes one look at his merch-filled bachelor pad and immediately decides that his opinions aren't worth anything, so it takes him a while to actually do it (he is really mad about this when he finally opens the novel and it turns out to be extremely relevant information).

[venomnyx]

THE FOOL CARD - Josh Washington x F!Reader AO3 // Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT - 3.1k SUMMARY - You've been sneaking around with your best friend's older brother since summer. If it's supposed to be easy and casual, why does it feel so foolish? TAGS/WARNINGS - friends with benefits to lovers, female anatomy reader, teasing, alcohol/drinking, cursing, unprotected p in v sex, brief mentions of asphyxiation, creampie, josh has feelings first, dialogue heavy? NOTES - this is a self-indulgent fantasy smutty dialogue pracitce that isn't edited bc who has time for that these days. ignore overuse/repeat words if u love me. fan of josh since '15 only now i have the ability to do something about it

“You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?” Josh asks, leaning against the doorway, casually sipping a beer.

You glance up from the cards spread out in front of you. Ashley sits opposite you, deer-eyes round with awe from when she held off of your every word, hinting at her friendship with Chris potentially becoming something more. A small smile grows on your face as you gather the silky cards together and slot them back into place.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re scared, are you, Joshy boy?”

With another sip, the corner of his mouth ticks up with intrigue. He shoulders off the doorway and saunters over, eyes never leaving you.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he says cooly, sliding onto the stool that Ashley scoots out of. She shoots you a knowing look, a glimmer in the ring of her green eyes, a flush to her cheeks as she scurries back into the chatter-filled living room.

“Tell me,” he begins, lounging back in the wooden chair with a low, shadowed look on his face. A long sip of beer, a generous amount of lash-lidded eye contact. “What does my future hold?”

“Your future?” You smirk, skillfully shuffling the cards in your hand, cheeks warm when you lose the competition of holding his confident stare. The tarot cards are glossy and thick, a high-quality deck gilded with gold that you’d nabbed from a crystal shop that stunk of coconut incense and white sage.

A card flies from the deck, landing face-down. You reach and flip it over, revealing The Tower—a crumbling structure, lit with a devastating fire.

“Sudden, eruptive change.”

He leans closer, interest piqued. “What kind of change?”

“Well��� let’s ask the cards to clarify,” you continue, reshuffling until another card leaps out. You pick it up, revealing a heart, daggered with three, long swords. “The Three of Swords. Heartache, and pain.”

He scoffs humorously. “The only heartbreaking and painful thing about this week was Chris eating my leftover pizza.”

You hum, unconvinced. Another card.

Ten of Cups reversed. Familial despair.

“It feels like a warning,” you say, trying not to look at the blatant picture. Familial grieving, pain, loss. Clearing your throat, you glance back up at him. “Almost like everything you know is about to change.”

“Hm. Seems ominous,” he replies, entirely not convinced. “What about my near future?” He perks a suggestive brow, licks the dry of his lips. “What are the cards saying about tonight?”

You roll your eyes, feigning indifference, but your hands tremble when you pull two cards. The Moon, and The Lovers.

“Hmm… looks like the cards are saying…” you faux scan the cards, then glance over your shoulder to ensure there aren’t any eavesdroppers. When you’re satisfied they’re distracted, you return with your chin propped on two folded hands and a small, mischievous smile.

“Your room. Midnight?”

His lips stretch into a grin. “Y’know, if the cards keep saying things like this, I might just become a believer.”

You mirror his smile, tucking yourself in tight as you lean closer to the counter.

Hannah walks in, playing with her fingers nervously, and you instinctively lean back. She glances between you, Josh, the cards, and twists her feet against the tile seams.

“You want a go, Han?” You ask. She nods, but appears apprehensive.

“Come on, Josh, client confidentiality. Get outta here. Scram.”

Josh laughs, once. “Alright. I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

Your eyes flicker to him for a moment. He nods with a poker face like steel, raises his beer in acknowledgement of his sister, and leaves the room without a second look.

It’s cruel, how he walks away. Cruel like it’ll never mean more to him.

Ashley, face pink from cocktails, corners you when you return from the readings, hand pawing at your arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Ash. What’s up?”

She leans closer, voice lowering. “Do you have a crush on Josh?”

You’re mid-sip of wine when she asks, and you sputter a cough.

“Excuse me?”

She grins. “You know. Do you like like him?”

Ever the butt of the joke, your defensiveness flares like the prickle of young flames. Is she teasing you? Your fingers tighten around the glass stem.

“No, I know what you meant,” you reply, face warming. “Um, no, Ash. I don’t have a crush on Josh.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I could totally set you guys up. I mean, I told you about my crush on…” she glances around, tactically lowering her voice. “…Chris. So, you can trust me!”

“Ash, I think everybody knows about your crush on Chris.”

She blinks like a doe in headlights. “No, they don’t,” her gaze slips away. “Do they?”

You sip from your glass. “Everybody except Chris, apparently.”

She whacks your arm gently. “Shut up! He might hear you!” She scolds, embarrassed. You chuckle to yourself, eyes drawn to your cup as you mindlessly swirl the drink.

“But, seriously, it’s probably good that you don’t have a crush on Josh. Hannah and Beth would kill you!” She laughs.

Your blood turns icy as your mind is suddenly overwhelmed by a flurry of hook-up flashbacks, and you take a healthy, guilt-numbing swig of your drink before replying.

“Haha. Yeah. You’re probably right about that.”

Two glasses of wine later, you excuse yourself for the bathroom and veer off path when the coast is clear to Josh’s room. His door is ajar, feeding through a slim slice of warm lamp lighting onto the dark hallway.

A familiar routine— a scratch for the itch, a hit for the craving. Can’t keep your hands off him, not since the first time. You’d be in so much trouble if the twins knew you were hooking up with their older brother, but the scandal of it all gives you hot flashes between the thighs.

Hands tickle up your sides when you sneak in. A flat palm over your shoulder to click the door shut.

“You’re late,” he teases.

You stifle your giggles. “Yeah, well, unless you want everybody finding out about whatever we’re doing, then you’ll have to be patient for me to find my moment to sneak off.”

He closes the space between you, pressing against your chest to tilt you against the dresser, feeling small beneath his frame. Knees locked around his hips when you hop up.

“Would it be so bad?” He murmurs, immediately kissing along your neck, hands greedy on your waist. “You know… if they knew? About us?”

Us. A word like hot coals, fingers instinctively recoiling from the topic. Excited butterflies turned to anxious wasps in your belly. Casual moments bleeding into lingering stares, “we’re just friends” to eye contact and hand-holding when he makes you cum.

You think Emily knows. She’s quick-witted and perceptive whenever you leave the room, eyes sharp like a bristled cat ready to pounce.

“What’s there to know? We’re just friends,” you say, and he hums sceptically in response. You clutch his shoulders, warm beneath wine-numb fingers. “Besides, Hannah and Beth would kill me—”

“So, that’s it?” He grins, pulling away just enough that you can feel his breath fanning across your clavicle. You smell alcohol and peppermint gum and your head spins from the proximity.

“I’m just your dirty little secret?”

He’s making fun of you.

“Shut up,” you whine, breath laboured from the tingly feeling he produces against your skin with his mouth. Arousal so severe you feel like you’re sixteen again, a hormonal ball of teenage puppy fat and insecurity.

“Fine. How’d Hannah’s reading go? What’d she wanna know?”

You sigh with frustration, trying to nudge your hips closer to his. “Josh, please don’t talk about your sister when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Oh, just like that, huh? Like I’m a piece of meat?”

“Isn’t that what you signed up for, pretty boy?”

He nips harder. “You think I’m pretty?”

A severe eye roll. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Well, I can be pretty convincing,” he mutters, pushing the hemline of your skirt up your thigh. “Your dress is cute. You wear it for me?”

You had— all butterflies and anticipation at the thought of easy access. A short, black milk-maid thing, as well as enduring an everything shower the night before, sore from vanilla-sugar exfoliation. Soft for him.

The words escape you in a stuttered breath when he thumbs up to your panty line, tipping it to the side.

“You wish.”

He noses against the column of your throat when he slips a finger against you, shuddery breaths when the slick gathers on his palm.

“Always so wet,” he strains, tipsy touches circling your clit, pressing into the honeyed entrance. “You’re insatiable, you know that? Can’t get enough of me?”

No.

“Mm… don’t flatter yourself. Consider it convenient.”

He tilts his head. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“Stop— stop being such a dick,” you pant, muscles seizing against the sudden onslaught of building pleasure.

“Thought you liked me a little mean.”

He slides a singular finger into you, all molten and tingly as he knuckle-fucks you.

“Oh God, shut up.”

He sucks pressure onto your neck, affectionate with a hand on the small of your back. Your insides clench, aching with the urge to be filled, a desire his fingers would never be fully be able to satisfy.

You palm the growing mound behind his denim. “Need to feel you.”

He leans back, looking at you boyishly, pausing the work of his wrist.

“Right now?” His voice peaks. “But you’re hardly ready—”

“Gotta be quick.” You tug on his belt buckle and challenge his eye contact with lowered eyelids. “I can take it.”

You’ve rendered him stun-locked, shy.

He blinks. “Fuck— shit, okay,” he reaches for the zipper on his jeans, already steel-hard when he releases himself. He nudges closer, but you’ve never done it like this before. Not without a condom.

“This okay?” He asks hurriedly, the strain to his voice a sobering splash.

The wine blurs the line you promised not to cross. You glance down to where he fists himself, hastily spreading your slick across his length, and your lower belly flips.

You nod, bottom lip captured between your teeth. “Fuck. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Josh—”

“Alright, alright, needy.”

He slips a hand over the curve of your ass, propping you firmly on the dresser and nestling further between your thighs, notching his tip against your wet heat before pushing in. A sharp inhale accompanied by a hand on his chest, urging him to go slower.

It’s a tight stretch as you adjust to the weight of him pressing inside you, nails digging reflexively into the meat of his shoulders.

“Easy, I got you,” he murmurs, hand sliding up from guiding himself inside of you to the wall beside your head. His mouth captures yours as he sinks deeper, a balm to soothe the sting.

You don’t normally kiss. Not often, usually only when you’re drunk. It felt too intimate at first, too weird— because two “just friends” fucking each other’s brains out certainly wasn’t, but you sigh-melt when his tongue slips past the parting of your lips.

He rolls his hips shallowly once, twice— until the burn turns honey-silk, sheathed heavily in your velvet. He’s panting when he leans back, reaching up for purchase, something to ground himself. He instinctively goes for your waist, second-guesses himself, and leans a hand against the wall.

Dark eyes search for yours in the haze. “You alright?”

You slide your hands underneath his plaid shirt. “You trying to be romantic or something?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quit it.”

You bite down on your lower lip, suppressing a grin, and dig the ball of your foot into his ass to pull him closer.

“Get on with it, then.”

He obliges with a groan, pistoning slowly at first. A gentle back-and-forth, slickening himself up all sweet for you, precarious where he tries not to make the dresser rock too much. Helplessly his fingers cling to you, digging into the plush of your thigh, thumbing along the crease where the skin meets your hip.

He reaches to cradle your face and parts your kiss-wet lips with a thumb. You suck him into the cup of your mouth, tongue curling around his skin. You’ve never blowed him before but you’re sure he pictures you pretty on your knees with the way his eyes darken.

His thumb releases with a pop and he presses it against your clit, puffy with need.

The rhythm catches up, and soon you’re panting as you rock against one another. Arms clinging to the broad spread of his shoulders, legs squeezing around his waist. You could stay here forever, you think— drunk on the way he fucks you like he cares what you feel, what you think. Attentive, giving. Better than any exes and you’re sure he knows it— why else would you stick around?

Your best friend’s older brother.

“We should stop doing this,” you concede, words strung high across a moan. “Ashley thinks I’ve got a crush on you.”

A tilt of his head. Something flickers on his face, sparkles in his eye when his lip quirks up. Amusement.

“That right?” He breathes, teeth flashing. “Cute.”

“Jesus, right there—”

Panting breaths melt together between a symphony of curses. A roll of your eyes as your head tilts forward, nails digging into his tense biceps, bracing yourself against the pulse at your centre as his spit-silky thumb circles your clit.

He swallows thickly, throat bobbing against your temple. “Well… do you?”

You pull back from the crook of his neck you’d buried yourself into. “What?”

“Have a crush on me?”

You sock his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird.”

He grins, followed by a roll of his hips. “Oh, right, because that’ll make things weird.”

“Just— just keep doing that, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Footsteps and laughter.

Your eyes widen, nerves doused with adrenaline. “Someone’s coming—”

Josh’s hand snaps up and clamps across your mouth, his hips shifting to continue their pace but careful to mind knocking against the dresser. Eyes low and dark as he leans closer, cheeks flushed as he squeezes your face.

From outside the door, “Yo, where’s Josh?”

“He said he was going to get more beer!”

It’s Chris and Mike.

“He’s been gone for a while. Do you think he’s passed out in his room?”

Your brows scrunch, torn between the thrill of fear and pleasure. A moan squeaks behind his palm, every thrust a countdown. Josh mime-shushes you, licking his lips and glancing over at the door as footsteps pass by. Nothing but a piece of wood between you and a secret spilt.

You whimper, pussy turning to liquid heat between your thighs, fizzy with ecstasy, clamping down hard around his hips. Cobra tight around the lava sink and drag of his cock.

“Nah, man. Let’s check the wine cellar.”

The footsteps continue down the hallway, easing your adrenaline with each step as you turn gelatinous in his arms. He releases you at once and the oxygen runs to your head with a dizzying force, eyes wild as they address you.

“Did you…?”

“Mhm.” It pitches high, and his eyes widen with the realisation.

“You liked that. Do you want us to get caught?”

You tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Maybe I just liked you choking me.”

His brows raise. “Wait. Really?”

You smile wickedly in response, leaving the question unanswered— you aren’t trying to give him any ideas, but you feel that bubbly-wistfulness in your belly at the thought of his hand around your throat the next time he takes you.

You’re not meant to daydream or hope for the next time; this was only supposed to be a one-time thing— just shy of your nineteenth birthdays, fucking yourselves through a dry spell, but you’ve been jumping his bones since the Washington’s invited you to stay with them last summer and he showed you how to smoke your first joint.

You’re a sweet girl, their parents said. Hannah and Beth couldn’t have been more excited that their best friend was coming to stay for six weeks. They hadn’t suspected a thing.

That was last August. Now you’re here with the others for the annual winter getaway— the lodge all to yourselves, and you’d not even lasted a night before you’d tip-toed into his room at 1 AM.

Josh grunts into your neck, cock twitching within you, sliding in and out of your slickened pussy like water.

“Where should I…”

A vulnerable split-second of eye contact. Shivery energy zips between you and something atmospherically shifts, like a moon falling into orbital alignment. The space behind your rib cage becomes soft and malleable, gravity tugging on your heartstrings.

The Fool Card.

A dangerous cliff edge that you’re too wrapped up in the moment to take mind of. You’re already in this deep— might as well fling yourself over it.

You dig your fingers into him. “Inside.”

His eyes flash wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah— fuck, Josh, let me feel you.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. So fuckin’ hot.”

He thrusts with more urgency now, brows knit, teeth bared. Sharp when they slide along the skin of your shoulder.

He releases a cute grunt when he comes, nose buried in your neck, cock pulsing strongly inside of you. A sharp little rut of his hips, pushing himself deep, milking dry what remains.

Panting breaths mingle together, misty with post-sex sweat. You stroke the back of his exertion-damp head, cradled gently against your shoulder, his knuckles white as they brace against the dresser.

This is usually the time when you clear your throats and tug your clothes back on, but when he lifts his head to look at you, there’s something soft and sticky-sweet in the post-clarity lax of his features, the seraphic upturn of his brows.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blink at him. “Josh…”

Something visibly deflates on his face. “Sorry, sorry, I overstepped, I forgot the 'rules'—”

You grab him by the neck, thumb affectionately along the line of his jaw, and capture his mouth against yours. When you kiss he’s still sheathed to the hilt, chests pressing together, and you suddenly don’t feel so drunk anymore.

Everything narrows down, vision tunnelling. You’re suddenly not in a lodge with all of your friends, not propped up on his dresser, not just friends with benefits. You can pretend in the safety of his bedroom, making out like lovers, because when it’s this dark it’s just him, him, him, an utter mind-reeling consumption, so warm and soft and tender you feel shame trickle down your spine.

It’s not supposed to feel this good.

Spit strings between your mouths when you pull back.

“We should… go back to the others. Probably wondering where we are.”

He pants, gazing down at your lips. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We should do that.”

It’s cruel, the way he looks at you. Cruel like this means more to him, too.

dividers credit @saradika-graphics // mdni graphics credit @arcielee

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

Family Expansion

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x reader

Warnings: none

Bea series continues

After Bea was born, you and Carlos both knew you didn't want to stop at just one child. You wanted to have at least three, although you didn't know that one little girl like Bea would be such a handful.

Bea is a little girl with character, very attached to both of you and especially to Carlos. Since Bea was already three years old, you didn't want there to be a big age difference between her and the second child, so you decided to start trying for another baby.

About three weeks ago when Carlos came back from the race in Singapore you welcomed him in your home with a pregnancy test in your hands and his eyes started to water with how happy he was. Since that night he couldn’t keep his hands off you and your stomach. He loved being a dad and he was the best at it. Bea was his whole world (and you of course), and the fact that he will have another little being with you sent him over the moon.

Anyway, tonight is the night you decided to break the news to Bea, explain to her in the simplest possible way that she is going to be a big sister. You were very nervous about it because you didn't know how she would react, and Carlos found it funny that you were afraid to tell a three-year-old that you were pregnant.

“Don’t laugh, Carlos! It’s not funny at all.” You sigh crossing your arms and looking away from him.

“Mi amor, you’re overreacting. I don't know why you keep thinking that another baby in the family will upset her.” He says placing a hand over your stomach and gently rubbing it.

“Well, that is exactly why! She will no longer be an only child and you know what our daughter is like. Very possessive, especially about you, and she likes all the attention to be focused only on her.”

“Baby, we have to tell her sooner or later. We might as well tell her sooner so we can start talking to her about it more often and start getting her used to the change.”

You sigh running your hands over your face then through your hair.

“Hey, look at me” Carlos says taking your chin between his fingers making you look at him. “Everything’s going to be okay. Don’t overthink this so much, she’s just a kid. Even if she doesn’t understand some things now that’s okay because she’s not supposed to. We’re in this together, always.”

“You’re right” You say leaning your head against his chest and he places a kiss on top of your head. “I’m sorry I’m making such a big deal out of this.”

“It’s okay, baby. I’m gonna go get her from her room.” He says getting up and leaving you on the couch in the living room.

While you were waiting for Carlos to come back with Bea, you thought that maybe you were exaggerating a bit, that you were making a bigger deal out of it than it actually was. Maybe Bea will be overjoyed to have a best friend for life. Maybe she will enjoy sharing everything with the new baby.

But then again, you knew your daughter very well to know that Bea doesn’t share things.

“Mama!” She exclaimed happily reaching out to you from Carlos' arms.

“Hey, baby” You smiled taking her in your arms. She sat in your lap wrapping her tiny arms around you and leaning her head on your chest. “Did you play with the new kitchen that daddy got you?”

“I did”

“What did you cook today, hm? What did chef Bea make for dinner?” You asked her.

“I..I made a soup. And a chicken. And potato.” She explained, counting on her fingers.

“Good job, baby.” You smiled kissing the tip of her nose.

“Okay, princesa, mommy and daddy have something to tell you, okay?” Carlos started and your heart rate increased. He took her from your lap and seated her between the two of you on the couch.

“Okay”

“Remember how we used to talk about having a baby brother or a baby sister for you?” Carlos asked her moving her curly hair out of her face.

“No” She simply said.

You and Carlos quickly both looked at each other and clamped your mouths shut to keep from bursting out laughing right at the start.

“Ay, nena no digas que no.” (Baby, don’t say no) He says pinching her nose. “Well, mommy has a baby in her belly. You’re going to be a big sister.”

He put his hand over your stomach and you put yours over his. Bea’s eyes just followed your movements without saying a word. Her expression was unreadable, but you could tell she wasn't thrilled with the news .

“How does that sound, mi amor?” Carlos asked her trying to snap her out of her thoughts.

And just like that hr lower lip started to twitch and she started to cry. She opened her mouth and cried inconsolably. You looked at Carlos and mouthed “I told you so” and threw your head back sighing.

He quickly took her in his arms and started rubbing her back as she hid her face in the crook of his neck.

“Bea, don’t cry, bebe” He tried. “You’re going to have so much fun with the baby brother or baby sister. You’re always going to have someone to play with, maybe share a room together. Isn’t that so much fun?”

“I-I don’t-” She sobbed. “Don’t need it”

“It's not a matter of whether you need it or not. Mommy and Daddy want you and another baby. You will still be our little girl, forever, only we will have one more baby.” He was choosing his words carefully making sure to include her in every sentence that left his mouth.

Once she calmed down a bit and stopped crying she said “But-but I wanted an ice cream, not a baby brother or a baby sister”

Both you and Carlos laughed squeezing your eyes shut at her nonchalant statement.

“How about you get an ice cream and a baby brother or a baby sister?” Carlos asked her.

She took some time to think and soon agreed to the proposal. “Okay..”

“Entonces tenemos un trato, si?” (Then we have a deal, yes?) He hugged her tightly kissing her cheek and she nodded her head yes. “Go get your shoes because I’m taking my girls out for an ice cream right now.”

“Can we get a puppy too?” Bea asked.

“Well..” Carlos laughed looking at you.

“Carlos!” You warned him with your eyes knowing that he has trouble saying no to his favorite girl.

“We’ll see about that, let’s get some ice cream first”

[onyxstyx]

ʜᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ʙʏ ᴀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴅ | emperor geta

pairing: emperor geta x fem!reader

summary: the fates spin the thread of destiny, and mortals have no choice but to follow its path. you have other plans.

➺‘the fates, who give men at their birth both evil and good to have, and they pursue the transgressions of men and gods… until they punish the sinner with a sore penalty’ - theogony, hesiod ➺‘whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time’ - marcus aurelius

A/N: i watched gladiator ii, devoured all the geta fics i could find (ty writers for feeding me <3) and i’m still ravenous. the man is gnawing at me from my insides so i had no choice but to get typing. haven’t written for like a yr so bear with me. if this flops it never happened xx

warnings: mention of miscarriage (not reader's), period-typical misogyny, morally ambiguous reader bc she’s fighting for her life out here. she’s just a girl fr :( YOU try being a girlie in ancient rome :/ enjoy !!

w/c: 5.9k

latin translations: fatum - fate, carissima - dear, domina - my lady

As the moon ascends in wake of the sun’s descent, the gilded walls of the imperial palace glint softly in the moonlight. Glorious tapestries line these walls, each one telling the tale of hallowed heroes, of terrible tyrants and of revered rulers. The history of the Roman Empire.

Their patterns, depicting stories of both rise and ruin, are woven by none other than the three Fates. One Fate spins the thread, and an heir is born. Another Fate weaves it, and a battle is won. The last Fate cuts, and an emperor meets his end.

As three pairs of hands work nimbly in the heavens, another tapestry begets itself in the mortal realm, where our story takes place.

From a tender age, you had been taught to believe in fate.

Fatum.

You had first learnt the word as a little one.

You’d been a curious creature, like most children are. Sheltered from the terrors of the world, your appetite for life was insatiable. You’d wake up with a hunger for new knowledge about the world around you, and go to bed still hungry for more, no matter what had transpired during the day. Thus, you found it impossible to go to sleep of your own accord - you relied on your mother’s bedtime stories to satisfy your appetite, and lull you into slumber.

Perched by your bedside with a gentle hand stroking your hair, she regaled you with the tale of Rome’s beginnings. A tale of abandonment, wolf-mothers and fratricide. Enough thrill to tire you out, she hoped. To her chagrin, she looked down to find widened eyes, without a trace of sleep in them, staring up at her expectantly. Instead, your eyes shone bright with the excitement of unanswered questions.

She sighed fondly before prompting you to talk. “Yes, carissima?”

And so the floodgates opened. You fired her with questions with all the sternness of a Roman general, and she listened intently with all the patience of a loving mother.

Why did the king try to kill the babies? Why didn’t the wolf eat the babies?

And finally, taking great care to be gentle, you placed a tiny hand on her rounded belly and asked the most burning question. Why did Romulus kill his brother? Your innocent mind struggled to comprehend it. You hadn’t even met your little sibling yet, and you already couldn’t fathom the idea of bringing harm to him. Or her, you thought, but your father had insisted that all refer to the babe as the male heir he so desperately desired it to be.

“Fatum,” was the simple answer she supplied. “Without the king’s cruelty, without the wolf’s mercy, without Remus’ death, our great city would never have been built.”

Eyes shining with knowledge yet untold, her gaze held yours. “Whatever happens to you, has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time,” she quoted, a tone of finality in her voice.

As well-loved children do, you’d lapped up your mother’s answer as readily as the twin babes lapped the wolf’s milk.

You had first witnessed fatum some years later, at the age of twelve.

On the brink of adolescence, much about you had changed compared to the little girl having bedtime stories told to her. Much except one. Age hadn’t quelled your curiosity - if anything, it had grown.

You’d exhausted all the resources available to a girl of your standing. You’d read enough philosophical texts to debate with Aristotle himself, asked questions faster than your tutors could find answers and yet, you knew there was much more that the world had to offer. So, you decided to take matters into your own hands.

With age had also come a newfound deviance. Observant as you were, you’d learned that there was much to be gained with certain types of information - if you knew how to use it to your advantage.

As such, you’d taken to eavesdropping on your father’s meetings with his fellow senators from behind a pillar. For weeks on end, they had spoken of a play becoming popular amongst patricians and plebeians alike. Oedipus.

At the centre of their discussion was a ploy to ban the play from being performed. Abhorrent, they had called it. A threat to their authority, if the people are led to believe that even kings are subject to a thing as fickle as fate. At that statement, your eyes twinkled with mischief and a devious smile found its way to your face - you were determined to see this for yourself.

So, on the fateful night you caught your older cousin in the arms of a man bearing no resemblance to her betrothed, you knew you’d struck gold.

Desperate to protect her reputation and far too embarrassed to berate you for sleuthing around when you should have been asleep, she’d hastily agreed to the terms of your silence. She would sneak you into the city’s amphitheatre to watch the next production of Oedipus, if you swore to secrecy.

And so your plan commenced. Hidden under the large folds of her toga, you observed the story unfolding before you. The mighty king of Thebes brought to his knees by the tragic fate he’d tried to escape, to no avail.

A real spectacle, the performance elicited emotions from you that were both old and new. In a short two hours you’d been perplexed, horrified, scandalised. You’d learned quickly why you had to be sneaked in - fate wasn’t the only mature theme you were educated on that night.

But you only came to understand fatum when it took the person dearest to you, two summers ago.

Pregnant again, the fifth time that you could remember, your mother had taken ill. Perilously ill. After years of unsuccessful attempts to produce an heir - one daughter, two miscarriages and two stillbirths - she had breathed her last. In her womb? The son your father demanded of her. The son he had longed for. Prayed to the gods for. What else could bring forth such a tragic end, if not the hands of the Fates?

Now a grown woman, the beliefs your mother had impressed upon you would soon be tested. Left with no living sons to continue his legacy and no living wife to bring forth such living sons, your father’s lofty political aspirations could only be fulfilled through his daughter. You.

Your father wasted no time in advancing his plans.

After a long day spent praying at the temple of Pluto, you had been ready to wind down and relax. A good distance away from the centre of the city and situated atop a number of hills, a trip there takes up the whole day. You had set out at dawn, and as the sun set over the Tiber river to bring forth dusk, your shadow darkened the entrance of your family villa.

Exhausted both emotionally and physically, your body went through the motions of preparing yourself for supper, but your mind remained absent - occupied with thoughts of what could have been and what will never be.

After your bath you called for your maid and allowed her to dress you, head still in the clouds. It was only when you caught a glimpse of yourself in the bronze mirror atop your vanity that you noticed something was amiss.

Your eyes squinted as you inspected the image reflected on the polished surface.

“Why have you dressed me in these garments? I wish to wear my usual attire.”

You wore a tunic, the draped garment secured by an ornate brooch resembling an owl, with eyes made of precious gems. Nothing out of the ordinary.

What was out of the ordinary, was the saffron yellow hue of the tunic — since your mother’s passing you had been in mourning and thus only wore dark colours. A fact well-known by your maid, who dressed you day and night.

The hands fastening the brooch faltered as she gathered a response.

“My apologies, Domina.” She stepped back, head bowed in deference. “I assumed you would revert to your previous wardrobe, seeing as yesterday marked the end of…” She trailed off meekly, allowing you to fill in the blanks.

The previous day had marked a year since your mother’s passing, and thus the end of the customary mourning period. As such, it would be socially acceptable for you to appear happy and content again, reflected in the abandonment of deep plums and drab greys for sunny yellows and bold blues. You supposed it was not odd for her to assume you desire to don brighter colours.

But upon closer inspection, your suspicion rose again. Detailed with beautiful patterns and made of the smoothest damask money could buy, the tunic was much too elaborate for a simple family dinner in the villa. The last time you wore it was to a relative’s wedding, where your father made a point of telling anyone who would listen just how much it had cost to import the material from China.

You poised yourself to question her further, but the words died on the tip of your tongue when you saw the pleading look she gave you.

“Please, Domina.”

She offered you no further explanation, but the fear in her eyes was explanation enough. She was not doing this of her own accord, but under instruction. And if you knew your father well, under strict instruction.

Whatever plans he had for you, you knew you would have little to no choice in the matter.

Wordlessly, you acquiesced and allowed her to continue. You did not protest when she brushed, braided and pinned your hair into an elaborate updo. You were compliant when she lined your eyes with kohl and blotted your lips with mulberry juice.

Primped and primed like a prized show horse, you dismissed your maid, sat by the window and awaited your fate.

Not long passed before the sound of a male timbre filled the room.

“It appears your outfit is missing something.”

You turned to the direction of the voice to see your father standing in the doorway. Instinctively, you stood to your feet - less as a show of respect and more because you were used to being on guard in his presence.

In his hands he held a translucent, gauzy material, sheer in nature and vibrant in colour, that was all too familiar to you.

Your mother’s favourite veil.

Usually fixed firmly atop her head during special occasions - festivals, birthdays, weddings and the like - you could recognise it from a mile away. Growing up, you had associated this veil with womanhood itself. You would traipse around the corridors of the villa with it wrapped around your head haphazardly, the excess fabric trailing behind you as you ran as fast as your little legs could carry you.

What a foreign sight it was to see it in the hands of your father. And what a foreign sight it was to see him in your chambers.

Following your mother’s passing, the two of you had not conversed beyond what was formally required of you, your already fragile relationship fracturing completely. Yet here he was, extending a peace offering. An olive branch.

Pleased as you were to receive it, you were not foolish enough to believe this to be a genuinely affectionate gesture. A politician through and through, your father was no stranger to symbolic gestures, and he had made no attempts to mend your relationship prior to this moment. This sudden generosity, paired with your extravagant dressing, could only mean one thing.

He wanted something from you.

Now, you had two options. Comply with his request, or comply with his request begrudgingly. You chose the latter, of course. Even if obedience was your only option, you weren’t going to make this easy for him.

You casted him a quick look of derision. “If you wish to barter for my forgiveness with a piece of cloth, I am afraid your efforts have been wasted.”

Unphased, he stepped further into the room.  “Now, now, peace, dear daughter. Let us be civil.” The faux humility in his tone was almost comical.

“Perhaps you feel…wronged by me for holding your mother to a certain standard. But, you must understand that I was simply fulfilling my duties, by encouraging her to fulfil her own. I have particular responsibilities to this family. As do you, now.”

You levelled him with an icy glare, wise enough not to express your discontent verbally, but too headstrong not to express it somehow.

“And even if I have, in some unfathomable way, wronged you; to err is human, to forgive, divine.” 

After knowing him for as long as you did, you knew this was the closest thing to an apology you would get. You also knew your father was a talented orator - it’s how he gained a large enough political following to join the Senate, after all. And so you prepared yourself to be subjected to one of his moving speeches.

“It is common knowledge that women are the weaker sex,” What a great way to start, you snarked to yourself. “Yet, I have always seen a unique strength in you. Not physical strength, of course, but a mental fortitude. Since you were a young girl you have been willful, stubborn,” he took a step closer to you with each word, purple-lined toga brushing the floor as he advanced. 

As he said the last word, he gave you a knowing look. “Nosy.”

You failed to hide your shock. “Oh yes, I saw you slinking around behind the pillars.” He waved a hand dismissively. “It matters not, now. In fact, whatever dregs of information you picked up from eavesdropping on my discussions may soon prove useful.”

His face was a picture of smugness, with an eyebrow cocked and the corners of his mouth upturned as if he knew something you didn’t. With just a few sentences he had complimented you (even if it was backhanded), revealed that he knew your secret, and teased you with a nugget of information. The perfect combination to make you anticipate his next words.

Silence filled the room as he kept you in suspense, mind whirring as you mulled over his cryptic words. 

One hand held your mother’s veil in front of him, while the other caressed its folds delicately. His eyes had a faraway look in them that suggested his mind had travelled to another time.

“Your mother was a strong woman. Not strong enough in the end, regrettably, but strong nonthele-”

“Don’t.” You interjected. “You will not sully her memory with your caustic words.”

His lips spread into a diplomatic smile, but the twitch of his eye betrayed the irritation he felt. Belligerent as he was, he ignored your outburst and continued. 

“Unlike her, you have the makings of a lady of great influence. Much like me, you have the mind for politics. That potential lies latent within you.”

With a gentleness you wished was also reflected in his words, he draped the veil over your head. “I advise you not to waste it, dear daughter, and suffer the fate of lesser women.”

You scoffed at his words, readjusting the veil so it rested perfectly atop your head and shoulders. “And how do you suggest I fulfil this…potential? The Senate is not exactly welcoming of women.”

Well-pleased that your interest had been piqued, he finally reveals his true intentions.

“Accompany me to the imperial banquet tonight. We will celebrate the successful conquest of Britannia.”

“I do not care for banquets, nor do I spare a thought for conquests.”

“You may not care for military conquests, but this banquet itself is a conquest of the political sort. In my experience, much more is won with words, than with swords. And tonight’s event presents an opportunity for much gain.”

Again with the cryptic words.

“Allow me to present you to the Emperors. Your face is comely enough to garner their attention, and for some reason unbeknownst to me, some men find opinionated girls like you to be charming.” 

Is he insinuating what you think he is?, you thought incredulously. Surely not.

“The Senate may not be the place for women, but the Senate is not the only facilitator of politics. Why not practice your politics from Palatine Hill?”

There was no mistaking it. He intended to make an Empress of you. Equally as curious as you were sceptical, you decided to test his logic.

“Beauty is fleeting. Charm wanes with time. How would I maintain their favour?”

“That, dear daughter, is up to you. I am certain you will find a way, formidable as you are.”

While it pained you to admit it, he was right. You and your father were more alike than different, what with your scheming and blackmailing. Besides, you were formidable. You were cunning. You were capable.

There may be greater things in store for you yet.

And those greater things began with this banquet.

Upon arrival, you were met with the most magnificent sight you had ever seen. Sat proudly upon Palatine Hill, the palace looked like the image your mind conjured when picturing Olympus. After ascending the intimidating number of steps that led to the entrance, you truly felt like you’d ascended to the land of the gods. Wherever you looked there was amazing artwork that instilled equal parts awe and fear in you. 

Look up, and there were grand arches to behold. Look to the side, and the spectacular frescoes offered a feast for the eyes. Look down, and there were beautifully designed floor mosaics you almost felt bad for stepping on.

As you passed through into the atrium, it was much the same. Ostentatiously decorated, it boasted gilded walls and glorious tapestries, each feature a testament to the Emperors’ opulence, and Rome’s riches.

But it was impossible to focus fully on the artwork with the room heaving as it was. Eyes darting from one person to another with every passing second,  you were captivated by the spectacle the hoard of partygoers presented. Something seemed to be happening in every square foot of the room, each guest having their fill of whatever their vice of choice was for the night. Wine was in abundance, giving way to loose lips, and scantily-clad whores prowled about in the shadows, giving way to loose purse strings.

You had been to your fair share of lavish affairs, but this was a whole new world of revelry.

Between the loud percussion of the musicians’ instruments, the aroma of the heavily seasoned foods and the leering gazes of overexcited men, you began to feel overstimulated. You stuck close to your father as he led you into the heart of the throng, finding comfort in the familiar when surrounded by the foreign. Better the devil you know.

Oblivious to your discomfort, he reprimands you under his breath. “Stop clinging to me like a child, lest our venture fail before it has even begun.”

You’d been so taken by your surroundings that you hadn’t registered where your father was leading you to. Now you stood in front of the two men at the centre of this affair, who were seated majestically upon a golden threaded couch. You prayed you didn’t look like the bewildered little girl you certainly felt like. 

With a grand, sweeping gesture of his hand, your father bowed. 

“Imperators, what an honour it is to partake in these…wondrous celebrations with your Majesties.”

“Senator,” one of them said, voice smooth like honey but with an edge that demanded caution. His face bore a smile, but his tone was calm and measured. “What a pleasure it is to see you.” The twitch of his eyebrow suggested otherwise. “In a more agreeable mood, might I add.” The man beside him sniggers.

More agreeable? Whatever could that mean? For the second time in one night you found yourself deciphering cryptic words. Father must have angered the Emperors, somehow. 

“And you’ve brought…” He trailed off, looking at your father expectantly.

“Yes, Emperor Geta, Emperor Caracalla,” with a single clap and an officious clearing of his throat he stepped to the side, no longer obscuring their vision of you. “May I present my daughter…”

You managed to regain your composure, exhibiting a grace only a lady of the upper echelons of society could possess when you sunk into a deep curtsy. Lifting your gaze, you were met with the hair-raising sensation of being observed. Not just observed – scrutinised.  

A pair of eyes, deep brown like rich soil, trailed over your form. The man that addressed your father with contempt - Geta. His brows furrowed as he took the sight of you in. Lined with kohl much like yours, his eyes were smouldering in their examination.

Another pair, red-rimmed and cloudy with the haze of inebriation, were the perfect contrast. The man that sniggered - Caracalla. With irises of a cold blue hue, they would have been intimidating if they belonged to a face other than his, what with his rosy rounded cheeks and seemingly perpetual impish grin. 

Despite their differences, the relation between the men was clear as day. Flaming locks of hair and the gold laurels that circled their heads confirmed their identities. These were the infamous twin tyrants.

But it wasn’t just the weight of their eyes that you felt. Lounging around the couch in various positions and in varying states of undress, was an entourage of courtesans. You did your best to avert your gaze, as theirs bore into you. 

And what a pleasant sight you were. Adorned with ornate jewellery and clad in the finest of silks, you were easily one of the best dressed at the banquet. Before a word had been uttered, your appearance relayed a message – you were a lady of fine stature, more than accustomed to luxury and thus, would be well-suited to palace life.

Well-suited to be Empress.

Not taking any chances, your father decided not to leave anything up for interpretation.

He began listing your virtues as if reading from a handbook - 100 Things to Look For in a Roman Wife. He spoke of your piety, your beauty, your fertility. With every trait of yours that was mentioned, you grew increasingly more irate and keeping the docile smile on your face became increasingly more difficult. 

“...and lest I forget, she is most gifted with the lyre-”

“How quaint.” Caracalla interrupted, a peal of childish laughter bubbling from his lips. “He presents his daughter’s hand as if he is lobbying for a law to be passed!”

Geta scoffed, “Or a conquest to be forfeited.”

At this, Caracalla doubled over in laughter, the overfilled cup of wine in his hand threatening to spill over the rim with every jostle of his frame. Clearly there’s a joke you’re missing here.

There’s a wicked glint in Geta’s eyes that tells you this joke has guile. 

“Three sennights have lapsed since you last stood before us, spewing nonsense about abandoning our pursuit of Britannica.” The vitriol that coated his voice strung a discordant note in the mellifluous tune of his brother’s continuous laughter. “Yet here you stand in your Emperors’ palace,” he gestured at the ongoing frivolities. “Drinking and making merry with spoils from the very war you so vehemently opposed.” 

Ah. It finally clicked. From what you had picked up from your father and his associates’ discussions, you knew that this conquest had long since been under contention among the Senators. The campaign was taking longer than anticipated, and required more reinforcements than expected. The Roman force was fatigued. At home, the starving plebeians of Rome were one famine away from revolting, and without the full support of the army, politicians relied on empty promises to appease their constituents and maintain order. Yet, the Emperors were adamant on expanding Rome’s borders.

For whatever reason, at the last Senate meeting three weeks ago your father had been the unfortunate soul to suggest that the troops should draw back. And now he stood before them at the celebration of the successful conquest, presenting you as a bargaining chip to secure his pardon. Opposing the Emperors was costly, and he decided you were going to pay that price on his behalf.

Geta leaned his head on his hands as he asked, “Tell me, Senator, what makes you think you will triumph this time?”

You watched your father’s reaction with bitter disbelief. For the first time in your life, your silver-tongued father, the man that had landed you this fate, floundered for words.

Fine. If this was the hand dealt to you, so be it. But you were going to do this your way.

“Your Majesties,” At the sound of your sweet voice, Geta’s gaze affixed itself to your face. Instantly, he was beguiled. “If I may…” 

With the slow incline of his head, you were permitted to speak. 

“I know little of war,” you feigned ignorance. “But I do know that defying the odds to bring glory to Rome is no small feat.” Preening at your praise, Geta leaned forward in his seat, a silent encouragement for you to continue. “Rome and her citizens are fortunate to be led by you, Imperators, and I am grateful to be in the presence of such wise rulers.”

His mouth spread into a self-satisfied smirk. “I bask in your praises, my lady. It pleases me to see that someone in your family has a semblance of loyalty to the powers above them” A pointed look was shot at your father. “You see, all those that oppose their Emperors,” His venomous gaze roved over the group of Senators shifting uneasily as they watched this ordeal. “Will soon learn that there is only one way for a man to wield power.” He held up his index finger for emphasis and paused for suspense. “War.”

With all the self-assurance of a man that has never truly been challenged, he stalked towards you.

“What other power can bring a man to his knees and cause him to surrender?”

“I can think of nothing greater than war!” Caracalla piped up from behind him.

“Yes, brother.” Geta held his cup of wine up in agreement. “By no other means can a man wield such power. I am sure my lady agrees?” He offered his right hand, each finger as bejewelled as the next.

The ultimatum he presented you with was clear. Kiss the ring, let all be forgiven and allow this encounter to end pleasantly. Refuse the ring, and…well, don’t refuse the ring.

But compliance was predictable, and would only get you so far. Your beauty and charm had ignited a spark of interest in him, but that wasn’t enough. You needed that spark to burst into a flame.

With swan-like grace you knelt before him and took his hand, smiling inwardly when his eyes followed your descent with rapture. You didn’t miss his quick intake of breath when you halted your movements to look up and meet his eye, lips an inch away from the stunning signet ring.

“Upon second thought,” You tilted your head as if considering his words. “There exists another power great enough to make a man kneel in surrender.” At your bold words, the hand you held tightened around your fingers until he had a firm grip of your hand. “A power so great, even Emperors are not immune.”

Gasps of shock came from the onlookers sober enough to process what they had heard.

“Impertinence!” Caracalla’s cry of protest tore you from the captivity of his brother’s gaze. 

“Forgive my daughter, she oversteps her bounds.” Your father spat the words out and fixed you with a look of warning, a late and unappreciated attempt to de-escalate the night’s proceedings.

With a wave of Geta’s hand, his words were dismissed. For the sake of keeping your resolve, you pretended not to see the Praetorians return their drawn swords to their scabbards.

You returned to the intense stare of brown eyes narrowed in… intrigue? Suspicion? You weren’t sure, but you had his attention. 

“And what power would that be?”

Your gentle smile had him entranced. “The strike of a drum, the strum of a lyre’s strings. Music, my Imperator, holds much power.”

See, while your father was busy waxing lyrical about you, you had been studying Geta closely. As he listened to others speak, his fingers unconsciously tapped the thigh of the courtesan perched on the arm of the couch. But they were not tapping any old rhythm – they tapped to the beat of the percussion in the background.

The ring your lips had puckered up to kiss was not embossed with an imprint of Mars, the god of war, but Apollo, god of music. Geta the Emperor championed conflict and violence, but Geta the man held music dear.

Rich eyes twinkled as his laugh rang in your ears. “Ah, yes. Your father mentioned your skill with the lyre. He failed to mention your humour.” He didn’t believe you.

“I assure you, Imperator, my lyre-playing is unparalleled.” You indulged him with a coy smile.

“You believe you would best our most talented musician? That your playing would put your Emperors’ finest to shame?” He challenged your claim.

“Given the chance, I would outplay each of the Nine Muses,” you asserted boldly. You rose to his challenge.

His eyes gleamed with ardour as he regarded your statement with a raised brow. “I await the day I hear you play with baited breath, my lady.”

“It would be my pleasure, my liege.”

Not risking any more excitement, you curtsied and took your father’s arm as he guided you towards the outskirts of the atrium, and away from watching eyes. He wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

“Have you lost your senses, girl? Has some strange plague come over your mind?!” He released an exasperated sigh. “You should have held that tongue of yours.”

 “Oh, and left you there, stammering like a bumbling fool? Father,” you uttered the paternal term without an ounce of familial affection. “You entrusted this ploy into my hands, so leave it there.”

Anger flashed across his face like a clap of thunder. Before he could berate you for your indolence, however, a piercing shriek stole the moment.

You pushed through the crowd to see the commotion, weaving past bodies stilled with shock at whatever it is they were witnessing. When you got to the centre, you were met with a most harrowing display of fraternal discord.

Geta lay sprawled out on the marble floor, the corded muscle of his limbs tensing as he strained to hold back the man towering over him, wielding a dagger above his head. Caracalla. 

At first glance one may have supposed this fray was borne of anger, but with the spittle flying out of gritted teeth that gnashed and snarled like those of some inhuman beast, the incoherent stream of words and the crazed look in his eyes, it was clear that he did not have full agency of his person.

The rumours were true. He was having one of his infamous episodes.

Your eyes darted from Praetorian to Praetorian, waiting for one of them, any of them to take action. Their hands rested on the hilt of their swords, hesitation rooting them to their spots. To raise a hand against Caracalla would be treason, punishable by death. To ignore the distress of Geta would be treason, also punishable by death. They were at an impasse.

The chatter of mingling guests and the ambience of the musicians’ instruments had long since stopped, leaving the grunts of the brothers to take their place. All watched on in stunned silence, revelers turned horrified spectators.

Their scrambling continued. Geta managed to hook a leg around Caracalla’s ankle, toppling him over to join him on the cold marble. Wine cups clanged as they were knocked to the ground, collateral. The cacophony of sound nearly masked the sound of Geta’s desperate plea.

“Break the spell! Break the spell!”

Moved by an impetus you couldn’t explain, you barreled further through the crowd until you reached the musicians’ corner. You grabbed the lyre from the hands of the bard (who was too focused on the ongoing tumult to protest), and started strumming the tune of a nursery rhyme favoured by Roman children both rich and poor. 

Dulcet tones and sweet symphonies echoed through the chamber as you sang of Rome’s rolling hills, of fair maidens awaiting the return of brave soldiers, of the Tiber River’s ebb and flow.

Those around you listened intently, enraptured. They stepped aside, clearing a path for you towards the quarreling brothers. You walked forward as you sang, and as you reached the last verse you stood a few feet away from where they squirmed, limbs akimbo. 

From your position you saw the exact moment the muscles in Caracalla’s face relaxed, and his body went limp. He released a weak whimper better-suited to an injured animal than the tyrannical emperor he was rumoured to be.

Eyes fixed on you over his brother’s shoulder, he dropped the dagger as if compelled. Tears began to run down his face as he wailed, balling himself up into a foetal position. When they noticed his change in disposition, his entourage took the chance to spirit him away from the room. 

The final note of your song rang out. A beat passed as everyone came to, as if they too were held captive in a trance. Then, a slow, steady clap from one became a roaring applause, your fellow guests lauding your performance as if it had been planned. 

Chest heaving from exertion, Geta used a three-legged (formerly four-legged) stool to pull himself from the floor and adjusted his toga. At the raise of his hand, the clapping stopped. Flopping back to sit on the couch, he gestured for you to come forward. His expression was inscrutable. 

Before you could scrape together an apology, or some sort of explanation, you were utterly disarmed by the grin that spread across his face. 

“My lady,” He huffed between words, still catching his breath. “I stand corrected. It appears your flair with the lyre is equally as bewitching as your looks.”  

Your cheeks heated up at his confession of attraction towards you. “It pleases me that you think of me so, my Emperor.”

“Mmm.” He hummed, dark eyes taking their time to appraise you. “The power to bring a man to his knees can be very dangerous, you know. I believe it would be in the best interest of Rome and her citizens if such power was… managed by the capable hands of their Emperor.”

The chill of deja vu ran down your spine when he extended his hand in your direction. A second invitation to kiss the ring. Most people only get one.

“Wouldn’t you agree?”

As your lips made contact with the cold metal of Apollo’s face and you sealed your fate, you closed your eyes and said a silent prayer. When you opened them again, you found eyes the colour of rich soil searching yours. 

He turned the hand that gripped his and pressed a surprisingly sweet kiss to the back of it. His kisses travelled up your arm, growing more and more fervent, the plush of his lips leaving warmth on every spot they pressed against. He used his hold on you to pull you towards him until you were close enough to smell the heady scent of patchouli mixed with the subtle musk of perspiration, and count the freckles on his speckled cheeks, peeking through the layer of makeup. 

His palm ran up and down your arm repeatedly, inching further up each time.

“You will make a home for yourself here, in these palace walls.” Brown eyes gazed into yours, full of a veneration you couldn’t fathom. “And you shall be my little Muse.” 

As if the troubles of your life thus far had not been a sufficient allotment of suffering, the Fates had now tasked you with weathering the twin tempers of the Emperors Geta and Caracalla. And surviving.

Gods help you.

A/N: thank you ever so much for reading ! i'm working on part two so let me know if you want me to post it when it's done <3

likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated x

© onyxstyx tumblr 2025

[obsesssedblerd]

New years’ kisses with the jjk guys <3 

Contains: au where everyone is happy and in love, hella fluff.

Gojo would make a couple of teasing comments, but on the inside, he’d be so thrilled that you looked over at him when the countdown started and everyone at the party began pairing up. He thought that telling a few stupid jokes would distract you from the fact that he’s definitely blushing. When the clock hits midnight and you kiss him, the fireworks that go off outside are nothing compared to the fireworks that he feels. He’d never tell you, but it was exactly how he imagined that his first kiss with you would go. Best night ever. Behind you, you hear your students, Yuuta and Maki, mutter, “Finally.” 

Geto would find you outside so he could call you back in to join everyone else, but you look so pretty and content watching the moon that he didn’t want to disturb you. You notice that he’s watching, so you invite him to sit with you. Right as you hear everyone back inside begin counting down, you feel him place his hand on top of yours. Your heart leaps in your chest when he tells you that he wanted to kiss you to start the new year on a good note. At first, you try to do what he came to do and head back to the party with him where your friends were, but he stops you and tells you that he changed his mind and would like to kiss you where it was quiet instead. Your very first kiss with him was right at midnight, underneath the serene light of the moon. 

Nanami loves kissing you at the start of the year. Even though you’ve been together for six years and have been married for four, you still feel butterflies whenever your husband comes to give you a kiss at midnight on January first. The kids are asleep, and the both of you are enjoying some quiet time on the couch, sipping wine and laughing about how excited and happy your kids were on christmas. He’d turn to you with a small, loving smile and gently kiss you, whispering, “Happy new year, my love,” near your lips. You smile in return and hug him close, careful not to spill your wine. “I love you so much,” you tell him, then pull back and clink your glass against his. “To another great year.”

Toji loves this part, because not only is his birthday on December 31st, he also gets to start the new year with you. Once Tsumiki and Megumi are asleep, you find him in the kitchen eating an extra slice of birthday cake, a little tipsy from the champagne you two had earlier. The sight is a perfect mixture of adorable and ridiculous. You wipe the frosting from the corner of his mouth and ask him if he had fun, and he looks towards the clock on the microwave. “Yeah,” he answers with a light smile. “And it’s about to get even better.” He pulls you in by your waist and gently kisses you, and you taste hints of champagne and cake. “Happy new year, pretty,” he says. “Thanks for makin’ life so special.” 

Choso would ask either Yuuji or Yuki for tips on how to ask you to be his new year’s kiss, because he’s a bit shy and doesn’t want to mess it up. When the minute countdown begins, Yuuji “accidentally” nudges you in his older brother’s direction. You knew what was up, and you wanted Choso to tell you directly. You stand in front of him with a knowing smile as he tries to form the right sentence, and finally, you reach for his hand and just nod. His shoulders slump in relief, and the smile that he gives you is the most precious thing you’ve ever seen. The countdown reaches ten seconds, and over the loud crowds, you hear Yuuji scream in desperation. “Just do it!! She’s right there!!” When midnight strikes, Choso leans in and kisses you. Both of you smile behind each other’s lips when Yuuji cheers. The most perfect way to begin the new year. 

Shiu would kiss you twenty minutes before midnight, right at midnight, and then twenty minutes after midnight. Since the both of you had plenty to drink at the party with your friends, you and him were lost in light kisses, silly jokes and plenty of laughter. “We still haven't cleaned up the wrapping paper from Christm— Oh, what d’ya know?” Shiu flashes a flirty grin at you. “It’s midnight. Gotta kiss you. Y’know, new years and stuff.” You laugh at that, but don’t lean away from him. “Shiu, it’s almost one in the morning. You already kissed me!” His arms circle around your waist, and he kisses your forehead before kissing your lips. “Won’t ever get enough of kissing you. Happy new year, princess. I love you.” 

Sukuna would surprise you. He leads you into the courtyard late at night of his massive estate, and you assumed that he had something important to tell you. You remember overhearing a task he had for Uraume, and you wonder if he’d be sending you with them. “What is it, your highness?” You ask shyly. Sukuna is silent for a brief moment, and you don’t speak. Not afraid, but curious. In the distance, you hear the fireworks go off from other humans celebrating in the towns and cities. You’re about to look at them, but Sukuna cups your face and slowly leans in to kiss you. You’re shocked, but so happy and excited you feel like you’d burst. When he pulls away, his thumb brushes against your cheek. “Happy new year,” he says quietly. You grin brightly. “You brought me out here to give me a new year’s kiss? I’m so honored.” Sukuna scoffs at that, and he turns away before you can see the small smile.

[husbandhoshi]

title: royally screwed [m]

pairing: joshua x f!reader

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

Here, in the dark, there is just you. 

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

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

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

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

"No, he's on duty." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enjoy yourself yesterday?" your mother asks. 

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

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

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

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

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

Your mother clears her throat. 

"We have arranged for you to marry someone." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does Jeonghan know?" 

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It's me." 

Jihoon. 

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

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

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

"You forgot your jacket," Jihoon replies. 

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

"I'll be in the foyer." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

Late spring is kind to Acros. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not a good start, but what did you expect?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Didn't know you had a choice."

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

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

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

"Of course. Do you enjoy reading?" 

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

"Didn't we all?" Joshua chuckles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too far. 

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

"He's not around, right?" 

Jihoon shakes his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Alright." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

You hate mornings. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yeah."

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

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

"Ready?" he asks. 

"Let's get this over with."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just want to go back inside and have breakfast. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

"Save me, red wine, save me." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No! No. Absolutely not." 

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

[10:15 am, race 1]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Likewise, your highness. Likewise. 

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

[12:43 pm, race 2.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, did you find anything?” 

“Yes—”

“No—”

“Well—”

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

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

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

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

If only she knew. 

[3:45 pm, race 3]

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be a glutton for punishment.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I'm picking your punishment already.” 

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

“Nine is still first, though.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still beating you, you know.” 

“Not for long! Come on!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please, don’t spare us the details.” 

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

I guess. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want me to?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll do top?” you announce. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, thanks anyway.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No way.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your family needed our help too, remember?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“You ready to get stuffed?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For your party?” 

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

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

“You’re coming in an hour, right?” 

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

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

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

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

“Whatever.” Click.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--end of part 1--

[part 2 -> ]

[rainydayathogwarts]

Two sides, one door - Remus Lupin

summary: potter!reader going to james after remus yells at her the day before a full moon. 1.1k wc cw: angsty, full moon rem, bleeding knuckles (from remus punching a mirror), basically therapist james potter!reader x remus secret relationship au! find more here

The knock on the door is soft, and has James straightening up in his bed. It's too soft for him to recognise the person knocking on the other side of the door, so he sticks his head out of the closed curtain of his four poster bed. He calls out for whoever is on the other side to come in, and the door slowly creaks open. "James?" You ask, making sure it's your brother in the dorm and not Sirius. James hears the tremble in your quiet voice, and immediately, he's out of bed, worry engulfing him. The movement catches your eye, and you spin to face your brother, watching as he take long strides towards you. You let him cup your cheeks to take a good look at your face, eyebrows furrowing in distress. Your cheeks are tear-stained, eyes red and glassy, mascara muddy under your eyes from where you'd wiped the tears away.

James envelops you in a tight hug which you accept without protest, weakly wrapping your arms around him as fresh tears fill your eyes. You begin sniffling, and James guides you to his bed, sitting you down next to him. He lets you fall into his chest, sobs wracking your chest, and he holds you gently, offering you as much comfort as possible. "Remus is mad at me." You finally tell him, sniffling between each word, hands coming up to aggressively wipe at your wet cheeks. James frowns, glancing up at this month's moon phase calendar hung up on the back of the dorm door to confirm his immediate suspicion. The full moon is tomorrow. "Why would he be mad at you?" James asks, and you hiccup, shrugging your shoulders. "I don't know he just yelled at me." Tears begin flowing freely, and you move across the bed away from James to lean back against the headboard, bringing your knees up to your chest.

James joins you, ensuring the curtain around his bed is securely closed. James glances at you, leaning your chin on your folded arms, and he sighs. He knows that he made a vow to beat Remus up if he ever hurt you, but he knows if he tried right now, he would be the one getting the beating. Beside, the last thing Remus needed right now was a scolding from James. Knowing the boy, he was probably already beating himself over raising his voice at you. "He didn't..." James huffed, trying to find his wording "He didn't lay a finger on you, did he?" James watched as you shook your head frantically, looking at him with betrayal. "That's not Remus, James! You should know!" James nodded, whispering calmly "I know, I know. I'm just making sure." James wrapped an arm over your shoulders, tugging you closer to him. You let him hold you for a while, a comfortable silence settling over you apart from the occasional sniffle from your side.

Suddenly, the door to the dorm slammed open and close, causing both you and James to jump. You weren't able to react before another door opened and shut - the bathroom. James opened the curtain around his bed nearest to the bathroom, eyeing the door suspiciously. Loud rustling could be heard from the other side of the door before something shattered and a loud "Fuck!" Was heard. Remus. You straightened up, worry overtaking your features. "Such a fucking asshole!" The words were muffled behind the door, but they were still perfectly decipherable.

The room fell silent before more sounds were heard from the bathroom — sobs. You stood up, but James put a hand up, stopping you from going anywhere. "Just, stay here." He mumbled, walking over to the bathroom door. Knocking twice, James called out "Rem? Open up, mate." A few seconds passed before the bathroom door slowly opened. A long silence ensued. You tried glancing at your boyfriend, but your view of him was blocked by the door. "Oh Remus." James mumbled, looking at the other boy with compassion. "James I'm so sorry." Remus sobbed quietly. You felt your eyes tearing up at the sound of your boyfriend's struggle, crossing your arms over your chest as he hiccuped. "I yelled at her and she started fucking crying and I didn't mean to and - I'm just such a fucking asshole." James cocked his head towards you, muttering "Well say that to her. I'm not the one crying."

James nodded, a response to a gesture you hadn't seen Remus make, stepping out of the way so that Remus could walk out of the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. You gasped when you saw him, arms falling by your side. Remus's knuckles were bleeding, shards of glass sticking to the blood on his skin. "Remus." He stepped towards you, eyes red and cheeks wet from crying. "Darling, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean to yell I'm just, I just-" Sobs interrupted his words, and you stepped closer to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around him. He immediately responded, arms loosely hanging around your waist, head digging into the crook of your neck. "The full moon's tomorrow." He said, and your eyes widened in realisation. "I know it's not an excuse but-" "Remus, it's okay," You sniffled" It's okay sweetheart. Let me take care of your hand, yeah?" You felt Remus nod, separating from the hug.

Glancing at James, you wiped your eyes one last time, stepping into their bathroom to fetch their first aid kit. You avoided the glass on the floor, returning to Remus, who sat on his bed, before sitting in front of him. "You lovebirds going to be okay?" James asked, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Locking eyes with Remus, you both nodded. James reciprocated the movement, opening his mouth before promptly shutting it and walking out of the dorm without uttering another word. You felt a hand on your cheek, and looked up to meet Remus's eyes once more. He leaned in close, softly kissing your lips before dropping his hand back down and letting you get back to treating his cuts.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, quieter now, showing you how ashamed he was of his actions. "I love you so much." Securing the bandages around Remus's knuckles, you looked up, telling him "I love you too." You stood up, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. "You should go to sleep. Wake up tomorrow with some energy." Remus hesitated to reply, nodding instead. You leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead, muttering "Everything's okay. I'll see you tomorrow."

[bunnwich]

This is altogether random, but I feel you might appreciate the idea: since Leona is doing his internship with a mining company in Sunset Savanna, I like to think if he were to propose to his partner, any ring would have a stone he found himself (then or years later) that made him think of them, because they’re worth the effort.

No, I love this so much and this actually inspired to think of some HC for Leona and Yuu's engagement!! So pardon me as I use this as an excuse to yap/draw.

🧡Leona x Yuu Proposal

🧡Engagement:

I picture Leona and Yuu would be together a while time before he worrys about marriage. Leona as we know is not traditional by any means. And the two are so used to just…being there for each other, lives intertwined like a braid. 

At this time after NRC I see Leona having his hands in a few things, but mostly just there as support for Yuu and even Ruggie as they navigate graduating. After his internship he currently sits as a member of the Board of Environmental Utilization.

I think they would already live together in a somewhat isolated place near the edge of the Outlands and Sunrise City. Leona originally helped get it for Yuu to have a forever home but now he finds himself there more and more. It's a bit of a fixer-upper, reminding Yuu of the Ramshackle.

I imagine their house has a revolving door policy and often has uninvited guests, Ruggie comes to visit a lot and uses it as a place to crash when he's in town to see his Granny. And then there's Cheka (who is now a teen rebelling against his parents.)

Often the two take late-night drives in Leona’s jeep to get away from the craziness of all. Leona struggles trying to adapt to a more humble living situation and lifestyle. (he still can't work the microwave for a damn), but he tries enjoying the quiet life he has with Yuu. Yuu is still figuring out how they will fit in in their new homeland as a Sunset Savanna citizen.

I feel Leona’s family would be hassling them about marriage for years but neither are too keen on the idea of it liking their private life. However, Leona knows it’s the easiest way to protect Yuu and make sure they always have a home and inherit the house they fixed up together. (Should anything ever happen to him.) Plus, it would give them full citizenship in his homeland. 

So one day, he decides that it's time to make it legal. Of course, he already knew a long time ago that they belonged to one another, this is so cemented in his mind and he’s not even that nervous about it. At this point, they’ve been through so much together they live together, they are one. So, he does it in his Leona way.

On one of their sunset drives together he pulls out a special ring his sister-in-law helped him design with Yuu's three favorite stones that he’d sent them in their time apart. He had two requests when he had it made: it had to have a moon for Yuu and a stone for both of them.

Leona during his internship would often collect stones he would find in the mines, finding some to send to Yuu. He knew that they liked that sorta stuff even if he didn't care for it. And he didn’t mind writing down little geological facts for them. 

“So…ya wanna be married to me?”

Yuu would honestly not expect it. And he said it so casually too! Smug bastard. But as usual, he was…right, their lives were so connected they couldn't imagine not seeing his cocky face every day or hearing his soft words of encouragement then loud ass snores every night.

“Okay.” They say with a shrug, and Yuu would be crying for both them. He was right, it just made sense. Besides, what would the lion do without them?

After putting the ring on their finger he'd wrap his arms around them, intending to never let go after that. He can’t help but get teary too. He never thought that he’d have someone like his brother did, to be by his side always.

“Well, now, yer stuck with me.”

“That’s okay.”

🧡Wedding:

As for a wedding, I KNOW Falena and Sis-in-law would press for a big, fat traditional Sunset Savanna wedding. There is a bit of controversy among some old-fashioned council members that Leona is marrying an outsider and a few murmuring that Yuu is a human too. But Leona’s favorability in the kingdom has always been so divided that some take an apathetic view, expecting this behavior from the second prince anyway.

Being a “spare heir” works in Leona’s favor this time, as there is not as much pressure for an arranged marriage for him as his brother had. Though there’s still some pushback. They were fine viewing Yuuta as a fling but it’s tradition for royal family members to have political marriages.

It’s a bit of strain on their relationship during this time with the stress of the capital’s spotlight on them. Since Leona told no one about it until after he proposed to Yuu. But, because a few on the council are fond of Yuu already, (as well as the queen regent), it all works out eventually! (Leona threatens to take Yuu and run away so many times.)

It is an…adjustment getting this much attention for Yuu. But, because the house they chose is already out of the prying eyes, the two compromise by agreeing to a true royal wedding…

This doesn’t last long. The two get fed up and…elope a few months later in the middle of the night. Cheka/Ruggie sneak out to be witnesses. Falena and the queen are pissed and make them promise to get married again in a few years publicly.

🧡Traditions:

Rings are a bit more of a modern marriage tradition in the Sunset Savanna as other countries' cultures melded with theirs over the years. Leona has never been one for traditions anyway and he liked the idea of matching rings, made out of the same ore and gems.

An old tradition of Sunset Savanna marriages is that of permanent bracelets, braided by hand by the officiating party. They are meant to stay on til death. Often colored beads are added to represent each personality. The braided hemp itself represents an eternity together in this life and the next. Through the circle of life, they are connected from then on out. 

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ TAKE YOUR MASK OFF kim chaewon x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick ⭢ super rich kids ⭢ girl, so confusing ⭢ consume (bonus)

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, angst (yn is still at home), family dynamics, rich kid things,chaewon is still chaewon just slightly more vulnerable, arguing, small hints of guilt, multiple perspectives (you’ll know who’s perspective it is when they switch)

the natural creaks and whispers of the mansion echoed through the hallways, casting a cold, eerie atmosphere over every corner.

her mind was racing, moving too fast for her to keep up. she couldn’t believe this was happening.

yn barely remembered anything after watching yunjin puke her guts out in the washroom. all she knew was her mom finding out and insisting the girls stay the night because yunjin shouldn’t be traveling while sick.

it made her sick.

the audacity that woman had.

she had finally made it home, a place no one had ever been but her and her family, and now her group members were sleeping in the spare rooms.

she bit down on her thumb nail, pulling her knees to her chest as the coldness of the hallway made everything feel worse. she knew she couldn’t stay there much longer, kazuha was asleep in her room and would probably come looking for her any minute.

yunjin’s words ran through her mind.

“I’m so sorry.”

you would think this would feel good, she was getting an apology.

nah.

this meant she was slipping, someone was seeing through her carefully crafted facade. 

yunjin’s words are the main reason why yn is spiralling at the moment, how could she let her emotions slip through like that?

she hadn’t even responded. all she did was slam the washroom door in yunjin’s face. rude. uncharacteristically so.

the yn they all knew, the kind, unbothered one would never do that, especially not to a girl who’d just thrown up.

but the real yn? the one without the facade she’d spent the last two years perfecting? yeah, she might. and that terrified her.

she had to go to bed before kazuha ambushes her with a bunch of questions she didn’t want to answer.

the sun rose early, filtering weak light through the tall, heavy curtains of the mansion. yn and her family were already awake, moving quietly through the halls. the silence felt different now, tense and watchful.

the girls were still asleep, chaewon and yunjin sharing one room, sakura and eunchae in another, and kazuha in yn’s.

chaewon stirred first, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. yunjin groaned next to her, squinting at the faint light coming through the cracks in the curtains.

“it’s so early,” yunjin muttered, her voice hoarse. chaewon stretched, yawning. “we should check on the others. maybe they’re up too.”

they shuffled out of the room, quietly opening the door to sakura and eunchae’s. sakura blinked at them, already half awake, while eunchae was still bundled under the blankets.

“what’s going on?” sakura asked, sitting up. “kazuha’s still out,” chaewon said. “can you two try waking her up? we’re going to find yn.” yunjin added sakura nodded, nudging eunchae awake.

chaewon and yunjin headed downstairs, their footsteps soft against the cold, polished floor.

the house felt endless, its corners shadowed despite the morning light. they turned a corner and froze.

yn was standing there, facing a tall man they had only seen of tv when the moon family had their conferences.

her older brother, they guessed, his sharp features matched hers, but his expression was cold, almost bored. yn, on the other hand, looked anything but calm.

“what the hell is wrong with you?” she hissed, her voice low but shaking with anger.

jae, she’d called him rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “you’re being dramatic, as usual. they’re supposed to be your friends, aren’t they? act like it, I know you have your problems with them but I can’t deal with you right now.”

yn took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides. “don’t you dare talk to me about acting. you don’t get to tell me how to feel in my own house. just—just make sure they’re gone by the afternoon.”

jae raised an eyebrow. “mom won’t go for that, and you know it. she loves this little ‘family bonding’ moment. not everything’s about you, yn.”

her hand moved before she could stop it, the sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoing through the hallway.

chaewon and yunjin gasped softly, unable to hide their shock combined from yn’s words and actions, they both were thinking two different things.

this has definitely taken a toll on her.

she just keeps proving how much of a bitch she is.

guess which is which.

“you’ll make it about me,” yn snapped, her voice trembling. “mom loves you more, so if you tell her it’s best for them to leave, she’ll listen. don’t pretend you don’t know how this works.”

jae stared at her, stunned, before letting out a low, bitter laugh. “you’ve really lost it, haven’t you?”

yn ignored him, her chest rising and falling rapidly. her hands shook as she ran them through her hair, her nails digging into her scalp. her whole body seemed to vibrate with tension, like she was barely holding herself together.

jae glanced over yn’s shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips. “looks like you’ve got company,” he muttered.

yn spun around quickly, a gasp escaping her lips before she whipped back around, shoulders tensing. a quiet curse slipped under her breath, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

chaewon and yunjin watched as yn grabbed the collar of jae’s shirt, yanking him down to her level. she whispered something harshly into his ear, her voice too low for anyone else to catch. while yn spoke, jae’s gaze flicked up to the two girls, his expression icy. the resemblance between him and yn was unnerving those piercing eyes seemed to run in the moon family.

when yn finally let go, jae straightened up, his demeanor indifferent. he didn’t spare chaewon or yunjin a glance as he walked away, like they weren’t even worth acknowledging. it wasn’t surprising, the moons always carried themselves with that unapproachable air.

chaewon opened her mouth to say something, but yunjin pinched her arm, silencing her

yn turned back around then, a bright, almost unnerving smile plastered across her face. “good morning! I hope you guys slept well, I know I did,” she chirped.

both girls looked at her like she was crazy, yn was a mess, despite her polished appearance it was obvious she was on edge.

“uh—” chaewon started, but yn cut her off before she could continue

“no time for chit chat,” yn interrupted breezily. “breakfast is almost ready. you’ll be eating on the second floor while my family eats on the first. and after that, you’ll unfortunately be leaving. I’ll see you on monday.”

before yunjin could even try to speak, yn was already walking off in the same direction jae had gone, her pace fast. the two girls were left standing there, unsure of what to make of everything they just saw.

“I know what you’re gonna say.” yunjin said, “but please don’t.” chaewon didn’t answer, her eyes still fixed on the spot where yn had stood, tension radiating from her every move.

after breakfast, the girls were gathered outside, waiting for the car to arrive. the morning sun was warm against their skin, but the atmosphere felt heavy. one of the house staff, stood quietly by the door, waiting to help with their bags.

chaewon leaned against the stone railing, crossing her arms. “so, about this morning,” she began, her voice low but sharp. “yn really let it slip today huh?” she laughed.

“what are you talking about?” sakura asked, frowning. eunchae looked up from her phone, wide eyed

chaewon glanced toward yunjin . “you heard her. she threw a whole tantrum to one of her brothers this morning, she even slapped him.”

sakura’s eyes widened. “she slapped her brother?”

chaewon nodded. “yep. right across the face. and not just that she basically told him to get us out of the house by this afternoon because she doesn’t want us here.”

“which is understandable.” yunjin muttered causing kazuha to look at her in shock but nod in agreement, since when did yunjin understand yn’s side of things?

chaewon didn’t hear her though.

eunchae’s jaw dropped. “she said that?”

“word for word,” chaewon replied, her tone smug. “and don’t get me started on the way she was talking to him. it’s like she’s unhinged or something, probably not used to getting her way.”

kazuha stayed silent, her expression unreadable. yunjin shifted uncomfortably, staring at the gravel driveway.

“maybe she’s just stressed,” kazuha said quietly.

chaewon scoffed. “stressed? oh okay.”

“chaewon,” yunjin said sharply, but chaewon ignored her.

“she’s exactly what i’ve been saying she is. a spoiled little princess who thinks she’s better than everyone else,” chaewon continued.

“cut her some slack,” kazuha snapped.

“do you have a crush on her?” eunchae asked at the same time, as much as she understood chaewon’s thoughts she couldn’t help but think yn’s money and privilege couldn’t be the reason for everything.

chaewon’s mouth dropped at eunchae’s words, “I do not! I don’t even like girls! and if I did yn would be the last person on the list, hell she wouldn’t even be on the list! and I have everything reason to criticize her stuck up behaviour so I will not cut her some slack!”

silence filled the air as everyone exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to the leaders outburst.

chaewon exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair before shoving her hands into her pockets. “ugh, I forgot my phone. I’ll be back,” she muttered, her tone lower but no less frustrated as she turned on her heel and stalked off.

chaewon stormed down the hall, still fuming from eunchae’s words. she pushed open the door to the room where she’d left her phone, ready to grab it and leave, but froze when she spotted yn.

yn was sitting on a chair, her head tilted back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. her expression was unreadable, almost serene, but there was a heaviness in the air that made chaewon hesitate for a moment.

but eunchae’s comment still rang in her ears, pushing her forward. she felt the need to prove to herself, to everyon, that she didn’t care about yn. that she didn’t like her, not even a little.

“well, this is fitting,” chaewon said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the doorframe. “just sitting here doing nothing. guess you’re really starting to show your true colors, huh? you talk big, when yunjin and I caught your little outbursts, you couldn’t even hide it.”

yn didn’t react. she didn’t even look at her, her gaze still fixed on the ceiling as if chaewon wasn’t even there.

the silence made chaewon slightly uncomfortable. her eyes flicked to the table beside yn, where her phone rested. without another word, chaewon walked over and reached for it, but before she could grab it, yn’s hand shot out, catching her wrist.

chaewon froze.

yn finally looked at her, her expression cold, her eyes sharper than chaewon had ever seen. “you know what, chaewon?” yn said, her voice low and steady, each word cutting through the tension like a knife. “you’re so lucky. and i’m gonna tell you why you’re lucky. because I’ve been so nice to you. you don’t even know the lengths people in my family will go to just to be respected, you’ve seen the news haven’t you? you’ve heard stories? you sure act like it, so keep that in mind the next time you decide to disrespect me in my own home.”

chaewon’s breath hitched. yn’s gaze was unrelenting, freezing her in place. her heart raced, the weight of yn’s words sinking in deeper than she wanted to admit.

a sudden honk from outside broke the tension, making chaewon flinch. yn released her wrist, standing up smoothly. “the car’s here,” she muttered, her voice detached now, before walking past chaewon and out of the room, her footsteps echoing faintly down the hall.

chaewon stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where yn had been. her chest felt tight, her thoughts racing. she finally grabbed her phone, her wrist tingling from yn’s touch as she picked it up.

for a while, she just stood there, trying to shake the lingering feeling she feels every time she’s alone with yn.

…

[kinascum]

TAG! pt2 - C. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY. A little taste of the other side can't be bad for your system, right?

CONTENT. smut, degrading, oral m, f recieving, getting caught, mocking, over all mean!chris. this is kinda bad...

WC. 1.8k

pt1 (matt)

You lay in bed, the sheets tangled around your legs, the aftermath of the thrilling night air still clinging to your skin. The moon's glow has long since been swallowed by the early dawn, leaving the cabin bathed in a soft, blue light. The smell of pine and lake water lingers in your nostrils, a reminder of the game that had led to something so much more intense. Your thoughts drift back to Matt's strong arms, his hot breath on your neck, the way he'd claimed you so fiercely in the woods.

As the first light of day peeks through the cabin's windows, you hear the clatter of pans in the kitchen. You sit up, the events of the night replaying in your mind, your cheeks flushing with a mix of excitement and dread. You know the others are up, but you can't bring yourself to face them yet. You wonder if they heard anything, if they suspect what happened between you and Matt. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for the day ahead.

Slowly, you slip out of bed and tiptoe to the bathroom, the floor cold against your bare feet. You splash water on your face, trying to wash away the evidence of your desire. The taste of him is still on your lips, a secret you're desperate to keep hidden. You glance in the mirror and see the marks on your neck, a map of passion left by his fingers. A shiver runs down your spine.

You slip into a t-shirt and shorts, trying to ignore the way your body reacts to the memory of his touch. You take another deep breath and head towards the kitchen, ready to face the day. As you enter, you're met with the sight of Nate, Nick, and Chris, all busy cooking up breakfast. They look over, greeting you with sleepy smiles and nods. You force a casual grin, hoping it hides the tumult of emotions roiling inside you.

Chris's eyes linger on you a moment longer than the others, a knowing glint in his gaze. Your heart skips a beat. Did he hear something? Did he see something? The silence stretches out, filled only with the sizzle of bacon and the crackle of the fireplace. You grab a plate, trying to act normal, but the weight of his stare is unbearable.

"Morning," you murmur, reaching for a slice of toast.

"You're up early," he says, his voice deceptively casual. "Couldn't sleep?"

You swallow hard, feeling his eyes on you like a brand. "Just had a bit of a restless night," you reply, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn't too noticeable.

He chuckles, a sound that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Must have been something in the air."

The tension in the room is palpable, thick as the smell of coffee. You sit down at the table, trying to ignore the knot in your stomach. The banter and jokes of the morning feel forced, the usual camaraderie tainted by the secret you share with Matt. You can't help but wonder if the dynamic of this trip has shifted permanently.

When Nate, Matt and Nick announce plans to go fishing, you're both relieved and nervous. It's just you and chris in the cabin. You watch them leave, their laughter fading into the distance, leaving you with Chris and his unspoken accusation. The kitchen feels smaller, the air heavier. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, feeling his eyes on you.

He turns from the stove, the spatula in his hand, and crosses the room to stand in front of you. "So," he says, his voice low and dangerous, "you couldn't keep your hands to yourself, huh?"

Your stomach plummets. He knows. You look up at him, trying to read his expression, but his face is a mask of anger and something else—desire. "What are you talking about?" you ask, your voice shaking slightly.

He takes a step closer, the heat of his body almost tangible. "You know what I'm talking about," he says, his eyes dark. "You and my brother in the woods."

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat. He's seen it all. The way Matt had used you, the way you'd let him, the way you'd loved it. Chris's gaze is like a predator's, hungry and unforgiving. You know you're in trouble, but the way your body responds tells you that you might not mind as much as you should.

"I-I didn't mean for it to happen," you stutter, your voice barely a whisper.

He laughs, a cold, harsh sound that sends a shiver down your spine. "You're funny," he says, his voice dripping with contempt. "Or maybe just a little whore who can't keep your legs closed."

You flinch at the words, the sting of his accusation piercing your soul. But deep down, you know there's a part of you that craves this, that wants to be degraded and used by these men. You feel your pussy throb, betraying your thoughts.

Chris reaches out, his hand wrapping around your neck, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "You liked it, didn't you?" he asks, his voice a menacing whisper. "You liked being Matt's little plaything."

You nod, unable to find the words to deny it. The fear and excitement mingle inside you, creating a cocktail of emotions that make your head spin. His grip tightens, and you find yourself leaning into it, your breath coming in shallow pants.

"Good," he says, his voice dark. "Because now, it's my turn."

He pushes himself down to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours. You can see the challenge in them, the dare. He's going to show you just how much of a slut you really are. You know you should be scared, should be fighting him, but instead, you're eager to see what he'll do next.

He pulls your shorts down, exposing your damp panties, you whine. "So eager," he murmurs, his voice thick with lust. "Look at you, begging for it."

He shoves your leg over his shoulder and pushes your panties aside as dives in, his tongue lapping at your clit. You moan, the sensation overwhelming, his words echoing in your mind. You do want this.

He eats you out with a ferocity that matches his words, his tongue and teeth playing with your sensitive flesh. You squirm under his touch, the pleasure building rapidly. He's not gentle, his teeth grazing your clit, his fingers digging into your thighs. But you don't want gentle. You want him to consume you, to make you feel like the dirty little whore he's painted you to be.

You whimper, your eyes rolling back in your head as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. And just as you're about to fall over, he stops. You look up at him, panting, desperate for release.

"Not yet," he says, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "We're just getting started."

You watch as he stands, the lust in his eyes unmistakable. He's in control now, and you can't help but feel a thrill at his dominance. He grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet, leading you to the couch. He sits down and pulls you onto his lap, your ass nestled against his crotch. You can feel his hardness through his shorts, pressing against you, a constant reminder of what he wants.

He shoves your face into his neck, his hand squeezing your breast through your shirt and pushing your hips onto him. "You're going to cum for me," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. "And when you do, you're going to scream my name."

You nod, your breath coming in ragged gasps. You're so close, so close to the edge, and he's the one holding you there. His hand slides down to your pussy, his fingers finding your clit, playing with it mercilessly. He knows just how to touch you, just how to keep you on that knife's edge.

And then he's gone, his hand leaving you aching and needy. "Take off your shirt," he commands, his voice low and firm.

You do as you're told, the fabric sliding off your shoulders to reveal your naked chest. His eyes rake over you, and you feel a flush of heat. You're exposed, vulnerable, and it only makes you wetter. He leans in, his mouth closing over your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You arch your back, your hips grinding against his cock.

He chuckles, a dark sound that sends a thrill through you. "Eager little slut," he says, his voice muffled against your skin. He pulls away, leaving your nipple wet and sensitive. "Now, let's see how much of a whore you really are."

He pushes you down onto the couch, your legs spread wide. He dives back in, his tongue flicking against your clit, his teeth scraping your inner thighs. You can't help but moan, the pleasure so intense it's almost painful. He's relentless, his mouth working you over until you're nothing but a writhing mess beneath him.

And then, just as you're about to climax, he stops again. You whine, your body begging for more. "What's the magic word?" he asks, his voice taunting.

"Please, chris" you gasp, your voice desperate.

He grins, a wicked look that sends a shiver down your spine. "Good girl," he says, and then he's back, his mouth on you, his tongue and teeth and lips working in tandem to drive you wild. You can't hold back anymore, your body bucking as you scream his name, your orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

Chris doesn't let up, even as you beg for mercy. He eats you out like you're his favorite meal, like he's starving and you're the only thing that can fill him up. Your pussy is soaking wet, his mouth working relentlessly, his tongue flicking and teasing, his teeth grazing. You're so sensitive now, every touch feels like it could send you over the edge again.

"You're mine, yeah?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "Mine to use, mine to fuck, whenever I want." The words are a dark promise, one that sends a thrill through you even as you squirm under his touch. You know he's not playing around, that he means every word.

And yet, as he stands, his pants tented with his erection, you find yourself looking up at him with a mix of fear and excitement. You know what's coming next, and you can't help but want it. He strips off his shorts, his cock springing free, thick and hard. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you do, eager to taste him, to be used by him the way you were by Matt.

He takes your face in his hands, his grip firm as he guides his cock into your mouth. He's not gentle, pushing in deep, filling you up until you gag. You can feel his muscles tense, the power of his body as he uses you, as he takes what he wants. It's intoxicating, the way he's claiming you, making you his.

His hand is in your hair, pulling you closer, controlling every movement. You're just a toy to him, a means to an end, and you love it. You love the way he's using you, the way he's degrading you. You suck harder, your eyes watering, your throat aching, but you don't stop. You want to please him, to make him cum, to show him just how much of a slut you really are.

You feel the tension in his body build, his breath coming in harsh pants. "That's it," he groans, his hips thrusting. "Take it all, baby." And then he's coming, his hot seed filling your mouth, down your throat. You swallow, eager to taste him, to show him you're his.

But just as he pulls out, you hear the door creak open. You freeze, your eyes snapping to the entrance. There, in the doorway, stands Matt, his eyes wide with shock. The room goes still, the only sound the crackling of the fireplace.

You're caught, a whore on her knees with Her best friend's brother's cum on her face. The look in Matt's eyes is unreadable, a mix of anger, lust, and something else—possessiveness? You don't have time to think, to react, because Chris is already packing up, tucking himself back into his pants with a smug smile.

"Well, look who's back, baby" he says, his voice cold. Matt doesn't answer, his gaze locked on you. You scramble to your feet, your heart racing.

You start to pull your shorts up, trying to cover yourself, but Matt grabs your wrist, his grip like steel. "What do you think you're doing?" he asks, his voice a dark whisper. "You're not done yet."

taglist! @sturnstvr @gxldenlush @immattsslut @slut4chriss @stasiesturn @jetaimevous @solarsturniolo @watercolorskyy @thedarkqueenofavalon @meowira @secretagentspy @shadowthesim @mattybsgroupie @baileysturns

love, kina

[live-laugh-neteyam]

The Moon ||| neteyam x human!reader

masterlist

epilogue

pairings: neteyam x human!fem!reader

summary: neteyam would give you the moon if he could

words: 8.8k (I’m dead omg)

warnings/notes: friends to lovers, major ANGST (cried while writing this one) bits of fluff, implied sexual themes, lovesick!neteyam, mentions of sickness and medical treatments, death, use of y/n, I am not a medical professional so I lot of this is just my interpretation I’m sorry that it won’t be accurate pls don’t hate me, mentions of mates, spider is your adoptive brother (in this house we love spider 🫶🏻), and of course my corny writing, this is the product of me listening to moon song on a loop not sure how this happened, This is gonna be rough apologies in advance

The first time Neteyam saw you was when he was eight years old. He was used to seeing Spider around, but not you. You were new.

Trembling behind Spider it looked like you were trying to disappear. Barely peeking up over his shoulder to look. Neteyam's tail swished in curiosity as he observed you.

"Guys, this is Y/N." Spider introduced you while pushing you forward. "She's a little shy." He added.

Your big eyes looked up at the Na'vi children who towered over you. "Hi." You whispered with an awkward smile and a small wave. "You're really tall." You giggled.

Neteyam stared at you in awe immediately infatuated with you. You were unlike any sky person he had ever seen.

"You're just really short." Lo'ak snapped back rolling his eyes.

Neteyam noticed your smile falter and shoved his brother. Your smile was beautiful, the prettiest thing the young boy had ever seen. At that moment Neteyam decided you should always be smiling.

Spider explained to the group that you were born here like him. You had never left the lab before. This was the first time you saw the beauty of the forest and the first time you saw a Na'vi in the flesh. You were in awe of everything around you.

Spending the rest of the day playing with the other children you couldn't help but get distracted by your surroundings. The forest was alive it's beauty glowing all around you. You had the urge to explore every last inch of it.

Neteyam kept his eyes locked on you. He was worried that you'd get separated from the rest of them. You were small and delicate, unable to properly protect yourself, so Neteyam decided to protect you.

So that's how it was whenever you played with the Sully children. Neteyam always glued by your side. He couldn't explain it. The way he felt an immediate draw towards you. As if the two of you were meant to find each other.

Neytiri was less than thrilled to have another human child around her kids. One was bad enough. After everything humans had done to their home -to her - she despised them. She even had her doubts about the loyal few who stayed.

What made her even more unsure of you was the way her eldest son never left your side. Ever since Spider introduced you Neteyam was glued to your side. Had it been anyone else Neytiri would have found it endearing. But you were human. You were a demon.

A few years later Neytiri started to notice things about you. The way the forest left you in awe no matter how many times you’d seen it. She'd catch you gasping in excitement over the littlest things. It was as if you could see.

She also noticed the strong bond you had with her children, especially with Neteyam. She knew her son well. Neytiri was well aware of how he felt towards you. She feared the day that he realized his own feelings.

You were sitting in the forest with Neteyam next to you. His mother was across from the two of you. Neytiri was shooting daggers with her eyes at you. The stare made you shift uncomfortably. Neteyam picked up on it placing a gentle hand on your knee.

Neytiri observed how you immediately relaxed. The sweet genuine smiled you gave her son and how he gave you one of his own.

Neytiri had been trying to give Neteyam a lesson on arrow making. He had insisted that you join them since he promised to spend the afternoon with you. Much to her dismay, you were here unintentionally distracting him.

You felt something barely grace your shoulder. Figuring it was Neteyam you didn't pay it much mind. Then another tap on your head. One on your arm. Then your other shoulder.

Looking up, you met Neytiri's eyes. She was staring at you like she had seen a ghost. Starting to feel panicked you looked at your arms. You gasped as your eyes filled with wonder.

Several atokirina' floated around you. They danced up and down gently resting on you. Neteyam had the biggest smile on his face. To him it was confirmation the great mother saw you the way he did.

It was undoubtedly a sign from Eywa herself. Neytiri couldn't believe her eyes. Feeling a sense of déjà vu, she was brought back to the first time she met her mate.

Unable to shake what she had witnessed she went to her mother. After explaining the strange encounter Neytiri waited while Mo’at consulted with Eywa.

“Eywa sees the child.” Mo’at finally spoke. “The Great Mother has declared that she will spend the rest of her life by Neteyam.”

Neytiri couldn’t wrap her mind around it. The concept was so foreign to her. Eywa had accepted you as one of her own. Not only that, it was also her will that you stay by Neteyam. Neytiri would never question the will of Eywa. While she didn’t fully understand it she would have to learn to be okay with it.

From that day on, Neteyam’s mother treated you with a kindness she never had before. You didn’t know what happened for her to finally warm up to you but you were forever grateful she did.

Years went by and it was time for Neteyam to begin training for his iknimaya. You were so excited for him, knowing how important this rite of passage was to the Na'vi. There was a part of you that was downcast as he wouldn't be able to spend time with you every day like he usually does.

Your heart hurt because all you wanted was to be able to experience this with him. For as long as you could remember you wanted to be Na'vi. It was your birthday wish every year though you never told anyone out of embarrassment. That and it wouldn't come true if you told.

You and your brother had begged for avatars for years. Unfortunately the materials and funding needed just wasn’t there. Norm and Max wanted nothing more than to be able to grant your wishes, but it just wasn't a possibility.

"So how long are you going to be gone this time?"

Neteyam sighed. He could hear the disappointment in your voice and it broke his heart. "A month. Maybe two."

You felt like you could burst into tears right then and there. Neteyam was your best friend, not to mention your crush for as long as you could remember. You couldn't imagine not seeing him for that long.

"I'll be back before you know it." Gently he brushed hair out of your face. As much as he loved seeing you in the forest he treasured the moments in your room without your mask. Neteyam loved to see your face without the glass restricting his view.

"Don't forget about me." You playfully pushed him.

He gasped in mock offense. "I could never." He smiled. Before he could stop himself he placed a kiss on your forehead.

Stopping dead in his tracks he pulled back. The pair of you stilled blushes adoring both of your cheeks.

Neteyam tried to burry his feelings for you but it was impossible. He had fallen helplessly in love with his best friend. Not caring that you were human he couldn't deny his feelings. He just wasn't sure how to tell you.

Before you knew it, you were throwing your arms around him as you hugged him goodbye. You went to pull away but he kept you in his embrace for a little longer.

"I'm gonna miss you." He sighed.

"You're going to have so much fun you won't even think about me."

"That's not true you're always on my mind." He blushed.

A blush engulfed your face and you bit your lip. You noticed Neteyam's tail swishing back and forth. Looking up at him he was smiling back at you. His cheeks were slightly tinted.

Standing back with the rest of his family you waved as he joined the other young warriors. "He'll be back before you know it." Spider smiled knowingly at you.

No matter how hard you tried you couldn't keep your crush from your bother. He immediately figured it out. Little did you know most everyone had figured it out. The only ones who hadn't were you and Neteyam.

Neytiri watched you with a smile on her face. As time passed she accepted the idea of you with her son. Finding amusement in the two of you pining after each other.

The time without Neteyam dragged on for what felt like an eternity. Spider did his best to keep you occupied as did the Sully siblings. But your mind never strayed far from the boy your heart beat for.

You were getting ready for bed after a long day. Neteyam was halfway through his training by now. You had been counting down the days to his return.

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Norm stood awkwardly in the doorway. “You have a visitor.” He informed you.

Furrowing your eyebrows you looked at him confused. It was way past the curfew set for the lab. “Who?”

Before he could answer you Lo’ak pushed passed him and entered your room. He look frustrated and exhausted.

“What are you doing here Lo’ak?” You asked afraid that something was wrong.

Without saying a word he removed the communicator from his neck and handed it to you. “This is for you.” Was all he said.

You looked over the tech not understanding why he was giving it to you especially now of all times. “I’ve been trying to sleep for hours. He won’t leave me alone until he speaks with you.”

Your face lit up knowing exactly who he was. Wasting no time you pressed the button. “Neteyam?” You hesitantly asked.

“Oh Eywa how I’ve missed your voice.” Neteyam’s voice rang through the speaker.

“Yeah I’m not staying to listen to this.” Lo’ak deadpanned before leaving.

Neteyam missed you terribly and begged his father to let him speak with you. Jake felt like it would be a distraction so he didn't allow it. So Neteyam came up with the brilliant idea to pester his little brother until he gave it. It worked rather quickly.

You spent the whole night talking to Neteyam. He told you all about his training not sparing a single detail. He was more interested in what you had been up to. He just wanted to hear your voice.

The day Neteyam was to return was finally here. You and Spider sprinted through the forest heading towards the village. By the time you got there he had already returned.

Searching the crowd you finally saw him. Knees weak your breath caught in your throat. Somehow he looked taller. His mussels were more defined, shoulders wider, and his face sharper. He was no longer a boy. He looked like a man.

You had always wanted Neteyam but this was different. In that moment your want for him was something you hadn't experienced before. It almost felt wrong. Almost.

Neteyam searched the crowd for you. Eyes glancing over a figure that was familiar he did a double take. It was you. You looked different.

Neteyam gulped as he took in your new features. Your hips wider and chest fuller you no longer looked like the little kid everyone was so used to. Neteyam noticed your hair was shorter, resting at just below your shoulders now.

You were beautiful. Absolutely breathtaking. A gift from Eywa herself. A primal urge came over him, a desire to take you right then and there. You were to be his mate, he felt that you were destined.

"Neteyam!" You squealed running into his arms. He picked you up twirling you in the air like you weighed nothing.

"I missed you Ma'Y/N." He snuggled his face into your neck.

You bit your lip at the pet name. It was usually reserved for mated couples but Neteyam couldn't help but let it slip.

As the weeks passed on the attraction between the two of was stronger than ever. Stolen glances and intentional accidental touches filled your days.

After Neteyam successfully claimed his Ikran earning his spot among the people he would take you for rides.

"I knew you could do it. I'm so proud of you." You looked up at him.

The look you gave him made his heart flutter. A strange satisfaction overcame him knowing that you were proud of him. He wanted you to be proud of him.

That night he walked you back to the lab following you to your room. He desperately needed to speak with you. He had been working up the courage all night.

Neteyam sat next to you on your bed. He loved the moments you shared without your mask in the way. Staring into your eyes without anything in front of them.

"I have earned my place among the people." He said suddenly.

You nodded slowly not sure where he was going with this. "I know I was there." You giggled.

"I may now chose a mate."

Your heart dropped. So this was why he wanted to talk. He was here to tell you that he found someone. He probably wanted you to leave him alone now.

Anxiety flooded your mind as you felt stupid. A part of you actually thought he liked you back. Why would he? You weren’t even the same species. You had nothing to offer him.

“I see.” You gave your best fake smile. “Who’s the lucky girl then?” You had to know.

“You.” Neteyam said without hesitation.

“I’m sorry what?” You asked. There was no way you heard that right.

“You, if you’ll have me.” He looked away shy. He took your confusion as rejection. “I want you to be my mate Y/N.”

“Are you sure?” You asked dumbfounded.

Neteyam cupped your face in his palms. “I see you Y/N.”

Your heart sped up at the phrase you found so beautiful and so terrifying at the same time. He saw you. Every broken piece, every imperfection, all of your good qualities as well as the bad ones, and he still wanted you anyways.

He wanted you despite it all. Neteyam saw you.

“I am human Neteyam.” You said. You needed him to be sure of his choice. Na’vi mate for Life. Of course you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him, but you needed to be sure he wouldn’t regret it.

“I know. That changes nothing.”

“I cannot make Tsaheylu.” The bond was the building block of life on Pandora. It was vital to their existence. They bonded with their mates, you would be unable to bond with him in this way.

“I know. But I see you anyways.” He confessed.

“I’ll never be tsahík.”

“None of that matters to me Y/N. Stop trying to give me reasons to not want you. It won’t work.”

Looking down in shame you gave him one last reason. “I can’t give you children Neteyam. You’d be making so many sacrifices just to have me. It’s not an equal trade.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He smiled. “You are all I want. It’s always been you Y/N. Always. Nothing else matters when you are enough for me.”

Neteyam leaned in as if he was about to kiss you. “You are what I want Y/N.”

“You are what I want too.” You breathed. “I see you Neteyam.

That was all he needed to hear. He crashed his lips onto yours passionately kissing you. Lips moving in sync until you pulled away to catch your breath.

Staring into his golden eyes you removed your shirt leaving your chest bare before him. Neteyam’s eyes widened at your sudden action. He wasn’t expecting anything to happen, he was happy with kissing.

“We don’t have to do anything Ma’Y/N.”

There was that name again. You smiled. “I want to. I want you Neteyam. That is, if you’ll have me.” You batted your eyelashes at him.

His tail twitched in excitement before he tackled you back onto the bed. The two of you spent the night a tangled mess of limbs. “We are mated before Eywa for life.” Neteyam whispered into your ear before you drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

It had been two years since you mated with Neteyam. It had been the best years of your life.

His family was immediately accepting of your relationship. To your surprise so was most of the clan. There were a few that frowned upon your union but Neteyam made sure to put them in their place.

Following Neteyam’s lead you ran through the forest. He made sure to keep looking back for you so the two of you wouldn’t get separated.

“So where are we going again?” You huffed out of breath.

“It’s a surprise.” He smiled back at you.

Neteyam took you to a clearing that had the most beautiful flowers you had ever seen. You were fascinated by the nature of Pandora.

“I wish I could smell them.” You sighed. Always longing to smell the fresh air and to feel the breeze on your face.

Neteyam frowned at your words. He too hated your mask, but it kept you alive. It allowed him to show you his home. To Neteyam it was worth the inconvenience.

“Come on, let’s keep going.” He smiled. “There’s something else I wanna show you.”

Without a second thought you followed him. Starting to feel faint you slowed down. Everything was getting blurry and your head was woozy.

"Neteyam, could you slow down a little?" You panted, pushing your hand against a tree for support. "I'm a little dizzy."

Stopping dead in his tracks he rushed over to you. His mind racing with a million different thoughts. His heart screaming at him to protect you. Not looking good at all your face had gone pale. Your eyes looked exhausted. You looked ill.

"I will take you to my grandmother. You do not look good Ma'Y/N."

"I'm fine Teyam." You attempted a smile to reassure him. The last thing you wanted was to be rushed into the village. The People were used to you, but having the Tsahík tend to a sky demon may be pushing your luck. "Just take me back to the lab please."

Scooping you up he held you close to his chest bridal style. "Neteyam, I could've walked. I'm not broken." You rolled your eyes. Ignoring your protests he continued the trek back to the lab. Something was wrong and you were unwell.

Gently setting you down at the lab entrance he insisted that he come in with you. Neteyam was still slightly unsure of sky people, the lab making him nervous. But this was different. Anxiety consumed him and he couldn't leave without making sure you were okay.

Taking your mask off you then offered Neteyam a mask of his own. He hastily took it eyes never leaving you. The last thing on his mind was a mask for himself. He could breath this air for hours anyways.

Walking the familiar hallways to your room he observed your small steps. Gently panting as if the walk was tiring you out. You insisted you were fine but your body language said otherwise.

Plopping down on your bed you made grabby hands reaching out for him. "Cuddle me." You playfully commanded. Smiling he complied gently laying down next to you, arms instinctively pulling you closer.

Taking a deep breath letting your scent fill his lungs he hummed. Neteyam gently peppered a few kisses to your face before burying his head in your neck.

"Neteyam stop." You giggled. "It tickles." You could feel his smile against your neck. Running your free hand through his braids you sighed in satisfaction. Moments like this made up for all the bad ones.

You felt so safe in his arms, like he could protect you from anything. And he would. He'd burn the whole world if it meant keeping you safe.

"Teyam?" You whispered fingers still playing with his hair. He hummed in response snuggling closer to you. "I love you to the moon and back."

The expression felt odd rolling off your tongue. Checks heated in a blush you were a bit embarrassed. After all, you found it to be incredibly cheesy. But there was a part of you that found the sentiment sweet.

You'd first read it engraved on a tiny silver necklace. It had belonged to your mother. One of the scientists gave it to you once you were older. It was the only thing you had of her. Everything else was left up to your imagination.

For years they tried to allude to the fact that your mother had passed away. It seemed easier to let you believe that than tell you the truth. But even though you were a child you weren't clueless. You knew that your mother had left you here.

Terrified of everything that had happened she went back to earth unable to take you with her. That's how you found yourself being raised by the scientists on Pandora with Spider as your honorary brother.

A small part of you cling to the saying. Wishing it was true, that your mother loved you to the moon and back - to Pandora and back. That one day she'd be back for you.

You knew it would never happen. So instead you say it to Neteyam.  Because you truly meant it. You would go to the moon and back for him. And you would be back. You'd always come back for him.

Neteyam's ears perked up at your words. It wasn't the first time you had told him you loved him but you had never said it like this. He didn't entirely understand it but he appreciated your words just the same.

Smiling at you like you were the most precious thing he ever laid his eyes on. "I will give you the moon my love."

Laughing you pulled him closer. "You can't give someone the moon Neteyam."

But he would for you. You were his moon, his stars, and everything in between. Whatever you asked for he would deliver. "If I could give you the moon, I would give you the moon." He confirmed.

"You're a dork." You giggled.

"So are you then. You started it." He playfully fired back. Neteyam's mind turned somber for a moment. "Are you feeling better?"

You nodded cuddling more into your mattress to get comfy. "Much better. I think I need more cuddles to be one hundred percent though."

Smiling, Neteyam snuggled into you. "I'm more than happy to assist."

As the weeks went by you continued to feel strange. It didn’t seem like a big deal to you, so you didn’t want to bring it up. After all, you were human. Getting sick was a part of every day life.

No one noticed how you were acting strange. Except Neteyam of course. He picked up on the way you always seemed tired. The way your eyes looked a bit dull as they stared off into space. No matter how hard you tried to hide it, he saw it all.

You were now having trouble keeping your meals down. Stomach always feeling like it was in knots you didn’t know what was wrong. No one had caught you throwing up yet, but they did start to notice how you were losing weight without trying.

Norm awkwardly tried to broach the subject as always trying to be the father you never had. He was afraid you were doing something self inflicted and wanted to support you in any way he could.

It took awhile but you were able to convince him it wasn't what he thought. You honestly didn't know what was wrong, you just one day started feeling sick.

Norm being the man of science that he was immediately wanted to start tests to get to the bottom of what was wrong. Somehow you managed to get him to hold off for awhile. The idea of going through a bunch of tests scared you.

You didn’t get out of it for very long. Neteyam was worried sick about you and insisted you do whatever was needed to get better. Reluctantly you agreed spending the next several days undergoing tests and blood work.

Neteyam even took you to his grandmother for her guidance. She wasn’t able to pinpoint what was wrong. Whatever you had was a human sickness, unknown to the Na’vi.

Jake took a special interest in what was wrong. He was once a human himself. He was well aware of everything that could go wrong with the human body. Plus he deeply cared for his daughter in law. Jake consulted with Norm regularly regarding his findings.

The Olo'eyktan thought it’d be best if he was one of the first to find out. That way he would be able to explain it to his family better. He was by no means a doctor but he knew his son would trust his words more than Norm’s.

He could see the way Neteyam looked like his was close to having a melt down. He had a forced calmness about him. As if he was in complete denial that something might be wrong. Because he was. If he refused to acknowledge it, it wouldn’t be real.

"Leukemia." Norm spoke like that one simple word explained everything. Jake's breath caught in his throat at the word. Neteyam stood head moving back and forth between the two of them, waiting for an explanation.

His heart hammered in his chest as they spoke words that meant nothing to him. Human words he didn't know. "How long?" His father asked quietly.

"It's progressed rather quickly. She had been exhibiting symptoms for a few months now. It's hard to say how long she's had it."

Neteyam knew they were talking about you. Dread filled him and he felt sick to his stomach. The feeling of being left in the dark was too much for him, he felt like he could scream.

"How long does she have?" Jake asked again eyes screwed onto Norm. He spoke hushed this time. Jake wasn't a fool. He was well aware of his son's feelings towards you. In fact, the whole clan knew.

How long does she have? The words echoed in Neteyam's brain. Repeating over and over again. They couldn't be talking about your life could they? You were just a little sick, you had said so yourself. This couldn't be real he refused to believe it.

"I've estimated three years." Max spoke up. "She has a thirty percent chance."

Thirty. That was low wasn't it? There was no possible way you'd have such a low chance. The science geeks were the best of the best. You'd also have access to the remedies of the Na'vi. Most importantly you'd have Neteyam. He made a vow to take care of and protect you. He indented to keep that vow.

"What are her opinions? What can we do?" Jake needed all the information he could get if he was going to have to explain this to his son.

"Chemo would be the next step. It's going to be hard, she's already so weak. It's going to take a lot out of her."

Jake glanced over at his son. Neteyam looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack. Hell, he was on the verge of a panic attack. His eyes were wide as he stared at his father, pleading for an answer.

Jake sighed, "Would she have a better chance back on Earth? Can we even give her proper care here?"

Earth? You couldn't go to earth. Neteyam refused to allow it. If you left he'd never see you again. He wouldn't be able to care for you while you're sick. He also wouldn't know how you were doing - he wouldn't know if you were still breathing or not.

His mouth hung open as his brain tried to register this. "She can't go to earth dad." He said just above a whisper. "She can't go!" He said again this time yelling desperately at his father.

"Calm down boy." Jake hushed him placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let them speak."

"She's not going anywhere." Norm said trying to choose his words carefully. "Her immune system is weak right now. I don't think she would survive the trip. I think it's best to treat her here with what we have available."

Tears stung Neteyam's eyes as he stared at the ground. You were so sick you wouldn't survive the trip to earth. Would you even survive here? He came to the horrific realization that you were sick and you might be dying.

"She's strong though." Jake said more so to his son. "She can fight this."

Max and Norm looked at each other with sad smiles. Neither doubted your strength, you were one of the strongest people they knew. But this was different. They had to entertain the possibility that even if you fight with your all you could lose. They also knew that they didn't have everything needed to properly treat you. But for the sake of the broken boy in front of them they left that part out.

Staying positive was hard but you gave it your best try. You felt weak but it wasn’t insufferable yet. The worst part of it was you couldn’t go out exploring like you were accustomed to.

Your friends made sure to keep you company. Your room become the unofficial official hangout spot. Lo’ak and Spider would play games with you, Kiri kept you up to date on all of the gossip in the village, Tuk insisted that the two of you color, and Neteyam? Neteyam never left your side.

He was there not long after your woke up and often times he stayed the night. Neteyam never wanted to leave your side, wanting to make sure you were cared for in any way possible. He would be there every step of the way.

When it was time for chemo you felt extremely anxious. As Norm prepared the IV Neteyam eyed the needle untrustworthily. You winced as it went into your arm. Neteyam hissed ready to throw Norm across the room for causing you pain.

Norm panicked and you quickly explained to Neteyam that it was okay. It only hurt for a few minutes. You had to deal with it. You needed the treatment to get better.

Neteyam cuddled up next to you holding your hand. He tried to do things to distract you from it. The pair of you would watch movies from back on earth. You taught him how to play uno. He could never beat you and it frustrated him to no end. He was close to throwing his cards in anger. Seeing him be such a sore looser made you laugh.

Neteyam loved your laugh. He didn’t hear it much anymore so it was his life’s mission to make you laugh as much as he could.

He believed you’d make a full recovery. This was simply a bump in the road.

"Please don't let him in." You pleaded with Spider. "I don't want him to see me like this." Tears were stinging your eyes now.

Spider looked sympathetically at you. You tried so hard to be strong for everyone but it was wearing down on you. This was effecting you worse than you thought it would. All you wanted to sulk in your room by yourself.

"He's freaking out Y/N. I'm afraid he's gonna start breaking stuff." He chuckled. Gently placing his hand on your shoulder his concerned look returned. "He cares about you. A lot. He just wants to make sure you're okay."

Nodding your head you wiped your face with your hands. You didn't want him to see that you had been crying. "Okay. Let him in."

Spider went off to find Neteyam it didn't take him too long thanks to the commotion he was causing. "You cannot keep me here!" Neteyam bellowed.

He tried to moved around the crowd of scientists who were attempting to keep him back. Neteyam growled in frustration. "Y/N is my mate you cannot keep me from her."

"Bro, calm down!" Spider yelled as Neteyam went to throw something off of a desk. He stopped as soon as he heard Spider. Neteyam's shoulders relaxed slightly at the familiar face.

"They are trying to keep me away." He snapped.

"Yeah I can see that." Spider huffed. "If you're done with your temper tantrum Y/N is ready to see you."

Raising his head high Neteyam walked past the scientists smugly. When out of earshot he bent down to Spider "They said Y/N did not want to see me." His face etched with worry.

Sighing Spider ran his hand over his face. "She's upset right now. It's not my place to say. She needs to be the one to tell you. But she's upset and embarrassed right now. She didn't want you to see her like that."

Neteyam's heart clenched at his words. The thought of you being so upset that you didn't want to see him crushed him. Walking into your room he was preparing for the worst.

You were sitting in your bed with your hands folded in your lap. Staring down you were avoiding his gaze.

He looked you up and down to see if their was any visible signs of what was wrong. If there was a problem Neteyam wanted to attack it head on. Your sickness wasn't like that though. He had to sit and watch helplessly as you suffered. It consumed him to the point he lived in constant agony.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Except your eyes were red and puffy like you had been crying. You were crying. Why were you crying? Neteyam's protective side took the forefront once again, ready to crush whatever had upset you.

Rushing to your side he cupped your cheek with his hand. "Ma'love what's wrong?" Worried etched on his face.

"You can have these back. I don't need them anymore." You sniffed. Your closed hands reached out to his. Opening your hands you gently poured the contents into his.

Neteyam stilled as his beads spilled into his hands. They were the beads he had given to you. He loved seeing you proudly wearing them in your hair, letting everyone see you were his.

"You don't want them anymore?" He softly asked. It felt like a punch to the gut. It was as if you were rejecting him.

"I won't be able to wear them anymore Neteyam." Meeting his gaze your heart broke seeing his face. He didn't understand why you were returning his gift to you.

"My hair is falling out Neteyam." You sighed.

"I do not understand." His brow furrowed trying to put the pieces together.

"The chemo- the medicine makes my hair fall out." You tried to explain.

Spider walked over and put his hand on your shoulder for support. He viewed you as his little sister. It hurt him to see you suffering like this.

Neteyam didn't understand how this medicine was helping you if it was making it so hard on you. Human medicine was more complicated than the Na'vi remedies he was used to.

You knew that he was genuinely curious and just trying to understand but you were tired if talking about it. You knew you would eventually lose your hair but you thought you could handle it.

Everything was too much. You hadn't really felt sick until now. When you noticed your hair coming out in clumps it all became real. You were sick.

Spider found you in a fit of sobs. It broke his heart to see you like that. It also sent him into a panic. He didn't know what to do to make you feel better. He was your big brother, he was supposed to know everything.

"Norm gave me this." Sighing you pulled out hair clippers. "He said it might be easier to just go ahead and shave my head." Tears stung your eyes again. "I just don't know if I can."

Without thinking Spider took the clippers from you. "I'll go first." He declared.

Eyes widening in panic you tried to stop him. "Wait Spider! You don't have to do that." Before you could get another word out he turned them on and quickly swiped along the top of his head.

You and Neteyam stared at him with wide eyes. Dumbfounded you couldn't believe your brother just did that. He did it for you. You couldn't help the small smile that formed. Knowing that your brother loved you that much made your heart swell.

"Are you guys just gonna stare at me or are you gonna help me finish this up?" Spider asked with a smirk.

Once finished Spider was almost unrecognizable. "I can't believe you did that." You mumble as he helped you with your hair.

"It's not a big deal." He shrugged. "It was weighing me down anyways. I'll be faster now."

You rolled your eyes at your brother's odd logic. Neteyam was holding onto your hand watching Spider like a hawk. The idea of taking a blade to your head terrified him even though you assured him it was safe.

Gently you squeezed his hand. “I’m okay.” You assured him. He nodded bringing your hand up to his lips, tenderly kissing your knuckles. “I love you.” His whispered lips still pressed to your fingers.

Usually you stuck to the Na’vi terms of affection. It was what Neteyam was comfortable with. But after learning what the human phrase meant he had to use it. Because it was true. He loved you with every fiber of his being.

Tugging his hand to your lips you gave his knuckles a matching kiss. “I love you too. So so much.”

“Come on guys knock it off.” Spider complained pretending to be sick. As much as your constant shows of affection annoyed him he was glad you found someone who truly loved you.

The next day Neteyam came to visit you with his hands behind his back. You eyed him suspiciously, he was never good at keeping secrets from you.

“I made this for you last night.” He gently placed a bracelet in your lap. You gasped when you realized it was made of the beads he had originally given you for your hair.

“You said you couldn’t wear them anymore and now that’s not true.”

Carefully you put the bracelet on. Heart bursting at the sweet gesture tears began to spill from your eyes. Neteyam started to panic thinking be did something wrong.

“You are not happy with it?” He asked defeated. “You are crying.”

“Yes but they’re happy tears. I love it Neteyam. I love you.” You threw your arms around his neck. Smiling he pulled you closer into his chest.

“Oel ngati kameie.” He whispered into your neck.

“I see you Ma’Teyam.”

"I'm dying Neteyam." You said without any hesitation or emotion.

Neteyam immediately sat up looking to you slightly begging that he heard you wrong. It couldn't be true. It couldn't be.

"No one's told you because they're afraid of how you'll react. I don't want to keep anything from you. Love you too much to do that." Your eyes met his through your mask. He felt his heart breaking not only from your words but your eyes. They were faded, lacking the light he loved so much.

"They didn't want to tell me either." Your hoarse voice kept on. "But it's hard to pull a fast one over on me when I'm like this." Chuckling at yourself Neteyam caught a glimpse of you. The real you. Not this pitiful shell of who you once were.

"The treatment stopped working months ago. They told me last week."

Bringing your hand to his mouth he gently kissed your knuckles. "Please do not say such things." His voice cracked. Tears were now freely flowing from his eyes.

Deep down in his heart he knew he was losing you. He just didn't want to believe it. He couldn't believe it. Acknowledging it made it feel real and there was no way this was real. It had to be a cruel nightmare.

"I'm tired Neteyam." You spoke quietly.

Unsure of what you meant he was ready to scoop you up and tuck you into bed. Somehow you had convinced him to go star gazing tonight. It had seemed like the perfect date night idea since you were always cooped up in your room. But now he kicked himself for allowing you to leave.

"Let's get you back then," he started shuffling."

"No Neteyam." You interrupted him stopping him in his tracks. "I'm tired of this." You gestured to yourself. "I'm tired of treatments that aren't working. Tired of being stuck in my room all day. Im tired of it all." You sighed.

"This isn't living Neteyam. It's waiting to die." Meeting his eyes your heart sank. He was finally registering your words. Neteyam looked at you like you had just pierced his heart with an arrow. "I'm tired of waiting."

You had been battling this for over a year now. It had taken its toll on you physically and emotionally. You didn’t know how much longer you could go on like this.

"What are you saying Y/N?" He asked trying his best to stay calm but miserably failing. His hands were shaking and his heart quickened.

"I asked Norm and Max about how I could speed it up."

Neteyam heard his heart shatter into a million pieces. You wanted to end your life. You wanted to leave him. You couldn't possibly want to leave him could you?

Tears were freely falling from his eyes. His body started to shake fighting off sobs.

"I'm not getting any better Neteyam." You gently placed your hand on his cheek wiping away his tears with your thumb.

This wasn't what you wanted but you saw no other way. Everyday was a struggle, even breathing hurt. You wanted Neteyam to see what you already accepted. This was a waiting game. You were never going to recover.

"No." He violently shook his head holding you to his chest. "No. You'll get better. We just need to try something else. Please." He begged.

"Ma'Teyam there's nothing left to try."

"Please. You can't leave me." His body shook with sobs. "I can't lose you Ma'Y/N."

You couldn't fight back your own tears. Your mask was fogging as you started to cry. Seeing your mate like this was as painful as your sickness.

"You're not gonna lose me love. Nothing is ever lost, remember?" You tried your best to comfort him.

"There has to be something we can try." He sobbed. "What about an avatar?"

You held his head in your chest while he cried. "They can't make anymore avatars. You know that."

"I can't do this without you. There has to be something." Neteyam wailed.

The sight broke your heart. You had exhausted all of your options. Everyone but Neteyam seemed to recognize it.

"I won't do anything without your blessing Ma'Teyam." You gently caressed his head. "But please try to understand my point of view."

"You cannot ask this of me. I can't." He shook his head.

Gently rocking you soothed the boy in your arms. He had a vice like grip on you as if you'd vanish into thin air. "It'll okay Ma'Teyam." You cooed.

You had informed Norm and Max of your plan. It broke their heart but they acknowledged that it was your decision. They would respect your wishes.

Norm found himself in your room in the middle of the night watching you sleep. It pained him to see your labored breaths. You were always so fill of light and now you looked like a hollow shell.

He'd known you your whole life. It broke his heart to know that your time was running out. It seemed like just yesterday you were a bubbly toddler getting into trouble in the lab.

You told Jake and Neytiri next. For some reason you were terrified of what your in laws would think of you. While this was something common amongst humans it was very rare to the Na'vi.

Jake was once human though. It hurt his heart to see that it came to this but he understood. While his disability wasn't terminal he knew the feeling of hopelessness. The feeling of being trapped inside what once was you. Your body becoming a prison. Jake knew better than anyone.

Neytiri didn't understand why you wished this until she saw you. She couldn't contain her gasp. No longer the child she has grown to care for, you were someone she didn’t recognize.

Smiling weakly at her Neytiri’s heart broke for you. She could see that you were dying but she couldn’t understand why. It was the great mother’s will that you would stay with Neteyam. Why would she allow you to die so soon?

Then it hit her. The words of her mother. You would spend the rest of your life beside Neteyam. Your life would end before his. Seeing you like this made her realize why you wanted this. You weren’t yourself, you were tapped inside a body that was failing you.

Spider was unusually quiet when you told him. “Spider please say something.” You pleaded.

He knew it was coming. He’d be a fool not to. But he was like everyone else who loved you, he didn’t want to believe it was happening. All of his earliest memories included you. You may have only been siblings because of circumstance but he loved you like you were blood.

You were undoubtedly his sister. Always there for him for as long as he could remember. Someone who always had his back. You understood the feeling of being abandoned here and the longing of wanting more. You were his person. And now you weren’t going to be here anymore.

Spider stood up and hugged you. He was slightly crying into your shoulder. You had never seen your big brother cry. He was your rock always strong and dependable.

“I’m sorry Spider.” You cried with him.

“Hey,” he pulled back to look at you. “Don’t ever be sorry. None of this is your fault.”

Nodding through your tears you took in the sight of him. His hair was growing back so fast leaving him with a nice short cut.

“You know I love you right?” He asked unsure for a moment. He had to make sure you knew. Spider wouldn’t be able to live with himself If you didn’t.

“Of course. I love you too bro.”

The two of you spent the rest of the day talking about everything and nothing all at once. It would be one of the last times you got to.

When it came to telling Neteyam he already knew. Your confirmation was like stones in his heart. But he knew. Deep down he always knew. You were never getting better.

Being cooped up in your room wasn't much of a life. You were in pain and it pained him to witness it. Neteyam never wished to part from you but this wasn't his choice to make.

He knew that had there been any other way you wouldn't had made the choice either.

You wanted one last day. One last good day.

Looking at your room one last time you shut the door. You had breakfast with Norm and Spider just like you always did growing up. Max even joined you.

No one talked about what was to come. You forbid any talk of the future only wanted to live in the here and now.

Spider helped you put on your mask and the two of you slowly made your way to the village. He helped you into the Sully home. You were terrified of everyone being somber, but to your delight everyone acted as normal.

You hadn’t laughed this much in months watching Spider reenact a story of one of the many times Lo’ak almost got himself killed.

Laughter, hugs, and smiles was how you spent your time with the Sully’s. It was perfect just like it always was. Neteyam kept you sat on his lap not wanting to lose contact for a second.

Taking a deep breath he inhaled your scent. It had changed when you got sick. It didn’t smell like you. It made him frown.

Insisting on going on an Ikran ride you drug Neteyam out of his family’s tent. Neytiri stopped you before you got too far. Embracing you one last time. “Thank you for watching over him my child.” Before you could say a word she kissed your forehead and left you with watery eyes.

Neteyam didn’t want to focus on sadness right now. You were still here that’s all that mattered. Taking your hand once again you were greeted with his Ikran.

“You sure you feel up to this?” He checked in.

“Hell yeah.” You smirked at him.

Flying through air was a feeling you’d never get used to. Up there you were truly free. Sticking your arms out to intensify the feeling Neteyam cursed at your sudden movement. His grip tightening around you.

“Let me know before you do something like that.” He scolded.

“You worry too much!” You yelled over the wind. “You’ve taken me on a million rides and haven’t dropped me yet.”

Neteyam smiled at you. Today you were glowing with a glimpse of yourself. Not the person who had been while sick. The real you. It made his heart clench. It pained him but he knew you were right. This was the right choice.

He would rather see you like this than just slowly waste away to nothing. I wanna go out with a bang. You had told him.

Eclipse crept up on the couple as you laid on the ground tangled up in each other. "I love you so much." You told him tears threatening to spill. He kissed your knuckles. "I love you to the moon and back." He whispered.

Smiling fondly at the memory from what felt like an entirety ago. "I can't believe you remember that." You laughed.

He chuckled. Neteyam had spent years committing every part of you to memory. He found your surprise amusing. Of course he’d remember. He remembered it all.

You stayed in his embrace until you couldn't keep your eyes open any longer. "I'm ready Neteyam." You breathed.

He nodded blinking back tears. "I see you Ma'Y/N." He gently caressed your face the best he could.

"I see you Ma'Teyam." You grabbed his hand. "Don't worry I'll see you again. Take your time my love."

"Anything for you my moon." He smiled.

As gently as he could he removed your mask. Taking a deep breath in you smiled as you inhaled the scents of the forest. It smelt even better than you imagined.

Neteyam laid next to you holding your hand looking up to the sky. You admired the stars before glancing over at Neteyam. He met your eyes and smiled. Your breathes were started to become labored. "It's okay love. You can rest now." He said fighting back a sob.

Your vision was turning black around the edges. Neteyam was talking to you but you couldn’t register what he was saying. Slowly your eyes closed. Your chest stopped. Just like that you were gone.

This was exactly how you asked. Neteyam fulfilled every last one of your wishes even if it killed him inside. Your whole life you wanted nothing more than to experience Pandora without any restrictions. And in that brief moment you did.

Neteyam held onto your lifeless body as he sobbed. He knew it was happening but nothing would prepare him for the feeling of you actually being gone.

His love. His mate. His best friend. His moon and stars. Gone forever. You were gone and there was nothing he could do to bring you back.

His body shook as he wailed. Neteyam realized that because you were human you were never connected to the spirit tree. He would never be able to see you again. He would never see you again.

Neteyam spent the whole night grieving you. He knew it was just the beginning of many sleepless nights crying for you.

In the morning he carried you back to home tree. Neteyam insisted that you have a traditional Na’vi burial. It didn’t take much convincing as everyone adored you.

His family helped prepare your body. He begged for help not thinking he was strong enough to do it on his own. Once everything was finished they gave him a moment alone. Spider looked up at him with red puffy eyes giving him a pat on the back.

Neteyam spent his last moment with you whispering sweet nothings that you would never hear. Confessions of love that wouldn’t reach your ears.

The last time Neteyam saw you, you were lowered into the ground. He tried to stay collected not wanting his people to see him weak. But this was unbearable.

After the funeral his grandmother approached him. Pulling him in for a rare hug she caressed his head Lovingly. “She is with Eywa now.” She told him.

He looked up at her in shock. You were a human. Neteyam didn’t think it was possible for a sky person to be with Eywa.

“She is?” He asked breathless.

Mo’at simply nodded before leaving him. Neteyam took a moment to process this revelation. A gentle breeze blew through his hair. Taking a deep breath he tried to ground himself.

A delicate tap on his shoulder caused him to open his eyes. A single atokirina' had landed on him. It gently swayed around him. He cupped the spirit his hands smiling, tears streaming down his cheeks.

You were still here. There is no death. Only change.